Life's Like That

Dear Neighbour

2011-11-11T01:36:00.000-08:00

Your baby is very cute. Thank you for saying mine is very cute too. I’m sorry I could not tell you her exact weight as of right now. I don’t keep weighing her you see, so the best I can do is tell you what she weighed at her last doctor check up, which might even have been last month. You and I evidently have very different parenting styles and I would not have given yours a second thought but for the fact that over the last month, every time we meet and discuss the kids, (seems to me that that is all you can talk about) you seem to be judging me and everything I say and do. It was kind of funny at first but it’s getting real annoying now.

Yes I have help for the baby. No I don’t go to work. I do take up freelance work, but you know what, even if I didn’t, I would have still had a maid. It does not mean that I love my daughter any less; it does not mean that I don’t look after her, it does not imply that I’m a rich bitch who will go to kiddie birthday parties with maid in tow. I love my baby to bits, but I need the occasional break from her to do other things…surf the net, go to the parlor, read, nap, even take a decent shower. No we are not, as you (rather rudely) put it, “rolling in money”..we are making other sacrifices and compromises to enable this and yes my husband is totally on board with it. You want to be Mother India and do everything for your son yourself? Good for you *clap clap*. But then, why does every conversation with you begin and end with you moaning about being tired or not getting any sleep or not even being able to go to the loo or comb your hair in peace?

Why are you constantly asking me about how much we spend on stuff and then judging me? Yeah Aahana was born at a speciality maternity hospital that’s quite a distance from home and comparatively expensive. We felt it was worth every penny and every long drive because the doctor and the hospital were both superb. I don’t see why you need to ask how much we paid for the delivery and then look shocked and inform me that you paid only 20k at this good hospital nearby. Again, good for you, but not for me thanks. Yeah we are still going to the same hospital to consult this paediatrician who has been seeing Aahana from the day she was born. True it’s kind of far, but again we love this doctor and the hospital which is so incredibly well organized that it makes the drive worthwhile. Don’t you think its rather rude of you to ask how much we pay for each visit and then comment about the price of fuel these days? My baby, my car, my money, my time, how the eff does it matter to you!?

I don’t give a rats ass how much you paid for your son’s pram or his high chair. The high chair we use was a hand me down from a friend (bless her) and the pram was a reasonably priced decent durable one. We did not really think about brands when buying it. Congratulations on spending 15k on a Gracco or Chicco whatever the hell it was pram and another 15k on some big brand high chair. I don’t care and I don’t understand why my choices should cause you so much concern! I am more intrigued by this contradiction in your character, cautious with money when it comes to doctors etc and yet so openhanded with it when it comes to branded kiddie stuff. Do you buy Baby Gap for your son, I really want to know, but unlike you cant bring myself to ask.

Get a life lady. Get out of the house a bit more. Take some time off from your maternal duties. I don’t know if you realize it but all you talk about is your son and your parenting experiences. And the price of things! Your earnestness is kind of tiring really. I suppose its not possible to suddenly develop a sense of humor, so I will forgive you for looking blank when I try to joke, but at least try and talk about something other than the kids and money once in a while. You will feel better trust me.

Yours sincerely

Increasingly Irritated Neighbour

The Wise Mother Speaketh..

2011-10-06T00:29:00.000-07:00

Ever noticed how everybody and their sister feels free to give advice on pregnancy, childbirth and child rearing? Even mothers with one month more child rearing experience than you will give you advice. Why then, I thought, should I be left behind in the advice giving race? So here goes, pearls of wisdom from the Wise Mother…read and learn y’all

Pregnancy:

Do not take pregnancy books or websites very seriously. One weekly email alert ecstatically told me that the baby could now perceive light and sound and so shining a torch at my belly would make him / her squirm away from it…movement I would feel and presumably coo over. Feeling very much in the mood to coo I stood with my tummy bared in all its pregnant glory, shining a torch at it, and feeling more and more ridiculous with every passing second. The baby did not budge. She had obviously not been listening when I read that email update and did not know what was expected of her.

There will be people around you at all times who will try to stop you from doing anything resembling normal life activities. Please ignore them. You know you are pregnant and you should know what is ok to do and what isn’t. Driving wont hurt you, unless your doctor has specifically forbidden you to drive. The same applies to cleaning the house, cleaning the fridge, walking, squatting..in fact squatting is good exercise and prepares you for childbirth. Just listen to your doctor and to an extent your mother. Ignore others..including your mother in law. Especially your mother in law.

This is an excellent time to express and vent. Feel free to snap at anyone who annoys you. In fact I suggest you seek out people you detest and tell them exactly what you think of them. You can always blame it on the hormones.

Childbirth

Is OMG awful. As I lay gasping and panting on the delivery table, I clasped the Boy’s hand and made him agree that one was a very good number indeed. I now think he was scared for the safety and health of his hand, wisely refrained from expressing a different opinion.

If you have ever had body image issues, are not comfortable with your body, or like me are just plain weird about having people or even photographs in the room where you change clothes..childbirth is guaranteed to cure all of that. Random people you have never seen before in your life will walk upto you and casually stick their hands right up unmentionable places. Yet more random people will come and take a quick peek in those same unmentionable places like its the most normal thing in the world. And after the first couple of times, you will be so completely beyond caring and so wanting it to be over, you might take to asking these random people for status updates.

Your water will break at some point during labor. It will probably be the weirdest sensation you have felt in a while. Do not, however, call the nurse frantically and say “eeeee I seem to be leaking fluids”. Apparently thats not an appropriate way to describe it and they might laugh at you..which might make you rather murderous. In which case, do stop to check if that irritating ringing mobile phone actually belongs to your partner before grabbing it and trying to do it some harm. Chances are it might belong to the hapless nurse and you will have to apologise profusely for your rashness.

Bringing up baby

Breastfeeding is hard. People told me this but I did not realize how hard till I actually got to it. Its worse than labour. Vent. Get help, hire lactation consultants, doulas, buy a breastpump, join a support group. If it sorts itself out then great; if not, then you need to adopt and adapt survival strategies. Strategy number one: Say to yourself that formula is not as bad as its made out to be. Remind yourself that no one has ever asked you if you were breastfed or bottle fed. That it didn’t make any difference to anyone’s life beyond a point. Strategy number two: Learn to lie. Childbirth somehow gives the world license to show an uncomfortable amount of interest in your mammary glands. Everyone from the maid to the aunty next door to the random man at the doctor will feel free to enquire you are “feeding”. Look them in the eye and say YES emphatically. Add a line about how you insist on giving the baby the verrrrrrry best. Telling the truth will mean unwanted and annoying gyan which you dont need to hear. Strategy number three: find a friend who has also gone through hell and back over the breastfeeding issue. Swap stories about other exclusively breastfed babies you might know who are colicky/ have acid reflux/have caught a cold/ have fever, and say “See breastfeeding is not the magic key to a problem free baby.” Strategy number four: Find a paediatrician who speaks your language. Most paediatricians are male assholes who have never gone through childbirth or breastfeeding themselves but who will spout gyan and judge you and assume that you haven’t tried. They will refuse to help you with formula feeding, and will keep telling you to continue to try breastfeeding. The baby’s hungry wails will drive you insane. Your sanity is as important as that breastmilk you want to feed the baby. Find a doctor who supports you and recognizes that you really have done all you could. Formula feeding or mixed feeding needs a doctors guidance on how much to give the baby...find a doctor who will listen and help.

Stay with your mother for 3 months if you can. This is the time when you will truly appreciate your mom. And no your mother in law, no matter how nice can never take your mom’s place.

If possible have someone else take the baby for the night once in a while so you can get some sleep. If you are bottle feeding then its no issue at all. In case you are breastfeeding, you can always pump and refrigerate. This really is important for your sanity.

Keep your sense of humor as close to the surface as you can. It will get you through the sleepless nights and the potty on your hand in the middle of the night episodes like nothing else can. That and quick access to Facebook and G Talk.

Ignore most people. God has given you two ears for this express purpose.gyan in from Ear One, gyan out from Ear Two.

Feel free to continue to snap and vent. This time you can blame it on sleeplessness.

Give gyan to other new moms. Its therapeutic. I strongly reccommend it :D

2011-06-28T05:41:00.000-07:00

If anyone still read this blog then this post is likely to get a lot of people up and riled and ready to brand me a bad and lazy mother. But what the hell, I'll just say what I have to say anyways. Oh and the male of the species and non moms might want to skip this post :)

My baby is 23 days old. Im not able to breastfeed much. Ive tried and Ive tried, but it looks like Im just not lactating enough. The baby is hungry and screaming and even after nursing for 2 hours she will drink 60 mls of formula like she was starving. This whole process of trying to feed her has been nothing short of traumatic, involving a lot of tears..mine and the baby's. But the worst part is not the mental and emotional trauma one undergoes as one realizes that one cant even feed ones baby. Watching her root around and suck pointlessly and pull away howling is horrible, but whats even worse is dealing with people. Ranging from pediatricians to the well meaning aunt next door to even your best friend, breastfeeding elicits some STRONG reactions.

Im told that there are some countries like France where society as a whole considers breastfeeding unnatural and discourage mothers from trying to nurse. Breastfeeding in public is a hotly debated issue in most modern societies. I have full sympathy for women who need to nurse in a public place and are subjected to ill treatment. I have every sympathy for women in France who want to breastfeed but are pressurized by society into choosing formula or women who are forced to nurse in public toilets because people object to them breastfeeding in public. I wish people would show people like me the same courtesy of trying to understand the situation instead of standing on their moral high ground and condemning us as lazy selfish women.

Everyone knows that breastmilk is the best option for ones baby. From the moment one discovers one is pregnant, one doesnt even consider the possibility of formula feeding. You visualise yourself nursing your baby, and if you are me, you even read up on breastfeeding and the various holds and latching on. Then reality hits you with a bang in the hospital hours after the baby is born when nurses and doctors and lactation consultants come and pinch your breasts and shake their heads and say "ah well it takes 3-4 days for the milk to come in but keep trying to feed her as the more she sucks the more you will lactate." You try to forget about your newborn baby's hysterical heartbreaking howls and keep at it in the hope that you will indeed be able to feed the child properly in a few days time.

Then a week goes by and though you realize that its still not happening. You sit for hours trying to nurse. Your nipples are sore and bleeding from where the baby has bitten you in frustration.You consult a lactation consultant, you call a doula, you take the powders prescribed by your doctor, you try every home remedy you ever heard of. And your baby still howls and readily takes the bottle immediately after a 2-3 hour nursing session. More weeks go by and nothing improves. You slowly come to realize that this is how it is and accept the fact that the baby will have to have formula in addition to your woeful supply.

Except that at every point there will be someone telling you that you probably havent tried hard enough, that you probably gave up too soon. They will tell you their own experiences of sitting for hours and nursing with cracked bleeding nipples but not giving up because they wanted nothing but the best for their baby. Then there are the men...usually pediatricians, who tell you rudely that you didnt try hard enough to feed the baby, that any and all problems she might be having..ranging from colic to constipation to spit up is because she is deprived of breastmilk and is being overfed formula. They will refuse to prescribe any medicine or remedy and tell you to go and just keep breastfeeding her. You will come home and keep trying and trying with absolutely no result...she will still try to nurse for hours and still cry with hunger till you give her a bottle. And you will still cry with frustration and a sense of abject and utter failure as a mother.

Why do people just assume that one is giving the baby formula out of choice? When did an innocuous tin of baby food become a symbol of a woman's laziness and selfishness? If Im respectful of the fact that you breastfeed your baby, can you not at least try to respect the fact that I might not have had a choice in deciding to not exclusively breastfeed mine? Im trying to channel some of the spirit shown by pre baby Ron...that Ron would have told the breastfeeding nazi to eff off and mind their own business..yes the doctors would have gotten some choice responses as well. But turns out that Ron where Aahana is concerned. What is takes her place is a stressed out, guilt ridden, frustrated Ron, very prone to tears. Pardon this excessively sappy weepy self pitying post...I just needed to vent, and crying at home stresses everyone out..including the baby.

Conversations from a few years ago...

2011-02-23T23:29:00.000-08:00

The scene: A coracle boat in the middle of the Kaveri river in Coorg

The charecters: Rahul, Ron, Ron's aunt, cousin, wildlife enthusiast mother and slightly psycho looking coracle man. All inside one small coracle boat. In the middle of the river.

Aunt *nervously*: Iss nodi main kumir...maane ki bole... crocodile hai?

Psycho coracleman *smiling happily*: haan haan bahut hai.

Aunt: Aen!!! Ki shanghatik!! Kumir aachey bolche je. (what!! OMG!! He is saying there are crocodiles)

Me: Ta ei jinishtaye othar aagey jigesh kora uchit chilo. Ekhon thaklei ba ki na thaklei ba ki. (we should have asked before we got into this contraption, now whats the point?)

Rahul *vaguely*: Kahan hai crocodile?

Ron and Aunt glare at Rahul...neither wants to see crocodile speeding towards them.

Psycho coracle man: hai hai idhar udhar hai. Subah aata hai.

Aunt: Obaba subah bolche!! Ki shanghatik. Aamra ebaar neme jai? ( Oh god, he is saying morning..shall we get off now?)

Psycho coracle man: nahin nahin madam darne ka nahi. Yeh sab friendly crocodile hai. *grins broadly*

Rahul *continued vagueness*: Haan see friendly crocodiles. Can any of you swim?

Aunt *most indignant and annoyed* Friendly crocodile aabar kya jinish hai? Jottoshob. Jano crocodile eshe joler niche Coffee Day te boshe coffee khawate niye jaabe. And no none of us can swim. (What rubbish as if friendly crocodile will take us for coffee underwater!)

Rahul: Heheh, I can swim.

Ron and Aunt glare again at Rahul.

Ron's mother *so far enjoying the coracle ride and keeping an eye out for sundry wildlife* : Ha ha friendly crocodile. Kintu ektao toh dekhte paarchi na *regretful tones* ( cant see even one)

Aunt *horrified* : Na dekhai toh bhalo. Dekhte pele toh heart fail korbe (its better we dont see them na, we might have heart attacks if we do)

Mom *in peaceful reassuring tones* : Na na chinta korish na, crocodile ki aar puro manush ke kheye felte parbe? Oi hath pa chnire nebe at most. Ekhon dupur belaye nishchoi pet bhora thakbe. Bhoye paash na. (no no dont worry, I dont think crocodile will eat any of us whole. Maximum it will bite off our arms and legs. Its afternoon na, must be well fed now)

Aunt and Ron speechless. horrified.

Mom *smiles beatifically* : Ei toh bhari handbag aachey, nehaat haan kore dheye aashle bag diye maarbo. Taatei paaliye jaabe. Mone nei Nandi Hills e dupatta diye bnador tariye chilam ( I have a heavy handbag, Ill hit the crocodile with it and it will run away. Dont you remember how I chased monkeys away on Nandi Hills with just a dupatta)

Cousin *very decisively* I have had enough. Ho gaya bhaiyya, abhi hum log ghar jayega. Where there are no crocodiles. Or monkeys. And somewhat saner people. Boat thamao.

Aunt * sadly* : Tor ma r mathaye cheet aachey. Din din barche bujhli.

Ron siiighs deeply in aknowledgement.

Thus ended yet another mildly insane outing with the menagerie I call family. We didnt see a single crocodile, friendly or otherwise during our visit, but my Aunt did get stung by some strange insect and bled from the sting for 24 hours. My mother peacefully reassured her that if she survived she would immune to all insect bites, if not, well too bad, she should'nt have gone for a walk at sunset. I dont think my Aunt likes my mother much after this trip. She definitely avoids planning any other vacations with her :)

Phew...long time indeed

2011-02-01T23:26:00.000-08:00

So much has happened since my last post that I don't quite know where to start. Life changing stuff is underway, not the least of which is that I have quit my job. Yes! Ladies and gentlemen I am officially a bored lady of leisure and let me tell you, its a tough life. Man! Who knew there is so much to do around the house!? And you dont even get paid for cleaning behind the fridge and organising the cabinets and labelling the kitchen jars. Gah!

People's reaction when I tell them I have quit my job are...interesting, for lack of a better word. Some assume that this is a temporary thing and I am definitely going to rejoin the workforce in a few months time. Some are overly enthusiastic about it. Some, like EB, tell me I'm a fool and I should have stuck it out for some more time and remind me (like I need to be reminded of this particular fact) in his kind sensitive manner of the amount of money I'm losing out on. None can argue on the reason behind my quitting without seeming heartless and insensitive..its that compelling a reason trust me, but some have this look on their faces, like they are thinking "Nyaka! As if noone else in the world had pregnancy complications". My mother, typically, oscillates between telling me that quitting my stressful crazy job was the best decision I have ever taken, and that it was the worst thing I could have done with my life...that I will be bored and depressed beyond belief and will deeply regret it soon.

Happily, that day has not arrived yet. Sure, there are days when I cant think of a reason to get out of bed (that usually lasts till the hunger pangs set in and then Im out in a flash) but on the whole I'm at peace with my decision. The job was..well..it was just that..a job. I never felt connected to what I was doing. In fact, many a time, I doubted the point of the whole exercise...lifestyle PR especially. The job, the office where I worked was insane. There was no switching off from work. We all were, literally, on call 24x7. I understand thats how the field is, and that the concept of worklife balance in India is nonexistant but the stress was killing. The last straw was the unexpected complication in the first trimester. I was convinced it was because of the job and the stress. I spent 3 weeks of strict bedrest weighing the pros and cons of quitting. There was no doubt that I would have to take things a little easy in the months to come. There was also no doubt that I would not be able to take it easy in my job. To make matters even more difficult, Im one of those people who have grave ethical problems about taking salary and then saying that I would not be able to handle events or go for meetings...even if I did have very compelling reasons for both. The only pro in the situation that I could see, was the money. And as the boy put it, no amount of money would compensate if something went seriously wrong with the pregnancy. So I quit.

Ive been home for 2 months now. I feel better, physically. Its nice not to have to drag myself out of bed at 7.30 am everyday and drive to work even if I have had a rough night. Its nice to be able to take a nap in the middle of the day if I am feeling exceptionally tired. Its nice to be able to read whenever I want. Its nice to get the time to try n resurrect my dead blog. But the nicest thing of all? Having a HOT lunch everyday. Those of you with microwaves in office will never be able to appreciate this. I spent the first trimester shoving stone cold dabba food down my throat with copious amounts of water, while muttering "No you cant throw it up, the baby needs food", so yes a hot lunch is right at the top of of my list of all that is good with my life right now. If only some freelance writing work would come my way, along with some nice paychecks, my life would even be perfect :)

Now, excuse me, I have to go and check on the chocolate cake thats in the oven right now. Yeah, one of the other nice things...Im discovering a hithertho unknown masterchef within me. Im pretty awesome..even though I say so myself :D hopefully this blog will have plenty of content henceforth..recipes and tales of my kitchen related awesomeness if nothing else.

My family and other animals

2010-03-13T07:18:00.000-08:00

Its Saturday afternoon, I'm rudely awakened from my post (heavy) lunch siesta, by a phone call:

My Mother (sounding slightly hysterical): Aami bari chere chole jaabo. (I will walk out of this house and never come back)

Me( not surprised or shocked by this oft repeated statement and still not fully awake): Uh hummm

Mom (hysteria increasing): Aar parchi na, as if I did'nt have enough trouble already. (I can't take it anymore)

Strange sounds heard in the background...

Strange sound 1: hoooooownooooooooohhhhsososbsniffsnifffff

Strange sound 2: hissssssmmmmmmmmaawwwwhissss

Me: Where are you? Whats that noise?

Mom: At home. (redoubled hysteria) Cats!!!! And your sister.

Me (truly baffled): Eh?

Mom (hysterical shriek): This girl. This unspeakable pest of a girl. Dukhana beral niye esheche. Cardboard box e kore. (Shes brought two cats home. In a cardboard box)

Me: Rather resourceful na...cardboard box and everything.

Mom(wildly) : Nongra aggressive bhoyanok beral. Kache gelei aanchre dichche. Aar fhyansh fyansh korche.Shunchish na. Ki hobe. (Dirty aggressive fiendish cats. Cant you hear? Scratching us the second we get close. And hissing. What to do)

Strange sound (reaching a crescendo): Sobsobsob whooonnnooooo...they are smaaaaall and scareddddd, sosbsosbwail wail...indecipherable something....

Me(enlightened): Oh Rimpu knadche bujhi? (Is that Rimpu crying?)

Mom: Knadche. Hrrrrrrmmmmmmpph. Syringe niye esheche aabar. (Crying. Has brought a syringe)

Me( somewhat alarmed): Sheki!! Syringe niye ki hobe!! Drugs nebaar taal korche naki? Tao aabar openly? (What!! Why a syringe? Is she planning to take drugs ? That too openly?)

Mom ( exasperatedly hysterical) Of course not. She is insisting that I feed the cats milk with a syringe. Erokom nyaka beral jonme dekhi ni. (Never seen such nyaka cats in my life).

Strange sound 2: Hiiiiiiiiiiisssssshisssssss meeeoooowwwww hisssssssss.

Me: Sounds scary. Why a syringe? Maane are you expected to inject them with milk? Intraveneous milk ki bhalo idea? (Is intraveneous milk a good idea?)

Mom(sounding quite loony by this time) : Jani na. Dhorbo ki kore. Aanchre dichche. Im covered in scratches. Syringe e kore doodh khawate koto shomoy laagbe. Aami Himaloye chole jabo. Oooohoooooohooooo. Tor Baba bari eshe ki bolbe...ki hobe. O baba aabar box theke beriye edik odik palache ( I don't know. How will I catch them? Scratching me. How much time will it take to feed milk through a syringe? I will take off for the Himalayas. What will your Father say when he comes home? Oh God. They have jumped out from the box and are running here and there.)

Strange sound 1 : Wnaaaaaaaaahhhh leeett mee keeeeep theeemmm EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKK OUCCCCHHHH oooooooooooohhhhh

Me: She just got scratched didnt she?

Mom (Loon alert): Dhordhordhor....eeeeee normodaye dhuke jachcheee..Nyakami na koree dhoro na aapod gulo ke (Catch 'em catch 'em....they are going down the drain. Catch them cant you!?)

Me: Hmm, yes, so I will call you later. When things are calm.

Mom: Gelo gelo shooob gelo. (All hell has broken loose)

Ends call.

Say what you will about my family but we are an entertaining bunch. Not to mention unexpected.

PS: I cannot translate nyaka. It is beyond my linguistic abilities.

The Inconsiderate Great Indian Junta

2010-02-20T19:39:00.000-08:00

We went to watch a play yesterday. Waiting for Godot featuring Naseeruddin Shah, Benjamin Gilani, Randeep Hooda. Considered one of the most significant plays of the 20th century, it was certainly not entertainment remotely suitable for children, leave alone babies. The fact that it was a play, with actors performing live, makes it all the more important that there be no distractions/disturbances from the audience. Yet just as the lights dimmed, and the play started, a baby started wailing from somewhere behind us. For a split second I thought perhaps it was part of the play. Surely noone would be idiotic enough to bring a BABY to a play! But as it turns out, there are such amazing parents around. Thankfully they were ushered out immediately. The tickets clearly state that no children below the age of 8 will be allowed inside. Yet not only did these people decide to bring what looked like a 3 month old baby to the play, the organizers, who checked the tickets at the entrance, and could not have missed seeing the baby, allowed them to go inside anyways. With such display of stupidity and utter disregard of basic courtesy towards other people including the actors on stage, I only wish certain places would be declared child free.

I know I'm probably courting controversy by writing this, somehow to say that you dont want someones baby wailing through a theatre performance or someones child bonking you on the head as you try to eat your dinner at an expensive restaurant, amounts to you being a child hater, and that is completely unacceptable in this country. Especially if you are a woman. Im not a child hater. I like children as much as the next person and I positively adore small babies. Not in a play though. And not in a movie theatre. And not in a certain kind of restaurant. I have no problems with them on flights and trains...the parents do need to travel. I do however have a problem with inconsiderate parents. Sometime back, travelling back from Chennai on a train there was a 2-3 year old kid in the same compartment. As people started to go down for the night,switching off lights etc, this kid started crying. This was at around 10 p.m. The parents tried to shush her. She only got more hysterical. This continued till 11 p.m., when almost everyone was in their berths, clearly trying hard to sleep. The kid screeched and wailed louder with every passing second. Im not a parent, but it seems to me,that if your child has been screaming murder for more than an hour, you take the child somewhere else, with some fresh air and possibly more distractions, to calm her down. Walking up and down also helps sometimes as I have noticed in my limited experience. You don't just sit in a darkened compartment and shush the kid listlessly. Especially if you are in a public space with people trying to sleep. Especially when, unlike a plane, you have the option of taking the kid outside near the loos where the lights are on and there is fresh air and a door to prevent her screams from reaching the others. But that would probably be expecting a tad too much consideration from some people. After all, its a child. In India, you cannot object to anything a child does, even if it has been kicking you continuously from behind as you try to watch a movie. A child's kicking has to be forgiven and smiled indulgently at.

But then why just parents? We seem to be a nation of inconsiderate people. Last night as the play progressed, 2 people walked onto the stage, disturbing the actors who stared at them dumbfounded. They were upset about people who had parked their cars outside their garages and gates and chose to disrupt the play, walking onto the stage mid performance, to announce the car numbers and threaten to call the cops. Naseeruddin Shah exploded...and justifiably so..and stormed off stage followed by the rest of the cast. We sat shell shocked, not believing this was actually happening. Anyone who lives in Bangalore, knows Chowdiah Memorial Hall and knows that parking can be a problem. Of late, the organizers facilitate parking on this open area behind the hall. However getting the cars out of there after the performance is over can be a time consuming affair. Therefore, some people choose to park their cars in the narrow lanes around the theatre blocking the lanes, and evidently, blocking people's gates as well. These are educated, so called "cultured" people mind you. Driving the biggest and the best cars. The home owners are no philistines themselves. To own a home in that area you can't afford to be. The two people who walked onto the stage were well dressed affluent looking people, clearly well educated as well. Yet they chose to indulge in this appalling display of disrespect to everyone in that theatre. The organisers quickly called out the car numbers so that their awesomely cultured and educated owners could go move the cars. I'm glad, to say the rest of us sitting there sarcastically applauded each car owner as they walked out.

I don't know how things are in other countries. But Indians seem incapable of basic manners and courtesy. Just drive in any Indian city (especially Bangalore! OH. MY.GOD!!) and you will be left with no illusions about the courtesy offered by people around. In the absence of the manners chip in our collective brains, perhaps stringent rules would not be a bad idea. Child free zones, impounding cars parked in no parking zones, parking in a way that obstructs other vehicles from moving freely, immediate heavy fines for jumping lanes, heavier fines for jumping signals, maybe even suspension of licenses, immediate expulsion from movies or theatres for leaving mobiles on and answering calls / texting people during the performance (this too was in evidence last evening) would be a good start in my opinion. Are the authorities listening?

A break from people...

2010-01-15T03:20:00.000-08:00

There was a solar eclipse today. And I ate my lunch while it was happening. Oh my goodness!!! My ears will surely shrivel up and fall off. Or maybe my toes will curl up and whither. The consequences of this dreadful act definitely cannot be good. What? Scientific proof relating the two things? Of course there is scientific proof. There was an article somewhere, that said something about the sun's rays penetrating brick mortar cement, steel plastic ceramic etc to reach the food inside the dabba inside the room inside the building and poisoning it completely.

Well, I took my chances. My ears seem fine. As do my toes. I don't think I'm dead or comatose either. The person warning me of dire consequences was not some illiterate ancient person from the hinterlands, but a well educated young woman who has lived in Bangalore all her life, works for an MNC, travels all over the world...basically the last person one would expect this sort of reaction from.

