|You will be famous for writing a national bestseller|
You are very observant and tend to be the wallflower at parties. You are intuitive and know just how to communicate everything that you are feeling to those around you.
Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Sunday, May 28, 2006
No, on second thought, I shall not grudge the little momma's boy his day out with the parents. I'm better off at work!
Friday, May 26, 2006
My mother was a fanatic about public restrooms. When I was a little
girl, she'd take me into the stall, show me how to wad up toilet paper and
wipe the seat. Then she'd carefully lay strips of toilet paper to cover the seat.
Finally, she'd instruct, "Never, NEVER sit on a public toilet seat Then
she'd demonstrate "The Stance," which consisted of balancing over the
toilet in a sitting position without actually letting any of your flesh make
contact with the toilet seat.
That was a long time ago. Now, in my "mature" years, "The Stance" is
excruciatingly difficult to maintain.
When you have to visit a public bathroom, you usually find a line of
women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you
check for feet under the stall doors. Every stall is occupied. Finally, a door
opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the stall.
The dispenser for the modern "seat covers" (invented by someone's Mom,
no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your purse on the door hook,
if there were one, but there isn't - so you carefully but quickly drape it
around your neck, (Mom would turn over in her grave if you put it on the
FLOOR!), yank down your pants, and assume "The Stance."
In this position your aging, toneless thigh muscles begin to shake.
or lay toilet paper on it, so you hold "The Stance."
To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you
discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser. In your mind, you can hear your
mother's voice saying, "Honey, if you had tried to clean the seat, you
would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!" Your thighs shake more.
You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the
one that's still in your purse. That would have to do. You crumple it in the
puffiest way possible. It is still smaller than your thumbnail.
Someone pushes open your stall door because the latch doesn't work. The
door hits your purse, which is hanging around your neck in front of your
chest and you and your purse topple backward against the tank of the toilet.
"Occupied!" you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your
precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, lose your footing
altogether, and slide down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of
You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom
has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered
seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even
if you had taken time to try.
You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew,
because, you're certain, her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat
because, frankly, dear, "You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could
By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so
confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose that
somehow sucks everything down with such force that you grab onto the toilet
paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too. At that point, you give up.
You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're
exhausted. You try to wipe with a gum wrapper you found in your pocket
and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks. You can't figure out how to
operate the faucets with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands
with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women, still
You are no longer able to smile politely them.
A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet
paper trailing from your shoe. ( Where was that when you NEEDED it??) You yank
the paper from your shoe, plunk it the woman's hand and tell her warmly,
"Here, you just might need this."
As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and
left the men's restroom. Annoyed, he asks, "What took you so long, and why is
your purse hanging around your neck?"
. . . This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with a public
restroom (rest??? you've got to be kidding!!). It finally explains to the men
what really does take us so long. It also answers their other commonly asked
question about why women go to the restroom in pairs. It's so the other
gal can hold the door, hang onto your purse and hand you Kleenex under the door.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Cooked fulkopir dalna and kassa mangsho last night and scored some brownie points on the very first day. ( Bapi is the quintessential Bangal with very sharp taste buds and very little appreciation for anything good. So, when he compliments my cooking, especially kassa mangsho, I consider it an Oscar. Pat pat pat on my back) This morning I abandoned the bed by 7.30, made tea (one just liquor, the other with milk), served them with biscuits and while they sipped on the hopefully well made tea(no effusive appreciation, so just assuming), I packed N's and my lunch of left over mutton and rice.
Hold your breath. Then I decided to cook at least one course for the lunch I won't be there for. So Mochar ghonto it was! Did take some tips from Mamoni, but that was just to make her feel good;) Some tricks of the trade.
Before leaving for work, ensured a fairly decent breakfast of toast, omlette, milk and bananas was ready to be served.
The quintessential Indian bouma! Let me enjoy while this lasts!
Anyone needs expert advice? You know where to reach me.
