How Accurate Is History?

When we started making a list of things we wanted to do on our London holiday, we put down 'Museums'. As I dug deeper into the details of the itinerary, I realized that there were scores of those in London city alone. We picked out half a dozen, assuming we could cover those off in a couple of days, three at most. Little did we realize that we'd need a couple of days per museum if we had to do them any justice. Anyway, we ended up doing about 4 museums in all and with a lot left to see, in as many days. We also drove a couple of hours out of London each day, for 3 days, covering places of importance in history. In addition, I spent a couple of days listening to stories of the past at the Tower of London, Windsor Castle, St. Paul's Cathedral, etc. England has so much history and many stories to tell.

The place is abundant in prehistoric monuments, the history ranging from royalty, gory battles to the mysteries of the stones of the Neolithic ancestors. The mummies preserved at the British Museum and the other art and artifacts of times gone by are fascinating, as you listen to the stories that go with each. I couldn't help but wonder how much of that was accurate. No doubt most of us believe, without question, that it is all true for we know not any better. It is like believing that the earth goes around the sun and moon around the earth, without actually seeing it for ourselves. Sure, there are some that have 'proven' it but I haven't and I believe it anyway. With conviction too. 

So, why do I wonder about history? It's because I live in a world of social networking, where something like Facebook is full of "facts" that are highly fabricated. The explanations recorded against these historical monuments or artifacts are assumptions or derivation based on something noted somewhere or probable cause of the current state of the artifact. Imagine if 500 years from now someone where to write history based on things they find from today's world. Would you be able to write an accurate account of my life based on the information on my Facebook account? Would you be able to judge me accurately based on my online friends? Are my friends on Facebook or Twitter or LinkedIn really my friends? How do you separate the acquaintances from the real friends? Surely not based on the frequency of contact we make online?

In fact, today's life has so much to do with appearances that if you raided my house and tried to write a description of my personality or lifestyle based on the items you find, you would struggle. You would be confused by the range of articles I own and hoard. There's the real me, there is a version of me that lasted for 10 days, there's the me I thought I was (based on something I thought I appreciated), there's the me I hope to be and so on. If you look in my bathroom shelf, you'll find products that will keep my hair in nice round curls and you'll find products that will straighten my hair and keep them that way for longer. So, do I like curly hair or straight? Which do I use more of? Truth is, some of those products have been sitting on the counter for over a year and one of these days I will trash them because I have forgotten what made me buy them. The truth is, I neither have the patience nor the time to make any effort towards my hair other than washing it once every couple of days. Yet, I own a shelf full of hair styling products.

Despite the cynicism, I do find myself thinking that there is a fair bit of truth in what historians claim. How they arrive at it, I do not have the knowledge of but I feel certain that they have their means to make accurate conjectures. They must see things and interpret signs that are not obvious to the normal eye. Like Sherlock Holmes, who can conclude that a man with minute strands of animal hair on the knees of his otherwise immaculate trousers has a dog (maybe he can name the pedigree too), left home in a disturbed state of mind (and not just in a hurry) and intends to engage Holmes in a story made of lies. He is accurate in his deductions and his trained eyes see things in a perspective some of us can only wish to have. In a way, I suppose historians are like detectives with a natural sense for understanding the way things could have been, by merely observing a dusty old object and trailing it's life cycle, based on the marks on it's body. 

What do historians have, to rely on, if they were to write about today in the future? Will they be able to successfully separate the real from the unreal? Will it be too hard or more interesting to work through the overload of information and make out fact from fiction? I used to go on holidays with a 36-photo reel of Kodak film and the studio would print me the 'best' of the lot. I was limited by the number of photos I could take, so I would be careful about recording what struck me as most important. Last I counted, I had over 3000 pictures from my London holiday. There is everything from the coloured skies to green plants, different angles of the mountains, cows and dozens of facial expressions my toddler makes everyday. Trying to produce a photo album for memories is a mountainous task for me. I don't envy the job of historians of the future. 

  

Maybe the scientists of the future will make devices to automatically cut through the hoard of data. Computers with AI that can choose what is required and trash what isn't, through elaborate data mining algorithms. Or better still, merge hundreds of similar pictures to create one clear view of reality. For all the insights science and history can provide us with, no one knows what the future holds for us. Who can predict what the possibilities are? 

Where To For Lunch?

Two guys in the lift:

A: So, where do you want to go for lunch?

B: You already asked before and I said I'm happy to go to the usual place. Obviously, you want to go elsewhere

A: Umm.. I was thinking we'll go to that place near DJs. You know, that place underneath Myer, no sorry, DJs... the food-court. What do you think?

B: Okay, sure. So, do you mean the food-court underneath DJs?

I couldn't decide which of the two was the smarter one. "Case of blind leading the blind?" I wondered as I wandered off in the opposite direction. Whatever I decide about lunch this afternoon, it certainly won't be at the food-court underneath DJs. Or the one at Myers. Just in case.

My Top 10 Books

There was a book challenge going around, on Facebook. You list your 10 favourite books and nominate friends who you wanted to take up the challenge too. When I first heard of it, I desperately wanted someone to pick me. Unfortunately, it fizzled out. Maybe those in my friends' list just didn't do it because it came back on. Earlier today, a friend nominated me to list my top 10 books.

I didn't think it would be hard to choose 10 books. I was right, it wasn't hard to pick 10. The hard part was picking ONLY 10. There are so many books I love. There are different kinds of love I have, for books. So, how was I to choose?

I love some books so much that I could read them over and over again. I also love some books immensely but could never read them again. I love some books so much that I can't put them down while I read them. I may read them again but they don't leave a deep imprint in my mind. I've even gone through phases where I just love the author and read anything they wrote.

This was the list I came up with, in the end.

1) Jonathan Livingston Seagull - Richard Bach
2) Memoirs of a Geisha - Arthur Golden
3) The Alchemist - Paulo Coelho
4) Black Beauty - Anna Sewell
5) The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo - Stieg Larsson
6) A Thousand Splendid Suns - Khaled Hosseini
7) The Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins 
8) Harry Potter - J K Rowling
9) If You Could See Me Now - Cecelia Ahern
10) The Old Man and The Sea - Ernest Hemingway

With the exception of the last book, I have read these books more than once. They have each left an impression on me and I could easily read them all again. Maybe I could replace #10 with The Devil Wears Prada, as one that I would read again.

The Old Man and The Sea is an amazing piece of writing but it was heart-wrenching. I knew it would have a sad ending but it wasn't the kind I expected. It was like Hemingway didn't just pierce through the heart but decided to twist the knife as it went in. For just a story about a man who broke his dry spell of fishing with a big catch, it was quite an unputdownable narrative. I couldn't read it again.

I asked the husband if he'd like to list his top 10. He didn't. Then he went through my list and said, "Well, at least we have this in common. Your top 10 list is my top 10 too, except that they are your favourite and I hate them all".

Well said, husband, well said. Which couch would you like to sleep on, tonight?

Through The Glass Doors

I was 10 minutes early, so I had to wait in the reception area. Looking out the glass doors of the studio, I remembered a colleague complaining about the guys at the Pilates studio measuring their customers' waist and weight right there.

It looks so bad. Don't they realize that people on the road can see what's going on inside?

