Sreesha Divakaran's Blog, page 16

I frowned as I looked at my lunch. Dry chapattis, watery dal. It was the same every day. Without tasting it, I knew it would have neither salt nor spice. Such are the “perks” of hostel life.


Nevertheless, I made my way through the rows of noisy tables of the common canteen, looking for a place to sit. I finally found an empty seat, and switched on my mobile phone. I glanced through some messages as I ate. I was nearly done when I noticed someone standing in front of me. I looked up from the meaningless Facebook feed to find the messy-haired, 6-foot frame of my friend, Vikram. I beamed up at him as he said, “Hey!”


“Hey yourself!” I stood up; I wanted to hug him or at least shake his hand, but there was a table between us, and unsalted dal on my fingers. “When did you get back! Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.


He shrugged and said, “Semester break. Got back day before yesterday. I’m here for a month.”


Vikram was once the star footballer of my college. He and I had been close before. Then he got accepted for a student exchange program and moved to the University of Helsinki. The day we said our goodbyes to him, I wished him luck. He thanked me and that was that. He did not keep in touch with me, nor did I let on in any way that I had been crying into pillows ever since. Of late, of course, the crying had stopped.


I quickly put my plate away and rejoined him, and asked about his plans. “Well, yes, there’s a match happening on the 29th, at the DN Public School ground. I am playing. Will you come?”


“I am not sure. I’ll let you know. But speaking of sports, they’ve done some work on the sports ground here on campus. It looks – “professional”. Come with me!” Without thinking, I grabbed his arm and began to lead him towards it.


“Ohmigod! Is that you, Vikram?” I heard an all-too-familiar, annoying voice squeal out. I turned to see Meenu – tall and broad-shouldered, she almost towered over me. As she flashed her beautiful smile at him, I noticed his expression going a tad sour. But he was more civil than I – I openly rolled my eyes, whereas he still maintained what passed for a polite smile.


“Are you taking him to the new pitch, Shruti? Come with me, Vikram! I’ll show you around – the court, and all the new things that have come up after you left. You can go to class, Shruti, or, wherever.” With that, Meenu grabbed his other arm and began to pull. Vikram’s expression clouded, the smile vanishing altogether. He said sternly, “Could you please not drag me? Please let go of my arm. Shruti and I are in the middle of a conversation.”


It was only then that I realized I was holding his other arm. He had not reacted that way with me, but I let go of his arm anyway. A small smile formed on my face. It was silly, and even mean. But I was smiling not because he had been rude to Meenu; I was smiling because he had not asked me to let go like he had asked her. Perhaps, these simple joys are what we look back on, no matter how silly they sound later.


Meenu walked away embarrassed, her ears red, her long French braid swinging, hissing, “Such audacity!” through gritted teeth. It’s not everyday that she gets spurned! Vikram looked kindly at me and the smile had returned to his face. I smiled back as we walked towards the ground. But a thought lingered at the back of my mind – I remembered all the weeks I had cried. At the end of the month, when he left, I would be back where I was at that point of time. I knew, this time, I could not let myself be vulnerable. At the end of the lunch hour, I told him I had to go back to my lectures. He said he too was returning home. Then abruptly, I told him, “I don’t think I can make it for the match on the 29th.”


I saw a look of hurt cross Vikram’s face but I could not be sure. He nodded and replied, “No problem. See you some other time then. Bye now!”


I watched his retreating figure. Yes, it was easier to say Bye now than to follow up on his “See you.” I quietly went back to my class.
—
As the 29th approached, I grew restless. It is a terrible feeling, when you want to catch a glimpse of someone, but you know that doing so will wreck your peace of mind. And break your heart, all over again. I sat there and debated if I should go for the match. It’s just a game, you don’t even have to talk to him. Just wave and leave, a part of my mind reasoned.


As a part of me knew I would, I completely ignored the other part of my mind which rebuked me for making a big mistake. I packed a bottle of water and a book to read on the bus, and set off.


