Auto-suggestion

Those who know me well know that I've had a long, colourful history of interactions with autorickshaw drivers all over India. The most recent one of note, that didn't end in me losing 5 years of my life due to stress, went something like this...
I need to be somewhere by 8 am these days, and it's such a joy taking an auto at 7 am, cruising down half-empty roads with the cool Bangalore morning breeze tickling your tonsils.
I noticed today that the auto driver was enjoying it too. He had his head wrapped Arafat style, which not only protected him from the said cool breeze, but (as I soon discovered) also deprived him of peripheral vision! He'd gaze entranced at the sight of the rolling lawns of Cubbon park, and because he had to turn his head to the left to actually see it, he wasn't aware that slowly he'd begin pointing the nose of the auto in that direction too. And when he finally looked forward, he'd jerk to a halt with an "Uhh" sound because a motorbike had suddenly materialised in front of him out of nowhere. Then a few kilometers down, he'd be lost again at the sight of some other park to the right, and of course his auto would follow. Then, "Uhh"!
So for the entire 12-14 kilometers, we went wheeeeee (meander left) - Uhh - whoooooo (meander right) - Uhh - wheeeeee - Uhh - whoooooo - Uhh.
I soon found myself chanting this in my head again and again - wheeeeee - Uhh - whoooooo - Uhh - wheeeeee - Uhh - whoooooo - Uhh!
Much like the adoring crowd at Obama's victory speech, chorusing fervently, "Yes, we can!"

For my brother

Tomorrow will see me at a new place of work - a conscious decision to change, taken at the urging of the voice in my head that kept saying I had to do this, despite there being zero guarantees for a better future, and the hard fact that I would be leaving the one person behind that made going to work as personally rewarding as anything I would choose to do in my spare time.

This song is for him:

There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time for every purpose, under heaven

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap
A time to kill, a time to heal
A time to laugh, a time to weep

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time for every purpose, under heaven

A time to build up,a time to break down
A time to dance, a time to mourn
A time to cast away stones, a time to gather stones together

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time for every purpose, under heaven

A time of love, a time of hate
A time of war, a time of peace
A time you may embrace, a time to refrain from embracing

To everything (turn, turn, turn)
There is a season (turn, turn, turn)
And a time for every purpose, under heaven

A time to gain, a time to lose
A time to rend, a time to sew
A time to love, a time to
A time for peace, I swear its not too late

The Epiphany

You know what would make life perfect?

If choconut sundaes could hug.

Oops

I have this friend who calls me every so often pretending to be someone from the credit card company, my place of work, my bank, random vile man, etc. etc. And of course he'd laugh and laugh, mighty pleased with his own joke. I thought I'd wised up and knew his voice well enough to catch a gag immediately. But I learned there's something as being too wise....
I get a call from someone calling himself Joshua, claiming to be from some consultancy or the other trying to offer me a job. Since he sounds exactly like my friend, and I thought no one is called Joshua, I go on and on telling him how jobless he is to make these random calls. Joshua on the other hand, keeps going "Excuse me....what.....sorry...?" Finally he says, "Look this isn't a prank, I really am Joshua, and I'm calling about a job you might be interested in..."
I'm like ooops!!!! What could I say after that? "Sorry Joshua, I'm not interested."
Thank God I wasn't rude!
I'm going to kill that friend of mine! His wife who secretly reads my blog better warn him!

Blowing in the Wind

I like going back to Cal cos my folks are there, and some of my closest friends are there; but after a few days I'm dying to come back to Bangalore. This, however, is not the city I'm planning to settle down in. I'm petty certain I'll want to move out in a year or so. For the last couple of years, I've been telling people I want to live and work in Singapore, and that's something I might pursue, but again, am sure I won't stay there too long.

There's something I'm looking for - an answer to a question I'm not even sure of, but I find it sometimes in the air when I'm trying to cross a busy street, and am stuck on the divider for waiting for the traffic to thin so I can go all the way across. I realize that I'm a part of the world, doing exactly what I'm supposed to be doing at that moment by crossing the street and getting to where I'm headed. Sadly that kind of clarity of purpose doesn't last long, and within minutes I'm wondering what I'm doing with my life.

