Dew drop dreams through the looking glass

January is badass

2011-01-26T12:34:00.001Z

Yeah, yeah, I know ... long time. Happy New Year and all that too.

I suppose I should have recounted Things That Mattered and Events of Importance in the Last Decade and maybe made some sort of resolution(s) but the truth is, I couldn't be bothered. I was living it up you see, which should say all there is to say on the matters above. Although I suppose if I had to say something, this would be it ... allowing for minor differences in our lives, that is. I still say though, like my heroine Anne did, "It's much nicer to think pleasant thoughts and keep them to yourself."

There is a squirrel. Not a real squirrel, mind you. A squirrel on a page, prominently displayed, visible at all times. A little red squirrel with a great bushy tail and spiky tufts behind the ears, surrounded by snow and standing in an attitude of duelling in a snowball fight to the death.

Squirrel had to be named. I have a tendency to think of creatures as 'he' by default. And so came the suggestions. Thor would be apt, or rather ... comically apt. Various Gods of Snow were called upon.

But then, the squirrel started to look more like a she. The sort of she who would go around generally being terrifying and calling people 'punk'. A bit like Thalia in Percy Jackson's tales.

And she was named January.

Dear Ma,

2010-12-08T14:01:00.000Z

You know how sometimes you think I don't make enough effort to cook and eat?

So yesterday, I thought I'd make that mint rice thingy for dinner and headed grocery shopping. But they'd run out of Coriander. 'No biggie' I figured and thought I'd make pasta instead (no, not quite the phodni-pasta. I'm looking at you, Catty. And you, Celestialrays). But they were out of Mozarella. And coriander, still.

So then I figured, what the heck, I'll make that corn upma you make sometimes. Nice and filling and I can bring it to lunch as well if I make enough. Plus, I could have the corn frozen for use later. But they had no corn.

Still not quite giving up, I thought I'd try my luck at the store nearer home. They didn't have this stuff either. Especially the corn. They ALWAYS have corn. How can they not have corn?! But they didn't. I could see the nicely lettered sign there but the shelf was empty. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Ptooey.

This was the point at which I gave up* and bought a preservatives-and-bad-stuf-rich pizza and headed home.

So you see, 'The universe is conspiring against me' isn't really a lame excuse for not cooking.

I'm just saying.

* I was too tired from all that gallivanting to think of another quick recipe.

Social fail

2010-11-27T19:09:00.000Z

On the best of days, FB has the tendency to annoy me.

Zadie Smith's critique of the movie/site/phenomenon in general sums up my fears/loathing rather perfectly. Which then begs the question, why am I still on it? The people I really want to speak to/really want to speak to me, know how to get in touch. So why am I still there, trying to be as inconspicuous and private as I can while the world around me opens up and spills details that are really silly, wholly private or some combination of the two? It isn't entirely that of course. There are those people who make good use of the platform and once in a while, you discover things that are good. But we're talking one crystal pure drop of sense in a vast ocean of murky idiocy here. And no, it doesn't make being there worth it. I'm there because it's the sensible thing to do. I'm on there because being there means the unknown becomes that teeny bit known, less danger of being caught unawares deer-in-the-headlights-fashion. Sure, this sounds like this thing is something really sinister and I'm simply waiting for it to jump out and bite me. But you may blame my cautiousness on my Capricornian traits. Thank you.

My problem on something that isn't the best of days is just how gauche this whole thing has become. How regular social norms can easily be ignored because, hey, this is such a fantastic mix of the virtual and the real. For example, the way people 'add' you. Say it's someone you've bumped into in recent times, it's probably okay to assume they'd remember you and therefore add them.* But if it's someone you haven't seen in a while, do you simply assume they'd remember you, because, oh, you've got these many common friends and so it's okay? What's wrong with sending a little note saying hello, introducing yourself or something? In the real world, this'd be the equivalent of going up to someone after years and without any niceties, standing next to them and pretending to the whole world that you know each other very well.

Let's not even go into how most often none of these people will deign to leave so much as a 'hello, how're you?' after having added you. So, why exactly are you adding me, again? Presumably you want to gawk at my photos and the posts on my wall and arrive at some wholly insubstantial conclusion of my life which will make you feel very smug for about two seconds till you forget my existence. Until the next time my mug pops up in your feed and then it's time for a rinse and repeat. And what if one of you has proceeded to block the other person fro viewing the things that make up their life on FB? Doesn't the exercise prove futile then? It's just another notch on the post of your friends list and honestly, does anyone care how many people there are on this list anymore?

I get the point. A lot of people want to 'stay in touch. Just in case.' ... does it really ever get to that though?

Talking of social graces, is it suddenly okay for people to simply pretend nothing ever happened when they've been the cause of much pain earlier? Someone who bullied you in school simply adding you up seemingly having forgotten what havoc they wreaked then? Or is it some form of 'growing up' where you forgive and forget and not hold grudges? If this was a real reunion there'd be fireworks. A scene perhaps. But it still wouldn't be perfectly hunky-dory if the former bully simply walked up to you and started talking as if you'd been friends all along. I'm not sure about this actually. Sometimes these things work out. You discover this brute isn't such a brute anymore, they apologise (maybe) and you part cordially thence, if not as friends.

It's just, with the spread of the social phenomenon that is FB, there are more and more grey areas to navigate now than there were before. Sure, some generation ahead will have it all figured out ... but in the mean time, there are those who have to routinely deal with the PITAs that these grey areas are.

I do have one positive thing to say about FB though. It makes for a fantastic Halloween costume!

* Which brings me to another point. Why is it that a lot of people seem to think it's okay to add you up because they have met you ONCE. Immediately after they meet you that too. For all you know, that's the only time you will meet them. Where then is the point of this 'relationship' where you see the occasional update, blandly wish them on their birthday, wedding, anniversary, birth of a child and maybe leave the occasional message that goes 'hey, wassup, how're you?' which is then responded to with a blander 'good, nothing much. you?'

Shake Me, Break Me

2010-11-23T12:56:00.000Z

Dude, what's WITH all the limp handshakes?!

I'm going to go on a sexist tangent here in saying I don't seem to meet women with strong, confident handshakes. And it bugs me to no end! What's this, some hangover from Patriarchy-decree days, women are not really supposed to shake hands but merely grasp an offered hand limply and demurely?

Here's the funny thing. Most of these women are the strong-minded, independent, smart variety ... and it puzzles me to no end why they'd compromise on a thing like a handshake. Especially when they know the connotation. Allow me to point out that I have also met men who have limp handshakes.

I've had a firm grip sorta handshake right since I was old enough to know what you could say with a handshake. It's been remarked on numerous times. 'Gosh, you've got a really firm grip!'. Always the tone of surprise. And almost always from men. One chap had a grip that could break rocks and he turned around to tell me he thought mine was really firm, as if he couldn't quite believe it ... while I was trying to surreptitiously stretch my fingers and stop them throbbing.

Why shouldn't I? Hell, why shouldn't anyone? A woman especially. It's no longer enough to smile and say hello when you meet someone, especially in a professional capacity. A handshake puts a completely different spin on things.

Socially, things may be slightly different. I don't usually resort to a handshake. Hugs are reserved only for those who actually mean something to me. And while shaking hands isn't mandatory, I do think it's important to reciprocate well when proferred someone's hand.

I know, I know ... a handshake is a rather minor and petty thing to judge someone upon, but I cannot help it. I may have a very good time with whoever it is, and while I won't let my first impressions ruin things ... a limp handshake still makes me go 'ee-yuck!' mentally.

Thing is, it's quite easy to fake a firm grip, as it was pointed out to me. I'm not saying one should. I'm saying, the first few times you have to remind yourself to but it soon turns into a habit ... so what's so bad about adopting something that is ultimately a good thing?

Ah and my ruminations have been prompted by Parul's point about shaking hands. That and all the limp jelly-fish-and-eels handshakes I've encountered over the years.

Lost in ...

2010-11-08T14:10:00.000Z

Was watching Lost in Austen y'day (infuriatingly, a mini-series that ended with just four episodes, like other fantastic British TV shows, as Amrita rightly pointed out. Although IMDB says it is being revived in 2011, yet again proving Amrita's point) ... I haven't finished the series but I did cheat and look up the synopsis on Wiki ... because when it comes to watching something, I want to know it's worth my time (not unlike Amrita!). I might've been put off but I shall finish the series because I found it highly entertaining. I digress however.

My original point was, what would I pick if I had to get lost in a book.

Not To Kill A Mocking-Bird. Can't say I'd enjoy sleepy rural America in times less liberal.

Probably not a Georgette Heyer even if her heroines are spunky and fiesty (and really, WHAT are the chances I'd end up a heroine?) ... it's still a society where women don't have much to do beyond looking pretty and marrying. I'd be bored out of my mind, so no. And um, no, I do not want to be incarnated as a man in one of those novels.

Not Enid Blyton ... unless I was going to food or a piece of scenery, thangyuverymuj.

Maybe Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson series or something similar. A chance to be brave and fight gigantic forces ... but what if I found I wasn't upto that? Oh the shame! So, err ... maybe not.

A Thursday Next novel? Erm, chances that I'd be Erased for being a Pagerunner are high ... so, thanks but I'll pass.

I WOULD however pick a Tom Holt novel. His characters are ALL entertaining, even when they're being wicked and bad. Actually, I think that settles it. I would want to be Tom Holt's Blonde Bombshell.

what do you think you'd pick?

Change Changes Things

2010-11-01T21:37:00.000Z

I've almost always been the youngest in any household I've lived in ... so it comes as a bit of a surprise to realise that I'm the oldest in the house now. Second oldest at the moment, actually, but soon I really will be the oldest and that realisation does some funny things.

It's amazing how protective you can feel about someone younger, even if you don't really know them. The youngest of us is a teenager and even though everyone else is in the early-twenties range at best a year or two older (except old old me that is ... but I take comfort from the fact the house is far older than I am) ... said teenager brings out maternal/paternal/elder sibling feelings in all of us as if a switch were turned on. She gets ribbed endlessly about where she's been and should we be on the phone to her folks and who was out on a date with ... and maybe the child is a bit confused but she takes it in good spirit. I just heard her singing ... loud, clear, in that mixture of innocence, hope and attitude only teenagers can affect. I thought it was beautiful.

The first time I met Teen was a few days ago, after about two weeks of wondering where the mysterious new housemate was and why she wasn't living in the house yet. I'd know she was that young but the fact wasn't really brought home to me until we came across each other face-to-face. Let me tell you something. I think I play it very cool, I take my time around people and don't go about giving anyone faltu ka bhav ... and when you're like that, it's easy to start thinking of yourself as being cold and aloof and a total snob. Until you see a pair of eyes that look partly eager and partly unsure while their owner says a bright 'Hi!' and uncertainly extends a pair of arms towards you, not knowing if a hug is forthcoming or not. And in that moment, this cold, aloof snob that is you, will put all that to one side, excuse herself from the phone and hold out for a hug, for all you're worth. You see this young almost-child and something changes, something that makes you want to envelop this waif and at least for that moment, give them the reassurance that it's going to be okay, that nothing is as scary as it seems ... something that makes it all okay for YOU, the crappy day, the horrid weather, just about everything that could be wrong, all that. In that one moment, even if only for that one moment.

