Cleen Super Deluxe Tissues...

Today is all about New year Parties. Every goddamned hotel and club is advertising their 'New Year Bash'. I'm headed to one with HM and his friend and I must admit I'm not too excited about it. I am looking forward to all the food, because there's an unlimited buffet, but that's about it. I am not in the mood to dance or do the countdown to midnight. I don't think I'm in the mood to celebrate anything. I'm pretty much bored actually and would love to order in a large Pepperoni Pizza and gorge on it with the TV set for company and hit the sack at 11:00 pm. That, is a pretty good way to bring in the New Year according to me.
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So I had something called a Devil's Chicken Shawarma today. Shawarmas are good. I'm a fan. But you have to eat THE Devil's Chicken Shawarma to know what I mean. It was a mini hell inside my mouth, burning in all its glory and now it is burning my innards as it makes its way down my system. The guy told me it would be spicy when I was placing the order. And I was like, how spicy can it get? I can totally handle it. I was so wrong. It had chillies, red peppers, chilly flakes and what not and I was halfway through it before I realised that it had chicken too. In the last few bites I discovered a few pieces of French fries that had succumbed to the heat of a million chillies. I now think that the dude at the counter did this to me on purpose. Maybe the roll is not supposed to be that spicy but he was like, Ahhh....So you're Ok with spicy stuff haan? Lets see if you can handle THIS! He even gave me a nasty grin when I was collecting my order and signed off with, "I hope you can manage to eat that". I hate him. I hope he gets stuck in a place that has nothing except Devil's chicken shawarma to eat. I hope it becomes his daily diet. Anyway, now that the dratted roll has been eaten and my stomach is trying to comprehend why I'm putting it through the worst thing that has ever happened to it, I can proudly say that I did not give up on the challenge. Me wins! I feel like that guy from Man vs Food, which, by the way is my favourite show on Tv. I am now guzzling some cold Frooti and munching on a digestive biscuit. My mouth feels good. My stomach, not so much. It is on fire. I'm just going to drink galleons of water and try to put it out.
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I, is heading home now. I will see you people next year. My doggies eagerly await my arrival. Some of you will want to party all night, some will drink a lot and others will dance the night away. DO NOT do all that. You do not want to wake up with a hangover on the first day of the new year. Neither do we want sore feet or lack of sleep. I recommend everyone to crash into YOUR respective beds at 12:00 sharp. Just shout 'Happy New Year' at the top of your lungs, if you have to and then switch off the lights and drift off to la la land. See some good dreams, rest your overworked body and under utilised brain and wake up to a shining new day and brilliant new year. It might be your last. Don't give me that look! The Mayans said so! I may be morbid but they weren't any less. Ok now Bye...I'm bored.

I should totally go to Ibiza...

M, my friend from work gave me a priceless nugget of wisdom yesterday. I'm eating grilled chicken and chips and she's mulling over her oriental sizzler and she suddenly looks up and says, "You know, its possible to be in love with two people at the same time, but its not possible to love them both in the same way." I look at her and offer her some of my chips. She accepts them and continues eating. French fries in exchange of a profound statement. Fair deal.
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The hunt for the 'Perfect Top to wear on New Year's Eve' is on. An hour of shopping at the Phoenix market City Mall has not yielded any results. I'm fed up. Firstly, I missed my lunch break to go shopping instead and secondly, I wear heels at work, which are so inappropriate for a shopping spree. So I'm left with a growling stomach that is just begging to be fed and sore feet. Also, I think I now hate shopping because I never find anything I like. I think I should design and stitch my own clothes. That should solve a lot of my problems.
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I'm going to make a list of things I'd like to do before I turn 30. Then when I'm 30, I'll make a list of things that I didn't do before turning 30. Something tells me, both the lists will be the same. Because I never manage to get anything done. Especially things that I plan. Nothing happens to those plans. They never translate into action. If you're going to be all judgemental and question my ability to plan and manage and what not, go right ahead and do it. I am beyond the point of giving a damn about such things. I used to plan for the future and stuff, but life (and some Zen philosophy) taught me to live in the present. So I'm all about that now. I am 'Totally chilled out' as my younger sister would say or 'Irresponsible and lazy' as my mom would say. Again. I couldn't care less.
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HM has asked the newspaper guy to deliver MINT everyday. So all I get to read about is the Stock Market and some other economic stuff that I'm not really interested in. But I do read MINT Lounge every weekend and I enjoy it a lot. HM never reads the newspaper. Anyway, today's copy had some Income Tax details on the front page. I always like to read who paid how much tax and so I started reading the article. Akshay Kumar has paid 6 Crore, Anand Mahindra has paid 3 Crore and Mr. Kotak and Ratan Tata have paid some 80 - 90 Lacs or something. But thats not important here. Fali Nariman and Zia Mody have each paid around 1.5 -2 crore as taxes this year. Gosh! They are lawyers and they're earning so much! What in the name of God am I doing with my worthless existence? I'm a lawyer too! All this is doing the rounds in my head today and I'm unable to focus on my job that pays me quite well, but now I want to make big bucks just so that I can pay a hefty amount in tax and get featured on MINT. You see how wonderfully brilliant my plans are?

Shut your trap, please?

That totally looks like something I would do. Weirdos of the world, unite! We be of one blood, Ye & I....

Just what part of 'NO' do you NOT understand?

I exercised. And you know what happened? After a set of sit-ups and lunges each, my thighs have turned into rock solid boulders of pain. Pain, so excruciating that I'm unable to climb stairs, walk straight or squat down on my haunches. It is crazy. My colleague tells me that if it pains, it means its working. Pray, tell me, what exactly is working? My nociceptor nerves that tell me how badly my thighs hurt? I am quite annoyed at myself now. First, I actually gather my willpower to do some exercise and then when I think my body will reward me for it, it punishes me with pain. Almost as if its sending me a signal. A signal that if I exercise again, it will hurt even more and so I should abandon the idea instantly. Hmmm.... I read somewhere that one should listen to one's body.
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People expect too much from me. I feel sorry for them. I want them to understand that expecting things from a hopeless person like me is a complete waste of time and energy. Do not expect me to know anything, do anything or understand anything. I am a lost cause and I do not feel sorry about it. I'd like to be left alone and I'd love it if you didn't bother me with your complex demands. Demands that are seemingly simple for you, but are very complicated for me to process and work upon. Buzz off everyone.
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Today is the day when I want to fling rubber bands at everyone. Like, everyone. There are other days when all I want to do is break all my crockery. Not because I'm mad or something but because I enjoy the crashing sound that glass makes when it breaks. I am a crackpot isn't it? Muhahahahha....

Buy me a tutu and a pair of ballet shoes and watch me prance around like an idiot....

I think I am using a lot of cuss words lately. Not out loud, but they're buzzing inside my head all the time. Especially the forbidden 'F' word. Its forbidden because I'm a decent married woman (apparently) and any cultured woman should not be using such foul language. It does not go down too well with the society (I am trying hard to suppress a giggle). Anyway, atleast I have the liberty to use them freely inside my head. So liberating (Ha ha ha)
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Do you know how it feels to travel to the middle of nowhere? I know. I also know how annoying it is to keep driving on a never ending road that goes nowhere. I experienced all this last weekend on the most boring road trip ever. I also realised that winter in Pune can be easily compared to the winter in Delhi. You just have to travel to the outskirts to experience how cold it can get at night. I was shivering for an hour after having reached home. Don't get me wrong because I'm cribbing. I love exploring and stuff but maybe I was just not in the mood that day. I should have stayed home, ordered a large pizza and pigged out.
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The dratted New Year is around the corner and I can't begin to tell you how much I hate occasions like these when everyone wants to get together and celebrate. I just want to be left alone with a good book and I'm sorted. But apparently, I'm not fortunate enough to enjoy these little pleasures of solitude. I will be stuck with a bunch of people who like to call themselves 'Family' and I will have to pretend that I'm having fun hanging out with them, when secretly I'm just hoping that one of them will whip out a pistol and shoot me in the head, thus mercifully ending my misery. It doesn't look like it will happen this year. How unfortunate am I exactly?

Tumblr is keeping me busy with all the memes....

The office has acquired a brand new Air Freshener. It gives out a super strong citrus scent. It is beginning to make my throat itch, like I've suddenly swallowed a glass of undiluted, freshly squeezed lemon juice. I am telling ya, if I brought in a bowl of milk in here, it would definitely curdle. Seriously.
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I got my first paper cut today. I always wanted to know how someone can get cut by paper. It is not the best feeling. Especially when you're suddenly feeling like Bella Swan from the Twilight saga and there is no Jasper to lunge at you. Worse, there is no Edward to save you. Life is cruel that way.
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And when you are ME, make paneer. Which is exactly what lemons are used for in my house.

