Friday, 25 November 2011

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.

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!

Tuesday, 22 November 2011

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!

Thursday, 17 November 2011

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.

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...

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.

Tuesday, 15 November 2011

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.

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. 

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 :)

Monday, 14 November 2011

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.

Saturday, 12 November 2011

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 :)

Friday, 11 November 2011


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.

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. 

Thursday, 10 November 2011


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?