I've lived with a teenager before so I know it isn't all sunshine and rainbows. I know they can be surly, messy, rude and noisy. Heck, I was a horrid teen too. And I'm not saying this one's different. She's going to be her share of all that but the important thing is to let her grow into the person she will be. Lead by example, but not intend to. And not expect to be followed just because.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, suddenly becoming the oldest person around makes you think what it's all about. And you realise:

It's about not pulling rank just because you're older. None of the 'I'm older so I know better' crap. You don't. You don't know what the other person is going through and just because they're younger doesn't mean their experiences are lesser.
It's about being understanding. And respect. About a zillon things. About habits and quirks and wants and needs. Like bearing in mind that the things you do sometimes have to have the child-friendly factor to it. Like realising that it must be really tough for a lone boy to be living amid a bunch of hormonal, emotional, confusing, moody, pmsing-by-turns women. And more importantly, vocalising the fact that you appreciate said boy's ... patience. And no, don't let the fact that you can bully him as if he were your own younger brother influence any of this ;)
It's appreciating the little big things. Like dozing off on a housemate's shoulder and being comforted by the fact that a cool soft hand gently strokes your hair.
Like realising just how lucky you are to be living in a house that's full of people who have the time of the day for you.
Like realising that actually, you're not that old after all. So maybe take a chill pill. Plans can wait. Life will go on. But this evening, when your amaretto spiked hot chocolate was pinched by giggling housemates as you watched a movie, while being stared down by a trying-to-scary-with-the-painted-joker-face-but-still-only-succeeding-in-being-cute boy for being noisy, the evening that involved affectionately shaking your heads collectively at said boy and much ribbing about 'gold-diggers' ... this, will always let you be 20-something, no matter how many years go by. You can't get cynical about it you see.
Like realising, actually, being oldest doesn't mean SHIT.

Missives II

2010-10-31T18:52:00.000Z

To the world and my circle of acquaintances at large, on FB.
T. M. I. Really.

To the scumbag-dick ex of a friend.
You slut! That's right, slut. You don't get to be called 'player' just because you're a guy. Slut. I'd have loved to tell you to your face that you weren't right for my friend at all, not worthy of her one bit, boring and stuck up as you were. And I would have too, if I weren't keeping mum for her sake. You evidently don't deserve such niceties ... so watch your step. I'm hoping I run into you, and when I do, I'm going to kick you in the nuts and announce to the world that you're a walking std. Whether that's true or not ... although given your proclivities ... the chances are ... I'll leave you to puzzle your tiny brain over that. Oh and I hope you end up marrying someone who's going to cuckold you and humiliate you but never ever give you a way out. I hope you die cold and lonely and miserable. I wish you eternal misery forever after. And if you're 'skills' extend to being able to read, look up 'just desserts.' Because that's what you've got coming to you ... and in all probability, the waitress would have spit in it. Not just because you tried to hit on her while she went about her work but because she saw your behaviour way before you got started with her. Karma ... she's a right bitch and get used to that because you're going to end up as her bitch.

To the salespeople I seem to keep running into.
If you're going to turn up your nose at me because I want something replaced rather than buying something new, you're going to add a big fat zero the the till. And if I say 'I'll think it over', that isn't your cue to sass me. YOU are the one who needs to meet a target, think your attitude over.

To the guy manning the till.
The correct response to my "I don't need a bag, thank you" is NOT "The bag's free, yeah?". Some of us try to do our bit for the environment.

To shoemakers the world over.
You think 'heels' mean something resembling a goddam tower at the end of my feet? Have you ANY idea how hard it is to walk around in those? Do you actually test your products on normal, real women? The ones who have jobs and families and have to walk in these things? This is a conspiracy, I'm onto you. It's just another way or controlling womankind. In parlance you'd actually understand, "Walk in someone's shoes ...". Although in this case they'd be your own.

To Lindt.
You're doing something very wrong. How is it that I can NEVER find my favourite chocolate in stock?

To me.
Your twenties are slipping past, time to play catch-up and do all the wild things you'll never regret.

Book Babble

2010-10-30T13:38:00.001+01:00

Taking this up from Chinkurli:

Favorite childhood book? And I'm stuck already. Do I choose from Enid Blyton, Anne of Green Gables or Little Women? Decisions decisions ...
What are you reading right now? Have Spacesuit Will Travel by Robert A. Henlein. Also, To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis
Bad book habit? Being determined to finish a book even if it's absolutely terrible. Although I suppose not being willing to lend books could also count as bad book habit.
Do you have an e-reader? Nope. Shall probably wait and watch to see how the technology develops before I buy one.
Do you prefer to read one book at a time or several at once? Usually one book at a time.
Have your reading habits changed since starting a blog? Nup. My reading habit has gotten a little relaxed over the years though.
Least favorite book you read this year (so far)? William Walker's First Year of Marriage.
Favorite book you’ve read this year? Tough one. I think I shall pick Tom Holt, but it's a toss between Blonde Bombshell and Snow White and the Seven Samurai.
How often do you read out of your comfort zone? Have I a comfort zone?
What is your reading comfort zone? Dunno!
Can you read on the bus? Sure ... helps that the bus drivers here are rather steady drivers so reading isn't the bumpy ride it could be.
Favorite place to read? I don't know if I have one ... but I'd love to have a reading chair ... a comfortably cushioned rocking chair or one of these.
What is your policy on book lending? Hee hee, I don't lend. I did give away a book or two this year though, and they were Tom Holt's.
Do you ever dog-ear books? Certainly not! My books are in pristine condition, unless I've bought dog-eared copies.
Do you ever write in the margins of your books? Heck, no!.
Not even with text books? What, like a decade ago? I might have done so in school but I stopped that a very long time ago.
What is your favorite language to read in? Angrezi? I read Kannada but really slowly ... would be nice to read in another language, a few more in fact. I wish I could read all the books in the world that were ever written.
What makes you love a book? I don't know, I just do.
What will inspire you to recommend a book? Someone's reading habits perhaps and preferences.
Favorite genre? Alternate-reality, sci-fi, Regency era related, Young Adult fiction . I cannot pick a favourite.
Genre you rarely read (but wish you did?) .
Favorite biography? Haven't really read one ... although I will pick Surely You're Joking Mr. Feynman as my favourite autobiography.
Have you ever read a self-help book? Seven Habits of Highly Effective Teenagers. Should probably read it again. Also The Ultimate Gift.
Most inspirational book you’ve read this year (fiction or non-fiction)? I don't think I did ...
Favorite reading snack? :D Biscuits, farsaan, toast, chips ... any snacky stuff
Name a case in which hype ruined your reading experience. The Da Vinci Code.
How often do you agree with critics about a book? I don't keep with with reviews really ... or rely on them. Very occasionally though, Amazon's readers' reviews are really helpful.
How do you feel about giving bad/negative reviews? Well, if it sucks, it sucks.
If you could read in a foreign language, which language would you chose? Japanese. And Urdu perhaps.
Most intimidating book you’ve ever read? The Tale of Genji and Satanic Verses.
Most intimidating book you’re too nervous to begin? Atlas Shrugged.
Favorite Poet? I don't read much poetry but I loved Kiplings' If and Shakespeare's Seven Ages.
Favorite fictional character? Stuck again. Jack and Aliena from The Pillars of the Earth; Scout, Jem, Atticus, Boo, Miss Maudie Atkinson from To Kill a Mockingbird; Anne, Mathew, Mrs. Lynde and Gilbert from Anne of Green Gables; Leslie and Ms Edmunds from Bridge to Terabithia; Judy from Daddy-Long-Legs; Thursday's father from the Thursday Next series; Freddie and Kitty from Cotillion; Phoebe Marlow from Sylvester; Alexia from Soulless; Poseidon from the Percy Jackson series ... this won't finish.
Favorite fictional villain? Kevin from We Need to Talk about Kevin.
Books I’m most likely to bring on vacation? Whatever I'm reading then.
The longest I’ve gone without reading – A month?
Name a book that you could/would not finish- Tale of Genji and Satanic Verses.
What distracts you easily when you’re reading? Nothing. Except the book itself not enagaging me at some point.
Favorite film adaptation of a novel? Bridge to Terabithia. Stardust.
Most disappointing film adaptation? Percy Jackson! Maybe Baby based on Inconceivable. Anne of Green Gables.
The most money I’ve ever spent in the bookstore at one time? Out here I devote a certain amount every month for buying books ... back home, I might've spent close to a 1000 one time, years ago though.
How often do you skim a book before reading it? Usually just the once, before I buy it.
What would cause you to stop reading a book half-way through? If I'm not in the mood for whatever genre it is.
Do you like to keep your books organized? On a shelf. I really would love that chair!
Do you prefer to keep books or give them away once you’ve read them? I keep them all. Although I think I really should get rid of William Walker's First Year of Marriage.
Are there any books you’ve been avoiding? The Tale of Genji
Name a book that made you angry- Ooooh!!! Ashok Banker's King of Ayodhya. It made me want to scream 'ayogya!' at all the characters!
A book you didn’t expect to like but did? And Another Thing by Eoin Colfer. Also, surprise surprise, Percy Jackson.
A book that you expected to like but didn’t? King of Ayodhya.
Favorite guilt-free, pleasure reading? Reading itself is guilt-free pleasure!

By the water-cooler

2010-10-27T14:28:00.000+01:00

Is a tub of mini choco-chip muffins, on the table.

And that's my entry to Parul's contest. Okay, so I'm trying to bribe, but at least I'm being honest and over-the-table about it. :P

Let's play

2010-10-25T10:04:00.002+01:00

Ever notice how quirky some of the word verification terms are? We're going to make a game out of them. I've enabled word verification in my comments, your job is to either explain what the word you're given might mean or use it in a sentence. Go wild!

(And if you're thinking this is boring, let me direct you here.)

Go on then, spread some silliness!

Edited to add: Okay now I feel like the kid who had a lonely childhood, he/she had only two imaginary friends and they only played with each other.

Edit to the edit: Okay so I'm not a lonely child after all ... but blogger's refusing to let people comment if WV is on, so ... we no play! :( Gah. If you're still interested ... if you find a funny WV on someone else's blog and feel like mentioning it here, please do.

Friday I'm in love

2010-10-22T23:02:00.000+01:00

The girl comes home from work
And sets about to cook
Dinner made she digs out a book
And there she goes, forkful of pasta, sitting in a cosy nook

The pasta's been polished off
Her eyes have left the page
Feeling well-fed and almost a bit sage
Now thoughts of dessert does she engage

Out comes a cheesecake
Her evening just got to its peak
She should have been out, looking dolled up and sleek
But, eh, a boring end to a boring week

Double, double toil and trouble

2010-10-19T11:21:00.001+01:00

Amrita’s post on how Baby Quill (love the soubriquet btw :D) made shampoo and gooseberry pickle brought back vivid memories of my own efforts in this direction.

I say ‘my’ but what I really mean is ‘our’. I had a partner in crime, you see. There was also a certain time of the year when such R&D took place. Summer holidays, when the two little brothers came to visit.

The older one, who has the fortune of being referred to as ‘Treetop’[*], among other more embarrassing nicknames, usually had a hand in said adventures.

