Did you always want to be grown up while you were young? To be taken seriously, to not be answerable, to not have to ask for that extra cookie, or get someone else to buy you something you’ve always wanted?
Yup we all did. But, I’m wondering is it normal for those of us who were in such grave hurry to hang our diapers, wanting to take to the pacifier again? Have somebody else make the decisions for us. Especially the hard ones. Why didn’t anybody tell me growing up was not about being able to eat pizza when its not the weekend, lying in bed for those extra minutes in the morning. It was not about going to the movies on a working night, or about being able to step out of the house without telling someone, even if it was a trip to the grocer. It was not about late night phone conversations or the sleep overs. Growing up was simply not the bed of roses it looked like and I’d appreciate if somebody had told me that.
No one said you’d be accountable for your actions. Those that you make. And even those that you don’t. You’d be responsible for not only yours but one day, somebody else’s actions too.
I’ve had a fortunate & sheltered life, thus not much to complain about. But one of the trivial things that did bother me was curfews, not being able to stay out longer, or talk to boys, or wax. Like my other normal friends. Never imagining that there would actually come a day when the choice to stay home, in front of the TV for hours watching episode after episode of my favorite escapism, in solitary confinement, would be a choice I made.
I for one was in a big hurry to grow up and not be accountable to anybody. And as I grew up, others stopped questioning me. But with that, a new search started within, empty answers with no questions. And this was all with me, which made it even more difficult.
It does feel good to be able to do everything that makes you happy. But you’re also the one responsible for bringing the tears. I’m not sure if I would be so uncomfortable pinning someone else as a reason for my miseries. Not that it’s a very grown up and mature thing to do, but making choices for yourself can be hard and the excess baggage cant be paid for.
I believe you don’t make choices out of experience but experience comes from the choices you make. But here’s the hard part, sometimes even experience can’t stop you from making the same mistakes again.
You’re responsible for the friends you make, for the people you fall in love with, for the hearts you break. Even those that break yours, you choose them!
I hated it when my dad would just say ‘no’ and the conversation was dismissed. Somehow being resentful made things easier. But ever since things changed to ‘it’s your choice and you have to make that decision’, it sucks, because suddenly I’ve become responsible for the outcome. The good and the bad. Some you learn to live with, some you learn to let go. But you mostly try and learn as you go along.
However, there is this one thing that hasn’t changed with growing up. I still like surprises, especially if they have to do with a birthday party. There’s no shallowness in equating the number of people on the guest list to the number of presents I’ll get. That’s a choice I’m happy to make.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Dobai my phoren land
There was a time when Dubai as a destination was inspirational. Many movies, travel blogs, Picasa web albums, had pages dedicated to this destination of wonders.
Holidaying here was like traveling to the exotic bend of the earth. The sun kissed beaches, the shopping ecstasy, the night life, the architecture, the camels…all of it!
Indian movies largely glorified this, god’s favorite city. Whether it was a tight tuxedo clad mafia don directing his steal or people looking for a job, leaving their home, mother’s feet, a thali with tikka/diya behind, they all had one destination – Dobai (spelt for effect).
This was of course before Yash Raj and Karan Johar showed us otherwise. Where smoldering dream sequences in à la mode chiffon saris amidst sand storms seemed unattractive as compared to snogging amidst the Swiss Alps. When watching your favorite actress jogging along the Thames made the script more credible than jogging along the creek. New York and Switzerland soon became the new Dobai. You could no longer, with your peers, sit proudly through movies identifying landmarks that you lived or worked ‘just around’.
There also existed a time when you waited for 9 pm or Fridays to talk for a few minutes longer on an ISD because the mercy of discounted rates dictated terms (I.S.D : International Subscriber Dialling is the term used to describe an international telephone call dialled by the caller rather than going via an operator.)
But today, thanks to Skype, Etisalat and DU one can enjoy special packages to ‘a favorite country’ where you can talk for 1.27 Dhs per minute and other such nonsense!
Don’t mean to sound ungrateful but Fridays are no longer eagerly awaited for (still in the context of an ISD). Now, just pick up the phone…dial a pizza, or make an international call to hear agonizing stories about your mother’s neighbours, their neighbours relatives or the street dog ‘Tommy’.
Along with India’s booming economy, international calls from India (to Dubai) have also become cheaper. Along with it cheapened the ability of my friends, to relish my anticipated weekend calls. I enjoyed being able to make someone feel special with my occasional long international chats. But those times are long gone. Now THEY call randomly, at even more random hours, talk for hours, and what’s worse - they don’t hesitate even once before putting me on hold ‘Tch, wait ya..I’m getting another call…let me just tell them I’m with you na’. Left there waiting, listening to ‘The hutch mobile customer you’ve called has put you on hold’ I can’t help but think to myself, what happened to the novelty of an international call?
I’m still stuck in the phase, where you’d drop everything else because you’re getting ‘a call’. When you could make out the importance of a call, just by its distinct ring tone (there actually was a time when the ring of an international call on your landline was very different!). When the pitch of ‘Halloooo’ had to be really loud as you waited patiently for the time lagged response. When all this excitement and bad network only sent your pulse and pitch racing higher.
I have to hide my disappointment sometimes when I call friends only to hear ‘the Vodafone customer you’re trying to reach is currently on another call. Please hold or call back later’. I have to stop myself from following this with a sms saying ‘Pick up! this is an ISD - ‘It’s Special you Dumbfuck!’
They’ll call back I know. Unapologetically. They always do. One day I’ll learn that an international call is no longer a big deal. That day I’ll also learn to ‘Chill ya!’
Holidaying here was like traveling to the exotic bend of the earth. The sun kissed beaches, the shopping ecstasy, the night life, the architecture, the camels…all of it!
Indian movies largely glorified this, god’s favorite city. Whether it was a tight tuxedo clad mafia don directing his steal or people looking for a job, leaving their home, mother’s feet, a thali with tikka/diya behind, they all had one destination – Dobai (spelt for effect).
