This Christmas has been special. This year, Ro decided to grow up. I was part shocked and part pleased when he had told me last week that he hasn't made any wish nor is he expecting any gift this Christmas. To humour him, I asked why. To which he said Santa was for babies and the promise of gifts is to mislead gulible children into behaving well which isn't their natural disposition anyway. This infact was a ploy by parents to fool the poor children and he was sorry that he fell for it all these years. That settled he went off to decorate the tree.
Saturday, December 26, 2009
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Friday, November 27, 2009
Two things struck me yesterday. First, was a call from a girl who I knew was getting married last evening. The circumstances have panned out such that, bound by protocol, she was unable to invite me for her wedding. Over the last few years, despite her family’s disapproval, she has stood by my side. I completely understand her predicament and had earlier assured her to not get worked up over such trivialities and concentrate on her upcoming wedding. What I had not expected was for her to call me, just before she was to enter the ‘mandap’, to apologise for not being able to invite me and to take my blessings before the auspicious occasion. What is more, she made her groom, to say hello and invited me to their home in Hyderabad where they will be moving soon. From where I stand, she doesn’t have anything to gain by persistently maintaining cordiality with me. A few years back, when the certain family was talking ill about me and making me sound like the lowest scum of the earth, she had on her own, called me to say that she doesn’t believe a thing the others were saying and that I had taken the right decision to walk away. After last evening’s call was done, I was thinking, she must have liked something in me for her to consider me this important because I cannot remember doing anything significant for her ever. I wouldn’t have held it against her ever, if she had not called. Infact, it never even crossed my mind. It affirms my belief that I would rather live with a handful of people who have faith in me, than to live by trying to appease the whole wide world.
The second instance was while watching a movie last night. Michael Douglas tells a young Mathew McConaughey - the power in a relationship lies with the one who cares less. I have been thinking on this ever since and my entire cleverly constructed stance on relationships cracked through the middle. I do believe that the power of a relationship is love. A love that is deep, intense and unselfish. A love that is tempered with understanding, respect and faith in the other person. I believe I am not built for moderation where love is concerned. So this caring more or less doesn’t make sense to me. But it would be untrue to say I have never wondered at times of heartbreak, whether if I could have cared less, I would feel less pain and whether then I could have moved on with more ease. Then again, I would rather love once. And with everything I have. Sigh!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
It's been raining since last night in Bangalore. I woke up with a haze outside my window, only to realize that a sheet of rain has wrapped the city stretching till the far horizon. I smiled and snuggled deeper into the comforter. In my mind I was back to early 80s Kolkata. One year, my school had shut down for a good whole week cause of floods. We were allowed in, only after the entire building had been disinfected and all the rooms had a fresh coat of paint. We spent the entire week at home, making paper boats and floating them on the muddy stream that used to be our street. It didn't bother us one bit that if the water didn't receed soon, we may have nothing to eat at home since the shops were flooded and provisions were running low despite my mother's obsessive hoaring tendency. We were excited seeing the swollen leeches that stuck to Romeshkaka's feet who was our manfriday and who had ventured out, wading through waist-deep water to search for provisions. We raced eachother to fetch the salt which when sprinkled on the leeches left them wriggling on the floor.
Earlier that year, I had pestered Ma to buy me a red raincoat. Yes, red. Like Red Riding Hood. I used to have a red woollen coat with a cape back when we lived abroad but my mother gave that away when we moved back, knowing I would never need that in Kolkata. So I pouted endlessly to get a raincoat of the same colour. My brother had one with a weird green pattern. We used to wear our raincoat like a cape and prance around in our open terrace pretending to be superhuman. Till the raincoats tore during one of our most daring adventures. Ma was furious ofcourse and we didn't speak of another raincoat again and made do with my grandfather's black umbrella that looked like a sulking wet vulture.
Still fuzzy from the reminiscence, I was woken up rudely by Ma's voice. It is a Tuesday morning and life as we know, has to be orderly and organized. Sigh!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Monday, November 09, 2009
Took a long bus ride
Walked in the rain
Painted my nails a bright pink
Wore toe rings with dancing dolphins
Ate guavas without washing
Watched the sea change colours
Stayed awake till wee hours in the morning
Been with someone without feeling any need to talk
Ate dark chocolate after dinner
Had croissant and coffee for breakfast
Shared an umbrella
Slept in a four poster bed
Hugged a friend
Splashed in a bathtub
Gifted a dreamcatcher
Not bothered about how I look
Held hand while crossing a street
Drank tea from a dingy teastall
Listened to a windchime
Got distracted while reading a book
Friday, October 30, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Friday, October 02, 2009
Thursday, October 01, 2009
The Coonoor valley....
