Well, shall we go?

A summer in Pictures - III

Mon, 10 Nov 2008 06:45:34 GMT

A little must also be said about (and shown from) the two least exciting weeks of my Eurotrip - the French Riviera, Venice and Rome. Alright, the French Riviera was really pretty, I met some great people too. Venice had amazing seafood. My grouse is entirely against Rome. I hated it the first time I visited it four years ago, and I guess neither of us has changed much in four years.

Read on...

A summer in Pictures - II

Fri, 17 Oct 2008 16:19:56 GMT

Sometime in January, while trying to get an internship in France (how? the old Indian way, I heard your dad works in….), I had an epiphany. I had a history of being ambitious and resourceful behind me and a lifetime of being ambitious and productive ahead. For one summer, could I not try and be something else? Spend a summer not building bridges and ladders and just be. Just be, hmm, but where? My diet allows me just one brilliant insight a day, and I decided that (surprise surprise) Europe will have the honour of entertaining my backpack and me this summer.

The rest at the usual place.

To new beginnings

Fri, 11 Jan 2008 00:15:46 GMT

The year 2007 has been an eventful one. Arguably, my most eventful ever. Starting with a life-altering epiphany on a train ride back home to picking up the apron and loving it (and everything in between), 2007 had quite a few soap opera tracks written into it. And this blog told you about it all, some stories in disguise, others with some dressing thrown on, but mostly like it was.

However, all good things must come to an end. iamart is now assuming her real name and moving to Wordpress, bag and baggage in tow. Okay, only her bags. Let's hope that the baggage went out with the previous year.

Meet me at
http://amritamahale.wordpress.com/

Salut mes amis

Thu, 20 Dec 2007 01:33:13 GMT

When you come back home after three months, it's almost like you never went away at all. The last 12 weeks now seem like a blur, a distant dream. A good dream or a bad dream? A dry spell or a wet dream? I can't say. I can just say that the last few months have prepped me up to live again.

--
A lot has changed in the last two weeks. The yen for South America has given way to an unhealthy appetite for France. Paris is my muse again. Hoping that the new year will bring lots of wine and cheese.

--
The new year will also bring a larger French vocabulary. and a grammar that can do justice to my thoughts. My knowledge of French is currently limited to the present tense alone. I must concede that this does foster a healthy philosophy. There is no past, no future. One lives in this moment alone.

Je suis chez moi.

And I can pretend that I never went away.

The Swingers

Thu, 29 Nov 2007 01:32:37 GMT

I have lost track of the number of times in the last two months that I have said or thought, I am so messed up .
On the other hand, I have also lost count of the number of times I thought I have never been happier.

Do opposites cancel each other out? Or do they just polarize your world?
An arc spinning round and round. A smile. A frown. In turns.

--
There is something disturbingly pendulous about grad life. People keep swinging between the extremes of beer pong championships and homework marathons. And life has no other equilibrium points. Yesterday, in my Classical Dynamics class, the professor innocuously said, the velocity constraint in the motion of a simple pendulum is clearly holonomic. If you are on the pendulum, you cannot access every point in space. You are constrained to move between two extremes along the arc of a circle.

Well, the pendulum is clearly content limiting its existence to one degree of freedom. And so should be everyone who's boarded the pendulum at will.

--
Last week, I was in LA, at a quirky place called Venice Beach. It was almost like walking back into the 60's, psychedelic colours, long hair, music, the warm smell of colitas and carefreeness and the works.

A part of me, a small part of me felt totally at home in this anachronistic alley.
(As an aside, I also said this aloud, which prompted a friend to say, in less elegant words, 'You are saying this only cos you are not getting any'. Ahem, not true.)

The escapism pervading the air found its match in a corner of my soul. However, there is a much larger part of me that cares too much about the world. And not the kind of care that makes one love the whales, the icebergs, the cows and the tribals. It is the kind of care that puts you on a pendulum when you want to be in the clouds.

Yes, my spirit is a flower child with a PR agent.

Hit and miss

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 07:14:19 GMT

There's a place for us, you know the movie song.
When you gonna realize it was just that the time was wrong...

- Romeo and Juliet, Dire Straits
--

Life sometimes puts you in really sticky situations. In Psychology 101, we learned that this dilemma is called conflict. There are several types of conflict: avoidance-avoidance conflict, approach-avoidance conflict and the worst of all, approach-approach conflict.

Why do I think that the latter is the worst, you may ask. After all, one might argue, the probability of a positive outcome associated with this type of conflict is one hundred percent.

Sometimes, a positive outcome is just not good enough. You can string together the ifs and buts and what ifs into a chain all the way to the moon and back. Or you can fashion a noose out of them to hang your peace of mind. Guilty as charged. To be hanged to death.

