On Spiritual Enlightenment

Graceful porcelain feet garlanded with tiny enchanting bells; a twinkling, mischievous eye lined regally with kohl; the tiniest glimpse of pearly teeth clamped coquettishly on ripened ruby lips; an unblemished naval peeking seductively from behind the curtain of a sari mundhi swaying flirtatiously in the breeze. In describing my visit to Munnar Kerala what first comes to mind is every cliched heroine introduction of Tamil cinema of the early 90s. And like those oft overdone introductions, the allure of Munnar lies in the fact that all we ever see are glimpses, fleeting hints of an incredible beauty which are enough to leave our minds obsessively addled.

Munnar is an ever morphing puzzle: blink once during this cruel cosmic flip book and you will miss a lifetime. The same hilltop shifts from affable gurgling baby robed in splendid golden hues, to pristine spring maiden christened with refreshing dewy mists, to melancholic enigma shrouded in dramatic, swirling cloud banks- all within the span of mere minutes.

No number of pixels can do justice to the beauty of Munnar!

Travelling in Munnar is first and foremost an assault of the senses. The heady, pervasive scent of tea leaves offers a seductive intoxication of the nostrils while the sour twang of roadside green mango, followed promptly by the satisfying burn of chili, enthralls the taste buds. Refreshing sprinkles from the monsoon make fleeting appearances throughout the day, offering gentle caresses persuasive enough to encourage one to lose the umbrella. A cup of lemon tea offers the perfect antidote to the bite of the crisp, clean air, and as its warmth spreads within you, the heavily Malayalam-accented Tamil of the elderly tea-master washes over you in waves, fading seamlessly into the now reassuring pitter-patter of the rain starting up again.

I'm not sure when it will occur to you- I suppose it happens at different times to different people- but assuredly you will have your moment too. That one indescribable feeling, the bittersweet anxiety that comes of being engrossed in a good thing and then coming to the realization that nothing hereafter can ever measure up to this one flawless occurrence. It is that breathtaking instance when one feels the closest one has ever felt to the divine, when everything in the cosmos just seems to make sense. Standing on top of Munnar's Top Station, enveloped by the majesty of the surroundings, I can definitely say that I had one such moment.

Photos credits go to the lovely Archz.      

On Bad Behavior

What is it about being away from home that makes us so boisterously rambunctious? Is it the comfort of anonymity, the unwritten pact for revelers everywhere that what "happens in Vegas stays in Vegas"?

Pretty much sums up how I behaved when we stopped for lunch at the amazing Kumar Mess.

Or is it the thought of being surrounded by loved ones that entices us to let loose; to be as obnoxiously loud and uncouth as possible; to burst inappropriately into boorish laughter at things whose humor is suspect at best, or to bray tunelessly and deafeningly the songs whose lyrics we do not know and yet which we willfully choose to butcher anyway.

Several of the usual suspects surveying the Thirumalainaicker Mahal

What is it about a change in scenery which persuades us to humiliate ourselves on film and in pixels, recording our shame for time immemorial, and on a related note, why do we expressly choose to pull the most unattractive faces and kitschy poses on just such occasions?

Caught in the act: not completely sure why we are shooting the backside of the goat ;)

Can it all be chalked up to the seductions of a sinfully decadent chocolate brownie, or to the welcome respite of a frosty glass of roadside jikarthanda, consumed greedily without a second thought for either waistline or other vastly more unpleasant intestinal consequences.

Never a dull moment in a sleepy temple town.

Whatever the case may be, Madurai 2012 you were AWESOME and here's to Kochi 2013 :)

PS: Photo credits go to my lovely cousins and partners-in-crime Archz and JSat.

Just 'Cuz

Ok readers, today's post will be an exercise in stream of consciousness thinking. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the term, it's kind of a literary convention describing the deranged path your thoughts tend to follow when you think about something. You know what I mean, one minute, you're sitting there writing an exam about cellular function, then all of a sudden the cell as a factory analogy they taught you in class makes you think about Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Two hours later, whether or not you remember anything about what a Golgi apparatus does, you most certainly do remember how hot Johnny Depp looks in eye-liner and mascara and you've got a sudden, inexplicable craving for a Nerds rope. Totally insane, but makes for very entertaining reading.

This morning I had a memorable stream of consciousness episode that I thought I'd share. I had a playlist running on Youtube when the song "Anjali Anjali" from Duet popped on unexpectedly. Apart from bringing on a rush of great childhood memories, the song started me thinking about the vast ocean called love. That got me thinking about cute marriage proposals, which got me thinking about the cliche one that everybody always does: proposing at the Eiffel Tower.