Will I'll find the answer if I stand on the divider long enough? Or is that the only place from where my destination is in plain sight?

Kolkata Report

Here's what didn't happen:
Bag shopping
Nizam rolls
CCFC
Cha bar
Gurusaday Road Barista
BUT, here's what happened:
Laptop, camera, dvd player stolen. Yes, stolen. In the night when 7.5 people were asleep with the light on. Don't these things only happen to other people? :-(

Charge of the Child Brigade

Child to the right of me;
Child in front of me;
Child to the back of me;
Screeched and clamoured.
Nose wrinkled, temper contained,
Valiantly I fought
My sanity to maintain.

Was this the seat from hell or what? I can honestly say that this was my worst flight since the time I puked all over my mom 29 years ago!
Child to the right: was asleep the entire time, but kept me awake with the strong aroma of babypuke that it was emanating.
Child in front: bong kid travelling with its grandparents, the grandmom of which would threaten every 2 minutes, "Tiger aashchey, tiger aashchey" (the tiger is coming).
Child behind: never saw the kid, but heard its eager parents go Arya, square...Arya, fold the paper...see, triangle...Arya, fold again...see small triangle....Arya, this....Arya, that....Aaaaaargh!!!

Don't get me wrong; I like kids, but in small doses and clean-smelling. Am now racking my brains to figure out a way to book a seat that's at least 5 away from anything below 12 years of age!

Kolkata To-Eat List

Mom's fish curry

Kookie Jar pastries and chicken envelopes

Flury's tea and pineapple pudding cake

Bengal Club Chinese food

Tangra Chinese food

Nizam rolls

CCFC onion pakoras

Tea at the Oxford Cha Bar

Coffee at the Gurusaday Road Barista for old time's sake

Colour no Bar

For the longest time, I hated the colour brown. I would never ever wear anything that was brown, or use that colour on anything unless that was its natural colour. To me, brown meant dull, it meant boring, it meant ugly. My autobiography was going to be titled Brown is not my Colour.

However, I've noticed of late that I've lost that violent anti-brown sentiment. In the past few weeks I've been looking at brown clothes with interest, and finally on Sunday, the unthinkable happened. I bought a brown shirt. I don't think anyone will comprehend what a big deal this is, so I'm not going to try and explain, but to me it's the dawn of a new era.

I looked up the significance of the colour, and this was one of the things I found:

It is a protective colour, but you may be bottling up emotion or a secret that makes you retreat into your shell and fear the outside world; thus you feel protected by wearing brown or muddy colour.

All lies! I'm not retreating into my shell or fearing the outside world. Bring it on, I say. Bring it on! I will whack you with my rolled up new brown shirt!

The downside is I'll have to think up a new name for my autobiography.

Cogito Ergo Dumb

Humans are flawed.
They hurt each other.
They don't know anything apart from themselves.
They don't give a shit.
No that's not right. They can't give a shit.
Cos they're human.
I don't like humans.
I don't want to be human.

Rock on, why don't you

I've seen almost every musical ever made - from West Side Story to Flashdance; from Singing in the Rain to Hello Dolly; from Breakdance to Dirty Dancing; from The Doors to Ray. Hindi films don't count, cos even a horror film is a musical, but I went to see Rock On, and hello! I loved it! It was fun and normal and feel good. The music isn't amazing, but I kinda like Farhan Akhtar's strange voice and sometimes off-key singing. And I wouldn't be a woman rock music nut if I didn't swoon at the sight of Arjun Rampal going into a guitar solo with his waist-length hair blowing in the breeze! Oh drooool!

The movie reminded me of my crazy teen years in Calcutta where my friends and I would chase every concert in the city. We'd go in groups of 15 or more and nothing was more important than knowing the words so we could screech the chorus out at the top of our lungs. I still haven't lost this habit, btw. When I'm driving alone, I have the windows up so I can yell out along with whatever cd is playing. It's people from this same group that call me everytime a movie like Rock On comes along, and we reminisce about the time we were "cat", which is Calcuttese for hip.

PS: The old dude in the pic is as much a rock star as anyone - he played this great rock and roll tune with that guitar balanced on his forehead!

