April 10, 2007
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.
March 1, 2007
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!
February 17, 2007
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.
February 10, 2006
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.
September 6, 2005
‘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.
April 11, 2005
Performance objective of my subordinate : ‘I want to have congenital relationships with my seniors and peers.’
My comments : ‘Needs to improve communication skills’
March 15, 2005
We all have our notions of the birds and the bees. Here’s one.
“Stop! Cross the road carefully”, said Twilight Fairy.
“Don’t you know you might have an accident if you are not careful”, wise TF admonished younger sis.
“And then you’ll be taken to the hospital and you’ll have kids”. More wise words uttered by TF – age 7, to sister, age – 4.
Flashforward “bees saal baad”.
TF – age 27, sister age – 24.
Giggle giggle.. chuckle.. gasp. chuckle.. giggle .. giggle..
“And did I tell you I used to think that matches for marriage are made if the bride and groom physically resemble each other?”
That’s some more gyaan.
September 15, 2004
My trip to Japan last year was a very interesting experience. Not just because it was the first time I was flying to another country but also because of the cultural differences. No one needs to be told that Japan is *the* place when it comes to technological advancement and optimisation of space. The place is very beautiful, clean, unpolluted, safe and the people very helpful. I had planned to make a separate blog for my Japan sojourn but that never really materialised. I wrote a couple of posts earlier, but that was about it. There are a lot of things about Japan, that would strike one in the first go. And then, some not quite so obvious.
One of the aspects – the technological advancement could be seen even in the way the toilets were. Once I went to an italian place and the loos were really hi-tech! The toilet seat had an arm kinda thingy attached to it and there were lotsa buttons nearby. I suppose they were probably to splash water on your butt from different angles . All I could do was guess, because the controls were written in Japanese. The buttons looked quite tempting in different colours, but since I didn’t want any fiascos happening in a strange place where I wouldn’t even be able to communicate what happened, I refrained. I must mention that the toilet seat was pre-warmed (and no it was not because someone had toasted it with their butt) which was a relief in those unbearable cold snowy winters! The controls and all made the “hot-seat” appear as if it was some space ship cockpit or something .
Once we went to this place called Roppongi and went to a thai restaurant there, called Irewan. It was on the 13th floor of a building. The night lights view was too good.. and these ppl had some weird loos! They were one step ahead of the previous ones. They didn’t have so many gadgets and all.. in fact they were more “natural” coz they were practically open! I mean one side of the four walls was a glass pane from where one could see the cool breathtaking view outside (from the 13th floor) and the world could see you too! It also had a lot of potted plants right next to the WC. Then it struck me that such an advanced place would obviously not be so reckless in their planning, though one could never be sure because they certainly aren’t as conservative as Indians. I concluded that the glass was only one way and not really see-through as I imagined. I felt quite odd, but had no choice but to answer nature’s call there, trying to hide behind the foliage.
Most of the public loos there are equipped with sensors in all kind of places. If not sensors then the least expected lever would be designated for performing the flushing action. Every time I went outside, I saw new and different “technologies”. So much so, that by default, I would start expecting some weird gadgetry in each new place I visited. There was this loo in a metro station where I could just not find a hotspot for a sensor or any lever which would actually perform the flushing action. Another thing I had noticed was that it kept flushing automatically even when no one was inside. I tried imagining that may be that was the technique here but then that would be quite ineffective. The toilet would never end up clean when required and would keep wasting water when not needed. So at this particular place, I kept waving my hand at whatever remotely resembled a sensor and kept pressing everything that remotely resembled a lever. But to no avail. It didn’t work. Sheepishly, I had to make an exit because there was a long queue waiting. And as I opened the door Lo! behold! The thing flushed automatically. In fact the same had happened when I entered. But I must say again, quite a weird logic. Well, all’s well that flushes well .
