Missing You Appa

Sometimes when I sleep I dream of you. It rarely happens. Since you died I could count the instances on one hand. But when I wake up in the morning, they have been my happiest nights. To just have you alive with me one more time.

The first two times I rewrote history. Was sweeter to you before your surgery. Kissed and hugged you hard instead of brashly trying to brush you into your surgery while secretly worrying about giving you a cold from my is it an infection or my sinuses acting up drippy nose. Gave you words of confidence and courage after your surgery to recover and come back and be with me. Met you every day in the ICU instead of heading back home to rest. Returned back from the ICU. When I woke up, my heart was singing with joy. Every single one of my regrets I had reversed. I just wish it had been true. 

The next time we were at home post surgery. I was content through my disbelief. Daily humdrums.

I wish you came more often to me in my dreams. It's the only way I can keep you alive with me as a moving picture. Miss you so much Appa. I wish time were not linear forward. It is so empty without you.

How does the caterpillar feel?

I wonder about the caterpillar.

If it could express it's feelings would it rail at the world?

Would it be angry that people seem to wait for it to turn into a butterfly to say,'How Beautiful'!

Or would it be eagerly waiting with humming excitement for the day it turned into a butterfly?

For when it stop being so mediocre and became something that could fly and look beautiful?

Or would it just chomp away at the leaf rhythmically, living for each day

In uncaring indifference of what comes next.

Or would it wish to be acknowledged for being who it is

Placid in life, content to just nibble at the leaf

Not really longing to become the butterfly

Coronavirus

It seems strange to write after 5 years. 5 years. 5 years too long. 5 years too short.

I don't really want to write now. But given that we are in the middle of World War III, it seemed quite necessary to mark this point in history.

Today I am alive. I may not be in a year. I mostly will be in a year. The world is in a turmoil like never before. As I write 1.3 Million people have contracted coronavirus (covid19) that we know of, 75000 dead that we know off, and another 45,000 in critical state - likely to die as well.

Countries are crippled - Italy, Spain, and US (with New York). Without lockdowns, cases rise again. Unless we go to zero or come out with a vaccine, 2020 and 2021 is a disaster for humanity and a big win for Mother Earth.

I don't know. A part of me, wants this over with. I want this to end immediately and us to get back to our consumerist, gas guzzling, aggressive, manic quest for expansion given that  I am a hedonist who enjoys the money, the ability to eat out with family and friends, travel the world -see new places, go for morning runs, and binge watch sappy movies and shows.

And then there is this other me - the voice in my head, that says, we had it coming. Did we really think that nature was going to let us rape her unendingly. Something had to give and this was it. Either from this crisis, we learn to respect the need of all creatures great and small of this planet, or die. Could this be our meteor that wiped out the dinosaurs? They were on a rampage raping the planet back then, as we are right now. When I read of how the air is better, civets in Nilgiris, humpback whales happier, as a matter of fact, cute and tiny birds happy and chirping in my own balcony, I can't help but think, as a race, we don't really deserve this gorgeous blue marble. Can we learn to in this rampage of a tiny strand of RNA learn to change our values and our living to one more sustainable, or, will, we head back to hedonism as soon as it's over? 

I don't know. No one is really getting anything right. Nobody heeded Wuhan's warnings to the world and pandered to China's call to not shut the movement of Chinese into the rest of the world. We did, and now, the human population of the world is in terrible trouble. Just when it seemed like lockdowns could be eased,  South Korea, Taiwan and China are seeing another small wave of cases. We are now two weeks into lockdown in India and at less than 5000 cases and a population of 1.3 billion we are at the beginning of it all. We don't necessarily have the facilities to handle it. Some isolation facilities can apparently scare some people into hiding/ committing suicide - it's scary when you here those stories. I wish all the facilities were like Maneswar, Kerala or Karnataka. Apparently, they are good. 


Well, let this war continue unfolding. I need to be strong, be healthy, and continue doing my bit to alleviate the suffering of people and animals in this time of distress, through my only means of helping - contributing monetarily to different causes.

The Happy Marriage

She laughed and teased,

He beat her.

She cooked for him,

He beat her.

She washed and cleaned the house,

He beat her.

She was sweet to his parents,

He beat her,

While she waited and prayed for things to change.

She grew old and ugly,

He ignored her.

She grew tired and slatternly,

He ignored her.

