Stranger in a Sari

When Dinesh Ravindra Gunaratne (otherwise known as DRG), longtime friend, movie maker and fellow arts-enthusiast invited us for “Stranger in a Sari”, I literally rubbed my hands together and exclaimed “finally!”

Having known this individual for quite a while as an incredibly gifted artistic soul with this sense of something (we have always interpreted as) just bursting to come out, in my head he had always been this ticking time bomb, ripe for bursting forth with something wonderful. But we knew him mostly as a movie maker with a flare for the unusual and his never-seen-a-box-in-his-life way of thinking. So when “Stranger in a Sari” finally came out, Dinesh had more than a few surprises in store for us. 

The venue was laid out tastefully with elegance and sophistry, one that you would only expect from someone with an eye (kudos to the awesome deco person Gihan Karunanayake). The program was short and sweet with a few readings from some intriguing pieces including the fascinating short story “Stranger in a Sari” which held the audience captive within the short time it unrolled. The crowd present was comprised of Dinesh’s closest circle and the love was indeed felt as Dinesh took the microphone in hand to thank the myriad people who were involved. Judging by the response of the crowd, it was quite plain to see that the writer and artist is a much loved individual cherished by many.

Let me rewind just a little bit.

So there I was having arrived early, flipping through the beautiful booklet that was handed to me (classy and intriguing cover, 4 elegant bookmarks n all) waiting for my other half (who was characteristically late). It didn’t take long for this unassuming little thing to draw me right in. It was a strange feeling, sitting there in the midst of the crowd yet hardly even aware of them, lost within the pages of the book. The crowd did not exist. The Cappuccino in front of me did not exist. Simply said, the words on those pages wrenched my heart right out of my rib cage, squeezed it open and left it bleeding, exposed and vulnerable. All my life’s heartbreaks came tumbling back to me. There was pain, yes, unbearable, all consuming, pain, but there was also hope. And it was amazing how he has taken that pain inside him, twisted and twirled it into a masterful craft, sprinkled it with a bit of hope and unleashed it full blast upon us unsuspecting beings. It was cruel, beautiful poetry, brought forth by a cruel beautiful world.

Weirdly enough, this hard-hitting phenomenon left me nostalgic for all the heartbreaks of the past. Hardly something that one would be nostalgic about. Most importantly, it made me “feel”.

“I woke up

With pain

Gushing through my veins

Losing you

Made me fear life”

He says. And on the next page he is

“kissing the mirror

To feel the wetness of

Your lips”

Pungent. Vivid. Resonating. And the reader goes, ‘I know that deep stabbing pain in the morning just as you wake up. I know exactly how you feel!’.

My personal favourite has to be the below.

“It’s hard when

Memories remain in

Your old phone’s

Memory card

She took the exact picture

The same pose

With her new husband…..”

Very real, very true to life. This could be anyone, phones bearing too many memories, exes taking the same kind of pictures in the same poses as they once posed with you with their new found lovers – we’ve all faced that pang of deep, deep hurt, that first moment of discovery when you stumble upon your pictures with them on Facebook just when you thought you are over them……

“Health tip

Don’t try to own

A travelling heart

With the hope of

Hiding it

Inside your soul

From the rest of the world”

How very, very true.

What is remarkable about this is that even though it seems like the protagonist has suffered a deep loss and has been in a dark lonely place, there is no bitterness, no anger nor hatred detected in any of these pieces. There is a childlike innocence in the protagonist, an eternal optimism that shines through his words. The woman, the creature that caused him pain is presented as a sublime, sensual, mysterious creature by whom the protagonist continues to be very much fascinated. There is respect and awe of the female creature still and a sense of adoration. This amazes me - in a world where females are lashed at, insulted and objectified every second of the day, this is refreshingly new indeed.      

Dinesh refers to his collection as “sentimental rants”. And with that he shows us how easy it is to enjoy and to feel humanity with all its faults, its sensuality, emotions, sentiments and feelings without the pompous grandeur or the unnecessary embellishments. The empathy in his work is astounding. It is honest to goodness emotions turned to words, scattered upon the pages, with love. Simply, beautiful.   

I particularly loved the short stories. If anything, Dinesh Ravindra Gunaratne is a superb story teller and this is not the first time he has exhibited it. Unexpected plot twists, incredibly detailed accounts, he sucks you into these little parallel universes he creates with his stories and abandons you there, leaving you to your own antics. You simply could not rest until you’ve read it all. He has this old school style of writing, showcasing I think, a love for all things vintage and a sort of yearning for the past when things were lavish and dramatic. This, especially, appeals to me. Things are much too sterile and minimalist these days, boring in execution and insipid in design. His prowess as a movie maker sharpens his knack for story writing, these tales bringing characters to life and engraving them in your mind. These are memorable stories showcasing rare genius. It’s been a while since I’ve read a memorable short story, Dinesh’s being the first in perhaps, years.

Speaking about his movie making, I wish I had a few links to his short movies to back up my claim. But here is the trailer of just one of his many works called “Mata pissu naha” that I managed to find online after raking through tons and tons of material. However, do check out the Mathwada Facebook page managed by Dinesh and his best friend and partner in crime Naveen Marasinghe. This is bound to capture your attention. 

In the meantime I also found this. A short film named Cleopatra’s shoe, inspired by a story by the great G.B Senanayake, who also happens to be my favourite Sinhala writer.

Did I mention that they are also the creators of Mathawada? Checkout the site here.  

