Nimbu Paani

Here's one for tradition!

2012-01-13T15:05:00.000+08:00

The fight between keeping up traditions and giving into modernity is probably one of the most debated topics. And nowhere does this fight feature more prominently than in the Indian kitchens of today, with traditional methods making way for more efficient, time-saving ones. And now with bottled pickles and packaged papads appearing on shelves and traditional drinks and home-made fare fast disappearing, the fight seems pretty much one-sided now. But often for most of us these traditional dishes, drinks, foods are not just edibles, but cues to memories of good times and happy childhoods. And that’s the worst casualty of this fight for modernity.

I remember while I was growing up, my grandmother had a winter time food ritual. Each year she would buy loads of ugly black carrots and then somehow conjure the loveliest wildly purplish red drink out of it all. Kanji, I was told, is what it was called and it was pretty much love at first taste. But as I look back now, I realise that the drink came to mean so much more to me- cold Delhi winter mornings spent out on a sunny verandah sipping the tangy drink and feeling the comfort of the hot sun against the cold nip all around, family conversations peppered with bits of gossip about relatives I had only ever heard of and my grandmom wrapped in a grey embroidered shawl knitting a sweater for yet another cousin or chopping vegetables. But somehow over the years, between Bombay and Singapore, the drink was forgotten, and with it, some of the memories too. That is until some days back, when a package of Black carrots arrived from Delhi and I decided to try my hand at my grand mother’s ritual.

Kanji is a traditional Punjabi drink typically made by fermenting black carrots or beetroots with spices, though Kashmiris and UPites do a really good turnip version of it too. It is mostly made in the winter months between December and April when black carrots are available in plenty. While traditionally huge glazed earthenware or ceramic jars were used to ferment the Carrot, water and spice mixture in the sun, glass jars work as well. The final concoction has a slightly salty, pungent and sour taste to it, probably owing to the fermentation and the spices. And as it turns out, it can do you some good too. Kanji is a nutritious probiotic drink and is considered to have cooling, soothing and digestive properties.

Ingredients-

1/2 Kg Black Carrot

2 Tbsp mustard seeds (Rai)

1 Tbsp red chilli powder

Salt to taste

2 litres boiled and cooled water

Wash and scrape the carrots lightly. Cut the carrots into 1 inche long pieces and dry grind the mustard seeds. In a large bowl, mix the carrots with salt, red chilli, Mustard Seeds and add it to the water in an airtight wide mouth jar or bottle. Close lid tightly and mix well. Keep the bottle in the sun for 3-4 days, making sure to stir it a few times daily. Once it is ready, keep the bottle in the fridge. The fermented Kanji, can be consumed for upto a week.

Now as I stand sipping my glass of Kanji right here in Sunny Singapore, the setting is different, the weather too, but the memories come flooding back. I can almost feel the nip of the cold and hear the clickety clack of the knitting needles. And I am thinking in my head- Tradition - 1, Modernity - 0.

And Here We Go...

2011-07-28T20:15:00.002+08:00

In another month, I move to New York, to live and study there. NYU is the university and journalism is the attempt. More specifically, I am going for the 'Cultural Reporting and Criticism' program and I like to believe, this essay is the main reason I got in. :-)

When I was 5, I announced to thefamily that I was leaving home and promptly walked out; with empty pockets,wide eyes and an animated eagerness about the wonders I was going to see.Needless to say, the quixotic expedition did not last too long. But as I lookback to that 10-minute trip, I see the first glimpses of the qualities thathave come to define my personality today: a curiosity to explore andexperiment, the self confidence to take on the world and the independence ofnature to forge my own way. The years and experiences since, have cementedthese qualities and more thankfully replaced the childish foolhardiness with arational prudence.

What the years have also added tothe mix is a heightened awareness and sensitivity towards differences, apenchant to seek out and appreciate the unique. Perhaps this fascination withdifferences has its roots in my upbringing. I am a product of North Indian andEast Indian intimacy; an unlikely union of very disparate cultures. Whilegrowing up, variety was the norm and its absence was unsettling. I did not findit odd that we spoke not one but three different languages at home; that wefollowed different customs depending on which side of the family we wereinteracting with; that we regularly flipped between three to four differentcuisines within a week; and that we moved ever so often to live in a new city,state or even country. Very early on, I was taught through example to respectdifferences, look at them positively and understand their immense value as asource of new learning.

The reason I talk about theseinherent and conditioned traits of my personality is because they have beenpivotal in alchemizing my potentially mundane life and travel experiences intoopportunities for rich cultural learning. A life spent in Bombay, Singapore andKuwait, with smatterings of other unfamiliar yet exciting countries inSoutheast Asia, the Middle East and Europe, has served as breeding ground forthe cultural journalist in me. In each of these countries, I played the role ofan observer, looking at the differences in traditions, attitudes, ideas andsocieties. What has intrigued me more however, are the ways in which differentcultures interact and evolve under each other’s influence. And having spent so much of my lifeoutside of India, I find my observation and critical appreciation of thesecultures free from any tints of preconception, but not without a sound basis incultural understanding.

Admittedly, my Indian rootsinfluence my preferences and I most enjoy looking for the Indian story in everynew country. Growing up in the urban mosaic of Bombay was an exercise incultural understanding and adjustment amidst a plethora of pluralities-linguistic, religious, caste-based, and economic. But it helped me grasp thatwhile cultures in a society may manifest in different ways, they usually havesimilar undercurrents and sensibilities. Between Singapore, Kuwait and India, Ihave seen multiple personalities of the ‘Indian’. At first glance, the Singapore-Indiandressed in vibrant batik, talking in Singlishand eating vastly different food might seem miles apart from the kurta-saree-donning, Hindi-speaking andbutter-chicken eating Indian in India; or completely unlike the adjusting,hard-working, money-motivated migrant Indian in Kuwait accustomed to living asecond-citizen life. But upon scrutiny, each of these personalities reveals itsuncanny Indian-ness, right down to the obsession with moralities, family-lifeand saving money.

It is no surprise then that thecultural journalists who inspire me the most write on similar topics andregions. William Dalrymple is one such author whose writings on India displayan enviable perceptiveness about the historical influences on modern day Indiaand the reverse impact of this modernity on tradition and historical culture.His writings seek not to judge but rather to reconcile and make sense of thecultural collisions that make up this complex country. Another culturaljournalist, whose writing is surprising and inspiring in its insightfulobservations, is Edward Luce, the author of ‘In spite of the Gods’. Through hisaccount of India’s recent political, economic and social development and itsfuture prospects, Edward Luce demonstrates a rare combination of intimacy anddetachment with India. And while doing so, he presents a deeply astute pictureof contemporary India, highlighting patterns and connections from within thecomplexity. As a cultural journalist, it is this kind of insightful andrefreshing writing that I aspire to do.

The bulk of my writing so far hasexplored issues in the same arena. While journalism hasn’t been the focus of myprofessional efforts before now, writing and reporting have always been animportant and satisfying part of my fringe life. Some of my most creativelysatisfying times were spent working as the editor of my high-school magazine orwriting articles and reviews for the ‘Gourmet’ magazine at college. And evenafter college, I have pursued this interest through blogging actively aboutevents, travel and food, both Indian and international.

The story of how I got interestedin Journalism, though, is a plain- vanilla tale about how I dabbled inthis-and-that, before finally realizing that Journalism has always been theelusive answer to the big question, “What do I want to do?” No epiphanies, no‘Eureka moments’, just a plain simple deliberated choice based on a passion towrite. My interest in cultural journalism stems from a love for stories, aflair for writing and an unbridled curiosity about the world, its people andtheir motivations. I am enamored by the cultural journalist’s role as thedocumenter of human narrative, the storyteller of our modern times, an explorerwithin cultures. And I admire the deep understanding required to connect thedots and examine events in the context of cultural, societal and historicalcurrents.

I believe that a person cannot betaught to be a great journalist. The greatness can only come from a truepassion for the career and a love for cultural reportage. However, without themethod, the madness is just that. And it is this method that I hope to learnthrough NYU’s Cultural Reporting and Criticism program in journalism. Throughthe program’s inimitable flavor of thoughtful, insightful criticism and underthe tutelage of its exemplary faculty, I hope to learn the art, the finesse andthe tools of the trade. I particularly value the program’s focus onamalgamating journalistic skills with an individual writer’s distinctive voice.

My will to pursue culturaljournalism is fueled by my belief that I possess a number of raw skills tosucceed in this role. My curiosity drives my persistence to get answers. Myinsight combined with my diligence in research, lets me identify the rightquestions to ask. And my affable personality and open mind help me makeconnections with people and develop trusting bonds easily. What ties all theseskills together is my ability to engage the reader through the written word.

Perhaps my greatest strength as acultural journalist lies in my ability to find comfort in the unfamiliar and mywillingness to experiment. I notice and embrace the subtle and not-so-subtledifferences in cultures, foods, attitudes and thoughts with ease and findmyself the richer for it. I am a variegated person, influenced by the manycultures that I have been exposed to. I speak comfortably in 4 differentlanguages besides Hindi but I think mostly in English. I appreciate the colorsand beauty of a Hindu Temple as willingly as I take in the serenity of a churchor the passionate call-to-prayer of a mosque. I am a lover of different tastesand cuisines and I display as much panache while maneuvering chopsticks as I dowhile eating with a fork and spoon. At various points in my life I have livedin India, Singapore, Thailand, London and Kuwait and in each of these places Ihave felt the city’s pulse and assimilated a wealth of cultural insights. Veryoften I strike up conversations with strangers in unlikely places, to quench mycuriosity about lives different from mine and never have I beendisappointed. I revel in thebeauty that can come only with multiplicity and I am a connoisseur of thedifferent.

This in turn enriches mynarrative as a writer, as a cultural journalist. Inspired by differences, ledby curiosity and emboldened by the willingness to experiment, the writer in mefinds inspiration at every corner. And the journalist in me sees the excitingpossibility of a new narrative, the next story.

Currently reading: Jaya - Devdutt Patnaik

Currently Listening: Big Jet Plane - Angus & Julia Stone, The importance of being idle - Oasis

New York, je t'aime

2011-07-03T03:17:00.001+08:00

I spent summer 2010 in New York and wrote this in my journal as I was leaving the city, seated at seat 21D in an Airbus A340, flying from JFK to Singapore. I got round to posting it only now, though.

Two and a half months is a long time. Yet two and a half months can be a really short time. It’s all a matter of perspective.

Two and a half months back, I came to New York City at the break of a dawn- wide eyed, admittedly a little scared and very excited at the idea of living in a city I had heard so much about. And the two and a half months passed by in a blink. And yet, I feel a lifetime of change between then and now.

I try and skim over all my memories in the city and I get lost in their chronology. A lifetime of memories, a lifetime of change, all in a few months- naturally, it’s a blur. I try and recall the morning when I had landed here, intrepidly taken the very notorious New York Taxi and gotten my first glimpse of the city. Did that even count as my first glimpse, for hadn’t I seen this city before? Was it in a movie somewhere? Or had it been on some television show? Or had I perhaps pictured it entirely in my mind, a mosaic of bits and pieces weaned from sightings and readings? I remember the upsurge of feeling I had felt, as I saw Manhattan come into view from the Williamsburg Bridge. I call it feeling, for it sounds too absurd to call it love. But in hindsight, perhaps that is what it had been. And perhaps, I had made up my mind that I would love this crazy place, long before I had even gotten here. And love it, I did. But on that first early morning in New York, I refused to acknowledge the instant love and familiarity I felt for the city, opting instead for a charade of nonchalance and apprehension.

But the city won over, in just a week. Or maybe it was two. In just that short time, I started feeling comfortable in the city, even confident, like I belonged here; and I liked that feeling. Maybe that’s the charm of this city. It makes every visitor feel like they fit in; something for everyone. In my first few weeks, I made lists of places I wanted to see, museums I wanted to visit and must-eats I wanted to savor. But somewhere down the way, I got swept away by the charm of the city and put aside my checklists for a more au naturel approach. I ambled around the city, its parks and cafes and started living my days without any itinerary. I spent hours trying to get to know New York, and the city very willingly twirled and pirouetted as my muse, comfortable in the knowledge that many before me had tried and failed in that pursuit.

I’m in love with a city that I don’t completely understand, and perhaps, because of it too. And try as I might, I can’t pinpoint what it is about New York that I have fallen in love with. Was it the icons? – The view from the Empire State Building, the planned natural ease of Central Park, the garish glamour of Times Square or the imposing grace of Lady liberty. Or was it the sheer collection of intellectual and social stimulation? – Right from museums of all things myriad to infinite clubs paying homage to all kinds of indulgences. Or perhaps the city itself is the greatest spectacle, an effortless orchestration of a daily performance. Whatever it is, I’m besotted: Another casualty of New York’s charm, another fool in love.

Not everyone can understand what I feel for this city and why. And sometimes it’s beyond my comprehension too. For New York is a difficult city to court. The life is difficult, the living is lonely, the streets are dirty, the houses are tiny and the food is expensive. And yet oddly, the city has a certain appeal. Like a raw-edged unconventional- looking man that you can’t take your eyes off, complete with kinks of character and oodles of charm. Yeah, New York is the Javier Bardim of cities!

But here I am now, sitting in a plane that’s pulling out of JFK airport and getting ready to take off any minute. My two and a half months have come to an end and I am leaving my love behind. My thoughts are consumed with this city and I let them flow. I chuckle as I remember my last minute scramble to buy souvenirs at the airport, to try and take a piece of this city back with me. I know, the real souvenirs I carry back are nestled in my heart and mind: the memories of a torrid summer love. But time is abrasive and I know these memories might fade. And so I cling onto a very tangible mug and a t-shirt, both proclaiming ‘I love New York’.

As the plane catches speed and the engine gets louder, the reality of the separation comes crashing down on me and I feel a sense of last minute panic. I close my eyes and calm myself- This isn't where it ends!

Currently Reading: Shalimar the Clown - Salman Rushdie

Currently Listening: High for this- The Weeknd, Even though i'm a woman - Seeker Lover Keeper

Here's attempting a CPR

2011-02-25T05:43:00.000+08:00

It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that this blog has been defunct for a while. Close to a year.

And I don't know why I stopped blogging or when. I just did. It started feeling like a chore and I dragged my feet. For a while I kept up the charade of reminding myself that this space existed, that I would be disappointing all of my regular readers (yes all of the two of them) if I didn't post soon. But time destroys many delusions, and it didn't take me long to discover that no one really missed my banter. And that threw this blog into an existential crisis of sorts. It threw up too many questions that I did not immediately have any answers to. Nor did I have the time to figure any of them out.

For you see, sometime during the summer last year, I grew a pair and finally landed up in New york, under the pretense of doing 'Summer at NYU'. And it was lovely, like going to see a lover you've only just dreamt of. And it was lonely, like touching emptiness and finding even that crumbling away till nothing else remained. But that's the thing with these two- loveliness and loneliness; if they don't drive you mad, they will most certainly lead to something good. And in my case, it was love. With myself. I know, I know that sounds incredibly cheesy. And perhaps even cheesier than the very cheesy 'I <3 NY' line. (Which also, I will sheepishly admit, I have repeated on several occasions). But that's what I discovered while walking the streets of NY alone and watching the world pass by from under the shaded canopies of a park or two. That it's all about being comfortable in your skin. That you can't expect anyone to love you if you refuse to love yourself. That it's alright to tell the world to 'fuck off' sometimes, for after it has finished ranting and sulking, it will always come back for round 2. That in you game, you get to set the rules. And that independence of choice and spirit is really what it's all about. I came back from New York a different person. And selfish as it sounds, I was completely besotted with myself. Time and a more-than-usual social life has taken the sheen off that self-love. But the glow remains.

And I now know what I want this blog to be, at least for now- a part of the very-self-indulgent discovery of everything I am and can be. For now, I am a narcissistic writer trying to understand herself. And I attempt to make no claims to grandeur or higher purposes. It's back to basics, to where and how it all began.

So excuse me dear reader, while I indulge myself and write for myself. Coz while you are more than welcome to come along for the ride, know that it wasn't made for you. At-least for now.

Currently Reading: Death of Vishnu- Manil Suri
Currently Listening: Anna- Gunnar Madsen, Let go- Frou Frou

PS: So despite all of the claims above, the lack of writing on this blog does have a lot to do with blogger's block and an absolute inability to pick something to write about. So for now, I will just be regurgitating some of the writing that New York inspired me to and hope that just the way a broken down car starts off after being manually pushed for a while, my blogging brain cells will also jump start and make own their way soon.

And the calendar changes...

2010-03-04T23:14:00.001+08:00

This is lame, I know. Writing a new-year post almost 3 months into the year IS lame. But not as unacceptable as it would be if I were to completely ignore the changing of the calendar and skip one of the very few blog-rituals I do have.

So delayed as it may be, I must write that customary post: A eulogy to the year no more and a welcome to the year that is. But somehow this time, writing ‘the post’ feels like a chore, a task to drag my feet on, and perhaps even a little pointless. That definitely has to do in part with the realization that life is lived (and hence looked back upon) not by the calendar years but by the events and changes that happen in it. But more importantly I think it has more to do with the year itself-2009

What do you write about a year that felt like a whirlwind? A year that made you giddy with all its ups and downs? A year that was so far removed from what you had predicted, that it had to have had a mind and will of its own? A year that very dramatically followed the format of a Bollywood-flick, right from the climatic complications to the ‘all’s well that ends well’ finish?

Bitter- sweet- sour and every other flavor imaginable, 2009 was a year that started off tangled, twisted, confused and then proceeded to unravel itself completely before finally ending with all the ends tied neatly. Such years are very rare, I’m told. Not for their level of complications and twists but for the clarity and sense of peace with which they end. And sometimes even for the surprises they bring. And surprising it was. As the year started, if someone had asked me how I thought my year would turn out, my answer would have definitely been about some kind of boring version of my life; A lot of cribbing, a little heartburn and possibly a different work-scene- but definitely around India or Singapore. Instead, I spent the better half of the year in a middle-eastern country, made a few friends and then some more, almost fasted to starvation during Ramadan, learnt a smattering of Arabic, became an expert in taking flights & transiting, had a fairly decent time in the sandbox and somehow even managed to miss and pine-for the Lah-land (something I had thought I would never do).

