Me-ra!

Random Photo Post

2010-08-23T01:53:00.000-07:00

One parlour I will avoid.

Eyeballing Kerala

2010-07-21T21:18:00.000-07:00

I was in Kerala for a few days doing absolutely nothing and having such a good time I got superstitious.
Here's what I saw, in points (because I can't be bothered to write too much, am still on holiday)

1: It's green. You should see it from the skies.

2: The Left has made it's presence felt. There are unions for everything. Including an All Kerala Mammooty Fans Union.

3: If you cycle past the village school in shorts and a top so long it covers your shorts, be prepared to hear a chorus of "Aiyyyee" which roughly translates to "Chee" which roughly translates to disapproval. From the kids that too.

4: Green. Green. Green. Green. Greenie. Greenug. Greenu. Green!

5: The roadside tea is quite awesome. As is the fish (everywhere- roadside, resort side, any side)

6: When in a temple in Kerala, do not hold hands with members of the opposite sex. As you will be struck by lighting! I swear I was. I can't believe I'm making this sentence. But, I was struck by lighting in a temple.

7: My ayurvedic masseuse (who I had to cycle through an entire village to reach) was called Mini Joy. He he. Quite cute I think.

8: Nothing equals swimming in the rain, in the moonlight under a canopy of coconut trees.

9: A word of warning. If you are late for your flight, try not telling your cab driver about it. He might take it as a personal mission to get you there on time. In the process your heart will make it to your mouth (given the incredibly scary driving). I'm told the driving in Kerala is probably the worst in the world!

10: I loved how the people were warm, welcoming, ever-smiling and helpful. I'm sorry to sound like a bloody foreigner. But something about people in villages and small towns is so genuine. They look happy and content. After the cribby, angry, grouchy crowd in Bombay. It is such a joy to see. Not a Mini Joy, but a big, fat XXL Joy. :)

Mr Wilbur Sargunaraj

2010-07-13T01:25:00.000-07:00

Grumpy Party Observations

2010-07-12T01:29:00.000-07:00

I went to a party sometime back. This isn't me throwing my social life in your face. Don't worry. I'm simply making yet another earth-shattering observation.

This one (observation) bothered me a LOT. So I have to crib about it. :)

So I was planted next to this Very Pretty Girl at the party. Even on a usual day, it is hard for other women to appreciate Very Pretty Girls. Most women will vehemently deny this. But since I'm good, I'm also honest.

So I sat next to her with an open mind. Since there was no one else next to me. I didn't have a choice.I also decided to be terribly nice to her and ensnare with the old Conversation Skills. At this point I realized I was behaving like a giddy headed BOY. So I played it cool. And flashed one of my own winning smiles. She barely moved a facial muscle. In fact I'm pretty sure her smile was a grimace.

This really upset me. Now i felt like a giddy headed boy with acne.

So i threw in a couple of pretty good jokes. Tittered at them myself. And looked at her for approval. She had turned her grimace into something vague, like a non-committal smile. At this point I feared that she suffered from a severe lack of a sense of humour.

As if to prove me wrong, our Very Pretty Girl turned to the Very Unpleasant Boy next to her and he OBVIOUSLY cracked a joke. She laughed hysterically at this. Throwing back her head and allowing her pretty hair to sway along in rhythm. I was worried she'd sprain it.

Anyway I spent the entire night observing her. As I had nothing else to do. And the nearest converse-able person was four chairs across the room.

I came to realize that all it takes to impress some men is hysterical laughter. At their jokes. The more you laugh at their jokes, the more they realize how utterly gorgeous and disarming you are. How pretty your throat is (when you throw your head back). How soft your hair is (when you sway it on to their shoulder during a particular vigorous laughing movement). How white your teeth are (I don't need to explain this one). How INTELLIGENT you are (to understand that kind of wit!).

I must add that I will never laugh at stupid jokes to charm anyone. Out of great respect for my own sense of humour.And fear of a sprain.

This Will Be A Short Post

2010-07-12T00:20:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went through what every girl goes through at any given time of the year.
I opened my cupboard. Found it full. And thought to myself, "I have nothing to wear."

The Attempt To Be A Good Soul

2010-06-27T23:24:00.000-07:00

I know. In my last post I bitched about well-nourished aggressive folks. It didn't go down too well with the masses. (Pun intended). I also claimed to dislike Very Nice People. But I've put all that past me now. And decided to be a Good Soul.

Being a Good Soul can be very damaging. Reputation wise. It can also give you the appearance of a doormat. Overnight. Which is why one must be careful not to publicize the recently acquired halo. Writing a blog about it is okay, because the people who read it are usually not in you immediate vicinity. (And if they do happen to be in it, they usually don't say nice things about you anyway, so they aren't likely to talk about it.)With such clever strategy I plan to now embark on a new, polished little path of rainbows and fluff.

Day 1 will involve avoiding being nasty.

Day 2 will be a more difficult step, smiling even at fake people. (This might make me fake as well, so it is slightly hypocritical, but I intend to smile genuinely, so... ha-ha!)

If these two days go well, I'll think up a plan for the rest of the tiresome week. (Tiresome, said in a glowing, positive way of course).

How To Hook An Auto-driver

2010-06-21T00:40:00.000-07:00

I initially intended this post to be about Aggressive Over-weight Women. But the fact that I believe in karma and do not wish to become fat and aggressive at any point in the future. I held back. However, let it be known, that I not only dislike confrontation, I also despise aggression. There is no such thing as healthy aggression. And if you are aggressive with me, I will be just about as nice to you, as I will to some form of infectious eczema.

Now that I have that off my chest. Let me also inform you (pretty uselessly) that I also intended this post to be about Very Nice People. If you are a Very Nice Person, I'm sorry but I don't trust you. Don't take it to heart. It is just my deeply suspicious nature. You may smile at me guilelessly, but I am likely to wonder if there is a joke lurking under that lack of guile. If you are in fact mocking smile-lessly. Sick, right? I'm sorry Very Nice Person. I wish I could love you. But the news, advertising and creepy men across the street, have infected me with suspicion. I can't believe in you. Even if you made me chicken soup for my terrible cold. (Though I'm willing to keep my mind open on that one).

Now that I have passed on my negativity. Let me get to the original purpose of this post. Auto-drivers. If anyone has been to Bangalore or travelled to and from Andheri East..you have all faced rejection, refusal and contempt from the average auto-driver. You hate these guys, but you need them so bad! I feel you, sister, brother, grandmother and random person.

Auto-drivers are a mean race. But once you crack the code to your average auto-driver. You will NEVER face rejection again.

Here are a few steps.

1: Always remember, an auto-driver is a man. Like all men, he fears neediness. Like all men, he probably likes a chase. So, if you need that auto play... Hard To Get.

Whenever you hail an auto, never let the driver see your eyes. Because then he will notice your needy desperation.

Whenever you hail an auto, pretend there is an empty auto lurking really close. This will make you seem like you don't really give a damn. And that my friend, is a terribly attractive place to be in. Auto-drivers just LOVE that forbidden "sawaari".

2: When hard-to-get doesn't work. I recommend brute force.

Plant your bum in the auto. No matter what he says. Don't budge. He can't really topple you out can he?

However, this method is likely to expose you to a barrage of insults. I personally don't care much for it. But it seems to work.

3: If you are an attractive girl. Smile.
If you are not an attractive girl. Don't smile, beg.

That will be all for today. Thank me, when it works. It's good for my karma.

Very Deep Questions

2010-06-17T03:32:00.000-07:00

1: Why is it that only a pharmacist can read doctor's prescriptions?

2: How do doctors pass their med exams. With handwriting like that?

3: Is it handwriting like that that makes them pass in the first place?

4: If 40 is the new 30 and 30 is the new 20, then what is the new 20? 10?

5: Why is there a 'g' in Gnu and Gnat?

6: How come whatever you buy goes on sale, the week after you buy it?

7: How can ‘A Slim Chance’ and ‘A Fat Chance’ mean the same thing?

8: How come it rains when I don't have an umbrella and stops IMMEDIATELY after I buy one?

9: How can I think of a tenth one, now that I'm out of questions?

10: OK fine...What is your name?

I'm trying very hard to write a pun-nish headline on quotes and failing (Thank God)

2010-04-20T00:10:00.000-07:00

An apology is basically laying the foundation for future offense. And before you imagine, I made this up myself and kiss the ground I walk on. Let me tell you, Ambrose Bierce said this. Not I. If you wish to kiss the ground I walk on in spite of this, inform me beforehand, I'll try and walk in cleaner places.

Should this post have a name?

2010-03-17T02:04:00.000-07:00

If you ever had the chance to name a mermaid. (This is a purely hypothetical situation). (Obviously). Would you ever name her Jumbo?

No, right? Mermaids are sleek, pretty things of grace and romantic possibility. And Jumbo is. Well, Jumbo is an elephant. Every mental image screams so. Jumbo cannot be anything graceful or delicate. Jumbo must be large, ungainly, cute even. But not mermaid-like.

Jumbo is elephant cliche. Just like Fluffy is always a white Pomeranian. And Moti is the street dog in Delhi. And Blackie is a doberman. And Lucky is a Singh. And Rahul is Shah Rukh Khan twanging at your heart strings for Rs 300/- only.

It's also very strange that I've noticed a lot of tall men have really long names. As if to announce that the bearer of the name Satyendranath Patnekar is a tall guy. Make no mistake.

And those who have long names always get squished at weddings. No, let me explain. Say Satyendranath Patnekar got married to Aishwariya Bhupalam. (Purely hypothetical people). Their banner, outside the wedding hall would read Satyendranath Patnekar weds Aishwariya Bhupalam. And the last four letters in Patnekar would be squished in really close. So as to come within the banner. "The banner painter can't help it if the bloody name is so LONG!"

Then there are those that inflict a life long joke on their children by naming them oddly. Like there was a girl I didn't know in college but heard was called An Innocent Flower Called Mary. And another girl called Innocent Virgin. Tsk tsk.

This without even talking about nicknames. I find it extremely hard to call people by their nicknames. I feel like I'm impinging on their privacy. Especially cause there are those who liberally create nicknames for you (sweet ones, THEY think), even though they don't know you. Those really make me cringe.

I have a lot more to say. But I'll do this another time. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named demands my attention on an orange window.

Of Pen. Of Paper.

2010-03-15T03:32:00.000-07:00

In a haze of addictive substance, I thought yesterday. How I miss writing on paper.
An old thought, yes. But a heartfelt one.

Wet, glistening drops of ink curving in cursive on to paper. And paper soaking it up. Thirsty and greedy.

First I miss my ink pen. It comes with some built in Anti-Scrawl mechanism. When I write with ink on paper,( real indigo blue, blackish blue, strong smelling, wet, wet ink) it makes me want to add gravity to my words. To make them SIT firmly on a notebook line. Not to float about in abandon.

Ball-pens are rubbish. Words come out lazy. Like ill mannered children. With no sense of discipline. Up, down, slanting, straight. Weightless. Characterless.

Second I miss paper. I write on word documents these days. With spell check, that has made me forget spellings I knew better when I was eight. And on word documents, with their keen, twitchy little cursors. Writing is an exercise. The cursor twitches and twitches when left alone. Almost as if it were mocking you. You haven't written enough. There's more. There's more.

It's a bit archaic to write this. I'm not forty. Or eighty. Or a hundred and two. I've known cursors. Learnt their twitch. It's not personal. But it's more to do with missing paper. Dear, sweet old non-reactionary paper. With tactful little drops of ink.

Google killed the encyclopedia

2010-02-18T00:31:00.000-08:00

Ratty (who sometimes reads me) had posted today, "Google before you tweet is the new think before you leap". Which also lead me to think, I haven't gone to a library in the last four years, thanks to Google. Google has also by default created a whole bunch of know-it-alls.

Know-it-alls are always unbearable. And I hate to add myself to that list. Which would be a difficult thing to do anyway, because I know nothing. And manage to look like I know nothing, without making an effort.

Anyway,(throwing digression to the winds), Google has created a whole bunch of these people. For instance, last week, a girl friend and I walked into a pub. And I'm sorry, but there is no joke I can make after that sentence. But walk in we did. And we sat around, tired. (We had wrestled people in the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival before this). We needed a drink. We got one.