She grew morose and dull,

He ignored her.

While she waited and prayed for an end to come.

No one cooked for him,

And he missed her.

No one hugged him in the night,

And he missed her.

No one heard his rants and raves,

And he missed her.

No one caressed his tired head,

And he missed her.

Their story was meant to be a happy one.

My Chennai flooded...

Yesterday,  I hired a cab and drove down to Chennai and got my husband back who has an exam on Sunday for which he has been preparing since the last year.

It was a reckless adventure of driving through roads adjoining flooding lakes.

I stopped at Krishnagiri and picked up 100 kgs of relief material at a wholesaler and gave it at an NGO in Chennai.

I picked up potatoes, curd, milk and onions for my in laws.

I online ordered milk, curd and some veggies for dad which will get delivered on Sunday by big basket.

But, I didn't visit my dad. I didn't tell him I came. I didn't bring him back to Bangalore. I can make all the excuses that I didn't have the time. That Adyar is safe and he has electricity as well unlike the rest of Chennai ! That I had to get out of Chennai before it got dark so that my cab wouldn't get stuck in roads. But the guilt is killing me.

The euphoria of the journey, the joy of compassion is killed. I'm now drowning in the guilt of me.  What kind of a monster am I?

Confrontation

Confrontation.A powerful, hostile and an honest word.

It seems as if in the last few years I have lost the ability to do so. I don't know if I always lacked it. When I look into the dusty mirrors of my past I seem to see the shadowy image of a person who would not hesitate to take things head on. I'm not sure if my memory serves me right.

I'm not that anymore, if I ever was. I shy from confrontation preferring to live and let be. Preferring the easier line of no resistance or minimum resistance. Is it the right thing to do or wrong?

My heart tells me that to avoid confrontation is to be a coward and to be dishonest. My heart also tells me that being confrontational is being hostile, juvenile and self obsessed. As do experiences.

I cannot judge between these two contradictory line of thoughts. I'm inclined to the first even if I am not so anymore. It seems so much more courageous. It seems like the choice of no regrets.The second seems to me the path of a coward. But then there is this little voice in my head that says no, not cowardly, but wise. Wisdom with regrets.

Nature is speaking: People need nature

I saw this extremely powerful video yesterday evening and just had to write about it.

Julia Roberts lends her voice to a beautiful beautiful monologue by Nature.

Powerful, Lashing, Terrifyng, Beautiful, Perfect.

Nature is Speaking: People need nature

Some call me ‘Nature’
Others call me ‘Mother Nature’
I’ve been here for over 4.5 Billion Years
22,500 times longer than you.
I don’t really need people.
But people need me.
Yes, your future depends on me.
When I thrive, you thrive.
When I falter, you falter. Or worse.
But I have been here for eons.
I have fed species greater than you.
I have starved species greater than you.
My oceans.
My soil.
My flowing streams. My forests.
They all can take you. Or leave you.
How you chose to live each day,
 whether you regard or disregard me,
doesn’t really matter to me.
One way. Or the Other.
Your actions will determine your fate.
Not mine.
I am nature.
I will go on.
I am prepared to evolve.
Are you?

What woud I like to do?

I would like to rip some books into two and shred their pages into bits with my fingers.

I would like intentionally run my bike handles against the side of pristine painted cars.

I would like to take some cermaic mugs and glasses and fling them against a wall and watch them break into small fragments.

I would like to pull the hair and scratch the faces of some people I don't like.

I would like to throw my phone across the room.

I would like yell at the top of my voice.

I would like to say cruel and spiteful things to some people and make them cry.

Fate Versus Destiny

I was probably eleven or maybe twelve years old, when I asked a beloved English teacher,"Miss, what is difference between fate and destiny"?


I remember her, looking at me thoughtfully, tapping a chalk against her lips, recollecting a distant memory.

She then told me,"Deepti, I heard this somewhere and I repeat it to you. I hope you do understand it".

"Fate is the canvas gifted to an artist. Destiny is what the he chooses to paint on it".

I thought I understood it well.

Some days even my lucky rocket ship underpants don't help

The Countdown to wishing me a Happy Birthday!

Do you remember the euphoria of celebrating your birthdays as a child? I still feel it as an adult.

