Thursday, 31 March 2011


 My Amma always tells me that no matter how I behave right now and no matter how inexperienced I am when it comes to my cooking skills, I would grow up to be just like her. She has this ‘uniformly used in all argument’ sentence which she showers upon me whenever I argue with her. It goes something like, “When you become a mother and reach my age, you will know”. That dialogue always gives me a tiny prick. I end up spending my night thinking ‘Am I really like my mother?’. I have finally consoled myself with a few reasons as to why I am not like her and why I can never be. If you are jobless and have nothing to do in the world (I would suggest you to count stars than going further) then read on.

Top 5 Reasons as to why I am not like my mother-

1)      Culinary Art- My mother is an excellent cook. Our neighbor Mrs Kukreja used to bring home illogical and sometimes absurd edibles like curd in a huge bowl. She knows that my mother has this strange practice of never returning the plates empty. If I was her, I would return it with some water.
                But when it comes to me, ahem!! I am a great cook when it comes to just making Maggi. My cooking generally ends up producing non-edible substances and products beyond human consumption like BUTTERMILK TEA. You get it when you pour buttermilk instead of milk while making tea because you are too ignorant and stupid to know the difference between milk and buttermilk and continue making it like a nincompoop even when horrible smell continues to fill the kitchen.

2)      Looks- Obviously there is just one you and you look like just you. I do not accept the myth that there are 7 people in this world who look exactly like me. But they say you inherit certain features from your parents. I look nothing like my mother. My mother is this beautiful woman who is fairer than any of those pale anorexic chicks shown on those skin whitening cream advertisements.  She has curly hair and a thunderbolt smile and big hazel eyes. She is an epitome of how a Keralite woman should look like. I look like a hybrid mix of India. The pathetic side flicks, the watermelon face, the non existent nose and the Olive color eyes. Some say I look like a Bengali, some Mumbaite and some even say I resemble a Mongolian. A few good souls tell me that  do look like a Malayali.  I am a reasonably fair girl but I look like a charcoal covered egg when I stand beside my mother. They don’t even accept the fact that she is my mother :(

3)      Character- My mother is a certified Dirt Buster. Pest control authorities would happily give her the post of Manager if she applies. Where there is a tiny dirt spot, or mud or even bacteria which are invisible to the naked eyes but never hers, there you will find her with a mop and a bucket, muttering under her breath to those dirt particles while granting them capital punishment. When it comes to me, I thank my hostel maid for keeping my room non toxic. I have roommates to help me continue with my habits. This roomie of mine had a dead fish in her fish pot for like two months. The other roommate has a junkyard war happening on her study table.

4)      Health Conscious- She wakes up at 6 am and does an hour of Yoga (some shit called the Art of Living propounded by that droopy man called Sri Sri Ravishankar). The yoga is then followed by half an hour of speed walking. She has spent 21 yrs of her life trying to teach me how exercise keeps you fit and fine. I have learnt that fact but I am yet to make use of it. I generally push the mute button inside my head when she gives her yet another dose of ‘importance of exercising’ which usually ends up with the same line ‘Health is wealth’. Procrastination keeps circling my head. I am the one who waits for Shavasan in the yoga class and ends up sleeping till woken up by those OM chants during the end of the OH SO REFRESHING session.

5)      Traditional Approach- Temple every Saturday, early morning bath, praying before starting the vehicle, taking the gods name atleast once in ten minutes, that’s her. When it comes to me I think the Lord might have forgotten that I was his creation had it not been my mother and father taking my name in all their prayers. I am a strange person and totally whacked out sometimes. You tell me a creepy story and you can see me holding to a cross (bought from Jerusalem by someone who knows me too well) and saying Rama Rama. I look for double protection you see. If Jesus isn’t free, Lord Rama would be.

My mother is everything I should be, but sadly I can never be. She has been a perfect daughter, a perfect sister, a perfect wife, a perfect mother and a perfect person. I just try to be. Isn’t that enough?  


