My Bibliophile self

As a kid I always saw my grandmother with a book in her hand. I still have childhood flashes of her reading right after she’d finished her daily chores or when she’d been waiting on the milk to come to a boil or during a TV soap commercial or in her leisure hours. And the bond astounded me, ridiculed me to an extent that it made me covetous .Thoughts about how an inanimate object, so unpretentious, and purely textual with absolutely no imagery is such an inseparable part of her life, drove me crazy. When asked she’d say “Let me tell you a secret? There will be times in your life when your friends will not want to play with you, not want to spend time with you, but a book will never say no! It is your true friend forever!”

Then, inadvertently, could be legacy or a numinous force or one of those enforced summer vacation obsessions, but I fell in love! It got me too, just like my grandma, it enthralled me. Then there was no turning back. I loved everything about books! I loved their texture, I loved to hold a book in my hand, it was real, and it was my companion. Every time I got my hands on a book I would open it, run my fingers over the pages slowly feeling that smooth yet faint imaginary embossment of writings and then smell it... the new ones smelt of glue and factories and cleanliness and I loved rubbing them against my cheeks as they felt baby like and oh so vulnerable. And the old ones smelt of grass, of sawdust, of forests and woods. And they had so much more to tell than just the original imprint, they had ages, they echoed stories of people through those ages. And the overall experience was time-travel like.

Even as I grew, nothing changed. At times my bibliophile-self had sporadic fits of bibliomania, which was thankfully controlled by coursework, extracurricular activities and mom enforced budget radar and then there was a phase of abibliophobia, where I read only a certain number of pages a week to conserve the treasure just like I ate a small piece of Cadbury’s Dairymilk chocolate over 5 days. But it was all worth it, a fantastic experience.

But now, what breaks my heart is the daunting possibility of my grandchildren or the generations to come not being able to experience this divine association with real books. With e-books being readily available, portable and convenient to store, it is probably going to be the only way books will be published a few years down the line. And being a self-proclaimed nature lover and eco-system protector I agree it is in best interest of the mankind to save trees. But if the 8 year old selfish me were to dictate the ways of the world, I would issue a ban on using tissues or paper napkins or paper stationary or mail or any other paper item right now and plant one extra tree for each book only to be able to continue my relationship with this pure, eternal, benevolent and loyal soul-mate of mine till the age of 70. 

“This is not the end, it is not even the beginning of the end, but it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

It took one year and 8 days for me to get back to start doing what I enjoy the most… writing. When I asked myself the one thing that I strongly want to write about, the only thing that came to my mind was my life during Masters. So, let’s see.. How did it start?

It started one day with a certain happy-go-lucky, non-ambitious, lazy individual “me” wanting to appear for a particular non-popular, easy, inexpensive exam “GRE”. I distinctly remember having told myself, “I am going to write this exam only to keep my options open, I am most definitely not going to quit my “highly-paying” job only to add to the stereotypical computer engineers’ crowd who leave the country every year. So, here I was, in the US of A, 8 months later, still sticking to my bona fide statement, contradicting the typecast, for my masters in Financial Mathematics.

The best part about coming for a course as conventional as this is the fact that all your friends in your department are Chinese. Not only do they scare the hell out of you with their extreme intelligence and hardworking conducts but also help tremendously to brush up your acting skills... I remember the days at “Bal-Bhavan” during summer vacations back in school where I enjoyed making hand gestures during acting workshops. I had no idea; something learnt years ago would be of such use decades later. Every single word I spoke to my Chinese friends had to have hand gestures aided with animated expressions in order to ensure successful communication. Apart from the strenuous task of putting my point across, I had a fantastic time remembering and memorizing their names. I had a “Xi” (pronounced as She) in my class who was a he and a human male “Yachting Qing” whose American name was “Tiger”. :-/

(P.S.: No Chinese were harmed intentionally or unintentionally during my masters or while writing this blog entry).

Life in the US of A cannot be complete without your roomies. These are people you laugh, cry, study, cook, eat, sleep, snore, crap, fart, fight with. It would be an understatement to say that I found the most “ITEMest” of roommates ever available. The day we met, Ms. Karva Chauth had a questionnaire for me to answer. Questions like what time do you sleep? What time do you wake up? Do you mind if the light is switched on while you are asleep? Do you study at night? Do you study during the day? What time do you eat breakfast, lunch , dinner … and such other extremely imperative questions and only favorable answers to these would fetch me a place next to her in the same room. With the power instilled in me by the Almighty, I resourcefully answered all the questions to the best of my ability but unfortunately Ms Shanti Superbrains bagged the position and with that Ms Chillumchilli and I decided to spend the rest of our lives in the smaller room together. But soon due to some unforeseen events, Ms Karva Chauth had to leave our house for her Chanda mama only to be replaced by Ms Chak de India.