This was of course before Yash Raj and Karan Johar showed us otherwise. Where smoldering dream sequences in à la mode chiffon saris amidst sand storms seemed unattractive as compared to snogging amidst the Swiss Alps. When watching your favorite actress jogging along the Thames made the script more credible than jogging along the creek. New York and Switzerland soon became the new Dobai. You could no longer, with your peers, sit proudly through movies identifying landmarks that you lived or worked ‘just around’.
There also existed a time when you waited for 9 pm or Fridays to talk for a few minutes longer on an ISD because the mercy of discounted rates dictated terms (I.S.D : International Subscriber Dialling is the term used to describe an international telephone call dialled by the caller rather than going via an operator.)
But today, thanks to Skype, Etisalat and DU one can enjoy special packages to ‘a favorite country’ where you can talk for 1.27 Dhs per minute and other such nonsense!
Don’t mean to sound ungrateful but Fridays are no longer eagerly awaited for (still in the context of an ISD). Now, just pick up the phone…dial a pizza, or make an international call to hear agonizing stories about your mother’s neighbours, their neighbours relatives or the street dog ‘Tommy’.
Along with India’s booming economy, international calls from India (to Dubai) have also become cheaper. Along with it cheapened the ability of my friends, to relish my anticipated weekend calls. I enjoyed being able to make someone feel special with my occasional long international chats. But those times are long gone. Now THEY call randomly, at even more random hours, talk for hours, and what’s worse - they don’t hesitate even once before putting me on hold ‘Tch, wait ya..I’m getting another call…let me just tell them I’m with you na’. Left there waiting, listening to ‘The hutch mobile customer you’ve called has put you on hold’ I can’t help but think to myself, what happened to the novelty of an international call?
I’m still stuck in the phase, where you’d drop everything else because you’re getting ‘a call’. When you could make out the importance of a call, just by its distinct ring tone (there actually was a time when the ring of an international call on your landline was very different!). When the pitch of ‘Halloooo’ had to be really loud as you waited patiently for the time lagged response. When all this excitement and bad network only sent your pulse and pitch racing higher.
I have to hide my disappointment sometimes when I call friends only to hear ‘the Vodafone customer you’re trying to reach is currently on another call. Please hold or call back later’. I have to stop myself from following this with a sms saying ‘Pick up! this is an ISD - ‘It’s Special you Dumbfuck!’
They’ll call back I know. Unapologetically. They always do. One day I’ll learn that an international call is no longer a big deal. That day I’ll also learn to ‘Chill ya!’
Monday, June 23, 2008
Have you ever…..
Have you ever laughed so much that it made you cry
Run so fast
When you wanted to fly
Lived a moment as if it were the last
Been so happy, that you thought you’d die.
Loved so much that it actually hurt,
Even with no answers you found comfort
Saw the straight line but you swayed.
Have you ever met someone that washed it all away?
Smiled and hid the tears behind
Counted every blessing a million times.
Had so much left to say,
Could do nothing but let him walk away?
Lost yourself, but found it in his eyes
That one moment when you believed the lies
When the world stopped rotating and all you had is forever
When your eyes listen and your fingers do the talking
When your heart feels but your senses stop walking
When you try so hard for your thoughts to align
To set yourself free, but only deeper you entwine
Have you ever stared at the sun with closed eyes
Felt the moon and the winds rise
Walked by the shore, hearing waves rush in
Watched as your footprints made impressions behind
Stared into blankness together unsigned
Have you ever found the courage to open that door
To hold onto what you want for ever and more?
Run so fast
When you wanted to fly
Lived a moment as if it were the last
Been so happy, that you thought you’d die.
Loved so much that it actually hurt,
Even with no answers you found comfort
Saw the straight line but you swayed.
Have you ever met someone that washed it all away?
Smiled and hid the tears behind
Counted every blessing a million times.
Had so much left to say,
Could do nothing but let him walk away?
Lost yourself, but found it in his eyes
That one moment when you believed the lies
When the world stopped rotating and all you had is forever
When your eyes listen and your fingers do the talking
When your heart feels but your senses stop walking
When you try so hard for your thoughts to align
To set yourself free, but only deeper you entwine
Have you ever stared at the sun with closed eyes
Felt the moon and the winds rise
Walked by the shore, hearing waves rush in
Watched as your footprints made impressions behind
Stared into blankness together unsigned
Have you ever found the courage to open that door
To hold onto what you want for ever and more?
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Lingua Franca of the high faluting
The other day an atypical article stopped my rampant flipping. Actually it was the word ‘Smirting’ that caught my fancy. Smirting- ‘flirting while smoking’ Sounds almost posh and very true, even if at a subliminal level at elaborate shindigs.
Health & safety regulations at most bars and clubs have led to the transpiring of parallel parties. Groups now form on the outside, pleasantries are exchanged as easily as the light of a match. If you’re the Alice in wonderland with an unlit cigarette or just the casual bummer the scenario almost never fails an excuse for a conversation. Could be a casual comment on the DJ’s mixing or ‘do you come her often?’
Sharing a smoke has always been an ice breaker.
As I read on further, the article mentioned something rather amusing, since the ban, clubbers have noticed that there’s no smoke any longer to mask the odors of bad breath, BO and farts between air-conditioned walls. Where as the smokers all step out into the open, amongst fresh air & gently perfumed Gautier’s.
Damn the intensifying breast cancer & health awareness roll which interferes with myths like a women looked sexy with a fag in her hand. Haute couture models pictured with never ending legs, never starting skirts, pencil heals, that’s not what made them look sexy - it’s how they held it all together between their figures and faces labelled with ‘you’ve mistaken me for someone who cares’ is what turned the heat on.
Intercourse Smirting (a fag between courses) could also be a cause for ruining your party, I read on. Well, it’s true because at any given time there will always be 4 people missing. When one stub leads to a joke, the joke leads to a third, the third results in more non smokers joining into the conversation and the fourth leads to the sixth. Before you know it the party has moved to the lawn.