And of course, you are not allowed one measure of sympathy or self-pity. In the land of those who crave for bread, one who can't choose between cake and wine is perhaps a joke stretched beyond its elastic limit. An old gymnast trying his morning tricks under the moonlight. Pathetic but not exactly pitiable.

And life goes on. Happily ever after, but happily enough? Now, now can you ever really answer that?

Sole searching

Sat, 24 Nov 2007 06:07:47 GMT

I thought I was looking for Michael.
I was, in fact, letting go of Julia.

--
We all look for big signs and little epiphanies to make it easier to live with quotidian truths.

When you have been in a relationship for longer than your last three hairstyles, either you have severely damaged hair or you tend to look forward to little nudges of reassurance that you are indeed headed in the right direction.
I had one such moment a couple of weeks ago. I was shopping at Bloomingdale's at the upscale Stanford Shopping Center, surrounded by boots, stilettos, pumps, wedges and other such joys of life. It was at this point in time that I heard the voice of true love.

A frantic phone call to India. To the boyfriend of course, who was not exactly thrilled at being woken up at 7 AM on a Saturday.
"Sweetie, I think I now know for sure that I love you"
"Huh, what?"
"I am in a store full of $400 shoes. Some of them are so beautiful that I could cry. And not just because I can't afford them. And guess what's the first thought that comes to my mind - I want you to buy these shoes for me! Isn't that awesome?"
"Me? I am not sure I understand.."
"Don't you get it? I want you to buy me expensive stuff. I think I am finally coming to terms with this couple thing. Aren't you happy?"

Well, let's just say that Cupid didn't strike both of us at the same time. What are we mere mortals to make of time zones if messengers of God falter with them?

--
The rush of a new love is a feeling matched by few others. This giddying joy can often make you do things that you regret once you are out of the initial stupor.
Like buy two pairs of shoes, each more expensive than any other item in your wardrobe.
It can make you try on those shoes with every one of those not-as-expensive items in your wardrobe.
It can make you ache to look at these prized possessions every ten minutes.
It can make you wake up at the break of dawn to photograph magenta shoes against autumn leaves.
It can make you feel like a bimbette, and not mind it.

When you see every beautiful shoe as a part of your soul, bent and twisted into shape by the Devil himself, and still can't help loving them, you know you are in trouble.

Yes, the love of shoes can make you sell your soul. Bruise your toes. Sprain your back.
Falling in love, quite literally, can be hard on the knees.

Return

Thu, 22 Nov 2007 02:12:26 GMT

In the words of Günter Grass, to be human is to be curious, childlike, complex and immoral.

Having come to terms with my humanness, I am back.

Au revoir

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 20:32:57 GMT

Now that I have lost everything that I had - hope, control, love, dignity and you - I have nothing to offer. Since you won't take my word, I give you my words.

I put down my pen.

Happy domesticity

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 08:39:40 GMT

Sometimes, your life resembles you favourite TV show, and you think to yourself, damn, this wasn't even my favourite episode.
--

You idiot you called it upon yourself.

No tape, no glue
will undo, revive
renew,
what a second wreaked.
what a second wrecked

--
Never did I know that cooking and cleaning could be so therapeutic. Yes Bree, you got something right indeed!

My apartment made its debut on the social scene today. Butter chicken, rice, crab cakes and chocolate ice cream for five friends. Husbands, qualifiers, abortions, fidelity, weed, Vikram Seth, kisses (legitimate and otherwise), sports and games. The conversation flowed freely. And so did the wine. And for a few hours, the tears did not.

Rain rain go away

Sat, 13 Oct 2007 03:16:31 GMT

The big wet party pooper's here: monsoons have arrived in the Bay Area.

All my friends know how much I dislike the rains - especially of the incessant variety. In fact, if I think about what went wrong with my relationship with Mumbai, rains would probably be third on the list (preceded by laptops and local trains). Every single day from June to September when I was in Mumbai, I would tell myself that I will be far far away from this madding city in a few weeks.

However, someone up there clearly has a sense of humour. While the rains take leave of Mumbai in September - coinciding with my departure from the city - they arrive in Stanford exactly two weeks later, tongues wagging, teasing, taunting.

And to make it worse (or better), these are not the clumsy messy rains that Mumbai faces. These are cold calculating bastards, freezing all that comes in their way. Formidable indeed!

--
And of course, I have a personal bone to pick with these showers. After spending a messy and contorted hour and a half defuzzing your arms (Say cold wax in front of me, and I swear you'll star in your very own sequel of House of Wax - the horrific Paris Hilton starrer), the last thing you want is a cold wave that necessitates three layers of clothing.