Uncle and Aunty....completely in love with each other!!
The tea garden
Way to the guesthouse....
Is this the end of the world???
The clouds hugging the hills
Yeah... they left me here...alone and lonely...(sniff!) while I was taking the previous shots!!!
The road that led to near annihilation! Some nincompoop told us this path leads to a graveyard and the rest is history...
This one is for SimplyMarry.com...aww our Mr.Dee is shy! Enquiries welcome :-)
On our way back...the puncture shop...(spot the missing wheel!) and they are shiny alloy ones...it's heart breaking to watch them getting mauled!
But you goto learn to say goodbye....
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
I did something that I hadn’t done for a long while and honestly, it feels so gooood! Yeah! I bunked work, packed my bags, said bye to parents and child and took off to the hills with of course two friends for company. It all started on a Saturday drinking session at Indijoes. That’s where the idea spurted and over happy-hour beer and steak, we decided to take off to Coonoor. So there we were on M G Road, wrapped up in shawls on a cold windy Bangalore morning, huddled up in Dee’s car, frizzling with excitement like the first school picnic where you got to sit with your best friend in the bus. In anticipation, I slept fitfully through the previous night making endless lists in my head of millions of things that I might have forgotten to pack. I don’t remember being this excited since I went for a college picnic. (ahem!)
Since Dee had to be woken up from bed, (yes sir!) while we waited on M G Road, we didn’t start at the time we intended to. Therefore got caught in city traffic, till we reached the highway. The drive went on with the first stop at Maddur MTR where we stuffed ourselves for breakfast. We continued peacefully till Mysore where we decide to take a ‘never-before-taken’ Ring Road, bypassing the city. For once, the road sign led us to the right path and despite our skepticism and doubts we reached Ooty Road well on schedule. The drive through Bandipur and Madhumalai was beautiful. At one spot where the road narrowed down, we met a herd of elephants. Majestic creatures that they are can look quite threatening up close. We saw a host of monkeys skipping about by the side of the road and looking out for open car windows to hop in and scavenge for food.
The 36 hairpin bends to Ooty took a little effort and encouragement. Grin. Dee had apprehensions and we bribed him with a promise of a sexy back massage when we reach Coonoor. He did not know then, that a far scarier drive awaited him on the slopes of Coonoor. We did the bends, Dee gripping the wheel and Rach and me, muttering a prayer under our breaths. We counted each one of the bends and like a trained parrot I kept reminding Dee to honk before climbing each bend. I got teased amply for it later. Next stop was lunch at Nahars in Ooty. We reach there after some drama of reversing on a downward slope with Dee losing his cool for a bit. It started raining softly by then and we managed to move inside the restaurant where all unoccupied tables were waiting to be cleared of the earlier order. I wisely stuck to a South Indian thali while Rach and Dee took their chances on naan and aloo methi. What arrived though was boiled aloo sprinkled with fried methi leaves. Rach promptly christened it Crackling Methi but i goto admit, we felt better with food in our tummy. At Nahars we met Rach’s aunt and uncle. They live in Coonoor and were having lunch with their guests. In fact Rach’s uncle was instrumental to booking the guesthouse where we were to stay. After direction to guesthouse was drawn up on a paper napkin, we hurried off to Coonoor. We landed there only to realize there was another family staying there aswell. No problem we thought. We got the booze baby. The booze turned out to be an awful concoction called Vanilla Vodka. God bless the state of Tamilnadu where government-controlled wine stores leave no choice for the customer. So while the youngest of the other family hogged the TV watching cartoons, we made merry playing Pictionary. Oh! The squiggles caused laugh riots and I have preserved them for posterity. After dinner we sat around the porch listening to the rain and enjoying the strangeness of a mountain night. Day 1 ended with Dee thinking he heard croaking toads while Rach and I were sure they were crickets!
