Lately I have been yearning. Not for home as I usually do. Not so much for company either. It is a strange yearning, a pull almost.
I am on standing on the edge of a cliff (titanic style, arms spread out) with a 'slightly stronger than a breeze but not a full blown gale' wind blowing through me. Yes through me. There is green vastness around. And water. Large, unhindered expanse of blue water. No one inhabits this land. No one around for miles.
I do not know how I got there. I do not care how I will get back. All I know is this is where I want to be. It calls to me.

Mango people

kisi ko muqammal jahan nahin milta
kisi ko zameen aasmaan nahin milta


But I do not ask for the sky and the earth
I do not even ask for my worth
I simply ask for my due

I do not ask for food but sustenance
not for life but existence
Maybe a bed to lay down at night

I do not ask for the earth and the sky
but when I am no more
maybe a place to light the funeral pyre

It is strange that I tend to revive this space when I am weighed down by tons of work. Is it the most guilt free procrastination? Maybe. I shall not question. I shall only type.
My laptop has gone for a rehaul, hit as it was by a virus of monstrous proportions. One possesses enough gadgets to entertain oneself but the laptop is irreplaceable. Even the, ancient but trustworthy, temporary replacement that now graces my desk does not push me to work the way my laptop did. I just pray that it makes a complete recovery by tomorrow.
I know a lot of people that need cheering up. Self included. There are uncertainties to battle, scars of battle to overcome and problems that are beyond one's control. But as a family we are not good at letting go. We fret specifically over things that are beyond our control because the things that are in our control are solved.
And the worst part is that work is no longer serving to take my mind off things. The last time I felt so bluesy was during the fag end of the PhD.
I guess I just need to chant the mantra 'I love my job, I love my job' and hope that the To-Do list rapidly becomes the Done list or else I'm in for it.
I long for friends in close proximity. I long for someone not to tell me that it will be ok but to agree that it is sh*t and that they hate it too. I long for companionship of the self pitying kind. If only for a while.
I sometimes wonder at the saying 'Everything will be ok in the end. So if it is not OK it is not the end'. I don't want it to be the end. The end might not be the fairy tale that I'm hoping for.
For now things are strange. Feelings are odd. Life is in a state of flux. Only hope reigns supreme - but only in fits and bursts.

The Almighty works in mysterious ways. Just as I had made peace with the fact that I might not go home this year, an opportunity created itself. Albeit in non ideal circumstances. There is nothing I want more right now than to see the folks and hand over my cares in the world to them. It is true, we never grow up.
I have been hanging onto my sanity by a thread the last few weeks, not thinking beyond the immediate lest I lose it and throw in the towel. Doing what needs to be done and becoming rather mechanical in the process. The occasional outburst is exactly that an outburst, rather an outpouring of emotion and then I stop, afraid to let it bubble over.
I cannot close my eyes anymore without thinking, fearing, worrying. It is difficult this aimless restlessness that does not let you see why it is. Does not let you delve deeper to find the roots and cut them off. Instead it festers, lingers feeding off your exhaustion and working off your routine till it becomes so much a part of you, you do not realise it is there. Until you have time for introspection. Time to sit with a cup of tea on a cold day without a email message popping up, the phone ringing or something else needing immediate attention.
Then it hits you like a ton of bricks, and you know something needs to be done. Something needs to snap you out before you are sucked in too far. This something for me, is heading to my parents. Lucky for me they are closer than home is. But for now home is where they are.

The time between posts is getting shorter, relatively speaking. When did we start needing technology to spell 'speaking' for us!
The last few months have been ... Interesting. While it might have been worthwhile to fill this space with a bullet point analysis of the recent trip to the US of A and the lessons learned from the first of the first world, Life has taken over and such indulgences will be left for when life permits. Reality sucks. There I've done what I never thought I would, at least not in writing, I've gone and used a meaningless colloquialism to express myself. That sucks. But when Life decides to play unfair then you have to play unfair right back at it.
This might all be cryptic but I write for consolation and refuge. More often than not I find myself returning to this space to vent cryptically since this is still a public domain- and vanish into oblivion once again. And it seems this state shall continue until Life quits misbehaving and puts things right. That's right Life it's Amrita, and you know what I'm talking about. Now get a move on it or else...