One hot afternoon, we concocted something that had Complan, some milk, sugar, some ... uhhh ... salt and (rather inexplicably), Rin. We stirred it all up, yessirree, very very nicely and sat there feeling very smug and successful and triumphant in general. Of course, we still needed approval. Of an adult, naturally. Given we were sat on the kitchen floor with mortar and pestle and all the ladies were bustling about, the most likely victim happened to be our ajji. She had time to spare for us (as ajjis do), while no one else did. Too busy making chivda and barfis and what not they were. Hmpfh. So ajji got cornered into tasting this ... something. She dipped a finger in, popped it into her mouth and in the next second, stuck her tongue out and exclaimed ‘phya!’, disgusted. Now, bear in mind that we bore no malice, neither did we intend any mischief. All we wanted was someone to tell us how clever we’d been. Surprisingly, we weren’t given a talking to. Praise be damned, we were really tickled by this ‘phya!’ and spent the next few days rolling with laughter every time one of us said ‘phya!’

The younger one might have been feeling left out but looking back, there’s one occasion that he probably feels he was better off for not having participated in. Our mothers had brought back a packet of ready-to-make ice-cream to keep us entertained for an afternoon. There wasn’t much to it, heat some milk, add the contents of the packet, stir it up nicely to avoid lumps and get a nice thick mix which then had to be refrigerated. The older one and I spent much time following the directions to the T, a lot of which involved vigorous stirring of said mixture (which was a very nice chemical baby-pink) while we spoke about matters of great importance such as which girl(s) was the object of attention and affection du jour and how she/them reciprocated by jabbing him repeatedly with a compass or a ruler or other such items of romantic symbolism. The ‘ice-cream’ was refrigerated finally and due to reasons that remain unfathomed to this day, stayed in its milk-shake form.

But we’ll always have the-ice-cream-that-was-actually-cold-custard-of-some-form. And the younger one had an equal share in it, which makes it very special. It was thick, grainy, pink and we topped it with jelly cubes and peppermints. And watched as the adults ate it with straight faces.

Perfectly angelic little children we were, god promise!

[*] Don’t go feeling too sorry for him, he called me Grasshopper in return.

Found!

2010-10-08T15:49:00.000+01:00

Just goes to show that I was looking in the wrong place. Anyhoo, as the saying goes ... "Der aaye durust aaye".

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you, Heroines.

Readership, frandship etc.

2010-10-06T22:49:00.001+01:00

My colleague E mentioned that she goes to a book club every now and then. Interest piqued I asked her what sort of books they read. "Oh all sorts!" she replied and said she'd elected an author so everyone could pick a different book to read and they'd have more to discuss that way. They really do read all kinds of books. I asked if they'd done any Young Adult fiction and came away with another set of books to add to my list (Mortal Engines ... what sample bits I read, I really liked).

I was fascinated. I've always wondered what happens in a book club and never quite fathomed the idea of an exclusive get-together to talk about books. Unlike watching telly, or a movie, sports, listening to music or even plain old-fashioned conversation which lend themselves to being group activities and therefore provide fodder for conversation as a continued group activity, talking about books seems just incongruous with the act of reading, which is such a solitary activity.

I mean, what do you say to each other?! 'Yes we've read the same book. Oh yeah I loved it! ... uhmm ... ahhh ...' *awkward silence* comes to mind when I try to think of the times I've tried to use books as conversational topics, or overheard someone trying to. Not counting the time someone said they loved reading and I asked what they read and they said Dan Brown/Sidney Sheldon which got me into a right squawk and there was no conversation because I was pretty much left spluttering my scorn. Yes I'm a snob, thanks for noticing.

Also, there isn't always common ground to cover. Music being the exception, there is limited scope for the kind of things one might watch/involve in when it comes to common interest topics such as telly or sports or movies.

Mainly, the problem seems to be finding someone who has actually read the same sort of stuff that you have and then has something more to say beyond it. In my case, that would be anyone who reads Tom Holt, Robert Rankin, Jasper Fforde and Regency novels.

So maybe I ought to join a book club. I'm not sure I want to though. It's the sort of people related commitment that I'm not sure I want to make. It's one thing to incidentally meet people and it's another to actively seek them out. I haven't a problem making friends, but I just don't want to. Even though I've had to say buh-bye to a number of friends who've upped and left the country (say what you will about IM and social networking but it just doesn't work for some relationships).

Probably just as well I suppose. New friends would mean new people who would have to be told no they cannot borrow my books. Blanket rule, exceptions to which happen to live in other countries.

Maybe I should start being a regular at Speaker's Corner ... I could have my say without any frandship strings attached.

Matters of Textual Importance

2010-09-14T13:39:00.001+01:00

I've been having this internal 'Get a Kindle or not' battle for weeks now. One part of me says I ought to wait for another two generations to be out at least. It points out that actually, e-books are just as expensive as brand new books and you can't get them second hand so if nothing else, the sentimnetalist hard-copy lover wins for purely economic reasons (cheapness? :D).

It sounds very cool as such ... zooming facility, font adjustment, being able to read even in the sun, being able to carry a 1000 books with you wherever you go ... but I don't see how it might replace the physical book. I think there will always be the need for physical books. If the day comes when people stop printing books, I won't be eating my words, I'll merely be ruing the loss of something so irreplaceable.

I can see where an e-reader might be useful. Students needn't carry a zillion textbooks/references around, it's all there in one handy package. And you could still squiggle all you like in the margins. One could possibly write/read a 'live' book which becomes available on a chapter basis as it's written. It has possibilities, no denying that.

Books are a personality thing I think. The book you're carrying says something (a lot, perhaps) about you. It can be a conversation opener, an in-joke, a point in itself. A cover is a peerless advert by itself.

But buy an e-reader and you lose out on that. It's going to be the next ipod/iphone. Owning one would make me just another standard issue hi-class-piece-of-technology owner. No more surreptitious glances from people around me when I carry The Ex-boyfriend's Handbook, no amused smiles when I'm walking on the road with the book in my hand upside down (which amuses me in turn. It's not like I'm reading WHILE I'm walking! Come to it, holding the book upside down would actually make reading when walking easier), no more being the frills-and-furbelows girl reading Neverwhere, or the girl who looks like she'd bite your head off but can be seen smiling fondly as she reads The Wedding Officer. No more. Instead, all you have is just another person with a square tablet that looks no different from someone else's. I don't think this is necessarily an upgrade, the saving space, upgrading to something niftier. In a sense, it's loss of individuality.

Heck, what about things like books launches?! What about standing in queue to get the author sign your copy? What about waiting to buy something very special, like the 50th anniversary copy of To Kill a Mocking-bird? There won't BE a 50th anniversary copy as such considering they'd look and feel just the same electronically (at this point anyway). And what will the author do, sign your e-reader? Or sign your e-book with an e-signature but honestly, that ain't good enough for me. Give me ink any day. And paper.

Thank you, Chandni, for inspiring this post. I must admit that I actually wrote the entire post in your comment window :-| (which just goes to show that what they say about a change of scenery being inspiring really is true!)

2010-09-09T12:29:00.000+01:00

"Oh grandma! What big dreams you have!"

"All the better to live Life with, dear."

2010-07-21T09:54:00.000+01:00

Catty: there are 3 FAT crows sitting on the tree outside.. i think they're scaring bottlebrushthey're frikkin huge.HOW can a tiny branch support these huge creatures??? Me: I've NO ideano wait

actually

I do

It must be a 'special branch'. Yeah, so, what's new? With you, I mean!

Some things just don't get old

2010-07-09T15:09:00.000+01:00

Like the fact that roughly two years later, there isn't a single day I go by without talking to you.* Or the fact that you laugh at the silliest things I say, when you're not finishing me off with that quintessential 'tch'. Or the fact that as the days go by, you only proceed to evolve into a self-contained support system that lends me a ear, a shoulder, a rant-outlet, career advice, wisdom. And otherwise simply continues to add to my happiness with mere presence.

If this were the me of a few years ago, I could have managed an effusive and articulate ode celebrating you. But then again, maybe the me of a few years ago wouldn't have made friends with you. But knowing that you'll get what I'm saying, despite the taciturnity ...

I hope that some day I will be the secure, confident, content and wise person you are.

Happy Birthday Catty ... because you don't age, you evolve :)

*And yeah, I was very serious about using Tuesday as a point of no-contact, if ever ;)

Bella's bumper sticker

2010-06-29T22:14:00.001+01:00

'My boyfriend sucks'

Cliff Notes

2010-06-28T10:35:00.000+01:00

Looking at her, nobody would ever have said she lived life on the edge. Or ever had. She wasn't adventurous, boisterous or even curious.

In fact, you'd be hard pressed to come up with anything to say about her. She was the sort that blended into the shadows. It wouldn't be wrong to say that you'd never think of her.

Her side of the story though, was ... well, it was an entirely different story.

She felt she did live on the edge. On the edge of a very deep crag. And with every little thing that transpired, the temptation to find out what was at the end of that drop, up close and in person, only got stronger.

She thought of the deep end as her destination. Home.

But one day she looked up. At the vast sky and the far spreading mountains with their grass and trees and sweet smelling flowers. And felt the caress of a gentle breeze.

'Of course, it makes sense', she thought. 'Perspective '

Everybody lives life on the edge ... all that's different is whether you look up or down.

I'm not one to whinge about adulthood

2010-06-23T10:38:00.000+01:00

Usually.

But there's something about the day that's making me wish it was the sort of summertime childhood blessed you with. The sort of summertime that involved Kirrin Island, picnics, swims and adventures in rural settings. Or at least, the summertime of blazing sushine, lazy afternoons spent in cool lofts or tree forks or even just the cool interiors of the house reading and fantasising about Enid Blyton's tales. And despite having eaten a lunch, drooling at the descriptions of food.

Thankfully, this time I can actually fix that bit.

What they don't warn you about

2010-06-21T22:35:00.002+01:00

'Parting is such sweet sorrow'

It's pretty much a given that farewells are hard. Farewells to family. Farewells to the love of your life. Tempered with the promise of reunion and better times later, these farewells.

What no one cautions you against is the wrenching away, never to be united again the same way, disrupting perfectly peaceful harmony.

And it doesn't even hit you until ages later, just when you think you've come off okay, forgetting the soft, exposed, sensitive spot and leaving it open for a bull's eye score.

Like when your ex-housemate drives you home and just before leaving, says "Shame! Can no longer say goodnight and just trip off to the next room to sleep!".

Or like when you see the faces of two dear beloved people watching for you from inside a car as your bus is pulling out of the station.

You knew it was going to be temporary. You knew you had to go your separate ways one day. But who said that made it okay?

iQuit

2010-06-15T20:57:00.002+01:00

You know all those scenes in the movies where someone's walking out huffily issuing dialogues of "Aaj se tumhara aur mera rishta khatam!"?

Some days I wish I could walk out of the human race and be done with it.

External Memory

2010-06-14T21:34:00.000+01:00

Me to her (who else?):

Keep it somewhere safe, and mark it.

And tell me where you put it so I'll remember and you can ask me in case you forget.

Tathastu

2010-06-10T16:44:00.000+01:00

Well, what do you know. My wish has been granted!