Did you know that planetary alignments can really result in a girl being the cause of her husband's death? That is to say, manglik women do exist and its a biiiiiiiig tabboo? Its better not to take a chance and marry a manglik girl. This was from someone who spent most of his formative years abroad. His family belongs to what one would call "elite" society. He himself is highly educated and works for a multinational giant.

A young woman is unhappy with her husband because he came home late from work on her first karva chauth. At 11 p.m. He does come home at that time on most days, because the nature of his work is such, but she feels he could have made one exception and ensured he returned home at a decent hour, given she had been without food and water the whole day. But did you know, it was ridiculous on the girl's part to expect her husband to make any sort of an effort on her behalf? He is a MAN and men have WORK. So what if she holds a challenging job and managed to fast through a hectic day at work? So what if she somehow managed to leave work in time to be back for the puja? Men and women cannot be the same na. This from someone who is educated and otherwise quite modern in her outlook. Hence the double shock at this opinion.

A man had an extramarital affair. He was justified because his wife would be ill most of the time and men have needs that must be satisfied at all costs? This from an aged person, so I suppose one can try and ignore her.

Did you know yoga was a Hindu form of exercise and if one is from a different religion then one must not practise it? This from a highly educated bureaucrat.

I know this guy. Brahmin. Utter loser, terrible at his work, no friends...universally disliked. I am better off than him in every way possible. But did you know, he is still superior to me? Because he is Brahmin and I am not?

Did you know whether you and your partner want to have children right now is immaterial. The whole point is that your aunt has to answer all these people about why you havent had a child yet. Therefore you need to go procreate right now.

Neither my parents nor Rahuls wanted to match kundalis. In my case, I dont have one since my parents dont believe in it. Noone tried to match out castes either. But , a random visitor to your in laws house can look at you suspiciously and say "Oh Bengali...caste kya hai? Arre you didnt find out her caste and got them married also!!!? How could you do that? Pata nahi kaun se caste ki hai!?" The rules of civil society prevented us from physically throwing her out of the house. Unfortunately.

I could go on. Too many instances of ridiculous superstition, discrimination, sexism and idiocy. All from urban, educated people mind you. I have had it with people. I want a break from stupidity, from narrow minded foolish prejudices and opinions. Desperately needed : a mental detox program to get these odious people and their poisonous opinions out of my mind.

Love Love Love

2009-12-22T01:07:00.000-08:00

The year was 1988. A podgy bespectacled 9 year old first laid eyes on a short fresh faced young man. And fell in love. A love that has lasted 21 years. That has survived some truly tough times and emerged stronger every time. A love that is, alas, completely unrequited and one sided. As one of the two principal charecters in this unfortunate love story, I think my undying love and passion and loyalty needs to be rewarded. My loyalty, especially, has been severely tested many many times in these last 21 years. Who be this lucky man you ask? Behold, the object of my affections, the love of my life :
Siiiiiiiiiiiiigggggghhhhhh. I have seen almost all his movies. Except Holi and Raakh. Was'nt easy you know. My parents did not approve of a 9 year old frequenting cinema halls to watch Hindi films (oposhonshkriti jotoshob). They did not approve of popular Hindi movies of the time. The only things they approved of were movies dating back to their college days...stuff they called classics, and intellectual Bengali films. Oh and Goopi Gayen Bagha Bayen type of stuff. Qayamat Se Qayamat Tak was an aberration that happened thanks to some visiting teenage relatives who had brought with them a VHS tape of QSQT and insisted that we all watch it. I cried buckets when Aamir died. Romeo had nothing on Aamir. I was in love. I demanded to be allowed to watch Hindi movies, much to my mothers utter horror (she still does not watch Hindi movies). I cried, I cajoled, I threw tantrums. A compromise was reached. I could watch only Aamir Khan movies at home on the VCR. I was happy with this arrangement since this meant I could keep the tape for a few days, watch the movie at least 5-6 times and then return it...by which time I would have learnt the dialogues and the songs by heart.

I've watched Dil 13 times. Forget the dialogues, I even know Madhuri's costumes by heart and in order of appearance. Dil Hai ke Maanta Nahi...considering I still drop everything and watch this everytime it comes on tv, I must have seen it well over 20 times by now. Isnt he absolutely adddooooraabbblllle in it? Raghu Jaitley, why could'nt I meet a man as cute as him? (Ok embarassing confession...I would watch a film and then day dream for days about being in the heroine's place and romancing Aamir). Andaz Apna Apna, Jo Jeeta Wohi Sikandar, Hum Hain Rahi Pyar ke, Sarfarosh Dil Chahta Hai, Lagaan, Taare Zamein Par even Afsana Pyar ka..rank amongst my favourites.

Not all his movies were wonderful day dream inducing material though. Love Love Love, Awwal Number, Isi Ka Naam Zindagi, Tum Mere Ho, Daulat Ki Jung, you name the dud and Ive seen it. I even sat through Mela and more recently Mangal Pandey. Voluntarily. I actually paid money to see Mangal Pandey. And even found something good to say about the movie :" Ummmm. Errrrr. Aamir did act well no?"

Have any of you seen Daulat Ki Jung? Aamir has photographic memory. He sees a treasure map and sets out to find the treasure along with girlfriend Juhi. They are caught by bad men..namely a bunch of buffoons headed by Kader Khan, whose preferred mode of transportation is to lie down in a coffin tied to a horse and get dragged around in it through the forest. Aamir memorises the map and then eats it to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. Mind numbing adventures follow. Have you guys seen Tum Mere Ho? There are flying snakes in this one. They fly from tree to tree with hoods raised...in a sitting position. There's child marriage, avenging snakes, ichchadhari naags, saperas, good snakes, friendly snakes, evil snakes...oh my head aches to remember this monstrosity. But I sat through this and others like it. I watched with interest and dedication. And I never EVER admitted to anyone that these movies were torturous. Most recently I paid 350 bucks n watched Ghajini. NOT my kind of movie. Definitely not. But I watched it because it was Aamir.

Thankfully, over the years the man turned into some sort of filmi genius and started giving us some pretty awesome movies. Fanaa, Ghajini, Raja Hindustani, Mann, notwithstanding. He did seem to have gone slightly mad a little while back, what with naming his dog SRK and those nasty unwarranted sound bytes about Shah Rukh, but thats ok. I understand that he is human and these things happen. I don't love him any less for it. I am not quite able to understand the logic behind the ongoing promotional strategy for 3 Idiots (what does his showing up in different cities in different disguises have anything to do with the movie?) but hey, it seems to be working right? Its so nice when the man you love is a widely aknowledged genius.

My friend Seema was horrorstruck this afternoon when I told her about my love affair with Aamir Khan. Apparantly she did not expect it of me...this sort of hero worship does not gel with my personality she said. Flattered though I am, I am also a little surprised. I thought most of us had that one film star or sports star that we worshipped. (Aside :my mother apparantly worshipped Raj Kumar! I cannot imagine why). Of course one does not continue to hero worship as one grows older, but that star does remain special right? I threw away my Aamir Khan posters and box full of pictures and postcards long ago, but I will still sit through a movie just because it has Aamir Khan in it. Do you guys have enduring loves like this? Who would they be?

2009-12-16T04:02:00.000-08:00

Since my last post, I have:

Been to Chandigarh where amongst other things, I had to touch the boy's feet and was told I should wear yellow on Thursdays and informed that I would have 2 sons (the horror!). More importantly, I met my nephew for the first time. I think he likes me, I can tell by the way he drooled all over my hand/ shoulder whenever I was carrying him around. He also blew spit bubbles and babbled as I attempted to feed him, sure sign of eternal louve if there ever was one.

Been to Delhi where we met old friends, wandered around town, almost became a permanent fixture at Dilli Haat, bought curtains, befriended a slightly psycho German Shepherd, patted and played with same German Shepherd, met old relatives and newly related to relatives and learnt to make awesome bhindi. Also, I encountered an endangered species: a nice honest auto driver. He agreed to ferry us from Delhi Haat to Vasant Kunj after being asked just once, he chatted about Delhi then and now all the way there, on being given Rs. 100 when we reached Vasant Kunj, he exclaimed yeh toh bahut zyada hai. We said nahi rakh lo bhaiya. He said nahi nahi and insisted on returning Rs. 20. We had told him to return only Rs. 10. At this juncture my friend fainted and we had to carry her to her apartment and ply her with restorative beverages.

Eaten: Aloo parathas with melting white butter on top, aloo sabzi and puri, gajar ka halwa, tandoori chicken, noodles, momos, tikkis, choley, rajma, kadhi chawal, dal makhani, dum aloo, palak paneer, paneer makhani, gajar ka murabba, gulab jamun, dahi bhallas, fruit beer, assorted namkeen, butter chicken, samosas, kheer, baingan bharta.....I think Im forgetting some more.

Been to Agra and Mathura where we befriended 2 Malaysian girls, one Bangalorean boy, one German boy, one Russian American man. I was quizzed about my caste by German boy in front of a Krishna temple (which apparantly marks the exact spot where he was born...go figure). German boy did not believe me when I said I was'nt sure which caste I belonged to. He said being Indian and Hindoo there was no way I could'nt know. I said well I guess Im a bad Indian and a terrible Hindu and proceeded to eat extremely awesome samosas. Said German boy also did not believe that my parents did not force me into marrying a random stranger whom I had never met before. This, despite seeing me interact with Rahul all day and hearing about how we met. I despair for this German boy.

Been to Chennai where we wrapped up a 33 year old household. We packed 33 years of my in laws life into cardboard boxes to be carted away to Chandigarh. Where will begin a new chapter. We uncovered a suitcase full of old albums with priceless pictures. Which are now with me in Bangalore. Waiting to be restored and scanned and uploaded. I will miss Chennai.

Tripped and stubbed my toe on my way to my car. Uprooted toenail. Called the Boy only to be told to call later he was in a meeting. Driven myself home through a hazy blur of excruciating pain. Thrown the mother of all tantrums upon Boy's return home, displayed bloody toe with remains of toenail and howled some more. Justifiably told him that I have friends who are more concerned about my toe than he is ( you know who you are..hugssssss...now when is the treat at Spiga?

Been forced to attend a client event at 8 a.m. Events at 8 a.m. are a form of corporate torture. Reached venue bleary eyed and yawning at 8.10 a.m. to find the place full of CEO types....bubbling with enthusiasm and energy..raring to go. Realized, in between massive yawns, that I will never EVER be CEO. Amen.

Now I want to sleep. And read. And sleep some more. I don't want to cook or clean or worry about cooking or cleaning. I want food to appear by my bedside magically. I want a soothing backrub. I want clothes to unpack themselves and put themselves away neatly in the cupboards. I want a driver. I want to be on a permanent vacation. At home. Thank you very much. Good night.

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

2009-11-12T03:34:00.000-08:00

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

2009-10-15T04:43:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-25T01:51:00.000-07:00

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

2009-09-09T02:45:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-17T03:35:00.000-07:00

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

2009-08-03T05:24:00.000-07:00

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

2009-07-16T04:42:00.001-07:00

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!!

The Big Fat Indian Wedding II

2009-07-07T04:49:00.000-07:00

Even as the wedding rites were underway, two of Rahul’s friends swayed up to the mandap. Smiling cheerily at us, A slurred “Shhhhhhmiiiilllee Ronnnnnnn” as he tried to click our photograph on his camera phone. We stared aghast! How on earth had A, a committed alcoholic in denial, managed to find so much alcohol at the strictly alcohol free wedding venue!!!? He dropped his phone the very next second, almost into the fire and then proceeded to lean dangerously over the railing to retrieve it. I looked around frantically hoping A) my father and grandmother and Rahul’s grandparents and parents were not witnessing this and B) hoping for someone to correctly interpret my desperate expression and remove A from the mandap before he fell into the fire. Thankfully my dear T was nearby, she hopped up, retrieved the phone and disdainfully stopped A from dying an horrific death. God bless you T. S, another marginally less drunk friend of Rahul’s steered a very obliviously happy A away from the venue and we breathed again. The rest of the wedding went peacefully enough. Except that finally at night, after the bashor nonsense, I went to Rahul’s room to give him a toothbrush (Bong wedding: no sharing same room for 2 night. Most pointless) and my aunt had a much delayed shocked reaction…I mean she gave me a toothbrush and said go give it to him, which I did, and then 20 mins later she said “Eki tui oi ghore ki korte gechili”. Weird.

The next day I made my way over to the hotel where the boy’s side were staying. I took the boy and siblings and cousins on a Calcutta darshan trip. Bedecked in a shiny red salwar suit and much jewellery. Christmas tree and Christmas decorations were the two terms topmost on my mind. The day after we woke up at 3 am to make our way to the airport for our 5 am flight. I was made to unpack my suitcase, take out some sparkly bindis at 4 a.m. and put one on. Something that I will never forgive my MIL for. 4 a.m. is not the time for self decoration even if one has just gotten married. At the airport, I noticed the Sachdevs looking somewhat concerned. Rahul’s father looked especially sheepish. As it turned out, the FIL had carefully packed the Chennai house keys in a large suitcase, and given the suitcase to his friend to bring to Chennai…in the train. Which would reach the next day. So all 6 of us were effectively homeless. What a wonderful welcome to my husbands family. Unique if nothing else.

We reached Chennai and dispersed to various corners of the city. Rahul and I went to the club where a room had been booked earlier. Rahul’s parents moved temporarily to a friends place since their room booked at the last minute would not be ready before evening. V, N and S (Rahul’s tarot card reading investment banker cousin from London) moved to V’s friend AK’s place. It was V and N’s anniversary so we planned to go out for dinner in the evening.

Dinner was at a lovely restaurant with seriously awesome chicken tikkas and much alcohol. As the night wore on, I begged the boy and the others, in vain, to end the revelries and go home. My back was killing me, my head was throbbing from lack of sleep and excessive stress over the last few days. At around 1 a.m. the group decided to drive to a beach on the other end of town to take in some fresh sea breeze. By this time I was too tired to protest so went along docilely. AK got behind the wheel, with Rahul in the passenger seat. I squeezed in between V and S in the back seat with N sprawled over all our laps. We drove off. And then AK announced a tribute to me and started playing that capped menace Himesh!! V decided this was a wonderful idea to join in the nasal OOooooooooooo-ing and bellow the same into my ear. I bit my lip to stop myself from screaming at him. Then, at that minute, Rahul, my newly wed husband, the man who knew all about the violent nauseous physical reaction I have to Himesh, joined in the singing. That was the very last straw. Much to my own surprise (and utter embarrassment) I burst into loud sobs!! I couldn’t have asked for a better reaction. There was stunned silence in the car. AK, who was meeting me for the first time, almost ran into a tree, so great was his shock. V stopped oooooooing immediately and started saying sorry repeatedly. Rahul said why on earth are you crying? S said in a wise manner, its all the stress, N just stared. I wailed. Nonstop. Loudly. Wracking sobs and all. We all got out onto the beach where I continued howling much to the puzzlement of some underfed dogs. I sobbed quietly all the way back to the club where within the privacy of the room it reached a wailing crescendo once again. For a change the boy was most soothing and sensible and eventually I did fall asleep.

The next day was the reception. I was allowed to sleep undisturbed till about 12 p.m. Something I will be eternally grateful for. V,as it turned out had fever. And V with even the mildest of tummy aches is not a happy situation. I love him very much but must say he is the biggest whiner I know. And he proceeded to live up to his reputation by lying in bed all evening and shivering and generally behaving like he was at death’s door.

Anyways, we ate out and then N, S and I went to have our hair and make up done. Kanya in Bangalore is really good and N and I frequent it, so we presumed Kanya in Chennai would be as good. We reached. I asked them what they could do with my hair. Having has it straightened for the sangeet I wanted to do something different. They tied it in an intricate bun with tendrils of hair falling down the sides of my face. I said an emphatic no. N suggested extensions. They looked blank. Then they curled my hair into tight little ringlets. If I was blonde I would have had a striking resemblance to Goldilocks. Naturally, I rejected it. This time they looked exasperated and said “You don’t want a bun you don’t want to curl it then you have to straighten it. What else can we do?” I was tired of them pulling my hair anyways so I surrendered to whatever they suggested. Then we got on with the rest of the makeup. I had my eyes closed for most of the makeup session. When I opened my eyes and looked in the mirror I almost shrieked in fear. I looked like Lord Voldemort. Deadpan white face. RED eyelids. Lank straight hair hanging down my face!!! I would have been a better Voldemort than Ralph Fiennes trust me. I rushed to implement emergency damage control measures. Between N and me we managed to bring some colour into my face and dilute the red ness of the eye shadow.

Looking semi- human I went to get my bloody heavy Kanjivaram draped on since we were getting late and my FIL is as much a punctuality maniac as my father. Both N and I had bought the saris in Chennai and due to lack of time had given the blouses to a local tailor to be stitched. We had not had the time to try them on beforehand. We went into the little cubicles to put on the petticoats and blouses and within seconds could be heard hissing to each other “Have you tried on your blouse? Does it fit? Can you breathe?” I had lost 6 kgs since the time they measured me for the blouse, so there was no way my weight could be the cause for this horrible tight garment. I struggled for 10 mins to button the damn thing and when I finally succeeded I realized I could not put my arms down. They stuck out from my sides like a bloody wrestlers. “I can’t breathe” I gasped to N the second we got out of the cubicle. “Oh god I think I might burst out of mine” she wheezed. The makeup lady finally took pity on us and sat down and removed a few stitches so that we could at least hold our arms closer to our bodies and breathe without worrying about ripping our clothes and scandalizing people. High heels heavy jewellery on, we were ready to face the reception.

The reception was a rather strange experience. At most weddings, usually the bride is the centre of attention and people come give the gifts etc to the bride while the groom more or less slinks around and smiles at people. Here everyone came on to the stage where Rahul and I were standing smiling woodenly and threw themselves all over him. They hugged him. They shook his hand, one uncle even tried to make him wear a thick gold chain he had brought as a gift much to the poor boys embarrassment. Noone gave me a second look. I might as well have not been there. I didn’t even need to smile at them. The gifts were handed over to Rahul. We smiled n posed for photos and the next lot of people came on and fawned over Rahul all over again. I just stood there feeling rather foolish.

Many many MANY hours of aching jaws, painful feet and hurting ears (heavy earrings) later it was FINALLY over. We were married. We were over and done with the madness. In a day’s time we would be off to Manali where I could rid myself of all jewellery, all make up and get into my jeans. Manali was quite an entertaining experience I must say. As was Chandigarh where we stayed for a night, and I met Rahuls nani and mamas and maasis..but that’s fodder for another blogpost. My first up close and personal experience with North India and North Indians. Later maybe?

The big fat Indian wedding: I

2009-06-22T02:38:00.000-07:00

Yeah I know it has been two and a half years since I got married, but hey! Better late than never. Besides, as I was describing my wonderfully mad wedding to a friend the other day, I realized it was quite an experience, and I need to record it for posterity.

So I am Bengali. Rahul is Punjabi. But he was born and brought up in Chennai and his parents still live there. So when I announced my intention of marrying him, my mother promptly had a panic attack "Ohh Panjabi. Oder onek demand hoye. Bhishon money minded hoye" (Oh Punjabis are very money minded and have many demands) and immediately added a few more strands of grey hair to her head imagining the demands that the Sachdevs might make in he future. Luckily the Sachdevs turned out to be mild mannered harmless indiviuals who shrank in horror at the idea of demanding things. The first meeting happened in Chennai. I could not take time off work so I sent Rahul to coordinate the meeting with strict instructions of "Control my father. He might get over emotional or over hyper." I firmly forbade my father from taking Excel sheets of points to discuss at the meeting. He desisted, but then one of the first things he told my prospective in laws is "Oh my daughter is a wonderful cook. She makes two things really well. One, boiled water.Two,Maggi." Luckily for me my in laws have a sense of humour. My father in law was highly impressed with my father's organized methodical way of approaching the wedding. My parents were relieved with how nice and non demanding my in laws were. All was good.

Then came the roka. Which in my opinion, is a dreadful obsolete practice, totally unfair to the girls family. I was to meet the entire Sachdev clan, which is HUGE. And I still had not managed to connect the names to the faces or the husbands to the wives and the parents to the kids. I was introduced. I smiled politely and said hello in my best convent ed manner. Mother in law to be poked violently in the small of my back and hissed "Payar chuo" (touch their feet). I recoiled in horror. I hate touching people's feet. Its most unhygenic. But faced with relentless poking and hissing I had no choice but to leap at collective feet and make a mental note to wash my hands. After that initial hiccup this too went off well.

Confusion, short tempers, emotional coversations and much shopping ensued for the next few months leading up to the wedding. I landed in Kolkata a week before the wedding, expecting to be pampered by all, I was the star of the show wasn't I? Instead my mother snapped and screamed at me everytime she was stressed about something, which was pretty much all the time. I was the reason for all the stress and tension was’nt I? As the sangeet drew near my father's insistence on method organization and punctuality (he could have been Hercule Poirot in a different life) reached obsessive standards. As a result, my mother and I almost caused our driver to have a nervous breakdown by screeching “taratari chalaaaooo naaa” ( drive faster noooo) every 5 seconds, because my father told us we were taking too much time and were going to be late for the registrar (the registered marriage happened a day before the wedding). Except that we were the only ones in the hall when we reached. My father was still on his way from Salt Lake with the Registrar. So I just sighed resignedly and did what I am rather good at. Issued directions to the staff and DJ : “ Why are you taking the wires through there? Take them from behind the chairs so that they are not visible” “ Ekhan ta mocha hoye ni, theek kore porishkar korun” ( This place needs to be mopped. Please clean properly) etc. Just like I do before all my media events. Sigh.

The engagement formalities were soon over. Rahul even went down on one knee with the ring…which made me giggle and hiccup simultaneously for about 10 minutes. After the formalities, my husband to be vanished. I wandered about smiling at people and finally went to the balcony and had a nice satisfying gossiping session with SD and SR, my oldest friends in Calcutta. From the shrieking and screeching I could hear from the room, I presumed the Punjus were having a blast on the dance floor. So I went to investigate and was confronted with the sight of my uncle, all 6feet 5 inches of him, throwing his freakishly large arms and legs around with gay abandon while people all around him scurried away as fast as possible to avoid being injured. What was even more disconcerting than the sight of my uncle dancing was the fact that the Punjus were sitting demurely and conversing quietly while the Bongs were going bonkers on the dance floor!!! I even saw my father, tie askew, convulsing to Beedi Jalayi Le. My father!!!! Good god!!

I was eventually re united with Rahul who said he had been drinking and dancing all this while and had forgotten he had to be by my side (!!!). To redeem himself he went and got me large vodka disguised under some innocent looking orange juice. (The Sachdevs would have collectively fainted at the sight of their newest bahu chugging back vodka shots, hence some subterfuge was called for).

I was woken up at an unearthly hour the next day and made to wear a sari and plonked down next to my father for some pooja where he repeatedly picked up odd objects and touched them to my head. Objects ranged from dhaan dubbo ( paddy and grass..most agricultural )to big pots. After this strange pooja and the liberal smearing of holud I was packed off for make up and hair once again with strict instructions of not taking too long and coming back on time. I came back on time and sat on the throne and smiled and accepted gifts while the baraat took its own sweet time to arrive. They eventually showed up 1.5 hours late. My ever polite father finally snapped “ Eto nacher ki aachey ta ki? Biye hoye jaabar por nachlei toh hoye” (Why do they need to dance so much? Can’t they let the wedding get over and then dance?) when the Punjus showed no signs of stopping. The wedding itself was traumatic. All my aunts descended on the mandap and gave conflicting instructions to me, the priest spoke exclusively in Bengali to Rahul, I tried to translate and instruct Rahul as well as I could, the priest snapped at all and sundry and finally tried to tick me off for talking to Rahul. Poor man!! He didn’t know what he was getting into. I don’t think he has ever received such a whispered but solid jhar from a bride on the mandap. I hope it will be a lesson to him, don’t mess with a hungry tired irritated bride.

Given my newfound resolve to keep my posts shorter than usual, I shall stop here. Part II will have us being homeless in Chennai, me bursting into tears late at night on a desolate Chennai beach, and also me bearing a startling resemblance to He Who Shall Not be Named. More later.

When I was just a little girl....

2009-05-21T01:55:00.000-07:00

One of the greatest pleasures in my life would be to pick up the small round nuri pathor (pebbles) that lined the paths inside Victoria Memorial and chuck them one by one into one of the ponds. I think I singlehandedly contributed to the sorry state of affairs that the paths had become a few years back, with not one pebble in sight. On my last visit to Cal, however,we visited Victoria Memorial again and I was most happy to see the pebbles were back in all their glory. Though I must say, I cannot, for the life of me, figure out why walking on those damn pebbles used to be such a thrill for me...they are very hard on the feet!!

Does anyone remember Gay Restaurant on Prinsep Ghat? It belongs to an era when "gay" was happy and merry and nothing more. This Gay Restaurant became Scoop eventually..when I was about...8 or 9 or 10...I think (and it alarms me greatly to think that I remember Scoop from the time it was Gay. Dear God! Am I that old really!!?). Scoop was a a 'must go must eat there' kinda place when it opened. My parents took me there and must have tut tutted about "Isssshhh dekhecho Gay take kirokom change kore diyeche" (Issssh how they have changed Gay.This was, after all, their standard line everytime we went to Scoop) but all I remember is my first banana split. One scoop each of strawberry vanilla and chocolate icecream in a boatshaped saucer over a slice of banana, drizzled with chocolate sauce and...this was the crowning glory literally... a Wafer!!! stuck into the middle scoop!!!....surely this was the manna that the gods thrived on. No gelato or Baskin Robbins of today can match up to that banana split at Scoop.

Speaking of food, you know the chinebadam (groundnuts) you get all over in Cal, but more so around Victoria, Maidan and of course Prinsep ghat? While the badam itself was nice, what made it extra special was the indigenous mix of black salt chili flakes and something else that the chine badam walas mixed up themselves and served with the badam in a little piece of paper. Crack open a roasted groundnut, slide the contents onto your palm, dip them in that salt, pop in your mouth...aaaaahhhh!! Yum!!

Also yummy was the chips that you got from the channawalas in starched white clothes and a white topi who walked the lanes of Calcutta ( still do )on hot afternoons calling out "chana garaaaaaammm" in that unmistakable way. The chana garam itself was yum, but they also served a small thonga (not thong!! Thonga...paper packet! Tsk tsk!) of plain chips over which they sprinkled black salt, chili powder and a dash of lime...yummmmmmmmm!! Beat that taste Frito Lays!! Or, ooooh.... the small red kul (ber) they sold outside school...with the black salt. I have no idea if this is still available outside schools in Calcutta, I have not found this awesome snack anywhere in Bangalore. And the jhal chips (SPICY chips) one got in the shop behind my school and the dalimer hojmi (ummm...digestive..thingies..they were soft and black and oh so yum!!) and the Phantom cigarettes. Do kids even know of their existence these days? They were these long white candies with a red tip..signifying the glowing end of the cigarette of course and were sweet and mildly minty. The done thing was to stick them in your mouth and pretend to smoke. Very cool. Oh and Chattar Mattar and Fatafat. My mother was appalled at the sort of things I ate, when I marched into a shop with her and demanded a Chattar Mattar and the shopkeeper matter of factly told me "Na didi Chattar Mattar nei Fatafat aachey." I must admit I wouldnt touch either of these today, the former was a virulent red and the latter a very suspect greenish black.

