Its been a while....

Well, it's been ages since I last posted, and what a sentimental post it was.

I am back now and I hope to keep blogging for a long time.

My circumstance is governed by my current financial constraints and I am currently residing with my radio manager.

I am particularly looking forward to my mother coming over for my brother's graduation, and I cannot believe that time has whizzed by me with such effortless speed that I am now but 5 days away from my darling mother's arrival.

My brother shockingly enough is now completing his bachelors and I feel as though it was only yesterday that he was a fresher at University in Bournemouth.

I sadly have been particularly stressed and frustrated with my employment situation and the complete lack of career stagnation that I have been pinned into for the past 6-8 months.

I am hoping to move on from this circumstance, by relocating. I am moving from Wales back to my motherland - India. I am very excited as when I last went for Easter, I could have felt more loved by my family and my very special friends.

I also feel that there are more opportunities in India. The UK is not my home country, as my blue passport so governs my entry and work status, and I am particularly limited by this. I have tried and worked hard to try to push my career forward here, but the economic situation here has set me back in more ways than one.

Also, with the new coalition government that has taken hold, immigration will be significantly curtailed by the almighty Damian Green who is putting a cap on economic migrants, and plans to slow down the immigration into the country. So hard cheese for me, and my hopes to extend my visa is being re-examined in this light and I do not want to invest anymore money into the UK, if I am not getting anything out of it.

Having received a letter from my grandfather recently, he was adamant that I come back to India as my situation will instantly improve on doing so. I don't know how true that will be but, I will be glad to be home, in my country, where I can do as I will.

I will miss all the good friends and the amazing people I have come across here the UK, but I sadly have reached my last tether and at the end of the day, the world is still governed by its borders, governments and economy.

So I hope to say farewell to the UK, and Namaste to Amchi Mumbai.

To my grandpa and grandma...

When I begin to reflect on thoughts of Kerala, what first comes to mind are Gapa and Gama. For me they represent the home, history and heritage that comes with Kerala and our family. Their relationship's endless love and generosity has always been the glue that has held this family together and they are the centre of the Valuparampil-Watacheril universe.

My fondest memories of visiting Gapa and Gama's abode is firstly getting there. As the car cuts through Thiruvalla town centre, then under the railway bridge, up T. K. road and then the Valuparampil abode, into the gate, up the slope and park at the front of the house. There on the doorstep is Gama awaiting our arrival in one of her lovely sarees with a solemn smile on her face. After the introductory hugs and kisses, our luggage is deposited into our rooms and then comes, what I like to call the 'Unpacking of Goodies', which is always one of my favourite aspects of the arrival process.

That is the start to a typical visit to Gapa and Gama's and onward ensues many fond and delectable memories such as Gama's culinary masterpieces that never fail to throttle appetites and expand stomach capacities to an inhuman scale. Or Gapa's late evening entertainment sessions where he will gather people's attention with mere rumble of his baritone voice, as he tells stories from his past - of youth spent in the British Navy; his banking days in Bombay, the Middle East and Hong Kong, to name a few. Then you have Gapa's elaboradte comedy routines regarding Sardarjees, and Vandaramu and many more charactres, that we love to hear and laugh at.

Between Gapa and Gama, you can see the clear difference in their personage - Gapa is the outgoing, extroverted personality who has the ability to command our attention and our amusement. Gama on the otherhand is cool and collected with her witty remarks and repartee with Gapa, her humour though well-disguised is subtle and potent. They both provide a perfect match for each other - she is the Yin for his Yang.

Both Gapa and Gama are strong figures in their own way too. Gama's strength and love is sturdy from the inside with a calming disposition, while Gapa's energy, passion and strong-will show through his aura and commanding presence.

Their love and strength conbined has perpetuated their relationship through thick, thin and an entire lifetime of 60 years. They have left their mark not only in all our lives but they have forged their relationship in the cast iron blocks of our family history.

Friendship - be there when it counts

In this retrospective time, as one year ends and we are on the brink of a new year beginning, you start to think about yourself, what kind of person you have been, what kind of person you want to be. Who have stuck by you in the last year, who you have stuck by and then I began to wonder if I was truly a good friend. I know I can be terrible at communication and keeping in touch but I realised that at crunch time, I can actually be of some use. I have to say there are moments in life where God gives you a chance to prove to someone, that you will be there for them no matter what. And here was my chance.

