Clues

Q. How do you know when an elephant has been in your fridge?
A. You find footprints in the butter.
So cute!

Q. How do you know what an Indian has been in your toilet?
A. Footprints on the toilet seat.
How offensive.

Or so I think until I see them in the loos at work.
There are shoe prints! Can't they at least get barefoot? I'm too disgusted to say more.

And the Larder Too

I want Nigella Lawson's kitchen.
It is enormous; equipped with the best, er, equipment; has a beautiful view of the garden; and best of all, it's white!
Can you imagine cooking Indian food in a white kitchen? Frying ilish maach, slow cooking mutton masala, marinating tandoori chicken..... ooh the spots from that one!
But I figure, I only cook Indian food 50% of the time, and if I had a kitchen as lovely as this one, I'd look after it.
If I had Nigella's kitchen, I could be a professional chef. I too would scoff at the calorie-conscious and slap bricks of butter into a basin-sized wok. Drop in slices of herb-coated potatos and serve them crispy alongside juicy spare ribs. Followed, of course, by something sinfully chocolicious.
I'd invite everyone to dinner and accept compliments with quiet pride.
Sigh.
I deserve that kitchen.

As Time Goes By

I've often felt like I spend a good percentage of my life waiting. For someone to call, someone to come, someone to leave, something to happen, something to change. Just waiting and waiting.

A few years ago, realizing that one truly needs to be the change one wants to see, I changed jobs, cities, expectations.

But I'm still waiting. Less, but still waiting. For a sign that I've finally hit upon the right approach to life, the right path at work, the right balance of self and others.

I think this is in some way a subversive fantasy. You know, the one in which the princess waits in her ivory tower to be rescued by the handsome prince on his white steed. (Yeah, right!)

It's time for a different fairy tale. Lara Croft.

Free Association

Crackerjack!

I decide to revive my blog, and sitting page open, I wonder what to write about and the first word that pops into my head is crackerjack. And for the life of me I can't figure out where I heard that or why I thought of it just now.

I google-discovered that it's the name of a British TV series for kids, and it's also the brand name of an Ameican breakfast cereal. I thought that was cool - serial/cereal - just so cool ! But I still don't know why I thought of it.

Then I got thinking about the names of Indian breakfast cereals - Mohun, Bagry's...... sorry to say, none of these names would just pop into my head if I were pondering over what to write.

So, crackerjack.....

Not much of a lead that.

Hmmmm.

Ok next time.

House of Horrors

So it's become quite cold in Bangalore these days (will I have to issue a public apology for not saying Bengaluru?) and the wind is turning my house into the perfect set for a B-grade horror flick. For some architectural flaw, the sliding windows in my room don't close perfectly shut, and the mm-thin gaps that remain form the perfect whistle. Remember all those really bad movies in which the wind shrieks? That's exactly what happens all evening and all night. OOOOoooooOOOO
I mean WTF! Not only that, the loo door keeps banging and waking me up. The window in the loo has louvres that are too tight to shut, and the door has lost its knob so it doesn't anchor shut. So every time the wind picks up, I have to be startled awake. I've been jamming it shut with paper, but I guess the best thing would be to replace the knob - what say?
But coming back to the scary movie thing - the howling wind, the banging doors, the unfathomable noises from the upstairs neighbours at 3 am - it's all the ingredients of the flick that forces you into fright!
All that's left is for the power to go off and the white-masked creature from the Scream to appear. (Like I'm Neve Campbell!) Tonight I will wear 3 sweaters, use two quilts, jam the loo door with a doormat, and keep the window wide open. Damned if I'm kept awake again!

And again

If I like something I want at least two of it. For example, I can never buy one bar of chocolate. Or one book. Or one top in a design I like. I'd like to have two of the same persons I like too. One to go do what they want, and one to always be with me. I've actually discussed this concept with someone, and he asked whether I'd know which one is the original and which the clone. I wonder. If the answer is yes, then what's the point of the clone? If the answer is no, then how am I appreciating the uniqueness of this person?

Metamorphosis

I've had a fascination for owls ever since I was a little kid. I love them - their big round eyes and the general "who the heck are you?" expression they have on their faces. The trouble with liking something so much is that you begin to take on either its features or its attributes.

I think I'm turning into an owl. I've become positively nocturnal. I can't sleep when I go to bed early; when I go to bed late I wake up early. What it is? Next my head will turn 360 degrees! Well, I never got any wisdom teeth - I guess this is as good a way to get wise.