Lest you think I spent my entire childhood just eating, and eating some rather strange things at that, let me tell you I spent a considerable amount of it worrying whether God was watching me right now, seeing the mischief I was getting into, and noting it down in his book of Bad Things Bad Girls Do, so that he could punish me later. You see I went to this rather strict convent school. This one to be specific. The teachers and nuns there drilled it into heads that God was Always Watching. Our parents might not notice us stealing the last cookie from the cookie jar, our teachers might might not notice us copying our homework from the girl next to us, but God? He was Always Watching. And He would Punish us for our wrong doings sooner or later. Though I worried about this rather jobless and slightly sinister all seeing God, I never let it stop me from writing on the walls (what!? I had to educate my army of dolls hadnt I? Was it my fault then that I didnt have a blackboard? I did get one later though.) or whispering to my friend in class or breaking things or tearing things...well...ahem. You get the picture.

Some things are an integral part of my childhood. The address 18/22 /1 Dover Lane for one. Thats where I lived from the age of 8 to 16 Economic Stores (now Economic Gallery), Modern Book Store, Mohaprobhu Mishtanno Bhandar, Campari....these are some landmarks that are an part and parcel of my growing up years. I went to Dover Lane after many years to meet a friend the last time I was in Cal, and couldnt believe my eyes. Mohaprobhu has been pushed to a corner!!! The rest of that space has some sundry offices and ATMs!! Goodness gracious. Thankfully Modern Book Store is still the same. The two old men are also the same. They even keep the Famous Fives in the same shelf....second from bottom on the left immediately as you enter the shop. Economic Stores uncle is also still there and they still sell stickers!! Oh what a rage stickers were when I was in school. We bought stickers, we swapped stickers, we created sticker books, we guarded them with our lives!!

18/ 22/ 1 was the rudest shock however. The balcony where my mother had lovely plants is now full of sheets of plastic and other debris. The house itself looked dreadful. The driveway was overgrown with weeds, in some places the plaster on the walls had peeled away to reveal the bricks underneath. I really don't know what happened to it. Or the people who used to live there. The Aunty and Uncle next door, the Sinhas upstairs, Teddy the big sneakyAlsatian on the top floor...how did the house get into that state? As I walked up to the house, my feet automatically took me down the winding lanes without having to stop and think.. I passed Bangla Auntys house (Bengali tutor) , Junodi's house, Sagorikadi's house. I paused at Sagorikadi's house, wondering if I should ring the bell...where is she I wonder? Did she finally marry that weird boyfriend of hers? It was a strange feeling, walking those lanes, revisting childhood memories, seeing the house I grew up in.

All this nostalgia and silly memories...strangely, triggered by this from another era(courtesy Abhishek). I must really be getting old, I thought only really old people spent hours reminiscing about the past. Ah well..this has been a lovely afternoon alone at office, remembering the days long gone. Will post in bullet points henceforth :)

Of Fathers and Daughters

2009-05-15T05:33:00.000-07:00

I did a post a long time ago on my mother and my relationship with my mother. With my father always being away on work, I guess it’s only natural that growing up, Mom was the parent I was closer to. Over the years I grew to resent Baba for never being around when I needed him, for putting way more responsibility on my 12 year old shoulders (when my sister was born and my mother was going through terrible post partum depression) than I could handle, for being too formal, for not being able to talk to him the way I talked to Ma, for being overambitious for me, for not really trying to understand what I want out of life…oh the list is endless. I’ve been rude and closed myself off to him whenever he has tried to participate in my life, telling myself and all who would care to listen how he should not try to interfere in my life after never having the time for me all these years. Basically I’ve been a rather horrible daughter to have.

A book he sent me two weeks back and a series of text messages late one night has resulted in me thinking more and more about him and my relationship with him. While I was so busy holding grudges and resenting the man for the many injustices meted out to me, he was there working his butt off trying to ensure that we had every luxury we wanted. I was so wrapped up in my own miseries and adjustment problems that I did not realize that there was now way I would have been able to handle Ma’s depression problems and a newborn baby sister if it hadn’t been for him. Those crazy nights when Ma would snap completely and the baby would wail nonstop would have been impossible to handle if my father had not been there, to calm Ma, to take the baby off my hands so that I got a full nights sleep. I remember him saying that I was mature enough to handle my mother’s depression problems and actually resenting him for saying that because to my mind, he was shirking his responsibilities towards me and not allowing me to be the kid that I was. I realize now that I am independent and mostly mature and responsible in my dealings with the world largely because of his unshakeable faith in my abilities to handle any situation myself.

He is the one I have always turned to for career advice. He has supported every decision I have made in my life, right from the moment I decided to study Humanities after ICSE to when I changed my mind about a career in psychology and decided to try Mass Communications instead, to when I abandoned my Masters from HCU for a degree from a lesser known institute in Bangalore to more recently when I was battling with the management at the most fuck all organization in the world to relieve me in time for me to join my new job.

Considering he was not too convinced about my decision to move to the fuck all organization (aside: let’s call it Round-The Clock Unlearning shall we? If you or anybody you know is planning to join a company in Bangalore that sounds familiar to that euphemism, contact me, I shall tell you 101 reasons why you need to run in the opposite direction immediately) in the first place, it’s amazing the way he stood by me. Round the Clock Unlearning harassed me to the point I was ready to run screaming from there (its somewhat of a corporate mantra for them: molest harass torture employees). For the first time in my life my father told me to walk out of there even if I didn’t have a job in hand. He went to the extent of saying he would pay me salary till I found something else…heh..can you believe it? When I found myself another job n realized I wouldn’t be able to serve the stipulated 2 month notice period he told me he would buy out my time. When at the last minute french-bearded menace at Round the Clock Unlearning ordered me to stay back till they found replacements it was Baba who put me in touch with his lawyer who told me there wasn’t a thing the company could do to stop me from leaving on the scheduled date (labour laws and all that, which evidently Round the Clock Unlearning does not believe in). I am not sure how I would have been able to handle that situation without my Dad moral and more practical support.

Baba is the one I depended upon when it came to dealing with the asshole Father Verghese in my college. When he refused to give me my examination entrance card citing disciplinary issues I knew I could depend my father to march into his office reduce him to a quivering whimpering mess and march out with my hall ticket. His faith in his daughter’s angelic-ness cannot be shaken no matter what. When it came to meeting my prospective in laws for the first time, I knew Baba would handle it wonderfully. And he did. My in laws still gush about him. He wowed the entire extended in law clan at the wedding with his flawless manners and planning of the whole wedding. So much so, that an aunt in law has quite a crush on him and giggles at the mere mention of his name. He wrote personally to Rahul’s nanima and dadaji dadima inviting them to Cal for the wedding. I really don’t know what exactly he wrote, but everybody on that side of the family was floored by that simple act and talks about it till date. I know whenever I need him, irrespective of whether Im right or wrong he will be there for me.

This has been a loooong post. Not to mention an extremely difficult one to write. I wish I had not wasted all those years being so resentful and appreciated him more. I hope to be half as wonderful a person he is. I wish I could be as effortless in maintaining relationships with people. I have been told I sound like him when I talk, I’ve been told that my sense of humor is very similar to his, I’ve been told I am as out going and extroverted as he is. Makes me very happy to hear that though I think I have a long way to go where it comes to matching up to him. If you are reading this Baba, I’m sorry for all the times I’ve rolled my eyes at you and banged the door shut on you and told you nasty hurtful things. You really are the best. I love you.

A few letters...

2009-03-12T04:49:00.000-07:00

...to help me calm down

Dear foul mouthed Grandpa I had the misfortune of encountering early in the morning

I understand you are really old and that fact might have addled your brains a bit. But when my car is waiting peacefully at a signal, waiting for it to turn green, and YOURS is the car that comes to a screeching halt 0.5 mm from me, it’s YOUR fault. Not mine. Given my newfound determination to refrain from yelling at morons on the road, I would have just looked at you incredulously and then looked away. But when you rolled down your window to scream FUCKING BITCH at me, well, that’s when you kissed away the opportunity to drive away from that situation. See, the last 2 years of driving around in this city has turned me into a bit of a potty mouth. Fucking Bitch is babytalk compared to the extensive vocabulary I use when I’m sitting behind the wheel. So unless you have something better than “You fucking bitch mind your language” and “You bloody bitch *gasp* *splutter*you fucking bloody bitch” to hit me with, DON’T PICK A FIGHT WITH ME!!! Learn to drive moron. Learn to use that little lever called a brake. And learn not start a fight that you cant finish. Gah!!

Dear morons on two wheelers

Please don’t jump in front of my car from nowhere at 100 miles an hour. I am driving at a reasonable speed, and though my reflexes are pretty good, chances are I might not be able to stop the car in time to prevent it from running into you. And if that happens, chances are that you will be hurt worse than I. If you persist in zipping around like a bloody maniac, chances also are that one day a vehicle far bigger and heavier will run over you. And once you’re dead / paralysed /missing a couple of limbs, the fact that you saved 0.0002 seconds on your way to work will really not matter that much.

Dear traffic cop near the Fraser Town Police Station underpass

Dude!!! Are you blind? The underpass is completely blocked with unmoving traffic. Allowing my car to join the traffic jam will only serve to block the other lane as well. I tried to tell you that, but then you scowled at me and blew that infernal whistle and waved me on pretty aggressively. So now when I have followed your instructions and blocked on coming traffic, don’t come and tap on my window and tell me to move. Move where you blind bat? Or are you expecting my car to suddenly become two dimensional and squeeze in between the auto and the Lancer in front of me? It’s a Maruti 800, not Harry Potter’s Knight Bus for Chrissakes!! You created this mess, now you clear it, just stop tapping on my window and yelling at me. Shoo.

Dear Uncle ji in the Honda City in front of me

Your car totally kicks my car’s ass. It’s a powerful car, capable of traveling at very high speeds. I am not recommending that you zip through the potholes of Bangalore like a desi Schumacher, but I think you can definitely stop trying to imitate a bullock cart and step on it a bit. You know, move to about 30 or maybe even *gasp* 40 on the speedometer. The road ahead is EMPTY and has been repaired recently. But if you still want to provide competition for the bullock carts and bicycles, do move to the left side of the road so that I can move ahead. I’ve had a bad day at work and want to get home in this lifetime.

Dear Autodrivers of Bangalore

Your consistent refusal to take me from point A to point B within this city is the reason I learnt to drive. I will be eternally grateful to you for that. But please know that I HATE all of you. I will never ever allow one of you to cut in front of me. Even if you somehow do, know that I WILL overtake you in a couple of seconds, so help me God. Also, my car? It’s old, and badly battered. Look at the scratches and dents on it. You should understand that I don’t really care about its appearance . So even when you try to climb on top of it in a bid to overtake /cut in front, I will still recklessly squeeze past you. So give it up already.

Yes, I’m petty and juvenile…I have also spent many many MANY months of wandering about in the rain unsuccessfully begging empty autos to take me home. The trauma has obviously had a long lasting effect on my ability to move on with my life.

Dear Neighbour who plays Backstreet Boys till 2 a.m. every Saturday night

I will call the cops on you this week. If I can’t find cops that late at night, I will call my friends to dress up like cops and come scare the bejeezus out of you. Consider this a neighbourly warning.

Dear Other Neighbour whose daughter almost peed on my foot in the lift

It was not funny. Your kid looks about 5 years old. Shouldn’t she have been toilet trained a long time ago? And shouldn’t you be a little more embarrassed about her lack of bladder control? Laughing at this rather disgusting behaviour will only encourage her and do you really want this to continue? Also shouldn’t you be cleaning the mess she created and not walking out unconcernedly? I don’t care what she does inside your house, and how long you leave puddles of excreta lying around ’coz I am never ever going to pay you any visits. But that lift is a common space that all of us living in the building use. We don’t want to be greeted by the overpowering stench of pee when we step in. Either clean it up or be prepared for me to stop you and insist on it. Shrieking hysterically at me will not help, as you obviously must have realized by now, ‘coz the building supervisor and most other residents will agree with me on it being your responsibility to clean the damn pee. I hope muttering under your breath every time you see me is providing you with some solace, because I frankly couldn’t care less.

I’m done ranting. For now. Phew.

Gandhigiri- Pink Chaddi Style

2009-02-09T03:34:00.000-08:00

I did not write about the Mangalore pub attacks because it made me so MAD to even think about it. This, is a wonderful way of channelising all my pent up aggression and doing something constructive for a change. Go ahead,send them a pink chaddi or two. And on 14th Feb head to the nearest pub even if you are are a teetotaller.

P.S: Shrabonti and I plan to buy each other drinks and walk around Bangalore holding hands. She also suggested getting Priya to join us. We could all hold each others hands and drink to the health of our terribly immoral and un-Indian ways. Wonder what the Ram Sene would make of that!? :P

We, the People

2008-12-02T03:52:00.000-08:00

Like most of the country, I spent a good part of last week glued to the television or the internet, unable to believe what I was seeing. As I watched the Taj burn, the terrorists speed by shooting people from a police van, and Barkha Dutt screech cretinous questions, I raged and ranted about Pakistan, insensitive media, inefficient Intellegence Bureau and corrupt politicians.

And then I saw a crowd of waving cheering grinning people gathered outside Nariman House even as the encounter was taking place. I saw families in the neighbouring buildings hanging out of their windows with little children gaping at the smoke erupting out of Nariman House as people died inside. I saw masses of people sitting on terraces dangling their legs over the side laughing and waving out to the TV cameras. The news channels would have us believe they were cheering for the commandos but it looked more like they were trying to get on national TV. My friend whose colleague was reporting from the spot says they were expressing their excitement on catching a glimpse of Barkha Dutt. If I hadn’t known better I could have sworn all those people were out there celebrating the Indian cricket team’s victory over England. Just watching them was a deeply shameful experience.

I don’t know where to begin. What were those people thinking really? How macabre and ghoulish would a person have to be to find it in his heart to cheer and wave and (according to my friend’s colleague) molest women reporters at a time like that? How uneducated is our public, the great Indian junta, to collect en masse on the roads, obstruct the passage of army vehicles and ambulances and offer the terrorists who escaped earlier a golden opportunity to add to the body count by coming back and letting loose a couple of grenades and a couple of rounds from their AK 47s. How could the authorities allow such a huge crowd to congregate? Shouldn’t the families in the neighbouring houses been evacuated long back?

Today, everyone is busy criticizing our political leadership even as a disgusting old chief minister insults the grief stricken family of a dead soldier, even as the CM of Maharashtra giggles and smiles at a press conference, justifying the presence of his idiot son and a has-been film director at war torn Taj the day after the siege ended, even as his deputy calls this a “small incident” even as our netas try desperately to deflect public ire by pointing fingers across the border.

I have no doubt that Pakistan was involved in this latest act of terrorism just like they have been involved in most of those that preceeded this. Zardari’s emotional outburst claiming that his heart was bleeding at Mumbai’s horror makes me want to throw up. However, I also believe what happened in Mumbai last week is largely OUR fault.

The Indian government, RAW, Maharashtrian government….all the people entrusted with the security and safety of the nation, are responsible for leaving our borders so open to infiltration despite having Pakistan for a neighbour. History has proved again and again Pakistan’s anti India stance (I don’t mean the common man in Pakistan I mean the ISI and the military), we have lived through a Kargil in recent times. If you are callous about guarding your borders even after that then it’s your fault if your country is invaded by terrorists. To use GreatBong’s analogy, you have a known felon as a neighbor and you still leave your house unlocked, you are bloody well responsible if your house gets robbed.

It doesn’t end with the netas though. We as citizens of this country are equally responsible for the Mumbai siege. As the world’s largest democracy we have brought these horrible leaders into positions of power, by either voting for them or worse, NOT voting at all. I am responsible for Mumbai, for using the pathetic choice of candidates as an excuse to not vote. By allowing the same callous uneducated crowd I described earlier to use my vote and bring someone to power, not because he is capable (or given the existing situation, less evil than the others) but because he gave them colour TVs, cash,jewellery, bags of rice. Its time we shook ourselves out of our stupor. NOTHING will change in this country if WE don’t act now. Vote. Please. If negative voting is not allowed then go vote for an independent candidate (who is also likely to be corrupt, but it’s better than allowing an even more corrupt political party to divert your vote). Register with jaagore.com today. Don’t restrict citizen action to opening FaceBook groups and lighting candles in your windows. Change cannot come about in one day, it will take time, and no time like the present to start the process. Be more vigilant as you go about your day to day business, for gods sake don’t crib and complain when you are asked to open your bag /car for security checks. Insist that the security personnel at malls /multiplexes/ any other public places do their job thoroughly. If you see someone else trying to bluster their way out of security check create a scene, catch him, call him/her a terrorist for all I care, but ensure that he or she is checked properly before being allowed in. You’ve escaped these attacks so far but next time you might not be so lucky!

Women at work

2008-09-10T05:05:00.000-07:00

There is really no nice way of saying this so I am just going to get to the point. Someone I know works in a office which is, to put it mildly,a terrible place. Not only are women employees subjected to unfair treatment, they are also subjected to a number of disgusting jokes, inappropriate discussions and even worse. Sometime back,this girl, A,was forced to sit in on a discussion between her immediate boss and his boss on how they do not like to read a book if it does not contain a healthy amount of sex. Both men elaborated on their literary tastes and described how much sex and what kind of sex is the most fun to read . She left the meeting at that point saying she had to go home to her son. Her boss was unhappy about this and the next day lectured her about how she needs to stay late and work late if she does not want to commit "career suicide". But hold on, the worst is yet to come.

A couple of days back, A had to stay late and went to meet the head of the organization (this is a small Indian company) for some work. In his cabin. There, the head of the organization (HOTO)laughingly opened a mail that he had received from his friend, even though A clearly said she did not want to see it. The mail contained pornographic images. The HOTO seemed to think it was a good joke and absolutely cool to show the contents of the mail with a female employee, late in the evening when she was alone in his cabin with him. I suppose this man thinks there is absolutely inappropriate or perverted in this situation. Or maybe he is unaware of the term sexual harassment. Im trying hard to give him the benefit of the doubt but I think he is a sick pervert and needs to be slapped with a lawsuit and slapped in person. Hard.

Which brings me to my point. A did nothing in both the situations I 've mentioned here. She walked away feeling disgusted and violated and angry with herself for not reacting. When we discussed it and I asked her why the hell she didnt raise a hue and cry about it, she said:
A) These are very senior people in the organization. People who own the business and people who report directly to them. Who is she going to complain to?
B) Even if she did go to the rather ineffective HR department, what were they going to do about it?
C) She has no idea how effective it would be for her to go to the police / womens cell.

How many of us have been in similar situations and chosen to stay quiet or leave the company rather than raise a hue and cry about it? I know I have. Several times. Because its not easy to take people to court in India. We dont have the resources or the time or the energy to get into long drawn legal battles. Its much easier to keep quiet about it and leave the organization. Im not sure many of us even know the process of filing a case with the womens cell...if such a thing exists. And even if one did, I'm not very sure of the outcome. Readers Digest recently did a feature on sexual harassment in India, and used the case study of a girl in the police force who was being harassed. She lodged an official complaint about it and tried to ensure that the guilty got punished. As a result, she was transferred from one god forsaken place to another, and eventually not promoted. The guilty, high ranking officials in the police force got away with a small period of suspension from services. She was victimised at every stage till she finally quit the force. Seems to me that the moral of the story if that you are going to have to quit anyways, complaining about the issue or trying to ensure you get justice is just going to prolong the process and make it extremely traumatic for you.

Multinational firms in India have policies against sexual harassment, which I'm told, are taken pretty seriously. Unfortunately, not everyone has the opportunity of working for a multinational organization. Some people, like A, work for smaller lesser known Indian firms where policies and processes are not clearly defined. Where the organization heads are powerful and waging a war against them is seemingly impossible. What do these women do? There is no effective legal method of dealing with this issue. Or is there? I don't know. Which is a bloody shame. I am pissed off with this situation with A. I have been telling her to take up the issue with the HOTO...mail him saying it was not acceptable or speak to him directly. Then again I wonder, am I saying this so easily and with so much conviction because it happened to A and not me? A case of easier said than done? Given the way the organization is I'm not surprised she feels helpless. In her place would I be able to overcome my helplessness and address the issue? What would you do? What do you suggest that A should do? And is there any effective legal steps she can take to make that asshole pay for what he did ?

Loo-y tunes

2008-07-11T03:07:00.000-07:00

Warning: Very long and revolting post ahead. Do not read if you have just had or are about to have a meal or if you are generally the delicate kinds who do not appreciate such descriptions.

Its 2.30 p.m on a Friday afternoon. I have just had a rather horrible lunch at Nandhini involving rice (which I suspect they cooked with soda) and SPICY accompaniments, and while my stomach feels like I set it on fire, I am also terrifically sleepy. I want it to be the weekend already. But anyways, I was thinking of the morning after effects of eating food cooked mainly in red chilly paste and that got me thinking about loos and then about my experience with them.

After graduation, I decided to do my Masters at the University of Hyderabad. Since the damn place was far removed from civilization, I had to live in the hostel. When I arrived in Hyderabad to pay my fees and start classes, for the first couple of days I stayed with Daddy at the ITC Kakatiya Hotel in 5 star luxury. And then I moved into the hostel! I very nearly burst into tears on seeing the loo that first day. First the description:

The hostel was divided into wings and each wing had 5 rooms and each room housed 2 girls. So 10 girls to one loo and one bathroom. The loo was about half the size of a telephone booth with no light and no flush. When you sat on the western style pot (or as in my case, perched precariously on it since the surface was black and one did not want to contract any skin ailments from it) your knees touched the door. As I said, it did not have a flush, a FILTHY half broken bucket was provided instead. The bathroom door could not be shut, one closed it and then a pushed this large moss covered rock with ones foot against it to keep it closed. And then one bathed. Taking care that no part of one’s exposed skin touched any surface other than the taps. Yes I wore rubber chappals to the bath. There was no question of going about barefoot anywhere in that hostel.

When I tearfully told my Dad about the loo conditions he started off about the loos in his hostel and the unsanitary habits of young men. He was confident that girls could never be half as dirty as boys. Well, Dad, now that I have recovered from the traumas associated with that loo, I BEG TO DIFFER. Let’s just say I quickly learnt to wait till my room mate (an extraordinary being) and ran a check; to decide if I wanted to risk it. Sometimes, I just didn’t go till I reached the city (our classes were held in the city) and then quickly visited Taj Banjara (I became somewhat of an expert in marching into 5 star hotels confidently, using the facilities and then marching out equally confidently.) Sometimes, unfortunately my extraordinary roomie was not around and I soon got used to the various amounts, colours and consistencies that greeted me. Over time I even got used to flushing other people’s messes away. To this day I’m not very troubled by a dirty loo, I have learnt to block it all out.

It was in Hyderabad that I discovered that the great wild outdoors is a cleaner place to go about answering Natures calls. No I did not go about squatting wherever I wanted…told you I visited Taj Banjara. But umm…HCU was a HUGE place with forests and lakes and peacocks and wild boar and very little in terms of recreation. So we would slip off to one of the lakes, hide behind some strategically placed rocks and umm….partake of some bottled and errr…rolled up “entertainment”. The rocks were far away from the hostels (that was the main point see) and of course overly “entertained” that we were, we couldn’t have walked back even if we wanted. So I learnt to go out in the open. Good thing I was quite “entertained”, sober I think I’d be too worried about snakes and scorpions and what not. We took turns. And I always made sure that RS went before me, so that if any slithery things were about they would attack her first. Heh. Maybe I wasn’t that drunk.

Thankfully I moved back home after some time and the loo situation naturally improved. I avoid train loos and such like. But then as I said, confronted with toilet atrocities I can pretty much block it all out. Ooh but I lived in Bombay for a while.

I hate Bombay. It’s the only city I have ever been to where people use main roads as their personal toilets. All the bloody time!!! Traveling by train? You will see some shitting on the tracks. Visiting the mall? In all likelihood there will be some people pottying nearby. I worked in Dadar. On Senapati Bapat Marg, just after where the flyover ended. Every morning when I walked to office from the station, I would see a row of people squatting on one side of the road. When it rained they would squat with umbrellas. The women covered their faces!!!! The men...well I tried not to look at any of them. But the point was that when it rained the water swirled right past them and their potty, past my feet into what I hope was a drain. I kept a bottle of Dettol soap at work, and washed my feet footwear and all the moment I reached office.

Bombay was also the place where I completely embarrassed myself. I was following a friends feet at the Marine Lines station (it was the only part of him that I could see…he was wearing terribly bright shoes) and when his feet walked up these white tiled stairs I naturally followed. My nostrils gave warning about the place I was walking into but my brains and legs didn’t seem to register. A second too late I looked up to see my friend staring at me aghast. A variety of short tall fat thin well dressed badly dressed balding hairy men were also staring at me, some amused, some embarrassed, some horrified. Some horrifically for me, had turned around to see me and in their excitement had forgotten to zip up. I didn’t run from the place. I said “Oh I’m terribly sorry, excuse me, please, continue” and walked out in a very dignified manner. My friend refused to go anywhere with me for a very long time. Sigh.

I have managed to make myself feel ill with all these memories. Gross it all was. Why I just wrote such a long post on something so disgusting I don’t know. As it is people hardly read this blog anymore. With this post, the 2 readers I have left will also abandon me. My next post will be much nicer and totally yuck free. Prrrrroommiiise.

Life's THIS bad?

2008-05-27T03:47:00.000-07:00

Life...its a funny thing. You start out on what you think is a straight sunshiny road and then bang!! Suddenly there are twists and turns and you end up lost in a dense jungle and you just don’t know how to get back on the nice sunshiny road anymore.

Vague though that is, it does describe my life over the past few months. So I left my job, left a field I detested, joined a new place that a friend recommended and now I’m trapped in a hell-hole with no escape in sight. Getting out of bed and dragging myself to work is getting increasingly difficult. PR was frustrating and my clients doubly so, but at least, at the end of the day, I always got a laugh out of my interactions with them. If I stick around here long enough, I think I’ll forget how to laugh. And that just wouldn’t do would it? Therefore, I will try to return to blogging. Since I started this blog, it’s been the place where I vent, reveal my eccentricities and mull over the strange things that seem to continually happen to me. And that is how it shall be!

Having written this much, I’m suddenly at a loss for things to write. I could write about my driving experiences and the drunk man who gave me 800 bucks on the road, but I think that deserves a separate post altogether. I could write about the frustrating experience of living with a Boy, but oh…I could go on till the end of time on that one, so maybe some other time? I could write about my perennial weight problems, but that’s too depressing and given the general depressing state of my life right now I might just burst into tears. I haven’t read any great books lately. I have seen a few films of late…and several questions come to mind when I think back on them:

Jab We Met: Was Shahid Kapoor always this cute and likeable?

Welcome: Why was this a hit? Why did the Boy's office have to give us free tickets for THIS movie?

Aaja Nach Le: Who is cuter..Akshay Khanna in a slightly balding way or Kunal Kapoor in a totally un-shampooed way?

Jodha Akbar: How did Aishwarya Rai hold her head straight with all that jewellery on? And on a somewhat unrelated note, am I the only one who thinks Amitabh Bachchan is an ANNOYING old man who should possibly consider retiring? Also, on a completely unrelated note, did any of you see Jaya Bachchan at Cannes? In that hideous green outfit? That woman should be banned from leaving the house looking like a large green onion.

U Me and Hum: Why did I think it would be a good idea to watch this?

Tashan: I’m speechless.

Prince Caspian: Is it very weird and unnatural to have a humongous crush on a lion? *giggle*

On this note, I shall end this post. I shall hopefully be back again soon. Maybe next time I’ll tell you about the daschund that has been terrorizing me or the day I almost died, or just bitch about the Job.