August 27, 2004
No, not the movie. The one that I was busy attending since the past few days. It had most of the attributes of the movie itself. A typical punjabi wedding replete with lots of noisy relatives, chaos, fun, punjabi food, punjabi music, punjabi gaalis, lecherous elderly male relatives and of course not to forget the main ingredient – rain. All this was sans sex in the closet, (but then who knows, mebbe i wasnt aware), sans chunari chunari item numbers, sans a separate love story blooming for the household helps… ahem.. again, who knows mebbe i wasnt aware.
The functions started with the shagun ceremony. Since I was from the groom’s side, I didnt expect any mehendi wala at the occasion, but we did get one. I managed to get mehendi put on both palms, leaving the first three fingers of my right hand (utility fingers). Instead I got a pattern, something like a bracelet done on my wrist. Unfortunately, I also managed to smudge my mehendi in several places all over my brand-new-stitched-for-the-occasion-baby-pink suit. Reached home at 3am and got up at noon the next day. I had already done away with the henna at night out of the sheer frustration of not being able to use my hands. Still had a whole lot of things to rush up with. Had to buy some nice matching jewellery with yet-another-stitched-for-the-occasion suit.
This was the first time I had decided to get a proper hair-do from a parlour. For that I had to wash my hair and keep one and a half hours aside for the hair-do “job”. Suddenly after lunch, I realised that all these things on the agenda were just not possible if I had to leave on time. Leaving “on time” is something of a major debate at home. My dad always wants to be punctual at all these great indian weddings, where even the hosts are not present anywhere near the venue at the afore mentioned time. We (the rest of us) have given up by trying to prove each time in each such function that we happen to be the only ones at the venue, with no one to greet us except empty chairs and tables. sigh..Anyway, at 3pm I still had to wash my hair, buy myself some stone jewellery from Janpath, keep aside 1.5 hrs for the hair-do and of course get ready as well by 6pm. Impossible! Not to forget the rain which anyway slowed down things to a great extent. Some quick fixes were required.
I went to a neighbour to borrow some appropriate stone jewellery set to go with my suit. Got it thankfully and she also suggested a good parlour from where I could get a hair-do. She even suggested the kind of style I should go in for. Err.. I hadnt even decided on the parlour and hair style 
till then, so that saved me some time. But my luck didn’t last long. I went to the parlour in my car even though it’s a 5 minutes walking distance but spent half an hour going round and round the place that I thought the parlour was situated in. Because of the rain, there was just no one I could ask for directions.. the roads were absolutely empty! I was completely lost. I called up my neighbour again for directions, which were what I had already followed anyway. Finally I got one person from whom I clarified where the parlour was and reached the building which didn’t look like a parlour from any angle. There wasn’t any signboard either. I decided to ring their doorbell anyhow. I repeated the exercise of ringing the doorbell 3 times at 3 different entrances of the same building and finally the last one happened to be the entrance to an underground parlour albeit without a signboard!
Once in, I explained my predicament and also the fact that I was short of time. I blurted out exactly as instructed by my neighbour. “I want a bun which generally models and ppl like miss universe make”. The parlour ppl rushed up their act. About a 100 pin stabs in my head later and after being lighter by the weight of at least 1000 hair strands, my work was done. Not to forget the 250 bucks which exited my wallet quickly and the 1.5 hrs i spent here unlike the quoted “20 minutes”. Here I was, with a hair bun which was straight out of “The 70’s show” according to my sister. I was already late, but rushed anyhow, got ready and left. On the way, in the car, final touches were given to my appearance (read makeup, of which I am no connoisseur). I also managed to collide my head with the car’s ceiling and thus the bun several times in the car. I wasnt used to the sudden increase in height. But the bun was ok, courtesy the loads of hair spray that the parlour female had doused me with. So much so that I couldn’t even smell the favourite perfume I had sprayed. I also carried my transparent-pink-japanese-umbrella a la “Monsoon Wedding” style lest the baraatis would have to do some rain dance.
