Games we play

Last evening was one to cherish for a long long time.
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!

May showers

The weather in Bangalore right now is driving me crazy. Regular as a clockwork, the storm comes bursting in at 4pm, shaking the trees violently off their roots, sending the pedestrians in a helpless tizzy and dragging me mercilessly off my chair into the balcony. To excite, to impress, to palpate, to disarm and grab the vulnerable me with its odylic force into a coital compromise. An incurable romantic that I anyways am, it's only worsening my case. Sigh!

Food, good food

Unfortunately for N, it's a waste to take me out, especially to eat. Before you jump at me, this is not to say, I'm indifferent to food or don't enjoy eating out. It's just that I'm not the quintessential Bengali khadyo-roshik and am such a small eater, he says it's just not worth it. I love to eat, especially continental and chinese food. And more recently, I've become a huuuuge fan of Korean and Thai cuisine. But to be true to myself, it's ever since I associated myself with N (a self-proclaimed foodie, prolly only second to U) among the many good things that he has tried, mostly in vain, to inculcate in me, appreciating food is the only thing that I have paid serious attention to. And, must admit, have benefitted from it. My food intake has also improved a tad bit but is inversely proportional to the effects on petite self. I can roll the food a little longer in my mouth, chew the lamb till I feel every spice in the juice and even ponder over every layer of the Tiramisu. I still have a long, long way to go considering a Japanese meal with Sushi et al awaits me tomorrow and a whole lot more over the weekend. But it feels good to be able to exercise the tastebuds ever so often, considering that's the only exercise I've been religiously doing anyway for all my living years. As N would love to say "I told you, if only you listened to me more often, life would be so much better." Alas Dude, God gave me a motor mouth that works far better than the ear.

PS: I'm a fairly decent cook, so that should compensate.

Everyman

Man has created death. And everything else that's circumstantial in life, for that matter.

Rains

It rained. I tried writing about the whole experience of feeling it on my body and from my soul. Words fail me. So I just enjoy the rains and freeze it for eternity.

Biz talk

Business channels generally get their maximum viewership between 9am and 5pm on weekdays. So that's what the who's who of business do the whole day when they're actually supposed to be contributing to the topline or bottomline of the company, huh?
Now, why didn't I think of that? Duh!

Little wonder

Just discovered on opening my bag: a chunk of G's colourful lego blocks.

This kid sure knows ways of getting my attention.

Miss her, immensely.

Tube Watch

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;)

Stress Release

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.

And life goes on...

Nuts about me??

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

My Last Wish

Symbolic Death Following the Death of the Main Threat
How will it happen?	You will be strangled with some piano wire
'What horror movie death would you have?' at QuizGalaxy.com

BWaaahahhahhaha

Priyadarshini -- [noun]: A poltergeist sent back in time to change the course of history forever 'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

My Hidden Talent

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. Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Shubho Nababarsha

Shokkolke janai nabarsher antorik preeti o shubhechha

Beans Gone Berserk

Kannada legendary actor Raj Kumar died of cardiac arrest at the ripe old age of 77. A peaceful death to say the least. Can anyone please explain why it prompted the otherwise docile, laid back Kannadigas to burn/damage buses, cars and tyres, block roads, close down shops, petrol pumps and unleash terror in general to pay homage to the icon?

I'm still trying to figure it out as I have a train to catch in a few hours.

To Ma'm With Love

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!

The New Vending Machine

Overheard at a cafe: Why do you put condoms on your cellphone?

I wonder at the technological advances of this world, speechlessly.

Makeover

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 me.( Those in Calcutta, during my next visit, which maybe shortly, and those in Bangalore, anytime, folks!)

Cool or wot?

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.

Hmmpfffft.

I wanna be smart, intelligent, charming and all of 23, NOW.

My love, my life

G's in the why phase of life now. There has to be a reason for existence - everything living and non-living, consumable or otherwise. Sample this:

"Mamma, where are you going?" in the sweetest possible tone.
"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)
“Why?”
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)

****************************************

The usual lunch time call.
"Hellooo"
"Hi Mamma. What are you doing? Sitting in office?"
"Indeed!"
"Why?"

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.

Untagged!

Urmea tagged me long ago but it's only now that I have managed to really come up with what I want. Here's to my perfect partner:

1. Must have a sense of humour that can match none living or dead.
2. Must have a passion for the wild - whether it be in seeking out the Royal Bengal Tigers from anywhere in the Sundarbans or going on an African Safari; to just letting the basic instincts loose
3. Must be able to rattle of PSR&T, The Doors, Pink Floyd, Eliot, Plath, Browning, Ogden Nash, Henry James, Conrad all in the same breath
4. Must find innovative ways to titillate me mentally and physically since I get bored very easily.
5. Must accept and endure me as I am: with all my whims, fancies, tantrums, vices and shortcomings (after all, he’s the one who has to be perfect, not me!) And if he assumes he can get on board first and then try to work around any one of my imperfections…better not get aboard, dude.
6. Must respect and understand the ample need for space. Should abide by my philosophy of Live and let live. I’ll be more than glad if he goes out on his Boyz nites out and leaves me to my girlie ones…they r anyways so much better.
7. Must have a passion for the performing arts…theatre, movies, dance, the works… and if classical dancing isn’t exactly his cuppa, he wasn’t eyeing the right woman, anyways!
8. Must be decent, presentable, dapper, suave, bright, loving, caring(read pampering) and extremely understanding.

Now if any 1 person even remotely fits this bill, you are either lying or a dreamer. Besides, if the opposite sex was really perfect, we wouldn’t have been the wo(e)ful other half.

PS: JAP, Bonatellis your turn next.

Another day , another world

The journey has begun. After a very smooth flight, I am destined to face my moment of truth. A chauffeur-driven swank black Merc at my disposal. While the world sleeps, I speed at 130 kmph down my perceived highway to heaven. The names of the roads mean little to me at the moment. Just the drive, the speed, the feel of the plush Merc interiors and the two tiny pegs of vodka on the flight, all combine to give a heady feeling. First question to the driver: How long will it take to the hotel? “Half an hour madam”.

Aha…half hour of mindless musings. Unfortunately, he either underestimated his driving skills or The Merc’s horsepower! It took just 15 mins!

I have a river-facing room that allows me to just gaze at the world as the day yawns out of the night, little ferries amble by with sleepy passengers aboard and the birds sing their songs of sixpence to usher in a bright new day.

Freedom is indeed a many splendoured word. When you don't have it like every other thing you crave for it...when you have it...you don't know what to do with it. The overflowing excess of nervous energy has rendered me an incapacitated insomniac, clueless about what to do next, where to search for some peace of mind and body. I and my laptop, I and my sporadic virtual company, I and my thoughts, live in isolation... in another part of the world.

Admitted!