Actually, while on the Job topic…someone PLEASE find me another job. Pretty please!!?

Things Ive been doing all this time...

2007-11-21T05:44:00.000-08:00

Working on a 5 day exhibition and conference on construction equipment. Attending many many MANY endless sessions and panel discussions on self compacting concrete, tippers, cranes, cold recycling, reflective potholes, hot recycling and other fascinating topics. After five consecutive days of this I could feel my brains self compacting themselves into solid concrete. Thankfully the conference ended on Sunday. I have no idea how my father has been dealing with such things for most parts of his professional career without wanting to jump off the nearest building.

Controlling (only barely so) extremely murderous and violent feelings towards some people that I have the misfortune of working with.

Whining every night about wanting to quit my job and take a break. Begging the boy to take the financial responsibility of running the house onto his shoulders. Promising to save on servant costs by doing all housework myself..including cleaning bathrooms. Swearing that he would never have to sweep humoungous piles of clothes, books, papers,bags, food etc etc off the bed before lying down for a nap. In short promising to fulfill my domestic duties to the T.He is not having any of it though. Gives me a skeptical look, grunts "Uhunh" and goes back to reading the Times of India...for the 10,000th time that day I might add.

Getting up at the crack of dawn, stuffng my face with parathas and sweets and then fasting the whole day. Not even a drop of water. All for the sake of Rahul's long life. Yeah...Karva Chauth. I did it to keep the MIL happy. Though if you think about it, the best way to ensure Rahul's long life is to make him starve for a day...detox and all of that. What good will my fasting do for him if he sits and pigs out on biriyani and jalebis!!!? I got a good amount of money and a gold coin at the end of it though, so it wasnt so bad. The actual Punjabi rituals are very different from what one sees in Hindi films and Ekta Kapoor's serials. Rahul wasnt required at all. I did have to look at the moon(or pretend to look at it through all the clouds), but I was not required to peer at him through that thing. And I refused to touch his feet. So it was all ok actually.

Coming to office in my large floppy blue bathroom slippers. With a blue flower on top( the one on the right slipper fell off, so its just one flower on my left foot and nothing on the other one). With my new red and white salwar suit which I had carefully put aside to be worn on this day...the day of an all important press conference. I was perfectly accessorised from head till ankle..after which it was a disaster. How I got through that day and that press conference in a pair of kolhapuris, several sizes too small, borrowed from my colleague, only I know.

Pocketing Rs. 800 from a very drunk man on the road for damaging my car ( Not really, all the scratches and dents on it were of my own addition but he didnt need to know that. ) , drunk driving (I told him I would file a case against him where I would specifically mention that he was driving drunk and harassing me ( He did. He kept trying to freak me out by driving really close to me, making weird noises, singing etc. Not to discount the mental harassment of having a huge Scorpio barely miss a loaded fuel tanker and then come to rest against your car!! Even if it miraculously did not damage said car!!). I took the money without any hesitation..ghar aaye Lakshmi ko na nahi kehte. And left the scene with a threatning " Im STILL going to file a case against you you drunk menace."

Wondering why I would ever want to spend money on Om Shanti Om. I don't even like Shahrukh Khan. The movie was what I expected it to be. I liked nothing about it except the credits. Shahrukh's 6 packs give me the creeps. Did anyone else notice the veins popping out on his neck?

Thanking God that better sense prevailed and stopped me from buying tickets for Saawariya. Hate Sanjay Leela Bhansali even more than I hate SRK, and yet I had been thinking about watching Saawariya.

Being attacked by a large fat black creepy crawly thing...that attached itself to the back of my clothes and then proceeded to prick all these horrible spiny black thingies all over my legs, and hands. Oooh it was disgusting and PAINFUL!! I still have welts on my legs from it. It looked like a caterpillar...only much bigger and blacker *shudder*

Almost fainting on sighting a large black slithery snake a few feet away from me, one early morning in front of the Press Club inside Cubbon Park. It slithered, stopped, looked and slithered away!I stood transfixed, paralysed, prepared to have a heart attack at the first sign of it slithering one milimetre closer. I didnt know there were large black snakes inside big cities like Bangalore. EEEKKK!!!!

And lastly, being horribly embarassed at Diwali time when MIL turned to me during the Lakshmi puja and invited me to chant some prayer or slokas I know. The only prayer I could remember at that point was Our Father In Heaven and worse...Make Me a Channel of Your Peace. I gaped at her and said "Erk!!prayer....right ummmm prayeeeerrr" till the boy jumped in to the rescue and started chanting some very complicated Sanskrit. I heaved a sigh of relief, only to realize that MIL and FIL ( poor souls) were looking at me expectantly, waiting for me to join in the chanting. So I finally shamefacedly told them I didnt know ANY prayers or slokas...unless Our Father In Heaven counted. They tried very hard not to look shocked, but couldnt really carry off the unconcerned look too well.

Sigh....

Back

2007-10-15T09:16:00.001-07:00

In Laga Chunari Mein Daag, Rani's patron takes her to office parties and introduces her to his associates as his company's " PR Manager". I sincerely hope none of my clients introduce me to people as their company's PR Manager henceforth. The connotations of that term after this movie are not so very desirable. As it is PR is a much maligned profession ( even the most unethical dimwit journalist doesn't hesitate to be rude to PR people..how I wish I could name names..GAH), couldn't Pradeep Sarkar have decided on some other field to serve as an euphemism for escort / call girl!!?

The movie is quite average in every aspect except the cinematography and the performances. Rani, Jaya Bachchan and Konkona...wonderful performances by all three. Kept me totally engrossed throughout the movie.

Well..maybe not totally engrossed. The theatre was full of small children...annoying noisy cranky children. Is it only Indians who don't think twice before taking their toddlers and babies to see a movie clearly meant for adult viewers at 10 in the night? I don't blame the poor kids for crying and fussing. I do want to slap their parents. This little nightmare behind me kept blowing spit bubbles through the gap in the seats. Oh and from time to time she lost control of all 10 of her balloons so they came and boinked me on the head while I was getting teary eyed at Rani's dilemma ( what!? I get teary eyed watching the Airtel ad with the grandson and grandfather also..I'm that kind of a person. ) After the third time that I got boinked on the head I finally turned around and told her mother that I would burst all the balloons if she didn't stop this behaviour. To which the cow replied "Arre bachchi hai..." Which is MY POINT EXACTLY!! Bachchi hai...why the hell is she in the theatre at 10 in the night and not at home sleeping!!? And why the hell are you not stopping her from blowing spit bubbles and chucking her balloons at people!!?

Speaking of annoying children and their uncivilised parents, unfortunately I live next to some. Those two little boys don't seem to go to school ever. Leaving home at 9 in the morning? They will be running around downstairs..trying their best to come under the wheels of your car? Coming home at 8 in the evening? They will still be playing downstairs, this time maybe inside your parking space. Sleeping at 6 a.m? They will be screeching in the corridor outside, thereby making sleep impossible. Napping on a Sunday afternoon? They will be playing football in the corridor using your front door their goal post. Have plans of lying in bed till 10 am on Saturday morning? Not only will they be playing football in the corridor with your front door as their goalpost, this time their father will be acting as the goalie...finding it fit to yell "GOAL" just outside your door at 8 am....on a Saturday. Their mother has 3 maids...one to cook, one to clean and the other to do what I'm not sure. She is a housewife. Doesn't even work from home. Just spends all her time gossiping and chatting with her friends in the building. The other day I got home around 10 at night and those junglee children were at their little football game outside my door again. This time I stepped out of the lift just in time to catch the even more junglee father kicking the ball at my door and screeching GOAL!!! Ah man!Something in my head just snapped. I don't think Ive ever given a grown man, a stranger that too, such a scolding in my life. To his credit, I must say, he took it very well..hanging his head and apologising...mumbling that he didn't realize they were being such a nuisance etc. Thankfully the corridor games have stopped, for now at least. The boys continue to give me heart attacks every time I try to take the car out or come back home and try to park.

Anyways, on a totally unconnected note, I am being flashed by a woman in my gym. Everyday. She steps out of the shower or the steam room...stark naked with the towel in her hand. She comes out..totally unconcerned about the fact that her private parts are being displayed to a room full of women...and grins very happily at me. Then stands right next to me towelling herself dry while I try to change into my tracks and t-shirt as unobtrusively as possible. I am not sure if she also smiles and greets others in the changing room as happily as she does me, mostly because I'm usually occupied with focusing on the spots and stains on the floor, and avoiding looking at her completely. Apparently the gym management has told her not to walk around the changing room naked, but she says "So what? We are all women in the changing room". I should be worried about this odd behaviour right? Being smiled at by random naked women might be the stuff that fantasies are made off for men but the experience embarrasses me TOTALLY. And also frightens me a bit. She has really big teeth..like the big bad wolf in Red Riding Hood. What do you think I should do? How to tackle this problem?

Kids..

2007-08-10T04:42:00.000-07:00

I opened the door for my maid at around 7 a.m. a few days back and saw my neighbour from across the hall, crouched over her son's tricycle outside their door. The son in question...a little 3 year old boy stood sleepily next to her, watching her reluctantly as she spun the pedals of his cycle in one direction and said "Rohan, this is clockwise". Then spun it in the other direction and said "Now see, this is anticlockwise". I thought I had heard it wrong...surely she couldnt be teaching that tiny little boy clockwise anticlockwise movement at that time of the morning!!? But, turns out she was doing exactly that...Rahul verified once I had dragged him to the door to see for himself. Holy shit!!! Can a 3 year old read the time? Does a 3 year old even understand the ticking of a clock's hands? Though I think this particular child is a complete brat and have often expressed a strong desire to slap him hard (specially when he runs up and down the hallway shrieking at the top of his voice on Sunday afternoons when I am trying to sleep), I couldnt help feeling very sorry for him. Poor thing, he looked completely disinterested in clockwise anticlockwise movements of his cycle pedal.

My friend was telling me the other day of this playschool near her house where they could hear the teachers teaching kids, barely able to speak in full sentences, "Haati kya khata hai" and "Sher kya khata hai" and more horribly "Vulture kya khata hai". Thats very inappropriate information for a toddler. I agree that its best to be honest with children and tell them about the facts of life and death, but this is carrying honesty a bit too far. ..this is just plain morbid. I think I will need to go through the curriculum with a magnifying glass before I admit my child to any playschool. Can you imagine the pictures that would have accompanied the answer to "vulture kya khata hai"!!??

I feel sorry for kids these days. Schools seem to be absolutely torturous places to be in and parents seem to have lost their senses. Though Im not a parent myself, I understand every parent wants his /her child to do really well in school and in life. But this is completely ridiculous. Don't they get it that pressurising their kids in this manner is not in their best interests? Education is not an option..sure..I couldnt agree more, but what kind of education requires a 3 year old to know clockwise anticlockwise when he, in all probability, cant even read the time? Thats just plain idiotic. I doubt if I would put my child through something like this.

My sister had a bit of a learning problem when she was a toddler. My parents didnt think twice before deciding to make her drop a year. When we moved to Bangalore, she joined this lovely playschool called Shiksha. The same kid who howled nonstop in the school in Calcutta, and pretty much failed to do any task set by her teachers, turned into this enthusiastic intellegent bright child who loved school. After Shiksha my parents went through entire lists of schools till they found something that promised a different curriculum and way of teaching. She went to NAFL where there are no examinations till the 5th standard and no text books. The kids are given hand outs and encouraged to learn through projects. I can confidently say that my sister is way more creative than I can ever hope to be. And she is not a bad student. Despite my mother's grave misgivings about her academic inclinations, she managed to do pretty well in her final exams, even topping certain subjects. Not bad for a kid who was made to shuttle between 3 cities and 4 schools over the last one year.

My point is, it is upto the parents to decide what kind of education and school they want to subject their kids to. Not to mention how much pressure to put on their kids. I know of mothers who have branded their kids with hot ladles because they failed to write the alphabet perfectly. Such people are psychos who are complteley unfit to be parents. also know mothers who sit outside their childrens schools and compare their progeny's progress vis a vis other kids ( go to any school in Calcutta..and you will see this bunch of jobless crazed women saying "aamar meye toh puro kobita r boi ta mukhosto kore feleche" and other rubbish) and then pounce on their kids the moment they come out only to snatch their exercise books away and compare their performance against others. I wish I could help their children.

Sometimes when I see these kids with their misguided parents and I see the terrible way they behave in public, I cant help but wish that the parents would stop obssessing about their marks and grades in school and spend a little more time disciplining them. The lady across the hall for example. If I were her son, I would be highly upset at being woken up at early in the morning and made to stand in the hallway looking at incomprehensible cycle pedal movements. If a terribly boring session at school,complete with dietary habits of vultures and rodents, followed this cycle session, I would most definitely feel the need to vent by shrieking at the top of my voice the moment I got home and running up and down the hallway.

Education is not cheap, and "different" schools like NAFL and Shiksha even less so. But, if I were a parent, my only concern would be my child's physical and emotional welfare. And if that meant a few sacrifices on my part to ensure he/she went to a school that didnt try to traumatise him/ her, I think I would make those sacrifices. Coz thats what parents do. And if I were totally unable to afford a decent school, I at least try to make the whole experience as un- traumatic as possible by not putting additional pressure on my kid. Cliched as it may sound, coming first in class is not everything in life, its way more important to be a well balanced sensible considerate human being.

Disclaimer : Those of you with kids, who don't agree with me, please dont leave predictable comments telling me how wrong I am, and how my perspective will change once I do actually have kids. Believe me, I have given it some thought. I am at an age when a lot of my friends are having babies and the thought of having one myself is not as horrifying as it would have been a few years back. I know what I want for my kids..if and when I have them. Thank you very much.

The men in blue...

2007-07-25T05:14:00.000-07:00

...are causing severe problems for me. I can't seem to be rid of them. First it was the World Cup. The boy was talking about it from before the wedding. About how I was not allowed to even touch the TV once the World Cup started and how I was not to expect anything from him when India was playing, two days before it (anticipation) and two days after( extreme joy or extreme sorrow as the case may be). To make matters worse he told his grandmother moments after the wedding how he had told me in no uncertain terms about my wifely duties during the World Cup., which involved conjuring delicious snacks for him everytime he felt hungry and then vanishing rapidly from the scene. Having just stepped off the mandap and being very concerned about vast quantities of sindoor enveloping me at that point, I could not respond to this very well, so now of course his grandmother thinks Im the ideal Indian bahu...which is quite a terrible situation to be in.

Anyways, after the debacle that was the World Cup, I thought it was all over. Just goes to show how naive I am. Turns out there is no cure for cricket mania. If its not the world Cup, its some one day series involving Pakistan and Ireland and (I think) South Africa.Now its the India England Test match. After this there will be highlights of matches played in 1886. Then it will be two experts pontificating on footwork and square cuts. Is there no end to this madness? The only sound one hears in my house these days is that of that ANNOYING little man Harsha Bhogle and that other fellow who says "Wikkit" instead of wicket talking away nineteen to the dozen about leg spin, silly point, square cut and other irrelevant rubbish. Interspersed with the sudden maniacal "OUTTTTTTT EEEEHAHEHAHAHAHA" type shrieks that, I promise you, will one day result in me having a major heart attack.

I was beginning to forget how to operate the remote. In desperation, I made one rule, Tuesdays 10-11pm and Wednesdays 10-11 pm the TV was MINE (Prison break and Greys Anatomy). But that too is fraught with dangers. Just when I'm immersing myself into Wentworth Millers dreamy eyes...

Boy (leaping out from bedroom): I think we just got a wicket. One quick check and you can go right back to Prison Break. (Lunges for remote)

Me ( startled by sudden appearance but firmly grasping remote and leaping out of the way) : NO!

Boy(maniacal glint in eyes) : Please. I said please. One quick look. ( Almost pokes his entire hand in my eyes trying to get the remote)

Me (well aimed kick to the shins) : I SAID NOOOOOOOOOOO!!! WE MADE A DEAL ( slapping hand away) INDIA IS GOING TO LOSE ANYWAYS. THEY ALWAYS DO. NOW GO AWAY.

Boy (looks hurt and retires to corner of the room) (incoherent mumbling)

It does'nt end there though. He sits and sighs loudly at frequent intervals. And the whole process is repeated during every commercial break, when his argument is that "its the break, Ill give it back once it starts". Yeah right. Like Im falling for that one again.So basically immersing myself in dreamy eyes of hunky prison inmates or McDreamy doctors is impossible. All thanks to a game that is totally and completely a waste of time. That pathetic excuse for a team should be disbanded and made to do something productive instead. Really!! How can anyone in their right minds actually believe that the team might win a match? And in the rare occurence when they manage to win, how can anyone in their right minds rejoice in it and not

A) dismiss it as a fluke?

B) dismiss it as a fixed match?

How?

That Harsha Bhogle reeeeeeeeaaallly annoys me. So do all the other people who talk incessantly about Saurav's off drive and Bhajjis off spin. My nightmares are now coming complete with commentary in Harsha Bhogle's voice. Its not pleasant I can tell you. I cant bear to live in the same house with this cricket obssessed creature anymore. I should have known it. The day he told me "Himesh is not that bad actually..his songs have a nice beat" ...I should have realized that he has appalling taste in entertainment and refused to go through with the marriage. As things are, I am regularly subjected to the Capped Menace as well as this steady undying stream of cricket related programming. Things in the Dutta Sachdev household are not going too well Im afraid. Can I sue the BCCI for ruining my marriage? And more imprtantly, is that damn Test Match over yet? Are there any more coming up immediately?

Erp....

2007-06-25T05:34:00.000-07:00

I am good at a number of things. For example I cook reasonably well...I do make the most awesome rasmalai even though I say it myself (modest look) , I am very good at keeping in touch with people, I am extremely adept at keeping my murderous feelings towards people tightly bottled up inside while smiling benevolently at them...Oh I can go on praising myself, but this post is not about how wonderful and talented I am(though that would make for a wonderfully morale boosting post really). This is about what I cannot do. Which, summed up in one word, is, drive.

There you have it. I cannot drive. Im 27 years old. Smart, funny, sophisticated (this is MY blog and I will be sophisticated if I want, so shuttup), reasonably well read, intellegent...and I cannot drive. But I need to drive. Desperately. I cannot depend on Bangalore autos anymore. But I cannot. And to add to my driving woes, I have this instructor who does not speak Hindi or English. He speaks a weird language that he tries to pass off as a mixture of the two.

Me (muttering under breath): Oooohhh my goodness...this is not a road..this is a chosha khet (ploughed field) how can anyone drive here?

Him: Medem no gundi medem. Wheels centre.

Me: Eh!?

Him: Gundi medem...no no no!!!!! (shakes head vigorously)

Me (distractedly almost driving into rear end of enormous cow ) What is a gundi? And what no no?

Him: (impatiently) : Cow medem...brake brake...gundi mein nahi jana...centre wheels.

Me: Dhur baba!! What is a gundi dammit!!!!And gari mein toh 4 wheels hai...centre wheel kahan se aayega? Ki jalaton re baba.

Him (wide smile) : Gundi medem...see see...On road. Usmein nahi jana...centre mein jana. (Points to ploughed field in front of me)

Me (realization dawns) : Aaaahh!! Pothole. You mean pothole. Aacha, you want me to avoid potholes. Ok ok. But whole road is pothole only...how to avoid?

Him: Wohi thoh boltha medem. ( please note, all the extra H's in that sentence were intended...thats how he pronounced it). Centre centre chalna...softly softly...( Dont ask..I dont know)

I have a phobia of traffic. Other cars, cow like pedestrians, actual cows, buses, two wheelers three wheelers all take on a demonic form when I have to navigate through the crowd.

Me (panic stricken) : OH MY GOD!!! WHY HAVE YOU BROUGHT ME TO THIS JUNCTION!!!?? HAVE YOU SEEN THE TRAFFIC!!?? YOU EXPECT ME TO DRIVE THROUGH THIS!!!!!!!?????

Him: We go your house medem. (Valid point, to get to my house you have to navigate this horrible junction full of buses and lorrys and cows and things)

Me: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Him:(Trying to be reassuring): No no medem. Darna no no. Traffic road. Seee...soft brake soft clutch....press medem. Medem...MEDEM..BRAKE MEDEMMMMMMMMM!!!!

Me: Bus bus....oooooooooohhh lorrrrrrrryyy...(pressing accelearator feverishly)

Him(Shouting, lunging towards the steering wheel) : Leave accelerator medem....no no left no no...truck truck.....

Me: (leaving steering wheel and tucking feet under me) : EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE...

We made it to the other side of the road and to my house safely...in case you were worried. I shudder to think what he must be saying of me behind my back.

I get distracted easily. Too easily.

Me:(to myself) This road is easy..no turns, no gundis..all nice. Lalala...

Me: ooooohhh look at the terracota stuff...lovely flower pots...my plants would look soo nice in those pots.

Him : MEDEMMMMM......Aadmi.....bike......(leaps across and turns the steering wheel to the right)

Me: Oh!! Right!! I should look in front. Really these pedestrians in India...Why do they have to walk in the middle of the road? Serves them right if they get run over.

This morning..

Me (to myself): Sooo cold it is. ( Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwnnnnnn)

Him: BRAKKEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111

Me: EEEEEEEEE

THUDDDD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ( I had run straight into the path of an oncoming vehicle)

Me (sheepishly) : Erp..sorry...driving school...(silly giggle)

Aggrieved uncle : What is wrong with you?

Me( turning to gundi man) : Why didnt YOU press the brake!!? You have the controls too. (I think he was sleeping as well).

After that I drove exclusively in second gear. At one point I allowed a bullock cart to overtake me. The look that the gundi man gave me was...embarassing, to say the least.

My self esteem is taking a severe beating. I need to hear some nice reassuring things about myself. I will eventually learn how to drive?Right? I am a female Michael Schumacher in the making...right? I will be traversing all sorts of vehicles and human n non human cows and gundis with elan in no time right? Right? Right??

Umm...any one know of a part time driver I can employ?

Help.

2007-05-28T05:26:00.000-07:00

Does anyone know how to get rid of monkeys?

My neighbourhood has suddenly been taken over by a bunch of unruly destructive and extremely aggressive monkeys. They are destroying my plants, tearing our clothes, dirtying the balcony...and today they have attacked the washing machine (kept in the utility balcony) and ripped the cover. Its impossible to leave the balcony doors or windows open, 'coz if we do, the next thing we know is that one of these horrible creatures is bounding in or peering in and baring its fangs at us. They dont seem to be scared of us at all. I tried shooing one away and it jumped at me..I just made it inside the house in the nick of time. I DO NOT like being terrorised in my own house by these unbearable animals.

I hate all forms of non human life...actually..come to think of it there are some forms of human life that I detest equally, but thats a different matter. In my old house, if you remember, it was pigeons. Now its monkeys. I dont know what will be next. Giraffes maybe!!? Or elephants!! GAH! Why the heck cant they just leave me alone? I certainly never go and try to bother them ever. But they cant let me be. Did I ever mention that police sniffer dogs bark madly at me everytime they see me? Once our bike was next to this dog squad van and, I swear Im not making this up, each and every dog in that van went berserk trying to break out and rip my throat out. Most unpleasant. And then there was the time when I was entering this high security event and didnt notice sniffer dogs around. They however noticed me..thank god the people holding them were nice strong burly looking men who did manage to keep them from lunching on me. I almost died of a heart attack. Then there was the cat in my old house that wanted to adopt me. It even crawled into my bed one morning and tried sleeping in it.

I don't want any more animals or birds or reptiles or amphibians or anything. Please tell me how to get rid of these horrible monkeys. Pretty please. *sob*

The age of liberation....?

2007-05-10T05:25:00.000-07:00

I read this line in a magazine today " Illegitimacy is a terrible word, but lets not forget its only necessary for legal forms and certificates. Not for life and love." Unfortunately not too many people understand it.

My friend M got pregnant right after we graduated from college. Her boyfriend refused to have anything to do with her. His family egged him on saying that a girl like her could not be trusted anyways ( she came from a broken family, and there were religious differences between her and her boyfriend). All hell broke loose in her family. Which was kind of expected. But stunned me was the way our classmates reacted. Educated girls from well to do families, some among them who boasted / hinted of enjoying active sex lives themselves, who dressed in the latest fashions and partied only at the most happening night clubs. Some of these girls had actually known M since school. One of them called her up and asked "I heard you were pregnant and I wanted to know if it was true." On hearing her answer to the affirmative this kind soul asked " You are actually planning to keep the baby are you?Have you gone mad? First you do this stupid thing and then you actually flaunt it by keeping the kid? Get rid of it." Some others called her up, faked sympathy and offered support, then immediately called others and bitched and gossiped. I dont know how the boys in our class reacted, because by then I had lost touch with all of them except V. And V, thankfully, was wonderful. He stood by her throughout.

M's baby is 3/4 years old now. She is a lovely intellegent kid. I suppose she takes after her mother. Because K, the boyfriend in question, is an asshole. M was prepared to go ahead with her pregnancy on her own. But her family and K's parish priest forced them to get married after many a violent quarrel. K hit M when she was 8 months pregnant. He refused to take her to his house. Paid zero money for child support. Got abusive whenever they did meet. This went on for a few years before M got a divorce. Today, she is married to a nice guy, who seems to love her and her daughter. I hope they will be happy.

Everytime I heard about K beating M, banging her head on the wall till she blacked out, yelling at the baby..all the horror stories, I wondered why she had to marry him in the first place. Yeah he got her pregnant. So what? Any man who can turn around and question his girlfriend's charecter and call her a nymphomaniac in a situation like this is obviously an asshole. He does not deserve to be associated with either the woman or the unborn child. What kind of a husband and father would he make anyway? Sadly, I know the answer to all my questions. She HAD to marry him because that little baby needed a father's name to be accepted by society. And she needed a husband's name to be accepted by the same stupid shortsighted society. A man's name after yours somehow makes everything ok. And this is a urbanm context Im talking about. I dont want to think of what happens in rural India.

Open any magazine and you will see at least one article that talks of the liberated urban Indian woman of today. She who lives life on her own terms and takes her own decisions. Bullshit. Her independance is restricted to deciding to smoke in public. Her liberation means that today she steps out in a tube top and low slung jeans instead of a salwar kameez, and drives her own car. Financial and economic independance means that she now goes to expensive lounge bars on her own and drinks expensive cocktails. When it comes down to the basics, nothing has changed. She still needs male escorts to drop her home after a night out partying, she still needs men around to protect her from unwanted attention, she still needs to marry an asshole just so society will accept her and her children.

I know there are a few women who have actually gone ahead and defied society. Actually done their own thing. But I am sure that it was not an easy decision to take, or for that matter, live with. I know that despite what I say, in a situation like M's, I cannot with any certainity, say that I would not give in to societal pressure. Would I even have the guts to obey my instincts and carry the baby to term? Or would I listen to that kindhearted classmate and opt for the easy way out? I don't know. How would my family react if I did decide to have the child? Modern and extremely liberal though they are, I cannot answer that question. Would my Mother who always told me to stand by what I believe is right, other be damned, actually be able to follow her own advice? When will society change? Will it change at all? Why the hell cant people mind their own business?

I dont have the answers to any of these. If news reports are anything to go by, we seem to be regressing instead of advancing, becoming incapable of distinguishing between the lewd and the innocent. So convinced are we that sex related matters are against our culture that we are prepared to leave our children ignorant and thereby defenceless in the face of sexual abuse. I can only hope that this is passing phase. That we wake up to the fact that sex happens. Unwanted pregnancies happen,child sexual abuse happens, that a mature grown woman has the right to decide whats best for her and her child. I really do hope that day is not too far away.

