New Year is here

 This one is a special New Year Dedication to a Dear Friend.

As for its purpose, you'll get it as you read along....

Best Wishes

                          For

A  Happy 2012

New Year Wishes I am sending you

Are not for you, I am telling you

They are for a guy somewhere

So sorry, I know not where!!!

It’s an Apple that he craves for

Of that I am pretty sure

I wish that he gets the best one      

The one on top, the sweetest one

Ripe and red, round and mellow

And then he’d be the lucky fellow

He ought to tire to get that one

‘Coz the best is not the easy one

I wish him all the best of luck

To get the best apple to pluck

*At this stage if some doubts arise in your mind about my sanity level, please read ahead.

Some wise man once said:

              “Girls are like apples on trees.
                 The best ones are at the top.

The boys don't want to reach them

They fear of falling and getting hurt.

So, they reach from the ground

To get only rotten apples

These are easy, but not so good

So the apples up top think that

something is wrong with them when actually, they're amazing. They just

have to wait for the right boy to

come along, the one who's

brave enough to climb all

 

Worry not my dear

This will be the year

When the right one will come along

                       With hands and legs all too long

He will arrive all geared up for action

His will and charm , his main attraction

Would this be the one for you?

He has his eye on you

He isn’t scared of reaching high

Ready to go upto the sky    

                                                                                                         

But alas my dear, he has a basket

Many an apple he’s come to collect

This is not the guy for you

He wants you but many too.

Many such may come your way

With basket, bag or sack or tray

Yours is one that comes to you

Yours will come just for you

Pals may tempt him left and right

He shall know but wrong from right

He shall have options none

The likes of you in lakhs is one

He won’t find you in a store

You are worthy mighty more

All his kin and kith he’ll gear

To bend the tree and reach you dear

 

He shall win you, I do pray

Gale or rain or come what may

Greet the year with this thought

Happy you’ll be all throughout

Have A Great Year Ahead

May All Your Dreams Come True

The story does not end here though

There is a bit to follow

Go ahead and read that part

With a funny bone and a strong heart

      .

      .

      .

      .

If by chance, he is late

Know that it’s a game of fate

As you wait for the lucky man

There’s always a back-up plan

   

Found Guilty..and Sentenced!!

Last Sunday, I woke with a feeling of guilt. This is usually the day, I slumber off to my wish, not having to go to work. So in addition to the usual 8 hours of beauty sleep, an additional 2 hours is due every Sunday to add to my beauty.

But that day, I woke after sleeping only for 7 hours. Oh My God!!! How inefficient and incompetent of me. I tried to assuage my guilt by pulling the blanket over my head to return to slumber land. Just as I was about to land there, came the beep sound of my cell phone alerting me of the arrival of a message.

Normally my hibernation is not affected by anything less than a mini-explosion. I thought: “So, what is happening today?  Is my performance level going low in this one field where I always aced, be it among family or friends?” The guilty feeling gripped me hard. And as long as I am held fast in its claws, I cannot get back to sleep. Ticket to slumber land becomes invalid if you have already embarked on a guilt trip.

The problem was aggravated because I knew that my friend (with whom I share the apartment) was not up yet. Normally she is the boring early bird who wakes me up on Sunday mornings with the clatter of pots and pans when she prepares breakfast (of course, she has to try really hard to accomplish this….but somehow she always manages). Even she was asleep and it was only 8am and I was wide awake with my conscience getting pricked and poked from all sides. Poor me (sigh!!).  

After another 30 minutes’ futile attempts to snooze, I decided to call it a day (pun intended) and got up promising myself that I’d finish some of the morning chores of washing and cleaning and doze off  (with an extension to the usual quota) again after breakfast. I never doubted the practicality of this scheme, relying completely on my experience.

With renewed spirits, I rapidly finished washing the clothes when my friend woke and the first thing she said was “ Hey!! You’re up already!..What are you doing so early in the morning?”

Oh! The pricking was back and I suddenly felt like a deflated balloon. It was as if I had been caught red-handed stealing a sovereign of gold. I got away, mumbling some lousy excuse for my malfunctioning. But the anxiety was getting on.

