Happy Birthday to me!!!!!!!

okay now it's your turn :D

Because I damn well please

Being home on vacation means I have time to blog about random rubbish :D
Although, on principle I like to avoid doing 'I've been upto this' kind of posts... but hey, it's the holiday mood... so I'll take a break from regular blogging and do just such a post.

What have I done since the last post? It took me two days of sleeping through the day to get over my jet lag. Today I was up (relatively) early and managed to go out shopping with mum. In typical womanly fashion we ended up wandering practically over the entire town trying to find the perfect material for a blouse ( I know, I know!)... what we did buy though is a saree for each of us and a suit... total unplanned purchases... but they made us happy :D I got a bottle green printed silk saree with a cream border and pallu and have since been trying to figure what design to get the blouse stitched in. Oh we also went to the tailor and I had to give measurements and all for a suit... I've done this stuff before but it amuses me a lot now... having gotten used to walking in, looking at labels and walking out after buying (or not). Also went to the bank and managed to get those buffoons to change my address... after SIX FLYING MONTHS. I'd put in a request the last time I was here and they did NOTHING. And now that is done, but I have to wait an entire month to get a new debit card and internet banking ID... a month that I don't have. Hmpfh.

Oh and mum took me to see a friend of hers who is a librarian. We socialise with comedians (other than having them as family)... and so this aunty was telling us about their evening of dumb charades from the weekend. Apparently someone cam eup with the brilliant title of "Ek sookhe kuen mein tairti hui mare hue kutte ki laash" to act out. Needless to say, everyone was in splits and no one got it.

Then mum brought me back home for lunch. Oh ya, I don't drive. So when I come home I have to be ferried around. I do manage to drive the two-wheeler if it's very necessary (read, urgent catch-up with friends who live near)... but otherwise I'm quite helpless. Also shameless... coz I refuse to learn driving :P Well, I'd like dad to teach me... but timings never match and that's pretty much my excuse. Lunch consisted of modak, rice and rasam, aloo sabzi... and more which I forget now. Then it was time for some random perusing of old RD articles which I had read and byhearted long since. See, that's the comfort of being at home... familiarity :)

Then... dad got home early and we went out to the optician and opthalmologist. I was given contact lenses. The doc pretty much treated me like a toddler... cut my nails and made me wash my hands properly and made sure they were dry and then made me practice putting on lenses and taking them off till he was satisfied I wouldn't gouge my eyes out. And once we go out of there (marvelling all the while that my glasses were off and I could see even then! And feeling weird without glasses) more shopping happened... the long sought after blouse piece was bought (by the light of a kerosene lamp as the peddlers were wrapping up for the day)... and we got home to dinner... consisting of the chat stall speciality here... cucumber slices with chutney and grated carrot and churmuri (puffed rice)... bhel (made at the table without any effort :D) sevaiya upma and still feeling hungry... mum's packed me off with a dabba of gajar halwa which waits by my side right now :D

Yes indeedy I'm having a vacation :D

Thus ends my random post. You read this far? Wowie! Thenks :D

Ghar ki baatein

Seeing beloved faces and wondering how they;ce changed in six months. Banter.
The family (including very time-conscious and living-by-the clock type g'parents) stay up way past midnight for you to get home.
The folks switch on a Good-night mat because you're allergic to mosquito coils.
And then are SO excited about your being home that they come in to wake you up hour on the hour... jet-lag and sleep deprivation be damned :D
Papa proudly pointing out developments.... and you look on amusedly because this is where you lived and it just feels nice to be back, development or not.

Mum makes pudine ke chutney... though you didn't say a word to her about it :D
Gran and G'pa saying 'We were just waiting for that wondering why it took you so long' when you repeat your bachpan ka aadat of going and pulling their cheeks and squiching the living daylights out of them.
Dad says 'We programmed the st-box to get English channels just for you!' ... forgetting you don't actually watch TV :D
Dad also BLARES the Carpenters on the stereo... excited about getting the whole collection to listen to :)
Just being at home... wandering from room to room... and reconnecting... revelling... being on Vacation :)
Other things can wait.
Neo... I do miss you though. You better be planning me a grand re-union-cum-birthday party :)

Mumbai

I know I keep quoting the Guardian incessantly... but this article is so well-written that it deserves mention.

I only took exception to this part "... I would occasionally happen upon a Bollywood movie on the television. After a few minutes watching a bunch of sari-clad dancers cavorting on a Swiss mountain to tuneless music...". Kabhi Kabhie and Silsilay (to quote examples, among others) had awesome soulful music. Guess Bollywood isn't for everyone as Amrita says. Do read on.

Life on the hard shoulder

Only when he got lost in the slums of Mumbai did Simon Beaufoy understand what his latest script needed to be. He recalls the breathtaking inspiration for Slumdog Millionaire
Simon Beaufoy
The Guardian, Friday 12 December 2008

Two weeks ago, two years after first visiting Mumbai, I watched the news footage of the terrorist attacks. A city that for me had become almost a fairytale character in a film had suddenly become prey to depressing reality. At VT station, where the director Danny Boyle staged the brazenly uplifting dance number that ends Slumdog Millionaire, lie lumps on the platform. Luggage and dead bodies. I suddenly wondered if we hadn't been seduced by the wonders of the city and made a rather naive film.

Slumdog Millionaire
Release: 2008
Country: UK
Runtime: 120 mins
Directors: Danny Boyle, Loveleen Tandan
Cast: Amil Kapoor, Azharudin Mohammed Ismail, Dev Patel, Irrfan Khan, Rubina Ali
More on this film

Two years earlier, I am lost in the maze of alleys in Mumbai's Juhu slum, a network of dark passages a few feet across, pierced by arrows of sunlight. In these canyons I stumble across dogs, chickens, water pipes, open sewers and thousands of families. Everywhere I go, I am pursued by two dozen grubby Indian kids all pointing and laughing at my pink, sunburnt face. "Hey, Mr Bean, you hot?" says a 10-year old troublemaker. (One is either Mr Bean or Rambo to these children, and it didn't take them long to make their decision.) I agree that it is certainly hot. Uproarious laughter, delighted slapping of hands. I've clearly fallen into their trap. "No, Mr Bean! It's cool today!" The ankle-biters who aren't engaged in this good-natured humiliation look a bit sorry for me. Isn't the Rich White Tourist supposed to pity the Poor Indian Slum Dweller rather than the other way round? But not for a second does it occur to me to pity these giggling streaks of lightning charging around the slum taking the piss out of me with such broad smiles. Which is interesting. I must make a note of that. If I can ever find a way out of here.

I see light at the end of a long, dark alley, skip over the river of sewage running its length and finally pop out into sunshine and space. The children run after me, laughing even harder. "No, no, Mr Bean!" And now I see why. I have walked straight into the slum's toilets. But these are toilets as I've never seen them before. Rickety wooden piers stretch along and above the slum's massive rubbish dump. Perched at the end of each pier is a tiny shack with only three walls and a hole in the floorboards. Where the fourth wall should be is nothing but open air and a magnificent view of Juhu's private airfield. Every morning, the poorest people in the world sit doing their business watching the richest people in the world fly in to do their business. Nothing could sum up the Mumbai experience more perfectly. I didn't quite know how or why, but I was sure I had found the first scene of Slumdog Millionaire.

The galley proofs of Vikas Swarup's vibrant, sprawling novel, Q and A, had been given to me a few months earlier. There was something deeply intriguing about the premise of a slum kid winning the Indian version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. Equally intriguing, but in film terms problematic, was the structure. Each chapter of the book explained how he happened to know the correct answer: in effect a series of short stories. But while some of the stories linked together, others fired off into fascinating but unconnected tangents. There was no single, unwavering arrow of narrative to take an audience all the way through apart from the game show. And somehow, a game show just wasn't enough for me.

I just can't get excited about money as a motivation in a film. It leaves me cold. My heart does not sing if the final shot of the film is a slum kid snapping on a Rolex, getting in his Porsche and driving off into the sunset. In fact, my heart sinks. So, how to make a rags to riches story that doesn't revolve around money? There was only one way to find out: go to Mumbai.

They say that if you get caught in an avalanche it is hard to know whether you are facing up or down when the tumbling stops. The Mumbai slums are like an avalanche of the senses - an excess of smell, noise, taste and colour. Once I've turned the first corner, I'm not sure which way I came in or how I'll ever get out. But in this avalanche, something becomes abundantly and wonderfully obvious. This film just has to be a love story.

India is desperately romantic, utterly unashamed of its sentimentality, its generosity, its fierce pride and massive heart. And of all things, only love can overwhelm the seductive narrative of money that threatens to swamp the story. The euphoria of this discovery is soon replaced by the frightening realisation that I will have to reinvent the whole journey of the central character, Jamal the slumdog. I will also have to create the love of his life, Latika, and make their love story, not the quiz show, the real crux of the film. But what does a middle-class white Englishman know of a Mumbai slumdweller's life story? Not much.

