personal


Victoria’s secret 4


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.



Qutub Naama


26th January is a fine day. Where earlier every year on this day, I would wear a Khadi kurta and roam around photographing the naked streets of Lutyens Delhi which are otherwise blanketed by traffic; past two years have seen me exploring the ‘older’ Delhi’s. This year though I wanted to go to the ‘Rang De Basanti‘ fort, in the outskirts of Jaipur, I was heavily discouraged by Lazylump for its supposedly filthy reality. Eventually we decided that we would explore the history in our own backyard. The Qutub Minar made for an interesting subject. It was almost a new thing for me since I hadn’t been to this monument since 20 years or more! Talk about “ghar kee murgi daal barabar“. Not only did I not have any recollection of the monument/visit except the fact that I had wrapped my arms around the Iron pillar, I also never bothered about history then. History was just a boring subject which was overcome by trying to remember some pathetic dates (as if formulae/tables in maths weren’t enough mind exercise). I had thought that the visit to Qutub Minar would be overwhelming and exciting what with the associated history and my newly found interest in history after all these years. If nothing it would at least be nostalgic, since it might get back fond memories of the previous visit. And last but not the least, the extensive sunlit photography that I had plans for, would make sure that the visit would be a memorable one. But as we would see, lady luck had other plans.

Lazylump and I met in Gurgaon on 26th. Republic day and we dont check out the heavy discounts? Impossible! Unfortunately the heavy discounts had some heavy rates to precede them, so they didn’t entice us. After some mall dekko, we had a quick bite after which I duly showed him my place. It was so hot that day that we incidentally had to use the AC in the car! The visit home provided a welcome respite. But we forgot that summers were actually not here, but were only giving a trailer. The sun *had* to set at the same time and would – as and when in winters. We rushed out soon, since I had elaborate plans of catching Qutub Minar with the sun’s rays providing a good photo-op. But eventually we reached there when instead of sunlit photography only sunkissed photography could have happened. But who’s complaining! I had never thought that the sunset at Qutub Minar could look so spectacular!
Sunset at Qutub
We quickly bought tickets and rushed in (after being halted by the guard interrogating where I was from – a quick hindi sentence sufficed to prove that I wasn’t a foreigner!). We could see the sun setting fast and I was practically running in order to get the last few rays of the sun brightening up my pics. In the meantime, the sunset had accelerated and the sun had gained that momentum which just meant that it would sink faster now.

Sunset in the ruinsSunset in the ruins

I really remember nothing of that time except that there was this tower and there was the sun and I had the camera. I rushed around, clicking pictures feverishly, trying to gauge for spots which would be a little higher and might be the recipient of some last dying rays of the sun. I took some quick shots of the 72.5 m high towering minaret – the tallest brick minaret in the world. Though it didnt appear intimidating due to its height (See Eiffel tower to know what’s intimidating), it appeared quite fascinating to see that the laborious endeavours spread over three generations of a dynasty and two decades indeed bore magnificent fruit! I clicked some of its nakkashi and some of its stories on high zoom, which was quite difficult without a tripod due to handshake (inevitable on high zoom). The first three storeys (from bottom) are each laid on a different plan, the lowest with alternate angular and circular flutings, the second with round ones and the third with angular ones only, with the same alignment of flutings, however, being carried through them all.

The top most storyLooks almost etherealExquisite nakkashi in brick.


Unfortunately the sun was in a bigger rush than I was and eventually said a quick ta ta. That was it. I didn’t know that the timings of Qutub Minar are ‘from sunrise till sunset’. The guards came around like ululating bats. One just ducks and tries to make ones way through.

I went further away to view Qutub Minar from a distance – whatever little was possible in that limited area right next to the tower, since all other patches had anyway been evacuated. I clicked some typical shots of Qutub with some natural framing and then rushed over to click some intricate carvings of some of the gateways.

The cliched shotQutub Minar as seen from a gateway

The red sandstone appeared so fresh, certainly not centuries old. I tried the sepia effect on one and it sure looks like a past era now.
Rich sandstone coloursCarvingsAn era gone by

The sun already set, twilight was fast approaching, giving everything a strange fascinating hue. In a rush, I didn’t even register where or what I was clicking. Whatever caught my fancy, came into my camera’s focus. The bit about getting overwhelmed with the fascinating history of the place never happened. It was only later that I realised that the captivating pillars that I had clicked and which looked very “hindu architecture” unlike the rest of whatever little I had been able to cognize, were indeed from that era. The columns had been rebuilt using the ruins of a temple built by Prithvi raj chauhan and they were part of a hall which now housed a mosque.

