My place

Have you every associated a place with a feeling? The coffee shop around the corner always makes me yearn for brownies and the beach makes me nostalgic. But if there would be one place that tops my list it would be "my place". Archiving my old photographs I found these pictures - Views of the sea from my favorite spot. As far I can remember whenever I was angry sad or just plain bored I sought solace in this little spot atop the water tank of my house. I have spent lazy afternoons just sitting there and staring at the endless expanse of the blue ocean and the abandoned light house. Nobody else came there and I could be assured of uninterrupted me time. Sometimes when I am battling office politics and stuck in a apartment with too many flat-mates I wish I had my place even here. Till I find one I shall settle for putting this picture on my soft-board.

Well..

I realized alot of my posts were sad or angry and hence made up my mind to write a happy and cheery one. Till my gmail and all related accounts got hacked. And then I discovered the hacker was someone very close to me. So much for my happy post :(

I like :)

It is better to have loafed and lost than never to have loafed at all.-James Thurber, writer and cartoonist (1894-1961)

Mums the word

My mom and me have never seen eye on eye on several issues well most issues. She hates it when I experiment with my hair. She was totaly against me going to the united states. She was against me under going the surgery. But over the years I have realized that she tends to look at the big picture and can make sense at times. She has undying optimism. Though its a bit extreme at times ( she belives each one of those. You are the lucky winner of a million dollars e-mails). She belived in my sister and me even when it mattered. She can magically remove gravy stains from white shirts and makes the most amazing chocolate cake.
Cheers to moms :)

Running through my mind

I have spent the last few days waiting for a call that never came. and probably never will. Have checked and rechecked my e-mail for an email for a mail that never came and probably never will. How do I explain to one that people change in the blink of an eye, in the fifteen minutes of a phone conversation. That people change and promises, trust and sacirfices are good as gone. Why do the head and heart have to be two different things?

Two posts in a day. I think I've out done myself.

Broken Dreams

Republished from my old blog due in a bout of homesickness :(

Summer vacations in my grandparents house in Sri Lanka were always fun. I remember being excited all through the road trip from my hometown to Trivandrum, where we would catch the flight to Colombo. The two months were action packed for my sister and me. Pampered by grandparents with trips to tea estates in hill country and picnics in fishing villages in the south. We were always close to tears when we had to fly back.
Growing up in a small town in Tamil Nadu, Colombo was the big city of wonders for me. I remember going back and proudly telling my second grade classmates that I rode an escalator. I out grew my fascination for the escalator but my fascination for Sri Lanka remains intact.
One thing I always noticed during my trips was the spirit of the people. For a country ridden with internal strife, they were a cheerful lot. Sometimes too cheerful, probably a cover for uncertainty and fear.
Two years back when I graduated, I flew over to see my grandmother. College was over, I was yet to join work. In short life was one big holiday. I spent a glorious two months there gallivanting around Sri Lanka with my gang of friends. The mood was also upbeat in the country. There was talk that the war would end soon. Immigrants and refugees were slowly coming back. There was subtle joy in the air where ever one went.
Last month, my grandmother passed away and I had to go to Colombo for her last rites. I reached the city close to midnight and even at that hour I noticed the stark differences in the city from my last trip. As a result of recent problems, security was beefed up. As my car snaked its way through the familiar tree lined avenues with Buddhist shrines, I noticed checkpoints at every corner. Over the course of the week, where ever I went I saw the same look in everybody's eyes. And I realized there was something worse that not having dreams- its called broken dreams.