Most of us experience excessively boring lives as adults. Except scuba divers maybe or at least I like to believe that they are thoroughly enjoying theirs. This is because we fail to see the beauty of small happiness. We all hope for great opportunities, experiences and love to come our way. We all hope to gloat over that one big story to tell others. But do we really let go of society's expectations and just go silly? Well hardly. One such day when I decided to add a little zest before breakfast was 14 July.  

14 July 2013, the last day India sent a telegram, a forgetful ode to the 163 year old service. It was a spectacularly mundane Sunday morning for me. I woke up to the cheerful chirp of my cell phone and as I browsed through the twitter feed, one particular event caught my eye. The telegram service in India was coming to an end. I breathe in the time of unromantic instant messaging.I had never received a telegram before. Not even a post card. And there it was disappearing before my eyes like horse carriages on English boulevards. I had to do something to get one. Anything. 

This is the day when I missed Sunday breakfast, tracked the telegram offices in Pune and their contact numbers and made frantic phone calls to all of them. Tiny spatters of disappointed began to dampen my enthusiasm. Pune telegram had shut its services a day before. After loud curses followed by a dozen more phone calls, a decision was reached. It had to be done from Mumbai. But the question still remained unanswered. How on earth do I get one of the last telegrams sent in India? Few more hysterical phone calls later to family and friends, I was pacing down the hallway, biting my nails and engrossed in thoughts. I had to weigh my options. Wait for a friend to send the telegram or travel around 350 km to just do it myself. It sounded crazy, pathetically desperate, even borderline insane in my head. There is this certain nervous obsession that grips you that completely negates any logic whatsoever. I was exactly in that place, an energized fixated heaven. My pace picked up and waiting for the phone call seemed like an eternity. 

The phone buzzed. My friend confirmed that the telegram was sent. A sense of relief spread over me. Although it was a false sense of achievement, it was immensely satisfying. The next 10 hours were spent thinking about the telegram and how it would feel to own one. A tiny piece of cheap paper with text in faint ink somehow evoked childlike glee and amazement. Would it make me happy or my heart skip a beat? Would it be a major disappointment? All such anxious questions floated in my head. The post board in the hostel was religiously checked for the next few days, hoping for the telegram to arrive. Days passed, weeks flew by but it never arrived. The thought of enquiring at the post office about it did cross my mind a zillion number of times but the enthusiasm fizzled out. As weeks turned into a month, the enthusiasm died as it spiraled into a vortex of ordinary conformity and dullness. A faint disappointment lingered like a ghost. 

Almost a month later, when I had given up on receiving a telegram, it arrived. The feeling of the weightless parcel in my hands did not evoke any emotions I had foreseen. They were amplified to the extent of a child receiving its favorite candy. Through foolish smiles and half droopy eyes, the envelope was carefully torn and the message was read. A warm smile lit my face as if Christmas arrived five months early. The telegram is now a gentle reminder of a frantic yet satisfying morning of absolute silliness. 

Few years down the line, I would like to open up the wooden box that holds it. Gently I would open it up, read the printed message and smell the ink if I can. Probably I will laugh on my foolishness or perhaps smile whilst remembering the absurdity of it. Maybe I would show it to my little kid and share the story over breakfast. Nevertheless, thanks to a dear friend, this piece of history will invariably light up my eyes and remind me that you are never too old to be curious and silly.

Statistics. She casually glances at him again but in vain. He seems to be listening to the professor with rapt attention and a slight disappointment settles in her mind. All the effort to look prettier than usual seems like an utter waste of time now. As she glances at him again hoping to meet his dreamy eyes, she sighs. “Maybe it is wiser to give up and concentrate in class” she thinks as the class progresses to multivariate analysis.

 International Finance. “And that was a very valid point miss! “, the professor comments on Kaajal’s answer and faces the white board to explain US fiscal policies. Her phone buzzes, the text reads “Show off!“.  She looks at him, surprised, as he grins toothily and shakes his head.

“No, not even once did he ask if I found the book engaging. Are you sure this is his favorite book?” quizzes Kaajal. She had carried the book to the class ceremoniously for a week now. This should have been a good conversation starter but he didn't seem to have noticed it. She dumps the book in her closet later.