Rats! I knew I should've asked for something else.

Points to ponder

2010-06-02T10:22:00.001+01:00

Does being able to autopilot a lot of things every day leave you with more time to focus on the important stuff or does it just make you a sad person who doesn't enjoy life to the fullest?

I think it would be quite something to have the ability to teleport combined with a timer option. Would come in especially handy on those days when getting up from the bed seems to require superhuman effort. Imagine this: You'd open your eyes and find yourself standing before the sink, ready to get started with your day.
Of course, it could backfire badly. Say you forgot to turn the timer off when on vacation or something and you were teleported to work while still in your nightclothes. Or your bathrobe. Although that would be kinda cool in an Arthur Dent kinda way. More so if your boss/colleagues happen to be into the hitchiker's guide thing.

Or maybe one ought to have the option of beaming a hologram of oneself to work. Get the boring stuff done by being there but not quite there.

I've noticed lately that a lot of people seem to respond to the little nice things I manage to send in their direction. Of course, I could be imagining this.

But I'll continue living under that delusion. I'd like to think I'm making the world a better place. One sincere 'thank you' at a time. Thank you very much.

On Globalisation and equal opportunity

2010-05-28T10:10:00.000+01:00

One of the higher ups sent this around the office today:

German biscuits by the watercooler

I was in a bit of a rush looking for something to bring back to the office to eat when in Japan.

I realize now that I bought some German biscuits – which come from a genuine Japanese department store.

I will try and find something Japanese when I come back from Germany.

Changing it up

2010-04-15T09:53:00.000+01:00

I refuse to blog anymore.

I will, instead, blawg now.

Because I wantu.

This is my blawg. I like to blawg (occasionally). On my blawg I can do/say whatever the hell I want to blawg.

See?

It refers to pretty much every thing I post here. Except the more serious bits. Those cannot fit under the gamut of inanity and emotional atyachar I indulge in. Which means 'blawg' is copyrighted. By me.

Blawg.

Brought to you by DewdropDream Infinite. Our brand of inanity and insanity far surpasses that of any other out there.

Circle, Square ... Circus, Fair

2010-04-12T09:03:00.003+01:00

Right. Can someone please debunk the mystery of Times Square for me please? Or even Piccadilly Circus.

Why is it that they attract hoards of tourists and new inhabitants who all want to pose against the background of a giant shiny screen and be photographed? I mean, they're just bloody giant tv screens displaying ads for god's sakes! Why the heck do you want to be photographed with your head lending (hah!) its magnificence to a lousy consumer marketing tactic? Couldn't you just stand in front of your own tv screen and take a photo?! They'd definitely be more intersting!

Are you going to look at that photo years down the line and go, "Oooo lookie! That mcdonald's/samsung/whatevertheheckcompany ad really brought out the colour of my eyes!"? WHAT?!

A magnificent cupid statue, stately architecture that allows for fantastic angles if you will but see them, a sculpture of three horses whinnying on their hind legs and a zillion other more interesting sights to remember and save for the future and people have to go and take photos of bleeding ADS. Not even interesting ones at that!!*

And don't get me started on the desi tourists. Why the fuck do you have to stare?! At other desis that too. Never seen one before or what?!**

*Although I do watch out for this ad for some phone that keeps playing, it has this guy in it who has the most adorable infectious grin.

**She says smiling at them unnerves them to no end ... I'd try that except I can't get beyond wanting to glare and fry them on the ~~stop~~ spot. Grrr

Edited to add: I think the anthem for such people ought to be 'Pardesiyon se na ankhiyan milana'. 'Pardesi referring to pretty much everyonethey do not know personally, even if they are desi.

Edited again to add: Why is it that Trafalgar Square doesn't get as much desi tourist traffic? Is it that intellectuality of the National Portrait Gallery, located right behind TS, staves them off? It's a pity these tourist nuisances aren't like the pigeons flocking around ... else you could do an expansive hand-gesture and watch them go 'phurrrrrrrrr' ... tch.

You and Me

2010-03-26T22:38:00.000Z

Eyes meet across the expanse of a station. And feet start walking. They come within stamping distance and in a smoothly co-ordinated yet spontaneous moment, two hands switch of two music players and yank out earphones. And all this while, the only exchange is a nod of two heads.

Elsewhere a hug is being bestowed. A loving surprise hug sneaked upon the recipient. And then two pairs of eyes meet a-twinkle.

Two ears share a pair of earphones and two heads nod together in time to the music, smiles playing identically on two pairs of lips.

Two hands reach out and clas as their owners are engrossed in gazing away. At a monument, a painting, a sunset, an urban scenery, it matters not. A squeeze, that matters.

A nudge draws the attention of a pair of eyes to something interesting in the paper. And a laugh is shared.

A voice requests a song ang another begins it, halting but sweet in a clear carrying voice, made beautiful by the emotion in it.

An ordinary morning on the tube made special by the multitude of kisses that pass from one pair of lips to another, each a cherished offering bestowed with much fondness.

A shoulder upon which rests a head. A palm on which fingers play. Hair that is ruffled and cheeks that are pulled. Games of peekaboo and catch me if you can. Shared drinks and food and cigarettes and lip balm.

Moments in which you give yourself over to me completely, casting aside doubts, insecurities, hurt, anger, resentment, disappointment and gratefulness, pride, contentment, happiness, mischief and the ordinary. Moments where I rule, consume, intoxicate and overpower you.

You are every man, woman and teenager.

And I am .... Love

Veritaserum, part II

2010-03-26T13:27:00.001Z

"Well, do they?"

"Now that's just too much. It's bleeding obvious even to me. I know you love baiting me but it really is the heights asking me to criticise your folks. That you're going to go for my jugular after is about as obvious as Kate Moss's ribcage!"

"Eh? How do my folks figure in any of this?!"

"Yeah then what exactly was that all about? Asking me if your GENES make you look fat?"

Bolti bandh*

2010-03-22T11:02:00.001Z

"You're the love of my life"

"You're only saying that because you're drunk"

"Be that as it may, haven't you heard that people tell the truth when they're drunk?"

"If that is so, then tell me. Do these jeans make me look fat?"

Alternatively, Smart-ass

One for the men in the club

2010-03-19T14:17:00.000Z

Right, all you guys out there, help me out.

How exactly do you define 'high maintenance'? As in 'She's a high maintenance girl'.

Yes, there is indeed a point to all of this. Research purposes, pliss to be answering. You'll be helping yourself by answering, the way karma works, this information will somehow filter down to the girl you land who will, out of the deep-seated louve she has for you, want to lessen your ... erm difficulties. If you don't want to be involved, well karma might catch you by your foot and dangle you over the worst precipice in the history of romantic entanglements of humankind. You don't want to go screwing around with karma, so chop chop. And do please be as elaborate as possible.

Spam commenters of the feel good variety, may a hundred labrador puppies descend on you, lick you enough to make you experience scuba diving and then sit on you for good measure.

Fridge-magnet Philosphy*

2010-03-16T23:20:00.001Z

* Alternative title: When fridge magnets run amok**

** Alternative to alternative title: My imagination ran away and took the fridge magnets along for a ride***

***Also known as: Aren't I clever and creative?****

****Alternatively, Don't you have a Life to get on with with, miss?

Gnat-a-porter?

2010-03-10T21:10:00.000Z

So, I came home today to find an email from Catty going:

"dude... anusha dandekar wore a children's machchardani* to LFW... hilarious these celebs are!!!"

* Mosquito net

Rethinking Feminism

2010-03-10T14:28:00.000Z

I had an email from a friend today, titled 'Food for thought in the times of the women's bill. See for yourself:

JUST A WHINE LIST?

Is the feminist movement barking up the wrong tree, trying to secure for women the right to be men with all their failings or is there substance to the claim that your body defines your existence. Two takes

Body of evidence
C P SURENDRAN TIMES NEWS NETWORK
   That June evening in 1910, Manavazhi Gopalan Menon was having a drink, sitting on the broad polished teak plank suspended in chains from the roof of his house in Ottapalam in Kerala. The Excise Inspector, given much to reading, was watching rain pour down from the eaves drooping over the verandah. Menon was going to say something pleasant to his wife Parukutty Amma when the glass dropped from his hand and he toppled over.
   That’s how Parukutty, amateur Malayalam poet, seamstress of small silk money bags and connoisseur of sweet gooseberries, became a widow, and a single parent to three very beautiful, very long-haired, and very nasty daughters. She was 34. Parukutty fought it out alone for six long years. And, just as the suffragist movement, which culminated in Britain in 1928 with all women over 21 getting the right to vote, was peaking in the UK and US, Parukutty got married again.
   She bore two sons when she was past 40. When her husband died soon after, Parukutty mourned for 40 days and then got back to the business of presiding over the chaos peopled by children, nephews and nieces, grandchildren and grown ups. And all of them got a
money bag with a seed capital of a single anna on their birthdays for as long as her hands were steady enough to sew them.
   Parukutty happens to be this writer’s great grandmother. She was middle class, informally educated, and worked at home round the clock as wife, widow, mother and matriarch. She was single for most of her life. But she did not whine. She took charge of her life when fortunes dipped. She went against social prejudices and remarried when remarriage, nearly a century later, is still a fraught issue. She bore children, dangerously, when post-40 motherhood was relatively unheard of.
   Whatever Parukutty did, she let no man browbeat her into becoming a stereotypical role player of the female sufferer in a maledominated society. Parukutty remained herself. Which was more than a woman or a man. She was Parukutty, an individual whose essence mass movements like Feminism tend to lose sight of.
   In The Feminine Mystique, Betty Friedan talks about “the problem that had no name” which plagued American women, domestic ennui. The sense of woman’s worthlessness no matter how much she worked at home, the intangibility of results and appreciation, and therefore, the lack of existential affirmation.
   Friedan’s critique launched the second wave of the feminist movement — the sustained campaign for legal and social rights in the ’60s and ’70s. (The first had climaxed in the 1920s and the third wave that rose in the early 1990s is now flattening out.) It was Parukutty’s great talent that she was incapable of ennui.
   Feminist movements in India have brought women a better deal. In property laws or access to education, awareness of rights or anti-dowry rulings, feminism has done its bit. But the moot question is, are these much-needed reforms feminist territory? Just as the historically oppressed classes like SCs and OBCs need social justice, so do oppressed genders, feminine or neutral. But surely that is well within the ambit of larger empowering social movements? A poor marginalised tribal boy is the same as a poor marginalised tribal girl. Why bring your body into it?
   If the third wave of Feminism, which in India is limited to upper middle class women in the metros, is anything to go by — witness for example, the celebration of sexual power, from nipple piercing to nymphomania, from pornography to sheer promiscuity — the body is in full evidence at the expense of a sense of community of spirit.
   The trouble with the feminist movement in India is that it has no rural roots, where the real war is social and economic, not gender. This is a chink larger than the armour. The feminists do not even have an idea who their real icon is. At one end of the spectrum they miss out on the Parukuttys. At the other, they miss out on perhaps the only authentic feminist martyr in recent history, Phoolan Devi.
   Perhaps no other Indian woman represents feminist politics in praxis as Phoolan Devi does with her appalling history of abused childhood, gangraped teen years and murderous 20s. Nevertheless, except for a few awestruck academic dissertations and a clutch of bleeding heart papers on her, Phoolan was never really a feminist icon; perhaps she came across as an embarrassment of riches. Indian women’s rights activists had monumentally failed — both ideologically and strategically — to appropriate a symbol of woman power who had lived, breathed and bled for caste, class and sex rights.
   Between the two ends of the spectrum, what we do have is a movement for lifestyle, where smoking, drinking and late night clubbing have taken on parodic gravitas. Feminism as Freakin’ Good Time. For, when it is all boiled down, what women seem to be fighting for is equal access to the pleasures of a material culture. A female Utopia where they can be as men, if not men themselves; as predatory and perhaps as lumpen. The masculine as the final destination of the feminine.
   It is possible that in an inexorably upwardly hedonistic culture, a whole complex of issues, including the political use of the body as a weapon for self-advancement, could be seen as different fronts of the big battle to bleed the enemy into submission. In the process, though, there is every danger of the victim swapping places with the tormentor. If that’s victory, what is defeat?
•