Life thereafter was a riot. We watched movies on one laptop and played sound from another as we always failed to find movies that played in sync. With the self-assignment of cleaning dishes to Ms Chillumchilli, sweeping the kitchen floor, chopping onions and grating cheese to Ms Shanti Superbrains and making ginger tea every evening to Ms Chak De India, I managed to get myself the most chilled out task of streaming Sarabhai vs. Sarabhai / Full House/ Bewitched/ Terrible B –grade Hindi songs before every meal. We loved getting ready together before any Indian function and always managed to reach the location only towards the final segment “dinner”. We did everything together, right from going to the Grocery store on a windy, freezing cold day and walking back to our house with torn plastic bags, measuring Lucky’s fairness on the fair and lovely fairness strip even if Lucky was a soft toy, throwing pot luck parties only to realize we are the only people cooking for it, cutting a small chocolate bar into four equal pieces before eating it, to practicing early morning Yoga when our mornings started as early as 1 pm.

(P.S.: Names have been changed or omitted but details are factual and based on personal experience. I wish all my roomies all the love and happiness in life and pray that they find this in the best of health)

As I reminisce these moments and muse over my graduate life, the one thing that strikes me the most is the magnitude of change I have undergone since I last left my country. I weigh at least 15 pounds more that what I used to back during undergrad years, I roll my tongue every time I pronounce words with “r”, I value my mom’s food way more after spoiling a hundred recipes and burning over 50 rotis, I think twice before spending a dollar on coffee, I cannot bear the sight ofdirty utensils in the sink and to top it all I accidentally spell my name as “Shruthi” owing to the tremendous south Indian influence on me.

I don’t think there is anything in this world worse than you missing your best friend’s weddingor your nephew’s fancy dress competition or your mom’s visa interview preparation or your cousins’ gatherings or your mama’s new house warming party or your school fun-fairs or your grand mom’s hospital visits or your building’s Ganpati and Diwali celebrations or the girls’ night out or hogging pav bhaji and vada pav at odd hours. I know no joy in the world can be compared to these tiny little delights, but getting a Masters degree definitely gives you a sense of triumph. It makes you robust and makes you believe that you accomplished something against all odds. And today as I finish my graduate studies I am elated, relieved and contented and thankful to each and every pleasant and dire influence in my life.

“This is not the end, it is not even the beginning of the end, but it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”

My mind doesn’t listen to its heart anymore

My mind doesn’t listen to its heart anymore
Whom do I turn to? Whose support do I seek?
I see a foggy, murky ray somewhere in there
Oh how, tell me how do I grab? When all I can do is just peek

What do I do? My mind doesn’t listen to its heart anymore…..

My mind is an arroyo, Oh wait it is a crag
No I think it is a treacherous cave, or maybe it’s a cavernous bag
Is it the fiend’s hand or the divine voice?
It makes me ponder, it leaves me no choice

What do I do? My mind doesn’t listen to its heart anymore…..

Is there anyone who has seen its face? Enchanting, illusory, astute or benign?
Is there anything else more existent in this world, Of course not, see how it answers all questions mine
It is like an ant carrying a heavy rock
A frayed cloth shielding a marble stock

What do I do? My mind doesn’t listen to its heart anymore…..

I try to talk, I try to fight,
I cry to it so that it gives me some sight
But, after all, my mind is a mirror! What is right is left and what is left is right
The more I struggle; I realize I will lose might

My mind doesn’t listen to its heart anymore
It will someday, when it has no choice
I wait, I linger, I chose to ignore
So what if my mind doesn’t listen to its heart anymore?

