Home Sweet Home

A few days ago, I got my Singapore Permanent Resident card. It's a funny feeling, having a card that says you're a permanent resident of a country you've only been living in for 4 years. In a silly sort of way, it feels like you're betraying your home country. Like you're saying your home country isn't good enough for you to be a "permanent resident" of. Then again, my passport is still Indian, so I justify to myself that that is the most "permanent" of all things anyway, so it really doesn't matter that I live elsewhere.

This sort of dual identity leads to funny situations. Like long for home and Mom's cooking and Indian TV channels when you're in Singapore, and then get jittery when you're actually back home because you've gotten so used to the Singaporean way of life that you can't really re-adjust to the noise and pollution of India. Your immune system finally goes out of whack, so when you go home and binge on food that would usually not do you any harm, your stomach reacts unfavourably because, as your relatives remind you, "Your body is no longer Indian; you have to remember these things before you go eating and drinking stuff you can't handle!". You start converting things to rupees when you shop in Singapore, and do the exact opposite when you're in India. You complain about the difficulty of owning a car in Singapore, and then complain about the state of public transport in India. You want the best of both worlds, but all you ever do is complain about what you don't have in either country.

It used to happen all the time in my first few years in Singapore that whenever I said, "I'm going home", people would immediately thinking I was talking about my India home, when actually I just meant "my room in the hostel". I guess I was liberal with the word, because most of my Indian batchmates reserved it for India, which was the only thing worthy of being called "home".

I still don't know what exactly makes something "home". Is it where you go at the end of the day to cook your meals and go to bed? Or is it the place you've spent most of your life at? What if you shuttled around from place to place, and never really stayed in one place longer than a few years? Is it where you hang up your "home sweet home" banner? Is it only home if if your family lives with you? Do housemates not count? Will you ever be able to spend 18 years of your life in one country and call another home? What does Daughtry mean when he says "I'm going home, to the place where I belong"? Where do I belong?

I live in Singapore and I work for the Singapore Government. I teach Singaporean kids, and I have Singaporean friends. Every morning in school, I sing the national anthem and say the pledge. People ask me why I do it if I'm not a citizen, but I don't see why not. The concept of "dual citizenship" may not apply to me in theory, but I do believe in it from a practical point of view. I can't stay in a country and study in it and work for it without actually believing it to be my home. At the same time, I can't forget the place I grew up in, the country I spent most of my years in (and this will be true until I'm at least 37) and the country that houses my parents.

I don't know where the future will take me. I might go back to India, I might stay in Singapore. I might even go somewhere else. It doesn't really matter. You make a place in your heart for every single place you set up camp in, and you treat every single one like home. Because when you're home, you're happy, and isn't the ultimate goal in life to be happy wherever you go?

Home really is where the heart is. There's just a little piece of my heart in every place I've lived.

Aal Izz (Predictably) Well!

I just realized it's been AGES since I last did a review for a movie here on this blog, and having just come fresh off a viewing of '3 Idiots' in the theatre, I guess there's no better time than this to get cracking. Usual spoiler warnings apply!

+ Aamir Khan once again tries to send across the message of revolutionizing the education system in our country. Whether or not it works in real life, one has to applaud him for the effort, at the very least.

+ The three idiots are good, and their chemistry is believable, but the job could have been done with a younger cast.

+ "Aal Izz Well" sounds stupid at first, with the ridiculous accent and the spelling and the over-usage of it in the trailers (I get that each movie has a "catch song", but there's really a fine line between catchy and annoying), but in context, it's actually pretty hilarious. The lyrics to the song are super-funny as well.

+ Only Boman Irani could play a caricatural role - his Viru Sahastrabuddhe, fondly referred to as "Virus" by his students, speaks with a lisp, wears his pants too high, imitates Einstein's hairstyle, takes 7.5 minute naps (in which he gets mundane work done for him, like shaving) and generally terrorizes his students - and make it genuine. A+!

+ Not everyone has that talent, unfortunately. Pia's fiance is hopelessly exaggerated, and Chatur "Silencer" Ramalingam comes close to being annoying, but a few zingers here and there save him from Suhas's fate.