Sunday, 27 March 2011


It was my 29th day to school. That’s what my grandma told me and that’s what I remember it to be. Amma was running around the kitchen packing my Tiffin-box as granny forced me to drink the much hated Horlicks and me pinching my nose shut while drinking it. Dressed up in my green pinafore uniform with a white handkerchief pinned on my chest and the letter V carefully embroidered on the end by my Grandma. Frowning as my mother managed to tie my hair which usually ended up looking like a hibiscus flower sprouting from the middle of my head. Two green eyes trying in vain to make Amma know that school isn’t where she wants to go today. I was forced to wear my school bag with the bottle around my neck and I hated everyone at that moment. Papa gave his bear hug and I tried to wriggle out of it.

Auto- uncle came with his ever smiling face. He took my bag and said “Aaj tumhe kisi se milaunga. Tumhari nayi dost.

As I walked towards the auto I saw a girl my age, with a pinafore longer than mine sitting with her head bent down and shaking her legs. Nervous was what I became then. Many things were running through my head. “What should I talk?” “Why is her uniform longer than mine?” “Her hair is better than mine” “She has a Scooby Doo bag” “Does she too like power-puff girls?” and so on the thoughts went.

As the auto started, the alien girl managed to look at me. I saw big black almond shaped eyes staring at me. The Kajal was running down her cheek because of the tears. Auto uncle said “BABA, aaj uska pehla class hai. Beta, Baba ko apna naam batao”. So the Auto-uncle had cracked the ice. The girl looked at me and with her voice cracking through the tears she told me “ASHIMA”. Then the silence continued.

The auto came to a stop outside our school and the driver gave us our bags. Since I was 29 days more experienced than her I quickly put on my bag and started to walk. Something made me look back and I saw the Almond eyed girl struggling with her bag. Something made me go back and help her. Something made me hold her hand and make her walk with me. Something made me tell her “KG 1 mera class hai, tum mere sath baitho”. Something made me share my pencil when her pencil broke. Something made her smile. Something made me feel like coming to school every day.

Its been 17 yrs of friendship now and she will always be my First Bestfriend. She is States away from me, but even when you do not get the time to message or do not call for months, the friendship never fades. When you finally get the time to talk, it feels like you have been in touch everyday. I have been lucky to find some gems on my way and she is one among them.

I plan to remain her friend till we are as old as these two ladies and if there is any beyond, then that too :P


Photo courtesy-

Wednesday, 23 March 2011


Just switch on your Television and change the channel to some Malayalam Channel like Surya, Asianet, Kairali, Amrita etc. I can bet you on one thing. During the breaks between any soaps, or movies or reality shows you will see atleast one gold related advertisement. If you are lucky enough then may be even three. That is the status of Kerala. Every other week you can see an advertisement in the local newspaper or the TV channel, inviting the locals to join for the inauguration of another branch of a gold chain, with top Mollywood actors and actresses cutting the ribbon.

Its not just Rice or Liquor the Keralites are greedy for but Gold. You can see even the elite groups among the men stopping their SUV’s to run and fetch a bottle of their favourite brand of liquor from a BEVCO outlet. The women flock almost cause a stampede in the Jewellery store.

I am a Malayali girl but born and bought up in the North. My father too is like me. But like I said GOLD greed is in our DNA. He too wants to marry his daughter off with a minimum of 100 sovereigns of Gold (not kidding). My family says it’s not dowry, but something which I take to the family as my share and to be used for mine and my husband’s (idiot’s) future. It all starts as soon as a baby is born. Kiddie gold bangles, rings, waistlets, anklets, earrings etc keep coming irrespective of the gender of the baby. I was even fed a bit of gold paste during the ceremony of my first solid good ingestion. So you see, it’s in my blood too.