It's 3 in the afternoon and the library is almost empty except for a few students. Most are either enjoying the weekend or sleeping in the hostel. Kaajal turns the pages of her new book noisily and a throaty whisper makes her jump slightly. “Didn't know you were into political thrillers” he comments and casually walks past to the newspaper stand. 

It is a regular day in the sports bar with a few friends. He is chatting with the pretty girl next to him. “It is a lost cause I am telling you. For God's sake, she doesn't even understand real cricket. This IPL is just show biz.”  She complains to her best bud as they gulp down another beer.

Twirling her hair, she winks at her friend. Read the text you dimwit she silently whispers through her teeth. The girls giggle at the private joke they seemed to have shared. The professor warns them and they straighten up in the seats. Kaajal has the amused, suppressed laughter look on her face. Through the giggles, she tries desperately to put up a straight face. She looks around only to find him nervously staring back at her. Check your phone he mouths silently. The text reads, “You know you are damn cute when you smile like that. I kind of like you :) ”

If you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too… (Rudyard Kipling)

There is something unnerving about poetry. If you don't understand it, it is just words. But if you are of those few who enjoy metaphors, it has the power to tickle your mind and enrich your soul. A fine specimen of such words is If by Rudyard Kipling. All you need is the mind to read beyond the syntax and the words will tear down the walls of your heart.

Does this looking beyond syntax happen in mundane and non-poetic situations too? Do we ever read the feelings behind the words that spout out of our mouths? Mostly no. We are beings of syntax; we dwell in the words and mere words alone. You'd believe this if you count the number of times you've felt sad or reacted immediately on a comment made by a friend or family. Though you realized the true meaning and the feelings behind the words later, for that moment you lived in the words. A harsh comment by your friend makes you cry, a snide remark by your lover makes you sulk. A politician's casual comment will get all the angry men howling while a celebrity author's loose words are condemned as blasphemy. Yes, we indeed live in a world of only words.

 Most of the time, it is increasingly difficult to think beyond the wreath of words. We attach our emotions, our fears and our anxiety to the words we hear. They are dipped in the colors of our own perceptions before they reach our ears. Anything and everything we listen to is a connotation of our deepest underlying apprehensions. We fret, sulk and ponder over imaginary meanings we attach to the words over and over again when all it takes is thinking straight. Thinking beyond the syntax is not an easy task to do. When the words seem like cold daggers or ice picks, emotions are bound to flow. As humans we accept sarcastic compliments far better than genuine criticism. Criticism takes courage to acknowledge and overwhelming strength to accept. Most of us have natural filters for hurtful comments and it is way easier to be mad at a person than to be reasonable and not take the words at face value.  

It takes certain strength of character to keep your calm and accept the words rationally. Then think about the real intention and figure out if the meaning we attached to the words resonates with the intention. In many instances, it won't because as humans we are creatures bound by our irrationality and emotions. But again as humans, we learn from our mistakes and we are blessed with a kind heart that can love infinitely. I believe our ability to love and have a heart is what differentiates us from others in the animal kingdom rather the brain's function of comprehending complexity. To look beyond the syntax is a tough promise to keep, but for some people in your life, I am sure, it is worth all the patience needed. 

You open the balcony door to a May morning expecting bright sunshine and hot air blown in your face. Instead it's cool and breezy. This, you might experience only in Bangalore perhaps!

When I landed a month back in the city my only concern was the evident lack of everything ‘Bombay’. There are no local trains, no sea face, no mash up of Marathi and Hindi and the long list of amazing places to satiate your taste buds. I missed all this and more the moment I read the sign ‘Welcome to Bangalore’ written in Kannada.

At first it was mentally tiring. Not sweating in summer makes a Mumbaikar very uneasy. Bangalore is either pleasantly cool or sunny and dry in summer. The Mangoes taste like Frooti here and finding a samosa stall is like Finding Nemo in the big bad ocean. There are too many main roads to count and the concept of 17^th cross road is hard to figure out. Knowing “Kannada gotille” roughly meaning “Don’t know Kannada” doesn’t get you anywhere either. Amidst unfamiliar faces then suddenly the feeling of home sickness dawns upon you. You are all alone in a new city. Your family is away, worried about your safety and health. Your friends are sending updates on where all they partied. You then end up spending most nights on the terrace looking out for familiar stars.