About a maid..

2007-04-18T05:37:00.000-07:00

I have come to realize that my maid is the most important person in my life. The day that the maid does not show up at 7 a.m is...well its a tragedy. I am depressed, irritable, and prone to tears. I usually wake up at 6.30 a.m and worry about whether she will show up or not. Ah! The joy I feel when the bell rings. The bounce in my step when I go to open the door, the smile on my face when I see her..you have to see it to believe it. The presence of easily available domestic help in India is probably the strongest argument I can present to never ever moving abroad.

After I moved into my own apartment I employed a maid. Who drank. Like the proverbial fish. Though I did not realize this till much later..I merely thought the rather strong smell that always entered the house with the maid, came from outside through the door when I opened it for her. It never once occured to me that the advance money she took from me every second week was spent on alcohol. Till Rahul complained that she smelt like a distillery. And she did you know. Strongly. Disgustingly. Horribly. Till that moment I had never once connected the red eyes, the occassionally swaying gait to alcohol. I didnt fire her though. Good maids who dont bunk are hard to find. And as long as she was not stealing my alcohol there was no reason for me to fire her.

After my drunkard maid, I moved to my present house. And hired two maids. One to cook and the other to clean. The cook seems normal. Doesnt seem to drink. Though I think shes been eating my biscuits. The empty packet was lying in the box, and neither the boy nor I have eaten them. Again, Im faced with a dilemma...she is a damn good cook. Should I just sack her over something as trivial as a few biscuits? I can always buy more biscuits. In fact, now that I think about it, I dont even like biscuits that much.

The cleaning maid...she was another matter altogether. She was this plump pleasant faced woman named Jayamma who didnt speak a word of Hindi or Tamil ( The boy speaks Tamil fluently, having grown up in Chennai, very useful accomplishment). She spoke Kannada only.And while I can understand Kannada when it is spoken slowly I cannot follow a superfast giggly conversation and I cannot speak the language. Also, she seemed to be mentally deficient. She smiled and giggled ALL THE TIME!! Glad though I am to see my maids,I do not appreciate voluble incomprehensible monologues accompanied by loud giggles and beatific smiles at 7 a.m. She didnt seem to understand even the simplest of instructions in the most basic Hindi :

Me: Yeh jhadu se idhar saaf karo...(accompanied by sweepeing arm gestures)
Maid: Giggle giggle....Lot of incomprehensible Kannada words...giggle giggle.
Me: Jhadu (brandish broom) - se- saaf (sweeping movements)
Maid: (postively hysterical) GIGGLEGIGGLEGIGGLE
Me: (firmly hand broom to her): karo (sweeping movements yet again)
Maid: (broom in hand) Broad smile.
Me: Kya hua? Saaf karo...jhadu se ( point to broom and sweeping motions again. Very tiring for the arms)
Maid: Giggle. More incomprehensible Kannada.
Me: ( take broom back and start sweeping floor)

This continued for a few days; not just sweeping, but mopping and washing utensils as well. Then I just refused to get out of bed and open the door. Rahul let her in, and she went about doing what I suppose she thought was cleaning. Except that when I did get up I would find dust and dirt everywhere, and redo everything myself. This routine was followed on the days when she actually came to work. Most days she didnt. So I decided to save myself 800 bucks a month and just sack her. At that point I had grand notions of doing all the housework myself. I told myself and anybody else who would listen that this would be good exercise and would help me stay fit, lose weight etc. Within a week I was begging all and sundry to find me a maid. The biggest reason for my dramatic change of heart was the fact that I live with a boy with amazingly dirty feet. Also that I employ a cook who likes to use an average of 16 utensils while making one dish.

Then I found Basanti, who is terribly posh. We converse in English because she doesnt speak Hindi. Only Kannada and English. She does not call me Amma or Bhaabi, she calls me Madam. She politely refused to come on Sundays. When I offered to pay her extra to come on Sundays she firmly told me "Its not about money Madam. I need one day for myself." Which is a valid point. Its just that I have never heard an Indian maid put it that way. She does not giggle or smile(thank god). In fact she hardly ever says anything. To be honest, Im quite intimidated by her. When I want ther to do something I usually think thrice before actually putting it in words.And I say it as politely as I can..."errr.. I was just wondering, if you are done with the utensils..maybe you could dust on top of the fridge??" I have all these old clothes to give away, I would normally have given them to the maids, but I am scared to ask Basanti if she wants them. What if I offend her? What if she never comes back to my house again? Would I ever find a English speaking maid again?

Such, dear Reader (those of you who have made it till here) is my life. I could tell you more, but now I have to go and purchase a Vim bar for Basanti and ginger paste for my cook. I think while Im at it, I shall buy a packet of biscuits for both of them. Cant hurt to keep them happy right?

Its all about the money honey

2007-04-03T07:03:00.000-07:00

I went to this optical solutions store today. Which is a fancy way of saying spectacle/contact lens showroom. One of my clients. While I was there, I saw this woman buying a pair of Mont Blanc spectacle frames. Worth Rs. 25,000. No you did not misread the number of zeros in that. She bought a pair of spectacle frames for twenty five thousand rupees. And thats just the cost of the frames. The lenses were another Rs. 12-15000. What I am not able to understand is :

A) Why does anyone need designer branded spectacle frames? Would other people even notice that you are wearing designer branded spectacles? Do any of you notice other peoples' spectacles to see which brand they are?

B) For someone to be able to afford that kind of money on spectacles, what kind of money would they be earning?

C) Am I cheap when it comes to spectacles? Coz I generally look for the cheapest frames, and moderately good quality lenses. How much would any of you spend on spectacles? Not sunglasses. Spectacles. Prescription eyewear. Choshma.

D) Why don't I make that kind of money?

E) Will I ever make the kind of money that will allow me to even consider buying spectacles /sunglasses of this kind?

Life is just not fair!! 25000 on spectacles!!!! God!!That kind of spending should be banned!! It makes stupefied bystanders like myself feel very bad about themselves.

Me...

2007-03-08T04:52:00.000-08:00

Between January 20th and February 14th I have travelled from

1) Bangalore to Kolkata

2) Kolkata to Chennai

3) Chennai to Delhi( meeting his relatives)

4) Delhi to Chandigarh( ditto)

4) Chandigarh to Manali

5) Manali to Chandigarh

6) Chandigarh to Delhi(relatives again)

7) Delhi to Chennai

8) Chennai to Bangalore.

And tomorrow I am off to Goa. For a office offsite. So if you look at it, come Monday I can proudly proclaim to have travelled to the 4 corners of India in the span of little more than a month. I am tired. Of planes, trains, buses, cars....probably the only thing I am not tired of right now is any form of waterborne transportation, but Im sure after this weekend Ill be tired of that as well.

The week afterI got back to Bangalore before I got back to work, I spent all my waking hours with Rahul's mom (she was here for knee treatment). Then I joined work and worked right through the weekend (yes Sunday included), let me not even get started on the weekdays. In between all of this, I have managed to go and buy some furniture for the house, had my father, Rahuls mom, brother and sister in law over for dinner. And followed it up by inviting both Rahuls parents, brother, and sister in law over for dinner last weekend.

I have forgotten what its like to be alone. I have not spent time with myself, for myself in so long, that now Im scared Ive forgotten how. And GOD!! I am SO tired. All I want to do is sleep. Truth be told I dont want to go to Goa. But for various reasons I cant back out now.

I love being married. There is no ambiguity on that. I want to spend as much time as I can with Rahul. We are used to each other by now. Used to the need for space, need for spacing out. I am just so tired of all the other people right now. I love them all dearly, I really do. But right now I want them all a little further away. I want to wake up late, stay in bed, read the 6 odd books that have been lying around unopened for I dont know how long, sleep some more and talk with Rahul. Not about furniture or budgets, or when we have to go to Chennai, or Mom's knee problems. Talk about nothing in particular. Without social obligations, without lists of things to do hanging in the balance, without places to visit, without cell phones ringing.

Sigh. Have to go home now. And pack for Goa. I'll be back. Sometime.

I am back....

2007-02-23T05:05:00.000-08:00

And this is what I have been doing...

At the sangeet, contrary to everyone's expectations, the Bongs danced like there was no tomorrow while the Punjus sat demurely and looked on. My finace vanished after the ring ceremony and I wandered around smiling vaguely at people...that, at least, was expected.

Yellow is not really my colour is it?

My whole family left me alone inside to go and witness the remarkable spectacle of Rahul on a horse. He claims that the horse was drunk. Im just glad I have this picture for posterity..heh.

This part of the wedding is really hard on the arms. They ache after a point.

And having one's hands pinched under the cloth by the man one is marrying, really does not help matters.

WHY do Bengalis (read ghotis not bangals) put soooo much sindoor on the bride!! I had sindoor all over . My nose was red at the end of it...Someday I shall post the picture of me looking exactly like Rudolph the red nosed reindeer.

And that was that :)

But why?

2007-01-13T04:36:00.000-08:00

I jumped onto the Orkut bandwagon a little later than the rest of the world. Already I have a fair number of "frensip" seekers, most of whom have very entertaining things to write in their profiles.

But...

I also seem to be attracting a fair number of couples seeking"like minded friends". Which is slightly disturbing. Something about my sari clad, red teeka smeared picture and extremely boring description of myself and my interests somehow give people the impression that I would like to do the "full swap"!!? Goodness gracious!!!! My convent bred sensibilities are highly scandalised.

Whats interesting however, is the number of "like minded friends" they have managed to gather. I saw Mixed Doubles, I read articles on how open marriages and wife swapping are becoming increasingly common in India. But somehow it didnt hit home till now...it was something that people in some part ofIndia might do. But with this couple who want to be my friends, it suddenly seems very real. They have some really amazing profiles on their friends list ( yes I went through their friends list...I had to..dont ask me why). Women who claim to love incest, couples whose profile picture features themselves having sex, self proclaimed nymphomaniacs draped in bedsheets...real people, not some image downloaded off the Net.

I cannot imagine why anyone would want to put a picture of themselves wearing next to nothing on the Internet. But then, I cannot even understand the concept of "open marriage". I dont understand why two people who in their own words "love to love without any barriers" would want to get married. Isnt marriage supposed to be about commitment? To one partner? Sleep with the whole wide world if you love to love so much, why get married? Wouldnt being single give you a much wider playing field? I find this as weird as the man they wrote about in The Telegraph sometime back, who likes to watch his wife having sex with other women because he is concerned about her safety.

I do wish people wouldn’t feel free to think I would be open to full swaps and such like. I thought being propositioned by a woman was my last brush with alternative lifestyles.

I sound most dreadfully obsolete. Happy 2007 everyone.

Grrrrr.

2006-12-14T04:03:00.000-08:00

Its been a really long time since I last posted. For some reason I just cannot think of what to post. Its really not like anything major is happening in my life. Of late, I am just getting increasingly stressed, irritated and impatient. Coming to work everyday is becoming a painful task. I know want to get out of this industry asap, but dont know how to. If not this then what? Ive spent 4 years trying to build a career in this industry...quitting now would mean throwing all the hard work away. Is it worth it? Every Friday night I tell myself that quitting would be silly, that its just not worth it to throw away 4 years of hard work and start afresh. Every Monday morning I come back to the same shitty issues and demands and constraints and wonder what the hell made me think it would be silly to quit.

Siigh. Every day on my way to work, I count the days left till I go on leave. When people ask me if I am excited about the wedding, I very truthfully say Im excited about the nice long break from work that I hope to get. And they dont believe me, or worse,grin knowingly at me and say some incredibly idiotic things or call me pseudo and nyaka. Which really just results in me wanting to smack their silly faces. Thats another thing...Im finding it difficult to tolerate most people these days. Up untill now, I have always been the kind of person who is able to put up with the most irritating of people, I was always able to ignore their idiocies and stupidities. Worst case scenario I would snap at them and forget about it. These days snapping doesnt seem adequate enough response. Im tempted to do things far more violent.

But then, people have really been saying and doing the most maddening things. Since I have nothing specific to write about,let me enumerate some of the things that have been driving me up the wall over the past few weeks, and you tell me how to deal with them.

A) Detailed descriptions of a newly married friend's sex life. Unasked for descriptions. Silly excitement over the fact that they have "done it". After the 10th detailed one sided discussion in hushed tones, I told friend in question to grow up and get over it 'cause people have sex all the effing time..so its really not such a big deal. She has stopped speaking to me since. Which is not such a bad situation to be in, all things considered I mean.

B) Detailed and endless descriptions of aforementioned newly married friend's in law problems. I sympathise, I really do. But I cant listen to your endless list of problems every time we meet.I dont need to know each and every unpleasant incident that occurs in your life. And I really do resent being told that my in laws will turn out to be horrible ogres once I am married just like yours did. I especially resent that tone of absolute certainity with which you tell me this each time we meet. Maybe they will, maybe they wont. Thats for me to find out.

C) Wife besotted men having loud conversations with their other halves about the colour of the hair dryer she has bought and whether the washing machine that has just been delivered to their house is a top loading one or a front loading one. Its fine if its just one conversation in a day. I am usually able to block out most of whats happening around me at work. But conversations such as this, conducted while sitting directly behind me 20 times a day (for once I am NOT exaggerating. The truth is indeed stronger than fiction) in extremely loud tones is bound to affect the most devoted sadhu. I cannot take it anymore. One of these days, Im going to snatch his cell phone out of his hand and throw it out of the window. Or burst a blood vessel trying to stop myself from doing that.

D) Advice on honeymoon destinations. I dont take very kindly to unasked for advice at the best of times. And these are not the best of times. I dont see why I have to go to Mauritious just because Rahuls friend did. Im sure he had a marvellous time, but I dont want to go there. I hate beaches. I turn purple and the skin on my nose starts peeling making me look startlingly like Rudolph. And I think its unbearably rude on his part to tell us "its not very expensive yaar. you guys can definitely afford it." What the fuck!!

E) Advice on marriage. Even worse, advice on sex. UFFFFFFFFFFFF!!!

F) Idiocies of people in Mumbai and Delhi. But that would require 2 separate posts to enumerate. Let me just say that aforementioned people have brains the size of very small sparrows.

G) 30 something year old indiviuals who seem incapable of managing their finances. Who claim to be bankrupt in every sense of the word, who owe large sums of money to all sorts of people, and yet who dont think twice before dining at the most expensive restaurants and buying the most expensive things. And then try to borrow money off me!!

H) People who give you missed calls and expect you to call back.What is WITH that really!!??

I) Cheap people who are too oversmart for their own good. Who suggest " lets all hire a car and go on a holiday" not because they want spend time with you, but only because they want someone to share the cost of hiring a car!!

I could go on and on and on. But conversations on the laundry and the tablecloth have started behind me. Now is the time I make my move and snatch that cell phone!! GRRRRRRRRR!!!!

Metrosexual

2006-11-10T02:23:00.000-08:00

I liked Abhishek Bachchan. I thought he was hot. BUT.......The man has taken to wearing a hair band!! School girls wear hairbands. To keep their bangs and fringes and what have you off their foreheads. To escape the wrath of austere nuns. College girls wear hairbands. Little girls wear hair bands. Not Abhishek Bachchan. He is a boy for goodness sake.

But it seems boys now wear hairbands as well. Macho, muscular boys like Arjun Rampal. Less macho boys like Farhan Akhtar;even 40 something old uncles like Deepak Parasher wear hairbands ( and white satin nighties as well, going by his startling appearance on Sony's Big Boss). Tomorrow, for all I know, my istriwalla will show up at my doorstep wearing a hairband.

Now, Im all for the sensitive well groomed man. A man who feels free to express his emotions, who dresses well and takes care of his appearance, who smells good. I am ok with discussing pedicures and manicures and cleansing toning moisturising with a man. I am even ready to share my face packs with my man (something that I kindheartedly do on a regular basis). What Im not ready for is the sudden influx of men in womens' clothes and womens' accessories. Who look like women when seen from behind. These days Im finding is quite difficult judge a persons sex at first glance. Is it my imagination, or are men looking more and more like women and vice versa? Just the other day I saw what I thought was a girl with a lovely figure and even nicer hair..all straight and shiny, only to have "her" turn around and be confronted with a luxuriant french beard on a very masculine jaw. So disconcerting.

Why can't men be men? Like Gregory Peck and Sean Connery and Yul Brynner and Amitabh Bachchan? Why cant they stick to nice simple men's clothing and accessories? Oh and colours!! Pink does not become a man! I don't care what Rohit Bal and his ilk have to say on that topic. Pink and lavender and orange and mauve are NOT manly colours...unless you are Hugh Grant..or George Clooney..or Abhishek Bachchan maybe.

Point is, too much of anything is baaaddd!! Be sensitive men. Spend a little extra money on deos and bodysprays and pedicure appointments if you must. Use more products than your fiancee if you want, finish her face packs if it makes you happy. But please! Draw the line at borrowing her clothes and her hair accessories and her jewellery. Or her make up. Ye Gad!! A man wearing lipgloss!!!!! Is that the future of mankind? Im getting a headache at the thought. And oh lord!! Theres Salman Khan on tv modelling for a jewellery brand, in a diamond necklace. Muscles and diamonds do not a good combination make. I must switch off the tv and close my eyes for a while.

But before that....I give you... a face packed metrosexual man of today, who knows where to draw the line. "Yeah Ill use some of your face pack sweety, it gives my complexion that lovely glow,but no hair bands or diamond necklaces for me thank you." Thank goodness.

PS : In case you guys dont hear from me in say over a week, know that I have paid with my life for putting this picture here. Such risks I take for this blog.

Photoblog 2

2006-10-25T06:40:00.000-07:00

The road from our resort to Madikeer. A total of 5 kms. We walked all the way. Lovely walk. Then we walked within Madikere. Then we walked back. Lovely!!

On our way back..this dog adopted us. He followed us all way back to the resort..all 5 kms of it. And everytime we stopped hoping he would run ahead and lose us, he stopped too...and waited impatiently till we started walking again. Is this normal dog behavior??

The boy at Madikere Fort. I have discovered on this trip that he is rather obssessed with having pictures of himself taken. I have taken 3-4 pictures of him at every place we visited. Even inside that Monastery on the scorching hot flagstones (we had to remove footwear within the premises)..next to a large bell that too. No consideration for my poor burning feet!! Tchah!

The Fort was nice. And then we thought we would explore a bit more and ended up here...District Prison Madikere. The policemen didnt seem too amused to see us.

Picture is kind of dark, but it is of a god figure and a demon figure in a very compromising position behind the Madikere jail. makes you wonder..no?

Litter!! Strewing both sides of the mountain trail that leads down to Abbey Falls. I just cannot understand the mentality of someone who can litter a forest so beautiful like this. I can also not understand how anyone can manage to drink beer and Frooti and eat chips on that trail..it is steep and winding at the same time and most exhausting!!!

Bang in the middle of Madikere market I see this. Convinces me further that if Mount Everest is ever opened to tourists and if I ever make it to the top, I would hear at least one strident voice calling out "Ore Montu monkey tupi ta pore ne re..boddo thaanda ekhaane." (Montu wear the monkey cap its very cold here).There is no way, that the Bangali tourist will not visit someplace worth visiting. And by God! They were all over Coorg. In various shapes and sizes and degrees of sophistication.

Coorg is also known for its rich culinary traditions. Something that we made full use of. Unfortunately our tummies were not designed to handle the non stop ingestion of food no matter how yummy. We spent our last night in Coorg running to and from the loo. And hissing at each other through closed loo doors "How long are you taking!!? Come ouuuuttt!! I have to GO!!!!" But I must say, something about a shared tummy upset just brings you closer. Tell me,how can you have agonised discussions about potty problems and impending 8 hour bus ride and stomach cramps with someone all night long and not feel cloooooosseee to them? The boy and I know more about each other after this trip than we did in the last 3 years.

Photoblog 1

2006-10-24T04:44:00.000-07:00

Happy Diwali everyone ...I know Im a little late with the wishes but I hope all of you had a great festival. Me..I HATE Diwali. Have you ever seen dogs which whimper pitifully at the sound and light created by fireworks and hide under the bed? Well, lets just say I can totally empathise with the poor things. I would much rather tuck my tail between my legs, whimper and hide under the bed myself than go out and light fireworks or go out where fireworks are being lit by others.

So therefore, I went away this weekend..on holiday. To Coorg. The original plan was to go to Munnar but we didnt get bus or train tickets so we had to fall back on the old reliable..Coorg. This time we went sightseeing to places we havent been to before. Like Dubbare elephant training camp and the Golden Temple Budhdhist Monastrey (There is a huge Tibetan settlement in Kushalnagar) and Cauvery Nisarga Dhama. Much fun was had. See for yourself.

Note: These are the nice touristy pictures we took. Will post the other less touristy ones later.

Abbey falls. The last time we visited this place was in summer when there was hardly any water. This time the river was in full spate and the waterfall was ..well to echo those annoying children on the bus...AWESOME!!!

Cauvery Nisarga Dhama. It a 60 acres natural island in the middle of the River Cauvery. Isnt the river idyllic? The island has a a huge bamboo forest and a small zoo of sorts. They have deer and rabbits. And big signs everywhere saying Do NOT FEED THE ANIMALS. And insensitive tourists who insist on feeding the adorable bunnies chips!! Some people na! I tried telling them not to, only to be glared at and abused in Kannada.

Inside the Golden Temple Monastery in Kushalnagar..each of those statues is plated with solid gold. Just imagine!!

Coracle boat. Most unstable looking dont you think? Apparantly there are crocodiles in the river at that point. A fact which I was informed of once I was in that thing in the middle of the river.

Dubbare Elephant Training Camp. Isnt the baby cuuuuuuttttee? I tried petting him but I dont think his mother liked me much. She trumpeted loudly resulting in me running for my life. Insensitive assholes marred part of this experience.One man was actually trying to pull strands of hair out of the poor baby's tail when the mother wasnt around. And the giggly females accompanying him seemed to think it was an act of immense courage! Such people deserve to be trampled to death I think. I gave him a piece of my mind,and this time I was thankfully backed up by some other people as well. How can people be such assholes!!!?

View from our balcony.

Our cottage. It was very pretty and everything, but being situated in the middle of all this wilderness left it rather open to creepy crawly things. Such as caterpillars and centipedes and huge geckos...shudders.

Arty farty

2006-10-10T06:08:00.000-07:00

Is it just me or do other people reading this also find Modern Art incomprehensible? And boring? And pretentious? Do any of you share my sentiments when I turn away from a work of art and mumble " if that is art then even I can do it!!" No seriously. What is Modern Art anyways? A whole lot of paint splashed around on a canvas and given some high funda name! Tchah!

Obviously my sentiments are not shared by the vast majority of the country, otherwise Modern Art would not be selling for such high prices. Take for example this French Modern Artist I once had the misfortune of befriending. He insisted on showing me his latest creation. I do wish he hadn't. I was told later that it was meant to represent youth and violence...or some such vague notion. But what I saw was a white canvas with a large blob of dried gobor..cowdung...stuck on it. A little bit of silver foil was stuck to the middle of the blob. And, you know those things we did as kids with a bottle of poster colour, a toothbrush and a comb...that spray painting thingy....yeah well...it looked like he had had a fun spraypainting session all over the silverfoiled cowdung blob. I thought it was a very bad representation of a cow run over by a truck. Needless to say he was most offended and our friendship ended on a rather bitter note, which wasn't a bad thing after all. Imagine having to confront other shitty messes and attempting to interpret them!

I have had terribly harrowing times with artists. I was almost murdered by one half mad, tiny Bengali Fine Arts teacher in Hyderabad because I said I felt most of MF Hussein's paintings were handpainted overpriced contributions to the Indian pornography industry. And I do not understand the necessity of depicting nude gods and goddesses. Its like the only thing the man wants is cheap publicity one way or another. She fell off her gardener's cycle with indignation and then treated me to a long torturous lecture on the subject of Art and artistic freedom and my shameful ignorance of the same.

Oh and then there was that awful art festival in Bangalore that I was doing PR for. Oh my goodness. Wild haired, wild eyed, bearded, paint smeared, vague, scatty famous artists descended upon Bangalore and me for one full week. Why do these people almost always ask you what you think of their work? Why do they need constant reassurance? So insecure.This very famous and very scatty mural artist from Delhi stopped in the middle of an interview waved vaguely at the wall she was working on and asked me with a beatific smile "But my dear do you think the Roerechian theme is a very strong element in this mural?" Can you imagine!!!? I knew who Roerich was, since Bangalore was celebrating his birth...or was it death... centenary, but what the hell was a Roerechian theme? I wouldnt recognize a Roerechian theme if it danced naked in front of me. Ufff!!Thankfully my experience with the French artist had left me a little wiser so I returned the beatific smile and looked mesmerised and murmered words like..."Ma'm..its brilliant. Words fail me really. Stunning. the colors....!!!!!" Believe me when I say those words and other similar ones helped immensely during the festival. Whenever an arty looking artist asked me what I thought of his/ her work I would look like I was going into raptures over the damn thing and murmur "beautiful" "stunning" and on one occassion even "stupendous" and "mind blowing".

And speaking of artists, why must they be so scatty? Would wearing normal clothes and trimming ones facial hair and not talking harebrained rubbish all the time make one any less talented or creative?Oshojho!

Its not just artists, its playwrights and poets and actors and musicians...its anyone with any semblance of creativity. Why can't they just be normal? And why oh WHY must they always ask for feedback to their works of art? More often than not I dont understand high brow stuff. I get bored. Or giggly. Or both. I have watched award wining animated films and documentaries and the only thing I have taken away from the screening was either a overwhelming desire to laugh my head off ( It was about elephants in captivity and showed a large elephant swaying its trunk accompanied by a mournful female voiceover saying ridiculous things like "I too was once free...I too have a girl waiting for me in the jungle.." The idea of a lesbian elephant was quite funny) or complete total bewilderment (this was a 5 minute animated film which claimed to depict violence in the act of love making...it consisted of a number of animated intertwining lines, interspersed with occassional red blotches and a startling voice saying "PUM PUM" from time to time. That incidentally was the name of the film and was by Alyque Padamsee's niece).

Point is, I do not understand Art, or poetry. I do not appreciate high brow theatre or books. They bore me to tears. Does that make me uncultured? I dont care really. I am scared to death of artists/ poets (No Arka no Im not scared of you at all, though you are indeed wild haired and wild eyed and you keep asking me for feedback on your poetry that I do not understand..Im NOT SCARED OF YOU!! So there!!) and never want to encounter any more in this lifetime.

PS: Im done ranting. I have had the singular misfortune of running into an old artistic fake ridiculous, posturing, irritating acquaintance of my parents. And been forced to endure a lecture on creative self expression. Of all the pseudo aantel rubbish people!!!!!! Gah!!!

Incoherent ramblings from a sleepy mind..

2006-09-27T03:37:00.000-07:00

Why is it that the most good looking men are always so dumb? I met one just a couple of weeks back...a man who can be considered India's current heartthrob. And though I personally never felt inclined to swoon over him, I had to admit that he was really very good looking. But then I met him. And the man has sawdust between his ears. No really I mean it. To be fair to him he did seem professional and attitude free, but then only a rather dumb man would jump in on a conversation, misunderstand what was happening, mistake me for a journalist even after I clearly explained who I was and proceed to throw a small tantrum. Ki jhamela. But he did have the most wonderfully soft hands though. Probably spends a lot of time and money on manicures.

