Twilight Fairy » humour

Birthday fun

Twilight Fairy — Mon, 09 Apr 2007 23:00:00 +0000

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

Twilight Fairy — Wed, 28 Feb 2007 21:42:01 +0000

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

Twilight Fairy — Fri, 16 Feb 2007 21:43:26 +0000

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

Twilight Fairy — Thu, 09 Feb 2006 22:43:27 +0000

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

Twilight Fairy — Tue, 06 Sep 2005 07:28:29 +0000

‘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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Blooper

Twilight Fairy — Mon, 11 Apr 2005 08:01:58 +0000

Performance objective of my subordinate : ‘I want to have congenital relationships with my seniors and peers.’

My comments : ‘Needs to improve communication skills’

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Growing up

Twilight Fairy — Tue, 15 Mar 2005 08:09:16 +0000

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.

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The toilet experience

Twilight Fairy — Wed, 15 Sep 2004 12:47:54 +0000

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 .

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The Monsoon Wedding

Twilight Fairy — Fri, 27 Aug 2004 07:33:13 +0000

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.

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Pregnant Possibilities

Twilight Fairy — Tue, 10 Aug 2004 07:38:38 +0000

‘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.

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Graveyard Shift

Twilight Fairy — Wed, 21 Apr 2004 08:32:30 +0000

…and those things that go bump in the night. One of the things that go bump in the night is my sis. No, well she’s not as blind as a bat or anything, lemme explain. (I’ll be damned if she catches all these things sprawled on the web )

My sis has had the habit of talking in her sleep right since childhood. Seldom has she ever uttered anything intelligible. It all sounds like some weird martian language to me. In addition to this, as a child, she also used to be adept at playing football in the bed (read kicking), of course not knowing that I am not the football or my mouth, not the goal post. What more, she would find herself in exactly 180 degrees of the position that she went to sleep in. Imagine trying to sleep and suddenly being thrust with something on your face.. and lo! behold it used to be the not so pretty foot of my younger sister! (It could have given a chiropodist some great business). At times she also used to be found dangling somehow in the reams of the mosquito net that wasn’t being supported by the bed! Well, over the years these habits started declining in frequency and also weirdness. The only thing pending was the jumble mumble game at times.

One fine night she had just retired to bed (and slept off), whilst I was handling some nightcare regime. Suddenly she asked me in a very polished tone,” What *ARE* you doing?”. Note the stress on the verb. This sentence struck me as REALLY odd. For one, we dont talk in plain proper english at home. We use what everyone is familiar with – hinglish. So a complete sentence with not a single word in hindi, threw me completely off balance. Add to it the fact that she was using this sophisticated tone as if she’d just stepped out of an english convent where Hindi speaking was fined (Believe me, I have studied in one). Last but not the least, I wasn’t doing anything so outta ordinary that she actually had to wake up and ask me that! Somehow I smattered that I was doing.. whatever.. and also appended a question about what the problem was. Suddenly, she was dumbfounded and she uttered yet another sentence which threw me more off balance than the first. She said, “Oh! I thought you were my English teacher!”. (This was in hinglish BTW). Well, whatever in the name of .. err.. blistering barnacles or the like was that?? And of course in the morning, she didn’t remember anything of whatever happened and we just kept giggling at the atrociously weird nature of it all.

This isn’t all. A few days down the line (now this is the incident where she went bump in the night) so lights, camera, action.. oh.. no lights..pitch dark and some howling by dogs, yes! Again, this time we were sleeping peacefully. Or rather everybody was sleeping peacefully while sleep chose to evade me. Suddenly (and this is horrifying), my sister woke up with a start and got up in a rush. I found it weird but gave her the benefit of doubt coz she does that a lot in a rush to relieve herself. But this time it wasn’t to be so. Instead of heading for the toilet, she went in some absurd direction, to another door, which opened in another room! And all this while, she was in that haphazard hurry. Before I could ask her what was wrong, she bumped real BAD against the door, as if she didn’t see that it was partially closed! This was enough to wake up my parents who appeared faster than a genie would have on the scene. (Yeh parents log aise hee hote hain). They asked her what was wrong and led her back to the bed. But my sister, she crosses all heights of being eery and with a stiff silence, came back and slept as if nothing had happened. Of course, not to forget, she didn’t remember any of this the next morning. All these night adventures of hers had the tendency to put us in splits when in a family gathering. But this was getting serious. What if some night she just decided that she was going to turn into a somnambulist? Anyhow, things became ok after a while and there was no trace of any such activity for a long time. With time, she shifted to Pune. I sure hope her room mate isn’t having a horrifying time now!