Lateral thinking has been rewarded. She's been given a grade pass as JAP suggested earlier. But happiness comes with a huge price tag.
Parents pay 1 grand per month for all the 33 months of her existence till date.Yes, that's the amount one has to dish out for admission into pre-school. Co-incidence? Ridiculous? Or just the norm?

A strange and sublime moment

How many times in life have you ever really wanted something in life? And got it too? I'd say a couple of times out of the ten times that I've held my breath, closed my eyes tight, pursed my lips and with folded hands knelt before the deemed Miracle Maker. The outcome called for celebrations.
But this time it’s different. I’ve suddenly been offered something I have secretly desired for, for almost a decade now, but never really mustered up the courage to even ask Him for it in passing. I was quite happy in my resigned-to-fate state of being. Until, the capricious Trade Winds blew my way and left me to contend with a bag of mixed feelings. In one swivelling move, they’ve just turned my body inside out and shimmied the innards of my brain.
I feel stranded between the vast blue firmament and the fathomless sea. I’ve longed for it. Now I can have it (touchwood). My moment of truth. I should be happy, elated and welcome it with wide open arms. To borrow Karate Kid’s lyrics, I’ve waited forever, it's now or it's never, nothing should stop me now. Even though I know it’ll last all of 72 hours, not a second more. I can live a lifetime in those 4320 minutes; slip into the skins of those characters I’ve secretly idolized, do the things I’ve always wanted to throwing caution to the winds and, still be Me.
But what is this that’s pulling me and tying me up in knots, enshackling me with those massive manacles? I can’t seem to set myself free, make a choice, get up and show them who I am, prove myself. Deep in my soul I hear a voice, answering to the call, but it’s just not as easy as it seems. I know this is the place, this is the time, it’s now or it’s never. But there are visions that float across my mind’s eye. Some faces, some loose statements, some bonds, some priceless cuddles I may miss…some choices I consciously made long long ago.
But, I guess I just gotta believe in myself and make love to the moment. Close my eyes tight, purse my lips and set myself free.

AGE

Ok, in the last around 17 hours or thereabouts I have been reminded about my AGE in not so subtle terms by various people.

Now, before you start commenting, let me make it absolutely clear, that I am perfectly aware of my age and all that comes with it-- yes, the wrinkles, the tiers, loss of memory and hearing(thankfully I have a 20/20 vision, so that'll take a while to fade), ton loads of responsibility (both professional and personal) to shoulder that leads to a bad back and neck, disintegrating teeth(darn colgate, close up et al), osteoporosis, general exhaustion, like now, so feel free to add the rest.

So, what's it about my age, or for anybody's age for that matter? And who decides what's the right 'behaviour' for an age? My nearly-three-year old sings herself to sleep on Kajra re kajra and wakes up singing Dus bahane karke le gaye... Sigh! Oh for the good old days of Ghum parani mashi pishi...She doesn't respond to gobbledegook or the usual kiddy language. She speaks very clear logically strung sentences.

Most men I know, seem to be talking about/watching who faced how many balls before getting out; who scored how many goals (when they aren't scoring themselves, i.e); babes, bods, the best brand of beer, gizmos(when they are not in a switch-on,switch-off mode i.e), pubs, clothes or the lack of them most often than not and everything else that amuses them. Basically, they're always either playing games, or up to some prank and they can play ball throughout their lives. And, try talking to them when they are specifically watching a ball game. Here's a tip for girlfriends, wives(just the newly married lot), "just friends" -- if you wanna know the man better, thre's no better time than this. But if you are watching your favourite soap or just happen to be working on something and he needs something (which is usually right away) or just wants to be amused and you happen to ignore him, that's it women! Wives-get those divorce papers, girlfriends can either gear up for a loong sulking day/evening replete with "You are ignoring me" and lines to that effect or just go find one of the soap stars. Ageless games, and all very becoming of the age, I presume.

The moment women talk of the shade of lipstick they bought yesterday, hunks(arm candy!), clothes, bags, shoes, retarded mothers-in-law, bitchy friends, or shed all inhibitions(if any) to have some fun, AGE becomes an issue. So at what age should we discuss lipsticks? And what's a good age to discuss mothers-in-law? (Personally, I think this is a topic akin to good wine, the more the years you spend with them, the discussion gets juicier and tastier). What's a good age to seek a little attention? Or what's a good age to have fun? Pray someone please tell me. So I can behave MY AGE.

A few stolen moments

Been adrift on life for awhile now. Ebbing and flowing with the tide, seeking method in its mad resounding splashes. Sometimes straining my ears to pick up the voices of virtual passersby trying to reach out and hitch a ride. But, alas, surfing is a pacy adventure sport. Leaves no time to stand and hear. So, in a few stolen moments of freewheeling, I live a lifetime, before moving on.

Playing Hard to Get

Your Famous Movie Kiss is from Cruel Intentions

"I'm the only girl you can't have, and it kills you."

What Famous Movie Kiss Are You?

My Aura

Your Aura is Yellow

Your Personality: Life's too short not to have fun. Your bright energy brings joy and laughter to those around you. You in Love: A total flirt, you need a lot of freedom to play. But you'll be loyal to that one man who makes you feel safe. Your Career: You love variety in a job, and you probably won't stick with one career. You would make a great professor, writer, or actress.

What Color Is Your Aura?

Another Mindreader

You Have a Choleric Temperament

You are a person of great enthusiasm - easily excited by many things.Unsatisfied by the ordinary, you are reaching for an epic, extraordinary life.You want the best. The best life. The best love. The best reputation. You posses a sharp and keen intellect. Your mind is your primary weapon.Strong willed, nothing can keep you down. Your energy can break down any wall.You're an instantly passionate person - and this passion gives you an intoxicating power over others. At your worst, you are a narcissist. Full of yourself and even proud of your faults.Stubborn and opinionated, you know what you think is right. End of discussion.A bit of a misanthrope, you often see others as weak, ignorant, and inferior.

What Temperment Are You?

Sealed and closed

Interviewer: What shape is this?
G: RED.

Need I say more?

Sneaking back in

I've been accused of many things in life but never of "celebrity status getting to your head". I've never been one, to begin with, so wouldn't know. But M just knows how to get me back on my hands. She's hit where it hurts most.
So here I am trying to salvage some lost pride from this unwarranted attack. Let me begin with an explanation, though I owe it to none. I've just been taking a sabbatical from blogsphere, and hovering somewhere between tropo-& stratosphere, desperately trying to strike a work-life balance. Am nowhere close to a gymnast, so I've failed miserably. G's been growing up on her own and I am just privy to a few waking hours of her clear, logical sentences that she now strings with amazing alacrity. And of course, I have had the pleasure of being put to sleep with "Nikki Bakshi sweet & Sexy, full of rocking, hot & happening" as lullaby, sung in the most amazingly sweet tone. No wonder she's now "Big Mamma" and I'm the "shmall mamma".
Besides, a bright red Swift now drops and picks me up from office (chauffer-driven and all that jazz). Yes, to hell with the auto fellows! I can do a li'l jig at the very thought that they have two customers less to throw their attitude at. And, at least Rs. 110 less in their bloody pockets!
All my hard work to relaunch the magazine, may not go waste after all. This issue's looking good. All thanks to the designer Wizard. In fact, magazine, magazine, magazine..that's been the only high point in my life till yesterday! (What a contrast to Urmi's;-) )
Yesterday, G got an interview call from the school I want her to go to. Now it's up to us to perform.