The truth is no, they don't. Most of the time, we don't realise that the people on the other side of the barrier are watching us. We know that they can see us but it's not on our minds as we go about our day. We pretend that everyone is getting on goes with their business, unmindful of what is happening on the other side of the wall. It's like, by putting up a wall, even a transparent glass one, we have created a barrier that allows us to behave differently to those on the other side and the other side won't notice. Unfortunately, reality is far from that.

People inside think those on the outside are hurrying through and walking past without looking in.

Oh they have better things to do. 

Hah! They are looking at you. They are looking, alright.

Those outside assume that they are not being watched because the insiders are busy with their stuff.

Why would they waste time looking out?

Oh no! They are watching you, as if you can't see them. In fact, those on the 'inside' side of the glass wall are always aware of what's going on in the 'outside' world.

Stand against a wall on the pavement and scratch your bum discreetly. You think no one's watching but I bet half a dozen folks from the buildings around you have seen you do that, through their windows or doors. Some of them may even remember your face.

Suppose you take the glass door away. Everyone becomes more aware. The guys at the Pilates studio, for instance, wouldn't be doing your measurements out where every passerby can stop to look. The pedestrians wouldn't blatantly stare or stop to watch.

What changed? It was a glass wall that disappeared. You could see everything before as you can now. Yet, people's behaviour is different when you remove the imaginary boundary separating two sets of people,

Choosing Baby Over NZ

"I love Spring! Can you see how happy I am? Don't I look happier than I have all Winter? It's the Spring, I tell you", I squealed. That was two years ago.

When I said those words, I had no clue that my life was about to change. Scratch that. The clues were all there, heaps of them buzzing in front of my eyes every day. My life was about to take an overhaul but I had failed to recognize the signs. I complained about ageing and took a little pleasure in the weight loss. If someone had said to me that I may be having a baby, I would have laughed (maybe they did and maybe I did).

The only change I foresaw in my life was a career change. I could totally see THAT happening. New job. Excitement. More money. I had a list of places on my place-to-visit board that I could see being ticked off. My biggest question was whether I could afford that big Europe trip, especially as I was travelling to New Zealand the following February. Maybe I could swing it because DH would find a job by then. Surely, with his high IQ and superior skill-sets, he wasn't going to be without a job for long!

Five days after I said those words, I was sitting at the GP's office. I won't go into the details of that argument but it could be roughly summarized like this:

You're pregnant.

No, I'm not!

A blood test should confirm it.

A week later, he was writing me a referral to see an obstetrician. 

Ross was a funny guy. One of the first things he told me was that he offered no refunds or returns. He also informed me that RSPCA would not help me either. Then he warned me not to get overweight or I'd be hard-pressed to lose the extra weight. Truer words have never been spoken.

Fast-forward to the following February. New Zealand was the last thing on my mind, as I lay there telling the annoying mid-wife to go away. No, I did not want to sit on a ball in the shower. I just needed some sleep. Yeah, like that was happening!

Five days later, we bundled the wee little thing into the car seat, buckled her up and drove home. I kept wondering how they could trust that life in my hands. Hospitals should not be allowed to do that! There had to be some rules against it, in the interest of the baby. When we got home and realized that the car seat buckle hadn't been done up properly, I knew I was right!

In spite of the crazy year that at times dragged on and other times flew past, the New Zealand dream was still there. If I managed to keep her alive till then, we would celebrate her 1st birthday in NZ. Just us surrounded by beautiful scenery and unfamiliar faces. 

Let's just say the stars refuse to align for New Zealand to happen as yet. Maybe I should plan Europe. In the meanwhile, I continue to grapple with the changes this new lifestyle has brought for me. 

Rentals Anyone?

Is it better to rent a house or own one? It seems like a pretty straightforward question. Own one, of course! Why would anyone want to rent a house when they can own one? Well, maybe if you are like Jack Reacher from Lee Child's Reacher series, then you would rather rent a house. Reacher liked to be on the move and did not want the feeling of having roots at any one place. It sort of makes sense, come to think of it. 

So, it really comes down to what kind of a person you are and how you like to live your life. Most people like the stability of having roots while some enjoy the high of being a few feet above the ground. Usually the younger you are, the less concerned you are about having roots. As you get older, you start thinking about where you want to retire. You want a place where you can spend days doing nothing more than laying back and enjoying the quiet. Strangely, in my case, it has been the opposite. It's not that I'm terribly old but slightly older than what I need to be allowed to call myself young. 

I grew up dreaming of owning a house. I nurtured the fantasy until I bought an apartment a few years ago. It was not exactly the stuff of my dreams but I loved it. When I banked the last of my mortgage payments, I retired the dream, leaving an empty space where bricks, mortar and splotches of colour had been metamorphosing during my entire childhood. I, however, did not feel the sheer joy that accompanies dreams coming true. The burst of glitter and the background music did not quite happen. It was not that I was not happy but I did not feel the rush I expected to. Is it because I do not spend too much time there anymore? 

When my job took me overseas, I experienced a whole new world. From a developing country to a developed country, the leap was huge. It was not so much the glamour that money held but the scent of freedom that grabbed me. I travelled to as many places as I could during my first year. By the end of that year, I was smitten. This is what I wanted to do. Travel, travel and more travel. When people asked me if I was going to buy a house here, I did not quite get it. Why would I buy one when I could keep moving? I could move states or I could move countries, as my fancy took me. If I wanted to, I could just move houses because I wanted one with a better view from the balcony or had a bigger swimming pool. I could change my mind about what suburb I wanted to live in. There was so much freedom in renting a unit than there was in owning a house. The owner would worry about the registration and taxes, the renovations and insurance. All I needed was my suitcase and identity points to bunk where I wanted to. The smell of freedom had engulfed me to that extent. Jack Reacher, I feel you! 

That is not to say that I do not like the idea of roots. I am happy to be tied loosely to my roots, as long as I can keep flying high for as long as I want to. Tomorrow, I may decide to cut the chord and fly away or turn off the hot air and glide down. I will cross that bridge when I come to it. Yes, it makes sense to me now. Why would people rather rent than own? It is because it gives life the flavour that the consistency of everyday broth lacks. Did I mention it is cheaper to pay rents than make mortgage payments? It may not be so, in the long run but, not knowing what tomorrow holds, it might just be worthwhile. 

Getting Things Done

Working on a schedule can be both a good thing and bad. I am currently reading a book called Getting Things Done by Allen David. I started reading it with reluctance but as I flipped through the pages, I found that he actually makes sense. It helped that some of his ideas were already part of my daily routine. When a popular book says the best way to do something is the way you do it, you do not put the book down because you already know the best methods but you keep on reading. We all love to be flattered. Who does not like compliments?

From reading 5 pages on the train to another 15 during lunch, I have intensified my reading. As I read on, I found areas where my methods had gone slack from my younger days. Things that used to work really well back then would work now too, but I had taken a lazy route on some of those. The book is helping me get back on track. So far, I have not hit a spot where he has said something which indicates I am doing something wrong. He goes on to tell me to keep going down the path I am on but to focus. I suppose it is easier to follow something when you are already on to it.

Reading the book has not only been insightful but confidence building, for me. It has been a pleasure knowing my methods are not only great but there are thousands of people out there who are reading about it and it is helping them. The first day I took it to work, a senior manager at work saw the book on my desk and told me how much he loved it. He said he had read it twice and thought it was fabulous. That was another important lesson I learnt, thanks to the book, but outside of the book. If only I had stuck to being myself and not tried to fit into mediocrity, I would have continued to be great. I tried too hard, I nearly failed and then I settled uncomfortably into mediocrity. 

