I have been wanting to write for a long time now and I know why I haven't. It is over a week into 2009 and I don't feel different. I don't feel rejuvenated and new. I don't feel cleansed and refreshed. 1st of January 2009 did not take away with it all the remnants of 2008. I did not begin the year feeling light hearted and unburdened. Actually I spent it waiting for four hours at the Emergency Department of the hospital, waiting to have a piece of my contact lens removed from the eye.
On the other hand, let us be light hearted even if everything is telling us otherwise. Here are some silver linings:

1. Waited at ED for four hours bright and early on 1st Jan - at least I had my dad with me and we got to talk!

2. Missed mom as she was in India - lost weight from having to eat own cooking.

3. 2009 does not feel like the new year - at least I am tackling known evils.

Other epiphanies include realising that 2009 is probably the worst year to be job hunting. Also re-reading PG Wodehouse has made me realise that I do not have an Aunt Agatha - I have two Aunt Dahlias. Also, everything feels prosaic. There is much to be said about my physical well being if the only time I feel fully normal is when I am running to nowhere on the treadmill. The sinuses are open, breath is free and not hindered by umpteen blockages, muscle fatigue feels better than unsolicited muscular pain, the mind feels a sense of pseudo-achivement and concedes to forget the fact that no work of actual importance has been done. There is something spiritual about running, something that transcends race, religion, waise size and hip girth.
More good news was ushered in in the form of the much awaited blood test results - low iron and high cholesterol, nothing one did not expect. Once again, known evils.
I sometimes feel that I drew the short straw, genetically. Weak eyesight, broad manly shoulders, size 10 upper body and size 8 lower body, crow feet and strange toes. And these are just the external. I boast a wide variety of ailments internally too. Basically I am 25 going on 85.
So, resolutions? you ask. 'Eh?' I say.
Eat more fish, finish the blasted thesis and then - go away, somewhere. Where no one knows my name....

I just want to talk. Sit down and talk. To somebody. Anybody.
Tell them about the tumultuous year it has been.
Talk about the atrocities we have seen.
Talk about the joy in-between.
This year has been a mix beyond comprehension. I am at a complete and total loss not just for words but for thoughts and feelings too. There has been immense joy and extreme pain. There has been unfathomed success and unimaginable failure. There has been a sense of foreboding and in almost every case it has ballooned into some result.
My sister said yesterday - 'Do you think 2009 will be better'? I said 'How much worse can it get?'
My wish for 2009 - 'Safety and happiness for all mankind'.

...

For twenty five years of my life I have had the great fortune of having both sets of grandparents alive. Until this morning. My maternal grandmother passed away this morning.
I have a million thoughts going through my mind but I guess none of them matter anymore.
Rest in Peace Bhabhi (there is a long story behind this name) - we all miss you.

After the Bombay Massacre

I tried to think of different ways to begin this post but the first line is inconsequential. Bombay burned for the last three days (it will always be 'Bombay' to me). I remember where I was as do millions of others of Indian origin. I was in the lab all morning and later in the afternoon my friend called saying that my mother was trying to contact me and that I should check online to see what is happening in Mumbai. What happened is no secret and there is no point in reiterating it here.
This morning I read, to my rather pleasant surprise, that the Home Minister had handed in his resignation 'amidst a lot of pressure'. Which means that heads are rolling for the mis-management of the whole issue and it is almost a first for India! A quick browse of articles showed that Vilasrao Deshmukh was taken to the Taj to take a look at the aftermath of the tragedy and the man shamelessly and callously took along his actor son and director Ram Gopal Varma! I did a double-take when I read the article. Not only does it show scant regard for the magnitude of devastation but it is a glaring example of the kind of 'leadership' that the country has. This and people like R.R. Patil making statements like 'bade bade shehron mein aise ek haad hadse hote hai' or some such - somebody should tell him not to spout movie dialogues to a shocked nation! If it was SRK they wanted would watch DDLJ.
As India recovers from what can only be described as horror of the utmost degree, I find myself wishing from the bottom of my heart for some semblance of sanity and safety in this insane world. Finally I can understand the plight of people in war-plagued nations. The plight of humans in nations where all they know is fear and war. It has not become a waiting game and one of near-misses. There were about three degrees of separation between those killed and I and this is hitting far closer to home than ever before. I am scared just like everyone else, scared, confused and bewildered at the thought of a few boys about my age, welding guns and killing people for the sake of just that - killing. They demanded nothing more than for innocent people to die. If that does not shake you to your very core I don't know what will.