“What if things don’t go as I planned? What if I am unable to sleep after breakfast?” And if I missed this opportunity, I’d have to wait another 7 days before I could compensate for the lost chances. But, what if the problem persists even then?

“I mustn’t allow that to happen”. I am determined. I finished my breakfast in a hurry, made my routine call to my mom and then cleverly turned off the cell (one learns from one’s mistakes), prayed for unhindered oblivion and closed my eyes. I could hear my heart beating….thump…thump..asking “will I  or will I not?, can I or can I not?”

I could not. This time the reason was…well… no reason at all. I simply could not sleep. I was wide awake which I shouldn’t be at that time on a beautiful Sunday. Sundays are for sleeping.

“What do I do now? Maybe I should finish the rest of the work – cleaning and ironing- have a heavy lunch and try reading a really boring book (one of the text books might help). Yes…That’s what I’ll do and this time I wouldn’t fail”. I got up feeling positive and went about working hard to tire myself out so as to ensure a successful afternoon siesta.

Everything went as planned. The exhaustion after work, the heavy lunch, the boring book-the recipe was perfect for the onset of peaceful slumber. Only… destiny ordained otherwise….

This time it was a nagging thought that kept eating my head. It was keeping me awake as if a little devil pulling my eyes open.

I was trying to recall the name of a former student with whose sister I chatted the previous day. The problem could have been easily solved by calling the sister, but my ego wouldn’t allow it. Having always taken the pride in the fact that I can recall names easily (refer the previous post on this blog), I wanted to figure this one out myself and I did that. But, by then it was tea-time. Suffice to say that sleep was still light years away.

After tea, I had some errands to run and suddenly this was the day my conscience decided to heed my mom’s words to not to sleep during sunset. A couple of phone calls and a neighbour’s visit kept me awake till 10 pm. “Oh ! Now it’s time for tonight’s sleep and no more time to catch up yesterday’s loss. And tomorrow is another Monday when I cannot afford to make up for the lost 40 winks (read that as 4000000)”

My conscience kept glaring at me. Finally the verdict was passed. Found guilty. Sentenced to 10 hours of mandatory sleep every night hereafter. How much I wish I could do that.

So friends, next time you call me, please check the time. I might be serving the sentence of my horrendous crime…poor me!!

The Name Game

I know a new word today---‘anomia’. For some, the word may be unfamiliar like it was for me until yesterday. But it refers to a condition which may be a very familiar one for all.  The word means ‘an inability to recall the names of people (or objects, but that is not important here). If 10 people are reading this (wishful thinking, I know) 8 of them would be thinking….”Oh!! ….I know this one”.

Many interesting episodes on anomia may come to your minds ; the protagonist may be you or someone else. Many may have fallen prey to this not so rare phenomenon.  Even I can tell you a tale or two.

My dad often behaves anomiac; like when he referred to a distant relative named Babu Rajendra Prasad as Subhash Chandra Bose (he at least remembered that the name was shared by a prominent national leader of yester years). But I am not sure if his condition can be called ‘anomia’, because he seems to have no trouble recalling names. On the contrary, he is positive that he knows the names- only they are wrong ones. I wonder if there is another term to describe this condition…’misnomia’ perhaps?

Anyway, it is safer and easier to have a conversation with my dad ignoring all the proper nouns. Of course it is an exciting and challenging intellectual exercise trying to guess the person he is talking about, for there will be some common factor linking the actual name and his-given-name, semantically, phonetically or contextually.

I, luckily, belong to the non-anomiac category, having an exceptional gift for remembering names much to the envy of many of my friends with an inferior RAM. All of us being teachers, dealing with a number of students, it is hardly surprising that may colleagues turn green when I call each student by his/her name.  Often seeing their confused looks, I have conversationally ‘called’ the students they are talking to , reminding my friends of the name of the person they are talking to; inviting a happy sigh from them and putting their nomo-ignoramus brains to rest.

