Friday, October 5, 2012
A healthy neuron
A healthy neuron looks exactly like a tree in spring - NPR.
A healthy neuron is the vital happy hormone. A healthy neuron is essential for being smart and happy by making the essential synaptic connections. Depression is a medical condition that happens when the "healthy neurons" cannot make strong synaptic connections. Depression is a medical condition, but what induces it is not - stress. Stress is majorly societal. Manmade. What we put on top of one another in every small and big way. Societal stress leads to depression leads to non synaptic aging neurons leading to not achieve the goals that society puts in front. Irony of life.
Moral of the story: Live like "The dude" from Big Lebowsky
Brainwave on friday morning.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Thursday, October 6, 2011
I can hear you say, another eulogy is all we need now...
..but I am going to give it anyway otherwise these words in my head will start chewing on my nerves.
I swear I will keep my kids away from the story of Steve Jobs and the Stanford commencement speech as long as I can. I will tell you why.
When I was 18, I was lazy enough to google all my college assignments and then type in one line in the bibliography page - "GOOGLE". more like one word. Thats when I was introduced to Jobs by the prof who caught me guilty. She told me a story of how she did her research. It seems, in those days, you have to sign up a sheet, wait in line to use the mainframe computers that filled entire basements of Universities to do your thesis work (And this advanced facility was available only in select premier places). Steve shrunk them to their desktop and today you have google. The moral of the story delivered to me at that time was, think outside the box. People have raised the bar, that delivering plain information had no value. That was my first encounter. Now I have reached a stage where I can keep my socialistic ideals outside for a moment and argue that global economic growth is highly dependent on innovative product development and I come home to find out steve jobs has passed on.
When I connect his dots, I wonder what he was smoking. How can someone think up these products? Now why I look at the "i" devices I have, it feels perfect. From the material, to the weight, to the brightness, to the text. It fills me with awe. This guy introduced technology especially for people like me who stubbornly ignored it. He gave me things that I absolutely need, things I can probably live without and things I absolutely do not need. An innovator and a marketing genius all in one person.
For the average person I am today, I need such a living inspiration. I can look back and say that till 18, my hormones kept me going. Through my twenties an ambition and naivety kept me going. But slowly as we start living the life we carefully chose fully aware of what we can and cannot do, waiting for fridays, planning vacations, India trips, mortgage, trying to be a cook+career woman+writer+photographer all in the same person, raising kids, turning thirty, etc then we notice the monotony that has sets in. The lackluster of everything you run behind. Thats when we need to rekindled. To be told you have nothing to lose, so live this day like your last. Someone to tell us to do that one thing you love and give it your all. To help us revive those college dreams, to help us think out of the box and to work with a passion. Because really none of us want to be the average monotonous man.
Thats when I will tell my kids. When they reach that wall, when they need a fairy tale. A real one. When I tell them then that everything will not be just "OK", it will be perfect I will have the garage entrepreneur to back me up.
I swear I will keep my kids away from the story of Steve Jobs and the Stanford commencement speech as long as I can. I will tell you why.
When I was 18, I was lazy enough to google all my college assignments and then type in one line in the bibliography page - "GOOGLE". more like one word. Thats when I was introduced to Jobs by the prof who caught me guilty. She told me a story of how she did her research. It seems, in those days, you have to sign up a sheet, wait in line to use the mainframe computers that filled entire basements of Universities to do your thesis work (And this advanced facility was available only in select premier places). Steve shrunk them to their desktop and today you have google. The moral of the story delivered to me at that time was, think outside the box. People have raised the bar, that delivering plain information had no value. That was my first encounter. Now I have reached a stage where I can keep my socialistic ideals outside for a moment and argue that global economic growth is highly dependent on innovative product development and I come home to find out steve jobs has passed on.
When I connect his dots, I wonder what he was smoking. How can someone think up these products? Now why I look at the "i" devices I have, it feels perfect. From the material, to the weight, to the brightness, to the text. It fills me with awe. This guy introduced technology especially for people like me who stubbornly ignored it. He gave me things that I absolutely need, things I can probably live without and things I absolutely do not need. An innovator and a marketing genius all in one person.