I reached the school ground, but I was met with silence. There was no one. Was I late? Was the match already over? I glanced at my watch absentmindedly. I did not really see the time, as my confused mind was busy comprehending the situation. I looked across the field. There was not a single soul to be seen.


Just as well, saved yourself the heartache, my mind tried to soothe me. I turned back and began to walk towards the exit when I heard my name being called. I turned to the voice with a slight frown and raised eyebrows. It was Vikram, jogging towards me. I raised my arm to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun, and waited for him to approach me, confusion mounting each instant.


I wordlessly stared at him, waiting for a few seconds for him to catch his breath. Then he wordlessly stared at me with a wide smile on his face. It must have been realization that dawned on me, because I found myself blurting, “So, there was no match, was there?”


He looked down at his shoes and chuckled. “No.”


I was about to ask what was happening, when he suddenly said, “I knew you’d come, in spite of what you said.” I blinked at him. Sometimes we say mundane things, when we mean something important, wordlessly begging the other person to read between our lines. I knew that’s what Vikram was doing at that moment, but I dared not say it out loud. I offered a mundane question of my own, “When is your flight?”


He held my gaze and replied, “The day after.” I nodded. I did not know how to continue the conversation. What was I doing here? What were we doing here?


“Shruti, I missed you a lot. I hated being away from you.”


“Yeah, right! You didn’t even send a text!” my voice was a few notches higher as I said this.


“Because! Because I didn’t wanna sit there moping! I was being selfish, yes. But studying there, leaving this place, leaving you – it hurt. I thought it would go away, but it didn’t” his voice was so impassioned that it startled me, and at the same time, I did not want him to stop talking.


“Shruti,” his voice was softer now, “I missed you, Shruti. I really l-l-like you.”


“Oh stop stammering, you coward!” before I knew it, an accusatory finger was in the air, and I was shouting, “you don’t know that I’ve missed you too. But you’re such an insensitive, selfish loser that you didn’t even think of talking to me – once!”


“Are you gonna hold that against me forever?!”


I didn’t respond. I glared at him as best as I could, pretending my anger was real. But suddenly, he smiled – the whole of him smiled, messy hair and all, seemed to glow with his happiness

“Doesn’t matter. I knew you’d come here today. I was right. And I know I’m right about what you feel about me too.” Yes, he knew. He was right. I had to smile.






Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com

Please do not reproduce the material published here.