I luuurve Chinese food

You Are Chinese Food

Exotic yet ordinary.People think they've had enough of you, but they're back for more in an hour.

What Kind of Food Are You?

The story so far

Ok, so it's two weeks into a new year and I haven't posted. Can't really think of a convincing-enough lame excuse for that. So, how about mainting a low profile as familiarity breeds contempt;). But, if you're really dying to know what I've been up to, here's an update.
For starters, I've been very excited about our magazine undergoing a makeover. An NID passout who's redesigned Graphiti(I love, adore, admire it, for reasons I'll soon enumerate) to give its present form, is now with us. And we both sat together and brainstormed on the redesigning to come up with some exciting stuff. He's a coool dude with great ideas, must admit. So yes, this has kept me on my head and toes, quite literally.
We've also launched the e-newsletter which again demanded my undivided attention (ok, apart from JAP and Urmi;)). That it hasn't yet gone out to our readers/subscribers is of course, another story...all thanks to technical snags.
And the most anticipated story of them all...I did pick up the admission form for G. N's designated tout diligently stood in the queue from the night before and that gave me one helluva advantage to be among the first 100 of the estimated 4000 odd who turned up. TOI had a photo of the nightriders. I missed this once in a lifetime Page 3 opportunity, as the newsletter craved for my attention back at work (how boring).
But guess what? I made up for the loss by being featured in Sunday's Graphiti, all thanks to the Bagchi . Now I have a claim to fame - as the Non-star blogger. (I haven't had a chance to see the article yet, though;))
Fame, that too, for being in the blogsphere, sharing space with all time greats such as the GreatBong, JAP,Jabberwock et al. That's cause enough for me to celebrate (Yippeee, Dippeee, dooooo). Star or no, I don't care.
A true rags to riches story ;) Photos anyone? The papparazzi, where's the papparazzi??

Really Touched

Can't say I'm eagerly looking forward to the New Year. Primarily because I am faced with the harsh reality that it' s time for my baby doll to graduate to school already. And even before she can start going to one, it's trying and testing times for both N and me. (*shudder in fear*) Hang on a minute, more for me than for N, considering his supreme dodging skills.
The first school to distribute forms in the new year is the one I really want G to go to. For two reasons - first and most important: Despite its reputation as a premier school, the interviewers don't brazenly ask for a hefty donation to extend the school complex(at least that's what I last heard) or build a state-of-the-art-indoor sports auditorium etc etc. Second, it's not too far from home (she'll be just three, can't send her off on a bumpy tour of potholed Bangalore, yet!).
And you know how it feels when you really ever want something in life? Dunno about others, but I can feel the pangs of fear, of insecurity; I can feel those butterflies fluttering in my stomach and I am totally disoriented at the thought of having to go and stand in a queue from the night before. And more so, ever since I realised the date coincides with N's impending trip to Cal that very weekend to be with his beloved NRI sister. He could've postponed or preponed it, had we owned a private Jet. But since he has to rely on Jet Airways, ATM, and adjust with his busy new-business-pitch schedule, I really can't blame him.
But, the moment I voice my concerns, very matter-of-factly to R and a surprise caller, the Bagchi, they are both only too keen to pitch in. I mean not everyone would be forthcoming to sacrifice their precious weekend sleep to stand in the queue for/with a nail-biting, hypertensive woman, irrespective of whether she's a friend or an acquaintance. I mean after all, it's my baby, her impending careerIn a strange land, full of strange people, with strange demands, I 'm really touched by their offer. Call it parochial Bong bonding, call it the warmth and the greatness only Bengalis are capable of, call it pati Bangali sentu on my part...call me names...but once again it's Q.E.D. that friends make a world of difference, no matter which part of the universe you are in. It's not just what they do but what they do differently that really makes the difference.
The independent, egoistic, no-obligations bitch that I am, I'll probably spend the night on the road with 500 other weary-eyed eager parents, but a special thanks to both of you for just being there. Feeling very lucky today.
Looks like I have a way with people, huh(*wink, wink*)?

Operation Majnu

Operation Majnu --That's what the maverick Meerut police liked to call it. And mayhem is what struck young lovers in Gandhi Park, completely out of the blue. A podgy peeved policewoman caught couples unawares and started physically and verbally abusing the women for the most innocuous crime commited: Falling in Love.
Now, we are quite aware that from time immemorial falling in love has been considered a crime. The repurcussions of the folly have ranged from incurring the wrath of at least 1 of our 33 crore supernatural beings to at least one of the more natural biological beings (read parents); to murder; to suicide; to transmogrification...Alas, how would the Hindi film industry and Ekta Kapoor have survived otherwise!
And all this irrespective of whether you have fallen for the most beautiful/handsome or otherwise, highly educated/drop-out, well-to-do/pauper opposite sex. Everyone except the two concerned turn the most illogical, unreasonable moral guardians you could ever dream of. Parents of course turn into your worst enemies, in most cases, and then there are the neighbours, relatives, wellwishers, blah ,blah,blah...suddenly every one wants the best and only the best for you. At any other given point of time, all these "best wishers" are no where to be seen of course. But the point here is these are emotional black mailers, moral consultants, legal advisors ... ( ok I understand parents resrt to physical abuse, too.)
To get back to where it all started..Gandhi Park. From the TV footages and reports, it was apparent that the policewoman just randomly picked couples (some even married) and slapped and booted the women for sitting and coochi-cooing in public places. I mean, what could they have been doing? Holding hands, ok, kissing at the most. Just exercising their constitutional right to freedom of expression. (Has the word expression been defined anywhere in the constitution?) Some social activists shared my thoughts, but Ms Kiran Bedi, our erstwhile national moral guardian begged to differ “No, sometimes these couples do indulge in obscenities under the shawl”. Under the shawl, did she say? Pray, then how is it obscene? Can anyone see anything? It’s under the shawl, right? What would they do to Emraan Hashmi and his women, John and Bipasha, Mallika and Jackie Chan, Shahid-Kareena, Riya Sen- Ashmit Patel??
What would happen to the luvbirds of Victoria Memorial, Maidan, Lake(south Calcutta), JU jheeler paar( pond side) and sundry other goli-galtas(clandestine lanes/bylanes)?
This paucity of private space is not just a physical problem in our country but a sociological one, too. Whether while trying your luck out in college or even as married couples living with parents (in-law), we often encounter the problem in our lives. For instance, unless you are the kid of working parents and have a spare key to the house, or you are one of the few with a swell of a friend who lends out his bedroom, or you are among those late starters who finds a soul mouse, oh sorry, mate, only after clearing the CAT (Ohm projapottoy namaha-IIMC, since, as per my knowledge, it had the highest hit rate;-)), or any other hostel for that matter, you don’t really have access to a very private place to do very private things. Privacy is a luxury we have to pay a high price for.