No country for women
SUBODH VARMA TIMES INSIGHT GROUP
   Here’s a thumb rule for whenever you are involved in an argument: take the safety catch off when you hear them, very reasonably, talk about stoicism, about forbearance and about those with more trouble. In the West, it is at about this point that Rumi (“You were born with wings. Why prefer to crawl through life?”) or even Marcus Aurelius (Get rid of the ‘I am hurt,’ you are rid of the hurt itself) will be urged upon you. Here, in India, we don’t need quotes from saints and emperors. Silent acceptance and resignation has been drummed into our gene pool from centuries ago. It makes life easier for all those who wield power — men over women, upper castes over lower castes, rich over poor. Whichever way our complex society is sliced and diced, this works.
   But, even a thousand anecdotes cannot wipe away some stains and get rid of hurt itself. A few days ago, Pranjali, a 17-day old baby girl was admitted to a hospital in Mumbai. She could not breathe properly. Doctors examining her made a chilling discovery. Stuck in her food pipe was a 6 cm-long iron nail tightly bound in a cloth strip. There was no way she could have accidentally swallowed it. Pranjali’s parents already have a five-year-old daughter. The police are questioning them for suspected attempt to kill off their second unwanted daughter. This, when the sex ratio among children in the 0-6 years age group in Mumbai has dropped from 933 in 1991 to 898 in 2007, and from 946 to 913 in Maharashtra. The attempt to kill Pranjali is clearly not a one-off act of barbarism — it’s a social trend that leaves about 2 million tiny lives snuffed out.
   Now, multiply that by an eight-fold increase in rape over 30 years, a doubling of the number of young women burnt to death by greedy husbands and their relatives, over 27 million girls dropping out from school in order to do housework and 117 million women working 10 to 12 hours a day rolling bidis or stitching buttons for a mere Rs 30. Won’t their stoicism and forbearance start cracking up? Can we, then, be more sympathetic to the ‘whining’?
   Does this mean that everybody’s life is nothing but a caravan of despair, as Rumi would say? Despair, like anger and love is an emotion, but fuelled by processed information, about what could have been, or what was. Very rarely can a person live a life filled only with despair. Humans survive because their minds are like chandeliers, reflecting a thousand lights. So, people laugh and weep, work and rest, love and hate even in the most difficult of circumstances. That should never mean that they are unwilling to change their circumstance for the better, that there is no yearning, dreaming for a better life. If not, the human species, the weakest of all animals, would have been wiped out millennia ago. We, both men and women, have survived because of this lust for life, and by changing our circumstances so that we survive better.
   A very popular and widely propagated view on women is that there is no difference between men and women except their bodies. So, why whine about ‘oppression’ of women, or ‘women’s problems’? Problems are the same for everyone. Simone de Beuauvoir, the French feminist and writerphilosopher, answered this way back in the 1960s. She said that a woman is a social construct. What she meant was that apart from some major biological differences, there should be no difference in men and women as social beings. However, society has defined a whole set of ideas about what a woman should and should not be. Not only defined, but institutionalised, practiced with vehemence and coerced to be followed by everybody, including women themselves. The end result — a hypocritical social system cutting across all civilisations that calls women goddesses but treats them as personal slaves. Don’t believe the personal slave part? Check this out: even in the ‘advanced’ countries women do most if not all of the housework — making food, looking after children and the sick, fetching provisions, cleaning — in short all care work. It defines their worth, their value. That, and the fact that women are also there to provide sexual gratification, as and when demanded.
   The ‘body’ has been brought into the equation not by women but by men themselves. The woman’s body has become an object for titillation, of prurient entertainment and, in a major way, a vehicle for selling stuff. Any stuff, from cement bags to chrome hub caps can see its sales curve shooting up if you introduce a hint of scantily clad woman in it. Throw in power, glamour, domination, success — and you can sell anything to anybody. This is not speculation — just google ‘women and advertising’ and you will know that it is a cornerstone of marketing strategies around the world. There is a large body of evidence — stats and all — to show the commodification of women, which is just a part of their general downgradation.
   You may believe in any path for humanity to be free of hunger, want and disease, from war and violence, and from ignorance and hedonism, but no path can be traversed without the woman walking hand in hand, as an equal of man.

And if that wasn't enough, in an almost poetic touch to the article, my friend's signature was scrawled beneath:

Out of the night that covers me, black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be, for my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance, my head is bloody, but unbowed.Beyond this place of wrath and tears, looms but the horror of the shade. Yet the menace of the years, finds, and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate, how charged with punishments the scroll. I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul.

Boo-gle

2010-03-04T11:26:00.000Z

Google annoys me most days what with trying to put words in my mouth (or my search box as it were).

Arre I don't bloody want matrimonial ads okay Google? Or a holiday home, medicines, accounting software ... yadya yada yada.

Today however, the all-knowing Google devta granted me a moment so priceless, I'd breed it if I could.

I opened an email from a distant cousin and Google displayed an ad for 'Pest Control Services'.

Heard, Read, Said

2010-03-01T18:14:00.000Z

'"Yes we will all be starving, but I guess it will be worth it." I don't think even Mahatma Gandhi said that during his struggle for independence.' So quipped Y when dinner plans were delayed a fair bit and Meg said starving a bit would be worth it.

"There ought to be a law against letting your friend marry someone unsuitable"

How to terrorise your boss 101: When the boss is still new and accidentally drops something on your desk, say "You don't have to throw things at me to get my attention you know?". Hear boss giggle. Score!

Furnishing the bathroom 101: Wake up one weekend to see a shower rack that wasn't there the night before. And have the housemate say "Oh yeah! I was really really drunk last night and I found this while we were out, someone had thrown it away and I picked it up although my friends were all 'WHAT are you doing!' and then I called a cab and the cab driver refused to let me take it with me so I stood there telling him 'But it's clean! It's been in the rain!' until he let me bring it with me."

"Can't give chocolate to dogs. It's poisonous for them apparently"
"See this is why men don't like chocolate much"

"Now tell me what tyro is"
"Tyra? When she becomes fat?"

"Main teri mohabbat mein... pagal ho jaoongi... mujhe aisa lagta hai... tujhe kaisa lagta haiiiiii"
"Mujhe bhook lagta hai"

Of Anticipation and Disappointment

2010-02-21T20:42:00.002Z

Let's get disappointment outta the way first. I watched Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief. After months of waiting for it to release and practically jumping up and down in my seat at the theatre, squealing fit to give competiton to a pig, what do I get? A big fat ZERO. Truly, that's what the movie is.

SPOILER ALERT!!!

I thought the casting was inspired, Uma Thurman as Medusa (seriously, how beautiful is she with those lips and those eyes ... eyes like twin blue inviting pools that you could drown in ... lest you were actually facing Medusa in which case darling, Pathar Ke Sanam be your fate), Pierce Brosnan as Chiron (how did they manage to do the horse-stamping-its-hooves thing while he stood steady and talked to Percy?!), the heroes of the books, Percy, Annabeth and Grover were cast well and did a fairly good job. Although I still cannot get over Annabeth having dark hair. She's BLONDE for godssake!!! Having said that, our Annabeth is a mighty good looking young heroine with flashing eyes and enough intrigue. Athena wasn;t that great a pick though ... I'd have preferred Monica Belluci as Athena. The woman would have been perfect for the role with that smouldering sizzling svelte thing she has going on. And WHY does Percy's mum look so old and wrinkly?!

Also, it was a bit of a waste having all these people in there considering they only got about a couple minutes airtime and maximum five lines each. What the hell?!

But most importantly, Chris Columbus,

WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING CHANGING THE PLOT LIKE THAT?!

Gods do NOT show themselves to mortals. Certainly not in their 20 feet tall godly forms. WHY would Zeus and Poseidon meet on the top of the bloody Empire State Building when Olympus is right above them in all its splendour?! WHY?! It's not like you had to spend extra money to create that set since you used it later so why exactly would two gods meet on a manky looking rooftop?!

And speaking of the gods, Percy does not know he is Poseidon's son till he wins in Capture the flag against CLARISSE, the child of Ares. Whom you did away with TOTALLY. As did you with all that underplay between Luke and Annabeth. And why oh why did you have to get Percy and her all gooey-eyed in the FIRST movie.

All that aside, PEARLS?! The plot is about three demi-gods on a quest to find PEARLS to escape from the underworld where they have gone to convince Hades of Percy's innocence in the theft of the Lightning Bolt?! Do you realise how wrong that is?! That was supposed to be the ruddy twist in the tale. They were supposed to be recovering the Bolt and discovering who had set them up. Hunting PEARLS?! BAH. And where did you dream up that rubbish about Percy's mom escaping with them from the Underworld?! Just HOW was she supposed to add anything to the story by being there instead of Grover?! She can't make nifty moves like Grover and Camp-half blood and Olympus are restricted access areas to her. What did you think changing places between her and Grover would do?! For the love of the gods!

Another thing, what's this rubbish about Chiron and Percy getting all gooey-eyed and this business about being favourite student, eh?! The gods are not allowed to favour demi-gods. Ever. Did you not read the books?! Were you not listening when the script was being read to you?! Did you not think it worth your while to THINK about what you were doing?!

It was a rather fast paced movie, not at all what was required. The whole Lotus Casino sequence and that bit where Grover zaps the Hydra using Medusa's head were the only saving graces.

Why oh why did you spoil such a beutiful thing? Why oh why?!

Sorry about all the spoilers but it isn't worth going to the theatre for this rubbish. Wait till the DVD comes out and then too only watch it just because. Some books really do not deserve being messed around with, I wish someone had seen this was one of them. Sigh.

My disappointment aside, it's been a month of waiting. It'll continue for a while. Among the things I await are the Stereophonics concert(s) happening next month ... weeks away, eeekkk!!! And the release of The Blonde Bombshell by Tom Holt, The Kane Chronicles by Rick Riordan and Odd and the Frost Giants by Neil Gaiman.

And summer.

Ambition

2010-02-18T17:19:00.002Z

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" they asked her.

It wasn't until years later, when she had become, that she found the answer.

"I want to be a mystery"

This is a come-back post*

2010-01-19T14:40:00.003Z

Catty: Eh! Kidhar ko bhagta rehta hai tum?!