Somehow I’ve noticed, a group of smokers, laughing out loud on common views and jokes appear to be having more fun, than you, watching from the other side of the glass door, especially if you don’t mind the heat
A friend once said she meets a lot of interesting people while smoking, she steps out alone but has a new acquaintance every time back in. When she feels the party is getting too smoggy for her likeness, she steps out for a quite moment, fresh air and a different smoke. It is here, she often meets randoms who maybe there for the quite moment but don’t mind exchanging a glance with a face they haven’t seen or a topic they haven’t repeatedly discussed over the last few hours.
If she chances and can bear to share moments with the same people over different breaks through the night, then by now surfing, snorkelling or snogging plans are underway.
‘Come outside and have a cigarette with me’ does sound tempting.
Health & safety regulations at most bars and clubs have led to the transpiring of parallel parties. Groups now form on the outside, pleasantries are exchanged as easily as the light of a match. If you’re the Alice in wonderland with an unlit cigarette or just the casual bummer the scenario almost never fails an excuse for a conversation. Could be a casual comment on the DJ’s mixing or ‘do you come her often?’
Sharing a smoke has always been an ice breaker.
As I read on further, the article mentioned something rather amusing, since the ban, clubbers have noticed that there’s no smoke any longer to mask the odors of bad breath, BO and farts between air-conditioned walls. Where as the smokers all step out into the open, amongst fresh air & gently perfumed Gautier’s.
Damn the intensifying breast cancer & health awareness roll which interferes with myths like a women looked sexy with a fag in her hand. Haute couture models pictured with never ending legs, never starting skirts, pencil heals, that’s not what made them look sexy - it’s how they held it all together between their figures and faces labelled with ‘you’ve mistaken me for someone who cares’ is what turned the heat on.
Intercourse Smirting (a fag between courses) could also be a cause for ruining your party, I read on. Well, it’s true because at any given time there will always be 4 people missing. When one stub leads to a joke, the joke leads to a third, the third results in more non smokers joining into the conversation and the fourth leads to the sixth. Before you know it the party has moved to the lawn.
Somehow I’ve noticed, a group of smokers, laughing out loud on common views and jokes appear to be having more fun, than you, watching from the other side of the glass door, especially if you don’t mind the heat
A friend once said she meets a lot of interesting people while smoking, she steps out alone but has a new acquaintance every time back in. When she feels the party is getting too smoggy for her likeness, she steps out for a quite moment, fresh air and a different smoke. It is here, she often meets randoms who maybe there for the quite moment but don’t mind exchanging a glance with a face they haven’t seen or a topic they haven’t repeatedly discussed over the last few hours.
If she chances and can bear to share moments with the same people over different breaks through the night, then by now surfing, snorkelling or snogging plans are underway.
‘Come outside and have a cigarette with me’ does sound tempting.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Covers women would fall for (and some hidden disclaimers)
1. ‘A bikini bod in 10 days’ or ‘From flab to ABS’
Disclaimer: If you are currently a baby elephant, we’re talking 10 years instead.
2. ‘How to enhance your inner beauty for a sexy new you – goddess hair and glowing skin all summer long’
Disclaimer: or let Bobbi Brown help you instead
4. ‘Dazzle, Sparkle, Shine – 750 pages of Fall fashions- all out glamour’
Disclaimer: You’d think something’s bound to fit. But you’ll realize they’re far too hard on the wallet and your Satwa ‘can make polyester look good’ tailor can’t copy it either.
5. ‘Will they or wont they paradise’
Disclaimer: We’d like you to believe there’s trouble, but close friends have confirmed that ‘it’s all ok’ and wait! we’ve just got news that the family is enjoying a secret getaway.. so, not really a scoop there but thanks for buying the magazine!
6. ‘You’re next mini vacation – 12 perfect escapes’
Disclaimer: The woman on the cover lying bare back with a flower in her hair & a smile of fulfilment, with black basalt stones aligning her chakras actually complained that the sun was too hot, the sand made her itch and she got bitten by jelly fish when she stepped into water.
7. ‘67 sizzling moves –these tips will blow his mind’
Disclaimer: This is not a one size fits all! When exhibited by certain sizes these will amuse him ever more than when he watched Horton dance to ‘Who!’
Should not be tried at home and without parental supervision (imagine!)
8. ‘The Shape Issue - fashion for every figure’
Disclaimer: Every figure between sizes 0-2. If you don’t fit the mould just leave the magazine alone.
10. ‘10 subliminal tricks that make people adore you’ or ‘10 ways to feel confident naked’ Disclaimer- The two don’t have to go hand in hand
11. ‘Denim styles to fit your shape’
I’m a believer - no disclaimer here
12. ‘Get him eating out of your hands’
Disclaimer: These recipes only look easy. They won’t taste like his favourite Thayir sadaam & Kootu, so chances are he’ll still not be impressed.
Finally try staying clear from covers featuring Posh Spice or Katie ‘cant fucking stop smiling since I married Tom cruise’ Holmes. Nothing these magazines cover will ever make you feel good about yourself.
But then, there are some magazines the covers of which you don’t read but only lust. You pick them up hoping the next 100 pages are only about him – Hrithik who Roshans my eyes
Disclaimer: If you are currently a baby elephant, we’re talking 10 years instead.
2. ‘How to enhance your inner beauty for a sexy new you – goddess hair and glowing skin all summer long’
Disclaimer: or let Bobbi Brown help you instead
4. ‘Dazzle, Sparkle, Shine – 750 pages of Fall fashions- all out glamour’
Disclaimer: You’d think something’s bound to fit. But you’ll realize they’re far too hard on the wallet and your Satwa ‘can make polyester look good’ tailor can’t copy it either.
5. ‘Will they or wont they paradise’
Disclaimer: We’d like you to believe there’s trouble, but close friends have confirmed that ‘it’s all ok’ and wait! we’ve just got news that the family is enjoying a secret getaway.. so, not really a scoop there but thanks for buying the magazine!
