Kaotic's Workshop

From The Bottom Of My Philanthropic Heart

2012-01-18T20:21:00.000+05:30

Dear Universe,

I just checked Section 5 of ‘The Laws of Boomerang’ and it clearly states that one good deed does in fact deserve another.

Anyway, here’s my problem. I chose to donate a teensy-weensy amount of money to Wikipedia sometime last October or November. Why? Well, I figured it made perfect sense to donate money towards a knowledge base that’s pretty much my only source of entertainment (In a secret aside: Yeah, yeah, it’s for those five minute breaks every normal human being needs at work.) these days, thanks to them things called firewalls. Not wanting to seem like Scrooge, I chose the middle path (a.k.a $35.00). Universe, please note that I did not complain when December introduced the Indian Rupee scheme and a middle path that was way cheaper. You’d think that The Laws of Boomerang would send appreciation my way for this, but no – I just get, Poo! Here’s what I’ve had to put up with for a while now:

Poo laughing her gills off at my moment of purity,
Poo mocking me because I missed the Rupee window by a wide berth,
Poo sending me a spate of emails urging me to donate money to Firefox,
Poo asking me to overcome the trauma of the Wikipedia Blackout by suggesting ways to circumvent it,
Poo threatening me with Firefox blackouts if I keep ignoring her “Donate to Firefox” emails.

So tell me Universe, how is ~~Poo~~ “crap” the boomerang effect of “un moment de charité”? Tell me, tell me, do!

Yours in-a-sulk,

KO.

P.S. Please tell Poo that I will invoke the right to put “Kann-on-Kann” if she continues to stab my illogical, philanthropic heart with her custom-made, ivory-handled dagger!

By The Powers Of Kaotic

2012-01-03T20:06:00.001+05:30

By the powers of Kaotic, I give thee a new year filled with silver and gold, and a fairytale old.

Not your cup of happiness? All right then, by the powers of Kaotic I give thee a hat filled with wishes that last till the year of the cat.

Don’t believe me? *angry yowl* BY THE POWERS OF KAOTIC, I TURN THEE INTO A CAT!!!

Still don’t believe me? Well then, it’s time we went back to the time Kaotic turned her Mother into a cat.

Once upon a time there was a lass named Kaotic who believed in fairies and magic. Her magic potion was invisible and was churned out of a lovely little golden-yellow jar that belonged to her Aunt’s dressing table. One afternoon, when all was quiet in the land of Aymanam (aka the place where her grandparent’s house stood) she chose to impress the young maid with her magical prowess. In a show of might and power she declared that she would turn her Mother (napping in one of the bedrooms with her baby sister) into a cat.

“Abracadabra, blah-di-blah – pfft,” she dramatically muttered as she pulled her invisible magic potion out of the jar and pointed her hand with a flourish towards the dining table, where lo and behold, a cat landed.

Kaotic’s might was replaced by fright as she had no clue whatsoever to undoing the spell she’d cast on her Mother. Kaotic’s grandparents stepped into the living room just then and noticed that their 6 year old granddaughter was standing in the middle of the room close to tears. “Ammachy, Appachy,” she cried, “I turned Mummy into a cat and I don’t know how to turn her back into Mummy. I want my Mummy back.” Her grandfather (Appachy) calmly asked her to peek into the bedroom through the key hole and all would be well. Sure enough, there lay Kaotic’s Mum beside her baby sister blissfully unaware of the shape shifting she’d been through in the past few minutes. Reassured, Kaotic smiled before turning warily towards the dining table. The cat had magically disappeared.

Done with the dark side of magic, Kaotic swore never to indulge in it again.

Oops…oh well, a promise is a promise, so, by the “good will” of Kaotic, I simply wish thee a Very Happy New Year.

Draw From The Well That Never Shall Run Dry

2011-12-05T23:27:00.000+05:30

Like the woman at the well, am I seeking things that cannot satisfy?

Dear 2.3 Readers,

Kaotic’s been doing some thinking of late thanks to the ups and downs of this thing called life. She is well aware of the fact that these ups and downs are all a part of the work-in-progress that is both her and her life. Her mental mish-mash of ideas and thoughts tend to change, gain clarity, lose clarity, all the while absorbing (hopefully!?) the wisdom that trickles in through the passage of time.

Looking closer, she notices a certain pattern. No matter how tough or easy the situation, only honest acceptance of the problem at hand opens the door to the next phase. And in her case, with a little help from her good friend, “the written word!”

Of course, staying on track is no easy matter as Kaotic is a long way away from all those things that embody enlightenment. Hence the mantra “one day at a time” was added to her “go with the flow” chant.

Then comes the time when Kaotic’s faith in her chant begins to waver and lose direction. What’s special, you ask? Nothing really, but every time this happens someone or something usually comes to Kaotic’s rescue.

The last time, she found comfort and a strengthening of resolve and purpose through Paulo Coelho’s ‘Aleph’ and an essay written by Amber Adrian. Coelho’s book reminded her that she was indeed the master of her destiny and more importantly, that she couldn’t lay the blame at fate’s door.

Strength of will renewed, Kaotic moved on, one day at a time but began to lose focus as she is wont to do. Enter Amber Adrian and her insightful essay, ‘Eyes On Your Own Paper’ (You can find the essay here.): they reminded Kaotic to stay “focused on her paper” in no uncertain terms.

And so, Kaotic girded her loins and prepared to march on through muddied waters until she found pure shores.

Yours “in an insane moment of sanity”,

Kaotic.

Your Christmas Bonus: Lost for Better by Amber Adrian. You're welcome.