That needs to be changed. The book is helping me do that. Of all self-help books I have read, this is one of the two most inspirational ones. The other one was just the opposite. It told me I was doing everything wrong. It taught me how to get it right. In their own way, both books have been a great influence on me. The other book is called Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart by Gordon Livingston. While GTD is a book my husband forced me to read, TSOTLS was a Christmas gift from my best friend that I forced myself to read because he gave it to me. Two of the greatest books I have ever read. I do not usually go back to books that I have read once... not for reference at least but I keep going back to these.

From scraping the crudeness that has crept into my methods and working a finesse into it, I have also been adopting the techniques in my life outside work. I did it once to combat a difficult emotional situation. I am doing it again now to cope with stress. Luckily for me, the husband has been with me on it. He, initially, humoured me because it was in the book he suggested I read. He had not quite implemented the methods in his life but I was making him do it. Now, he does it willing. He sees how it is working. He is pleased at how much less stress I am under, these days.

For someone who has the type of personality that thinks it is okay to take the trash out any time before the garbage truck comes and does not have to be done first thing in the morning, sticking to a time-boxed schedule is not quite easy. It is easy enough when I have to do that at work but so hard in the outside world. There are so many distractions and numerous things that need to get done. Hard is not impossible. Right?

This morning, I am working to a schedule that will get me to work at least an hour earlier than normal. This is to be my new practice. I am a bit concerned about staying within my time boundaries. a part of the mind was worried about the alarm going off. Yeah, right. I thought setting an alarm would take my mind off having to worry whether it was time yet but I was anxious of the dreaded bell ringing. I only hope it gets better with time. I am sure it will. I have done it before. I can do it again.

Paleo: My Attempt At The Caveman’s Diet

Diets were never my thing. I found the very idea appalling! How could someone follow a certain pattern of eating? What if I felt like eating a specific food on a certain day? I have cravings all the time. One day I feel like chicken and on another, I feel like chocolate. There may be diets that allow chicken but what about chocolate? The general idea of working with an eating schedule was never going to stick with me.

When the doctor said I needed to lose weight, to ease the pressure on my knees, I said WTF. How was I going to lose weight without working out? I could barely walk! Then, my husband said the dreaded word. DIET. I did not buy it. What diet on earth could make me lighter without exercise? There was no way in hell I was going to subject my taste buds to granola bars and oat meals day after day! The very thought of eating less started to make my stomach tingle with hunger. Diets are not my thing. He shoved a book on Paleo diet in my face and insisted I take a look.

The only thing more painful than following a diet is reading 90 pages on why I should. I grudgingly agreed to diet, without bothering to look at the book. I had to do what I had to do. Either I was going to die of starvation or I would lose enough weight to get back on my feet. If I lived, I decided, I would trash the “meal plan” and celebrate with a buffet at Max Brenner.

The first day went by without much of a hassle. It was his idea, so the husband cooked. He was trying really hard to help me stick to this diet. I missed rice but I survived. By the evening of the second day, I felt malnourished. I was starving and I was craving for real food. The husband was out when I came home from work. I threw my handbag on the floor and ran to the kitchen. I dug in the fridge and found 2 thin slices of steak from the previous week. I quickly cooked them and gorged them down as if they would disappear if I waited any longer. Then, I went looking for something sweet. Half a packet of Oreos later, I started feeling guilty. I had not even survived two full days of my diet. How was I going to last 8 weeks?

Surprisingly, that was the last day I gave in to such weakness. Once a day, I would crave to eat something but I would stick to my diet. On the odd occasion, when I felt like cheating on the diet, I would buy my husband the snack and take a bite out of it. The husband was doing his best to make the food look delectable. He decided that larger portions would help cope with my hunger. I came to acknowledge that he was a rather amazing cook. I successfully managed to get through the first week of my first attempt at ‘dieting’ without missing any particular food too much. In fact, by the end of the week I had started to enjoy it so much that I joined in the cooking. Some of the stuff we cooked was fun and everything was so easy to cook.

We never had to throw away anything we made but I wondered how long I could hold off on the cravings. The diet was primarily meat, eggs and lots of greens, with a bit of fruits and nuts. Grains and diary were a big NO. From a magazine I read recently, I found out that Paleo stood for Palaeolithic and the diet itself was based on the caveman’s diet back in the years. Apparently, this is one of the hot diets of recent times. That was encouraging. Suddenly my Paleo diet was ‘cool’.

As we cooked, we tried to understand the effects of the various flavours on the food and appreciated the different smells. We did not just watch but learned from Masterchef every evening. It was all fun but was it working? The increased portions were worrying me. I was not starved any more but was I losing weight? That was the real test. Gingerly, I stepped on the weighing machine on Day 7 of my diet. It took me a bit to realize that I actually weighed lesser. That was the fastest I had lost weight, without any workout. That clinched the deal. No matter what, I was going to stick to this diet! The husband is, obviously, very happy.

I still have a long way to go but it is not so hard anymore. Once this is done, Max Brenner awaits me. Dieting may never have been on my bucket list but I can add it on, now and mark it done. Been there done that. Woot!

Want Nespresso, BYO Coffee Pods

We got new coffee machines in the office last week. I quickly skimmed through the announcement, only picking up that we had new coffee machines and that we had to bring our own pods. I found it a bit ridiculous. Why were they investing on a new machine and scrimping on the beans? It seemed like the term 'cutting corners' was getting a new meaning altogether. Having never really used the old machine (I hate powdered milk), I decided it was not my place to comment. Someone out there must have thought we deserved something better and got half of what (s)he deserved.

The new machine arrived on the floor below ours and there was a bit of a hula-hoop that I did not quite get. I went back to read the email. If everyone was excited about a machine when they had to bring their own beans, there has got to be something I missed. It was a Nespresso machine! Whoever convinced the powers-that-be surely deserves a medal. 

So, we all went to check it out. There was a little poster that explained how to make your first coffee. Cute. There was a big glass bowl next to the machine for the used pods. The machine is a pretty little thing that makes one coffee per pod (or capsule, as the website calls it). The milk holding containers barely make a coffee or two. You can make all the usual (and more) varieties of coffee with the press of a button. If you are one of those who never tires from too many options, there are 16 flavours or Grands Crus to choose from. At 60c a capsule, i.e. a cuppa, it is cheaper than the $3.50 - $5 coffees most people were getting from the cafes every morning. 

Well, that explained the excitement of the new coffee machine. I watched the grand opening of their store at the mall a few weeks ago and boy, was it flash! It is the new big thing in the coffee world. 

Suddenly something strange is happening all around me. In the last 1 week, I have had at least 3 emails from individuals selling coffee capsules! Everyone was selling Nespresso capsules at a dollar a piece, making a 40% profit. I am speechless. I could not help but wonder if there were more people selling that coffee than drinking it. Why would I pay a dollar for one capsule when I could get a box of 10 for 6? Maybe, they were trying to sell single capsules to coffee newbies or those that wanted to just 'give it a shot'? It is quite the win-win situation, isn't it? When a colleague mentioned that in the team meeting on the first day, I marveled at his ability to turn any situation into a profitable business. Obviously, he is not alone. While he did not actually implement the idea, the others have definitely turned it into a business.