+ Kareena Kapoor does a decent job as Pia. Nothing earth-shattering (a la "Jab We Met"), but nothing to complain about either.

+ Madhavan's glory days are gone, methinks, at least looks-wise, and I don't get the point of making him a Qureshi, when he so obviously doesn't look it. Sharman Joshi is a lot more pleasing to the eye, but I could have been spared the torture of seeing both of them in nothing but underwear. *shudders*

+ "Millimeter" is criminally underused, but both the actors who play him (young and old) get a solid thumbs-up. Refreshing, funny and completely natural.

+ The setting of all of Raju's home scenes in black-and-white, with sad '50s music playing in the background, is truly inspired. At times, I felt inclined to be appalled at the mocking of a truly serious situation, but I couldn't help laughing either.

+ I'd have been fine with Rancho/Chhote being only a school teacher (there's a message there about money not being the only/absolute measure of success), but the Phunsukh Wangdu ending is icing on the cake because of its sheer brilliance.

+ Some of the jokes fall flat because they've been circulating the internet for ages, but every now and then, there's a comedy gem to mask the not-so-funny stuff. There were several bits that had me howling with laughter, and that's always a good thing.

+ There are the usual Bollywood cliches that could've been avoided - the now obligatory kiss between the leads (see what you've started, Emraan Hashmi?!) and the almost-wedding scenario are just two examples. The movie also toes the line with the melodramatic pregnancy plot, but I guess it was there to prove a point, so we can ignore it. The predictability factor is high, though, with very few "twists" that are genuinely surprising or unexpected. (P. Wangdu was a happy exception, at least for me.)

+ The borrowing of material from "Five Point Someone" ... that's where things get kinda so-so for me. I think the film would've worked fine with a normal script, but the insertion of random events from the book make it a bumpy ride. Emotional rollercoasters are fine, but this one seemed a little too all over the place for me.

+ Kudos to the team, however, for not resorting to European locations for beautiful scenery. The Ladakh and Simla parts were particularly gorgeous, and it was nice to see them actually fit into the plot.

+ I feel justified in making a comparison to "Dil Chahta Hai", considering the movie itself invites it, what with the similar set-up of two friends searching/waiting for the third in the present, and the rest of the story being told in flashbacks. I'm afraid DCH has spoilt all of us as far as friendship-of-3-guys scenarios go. Those guys had their flaws, but their friendship seemed natural and effortless. That reunion scene in the hospital, where Akash and Sid make-up and hug each other ... that sense of relief and closure and that level of emotion is never reached in "3 Idiots".

All said and done, it was entertaining and it sent across a good message. I'd definitely recommend at least a one-time watch, particularly if you're a fan of college comedies. Just don't go in expecting JWM or DCH, and you should be come out satisfied.

Automan, Automan, friendly neighbourhood Automan!

Dear Automan,

Today is a special day. I wouldn't have remembered at all, but my grandmother reminded me. Indirectly, of course, but it was her switching on the TV and setting it to Sun TV that directed my attention to the loud advertisement for "Padaiyappa" in the first place. One of Rajni Kanth's most famous movies to celebrate his whateverth birthday. And as I was rolling my eyes at the unreasonable love people of the South seem to have for him (let's ignore my similarly irrational love for SRK here, shall we?), I was reminded instantly of you.

You, and your love for 'The King', as you called him. I remember when you went to watch the first day, first show of "Baba" when it was released, at an insane 5 or 6 in the morning. You picked us up for school that morning, so incredibly excited that you had watched your idol in action after such a long time. You wouldn't stop making the \m/ sign for AGES. I remember rolling my eyes then, too.

I think I was too young back then to appreciate your presence in my life, but now that I'm back in the same town 6 and a half years after leaving it, I see things a lot more clearly. Back then, you were just the man who picked me (and several other girls) up for school every morning and dropped us back every evening, nothing more. Now, thinking about it, you were so much more.