On one occasion, when I was out street shopping with a friend, she suddenly startled me when she gripped my wrist hard. A terrified look on her face made me look in the direction of her gaze and I saw a student of ours approaching us with a big smile. I could guess the reason for her firm grasp, and soon gave her the information she sought from my hard disc. And when the girl reached us, my friend very brightly exclaimed: “Oh!! Hi XYZ….. so good to see you here”(intentionally naming her XYZ, lest she gets hurt that her teacher had forgotten her name)

Another friend has come to terms with her anomia so well and is an expert at handling the identity crisis, to the extent that she can have an hour-long conversation with a person without a clue as to what his or her name is where she has met that person before. This exceptional ability of hers reinforces my strong belief that individuals are differently blessed.

Dealing with anomiacs can thus be fun and often stimulating if you know they are so. But otherwise, it may be confusing, embarrassing and even dangerous, like when some anomiac, while introducing you to others, chooses to change your name or your father’s or worst of all your husband’s (or wife’s).

But these are all lesser tortures compared to what our anomiac friends often have to suffer. The line most dreaded by anomiacs? That would be:  “Do you remember me? Ok..then tell me…. What’s my name?” This is one situation where even I would love to be anomiac and shatter the horrible ego of the person in question and supply all sorts of weird names.

Ha!! I will soon do so at the next available opportunity.

My Idle(Ideal) Moments in My Friend’s Office

At this moment, seated next to my friend in her office as she, attending duty’s call, reads a very interesting ( she may translate that to 'boring' but I am in a positive mood today) article, I thought I should spend these idle moments in an ideal manner. So, here I am jotting down on a paper (borrowed from her), the thoughts that cross my mind each moment. But alas,…. that may not be possible because neither the pen (borrowed, again) nor my hand (not borrowed) is as fast as my (or anyone else’s) supersonic mind.

Now that I think of it, had I sat down to do some creative writing every idle moment of my life, I would certainly be holding the Guinness record for writing the most number of articles or stories or whatever. That tells you that I anyway hold the record for being idle. But the imperative word here is, as I have highlighted, ‘sat’. Normally I never sit down during idle moments. I am more horizontally inclined. Now you know why I didn’t ‘sit’ down to write and consequently why the Guinness record is somebody else’s.

Even these petty words would not have found their space on this paper had it not been for the fact that this office is devoid of a recliner (I know there is one in the next room, though). Very rarely do I get such unexpected idle moments. Can’t deny that I have my ample share of the planned and created types and spend them horizontally. These are moments unplanned for and hence really idle idle moments.

Now to face the question of how to spend them…. She asked me if I am bored. Not in the least. At least, as of now. The borrowed stationery, is taking care of that. So, would I be bored, if not for those? Now, wait a moment… let me take a look around before answering that one. Looking around, I can see that her office room is far better-ventilated than mine. One can actually see if it’s raining or snowing sitting in one's room. The wide windows offer you the view of not just drooping Asokas, but human beings too…and that’s what(or should I say ‘ whom’) I like observing, provided they don’t see me- even better if they don’t know that I exist. This can go on for quite some time and soon, unknowingly though, I would get lost in my own world of thoughts where sky is not the limit.

As I sit beside the window in that ‘pensive mood, which is the bliss of solitude’ (must agree with Wordsworth, though I’m not looking at Daffodils), the mind slowly slips, finds peace and I don’t know what I am thinking anymore. Is that meditation?- I wouldn’t know. What I know is that the background is conducive for meditation especially the light buzzing sound emanating from my friend as she reads her article (for her sake, let’s call it humming… remember, I’m in a positive mood today)

In between, she stopped buzzing..er..humming to ask me if my writing is done. Little does she know that this will continue as long as she reads. She is the inspiration for this one. After all, she is the one who asked me to come to her office so that we could go for a walk after she finishes her reading in 5 minutes. And she still has time..it has only been 45 minutes. But I don’t mind, as long as she provides pen and paper, and of course I am in a positive mood today.

When Alarms Don’t Alarm

Almost 15 years after leaving school, these days I am revising most of the lessons in history, geography, English literature and science. Though teaching Physics in the University, today I learned about the different tributaries of Ganga, and the life of Bhagat Singh. The credit for this continuing education of mine goes to my neighbour’s daughter revising her lessons every morning. This is helping me in two ways: First of all it helps me brush up all those long-forgotten topics like countries and capitals, Daffodils by Wordsworth, how plants prepare food and so on. Secondly and most importantly, it wakes me up. She has achieved what my 60dB alarm clock fails to do, a notorious late riser that I am.