Some months back we specially visited Kochi with the intention of buying Gold, for my wedding which will be five to six years down the line.
 Amma- “Antiques never go out of fashion Mole! Oh god!! I did not eat my breakfast, I am so hungry. That reminds me we should buy some biscuits too.”
Poor Me- “Yeh I know this place where you get good Oreos or Butter cookies.”
Amma- “I was talking about gold biscuits mole!”

So me and my parents entered Bhima showroom at Mahatma Gandhi Road, Kochi. The entire street is lined with jewellery stores (poor Mahatma Gandhi had nothing to do with this). I enter the Huge two floored store with different sections and believe me ‘baffled’ would be an understatement. I saw equality for the first time of my life! People from all sections of the society are running around with big stacks of Gandhi Paper in their hands (Now it hit me why that road is called Mahatma Gandhi Road).

I see this man, probably a fisherman in an old worn out shirt and lungi with a thick bundle of notes in his hand. He had just bought a necklace worth 1,50,000 Rupees. Every section of the society, any cast, any district, any status, rich or poor, fisherman or businessman, all fighting to buy gold and that too the best.

Artificial Jewellery is frowned upon here. Diamonds are secondary to gold for an average Malayali family. If you are a girl and your neck and ears are bare and devoid of even a tiny gold, you are attested as poor. I come from the land where people do not mind spending the rest of their life under debt by taking loan after loan just for stacking up gold. I come from a land where show-off is done in terms of displaying of Gold. I come from the land where women stand in bus stops wearing thick gold chains and bangles (thanks to the immense chain snatching, it has reduced). I come from the land were woman are gold mines. I come from the land which buys and sells quarter of the 800 tonne Gold sold all over India. I come from the land where ALL THAT GLITTERS IS GOLD.

Photo courtesy-Photobucket

Sunday, 20 March 2011


Facebook is the in thing now. Orkut and myspace are dead and gone! But I am not here to grant a particular status to any social networking site. First, let me greet you with a question.

What was your first reaction, when you saw your maid servant fixing her schedule for the day by shouting into a nice NOKIA phone while you were still stuck to your old model?

But now we all have accepted the fact that the three basic necessity of life are no longer three. They have been joined by some others, including a mobile phone.  So it doesn’t shock me anymore, when I see the Dhoodhwala flaunting his new Samsung Corby phone (that too PINK!!)

So here I am again beating around the bush. The point is, I got shocked again. This time it was not any gadget or anything.

My roommate got a FACEBOOK request today from none other than the Autowala whose auto she traveled yesterday afternoon for like 10 min. He did not ask her name but knew the University she studies in because of the unique white uniform. It had to be a Law kid.

The next thing she sees is his friendship request awaiting confirmation. She almost fainted and I did fall off my chair.He was in Facebook with 30 friends and all of them were either mechanics or drivers .This guy was wise enough to check the University page and find her out.
Soon, my Maid servant will be Liking my statuses and uploading her pics of washing my clothes at my home. You never know!!

I am not saying that it is a bad thing. But like the mobile thing, this too will take time to get settled in my head.

The world is heading towards hell in a hand basket!!

Wednesday, 16 March 2011


This post was an idea generated by another blog which I stumbled upon. Television soaps are like the lifeline of Indian women. Be it from any part of India, the women folk have their eyes glued to their favorite regional or national TV serial. They watch it so devotedly and it looks like their lives are hugely affected by the words of the serial BHOOTNI or the so called VAMPS of the serials. Well, this post has nothing to do with the effects of serials in the minds of the young or whatever. So you can boldly read on.

I was just listening to some songs when it hit me. As you know most of the Hindi serial titles are taken from the old Bollywood songs. So if the titles of some famous English tracks are taken, what could the plot of the soap possibly be?

Here are some famous English tracks and my plots for them.

1)      Summer of 69 by Bryan Adams- This story is about a tiny village of India (nobody cares were it is!). A man enters the village as a tourist but notices that all the villagers are Zombie like and rarely talk. They look at him with KHAUF BHARI AANKHEN. He investigates and finds out that a woman died in the summer of 1969 and her curse made the villagers ZINDA MURDAS!! 