I frowned as I looked at my lunch. Dry chapattis, watery dal. It was the same every day. Without tasting it, I knew it would have neither salt nor spice. Such are the “perks” of hostel life.
Nevertheless, I made my way through the rows of noisy tables of the common canteen, looking for a place to sit. I finally found an empty seat, and switched on my mobile phone. I glanced through some messages as I ate. I was nearly done when I noticed someone standing in front of me. I looked up from the meaningless Facebook feed to find the messy-haired, 6-foot frame of my friend, Vikram. I beamed up at him as he said, “Hey!”
“Hey yourself!” I stood up; I wanted to hug him or at least shake his hand, but there was a table between us, and unsalted dal on my fingers. “When did you get back! Why didn’t you tell me?” I demanded.
He shrugged and said, “Semester break. Got back day before yesterday. I’m here for a month.”
Vikram was once the star footballer of my college. He and I had been close before. Then he got accepted for a student exchange program and moved to the University of Helsinki. The day we said our goodbyes to him, I wished him luck. He thanked me and that was that. He did not keep in touch with me, nor did I let on in any way that I had been crying into pillows ever since. Of late, of course, the crying had stopped.
I quickly put my plate away and rejoined him, and asked about his plans. “Well, yes, there’s a match happening on the 29th, at the DN Public School ground. I am playing. Will you come?”
“I am not sure. I’ll let you know. But speaking of sports, they’ve done some work on the sports ground here on campus. It looks - "professional". Come with me!” Without thinking, I grabbed his arm and began to lead him towards it.
“Ohmigod! Is that you, Vikram?” I heard an all-too-familiar, annoying voice squeal out. I turned to see Meenu – tall and broad-shouldered, she almost towered over me. As she flashed her beautiful smile at him, I noticed his expression going a tad sour. But he was more civil than I – I openly rolled my eyes, whereas he still maintained what passed for a polite smile.
“Are you taking him to the new pitch, Shruti? Come with me, Vikram! I’ll show you around – the court, and all the new things that have come up after you left. You can go to class, Shruti, or, wherever.” With that, Meenu grabbed his other arm and began to pull. Vikram’s expression clouded, the smile vanishing altogether. He said sternly, “Could you please not drag me? Please let go of my arm. Shruti and I are in the middle of a conversation.”
It was only then that I realized I was holding his other arm. He had not reacted that way with me, but I let go of his arm anyway. A small smile formed on my face. It was silly, and even mean. But I was smiling not because he had been rude to Meenu; I was smiling because he had not asked me to let go like he had asked her. Perhaps, these simple joys are what we look back on, no matter how silly they sound later.
Meenu walked away embarrassed, her ears red, her long French braid swinging, hissing, “Such audacity!” through gritted teeth. It's not everyday that she gets spurned! Vikram looked kindly at me and the smile had returned to his face. I smiled back as we walked towards the ground. But a thought lingered at the back of my mind – I remembered all the weeks I had cried. At the end of the month, when he left, I would be back where I was at that point of time. I knew, this time, I could not let myself be vulnerable. At the end of the lunch hour, I told him I had to go back to my lectures. He said he too was returning home. Then abruptly, I told him, “I don’t think I can make it for the match on the 29th.”
I saw a look of hurt cross Vikram’s face but I could not be sure. He nodded and replied, “No problem. See you some other time then. Bye now!”
I watched his retreating figure. Yes, it was easier to say Bye now than to follow up on his “See you.” I quietly went back to my class.---As the 29th approached, I grew restless. It is a terrible feeling, when you want to catch a glimpse of someone, but you know that doing so will wreck your peace of mind. And break your heart, all over again. I sat there and debated if I should go for the match. It’s just a game, you don’t even have to talk to him. Just wave and leave, a part of my mind reasoned.
As a part of me knew I would, I completely ignored the other part of my mind which rebuked me for making a big mistake. I packed a bottle of water and a book to read on the bus, and set off.
I reached the school ground, but I was met with silence. There was no one. Was I late? Was the match already over? I glanced at my watch absentmindedly. I did not really see the time, as my confused mind was busy comprehending the situation. I looked across the field. There was not a single soul to be seen.
Just as well, saved yourself the heartache, my mind tried to soothe me. I turned back and began to walk towards the exit when I heard my name being called. I turned to the voice with a slight frown and raised eyebrows. It was Vikram, jogging towards me. I raised my arm to shield my eyes from the glare of the sun, and waited for him to approach me, confusion mounting each instant.
I wordlessly stared at him, waiting for a few seconds for him to catch his breath. Then he wordlessly stared at me with a wide smile on his face. It must have been realization that dawned on me, because I found myself blurting, “So, there was no match, was there?”
He looked down at his shoes and chuckled. “No.”
I was about to ask what was happening, when he suddenly said, “I knew you’d come, in spite of what you said.” I blinked at him. Sometimes we say mundane things, when we mean something important, wordlessly begging the other person to read between our lines. I knew that’s what Vikram was doing at that moment, but I dared not say it out loud. I offered a mundane question of my own, “When is your flight?”
He held my gaze and replied, “The day after.” I nodded. I did not know how to continue the conversation. What was I doing here? What were we doing here?
“Shruti, I missed you a lot. I hated being away from you.”
“Yeah, right! You didn’t even send a text!” my voice was a few notches higher as I said this.
“Because! Because I didn’t wanna sit there moping! I was being selfish, yes. But studying there, leaving this place, leaving you - it hurt. I thought it would go away, but it didn't” his voice was so impassioned that it startled me, and at the same time, I did not want him to stop talking.
“Shruti,” his voice was softer now, “I missed you, Shruti. I really l-l-like you."
“Oh stop stammering, you coward!” before I knew it, an accusatory finger was in the air, and I was shouting, “you don’t know that I’ve missed you too. But you’re such an insensitive, selfish loser that you didn’t even think of talking to me - once!”
“Are you gonna hold that against me forever?!”
I didn't respond. I glared at him as best as I could, pretending my anger was real. But suddenly, he smiled - the whole of him smiled, messy hair and all, seemed to glow with his happiness

