Up above the world so high....

I don't have vertigo. Of course, I've never tried my hand at bungee jumping. That would be the deciding factor. But be that as it may, I experienced my first tryst with real heights when we climbed the Qutub Minar. I was a kid back then. But I was overwhelmed with the scenery below me, spreading endlessly for as far as my eyes would go, like a gigantic carpet with magical weaves. That feeling stayed. And from then on, I was game for any place at a height. Mountain tops (Will go to the Grand Canyon some day, that's a special wish too), buildings atop mountain tops, the terrace of a multi-storeyed building, flights...even the terrace of our single storeyed house in Mysore. It's a little hard to explain, the elation. It stays for a very short time. But it inspires vivid thoughts, ideas and imagination. And I just love lying on the terrace on summer nights and watching the endless night sky, juuuusst star gazing. Another thing I like watching from atop a building are the vehicles moving at a distance, like ants, moving to their destination. And don't we all enjoy watching a fully lit city by the night? That feeling's something totally awesome. I remember the first time I saw Bangalore by night from my flight. Like somebody had spread out all the jewellery on the floor for display. I remember as a kid, a very special pastime was looking at the clouds and trying to imagine a shape, a form I recognized - anything, a horse face, a cup, a rabbit, or even a human face at times. And let me tell you, the height has to be just right to be able to spot and recognize things. Too much height also kills the landscape. And in that respect, I love driving up Chamundi Hills in Mysore and stopping at my favourite spot to gaze at the city. I have a pair of binoculars and it's real fun to go building spotting. That reminds me, I should go there this weekend when I visit my parents.

Be cool

Some guys are born cool. I mean they have this laid-back 'shit me not' aura about them that it's almost impossible to ruffle their feathers. I remember seeing John Travolta in 'Get Shorty' and think - now here's a guy I'd love to be like. Not his character of a gangster, but his personality. And that line from Rene Russo summed it all up - 'Not a worry in the world'. Having said that, I ask this of myself occasionally - Are you smart enough? Have you sometimes felt like kicking yourself for not doing the 'smart' thing? How many times have you thought of a smart retort - the next day? I guess, smartness means different things to different people. Smartness also IS different things to different people. Street smartness, sophisticated smartness, smart-ass smartness, smarting smartness...phew! When I was in college, I used to be in awe of some guys who pushed all the right buttons. They could talk about anything under the sun. They were suave, they had the right attire and they spoke in a way that made others flock to them. 'Can I become like them?' I'd constantly wonder and hope. Things aren't very different now. I still admire guys who can hold a conversation about anything. Anything at all. Politics? Oh yeah, they can write reams of email analysing, dissecting the system and even throwing in a couple of liners on how the country could be better run, for good measure. Sports? If only our sportsmen knew these guys existed, there'd be no dearth of right strategies and winning concepts. Movies? Moviemakers would stand in line to sign these guys up for a winning formula.

But it's all about the grass being greener on the other side, I guess. We feel that some guys have all the fun. They lead lives to die for, their workplace is always fun-filled. Their...well, you get the idea. But I've learned over the years that there might be others thinking the same about us. And that's comforting, isn't it?

Gratitude

Life's lessons are tough. And how. I still remember that morning like my coffee a few minutes ago. It was a Tuesday, about eight years ago. I made a beeline to a 'Darshini' near my PG accomodation. I had just moved in and was thankful the place was right around the corner from where I lived. The PG gig didn't have a kitchen and just so. I'm not a great cook either. Anyways, I got my stuff and got busy eating. As is my habit, I drifted into some thought eating. I was watching the cashier. There was something about him. His eyes, perhaps. They shone in a rare friendly light, little known in most cashiers I've seen. Most of them are just coupon dispensing machines and well, don't have the time for chitchat. Not this guy. He was treating customers like they'd come to his daughter's wedding. "Yen thogothira sir?" (And what would you like to have, sir?), "Poori try maadi ivathtu, special." (Try our poori saagu today, it's been cooked in a special way). I smiled and looked around, trying to figure if any of his warmth had rubbed off on the place. And it had. There was something different about this place. Everyone was relaxed. There were early office-goers too, who didn't seem very hard-pressed to
finish their breakfast and go. The cooks, kitchen help, everyone had a smile on their faces. And I was so pre-occupied, I never realized, my breakfast tasted good as well. It all added up.