I'm in Aberdeen. In my head I'm saying it like Danny Bhoy said - 'I wasn't in heaven I was in Ballarat! I landed here to a rather warm 5 degrees which felt like it was on the other side of the number line. And promptly I forgot English.
I thought I was hearing the oddest conversation when people behind me in line for the taxi were talking about seeing 'undi' at work tomorrow and how they've stayed in touch with 'undi'. Of course my brain processed it to Andy soon enough.
You know you are in the mother land when you cut someone off and they say 'sorry love'! Gotta love em!
Ta'ra Ta'ra folks!

I had an epiphany of sorts yesterday. It was minor as epiphanies go but since this space must be revived at all costs, the aforementioned epiphany will be penned here for posterity.
For the 28 odd years that I have inhabited God's green earth everyone around me has told me that I do a lot (was it a Freudian slip that I typed that 'do a not' before correcting it?). But introspection led me to conclude that I am not a driven person (although I was in the literal sense of the word till a few years ago which friends and bus drivers will bear testament to). I do not have a burning passion for my job, do not have the drive that leads me to wake up thinking of something or wake up at all for that matter.
Nor am I easily influenced, which leads some people to be driven to follow other people. What I am is inspired. Easily, constantly, and consistently inspired. By everything and everyone around me. Some inspirations are short lived as are the consequent actions. Others last for life. The more I think about it the more I realise that we live in largely uninspiring times. Where the holy grail seems to be lack of social interaction altogether, what with being able to speak to your responding iPhone! I mean Siri-ously!
So running out of fuel as we might be - we continue to live in hope, after all we can be inspired by those around us who also continue without inspiration!

I sometimes read my old posts and wonder how long it will take for me to be able to pen my thoughts again in a similar fashion. You see, living in a non-English speaking country (continent?!) takes a toll on more than just your lifestyle. It takes a toll on your language.
What used to be free flowing, eloquent prose has now been replaced by halting, sometimes meaningless meandering around the point. And only I am to blame for not throwing myself head first into learning the local language(s!).
But I will be back, I promise me that, back I shall be. Baby steps to begin with...

So so so this blog has been eating dust for far too long! And just as it sputters, coughs and decides to breathe its last there I am, revival kit in hand!
I am choosing not to dwell on the past - although there is far too much to dwell upon. Instead I want to write an ode to two people - my hairdresser from Canberra and my dentist from Auckland.
Now I know that Ashanka of Spiritus Mundi fame somehow climbed into my head ten minutes ago and wrote out my thoughts on the hair dresser (yes, we're telepathic like that!) but oh well - no amount of paeans sung to soul-mate hairdressers is enough say I. See, the thing about a soul mate hair dresser is that they're like the man you want. They that just get you. You walk into their hands unsure and nervous and they pull you out of the depths of despair by making you look all shiny and wavy and suddenly the birds are a'chirpin and the geese are a'layin and its Christmas in June! And suddenly you feel like Julie Andrews singing 'I have confidence in confidence alooooone...' and you know that no amount of horrible supervisors or pesky co-workers can get you down.
Hairdressers and a good dentist. I need a dentist. Not in the 'pull out my rotting molar' kind of way but just for a thumbs up that it's all ok in there. And that my sub conscious teeth grinding hasn't worn em all off! I left my dream dentist in Auckland. Very few people, correct that, no one can tell you that you are a challenge and make you feel good about it the way she did! Sitting on that chair I used to find myself wishing that she was my shrink (no I don't have one yet) instead of my dentist and but for the funny contraptions in my mouth and, you know the fact that she was my dentist(!), I would have spilled my guts to her in a heartbeat.
Unfortunately, Brussels hasn't revealed any soulmates yet. The hairdresser is good although I can only say 'layered' in French and she goes on to do whatever she likes. I on my part am too nervous about her little pet dog nipping around my feet to really care.
On the other hand, I don't want to give Brussels the opportunity to reveal its dentists to me, soul mate or otherwise. Going by my recent medical experience I would prefer not to know.

