2 States. Or 3. Or wait, is that 4?

Warning: Super long post ahead.
When you ignore excellent advice , let boredom get the better of you, and start reading Chetan Bhagat's latest, you deserve to have a headache. It is dreadful. I don't know which uneducated, unfit- for- civilised -society Punjabi woman he has modelled the Punjabi mother's charecter on, her behaviour is unbelievable. As for the Tamilians. My goodness!! Which urban Tamilian, or for that matter South Indian family, eats off banana leafs on the floor as a matter of routine? Do Tamil men really read The Hindu 24x7? Even during weddings? Based on my considerable knowledge of Kannadigas, Malayalis, Tamilians and people from Andhra I reeeaaallly don't think so.

To be fair, some bits did ring true, the Punjabi obsession with food, the over the top wedding, the handing over of car keys to the dulha, Chennai autos, the wedding description at the end...yes those were the believable bits. But the rest..atrocious rubbish. I should write a book on a marriage between 2 states. 3 states if you consider the Boy is more Tamilian than Punjabi in his choice of entertainment (Rajni Saar wof course!), food (curd rice rules) and comfort levels. Some of my experiences and valuable insights on Punjabis:

I have noticed that Punjabis do place a certain value on giving and receiving gifts (at weddings more so). Specially if you are newly wed and are going to their house for the first time. There is no time period on this offer. Almost 3 years after my wedding, I still receive pretty envelopes with notes of high denomination inside : "Arre rakh lo beta, shagun hota hai, pehli baar ghar aaye ho".
Me: "Nahin nahin Aunty what is this, what was the need" ( reaches out and grabs envelope with greedy paws wondering when she can open and check the amount inside). I do hope I get to visit new Aunties and Uncles aaaall the time.

My first brush with a proper Punjabi wedding( as opposed to my hotch potch one) was when Rahul's cousin got married. In saddi Dilli. The jaimalas were made of orchids. There was a mechanised shower of orchid and rose petals when they exchanged garlands. He was gifted a fancy car. The wedding lived up to all my expectations of an ostentatious Punjabi wedding down to the sparkly saris and dripping diamonds and the chaat counters and the four kinds of cuisines and the DJ in the backside. Seriously, to quote Monsoon Wedding, these Punjabis are soooo ostentatious... my pretentious Bengali soul loved ever second of it.

However the shameless display of wealth is besides the point. What really impressed me was how dangerous Punjabi weddings are. There I was, looking distinctly shabby in my Kanjeevaram in a sea of sparkliness, dancing merrily at the head of the baarat when I heard this POP POP sound just behind me. Thinking it was advisable to get away from fireworks I turned to check. I saw a suited booted, evidently inebriated man holding two pistols high up in the air. The sounds, as my dazed brain noted, were being emitted by those pistols. "Are those real?" I quaveringly queried. "Of course they are real beta, you think I will bring fake pistols to a wedding?"he said incredulously. My timid Bengali self gaped,thinking that surely he was emphasising the wrong word. My mother in law came swooping in and made me move from there, saying "Yeh Jat log!! Shaadi mein tamasha karte hain. Come away, you might get shot"! SHOT. Getting SHOT was a real possibility here people. I swiftly moved my considerable girth far away from him. I stood behind the horse. Only to have my aunt in law frantically pulling me away. Apparantly the horses kick. Hard. Break bones sometimes Im told. Again, I moved far away from the possibly delinquent horse as well as obviously mad gun weilding Jat. Only to have my mother in law once more swooping in on me to tell me that standing on the sides of the wedding procession is dangerous as the light walas and band walas jump on u make off with your jewellery. What a dangerous business it is to get married in Delhi to a Punjabi. Guns, kicking horses thieving light and band walas!! Phew!! Its a miracle I made it back to placid Bangalore with my life and my (meagre) jewellery intact.

Speaking of placid. Here, in the South of India, road fights happen like they do elsewhere in this country. More often than not, the two parties circle each other like angry hens. Each party says "Ai" in various tones and levels of threatning-ness. Sometimes, they chuck glass bottles at each other, careful to aim for the area around the feet. To avoid unneccessary bloodshed you know. Very Gandhian. If it a domestic fight then each party rushes inside only to re-emerge with a knife or a sickle or somesuch. They make suitably dramatic proclaimations about cutting the other party in half. And wait for their female relatives to rush in and hold them by the arms and wail. An hour later, both parties disperse with menacing looks at each other.