The competition has been worth following. The first email that went out merely mentioned coffee pods being sold for $1, with 4 different Grand Crus being available. Then somebody sent out an email saying they were selling all 16 Grand Crus for the same price. Before long, another email followed, offering coffee-flavoured choccies at 60c each. Whose turn is it next? I wondered for a second if I sold coffee pods for 90c, I would make a profit. Maybe not. People would rather pay a dollar than dig out small change. Who thinks about the extra 40c they have to pay when it is only a dollar? That seems to be the logic used here. 

I do not know if the coffee-pod/capsule businesses are thriving. I have no clue who is leading the competition. What I do realize that all those researches on employee incentives that insist that more money does not mean happiness are bang on the money (no pun intended). Most people would rather overpay  for good coffee than drink the free watery liquid that passes off for coffee. And everyone hates loose change.

I've been putting off trying one myself. Over the next few days, I must give each of the flavours a try. After all, it's a short walk from my desk and I am saving $2 for every dollar I spend on the expensive capsules. With that, I find myself sucked into the abysmal trap of wanting all the fancy things that the Joneses are drinking. Oh well, it is only coffee. I am only going to try it once. Ok, sixteen times. At least. 

The Morning Sun

I lift my face to catch the rays of the morning sun, like a child on the beach trying to catch the spray. It’s a wonderful feeling on a cold Autumn morning. The warmth of the sun chases away the gnawing cold of early dawn. I say to myself, "The sun is here to brighten my day and it is going to be a beautiful one."

When you are sitting down with a cuppa and the mood is lightened by such sentiments, the world becomes a happy place to be in. The black spots on the white sheet that is the mind, become grey and then disappear. Thus armed with a clean slate inside my head, I start to prepare for my day.

I begin by checking the weather forecast for the weekend. I woke up this morning, wanting to lie on the sand and read a book under the sun. A day at the beach seems like a good way to spend this Saturday or Sunday. I am praying for at least one sunny day. Unfortunately, it is not to be. The weather Gods are clearly not fans of mine. After 3 glorious days of sunshine, albeit with a bit of cool wind, the rest of the week and the weekend is expected to be cloudy, with possible showers. Bummer! Well, I will check again on Friday. I do not always rely on the weatherman's prediction for the weekend, this early in the week. In any case, I have a few other things on my list that would cover the weekend, in the event of rain. Now, I need to find something to occupy the weeknights, leading up to a weekend of Paniyiri Greek Festival and a possible day at the coast.

You noticed how I started by planning my weekend first, did you? Yes, I do that a lot. I work my way backwards from where I want to be. A friend of mine would be amused that I would go straight to the bottom of his email first and then start reading it from the top. Why not? Most people do not start off emails with words like 'love' or 'care' but almost everyone signs of their emails with endearing emotions - 'Take care', 'Speak soon', 'Love', 'Hugs & Kisses', etc. Even if it just a happy smiley, it is a happy ending. Unless you were expecting bad news, you can almost always be certain that the best part of the letter is at the bottom of it. On a more serious plane, if I was reading an email at work that expected me to solve a problem, I would still like to start from the bottom of the email trail and gather as much background information I can before I sink my teeth into the real issue. It has worked well for me every single time.

Go on. Try it. Next time you read an email, go to the bottom first and find out whether it is good news or bad. Then start reading from the top. If you are a smart-ass, you will probably try reading the email backwards altogether. That is funny but believe me, it will get you nowhere.

I digress. My weekend planned, I set off to work out what my day should look like. This is easy. I have to block off the time I will be at work and leave the rest of the day for other activities. Being fairly immobile, thanks to a bum knee, the 'other things' category has limited options. The office work sorts itself out by the number of tasks and hand and prioritisation that has been done when the task landed in the mailbox. There! All done and set to go.

All it took was that little burst of sunshine to kick start my day. The glorious morning sun is surely a blessing, no less!

(Dear Sun, I just want you to know that I wish you were not such a late riser these days. You showed up minutes after I woke up, today. I'm just saying...)

(Dear Sun, I'm sorry I wrote that previous line. My morning cuppa was upset for not getting credit for kick-starting my day and all that. All good now)

Down On My Knees

Chicken pox kept me away from school for a month. I was only 6 then and I remember hating it. I'd always been a healthy kid. It felt like I was being punished for never having fallen sick and I was making up for the all earlier years in one shot. I hated missing school more than anything else.

Decades later, the chicken pox had relegated to dark corners of my mind. While I sympathized with others who fell sick or got injured, I stayed away from anything remotely requiring medical attention. How I managed it is beyond me but I took it for granted. I had abused my body with junk food, no food, erratic workouts for years and all I needed to fix myself up was 2 days in bed, recharging. It is amazing how self-healing the human body is.

Cut to 2012.

It all started with a back-ache that I ignored for as long as I could. It was just sleeping on the couch. Or maybe the bad posture at work. It was going to be fine. I just needed to stop doing those things. I would. It went on this way until I landed flat on my back, on the carpet one fine Sunday morning, unable to perform normal physical activities like getting up, sitting or standing without my back complaining. With much reluctance and driven by panic, I saw a doctor. "Weak muscles", he rued. He was happy to prescribe medicines but I brushed it off saying I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to. He wrote me a letter to get a core strength assessment by a physio and handed me a sheet detailing some stretches I could do, to strengthen the lower back muscles.

Once I started the stretches and the back was beginning to feel OK, I forgot all about the doctor and his physio recommendation. I ignored the niggly sensation in my knees for weeks and waved off the protests during my Krav Maga kicks. I continued to ignore it even after I started to feel like I was going to buckle whenever I walked. I should have at least hooked up to the internet to see if it needed attention but I didn't. I was in denial. It was going to be ok. That was until I carried a heavy bag and walked for about 3 kilometres one evening, while on holidays. Soon, the happy vacation turned into a series of stretches, ice-packs, ultrasound and I was pretty much under house-arrest.

By now I had been suffering all sorts of aches for 2 months and I was aware of my weak muscles. The least I could offer my body was a little rest. For someone who has mis-treated the body for over 30 years, it was a concept hard to grasp. Two weeks into the treatment, throwing all caution to the wind, I headed back overseas and started work. Over the next 2 weeks, I was brought down by my knees once again. It was back to square one. Ice-packs, taped knees, ultrasound, rest. The works. Serves me right for not doing the "rest" thing the first time around. Lesson learned. Right?

I'm just back from another horribly expensive physio session (that my insurance barely covers) and feeling better. All thanks to the massage, ultra-sound and knee-taping (ugh) by my Kiwi physio, who told me she had her first physio appointment at the age of 8. The restlessness that comes with feeling slightly more mobile is back. I want to be out and about, doing all the things I would normally be doing. The only thing that is stopping me from caving in, is knowing how crippled I have been over the weekend... after I had started to walk a little just the week before.

The chicken pox phase jumps to the forefront, from the dark hollows of my mind. It's like a headless villain stepping out of the shadows, in a long black cape. Yet again, is this life making me pay for the score and something years of good health I have had? It's been over 3 months since the first signs of the weak muscles appeared and started giving me grief. I can't wait to feel "normal" again!

I feel exactly like I did when I was 6 years old. I was forced to stay in the bedroom so I would not spread the germs around, only being allowed to get out if I needed to use the bathroom. Mum brought me food and water but I was kept away from the outside world. This time, I'm older and the room is a house, but the feeling is all the same. I am counting down minutes to get back to the outside world... to run and to dance... to kick some groin in Krav class... and to grab that elusive P3 patch... and do all those crazy things on my list...