6. ‘You’re next mini vacation – 12 perfect escapes’
Disclaimer: The woman on the cover lying bare back with a flower in her hair & a smile of fulfilment, with black basalt stones aligning her chakras actually complained that the sun was too hot, the sand made her itch and she got bitten by jelly fish when she stepped into water.
7. ‘67 sizzling moves –these tips will blow his mind’
Disclaimer: This is not a one size fits all! When exhibited by certain sizes these will amuse him ever more than when he watched Horton dance to ‘Who!’
Should not be tried at home and without parental supervision (imagine!)
8. ‘The Shape Issue - fashion for every figure’
Disclaimer: Every figure between sizes 0-2. If you don’t fit the mould just leave the magazine alone.
10. ‘10 subliminal tricks that make people adore you’ or ‘10 ways to feel confident naked’ Disclaimer- The two don’t have to go hand in hand
11. ‘Denim styles to fit your shape’
I’m a believer - no disclaimer here
12. ‘Get him eating out of your hands’
Disclaimer: These recipes only look easy. They won’t taste like his favourite Thayir sadaam & Kootu, so chances are he’ll still not be impressed.
Finally try staying clear from covers featuring Posh Spice or Katie ‘cant fucking stop smiling since I married Tom cruise’ Holmes. Nothing these magazines cover will ever make you feel good about yourself.
But then, there are some magazines the covers of which you don’t read but only lust. You pick them up hoping the next 100 pages are only about him – Hrithik who Roshans my eyes
Sunday, June 15, 2008
The god fearing atheist
I’m not usually someone who contests the presence of the divine power but I do find myself erroneously questioning his existence at times.
‘Things happen for a reason. Have faith in god. Whatever happens, is for the best’ this is what most of us believe in until that fine day...
Happy times always remind me of god, I never forget to thank him. But when in distress I feel deserted, I scream out, but in vain, feeling much like the step child. When in joy most of us are believers, then why does heartache make us question his very decisions?
I knew a friend with an ailing mother. In spite of being thankful for every passing moment that god spared, deep down he felt it was him against god. ‘I won’t let him win that easy’ he always said. He turned a non- believer a few months later.
I thank god for a loving family but how do you explain the reason behind the untimely death of a 20 yr old to his grieving parents? Or vice versa? Is it to help them become stronger?
I thank god for love. But what good is it if I’ve loved and lost. Is it better than to not have loved at all? To experience the companionship of another soul and then the emptiness with its parting away? Is there a reason behind it?
I recently read the case of Josef Fritzel who fathered 7 children with his first born and then locked them in a dark cellar. A sordid case of incest which makes my intestines churn and leaves me gasping for breath in disbelief. I’d like to sit back and watch someone tell them with a straight face, to have faith in god and the fact that whatever has happened to them in the last 20 years is for the best.
Why does he do this? Play favorites. Some justify it as bad karma from your past life. But what about those that don’t faith in rebirth?
A victim of abuse, rape or murder, will they find solace knowing they’ve served term for bad karma from their past life and can now look fwd to a blissful rebirth with a clean score sheet?
You live only once. And its now. Many great philosophers have discoursed. If you live only once, then what about those who live each day as a punishment? Why has god then not planned an unbiased subsistence on earth for all, as a prelude to the pearly gates? Has he not created us all? Can he hate any one of us?
Can a mother give birth and also mastermind grievances in her childs path with such finesse?
If he paints landscapes on his canvas, then why does he also provide for its destruction? What good has ever come out of war, widows and orphans? Does he play between being the planner & the destroyer merely to amuse himself?
‘Things happen for a reason. Have faith in god. Whatever happens, is for the best’ this is what most of us believe in until that fine day...
Happy times always remind me of god, I never forget to thank him. But when in distress I feel deserted, I scream out, but in vain, feeling much like the step child. When in joy most of us are believers, then why does heartache make us question his very decisions?
I knew a friend with an ailing mother. In spite of being thankful for every passing moment that god spared, deep down he felt it was him against god. ‘I won’t let him win that easy’ he always said. He turned a non- believer a few months later.
I thank god for a loving family but how do you explain the reason behind the untimely death of a 20 yr old to his grieving parents? Or vice versa? Is it to help them become stronger?
I thank god for love. But what good is it if I’ve loved and lost. Is it better than to not have loved at all? To experience the companionship of another soul and then the emptiness with its parting away? Is there a reason behind it?
I recently read the case of Josef Fritzel who fathered 7 children with his first born and then locked them in a dark cellar. A sordid case of incest which makes my intestines churn and leaves me gasping for breath in disbelief. I’d like to sit back and watch someone tell them with a straight face, to have faith in god and the fact that whatever has happened to them in the last 20 years is for the best.
Why does he do this? Play favorites. Some justify it as bad karma from your past life. But what about those that don’t faith in rebirth?
A victim of abuse, rape or murder, will they find solace knowing they’ve served term for bad karma from their past life and can now look fwd to a blissful rebirth with a clean score sheet?
You live only once. And its now. Many great philosophers have discoursed. If you live only once, then what about those who live each day as a punishment? Why has god then not planned an unbiased subsistence on earth for all, as a prelude to the pearly gates? Has he not created us all? Can he hate any one of us?
Can a mother give birth and also mastermind grievances in her childs path with such finesse?
If he paints landscapes on his canvas, then why does he also provide for its destruction? What good has ever come out of war, widows and orphans? Does he play between being the planner & the destroyer merely to amuse himself?
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Who let the bitch out?
Dear diary,
A man may look at another man from a fitness perspective, a level he’d aspire to achieve, but the centre of his focus lies largely in checking out women. Women on the other hand do check out men, but the centre of their focus lies largely in checking out women too! Unexplainable.
What about women brings out this strange behaviour I’m still trying to understand? If the women walking in front of you is well groomed, a size 6 or below, you almost want to hide her in an Abaya or lock her up inside. In my case want to throw a sack over her head and beat her blue for existing.