“Doesn't matter. I knew you’d come here today. I was right. And I know I'm right about what you feel about me too.” Yes, he knew. He was right. I had to smile.

Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Do I consider myself a foodie? I’ve never cared about watching my weight or anything of the sort. I mean, like everyone else, I think of making that mandatory “let’s lose weight” resolution every year and exactly like everyone else, never follow it. And I rather indiscriminately eat what I want (which is often fried in ghee or covered in cheese) when I feel like it (which is usually at midnight)! But “what I want” is the key phrase here. I am bit choosy about what I eat. Maybe I am a selective foodie. So while I could scowl and make faces at something I dislike, when it comes to something that I do like, I could give Po from Kung Fu Panda a run for his money!

Speaking of pandas, I installed the Foodpanda app the other day. It didn’t work, interestingly, no matter how many times I closed/relaunched, uninstalled/installed, so I used the regular website instead. Every now and then, a new restaurant opens up in the area I live in (all jostling for space and foodie attention) and they send their menus with the newspapers with a big caption about home delivery. With HD photos of their delicious looking dishes. Plus there are so many apps that help you order online. With more HD photos. It’s like they’re nudging you with “Look at all this mouthwatering awesomeness.”

It goes especially bombastic in the summer, when everyone is offering you seasonal favorites in cakes, pastries, and ice creams, and whatnot. Everyone is looking to cool off in summer. While cooling off is all well and good, when I am hungry like Po, I can never even look at something sweet – be it food or drink. I am all for spicy food – any time of the day or year!

Like I said, I am a selective foodie. While most people I know luurrrve biryani, I was never much of a biryani person. Mostly cos the rice and chicken combination that passes for biryani in most restaurants nowadays is, frankly, sad. So one day I uncharacteristically ordered biryani from this new restaurant that served Andhra cuisine.

My, oh, my, my mouth is watering just thinking about it!

That was the best biryani I had had in a long, long time! That’s saying a lot, cos like I mentioned, I don’t even like biryani in general! It was the right, just the right amount of spice, the right amount of masala, the right amount of chicken, and that’s about all I can tell you. I am going to let the pictures talk now. Let’s rediscover the lost flavour of biryani this summer!

I would love to make Confessions of a Closet Foodie a regular feature on my blog, but really, I don’t know a lot of recipes (I can follow them from cookery books, sure!) or a lot about food, in general! Maybe I should make Mr. a co-author on the blog. He certainly knows more about food than I do. Until he agrees, enjoy some biryani!

I am participating in the “What’s Hip In Food This Summer” contest hosted by foodpanda.in.
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com

Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Image - Shuttersock: Val Thoermer
One of the chapters of Like The Flowing River describes how Paulo Coelho and his wife discovered Nordic Walking. They loved the activity because though it was rigorous and burnt a lot of calories, it did not make them tired at all. One day, Coelho went online and found out that they were doing it wrong! The next time they did it, they decided to do it “by the rules.” It was terrible, it was boring and it was tiring! So they went back to doing it "the wrong way."