The Return

Thu, 11 Oct 2007 02:04:02 GMT

After spending several dreamless days and sleepless nights, I meet you again. You have a new face, a new name. Truth in a new coat. Inspiration in a new skin. Renewed, reincarnated. Your blood is now green and your eyes are brown, but shut. The sun punches your eyes with its little fists, you say. Fear not though; soon, day will be drawn like worn curtains and in the dark room that is night, my story will develop. This time Kaiz, you will talk and I will write.

Redemption

Thu, 11 Oct 2007 01:45:46 GMT

I took pleasure where it pleased me, and passed on. I forgot that every little action of the common day makes or unmakes character, and that therefore what one has done in the secret chamber one has some day to cry aloud on the housetop. I ceased to be lord over myself. I was no longer the captain of my soul, and did not know it.

- Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

Sigh

Thu, 04 Oct 2007 05:48:55 GMT

To have another language is to possess a second soul
- Charlemagne

Isn't that so terribly romantic?
In a country where sport is everybody's passion, how I ache for poetry. The kind that breathes, moves and touches. The kind that preferably speaks French.

Updates

Sun, 30 Sep 2007 02:15:49 GMT

I am back. Not with a bang.
Some things are distant.. Sigh

---
So now I am a grad student. A grad student who doesn't drink beer, is not sure if she likes her major, is in a long distance relationship and most importantly, doesn't remember the convolution theorem.

--
On the brighter side, there's a lot to be happy about. The weather's quite nippy. I can wear skirts to class. Pizza. No one stares at my red hair. Corelle crockery is cheaper. I am smart. Pizza. I can wear short skirts to class. French. I quite enjoy cooking. And the classes at Stanford? They ain't bad either.

FYI

Fri, 31 Aug 2007 15:37:05 GMT

Yours truly is still alive and kicking. And unemployed.

Countdown

Thu, 23 Aug 2007 13:18:28 GMT

Just a few more days to go and my life is already unravelling into a riot of adrenaline, tragedy, jibes and sugar cubes.

10
After working for 18 hours straight, when I got into bed at 4 in the morning, little did I know what the next day held in its cruel little palm. Three hours of sleep and a sleepy car ride later, I was hurled headlong into my worst moment at work. Case confidentiality dictates that I can't give away much, but let's just say that in that moment, I thought I was one step away from what consultants fondly call CLMs (Career Limiting Moves) - and that too, for little fault of mine.

One thing I had convinced myself was that a year of working had made me a mature and stable individual who doesnt let minor mishaps rattle her.

And Luck proved me wrong. In style.

Thirty minutes after this high-stress moment, outside the boardroom of my client, Little Miss Consultant had a blackout and had to be revived with sugar cubes. Geez, how melodrama sticks to me like a strong fridge magnet. Ironic analogy. I was far from cooling down.

However, the show must go on. Three more hours of work later, I excused myself from the Big Meeting and headed back home.

Later that evening, at a family dinner, I was cornered by an elderly relative.

'Hope you are not planning on doing a PhD'
'Not really, just an MS'
'That's good, do an MS and get married, it's very important not to get lost. I also told your mom to watch out'

One round of starters.
Not content, he looked at me again, "You know Amrita, you should try 'Fair & Lovely'"

For a man his age, he is quite limber. Not too many 75-year olds can stretch their feet all the way to their mouths.

9
Was feeling quite chirpy this morning. Due to the seeming toxic nature of formal trousers and shirts, I opted for a breezy salwar kameez today. Freshly washed hair, kohl-rimmed eyes, I was ready to take on the world.

45 minutes of foot-tapping FM in the train. With a spring in my step, I walked into office. Tried to check email - and that's when it struck me.

I had dropped my RSA token in the train. Setback of 3000 bucks.

8 full days to go. Will each day be as eventful as these? God, if I have a vote I prefer blackouts to monetary losses. No more CLM's please. And PLEASE, no happy pictures of ex-es on Orkut / Facebook.

What about pesky relatives? Now that is a toughie.

21

Fri, 10 Aug 2007 06:23:37 GMT

I feel like a star-crossed Bollywood bride, who discovers true love a step away from the altar. Sadly, Real Life is not very amenable to such last-minute dilly-dallying.

--
Three weeks to go. To red hair. To "freedom". To eight hours of sleep.
And this morning, I deleted the countdown counter on my desktop.

--
I will miss consulting. I will miss capturing high-growth opportunities. I will also miss asking people to leverage their core competencies. I will definitely ache to hear , Congratulations for the stellar presentation . What I will miss the most is the simple 'Thanks coach!'

Bye bye roller coaster.
Well, not yet. There's one more stellar presentation to make.

Traffic jams

Fri, 27 Jul 2007 16:09:17 GMT

I wonder how many hours of my life I have wasted in the last one year at traffic jams. Fifty movies. A hundred dinners. A thousand good kisses. And more.