I decide that the only way to do this with any authenticity is to return to my documentary roots. Whereas screenwriters are always being told "write about what you know", documentary makers prefer to dig, investigate, deliberately court exactly what they don't know. For me, it is the best way to work. Where's the fun in writing about what you know, when you can instead dive headlong into the new, the exotic, the utterly unknown?

So, I wander the slums apparently aimlessly, chatting to the children, community leaders, school teachers, beggars, rag-pickers, picking up gossip from the tea-stalls, snippets from the papers, gathering a patchwork of stories that might, goodness knows how, knit together. A gangster trial is never off the front page of the Times of India. Hindu/Muslim tensions are bubbling up again and the gang of beggars at one of the road underpasses tell me as much as a Dickens novel ever could about the pay-scale of mutilation. Misshapen limbs good, blindness better. I am particularly fascinated by the men and women who sleep on the hard shoulder of the motorways, their heads on a bedding roll a heart-stopping three or four feet away from the wheels of thundering trucks driven by overworked, exhausted drivers. It would only take the minutest misjudgment of the wheel to annihilate entire families of sleepers - something that I later learn is not uncommon. I am wary of approaching them with intrusive questions, but as so often in this city, they are open, happy to talk and politely puzzled at my questions. Sure, they have a slum to go to at night, but it's an hour's walk: if they sleep here right next to the building site they get an extra two hours' work in. Isn't it obvious? To my questions about the noise and the fumes they give me that very Indian, side-to-side shake of the head, which means: maybe yes, maybe no, maybe you make up your own mind and stop asking stupid questions. It's certainly better than working on the fields in the countryside where they all came from and were slowly dying of malnutrition. As to whether they are worried that a truck will kill them, they smile and shrug. Whatever God wills.

Again and again, all my preconceptions are overturned. They may be living on the hard-shoulder of a motorway, but the last thing these people are looking for is pity. In this city of 19 million people hurtling into the future, there is still, very present, an ancient sense of destiny, a word I find hard to define - even though I seem to have written a film about it. The poor live right next to the rich without any of that western sense of entitlement, judgment or envy. There is a sense of rightness and understanding in whoever one is and whatever one is doing. Not passivity, but acceptance. I can barely explain it to myself, let alone convey it in a film. I can only try to carry my sense of it into the characters and their lives and resolve never for a single frame to elicit pity in the audience.

But this isn't just a factual and philosophical education. Something strange is happening to my writing. The usual, mealy-mouthed English nuance and subtext is being replaced by something that is bordering on melodrama. What use subtext in a city of such total extremes? Nuance doesn't stand a chance in the car horn symphony of a Mumbai traffic jam. So a torture scene is followed by a comedy toilet scene, the blinding of a child by a Buster Keatonesque stunt sequence. Tonally it really shouldn't work. In any other city in the world, I suspect it wouldn't work. But in Mumbai, not for nothing known as Maximum City, somehow I get away with it. And it is only a matter of time before the inevitable happens and a Bollywood song and dance number jumps into the script.

As a child growing up in a grey-skied Yorkshire village, I would occasionally happen upon a Bollywood movie on the television. After a few minutes watching a bunch of sari-clad dancers cavorting on a Swiss mountain to tuneless music, I would switch over to some proper drama about housing estates and single mothers. But 25 years later, sitting in one of Mumbai's aircraft hangar-sized cinemas, I finally understand. Twenty minutes into the film, everyone is still chatting away, a couple in front are having their dinner out of tin foil trays, their children charging up and down the aisles screaming, and most of the men are still shouting away on their cell phones. And then the song and dance number comes on. The projectionist cranks up the sound to an even more unsafe level, and I am hit with a wave of sound, colour and amazing dancing. The music is part traditional, part hip-hop, part disco. Just like the tone of my script, it's a ridiculous mixture that shouldn't work. But it is infectious beyond anything I have heard in years. I mischievously decide to write the end dance sequence on the platforms of VT station, Mumbai's equivalent of Waterloo station. That should keep the producers busy.

The structure of the book defeats me for weeks as I try to transform it into a script. The story constantly moves backwards and forwards in time. Three different timeframes: Jamal's recent past on the game show, Jamal's distant past and Jamal's present as he recounts the story of his life to the police inspector after his arrest. This jigsaw leaves me puzzled for weeks. I set myself the task to avoid any sense of flashbacks. No "10 years earlier" captions, no sepia tones. The past must be as real and as urgent as the present. All the time, I have director Danny Boyle's laconic advice hanging over me. "It's got to be Romeo and Juliet, otherwise, what's the point?"

After the terrorist attacks, I email the crew, hoping that everyone is okay. A flood of emails return. They are passionate, fervent, utterly unbowed. In the face of unsurpassed cynicism, the language is still romantic, fierce, proud. "A few drops of blood cannot stir the spirit of Mumbai and us Indians," I am told. I realise that the tone of Slumdog Millionaire wasn't in the end created by us film-makers but by the city itself. We were infused by a people that celebrate life unconditionally, in all its joys and hardships. And no terrorist attack will ever change that.

• Slumdog Millionaire opens on January 9

WTF moment

Found this while doing my daily round of the web.

Seriously?! Like, THIS makes news? Really? And they want their votes back? For THIS reason?!

Listen up you dumb people, you have it going good. You're not living in Mumbai are you? Coz the terror attacks just happened there. Oh and they happen quite regularly. And there's no saying for the people there if they'll be alive the next day. You don't live in Congo either. Or in Zimbabwe. In short, you actually have nothing like a life-size crisis to deal with. So instead of making a fuss about how your President-elect does not use the latest gadgets and is hence obsolete and you think that amounts to him being incompetent, take a deep breath, calm down, let go and GET A BLOODY LIFE. Try focusing on reading up on his policies so you're well informed. Or get off your ass and do something to help people who have actual problems.

Oh btw, the Ipod? And the Mac? They're just brand names at the end of the day. No, the world won't end if you cease to have one. Yes yes, it's perfectly true. Deal with it.

Refusing to bow down

You effing miserable excuses of humanity, it did not work. Boo bloody hoo, you suck. Because you thought you were making a point blowing up things and murdering innocents. But guess what? You failed to. And how sodding pathetic is that? You didn't accomplish anything you miserable failures!!!

Because we refuse to be scared. We refuse to bow down to you.

You see, you only have one trick up your sleeves and it's gotten rather old. Doesn't surprise us anymore. Sure you think we can't stop you, yet, and it looks like life returns to normal the next day, till you deign to grace us with your disgusting presence again. But don't for a moment think you've scared us and we've gotten used to living in terror. We refuse to.

I'm so angry. I could tear those perpetrators limb to limb and set fire to each individual piece after dousing them in oil. Hot oil. After dipping them in salt.

I hate the media too. I have the local rag next to me screaming 'Scores die as terrorists hunt Britons'. What the FUCK? I know I live in Britain, but does it not matter that 'scores of people' have died? Would this incident have not mattered at all if Americans and Brits had not been involved? And I know this is a rag I'm referring to, not a national newspaper, but I saw nearly the exact lines quoted in a national newspaper and it's really bothering me, this angle that foreigners and the wealthy were targeted. Excuse me, but you perhaps did not notice this in your haste, but people have died. And not all of them were wealthy or foreign. They were ordinary people. They don't matter? IS this incident important because it involved the rich and Un-Indian? And that Israeli links are being mentioned. Are the media not jumping ahead of themselves? What kind of actual proof exists for any of this? Could they kindly for once quit bothering about TRPs and circulation numbers and just give us the goddamn plain facts?!

And the police did actually get involved. Some of them died. That is awful. But they were doing something! Given their public image of lazy, corrupt, never-lifting-a-finger types, this is ... comforting? Pardon my callousness.

What I'm really sick of is the muslims getting the blame everytime. No I do not have proof to say they were not actually involved and should not be blamed. But with each incident the numbers against this part of the population go up and that's just raising communal tensions. We do not need that!

A colleague came by and asked me if I had any relatives in Mumbai (And she actually said Mumbai!), I'm touched by that! Thanks J!

I' praying for the city and its people.

And as for the scum — I curse you. Shraap waala curse. Expletives aren't enough for you.

Edited to add: Gordon Brown has condemned the attacks.

Right. Thanks. That helps a whole lot ... Not. I'm sick of politicians making statements like this. We don't want to hear them anymore. They don't mean a thing.

Time can be frozen

in Bubblewrap.

Because...

You can grow up, do multiple degrees, hold a hot-shot hi-flying big ass job, become a parent... all those adult things.

And yet, the minute you see bubblewrap, you're five years old again.

Some day

none of this will matter

Madness Times Infinity

Since Rayshma says she's facing writer's block when blogging about these things, I'm going to try and fill in the blanks about our mad weekend moments. They seem funnier out of context so wait for the explanations.

1. See now THAT is why we don't up and leave like these heroines. We need a porter to carry all our luggage and it's always a problem finding one. (You're hardly going to ask the man you're leaving to please help you with luggage!)
2. HAHAHA!! Yeh Chinese mein Chloe to chhole bulate hain!!

1.] Was after watching a few videos which involved the heroine doing a classic bunk and leaving the hero heartbroken and confused...among other things.