...

Google asked me to login to my blog today! After (three?) years I had forgotten that blogger uses a login - anyhow, it is awfully convenient that it is the linked to the google login. In this day and age when absolutely everything needs a login and password do you ever find yourself running out of creativity? When the process first started for me over ten years ago, first hotmail accounts and the name choosing thereof - amritaprasad - taken, amritaprasad83 - taken, thisisridiculous!!!- taken... you get the idea! Then comes the task of figuring out passwords that are, for all practical purposes, uncrackable. So the adolescent fourteen year old naively puts in the name of the latest crush or the hottest TV star at the time and can keep it this way until one day, several years later you need someone else to open your email for you and you have to sheepishly reveal said password.
So after the initial enthusiasm and the subsequent realisation that it is impossible to remember all the logins and passwords you decide on a few generic numbers and words and keep it that way! And speaking of logins and google - have you ever noticed how a person's Gtalk status bar can tell you all you need to know about their state of mind that day, or how it can bind you for life! Like the day that Obama won - every status message on my Gtalk side panel had some variation of 'Yeah Obama'! One look and it can give you that warm and fuzzy feeling that someone else is suffering too when the status message says 'I hate work' or 'I need a break'! It can be a conversation starter like when I changed mine to 'Amrita thinks' - people wanted to know what I thought, voluntarily, without me having to hold a gun to their head or anything!
It can also be a conversation killer like when the message says 'Do not disturb busy pretending to work'. It can be full of surprises, pleasant like when a friend says 'Hi' while on invisible or unpleasant when a friend says 'Hi' while on invisible and then compels you to change your status to invisible. Of course there are the quiet days when all it says is 'Away' or 'Not at desk' but then there are interesting times like when it says 'I cannot believe it happened' and then the conversation flows from there!
It is a little window to everyone's lives and really it goes to show how we can really sum up our days into one little sentence.
Apart from analysing Gtalk messages I have also been reading 'My sister's keeper' by Jodi Picoult and for now I am hooked!
Next update on this blog will be a book review.

History

The last week has been full of unforeseen circumstances. Some good, some not so good. It has led to heart-ache, head-ache and a strange pain in my upper ribs leading me to think that I may have cracked one, what with all the coughing and sneezing fits. But that is for a doctor to decide.
Last week also saw America vote in its very first African-American President and I reckon us who are alive and kicking today should be proud to have been a part of history! I was among the millions who watched Obama's victory. I was also one of the millions who watched this non-entity, Sarah Palin, rise to alarming levels of power and for the lack of a better word, stupidity!
Strangely enough I only listened to two of Obama's speeches, the first when he won his party's vote and the second when he was elected to the highest office in the world!
If there is one thing and one thing only to say for the man - he can talk!
I am not interested in current affairs and politics and my knowledge of these does not extend past the day's headlines, however after Bush the Second came into power (twice!) and thoroughly mis-used it causing grief to millions and basically wrecking havoc on the world, my opinion changed. Of course I had no power in voting him out but I could join in harshly disliking him! I am not of the school of thought that thinks the Bush doctrine is correct and I cannot bring myself to agree that thanks to his 'actions' he has thwarted all further attacks on American soil. I just don't like the way he goes about things - but to each his own I guess.
So it came to pass that I took more than a passing interest in the US elections this year and supported Obama whole-heartedly (if only because he seemed like the lesser of two evils!). Another reason this election was entertaining was because of Gov. Palin. Of course the media exploited her greatly, much like they did Bush himself, however there cannot be fire without fuel. There is more than a fine line between inexperience and sheer lack of ability and it was abundantly clear which side of the line Mrs. Palin was on. That said, I did feel sorry for John McCain when I heard his speech accepting defeat but he did not seem up for the daunting task ahead and worse still, in the case of his demise it would be Mrs. Palin who would be the first (and probably the most cerebrally challenged) female President. And it is a genuine concern!
I do not know if Obama will do all the claims to and neither does the rest of the world. What we do know is that he knows what needs to be done and that is a start. While McCain seemed oblivious to the idea of an economic meltdown, Obama realised that it was imminent. And the fact of the matter is that is happened!
For everyone that says that Obama's African-American heritage was an advantage, statistically it was not and even if it made people of this race vote for him, so bloody what? - he had an advantage and a fair one (pun unintended!). His advantage was not that he bribed people, or coerced them, his advantage was that in-spite of physically appearing like a minority he knew his stuff. He knew the problems and he proposed solutions and did so while speaking like a messiah and looking like a, well, Hollywood star! I say kudos to him.
This is for all those that claim that America is a woman unfriendly place which explains why Hillary Clinton was not chosen and Sarah Palin was targeted by media. Go to America and you will see that an African American man is still considered lower than a white female and there are no two ways about it. It was an unfortunate stereo-type - until now!
So I had goosebumps while listening to Obama's victory speech, not because the words were flowery but because he is a born orator. If Bush or even Hillary Clinton had said the same words they could not have accompanied it with what seemed like honesty of spirit.
It remains to be seen what will come out of all this but we cannot dispute that history has been made, we have all been a part of it and we are all the better for it.