There were other tinier drops of unpredictability in my year too. On separate occasions- I got dunked into a pool with all my clothes on, slept in a sleeping-bag on a sandy beach right under the stars, Pee-ed in public (for the first time in my adult life) hidden behind a dense bush of green foliage, finished an entire bottle of a very exquisite Riesling on my own (and still kept standing, with surprising sanity), got shat on the head by a bird (another first) and went paragliding (which was absolutely divine). But not all of it was upbeat. Kuwait did get incredibly lonely at times. And spending a birthday alone was never part of the plan. Somewhere in the middle, I had an upheaval in the heart-department and spent an agonizing period wondering how things would get better, if at all. But get better they did.

Which brings me to the ‘All’s well that ends well’ finish. The single most pissing-off and yet brilliant thing about the year was its unpredictability. When I thought things would get better, they got worse and when I thought things would only go downhill, they suddenly took the escalator upwards. And just like a bollywood movie where the happy end makes up for all the despair before, I said goodbye to 2009 with a sense of peace, a feeling of maturity and loads of tuneless singing and fun!

I continue to marvel at how lucky I have been in the friends department: The ones in Singapore- near n close and the ones far away- not near but still as close. So here’s a shout out to all of you in Kuwait: Ahmad, Mona, Janine, Marwah, Qasim- My time in Kuwait and my year wouldn’t have been the same without all of you. And another shout out to the peeps over in India: Miss Order, Journo-chic, Dimples, Machao-babe, HappyBrave, Uncleji, IITBoy & pokermon. Come visit me already now! And only coz I know I would get flak for not doing it, here’s a shout out to you too methodman!

So now that it’s 2010, I find that I’m still asking myself pretty much the same questions on love, life, choices and the future, as I was a year back. And perhaps I’ll keep asking them for the years to come. What’s different now is that I’m happy with my questions and no answers. Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. Maybe these are questions that you are never supposed to figure answers to, until the time comes. And then life itself brings the answers to you. Something tells me that’s how life is meant to be lived- With a little abandon, with a little less ‘figuring’ and a whole lot of ‘doing’. And so, this year-2010, that’s what I am going to be doing. The possibilities seem to be endless and I am running out of excuses not to go out there and try ‘em and take a chance on myself. Wish me luck, world!

Currently Reading: The Pregnant King- Devdutt Patnaik
Curently Listening: Symphonies- Dan Black, Hey ya- Karthik Calling Karthik

Heppie Burday!

2009-10-28T05:07:00.003+08:00

Within the first hour of my birthday, I had decided in my mind that a birthday spent alone could not and would not amount to much. Afterall, Kuwait being the place it is and with most of my friends and colleagues (even the Kuwaiti ones) being away, how could the customary birthday cheer happen. So with this thought and fairly low expectations, I peacefully went to bed expecting the day to seem just as ordinary when I woke up.

But there is something about a birthday that keeps the day from being ordinary, even if it turns out no different from the day before or the day after. Maybe it is the effect of being remembered by so many. Or maybe it is the expectation of good cheer that the day itself brings. My own favourite explanation includes a body calendar and a once-a-year happy ‘birthday-hormone’. (Yeah, I always did have a thing for the loony.) Whatever the reason, on a birthday morning, it is difficult not to wake up with a smile on the face and a skip in the step.

Birthdays for me have usually been all about the ritual of the day itself: the madness I indulge in or the surprises the day brings. And I usually save the introspection for when the calendar changes. But perhaps with the ritual itself missing in the day this year, I felt compelled to take stock of life and other affairs. And I realized that the passing year had indeed left some lessons in my lap.

Like the fact that that life is too unpredictable and whimsical to be wasted on worrying about the future and wondering how today’s choices might affect tomorrow’s outcomes. Truth is, you will never know. And it’s easy to waste a lifetime basking in the false security of the familiar, while dreaming of what might have been. Or the fact that at some point you have to stop worrying about what others expect of you and start living upto your own expectations, chasing your own dreams, without needing the nod from anyone else. True richness in life comes not from a fat bank account (though it definitely helps) but from the satisfaction of knowing that you live your life on your own terms. I learnt that money can be the motivation for work for only so long, before it all starts to feel meaningless and plastic. And that friends can be found in the most unexpected of places and ways. And most importantly, I realized that at the end of it all, when all else will fade away, it is the friendship, the love, the memories and the experiences that will stay.

And as I realized all this, I resolved that next year, this year, I will do things a little differently. Take more risks. Think and plan less. Have more faith in myself and what I want to do. Take life by the balls. And have more fun while I’m at it!

And so even though, I spent my birthday this year with myself (introspection and all), it turned out absolutely lovely! Different but lovely! Thanks to everyone who called, sent flowers and infected me with the birthday cheer (My favourite has to be one that hoped I would "have a birthday with dates, cakes and handsome arab sheikhs!"). Lots of music, a fair amount of messages and mails, a little bit of work and an evening spent by the sea : The day mirrored everybit the maturity that I feel being 24.

But then I am reminded of the birthday madness I plan to indulge in once I am back in Singapore. And I smile to myself. For the crazy, wild (some might call immature) side of me still rocks on, 24 or older! And I am glad for it!

Currently Reading: The historian- Elizabeth Kostova
Currently Listening: Voice- Pentagram, Flowers in the window- Travis

Lazy friday weekends! =D

2009-10-23T18:11:00.000+08:00

Sunshine. Trees. A light breeze.
Ghazals. Bit of jazz. A cup of tea.
Pyjamas. Plaits. A sense of peace.
Lazy friday weekends. Such a rarity!

The comedy is that it's serious.

2009-08-27T22:10:00.000+08:00

When you do what I do for a living, life takes on quite a different flavor. Airports become hangout places and airport-staff become ‘buddies’ that you see regularly. The phrase ‘commute to work’ takes on a different meaning and involves boarding passes, immigration checks and X-ray machines. You start referring to your current hotel as ‘home’ and know all the staff on a first name basis (or the fact that they have a 2 month old baby or that they love ‘3 Doors down’). You get so comfortable in planes that you actually have a ‘favourite’ seat and develop a talent for making the mid-flight-mid-sleep toilet trip with your eyes closed. And yes, you get used to flight turbulence and learn to sleep through it like a baby.

And so when I say that I woke up mid-flight due to turbulence and even felt a little scared, take my word that it was indeed more than just a ‘tremble’. And I will admit (sheepishly) that for the first time ever I feared a little for my life.

Now it’s amazing the kind of perspective u can get from something as stupid as flight-turbulence. But there I was, with the plane (seemingly) completely out of control and I had one of those rare moments of clarity, with my whole life flashing before me (not just the past but what I had thought the rest of it to be like). And then suddenly somehow I reached a moment of panic, where I realized that if my time had indeed come, I would be leaving with a huge bag of regrets. I thought of all my plans-grand and otherwise. The world-travel, all the things I wanted to learn, the book I wanted to write, the experiences I wanted to have, my list of ‘100 things to do before I die’, all the weight I wanted to lose, the tattoo I wanted to get- Everything that I had put off for next year, when I would have ‘enough’ money and the time would be ‘right’. And right then, 30,000 ft above the earth, with the plane swinging wildly and a sinking feeling in my stomach, I realized that the money would never be enough and the time never right. Truly realized. And that was my ‘Eureka!’ moment.

Of course, the turbulence soon stopped, I went back to sleep and eventually landed safely. But something did indeed change in that moment. And just like that, I have a spring in my step, a purpose in my eyes, a grin on my face and a realization that my time here is finite and so I'd better make the most of it.

And so I am glad to report- the gyming is happening regularly, the healthy eating has become de-facto, all the travels are seriously being planned for and an inexplicable good cheer has come over me. Oh and the tattoo, happens in December. Talk about life-changing. Who needs ‘Deepak Chopra’ when you’ve got turbulence, right?

Currently listening- The boy is gone- Jason mraz, Unforgiven II- Metallica
Currently reading- Salmon fishing in Yemen- Paul Torday

When you realise...

2009-07-22T02:28:00.001+08:00

When you are a kid, your parents are your world. And you think the world of them. They have all the answers, they can make all problems go away and they seem infallible in all regard. Quite like a personal ‘super-man’ looking over you. Bruised knees, bad dreams, tooth extractions and even the horrid chicken pox are no problem for them at all. They give you a kiss and a hug (and some medicine) and magically you’re back on your feet. They have the answers to all your questions, even the really insane ones (like why don’t dogs wear pants? Or why can’t I take the pig home?). And most of all, they seem to love you even though you are naughty- annoying- pesky- noisy- fussy and generally a brat.

And then you grow a little older. You realize that maybe they can’t kiss all your problems away and answer all your questions. You start to think that you know better than them, that their experience doesn’t count for as much as they think. They see you growing up and struggle with your insistence to be independent and ‘adult’. They try to protect you from the big bad world out there, without realizing that they can’t always do that. And in the meantime you mistake the protectiveness for mean-ness and accuse them of ruining your life. You start having fights with them. And you act like every typical adolescent.

And then you grow much older. Maybe even live away from them. Your problems and worries become more ‘adult’ and often have no solution. They still try to make them ‘go away’ and feel frustrated when they can’t. But you appreciate that they try. And you appreciate even more that they are just ‘there’ for you, a phone call away- especially on days when the world doesn’t look so pretty or when you really want to feel loved. They feel proud of the lovely person you have grown into but still find it difficult to think of you as an adult with a mind of your own. And best of all, they always take your side, even if you are in the wrong.

But in all of this time, you never ever think of a day when they won’t be there, when you won’t be able to call them up and hear their voice back. And so it is a very unnerving day when you are reminded of their fallibility, that they are not the “super-man” you always assume them to be, that there might come a time when no phone will help you reach out to them.

And on such a day, all you can do is give thanks for having them in your life and tell them how much you love them.

My gal pal’s mother passed away today. And I am having that ‘very unnerving day’. So here’s telling you mom n dad, all that I usually don’t. Love you!

Currently Listening: Vienna- Billy Joel, Roulette- S.O.A.D.

Currently Reading: Eat, Love, Pray- Elizabeth Gilbert

Latesshht!

2009-07-19T01:37:00.004+08:00

You know how it is- When so much seems to be happening around you, you think of a million things to write about and you make mental notes. And then you keep setting aside time to post about them, but you faff around instead because you’re too lazy or too willing to give into any distraction (Like Zee cinema showing another hilarious ancient gem). And then, when you finally say- enough is enough and cajole yourself to sit down with your cup of tea, with just the right music playing (coz well ambience counts for a lot), to write out those thoughts, the dreaded blogger’s block threatens to strike. How ironic!

But hah, am a fighter too! So fighting the blows of the ‘block’ and very valiantly kicking it in the balls, I bring to you the very taaza, the latesssht! (a.k.a snippets from my head that are inane, whacked out and absolutely of no consequence to anyone)

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The Indian 1 Billion Strategy

As a result of a conversation with a French colleague (who btw is convinced that all Chinese n Indians are spies) I am starting to see our race in a new light. And I daresay, I underestimated us all. Coz you see, while everyone thought that we were more tuned to being ruled than being rulers, I say it turned out quite to the contrary. We are conquerors of the world, just that our methods have been a little..er.. unconventional. What the world thought to be the result of a slightly higher-than-normal libido, the kama sutra and the lack of anything else to do, may just be a well thought out strategy. (I’ve even thought up a nice little catchy name for it- copulation for population.)

Look around you! No matter what part of the world you are in you will find yourself surrounded by a tiny little India- Indian people, Indian food, Indian movies and music, even Indian bosses. It’s time to face it- The whole world is going through an Indianization of sorts. So yes, we’ll ‘pass’ on the machine guns and the bomber jets. We’ve got other tricks up our sleeve you see!

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Jai Ho! For globalization

You’ve got to love globalization. Well I know I do. You know what else I love? Haldiram’s nut cracker (it’s the spicy coated peanuts savoury). And thanks to globalization it seems to be available everywhere. Battling my way through the lanes of Mustafa in Singapore (yes, battling), what do I find? Nut cracker. Walking through the busy and colorful Jonker walk in Malacca (Malaysia), what do I spy a hawker selling? Nut Cracker. And now, here in Kuwait as I push my trolley through the aisles of the local supermarket, what do I come upon? Take a wild guess! It truly is Nutcracker (Haldiram) domination all around and I have globalization to thank for it.

Infact my overactive imaginations sees a situation like this-

Slightly over enthusiastic explorer: (bursting upon a never-found tribal clan in the jungles of the amazon) I bring you food, clean water, fire : I bring you civilization

Tribal guy: (covered in white ash, painted in fancy colors, digging into a bright packet of Nut crackers) No thank you, we’ve got our packet of Nutcrakers. Yes we are quite happy! Nice knowing you. good bye!

So yeah well I exaggerate. And yes I am a crazy fan of the said savory. But it’s possible. Noe?

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Inshallah

I love the word! And I haven’t found anything quite like it in English or Hindi. So succinct, so convenient. And it works with everything. It’s perfect to acquit yourself of all responsibility. And it's perfect for a serial procrastinator like me. Will I finish this by tomorrow? Inshallah! Will I be coming home on time? Inshallah! Will I be hauling my ass out of bed and trudging my way to work tomorrow? Inshallah. It’s brilliant.

Coz tomorrow when I don’t finish the work, and I don’t come home on time and I don’t get my ass to work, I simply have him to blame. Coz he didn’t will it so! See what I mean?

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That's it for now dahlings! But I'll be back to post something soon. Inshallah!

Currently Listening: I will possess your heart- Death cab for cutie, Say it- Blue October

Currently Reading: Eat, Love, Pray- Elizabeth Gilbert

Goodbye...

2009-07-07T05:24:00.002+08:00

I first saw him over at someone's house at a dinner party. I remember the first thing I noticed about him was his voice, his style. He was singing a song. And I found myself singing along with the simple lyrics. It's what they call, love at first hear. I went to sleep that night with a tune on my lips and a smile on my face.

People told me he was a bit odd. And maybe they were right. He did look different from anyone else I had seen- With his long wavy hair tied loosely at the back, his big buttoned flashy jackets and his thin frame. But what did I care. I loved the way he sang. I loved what he sang. And most of all, I loved the way my feet would start tapping away almost involuntarily each time I heard him 'do his thing'.

A few days later, I spotted his picture in the local news papers. I remember getting a pair of scissors and very carefully cutting it out. I decided that I had been sufficiently impressed to openly profess my liking. And so up it went, the grainy black-and-white newpaper cut-out picture, on my cupboard. I didn't realise then what this small action would mean for me. Everyone around started ridiculing me, laughing at me with an indulgent smile. A wink here, a nudge there. But again, what did I care.

One of the 'nudgers', seeing the grainy newspaper cut-out, decided that I had to have a better picture to focus my adulation on. And that's how I got my first (and only) proper picture of him. And a very handsome picture too-Tousled up hair in that trademark ponytail, black pants, and a tucked-in white shirt, open just enough to show a peek of smooth chest. I put it up on the wall right across from my bed. And soon enough I started doing silly girlie things like wishing him (well the picture really) 'good night' everyday. But through all of this, it was still his singing that held sway over me. Each time I heard him, I would sing along, even memorize the words he sang and copy his moves.

And then, slowly, other things started occuying my mind, other people. And he got relegated to the back. And over time, even the picture got taken down. I moved on. Years passed. I occasionally heard snippets of his songs and smiled to myself, even tapped my feet. But I had changed. My tastes had changed. I liked others now. I heard less and less about him. Maybe I didn't care.

That is, until a few days back, when I read about his death in the news. And the memories came back. I played some of his songs and sang along to them (at the top of my voice)- My own little tribute to how brilliant he had been. And I realised then, that even though so much of time had passed since I was that 9 year old girl with his poster on the wall and a much obvious crush, I will miss him.I give thanks for the music he left behind and I really really hope that he is in a world much better than ours. Goodbye Michael.

Currently listening: Roulette- System of a down, Kuch Khaas- Fashion
Currently Reading- Myth=Mithya- Dr. Devdutt Patnaik

80's Bollywood Hilarity!

2009-05-23T15:23:00.003+08:00

Little did I know when I woke up today that my morning would be so entertaining. Flipping through the TV channels here in Kuwait, I came across an arabic version of Zee cinema that had all the writing and commentary in arabic but had bollywood movies playing. Turns out, the channel was showing the 1985 Amitabh starrer "Mard". And while in it's time, it may have made sense (though I find it difficult to imagine how), for me it was funnier than the funniest movie bollywood has ever come out with. The movie is full of macabre co-incidences, lost families and highly comical villians.

In true typical fashion of 80s bollywood movies, the film involves a poor but gallant and honest horse-cart rider living in a village settlement right outside a palatial colonial house (which is meant to be british looking but strangely has roman colums and domes). The house, as it turns out, is occupied by scruplous indians (the villains of the movie) who have sold themselves to the service of the british and are cruel and exploitative. They say dialogues like "Indians are the cockroaches in the dirty sewers", dress in wierdly gladiator type clothes and walk around with hunters, that they liberally use on the poor indian labourers. No surprises then that the horse cart driver who's name is raju, is the he-man of the movie and for some stange reason calls himself "Mard" (as if to remind himself constantly of which side he bats for). He regularly has face-offs with the villains in the platial house and also manages to win the heart of the villain's daughter. As the movie progresses we find, that the villains have also imprisoned the former-king of the land (Dara Singh) and force him day and night to push the grinidng wheel of a wheat mill, without food and water. Through a twist in the movie, raju finds out that his parents are not really his parents and he was picked up from an orphanage.

Then, in probably the wierdest leap of logic in the movie (and that is saying a lot given how illogical the movie anyways is), raju puts together a letter (asking his real birth-mother to meet him at the durga temple) with some other meaningful artifacts in a metal pot covered with cloth and sets it afloat on the ganges river with a plea to "Ganaga Ma" to take it to his mother, whoever and wherever she may be. Surprise Surprise, the metal pot not only reaches his real-mother (who is in the villians' prison camp and till this point has been dumb) but she also manages to escape out in time to go meet him in the durga temple, be happily re-united with her son and get the gift of speech. Praise be to the goddess! Soon knowing that his father (yes he turns out to be the king's son) has been imprisoned by the villians and that he is actually royalty, he goes to the villian camp astride on his faithful steed and proceeds to annihilate the villians and free the innocent indians. The movie ends happily with raju going to marry the villian's daughter seated atop dara singh's broad shoulders (don't ask).