Now readers, I ask you, what the hell is so romantic about a triangular hunk of iron plopped unceremoniously in the middle of a city? Have you even been to the Eiffel Tower? I have, and I can confirm that there is nothing even remotely romantic about being 986 feet above the ground, unprotected from 90 mph winds that make it impossible to see out of the hair whipping painfully about your face, while you can't help but think that the cables of the only elevator you took up there, which seem to have last been serviced in 1889, could very well snap on your way back down. Being on the Eiffel Tower will definitely help bring you closer to God  as you will most certainly be praying to get back down safely. Bringing you closer to your significant other, not so much.

Thinking about the ineptitude of the Eiffel Tower as a setting for expressing one's everlasting love [ it's a radio-broadcasting tower for goodness sakes!!!] got me thinking about an underutilized yet infinitely more logical proposal site: the Taj Mahal. What screams love like a massive, marble mausoleum? Our love is so amazing even death can't do us part.

Easily the cutest kid on screen, ever. Image courtesy of lazydesis.com

The Taj Mahal was the transition to my next thought, a classic scene from Slumdog Millionaire. In said scene a young Jamal, now eking out a living scamming gullible foreigners as a tour guide at the Taj Mahal, proudly proclaims that Empress Mumtaz died in a traffic accident. Apparantly she couldn't get to the hospital on time to deliver her umpteenth child; sources say it was very tragic.


Which then got me thinking about Chowpatty Beach and roadside chaat stalls, which reminded me of how hungry I was since the last meal I had consumed was almost 10 hours ago.

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Studies have shown that being awake for 17-19 hours is similar to functioning at a blood alcohol level of about 80mg/ml. Considering how much sleep I've been getting lately, I'm probably functioning at a blood alcohol level of 240 mg/ml. I promise to try and get more sleep so that posts wil return to their normal sanity (or insanity, depending on your personal opinion) levels.

Never Say Never

It's incredible how putting an opinion into the finality of print happens to nullify said opinion almost immediately. When I first started this blog, my inspiration to write stemmed purely out of an intense dissatisfaction with life. I felt like I was a spectator in my own life, trapped within the banalities of fulfilling my duty. I was frustrated with always feeling like I wasn't experiencing all that life had to offer, of sensing that life had so much exhiliration to give, but that I was stuck with the diluted experience because I clung so fastidiously to the things I was comfortable with. I was tired of living in my sterile, riskless bubble, and starting this blog was my first step towards shattering the walls of the tiny glass paradigm I had previously called home [ For all of you out there who were wondering, that's pretty much how I came up with the enigmatic name for this space. Mystery solved!]

Taking that first fateful step of divulging my innermost thoughts to complete strangers and exhibiting my writing talent to the world, something I had always felt self-conscious about and tried to downplay before , ended up doing wonders for me. Since the day I first started this blog I have found myself doing things I never imagined  I was capable of. I managed to face my intense fear of public speaking in a small way by speaking at my sister's graduation gathering. I survived organic chemistry, maybe with a few more nervous breakdowns than I would like to admit, but the whole experience has given me a more healthy perspective on grades, vocation, and finding the silver lining in every situation. Perhaps most impressively, I also managed to live and travel in India without my parents for the first time in my life, a pretty impressive feat considering that I cannot even cross the street by myself in Indian traffic and that my Tamil skills are atrocious. It is important to note that I had a lot of help accomplishing this last achievement; a big shout-out goes to all the guardian angels who ensured that I came to no bodily harm during my trip, including my awesome auto-driver, the residents and staff of the convent I stayed at, and the staff of the organization I worked with.

In light of the birth of the new and improved me, I would like to announce my next great adventure.


May-August 2012 will mark the next chapter in the epic life of Shirley Edward. Sort of a graduation present to me which I plan on undertaking without adult supervision, again (meaning the parentals). Also, in addition to all the amazing sight-seeing I'll get to do, I am viewing this trip as a sort of coming-of-age episode in my life. Another chance to prove to myself that the sky is truly the limit and a means of gaining some perspective on the big picture, the life that exists outside of academia.

Although this trip may never happen (finances will definitely play a major part in determining the ultimate feasibility of said trip), never say never. After all, who knows what can happen in 2 years?

P.S. Thanks to seaoharewhy for providing the Youtube video. Also fyi, seaowhare is the actor in said commercial.

A Field Guide to the NRI

Although I was born and brought up in the USA, India holds a special place in my heart. A welcome respite from the sterility and order of the western world, I can honestly say that I have never felt more alive than when I am caught up in the never-ending throngs of people, noise, heat and activity that characterize India. Unfortunately, these warm feelings of nostalgic longing are not ones reciprocated by the general Indian populace with regard to NRIs. Regarded with a strong derision, most Indians are extremely antagonistic to their bumbling foreign counterparts, who undeniably, have just gone soft in their sojourns abroad. The following list aims to enumerate some of the reasons why native Indians are probably not that far off in their (hurtful, but accurate) perceptions of the typical NRI.