They say that writing is soothing. They who? You know, they that said that time is a healer and also that good things come in small packages. They of proverbial fame.
I have been on edge lately. It is probably PMS. Maybe not but most likely it is. Things annoy me, worry me and put me on edge every time I try to step off said edge. So I thought I would listen to 'them' and write. Write because I have a blog and a keyboard, write because I can string words together and write because I don't need to make sense all the time.
See, I think this right here is the problem. My mother said to me today 'you have raised the bar and set standards' although she said it in another context. Of course what she didn't say was that once the bar is raised then one is compelled to make sure it stays that way. Which brings me back to the problem. In a rather philosophical way the problem is to 'make sense all the time' . I am harsh on myself, with myself and more often than not I believe that it is for myself. What I don't seem to realise is that the harsher I am with myself, the more I am going to rebel against me! Some day I am going to get sick of myself and turn around tell myself to treat me better!
I think that day is fast approaching. Where instead of reprimanding myself for not doing things better I will just say 'hey you are human, **it happens'.
I don't know if what I need is rest or work. I am unsure of whether immersing myself wholeheartedly in a thesis (which only has half hearted interest) will put me back on track or will it be better to get away from it all. Wonder what 'they' have to say about that.
What helps though, to a certain extent is, once again characteristic of me, taking the middle-ground. Immersing myself in a good book. 'immersion ka immersion aur break ka break!'.

On Sunday I broke my vow to buy only second hand books this year and I an feeling a tad low about it. My sister and I have been feasting on Daphne Du Maurier's books ever since we read Rebecca and unfortunately, barring two novels, that were bought and devoured rapidly, none of the second hand books stores here stock her stuff. So one trip to Borders and I was $50 poorer but armed with 'DDM's Short Stories' and 'The Memory Keeper's Daughter'. The latter I have been wanting to read ever since it was released and after months of waiting for it to hit the 2nd hand stores I finally gave in and just bought it first-hand.
Finished reading it last night and I have this nagging feeling that I did not get my money's worth. I know it is a terrible way to think of a book - I feel unsatisfied about it.
The Down Syndrome angle was underplayed and the main character's actions seemed to lack enough reason. True they tell you that his sister was ill and that it changed his life and his mother's but it is always glanced over without being dealt with in enough depth. In saying that, maybe I just missed it. The book is beautifully written though and uses fantastic imagery. But in themes like this there is always a danger of not doing it full justice - in my case I prefer the abstract to be interspersed with startling revelations. Especially in a book of this volume.
This book was supposed to be about the redemptive power of love, according to the blurb, however to me it seemed to rush through this redemption in the last chapter rather than building it up enough. However, it is not a bad read.
Of course Kim Edwards can write and I am keen to read her other book 'The Secrets of the Fire King' I think it is called.
So tonight I shall make a start on DDM and needless to say her writing leaves me breathless. Bordering on bizarre it is amazing for a woman of her time. Just goes to show that the mind knows no barriers.
The thesis writing is progressing at snail's pace and despite having the thoughts in my head I am having serious trouble putting them into words. Scientific writing is lacklustre, without creativity. On a brighter note, my cousin arrives this weekend and the next month promises to be interesting!
Still, right now I would give anything for a good cup of tea and a rest. Both have taken a beating since I am down with hay-fever.

