Breaking the ice

I used to resemble an iceberg. Cold. Aloof. Devoid of emotions.

Is it good or bad? Should I be cold or warm? With global warming I realized that I’d melt away without a trace, even if I resisted. So I borrowed a page from Obama and decided to “change”; become more human. Make history in the process, even if it was confined to the book shelf of my family home.

I mentally backtracked to find the reasons how I became an iceberg. I started chipping away at the block of memory from early childhood.

I found myself in my grandparents’ house. It was dark. Energy conservation was in effect and at exactly 7 p.m. the lights went out for two hours. In the early sixties, this was family prime time. Radio played only when it was plugged in. Television was merely read about in newspapers. The World Wide Web was known as three separate words.

My grandfather lay sprawled on his wooden recliner and snored softly. Grandma fed me mouthfuls of mashed rice and vegetables laced with stories from Indian epics. I was sitting cross-legged on the open porch wearing shorts and suspenders. Even after the dinner and stories were done with, we would sit there. Grandma, I imagined, would be thinking of next day’s menu or her patients scheduled for the week.

Since I did not have any thoughts to worry about, I gazed at the dark moving shadows of the thick vegetation. Though the night was warm, imaginary shapes of demons produced goose pimples on my body. Over time, the shapes grew friendly. I learnt to use the same darkness as a protective cloak throughout my youth.

Years later, I silently fell in love and married a wonderful person who spoke for both of us and then some more in her sleep! Wherever we went we attracted new friends and family. If there is one word they used to describe me, it’d be “quiet”. Some of them thought I was “very intelligent”. Others said, “I was a man of few words”. But they always added, “Silence is golden”. I stuck to my silence, talking just enough to exercise my vocal chords.

At the turn of the century we migrated to Canada. It took us sometime to make new friends. My wife found this period trying as she did not have enough people with whom to converse. If I did not talk, she cautioned me, she would stop speaking to me altogether. That only increased the monologue in her sleep. Sometimes I talked back to her!

Lately my silence became heavy. It threatened to burst and pour out random words to anybody who would listen. To stem the onslaught I started writing a blog. That did not help. Words rushed out; my typing could not keep up with the flow. It then dawned on me that I had to prise my mouth open and speak.

I hadn’t spoken in a long time. Could someone teach me to speak? What do I do with my hands? Should I wear trousers with side pockets so I could stick them inside? What if I perspire?

Regardless, I started talking. When I went for my walks I wished everyone “Good Morning” or “Good Evening” as the case may be. Most of them smiled back and returned my greeting. In the height of winter my words froze in mid-air. Some of them took the time to cup their hands around it, warm it, and listen to it! I wished people in the subway, held doors open for them. When they thanked me I would say “You’re welcome”. A live human being began to emerge. Joy and happiness permeated every pore of my body. I felt lighter. It was a wonderful feeling.

Things hit a snag when I started introducing myself. My father, in an unguarded moment of his life, named me with two words that are each a mile long. Teachers in my school had to bicycle from one end to read my whole name. My friends called me all sorts of names. I did not mind that. Senior students addressed me as, “Hey, you!”, and I got into many a fight.

I devised new methods to shorten my name. Frankly, my friends did that for me. I had four sets of friends who called me by different names! I got a fresh set of names since we migrated to Canada. My name got anglicized. When I received mail, I found that certain letters disappeared from the end of my name. I thought I would end up with split personalities having to match my behavior to each name.

The iceberg personality threatened to take over again. Warmth went into hibernation. Before I became a fossilized human being, I realized that I needed professional help.

As with anything these days, I turned to Google. The magic box suggested Toastmasters. I mustered up enough courage to contact its local chapter, Gavel and Glass. And here I am, once again trying to break the ice. I hope the rest will become history of some sort.

On Thanksgiving

I first heard about Thanksgiving eight years back. Of course, I was familiar with the literal word, but never gave it much thought. What I knew of Thanksgiving till then was in bits of conversation and stories. And, till recently I presumed Thanksgiving was a religious festival!


The first thanksgiving I truly enjoyed was in the year 2000. The senior most member in my friends' circle took it upon himself to celebrate Thanksgiving and roast a turkey. Four families met in Hamilton on a cold rainy night. After we hung our coats, we paraded into the kitchen and found our host staring at this big bird on the kitchen island counter.


"I should have bought an axe to hack this thing," were the first words he uttered. We burst out laughing and started clicking pictures of the bird, the host, and both of them together. That day he looked like an unlikely chef; this big man with a brand new apron around him standing and threatening an equally big bird with a huge carving knife and what looked like a smaller pitchfork.


Like a ninja warrior he swooped down on the bird with an "eeeeaaaaagh!" The theatrics stopped as soon as the knife broke the skin of the bird. Then, to soothing Mozart in the background, he gently started carving up our dinner into thin slabs. Although an engineer by profession, he wielded the knife like a scalpel. A trait no doubt passed from his father, a surgeon.


It took him half an hour to strip the turkey to the bone. And it took us more than an hour to do justice that evening.


Over the years my friend fine-tuned his turkey carving skills. Now he can slice a live turkey without the bird knowing it. And I have begun to learn more and more about the harvest festival to the point that I have started drawing parallels, or rather I should say contrasts, to the harvest festival we celebrate in India.


From where I originate, Kerala, our harvest festival is called Onam. Onam is celebrated over 10 days of food, more food, new clothes, cultural activities, boat races, and more. All food is vegetarian and is varied. Read about Onam

Toastmaster membership

Yesterday was a new beginning for me at the Toastmasters Club - Gavel and Glass.

Unlike last time, the proceedings were held on the ground level. We had a guest speaker, Steve Rackus ("mispronounced ruckus"), who spoke with humour.

The topic of the day was friendship. The impromptu speech I received was, "Tell us about a good friend who taught you a life lesson". My mind went blank. I stammered something for a few seconds and announced, "I cannot think of anything else". Later on, when I sat down I realized I could have told more than one story of the life's lessons (one such lesson) I have learned from my best friend - my wife.

Steve is single again. He is amicably separated from his wife and is charting a new course in his life. He is brilliant and humorous and teaches at a local college. He has a very positive attitude towards life; live life to the full.

There were about 15 members yesterday who have their own stories to tell. I too have a story to tell in front of all the toastmasters. I have started preparing for it; I have been assigned a mentor to guide me. In a few weeks, I will be making my ice-breaker speech; the story of my life.

These sessions are for a) confidence building b) learning leadership skills and c) how to be a great speaker. In my case there is no dearth of words coming to my mouth; they stop there and, looking for an outlet, start perspiring. I need to work those jaw muscles and build up confidence to face tens of thousands of people and confidently speak.

Checking it out

I went to a gathering of toastmasters. I told them I want to find "my voice".

Have you ever spoken in front of strangers? I find it terrifying. Depending on the time frame and my frame of mind, perspiration would cover my forehead, my heart would stomp around my chest, and my hands would start looking for a hiding place.

My impromptu topic yesterday was 'Watching horror films'. I managed to mumble a few words probably enacting a real time horror film! As the days progress I hope my confidence skyrockets.