It feels good to write again. In the golden words of my dentist ' floss the ones you want to keep'. I'm going to read too much into it and assume she meant ' take care of the things that matter'.

And just to prove that it does run in the family - a little gem by my sister...
------

For those who have been
For those yet to be seen
For those who want to belong
For those lost in the throng

For those who the eyes perceive
But the mind willingly deceives
For those we will never understand
For those with heads buried in the sand

For those who relentlessly try
Harder and harder just to get by;
For those who can afford leisure
And whose wealth is beyond measure

For those to who time was kind
Whom malady and tragedy never did find
For those that time forgot
Always at the end of their lot

For those whom humanity did not seek
Only prejudice and hatred made weak
For those of belligerent disposition
Whom peace and amity never propositioned

For those who privilege followed
And pride and greed hastily swallowed
For those consumed in vices
Only desire and indulgence entices

And finally for those who learn from this life
That love is the antidote to all this strife
That solitude is a choice, not a compulsion
That freedom is arduous work and devotion

For those who learn to turn the other cheek
For those who remain quiet, but never meek
For those whose faith is boundless
For those who endeavour to share happiness

For those with dignity and intelligence
And most of all, a little common sense!
A kudos, a salutation and an applause
For these are the ones who strive for a cause
---------
It is true, they may be born after you - but they're in no way behind you!

Thank you for the sunshine
thank you for the rain
thank you for making life for us
a little sane

Thanks for taking us in
like we always belonged
thanks for giving us a home
and keeping us safe and warm

Thank you for the beaches
the wide expanse of sea
more beauty than we could imagine
more joy than there could be

Thank you for the countless friends
most of whom remain
thanks for memories to last a lifetime
thanks for changing, yet staying the same

As the distances grow and dim
across oceans we roam
thank you for giving us the privilege
of calling you home

It has been 12 years of calling Auckland home. I found something I had written many years ago - and thought I should put it up. Just like all other years, this festive season too was spent in the warm embraces of home and the sun-kissed Auckland beaches.
Nothing compares to a warm cup of tea with the family - nothing at all. I don't have a resolution this year as much as a revelation - I want to be home. So come on world, having me around here is a limited time offer - make the most of it!

How much is too much?

If I were to do this blog justice, this post should start at a few months ago and fill few tens of pages. In the last few months life has seen some real highs and some crushing lows.
But the new year brings with it hope. Here's hoping that this year will give us the same amount of strength to endure that the past years have given us.
But there is an issue that requires elaboration and valuable advice for those who may follow and to begin I must quote the age old adage - health is wealth.
See it started small. Almost imperceptible. I couldn't fit into a friend's dress. I bought size 10 jeans instead of size 8. An aunty made a passing comment and asked for 'reducing' tips. And slowly a girl that prided herself on eating everything, a healthy girl who was just fine, who could run, read, write and think, just like everyone else - in fact better than some - began to eat next to nothing - and rather quickly, along with precious weight, words like 'imperceptible' started vanishing.
I have battled with anemia for as long as I can remember, so at first I thought the one spoon a day or syrup and some multi-V popped in should do the trick. It didn't. My dad thought that the fact that I looked and sounded exhausted was due to work. The paleness of my skin was due to the bad laptop camera and my irritability was genetic. It wasn't.
Come December, I dragged my 49 kgs back to Auckland (I really should have just checked myself in, the excess baggage would have cost less than my airfare!) and I still remember the look of shock on my family's face. I remember the moment of revelation when I shed my heavy winter coats and sweaters and saw myself, for the first time, for what I had become. And of course the tests showed it in black and white just in case I had missed my bones trying to rip through my skin.
Thus began 3 weeks of intense re-hab. Eating three meals, just like I used to, eating cheese, butter, ice-creams and sugar - like normal people do. Getting me back on my feet, getting my mind in order by getting my body in order.
No I was not anorexic, bulimic or any other 'ic' - not medically. But slowly I had warped my mind into equating every food with calories, into borderline starvation. All because bloody designers decided to make size 8 the new size 10 and because anorexia became the new 'model'.
The change has been rapid. Words come to me now, I sleep soundly, am not heard as much but also seen and I can think again! And while it is not yet full and complete and I will not write a book called 'Weighty Issues - the 'Iron'y of it all' or star in a movie called 'Iron Woman', i just wanted to put it out there in case E! is reading or Gucci is looking for another stick thin model (before I become normal again!).
On a more serious note - next time you see me and I BS about weight, fatty foods or anything along these lines - you have a free pass to whack me over the head and then buy me a waffle!