For the average person I am today, I need such a living inspiration. I can look back and say that till 18, my hormones kept me going. Through my twenties an ambition and naivety kept me going. But slowly as we start living the life we carefully chose fully aware of what we can and cannot do, waiting for fridays, planning vacations, India trips, mortgage, trying to be a cook+career woman+writer+photographer all in the same person, raising kids, turning thirty, etc then we notice the monotony that has sets in. The lackluster of everything you run behind. Thats when we need to rekindled. To be told you have nothing to lose, so live this day like your last. Someone to tell us to do that one thing you love and give it your all. To help us revive those college dreams, to help us think out of the box and to work with a passion. Because really none of us want to be the average monotonous man.
Thats when I will tell my kids. When they reach that wall, when they need a fairy tale. A real one. When I tell them then that everything will not be just "OK", it will be perfect I will have the garage entrepreneur to back me up.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Theratti Paal
I am not a big fan of everyday tedious cooking but I love to cook. Contradictory as it may sound, I hate cooking tedious vegetables and lengthy protocols because between me and the husband, only half enters the pot. We eat everything from half baked paruppu to pachai kai gari, good only! So no cooking for almost smashed veggies. On an everyday basis our food consists mostly of dhal, roti, karis, simple sambhar rasam rice, grilled veggies, quinoa, pasta, wraps blah - all simply made, no extra spice/masala, cheese, bake or time to it. Thirty minutes straight, its done including the cleaning part. But atleast one or twice a week I get the cooking veri inside me. My husband has innumerable names for that mood and I cook kanda menikku. It peaks when there is external pressure, like my mom for a week was bugging me for not doing varalakshmi nombu properly (Yes the black sheep I am!). So I decided to go full fledged for Krishna's. I had this elaborate lay out for thattai and therati paal. Therati paal - my absolute favorite. Just the combination of milk solids and sugar can create this wonderful texture, like grated condensed milk all over. It also reminds me of all nice ocassions. Like my perima would always prepare this transfer it to a clean ever-silver dabba and hand it over to the samandhi family. That would be the single hand made thing amongst others on the plate. She claimed that it was the easiest thing to make and all you need is milk (It is not easy, it needs constant kelarification for hours but great results). It reminds me of cousins sitting around gossiping with sticky palms from the theratti paal. So the time I met my sister after she was pregnant, I made this for her. Yesterday for Krishnar, I decided to make it with half a gallon of milk. (Way too much, it took me four hours to make and probably forever to finish eating it). But while I was making it the aroma of milk filled the air, I had MS singing giridhara gopala in the background, with white baby feet in perfect imprint and the husband trying his best to thattify thattai for me. That second I felt a sense of belonging. This is the home I have created from everything imbibed in me for so long. For that minute alone I did not miss anyone.
PS: I wrote only about theratti paal because thatai became pooris for dinner, and that too after extensive trouble shooting from Chicago to Dallas. Really nice pooris though!
PS: I wrote only about theratti paal because thatai became pooris for dinner, and that too after extensive trouble shooting from Chicago to Dallas. Really nice pooris though!
Monday, July 25, 2011
On my bookshelf
I am at present holidaying to eternity and a lot of reading is happening.
Sister of my heart - Chitra Banerjee (less than 3 stars)
I was dying to read Indian. yes, the immigrant's life. Nothing compares to a good Indian read, my list would probably be Salman Rushdie, R.K.Narayan and Jhumpa Lahari. Jhumpa lahari probably gets critiqued quite a bit but I think I am very close to the immigrant Indian in her head. Since I was dying to read about India, and also wanted drama, I picked up Chithra banerjee. I had heard some rave reviews and the title of the book sounded tempting. I finished it through the 9 hour flight to Alaska. I thought her writing was desperately Indian. The references to "puchkas" and mangoes were close to nauseating. I was not tempted. And why is every woman's life in India filled so depressing? Why cant Indian women authors boldly infuse humour and happiness? My need to finish every book I pick up kept me on. A very predictable ending, same ol Calcutta - tram, crowd, dirt and widowhood!Bah! I think the present fiction writers have a lot to learn from R.K, Kalki, Salman and Rabindranath Tagore in terms of creativity and wordplay.
