Mother Tongue Overdose!

( This post is for light reading. Those that can’t digest honest humour are advised to not read further. This post  doesn’t give people the authority to question my believes or loyalty towards my community. I am just as much of a Konkana as you. Maybe just a little critical of myself rather than the next person for a change.)

Is it possible to get enough of one’s own mother tongue? More so if that is all you hear everywhere? Yes, it is. Especially for someone like me who resides in the hub or what seems more like the emanating point of the language itself! In cosmopolitans there is diversity. People love their languages because it is an added advantage for directions, discounts, deceits and primarily for swearing and getting away with it. You know what I mean since everyone of you has a Mallu friend.

In a relay with our fellow Mallus is my community, the number seven people (Seven because they apparently always hook down the other in order to get to the top – Who ever thought of that!)  I see them as the fast tongued, nonchalant, and elaborately ornamented sporting a language sounding akin to Mandarin; The Konkani.

For a brief on anything related to Konkani:

In the early 1900s, Konkani was considered the second best language in the world by a Portuguese gentleman. That was when we were a quarter ofIndia’s population. Today, we have chased our Mallu counterparts all around the ends of the globe. We may have even surpassed, because now the word Konkani does not create an “Is that an African song?“ expression.

As for the people, there are two things a Konkana can’t part with; corals and thick yellow dal (DD Thoy). A true Konkona remains loyal to the likes of the two, a coy one pretends to like them. Currently the entire community is hung over on the ban of future sale of corals, while some snobs smirk mockingly at their coral possessions enough to suffice for mass weddings.

Be it weddings, parks, theatres or even buses, it’s easy to spot a Konkona. Yes! With all the corals of course! What about the men, you ask? They don’t make much of a statement anyway. Konkani men, like most men are spoilt brats! But not as bad as the Konkani priests, now Konkani + Priest are a lethal combination. We’d rather not tread there for now. I wouldn’t want to deprive my blog of another interesting post. The Konkanas have earned many titles over generations but one stuck on to us like an adamant leech “ Kajoos Konkana “. We earned the title over a petty grocery fight.

The Konkani community has the power to glue members like quickfix and also conveniently let go like hot potatoes held without oven mitts. Making us, our own enemy. We are critical enough to make the sun melt and love our gossips as much as our afternoon naps. We can’t get enough of gold on ourselves, and neither can we satiate our thirst to see what ten neighboring women are wearing. Well, that’s just as far as the eyeballs can roll for now. We are proud that Vijay Mallya is one of us, although he doesn’t give a tiny rat’s ass!

If this hasn’t entertained your mind enough, read more about the community (general, top layer, bland information) here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Konkani_people

Getting back to the language, I love it! Like anyone would. It is beautifully complicated and differs region to region along the Konkan belt. The food is finger licking delicious.

But, isn’t moderation always good? It retains the charm in things. I lived in Bangalore for 21 years, picking up English, Hindi, Kannada, broken Tamil, Punjabi and Telegu. Being a Konkani was cooler as it was rarer. I loved to talk my mother tongue and get a second look.

Now, I’m in Mangalore, where three languages thrive, Konkani, Tulu and Musical Kannada. It was a cultural shock when I shifted home. Here, I’m just one among several. The chai wala, auto wala, barber, storekeeper, baker and even drycleaners are ALL Konkani speaking. Konkani speaking of different castes of course.How could I forget? Castes are very important to the higher caste. To us, caste makes the man.

The city is undoubtedly beautiful, although extremely humid. Even if you can never look dry and pretty for social gatherings, your skin feels soft and supple here. The rains are to die for. I have also begun to learn Tulu from my maid. The sad part about this city is, it is content in its own pond. The people are content in their Tulu-Konkani comfort zone. Not wanting to venture out, explore or disappointingly accept other cultures, unlike the metros. What’s more pathetic?! They obliviously even pride at the fact. One is bound to feel sorry when Konkani fights make way even into gyms about making friends in a particular language circle!

I wish the people were just as wonderful as the language. I wish they understood that learning new things does not mean giving up your roots.

However, urbanization has filtered the population and implanted some new cultures, although very minimal for now. I hope diversity will shine over the city and there will be awakening. I wish the future brings a lot more languages. Until then, I shall remain under the sedation of my mother tongue over dosage.

 

Redemption

( To My Parents)

I’m far away and of you I have no glimpse.
Put myself to the test and camouflaged too.
Candid are now the tears behind the wholesome grins.
Here is a feeble attempt to describe life without you.