The book feels intensely personal. It is like the publishing of the book is the final let go of the pain and suffering and I could almost hear the writer shedding a sigh of relief, finally letting it go. I recognize this feeling. I can relate to it. It is akin to amassing all the gifts, the poems, the notes, written by and to a past love, making a huge heap of it in your front yard, ceremoniously setting it all on fire and watching the flames consume it all, a little bit of pain disintegrating, freeing you as the fire disintegrates the paper bit by bit. It feels deeply satiating. 

And another thing that really stood out at the event and further proved that he really is an individual dedicated to the arts – the book was not for sale. It was distributed among whoever attended and those who wished could have made a donation, any amount they liked at a cardboard box placed on a side table. And what’s more, anyone who wished could download the book online free of charge! Generosity, selflessness – never before seen characteristics in anything in this country, let alone in arts! In this and many other things Dinesh stands a unique individual and a worthy example.

The book was backed by a series of mesmerizing photographs by   Lakmal Ranasinghe, who was entrusted with the task of interpreting the work by DRG. I think he has done a marvelous job. The photographs are haunting and capture the essence of the woman - the root of the protagonist’s heartbreak. They are sensual, just like the writings themselves. You can checkout some of those photographs here.

A little word on the venue and the staff. Held at the Café Mocha by Barista right next to Gandara, the venue was charming with its wooden floors and the old school glamour to it, which I thought suited the event very well. And the staff was extremely friendly, ever ready to help and I could very well hand over the “staff of the year” award to these lovely boys and one girl who manned the place on that day.

Also, everything was 15% off to people who came for the event! That was definitely the cherry on top of the cake. At least for me :D

All in all, a beautiful, tasteful event, inspiring and refreshingly different. A wonderful booklet brimming with flavoursome things which for me was also emotions bound in paper Download the free PDF if you wish (and I strongly recommend that you do) and savour the loveliness. In the meantime, do enjoy the reading below.

Bridal Diaries - Part II

So I went for my very first "beauty" treatment thingy.

So all the cajoling, chastising, scolding, threatening and bulling by both Mother Dearest and the lovely girl who will be dressing me for the big day (who can be pretty scary when she wants to be btw) came into fruition as I headed salon-ward the other day. "Why you being like this child? Other girls doing facials 6 months before the wedding and you just sitting there doing nothing till last minute." Mother Dearest would sing her anthem every time she so much as caught a glimpse of me around the house for the past few weeks at which I would nod and simply continue doing what I was doing anyway. And then one day the nodding was just not enough. A visit to the beautician was necessary. I was ugly and needed pretty-fying.

I must say that all this is very unfamiliar to me. Anyone who knows me would never be able to picture me at a salon getting my 'Beauty on' as easily as they can picture me in a WWE Championship match, possibly playing The Undertaker. The only instances when I would visit a salon would be either to get a haircut or to pluck my amazonian eyebrows which would breed monkeys and lions if I had left them to their own devices. So just lying there with a thick layer of fruit-scented muck on my face, anticipating the next muck session and the one after that was unfamiliar territory.

I have never realized that "just lying there" was such a difficult thing!

You are just lying there minding your own ooey-gooey business all over your face when all these thoughts go buzzing through your head. This little annoying voice whines in your ear like a tiny mosquito reminding you of all the things that you have to do but you haven't still done. And just lying there you start thinking what a waste of time it all is and how you could have read a book, made a cake, written your next post for your food blog, written your novel, organized your closet and etc in that time. And then when you finally doze off, you dream that you are being kidnapped by aliens (I suspect that the flapping of the foil paper covering my face had something to do with it. Also, I think I now know how a baked chicken feels), and is jolted awake when the foil is yanked off you face, convinced they yanked the skin off of your body to make a skin suit for themselves to roam the earth undetected. And then your face is swallowed up by a thick, wet sponge mopping your face all over again.

Various smells pass your nose - rose, papaya, tamarind, cloves, unidentified floral smells and the works while various textures touch your face - some thick and grainy and others smooth and satiny. Will you be wrapped up like a mummy in bandages like when she poked you with that funny little twig with a light at its end that makes a whirring sound and smells like electricity? Will she give one of those divine eye massages again (I actually liked that part of the treatment). Who is washing my face? Oh wait, that's my beautician, no it's her assistant. Ow, the eye! Watch the friggin' eye! And DON'T poke your finger in my nose, dammit! *achchoo!* God her hands are so rough, or is it just the scrub that is scraping my face? She probably had tempered dhal for lunch today, I smell tempered dhal and she probably touched a baby after that, because that's definitely Eau de Cologne. Is it her sister's baby? Or is it hers? But she doesn't have a baby. Does she have a secret baby? But babies are annoying, I'd rather have a dog. Yes, dogs are fun. I miss Frankie. Is he sleeping? Did he chew up my rosemary plants again? Have to bathe him over the weekend. The weekend! I MUST go book shopping! Oh but I can't cz I have like a gazillion things to do. Gazillion - is that even a word? How many zeros are there to gazillion? If zeros have no value, why do they add all those zeros at the end and claim that those are big amounts? Eeeeek, that's slimy, what the HELL is that? Snail juice? Why do I have snail juice on my face? Why am I doing this? Oh yeah, I'm getting married and they think I'm ugly. So what if I'm ugly? Good if I'm ugly, then I won't have to get married. Do I really have to get married? Why am I getting married? I don't wanna get married! I DON'T!!! Waaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!

....and then it goes on.

And that's not even the worst of it.  

Imagine an itchy nose, one of those super itchy ones that you are convinced that you will die if you don't scratch it, but you can't scratch it because your nose is buried under a good inch or two of thick, unnamed goo. Even if your face is muck-free, tough luck, because your arms are bound down in several layers of thick, sweet-smelling muck too!