Don't bug me...

Love is a lie. Yes, believe it or not, I am going to passionately endorse this view from now on. I will also convert people to join me in my mission. My mission to save this world from the sappy shit we call love. Let me make it very clear. We can 'like' and we can be 'very fond of'. But that is as far as we can go. We can also be 'obsessed' but that is an angle I will explore later. Right now, we have to focus on eliminating the 'Love' part. Now I know that a lot of you out there are going to argue that love keeps people together and stuff, but seriously, it's not love, it is 'Habit'. Yes, Very sorry to burst your bubble, but people live together and tolerate each other because they are habituated to each other. Nothing else. I will pursue this line of argument with anyone who has the time to hear me ramble along for a few hours. And don't even get me started on sacrifice and such things that people claim to do because they 'love' someone. These are the same people who will complain that all their sacrifices were in vain etc. If you really weren't expecting anything in return, why is it in vain now? You do things to make the other person like you and when they don't, you crib and cry. Silly babies. Love and all it seems. They should have Rehab centres for people in love and I should be made the Superintendent or Chief of it. I am going to save people much heartbreak and pain. Love doesn't bring much else, does it?

Because everyone gets privacy in their private hells.

I may be just a little mad. Not the right amount though, slightly more than that. But not enough to warrant me a free bed in a Mental Asylum. When will I ever learn to do things perfectly? Hell, even my madness is mediocre. Damn you.
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The case of the lost keys has been entirely dismissed. For those who don't know me personally and hence haven't been updated about the incident, here's what happened. HM and I went to watch a movie last Sunday. When we finally came out of the theatre, the keys to HM's bike were missing. We must be really maturing as a couple, because instead of arguing over who lost the keys, we set about looking for them. It is to be noted, that we silently agreed to not talk at all to avoid an altercation. Nice move. Anyway, the keys were never found and we managed to avoid any kind of discussion about it. But it did become the proverbial Elephant in the room as silence hung heavily in our home that Sunday afternoon. But Monday came soon enough and we HAVE to talk on a Monday, come what may. So 'peace' was restored and hence, case dismissed. We are making a lot of progress, I tell you. And yes, Peace and Silence mean two very different things. Just like Ignorant and Illiterate don't mean the same thing.
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'How the mighty have fallen'. I totally love that sentence. I am going to find a way to use it in my day to day conversations. I just have to. I am going to introduce 'Shuddh Angrezi' in this world of meaningless slang and stupid words that sound bad but don't mean anything. I will even try to throw in some Archaic English for good measure. I will say, "Where hast thou?" or "Come hither, Oh good fere of mine. I beseech thee." This is going to be fun. I am waiting eagerly for a party wherein I can unleash my English on the poor unsuspecting guests. And I will also follow HM everywhere and say, "Whither thou goest, I shall go". Awesome.
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I finished reading 'Insects are just like you and me except some of them have wings' by Kuzhali Manickavel. The book is simply brilliant. I was laughing hard at one moment and sobbing at the next. Just like a demented person, which is what her stories are mostly about. Me thinks, I'll read the book again and again. I  had that kind of addiction with 'God of small things' and I must have easily read it atleast 20 times. Anyhoo, I'm now reading Chanakya's Chant and will move on to  Palace of Illusions next week. I have a lot of reading to catch up on.

The caterpillar got accidentally locked in his own cocoon...

Its one of those rare days when I have nothing intelligent to say. Actually, its not that rare an occasion. It does happen quite often. And whenever it does, I have a lot of fun saying random idiotic things that shock people. I've been told that I have a weird sense of humour and people don't 'get' my jokes most of the times. I couldn't care less. I am amused at all the crazy stuff that my brain conjures up. Its as if my brain is this wonderful laid back chap from Goa who has a cashew farm and mango orchard. Who drinks Feni in the evenings and has a banana boat on the beach. Lets call him Pascal. So Pascal is this Rascal who is all quiet and observant most of the time. He chuckles quietly at all the oddities happening around and does not bother enough to pass a remark or do anything about anything at all. Then one day he goes to the beach and enters one of those cool shacks and starts cracking super awesome crazy type jokes. Some people get it, others don't. But Pascal is enjoying his day out. Then when he's run out of silly things to say, he drinks the last of his Feni and goes back home to eat some fried fish and take his dogs for a walk. Awesome guy that Pascal is. I'm super glad he lives inside my head.
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HM was so sweet to me yesterday. He bought me a huge Swiss chocolate cake. Yummy ekdum. I ate the icing first. We finished half the cake. The other half is in my fridge and I'm day dreaming about it. I day dream about food quite often. Y'day it was Chilly Chicken and I told HM how I was craving it. He sarcastically asked me if I'd been born in China. So according to HM, you have to be a Chinese to crave Chilli Chicken. But I was born in India. Udaipur, to be more precise. So I can only crave Dal-Baati, Choorma, Laal maas and Mirchi ke pakode. What ya? Atleast food should be left alone. I don't want my favourite dishes to be dragged into politics and to be pushed across borders and stupid stuff like that. I like my Pastas and my Risottos as much as I like Kekda Bhajji and Pindi Chhole. Now I want to be left alone in a room full of my favourite stuff. I will eat and eat and then eat some more. My day time dreams are the best, I tell ya.
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I have decided to wear nerdy glasses at work to look serious and professional. They are doing the trick. My clients look intimidated and take all my rubbish legal advice very seriously. Jokes apart, I want it to be taken seriously as opposed to the advice given by some 'senior' lawyers who know nothing but act as if they are experts on everything. Believe me, I've seen some pretty messed up lawyers out there who will claim to have 20 years of experience but will not know how to draft a simple Leave and License Agreement. Me? I've got 2 years of experience in changing jobs frequently. This is my Fifth one. You can guess how much I've learnt. I don't need to brag. And now I'll sign off with my Ma's words of wisdom, "Bhagwan hi jaane iska kya hoga..."

Arrey itna kachra kaise ho gaya?

So I finally decided to clean up my cabin today. I made a big deal about the whole activity. Like telling everyone how important it is to de-clutter your personal and professional space and all that shit. People actually asked me to 'de-clutter' their spaces too. Buggers.
Anyway, following is a list of 'unprofessional' things that have been lurking in my cupboard and drawers and shelves at work.

1. Two guavas (Fortunately they weren't rotting in there, considering the fact that I bought them two days back and just forgot all about them)
2. A netted bag full of gooseberries (These were bought with the guavas and met with the same fate)
3. A packet of Hippo snacks with 4 cheeseballs inside 
4. A half eaten pack of Digestive biscuits
5. One pack of Frooti
6. One lone half eaten Butter Chakli sitting pretty on a silver paper plate
7. A pair of wedge heels (I kept slipping when I wear those to work and I got so annoyed that I yanked them off, stuffed them in a plastic bag and relegated them to a corner of my filing cabinet)
8. A pair of pyjamas and some old tees (These were left at a friend's place during a sleepover and I never took them back home)
9. Two packs of Lipton Ice tea premixed powder
10. Three scrunchies
11. A pack of Tic tac clips
12. Four bottles of nail paint
13. Old debit cards
14. My cheque book (Oh Dear God! I've been searching you for so long!)
15. Tiffin boxes (All mercifully empty)
16. Scarves
17. Cutlery

So all the above was finally cleared out. I am quite amazed as to how much clutter I had managed to collect. 

I feel better now. Time to get some candy to fill up the empty drawer...

Dig deeper...