You were the man who waited patiently every evening as I sat in the library after school, picking books to take back home with me. You were the man who agreed to take me on the second trip home, even though it would be out of the way then, just because I needed a little more time to finish the chapter of the Harry Potter book I had started and was too engrossed in to put down and go home. You were the man who used to entertain us with funny stories on the way to and back from school, the man whose auto was always full of laughing girls. You made sure I got my preferred seat in the auto when I reached the right age ('seniority', we called it), and that one day when I fell down and injured myself on the grounds after school, you took extra care to make sure I was okay and got home safe.

You even gave me a nickname that caught on so quickly, I was called nothing but that in school for the next five years. Of course, you didn't mean for it to be a nickname, but the funny way you pronounced my name, combined with the fact that you always added "ma" to our names out of respect, even though we were less than half your age, made sure of it anyway. I bet the girls at my school remember me by that name even now, even if they don't remember how exactly it originated.

I don't exactly miss my school life, but I can't deny that some of my best school years were spent here in this town. And you were a big part of them, whether or not you realized it.

I don't know where you are now or what you're doing. You might have won the lottery, for all I know, and gone away to live peacefully in a big mansion on the outskirts of the city. And yet, I can't help looking out the window of the car whenever I'm passing by the school, just to check whether you're among the many automen waiting in line to pick a new bunch of students up and drop them off home. I haven't caught sight of you so far, but I hope that if I ever do, you'll remember me as fondly as I remember you.

Happy birthday, Automan. I don't know how old you turn today. For that matter, I don't even remember your name - you will always be "Automan" to me. But wherever you are, and whatever you're doing, I hope you're happy. And I hope you're still as big a fan of Rajni Kanth as you were back then.

Nostalgically,
Me.

Onward!

I've been thinking about what to write in this post ever since I published the last one - that makes it about 5 weeks now, wow - because I've been at an utter loss as to how exactly (if at all) I should celebrate my 100th post on this blog. On one hand, I can say "I wrote a HUNDRED posts on my blog" with much pride and joy. On the other, I'd have to complete that sentence with "... and it only took me four and a half years to get there", which is slightly embarrassing, and proof of the laziness I try so hard to hide otherwise.

But like it often happens, I only grew more confused the more I thought about it. Which is why it is so amusing that the idea for what to write in this post came to me today as I was in the bathroom (all great ideas originate there, just ask Archimedes) in a single word.

Onward.

The word holds significance to me on two levels. It reminds me, first and foremost, of the motto of the school I have been working in these past four months. It never really meant much as long as I was working there, but now that I've left, poised on the brink of what can be called the actual start of my working career (training to become a proper teacher), it resounds with me much more. I joined the profession not knowing if this was indeed my calling. I still don't know, but when a bunch of students from one of the classes I handled for the few months I was in the school came up to me on the last day and hand-delivered a big banner filled with photos of themselves (apparently so I wouldn't forget them) and lots of post-it notes thanking me for being their teacher and asking me to come back to the school next year, I figured I was doing a good enough job to give it a try. A real, proper shot. My first ever stint as a teacher might not have given me much by way of pedagogy or teaching tactics, but it did give me the motivation to go forward in this line of work, and I owe that to the school. Onward, indeed.

On another level, the word shows me where I need to go now that I've reached the first (significant) landmark in terms of this blog and writing. I might often get lazy, and might "give up" on the blog with the frequently used excuse of not having the time, or (worse) not having things to write about, but it is always on my mind, and some day or the other, I WILL come back to it to pour my heart out. This blog grows with me, and matures as I do, literally changing in front of my eyes. (I cringe when I look at my older posts ... I can't believe I used to write like that! I often have to curb the instinct to go back and edit all of them to suit my tastes now.) As I move forever onward, so does this little corner of the web.

This post is therefore dedicated to two sets of people. One, my students at the school, for giving me a real, honest shot at the job I've chosen, and two, the wonderful people who read this blog religiously and take it upon themselves to constantly poke and prod me when I neglect it for long periods of time. You know who you are. I couldn't ask for a better audience.

Happy 100th post, blog. Onward!

Morning, sunshine!

