Here’s a post dedicated to all mundane things I miss most about Madras. Not surprisingly most of the list is made of food I miss ;-) This list is not organized in any manner or fashion:

1) Elliot’s Beach and the many days of scheduled evening walks with friends

2) Frankie’s stall at Besant Nagar with their yummy treats

3) Malliga poo

4) Ratnagireeshwarar and the Aarupadai Murugan temples

5) Monsoon rains

6) The extremely loud and annoying Sun TV theme music

7) Mylapore Mulagai Bajji

8) Fruit shop on Greams Road Juice shop, Besant Nagar

9) Grand Sweets Thattai and Adyar Ananda Bhavan Paav Bhaaji

10) Saravana Bhavan Pongal

11) Diwali and the special TV programmes

12) Sathyam Cinema Butter Popcorn

13) Corn on the Cob sold outside Food World/Spencer’s

14) Shopping in T Nagar!

15) Wedding feasts!

I normally blog my own thoughts. This is the first time I am posting a reblog! Couldn’t help myself :D

tambrahmrage:

Based on contributions from @sree_ganesh and @saffrontrail

The long weekend is looming ahead. I plan to relax and enjoy myself….already I am worrying that the weekend will breeze past me and before it starts, it may very well end :( I need a long - ish vacation like Thanksgiving which gives me 4 days of not doing anything :D

                                        

Vacations are like the unexpected summer showers in Chennai. They are brief and decidedly unsatisfactory. They fall short of their promise of relief - instead they seem to intensify the heat. There is something very lazy about summers in general. I associate the Indian summer with mangoes and afternoon siestas…..and then of course the occasional power cuts and excessive humidity :P

Work has kept me so busy that I barely get time to check my personal email let alone indulge in blogging or social networking. I am beginning to warm up to the idea of freelancing…takers anybody? As I dawdle along this blog I am reminded of the million things I should be doing at this very minute….at least I have a weekend to look forward to :)

My aching limbs and dull heart

wake up routinely

not to the sounds of a new dawn

but to the silences of an aging night

I am lulled to sleep

by the promise of security

made by my speeches

only to be rudely awakened

by my silences -

the unsaid rather than the said.

The what-ifs dictate

that I record in my black book of remorse,

every unkind utterance

that ever sprung from my tongue

drowning the feeble rumbles

of the protests of my kind words.

I revisit journeys past

to arrive at destinations rendered lost

by impulsive words.

I attempt in vain

to erase old footprints

of a time when I wore oversized boots

and did not see where or what I trod upon.

A cruel word tossed unthinkingly

severed ties that cannot heal again.

The wound was mine just as much as yours

and I carry not just the pain of my own gash

but nestled within it the hurt I caused.