My old flatmate Wendy, and best friend in Wales kindly invited me over to her place in Llanidloes in mid-Wales, with her and her mum for Christmas celebrations. However, this was plan was hindered by the passing away of Wendy's mother in the weeks before Christmas. This was an exceedingly sad time, and as soon as I found out, I went to help Wendy. I took a couple of days off work and went with Wendy to Llanidloes, cheered her up in whatever way I could, helped her pack her mother's things, cooked for her to make sure that she ate well. I hoped I was a good a friend to her as she has been for me in the past year.

Death is always a difficult and awkward time, and some people run away from it, because one may not know what to say, what to do in those kind of situations, and I actually have never been for a funeral before in my entire life. Yet, Wendy is such a good friend and at this moment in time she had no one to organise everything, but herself. I admire her vigour, and strong-will as I don't know anyone who could organise this entire funeral and her family, pack up her mother's house and organise her Christmas in a month. It being a difficult time, I know it was emotional for Wendy, but kudos to her for being so strong through it all.

Wendy gave me the opportunity to speak at the funeral, she had asked me to read a poem out for her, as she said she couldn't handle talking at the funeral. So I read the poem out and said a couple of words of thanks to Wendy and her mum for, well, looking after this little Indian girl. It was insanely emotional as soon as I saw Wendy blubbing in the front, when I got to the lectern, I started crying myself. I did get feedback in the end, as I apologised to everyone for crying in a room full of strangers, but everyone said that they were fine till I started talking and which seemed to have triggered off everyone's water works.

Well, lastly I would like to thank Wendy and her mum, for being there for me - her mum who called Wendy all the time and if she wasn't in, I would chat to her for a couple of hours. Even from Llanidloes she would check up on us. And I am sure Katrina (Wendy's mum) would be so proud of the strong, intelligent and beautiful woman Wendy has become.

I cannot wait till Wendy comes to visit me in India.

I am a Graduate, Feed Me

September: Submitted dissertation
December: Passed my Masters in Journalism
January: Applied for my visa
February: Obtained my Visa
April: No Job!

This is MY current economic situation.
Firstly having graduated doing media, getting a job in this sector is exceedingly hard. I am working in a call centre and bouncing around doing random admin jobs, and bar work to pay my rent, bills and basically keep myself alive. I have no recourse to public funds as that is my work visa restriction (along with I am not allowed to work as a trainee doctor?? strange). So I can only survive with my own earnings.

However, its not that bad. I at least have my foot in the door of the media as I am currently working for a community radio station - Newport City Radio, in Newport, Wales. I was working on their news team for the month of February, and though unpaid I absolutely loved the experience. Now, I have my own one hour film show on Fridays, chatting about what you should be watching for the weekend.

Now, all I need to do actually get paid for what I love to do....is that too much to ask for?

The MotherLand

By the end of this week I will be on my way to the Hamara Bharat Mahan, Amchi Mumbai, and Malluland....I can't wait. I've been here in England for the past month, and though my mother suggested I come back by the end of June, I completely objected and said I need to stay here for a month. In hind sight I totally didnt realise that I would get phenomenal bouts of home sickness. I have been so used to being away from home while being in RV (boarding school - for the past 7 years), I never thought I would get home sick. But I've been a bit of mental train wreck this past month. Barely any friends here, I never missed home so much. I have had some fun times with who ever has been here, but they have been rare and far between.

I can't wait to see everyone in India. I love friends, they come in handy when your on your own, and there isn't any family around.

Anyway, hello India, here I come!!!

Mushy films....or not.

Just watched a most sad film. I thought it was going to be crazy, and out of it, but "BLOW" isn't.

Its a true story and about a man who is a great business man, but who sadly gets into the wrong business.
Everytime, he says,"life was going perfect", you definitely know something was going to go wrong.

I try not to be sentimental, but I guess in my heart of hearts I am a big pile of mushiness.
I have quite an emotional heart but I try not to let that get the better of me. If you become too sensitive about stuff, and expect more from others than they can give you in return, it only hurts you more.
Thick-skinned they call it. I don't like to be seen as vulnerable, it isn't one of my strong points.....lol.

But when it comes to films I really do get into them, and I have been watching some mighty sad films lately. Saw this short film called "The Sheep Thief" by Asif Kapadia, and I was wailing like a baby...yes, I was sobbing like PMS had hit me and so had a car. Now that was so well made, and superb acting by the kid who was in it. Watching it, makes you feel like, life is so futile when you get labelled by society. A must see by all...go go... watch it.

I would just like to say, GO MUSHY FILMS.... what would we all be if we didnt have a heart.... some sort of algae... single-celled amoeba maybe??