Pillars galoreAlmost wooden lookingAgainst the moon.

Unfortnately, I did not even glance at the Iron pillar which stands in the courtyard of the Quwwatu’l-Islam mosque, since so many uncountable centuries. It supposedly bears a Sanskrit inscription in Gupta script, palaeographically assignable to the 4th century. The inscription states that the pillar was set up as a standard or dhvaja of Lord Vishnu on the hill known as ‘Vishnupada’, in the memory of a mighty king, named ‘Chandra’ (Chandragupta II (375-413) of the imperial Gupta dynasty). A deep hole on the top of the pillar indicates that an additional member, perhaps an image of ‘Garuda’, was fitted into it to answer to its description as a standard of Vishnu. The pillar has been brought here from somewhere, else, as no other relics of the 4th century are present in the same complex. The pillar manages to attract the amazement of metallurgists all over the world as it’s still going strong after 1600 years with no or little signs of deterioration.

I really wanted to click a picture of the moon with the Qutub. Unfortunately with the guards rushing us about, I barely had the time to think about angles or unique framing so as to make an alluring capture. But eventually I was quite pleased with the results. They were probably just what I wanted. A silhouette of our desi leaning tower along with a bright moon (albeit not full – which I would cover some other day with ample time on hand). I clicked another twilight shot from the “hinduesque” mosque. Lots of smugness followed.
Qutub at nightFraming the Qutub at twilightQutub at Twilight

The guards informed us that we really better be getting out now since the “night time” entry was starting soon. Voila! instant change of plans. We would go out, come in again and do some night time photography of the Qutub now, which was something I always wanted to do. The night time entry started right after the sunset and at double the rate. On the way out I managed to click the ceiling of one of the structures leading out and then some pillars in the promenade.

Colour in an otherwise sepia historyWalkway

Before that we decided to grab a quick bite somewhere. That’s when I landed across the Bhool bhulaiya which we also discovered ‘bhoole bhatke‘ to be situated right next to Mehrauli terminal. It’s an old dilapidated monument receiving absolutely no attention compared to its neighbour in the proximity. After some time we realised that it was night and the Qutub Minar was still not lit up. Inspection revealed that one of the phases from the power was out. That ended the Qutub photo session right there.

There’s a lot more in the Qutub complex than what met the eye. The Alai minar, the Alai darwaza, a couple of notable tombs and of course the Iron pillar, all have a lot of interesting trivia associated with them and all shall be seen in a subsequent visit with more time and lots of sun on hand.

Eventually I clicked a lot of pictures within the 30 minutes I was there. The plus point of the pics turned out to be the very fact that I thought would pose a difficulty. The particular time at which we landed in Qutub Minar, not only provided a good sunset, some sunny shots, but also some twilight shots and some silhouettes. The fast changing sky gave me a variety within such a quick time span. But as a downside, before I could realise that I had visited Qutub Minar, I found myself outside. No nostalgia, no history to overwhelm me, I couldn’t even see the complete complex. BUT photography smugness followed. Apart from a sunlit Qutub Minar photoshoot, I would try to get an aerial view sometime (till then here it is on google maps with an elongated shadow making it easy to figure out Qutub Minar). And I would surely get here on a moonlit night and click away at Qutub Minar, while imagining how the scene would have been set many many centuries ago.



Bondgiri 1


In this year of the 007, the new year party had just the right kind of adventure. The predominant flavour this year at the new years eve seemed to be clearly – foggy (oxymoron unintended). I had plans to meet up with college friends in Vasant Kunj. We almost gave up after seeing the fog but then somehow persevered. Delhi had been completely engulfed in a thick fog blanket in the past some days especially in the later hours of the night. I had a fair idea that it wasn’t going to be an easy drive but I have driven in swirling fog earlier too. Clutching the seat, staring out at the looming white walls of vapour, backseat driving, that is. I couldn’t have indulged in driving in such conditions with the old Maruti 800 but now that the “gentleman” is here, I was sure I could take on such self indulgences from time to time. I had the pleasure of driving in thick swirling fluffs earlier some weeks back when I came back from Elevate one of these weekends. The fog on 31st eve was all that and more. A trifle bit more.