And since it is traditional to eavesdrop in a pub. We overheard a bunch of guys next to us wondering how exactly they could "break the ice" and make conversation, with us. I wish I could feel flattered, but all those guys could come up with was, "Which of you is drinking slower?".

My friend and I in great disappointment gave him what we call, a look of sheer disbelief. But for some reason, this look struck the man as friendly. And he threw himself headlong in to a conversation. Which was full of questions. If he didn't happen to know what we were talking about, he googled it. (In his mind he probably thought he was doing this slyly). But I sort of caught him at it!

Whatever little interest we had in talking to him evaporated. We fled.

Ever since then however, I have started obsessively noticing people who help themselves out in a conversation with Google. And it scares me. How much can you read, and know in three seconds?

I love Google. Google is actually a verb. But it has created quite a few know-it-alls. And I can't bring myself to like that.

And if this post gets you thinking about how Google has killed conversation. All I can say is, I told you so! :P

Sunday The Fourteenth

2010-02-08T23:52:00.000-08:00

It's a scary day apparently.What, what? Valentine's day stupid!

The day when weird middle aged men who hang out in khaki shorts that start at their nipples, burn down stuff and vent sexual frustration on sappy individuals who BELIEVE in Hallmark Cards.

It's also the day I feel compelled to bake, make puddings and cook in general to bring out my inner (severely suppressed) romantic.

It's also the day, many women proclaim pure hatred for boyfriends who've forgotten (the infidels) to gift perfumes, reserve tables in fancy restaurants and/or light candles in the safety of their own homes.

It's not all completely horrible of course. But it is a DAY alright, like a massive heavy duty DAY where things happen with great feeling. Be it cheerfully feelings, or feelings laced with cynicism and judgment.

So here's to St Valentine's day, however you choose to swallow it. I advice a suspension of judgment. Even Christmas is commercial, come on!

For the lack of a baritone

2010-01-11T00:31:00.000-08:00

Notice the letters in this new template? I won't blame you if you didn't because they're quite tiny. The idea is to prevent anyone above the age of 40 from reading.
Not really. But one insult per post, makes this so much more interesting to write.

Today's post will be about confrontation skills. Or the lack of it.

Being blessed with a voice that is the furtherest thing from a "deep baritone". I'm the kind of soul that's usually found smiling sweetly at insults.

Why, the untrained mind might ask.

Here's why:
1: In the event that I do think of a retort at lighting speed, my delivery is usually hampered by a lack of volume (given the aforementioned voice).

2: The event of lightning speed striking itself is rare, considering it takes me two minutes to process the insult and the sheer unfairness of it.

That's all.

So I do not confront. Or avoid doing so. Or I confront and run away. (No not really). But pinching people is a much easier option.

THE A/C IS KILLING ME!!!

2010-01-05T22:03:00.000-08:00

Dear reader,
Its 2010. And my first post for the year. New year's eve was just as i expected it to be. If you want to know more, you'll have to have a chat with my mother. If you don't, then congratulations, you have made a safer choice.

The good news is that I did not subject myself to the company of Possible Wierdos and Deadly Bores. I won't share the bad news as I'd like this to be my Cheery New Year Post.

So there...before it becomes January 10th (by when it's illegal to say the words Happy New Year), let me make it known, that I wish you all a very Happy New Year.

This year I will be putting in my carefully thought thoughts, in a whole new blog. The contents are a secret until the blog is actually written. After which I will shamelessly advertise it, as this is a professional skill. (I work in advertising, You Who Didn't Know).

Apart from that I'm trying very hard to think of things to say. But writer's block and the Deep Freeze section (this is where i sit) have rendered me completely useless. The latter has frozen my fingers and brain simultaneously.

On that very chirpy note, I bid thee adieu.

I hope this letter found you in the pink of health...it has found me with Rigor Mortis.

Later

Bwrrrrrrrrrrriter.

No Brainer

2009-12-30T03:18:00.000-08:00

If you shook my head like a cookie jar and turned it upside down, a whole lotta thoughts would fall out. But not all of them good. Not necessarily.

Just like this terrible thought I have reserved for the man outside my house who chooses to sing at 1 A.M.

This man has a surprisingly good voice, and disgusting taste. He picks such gems as "Orre Orre" which I'd never heard till last night. It might be said of this man, that he tends to be a little too dramatic in his tone. Carnatic intonations creep in from nowhere into a loudly belted out "Orre Orre". However, it stands true that the man posseses a good voice, but bad timing and terrible taste.

Its sometimes easy to figure out people by their taste in music. Though I wouldn't completely recommend that route because judging itself, is a flawed activity.

You never really know a person ever. Even if you've known them for years.

For instance I recently found out that my parents watch World Cinema. Now what do I make of that?

Being open minded is good. So long as one's brain doesn't fall out.

Oh wow I'm writing so much!

2009-12-22T01:32:00.000-08:00

Dear reader,
Today as I idly swung my hands around. I discovered a pocket in my pajamas.And even though the pocket didn't contain any money, gold or gargoyles in shiny suits...I'm thrilled!

Go figure.

With lots of love and unexplainable cheer,
The writer

My New Year Potty

2009-12-21T01:25:00.000-08:00

The new year has already started to drive me mad. It has been driving me mad since the first of December. Infact, when the 1st of Dec is born, I'm known to sweat profusely and avoid talking to Most People. (Most People, always want to know what my Newyearplans are)

It won't take a genius to figure out, I hate discussing new year's eve plans. This is mostly because I usually don't have any. Which is more so because,

1: I honestly fear big parties and social gatherings of any sort where I don't know more than four people at least.

2: I suck at planning stuff.

3: I can't handle the pressure.

4: 31st is the end of the month, which logically rhymes with the words "I am broke".

So there you go. I keep wondering why new year's eve automatically requires one to get wasted and forget their last names in a crowd of strangers,( one of whom is definately a Deadly Bore). I said this last year as well, I really don't mind sitting home watching TV. But since the only two people in the world who'd give me company, are my parents...I think it's cooler to just do the usual. Go to Bangalore and get wasted and forget my last name (hopefully not in a crowd of stangers though).

Meanwhile, it's currently Christmas time, which means only happiness to me, since I've been really young. Be it Doordarshan's snazzy (?) programming from the 1990s, or my mother always making sure us kids have gifts for Christmas stuffed in socks tied to out bed posts :) There IS something charming even about the fakie Santas we have known as children, with their obvious cotton beards and pillow-stuffed paunches. In some parts of the country, Santas have a creepy habit of wearing Santa masks along with their robes...which has never felt right somehow. But as a whole, an Indian christmas is a more genuine experience somehow...the sales pitch is not glass shatteringly high maybe.

As friends come down this Christamas eve to stay over for the first time, I feel a little more cheery than usual. My secret Santa might not know that what I really want for christmas is an I pod, a foot massage at Aroma Thai and tickets to Bangalore. But there is likelihood of getting yet another candle to stuff in my dusty cupboard. And honestly, I won't mind that at all :)

So Merry Christmas all (even you, Blog Thief).

*Sings*

"Joy to the world

Our teacher is dead

We barbacued her head...

What happened to her body?

We flushed it down the potty...

And round and round it went

And round and round it went

And roouuund and rouuund

And round it went"

Copy Right

2009-12-16T05:33:00.000-08:00

People get very annoyed about being copied and aped. For some reason, everyone wants to be an original…the only one and all that sort of thing. This without realizing, that nearly all of us are trying to be original, to fit in.

And why am I being so wise? Because I went through my own share of outrage recently.
I found out that a “friend”, “reader”, “plagiarist”, “copy cat” (for the ones with a sparse vocabulary) call her what you wish…studiously copies my blog, my style of writing, even the template!

Quite rightly, I was annoyed. Especially cause she had more readers complimenting her on her style.

I plotted revenge in various ways. My mind being delightfully devious, this wasn’t hard to do at all. Many “original” ideas popped in.
One of them being to poison her. (with arsenic, mind you) But Tremendous Restraint made itself known, along with a calm, (previously seen only in Buddha) that told me to not react at all.

Not even ask her “why”. I just decided to let it go.

And thank her instead for copying me. Because a) now I know someone REALLY reads me. b) now I know someone likes my writing enough to copy it.

Also, you have good taste darling.

2009-12-10T01:44:00.000-08:00

Someone told me (warned me) words are not enough for a blog.One must add pictures. So here they are. Fancy pictures to lighten all the words weight that I have NOT been adding, anyway.

Photo courtesy: Baldie

2009-12-10T01:09:00.000-08:00

The North East

Plotting Shapes In Clouds

2009-12-07T23:10:00.000-08:00

My internet does not run in Chinese anymore. It doesn't run at all in fact. Or it runs so slow, that by the time a youtube video loads, you've lost all interest in it.

I started my first day at work yesterday, new agency, new seat, big window, bright sunlight. As a rule, I don't write about work because it's too personal. I'd rather write about underwear(not mine, though).

On the flight back from Guwahati, I could think of a million things to say, none of which I can remember now.

I spent a blissful week in the hills, by the Brahmaputra and near a lake as large as Bandra, maybe even larger.

Now that I've done my showing off, I might as well wind up and head for lunch.

Except, I cannot leave without warning you about further show off in the manner of pictures. Next week.

Mu ha ha ha.

Traffic and Metaphysics

2009-11-24T03:05:00.000-08:00

Traffic and Metaphysics:

Here are some things that sitting in a cab in the thick of a traffic jam can do to you:

1: Make you immensely patient, after you’ve craned your neck out three times, yelled five times, checked your angry face in the rear view mirror one time and realized, there’s nothing you can actually do. So you might as well wait.

2: Make you late. (Obvious one, that)

3: Make you immune to the cab driver’s voice.

4: Make you decipher the cab driver’s language painstakingly.

5: Make you wonder if you have enough money to cover the waiting charge.

6: Make you laugh at fate in a harsh, bitter fashion, while shaking your head dramatically.

7: Make you think of food.

8: Make you meet the one person in the world who thinks you bear a resemblance to Priety Zinta (one person = a eunuch wanting money)

9: Make you LISTEN to the radio.

10: Make you study the pattern in the upholstery and realize it’s value as a major piece of Optical Art.

Trains are for another day!

2009-11-10T02:03:00.000-08:00

For some unfathomable reason, my Internet works in Chinese! The ads are in Chinese, the icons are in Chinese. I don't know if I'm imagining things now. Though that is quite possible. Last night I imagined my maid ordering me to wash the bathroom. This admittedly was a dream, but still, it was a strange one.

I have promised myself I will travel by train. Every morning I step out to reach the station but end up hailing a cab and thinking of a glorious tomorrow where I will reject all luxuries that involve me spending two hundred bucks every day.

This is because I'm saving up to buy tickets for a trip I richly deserve. Rich is just a turn of phrase, it has nothing to do with me as a human being. Rich and I have been strangers ever since I moved out of the comfortable nice-ness of my home in Bangalore. (Where my mother served me tea every morning and I ambled on the terrace feeling poetic).

Quitting ones agency is fraught with trouble. For instance, everyone feels a niggling desire to make you work more than ever (now that you're leaving and they can never eat your head again). You are in the this-is-my-last-chance to be free state of mind. So the two intents clash horribly. Usually ending in me trying my best to leave at 5:30 sharp. (In a cab)

I can hardly wait for the holiday to come. I have spent all my life's savings on a sweater which I know I will never wear again. But somehow when I was spending that money while feeling the softness of that sweater everything seemed strangely logical and right. In fact I feel that way only when I touch the sweater. At all other times I am appalled.

I just noticed I crib a lot about money. This might have something to do with poverty but I'm not entirely sure. I stumbled across a lot of female written blogs that crib about men. Lucky them. I guess when I get some money I'll crib about the men. Cribbing is after all a gradual well-thought out process.

The weather is lovely today.

Will therefore crib tomorrow.

Because I Must

2009-11-05T03:08:00.000-08:00

Its been a while. I missed reading myself (since I'm pretty sure no one has read me in a while).
As you may notice, I'm far from being your regular ray of sunshine. Which allows me to be cruel, without residual guilt.

Big words, eh?