No Points For Loyalty

I have been loyal to the Indian Cricket Team since the first match at the Boxing Day series. It is true that I have had my share of rants and flashed anger but I did say, back in the days of the Test Series, that if I could afford it, I'd be at every single one of the stadiums to cheer them. In fact, I would have loved to be at the SCG (Sydney), Adelaide Oval, WACA (Perth), MCG (Melbourne) throughout the series. When the ODI started, that is just what I have done. 

I was at the MCG a couple of matches ago, cheering every odd 4 or difficult 6, as I watched us lose. When the team arrived at the Gabba and played the Aussies, I was there, knowing there was way too much pressure than our boys might be able to handle. I enjoyed the first session of the match until they threw it away in the slog overs of our bowling and sealed the deal with the first over of our batting. Gambhir, who was playing well until then, was either too caught up in his rift with Dhoni on who should get the credit for the earlier win/draw or just plain careless. Sachin may be playing alright but he hasn't been sticking around long enough on the field to make a difference, in the entire series.

Yesterday's match was no different. I entered the stadium as we faced the first ball, and by the time I was seated, we had lost one wicket. Sehwag's non-performance in this entire tour has been apparent to all but him. Sitting him out in the last two matches has been a very good call by Dhoni. With Dhoni out of the picture, his rotation concept was flung out the window and Sehwag brought in, along with the other 2 top order batsmen. A lot was riding on the man, who also replaced Dhoni as captain of the Indian cricket team. He failed us miserably. 

The top order batsmen started off well. Sachin was putting on his class act, until he was struck by a stroke of bad luck. Why does that happen whenever he's giving us a good game? Gambhir threw away his wicket too early, yet again. This was his one chance to prove to Dhoni, and whoever else cared, that he could win matches for India too. He could have got all the credit he needed but he chose to waste his one opportunity to get us those 4 points on the Tally Board. He should've have learnt from Sunday's match that the key was to stay on the field. He simply didn't wait to settle in, before flailing his bat about. 

The Kohli-Raina partnership started slow and steady but was looking good until Raina played a careless shot that sent him back to the pavilion. The match started to lean heavily on Kohli's shoulders after that. Unfortunately, he didn't last too much longer either. He was our highest scorer but that wasn't even enough to grant us a less disgraceful loss. A couple of easy catches dropped by SL man Chandimal had saved him earlier but if he expected the luck to carry him through to the end, he was asking for too much. Sehwag sent Pathan in to bat, before Patel and Ashwin, to hitch the runs up a few notches. The man tried but there was not much he could do, with little support from his partners. Patel walked away with a single digit score. Ashwin was looking good with the bat for a few minutes, only to join the ranks of the failures sooner than we could have afforded. A couple of Dhoni's classic sixes would have helped us greatly. The man was sorely missed on the field.

The bowlers had given away too many runs in the first session. Expecting them to salvage that in the batting arena was taking optimism to another level. In a blink, we lost Vinay Kumar. Yadav did well to take a couple of dot balls and let Pathan face the ball in a last ditch effort to close the gap. The first of those balls spelt doom for us. He was caught by the bowler Malinga. 

Sri Lanka was clearly the better team in this match. Their batsmen had taken knocked up 289 runs. In spite of a few fielding glitches, their bowlers served them well too. Kulasekara was truly deserving of the Best Player of The Match award, having claimed 3 key wickets, including Sachin Tendulkar's. 

With that, the noose around the Indian team's necks have been tightened. A win in this match would have increased their chances of reaching the finals. The loss meant that it can be any team at the finals, depending on how each of the next few matches play out. India has slipped from the top to the bottom place at the Points Table in just 2 games. We will have to win both matches coming up and pray that Sri Lanka will lose at least one, to make it to the finals. It is not impossible but not one bit easy either, given how quickly we buckle under pressure. 

Alone At The Movies

A couple of years ago I would never watch a movie by myself. The very idea was appalling. Having to watch a movie alone meant that you had no one to go out with. In other words, it meant that you had no friends. If you've lived for a quarter century and had no friends, there was something seriously wrong with you. If you've lived in the same city during most of those years, and had no friends, you really need to be worried. In other words, if you went to watch a movie alone, it was time to stop and review your life.

One day, when I was alone at home and bored, I did it. The walk to the cinema felt like an adventure. Once there, I felt everyone's eyes on me. The voice in my head responded to each one of them with, "Yeah, I'm here by myself. Do you have a problem with that?" There was excitement coursing through me as I got down the stairs after the film ended, and walked home. I sent a text to my husband and called mum to tell them what I had done. I wrote to my best friend that I had been to the movies by myself. At twenty-something, going to the movies alone should not have been something to get so worked up about but it was. 

Now, if I had had no one to share that with, I would have been miserable. It goes back to the same theory about not having friends. You might as well be the protagonist in one of those romantic films, looking desperately for the right guy/girl to come along and growing miserable while you wait. Friendship is to us what falling in love is to the Western world. 

One fine winter morning, I arrived in Australia to start a new life. One of the biggest things about this new beginning was being alone. I had no friends. I knew no one. I assumed that I would make lots of friends at work. Everywhere I had worked so far, people had loved me. Imagine my horror upon finding that was not to be the case. While people would be friendly, making friends was not as easy as I thought it would be. I joined classes and I spoke with strangers. I remained alone. Everyone was nice but I had no friends.

I realized that I was on my own and I had better make the best of it. Staying home, reading books was one thing but I could not stay locked inside for ever. I had to get out if I wanted to make friends. Initially, I whinged to my best friend about not being able to make any new friends. He said to give it time, "Within a year, you will have lots of friends to go out with". I was horrified! Was I going to be alone for a year? 

I started going out by myself. I found that I enjoyed it. Being alone meant that I got to meet with lots of strangers. I could have conversations with people who shared similar tastes as mine and come away without any obligations. I didn't know the names of most people I spoke and a lot of times I didn't know what they did. It was just two people or a group of people exchanging a few sentences. It was almost always happy conversations. There were no emotions involved, no expectations. This was the a new kind of friendship altogether. The free games by the city council on Thursday nights were my favourites. I could play Chess, Scrabble, Jinga and I could watch others play. I didn't have to know anyone. I had a whole bunch of new friends every week. We played, we laughed, we had so much fun. Being alone and meeting new people was such an amazing endeavour. I began to enjoy it immensely. 

There were days when there were no games and there was not much happening where I could meet new people. I didn't want to go home and be alone. I decided the best thing to do was go to the cinema. That was an activity that didn't need any company. I could go by myself, choose a movie on the spot and watch it. I had the company of all the others at the cinema while, at the same time, I was by myself. It was like having the best of both worlds. Soon, it became the thing I did when I had nothing else to do. 

I bought a membership card at the cinema in town and it became my best friend. When I was sick, I could catch a movie. When I was alone and depressed, I would check out a new film. When there was a good movie playing, I could just hit it. When I felt like doing something and there was nothing else, I would head off to the nearest movie theatre. I am hardly ever disappointed. It's an escape and an entertainment. Now, I average at about a film a week. It has been over a year and I have plenty of friends. That means I don't always go by myself but there are days when I do just that. The time I spend by myself is my friend too. 

CB Series 2012: Match 7 - AusVInd

I couldn't sleep on Saturday. I dreamt of cricket, the stadium and cheering all night. I woke up in the morning, anxious about how the day would play out. It was an important match for us. A win would drive our stake firmly into the ground. A loss would make the last couple of wins disappear. 