My Thanksgiving Story, Nov 25 2009

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A Long time ago on a far away land sometime in the 17^th century did the first gathering among the pilgrims (Fred and Ethel Pilgrim, that is) and the Winnebago Indians take place. It was the harvest festival celebrating a rain that came down like cats and dogs, the autumn harvest festival featured fine foods such as turkey, giblets, gravy, mashed potatoes, lettuce, turnip & pea. Pheasants and swans were also offered and ironically, no one wanted the turkey wishbone at that time, but the kids all fought over the swan's neck. Also add a bunch of rare already Religious eggheads and hippies and rock bands in your scene to spice up your imagination a little more. All in all thanksgiving (apologies if it hurts anybodies sentiments) according to me would be a : “SAY A THANK YOU DAY ” just like the valentine’s day, mothers’ day, fathers’ day, pink princess day, twin day, the who’s who :“mix-n- match day “, the tomato day , …. day…..day…..day….day ( I am sure some of these are not even real but I won’t be surprised at all if a little birdie tells me in my ear that they do really exist) Jokes apart , the Americans celebrate Thanksgiving in a whole reason of saying thank you to everyone and everything. Also, Thanksgiving is to also be reuniting with family and friends and just discussing how life is and being appreciative.

For a normally evolved human brain that is as developed as it should be, I assume (please feel free to correct me if I am wrong)by now the obvious question (assuming again) on your minds would be “ she is not an American neither does she sing and dance during the harvesting festival and if she does, she needs to see a psychiatrist even before she thinks of writing another line nor is she is meat eater, the only thing she could relate to probably is the word “ THANK YOU” and that some homo sapiens erectus species back in the 1700s had their ‘last names’ as Indians. Then what is it that she has to tell? Well here it comes…

When I lived in India I grew up watching F-R-I-E-N-D-S and every season had to have a thanksgiving episode where Monica would bake the turkey and Joey would be exercising to work up his appetite and Chandler would be sulking because his own parents are both females, one of whom used to be a man once upon a time and Ross would either be getting married or getting divorced or getting his girlfriend pregnant or yapping about the terrestrial archosaurian reptiles who held their limbs erect beneath their body. The reference to context for one of the longest sentences I have ever written is to highlight the tradition of stuffing and marinating and greasing and baking a beautifully wattled and multihued bird; ladies and gentlemen, hold your breaths for I am presenting the star of the article Ms. TURKEY (Kindly notice the political correctness in my usage of the title ‘Ms’ pronounced as mih-zzzzz (h is silent)).

Before I say anything else about this point of contention, let me brief you about something that happened to me two days ago. For most of you know my schedule (those who do not ...people get a life …. You cannot miss out on such extremely vital information about the happenings around the globe especially about celebrities) my usual day would end somewhat in this manner: Eat dinner in bed after a two hour extremely onerous shift at the gym, wash up, brush my teeth ( I know mom you are going to be so proud of me .. I haven’t forgotten the values you taught me..But it is not your article, you already have a dedication :P moving on) change into my night wear , start watching an episode of the Big Bang theory on Mega video and dose off listening to Sheldon’s nerdy intelligent yet droll sarcasm. And the day following that would have me first set the alarm off and put it on snooze so that I can sleep for at least 5 more repeated snooze cycles and then finally wake up unable to bear the pricks of guilt inflicted by the masochist in me and the decibels of the noise in my head (THE CONSCIENCE).

BUT that morning was different. With half eyes open I saw something that gave me the shock of my life (To all the Rakhi Sawant fans… this is a moment one would stand in peace for 2 minutes in order to give her “Aadaranjali “(respect) she has been and will always be our inspiration for make-up-full-zero-acting display of emotions, and to all the Ekta Kapoor soap lovers this would be the moment where the camera shows you the same face/object/house/animal/paper/ for exactly 3 times with the ‘dhish-dhish dhish-dhish’ music). My phone, my sweet, white, clean, Sony Erricsson w580i walkman phone was splotched. Oh poor thing!!! It had an approximately 1.3 inch long and a 0.4cm wide blotch running across the screen horizontally. It was a gory sight I tell you, it took me half an hour to actually realize that it was not a nightmare, it had happened for real; my beautiful phone, companion, my only source of communication (other than my laptop) with the outside world had a damaged screen. L

That day and yesterday have by far been the most traumatic days I have spent in the US of A. Every time I keyed in my numbers I would not be able to see the top most line… every time someone called me, their display pictures made them look like they were all Veerappan’s pedigree as both genders had a mustache with the above mentioned dimensions .. jet black… no hint of color and every time I had to text message someone (me being a religious user of the dictionary option) the word hints that the phone gave me were all covered under the black line and I ended spending more time and energy trying to guess what the word under the screen would be rather than just typing it in the usual manner. Two whole days and one night… I was starting to get really impatient…alas the engineer in me spoke in the voice of Shakespeare:

I am the owner of the sphere
Of the seven stars and the solar year,
Of Caesar's hand, and Plato's brain
Of Lord Christ's heart, and Shakespeare's strain.