I am totally going to ace that exam. Which one? The one for my Master's Degree silly. Yup, the same one that I haven't studied for and is just four days away. Who has the time to study? I have a job, A husband, two dogs and a house to keep and to top it off, I have issues. No, not the 'Issues' that are born post wedlock. Those are still ok. I have bigger, scarier issues and I shall refrain from discussing them because I don't want to scare everyone, do I? Nothing serious though, but serious enough to double up as an excuse for not studying for my Master's Degree. But I will ace the exam. I am telling you that. How the hell do I manage to say that so confidently? Because if I really believe I can do something, I invariably do it. And I do it well. I'm magical that way. Hence proved, that I will pass with flying colours (Whatever that funny phrase means. I always picture myself riding on a rainbow when someone uses that phrase.) But still, wish me luck ok. Not because I need it, but because I like it.
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December aa gaya! Another year has gone by. It was bad. Actually, I could call it the worst, but life has taught me through some rather harsh lessons that the worst is always yet to come. So I will call 2011 a bad year. 2010 didn't fare that well on my popularity chart either. It sucked. But if that wasn't enough, 2011 came along and said something like, "Muhahahahaha! I am going to screw your happiness! You will feel suicidal very single month!" And I did feel that way. Every. Single. Month. Why should I be ashamed to admit it? Hai toh hai. In fact I'm proud of myself because inspite of being down in the dumps most of the year, I survived it. 'I'm a survivor' by Destiny's Child is now playing in the background in my head and I'm dancing to it. 2012 is supposed to bring around the End of the World and all that shit that the Mayans warned us about. Apocalypse and other grand things are slated to happen. I am so looking forward to it. I never knew I'd live to see this day.
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So its time to make new year resolutions? Bah. I never made any. never in my life.
It all seemed like a useless pursuit to me. And I prefer to invest time in some creative useless pursuits. Like annoying people, for example. Atleast its entertaining, if not fruitful.
Anyway, point is, this year i'm making a resolution and I plan on following it to the T. I resolve to never take anything seriously again. Yup. I will never be serious about anything again. No problem, issue or crisis shall worry me. I shall smile and laugh through it all and make up some wicked jokes while at it. I hereby vow to digest the biggest chill pill ever thought of and it shall last me for the whole of my lifetime. Nothing will deter me from guffawing and giggling through the hilarious mess that life is. Because tedha hai par mera hai. And I'm not refering to HM when I say this. I am talking about MY life. It is MINE. Muhahahhahaha!

Know No No No...

Chalo ik baar phir se ajnabi ban jayein hum dono...
Brilliant song. Very profound.
I know atleast a handful of people who I wish I'd never 'known'. Or never let them 'know' me.
Its always easier to talk to strangers. They don't know you and therefore won't judge you because who wants to waste their time passing judgements about a complete stranger?
I think I have the best conversations with strangers. They have so much to tell and they listen to whatever crap you want to unload. You both know that you probably won't see each other again. So you enjoy the conversation and there isn't a boring moment. And the best part is that you can walk away when you're done.  Nothing lost, nothing gained.
But that's the problem, you see.
When you've finished talking, you both 'know' each other. So if you bump into said stranger again, he's no longer a stranger. He's someone who now 'knows' you. Who will recognise you. That's another person added to your 'people-who-know-me' list. Its a vicious cycle. Its almost as if the universe is plotting against you. Imagine the number of strangers you'll meet in your lifetime and when you're finally off to Hell (Or Heaven, whatever) you'll have a reaaalllly long list of people who 'know' you. Its not a good thing.
And now, coming to think of it, HM was also a stranger around two years back. Now he's someone who knows how I look in the morning, how I brush my hair and how I cry. And he also knows my flaws. He must have made a list of them. We were way better off when we didn't know anything about each other.
'Knowing', 'Knowledge'. I've decided that its going to be my least favourite word from now on. Major Buzzkill...

If...

If I could, I'd be a 'Mumbai chi porgi'.
With a studio apartment in Bandra.
A dilletante.
Who watches plays at Prithvi Theatre every Friday.
Who spends all her Sundays browsing the shops at Causeway and Linking Road.
Who catches up with friends at Indigo.
Who paints, writes and scribbles.
Who shops at thrift stores.
Who volunteers at the Animal Shelter
Who learns Salsa and belly dancing and speaks French fluently.
Who spends afternoons at Kala Ghoda.
Who works, parties and finds time to play Golf.
Who has tons of books at home.
Who bakes the most amazing cupcakes.
Who is single and in love with life.
Who goes on frequent bike trips across the country.
Who sings and dances without a care in the world.
Who doesn't give a damn about anything or anybody.
Who is independent, bold, fearless and speaks her mind.
Who loves, lives and is an answer to people's prayers.
I'd be all this and much more.

Space...

Dono barsein,
Par sang sang kahan hain?
Thodi doori se zindagi aasan hai
Meri duniya aur uska bhi jahaan hai,
Hai ziddi ye badi majbooriyan bhi,
Dooriyan bhi hain zaroori,
Zaroori hain ye dooriyan

There is no better way to say it. Seriously.

Purani jeans...

Sometimes, talking to an old friend can be very therapeutic. Like being able to fit into an old pair of jeans that brings back such wonderful cherished memories. I spoke to O after a really long time today and when I hung up, I felt like myself again. O isn't the usual run of the mill kind of friend. He is something else. We don't go back a long way and I've known him for around 4 years but I don't think I've ever had a friend like him. We were constantly squabbling over petty issues and yelling our heads off at each other when we were classmates in Law school. I remember a particularly interesting fight we had over a couple of Kit Kat bars. It was epic. Now O was one of the most popular guys on campus and we never hung out together much. But we did a play, a moot and countless other creative stuff together and I must say, the guy was a first class 'Dramebaaz'. But more than anything else, he was and is a great friend. He's this weird combination of 'Agony Aunt' meets 'Worst Critic'. I can recall countless incidents about O which include bad graffiti, enviable appetite and the ability to befriend anyone and anything. He was my annoying, know-it-all friend, bad philosopher and interesting advice waala guide. He made me laugh and more often than not, he even made me cry out of sheer frustration and anger. There were days when he got on my nerves and then there were days when nothing was more comforting than having a chat with him. O and I drifted apart after our respective weddings. We got married within a day of each other and so we were conveniently unable to attend each other's wedding. I wish I'd been there to see O marry his long time girlfriend and soul mate who is an amazing girl herself. He recently had some sort of blood clot in his heart so I'm sure she's loving him lots and there's just no space left in his heart for all that affection. (Cheesy thought, but you should see them together. Absolute delight to watch) Anyway O, if you do happen to read this, know that you're a frikkin awesome friend to have and you are treasured. And this is from the trio i.e. Me, S and ofcourse N, who will be joining you in Delhi soon. God bless and you better take care of your cardiac muscle dude. 

I'm not your Aunty

So the kids in my building are calling me 'Aunty'. They are also calling HM 'Uncle' but he doesn't flinch like I do. Infact he's taken to hanging around with a bunch of li'l giggly ten year old girls who run around him when he takes the dogs for a walk He enjoys the 'Uncle' tag I think. And because I'm his wife, I 'automatically' become their 'Aunty'. Atleast this is the explanation I got when I asked a kid why they insisted on making me sound like an old hag. I have decided to call each kid Dadaji or Dadiji to get my revenge.
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My war against cellulite has taken an interesting turn. The 'kahani me ek anokha mod' type. I had read this book by Rujuta Divekar ages ago and I happened to read it again. Intelligent book that makes a lot of sense. So I've decided to give it a try. Afterall someone who made Bebo look like THAT in Tashan and now like THIS in RaOne must be doing something right. Not that I consider Bebo as my benchmark for the perfect body. That slot is already taken by Shilpa 'how fit can a woman possibly be' Shetty. She is super amazing. But on second thoughts, Malaika Arora Khan isn't bad either. And she's also a mom which gives her extra points for being so fit inspite of that. I just hope I can get there.
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The bai is maaroing chutti for the next four days. Which means in addition to cooking and generally making the house look presentable, I also have to sweep and mop the floors, dust the furniture and wash the utensils. HM will pitch in to clean up after the dogs and will be all sweet and offer to order food from the neighbouring restaurant to cut down my work load. I will get to crib at work about my absent bai and get fake sympathy form the other ladies. Its going to be fun.

Tsk Tsk...

That Kailash Kher guy can sing. He literally takes me to a different world with that beautiful voice of his. I've been listening to his songs on a loop since as long as I can remember. I call his songs 'my personal trance music'. Divine. I also like what that Sandeep Chowta fellow does with music. He's quite brilliant and I wish he'd work more. For a very long time, 'Mitti' was the only album I could listen to without skipping tracks. That duo, Salim-Suleiman are in a league of their own too. Much like Vishal-Shekhar, who seem to have lost their touch lately. But they're usually quite creative. Creativity. It reminds me of this one time when I was quite young and was listening to a T series cassette which had a nice song, 'Suno, meri jaan ho tum...' Not a very popular song, but it was quite melodious and I was hooked on to it. I'm sure the film was called 'Aaja meri jaan' (bad title, I know) and starred Gulshan Kumar's brother or son or someone from his family. I couldn't care less. Good music though. So, there I am listening to it intently and in walks my uncle who immediately frowns and says, "Are you mad?" Now he's a psychiatrist and a good one at that, so I never question him when he says things like this. So I just say, "Maybe, but why?" He goes to his room and brings out a cassette by someone called Lionel Richie and pops it in the Tape recorder and 'Hello' fills the room. I am shocked. The exact same melody! "So did this Lionel person copy from Nadeem Shravan?" I ask innocently and I'm told that they are the ones who copied from the Lionel guy. Major embarrassment, I tell ya. Nadeem Shravan ought to have been ashamed and also sorry for having lost a fan in me. But I do laugh about it everytime I listen to'Hello'. Funny memories I have...