I thought long and hard before I wrote this post. It was triggered by some thoughts I had late last week while driving.
I can pinpoint the event that led to my studying Physics as a career. 7th Standard, Physics lesson, learning about how a thermos works. I can also pinpoint the event that led to my studying opto-electronics at university - the day I learned that it was a course taught jointly by Physics and Engineering schools, thus satisfying my personal need to study Physics (and NOT computer science) and satisfying the family by saying that I was doing 'engineering' of a kind that they would not comprehend.
Throughout my school and undergraduate years, even thought the work took its toll and there were times when I passed with flying colours and times when I failed miserably, one thing was constant, consistent - interest, amazement and wonder!
I can recall being fascinated by lasers and light. I can remember the tinge of excitement when I saw the HUGE particle accelerator at the ANU. I can recall with startling detail the thrill of actually watching light bounce off in semi circles through water that was saturated with sugar.
And then something happened that sucked this out of me - I started this PhD.
This very disturbing observation I made when I thought back to my friend and I and the conversations that we used to have. My friend is one of the smartest people I know. His grasp of Physics as a subject exceeds the understanding that most practising academics have! So here was this chap who could simplify complex theories into everyday analogies and of course this led to many a heated discussion. We would spend hours talking about Physics, the simple things, the complex things and of course the dubious things.
I has been over two years since we last talked about anything except how frustrating work is. It has been over a year since we last discussed a truly 'exciting' result of our work. I have myself to blame mostly for this.
Today was an annual celebration to mark the founding day of my workplace. So we sat through numerous, some surprisingly good, presentations. This, of course, is the perfect scenario for the mind to wander and it did.
Over the last three years I have attended several conferences, sat amidst the brilliant Physics minds and heard them spout words of consolation more than anything else. I have also heard a rather alarming amount of rubbish. I have seen how research is converted, if not reduced, to appeal to the masses and how this conversion leads to undeserving people gaining credit for half-baked ideas. I have learned that in today's world a successful academic is one that can appease the grant-givers and industry-men. I have understood that Physicists do NOT discuss the wonders of the world around us as much as they discuss the 'political scenario' that will influence their 'next grant' - over a cup of tea. I have seen that 'influential' academics will push their students regardless of talent and that those willing to be party to this will be duly rewarded.
However, this is a mere digression, it is not something 'new' neither does it warrant thought.
If I get this Phd - it will be my biggest gain and for it I will have paid with my passion. The excitement and wonder of yesteryears will be lost to cynicism and skepticism. Never again will I feel the sheer joy of reading Einstein's original paper on relativity, or the pride of meeting the man that invented the optical fibre. Why? - you ask. Why can't one get out of the rut and still take away a sense of achievement. Simply because it is fake.
There are several days when I feel that the 'thing' that I make at the end of my time here will in no way help a poor starving man in India who pulls a rickshaw in the heat and humidity of Delhi, gets spit on and abused by all and sundry and still does not have enough to feed his family. My work will in no way make those in power realise their follies and change their ways. And just when I am about to sink into the depths of despair I see a light at the end of the corridor.
It is the door. Leading out. And it is my choice to whether to walk out armed with an advanced degree. One that I have spent the last three years for. And right now it seems like the shortest distance between me and the door is through the thesis.
And beyond that I can do something that makes me happy. That gets me excited and fills me with wonder. A wonder that I once felt sitting in a classroom as a 12 year old learning about how a thermos worked.

- Is it me or have clothes sizes changed drastically in the last three years? My sister and I went to the mall last weekend as I had to buy a pair of jeans. Now, people that know me know that I always need jeans and people that know me better know that I never find them! So we were checking out the usual stores as well as the unusual ones and chanced upon this lovely pair of Bardot jeans. So, as is the norm, I picked up a size 8 (about 1.5 for you Americans!) and proceeded to the changing rooms. Now I am not sure what happened between me picking up the jeans and putting them on. Did the act of touching them shrink them? The size 8s climbed half way and then stopped!
So I tried on the size 10s - same story. Now I know that I have not put on weight since I was last a size 8. Heck I have been a size 8 all my adult life and don't intend to change that! I left the store grumbling and then my fashion savvy sister informed me that since anorexia nervosa became the in thing size 6 is the new size 8 and size 8 is the new size 800! At this rate I will be shopping at the 'for large women' store pretty soon!
Sunday also saw me at the Indian store picking up a packet of MDH T-Masala. Fantastic stuff this! Imagine masala chai at work! Also, Drona was watched over the weekend amidst coughing and sneezing fits. Terrible movie which had the potential to be passable.
In other happenings I have passed up a trip to the US of A. I never thought I would say this but thesis writing has taken priority to say nothing of the fact that I would have to leave tomorrow if I do decide to go!
So in the blah di dah nature of things let us find solace in the simple pleasures that Canberra life offers, like when you walk along the parking lot and a bird does not swoop and attack you, or the fact that in spite of the creepy crawlies infesting your courtyard one has not crawled up your nose or into your ear and how you did not get lost on Canberra roads yesterday - Amen!