What is thy use if thy cannot repair it

Such a shame if thy left it unfinished

So, there I was, in my unlit bedroom at 3.22 am, geared with my MVP card, a tweaser, a pair of scissors, an illustration link that I obtained from yahoo answer on “how to disassemble your walkman phone in 5 easy steps” in the bright not to mention extremely clear light of my lap top screen. Being gifted with an extremely intelligent, smart, zealous and a highly convoluted brain unraveling the phone was a trivial task. Then after a careful examination in the luminous presence of my lap top and cleaning I finally put together the components of my phone with utmost perfection. Nervous and paranoid yet ecstatic about my new-fangled exploit, I pressed the tiny white button on the top of my phone to put it to life. And then was the moment o truth, to my dismal observation I saw all the possible colors (literally) that I must have never seen in my entire 23 year and 11 month life laughing back at me on my phone display. I cannot even begin to catalog the assortment of hues I witnessed in that unearthly hour of the morning.(If anyone is interested in the list one can refer to http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_colors and save me the task and torture of recollecting the shades I saw.)

It was a sudden death of the adroit and fervent engineer in me. (Condolences accepted) But as it is said an engineer’s brain is always an engineer’s brain, (I don’t even know if that is a saying, but what the heck!!) something interesting caught my eye, something unusually bizarre, something really mind boggling. The colors on the display of my phone looked exactly like a traditionally stuffed, marinated, greased, golden roasted, beautifully wattled and multi-hued bird. Did that ring any bells? Oh yes!! To my unbelieving eyes it was a TURKEY sprinkled with multi-hued condiments placed on a multi-hued banded table cloth!

I did not really know what it signified. Did it signify that god had blessed me, almost a vegan me with a turkey on thanksgiving as I was away from my family or was it a lesson that I learnt about not being content with what I already had (the big black hideous looking scar across the display) or was it an indication from god that I had to be thankful for the joy of loving, caring, sharing, be thankful for the togetherness and merry making, the 'Oneness' of people, epitomizing peace, harmony and union? I know this must have been the most unusual story anyone ever wrote but it all made me think, changed my stereotypical opinion about celebrating and dedicating a day for making up for all the 364 days of the year (and 365 days in case of a leap year ;))that you forgot to thank god for what he gave you .

Well, that’s my thanksgiving story for all...the night that I had a non-functional phone, a sleep depriving experience in dismantling and a gifted digital turkey!!

Let us all join our hands this thanksgiving and thank the Lord almighty for all the blessings and material possessions he has bestowed on us.

One of those

Oh god it is over,  

How do I fathom 

It is already dead

even before it started to blossom

The earth has stopped spinning 

There’s no more pain, 

u left me no reason

All those moments are in vain

Everything seems to have stopped growing

No seasons pass me by, 

Seconds feel like a million hours

Every day I cry.

Will my heart ever again

start loving since there's no one to love here?

Losing you, not being with you

Was my most dreaded fear.

When will my soul stop searching?

Now that you’re gone,

without you I swear

I'm not that strong.

Did the sun clock stop going round ?

For me you went away,

there once was a beautiful sun shining on me

but now there's not even one ray.

Did the wind stop its howl?

Now that there's no breath we share,

I know you never loved me

but I really did care.

Feels like everything has stopped working

it is all frozen in time, 

I will always miss the days

that I could call you mine.

HER

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If there is someone in this world who I have loved, adored, venerated, admired, lied to, been scared of, loathed, yet treasured immensely; it would be my mother.

I do not remember when was it that I actually accepted her as my own? I am sure none of us know the answer to this. It is probably sometime, in those 9 months when they carry us in their womb or when they feed us or when they teach us how to walk, or when they clean our mess or when they make us independent or when they just sit by our side even when we do not need them; that we actually make “her” ours.

I wondered as a kid when I saw my friends’ mothers. Why is it that my mom is not tall, why does she not wear saris all the time like other moms, why is it that she cannot come to pick me up after school, why is it that she is not at home like his mom? It used to make me sad that I never got the “bare minimum” expected things from my mother which every other kid got. Well the “bare minimum “is according to one’s requirements, conveniently listed so as to pity one self. As a kid none of us realize the importance of what we have. As it is rightly said, the grass is always greener on the other side. But why is it that I never happened to notice that she was always there when I needed her, that when she was home I was her world. She yelled at me when I erred but she drew me to her chest every time I shed a tear, she made me study when I wanted to go and play but at the same time she opened to me so many avenues where I could delve into the beautiful world of music, arts and sports, she did not let me spend time watching television but she cultivated the brilliant habit of reading in me. She did not spoon feed me with all the answers I needed to the problems I faced but she made me think for myself, let me make my share of mistakes, corrected me when I took the wrong paths and yet never lost faith in me. Her eyes, her smile, her voice was always there to soothe my ailing heart all through my tribulations. She never advocated my transgressions but at the same time gave me the strength to admit my wrongdoings and act towards rectifying them.

