Mulberries and memories of springtime long past

You begin to realize you've started living , when you stop trying to find a life and let all the sensations flood in . Often losing yourself , then stopping to wonder where all the  time went , is the best way to find what really makes you happy . Our best way of gleaning this is really but looking at what makes time seem to fly by fastest and leaves you sad that your time spent doing something or being with someone  is over .

My childhood ( only recently passed ) is a kaleidoscope of memories that sweep me away to a time when nothing mattered more than feeling the mud between your toes and being a child who would hide among the flowers making up stories about the clouds. I will always be grateful that I was blessed to truly have an amazing childhood . And I put that down to my parents and maternal grandparents .

I was born  and raised in a humid green place ,  wedged between the sea and a crown of mountains that we would drive to in winter to see the tops go white with snow in the distance . My grandparents have a house near a river that also passes mine downstream , and growing up , I spent my days in the huge garden filled with more  herbs and vegetables than I care to recall but you could see this lazy brown river flowing past . I believe that the reason I'm such a tactile person is because I loved squelching in the moist dark soil ( with bright green gumboots ) while my Appa ( my mothers father who taught me to love stories and to love the beauty of Gods creation in nature and animals , well in his own way ) went about planting mint and collecting mangoes from the heavy trees . My soul began to thread together under a canopy of trees and vines of bean plants that were rich with red and pink jewels in the shells .

One of my fondest memories are of picking the tiny flowers of pea plants and of the yellow mustard plants that stood tall . It saddens me that now , the flowers that bring me joy are not those simple blooms that are not presumptuous or found in bouquets at the florists .  That I used to find butterflies more beautiful than any dress , or that eating a mango with the sticky juice running down my arm  used to be my greatest ecstasy , makes me  realize just how much has changed.  That the mulberries I used to eat in wild abandon now posed something else , much more sinister .

The ancient Greek tale of Pyramus and Thisbe was said to be William Shakespeare's inspiration for Romeo and Juliet , a tale of two star crossed lovers who died at the base of a mulberry tree , staining the white berries to red and then black . Such a romance was cast over this simple berry , a mystic feeling that the bookworm in me craved  . That and the lure of silkworms as a seven year old . I had a shoebox of ten silkworms that I nurtured and spoke to until they receded into golden cocoons . I cried when I released them back into the mulberry tree ( note I had bought them at school ) , watching the fat moths flutter into an uncertain world so unlike the warm shoebox . All this became little threads I associated with childhood . Of collecting ripened mulberries until my fingers were stained purple and the finger marks on my clothes were left to stain . I had a white cotton handkerchief ( you know , those little fabric squares people used , and yes this is me patronizing you ) with yellow flowers embroidered in the corner . I used to squeeze the juice of the berries to dye it in a rudimentary manner for a few weeks . Watching the purple fade to indigo and eventually a sky blue.

The point of all this is that I didn't realize my cocoon had broken until yesterday , when I spent all morning writhing on the carpet with stomach pain that could only be explained by the large glass of blended mulberries .  I had red mulberry poisoning , apparently . Where I had eaten too many unripened red berries ( the sap is slightly toxic , but not too much ) and it a moment of realization that eventually the things that made you happy once , cease .

No longer did the sun kissed berries hold the magic of before , they were not as sweet , and the stain on my fingers no longer bright . All that was left was a memory of a robins egg -blue hanky . But the little bird has long since flown away...











Springtime was marked by the blooming of all the flowers and the arrival of berries . Strawberries , blueberries but especially ( and most beloved ) mulberries . There are many trees in the area , and three outside our house , and every spring they became heavy with the white and pink berries that were too young and sour to eat , the red berries that were tart but edible if you felt brave ... Lastly  the ripened purple berries that stained your fingers and lips with a color more red than any lipstick I will ever possess .

Today , after church , we drove in and I noticed ( after a long time ) that the tree was more red than green leaves .  A cloud of joy reminiscent of  infancy  descended as my  velvet covered pumps roamed through the ground covered in dark berries that glistened in the dappled sunlight .