No. Not fun at all.

Anyways, many hours later (which seemed like centuries) I emerged from under the layers looking not much different than I first did before all that washing, scrubbing and mucking. I don't see what all the fuss was about at all.

I was informed that I will have to "lie in" for two more sessions before the wedding. Sigh.

I just wish I could get spa treatments instead. Spas are fun, I like spas. There's always something happening, no lying around doing basically nothing at spas.

Hair was discussed at great lengths too. Suddenly my biggest problem in life was the parting of hair. Will it be a side parting, or will it be centre? Should there be a parting at all? If it is a side parting, should it be a left parting or a right? Because the right brings out my eyes while the left brings out my mouth. And I am required to choose between my eyes and my mouth - or something of the sort.

It gets very confusing.

Eye shadows, lipsticks, there are so many shades of pink that E.L James would have been ashamed! (what? only 50? Come on!). And then comes the colour of face powder - will it be 'Natural Bouquet', 'Warm Silk', 'Honey Bronze' or 'Winter Harvest'? Honestly, had I not been aware, I would have assumed that we were selecting dessert. Or something as exciting as dessert (but could anything else really be as exciting as dessert?)

Also, is the word "wedding" some kind of a mystical, magical word that upon speaking it, the speaker's appearance changes into something akin to a free-dispensing ATM machine? As soon as someone hears the word "wedding", the cost of pretty much everything just skyrockets to about five times more. You want a bouquet of nice, simple flowers? Rs 56,000. You want a handkerchief? That's Rs 10,000/-. You want a hairpin? Oh but that's like Rs 8,000/-!

Apart from me, it seems like everybody else is getting married because they are too rich and have nothing to do with all that dough. At least that seems to be what the commercial world out there seems to think. I for one have better use for what I earn. And there's no way in hell that I would waste my parents' hard earned cash for making these opportunists any richer either.

All things aside, getting married is serious business. Sure, you get the big, fat, white (well, champagne coloured) wedding and it's all fun, pretty dresses and games, but what then? For a girl, she might as well be born again rather than getting married. You leave your home in which you grew up all your life, your parents on whom you knew you could always fall back on, your carefree life - your lazy Sunday mornings in front of the TV watching TLC or Desperate Housewives with a cup of tea in your hand and the cheerful sunlight filtering through the lace curtains, your late night movie binges and avalanches of midnight snacks, your random shopping trips to the second hand bookstores whenever you felt like it, your solitary evenings on the balcony reminiscing about life and all things in general, your ability to get lost in a book days at end blocking out the entire world, coming home to a house fragrant with the smell of spices and a hearty home cooked meal, your mother waiting by the gate to welcome you home the bougainvilleas cascading down on her making a pretty picture, messing around with your dog who is less of an animal and more of a sibling and has grown himself into your heart muscle itself, your mother's cooking, your father's footsteps coming up the courtyard as he comes home from work with Frankie boy jumping excitedly at his heel, your parents watching the 8'O clock news together marveling at things happening in the country, your afternoon tea sessions with the parents in the living room, on the veranda or in the garden watching the antics of the Franky boy, your in depth discussions with father about the future and all things philosophical, gossip sessions and cooking tips from mom and cooking together with her in the kitchen albeit often with contrasting views, spontaneous shopping trips, exhibition explorations and lunches out with mom whenever we felt like it. Hell, I'l even miss her nagging! - there's so much I am forced to leave behind which I am not ready to leave behind yet.

Can I not get married right now? I'd rather be my parents' little girl forever.

For a man, life remains pretty much the same after marriage whereas for a girl, everything changes. Responsibilities, not only of herself and the husband but of her in-laws as well, the extra strain of coping with the expectations of the new family - this is especially hard for a private person such as myself. A woman is required to give up her surname - the one she wore with pride all these years, to give up her home - where she felt safe and protected and then to give up her lifestyle and hobbies, at least make compromises on them - all of this is basically a woman's identity. And having to give up all these things - I think it is very unfair.

But oh my darling, life is hardly fair.

It does help that I have the most kindest, the most gentlest and the most generous in-laws who accept me as their own and a man I know who will go to the other end of earth for me (if I nagged a little and he didn't have to drive that is). It also helps that he is my best friend and partner in crime and has been so for the past 7-8 years and I think he loves me enough to facilitate me being myself, doing the things that I love the most.

And it's a small miracle in itself that my vacillating, easily-bored self has stuck it out with him for 7 years going. This must be fate!

What does NOT help is that we (as myself and my fiance are both doing our MBAs together) have an assignment due just a few days after the wedding and a thesis coming up immediately after that. This coupled alongside the most stressful period at work - probably the most stressful that work will ever get and it all falls right when I decide to get married.

Sigh. Why God, why?

Anyways,

I constantly remind myself, that this too I shall get through as I always have. And this time, I have backing in the form of a somewhat annoying other half (who to my dismay, is throwing more bitch-fits than I do these days). And I am confident (not quite, but getting there) that we will totally rock it, responsibilities n all!

Soar(ing) over the Kingdoms of the Earth

Well, he’s gone and done it again.

If you’ve been following my rants, you’ve probably come across my rants (for they are rants and not "reviews" as I have trouble taking myself all too seriously to call myself a "reviewer") on Cadence of Your Tears and then The Ascetic Paradox. And if you have come across those rants you’re probably familiar with Sanjeev Niles already - the talented fellow who could have made us open-mouthed lot topple over with one flick of his fingernail after hearing his music for the very first time. If you haven’t read the rants (how dare you mortals ignore the noble and wise words of The Lady!) I suggest you go and read them now for he is an artist quite worth knowing.  