Speaking of men, did any of you ever develop crushes on fictional charecters? Ive had crushes on all sorts of charecters from as early on as I can remember. I think my first crush was Julian from Enid Blyton's Famous Five series. He was so cute in a nice clean big brother way. I liked him very much. I think immediately after Julian I had a crush on Sherlock Holmes. Don't know why, because Hercule Poirot was and is, my favourite private investigator. Love the "leetle grey cells".And Sherlock Holmes is quite the "human bloodhound" that Poirot despises. But still. I nurtured secret fantasies of being Sherlock Holmes' client...an English lady with blue eyes who swept in on him and Watson, and wrung her hands nervously while telling them her problem. Of course he would solve the mystery and fall in love with her simultaneously and they would live happily ever after...sigh!

I think I have a thing for detectives. Because I still have the most tremendously massive crush on Feluda (Non Bongs: Feluda or Prodosh C Mitter is a detective created by Satyajit Ray. ) Whats not to love...a 6 foot tall, intellegent, handsome (he looks handsome in the sketches) Bengali man who owns a Colt revolver and courts danger and solves mysteries and even dabbles in some Kung Fu (Bombai er Bombete)....why arent there more Bengali men like Feluda? I envisaged a very happy love life for us as well. My love for Feluda is probably the reason why Soumitro and not Uttam Kumar is my favourite Bengali actor. Did you see Soumitro in Joy Baba Felunath and Sonar Kella? Now THAT, and not John *sawdust* Abraham is swoonworthy material. I am the proud owner of the ENTIRE Feluda series, and no I shall not lend them to anybody, those books are to precious to be lent.

Over the course of my adolescent years I have had temporary fleeting crushes on some M&B charecters but those did not last long. Tall dark and handsome never really did much for me. Some of the longer lasting crushes other than the ones mentioned earlier would include Byomkesh Bakshi (told you I have a thing for detectives), but I suspect that had more to do with Rajit Kapur in that serial...sooooo cuuuttteee . Then there was Shankar from Chander Pahar, such a adventurous boy he was. Faced a black mamba all by himself. And Captain Mallory from the Guns of Navarone, such a masculine man. I imagined myself going on missions with him where I would be this terribly efficient ruthless soldier with a lot of attitude. And we would be at loggerheads throughout, and everybody around us would feel the tremendous chemistry and all of that. And then I would be forced to face my worst fear..an impossibly high cliff which we have to scale for the success of the mission, and I would break down, and he would be oh so sensitive and help me through the ordeal, and I would grit my teeth and not let me fear stop me and we would reach the top and in a moment of relaxed triumph he would pull me to him and kiss me passionately..and...ahem!! Yes err, lets move on.

Sigh. So many marvellous men. Aragorn from Lord of the Rings and Legolas too. Although truth be told I kinda liked Frodo as well. He was a very brave little hobbit wasnt he? More recently I developed all these feelings for Sirius Black from Harry Potter. What and all the poor man had to endure. I got very emotional when he died. Why did she have to kill him? She could have done away with Lupin instead..being a werewolf must have been difficult for him. I must say the Sirius Black in the movie was a total disgrace. Did you see that ridiculous little moustache!? Tchah! Then I developed feelings for Bill Weasely, but then he got bitten by that other werewolf and now is all ugly and possibly werewolfish and I dont really know if I want to continue liking him.

Right now, I just finished re reading the Chronicles of Narnia, and I have an enormous crush on Aslan. Some people have referred to it as my "unnatural lion fetish", but I think those people should be ignored. They dont appreciate true love. They dont appreciate the power and magnificence of the Lion.

So to return to my original questions and end this looong post..why are the cutest men also the dumbest and have you ever had a crush on a fictional charecter? Lets swap stories...

PS: The most inexplicable fictional crush Ive ever had was on Bertie Wooster. Well to be honest it was more of a soft corner than a a full fledged crush, but he was so hopelessly hopeless.....awww!

PPS: I seem to have missed out on one of my biggest fictional loves...Amit Chatterjee from A Suitable Boy! I dont know how I missed out on him considering the fact that I was heartbroken when Lata didnt marry him.

Photo Blog

2006-09-23T07:06:00.000-07:00

I got engaged on September 11...We might forget our wedding anniversary but we shall never ever forget our engagement anniversary. It was a Punjabi ceremony called roka. Which involved a lot of touching of feet, and "jeete raho" and putting ghomta (ghunghat) during the puja. Oh and loads of cash..for me!! I dont have the enthu or the inclination to write a proper post, so I shall just post photographs.

FYI: I haaattttte having my pictures taken. And when Im forced to, I look horrendous...see for yourself

I think this picture can be considered my response to the Bagchi's silly pig tag. I felt silly enough with that thing on my head. It kept slipping off! I tried so hard to be all demure and bride like, but as is obvious I failed miserably.
Oh and I also forgot to touch his relatives feet when I got introduced...there were so many of them I got flustered...most disgraceful.

Rahul says if he sees one more kaju barfi he will go mad.

I agree!! I shall scream and get violent.

My in laws. As you can see, being demure is really not my forte. Cheshire cat like stupid grins..now that I can do.

I think I look relatively better in this picture. I like.

On second thoughts I am sooooooo short. Shit!!

I have been instructed to call Aunty Mom or Mama or Mummy(eeeeek). I cannot. My conversation goes something like this..."Hello Aunty"... glare.. " oops sorry Mama...henh" that henh has got to be the stupidest giggle in the history of stupid giggles.

This is my favourite picture from the roka. My hug phobic momprepared for this moment the entire day..steeled her nerves so to say. And walked resolutely up to Rahuls mom and just got it over and done with. I think Ill frame this one.

Happy Birthday to me...

2006-09-07T02:55:00.000-07:00

About a week ago, both this blog and I turned a year older. I now feel rather old, and like most old people I am getting rather nostalgic about the past. (My past that is, not the blog's, the blog does not have much of a past).

I was an only child for the first 12 years of my life, and much pampered by all. My birthday parties were something of an annual event for near and dear ones. Weeks in advance Baba and I go to Flurys to choose a birthday cake. Those were the days when the roses and decorations on top of birthday cakes would be made of real marzipan and high quality icing sugar as opposed to the sugary crap or the plastic that one finds now. And such creativity. I dont know if its just the bakers in Bangalore, but birthday cake designs these days are singularly unimaginitive and boring. I had a Cinderella cake for one birthday. It was chocolate, and had a orange icing coated plum cake which served as the pumpkin carriage, and a marzipan Cinderella leaning out of the window, and a marzipan fairy godmother waving the wand and little marzipan horses pulling the carriage. Siiigh. Why dont I see such grand cakes anymore? Why do all birthday cakes these days have icky looking roses on top? Why are they shaped like a doll with pink frosted skirts? Most unappetising.

Anyways, so my birthday was this grand affair. I would have two birthdays, one on the actual day, which was restricted to close family, and "house friends" where I received gifts and we went out for dinner and the other was the Party! Always on a Saturday. With aaallll my friends from school, and my "house friends" couple of my cousins, and my favourite aunts and uncles. It was really a grand affair. My grandparents would come down from Purulia a week before the event, my aunt would arrive the day before with her brother and mother, my other two uncles would show up on the day of the event and then run around busily picking up the cake, and the food and all of that.

I always had new clothes for the Party. Atrocious styles that were in vogue at that time. ..do any of you remember this monstrosity that was the dhoti style salwar suit? The salwar was amde out like a dhoti...extremely ridiculous it was. I distinctly remember wearing a pink colour outfit in that style, and a pink heart shaped pendant on a pink ribbon around my neck. Please imagine a short, plump, bespectacled, short haired child in this pink concoction and have a good laugh. Oh...while you are imagining, also, imagine the aforementioned child with a THICK layer of talcum powder around her neck. My mother, for reasons best known to her, felt that the only way to beat the Calcutta humidity was to put 6 layers of talcum powder (applied wiht a powder puff) around my neck, chest and back. And I never objected. Shows you what a nice docile child I was.

I remember being almost breathless with anxiety before the first of my guests arrivied. What if noone from school came? What is they forgot!? What if...? But they wouldnt miss it for the world. SR had a stiff neck once and couldnt get up from bed to come to school, but she cried and threw tantrums till her mother brought her to my Party. She spent the evening lying on my bed or sitting with a huge pillow propped up behind her neck. T came...tiny scrawny T in ponytails, SS and PJK threw a joint tantrum one year when their mothers said they could not bring them over due to heavy rain. The tantrums worked and there they were! We shrieked and giggled and screamed till my mother called us to order with some party games. Passing the parcel, feed the joker...we sang and danced and fed the joker and laughed and giggled our way through. We cut cake, we ate dinner and then they went home and it was over.

But my Party never ended with my friends going home. My grandparents, uncles, aunts etc would stay back at our place...sleeping on matresses spread out on the living room floor. And then came the very best part of my Party...the day after. When we woke up late and sat on my parents bed to open my gifts. All of us...the whole family. We opened gifts, passed them around, laughed joked, oohed aahed, set aside some "repeat gifts" to be given off to someone else and got excited about the books and the board games. We ate the leftover food from the Party with gorom khichuri...and believe me when I say khichuri never tasted as wonderful as it did on that Day After the Party. We spent the day lazing around, playing Monopoly or Scrabble or just chatting.."adda" at its very best.

Of course things changed once I reached my teens. My parties now became a "day spend" with all my friends on a Sunday, where we went to a nearby restaurant for lunch, sat in a room with the door locked and tried our hands at the Ouija Board, and giggled about boys. The Day After the Party came to an end.

This year, a text message from a friend overseas brought home the fact that so much has changed, and so much more is going to change. From being Baba's "Allhadi" and Bubunpishi's Tinai and ma's "Penchirani"( do NOT ask...at one point I was apparantly inordinately proud of this name!!") and Jethu's "Tinuma" I will be entering a different phase in life...alone. Where I will have to build relationships from scratch. Be loved and accepted by some but also be judged, be compared by others and most horribly, be unsure of how to proceed. And this year, on my birthday, I realized that what made my Party so special was not just my friends, but also, most importantly my family. Not just Ma and Baba, but Dadai and Maam, and Bubunpishi and Jethu and Jethi and Chotomamu, and Bappada, and Babuakaka and Munkukaku....all the people who made it such a big deal for me, adults who got as excited as a 10 year old child and gave it their wholehearted best.

I wish I had realized this earlier, I wish I hadnt taken my family for granted. I wish I had made the effort to speak to Jethu one last time before the end. I wish I had known that the loud tortured gasp coming from Dadai's room was a sign that it was all over, and not just another painful transition to consciousness. I wish I had switched off the TV and rushed to his room to hold his hand and tell him what he meant to me. Its too late now. I shall spend the rest of my life remembering those wonderful moments of my childhood and feeling terribly terribly guilty about the things I did not do. I spent this birthday wondering how Jethu and Dadai would have reacted to Rahul, to the upcoming wedding.

On a more cheerful note, the rest of my family is the same...Bubunpishi used to get excited about Party decorations and return gifts. She is now excited about wedding invites, and hall decorations and bride decoration :) Chotomamu, the food coordinator of my Parties is now highly charged about the wedding menu, and related issues. Ma has been an integral part of deciding what I should wear for the wedding. She picked out the wedding sari herself, anjust like she picked out my birthday dresses years ago. Munkukaku Bappada etc are all thrilled to bits that I am getting married. Nothing has changed. Thank god. Thank god for my family. Thank god somethings never EVER change.

The world of Indian Medicine...

2006-08-23T05:35:00.000-07:00

A couple of months back, my friend found out she was pregnant. While she and her husband werent quite ready for this development, they were happy. Then, within days of finding out about the pregnancy she suffered a miscarriage. They went to the best gynaecologist at the best hospital in this city; who did a number of tests and declared the foetus "non-viable" and recommended a D&C procedure. They did. And tried to move on with their lives. But somehow, she didnt seem to be recovering as well as she should have been. Nagging backaches, nausea, loss of appetite, exhaustion..things were just not the same. Her doctor gave her tonics and tablets and capsules, but said she didnt need to do any tests. She dismissed her symptoms as temporary... ramblings of a overwrought hypochondriac even. The last straw was when she was rude to her and sent her away saying, "we will have to wait to do a scan and then discuss what the problem might be." My friend(lets call her A) decided it was time to go to a different doctor. She found out that she was still pregnant. The "non viable" foetus of 2 months ago, was not only viable but very much alive and kicking. The D&C procedure had not, obviously, worked the way it should have . A perfectly healthy baby had been subjected to a traumatic abortion procedure and god alone knows what kind of strong medications! Devastated is the only word I can think of to describe A's emotional state at that point, and even that doesnt begin to describe it. Dr. Shobha Rani, second in charge of Manipal Hospital's gynaecology section had messed up bad!! And to top it all, she had been callous and insensitive.

A's experience was the latest (and the most horrifying) in a long list of bad medical experiences Ive been hearing of. My colleague R, fell sick some months ago. Doctors at Mallya Hospital (another big and expensive hospital in the city) put her on strong drugs with no vitamin supplements and told her to eat only curd rice. When weakness set in, with no improvement in the fever, they increased the dosage and recommended she undergo a blood test. A blood test at Mallya Hospital costs Rs. 500. When even the increased dosage of medicines did not work, they said she needed to be admitted immediately "for observation"..another expensive process. To get the fever down they changed the kind of drugs the poor girl was taking. She could not sit straight for even five minutes. Finally her family took her home where she went to their family doctor...the old fashioned General Physician...who discovered that the latest in the long list of drugs that Mallya Hospital had put her on were the kinds used to treat pneumonia. And R's lungs were crystal clear..no signs of pneumonia at all. He took her off all drugs except the basic ones like Crocin etc. And the viral fever disappeared in a matter of days, leaving her terribly weakened from the variety of random drugs she had been taking.

I can think of so many more cases, Rahul being made to pay for and go through a ridiculous number of tests for a simple tummy upset at a hospital in Chennai, and still not being cured of the same, S being asked to admit herself in a hospital "for observation" when she went to the hospital seeking treatment for something as commonplace as a crick in the neck, doctors asking for blood tests at the drop of a hat and then insisting that the test be done at that very same hospital, doctors refusing to make housecalls....like I said, I can think of so many incidents.

I remember reading Robin Cook novels when I was younger and when one could still find General Physicians for ones medical needs, and being horrified. I remember thinking "thank god medicine in India is not so money driven." I guess I thanked God too soon.Today, Im told, doctors associated with the big hospitals in the country are given targets..much the same way that sales people of a consumer durables company are given targets. They have to bring in X amount of money for the hospital through over night observations, unnecessary tests, scans, procedures etc. Im no authority on the way the medical profession in India functions, but given the kind of experiences I hear of people having, I tend to believe this. Have you guys noticed how we almost never hear of anyone having a normal delivery anymore? I cant think of anyone I know who has had a normal delivery. All pregnant women seem to have some problems because of which they have to have C-sections. Doctors go out of their way to scare expectant mothers and their families about the dangers of a normal delivery. And who are we to question doctors? Of course we dont want to take the risk. Of course we agree to anything the doctor says. And of course he /she meets his targets.

My mother was treated like a human guinea pig in 1996 when she was diagnosed with gall stones. The doctor recommended surgery, and the surgeon insisted that this new procedure be followed which was absolutely safe. He made no attempt to tell her that the hospital was still trying out the new procedure, or the kind of care she should take post op. In his haste to prove to us that this new procedure is the best, he insisted that Ma go back to a normal diet within days of the operation. Which she did (who are we to argue with a DOCTOR!!?) . I can never forget what followed....my mother turning white with excruciating pain one afternoon,body temperature dropping, intense intense shivering!! My mother, who has the most unbelievably high pain threshold, whimpering in agony!! And 16 year old me, desperately calling the doctor and the surgeon, begging them to come and take a look at her, only to be told that they "dont make housecalls, so to please bring the patient to the clinic/hospital". "She cant move, she is in so much pain you bastard!" "Mind your language, I told you I cant help you. " Bastard!! We tool her to a different hospital and used my uncle's connections to get some sensitive behaviour from a doc who told us how callous the surgeon had been. To this day she cannot eat 2 full meals a day without suffering. We have had to rush her to the hospital too many times in the past than I care to think about.

Some primitve cultures revere their medicine men..their doctors, as representations of God on earth. What a pity we cant say the same of most doctors today. Sting operations on some news channel shows us doctors who take money to amputate the limbs of perfectly healthy homeless people, so that they can be turned into beggars. Doctors who execute abortions and dont even check to see if it has worked. Dcotors who are rude, callous, insensitve. Who only care about meeting their targets. These are men and women we entrust our lives to. We do live dangerously don't we? I would say avoid going to large hospitals, trust your GP...but then where are the GPs these days? We have no choice really.

This has been a REALLY long post. If you are still reading, I must thank you for your patience. A's experience was terrible. Her new doctor(who seems to be waaay more sensitive than Dr. Shobha Rani) has assured her that the baby is fine and developing normally. Dont mean to sound like the convent bred girl that I really am, but I pray everyday that things go well with A. After what she and her husband and that little baby have been through I really do pray that everything will be fine. And that Dr. Shobha Rani and Manipal Hospital get into some trouble for their criminal negligence. Sueing people is unfortunately not as easy in India as it is in the US, but that doctor richly deserves to be slapped with a malpractice suit. If you guys know how one can go about doing that, please do let me know...I shall inform A.

Things I have learnt this week...

2006-08-14T04:03:00.000-07:00

Being promoted to manager means nothing. You do the same shit you were doing earlier plus some more shit is dumped on you 'coz "you are a manager now, its your responsibility". And the pay is not that great either.
When your boss has a baby, it means a WHOLE lot of extra work for you 'coz he goes on paternity leave. Almost makes you wish that YOU were having a baby so that YOU could be on leave as well.
I hate office politics. It sucks, specially when Im caught right in the middle of it.
Clients...GRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!! Lets leave it at that.
I seem to be a verrrry good cook. I not only follow recipes very well, I am also apparantly capable of creating new recipes which involve minimal labour, yet lead people to think that something as tasty as this must have involved a long complicated process...which means that they look at me with renewed respect and tell me all sorts of nice things.Considering the fact that about 8 months I didnt know how to even peel a potato I think that a remarkable achievement. *smirks*
Large amounts of whiskey on an empty stomach is not a good idea. Especially if you are me...that doesnt sound right but you know what I mean.
After a few drinks (on an empty stomach) I am capable of finding Ice Age 2 emotionally draining and capable of bursting into tears and wailing "noone loves me" for almost an hour(Or so Im told by "certain people" who have used this incident to decide rather unfairly that I must not be allowed to drink! Gah!).
I think I have been watching too many K serials. Because when I was drunk, I apparantly took some time off lamenting my unloved state to discuss how I wished this certain person whom I HAAATTTTTTTTEEE would somehow have an accident and be dependant on me and beg me from his wheelchair for a drink of water, while I would stand just out of his reach and pour the water away in front of this thirst ravaged eyes, and laugh demonically (is there such a word?) at his misery. Very Ekta Kapoor vampish. I think its high time I stopped treating Kyunki like an entertaining comedy and stopped watching the impossible antics of its charecters. Its clearly affecting my brains.
I also like to use the word asshole a lot when it comes to this person whom i HAAATTTTEEE. According to the boy I called him an asshole about 50 times. According to him the conversation went like this : "Sobbsobbb nooone lovvvvesss meee.Sob. Gulp. XYS is an ASSHOLE. Nobody even cares for me. Howl.Wail. Asshole. A-S-S-H-O-L-E!!"And so on and so forth. Most embarrassing. I do remember all of this vaguely. *Blush*
The boy can be rather sweet when Im hopelessly drunk and wallowing in self pity (and hatred). I distinctly remember him insisting that I eat chicken and go to sleep. He also patted my head a lot and kept wrapping this really thick blanket around me, which was a little odd considering it was hot and I kept throwing it off. Maybe he was drunk as well. He also offered me everything from a large stuffed puppy(with a rose in its mouth, gift from my sister..kinda cute) to this pillow that I absolutely cannot sleep without, to a book.Sweet isnt he? Can we have a collective "aaaaawwwwwwww" to embarrass him a little more?
It is advisable to marry within your community to avoid confusion and stress. In case you are marrying outside of your community, it is highly advisable to run away and get married. Inform your parents about your decision, it is likely that they will heave sighs of relief ans encourage you.(I know ours are cursing us for not thinking of this earlier). Or else, insist on a court marriage, DO NOT be as foolish as us and get into a social jogakhichudi wedding situation. Because if you do, you might just discover that the two sets of parents are suddenly incapable of communicating each others points of view, or too overcome with the hassles of being nice to clearly state what needs to be done for a particular function, or completely stressed out by the requirments of another function to think clearly. You will suddenly discover that you need to call your future mother in law and find out what your parents need to gift her son at something called a roka, and exactly what she plans to gift you. It is stressful and embarassing to say the least. Dont do it!!! Learn from my mistakes.

I must go and call her now. Soooooo uncomfortable. What am I supossed to say? "Aunty, what are you giving me at the roka?" Eeeps!! Help!!

GAH!

2006-08-07T05:09:00.000-07:00

I am SICK of my job. I need to change my job before I go out of my mind.

I am gonna quit right now. Since I have no hope in hell of matrrying rich man and being a spoilt housewife, I have decided that I am going to tour the country and preach Osho principles to anyone who will listen. Such a nice peaceful thing to do with my life really. Alternatively, I am going to go to the Himalayas and meditate. Will need to carry several layers of warm clothing,and a portable toilet and suffer a little bit in terms of food etc but so be it.

Thats it everyone, Im off! Goodbye and God bless. Gah! GRRRR!!!!

I have come back

2006-08-01T02:24:00.000-07:00

And Im most depressed about it. I am being forced to WORK!! Can anything be more tragic!? Calcutta chuti was good fun. All shopping has been completed. We didnt let even a water logged Salt Lake stop us from shopping. I am now the proud owner of several beeooootiful saris(which I hope I shall wear after the wedding as well) and some gorgeous jewellery, including an antique jadau set handed down from grandmom. Suddenly this wedding seems that much more real...and unreal at the same time. I mean, can anyone who knows me, really imagine me wearing all that stuff and sitting demurely at the mandap!!? Henh henh henh...bhebei haashi pachche. Anyways, since Im too lazy to think of interesting things to write about, I shall introduce you to my family..existing and to be (at least some of it).

Here we go:

This is my father. As the pose would suggest, he thinks he is hot stuff . In his words, what he wears does not matter, because people are soooo impressed with him and his looks and his personality that they just dont look at his clothes ("loke aamake dekhei mugdho..ki porechi keu dekhe na). Therefore, he refuses to buy new clothes and wears some very atrociously worn out garments. He is very garrulous and VERY HYPER...specially if we have to go anywhere. He is also prone to getting embarassingly sentimental about stuff...right now, one of the things that sets of a senti attack is me!! Bhodrolok will probably either get highly sentimental about this post, or highly outraged...we shall wait and watch.

Mommy!!! Python hugging star of this space. Am not sure why she looks sooo pleased with herself. Shes very unwell these days which is very upsetting :(

My sister. Looking sleepy. Im rather scared of her. Not just her, Im scared of all teenage girls these days. They are so hep, and grown up and... different.

This is Ms. Deeshani Mitra..otherwise known as Titir. She is 8 years old and extremely precocious. She is also an extremely talented budding artist and we are all quite proud of her. She is totally deovoted to my sister..looks at her with awe and admiration, which is very amusing for the rest of us.She is my mamato as well as pistoto cousin...go figure :P Would like to post pics of her parents, but they might kill me so I shall desist.

The brother in law and sister in law to be...Vishal and Navneet. Honeybuns both of them. We get away with soooooo many things just coz they are around. Shes peaceful and calm and he is hyper and excitable. Has a special thing against cockroaches, and goes hunting for them late at night when they are bound to be around. Most amusing. He is determined to wear a Bangali dhuti for the wedding, and all of us are eagerly looking forward to the confusion that will cause. Cant think of them as in laws...very dear friends is more like it.

And finally...camera phone shot of Rahul and me. You can't see it, but he is wearing orange shoes. And you call me weird!!!

Holiday Spirit...

2006-07-14T04:11:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, I'm off to Calcutta on Monday morning. For 10 days. Do any of you realize what this means? This means I have a 10 day break from clients and journalists. *cheshire cat like grin*. This means no responsibilities and no buying Vim and Ezee and atta. This means that I will sleep late and wake up late and eat Mummy's cooking (alu posto and alu deowa chicken curry have been demanded and promised) . This means I can meet SD and SR and RD and all the rest of them and have a thoroughly enjoyable time. This means alu kabli and phuchka and chicken roll. This means Gariahat and New Market. This means mishti doi and dorbesh and old books near Golpark. This means sheer unadulterated BLISSSSSSSSSSS.

Oh and it also means wedding shopping, which should be fun, but thats besides the point. Or is it really? For the first time in my life Im excited about shopping.

In all the excitement I have sent the wrong press releases to the wrong people, sent numerous mails without attachments, demanded pictures from people who are not supposed to have pictures in the first place and told my boss that he is a prize idiot. On the positve side I have tried to finish off as many pending things as possible, close loose ends, and done a very detailed hand over document. I have also done a lot of shopping for everybody at home and bought very nice gifts too. All in all I think Im a verrrry good girl,*halo shines over head, harp twangs are heard*

I have nothing much to say about anything, but will leave you with a few random and interesting snippets from my life over the past few days.

This colleague of mine, from Delhi called and enquired how long it would take for us to go from Bangalore to Karnataka. She went on to say that they have this Karanataka based client so they have asked the Chennai office to look after it, but we would need to do little bit of work when he came to Bangalore and maybe even travel to Karnataka. On being explained the concept of states and state capitals, she said that to her (rather underdeveloped and ignorant mind) Chennai and Hyderabad comprised the whole of South India, and Bangalore, although somewhere near to South India was like a separate entity that just existed.."because of all the IT ya". Does anyone here need me to explain and justify, once again, my attitude towards people from that city?
Rahul very kindly and helpfully gave my dirty clothes to be ironed and put my washed clothes in the wash basket to be washed again. So I now have one set of dirty but ironed clothes and one set of clean but unironed clothes. Therefore, in effect I have nothing to wear. All because I was dealing with a headache last evening and told the boy to give my clothes to the istriwalla instead of doing it myself. Siiigh!!
My mother wants me to buy 4 giant tubes of Promise toothpaste from Bangalore and carry to Calcutta because apparantly you dont get Promise toothpaste there and its the only thing that gets her sensitive teeth clean.
I created a huge scene in Food Bazar day before yesterday,because this guy harrassed me and passed one comment too many. By the time I was done with him, he was snivelling and begging for forgiveness and saying that I was like his sister. Bastard. Since he was wearing the ID card of his company, and therefore still representing his company, I felt free to call his HR dept (I knew someone there) and lodge an official complaints. Hopefully he got into some trouble at work.
I have learnt to make dal makhni. Am very glad about this development in my life since I love dal makhni.
I just heard of my colleague's client who refused to allow a journalist enter this very "exclusive" party she was hosting because she did not like her hair. Another journalist was discreetly prevented from mingling with the guests because she was not dressed well enough. Please join me in hoping that there is a LOT of negative coverage for her and her "exclusive party" in tomorrows paper.

On that rather aggressive note, I shall take your leave. Bye bye. I dont know if I will post from Calcutta. I have the means, but will I have the will..that remains to be seen. Children of Calcutta, you know where to reach me ( ronitadutta@gmail.com) in case you want to meet up etc. Am not sure how much time I will have, mother and aunt are being very firm about shopping being treated as priority number one, but I shall try to work around that.

Tata everyone :D ( I wish one could put that wide toothy smiley one has on yahoo messenger over here, would express my feelings very appropriately).

PS: For an absolutely lovely post on what home means to a Bong, please read this. She puts it waaay more eloquently than I can ever hope to.