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It could be verse than this!

Twilight Fairy — Mon, 09 Feb 2004 08:46:24 +0000

Warning: 1. For 18 years and above.
2. Written in college with a fellow benchmate during a sleepy lecture, I dont even remember who it was. Both of us took alternate turns to add lines to the nonsense, the italicized ones being mine.

This is a story,
of a thin, young man.
So thin, he ought to have been fed,
quintals of horse gram.

A teacher by profession,
well, would just pass for one.
A thin creature by constitution,
he would often faint under the sun.

But the queer thing about him was,
he had no bulge out *there*.
And a very obvious part of it,
was a lot of hair.

What happened to his wife,
we all did wonder.
Everytime seeing that patch,
did nothing to make her feel fonder.

Alas! what a pity,
’cause his wife was pure gold.
And one fine day,
her macho neighbour was a bit too bold.

A week or two all was well,
but two months later it began to swell!
One night when it was coming too much in the way,
She cried, ‘Oh Hell!!’

Her shriek awoke her husband,
And he shrieked even louder.
Not having fathered any kids,
a STRONG baby made him prouder.

He looked between his legs,
and then he looked at the sky,
He put 2 & 2 together,
and then began to cry.

Having been burdened,
all his life by ill fate,
Seeing the baby’s bulge,
He forgave his mate.

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A New Year Party

Twilight Fairy — Wed, 31 Dec 2003 09:08:24 +0000

Shucks! It’s that time of the year again… when the year is ending and I am yet to come to terms with the number of resolutions I had started with and the usual consistency with which I miss the so called ‘set goals’ for myself. It’s that time of the year again, when I am wondering what to do on New Years Eve and even after vowing that I wouldn’t spend it at home, rolling in the New Year while watching some jerks histrionics on TV, that’s what I end up doing year after year . But it wasn’t so this particular year. Luckily I was in Japan at this time of the year, last year. I was excited and sad about it at the same time. Excited cause I was in an all new place and would get to see something I haven’t seen ever and also because I would have the independence to do as I please, which gets toned down majorly when I am home… (yeah talk abt it being 21st century and all that, but it only implies more restrictions AFA my parents are concerned). Was sad, cause after all, I wouldn’t be able to spend it with my folks back home…kya karein the grass is always greener on the other side. But definitely the excitement was much more than the despondency and I was in major josh about the new year plans.

Now it so happened that initially I was going to be all alone (from the desi junta at my office), but later, it so turned out that there were 5 of us there on New Years Eve. Our plans were subject to a lot of hindrances. The first and foremost being that we were all at the client site, working our butts off, working on weekends etc and the prospects of 1st Jan being in jeopardy were quite high. The other reason was that we were being thrown out of our accomodation.. ok I’ll substitute a politically correct term -> we had been asked to vacate our guesthouse (also called skyhouse) because it was to undergo renovation and we were supposed to shift to some place else, maximum by 31st dec (that was not a headache for our client, but for us). This problem had sort of been taken care of by yours truly, at least AFA finding a suitable place which would be convenient for us desis in terms of cooking, costs, distance etc, is concerned. But the shifting bit was still pending. So I’ll cut down to the actual moment, cause that is the interesting bit. Eventually there were just 3 of us, for a so called new year bash. The other 2 preferred to gift themselves some sound sleep instead. Believe me, it’s a very sensible gift, if you have been slogging like that. However, unlike those 2, we, (P, R and I), were bent upon making it a memorable New Year celebration for all further ones to come. We were pretty sure, we wouldn’t be coming back to Japan ever again if we could help it, so this was our only chance to celebrate New Years here. We decided that we would shift into our new Hotels on 31st Eve and then leave for gallivanting around Tokyo!

