Don’t Leave Your Dessert In A Desert

There comes a point in life when you turn around and realize that you’ve been carrying extra baggage. Not emotional baggage but that big butt you’ve been lugging around for a long time. You fall on your knees and pray hard, “God, just make that thing disappear!!”. But right after that you drown all your sorrows in a big bar of Toblerone so that kind of cancels out your plea. 
The next morning you decide to put a full stop to your abysmal behavior. “That’s it”, you tell yourself. “No more scarfing down sweets in to this endless pit”. And then you go on a diet till it’s time for the next meal.
I have learnt that crash diets don’t work, fad diets don’t work, the Atkins diet doesn’t work even if all the celebrities are “doing it”, eating five “small” meals a day doesn’t work and depriving yourself of the most important food group – dessert, sure as hell does not work. So I have devised two new kinds of diet plan the “Eat Dessert First” plan aka “I-don’t-care-what-I-eat-but-please-let-me-have-dessert-first” plan and the “One Dessert, Two Spoons” plan.
EAT DESSERT FIRST

This is a very simple plan. All you have to do is follow it literally. Eat dessert first before your main meal. That way your craving is satisfied and you eat only half of your main course. 
Disclaimer : This doesn’t apply if you insist on eating the entire meal even after you’ve had dessert. If you do so then you have a problem.
ONE DESSERT, TWO SPOONS

Again literal translation applies here. Just remember that both the spoons are not for you. You order one portion of dessert and share it with another person. The only problem that this plan presents is that both of you have to agree upon which dessert to order.
Disclaimer : This plan doesn’t apply if you order two different desserts and share both. That’s just being greedy and you deserve to be slapped if you do that, you fatty.
Tiramisu at Tuscana Pizzeria, Nungambakkam

Fried Ice Cream at Benjarong, Alwarpet
If you watched ‘He’s Just Not That Into You’ then you will remember the line that Drew Barrymore’s cute ex-boyfriend guy tells that neurotic pixie haired girl in the end – “I’m/You’re the exception”, or something along those lines. Anyway, the same concept applies for dessert. Just like how every rule has an exception, every dessert has an exception. In this case it is ice cream. Ice cream is good. Never share your ice cream. If someone approaches you with his tongue sticking out while you are contemplating which side to attack your ice cream from, then punch him. It’s okay. He deserved it.
Bavarian chocolate ice cream at Baskin Robbins, Kilpauk
Sunday is my favourite day of the week. Waking up late, having breakfast even later, reading through all the newspapers, I love my Sunday rituals. Today on the way back home from breakfast I saw the most despicable sight that ruined my Happy Sunday mood. On the main road of a busy intersection I saw a decently dressed woman lift her little daughters frock and let the child go pee pee on the MAIN ROAD in front of so many people. I saw this and I was ashamed for the place I come from. It doesn’t matter how you dress and from what kind of a “respectable” society you come from, if you don’t have civic sense, or just common sense, it just shows undeveloped you are as a human.
Thanks to this lady and her daughters inability to control her bladder, my day was officially ruined. Or so I thought.
So as we were driving back, me belting out a monologue on how human society has fallen and my brother barely listening, I saw a sight that cooled my senses. The pretty yellow trees all over my neighbourhood have such a soothing effect on me. I felt really happy at that moment. There may be people present in the world who blot the Earth with their ungratefulness but the Earth doesn’t do tit for tat. She repays you back with beauty for your eyes and a cool shade.
This also one of the reasons why I love Madras. She shows me terrible things but also presents me with something beautiful and in a weird, mostly illogical way, I’d like to think a balance is achieved.

February = Not a bore because my friend said so.

February is such an uninspiring month. The only thing remotely good about this month is that extra one day that adds to your misery every four years. It is for this reason alone that February puts too much scene. If it wasn’t for this leap year issue it would be one of the mokkaiest months of the year.

February was boring but I had one super filter kaapi after so long. Honestly, the best coffee in the world isn’t Starbucks or some fancy espresso shot. It isn’t “kold koffee” either. Just changing some letters doesn’t make it good. The best coffee in the world is Madras filter kaapi.

You ask, “Filter kaapi?”.
I say, ” Idhu Bru Ma!”.
*cue laughter*

OkByePa.

Scar.