Then from nowhere came in an old, frail tramp, clothes in tatters and stinking. He stood near the cashier and they got talking. His voice rose occasionally, while the cashier answered his queries patiently, with a quiet nod. I frowned. This was strange. It was good that the cashier was friendly but this was taking goodness a little too far. I heard the kitchen hands speak in whispers, like this was a daily affair. The tramp was demanding something now, but our man just shook his head quietly again. Then one of the guys (obviously a right hand man there) came out the kitchen, carrying some food on a plate and gently took led the tramp out by his hand. The tramp shouted in kannada. "I'll see you yet. You don't know who I am. You can't do this, you know". The cashier just smiled, a wee bit embarrassed and turned to the visitors, as if to say, "please continue eating, this is no big deal."

But I couldn't contain my curiosity. And this was a good time to make friends with him. After all I was going to be a regular here.

"Who was it, sir?"

"Ah, it's nothing." He counted my change and returned it to me. I didn't press further. Maybe now wasn't the right time to talk about the tramp.

Over the year, I saw the tramp frequently, not just in the Darshini, but also in the neighbourhood, generally shouting orders and talking to himself. Hmmm, so he was not just any tramp. He was also crazy. A few months later, as I and the cashier got to know each other better, on a weekend, he told me about the tramp.

"You wondered why I'm so patient with him, right?"

I nodded.

"You would too, with someone who offered you a job and gave you a shelter."

I was nonplussed. He chuckled and said softly. "He was my boss."

My "c'mon you must be kidding' look invited more chuckles from him. "It's true. He was my boss. And this darshini? It belonged to him once upon a time."

I was too shocked for words. He gave me some time for the truth to sink in, smiling all the while.
He asked one of his guys to take over and we held a cup of coffee each in our hands and stood outside, in the morning sun.

"I was an orphan when I moved to this city, several years ago. I had an uncle who was supposed to take care of me, but fled, leaving me and my little sister to fend for ourselves. Can you imagine how it is? Two children, without anybody, anything. I picked rag for a while. Begged even. I didn't know what to do. But my parents had taught me to live life honestly. To work hard. This tramp you saw? He used to run this place. He gave me the job of a dish-washer here. I washed dishes by the day and learned cooking the rest of the time. Well, soon I saved enough to send my sister to school. And some other guys helped me out, so I attended evening school for some time as well. They all raised me, so to say." He smiled again.

"But he was very arrogant. He ran this place like a jail. Everybody hated him. And even the customers. But, somehow he managed to keep it running for more than 10 years. I grew up dreaming of becoming someone big. I myself don't remember how all these years went by. I quit this place when I grew up. I worked at another place as a cook. Then I graduated to handling the supplies. And then managing. I would hear about my ex-boss every so often. That he'd gotten himself into serious debts, started gambling and the like. Then one day I came back. I told him I'd manage things for him. But it was too late. He had to close down shop as he couldn't handle the debts. He lost his mind. His family disowned him." he sighed.

"I did well for myself and some years ago, freed this place of all the debts and bought it. I even offered him a job here, but his arrogance hasn't left him, even if his whole family has. So I do what I can to repay the initial kindness he showed on me. After all, how can you turn away someone who fed you when you were hungry? Someone who, immaterial of how cruel a person he was, gave you shelter? So I feed him every now and then. I offered to get him a place to stay, but like I said...arrogance. He has no place to go, and no institution will take him either." His eyes moistened a bit now. I felt bad that I made him remember his painful past.

As I left that morning, I realized how important it is to remain a human at any cost. And this was gratitude unheard of. I was humbled.

Now you see it, now you don't...

Am sure most of you know, but for those who don't... every film unit has a continuity boy, who keeps tab on the costumes and props on the sets and maps the same with shooting schedules and the script. See, his job is to ensure over a one week schedule of shooting a single scene that possibly amounts to about 10 minutes onscreen, that the characters are wearing the same attire and the props have the same stuff kept at the same place for a week. Now, the continuity boy is only human and errors do happen. Some of these errors are glaring onscreen and somehow escape the editor's scissors (he's human too, you see). And thus the bloopers. You see the hero wearing blue shoes before he enters a house and when he comes out, hey presto! The shoes've become white! Or a forehead gash suddenly decides to switch places from right to left or in some cases make a hasty exit from the forehead. When I was a kid, I wouldn't notice these things a lot. Then one day, I did. I was watching this highly emotional scene of a dying hero in his mother's lap, his left hand bloody with a bullet wound. The next moment I see the same wound on his right hand. I blinked. Twice. But the wound remained in his right hand. It was interesting and funny. Then I made it a point to keep my eyes open for such bloopers and boy, movie watching was not the same anymore. On an average, every two movies out of the ten I watched were agog with such 'continuity' errors. You might see these documented in some film magazines as well. Filmfare had a column 'reader's don't digest' on similar lines.