The long weekend and a gender rant

Yesterday was Labour Day here Down Under and it was a long weekend. Now long weekends are a very rare occurance in this part of the world and so one duly warrants celebration. For me 'celebration' constituted doing nothing at all. Well not 'nothing' entirely or I would not be writing this post:

1. 'A Wednesday' was watched on Saturday. I was blown away by Naseerudin Shah's acting, as was everyone else that watched the film. I was also blown away by the pace and the simplicity of it. By the wonderful predictability. By the fact that the 'final speech' made me think 'Yes! That's it exactly, you tell them!' and finally I was blown away by the last line 'log naam mein mazhab dhoondh lete hai'. So true, so very true. And in this day and age, so appropriate. We live in dangerous times, in times where our name could be held against us, let alone our religion and our beliefs.

2. There is a Harry Potter game out for Wii! Yippee! So it has been decided by mass consensus that the game shall be purchased, it is just a matter of speaking with the expert and sorting out the whens and hows.

3. I was stitching a pair of pants last night when a thought struck me (No I am not skilled enough to actually stitch myself a pair of pants, I bought pants that were a tad too long and so I was just hemming the bottom). I know people who do not know how to stitch a button onto a shirt. Boys and girls, men and women my age, who think that it is either below their dignity or a waste of time to learn how to stitch back a broken button. I am not sure if it is a 'status' thing with my generation. Just as cooking, cleaning, draping a saree or a dhoti or reciting a mantra/prayer is considered to reduce your 'coolness' factor. I disagree. Just as I disagree that only women should know how to sew, or knit or darn or cook.
My parents have not brought me up as a girl - or a boy for that matter. We were not thought to think like a person of a gender, we were just taught to think! Just as we were taught that if your shirt has lost a button, stitch another one on. If you are hungry, learn to cook a few basic things. If you buy a car, learn to fill fuel in it!
I cannot understand that modern mindset of girls and boys who choose to be girls and boys or men and women. Girls that take pride is being treated 'like boys' -what does this mean exactly? Maybe tasks like stitching or cooking or cleaning were considered to be for women when women did nothing else. Even today if I was married or lived at home and did nothing but sit home all day I would consider it but practical to cook, clean the house and do the chores. It saves time and makes sense. Just as my husband or father or brother would do if they were without a job and were at home. I do not consider it womanly or unmanly to stitch a button just as I don't find it manly to climb onto a chair and cut the bushes on the porch fence! To me it is a matter of survival and practicality. I am proud that I can drape a saree albeit not very well, I am proud that I can mend my own clothes and that I can cook a decent meal. Just as I am proud that I can fix broken cupboards and cut down overgrown bushes.
I just hope that I someday I can pass on this upbringing to a fellow human being - the idea that we can all be just people, humans with genderless brains, genderless ideas and thoughts.

The songs my children will sing

When I was just a little girl
I asked my mother, what will I be
She said I can be whatever I like
'Just don't live off your dad and me'

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
There's money in the bank, you see
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

When I was young, I fell in love
I asked my sweetheart what lies ahead
Will we have rainbows, day after day
He looked scared and ran away

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
madness runs in the family
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

Now I have no children of my own
to ask their mother, what will I be
Good thing is that I'm not around
to bring them up poorly.

Que Sera, Sera,
Whatever will be, will be
this is an epiphany!
Que Sera, Sera
What will be, will be.