2)      I am toxic by Britney Spears- Scene 1- A man busy working in his dim lighted underground chemistry lab with fumes surrounding him and potions bubbling in the test tubes. Scene 2- He gives an evil smile and drinks the potion and faints. Scene 3- He gets up with yellow snake eyes and he is as toxic as a cobra. Scene 4- He goes around biting and killing his enemies.

3)      Poker Face by Lady Gaga- This will be aired as an episode of the famous C.I.D series. A lady with her face painted of poker cards is going around the town killing handsome guys and putting their body in gunny bag and throwing in the river. ACP Pradyuman investigates and catches her in a public toilet. On further investigation they find out that she is actually a man.

4)      Meet me Halfway by Black Eyed Peas- The hero is in love with an alien who he accidently bumped into while the alien was visiting the Earth. She had to go back and he could not miss her. So this serial is how he makes a spaceship and goes in it to meet her. The alien also does her part and comes with her spaceship. They meet up on a meteoroid where the eventually make love and have babies who look like the Avatar.

5)      Candy shop by 50 cent- This is a love story where a girl works in her family run store dealing with chocolates and candies. The hero comes to buy candies on Valentines Day for his girlfriend and meets this girl. She helps him with the selection of the candies. Later the guy gets dumped and blames the candy girl. In the end they fall in love and live happily ever after.

6)      In the end by Linkin Park- Like the name suggests the story keeps the audience guessing about the climax which never comes. The lives of almost ten generations of a particular family are showcased
7)      You found me by Fray- Two brother separated in the famous Kumbh Mela spend their youth trying to search out each other. Each guy’s story and love affairs are individually shown. They find each other in the end but the happiness does not stay long because they eventually find out that they both were sharing the same girlfriend.

That’s all I can think of right now!! Add up your own plots for some famous tracks!! :D

Tuesday, 15 March 2011


 This blog has nothing to do with this famous track by Yolanda be Cool. Read on if you are still interested. Indians are being hypnotized by the West. Everyone wants to speak English (perfect or not doesn’t matter) and everyone wants to go abroad. Some want to go abroad because of the money and some want to go abroad because they dream about the idea of being called a NON RESIDENTIAL INDIAN. “It sounds so cool na?” says my Aunt.

So the PAKKA DESI babu packs his PETIS and gets on the flight with the great Indian Dream. The women folks of the family are weeping; the garlands adorn his neck, the tilaks are poked onto his forehead. Ones the flight goes, the drama stops. Now the mother has something to flaunt and boast around. “Mera beta London gaya hai” is her new topic leaving the “Meri nayee benarasi saree dekho” topic behind.

Four years have passed and its time the BETA gets back home and shows his firangi face to his Indian family. The flight lands and there is another session of drama including the weeping, the tilaks, the garlands. The OPENING OF SUITCASE ceremony starts as soon as he reaches home. Versace perfumes, Hersheys kisses, Snickers, Gucci bag and other brands are introduced into the minds of the young in the family. Now you start talking to the firangi Indian. He looks at you with the London bridge shining in his eyes. He left India as a Pakka Hindi speaking Indian and comes back speaking English with an accent.

Four years cannot change so much. How can he say that he forgot Hindi in four years? How can he say that his accent comes naturally to him? He speaks his mother tongue like a foreigner in just Four Godforsaken years.