At first I didn't understand the enormity of the question. And when I did, I didn't know how to stop myself from screaming from the rooftops! (this was immediately remedied by lack of rooftop and sub-zero temperatures).
I (that is my colleague and I, the two people on this project) have been invited to - hold your breath - design exhibits for the Solvay Exhibition! *looks around at the complete lack of response, at the puzzled looks, and at some politely smiling as if to say 'umm oh that's great!'*
So to make you understand the enormity of this let's journey back - The Solvay Conference in 1922 was the first world Physics conference. The International Solvay Institutes for Physics and Chemistry, located in Brussels, were founded by the Belgian industrialist Ernest Solvay in 1912 (thank you Wiki!).
Still not impressed?
Maybe this will change your mind- the most famous Solvay Conference was held in 1927. A man was talking about a certain Principle when one of the attendees remarked 'God does not play dice' which was countered by another attendee - "Stop telling God what to do". Ring any bells?
That's right! Einstein vs. Bohr, Solvey 1927!
And where do I fit in in the scheme of things - well things seem to have come full circle - I need to make the younger generation understand what the older generation did - build the bridge as it were.

She left her French beret in Spain

The upside of 'the institution' is that you always have someone to go on holiday with - which can also been the downside. An impromptu holiday in Madrid was the perfect way to find out which side of the line I was on.
I never pegged myself a city-lover. Born as I was to parents for whom this was always a point of contention, my father being a city man and my mother a small town gal (in their likes that is), and harboring the romantic notions resulting from a childhood diet of Enid Blytons - I always thought myself a small town girl, a small village girl even (somethingortheotherShire).
Needless to say I went to Madrid with no expectations and what I felt left me wondering how many facets of myself I am unfamiliar with.
I loved the city, the shops, the dreadful (but refreshingly familiar) restaurant chains punctuating the main street. And the people. See, the problem with Brussels is not the dirt, the inefficiency, the lethargy or the weather, the problem with Brussels is its people. They look like they were the supporting cast for a holocaust movie and no one said 'cut'.
And, as is the nature of such things, the much awaited break went by much too fast. So far still walking the upside.

It is a seeping kind of cold. Not the kind to be warmed up by a fireplace or a steaming hot mug of tea. It is a creeping kind of cold. The kind that steals up behind you and before you know it it's not just the weather that is cold - it is you.

I sit alone in the drawing room. My single cup of tea does not have a companion today, nor a biscuit to accompany it. The belan is stowed away, the atta is sealed and pushed to the dark recesses of the cupboard, frying oil is drained into the sink and the whole spices will soon be forgotten. The house no longer smells like hot parathas and loving concern. There is no echo of my name called from the other room, no midday emails to ask when I am coming home and if I've eaten lunch, no impromptu shopping trips and visits to a museum! The spare duvet is rolled away and the extra bed deflated until the next time she's here. Come back Ma!