By the time the credits in the movie started rolling, my sides were aching from all the laughing I had been doing! Inspired of course by the wierd clothes in the movie (togas, wierd cut-off clothes adorned with chains and spikes), the hackneyed cliched dialogues ("Mein tera khoon pee jaoonga"), the illogically devout belief in gods and godesses (with Raju singing a full-on devotional song, temple bells clanging and women waving oil lamps) and the archaic torture methods (through out the movie one of the villains kept drawing out labourer-indian blood and storing it in bottles for british soldiers, go figure!).

But the movie got me thinking about the mind-set of the people who watched and enjoyed the movie in 1985. And more importantly how much things have changed since then. The religious fervor, the kind of beliefs in the society, the scorn of everything foreign and british, the expectations from women, and the singularly good character of the hero without any shades of grey. It has been a long journey from 'Mard' to 'Dil Chahta hai'! And I give thanks for every bit of that change.

But now the channel informs me I am up for even more hilarity. They are showing "Roti, Kapda Aur Makan" next. What fun!!

Currently Listening: Like a stone- Audioslave, Beggin- Madcon
Currently Reading: Q&A- Vikas Swaroop

PS- On another note, a prince and future-king named 'Raju'? Not that I am generalizing (and with apologies to all rajus around the world), but the seems more be-fitting of a Tea boy than a king. No?

Where have all the lemons gone?

2009-05-19T00:13:00.002+08:00

I've been away a really long time. I almost thought I wouldn't be back here, that I would just slip through the cracks in the blogsphere and into the recesses of the mind. No good bye, no final post, just a nice and clean disappearing act. But here I am now, back to stringing words together, giving life to thoughts and clacking away on a keyboard. I guess it's true what they say- 'once a blogger-always a blogger!' (well ok, they don't really say that. I just made it up. But it does go so well, doesn't it?)

So I thought I wouldn't blog again and here I am back to the old habit. Big surprise!But there is no way I am going to re-count what I have been upto in the time I've been gone. I've been good, having fun and that's all that matters. Life's taken wierd turns and by some stroke of fate, I find myself these days living in Kuwait and occasionally visiting Singapore (or atleast it seems so). Life's different and so not according to what I had planned for it. But then when is it fun if everything goes according to plan? And strangely, even with all the gales of change blowing, every now and then everything makes sense. Maybe just for a second. But it's enough to get me to put my lemon squeezer down and wonder- has life gotten tired of handing me lemons? And I find myself smiling and saying- bring it on life, keep it coming!Let's make some Nimbupaani!

PS- Yes, I am in a wierd mood right now. Yes, I will be posting more regularly now. And yes, in the usual flair of Nimbupaani and not this philosophical mumbo-jumbo. So rest easy and hang around, a'ight?

Currently Listening- Daniel- Lior, Camisa Negra- Juanes, Fade to black- Metallica
Currently Reading- Bad Heir Day- Wendy Holden (It's what a chick-flick would be like if it were a book- only worse. Much worse. So now I'm in a philosophical AND bimbotic mood! Oh the conflict of it all! Go figure!)

'Happy' Women's Day?

2009-03-08T18:30:00.003+08:00

There's nothing happy about the ‘International women's day’. Not this one and not any other. But definitely, not this one.

First there is the question around the dubious need for a specific day to celebrate 'women'. Excuse me, but last I checked, wasn't that something the world should be doing anyways, every day, every moment- Without making any pomp and show about it and definitely without feeling like it deserves a pat on the back. By having a specific day for something that should be the norm, the world is only spotlighting its ineptitude in giving to women all that they deserve. And yet the world celebrates this day. It's almost ironical.

And then of course there is the point, that whatever the original noble intentions, the day no longer means what it was meant to mean. As the very wise wikipedia informs me, International Women's Day was declared in 1910 by the German socialist leader Clara Zetkin as a day of solidarity to mark the fight of women for equal rights and was officially recognized by the United Nations in 1975. But now, year after year, it's been contorted into something politicians can use to get face time and brands can use to tout their products. And not just in India. A club in singapore was advertising it's TGIW (Thank god I'm a Woman) night on Women's day, complete with free Mary Janes and GalPal discounts! The whole world is going down that route. I ask, what's the point? It's almost patronizing of the world to make such a huge superficial hue and cry about the day, only to promptly go back to the normal (unfair) order of things right after.

And what exactly do we have to celebrate this year? The same bag of problems hang around our neck: Rape, Female child mortality, child marriage, sexual harassment, violence against women, gender bias. And just in case we thought we didn’t have enough to deal with in this century, we have the Sri Ram Sene. (Incase anyone needs reminding about who they are and what they did at Mangalore earlier this year, read this). Women in India are still not free, neither in the rural nor the urban settings. Just that the shackles are different. But at its very root the fight is much for the same thing; and that is free-will. Be it the free-will to choose their life partner, to not have to cover their faces, to go wherever they want or even the ability to sit in a pub and drink without the fear of being beaten up. It’s not wrong for society to frown on certain things. While many years ago the point of discord might have been whether to let women out of the house and into the workforce, today the issue is about whether to let them into clubs and pubs and the likes. But at the heart of the matter lies the fact that frowned or not, it’s all a matter of the woman’s free will. And it is really no one’s business to tell a woman what she can or can’t do. Sadly we live in a society that burdens its women with the duty of upholding the morality of our culture while the men gallivant around chasing skirts and being men; A society that continues to ignore women as independent people with their own wants and wishes and a right to live their life as they please.

And all this is not just on a macro level; it trickles down to a personal level too, though the issues may be different or seemingly less significant. I am an independent woman, who speaks her mind, does what she wants, wears whatever catches her fancy and drinks whatever quenches her thirst. But the single reason I am able to do all that is 'cause I live outside India. And I still get badgered and pressured on how a certain age should equate to a certain marital status and how I can’t do so many things simply cause I am a girl and it’s not acceptable or safe. And idiots like the Sri Ram Sene only give this more mileage.

And so I ask, really, what’s so happy about the ‘International Women’s day’?

Everything that I wish I wasn't saying

2009-03-04T17:02:00.004+08:00

There are times when there are a million things in your head and you need to express them all, but you have no idea how. And then, just like that, along comes a song that says it all. Just the way you would. Even Better.

This is that song: For the things that I need to say to you, but I wish I wasn't. I have no idea if you will come by here and see this. But I hope you do.

25 Random Facts About Yours Truly!

2009-03-02T10:52:00.014+08:00

Yup I am joining the bandwagon. And doing the 25 list thingie! And that too, by my own volition. (I can see some of you shaking your head with a look that says 'I always knew this girl was mad') . Why subject myself to this, you ask? Well simply coz this is sort of like a Meme and being a meme-virgin (Batting eyelids, blushing face) I am a little excited about it. Maybe it's also coz I am a slighly-narcissistic blogger and I do love talking about myself. More than anything, it's because I have a feeling that I am going to surprise myself. So bear with me and read on please. Pretty please?

I am the quintessential jack of all trades. I can play 7 instruments- Guitar, Harmonica, Tabla, Harmonium, Tanpura, Drums and Bongo. But none with any spectacular degree of proficiency. I can speak 6 languages- Hindi, English, Bengali, Punjabi, Gujarati & Italian. But only two of those with a high degree of proficiency. I have dabbled in Kathak, Salsa and Jive, but am an expert in none of those. You get the Picture, don't you?
Something that I get from my mom is a penchant for making lists and plans. Things to do lists, timetables and longterm timelines: I specialise in Weight-loss plans and personal finances management plans. What I dont specialise in, sadly, is following any of the stuff that I plan. Half a talent is such a waste!
I love the sight of painted pretty nails. Days when I get my nails done, I can't stop waving them around like a prima donna. I am told it can get pretty irritating for everyone else.
I have had milk straight out of a cow, with the whole awkward-position-head-bent-and-squirt-aimed-at-my-mouth. The milk tasted good, the experience was wierd and the fact is something I am secretly proud of. Well, not so so secretly anymore, but still proud.
I am a feminist of sorts. Not your bra-burning-morcha-holding types. But the type who can tell when things are unfair and will do something about it. I refuse to settle for a half-life simply because I am of the female species. And I get frustrated with people who expect me to.
I love it when the wind blows through my hair and flicks strands of my hair on my face. It's the single thing that can make me feel pretty, no matter any amount of zits, blackheads or any other other gunk that might be vacationing on my face.
I get very amazed and sometimes frustrated with people who refuse to live their life king size and in the moment. It's one life people. Just one. All the more reason to live it up!!
There's nothing more comforting than an over-used and over-washed t-shirt. I have saved plenty from annihilation at the hands of my mom and will continue to do so till my very last breath. Much to her frustration.
I dream of living a life where the money is enough and the lifestyle lets me be spontaneous and impulsive. I am told that's a freelancer's life. Methinks a rich heiress' life works much better.
I am a praise-junkie. I thrive on the simple concept of work and reward. Consequently, I expect to be praised even for doing my job satisfactorily. It's a bad habit, I know.
While growing up, there is nothing I wanted more than a Dog. And now that am all grown up, there's nothing I value and want more than my freedom and independence. Between the two, my parents had a much easier time dealing with my wish for a dog!
When I was 5, I announced to the family that I was leaving home (following a fight) and promptly walked out. It lasted all of 10 mins, before dad caught up with me and carried me back. I waited 12 years before I tried that stunt again. And this time the family came to drop me all the way!
I think the single most important thing about life is all the people you meet and especially the ones that you love. And it me amazes how rich my life has been in that regard so far.
Nothing petrifies me more than labor pain!
I was a vegetarian for 12 years of my life. I decided on it when I was 8 (after a very revealing trip to the butcher's) and stuck to it all the way till I came to Singapore. Now, I eat 'Everything'.
There are some songs that always make me smile, no matter what my mood. 'Kiss me' by six pence none the richer is one of them. 'Free falling' by Tom petty is another.
There are days when I worry that my time will run out before I can do all that I want to do. That I might be wasting my time on mundane things like holding a job, buying a house etc. There are other days when my worries don't run so deep. On those days I mostly obssess about my weight, my hair, my face. Oh and world peace. Definitely world peace!
I love weddings. I love dancing on the streets at weddings. I love the dolling up that happens at weddings. The songs, the colors, the ceremonies, the people, the food. I simply love being a part of weddings, as long as (and here's the catch) it's not mine.
The single experience that I most want to have with all of my heart is to live by myself in a place of my own in Bombay. I also know that it is the one thing I will never have.
During moments of plain evil mixed with pure genius, I have thought of naming my future children- Katori Devi and Hukumchand, if they don't behave themselves (Read as: If they cry too much and wake me up in the middle of the night). Thankfully these moments almost always pass.
I am a complete romantic and mush-pot at heart. I drool at the idea of surprises, offbeat-bent-knee-proposals, thoughtful gifts out of the blue, beachside weddings. And yet I think flowers and chocolates are over-rated. And cliched too!
I love food and I have very eclectic and specific cravings. Usually these revolve around (And am sure you haven't heard of some of these)- Funflips, Bonny mix, Nutties, Fatafat, Haldiram's Nutcrackers, Panipuri, Tibbs Frankie, Raju Chinese, Pav Bhaji, China-Valley-Sweet-Corn-Chicken-Soup, Bombay Sandwich. The list goes on. And on.
I can lose myself entirely in a book or a movie. And when I say entirely, I mean that it would take a hurricane (or even a bowl-ful of water thrown at me, as has worked in the past) to get me to come back to the now. Nothing milder would work. It's like my brain switches tracks and puts on blinkers.
I was in love with Michael Jackson when I was 11. I had a poster of him on my wall, that I would wish good night to, before going to bed. I consider this the single most embarassing thing I have ever done! Thankfully, now that place has been usurped by the very-yum-and-edible Kunal kapoor. And even more thankfully, without the ritualistic 'good-nights'!
Bombay, Delhi, Bangkok are my favourite cities in the world. I think New york has the potential to be added to that list, even though I haven't been there yet. I really really hope to some day soon.

I could fill another 20 more points on this list easily. But then it is supposed to be only 25 points, no?

Beemaari...

2009-02-24T16:52:00.005+08:00

I think I am suffering from 'blogger's block'.

There I said it aloud. They say admitting to a problem is the first step to curing it and I sure do hope they say right. Coz I can't get myself to write anything- good or bad and I am getting tired of it. It is definitely not for the lack of trying. And if the number of half-written post drafts are anything to go by, then it isn't for the lack of things to write about either.

Now if only someone could tell me what's wrong. Mr. Blog-Doctor anywhere?

The cat has some wise words

2009-01-27T00:23:00.000+08:00

"Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?"
"That depends a good deal on where you want to get to," said the Cat.
"I don’t much care where--" said Alice.
"Then it doesn’t matter which way you go," said the Cat.
"--so long as I get SOMEWHERE," Alice added as an explanation.
"Oh, you’re sure to do that," said the Cat, "if you only walk long enough."
(From Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)

I love that book. And I love how it makes the most poignant of points in the most unassuming and usually-crazy ways.

We're listening to the winds of change

2009-01-21T10:23:00.000+08:00

I've been thinking a lot about 'change' lately. About the things I want to change. About me, in my life, around me. And mostly it's a feeling of disorientation. A mixture of being fascinated, excited awed and petrified. Yeah, that's right. Change confuses me and how. I spend too much time evaluating scenarios. Contemplating change. Thinking about the different places I could land up in. And no matter how good an idea it seems, there's always that nagging worry that change might just make things worse. Fuck a good (or even an ok) thing up.

But it wasn't always like this. I can remember a time not too long back when change was something exciting and something I didn't think too much about. Moving to another city? Sure, new friends, new places. Changing schools? Yeah new quirky teachers. Moving out of home? Bring it on! Think of all the trouble I can get into.

It's one of those things that has come with growing older. Right up there with worrying about money, the opposite sex and PMS. I simply notice change more than I used to. And I feel wary of it. Not because I find the unknown any less exciting, but simply because I am painfully aware that the known is valuable too. I'm sure it also has a lot to do with me taking myself more seriously now than I did as a kid (And stupidly so). With thinking, that for some reason the choices I make right now are somehow more life-changing than the choices I made as a kid (Play now or Homework now?)

Change is hard. And I wish it wasn't so. Coz there is so much that I want to, I need to change. For starters, I wish I could go back to India. It's where my heart is. It's the place that comes closest to feeling like home. And I'm running out of reasons for staying away from it. I know, after a soft-cushioned Singapore life, India will be a different ball game- The traffic, the lack of safety, the lack of convenience. But everyone else manages? And I am made of the stuff everyone there is made of, right? Then of course there is the family factor. I miss having my parents close and I have been a long time away.

But What I would be giving up? Loads! Much as I crib about it, Singapore has been home for the last 5 years. This is the place where I found myself, grew into the person I am today. And I feel comfortable here- In the life I have for myself, the people, the places. More the people than anything else. But this is the city I feel I know the best and at times, it feels like the city knows me too. But besides that, this is the place where I feel truly free. I am answerable to no one. No one cares about where and when I am going or coming and who I am meeting or what I am doing. And somehow that is liberating. This is the city where I have my space. My privacy. Where I am the master of my own life and I make all my own decisions. Going back to India, could (would) mean giving up on all of this, simply because it would mean a move back home, to living with parents. And then it's never the same. Questions always get asked (Where? When? What? Who?), Restrictions always get placed (Don't come home late, Don't go there) and decisions eventually get made (for you). Gradually there will be a loss of control, till I won't be able to call my life my own. Living in Singapore, I have become a fiercely independent person who likes spending time with herself and making her own decisions. And I cannot imagine a life where I wouldn't be able to do all that.

See what I mean? Change is hard!

Sixty Three...

2009-01-19T22:42:00.000+08:00

... sheets of used and balled up tissue paper,
52... loud-blow-your-brains-out-sneezes
44... spoonfulls of wasted food coz the medicines make everything taste like saw-dust
31... hours of fitful and snore-punctuated sleep
15... pissin-off-there-but-not-there-almost-sneezes
5... concerned but slightly germ-wary friends
2... leaky yet totally blocked, very rubbed and red nostrils
1... big fat pain-in-the-ass common cold attack!

So that's about my weekend. How was yours?

Motivation is what gets you started, Habit is what keeps you going

2009-01-18T17:15:00.000+08:00

...So says my new shiny golden 'Fitness First' membership card. Yes, I went and re-joined the gym today and I am already feeling smug about doing something to keep one of my resolutions. It's only a tiny something, but hey, as a cheesy book had once told me, great journeys begin with a small step. (*Gloat Gloat*)

9 Resolutions for 09

2009-01-16T12:02:00.000+08:00

I am a sucker for resolutions. And pretty much any event works. So I've done New year resolutions, I've made Birthday resolutions, I've even done April Fool's day resolutions (Don't ask!). Of course being able to make resolutions does not automatically translate into being actually able to keep them. That bit, that keeing-resolutions-bit, is the one I am notoriously bad at. But does that stop me from whipping out my pen and paper and making a list of resolutions for 2009? No Sire! Nor does it stop me from trying to keep the resolutions. So for your benefit here's the list-

Do one new thing every week (And I intend to report this every week, so keep 'em ideas coming on things I can do)
Lose 10 kgs and keep it that way (this one's featured on every NY- Resolutions list since 1997)
Write more and better and get published (any help, peeps out there?)
Buy a DSLR and improve my photography and Photoshop skills
Learn a language (the currrent favourites are French, Arabic or Mandarin- Any votes?)
Get a Singapore driving license
Travel to 5 new destinations in the year
Do atleast 20 things from my '100 things to do before I die' list
Manage my finances better and invest wisely (anyone who knows me, knows how bad I am with money)

Damn, this list will need all the luck and determination I can muster up. Jeez!

Gotta ask yourself the question, Where are you now?

2009-01-02T17:21:00.000+08:00

I've been trying to psych myself into feeling something for the New Year, but between fluctuating work, visiting friends and mindless revelry, it hasn't worked. I don't feel anything yet for the New Year. It's just the changing of the date, a flipping of a number, something to rally some change around. Maybe that's why I haven't been able to write the customary 'new year post' (and it's not for the lack of trying). I guess when life itself becomes more eventful, these other events start to mean much less.

But 2008, that's a whole different pot of emotions. I feel heap loads about it. Probably the best year so far! Unexpected, very surprising and totally awesome. And here’s why!

We shall call 2008 the Travel year of my life (and I hope 2009 outdoes it and steals the record). I globe trotted quite a bit and very unexpectedly so. First to Delhi for Uncleji's wedding in February. Then Bombay, Goa, Durham, Newcastle and London, all in the short stretch of time between leaving my job and joining the new one. The new job brought even more travel with it-Bangkok and KL for projects, Paris for training and Chiang Mai for a team building trip. And finally rounded up the year with a nice little trip to Melaka, Kl and Genting (after months and months of talking about it). Of course, given the travel glutton I am, I still ended the year feeling that there was so much more I hadn’t seen and done.