The feeling is rarely inspirational and is always drowned by first reactions of ‘bitch’ or ‘slut’. What’s worse is watching a size 4 with a new born in a stroller who makes it look like she’s just delivered, walked out of the maternity ward into the mall way, in her Gucci or Cavalli (from before the delivery), with hair all done up, the right make up, shoes and handbag, doing the ‘wicked mamma’ routine, just makes me cringe. I want to stuff a finger down my throat and puke in her general direction. The ones that I see on my evening jog, running faster than me and with a stroller in tow, I just want to trip and then run over.
It is my personal belief that if you have a body like that, the toddler aint yours. You’re either the mistress who is forced into strolling for other pay offs or a nanny hired from ‘make them look bad’ agency. I’m not falling for that shit!
A man may look at another man from a fitness perspective, a level he’d aspire to achieve, but the centre of his focus lies largely in checking out women. Women on the other hand do check out men, but the centre of their focus lies largely in checking out women too! Unexplainable.
What about women brings out this strange behaviour I’m still trying to understand? If the women walking in front of you is well groomed, a size 6 or below, you almost want to hide her in an Abaya or lock her up inside. In my case want to throw a sack over her head and beat her blue for existing.
The feeling is rarely inspirational and is always drowned by first reactions of ‘bitch’ or ‘slut’. What’s worse is watching a size 4 with a new born in a stroller who makes it look like she’s just delivered, walked out of the maternity ward into the mall way, in her Gucci or Cavalli (from before the delivery), with hair all done up, the right make up, shoes and handbag, doing the ‘wicked mamma’ routine, just makes me cringe. I want to stuff a finger down my throat and puke in her general direction. The ones that I see on my evening jog, running faster than me and with a stroller in tow, I just want to trip and then run over.
It is my personal belief that if you have a body like that, the toddler aint yours. You’re either the mistress who is forced into strolling for other pay offs or a nanny hired from ‘make them look bad’ agency. I’m not falling for that shit!
Me & I
Ever wondered why some personality traits you have as a child are seldom retained when in full blossom? Very rarely, you fly away as a butterfly retaining the colors of your cocoon.
I guess its cause within your cocoon, you’re secured, sheltered, the ugliness all hidden away. But as a butterfly you feel the need to justify your colors!
At first I may come across (if you haven’t had the privilege to know me yet) as arrogant, cynical & standoffish. Many others, who braved getting to know me, feel I’m warm, animated and always up for a good laugh. The one’s who’ve lived with me think that I don’t give myself enough credit and may suffer from a complexity syndrome. But you’re all wrong.
What I am is a woman.
A woman with pride, but also insecurities (when I catch my reflection in the supermarket refrigerator glass). A woman with gusto, who can yet be weak inside (on spotting a 6 inch Prada). A woman of substance yet capable of erratic behavior (when I realize I can’t afford it).
Just a woman!
I guess its cause within your cocoon, you’re secured, sheltered, the ugliness all hidden away. But as a butterfly you feel the need to justify your colors!
At first I may come across (if you haven’t had the privilege to know me yet) as arrogant, cynical & standoffish. Many others, who braved getting to know me, feel I’m warm, animated and always up for a good laugh. The one’s who’ve lived with me think that I don’t give myself enough credit and may suffer from a complexity syndrome. But you’re all wrong.
What I am is a woman.
A woman with pride, but also insecurities (when I catch my reflection in the supermarket refrigerator glass). A woman with gusto, who can yet be weak inside (on spotting a 6 inch Prada). A woman of substance yet capable of erratic behavior (when I realize I can’t afford it).
Just a woman!
Monday, June 9, 2008
Sarkar Raj
You’d think Ramus Raj was almost over with a series of recent unmentionables like Naach, Ramu ki Aag, Go etc Sarkar Raj, then, is the breath of fresh air. Must admit, I wasn’t the first one in queue when the movie released this Wednesday. I had to be bribed with shopping and then lunch. This followed by threats when I still failed to comply. But we finally struck a deal; this movie was a trade off for watching three other chick flicks.
Not a fan of a serious afternoon, especially after drowning my internals in Lucknowi kababs and paratha, I settled in, not expecting too much. As the movie progressed, my shuffling decreased and I finally gave in and let myself enjoy.
Loved the treatment given to the film. The Cinematography was brilliant! Full points to the unconventional way close ups where taken behind/through objects e.g. the scene where Abhishek is trying to convince Amitabh Bachan about the benefits of the power plant. The scene seemed to be shot and moving from behind a TV cabinet where only partial faces can be seen through ornaments on the shelf.
The background score was brilliant, just like the first Sarkar. The colours of the film, really help set the mood. The soft almost sepia tones every time Big B was in his office, the Beige walls, sunlight softening the colours as it spreads through, the worn out wooden classic table, very typically Maharashtian, simple yet functional. Can’t say I was blown away by the acting though. What I mean is to comment on Big B’s acting would be disrespectful, choti muh badi baat. Aby Baby, yes, oodles of screen presence but I would give more stars to the supporting cast who are all veteran Marathi stage actors.
Aishwarya Rai, the less said about the better.
Good to have you back Ramu, like they say you’re as good as your last film.
Not a fan of a serious afternoon, especially after drowning my internals in Lucknowi kababs and paratha, I settled in, not expecting too much. As the movie progressed, my shuffling decreased and I finally gave in and let myself enjoy.
Loved the treatment given to the film. The Cinematography was brilliant! Full points to the unconventional way close ups where taken behind/through objects e.g. the scene where Abhishek is trying to convince Amitabh Bachan about the benefits of the power plant. The scene seemed to be shot and moving from behind a TV cabinet where only partial faces can be seen through ornaments on the shelf.