PS: I forgot to mention that in between all this, I even ironed N's shirt, which he wanted to carry to office (and change into before a new business pitch later today) and ensured G brushed her teeth before nibbling on food.
Rustle rustle rustle of paper( love the sound of crumpling paper), a pronounced hustle and bustle all over office, stashing scrap paper in bins and magazines into the already overstuffed drawers, cleaning the tabletop with a piece of paper....there, spotlessly clean and all dressed to kill the visitor!!
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Having quietly moved away from MSM, I thankfully haven't had to be a part of this chaos for a few years now. Until I finally bit a bait (yes yes kicking myself for it) and volunteered (out of sheer curiosity) to be a part of it. Once the VIP's itenarary was wangled out of the horse's (or was it the hippo's?) mouth, a press meet followed by cocktails and dinner was the first "event" agreed upon. After all, the VIP had a very very hectic schedule that involved travelling from one end of Bangalore to the other end and beyond(impromptu decision). And we unfortunate in-city travellers know just how back-breaking, asphyxiating and sweaty such travel can be. But the press had to be given a time for its share of precious sound bytes, the potential exclusive interview, photo opps and the works. So it was set for post lunch (around 4?). Then along the day a slew of SMSs threatened to choke the poor cell as the VIP suddenly decided to head farther off from city limits "on work" and was quite sure wouldn't be back in the city before 9pm. (Of course we knew better than that) So the press meet was promptly called off. But gluttons and suckers for a free booze that we journos are infamous for, we still hoped the VIP could make it to the cocktails and dinner and looked forward in hope, while attending to other inconsequential assignments.
As the chances of an exclusive with the VIP grew bleaker, we quickly grabbed the only available opportunity for a dinner, yes, yes, with free booze, and happily headed home.
We do not blame the VIP. After all, the person is only an office bearer, slogging butt off doing greater good for greater people.
1. Curiosity killed the cat
2. Never believe a VIP
3. Hope sucks and drains
4. Go get a life, babe!
PS: I'm assuming my handful of intelligent readers don't think VIP stands for the obvious. Go figure!
Friday, May 12, 2006
I don't understand politics, nor have the desire to, but I give credit where it's due. And will not allow personal prejudices to veil my genuine happiness. As long as I lived there,I hated it with a passion. Now that I am only an irregular visitor, it feels better. So here's to more of Kolkata. And kudos to all those who are making it rock!
PS: Now can we please have the CM put his best foot forward and play a full blooded shot to help the Prince win back his lost glory? We can't let him go down without a fight, or vanish into oblivion whimpering. The elections are over, peacefully. Now let the war begin.
Ok, so this was the whole reason for the post. Selfish? I have an agenda? Yes, go SUE me!
PPS: I still don't believe I wrote this post. It must be the weather, or excess nicotine:P
On returning home and freshening up, G as usual insisted I sit on the floor and play with her. So it began with Recognise your Alphabets. Once she was convinced about all the shapes of the alphabets and what each denoted, we had to move on. So it was Catch Me If You Can. From the living room to the bedroom, over the bed, in a somersault, down again and into the other room, giggling and screaming all the while and finally..."cauuught you..cauught you..." Repeat same a couple of times and then plonk on the bean bag, huffing and puffing and tongue sticking out. "Let's play something else." Ummmm, ok let's play Hop Scotch. So G and I, played it on the square-tiled spartek floor, tumbling over one another. It was fun but not all that fun. So we decided to change over to Hide and Seek. Behind the door and under the bed, cramping up in the narrow sliver of space between the bed and the wall, in the loo, till we both tire out and call it quits.
Can't remember when I exercised such a lot or had so much fun playing games. We chilled out and channel surfed, and stopped in our tracks at Star Movies. It was showing There's something about Mary, surely the icing on the evening's priceless moments. So we watched, we giggled and we rolled on the floor laughing.
An evening wonderfully spent. Love playing Mommy, mommy!