I attended a very interesting session on blog monetization the other day. As someone who once swore to never monetize her blog, it was a pretty drastic step for me to choose otherwise - huge shift, really! My main takeaway from this session was that every blog needs to have a niche. Or better yet, a micro-niche.
Mine doesn’t. Hell, it’s not even streamlined! Nor does it have a definite pattern. I do have another blog though – which focuses solely on books – mostly indie books. Let’s talk some numbers for a bit, shall we?
True, that I don’t make any money through my blogs (the ads started appearing only recently if you’ve noticed; less than a month ago - this blog was started in 2008). What do I know; I haven't even applied anywhere except AdSense. But if we were to talk sheer pageviews and numbers: my niche-crafted blog gets hardly any visitors, whereas I am pretty satisfied with my broad, all-encompassing blog, i.e., this one.
Another thing that was mentioned that day (at the session) was how anyone without the intention of monetizing their blog would soon lose interest in blogging. I did have another blog, created solely for the purposes of “making money” (hey, don’t judge me). It was fun for about three months. I even got some tiny voucher type thingies. I stopped updating this one, cos I have only one brain. They say women are great at multitasking, but I’m secretly a man I couldn’t focus on both at the same time.
Then I got bored of it, simply because whatever that blog was about – it wasn’t me. This blog is me – telling stories and yakking, that is who I am. That blog was unicorns and puffy pink sleeves – made me feel like Deedee from Dexter’s Lab. I stopped updating it and eventually deleted it.
I am still interested in this one though! Very much so. I am also interested in my book blog, despite its low pageviews, because I love books. That’s it, I love books, period. I don’t know if I am doing something right here and something wrong there, because I feel I am doing the same things for both, so I don't understand the disparity of numbers. But my point is this - monetizing isn't the only aim; money isn't the only thing that keeps us hooked. Some of us genuinely love writing.
I’ve forgotten what this post was about. Oh, right, rules. There are those who say Follow These Blogging Rules, Be Successful, Hire People To Wipe Your Bum! They may be making money and that’s great (for them)! I, on the other hand, was a happier blogger when I wasn’t looking at numbers or monetization. I didn’t feel like there’s this whole “performance pressure” sort of thing on me; as a result my mind was entirely focused on what I was writing, as opposed to whom I was writing it for. Probably, there’s no predictable, quantifiable "right" way to go about blogging. 
The lessons learnt thus were these: 1) Don't let anyone tell you a niche-less blog is a good for nothing blog 2) Don't let anyone tell you that you will lose interest in your blog unless you monetize it 3) Don't listen to the "guru" with the rules.

Blogging is my Nordic Walking.Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Do I consider myself a foodie? I've never cared about watching my weight or anything of the sort. I mean, like everyone else, I think of making that mandatory "let's lose weight" resolution every year and exactly like everyone else, never follow it. And I rather indiscriminately eat what I want (which is often fried in ghee or covered in cheese) when I feel like it (which is usually at midnight)! But "what I want" is the key phrase here. I am bit choosy about what I eat. Maybe I am a selective foodie. So while I could scowl and make faces at something I dislike, when it comes to something that I do like, I could give Po from Kung Fu Panda a run for his money!

Speaking of pandas, I installed the Foodpanda app the other day. Every now and then, a new restaurant opens up in the area I live in (all jostling for space and foodie attention) and they send their menus with the newspapers with a big caption about home delivery. With HD photos of their delicious looking dishes. Plus there are so many apps (eco friendly, don't you think, compared to paper menus?) that help you order online. With more HD photos. It's like they're nudging you with "Look at all this mouthwatering awesomeness."

It goes especially bombastic in the summer, when everyone is offering you seasonal favorites in cakes, pastries, and ice creams, and whatnot. Everyone is looking to cool off in summer. While cooling off is all well and good, when I am hungry like Po, I can never even look at something sweet - be it food or drink. I am all for spicy food - any time of the day or year!