So where does one let loose the spontaneous outburst of powerful feelings? In public. But to be beaten black and blue and abused so that TV cameras can freeze the frames, play and replay the scenes so viewers can see, bite, chew and digest the atrocity. The funniest thing is some other police(wo?)men from the same police station called the Press to capture the moment, because they thought they were doing a “good thing”. Am a bit conphoosed.
But then I’m confused about a lot of things.
Why is falling in love a crime? Someone tell the world how to rise to the occasion and save them the nadir.
And when one has fallen, why do people suddenly have to develop fangs, paws, nuke bombs et al to destroy the lovers and the beautiful world they dream of through those rose-tinted glasses?
Most importantly, why does the world defect to the Opposition, leaving just the lovers in the Ruling Party?
Why is love so controversial and painful? Well, almost always. The pleasures that come with the pain as bonus, are usually few and far between.

Nothing to Will

Came across this very touching post. Set me thinking about what I can bequeath G...
- a world where u live in eternal fear of getting raped,bombed, runover and the works
- a life full of shopping malls
- a life full of wannabe uber-heroes
- a world wrought/torn apart by competition to get to hell or to high water
- a life sans a sense of belonging and rootedness
- a life with a problem of plenty
- yet a life full of half-fulfilled dreams

Alas, wealthy not am I, to leave my poor Cinderalla wealth enough to be a princess and live happily ever after!

Of friends and friendships

M finally tied the knot. That too, to the cutest guy I knew in the Timesgroup, Response dept! They came home yesterday really late for a dinner of luchi, alu-chochhori and kasha magsho (all prepared by your’s truly). I hope all of you even at the back of the beyond heard that trumpet. Good. Now to continue.
In the course of our chat, we realized, M & I have been friends for the last 14 years, never having lost track of each other despite the distances travelled. It was a wonderful feeling. Of course, it’s been much much longer with Urmea, my “nappy friend” (ok, ok, agreed we’d just grown out of our nappies then!!). And the distances travelled in this case runs across seven seas!! But thank God, nothing’s changed between us. There are a couple of others whom I’ve known for a li’l over 7 years (S) and just over 17 months (R, plz compliment me on my maths, plz) respectively. They, too, are very close friends of mine. And I cherish each one of them, ‘cause they’re really who have kept me and still keep me alive.
So what’s it that makes us click, tick and talk? Even when we meet after years, months, days or even just hours, sometimes minutes?
Going back to my days with Urmi, I remember even after we spent some 8-12 hours with each other a day, we still had nearly half an hour’s conversation left to be completed either near Yoga Cure Centre, or near the red post box in front of Sanjukta aunty’s house (sorry all non-resident New Aliporean’s, but these are landmarks I couldn’t help but mention). What was worse, the moment we were out of each other’s sight, some other devil from gossipland would pop its ugly head up from behind the subconscious and had to be immediately passed on. So, an otherwise leisurely walk was cut short by a dash home; followed by incessant ringing of the door bell bringing the house down. Then, with total disregard to the raging Her Himmler, the phone was picked up and the devil barfed out. Pheeeeeeew! That felt really good. On the other side of the phone, too, one could distantly hear sentences like, “Weren’t you with her barely 5 minutes ago?” We both learnt these were questions best left unanswered;-)
With M, it was on another level altogether. She was just the friend I needed in the first year of college. The age when, to use a cliché, we all wanna break free. We were a group of 4 “wannabes” (one’s a celebrity now - Chandrani of Krosswindz and the other married a celebrity of sorts!!). And, there was M, lovingly called Mama, who had been there, done-it-all: cigarette in hand, a head full of pop and rock, leading us to the forbidden land! And for every drag of the cigarette I took, there always was moral guardian Urmea (in some other part of the city), asking “Why?” Obviously chose to ignore her, cause I could’ve also turned around and asked her “Why did u have to score obscenely in those stats tests in school and my Mom know abt them?” Miss goody two-shoes!
Anyways, going back to Mama, we’d troop down to our favourite haunt, the Momo house in a nondescript gully, which played all our favourite songs (everything from Beatles, Eagles, Simon & Garfunkel, Pink Floyd, The Doors to Baez, Sinatra,Dylan…the works). Bunking classes to climb the stairway to heaven….awesome. Though the other two have drifted apart for obvious reasons (even tho’ both M & I still exchange smses with Chandrani), Mama and I stuck on. Still remember, the midnight calls to discuss Floyd!! (First time she called at that hour, Her Himmler freaked!!) Both of us pursued journalism, worked for national dailies, albeit in different cities, and then she finally followed my footsteps to Bangalore. In Bangalore, we both ended up working for the infamous unmentionable group. She’s still there and has found her soul mate there too…Bless her heart!
S, the subtly naughty and extremely intelligent kid, came into the picture when I moved to Bangalore. And she’s been there, rock solid. Could run to her anytime at IE, midday or midnight, for anything and she’d have a solution. Me and my midnight fetish! Took an auto at 1 am from ET one night to meet her at IE and literally threw her twin out of bed so we could discuss irritant bosses and awesome books rest of the night, dragging on our sootas! Post marriage, of course, we’ve shared even more cherishable moments together. The surreptitious soota meetings at Java City, totally talli tete-e-tetes at Tavern… oh how I miss them. Why did u have to move to Maddening Mumbai, S?
All the above had been loyal footsoldiers in a my long-drawn hindi-moviesque battle for love. They were my family, when my biological family mercilessly slit the umbilical cord. They’re the ones who always ensured that the rollercoaster ride down didn’t last too long, palliated those moments and seamlessly turned those tears into my famous air-rending laughter. They were the wizards of friendship who helped me to break on through to the other side of life.
Dunno what’s kept them by my side though. I’ve never persevered to keep them. Rather, there’s never been a paucity of space – physical or otherwise - between us. We’ve been downright honest with each other, sometimes rudely so. And poles apart that we are, as two characters can ever be, together, we can burn a house down to ashes! That’s the reason why we always choose to meet at water(ing) holes ;-)
Mama thinks, we have adapted ourselves well to the changing circumstances in our lives and fitted ourselves into the scheme of things. R feels it’s a matter of perspective. I think, I’m just plain lucky to have these wonderful people around. I’ve never really counted the years that I’ve known Mama or Urmi or S or R. I’ve only recounted the incidents, cherished the moments and relived some of them over and over again with each of them. And never really felt bored. So what’s it about years? Like vintage wine, it’s only gotten better.
Always considered friendship the most important of all social behaviours. And friends, like crystal, the most valuable assets I own. Can’t barter them, can’t sell them, can’t loan them and certainly can’t lose them.