Day 2 began easy and slow. Rach and I lazed around in the garden talking mostly about Kolkata and food (yes, the too are intimately connected!). It’s so de-stressing to not have any pre-designed agenda on a holiday! The other family had left by mid morning so we hung around watching TV till late afternoon and working out the plan for the night’s binging. The caretaker Ramu was roped in to arrange for beer (any brand boss! Just get it!) and a pack of cards since Dee wanted to learn ‘teen patti’ (an Indian variant of the card game Flash). So while Ramu went about the arrangements, we ordered in lunch from Orchid Square. After lunch we pestered Dee to take us shopping – the usual knick knacks. Dee and I managed to fill the car with utterly useless things like a set of needles (my idea) to be gifted to our moms. We bought locally produced cheese and honey and Dee picked up hemp shirts for himself and bro on Rach’s suggestion. He also managed to twist his back while trying to open a display drawer in one of the shops. However, a stiffened back never stopped him from surveying the chick scene. Such a braveheart! In a split second, he claimed to have made lingering eye contact (no less!) with a pretty lady who zipped past in a Scorpio. Rach and I thought of debating the improbability, however, we never argue with a man who takes women shopping with very little persuasion.
On our way back, we dropped in at Rach’s uncle’s home. An eco-friendly home with a real fireplace and a pretty garden. Ashok uncle and Malu aunty is the most amazing couple I have ever met. The kind that make me wish for a warm pair of arms hugging me every morning. The kind that make me wish for someone to grow old with. mmmm. They filled the room with scintillating conversation that meandered from book reviews of one of their friends to their close encounter with a bigcat. Aunty gave us roses from her garden. A hitherto unprecedented act according to Rach, since Aunty is so passionate about her garden. However, Dee got a full-bloomed big pink rose, the prettiest of the lot! It will suffice to say Dee never lets go of a chance to pour his charm in generous measures. Enthused by their stories, we decided to venture out and drive around to the jungle. The scenery was breathtaking with the blue green mountains suddenly veiled by wispy shroud of grey clouds. The sun was setting and lights were fading fast. We decided to head for the guesthouse. But such was not to be. Rach mentioned an interesting cemetery and I suggested we take a look. Which led us to a road with no humanity in sight. On the way we stopped at the gate of Mansoor Khan’s (Amir Khan’s uncle) sprawling bungalow. The adventure ended abruptly a little further as the road constricted and we found ourselves stuck on a narrow ledge that doubled as a footpath barely wide enough for the car and hugging the steep mountain slope with nothing but tea bushes for company. We couldn’t move forward as there was no road in sight. The only option was to reverse the car. Reverse? Here? Rach and I got off the car to help Dee with 'navigation'. We tried reversing for a while with the front wheel narrowly missing the outer edge by a few inches on more than one occasion. This side is a 6000 ft sheer drop and the other a rockface bristling with thorny bushes. Our cellphones showed no signal. We were cut off from civilization and the jungles are known for bigcats and snakes. The lights were fading. We prayed we don’t get a puncture. As Dee cautiously inched backwards, the brakes let out strong whiffs of burnt rubber. We prayed for an opening where Dee could turn the car. With night approaching fast, it would be impossible to reverse the car all the way to civilization. Short of a kilometer of reversing, we found a grassy patch big enough for the car to turn around. Rach and I hopped in and hugged Dee for keeping his nerve and headed homeward to get to our well-deserved booze binge.
We reach the guesthouse to find uncle and aunty already there to check whether we have returned from our wild jaunt. Thus began an entire evening of surreal stories that ended with uncle driving us to a spot in the hills where we could see the whole Metupalayam valley, glittering like ‘stars below’ (Aunty’s words). The deafening silence of the night on a wet hill side greeted us as we peered into the valley praying desperately for the clouds to melt away. But we could only see the spidery moon, winking occasionally from behind the veiled grey of the clouds. A little disappointed, we got back to the guest house where the now-chilled beer awaited. Grin. Chilled beer on a chiller night. Awesome. It all started off peacefully enough. However, night was still young. As the night progressed, we sank into ribald debauchery. Two drunken women threatening to do a ‘channe ki kheth mey’ dance on the moonlit lawn in their night clothes at 2AM, requires the man to be enormously brave to survive. The talk got kinky and wild and the laugh got louder. Dee bore the brunt with his signature silence and occasional twinkling-naughty smile. By then, we were beyond redemption and huddled up on his bed leaving the poor fellow squeezed and begging to be allowed to sleep. But such was not the plan. We insisted on playing cards on his bed and bulldozed him to a game which was a version of strip poker, the stripper of course being Dee. Looking at the wild women, he had enough reason to panic and hugged his blanket like he was born in them while we dragged the sweater off him. This isn’t a family blog and I could have easily written about the raunchy details with glee except that Dee refused to shed any other piece of clothing and the two of us tired out of the effort of pulling a fat sweater off a grown man fell on either side, snoring. It was with the early morning ‘azan’ from a far off mosque that I sauntered to my room only to fall in bed restlessly with an aching arm caused by alcohol induced dehydration. Rach too woke up with a painful forefinger and kept asking ‘do you know what I did with this finger last night?’ Yeah baby, some things are better forgotten. Grin.