2008 was also the year I started blogging more regularly. And while initially it started off as a medium to channel the love-sickness I felt for Delhi and my life there, it slowly grew to become almost a reflection of me. I wrote about stuff I cared about (very often inane and inconsequential) without worrying if it was interesting enough to get any sort of readership. I was writing for myself and I was thoroughly enjoying it. And so it was even more surprising then when I found people reading my blog, relating to me and coming along willingly for the ride. (And I do say willingly, coz in the early days I did threaten a couple of people to read my blog. And NO, I am not proud of it!). And that’s when it came out with a vengeance. Knowing that there were people who read what u wrote, who cared about what u wrote, fueled me to write more or at least better. And it felt good. Simply to know that someone shared the same feelings, similar thoughts and appreciated it all. And so I’ll admit it, I do write for the readers (and I write for myself, coz the two don’t have to be contrary). So if you are reading this right now and have been a visitor here, then thank you! You are one of the reasons I had a fabulous 2008 and I hope you’ll hang around for the 2009 show. (And leave comments while you are at it, ok? ok! )

2008 was also the year I met a lot of new people, most of whom I really liked and a number of whom I got close to. Right at the top of the list are the two crazy people I started living with sometime in June (well technically they were not new people at the time given I had known them even last year but in all fairness it had been a very Hi-Bye thing then) Totally angelic and bitchy at the same time, Shoe-girl and Miss London have become ‘my gals’, the girlfriends I can count on to be game for anything under the sun, to come along for any stupid impractical adventure I think up or just simply to be there for me. And it has been a crazy and wonderful circus ride with them! (Thanks girls!) Some of the others on the list are fellow bloggers. APSD has to be mentioned at this point. He came over (more like invited himself shhhh!) one Sunday for a rajma-rice dinner and stayed on for post dinner conversation filled with Saif Ali Khan impressions and controversial topics. He even washed his own dishes! (very impressive). Every bit as quirky as his blog made him out to be (what with his geeky glasses and funky socks), he’s gotten to be someone I consider a good friend and go to for some worldly advice (Career advice- he’s brilliant at it!). Another such name in the list is Blackfayth. Though usually a resident of Mumbai, he called Singapore ‘home’ for all of December and a bit of January, during which we haunted all the live-music joints, tried all the food that Singapore is known for (I tried to persuade him to eat Durian, but he didn’t bite!), and even got him to pick up some Singlish (no lah, cannot lah, oso can!). A very charming and sweet guy, he has the most brilliant sense of humor I have seen in a while and needless to say, not a single moment with him is boring. (Women out there- Trust me, he’s a catch!). There are lots of others on the list, all of whom I won’t mention. But needless to say that the year wouldn’t have been the same without any of them, good or bad.

That's not to say a lot of shit didn't happen in the year. I had more ups and downs than ever before, felt depressed probably for the first time ever, met more jerks than I would have cared to, had slumps and highs in love, life and work. But in hindsight, you tend to only remember the good bits. So let’s call it a fabulous year and stick to that, aight?

And what do we think we have in store for 2009? I hope pretty wild things. I have some pretty big (some might call foolhardy) plans for this coming year and I just hope I have the ‘balls’ to see ‘em through. But no matter, plans or no plans, this year I’ll continue to laugh as loud, love as hard, dance as wild and live as large. Maybe even more than usual. So hang in there for the ride, coz things are going to get interesting. I promise!

Currently Listening: Broken Strings- James Morisson, Sober- Pink

PS- Given that last year, I wrote the customary ‘looking back at old year’ post all the way in June, I say we are doing fine this time round, no?

If that's all you will be, you'll be a waste of time...

2008-12-10T18:18:00.000+08:00

... And so i'm back! With the usual optimism, the usual cheer and the usual gusto for everything that is life. And what better way to make a comeback, than with my '100 things to do before I die' list. Of course, it being December and the resolution-time of the year, makes it all the more apt.

(The list is a little incomplete, so keep 'em suggestions coming!!)

Run a marathon
Take horseback riding lessons
Learn to ski
Learn how to ice skate
Learn to water ski
Learn to sail
Become fluent in French
Learn conversational Spanish
Learn to say "hello" in 50 languages
Learn sign language
Learn Mandarin / Arabic
Learn to play the guitar with some degree of proficiency
Enroll in a belly dancing class
Compose a song
Ride in a hot air balloon
Go paragliding
Go sky diving
Go on a helicopter ride
Go scuba diving
Ride a mechanical bull
Climb Mt. Everest
Experience weightlessness
Go bungee jumping
Go white water rafting
Learn to fly a plane
Learn to play poker (or bridge)
Develop a talent for photography
Learn to make pottery
Learn to sculpt
Do woodworking
Learn to brew beer or make wine
Take up gourmet cooking
Paint - watercolors, oil, acrylics
Learn to repair a car
Make a difference in at least one person's life
Join a Big Brother, Big Sister Program
Join the Peace Corps
Get my article published in a magazine
Write the book I know I have inside me
Play a role in a movie or sitcom or a commercial or be an extra
Spend a week at a 5-star spa
Become a wine Connoisseur
Become financially literate and learn how to invest intelligently
Create enough passive income so that I don't have to work another day in my life
Watch the 100 movies on my "100 movies I want to see list"
Get married
Buy a home I love and spend time making it into the home I always wanted: with an inviting, joyous, comfortable, loving atmosphere
Start my Own Business
Adopt a pet from the animal shelter/ Keep a dog
Live in New York, atleast for a while
Live in a house by the lake or a beach house
Have a house with a terrace, a view, a library filled with books and a huge TV room
Be a spectator at TED Talks: an annual conference in California which brings together the world's most fascinating thinkers and doers, who are challenged to give the talk of their lives (in 18 minutes)
Meet the Dalai Lama
Visit Tibet
Spend a week at a Silent Retreat
Ask for forgiveness from all of the people I've hurt
Send my parents on their dream vacation.
Trace my ancestry
Visit the 100 places on my ‘100 places to visit’ list
Read all 100 books on my reading list
Learn to fly a plane
Have a star named after me
Make sure I tell my friends and family how much I love them so that when I DO die... they won't wonder and I'll be at peace
Be content with myself
Throw a dart onto a map and travel to where it lands
Spend six months getting my body into optimum shape
Get six-pack-abs
Get passionate about a cause and spend time helping it, instead of just thinking about it
See a favorite band/artist in concert
Drive a convertible with the top down and music blaring
Eat everything on BBC's '50 things to eat before you die'
Learn to bartend
Find a job I love
Get a tattoo or a piercing
Give up television and the internet for one month
Read the major religious texts for various religions
Throw a huge party and invite every one of my friends
Have my portrait painted
Spend a whole day eating junk food without feeling guilty
Give my mother a dozen red roses and tell my parents I love them
Stay out all night dancing and go to work the next day without having gone home (just once)
Shower in a waterfall
Teach someone illiterate to read
Ask someone I've only just met to go on a date
Donate money and put my name on something: a college scholarship, a bench in the park
Give a theatre performance publicly
Broadcast a show on the Radio
Kiss in the rain
Make a snow angel
Open my own restaurant/café
Attend an India-Pakistan cricket matc
Spend 3 months travelling around and getting to know India

Currently Reading: Bombay Meri jaan- Jerry Pinto, Naresh Fernandes
Currently Listening: Two points for honesty- Guster, Nothing ever hurt like you- James Morrison

Are the details in the fabric?

2008-12-05T15:01:00.000+08:00

A depressive state is coming over me. Yes, me of the cheery smiles and the 'life is beautiful' outlook, I am feeling sad. And unsettled. And trapped. And panicky. And a million other things. I don't quite know what I am feeling. I don't think I can give it a name. It's a stranger to me. But a familiar one. It passes me often as I go on my day, my life. Occasionally I look into its eyes and realise truths I would rather not, only to quickly look away. Other times, I feel its presence and pretend to busy myself in mundane inconsequences-that black dress, that movie ticket, that cute guy. Yes I know this stranger. And I know why it lurks, even what it wants to tell me, remind me.

But how do I tell it, that I know! I know everything it wants to remind me. That this life I lead, is not what I signed up for, not what I thought was coming- This life of ducked heads in cubicles, blank stares at bright screens, this life of regimented comings and goings, this life that I still continue to fight for even though it makes me sad and disappointed.

This is the life where I dream of who I might have been, what I might have done and where I might have gone, And then, wake up to get ready for another cubicle day. This is the life where I chase behind things that I am told to care about: the paycheck, the security, the climb up the ladder, while I leave all that I really care about, in a corner neglected, second rated. This is the life where I lose respect for myself with each passing day for not having the courage to stand up to this life, to the world, to parents, to myself and get that life I yearn. This is the life where I don't even know what that ideal life looks life. I just know it's not this.

And knowing all that, this is the life I still continue to live- where I bury a little more of me, where I feel a little more dead with each passing day. I can hear Jason Mraz singing into my ear, telling me to "hold my own, know my name and go on my way". He says 'everything will be fine in no time at all'.

But I don't think so. I really don't.

Currently Listening: Details in the fabric- Jason Mraz, Prettiest friend- Jason Mraz
Currently Reading: Bombay, Meri Jaan- Jerry Pinto, Naresh Fernandes

Where do the children play?

2008-12-04T16:12:00.000+08:00

Every thing's as usual. I'm sitting in office freezing and cursing the AC vent, as usual. The Killers are crooning through my headphones as I tap away at my keyboard, very much as usual. When the day is done, I will feel the usual gladness as I shut down my laptop. I will feel my ears popping as I go down 41 floors in the elevator, as usual. I will walk past swanky shoe and dress shops all advertising christmas sales, on my way to the MRT, quite as usual. I will stare blankly at my reflection on the platform doors at the station waiting for the train and then I will fight my way into the train and nod to the music on my headphones as I head on home- All very very usual. My life is going on as usual and nothing seems different.

Yet something is. Different. I can feel it.

I can feel it every time I call home- In the insecurity in my mom's voice, in everything she tells me and even more in everything that she doesn't. I feel it every time google desktop pops up a news article on Bombay, that it thinks I may be interested in, and it always tells repeatedly of the carnage that happened. I feel it in the way voices become solemn and thoughtful anytime friendly conversation veers towards the B-word. There is something different and in a wrong way. Different about Bombay, different about me.

There is so much I should want to say, so much I should want to shout out, but I can't. Some part of me has stopped feeling, stopped caring. I look at the whole thing with a shrug. I have given up- on Bombay, on India, on any othr part of this world. I am giving up on ever feeling secure anywhere again. I am doing what Bombay-ites have been so praised for doing. I am walking on. And I'm not proud of it.

Super-Quirk Me!

2008-11-09T19:11:00.000+08:00

I've always thought myself to be fairly quirk-free. But over a conversation with APSD, I started thinking about quirks and it turns out I have quite a few. For your benefit, here they are-

1) I am a green tea addict. On any typical day I will have atleast 3-4 cups of green tea and on special days (read: freezing in office coz the AC is too effective) the number goes even higher.

2) I am usually excited about everything and will think nothing of breaking into a little dance move to the music only in my head or iPod, in the middle of a crowded MRT. Yes I've gotten some pretty wierd stares.

3) Up till some years back, I used to suck my thumb fairly regulary (read: 3-4 times a week) before going to sleep. Now I do it only when I am sleepy and in need of some comfort (which is rarely). And yet I protest when C-Tan calls me a 'baby'- Go figure!

4) I can write with both hands. And sometimes when I know people are watching me write, I will switch hands, just to be able to see the look of amazement on their faces (mixed with the thought- What a freak!). Ambidexterity rocks!

5) The only thing I will wake up to 'smiling' is music. Try an alarm clock on me and I will either not get up at all or I will get up violent (throwing alarm clock, phone, anything else in hand's reach type) and grumpy, in which case all around need to run for cover. But when it's music I am getting up to, chances are I'll be singing along and shaking a leg much before I even open my eyes. Thank god for radio alarm clocks, I say!

6) I still believe as fervently in the One-for-sorrow-two-for-joy birds as I did as a 7 year old. And I love the ones in Singapore, coz somehow they always predict joy for me.

And I thought I wasn't quirky. Yeah right!

Everything is dust in the wind

2008-11-08T03:50:00.000+08:00

I am no good with deaths. Never have been. I never know the right thing to say, the right thing to do, even the right thing to feel. Initial feelings of shock, sadness quickly dissolve into a mask of practicality and optimism, leaving me feeling like a faker. You see, I don't feel the grief, the pain, the loss that usually comes with a death. And yet the tears do flow, with every memory that the mind throws up. I respond to the grief, the loss that I just can't feel. So it was then, a year back, so it is now and, I fear, so it will be the next time. Tears and no feelings.

For whom the tears flow and the mind does not feel, this time, is my uncle. My dad's older brother. A guy who refused to live a half-life for the sake of longevity. He was the guy who would always reach out for the sweets, that extra dollop of butter, that 6th serving of a parantha . He was the guy who was always laughing, always up for a silly idea or adventure. The kind of guy who would think nothing of driving out to a place on a whim and staying a few days.

People keep asking me if I was close to him. And I feel like shouting back, that it doesn't matter. I still feel the cold creeping up on me, the tears seeping out of me and the realisation dawning on me that it all ends. Everything. And you never see it coming.

And yet we all live our lives like we know exactly when it will be time to wrap up. We postpone the things that really matter, the wishes that really count. all for that next job, that new car, that new house. What if the curtain drops much earlier? What if you never get to have your finale?

Maybe I should tell you about...

2008-11-04T11:28:00.000+08:00

...How I chomped down a plate of fried bamboo worms, strung a garland of marigolds, maneuvered a cycle rickshaw around a track and put together a crazy spicy papaya salad.

Or the 4 hour hike in the wet, slippery, beautiful and extremly wormy jungles of Chiang Mai, where the air got thinner as we went up and the clouds surrounded us completely.

Or even about the food. The delicious and crazy spicy Khao Soy noodles that burnt on the way in, burnt on the way out and probably burnt a hole in my stomach too. And the simple and delicious thai fare that was served up to us daily at the pang soon lodge.

Or about the bugs. The giant earthworms, one of which was mistaken by everyone to be a snake and another of which was split into two by my walking stick as I made my way downhill (Yuck!). And even the leeches, that I was so wary against; how everytime I stepped into the shower after a long time in the wild, I would scan myself with trepidation for the blood suckers and the joy I would feel on not finding any.

Or maybe I should tell you about abseiling down a flowing waterfall. About losing my footing, flipping in the funniest way, getting completely dreched in ice-cold water and still thinking how brilliant it all was.

Or maybe, I shouldn't tell you anything really. For what my Chiang Mai trip was, what the weekend was, I can't describe. Not sufficiently. Only thing I can say is that my weekends now have a new standard to live up to!

Currently Reading: Swahili for the broken-hearted- Peter Moore
Currently Listening: Friday- Goldspot, Your ex-lover is dead- Stars

I hate Leeches!!!

2008-10-31T01:24:00.000+08:00

...And this year I get to spend halloween with these real bad guys, all the way at Chiang mai.

Must be my year! Sigh!

PS- For a leech-free return, "mujhe dava ki nahin, dua ki zaroorat hai". So pray for me. Please.

Rastaa chaap!

2008-10-28T10:53:00.000+08:00

I (Pause, deep breath) am a sucker for birthdays.

There- I've said it! It's out in the open. It’s finally off my chest. And that, after years of trying to keep it a secret; after years of being successfully two-faced about it; after years of falsely nodding my head in agreement anytime someone would say "This birthday thing is a bitch yaar! It comes every year whether you want it to or not". I am the anomaly who actually wants her birthday to come every year, who loves everything that comes with a birthday. Nothing related to a birthday embarrasses me or makes me cringe. Balloons? I’ll burst ‘em, party hats? I’ll wear ‘em, candles? I’ll blow ‘em, Birthday bumps? Yeah, I’ll volunteer for ‘em. I love the shebang that is a birthday- right from the cake, cards, surprises to the friends and the wishes. And truth be told, I have had my fair share of it all. From birthday parties that were spent in pink lacy frocks with ribbons in my hair to birthday celebrations that weren’t even at the right time of the year, forget being on the right date. I’ve had it all, baby! Or so I thought. Until birthday 2008 came by.

Birthday 2008, I am pretty sure, will go down in ‘birthday history’ as the “Rasta Chaap” birthday. It began on a road, was spent pretty much on several roads and ended on a road. It started standing on the road outside “Jade Cinema” after having watching the really horrid ‘Heroes’ (I will not see patriotic Hindi movies anymore, I will not see patriotic Hindi movies anymore, I will not see patriotic…). Gossipking scooted off feigning a toilet emergency and returned with a cake complete with lit candles and birthday singing. And there, that’s how I brought in my birthday at midnight- On the road, with friends, complete strangers and an SMRT bus passing by. Birthday morning and noon saw me travelling on several roads to make my way to Melaka in Malaysia. Birthday afternoon and evening saw me reaching and roaming the streets there in pursuit of sights, tastes and bargains . And finally as the day passed on and a new one started, I was sitting (u guessed it) at a road side food stall chomping down a plate of Ayam Goreng Pedas while guzzling a glass of Teh Tarik, thinking about my next day’s road journey to Genting.

Besides the rasta factor of the birthday, what made it special was also the number of unexpected people who remembered and called up to wish. So all you people, thanks! Even though I may not say it to your face, all of it meant a lot to me.

All in all, it was a lovely day and a lovlier weekend. And here's to more sadak chaap and kurta-phaad birthdays!

PS- On a side note, following last weekend’s trip to Melaka and Genting highlands, I have changed my mind about Malaysia. Malaysia is, in fact, quite pretty and has much to be seen. Cases in point are the two places I went to. Melaka is a quaint pretty little town with wildly red buildings and the mother-of-all-night-markets. The food scene, which I left partially un-explored, seems to be very eclectic and the town itself has the nicest vibe about it. On the other hand is Genting, the next stop on my trip- an amusement park and casino and hotel complex at the top of a mountain. Gossipking and I went crazy on the rides (doing even the crazy 360 degree roller coaster) and the cold weather was pretty awesome too. But the single thing that made my trip totally worth it was the Cable Way connecting Genting to the valley. The longest one in Asia, it took about 20 mins to get all the way to the top and included some pretty good sights (some of which had everything to do with solid white clouds surrounding the cable car).