A series of many brackets and digressions

The subject of my discomfort (or rather the many subjects ) in past month or so , that have drained me ,are finally over . Well unofficially at least , I do have a paper or two left (hardly significant ones , if that makes sense ) so to me , exams are over . And now , time stretches before me and so does the blueberry muffin that happily sits on a saucer next to me . And for some strange reason , I feel like some weird bystander to my life where I can hear a narration but wonder why this voice sounds so calm , so on top of things . This strange thought occurred to me last night at about 23:30 (according to the clock that was nearby ) when I sat in a rub of lukewarm water , shivering and furiously shampooing my hair . The night before a big exam and I was washing my hair , for the second time that day , and close to midnight . The logic is clearly not there . But then , is anything really illogical when you are panicking about the most frivolous thing and a very serious thing , simultaneously . Obviously I mixed my priorities up . The exam meant less to me , than the fact that my whole scalp (freakishly and for the secoond time in my life actually ) had broken out into "violent" dandruff . Stress-ruff I think it should be called . Which , is weird for someone like me who has an oil rig ( I reckon the issue of high oil prices could be solved by my forehead alone ) for skin . Obviously , someone up There has a sense of irony and humor . I mean , obviously ... But I'm not complaining . I mean , it's one of those things you have to have happen , to realize how utterly stupid I can be . And , I'm actually quite shocked at how moronic I must have looked and how helpless I felt . Its this weird sensation that nothing makes sense . It was late and I wanted my bed , I wanted the words on the page to actually make some sense and more than anything , I wanted time to just .... Slow down . And as petty as the problem of an exam and bad hair may seem , in the grand scheme of life , when you're crying in that bathtub , it's pretty serious . Its the impending fear of failure , that you're not good enough , that everything might just crumble down . I had never felt so unprepared , so it was unwelcome that my hair ( which I had cut over the weekend) had suddenly become Narnia (when Lucy first stumbled into that closet , personally I think she just found one of those closets that belong to those heiresses and the owner happened to be in it . With her illegal pet lion ) {and again , I go off on a tangent } . Anyway , the point is , hats are vital in ones life . Unless you go to my school , where uniform infringement akin to killing an infant with dimples (apparently dimples render them perfect , also I have a sister with dimples so I've been told all my life about how amazing dimples are , let's be honest ... It's a muscle defect ) . And the fact that I couldn't really hide this outbreak , was mortifying . Oh fickle I've become , it must be all this learning . It must be the regurgation of the constant garbage we're fed about being a certain way all the time . I should seriously consider becoming some form of a social outcast so I don't have to care about it all .... But caring is actually a lot less effort than constantly having to justify myself and all that . Not that I mind , I enjoy a good arguement regarding why being Atypical , is so much more rewarding than being some sad copy . But when exhausted , it's frightfully trying to explain to the goon addressing me that enunciation of words , does not constitute me trying to conform to some "other" race, but merely me doing justice to the education I was blessed with . But to try to explain that concept to some (and there really is no other word for this ) idiot who feels that throwing slang and obscenities , means he has "swag " ( whatever that may be ) . If I'm being honest , I pity , nay , I look down upon those girls who feel that what they need ( and I stres the word ) a man who has adopted this deranged , lunatic idea of what class is . Not good manners and values but the they wear their pants at their ankles , they swear like sailors and refer to their "women " ( note there are multiple partners ) as female dogs . It's a pet peeve , but again I have digressed into a puddle cottonwool and orange concentrate (another story for another time ) . In Essence , when in doubt , wash it out . Go to school where you can hide your bad hair days and lastly , for God's sake , don't fall into that trap of trying to be "swag" ( I seriously need someone to explain that to me m it's slightly moronic at the moment ) . So after many brackets and distractions , I've reached a very half-baked conclusion ....