I've been reading a whole lot (of Mad, The Bathroom Companion). The issue has taught me such fine words as Bathroom and Companion, words I previously referred to as Loo and Jahnavi. Jahnavi being the companion as she is my housemate.

Though I've been told not to divulge personal information, I cannot resist showing off that I now live in a house and not a bed. I can actually stretch my limbs without the danger of hitting the Ugly Godrej Cupboard in my old room (also known as bed). I wish I could say I missed sharing my living quarters with the Rest of Womankind. But I don't. If any member of the Rest of Womankind reads this, be sure to know that I do like you, but only as a separate entity.

Flowery language and Limb-friendly living quarters aside, in the many months of my self-missed absence, I have also changed agencies and watched The Rambo Circus. The former is yet to be figured out completely, the latter was beyond depressing.

As the latter (in case you smoke too much, the latter is The Rambo Circus) is a visually interesting experience to describe, I will do that. Go forth and describe that is (in case you're smoking enough to REALLY forget the last few words I said).

So I went to the circus with an equally excited friend. We proceeded to walk through slightly dung-smelling tents to the actual show, which my dear reader, was in an "A/C tent".
We obviously missed the first act, because as a people (my friend and I) always miss the first half of everything we see together, like movies, weddings, the point of our existence and so on.

The second act, was this rubbery bendy nubile (but slightly thick waisted, a cruel eye might add) young girl in a cotton-candy pink bikini like show girl costume. She bent her body in ways Moov as a brand would love to advertise. But as luck (and fantabulous word play) would have it, it failed to move me. The third act involved two poor looking Russians in tragically faded costumes indulging in some gymnastics.

The fourth act was quite depressing, as hordes of young Nepalese girls descended in the ring for no apparent reason. Later two girls took over and danced to "I'm a Barbie Girl". By the time the tired looking elephants came, I just could not bear to watch. I think the appalling way the circus is run will only entertain a sadist! Its all too horrible to watch. The poor animals, the faded costumes, the too young girls, the too old men. If Circuses, were ever charming, those days are clearly over.

So yes, that will be all for now. I will write again, when time, mind numbing boredom and a desperate need to read myself, assert themselves again.

Motion Pictures.

2009-10-20T03:55:00.000-07:00

Bandra. I wear a saari...the green of parrots and chase a taxi on my way to work. It's late, I'm tripping slipping. Jimikis dangling in the heat...silk making me tetchy.

Mahim. Traffic chokes. Spits. Flies.

Matunga. Garbage trucks with flowers in their open, yawning mouths. It is a beautiful place, this bridge...where garbage means only dried up flowers and pot pourri.

Dadar. An ex poet carries vegetables home.

Elphinston Bridge. Faded billboards proclaim heroes that Bombay longs to forget.

Elphinston Bridge. Trains vomit people who come pouring out on streets, hunting taxis.

The Junction. Traffic swells. People burst. In anger and the heat of cars they bought with their hard earned money.

K.E.M Hospital. Cabbies pronounce it "came".

Grey. A dug up road. My patience has left me along with my parrot green saari, that has now exploded into layers of angry silk. I cannot handle it. I grip it in a flurry and run along. Tripping once more. Jimikis dangling.

Who needs bubble wrap?

2009-09-23T05:23:00.000-07:00

In the world of the fierce, independent, do-it-yourself woman, being taken care of is a weird feeling. Almost uncomfortable. Like if your were swathed in bubble wrap and it's gotten all itchy and poky.

A whole lotta conviction

2009-09-09T22:57:00.000-07:00

Something expensive and idiotic came over me recently and convinced me to indulge in a pair of high heels. It also convinced me, that these heels ought to be expensive and gravity defying. Because expensive apparently means comfortable and gravity defying means sexy.

The thing obviously forgot to tell me that comfortable and sexy cannot be managed in the same sentence (or same shoe). They just don't get along.

But convinced as I was, I walked in to Aldo and picked out a classic pair...in Black..a colour that every Indian imagines, "will-go-with-everything". The heels were high and pointy enough to pierce a man's heart (and not in a pretty way). The shop keeper smiled sweetly and added some sort of sole that apparently comforts your feet. Needless to say, the sole was expensive as well.

Not being one to complain loudly, but blog about it instead. I picked up the pair and managed to convince myself that i was thrilled to bits. Which to be completely honest, at that time i was.

Last night my heels got their first outing. And nothing and no one, has pinched me harder than these shoes. Not even my Hindi teacher in the fourth standard. (And she was chucked out for violence)

The shoes have now convinced me that if i fancy elevation in the future..i will simply stand on the nearest foot stool.

The Well Travelled Ones

2009-09-07T04:46:00.000-07:00

Society has been hit by a new sort of species, the kind everyone who falls within the lower, middling to piddling income bracket absolutely despises. The Well Traveled Ones (W.T.O)

They are further identified by a plethora of badly taken pictures all across the globe, usually plastered on face book, usually featuring them drunk or wasted or drunk and wasted or posing in a neat sunlit spot with their hair flying, with the merest hint of chiaroscuro. Then they have a few standard pictures of historic buildings, taken with the view of a worm and then the view of a bird that probably shat on the aforementioned building. These pictures are in albums of thousands that no one claims to see, but everyone does.

There are also the other kind of W.T.O who make you insanely jealous by taking fabulous pictures that make you realize just how miserable and hopeless your life is. Because; a: you are penniless b: you are penniless and have exhausted all your holidays by going home and stuffing yourself with your mum's food. c: you are getting in the years and you haven't money or holidays or anything to show off about.

The third kind of W.T.O are just newly married folks who have hit upon the "honeymoon package" and their software savings. These people discover discounted romances along with each other. Their photos, I'm not jealous of. Don't know about other folk.

So while these W.T.O hit face book and the globe with a vengeance, I flick miserably through their pictures, constantly hitting the like button and consoling myself that one day...I'll maybe...own a camera..if nothing else.

*Sigh*

2009-08-18T06:36:00.000-07:00

Since I'm home and I have nothing better to do, I've been reading a lot of magazines. Truth is, I love reading magazines...the visual content definately helps my attention span. However, I chanced upon a copy of India Today. Or The Week. Or Outlook...don't remember which since these magazines try and differentiate themselves based purely on a boring cover design. And fail miserably in the process. Frontline by the way, is a pretty good magazine. If you can manage to keep your eyes open inspite of the mindnumbingly boring layout.

(Am I the only one who notices these things?)

Yeah, so (thank you attention span for making me forget)...what i was going on about was that...the entire issue was based on GOSSIP! And the gossip centred around politicians. Has anyone noticed how stupid out daily information is getting?

Only today, i read a headline in TOI that claimed "Actress Eric Bana feels comfotable in the nude". For the uninitiated, Eric Bana is a man. With very hot calf muscles, i might add! Now that's not the only thing. Why do we even CARE if he/she or them like being naked? How does it concern an average reader (like me, currently home ridden with amoebiosis)?

Incidentally, and getting back to it, the Gossip issue also carried an article with the Health Minister cautioning the government on more stringent screening in the airport to prevent H1N1 wreaking havoc in India. This was a month back.
What if THAT had been the cover story?

But funnily, it was not. And Swine Flu paranoia left me with a good laugh when i noticed nearly everyone wearing masks that left them looking like...pigs.

Beautiful Shoes = Ugly Feet

2009-08-03T02:40:00.000-07:00

Notice the woman in the stilleto. That tall, graceful (slightly teetering creature). That brave, noble woman who allowed herself to be balanced on pointy points, pointy points that Gravity is mean to.

It's a slightly comical picture if you just think about it. A woman balancing herself dangerously on high needle like points. Makes you think half the women you know belong in a circus...for being such freaks, for living on the edge every single day. Just for fashion.

Touching isn't it?

Anyway, let me tell you the story of my beautiful green suede shoes. Ballerinas to be precise...of a beautiful mossy green. With a delicate buckle strap. And a front that is designed specially to squash your toes...so that if they could breathe, they would definitely die.

But could i resist wearing them? Oh no. With a foot swathed in band aids and vaseline...i stuffed my deceptively-tiny-yet-monstrously-over large feet into the ballerinas. I'm hobbling at work now.

Which Dog Are You?

2009-07-23T03:09:00.000-07:00

One friend was a poodle, another a boxer and yet another a dachshund. My friend's list has more variety than the Kennel Club of India. I know, i know, that's a sad joke. But I'm just intrigued by this Terrible Boredom that strikes 50% of my friends list and compels them to find out what dog they are!

I'm not saying it doesn't affect me. In fact I once took a test that required me to find out What Kind Of Psycho Are You? The test was riddled with spellos...so I gave up that particular quest, thinking a person who can't spell can never tell me just what psycho i am. Bullshitter!

Of Bananas and Perverts

2009-06-29T22:14:00.000-07:00

I'm in Bangalore. Finally.

I get off the airport bus in the dingy Kalyan nagar bustop(?) and am greeted with the pretty sight of an ugly man jerking off. Oh. Now he is chasing me. My bag predictably breaks a handle. I run ungracefully and jump into a moving auto. I'm hardly a walking sitcom.Or is the world secretly watching me and laughing?

The mother greets me with a standard, "you are too thin". I don't complain. Until she ruthlessly aims a banana in my mouth.

My little cousins play magic tricks and i feel pretty shocked. And a little useless. I was obsessed with Barbies at that age. Thankfully i did read. But mostly, i played with air and had double conversations with myself, in two selves. I hope you understand.

And then there are the friends. Sadly i have decided to fall deeply in love with my good friend's brother. So 70% of our conversation revolves around him. The lucky dog! And I'm sure neither she nor me like this very much.

I read like a bloody maniac. Anything with the printed word on it grabs my eyeballs like a vice. I can't stop reading!!!! I'm walking with a book everywhere and no one can talk to me without me yawning cruelly and turning to my book. It reminds me scarily of a friend who read so intensively that he couldn't you know, take a dump without reading. He, poor thing, read the back of toothpaste tubes in desperation sometimes. This little anecdote was NOT about me. Apologies for the gross imagery that might've hit my more visual friends.

On the Bangalore note, I've also been viciously attacked by a crippling laziness. I'm quite enjoying it though.

More later. Laziness needs me.

Maid of Honour

2009-06-10T00:32:00.000-07:00

I have fallen out of love with crispy fried chicken and zinger burger. Even fish curry rice or masala dosa does not appeal to me. Pasta makes me nauseous. And maggi is just maggoty.
And this is all thanks to Renuka.

Renuka came into my life on a muggy summer day, when sweat was pouring off my brow and my stomach was growling. The clothes were not washed and salad was a rare delicacy in my life then. So of course when my eyes fell on her large ample frame...it was love at first sight.

Renuka cooked. And washed. And how she cooked. Every evening i worked at a feverish pace. Struggling to finish on time, just so i could reach Renuka, beaming over a plate of hot freshly cooked food. Ah the daal, ah the salad, ah....the chappatis. So round so fresh, so yummy.

I'd slip into my room and soak in the smell of freshly laundered clothes. Oh how i loved that Renuka. That divine creature. That epitome of good cooking (with less oil) and good washing. Never did i come upon a white shirt...soiled with an unseemly blob of blue green of yellow. Always, my whites stayed white and everything else clean and Tide smelling.

Just when i was getting used to her...getting fatter and content. She left. Just called up one morning and decided not to come ever again. Too little money she said. I was heart broken. And hungry. Of course. It is amazing how your stomach is completely non cooperative at such times and tends to be sadistically more demanding than usual.
But my pride was too strong and my wallet too empty to call her back.

Thereupon i lived on KFC, Maggi, burnt rice and Jaihind. Hating it. Missing her.

My cooking skills were dismal at best. And washing made me weepy and edgy. I looked for a maid in vain. I suspected Renuka's maid network had been warned of my legendary poverty. But then again, all the greasy oily food had probably made me paranoid.

One day..i got an ominous call from the maid network. Actually my boyfriend's maid was sitting creepily beside me while i was on the phone. My first reaction was shock. This maid was negotiating for Renuka. Renuka wanted to come back apparently. For more money obviously. But i didn't care. My world was suddenly daffodils and ice capped mountains. (Sunshine is a terrible thing in this weather). I agreed to anything. Blindly.