Biye bari - Part II

This one's for all those keenly awaiting it. You see, the first one being N's cousin's wedding, it had an element of unsaid decorum that I needed to follow, after all, shoshurbari boley kotha. So honestly, the fun part wasn't really there, what with a hundred pair of eyes always observing our moves.
Wedding no.2 was N's best friend, Mota's. And this meant, no vigilant eyes, no decency, no decorum demanded. And more so, since it was Mota's, the self proclaimed leader of the famous Bawal Group.
We packed our little strolley and drove out of our J'pur home not to return to it until late next night! The morning was a low-key ghoroya affair with a simple lunch of dal, jhuro aloo bhaja r pabda machher jhol. According to Motah, we had to keep it light, to enjoy the evening better!
Come evening and we, as in Rajesh's friends and their wives, trooped into the biye bari in all our finery, all our eyes roving full speed.
Not much luck...all the dadu/didimas, kaku/kakimas sitting and sipping coffee.
Climb up to first floor where the sampradan et al are going on. Mota spots us and manages a wry smile from amidst all the blinding video lights and dripping sweat (trying to convey just how bored he already was, since they registered their marriage way back in July). Still not much luck for the wives really. So we try to follow the eyes of our "better halves". Spotted some fat wannabes who were shamelessly eyeing our rather "decent" looking husbands. Tried pulling N's leg with one of them but he wasn't amused at all. Dropped the case immediately.
Mala bodol and shubhodrishti was completed amidst a lot of catcalls and whistling. Just when we were about retire, with our tails uncomfortably between our legs, in walked the beauty, hubby in tow. All our "decent" husbands promptly turned indecent, their roving eyes suddenly losing their inertia of motion. The rest of the evening went by following in the lady's footsteps or resting our bums on chairs within clear viewing distance. Hai re , the sacrifices we women have to make for our men!
Later that night, we were curtly told bangalder bashor hoy na and shown the door. Ice-cold water flowed over Neil's printout of the most hilarious jokes and all our enthu to sing and dance our way through the night.
The lady resurfaced , with hubby in tow, on Mota's boubhat, too, and our men didn't spare her this time either. But, this time, she too had turned smart and gave these men back a full-blooded stare, which was promptly interpreted as "Arre, O-o to besh jhari machhe".
We just had to be content with a roomful of Xaverians, none worth a second look. To top that, at the dinner table, we had a huge debate with our men on what they perceive as "handsome". Their perception, according to us, the wives, were rather sad and disappointing, considering the examples they put forth. These men, I tell you, should strictly stick to appreciating "beauty" in the opposite sex and keep honing their jharibaji skills!

PS: Honestly, didn't find anything hot in that babe, even though I can vouch that we women appreciate beauty in our species, when we see it.

Old habits die hard

R is giving me the royal ignore these days. And very rightfully, I know. But it still bothers me, or so I think, at least.
Her hubby, SD, is finally back from the US after a nine-month long onsite trip. Ok correction, it wasn't a "trip", it was more a "tenure" when he was slogging his butt out to earn some extra greens, which of course we aren't privy to;-). So what this means essentially is, she goes back to life as it was nine months ago... all lovey dovey with hubby and all that (though she will insist she too has to do a lot to grow out of her habitual life alone).
But, what it also means is that:
(a) No more never- ending phone calls -- on the way home from office (hell, she's far more excited about returning home, silly) ; short pause to pay off the auto, get on to the elevator, open the lock and grab the land phone, then continue where she left from.
(b) No more girlie weekday evenings to our dear Noorbhai, with a pile load of her salwar suit pieces to stitch, or to Bangalore Central for a quick Venky's Roll
(c) No more weekends out to the movies, shopping malls with my extended family -- N, G, I and R, of course, silly; or just sacking out at home over a lunch of shukto, posto, dal, mangsho and loads of achaar
(d) Most importantly, no one to boss/mother over everyday and be my overbearing self with. I mean yes, I have G to mother over, strictly speaking, but that's another story.

Of course, R is finally breathing easy for being relieved of my guardianship, but I seem to be experiencing some withdrawal symptoms as regards these bad habits I incurred over the last nine months. Actually, in a friendless land away from home, even one friendly straw is worth hanging on to. And R is this very mature, yet very sweet girl( yes, that's I think of her and she hates me for it), whose charms you can't help but fall for. Both N and I have become quite comfortable in SD & R's friendship and over the last few months, we've become quite used to having R around us most of the time. Hence, life seems a little different these days. Kya karen old habits die hard.

PS: Here's to a very happy reunion, guys. Wishing you eternal knottiness;)