On D-day, (31st) we left a little earlier than usual (read on time) so that we could get on with shifting. I had the maximum stuff to do. I had to pack up the mini kitchen I had setup and also finish off the cookable stuff because the new hotel in which I was to shift, didnt have the provision of cooking. Also, not only did we have to vacate the room, we also had to CLEAN it up properly, get it APPROVED from the attendent and *then* check in into the new accomodation! For this, an ‘appointment’ had already been fixed with the attendent and there’s nothing in the world that the Japanese are more particular about, if it’s not punctuality. Now these were mammoth tasks especially when one is in a hurry to take some time off for New Year celebrations. Imagine having a deadline to meet here too. Anyway, I hurriedly got along with it. Thankfully we had already done a photo session of that place earlier, anticipating this schedule. Packing up took a lot of time and before that I also had to finish of the perishable items. So I decided I would make Aloo Ke Paranthe to at least finish of the atta and the potatoes. Besides, we deserved some sort of a New Year treat . P & R had already done their bit of packing, cleaning and even inspection. So they came to help me. Here it would enlighten one to know that both P & R are guys and you know how they are in matters of the tummy. They both came to check out how I was doing and of course decided to help me out. I deftly made hot and crisp Aloo ke paranthe with extra ghee (in an effort to finish it off, nothing else) as if that’s what I had been doing all my life, while these two tried to clean up the place and also disposed off the garbage (that was really sweet of them). Of course, they made it a point to rub it in too. I fed them with a lot of paranthas in an attempt to show them my gratitude. Not only were they helping me with my stuff, they were also helping me empty out my kitchen . We were all on a high since we had finally got the chance to go and enjoy ourselves and moreover we were having hot n sumptuous Desi Ghee wale Aloo ke paranthe in *Tokyo*, which was something totally unheard of, at least in our restricted, poverty-stricken desi circles.

So the itinerary had already been chalked out by who else but yours truly. I had asked a couple of Japanese colleagues about what we could do on New Years Eve and I was told that there are 2 things we could do. We could either go to a Buddhist temple, chant through the night and be blessed by the holy sunrise (which would thaw us), the next morning or we could go to a particular street in Tokyo called the Tokyo Millenario and check it out. Supposedly it looks absolutely heavenly and breathtaking. There’s some lighting done on the street and lots of crowds throng to see this. Needless to say, that we were not inclined to spend the whole night in a temple, waiting for sunrise. So we chose option#2. We also decided that we would go to Roppongee after that. Here I must add, that Roppongee is a rather cosmopolitan place especially for Japan. We had already been there once and for the first time saw a place in Japan which had a large number of non-Japanease population rather than a Japanese one. That place is full of pubs, hard rock cafe’s, Karaoke Bars, strip clubs.. err you get the picture. In other words it was a rather hep place and it also offered a lot of variety in terms of food and entertainment.

Our plan was to check out Tokyo Millenario and and then set off to Roppongee. We would spend the whole night in Roppongee and then go to Akhiabara which is the place where all Desis buy their electronic stuff from. This place has its sales on special occassions, New Year being one of them. We were aware that a throwaway sale (it really is that) is on from the 1st of Jan and what better way to join the queue there than going straight from Roppongee. Here I must add, that all desis there (and this means Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Indians, Srilankans and Nepalese) queue up at the place much before sunrise in true desi style. Need I explain more! So having decided the schedule, we set out at around 10:30pm for our first halt – Tokyo Millenario. My japanese colleague had very helpfully given me the printout of a map of that area on which he highlighted the streets and wrote their names in english and also told me how to get there. (Those guys go out of their way to help ppl). Now it had been quite a while since we had devoured the Aloo Paranthe and both P & R were desperately searching for the ‘real stuff’ (read booze). We checked out all convenience stores after getting off at Tokyo station, but the lord had other designs for us. Not even a single store had anything of their interest coz it was all sold out! We didn’t have any contingency plan for this situ. Finally they managed to get some fruit beer from somewhere and decided to make do with a can each and wash it down with a doughnut. I also had a sandwich or something and just as we were getting out of the store, we saw humungous crowds running in a particular direction. Panic struck us as we wondered what was wrong, but then a brain wave made us realise that they might be going to watch the ethereal Tokyo Millenario. As was evident, we also mingled with the crowd and started rushing in that direction. After some time we saw that there wasn’t just that trail of ppl, in fact ppl seemed to be pouring from every nook, corner, alley and there was a lot of police to control the movement. There were some traffic lights for this heavy traffic! Imagine a number of lanes of *ppl* moving based on the traffic lights, the way we do with vehicles! Till this time we were sure that this mad crowd was definitely heading for something big and saw the crowds merging into a particular street after some time. But even though the crowds were merging somewhere, we were just not able to fathom the end point, what lay ahead .. the street which was supposed to get lit up at 12. It was highly amazing to see that inspite of the size of the crowd, it was still quite a tranquil affair and nobody was panicking, screaming, breaking out of the line or generally creating a ruckus. Comparatively Indian crowds have never been tame.