But today...thankfully for my skinny frame...Renuka revisits me. I might be poorer in the bargain. But she...i cannot do without.

2009-05-27T02:01:00.000-07:00

I think time and space are too little, too insignificant, when laid down in comparison to all that I have to do. Yet. I have so many things on my mind, so many wishes, so much my eyes haven't seen. It's a pity that we all at one time or the other become slaves to some system or another.

We, who thought of ourselves as free spirits, rebels, different people, artistic people, non conformists, geniuses. Basking in a self created light of nonchalance.

There are shadows now. Other people have stepped in. Claimed the light. Soaked up a beam. And we, or I, never knew when that happened.

Meera, the wet blanket

2009-05-25T03:06:00.000-07:00

Clubbing on Saturday night is something everyone wants to do.They all want to dance, in the same places, at the same time, in the same clothes, elbowing the same people where even if their faces are different, it's too dark to know. So, clubbing on Saturday night, is not for the faint hearted or the quiet sort.

Now, I, Possessor Of This Secret Knowledge, Owner of That Faint Heart, Hater of The Crowds, decided to party on Saturday night.

And now, i will never do so again. Because,
1: I love my elbows.
2: I like to have feeling in my toes.
3: Stiletoes on larger women are unhealthy.
4: I feel dishonest when I grin and shake my head to what someone is saying, simply cause i can't hear them.
5: The above instance also leaves me feeling stupid.
6: My body is oddly adapted to dance.
7: My body is even more oddly adapted to dance when mixed with alcohol.
8: I can't wear heels.
9: I don't want to flush champagne down the toilet, please don't buy me any. I feel guilty.
10: I don't want to force myself to be witty, funny, sarcastic and charming to a complete stranger. Especially one who grins moronically.

The Age Of Darkness

2009-05-05T07:08:00.000-07:00

You know how liberated women say fair skin is not a measure of beauty? They're bull shitting you. Secretly and very quietly inside their dark almost Black or Prussian Blue hearts, they, those very liberated super cool women, don't think so at all. Secretly, in vaults visible only to their laser guided hands these women hide such precious stuff as bleach, Biotique coconut cream for blemishes and fair skin Ponds White Beauty (huh!) and (I want to be wrong) Fair and Lovely. I know it, because I've seen it. And after Goa (no less than three times this year) I've even felt it.

"TAN!" scream their silently accusing eyes, as soon as I park Goa blackened flesh within their field of vision. Some of those eyes run over me with a sort of deep sorrow, like, how do i break this to her? She's become so dark.

Dusky is all good on Bipasha, Rihanna, Beyonce and Tyra and etc. But a real world without gold highlights and photo shop is a lot less appreciative. And somehow i found myself succumbing to such hideous atrocities as "de-tan" face pack. In retrospect (which is a completely pointless exercise by the way), I'm suitably ashamed. But then, what's the point? I succumbed to the look, the baleful stare, the basilisk eye that pronounces every tan, ugly.

If i were a man

2009-04-06T03:12:00.000-07:00

Angling Conversation

2009-03-23T01:34:00.000-07:00

I'm sure at any point in time, everyone except a recluse or currently the Pope (going by his thoughtless talk) have undergone conversation stress.

I'll tell you what conversation stress is. That very blank, painful state where you have to think of something to say to someone who you don't know very well. In most cases, you don't even care to know this person, but you are together at some social event or another, obliged to make "small talk".

Small talk is very stupidly named, it's the word equivalent of calling Serena Williams, fragile.

Think about it, small talk requires massive effort. I for one totally suck at it. Imagine there were a thirty year old, slightly pissed off woman, sitting across the table from you. She likes some guy at your table and imagines everything female within 50 meters is a threat. You are dying to tell her the man in question looks like the back end of a chumming bull (if there were such a thing, but there is not). Only she is so deeply in love(?) or desperation, that she won't quite get it. So you look for solace in small talk. Maybe you could win her undying friendship tonight with your witty banter.

Except you cannot. Because you don't know what to say. Except (insert polite laugh here), "that's a nice bag, where did you get it?"

At which point she will give your hippie/roadside clothing the evil eye and haughtily eject, "Mango".

End of conversation. I turn to the man now. And completely lose the battle and end up with enough negative energy from the thirty-something to sprout a pimple.

Point being i hate small talk. It takes a lot more thinking than the best ad i ever wrote. Plus, i don't need pimples.

Glub Glub

2009-03-23T01:23:00.000-07:00

I just thought of something so deep, I could drown in it.

Like, when someone says, "yes,I'm a non-conformist", it's like saying, "no, i don't disagree with everything."

Get it?

No?

I told you it was deep. Put on a life jacket and try again.

The Minstrel Creep

2009-02-03T03:02:00.000-08:00

Have you ever wondered about the men who have a song for every occasion?

I'm in awe of them. I simply don't know how they do it. And no...don't be snotty, conjuring up songs in the face of impending fury is a skill. And not many have it.

For instance, you ( a girl of 22 or an attractive fair skinned womanly looking long lashed man liable to attract male attention) are walking down the road. Ok. Just walking. Minding your own business. Probably soaking in the sunshine or thinking of losing weight. Or what to wear in the evening. Or slowly burn someone's hair. Whatever it is. You are walking. And then...you feel eyes upon you. Eyes that seem to know a dirty secret about you. (My next article will be about private eyes). And you look a little enraged, shy or thrilled (depending on your beau-count). A disgusting little worm of a man is giving you the eye. And just when you have pulled your jacket a little tighter around you. He, wonder of wonders...manages to sweep past you and whisper a sweet little song in your ear.

And then he's gone!

Now here is the question. How did this man...in the face of danger and unimaginable lust (going by his eyes) manage to break into a SONG? I mean, isn't it odd? He could have done anything...but he chose to sing a song!!! In your ear. And then disappear.

Should you applaud this performance?

How To Choose A Book

2009-01-30T00:29:00.000-08:00

By the author? Should he/she be famous?

By the cover? Should it be funny, exciting, toe nail-curling?

By friend’s recommendations? What if the friend were a Western lover? What if the friend secretly wanted to control your mind?

Blindly? Whatever you may hit upon? What if you were standing next to a fat lady?

By the title? “How To Pick A Book And Regret It In Ten Ways”?

Go by wine and cheese bribed book critics?

Steal and hope for the best?

Or spend a lifetime reading Tin Tin, Osamu Tezuka and Garfield.

They never wrong you. And I don’t wish to control your mind.

New Year Pressure

2008-12-24T00:33:00.000-08:00

It's that time of the year again. When the pressure begins!!!

People have been asking me since early November about 31st december. Each one wants to out do the other. If one is heading to Goa, the other claims, it's passe and she's going to Pondicherry instead. Yet another talks of France. Some simple souls claim to do "nothing, just a small party with 150 people at home". Others plan to get stoned to forget bad relationships or get through bad company. Inevitably, I'm forced to ask myself, what am i going to do?

If i'm completely honest with myself, I'd have liked to spend it with my special person. But he'[s not here. I'd probably like to get away somewhere as well. But i'm rather short on funds. I don't mind a house party either, but i do NOT want to usher in another year getting to know a complete stranger. I'm not interested. 150 people is disgusting. I could just spend new years on the local train instead.

So guess what I'll be doing? Watching TV at home or going to the tiniest house party i can manage with the nicest people i know in Bombay. The Sids. :D I really really don't mind watching TV at home. And i really really don't think I'm a loser.

Until then, Merry Christmas everyone. Enjoy the mulled wine and plum cake. I plan to pump my land lady for some.
Cheers!

An Ode-itty

2008-12-22T23:33:00.000-08:00

I'd like to write this post as an ode to the Girl With The Phone.
She is tiny, but she is oh-so-strong. So nimble, so sure...so good at holding her own, and more importantly her phone.

I travel by trains. Second class now, since I'm broke, thanks to the purchase of a phone, oddly enough. Yes, so...i travel in the second class ladies compartment at a peak hour when the ladies are pretty, um..ruthless.

The ladies come in all sizes i might add, thin, fat, obese, thin with shockingly powerful forearms, and always, always, clod hopper feet. Feet that MUST trod on yours. Poor things, they just don't understand that little thing called patience. That everyone CAN get it. It's India after all. Everyone fits into everything.

Coming back to the Girl With The Phone, she is really something principally because nothing and no one can dislodge the phone permanently stuck to her ear. She manages the strong forearm lady, by simply squishing herself from under her, the fat lady is easy, even for me, harmless...fat can't do any damage. The skinny ones are scary, the bones can reaaally hurt. But being skinny herself, the Girl With The Phone has mastered the art of slipping through tiny spaces and manages to get in with just a couple of hairs out of place and the phone conversation...intact!

It's no wonder that her sycophantic boyfriend wants to talk all hours of the day to her because face it, she is simply amazing!!! She coochie cooes in the same breath as she war cries, she wiggles and whacks, she is serene and supreme.

Girl With The Phone, i salute you. Teach me a thing or two?

west_2.jpg - Image - Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

2008-11-20T05:01:00.000-08:00

west_2.jpg - Image - Photobucket - Video and Image Hosting

While Away Time

2008-11-14T01:12:00.000-08:00

What is the mind? No matter. What is matter? Nevermind.
I wish i met the non committal man who wrote this brilliant line. It sounds so much like...I'm starting to think great deep things now...but somewhere along the way i realize I'm hungry and I need to eat the chicken sandwich in the fridge before the other girls in the house do.

My mind flies. Very fast and without asking for permission. It could work well sometimes. Helping you co relate absolutely unrelatable stuff. But it could also be called ADD. And also make the man in your life think your a "wiggly worm". Because i can't stand still either..or talk on a single topic for more than five seconds...there's always something a little more interesting.

I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing. But it does make you empathize with Flash Gordon.

What Do I Do

2008-11-07T02:35:00.000-08:00

I don’t know why people feel compelled to find out “what you do” when they first meet you. Technically you do a lot of stuff, you miss trains, over sleep, avoid the land lady, pile your plate with more than you can eat and occasionally throw stuff at strangers from a window no one can see. But if all these details were to be divulged, you’d be considered NIMHANS-worthy, so it’s just safer to say Copywriter.

I say that with some pride.

However the reactions I meet with when I give out this precious little nugget, must be discussed. I’m assuming everyone who reads this blog knows what a copywriter is. (The one who writes pseudo intellectual status messages on face book.)

But let’s not digress. So, whenever someone asks me what I do. I say I’m a copywriter. Typically, the ones who don’t know what a copywriter really is, but don’t want to seem stupid, just nod politely and look away.

The ones who are really really curious (read mother’s friends, father’s friends and people who have a lot of time to kill) will ASK YOU QUESTIONS. Prepare to say, No, you don’t write jingles. Oh wait, yes you could, you might in fact…but it’s not the only thing. You didn’t write Utterly Buttrely Delicious either. You were born in 1986. (Do I meet terribly stupid people?) And your agency is not Orchid. It’s Orchard like the fruit bearing Orchard. And the people who work with you are not all alcoholics. Not all. You don’t know what your future is either. “ It’s definitely NOT bleak uncle.”

You always roll your eyes at your mother at this point.

I think the worst ones are the know-it-alls. They are convinced you are a lawyer. Like Copyrighter, copyright laws? Get it?

There are some who know that you are a bloody sell out. Americanized, mercenary, cheating the common public with surreal claims.

Bambi eyes don’t work on such people, I can tell you.

But I still I’m brave and I explain what I do, and most times people are simply jealous.

That makes me very happy.

Of Mice and Men

2008-09-26T01:33:00.000-07:00

Did you know Mickey Mouse is an agent of Satan?
No?
Well, ask the Islamic cleric in Egypt. Maybe he fell off a ride in Disneyland and became impotent. Or maybe he had a dream!
Whichever way, he proclaimed Mickey an agent no less, of Satan, no less!
Mickey should be happy, this sounds like just the thing his PR rep. needed.

And becoming an agent did wonders for Daniel Craig's career.

Plus when one has a girlfriend who is exactly like oneself except that she might be a cross dressing mouse-man...one doesn't have much to look forward to in life.

Lady's Finger

2008-09-23T02:11:00.000-07:00

Everyone survived my cooking back home last night.