As my neighbour has two daughters and their simultaneous loud reading falls on my still-sleepy-mind, I cannot say to what extent the revision is helping. For all you know, I may be mixing up the causes of the First World War with the administrative reforms of Akbar the Great. But these morning sessions are definitely helping me  keep up my daily schedule.

And during the last two months when the girls had their summer holidays, it was as if there was an automatically appointed substitute. For, every morning during the summer, exactly between 6:45 am an 7:00 am someone (I don’t even know who it is) in my neighbourhood was religiously practising whistling. It has to be a practice session. How else would you justify the rather discordant notes!!!

If you ask me for the most-hated sound, that would, without doubt, be the shrill tttrrrrrrrrrringgggg of my morning alarm. Very alarming indeed. Sure, it wakes me up….but cannot stop me from the ritual of turning it off and snoozing off again. It is here that the unsolicited wakeup calls in the form of whistles and textbook-reading help, making sure that I reach for work on time. The success of this system can be attributed to the fact that his vocal cords are not within my reach. I presume it is a ‘he’, since my friend and roommate said that only a ‘he’ will have this good lung capacity to whistle so long, loud and hard!!

This morning raga recital was going on like clockwork for weeks on end before I started associating wakeup time (the upper limit of the safe wakeup time, that is) with his whistles. Little did he know how much my day’s events depended on him. Or else would he have ditched me on that one occasion –the day  I ended up late at work- leaving me to wonder what must have happened, …. raising a million questions in my mind -  Has he fallen ill? Is he out of station? Or has he decided that he has mastered all he has to in whistling? Or has technology taken a giant leap overnight permitting whistling in silent mode?

Though unknowingly, even I had functioned as a clock for one of my neighbours. When I was a school girl, ever morning I used to call out for schoolmate as a cue to get out of the house so that we could go to the bus-stop together. This I did at 8:20 sharp without fail, regardless of whether I am ready or not. As she was staying two houses away, I had to be pretty loud for this alarm system to work. Very soon, I ended up as the 8:20 siren for the entire colony.

An elderly uncle in the locality once said that he forgot to take his morning tablet, the day I didn’t go to school. I didn’t believe him then, thinking he was joking. But now, I am not so sure. He may have been right; and now history repeats with me being late for work when my neighbour took a break from his whistling sessions.

In this age of hi-tech alarm clocks ranging from laser targets to grenades to equation solvers, such self-proclaimed alarms get you geared up for the day without actually alarming you. Only, don’t rely on their reliability as has already been proved by me and on me. But, that is the charm of the whole affair. After all who wants to run like a clock?

Lost By Words

A few days back I happened to read an article in which the author described the various erroneous signboards and menu cards that he (or was it she) had come across. That reminded me of a roadside cool bar/snack bar I had seen which sold “Omplate” and “thandar coconut” and “battar milk”.

This is just one part of the comedy of errors. Sitting comfortably in a glass house, I cannot throw stones at others. So I might as well confess my inability in interpreting signboards, even correct ones.

I had once received a forwarded email which said that human brain is so advanced and well-equipped that it does not have to read a whole word to perceive it. It only reads the first and last letter of the word and is smart enough to guess the rest. Wow!!!- I thought.

            But the brain-owner’s attitude counts a lot here and in some cases this guess work may turn perilous. Once I astounded myself when I read the board on a shop-“Poison Store”. That’s  what happens when you read only the first and last letter of “provision”. Maybe my brain is “poisoned” and not well-“provisioned”.

            Another misreading incident was when I called a particular tailoring centre in our locality as “Hurry up Tailoring” because that was what the board said. When I was casually mentioning about this centre to a friend (who incidentally is a regular customer there), she burst out laughing and said- “Apt name you have given to the place where you have to constantly go and say-‘hurry up!’ ” My usually incredulous friend, though half-heartedly, had to take my words and believe that there is a board at the shop saying its name is “Hurry Up Tailoring”.

Next day she found me out at work and told me that the board actually reads: “Hurry Up: Tailoring Classes Start Soon”. I had obviously missed the last 3 words on the vertically placed board owing to a stray dog which was constantly sleeping in front of the board.