I've never been an early bird. Like, NEVER. Even when I was a kid, and I was the most obedient thing on the planet, waking up early was the one thing no one could get me to do regularly. I still remember the times my father used to yank me out of bed and throw me straight into the bathroom in an effort to get me to wake up and finish my morning duties in time for school. I even remember that one time my parents tried waking me numerous times to no avail, before giving up and realizing they needed to teach me a lesson. I didn't go to school that day because I woke up at 12 in the afternoon. It was only after a lot of pleading and crying that my parents agreed to write me a leave letter that didn't say I had missed class because I woke up late. Ah, good times.

And then university life came along, and what a blessing that turned out to be. No more waking up early every morning unless I had a class. Even then, my friends were around to give me missed calls, or in more desperate cases, bang my door down until I woke up. (Oh, they can tell many, many stories about trying to wake me up!) Life was blissful, and I never saw a single sunrise for the four years that I spent in university. (Unless, of course, I was staying up late, which is another thing altogether.)

And then university life was over, and it was time to get a job. I happily applied to become a teacher, and got in, not realizing what exactly was in store for me. I knew schools started early, but I wasn't quite aware of just how early "early" really was, until I started working proper. I woke up extra-early the first day, but then as time wore on, it hit me that "extra-early" was going to have to become "normal" for me very soon.

And now, here I am. I've been working for four months now, and every day, I wake up at unearthly hours to get ready and travel to school. I bathe and dress in the dark, because the sun has usually not yet risen and I don't want to wake my roommate up. The girl who used to sleep at 2 every night morning, has been reduced to going to bed at 10.30 every night (oh, the horror!) in order to get enough sleep to wake up on time in the morning.

Since the academic year is now drawing to a close, and school has officially closed down, the teachers get to come slightly later than usual these days. A few days ago, as I was getting ready to leave the house, I looked out the window and saw the most gorgeous view (I live on the 12th floor, so the view is good) I have seen in quite a while. The sky was a beautiful blue, tinged with pink and purple, and I could literally see the rays of the sun (distinct, separate bands) spreading out over a vast expanse. It was the kind of thing children draw when they're asked to depict a sunrise, except it was real and absolutely breathtaking. I tried to take a picture, but my camera batteries chose that exact time to die on me. I resorted to my phone as a last attempt, but a picture taken on a phone can never do the real thing justice, can it?

I woke up at around the same time for the next few days, camera batteries charged, in order to catch a repeat telecast, but luck was not on my side. I guess the sun rose earlier than usual that day, or for once, the sky was clear enough of rain clouds to be able to actually see the sunrise, because it was never quite the same after that. I still hope to one day catch that amazing spectacle, but I'm not sure when that day will be.

As I ponder my ill-fate, however, I realize this: I miss the freakin' sunrise every morning because I get up and leave for work way too early to catch it. Whoever thought THAT day would come, huh?

Airport Assault

I guess it shouldn't take a genius to realize that if you go around leaving comments in people's blogs saying "With friends like these, who needs enemies?", chances are good that the aforementioned "friends" will make sure to confirm your statement with a personal gesture.

For those wondering, that ugly garland looks as ugly as ever. I have to give props to the banner though, which said "The Clueless Graduate". I realize that it makes my graduate status sound not-so-great (which, hey! I graduated with an honours degree AND a minor!), but since it is at least partially true, I can appreciate the punning.

Anyway, moral of the story? Always think before you speak (or type). *smacks self*

ETA: The banner.

Leaving On A Jet Plane (But Not Thrilled About It)

After hours of mulling over the topic (hours that could've been spent reading an absorbing novel had yours truly not forgotten to carry one along on a recent train journey from Coimbatore to Chennai), I have come to the conclusion that I much prefer travelling by train to flying. I realize that there are many advantages to flying, like reaching your destination quickly, cleanliness and ... well, I can't think of any other significant ones, but you get the picture. Flying is generally considered a more convenient way to travel (if you're young and healthy, that is) than taking a train.