It is one of those days - the kind of which there have been very few in the last few months, the kind which you don't want many of - at all!
After giving serious thought to my condition, I realise that I am heading for a full blown burnout.
Thinking backwards to my last real break, I realise I haven't had one!
I got back to Brussels in June, before that I went to NZ to get married, before that I crossed continents, time zones and language barriers to move to Brussels, prior to that I was on a whirlwind shopping trip in India buying out stores and scoping alleys for one entire family's worth of wedding finery. This was after packing up four and a half years of PhD life in Canberra, vacating house and the like. Before this I was frantically trying to submit my thesis, dealing with a hostile work environment and a lack of support. Rewind four years and I moved to Australia from NZ a few months after finishing my degree, even before I graduated. Dial it back another four years and I was doing my undergraduate degree. And for ten years before that it was school just like the rest of the world. I will stop here and not retrace my steps to the womb.
So, penning this down, it hits me and hits me hard that I have not had a break. I did not take time off after school, after undergrad years, after PhD, nor did I do the mandatory honeymoon post marriage.
All these years I have been diving head-first into the next thing, sometimes taking with me energy and sanity and other times forgetting to bring them on board. Right now they are part of a distant past. Sleep is measured in fragments, the day is divided, leisure is stolen in between these, not always successfully.
So why am I blogging? Because I need to - I need this final shred of calm to touch base with the old me, to feel that the creative juices are flowing albeit slow and haltingly.
Now where is that Kit-kat?

Another Ganesh Chaturti has passed us by. I remember the time when the hailed remover of obstacles would be welcomed into the house amidst much fanfare! While the rituals have not stuck, the feelings have.
Bringing Ganpati home, the 'mandap' with banana leaves and flowers. The deep red kumkum and bright yellow of turmeric, air thick with the scent of camphor, agarbatti and amvade, tinkling of gejje and akshate, cotton of the deepas and the gejje vastra, burning ghee, baale yele, kadubu, don't look at the moon.
It has not been the same since we left Bangalore, it will never be the same but I am richer for having been there and for the memories. Blessed for being able to transport my thoughts back to those of the excited child that could think of nothing better than a morning of pooje and an afternoon lunch on a banana leaf.
This year we celebrated. A makeshift diya, fruits for the naivedya, aarti and lunch. A new city, a new house, a new person on board - but the unchanging sanctity of the occasion and the unchanging God.

I think in blogs every now and then. Just don't get around to typing my thoughts. It is a rainy Friday morning. A Friday of a very busy week where things that were not priority got done and those that were priority are still sitting on the back burner, getting slowly charred.
If I were to begin where I left off, we would have to journey back to June and the wedding. I realise that there wasn't a wedding post. Now it is only snippets from memory:
- Being received by my uncles at Auckland airport - for someone so used to hunting for the bus/train/taxi rank at airports this was brilliant!
- The food! Oh! the food.
- Cousins at home, after 12 long years!
- Cousins' babies in tow
- Noise, deafening noise
- Laughter, tears, late nights
- More food
- Friends who are so much more than just friends
- The beautiful mandap, the clouds clearing just in time
- Eating out of silver plates
- The glowing reception
- Colour, chaos, contentment
- Dancing till our legs fell off!

Yes, it was a Wedding to be remembered. It was not completely the happy chaotic affair I had hoped for, nor was it executed with clockwork precision (that my Mom hoped for) but the anthem was and still is - All izz well!

All excuses done for not updating this space. For anyone that is still reading here - thanks for sticking around and sorry for testing your patience so.
I will work backwards because some thoughts need to be penned right away. Everything post wedding has been subdued. My grandmom took ill a few weeks before the wedding, took a turn for the worse after the wedding and passed away last week. She from whom I inherited my broad shoulders, my love for piping hot showers even in winter and my dislike of all things cold. She who would call every Sunday at 8 pm, reprimand us for missing her calls and ask us if we have eaten and if I have gone to the gym. She, who was the cause of my speaking Kannada like an old woman! She who held all her life that all problems are best tackled on a full stomach. Even as I write this I cannot believe that she is gone. Last night as I cooked the first meal in the apartment that I will now call home in Brussels, it came as a passing thought that I should call Ajji since I haven't spoken to her in a while - it was an afterthought that I cannot speak to her anymore.
I cannot take solace in the fact that she lived a good, full life - she didn't. But for her sake I want to believe in afterlife, may she have a wonderful afterlife.
For us, the ones left behind, my father misses her like a limb, my mother in her own unsaid way, my sister is still in shock and for me it has not yet sunk in. When I do remember - I miss her in ways I didn't think possible. I miss her voice on the phone saying yeno puttanna". I miss her asking me about my week, about the little things that are happening in my life and when I will visit again.
There is left a void in our lives that we will never be able accept - we just have to find the strength to move on.