humour


Birthday fun

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Yet another filmy coincidence in my life (literally). He called to wish me at 12. The time was 1 minute to 12.
To avoid the expected jamming of phone lines at 12“, he explained.
I am not KBC!!“, I chuckled.

He was being a good boy, calling from the movie hall where he was watching Namaste London. To actually think of making a call with bloodthirsty vampires sitting all around, that was a major risk. Either he was too brave or the movie sucked and hence the hall was empty. I assumed the latter.
Happy birthday to you!“, he sang.
Thank you, thank you!“, all ready for some gift negotiation spree.
Suddenly a much louder chorus burst into a song.
Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!“, they sang and in the end even clapped, whistled, cheered and what not!
And that’s how the Namastey london cast wished me on my birthday! And guess what, it was right at 12 :). Much theatrical amusement.


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Tummy tiff 2

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Worse than having a spat with your mummy,
is having to fight it out with your own tummy.
When with you, it just doesn’t agree;
and you find yourself on a never ending spree,
of belching out things that till last night you thought were yummy!

It’s bad to be on the wrong side of it,
that doesn’t make you a big mouth or an a$$hole u twit!
In this world of nefarious scheming,
when against you all other body parts seem to be teaming,
you have to tackle this fast – not bit by bit.

Ostensibly, the dinner, I had digested,
which consisted of what the local vendor had suggested.
But even after a whole night’s “foodless” sabbatical,
when dawn saw me becoming vertical,
Out came tumbling – everything I had ingested!!

A harrowing experience, I’ll not go on about.
For I am sure a gory tale you can do without.
Of how I was taken completely by surprise,
when I finally did realise,
the chicken nuggets I had had, gave tummy this clout.

Finally a stringent hunger strike,
was the only thing we thought on, alike.
Tummy – “I am not going to digest anything you gave“.
Me – “I am not going to *GIVE* you anything till you behave!”
With that I thought I finally had some control on the tyke.

But alas! This scheme failed too quickly,
and I bravely decided not to give in meekly.
After some frantic search, out came the “Raam baan“,
Needless to say – To Pudeen Hara’s pills I owe much “Ehsaan“,
For they eventually showed tummy that I wasnt gonna give in weakly.

Negotiating with your tummy is a dying art,
One should respect tummy right from the meal to the fart.
This is what I have learnt,
with fingers that are now burnt,
Well, at least I seem to have made a start!



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Victoria’s secret 4

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Now that I have got your attention completely, let me tell you that the secrets mentioned here are Twilight’s and not Victoria’s. And they are not even about lingerie. Since I have got the page hits and the relevant clickable ads, and what with most people already having made a hasty exit from this page, I can peacefully share my secrets with a handful of people, and with lesser questions asked.

I was tagged by Amit for letting out 5 secrets out of the bag. Ritu had also tagged me long time back with something abt 7 things people don’t know about you or some such. Forgetful Patrix ruefully admits that he forgot to tag me for this tag. So here we are with some things (I think) a lot of bloggers wouldn’t know about me.

1. I wear specs/contact lenses. Yes. Specs started from grade 6th. And I happen to be from that generation of females who perfectly agree to “men don’t make passes at girls who wear glasses”. So very aptly, I switched over to contact lenses when I joined college. Though it was strange that I had almost an entire batch of girls doing that along with me! Are we a country of myopic girls or what? I do wear specs on/off (here I must mention that I have state of the art rimless glasses) but I feel more comfortable wearing lenses. It’s only now that the likes of Preity Zinta and Sania Mirza have brought wearing spectacles into fashion. Still, complete field of view is something spectacles can’t quite give. I haven’t quite thought about a Lasik Laser yet, but some of my friends are pretty ga-ga over the results. Before I move to the next secret, I must mention that the IT industry (the advent of computers in general) has by and large benefitted the opthalmic industry. Almost every single person I know (with or without hereditary myopia), needs to start wearing specs after a year or two in front of the PC.

2. I have learnt how to play the piano (when I was studying in one of the many schools I did study in and this one happened to be a convent). I have also learnt the Sitar (in yet another school). Have also shed a lot of tears when my sitar broke in transit. Though my sitar’s poignant pumpkin-bash-death never made headlines like Ravi shankar’s did :|. In college since I had no other instrument readily available, I picked up the flute. Many an evening were spent playing soulful music using the acoustics of the main hall to maximum advantage. When I started working I revisited piano lessons for a while and then took some guitar lessons too. My guitar wistfully stares at me whilst I write this. The flute can’t since it’s in the cupboard somewhere along with other forgotten memories. Am not too rich to have a piano stare at me in the same fashion while it plays “showpiece” in the drawing room. In the poor days (read student days) I used whistling as the best option to create some music. Somehow my passion for music and its importance in my life (which is a whole lot), has never made it to this blog. Which is strange. But then this blog isnt abt me. It’s more about my observations.