Hmmm, this was just as rantish as it could get. *Sigh*

Monuments all...

'All Hot Chips', 'Durga Darshini', 'Ganesh chat center', 'Chamundi churmuri center'...These names ring a bell? Am sure every Bangalorean relates to these name-boards that can be seen in virtually any area in town. Come to think of it, every city has it's own list of regular eateries and goody shops that have over the years become icons of sorts. Especially when you arrive in town after a long time from a trip, early in the mornings or late at nights, and when your groggy eyes catch these familiar names, somewhere deep down you feel reassured. You sigh warmly and close your eyes again, smiling. Hmm? It's true that any place or society is made up of the people living there, but it's also true that such brands that are so unique to a city, also give it a definite shape, a dark, bold outline highlighting the specialty of that city. I've been around the last 20 years or so, and I know that even after I die, these brands will remain for many more years to come. That's the good thing about household names. They stay on and remind you of all the good times you had. In a way, they're no short of being legends. In their own rights.

It took 3 to tango!

Some time back, SwB had posted something on love and companionship and mentioned that at some point, the baby made it's entry when the couple needed to add a new color, a new angle to the relationship. He wasn't far from the truth. Aayushi was born three years into our marriage and boy, what an entry she made into this world. I still remember the loud wail at precisely 10.55 AM. Holding the newborn carefully wrapped in a sterilized towel, I can never forget the pair of tiny eyes trying to open and see a world never seen before. The first few days were nothing short of nightmarish, both I and Anu wishing when all this would finally even out - the baby's hiccups (The 2nd night she literally choked on her own saliva in the middle of the night), screaming, the colic...phew! We wondered how parents the world over coped with this kind of a thing. Time flew, there were more sleepless nights in store. The baby won't sleep so well at night, having slept at a stretch during the day. We'd take turns waking up at night to put her to sleep. Then came the crawling phase. We'd fear where she'd meet a cockroach or a lizard face to face and do some serious opera style howling. That gave way to baby-steps (We didn't need to buy a walker for the brave one, she managed to walk on her own). We began enjoying parenthood as we heard her make funny little sounds and speak in sign language. Then came the usual 'gaga, googoo, mama etc..' Oh god, when would she begin to speak, we prayed. It's quite tough communicating with a child who cannot speak back. In a way, the initial months are quite a revelation for new parents and we begin appreciating the world of the deaf and dumb. When Aayushi began speaking, walking, running, thinking...we never realized. It all happened in a flurry. And now we ask her to keep quiet many a time. Parents are funny, I tell you. We want our babies to grow up and when they do, we wish they were the same old bundles of joy in the initial months of their lives. Huh!

It's been quite a journey so far. It will be so the rest of our lives, like I've blogged about it in the past. But today is an important day for us. For Aayushi. For all the efforts of the initial days and for more to come in the years ahead...I feel it's been worth it. Every single minute of it. And I hope my li'l baby turns out to be a fine person in the end, which she'll be.

HAPPY 3RD BIRTHDAY, MY LOVE!

listless...

Some totally, absolutely meaningless thoughts. Ummm, questions, rather.

1. How, where and when did all my milk teeth come out? How come I never realized?
2. We memorize something with our minds, right? Then why do we say 'learn by heart'?
3. Why's something that makes your car look good, called a spoiler?
4. Why does the bloody bus start precisely at the point you are about to overtake it?