In the North, they do things a weeee bit differently. We were in Chandigarh. Travelling with Rahuls Maasiji and Maasadji (former bodybuilder or wrestler or somesuch) in their car. Suddenly this HUGE tractor opposite us, broke the traffic light, hit a bike, sending the rider flying and jumped into our lane at full speed missing the car by centimetres. Maasadji gave an enraged roar. Much like an angry lion. He turned the car around at full speed, tyres screeching and all. Chased after the tractor and swerved dramatically in front of it forcing it to stop. He jumped out, caught hold of the driver by the shoulder shaking him like the proverbial rat. Even as our (mine and Rahul) South India acclimitised brains were registering this, Maasadji delivered TWO resounding slaps on the drivers face. My jaw dropped. Maasiji, by this time got out of the car with a bellow like an angry bull and language that makes even me blush. She too proceeded to deliver two tight slaps. A crowd collected. Maasiji continued bellowing in Punjabi, something about the driver almost killing her son n daughter in law before they stepped into her home. Hearing the bit about the daughter in law, large throngs of women gathered around the car, to peek at the noo....unsuspecting dumbstruck me. Even while the bike rider and policeman and crowd continued to berate the drunk tractor driver, these women pulled away from the windows with disappointed faces, conversing in Punjabi about how plain the noo was and did you see the clothes shes wearing? So plain. And not even wearing chooda..tsk tsk these modern types. It was quite surreal I assure you. I am very much in awe of both Maasadji and Maasiji. My heroes!!

Chetan Bhagat writes about the Punjabi obsession with food and feeding. Especially dairy products. How right he is. I firmly believe that milky chai and paneer can solve all problems if there is a Punjabi concerned. I once had a Sardar colleague who relocated to Bangalore from Delhi and went back to Delhi after a month because he could'nt get good paneer in this city.

After we got married, we decided to honeymoon in Manali. Part of the reason was that we would go via Chandigarh where Rahul's nani and uncles and aunts lived and Naniji was not able to come for the wedding. We reached late at night and went to sleep. When I awoke the next day, I was given tea with mathris and dhodhas (a North Indian delicacy that I detest). Very happy about eating deep fried snacks for breakfast I helped myself generously. Alas! How little I knew of the Punjabi obsession with feeding. This was just the prelude. 20 minutes later I realized ghee soaked alu paranthas with dollops of white butter were on their way. An ardent lover of aloo I rubbed my hands in glee and helped myself to one. Except that the bare minimum they expected me to eat was 3. I bravely managed 2. We then went to see the Lake and the Rock Garden. An hour later, with breakfast barely digested, we made our way to the aforementioned Maasijis house for lunch. Lunch was a very 'simple' affair..puris (fried in enough oil to make my arteries choke from just looking at it), choley, alu gobi, mattar paneer, jeera rice, capsicum alu, dahi bhallas, salad, and ghee laden gajar ka halwa. Each dish was exquisite, my mouth is watering at the memory. But my stomach groaned in protest as more and more food was piled on my plate. We managed to finish lunch by about 3.30. At 5 p.m. we went to another Maasijis place. There she insisted on us having tea. And cake. And sev. And more mathris. This time I managed to stick to just tea. Possibly because the boy, incredibly enough, was eating everything in sight. When we boarded the bus to Manali, Maasiji fondly pressed a large and heavy bag into my hands. Dinner you see. Again very simple. 12 ghee smeared rotis, paneer bhurji, anda bhuri, kheer. Stomach churning we put it away. As the bus climbed the Himalayan slopes all the food I had ingested during the day started clamouring to come out. I looked out of the windows at the moonlit mountainside, biting my lips and telling myself, "Its so beautiful, puking here would be a crime against Nature". We reached Manali and the first thing we did was medical shops since both our stomachs had surrendered.