Me: Hai na idharich! Hide and seek khelta hai :D

Btw, do you know there's an official food for hide and seek?

Catty: What? The biscuits?

Me: No. 'Seek'h kabab.

Or maybe that should be a school mid-day meal.

*In other words, in rather very obvious words, that is code for "I have an awful, awful joke which possibly will crack only me up and you should know this by now".

P.S: I should warn you that I also write worse-than-Vogon-poetry poetry. I could subject you to some of that next time, if this is too painful.

For the eyes of Cluelessness, Alwayshappykya, Jottings n Musings, Parul and Monika,Ansh

2010-01-04T16:00:00.001Z

Its time to rub our hands in glee
We have something for you, dear MTBs
Little baby’s on the way,
Getting bigger every day,
Two tiny feet that will wave in the air
Two tiny hands that will tug at your hair
But before that there is some work for you.
The best we can do, is give you a clue!

Rays of light she shines on nights
Rays sometimes pensive, sometimes fun and light
She whispers her secrets as only the Moon can
Find her and you’ll see the next part of the plan

Resolutions and such

2010-01-01T02:43:00.002Z

So last year, this was my list.

I did write a little more. Not as much as I wanted to but something came of it and that pleases me.

I also did travel a fair bit. Again, not as much as I'd have liked to but it hasn't been an utter waste of a year either, travel-wise. I had three absolutely marvellous vacations, the best ever in fact and I guess that's a lot to be thankful for :)

The photography bit: I'm not buying a DSLR just yet ... let's just say it'll take a while but I've done some pretty good work with the camera I have just now. A friend has one of my shots up on his wall as a poster and I had about four reactions of 'wow!' to that. Pretty good on the whole!

I gave up fiddling unfortunately. A string of reasons ... but maybe I'll take it up again this year. We'll see.

And I did do a random course! Two in fact. It just wasn't bar-tending though. Something a lot more useful and something I hope I can continue with in a few months' time.

It's been a very good year, a year of several firsts and a year of many best-evers.

This year I want to:

Visit Catty and Galadriel. My top wish for the year. I want to be able to spend quality time with them.
Find direction and make steady progress once I have.
Learn Italian fluently enough.
See France.
Learn to house-keep better.
Cook more often and have a repertoire of quick and easy dishes as well as more complicated ones.
Indulge in interior decoration.

Happy New Year y'all. I wish you happiness and peace :)

Find of the Year

2009-12-28T23:09:00.000Z

It has been a good year. A really really good year. As evidenced by my library, especially.

What, you really thought I could get by without talking about those godawesome, superfabulous prized gems I have?!

Anyway, I think it would be fitting to end this year with a post on the best find this year, without any doubt whatsoever. Hang on, I'm not actually promising this is my last post this year, just saying this might be.

So, I have firm faith that when it comes to books, they find you. When the time is right.

Say what now? Oh did I say that already? About Life? Well, err ... it's a good philosophy and who said I could only use it once, anyway?

Nyhoo, like I was saying ... I find it unbelievable that I spent so much time without knowing this peice of fabulousness which is my recent find.

But now I first insist on elaborating on my philosophy. So, it was Christmas Eve and I was off work early (not really, everyone else had left hours before I and another colleague did). I wanted a present for Christmas. Seeing as how none were forthcoming owing to my home-alone status for the week, I decided the thing to do was go find one. And I trotted off to that humongous bookstore in the neighbourhood. I LOVE the place. How can you not love any place that is five floors filled wall to wall with books?! Okay, I admit, occasionally, when I'm tired, the place tires me. It tires me to look at so many books and not be able to simply pick something up like that and be done with it.

Anyway, Christmas Eve seemed to be one of my luckier days. I walked in and sauntered over to the fiction section. Let my eyes rove over what was on offer, for a bit ... and then, something started to nag at me. "Let's go to the science fiction section" kept playing in my mind on loop and in ten strides, I was there, before I even had a chance to have a mental argument.

I was actually in the wrong bit because I was vaguely looking for anything by Neil Gaiman. But I hadn't yet registered the fact and was browsing. And something caught my eye amid all the dark brooding covers and spines on display. Something rather bright and sunshiny. I looked closer to find something extremely appealing looking back at me.

Just look at that! Isn't that the cutest thing ever?! Tell me it doesn't call out to you! Tell me you're going to find that in the science-fiction section and not be intrigued.

So I picked it up. The front cover says "Moers' creative mind is like J. K. Rowling's on ecstasy", which made me sceptical but the sight of a darned cute bluebear spurred me on to glance at the back cover. Where I found a short description and more reviews. Shall I just say, no second thoughts, I picked it up and handling it like it was a baby, walked around a bit more before heading to the till? I did.

And I started reading it on the way home. I'm sort of half-way through it and I can't remember any other book that I have savoured as much. Any other book that I haven't hurriedly read through just so I could finish and know how it ends. This is ... incredible!

Sometimes, I wonder how I lived before I discovered Neil Gaiman and Stardust, and the Hitchiker's Guide. Now I wonder how I could have existed without knowing of Walter Moers.

To put it very very succinctly, this is the perfect cross between the Hitchiker's Guide and Neil Gaiman's work. I can't agree with the J. K. Rowling reference simply because that's like comparing the Mahabharata and Percy Jackson because they're both mythology based.

"The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear: A Novel", as titles go, is very intriguing. You don't really know what to expect. Is this going to be about re-incarnation? It's about a blue bear. The possibilities are endless! A blue bear. So simple and yet so intricate a creation of imagination. Anything can happen! And does!

He's found floating in a walnut by 6-inch high minipirates and raised by them to sail the seas until he grows too big for their vessel and is abandoned. Whereupon he's found by Hobgoblins who look after him while he repays them by crying for their pleasure. And hen he sets sail on his own and encounters Babbling Billows who teach him to speak. 'Speak' is too less a term to describe Bluebear's education here. He learns "to spell and pronounce, decline and conjugate, substantivize and genitivize, accusativize and dativize ..." and "... murmer and maunder, gabble and prattle, whisper and bellow, converse and confabulate [...] deliver a speech or a soliloquy [...] talk someone else to a standstill, [...] talk [my] way out of a life or death situation [...] propose a toast, swear an oath (and break it), declaim a monologue, compose a verse ..." and much more.

He nearly gets eaten by a monstrous undersea plant that lures its victims by pretending to be a gourmet island, rescued by a Roving Reptilian Rescuer (Pterodactylus Salvator) and becomes his navigator, is enrolled in the school of a Nocturnomath (a seven brained ... errr, creature) where he is taught ever possible thing imaginable, makes friends with a gelatinous prince from the 2364th dimension, an Alpine Imp, meets Troglotrolls, falls into a dimensional hiatus ... and has several more entertaining, well narrated adventures which I'm yet to read.

You want funny sounding complicated names and terms? You've got it. You want a bit of hi-fi sci-fi? Bluebear's story is your bible. You want superior illustrations and presentation? Don't look further.

Seriously, how exactly did I exist without even knowing about this book?! Or Walter Moers for that matter.

My only tiny gripe is that the paras aren't indented so occasionally it's hard to tell where one ends and another begins but it's a very minor issue, one you hardly notice when you're so engrossed in the story.

Read it, you're missing out and it's not worth missing out on. And when you've finished it, find all the other books you can by Walter Moers and keep them safe.

I'm going to be building a temple for Neil Gaiman, Douglas Adams and Walter Moers.

On Joining the Mid-Twenties Brigade.

2009-12-27T23:33:00.006Z

So, Happy Birthday to me! Make that Happy 25th Birthday to me. 27th December 2009. And indeed it was a happy one :)

Birthdays have usually meant major sulks for me seeing as how they come bang in the middle of Christmas holidays. It didn't help that I studied in a school run by Christian missionaries so we were given more holidays than other schools. Nor did it help that after a point, friends always lived too far away to really be there at any birthday parties. Or maybe, the problem was more that I expected more than I could have and ended up disappointed. There have been a few birthdays which were, if not fantastic, very nice indeed! Like in 5th standard when my then girl chums descended on the house (they had to be invited, of course) and we proceeded to have a typical mid-primary party with too much oil in our hair, ghastly outfits and bright smiles as I cut a home-baked cake and fed on mum's cooking. The photos are around somewhere. Girl chums of yore on the other hand ... we've drifted far apart. As was bound to happen.

Or take the one in tenth standard. Held a few days early (for some now-forgotten reason) ... when my then bunch of friends stopped by. It was a fun day! My parents were away and it was Ajji who took such pains to make pav-bhaji and the requisite sweet-dish (I'm ashamed to say I can't remember if it was narali-holgi or sakhar-bhath), ensuring my day was special. And of all the people who were there that day, Gem is the only one I'm still in touch with. Gem who was with me on my birthday last year, in Singapore. Who never fails to wish me on my birthday, proving on that one day that he isn't all the forgetful-absentminded prof everyone accuses him of being :) Okay so he was trying a number that I haven't used in two years today, but he did IM AND email, I ain't complaining ONE bit!

Today's though ... something else again.

I had friends ring my doorbell at 12 prompt (while I was yakking on IM with another friend and on the phone with celestialrays) ... and while they didn't bring a cake, just the sight of all those friendly faces, having given up plans of a 'boys only night out' just to be there at 12, that nailed it for me. They stayed for tea and left. All the time narrating tales of who had farted the most in the car and how they had maintained a defensive attitude and how everyone else reacted, endless repetitions of dialogues from 3-idiots in random contexts (to me, to them they were in-jokes) ... and they produced a bottle of wine. Which turned out to be a recycled birthday present of another friend who leaves the country tomorrow. They're honest. I'll give them that. And it was bloody good wine!

And after much faffing about, I dozed off and woke up early-ish. Folks've long ago learned not to call me at early hours, even on my birthday, simply because I won't answer. I value sleep above all else, sorry. So, for a change, I was up and calling the folks. No, I wasn't demanding to be wished. I just wanted mum's naan recipe. But of course, everyone had to wish me first after which I got afore-requested recipe. After which I went out to get needed groceries. And had to do a quick re-arrangement and re-planning of chosen menu. That done, I got down to cooking and with the help of two absolutely lovely people, lunch was made. Mint and peas 'pulao'*, seviayya kheer, raita, a chhole-aloo hashed sabzi and kneaded atta (we forgot about making 'naan' which were actually going to be chapatis, owing to leaving it till everyone else arrived so they'd be hot. And the sabzi was too less :P).

And then there was a 90 minute wait while the rest of the party was aroused from deep slumber and told to get their asses here fast. Which they did. And the rest of the evening whizzed by as we ate hungrily and then people played Bluff and Poker while I played 'DJ' and generally faffed around. After which a round of chai happened amidst watching clips of Omid Djallili, Russell Peters and The Mitchell and Webb Look.

They left a while ago, after helping me clean the place up AND do dishes. The house suddenly feels empty and it's beginning to hit me now that tomorrow Life will be back to its routine hum and I will be a year older than I was, a day ago.

So what's it like to be 25? It's only a number, what are you talking about?