I mean, they make toxic milk in China. What are the odds?

So i made rasam last night. Rasam and potato fry, spicy as hell. And my roomie made a mish mash vegetable stew that just stole the thunder from under my rasam's nose!
But then I figured i really enjoy cooking. Like there are so many ways of entertaining yourself.

If your too bored, you can pretend to set your room mates' sleeve on fire.
You can go nuts with the chilli powder.
You can take out tiny tiny black seeds, god-knows-what -they're-called and make eyes and a mouth in the rasam.It looks like a face!!!

But just get someone to cut the bloody vegetables.
I hate losing my fingers in the business of saving money when the maid's not around.

Animal Husbandry

2008-09-16T06:12:00.000-07:00

I was rude to a girl on the phone today. This girl, she makes it a point to call me and up and ask for Mithun in connection with some bank account. Now i don't know Mithun nor do i know about her bank account. In fact until sometime ago i didt even know Mithun was a woman. So understandably, i was a little annoyed.
Later in the evening, when i had lots to do and couldn't bring my brain to focus on anything i realized that I'd done a mean thing.
Not to Mithun. She deserves to rot in hell for owning innumerable accounts.
But that girl. It's her job to annoy people with useless information.
I wonder if she whacks the shit out of her husband every night.

It's hard to get

2008-09-10T23:18:00.000-07:00

I'm genuinely in awe of women who can "play hard-to-get".

I mean are they playing it or do they simply not care or are they quite odd or are they Plato? What are these "hard-to-get" women like? I don't know a single one. Honest.

I have no such state of my own. Most of the time, I'm not really bothered because there are three thousand things occupying my mind, of which the chief attention seeker is hair. I'd much rather waste my time thinking about my hair than some stupid git who talks and makes you cringe. Or you see him and you feel like standing a little far away. Or he just is, and you didn't even notice.

However when i am interested, even my hair takes a back seat. Suddenly I'm completely obsessed. I'm dying to call, but I'm too proud. Or as soon as i get a call i pounce on the first ring and feel immediately embarrassed for appearing too enthusiastic. Or worse, i send three page long messages, heavily edited and re-edited to remove any trace of excess emotion. And then i ruin everything by displaying all that excess emotion in a one line message. Disgusting, i know. And not hard-to-get playing or whatever elusive brand of ethereal creature! But the most atrocious trait is the "humour". I feel compelled to send witty rejoinders. ALL THE TIME!!!It's tragic. I think cell phones have killed courtship.

I'm sure every single woman of my acquaintance would be hard to get otherwise.

2008-08-18T01:29:00.000-07:00

These days waiting is longer than usual. Time seems to have expanded, become elastic...allowing 23 athletes to lose to each other in a difference of a second. Makes you think a second must be really really long. This wasn't something i noticed, but something that came up over my now regular bout midnight coffee with a friend. Time was seeming especially long then.

2008-08-12T02:30:00.000-07:00

Congratulations all! Hug yourselves dearly...for i am back. :)

Now i feel like Garfield when he performs. But at least he's really funny. And contrary to what Manas Ullas chooses to believe, i am funny. And it's not only in my choice of tattoo. Really.

So this weekend i was in Himachal Pradesh. I was allowed to assume (very cruelly) that here at last..is an opportunity for me to use my two very nice, very new sweaters! But as it turned out, the only use they were of..was making my bag extremely full and round. Because Himachal Pradesh was warmer than Mumbai. Bleh. However, it made up for the sad weather quite well by displaying good taste in decor. I mean...the place was bloody nice to look at. I couldn't even resist the urge to take pictures on my rotten camera phone.

About you

2008-07-30T05:13:00.000-07:00

A friend wants me to write about him.
This friend of mine is self obsessed and admits to it.
He's the cat's whiskers and he knows it.
So what does one write about a person who already knows so much about himself?
I thought. And thought.
I thought I'd tell him, I'm a private person. But that's a lie, I'm not.
I thought I'd tell him i don't know what to say, but that's a lie, i have a lot.
So i think I'll say something after all.
Like this friend, he surprises me when i expect to be surprised. And the funny part is, i get shocked, which is one degree beyond surprise.
This might also be a good opportunity to remind this friend that he owes me a certain blank white space.
Since he's self obsessed, he can't ignore this post. :)

Beggars Make Good Tea

2008-07-29T02:08:00.000-07:00

You know, i really can't stand it when someone asks me, "You have a big appetite no?". Cause almost always they say this incredulously. I know a couple of years later if i still don't obey my yoga-promise, the in credulousness will be gone along with the petiteness. But it's just fun to crib about such things when you can. I'm a great cribber and proud of my imagination.

So Mumbai has rained all week. And it's nowhere close to the fun we had in Stella. When it rained in Stella, everyone except me and my good brave friends (almost) vacated hostel...we saw a gorgeous water snake, took many pictures, ventured out of the gates in shorts and PJs at any point in the day without the nuns complaining or killing us slowly and painfully. We suddenly had a lot to read now that there was no electricity and only candle light. We also lead ourselves (i don't know about the others but i did) that the world was coming to an end, and i was a brave refugee doing something the world would remember forever.

Now when it rains, i feel old, i have a windcheater and I'm scared of falling sick cause I'll miss work. I still take pictures, but of my roommate, when she looks funny. However she deletes them in a way completely out of sorts with her regular laziness levels. I mean, she moves at the speed of light and suddenly develops, Cruella De Vil nails.

Speaking of Cruella De Vil, i love love love Meryl Streep in Devil Wears Prada. I even dreamt about the clothes last night( Anne Hathaway's clothes tho). Immediately after the movie, i felt like a beggar. But a beggar can dream. And i have big plans for my wardrobe. (That are hatched every single time i watch this movie and never get executed). Then again, every beggar must dream. And make tea while it rains.

Ten Things I Detest

2008-07-23T23:19:00.000-07:00

When one runs out of ideas, it's always safe to dole out a large chunk of personal information and serve it to others.
Always with an ulterior motive.
So here are ten things i detest in no particular order. Feel free to add to the list. And never do these ten things to me, for me, with me, by me and etc.
1: Touching the door knob of public toilets, even using them. (This one's obvious)
2: Old people begging, or having to do manual labour.
3: Rare meat.
4: Being judgemental, and I'm that almost ALL the time. (Working on it though)
5: When you outgrow a person or an old friend who used to be a good friend. And suddenly you find yourself trying hard to bring it back, but it's just not happening.
6: Having to listen to something or someone constantly without having an opportunity to pitch in my two bits.
7: Resting my face on strange pillows. Unless i really, really like the person.
8: Being told I'm too westernized and know nothing of my own culture. (Because Amar Chitra Katha does teach you a lot)
9: People looking at me walking. (Since i walk funny, this happens a lot)
10: The person i like being uncaring and impersonal. (I think i hate that the most)

Weakend

2008-07-13T23:11:00.000-07:00

Did you know The Fall Of Human Intellect by Guru Parthasarathy is sold out? In six weeks that too. Wonder what kind of intellect bought it.

So, this weekend anyway, i took the long way home. By bus. I don't know if it's worth blogging about. But since my life is mighty boring and i never do things like streak on the terrace under a starlit sky, I'll just have to make do with writing about the bus from Colaba to Bandra.

So, my brilliant sense of direction did not allow me to imagine that there might be a bus stop right next to my aunt's place and i just HAD to venture out in the dark, all alone and terribly confused on a lonely, godforsaken road. The only other living beings there were a hooker and her dog. And usually I'm make of sterner stuff, but something just snapped in me and i started running-walking! Ugh. I'm never going to make fun of Mandy about Stalin again. Not after this.

Anyway so when i finally got on the bus, all i saw were people in love. People holding hands, people sneakily trying to put their hands on other people under the guise of concern or "nonchalance". I don't know why men are so eager to get their hands on women. Especially when the woman is pretending to be shy about it. The entire journey i saw one incessantly jabbering woman managing to keep her boyfriend's hands off her thigh with some serious matrix moves. I can't use ANY other term to describe it, I'm sorry.

The other portion of my weekend I've spent reading and watching my housemates putting ammonia, scissors and Nazeem's hands on their hair.

2008-07-09T04:16:00.000-07:00

Next Life" by Woody Allen
In my next life I want to live my life backwards.You start out dead and get that out of the way.Then you wake up in an old people's home feeling better every day.You get kicked out for being too healthy, go collect your pension, and then when you start work, you get a gold watch and a party on your first day.You work for 40 years until you're young enough to enjoy your retirement.You party, drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous, then you are ready for high school.You then go to primary school, you become a kid, you play.You have no responsibilities, you become a baby until you are born.And then you spend your last 9 months floating in luxurious spa-like conditions with central heating and room service on tap, larger quarters every day and then Voila....You finish off as an orgasm!

When my hot dog barked.

2008-07-02T04:58:00.001-07:00

Have you ever had the feeling that your head is too full of information? Have you ever wondered where all the information goes? Like what of you learnt too many things, way too many many...would there be place in your head to hold them all? Or will you slowly go mad?
I'm going slowly mad...and it has a lot more to do with pure insanity than good information. Because thankfully i have the attention span of a gold fish. A gold fish on a good day that is. The kind of day when the gold fish remembers being distracted by a strange long tubular thing seemingly crashing into the glass bowl, causing a tiny water quake. (That would be my finger tapping on the glass bowl, nothing else).
So what is it with pure insanity? I think there are too many people in this city. And i also think I'm humanly incapable of sitting at home and doing nothing. Except of course when i have no money and no kindly, generous, moneyed folks around me. These things coupled together tend to cause great inner conflict. "Should i stay home and get bored, or should i go outside and get trampled?" Getting trampled always seems like a better option. And I'm not at all surprised that the Romans had a thing for gladiators and shit. I do also, especially the Hollywood versions. Except I'm talking about getting trampled here. Which is also something i have a thing for. If I've used the word thing too many times, it's just the insanity. Promise. Thing.
So this Saturday i headed to China House. Thing is, it's supposed to be a classy place (or so i was TOLD) I don't know if it is...i can't be too sure, cause i spent most of the evening trampled. Now the thing is...i need to finish this piece and by now I've lost interest. It's hard to have any when your neighbour is playing a particularly gory Bollywood song. The kind that tramples your brains.

2008-06-23T03:38:00.000-07:00

I saw a man with cubist nostrils today. In a speeding auto, Futurism meets Picasso.
Oh and I'm back. After a week of decadence, I'm back to relative calm.
Mumbai and all it offers. I swear i will not bore anyone about Mumbai. :)
Instead i will tell you about my gold shoes. At the risk of giving away dangerously personal information. Well, these shoes, they are nice, covered and sparkly gold. They sparkle a la, Kareem Bibi, when she wondered what to pick for her nephews wedding, (what to pick that will stand out). So yeah, these shoes are very Kareem Bibi, and very cool. On a good day, they might even remind one of Aki Narula and or retro chic.
It is highly obvious i think, that I'm writing solely for the sake of writing.

The Sixth Sheikh Sold Six Sick Sheep

2008-06-10T01:58:00.000-07:00

Imagine you had to describe your life in six words. Here's what a Dominatrix said; " Woman seeks men-High pain threshold". And a slightly unhappy plumber; "Fix a toilet, get paid crap".

A new book brings out these interesting six word biographies, that offer much much greater insight than a thousand pages ever would. It's like writing copy. I always find shorter copy so much better. Especially if it's got some punch.

Here's an interesting baseline for a mattress, "For the rest of your life". Incidentally Marilyn Monroe was found dead on that one. And my father is a witchdoctor.

So, anyway. I was just thinking what if i had to describe my own life in six words? Would i base the description on my profession? Or would i just call it " A series of unfortunate events". Except it doesn't make six words.

Woodstock

2008-05-22T03:06:00.000-07:00

Antigone. Jean Anouilh. Prithvi theatre. No tickets. Curiosity dies.
Burnt embers. Soft voices. Silences. The sea. Piles of garbage. A dog pees.
Champagne glasses. Creme Brulee. Punk Rock. Surreal regret ahead.
Bad sense of direction. Good conversation. Good conversation. Good conversation. Happiness.
One week. Bombay. Never a boring moment.
Touchwood.