I've always been a 'birthday paithyam'. From when I can remember, I've been crazy about my own. I would always start a countdown a month before my birthday getting all excited on how I would celebrate it. When I was young and such a brat, there used to be a rule at home. On my birthday no one was allowed to yell at me - no matter what I did do. License to do as I please!

As I sadly, despairingly,bemoaningly near the last of my 20s birthday, I want to cheer myself up by listing out my favourite birthday gifts.


1. My Barbie Doll - What do I say?I cried, I begged, I demanded. He refused, he sighed and then he capitulated. My dad's 5th Birthday gift to me. Her demise? A hilarious story by itself, that I shall recount some day.

2. Phantom Sweet Cigarettes - On numerous birthdays - my brother's gift to me. Should this have been an hint to the reckless adult I have become?

3. A pretty pink  princess frock - I always longed to own a pretty pink frilly frock and be a princess.Preferably,Cinderella. Surprising, considering the tomboy that I always was. On my 8th Birthday, my maternal grandparents gifted me one which I wore to school with deep satisfaction. That day evening, a couple of boys in my class offered to bury me neck deep in sand as a birthday gift. I was ecstatic and leapt into the hole feet first. Well, what do I say? When I did get out, my no more pretty, brown and black, torn frock had to be buried away-albeit permanently. Sigh, princess ambitions? Me? Really?

4. Pride and Prejudice - A deep sigh of pleasure here. For my 15th Birthday, sick of seeing me eternally borrowing the Pride and Prejudice from our school library, Megs & Bhav gifted me my own copy. My library teacher relieved to know that other students of our school could have the opportunity to read Jane Austen had the book plastic wrapped for me as her gift. Wow.I think this figures as one of the top 3 best ever gifts I have received.

5. Poornima Aunty & Sweet Sixteen- On my 16th Birthday,the skies wept and I didn't carry an umbrella to school. My drenched birthday frock caught against a nail and tore,and my best friends' forgot that it was my birthday. I, in the typical Deepti style, sulked and ignored them all day, despite repeat apologies. Come evening, Ashu's mother calls me up and says, "Deepti, I'm sorry that my daughter forgot your birthday.Let me celebrate yours". She treats the 4 of us to Avengers and dinner with a cake. Eternally grateful to you, Aunty.

6. My classy Titan watch - Since the last 10 years, I have been using the same watch. A gift from Perima, Peripa and my sister for my 18th Birthday.

7. A library card - The bestest gift I have ever received in my life!When I was 12 or 13, my dad cancelled our membership to the local lending library after i lost three books. For my 18th Birthday, my dad gifted me my very own card to our local lending library. It was white,glossy and had my name printed on it. Wow, I really do have a dad who knows his daughter amazingly well.

8. The 5th Avenue Burger - I was in Hyderabad for my exam study leaves on my 20th Birthday. While my aunt pestered me asking,"Shall I make chola batura or vethai kozhambu or  pulav for your birthday", her mother in law, my athai patti, a madisaru wearing 80 odd year old grandma, shoves a 50 Rupee note in my hand and smiles and tell me, "Kanna, onnaku antha burger naa romba pudikkumae, vangiko, en birthday gift onnaku". Awwwww.

9. My book cupboard - Sick and tired of seeing my books strewn around the house and bursting at the seams of my clothes cupoard, my dad had a book cupboard built for me to keep all my books for my 28th Birthday.What do I say but awesome?

Well the countdown to the last of the 20s begins now. Here's to hoping that I survive the two day long meetings with the bosses in Mumbai and my flight reaches Bangalore in time to celebrate my birthday with dear friends.

P.S. I think, just to make me happy, I'm going to celebrate my next five birthdays as my 29th Birthday.

Catch a Falling Star...

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day

For love may come and tap you on the shoulder some starless night
And just in case you feel you want to hold her
You'll have a pocketful of starlight

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day

For love may come and tap you on the shoulder some starless night
And just in case you feel you want to hold her
You'll have a pocketful of starlight

Pocketful of starlight

Pocketful of starlight

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day

For when your troubles start multiplyin' and they just might
It's easy to forget them without tryin'
With just a pocketful of starlight

Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Never let it fade away
Catch a falling star and put it in your pocket
Save it for a rainy day

Save it for a rainy day
Save it for a rainy day

Save it for a rainy day

Save it for a rainy day

It's really hard to choose which version is the best.