Now the  top five changes you see in him -

1)      He cannot take the spicy Indian food anymore- He fans his tongue with his hands and he goes red. He says the ALOO PARATHA is too spicy for him. Mind it! He used to crave it once.
2)      Bragging- He brags how good London is and how clean the place really is. Everywhere he looks, he has something to compare to the Videshi life. “In London they drive only big cars. Big means BADA. There are no Maruti 800 there. You understand?” All you can do is nod and call him a fool inside your head.
3)      He cannot take the climate- He needs Goggles, sunscreen, and other complimentary products to even cross the road and visit the next home. He wants Air Conditioner as his bodyguard wherever he goes. “Ye kya Garam Pani? Fridge ka pani do”. “How do you guys survive here?” he asks. Well I smile at him and think “Just like you used to four years back”
4)      Brand conscious- “What!!! You have not heard of TOMMY HILFIGER watches!!!! Tum toh TITAN se khush raho”. He asks me if i like LOUIS VUITTON bag and he pronounces it as LUIS VITTTON. Poser!!!!
5)      He wants to click photos everywhere-  From the drawing room to the bathroom, from the mother to the beggar sitting outside the home, from the Dhoodhwala to the Padosan ki Beti. He clicks everything!!!!

The list could continue but something has to end! The PAKKA HINDI BETA has been kicked out by the new FIRANGI INDIAN BETA!

Monday, 14 March 2011


She opens her eyes on a cold bed
The walls around painted in white
A picture hanging on the right of a little boy smiling bright
A grilled window lets the sunshine in
Trying in vain to erase the darkness in her life

She looks at the calendar on the stand
And stops the tears from finding its way out
If she could just hear the sound of her boy
And tell him she could still bake his birth day cake tonight.

The morning seems unwelcoming and the nights dark n long
A bruised heart stamped and stabbed yet crammed with hope
She walks slowly carrying the burden of a secret stone
Quivering in between, wishing for her only support to take her back

She walks bare foot on the green grass
But why was everything she saw having the glint of black
She sees a girl in the distant
Twirling around with her baby in her hand
Flashback haunts, and it’s more than she could withstand.

What wrong had she done
Had she ever left him stranded in the streets alone?
Had she ever left his hands and left him under the wings of doom?
It’s true that some questions have no answer.

She looks at the gate yet one more time
They said it had changed into a daily worship
Eyes vacant with tears but filled with hope
That her boy might take her back

Sunday, 13 March 2011


As seen inside an ATM. Couldn't stop myself from clicking it while withdrawing the Money. :P

Saturday, 12 March 2011


There are so many moments in your life which you treasure. Some you sadly drag along as you move and some you happily remember. Then there are some memories which where painful then, but when you look back at it, its not tormenting anymore but actually make you laugh.

But I have one such incident which still gives me a “PAIN ON MY ANKLE” (literally). You remember the teenage days, where you just want them to let you out and give you the grown up treatment which you think you deserve.

So this happened around five years back. It’s been 2 yrs since I bid adieu to my teeny years. After stepping out of my school I was feeling grown up and mature (it’s a whole different topic if I really was. Even now it’s my 12 yr old brother who is more matured than me). I wanted to take my two-wheeler for a long distance trip, chalked out by the girls. I pouted, made some puppy faces, gave some dimpled smiles and some cute words and my dad fell for it. Mom yet again blamed dad for falling for it. I took the Activa, put on the gloves, summer coat ( mommy doesn’t want tan to touch me you see ) helmet and started on with the journey. Two other friends driving just behind me. Back in those days all you want to do is prove to your dad that you’re an adult now. So for the first time in my life I drove below 40 km/hr and was enjoying the city passing behind me. Suddenly this monkey of a person decides to take a left turn and without any indicator he just took the turn and crashed into me. I tried my level best to avoid the scene.