As day turns to night and night to day,

I hold onto Thy hand – an invisible ray.

~~~~~~

The “Not that you asked” Section!

1. Why did you write this in the 3^rd person?

Because I love doing that and I’d be disappointed in you, my 2.3 readers, if you hadn’t figured this one out already.

2. 2.3 readers?

I’ve increased the count from 1.5 to 2.3 as parts of 1.5 were getting testy about it, so after giving the matter some deep thought I’ve finally decided that 2.3 is my new “true blue” number. Now be gracious and accept it, my peeps.

3. Recommended reading?

1.0 – I’m sure you’ll enjoy Aleph as you did Brida.

0.5 – They’re both worth a shot.

0.4 – The essay goes up on your wall. Do it already!

0.4 – I’m not sure it’s your cup of tea but hey, surprise me.

Immaculate Misconception

2011-12-01T22:19:00.000+05:30

A long, long, time ago, I can still remember……..Okay, this post has nothing to do with Madonna or “The Madonna.” It’s just an old memory of an x-ray room, me and a rather strange Q&A session.

I had to do a whole bunch of tests and an ultrasound was just a part of the whole package, not to forget the all-important x-ray. An x-ray sounds simple enough but I was a tad confused with all the instructions that were printed out about the dress code. After a lot of thought about just how much I had to disrobe, I did what I had to do and wrapped myself in the green garb that I’d been given. I walked into the x-ray room, made a mention of “good ole Aunt Flo” with regard to my non-adherence to the rule of nudity (behind the green veil, of course) and proceeded to play the role of a dead body in a mortuary. The man went about his duties with precision and all seemed well with the world and my spine, until he stepped out of the room to ask the fatal question.

The x-ray man asked my friend if I was pregnant. WHAT!?! WHY!?! I was confounded and then terrified. I lost my sense of reason and panicked all the way to the ultrasound room. “Oh my God,” I thought, “what if I really was pregnant!?” Nothing seemed impossible at that moment. Ironically, the sterile environment seemed to have had an adverse effect on my brain. It obviously rendered both staff and patient brain dead, so much so, I was almost disappointed when the baby did not appear on the screen – Almost!

Baby or no baby, I still find it hard to believe that I lost "it" over something my friends and I now call “The Immaculate Misconception”.

The Fermentation of Kaotic’s Brain

2011-11-21T22:10:00.000+05:30

I’ve always been the ‘bubbly’ birthday kind of person and by that I don’t mean the ‘let’s-party-into-the-night’ kind as I’d most likely be the first to fall asleep at my own party(I know, boring!). The one time I was inspired to go that way landed me with one helluva telephone bill, as I believed I had to make calls to people all over the globe, chatting at length with their answering machines.

In my case, I like to think of the bubbly as more of an internal glow. I’m that excited child who smiles all day, enjoying the emails, phone calls and text messages that keep flowing in through the day. Yeah, I actually answer the phone on this day as I cling onto it for dear life lest I lose it in my bag or desk draw, the way I would on an average day.

This year was different. The mood was quiet. I missed several calls and was pre-occupied with all things work related, which would explain why I spent most of the day wearing what I told myself was a quiet cloak of dignity. “Ha!” I thought, “I’m finally turning into a poised, dignified woman.”

And then it happened.

Diva Dee-vile: Eh, since I didn’t really have the time to buy you something, here’s the first installment of this year’s gift.

K.O.: Oh, you shouldn’t have, Diva.

Diva Dee-vile: I’m not sure how appropriate it is but…

K.O.: Ooh, what do you mean? *eyes light up with interest*

Diva Dee-vile: Hold your horses, woman. Well, what with your new obsession with Paris et al, I figured something from France would be appropriate.

K.O.: Ooooooohh….. *the act of poise begins to slip*

Diva Dee-vile: Well, it’s grapes from France, *dramatic pause* you know the fermented kind….

K.O.: OMG, do I put it in the fridge? *waits with animated expectation for the response*

Diva Dee-vile: *sighs drily*

K.O.: So?

Diva Dee-vile: *brings out the bottle of wine*

K.O.: *giggle fit* Ah yes, fermented grapes!

Diva Dee-vile: I don’t believe you thought I was going to gift you rotten grapes?

K.O.: When you put it like that….

Diva Dee-vile: Next time, I’ll just buy you a basket of fruits. Of the rotten variety, of course!

K.O.: Hey, I figured if France could give me exotic stinky cheese they could give me an exotic variety of rotten grapes too. So there!

Yeah, I obviously accept gifts of wine and rotting fruit with equal amounts of excitement. Sigh,

I may as well forget that poised, dignified (slightly delusional?) image of myself and accept the fact that with time it’s just my brain that’s fermenting in more ways than one!

A Few Of My Favourite Things

2011-11-08T20:58:00.000+05:30

I was talking to myself (in my head, of course) the other day about things deep and philosophical (hear, hear) when I got distracted (as I am wont to do) by a bunch of boxes: boxes filled with my favourite things. As always, things connected to music, movies and books. In a rare moment of voices-in-my-head silence, lightning struck and I knew what I had to do. I, Kaotic, had to move beyond my old faithfuls and venture into unchartered territory.

And so, without further ado, I give you my top (current) ten faves in no particular order. A list that is sure to change the minute I hit “post”. Then again, that’s the beauty of the ‘my-favourite-things’ kind of list, isn’t it? I can change them a million times knowing that it’s all right, unlike an old addiction of mine that was greatly frowned upon: you know, the one where I’d change my study timetables on a daily basis right up to the day the fateful exams began.

Again (sigh), without further ado….Oh, just read it already, my peeps.

Cupcakes
Riverdance
Dark chocolate
Ireland
Bangers and mash
The moon
Shades of blue
Vintage floral prints
A silver-tongued Panda
All things raspberry

Uh oh, this list reminds me of my good ole ‘dear-diary’ days - days when food had a strange way of creeping in slowly but surely onto the page. Sigh, some things really don’t change now, do they? Wait a minute, of course they do. At least it’s no longer a sad case of leather chappathi’s, stone- cold idli’s and rock-hard buns. Thank you, God!!!

Message to my 1.5 readers (yeah, I love calling you that :D): Would you be kind enough to share your list of favourite things with me please? I’m bored to death. *flutters non-existent eyelashes*

P.S. Paris, salsa, the tango………(Kaotic’s thought bubble: STOP already, Top 10 ends at Ten!)

Shipwrecked? Not Yet!

2011-11-01T10:00:00.136+05:30

(Old age is a shipwreck. – Charles de Gaulle)

A bunch of us from college got together a few weeks ago and it was total mayhem all over again. In fact, it was so much fun that I had an extra severe case of the Monday morning blues. I must confess to age playing a teensy-weensy role in my state of 'weekend bliss'. You know, the kind of happiness that arises from belonging to the right age group every once in a while. “Why?” you ask. Well, I've been running down this tunnel that lights up my age at every bend for a while now and that weekend was a welcome break of darkness. Darkness I'm willing to light up again, so you get to peek into what I call - Kaotic's Age Ridden Tunnel of Darkness and Light!

(Kaotic's thought bubble: Quit the melodrama already!)