In this era of the Great Plastic Plague, finding something that moves you is practically impossible. Everything has been turned to plastic - people, friendships, relationships, the thing that we gloat and label as love, nothing really moves us anymore and we in turn, have built up an internal resistance, a sort of an outer shell if you may, to protect ourselves from the dry and harsh wastelands that life has now become. And unfortunately, the more delicate forms of art like music and literature too have been thus touched by this great moldering hand of demise and decay. But once in a while comes a song, an exquisite creature on luminous butterfly wings, a sheer melodious genius that literally sweeps you off your feet and sends you hurtling forward through the cosmos into a world of sublime delights.

Kingdoms of the Earth for me was one of those rare ones that left me hazy eyed for a good few minutes after the first listening. And after listening to it a good 15 times or so, (and with the song still playing in the background) I start typing this post. I wanted to share it with the world, to shout out “look here, have a long, lingering listen to this sparkling little gem spreading its wings in your cupped palms like a magical winged creature ready for its first flight!” but had to restrain myself when I was told to hold my horses as then it had not yet been officially released. So hold my horses, I did.

“In another age, in another time,

Our souls be lost,

And then you will be mine……”

The song ends on a philosophical note which had my heart in knots.

Kingdoms of The Earth is a song of longing, a song of pain, but with a sweet lacing of hope that pierces through its quaint romantic heart which bleeds out poetry in whoever that hears it. It starts off softly, with the distant wailing of the violin punctured by weighty piano notes. Sanjeev’s deep baritone gently touches this harmony at first. And then it plunges and soars, plunges and soars taking your heart along with it into the faraway lands soar(ing) over the Kingdoms of the Earth. The deep, resonating drums beat like a heartbeat in the varied background – earthy and necessary, strangely echoing the profound thump of Sanjeev’s voice at the places where it ceases its smooth gliding across the notes, leaving space for thoughts to stream in. It’s an invocation uttered in the deep and cavernous vaults of the earth, it is a beacon of hope, like moonlight filtering through the foliage, it is an imploration that even the most hard-hearted cannot ignore. Simply said, it is capable of moving mountains and oceans with the emotions it summons forth.    

It is layered, it is accentuated at places that leaves your heart in your throat at times, it is hauntingly beautiful, so lusciously resounding that it cedes delicious echoes resonating within your whole being. It is the bitter-sweet pain of all the lost loves in the world rolled together with that undying hope of unrequited love – toothsome, yet sad. It pulls you apart at the same time draws you within yourself and leaves you warm and cozy, a fragile bird nesting within its homely stead. Like Cadence, it has those unmistakable gothic nuances that I have now begun to understand as Sanjeev’s own watermark. And what a wonderful watermark it is!  

Kingdoms of the Earth has an unmistakable medieval feel to it with a touch of Celtic magic and you cannot help but have image reels of mist robed, hazy highlands, high stone castles and medieval knights on valiant steeds running nonstop through your head. This especially speaks to my heart, and not surprisingly so, given my long standing infatuation with the Celts and their healing music as well as my romance with all things lovely and medieval. I mean, who doesn’t like dungeons and dragons and swords and bloody battles!

And the most fascinating thing about the song? That it does not even need lyrics! You see, when it sings of fading candlelight you have already seen the flickering flames in your head. When it sings of breath on neck you almost feel the slight breeze touching your skin in the darkness, even before the actual words had registered in your mind. The music has already set the mood, the tone and the situation and this to me is pure (and very rare) genius - combining meaning with sound, creating the exact mood, catering to the exact words. Simply marvelous. 

      

Needless to say Sanjeev has an exceptional voice - powerful, evocative, earthy and piercing, all at the same time. Therefore at certain places I have felt that the potential of these behemothic lungs has not been applied full charge in this particular song. Personally I would have liked a bit of punch towards the end, for the music to die a natural death and the voice to take charge and create a memorable vocal imprint upon the mind. I would have liked the vocal chords to have opened at full blast and wail out the pain, the anger in one powerful, excruciating stroke. On the other hand I can argue it the other way as well. A song about lost love requires softness, a sort of nostalgia, a yearning for the past. It must need that delicate ending and indeed it ends in a longing note. If that was Sanjeev’s take on the song, he has accomplished it rather marvelously. And further goes on to display the individual’s versatility of voice in giving wings to a rather heavyweight baritone. Therefore in this I remain conflicted.     

   

This song did not come as a surprise. Having proven his prowess with Cadence, I should say that we expected nothing less. And true to his nature, he did not disappoint at the least. And being a part of a larger collection (an album) this song has only made us impatient to hear the rest.

And as for Sanjeev and all this very apparent talent that has just been lying around undetected, undemonstrated, I have just one single sentiment I would like to express. As my partner very spontaneously exclaimed after the first hearing of the song, I shall now echo his exact words. Sanjeev, “WHERE the HELL have you been hiding men?”    

Listen, watch, enjoy. I present you "The Kingdoms of the Earth"

Bridal Diaries - Chapter 1

And so the wedding frenzy begins. Sigh.

Me in all my naivety had thought that a wedding is all about putting on a dress, looking pretty and just showing up at the event. But apparently, that doesn't even scratch the surface.

So there I sat in the waiting room of the designated seamstress the other day, amongst other bridezillas obsessing over the lace hems, hooks and button holes, thinking to myself how the hell I ended up here. You see, being a bride involves frequent visits to the aforementioned seamstress for wise words on sari falls, necklines and arm lengths and also advise on how a bride must always cover herself from top to bottom for the fear of *gasp* exposing some skin to one's relations. At this point, you somehow accept that the designated seamstress pretty much dictates your life - from the day that you have the misfortune of meeting her to the day before the wedding (for that is when the final fit on will be), she will be your mentor, your guide and basically, your not-so-fairy-like Fairy God Mother.