The background score was brilliant, just like the first Sarkar. The colours of the film, really help set the mood. The soft almost sepia tones every time Big B was in his office, the Beige walls, sunlight softening the colours as it spreads through, the worn out wooden classic table, very typically Maharashtian, simple yet functional. Can’t say I was blown away by the acting though. What I mean is to comment on Big B’s acting would be disrespectful, choti muh badi baat. Aby Baby, yes, oodles of screen presence but I would give more stars to the supporting cast who are all veteran Marathi stage actors.
Aishwarya Rai, the less said about the better.
Good to have you back Ramu, like they say you’re as good as your last film.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Coeur flottant merveilleux aux fraises
There are some things in life I don’t get. Men, their excitement over ‘whose burp is louder’, ‘that fart was wicked’, ‘Knock it’ being the ultimate statement & ‘networking’.
The obligation to spend the evening bonding over beers and small talk, with people you average 50 hours/week with. I don’t mind if I genuinely like you, but for a lame excuse like ‘networking’.. it’s a shame for the evening to be disposed off like that. If it’s meant to do anything, like, help you bond with team mates, then why choose noisy pubs where any scope of conversation is zero. You stand around, shake your head pretending that you ‘get’ the music, lean uncomfortably close over other people’s ears to get in a word, I mean c’mon!
Award nights are another phenomenon I don’t get. All the effort to look sophisticatedly gorgeous (it’s easier for me than for many others, but still.) knowing equally well that it’s not you at the receiving end tonight (yes I mean with the award as well). These are people you work with alright, and facing the ‘phantom underwear’ next morning may not be pretty.
So, you sit through dinner and dishes you can’t pronounce (thank god for Le menu, imagine getting around ordering des cuisses de grenouille.). For the plat principal usually, I get away with articulating ‘Vegetarian’ or ‘Chicken’, simply.
That’s the other thing about this kind of refined jamboree, what’s up with getting only one option, either Veg or Non-veg. Its food people!!
In the land that gave me birth, without Butter Chicken, Dal Makhani, Paneer Kolhapuri, Chutney, Pappad, Roti, Chawal, Paratha & Gulab Jamun over a semi-casual evening, the host is considered plain rude!
Right, so I got past with ‘Chicken please’ but compounding my irritation was ‘Would you like the Bonneau du Martray's Corton-Charlemagne or the Coche-Dury's Meursault Perrieres?’
‘One mango Lassi please’ would be my most tempting retort but this is where I look shyly around claiming ‘Oh! I’m not much of a connoisseur (no kidding!) if I can just have something sweet and white’. I may as well have added ‘I don’t get out much!’
Thank good for the wine to wash down the food they served last night. It’s almost like the more stars the ballroom has, the shittier the food. Or maybe that’s what they call fine dining, and I’m just a Tandoori chick! There’s a reason I don’t get out much.
I must admit, I do enjoy my whites and sparkling Rose, but why must it be so complicated? Like the title of my post- which is no more than what may happen to the simple, honest dish of strawberries and cream once it falls into the hands of a Frenchman.
The obligation to spend the evening bonding over beers and small talk, with people you average 50 hours/week with. I don’t mind if I genuinely like you, but for a lame excuse like ‘networking’.. it’s a shame for the evening to be disposed off like that. If it’s meant to do anything, like, help you bond with team mates, then why choose noisy pubs where any scope of conversation is zero. You stand around, shake your head pretending that you ‘get’ the music, lean uncomfortably close over other people’s ears to get in a word, I mean c’mon!
Award nights are another phenomenon I don’t get. All the effort to look sophisticatedly gorgeous (it’s easier for me than for many others, but still.) knowing equally well that it’s not you at the receiving end tonight (yes I mean with the award as well). These are people you work with alright, and facing the ‘phantom underwear’ next morning may not be pretty.
So, you sit through dinner and dishes you can’t pronounce (thank god for Le menu, imagine getting around ordering des cuisses de grenouille.). For the plat principal usually, I get away with articulating ‘Vegetarian’ or ‘Chicken’, simply.
That’s the other thing about this kind of refined jamboree, what’s up with getting only one option, either Veg or Non-veg. Its food people!!
In the land that gave me birth, without Butter Chicken, Dal Makhani, Paneer Kolhapuri, Chutney, Pappad, Roti, Chawal, Paratha & Gulab Jamun over a semi-casual evening, the host is considered plain rude!
Right, so I got past with ‘Chicken please’ but compounding my irritation was ‘Would you like the Bonneau du Martray's Corton-Charlemagne or the Coche-Dury's Meursault Perrieres?’
‘One mango Lassi please’ would be my most tempting retort but this is where I look shyly around claiming ‘Oh! I’m not much of a connoisseur (no kidding!) if I can just have something sweet and white’. I may as well have added ‘I don’t get out much!’
Thank good for the wine to wash down the food they served last night. It’s almost like the more stars the ballroom has, the shittier the food. Or maybe that’s what they call fine dining, and I’m just a Tandoori chick! There’s a reason I don’t get out much.
I must admit, I do enjoy my whites and sparkling Rose, but why must it be so complicated? Like the title of my post- which is no more than what may happen to the simple, honest dish of strawberries and cream once it falls into the hands of a Frenchman.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Unabashed Intimacy
‘Take off your top & lie down’ the dispassionate tone of voice would have bothered me had I not been standing in the therapy room at my chiropractors. Because, I wouldn’t do it otherwise. Unless there was passion, commitment or a covetousness for the moment. But this time, it was different.
As I walked towards the bench, I sucked my tummy in until the face went blue. It was almost a race before I could lie facing downwards ..and then breathe normally, hoping she will not notice my body levitating by the expansion of my stomach underneath.
As she worked my tensed muscles, we got talking. 5 minutes later, I wish we hadn’t.
While making small talk, I thought I’d seek some professional advise on whether I should continue going to the gym or will the pain worsen (deep down inside, I wished she said… don’t ever walk through the doors of a gym again, you’re too frail, all those muscles..)
But a sickeningly encouraging ‘YES! You must, but take it a bit easy though…’and all that followed.