2.] Was while watching 'Samantha Who?' with Chinese subtitles. They were using English to spell names and kept mis-spelling 'Chloe'. Tch tch.

The Sphinx Had A Woman's Head...

... because it makes sense. What else could have made the Sphinx such a complex thing? If wit and cleverness were the order of the day here then the Sphinx would have had Rowena Ravenclaw's head. But anyway.

The reason I thought of this is this article. I like her sign off:

What we want is a man with a full head of hair, a luminous jacket, and a good pair of lungs. We want someone who can shift crowds and move horses for a damsel in distress. We want our very own Superman.

Okay, it sounds nice. Rather, it sounds like a nice and simple solution to that age old question. Trouble is, I can't bring myself to think of it as anything beyond clever answer. It's not really practical you see. Women are to blame for this. According to the media anyway.

I am most certainly a feminist (okay wait, that doesn't seem to have any bearing on anything here) ... I cry foul when I hear a man go 'Women! Never know their own minds... so indecisvie!' To be fair, I agree that women are complex creatures by nature. But what I need to be crying foul about is how women are made to look indecisive, are projected as flighty creatures. Specially regarding men. Beings that can never decide what they want in a man and if a tiny unwanted trait is big enough to call something off.

It strikes me just now that my previous statement doesn't necessarily apply to any of the women I know. Most of them happen to be happily partnered or in no particular hurry to find a man and therefore not finicky or incessantly worrying over whether or not some poor chap is perfect for them and if they should look about some more.

But. There are such women. Plenty of them. I mostly see them on TV, or in movies. But that doesn't make them any less irksome. Sure I can switch the TV off or walk out of a movie. And that would leave me with books. I don't find much respite there either, however. I'm going to have to take up gardening at this rate.

How is it that the paramount life-changing dilemma in the lives of these projected, supposedly-imitating real life females is 'Which guy do I choose to be with?'. I'm not saying it is impossible for any woman to be involved in such drama. But why does it seem mandatory that all these women on screen representing the women of today have the same and only the one problem to define them — their life and their story. Why? It's rather demeaning and shrinks the role and the purpose of it to just one thing. Guy hunting. Surely there's more to the lives of modern women than just that? There definitely is. And I do not mean shoe shopping. Or clothes shopping. Or agonising over thread-counts in the sheets they buy. I mean deeper and more important issues. Like perhaps dealing with parents who have expectations that clash with your own. (And why is it that parents on screen are mere side characters?). Or losing contact with old frineds and battling with your feelings on realising that things might never get back to how they were. Or the age old 'What is my life about?' question. Realising that you're working your ass off and not getting much out of it and trying to get more out of life by doing something differently. taking up a new hobby. Why not any of these?

Women on screen are a bloody cliche. And I'm tired of being projected as a cliche. I am not one. And neither are any of the women I know. We do not spend hundreds on shoes. We do not max out our credit cards. We do not get stuck on one guy and refuse to let him move on. We do like to keep house and do a fairly good job of it. And are proud of those skills just as much as we are of our professional achievements. And we definitely do not define ourselves by our men, as extensions of them. Nor do we see-saw between several men trying to decide which one is nearest to that picture in our heads. Nor, break-up because the chap didn't remember an anniversary, doesn't arrange the cushions in a certain way, does not spout sonnets at the drop a hat, cannot dance, doesn't know what to do when you go out to a formal dining restaurant... endless list which is pointless.

In direct contrast to our projected lives, we love with passion and hold on to that love. Even when the object of our affections is nowhere near the perfect-person we had imagined. We learn to re-configure that image so we see this real-life person as perfect. And no one is forcing us to do that.

I've always had these 'I won't want to live with/marry any man who expects me to cook and wait on him hand and foot' ideas but I recently realised that it doesn't work that way. Marriage is about walking forward to that point and meeting half-way, willingly going out of your way to do things for your partner because they would do the same. And actually, it doesn't even seem like going out of your way. It just becomes second nature to do that... to look out and look after each other. That you will find a way of working around annoying habits if change isn't an option. And then, it won't matter if you don't get flowers every week, or that your partner doesn't seem to brag about you to friends, or that you don't get breakfast in bed. Because there are still moments and instances which speak, gestures that sweep you off your feet, though you hadn't ever thought them to be your idea of being swept off your feet, times when you're thankful you're not getting what you think you want. Because women are complex but can still be understood — just like a Sphinx's questions can be answered.

Flowers schmowers. Hmpfh. Can't compete with encouragement in the form of a violin bow.

Awful Pun Time Again

Brace yourself.

Do Arabs have good o(i)lfactory senses?

:D

The Question of Life, the Universe and Everything

Tamma* 2 and I, in conversation yesterday:

me: you tell me what you've been doing

Tamma: oh nothing.. had a long weekend..would have been good except someone stole my bag.. and it was one of those bags which i always carry..had all those small yet irreplacable things which make up your daily life so now im severly incapacitated

me: uh oh did you lose money?

Tamma: anyway..pulling things back together but thats not really the problem... whats worse is that no one seemed to take me seriously..it was like yea what did you expect will happen its not like i was really careless..in this case

anyway..then i lost my bus pass..

me: oh nooo

Tamma: which costs a grand

me: crap!!!

Tamma: so now im stuck in this existential crisis...

me: definitely looks like it

Tamma: something like...who am i? why am i here?? and where the hell is my bus pass???

me: hahahahha i think the last question is more important, helps you figure out the other two you kow :D

*Tamma = younger brother, in Kannada

The Weird Customer

On most days, I only have myself to shop for. And since I tend to not stock groceries for the week but rather as and when I need them, I noticed that my shopping basket would be a rather fascinating thing to observe on any given day. The explanations that could be imagined for my buying those items in that combination might be even more entertaining. Among other things, a random shopping trip has ended up with me buying:

• Salted peanuts and sticky tape
• One lemon, coriander and kitchen foil
• Potatoes, onions and a reindeer soft-toy
• A croissant and a pen

Oh Brother!

The Bennett sisters might have had it very different if they'd had a brother.

Aside from the fact that there would be no entailment or money issues per se, that is.

Actually, the Bakshis from Bride and Prejudice might be a more relevant case-in-point here than the original Bennets. Either way, George Wickham would have had to face an enraged brother who dealt him a swift punch rather than the classy Mr.Darcy who bought his consent. Or in the Indian case, an enraged brother and a horde of his friends who would leave no stone unturned in hunting the vile Wickham down and serving him his just desserts. But that's still not the point.

The point is, Elizabeth Bennet would have been a very different person had she had a brother. As would her sisters. A brother would have tried the patience of even a saintly creature like Jane for starters and she wouldn't have been quite the same shy thing she was. But when childhood had passed and pulling pig-tails and upsetting buckets of water over each other had faded into memory, and in the place of children would be adults dealing with their own issues... things would have changed way beyond their ken.

A brother would have influenced Lizzy choice of partner more and perhaps even equipped her with the requisite skill to deal with a personality like Mr. Darcy in a more adept manner. Which would be well. Except that, putting aside the brother's opinion of the suitor(s), brother and sister would have been sure to wonder at some point 'Where did it go? When? What did we lose and why does this feel uncomfortable now?'

I've noticed this in my immediate circle at least. Brothers tend to get a bit weird over time. They will praise their female siblings (or close cousins) to the highest skies, especially in front of girlfriends (thereby creating impossible expectations to be met and fostering just the slightest resentment between the parites which, depending on their personality and compatibility, said female parties will then try to bridge, or not)... but when that is done, they forget that they might like something about the same sister. More often, the case is that the brother in question is going to be stuck on some point of disagreement and instead of accepting that the sister is an individual and is therefore allowed her opinions, thoughts, feelings, way of doing things — entitled to these things — choose to fester in resentment over the fact that the sister isn't as they thought or expected her to be.

"She isn't social enough"

"She isn't traditional enough"

And more such complaints. In a sense, they do show concern... concern that the sister might be jeopardising her chances in life somehow by not adhering to these things. But that view still doesn't do justice for wholly ignoring the desires of the female in question. What if she likes being reclusive... maybe she's happier this way. Do you not then, want her to be happy? Would you honestly rather she makes an extra effort to be social or traditional or whatever, all the while grimacing and wincing inside that somehow she had been let down by someone she thought she could trust and be her self around. Someone who is family.

Scout Finch got yelled at by Jem for not acting like a girl enough. And yet, she became a lady — without even him knowing it.

Naam-Karan

Indian names might come across as rather funny (or scary, depending on your POV) as JV, one of my favourite bloggers, once pointed out. Fair enough. They're hard to pronounce, have all these hi-fundoo meanings, a million variations in spelling and well, for someone used to a much simpler nomenclature system, they can be quite daunting.

But... (There has to be a but, of course, but of course!) Who said we Indians ourselves had to have it any easier? Okay perhaps not easier, but... in anyway different. There are a few names out there which leave you absolutely puzzled, when the meaning is taken into consideration. Such as:

Abhinetri: What?! Who would name their child 'actress'??!! And why??!!!