18 Till I Die Trying

People who know me well are aware that I have a big thing about growing old. It's my worst nightmare and I will never ever ever age gracefully. I'll go cos I have to go, but I'll go kicking and screaming, and biting and punching.

But what really really gets me is how people I think look way older than me are either the same age as me, or - hold your breath - younger !! How can they be younger? How? They look like old hags! Or geezers! So then I go around terribly offended. It's bad enough that women like Sharon Stone are in their 50s and look 20 years younger, but I can at least console myself with the thought of the million ccs of Botox they've used so far. But these folks being my age - what the dutch chocolate is that all about? So what then? I look as old as them? I should be hanging out with them, but I am in denial about my age and insist on piling on to the young crowd? What? What? Argh!

This takes away all the malicious glee I felt when I went to my high school reunion and found that many of my batchmates were distinctly beginning to grey, while my hair was as dark as a raven's wing. (tee hee)

You may miss the bride

So my cousin-in-law got married this month and a good time was had by all. This was the first Punju wedding I attended since I left Cal, and oye, was it fun! There was singing, dancing, eating, and even a little adventure.

What else would you call sneaking the bride into the wedding venue after the baraat had already danced its way in? Here's how it came to pass...

My cousin-in-law has never been crazy about clothes and make up, so underestimated the time she would need to get all brided up. As a result, she was late to her own wedding, and almost tailgated the groom on his white horse. Apparently its not good for her to be seen walking in late, so 3 of us women were dispatched to form a human shield around her as she attempted to make a rapid get-in.

Easier said than done when she's wearing an 5000 watt outfit, and the kaliras hanging from her wrist jingle louder than a warden's cell keys. So she was seen by the wives of her soon-to-be husband's friends, and by an elderly gentleman from the groom's side (who actually helped us bring her in.)

She was also seen by the 50 odd guests seated in front of the mandap 2 hours ahead of schedule.

What they were doing there when the rest of the folks were shaking shoulders to authentic bhangra music I don't know! But the main thing is that neither the groom nor his parents caught her illegal entry, so it was AOK.

I'm waiting for the happy couple to return from their honeymoon so I can find out if she's confessed her misadventures to her husband. I hope she has cos I can't wait to rib him about it.

While on the subject of weddings, I have to tell you about this woman I met recently who got divorced after 18 years of marriage. Her oldest daughter is 22. The reason this is extraordinary is that the said woman looks all of 30-32 years old. Not a line on her face, and a real cool attitude. She was also quite a few drinks down cos she kissed me when I said she looked 22. This was the first time we met. Quite forward to kiss on the first date, dontcha think? I shd clarify that it was my cheek she kissed.

Please repeat it again

I used to want to do voice overs for American cartoons, but now I think the Indian animation industry needs me more. Have you seen the animated films about Krishna or Hanuman, etc? Or more importantly, have you heard them? "Heeyer I am, mother. I waas eeating butt-ter behind the pautts."
I am appalled each time I hear the dubbing; and by not volunteering my services, I think I'm ignoring the horrific future of the nation's children who will grow up speaking like this.
But let's do a quick reality check. The last time I said "Take the left at the T-junction", the response was "Dedden left?" (dead-end left)
So let me accept that my efforts would be a mere drop in the mighty ocean. And after all, it's not how a person speaks, but what he/she says that is important. (HMPH!)

A Flying F@#$

This post is an excuse for me to let forth a stream of invective! What's the deal with these ridiculous airfares? Bangalore-Kolkata has always been the most expensive sector in the country, but in the last couple of years I have managed to get return tickets for about 7k. BUT NOW, WTF, the cheapest ticket costs more than 7 k one way! I scrounged many rupees together this month and booked my passage for the pujas, and thought I was done for the year. But then something came up and I had to look up Kolkata-Hyd-Kolkata fares. Cheapest fare 10.5 k! In the good old days of affordable air travel, the Rahul Dhawan has actually done this in under 2k. Hurts like hell. The only thing that could cause more pain would be to miss a non-refundable flight because of the traffic-jammed 40km distance that I now have to travel to get to the new improved Bengaluru International Airport!