Biye bari -Part I

Just got back from Cal after attending two weddings and a mega family get-together all in
the span of a week! And my, did I have fun. All Indian weddings may be fun (tho' I have strong reservations against the Southie kinds; how can getting married at 6.30am be fun by any stretch of the imagination, man?) , but only Bengalis would know what kind of fun I am referring to (*wink, wink*). Now, if you are wondering why the weddings and family get together are two separate stories, the explanation is: weddings-N's family/friend; get-together- My Dad's family.
The last time I attended a wedding in Cal( again N's cousin) was back in 2003 Jan, when I
wasn't really in the thick of things as G was on her way and the paranoid gynae had
strictly marked the lakshmanrekha around my bed. So quite frankly, it was more like an
apology to "attending a wedding". What's worse, that wedding season (Dec-2002-Jan 2003),
most of the eligible bachelors and nubile nymphets in my Dad's family also decided to tie
the knot. So I just lay in bed and sulked while dapper N, as the dutiful representative of
the family (yeah right!! Hog that he is), donned his best attires and went wedding hopping.
That's when I promised myself I'd live it up next time anyone gets married!And,this time I kept my promise.
We landed in Cal in time for N's cousin, Boom's boubhat in the afternoon. Didn't really have time to deck up and be there in all my finery, so just walked in like a fish out of water in my much worn simple salwar suit. We were just in time for the kodi-khela and the . Boom and his cute wife were made to strew and the gather the rice and kodis amidst loud shouts of "Aeii, awaaj korish na, jhogra hobe" and "Cheating cholbe na." Then everyone waited with baited breath to see if the mona caught with the muni in the bowl of twirling water and stuck by it to symbolise the institution that marriage is--stand by the one you love through thick and through thin, rain and sunshine, through sickness and through health. These were lucky kids as the race ended in what will hopefully be a happy union.The games over, we headed staright for the food--the reason why Bengali weddings are worth every penny! For the uninitiated, it's usually a 10-12 course meal from starters to dessert and when the wedding is planned, who the catering contract will go to is usually a matter of huge family debate, with friends and relatives pitching in their two-penny worth. And in an age of shortcuts(read buffets), this opportunity of "pat-pere khawa" was just divine.
The menu too was lipsmackingly sumptuous, to put it mildly. Shukto, dal, alubhaja, bhetki
macher pathuri,kosha mangsho, plastic chatni (the only dampner), papad, doi and rosogolla. And this was just the beginning of all the eating to come! That evening was N's friend, R's
bachelor's bash. Chivas Regal, Smirnoff flowed smoothly while some more yummy food--kadai
paneer, again kasha mangsho amongst other things donned the table. This was followed by
cold coffee and icecream at The Atrium in Park Hotel( after dropping a sleeping G off home
with in-laws).3a.m: Returned home to the shrill cries of G and a stern "Eto ki modern
parents hoyecho?" Was informed she'd been awake from the moment we lay her down in bed at 1.30 am and obviously was desperately seeking us!! Without another word, quietly slunk
away to the 2nd floor ans waited for N to bring G upstairs!! But must say I am probably one
of the few lucky people in this world to have a set of wonderful parents-in-law. Ok, as much as I'm loving this detailed account of my much awaited biye-barir anondo, I realise, if I punch in so much detail, this is gonna to be the longest post ever written in blog's history. So for those diligent readers, who have lasted this far, without getting bored, I beseech you to wait for Biye Bari - Part-II. Actually, that's where all the bawali, jharibaji aar udom masti really happened...

Catching the cold

I received the following as a fwd from a cousin-in-law and just had to post it! The idiosyncratic Bangali, no matter which part of the world he/she may be in, remains so. Cricket-football- crazy, khadyo-roshik (gourmet), antel or, at least, pseudo-antel(intellectual) and, of course, eternally afraid of certain illnesses, primarily the cold. And with the nip already in the air, this seems an aptly timed post.
So here's to all you cool bongs, pati bongs, honorary bongs, scared bongs, non-resident bongs and non-bongs,too...
One phrase every Bengali worth his sweater has grown up with is thanda lege jabey. It is
the ultimate warning of impending doom, an unadulterated form of existentialist advice.
Thanda lege jabey. Thou shalt 'catch the cold'.
'Catching the cold' comes easy to Bengalis. It's a skill that's acquired almost immediately
after birth. Watch a Bengali baby and you would know. Wrapped in layers of warm clothing
even if the sun is boiling the mercury, the baby learns quickly that his chances of survival in a Bengali household depend on how tightly he can wrap himself in cotton, linen and wool. Bengalis have almost romanticised warm clothing, so much so that Bengali art has found eloquent expression in a form of quilt-stitchwork called kantha.
I'm sure wool-shearers even in faraway Australia say a silent prayer to Bengalis before the shearing season (if there's any such season). I'm also sure the very thought of Bengalis sends a chill down the spine of many a sheep.
In winter, the quintessential Bengali's outfit puts the polar bear to shame. Packaged in at least seven layers of clothing and the head snugly packed inside the queerest headgear, the monkey cap, he takes the chill head on. Easy lies the head that wears the monkey cap. With a pom-pom at the top, it's not just a fashion statement; it's a complete fashion paragraph.
I remember strolling down the Walk of Fame in Hollywood on a pleasant May evening. My eyes
scanned the glittering stars on the asphalt - each an ode to a Hollywood heavyweight. Suddenly, my ears caught the unmistakable Doomsday warning - 'thanda lege jabey'. I stood transfixed. The Hollywood Walk of Fame is probably the last place one would like to get caught 'catching the cold'. I turned around. There was this Bengali family braving the American chill. The young brat of the family was adamant that he didn't want any more clothing but mom wouldn't have any of it - "sweater porey nao, thanda lege jabey." I need not translate that. Mom won, and the family - sweaters et al - posed for a photograph.
For a race that is perpetually running scared of cold weather, Bengalis have a surprising affinity for hill stations. Probably, warmth of heart is best preserved in shawls, pullovers and cardigans.
In an age when you are judged by how cool or uncool you are, the warmth that the kakus, jethus and mashimas exude can melt icebergs. I wouldn't trade that warmth for any amount of cool. However, the monkeycap may look cool without the pom-pom.

The Sevener

Ok Urmea, since I saw u have already penned down alot of things I plan on doing as well, I had to wrack my brains to find some others.The Kerala trip and Joyce (me stuck exactly somewhere arnd that page, too) were the most uncanniest "to do" things in common. Here goes my list.

Plan on doing

1. Learn Salsa
2. Go on long drives
3. Read at least 2 books a month (considering now it's down to zero)
4. Pamper myself more often at the parlour
5. Sleep till at least 9 am on holidays
6. Learn to cook some great moghlai and thai dishes
7. Spend more time with Madame G and teach her to speak " propah" English

Can't Do

1. Go to Cal anymore for hurricane holidays
2. Bake a decent cake
3. Keep my cool with G & N always
4. Sleep late
5. Change N's Cal fetish
6. Eat dal for every meal
7. Listen to U gushing excitedly abt her hectic social life, without feeling jealous;)

Say a lot

1. Gandu
2. WTF/FC (since it's very "unwomanly", am refraining from the expanded versions)
3. Mamma...Don't(what with G always doing just the things she's not supposed to)
4. Hi wassup?
5. Chole aaay(This one's esp for R and I know she hates me for it;) )
6. Oh pleeeez
7. Oshojjjhyo (with extra emphasis on the j)

Since no one reads my blog really and, as u can c, neither do I have plans to write more regularly, won't bother tagging anyone. But just in case you drop in, just consider tagged!