My nose, the trumpet.

There is nothing more satisfying than eating a piping hot wada pav with tangy spicy green chillies and then blowing your nose out. It is bliss. Especially when you have a persistent cold that has been bothering you for more than a month. There goes my diet plan. I suppose hula hooping for an  hour will help me lose the calories I piled on today. Either way, I couldn't care less right now. I am still blowing my nose happily and inviting the 'eww...that's disgusting' look from everyone at work. I never understood why blowing your nose is considered offensive. Farting, I can understand and burping too, to some extent. But, blowing your nose? C'mon people! I'm pretty shameless that way. If someone gives me 'the' look while I'm emptying my nose of all the wonderful mucus, I continue nevertheless and then hold out my tissue for them to see the result. Its one of my favourite activities actually. Pretty entertaining too.
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Tomorrow is a Sunday and HM has graciously granted me a leave from all my kitchen duties. I am elated. Pindi Chhole for brunch and maybe Pizza or Chinese for dinner. No dieting tomorrow. I will binge and lounge around and generally do nothing. Monday will bring around another week of madness and I should be prepared for it.

Of music, food and love...

In this age of crazy rocking songs like 'kolaveri di', the drama queens at  work are listening to 'saiyyan nainon ki bhasha samjhe na....' Super annoying ya. It doesn't even belong to an album. Its the title track of some prime time soap. Now if you're blessed enough to work in an office with a brilliant sound system with overhead speakers AND you are allowed to play music all day, why the hell would you play something from a daily soap? And pray, tell me, why would you do it atleast ten times a day? They did play 'Kolaveri' once and I had a great time calling all the girls 'Cow u cow u holy cow u'. But the fun ended there. We were back to complaining how our 'saiyyan' doesn't understand our 'nainon ki bhasha'. Arrey bhaad mein jaaye woh saiyyan! Who cares if he doesn't get the secret language of your eyes? I'm sure you don't get a lot of his silent communication either. Lets listen to Kolaveri again.
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I cheated on my diet today and ate a wrap from McD's. Aaah... Merry Christmas! It was so good to eat some junk after so long. Also threw in a McFlurry Oreo after reading on the website that it was 96.5% fat free. It obviously wasn't entirely fat free but it had lots of ice-cream with bits of Oreo cookies so I can say it was rich in calcium or something. I do not feel guilty for pigging out today. It was well deserved after avoiding Wada Pav and Medu wada and other fried delicacies that I was tempted to eat but didn't. I'm now looking forward to Sunday when I'm planning to eat lots of Pindi Chhole. At this rate, it'll take me quite some time to lose weight...
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I just saw this video of a flash mob at CST taped on 27.11.11. Awesome video. Totally makes me wanna go back. What the hell am I doing in this wretched excuse of a city called Pune? Puneites, kindly don't take offence if any of you are reading this. It's just me. I have the same feelings for every other city in the world. I wouldn't care if you lured me with names like Paris and London or even New York that claims to be so similar to Mumbai. Nothing is better than Mumbai, not even the Garden of Eden. And if heaven and hell are both on earth, as most of my elders tell me, then Mumbai definitely is my heaven. I have my own private hell too, but lets not get into that now. I yearn to return to Mumbai like never before and I miss it more than I have missed anything or anyone. I could ramble on for hours and probably write a whole book on how and what I feel for Mumbai, but it would all be such a waste. Something tells me, the city already knows all that. Just like an indulgent loving mother who despite all the distance knows what her child is going through...

Shabd...

Jo bhi main kehna chaahoon barbaad karein alfaaz mere....Nice song. Very apt for me at the moment. Sometimes I feel like language is a stupid discovery. We were better off without it. My two dogs don't need language. I can understand them very well. Language complicates life so much, you know. One can never find the right words to express what one really feels. You end up saying something entirely wrong and then you go ahead and say some more stupid things to undo the damage your words caused. All this is entirely uncalled for. Me thinks, we should do away with language. Right now. 

Just imagine. It would make things so much less complicated. If you wanted to express anger, all you had to do was frown, or at the most, slap the other person. If it was happiness, you could just smile or laugh. And if it was love, you could hug the other person or hold their hand. Awww...it sounds so sweet already. Plus there would be so much peace around. I'd miss all the bad words, especially during traffic, but I could get used to it...

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'Barbaad'...Superb word. I like it a lot. There's a sort of finality to it. Its like 'Khatam' but better. It has a very romantic feel to it, like a moth flying into a flame to destroy itself. Atleast that's how I think of it. Unlike people who use it in stupid ways, like "main tumhe barbaad kar doonga." What a way to misuse such a nice word. The opposite of Barbaad is Aabaad, which means prosperous. Not exactly, but that is the gist of the word. Do not confuse it with Aabaadi. That means population. Its not a noun form of Aabaad. The abovementioned song uses the word 'Barbaad' in the most excellent way. Its making me look at the word in a whole new perspective, and that's saying something...

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I have been going around my office saying deeply intellectual stuff like 'Sab maya hai' and 'iss jeevan ka matlab kya hai' or 'Sab kuch bematlab hai'. People have started bowing their heads in reverance when I go around. Blame it on my dwindling workload and increasing boredom. Wait, its not boredom. Its something else. I don't know how to express that feeling yet. The word for it has not been discovered as of now. Now, there's something I can do...

Patience. I need patience. Now! Now! Now!

When I was in third grade, we had a new girl in class. Her name was Regina. She was kinda weird. She never spoke to anyone, had her lunch all alone and was seated last in class because of her tall lanky frame. I liked her a lot though. Maybe I was going through my own 'befriend weirdos' phase. Anyway, Regina did everything possible to resist my advances, if you know what I mean. I literally stalked her all day, requested the teacher to let me sit next to her in class and offered to share my lunch with her. But she was just not interested. Not in me, not in anyone else. She was a loner, I guess. She needed her space and I was hell bent on invading it. She finally got pissed one day and when I approached her, she pulled hard at my long pigtails. I yelled out in pain but I didn't tattle to the teacher about it. After that, every time I went near Regina, she pulled my hair. Every. Single. Time. A month later, I'd had enough. So I asked my ma to take me to the salon for a haircut. My long luxurious hair was replaced by a short crop. I went to school with my new hairdo and plunked myself next to Regina. She smiled. I'd never seen her smile before. Today, when I go all rigid and refuse to understand people, I think about Regina and what I did for her. Just a subtle reminder that I was a better person as a child and that I should never let go of the child in me.
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My war with cellulite is not yielding any results. I write this as I sit before a plate of cut fruit. The apple has turned brown and looks unappetising. I'm craving some pani puri and mentally calculating the amount of calories it will add to my system. I am contemplating on whether I should start smoking or turn to bulimia like those ramp models. Anything that will make me lose those wretched 7 kilos that have made my pretty and formerly thin body their home. UGHHHH!

Of love handles and muffin tops...

I won't call myself 'fat' coz I ain't. No seriously, I am not overweight. But I have put on more weight than what I would allow myself to. So while the world scoffs at my attempts to diet and exercise, I do my best to stick to my so called weight loss regime. Why do they scoff at me? Because they think I look perfectly acceptable for a married working woman. Which means that married women are allowed to get fat and if they don't, it's certainly not acceptable. In fact it means you're in an unhappy marriage and are so miserable that you have lost appetite. Hence, the slim body, or 'bag of bones' as Chachis, Maasis and Maamis will call you. I don't mind it. In fact, now that they are done commenting on my slight weight gain after the wedding, and feeling ecstatic about the state of my married life, I'd like to lose some weight and give them something different to talk about. They have been chiding me playfully with comments like, 'Dekho kitni khush lag rahi hai? Pet nikal aaya hai, gaal nikal aaye hain! Bohot badhiya...' while I cringe at the not so subtle remarks about my muffin top and my round pink cheeks that look like I perpetually have a candy stuck in my mouth. I will do whatever it takes to lose those wretched 7 kilos that are currently giving me sleepless nights. I have resolved to give up food, if that's what it takes. But I will become my old self again. Muhahahhahha!

Vanity is a sin, or is it?