We are visiting Chandigarh and Delhi again in 2 weeks time. Im totally looking forward to it. Rahuls relatives are warm 'bade dil wale' people who made me feel totally at home from Day 1. No we didnt know that the brides family is supposed to give a Punjabi mother in law gold jewellery at the wedding. They didnt tell us and we didnt give. We also did not give a car to Rahul. There were no orchids and no 5 different cuisines at my wedding. And you know what? Everyone who attended the wedding from his side only talks about how wonderful the whole experience was, and how well my Dad had organised the whole thing and how wonderfully at home my family made them feel. In Delhi, Rahuls 82 year old Daadi insisted on making paranthas for me when I first went to their house, despite the doctors orders to rest, because its a tradition she established with her own daughters in law and she wanted to continue it with me. I love visiting his mamas and maasis in Chandigarh because I feel like I've belonged to their family for years and years. Of course there are stereotypes reinforced and culture shocks and major adjustments, but what would life be without them?

More conversations with EB

Ah EB (ex boss). GTalk brings out the best in us...

Ronita :this farmville on FB
weird
pink goru* tht gives strawberry milk!!!!!!!???

* goru: cow

EB:yeah
u also get brown goru
which gives chocolate milk

EB: baba ki customised gorus

EB:then u get horses and goats and pigs and elephants and chicken and etc etc
u can really make a beautiful farm of your own

Ronita : elephants!!!?
on a farm!!!?

EB:u nurture them
and every few days they give u circus peanuts

Ronita :circus peanuts!!!?
from where ?
from their behinds?
they shoot it out of their trunks??

EB:dont know from where
its just that when they r ready u click on them and collect circus peanuts

Ronita: so this pink cows strawberry milk...is it like strawberry milkshake whn it comes out of the pink cow?or do u hv to separately shake it?

EB: it says strawberry milk so i suppose u got to shake it

Ronita: i see
u cud try shaking the cown then seeing if milkshake comes out

EB: but theres no option of shaking
u can only move the cow from one end to another
u got to milk them urself and it all happens at the click of a button
see how hi tech the cows are becoming

EB: arent there sexy farmers wenches in this farmville?
who wear low cut dresses n cowboy hats n traipse around the farm milking cows?

EB: no no nothing of that sort
u got to milk them urself

Ronita: im surprised ur sticking to a farming world where there are no sexy farmer lasses

EB: i am hoping they will come soon
i am sure the developers will enhance the software and include such things and then if i am at advanced stage of farming i will be entitled to the sexiest ones

Ronita
i think ill put this chat on my blog

EB :no
u shd not do anything like that

Ronita :y not
u got good responses last time
ppl who thot u were cute n all

EB: but ppl will not think too highly of you after reading this chat
they will think u are a little insane to have such a conversation

Ronita :anyone who reads my blog doesnt think too highly abt my sanity anyways
i once wrote abt how i think the world wud be if humans had tails
n tht i wud want a swishy fox like tail
n how human tails wud be immensely beneficial
my readers are convinced tht i am on some sort of hallucinogen

EB: helpful to who and how?

Ronita :we wudnt need mosquito repellent
we cud swish our tails around
the cosmetics industry wud benefit
in addition to hair colour they cud make tail color
beauty parlours wud hv special tail trtments
tails cud indicate our moods
husbands wud immensely benefit from tht
u see ur wife's tail standing stiffly in the air
u know she is pissed so u avoid pissing her off even more
her tail is wagging
u make advances
her tail is drooping
u go n make sympathetic noises
etc

EB :my wife's face says it all
i wd not like to look at the tail

Methinks the rest of the conversation should not be put up here. But I heart the Internet :D

Dear Ron

Hi,

No you have'nt gone mad, this is a letter from yourself...just 15 years down the line. Yes. At age 30. No, we will not talk about what it feels like to be so old. Why? Because I said so thats why. Im twice your age and you will shut up and pay heed to the pearls of wisdom I have to share.

So, how was the 15th birthday? Did you have fun giving it back to those changra fellows near Campari who dared to pass comments on you and the gang as you shashayed past? They deserved it, the morons. School's going to get over in just about a year, and life as you knew it will indeed be over. Though ICSE will not be the nightmare that your teachers make it out to be. After Mrs. Jacob's exam papers, the ICSE Chemistry paper will be a breeze. Math will be tough, I admit, but you will do reasonably well in that too. Oh and keep an eye out for RD on the first day of the exam, she will provide you with much entertainment and cause for laughter years after its all over. She will also giggle at you throughout the Geography exam. Ignore her. You still know RD, and SD and SR and T and MC. They are in different parts of the world but you are in touch. In fact, by the time you are where I am right now, you will be in touch with most people from your class. Yes, even AB. No really. She lives in the same city as you, though you try very hard not to meet her (The Internet will have this thing called Facebook and....oh never mind its too complicated to explain. You'll see).