The day really started when I got on that bus to the city, filled with people in blue team jerseys and paint on their faces. I could barely wait to reach the shuttle and when I did, I found myself furiously texting my friend asking if she could get there any sooner. We strolled around a bit, checking out tents, taking random pictures and finally joined the lines at the gates to arrive at our seats in time for the first ball.

The numbers were much bigger than I expected. Unlike at the MCG, there were as many, if not more, Aussie fans as there were Indians. From caps, bandannas, jerseys to costumes, there was blue, green and yellow all around me. I felt like a seven year old at an annual fair. I could not contain my excitement as V pointed out the various cartoon characters to me. By the time we got in, Australia had won the toss and decided to bat. We decided to find our seats first, and come back for the beer later. Once we got to our seats, on a top row, bang in the middle of two aisles, we were kicking ourselves for not buying the beer first. 

The weather was perfect for cricket and both teams were fighting for their place on the board. It was going to be a great game!

When Australia and India play, it does not matter who wins the toss. India always choses to chase while the Aussies like to start with their bats. It works well for both teams.  

The first few overs were great for the Indians. We managed to restrict the runs. Wade was scoring a run here and a run there, struggling to get any big ones. When Warner got to bat, he flung the ball around a bit. The Indians seemed unfazed but we needed his wicket sooner than later. I sat there, willing someone to get Warner. Soon enough Zaheer Khan claimed Warner, with a catch from Sachin Tendulkar. It was perfect. Ricky Ponting came in next and couldn't do much for his team. After a few lame attempts to score runs, he was sent back to the pavilion. 

Next to arrive was Forrest. He is a big guy. There was no doubt he was going to get a boundary or two before long. Wade was still failing to do much. A little while later, Wade was put out of his misery and Mike Hussey walked in. The Hussey-Forrest partnership did well for the Aussies. After they had been on the field together for about an hour, the scoreboard was not looking great for India. We badly needed a wicket. It didn't matter which one but the partnership had to be broken. 

Suddenly, there was a loud appeal and Mike Hussey was out. Or was he? The umpires weren't sure either, so the third umpire was called upon. A couple of replays didn't really tell us what the result would be. So, we waited. A big red OUT appeared on the screen and Mike Hussey started to walk towards the pavilion. The Indian audience at the stadium screamed with joy. The cheering went on non-stop till we saw one of the ground umpires running towards Hussey. We saw Hussey walk back. Something wasn't right. Then, the big screen said NOT OUT in bright green. The Aussie crowd went crazy. Not surprisingly, they yelled louder than the Indians just had. Nobody knew what was going on. We saw Dhoni speaking with the umpires. Somebody joked that the third umpire must have hit the wrong button. Whatever had happened, Dhoni's men had to concede that it was not out.

The match resumed. A couple of balls later, it was announced at the stadium that the third umpire had indeed hit the wrong button. How hilarious! Someone on Facebook quoted Ravi Shastry as saying that the man had one job to do all day, which was to hit the button and he gets the wrong one! 

The Indians were unfettered. Pathan came in and within the next few minutes took both wickets - Hussey and Forrest. He was the hero in the Indian army at that moment. The rest of the match played out pretty well. The Indians tried their best to restrict the Aussies and the latters trying their best to up the score. At the 45th over, the scoreboard looked like either team could take this match away. Then, the last two overs happened. Those few minutes tilted the game entirely in the direction of the Aussies. Dan Christian and David Hussey sent the balls flying, into fours and sixes. The target score for the defending team was beyond reach by the time they were finished. The difficult score was 250 but at 280, the Aussies looked damn good right then.

The second half of the session didn't offer much entertainment. The top order batsmen in the Indian team didn't wait to settle in. Trying to score some big ones right from the word go, they fell like a pack of cards, leaving Dhoni to score the entire 200 runs by himself. He did his best to keep his cool and bridge the gap. It was only a matter of time before he knew that he had to unleash his energy and start going for the big ones. One of those shots turned unlucky for him and he was gone. When that happened, the Aussies had pretty much won the match. The lower order batsmen took a few fours and ran between the wickets as best as they could. There was only so much they could do. The gap got wider and wider till it cracked. India lost the match without even a total of 200. 

There is no doubt the better team had won. It was another disgraceful defeat for India. Another battle lost without putting up a fight. Now, with Dhoni banned from the next ODI, what will happen to the India's place on the Points Table? Will we make it to the finals?

Bring In The New

The company was replacing an old piece of machinery with not a new piece of the same machine but a whole new deal. It meant that the staff who knew the operations of the current machine had to start at the beginning of the learning curve when the new one comes in. Needless to say, there was a fair amount of resistance to the change. The management won the argument, if there ever was one, and the shipment arrived at the door one fine morning.

As production had to go on, the old working systems were kept running while the new one was being installed. It took twice as much space to run the factory this way and slightly more expensive but the deal had been signed. The traders from the supplier's factory arrived with boxes of the various parts of equipment, expecting help from us to configure it according to our needs. Some experienced workers were yanked off the floor to assist with setting up the system. The less experienced staff were left fiddling with running the operations of the shop.

The old men did not want to leave their familiar environment and the young boys, excited about the new toy, were not allowed anywhere near it. "You lack the skills to help with the fitting", they were told. Hanging about the older rusty tools made the young crowd restless while their counterparts poking around with the mass of shiny metal parts upstairs were wavering. For a while, everyone on both floors was an unhappy person. Everyone felt like an apprentice.

In time, people accepted their roles grudgingly and the noise from the two systems banging about became the way of life. Occasionally, one of the newbies downstairs would be called upstairs, to move something here or explain something there and they would go back. The couple of times I went upstairs, I came down charged up.

The big machine came with a lot of little attachments on the side. None of it was free but, for some reason, the management had decided that it would be useful to buy the extra stuff too. As they were fitted, which was rather quick, they were brought downstairs to start operations. They came with the promise to function without any hitches, hence not in need of much attention. In reality, that was not the case and before long, we were juggling too many things on our floor. The people that were upstairs were not coming back.

One day, the area I was working in got called to bring a box back from upstairs. It was acknowledged that it would be heavy and clunky but also came with the promise of easy maintenance and a possible upgrade. We were sceptical but also eager to see what it was like.

The first thing we learned, upon opening the box, was that it was not going to plug into our existing set-up. It had to sit by the side and drone on by itself. Considering that we merely had to keep an eye on it to make sure it was picking up the right materials and thrashing out the stuff that we could sell, we were not too concerned.

The next morning, two technicians and two negotiators were sent to acquire the working knowledge of the new box from the suppliers. The surprises never seemed to end. The training was much harder than we anticipated. As one of our trainers constantly repeated, the devil was in the details. There were more details than we could assimilate each day. While the sellers knew their product very well, they had no idea about what we were doing. Trying to understand their apparatus in our environment was a Herculean task, made harder by the differences between the two parties. We spoke different languages and lived in different cultures. Not literally, of course, but it might as well have been.

We flung balls at them from all sides and they batted as best as they could. A few words were exchanged in frustration, when things didn't go very well. Eventually, the handover was complete and we went back to our respective offices. The new machine was placed in a little corner, eating away resources and churning out objects that we never had time to look at. The marketing guys would pick it up and sort it out. Many days went by before any one of us had a chance to see what was going on there.