Yes, it's been a while ... I can explain

Okay , so I'm sure I've said at some point that the procrastinator in me is terrible and often neglects the important things in life ... Wel this time I actually have a good excuse . First , life (in all her wonder and mystery ) had decided to distract me for quite a while . A good few months to be exact . And also (this is the real reason ) my computer kept crashing therefore I couldn't blog even if I wanted to . Which I did , because I usually have something to say about ... Well everything . Anyway for the past few months I've (as expected ) changed . I find myself wondering if that's a good thing and on the whole , yes . I like to think I've grown in a way that makes me more aware of life and those who are in my life . Right now , midyear exams are upon me and I am coping . Well , that's what I tell myself . Where I am from (the southern hemisphere to be specific ) winter has begun to slowly creep in . In the summery city I inhibit , it is merely a chill with temperatures most would consider quite hot . There's always a sort of magic in winter . As dull as it may seem , it is in the dying of the old (once so beautiful and fresh ) that makes way for something new . Many describe winter as a slump in ones life . That one must be going through trials and hardship in the winter . I disagree . The winter of ones life , is where you find what you truly are . The strength you possess and the newfound appreciation for Life in its summer , spring and autumn . The evergreen relationships become clear when winter arrives . Those common summer saplings wither away at the first sign of frost . It's only after the winter gas melted away that the (hardy and true ) seeds you had sown before (when life was still warm and relaxed , not much effort put in really ) appear . Be it with friends , family , work or any aspect of your life . You realize that the ones you thought you could shelter under in a storm , weren't really there after all . And (unexpectedly and quite serendipitous ) you see the people in your life who are there, evergreen and true . Winter is also when you gather your resources and just slow down . Obviously (emotionally and blog-wise ) I've had a bit of a long winter ... Cue cynical laughter . Now , to digress on a totally different note (because one can only drag a winter themed analogy for so long ) I have decided to embrace my status as an Atypical Indian (in case the name of the blog did not give this away , I am Indian ) . Now , what is an Atypical Indian ? Well , one that doesn't intend on being : a doctor , engineer , accountant , nuclear physicist or computer whizz . Yes , all stereotypical jobs , but it's kinda true . When one says that they actually want something else as a career choice , God forbid some older relative hears you . Now I get that it's all about trying to create a generation of successful people and that they want the best for you . But my question is , why can't we dream of a success in a way that does not require us to be maths boffins or scientifically perfect people ? Why aren't the dreamers , poets , creators of things (or even those who are gifted in other ways , not nessecarily artistic , just different ) prized if they achieve brilliance , like the others , if they receive mediocrity ? I fully understand that they are on completely different levels , but why chastise a child for being weaker at things you deem to be superior ? And then downplay their strengths ? Back to my flippant term for myself , an atypical indian is one who defies the norms expected and actually doesn't give a hoot if the aunts from across the road's daughter is a Physics whizz or If Uncle So-and-so's son is "such a lovely child " (regardless of his actual qualities as a person . But because he knows how to fix your computer if it crashes . They're probably great people (more than often , not haha ) and well done to them for being hardworking smart people . But why don't you talk about that girl who became a successful performer ? Or that boy who ended up starting a design company that made millions ? Yes , we should encourage excellence . But maybe for once , look at how each person has a streak of brilliance and instead of clouding it with your expectations of each and everyone of them to be Typical , why not polish that ? . So for now ( and the questionable amount or time that I may disappear to ) I shall let you insert an inspirational afterthought [here]

My castle in the clouds has crumbled ...

Guilt has finally found me , after a month of ignoring it , I realised with much chagrin that I've haven't had any introspection whatsoever for the past month or so . I think the philosophical side of me only awakens from her slumber during the academic year . December , presents an escape . An escape from the reality that is often so cold and bleak that we really just crave crawling under the duvet and just ignoring the rest of the world .

I build a castle in the clouds , a lethargic , blissfully ignorant place where nothing really bothers me for too long . I had a rather big castle this past December . It was a month of revelry after the exam period , my birthday included . This continuous cycle of parties , celebration , care-free days spent absolutely idle , has finally come to a close . It was only today , ( after three weeks of being back at school ) that my castle , began to crumble .