Oh by the way, you know D? He is really into you as well. He has been telling P all about how much he adores you (yeah despite those spectacles) and has been begging her to help him convey his feelings to you. Just stay near the phone this New Years eve. Thats all I will say now. Though, a word of advice, when you do plan to go see a movie with him, do plan it reeeeaaalllly well. Ensure its not a holiday when Dads at home or he might insist on dropping you to the theatre and...well..the word fiasco comes to mind. Though you will laugh about it in the years to come so maybe you should just let it happen. Also, while we are on the topic, next week you will be invited to go to Nicco Park with P and her parents and D and his parents. Try not to giggle and simper too much. When you are my age, the memories of a simpering you will make you want to slap yourself heartily. And wear that black skirt. Its not too short and you are not too fat. You have nice legs...show them off. D will appreciate very much.

Speaking of clothes. For Gods sake girl!! You are NOT too fat. When you are my age you will be looking back, wondering why on earth you would want to spend your teenage years in shapeless salwar kameezes and T shirts. As far as fat goes, you will be a whole lot fatter in the years to come, so please wear some nice fitted clothes now. Live a little. There is no reason for you to avoid parties and social gatherings because you think you are fat and ugly. You are not and frankly noone cares. Everyone is too busy having fun to stop and look at you and think you are a misfit. Walk in like you own the place, be yourself, let your hair down. You are a popular girl with lots of friends, you will manage to make friends and have friends to hang out with all your life. Stop with the inferiority complex already.

What? ICSE? Again? I told you, it was no big deal. Noone ever asked you for your ICSE results since your Plus 2 admissions. And you know what? So many of your classmates who were not too academically bright are doing way better than you professionally. Just goes to show doesnt it? Yeah you have a job. One that you don't like much. You are not very ambitious, even at age 30. You are doing resonably ok in a career you dont like much and thats good enough for you. You have managed to learn to drive, though not to swim or ride a cycle. Your ability to cuss in Bengali Hindi and English at age 30 would probably make the convent bred you at age 15 blush and die. You didnt go college in Calcutta. In fact you left Calcutta right after Class 12. You moved around the country a fair bit, something you are very grateful for. You now live in the South of India and right now are craving a ghee roast masala dosa.

Oh yes you are married. No not to D you silly twit. Did you really think teenage loves last a lifetime? You are not even married to a Bengali. He is tall fair and mostly harmeless. You will meet him in college but liked him only after a common friend re-introduces you a few years later. He was obnoxious earlier. But when you are re-introduced to him and get to know him a little better, you will know in a week that he is the One. You will feel like you are walking on air when he drops you home one night. And since you are YOU, you will tell yourself not to be a complete moron and get those romance novels out of your head. But fail miserably. Now you are happy, even though you are overcome by the desire to slap him hard from time to time but I think thats a reaction most men elicit from their wives, so its normal.

As I write this letter to you, I'm tempted to tell you what's going to come next in your life. And advise you to join School A instead of the School B that you did eventually join after 10th. Im tempted to tell you about exactly what will happen next with D; about the boy you will meet in college; about the boy you will meet in University. Im tempted to tell you to stay away from the last mentioned boy as well as from a girl you will think of as your best friend. Tempted to tell you of the lonliness and heartache you will experience in University thanks to that boy and the best friend .

But then I stop myself. School B was not as glamourous as School A. For a while you with your convent bred English will feel like an alien in a place where some girls pronounce plaits as plates. But with time, you will make friends who speak your kind of English, with similar likes and dislikes. You will make some great friends there. I would'nt want you to miss out on those friends and the fun you will have. The boy in University is going to be dreadful and your experience in University will be dreadful but you need to go through it. You will emerge stronger from that experience. The rose tinted glasses with which you see the world will finally be removed thanks to those people. I would'nt want you to change anything about your life between age 15 and 30 because it will all combine to make you the person you are today. Except maybe some changes to your wardrobe and self image. That is a must do item I think.

