Snapshots of life...

Sometimes the eyes say it all...

The wonder of childhood...

Shadow play...

Somewhere over the horizon...hope lights my way...

The company of clouds....


A bike...a beach...perfect peace

BLOOD FIGHT!!!

I recently had the opportunity to donate blood for the second time in my life. And for some reason it brought back memories of how my blood donation saga started...and like a good blogger I decided t fulfill my duty towards fellow bloggers and blogdom in general by sharing....so here goes....


I am one of those people who has always been fascinated by blood. Now before you start thinking that I am some kinda psychopath in the making...lemme clear the air...my dad's a blood donor..has been for as long as I can remember...so naturally I wanted to be one myself. Tawt it was a pretty noble thing(noble = guaranteed to impress anyone). So one fine day I decided to get my blood type checked so I could embark on this path of nobility.


At the path lab, the kind(kind = irritatingly sweet-talking) nurse told me to look away as she drew blood so lil ol' me wudn't be frightened. Resisting the urge to tell her off with tales of my bravado I smiled sweetly and said "Its ok...I'm not scared". She looked at me like I was some kind of war-veteran...and with a "you are soooo brave" look started drawing blood. It wasn't smooth sailing as she couldn't find a vein properly...(this inspite of the fact that the veins in my arm can be seen from the moon). Each time she pricked my arm and couldn't find the vein, she seemed to be begging God for forgiveness for scarring an angel like me. Finally she got the bloody vein and as I watched the blood leave my arm I was filled with a kind of wonder...the colour and viscosity of the blood made me swell up with pride. I was filled with a "I have the prettiest blood in the whole world" emotion. Was actually sad having to leave such a wondrous thing with Sister-Sympathy....


A couple of days later, the verdict was out. I was an O+....now I could happily go around donating blood helter-skelter....but it was not to be. I didn't get my first chance until almost another year passed by...my company had organised a blood donation camp. All my batch mates kept talking and discussing it for days and finally we decided that our collective bravado could get us thru....so off we went...


Our entry into the camp coincided with a girl fainting a la-Scarlett post-donation. As we trembled our way inside, a few more knees gave away and we were petrified (the fainting phenomenon was later credited to October heat and getting up too soon...etc etc). But we kept moving and got thru till the part where the actual needle entered the picture. I actually missed Sister-Sympathy as I saw Sister-Dont-mess-wid-me walking purposefully towards me...she picked up my arm like a piece of fresh meat about to bitten into...and she went about pumping it to find the famously elusive vein...after a couple of attempts she stopped....snarled at me and walked away...fighting all my feelings of rejection and abandonment I was about to call out to her when she strode over to my other side and picked up my other arm. Her eyes gleamed with a manic glow as she saw what she was looking for....one jab...and I had officially become a donor.

We walked out o the camp into the sunlight like survivors of a horrendous battle....and for the next few weeks we went around telling anyone with an open ear how brave we were....

Time passed by and it was donation camp time again...this time the scene looked better due to the definite absence of "the fainters". A classic case of we went., we donated, we gobbled the free goodies...all in a span of 15 mins.. The only obstacle being the guy who checks you out in the beginning to ensure that you are a healthy donor.He Was normal enuf except for the obsession with the weight machine. He asked everyone to stand on the scale as part of the check-up and took sadistic pleasure in almost-shouting the weight of each person...now being a girl..a normal-weight girl that is...I was a lil apprehensive bout having my weight declared publicly by the ghoul. So i hopped on and ff the scale in a flash to prevent the scale from wandering off into unwanted areas. He somehow sensed this and hollered out my weight not once, not twice but thrice. I'm sure the people at the end of the world must have heard it too. I valiantly tried to save face by hurrying off to complete my form and collect the blood bags. The form-female as sympathetic and nodded quietly when she asked and filled out my weight...I took my revenge by donating 350ml at the speed of light and scampered the hell out of there...

It was it wasn't until the next day that I noticed the gaping hole and the big ugly blue-black mark on my arm...I thought it would go away soon but I noticed an aunty in the bus giving me ugly stares as though the bruise on my arm was a confession of some clandestine drug-addiction not a medal of bravery for a noble cause..she even pulled her precious (and piggish looking) kid close to her in a bollywood fashion as though I was the plague...so on returning home I applied cream, powder, etc...I scrubbed the bruise till it went from blue to red...but no use...I resigned myself to my fate and decided that the path to nobility was indeed difficult....but worthwhile.