Deep down inside, (my inside is pretty deep & can hold many thoughts) I knew that was coming. But what I wasn’t prepared for was she telling me ‘Oh! I’d like to go to the gym as well!’ You don’t want to hear that from a size 5….no hang on, the chocolate chip on the cookie was her saying that she needed to go to the gym to PUT ON WEIGHT!!
If I had Pamela Andersons body I’d cover my ears and run right out (no time to put the top on) with a loud Naaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhiiinnn!!!
But since I don’t have Pam’s bodae I just groped for a sharp object.
20 minutes later I was out and my next appointment fixed. Can’t wait.
As I walked towards the bench, I sucked my tummy in until the face went blue. It was almost a race before I could lie facing downwards ..and then breathe normally, hoping she will not notice my body levitating by the expansion of my stomach underneath.
As she worked my tensed muscles, we got talking. 5 minutes later, I wish we hadn’t.
While making small talk, I thought I’d seek some professional advise on whether I should continue going to the gym or will the pain worsen (deep down inside, I wished she said… don’t ever walk through the doors of a gym again, you’re too frail, all those muscles..)
But a sickeningly encouraging ‘YES! You must, but take it a bit easy though…’and all that followed.
Deep down inside, (my inside is pretty deep & can hold many thoughts) I knew that was coming. But what I wasn’t prepared for was she telling me ‘Oh! I’d like to go to the gym as well!’ You don’t want to hear that from a size 5….no hang on, the chocolate chip on the cookie was her saying that she needed to go to the gym to PUT ON WEIGHT!!
If I had Pamela Andersons body I’d cover my ears and run right out (no time to put the top on) with a loud Naaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhiiinnn!!!
But since I don’t have Pam’s bodae I just groped for a sharp object.
20 minutes later I was out and my next appointment fixed. Can’t wait.
The scaling issue
Dear diary,
It did it again! The damn thing did it again! Just when I thought there was no further scope, the needle on the weighing scale, bend rightwards again!
It did it again! The damn thing did it again! Just when I thought there was no further scope, the needle on the weighing scale, bend rightwards again!
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
The Porgi with the Corgi
Went home from work last evening & Mina had cooked Pork Corgi. While she leaned over the stove adding last minute touches to a bottomless black vessel, I conversed with her back.
Must say not one to get turned on by Pork, I tried to remain polite and give it a whirl. It did take a lot out of me, to not call the nearby cafe and order for shawarmas. I could have easily hidden in the bathroom or under the bed, she would have never known. Ok I lie… with my BMI, hiding, as an option, was ruled out in the 10th grade.
So I decided to behave. Decided to be strong. It is a delicacy much loved in large parts of India after all.
Usually I’m the first to dig a spoon into anything almost ready, even if still simmering. But this time I decided to wait. And finally dinner was served…tadaaaaa….
The moment the dish was unveiled, I knew I’d been so wrong. I should have kept the shawarma guy on speed dial. Not only was this pork, but all along while she was saying C-O-R-G-I my mind was registering V-I-N-D-A-L-O-O.
Disappointed to not find any red gravy, which I could have had with rice (atleast!), I decided to go for it anyway (read: timid by the looks I received).
Took my first bite of pork corgi, a proud moment, and then the lid blew off my head.
The interesting dry black coating around the meat pieces was hours of cooking and grinding black pepper powder, chilli powder… ( I couldn’t wait around to hear the rest). all individually, before their amalgamation.
I was knocked for six, but eventually fielded, and I came around. We did finish the dish with the help of curd and rice. After all I’m an Indian! Our history arises from spices. So in true Indian ishtyle I stuck to the masala, with a dripping nose, oscillating between water and curd. I enjoyed the meal.
I could now understand and appreciate the deep lyrics of Busta Rhymes ‘Light your ass on fire’
Must say not one to get turned on by Pork, I tried to remain polite and give it a whirl. It did take a lot out of me, to not call the nearby cafe and order for shawarmas. I could have easily hidden in the bathroom or under the bed, she would have never known. Ok I lie… with my BMI, hiding, as an option, was ruled out in the 10th grade.
So I decided to behave. Decided to be strong. It is a delicacy much loved in large parts of India after all.
Usually I’m the first to dig a spoon into anything almost ready, even if still simmering. But this time I decided to wait. And finally dinner was served…tadaaaaa….
The moment the dish was unveiled, I knew I’d been so wrong. I should have kept the shawarma guy on speed dial. Not only was this pork, but all along while she was saying C-O-R-G-I my mind was registering V-I-N-D-A-L-O-O.
Disappointed to not find any red gravy, which I could have had with rice (atleast!), I decided to go for it anyway (read: timid by the looks I received).
Took my first bite of pork corgi, a proud moment, and then the lid blew off my head.
The interesting dry black coating around the meat pieces was hours of cooking and grinding black pepper powder, chilli powder… ( I couldn’t wait around to hear the rest). all individually, before their amalgamation.
I was knocked for six, but eventually fielded, and I came around. We did finish the dish with the help of curd and rice. After all I’m an Indian! Our history arises from spices. So in true Indian ishtyle I stuck to the masala, with a dripping nose, oscillating between water and curd. I enjoyed the meal.
I could now understand and appreciate the deep lyrics of Busta Rhymes ‘Light your ass on fire’
The pigeon syndrome
Dear Diary,
Why is it that even today, sometimes, if I see a cute guy walking in my general direction, the ‘pigeon syndrome’* seems to overwhelm my personality? I look away, avoid eye contact, or start shuffling my skirt to ensure it doesn’t sit on top of ‘the’ belly. I have to remind my self that the high school dance & frizzy hair season was over 10 years ago! For those of you girls who don’t identify with the above, you belong to another planet and …YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST STAYED THERE!
* if a pigeon sees a cat coming towards it, instead of flying away it just shuts its eyes and sits tight. Believing, that if it cant the see the cat the cat cant see it either!