Then why is it that we as children are always finding faults with our mothers. What’s wrong if your mother is not educated as you, what‘s wrong if your mom doesn’t know much about your field? We all did not take birth with this level of knowledge or intelligence…there was a time when she was much smarter than you were and you did look up to be like her. What’s wrong if she tells some things to your friends that you don’t want them to know? I am sure we have embarrassed her in much worse ways by throwing up on her brand new dress or thrown tantrums at a party that we did not wish to stay at. What’s wrong if she yells at you for not paying enough attention towards her or not accompanying her for a movie once in a blue moon? We all demanded our share of attention when we did not have anyone to play with and expected her to leave all her work and play a pal to us. What’s wrong if she messes up a dish for dinner when you were expecting five star standard cuisines? The gourmets that we all claim to be, little do we realize how easily we forget the efforts that go into making something for your loved one especially after managing a myriad of things.

The kind of mother you have is the kind of mother you need. She comes as a gift to you from the one who is sitting somewhere above all of us... stitched to fit your need size, to help you self-actualize, to enthuse you to achieve something in this given life. She cannot be perfect because you cannot be perfect. But together, along with all the awkward situations, you will both do some form of justice to your roles. So, love her for what she is…

Love you Aai.

Heart Dead

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I loved you and you never loved me, that's what you never said

I can't stop thinking about the first time we met

we shared a special moment that I would never forget

I still remember how your heart felt

It felt so divine so pure so true and so amazing

But now what’s left feels so empty dirty and crushing

I liked it when we were alone; I used to get so sad when u said u had to go

I didn't understand why I wanted to stay with you, I never wanted to let go

I loved your smile your eyes your intelligence your charm

I felt so happy that I was with you but then you dropped a bomb

I kept thinking what I did wrong

I said I will never talk to you again and I want to hate you now.

You made me open my heart to you,

Now without you I don’t know what to do

What did I see in you; I think I was really blind

What we had was nothing..Tell me how I can go back in time

Now

When I see you I want you to say it was a joke

How do I get rid of the feelings and stitch my heart that’s broke

Moments we had I will cherish forever and never again ask you to say “you do”

My heart is almost dead like you are to me too!!

I MISS IT ALL :(

the lunch bags...the sitting in circles on the court and eating each others dabbas.

the giggling throughout periods reading stuff in the chit ur friend passed from the back bench

the playing ....the whole school pakda-pakdis..the red letters..the pole-poles....the lotangans

the running after the school bus...the 122 bus stops...the non-stop banter.. the JD lassis

the french classes...the homeworks...the sanjanas...the water glasses..the giggling

the cricket matches...the 85s and 86s....the pillow fights...the plays...the boy-cuts....

the slam book writing .. the snack hogging sessions just wen the teacher turns her back to the class

the green prayer books...the queues...the prayers...the prize distributions

the picnics... the puri-batata dabbas... the coke cans...the peppermints...the plastic bags...the volvos...the "aaja meri gaadi main baith jaas"

the kho-kho matches...the fights...the kabootars...the blisters....the cheering...the houses

the leaders...the panchayats...the charts..

the kaladalans....the elementaries and the intermediates...the Katkes.....the Shingres and the Potdars

the fun-fairs...the stalls...the cleaning sessions...the camps...the moms

the punishments...the badges.. the belts...

the Vande Matarams and the Janaganamanas.....the white canvas shoes...

the vada paavs n the red chutneys...

the teachers...the 'cooker chi shitties'.... the Ms. Bhasins, Bhatias, Pereiras,Pathaks, Pauls.......

the darjeelings...the empty-walkman listening sessions....the blasting sessions....the kajus and the fbds

the birthdays...the chocolates....the chocolate-packet carrying helpers

the elections...the prefect-plays....the practices

the lawns .. the attics...the trees...the mali-dadas...

and

SHANGRILA

Just another evening at 1726 C

Disclaimer : The following blog entry is expected to be taken in a very casual manner.. Hard feelings towards any person living or dead are highly intentional.