Suddenly the clock struck 12! Contrary to what one would expect, there was no commotion in the crowd.. people didnt even bother to wish those around them..anyhow we wished each other, feeling silly that we have entered the new year just standing in a stagnant crowd! As we progressed further, suddenly everybody was out with their camera cell phones and going clickety click. ( a very common thing in Japan). We could see some lights in the distance but nothing much. Finally apna number bhee aaya, we also managed to enter that street which had rows and rows of arches covered with coloured lights and the strains of some sad mournful western classical music (it almost sounded like someone’s death ceremony instead of new years) reached our ears. Both P & R were completely disgusted by then. The Tokyo millenario had turned out to be a damp squib and they had definitely seen better lightworks in our desi weddings itself.

We decided to chuck it and reach Roppongee. We also had plans to eat there itself. Roppongee was a very different scene altogether. The streets were full of people and litter!! This was something quite amazing since Japan is a really clean place and no one litters around. May be New Years was an exception. But there were more exceptions than this. Instead of a savvy cosmopolitan crowd, we saw our own desis on every galli, nukkad, drinking away to glory and mouthing punjabi obscenities by the dozen. Khair, P & R continued with their search for the ‘real thing’. We scanned almost all stores, but by that time (2am) nothing was left. I was tired of their futile search and was hungry, but P & R were just not willing to start their day without any booze. Finally we entered another store, where they managed to find some Bacardi. I was too disgusted to enter the store and hovered around the entrance. Suddenly some unknown desi guy came upto me and wished me ‘Happy New Year’. Not in a mood to pick on something afresh, I also responded with the same. That chap went inside the store and as luck would have it, came out with P & R. To his amazement when I started coaxing P & R to hurry up, he realised that I was with them. One should have seen his face as he told P & R that he had thought I was spanish and was surprised to learn that I was a desi too. Somehow P & R managed to get rid of this guy who was quite unwilling to leave us. Now came the booze party. On not finding anything smaller, P & R had purchased a 1 ltr bottle of Rum! They had also bought 2 small coke bottles to dilute it (which were definitely not enough). I wanted to break the bottle on their head itself as they were *still* not willing to go for a meal. They wanted to ‘enjoy’ their drink first. The booze party started on the street itself, like all the other desi groups hanging around that place. Obviously these guys were not able to finish it and wanted assistance from me. I was also continuously reminded of how cold it was and how some sips would keep me warm. I had a couple of sips (neat). Itne mein ek aur desi jee hum logon ko milne aaye. He came upto us and wanted to shake everyones hands and wish them new years. Complied with this drunk blithering idiots wishes too. P & R were dead sure, that he must have placed a bet with his gang that he would accost us and shake hands with me or something. By this time, I was not willing to listen to any other excuse for not going for our dinner.

