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Friday, April 21, 2006
|Your hidden talent is lying|
You are able to lie to anyone and get away with it. Sometimes you even do it for fun. You are specifically skilled at acting and bluffing during poker. And you know that to be a good liar you should give lots of details, to be a great one you give no details at all.
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Wednesday, April 12, 2006
I'm still trying to figure it out as I have a train to catch in a few hours.
From ever since I remember, she’s been my teacher.
- Taught me to walk, holding her little finger;
- Taught me to talk, filling my ears with the sounds of the alphabets;
- filled my life with sugar and spice and all that’s nice so I could be the quintessential “good girl”;
- Taught me what’s right and what’s not; (E.g Wearing jeans and T-shirt was wrong:“Boys will whistle at you”, Riding a cycle was tomboyish, hence wrong; speaking endlessly over the phone was wrong; Sitting at home practising maths was right. Ok, enough!)
- Taught me manners, music, dance, art, swimming, the works;
- Taught me to respect my elders and appreciate my lineage;
- Taught me to love and care, irrespective of the relation to the person
- Taught me to cook decently
- Taught me to listen to the GenYore’s take on life
- Taught me to bear and adjust
- Taught me lessons other than those of history, geography, civics, biology …
- Taught me to fear God and believe in His powers
- Taught me that life is not easy
- Taught me to strive and never to quit in life…
(I know I missed out a lot, especially those that never made any logical sense, but haven’t the time for more.)
And a lot of things she missed out, either deliberately or forgot in her busy daily schedule, I learnt myself and learnt them well. And as far as my poor memory goes, I’ve never had a difference of opinion with her. (It’s a different issue that she imposed her opinion on all others without giving anyone else a chance). I’ve always had nasty fights. And I used to hope and pray, someday she’ll shed her teacher’s robe and don that of Ma’s. The one who pampers and cuddles and plays with her only child, sometimes even spoils her and most importantly, becomes her best friend. But alas! She missed the bus and my prayers were left unanswered.
So from ever since I can remember, I never wanted to be anything like her. Let me try and illustrate that:
For starters, she’s the world’s greatest cook (ok I know most of her kind are, but she’s really different). She can rustle up the most amazing dishes from even the tiniest possible left over or the most uninteresting groceries.
She can travel the earth and back to help some distant relation or friend, or no one specific, and do loads of other “social service”.
She can endure, adjust, compromise and yet always end up on the wrong side.
She can enthrall an audience with her dramatic much-exaggerated stories.
She can teach & preach like there isn’t a tomorrow…
Strangely enough, as I catch up with her age, I can see traits of her in me, and increasingly so, much to my utter horror. And I look for the nearest bylane to run away from this truth. More horror. All roads lead to home.
So love her, hate her, fight with her, curse her, run away from her, but still can’t live without her. Miss her mochar ghonto, muror dal, chingri'r cutlet, mince meat pie, fishcake, chicken nest, custard, bhapadoi… her pottering around and her infectious laugh.
Happy birthday Ma('m) .PS: The most important vague lesson she taught: Jotodin Ma naa hobey, bujhbey na…(Till you become a mother, you won’t know…). Learning and understanding…at the speed of light now!
Monday, April 10, 2006
Friday, April 07, 2006
I have been craving for a makeover ever since the relaunch of our magazine. The wonders that a good haircut, shaping the eyebrows, a platinum facial, waxing, manicure, pedicure and an overall body massage can do, I'm told, is ethereal.
But dragging myself to a parlour and then sitting there for a good two-three hours just to have other women feeling you up repulses the hell out of me. So I just limit my visits to short 30-45 minute stints, all the time needed for a quick waxing or a trim. And I normally never do them on the same day. Take it one at a time, babe -- my motto in life.
You'd say, then do it one at a time and finally get the makeover you are seeking. But, there's the catch , good friend. You have to do it all on the same day to get "the best results". And, I was missing in action when God was distributing patience to all and sundry.
You see, I had better stuff to do. Like catch up with the neighbourhood guys on cricket, or have a cycle race with one of them, play dog & the bone or pittoo, go for long walks through the lanes and bylanes of NA, organise a neighborhood drama with the weirdos who didn't have a clue about scripts, dialogues or cues, go off with Baba for a round of golf at RCGC (albeit as his caddie and scorekeeper) or just snuggle up in bed with a book. All this was so blissful.
Oh and I must add here, my Mom belongs to a generation which didn’t know of the existence of “beauty parlours”. Thank God for small mercies, as this finally turned out to be the only ONE 'extra-curricular activity' I wasn’t forced to excel in. Yayayayay!! Freeeedddoooom!
Even better was the fact that I thankfully had other “girl” friends who weren’t obsessed about the beauty parlours except for their usual trims. As a child, it was always Ennis for me. (Calcuttans, does it still exist?)
I won’t say I’ve turned out too bad despite my aversion to the parlour, except for a faint moustache on the upperlip and a few stray beards here and there on the chin (I have just one now. The other one vanished some time ago, much to my surprise). [Digression: I don't go to the gym either. Tried a couple of times though, lasted all of 10 days max.] As regards the moush and the beard, no one seems to mind, especially not N, so saves me all those tears of threading them. Yay yaaay yayy.Freeedooom.
However, Urmi’s been insisting for a while now that I should get some “highlights” on my hair and do some more wild stuff with myself. And, I hate to disappoint people, especially my best friend. But since I can’t get myself to spend Rs 1500 to just colour my hair purple or blue or green or blonde (you can call me wise or stingy, your choice), I chose a much cheaper and easier option.
Since I was anyway getting royally bored at work, I decided to try my hand at something creative. And the only thing I could think of - considering I spend most of the working hours either reading blogs, or commenting on those I read and rarely writing my own - was to give my blog (which incidentally is neither my ego, nor my alter ego) a brand new look. The much needed makeover.
Cheers!JFB, dudher shadh ghole metano! ( Nothing like a good sweet lassi from Bobby da dhaba, Blr)
PS: I’m terribly, horribly technically challenged. So if some kind soul could help me link to the blogs I read, Vodka’s on
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Here we are fuming because our salaries are delayed, all thanks to the SBI strike (convenient excuse), and the bloody HR/finance are cluless as to when our backbreaking efforts are gonna be rewarded, and there is this smart, intelligent, charming, lovesick 23-year-old cool dude who wangles a flight ticket out of the boss to be there for his girlfriend’s birthday in Mumbai, over the weekend!
Coolest blackmail I've ever come across.
I wanna be smart, intelligent, charming and all of 23, NOW.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
G's in the why
"Office," most disgustedly.
"Why are you going to office?" (a look of genuine concern)
"So I can buy you a jigsaw puzzle" (She's obsessed with them and does them with amazing alacrity)
Ever seen a child questioning her own happiness? Weirdo!
“So, you don’t want a puzzle?”
"Nooo. Don't go to office, pleease." (Just shatters my heart into a zillion pieces)
"Hi Mamma. What are you doing? Sitting in office?"
Unfortunately, I haven't a very vivid imagination, nor am I literate enough to satisfy her insatiable hunger to know. So, I just mutter to myself:
Our's is not to question why,
Our's is but to do and die.
Poor child, what does she know of the bliss of ignorance.