My obsession with Harry Potter

Yes...I admit it...I am a grown woman who loves reading Harry Potter. I've even joined the community on Orkut... :)

There are a lot of reasons why I love the Harry Potter series...going back to the time when i read the 1st book...Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. It was the day I fell in love...so what if i lied to the librarian and said the book was for "my niece"...

I had to read the next one....The Chamber of Secrets...and by now...I was in for life....the story...the characters....they were as real as magical creatures could be....

Then came "The Prisoner of Azkabhan"...and i felt for Harry's pain...to find true family and to have it taken away again...

Goblet of fire was the tip of the iceberg....the build-up...the budding romances...the drama...the action...it was a perfect pot-boiler.....but once again it was the end that stayed with me...to face your biggest fear...your biggest enemy....surviving might seem like success....but only the survivor knows the trauma that hides behind it....the death of Cedric Diggory was the death of childhood innocence...

The Order of the Phoenix was the start of a new beginning....the preparation for the fight to the end...a dark book filled with lies, danger and of course death....Sirius' death brought back the ghosts of the past as Harry struggled to accept yet another loss of life...one by one the shield around Harry were going down....

The 6th book was a little refreshing in the beginning as Harry finds some resemblance to a normal life...break-ups...love...small victories over studies....almost too good to be true...and it was. With Dumbledore's death...Harry was naked to Voldemort's destruction...With a mission left to finish...he had to give up everything that was most dear to him...all that he had was his friends....his biggest strength and the one thing that Voldemort could never take away from him...

The last and the final book...the answer to all the questions raised in the previous books...tough choices...sacrifices...heroics....love...loss....and triumph...the perfect end to a perfect saga.

But let me be clear about soemthing...i love the Harry Potter books...not the movies. Harry is a normal boy whose lfe has taken extra-ordinary turns. He is not a handsome hero. He is not a goody-two-shoes. He has a terrible temper. He has hormonal impulses. He has insecurities. He has lost enough to fear for his life and loved ones. He is not a sacrificing noble soul..he understands that some things are just not meant to be. How many of us have wished that we could escape the mundane realities of our life and find acceptance in a world of wonder....

I was dreadened by the rumour that harry might be killed in the final book. I am glad he's not. As long as we know he's still alive...I know hope and wonder is alive. That innocence is alive. I hope to leave the legacy of his sweet boy and his extra-ordinary tale to my children. So that they too can bask in the magic that is Harry Potter.

Cracking the code....

It was a dark and dreary day....they were sitting in a room and in their hands was the fate of thousands...

"This has to be done...."
"...we must put them in their place...."
"We shall bend them to our will..."


As the voices grew louder, it was clear that the group was out for blood...and finally the decision was made....There would be a dress code.

Sounds like a medevial horror tale, but its is the plight that me and many other have to endure...all under the elaborate banner of professionalism. There's no way that a person's actions can show his/ her professionalism. We have to have a standard. He who dresses like a god...is a god. The rest are the scum of the earth.

My company recently decided to enforce a dress code on the employees. No sleeveless outfits for ladies. No bold / loud prints on sarees. No floaters. No round-neck T-shirts. No freedom. It doesn't matter that we live in a country where rains flood every street without fail. It doesn't matter that the air conditioning is a joke. It doesn't matter that no matter how well-ironed our clothes are when we put them on, the commute to work converts them into an old woman's wrinkled face within the span of an hour.By restricting our wardrobes to a limited outfits, the company ensures our limited independence. No takers for individuality here. Instead of going ahead with the times, we are being taken back to our childhood days when uniforms were the norm. I wouldn't be surprised if that is the next step for the company.

There are innumerable other issues that the company could have focused on...but no...pick the most irrelevant and the most insignificant one. The one granted to disgruntle the masses. That should keep them grumpy enough to ignore the other more issues that they have. We live in a free country. We celebrate freedom of expression and freedom of speech. We sing and listen to dozens of patriotic numbers on the I-days.....and yet are we truly free? Or are the traditional shackles of slavery replaced by modern "company policies"?

And as far as the dress code is concerned....i don't remember the company paying me a single penny to set up a new wardrobe...no surprise there...so I shall defy the code...proudly...