This morning, the thing started to splutter and cough, all of us crowded around it, adding our two pennies worth of knowledge from the handover. None of us knew exactly what to do. Within the next couple of hours, shit hit the fan and everyone was yelling at each other. Some bright kids ran to the store to bring the operations manuals. This is just the beginning.

Chapter 8: Prepare for Arrival

I thought it looked like she was drawing, earlier. I was not sure, peripheral vision and all that. I can see more clearly now and I see a few block diagrams on the page she is currently writing on. With that, I will settle for studying not creative writing.

A funny thing occurred to me just now. The way I am taking pictures on my mobile every now and then, making notes on a sheet of paper, it might appear as if I am doing a recce of the place. I could be up to something illegal, marking out my route, for a later date when I will need to execute my plan. Luckily for me, I am on an aeroplane, flying miles above the earth. In the air, taking pictures and making notes are allowed. Any idea that I may be charting out the route by doing that is too far-fetched to be realistic. There is not much sense I can make, of the route, with the moving clouds and a beautiful sunset, can I?

I have hit the end of this page and I still have to conclude my writing. I am not done yet. What am I going to do? I really should stop writing and pick up the book I have brought with me, to read. It is called A Walk To Remember, by Nicholas Sparks. I have never read anything by this author before but the book has good reviews at the back. It promises to touch my heart too. 

Let me dig in my handbag and see if I have any scraps of paper I can use, to finish off my ramble-on-paper. 

I've found an email that I had printed off earlier in the day. It is the list of things a girlfriend has asked me to do, while I am in Melbourne. This will have to do.

The clouds outside are all grey now, and below us. The horizon is orange, yellow and a shade of blue or green. There are patches of the dark sky blue colour I saw earlier. 

I am on a ship, cruising along the waters, looking out the window of my cabin on the top floor.

I cannot seem to come up with an appropriate ending. Actually, I need to pee. I have been holding myself for a while now. As I said earlier, I could not find the toilets at the airport, then I could not go because the plane was stationery and then the chick came in and started writing right away and then I waited for her to take a break, which she did not... and there is all that coke I have been drinking. That reminds me. My teachers insisted that I should not use too many 'AND's in a single sentence. They said that made the sentence too long and the reader could lose track of all the things that happened from start to end. My sentences tended to be long, even back then, joined by a whole lot of 'AND's. I may have kicked the habit but it crept in there for a little second, didn't it?

Anyway, I had better go soon. They will turn on the seatbelt signs any minute now and then I will have to wait till we land. I don't know that I can hold for that much longer. There will be a queue of people to get out and sometimes people can be so slow. No. I have to go now. 

My hands are hurting like hell. It is not just my fingers any more. My arms and elbows are hurting too. It has been really long since I last wrote. I have been writing for at least 2 hours. 

Okay. I have just been to the toilet and back. The girl, Elle, is quite pleasant. She was nice about having to get up to let me get out. She had her book, sheets, ipod and a few other things on her lap but she did not seem to mind. Her voice sounds very cheerful. She said something to me when I mumbled an apology about making her get up. She also has common sense. She did not buckle up or pull the tray down till I returned. I think I really like this girl. 

The trip to the toilet was an episode, on its own. A woman entered the loo, just before I reached it. She did not come out for a really long time. I was standing at the front of the plane, where every single person on the plane could possibly see me. After a couple of minutes, I started feeling self-conscious. I could not go back, so I just hid behind the metal wall that separates that part of the plane from the rest of the passenger area. The elderly couple in the front seat could still see me. I saw them looking at me once. Our eyes met and we both did not know whether to smile or not. We settled with a half-smile. That made me even more uncomfortable. 

After 5 long minutes, or more (it definitely felt more), my mind started filling with questions. "Did she die in there?" I thought to myself, willing her to come out. What if she had fainted in the toilet? How long should I wait before I raised an alarm? Do any one of the crew members know there is someone in there?

I heard a little girl's voice from inside the loo. Phew! She had a child with her. It made sense that she was taking her time, if she had a child in there. I had not noticed the child when she entered the loo but then, I was behind her on the narrow corridor between the seats. Another few minutes passed by and I began to wonder if she killed the child. Is that why she had taken the kid into the toilet? I could not hear any sounds inside and there were no signs of anyone getting out of the toilet. I nearly looked down to see if there was blood, flowing out from underneath the door. I kicked myself. I watch too many cop shows! Between the desperate need to pee and the various CSI shows I have been watching lately, my mind had lost the capacity to think straight. 

I turned to look at the things around me. There was not much. A little fridge, trash, something behind the curtains and the exit doors on either side of the plane. I peered to read the signs and markings on the doors. There were quite a few symbols marked on each door, indicating the mechanism to release the doors, in the event of an emergency. Mostly, I could not make out much other than turning a lever here and pushing a panel there. I was concentrating so hard I had the urge to try it out, to see if it worked. 

A fleeting thought passed my mind that moment, "What if I opened one of these doors and let a blast of air in, for a brief second?"

As soon as I thought that, I turned back to the toilet door. I really had to pee. I was going crazy here. What was I thinking? I would kill hundreds of people right there, as the aircraft veered out of control and crashed, thanks to one little whim of mine to open an emergency door while we were hundreds of kilometres up in the air. Bizarre things come to mind when the mind is unable to function properly, due to the strong need to expel bodily fluids. That is my defence. Thanks to all those episodes of Air Crash Investigations, at least I know what would happen. That means, I do not have the urge to actually open the door to find out. Hurray!

Does it seem like I watch too much television? 

To cut a long story short, the woman and her child came out of the bathroom, before I did anything that would everyone on the plane. I rushed in and locked myself inside. When the deed was done and I stepped out, someone was waiting at the door. The embarrassment never ends! Why did someone have to be waiting outside? Did I take a long time too?

I am back at my seat now. Elle is back to her writing. I should have been reading but I had to tell the story that I just finished, so here I am, scribbling away some more. I might as well fill up the remaining half of this page before I wind up. 

Elle just spoke to me! She is asking me if I want the lights turned on. I smiled and said no. She said it was nice to see someone other than her writing by hand, she does not see that often. We both agreed that handwriting was a great thing. I really like her. 

That short conversation answers a few questions. She has noticed that I am writing. She did not ask what I was writing about. Either she does not care or she has peeked at my sheets while I was away. No, that can't be. I am sure she is just being polite. It is not as if I asked her what she was writing, even though the question has been eating away at me since I first noticed her writing. 

While I was getting out of the seat, I saw the title of the book she has been referring to. It says something about Melbourne Design and has pictures of what could be the Melbourne CBD. I can't say whether she is from Melbourne or Brisbane or even from other part of the world. She does not have much luggage but I have learned that people check in their bags even on short trips. Maybe her trip is not short. I'll never know.

It is plain grey outside, like a road underneath us. The horizon is orange and gold. I am on a big truck, cruising along the road. Maybe it is a Volvo bus, cool and smooth.

The captain has just asked the cabin crew to "prepare for arrival". I can feel the aircraft lower altitude. My heart is racing. Did I mention how much I love take-off and landing? I am definitely going to stop writing now. I have reached the end of the paper, my arms are hurting, I need to put the tray back on and the flight has nearly ended. All good reasons to stop. 

It has been lovely to write. I enjoyed my flight, thank you very much.