3. This one usually comes as a surprise to people who know me as a person. I was a very shy, quiet, obedient, introverted kid. No hulla, no prancing about breaking things or generally being a PITA (pain in the a$$ for the uninitiated). A lot of adults fawned over me as a result. Hell, some even tried bribing my parents for adopting me. Most people would classify me as a studious, serious, simple girl with no “zabaan” to speak of or speak with. Did I mention cute as well?. Only the first bit of being studious is correct. “Cute” was probably one of those words that fits in anywhere and one can conveniently use when one doesn’t know much about a person. Of course most of the above are have-beens now. Including cute.

4. I have *rather* long hair. Though this isn’t much of a secret especially with people I have met, and what with Yogu making it an open secret; I mention it because it gives me a lot of interesting anecdotes to speak of. For example how this strange lady in Paris just caught my plait in her hand and uttered something in Spanish whilst I stood absolutely shocked, how the aunty who was assessing me as a daughter-in-law commented on the length of my hair with such glee that I could see that valuation-of-property look in her eyes, how the hair dresser refuses to commit the “crime” of cutting my hair, how I once lent my plait to this guy who wanted to get in the house from the terrace. Ok ok. I got rapunzelesque there. I have been asked a lot of times “how I feel” about having long hair (duh) and of course about how I maintain it and related yada yada. Well. It’s hair today, gone tomorrow! I have been planning to write a couple of hair-raising tails .. err tales about this bit in my life, out here. Would do so soon.

5. The final secret. I have been a member of that ubiquitous site – shaadi.com since some time. The experiences I have had through this site would even put the script writer of “Mr. Yogi” to shame. Those who are unaware, it would do them good to know that “Mr. Yogi” was a TV serial many many TV serials back where he sets out looking for a suitable bride. He meets all and sundry but eventually never finds anyone suitable. I think the serial was based on the life of our own Mr. Yogi here. Yogu, please to be suing them for looking into the future and making such an exact replica of what would be your life! Coming back to my search – I have met such namoonas of manhood through this site (no perverted puns intended) that I can write a best seller based on the experiences. No details about those here yet though they make for very interesting discussion and gyaan which I love emanating.

I guess this post more than makes up for the lack of an ‘about me’ on my blog.


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Heart to heart

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To let out a silent fart,
is no less than a complex art,

but the profound after effect
is seldom perfect,

if even the most blocked nose,
can not help but smart.


Gross, but at times that’s what I feel like being.


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Experience teacheth

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‘Experience is the best teacher but its fees is very high’. This happens to be one of the favourite quotes of my mom. Teacher’s day has more importance in our house than Mother’s day, since my mom’s a teacher and in my schooldays there were never so many this-days and that-days but only a few countable ones like Independence day, Teacher’s day and Children’s day. Of course now we wish her on all the this-days/that-days too. For us, Independence day meant the national anthem and ladoos, Children’s day meant Chacha Nehru and Teacher’s day meant that my mom had a special function to attend at school and that she would come back with bouquets, cards etc which my sis and I would go through, at times finding it odd and at times finding it sad that we had to share our mom with so many!

With time, Teacher’s day started meaning something else altogether. I realised early enough, that in class XIIth, one gets to wear one’s own clothes and not the school uniform on teacher’s day. As if that wasn’t exciting (read embarassingly) enough, females needed to wear a saree and some (un)lucky students even got “teacher’s duty” to get a taste of the other side by supervising a junior class in that fancy dress! (That reminds me of the time everyone got titles from the junior class during farewell, but that makes another post). Years passed by when I would stare at giggly and unelegant girls metamorphosing into ‘women’ suddenly. Stupid grins got replaced by lipstick, school ribbons and hair bands gave way to open wavy hair, or maybe a mature looking hair bun – stylised to suit the occasion, the school shoes (with the horrible buckles) gave way to high heels and of course the uniform’s existence was forgotten as if the day marked freedom from well-ingrained ‘conformity’ of 12 years. That was the day most girls went all out. Of course they had another chance in the form of ‘farewell’ when they could air the backless cholis and halter neck blouses meant to expose a back or a cleavage in a ‘popping the cherry’ sense. But then the farewell also meant boards and pre-boards round the corner, leaving lesser scope of getting noticed by the ‘dashing’ guys or leaving an everlasting impression on a crowd which had other issues like exam fever or the turmoil of finally bidding goodbye, on their minds.