*Copyright Amrita Prasad

Fashion and I

Some blogs I have been reading of late talked about fashion sense and the lack thereof. So I thought of including my two cents worth on the subject.
My earliest memories of 'fashion' are of trying on my mother's old, discarded pair of stillettoes and trying to walk in them. My sister and I had come across them in an old cupboard full of shoes and I was fascinated by them. My mom had long since 'graduated' to more sombre footwear but tell a child of less than ten that she cannot walk in high heels and she will more than try to prove you wrontg! However there were no long lasting side effects of this endeavor.
Most of my childhood my sister and I were dressed by our mother and her no-nonsense style meant that we sported clean, fitting clothes and short easy-to-manage hair.
Perhaps the next most momorable phase was the black and grey phase. Of course these were always coupled with jeans (As an aside: denim is the material that jeans are made of. So its either 'denim pants', if you must, or jeans NOT 'jeans pants'!).
So all through university I was 'bogged down' by the grey tee shirts, usually with adidas, nike or some such validation, jeans and sneakers. After moving to Canberra everyone expected the rapid decline of fashion tastes, what with being a Physics PhD student surrounded by jandals and shorts. However my fashion sense has picked up and I now not only own other colours (red even!) I wear them with pride and joy and today I'm even wearing earrings!
See, jewellery has never figured big on my fashion list. I like jewellery, don't get me wrong. I love the understated elegance of a single solitaire sparkling at the nape of my neck or the feel of a beautiful ring on my fingers, but over the years I seem to have stopped wearing or buying earrings.
Maybe it has something to do with the ear-piercing trauma as a child. You see my grandparents took me to the 'family ear piercer' while my folks were away overseas and, even though this is a blur now, I distinctly remember a big nail, some forceps-hammer like apparatus and a wooden block. Of course I also remember the devil himself but that is other news. Nope, no gun-shot, over in a minute for me. It was the whole nine yards. I remember pain, a lot of it, blood and me running away after one earlobe was pierced, to hide under the bed. Anyway so somehow the process was completed and I had two gold earrings shoved into my ears. I think I wore gold earrings in some form or another throughout my childhood and school years. Then we moved overseas and other matters gained importance, so over the years I have weaned off earrings altogether. Megz gave me beautiful handmade earrings when I moved out of Auckland, and to this day I depend on them for formal/fancy wear.
At my cousin's wedding last year, I realised with horror that my left ear lobe piercing is slowly closing up. Yes! Which brought back the piercing-horror afresh and so, as of yesterday, I went and bought three studs, brown, blue and black and unceremoniously pushed them through what is left of the piercing. Here's hoping that I never have to get my ear pierced again. Amen!
Next fashion post will be on shoes, handbags and scarves! - I feel so very *insert name of fashion magazine* ish today!

...

I have three lives. And sometimes the boundaries between them blur. Sometimes when I am in that semiconscious state between sleep and wakefulness, sometimes in the early mornings or very late at night thoughts drift in, of friends, smells, festivals, people and events. Sometimes I have to make a conscious effort and recall which life these are a part of.
Opening all the doors as the rain beats down on the warm earth and watching people run helter skelter for cover, lazy afternoons sitting in my room with the angled roof and reading while the rest of the household slept, waking up late on Sundays and making a big lunch and only eating it at 3 pm! All these are but fragments of memories now. Some from my life as a kid growing in in ITI colony, others of living in our house in Jayanagar with my grandparents, yet others of home in New Zealand, our first real home and the last few of my three years as a grad student in Canberra.
There are times when all these memories become one, the friends merge and at times I start talking about one to another and then stop myself realising that one doesn't know the other. They are parts of separate lives.
Summer is slowly approaching bringing with it floods of summer memories. Each from a different life - each one just as special and real.

'Last night I dreamt I went to Manderlay again'

Full fledged thesis writing has been happening of late. Unfortunately this kills any creative outbursts and hence the blog has suffered.
Last night I read Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier. I remember back in school, girls would 'book' this book weeks in advance. The tyrant librarian meted out special treatment to her favourites and since my class was not big on showering her with presents, we got step-daughterly treatment. Turns out I never managed to get my hands on this book at school and it was soon forgotten amidst things to do, places to be and people to see.
So a few weeks ago, I was browsing the stalls during university Market day (I have kept to buying second hand books so far!) and spotted a lovely, hard-bound, copy of this book. So I picked it up along with books by Bach and Roald Dahl.
The opening line is, of course, one of the most memorable in Literature and this book has gained its share of fame as it was made into a movie by Alfred Hitchcock. The book is lovely. It has excellent pace and is riveting in parts. Throughout the book there is an air of mystery and, unlike several others that read and reviewed the book, I liked the end.
So go read when you get a chance.

Blogging award!

My dearest friend and fellow blogger Ashanka has given me this blogging award!!

Needless to say I am totally overwhelmed. Hers was one of the first blogs that I started reading regularly and I love it for the candid and hilarious approach to life. It keeps me in touch with her and her life even though we are oceans apart (just like mine does for her). And of course above all I love her and the blog for she is my Soul Sista!