Fashion blogs. fashion magazines. Who wore what, carried which bag and paired it with which shoes. Really, people make a living out of commenting on other people's clothes. It doesn't go down too well with me. I mean, isn't it enough that people are wearing clothes in the first place? If everyone decided to go nude one day, THAT would be news. Not the fact that a certain actress wore Elie Saab with Ferragamo heels and carried a Bottega Venetta knot with it. I couldn't care less if she was dressed in a jute sack. These fashion critics are everywhere, though. Just waiting to see what celebs are wearing or rather 'Who' they're wearing. I've seen red carpet paparazzi yell loudly at celebs, "Who are you wearing?" Weird. But they get answers alright. Something like Bibhu Mohapatra or Marchesa or maybe Matthew Williamson, Miu Miu, Prada or Vintage Chanel. God.
My fashion sense is limited to what feels comfortable and therefore I never understand why all these designers make all these expensive clothes and why celebs think it's a good investment. They probably think wearing a good designer will make them look good. But what about the yesteryears? Are you trying to tell me that people wore ugly clothes before the advent of the great designer clan? We had local darzis who did a good job of making basic clothes that fit you and showed you for what you are instead of making you look like an angel in vintage Ungaro lace which you are so not! Get real people!

This and That...

MIL is a wonderful chatty person. She has the rare ability to talk nineteen to a dozen. So did I, before I was introduced to the 'Talk only when necessary and preferably never' style of communication that is so strongly endorsed by His Majesty. I wonder why his mom never passed on the verbal communication gene to him. This also goes to show how parents never pass on their best qualities to their progeny. I did not inherit my ma's delicate features or my pa's ready wit. Instead I got ma's short temper and pa's bad eyesight. It's just unfair.
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Olfactory. The sense of smell. It bothers me that it has such a stupid name. I mean, olfactory? It sounds like some Old Factory where smells go to get processed. I like smells. My olfactory sense is somehow linked to my memory. I may not remember sights and sounds, but I never forget smells. I still vividly remember the way my ma's ancestral home in Udaipur smelt. Especially the store room. It was a wonderful aroma that combined the sweet smell of Biscuits and Basmati rice with the slightly pungent odour of spices and the like. There was some cane in there too and its woody fragrance contributed to the whole bouquet. Naani's bedroom smelt great too. Of roses and fresh ghee that was used to burn a diya for her 'Bhagwanji' Of sandalwood and incense and Afghan Snow. Naani used only one brand of cream all her life. If I close my eyes and breathe deeply, I think I can still smell all that. Weird, I know. But it's true. You wouldn't know...
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I am now the proud owner of a beautiful pair of Swarovski crystal earrings, courtesy His Majesty. He'd gone to Delhi, remember? This is what he got me. I'm flaunting them at work today and getting a lot of compliments too. There's something about jewellery that makes a woman smile. And though my style in terms of accessories is minimalist and practical, I love myself some 'bling' occasionally. And yes, whatever they say about diamonds being a girl's best friend is completely untrue. I hate diamonds. Especially the rock sized ones that the celebs wear as engagement rings. You could pelt someone with those. Reminds me of this silly ad they show in Multiplexes before the movie begins. A couple is driving in a car and the guy asks the girl to open the glove compartment. There's a ring in there with a humongous diamond and she slips it on and hugs the guy, which distracts him. The car loses balance and falls into a river. The couple is stuck inside the car with the windows rolled shut, when the girl gets the brilliant idea of cutting the glass with her diamond ring. She does exactly that and the couple swim out unharmed. It's not even funny. I tried cutting a thin sheet of glass with my diamond nose pin. It did not work. Advertising is the art of fooling everyone. And the aforementioned ad wasn't even for diamonds. Something about knowledge or something. I never got that bit.

Rocks and Stars.

Daddy dearest still tells me about his favourite 'Two Types of Mistakes' theory. He says there are always two kinds of mistakes. One is repairable and the other...well, you know it. So, I made a mistake of the latter type last Saturday by watching 'Rockstar'.

Ab main film critic toh hun nahin, but Nargis Fakhri was the rock and Ranbir was the star. More like Nargis was the millstone around Ranbir's neck and she was constantly trying her best to drown him and the movie with her pathetic attempt at acting. Someone send her to Lee Strassberg or whatever school of acting these star kids go to nowadays. No, wait a minute, don't do that. That school never taught any star kids to act. Maybe she should just take a walk around FTII or NSD. That should help a lot. She should also get an annual pass made for Prithvi Theatre and watch every play that is performed there. Rahman bhai did a good job at the music bit. But I'm beginning to wonder if this is the same Imtiaz Ali who made 'Jab We Met'. Watched that one atleast ten times. I was going through a 'Oh Wow, Shahid Kapoor' phase.

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Was driving to work today when I was suddenly struck with the realisation that I am alive today only because my fellow commuters choose to keep me that way. I also realised that I cannot kill or  injure anybody by running them over with my Scooty. So when I put both these insightful thoughts together, I realised that I am at a major risk when driving. So I take this opportunity to thank all my fellow commuters for keeping me alive. Guy on the Red Pulsar, thank you for leaving an inch between your 'definitely male' bike and my 'ablaa naari' Scooty while swerving past me last evening. If you had not been careful, I'd have definitely found myself in the hospital today.  A very big Thank you to everyone else who has had the chance to whizz past me, overtake me from the left side or try and push me off the road while trying to overtake me. I'm sure all of you had very important places to get to and a slow, rattly headlightless young girl on her way back home was an unnecessary hurdle which you could have easily dispensed off with. Thank you for not doing it. I feel blessed. 

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Baaki khabar mein toh, next week is our first wedding anniversary. I bought an executive golf set for HM. It is a nice detachable putter with two golf balls and a hole which fit snugly into a smart leather case. This is supposed to be a surprise for him. I never understand what exactly one should gift a guy. Much worse, your own husband who already has a lot of clothes, shoes and books. A man doesn't need anything else na? Women need handbags, cosmetics, accessories in addition to the basic stuff. So it is easier to buy gifts for women. But men are a different story. Anywhoo, I read somewhere that the first anniversary is called a paper anniversary or something like that. So I went ahead and bought a book too. The Critique of Pure Reason by Immanuel Kant. Ain't I romantic?

Why people should shut up and start writing...

I wanted to call this post, 'The merits of written communication'. But it sounded like a chapter straight out of some management book (I detest those).

So anyway, A few months ago, I made an insightful discovery. It was during this meeting at work. The meeting had been held to discuss a merger and negotiate its terms and conditions.

Now personally I feel a merger is a useless pursuit. Nobody really cares about it other than the filthy rich companies who are 'merging'. But well, rich people have time on their hands and they like to waste it on things that sound important. A merger is one of them.

So coming back to the meeting, we were the lawyers for one of the companies and the other company had brought along their lawyer too. The meeting began at 4.00 pm and there was coffee and cake, which was good, because food really helps generate my interest. But it got over soon, and then began the 6 longest hours of my life.

Everyone just kept talking and talking and it got nowhere. After 3 long hours, the company guys finally gave up, but both the lawyers kept rambling on for another 3 hours. It had now turned into a 'Which party has the better lawyer' contest. What was I doing? I was sitting there looking all important and professional in my suit and doodling endlessly on my notepad (I did some really inspired sketching that day, I remember drawing a donkey).

Finally at 10.00 pm, everyone got really hungry and decided to call it a day (or night...whatever)
But the negotiation got nowhere. We were still stuck at square one when we all walked out like zombies from the office that night.

That's when I discovered that people achieve nothing out of verbal communication. They only waste time. Over the next few days, both the companies exchanged some e-mails and finalized the merger. No talking and no waste of time. I liked that. Both the lawyers didn't. They were robbed of an opportunity to argue with each other again (yes. we enjoy that thoroughly). But those 6 long hours spent on pointless haggling were never going to come back.

So what I'm trying to say is, people are bad at listening and good at reading and comprehending. So one ought to write more and talk less. Use e-mails, text messages, anything it takes to pass the written word around. Just avoid talking.

Also, nobody can interrupt you or argue with you while you're writing. The person HAS to read whatever you have written, even in order to disagree with you later on. Its a brilliant thing.

I'm telling you, someday peace will be restored in the world because of the written word (no kidding). After all, the pen is mightier than the sword :)

Udd jaa Kaale kaawa....HA!

Lately, I feel like going around with a li'l notebook and pen. How else am I going to record all the wonderful thoughts that flit in and out of my head at an alarming rate? Some of them are so damn good, I actually mourn the loss when I can't remember them anymore no matter how hard I try. Like the other day I was taking a walk and thinking so many nice things, some very intelligent thoughts, some silly, funny ones and I had nothing, nowhere to keep them, to preserve them. I felt oddly saddened by it all. Like my mind was conjuring up such brilliant things but was incompetent enough to not save them. An hour later when I reached home I couldn't remember a single thought. Frustrating, I tell ya.