We filled the morning with endless chatter and Dee quoting my previous nights utterances. In all this, we overshot the time we had planned to start for Bangalore. Finally, we left the guesthouse around 2PM to discover that we have a flat tyre. Somehow we managed to hitch the car till the petrol bunk but being a Sunday, the few auto garages were all closed. We trekked down further to finally find a dirty shack that passed for an auto garage. They mauled the shinny new alloy wheel till I was ready to beat up the guy. Dee gave me the offending nail to be kept as keepsake. It took over an hour to repair. Then on, we reached Ooty without a hitch while it rained. On the downward drive through the hairpin bends, we had Ghalib’s beautiful words flowing in the car. We drove through the Bandipur-Madhumalai–Mysore stretch chasing stray cars. Yes, cars. Grin. It was 11 at night when I got dropped home. But it’s never over till its over. On the way from my home to Dee’s, the car ran out of gas and Rach and Dee had to push it to the nearest bunk. Finally, I got an alls well message at 12 with all of us slumped in our respective beds. So till we meet again....
'Get your motor runnin'
Head out on the highway
Lookin' for adventure
And whatever comes our way...'
Monday, September 07, 2009
Among all the silly and not-so-silly things that we do together and for each other, often what gets missed is expressed appreciation. But this is not a thank you post. This one is for posterity. I am hoping this post survives in some inconspicuous corner of this virtual world and may be some day either or both our grandchildren might trip on it and read. This is also for those times when we may not be ‘in’ each other’s lives as much as now. We don’t really know the future and I am not waiting till I turn 60 to tell you this.
So here goes.
I hope you know how wonderful you are, like many people whose lives you have touched in so many different ways, have vouched already. But I will not dwell on your generosity, your ability to make friends on the most unlikely circumstances, your humility, your deep concern for even those whom you know briefly, your faith in people, your passion for what you believe in, your protectiveness for those you love, your boisterous sense of humour and many more things that endear you to people. Because in these, I am not the lone beneficiary of your extraordinary nature.
But it is those unexpected and almost instinctive moments that melt my heart and often break it. I suppose those are best bud privileges only. Grin.
Like, I didn’t expect you to rouse yourself and step out groggily to help me search for my shawl because you thought I may not be able to sleep without it. That was so damn sweet.
How you seethed ‘can’t you keep the window rolled up when we drive through crowded areas?’ Thank you. I shall remember always. Despite the irritated tone and the slammed door, I know it stems from genuine concern.
I have never had anyone text me from his room to ask for tooth paste, where all he could have done is walked across to my room.
Finally to offer yourself voluntarily to get teased incessantly by drunk women takes courage. Real courage. Grin. I would have clobbered them to death.
I wish for you to never change. I know there is one lucky girl waiting to get hitched to you. I wish for her to have the big heart to love you for all that you are.
Friday, August 14, 2009
You turn around
surprised at the ashes
of what could have been
the rest of your life.
You search for a reason and
for answers that don’t exist.
In life’s dice, you wonder
when you missed your turn.
But when the tears dry
you ought to see
the sun’s coming up
and it’s a beautiful morning
Friday, August 07, 2009
I was reading this when my eyes misted up. Bro and I have our stories too. Many, too many of them. We loved and hated each other with such fierce passion that often it scared Ma. One morning, I was dragged from my kindergarden to look at a pink baby wriggling in the hospital crib sucking his thumb and my entire family fussing over it. It appeared impossible to me that this thing would now be my brother. I was awe struck and jealous as hell. It never ceased to amaze me how that wriggling mass of cuteness became the only person I ever connected truly to. We sulked, argued and fought but we stuck by each other like two parts of a genetic jigsaw that our parents couldn’t figure out. As we grew up, the close bond tightened till there were no secrets or insecurities kept from each other including our obsessive belief that our parents loved the other more. Sometimes we had wondered if we were really twins who just got separated by a time warp. My parents had turned to me on critical occasions to convince him, when they thought he chose foolishly. I never took their side, firmly believing that he needs to make those choices himself. For that he was always grateful because he knew I was the only person who could talk him out of anything. Now that he is gone, a part of my parents will never forgive me for not coming through at those times. They worry too that I do not have bro, to be there for me when they are gone.
