A ROAD..... BUT I AM AFRAID TO TRAVEL !!!

The fact that Mr. Frost finds a mention in this post is not because , the blog belongs to an English teacher. In fact, those who have been enduring me patiently, through most of the previous posts,will agree that my blogabulary bears no resemblance to that of an….any English teacher(coz people often ask me which subject I teach). An interesting discussion took place in class last year, when we took this poem up. Astonishingly a segment of students came up with a convincing argument about the fact, that Frost had actually regretted taking the road less travelled.(for more…read the complete poem)
Had Mr. Frost been around in Bangalore, in modern times, I’m sure he would have felt an urge to reword his poetry to

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
Took the one less travelled by
AND I NOW REGRET IT,COZ
I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN
THAT IT’S WISE TO TRAVEL
ONLY ON ROADS, OFTEN USED.

But reality is stranger, more perplexing and permanent than poetry. Sometimes the road we are about to choose, seems clear yet, one can’t see clearly at the end of the road and suddenly like a poor traveler one is worried, more about the destination ahead than the journey. And ,you hope that you had the luxury of not making a choice and following the beaten path.

Simply put, right now the new road…read job, I have willingly chosen, means a change of place (again), relocation for my family. If south Bangalore was suburb, then I will be living in the super suburbs, a hectic schedule, being on call 24x6 and teaching only boys in a residential school, working for a big big brand, being in the company of fellow faculty members, who have jaw dropping C.V’s and call some of India’s leading colleges their Alma matter, when you are welcomed with warmth that is startling, but genuine and to top it all, the lure of 3.5 months of unadulterated holidays .



I wish I had a fast forward button,to flash past life and see where the less travelled road ,that I have chosen, has led me.but then I forget,this is life and the only fast forward button I can control is that of the DVD player.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players,

This post is getting too poetic…too poetic for a blog or maybe it’s time to go back to school.

Bloggorhoea !!!!!

Ten things that tell you........you have been hit by the blog bug.love it or hate it,once bitten and there's never goodbye.Denial of the following ten observations is the first symptom of the ailment.
( Sometimes you don’t need a degree in medicine to analyze and diagnose ailments. )

1. Check blog replaces check mail as one of the first things you do, once you boot the computer. One of the earliest symptoms, probably a silent killer, it creeps in silently and you don’t realize it till you find yourself praying to god for…… “I hope I get some comments today”.

1 a)and when prayers go unanswered,some chronic cases, are known to they put in comments and sign them as 'annonymous' on their own blogs.serious medical help is required !!!!

2. You start chat with……READ MY BLOG? instead of HOW ARE YOU?










3. An irrepressible urge,to inform people about your current status as a blogger,will grip you. No matter how severely you may have to digress,all discussions lead to the same.

4. You get your daily share of news and current affairs from people’s blogs. You read blogs more than newspapers.

5. You seriously think you’ll make millions out of writing your blog. (Stop getting conned by those of 'write and earn ads')

6. You sympathise with blogs and brave hearts, who in spite of not receiving a single comment, remain undeterred in their mission to write…week after week .I salute them, for they have proved that you blog to be read, and not commented…BLOG LIKHO LEKIN COMMENT KE CHINTA NA KARO !!!!

7. You are convinced that if humans practice YOGA, dogs practice DOGA,then blogs should adopt BOGA…... it’s always a good idea ,in between posts, to let your blog meditate and breathe ….I mean give others time to read!!!!!Unless you are one of those blog veterans, who have a devoted fan following, and receive comments within minutes of posting…….

8. You suffer from PMS…..irrespective of gender.
‘ POST’ MANUFACTURING STRAIN….You are moody and depressed, without a reason. Silent and broody,classic symptoms of Bloggers block. One of those ill fated moments in every bloggers life, that remains unsolved, like the many mysteries of the universe, as to why one isn’t able to write.

9. Your list of real life friends is dwindling and getting replaced by blog buddies.

10. You connect instantly with people who have their own blogs. Like a global family, you respect and admire people who go that extra word to pen their emotions.'The blogosphere is our world and all of us fellow brothers...err bloggers.'

10 b)and about how we get introduced to people as 'meet X. she is the author of abc blog.' (our identity is largely derived from our blog!...or restricted to our blog.

PARKING AT OWNER'S RISK !!!!!

It’s six thirty in the morning and you have the entire day planned out for you,you promise to write something meaningful on your blog,promise to keep your cool,when madness descends at eight in the morning (and since effective planning is not really your forte), it fills you up with tremendous pride…read proud. You have an interview, (the third and the final one).You rehearse the last minute, as to how shocked you will be at the un(expected )pay packet offered and how you would coolly and professionally refuse the meager offer, and bargain a hike and in the end finally emerge a winner.But,then life would be such a plain piece of vanilla cake, had it not been for the unexpected slosh of events that are the chocolate icing on the cake. You impress the panel, with your answers, but can’t press them enough to give you what you asked for. It’s a fact well known and discussed but never acted upon,that teachers are the most underpaid of all professionals.They expect you to bring in a revolution, but want to pay peanuts because it’s a noble profession. You buy a little more time and carry your fragile ego carefully down the steps of the building.