Temporary Tattoos Forever

A few years ago I was dying to get a tattoo. I even walked into a place that does it in Bombay, but left cos they were too busy. I wanted a tree on my ankle. Don't ask me why. I just did. Then that changed to wanting a broken heart somewhere above my heart. Then it was the Egyptian eye on my shoulder blade.
A tattoo, I've heard, is a way of expressing oneself. I believe it, but refuse to take it at face value. Meaning, I don't believe that people who get death's heads permanently imprinted on them are necessarily evil and scary. They might be *bleep* scared of dying, which is why they choose a skull as a way of thumbing their nose at the grim reaper. Or those who get their partners' names tattooed on various parts of their bodies. Does this mean they'd be eternally in love with them? Ha! No way! Remember Johnny Depp? And Angelina Jolie? Both had to get their tattoos altered/removed when they moved on from their relationships. This brings me to the big question about the Saif. Now that he has करीना on his arm, what does he do when he has to romance the women in his movies? Wear a prosthetic?
OK back to expressing oneself. I finally never got a tattoo. I realized it was a permanent expression of a transient part of you, and I don't want to have to carry the burden of a damn fool phase for the rest of my life. Besides, I don't do pain. Yet.

Diplomatic Immunity

I got caught in the downpour on Saturday when I was returning home in a rick. You know how these things are - nothing on the sides to shield you. So by the time I reached home, my arms were completely wet, my skirt was damp from the rain splashing on the seats, and I was shivering like a malariac (nice word, what) from the icy coldness of it all.
Well, there's more - I was running a raging fever by nightfall, with a headache as intense as Irrfan Khan in Maqbool. How I suffered! But trust my mom to burst my injured bubble. "I thought only kids got fever from the rain", she said. "Don't you have any immunity at all?" Since it was a rhetorical question, I ignored it. Not that I wasn't prepared for her reaction. It's always been this way, right since adolescence. My sister and I learned to defend our illnesses with great valour, and always wore her down in the end, when she was forced to be the Florence owl (never nightingale!). To be fair, I must say we even caught a worried frown on her face from time to time.
But this was clearly not one of those times.
She refused to come visit me unless I absolutely needed her! Ha!

Reflection

Mirror, mirror on the wall

What's the biggest problem of them all

Wrinkles, bags, shadows, grey

Frown lines that deepen everyday

The mirror remains silent and clear

The voices that clamour

Are my own fears

No wrinkle, no bags, no shadow, no grey

Can keep you from flying

Or your dreams take away

I do that myself

In my bid for a future

That's safe and secure

No risk nor adventure

Forgetting the eagle

The river, the mountain

Securing my shackles

To divine intervention

I kiss goodbye

To a wild wondrous nature

And search in the mirror

For signs of aging

Perfect-Imperfect

We were taught to make gratitude lists at a relationship workshop I once attended. I totally agree with the concept behind this - when you list the things you are truly grateful for, you realize how much you have been given in this life.

Today, however, is not one of the days that I want to list what I've been given. I always do that. Today I want to count the things I want that I don't have. And I don't mean a penthouse suite, or a Mercedes Benz. I'm talking about deeper, more meaningful things. But I can't list them here cos I don't want the world to know what I don't have. I'd rather have everyone think I have everything, cos it embarrasses me to be found lacking, or inadequate, or to be pitied, or to be thought vulnerable.

And in this way I advance in my own head the myth of the perfect me.

Family Matters

What does it mean when people ask if someone comes from a "good" family? It's a really common Indianism and I've heard all kinds of people (even my folks) use it. I got thinking about it today and figured that I really don't know what it means. What makes a family good? Money? When a girl marries into an affluent family, you hear older people comment on what a good alliance she's made. So are poor families not good families? Perhaps if they were highly educated, they'd be good. What else makes a family not good? The more obvious not good things would be if the family business were of a dubious nature; or if they had wild raucous parties all night, every night, and disturbed the peace! I don't know...

Can I conclude that law-abiding families, leading a comfortable life, capable of hospitality, and conversing in grammatically correct sentences at the right volume in public, are good?

And families that pick fights at random, are stingy hosts, speak street lingo, and think money means culture are bad?

What, me giggle?

I had my follow-up appointment with the dentist (not the bald one) yesterday so he could stick some blue goop in my mouth and make a mould for my new tooth. This visit was slightly bloody, but not anywhere close to how much I bled when I got my nosering (shall I put it back on?). I'm not sure if anyone knows what I'm talking about, but sometimes, when you nick your tongue or something, it's painful, but it feels kinda good...anyone felt that? No? Oof what straight and narrow lives you all lead!