My seamstress (in fact her resemblance to the evil Fairy God Mother from Shrek is rather uncanny) has opinions on pretty much everything. Standing only up to my waist this bespectacled creature lances forth her wisdom pearls from everything between your diet, your choice of partner in life to your collarbones (she has made it a point that she does not like the angle at which they stick out), she jumps up and down measuring my shoulders to my elbow to my ankle to my hip, also making it a point to make her displeasure at my height quite plain. It kills you that you can't even be the usual wisecrack that you are and will have to take it all with the gracious obedient "bridal smile" (a particularly smug faraway half-smile that I have come to know from being around other brides-to-be) because she will probably sew the jacket too tight and quite literally put you in a straight jacket right throughout the function (or curse your first child to become an Ogre) if you are not nice.

For a girl who vowed to herself that she would die before succumbing to all that flowery puffy frilly-ness, I have come a long way.

I have come to accept the inevitable - that your wedding is really your parents wedding and that any pleas for a simple one (where the savings could be donated to moi for a world exploration expedition!) would only fall on deaf ears. I have had my say in the hotel choice, I have had my choice in my clothing and I have had my say in not having any bridesmaids/bestmen. And now I shut up and wait.

From an emotional point of view, understandable really. It is touching how much they enjoy all the planning and you kind of sit down and accept it all because the knowledge of having to leave them behind (even if you don't leave them behind, the time you spent as their little girl will never be the same again) just hurts too much. I am the only girl in the family and they want to throw a big bash for their little girl. For all that they have done for me and still do, (and also considering the fact that I haven't been a very obedient child) the least that I can do is give them a big, tight hug and obey. Just this once.

The ordeals I've been put through for the past couple of weeks - where do I begin.To make it short, the measurements have been given, the sari chosen, a simple (and inexpensive) one that I could even wear for a special occasion afterwards (practically walked into a shop, pointed to a saree, walked out), the cards printed (sweaty trips to Pettah rummaging through dusty piles of wedding cards belonging to couples of centuries past and trying to decide on what seemed the least cheesy, deciding between C's and J's and the perfect fonts and font colours). To cut a long story short, let's just say that I know the difference between goldenrod, Cal Poly Pomona Gold, Sunglow and Golden Poppy now.

Walked into a salon the other day to get my usual eyebrow trimming session and it just so happened to slip my mother's mouth that I am getting married. The beautician, (who by the way we DIDN'T consult) had so much of advice to give and I wondered why she hadn't found her spot in an early morning housewives' beauty program yet. Looking at me up and down I can almost hear the machines in her head whirring and I could feel her eyes boring through my clothes scrutinizing every inch of my body (I now know how an insect feels under a microscope). After a long, seemingly never ending and arduous 5 minutes or so (which seemed like an eternity) she finally speaks in her grown up voice. Apparently, you need to be spick and span on the day of the wedding so as not to repel the groom. You need to be completely hairless (and surprise, surprise she offers waxing services) and certain areas in the body need to be completely melanin-free (well what d'ya know, she happens to offer bleaching services too!). Needless to say she isn't hired.

I am thankful for the girl I have hired to dress me. A no-nonsense girl out of my own heart who shares my worldview that one does not have to be skinned alive and boiled twice in order to become a bride. She has been my go-to person for haircuts and special occasions dressing for years, so I am comfortable with her judgement to not make me put the Bride of Frankenstein to shame on the very day that I am supposed to look my best.

It's a big change, it's a new life. Am I terrified? Not really. Well, a little maybe.

I'm not terrified because I am going to be married to my best friend and partner in crime of 7 years. Being the introvert that I am, there was a time that I feared that I may not be able to completely open up to anyone but he makes it so easy. There are no pretensions between us - he likes me in my PJs and no make up better than when I am dressed to kill and I take him whichever way he wants to be, multicoloured shorts, ridiculous tshirts and all. We've been through a lot and tackled some tough times together so come what may, I am sure we will find a way to work our way around anything that life throws at us. It will be like living together with your best friend but only better. He will be mine to torture whenever I liked! *Thunderclap and sinister laughter ensues*

What I am terrified of is the extended family. A whole host of unknown people who will suddenly become my relations by law, the compulsory small talk, the social events and the works. Not that they are bad people, they are awesome people but I am a bad person who is terrified of crowds. My small world will be invaded by battalions of well meaning friendlies and being the introvert that I am, this is worse than death itself. The touching, the hugging the kissing, the proximity - I do not like being touched and abhor any kind of physical contact with people that I am not close to who invade my personal space. It is torture of the most heinous nature. If you are an introvert you will know what I mean. (So know that if I willingly hug you, it is a great privilege and that you mean something to me.)

I am also terrified of change.

I am a creature of habit. I get up at a certain time, get ready, have my breakfast, come home, eat, sleep - I have my routine. Now with this impending marriage, this carefully manicured routine, my wonderfully cocooned life is going to be disrupted. A completely new residence - or two - we still haven't decided on lodging, this not being able to put down roots and to truly call it home - I am territorial and it bothers me that things are going to change. That I will have to leave my familiar and comfortable book-lined messy room behind at least for a little while. That I will no longer be my parents' little girl and that even though we may live with them from time to time, things may not be the same. I am not comfortable. In fact, I am extremely uncomfortable. I cling desperately to my familiar things. And I find myself doing that unconsciously even now.