Suvidha: Really? Seriously?! You want to name your child 'facility'?! G's response when I told her about this one was "Imagine someone calls her and she isn't around... they'd get this message: Yah Suvidha is waqt upalabdh nahi hai, kripaya thodi der baad koshish karen.'"

Adhunika (Galadriel's contribution): She tells me it relates to technological development... I cannot think of any suitable retort to it actually.

And let's not even go into whether and how people do live up to their names, or not.

My sanskrit teacher once said that 'Savita' was technically a male name. I'm yet to confirm this, but if it's true... then all thr women we know called 'Savita' are in for a big jolt :P

You got any funny names to contribute?

And So the Madness Begins!

So, guess who's in town?! :D

Rayshma!!!!!

Madness is now officially here as she herself declared and it started at about 10 this morning, which was when she set foot on English soil. Or airport tarmarc, if you will.*


I was a whole hour late in actually meeting her (in my defense, I expected her flight to land on time if not late and immigration formalities to take some more time therefore my timing of arrival would have been perfect as I planned) all the same... I am terribly sorry for being late and I apologise. I'm yet to get a proper account of that hour but I did get the gist that it involved her panicking thinking I wouldn't turn up, and if I did, I'd miss her because she wasn't standing where I'd requested that she do. I hereby decalre publicly that I'm a woman of my word and you may rely on me to do what I have promised, come hell or high water. Unless you piss me off that is.


Anyway, so we met and greeted each other like, as my darling dad puts it, a pair of fighting cats — there was much high pitched screeching involved. Quite apt if you ask me. There were also warm hugs and great grins and she did say something for me being ate but I only caught the end of the sentence which was '... bitch!'. So yes, happy union all around. Oh and she also let go of her trolley when she saw me and ran to hug me, so the trolley promptly careened and crashed into the nearest guy standing. Not that we cared much.


And then we went out and waited for the cab to come pick us up. Which took its time and in the meantime all we had to identify it was 'It's a red Fiat'. Neither of us being conversant in car company logos, we stuck to the colour red and gathered much entertainment out of looking out for every red car passing by and peeking inside. Eventually our cab did arrive and the driver was a rather dashing looking young man in a suit. For a full two seconds I thought it must be a mistake that the guy in the suit was going to drive us... he looked more like the city boy types who was about to take his girl on a date... but no, it was indeed the driver. He lugged Rayshma's luggage, stowed it. Let us sette down in the backseat and after asking for the required locaton details... started off. And we resumed conversation. Or we would have anyway, if driverboy would have let us. He wanted to know where we were from, if it was our first time in London, oh okay so I live here... and then he promptly switched the radio to some channel that was playing hindi music and told us that he understood and spoke these many languages and was Afghani and Rayshma and I nodded seriously and said'Impressive' as was obviously expected of us. He then realised we were not about to actually talk much to him and concentrated on his driving. Sorry driverboy, we really would have liked to talk to you... but we had a lot to catch up on ourselves. Perhaps next time. Oh ya, Rayshma's hubby called in the middle of all this and I got confused since the display had her name and asked 'Why are you calling me?!' and she said 'Arre mera pati hoga na!' and then proceeded to have a wifely conversation which involved mock-scolding him saying 'Liar!'.

Landing at her PG played out into a whole new story in itself. Apparently her place hadn't actually been booked and had we not turned up when we did, she'd not have had a place at all. But we did and that was that. The landlord freaked us both out somewhat. An elderly desi, he was rather fussy and flighty... insisted on stowing her bags (very heavy bags I must add), told her she wouldn't have to worry at all about anything, insisted on making tea for us and chatted 100 to the dozen in the midst of all this. When we went to have tea, in the dining room (He's extremely meticulous), the table was set very nicely with individual place settings, coffee for her and bowls and plates for us all and a million different snacks. He piled our plates high and insisted we eat and... whew. He sounds very nice... but I'm here to tell you, the sooner she moves out the better for us all.

Then, having firmly said she wasn't coming back for dinner, we set out and I showed her how the transport works and stuff... I'm sure I confused her more than I helped :P

In very short, we got to central London and did loads of vellapanti, walking around, had very lovely cocktails in this bar in Leicester Sq, had dinner at the nearby italian where I came up with the most insane ideas for restaurant policy regarding finger bowls, and then I saw her off on the tube to her place. I should let her fill you in on details.

All in all, I am extremely happy she is here and over the moon that I shall have company to be my mad mad self around. (We actually meowed at Victoria and the company we were with had to pretend they didn't know us :P)

So, welcome to London Rayshma... I hope this will turn into a long term stay!


* I only just realised that the 'will' in 'If you will' indicates choice rather than action. How daft, I know.

Dear Humanity in General

Shut the eff up a minute, lend me your sodding ears so I can scream this out so loud that it gets imprinted on your bleeding brains and you never ever ever forget it.

Do NOT:

• Be so ungracious as to arrange to meet where is convenient for you to get home from. Think of the other people you're meeting and how they will manage once night has set in, home is far away and brains have been addled by alcohol.
• Ask for classified information/gossip about a friend of the person you are asking. In the least, it isn't tactful at all and makes you look stupid and unreliable. At its worst, you will be blocked from having further contact, the friend shall be warned of your poking around affairs that are not you concern and your name shall be slimed forevermore thereupon.
• Be a pain-in-the-ass house guest. You're being done a favour by your host by being provided space, so behave like it. Don't give unsolicited advice. Don't get too friendly with friends/relatives of your host. Don't dig for gossip about your host. And most importantly, lift a bloody finger around the house to help. Even if there is help available. Offer to make tea if you cannot cook. Put your clothes away and make your bed. ASK before using something that isn't yours. And if you have kids, don't assume the hosts kids will love to share their toys... you're only visiting, don't get too comfortable.
• Repeatedly ask to be picked up when visiting someone. Even the most direction-challenged person can seek help if they have an address ready. And there are maps available. Make an effort to remember routes when visiting. 'I'm so helpless' is bloody lame after two times.
• Repeatedly ask for info you've already been given. My blog url for instance. Check your chat records if you're that eager to read it again. On the other hand, if it really did matter that much, you'd remember it, or bookmark it.
• Hang all over someone who has a partner. PDAs are for partners and family. I don't give two hoots if you're a best friend/rakhi sister/good friend/drunk... keep some distance. Specially if you haven't had a chance to/made an effort to befriend said partner and make them feel included/comfortable. Just because you're friends does not mean you treat the friend like private property. They are definitely not YOUR property so have enough sense to know where to draw the line. Or it will be drawn for you.
• Comment on the apparance/career choice/dressing sense/ANYthing of someone you're only acquainted with. Commenting is not a luxury available to acquaintances.
• Butt in on conversations that do not involve you. Know where to draw the line.
• Dominate conversations/gatherings. 'That's just how I am' is not an excuse.
• Take this missive lightly.

Teenage

is the pupa stage of a human life.

How else do you explain the metamorphosis of an innocent, trusting and open child into a cynical, wordly, materialistic, narrow-minded adult? Six years of self-absorption do it.

Who's Joy???

Rayshma and I were talking.

R: they NOW want me to apply for a schengen visa...

me: for what joy?

R: no... so i can travel around once i'm there

...

oh.. sorry.. i thought u meant 'joy' as in my friend Joy

And she thinks playing with blinds is funny :P

The New Social Order

I'd like to start an umbrella campaign.

By which I mean the random exchange of umbrellas between complete strangers on the street.

Why? Have you noticed how nice and colourful everyone's umbrellas look*? It's boring to carry the same one every day... would be fun to simply exchange and pass it on every once in a while :D

*Do not mention black umbrellas at this point, I very well know they exist. I cannot provide answers to every question. Hmpfh!

Edited to add: This is mine, in case you were wondering. It's girly, I know. I'm a girl.

A Dewdrop Dream

It has been years since you and I parted ways and though anyone would think I might've managed to forget about you, I haven't. I still think of you time to time. I think of us. I think of how it might've been had we managed to work this out and stay together.

Looking back, sometimes it seems we never really stood a chance. Or did we? Our families didn't approve of our alliance and therefore our separation was inevitable. But... really? Religion parted us. Or rather, they parted us because they had religious differences. We'd been getting on so fine on our own. So fine!

The kids are rather divided on this whole thing of course. Some of them couldn't care about it one bit. Some of them wish earnestly to be united with you and the pack there. Some of them have taken to deliberately and radically besmirching you. They make me proud, sad or angry depending on what they think... But it's beyond me now to guide them. Or I feel so anyway. The more optimistic ones feel not all is lost. But they seem to be outnumbered by the sour ones and that weight is a heavy and dead one for my brighter ones to counter. I feel such happiness when occasionally one of them comes across one that belongs to you and comes home with eyes shining, full of stories, exclaiming about what wonderful company they found. And I feel a glimmer of hope then ...

I know much has happened since then and we cannot seem to stop sniping... specially over that piece of property. And yet occasionally, I think we'd be able to work things out if we gave ourselves a chance.

And you must admit, this isn't an existence to be admired. Living within sight and yet having to trudge day after day in a strange rhtythm that involves animosity and hatred.