OK so the doc makes the mould, and because he's ground the dead tooth to a millimeter, there's a nice little window there. To cover the gap, he fashions a temporary tooth out of that white stuff they do cosmetic fillings with, and starts a conversation:

Please note, my part is in italics cos I'm thinking the words. Like I said, is difficult to talk when your mouth is full of metal and cotton.

Doc: "I'm doing this because the gap will look funny."

Runa: How considerate.

Doc: This will also look funny, but less funny than the gap.

Runa: Oh? Funny how? Dracula funny? Good dog Lassie funny? Famous bong buck teeth funny?

Doc: It's arbitrarily done. Not the perfect size or shape. Or even colour. But it's only for a week.

Runa: What?? What have you stuck up there? A die (like in dice, you nutcases!)

Doc: And remember not to chew anything hard on that side - this is really flimsy material.

Runa: Whatttt? I can't even eat? For a whole week?

Well ok then. I only had plans with family this weekend and I guess it's ok for them not see my pearly whites at their best. But oh my goodness, I completely forgot all about my die till we had some folks over for a formal tea on Sunday. Not friends, just a couple we have some business with. And as is customary for me, I laughed heartily at everything, and even threw my head back once. And then I went OH SHIT! From then on, I only leaned forward and went tee hee whenever anything funny was said. I cannot tell you what a difficult 2 hours it was. I cannot, cannot imagine not being able to laugh out loud and free. I've been asked which sense I'd miss most if I lost it, and I always said sight; but laughsense comes as a very very close second!

Ok so should I bring the nosering back on?

Handsome is as Handsome Does

I went to the dentist for the first time when I was in my 20s. And since I have decent teeth, I never really needed to go too often. So all was well till one of my fillings fell out after 5 years of loyal service. Being true to myself, I focused on the hardships around finding a good dentist in Bangalore (forget about the one that's 2 min from work - that's too easy) instead of preventing what ensued....

During a wonderful meal on my last trip to Cal, a corner of my poor unfilled tooth fell out onto my plate, leaving in its place a lovely gaping hole. That was 3 months ago. After a lot of persuasion from my sister, I dragged myself to her dentist; and only after she told me how good looking he was. Well anyway, I went and of course he tells me that I need a root canal. Yawn - what a surprise! But he was so considerate that he filled up two other teeth and relieved me of a couple of days' pay. By the way, I misunderstood. It's not this guy that's good looking; it's his partner - the one who does the root canals. So all was not lost...I still had something to look forward to.

On the fateful day, I rise early and eat a full meal like a condemned man. Who knows when I'll ever be able to eat again. Got to my appointment on time, looking for a hunk in a white coat. I see someone in a white coat alright, but he had a surgical mask on, so I couldn't tell if my sister was right. I waited with bated breath for the mask to come off. He says hi through it! Then he realized it's rude, so he pulls it off and introduces himself. And no. He's not handsome. Not at all. I'm like "Now wait a minute. It's bad enough I need to do a root canal; to top that you're not what they said you were! I've been had!!"

With a sigh I lay down in that godawful chair. The doc did have a good chairside manner though. Asked if I needed a cushion (I said yes), asked if I wanted the radio on (No, I don't like to be distracted when I am stressing), said it wouldn't hurt at all after the first tiny prick of the needle (Yeah right!). So he squirts the anaesthetic out of the syringe and inserts it in my gum. Hurt like 0.5 on 10. So that was OK. Then he says that's the worst of the pain. I narrow my eyes in response - it's difficult to voice suspicion when your mouth is full of metal and cotton. But he was right.

Gradually I noticed how much better looking he was getting. With each painless prod his features (behind his mask) got sharper and more Grecian. With each "Rinse your mouth please" his bald head started to look sophisticated rather than ...well...bald. By the end of that one-sitting root canal that "went beautifully" he was the most gorgeous man I have ever laid eyes on.

I still think so. I have felt nary a twinge and it's been two days! This guy was unbelievably great! I never thought there could be such a thing as a painless root canal. Doesn't this prove that beauty lies in a strong anaesthetic?!