Serendipity And Bubbles

2008-04-23T22:55:00.001-07:00

It's the day before the last day of the working week. Consequently, I'm in a good mood. But majority of the good mood i owe to two good movies in one week. I'm not going to mention the movies. Just that they made me happy, in a serendipity sort of way and i want everyone else to discover them the same way. Serendipity-like.

The remainder of the good mood i owe to some good work i did. Finally. Work wise.

Anyway, here's a little story.

There was once this girl. Confused. And shy and silly when in company. She met a boy who was never sober. A boy who made her laugh. And a boy who found her pretty. The boy's eyes crinkled when he smiled. And that made up for the moments when the girl didn't find him too funny. They were comfortable with each other in a way only intimacy will allow. And yet they weren't too close. Not in the beginning. And all things must get ruined with familiarity. And so they spoke of deeper things and times to come. The future and The Simpsons. Soon, there were other people who came to share the comfortable bubble that the girl and boy had conjured. Other people and anger and arguments and confusion came along. There was no space in the bubble. Like Bombay in the month of February. Where I'm told rents are highest and houses most difficult to find. The girl and boy then became like everybody else. The shininess of a newly blown bubble was lost and there was only the psychedelic squares that form windows on the face of every bubble. The bubble din't burst though. It just grew larger and accommodating.

Stuff and Nonsense

2008-04-08T06:35:00.000-07:00

Monday Night.

I'm back from Goa (again). Decidedly dirtier, darker and TIRED! I come back, visualizing my soft lit, cosy, room. A hot, long satisfying shower, few pages of any book and sweet, sweet sleep. I also visualized washing some clothes (but this wasn't doing me any good, so i ignored it).

Anyway, so i come back...waiting to hit bed. And you don't even want to know what i found.

Like lets make this a mystery blog. Like in Rebbecca how you never find out the protagonist' s name..you'll never find out what happened to me last night. It will suffice to say i screeched and screamed at a bewildered bahadur and later slept in the hall. Also i read a terribly written book called sari and sins, made atrocious maggi and hoped tomorrow was not another day (of the same kind).

Tuesday Morning:

I somehow manage to wake up, have a bath and get to the railway station. Where i proceed to miss two trains, board a third, which turns out to be wrong and almost get off on the wrong side of the platform. Which is by all means a death defying stunt. Travelling in Mumbai is continuous adventure. Right from getting "sucked in" to a train by three fat aunties in Mulund, to boarding a bus without money and being helped by a stranger who i previously thought was lecherous.

Army, Condensation, Respiration

2008-03-22T23:52:00.000-07:00

Travel mode. The most peaceful way to be. The most uninvolved, unintense, free-ing, unlimiting and invigorating. All this at the risk of sounding like a really bad dictionary.
But after looking at endless patches of summer sky with white cotton clouds, i can't help but feel recharged. And the effect is most on your mind set. You come from clutter and exhaustion, traffic, hammering people with your elbows on trains, endless bouts of coffee and gossip, and here you are...in what is most serene. The freedom to actually see the sky and feel free. Cliched, but so true!
So here i am, living out some Goergette Heyer and Jane Austen. The army, people to meet, formal dinners, dressing up, politeness, and organisation. So completely different from outside. Where a party must mean jostling with a bunch of sweaty people, all trying to prove a point on the dance floor, where dinner must leave you sighing every time you look at your wallet, or embarrassed that someone else has to pay.
In some sense, more than the dress up and the pretense, there is something very calming about living in an organized society where people are expected to be cultured and articulate. It sets a certain standard to your living. And beyond a point, it ceases to be pretension. It becomes a way of life.
Whatever it is. It makes a damn good holiday, to live in the cantonment, and be transported to your childhood, where life was just climbing trees, cycling on neat strips of traffic less roads and having the entire world on your platter, however condensed that world might be.

I Slept With A Fat Woman

2008-03-11T03:57:00.000-07:00

It's not nice to say fat these days. Yes, i know. But i really don't care. My eyes are bloodshot and i feel a little woozy. Also, i spent a major portion of the night having an "out-of-body" experience. Because i could not bear to associate myself with the poor squashed creature being mangled by a well padded bottom. I'll explain.
I was travelling from Goa to Bombay, alone, brave, freshly separated from the love of my life, slightly teary and definitely not in the mood to be felt up by a weird man. So i did the "smart" thing and asked to be seated next to a lady. Right away! And bingo, i found myself perched on a sleeper next to a sweet (oh how ignorant we are) beaming, little (oh how ignorant we are) lady.
She beamed, i beamed back, through oodles of dirt and Goa tan. She didn't miss my teeth, my face offset them very well. And altogether we had a mighty pleasant beaming session. How else is one supposed to greet a stranger you share a bed with for a night!
So far, so good.
Then our lady of the beams decided to sleep. And boy...there have been times when I've thought myself capable of murder, but none as intense as THESE! She just would NOT sleep. She would twist and turn and moan (with no help from me, thankuverymuch) every single second. This, coupled with my aching neck, no less than three persistent mosquitoes, three more imaginary ones and a very large and space consuming bottom reduced me to an angry young woman indeed! How i survived to tell the tale, i will never know. But i did survive and today, you know a woman, who almost got squashed to death, by a beaming face with a huge bottom. But survived. To tell the tale.

2008-01-28T04:39:00.000-08:00

I have begun to violently dislike my writing. Finally.
The colour, the tone, everything about this blog is terribly putting off. I don't know if i have grown, i don't know if I've gotten self obsessed and realized that henceforth i will write boring posts all about me, my feelings and how i cut my toe nails.
As of now. I'll just stick to saying, i hate this blog.

Cat

2008-01-27T21:41:00.000-08:00

I've been having violent urges all morning. To watch someone in pain, just to watch, and maybe burst a few baloons? The balloons must be filled with air, as full as they can get, bursting, just begging for some pricking. Its some morbid fascination that started off with this cat i saw yesterday. A cat at the hangar. Empty hangar, calm sea, sea gulls, me and this cat.
The cat seemed to walk very slowly, deliberately as if in great pain, and then i noticed. The entire head of the cat was barely hanging on, thanks to some sinew. It was horrible, and yet i couldn't take my eyes off it. I wanted to help, but somehow i thought it would be better if the cat just died. Sad cat, alone at the hangar.

Mumbai!

2008-01-10T01:10:00.000-08:00

It's been a while now since i got down to writing my blog. If anyone does read, apologies. If anyone was secretly relieved, i suggest you writhe and die :)
Well, so here i am, in Mumbai, big bad and interesting. For instance, the first cab i got into screamed "mata jeevandali" under the picture of a goddess sporting a murderous looking trishul. Hardly had i registered that, did i see an undertaker advertising cheerfully, "Dead Center Of Town". Corny, corny, Mumbai. I might just grow to like it. I hope i do. It's so morbidly like Stella Maris. :D

high yai yo

2007-12-20T03:05:00.000-08:00

Wine+Beer+Chocolate Liqueur= extreme funny feelings in head and tummy.Will be incapable of anything but sinking myself in Garfield.

Matrix Moves

2007-12-18T20:32:00.000-08:00

There was a light drizzle this morning. Me in my fuchsia jacket, leaping over grey cobblestone lanes under dripping jacaranda trees in Jal Vayu. Across football Fields and a monolithic water tank. I feel more sad than excited. And as i sat down in my auto and registered the fact that the guy had a mini library of christian and Islamic books inside...i was umm...a little shocked! After this my auto guy proceeded to sing loudly and in rhythm spat out saliva that matrix-like barely missed the heavily silked heavy bottom of a passing woman! Whoa! I'm gonna miss Bangalore.I don't know how spectacularly auto guys spit in Mumbai.

The Ogre Of All Colours

2007-12-16T20:25:00.000-08:00

I was thinking this morning, black has suffered apartheid in more ways than one. I don't mean this in a racial sense. But you know, more like as a colour. Like black has awful PR. Picture this, black sheep, black cloud, black Friday, black day, black magic, black'ed' out, so on and on and on. Bad stuff is always black. Give the poor colour a break. The only people who probably look at it with any love are those from the fashion world. But who takes those people seriously anyway? Like imagine a goonk (in real life) who says, "Dahling, but WHAT are you WEARING?" Chances are you'll roll your eyes upward at them, (if you're the polite sort), or give them a piece of your mind (if you're the angry sort), or just laugh loudly (if you're the easy going sort), or be reminded of your mother (if you're the sentimental sort).
Anyway, coming back to the original topic, i really wonder why black has such oppression attached to it. To be very fair, it is a rather nice colour that makes you look skinny or sexy depending on what you want. Black also serves rockers very well and gives them an air of mystery, and wastefulness which they so long to project. Like whatever, I'm just curious. :) Black is the poor ogre, (Shrek like) in a fairy tale universe of colour. I don't know why i think such random thoughts. But an auto from Kamanhalli to IndraNagar affords much time for introspection. It also makes you notice that some weirdo morphed a Ravi Verma painting to make his muse seem like she is holding a bunch of heart shaped balloons that read "happy new year". I wish i had a camera. Indian street art is so insightful ! hahahaha.

Sorry Sari!

2007-12-14T21:44:00.000-08:00

I've been told, a Sari is the most elegant outfit ever designed. Obviously, being an Indian and blessed with a major portion of South Indian hips..I'm inclined to agree. However, saris are not really all they are made out to be. Elegant all right, but how does one WEAR the bloody thing. They've designed denim saris, saris with every colour on the palette, saris with swarovski's enough to blind the layman and saris with cheetah print for the more adventurous types. But all i want to know is..why in God's name did they not design a sari with a ZIPPER?
I tried donning one, one fine rainy morning in Tiruchirapalli, i was supposed to accomplish this Herculean feat in ten minutes no less and also manage to make my face look presentable and nice Tam Bram girl like, with "jimikis" and etc. What i did manage to do however...was not find that end which you tuck in and scream for five minutes flat at a poor kurta clad fellow who was trying HIS best to carry off the "crinkled cotton" look on an unironred kurta. Amidst all this i did manage to somehow stuff my sari in with unhelpful sniggers from the kurta clad fiend and echoing sounds of "waacck". "Waack" by the way...is no form of endearment, it is the rudest insult made a la Calvin, accompanied by the tongue sticking out gesture! Hurt and unhot, i managed to convey my well disguised anger with a dirty look, that silenced the naysayer. What i had NOT accounted for while stuffing my Sari...was a car journey into the depths of Tamilnadu...no less than THREE HOURS LONG. As luck would have it, my sari fell apart, leaving me looking like a rather large ball of distended silk and dangling jimiki. I frantically dialled the number of my Dancing Burmese Princess rescuer. She calmed me down sufficiently.
What i had not accounted for was a lost driver who instead of taking me straight into the arms of my Dancing Princess, instead landed a sleeping "satire" and me in the jaws of death. Jaws of death being a wedding hall complete with colour, the charm of of old chettinad and about a hundred thousand staring eyes. How i managed to get away..i do not know. But even as my charming rescuer, meticulously and sexily clad in her perfectly arranged sari managed to restore me to a presentable state, i learnt a lesson. Oh no, it is not that i will never try draping on a sari again. It is more like i will invent a sari..WITH a zipper. Maybe rain proof plastic also?? If Our Lady Of Shoes (J.Jayalalitha) wears bullet proof ones I'm sure zippers are not far away.

2007-12-14T21:36:00.000-08:00

The Santa that stole christmas

2007-12-12T00:32:00.000-08:00

http://bestadsontv.com/ad_details.php?id=10289#mouse%20run
Unfortunately, I am aware that most of you might need a password to open this link. However, I can always explain. The link carries an ad, of the kind we all need to pull up our socks and pay attention to. Every sort of media, I'm aware, is being bombarded by messages about global warming, we are warned, re warned and then rudely informed that all hope is lost anyway. And there are still people who refuse to wake up. Let's just say they are slow on the uptake. It took ME (with my superior Stella Maris variety of intelligence) quite a while to blog about it.
Well, anyway, this ad, is "tactical", perfectly poised on the brink of Christmas. Heartwarmingly, about Santa Claus who is homeless. Why? 'Cause the north pole has melted. It might be ironical that Santa himself was created by advertising. But sometimes, advertising, doesn't seem like such a monster does it? It even manages to warm the cockles of your heart. Unless you are Al Ries, who wrote a whole book on the "Fall of advertising". No, i didn't bother reading it. You see, I'm too busy grinning stupidly every time i watch a good ad.