And it sat on my chest , heavy with reminders of responsibility , practicality and most of all a reminder that I needed to take up the plough again . Like I said , my castle's walls are disappearing and suddenly I have lost that sunshine that seemed to emanate from within . 

I had to breathe in deeper , just to get past that leaden lump in my throat , the struggle to open my eyes as blinking became a task that seemed to be arbitrary . My mind was a wasteland that had experienced a winter , rather like those one finds in the Northern Hemisphere . I stumbled around , searching for something to salvage . Any glimmer of a thought that had once held meaning .

What had I turned into ? Where was the deeper person ? I tapped my wrist , straining to hear if there was a hollow sound  . Thankfully , I heard some substance and my hope was somewhat restored . We cannot remain in our castles , as perfect as they may seem . Our imperfect lives struggle to maintain this peace . For a month or so ,hiding under the duvet in my castle in the clouds  had seemed like an ideal  plan . Now its time to kick off the covers , and pull down those castle walls . Because on the horizon I see , a storm beginning to brew , and one cannot fight the storms January brings ,  in your PJ's ... Something more is needed , from your soul and your body .

Death and all his friends

The brevity of life has never been clear to most of us . We don't appreciate all that we have . I have a story , about ( as the Coldplay song says ) Death and all his Friends . Death has never been familiar to me . A distant concept because I've never lost anyone close to me . I was always a bystander , saddened by the passing but not really comprehending the enormity of it all . The past two months has made the concept slightly clearer . And the phrase Death and all His Friends , becomes all too real  , all too quickly .

My grandfather , Appa (what everyone calls him) is from a large family . Growing up , I had only met a few of his siblings . One of them was his youngest brother . He was a man no-one knew much about but he used to visit from time to time . Dressed in clothes that resembled army fatigues he would appear every few months . To cut a long story short , Appa's brother had been diagnosed with cancer .

One of Death's friends had found it's way into the story . Sickness is often a very good friend of death . And over the months , it ate away at his body and also sapped his soul of all will to continue on . We will never know the pain he was in , fighting to stay alive while slowly , Death and his entourage strode into this life .

Appa's brother was a lonely man . He lived alone , renting out a room . Keeping to himself . In light of what happened later , it makes sense that his passing was all the more painful . When you are alone , the troubles stream through your mind . Replaying like a stuck tape , torturing you . And all the while , your body attacking you as it did to him as he sat alone in his room .

Maybe the whole troupe had been living with him when he woke up that morning , packed some things in a bag and told this landlady he was going fishing . Maybe Death and all his friends walked with him along the pier . Did they look on , as he jumped into the murky depths ?

The body was found , but was only identified properly two months later . We knew it was him . He went in his army fatigues , fighting to have the last say . The waiting was what got everyone .

The funeral was not big , a quiet ceremony as a few people ( family and his friends ) said goodbye . He was the youngest in his family . According to those who knew him , full of humour and good-natured .  The only one of Death's friends who attended was Guilt . He pointed fingers at those closest to him . Leaving many questioning their actions in the past few years .

There will never be an answer to our questions . They left that day on the pier . But they do make us realise that life is for the living . And that we need to analyze our relationships with those around us . We need to be grateful that the people around us don't let Death and all his friends reside with us . It ensures that when he does visit , it is only for a short while , and not for months on end .

The only reason I work during exams (I'd rather be sleeping )

Oh alas , 'tis exam season . Sigh ... I have abandoned all deep introspection to fill my mind with facts on Mitochondria and the French Revolution . It is sad but one must go on with life . It's that time of year when all the older people around me say that I should work hard and make them proud. Honestly , I am very selfish when it comes to dedicating effort to other people because I see little point in it (But I wouldn't tell them that because that's just rude  - I nod instead  ). I wouldn't do it for someone else but I would for myself .

 I don't think that our lives and careers should be centered on pleasing other people . I wouldn't study medicine or accounting  or rocket science just to please my parents ( also  - I suck at Maths and would fail miserably )  but instead I want to please myself and do something that makes me want to wake up and rush to work every morning  . I mean , isn't that what really matters . If you do what you love , then everything else falls into place because you aren't dreading what happens next .