This is all I have time for today. Was fun finding you again. Have a great time finding your way out of your teens and through adulthood. Its a fun journey most of the time.

Take Care
Love
Me.

PS: Don't bully your sister too much. She will soon grow up to be a gorgeous teenager with oodles of attitude, a tattoo and a pierced navel. You will be very intimidated by her.

Loudspeaker memories

Durga Pujo is around the corner. I will be in Bangalore. Working. Life's like that whattodo. Last year we took the boy to Kolkata and showed him Durga Pujo. He enjoyed himself but it was very trying for me as I had to translate everything for him, including neelkanto pakhi, Shaami kano Aashami (from movie posters) etc. Anyways, I was discussing Pujo and Kali Pujo with my aunt last night and amongst other things we both fevrently thanked God and the Government of West Bengal for banning loudspeakers during festivals. You see, our memories of any festival cannot be separated from the memories of loudspeakers and loud blaring "muujiik"

Living in Dover Lane, we were spared of mujikal entertainment during Durga Pujo since the closest pandal (Shinghi Park) was quite a distance from us. Kali Pujo on the other hand.....SHUDDER. Not one but three pujos were organised around our house. One 10 metres in front, one 10 metres to the left, one 10 metres to the right. The 3 pandals had 3-4 loudspeakers each. They started the mujikal entertainment early in the morning...say at around 5 a.m..from 3 days before the actual pujo. This continued for a good 3 days after the pujo. I have a great aversion to all Kumar Sanu songs irrespective of language.

The day started with "Chiiiiiirrrrroooodiiiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii tuuuumiii je aamaaaar/juuge juuugeee aaaamiiii tommmmaaaarrriiiii". At 5 a.m. The high pitched Chirooooodiniiiiiiiii breaking into ones dreams abruptly and loudly is not a nice feeling. Im surprised none of us had heart attacks. This would be followed by the breezy "Hoyto aamake kaaro mone nei/Aami je chilaam ei graametei" I have no clue which movie this gem belongs to. But I know it by heart. Would you like me to sing it to you?

As the day wore on the entertainment would move towards Bollywood. "Dekha hai pehli baar/ Saajan ke aankhon mein pyaar" the loudspeakers would inform us, about 10-15 times in a loop, till one would be overcome with the desire to catch the Saajan of the pyaar filled eyes and poke them eyes out. Just when one would be seizing a largeish knife to go in search of the Saajan's eyes, it would switch to "Hawa hawa/ aye hawa / khushboo lutalee". I never quite understood this song. Is it an ode to the wind? To ones love who is like the wind? What does it mean? Towards afternoon, the organizers would shift to mellower music, possibly in deference to the post lunch siesta that most boudis and mashimas of the area would want to indulge in. Therefore the soulful "Snaasoon knii znaarooraat hnai jnaisnee" or " Dhnirree Dhniirree se mneri zindagi mein aaaanaa" would croon nasally from all sides. Needless to say all boudis and mashimas would spend the afternoon heartily cussing Sanu and his loyal fans and tossing from side to side. This would generally be interspersed with some Bangla gaan...cultural gems such as "Eeeee aaaamaaaar gurdooookhinaaaaa/ gurukee jaaaanaaaaiiii pronaaaam ( I can just picture Taposh Pal singing with mouth wide open, clutching a microphone..pained constipated expression on his face) or "Beder meye Jyotsna aamaye kotha diyeche". I think the general thinking was that Bangla gaan is more suited to sleeptime activities...more kaalchaaral if you know what I mean.