Like I said, I am a selective foodie. While most people I know luurrrve biryani, I was never much of a biryani person. Mostly cos the rice and chicken combination that passes for biryani in most restaurants nowadays is, frankly, sad. So the day I installed the aforementioned app, I uncharacteristically ordered biryani from this new restaurant that served Andhra cuisine.

My, oh, my, my mouth is watering just thinking about it!

That was the best biryani I had had in a long, long time! That's saying a lot, cos like I mentioned, I don't even like biryani in general! It was the right, just the right amount of spice, the right amount of masala, the right amount of chicken, and that's about all I can tell you. I am going to let the pictures talk now. Let's rediscover the lost flavour of biryani this summer!











I would love to make Confessions of a Closet Foodie a regular feature on my blog, but really, I don't know a lot of recipes (I can follow them from cookery books, sure!) or a lot about food in general! Maybe I should make Mr. a co-author on the blog. He certainly knows more about food than I do. Until he agrees, enjoy some biryani!

I am participating in the "What's Hip In Food This Summer" contest hosted by foodpanda.in.Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Image – Shuttersock: Val Thoermer

One of the chapters of Like The Flowing River describes how Paulo Coelho and his wife discovered Nordic Walking. They loved the activity because though it was rigorous and burnt a lot of calories, it did not make them tired at all. One day, Coelho went online and found out that they were doing it wrong! The next time they did it, they decided to do it “by the rules.” It was terrible, it was boring and it was tiring! So they went back to doing it “the wrong way.”

I attended a very interesting session on blog monetization the other day. As someone who once swore to never monetize her blog, it was a pretty drastic step for me to choose otherwise – huge shift, really! My main takeaway from this session was that every blog needs to have a niche. Or better yet, a micro-niche.

Mine doesn’t. Hell, it’s not even streamlined! Nor does it have a definite pattern. I do have another blog though – which focuses solely on books – mostly indie books. Let’s talk some numbers for a bit, shall we?

True, that I don’t make any money through my blogs (the ads started appearing only recently if you’ve noticed; less than a month ago – this blog was started in 2008). What do I know; I haven’t even applied anywhere except AdSense. But if we were to talk sheer pageviews and numbers: my niche-crafted blog gets hardly any visitors, whereas I am pretty satisfied with my broad, all-encompassing blog, i.e., this one.

Another thing that was mentioned that day (at the session) was how anyone without the intention of monetizing their blog would soon lose interest in blogging. I did have another blog, created solely for the purposes of “making money” (hey, don’t judge me). It was fun for about three months. I even got some tiny voucher type thingies. I stopped updating this one, cos I have only one brain. They say women are great at multitasking, but I’m secretly a man I couldn’t focus on both at the same time.

Then I got bored of it, simply because whatever that blog was about – it wasn’t me. This blog is me – telling stories and yakking, that is who I am. That blog was unicorns and puffy pink sleeves – made me feel like Deedee from Dexter’s Lab. I stopped updating it and eventually deleted it.

I am still interested in this one though! Very much so. I am also interested in my book blog, despite its low pageviews, because I love books. That’s it, I love books, period. I don’t know if I am doing something right here and something wrong there, because I feel I am doing the same things for both, so I don’t understand the disparity of numbers. But my point is this – monetizing isn’t the only aim; money isn’t the only thing that keeps us hooked. Some of us genuinely love writing.

I’ve forgotten what this post was about. Oh, right, rules. There are those who say Follow These Blogging Rules, Be Successful, Hire People To Wipe Your Bum! They may be making money and that’s great (for them)! I, on the other hand, was a happier blogger when I wasn’t looking at numbers or monetization. I didn’t feel like there’s this whole “performance pressure” sort of thing on me; as a result my mind was entirely focused on what I was writing, as opposed to whom I was writing it for. Probably, there’s no predictable, quantifiable “right” way to go about blogging. 

The lessons learnt thus were these: 1) Don’t let anyone tell you a niche-less blog is a good for nothing blog 2) Don’t let anyone tell you that you will lose interest in your blog unless you monetize it 3) Don’t listen to the “guru” with the rules.