On days like this..

Thu, 12 Jul 2007 00:54:45 GMT

I can't decide if I am numb or sleepy or tired or irritated or agitated or plain fuming.
Mixed fruit jam for breakfast indeed.

--
Run, run, run while you can

--
I never could. Not one of my best strengths. But sometimes, run you must.

Rub-a-dub-dub

Wed, 06 Jun 2007 12:55:43 GMT

Inspiration is not a good marksman. I have the time and the desire to post, but have nothing to write about. Hence, I shall just ramble on till my evening snack arrives.

--
With every passing week, I realize more and more that the world is full of stereotypes. Or should I call them prototypes. Most people look similar. Sound the same. Write the same things too. (Has anybody noticed how so many blogs read the same! The same staccato sentences, a dash of introspection and pop philosophy) Are there just six types of people in this world?

In consulting, we are told to consciously structure our thinking. Observe patterns. Put items into buckets. It's a skill I have cultivated more in everyday life I am afraid.

People in buckets?

Conjures images of childhood when (for want of a bathtub) I would hop into a bucket every Sunday. Ah! Bliss :)

--
I have been living out of a suitcase for the last three weeks. Three weeks in swanky hotel rooms with inviting bathtubs. And not once have I used a bathtub. Sadly, in the bathroom of sterotypes, I know exactly which bucket I fall into.

--
However, among my blessings I count knowing some really interesting people too. People more refreshing than the lime-and-basil body wash that I shameless pilfered from my hotel room this morning ;) People who artfully dodge buckets every day. I guess I should just meet these people more often. And these people should meet me more often too (hint! hint!)

--
Back to demand-supply analysis now. Damn! I demand my evening snack!

Requiem for a dream

Mon, 04 Jun 2007 13:28:15 GMT

I would have buried Kaiz,
but how does one inter
an idea anyway?
I shall stitch a shroud
and just bury the thought
of wishing him away

City of joy?

Mon, 14 May 2007 12:12:42 GMT

After scores of mental posts, I have been prodded out of exile. Watched Metro yesterday, and here are my two bits about life and love in this metro.

--
The movie itself is okay. It started with promise, but somewhere along the way meandered into hohumhood. Alright, maybe not just okay, it was nice. Worth a watch.

--

A year ago, I wrote a paper (more a eulogy really) on Bombay, rather pretentiously titled, "Mumbai in the Media: A Battleground of Popular Imagination and Reality" (That was some pretty interesting stuff *puts trumpet down* ). However, as I was soon to realize, the periphery of Powai lake is not Mumbai. It is simply ludic delusion. Lakeside and cold coffee. Teen spirit.

Working in this city is a different story altogether. We have all read comics as kids (and some of us continue to do so). It amazed me to no end that Betty and Veronica, Ethel and Moose were all made of the same dots. Blue, black, pink, red, different coloured but all the same - you just had to zoom into the picture deep enough. Working in Mumbai can often be the opposite. You might like your job, love your colleagues, but on one of those long train rides back home you realize that if you zoom out far enough, there is no picture. There are just pixels, or maybe just one.

I have resigned myself to being single on weekdays. I am now used to life being punctuated by traffic and noise and trains and inertia. I don't always mind the numbness sandwiched between starting point and destination. It is this comfort that rankles me.

To new beginnings..

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 09:43:23 GMT

To those who dare to walk away...

--
(One of my favourite pictures from the trip to Jaisalmer. This is one of the few times that I feel like a better photographer than writer - the caption is all I could manage)

Global Village

Sun, 01 Apr 2007 06:48:01 GMT

Jaislmer raises some uncomfortable questions. For all the talks of a global village, what do you do when you actually step into one? How do you react when a woman in traditional desert garb smiles at you and says, hello, would you care for some cold buttermilk, with a tea-and-scones accent to boot? Which eatery do you choose, from the slew of options before you - Little Italy, Krishna's Boulangerie and other such whiffs from the culinary atlas? When the influence of tourists evinces itself in French, Italian and German - spouting guides, can you help but feel alien in your country?

I have had this feeling once before. I was at a beach, wading in knee-deep water. The sea was rapidly washing away the sand under my soles. I shifted my weight to maintain my precarious balance, but the ground beneath my feet couldn't bear the weight of my existence . In the middle of the constant hopping, I remember saying to myself, is this what it feels like to be displaced? From your roots, from your land, from your people. Can you choose not to change when the outlines of your landscape are being redrawn with every breath?

Back in Jaisalmer, a couple of minutes later, I found a mirror. There I was, with my camera and my bandanna, Lonely Planet in hand, struggling to preserve an image in formaldehyde.