2007-12-06T23:33:00.000-08:00

No Cloudless Climes, No Starry Skies

2007-12-04T20:40:00.000-08:00

It takes very little for your whole life to change. A second, a word carelessly spoken, a decision taken without thinking...and wham...you won't know what hit you. And suddenly life will be a myriad shades, all black. 'Cause while change is this sudden, it is never invited, it comes of its own accord and slams you somewhere you can never heal.
It's like that tree outside the window of my old room. Winter would leave it flushed pink, blossoming, leafless but lively. Come summer, it would be dead, ugly, boring and defeated. Defeat is the worst, you can't battle it once it hits you right? It's just there, you know there is nothing you can do, because change has happened without bothering to ask you if it's invited in your life.
And there are these people, all of them moving around you, wanting things from you..headlines, ads, scripts, conversation, empathy, interest. And they can't see can they? That you are empty, and you can't give anymore. But you don't even have a choice. Life must go on, empty, black, hopeless, whatever...but it goes on. Nothing stops in the wake of change. Like hurricanes hit towns, break houses, but people build them again. Even Pompeii, ruined and abandoned, hides in its old glory, bustling with the hope of discovery.
Time heals they say. But why does time take so long?

2007-11-26T03:00:00.000-08:00

Random Variable!

2007-11-02T05:22:00.000-07:00

A-hello, hello! I am back. Full of vigour and vigourous phlegm. Also, my voice sounds heavenly....like a Bond girl, my boy said. But then he's my boy (poor chap values his life). The others are inclined to agree that there is some vague resemblance to a bull frog.
I don't know if anyone actually reads my efforts at being grammatical ( I start my sentences with capitals). But, if no one does, I'll write anyway. Cause its raining like a bitch and i have nothing better to do.
I forgot what i came here to write, but i remember some long forgotten promise about not writing about myself. So i won't. After now, that is.
So i think i'll write about hunger. But the only thing that comes in my mind is ethiopian jokes. How callous. Like this one: WHAT DO YOU CALL AN ETHEOPIAN WITH A PENNY ON HIS HEAD? => A NAIL. I cannot suppress a giggle. Sorry God!
So let's just keep my entry in heaven safe, and we'll talk about...uh...Lake Michigan? Bangalore, severely resembles it. On that pretty vague note. Toodles. (And yes i do say "gay" things like that)

Haypee!

2007-10-16T21:31:00.000-07:00

Today is one of those days. A whole wave of boredom has sped past, leaving in it's wake some heavy duty mountain moving agenda. Er...i mean i feel inspired today. :) Must be the plum perfume (thanks to Purvi Shetty and my own discerning nose) or just the avil for breakfast...whatever it is, it's a good healthy positive feeling!

Pooa-Tree!

2007-10-14T23:43:00.000-07:00

Poems are not such a bad thing you know. Especially when they rhyme.
I think that I shall never see
A poem lovely as a tree.
A tree whose hungry mouth is prest
Against the earth's sweet flowing breast;
A tree that looks at God all day,
And lifts her leafy arms to pray;
A tree that may in Summer wear
A nest of robins in her hair;
Upon whose bosom snow has lain;
Who intimately lives with rain.
Poems are made by fools like me,
But only God can make a tree.
-- Joyce Kilmer
OR
I think that I shall never see a billboard lovely as a tree. Perhaps, unless the billboards fall, I'll never see a tree at all.
Ogden Nash
More relevant for these terrible tree cutting times. Why all the love for poyetree? 'Cause my neighbours are looking to chop away that very thing i love about my terrace, my favourite tree. This morning as i perambulated on my very shady terrace, with my cuppa tea (yes, yes, I'm very cool)...i was overcome by sorrow. To think i will now have to contend with burning UV radiation every morning as i contemplate yoga (and then decide to not do it after all) , tragic!
Every April, this tree (i don't know the name and species) fills the floor of my terrace with beautiful yellow flowers, that make a soft and rather cruel carpet beneath your feet. To think i cannot gleefully jump on those flowers and crush them anymore breaks my heart! My neighbours are real idiots..in these times of global warming, when the opportunity to sneakily crush flowers are so rare anyway..why would anyone want to chop away something?
Love thy neighbour, it seems, it's like schmoozing with Satan. Huh.

Who do i right for?

2007-10-12T03:43:00.000-07:00

Someone recently tore my writing to bits, (with good intention of course). This one being constructive criticism. It made me think a little bit. Like who does read my blog and what do i really write for. This threatened to go into deeper spaces like The Meaning Of Life, but I'm delightfully shallow, so i stopped.
The will to write itself is a great thing. I know a friend who ranted on and on about the good, correct things to do. It sounded like Gandhi talking in his sleep. And Gandhi himself had to be transformed into a new age comedian for "us" to accept him. The last i read about Gandhi was on October second where peoples views on him were discussed and one person went so far as to say.."wasn't he a sex maniac?"
Writing might live on...there's Shakewithfear, Charles Dickens (i needn't bother making fun of his name), Byfrown, Mark Pain and so on and so verbosely forth. I'm not ashamed to say, i read Old Man and The Sea, just before bed..puts me to sleep in a jiffy. Yes, yes, a great bedside companion! So as you can see..i am no great judge of literature..i read what holds my attention. I'd love to read an ad by Neil French ( http://web.naa.org/adcampaign/neil.html)
cause it's just a good read.
But whatever it might be, reading and writing depends on perspective and choice. One reads it either with evil designs on the writer, or with a critical eye, or with a preconceived notion or with plain interest. Whatever it might be, it is very difficult if not impossible to please everyone or anyone. However, if someone is thought to be self involved they can of course write a blog that talks about Mark Twain and Gandhi and seem like a woman of many interests. :)

2007-10-11T22:21:00.000-07:00

My blog lives!

2007-10-11T06:14:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes, there's reason to wipe those tears away for I'm back. Recently, an awful stalker-wierdo situation had compelled me to keep my thoughts and ideas to myself. However, at the risk of having acid flung on my pretty face (he he) i decided to do the brave thing and write on!
Was i inspired?Of course. A fraand-indeed suggested i read her blog, and the funnys there made me yearn to spin more of my ungrammatical bloopers. I even went so far as to make the layout more reader friendly. Some might suggest this is cheaply copied...i beg to agree :)
Anyway...that being that, I'm also a decidedly more cheerful soul. This might have some unearthly connection with my being able to swig the drinks again and an even unearthlier connection with my being able to breathe again. Yes, yes, for i have once more become the jobless loafer i used to be. Rejoice all, for I am back..much in the manner of Rajnikanth in Sivaji.

Alcohol Abuse

2007-09-25T04:04:00.000-07:00

I can't remember the last time i had a spot of drink and came back home happy and swaying. This is not because i regularly pass out after drinking. But simply because, I haven't been able to stomach a drop of alcohol in the last, i-don't-remember-when.
I'm sure, some people would agree, this is a perfectly wonderful thing (my mother being one of the chief screamers). However, I am of the opinion that, i have been singularly deprived. It is terribly dampening. I'll explain why.
Say the whole world (which now comprises your table) is drunk. They are all wasted and jubilant. However, you have no idea why! You have no clue what was so funny about the last joke. You also don't know why some people choose to weep when they stub their toe and recollect their failed love lives all at once. You also think (and you're the only person who thinks so) that dancing when drunk is a tad embarrassing. Uh-Oh. You are indeed the official spoiler.
So never mind what your liver says about Liver Rights Hepatitis Section 101. God has made you a lesser mortal. Because if you can't drink, you can't exist. If the dirty looks don't kill you, the humour will.

Don't Know....

2007-09-20T22:57:00.000-07:00

This morning i have no inclination toward flippancy. If anything, the sunshine makes my morning greyer and my sweater is ill timed and heavy, just like my idea of the morning air. Bangalore air is never light, not even in Cubbon park or Botanical Gardens. It is somewhat lighter than that air which wafts through your Second Class train window in Egmore railway station in Chennai. However, that's just a flattering comparison.
I am having another free morning, that allows my skull to feel empty and at once bombarded by unpleasant thoughts. Sigh. It is something of a blow to have to give up your independence at twenty one. And if you are tempered by Middle Class sentiments and awfully Indian notions on how to go about your life. You are setting yourself up for intense and excruciating captivity.
A certain amount of obsession with privacy does not allow me to reveal more. But then, it is a horrid day, in every respect. (More sighs)I could not have chosen a worse day to wear a sweater. The sunshine is mockery. The tube light, unnecessary. The Polar bears dying for light bulbs, my random stab at attempting to Save the World.
Be cheerful all, the end is hardly near. Even if it is, we'll still have an indestructible plastic bag to cover our heads in.

Striped Blue Underwear And Other Ways Of Grabbing Your Attention

2007-09-18T06:45:00.000-07:00

These days observations take up most of my mind space. It's fun to look at people and watch the odd things they do when they think no one is looking. Little do they know...they are now the subject of intense scrutiny by an otherwise chocolate-saddled copywriter.

Being chocolate-saddled is by no means an awful thing. It allows you to waste precious time reading about and lusting after alleged aphrodisiac. And you can seem perfectly respectable. Command respect, even. Mention to a close friend that you now handle an Italian chocolate account. Notice the change. You will now become the darling of all eyes! Of course you must conveniently forget mentioning that you never get free chocolate samples (even after you pointedly hint to your client).

Anyway, i wanted to write about observations. Well, i recently saw an accident. And yes, I'm a brave stone-hearted woman of chewy moral fiber that does not shirk from writing about that emotionally ravaging incident. As i was saying, this cyclist fell from his seat and managed to show half the world his striped blue underwear much in the manner of French can-can dancers. He then proceeded to do a "Marilyn Monroe" in the Seven Year itch, gave an embarrassed giggly smile, as only mallu men can. (For reference; please check the mallu attendants in Crossword, Indranagar).

My first reaction was shock. My second was to stare at everyone else. One man had stopped and stared as one stoned and disillusioned. Another stopped next to the stoned man and languidly stared like he had nothing better to do with the rest of the day save staring at striped chaddis. The Good Samaritan of course had to help! And there was a mother yanking her son and pulling him away from the (the rest of this brilliant post got tragically wiped away in a power-cut..im too lazy to retype, a thousand pardons, a sigh:( )

Horrible Living Conditions

2007-09-12T02:50:00.000-07:00

One would think living opposite a church would somehow make me a better person. Unfortunately, it is not so...
I wake up every sunday morning with a jerk (hallelujah in tamil is a little rattling). It comes with this nasal twang and odd pronunciation AA-LEY-LOO-YA! Also it throws you exactly one step back, it is rather loud and exuberant.
Religion apparently has that quality in this country, it bombards you in every sense. When you sit for hindu "hommam" holy smoke assaults your lungs in a thoroughly unholy manner. So i'm not evil anti-christ and let me make that very clear :)
Not only does the church murder my sundays, i even have ugly curtains.They remind me of a brothel in an Irving Wallace paperback. They are a dull navy blue with golden spangles. And no...they are not mine. They charmingly block the sunlight but also give the room an ominous feel...like impending doom?
They are so ugly!!!
And my land lady....ah...she is so scarce! For a woman of her proportions, it never ceases to surprise me how she makes herself known ONLY on the first of the month. Houdini would be overwhelmed! My land lady has a policy( apart from the invisibility one) that every tenant must be squeezed for all she's worth. And All She's Worth every month is apparently another diamond stud in my land lady's over large ear. Even that over large ear does not hold place for that many diamonds....my humble nose pin shudders in their dazzling presence. But such is life, one must have an over large, dazzling land lady with the will of Hitler and skill of Houdini.
I have decided for myself. When i retire I'm going to be one much like the above mentioned lady. I'm going to own a damp seepage ridden house with many musty bedrooms and no sunlight and make poor poverty ridden young tube lights marvel at my ways.
I'm gonna have to abruptly end my post as I'm going to look for another house.