I hated when you inaugurated my mornings,
With annoying tunes and widely open blinds.
I wish to awaken the same way again,
To your annoyance, and not alarm rings.

I was a nag, a drama queen,
At you I carelessly flung wrath.
I am now surprisingly composed,
My anger is powdered into fine broth.

I frowned at what you cooked,
Complained although I could feed none.
Now, I try hard to replicate your food,
Learn it the hard way off a book.

Back then, I needed privacy,
Never had the time to complete a cuddle.
Now, I would give anything to hold you tight,
In our famous family huddle.

I miss the foam on my nose,
And your giggle whilst you shaved.
I miss seeing your face contort,
When I was not well-behaved.

I’m being honest,
I crave for you in dismay.
There were hiccups the other night,
“Drink water dear” I heard you say.

Life seems incomplete,
As from you I was never away.
Memories flash and voices resound,
Here with eyes closed as I lay.

I want you to know that I’m sorry,
Everyday I atone for my sin,
Thank you for loving me so unconditionally,
You are the reason behind my every win.

Life surely has changed,
But you are always beside me.
When we meet next, I’ll be a new person,
In me, redemption you will see.

 

Some Sprinkle For My Arse, Please!

Soon after I returned from my Moneyhoon, I was asked, “What was your first thought when you reached India?”. My reply, “Thank god for faucets!”

I can’t imagine a western closet missing its most vital element. The Powerful; The Easy-To-Use; The Do-It-Yourself faucet! Make one trip where “Paper” is the fad, you’ll know how simple a task (read potty) is around a water nozzle.

When in Singapore, I dreaded the profound sensation of a nature call. To my luck, that was when I heard from nature the most. While I hopelessly looked at a roll of frail toilet paper, I realized how I sometimes never give the faucet the respect it is worthy of! Pardon me dear faucet! I was oblivious of your powers.

The BIG Question: Toilet paper? Really?? How on earth can one “cleanse” their body so disgustingly?! It is beyond me. Why do we love to complicate everything? Something as simple as cleaning ourselves. More aghast, people even consider it as a better option.

While we manage to scrape ourselves believing we’re clean, we’re heightening the effort on the foolishly pre-accelerated action. In layman’s words; it’s YUCK! And downright prehistoric!

I’m glad I’m back home, to a land where pretence ends at the tongue and does not journey all the way to the backside. So there you have it, straight from the horse’s mouth (read arse); if it’s convenient sprinkles, then it is definitely an Indian restroom.

 

MANG. BIAL. CHANGI . NGURAH RAI. CHANGI. BIAL. MANG

I was away on a navratri honeymoon. Nine blissful days of sheer gallivanting. As relaxing and envy arousing as that may sound, it does have its drawbacks when you return home with swollen feet and nausea. Brought up in a grounded middle-class family, I was not frequently transported by airplanes. It didn’t bother me much as I was never amused by them. My first flights were at the age of 14. Second in line my solo flight at 23. Everything has been different ever since THE day, and so was the honeymoon; traditionally obedient. In the last nine days, I have boarded 6 flights, sulking.

Being my first international trip the honeymoon topic was a show-stealer. My passport finally had an interaction with a foreign body, although limited to a seal. Mr.Baliga and I decided on Bali and Singapore. Split into 3-6 respectively. First pit stop: Changi Airport , Singapore. We had two hours until our flight to Bali. There was no better place to wait at.
What a masterpiece! The airport is massive and well planned. Making one feel that nothing can go wrong in Singapore. Hell, it won’t go wrong even if you want it to!
After some free internet surfing and window shopping, we boarded the plane to Bali.

Destination 1: Bali (Rama, Sinta, Krshna, Prata.)

The land of peculiar Hindu mythology, Bali is undoubtedly beautiful. The several shades of green will make your day if you’re a nature lover. An ideal place for privacy. Also, one of the few places where any Indian can feel super rich!

1 Indian Rupee = 181 Indonesian Rupiah. Yes, take along just 100 bucks.

The price tags were a little shocking at first. I’ve never counted that many zeroes.

Coke – 19,000 rupiah
Bali Souvenir T-Shirt – 2,16, 800 rupiah
Dinner at an Indian Restaurant – 4, 20, 420 rupiah (I saved the bill. I don’t think I’ll ever see that amount on my diner bill in future.) Mr.Baliga walked around with a calculator the whole time. However, it was wonderful to see a price tag of 19,000 crumble to just 20 Indian rupees after some multiplications.