Ps2- For the non-Hindi-understanding folk out there, Rasta means Road and Chaap means stamp. So loosely translated, it means, erm… Road stamp? Trust me, it’s meant to sound more derogatory than that. It’s just that the English language fails me right now. Anybody, help?

Happy Birthday to Me...

2008-10-24T12:20:00.000+08:00

When I am grown to man's estate, I shall be very proud and great,
And tell the other girls and boys, Not to meddle with my toys.
- R. L. Stevenson

In two days, I turn 23. I guess, it's time to take stock!

The Others

2008-10-21T22:50:00.000+08:00

Reading about Raj Thackeray's (& MNS's) issue with north Indians in Bombay, I was saddened and shocked. I was also reminded of a movie I had seen quite some time back called 'The Others'. In the movie, Nicole Kidman, who lives with her two kids, starts to feel the presence of 'others' in her house and gets very irked about it. She frets, she shouts, she expresses her anger, only to realise at the end of the movie that it is she who is the 'other', the spirit that has been living there beyond its time, the spirit that doesn’t have sole right over the house and hence has no right to ask anyone to leave. It’s quite obvious why I was reminded of the story and the parallels I am drawing.

Bombay is a great city. Perhaps even the greatest. And what makes it so, is exactly what makes New York the navel of the world. Bombay is a melting pot, a paradox, a ‘Khichdi’. And it’s always been proud about that.

Or atleast the Bombay I grew up in.

The Bombay I grew up in was about differences, about having a certain attitude. In that Bombay it did not matter who you were, where you came from or what you did, as long as you had a dream and you could keep with the pace. That Bombay was about accepting; about holding out a hand from an overcrowded train to help a running stranger get in, without asking who he was or where he was from. That Bombay was about adjusting; about squeezing into a train seat to fit 7 where 4 were meant to sit. That Bombay took in everyone who came to its stations and airports from near and far, and became the richer for it.

The Bombay I grew up in was where a kid would attend a college run by a Sindhi Trust, eat Indian Chinese food made by a Raju (who was most probably a migrant from UP or Bihar), rush to classes run by an Aggarwal, ride in a taxi driven by a yadav, Cheer at a cricket match played by Tendulkar or Dravid, lap up movies acted in by a Khan and aspire to work in companies owned by an Ambani. That Bombay was Joshi, Patel, Subramaniam, Shah, Bansal, Aggarwal, Yadav, Fernandes, Singh and many others. It was Straight, Gay, bi-sexual, deviant and devout. It was stinking rich, upstart wealthy, nobly middle-class, and roadside-poor. It was desi, urban, and American-confused. The Bombay I grew up in was the Bombay that had a place for everyone.

And that Bombay belongs to no one. Not to me, not to you, not to the Marathis, not to the Gujaratis and definitely not to hooligan Politicians. It belongs to anyone and everyone who has ever lived in it, dreamed in it and carried a piece of it in their hearts. And we all belong to that Bombay. We all make it what it is. We all love it for what it represents. And we all want to keep it the way it is.

So Mr. Thackeray, like it or not, I am a Bombay-ite. And I don’t need to speak any one language, wear any particular clothing, celebrate any specific festivals or have a specific surname to call myself that. I just need to love the city and uphold everything that is great about it.

Perhaps you should ask yourself, how Bombay-ite are you? You might just find, it’s you who are the ‘other’ that doesn’t understand what Bombay is about; the ‘other’ that should stop creating a nuisance!

Currently Reading: Big book of crafts
Currently Listening: Forever- Papa Roach, Disturbia (Acoustic)- Boyce Avenue

PS- Yes- Bombay, not Mumbai!
PS2- See 'The Others' if you haven't already. though I've probably ruined the movie for you, giving away the twist and all. But still.

There are a few perks to sitting on the 41st floor...

2008-10-20T10:32:00.000+08:00

...Like looking out of the window in the middle of work on an ordinary thunderous afternoon, seeing only a hazy whiteness and realising that at this very moment I am inside a passing cloud! *Smile*

PS- Now I feel like skipping my way out of office and into the rain to dance. What makes it painful is that I clearly can't- Not if I want the next paycheck to come. So I slog on...

Currently reading: The Big Book of Crafts
Currently listening: Worry about you- Ivy, Rain- Bishop Allen

'Coz i'm writing to reach u...

2008-10-14T15:05:00.000+08:00

Been goading D for a while to write to me- A hand written-letter, an email or even a one-liner. But to no avail.

And then yesterday, I find this in my mailbox. From him.

" Hair. Colour them. Iron them. Broken nails. Meetings. Friends. Periods. Husband. His friends. Sex. Shopping. Those red shoes. That blue bag. Shopping. Another broken nail. New guys. Old jokes. Parlor appointments. Toll tax. Unanswered calls. Longing for a longing. Date him. Dump him. Menopause. Clearance sale. Date someone else. Date him again. Dump them both. PMSing. Girl's night out. Mosquito bites. Waxing. Laser. Grocery.

You're already dealing with a lot, why do you want me to write to you? Go have beer! "

Well D, simply because you write so beautifully, because no one else writes to me like that and because reading your mails won't make me fat as beer would. So, much as you hoped for it- No, the goading doesn't stop. You still have to keep writing! :-)

Currently Reading: Prevention magazine September Edition
Currently Listening: Random stuff on my iPod

PS- For the benefit of D and everyone else reading this, D's mail above is not factually accurate, only fashionably so. I mean, I don't have a husband, I don't pay toll tax (never have), I simply wouldn't spend time obsessing over nails (intact or broken)- You get the idea. But it's still really beautiful. So consider this a disclaimer of sorts. A'ight?

It takes more balls to be a woman...

2008-10-06T16:12:00.000+08:00

…because on average, we will spend a total of about 5 years of our lives dealing with PMS, rolling with painful stomach cramps, and walking around with pseudo-diapers between our legs. How’s that for inconvenient!

...because we are subjected to an unreal idea of beauty that makes us willingly let hot wax rip the hair off our skin and criss-crossing threads mow the hair off our faces. Why don’t people get it- Females, like most of the homo sapien species, have body hair! Live with it!

…because no matter how intelligent or interesting or accomplished we are, it is always ultimately about the beauty of our face, the proportions of our body and the color of our skin.

...because women are forever doomed to be uncomfortable if they want to look good- Stupid impractical g-strings, painful and blister causing high heeled shoes, circulation-preventing skinny jeans- the list goes on. So it's either pretty in pain or ugly in comfort. Either way it’s a lose-lose situation.

…because we have to live with being told by absolute morons that the slight bulge on our stomach is ugly and unnatural, while being a bag of bones with pale white skin is beautiful and awe-worthy. Get some spectacles please!

…because no matter what background we come from, we always end up needing to fight for things that seem to come easily to the boys and should also come easily to us.

...because we have to put up with life forms coming out of orifices obviously too small for the job. And apparently THAT is supposed to be the greatest joy of our lives!

...because despite all that, we still get labeled as the weaker and more delicate sex. Bah, Humbug!

Currently Reading: kitchen Confidential- Anthony Bourdain
Currently Listening: Sweet and Low- Augustana, Drive (Bass version)- Incubus, Don't look back in anger- Devendra Banhart

PS- This post is the result of a frustrating weekend spent searching for good looking AND comfortable women's footwear (which I realised doesn't exist), watching a performance of 'The Vagina Monologues' and obsessing about expanding thighs and unwanted body hair.

PS2- I am not joking about the 5 years. Trust me, I did the math!

Paris on my mind...

2008-09-30T00:30:00.000+08:00

I remember very little of my first visit to Paris. I was 12. I had gone there with my parents on a short weekend trip from London. We lived in a hotel on a road leading out from the Arc de Triomph and we ate mostly at Indian restaurants all through out the visit. We did the customary ride up the Eiffel tower but I don't remember the view from the top. I don't remember if we went to the Louvre or if we visited the Notre Dame Cathedral. But I do remember getting lost around the Arc de Triomph while trying to get back to our hotel and getting lots of unfriendly "No English!" responses when we asked around for directions. I also remember looking out from our hotel window and seeing a grey disorganised dreary city. Yes, I don't remember much but I do remember not liking Paris.

And THAT is ironic, because I’ve fallen in love with Paris now. It’s hard not to. Paris is the kind of place where life comes vividly to bloom, where you walk out the door and fall in love, where you can't believe the exquisite beauty of the buildings, or the clouds, or the sun that shines after the rain. The city has an unassuming and intrinsic kind of beauty. The kind of beauty that comes from the understated little things- the lovely tree lined symmetrical roads, the cobble-stoned streets with quiet cafés at every corner, the smell of freshly baked croissants in the morning, beautiful French-windowed buildings everywhere. It’s almost as if Paris is saying “I know I’m beautiful, get over it!” while still feeling secretly proud and pleased that she has yet another admirer.

But I can hardly claim to know and understand Paris completely. Not in 10 days, perhaps not even in a lifetime. For Paris has a multiplicity of personalities- spiritual in the gothic serenity of Notre Dame, naughty in Pigalle’s red light bars, sophisticated in the unending galleries of the Louvre, bohemian in the art galleries of Marais, relaxed in the orderly flowers and trees of the Tulleries, business-like in the towering buildings of La Defense . For every chic expensive Gallic restaurant lining the Champs Elysees, there’s an affordable and exotic Asian, African, Middle Eastern or Franco-modern restaurant in Les Halles. And for every Jean Paul Gaultier, there’s a fledgling fashion student opening his first boutique. Paris is a melting pot of contradictions and differences and yet it all blends in beautifully.

Of course I did not know all that, as I settled into a cramped little economy class seat late on a Friday night with only a tiny little bag, a rough guide to Paris, the memory of my previous visit and the willingness to give Paris another chance. I was headed to Paris and it would take me 13 long hours. With the clear knowledge that I would not last the 13-hr flight without any conversation, I turned to the cute-looking south-Asian guy sitting next to me. Surprise, Surprise! Plane-boy turned out to be French (well Cambodian but only by ancestry). I spent the next couple of hours chatting with him, polishing my French (Bonjour, Parle vous Anglais?), asking him all the things guide books don’t really tell u (How do you really pronounce Champs Elysees?), watching some ‘House’ and snoozing in fits and starts. By the time my plane landed, I had swapped addresses with plane-boy and made plans to probably catch up in Paris later. As I made my way to the hotel in a cab, my body completely time confused, I had my first glimpses of Paris- barely just waking up. And I knew I would love it.

My formal introduction to Paris was unconventional. My first day there, I took a cycling tour of Paris. (Very highly recommended! The guy who took us around (Steven?) spoke fluent English, had really interesting and quirky bits of info on all the places and of course for me it was the perfect way to stave off the Jet lag while getting introduced to the city). And that’s when I discovered the first thing I like about Paris. It’s a very cycle-able city. In fact, the perfect way to see Paris, is atop a cycle- Just get a cycle from the ‘Velib’ stand, comfortable foot wear, something to help you brave the wind and you are set. The city is lined with cycle tracks and what’s better is that you find lots of fellow cyclists too.

The other thing I loved about paris is how dog-friendly the city is. Owners take their dogs practically everywhere- Shops, cafes, restaurants, gardens. And the dogs are well-behaved too. For someone who has lived in dog-phobic Singapore for so many years, it was refreshing to see that kind of acceptance for the four-legged friend. It’s what convinced me that Paris has a heart unlike any other city. If I ever end up having a dog someday, I will live in Paris.

But the thing I loved doing the most in Paris was simply walking around till I got lost. Of course having an uncannily good sense of direction ensured that I was never really lost and that I always knew which way was home. But still, I played pretend. I wandered the streets of Paris with no destination in mind, taking turns as I fancied and letting Paris surprise me. And it never failed to. A beautiful square, a grand clock tower, a serene church, a quaint little shop- The streets of Paris always held some promise round the corner.

Of course I did more than just walk when I was there. I climbed to the top of the Notre Dame cathedral (400 steps baby! And what a view it was!), Walked through the halls of the Louvre (till my feet were sore), Met Mona Lisa face to face (and found her totally unimpressive), sipped an over-priced cup of coffee on the Champs Elysees, climbed up to the Sacre Ceour, took in the sights and sounds of kitchsy Montmarte, and of course wined and dined like there was no tomorrow (and at times it almost felt like there wasn’t). This was, of course, apart from the usual Museum and tourist trail.

Paris was a treat to the senses and no words could even begin to describe it (And I just realised the futility of trying to). I've only just scratched the surface. But I will go back there. Perhaps even live there. Someday.

PS- So I did end up meeting plane-boy in Paris. He showed me around the St. Micheal area where he had studied. It was all really sweet and nice. But the thing I found the funniest- I am an Indian living in Singapore, he is a Cambodian who is French by birth, and the thing we connected most on, was American drama series. That’s globalization (or Americanization) for you!

Currently Reading: Kitchen Confidential- Anthony Bourdain
Currently Listening: Man who can’t be moved- The Script

Drugged Out...

2008-09-25T01:59:00.000+08:00

I'm back. From Paris. Infact I've been back for a whole week now. And yet I haven't written a single post- Most notably one on Paris. I can't explain why, but I just haven't felt like it.

Maybe it's because Paris was so amazing that I have so much and (at the same time) so little to say. I have no idea where to begin. And I have an unfounded fear that somehow the magic of it all will disappear if I talk about it. Silly, I know.

Or maybe it's just because antibiotics are the scourge of the blogger, the harbinger of the blogger's block and I've been gulping them (and some drowsiness-inducing medicines) like candy. But i'm told they are the necessary evil- The good guys to fight all the bad ones inside of me. Afterall, right now, I am sounding like a frog, coughing like an old lady and walking around like a zombie (when I have fever). Bronchitis- That's the verdict (and all the way from France- how's that for 'couture' illness). And if antibiotics will make it all go away, I shall pop them religiously! But that also means that now I can't think very clearly since I am drowsy most of the time and I can't enjoy any food since everything pretty much tastes of rubber. Sigh!

But the 'Paris post' will happen. Soon.

Me. In Parée. Yipeeeeee!

2008-09-05T12:44:00.000+08:00

Tonight I leave.

Camera- Check,
Passport- Check,
laptop-Check,
Money- Check,
Wanderlust- Hell yeah, Check!

PussyCat Dolls, Rajiv Gandhi and good ol' me!

2008-08-27T17:54:00.000+08:00

These days, the Pussycat Dolls make a very regular appearance on MTV malaysia, shaking their booties while crooning "When I grow up I wanna be famous I wanna be a star I wanna be in movies..." The song itself is very typically PCD- Bimbotic, stupid and totally catchy. But that's not what this post's about. Hearing the song always gets me thinking about my ambitions as a kid. All the professions I suffixed to the statement “when I grow up, I want to be…” And as expected, none of it was straightforward or even slightly predictable.

In 1st standard, when most of the girls around me wanted to be princesses and the guys wanted to be engine drivers (or something equally childish), I wanted to be the Prime Minister of India. Yes you heard that right! And not in the way that people say ‘someday I want to be a rich man”. I was convinced, that was my calling in life. Of course my conviction was the result of a lot of things. A very charming and dashing Rajiv Gandhi, a whole lot of media swooning about the man, my very impressionable mind and perhaps my first and tiniest ever crush. I remember being very idealistic about it. And then came the bombing. And my political aspirations died with the man. You see I hadn’t realized prime Ministers could die doing their job. I decided it was too dangerous and that I liked living. I liked it much more than I liked the idea of being a PM.

So once the PM idea was shelved, I needed a new ambition. A new answer for when adults asked me “Beta, what do you want to be when you grow up”. And I settled on ‘Scientist’. I did not have any idea what exactly a scientist did or how long it took to become one. I couldn’t be bothered with practicalities like that. All I knew was that it was honorable to be a scientist and that I wouldn’t lose my life being one. Nothing else mattered. Of course soon I started hearing from old aunties and uncles that Scientist’s are mad. And I decided that I had to get a new ambition. I reasoned, what good was ‘honorable’ and ‘alive’ when everyone thought you were loony.

My next ambition was probably indicative of the stage of life I was in. A teenager drawn to prettiness and the pursuit of it, I decided to abandon all notions of honor and give in to my creative and flashy side. I wanted to be a fashion designer. I toyed with the idea for a while. I looked hard for some successful role models to point at and say “I want to be like them”. But I found none. What I found were people who did not treat fashion designing as a serious profession. Whenever I revealed my ambition with pride to anyone, what I heard most often was- “You want to be a tailor?” As you can imagine, that was a dampener.

I flirted with a range of professions after that, but none with enough conviction. I rejected them all for some reason or the other. Business woman- Not honorable and with low success rate (I was only a kid, remember), Hotelier- requires lots of moolah which I didn’t have, Chartered Accountant- appealed to my nerdy side but seemed like a lot of drudgery and hardwork. Amongst a blur of professions, I began to realize that I did not need to categorize my ambition. Or at least not in the typical sense. My ambition did not need to equate to a profession- A doctor or an enginner or an accountant.

And that was when I knew that what I really wanted to be when I grew up, was simply happy! So I gave into life and decided to swim with it.

So now I am all of 23 years and I have a profession. I am a consultant. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to be so much more and so much else. I want to be a chef. I want to be an author. I want to be a traveller. I want to be a restaurateur. I want to be a presenter. I want to be a designer. And now after writing this post, I think I may again want to be the prime minister of India.

Here's to me and my dreams!

PS- So given my rekindled political aspirations, I might just eventually become the prime Minister of India. My acceptance speech would start something like- “First of all I would like to thank the inspiring gyrations and vocal renditions of the Pussy Cat Dolls. I wouldn’t be here without them. *sniff*” That would be some day for India. I would go down as a legend. Even bigger than Laloo. Now how’s that for an ambition!

Currently Reading: Lonely Planet Paris
Currently Listening: If it makes you happy- Sheryl Crow, Rescue me- Aretha Franklin, Ni Nachley- Imran feat. lucky

I am an Indian

2008-08-21T23:36:00.000+08:00

Where are you from? I get asked this question a lot, mostly by taxi drivers. And usually I never reply straight away. I play this game where I turn the question on them. Where do you think I am from? I've gotten the most intriguing answers. Mostly it's Malaysian or Indonesian (Has everything to do with me being in Singapore and having chinki-ish eyes). Occasionally, I get called Thai or Nepali. One taxi driver was convinced I was European if not eastern European. I'd like to smoke whatever he was on.