Blogging is my Nordic Walking.

Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com

Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Most of us love living in the city – we are used to the many conveniences it offers. But let’s face it, even the most hardcore city lovers among us sometimes want to run away. As a result, even the tourist destinations are so filled with (duh!) tourists that even those don’t feel like a real respite from the city! Just another crowded place, with some nice scenery!
It was in the midst of all this “There’s no place worth going!” dialogue that we discovered this hidden gem in Chikmagalur, Karnataka called Gatikallu. Chikmagalur in itself is beautiful. But this place is – I kid you not – breathtaking. I don’t generally do posts about where I’ve been; the only other one I’ve done was about Nandi Hills, and that was more about my super-awesome feat of climbing 7 km at a stretch (a first for me - please don’t rain on my parade). This also isn’t a conventional “travel” post, with technical details like the number of toll booths. Even the photographs were taken on a point-n-shoot cam, nothing fancy! I just thought some of you might consider it for your next trip or weekend getaway!
Gatikallu Homestay is a 290 km drive from Bangalore. As per their website, the route to be followed from Bangalore is: Bangalore > Nelamangala > Kunigal > Hassan > Belur > Mudigere > Balur > Kelagur > Aramane Thalagur (Sunkasale) > Gatikallu Homestay. Now the confusing part here is this – there is another homestay called Ghatikallu. I don’t quite know if they are both run by the same management, but Ghatikallu has a different website and is further up the (same) hill.

Gatikallu Homestay: Entrance
They have tents as well as cottages. When we called to make a booking, we requested for tents, but they were already booked. There were two cottages available. When the four of us reached there, they told us they weren’t expecting any more visitors that weekend; they offered both the cottages to us for the price of one! It was great during the bonfire (that they lit at dusk) to have the veranda of both the cottages to run around. They charge INR 2500 per person – this includes food (except starters) and activities.
View from our cottage. Top right: You can see the tents. Bottom Left: Our Cottage(s)
Gatikallu Homestay offers a variety of activities, including Rope activities, trekking, bonfire, music, etc. Apart from the rope activities, we tried everything. The group I went with still curses me for not letting them go for the ropes, but I didn’t stop them! I only said I wouldn’t do it, but they were free to! Oh, well. They took us in their vehicle to the trekking points, to the ancient temple and a lovely (pristine, heavenly, hidden-from-view) waterfall and the sunset point.

The ancient temple. Seriously, I wanted it to be haunted! But I don't think it is. Sigh.
Here's where we went trekking. Check out top right and bottom left - Makes you feel like you're on the edge of the world!
Sunset point. Would you look at those clouds! Top left: Some kinda bunker used in movies.

If I may just take a moment here to talk about the scrumptious food: it’s not pretentious woohoohoo food. It’s homemade stuff. There is a slightly steep pathway that you have to go up (even going up to get the food is a mini adventure!) and the food is served in this big hall, kinda like a mess. There’s both veg and nonveg. Simple, yet delicious food. During dinner, they played some good music too. Before dinner we had ordered some starters – the quantity shocked us! They really know how to pamper foodies!

The weather was pleasant, with thick fog covering the mountains from dusk till dawn. When the chill sets, the bonfire does wonders! Our cottage did not have a TV, nor did our mobiles have network. It was so great to disconnect from technology like that. I don’t know if we could get used to that life, but a once-in-a-while cleanse like that is refreshing, and I feel, necessary!