And I know nothing about sharing a room.

Sharing a bathroom, sharing closet space, sharing dressing table space - all these are strange and foreign concepts to me. I've had my own room ever since I was 3 and I've been independent, more so than the average girl my age. My books, my clothes, my paraphernalia, all over the room, everything is every where, my own mess, mess that I am familiar with. When sharing, I don't think you can be messy. This is a whole new concept that I may have to get used to. It's going to be hard and there's going to be a lot of annoying things that I will have to deal with - like wet bathroom floors, soggy carpets, dirty towels on the floor, my books being tampered with and etc. And I am trying so very hard to convince myself that it is all going to be worth it.

To make matters even worse, it is a very stressful period at work as well. Also, I am in the middle of an assignment, with another assignment falling smack in the middle of the wedding period. This is not helping. At all.

Well, here I am on the brink of the biggest adventure of my life complaining. Shush you coward! Thou shalt face this like a girl! Better yet, like a woman! After all, they say that a teabag never knows how strong it is until it gets into hot water.

Or is it a woman they mean? 

2015 in a nutshell

2015 has been life changing. Quite literally.

Being a Scorpio, my life has always been one of fate. And fate has been at its very peak this year. Fateful encounters albeit troublesome leading to the enrichment and the closer bonding of other fateful relationships (although they came a little too late), a greater clarity in matters, revelations, enlightenment, it's been a roller coaster of emotions, blows of reality and moments of sheer ethereal quality. I have also (finally) gotten in touch of my inner witch - the healing, creating part of me that has always been overshadowed by other things - this period of life has been a turning point, again, quite literally.

Peckishme is doing really well! I've had to take some time off it due to personal reasons, but the response I am receiving is rather overwhelming. The Facebook page has boomed too and for a blog that is only about 8 months old, it's doing rather well on the ranking side of things as well. An Innocent sense of self satisfaction. Incomparable joy. This is my baby - my product of sweat, blood and many, MANY sleepless nights. Juggling a full time job, an MBA, personal obligations and my own personal creative writing ain't exactly a cake walk.

Put a like to its facebook page and show some lurrrve! I post two recipes a week and occasional restaurant reviews. Come check it out. I hope you like it :)  

On a related subject, 2015 is also the year that I got in touch with my Green thumb. I started off with four plants - rosemary, thyme, basil and lavender just a few months back and today I am the proud cultivator of almost every herb I ever need to indulge my need for flavour, flavour, flavour! Rosemary (two varieties), lavender (hasn't flowered yet, but soon), thyme (two types), oregano, basil (3 varieties), marjoram, parsley (two types), mint (all types), Kaffir lime, you name it. I don't need to purchase the herbs I need now from the supermarket - I am self-sufficient! And the feeling it gives you - priceless. Now I have moved on from herbs (because they can now take care of themselves) to salad items (rocket, lettuce - 2 varieties, spinach, cherry tomatoes - I already have little unripe tomatoes on it!) and just today I planted seeds for beetroot, Chinese cabbage, dill and radish. I also have a packet of winged beans but mother says they need to be planted on the ground. We will find a suitable spot and then plant them. Oh this is all very exciting!

Mother says I've always had the green thumb. Even when I was a child, I remember my mother getting me to plant the hard-to grow plants with my hands because she believed that I had "the touch". Mother herself being a bit on the witchy side (her amazing cooking skills, her healing touch, her way with plants, her scarily accurate intuition and this creepy ability to tell exactly what's on your mind most of the time), I can only assume that I inherited it from her. But the weirdest part is, I had never been fond of gardening - actually up to this point I loathed it! But right now, the thought of new plants, seeds, the touch of soil and new leaves sprouting just excites me like nothing ever excited me before. It is a lovely feeling, to see the fruits of your labour, to know that these are your creations and using them in your dishes, especially being the health food freak that I am, the feeling you get is indescribable. Now I am convinced that all I want to do is to stay home, grow my own food and cook with them! I suppose this is my inner healer emerging, this desire to create expanding itself, a desire for a greater bond with nature, to rejoice in things blooming and blossoming. It's a remarkable change - especially considering the fact that I considered gardening to be my least favourite thing in the world only a few months back!

And for all this I need to thank my favourite soulmate who is now my fiancé. He influenced me with his interest in growing fruits (also recent interest) and dragged me about with him to plant nurseries till I finally succumbed to the call. They say that soulmates lead you to your life's true calling, whether it be kicking and screaming and I guess this, is exactly what happened here. And I am grateful.

Just arrived from Chennai a week back. Having lived there for more than a year, the visit was every bit as nostalgic as it was delightful. The roads had badly corroded due to the recent floods but other than that, there is absolutely no sign that such floods had taken place at all. Things haven't changed much. But we got a peek into the real Chennai this time, something which I haven't experienced during the time we lived there - which was somewhat heartbreaking.

I recall the time I lived at Chennai to be the happiest time of my life. I was fascinated by the culture, the rawness of it all, I did everything that I wanted to do, ate everything I wanted to and for once in my life, I had no obligations, no responsibilities. But I don't think back then I got a taste of the real Chennai life. Truth be told, I led a pampered and semi-charmed life there at the time - a driver drove me around to pretty much wherever I wanted to go and I had everything I ever needed at my beck and call without having to lift a finger. Yes there were the times I wandered off on my own and saw the things that I did and experienced them briefly as well, but they left only fleeting impressions and were overshadowed by the many privileges I enjoyed. Cushioned by luxury, nothing really struck me as truly tragic back then. Which was a tragedy in itself.

