Catching up

Am writing a post after a long long time. I mean actually writing a post and not just composing sub-standard poems and posting them

Came back to SG some time ago. Hopefully will stay here for a significant portion of the coming year and the next. Don’t get me wrong; I love traveling. I adore traveling. Am passionate over traveling. But its to travel from one place to another to submerse myself in a foreign culture, food (veg pls), way of thinking, perceptions and way of leading life. I do not (hate yada yada yada) like traveling to get stuck in a coup unable to do anything. Though proponents may argue that whether one experiences something or not depends on that person’s initiative and interest. However, easier said than done isn’t it? 🙂

Started my old job exactly one week ago (yes, started it on Friday due to auspiciousness according to my religious calendar). Been doing nothing but catching up and catching up. Though I did attend a conference where I did the same thing: catching up

So, now that catching ups are done, hopefully, I will have some time to post reasonable, sensible and coherent posts instead of junk rubbish this blog seems to be filled with. Again, easier said than done isn’t it? 🙂


Kumbakonam house

A small anecdote of a well cherished memory. An online friend had posted a thought about the sounds and smells of an ancestral home. He said that as time goes by, one remembers the house more than the inhabitants; something I totally agree with.

I have never lived in my paternal grandparent’s house except during short visits but when I stepped into it at an age where one does start remembering, the thing that struck me was the history of the place.

Every timber, every small cot, even windows sill had a story to tell. Graffiti by dad on the kitchen floor with god knows what which never went away; paint on the well walls, lovely drawings of gods by my aunts all told a story of the place. The place was living, breathing as if it had a life on its own. The people who came were but fleeting in the time frame of the house itself.

It’s this feeling which makes me love that place. Along with the fact that it was a typical village house in one of the most temple-frequent places in south India surrounded by temples, temples and more temples, each of which was famous and have thousands of devotees each day.

These kinds of houses don’t come often. The sad part is, the few that are left, we do not know how to cherish.


Hello and a warm welcome to my site. Since you are here, I presume you would want to find out something about me. Well, let me start off by introducing myself.

I have been called many names, some childish, some young, some sinister and some plain boring; but you can call me Veena for short.

I have been ceremoniously educated to the extend of retarding my mind, and I have many perceptions and interests, but dreaming is, and has always been as essential to me as breathing. We are all born with a certain gift. I was born with an incessant and wild imagination. It’s part of my personality, something I didn’t choose any more than my skin color.

I am a faithless sinner with no illusions about my imperfections, no political persuasion and philosophy as my religion. I have more opinions and ideas than most people care to hear and comfortably consider. Though, alas, I have an utter lack of talent in putting them to pen.

I am much too ambiguous for my own good: ambitious and idle, hesitant and resolute, humble and proud, devilish and genteel, atriculate and tongue-tied. I’ve seen the good side of bad and the downside of up and the entirety in between.

I am, most likely, everything, you think I am not, which is true for my physical apperance, as well. I don’t exactly mirror the archetype of a technical person, you see.

They say I lead a charmed life …

Other than that, I am disappointingly normal.


I have a serious question to pose,

Regarding techies and their prose,

How do they manage to keep up with times?

While I try vainly to decipher their mind!

Here you read about new techs,

Weblogs, podcasts, ubuntus and what next,

It seems to them all in a days work,

Poor me; stuck in this world!

Oh dear bro

Oh dear brother,

my only brother,

you make me so sad,

I cry all day,

you never know dear,

how much you hurt me,

oh dear brother,

please go away (from my room)

(sung to the tune of ‘You are my sunshine’)

Something my sis sang to my bro and he remembered it to the extent that he wanted it here for all posterity!