Overheard In The Office Elevator:

A colleague and I hopped across to the elevators on the other side of the stairs after waiting forever on our side. We encountered a chatty bunch of people from the advertising company that occupies the space there; an entertaining change from the earnest finance person I run into on a daily basis (moi included!). I mean, I had a hard time keeping a straight face during the ride down to the basement. Here’s what they had to say.

Girls and Guy to colleague (aka The Others): It’s time you got married. You’re old. Like 35!

35 year old bloke: Hey, there’s no rush.

The Others: Of course, there is. Soon there'll be no women left for you. You’ll only get the ones over 40. You're still in the running for the 20-somethings if you go for it now.

35 year old bloke: The way I see it, the longer I wait the better the deal as I get the experienced ones then.

The Others: Please, those 40-somethings come with baggage!

On the one hand I was amused and on the other I was all, “kids, how presumptuous!” And then “oh no, if the 30 something men want the 20 something/ 40 something women, where does that leave us 30 something women!?”

Sigh, “Seat for Monk” must be a sign of things to come after all! ;-)

BBQ Time:

‘Blue Spanish Eyes’ asks another young thing (yeah, they’re 'things' now – these nasty people in their 20’s!) about his age. I’m not sure how it happened but suddenly it was all about the oldest in the room. Before I could blink, my supposed friend Poo and another fella began competing for the winners’ trophy via their respective friends.

And then, as is wont to happen when I’m in a room, everyone was ‘ordered’ to declare their year of birth. The old adage, “never ask a lady her age” obviously does not apply any more. I won by a year and you could see Poo dancing her little victory jig in her head, while I tried to figure out if I really was the winner or loser here.

Well, this sorted it out for me.

1987(aka the youngest in the room): So what does that make me? The loser?

The others: You don’t even count!

(Kaotics though bubble: Focus on the word “winner” lass.)

An Original Thai Massage For The Ego:

Poo: KO, why don’t you pick up a pair of plain glasses? You know, just for the heck of it.

KO: Eh, okay, let’s check them out.

Spectacle seller in a mall in Thailand: Madam, your age?

*distracted silence*

Persistent Spectacle seller: Maybe 40? Maybe you look for glasses to read? You know at 40….

*walks away before insult is added to injury and sense of humour is still intact*

(Kaotics thought bubble: Good Sir, I am certainly not 40. I think you’re the one in need of those glasses or so I’d like to believe! *sniff sniff* )

Et Tu Brutus:

Diva to Poo on meeting a bunch of new people: OH. MY. GOD. There are people older than KO.

Yes Diva, yes Poo, there really are people older than KO. SURPRISE! :p

And to think I call these sillies, friends. *world weary sigh*

Does this mean I’m going down? No way, Siree! I’ll just continue feeding myself a whole load of mumbo-jumbo (from “the 30’s are the new 20’s” to the “age is just a number” line) so I can continue looking down upon those ‘strange young things’ with a glow of 30-something pride and condescension. In the words of James Broughton, “I’m happy to report that my inner child is still ageless.” Ha!

The French Connection

2011-10-18T23:04:00.000+05:30

1. Saturday – One walks into a room where the only European language one recognizes is French: a language one is familiar with but doesn’t really understand when spoken at the speed of lightning; a language one refuses to speak out loud as one is sure it sounds more Chinese when one speaks it (Unlike the mellifluous sound one hears in one’s head!).

2. Still Saturday - The French effect begins to work its magic. The result? The following monologue of sorts.

Indian mad hatter: She is from Kerala and she speaks a language called Malayalam. Do you know the connection between Napoléon and Malayalam?

(The French and Indians look equally puzzled)

Indian mad hatter: You do know what Napoléon supposedly said when he was exiled to the island of Elba, right?

(The French and Indians nod)

Indian mad hatter continues: He said, “Able was I ere I saw Elba.”

*dramatic pause*

Indian mad hatter continues: Well, that’s a palindrome and the word Malayalam is a palindrome too!

3. Sunday – The French connection continues as one gets a lucky last minute pass to a Richard Clayderman-Rahul Sharma concert. One has always loved this French pianist and voila, he appears out of the blue to make an old dream come true. One sentence in French is all it takes to remind one of the barriers of communication but then, the music rises in a sublime crescendo, flowing past barriers and walls until Babylon is one.

4. Monday morning: One stares groggily at the ATM machine in the office building when one hears voices approaching; voices speaking a language that’s familiar yet strange, a language one knows yet doesn’t, a language called - French!

All this to say that one is now wasting precious time pondering the meaning of The Signs; signs that come with “FRENCH” attached to it!

Dial “A” For Inspiration

2011-10-14T00:51:00.003+05:30

I had just begun to feel sorry for my dried out imagination when I remembered “A”. She’s the friend I turn to when I’m at a loss for stories or when my imagination hits a blank wall. It does, believe me! Let’s face it, I lead an ordinary life and my fancy work-eat-sleep routine does nothing for my blank-wall phases. Does that mean I sit in a dustbin facing the wall at the corner of the room in a sulk? No way. I just turn to “A” for inspiration.

Chasing after random kerosene dripping eunuchs in an attempt to save them from we-know-not-whom, choosing to set up circus tents until her arms turn leaden, breaking up street fights with just a few words are the norm in the world according to A. I lap up the stories and repeat them to willing ears until the copy right is finally mine and mine alone. As A’s memory is slowly fading with age, I’ve taken it upon myself to preserve the memory of her first day as a student in the USA by writing about it here.

The One Where She Saved The Day

“A” jerked awake, her jetlagged sleep disturbed by the distant screams of a woman in distress. Groggy, yet alert to the call of distress, our thin-as-a-reed heroine dashed across the hallway and knocked with all her might on the guilty apartment door. The door opened slowly followed by a moment of silence.

“A” was confronted by a swarthy, mammoth of a man in white jocks who cocked an eyebrow at her in polite enquiry.

A: Eh, I thought I heard a woman scream out for help from your apartment.

White Jocks: You heard wrong.

A: But…. (White Jock cuts her off and begins to shut the door when a half naked woman scampers into the room waving out for help)

A: Could it be the woman behind you? You know, the one who's trying to say something to me right now.

White Jocks: No! Also,it’s none of your business. (Blocks the woman’s escape route and turns to shut the door)

Seeing red, “A” brandished her weapon of choice and threatened nothing less than death if the man didn’t let the woman go. The fella looked at the crazy little Indian thoughtfully and finally gave in.

White Jocks: Okay, have it your way. Just know that she chose to come here with me.

Woman in Distress: Get me out of here, please.

So get her out she did (let’s overlook the fact that the big fella didn’t care anymore) before returning to her studio apartment for some much needed sleep.

Her weapon of choice? *drum roll* A FREAKIN’ BUTTER KNIFE!