Tea plantation
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Adolescence is a hard time to be alive. In my teen years, I knew at least four people who were convinced they were unloved and unwanted. Reality, for most high-schoolers, is a bubble of depression. If you pick up a newspaper, or even a Chicken Soup, you’ll know what an alarming number of teens commit or attempt suicide.
I also went through bouts of feeling unwanted, and have cried into pillows at night. That behaviour had been unfamiliar to me, but what happened with a friend I once called my “best friend” is what tipped me over the edge of teenage sanity.
For the longest time, she and I had been “Us against the world.” Then she developed a crush on this guy, another classmate. I tried to help out, in the way you help out a crushstruck friend– delivering anonymous notes and all that. Wonder of wonders when the guy reciprocated. I was happy for her, couldn’t be anything less.
But the aforementioned crush had a problem with me. Don’t know why; frankly, never cared either. But it affected our friendship. I don’t know if she did it consciously, but she was “removing” me from her life. Knowing I was no longer wanted, I took a step back. I stopped talking to her. Something petty I did was returning all the presents she had ever given me.  Everyone in class wanted to know what went wrong between us (our friendship was, you could say, famous). There were people discussing rights and wrongs, others (even teachers) trying to bring about reconciliation.
On my birthday that year, she still gave me a present. Of all the presents I received that year, hers was my favourite. It was a snowglobe; inside it, was a clown attempting a somersault. That was the first time I had seen a snowglobe; it fascinated me! I told her she shouldn’t have. She smiled. Attempts to reconcile the two of us were still on, but while she was cordial, her stance on the matter hadn’t altered – it was either him or me.
Looking back now, I don’t regret her ending our friendship. She is married to him now; I am happy for her. I still have the snowglobe – it’s in my mother’s house. I keep it as a reminder – of many things:Nothing lasts forever. Sometimes friendships end. Even if it has never happened to you, there could be a first time. Cherish the good times.Unless you come out of the shade, you can’t enjoy the sunshine – I got to know some of my wonderful classmates only after I came out of the shade of our friendship.Adolescence is a turbulent time. To any and all teens reading this, don’t worry, it’ll get better.It heals. You move on.If your crush is dictating who should and who shouldn’t be in your life for them to be in your life, well, if I were you, I’d rethink.





Written for #Cherished blogfest
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.

Anyone who’s read The Adventures Of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain as a child remembers the fence painting story. Anyone who’s not read it – you did not have an awesome childhood pick it up as soon as you can. In brief, the story emphasizes on how anything can appear “desirable” to others if you pretend to greatly desire it yourself – even if you actually care about it. Tom is given the task of painting a fence – a task he loathes. But he pretends to enjoy it completely, and tells all the other boys who pass by that he isn’t working but is having fun. What is defined as play and what is defined as work depends on how it is perceived.
While pretension isn’t one of my strongest suits, I remembered this story, and its lesson thereof, when I returned from the recent Indimeet with the identification wristband still around my wrist. My son was playing with his new Hummer and BMW (I wish my friends would gift me those too – but life-size versions!) when to get his attention, I admired the paper wristband like it’s the greatest thing on earth. He was intrigued, and much like Tom Sawyer’s buddies, offered to trade one of his cars for the wristband.
I wish you were there to see that evil smile on my face.
I took the Hummer, gave him the wristband. Then of course, I wanted the BMW too (yeah, you’re right, I shouldn’t be a mom). So I pretended to love the Hummer to bits. Admired it from every angle. This burnt him a little I think cos now he looked at his BMW like it was a rotten egg. He offered to trade it for the Hummer. I said my wristband was worth two cars, and he should be giving both of them to me.
At that moment he was dilemma personified. Because, to twist Mark Twain’s words, “Work consists of what you are obliged to play with, until your mother comes along and pretends to love what you were obliged to part with.”
He realized pretty quickly though that the wristband was useless, and not as fun as I had made it seem to be. He scowled in a “You silly woman” kinda way and walked off victorious with both his cars (and the wristband).
It’s alright. Like every other, this incident had its lessons for me. For one, I realized Mark Twain was right about making something seem desirable. It confirmed what I already knew – pretension wasn’t one of my strongest suits and even preschoolers can see through me if they tried a little. And I got to play with a Hummer!
Copyright Petrichor and Clouds 2015 at petrichorandclouds.blogspot.com
Please do not reproduce the material published here.