He crashed, I fell, and I dint feel any pain. The only pain that I felt was in my head. The anger bubbling within. The thought of how to tell my parents that I had an accident. They would never believe it when I say that it wasn’t my fault. I pulled my leg out from under the vehicle and marched towards him and started screaming at him from under my helmet. I was looking like an astronaut. My friends just gawked at me. The rear view mirror was broken and I wanted it mended. The police came and I wanted no scene, so I grabbed some money from that monkey to repair my Activa and fled from the spot. Again I started driving the beaten up bike. The wind was cooling me down but something warm was flowing down my ankle. I was hurt and suddenly it started burning. We stopped at the petrol station and I looked at my ankle. While I had pulled out my leg from under my bike to go and scream at the guy I had hurt myself. There was a deep cut and no skin left on the side of my right ankle. I washed my leg and I laughed because it pained (I laugh when it’s paining and people are around). All I was thinking about was repairing the bike. We again drove and finally got the active back in position.
We dropped the trip and headed back home. The news was given to my mom who started looking all over my body for bruises with award winning words coming from her mouth. Dad was silent. My brother least bothered went to look for scratches on the bike. Granny went to make Ayurvedic coffee for me. So much drama !!

Now I am a girl who hates injections and I did not find a need for tetanus. I am the most stubborn girl you would ever come across. I bandaged myself and continued to be myself. After about four days I felt an itchy and tingly feeling inside my bandage. I decide to open it up. After all it was just a deep scratch. The vision was just AMAZING. The wound was looking bigger and a white scum like thing was on it. I freaked out and passed the freaking out to mom who further freaked dad out too. All the freaking out came back to me in terms of words of mouth. We visited the doctor and he told me that I need to be operated. So I gave him a smile and a “fuck off” stare and limped out. Doctor number two said it just needs cleaning and fresh bandage and some medicine to go with it. I was happy with the option and went back home.

Ten days passed and I got twice cleaned and bandaged. Now I was sure that the next time I go I be back to the pavilion. So I am all happy and limp back to the doctor for the last time as he promised me. I sit on the hospital bed and mommy the sweetest stands beside me and my brother the smartass stands outside the door. The nurse opens the bandage and takes a good look at it and smiles at me. He tells me that I am recovering well. I am all smiling and happy baby. I look at mom and wink and turn my glance back at the doctor. And this was the moment I froze to my seat!!

I see him moving towards my wound with the tweezers. I inch back and demand an explanation. The nurse tells me that he needs to scrap the white scum like skin out of my wound because it’s infectious. I stare at him and my tongue goes dry and I want to pee. My mother looks sad but tells me that I have to allow them do their work. I give in and close my eyes. How painful can it be? Not that much. It’s just some dead skin. I will laugh if it pains and I be fine. hurts. I open my eyes and I wince. I pull my hair, I curse the bastard of a nurse. ‘’You swine!!!! Get away’’. To help me where some popular hindi insults. “Saalaaaaa maar dale ga kya be…abe gadheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee”. I bite my lips and tears roll down. I scream at him “Gadheee doctor ko bula…saaale ulluuuuu.. mooooooooooooooooooom”. I look at mom and she is actually laughing at me. I scream at her to which she replies “If you where me looking at the way you are cursing the poor guy, you would laugh”. Lovely!!!! I look for some pity in the eyes of my brother and I see him dragging my driver near the door to see the performance I am giving. They all look amused!!!

Bloody fucking hell! The world is full of mean people!

Finally the ordeal is over and I am bandaged again. The doctor comes and smiles at me and I gift him a cold stare and a biiiiiiiiiig “DHANYAVAAD JEE”. I took an oath never to see his face ever again. Later on my way back mommy the ‘not so sweet anymore’ buys me ice-cream and holds my hand. I ask her again why she laughed, to which she answered
“All this is nothing when compared to the pain I got while delivering you. You would know when you go through it”

What an answer!!!!

Thursday, 10 March 2011


Photographer-ME :D

                    I don't mind living in a man's world as long as I can be a woman in it.

The Flower Market at its very best for DIWALI

On the way to India Gate.....The Balloon Man!

To his dog, every man is Napoleon. There is no faith which has never yet been broken, except that of a truly faithful dog.  ~Konrad Lorenz

The Stalls in and around RED FORT...

                          There's nothing like good food, good wine, and a bad girl. 
                                                              The kebabs!!!

Pani Poori...Needs no more explanation!!!