~~~~~

Footnote: In reality, the plot was thicker, the story darker, the drama bigger and the knife a wee bit sharper i.e. if we are to believe A’s latest version in which it turns into a kitchen knife. Months after the cops walked out the door, our heroine called so she could narrate the incident for my safekeeping. As all good friends would do, I erased the darkness and held onto the light for her sake. In this case, a 'light' butter knife!

~~~~~All’s well that ends well~~~~~

With Friends Like These, Who Needs Enemies!?! ;-)

2011-10-10T20:46:00.001+05:30

Feel free to hop, skip and crash into Poo’s World of Blah and Tabasco for more 'Tidbits from Thailand'.

Notes from Thailand – Part 2 (The End)

2011-10-05T23:23:00.001+05:30

I like calling our time in Krabi ‘the holiday within the holiday’ as it was sandwiched between weekends spent in Bangkok. It was love at first sight (well, from the moment we stepped into our room at the Timber House Resort). It was also the much needed break I’d been looking forward to for months on end.

Thanks to the rain we ended up getting that massage (no, not the Thai massage as it looked way too painful) on the first day instead of the last. Did the rain dampen our spirits? Oh no, Sirree, it only led us to spend time in the pool (I’ll leave it to you to figure out how this non-swimmer managed that!) and prance around with our hot pink umbrellas (courtesy the resort) for the camera. By the evening we were done with playing it safe and figured we’d do those island tours come hell or high water.

Rain, camera, pink umbrellas (aka up to no good)

No, I did not get to see Maya Bay (Time and tide is keeping me away from Leo, eh, I mean “The Beach”!) or Hong Island thanks to the “big-big-wave” and I decided against risking it and arriving in Vietnam cast-away style as that’s where the storm was headed. We did get to see the Phranang Cave where people left their wish sticks (Diva and Poo, I will not say “IT”! :p), Poda Island, Tup Island (hey, we did get to see one sand bank atleast), Bamboo Island etc.


Phranang Cave

Chicken Island

Last but not the least we went mangrove kayaking. Poo’s job was to save the water-proof bag that stored our cameras if we capsized and the guide’s job was to save me or so I’d like to think (Some bits were certainly not shallow!) Poo passed on reptilian knowledge to our guide who in turn made sure we had an interesting and relaxed (Hey, I worked my arms off before getting there so it was a well-deserved break) tour of the lagoons and caves. Ask Poo, if you will. Oh wait , she’s an unreliable source so you had better take my word for it!

Anyway, the plan is to head back to Krabi someday and hopefully that’s 'someday soon'. A little birdie tells me that Poo intends to head back just so she gets to be called “chicken masala” again by the roadside Romeo’s. Maybe, just maybe, the tide will flow in my favour the next time (Connect the impossible dots from Maya Bay to Leo here!). Okay, okay, I’ll get over it already!

For more visuals hop over to “Mystique Melodies”.

(Part 1 of the post liveth here.)

(Photographs contributed by Poo and Moi)

Notes from Thailand – Part 1

2011-10-05T01:36:00.003+05:30

The holiday began when my Mum decided to warn me of the dangers of travelling in Thailand. Just when I thought I’d heard it all (thanks to a bunch of films set in Thailand) , her thoughts “flew” way ahead of her leaving me to decipher this - I was to jump into the sea with my inhaler when I heard the sea gong so as to save myself!* What!? I know, I know, bizarre advice indeed.

I didn’t end up in prison or jump into the sea with my inhaler but I did get goose bumps watching the lovely transvestites perform at the Tiffany’s Show in Pattaya. The only mistake we (that would be Poo and I) made was to leave our cameras behind as they had mentioned it wasn’t allowed. What we weren’t aware of at the time was that the lady boys step outside after the show so you can pose for a photograph with them. Oh well, you live and learn.

The Bridge on the River Kwai

We also made it to The Bridge on the River Kwai. I know you must think that it’s just a bridge (and now only a part of it) but thanks to the film (This would explain why I’m incapable of calling it anything else) I just had to see it. So see it we did but only after jumping in and out of a minivan (easy enough), bus (it took us a while to figure this out), taxi (yeah, we missed our stop!), minivan (this was at The Southern Bus terminal where we finally found one person who spoke a smattering of English) and finally a shared taxi. That was some adventure. Was it worth it? To me it was worth the while as I love stuff that’s a part of history. Fortunately I had a travel buddy who was game for this almost-wild goose chase.

War Cemetery - Kanchanaburi

The rest of the time was spent shopping and thanks to Poo there was nothing vague about it as she knew where she was headed. It finally boiled down to MBK Mall, the Chatuchak weekend market and JJ Mall (Shopaholic, that was for your benefit) and I must say I have no regrets about the hole in my pocket. What can I say, it was a “happy ending” after all!;-)

The River Kwai

Oh yeah, and then there was Krabi, but wait, let me give you a breather before launching into Part 2**.

* The real deal: I wasn’t to forget my inhaler as I wasn’t too good with water (a tendency to fall ill when exposed to the elements), and so was to be careful when going (typo alert: gong) into the sea.

** Part 2 hath been launched!

(Photographs contributed by Poo and Moi)

Once Upon A Time

2011-09-20T23:39:00.000+05:30

(The Glory Days Of The Desk Top)

I remember, I remember,

The place where I once sat,

The little corner all my own,

A pillar t'wards my back;

I sat there hidden from the world,

Or so I liked to think,

Those were the days when fun and games,

Mixed well with work – no sin!

(Note to Thomas Hood: Rue not the day Kaotic ruined your poem. She means well, so turn not in thy grave and eh, keep with the R.I.P theme please.)

Behind Locked Doors: The Inside Story

2011-09-03T21:41:00.000+05:30

Remember the “room with a view” I’d mentioned in an earlier post? Well, here’s a visual of it again to refresh your memory.

Now that we have that out of the way, here’s the story that goes with it.

My cousins, “Mad- Brains”, “Usually-Has-Brains” and I were sharing a room during our weekend getaway at Masinagudi. All three of us were up and about at ~~dawn~~ 7 a.m. so we could make the most of our surroundings.

Here’s how we did it. I stepped into the b-room and they stepped out for some fresh air and emu love. Yes, emu’s were the flavour of the weekend and I’m pretty sure they loved all the attention they were getting from the humans.

What I didn’t know was that the ladies had stepped out the window for their fill of morning glory. This in itself did not sound like a big deal when Mad-Brains first mentioned it, as the window was just a step away, so one could blame it on the Big Ole Lazy. That was until Mad-Brains decided to enlighten the rest of us poor mortals about the logical reason behind this move.

Q&A Session:

Q. Why does one choose to step out the window instead of the door in the morning?

A: Because one’s lazy, or you know… just because.

WRONG!

And the answer is…… *drum roll* because the doors were locked!!!

Chorus of voices – WHAT!?! THEY WERE BOLTED FROM THE INSIDE, MAD-BRAIN; bolted from the inside.

Not only was it your regular bolted-door system (just like the windows Mad-Brain!), there were options too; the front door and the huge glass door that opened out from our bedroom onto the verandah – just a step away, just like that window.

Lesson for the boringly sane Kaotic: Why use the door when there’s a window!?!

Of Ruins, Illusions, The Jungle and Tipu Sultan

2011-08-26T23:13:00.002+05:30

The weekend spent in Masinagudi brought back my passion for all things “Tipu.” I was all ready to snuggle up for a nap thanks to the fresh air, walking and sumptuous food when my cousin mentioned an abandoned post/armoury that belonged to the Tipu Sultan era. I muttered and mumbled but knew I had no choice but to walk out into the jungle again as not seeing it would be something I’d regret for the rest of my life. This time, the three of us cousins trudged through the undergrowth with our 10 year old nephew for company. He was the guide by the way.