Thursday, May 11, 2006
PS: I'm a fairly decent cook, so that should compensate.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Monday, May 08, 2006
Now, why didn't I think of that? Duh!
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
It was World Media Day yesterday. How many of you bullshitters in the media knew that? And those of you who did, what was your contribution to it?
Did you send that babe you've been hitting on withered flowers? OR leave a cryptic Da Vinci Code-esque message at her workstation?
Did you bullshit your way into getting an exclusive interview with the who's-who of the F**k-All world?
Did you feed the world enough crap so they'd die puking or of indigestion?
Did you snoop around for a better paying job?
Did you bitch about that babe who pipped you to the post of blah-blah-blah coz she slept with the boss while you were sleeping with the enemy?
Did you go lick your Editor's arse so you could get the next bump up soon?
What the F**K did you do then?
After ages, I surfed the telly last night.
There was an information overkill on the ‘cataclysmic loss’ of Pramod Mahajan, who was showered all the accolades except the Bharat Ratna. (NDTV's Srinivasan Jain, actually didn't know whether to smile or not when posted outside the Hinduja for a "comprehensive coverage" of the deceased!) R-I-P.
Abheek Barman fumbled and mumbled and went around in circles trying to explain the impact of a fuel price hike. All this, never without that cherubic smile.
And, I learnt that 76% of the Indian population “believes” the media … from who else, but TimesNOW. Speaks volumes about the TOI-literate Indian population??
MTV was playing some nice hindi popular songs. Tooombaa enjoyed maatde;)
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
The last couple of weeks have been a rollercoaster ride, to use a well- worn cliché. OED’s definition of stress as a state of affair involving demand on physical or mental energy was put to shame. It usually is this way when it’s magazine release time, but this time it just seemed never-ending. Twelve-14 hour work schedules aren’t exactly normal, and do disturb the normal physical and mental cycle of any individual, thereby proving detrimental to the overall health. (Not that my mental condition is any better without the stress, but that's a given) However, those in the media, will scoff at me for even uttering this, leave alone sympathise with me, as we can’t complain of such pitfalls of the profession. After all, we’re in it just for the love of it. Not cause it's the world's most prestigious profession, or cause I didn't get a job anywhere else, or cause it was the best way to get a quick divorce, and definitely not cause it pays to be in it (although GeNext tells me the money’s now tempting. Wish someone showed me the colour of money, too). Hence, I’ve been seeking out ways and means to relieve stress off and on and some of the proof’s been put up for public consumption as below.
Now that the magazine’s out and looking good and I have just about enough time to breathe in and breathe out while the boss breathes down my neck for the next issue already, I want to take a few minutes of your time.
Since no one acknowledges or recognises the backbreaking effort that goes in, just thought I’d give myself an Oscar for it, this time. And in true Oscar style, I’ll take this opportunity to thank a few people who have actually helped me tide through the 13 continuous days of slogging, which included fewer and fewer breaks to eat, sleep, smoke and, of course, be with my wonderful family. Oh, I promise to keep this really short.
Ok here goes. The biggest thanks to A’da for his outasight company replete with enlightening trivia, stress buster therapies, loads of fun, and, of course, for being my Shift+F7, whenever I needed help;). Sure did help me work better and more effectively. Thanks old man.
Thanks G, for being the most amazing three-yr old. She found the most innovative stress buster for me. (Digression:G stays awake for N and me to return home from our respective work places, whatever time of the night that may be. The elation on seeing us - priceless) Whenever I got home, she’d say: ” Mamma, come, sit on the floor. Play with me.” And playing meant doing the jigsaw puzzles with her, puzzles that she knows by heart and can do in less than 30 seconds sometimes! Words fail me to describe the joy it gave both of us.
And no thanks to God for helping me survive another issue, thanklessly. (I want a job that at least pays, dammit)
Oh, and U, u know, thanks just isn’t enough for u.