 Nina Wall

    Perry Como

   Jane Morgan

 Jane Morgan's reminds me of Judy Garland and that entire era of marvellous musicals..Meet me in St Louis, Seven Wives for Seven brothers, Wizard of Oz... Nina Wall's voice is so husky and alluring... Perry Como's version wants me to tap my feet and click my fingers.. Hmmm.. I think Nina Wall's..where did she go?

Even this shall pass away...

In one day, I discover two beautiful poems...Very lovely, very different...

Even this shall pass away
By Theodore Tilton

Once in Persia reigned a King,
Who upon his signet ring
Graved a maxim true and wise,
Which, if held before his eyes,
Gave him counsel at a glance,
Fit for every change and chance.
Solemn words, and these are they;
"Even this shall pass away."

Trains of camels through the sand
Brought him gems from Samarkand;
Fleets of galleys through the seas
Brought him pearls to match with these;
But he counted not his gain,
Treasures of the mine or main;
"What is wealth?" the king would say;
"Even this shall pass away."

Mid the revels of his court,
At the zenith of his sport,
When the palms of all his guests,
Burned with clapping at his jests,
He, amid his figs and wine;
Cried, 'O loving friends of mine;
Pleasures come, but not to stay;
"Even this shall pass away"

Lady, fairest ever seen,
Was the bride he crowned his queen.
Pillowed on his marriage bed,
Softly to his soul he said:
Though no bridegroom ever pressed;
Fairer bosom to his breast,
Mortal flesh must come to clay-
"Even this shall pass away"

Fighting on a furious field,
Once a javelin pierced his shield;
Soldiers, with a loud lament,
Bore him bleeding to his tent.
Groaning from his tortured side,
"Pain is hard to bear," he cried;
"But with patience, day by day",
"Even this shall pass away"

Towering in the public square,
Twenty cubits in the air,
Rose his statue carved in stone.
Then the king, disguised, unknown,
Stood before his sculptured name,
Musing meekly: "What is fame?"
Fame is but a slow decay;
"Even this shall pass away"

Struck with palsy, sore and old,
Waiting at the Gates of Gold,
Said he with his dying breath,
"Life is done, but what is death?"
Then, in answer to the king,
Fell a sun beam on his ring,
Showing by a heavenly ray,
"Even this shall pass away."

This too shall pass away
 By Helen Steiner  

If I can endure for this minute
Whatever is happening to me,
No matter how heavy my heart is
Or how dark the moment may be-

If I can remain calm and quiet
With all the world crashing about me,
Secure in the knowledge God loves me
When everyone else seems to doubt me-

If I can but keep on believing
What I know in my heart to be true,
That darkness will fade with the morning
And that this will pass away, too-

Then nothing in life can defeat me
For as long as this knowledge remains
I can suffer whatever is happening
For I know God will break all of the chains

That are binding me tight in the darkness
And trying to fill me with fear-
For there is no night without dawning
And I know that my morning is near.

A letter to You...

Dear You,


Do you remember the day we first met? I do.

I was seven years old and so were you. It was the first day of a new term in school. You were the new boy in class and Mrs. L made you sit next to me. I was very angry with you. I had wanted to sit next to Div – the girl I wanted as my newest best friend. For two years, I had tried to attract her attention and she had ignored me. Everyone wanted to be friends with Div and she had smiled at me that day for the first time, which had made me hope that I would be her newest friend. You spoiled that.

You tentatively grinned at me. I turned my head away. You offered me a sugar sprinkled chocolate biscuit in the break. I pulled out a white chalk from my green skirt pocket and drew a shaky white line on the dirty orange desk we had to share and primly told you, “My half, your half – Don’t cross”. You looked so shattered. I ignored you and smiled broadly at Div to try capturing her attention and therefore her friendship. She ignored me. Do you know how much I blamed and hated you at that moment?

Do you remember when we became friends? I don’t.

It was probably after I gave up expecting Div to be my friend. All the boys teased you – teased you for hanging out with a girl. You didn’t care. What an unlikely combination – The oily haired, pig tailed, loud voiced termagant with her brown streaked crumpled white shirt over chalk stained skirt and the polite, well-mannered boy who always wore sparkling white pressed shirts and never had a speck of dirt on his face. I failed Math and Science. You aced the class. The teachers adored you. You were so beautiful. What an unexpected friendship. Tuesday’s child and Wednesday’s child.