The men I have loved.and who have loved me..total chicklit stuff

2006-07-11T06:36:00.000-07:00

We were discussing first crushes and the like at work the other day...no we don't work too hard in this office...and it occured to me that I have incredibly bad taste in men. Oh, and the most appalling men seem to have crushes on me. Really!! What was I thinking.

The first boy who had a crush on me was, I think, about 22/23 years old. I was 14. He lived in Purulia. Now, I love Purulia, and everybody there, but most of the young men belonging to that town were rather....umm...I dont know...idiotic. I could be friends with them, but could not begin to imagine anything else (This one parar dada wore this belt that had twinkling lights on it...he would walk down the dark lanes of Purulia wearing black shirt and black trousers and this belt, and from afar all you could see was a line of twinkling lights suspended in mid air walking towards you. Very scary). Anyways, so this boy knew this little boy I used to play with. This Little Boy would come in the afternoon and stand in the garden while I stood regally on my balcony and we would talk about life in general. And this Boy-Who-Had-Crush On-Me would cycle past looking at the balcony. He would keep cycling past my house all evening...which was when I would descend to the garden to play with the Little Boy and other children. Little Boy was most paaka and would drop hints left right and centre, which I chose to ignore naturally. Because the Boy-who-had-crush-on-me was really quite atrocious. Wore hawai chappals and odd looking shirts and had khoncha khoncha daari (dirty unshaven stubble)..much like an escaped convict. Oh but I did enjoy all the attention, and would diligently stand on the balcony all afternoon in the searing heat. Like I said, bad taste and no discretion whatsoever.

My first crush was our tenants son. By our I mean my grandparents. And yes, the location was again, Purulia. We were both around 15 I think. Although he didnt live there, he studied in the Norendropur Ram Krishna Mission and stayed in the hostel and was well read and serious and intellectual. And very high principled. Apparantly their hostel did not have fans, because fans were an unnecessary luxury and a obstacle in the course of charecter building. This in a part of the world where summer temperatures go up to 40/ 45 degrees every year was a bit much according to me, and someone who accpeted such ridiculous rules so stoically and even agreed with them, was worthy of my devotion. He liked me too. I could tell by the way he offered to teach me to play chess, and looked delighted at being hit on the head with a large bit of hail during the years first hailstorm, just because I was thrilled to bits. This sweet young love story unfortunately came to a premature end when I went back home to Calcutta and sent him a letter through my grandmother, who disapproved (yes I was that stupid). The letter never reached him, and we never met again...siiiiiighhhh.

My next crush was my first boyfriend. Have talked about my Valentines Day post earlier. I think my crush died the day he asked me "Who the hell is Robin Cook ?" How can someone not know Robin Cook!? You might not like him, but you at least know of him. Anyways, I wanted to break up within 2 months of starting to date him, but then we had all these common friends, and if I ditched him, they would think badly of me and be on his side. Therefore I decided to wait till he messed up and then dump him, so that all sympathy and support would be with me...henh henh...yes I was a devious little bitch then. Anyways, so that ended soon enough much to my parents relief. Though in true Hindi filmy style he threatened to kill himself when I dumped him...I distinctly remember sobbing into my mothers lap and saying "I am scared he will hurt himself"... you dont need to say it, I'll say it again....I was extraordinarily stupid!!

Then came this boy who liked me. Was a friend of my friend's boyfriend. We used to chaperone my friend on dates so as to avoid raising parental suspicions and this boy and others would do the same for the boyfriend. His name was...hold your breath..Saurav "Mithun" Chakraborty. ..Mithun being the daaknaam. I think his chances at romantic success was doomed the day his parents christened him. He was....for lack of a better word...lumpy. And would sing third rate Hindi film songs in an attempt at being romantic. And would keep asking me to walk with him down the dark alleys of Salt Lake. With a lot of assistance from his buddies, and a whole of stupidity from yours truly, he managed to get me alone one evening, and told me that he wished to "make friendship" with me. He looked exactly like a distressed cow when he said that, so I think I can be excused for snapping at him that he did not want friendship he wanted much more and I was not in the mood for it. For months after that, that ass would follow me home from the bus stand and stand outside my house...and sing sad songs!!

All the while that "Mithun"da was trying to make friendship with me, I had this humoungous crush on this terrible boy. I think I can safely call him a rowdy...galli ka goonda. Do not ask me why I had a crush on him. I think I found his bloodshot eyes, swaggering gait, and dirty red rag type bandana, incredibly masculine. I looked at him...he stared at me...total chemistry I tell you. Luckily we moved to Bangalore around that time.

Once in Bangalore I started dating my good friend V..who was sweet, but very very weird and a little bit dumb also. I felt bad for him for several reasons and so I dated him(Told you I was stupid). After I dumped him he literally stalked me for a year, complete with distraught phone calls in the middle of the night demanding to know why I was such a bitch. I was quite kind to him I must say, because I felt very guilty about dumping him like that. I am glad to say we have managed to put all that behind us and become good friends today. He has a girlfriend who hates me though. And once after I had spent half an hour drinking coffee with him,she called me up and said "You bitch!! Havent you hurt him enough" and hung up. Most hurtful and stressful that was.

Then I moved to Hyderabad and had my one and only "fling" with this boy who was verrrryyyy intellegent but also very bizarre. He fell in love with someone else while I was away for 5 days so that ended there. Was not a very happy phase of my life. Flings are just not my scene. He is currently doing his Phd in the US, and if gossip is to be believed, he has a girlfriend and a boyfriend. And his girlfriend has a girlfriend. Im quite horrified (because I dated him) and thankful (because I dated him only for 2 months) at the same time. But not surprised. Nope. Always knew he was weird.

I remained crushless after that. Till 2 years later, I met Rahul. Before I admitted to myself that I liked him, I introduced him to Gauri, who had lived through most of my disastrous crushes/ relationships. Her first reaction was "Ron, he is sooooo normal..." And the rest as they say, is history. Come to think of it, my parents first reaction when they met him was also..."Bah besh shundor normal chele toh.." (He is a nice normal boy). Siiiiigh. Whattotell only!

The perils of living alone

2006-07-03T03:56:00.000-07:00

I've been living alone since my Mom moved back to Cal. For the most parts its good fun. And waaaay better than living in a hostel (Remind me to tell you about the loos!! The horror!! The horror!!) or a PG with a 5 other girls (who messed up the bathroom, drank the juice you bought, insisted on watching Kyunki and objected to your reading at night).

But living entirely on your has its own set of problems. Forget the smaller ones like the irritating caretaker who comes at 7 a.m and tells you to pay attention to his every word regarding the malfunctioning tap because he is "an engineer and is educating you". Or the overly inquisitive neighbour who asks "So your husband works in the night shift..." and leaves the question trailing in the hope that you will jump in and tell her exactly how you are related to the man who visits everyday. Or the cat that insists on living with you. Or the fact that one cabbage makes so much sabzi that you have to keep eating till you begin to feel your teeth elongating and bunny ears erupting from your skull. All of those problems are manageable ones.

What is not manageable is the few moments of sheer terror that one occasionally experiences. .

Like when the two cockroaches decided to fly at me in the dead of the night. With this horrible frrr frr sound. How I wished for someone to hear my shrill shrieks of terror and come rushing to my rescue. Unfortunately, there was no such man around. I had to battle these vile creatures all by myself, aided by one can of HIT. From my position of vantage behind the door...I extended my can around the edge of the door and sprayed blindly. Stop laughing. I think it was extremely brave of me to stand my ground and fight these things by myself, as opposed to running out of the house screaming for the watchman and refusing to enter again till he made sure that both cockroaches were dead. By the time the damn things died entire house was smelling of HIT. Very nauseating.

Or like the other night. Ooooooooh!! What a horrible nerve wracking night that was.

I was feeling unwell. Not to worry. Too much of anything...even something as heavenly as well made bhel puri, can do that anyone. After much moaning the groaning and whining over the phone to Rahul I dragged myself off to sleep. And then... at the stroke of two...just when I was about to drop off...I heard it!!! A faint noise.. like the dragging sound the kitchen door makes. My eyes popped open!My heart stood still! My hair stood up on end!Internal dialogues happened :

Me 1: * eyes wide open* Was that the kitchen door?
Me 2: *tremulously* Sounded like it.
Me1: Nah!! Who will open the kitchen door at this time....*shivers run down spine*
Me2: Who.......oooooohhhh......Mammaaa...*covers head with blanket*
Me1: *attempt to be strong*I must get up and investigate. If really someone is in the kitchen then I need to run out of the flat immediately.
Me2: *shakes under covers* I cant turn around. What if I turn and there is a murderous looking man behind me? Ill just die.
Me 1 : No I must be brave. I'm braver than my mom...ooooooh Mummmmeeeeeeeee.
Me2: Remember what happened to Dipta in Delhi? How there was a man sitting at the end of her bed when she woke up? What if there is a man behind me looking at me? Oh Goddd!!! Why did I decide to live alone? Why? Why? How could my Mom leave me alone like this. How can Rahul be so careless...I cant turn around. Whatever there is behind me will go away if I dont turn around. Mummeeeeeee.....

After much debating, I forced myself to turn around. No murderer. I got out of bed, I went to the kitchen..I opened doors, I looked behind the fridge, under the bed, in the loo. Nothing. I heaved a sigh of relief and went back to bed. Then five minutes later got out again and fetched the biggest knife I possess. And put it lovingly on the bedside table....for protection. And didnt sleep the entire night.

Next morning, I felt very silly about the whole thing. I put the knife back in the kitchen, waited for my maid to finish and leave and went to have a bath. Then came out and started my daily routine of hair dryer and moisturiser and so on. And then...standing there in my room..in my *blush* underwear, I heard something again. The unmistakable sound of the key in door!!!!

Someone was trying to break into my house!! At 9 a.m. With a key!!!! OOOOOOHHHH MYYYY GAAAWWWWWDDDDD!!!!!!!!

Me1: Robbers. Rapists. HELP!!!!!
Me2: Ki shahosh. Chaabi diye dorja khulche aabar!!! (What guts! He is opening the door with the key that too!)
Me1: Oh god!! Why did I put the knife back in the kitchen....its soo far away. How will I deal with the robber?
Me2: Shiiiiiitt!! Im not wearing clothes....how on earth am I to tackle robbers and rapists in my underwear? Shit!! How can I tackle anyone in my underwear (Please note, I have serious issues with changing clothes in front of people...even photographs, hence the thought of having to confront robbers in my underwear was deeply unsettling)
Me1: Bathrobe bathrobe!! Wrap bathrobe!!! Ooooh Deo!!! Spray deo at him and run out...never mind if its in a tattered bathrobe.
Me 2: Oooooooooooooooooooo

Door opened. And I confronted the robber clutching a bathrobe and armed with a half empty bottle of Impulse deospray. And.....and I am yet to live down that incident.

Turns out robbers dont come to rob at 9 a.m. And they defintely do not try to open doors with keys. The only people who do that are the ones that you yourself have given a spare set of keys to. Such as your fiance. Who was concerned about your ill health the previous night and felt that he must come and take you to the doctor in the morning. (In my defense I was really quite sick, and well...he is trying very desperately to make up for something, and is therefore being the ideal boyfriend. On a normal day, there is no way in hell he would have gone late to work for me). All concern was forgotten at the sight of me clutching bathrobe and brandishing deo. He still chuckles quietly every now and then whenever he remembers it.

It was most humiliating. Noone loves me. Noone feels sorry for the terror I felt. Even my own family laughed at me... uproariously. My feelings are very hurt. I am going to adopt the cat and live with it happily ever after. At least when Im scared I can talk to it instead of myself. And get it to accompany me when I go to face possible intruders. Yes. A cat is better anyday.

I promise to be a better person I do

2006-06-28T04:32:00.000-07:00

Some people are just so insightful. I mean, here I am, moaning and groaning on a space that is technically mine (even if it open to the whole wide world), about my problems and about how mean people are to me, when all my problems would be solved if I just did the following:

"1. stopped being so full of yourself
2. Talked less and LISTENED more
3. attempted to empathise with others thoughts and perspective
4. started blogging more positives. "

Its that simple. Thank you dear DEAR anonymous for putting me right. Who knew really.

Im suitably ashamed of myself. Therefore from now on I shall endeavour to :

Use this space only to ask questions about other people: "Rainbeau hows JUdhdo going?" "Marauder has R stopped watching TV?" "Ekta when do you propose to post again? In this lifetime I hope?", "Anonymous tell me did your mother snatch your pacifier away when you were a baby and leave you emotionally scarred for life?"....and so on and so forth. Would request all of you to kindly take the time to respond to my queries. I promise I shall be listening very closely and not talking at all.
Empathise with you completely. Hence when Anonymous here comes back to tell me what a pathetic loser I am, instead of asking him / her to eff off, or even better just ignoring him /her, I shall immediately psychoanalyse myself, and write a long post agreeing with Anonymous. (See Anon dear, Im trying to be a better person already, this post is aaaaall about agreeing with you and thinking from your perspective).
Shall immediately start blogging more positive. I shall quit writing posts such as this and this, and this. And start writing about how I saw a butterfly on my windowsill and it made me appreciate this wonderful gift called life. How I wake up and look at the clouds above every morning and feel this amaaaazzziiing connection with God. How I have found the strength in me to forgive the auto drivers of Bangalore.I prrrrrrooomise. I really do.

Im a good girl I am. Now Anonymous daaaahhhling, please please do something for me. Tell me how you find the time and energy to go through people's posts, analyse them, write such well thought out comments, go through the whole word verification thing and publish. All for the sake of setting misguided indiviuals like myself on the right path. Such singleminded devotion to other people's lives is indeed praiseworthy and worth emulating. I think aaaalll of us should try to be a little bit more like Anonymous.

On that note, I shall stop here. Am sure Anonymous will be a regular visitor and will follow my progress as a Better Human Being with great approval.

PS: Thanks all of you who left such sweet comments on the previous post. Things are not too good, but at least Ive stopped letting it bother me. JAPda, and chill-a- bong, rum bhakthi was replaced by vodka bhakthi, and most effective it was too :)

Kuch toh log kahenge...contrived.. yes, but it just keeps playing in my head

2006-06-26T04:26:00.001-07:00

Things happened over the weekend. Not nice things, not funny things..not stuff that I exaggerate and write about here and then laugh about later. Someone who should ideally have been close to me hurt me...bad. I have not been able to ask why she did what she did (or in this case didnt do)...but if I know this person, it was probably because she was afraid that if she did do it, she would be inviting adverse comments from her friends and family....what will people say...that was probably why.

I have come across this way of thinking many times in the past. Its very difficult for me to come to terms with this obsession with what people will say. Maybe most Indian families live with this fear of people bitching about them,but I belong to that small minority which doesnt. My mother brought me up to believe that if I am convinced that what Im doing is not wrong, then I have nothing to fear from what people say about me. The strength of my own conviction is all I need. Ive seen her live her life on these terms. I respect that. I thank my stars I grew up with this kind of liberal thinking. My mother...in fact both my parents, have always been very unconventional in terms of the freedom they gave me and still give my sister, the kind of things they defend us against. Thank god for that.

But now, Im having to face this completely different situation. Where people forget basic courtesy for fear of what people will say. Where they are downright rude and humiliating. People have said the most amazingly hurtful things to me over the past few months and justified it by saying that they were saying all this because in the past they have been in the same situation and heard all sorts of things from people so they dont want to repeat the experience.

I guess from their point of view its all justified and perfectly acceptable behaviour. But I cannot understand how you can go around hurting someone close to you, for some random bitchy people who have nothing better to do than gossip and say nasty things? How can anyones sense of priorities be soooo completely screwed up? Who are these people that one is soo scared of? Relatives? Friends? Acquaintance?? In my opinion any friend/ relative/ acquaintance who freely bitches about stuff thats happning in your life and spreads gossip and rumours about you, is not worth it. Friends like this should be dropped immediately. Relatives be ignored and acquaintances put in their place. How can anyone with any sense let these people come in the way of people who actually matter?

I dont know what to think, how to deal with the way Im feeling. Am I wrong in the way I think? Is it really a done thing to be so concerned with random people's bitchiness that you go around hurting those close to you? I dont know what to think anymore. All I know is that I have never been this miserable in all my life. What I wouldnt do to be able to go home to my mother right now and never leave again.

Lejer aami lejer tumi, lej diye jaaye chena...

2006-06-14T05:13:00.002-07:00

I have been waking up really early of late. Reeeeeaaaaallly early...around 6.30 a.m. To open the door for the most important person in my life, my maid. But this is not about my maid,this is about the fact that when I have just woken up, I am rather incapable of coherent logical thinking. In my half asleep state I potter around and observe stuff, and the vaguest of thoughts occur to me. And then I wake up Rahul and inform him of my vague thoughts. Till now he has never threatened to kill me, but I'm afraid the day might not be too far.

Anyways so today I woke up at that unearthly hour once again. Mumbled instructions to the maid and opened the window so get some fresh air. And observed this dog downstairs that was extremely busy chasing its own tail; it looked like it was having great fun. That got me thinking about tails and their utility. Imagine how much fun it would be if human beings had tails. Amazing no?

Discussed human tails at a later hour with The Bagchi...she seemed to agree with me. We had a looooonnng conversation on Google Talk (god bless Google, thats the only chat engine I can access from work...can you imagine office without chat!!!!?) and given below are our thoughts on the main benefits and characteristics of the human tail. Do let me know if you can think of more.

The human tails would be a kind of cross between a horse's, a dog's, a fox's, and a cat's.
The longer thicker and glossier your tail, the more beautiful you would be.
You could save money on mosquito repellents, since you could repel mosquitoes yourself by whisking it around. Here the Marauding Bagchi objected saying she wouldn't want to stay up all night whisking her tail and that the next day her butt would hurt with all the whisking, but see, theres the beauty of the whole thing...our tails would whisk away pests on their own (much like a horse's) without us needing to be awake for it, the body would be engineered in such a way that the butt wouldnt hurt with all the whisking.
Much like the dog, we could entertain ourselves by playing evolved games with our tails. Bagchi suggested a tail-I-fied form of minesweeper, called..yep you guessed it...tailsweeper.
L'oreal could start manufacturing tail colour. Aishwarya Rai's tail, like the rest of her, would still be considered by some misguided folks to be the most beautiful in the world, so she could appear in the ads, swishing her tail and saying "when it comes to tail colour, Im very demanding" in the same idiotic fake accent.
We could have specialised tail salons like the nail bars that seem to have sprung up overnight in this city.
In fact there could be a whole range of tail products...companies like Lakme, Revlon etc would come up with competing, tail shampoos, tail conditioners, tail accessories...think of the huuuge benefit to the cosmetics industry.
The points given above were all we had time for. Although Bagchi did mention she wanted to have a chestnut tail...very glamorous according to her. While I would like a nice thick plumy, even if slightly bushy fox like tail...reddish brown. The bushiness of which I would tame with Revlon Anti Frizz Tail Spray.

So what kind of tail would you like? Do tell. Look forward to hearing from you...

Disclaimers and clarifications :

No, Bagchi and I had not swallowes / snorted/ injected any illegal substances while coming up with all this. We are extremely*ahem* angelic girls who would never EVER dream of doing such things!!
Our conversation and the subsequent post is a direct result of the pressures of filing a cover story (in her case) and a lethal mind effing combination of starry tantrums, assinine clients and loads of mundane work (plus a slightly eccentric mind and very overactive / vivid imagination)
For non Bongs: the title of this post is a parody of a line from this poem by Sukumar Roy..Gonf Churi ( Mustache Theft) . The poem deals with the many merits of a moushtache. It is well beyond my linguistic abilities to provide a word to word translation of this line,but it basically means that a lej..a tail.. is your identity...thats what people recognize you by.

Think of a nice title will ya?

2006-06-02T05:35:00.000-07:00

I really am suffering from a rather severe case of bloggers block. Just cannot think of anything to write about.

Nothing noteworthy has been happening in my life either.

Except that I pulled a muscle in my leg while working out in the gym and have been in excruciating pain ever since. Been limping around and grimacing with every movement I make. And I havent taken a day off work either. Yes, thank you, your sympathy is much appreciated.

Oh and I went for an ayurvedic massage...for the first and last time. Did you know they make you strip completely? I didnt. If I had, then I definitely would'nt have gone for it. This really scary female masseur(is that how you spell it?) stood and watched me while I very reluctantly took off each item of clothing. For someone who cannot change clothes if there are photographs of people in the same room, this was torture beyond belief. And then she poured gallons of oil all over. And massaged. And...you know what? This already sounds like the beginning of a 3rd rate lesbian flick, let me not make it worse by getting into the traumatic details. Suffice to say, by the end of it I was more stressed out than I was when I went in. *shudders*

I saw The Da Vinci Code. It was boring. Lacked the suspense factor of the book. And whoever decided to cast Tom Hanks as Langdon? Were they crazy? George Clooney would have been a muchhhhhhhhh better Langdon. Zero chemistry between Hanks and the female who plays Sophie Nevue. At the end of the movie when Hanks kisses her and tells her its upto her to decide the next step,its like a scene between a father and daughter. Like a fond parent saying bye bye to his little girl.Tchah!

What did enliven entire movie experience somewhat, was the presence of this psycho freak behind us. Just after the movie started, this little baby coughed once or twice. And this freak pipes up "Please keep the child quiet for gods sake" in a really rude way. I mean come on...all the child did was cough, it didnt even talk or scream or disturb anyone in any way. So anyways, during the interval, N and I were discussing this and saying that whoever this woman was she should have created a soundproof room and watched the movie in there on DVD. Suddenly Psycho Freak butts into the conversation and starts abusing us and telling us to mind our own business.She even called us rude!I ask you!!! What cheek. It was just showing signs of turning into a nasty little catfight with N and I on one side and PF and her buddies on another when V and Rahul came back and broke it up. Tchah again!! What a waste.

I have spent the entire day writing one document after another, all centering around the theme of sensuality and indiviuality and I am ready to SCREAM!!!! Am feeling extremely violent right now!!! I need a drink.

I must go and buy chicken and Harpic, and for some reason the very thought is making me very depressed on one hand and even more violent on another.

All in all, not in a very peaceful frame of mind at the moment.

To make matters worse, I am experiencing this distinct craving for alu kabli. Not any alu kabli mind you. Alu kabli made by this guy who stands at the corner near Bhalla footwear shop in Gariahat. Or maybe even the guy who operates next to Bashontidebi College. Needless to say I dont have access to either. GRRRRRR. I hate my life.

Im going home now. No. Sorry, Im going to buy chicken and Harpic now. Then if I get an auto from MG Road I shall go home. In my current frame of mind I would dearly love to shoot any auto driver that refuses to take me home..in the head!! *bloodthirsty look at this point*, but I dont have a gun either. Let me reiterate the point about hating my life.

Did I tell you guys about the time I threatened to throw stones at this group of cops on MG Road?? They were being rude and unhelpful and I lost my temper. I told them they deserved every piece of stone that was chucked at them during Rajkumar's funeral, and that if I had my way I would start one more riot against them right now. This was a week after the whole Rajkumar episode. I think they were about to arrest me when Rahul showed up and took me away. He does show up at the most dramatic moments doesnt he? Anyways, I feel like I might just pick up a stone and chuck at unhelpful cops / auto drivers today.

On second thoughts, I think Ill wait for Rahul to pick me up. Why get into unnecessary trouble? Prison is not a very nice place to live in Im sure.

Anyways, bye bye for now. Don't know when Ill be back next, dont think it will be for long time..unless something exciting happens during the weekend. Take care. Ta.

Quirky Me

2006-05-18T04:37:00.000-07:00

I am quite a quirky person, some people would call it weird, but since this is my blog I shall ignore such people! Hrmph! Also, I am bored and see no harm in boring the rest of you with 10 irrelevant details about the most fascinating person I know...ME!!!! So here goes:

I am a weirdo magnet. The world's most weird people seem to instinctively sense some kind of kinship with me and come off to bond. Let me give you an example: G and I were waiting for someone on Brigade Road when this vague man with an American twang came and asked us if we could help him. I thought he needed directions to some place and said yes of course, after which he proceeded to sit next to me and tell me how he had come to India to search for a wife, and 5 minutes ago he saw someone in a shoe shop and fell in love. "How do I tell this woman I love her? I just saw her in a shop, I dont know how to reach her" was his plaintive query. Forget the idiocy of his situation, the fact that there were 2 of us, but Wife Hunter chose to confide in ME should tell you what a weirdo magnet I am. There was also the strange man with white spots on his shorts, on a train back from Bombay, who sat next to me and sang "Meri zindaaagiiii hi kyaaaa ek kati patang haiii" and told me his life story and that he wanted to get married. He totally ignored G and A and latched on to me!! Uff!

I frequently talk to myself, although I prefer to think of it as "thinking aloud". I verbalise my thoughts, so shoot me. Also when Im very very tense about meeting someone, I tend to rehearse my conversation with the person I am to meet, wherein I double up as that person as well. For eg:
Me: hello aunty.
Me asRahuls mom: hello beta, nice to finally meet you(just before our first meeting).
Thats not so weird is it?

Yes, well, *ahem*! Lets move on. The strangest things keeps happening to me for no fault of mine. The other day my auto driver stopped the auto, got out, and returned with a large live owl which he proceeded to put in the space behind the passenger seat. Naturally I freaked and ran for my life. But the point is, noone I spoke to has had any such experience...most people wanted to know why such things happen only to me. I dont know, they just do :(

I cannot eat babycorn unless its been chopped into small pieces. Cutting it lenghtwise and serving it to me wont work, no matter how well its been cooked. It reminds me of lizards!

I always always finish the curry and keep a small bit of roti or naan or paratha or whatever, aside to eat emni emni (translation: without any curry, plain). When eating a roll, I eat 2/3rds of it normally, then open it out, eat the chicken and then slowly eat the paratha. I scrape the cream off cream biscuits and eat the biscuit first and only then eat the scraped off cream. I scrape the chocolate off Kit Kat and then eat the wafer. I somehow detach the chocolate covering of a chocobar, put it on a plate and keep in the freezer, then eat the vanilla bit and then eat the chocolate covering...mmmm. I eat the shingara (samosa) covering first and then the stuffing. I pick green peas out of the curry and save to eat last. Please note, I do most of the above (the more disgusting things anyways) in the privacy of my own house when noone is looking, never in public.

I cant look at people brushing their teeth. Grosses me out. And that includes me. I do not look in the mirror while brushing.

I swear fluently and frequently in English, but cannot bring myself to say the same words in Bengali or Hindi without blushing and dying of embarrasment. For eg: dumb f*** is a frequently used term, but ask me to say the Bengali equivalent and I would much rather go and cross Cunningham Road 16 times.

I cannot change clothes in room containing pictures / posters of people looking straight at me (i.e looking into the camera). I feel they are looking at me. This problem with photographs extend to other situations as well...will leave that one to your imaginations.

I have developed an obssesive compulsive disorder as far as locking doors, windows, turning off the gas, lights, geysers etc is concerned. Especially before leaving the house or before I sleep at night. I check everything 3-6 times at least, as a consequence Im always late for work :(

I am a neatness and cleanliness freak. Now this may come as a HUGE shock to my family, considering the pig stye like condition of room they are used to, but ever since Ive moved into my own place I seem to have turned into a neat and clean demon. If the maid doesnt come for a day, I feel sick to just see the dusty floors.Clothes must be immediately folded and put away neatly in the cupboard. Things should be exactly where and how I had put them originally and so on and so forth. Its very scary, I scare myself at times.