She added that there is another real board with the real name on it (she had said the name, but I can’t recall what it is). After passing by the shop at least 5 times a week, I have, to date, never seen this actual board. Anyway, between the two of us the centre is now called-Hurry Up.

            If reading is this bad, can typing be any better? I always knew I am a poor typist. But of course there are some friends of mine who help in keeping my morale high, being worse typists themselves.

My typing speed is anyway low, even a snail will get impatient. But I don’t even regard that as a handicap, when there are more severe inadequacies. I recently realized that I have been affected by what may be termed “acute typing dyslexia”. There have always been minor typing mishaps like ‘teh’ for ‘the’, ‘nad’ for ‘and’ and so on. I should have regarded them as initial symptoms of this malady and not neglected them-for cure is easier at the onset of any disease.

The last straw was when I was chatting on g-talk with one of my uncles. Here is an excerpt from the typed conversation:

me:  okk... then let me get back to wrk.... say hi to aunty  for me... do tell her abt my cahnge of job and location

and …..   read taht as "change"

uncle:  ok..bye....

me:  anf read that taht as "that"

 uncle:  okkkkkkkkk     bye..take care.

me:  and read that "anf" as "and"

i think i am suffering from  typing dyslexia today...

 bey...

 uncle: whlie on caht u dotn hav to be so acurte. realx, bye

 me: thank god tehre is somenoe worse than me....!!!!

uncle:  H AHA, that is the way u console and motivate people!!!

Well, his motivation helped and still helps. How else would I ever dream of taking up this adventurous task of typing such a long article!!

My name is Surya and I am not a male

Not the title for the next Karan Johar movie. This is my announcement or plea to the people around me.

Never before have I felt the need to accentuate my name or gender. In Kerala, where I was brought up, my name was normal (if not a very common one) for a female and I never bothered to give it a second thought. In fact there were some other girls with the same name in my school and college. Even then, I had known that 'Surya' is a name for the male species in Tamilnadu and some other parts of the country (outside the country, of course all Indian names are unisexual unless one fills the F/M column). This gave me a feeling of being special, but this special feeling cannot hold a candle to the rather special experiences that I had later on.

I was told that my name was a cause of anxiety (or was it excitement?) for those girls with whom I was supposed to share a hostel room in Mumbai as they were expecting "Mr. Surya". That explained their mixed feelings on finally seeing me. But it is my Punjabi friend Sandeep who takes the cake. She too had inadvertently raised the same kind of emotional concoction among those girls, but to a much greater extent as they had known that Sandeep was a student and hence, unlike me, closer to their age.

The stories of Mumbai end here. Much more was awaiting me here in Manipal, starting from the appointment letter addressed to Mr. Surya Harikrishnan (I somehow got that matter settled).

After joining here, I had to take a tour of various sections for all the formalities and verifications. Wherever I went, be it the HR section, salary section or the bank, I was looked upon as a strange creature. I, unintentionally but very successfully, invited second glances, amused looks , smiles or even stares from almost everyone. Even my students told me that when they were told of the new faculty, 'Surya Ma'm', they had thought that the HOD was either wrong or misinformed ( about either my name or gender).

One cannot blame any of them for their confusion. If Sooraj, Aditya, Bhaskar, Prabhakar, Divakar, Helios and Apollo are men, then so should be Surya, especially since there are so many "Mr. Surya"s around.

The problem reached the heights when one mid-morning I discovered that my mobile phone connection has been severed by the phone company, barring all the incoming and outgoing calls and message services. On contacting the customer care, I was asked to give my name which I did. The operator then said: " But Surya is the name of gents, and your form says you are a female ,that is why we have barred your calls...... and your voice is also like a woman".
I said: " That is because I am one"
They had earlier taken me for a "bad man Surya" who planned to abuse their phone service under the false identity of a woman. On talking to me the idea just got modified a bit. I was now the "wicked woman" planning some bad deed and putting an innocent man 'Surya' in trouble.