Once a Prince, never a Pauper

I may not be an authority on cricket, but am definitely a keen follower of the game (err...I mean the political kind). So here's something I chanced upon. And if anyone dare say anything about parochialism, I hope they read the name of the author first. Let's get real, people, for change. Here's the piece:

PRINCE, POLITICS AND PALACE INTRIGUES
By Sanjay Jha
The Indian team for the last two ODIs has been announced, and expectedly, politics in selection has taken precedence over common sense and fair play.
Nothing else explains the bizarre and biased ouster of former captain Sourav Ganguly and the continuing prejudice against him by the new powers-that-be.
Let us look at bare facts objectively;.
1) If he had not been briefly injured ( just about 10 days) Ganguly would have been the captain of the Indian team right now. What a strange paradox indeed!
2) Ideally, even if he was not selected as a captain ( on account of the
injury) he should have been playing once the team was freshly announced after the end of the second ODI. But apparently, no one wanted to " disturb the winning combination". Fair enough, then why did they " experiment with a winning combination " by axing Tendulkar and the like in the Ahmedabad ODI ( an old Australian hangover of rotation which Chappell is attempting, which ironically enough, has been dumped as a virtual failure by the Aussies themselves)?
3) India is happily axing a man who has scored the highest number of runs in the world in ODIs after Sachin Tendulkar, who is now physically fit, in good form ( as his century in the Duleep Trophy showed) , willing to play under Dravid and coach Greg Chappell , and who has like a true sportsman taken the sudden reversals against himself with great equanimity.
4) Incidentally, since the ODI series has been decided already, would it not have been fair to allow Ganguly an opportunity to get into rhythm before the ODI series against South Africa and the Test series against Sri Lanka and Pakistan?
5) Are Greg Chappell and all of Sourav's detractors actually so naïve and stupid as to actually believe that they can finish his career off by deliberately keeping him out? Do they really live in a fool's paradise and are unaware that at some stage it will be as obvious as daylight that the farce that is currently being enacted is nothing but an internecine conspiracy?
6) If " performance" is the guiding criterion, how come Yuvraj Singh with 45 runs off 72 balls in 4 innings at an average of 11.25 is still being persisted with? Does it make any logical, rational , practical cricketing sense?
7) Have we all forgotten that Sourav sacrificed his high-run ideal batting position of an opener in ODIs just to accommodate Veerendra Sehwag, and that too at a time when Sachin-Sourav were the best opening pair in the world?
And is this the way the team ( including his own deputy for several years , Rahul Dravid) should now treat the very man who fought for them and led them to innumerable triumphs ?
It is downright repugnant and altogether unfortunate the way the Hate-Sourav Ganguly Club has suddenly emerged, a personification of vicious minds, warped thinking, myopic vision, wholesale ignorance of the game and driven by some small-time parochial thinking. One can either pity them or empathise with their wretched constitution. Or both. But I am fully aware that it will take just a couple of resounding defeats before the initial euphoria wanes and home truths sinks in. The Ahmedabad defeat may just be the beginning of establishing diplomatic relationship with ground realities for Mr Chappell.
And in any case, there is a long way to go!
At CricketNext , we have maintained a dispassionate and honest appraisal of everyone , including Chappell and Dravid on their on-field performance so far ( please click on CricketNext Verdict, Dravid, Good, Bad or Ugly and Chappell's Scorecard).. But it does not mean that we will not expose what appears to be a clear case of petty palace intrigues being played out to humiliate the Prince and destroy his confidence and self-belief. Even an innocent school-kid can witness the murky games being played in the name of Indian cricket.

Sourav Ganguly will be back!. And soon! Watch this space!

I'm watching a lot of spaces...those that are there and those that will be created...very soon.

Age of Innocence

Yesterday G did her first social service. She went and distributed some of her old clothes to a few of her "friends" in the upcoming half-a- crore worth flats opposite our garibkhana. Oblivious of caste, creed, race, the divides thereof et al, she smilingly handed over the dresses, cloth nappies and shoes to the mothers of her "(s)mall baby friends". The expressions exchanged are really hard to put down in words. The booty wasn't huge, nor was it pricy. But the joy of giving and the smile on the receipients' faces - priceless.
Two-and- a-half. This age is beautiful. And as M mentioned in one of her earlier posts... these are small things in life that make it worth living.

Tagged and ungagged

For the first tag...surprise surprise Urmi, I have a 23rd post, after all! And the 5th line(assuming it's different from the 5th sentence,as there isn't any in my post!!) is: PS: Of course, I'm a primeval being, hence, agree with Orwell, almost completely.

And here's my 55 words (and it's exactly 55!!):
A cherubic smile on her impish face, she tiptoed into the dark, gloomy room, where the listless body of her mother lay in eternal rest, lowered her face and planted a long hard kiss. Probably hoping, she could wake her up to play a round of ring-a-ring-a roses, with her and Dad, one last time.

Just happy

Some random words/phases that sound like music to my ears...after a long(with that long drawn drawl) time: Champion, very good, great progress, normal (hopefully, in a few more days), No Need.

Some people who made it possible: A very caring "better half", Urmi(by being there virtually, by my side), Renudi (my most reliable homemaker) and above all, an ever smiling, inspiring doc.

There's still a long long way to go...but at least I can smile without wincing.

The politics of English language

We have already debated a lot on the Language, it's use and abuse on the blogosphere. But did you know that Orwell, way back in 1945, already considered that the English language was in a bad way? Here's adding more fuel to the fire, again.

PS: Of course, I'm a primeval being, hence, agree with Orwell, almost completely.

An Auto Guide to High BP

Act: Hail an auto; Scene: I Time: Am/pm and anytime in between

The scene at 9am everyday: Boss, MG Road?
A wry smile ( like saying 'you're good, but not good enough for me,baby.' yuuuck, puke); a disgusted look; didn't-hear- you, total ignore; nonchalantly drive away; Rs 40 (it's 18 bucks from my house, goddamit)

This is only panning the myriad responses one hapless "immobile" journo faces day in and day out, even before the day's drudgery begins. And this despite putting on one's most charming smile(could give all the Miss Beautiful Smiles a run for their frigging money) and being the most polite self and putting on that most distressed damsel I'm-getting-late-for-work look. Nothing F***ING works. (sorry about the expletive, but believe me,it's much worse when you're the victim). The experience is exasperating, harrowing, agonising,torturous,(feel free to add adjs), to say the least.

The scene at 6.30 pm everyday: Ditto

The scene at 6.30 pm on a rainy day in Bangalore: Even the Gods forsake Pensioners' Paradise. Leaving the Auto Mafia to rule a waterlogged, traffic snarled, anarchical Bean-scattered Town.
Ok, am probably just another one of those daily suffering souls in this godforsaken city. But to be relegated to such dehumanised Nazi-esque treatment by sundry mercenery autowallahs? HELL. What's worse, it's like banging my head against a wall. I can continue to fume, rave, rant and scream expletives(kancha khistis galore), but even God wouldn't know how to get their stinking butts moving. You ask them if they'll take you somewhere(distance not withstanding), pat comes the nod of the head, if he's polite; others don't even bother to answer, just drive past like you didn't exist. Or you are some alien who asked for a drop to some forbidden land! Slowly, and steadily, the mercury content of blood rises till you can see the redness in the ears, nose and forehead. But alas! The autowallas are colourblind and deaf, tempered with generous laddles of shamelessness. (Guess what? I think the Gods peered in through my Venetian blinds and saw me writing this...all hell's broken loose here. They're thundering and spitting fire at me! I'm banished to Kingdom Come!)Nothing can stop me from writing this, even if it be my swansong. Ok, so where was I? Anytime of the day, come rain, come shine "One and a half saar." Or the more kinder variety: "10/20/30...arbit rupees extra madam!" (Yes, today will be one of those days.) Like just because it's the IT capital, everyone's a millionaire! S-O-B, SOB, sob ;(. Wish I were, at least a daughter/wife of one!(Envy that Malaysian journalist.) Complaint centres, letters to editors of various papers seem to be making precious little difference. And of course, the government can't be bothered. Though, must appreciate the effort of police near the Commercial Street Junction. Does help, sometimes.