Do you remember the day you made me cry? I do.

We were building a castle of sand together in the playground. I wanted the castle to have moats, you didn’t. I ignored you and started to clump sand together making my moat. I never saw you get angry the way you did that day. I don’t know why you did. It was just a moat. So callously, you swept your hand against my moat. I watched my scattered sand in dismay and then looked up at you, hoping to see remorse in your face. But it was not to be. You looked at me defiantly. I lost my temper then. I rose to my knees, leaned forward and beat my arms downwards destroying our castle. I didn’t stop until all that was left were mounds of ruffled sand. I looked up at you; my anger gone, with a gleeful smile. I didn’t expect you to react the way you did that day. You were always so even tempered and placating. But that day, no. Your ears turned pink as did your cheeks. Your face seemed to puff up in rage as you stared at the destroyed remains and my sand coated self. I don’t know what ran in your mind at that moment. You knelt downwards, picking up clumps of sand in your fist and then in one furious moment flung it at my face. I was in shock for a moment as I raised my hands to my face and my eyes covered with sand. And then I started to cry. I cried for the sand in my eyes, I cried for your treating me so bad, I cried for our castle and I cried for the friendship I was going to say goodbye to.

I didn’t speak to you for months. You tried so much. You rubbed away the chalk lines that I started to draw again dividing our desk. You brought me sugar coated coconut biscuits which you knew I loved so much. I wouldn’t touch them. You tried to loan me pencils when I forgot to bring mine. I would stare at my empty notebook rather than touch your pencils. I was so hard and unforgiving.

Do you know when I fell in love with you? I do.

It was the last day of the year. By then Div had chosen me to be her friend. And you had moved on to start playing football with the other boys. That day I was sitting in the playground reading ‘Little Princess’ imagining I was Sarah. You shuffled up to me and cleared your throat to catch my attention. When I looked up frowningly from my book you smiled tentatively. I stared at you blankly. You reached your hand out towards me palm faced upwards. In it lay a tiny bar of soap. I looked at you quizzically. You softly told me, “Sorry. I got this for you to wash your face. For the, for the – sand I threw in it”. I nodded my head and took the soap from your hand and said, “Thank you”. In that moment, all my anger melted away. That was when I fell in love with you.

Do you know when you broke my heart? I do.

You told me in a voice filled with wistful regret, “My father has got a job in Delhi. We leave tomorrow. I will miss you forever”.

Love,
Dee

Valerie's Letter

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k2W0-z8EnaM

I know there’s no way I can convince you this is not one of their tricks. But I don’t care. I am me.

My name is Valerie. I don’t think I’ll live much longer, and I wanted to tell someone about my life. This is the only autobiography that I’ll ever write, and – God – I’m writing it on toilet paper.

I was born in Nottingham in 1985. I don’t remember much of those early years. But I do remember the rain. My grandmother owned a farm in Tottlebrook, and she used to tell me that God was in the rain. I passed my eleven plus, and went to a girl’s grammar. It was at school that I met my first girlfriend. Her name was Sarah.

It was her wrists – they were beautiful.

I thought we would love each other forever. I remember our teacher telling us that it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew. Sarah did. I didn’t.

In 2002 I fell in love with a girl named Christina. That year I came out to my parents. I couldn’t have done it without Chris holding my hand. My father wouldn’t look at me. He told me to go and never come back. My mother said nothing.

I’d only told them the truth. Was that so selfish?
Our integrity sells for so little, but it is all we really have.

It is the very last inch of us.
But within that inch, we are free.

I’d always known what I’d wanted to do with my life, and in 2015 I started my first film: The Salt Flats. It was the most important role of my life. Not because of my career, but because that was how I met Ruth.

The first time we kissed, I knew I never wanted to kiss any other lips but hers again.

We moved to a small flat in London together. She grew scarlet carsons for me in our window box. And our place always smelt of roses. Those were the best years of my life. But America’s war grew worse and worse and eventually came to London.

After that there were no roses anymore. Not for anyone.

I remember how the meaning of words began to change. How unfamiliar words like “collateral” and “rendition” became frightening. Where things like norsefire and the articles of allegiance became powerful, I remember how different became dangerous. I still don’t understand it: why they hate us so much. They took Ruth while she was out buying food. I’ve never cried so hard in my life. It wasn’t long until they came for me.