I tried to explain the situation to him, but he was not one to relent easily. Finally at the end of  10-minute-long arguments (with different people)and the verification of my d-o-b and other personal details that they made me quote, I somehow succeeded in proving that my name is Surya and I am not a male.   Phew!!!!!!!!!!!!...... 

So much for the Shakespearean thought. Something is indeed "in a name"-at least mobile phone connections. But the bard must never have even imagined of such a situation. As cellphones, netbanking, PAN cards, driving license, and electoral identity cards were unheard of in the 16th century, one may as well excuse the great man for saying" What's in a name...."

"All Routes Are Busy"

This is a well-known phrase to all, what with the ubiquitous cellular phones that rule our lives. On more than one occasions, all of us have heard this line, in the melodious voice of the operator. I'll now tell you the story of a friend of mine-no,...actually it is about her cell phone and its excellent network which makes any caller more than just familiar with the aforesaid operator. Had it not been a recorded voice, the operator would have been a greater friend of mine than my friend herself, as it is her voice that I get to hear more than my friend's.
Whenever I call, or rather try to call, this friend either "all routes are busy" or "the number I am trying to call is currently busy or switched off or not responding". Must say that this is, in any case, better than the operator herself not responding, forcing me to decode the silence on the other end.

This being the case, she has to call me. A strange stroke of (mis)fortune, her phone and network behave their best when she makes an outgoing call. They are apparently allergic only to incoming calls.

Finally, when she calls( she very frequently does....so sweet of her), I tell her of the many futile attempts of mine to call her. Anyone else would have thought that I was fibbing, but not my friend. In that case, she will have to mistrust the entire world population since I am not the only one falling victim to the cruel games of her phone and network. To my complaints, she replies: "Arrey,..you know my phone and its idiosyncrasies. If you really want to talk to me and have endless time and patience, keep trying. Else wait till I call you"

For a while, I decided to be King Robert Bruce and tried and tried and tried. But since there was no spider before me weaving its web, I soon became myself and settled for g-talk. I remember my friend once disclosing to me about the Achille's heel of her phone where incoming calls are concerned. Or we may call it an antidote to its allergy. She had told me that the only person who can successfully call her on the first attempt is her brother-in-law in Hyderabad.
I have now decided to get the number of that lucky gentleman, so that I can rest assured that, in case of an emergency, from Manipal I can contact her in Mumbai through her BIL in Hyderabad.

Stranger is the behaviour of her phone, when it comes to message delivery. No inefficiency here.On the other hand, it is a bit too much of efficiency that causes distress to her and others. It so happened that one evening I got a text message from her saying: "I hv been tryng to cl u fr so mny dys..bt cd nt. cn u cl me?" I was rather confused reading this, quite rightfully so, since we had had a 30-minute long conversation only that morning (she called , of course). This confusion, added to the anxiety arising from the thought of having to call her (I am developing a phobia for unsuccessful phone calls), made me giddy..and I started hyperventilating..gasp..gasp!!!
Soon came another message from her phone( I intentionally, do not say "from her", as I am not sure of that) saying;"Please ignore the last message. That got sent by mistake". This put me to ease...and I knew it was indeed sent by her, since only she will take the effort of typing full sentences without any shortforms. And that reminded me that the first message was one that I had sent her a few days back.
 My relief was short lived. Promptly came a third message whose content was same as that of the 2nd , ie.,asking me to ignore the previous message.
Now, if I act according to the this 3rd message and ignore the 2nd message, then I will have to "unignore" the 1st message which would take me back to square one - in the most perplexing situation- wondering how to call her.
Soon there was an avalanche of messages 1 and 2 in all sequences 1,2,2,1,1,1,2,2,1,2,1,2,1,2,2,1....( I hope she has free messaging plan) leaving me wondering what to ignore and what not to.
With the deluge of messages, my phone started complaining, asking me to empty the inbox, which I was more than glad to do.The next day, when I caught her online, I asked her about all those igno(ra)ble messages and others and she replied "Please ignore all the messages".