But I digress. So as I was saying, in this funny little game I play, I rarely get called Indian. Most get very surprised when I reveal my nationality (Some in a Russell Peter's type 'Noooo' and other in demented Singlish- Cannot be lah!) And somehow that always gets me thinking about my indian-ness. Not questioning it, just thinking about it.

Growing up in Urban India, I was never confronted with questions about Indian-ness, mine or anyone else's. Everyone around was Indian. It was nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Differences emerged in other ways. The mallu who has relatives in 'Gelf' v/s the Gujjubhai who wants Dhokla for 'Snakes' , The Subramaniam who eats curd rice with his hands (and sometime the forearm too) v/s the Khanna who swears by his chole puri. What makes anyone different is the language they speak, the way they eat, what they eat, which state they come from and sometimes (sadly so) even where they pray. And as Indians, we usually revel in our differences, we very often poke fun at them, we sometimes fight over them, but we never let go of them.

And that is why, in India you can never be just an Indian. It is never enough. What use is that? It can't help anyone label you. You have to be a Gujarati or a Punjabi or a South-Indian (yeah that category gets lumped together) or a delhite or some equal denomination. You just have to be from somewhere. Somewhere Different.

But where does that leave me? I am a product of north and south-east indian intimacy. A Mumbaite in attitude and a Delhi-ite at heart. A lover of mooli parathas, paani puri and all things rassam. I speak comfortably in 3 different Indian languages besides Hindi but I think mostly in English. I appreciate the colors and beauty of a Hindu Temple as willingly as I take in the serenity of a church. I am equally likely to be found slurping curd rice from my hand as I am to be found enjoying spoonfuls of Rajma-Chawal. And now, add to all that- eating with chopsticks and speaking in Singlish. So what does that make me?

I say, it makes me an Indian. 100%. Nothing more, nothing less.

Currently Reading- Shalimar the Clown- Salman Rushdie
Currently Listening- Tum Pukar lo- Khamoshi, Little Boxes- Devendra Banhart, Karma Police- Radiohead

Pssst....

2008-08-20T14:43:00.000+08:00

I think I have special powers. I can think multiple (and I mean like 100s and 1000s) thoughts all at the same time, in parallel. Yeah I know that's nothing fancy, nothing world-changing, nowhere in the league of the typical-colored-capes-underwear-over-tights-fighting-for-good-type people who have special powers. Infact its usually debilitating and distracting. Imagine my brain as divided into mutiple parts, each with a brain of its own, each thinking a number of thoughts of its own. Mostly it's a cacophony of thoughts. A fish market. Very distracting.

So what do you do when you are blessed/cursed with something like this? You say 'Thank God' for blogging and bulletpoints and take a mental dump. So here it comes. Brace yourself.

******

About a month back, on a bored tired evening on our way back from office, ML and I decided to go get our hair cut. Now that wouldn't have been anything to talk about except that we were in Bangkok, we did not know Thai, and we did not have any recommended place to go to. So strolling around in Central, we got into the first saloon we came across. A nice swanky, very chic looking plac where we first had our Hair washed and bundled up nicely in a towel. It was only when the hair dresser approached me did I miss having a English-to-thai dictionary. Still, ever the optimist, I placed my faith firmly in the power of sign language and gestured to her slowly - "Long hair good, short hair no good". I got a big smile and a nod in return and I sat back, happy that I had managed to get through to her.

So now my hair looks like Joe Dirt, only curlier. Am I traumatised? Hell yeah! Do I need therapy? Most certainly. Will I ever get a haircut again in a foreign land where I don't speak the language? *Grin* Probably. (I don't learn a lesson easily you see. I was never good at that.)

PS1: As for ML's haircut, she has had peculiar reactions. Everytime a camera is around she covers up her face. She says its because she wants absolutely no reminder whatsover of this cut hence no photos. I think it's much deeper than that.)

******

I had a Eureka moment a few weeks back. I figured out why india, the land of plenty and variety, has little to speak of when it comes to oil reserves. Its quite logical, really. Where does oil come from? Well million and millions of years ago organic lifeforms died and got buried in the layers of earth and decomposed. Through some mumbo-jumbo (involving pressure, time and the sediment around) this somehow resulted in the formation of pockets of oil and gas. We've all heard the Blah (8th grade? Science class?) But, (here's the clincher) Indians cremate their dead. They always have. Countries like Saudi Arabia on the other hand, have always buried their dead. And check out how much oil they have. Simple. Brilliant. Why hasnt anyone ever figured this out before?

PS2: I just realised, in cremating all that population, we not only missed out on all that oil, we also possibly have a big hand to play in the whole global warming thing. Shite!

PS3: Yes, I am usually more brilliant than this. Yes, I know this line of reasoning has huge gaping holes. No, I dont want to know about them.

******

Shoes. New Shoes. New heeled shoes. New heeled shoes that go clackity clack. They are quite addictive really. And they are having some positive psychological effects too. I almost feel like a power-woman when I am wearing them. My walk is springier, my day is brighter, my attitude is more up beat and the net result is that I get more work done, faster and better.

Hmmm. I suddenly feel like the baby who got to wear new squeak-squeak shoes only to end up doing more of what he didn't want to do in the first place (i.e.walk).

******

These days, I spend my days in the Petronas Towers in Kl (Doing things that are completely useless in the larger scheme of life, but that's another story). Now, they have a PA (Public announcement) system that they use every 3-4 days. Mostly they just test the system. So everytime the PA system comes alive, the lady always begins with 'Tuan Tuan dan Puan Puan' (I'd like to hear ur interpretations on that) and then goes on for 10 mins with equally gibberish words (malay apparantly). All this, while I am looking around feeling stupid and wondering if I should bolt to save my life or keep sitting on my chair staring dumbly at my screen. I sit on the 44th floor and in case I have to try and get all the way down, I sure would appreciate a head-start. I mean I have nothing against malayu or nationalistic sentiments but the last thing I want is to reach heaven thinking "If only I had understood malay..." People, English, pls!

******

So I have a 'hypothesis' on blogging. The more frequently a person blogs, the more detailed their posts are, that is not to say all the detail is useful, or interesting or consequential (Case in example: This post). Refer to graph below-

Yes. I am a nerd. And I revel in it. Usually.

******

So there, you've been dumped (on). How does it feel?

Currently Reading: Lonely Planet France
Currently Listening: Sick cycle carousel- Lifehouse, Ahista Ahista- Bachna Ae Haseeno

Woman like a man...

2008-08-12T18:45:00.000+08:00

So blog crawling over at Indiacut today, I came across this nifty widget that assess whether you are male or female- All based on your browsing history. My score?

Likelihood of you being FEMALE is 53%
Likelihood of you being MALE is 47%

So as if everything-else-fucking-up wasn't enough, I now have a random program telling me that I am gender confused too? Damn right, I am!

Currently Reading: Boring Reports and powerpoints at work
Currently Listening: Infinity 2008- Guru Josh Project, Mai Talli Ho Gayi- Hard kaur, In my time of need- Ryan Adams

Blank

2008-08-11T22:28:00.000+08:00

It's not often that I find myself mellow and sad. It's not often that I feel a certain kind of moistness on the edge of my eyelids. Today doesn't come very often. And for good reason too. I don't want it. I don't like it. I'm searching for my smile, my ability to laugh everything off, my stupid stupid optimism.

And I can't find it.

All I can find is disappointment, sadness, the feeling that I've been let down. And the realisation that what she means to me is perhaps not what I mean to her. That's the only way I can explain it all. She tells me otherwise. I want to believe. But the nagging voice in my head goes on. Someone make it stop. Make it shut up.

There's a song playing in the background. I stop to listen to it. "...Open up my eager eyes...‘Cause I’m Mr Brightside..." Very apt.

I smile ruefully to myself. Cause, you see, I'm Mr. Brightside.

Currently Reading: Nothing really.
Currently Listening: Mr Brightside- The Killers, Have you ever seen the rain- CCR

Vaat is Mobaile Numbarr?

2008-08-06T11:49:00.000+08:00

Two weeks back, I went and bought myself a new handphone. Now anyone who knows me even remotely, has heard of my history with handphones. I've been through 8 phones in the last 5 years, and not because I was upgrading to new models. I lost 3, spoilt 3, and simply moved on from the rest 2. I've been through 5 different brands of phones and there was a point of time I had chargers for all 5 brands but only one phone.

The analogy I usually like to draw is that for me phones have been like boyfriends. I adored the first one I had. (The Phone, not boyfriend, silly!) It was a Nokia. A big bulky thing but with very nifty features. Top of the line then and it could possibly even compete with some of the models in the market today. I carried it around faithfully for a whole 1.5 yrs before I left it carelessly in the back of a taxi. I remember the feeling then. I missed my phone but did not mind moving onto a new one. You see, I had not had any experience with other phones, I thought I could get a better one, I had not been sure of what features I had wanted and 1.5 years is a long time.

Eager to move on and explore what was out there, I switched brands and bought a Slim Samsung fliptop phone. It was nothing like my previous phone. Big Mistake. All show, no substance, the phone was difficult to use, too retarded and did not have so many of the features I had gotten used to with my big-bulky-and-dependable-Nokia. (Notice the pattern) But given that I already had sunk costs, I stuck on with it. Until one day, 10 months later, I got onto a bus with a laptop in one hand, bus pass in the other and the phone to my ear. A minute into the ride the bus driver braked and I faced the dilemma of saving myself or saving my Samsung. I chose me (obviously) and eventually got off the bus with a broken Samsung phone. I had no regrets. Good riddance to bad rubbish I said. The only thing I thought about wistfully was all the money I had spent on the Samsung and all the money I would have to spend on the next one.

I don't quite remember how and why I picked my next phone. A Sony Erricson. What I do remember was falling in love with it within a day. It was everything my dear Nokia had been and not been. Features were awesome, easy to handle, sleek and it looked good enough too. Most of all, my closest friends approved of the choice. I paraded it around proudly for a whole month before tragedy stuck again. Someone stole my phone. I tried very hard to get it back. Filed a police report, fought with security guards, looked at surveillance cameras. Nothing helped. I was left broken-hearted. It had been only a month, not even enough time to get even slightly bored. For a whole 2 weeks I refused to get another phone and I gave the dirtiest looks to anyone who suggested I do. I had decided I did not need any more phones in my life, since eventually I ended up losing all of them. Of course, eventually I came back to my senses and bought a phone for the sake of practicality.

My next phone was the rebound phone. I bought the simplest and cheapest Nokia phone available at the Starhub outlet.(I pretty much told that to the guy at the counter in those many words). It was nothing spectacular. It served the purpose. It was practical. You see, I did not care about phones anymore. So after a year of step-motherly treatment, I uncaringly passed it on to a friend (who eventually left it in a taxi) when the time came to renew my contract (coz you get a new phone with a renewed contract).

I bought a slightly more fancy phone this time. Only slightly. I guess I was starting to recover. A Siemens phone that could play MP3s. I don't have much memories of that phone, fond or otherwise. The only reason I remember it was because of the way it was stolen- As part of a full on burglary in which my laptop was also stolen. I did not feel much grief at losing the siemens simply because I was too busy grieving for the lost laptop.

Around that time my dad (who was visiting Singapore) generously offered to buy me a replacement. I decided to go back in time and buy the same Sony erricson phone I had lost. I was overjoyed initially- Now that I had my Sony erricson phone, I could go back to thinking the stolen-phone episode was all a bad nightmare.It would be like old times. But it wasn't to be. Somehow it just felt different. The excitement was tired, the joy short lived. Something was different and it was different with me, in me. I felt disappointed. I guess the phone (in its infinte virtual wisdom) also guessed it. In 6 months, one by one functions of the phone started failing. First some buttons stopped responding, then the screen lost it's light. 'Liquid Damage' the service center said. I did not spare even a moment before moving onto the next phone. I guess I was beyond the point of grief and emotional attachment. 2 other phones followed after that- A motorola and a really snazzy Nokia. One still used as a spare phone, the other sort of spoiled. Both hand-me-downs. And both not cared for as much.

So why do I compare phones to boyfriends? (if you haven't already figured it) Simply because you could replace 'phone' with 'boyfriend', 'money' with 'time-and-effort' in this post and it would make as much sense (or nonsense). I started with liking this vague idea of having a phone (any phone really) and moved onto knowing exactly what I wanted from a phone and why I wanted it. Quite like the idea of Boyfriends...innit?

So, now I am onto my latest one. It's a Nokia. And I have a feeling it might be the one (Finally!). Red Snazzy panels, awesome speakers and an amazing capacity for mp3s. Everything I want in a phone. I think.

Oh, I can feel the butterflies in my stomach waking up and starting to feebly flutter...it's been a long sleep!

Currently Reading: Traveller Tales- India
Currently Listening: Life is beautiful- SixxA.M., Dance with me- Nouvelle Vague, I remember- Damien Rice

PS- So the new phone has a new Dhinchak ringtone too as of today. And I keep waiting for people to call so I can hear it ring. (There is some wierd uncanny pleasure in hearing 'Mein Talli...' as a ringtone that I don't get while just playing it as a song. Something about the unexpectedness of it.) But no one has called yet and I'm still waiting....

I love Calvin!

2008-07-28T15:49:00.000+08:00

I feel like this. Too often ...And a drink of water and few deep breaths never help.

Romantic Movie + Rainy Afternoon = Bad Idea!

2008-07-25T16:56:00.000+08:00

I am a complete mushpot right now and filled with whimsical thoughts and 'awwww' moments. I guess that's what comes out of watching 'My Best friend's wedding' on a perfectly breezy and rainy afternoon.

I remember first watching this movie (in the afternoon also) over at Nitya's place in 7th grade while her mom was out shopping for some vegetables or something equally mundane. We were probably too young to understand the movie the way it was meant to be. Or to be able to draw any parallels within our lives. I mean, complex three way relationships and gay best friends are as far as it gets from school exams and sanskrit textbooks. But even then, we couldn't help being infected by the 'awww' feel of the movie, though it was only probably the pretty dresses and the mushy kisses (giggle, giggle).

Over the years since then I re-saw the movie in bits and parts, while browsing channels on bored evenings or visting friends (who were seeing the movie themselves at their place). I went through the phase when it became fashionable to scringe my nose at any movie that had anything mushy, cute, pink or awww about it. And that list included 'My Best Friend's Wedding'. I grew out of that phase (Thank God), and came to admit that while I do prefer comedies or action movies, the occasional chic-flick ain't so bad either. Oh but I digress.

So come this afternoon, I saw 'My Best Friend's wedding' from start to finish all in one sitting, for only the second time. And this time I got the movie the way it was intended to be gotten. I understood what Julianne was doing and the reason behind it. I drew parallels with my own life and mulled over what it would be, to be in a situation like that. I sighed everytime Rupert Everett came on the screen and wondered why I did not have a friend like that (and where could I get a friend like that). I envied Julia Roberts for making a profession out of something I love to do (I mean, food critic, how cool is that?). I got all dreamy eyed when Dermot Mulroney and Julianne were sharing screen space. I sang out aloud 'Forever, forever, you'll stay in my heart and I will love you' with the movie. And most of all I wished I had a long-time friend who wud make a 'get-married-to-each-other-at-28-if-we-haven't-found-anyone-else-yet' pact with me. (it's so avant garde!)

But now the movie is done and the ads are playing, I realise that it has actually left me feeling crappy about my life. And without good reason too. I have a perfectly nice life, lovely friends, people I love and who love me back, a nice enough job. I mean it's not picture perfect and I would tweak parts of it if I could, but its still a nice life. Right?

OK so now i'll just go tell myself that. "My life is fun! My life is great! I love my life!"

(Hmm. It's not working. Shit.)

Currently Reading: King of Ayodhya (Ramayana Series)- Ashok Banker
Currently Listening: Hum bekhudi- Mukesh, Don't look back in anger- Oasis

Leaving on a Jetplane? Yeah more like the jetplane leaving without me!

2008-07-23T18:08:00.001+08:00

Last monday I missed a flight for the first time ever. (When I told this to friends, most just ignored the first part and jumped to the second. "Really? For the first time ever? YOU haven't managed to miss a flight before? YOU got through 22 years of flying without ever missing a flight?" Yes, thank you for the show of confidence!)

Anyways, missing a flight was a very confusing experience. Yes, confusing. Because I can't recall feeling consistently the same way throughout the whole thing. Feelings came in waves and phases, and oh, all so different and conflicting. For the benfit of anyone interested, I will chronicle this event in detail. (Warning: The following text may be disturbing to some and may cause a change in your opinion of me. Reader discretion is advised.)

Some background: My flight was at 7:40am on Monday. The previous night I had gone to sleep at 1 am in the night. I also have a new phone on which I set my morning alarm, on the fateful Sunday night.

Monday, 6:35 am: I woke up with a start and lazily reached out for my phone to check the time. I was pretty sure the alarm hadn't rung and hence the 'lazy' stretching. Upon seeing the actual time on the phone, I first went into denial. ("Ah this is bangkok time, so in singapore it's still actually 5:35am. Plenty of time. Oh wait, din I change my phone to Singapore time yesterday? Shit Shit Shit") In a record time of 5 mins, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, wore my clothes, called a cab, grabbed my bags and left home.
Primary Feelings- Disbelief, Tinge of panic

Monday, 6:45 am: I started pacing frantically near the bus stop below my home, dishevelled, sleepy and frantic, waiting for the cab to arrive. I get a call on my phone. It's the cab driver. "Where u ah? I wait long time for you here". When I informed him of my location, he dove into a tirade of complaints and whining. " U know, u give me wrong location ah. I oredi at Bus stop, u not here. Cannot this way lah!" Much against the fact that I had actually given the right location and that he was infact standing in the wrong location (well its my post, so I get to tell the story my way), I apologised and simply begged him to get to me quickly
Primary feelings- Frustration, Desperation

Monday, 7:05am-After 2 more equally-retarded phone conversations with the Taxi driver, (TD: I reach dead end, how to get to your block from here ah? Me: Huh?), checking my watch a million times, and swearing at everything repeatedly (stupid taxi driver, stupid phone, stupid flight times, stupid travelling, stupid me!), the taxi driver finally arrived. But before I could send a silent prayer to god and set off speeding towards the airport, the taxi driver launched into a tirade of complaints in a way that only singaporean taxi drivers can manage- (and I quote the conversation verbatim only coz it is so hilarious)

TD: U tell me wrong place. I got wait for you and you stand here. not right u know. Must tell right place lah!
Me: It's ok. Just take me to the airport
TD: No is not ok. Cannot do this way u know. Ur mistake!
Me: Ok fine, its my mistake, sorry. Can we now please just go to the airport really quick. I am really late for my flight!
TD: PIE very crowded you know. cannot quick. Right now when I come, was jammed. Ur flight, what time ah?
Me: 7:40
TD: U know must reach airport 1 hour before flight. Cannot do like this ah! flight close oredi mah!
Me (in my head) : Oh really? A whole one hour? I did not know that!!!