I'm kidding. It doesn't work like that though you know. You don't suddenly feel different at the stroke of twelve (or, if you want to be really pedantic, then whatever hour that you were born at). There's no nirvana-spray that hits you, nor are there moments of epiphany just because the clock has struck. Not for me anyway, if it's happened to you, well then, good for you! (And do tell! ;) )

But do I feel different? Hell yes! :) It's been a fantastic year. Fantastic. Even if not everything has gone per plan. But I guess that's the beauty of it. Or maybe, that is the point of it. I don't really know. Maybe it's not your plan that you focus on but that of the cosmos because it cancels your plans and makes you do things you wouldn't otherwise, which go exactly as per its design. I don't really know, I'm only 25!

I feel different though. Not in a "Gawd I hated beans last year but this year I'm willing to eat them, but only if they are prepared in a certain way" different, heck, I doubt I can actually begin to describe what this 'different' is. But, it is. Different. (Insert quick ad for Maggi Hot and Sweet Tomato Chilli Sauce.)

Take today's party for example. Birthdays so far have meant a day of major sulks because friends couldn't/wouldn't be around and I had rathe large expectations of a birthday party. But this year, I am incredibly happy at having organised things myself and even spent my 'special day' cooking for other people. Well I didn't do it all by myself but I bothered. As opposed to being whiny kid wanting things on a platter. God, I've been awful. Prolly still am, a whole lot.

I'm a teeny bit more responsible than before, maybe. But I have a long way to go. A very very long way. And I only hope that those around me will have the patience to deal with me while I grow up still. That even more, they will tell me off when I need it.

I've done loads of stuff I've wanted to but didn't really get around to. Sometimes, I've even managed to step out of my comfort zone. Not necessarily big hulking steps that took me far out, maybe just teeny-tiny baby steps which still do make a difference. Some difference.

I might've learned a lasting lesson or two about relationships. And I hope I can act upon them. Consistently.

I have a good life. And I'm very very thankful for it.

Presents? With an entire year that was one huge present, they seem rather ... insignificant. It seems a bit silly to want material things I mean (and believe me, I was hard pressed to come up with a wish list at all because I invarably thought "But I already have everything I want and need!") But I did get presents. The girls gave me soaps etc from Lush (with the boxes stuffed with popcorn which tasted of soap [duh!] ... it's put me and our male chef off popcorn for a while), and the guys got me curling tongs! Of all the inexplicable things. No, apparently there is some convoluted explanation, some in-joke of sorts. Boys! I was rather delighted with it though because I might've wanted one of those vaguely.

Oddly enough, the lack of books hasn't really bothered me. 25 working it's magic, hah!

And, I'm being taken to the theatre one evening :D

I also bought some stuff, which is to be considered as given by the folks:

The funny thing is, this isn't stuff I'd have picked up earlier. I don't wear sunglasses. Ever. But I have a pair now! And boots! Well, I've wanted them for a while but I've put off getting them and a watch for so long that ... it's a bit of a surprise, having now bought them just like that. Seen, loved and bought. You can keep looking for something for ages and then you'll find it when you're least expecting it. Enjoy window shopping in the meantime, and don't fret about finding what you're looking for. It'll find you.

I guess that really is the lesson in all this turning-25 business.

And now for the best bits. Always save them for the last ;)

Words from two very precious people, girls as dear as none other, souls without whom this year wouldn't have meant as much as it does and without whom, Life would be dull, dull, dull (and who make me wonder how I ever got by without them, before).

Says the Lady of Lorien, our Kind Galadriel:

"Of books and cats. Of photographs and memories. Of intellect and unnatural humility.

Dewey is all of the above and so much more. Over the last year or so that I have known her (has it really been a year?!) we have become very close – I feel a connection with her that I feel with so few other people.

I’m not referencing any of her posts because it is simply impossible to find one that is better than any other. That being said, her blog is just one of the places where you can see the tremendous potential she has as a storyteller, as a thinker. If you know her as I have, you will realize that this is just a very minuscule tip of the enormous iceberg of talent lurking underneath the surface.

That doesn’t mean that she isn’t fun. What it does mean is that she has the ability to separate the serious from the silly, to know exactly the difference between cerebral and crazy.

As she steps into a new year, a new age, I can only expect that she will achieve everything she sets out to do and more. And I hope she does plan the much promised trip to the USA!

Happy birthday, girl."

And how could anything be complete without the wisdom and insanity of the High Priestess of the Temple of Crazy and Her Royal Madness, Catty? So she wrote:

"jab we met: the story... as most stories... is different...
loca had done a piece abt this new blogger from london who was looking for other blog-pals. and i, who NEVER ever click on links *dewey will vouch for that*, clicked on it and reached DDD.
i read her for a while, commented *NOT the random comments i leave these days... relevant-to-post-comments*, then got busy with that thing called life. then, all of a sudden, i was to go to london for a work stint... and i wasn't sure abt the whole deal. bijli kadki... realization dawned... and i went back to dewey's *again, from loca's*... and left her a rather vague comment asking if she'd mind helping me out.
i got an instant reply... like she were waiting for my mail... the rest, as they say, is history. she was there at the airport *altho, an hour and half late* to greet a nearing-panic me. she found me a place to stay and made sure that i never... not for a day... felt lonely in the strange new country. for that itself, i can adopt her.

she sings songs for me on FB. sends me nagging offlines, mails and scraps. ALL if i'm not online for ONE day. no, it doesn't annoy me. it makes me feel rather special... coz i know she means it! reason # 2 why i could adopt her... i doubt anybody else misses me as much. and yes, she DOES get points for being so darned vocal abt it! :)

it's rare that i get along with anyone this well... and it's even more rare that she doesn't annoy me. never ever. in fact, no matter how blue i'm feeling, if she's online, i'll login for 10 mins... JUST to say hi to her. and that, in itself brightens my day considerably.

right now... in the midst of a lovely xmas holiday, here i am.. ignoring my mom, unreturned phone calls and the man i married... to write this piece for her. bcoz i hope it'll bring a smile to her already lovely face. and that, is worth ALL the effort.
and of course, i have to sing a song for you... so i shall repeat what you'd set as ur FB status, dewey:
door kahiin jab din dhal jaaye,
lovely dewey... b'day manaaye... khaana khilaaye...

here's wishing you a wonderful bday! and hoping that you get LOADS of lovely gifts!
love you loads child... come over soon. we'll have a blast, i promise. and yes, i will still label ur wedding album as "ek vivaah aisa bhi". no matter when you get married!
MUAH"

Did I not say, fantastic day and year? Oh, hang on.

Hey, Cosmos! You're fabulous!

I certainly would not have done such a post another time.

*the voice of culinary authority [between us three], who is a pretty good cook [alert, is MALE], informed me that it was NOT pulao unless everything was cooked at once, not rice added to masala as was my chosen recipe.

The Newly Marrieds

2009-12-21T23:44:00.002Z

It had been a few weeks since they'd gotten married. All their time together before and anticipation of what was to come had not prepared them for the reality of it. Much like any other newly married couple, they were navigating what looked like an area littered with landmines. Occasionally they'd step on one. Or just about miss. Mostly though, they seemed to float on air and live in a state of bliss.

It was a weekend morning. She'd let him snooze while she woke up before him and pottered about. There was something about these mornings, they made her restless. She couldn't fathom sleeping in ... maybe it was because they afforded her those few rare and precious opportunities for absolute 'me time' with the added bonus of the house being inhabited but quiet and dewy fresh out.

Having sorted her beauty regimen (goodness, she really hadn't had much time lately had she?!), she decided it was time to wake her husband up and made her way to their room. And paused. Their room? Wow ... that sure sounded ... strange. And there he was. Her husband. Geez ... that sounded stranger, she still couldn't get used to it. But the sight of him fast asleep there, very much within reach, this she could get used to. She couldn't have enough of that.

Smiling fondly she reached over and caressing his hair called to him to wake up.

He opened his eyes drowsily, smiled sleepily, opened his eyes fully ... and SCREAMED.

"What the hell did you do that for?!" he demanded.

"What ... what ... I ... huh ... uh ... what?!" was all she could sputter putting a hand to her forehead. Where her fingers found the set face mask she'd applied earlier.

Oh the joys of being married!

And of course, as Murphy's Law would have it, they had guests and someone ventured to ask if everything was okay.

"Oh yes, yes" said the new wife of a few weeks "He .. uh ... saw a cockroach."

Sound Advice

2009-12-11T13:41:00.002Z

I happened to be given a dinky cd-player/radio as a Christmas present, sort of. So I took it home finally and as is my habit, I had my earphones on since I was travelling and all. I attracted a fair few curious looks and half expected someone to come up to me and say

"Hey love, there's no need to carry that thing around you know? They've got these music players these days that are about the size of a postage stamp. Maybe put that on your Christmas wish list."

I'd have laughed. I would! And maybe then replied with "Blimey! You don't say!"

Comfort

2009-12-07T00:09:00.004Z

has a shelf life

To be heard and not seen

2009-12-03T11:36:00.003Z

I miss the days of ICQ and random chat rooms.

All that anonymity was very comforting, a lot of times. Being able to say something at random, ramble on and then vanish without a trace, move on, with hardly a chance of bumping into the person you spilled the beans to, ever again ... reassuring. In my little bubble anyway.

And I don't intend 'beans' to mean salacious secrets that I do not want to voice before the world, attaching my identity to them. I mean random inconsequential things which I just want to say without having the burden of recognition tagged to them. I want to be able to simply throw my thoughts to the wind and let them go where they do, do their own thing but not come back to me. I want to be able to throw caution to the wind and simply voice.

I know, I have a blog. A (fairly) anonymous blog. Which serves the purpose quite well most days. But even then, it still has an identity. Here, I am DewdropDream. Who, in reality, could be anyone. But is still someone, tangible in some obscure way. Some days, I don't want that either.

A number of people who read this know me outside the virtual world. And just occasionally it annoys me. I tell myself it was a momentary lapse of judgement to have let them come here. I'm sorry, but I do feel that way. Heck, I'm sometimes very glad that not everybody who reads, comments. Those are the days I do not want to know who it is that I'm addressing. I do not want a name, face, link to tag you with. I don't want to know. I want to be able to just let go and finish it at that. I don't want to have it known that I was behind whatever random point it is. I like pretending there is no one around listening, reading, assimilating ... wanting to take it further.

Some days, I really and truly want to be nobody.

Chewing it over

2009-11-29T19:36:00.005Z

Eve must have had a moment or two of hesitation and indecision before she bit into the apple. A moment or two when she weighed her options, thought about what it might be like after ... hell, thought about what it tasted like and if she would like it.

I currently feel like Eve must have, with all this Twilight frenzy around. And which smart-ass decided to put an apple on the cover, I'd like to ask.

It's sort of been on my radar for a bit, it isn't really something one can ignore, what with all the posters popping up in your face as you amble in the city and enough people on buses and trains reading copies of the blighted books.

However, thus far I have resisted. I read Stephen King lampoon the writing* and what other bits I read about the book and the movie said it had an annoying whiny heroine and the acting was bad. I like my heroines to be feisty and spunky and my movies to be convincing. So that's pretty much ruled it out for me so far.