Evenings got even worse, if such a scenario is imaginable. "Dil diwana/ bin sajna ke / maaaaneee naaaaaaaa/ yeh pagla hai..." screeched Anuradha Padwal. I hate Maine Pyaar Kiya. It has 10-15 songs. Each of which would be played nonstop. SP Balasubramaniam telling random (freakish) kabootars to ja ja ja in a heavy South Indian accent is not conducive to homework. Trust me on this one. As the evening wore on, the organizers would get more skittish. Hormones and all that. The songs took on a distinct lecherous note.. with "Oye Oye"..an eveteasers favourite and "Oh laal dupatte walli tera naam toh bata" which made it virtually impossible for girls to wear lal duppattas for sometime. Then there was "First time dekha tumhe dil kho gaya / Second time mein love ho gaya/ Yeh akkha India jaanta hai/ hum tum pe marta hai" and the rather violently composed "Maine pyaar tumhi se kiya hai/ maine dil bhi tumhiko diya hai". But my all time favourite remains "Aami Kolkata roshogolla". 16 times nonstop the day before my Math exam. It is seared in my brain for eternity. On the 11th rerun, my normally very shy and reticent Math tutor could take it no more and burst out "Eta ki hoche tokhon theke. Ki gaan eta. Aar tumi ei gaan ta gaicho kano? Ebhaabe onko hoye naaki?(What is this nonsense? What song is this? and why are you singing along? How can you study like this?). Singing along like lobotomised zombies to any rubbish song that happened to be blaring outside was a dangerous side effect that we all experienced. Sometimes we sang even without provocation. I was once punished in school for absentmindedly humming "beder meye jyotsna" in Chemistry class.

Things have changed now of course. Loudspeakers are banned Im told. My aunt and I were heaving big sighs of relief just yesterday ( the organisers in her para had a particular fondness for a morbid number that went "tomar barir shaamne diye / aamar moronjatra jokhon jaabe/ tumi baranda te dnaariye theko/ shesh dekhata dekhte paabe"...one worries about the mental state of the person who played this number at 4 a.m. Poor thing). I wonder what songs would play on loop today if it was allowed...I can picture myself gnashing my teeth at the 25th rerun of "Zara zara touch me touch me / Zara zara oooo oooo ooo. I can also picture my mother hyperventilating and my fathers pained expression. At the cost of repeating myself...thank god!!!
But tell me, what are your loudspeaker memories? Sing it aloud while typing. Go on..its festival time after all.

Rootless and loving it

While in Bombay, I met this gentleman who has recently moved to the city from Calcutta. Whi;le I understand that adjusting to a new city takes time, I was not prepared for the sheer negativity of his approach. He didnt seem to be able to find one good thing about the city he has just moved to. From the rains, to the tiny flats,to the cost of living, to the food, he found nothing worth liking. The last straw, as he told me, was the fact that his seven year old son was reciting Marathi poems and learning Marathi instead of Bengali. Now, forgive me if Im missing some Bengali love for the motherland type of sentiment here but whats the big deal? I would be very happy if my child learnt some other Indian language, apart from Hindi and his mothertongue. Its such an advantage. Is this irritating tendency to wear ones cultural roots on ones sleeve a predominantly Bengali trait? Or other communities as subject to it as we Bongs are?

I have not moved around the country as much as others whose parents had transferable jobs have. But I am prfoundly thankful I had the chance to get out of the city I was born in and live elsewhere. I was born in Calcutta and lived there till I was 18. I then moved to Bangalore where I still live. In between I have lived in Hyderabad for a year and Bombay for a few months. Thanks to the boy I can consider Chennai a third home. Living in a city is so different from merely visiting a city or holidaying in a city. The experience opens your mind, makes you more receptive to new cultural experiences, gives you a perspective on the city like nothing else can.

If I had'nt lived in Bangalore for as long as I have, would I have developed this taste for Iyengar puliogare? Or idlis from Veena Stores? Would I have known that in one of the little bylanes off Commercial Street there is a little hole in the wall that makes the best ghee dosas ever? When I first moved to Bangalore I almost threw up on biting into a banana chip fried in coconut oil. Today, I look forward to my friend's return from Kerala not just for the banana chips but for the jackfruit chips as well. Unlike some of my relatives I am totally comfortable travelling within the Southern states, the food, the language, the weather...its all something I am totally used to. I know a Tamil wedding takes hours with multiple sari changes and a Malayali Hindu wedding gets over in 5 minutes. I time my appearances accordingly. I know how to cuss and abuse in Kannada ( not that I do that loudly...but its good to know that I can if I want to). I no longer gasp at the sight of people dancing at the head of funeral processions. While I can't speak the language properly, I can understand what is being said to me. I can distinguish between the four South Indian languages. I know 100 places to go for weekend holidays. I can never be lost in this city.