So in keeping with blogging tradition I want to pass on this award to the following people: All amazing in their own right.

1. Vatsa (Equivocal Planters): I am not sure if I arm-twisted her into starting a blog but what a journey it has been. Writing about her scalpel weilding adventures to the everyday life of a doc in the making. Her blog now has the MOTH as part of it and she also dedicated a lovely post to me on my 21st birthday! Thanks girl for all the fun and games and here's to more good times!

2. Megha: A very very worthy recipient of this award (Ashanka sent this award her way too!). Her blog gives a unique insight to her state of mind with every post and of course the awesome travelogues!

3. Bhavya: A relatively new blogger with a lot of potential. This award is being sent your way to nudge you into posting more often girl! Love your writing thus far!

4. Amruta: My namesake, who for some reason rarely blogs now! Girl, you have a wonderfully fresh writing style so do keep us up to date with your adventures!

5. Athena: This is my mother. And I am awarding her for two reasons: (1) Learning to create and write a blog all on her own! (2) Keeping up with posting as best she can with one arm in a sling and out of action. Keep it up Ma!

Thanks again Ashanka!
Now all you awarded people: Go ahead and send off this award to those you think deserve it and (maybe) link back to my blog.

Favourite literary characters - Tag!

Thanks Vatsa for tagging me with this one. I was waiting eagerly for this tag to come my way :-D.
So without further ado, my 10 favourite literary characters, of course this is neither an absolute nor a complete list and is not in any particular order.

1. Jeeves (and by extension Bertie Wooster) : My initiation into a different class of writing altogether! Hours have been spent in blissful happiness in the absolutely wild world of Jeeves and Bertie.

2. Hercule Poirot: This character needs no description or validation from me. His brilliance and his laconic presence is enough to endear him to the hearts of many! To say nothing of that egg shaped head!

3. Atticus Finch: For all the reasons stated by Vatsa

4. Elizabeth (Pride and Prejudice): I actually did not want to put this in because it is such a darned cliche but on second thought I did include her because she is one of the few in 'those days' that embodied the strength and independence that I see in myself.

5. Hannibal Lecter: An unusual choice, however (if we decide to ignore the cannibalism) he is sheer class. Heck he can make cannibalism seem classy!

6. Heidi: Vatsa I don't know if you remember but I went dressed as Heidi for literary week at AGGS all those years ago. I think this little girl portrayed strength without seeming precocious and for that I love her!

8. Matthew Cuthbert (Anne of Green Gables) : The only book that made me break down and cry. Matthew was the image of every man. Scared of emotions, yet confused by the love and warmth he felt towards little Anne.

9. This list would not be complete without listing all the Enid Blyton kids: George, Anne, Dick, Julian, Fatty, the Seven - for many an afternoon spent imagining oneself out on the countryside sipping orangeade and eating buns.

10. The reluctant Messiah ' Illusions': This book is ostensibly about Bach himself and the story is so beautifully told that one cannot help but become a part of the journey.

I pass on the tag to Megz, Bhavya and Ashanka. Would love to read your lists.

Tales

Thank you for keeping us in your prayers (following on from the previous post). With your blessings we have completed Resident Evil -4 and future pursuits await. Maybe Final Fantasy.
At final count the saving statistics showed that it had taken us over 50 hours to complete Five chapters of the game.
As we move on to other obsessions I have found out that Amitabh Bachchan and Aamir Khan have started blogs of their very own, to give us little people an insight into their lives.
Now the cynic in me is tempted to believe that it is a major publicity stunt with some poor writer type forced to churn out entries that sound believable like 'the tour was such a success I'm overwhelmed' etc etc. On the other hand if it is employment for the poor writer type then why not?
In other news, another exciting weekend came to an end on Sunday night. Saturday being the BILs birthday we got a nice big fat chocolate mud cake as dessert to top off a home cooked meal of mirchi ka salan and biryani. Dinner time saw us at Kingsley's Steak and Crabhouse to tantalise the taste buds with some steak. Fish, crab cakes, chilli prawns, potato mash and steak were duly tried and polished off at an alarming rate in total silence and total bliss.
There should be a law that states that it absolutely cannot get cold once it has taken a turn for the warm. And there should be another law that states that my girlfriends cannot leave Canberra. K leaves tomorrow, embarking on the Oxford PhD dream and we all wish her love and luck.
For me it is netball tonight, pide dinner, driving sister to dance school meeting, picking up sister from dance school meeting, writing thesis and hopefully hopefully getting some rest.
Adios!