We set out for a particular Thai Restaurant there. By the time we reached that building, I could make out that both P & R were quite drunk and were being quite funny. I was also feeling woozy as I had managed to fill in a lot. Anyhow, somehow managed to drag these two upto the 14th floor of the building only to be informed that the restaurant had closed. We had spotted a Hard Rock Cafe somewhere and set out for that. When we reached there, it was already 4:15am and the last order was at 4am. With no other resorts left to us, we set out for Mc Donalds. By this time, P was going on thanking me (repeatedly) for getting him there and how he was having the best time of his life. I was also thanked for being his true buddy (huh?). R was quite happy with the way things were and somehow he had probably started thinking he was a plane or something. He spread his arms and ran across the streets saying, ‘I LOVE JAPAN, JAPAN IS REALLY GREAT!’. He even tried his hand at a somersault and fell flat on his face. Needless to say, all this was attracting a lot of attention. P was slightly more sober than R. We managed to get to Mc Donalds somehow, where R told the attendent at the counter, ‘Give the lady what she wants, I have a million dollars’, pointing at me while making this claim. The attendent was all smiles and took our order. God knows what these ppl ordered but I wanted a hot chocolate for myself. I didn’t feel hungry anymore. When the stuff came, R tried to feed me with some French fries by stuffing them into my mouth! I kept cajoling R to come in ‘hosh’. R was literally ‘jhooming’ and P had somehow sobered up seeing that R was all out of control. R kept on with his jabber and now it was his turn to thank me. He also started telling all onlookers how good this cute li’l girl (me!!!) is. He even proceeded to pull my cheeks! Now *that* did it, but I was feeling quite sickly by this time to give R a good retort and just managed to push him away. We decided, it was time to make a move and went to the station.

Even though I wont be able to highlight the train system in Japan in this blog, I would like to mention that one has to buy tickets there, which are sensed by magnetic detectors and then a person is allowed to pass through. If someone however doesn’t do this, small obstructions suddenly jut out to prevent the person from getting through to the platforms. On this particular day, there was just no stopping anyone, and everyone pushed there way through the obstructions! Yet another desi, came up to me and asked my name. I was quite taken aback at this attitude and before I could give him a ‘what’s ur problem look’, R had already told him my name. ‘This cute little girl is my best friend’, he added. Thankfully that guy introduced himself and after getting a cold shoulder from me and funny answers from R, he made a hasty exit. We finally managed to find some suitable place and sat down on the steps there as I was not feeling too well. Suddenly I started feeling really vomitish. Before I knew it, I had started puking! P quickly zapped back into ‘hosh’ and took me to the ladies restroom while he waited outside. I emptied out whatever little I had managed to eat and felt *so* sickly, I couldn’t believe it. Somehow I managed to wash up but couldn’t help feeling rather weak and ill. Some passerby asked if I needed help, but I declined. Due to so much coughing, somehow one of my earings came loose and fell into a drain nearby. On seeing my face in the mirror, I looked like a nightmare, hair all strewn, lipstick all washed out and looking like something the cat dragged in. I managed to drag myself to the loo and hardly had I entered it, when I heard P calling out my name! I snapped back to my senses wondering what he was doing in the ladies restroom! I assured him that I was ok. He had come inside looking for me cause I had taken so long and he was thinking I might have fainted somewhere.

After I went out I was informed by P that R was also somewhere in the mens room. Feeling too tired and ill I sat down on the floor, with P settling beside me. Although I wasn’t sleepy, I closed my eyes. Hardly a few minutes passed by when I heard someone talking to P about me!! I was upto my throat with that typical desi attitude and didn’t bother to even open my eyes. ‘Is she your sister?’, I heard that guy asking P and also why I was sitting there with my eyes shut. P gave him some info to mull upon. I heard that he was a Pakistani guy. ‘Desis will always be the same everywhere’, I thought. Before long, he was on his way, of course *after* wishing us a happy new year. It was quite some time and R was still in the men’s room. P told me that he was going to look for him there and now I was alone to fend myself from anymore drunk desis. I sat with my eyes open this time and tried to look as menacing as possible. Soon P returned with the news that R had passed out in the restroom itself and was in a bad state.. bad enough to not know what was happening and to not even get up. He had even misplaced his bag somewhere which contained his passport, but thankfully P found it on some peg in the restroom. By now P was completely in control and decided that he would leave me back to the hotel and we would skip the Akhiabara sale. The vision of a hot bath and a warm bed was too tempting to resist, but then I recalled my sisters ‘farmaish’ for an SLR. So I decided that I would go ahead with the sale. I was feeling much better now, but R was indisposed and we didnt know what to do. P made the weird decision of leaving him there only. He figured that once he’ll come back to his senses, he would get back himself, while we could carry on. Despite my objections, this is what we did. We left R in the restroom and went to Akhiabara. We reached there at 6am thinking we would be the first ones in the queue. To our dismay, the queue was already spiralling down the street and we were somewhere quite in the end. It was *so* cold, that my limbs were going numb. To warm up our bodies, we started jogging on the spot and running etc. But that didn’t really generate much kinetic energy to keep us warm. The store was to open at 10am! Imagine the piteous state we were in. Finally the clock struck 10 and we got in. But by the time we got in ( people are supposed to enter 1 by 1 in the order of the queue and make purchases), the items on sale had already been sold out. It was 12pm on 1st Jan by the time we got home. I finally took a hot bath and crashed, vowing never to have any rum again. Even the rum chocolates in my room nauseated me now. All in all, the whole experience was quite enjoyable (apart from being troublesome), especially R’s antics. He got back safe and sound. Some japanese person found him in that inebriated state and seated him in some appropriate train to get back. The 3 of us have a good time whenever we recollect the New year party we had.