But this time around being Christmas and everyone being out of town, (even our trusty Ramachandran and Babuji who would come running every time we visit and employ people to be everything between chauffeurs, chaperons and translators for us *sulk*), we had to manage pretty much everything by ourselves. Taxis had no air conditioning (or finding one with A/C was practically impossible) so we soon resorted to getting about by tuk, braving the dry, dusty winds in our faces. (And as a die hard tuk tuk patron here in SL, when I say the heat and the dust is bad, I mean unbearable) The class difference is at times too incredible, the plight of the poor - unbelievable. Some worse than animals, defecating where they sleep and cooking and eating on the same spot. The jolt to reality was so sudden and necessary.

Yet it is many times better than Pakistan where it smells of rotting meat, blood and pure hostility everywhere you go. Utter unadulterated sexism where women are insignificant and discriminated against (I was constantly berated at school which was an "international" school for not covering my head even though I am a Buddhist), uncleanliness, racism and a blatant disregard for personal hygiene, unequivocal violence (one of my classmate's father was found chopped to pieces in a garbage pile and my father's colleague, a gentle lady was burnt to death by the husband over a dowry matter, all within the scope of a few months. Sharia "Law" was silent in all these cases), sexual harassment (I was barely 12 years old and still I was groped by various creatures who call themselves 'men' many times) and a "religion" that preaches you must slit the throats of innocent animals and wash the house with that blood in order to appease "Allah" - these are my memories of Pakistan. Suffice to say, these traumatic experiences pretty much made up my mind about the country and the "religion" in question from a very young age itself.

Chennai on the other hand is a city that I love. It has a unique fragrance, a combination of sweetness (think Pure ghee Indian sweets. So yum!), saffron, sandalwood and jasmine flowers adorning the hair of the female folk. In fact, the clothes that I packed for the trip still smell of these amazing smells taking me back there. The sound of vedic mantras being chanted, ringing bells at the time of the pooja - this is to me, the picture of pleasantness. Chennai is mostly a pure vegetarian city - despite the uncleanliness in certain part of it, the whole place seems somewhat cleansed and holy. Yes, this view of the city maybe extremely contrasting with the mental picture that most people have of the place but I for one, knowing the city all too well, know that it is a city with an innocent soul, and an endearing one at that.

The most remarkable thing about the city is its people and the way that they just don't judge. You can eat your dessert with rice, wear your wedding dress to the supermarket or wear a tie with shorts and I don't think anyone would bat an eyelid. They are quirky like that. And it is truly liberating - to be utterly and ridiculously without manners or etiquette, even for a limited amount of time. I think we all need that in our lives.

On other news, 2015 is also the year when I discovered the short stories I've written many years ago and rediscovered my interest in the art. It is also the year when I ditched my almost complete novel and started on a new one, one that I am convinced is my true masterpiece. It is also the year when I made a significance change in my career - the best decision I've ever made in my life I believe (which was a very VERY difficult one too) and as a result, today, I am truly content with what I do. I believe that I have found my forever home :) So all in all, 2015 had been good to me. Apart from the few dramatic episodes which seemed to make no sense at the time but ended up making a whole lot of sense, 2015 also convinced me that everything really does happen for a reason.

And that the reason is always a good one :)

So here's to a better 2016 (which is going to be a mighty eventful one, hint hint!) and one that will make us all realize our true potential - as human beings, as earthly creatures of creativity and of creation. It is a never-ending journey that we are on, and we are constantly discovering ourselves, just when we think we know it all. And 2015 has been a year that proved to me that there are so many things that I am yet to learn - and most of all about myself. It was the year that my ego was shed, and my eyes were opened to new things, things I believe, that will be important in the years to come.

Half a ton of brassieres unloaded on to The President's front yard

On breaking news today, half a ton of "brassieres" were unloaded onto the front yard of the President's House in an order to appease HE The President who was reportedly feeling "rather left out" after the bra-throwing incident at the recently held Enrique Eclairs concert in Colombo.

This initiative was headed by the organizers of the event after HE The President has expressed his displeasure at the aforementioned incident.

The 'brassieres' were collected from the female attendees to the concert, the event organizers said, having contacted them after the concert. Although the request was to collect the 'brassieres' that they wore on the day, it was clear that the females were reluctant to part with their more expensive and fancier undergarments, a trusted source said. "Most of these items are frayed, discoloured and emits an unpleasant smell which led us to believe that the participants released their oldest and the most used undergarments to us. Some were even too big to be their own" an event organizer said.

In an attempt to add in an extra touch of affection, the organizers contributed with their own jungis that they wore on the day. "Mine was a Calvin Klein, but since I haven't done the laundry that week, it was what I was wearing throughout the whole week. I hope The HE would like it" an enthusiastic event organizer said holding up a "Kiss me, Mr President" cardboard sign cut out of a Siddhalepa jumbo box.

A few male participants volunteered with their own colourful jungis for the purpose but the event organizers had to turn them down so as not to eclipse their own crowning jungi moment with The President.

The event organizers went one step further in trying to find a female to throw a 'brassiere' at HE The President as he exited the house for his morning jog, but they were unable to find a willing candidate for the purpose, a downcast event organizer said.

On other news, hundreds of stingrays had been seen fleeing the coastal lines of Sri Lanka yesterday, hiding their tails within their flaps. Baffled environmentalists report that currently, there are no stingrays within the coastal waters of the island.

       

Females are not your lunch time joke - dealing with sexism

Something that has always struck me and has begun striking me even more as of late – a woman may never be seen completely as a human being, an intellectual creature with the vices and virtues that exist in every human being. It would take an extraordinary human being, the kind that I haven't met yet to acknowledge a female in this manner.