Note: I'm sure you want to know why I have a picture of a pot of biryani - that's what made my tooth fall out!

The Ladder Poll

I learned something interesting today. I was remarking to a colleague how someone in the same organization has increasingly been passing their work on to others, and my colleague said that's how you know this guy's rising up the ranks. So I put 2 and 2 together and figured that the reason I am where I am is because I do my own work, and then some.
So the logical thing for me to do right now would be to shirk and/or delegate.
To agree, type Yes and sms to xxxx.
Airtel subscribers, pay my June bill.

Edge of Heaven

So from the wedding we were at we decide to go off for a safari just like that. It's a normal thing to do right after weddings when you should actually be sleeping off the huge lunch in the comfort of an air-conditioned luxury suite. 9 of us in 2 Mahindras bumped along the hilly terrain in the hope of seeing a wild elephant or two, a herd of spotted deer, or if we're really lucky, a panther. Kilometer after nauseating kilometer we journey, seeing nothing wilder than a monkey, lunch rising dangerously my mouth with every passing minute. I wished the ride would come to an end and we'd turn back, knowing that my motion sickness would only get worse, and I'd be embarrassingly sick in front of everyone. We kept asking the driver how much farther before we come to the end of the agreed distance, and he'd say something unintelligible to even the Malayalam-speaking people in our group. Finally he rounds a corner and stops at the very edge of heaven. It was this huge lake, its surface smooth and mirror-like, reflecting the fading light of dusk. How breathtakingly beautiful. Motion sickness banished from my mind, I drank in the magic of the surroundings, knowing that my camera would capture not even a fraction of its true form.

Memories of Paradise

Went to Kerala for a wedding and took an extra day to revive childhood memories of Fort Cochin (now Kochi) where my sister and I grew up. We went to our old house, school, the club that we used to go to everyday, and even the general store famous for its cocktail sausages!

Everything was much smaller than I remembered: the streets, the houses, the school - but all the memories came flooding back gigantic in their intensity. I remembered my way around the little town that has now become almost a mini Goa, minus the swimming. All the beautiful old houses have been converted to Home Stays or restaurants, the small restaurant that served the most awesome biryani has now become a tacky little inn. Most of the shops are owned by Kashmiris who have literally travelled across the length of the country to make a business for themselves.

It was heartening and saddening at the same time - I can't explain how I felt at recognizing all the old stuff peeping out from between the new. It was a hugely emotional experience - being there after 23 years - and I don't think I can go too long without returning to peel back the cheery cafe signboards to reveal the real Cochin of my childhood.

Quick Refill

One spoon of bournvita and three spoons of whiskey.
What an idea, Sir ji !!

Ooh my eyes light up - life has meaning again.

A Glass Half Empty

It's official. Bournvita is addictive. I've been trying to give it up and let me tell you it's traumatic!

What I've drunk almost every night for the last two years is a delightfully comforting concoction of half a glass of cold slim milk (I'm as health conscious as the next person) and four heaped teaspoons of Bournvita. Well three in the milk, and one in the mouth for a more direct approach.

Some of the amazing benefits of my little night-time indulgence:

• Peace


• Fulfillment


• Contentment


• Utter joy

BUT NO MORE!

It's been three whole days - 72 hours - since I last partook of this heavenly potion. Each evening brings with it a heavy cloud of depression because I know at the end of it will not stand a shining glass of rich liquid beckoning me with its sweetness.

Alas. Good things don't last.

You know you're working too hard when....

....you spend five minutes outside your front door rummaging in your bag for your access card.

Candid Camela

My 4-year-old nephew is amazingly sharp with a camera. He uses his mom's camera phone to take the most unlikely pictures - such as her eye, or someone in motion - and often borrows my digicam to take "only five photos" several times over.

I like this picture he took of my dad for a number of reasons:

My dad doesn't let anyone else take his picture.

This one's natural, not posed for.

The composition is arresting.

The other day my sister told him that he has too many toy cars (probably 700 of them) so he should switch to collecting something different. He promptly said "Camelas".

It's a sign!