A couple of days back I woke up to read a disturbing article in the newspaper. A 19 year old sales girl from Chennai was gang raped by boys who were her “friends”. One of the boys, her classmate from school, had asked her to accompany him to visit another friend of theirs who had apparently taken ill. This unsuspecting girl went with the boy to the friends house only to realize that the boy wasn’t ill and was in the company of four other boys. They offered the girl a drink and after a few sips she realized that something was wrong with it. They forced her in to drinking and when she became unconscious the boys repeatedly raped her. By the time she regained consciousness they dropped her off at her house. The next day the girl was suffering from extensive bleeding and was taken to a Government hospital. The doctors informed her mother that it was a clear case of rape and asked her to file a complaint with the police.
On February 9th three cases of rape took place at the same night in Delhi. In the first incident, a 13 year old girl  was abducted and raped by a 30 year old man because she did not accept his Facebook request. In the second incident a 17 year old girl was kidnapped and was sexually abused in car while continuously roaming the streets  The accused was  a relative of hers. In the third case a 17 year old girl was walking back home from work with her friends was forced in to a car and kidnapped. Her friends who tried to fend off the kidnappers were assaulted. This girl is yet to be traced.
In Delhi, a constable was arrested for molesting an under age girl in a slum area. In Kolkatta a man was mercilessly beaten to death for a lodging a compliant againt some men who were sending obscene MMSes to his college-going daughter.
All these events took place this month. It makes me wonder if India is really a safe place for women. None of these girls asked to be raped. They were from working class backgrounds trying to find some means to an end.
I feel that men do not understand the extent of their actions. Most of these assaults are done just for momentary pleasure or it is seen as a way to take revenge on the girl. Sexual abuse is prevalent everywhere. I’m sure that almost every girl has experienced abuse/molestation of some kind. I’m talking of the smallest cases of molestation, a sneaky hand in a crowded area, an intended brush across the body. Sometimes abuse takes place at home, by someone who is in the family. The trauma that a victim of sexual abuse goes through is indescribable. It may be just a moment to experience pleasure for men but for the victim the after effects of this carries on through out her life, more often than not ruining future relationships.
Take for instance the girl from Chennai, she has been through so much mentally. It would be no surprise if in the future she does not trust any man. She may become skeptical of every person she meets and every relationship she has.
What are we doing to protect  India’s women? On one side we are advocating for the girl child. Educating people to not kill their daughters. On the other side there is rape and molestation at every corner. If this is how the country is going to be then the murdered daughters of India are better off in their graves.
As a country we seem to have lost our morals somewhere down the line. We have forgotten to care for whats right. We seem to have such a ‘take it in your stride’ attitude about everything. If the girl is raped or molested the blame game begins and all fingers are pointed towards the victim for “tempting” the man. I do not disagree that man is wired differently but because of this reason it his responsibility to keep himself in  check. There are stories of men molesting small children and pre-adolescent kids. “Temptation” does not play its part here. Abusing children is probably the most cowardly, most despicable and demeaning act there is.
It irks me to see that we aren’t taking issues like these seriously. But if a minister is caught watching porn in the assembly then that becomes front page news and every news channel worth its salt replays the video for days. Schools and colleges need to educate their students on these lines. They need to create awareness starting from the lower classes. The earlier children know about these things the easier it would be for them to understand how wrong it is when someone misbehaves with them. Schools need to have counselors who can help them in understanding what is wrong and whats right. As a society we are still shy to talk about this subject. We want to push it under the carpet and act like it doesn’t happen. But we need to open our eyes and accept reality. We need to be broad minded enough to not blame it on the victims. Parents need to explain this to their children.
As much as we want it to be, the world is not a happy, shiny place. It is dark, scary and like it or not we are vulnerable creatures.
These two issues are really close to my hear and it pains me to read news stories like this almost every day. I cannot imagine the angst the victim goes through. There can be no compensation for going through such a tough ordeal. Money cannot make the scars go away. Rehab and counselling can only do that much. Beyond that it is entirely up to the strength the person has to block the images, grit their teeth and move on acting like life is a happy place when at the bottom of their heart they know that things can never be the same again.

Jest For Jolly

I cannot believe how cold Madras has become. The mornings are so chilly. This is something unheard of here. By ten o’clock though, the sun comes out in full blast. These extremes are ruining my already wonderful skin. Nights are even colder. I used to make fun of my mother for wearing socks to bed. Now I sleep with the fan turned low and snuggle in to my purple quilt. The only thing keeping me warm is my new awesome Angry Birds sweatshirt that The Brother so lovingly got me. It’s so big! And soft! Perfect for the weather.

He also got me an iPhone and this post is a test run on the Blogger app. Hopefully, this will motivate me to blog more.

Okay I have to go wash the henna off my head but before I do I want to ask you, do you l know what the Tamiil version of Angry Birds is called?

Ans : Jangry (jangri) Birds!

Yes, I’m not called Mokkaisamy for no reason.

The monsoons have started and Madras couldn’t be any prettier. I love the chillness. I love it when the tip of my nose gets cold. I love that all the trees get completely washed. I love it when the wet crow shakes of the water from its head.

I’m so happy that the rains have started. I hope it stays for a long, long time.

Rain.