So yeah, tolerating 1st rate complaining and 3rd rate driving, I made my way to airport, thinking to myself- Shit, I'm not going to make it!
Primary feelings: Irritation, Anger, Impatience

Monday, 7:30 am- I reached the airport finally and walked upto the check-in counter, still hopeful that I could get onto the flight (how retarded can my optimism get). Of course, I ended up checking into the next available flight which was only at 12:20, a whole 4 hours away.
Primary feelings: (Blank)

Monday, 7:45am- The first thing I realised once I was no longer trying to catch a flight, was that my stomach was grumbling. So I sat at a cafe, drank orange juice and sorted the contents of my hand bag (simply coz I was bored and my hand bag was really heavy. It seemed logical at the time). And what a wide array of pointless things. 4 pens- all in working order, 3 pairs of earrings- all too big for me to wear to work, 2 samsonite keys- to god knows which lock, 1 measuring inch tape- Don't ask. What was more glaring were the things I was missing- No iPod, no passport photo, no return itinerary (last two for visa on arrival at bangkok). Anyways, over the next four hours I caught up on personal emails and calls that I had been putting off, I sorted out my personal post that I had been carrying around in a bundle (and most of it was junk), and actually got some productive work done. So by the time I made my way to the boarding gate, I was actually feeling pretty good about myself.
Primary feelings- relief, unexplicable laughter, satisfaction

PS- I realise this post seems a little incomplete. That is only coz recounting the events of monday has gotten me as tired as the events themselves did. And I think I prefer to go sleep or do something equally unproductive. Cherio!

Currently Reading: Sawasdee- Thai Airways inflight magazine
Currently Listening: Hold you in my arms- Ray lamontagne, Volcano- Damien Rice, kabhi kabhi aditi zindagi- Jaane tu ya jaane na

Of writer's block, biting dogs and dying genes...

2008-07-15T20:00:00.000+08:00

I have been staring at this screen for the last one hour and using the delete button more than I ever have. It's simply never happened before. Words never fail me. I usually have a million things to say and the words always flow through.

Not today.

I have a million things swimming in my head right now but the words just refuse to form. Maybe it's because I dont have one or two things to say. As I said, I have a million things. I am rambling now. Another first.

So well, This post won't be the most brilliant thing ever. It's ok. I'll live. I'll settle for mediocrity, just this once.

The last few months have been quite something. If 2007 deserved a eulogy, the last 3 months deserve hymns and epics written about them. I quit my job (finally!), took a month and a half long break before joining a job that pays more than just my rent (well it still doesnt pay for a Gucci or a Louis Vuitton bag. But I never really wanted one of those, now did I?). During that one-month-and-a-half break, I went back to Mumbai (to meet mommy and daddy dearest), managed a trip to Goa (albeit with my family, yet again), flew down to Newcastle and galavanted the british lands before finally coming back to the roost. And what a return it was. 1 week into the new job and I was travelling fulltime. First to KL (I stayed in the Ritz-initialized-pillows-royal-bathrooms-amazing-beds-carlton) and then to Bangkok. Infact as I write this, I am sitting by a wondow in a hotel room, looking out at the night lights of Bangkok. Yup, I'm living a consultants life baby!

But it wasn't all as rosy as I make it sound (coloring things pink has always been my knack). My first day in Mumbai, I got attacked by a dog (No, I did not provoke him. I prefer the version that the dog was simply retarded). Obviously that meant I had to get injections (4 of them, yes sire!). The very next day, I jammed my pinkie in a cupboard door followed by slipping in a mucky muddy mumbai-sabzi-mandi the day after. And then somehow I managed to get Sun-burnt in Mumbai. Yes, you heard that right. Me, of the indian skin and stubborn resistance to the sun, got sunburnt. And that too in Mumbai. Oh but it doesn't stop there (I wish it did). Nursing a sunburn, I made my way to Goa, laughing it all off as a freaky co-incidence. So much for optimism. In goa, as I was clicking away to glory, some crazy random lady bumped into me and knocked my camera out of my hand. The result was a broken camera. (repairing it dented my pocket by a whole 200 dollars). I returned to Mumbai with a broken camera and a broken heart (my beloved camera!) and the very night developed a severe allergic cold, to the point that I was rendered unable to speak. (Don't ask me the mechanics of that). I guess after all of that, I don't find 'Just my Luck' (yes I did see that movie) so far-fetched now.

But the more worrisome thing was what happened afterwards. The moment I left India and reached Dubai and then eventually Newcastle, I was fine. No biting dogs, No disabling allergies, No random mishaps, Nothing. And that worries me. Coz the inevitable may finally be happening. My india-compatibility gene is dying from under-use. And that, is a scary thought! Coz it also means bye-bye roadside pani puri and chaat, bye-bye sweat tempered pav bhaji, bye-bye dust seasoned bombay sandwiches. In short, bye-bye India living.

Ok, Now I am panicking! Come back gene, I miss u, I need u!

Currently Reading: Bridge of Rama (Ramayana Series)- Ashok K banker
Currently Listening- Can I stay- Ray Lamontagne, 9 crimes- Damien Rice, This years love- David Grey, Love Hurts- Incubus

2007- A Eulogy

2008-04-02T17:08:00.000+08:00

I know it's a little late in the year to write a eulogy about the year that went by. And yet I am here laboring over this entry, only because I believe there is no wrong time for praise. Best if it comes on time, but good nevertheless even if it comes a little delayed. Just as long as it does. So here goes.

2007 was a year of changes and revelations. Quite possibly even life-changing. A lot happened in this year. No strike that. I let a lot happen in this year.

#1

First came my stint in Delhi. 4 months of tolerating heat, sweat, family relations, crazy traffic. Before I left for Delhi, everyone I knew told me I was crazy to leave the 'pampered-aircon-everywhere-buses-and-trains-on-time-Singapore' life to go spend a few months in 'crazy-unsafe-oogling-men-and-flashy-women-filled-unbearably-hot city of the Delhi-belly fame'. I almost listened to them (Shivers!). And I'm so proud I didn't. 4 months later, 3 close friends richer and 2 ks lighter (though it's a mystery how, given the numerous finger licking meals I pigged on there), I unwillingly left Delhi with a newfound understanding of who I am and an absurd reverence for the city (which eventually transformed into an appreciation and love for the mother country herself).

For the first few months after my return, this reverence took on gargantuan propotions, with me pining for the city, the life, the friends and finding Singapore sorely lacking in every comparison. Over time I stopped comparing (knowing the futility of the exercise), decided to sign off Delhi as a torrid summer affair that I had to get over and busied myself with setting a rythm for my life here. But I often look back at my time in Delhi and have realised over time that I am wiser, richer, possibly even more mature for having been there at that time: Wise in experiences, rich in friends and mature in outlook. And that in itself would have been enough to make the year special- a little extraordinary.

#2

2007 was also the year I graduated. In the days following the graduation ceremony, I remember mulling over what exactly it meant to have 'graduated' and wondering how life would change, if at all. In hindsight, change it did, and in ways I never anticipated! (and therefore did not prepare for). Life as a student, even with all its cramming, sleeplessness, kunj-ing (read as being miserly or money-wise depending on how you see it) and worrying, was still a care-free life. I lived life on my terms and had a countable number of cares (rescuing my GPA, disciplining my yo-yo-ing girth, picking a place to eat dinner). And best of all was feeling that at any point I could choose to say 'Fuck it!' to all of it . Come post-graduation life and nothing changed save one thing. The sleeplessness remained, the kunj-ing remained (coz lets face face it, there is nothing like enough money) and the worrying took on enormous proportions. The only thing that changed was the care-freeness; the loss of the ability to say 'fuck it!'. I guess when you have more, you also have more to lose.

Graduating was also sort of a coming-of-age for me. I started looking back at everything I had done and not done (consciously or sub-conciously) and before I knew it my bag of regrets had grown heavier- 'I should have gone for exchange, I should have travelled around the world, I should have learnt to play the guitar, I should have gone wakeboarding'. And with that realisation came this urge to make good on lost time and opportunity. I got back to practicising playing the guitar, I began travelling more, I started living life to the fullest I possibly could. In a way, the rite-of-graduation turned out to be a sort of reality check for me and made me realise that I only have a finite number of days to live and an infinite number of things to see and do. And so I started playing catch-up!

#3

2007 was also the year the travel-bug bit me. Grappling with a longing for the Delhi in my memory and the hard striking quarter-life crisis post-graduation, I made the first of many trips out of Singapore to simply get away (I am still not sure what I was getting away from). A budget-airline ticket in hand and a backpack on my shoulder, I found myself in Bangkok with two other friends. It was love at first sensation-The sights, the sounds, the smells and even the chaos (quite unlike the prim-ness of Singapore) all reminded me so much of India. I stepped out of the airport, a smug smile on my face- I had come to the right place. What ensued was 3 days of seeing wonderous Wats and palaces, eating 'eyes-and-nose-watering-spicy-but-oh-so-lip-smacking food' and strolling through endless by-lanes full of clothes and imitation bags and whatever else you may fancy, all made easy on the body by a regular dose of traditional Thai massages. I returned from the trip with the realisation that while I love Delhi (and I always will) there are other places to see, there are other fish in the sea!

And so, over the next few months before the end of the year, I went fishing! In Ho Chi Minh City I walked through tiny guerrilla tunnels and fired horribly-recoiling-&-brilliantly-loud AK-47s. In Hanoi, I browsed through the nick-knacks in the by-lanes of the old quarters and dined gourmet-style at Bobby Chin's. In Hue, I visited the numerous tombs of ancient vietnamese kings and enjoyed strong vietnamese coffee along the huong river. In Ha Long Bay, I appreciated the beauty of the limestone mountains dotting the sea lying atop a dinghy and celebrated christmas helping a vietnamese waiter practise his halting english. In Bintan, I experienced swimming in the sea for the first time ever (and it was a bit alarming coz my paranoia kept me mistaking rocks and leaves for snakes and jelly fish) and felt revved up racing a quad bike along the stretch of the beach. Finally once again in Bangkok, I appreciated the place that started it all off and enjoyed some more bone stretching and relaxing massages.

Looking back at all the travelling I did, I realise it has changed me as a person. I am more experimental and so much more understanding of things and ways different from my own. I appreciate the world around me for all its beauty and realise that life with all its ups and downs is really quite something!

To end this post (seeing that it is already reaching epic lengths), the Me-of-the-year-gone-by and the me-of-the-year-that-has-come are really two quite different people. And if I might say so, I quite like the latter me. So Kudos 2007!

Currently Reading: Inspite of the gods- Edward Luce
Currently Listening: To be alone with you- Sufijan Stevens, I will be there when you die- My morning Jacket, Baavra man- Hazaaron Khwaishein Aisi

My incurable Delhi-hangover...

2008-03-25T17:48:00.000+08:00

As I was going about my usual day at work (elaborated as talking endlessly, writing aimlessly and daydreaming shamelessly, all while warming my chair and tapping away at a keyboard), I happened to glance at the date today and the simple thought that went thruough my head was- 'This time last year, I was 1 week into my stay in Delhi'. And that's all it took-Bye bye productive day, hello nostalgia lane!

Its been about 9 months since I got back to Singapore, and not a day has passed when I havent wished myself to be back- to that place, to that time, to those people. It was quite something. Weeks on weeks of time spent with friends, meals after meals of scumptious food, days after days of living in the moment- life felt full of possibilities. Add to that, the magic and romance of delhi itself (I am sure this had something to do with me reading 'City of Djinns' a few weeks into my stay there), and you can understand why I am so completely jaded about my time there.

Admitedly, I am guilty of some degree of idealism. I'm sure in my 4 months in delhi, I must have cribbed about the city (probably while sitting in an auto in the sweltering May heat, trying, but failing miserably, to brave the hot winds with a dupatta wrapped around my face), I must have felt low and lonely (Definitely during my first few weeks there much before I met B, A, U and all of the others), I might have even missed Singapore at times (much as I don't like to admit that, it's a possibility). But all I remember now is how happy I was then. And that is why nothing gets me smiling like the idea of going back to Delhi.

But Delhi to me is more about the people I met there, than the place itself. Rambling conversations with B lying on her terrace, late night drives over the DND flyover with A, the most wonderful and surprising ever not-quite-birthday celebration planned by AM, the ever-so-often-but-oh-so-rewarding food quests with U or P or N in the middle of work. Nothing would have been the same without them all- Delhi, the 4 months or even me!

And that's what scares me about actually going back there (as opposed to just thinking about it). People move on, people change (as some already have) and without the same people, the same feeling, Delhi would somehow become less wonderous, less exciting and less magical.

Well good for me then I guess. As things stand today, its not a fear I need to face. I am here in Singapore, working my days away, wondering what life intends for me (or what I should intend for life) and losing more and more of myself with each passing day (or so I feel). Knowing the happiness I felt in Delhi only makes me acutely (and painfully) aware of the lack of it (happiness that is) in my existence here.

But such is life, I'm told! Without being in the 'down' you can't really recognize the 'up' (even if it does the chicken dance in front of you, apparantly). And who am I to disagreee?

Currently Reading: Cleo march 2008 issue (believe it!)
Currently Listening: Strange condition- Pete Yorn, Alive- Pearl Jam, See you again- Miley Cyrus

Dilli Meri Jaan! Masha'Allah!

2007-07-01T00:37:00.000+08:00

I've never quite had so much of difficulty writing anything, as I am having in writing this entry (suddenly cover letters seem like a cakewalk). And I would have most certainly given up on this task (that is seeming so herculean to me) had it not been for the promise I gave to a certain someone, that I would blog about this (you know who you are).

What I am having so much difficult writing about, are the events of the Tuesday gone by. And what about this days makes it so difficult to put pen to paper (fingers to keyboard?) is how incredibly amazing and magical it was; The kind of experience that leaves u finding your vocabulary lacking. Magical because it was on that day I looked around Old Delhi and went touristing to some of the places that delhi is so visited for, for the first time. And it is simply breathtaking! (almost makes me want to become a photographer, it's that inspiring!). Of course, the company I had on this sojourn added to the awesome-ness of it all. I went with S who had come down to Delhi for just a day and without whom this day would have almost not happened
(S: I am thinking, since I do have a whole day here, why not we go touristing around delhi?
Me: God Bless u! Allah be praised! Yes please, Lets!)

And so it began, with us travelling in an Auto (yup, the very infamous dilliwala-agree-on-price-before-u get-on-n-get-all-ur-bones-rattled Auto rikshaw!) to Humayun's tomb, followed by a search for the elusive and almost-fabled karim's around Chandni Chowk (we walked the lane outside it almost twice before we saw spotted the nondescript galli leading to the restaurant), a quick look around the majestic Jama Masjid (where S had to slip into a lungi-ish thing since he was wearing long shorts-they prolly din want to risk anyone inside getting excited seeing his tandoori (not!) legs :-P) and ending with a tour around the very red- Red Fort (which we left sort of unfinished given that we were sweaty, tired and incredibly thirsty).

But rather than chronicle that day in detail and run the risk of diminishing any of the magic I experienced then, I would rather write about what stands out in this head of mine.

~ Looking around at Humayun's tomb, one level high and seeing only the tomb and a multitude of tree tops all around- Solitude of the highest order!

~S telling the auto-wala outside humayun's tomb that I talk sweetly causing me to blush all over (hoping secretly that he would just mistake it for me being flushed coz of the heat)

~Getting S to buy into the idea of eating at karim's by telling him about it in the most glowing light. And then on seeing the increasing seediness of the chandni chowk area, feeling sheepish and a tinge of panic.

~Karim's food. Period. (no words would do it justice, so why bother!)

~Stepping into Jamamasjid-a most humbling experience!(though all the junta just lying and sleeping around in it like buffalows wallowing in a pond, was a bit putting off)

~S figuring out how to untie and re-tie his slipping lungi at Jama masjid.

~Walking casually out barefoot onto a stretch of floor at Jama Masjid, encouraging S to follow suit and then, on realising how god-damn-hot it was, hopping/running (it was quite comical, in retrospect) the rest of the way to the mat.

~Laughing in relief right afterwards!

~Asking a cute lil boy (at Jama Masjid) clutching a bottle of rail-neer (who was looking at me and my camera with the most intrigued expression) if he wanted his snap clicked and seeing the look of confused surprise followed by undiluted happiness on his face when he saw his picture on my camera.

~Going through the Jama Masjid and Chandni Chowk area on a cycle rickshaw (despite the look of seediness, it is really quaint and beautiful in its own way) and feeling sorry for the rickshaw-wala (I had moments when I wanted to step down and tell him that I would just walk alongside)

~My first glimpse of the Red Fort- Never realised how incredibly red it is (Duh!) and how never-ending it's walls look.

~The woman at the body-check area at the entrance to Red-Fort, looking at me and exclaiming (while laughing) "Aapke baal to ekdum..." (my response: "heh, Bas aise hi hain.")

~After an incredibly hot, tiring and sweaty round of the Red fort, getting back to the comfort of the AC in my room (what can I say, I am pampered!)

~Calling S a 'saala amreeki' and seeing the look right afterwards on his face!heh!

All in all, it was the Baap of all my experiences in the last 4 months. And while I know I have only scratched the surface of all that is Delhi, I am happy to have seen even this much! =)

currently reading: In Xanadu- William Dalrymple

currently listening: Mahiya- Awarapan, Evergreen- Cliff Richards, Far away- Nickleback

When life hands you lemons... (2)

2007-06-20T19:46:00.000+08:00

Wts scary is that on reading this.. I remebered occasions (in the last 2 months) when I have sounded somewhat like the second chicken in the strip....

Damn I need to escape from this corporate whoreship!! :-P

currently reading- Wizard of Oz

currently listening- Trouble Sleeping- The Perishers, World Hold on- Bob Sinclair

When life hands you lemons...

2007-06-20T19:41:00.000+08:00

Surfing around the net today in office, i come across something incredibly entertaining and mildly relevant...Laugh away! http://www.irrelativity.com/lemons.html

"When life hands you lemons, make lemonade."So the saying goes. But why settle for making lemonade when there are so many more possibilities?When life hands you lemons...