On another absolutely irrelevant note, this - again from my blurty archive:

‘The Driver of this car is a sex maniac’. These were the words staring me at the face from the hind windscreen of a car. Boy, some guts this guy has, I thought, admitting what normally many of us would just dream of doing / or not doing, as the case may be. I decided to go upto him and smile an acknowledgement. But when I neared the car, my face fell. The actual words were ‘The driver of this car who belongs to the male sex drives like a maniac’. Duh! So much for the pseudo libido. The other words were in fine print, with the ‘mirage’istic words in bold. But hey, that was creative. And speaking of stickers, I have seen quite a lot of them that are funny and good time pass during the monotonous and sometimes scary ride through the city. ‘Caution: Horn doesn't work. Finger broken’. ‘Both hand drive’. ‘Power break(?)’ and oh, the sterling quotes behind auto rickshaws? Let’s keep that for a longer discussion some day. Some of those are ‘hahahaliraous’. I think I’d even scribbled about them somewhere early on in this blog. But then these stickers reflect the natures of drivers, I feel. The strong words belong to the idealistic and often cynical types. The ‘sex maniac’ kind of stickers could either be the choice of a harmless funster or maybe a ‘kinky’ kinda person who wants the eligible girls / ladies/ women..err..uh..you get my point, to contact him? But all said and done, you just can’t deny the fun value of these stickers. Maybe I should stick one on my bike – ‘The rider of this bike is a sex maniac’. Without any fine print in between. Hehehe!

Maniac's...errr...author's note: I've graduated to a car ever since, but don't get any ideas.

A moment...

It's amazing how you get recurring thoughts and experience things over and over again. Would give 'Deja Vu' a run for it's money. This thought just in...from my older blog (I love it when I don't have to do anything but just paste a thought from here!)


"Have your eyes 'met' anyone's in that 'moment'? I'm not talking about love at first sight here. I'm talking about 'everything' at first sight. You know, you see someone, an absolute stranger in an absolutely strange place and your eyes lock in an absolutely strange way that is so absolutely strange that you don't know what's happening, but something absolutely strange would have happened inside of you. Only for an absolutely strange moment. NOt more, not less. But in that moment, absolutely everything would have happened. You can't figure out what, though.How absolutely strange. Huh? Interesting."

f(axe) pas

The two kids sat glued to the computer screen, settling scores on tomb raider.

Mohit rose a few minutes later, his T-shirt sticking to his back like a wet ice-cream candy wrapper.

"Do you have something to Eat, Giri?"

"We just had dinner an hour ago, you glutton", Giri said, not taking his eyes off the screen and fingers off the keyboard.

"How long are these folks gonna take? And why do they have to go watch movies like 'Shaayad'? Sounds like the director wasn't sure he was gonna make any money out of it."

"Hmmm, but you see, it'll win some stupid award this time."

"Yeah, any movie that isn't any fun is sure to win an award."


********

"Hey, Giri, look at this."

Both the boys watched the window in the opposite apartment. Somebody was hacking someone. The fierce looking man was bringing down the axe with furious precision.

The kids stood transfixed as they saw the murderous mayhem unfold in front of their eyes. They heard a third voice talking in a lower tone. Probably the accomplice, wondering where to bury the body.

A few moments later, a dark figure walked out of the building, carrying a filled sack on his back. It was kind of dark below and the street light wasn't enough to show his face. Still, the boys couldn't believe their eyes. They had just witnessed a horrendous crime. They crouched down low and sat below the window sill. still.

Mohit switched off the lights in the room.

"You don't wanna be killed for having seen that, do you?"

Wise kid.

*********

The police officer laughed. "three murders on three continuous nights? Right in front of your apartment?"

Mohit's father shrugged. "That's what the boys say."

The cop looked at Mohit. "Listen son, this is serious. And we can't just barge into somebody's house just because..."

Giri interrupted. "No, uncle, we mean it." The look on his face, with the sweat on his forehead made the officer think. The kids did look genuinely scared. Well, he had to do what he had to do.

********

The 'axe-murderer' opened the door and looked quite puzzled to see a cop with children. "Yes, officer?"

The cop already felt this was all a big mistake and felt like walking away. The house looked quite normal as if nothing had happened. Just then they heard two men arguing inside. And one was threatening the other with his life.

"What's going on, may I ask?"

"Oh that," The killer laughed. "We're practising for our factory's anniversary celebrations. You see, sir, I used to dabble in theater earlier..."

Mohit and Giri sat, numb and dumb. Quite dumb. The hall filled with laughter as the cop and murderers shared tea and cookies. Mohit swore never to look into a neighboring window again. Giri was silent. Probably thinking the same.

"And the gunny sack? The boys positively saw someone..."