And I know it's your identity that you worry about here, worry that you may lose it again if we got back together. But I promise I shall toe the line this time. I shall respect your wishes, desires and thoughts and give you the space you require. If only we may be granted the chance to try and make things work again.

I do miss you.

And I dream of a day when perhaps we may be together again.

When we shall not be the rival countries India and Pakistan.

??? ^(**^%$£!!!!

Hypothetical conversation:

"I'm going to Nice for a weekend!"

"Niiiiiiiiiice!!!!!"

"No, actually, it's neece"

Tee hee!!!

PJ of the day:

Why don't the Indian police wear full-sleeved uniforms?

Kyunki, kanoon ke haath bahut lambe hote hain :P

(The arm of the law is quite long)

Yea yea, I know...

Every Dog* Has Its Day

I see some of you were very curious when I mentioned my wedding in the last post. Just clarifying things... nothing is coming up immediately, it's just something that I'd been thinking of as a part of the future sometime... every girl plans her wedding, cmon!! BUT, I shall indeed share news of such nature as and when it does occur :) Mera bhi number aayega!!!

In other news: I was watching a few videos and came across some which were essentially of owners showing off what tricks their dogs could do.

I'm a little annoyed by this though. I can understand guide-dogs and rescue-dogs being trained... but those are to help people. This is just purely someone ordering their dog about for their own pleasure and convenience. And it really irks me.

Aren't those poor dogs living beings in their own right? Do they not deserve to be treated as individuals? I can understand house-training pets so they do not poo all over your house, bite strangers, sit on the sofa or chew it and the curtains, hurt your babies and create a mess within the house. That stuff is essentially drawing boundaries for behaviour and it still seems acceptable.

But 'training' another creature to fetch your newspaper, slippers, shake hands on command, sit, stand, run, roll-over... it's not anything I find I can digest. Why must any creature be subject to YOUR whims and fancies in order to sit or sleep or eat? What is the point of training a pet to do these things? Entertainment? Since when did lording over someone (and indeed they ARE someone) become entertainment? Personally, it only makes me view such people with contempt. I honestly cannot comprehend making another creature's life all about serving you... it's just not right.

If you have thoughts that are different to mine, please do share them. I'm not averse to hearing different opinions, maybe even accepting them if tey make sense.

And speaking of weddings and dogs in the same breath, a long time ago, G and I were talking about things and I was telling her that I really want a dog. Like really really really.

Digression. I react to dogs the way some people react to babies. I want one. My eyes go all melty and my state is between longing and adoration... and in this country it's all I can do to not walk up to dog owners and their dogs and pet the creatures... pull them to me and go all 'Whoosh my liddle pumpkin... gooshy gooshy!!!', chase them and roll around with them. Sigh. I so badly want a dog that it hurts.

Anyway, I said to G that I would wait till I got married to have a dog because I couldn't really take care of one on my own at that point, living alone and all. And G goes:

"Arre dekh na! That's such a brilliant answer!! Tujhe koi dekhne aayega aur poochega ki tujhe shaadi kyon karni hai toh tu bolegi 'Ji actually mujhe ek kutta chahiye!'" (Such a brilliant answer when someone comes to 'see you' as a suitor. They'll ask why you want to be married and you'll say 'Actually, I want a dog')

*And indeed, their female counterparts.

Onwumbiko*

I've had to face mortality a lot, lately.

My favouritest uncle passed away a month or so ago and I still haven't actually come to terms with that. It doesn't seem real yet. Even though there are random moments in my day when I think 'Why did you have to leave us?'.

And today I received news that my aunt's FIL had passed away a day after he was reported to be recovering well from an operation on the day before. I'm not quite devastated but I am grieving and I am somewhat upset. He wasn't particularly closely related nor was I really close to him... but given that I lived at their place for a while and we did make some memories then, this is hard to deal with. I smile thinking of how he said 'I shall call her Princess now' when I met him mere months ago and how he would be happy at the tiny fact that at family gatherings I was the only one other than mom in the kannada-speaking crowd who would make an effort to talk in Tamil and thus somehow make them a part of the gathering.

There have been several other deaths in the last year. Not all of them really registered. But mum's best friend lost her husband and I really like the lady, it's hard to not feel anything in such a case. Specially seeing as how the gentleman passed away weeks after my meeting him and coming to London. There are the sundry elder relatives I lost.

And each time I think 'My wedding shall take place without their presence'. It makes a difference because my wedding has been the embodiment of happiness to me. And I wanted all these people to have been there to share it with me. But they're all gone now.

My favourite uncle. I had high hopes there. I wanted him to be there and do my kanyadaan along with my parents and my other aunt and uncle. It meant a great deal to me. Because these three couples are the elders who truly shaped me. And while my parents can never be matched, the other four adults are, were, will always be the people who were close enough to being parents too... surrogate parents, just to have a term to describe them. And now one of them shall not be there. And lord knows who else I shall have to miss.

And sitting here, it's making me think if I should simply abandon what I have here and go home so I can build memories while I still can. Speak to my grandparents, hear the stories from my childhood again, actually be able to understand their point of view on things that matter to them, understand what those rituals we follow mean, tell them about my views on different things...

I know for a fact that going home will only drive me mad. There isn't much to do there and I don't have many friends left. And this is my life now. But I still wonder if I should chuck it all and go home to be with the ones I love, even if I have trouble expressing it and I am a wilful child around them, more trouble than fun. I know that your thoughts do turn this way when you lose someone, but I still wonder.

And then I think, isn't it shameful that I have lost someone dear and I haven't, cannot even grieve properly? Does it seem disrespectful and somehow lessen their importance to me because I am not shedding tears over losing them.

The tears are there... I only blink them away because they catch me unaware and I do not want to cry around anyone except myself. I walk the streets defiantly, head eld high, daring the world to cross me... and steal a few moments where my head is down and my eyes are focused on the sidewalk. I nearly miss my stop on the tube because I'm so lost in contemplating the turn of events and its corollary meanings. I look into the eyes of a stranger who thanks me for something and I'm surprised to see the genuineness of her smile and the light in her eyes and I wonder if she can see I don't quite reciprocate. And I wonder if she can tell Death keeps me from it. I wonder if people can tell when someone has been touched by death when it's this remote. And yet I cannot comprehend my loss when I am alone. It just feels strange and disconnected.

Aunt once said to me that we remain in debt of the people we meet... and if we do not manage to repay those debts, then we shall be associated with those people again when we are born again. I find that somewhat comforting. Because it means that I shall still be able to be with these people again and give them their due.

Yet I cannot stop wondering if being here now is what I ought to be doing.

I am DewdropDream. And tonight, I am questioning Life.

*Death I implore you. From Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe.

Status Messages

I have such MAD friends really. One look at their status messages and you know. Status messages are great insights into people's personalities really. Samples:

R: jab dil hi toot gaya, ek phone ka kya karen

S (Could dedicate a whole section to this fella): Singa pura bheeg gaya (Has recently moved to S'pore and is rather overwhelmed at the monsoon there)

To err is human, to arrrrr is pirate

B: Ampersands with Attitude (Which I thought was the name of his band till he told me he was being beset by ampersands in the coding he was doing that day :P)

M: If you love something, let it go. If it doesn't come back to you, hunt it down and kill it. (No she isn't scary as she sounds. Not scary at all!)

And then there was the kid brother, wo, upon being urged to change his rather bland status message to something else by a friend, promptly responded by changing his status to 'Something else'.

More to be added. Watch this space!

It's Time For Acceptance Speeches!!!

This one is from La Vida Loca, Rayshma AND Never Mind!!

And truly, it feels like I have found a sorority on blogsphere in these three. And the ones I pass the award on to are:

Rayshma: There's more to us than just the blogs now :)

La Vida Loca: My first kannada-speaking contact on blogsphere and she opened up a whole new world for me!

Never Mind!: She says she doesn't have many BFFs in reality but it would be hard to not like her and wish her for your bff really.

Medha: Simply because we do go back a long way and it all began with me blog-stalking her hehe!

Mahi: She introduced me to narcissism, alcoholism, liberal talk lightening up, being fun and remaining a great person while doing all that. All from her blog. Here's to you girl! Do wish you'd get back to blogging :)

Eve: I'm at a loss for words when it comes to her... but I hope the award says it all for me, from me.

Sree: We began with 'arvoing' and it's been great right since then!

Silvara: I'm just glad to be a part of her little corner of blogsphere (okay maybe not a little corner)

Alwayshappykya: Wish you'd be around more often!!!

Snippetsnscribbles: I'm liking our association and I hope we shall continue for long!

I Love Lucy: Sporadic contact, but am hoping we get to know each other more!

??!: Being steady visitors at each other's space counts I think :)

RWS: Similarly

Flygye: Excuse my sporadic stop-overs at yours, glad to know you, all the same!

Amey: Hasn't once failed to say something amusing and/or profound and I like seeing him around!

Whencutdeep: Taken a temporary hiatus but it's nice having this sunny soul around.


And please do not take it personally if you don't see your name here, only reason I've left it out is because I feel too shy to assume we're friends.