Tales From The Crib

2007-09-07T04:00:00.000-07:00

Oh and I'm back. Been so long. So long since I yakked consistently about myself and just how terribly troubled my troubles are! Aaw.
"Aaw"...i just hate the word.(First crib). It sounds like something that would bounce merrily off Paris Hilton. But from me it just sounds like the second letter won't roll sexily enough. Like a journalist owning a chihuahua (is that the spelling of the infernally ugly-cute dog?).

Now that I've warmed up after my first crib the other cribs might just roll off way easier than the pronunciation of "aaw". Is it "aaw" or "aww" anyway? Explains a lot about why i don't like to say it so much. Another reason is i hardly sympathize with anyone else. 'Cause obviously I'm too busy sympathizing with myself!!! Tee Hee.

The second crib is easier said than done obviously. I'm thinking and thinking and nothing will bloody come!Gaah! I'm running short of those goddamn suckers. Lately my life has been so smooth and nice that's it's annoyingly difficult to find anything to crib about. One would think that, all it takes is a pause and a crib gently fall into your arms like Madhuri Dixit in dhak dhak. Okay, maybe not gently, but cribs do have this "presence" about them. Not easily ignorable. Waitaminute! I seem to have cribbed about the very act of not being able to crib. Ah!Sheer genius :)

Truth be told, the principle reason I came to write was, this "witty" and "scintillating" observation i made on a social networking site. Let's not mention the name of the site, as it provides diarrhoea aesthetically speaking and severe anti-social-itis in terms of people quotient. Anyway, on this site I observed as people were keenly uploading the varied-est variety of wow-ey wow pictures. People have started to look amazing! Like have you noticed old photographs? Your mother and father in their younger days, flower power and ugly pants aside, they look like your mother an father. This in spite of the fact that my mother is a particularly pretty woman. But at least she doesn't look like Zeenat Aman In Adyar! However nowadays, (even as i cunningly add "shadows" to my photo in Picasa) I've noticed that my best friends could give Rekha a run for her pouty money. They brood majestically in some snaps, they laugh boisterously in others, they look charmingly coy in some and alarmingly sexy in some more! No doubt I am hugely jealous, the only time i manage to look anywhere close to normalcy is when i looking at my feet or away from the camera or pretending to be serious. Otherwise of course it takes an immensely talented photographer or my sudden fears about evil friends who leave no doubts about their uploadation skills to make me sit still or (God Forbid) look sexy.

These days I made another "keenly cunning" observation. Again about photographs and social networking. (Goes to show what a "keenly fascinating" life I lead). Anyway, the observation was on subtle bitchiness. Ever notice how your not-so-favourite person will always call you "photogenic"? Be not fooled my friends, for this is an evil trick of the exacting kind. The trick appeals to her inner most villain I'm sure. For what she means to say is, " Not bad, a camera can pull a trick or two". Considering I've played this particularly bitchy card more than once in my life, along with my equally bitchy friends and close family, it is a trick that women alone understand. Men of course will be too busy trying to find brownies amongst the Ku Klux Klan.

2007-08-23T01:58:00.000-07:00

And then one day...nothing goes right. You slept angry, you woke up FURIOUS! The sunlight is blaring in your face, you want to sleep, and the goddamn curtain is too far away. The bath water is too hot. Your mother is unnecessarily cold. You need to call up work, but your validity just got over. AND...there is a traffic jam. Aaaarrgh!
This could be an everyday day except....today somehow it seems intensely magnified. (Also you are broke) Being broke makes everything twice more annoying. You could blame all the world's problems on being broke. If you were richer, you could've had those blinds which get pulled down by a tiny little finger twitch. If you were richer, your bath water would've been cooler (it WOULD have, I know it). If you were richer, your mother would've been too busy counting money to worry about your dirty room. As for validity, I'm secretly hoping my readers are not daft!Also traffic jams don't bother the rich because they are carefully ensconced in their A/C cars and I'm pretty sure radio indigo plays different music for THEM! I'm sure they are not subjected to Mariah Carey's wailing and God-Knows-Who's constant troubles with some annoying sounding bimbo.
Ironically enough, I decided to be all kitsch and there is a calendar of the goddess Lakshmi on my desk. Oh, how i hate the world!

The "X" Men

2007-08-19T23:43:00.000-07:00

So you don't know "X", you've probably just met him once. But suddenly, "X" decides to take a keen interest in your life. He starts talking about you. He could talk, there's absolutely nothing wrong with talking. But it's the nature of the talk. It's so intense, so impressive it's so wholly imaginative.
Your eyes will fill with wonder at such magnificently spun lies. "X" apparently knows much more about you than you knew about yourself. For instance, "X" knows that in college, you weren't the innocent idiot thing everyone thought you were. Instead "X" knows, that you were in fact a ruined immoral teenage mutant that was also a well known nympho and the World's Best Kept Secret. Wow. "X" also will probably one day (for want of a better subject) decide that you are Marie Antoinette resurrected and now working for the Pakistani militia while pretending to be an undercover CIA agent that nobody knows about. And such is the power of "X" and his wondrously spun tales that people will believe him. They will know. They Who Know, will then nod their heads dismally and tell all the important people in your life, that you are not who you pretend to be. You are in fact an undercover CIA agent working for the Pakistani militia with presidential aspirations and you regularly dress up as Marie Antoinette when no one is looking. The important people will think, this might be true after all 'cause you do have an affinity for well made cake.
Everyone in the first flush of a brilliantly told story will promptly forget that Marie Antoinette never said "Eat cake". She probably just fell victim to an "X" from the French revolutionary times. Meanwhile, you are just relived no one knows the real truth about you. That in college, you cut class to watch movies for a mere ten bucks. You just breathe a sigh of relief for the truth might not suit your royal reputation.

Yog-ouch!

2007-08-13T00:25:00.000-07:00

Inhale........H-exhale....pant like a dog..sing-song torture. Miraculously, you will feel enriched, empowered, flat tummied and peaceful afterward. Yog-ah!
Only, in between, your body will undergo twists and bends very close to khajuraho temple sculpture, minus the steam. Your teacher will say, "Close your eyes, observe..." (He says this, i swear). And you will be compelled to observe (from your mind's eye), the nature, the birds, the skies, the clouds. I don't remember the last time i saw all these things in reality, but mind's eye sounds good!
So after you have inhaled and hex-haled, you will then be told by your teacher that, you need to eat. Never mind that you came here with that very purpose in mind You try explaining, but he is convinced...you are anorexic.So you shrug and agree. "Fine, I'll eat, if that's what makes you happy." You'll ignore that guilty pleasure you feel when you dig into gooey brownies with extra chocolate sauce and ice cream. The only thing that hurts, is your wallet and uh...your thighs; post-yoga.

Goth it?

2007-08-09T22:16:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine showed up from Italy (he doesn't read blogs, I'm safe enough). This guy studies fashion...like "studies" it. It's a little difficult being around people like that. Inevitably you feel like yanking the corner of your frayed tee shirt. I almost did, until i remembered, I've known this guy for ages, and scribbled chaddi dost on a nice Gucci shirt of his once! He knows I'm beyond hope. Then again i remembered, i fancied myself to be some sort of fashionable person. But the frayed tee shirt killed that particular pleasant thought.

So, ya, i met this friend for coffee, and I'm dressed in post-meeting pinks. Post-meeting Pinks, are the feminine equivalent of fatigues, they are salwar kameezes that give you credibility, plus they are pink, so they evilly play on your psyche! One has to dress carefully now it seems. At a recent seminar on the future of advertising, we were rudely informed that advertising professionals will not be treated with respect unless they dress to demand it. Apparently our "pony tails" draw more attention than our ideas. And pony tails, poor things, are the wrongest thing to do. Thankfully, I'm a woman so i get by, but the rest of advertising mankind, must get back to school and dress with care....cause here appearance is everything.

Anyway, i digressed a bit too much( this is a passionate subject)! So, my fashionista friend rudely informed me that i looked sidey. My heart fell, reached my toes i think. Surely i couldn't be blamed for choosing such a boring profession as advertising? Here, work wear is over kill and tee shirts are frowned down upon (by The People Who Matter). So i swallowed my pride and told him with over large eyes, that i didn't care, work was more important. A snigger made it's presence felt in the large empty emptiness of book-filled Brio. It didn't help that a table nearby had this skinny woman in skinny jeans discussing fashion and skinniness. (Hate her) So i looked away and pretended to intellectually read a book. More sniggers. Finally, the verdict. "You look goth". Images of architecture and illuminated manuscripts filled my head. More sorrow. My over large eyes were threatening to prove treacherous! Then, i was informed that goth is apparently this whole fashion "thing" very close to grunge! Oh, stupid me. Anyway, just when i was beginning to thank my kaajal for saving the day, i was informed once more that goth is apparently three seasons old.

I've stopped trying since. My jhola bag and chappals will never impress Louis Vuitton. And i don't really care. (Not meeting him too soon).

Bangalore Dreams

2007-08-05T21:32:00.000-07:00

This one time i went for a shoot (the only time i went for one), and there was a cock that crowed. Now there's nothing wrong with a cock crowing. Cocks crow all the time. But this one had fancy timing, it crowed at eleven am! Our director was stumped. "Why is this cock crowing? Isn't it eleven am?", said he. "Bangalore", said i. (Please note, i made a funny)

The signs are all out there! In namma Bengaluru, the sun peeks out pretty late. In the mornings, waking up is pure torture. Especially if you aspire to higher things like yoga and exercise. And if you've had a late night, God help you. This morning, i had plans; read that otherwise unreadable book, go for that long neglected jog, make those accounts, oh and find clothes that don't look like night wear for work! Ultimately, i did wake up early(-er than usual) but all i managed to accomplish was staring at my tube light, and thinking how obscenely bright it was.

Life is difficult. There is no doubt. You have money issues, you have non-ironed clothes to iron. And then you can't even wake up. On the flip side you can dream big.

2007-08-03T05:29:00.000-07:00

Second post. I'm stumped.
I think I'll write about Stella Maris, it's got humour, mystery and sexuality of the (apparently) most interesting kind; lesbianism.
I'll explain why. You see at Stella Maris, my college life was a joke. Academically speaking. They didn't allow me to write an exam (for lack of attendance), which means I'll hate them for ever. Notice the "dark humour"?
When it comes to mystery, I don't know how i even managed to live three years cooped up in various rooms with timings that would have made the oldest Victorian happy.
And lesbianism. A-ha! Exactly the bit you were waiting to read...Unfortunately enough, we were only accused of lesbianism in hostel. When i say accused, oh my! People have the most creative stories. We have to-date, raped our gardener, fallen prey to molesting warden-nuns, had obscene orgies. Completely colourful!

While it's gratifying to know, we are found to be such interesting people. The truth is most different. We were beings of simple pleasures. We got happy decorating the top floor of hostel on Christmas night. We felt thrilled sneaking out at seven 'o' clock to buy bread from Vippin's and even more thrilled when the bread from Vippin's didn't give us gastroenteritis:)

So now that I've set the record straight and done my bit for Stella (and also sneakily managed a second post). I think I've reached a new milestone in life.
Blogs are 'it', yea?

Oh my and i have a blog!

2007-08-02T05:04:00.000-07:00

Frankly i don't know how this thing works. I have a vague recollection of going for some seminar where they spoke endlessly about blogs and blogs being the future of all things to come. Infact if i remember right, a blogger possibly believes blogging is The Art Of Living Sans The Bearded Loons. While there is absolutely nothing wrong with that, i do think it's entirely optimistic. But i'm willing to try anything.
I even tried gaia. Sheer desperation to kill time. Time i've noticed takes very long to kill when you want to kill it bad. More so, when you do it with Weapons Of Social Destruction like orkut, facebook, twitter, twatter, hoolium phoolium halaballoo.
Er..may i mention i don't know how to break paragraphs?? I don't know how to break paragraphs. Blogs are brilliant self indulgence!!! I've written a whole three paragraphs that generously throw about the word "i"...oh my!
And now apparently i have to leave. It's pouring, and my time which got killed like Kelly in South Park, now wants to fit in Coffee Day (ick) in it's ever-dying agenda!!!
Just my luck. I was beginning to enjoy the self indulgence.