It’s been raining the past couple of days and I love it. There is something about the rain that makes me feel so happy. Hearing the thunder and watching lightning light up my room somehow helps me put things in perspective. Granted the roads are flooded in the morning but it pales in comparison to the beauty of the rain.  Every night I sleep with the curtains drawn open. Lighting continues to flash and I don’t sleep for ages.
In the morning I wake up to bright, unadulterated sunlight pouring in through my windows. Seeing all this gives me some kind of hope. Seeing all the plants washed clean makes me feel that you can start over. 
During Ramadhan I stay awake till around 5.30 am to pray fajr (morning prayers) and I never sleep till I see day break from my window, every single day. To actually see the night become day is so magical. And it isn’t sudden  or abrupt. Morning comes very gradually, very elegantly. The sun is in no hurry to come out of the clouds. Everything is so serene. The dark night becomes an intense shade of grey. Then the grey has just a tinge of blue. In a few minutes, a dash of orange is added. The orange gets brighter, gradually and finally the sun comes out shining happily.
Just watching this play unfold scene by scene, every single day without a hitch gives me a feeling that everything is going to be okay.
I can fret and fume and agonize about the future as much as I want to, but I know that in the end I will find what I’ve been looking for and then, everything will be okay.

Summer.

Summer is almost over. The days of sweltering heat are broken up by sudden bursts of rain. Is it the monsoon? Or the winds receding from the north? I don’t know. I never paid much attention in Geography class. In fact, I never liked Geography.
I miss summer vacations. Yes, it is summer now and I am on a vacation (a perpetual one if I so desire). But it is no match for the summer vacations I had in school. Summer meant two months of lying around and doing nothing. When I was in school we never vacationed anywhere fancy for the summer. It was always Tirunelveli for a week every year. The fanciest place I went was Ooty and Kodaikanal. But the rest of the holidays were spent watching an unhealthy amount of television and eating copious amounts of food.
I did attend the ubiquitous ‘summer classes’. I dabbled my hand in painting for a while and never returned to the paint brush after that. I went for swimming classes three summers in a row. Considering that I was in the water most of the time I couldn’t wear my glasses so I did not exactly make a lot of friends. I was more preoccupied with squinting my way through the water and making sure I didn’t bang my head in to somebody else’s.
My mother could never stand the sight of me lazing around the house. So, after swimming it was tennis for the next few years. Tennis involved a lot of wearing short skirts and running around. I loved it. My dad, not so much. And since I got to keep my glasses on, I made a few friends and met one of the weirdest girls I’ve ever seen in my life. 
All these semi-exciting summer vacations gradually came to an end thanks to tenth standard and the attack of the Public Exams. And from then on, summer vacations were filled with preparing for the twelfth standard Board Exams. Although I did visit a few countries in between, they were never a match for the summers of my childhood. 
During college, summers meant studying for semesters that were scheduled on days when the school kids had their vacations. So I had to study amidst screaming neighbor kids and had to withstand the temptation to watch the ‘summer blockbusters’ on Sun TV.
Although I love summer, I am a winter girl at heart. My mother says this is because I was born during one of the rainiest Octobers. Every summer my body reacts to the heat in disturbing ways. Two years back my face was entirely covered with heat boils. Nothing I did or ate or applied on my face made it go away. But once the heat reduced so did the boils. Thank God they left no scars. This year, the heat boils have spread to my scalp and neck and other weird parts of my body. But this is the effect of eating an obscene amount of mangoes.
And thanks to the daily power cuts, I don’t think I will be missing this summer all that much. As much as I love summer I hate the sweat and the heat and the permanently sticky skin. 
I am so glad I don’t have to travel two hours every day in a bus full of heat and dust anymore. Four years of that was more than enough.
If you are stuck in traffic at this time of the year because of ‘Metro Rail/Mono Rail’ work (last year it was bridge work) my condolences to you.

I’ve been wanting to write for so long but something or the other comes up and prevents me from doing so. First it was the exams, but that’s not reason enough. Then, my baby, my laptop that I had tried oh-so-hard to protect from virus attacks died. She went into surgery when she wouldn’t start up. They erased her memory completely and now she is in recovery.

The weather in Madras is beautiful right now. It rained continuously today. I love seeing the grey sky and feeling the rain. Sometimes I do miss the sun coming out in all its brightness but winters here are so short that it makes it almost a crime not to enjoy it. Getting out of bed every morning is a chore. Curling up in bed with my soft, worn-out quilt is my favorite pass-time this season. I have pretty thick skin but my mother is the opposite. I’m sure its just a couple of days more before she brings out her winter armor of choice – the rough brown colored rug and a pair of socks.

Every winter my mind reverts back to the previous rainy seasons. Most of the stupid decisions I’ve made were in winter. But then again making those stupid decisions is what made me the person I am today. I guess the cold just brings out that other side of me. So if I want to preserve what is left of my sanity then maybe, just maybe, I shouldn’t move to Reykjavik after all.
Ah decisions…

There is something about Reykjavik that fascinates me and no, its not Bjork. The only thing fascinating about her is her brain which gave her the OK to wear that hideous swan outfit at the Oscars. And I read that the entire day she went around leaving little white artificial swan eggs wherever she sat.

Who does stuff like that?!