It's funny how every bad memory gets bottled up so well and all the good ones choose to leave. Me thinks, I need a pensieve, like Dumbledore had in the Harry Potter books. I could bottle up my best thoughts and memories. Relive them later. What fun.

Baaki khabar mein toh, HM has flown to Delhi today. He's coming back tomorrow, which means I have one whole day to chill out. Am I glad or what! It's nice to be left alone once in a while. It helps me keep my sanity.

Also made a trip to my folks' house y'day. Felt good to eat hot yummy food served to me with so much love and a sprinkling of fake anger. Mothers, I tell ya. Totally awesome people. Only for their own kids though.
Hungry. Must. Eat. Now.

Me mojo got back....

When you're down and out and tired and left with nothing, something will gently nudge you to get up, get a hold on yourself and be the same old person once more. It will make you fight, argue and stand up for yourself. It will make you strong, or rather help you regain all your lost strength. It will make you laugh. It will make you cry. It will make you lose your sleep. It will drive you crazy. It will make you wiser. Everyone should go look for that one thing in their life. I think I just found mine. I feel like I got my mojo back :)

Headlightless

Headlightless.Yes, that is a word I invented. Maybe it does exist because MS Word is not drawing squiggly red lines below it. Maybe the spell check isn't working. Who cares? that's not the point.

I've been driving in the dark without a headlight for the past two days. It's kinda scary in a way. Like I can't stop imagining what it would feel like if a speeding bugger driving some sort of posh vehicle mows me down. But he will spot me because HE has his headlights on na? Silly me. But you get the drift right? I've been driving back home from work with such kind of morbid thoughts.

Also I'm restricted to driving at the edge of the road to avoid being part of the traffic/onslaught of idiots on wheels. I can't see potholes and that's really bad. But my prime concern is not the fact that I'm unable to see things. I'm more worried because people probably can't see me. And in a city where I often yell "Abey aankhen hain ya button?' at fellow commuters even in broad daylight, I'm certainly apprehensive about what they might see or not see at night. I'm currently relying on the headlights of other vehicles to navigate my way back home. HM has asked me to get the headlight fixed but I don't like going to the garage. I invariably manage to get some grease on my clothes or face and it's annoying. I also dislike the smell of motor oil or whatever they're calling it these days.

Also, have I mentioned what I'm currently driving? It's a first edition Scooty. Don't get too excited and google it. By first edition, I mean that it's probably part of the very first batch of Scootys that was produced by TVS. Now my sister tells me TVS has been taken over by Mahindra. What shit? I don't follow such things.

Anyway, it's over 15 years old and it still manages to run pretty well. Old is Gold. Hahahahaha! What did you expect me to drive anyway? I'm a regular person whose only concern is to get to office and come back home in time. I'm not John Abraham. Even a horse shall serve my purpose. On second thoughts, commuting on a horse would be fun na? Tugduk tugduk all the way to work. How classy. Plus my horse wouldn't need headlights. Must ask HM for a horse now...

Top ten things I say ever so often

1. Haye haye (with the typical accent of an old gujju woman who gossips a lot)

2. This is crazy man!

3. Falaana falaana...(used in place of 'et cetera")

4. What the hell is this? (Said frequently at work when presented with a badly drafted legal document)

5. Ooji booji...Howsh mah baby gal? (Used daily when greeted by my two dogs...errr, bitches)

6. What do you want to eat? (A question I ask HM daily.)

7. Abey aadmi hai ya pyjama? (Addressed to my office boys)

8. Arrey kya karoon iska? (Addressed to the stack of papers which I find mysteriously piled on my desk         everyday)

9. Goddamn (Used very very often)

10. I'm so bored, I could die (Used daily at around 4.30 pm at work)

Say na say na...

Conversation No.1

HM: Hello? (He has seen my number flash on his insanely expensive cell phone but still)
Me: Hi!
HM: hmm
Me: How's it going?
HM: I'm having lunch...
Me: Oh. Okay! See you in the evening then (Who else am I going to see? But still)
HM: Ya. Bye.

Conversation No.2

HM: Hello? (C'mon man! Its your wife! can't you read cell phone screens?)
Me: Hi!
HM: Hmm
Me: What you doing?
HM: I'm at office (Where else would you be baba?)
Me: I know. What you doing?
HM: I'm working (Of course. why else would you go to office?)
Me: Ok....
HM: Yeah. Tell me.
Me: Nothing. I just called to hear your voice.
HM: Hmm
Me: (giggle giggle) Are you busy?
HM: I'm working.
Me. Yeah okay. I'll see you in the evening.
HM: Yeah. Bye.

Conclusion:
I have nothing better to do at work than to call HM and bug him with silly questions.
I know he totally gets my need or urge or whatever you may call it, to hear his voice in the middle of a particularly boring day. Maybe he secretly knows that he cheers me up with his 'hmm' and 'I'm working'. He's a regular guy. Imperfect, unromantic and slightly, no actually very boring. He's exactly my opposite. Chalk and Cheese, if you ask me. Man, do I love him! :)

The advent of 'Senile'

'Senile'. Funny word, I tell you. I'd actually never heard it before and I pride myself on being a brilliant person with way above average vocabulary. His Majesty is always using the word. Senile. The first time he used it, I thought it was a synonym for imbecile. Turns out, I was wrong. It means relating to or characteristic of old age. And FYI, MS Word does not have synonyms for it. I checked.

HM is always telling me, 'Check with a senile person.' or 'Ask a senile person about how to behave'. Yes, he has major problems with my behaviour sometimes. So do I. Me thinks, every married couple discovers irritating things about each other and use that knowledge to irk their better halves. Its like a competition. Lets see who discovers more faults in the other. Then we'll talk.

Crazy, I tell you. Marriage is so not easy. And I bet my right arm, everyone thinks the same. But it is fun though and you only think of it as 'fun' when you're like, 70 and you have sons and daughters and grand kids at your beck and call. Then you begin to think that getting married wasn't such a bad idea afterall. Look at the wonderful  brood we've produced. Crazy. But that only happens if your wonderful brood hasn't shipped you off to an old age home when you become 'senile'. Pray people, pray. It could happen to anyone. Then you'll just start thinking of life as a whole lot of wasted time. And that would just be so sad. Like it suddenly dawned on you what a big mistake you made by simply being born and it's way too late to do something about it now. I'd like to call it a major 'Ooops' moment. 

Wheeeeeeee!

So, its one of those days when I feel like a four year old on a sugar rush who's been tied to a post. Squirming and screaming to be let loose. So that he can run around in circles with his arms spread wide for a long long time and then collapse on a heap of dried leaves. Dusty dried leaves that have been raked up in a corner of the football field. We had so many of those leaves in school.

I never really got a chance to fall into them. I was worried my uniform would get soiled with all the dust and the class teacher (evil woman) would make me stand outside class to exhibit my dirty clothes to everyone who walked past the class.

Its funny how teachers and other elements in school actually work constructively to cultivate shame in an individual. Something that is so negative is inculcated so thoroughly. They teach you how to hang your head in shame, how to cry hot tears of shameful anger and clench your fists till the nails dig deep in your palm. they teach you all these things in school when you really should be learning to be free spirited, honest and generous. They teach you to 'have some shame' instead. Rabid Imbeciles.Biting every passing batch of young minds and making them imbeciles too. Too bad.
My kids are so not going to school.

My first love...

So, I just found this blogger online who calls himself Kroswami and is absolutely brilliant at what he does.

I just can't get over how superbly awesome he is and how supremely imaginative he can be. Almost reminds me of how I was before I fell into a rut. The 'rut' can be loosely translated into 'routine, boring job, marriage, living in Pune' etc...

Yes. I hate living in Pune. Mumbai beckons like crazy and there's no way I can go. As of now atleast. Mumbai is, was and will always be my first love. And like every good long term filmy sort of relationship, it started with hatred. I hated Mumbai at first. True, I'd been frequenting the city almost every month since childhood, but I never grew to like it. It was my first year of law school when Daddy Dearest, who was living in Mumbai, coaxed me into trying out an internship there. Except he didn't help me get one. I wallowed in self pity for two days and took a bath atleast thrice a day to battle the summer heat, all the while muttering curses under my breath for this dirty, sweaty, murky city. On day three, I took a local to V.T. all the way from Mulund and walked my way to the High Court. And suddenly out of nowhere, I fell head over heels in love. Oh, the wonderful adrenaline rush. I've never felt that way again, except for when I met His Majesty, but let's not get into that right now. Love had happened and there was no looking back after that. I wanted to spend all my life  in Mumbai, with Mumbai. The frantic speed of life, the pigeons, the local trains, the dockyards, the fish markets, the slums, the suburbs, just about everything appealed to me. I finally completed my legal education and got a job in Mumbai. Our long term love affair had started. I'd moved in with my love and I couldn't be happier. Sadly it ended eight months later when I met His Majesty and decided to move back to Pune to be with him. Mumbai must have felt cheated. I left her for a man I probably loved more. Her heart must have broken, or so I'd like to imagine. My heart did break though. Even today, when I visit her, it's like being with an old dear friend. I have beautiful memories of my relationship with Mumbai. And everytime I leave, I promise her, maybe another life sweetheart, but I will come back to you.