The way till Vasant Kunj was foggy but still vehicles could move. The moment I reached Vasant Kunj, I almost felt as if I was walking head on into a white wall. But then braving such adversity had kind of rubbed in with the earlier misty meetings with the fog. It was practically zero visibility. One couldnt see the road, or a vehicle in front. One could only make out blurry outlines of car blinkers, that too at about 5 feet of a distance. A lot of vehicles were just parked on the road. Perhaps waiting for the fog to subside is what they had decided on. The fools didnt realise that it never subsides till the sun comes out or till there’s some heat in the environment. After reaching that block in Vasant Kunj which was a place I was just not familiar with, it became practically impossible to drive as I didn’t even know where to expect a turn or a bend in the road. Driving close to the pavement was impossible because of the vehicle line up. Driving close to the divider was what I had to do. Unfortunately that almost resulted in getting onto a flyover that I had to actually skip. Thankfully I managed to skip it without bumping into any of the vehicles which were parked over the flyover with their blinkers on! Some directions on phone later, I managed to reach the gate of the block I had to reach and then had to ask my friend to come physically to guide through the inner bylanes as dearth of landmarks within the block would have left me spending my new years watching the white ghosts swirling by.

After much ‘walking-into-white-walls-not-knowing-what-is-beyond’, I finally managed to park my car and get inside a warm house. I had so far restrained from consuming some of the refreshments I was carrying and celebrating my own solitary new year somewhere with spectres (car blinkers providing me the necessary ghoulish new year lighting). But getting to the venue did the final trick and soon the host and I (all others were still battling white daemons) indulged ourselves. With the arrival of our drink carrying knights, the party kicked off finally a little before 12 (“We are men and army men at that, we dont need directions“, they said). Everyone had the poison they wanted. We all clinked a lot of wine glasses to begin with and eventually at the stroke of the midnight hour, popped some bubbly. The guys (the other females turned out to be not so adventurous given the weather and never turned up) got high on harmless champagne. Juicy secrets from college times (who had a ridiculous fancy for whom and did what) were let out very much like the champagne flowing into the glasses. The “boys” eventually ended up trying to straighten a victimised fridge, whose only fault was standing alone in a corner. Luckily for us, the fridge obeyed their commands and straightened up – more than the boys themselves. That battle won, we all dug into some veg tikka and some chicken tikka. Lots of laughter, some dance, more champagne (read chum-pug-nee), some more dance, some rounds on the phone with some other college friends outside the country, laughter all along with frequent assessments of visibility from the balcony. I was ever grateful to the fog gods for having descended upon us. It gave me a chance to not hurry up with a deadline. Eventually we decided to set out at 3am. The visibility was barely a tad bit better. I had to get to my place alone, so two of my friends decided to tail my car in their car (that was just an excuse for them sissies what with a perfect fog assist like me).

White phantoms, coming straight onto you while driving and dying on your car’s bonnet was neat. Soulful music at the hour was even neater. At some point since the visibility was absolutely zero and I was driving according to a map in my memory, I overshot a turn and landed on NH-8 at a point where a flyover was being constructed. The moment I realised I had taken a wrong turn and was about to turn around it dawned on me (literally) that a whole bevy of cars had been using me as their support in the thick white fog and had landed right behind me – all of us like sardines in a tin. Ever faced an expectant audience at the end of a performance? Well I have. I quickly courtesied to denote the end of it (pointed out the right direction for all to see) and sped away. I eventually reached home at 4am feeling all nice and accomplished for having done some bondgiri at the very onset of the year. Here’s for some bondgiri in your lives too! Wish you all a very funfilled, charming, spellbinding new year.



One last look


Stop right there.
Let me picture you in my mind for the last time.
Soon you’ll be walking out of my life.
Let me gaze upon you for the last time.

I need something to hold on to.
Something to carry me through.
All I need is one last look before you go.
So I’ll have memories where ever I go.
One last look before you’re gone.
So in my heart you’ll live on and on.

Just one last look before we part.
So memories of you will fill my heart.
Let me remember my whole life through.
‘Cause my happiest days, I’ve spent with you.