Why is it that even today, sometimes, if I see a cute guy walking in my general direction, the ‘pigeon syndrome’* seems to overwhelm my personality? I look away, avoid eye contact, or start shuffling my skirt to ensure it doesn’t sit on top of ‘the’ belly. I have to remind my self that the high school dance & frizzy hair season was over 10 years ago! For those of you girls who don’t identify with the above, you belong to another planet and …YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST STAYED THERE!
* if a pigeon sees a cat coming towards it, instead of flying away it just shuts its eyes and sits tight. Believing, that if it cant the see the cat the cat cant see it either!
The confidence dilemma
Yesterday as young colleague, mid thirties (that’s pretty young with the average life expectancy going up to 81 ) stepped into my office, she reminded me of a child. A child looking over her shoulder, to ensure she’s soft enough for my ears only. A child who’d make you ‘cross your heart & hope to die’, whose eyes would twinkle yet hesitate, not sure if you are one to keep ‘scouts honor’. But after a painful pause would finally divulge.
Recommended by a friend, she’d registered on a social network called Table4six. At table4six they organize dinners for six, as well as other social occasions that they refer to as ‘events’
‘It’s not a dating forum’ she felt obligated to clarify. ‘It’s an opportunity to meet a new group of friends.’ Basically it winds down to, if you don’t have a husband/ boyfriend/dog/cat/ imaginary friend Bob to go home to every night and your ‘socialness’ ends where the rim of your office desk begins, then where do you meet all these interesting people?
Definitely not at table4six as she later found out.
“Want to boost your social life and meet fun like minded people? Kick start your social life while enjoying some of the best restaurants and experiencing some of the finest venues, in and around Dubai....Table4six a great way to meet new friends” – the website proudly claims.
The network is amicably forceful. I use that phrase simply because once you confirm your presence for a social do you’re ‘not allowed’ to back out.
It’s not to like she was looking for a bloke to get hitched to on this particular evening. Even getting to know a fun bunch’o girls for a night at the bar or an evening at the spa, would have termed this event successful.
But, what then was making her uneasy? Ah! It was the ‘F’ word. ‘favorable’ reception or acceptance. ‘What if I don’t meet anyone interesting, what if I get stuck with someone boring, what if I bump into somebody I know..it’ll be embarrassing. I’m going to dinner with a bunch of strangers!’
In my mind this was just absurd. She’s pretty, has a whacky sense of humor, and speaks the queens English, then why would nervousness find a home here?
I would be able to identify with some of those feelings perhaps, but surely not her... It’s strange how you look up to some people for their panache, buoyancy, loquaciousness…not realizing that the prom queen is pretty much like you, you just choose not to see it.
Recommended by a friend, she’d registered on a social network called Table4six. At table4six they organize dinners for six, as well as other social occasions that they refer to as ‘events’
‘It’s not a dating forum’ she felt obligated to clarify. ‘It’s an opportunity to meet a new group of friends.’ Basically it winds down to, if you don’t have a husband/ boyfriend/dog/cat/ imaginary friend Bob to go home to every night and your ‘socialness’ ends where the rim of your office desk begins, then where do you meet all these interesting people?
Definitely not at table4six as she later found out.
“Want to boost your social life and meet fun like minded people? Kick start your social life while enjoying some of the best restaurants and experiencing some of the finest venues, in and around Dubai....Table4six a great way to meet new friends” – the website proudly claims.
The network is amicably forceful. I use that phrase simply because once you confirm your presence for a social do you’re ‘not allowed’ to back out.
It’s not to like she was looking for a bloke to get hitched to on this particular evening. Even getting to know a fun bunch’o girls for a night at the bar or an evening at the spa, would have termed this event successful.
But, what then was making her uneasy? Ah! It was the ‘F’ word. ‘favorable’ reception or acceptance. ‘What if I don’t meet anyone interesting, what if I get stuck with someone boring, what if I bump into somebody I know..it’ll be embarrassing. I’m going to dinner with a bunch of strangers!’
In my mind this was just absurd. She’s pretty, has a whacky sense of humor, and speaks the queens English, then why would nervousness find a home here?
I would be able to identify with some of those feelings perhaps, but surely not her... It’s strange how you look up to some people for their panache, buoyancy, loquaciousness…not realizing that the prom queen is pretty much like you, you just choose not to see it.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Shisha the mistress
I walked inside and felt taken over
Submerging in this feeling so known,
Her fragrance filled the moonlight air
Her presence was veiled yet shown.
My heart was certain, I knew what I desire
Signalled to her trader
Tonight I was the buyer.
She’ll let you choose your flavour
If the price you pay is right.
Let you ‘special’ her up, make you wait,
Until she feels ‘It’s right’
As you hold her arm so tight
Lusting lips and thoughts excite.
Her taste so sweet, as the bait
You swallow her & she’ll intoxicate.
A passionate suck will make her ignite
But from one arm to the other, she’ll sway the night,
You reluctantly agree to share
But not clutching her, your ravenous palms can’t bear.
She’ll tease you & please you
Delight you and leave you.
Bear your escort but never stay the night.
She’ll leave you satiated yet gasping for more
Even as you gather to walk out that door,
She’ll make you take her to your lips,
Even if it is ‘for just one more’
Submerging in this feeling so known,
Her fragrance filled the moonlight air
Her presence was veiled yet shown.
My heart was certain, I knew what I desire
Signalled to her trader
Tonight I was the buyer.
She’ll let you choose your flavour
If the price you pay is right.
Let you ‘special’ her up, make you wait,
Until she feels ‘It’s right’
As you hold her arm so tight
Lusting lips and thoughts excite.
Her taste so sweet, as the bait
You swallow her & she’ll intoxicate.
A passionate suck will make her ignite
But from one arm to the other, she’ll sway the night,
You reluctantly agree to share
But not clutching her, your ravenous palms can’t bear.
She’ll tease you & please you
Delight you and leave you.
Bear your escort but never stay the night.
She’ll leave you satiated yet gasping for more
Even as you gather to walk out that door,
She’ll make you take her to your lips,
Even if it is ‘for just one more’
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