In a city whose public transport also offers F*All, what do commuters have to rely on? The Auto mafia. Hail Auto!
So why are people still swarming this city from all other parts of the world, like this is the only land of opportunities? May be one should ask the Autowallas.

Sad to say, the city wasn't built to tackle a techboom...it was meant to be a Pensioner's Paradise.
Advice for wannabes shifting base to Bangalore:
1. Make sure you own a two-wheeler or four wheeler.

If you don't, please, oh please:
1. Consult Autorikshaw Association of Bangalore before choosing a flat/house.
2. Consult Autorikshaw Association of Bangalore before choosing your place of work.
Only if they approve both localities, make all other necessary arrangements. So best of luck! For those of us who are bitten by yet smitten with this GFC(godforsaken city, duh!), we'll wait for some good Samaritans to salvage us from this seemingly irrevocable plight.

Where next?

On a more serious note, is this where the world is headed?

Gory idea

I decided to try reading as an antidote for my cerebral allergy. And, hell! It wasn't just a bad idea it was Gory! And promptly, as they say in good old Kolkata, Current off hoye gelo! (aka loadshedding/power failure...oh whatever u call it, damn).
Thank God, I'll be spared the ordeal of being electrocuted by Chopracity, but my sympathies to all those who will have acess to it. But hey, if you do get the channel, I'd really like one of you there to report on it.
Oh what would happen to television channels without the quintessential Indian? From NDTV (ok, correction. Bongo TV), CNBC, BBC, CNN to the works...name a channel without a successful Indian on it? And who's best at poaching Indian brains, but the US ofA? Be it Academics,Technology, Consulting, advising, preaching...the works.
Where would the world (read USA) be without the antel (intellectual) Indians?

Existentialism

Badly doped; high on fever; bloodshot eyes; acoustically shocked; cerebrally allergic; arterially congested; physically challenged.
Phew! Do I exist or what?

Gyanpaapi

Learnings of the day:

1. Talk, think, learn, demonstrate (TTLD)
2. Be an Opportunist
3. Share a vision, no matter how myopic it is
4. I'll Skipe you (Heelloo?? Is this English?)
5. Most importantly: listen to gyan with a straightface .

I am a born leader. And thankfully, my school recognised my leadership skills early and always assigned me portfolios suiting me. So from class captain, to house captain to prefect in charge...the ascent had been quite smooth sailing. And the job responsibility of course was mainly, give others Gyan, at the highest decibel allowed. Ranging from: Don't talk (loudly) when the teacher's absent or between period breaks, walk in single file to PT class ( Yippeee no more boring maths classwork) to "Ok pals, get your butts moving on the posters..buck buck up..." to "Why haven't you cleaned your shoes today..you know your house will lose points..." blah blah blah...And of course I was the most (in)famous and (un) popular leader of wo(e)mankind!

Till, of course, I got down to the brasstacks of the corporate world (That I sold my loyalties for peanuts to the media industry is another story altogether) . For the first time, I was led by others (myopic, look-no-further-than-the-phone journos). And I followed, tamely at that. Ever since, have only been listening...the voice, the decibel levels, no wonder, are a trifle choked now. Only rarely have I even attempted to make some noise. Ahem...ahem...made myself heard. So now when I try, it's either muffled or misplaced.

"Don't talk... just listen. I'm telling you to spike that story." Spike, right? spike, s.p.i.k...spi...ski..skipe... S.K.I.P.E. Did I hear right? Huh... damn my ADD... When will I ever learn??

What the hell is Skipe now?

PS: All ye mortals in Skipeland..can you please enlighten me?

Turn of fate

And before people say what a shame (s)he's dead, But wasn’t (s)he a most peculiar (wo)man? , I thought, I'll be a wee bit sadistic and leave you all counting your Armageddon days here! While I:
...continue to continue to pretend
My life will never end,
And flowers never bend
With the rainfall.

The beginning of an end....

Lost in transit

I lost my voice. It's been quite a while since I last heard from "it".
So I have been indulging in some serious blogreading lately. The blogsphere is so full of writers who can wax eloquent on everything from Dubyaman, Didi, Kurosawa, Coelho, games, comics, movies to mundane things like leching, enduring bad roads and traffic jams. I came across witty, humorous writers, who can pick upon just anything and make a riot out of it; and the more serious ones who want to talk of government banalities or debate over moralities, poverty in India, the Tsunami, etc and some others who review films, books, music. The list goes on and on... Sometimes I stop and wish I could meet this one and that, coz I love their writings...but am afraid. Afraid of falling in love, of being disapponted... because: Readers who meet writers whose voice they have fallen in love with usually need to make a small adjustment in order to hang on to their infatuation. Even though I live in the land of swalpa adjust maadi , am not really famous for making any adjustment. So, move on...
And while I was happily scouting through the airy and blissful blogsphere, as an excuse for losing my writing skills, our firung publisher here on earth lost his cool at some board meeting and stomped out screaming expletives. Never to return. Am told the Indain (NRI) VC's taking full control. I can only await (holding my breath) the major announcement scheduled for 6 pm today.
In the meantime, a colleague gave some reason to flex those muscles around my lips. The chai fellow came and served her coffee in the ex-publisher's green coffee mug! And she decided to come across and ask me what I thought of her drinking coffee in his mug (like y should I bother anyway). In my most nonchalant and disinterested tone (after all she was disturbing my blogreading) told her, "After 6pm you're either gonna be the woman on top or be stomping out of this office." She laughed it off, but promptly went off to change her cup. She was back with another one. Blue, and cribbing: "Just for you, now I have to be content with this broken one." No comments this time...just broken threads of thought. Hunting, searching frantically for the voice.
* Standing atop a hill* : Hellooo...helloooo....can you hear me? (STD now @ Re. 1).

whiff of dementia

Leaving my cracked footprints on the coarse sands of time.
I close my eyes and lean forward
So the sprinting breeze can soothe those bruised cheeks.
A splash of red bloodies the ocular screen
Like the vermillioned parting of a new bride,
The battered brains of a suicidal moron.

With due apologies, these are just random thoughts of a completely demented mind!