It seems strange that my life should end in such a terrible place.

But for three years I had roses – and apologized to no-one.

I shall die here.

Every inch of me shall perish.
Every inch. But one.

An inch.

It is small and it is fragile, and it is the only thing in the world worth having.

We must never lose it or give it away. We must never let them take it from us

I hope that - whoever you are - you escape this place. I hope that the world turns, and that things get better.

But what I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that even though I do not know you and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you:

I love you.
With all my heart. I love you.

Valerie

3

I can’t think of anything worse after a night of drinking than waking up next to someone and not being able to remember their name, or how you met, or why they’re dead. —Laura Kightlinger

3 - The number of lines it takes to make a triangle

3 - Athos, Porthos, Aramis

3 - The number of spatial dimensions

3 - The holy trinity

3 - The movie of the song 'Kolaveri'

3 - The first odd prime number

3 - The beauty of a trilogy

3 - The second half of <3

3 - The hat trick moment of triumph

3 - The Wiccan law of return

3 - Does bad luck come in threes?

3 - The principal characters in a joke

3 - The dramatic 'Veni, vidi, vici'

3 - Third time lucky?

3 - The number of bears Goldilocks annoyed

3 - 'The Man, The Texter, The Scribe'

It's not a sense of foreboding. But why am I so afraid?

The lost childhood.

Where did she go?
The girl with skinned knees
The girl with cropped hair
The girl in denim and tees

Where did she go?
The girl with the brown face
The girl with dirty nails
The girl who knew cotton - not lace

Where did she go?
The girl who laughed too loud
The girl who cried unashamedly
The girl who held her own in a crowd

Where did she go?
The girl who could fistcuff & fight
The girl who stood her ground
The girl who didn't hesitate in calling right

The swinging hand

The hand that swings

needs the clapping sound

of the hand that swings

in eager return

When the hand that swings

touches only grim silence

will it with brimming hope

try once - perchance twice?

But when all it feels

is a pregnant stillness

How can you expect

for it to swing again?

Of Fairy Tales & Waking up

When I was young, I adored my Disney fairy tales. I loved the princesses, their singing and more than anything else, the -'and then they lived happily ever after...' ending of the tales. It made be believe that every single person, from me to the prime minister to the beggar on the street was destined to a happy ending even if the beginning was filled with unhappiness. I was fond of Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty and insane about Bella. Actually, I, still adore Bella & her beast. She was probably the only heroine in a Disney tale back in those days with enough bravado to put the beast in his place and give it back in full measure to the villain, Gaston. I seriously <3 Bella.

As I grow older, however, I can't but wonder, about the happily ever after of all of them, barring Bella ( Bella is my personal rockstar and no one can diss her, not even me ). Take Sleeping Beauty for example. She awakens after a hundred years with a kiss from her prince. Seriously? If for some reason I was to go into a coma and wake up even 10 years later, I think I would be too disoriented by the way the world around me has progressed and changed. I would be so totally out of my depth, thrown into despair by being so clueless about things and probably go into some deep dejection. But not Sleeping Beauty. She marries the prince and lives happily ever after with no muscle atrophy after 100 years of sleep, perfectly in sync with the century she has hopped into.

Yeah, sure.I totally get it.

P.S. I know that Fairy tales are meant for children and not meant to be psycho analyzed by adults.

A.W.A.D

Claustrophobia

• a morbid fear of being closed in a confined space wordnetweb.princeton.edu/perl/webwn
• Claustrophobia (from Latin claustrum "a shut in place" and Greek φόβος, phóbos, "fear") is the fear of having no escape and being closed in. It is typically classified as an anxiety disorder and often results in panic attack. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claustrophobia


• claustrophobic - uncomfortably closed or hemmed in; "a claustrophobic little room"
  claustrophobic - suffering from claustrophobia; abnormally afraid of closed-in places wordnetweb.princeton.edu/perl/webwn


• Fear of confined spaces. www.usanetwork.com/series/monk/webexclusives/dictionary/phobiac.html


• a phobia of closed spaces or situations which are difficult to escape from. May occur with elevators, escalators, etc., anxiety-panic.com/dictionary/en-dictc.htm


• abnormal dread of being in closed or narrow spaces Blood 2X03 www.askdrscully.com/psychward.html