Red Fort and the Yawning Sun...

If there exists no God, It is necessary to Invent him.

You watch my back....and i watch yours!!

Wednesday, 9 March 2011


I have been trying to find a perfect way to describe a woman. Every woman goes through these patches of sorrow and troubles, been looked down upon, being segregated, said to be week and emotionally frail. I have been having bad day today and i bumped into this beauty of a poem. Written by MAYA AGNELOU. Have a read.


You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops.
Weakened by my soulful cries.

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own back yard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise.

Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I've got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?

Out of the huts of history's shame
I rise
Up from a past that's rooted in pain
I rise
I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.


This blog has no aspect of entertainment in it. But if you are bored or want to be a future serial killer or want to commit suicide keep reading ( I will be telling you a method to commit suicide towards the end).

Well today was Forensic Science day for me. In the earlier classes we have been fed with a series of lessons of wisdom (duh!!) about Death, fingerprints, suicide, murder, different types of death, blah blah, yada yada yada, I don’t give a fuck and so on. Today was another such yawning class and the topic was INJURY. Had I been the usual me, sitting in the back bench, with the company of my mobile phone and the snacks in my bag I wouldn’t have had any problem in cutting time. But here I was forced to sit in the front bench with another classmate who definitely has this strong ability to get on my nerves. So I sat their looking at my nails, the hair peeping out of my professor’s nose, and trying to say A-Z backwards. Suddenly I here some girls behind me giggling, joined by some so called males a.k.a she-males of my class (I have no reason to call them males if they don’t behave so). I leave my daydreaming behind and try to find out what’s the fuss all about. The topic of discussion was BITE MARK and there was a slide photo of a buttock with a deep bite mark. This was the reason of the giggle. The professor persisted the girl who started it all, to share the joke with him and when she couldn’t find any way out, she blurted it out “ Sir, I was just asking ummm thinking as to what is the difference between a bite mark and a….a……..a……love bite”. The professor of age above 60, if was surprised or was uncomfortable did not show even a tinge of it. He coolly said “though I have no personal experience, I would be happy to clarify your doubt.’’ He continued by telling us that a love bite is as a result of violet kissing.Love-bite is a temporary bruise or mark caused by kissing, sucking or biting the skin forcefully enough to burst blood vessels beneath the skin.
The term hickey (hicky, or hickie) is often applied to a love-bite on the neck area.But a bite mark is the result of the usage of teeth and not necessarily in a loving manner. Bite marks are usually found on a rape victim or in homicidal cases where the victim bites the accused to escape from him or where the accused bites the victim while raping her.

A case he told about requires special mention here. The case is called the TED BUNDY case. There is no definitive agreement on when and where Bundy began to rape and killing women. Bundy refused to give details on when and where he committed his first murder, even when confessing to over 30 murders within 3 yrs immediately prior to his execution. During one his homicidal frenzy, Bundy bit Lisa Levy (a victim) in her left buttock, leaving obvious bite marks. Police took plaster casts of Bundy's teeth and a forensics expert matched them to the photographs of Levy's wound. Bundy was convicted on all counts and sentenced to death for the murders. Ted Bundy was electrocuted by the state of Florida at 7:16 a.m. on January 24, 1989. Just one bite mark led him into electrocution.

Now like I promised, I would tell you a method to suicide. The interesting thing about this sinister technique is that it uses none of the traditional gory weapons like firearms or daggers, nor does it use poisons. The murder device is quite simply and surprisingly air, which is so harmless and ubiquitous. It is almost unbelievable that such an innocuous looking thing as air could kill someone. Actually air or for that matter anything in this universe can kill a person, if it is wrongly placed in a human body. This case is also a similar case. In this case air gets ensconced in a place where it normally shouldn't be! Such cases are technically known as cases of "air embolism". About 200 c.c. of air is required to kill a person by air embolism. Take in 200 cc of air into a syringe and inject it into your veins. When such an injection is given, the air bubbles start travelling towards the right atrium (right side of the heart). From right atrium they keep travelling onwards till they come to the lung. Here the capillaries are too narrow to allow the big bubbles to pass. The result is that these bubbles get entangled in the blood vessels of the lung. The whole blood traffic stops and the person dies very quickly. The beauty of the technique lies not only in its simplicity but also in another thing-the difficulty of detection of this condition at post-mortem examination. When a person dies of air embolism, the only abnormal thing that is there within his body is a bubble of air somewhere in his blood vessels. If the forensic pathologist is not careful, the bubble would vanish the moment the body is opened.