This one is from Rayshma! Much humbled by the award and the little note she wrote saying why I was given the award. The reason I delayed accepting it was because I felt I hadn't really won it given the blog had a rather simple look. Now though, I feel like I have indeed worked for it :) Thanks Rayshma!! I'm going to give it to people who haven't already received it so don't take it as a rejection if your name isn't on here. My awardees are:

Romi: I never fail to laugh when I drop by her blog and her narratives are so heartwarming at the same time!

Alwayshappykya: I love her screen name to begin with. It's just so quirly! And she has a very nice style of writing and isn't afraid to share the most personal of details. Like it all!

Chronicus Skepticus: Hilarious. 'Nuff said.

The next few blogs are ones that really ought to be updated more often but they've got a lot of stuff on them already, having been around for a long time now. And the writing is awesome!! Go back and read their archives, you'll see what I mean. So here's to Medha, Mahima, Ashish and Mukta (See this post of hers especially)!

Say Hello to the American Uttam Dave

Gary Neuman, who has authored The Truth About Cheating: Why Men Stray and What You Can Do to Prevent It and has apparently even been featured on Oprah.

I'm yet to come up with a suitable insult for this man but join me in cursing him all the same after you read this.

As I like to say, a woman can never have too much shit to deal with, can she?

Enraged. Outraged

Some COLOSSAL IDIOT has gone and copied my entire blog description and profile description onto her orkut account and hasn't so much as attributed it to the author – ME.

I am mad beyond reason and justifiably so because somone thought it a great lark to simply lift the fruit of me efforts and shamelessly use it as their own. This is MY space, as are the words that flow on these pages and I spend time and effort writing here... to have all of that simply copied and pasted is not flattering as anyone might be thinking, it's simply disgustingly cheap and it makes me angry. At least have the decency to attribute it to the source you acquired intellectual property from. What kind of unimaginative creature are you anyway? You think you're so freaking clever using those lines there don't you? Well you're not. You're far too dumb to come up with anything by yourself, that's what.

Worry about me hunting you down and making you pay now. Copy-cat LOSER. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

Beware of the 21st Century Woman

M and I were having another of our crazy chats and she was complaining that her bf had suddenly been called away to meet another friend. Justifiably annoyed M said:

"saala. because of tt mera bf offline chala gaya. ruk main dekhti hoon S ko abhi... *folds sleeves up and takes the jhaadu in one hand* :P

me: hahahha jhaadu???!!! woman!! you're in the 21st century, try something more sophisticated!

M: wht.. hit him with my hair curler? :P

With Due Apologies to Eric Clapton

It's an early Sunday morning
She's dreaming in her sound sleep
She sees him talking to her
Making memories that shall keep
The phone rings LOUDLY
And it's him
Asking 'Tum office kyon nahi gayi???!!!!'

Bloggers

Do you think they have an aura about them that screams/announces/declares/says 'blogger' ???

I saw these two girls on the tube today... they looked like they might be sisters, rather attractive girls they were... looked as if they might be Indian, with acquired accents and acquired Londonstani style... one had pixie-type hair and the other had a classic short bob and they looked absolutely gorgeous. And at least one looked like she might blog.

Maybe I'll meet them again someday as bloggers and remember this.

I Have A Gift

For giving gifts. :D I'm known to be a thoughtful gift-giver and have been told so on several occasions. And really, I cannot even imagine giving a less than perfect gift at any point (And no, please do not take this as a cue to ask me for ideas... because I'm only talking about people I know when I talk about being a thoughtful-giver. Yes, I'm selfish like that, sometimes :P).

On a slightly tangential... errr... note... I shall never forget how my aunt called her youngest 'the gift that keeps giving every year' because they share their birthdays.

I'd probably have had that fortune myself if not for my characterstic streak of not following the norm and fighting to be born 4 days before the new year and my mother's birthday. But hey, I love... *heart* Dec 27th for a birthday so no issues. Anyway.

Gifts. I'm not doing a how-to here. I'll just allow you guys to take a peek into what went into the planning and buying of a gift most recently.

As birthdays go... this was a big deal. It was a bigger deal than most even then. And so it had to be prfectly perfect. Thankfully, it took me little time to rack my brains and come up with ideas. And here's what the back of my little work note-book reads like, in reference to said birthday gift:

Scarf-Gloves set from Chelsea FC: Too cheap.

Ship-building/aeroplane building kit from Model Zone: Won't be of much interest. No 'wow' factor.

Cricket kit: Too expensive. Have no clue about it. Research needed.

Concert tickets/ football match tickets: No idea where to buy. Also may not actually have time to attend show.

*Band name* Memorabilia: Pshaw. Not so 'wow'. Also don't know what and where to buy.

Original Fifa/NFS: Will spoil eyes. Will also get stuck to comp all day. Don't want that.

Book: Hmmm...

Signature plectrum: Hmmmm...

Ayyyyynnnd the winners are!

1] A CD of much-wanted songs

2]A much-wanted book

3] The plectrum!! It's silver with the inlay of a dragon on a white background and it's... a guitarist's luxury.

Receiver was much happy with the gifts. Amen.

'Neo', Happy Birthday you crazy geezer!

Mummy!!!

It's a pretty well-known and documented thing, this bond men have with their mothers. The obsession men have with mom's cooking especially (Something that is there even if it's not actively encouraged... ask the Mad Momma). And truly, it's maddening... not because gfs/wives/female friends have to constantly put up with comparisions to the exalted skills of the mother of the man (And god bless those men who've learned to not compare). Okay, it is a wee bit annoying, but let's put that aside. I ask you, why focus on culinary skills alone? Haven't your mothers accomplished other things? Why the cooking only??!!

Also, why go on and on and on about how much love there is between your mother and you? We girls don't keep on about how much we love either of our parents, if you've noticed it anytime. Why the need to make it known to the whole world? And don't you dare get defensive on me because I have brothers and they do the very same thing. I'm including them in this whole thing.

Actually, it's not even just the mothers you know. It's anybody, any woman who happens to mother the guy a bit. Sisters, cousins, rakhi sisters, aunts... there always has to be a declaration of how great so and so is because they do such and such motherly thing. Mothers win this anytime though.

I'm raving... but here's what I actually wanted to say.

I'd gone house hunting last evening. The house I went to see is a four-people share and after looking about the rooms, the current tenants invited me to sit down and have chat. The room that is being let out presently belongs to a guy and I happened to meet him too. We got talking and he was quite nice company. Pleasant-faced, affable, willing to talk. He told me he was a chef and had been in London for nearly two and half years and he was now heading back to his homeland. And he said:

"I miss my mother!!! And her cooking... and my dogs."

Some Things I Wish Came With User-Support

Gripping the pen/pencil/whatever when trying to write: Whaaaaaaat???!!! It's a genuine problem! I've had a really weird grip for ages and although my handwriting is superb (It is okay? Am inordinately proud of it, so shut up!), I'm still at a loss as to how a pen should be held. My hand hurts after a bit and writing an exam has always been an issue thanks to this. Yeah I know, all normal people have trouble writing papers for two-three hour stretches... but this is a special case. No, I don't suppose you'll get it. But come now... if people can have classes for how to hold forks and knives and use them, then why not this???!!

Walking around in heels: I'm a young lady. Young ladies walk around in heels. It's a woman's prerogative to wear heels, according to the doctor I visited one time. So... knowing how to walk should be the logical step here right? Young ladies ought to look dainty and effortlessly light when stepping in heels. Not me though. No sirreeee... I feel, look and behave like an elephant when am in high-heels. I might even sound like one... but who's to say? Women clomping about in high-heels is a common sound these days.

Make-up: Who the heck is supposed to educate me on wearing kajal so it looks properly lined around my eyes? Brothers are useless when it comes to such education I tell you. Ulta they'll come and ask you for help buying stuff for their girlfriends. And then you get into trouble for recommending the wrong thing :P I just asked M to help me by sending a video of the thing and she refused. In spite of blogging about her. Where's all the louve gone I ask you? :P

Men: Need I say more? I still will though :D This is the stuff they ought to teach in school really! What use is learning history and geography when you're dealing with real-life combat situations where they won't be of use? If they MUST teach history then they should teach how much of a pain all those emperors were to their wives and how nothing has changed. They should teach us about how historically women have been dealing with male-induced problems... and help us carry that legacy on. And yes yes of course, guys can have similar courses in understanding women. (You don't have to really make efforts to make them attend... they'll automatically enroll when they turn 13 :P). Hmmm... I could open a school or something for this sort of thing... would be a big hit. And my brothers would be of great help here... given I've been giving them insider info on girls for ages now they really ought to reciprocate. Okay they can share the profits. Now they'll definitely contribute :P

Anything you want a user-support thingy for?

'Once upon a time, back in the 50's...'

This is a story. And it begins with a mug. Wel, it goes back a long time before that, but the mug is a good place to start.