I know this sounds rich coming from me , a sheltered , loudmouth teenager who hasn't lived yet . But I think that my philosophy keeps me going . It's not about where I'm at at the moment but where I want to be . Logically , one should work hard to get there , and I understand that . However , these sentiment's do not occur during an exam . Instead , you watch the clock tick painfully and wait .

After checking my paper three times , I'm sure that my answer is either right or wrong , regardless of how many times I stare at the page covered in blotted letters and scratched out answers . And as the invigilators walk past , you wonder if they are just as bored as you are . There is this rare feeling of euphoria you feel as soon as that bell rings to signal the end .  It's knowing that you tried hard and right now couldn't care less about Blood or The rise of Communism . I usually turn around and give my best friend a look that says " Sigh , how'd you find that paper ? " .

Right now , mid-exam period , I 'm swamped and really shouldn't be blogging but cest la vie ! Am trying to figure out how I'm going manage my Art practical , because the idea of drawing myself isn't to pretty .

Next time someone says to work hard for them , I'll try to think of a way to explain my self-motivation theory . Because at ten at night , when your eyes are closing slowly , you couldn't be bothered by your promise to someone else . So go ahead , and for once , do something for yourself !

Confessions of an Indian teenager : Being Very Good or A complete disgrace

Life for an Indian teen is not easy. Full stop. I speak from experience, I'm not too sure about other cultures but in the one I live in you are either :

• Very Good (or)
• A complete disgrace to your entire family ( and their neighbour's sister's mother-in-law's milkman  ) < Private joke

This is the post where I thank all the idiots in the world for making life slightly harder. It's a strange thing to say but if you're an Indian who is between the ages of 12 - 21 then you've probably had to suffer from the mistakes of others. Or have been compared to someone who is excelling, making your good marks look pathetic... Yes , the tried-and-tested method of raising a child that we all swear is never going to happen when we have kids .

 Our moms love saying , " If you don't do ABC ( a random thing that was pulled out of nowhere ) then you'll end up like Mrs. So-and-So's daughter: Pregnant and out of a job at her age. " . Firstly, Mrs. So-and-so's daughter is usually some delinquent who dropped out to do drugs and secondly she probably doesn't exist . They say things like that to scare you into excelling . Which I have no issue with ( they want the best for us and are terrified that our lives will go to waste ) . Well that and making you study like you're gonna be a human library.

 I do, however , think it's slightly strange how they use every single case of Idiot-girl-met-psycho-on-the-Internet (dot dot dot ) and use that as sufficient evidence to get scared every time they see us updating our status . I think that our parents should give themselves more credit . They raised us right , they should have the hope that maybe we won't get Human Trafficked or married to some "thug " . If I were a mom ( which won't happen for the next decade of so ) I'd probably be the same . Over-protective and enthusiastic about everything academic in my child's life .

We try hard to please them and be Very Good  , the amount of girls who take the Physics-Bio-Accounting course will attest to that . ( I am luckily not one of them - My parents are cool with my chosen career path ) . They'll all end up being Doctors , Engineers and Accountants . Making their parents feel that the sacrifice was worth it at the end . As much as we wish that our parents would be laid-back , allow us to traipse in and out of the house whenever , and allow us to do things the way we want  - We should remember , at the back of our minds , those people we were warned about ( Like Mrs. So-and-So's daughter ) , are probably real , somewhere . Maybe she wasn't pushed hard to succeed and allowed to take the easy way out . It's a cliche that they do this because they care , but it's a cliche because it's true . They would like to let us do what we want because they can see how unhappy we get sometimes but they've lived it  and getting off easy just doesn't work .

We hate the constant comparisons about a realative's smarter child who is getting 100% for everything . It's not because they want to belittle us , it's just their way of saying , " Make meproud with your best , " . When they tell us not to wear that see-through shirt or short mini-dress , it's because they know how our mistakes will be on our track record for a long time . I'm usually very cynical about it but in retrospect , maybe they had a point .

 One day , we're gonna look back and thank our parents for making us Very Good .