Here’s what we found.

You can still see the moat surrounding it and no, I could not capture it on camera in its au natural state (The stones were stolen so there is no marker!). Also, I wasn’t too surprised to find that somebody had made a temple of the little room that’s sort of closed in by pillars. It was also the place we were planning to run into when we heard ~~bison~~ wild buffalo call out to each other in the vicinity.

All the talk about Tipu that followed brought back an old memory. A memory that’s haunted me for a while now as I no longer knew if it was just a figment of my imagination or not. Here’s an example of that imagination of mine and it happened over this weekend. I walked into a house with three bedrooms but was convinced I’d visited four of them in the evening. I was so sure of my evening vision that I investigated the scene in the morning, and voila, it was three bedrooms again. Magic? Non, non, just my imagination that’s capable of illusions such as this at times. Those times are rare, so try not to worry okay. ;-)

Back to the haunting: I remember visiting Tipu’s summer palace, the Gumbaz and the Mysore palace when I was about 8 or 9. I remember the magic of the Mysore palace as I was able to travel back in time without a problem and see the past with clarity like it was today. This happened again when I was in college so all seemed well except for this strange memory of visiting a dungeon, seeing a canon and shivering in the heat as I could feel/(hear?) the screams of the prisoners reach out to me through the ages. I also knew it was Tipu’s prisoners of war. It was a powerful memory and I’d finally written it off as me putting two and two together as the tour guide had been speaking and coming up with five. You see, I’ve visited Mysore and Srirangapatnam since but have never seen dungeons again and for some reason I kept linking it to Tipu Sultan and Palaces which would explain why I’d finally written this memory off as a figment of my overactive imagination.

That was until the weekend in Masinagudi brought back old memories and had me searching the net for dungeons linked to Tipu Sultan. Folks, I’m happy to report that my faith in my memory has been restored as the object of my search was revealed in all its dungeon glory – Colonel Bailey’s Dungeon it is and the restless grey cell that’s been haunted by this memory has finally been laid to rest.

(For more visuals of Masinagudi, hop over to Mystique Melodies.)

A Walk to Remember

2011-08-02T22:01:00.001+05:30

It was your average day on an average weekend but for once I wasn’t walking the streets of Bangalore buying provisions and the like for the week to come. I was walking rather aimlessly in Masinagudi with a couple of my cousins. Sorry, we had a purpose of sorts. In fact, our purpose was multifaceted in nature. There was the exercise, the fresh air, the beauty of nature and a “boy” at the end of the road. There were three of us and each one’s goal was different. The important thing is, we worked as a team to fulfill all our goals, which by the way, we did. A “united we stand, united we fall” kind of thing.

And so, we trudged on

And on

Until we gave up - Almost!

We’d been ordered to stick to the main roads as we didn’t know the jungle and to be honest we’re not that insane. I had no intension of running into “Akbar’s lair” – the infamous wild elephant with tusks that sweep the ground and a trunk that loves to toss people around before going for the kill. My way of dealing with this? I took my cell phone out of its hiding place and dumped it in my pocket. What!? You see, she-who-never-carries-her-cell phone around figured it made perfect sense to pull out the weapon of her choice so she could bid her family adieu before the elephant (I was sure it would be death-by-elephant) said hello. Eh, I figured they’d grant me a last wish or something as I’d never intended any harm to begin with. Makes sense now? Of course it does! To be honest there was a bigger chance of my cousin Teena killing me as my “nursery rhyme” refrain of the day was “Three Blind Mice!” Not very comforting really as I’d pipe up with it every time we took a wrong turn.

Anyway, getting back to reality and walking on main roads: The only animals we ran into were goats and cows which meant my cell phone remained tucked away the whole freaking hour it took us to reach our final destination; a destination that greeted us with elephant dung, deer and turkey. The latter reminded us of the Knights Templar. Oh come on, you don't see it!?

Footnote: The same walk through well known trails in the jungle takes only twenty minutes. Something we discovered when a kind “local” soul took it upon himself to show us the way back home. Now, we know. Ha!

(Photograph of turkeys courtesy Cousin Anitha)

I'm sorry. Now, tell me you're sorry too.

2011-07-28T20:51:00.000+05:30

An excerpt from an email I received:

Sentence 1 – Please pardon us for the negligence.

Sentence 2 – (Irrelevant for this post)

Sentence 3 – Once again, please apologize us for the inconvenience.

The Curse Of The Queen

2011-07-24T22:28:00.000+05:30

The Queen waded into the waters, offering herself and the jewel as gifts to the Gods in return for the power of the eternal curse. “May Talakadu become sand, Malingi a whirlpool and may the Mysore Rajas never beget heirs,” she commanded as the waters swallowed her whole.

(Picture courtesy google images-Darn, How could I forget to photograph "historic sand !?")

That was the image that remained with me as we wandered rather aimlessly over sand dunes in Talakadu after hearing the story for the first time. Yes, a lot of the story was lost in translation but in retrospect that was the beauty of it all as my version of the story was possible simply because of it. I suppose I should have been paying more attention to all the talk about temples buried beneath the sand but soldiers, war, kings, queens and curses were more my cup of tea.

Once upon a time there was a King and a Queen. The Queen was the fairest in the land (Sounds like a fairy tale all right.) which was why the King of Mysore wanted her for himself (OMG, Troy reincarnated!?). Fate was on his side as word had it that the old King was grievously ill (Uh oh, mortality can be cruel indeed.). Overcome by lust he declared war on the Kingdom of Talakadu. His band of warriors marched on to capture the fair prize (What’s that I hear about precious jewels?). Not only was the Queen beautiful, she also possessed a rare jewel that was the pride of the Kingdom(Okay, is this about the jewel or the Queen? Troy was about Helen, right? Then again, it might actually have been about treasure. Oh goodie, back on track with this being “The Indian Troy”. *sigh of relief* ). The Queen knew that it was now or never (Ah, now this is where the story veers away from the path of Troy and the fair Helen.) and took it upon herself to save her virtue( Did they just say that she was wearing a white sari or was that my imagination? Blame it on the sun and the sand but the thin line between myth and its re-telling seem to be blurring at a rapid pace here.) , the jewel and the Kingdom by uttering her now legendary three-fold curse.

The rest as they say is history or in this case a bit of a mystery. A mystery that had yours truly salivating over sand dunes for chrissakes. I can’t believe I’d never thought to dig deeper into the origins of the third part of the curse as that’s common knowledge to most of us. Then again, if I had, I wonder if the pulse of the scorching sand would have been the same. Oh well, I guess we’ll never know.

Reality Check

Once I’d gotten over the sun, sand and saliva I approached my good friend Wikipedia who told me to get over my fantasy and replace beautiful queens, lust and virtue with a jewel. All right then, so you can take my myth away from me but you can’t take away the fact that I walked all over a not-so-lost and buried city: not the first person , nor the last, just one among a million who made that pilgrimage to Talakadu; temples for them, the sands of time for me.