Universal Excrement 2

Sean and I had gone for a coffee at Ottakars Coffee shop the other day. When we left, we were walking past Bella Italia and this random man asked us the time. I said that it was 5:15 and he said something to me that I didn't quite hear, so I asked him to repeat himself. Then he began to ask me, "Do you understand what I'm saying?", he would mumble something and then continue to pester and ask me, "Do you understand what I'm saying". Then, I caught him say, "Aleikum, Salaam Aleikum"... I pounced in, "I know what that means, it means 'peace be upon you' in Arabic". He just shock my hand and said, "oh alright then. Good good." That was it.

Why? I ask you, I put forth this question to all, how do these weird things happen. Does it mean something? or was he just being strange? help me....

Weirdo...

I know, I know, it's been a while since I last post on my blog. I just noticed that I seemed to create posts every 3 months... do I see a pattern?

Well, I have realised that not only am I slightly strange, but I am victim of universal excrement, in the sense that to make everyones else lives seem normal the world shits weird occurances into my very existance to balance the world and its exponential working order.

About 2 weeks ago, I was walking from my friend Tom & Andy's house (or The George as they call it, as opposed to their previous residence.... The Albert), on my own back home (a.k.a My Love Haven), and on my way I hit a zone, a weirdo warp - where things happen in slow motion, like the universe is creating an in-focus shot to make you notice and give perspective. Let me elaborate.... as I was walking down London Road, there were all these fire engines blazing past. I was off course, keeping to myself, but Fate never seems to mind its own business, so as the fire engines were speeding past, this random man came up to me and asked me, "Are those the ice cream trucks??"..... Need I say more?

Naked play...

Dear Ellie and I went to the Roses Theatre in Tewkesbury to see the play for Lady Chatterley's Lover. I haven't read the book but I have always wanted to.
There is always something that intrigues people about books that are banned, and banned due to its explicit sexual nature? All the better!!

In the magazine I got advertising the play there was a warning:
"Please note: This production contains scenes of an explicit nature including nudity"
Hmm, nudity on stage??? got to see that!! Also, it was only 7.50 pounds, which was a good opportunity, plus I am a avid fan of the theatre. Well, I must commend on the play, it was super. The acting was really good, though I did feel that it went a little artificial at times but the guy who acted as the lover was genuine through out.

And YES, there was nudity, quite a lot more than I had expected as well. But it wasn't vulgar in any way, it was very much in keeping with the book. More to do with the idea of Making Love, then it being something mindless and menial. Their love was made to look beautiful through its passion and sensuality.
Ellie and I loved the play.Good Stuff!

Moshing...

Well, awake now... its early as usual and I have realised that it has been a considerably long time since I have made an effort on my blog, I do apologise profusely.
Just got back yesterday from Birmingham after a concert with the punk/rock band 'Funeral for a Friend'. Though not in the league of My Favourite bands the concert was really good. They had great energy when performing (though they did end very abruptly), I had a fantastic time!

I learned to mosh for the first time in my life and I actually enjoyed it.
For the illiterate ones, "moshing is a type of dance characterized by jumping around and or pushing others to loud punk, hardcore and heavy metal music." (definition picked up from wikipedia). Well, I personally wouldn't call it a dance, but everyone just starts pushing and shoving and you literally move with the entire crowd. I was scared,like a little mouse, at first. The fear arose out of the fact that I thought i might fall and be crushed.... death seemed close at hand at that particular moment in time. However the weird physics of it is that you can't actually fall. There are people in front of you, people behind you, and on either side and so on. So, when you do get shoved around people keep you up so you never really fall. I must warn people now, once moshing begins it does get quite addictive.

Confession: "I got moshed, but I doth giveth the mosh back".

Poem in the Auto

As I sat in the open air rickshaw,
my hair,
an uncontrollable mess.

I struggled to tame the Medusa tenticles that fluttered with the rampaging breeze.

Caged in my world of self-occupancy,
boredom of static traffic - my eyes wander.
I looked out at the auto beside me,
I see a hand clutch another begging bowl hand,
pursuing the occupant for some coinage.

I knew I would be next in their relentless quest,
I gathered my strength,
stand my ground,
I had NO CHANGE TO SPARE.

They haunted my rickshaw now,
A retarded gimp, with his colleague in crime by his side.

Begging for money, pleading with his voice,
Calling me his 'Didi'.

I concentrated my gaze away from them,
Blankly staring at my handbag.
Temptation rid my soul as I looked up at that impish man.

His eyes were closed yet as I looked up,
He opened his innocent eyes.
My emotion caved in as my glance moved down.
Those eyes,
Those eyes rid with sadness,
hardship straining innocence,
His eyes plagued me.
My eyes welled with pity.
How dare he bare his soul to me with those eyes.