No post? here's why...

Yes. I haven't written in a long time because I can't write stuff just for the heck of it. I wouldn't want to read it later. Truth is, my brain is on a long hiatus and refuses to co-operate or do anything constructive or intelligent like its supposed to. It just wants me to watch mindless comedy on SAB TV, eat an early dinner and go to bed. I mean c'mon, it's vacation time up in my head and you expect me to come up with good blog posts? Maybe your brain deserves a vacation too. Actually I do remember reading in one of His Majesty's books that not thinking or switching off your brain will eventually make you a wonderfully profound person (Okay, Those were not the exact words, but something to that effect.) So it's safe to assume that I am slowly turning into a Zen monk. That can't be bad, right?

Practical? Hell No!

I hate practical people. They are stupid insensitive people who are self centred and head strong. Although I secretly wish most of the times that I was one of them, I hate them. I am exactly the opposite. I wear my heart on my sleeve, my face betrays me every time I'm feeling sad and I can't mask my emotions no matter how hard I try. I'm impulsive and I rarely 'think' before taking a decision. I just listen to my heart and go ahead with it. Its crazy when I have to deal with practical people who refuse to see my point. Needless to say, my point isn't practical enough for them and I hate it when they get all 'rational' on me. But I suppose practical people hardly get hurt. Emotionally that is. They're blessed that way. They may get cranky for a day when something really bad happens in their lives. The next day, they've moved on. If you make the mistake of asking them how they did it, they'll look at you like you're an imbecile and say, "What's the use of thinking about it? I got better stuff to do." and walk off briskly. It will make you want to pull out your hair, especially if you're at the receiving end of their insensitivity. Like I said before, I HATE THEM. I want a miracle to happen. Something, anything that will show them how painful life is sometimes for us sensitive people, who think from their heart. The number of times our heart breaks and the hard times we go through as we nurse it back to health. Its something I pray for all the time. Dear God, please convert all the practical people into impractical, sensitive ones. Amen.

Slutwalk? Really?

I'm not sure why Indian women took to the streets and organised a 'Besharmi morcha' on the lines of the famous 'Slutwalk'. I'm not anti feminist or something, but lets face it, Indian women are not wired that way. And if we were, we would have thought about the 'slut walk' first and not aped our western counterparts. After all, we have so many women related issues in our country. There's dowry death, female infanticide, rape, domestic violence, molestation, eve teasing and while I'm typing this list out, I'm sure there's a lot more happening out there that we still don't know of. So, the question remains, why didn't Indian women think about the 'Besharmi morcha' first? Because it's not who we are. Organising a slutwalk and participating in it does not display a woman's strength. Her strength lies in the fact that in spite of injustice and violation of her rights, she continues to rise through it all. Her strength lies in her tolerance, her patience and her perseverance and most of all, her tenacity. We ought to have organised a 'We don't need a slutwalk' morcha. Because we really don't. Our women are not so fickle and shallow so as to declare such things through a silly protest. And I'd really like to know how things have improved since the 'Besharmi Morcha'. Has there been any development in the current scenario? The answer to this important question would lead us to the second aspect of this silly social experiment. Indian men do not understand these subtle hints. We have seen plenty of wonderful films that deal with women and their rights and how women hate it when men treat them like shit. There's Mother India, Khoon Bhari Maang, Dor, Mirch Masala, Aakhir Kyon, Provoked, Lajja, Damini, 15 Park Avenue and the recent Saat Khoon Maaf. Men watch these films and walk away unaffected. Do you think a small protest is going to bring about a radical change in their temperament? You've got to be insanely positive or completely stupid to believe that it will work. Men will be men and that brings us to the third aspect of this topic. Are all men like this? Do they all believe in torturing  and harassing women in some way or the other? The answer is 'NO'. Not all men are like this. So why don't these men get together and start a 'Mard ko Badnaam Mat Karo' walk and compel the bad ones to start treating women the right way? That should work. So next time, lets hope the men do their bit. Afterall, its the man's duty to protect  his woman, right? 

Zombies...

So its a regular boring Saturday at work and I'm playing a game called 'Plants Vs Zombies' on Chrome. I don't play games all the time, mind you. Only when I'm super bored and have ten minutes to spare, which is a rare occurrence at my office. I get bored very often but I NEVER have time to spare. Anyway, the object of the game is to cultivate enough vegetation in your garden to thwart the zombies that are milling around on the street before your house. But  I am really bad at games and soon enough the zombies had eaten up my sparse foliage and had reached the front door of my house. Instead of the usual 'Game Over', the screen read, 'The Zombies ate your brains'. Huh. Wokay! Now that's reason enough to not work right? I really should tell my HR Manager about this new development...

Who's Dulhan?

'Mere Brother ki Dulhan'. Why not call her 'Bhabhi' and be done with it? Its like calling my Mother-in-law, 'Mere Husband ki Maa'. Or calling my Chacha, 'Mere Father ka Bhai.'. What's the point? No wonder the movie isn't doing very well. Next time think of a comprehensive and intelligent title that makes sense. There is another movie called, 'Mujhse Fraandship Karoge?' Pray, tell me, who spells it that way? Which school did you go to? I really need to have a word with your English teacher. Or your producer who didn't learn his spellings either. For those who don't know, this movie is based on (hold your breath) Facebook! A bunch of good for nothing rich snotty kids try to fool their friends online by mixing up virtual identities. How very creative. Aparna Sen and Rituparno Ghosh, do you mind making some more movies please? 'Memories in March' and 'Raincoat' were brilliant. '15 Park Avenue' and 'Mr & Mrs. Iyer' were masterpieces. Maybe I'll approach a theatre only when 'Iti Mrinalini' releases...

While Anna Hazare fasted...

Anna Hazare took the nation by storm. For a while, nothing else mattered. Arnab Goswami aka The Great Bong debated about it every night on News Hour and His Majesty and I argued along with the panel. Soon, 'The Great Indian Corrupt but Scared Government' had to give in to Anna's demands (and why wouldn't they? Main, Tu and the entire Desh had turned into Anna) and his fast ended. The nation rejoiced and everyone went back to discussing and debating other stuff. But those 10 odd days were so much fun! Don't get me wrong, people. I know a few citizens who actually fasted for as long as Anna did and they weren't at the 'official fasting venue' at Delhi either. It must have been quite painful for them. But the rest of the Junta really enjoyed the whole thing and that includes Yours Truly and her better half. His Majesty and I went to join a rally on Day One and actually marched at the forefront, shouting slogans all along. That evening, His Majesty borrowed two Indian flags from his workplace (No. He does not work for a political party. Those flags were part of the Independence day celebrations) and we rode down to the place where all the protestors were partying protesting. They had something called a 'rotation fast' going on and you could enroll to fast with a batch of 50 people for 12 hours. Two slots were open: 8 am to 8 pm and 8pm to 8am. Some management genius was overlooking all this, no doubt. Well, we were mighty impressed and since we had already eaten an early dinner, we decided to 'fast' during the 8pm to 8am slot.

So I stayed up with His Majesty, swapped jokes, sang patriotic songs and lectured strangers about the concept of Ombudsman. Its amazing how so few of them knew about the Jan Lokpal bill, its history, its effects and other related concepts. Everyone just knew this was against corruption and well, nobody likes corruption. So they were all there, staying up all night, watching news, waving flags and generally having a good time. It was like a 'Mela' with a cause. Some sweet little street kids had actually mistaken it for one and were trying to peddle balloons and other little toys. They seemed intrigued by all the slogans and they joined in rather enthusiastically after a while. I had fun. I got to spend some much needed time with His Majesty and we chatted a lot. (His Majesty is not the chatterbox kind so it was nice to have him  talking so much) The next day I was exhausted at work due to lack of sleep but it was totally worth it. I got to support a cause I believe in AND I had fun while at it. Anna Hazare broke his fast a week later and all was well. Now I'm waiting for another 'Andolan' to start. All these crazy price hikes are bound to spark off something...