In the story are two girls. There's me. And then there's M. Talking about M would keep me busy for a long time and would delay the story so I'll restrict myself to saying that she has an awesome blog template (yes M, I know, WHAT a starting point I had to pick!)... she's great company, mostly because she keeps odd hours and is usually up for a chat involving the most insane topics (unless she has exams, in which case forget conversations... she'll throw her three-inchers at you... I think), she's crazy to the nth degree about earrings and (oh my god she'll kill me for this one) never answers her phone. Now go over and say a quick hello to her and, if I'm still alive when you come back, the rest of the post shall have been written for you to read.

M and I have this thing going where we stage mock cat-fights over a certain model. Shan't mention names (mostly because I think we're having trouble enough between the two of us quarelling over him... we don't want any more competition, thank you very much :P). I should also explain that M was a classic sitting-duck for pranks and jokes at her expenses. Sadly she no longer affords such entertainment. You'll see why. The story now. It's as follows:

M: :)i am having tea in awesome new mug! looove it!

me: :D
I LOVE your new mug

M: i LOVE it too!!!

me: MUST we share all this love for things??? First Arker and now that mug bah

M: lol
hey
both were FIRST MINE!
hahahhahahahaa
*runs for cover while DDD finds things to throw at me* :P

me: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!! Is din ke aane se phele main mar kyon nahi bhagwaan!!! mujhe utha lo!!!!!!!

M: LOLLLLLL

me: nahhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!! :P

M: nautankiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ek number ki nautankii hai tuuu! :P

me: teri saheli huu chuppp

M: hahaha chal chal :P

me: tujhi se toh seekha hai maine I used to be one very shaant baccha before I met you and the rest of my current friends
B for example
drama queen that one is too

M: haan toh we made u more INTERESTING!:P
iske pehle bohot boring thi tu! pakau-chand!:P

me: okay I definitely agree to that

M: woh i wanted to say 'pakau-chand' so i said tt! :P hahahaha

me: :P hahaha tujhe bas bahana chahiye na
tu ruk
meri mug aur mera Arker
dono ko leke rahoongi

M: hahahahaha haan dekhti hoon main hum bhi kisi se kam nahi!

Then it turns out that said model is actually on one of the networking sites and we argue some more about saying hello to him and inviting him to our weddings and how we both are chicken-shit coz we're not doing it.

me: yeah but you know what??? This proves something He's MY find... so he's MINE first... and always!! You keep the mug and I.S :P

M: lollll! we'll see about tht. mug and I.S AND Arker ALL MINEEE :P :P LOL

me: hahahahahaha you're mental you know that/??

M: hahaha whaat nooooo this is wht perth winter mornings does to u :P
either that.. OR... not sleeping the entire night :P

me: next I know you'll start singing 'mera pyaar ek pyala hai' which is like so true dude :P

M: omg. which song is tht???

me: tera pyaar ek pyala hi hai
youtube it

M: hahaha auntyyyy... kaunse zamaane ka gana ga rahi hai?? :P04:23

me: tu dekh toh

M: okok will check it out!

me: NOW
mila????

M: haan re mila
and saw it

me: accha laga???

M: pakau gana hai :P hahaha

me: :P :P :P
M... you were more fun when you were a sitting duck dammit

M: hahahaha

me: Here I'd made full plans to blog about how you actually youtubed for some song that I made up :P And mind you, it was going very well
you actually asked 'Kaunse zamaane ka gaana gaa rahi hai aunty?' :P

M: u lost ur mojo dude. u have lost it. cant mock me anymore!:P hahahhaaha uhuh.

me: sheesh

M: with tht kinda lyrics..

me: hahahaha But dude!!!!

M: only YOU can come up with a song re :P

me: It is the perfect song your you!!!! You LOVE your mug
mera pyaar ek pyala hai is like so ... suitable!!! :P

M: waah waahh.. ustad DDD ali khan :P

me: what was your point though? That am a good writer? Or old fashioned??? hahahahhahaha

M: thot tt was not shero-shayari.. but stilllll

me: abbe chhup!!!

M: :P hahahaha good writer? joke tha kya? :P

me: yeah I write good jokes :P

M: totally living in the 50's dude.. tht was my point!

M, I'm still working on that song... by god you shall sing it one day! :P

My Warrior Fraternity

It's Raksha Bandhan today and it has been sveral years since I've had the fortune of being home to celebrate the festival with those men I adore. And I'm feeling quite down and out about not being there but I take heart from the fact that aunt is now home after years and she made the trip to go see my dad just so she could tie him a rakhi. Some day, that shall be me. I do however, choose to mark this day by professing my love for you guys (and yes I know it might be embarassing... but hey, sisters do that ;)). So, A, A, S & S... here's looking at you all:

A1: My sibling. Which basically means years and years of sibling rivalry... one that hasn't quite faded even in spite of not having lived in the same house for ages now. Who said growing up had to change thins between siblins? :) And yet, as you like to say, our love for each other has shone through all that. Always does.

Growing up, I was always in your shadow, known as 'A's kid sis' everywhere we went... and it was difficult sometimes, being known only as A's sis... watching you be the oh-so-popular and good-looking one in the family, having the limelight all the time. You could walk into any room and instantly be a hit, that's still how the way it works. But you know what? It's great that it is that way. I'm so proud of you. I love seeing you work your charm on people, issue those classic one-liners, make people laugh and basically fall in love with you. I love how you deal with random family, random strangers, how you deflect mum's comic dire threats... you are everything I'm not. You are the face of this family and you carry that responsibility so well. I was silly to have ever thought I wanted that. It's yours. What I have though is reserve. Plenty of it. And I'm happy to be this way. I'm happier not having to be te diplomat unlike you and constantly be nice to people... being blunt comes easier to me. And I know that's not how you'd want me to be, but you ought to know, the reserve is as much a family heirloom as the diplomacy and niceness are. It's just that only the second-borns get it :) ;)

You've had a difficult time the last few years and it is a pity that we couldn't share the burden then... for whatever reason. But I swear, I'd have done it then and I would still do it... I would without second thought hurt anybody who had the audacity to say anything against you. I'm nothing if not fiercely protective about you.

I do wish though that we could have more time together. I've changed a whole lot in the last few years and I wish we had more time together for you to see who I really am. To see who I am around my friends, who those friends are... all that.

In a few weeks' time you shall be raking in fame and big bucks... that you so rightfully deserve. And I cannot begin to tell you how wonderful it makes me feel to watch all this happen to you. No one deserves it more than you do. I can never tire of watching you around your friends, around family, doing the things you do. You're a joy to be with and I love you more than I can ever say or show. Sibling, I'll never stop being your kid sis... I'll always look up to you.

A2: My very first, sharpest memory of you is at that wedding of one of our uncles. You were still a student in those days and I remember you actually gave me the time of your day to go take a walk with me and respond with a hilarious response of 'Well I actually wanted to be a pirate but that didn't happen so here I am!' when I asked you what made you take up medicine. It was years later that your mum told me you'd wanted to be in the airforce but that didn't happen. And true, the idea of you in the airforce has a very strong appeal to it. But you know what? You are a doctor and you were truly born for this. And I've known that from the time you were working at that burns unit. How many other doctors would stay up all night talking to their patients discussing samosa recipes or some such? How many would without a second's thought go ahead and give CPR to a badly burned patient trying to save them desperately? How many would use humour as their main medicine? You will always be the best doctor I have ever known. Beyond any doubt.

But you're not only a doctor to me. You're the other elder brother I have. One from whom I learnt several valuable lessons, specially in the crucial period at th end of my teenage. Sure, I thought it a bit odd that you were rather outspoken and downright disrespectiful sometimes...But I came to understand that that was your odd way of showing you care about someone. I learned from you that I needn't blindly respect everyone and anyone older than I am... that people need to earn respect. And you've earned my respect... ages ago. I think you're the first person who taught me to look at the lighter side of life. Telling me to not stay cooped at home but use my college time to have fun, go out, meet friends... make friends. You were my sole company for months actually and boy was that good!!! You always knew everything there was to know and I wanted to keep asking you stuff just to hear you talk so comfortably on everything and anything.

You were there for me on a number of occasions. Boy-trouble type occasions too! You were there to celebrate my 19th AND 21st birthday... And you made them special by just being there. You also were the first in the family to consider my bf-related plans seriously and made sure I'd have ample support if you were not there personally. You did it in your own inimitable style too!! I won't forget the silence that follwed your pseudo-drunken speech. You are one of a kind really!!!

And you got married... despite all your initial anti-marriage talks. And I'm very glad you did because my sister-in-law is such a perfect addition this this very crazy family of ours!

You're my elder brother too... even if we don't actually have the same parents. Kaka ad kaku are as good as parents to me, if you ask me :)

S1: I don't even know where to begin when I begin talking about you. From those days when we were about 3 and 2 and we squabbled about who was taller, while standing on the rolled up carpet. Or the times when we were out in the afternoons while everyone slept, playing made-up games. Or the times when you were home for summers and at the young age of 9 or ten you'd discuss girlfriends. Or how you'd come to school to pick me up when you were there. Or how you follwed me home from school all the way one day and scared the shit outta me by giving me one vigoros slap on my back, staining my white school blouse with your handprint, because you'd been pretending to fiddle with the greasy chain so I wouldn't see you when I cycled past. You've been the light of my life. An absolute delight.