Know the blog is small (as if you cud tolerate it anyway) but sleep haunts me! Much love!! Gudnight!

Tuesday, 8 March 2011


This weekend was a result of lack of options. When the options before you seem bizarre and stale or not worth it you turn to your last resort and in my case it was visiting my Grandparents place. It’s a place called PANDALAM, usually pronounced by me as PAADALAM. Blame my utter nonsensical knowledge of the language or my lame tongue. Well continuing, it’s a place where my Lord AYYAPPAN was bought up. I have no clue where he was born. It’s the jungles nearby I suppose. Blame my eccentric knowledge about my religion. So the Lord was born (somewhere), was found by the king of PANDALAM and bought to his palace and was raised their. That’s the only reason I proudly tell people where my momma is from. The Palace with its THIRUVAABHARANAM (jewels and ornaments) kept and guarded safely within and the place where he learnt his archery and so it goes on. Pardon my ignorance. As a kid I was not much of a story listener nor did I ever like the subject History during my school times.
 Anyways this weekend was a total getaway but the starting was a little smudged. The usual 2 hours journey to the destination from Ernakulam is 2 hours max but due to the so called construction work going on it got stretched to a mighty 7 hour journey. The train was stinking and the water got over under mysterious circumstances (this is where I blame the Government). But to make my journey more entertaining or in other word hair pulling where the famous for their pervert thoughts the locals (Mind it!! IYAM AE MALAYALEE)
The worst part is where a woman is being teased by a man and no one will bother to help her out of the situation. But they are ready with their comments and lame jokes ones the situation has been dealt by her in her own way.
So I am busy listening to some music and gawking outside the window when this old man (old enough to be my grandfather’s father) comes and sits in front of me. He acts like he is looking outside but his tiny beady eyes are hooked on me. He is staring big time and not moving his eye even after I m showing a sign of disgust. Suddenly he points at the half empty lays packet beside me and I give a “protective about my chips” look. After about five minutes he wants to buy my sandal that too just one of them. What on earth does he need it for? The conversation goes like this

FRUSTRATED OLD JERK- Ennique oru cheripu vikkyuvo? (will u lemme buy one of your pair of sandal)

ME- Enthu (what?)

FRUSTRATED OLD JERK- Oru Cherippu (one sandal)

ME- Manasilla. Onnu enneechu pogumo ( I don’t feel like. Will u get up n leave)

That bloody mongrel winks and smiles and goes. The people who had been watching this noon show suddenly get the voices and say

MONGRELS- ENTHU PATTI. (what happened)

MACHO GUY NO 1- Was he teasing you?

ME- No..i guess he was probably drunk. He wanted my chips, my phone, my sandals.

MACHO GUY NO 2- you should have shared your chips

MACHO GUY NO 1- If he wasn’t this old I would have beaten him

I rolled my eyes and continued with my music while these macho guys continued debating about the entertainment with their eyes glued on me. This is the situation mainly seen in Kerala. They have an opinion on everything but an action for nothing. Everything is news for them and a new topic. I was lucky that the journey ended within an hour of that happening.

But the weekend was a joyful one. Food so yumm that I could drown if I even think about it right now. Grandparents running around getting my wishes fulfilled. Early morning faint chants from the temple calming everything down. The green and misty land caressing every soul. A weekend well spent.