Angela's ashes. (4 stars)
Now this is my type of immigrant book. I think I am a little late to discover Frank Mccourt, but he is a word hilarious. Taking my cousin's word and a few google reviews, I had decided not to embark on it during Alaska. It sounded like a sad book. But I was wrong. The author had done a great job in using humor at difficult circumstances. There were times when the "chamber pot" jokes were getting a little out of hand, but my family raising made it easier digesting these jokes. The book was a laughter riot. And, first book where I was not hungry reading it. I am eternally hungry when food is described in books, and sometimes I re read my favourite food parts eating. Now that explains approximately 15 pounds. But this one was either talking about poverty, slushy rain or yucky toilets. Being catholic and Irish made the jokes even better. The book is an easy 1-3 day read and very entertaining. Its not a philosophical or a literary treat, and I do admit I saw the humor coming at times but the sati-rity in it, if that is a word made it awesome.
PS: I am back to re reading all of R.K. Narayan and struggling through Ponniyin selvan. Now you may say I need to go back to work, but here comes my evil grin.
Sister of my heart - Chitra Banerjee (less than 3 stars)
I was dying to read Indian. yes, the immigrant's life. Nothing compares to a good Indian read, my list would probably be Salman Rushdie, R.K.Narayan and Jhumpa Lahari. Jhumpa lahari probably gets critiqued quite a bit but I think I am very close to the immigrant Indian in her head. Since I was dying to read about India, and also wanted drama, I picked up Chithra banerjee. I had heard some rave reviews and the title of the book sounded tempting. I finished it through the 9 hour flight to Alaska. I thought her writing was desperately Indian. The references to "puchkas" and mangoes were close to nauseating. I was not tempted. And why is every woman's life in India filled so depressing? Why cant Indian women authors boldly infuse humour and happiness? My need to finish every book I pick up kept me on. A very predictable ending, same ol Calcutta - tram, crowd, dirt and widowhood!Bah! I think the present fiction writers have a lot to learn from R.K, Kalki, Salman and Rabindranath Tagore in terms of creativity and wordplay.
Angela's ashes. (4 stars)
Now this is my type of immigrant book. I think I am a little late to discover Frank Mccourt, but he is a word hilarious. Taking my cousin's word and a few google reviews, I had decided not to embark on it during Alaska. It sounded like a sad book. But I was wrong. The author had done a great job in using humor at difficult circumstances. There were times when the "chamber pot" jokes were getting a little out of hand, but my family raising made it easier digesting these jokes. The book was a laughter riot. And, first book where I was not hungry reading it. I am eternally hungry when food is described in books, and sometimes I re read my favourite food parts eating. Now that explains approximately 15 pounds. But this one was either talking about poverty, slushy rain or yucky toilets. Being catholic and Irish made the jokes even better. The book is an easy 1-3 day read and very entertaining. Its not a philosophical or a literary treat, and I do admit I saw the humor coming at times but the sati-rity in it, if that is a word made it awesome.
PS: I am back to re reading all of R.K. Narayan and struggling through Ponniyin selvan. Now you may say I need to go back to work, but here comes my evil grin.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Alaskan message
I woke up with a strange dream. The dream was that, I was allowed to re-do my MSc in India. I should do the exact same drill and I could live with my parents. I would end up wasting six years of my life. Very strange and worse, it felt realistic. I woke up dissecting my dream, because I had felt very happy with the offer (in my dream). In hindsight my happiness must have stemmed from the fact that I could live with my parents. I pushed open the curtains and stood to see the broad day light at 3:00 AM, clouds moving up the mountains. It was beautiful. Alaska was offering sights I had seen never before. Crisp clear, blue glaciers formed between scaling snow clad mountains, miniature bonsai tundra flora all over, hump back whales , sea lions, grizzly bears, rain forests, the only sound to hear is the distant snorting of whales, above all millions of acres of wilderness with absolutely no human inhabitation. Several people come here to experience the “Mccandles phenomena”, to live one with nature in an absolute sense. We all end up carrying a part of Alaska in us. I was reminded of what almost every forest ranger had told us till then. If you listen closely, the land speaks to you. This was not my first strange dream in Alaska. I had had several, all holding opportunities to time travel to the past.