Characters ( in Alphabetical order )
Akshay Anantharaman
Abhishek Krishnan
Aditya BG
Bhavani Prasad Hegde
Geetha Janardhana
Sandeep Koratagere
Shruti Parkhe

( the following characters are not in the same physical space but they have a lot to do with the story.. so I consider them to be really important )
Sangeetha Ramaswamy
Sharanya Krishnan

P.S : if anyone thinks Sharanya and Abhishek are siblings.. you are wrong.. it's just that their dad's happen to have the same name


Scene 1 :
1726 C hall..
Sandeep facing the AC room wall working on his lap top...
BP sitting next to him facing the AC room with his new hi-tech headphones .. again "working" on his lap top ( working synonymous to gulti movies )
Geetha sitting down resting her back on the kitchen wall
Krishnan sitting on a chair facing Geetha with his lap top on an $8 table from wallmart
BG : sleeping in his room.. really tired after his day at COTY
AA sitting on the couch with his totally screwed up headphones trying to adjust the headphone wire so that he can hear something...

Shruti enters

Shruti : Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii everyone !!!!!!!!!! ( with a loud voice .. loud enough to disturb Johnny who is at his best on the floor above)

Everyone : Hi...( like they have 40 kg weights tied on their tongues)

Shruti: Ssup ppl!!! ( again loud enough but not enough to disturb Johnny (as "everyone's hi has pulled her mood down) )

Shruti puts her bag down and sits on the couch next to AA

Shruti : Wachooodoing akshu!!

Akshay : Nothing .. Just reading about the mating habits of African wild Asses, Hirolas , golden Moles and Elephant shrews in Somalia (says it sso casually, sso casually ...sso casually that he says it very casually )
(courtesy NC state punter-log and items)

Shruti : OKAY ( starts her laptop )

Everyone : (still in the exact same positions as described at the start of the scene )

Shruti : AA let's play text twist ( in her patent enthu style )

AA : chalo ( in a sing-a-song manner.. just like the bald principal in the movie khiladi .. here's the link : http://www.bharatmovies.com/hindi/video/Khiladi.htm )

Shruti and Akshay : (playing text-twist with full josh )

Everyone : ( still in the exact same position)

Akshay : Ok break time ( this is where my physically absent characters come into the picture) (AA chatting with Charles and Sangeetha )

Shruti : baaaaah !!!! my one and only 'sahara' for fun and "ping" there he goes. "( with no offense to Sangeetha and Sharanya .. I expect them to take this in the right sense which is "STOP CHATTING WITH AKSHAY WHEN I AM AT HIS PLACE " )

Shruti : (Starting to grumble in her usual way ) ey Waaaaad-isss-dizzzz...yuuuuuuuuu guys are sooooooooo boring yaaa.... let's do something fun noooo.... come let's watch a movie

Everyone : hmm ok.. which one ( this time they have 70 kg weights tied to their tongues )

Shruti : Anything man.. anything .. Akshu look for something online ... and start streaming

Akshay : ( in the same bald Khiladi principal style ) OK hain.. hindi ya english

Shruti : anything man .. just anything

Everyone : (back to being in the exact same positions as described earlier )

Dinner time !!!

Krishnan : (gets a call.. not in the house anymore )
Everyone (including me ) : (eating some really good food.. has to be sambhar rice and chips )

Geetha: I am so full now .. I think I am off to bed

BG: (barely managing to open his eyes after the power nap) done with food now ... chumma go in.. sit in front of the lap top .. watch MB and go off to sleep .. goodnight everyone

Everyone : Nite ( by now the tongues have broken bcoz of the heavy weights attached to them all this while .. and eating food has made it worse )

1 hour later....
Krishnan returns.. eats his dinner like a baby.. which includes being absolutely silent , chewing every single morsel 32 times and dreaming about god knows whom.

Shruti : (totally frustrated...almost on the verge of pulling her hair out .. thoughts of pulling out akshay's hair cross her mind but looking at his receding hairline she lets go ... pulling out geetha's hair is another thought that crosses her mind as she is the first person to go off to bed .. but the length of her hair intimidates shru's thoughts.)

Shruti : Bye everyone

Everyone : Going huh... OK ( in a voice that I can just about hear...I think it happens with age that people start losing their hearing ability .. or it's just that "Everyone" needs voice modulation and public speaking classes )

Shruti : Bye everyone ( with a sad tone .. hoping at least one person will ask her to stay back and say let's do something fun ... going towards the door taking backward steps)

Everyone : BYE