It Ain't Heavy, It's My Laptop

2011-07-23T22:00:00.000+05:30

The Sibling: Appa, I'm really impressed. You actually managed to upload the photographs onto your laptop.

Father: Heh.

The Sibling: Anyway, remove the folder from your desktop as it will make it heavy.

Father: Don't worry Sangu, I can carry it without a problem.

The Sibling: !?!?!?!

Weekends Away - Masinagudi

2011-07-06T23:59:00.001+05:30

A bunch of us cousins had been planning a trip to Masinagudi since time immemorial and we finally made good on the promise (a threat in the host’s book I’m sure!) a couple of weekends ago. Good company in the midst of mountains, jungle, birds and beasts is a recipe for perfection in my book and looking back, it was the best weekend getaway I’ve had in a while.

It’s been a while since I bonded with my camera and I reluctantly pulled it out so we could re-discover each other. It wasn’t the perfect meeting of minds but that’s only to be expected right? The good news is - we survived.

The Path of survival included:

· A room with this view. (No, wild elephants didn’t drag me out of bed that night!)

· A rooster who’d raped the poor ducks (oh yeah, you read that right!) as he wasn’t satisfied with his harem of hens or the one night stand he’d had with a peahen from the wild.

· Sweet little Emu who pecked away at anything that was offered them, including your head. I hear that it makes for a good head massage but I didn’t give it a try as I’m sure I would have offered up an eye instead.

· And last but not the least, gazing at the mountains for hours on end, the song of wind and rain in the background.

Oh yeah, there was bison, deer and a leopard too but this lazy photographer just gazed at them all and forgot about her camera. In my defense, the rest of the clan were as surprised as I was by the “cat” sighting, so much so, they joined me in open mouthed awe-gazing, saving the memory for posterity in their grey cells (Unless Uncle Alzheimer pays everyone a visit and steals the memory!), instead of on camera.

------

P.S. They say that there are two sides to every story and here’s the side I shared with my Mum. “Mother,” I gasped, “ I had yummy upma, coconut chutney (the Srilankan kind with lime in it), omlettes, sausages, idi appam, chicken curry………….oh, and I spotted a leopard too.” What can I say, every story does have two sides to it, even if it belongs to one person’s mind.

The Age Of Innocence

2011-07-03T15:23:00.000+05:30

Kaotic Does Not Go To Fairyland

Mary Jane’s (courtesy Enid Blyton’s Bedtime Stories) adventures in fairyland so fascinated my impressionable mind that I almost “popped” in glee on discovering the felled tree trunk on the upper lawn of the house that Jack didn’t build. In my mind it was exactly the same as the one in the Mary Jane story which meant I could now visit Fairyland.

To my Mother, it meant a little peace and quiet as I would go and stand by the tree trunk every afternoon that holiday and recite the Mary Jane ditty that got one into Fairyland.

I never gave up: day after day after day, I’d stand by that tree trunk hoping the elves would hear me. I never stopped believing i.e. until I grew up.

“Little gnomes and dwarves and elves,

Run away and hide yourselves.......................................”

The Secret Draw

I was reminded of the existence of my childhood “private” draw while talking to a friend a while ago. It was the bottom draw of the dressing table and the biggest one too. It was mine and mine alone, or so I thought. I was blissfully unaware of the fact that my Mother cleared it out every time I was back at boarding school. How did this go unnoticed, you wonder? Ah, therein lies the secret. It was filled with sweet paper wrappers, stickers, rope (the ones used to tie sacks up with), neon laces and random bits of paper amongst other "precious" things.

And yet, it was my private draw and my younger sister had no right or access to it. Of course this meant that she was obsessed with it and was always trying to check the contents of the draw when I opened it.

She never gave up: day after day after day, she’d hover over me as I opened the draw hoping to catch a glimpse of the secret contents. It never occurred to her that she could open it any time of day as it wasn’t locked i.e. until lightning struck but by then it was too late.

Innocent or plain stupid? I’ll let you be the judge of that but before you do, pay attention to the words of William Blake.

He who mocks the infant's faith

Shall be mocked in age and death.

(Excerpt from Auguries of Innocence by William Blake)

Three Peas In A Pod

2011-06-23T21:03:00.001+05:30

I'm sure you've realised by now that I tend to hang out a lot with a couple of sillies named Poo and Diva.

This is us.


Diva (L) and Poo (R)

I know. We ROCK!!!

Sulky Conceptualizer: The Diva

An Affair of the Heart hic hic

2011-06-21T07:43:00.005+05:30

I was at a wedding reception recently when this gentleman who must have been in his 50’s walked up to me and asked, “so how exactly do you know the lady?”

{The Thought Bubble:

KO: Huh? Oh, he must mean Poo, as she’s the one standing beside me at the moment. Why isn’t he asking her directly then? Wait a second…huh!?! *bland smile*

Poo: I think he’s hitting on KO. *smug smile*}

Drawing a blank, I smiled my bland question-mark smile which he seemed to understand as he added a mysterious foot note to the earlier query. Somebody, I believe, was interested. A ~~lifetime~~ few seconds later he added that it was the 70-odd year old Scottish gentleman who wanted to know about my relationship with the “still-unknown” lady in question.

{The Thought Bubble:

KO & Poo: Again, which lady!?! }

Finally, we pieced the puzzle together or so we thought. Good ole Scotty was interested in the elegant old lady I’d been talking to a while ago. I gave a sigh of relief and passed on the message to her granddaughter. She in turn chose to pass the message onto my Mum, who chose to enlighten the son (Talk about going around in circles!), who in turn smiled indulgently at the crazy women he knew and disappeared before we could blink, after which we got DISTRACTED. I’m no longer sure of the game plan (definitely not Chinese whispers) but our good intentions were brought to an abrupt end when we realized that the messenger had quietly disappeared.

Truth be told, ole Scotty and the lady in question were the only ones who were blissfully unaware of it all.

And yet, this rather bizarre exchange was the highlight of the evening – of sorts. After all, a mix of confusion and possible romance makes for good entertainment, doesn’t it? In my historical romance filled book – it definitely does.

{The Thought Bubble:

KO: Ha! There’s hope for me yet! 60? 70? 80? Uh oh…rewind…there’s hope for me yet. Amen.

Poo: Oh goody, KO might find love at 80. Well, she’d better as I’ve been waiting to walk in nude for her wedding since the beginning of time.

The granddaughter: Oh lovely, I am my gran’s chaperone tonight.}

-------

To be seventy years young is sometimes far more cheerful and hopeful than to be forty years old. - Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

Carry On, Doctor

2011-06-14T00:03:00.000+05:30

Spending a long weekend at a hospital gets one (in this case, one such as I) thinking of several things: of things that drive one crazy, of things that make one laugh and of course, “Grey’s Anatomy.” (Yeah, dream on KO!)

It also gets one jotting notes in their head for no rhyme or reason. Not to worry folks, I’m going to share some of those notes with you as I know you’ve been waiting with baited breath for this moment of Kaos!

The things that make you mad:

Cranky Nurses

I-don’t-have-a-clue Nurses

I-will-randomly-draw-blood Nurses

The-5.30a.m.-wake-up-call Nurses

Oh well, they may not be monsters but dealing with them was a live lesson in stress management for me, so do excuse the whinging.

The things that make you smile:

Your Dad (the patient) shuffling along the corridor wearing a sheet draped like a Roman toga. (I have no clue what he was thinking either!)