What do the following words mean to you?
Thaba
Thanthuri
Pakoda (point)

I figured out the first one pretty darn quick, cos it was part of a hand-painted sign saying "Punjabi Thaba".
The next one took some thinking. Finally I put two and two together and figured it was Tandoori.
The last one - this is a concept! There were so many variations of this particular sign:
Pakoda Point
Pagota Point
Pakota Point
And finally, Pagoda Point. Phew!

All of these were sighted on the drive from Bangalore to Yercaud.
Every year an Indian kid wins the spelling bee?

Nothing to do with Bliss

A few weeks back, Bobby and I went to Yercaud (pardon the ghastly spelling, but that's how it is) for the weekend. It's a hill station 220 odd kilometers away from Bangalore, and a rather decent drive. The last hour entails the manoeuvring or 20 hairpin bends (blwack), but the route is scenic enough for you to forgive the nauseating climb, especially if you're used to chaotic Indian metros. Now, don't get overexcited; the view isn't spectacular. I've seen better in Shillong, etc., but like I said, it's such a welcome change from the city.

But the view gets prettier as you climb, and the air is clean, it's green all around, and so peaceful. Didn't hurt that the hotel was lovely. All I could say again and again was "It's so beautiful."

We had a day and a half there - the half was spent looking out over rain lashing the mountains, but Oh so beautiful. I took 156 photographs, including the one here, ate a lot of great food, counted the different shades of green I could see in the trees on the slopes - basically relaxed like I haven't in a long time.

When I came back, I asked someone if they've been there. They said No, cos there's nothing to do. And I thought, That's true. Isn't it perfect?

The Reading Room

When I moved to Calcutta at the age of 13, the only place I got any privacy was the loo. I used to take a book and seat myself comfortably - as often on the toilet lid as not - and stay in there for an hour or more at a time. My unsuspecting aunt thought I was the most retentive kid she had ever seen and regularly told my mom to introduce more roughage in my diet. Ha. How sweet.
Things have changed since then. I still take a book to the loo, but I can't stand being in there for more than ten minutes. Don't you want to know why?
I have a lot more space now; fewer people to bother me. I can read for as long as I like without being asked to run some errand, or complete a chore. I can read three, four books at a time and leave them lying around without fear of someone snatching them up to read themselves. Talking about reading several books simultaneously - I find it impossible not to do that. Unless the book is extraordinarily gripping, I always read at least two together: one before I go to bed, and the other at other times during the day. This is the book I carry with me when I go to to work; so if I have to take a lunch break on my own, I have words for company. (It's a different thing I don't read it at work.)
The reason I like to read two books at a time is that I like to feel that all aspects of my thinking and feeling are exercised. For example, if I'm reading a work of fiction (Lollipop Shoes - the sequel to Chocolat), I need to balance that with something like Eat Pray Love - real life stuff. If I'm reading Women Who Run With The Wolves, I need a nice little pot boiler to skim through on the side. It makes perfect sense. Ensures balance. I am a balanced person if nothing else. So balanced that a Libran looks contorted next to me! Ha, don't tell my sister!
OK I need to digress for a bit. That little problem my aunt thought I had....well I have it for real now. I'm buying a big fat book this weekend. I need it.

Trees

I've loved trees ever since I can remember, and when I'm away on holiday most of my pictures end up being of trees. It's a love I share with many women I know, but few men. Is the love of trees a gender thing? I looked up symbolism of trees - there's a lot of information out there about how almost every culture on the planet associates many meanings to trees and forests. The Tree of Life, for example, is a symbol of resurrection, and of a union between heaven, earth and the underworld. Whatever the deeper mythical symbolism, the joy and peace I feel when I am surrounded by the sight, smell and sound of trees is equalled by nothing else in the world.

TV and Dinner

Two different subjects went to war in my head for possession of this space. I couldn't decide between them so here you have both (plus a random photo from my personal collection):

1. Is VIP the worst TV serial ever made? They've started airing reruns of this one on TV lately (can't be new episodes, surely!) and OH MY GOD are they terrible! There's a fiesty, no-nonsense woman to appeal to guys who like the athletic type; a ditzy blonde who had to be some kind of a computer whiz to contradict all stereotypes to appeal to guys who pretend to like women with brains; another athletic but not so sexy woman to appeal guys who like the understated type; and of course there's the Pamela Anderson in all her gory - I mean glory - to appeal to...umm...errr...uhh...well...guys.