Our guide Prata talked our ears off in broken English. He enlightened us about Balinese culture that flew 30,000 ft above our brain. Score Bali – 4.5/ 5.

Destination 2: Singapore (Buildings, Speed, Ching hao ming, and more buildings)

If it is entertainment, then it came from the Singaporeans. They sure know how to make your holiday memorable. We received hospitality at its best when at most of the hot tourist spots. The manner in which the country has grown is remarkable, given that it was just a useless piece of land a few decades ago.
The roads as clean enough to press clothes on. If you’re a cartoon lover like me, then Universal Studio is all that you must see. Buildings rise higher than spines can aid. In Singapore, I tried an assortment of things. I earned a little, lost a little at the Sands Casino, dined by the riverside, went to a local Bollywood dance bar, enjoyed a star cruise halt in the middle of nowhere, watched my hubby ride on the scariest rides ever, bravely fed a Lory loft from my hands and danced my legs off at a discotheque called ‘ Rupee Room ‘.

Score Singapore – 3/5

On writing this I feel, so what if my feet feel like feet of the gigantic hulk, it was all worth it.

 

Preeti Dhakappa

This may be my last blog post as an unmarried woman. Although I took time, I have finally surrendered to the fact that change will be a predominant part of my life hereafter. In future, my thoughts may be biased. Hopefully nothing will fog my mind and I will continue to write aimlessly and carelessly.

 

I have written about so many subjects. Today, I write about a person who dreamt about being a writer even before she wrote her first prose. This post is dedicated to me! With a peculiar name like ‘ Preeti Dhakappa ‘, you got to dedicate stuff. I’ll miss bearing the name, what I’ll miss most is, correcting people when they so often misspell it. The first thing I did when I began to date Mr. Fiancé is match his surname to Preeti. Nothing goes well with Dhakappa, it is the surname for the eternally jinxed. Having said that, I also feel that Preeti Dhakappa sounds a lot cooler. Getting back to writing. (The purpose of this post.)

 

Let’s board the train of nostalgia and journey back! Ironically, the talebearer began to whisper on the 26^th Feb, 2010. Back then, I was a confused mass of protoplasm without a nucleus. Very little has changed in two years. But today, with just over 50 posts I have grown as a person, maybe also as a writer. And I don’t mean in size or width! I have received some valuable feedback and earned some great critics. My father being on top of the list. I’m deeply thankful to all for believing that my posts were not products of copy paste from Google search. Although I have an eerie thought that somebody out there is making a fortune by copy pasting my posts elsewhere. It could be a strong possibility.

 

With a loud “ Yappy 2^nd Boithday! “ to my blog, I wish the coming months bring good change, frequent and fresh writing. Combining the essence of the surnames Dhakappa with the new-found Baliga (a lot less cooler albeit), gift wrapped with opportunities of hopefully being an established writer someday.

 

To Hope! To Preeti Dhakappa! 

 

“Ma’am you have a heart in your mouth“

It’s strange how frequently we use the phrase ‘Heart in Mouth’, oblivious to how it feels. Two weeks away from your wedding is when you literally feel your heart in your mouth. Hell! You even feel the arteries causing a lump in your throat! I wonder if marriage was meant for nervous wrecks like me. I’ve being dating Mr.Fiance for six years now and yet I shit bricks! I guess I would kill myself from anxiety if I were to marry out of an arranged marriage. It is proven; I’m a certified chicken trying to imprison my comfort zone in a tight fist.

I have never felt such an assorted rush of emotions simultaneously before. I feel like a mood ring made into a kaleidoscope in the hands of a naughty brat. I have also never remembered Swami Ramdev more …. Anulom Vilom. Talking to myself is instant therapy. I chant on “Calm Self”. Strangely, I suddenly feel like Chandler from friends.

I’m aware that getting married is not akin to walking into a lion’s den. I’m freaking out like it is anyway. Hopefully this mad rush will end soon and I’ll realize (as always) that I was getting worked up about nothing. Three weeks from now I will look back at these times and laugh at what an idiot I was. I even have this post as evidence.

Until then, pardon me Sir, I have my heart in my mouth.

 

For My Poems

For my poems that often reflect,
A mindless expression I possess.
Some underlying meanings that may perfect,
This creepy bug called distress.