Family and friends (Some of them smuggled chocolates for the patient’s two roomies.)

The French Open (Talk about a sporty distraction)

The things that make you grateful:

Skilled, Eccentric and Safari Suited Doctors (The “heart” in question thanks you too.)

Enthusiastic Doctors (Doc, I agree with you, the inside of that stomach is a masterpiece. )

In a nutshell – Doctors! (Can’t live with you; can’t live without you.)

Doc, Doc, Doc, I’m just grateful for your skill and knowledge and am not complaining about the lack of “eye candy” this time around as I’m trying to pen a real world post here.

And finally, the one thing that makes you sigh with relief:

When the ordeal is over and you know that all is in fact - WELL.

P.S. The things that are neither here nor there:

A spin-off of the song “Goodness Gracious Me.”

{Sequential sense? - No Guarantees.

Truth? - It’s somewhere out there. :-)}

Goodness Gracious Me:

Kaotic: Oh Doctor, I’m in trouble.

Stomach Doc: Well, goodness gracious me.

Kaotic: My Dad thinks he’s the late JC**,

Heading for an endoscopy.

Stomach Doc: Hmm…

Kaotic: A flush comes to his face

And his heart begins to race,

It goes boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom

Boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom-boom-boom,

Stomach Doc: Oh!

Kaotic: Boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom

Stomach Doc: Well, goodness gracious me.

Stomach Doc: How often does this happen?

When did the trouble start?

My intuition’s telling me

You need a Doctor of the heart.

Kaotic: What kind of food is it

that creates this allergy?

It goes boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom

Boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom-boom-boom,

Stomach Doc: Oh!

Kaotic: Boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom

Stomach Doc: Open your mouth?

The Patient: Aaah. *inserts tube*

Stomach Doc: See, his stomach's perfect.

Kaotic: That’s good to know.

Stomach Doc: Well, almost perfect. *smile of satisfaction*

Kaotic: Are we done?

Stomach Doc: Yes.

The Patient: Ahhh....

Stomach Doc: My initial diagnosis

Rules out madness, not gastritis,

Hallucinations ain’t a problem here,

Palpitations are for me

Something of a mystery,

So you’ll be glad to hear

Now the stomach’s in the clear

Doctor Heart can now get you back on track.

Kaotic: Put two and two together,

The Patient: Four?

Kaotic: Now what you have just seen

Is a stomach that looks pretty clean

So may we return please?

The Patient: Oh, then what do we do,

For my heart keeps jumping too?

Kaotic & The Patient: Well, we wait for Doc boom boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom

Boody-boom boody-boom boody-boom-boom-boom.

Doctor Heart: Goodness gracious,

What’s this circus?

The Patient: Goodness gracious,

Palpitations.

The Patient’s Wife: Goodness gracious.

The Patient: It’s my heart.

Doctor Heart 1: Yes, it is.

Doctor Heart 2: Not to worry, you’ll be fine.

The Kaotic Family: Ahhh!

** JC = Julius Caesar

The Hotshot Miracle

2011-05-30T21:38:00.000+05:30

Item: Camera

Name: Hotshot

Era: 1980's - 90's

My Dad had a penchant for faulty cameras in the good old days so every time we said “cheese” we simply hoped for the best. Some images disappeared into thin air, some danced around in shadow and light and some actually made it into our photo albums with a clarity that surprised us all.

I didn’t know it at the time but her temperamental life was about to come to an end soon after she traversed the length and "not-quite-the-breadth" of Delhi, Simla and Manali with me. Ole Hotshot whirled, twirled, whimpered and gasped with the bravado of a dying warrior during the journey, leaving behind this memento for posterity.

Yes, it’s a blurry picture of the Qutub Minar and the Bahai Temple all rolled into one without the aid of photoshop.

In case you're interested, a day and a couple of random shots separate the snapping of these two pictures.

Garbage In, Garbage Out

2011-05-07T13:43:00.001+05:30

Hello there,

My name is Kaotic and I believe in entertaining myself by writing posts about “Nothing.” That word is really deep by the way. If you know me at all then you will understand the importance of nothings, for in my Kaotic bubble “something” usually materializes out of “nothing”!

All right, enough about nothing. Here’s something I’d like to share with you, my 2.5 real life readers (I hear that they usually leave most of their brain behind in order to absorb Kaotic’s deeply thought out posts!) and millions of imaginary internet bubbles (Hey, it’s my world and my fantasy so back off on reality already!). It’s a list that goes to prove how helpful Kaotic’s Workshop has been to a bunch of bubbles out there on the internet.

Here's a list of random search terms that find their way to Kaotic’s Workshop and the intelligent answers the posts they land on provide:

Q. Gentle reminder emails

A. If you use that term once more I’ll kill you with my” borrowed” ivoryhandled dagger!

Kaotic: Maybe people will stop using this term after all. *evil laugh*

Q. Poo Jinx

A. Yes, I have a friend named Poo and you’re definitely jinxed if she puts “kann” on you!

Kaotic: This is why I splash her name all over the place. *smug smile*

(By the way, linking this is an impossible task as Poo has a way of landing on her cute lil derriere, bang-smack in the middle of various Kaotic posts. Find the jinx yourself if you will. Go on, try it, sillies.)

Q. The meaning of Sea Legs by the Shins

A. Oh yeah, you need to de-code my response in verse to the lyrics in order to be enlightened.

Kaotic: This way nobody knows if I’ve got it right or wrong. *mysterious smile*

Q. Kaotic tube

A. Yes, this is exactly how you go about fixing a Kaotic tube light!

Kaotic: Psst, what is a Kaotic tube? *puzzled frown*

And now for the winner:

Q. Indian Rat Workshops

A. The thing is, it’s actually about Hitler,yeastless buns and rat shit.

Kaotic: What in the world were you looking for!? I’d love to know about this too. Wait just a second there - I am not an Indian rat workshop! *goes off in search of the real Indian rat workshop*

I always thought Kaotic’s workshop was about balancing my serious side but I now realize that no matter what I try or do, I can’t escape from the wise, insightful soul that I am. The Gods seem to be saying that it’s my duty to impart wisdom to human kind and who am I to refuse the Gods. Therefore, I solemnly swear to carry out this duty to the best of my ability by churning out posts of mindless wisdom for the rest of you simple souls out there, way before you ask for it.

Insightfully yours,

Kaotic.

P.S. You’re welcome. *beatific smile*

The Celebrity (Fickle) Love List

2011-04-19T22:43:00.003+05:30

Now that I’m all grown up it goes without saying that I surround myself with a bunch of mature, sane and boring adults. Which is why I wasn’t surprised when I found myself having to name the top three celebrities I fancy. There were conditions though; conditions that covered moral ground and reality. In short, he couldn’t be gay (reality check – dammit!), married or in a committed relationship (God forbid we commit fantasy-based adultery!).

And so my wise friends and I thought, and thought, and thought some more.

This is what my mind looked like at the time.

~~[ ~~Matt Damon~~~~ (Sigh)

~~Josh Duhamel~~ (Out damn lust, out!)

~~John Barrowman~~ ( Why God, why!?!)

Leonardo DiCaprio – Okay, enough is enough. He’s not in a committed relationship because I say so! Yes, let’s just ignore the writing on the wall as I need a decent No. 1 and that’s all that matters now.

Keanu Reeves – Yes, yes, we have a No. 2. (Could we stick to your "non-bum" look though please?)

No.3? *thinks forever* Got it. Matthew Morrison (I haven’t heard of any relationship so, eh, the end).]

And that my friends is how I came up with my rather wishy-washy list.

# 1 – Leonardo DiCaprio

# 2 - Keanu Reeves

# 3 – Matthew Morrison

I’m sure they’re humbled by the idea that “I” have chosen them. After all, they’ve been waiting for this moment and me all of their lives, right? But of course they have!