1. The typical NRI couldn't pack to save his/her life.
Every year when my family and I touched down at Chennai International Airport, a small bus, rented from the local travels, would wait in the wings to transport all of our luggage to my aunt's flat. The typical airlines allows for a maximum of two pieces of checked baggage (weighing 23 kg and with maximum dimensions of 158 cm) and one piece of cabin luggage (weighing 7 kg and not exceeding 56x36x23 cm in size) per ticketed passenger. On top of that, passengers are also allowed to bring on board a small handbag, briefcase, laptop etc. To date, I have not been on a trip to India where we have not maxed out on our luggage limit, and our small handbags always seem, suspiciously, to resemble the sizes of our cabin baggage roll-ons.

If you thought that was amusing, picture this. It's 10:20 p.m., Chennai Egmore Station, 11+ pieces of luggage, and 2 minutes and counting to get to a second story platform and load said luggage onto the train. 6 extremely frazzled people, 2 of whom are arguing heatedly with the over-zealous porter over wages, and the other 4 who are busy pretending that they have no idea who the previous 2 are. 2nd compartment of the A/C 3-tier section of the Rockfort Express, and now 4 disgruntled fellow passengers who watch, dismayed, as every square inch of their precious space is occupied by bulky, foreign-returned suitcases, stowed away expertly by an intimidating woman who manages to maneuver acrobatically despite her constricting sari and high heels. Add to that the thrill of dodging past bribe-hungry policemen who insist that weighing in luggage of that size and quantity is standard procedure, although for a nominal fee they would be more than willing to waive the formalities. Now, I'd like to see our Superstar handle that-- wearing those ridiculous wigs, beating the baddies to a pulp while defying the laws of gravity, and lighting those cigarettes off of shirt collars are all getting a tad old.

2. NRIs are India's economic stimulus package. Ask me what my favorite city is and the answer that will immediately pop out without any hesitation is "Chennai." Ask me why I am so enamored of the city and the answer comes out a bit more hesitantly. You see, I could respond about how the amalgamation of cultures and lifestyles, from the cheri, Madras-basha afficianados along Marina Beach to the madisaar mammis of Besant Nagar, fascinate me. I could talk about the unique architecture of the city, melding its regal British colonial past with its modern, high-tech present. I could talk about the vibrant, youthful nature of the city, or of the infamous traffic conditions wherein one always travels with one's heart in one's mouth. Or maybe I should mention Kollywood and the infinite opportunities to celebrity stalk all over the city.
In reading the previous list, you are probably wondering why I mentioned that answering the question of what specifically attracts me to Chennai is difficult. I obviously had quite a bit to say on the issue. Problem is, in all of my visits to the city I have not experienced much of the above. All of the stuff I mentioned before is the stuff of my secret desires and the product of reading any travel guide to the city I could get my hands on. Truth is, the only parts of Chennai I have actually seen are Citi Centre, Spencers Plaza, Fountain Plaza, Alsa Mall, Higginbothams, RMKV, Naidu Hall (T Nagar), etc.
Three exacting women, two jet-lagged days, 6+ outfit purchases per woman. Enough said.
3. The Language Divide. NRI children will often lack the Tamil skills to communicate in any capacity with their doting grandparents. Do not be surprised, however, when nai, panni, pisasu, somari, kasmalam, and other choice words spew profusely from their lips. Such is life.
4. NRIs are an oddly shaped bunch. Nearly 40% of all Americans are obese, a health epidemic that is attributable to the sedentary lifestyles of the American people and the prevalence and relative inexpensiveness of high-fat fast foods. Unfortunately for the NRI, even if they manage to escape the siren song of American eating and physical activity habits, a greater evil awaits them back home. This syndrome, enacted at the hands of doting relatives who feel a compulsion to express their love through food, is aptly known as I'mSoHugeINeedToBeRolledOntoMyReturnFlight. Symptoms include relatives planning the several dishes to be present at lunch and dinner just as you've sat down to eat breakfast, and severe guilt trips equating eating "too little" with disinterest and a lack of affection for the cook.
5. NRIs have strange hygeine issues. My family and I once took a bus from Tiruchi to Bangalore, thanks to the lack of space by rail, as usual. When we were seated on the bus, every single eye was on us. The reason? My mother had taken out a pack of soapy diaper wipes and was energetically wiping her seat, the window sill, the bars of the window and any other surface the wipes would reach.
Also, on a side note, only the NRI would insist on paying 300 rupees for bottled Bisleri at every restaurant, despite its virtual indistinction from the cups of water the waiter places on the table.
I hope you enjoyed reading this list and got a good laugh. Feel free to add any other observations to the comments section.
P.S. No NRIs were harmed in the creation of this post.