So thats that. Im not thaaaaaaat weird am I? I mean, ok, agreed Im slightly...umm...eccentric, but not TOTALLY weird as some people have been telling me I am...am I? Whats the weirdest thing about you? Tell me,let me compare...

Tick tock tick tock

2006-05-11T02:01:00.000-07:00

Im sorry about this disappearing act of mine, it really is threatening to become a habit. I cant help it, I was sooooo busy all this time…. Delhi Colleague 2 was here, being annoying and dumb and Delhi like, had 2 events, had to go to Chennai for a wedding, discuss dal with T at 12 in the night …so many things. You tell me, with a life as full of stuff as this how can you blame me for not posting sooner?

Anyways, now that excuses have been made and hopefully accepted, lets move on, shall we?

I am feeling very motherly…maane, maternal instincts, for some reason, are bubbling over. I don’t particularly want to have a baby now,( I think I would be labeled a “fallen woman” if I did) or anytime in the near future, but it would be nice to play with a ready made baby. To coo over it, pat its tiny hands, feed it Cerelac...stuff like that. I do not, however, have access to babies of any description. And people are being rather uncooperative as far as having babies (or obtaining them for me…yes Arka I mean you) is concerned. Most disappointing.

The worst part though, is that small children of all shapes and sizes are being thrust at me from all sides. And I DO NOT like children. Don’t get me wrong…I love babies…small cuddly little things, but children I detest. According to me, a young human being under the age of 5 is a baby…its sweet and nice, cant talk clearly (at least I think so), has attitude but not too much of it, is cuddly and likes being cuddled. Anything beyond the age of 5 is obnoxious and toooooo full of attitude and troublesome and a thorough pest.
Ideally (spare me the criticisms will ya?) I would like to have a baby sometime in my life but give it away to someone when it turns 5, and maybe take it back when it is about 21 years old. Can’t bear the years in between. Teenagers….oooh *shudders*

Actually, one can’t really blame the kids, parents these days don’t seem to understand the concept of discipline and teaching their offspring good manners. My parents would scold me when I spoke out of turn or when I interrupted people when they were talking…something I don’t see too many people doing these days. Its impossible to have a conversation with my friend if her 7-year-old daughter is around…that attention starved little pest will interrupt every 5 secs with some comment or question or the other. All the while her mother will smile beatifically and I will be forced to transform my “uffff can I just slap this kid” feelings into “isn’t she a doll” type of reaction…through gritted teeth of course!!

And what’s with the shouting and screaming and running around in public places? Its not your house kid! Don’t scream and don’t run around other people. How hard is it for parents to tell their children that? On the train to Chennai, poor sleep deprived me was desperately trying to take a nap…but how could anyone sleep with this little boy yelping (please read with a strong South Indian accent) “DADDEEEEEE why is the sky so high?” type question every few minutes? Once the questioning stopped, the word games began, this time with AMMAAAAA. And once AMMAAA started I realized why the child didn’t know how to keep his voice down. Ufff!!! Then of course was the physical games with ANNNNNAAAAAA, which involved thundering down one end of the aisle to another and shrieking incessantly. Loud comments about ill-mannered children and useless parents had no effect whatsoever. That was one thick-skinned loud family. Oh and inordinately proud of their pestilential son. Every time sonny got a word right (word games with AMAAAA remember?) the entire family would beam with pride and look around waiting for the “sooooo cutee, soooo bright” reactions from the unfortunate people around them. Gragrh!!! I would have dearly liked to throw the entire family out of the train. If only Rahul would let me! Gragrh again!!

I could go on and on with this rant. But shall stop now and eat some ice-cream. If you have small babies, or have access to the same, please let me know so that I can come and play with them. People with small children (5 years and above) need not apply, instead take that time and try to discipline your child….for the love of god, please discipline them!!!!!!

PS: Please note, my 15 year old sister and 7 year old cousin do not fall under the category of pestilential children...they are honeybuns. They are related to me after all *smug look*

Jai Karnataka

2006-04-18T01:07:00.000-07:00

About 6 years ago, the dreaded sandalwood smuggler Veerappan kidnapped an actor called Dr. Rajkumar. Till that morning, I had never really heard of Dr. Rajkumar even though I had been living in Bangalore for 2/3 years. But that morning, I knew all there was to know about Annavru; knew enough to make me desperate to get home, before someone attacked me for not knowing. The 15 minute journey from college to home took more than 3 hours that day, and I saw first hand, the kind of mob frenzy that anything associated with this veteran actor whips up in this city. I got home safe and sound and stayed at home for the next 15 days because everything was shut. Schools colleges offices etc opened after a fortnight but movie theatres, pubs, pool parlours...anything associated with fun and entertainment remained closed for almost a month, if not more...we, as a city, were expected to be grieving collectively.

My brush with Dr. Rajkumar's fans that day, six years ago, is the reason, why, the moment I heard about his death, I immediately packed up for the day, bought bread, eggs and milk and called Rahul to pick me up (no autos..those guys dont need an excuse to refuse a fare in the best of times, this was tragedy and emergency rolled into one and multiplied several times over). I refused to go to office the next day, even before we got word from our branch head that we were shut. My house is 10 minutes away from Kanteerava Stadium you see, I have to pass by that road on my way back from work. I stayed at home the entire day, alone (Rahul chose that day to go out of town for work) and bored to death because all non Kannada entertainment channels were blocked. So I spent the day sleeping, cooking and watching the same damn news clips 1st on CNN IBN, then on NDTV, then on Aaj Tak and then on Times Now.

What I saw on all these news channels left me profoundly relieved for having stayed at home. It was bloody insane!! My friend G called up from Hyderabad, and the only thing we could say was , "If these guys are going beserk when he died of a heart attack (and old age), can you even imagine what would have happened if Veerappan had killed him!?" My god! Can you?? I dont know how many people would have been killed. Would a Mumbai behave like this when Amitabh Bachchan dies? I am pretty sure Calcutta didnt behave in this ridiculous fashion when Uttam Kumar died. What is it about South India and superstars? im told there were similar scenes of violent grieving (if one can call it that) when NTR and MGR died. I mean really!! Are they expected to somehow defy the laws of nature and live forever? Whats with the violence? Specially at the passing away of a man like Dr. Rajkumar, who by all accounts was a peace loving indiviual. Shameful.

Just as shameful was the way that certain news channels chose to report the news. Having spent the day watching one news channel after the other I must say that CNN IBN presented the most exaggerated, sensationalised, immature and irresponsible reporting on the Bangalore riots. Yes, there was violence, yes mobs threw rocks and destroyed stuff, yes they attacked the cops, yes they burnt buses, yes they did all of that. But you know what? The rioting was mostly concentrated in and around Kanteerava Stadium (Residency Road, Richmond Road, St. Marks Road and bits of Lavelle Road). Living 10 mins away from the place, I didnt even hear anything. There were no mobs in front of my house, there was no mob frenzy , no burning vehicles and certainly no cops being attacked. The major tension happened around 11.30 / 12 in the morning and lasted for about an hour or so. The cops did manage to bring things under control...and no it was NOT the lull before the storm. How can journalists go on air and say such completely irresponsible nonsense? People watch your channel for the facts, not your bloody speculations. People in other cities get bloody freaked out when they see these exaggerated reports, because to them, thats the truth and they have near and dear ones living in that city. While NDTV and Aaj Tak repeatedly mentioned that the situation was under control and the images they were showing were taken during the rioting that happened earlier, CNN IBN and Times Now chose to say things like "Authorities say that the situation is under control, but this is just the lull before the storm." The reporters went on saying how people were throwing stones at parked cars outside their office. Guess what? The CNN IBN office is on St. Marks Road, kinda close to Kanteerava Stadium...of course they will be throwing stones in that area...have you seen the number of glass fronted expensive shops and offices on that road?? Did it occur to any of the reporters to mention this fact on air? Of course not. That would ruined the dramatic effect. (not to mention the glamour...kinda like war reporting....we are coming to you live from riot stricken Benguluru even as angry mobs attack our office....how very dedicated of us). Ridiculous!!!!!!

As for the pompous, full- of- themselves Bangalore celebrities who went on air with their "invaulable" opinions...what a bunch of publicity hungry opportunists man!! How easily Girish Karnad blamed the authorities for not having planned it better ( according to him the authorities should have planned the funeral while Dr. Rajkumar was alive and kicking. While it sounds like a good idea, its quite impractical...I dont think anyone anywhere does that.), and then contradicted himself saying they were doing a good job in controlling the crowds. He blamed the authorities for everything, yet when the reporter asked him what he would have done in their place, he blithely said, "Thats not my area of expertise, I am not the right person to comment on that". What made him the right person to comment on the situation then? When asked if the film fraternity was doing anything...like addressing the crowds etc, the man went on to say "Of course not, calming the crowds is not our job". No of course it isnt, as one of the few pathetic celebrities this one horse town can boast of, of course its not your job to leave your safe comfortable home to try and help the hopeless authorities, its your job to sit on your sofa, sip coffee, go live on national television and say inflammatory stuff that will add fuel to fire and then expect someone else to control the mess. Thats responsible. Thats the stuff that role models do.

Everything about the day-when-Bangalore-went-mad was disgusting, alarming and completely ridiculous. From the incidents that unfolded during those 2 days( thank god he didnt die in hospital, all the doctors would have been killed), to the violence to the irresponsible sensationalising of news to the idiotic Bangalore celebrities...it was disgusting alarming and ridiculous!!

Look who's back.. :D

2006-04-10T01:23:00.000-07:00

All right!! I am back. A big thank you to all those who left such sweet "undemanding" comments on my last post asking me to post soon...I am very touched with all the love and affection :P

I have been in Calcutta;sick;and working my sick and sorry arse off, trying to make my house inhabitable;in that order, during this brief period of absence. Since I have nothing else to blog about I shall elaborate on each of the above.

So I went to Calcutta to attend T's wedding. Unfortunately, I fell sick and was not able to make it for the actual wedding...in my defense, it was at an unearthly hour in the morning. I did manage to make it to the reception, and much fun it was. Through my antibiotic and fever induced daze, I saw T sitting beside S, looking every inch the pretty blushing bride. Cant quite describe what it was like to see her like that...all SD, RD and I could talk about was "God!!! thats T!! Remember her in Class VI with those two ponytails and skinny legs? She got married!!! God!!!"So unreal..although in a very happy way!! Major nostalgia trip happened right there and then. We were all most impressed with S, as RD kept saying, "Besh smart bol? Aar ki bhalo dekhte" in a very approving tone. The funny thing was T looked majorly South Indian with all the flowers in her hair and her nose pin and the (what i think was) South Indian silk sari, while S, the Tam Bram in question, looked ekdom Bangali in his dhuti panjabi. Interesting role reversal :) The food was yummmmmmmmy!! T, god bless whoever decided on the menu (Im guessing it wasnt you), I can't begin to tell you how long its been since I ate koraishutir kochuri and alur dum(it was yummmmmmmmy) and prawns and mishti doi and everything!! Needless to say, RD, SD and I shamelessly stuffed ourselves, to the extent that my plate looked spotlessly clean when T came out to tell us "lojja kore khaash na", and she actually thought I hadnt eaten and kept telling me to help myself (ki lojja...ki kore boli je already teen baar giye khabar niye eshechi). Oh and I also met AB and the Gamesmaster, nice to finally be able to put faces to the blogs, though we couldnt talk much.

The return trip from Cal was horrendous. Jet Airways has gone to the dogs. The steward dropped an entire tray of lemon juice and buttermilk on me...well, not on me per se, but near enough to drench me in that vile smelling liquid. And there was severe turbulence all the way from Cal to Bangalore and I was therefore left with no choice but to grip my seat handles and look anxious. Dont ask me the logic of this behaviour...its just what one HAS to do in that kind of a situation.

I got back to Bangalore last Tuesday, and since then I have almost been buried alive under tonnes work, dust, domestic issues like "medem, surf khatam; pochne ka kapda nahin hai" etc etc. Oh and the pigeons!! Goddddddddd! The PIGEONS!!! They are everywhere. They come perch on the balcony, they try their best to come in through the windows, they coo , they flap in one's face when one walks into the balcony and scares one half to death. And to top it all they shit. All over the place. I swear if i have to clean pigeon shit off the balcony one more time I will cry. I will just sit down and wail! I shoo them off my balcony and they go sit on the opposite one and give me these looks...these really evil challenging looks, as if to say "Oh yeah, you think you can get rid of us? Hah!! just you wait..."

Its becoming nastier and nastier. I have taken to flapping things at them randomly whenever I am at home. This morning I even caught myself muttering to them under my breath "Don't even think of shitting on my clean washed clothes. You creatures dont understand the concept of clean, look how you live, but one drop of shit on my clothes and you will regret it". And I know they are birds and all that, but I swear they all had this really challening looks in their eyes. I spent the weekend making large scarecrows out of newspapers and hanging them at regular intervals from the clothes lines. Though they havent been very helpful yet, Im hoping that thats because the pigeons havent yet registered their presence (its called bird brain for a reason you know). People please pray that my scarecrows succeed in scaring them away. Otherwise, I will be left with no option but to first kill one and hang its body from my balciony grille as a warning to the others (Sholay Gabbar Singh style) and if that too fails, buy an airgun and start shooting them all. ..*evil laughter*

I just realized that half this post is on pigeons. It also just occured to me that muttering threats at birds is not the kind of behaviour that charecterises sanity. They have succeeded in driving me nuts (maybe thats part of their evil master plan...drive the humans crazy and take over human land). I think I need to go and lie down on the sofa in the conference room. Please excuse me people. Bye bye for now.

I remember

2006-03-23T04:52:00.000-08:00

I remember a time before cable television, when the Walt Disney Show and Heman were the only sources of entertainment.

I remember a time when I bought Kwality icecreams from the blue and white ice cream van that plied the streets in the quiet afternoons.

I remember a time when I spent the whole day in the bright summer sun without developing headaches, and feeling tired.

I remember a time when I could still buy something to eat with Re. 1.

I remember a time when I could stay up the entire night then attend class the next morning without feeling the least bit tired.

I remember a time when I loved and hated with equal fervour.

I remember a time when I was sure that somewhere there was that perfect man who combined greek god looks with amazing sensitivity, wit, humour, intellegence, unconditional love, acceptance, etc etc etc.

I remember a time when I believed in Santa Claus, and fairies and elves and brownies and pixies and Amelia Jane and Noddy and the Magic Faraway Tree and Noddy and Toyland.

I remember a time when good was good and bad was bad, and grey was just a another colour.

I remember a time when people I liked were my friends and people I didnt like so much were not friends and friendship was that simple a matter.

I remember a time when I wanted to go to my friends birthday party because she had invited me and I knew it was not just out of politeness.

I remember a time when I did everything I could for my friends without expecting anything in return.

I miss those times. I miss my innocence, I miss the innocence of those times. I miss being a child. I miss dealing with things that were black and white and uncomplicated. I miss being with people who were as uncomplicated as I.

I would give up a 100 Baskin Robbins icecreams for a plain Kwality's vanilla cup if I could eat it without worrying about the calories and my (ever burgeoning) weight. I can do without the 100 channels on my television if I could watch one hour of Heman and come away from it totally delighted and in love with the hero. I would give anything to be able to spend a summer day on a big open field and come away exhilarated with the days events rather than feeling tired, exhausted, grimy and ill.

But more than anything else, I wish I could somehow go back to the time when friends were friends and when one did things for ones friends just because....when one didnt read too much into situations, when one forgave ones friends for hurting one and promptly forgot about it. I wish I could make people say sorry, shake hands and make up. I wish I could go back to the person I was...the person who did stuff for her friends without expecting even an aknowledgement in return.

I hate the way things have turned out and will continue to turn out.I hate being grown up.

House hunting.

2006-03-14T04:07:00.000-08:00

It is a awful AWFUl experience. House hunting I mean. For the past one month I have been spending all weekends just following my broker around from one horrible little hovel to another. Ive seen all kinds you know. And had the most bizzare ridiculous conversations stemming from bizarre ridiculous houses. Such as these:

Conversation One.

Me(totally horrified and dumbstruck) : But why on earth is the loo inside the kitchen?

Landlord: Eh?

Me: The toilet. It is inside the kitchen.

Broker (looks bemused) : Yes Medem.

Me: But why??

Landlord: It is toilet. 24 hours water and geyser also.

Me: Inside the kitchen???? You cook food there. How can the food cooking area and the...er...(looking for socially acceptable way of saying food excreting area) toilet area be so close by? Isnt that totally unhygienic?

Landlord: No no. Full ventilation is there.

Me(yuckkkkkkk) : But its disgusting.

Broker: It is only Rs. XYZ Medem. Negotiable.

Me: Who cares about negotiable, its DISGUSTING.

Landlord (very affronted and aggressive): See noone has had problem with it. People love my apartment. If you have problem you leave.

Me: Of course I'll leave. Did you really expect me to stay in this disgusting place of yours? (turns to hapless broker), Mr. V, please take care not to show me places like this. The loo needs to be far away from the kitchen. Understood?

Broker(meekly) Yes medem.

Conversation Two

Me: Errrr, Mr. V, when I said that the loo needs to be far away from the kitchen, I didnt mean it should be away from the flat itself.

Broker: Sorry medem. What is the problem?

Me: The problem? The problem my dear man is that here, the loo is outside the flat on the terrace.

Broker: (mildly quizzical look)

Me: What am I supposed to do when it rains? Carry an umbrella to and from the loo?

Broker: You dont like it medem?

Me: NO I DO NOT. Even if the loo was inside, the flat is dark and dingy and depressing. I cannot fit a cupboard and a bed into that room. Either I will have to sleep on the floor or my clothes will.

Broker: Ok medem I will show you more houses.

Conversation Three

Me: Hmmmmm.

Landlord: So what do you do for a living?

Me : I work for an advertising agency (most people do not understand the concept of PR, so to save everybody's time I usually say advertising in reply to questions like this)

Landlord: Oh so you have irregular hours. (Looks grave and disapproving).

Me (Wonderng how my timings concern him in any way): Err...

Landlord: I might as well tell you now, that I will not allow any guests staying over. And no boys are to visit, even during the day.

Me(as rudely as I can) All right sir. I hope you find the nunlike orphan tenant you are looking for. Goodbye.

Conversation Four

Me: Yeah, this seems ok, but tell me, can you convert the Indian style loo into a Western style one?

Landlord (with undisgusied glee): Why you are wanting Western style loo? Are you having medical problems? (Looks up and down enthusiastically)

Me(Startled): No, I just...

Landlord (enthusiastically): No no you can tell me, after all we will be neighbours and we must help. And if I have to make investment changing toilets I must know exact reason.

Me(What the f***!!!!): OH forget it. I dont want to live near you. (runs away)

Conversation Five

Broker (Looking interestedly at Rahul who has been kind enough to take me to the house in question): Medem you will live alone or with family?

Me: Huh? Why do you ask??

Broker: No Medem. just asking if you are married Medem.

Me (siiiighhh): No I am not. But he will be a frequent visitor. Will there be problems on that issue?

Broker ( I can almost see the word Live Together, Sin and Scandal running through his head): No Medem some landlords might not like.

Me: Then dont take me to those landlords!!!!!

Conversation Six:

Me: This seems nice. Everything seems to be where its supposed to be. But umm, Im engaged and my fiance will come over frequently.Sometimes at odd hours. And I might have houseguests also, male and female. Will that be a problem?

Landlady: Thats your private life. I have no issues with your fiance or your friends. You can live in with your fiance for all I care. As long as you dont create a nuisance for the neighbours and they dont complain I dont have any problems.

Me (Halleluiah): Oh!! I see. (Crosses fingers behind back and looks around for possible flaws).

I signed the contract for the last mentioned place today. For the first time in my life I will be living in an apartment of my own, not my parents, not a PG or a hostel....an apartment of my own. And its nice, has attached Western style loo, and 2 balconies and a small kitchen and a nice living room and a big bedroom. And its furnished. And its in a nice area. I shall move in by April 1st. Nomore househunting....till next year when I get married and have to find a bigger place to live in. Until then...THANK GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Womens Day

2006-03-08T01:46:00.000-08:00

I wanted to write something for the blog a thon, but as usual, I am well past the deadline for both registering and writing about street harassment, but I suppose its better late than never.

I wrote about my experience earlier, and understandably, it touched a chord. All the women who commented on that post had at least one such experience to recount. What was noticeable was the fact that almost all of us told of situations where either we did not scream, shout or draw attention to what was happening to us, or even if we did, we were faced with snide comments about deserving it because we were dressed a certain way, or even worse, "It happens...let it go"!

It happens. I know. We know. We face it everyday, sometimes even before we are grown up enough to understand why. I used to live near Gariahat in Calcutta and every evening my mother and I would walk through the hawker laden roads, window shopping, eating alu kabli and just wandering aimlessly. Sort of like a daily evening ritual that I shared with Ma. I remember Ma telling me very seriously when I was about 11/12 years old "Tinni keep your eyes and ears open when you are walking on the roads. There will be these men coming from the opposite direction who will try to bump into you on purpose; pay attention to whats going on around you and you will be able to avoid and sidestep them. " Why would anyone want to bump into people on purpose? How ridiculous I thought. But something in my mothers voice told me to take her seriously. And I tried to watch out for such immature people. It took a while for me to realize that this bumping and pushing did not stem from from some nonsensical childish whim, there was something far more disgusting at the root of their behaviour. With time I learnt to tell a potential bumping pervert from afar and sidestep very nimbly. Im still pretty good at it. And I found myself telling my 14 year old sister the exact same thing the other day.

We all have similar tales to tell dont we? People following us home, masturbating near us, bumping into us on purpose, singing lewd songs, and sometimes just staring at us. I was having a discussion on the male gaze with Arka yesterday and the question he threw up was where do you draw the line? How do you know when someone is giving you a flirtatious look and when he is mentally undressing you? How do you know what you thought was a mere flirtatious look wont turn into something more sinister? Most men look at attractive women, it does not automatically mean they are perverts or they will molest her. I dont have any definite answers to these questions. I cant pinpoint and say XYZ is the factor that differentiates the innocent look and the undressing one. All I can say is we know. Something, somehow feels wrong about the way a man is staring at us. It could be a daily labourer on the road, or our next door neighbour or in my case the man at the Book Fair. He stared hard and long at me while my father looked at the books. He made me uncomfortable, but I told myself I was imagining things and continued to stand outside the crowded stall. Then he walked over and grabbed my breast. And squeezed it so hard that tears came to my eyes. Then walked away casually, smirking. I stood there terrified;feeling dirty and ashamed, as if it was somehow my fault. I couldnt bring myself to speak of this incident with anyone for a long time afterwards.

It could be tutor or the friends brother or again, as with me, the driver. Thankfully he never went beyond just looking, but it was enough to make me uncomfortable in his presence, enough to make me sit bolt upright in the car, ready to open the door and jump out if he tried anything funny ( I remember one very panic stricken ride from Salt Lake to my house very vividly). I couldnt complain to my parents; what would I say? "He looked at me??" Although thinking back, I should have, my mother would have understood, Im sure. You cant pinpoint the male gaze. You just know when you are being subjected to it. And if someone makes you uncomfortable then just get the hell away from there as soon as possible. If its someone you know whose stare leaves you feeling naked then tell someone about it. Tell your mother, tell your friend, tell your sister and never ever be left alone with him. GET THE HELL AWAY FROM HIM.

The conspiracy of silence that society imposes on us is a very difficult one to break out of. I wish I could tell my sister to slap, scream, create a scene if she is ever molested, butas un-feminist as it may sound, I wont. I cant be sure that anyone will help her, I cant be sure that the molester wont turn violent and do something far worse to her. My only advice to her would be to just get the hell away from there as soon as possible. Wear whatever you want, but when you are walking on the road, make sure you wear a jacket or a stole on top of it. Dont walk around on the roads late at night and whatever you do, dont go to the cops, they are the worst of the lot. Carry safety pins, buy some pepper spray, and use it when necessary and then run as fast as you can. Come home and tell us, and we will do everything in our power to protect you from these monsters.

Sounds regressive doesnt it? Especially on Womens Day? But you know what I think? I think Womens Day is a farce. What the heck are we celebrating? Getting drunk when we want and smoking a cigarette on the road? Wearing jeans and sleeveless tops? Being financially independant? Working cool jobs? We, and by we I mean urban educated independant women, dont even represent 1/3 of the woman population in the country. How does Womens Day affect the woman in the slum, in the village? has anything changed for them? Hell! Has anything changed for us? We might have hip jobs, but still need a male friend or colleague to drop us home if we are working late. We might wear what we want but we still cover up before leaving the pub. We drink and smoke , but we still think twice beofre walking into a place like Dewars in Bangalore for a drink with our colleagues because its "not the kind of place you can take women to". We drive our own cars, but we feel safer with tinted windows, because then roadside romeos cant see into the car easily and therefore chances of being chased etc are much less.

There is nothing to celebrate. Women are still as un-emanicipated as they were 10 years back. Yes things have changed..but on the surface only. The larger, scarier issues remain unsolved. And I dont know if those will ever get solved. Read this, and then go on to read the anonymous comment...its scary. That is how some men think. And thats the reason women will continue to feel unsafe and continue to depend on the nice kind protective men they know(like Rahul, like Soham, like Vijay who responded to the anonymous comment) to be safe. I only hope, rising awareness of these issues and movements such as this help women, and I am able to tell my daughter someday to raise hell if someone misbehaves without being afraid of the molesters retaliation.

The ideal man in 8 simple steps.

2006-03-06T03:36:00.000-08:00

Nothing is working in this office. Am very annoyed with stuff, therefore I shall distract myself by responding to Rainbeau Peep's tag.

The rules seem simple enough:

1. The tagged victim has to come up with 8 different points of their perfect lover.

2. You have to mention the sex of the target.

3. Tag 8 victims to join this game and leave a comment on their comments saying they've been tagged.

4. If tagged the 2nd time, there's no need to post again.

So 8 points of the perfect man...hmm...tough one. Well here goes, in no particular order...I shall steer clear of the expected ones about honesty and sense of humour...those are a given.

I should be able to have a decent conversation with him. Topics can vary from our respective day at work to George Bush's visit to Vikram Seth to wife swapping (please note: a theoretical discussion on whether he would ever recommend such a thing after say 10 years of marriage and how I would react to it if he did.) to bird flu to gossip about people we know...but I need to be able to talk with him.
He should get along with my friends and family.
He should be able to deal with my moods and my short fuse. Unfortunately I am beginning to believe that this is quite unrealistic, NOONE can cope with my temper and my moody nature :( but since this is the completely unrealistic "ideal man" we are discussing here..what the hell!
He should be a considerate lover.
Should have no hang ups about sharing housework, including cooking.
Should be demonstrative. In that I mean that he shouldnt be the kinds who find it difficult to show their partners they care. One doesnt need flowers or gifts or sappy cards all the time, but an unexpected hug, a heartfelt"I love you" once in a while is nice. Unfortunately Rahul fails miserably in this department : (
Should not get grossed out by somewhat detailed discussions on ..errr...ummmm.....oh what the hell...potty probelms and the like. If one has a tummy upset, one needs to explain the nature of ones(or his for that matter) ailments without the ones partner turning pink and saying "Ron whats wrong with you! Dont be disgusting!". There is nothing disgusting about discussing these problems...everyone has them from time to time!!
Should have absolutely no hang ups about where I go and who I meet and who I speak to(even if its in the middle of the night). Cant deal with possessive men.

Hmmm. So thats that. I now pass on the tag to....... Marauders Map, Ekta, Good Morning Midnight, Seema, Archana, M(Tread Softly Upon and umm...I dont know...umm...Deep(?) and errrr....Soham.

Hah!! Have fun!! *smirks*.