* Cut them in half and squeeze the stinging, citrus pulp into the eyes of those who would dare to mock, threaten or oppose you.

* Just as life hands them to you, quickly toss them back. Yell, "You touched 'em last!" Then run away.* Say, "Lemons? For me? Cool. Can I have some more?" Life will comply, as it is eager to give you lemons. When it does, exclaim, "Hey, everybody, look at all these lemons! I'm the luckiest man alive!" Life will eventually become bored with its game of handing you lemons, since you obviously aren't going to play along, and will go off to find someone else to mess with.

* Stick shards of broken, colored glass in them, douse them with a bodily fluid of your choice and suspend them from lengths of rusty chain. Give each newly-altered lemon a different title, like "Conscience Resolution," or "The Indifference of the Soul." Hire a PR firm to get them displayed in a Soho art gallery. Take the art world by storm.

* Juggle.

* Go online to www.citrus-sex.com and check out pictures of people doing things you never even imagined to themselves, and each other, with lemons. Do these things to yourself and others. Bless this time we live in.

* Make lemonade. Add vodka. Drink. Declare that "life ishn't scho bad after all."

* Use them, along with some household white glue, to construct a medium-sized pyramid. Form a religion based around this structure and its inspirational and healing powers, with yourself as the charismatic leader. Draft a doctrine which places an emphasis on the redeeming qualities of giving and selflessness. Enjoy your tax-free status.

* Lemon fight!

* Simply refuse to sign for them. Life's lemons can't be delivered without an authorized signature.

* Pretend to "accidentally" drop one of them. When life bends over to pick it up, give life a major wedgie. Run away (without the lemons, of course.)

* Pack them around a postal shipment whose smell you wish to disguise.

* Accept them graciously, so as not to cause life to suspect you of anything. Then stick one in life's exhaust pipe while it's in the grocery store picking up more lemons.

Remembering her....

2007-06-13T14:48:00.000+08:00

Wrote this last friday on small scraps of paper fished out from my bag....for reasons obvious after u read this post, I just got time to post it...

A thousand words and thoughts are swimming in my head and the urge to put some of them down has never been stronger. And yet strangely , I am struggling.

No matter how much you try to dress up a hospital's waiting room, its purpose or rather its cause, always manages to tone it down, make it seem grim and cheerless. And so it is, with this one that I am sitting in. Blue-grey chairs all lined up, a sleeping man almost slipping out of his chair trying to find comfort in a chair that has none to offer, groups of relatives huddled up together- some cheery, some glum but all sharing the same look of anxiety and a similar rythm in looking at the entry door expectedly. The TV in the corner buzzes to life, trying desperately hard to add momentary cheer to the worried faces but manages to elicit nothing but a perfunctory glance. A solitary mosquito darts in and out between the people and the chairs, its buzzing drowned by the hum of the AC. I am in the waiting room at Fortis Hospital in Delhi. And I suddenly burst into a short mirthless laugh, which wakes up the sleeping man who decides to give up trying to sleep and busies himself with his phone.

The irony of the name 'waiting room' just hit me; for that's what we have been doing for the past few hours, past few days, past few weeks. Waiting, watching and hoping that my dadima would get better, that she would show signs of the possibility of coming back home with us.

And here I am now, standing with dad n bua, while they try to decide and finalize the arrangements for dadima's last rites.

My mind keeps trying to organise its emotions, to identify them. This is not grief (its not nearly extreme enough), its not sadness (much as that may sound wierd) for like birth, death too should be venerated (for it's the beginning of another journey). This what I am feeling is simply a deep sense of loss.

Snippets of my memories of her keep coming to my head. The earliest one, being one, when because I was playing with her chunni she was running behind me shouting 'agar meri chunni phat jayegi toh mujhe nayi kaun leke dege' to which my standard reply was 'papa hai na!'

I remember all the time I would run to her knitting needles and a ball of wool in hand- 'Dadima sikhao na' 'Dadima dekho theek se nahi ho raha'. And no matter how busy or unwilling she was she would always help me.

Everytime I got lice in my hair (which was more than once), dadima would sit with me out on the verandah, a fine toothed comb in hand and patiently wage war on the lice.

I remeber her recounting to me her days as a little girl in Pakistan and my subsequent promise to her that I would take her back there with the salary of my first job. And I realise with a pang now that, that promise will never be.

And now that I had come down to Delhi, every weekend when I would come over she would make and get all that I liked to eat. I remember with fondness having the most surprising conversation with her about love, marriage, life and everything in between.

Yes, She was my dadi of awesome love (and ghee)-filled parathas, my dadi of sarson da saag and kaale gajar ki kaanji, my dadi of khatta aam achar, my dadi of 'bhajans on diwali', my dadi of 'koyi nayi galla kar'.

Yes. She was my dadi and I will miss her so so much.

currently listening- Hemorrhage-Fuel, music by Holly Brook, Breathe me (Mylo remix)- Sia

99 red balloons!!

2007-05-29T19:30:00.000+08:00

I know when I left off yesterday I had promised that I would be back today to recount the events of the rest of the week. Well, I seem to want to keep only part of my promise- Am back but not willing to recount events. Don't blame me, blame it on whatever is causing me to feel all thoughful and random.

Why do people make friends? What motivates them to put that extra effort? Is it about just companionship or having someone to hang out with? and a friendship between a guy and a girl, does it happen always because of the possibilty of a certain end(for both). and what if that 'certain end' is gotten out of the way fairly early... will the friendship still blossom? (in which case there was more to it than just that end) or will it wither out and die? (indicating thus that it was all about the end). And why do we become better friends with some and not others? some may say, its all about the matching of personalities and interests. but everyone will vouch to having had atleast one friend who is completely different from them. A friend of mine keeps saying (well he says this about love but I think I can cheat a little here, heh!) that it is all about spending enough time together; Given enough time together, two people who are poles apart could begin to revel in each other's company (or even fall in love). But if that's all it takes, then what really is friendship? (or love?) and can it then survive long-distance? (since time becomes a scarce ingredient in that case)

Been having a really lovely day today. It all started when it rained yesterday night and the weather became cool and breezy. I decided to go over to B's place for the night and we ended up lying on her terrace talking about this and that. But alas, mosquitos soon came out in full force to defend their territory and we had to retire back inside. But the good weather was enough to make me feel high and happy and am just having a hangover from that (surely one hangover i don't mind having)
Anyways have to push off... more later!! Ciao!

PS- jus re-read the post and it sounds amazingly random, so i decided it deserves a random title to go along with it! ;-)

currently reading- City of Djinns- William Dalrymple
currently listening- I miss you- Blink 182, Here (In your arms)- Hellogoodbye

Where is my mind??

2007-05-28T15:14:00.000+08:00

As far as crazy and happening weeks go, nothing could beat the last week. It started with me flying down from Singapore...after a whirlwind weekend filled with packing, meeting friends, more packing, meeting C, drinking, an obligatory lunch, oh, did i mention packing (its amazing how much junk one can collect given enough time, money, good weather, willing friends and inviting 'sale' events).

The flight too was really something; Had the most interesting ever co-passenger (He told me, among other things, about a shooting facilty near Siagon where you can shoot AK-47s or even machine guns, picture that!), saw the 'arty-est yet entertaining and heart-warming' movie ever (Pan's Labyrinth, thanks Karan for the rec), and was served by the most interesting looking stewardess(her eyes looked like they would eject themselves any moment and roll around on the floor), who kept putting off my requests for water.

At this point, I am compelled to compliment the Delhi Intl airport. Based on what I recalled, I expected it to be a complete mess and so accordingly braced myself for a harrowing experience at the immigration, baggage and customs counters. But surprise surprise, I was out of there in half the time I had expected it to take. That left me with more problems than it solved though. My lift for the evening was blissfully lounging at home when I called to enquire where he was parked. Rather than jus wait for him to drive down, I got a lift from that 'most interesting ever co-passenger' though I did have to brace a few reprimands from C and A (Are u crazy? strange guy u've barely known for a few hours! This is Delhi! Call me as soon as you get home!) But the guy was really sweet, so was his cousin who had come to pick him up (helped me lug my luggage all the way up the stairs at home and made me miss out on a calorie-expending chance, damn!)

Wednesday night saw me going out for dinner with U and B and what ensued turned out to be the highlight of not just the week but my entire Delhi-stay so far. There we were, post dinner and post 2 glasses of wine, getting ourselves some good 'ol desi paan, talking about going clubbing somewhere. Suddenly I turn around and U is sprawled on the road clutching his ankle, his face painted with embarassment and pain. After failed attempts at getting him to walk, a random honda-CRV driver expressing his anger at me through closed windows for god knows what (was like watching an awesomely funny silent movie) and a frantic search for U's driver, we got him to Max's Emergency section.

U: I don't want to go to the hospital!
Me: why?
U: (sheepishly) I am scared of injections.
Me: (laughing) don't worry, its just a sprain or something. U won't need an injection
At the hospital,
Doc: (first thing after examining U's foot) He needs a pain killer injection!

Talk about bad luck!

B and I started to protest on U's behalf but the only thing that came out of that was us getting kicked out of there ("Ladies, can u pls step out!")

Well eventually when we were allowed back in, we got to know that the doc wanted to take an X-ray. Since there was already a small kid in the X-ray room (interestingly with much the same injury as U), we had to wait outside.

Kid inside X-ray room: Waaa waaa...nahi nahi....sniff sniff...Booo Hooo
Kid's parents inside as well: beta...ye toy dekho,Gaadi... vroom vroom...
....After a while... (clapping) ho gaya!!!!
U:Umm... (worried look on his face)
B: (with a smirk) We should get a toy for U as well!

What followed was a night of unexplained laughter, subsequent stomach aches from too much laughing and wacky photos (thank god for cellphones with cameras). B was on a complete trip of her own (kept insisting she wanted to be wheeled around in the wheelchair and on my refusal to comply, sat herself down on one and tried to will it forward!) I am surprised the hospital did not turn us out! (though i suspect that was more cause they had a few laughs too)

Eventually we ended up staying at U's place (poor thing needed all the help he could get), had a few more laughs (yes, at his expense), helped him pack for his US trip and reached office by lunchtime the next day. (why waste the excuse, heh!)

(am tired of writing now, will continue this post tomorrow, promise!)
............

currently reading: City of Djinns- William Dalrymple
currently listening: Ya rabba- Salaam-e-Ishq, Here is gone- Goo goo dolls

Wheeeeeeeee!!!!!

2007-04-26T17:25:00.000+08:00

There are good days and there are bad ones. Guess yesterday was just the latter.
And then there are days when u feel an inexplicable optimism and goodness about it all and everything looks so much more beautiful (even the person u see in the mirror heh!). Today is such a day!!!

Hehe I am on a crazy roller coaster ride...loving the highs n living out the lows!!

And that's life! Corretto?

Dilli Meri Jaan!

2007-04-25T20:05:00.000+08:00

Life in Delhi is 'interesting!' (and not in the sense I usually use this word). I started off... loving Delhi and its way of life and now that the novelty of it all has started to run out, I suddenly find myself pining for singapore (never thought that could happen) and the people I left behind there. And its not that I dont like delhi anymore; I still think as highly of it as I did when I first started living here. But lately I have started to feel this awning sense of loneliness, this sense of being insignificant in a city so busy and large, this feeling of not having anyone to call my own here. And so I end up grasping at small incidents and newly formed relationships to give me that sense of belonging to somewhere or someone here.

I have been told often by people close to me, that I wear my heart on my sleeve and that I treat, a posession as precious and fragile as it, with a tad bit of carelessness. And while, so far I have not had any reason to agree with that assessment, I think I may have gotten myself one. And along with that landed myself into a situation that is by no means enviable. And I think the distance is all to blame; The near-ness to one and the far-ness from another. But whatever the reason, I am left here trying to come to terms with it all. I know, I talk in riddles, much like the state of my mind right now! Sigh!

But like always (the die-hard optimist in me awakens finally! Phew!), it will all be fine. Who knows, a whole lot of good just may come out of it.

PS- In retrospect, this post sounds soooo low and depressed. Don't worry (if u were), I am just in a mellow state of mind and wierdly, feeling ironical about everything (I hope its just PMS, for then I know that it will soon pass).

2007-03-14T18:20:00.000+08:00

Am snatching a few moments from work to post this, much as I know I don't really have the time (such is the lure of blogging and writing). To set some of your burning curiosity to rest (I refuse to use the curiosity killing cliche), I am in Delhi these days for a 4-6 month internship at GE India. And if the busy days (and its just my third day here) are any indication, it seems like i will get to do some really good stuff. And a reason this would come as a surprise to many is that it all happened so last-minute, I din't really get to tell anyone or bid anyone adieu before I joined here. So there!
I seem to have lost my train of thought (has everything to do with me being mentally pooped)..so i should get back to work...

will write a really long post soon...the moment I get internet at home...I promise!

=)

Baby, I'm back!!- A teaser ;-)

2007-03-13T16:19:00.000+08:00

As the title of this post reads, I am back to blogging after a long hiatus. What prompted this abrupt return, u ask? well in the answer to that lies another question, why did I stop blogging in the first place? Well a myriad of reasons are to blame, mainly a serious lack of time and inclination, an absence of anything special to write about (that is before I reached my current state of 'life itself is special and worth documenting') and the presence of other extracurricular activities (I choose not to elaborate heh). And how has any of that changed? well, working in an office all day leaves enough windows of opportunity open for creative (and often entertaining) pursuits the likes of blogging. And I do have special things to write about (life itself, as I mentioned!). So there, I guess u'll be seeing (reading?) a lot more of me now.

Now that i've introduced my return with much aplomb, i'll bid adieu for a while (the problem with these windows of creative opportunities in office is that they are too small). I'll be back with a longer post! I promise! (as if, heh!)

PS- This post is a teaser, for it leaves you teased, with a million questions in your head like, Is N Working in an office? where? doing what? and why didn't she tell me about it? Is she cross with me? If not, is she earning well? (For then I can be happy at the prospect of another potentially rich friend) Is US a bully? Is she still doing those extracurricular activities? Is she in Singapore? (Just threw in that US question, betcha din notice! Or maybe you did (in that case u read my blog with too much of gravity and attention) In any case, here's a bonus. The answer to the US question is a YES (accompanied by a vehement nod!) The answers to the rest, next time.)

=)

Ummm..... (Blank)

2005-12-02T23:13:00.000+08:00

Strange as it may seem, I have opened this page a million times already (to write my second blog entry) and then closed it for lack of anything to say. Well this does seem harder than it looked at first glance....How does one just pick out a topic from mid-air, and start to write a thesis on it (well, not a thesis, but quite something like it). I put in much thouht to solve this quandary of mine, and decided that the best way to start would be to write out whatever comes to my mind..so here I am....(again coming very close to blanking out on things to write)....

This whole last week I had exams (with the last one being tomorrow)...I know i know...if u are even wee bit the fatherly (or motherly) kind, u will be shaking your head...and telling me to go study rather than tapping away at my keyboard. but hey, I am completely blameless. It is beautiful outside. The wind is blowing, there is a faint hint of rain in the air and it is just so pleasant all around (as u can obviously make out, i just simply love rains). and being a lover of all things bright n beautiful, how can i just sit and indulge in the banality of studying (yeesch!!)..So there....

Today morning, C left for home (India) while I was getting ready to go to college for my FA exam.....Exam went ok...nothing I can be proud to speak of (should have studied more though!) anyways, I finished with the exam, and came home and felt wierd...I am so used to calling chintan up whenever I am free and spending time with him...heh I need to get more friends!

Now that I read back....I have managed to write quite a bit....and I am sort of getting weary of typing (and I want to go stand by my window and soak up some of that beauty I talked about earlier :-))...So I guess this shall be the end of it for today....I shall be back tomorrow, promise!

PS: I should probably warn you though that I am not very good at keeping promises, especially those that involve some kind of regularity..he he!!

My first time!

2005-11-20T16:53:00.000+08:00

Hey, this is the first time I am posting something on my very own blog (duh!). I am still curious why am i doing this at all in the first place. As far as i can remember, I have always been one of those who always thought blogging was for people who jus din have enough to do in their lives. Well hello...after all if you have the extra time in the first place, there are so many other things (better i may say) to do in that time (sleeping for starters!)

So then...hmm...why am i here typing this post? non lo so! (or for the non-italianized, I don't know)..I guess i am just giving it a try, before i condemn it wholly and solely as something inconsequential. So here goes......

all the best to me! :-)

Nimbu Paani

Here's one for tradition!

And Here We Go...

New York, je t'aime

Here's attempting a CPR

And the calendar changes...

Heppie Burday!

Lazy friday weekends! =D

The comedy is that it's serious.

When you realise...

Latesshht!

Goodbye...

80's Bollywood Hilarity!

Where have all the lemons gone?

'Happy' Women's Day?

Everything that I wish I wasn't saying

25 Random Facts About Yours Truly!

Beemaari...

The cat has some wise words

We're listening to the winds of change

Sixty Three...

Motivation is what gets you started, Habit is what keeps you going

9 Resolutions for 09

Gotta ask yourself the question, Where are you now?

If that's all you will be, you'll be a waste of time...

Are the details in the fabric?

Where do the children play?

Super-Quirk Me!

Everything is dust in the wind

Maybe I should tell you about...

I hate Leeches!!!

Rastaa chaap!

Happy Birthday to Me...

The Others

There are a few perks to sitting on the 41st floor...

'Coz i'm writing to reach u...

It takes more balls to be a woman...

Paris on my mind...

Drugged Out...

Me. In Parée. Yipeeeeee!

PussyCat Dolls, Rajiv Gandhi and good ol' me!

I am an Indian

Pssst....

Woman like a man...

*Blank*

Vaat is Mobaile Numbarr?

I love Calvin!

Romantic Movie + Rainy Afternoon = Bad Idea!

Leaving on a Jetplane? Yeah more like the jetplane leaving without me!

Of writer's block, biting dogs and dying genes...

2007- A Eulogy

My incurable Delhi-hangover...

Dilli Meri Jaan! Masha'Allah!

When life hands you lemons... (2)

When life hands you lemons...

Remembering her....

99 red balloons!!

Where is my mind??

Wheeeeeeeee!!!!!

Dilli Meri Jaan!

Baby, I'm back!!- A teaser ;-)

Ummm..... (*Blank*)

My first time!

Blank

Ummm..... (Blank)