The Skip-Brain Speech

It was the summer of 2000. I was 17.We were a class of 64 - a skewed figure of 14 girls and 50 boys. The heat of Kochi and the stench of hardly-ever-cleaned water scarce toilets were slowly sinking in. There were some day scholars, who continued to be under the management and compliance requirements of their parents. Few others like me had achieved Nirvana and were living free lives far away from the vision of our parents, in hostels. Concepts like rights, freedom of thought (and actions) were still new and refreshing. The mind was gradually getting used to the idea of empowerment.

On one such morning, it was time for the electronics class to select their class representation (class rep as we called it). In the largest democracy of the world, it of course had to be democratic. A strange sort of intoxication filled my blood - the thrill of standing for yet another election; it was just couple of years back I was elected the school pupil leader, with the entire school voting me to power. "But this is college ; still should be a cakewalk", I thought. My mind raced to find the right words to put together for the self-nomination speech. The terrain is unfamiliar but I might make it through. I couldn't see three of my friends in yet. "As usual, late", my eyeballs rolled up indicating disappointment. "That should be okay, I guess- what difference does couple of votes make?", I told myself.

The first candidate rose up to the dais and delivered his candidature speech. I don't really remember what he said but there was an element of arrogance and self-marketing. "My words are going to be genuine and heartfelt", I made a mental note. Couple of others pitched their nominations thereafter. "Extraordinarily average", I thought. Hesitantly, a female classmate walked up to the dias. It was refreshing to see women standing up for themselves. My ears filtered out all the noise around. She went - "I believe one of the boys would obviously take up the class rep positions. My nomination is for the class vice representative. I hope to do a good job supporting the class rep in achieving his goals. Hope everyone elects me. Thank You."

For a moment, I suspected if the audio waves that hit against my ear drums had gone crazy. "Vice Rep?" "Support" "What?". My nerves were still processing this information, when I realized it was my turn next. My thoughts went blank. Where was my well-rehearsed taking-me-to-victory speech ? Before I realized , I could hear my lips delivering words that traveled directly from my heart, skipping my cognitive filters. "I strongly object to what my fellow classmate just said. So that everyone is clear, I am not here for the class vice rep election; (Do we even need a vice rep ?) I nominate myself for the class rep role and I believe I am fully capable of delivering the expectations, as well as any other boy in this class. Request all to vote for me".

After the skip-brain speech, I felt the class of 64 (minus 3) had come to a standstill;perhaps 60 odd pair of eyes looking at me in despise. I was in the awkward moment of a culture shock; as an afterthought, perhaps a realization of how the real world is. The voting process started and the results were out soon. I got 1 vote and that was my own :) . My friends walked in right at that moment. I protested that the voting process did not consider 3 important votes. I moved the court for re-election, which was accepted without any protest (everyone knew the outcome). After reelection, I got 4 votes. I looked at my friends and smiled to myself in pride - at least I have some loyal friends (not that they had much choice). Shortly after, my friends and I were labelled with the stamp of feminism. Years later, I was unanimously elected for the college students council. Not still sure, how that happened.

If I had to go back in time and change something that happened that day, it would be nothing. Standing up for oneself and getting 4 votes is any day better than not standing up at all !

Life, here I come !

I often feel that a lot of women do not put enough thought to their careers and their worth. I say so because when I joined my first job, I did not have any vision about what I wanted to make out of my career or identity. I knew I needed a job, which I am glad I found while I was still studying at my college, but beyond that there was no contemplation on how I should shape it.

At least from a Indian context, a huge number of girls do not even attempt to pursue a job in the fear that it is difficult to find one, even if they have been very successful in their academics. Those who make it, do not give it much thought when they decide to give it away to accompany one's husband, who has been offered a lucrative career at another location or abroad. Then comes those who give up saying that the competition is fierce and they don't get to contribute enough time for their family. If one manages to cross all the above, then comes the next big thing - children- this is where most give it all away. What is a mother if she cannot care for her young ! This is the point where everything they have been holding on to, slowly drifts away. There's no career for many after that. Of course there are many others who are resilient. They take a break and return to show the world that they exist. And then there are the last category of women, who hold on and cling to their identity in each of the above phases and refuse to give up.