I woke up at 7 in the morning to the husband singing “Like a true nature child we were born, born to be wild”. I was annoyed. I am not a morning person. I need my caffeine to kick start my endorphins. And at 7 he has the energy to sing born to be wild. He saw me and said, “Innuki ena ma Whale watching a? Unfortunately we are not in Pazhani”. I tried hard not to smile, to not encourage these jokes. But these days even the slightest movement is being recognized. Two years of being married.
During our Alaskan vacation, we hiked up several thousands of feet that gave us breathtaking views. During one of them, after our picnic lunch, jan our guide read out something Kim McCox, a ranger at Denali had once written. Alaska, a state which is as big as India, 2/5th the size of the United States has millions of acres of conserved land, letting the land be wild. That’s the most beautiful part of it. The lines were something like this.
“To leave a place as it was found, and not after we are finished with it, a place where worries come from bears and not from bear markets, and for once try not to shape the land but to let the land shape you….”
Somewhere along the wilderness, I realized my Alaskan message. I constantly glorify the past, stress or fantasize the future therefore not truly living the moment. I think that’s what I should aim to do. For there is too much happiness in the present, and at every moment I can only realize how gifted I am for all the people I have and the opportunities I cross.
I woke up at 7 in the morning to the husband singing “Like a true nature child we were born, born to be wild”. I was annoyed. I am not a morning person. I need my caffeine to kick start my endorphins. And at 7 he has the energy to sing born to be wild. He saw me and said, “Innuki ena ma Whale watching a? Unfortunately we are not in Pazhani”. I tried hard not to smile, to not encourage these jokes. But these days even the slightest movement is being recognized. Two years of being married.
During our Alaskan vacation, we hiked up several thousands of feet that gave us breathtaking views. During one of them, after our picnic lunch, jan our guide read out something Kim McCox, a ranger at Denali had once written. Alaska, a state which is as big as India, 2/5th the size of the United States has millions of acres of conserved land, letting the land be wild. That’s the most beautiful part of it. The lines were something like this.
“To leave a place as it was found, and not after we are finished with it, a place where worries come from bears and not from bear markets, and for once try not to shape the land but to let the land shape you….”
Somewhere along the wilderness, I realized my Alaskan message. I constantly glorify the past, stress or fantasize the future therefore not truly living the moment. I think that’s what I should aim to do. For there is too much happiness in the present, and at every moment I can only realize how gifted I am for all the people I have and the opportunities I cross.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The girl with the dragon tatoo!
Have I waited enough time to read this that the entire world knows what am going to say? That it was a great book? Anyway today I feel like I just ended a relationship and am frantically trying to replace it with another book. It was absolutely absorbing. A mystery novel with a pretty predictable ending and all that but the character placement and the writing style was brilliant. It was like watching a movie. I would not recommend this book for people on a vacation or reading by the pool. Its a book to be finished in one sitting. I was so addicted that three hours after reading the book, I tried to re-establish the relationship with the movie. The movie sucks in comparison.
In between vacation planning, house and job hunting, paper writing, finishing up, getting frustrated, it was so difficult to find time to read. I had neglected social contact in person and online. This book somehow gave me a break from what was occupying my mind. I was reading in the restroom, making coffee, asking husband to drive me to work so that I can read on the way, walking, gymming so on. Thanks to kindle it was actually possible!
Now to reestablish this relationship, suggestions anyone?
In between vacation planning, house and job hunting, paper writing, finishing up, getting frustrated, it was so difficult to find time to read. I had neglected social contact in person and online. This book somehow gave me a break from what was occupying my mind. I was reading in the restroom, making coffee, asking husband to drive me to work so that I can read on the way, walking, gymming so on. Thanks to kindle it was actually possible!
Now to reestablish this relationship, suggestions anyone?
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