Once at the venue, where the baraat had to assemble, we were as usual earlier than the main baraatis themselves. The grooms sisters are supposed to tie a thread on the mare which the groom is supposed to ride. After this, the sisters feed the mare some horsegram or rather the pulses made of horsegram. All this hoopla got over and we went to the main venue of the wedding. Thankfully the wind was pleasant and there was no sign of rain (yet). Some of the guests for the wedding were foreigners. Before we knew it, they were clicking our snaps with great zeal. As my cousins and I waved at them, one of my “graameen” aunts slapped my back with a “bas karr!” (stop it). Maybe she thought I was having a major case of “chadti jawani”!!
I caught people staring at me – dunno whether the stares were appreciative or curious or plain amused. After all I looked like straight out of “The 70s show”. But I liked it myself. I didnt stay for the pheras since I was quite dogtired already with a previous night out. Left for home around 12:30am. The moment I reached, the skies poured. Maybe the heavens also shared the tears of the new bride.
August 10, 2004
‘Are you pregnant?’, asked the lady behind the ticket counter.
‘Whoooosh’.. I could hear my confidence zooming past to never never land. “What?”..it sounded like a slap to my self esteem and vanity. Little did it occur to me that the question could be duty bound.
“Am I really looking like *that*!!”, I thought to myself.. seeking consolation from somewhere in the recesses of my mind, for the insult that comes with a nonpregnant girl being questioned abt pregnancy!
Ok, let me give a “bhoomika” here first. The scene: I was coming back from Japan to India via Singapore, early last year. Due to the luggage restrictions and it being the coldest winter I could have ever imagined, I did the smart thing of wearing most of my clothes . So eventually I was with inners, warm thermals, a t-shirt, a shirt on top of it, 2 sweaters, warm legging, jeans, 2 pairs of socks, a *big* heavy leather jacket (it weighs 3 kilos by itself) and a muffler. Not to forget the big, lady’s handbag (which was more like a cargo bag), an actual handbag (weighing 11 kgs) and a laptop (the case of which I had stuffed with all that didn’t fit in my checkin baggage). Only I know how I managed to balance this load on both shoulders. Ouch.
I had missed my connecting flight to India and thus got an overnight stay in Singapore. One of the freebies at Changi Airport, (how can a desi not avail of these) is a tour of the Sentosa island via bus or boat and that was the booking counter for the same in front of which I was asked that … offending question. As I was trying to convince myself that it was *definitely* because I was wearing too many pairs of clothes, holding too much luggage and walking in the most awkward gait I could manage with that luggage; she asked me the question again and I spluttered ‘No’. She had probably noticed my squeamish expression for she clarified that pregnant women are not allowed for the boat ride and it was a customary question.
That was MY reaction. But there are others for example my aunt who have an entirely different reaction to a synonmous situ. My aunt (who stays in the US of A) has 2 kids. Despite of having delivered them years back (they are teenagers now), she still looks like the docs forgot something inside.. in other words, central obesity makes her look like she’s expecting. Many a times she’s had to face situations like (and worse than) this. But they only add to her daily dose of laughs and in fact she has a nice time getting pampered! It can certainly work to ones advantage if one knows how to veer the situ .
One such situ happened when she was recently coming to India. The ppl at customs asked her if she was pregnant. She replied in the affirmative and was readily whisked away so that she doesnt go through the scanning at customs, while she gloated with glee inwardly. Further, the ppl freighted her luggage all the way like slaves, because – you guessed it – she was supposedly pregnant. Whenever she goes to Supermarkets, she gets lots of sympathetic and understanding glances from ppl in all age groups. Some offer to carry her stuff. Some offer her water to drink etc. She even wins awed and appreciative glances by (desi) aunties who happen to watch her playing basketball in the pink of her pregnant state of affairs. The lady at McDonalds stares in awe when she gets an answer to her question regarding the due date. After all who wouldn’t when told ‘the baby is due tomorrow but I wanted to eat french fries today’.
Fortunately, for me, I haven’t managed to land myself in such spots..phew.