My earliest memory of our fight was when he drove a sharpened pencil point into my thigh till the lead broke and stuck inside the flesh and I ran to Ma with the oozing blood making a crazy pattern on the white skirt. I howled and brought the roof down till justice was meted out. I was eight and he five. I don’t now remember what we fought over but I remember preening around like peacock showing off my bandaged leg like a trophy and narrating with glee, the circumstances of the injury and the thrashing he got because of it. It was with same ardour that I would, some years later, narrate how he punched a boy four years older to him, when that fellow teased me about my glasses. I felt strangely reassured and proud that here was someone I could always depend on. My brother.
It was he who had sneaked in a half-burnt candle and a matchbox in his pocket when Ma banished both of us to the dark portico one evening after none of us owed up to a mischief. He knew that I would be afraid of the dark and when Baba came home, he saw us busy making shadow puppets in candlelight and heard us saying how lucky we were that Ma threw us out since it meant no homework. Thereon, we always shared the punishment and he never forgot to share his candy. We drove Ma nuts when we invented a code language for ourselves and used it to chatter at home. Then we had this crazy game when he would make a sound and I would repeat the same at a higher note and he would follow with an even higher note till we both were screaming and it would end with a sharp slap from Ma. The slap left us giggled till we were rolling on the floor. Ma never understood what we found so amusing. This is a madhouse and someday soon the neighbours will ask us to leave, she used to say.
The neighbours never asked us to leave but we grew up and moved cities. We didn’t talk as often as we did when we were kids, but that bond got stronger. When I was studying in Delhi he used to write these funny letters (back in late 90s there weren’t any email) in his still childlike handwriting about aliens landing on our terrace and how the neighbourhood street dog had a pretty litter. He found humour in most things grown ups ignored. He found wonder in the most mundane of things. It is his innocence that I miss the most.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
But how long can Kolkata afford ’shorshe eelish’ is the question? Every single state machinery is close to ruins. However, this ‘misguided anarchism’ is not limited to any particular political party nor is it a fresh idea. I have witnessed ‘bus porano’ 15 years back and if I recall right, the expressions on the faces of the perpetrators weren’t any different. (Looking at the woman should I be lauding them for gender equality?) Living in another city for many years now, I realize more things change more they remain the same.
Every day there is a ’swell’ of Bangalees arriving in other cities looking for opportunities and the ones who remain are probably looking for their 15 mins of fame in this fashion. I am not trivializing the trigger but the means used for protest. Maybe change will come with pain. But I doubt that. As I speak with many folks who live there, I get this alarming sense that they are perfectly ok with the bandh/bus-burning. Yes there is the obligatory noise about ‘economic loss’ but beyond that Kolkata is happy enjoying a long weekend. There is this entire generation that grew up ‘enjoying’ the bandh holidays and would know no better. While watching the news, my nine year old asked ‘what is bandh?’ and for that I am grateful.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Yesterday has been a rite of passage of sorts. Since I know, I have been orgasmic about chicken biriyani. I love and savour it like some women worship and salivate over John Abraham. And I am not a snooty foodie, therefore have had this beloved ‘item number’ across cities, towns and across price ranging from a happy Rs.35 to a heady Rs.375.
But it finally happened yesterday. I was at my favourite biriyani haunt in Hyderabad. And no it isn’t Paradise. It’s a quaint place called Point Pleasant on Banjara Hills Rd. 10. Don’t go by the name or the fading garish look. For the last one year that I am traveling to Hyderabad frequently, I have sworn by their chicken dum biriyani. In Hyderabad, this is my staple everyday. I skip breakfast and dinner to be able to gorge on this ‘item’ during lunch. But the spell broke. Just like many others over the years of wising up. The beautifully laden plate didn’t excite. The mind-bending aroma didn’t titillate. I was left with stunted emotions grouping desperately to find my ‘love’. I watched the curling steam and found myself wishing for a plate of curd rice. My conversion complete. I am praying it is a temporary affliction. Let the lord be with me.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
My city is having a spell of heavenly weather and hellish roads. Yes. It’s the rains again. Gusty, loud, passionate downpour that is lovely to watch from the glass bubble where I work. But you realize soon that divinity stops at 10 ft above ground. Since we don’t have transporter we have to battle through roads turned sewers, non-stop honking, traffic snarls from hell and breakpoint temper. Caught up in the loveliness I reached home at 9.30. That is a full evening show of being stuck in my car. I could have sat at a movie theatre instead, except that all theatres are on strike!