Being a woman makes you invisible. Being attractive makes you invisible. Because it is only your body they will see, who you truly are will always remain unseen.

The unfairness of it just kills me – the incredibility that something so atrocious can happen in polite society simply astounds me. I feel insulted. I feel disrespected every f****** day of my life. Not just by men but by women as well. But this is something that we as women go through in our lives so much so that we have gotten de-sentized to it, that we just brush it off, laugh it off as if it is merely the dust of everyday life. We are displayed as objects before we are even acknowledged as human beings, we are sexualized at such a tender age when our minds are still innocent.

I admit, females are attractive creatures. As a woman, I myself think that the female physique is much more alluring than the male physique. It is more aesthetic, it is mysterious in its functions and levels of pleasure and lovely in all its curves and contours and it is okay to admire it. It truly is a functional work of miraculous art. But it is not okay to sabotage that beauty. It is not okay to penalize the female for their naturally bestowed artistry.  

I am not a feminist. I don’t think I have ever been one. I like looking good and indulge in shaving, waxing, plucking my eyebrows and whatever that is frowned upon by the “Feminists” of our generation, I want to have a family – to create life within myself regardless of those “why should the woman sacrifice her body shape to carry a man’s child” arguments, I admire gentleness and good manners in both men and women alike, I adore cooking and I have my food blog to prove that and I love my bras because I know that sudden movements fucking hurt without one. I have always believed that men and women each have their strong points – men are better at certain things that women aren’t and women are better at certain things that men aren’t. There is no contest, there shouldn’t be. There is a reason why we are made that way and I respect, acknowledge and embrace those differences. Nobody can contest with nature – no matter how hip, modern and revolutionary you are.

People often mistake politeness and courteousness as signs of weakness. This is the biggest mistake that one can make.

I think this is a conflict, a sort of a dilemma that any woman with a sense of self-worth and self-awareness goes through. True that most of the time we just numb ourselves to the sexism around us and smile through gritted teeth simply not to create a scene – at work, in the streets, even among your closest circles and we don’t even realize that we are doing that. It has become a mechanism. Most women go through their lives having fully converted to this twisted religion of submissiveness and self-debasing – a sort of a fetish that the majority of Sri Lankan men and women seem to revel in. We as girls are taught from a young age by our own mothers no less, that our brothers by virtue of having been born male are the more important family members. In such a context when even women deny each other their rightful status as equals, how can one even speak of equality and fairness?

And then there are the lot of us who do know our worth, who have been trained from a young age to make our own space in the world and are proud of our achievements. Nobody handed us anything on silver platters and as a result we have every right to stand our ground and not take any shit from anyone. But does it matter? Does any of it matter at all if all you get is disrespect and sexism from the society in return? I do wonder sometimes.   

What makes men overlook your stature, your status as a human being, as a person and simply stare at your chest or beneath the hemline as if no other part of you exists? What makes them make crude comments and rude jokes about the females that they encounter in life? “Can’t you take a joke?” they ask and tell you to take it easy. I really don’t see what’s so funny when they comment on how your dress makes them feel or what they have to say about your body. I don’t know how easy they would take it if a woman happens to point out that the sleazy smile on their faces makes them look like warthog bottoms.

What gives them the right? It is as if ‘women’ jokes are the coolest jokes in town. It is as if female colleagues in a workplace are simply pornography that they can masturbate to in their heads. What gives them so much power? Is it the advantage of physical strength that makes them so flippant about their masculinity? But living in a world where most menfolk simply sit in front of a television all day forcing fast food down their throats, I must say that women will be able to trump this in no time at all as well if they cared to stay in shape.

It is even worse when you find out that the people who you regarded as intelligent, sensitive and frankly ‘above that’ have stooped to doing the same. Makes you lose faith in humanity altogether.  

The point I am trying to make is this. All your education, all your intelligence and capabilities are eclipsed by the fact that you are a woman. And God forbid if you are an attractive one! People will create the illusion of giving you respect just to be in your good graces, but catch them when they are a little drunk or out of their best judgment and you will catch a glance of the ugly, desperate animal within – an insult to humanity as it were.

These are the problems that escalate, that get ugly and end up hurting people. One only takes notice of these things when someone is raped, or worse yet – raped AND murdered. They will say ‘oh poor thing’, probably put up some sympathetic FB post, rally around the town square demanding justice and after a few weeks, everyone will forget. But who will rally for the everyday sexism, who will speak for the belittling, disrespect and the insults of everyday life? If someone has to get raped or murdered for an issue to get some attention, then there is something so clearly wrong in this twisted murk of a society that we live in.  

As a woman, I refuse to take shit, I never have – not from anyone. I refuse to take part in this twisted little mind f*** that is this society. I thrive on being a woman, I think it’s a fabulous thing to be. And I hope anyone reading this, man or woman would think twice about disrespecting anyone around them – whether it be at home, at work or on the streets. Females are not there for entertainment purposes. They are not your lunch time jokes. My greatest wish is to see us treated if not as equals, as persons with brain, heart and soul. Females are not that crude anecdote you related that made everyone in your office laugh, or components of your dick humor which makes you ‘the dude’ amongst your colleagues. Females are not your blow up dolls, not physically and neither in your mind. It is not 'fun' or 'rad' to make fun of women. It just proves one to be an ignorant and bitter failure of a being, the 'human' part being somewhat doubtful. Your attitude is the big, bright beacon of your personality, the one that tells the world 'here's who I am!'. Would you like to be naked in the public with all your ugliness exposed, you must decide.