A drop of tear,
Some gentle smiles.
An ancient untouched fear,
Company on a travel of miles.

They stir them all,
In a humble hope to rise.
Veering off the road of fall,
Patiently skimming truth from lies.

What will they be is a mystery,
If bound into a book and read by some.
It is a dream so glittery,
For my poems, a time will come.

 

Parallel Universe

Today is Friday the 13th, it is considered to be a spooky combination. Star world is playing back-to-back episodes of Supernatural and the movie channels are playing horror flicks. Having had no real-life encounter with ghosts, I feel no fear about the day. Truth be told, nightfall will unveil my bravado as I’m petrified of the dark.

I have pondered about a thought for a long time; a creepy thought. What better day to put it across? The universe was always one of my favorite subjects. The sheer enormity of it leaves me flabbergasted. It binds my imagination and most of the time my imagination cannot fathom the facts about the universe. The creepy part is that I have always believed in a parallel universe.

Although I have a deep connection with GOD, I will make my post unbiased and understandable for atheists too. Have you ever pondered about a parallel universe?
It only makes sense, why would nature make the universe this vast without a purpose?
The enormous appearance and mysteries have a lot hidden within. Maybe somewhere in another galaxy, zillion light years away, resides someone akin to us, living like us? It may be a possibility. Maybe the circumstances that appear in their lives are similar to us or our circumstances decided by them. The thought gives me Goosebumps.

Earthlings have contemplated about the existence of alien life for so many years now. There are so many researches conducted. No substantial evidence yet. So they say. Some people believe that NASA knows many secrets that they do not want to share it to keep the world grounded under their foot. But a silly, humorous ounce of me believes we are the aliens’ Tata-Sky; their entertainment. 

I don’t know how spooky and mysterious Friday the 13th is, but I surely do know that we are watched and maybe even impersonated. The universe could not have been this gigantic for nothing. There are many answers that lie uncovered. But nature obeys none; hopefully someday we will realize the actual purpose of the enormity of the universe.
And that day will dumbstruck us in a way like no other. Until then, let’s live in the oblivious bliss of being the smartest life to be emanated. Little do we know of what nature has in store.

 

No Free Lunch

Yappy New Year dear reader! I hope this year is treating you well.

 

For me, it was a crazy start to the year. I got a buffet coupon for two for a luncheon at The Leela Kempinski. My friend and I decided to avail the benefit and skipped breakfast to absorb the most of it! Yes, we are cheap and proud of it.

 

We worked up an appetite and rode to the venue around 1:30 p.m all excited. Little did we know that the day would turn out to be a nauseating roller-coaster. The tyre of my friend’s Scooty Pep wobbled as we rode. It was a puncture. Out of sheer hunger we pondered if we could have lunch first and then get the tyre fixed, but it was too far to push the bike. We were hungry, sweaty and we now needed to find a tyre repair shop. We pushed the vehicle to ask two disinterested cops if they knew where we could find help. They pointed to a distant tyre shop. Being a girl has its perks. Help when asked with a pout, is never refused.

 

It took us precisely 30 minutes to get the tyre fixed. Rupees 200/- kapoot. When it was ready we hopped onto it and rode away to the land of limitless food. We parked the bike at the first parking spot our eyes landed on and sprinted to the restaurant Citrus. The buffet at Leela was contrasting to its ambience. Although the spread was versatile, the food was average. With a full tummy we walked around the galleria to feel lighter.

 

After an hour of loitering, we decided to leave. We reached the parking zone to find our vehicle missing. We walked the whole stretch of the road wondering if we forgot where we parked it. Then it struck us! The icing on the cake, the workout after a heavy meal; our vehicle was towed away. In haste we parked at a ‘ No-Parking’ spot. The day couldn’t get any worse. We asked the nearest pani-puriwala for the location of the nearest police station, barged into an auto, and for the FIRST time in life, let an auto-driver advise us on what to do next. We reached the point and saw them unload vehicles like smuggled goods. Being women did not work in our favour this time. The traffic cop made a receipt and demanded money. These are the times we wish to have a corrupt politician or officer in the family to rent influence from. Rupees 300/- kapoot.

 

We were all excited to enjoy some free lunch and ended up blowing 500/- that day. It’s true, in life there really is no free lunch. It was a tiring, yet hilarious day. Something we’ll laugh about for many years to come. Looking forward to more roller-coaster rides this year. Bring it on!

 

 

 

2011 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,200 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 37 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.