The good part of this week is the two books I am reading. Carl Muller’s Once Upon a Tender Time, the last of the Von Bloss trilogy. Through the first two parts, The Jam Fruit Tree and Yakada Yaka I fell in love with the Von Bloss. It is an adult tale of love, misgivings, betrayal, loneliness and humour in the backdrop of Srilanka’s fractured history.
The other is Amit Varma’s debut novel, My Friend Sancho that I picked up yesterday from Shankar’s at the Taj. I read his blog regularly and appreciate his view point on most things. I will comment on the book once I have finished reading. My last impulse-buy turned out to be a dud. The only reason I bought that book was the male protagonist’s name. (Yeah! now you know why I am bankrupt).
Oh, the rest of this post is about you. Last night was the third continuous night I dreamt of you. I haven’t missed you all day. Hell, I don’t even think of you as often as I used to (which was every other minute). And I thought I made it. Got over you. Got over the hurt, the indifference, the non-existence, the lies. But then you arrive in my dream as the ordinary, everyday loving self. We talk, we share laughter, we quibble. We become two real persons in my dream. And I fall in love again. I woke up disoriented last night with the taste of bhelpuri that we were feasting on. Falling back to sleep, I realized we have never had bhelpuri together. I just hope I am not talking in my sleep. That will worry Ma.
Thursday, May 07, 2009
Sitting at Hyderabad Airport, I am enraged. I just realized that flying to and fro from Bangalore I paid the user development fee twice! If that wasn't enough, at Bangalore, I was told that the airport is not accepting cards of any kind as they don't have the facility and neither do they have change for a Rs.500 since passengers are expected to carry the exact amount! This is 6.30AM and I am expected to find the exact change and tender the same. WTF!
First, I didnot ASK for a swanky airport where a plate of iddlis (2 nos.) costs Rs.90. I didnot ask for an airport that will cost me Rs.700 to reach. Many talk of better 'facilities'. I would ask which ones? Yes, the toilets are cleaner but there is no announcement box inside. So if you errr take longer you just might miss the flight.
I consider air travel as a basic service that should be provided to the average tax-paying citizen. The airports should function efficiently with on-time departure and arrival, acceptable hygiene and cleanliness and other facilities at a reasonable price. I would rather have a no-frills airport that has a better record of on-time takeoffs! Who needs these fancy branded shops that pay a bomb to be there and pass that on promptly to the customer. Imagine if Chennai Central starts charging UDF since it has introduced trolly carts to ferry passengers from entrance to the platform. I bet the railways have a far better record of timely departures and arrivals. So what am I really paying for?
Ok enough cribbing. The road to airport is far prettier in Bangalore than Hyderabad. But Hyderabad has many competitive players in the air-conditioned cab service. Better options than Bangalore.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
This lovely, lovable lady tagged, so here it is..
- Available: no
- Age: three decades and a quarter
- Annoyance: summer heat
- Animal: all
- Beer: draught.
- Birthday/Birthplace: 30th Jan/Kolkata
- Body Part on opposite sex: eyes and hands
- Best feeling in the world: holding Ro for the 1st time
- Blind or Deaf: Deaf
- Best weather: winter chill. Cooler the better.
- Been in Love: yes
- Been on stage?: yes, often.
- Believe in yourself?: yes.
- Believe in life on other planets: wouldn’t rule it out.
- Believe in miracles: lucky coincidences.
- Believe in Magic: yes. of the entertaining variety.
- Believe in God: No. But respect those who do.
C- Car: Xing. Dream of a Ferrari Spider.
- Candy: naaah!
- Color: black, red, purple.
- Cried in school: never.
- Chocolate/Vanilla: Tiramisu.
- Country to visit: Egypt and the Scandinavia
- Day or Night: Always been an owl. 2-4AM is my fav time. Love the quiet.
- Danced: love it.
- Dance in the rain?: Yes. hell yes.
- Do the splits?: Nope.
- Eggs: boiled and shelled.
- Eyes: Smiling.
- Everyone has: a funny bone.
- First crush: in school.
- First thoughts waking up: What’s special today?
- Food: well done steak.
- Greatest Fear: losing my wit
- Giver or taker: giver . sigh!
- Goals: to be content and happy.
- Get along with your parents?: yes.
- Hair Colour: black
- Height: 5’6”
- Happy: most of the time.
- How do you want to die: alone and in peace.