The gunny sack carrier laughed. "That was a coincidence, only that night. After the rehearsal, I had to carry home the bunch of newspapers I'd left here the day before."

More laughter filled the hall. Nobody noticed the boys sneaking out.

************

'love all'

" I've always believed in numbers. In the equations and logics that lead to reason. But after a lifetime of such pursuits, I ask, what truly is logic? Who decides reason? My quest has taken me through physical, the metaphysical, the delusional, and back. And I have made the most important discovery of my career.The most important discovery of my life. It is only in the mysterious equations of love, that any logical reasons can be found."

- Prof. John Nash (Nobel prize winner)

A couple of years ago, I watched 'A Beautiful Mind' and this final scene, performed beautifully by Russell Crowe got a lump in my throat. And a few days back, I was again reminded of this timeless line. I've always been a bindaaz guy all my life, right through school to college. But I've also believed in all things logical. If anything defies logic, it probably shouldn't be. But then life never ceases to throw surprises. Just when you thought that this is it, it couldn't be any other way, something or someone comes your way, proving your entire theory wrong in a fraction of a second. And the only thing that can really move mountains, in my opinion, is love. If you assume that love is that which you see in mushy movies, then it's not the love I'm talking about. Love is an unconditional, unfettered connection between you and something that your heart reaches out for. Need not always be the 'man-woman' kind of love. It's a passionate longing for something, that cannot die, no matter what. All these words - faith, understanding, even anger, are different avatars of love. And if you scratch the surface deep enough, you'll realize that almost everything that we boast of today, in terms of progress and technology, has it's roots in this one emotion. Because you cannot move forward unless you have the love for it. You cannot achieve big things in love, unless you start by loving that very thought. And maybe that's why it's a good thing that love isn't measurable. Because anything measurable has a limit. An ending point. But this is the only emotion that is as immense as space. Timeless. Boundless. When my daughter says 'appa, I love you', she's just holding a tiny cup of this emotion in her hand and showing it to me. But when after a hard day's work, she comes running to me and hugs me tight, I'm literally drowned in it. When Anu asks longingly, 'when are you coming home?' I can literally swim in that sentence. When I see the objects of desire that anyone has designed, be it electronic or mechanical, I can picture the love of that designer for the product. In the intricate details of it.

Which brings to my mind another line from the movie 'Contact' where Mathew McConnaughy asks Jodie Foster, a space scientist who believes in logic and maths. 'Do you love your dead father?" She nods her head positively. And then he says, 'prove it'.

*

You know, there's a danger of isolation if you don't blog for an extended period of time. And by isolation, I don't mean from fellow-bloggers; that is a natural consequence, can't be avoided. What I meant by isolation is from one self. Especially if you're so used to penning (err...keying) your thoughts on this space every single day. Then after a while, in true 'writer's block' style, nothing comes out, or nothing feels worthwhile to be really jotted down. Well, I guess it happens. It's been happening. We're known to have those 'blank' days when we can't get any thought of ours together. Even in pre-blogging days it would happen, but then we wouldn't feel it so much because we weren't in the habit of consciously throwing up in our online 'puke-sheet'.

Oh well...

jogging my memory...

I used to be a health freak. Used to be. Ummmm..about 10 - 12 years ago. About 3 years ago, I went from being a 'freak' to 'conscious'. These days, it's turned to 'subconscious'. I better do something about it before it further gets into the health 'unconscious' mode. There was a time when I used to run (not jog, run) for about 8 kilometers every single day, come rain come shine. I was in college and yeah, Anu was already in my life. She wasn't exactly the 'swoon-over-sculpted-romans' kinds, and I never really felt inspired to take care of my fitness to fit the needs of the fairer kinds. I just felt good running. And there was the bicycle. Every other teenager in town used to have the ATBs...And boy what fun! I and another friend used to go to neighboring towns on our ATBs, early mornings.. Pure bliss! I sold the bike a year later. I graduated to much faster beasts: moped, then scooter...but hey, the running continued.

Many years later, I got married. Anu was still not the 'swoon-over-sculpted-romans' kinds, and I continued running. For a year or two. And then it stopped. Like the shower at my place. Just like that. Poof. It came limping back a few months later but then it died on me again. For good.

And what's with this 'I MUST start jogging again from this weekend' thing? I could never come up with an explanation for that one. You want to run, run, don't wait for a weekend. Right? Yeah, right. And I've been so verbal about this weekend thing that even my daughter has begun asking me whether I'd be going jogging on Saturdays. Hmphfh!!