This blog is dedicated to all those women, who refuse to give up, who believe that the fire within them will keep them going because it is brighter than the fire around. So where am I at the moment ? I am at a phase where I just finished 15 years of my career and I feel very energized and proud about it. I feel exhilarated that there were many many opportunities life presented to me to let go of my identity and I desperately cling on to those many long tunnels in the hope that light will eventually show up and it always did. I am glad that I have had learning and experiences every single day, which takes shows me how to be a better person; I am grateful that I have had people in my lives both at work and home, who chose to stand up for me and by my side. I have felt and feel blessed to have been able to work with women who have shown that nothing is impossible. Last 15 years have been hectic, challenging and thrilling all at the same time and I sincerely hope that I am able to say the same at the end of another 15 years.

I end with the below quote from Mick Kremling:
"You didn't come this far to only come this far"

Life, here I come !

The Two Friends - by Aditya Divya Vinod

Adventures of TinTin - To Gift or Not ?

Tintin has been my all time favorite comic..well till I ran into Calvin and Hobbes, the discovery of which left the dark corners of my craving soul divided. Bright colorful squares and rectangles packed into parallel strips where Tintin escapes from the poisonous arrows of a deadly assassin in Egypt to be captured by the Incas of South America to be sun fried. How I wished to grow up to be Tintin one day. The mystery, the excitement, the thrill of having escaped death yet again still gives me goosebumps. Not to mention his friends - the drunkard Captain Haddock whose family always has some hidden treasures in some depths of the world (how I prayed that my family had some too) and how his 'Blue Blistering Barnacles' left me feeling aghast; the absent-minded half-deaf Professor Cuthbert Calculus, whose pendulum always eventually found them the way (how I hoped to be geekish like him); I must confess that I did not have any particular affection towards snowy, who is Tintin's loyal dog or towards Mr. Thompson and Thomson, the twin policemen.

I was introduced to Tintin and his adventures in the year 1996, when a neighbor of mine developed a craze for it. Each comic cost Rs.80, which my parents would rather spend on groceries than on a silly comic of a red-head short man, who traveled the world. I would patiently wait for my neighbor to buy the new book and wait for a month or two for him to read to his heart's desire, before requesting him if I can borrow if for a day or two and those two days would be heaven.

It must have been the summer of 2005 and it was of course before I met 'Calvin & Hobbes'. It was my birthday. My friend at office met me at lunch and passed me a thin cuboid wrapped in a green gift wrap. I carefully opened it to find two VCDs of Tintin. My heart raced with excitement but it soon settled. I am an admirer of Tintin comics and not of the animation. The bright colors were what attracted me.  I gracefully thanked her and walked towards my work station. I took a left turn towards the corridor and at a distance I could see a not-so-friendly colleague of mine waving his hand towards me. My left eyebrow raised in suspicion. He came closer and said "Wait, I'll be back". I waited, just like the blue whale in 'The Hitch Hiker's Guide to Galaxy' wondered about it's existence as it sank in to the vacuum.

Before my innocent mind drifted into the events of how the blue whale became a sperm whale and was called into existence, I was interrupted. There in front of me stood probably the entire collection of Tintin VCDs, all brand new, obviously leaving me very confused; last thing I expected from a not-so-friendly colleague. My forehead wrinkled in doubt. My not-so-friendly colleague probably soon realized that he was not supposed to express any form of camaraderie. He quickly took a step back and said " These are from a friend of mine. However, you can keep it for as long as you wish". 'Yeah, like for infinity- which dumb friend of yours cared to buy this whole collection and let go of it without watching it even once for infinite number of years', I wondered.

At this point I must add that I am naive at certain things and trust people easily. Thus, in spite of the above story being incredibly hard to believe for a person with average trust deficit, I actually believed it. With great care I opened the VCDs, watch some of them with great pain and returned it dutifully in few days time.

Years later I had the opportunity to visit this colleague's house briefly. And there on the table, I saw sitting dust ridden poor Tintin's VCD collection, not having had much of any adventure.  Looks like his rich friend got amnesia after he bought them. I think they were better off sleeping peacefully in my book self.