They passed me by,
but
my thoughts were erratic and sensitive.
Why do they plead so desperately for our loose change and sympathy?

They rid us with guilt.

The way to dusty death...

The town was silent with apprehension.
People sat in their cramped homes with bated breath,
A narrow path, empty, deserted, dusty.
Houses flanking the small path, encroaching, watching,
Little eyes peered out of every window.
Silence swept the anxious town like cool breeze.
Suddenly, from the horizon, a speck crawled up the path.
The quiet watchers clutched their hearts and held their breath,
A prayer was whispered in the quiet.
Veloomurugan picked himself up,
He swaggered like a drunkard,
His clothes hung shabbily on him,
His ‘lungi’ barely hanging on his thin waist
He started to run, or at least tried to.
He dropped the empty pistol,
A gasp was heard from the curtains of an open window.
Veloomurugan was running, his weak legs barely holding him up.
As Veloomururgan ran past the various homes,
Windows, doors, all stared at the dilapidated man,
Knowing the inevitable, knowing the sad truth to come.

A shadow, huge, foreboding, crept up the dusty path.
It was Appaswami. He survived; he fights on.
A cheer echoed over the terraces, “Appaswami lives”.
Murmurs of anxiety and hope swept through the awaiting town.
Appaswami, pistol in hand, walked with dignity.
He was hard, unmoving and had prepared for this moment.
Silence fell on the men.
Veloomurugan, scared, uncertain realized his death was inevitable on the dusty path.
Veloomurugan picked up a little dust and felt the warmth of the sand on his rough palms.

He was going to be one with the earth now,
He was on his way to a dusty death.
Appaswami, stood tall, his shadow fell over Veloomurugan,
Dark and cold.
Veloomurugan didn’t whimper,
He was going to meet his doom with utmost calm.
Appaswami took aim and shot...
It echoed, it rang through the ears of every observer,
Veloomururgan’s chest grew wet as he lay there,
The water seeping through his shirt as the pistol dripped.

An old man, hidden in the shadows came forward clapping.
“Congratulations Appaswami! I knew you could win this for our village,
for the children.
You have given this village some thing no one else has.
Congratulations on winning the ‘Intervillage Water-Squirting Pistol Competition’”.
As a round of applause rang through the village,
People strolled out of their homes; each casually patted him on the back,
In recognition of his triumph.
Veloomurugan got up and shook hands with Appaswami,
They briefly hugged and the defeated walked away quietly.

As Veloomurugan waked away, his mind was thoughtful.
Amma (an old widow) came and put a kind hand,
On the shoulder of the wounded soldier.
Veloomurugan turned to meet her kind, concerned eyes,
“Veloo, why don’t you come, take a wash, and have some Kanchimore”.
Veloo spoke, “No, Amma. I have met my dusty death and,
I want it to end this way”.
Amma pulling Veloo gently,
“Aayo, Kocha, You’re filthy, I’ll give you a nice-oo bath, okay”.

- Mariyam Thomas, 2004.

Poems of RV

My Subject is laundry, and the pity of laundry,
The poetry is in the washing.

Exposure: A tribute to The Laundry of Doomed Youth.

What are these clothes tainted,
Dye or sweat?
Bundles too thick for the dhobis extrication,
One titanic bundle did shrink his eyeballs tormented,
Wading sloughs of cloth did the dhobi set to wash,
Batter and splatter of flying soapsuds,
The cloth spilled out dye like a wound that bleeds a fresh,

Fragile pink garment,
Lost amid the dyed sea.
It plunges, guttering, choking, drowning,
Colours incomparable, the dhobi launders.
Out of the dryer, comes the gentle pink,
Ravished purple-yellow smeared.
In the bundle did it come.
Over silly pink shorts did Marianna fret.
She said, “I am a weary, a weary.
Oh, God! That I wish I were dead,
On those shorts much colour has bled
To see my dear pink so faded.

-Mariyam Thomas (dedicated to my pink shorts, which incurred severe damage by a psychopathic dhobi), 2002.

The Beginning to a long relationship

I have decided to begin my own blog. Inspired by two of my friends Nidhi and Saumya, I dedicate this to them and my loving mother who encouraged me to read voraciously and write like I would not live to see tomorrow.

Who ever visits my blog, feel free to comment and let me know what you think. I talk with the style of stream of consiousness(no thinking what so ever!), but my writing on the other hand is thoughtful. Thank you one and all, for taking the time to read my ramblings.

Yours truly, Mae