Tomorrow's saturday; hmmmm...

Something's cookin...

Men shouldn't be allowed to shop for vegetables. As far as I'm concerned, my limited knowledge of picking 'good' vegetables is restricted to the dining table, not to the vegetable vendor. Right from my childhood to present day, I've maintained that I have two left hands when it comes to buying veggies. And despite knowing this, my wife has no other go but to send me and everytime I return, I feel like a narc smuggler waiting for the customs official to give his verdict..err...her verdict, in this case. How the hell do you make out how ripe or raw a particular veggie is, or for that matter, how 'cookable' it is? Never could figure it out. Never. If it is down-right rotten or withered, yeah, I can see that, I have that much discretion in me. The trouble is when you've to pick up a veggie that looks ok, looks good and when it lands in the kitchen, it becomes 'unfit' all of a sudden. "It's not good enough." "See? It shouldn't bend here like this." "Oh no, this one's not the right texture." Phew! Choosing a car is much easier. Speaking of which, we return to my first statement here. Because, whenever the wife sends you to buy veggies, chances are you're thinking of that brand new hotwheel you saw in a a magazine recently. Or that sleek looking electronic gizmo that you've been leching at the last century or so, all because you never seem to be having enough money to buy it. How will you, whatever short change you plan to save, goes into buying more veggies. Well, can't blame the poor little things, you've to eat something, right? Else how'll you have enough energy to think about that huge plasma you plan to buy with your retirement money?

Men should concentrate on more important things in life, such as...such as, the grand prix, or the news or...better yet, the stock exchange. But they shouldn't be allowed to buy veggies. Period.

Cover to cover

Ok, back from a loooong weekend. Phew, quite long, thursday on... :) But anyway, my daughter held her own in school, she being the most enthusiastic about it. It felt good. Thanks guys, for the moral support.

Aaand..Ash has tagged me and that's when I realized how bad my reading habits've gotten. I know, I know, you cannot possibly have any kind of excuse for a depleting book collection..not even marriage and familial responsibilities, after all reading is second nature; reading is something that comes out of passion. But sadly, that part of me has slowly taken the back-bench. Sad. There was a time when I used to devor books like idlis..

Anyway, here goes - I don't say this is a perfect projection of the 'book' side of me, but nonetheless...

Total books I own:
Approximately 100...

Last book I bought:
Chicken Soup for the writer's soul

Last book I read:
Shrink Rap

Five books that mean a lot to me:
The millionaire's secrets
Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance
Inventing Desire
Sherlock holmes (The complete collection)
Chicken Soup for the Writer's soul

A book that’s on its way out of your house as you write this:
Big, Bad City by Ed McBain

Ok, Ash, I've done my bit... :)

Butterflies and all that...

Though I don't exactly remember how it was for me, on the first day of school; (I'd attended play home earlier), but it's all happened so many years ago that trying to remember it, comes back to me like garbled radio signal at times. I do remember a couple of faces I saw when I first sat down on that hard wooden desk. It was pandemonium, that much I remember. Kids wailing their guts out, kids literally dragged into the classroom by their class-teacher. But I remember, I and a boy sat next to each other, smiling every so often and wondering where this whole journey called 'school' would take us. Nervousness and eager curiosity engulfed us that day. My mom tells me I didn't cry or wail. Neither did I get tears in my eyes.

The same thing repeated when they enrolled me into boarding school many years later. Only this time, I did feel a wee bit home-sick because I was thousands of kilometers away from home. But anyway, the first bout of serious home-sickness struck when I returned to school after the holidays. My, you should've seen the glum faces, as if we had been thrashed by the principal or something.

I always remember my parents talking about how much a parent also goes through along with the child on this trip called 'school/college' education. And I remember my mom telling another mom - "first day at school, we parents need all the wishes to remain calm and composed, more than our kids."

It's been a not so rough ride for me though. Like the quiet turning of each page in a book, I managed to reach the last cover and now, the book is back in the shelf.

But tomorrow, I need to take the book out again. And I, like my mom said, need all the wishes to remain calm and composed. So, wish me luck all of you, and I will be good.

My li'l Aayushi starts first day at school tomorrow. I'm all set for the roller-coaster ride again.
:)