I was never the butterfly and was quite scared at the prospect of showing the world what my tucked-under-a-school-shirt,-skirt-and-belt tummy looked like. I had never worn (like many others) a saree in my life nor had I any experience in brandishing my palloo as if a saree was the thing I came to school in. Matters needing attention, like how to keep ones hairstyle in place, ones lipstick in check and heels from getting stuck in the saree were the ones I considered would be topmost on my mind, when my turn came. God forbid if I got a teacher’s duty (of which there was a high chance, being the man-eater..err monitor), I would have died of fright at the thought of being mercilessly torn to pieces by the boys just one year junior, who considered it their duty to take advantage of the fact that a damsel in fancy dress couldn’t even deduct their marks, if the need arose.

So it was with butterflies in my stomach, rather than being one on the outside, that I approached the teacher’s day when I was in class XIIth. ‘Silk is the easiest to handle’, was what I was told by my mom and my aunts. Several times. But then past experiences with silk had taught me that it also cluttered around in a very unbecoming fashion and one needed to be mannequin thin to look elegant in it. I chose to take a risk this one time and chose a blood red chiffon saree of my mom, knowing very well that it was a self inflicted nightmare, for not only did I not know the s-a-r-e-e of a saree, I didnt even know the spelling of chiffon, leave alone managing it with the above mentioned attention seeking things niggling at my mind. But then one gotta do, what one gotta do, when it’s just once in your life.

This teacher’s day saw me getting up rather early, to wash my hair, iron the saree, get ready with the help of my mom, who being a teacher herself had other things to attend to, than my own saree. Unfortunately this time she wasnt even in the same school as I, which would have given me some solace in case my saree failed to comply and landed me in Draupadi like trouble. Armed with only the courage that a FAT safetypin, a reliable saree pin and a long, stomach-and-back-covering blouse lent, I set out with my lipstick in place, heels carefully kicking out the saree (as I had been advised) and a fancy strappy purse on my shoulder just for the effect.

The first hurdle came soon enough even before I reached the bus stop. My neighbour’s pesky kid instantly remarked ‘Oh you look like Juhi Chawla’. My already flustered mind got even more flustered when it couldnt make out whether this cheek of a girl was paying me a compliment for a change or taunting as usual. I had other important issues to concentrate on. Oh! the woes of an inexperienced sarree-wearer! Next I had to get into a modified army threeton. Can one imagine the plight of a rather flustered girl, trying to balance a precarious saree, being stared at in the face, with not only the mammoth task of now accomplishing the feat of getting into a truck with all this finery, but also the amused looks given by the rest of the school kids who wonder if that’s a new teacher or just twilight fairy out on the path of self destruction. I understand, I really do, what an Indian bridegroom goes through when he gets onto the mare. Well, an army officer’s daughter is taught to plunge head on, and that’s what I did. I leapt onto the modified truck’s steps, throwing caution and my saree to the September wind and thinking that I would carry out the damage control, when I got to school, for there would definitely be more of it. At least my hair was a manageable length and I had carefully ensconced it into a bun, replete with a whole packet of invisible and fancy joodaa pins, which posed a problem for later but would help me hold my head high just this while.

Thankfully I had no classes to ‘take’. But this fact did little to make me less jittery. The truck soon reached the school and now I had another hurdle – getting down from the truck without the saree giving the vehicle a much needed sweep or all other kids stepping on my saree from behind. It was my mom’s precious possession after all. Not only was I responsible for myself, but also for the saree, the heavy earrings and the ’tilladi’ (a sikkimese pendant) I had borrowed from my mom. Somehow, aided with the weight of the joodaa pins, my head held high, I made it through the gates with panache – into the school. Colorful butterflies gave me some comfort. Seeing others whom I had seen in uniform all along, distracted my mind somewhat. The comparisons would come later, for now I just wanted to reach my classroom. Never had I realised that reaching my class, something I did everyday, would be so difficult just this one time. No amount of kicking the saree out, helped, I was more scared it would eventually just kick off and if that happened I would just kick the bucket. Amidst the exchange of compliments, I finally reached my classroom and under the protective cover of the two other girls in my class out of a class of 60 students. The excitement in the air, the “oh you look so different”s, the combination of various heady perfumes, made me forget soon enough that I *was* wearing a saree. Relieved just a little, I began to enjoy the attention, rather than getting embarrassed. At the end of a day well spent, I understood, just how magical it can be, wearing a saree and just how a ‘woman’ is born.

After this school function, I went and watched my first movie ever in a cinema hall (Yes, at that age in life), sans the saree and in the comfort of a long skirt and frilly top. It happened to be a Chirpy Chawla movie. But that makes for another post altogether.


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