We've drifted apart in recent years given we now have careers and partners and what not to consider... and that's one of the biggest regrets of my life. Not being able to be your friend like we were as kids. But I'm hoping that shall change ... and soon. I merely have to think of you to get this very proud glint in my eyes. And yet, in spite of all my tries, I cannot still tel you how much you mean to me. You really are my pride and joy. My little brother. I love you a lot.

S2: My baby. :) Even though we're only four years apart... you'll still be my baby. You always have been... right since you were a tiny gap-toothed little creature with a gummy smile and a rather bald head... even though I once told your mom you were 'khout'. I assure you, I didn't even know what it meant. Now I do though and you're far from khout :D I know we all left you out a whole lot when we were kids... and I didn't make much effort to keep in touch with you individually back then... that's something I'm not proud of. But that doesn't mean I do not love you. You're the quiet, brilliant, cute and absolutely funny little brother of mine. You'll be a hot-shot lawyer in the not so distant future and I shall feel like a very proud mother hen watching you do your thing. For now though.... I look forward to more all-night chats about whatever you want to talk about to me. I just feel very glad knowing you want to share things with me.


The four of you are my warriors. You don't actually have to go and physically bash up anyone who hurts me or displeases me... but I know for sure that you'd do something akin to that if the situation warranted it. I don't think there's anyon else out there who is lucky enough to not one, but four such individually fabulous brothers... all doting on her :) You define a big part of the word 'family' to me. And knowing I have you makes me feel like the most blessed person in the world. May you all live very happily always (Or I shall personally make whoever is making your life miserable, and God, pay for it).

Happy Raksha Bandhan my brothers :)

Has it ever ocurred to you...

... that possibly, every original idea* that could ever be had, has/might've already been had?

*In terms of thought, not inventions, patents and such

It's All in Your Mind

I was recently labelled as 'mysterious' by Rambunctious Whippernsapper and had Snippetsnscribbles describe my blog saying it has 'witty and interesting office humour'. Thanks a million you both!

It makes me wonder though... Who am I actually when I blog? Being a Londoner and the word 'dewdrop' is a rather obvious part of that identity. But what about the rest? What comes to your mind when you think of DewdropDream the blogger?

What do I look like? What colour is my hair? How long is it? How tall am I? What do I dress up like? What is my voice like? What would I most often be found saying? Am I the serious sort who loves talking sense or am I constantly saying stupid things and making a fool of myself? What is an average day like, for me? What are my friends like? What am I likely to talk to them about? Am I technologically-competent or a dimwit? Am I gadget conscious? Do I possess an accent? When am out at a party, am I the life and soul of it or am I the wallflower? Or perhaps somewhere in between? What does my room look like? What kind of furniture does it contain? Do I prefer walking or do I like to take the bus or train? Am I very organised or do I go with the flow? What am I like when I meet strangers? What is my laugh like? How often do I laugh? How often do I frown? What am I like when I go shopping? What am I most likely to buy? Am I a spendthrift or am I tightfisted? What do I do in my spare time? Am I fun and intriguing or predictable and boring?

Go on then, tell me. What am I like in your imagnation?

Yeh Mera India

Bollywood's answer to Friends makes Hollyoaks look like porn

That's the headline of the review of 'Jaane Tu... Ya Jaane Na' that appeared in The Guardian. I haven't even started on the review and I'm actually having issues with this article. I'll try not to go on for too long about it, but the basic premise itself is so wrong. What possible comparision can there between the American F.R.I.E.N.D.S and British show Hollyoaks? They're based in two utterly different cultures, involve people of different age groups and most basic of all, F.R.I.EN.D.S was a comedy whereas Hollyoaks (what little I watched of it) seemed more of a drama. So yes, this review starts out on the wrong foot. But hang around for the main course of foot-in-mouth.

For starters (of wait those were already served, sceond helpings of starters then) 'Jaane Tu...' was in no way India's answer to F.R.I.E.N.D.S. And not only because the movie doesn't involve any actual sex between any of the characters. Which seems to be the main bone of contention with the reviewer. Who thereby misses the point of the movie, in my very humble opinion.

'... I found it as painful and mind-numbing as someone drilling a hole in my head and filling it with cement. A mainstream movie that seeks to portray India's MTV generation's progress into adulthood, it tiptoes through the issues of sex and dating with a timidity makes Hollyoaks look like porn. But the theatre was packed with people of all ages, from babies through to grandparents, and many twenty-somethings – who loved every minute.'

Mmmm... painful... mind-numbing... head... cement... I watched the movie you know. It made me laugh. And while I'm unable to appreciate the whole best-friends-louve-each-other angle*, this is what the movie is. It definitely is the portrayal of India's MTV generation's rogress into adult-hood but essentially, it's a love-story. Like most Indian movies are. And the fact that the reviewer missed this is evident in his very first sentence (beyond the allusion to porn in the headline)

'I sometimes feel completely out of the loop of contemporary India.'

Yes, Mr Nirpal Dhaliwal. Indeed you do. With all due respect, I am guessing you're a second or third generation British-Indian, the kind whose only connection to anything Indian is the trace element of 'Indian culture' which you exhibit when it suits you, mostly when you eat Indian takeout on the days you're too bored with your usual fare. As do I guess that only your Indian roots begot you the chance to write this review in the first place. Excuse my vituperative tongue, but I am absolutely riled by the fact that someone who doesn't even begin to understand the things that constitute being 'Indian' is daring to diss a product of that very Indianness.

And so, you merrily write things such as

After a date with Meghna, Jai returns home and breathlessly tells his mum, "I have a girlfriend!" and the two stay up late chatting excitedly about her. He bases this assertion on the fact that he watched a Bond movie with a woman who kissed him goodnight on the forehead afterwards. God knows what he would have said had Meghna let him have a fumble.

There it is, again. Sex. And as if to further illustrate your point, you come up with this gem

The film then enters a strange period in which people who aren't having sex with each other steal glances at someone they're not having sex with, envying or despising them for being the person that the one they're not having sex longs to be not having sex with above all others.

I won't even pretend that I understood what you were trying to say. And this after trying several times to read through that sentence. First in a rush, hoping the meaning would hit me, much like a train hits you if you run at it full speed... when that didn't happen, then slowly, pausing so I understood the seprarate segments... but I'm afraid I had to give it up... it just doesn't make sense you see.

And then you wrap up your narration of the plot with

He and Aditi tumble into a sexless, no-kissing embrace and decide to go off to New York together and happily never have sex ever after.

Sex? Is that ALL you could think of through this movie?? Beg pardon, but there seem to be some unaddressed issues here with you.

The point being that, the no-sex was not because this was an Indian film (not entirely anyway... there's enough smut in our movies, thank you, just not your variety), but because this was not about sex at all. This was about relationships. And here's a revelation. Relationships can be interesting and riveting without having to have sex to show for it. This isn't some 'sex is against the Indian culture' attitude either. It's just that, relationships aren't given the casual status in India as they are in... the west. A boy and a girl dating isn't about the first time they play tonsil-hockey and who was better at it, or when they finally 'did it' and how good and passionate it was on a scale of one to ten... it's not about sex only. It's about the more delicate things.

Like the first time you realise you have feelings for someone. And how you grapple with those feelings, feeling shy, nervous, hopeful and terrified of confessing your love to the object of your affections. The way your heart bursts with happiness when your feelings are reciprocated and you are finally able to tell the world (if it cares in the first place, which in India it does btw) that you've found love and are celebrating. It's about excitedly telling your friends about this new development, hopefully sharing the joy with your family as well and then excitedly discussing it... It's about the time when you plan the perfect birthday for your love interest, scrimping and saving so that every little detail is perfect. It's about the plans you make for your first ever Valentine's Day together. Your first walk together in the rain. Your first bike-ride...

It's about the things that seem to be taken for granted over at yours and seem stale to an experienced dating society.

Sex figures in it all, but it's not the only thing. That is the crux, of this movie, of India's MTV generation and the crux that should have been of the review of this movie. I'm not saying this was the most brilliant film ever made about the Indian youth. But I am saying that it merited better treatment than it received at your hands.

Everyone talks about the 'Indian culture' without ever really being able to define it. I won't deny that there is much that is wrong with it and the mindsets of the Indian society regarding a few things. But we're still able to dream of delicate firsts and camaraderie with parents on issues that are central to us as the new youth... maybe on cellloid, but dream we still do. Which is more than can be said about other sex-obsessed societies which have long past lost any similar values or connections they had to those values.

A review is only good in as much as the reviewer is able to fully immerse himself in the subject and then find flaws with it. It isn't sunbathing sitting at the side of the pool, paddling with your legs in the water.

On an aside, I thought it was commendable that the very-adored character of Jai in the movie didn't have a cell-phone and refused to have one. It speaks to me of an inexplicably grounded, sensible, sensitive, comfortablein-his-middle-class-skin character. And I would any day go out with him, purely for the fact that he doesn't have a cell phone.

*mostly because right since I discovered boys, the idea of ever having to consider your male best friend as a sexual object put me off big time. Turning an asexual thing into potent sexuality is NOT a turn on.