And a message to my not-so-friendly colleague - ' If you ever read this blog esp. around April time frame, I have moved on from Tintin to Calvin and don't mind receiving the entire collection of Calvin and Hobbes comics. This time I swear I will keep it for myself for infinity and ever after :)'

A morning bike ride

People blame me for living in memories of the past. Below blog is an extract from the past, a memory from my pensieve so as to say (all my friends who appreciate Harry Potter would know what I mean).
 
It was a busy morning. It was probably a Monday, sometime in 2006. I had as usual missed my office bus. I closed my eyes and contemplated on what next.. an autorikshaw perhaps- I crossed the 6 lanes of road and reached the other side of the outer ring road and stopped a not too eager looking rikshaw driver. "Hundred", he said. My eyes popped out. "Hundred?!". I hate morning negotiations esp. the ones where I always fail. He roared the engine in an attempt to ignore me and move forward. I stopped him. "Eighty?" , I asked. He pretended that he couldn't see me. I took a deep breath; My eyes probed for any other rikshaws. None around. The buses ran over-packed, leaning to one side. I closed my eyes, taking air in as much as I can when I felt a soft tap on my left shoulder. I turned to my left and opened my eyes and there he was, hazel-eyed with a kind handsome face smiling at me.

"Rough day, eh ?" , he asked
"Yeah", I sighed.
"Want a lift?"

I remembered seeing him back in office, sitting in the same floor. Name, not very sure. I searched around him looking for a vehicle and couldn't find any. He pointed his finger to an old mirror-less Yamaha bike parked remotely 6 lanes across the road, right where I was standing before. 'And you crossed these six lanes in this traffic to ask me for a lift ?' , I thought.

"Sure", I said.

Eventually, I ended up spending more time on that bike than any other I can remember -  a friendship, that will forever remain close to my heart. Thanks for crossing those six lanes for me. It will always remain a fresh memory in my pensive.

Royal Mysore Walks - Tipu Sultan's Trail Part 2

So we started moving. Our Rolls Royce..sorry Willy's petrol jeep with WWII engine did not have any seat belts and I felt I was literally flying. It had no top , no back and no front (Faizan Baksh bend/dismantled the front portion to let "air" fly in as though there were no other means for air to fly in). Thankfully, there was a bottom to hold on to.

Ammu peacefully settled down at the back seat without putting up a fight and I held my front seat position firm and strong. For the first one hour of the tour, it sounded like we were giving the tour to Faizan. No man can ever compete with two women. Ammu and I have the skill to talk continuously about particularly nothing and on hindsight I am not sure if we ever gave poor Faizan enough opportunities to speak.

We vividly described Fort Kochi, Wellington Island, Boat rides (feeling nostalgic), Jewish synagogue, beaches, molestation of women in Ernakulam local buses and what not! I felt drenched in the memories of the roaring turbulent waves hitting against the wet sand, disappearing our sand castles; of the fishermen who delivered fresh fish in bicycles at Ernakulam early in the morning with their loud horns; of clams, mussles , crabs and prawns, thousands of whom I peacefully send to heaven without much thought or afterthought; of caravan ice cream parlor at M.G. Road/Broadway, which my sister and I with our brother visited as children; of the children's park next to marine drive with the broken children's jeep and scooters; and the best of all those boat rides with Mummy while she worked at wellington island. Home is where heart is and that's exactly where I go speechless and spellbound. Sigh! Millions of memories came rushing back. Faizan, I have no one but you to thank for this :)


After a short pit-stop at Pashchimavahini, we soon arrived at Srirangapatna. We were soon taken back to the 18th century. I could visualize Napolean's ships catching fire; the French revolution on one side and Anglo-Tipu wars on the other. The fort looked familiar , it was as though I had been there before. But when ? My neurons struggled to recollect. It sounded like the data stored in my genes were telling me something. What is it, I asked myself..but the answers would be revealed to me only much later. "Tipu sultan" .."Sultan Bathery".. "Feroke" ..strange voices haunted my head from deep within..