The one where we talk about the weekend in longing hindsight

I noticed that a lot of blogs I read seem to have titles inspired by FRIENDS type 'the one where...' and so to keep up, here's mine.
'Twas ANU open day on saturday and with a knack for getting roped into these things that only I have, I was there bright at early at 8.30 on a cold morning, setting up optics type things for school type students. On the recent radio interview I was asked why I do outreach activities?
After taking more than a moment to think about it I had to say that because things that I did/read/saw as a youngster have influenced my choices and decisions to this day. I studied physics because I was influenced by my 7th Std physics teacher who loved me and taught us very enthusiastically about how a thermos kept hot things hot and cold things cold. I thought it was bloody brilliant! Simple and brilliant!
I studied optics because I was, and still am, fascinated by light (which is strange because electromagnetism is the only subject I failed).
So I wholeheartedly threw myself into outreach at university because I love talking to people, talking to strangers and telling them to care about things. See, I care about a lot of things. And I fail to understand/connect with people that don't. Caring about things does not necessarily mean doing something to fix it (if it needs fixing). It means wondering about it, learning about it or even just talking about it. I cannot understand people that go about life like everything and everyone is beyond their control. But that rant for another day.
So, outreach... I like being able to tell people that even on a bad day, I care about my work. I like the candidness with which I can approach students and tell them that although research is difficult and not always fulfilling, it's great because you have freedom. You get to rub shoulders with giants in your field and they talk to you as if you have potential.
But for the most part I love outreach because I remember the first time I actually understood something. That lesson about the thermos and how it worked - it is my first memory of actual understanding. Not just listening and filing away, or rote learning to reproduce during exams, but actual understanding. Like the pieces of a jigsaw fitting in my head. To be able to impart an understanding, no matter how minuscule, to another person and to get them excited about something is indeed really gratifying.
Of course the publicity, freebies, articles in journals and interviews that follow are also great, but they are few and far between.
So saturday I slaved all day (between meal breaks, tea breaks, mini meal breaks and pizza and drinks after) but managed to catch up with Mayu (who I last saw in Dec, and who is making a habit of these whirlwind trips that I'm not happy about one bit!). Sunday saw the three of us breaking our heads and aching fingers over Resident Evil.
Have any of you seen the FRIENDS episode where Joey is meant to host 'Bamboozle'? and he gets Ross and Chandler to play and at the end when Chandler gets bamboozled he holds his head in exasperation and exclaims 'this is the best game ever!' - nothing could echo our sentiments better. Cracking RE is not just about who wins anymore, it is a team effort. It is aching hands and sore eyes, it is cups of tea to stay awake and yelling and screaming till we are hoarse about what to do and to look 'behind you'. It is pondering endlessly over clues and what to do next, what weapons to by, whether to buy the map or not. It is hysterical screaming when the giant was killed to hopelessness at not being able to kill the chainsaw-wielding women. It is late night phone calls to say that 'I've killed the chain saw woman' and 'Don't play the next stage before I come!!'. Most of all it has been an exercise in obsession like I have never known, since I last saw my father and uncles come together to crack Top Gun some fifteen years ago!
Thus passed a blissful weekend and keep us in your prayers as we tackle Episode 2, Chapter 3 - tonight!

...

Sometimes I think back and wonder what would have happened if I had taken another path. None of this laser science business, art and words instead. I heard a talk the other day about parallel universes and how the theory is that there are infinite parallel universes and you have explored every choice in some universe. I wonder whether I am the same age in all universes. I wonder how the Amrita with an Art History major is doing. Is she sleeping wrapped in newspaper in New York because she cannot afford a house or is she rubbing shoulders with the Elite and valuing art works at Sotheby's, sipping champagne and eating caviar (that she has developed a taste for, having hung out with the aforementioned elite). Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I chuck it all and start over. Sometimes I am tempted, very tempted. And then (good?) sense prevails and I think I should finish what I started.
On another note, I slept in my bed yesterday as opposed to the couch. It is getting warmer and so I can manage with the dysfunctional heater and turns out beds are the best for sleeping! After several weeks I had a good night's rest and did not wake up in a murderous rage. Isn't it just the worst feeling waking up with aching limbs, runny nose and a headache.
The plans tonight are to eat Ethiopian food and play Mario Kart. Yippekayay!