Hyderabad taught me that the city of nawabs have a nawabi sense of time. No point expecting shops to open before 11 a.m. In Hyderabad I learnt to decipher the strange sounds made by some as "Hyderabadi Hindi". Once deciphered, I learnt to comprehend and appreciate the mutilated language in all its glory. I know the quickest item to order from the menu when one is in a hurry is the chicken biriyani. I first ate this divine something called pesarettu in Hyderabad. No place in Bangalore, to my knowledge makes it the same. I can take you on a comprehensive tour of the Old City, take you to the best bangle shop for bargains in Laad Bazaar, show you the best shops for buying Hyderabadi pearls and feed you the most finger licking good biriyani ever at Madina and Shadab and Basera( no Paradise biriyani does not come close). I can find my own way about the city from Secundarabad to Gachi Bowli. I am comfortable in an auto, a bus, a cab and even a seven seater. I can take you for an authentic Punjabi meal at Pappaji da Dhaba near Abids and show you a decent second hand book sale near the same. I know drivers in Hyderabad are slightly mad and don't seem to understand that red signal means STOP. I can take you down a 100 lanes, each bringing up some memory, each leaving me gasping and shaking my head at the changes that 8 years away from it have wrought.

Bombay....the city I love to hate. I know can never feel unsafe in Bombay. I know the average Bombay ite will not give you a second glance if you are being murdered on the road, but ask him / her for directions and he / she will practically walk you there. I know I can walk down Parsi Colony near the Five Gardens area in Dadar and feel transported back to Calcutta...the houses, the lanes everything is so uncannily similar to Ballygunge Place / Fern Road. I used to know some of the second book sellers near Churchgate, daresay I wont be able to recognize them now. I know that the city can get suffocatingly crowded. I know I only need to walk down Marine Drive or sit at the Bandra bandstand to feel gloriously free and happy. Rain or shine, these two places can be depended upon to lift my mood. I have favourite places to visit each time I'm in the city. Crystal on Marine Drive, Barista on the Bandstand, Sports Bar at Phoenix Mills, Lokhandwala market, Leopolds..so many memories intertwined with these places. I know I love to hear Marathi being spoken, its so sweet and similar to Bengali in the way they address each other as tumi. I know I detest the Bombay trains. Though I have fond memories of the "train friends" I had made during my short stint in the city...ladies who made space for me to stand, who smiled at me when I got into the train and smiled goodbye when I got off. I used to know all the stations in order from Andheri to Churchgate though I have forgotten some of it now.

Each of these cities have memories or experiences associated with places within them. A road here, a restaurant there, memories come flooding back. I cannot quite describe the feeling of coming out of an airport in a city that used to be your home and finding familar roads and landmarks around you. The best part of having lived in more than one city, I think, are the friends you make. I can reach Hyderabad in the middle of the night and have an option of calling 4 different people for a place to stay at night. Same goes for Bombay, Calcutta and of course Bangalore. In fact today I have friends across India. I can land up in Aizwal, Mizoram unannounced and depend on my friend P to put me up for the night. Had I not lived in Hyderabad would I have even known P?

I wanted to say all this and more to the discontent gentleman in Bombay. Embrace the new experiences life is offering you. Be happy your son has the opportunity to grow up in a city like Bombay, learning the local language. Be happier than you have this wonderful chance to live in a city other than the one you grew up in....that you have the choice to decide whether you like the city or not, which parts of the city you like and which parts you don't. Open your mind a bit...live a little.

Its a dog's life I tell you

An excerpt from a G talk conversation with my ex boss :

Ronita
I have this dog related event. Very stressed about it.

Ex Boss (EB)
Recession is not hitting pets.They r getting more and more luxuries

Ronita
which is why i want to be a rich mans pet labrador in my next life

Ronita
pray for me
1) decent turnout for this event 2) tht im a rich man's pet lab in my next life

EB
I'll pray for u
Pray for me as well
That I'm the rich man in next life

Ronita
no
i dont want to be ur labrador
ur not fond of animals
u wont trt me well
u wont take me to spas
n get me diamond studded collars

Ronita
ill pray tht ur A rich man in ur next life
maybe good friends with my rich man
but not my rich man