Seen above is the map of Mysore kingdom when Tipu Sultan was the ruler. Most of my friends and relatives should be able to identity with all the places we are from currently in the map above, including current Kochi, that was once part of Mysore. The primary part was Malabar district of course, which was given away to British East India company at the end of the third Anglo-Mysore war. This basically meant that for most of the period Hyder Ali and Tipu Sultan were the rulers of Mysore, Malabar district was part of their kingdom. I could now relate to all the voices in my head (Both of my parents are from Malabar region). Tipu's atrocities against Nairs of that region and him forcibly converting them to Islam is well known. The fort at Srirangapatna and at the ones at Bekal (Kannur) and Palakkad are similar. In fact, Bekal fort is much more beautiful with the beach on one side.


Coming back to the present, Faizan took us to Tipu's summer palace soon after and it was a fantastic work of art and architecture but both looked very trivial compared to the glory of the one and only Mysore Palace. In fact I liked Mysore Palace more than Taj Mahal ! We went to a mosque nearby where Faizan made us jump a lot in an effort to make it look like we were flying ?

The ride back in our Rolls Royce felt quick. We talked much lesser than the way to. A faint sense of sadness encompassed us because the tour had finally come to an end. Faizan finally left us at the Mylari dosa joint. The dosas were yummm... That concludes our 'Royal Mysore Walks' tours. Hopefully we run into them sooner or later.


It must have been sometime in 2009. I was at TK's wedding, when I was first presented with the business card of Royal Mysore Walks. It was a one man army then, probably the logo or emblem wasn't designed yet. I vaguely remember how it had Royal Mysore Walks written. I had promised to help with some publicity then but the treachery of a day profession clubbed with domesticity took over and there were only leftovers of guilt from a broken promise, which remained as a business card in my purse for years to come. With these three blogs, I have hopefully absolved myself of my guilt and sins. My soul can now rest in peace :)

Royal Mysore Walks - Tipu Sultan's Trail - Part 1

Ammu and I lay down on our hotel bed glaring at the mirror on the ceiling. The room was quaint and the reflection on the ceiling reminded us that we were together having a nice vacation. She gulped the orange M5 (Minute Maid Mixed with Magic Moments Vodka) and gave a glee. All the cells in our body were creaking with the morning 3 hours of cycle tour and 4 hours of Mysore Zoo. I handed over my glass of M5 to her because I had gotten my nose pierced that evening (Geever, forgive us - only Geever knows what to forgive us for and we leave our readers wondering who's Geever..) and wanted to avoid any mis-adventure. Thankfully the next day's tour wasn't going to start before 9 am. What a relief for the creaky muscles. We dreamed of gobbling up a lot of free continental breakfast (as Hotel Palace Plaza had advertised) before we hit Tipu Sultan's Trail.

The breakfast was horrible. So, there was nothing much in the stomach but our hearts were thrilled with the excitement of meeting Faizan Baksh (who was our tour coordinator as per the mail from Royal Mysore Walks). Ammu enthusiastically told me that she will sit in the front seat of the jeep if Faizon is young. I gladly agreed. I had to oblige to the wishes of a woman who was to be married the next month. I would have more opportunities; I pacified myself. We walked over to the clock tower and there standing at the far right end of the road was a young man with wind rustling through his curly flowing hair foreseeing a topless jeep. What a nice combo, my heart smiled for Ammu.

So from when do I know Faizan? Perhaps a little from the time he has been uploading his photographic creations onto RMW FB account. Not to mention all his work on the RMW website and the other few that can be found on the Gulliver travels website. His earthy creations create empathy because when one see his photos, the eyes get tricked and start feeling that we were there.

So where were we before we got distracted by Faizan Baksh? We were at the clock tower. Ammu's eyes giggled and she hopped on to the front seat. I clumsily took the back one. But we soon ran into some technical difficulties. The 1975 Mahindra Willy's petrol model was not built for women (or men) of height 5.8" or more. My head started bumping against the top iron bar. Ammu gracefully let go of her well-earned seat to let me take over. What a relief :)

We were soon on our way to Srirangapatna, sniffing Tipu's Trail.. Tipu sultan, here we come!