She rang me up last Sunday evening, but I missed the call. I saw that she had left messages....3 of them in fact.....all reading the same:"Generally called. Nothing urgent. No need to call back". But why did she send it thrice? To make sure that I will not, under any circumstance, call her back?( Did she really think that her network would allow me to call her? Now, that's what I'll call 'height of optimism')
On second thought, I knew it had to be the network playing villain (or comedian), probably considering me so dense that it felt the message will have to be repeated thrice until I grasp the idea ( no pun intended, Sirjee). In any case, I had only 6ps on my credit balance, so much for calling her back.

Next morning, I got a mail from her saying:
" Hi, I tried to call you last night. It was nothing urgent. A general call. I had messaged asking you not to call back. But the network reported saying 'message sending failed'. So you may not have got it. Hence this mail"
!!!!!!Now...what do you say to that?????
I don't know what to say...all I knew is that I wanted to wish her on her birthday which is 4 days away. Being unsure of whether, I will be able to call her, I typed:
" I'm planning to call u on ur bday. But thnks to ur amazing phone and its network, I'm not sure if I'll be able to. So if u don't get a call frm me till 8pm, pls call me so that I can wish u."

Today is her birthday....and here I am waiting expectantly for her call so that I can wish her.

Happy Birthday Dear Friend....this is for you.

Much Ado About Shoes

Of late, my shoes or footwear in general have been making me think a lot. Not that I didn’t think before. What I mean is that they make me think a lot about them. It was very recently that I noticed that I have some strange abilities or inabilities when it comes to footwear or my style of wearing(no pun intended) or removing them. When I sat thinking about it, I realised that this strange behavioural pattern can be traced back to the time when I started wearing shoes.

I am told (actually I can remember myself) that as a neophyte shoe-wearer, I had an inability to distinguish between the left and the right shoe ( or maybe the left and the right foot, now that I think of it). I know this is normal for toddlers; it’s the elders who help them wear shoes. But I am talking of a time when I was much beyond a toddler.

I remember that even at the age of 7, it was my ritual after wearing shoes to present my feet (with the rest of my body, of course) to any of the elders in the family with the question “thetto sariyo?” which translates to “wrong or right?”. This former handicap of mine is so famous in the family that even today, some aunts and uncles of mine come to me with this question, after wearing shoes. But they are only pulling my leg. They don’t suffer from this symptom, else I would have gladly attributed my inadequacy to some genetic disorder unheard of….maybe,..something  like lymphosarcoma of the feet !!!!

This, among the other footwear disorders of mine, has been eating my head, especially so, when I see kids 3-4 years of age very efficiently wearing the right shoe on the right foot (pun intended) and lacing them too… God!!! How I envy them!!

Finally, I decided to find out more about this problem and as a first step, decided to ask the New-Age –Know-All, Mr.Google. In my preliminary studies, I discovered that the idea of separate right shoe and left shoe was thought of only 2 centuries back( as recent as that).Until then all were like me. I was only taking more time to get adjusted to the new technology of separate left and right shoes. And recently, I purchased a pair of “straight” shoes- the ones which can be worn on any foot regardless of left or right.                            Wow!!! Who said goodwill is dead!!!

Anyway, that was a childhood disease which I have more or less overcome(I guess, one can ignore the singular similar incidents that occur even now, since old habits die hard).

The current problems are more complex and still remain unsolved.  I have noticed that while putting on shoes, as a rule, I have to always wear the left one first. This condition is so acute, to the extent that, if by chance, I start putting on the right shoe first, I remove it to wear the left one. Why this leftist mentality, even after leaving Keralam? The interesting fact is that all other kinds of footwear are exempted from this “left side first rule”.

Even more thought-provoking is the manner in which I remove shoes whether it is at the shoe-rack or at the door or at the foot of the bed. I have observed that I always manage to align them in an antiparallel orientation!!!...that too without any conscious effort.

This, of course, guarantees the cancellation of any magnetic field, electric field or spin associated to my sandals. But several other questions arise.

I have heard that ghosts leave footprints (though their feet don’t touch the ground) in a direction opposite to the direction of their journey. On correlating these facts, I cannot but wonder: Am I a semi-ghost? Or Am I a Vampire?

So troubled, am I that I at times feel my shoes are looking and grinning at me driving me on trips of introspection, retrospection, circumspection and the likes.

 I am not sure if you realise the gravity of my situation. You would, if you were in my shoes!!!