But, having journeyed using both modes of travel several times, I must admit that I enjoy trains much more than I do flights. One might think this is merely because I've travelled by trains much more than I have by planes, but every time I've flown between Singapore and India in the past four years (and this was often), I've had it reinforced that I don't really enjoy flying the way most people (who aren't businessmen and women) seem to.

One sure reason for this is that I frequently fall prey to runny noses. (I'm going somewhere with this, trust me.) And when you fly with a cold, your ears tend to get blocked. And blocked ears can get very painful. Not to mention uncomfortable, considering they can last for days after you've landed. I've suffered through quite a few of these painful ear blockages, so I'm very thankful for the fact that no such problem can arise when you're travelling by train.

But that's just one reason. The main reason, I think, is that I have very fond memories of train journeys. I've taken so many over the duration of my life, and for so many reasons, that I obviously cannot remember every single one. But I do remember specific ones, and that's more than I can say for the flights I've taken, of which I don't remember any with particular affection or emotion (except probably the Jet Airways one in which I found that they were offering entertainment - on par with or even better than, one might say, Singapore Airlines - when I was least expecting it and had prepared myself for nothing at all, but that's superficial).

The train journeys, however, have special memories attached to them. Like the monthly weekend trips I used to make from Coimbatore to Chennai for a whole year to keep my monthly appointments with the dentist. (She had to tighten my braces.) I used to travel alone (mostly) in day trains, sitting by the window for 8 hours each way. My parents would drop me off, often asking some nice-looking fellow passenger to take care of me, and my uncle and aunt would pick me up at the other end, thanking said passenger for taking care of me.

And there was always some kindly passenger who'd take on that daunty task of watching out for the 14 year old kid travelling alone. Not that I was a difficult child, mind you. I minded my own business, never gave anyone trouble. But my guardians for the day would often go out of their way to ensure that they were doing their job right, offering me food, drinks and entertainment. I remember this one girl (she must have been in her early 20s then) who gave me her copy of Sidney Sheldon's "Rage of Angels" to read during the journey and told me to keep it because I hadn't finished it by the time we reached our destination. (Never mind the fact that the book contributed to my prejudiced dislike of Sheldon in general - it's the thought that counts.) These people always took care of me and made me feel like I was less alone for those 8 hours.

Then there were the fun, family outings that required big bunches of us to travel by train. My extended family and I (11 in total, 5 of whom were kids) once travelled all the way from Chennai to Jaipur by train and it was one of the most enjoyable journeys I ever remember making. We had a day and more on the train, and two compartments all to ourselves, so we made full use of it. We kids moved around in whatever space we could find inside those two compartmets, the elders chatted away to glory and we all occasionally came together to play card games, which almost always resulted in us kids winning spectacularly. We were on that trip for at least 2 weeks, but whenever I think about it, the thing I remember most is that first train journey we took together. I'm not even in frequent touch with those cousins anymore, but I don't think I'll ever forget the journey itself.

And of course, who can forget those school excursions? Having missed one in 8th standard to Chennai, I was determined not to let the big 10th standard excursion to Bombay and Goa go. Again, I can say assuredly that I had more fun on the train journeys to and back from that excursion than I did sight-seeing. You just don't have that kind of fun anywhere else, you know? Singing loudly at the top of your voices, deciding on who gets to sleep in which berth, waking everyone up at the crack of dawn just for fun, sharing gossip, complaining about having to wear the school uniform on the platform but rejoicing upon being allowed to change into casuals upon leaving, getting told off by the teachers or even just sitting silently with each other on the journey back after having drained yourselves out during the trip itself ... it's all part of that cherished experience of travelling by train.

When I take the train these days, I remember the good times. It doesn't matter if I don't have anything to occupy myself with, or if the most interesting thing I can think of doing is reading the paper from cover to cover. I still feel happy because I remember how many happy journeys I've undertaken, and I wish for many more like those.

Tomorrow, I leave for Singapore after three weeks of fun with the family. I wish there was a way one could take a train across the ocean, but since there isn't, I'll have to make-do with another mediocre flight journey. I can only hope that my nose decides to stay clear and healthy, at least till I reach my destination. I don't think I can stand another pesky ear block.