Jaded

Yes. Jaded is a synonym for 'bored'. I used MS Word to find synonyms for 'Bored'. That's how bored I really am. Its 6 pm and I'm supposed to be in office for another hour. I am thinking about the dinner I'm supposed to cook after going back home and I'm mentally doing an inventory of the contents of my fridge. I am also reading a blog by some guy called 'Gawker' who is an NRI who was a Puneite once. Maybe he's a Maharashtrian. He mentioned in a post that he has an ancestral home in Pune. So much for my incessant nitpicking that Puneites don't blog. Atleast ex-Puneites are blogging, so I'm happy. I'm also simultaneously singing along to a song from 'Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara'. Its called 'Khwabon ke Parinde' and its playing at work. It has a very tranquil feel about it. Nice song. Anyway, I'm still bored after attempting all the above. Maybe a walk around the office should help...

I should stop placing bets....

Following is a conversation between His Majesty and I. We had both climbed into bed after a rather long and tiring day. The lights had been switched off and everything was quiet. 

His Majesty: I think the balcony light is on...

I: No it's not.

His Majesty: Yes it is. Look (Pointing his finger at the balcony)

I: (sigh) Those are the neighbouring colony's street lamps baby....

His Majesty: So bright? No no. Its the balcony bulb. I'm telling you.

I: It's not.

His Majesty: Yes. It is.

I: Fine. Go and switch it off.

His majesty: You go na, please?

I: But I don't think it's on in the first place. Why should I go?

His Majesty: At least go and check?

I: (sigh) Fine. But you owe me 100 bucks if the light is on...

His Majesty: Ya ya...

I get up, lumber over to the balcony and find out that the light is switched off.

I: (climbing back in bed) See? I told you. It's switched off.

His Majesty: Oh....so you owe me 100 bucks now.

I: ????

Now I know why I lose bets so often....

R.I.P Crayons...

Remember the Crayons from my second post? Yup. They're no more. All gone. My dogs found the box on my dresser and devoured every bit of my beautiful pastel crayons. His Majesty was very concerned about how 'toxic' my crayons were. I tried to tell him how crayons are meant for kids, who often put stuff in their mouths. So there was nothing to be worried about. Nevertheless, he paid close attention to their poop the next day and needless to say, the poop was very colourful. Turns out, our Labrador likes the colours, Green, Red and Blue while our Mongrel is rather partial to Pink, White and Purple. 

Namak....

I often wonder how man used to season his food before salt was discovered or how long it took to discover the exact use of salt. It must have been an accidental discovery, I’m sure. Some Neanderthal idiot went to the beach and brought back some white salty grains to show his fellow Neanderthals. Those people didn’t know garbage from food and were in the process of tasting just about everything so that they could sort out the edible from the inedible. (They made some grave mistakes. They added bitter gourd and basically every other type of gourd to the ‘edible’ list.) So one of them put some grains in his mouth and spat it out because it tasted funny. But his female counterpart tried it with a piece of roasted root or roasted Dodo and found out that it enhanced the flavor of food. (Yes. The ladies were the smarter lot even back then.) This is my version of the discovery of salt. My younger college going sister still thinks it was Mahatma Gandhi who discovered salt (My sincere apologies to Mr. M.K. Gandhi. You see what this generation has become?) In case you think I’ve tried to correct her, I haven’t. I’m looking for the right family function when I can ask her about the discovery of salt in front of a good (and large) audience and have fun at her expense. I can be mean that way.

Coming to the main point, I am STILL trying to discover the exact and ideal amount of salt that when added to my painstakingly prepared delicacies, will make them taste the way they were meant to. Before you start questioning my culinary skills, let me tell you that I am a reasonably good cook and my dogs and His Majesty (aka my Husband) will vouch for it. His Majesty will also add for good measure that he is usually a very non fussy eater and eats anything that is served to him, at which point I will glare at him. Yes, it helps that he is not interested in food, but I am and I like making nice things. But I often end up adding too much or too little salt to the food and this messes it up. His majesty is very kind and never complains. He just comes up with his empty plate and gently informs me about it at which point I slap my forehead and get extremely angry at myself and apologize to him. He smiles. His Majesty likes my cutlets and curries and is offended if I add to many spices to his food. He likes it simple and healthy. He must have been a Mother’s Delight, eating all his veggies and clearing up his plate of everything that is served. I was my Mother’s worst nightmare when it came to food. I refused to eat most vegetables and had to be force fed almost every day. I hope my kids take after His Majesty. I also hope someone invents some sort of exact salt input measuring device so I can know how much salt has to be added to what dish. Till then, I can continue making occasional mistakes as long as His Majesty keeps smiling. :)

7 Easy ways to be a monk in the material world

Kindly ignore my inclination to turn into a hermit. It is a feeling that comes and goes like a rain cloud. I have no idea why I have a fondness for reclusive life.  But it might have something to do with the fact that I often get immensely annoyed at my fellow human beings and have a tough time trying to detach myself from the absurdity of it all. I’m sure a lot of people feel that way. So for their benefit and mine, I tried to create a list of ways in which one can be a monk in the material world and achieve some much needed ‘inner peace’ while at it.

Some of these ways might actually work. The others are…well, funny. So here goes:

1. Enroll in a law school and complete the course. By the time you’re

done studying the various laws of our country and how blatantly   most of them are disregarded, you’ll have achieved a wonderful sense of enforced optimism that is so essential in life.

2. Get a dog and potty-train it. Try not to get mad at it if it continues

to poop indoors. Persuade it into obeying you with kind gestures and sweet words. This way, you have a dual accomplishment. A well trained dog and superb tolerance for shit. You’ll get a lot of the latter all throughout life.

3. Get married. Yes, as ironic as it sounds, there is no better way to

learn patience and understanding. The downside is that only one of you will learn it. The other will act as the subject of your patience and understanding. Oh, and don’t forget love. Coz as they say, love makes all things possible. (I am trying hard to stifle a giggle as I type this out)

4. Work for little or no remuneration. Because, almost all holy

scriptures (and your parents and elders) will teach you to work hard without expecting returns. The Gita says, ‘Karmanye vadhika raste maa faleshu kadachana’. For the uninitiated, it means, Work without expecting your efforts to bear fruit. This also has a dual purpose. But not for the one practicing it. His/her boss though shall rejoice forever. And HR departments will have a field day.

5. Write a last will and testament and bequeath all your material

belongings to whoever you want to. Relax. Your stuff is not going to be taken away from you unless you die. But you’ll have a chance to enjoy the fleeting sentiment of renouncing material pleasures without actually giving them away. (Try and keep things within the family. You don’t want a stranger using your prized Tag Heur)

6. Give up social networking. Voila! Instant detachment.

7. Eat fruits, berries, nuts and other natural foods. (Yes. exotic and

expensive fruits are fine. Stock up on Kiwi fruits, Blue berries, Mangosteen, Durians and the like. Eat Walnuts, Almonds and Apricots. Side effects shall include constant nagging by your family as you will have slowly driven them to the financial drycleaners with your ‘healthy’ eating habits. But health comes at a cost, no?)

So while the above may or may not work, it is essential to just keep trying. Perseverance pays, you know. And for the record, I am trying or have already tried the above and I hereby pronounce the methods as highly effective. Good luck to you though! Its easier said than done.

Pastel Crayons

I went to Crosswords to buy a Wren and Martin for my grammatically challenged colleague and came back with a box of Pastel Crayons. Don’t ask me why. I just could not resist the intense urge to buy a piece of my childhood. I still recall hours spent in Art Class creating amateur masterpieces that had no takers and were used to adorn the classroom walls or Maa’s fridge at home. So I came back to work with the box of pastel crayons and sat back to admire them. I took out a Red crayon and tried to draw something. I drew red clouds, red houses and red animals. Pleased with my artistic handiwork, I began to wonder what else I could do with the crayons. I highlighted my case files with Green, Blue and Yellow. I now have a large number of legal papers with bright pastel crayon highlights in them. I’m glad I put my pastel crayons to good use.

This one's about Nothing

Friends, Fellow Bloggers and Countrymen, lend me your eyes and your diminishing attention spans. I write about anything and everything (depends on how you take it). You can however expect abundant sarcasm, satire and a crazy sense of humor. All in all, this is my attempt at writing about random things in life that get me thinking. As for the title, there’s nothing much to explain. The Hindi word 'Fitoor' means a kind of unexplained craziness. Needless to say, I relate a lot to it. So while this post is about nothing in particular, something relevant should crop up in my mind soon enough and it will definitely find its way here. Till then, this is me signing off…