- Health freak?: Noooooooo….I LOVE food, the sinful kinds!
- Hate: Hypocrisy.
- Ice Cream: strawberries with cream and gooey strawberry sauce (if it qualifies for icecream) or coffee flavoured ones.
- Instrument: tried to learn guitar. But the teacher gave up.
- Jewelry: my little blade pendant, tiny ear rings.
- Job: Human resource professional. Dream job: painting.
- Kids: Have a boy. Want a girl.
- Kickboxing or karate: none. I am the non-violent kind :)
- Keep a journal?: No. Never had the patience or discipline.
- Love: begins with self.
- Laughed so hard you cried: Yes.
- Love at first sight: Naaah!
- Mooned anyone?: Nope.
- Marriage: Done with.
- Motion sickness?: Severe, specailly on spiraling roads..and I love mountains, so you can imagine..
- Number of Siblings: had 1
- Number of Piercings: 4
- One wish: peace everywhere…
- Place you'd like to live: on a mountain somewhere…
- Perfect Pizza: pepperoni.
- Pepsi/Coke: Water.
- Questionaires: I don’t like silly ones (like this one!)
- Reason to cry: when I am hurt.
- Reality T.V.: No, no, no. I don’t watch TV.
- Roll your tongue in a circle: that’s fun!
- Song: current favorite – You Found Me - Frey
- Shoe size: 41
- Slept outside: yes. In a tent!
- Seen a dead body?: yes.
- Smoked?: yes.
- Skinny dipped?: yes.
- Shower daily?: usually twice.
- Sing well?: Only Ro thinks I do.
- In the shower?: yes, yes and yes.
- Swear?: often.
- Stuffed Animals?: Currently Ro has loaned me a monkey called George.
- Single/Group dates: Single.
- Strawberries/Blueberries: Strawberries...with fresh cream!
- Scientists need to invent: nothing. They have done enough!
- Time for bed: late usually.
- Thunderstorms: I like them…
- TV: Don’t watch.
- Touch your tongue to your nose: Oops…too short!
- Unpredictable: absolutely.
- Vegetable you hate: Bhindi….yeow!
- Vegetable you love: potato, any doubt!
- Vacation spot: Himalayas
- Weakness: much too idealistic..hmm
- When you grow up: Hey! I am already grown up..what kinda question is THIS!
- Worst feeling: to be lied to...
- Wanted to be a model?: No. A model student yes. But my teachers thought otherwise.
- Where do we go when we die: Do I care? I am dead...
Worst weather: Sticky summer heat!
-X-Rays: Once. For a suspected hairline crack in the ankle.
-Year it is now: 2009..hah!
Z- Zoo animal: I don’t like animals in the zoo…
- Zodiac sign: Aquarius
This lovely gent is surprised to see me do a tag.....infact he asked me if I was feeling alright! Therefore, let me put it on record that I have always done tags, if invited to do so. So here you go Rambler, now it's your turn. Teeheehee!
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Two things that are irritating me right now:
1. I see no reason why India in general and Indians in particular should meddle in Srilanka's internal affair. We should have stayed out of East Pakistan and we should stay out of other people's countries. Send aid if asked. Appeal for minimal casualty. But don't meddle. Currently I am stuck in Chennai since DMK has called for a 'bandh' to protest and armtwist Center to 'intervene' in Srilanka. Thanks to them, I will have to work out of my hotel room tomorrow.
2. I don't see the point of the spotlight in Varun Gandhi. This is election time. Rhetorics are aplenty. Why castigate him for something that doesn't deserve so much hoopla. I have heard the 'acid speech' on TV several times as broadcasted during news. I didn't find anything offensive in it. Go ahead. Call me a bigot.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Monday, April 20, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
You are a bona fide bong if:
- You are obsessed with either end or preferably both ends of the digestive system.
- You have an opinion on everything under the sun and believe it is your birth right to express it at every opportunity.
- You are an ardent practitioner of self-medication and offer solutions to the ones around you whether asked or not.
- You wear glasses – higher the ‘power’ the better.
- Your grandmother fed you fish heads when you were a kid promising to make you smarter in math although you have never actually seen a fish of any variety solve algebra.
- You are obsessed with numbers and force-rank every one/thing from physicians to space satellites and take offence when contradicted.
- You wear egg-sized gemstones on more than two fingers and most likely dangle mini metal contraptions containing holy flowers/ashes on the various covered and uncovered parts of your body to ward of evil and make yourself invincible.