So in this particular episode, Pam is dancing with some dude at a nightclub, and between his Travolta moves, he goes "I could get used to this." I'm like what?? Does he mean he could get used to disco ? To dancing? To disco dancing? What? What does that mean? Anyway, I decide to give them the benefit of the doubt cos I am a nitpicker and often don't see the other person's point of view, especially when it's dumb as hell!! So I watch on, and suddenly Pam falls to the ground on her back with her legs all curled up and starts spinning like the breakdancers do. She goes round and round for about 20 seconds (which is a long time) and all this while the guy is looking down at her the way one would look at a cat with wings. She finally gets up and wobbles unsteadily to the bar hanging onto his arm, where he is hit on by some woman who sidles up to him and says "You are so cute. Call me some time." and hands him her card. He looks at the card, then at her, and says "OK." (Who wrote the dialogues? Who? Who?) Then they leave the nightclub and are peppered with bullets from sudden attackers, but Pam saves the day cos in her haste to duck, she kind of falls and her shoe flies up high in the air and comes down pointed heel first into the main attacker's eye (he somehow happened to be looking up at that very moment!) and many more exciting things happen.

So here's what I think. VIP is a sitcom. A bad one.

2. This dude walks into a deli, where I'm sitting at 8.20 pm enjoying a peaceful salad, and asks for cake. All finished.

He: How can it be all finished? You're a cake shop. How can you not have cake?

Deli worker: mumble mumble

He: This is ridiculous. Everyday by 8 o'clock you run out of cake? This is a cake shop. I need to urgently get a cake for someone.

Deli worker: mumble mumble

He: Who's your manager? I want to talk to him.

Deli worker: mumble mumble

He: I have to let someone know. I came yesterday, some vegetables were over; I come today, cake is over. This is ridiculous.

Deli worker: Jagdish

He: What?

Deli worker: Jagdish.

He: What?

Deli worker: Area Manager.

He: What? Oh Ok. What's his number?

Deli worker: 98....

He (calling from his cell): He's not answering. Do you have a phone?

Deli worker: Not working.

He: Can you give him a message to call me. Who's his boss? Give me his boss's number. I have to talk to someone.

Deli worker: He is only boss.

He: Yes but who is his boss?

Deli worker: There's him only.

He: Yes but he must be reporting to someone. He must have a supervisor. He can't be the owner.

Deli worker: ??????

He: Where is your registered office????

Deli worker: ??????

He: This is ridiculous. You're a cake shop.

Deli worker: ??????

He: How much for 6 of those pastries?

Deli worker: 540.

He: And those?

Deli worker: 360.

He: And the chocolates?

Deli worker: 25 per piece.

He: Give me a box of 6.

Old Friends

We had old friends over this weekend - My sister and I have known Bunty for the last 21 years, and Rakesh and Bobby have known each other even longer - since they were in primary school I think. We had this huge group that used to hang out during our hormone-charged adolescence and early adulthood. These are the people we broke all the rules with: challenging curfews, smoking out in the balcony when our parents were asleep, covering for each other when we went out on dates, later graduating to partying all night!
We haven't lived in the same city in the past decade, and many things have changed - the biggest ones being marriage and kids; so it was terribly reassuring to see the same personality traits that brought us together all those years ago. We don't smoke anymore, but we still make fun of everyone, including ourselves, and life is in constant digestion when we are together (GAWD how much we eat!!) Looking forward to the next time we meet, hopefully where there's lots of food and drink!!

Not a Slumber Party

It's been 9 months since I've had something to blog about. To be honest, I'm not sure I have anything to blog about right now either. It's just that I'm awake and I have the time.

I just read an email from my friend in Japan, and was thinking how wonderful it is that people seize opportunities that come their way, take risks and go DO the stuff they want to do, even if it means getting out of their comfort zone. There is so much to be gained from seeing new places, meeting new people, and living a life completely different from the one you are used to. She described a party she'd been to where there was much joke-telling, but all in Japanese, so she missed all of it, but I can bet my last buck she didn't regret going to the party.

I think it's time I went to a party where I don't understand a word of what's being said.