Oh and did I mention, this year also I am gonna be sitting in bed watching some jerks histrionics on TV. Maybe it’s not so bad after all. Happy New Year!!

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Another Day

Twilight Fairy — Fri, 05 Sep 2003 10:04:53 +0000

Need I say more

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Oops…I did it again

Twilight Fairy — Sun, 27 Jul 2003 10:13:18 +0000

I did it again. Am confessing unabashedly. I played that ‘I got engaged’ joke on yet another poor unsuspecting soul . This time the victim was P. But I didn’t trouble him much. I have been rather busy the past few weeks (following a 14/7 schedule) and had not communicated with him since quite some time. The poor thing asked me where I have been all this time… and I could *just* not resist the temptation to give the ‘ I got engaged’ funda to him. Pssst.. girlies, this is a sure shot way of knowing whether or not a guy is interested in you and if he *is*, then you can have a whale of a time on his expense . Sadistic, I am sure you all think, but it all depends on what the guy feels for you and how you play it up . In case he gets all senti then well and good.. he deserves that for not taking the initiative for that long. In case he doesn’t, you will be able to make out that it’s not really making a difference to him and you might as well never let him on the fact that your engagement never happened.

With P, it was a long distance thing, I told him on mail and then chatted with him for around 10 minutes. He sounded shocked, wish I could have seen his face. Since I had to rush home soon, I anyway told him that I was playing a joke on him. Couldn’t have let him sleep over that . He sounded a little relieved.

I still remember the time I did the same with psycho. I knew he was flirting and he knew I was, but both of us behaved as if nothing was happening. In between, he had to go home for a couple of days. When he got back, we met for catching up. Just a day before we met, I had attended the engagement function of a friend of mine. Dunno what came over me, but just on an impulse I decided I’ll play that joke on him and built the whole thing up with things like, “I have to give you some news” etc. I gave him the “news” with a lot of difficulty. No, I wasn’t feeling guilty or anything like that, I was having a *REALLY* tough time controlling my laughter. LOL, the difficulty with which i smothered my giggles is only known to me. I didn’t have to prepare on any “correct information”. I just rattled out all the particulars of the fiance of my friend. Thank God, I had attended that function, otherwise am sure, I would have looked like a tongue tied, red faced baboon, on not being able to answer things like “Does he have a moustache?”, “Does he wear spectacles?”, “Where is he working?”, “How tall is he?” etc.

I still remember that despair and angst writ large on psycho’s face. In fact it alarmed me to an extent coz I never imagined an otherwise rather unexpressive guy, to possess that ‘I-better-go-and-jump-in-the-pond’ look on his countenance. That catalysed the bursting of the oversized bubble I had blown. Anyway I was unable to bear the pain in my cheek bones that comes with trying to keep a straight face when your brain is ordering your cheeks to draw and upward curve. I suddenly exploded (I must say, I must have given a heart attack to psycho, the way I did) into laughter and confessed that it was all a joke… The poor thing was absolutely zapped and stood rooted to the spot with a glazed look. “I must say you act rather well”, was all he could muster up. I felt sorry for him. I said so too. But I guess the relief was more than the initial shock and soon we were laughing together wholeheartedly, with him throwing affectionate jibes at me like “You naughty imp, you caught me there”. This episode helped in erasing all uncomfortable boundaries for us. It only confirmed what we both had known all along.

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