~~~~~~~

PARADISE FOUND:

The flame of love, it flickered hesitantly until Dee-vile mentioned Ryan Reynolds. The flame was back and it danced around in glee. It dumped Matthew Morrison without hesitation. She mentioned some others and it dumped him again and again and again. All was well in the land of #3 or so I thought.

~~~~~~~

PARADISE LOST:

In a case of divine retribution Matthew(Morrison) finally tired of my games and dumped me. Stumped, my ego wandered around in aimless circles until it saw the light. To hell with Mathew; after all, there’s Mark (Salling – are you even my type? ), Luke(Mitchell – I ~~googled~~ cradle-snatched this one out of the fading woodwork in sheer desperation.), John(I have no clue who you are!) and the rest of them. *slips away before reality bites*

Then And Now

2011-04-13T22:34:00.001+05:30

My friend Poo sent me a couple of scanned articles today. I believe they'd appeared in our school magazine donkey's years ago. Feel like a peek? Here you go.

YESTERDAY:

Poo was obviously born pervy.

(You must hop over and read her entertaining post here.)

KO had her dramatic head in the clouds even then.

(I blame the missing words on the printers!)

And this my friends is what it inspired. Hey, it ain't rubbish, it's called creative writing.

TODAY:

Poo wrote:

Dear Eleven-Year-Old KO,

Look what I found! Your article published in the school magazine.

Now I have a couple of things to say to you, seeing as I am finally older than you are, although still younger (but wiser) than Present-Day-KO.

You are NOT a cloud. Beautiful (or beauteous as you prefer the adjective) yes. But white and fluffy? You need to steer clear of the sickly sweet lollipops. Or is this delusional behaviour brought on by those coconut balls?

“I look like cotton wool because I am fluffy and white”. It is amazing that even at that age you chose to look down your nose and insult the intelligence of your readers.

“Mothers do their shopping and Fathers go to work”. Such blatant stereotyping of the sexes. It is a wonder you turned out like Present-Day-KO, who is something of a maverick.

“Watching them all the time”. Some things never change. Present-Day-KO watches everybody all the time. She calls it “entertainment”. Of course, she continues to kid herself that nobody is aware of this fact.

You fear that you will become “dark and black and feel odd with all the water” in you? Boy, puberty and related PMS is going to come as a huge shocker for you.

You will then “burst and water will pour out”? What a drama queen. I am also slightly alarmed that you have such morose borderline suicidal thoughts at such a young age.

Finally, just so we’re clear: YOU ARE NOT A CLOUD. White, fluffy, black, bursting or otherwise.

Please make friends with this Poo girl. She will prove indispensable to Present-Day-KO. Six-Year-Old Poo seems to have a penchant for weird things anyway, judging from her article in the same magazine. So you won’t have trouble in that department.

Do keep writing! Present-Day-KO’s writing is, if anything, even more delusional than yours.

Cheers,

Present-Day Poo.

KO replied:

Dear Six-Year-Old Poo,

Oracle KO predicts that you will grow up to be a relic hunter of sorts.

Here’s what I’d like to say to you when you find me on the page of an old magazine, buried deep inside an old black trunk that had to be pried open with your precious ivory-handled dagger. Older yes, but none the wiser!

Your Mother did NOT rear tadpoles in a bowl. An imagination is something to be admired but when you believe that your fantasy’s real (that’s what it’s called, lovey) it becomes what we call a lie. It can also harm a person’s reputation. . Don’t be hard on your poor Mother when you grow older. After all you are the cause of her traumatized outlook on your life.

You do not, even in your fantasy allow a one-horned cow to hump its baby. That is just wrong. Pray do not muddy the waters of this universe with that kind of ideology.

It is a relief to know that the one who believed it only natural for children to be abused (case of cow and calf) turns out to be a free thinker and adventuress. One who holds her head up high instead of hanging it down in shame. Good for you, but I do believe Present-Day-KO plays a big role in building up your tattered self esteem. I’m glad your choice of friends is grounded and real.

A dog with two legs, a snout and a ring at the end of its snout? Some things never change. Present-Day-Poo’s imagination is as wild and beyond reality as it once was. Of course, she continues to kid herself about the reality of her thinking.

Finally, just so we’re clear: UNDERSTAND THAT THERE’S A THIN LINE BETWEEN YOUR VIVID IMAGINATION AND REALITY. It’s time to wake up and get real.

Rest assured in the knowledge that Present-Day-KO will be your rock and guide in times of delusional excess. Be open and learn from her. That way, “The Truth” could be yours someday.

Do keep writing. I guarantee you that Present-Day-Poo’s writing is a wild ride on the witty and exciting side of fantasy. Hee-haw!

Cheers,

Oracle KO.

AN AMERICAN IN INDIA (NOT)

2011-04-04T17:49:00.000+05:30

What does it mean to be American? I have absolutely no idea and I really don’t want to do a dissertation on it either. So why bother with the question to begin with, you wonder? It’s simply because my so-called-friends have taken to a new theme when it comes to attacking me these days.

Baseless Theory # 1: The American Vibe

Poo: Here’s the deal. When we do Spain (Yes, we do a lot of things; dinner, instructors, countries, you name it, we do it!!!). I get the Spaniards and you get the Americans.

Moi: Oh sure, and all the Americans are just waiting for me, right?
Poo: Of course silly, you do have that American vibe after all!
Moi: Really now? Based on what exactly? The hundreds of Americans you’ve seen outside my door in India, or the stories you've spun in your head about my life in America in another lifetime, or…?
Poo: Oh phooey, you just have it. I bet you, I bet you, I bet you. Come September and you’ll see that I’m right.
Moi: Sigh, suit yourself Poo. If it makes you feel better, I’ll pretend to talk to these imaginary American men while you do the Spaniards. It’s a deal!

Baseless Theory # 2: A Point of View Equals “American”

The conversation had meandered into Real estate territory and Diva happened to say, “3BHK.”

Moi: I don’t get it. What’s with the BHK obsession here? Why can’t people just say three bedroomed apartment/flat/house? It goes without saying that a house with three bedrooms must have a living area and kitchen too, right?
Diva: You are so American.
Moi: Okay, this is a conspiracy. Poo asked you to say that, right?
Diva: Huh?
Moi: Then why did you call me American?
Diva: Because you’re opinionated?
Moi: Actually, I call it a point of view.
Diva: Please, you are so American! *dismissive tone of voice*

Do you agree with me on the baseless theory bit now? No matter, it’s not a fair fight folks as I have only my “borrowed” ivory- handled dagger to defend myself with, while they, rascals both, have their sabers, claws and baseless grenades. Not only is it a baseless war, it’s plain ridiculous, so I ask you, my objective people (Smriti - I repeat “Objective”) to help set the record straight.

Let the lassies know that they’ve had a bit too much sun and really need to get their delusions and facts straight.

In the spirit of my “born-brought up–dried out” in India ideology; Jai Hind! *rolls eyes at self*

P.S. This is what happens when I’m bored out of my mind, contemplating my lost voice et al. I write about nothing. Then again, according to the Gospel of Poo; Nothing equals Something! ;-)

Gentle Reminders

2011-03-15T22:57:00.000+05:30

I’m sure some of us are familiar with the term “gentle reminder” and the more I see it being used, the more bemused I am by it. When I see an email with the words “gentle reminder” in the subject line (Point of reference: # 3’s random person! :p) I see a knife dangling over the person’s head. In my head it’s an ivory handled dagger that’s hanging by a thread and is ever-so-slowly being lowered, inch by inch by inch.

To me, these gentle reminders would mean:

Gentle Reminder 1: Answer now or I’m going to let your manager know about it. This is your final warning.

Gentle Reminder 2: Answer now or I’m going to let your team know about your tardiness. This is your final warning.

Gentle Reminder 3: Answer now or I’m going to let a whole bunch of random people in the company know about your tardiness. This is your final warning.

Boom….all hell breaks loose!

Now I do agree that it’s frustrating when people refuse to acknowledge your email (I’m not empathizing with those people who copy the whole world for no rhyme or reason on every single email!) but why the love affair with the phrase “gentle reminder?” I’d rather someone just adds, reminder 1, reminder 2 and so on in the subject line. Oddly enough, I don’t view this as rude. In fact, I just see it as a straight forward reminder. More like a, “hey, you haven’t answered my email and I’m trying to bring this to your attention again as you may have missed it the last time around,” kind of message. Then again, my mind works in mysterious ways!

So here’s the dilemma. I might find this phrase “pretentious” but others might view me as “arrogant and rude” if I don’t add “gentle” to the “reminder”. And so I try and avoid following the “reminder-in-the-subject–line” pattern by simply asking people for updates in the body of my emails. And yet, there are times when you have no choice but to scream out your frustration in the subject line. Wouldn’t the word “reminder” be sufficient at such times?

What do you think? Does the word “reminder” without the prefix “gentle” sound rude or not?

P.S. An email I read today began with the sentence, “Just a gentle confirmation.” What in the world does that mean!?

Kaotic's Workshop

From The Bottom Of My Philanthropic Heart

By The Powers Of Kaotic

Draw From The Well That Never Shall Run Dry

Immaculate Misconception

The Fermentation of Kaotic’s Brain

A Few Of My Favourite Things

Shipwrecked? Not Yet!

The French Connection

Dial “A” For Inspiration

With Friends Like These, Who Needs Enemies!?! ;-)

Notes from Thailand – Part 2 (The End)

Notes from Thailand – Part 1

Once Upon A Time

Behind Locked Doors: The Inside Story

Of Ruins, Illusions, The Jungle and Tipu Sultan

A Walk to Remember

I'm sorry. Now, tell me you're sorry too.

The Curse Of The Queen

It Ain't Heavy, It's My Laptop

Weekends Away - Masinagudi

The Age Of Innocence

Three Peas In A Pod

An Affair of the Heart *hic hic*

Carry On, Doctor

The Hotshot Miracle

Garbage In, Garbage Out

The Celebrity (Fickle) Love List

Then And Now

AN AMERICAN IN INDIA (NOT)

Gentle Reminders

An Affair of the Heart hic hic