- You have tried homeopathy at least once in your life. Better still you have practiced it after learning from an old handbook bought from a used-book store.
- You are an expert in palmistry. Again, learnt from a second-hand Kiro book bought off the pavement.
- You insist on screaming your companion’s name in public least he or she gets lost in a crowd. The rule is followed with equal zest in movie theatres, malls, railway compartments, aircrafts and parks.
- You believe Rabindranath Thakore is the greatest literary figure of all times. The others who count are either English or French.
- You bargain even at paid public toilets.
- You smell a ‘chokranto’ (grave conspiracy) every time any thing slightly negative is written against illustrious bongs like Sourab or Pronob (irrespective of your political leaning).
- You love sleeping in the afternoon.
- You know all the rights of citizens of India. However, every time responsibilty is discussed you smell a 'chokranto'.
P.S. (Incase you haven't been able to make out, the crucial 'l' in 'Public' is missing...making it Pubic Relations and Training. Wondering what all tax payers are paying for eh?)
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
I am a self-confessed radio junkie. Between full-time work and a boisterous eight-year old, my music listening happens while driving to and from work and often during late nights on weekends. I guess I have to thank the Galvin brothers for that. I am lazy enough not to organize my CDs and MP3s to make the songs easily accessible and I like to be surprised, so radio works for me. I am a sucker for the retro shows. Mostly because I don’t have to wonder about the words! Ok, now about the two songs this morning…
Black Velvet by Alannah Myles. This has been an old favourite (1989 is positively retro). There is something about her raspy voice that oozes languid insolence. It is so refreshing to hear the opening score of the song. I had spent hours imagining myself in those leather boots and felt hat singing and strumming in front of Elvis-crazed fans. Sigh. That was the only time I wanted crinkly hair.
You Found Me by The Fray. Débuting last November, this one is comparatively super-fresh modern. This song has all the Nirvanasque angst and melancholy minus the guitar riffs. Despite the depressive lyrics that talk about the hopelessness and disappointment that life offers, it is a strangely uplifitng song.
Monday, March 23, 2009
They played 'our' song today on the radio. It took me by surprise. They never play anything like that so early in the day. The RJ said, 'Roll up your windows and let the music fill your car..' Good for him. What does he know. Silly, really. To be holding on to a song when you have to let go of the person. Then maybe that's how it is meant to be. That is why the song a classic.
Friday, March 20, 2009
For the last few weeks the highpoint has been the radio show on Thursday afternoon called ThinkTank where the callers quiz the RJ on music trivia to win sponsored goodies. Usually some rare trivia gets shared which makes the show interesting. Regularly, I leave office at 6 just to be able to tune in while driving back. Speaks a lot about my life doesn’t it.
Anyway, the recent psychometric test found my score to be highest on spatial-visual intelligence followed by musical, intrapersonal and linguistic. I scored lowest on logical-mathematical which comes as no surprise. I remember only two telephone numbers and both of them I have had for the last several years. Once, in school, I had drawn bicycle wheels on the entire math notebook to find out the number of revolutions required to cover an asked distance. Precisely then, I guess, my parents gave up their dreams. More on that later. Only now, I have learnt the multiplication table along with my eight year old. In university, all my applied statistics used to take shape schematically on paper napkins while my partner crunched the numbers. My kith and kin are well aware of my severely challenged ability to comprehend anything numeric. I do not remember the silly SMS numbers that flash on TV to vote for the even sillier shows. I even skip the numbers in an advertisement and read them as ‘blah blah blah’.
Then again, I am the most illogical person around with impossible wishes and irrational reactions. Therefore, unlike DA, I cannot erase people as easily as their telephone numbers. For me, a person, thing or moment is tagged with a multi-sensory memory and filed in the deep crevice of my conscious from where they are impossible to dislodge. Then for years afterwards, I will relive those memories, often painfully, when triggered by a familiar phrase, a well-remembered tilt of the head, a similar posture, snatches of a tune, whiff of a perfume, a certain warmth of voice, a shared joke.
It would have been so much easier if I could put people in numeric context. His bank balance. Her shoe size. His height. Her age. His address. Her phone number. So much easier to erase when required. But that wouldn’t work for me. Unlike the old couple in the paint advertisement on TV, I will recall the colour, texture, smell, taste of all 'our' memory. So, for those I have lost through fate or frivolity, what remains are the myriad hued memories and of course the songs. ‘Our’ songs that will always remain even after the ‘our’ is rendered redundant.