—– JUST ONE LAST LOOK – The temptations

The lyrics indicate enough. Though they indicate farewell to a sweetheart, in my case it’s not that. In my case it’s not someone walking out of my life. It’s more of the reverse. In my case, it’s not a person but an inanimate object that I am associating all these feelings with. It’s more of a farewell to a house. A house in which I have spent a lot of my moments, in all these years. A house that I have always associated with my childhood as well as my mom’s. A house which was old and antiquated. A house with an architecture which is now defunct. A big open verandah in between with the house “around” it. All kind of plants planted in a small bed of earth around the verandah. A house which had a “well” inside for a large part of its life. It also had a handpump for quite some time. A house which had been surrounded by “tabelas” of buffaloes for many years, for it was built in the non-glitzy Gurgaon of yesteryears. A house which in its prime was the only cemented, double storied structure around. A house which had those huge metallic “kundee” type bolts which could not be locked. And there was a phase when people never needed to. The almost gigantic wooden doors with that typical arch, would have huge metallic hoops as knockers because there were no door bells then. The house which had these huge, heavy chick curtains to block out a bright sun. The house with the high ceilings and with those huge fans. The house where a lot of tales of partition were retold and recounted.

The house where I played unlimited Ludo, hide and seek, hopscotch and some more imagined games. A house, from the open verandah of which, my sister and I would squint under the sun to wave at every passing airplane (thanks to the proximity to IGI airport) because it was a fun thing to do. The house where we actually made paper boats and then “sailed” them in puddles formed after rains. The house in which we always had one or two kites floating around when it would be kite flying season. The house where my mom had her engagement photos taken. The house where she got ready when she was to get married. People never indulged in beauty parlours then. The house where we had all the table cloths, cushion covers and armrests made by my nani. The house where my sister and I would fight over a particular spoon because it was too round and too cute. The house where we knew we were always welcome. The house which we reached after an arduous journey across a stony path (no road) on a two wheeler! The distances were big in those days and the only things that were the landmarks in Gurgaon were the factories. The house which had pictures of a cute kid who was supposed to be our grown up mother. The house which had a lot of wall hangings made by my maasis. The house which was a typical human nest where the kids had taken off and came visiting now and then. The house where my maternal grandparents spent about 40 years. That house is being sold off after my nani’s death. Soon it would be time to take one last look before we part. So that memories of it will fill my heart.



Pehchaan Kaun

The other day Sharmila aunty called at our residence number. Arrey wahee, Soha’s mom. Can still not place her? Ok, considering that Saif’s more popular – his mom as well. But it’s good that I did not receive her call. I would have been all over myself trying to talk to her and would not have been putting up a faux front like this. I don’t even remember how she introduced herself. But I am sure, had I or my parents picked up that call, we would have started bombarding her like those overwhelmed fans of Amitabh Bacchan on KBC.

Hello, mein Amitabh Bacchan bol raha hoon Kaun Banega Crorepati se.
FOP (Fan on phone) : Hello sir, jee sir, yes sir. I am a BIG fan of yours sir. I have seen all your movies sir.
You have a great influence in my life sir. Can I recite a poem in your honour sir?
[quick recital of lines from Madhushala followed by polite reminder by Amitabh Bacchan]

It’s good that my sister picked up the call, for it was intended to be for her. There was some documentary that was being shot and they needed a scriptwriter to translate the English script into Hindi. And they zeroed in on my sister of all people? I mean the sorts who insert all kind of random hindi words anywhere in a sentence without knowing what they mean? The sorts who tell a shopkeeper ‘mein aapka vikreta hoon’ thinking that vikreta = customer. Well even I didn’t study Hindi beyond 10th standard (and I so regret it), but certainly my command over that language, my understanding of shuddh hindi and my usage of grammar, tense and even sandhi vicched/samaas etc is ahem..I would like to think, quite remarkable. (Contact Lazy lump or Bhavna or Amit or Mamta for a verification – after all no one else can translate ROTFL into hindi as well as I did).

Oh, I digress all over again. So Sharmila aunty basically wanted my sis to work on this documentary and work she did. Even went out of station with her. When she had called home, my father and I instantly started competing with each other over who could chauffeur my sister to Sharmila aunty’s Vasant Vihar home. Oh! even the polite conversations we would have with her about generally everything or even about her and Parimal (Dharmendra) had started germinating in our minds. Nothing doing. My sister went alone via public transport. No nonsense and no bhaav when it comes to these bollywood types. After she came back, she was thoroughly interviewed by the rest of the family.

How’s her house? How’s the decor? Does she have starry airs? Was Nawaab Pataudi there? Oh, Sharmila aunty was on the exercycle? Oh, Soha was there too? (RDB had not released as yet) Oh, she got scolded by aunty as a regular kyonki maa bhee kabhee beti thee pair? Oh, they were having Daal roti? Oh, so they are normal ppl after all.. phew what a relief.

But I am sure if auctioned, our phone would definitely fetch a big price at least within our relatives. After all Sharmila Tagore doesn’t call everyday.