After spending three weeks though, the city kind of grows on you. The Masala Dosa in an Adiga is so much better than the average udipi in Bombay. Kannada is not a difficult language to learn. The weather is unbelievably good for summer. The first time it rained in the evening and as soft cool breeze blew, I had to remind myself that it's still summer season. Roads are very accurately named here and giving directions is the easiest job in the world once you get hang of things. The frustrating part is communicating the address in broken Kannada to the auto driver. He would want to be sure where exactly you want to go not before making fun of how you pronounce ‘Bilekahalli’ . That never happened to me in Bombay. You get into the auto and tell him “ Waterfield road chalo” and he will take you there even when he is blindfolded . Whether it is ‘some big white house’ or a restaurant in some corner of the city autowallas in Bombay have never failed me. It is like a doctor-patient relationship, I have learned to trust them. As the roads are accurately named and well maintained in Bangalore, I learned to walk distances instead of taking autos. This turned out to be a great thing. The lady in the flower shop smiles at me every morning as I pass her shop, the local supermarket lady doesn't insist for exact change and I know each lane and corner of the locality back in and out. 

New cities make you more aware and curious.For a person who never had Sambar, I am now an avid lover of Idli-Sambar. Those Manglorean recipes of fish curry are even more mouth watering. For some reason, the curd rice here is softer and lovelier. No more cravings for roti and parathas. The weekends used up for sulking in the room missing friends and family are now being utilized for exploring the city. Do I miss Bombay? Of course I do, with all my heart. Although now,  I have learnt to not hate Bangalore.

 P.S: Pardon the grammatical mistakes, will edit the post later.:)

Anthropology is interesting for two reasons. One, it tells you so much about what you need to know about why we do what we do. Two, it tells you so much more than that.

An article by a leading anthropologist claims that we take not more than three minutes to size up a potential mate. This is something we have developed as part of our intuition over years. So the next time you meet that smooth talking, intelligent and deep voiced suit clad man, go ahead and trust your instincts. Scary isn’t it? Oh yes, love is scary. In fact it is also way more complicated than we thought it to be.

In a TEDTalk by Dr. Helen Fisher, she describes love as not an emotion but a drive. It is like a wanting, something we crave for. It is an elevated state of being where even the most mundane thing done by the person we love seems extraordinary. You want this person and you just can’t stop thinking about him/her. It is like the photo frame just stuck to the back of your brain with super glue. It is the most amazing feeling in the world and it is no wonder we all live to “be in love”. It is further explained that our brain is divided into three parts- lust, romantic love and attachment. As a result we are hard wired to love many people at the same time but in various degrees of intensity. She goes on to say that “I don't think, honestly, we're an animal that was built to be happy; we are an animal that was built to reproduce”

This is also the reason for our suffering. We associate love to being happy while the reality is just the opposite. Love is about pain, the incessant itch to be with this person. It is not being happy with the person; it is having the ability to tolerate him/her. Haven't we all wondered how easy it is to over look the mistake of that one person we love the most in the world? Love activates the part of the brain secreting dopamine. It gives you the same rush as cocaine. It is an obsession like someone is camping in your head. Love activates the reward system, the system responsible for our motivation in life. And as we all know, it gets stronger the difficult it is to achieve a task. This explains why the harder it is to get the person, the more you seem to want him/her. As you are trying to forget the person who rejected you, your scum bag brain is increasing your motivation to get him/her back. And then you listen to a song that reminds you of him/her and it all comes back like nothing ever happened.

We were thinking love is about walking hand in hand on a tree lined road or simply lying on a beach looking at the stars. Well, it is much more than that. Our need to love and be loved is what drives and decides what we do in our lives. Don't you worry too much; just enjoy the feeling of being in love. One day at a time. In spite of all the pain it delivers, love still creates the magic.

Knowing all this is it wiser to stay away from it? Possibly not. Biologically impossible in fact. A world without love is a deadly place that we all know. All I would say is that love is like a chocolate cake,  just enjoy it while it lasts. You can count the calories later.