EB
Yeah
That's what I meant
I will be ur masters friend

Ronita
haan tht is fine
i will not bark at u

EB
And when I come visiting u I will ocassionally get u doggie snacks

Ronita
i shall wag my tail politely n walk away
how kind of u
i shall wag my tail in thanks

EB
And maybe sometimes a chewy bone

Ronita
how kind
i shal woof my thanks
n help u impress women too

EB
And hope ur master has a hot wife
So that I come visiting u more in ur master's absence

Ronita
no np
he is a bachelor

EB
Y but

Ronita
so all his love n affection and more importantly money is reserved for me

EB
Ok then let ur master be a hot woman
She can be spinster then
And I can spend a lot of time at ur house

Ronita
hmm
tht has possibilities
ok
thats fine
women are more likely to send their pets to spas anyways

All this while I am supposed to be working on this event Jai Ho for GTalk in office
Good to know I am still capable of inane and insane conversations :D

Love..or something like it

I’ve been tagged by Dipali to list the 5 best things that the boy has ever done for me. Somehow, when I got down to writing it down, all I could remember was the time when he broke all the glasses in the house, or when made me watch some gory Kamal movie in Tamil and didn’t translate, or the time that he jauntily walked into a freshly mopped n cleaned house with muddy shoes or worse washed his shoes in the washing machine…definitely not nice. Then I remembered this post and the fact that he didn’t kill me for it. Very very nice of him I thought. And with that, the train of thought moved onto more positive things. So Dipali, here goes, specific incidents that got through my thick self centred hide and touched my heart and some general things he has done or still does :

1) Just before we moved houses, I had this sneaking suspicion that there was a mouse in the house. One evening I come back from work and see a tiny dead mouse lying on the kitchen floor. Turns out, Rahul had put that rat kill thing in some corner without telling me and this dead body was the result. I freaked. Called him and demanded he come home to get rid of the mortal remains of the damn rodent. He said just sweep it onto a newspaper and throw it away. I freaked some more and hysterically told him I couldn’t even think of entering the kitchen since its dead eyes were looking at me, sweeping it onto things were out of the question. He cut short an evening out with the boys and came home to dispose of the horrible thing. If that is not nice then I really don’t know what is.

2) We moved house recently, and were maidless for more than 2 weeks. With all the unpacking and arranging and making the house live worthy plus office, the lack of some help for at least cleaning the house was quite trying. While I’ve been cribbing and moaning to all and sundry, he has been quietly, sweeping, mopping and tidying up the house. He even decorated the living room with whatever he could find, immediately after we moved, because my friends were coming over. The man cannot cook, but he gets down every weekend and makes the one dish he knows how to...soya nuggets. Last Sunday, I woke up to the unbelievable sight of him making dal paratha for breakfast.

3) A couple of years back, for about a week, I had this crazy event which required me to leave home by 7 a.m. and ensured I got back only by about 11/ 11.30 p.m. When I got back the first day, dinner was laid out. The culinarily challenged boy had actually made rotis, heated the sabzi and laid it all out for me. He did this the whole week. Cannot describe how wonderful it was to come back to a nice hot meal all laid out for you.

4) He has never, not once tried to stop me from doing my thing. I go out with my friends almost every week, I meet old boyfriends, I go out dancing and come back in the middle of the night as tight as an owl, I call 10 people over to dinner without even informing him and he takes it all in his stride. Needless to say, similar behaviour on his part would result in a meltdown of cosmic proportions. I run the house as I please. He pitches in when required but otherwise does not interfere at all.

5) He may not agree with this last point, but I insist this is true. I always get the last word in any argument. Whether that’s because of my superlative argumentative skills or his unwillingness to carry on a fight beyond a point, I don’t know. But it’s very satisfying to have the last word.

These last two years have been quite something eh Rahul? Not too bad for a couple of people who at first glance have very little in common. All the broken glass (literally...he is the clumsiest person in the world), hysterical shrieking, sobbing (all me), name calling (me again), care taking ( both), illness, moneyless ness, bad jobs, bad bosses, bad driving have all added up to a couple of years of fun and madness and understanding and more importantly, acceptance of the way we each are. That, I guess is the whole point of being married right? Happy Birthday boy. Have a great year :)

And for Gods sake make up you mind about what you want as a birthday gift!!