DESTINATION 2… local friendly bank, that refuses to acknowledge that your cheque is missing and wants you to believe “what is yours will come back to you…if it doesn’t it never was”, a fraction of that interview confidence is discreetly used here too. As you head back, you speculate ,whether the consumer court would take up your case, and you catch the familiar sight of your two wheeler being scooternapped by the police tow away truck. You watch helplessly, for a second completely numb with shock. Several agony uncles, who had been a witness at the crime scene advise you to negotiate with the driver and get the vehicle off in 100 rs. An angel in the disguise of an auto comes by and actually agrees to take you to the police station(for auto drivers consider below their privilege to go distances less than 5 kms)


Like devotees outside a holy shrine (with green offerings), you patiently wait for your turn to pay up (that’s what it’s all about) in front of the inspector. “Ninna hesaru,madam”,(whats your name)the madam doesn’t really cover the arrogance in his voice.You make the mistake of asking him why your vehicle was the chosen one amongst all the others,and he answers by mouthing some incomprehensible mumbo jumbo, with a few madams thrown in for courtesy. Later, you are informed that all vehicles in the second and third line are targetted to be carried away.You wonder why in spite of all the rights that one follows ,why one is caught at the first wrong turn. A trip to a police station is always a humbling experience, both for one’s ego and our pocket.Three hundred rupees,to get your dear one back ,is a small price to pay.
I shall retain the slip, to remind myself, that parking is as dangerous as driving.So, look before you park, and that parking has it’s own set of rules and regulations,to be followed. I wonder if I hadn’t been to the bank,I wouldn’t have ended up being caught,but then realized that some roads are destined to be journeyed, some fines destined to be paid, and some posts destined to be written, by the sheer force of spontaneity.

DILWALON KI DILLI ????

I'm back home after spending 10 (short )days in Delhi,though Bangalore is much warmer at 23 degrees,the house seems cold. I (strangely) feel drowsy,lethargic, moody,and to top it all suffer from a severe bout of writer's block. I guess it is a hangover of all the excessive enjoyment, food ,tea and travel, that I indulged in. When you have 10 days to do a BANGALORE-DELHI-CHANDIGARH-SHIMLA-DELHI-BANGALORE route,a big(NRI) family wedding to attend,friends and relatives to catch up with in every corner of Delhi,then sleep is a luxury and a waste of time.

The positive thing about going on a short break is that you are not authorized to crib and complain,coz it is considered a severe waste, not even when you spend 5 hrs,hovering above Delhi airport(when it should normally take 3) in queue, like migrants in a ration line, waiting for permission to land ,a window seat then is a boon as Delhi looked breathtaking at night with a million lights sparkling like diamonds and add to that the sight of several other waiting(migrant)planes , flying like fireflies in the sky. One sight I shall never ever forget.

There's something very soothing about the bitter cold in Delhi,and that there are a few things you can’t resist doing…..peeling mattar and eating moongphali while basking in the sun,fighting over who polished off a whole box of Gajak,tucking tandoori aloo parathas at a road side dhaba, the wonderful feeling of slipping into a warmed bed,the weight and warmth of a heavy razai,and being tucked into bed,by your dad,when you are all of 33 yrs old ,mother’s logic that says...."kha lo gajar ka halwa,kuch nahin hoga",visiting old haunts like Nirulas and drolling over the dark and handsome 'Jamaican almond fudge',all over again.Feeling jealous as you see your husband reunite with his NDA course mates and friendships that have lasted 26 yrs...and hoping that one day, I too will boast ……meeting relatives who have seen you when you were knee high and now they see you with a son who is shoulder high…..dancing and singing all four nights before the wedding as if ones’ back and voice were insured for a million dollars.



There’s a small part of me (O.K…I lied.. a huge part of me that’s still in love with Delhi,and every year when I go back,I hope that the city would have changed for the worse, so that I could be happy and content,where I am. Beneath the spit and polish,it isn’t easy to live here. Gallis are common vocabulary and people lovingly call each other mother and sister abusers(and with such panache).so much so that the actual meaning of the sentence is completely lost,trying to keep track of the number of times the person has abused(god knows whom).Hypocrisy and corruption still run free on the huge network of flyovers and roads that adorn delhi,and that the common MAN'S motto clearly seems to be ‘aao lech karen’.But,It’s difficult not to fall for Delhi………for it’s humongous well marked roads ,for the steely metro that flashes and whizzes past you,for all the handrichshaws that will still carry you,when you feel lazy to walk that kilometer,for all the heavenly food right from the road side eatery,to the fine dining creme de la creme places,where when you speak Hindi,it’s good enough to prove that you are an Indian and that people clearly ignore,which side of the country you belong to.

Right now am just looking for remedies to get over a hangover of a different kind!!!!!!!