Chapter 7: Sunset and Sunrise

I am going to start writing in small print now. This is the last sheet of paper I've got. I have some more in my suitcase in the overhead compartment but I don't think I will bother with that. It would break my monotony and Elle's writing too. I've already lost a few precious moments pondering over it. Writing in small print has reminded me of the time my friends and I decided to do that for fun, in college. One of our professors used to dictate endless pages of notes in his excruciatingly boring class. We came up with unique ways of amusing ourselves, one of which was to write in really small print and see who would use the least number of pages. Some students even wrote on the margins of the page. Our argument that we were trying to save paper did not quite save us from the professor's wrath, when he got wind of our secret game!

I am trying to slow down but my fingers are trapped in a rhythm. It is going to be hard reading small print that I write at this speed. The words in my head are still flying past, so that is not helping either. Now, I'm going back and forth trying to pick up words that I missed. This is not looking good.

The pilot has just announced that we are "440 miles, that is 750 kilometres, north of Melbourne, coming up over the west of New South Wales". He is saying that we are ahead of schedule by 20 minutes and will arrive in Melbourne at 10 past nine by the local clock. He is now reminding us that we need to move our watches forward by an hour. I would love to pull out my mobile and do that now but I think that might be frowned upon. I don't think I'll change the time on my iPad. It doesn't matter.

The sun is shining bright outside. It is strange to look out and see the sun shining so bright at half past 8 in the night. Even if there is daylight till late in summers, I doubt that the sun is this bright at this hour. The time on clocks and watches is redundant up here in space, isn't it? 

The clouds are a beautiful combination of white, light and dark grey, with shades of pink and orange in the mix. The horizon is layers of blue, green, yellow and orange, just like the pictures in our Physics text books when we learnt about refraction. I should stop writing and take a few pictures of this. Yeah, I do that a lot. The pictures I take on my mobile during flights look alright on the mobile but they never look the same when I put them on the computer. I hate it when that happens but it hasn't stopped me from taking pictures on the mobile anyway. "I can edit them on Picasa", I say to myself each time. It has not happened once.

I'm still dogged by the curiosity as to what Elle's thinking about what I am doing. Surely, it is not usual for the person next to you to be scribing non-stop on a flight? She has switched on her ipod and is listening to music quite loudly. I can hear the beats, even though I can't make out the songs. Oh, she has the flight manual on her lap. I didn't see her pick it up. It must have been when I was admiring the clouds outside. That reminds me. I haven't read the flight safety manual on this flight myself. I must do it as soon as I can. I can't do it right now because if she has picked up the manual in the last few minutes, it will look creepy that I do the same. She will suspect that I am watching her, if she already hasn't.

Hopefully Murphy and his law won't come into play in the next few minutes. The one flight on which I forgot to read the manual (because I was busy writing, may I clarify?), is the one where I hadn't flown in a long time and couldn't remember what to do. What are the odds of that happening? I have spooked myself out now, I had better read the manual. It doesn't matter if she thinks I'm copying her. It is a question of my life. If the plane decides to take a nosedive and I die on this plane, they might find my notes and know what Elle is doing. They will know my last few words but I doubt that I want anyone to read this. Even if I die.

There, I've done it. Relief, at last. Knowing Murphy, he will stay away today. I have no problems with that whatsoever. As far as I am concerned, I can brace myself and do a couple of life-saving manoeuvres if push comes to shove. 

Outside, the sun is setting. On the right side of my view, the sky and clouds are a shade of pinkish grey. Up  ahead, it is a bright yellow shine of the sun, not quite ready to set yet. In some part of the world, people must be beginning to wake up to that light. On my left, it is a dull and depressing grey. The sun has set and night has crept upon the cities there. Come to think of it, I am sitting at the right window seat, which means that I am heading towards that darkness. Of course! It will be night time when we land in Melbourne. It makes perfect sense. Did I just see the sunset and sunrise at the same time? Wow!!

The little sojourn I took to read the manual has dulled my excitement to write. My fingers are hurting more than I am happy about. These must be signs. I had better stop writing once I reach the end of this sheet. I will.

Chapter 6: A Short Detour

I forgot to mention that I brought the food tray down, to use as a table, to write. This was one of those thoughts that slipped past me, as new came tumbling through. It has revisited me now and I can write about it. I am a little worried that while I do that, there will be more ideas that will disappear before I can catch them. I am going to have to let them pass. What I do not know won't hurt me. Right? 

I had the book on my lap and my sheets on the book. From the corner of my eye, I noticed her pull down the food tray from the seat in front of her and use that as a table. I kicked myself gently for not thinking of that earlier. Heck, I have too many things going on in my head to come up with ideas of my own. Anyway, I could not pull the tray down right then, lest she find out that I have been watching her. To save my pride, I forced myself to keep writing on my lap. 

I can not take it any longer. Down comes my tray. Wow. This is comfortable! Except, I should have taken out another fresh sheet of paper from my bag before I did this. I am pretty sure that I would have thought of using the tray as a table and getting all my sheets in order, if I was not so busy multi-tasking. I am observing her, trying to find out more about her, writing about her, looking out the window and watching the scenery change, writing about that, trying to ignore the pain developing in my fingers and moving up to my elbows. Being a writer is not easy, no matter what you are writing. Enough with fighting with myself. Moving on. 

I am thinking the words aloud in my mind and that is slowing me down too. I tried writing faster once or twice but my fingers fly about, making marks on paper which I am quite confident I will not be able to read later. I need to write legibly or this whole exercise will have been in vain. The nagging thought in my head is whether she has noticed that I am writing and whether she is on to the fact that she is the protagonist in this hour of my life. She probably has noticed and surely has no idea about her involvement. Imagine if I had one of my clumsy moments and one of my sheets landed in her lap! She would casually glance at what I am writing and, if I am unlucky enough, make out a sentence or two that I have written about her. That would be embarrassing and hilarious? I feel like laughing out aloud but I can't. 

Gosh, it is amazing how different it is to write than to type. The handwriting, the speed, the fingers hurting because I grip too hard, the pencil lead running out, etc. Not to mention, no smiley faces!

It is still blazing hot outside. It will be 9:30PM when I arrive in Melbourne. They are an hour ahead of Brisbane. The T20 match will be over. I wonder if we won this one at least. I am almost loathe to check. I know I will. I can't resist. I am not expecting us to win this one, given the way we have been playing recently but it will be welcome. Like an oasis in a desert. 

What is with all the desert references today? 

I may not have written in a while but I find that I remember most of the rules my teachers taught me in school. This is a pleasant surprise. The tab before a new para, the double arrowhead for 2 words inserts, that my teachers discouraged in essays but said I could use in casual letters to my friends. I took advantage of that alright. Letters I wrote to my friends, during school holidays, would be filled with arrows and asterisks. Every inch of the "inland letter" would be crammed. I had eventually moved on to writing in paper and stuffing them into envelopes, so I had more space for my news. The inland letters were reserved for short code messages. I always have so much to say. My thoughts would fly quickly, old ones pushing the new ones out of my mind and I had to write fast enough to be able to catch them all as they made their way past the window of my mind's eye. That is exactly the same thing happening to me now!

I keep forgetting that I am writing with a pencil and I can erase. Another of my habits my teachers absolutely hated and I could not stop myself from doing, was 'scratching and rewriting'. I am doing that now, even though I could just as easily erase and write over. I do not think I am going to bother much with that, anyway. It is easier to scratch and move on, at this speed. I am not being marked for this essay. It does not matter whether I score out words or I overwrite them.