Snippets. Random snippets.

 Kanchana

It was my parents who told me about a Malayalam film that they had recently seen and loved that took me to a whirlpool of emotions that made me feel heavy inside. Being unable to comprehend what that feeling has been like for the last few days, now I can only conceive of it as longing and loss. The first thing I came to know about this film was that it was based on a real story. Naturally I was inclined to know what the story is and who were the people in it. It is when I began to know them that I started getting pulled into this whirlpool. And that is what I feel every time I think of Kanchana Mala and Moideen. Perhaps the sadness is caused by the fate that met these two lovers. Also, do people love like that anymore? Their story really sounds like one out of a book. Thankfully, the story is true. J

Krakow is full of Americans

They are either tourists or have been drawn to the city permanently. Reason- Schindler’s List. Americans think that they are well-loved here. As is evident from the conversation happening at the table beside me in this café. Seems like they are two Americans who just met a few hours ago. But Anya says that they hate the Americans. Ever since Krakow was put on the map of world tourism, all thanks to Spielberg’s heart-wrenching adaptation of the novel based on Oskar Schindler’s life, Americans have been flooding this city. Some claim ancestry to the exterminated or displaced Jews from here. Some are real stories. But many just like to think they are related. There’s always some kind of a pull one feels to relate to a tragedy. Like the few months last year I spent feeling extremely low about what I seen and felt in Auschwitz-Birkenau and imagined that maybe the cause of my sadness was that in my previous birth I died in that concentration camp.

We the commode people

I have said more than many times that Czech Republic has very few Indians. Seeing an Indian face here is a novelty and such things happen mostly in Prague. However yesterday I was walking to the bus stop near my university. I saw this guy who looked very Indian. Not Spanish, Iranian, Afghani as we are sometimes mistaken for. Upon seeing each other we started a conversation. Because Indians are few here you see.

Me: Hello

Him: Hi, I am *********

Together: Are you Indian?

Me: Where in India are you from?

Him: Kerala, and you?

Me: hahaha… മലയാളീ  ആണല്ലേ?

Did I say that Indians are very few here? Probably. But did I forget to mention that many many many of them are Malayalees? At this moment I fondly remember my friend Richa Bhatia (no, she’s not dead) who said this to me years ago- “ You Malayalees are like cockroaches. You can find them everywhere. Even in the commode.”

Winter wardrobe

I used to think that Czech women are crazy. In Autumn it gets as low as 1-4 degrees centigrade, you know! And they continue wearing their skirts, many of which are really short to the great annoyance yet amusement of Hanna. But after coming to Krakow I have realized that Polish women are crazier. Underneath their skirts they do not even wear leggings. The very thought makes me feel feverish with cold. Oh wait, maybe that is because I actually am falling ill. All thanks to the….

Spa Weekend

Last weekend was spa weekend with the girls. After the initial showdown between the punctual German and the tardy Indian, things calmed down. The next day was very good though. This wellness centre was everything I imagined a European sauna place to be like. More about it in post that will come far far in the future. And the German taught me how to swim. And I did swim. Halleluijah! Also, I suck at bowling. Made a mental note to go bowling often in Pardubice. Need to get better at it.

Ok Cupid, let’s Tinder

Kim is a really nice guy. The kind that makes you feel at ease and can cheer you up on the darkest day. I never thought he could fall head over heels in love with someone. Neither could he. But it did happen. He found the one. On OKCupid! “Good for you” I told him. He did not insist but he did tell me enough about OKCupid to raise my curiosity. So I registered myself on it. It turned out to be worse than what I had expected. At first it was nice talking to some of the people on it but eventually I started getting the kind of messages that simply made me dread even looking at the app icon on my screen. So that was my two-week long stint with online-dating. Maybe I should just realise that I was better off telling “Good for you Kim, good for you.” and ended it at that.

Sangeet scenario

I mostly listen to old Hindi songs. There is something about their lyrics that touches you. However, I am not fond of the melody of many of these songs (for example, Chalo ek baar phirse, Tumhe dekha tumhe chaaha, Hum intezaar karenge, etc,.). I listen to new songs out of necessity though. I find the melody of many way better than those of the 50’s-70’s. However, the lyrics are so shallow and pretentiously poetic that there can be quite some “what the copulation” moments. For example, this-

It does not even deserve a mention but I just did because I like the melody. Especially the female part. It’s a strange kind of world that we live in now where we cannot anymore write words that would bring the average melody to life but instead string irreconcilable words together that put a damper on even the most soulful melodies. Stranger is the fact that most youngsters these days find these lyrics good. Strange, strange.

Harold Robbins

Never love a Stranger is a book that one must simply not read. Harold Robbins is the worst writer I have had the misfortune of reading. Also, his way of writing about women is crude. I tried reading that book thrice when I was in my teens. Failed everytime. One might as well invest some time in learning how to make escargot. Whatever that takes. Even fly to France for a weekend. All the money you end up paying to go to France and see the grotesque monument that is the Eiffel Tower will not burn a bigger hole in your pocket than the hole that will be drilled into your heart if you read Harold Robbins.

Nine

Had to have nine snippets in this post. It is my favourite number, you see. But I am all too happy to write about Harry Potter now. I am in the process of slowly making my bedroom into a Harry Potter shrine. The work is progressing very slowly because I am lazy and all I want to do at night after coming home is sleep. Talking about sleep, I am really sleepy. And tired. Goodnight.

(Pssttt…..this café people are trying to throw me out and I no longer have lights in my sitting area.)