Numbers and nightmares

Everyone has certain fears in life. Most of those fears are silly ones like being scared of cockroaches or some slightly more serious like the fear of heights. Mostly harmless fears that remind you of their presence once in a while and otherwise lie dormant. Unless ofcourse it turns out to be a life-altering phobia, which I am guessing is relatively uncommon among most normal people. So, the point of ranting about the whole story of fears is - I have one. Its the fear of failing in a math paper. Now, you may say that its very common and most people have a fear or exams. Atleast most people who have gone through the Indian system of education are scarred through life with this incredible fear of exams. So, yes - I fear exams, especially exams dealing with numbers and mathematics. I wake up almost every night with a sweaty forehead and shivering hands believing that my life is doomed because I have failed a maths paper. It takes me a couple of minutes to realise that its just a dream and my life has other potential reasons to be doomed and the maths paper in question was long written and done with. And this is a recurring dream. Now this has got me thinking. Why is mathematics so scary? What is it about numbers that make them especially incomprehensible? Or am I just mathematically challenged?

Children and Lessons of life...

You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance :D . I have to admit with modesty, that I am super-patient... In my daily interaction with 6 year olds, I have learnt a lot of things. It is my pleasure to enlighten you..

1) Every moment in a child's life is a new moment, not based on the past, present or the future. (agreed, their past isn't much, but 2 or 3 years is still a lot)

2) Their attention span is 5 seconds. (thats good, especially when you spank them once in a while, they forget about it in 5 seconds and dont hold it against you)

3) They can come up with very ingenious ways to get hold of and play with things that are dangerous for them and an occupational hazard for me (stones, broken pieces of tiles, metal wires etc. etc. )

4) They can be unbearably naughty, but when you reprimand them for it, they can put on their most innocent smiles and make you feel like terribly guilty. Then a few mins later (read 5 seconds) they are back to being unbearably naughty (phew! its a vicious cycle)

But all said and done, I do enjoy my job immensely. After all, who doesn't like a tinge of adventure in their lives...

Midnight Masala....

It was 2 am. The roads were deserted. We approached the road where we knew he would be standing. From a distance we could see the small discrete crowd buying from him. We slowed down and looked carefully to see if everything would be alright. Just then, 2 policemen on a bike came by. We sat frozen in the car wondering if we should just leave or wait to see what happens. After a few minutes the policemen rode away. We decided to stay. We had to have it.

We stopped the car a safe distance away. Two of the guys went and bought it and brought it back to the car. One sip and I knew it was one hell of a good cup of masala tea and the experience of drinking it in the middle of MG Road at 2 am was just something else...

Et si tu n'existais pas...

Et si tu n'existais pas... | Online recorder

The Royal Ride...

Earlier, I had always made my qualms about auto drivers very well known.  I detest their arrogance and their rude behaviour. So I had decided I would not take anymore autos unless absolutely necessary. Yesterday, was one of those days. 

I was getting ready to go to class on my Scooty, when the rain gods decided that they had other plans. Just when I was about to leave, it started pouring cats and dogs. It was too late to take a bus. So, I was left with no choice other than to take the damn auto. Luckily for me, it wasn't easy to get one. And the ride left me reconsidering my hatred towards autodrivers.

This guy was very courteous. He spoke fluent English. And he was asking me which route I preferred. Whoa!! Who does that? :P

On the way, he stopped to buy fruits. After doing so, he apologized for delaying me, and went on to explain that he was on his way to pick up some lady. And everytime he went there, she always offered him something and he thought it was only fair that he should be taking something for her.  I was quite impressed with the guy by then. 

As it was pouring, and I was kinda getting a little wet, he suggested that I move over to the other side, so that I dont get wet. 

Finally, after I reached AF, he asked me what I was learning. I told him French. He asked me "Do they teach well? Do they speak in French to you? etc" and then he went on to add, "I would like to learn a foreign language some day".  

And then I paid him the money and he actually said "Thank you, m'am. Bye"

I was baffled. Its been ages since I came across courteous strangers, leave alone auto drivers. It was really nice to have been treated well. I felt quite royal. It takes nothing but a few kind words to change one's outlook. 

I hope this guy gets to fulfill his dreams... 

Waqt ne kiya

Re-uploaded this song once again. 

Waqt ne kiya | Upload Music

Postcard from the past....

I stepped into the post office and I travelled back by 15 years in time. The ancient ceiling fans, the wooden furniture, the banyan tree just outside, the low doors and high ceilings, it was right out of the champak, tinkle and gokulam world. The postmen in their khakhi coats were all sitting around a big wooden table on their wooden benches and were sorting out the letters. Their bicycles were parked under the banyan tree. 

It was such a different scene from the plush corporate, air conditioned, thickly carpeted, glass offices where you get greeted with a fake "How may I help you?". This actually felt real, like something you would immediately associate with a typical Indian scene. Laughing postmen, gossiping women, some old retired men standing in queue, and absolutely no youngsters in sight.

This took me back to the time when I was a little girl with big dreams. I used to wait for the postman to make his daily rounds every afternoon, hoping that he would have something for us. Atleast once a month, my grandfather would send us letters from Delhi. I read those letters again and again. They were not just letters, but tokens of immense love and affection. My grandfather's handwriting is still so clear in my memory.

The post office made me nostalgic. It reminded of those times when life was about climbing guava trees and summer vacations. It was about wide eyed wonder and curiosity to understand the world. It was about grandparents narrating stories while i would lie down cuddled on my grandma's lap. It was about feeling that the world was just my small and protected little world, which had endless possibilities. It was about hope and the ability to dream that I was capable of being anybody I wanted to be, It was just about being the child I was and who I have now lost and forgotten.