But, I find that I'm slowly being drawn to the edge. I've read enough moxed reviews by now to confuse me into this "To bite or not to bite" state. Pitu says she liked the movie. Twisted DNA's opinion intrigued me even as I gave in to hilarity. The Bride weighs its pros and cons and I do think she makes a fair point. Agent Green Glass isn't very impressed and Metrostudent, on the other hand, is recovering from a forced outing to view the new movie and doesn't feel so kindly towards it:

Verdict – Bella gets herself a new fella (YAWN – AGAIN). He’s not a drug-seller. The Title of ‘New Moon’ is yeller. Please hide this film somewhere where we can’t see it – like a coal cellar.

Sheer brilliance that, I say!

Marina Hyde, one of my favourite Guardian columnists, warns that resistance is futile. The commenters are pretty evenly divided between loving it and hating it. Oh and there's enough feminist musing in there.

"I've seen so many people, usually feminists, say the books are anti-female and promote weakness in woman and in my opinion, that is the total opposite of what they do. Bella is a very strong character, who in the end, saves everyone, including Edward. Most girls Bella's age feel insecure about themselves, but Edward never tries to make her feel that way, he thinks she is WAY too good for him. I've never been able to figure out why people hate twilight so much. You don't have to like it, but what's wrong with a love story, that also promotes abstinence before marriage and family unity. As a mother, I love it." is the response of one woman.

A few comments down someone else says "I do think the whole thing is interesting, but I lack the heart and soul of twelve year old girl." and continues with "I'd like to think the attraction was looking at boys' naked bellies, but sadly I really think it's because these days teenage girls have turned into World of Warcraft playing nerds. I don't really think encouraging abstinence among teenagers is such a good thing. There's nothing worse than awkward ageing virgins in their 20s, or God forbid, in their 30s."

There is also all this talk of Taylor Lautner's abs ("... the main attraction of the new film is Taylor Lautner's amazing abs" ) and Robert Pattison's dishy looks("I'm a 21 year old heterosexual male and I can appreciate that Robert Pattinson is indeed a very pretty fellow") (and I can see the google searches landing people on this page now ... you eye-candy hungry people, you!). Now, I don't give two hoots about Taylor Lautner's abs or Robertson whatsisname (On one of those days when my tongue was more scathing than usual, I was heard to remark 'Bite me?! I'd ask to see a dentist's certificate before I let him so much as smile at me' ... in all fairness, I just wanted to use that line :P) ... but it's making me wonder if I should. I mean, the guy looks like a boy-band member what wit his laal lipstick and too much foundation and last time I checked it was babyface wtchoocallim (Nick Carter, yeah I know his name, rite of passge and all that jazz) ... he was wearing pink lipstick (although it might've been enhanced with photoshop) point being ... I am actually paying attention to teenage sucker phase thingy.

Hell, I even checked out the Guardian's photo-narrative on the new faces in the new movie and the comments about people forgetting red-eye reduction functions on new cameras and something about "another of those blighters" cracked me up but it told me the movie has Dakota Fanning, who, other than having grown up into one helluva cute teenager, shares her name with one of my favourite songs.

I'm not exactly going about kissing posters of Robert Pattison on the underground ... but I'm very nearly sucked into this whirlpool of silliness.

Forget Twilight, place your bets. Will I bite? Will I get bitten? Fate, is it written?

*not that I have a very good opinion of Stephen King and not that his opinion matters much ... be as it may that he's considered a good writer, I find his constant allusion to his work and his belief in his greatness rather tiresome. I prefer authors who possess a modicum of humility.

The Evolution of Racoon-Man

2009-11-25T14:23:00.003Z

I've been people watching a whole lot lately, on the tube.
It's astonishing how every single person there seems to have dark-circles, puffy eyes and papery bags under their eyes. Even the tourists!*
I'm just wondering, what if dark-circles and puffy eyes somehow become an element of evolution and our descendants sport ghastly bags under their eyes?!
Worse, what if people suddenly accept dark circles as a norm and the next thing you know someone's coming out with eye-bag glitter and jewellery!

*Shelly (not her real name), my housemate, says it's 'Transference' — even if you're calm as such, all the surrounding tension and stress can really get to you.

Put-downable

2009-11-22T15:08:00.004Z

It occurred to me that over the years I'd heard some real gems in the way of put-downs. Some of them are downright mean but they make me laugh when I think of them and let's face it, mean-funny is something all of us have known, at some point or other.

"Ivna mukha nodidre moor dina oota seralla" (He has a face that would make you lose your appetite for three days). Courtesy a childhood friend who had started junior college then, commenting about all those road romeos found leering at girls outside her women only college.

"Yaar iva hanigi maarava?" (Who's this guy? Looks like one of those comb-sellers on the street). This one is courtesy the family. Ma happened to use it the first time she saw Hrithik Roshan and elicited a 'That's HRITHIK ROSHAN ma!' reaction from a very scandalised brother. She continued to refer to him as 'Rutvik' for a while ... I am pretty sure she did that just to annoy us :P

"Vadak tambigi" (literally 'broken tumbler'). Another family contribution. Most often used to refer to Sunil Shetty by one of my uncles.

"Humara standard itna low nahi hai ki hum tumko bhav dega". The younger sister of a friend, when some random guy tried to chat her up.

"Would you date a dinosaur then if you were mentally compatible?". The brother to some guy who'd been droning on and on and on about mental compatibility. You may be sure 'mental compatibility' is one term we never use in any relationship talk :P

"Why?" One of my cousins. A rather good looking girl, she frequently had guys approach her and do the "I know of you through so and so blah blah blah blah blah blah ... can we be friends/will you be friends with me?" routine. Unluckily for them they never had an answer to her rather simple and (fairly innocent) query.

Edited to add:

"Chatri nan magane!" Okay I don't really know the meaning of this one (help? someone? translate pliss?) and I'm not entirely sure but it might be offensive. This one cracks me up BIG TIME thanks to the scene that I associate with it, stuck in my mind indelibly.

I must have been in third standard. In my class were two kids. Rakesh and Shilpa. Shilpa was a chubby cheeked, somewhat short, usually calm and collected little girl. Rakesh was the quintessential school-boy imp ... always upto mischief, annoying other people. Rakesh and Shilpa had the misfortune of being seated next to each other that year. They seemed to get on okay most days, a skirmish here and there did nothing to make the teacher separate them.

Shilpa used to carry an umbrella to school rather religiously. And she'd tuck it in that space below the desk where we used to keep our schoolbags. One fine day, Rakesh was having a case of itchy hands more than usual and simply could not stop fiddling. After he had attempted to manhandle Shilpa's umbrella for the umpteenth time, she really lost it and yanking it out of its place brandished it over his head and scolded "Chatri nan magane!"

The normally rambunctious Rakesh was reduced to shocked disbelief and his face grew really small. To this day, "chatri nan magane" evokes that face of his, as Shilpa is brandishing her umbrella and reduces me to giggles. What was I doing all this time? Oh I was sat at a distance wathing the tableau ... evidently I was observant AND have good memory.

Knowing

2009-11-18T22:38:00.001Z

"Sometimes the mystery is better than the knowing, wouldn't you say? Sometimes the journey is better than the destination"

The last thing you'd associate with such profound philosophy is swearing. Or maybe one does. I can't say for sure.

As swear words go, 'Limone' doesn't do too badly. In fact, I think I can recall the usage of 'Lemon' in some Regency book or other as abuse. It wins also due to its inability to make me laugh while swearing at someone — unlike 'Paperskull!' or even 'Hog Dandruff!'

And whilst we're on the subject of swearwords, here's to the chap who taught me beauties such as 'Anoncephalus', 'Gluteus maximus' and 'Gluteocephalus'.

Happy Birthday Treetop!

Of Firsts

2009-11-17T21:26:00.004Z

It's easy enough for us present day humans — we know a dream's a dream. Or a nightmare. We can deal with those ... thrashing about, screaming, waking up drenched in sweat or continuing to sleep blissfully with only a beatific smile to punctuate the sequence. And very often being woken up rather rudely just as something pleasant is about to happen. But wake up we do, eventually, knowing whatever it was was only a temporary interlude — sometimes remembering, sometimes forgetting.

If you're me, you also wonder which really is the dream and what is reality.

But what of the very first human who had the very first dream? What did he/she react like?

Or are dreams something that have been programmed into the brain patterns of our animal ancestors such that the first human reacted the same way that we do?

P.S: For those still interested (I'm looking at you especially, Catty), I've picked up The Tale of Genji again. It's going really slow I'm afraid, it's not exactly a page turner and all the footnotes and things keep distracting me. Not to mention the fact that all Genji seems to do is sleep around and behave like a little boy. I know, this is what I signed up for but it'll take a while to finish. It's a 1100 odd page book, the last one I read this size or close to it was World Without End and Amazon tells me that was only 816 pages. But I've got pretty haikus and phrases to keep me interested. I would tell you I'm making notes as I go along but I am not. I like to read when I read, not fuss about making notes and nonsense. So in that sense the 'review' is going to be from the heart and straight off the bat, and take ages. Maybe the next ten years. If I'm not dead by then. Or lose my copy. Or something.

All that glitters ...

2009-10-09T23:23:00.004+01:00

'Knight in shining armour' is a rather suspect expression in my very humble opinion.

A veteran knight would certainly have fought many a battle and would in all probability have well used armour. Which leads to the conclusion that it would be a rookie who'd have shiny armour. And what really are the chances of him being gifted enough to fight skilfully?

On the other hand, if it's a long-timer who has shiny armour, you may be certain that he's got someone keeping it shiny for him. In all probability a woman who is grumbling while doing aforesaid shine-maintenance.

Which leaves me to wonder, why the heck would anyone want a knight in shining armour?

Tag, Tagger, Tagged

2009-10-09T22:06:00.004+01:00

1.What is your current obsession ?

Neil Gaiman's work. The new graphics tablet at work. And buying presents for the family.

2. What are you wearing today?

Pyjamas. It's been a long day alright, gimme a break!

3. What’s for dinner?

No, the question is, who's making it?

4. What’s the last thing you bought?

Oooooo ... erm, shower gel, conditioner, lotion, lipstick and nailpolish for mommy, art supplies, books, DVDs ...

5. What are you listening to right now?

Right NOW? The housemates talking and the canine shredding her squeaky toy. Else it's been Lata Mangeshkar and loads of Stereophonics, Oasis, Coldplay and Muse. And L. Subramaniam.

6. What do you think about the person who tagged you?

Oh she certainly does interesting tags!

7. If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be?

I hear Nice is very nice. Or even Geneva. Gimme a few years and I'll be all ready to move back home to my parents' house :D

8. What are your must-have pieces for summer?

EH?! I don't really think of shopping in those terms, thank you very much!

9. If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?

I'd visit Catty :D

10. Which language do you want to learn?

Italiano! Era squisita!

11. What’s your favourite quote?

Zaphod: I'm a pretty dangerous dude when I'm cornered.
Ford: Yeah, you go to pieces so fast people get hit by the shrapnel.

12. Who do you want to meet right now?

C, beshteshteshtesht frand and the sister I don't have. I want to hear all about her brand new married life and her PG and generally have a looooooooooooong talk.

13. What is your favourite colour?

Bleuuwww :D

14. What is your favourite piece of clothing in your own closet?

Whatever I've bought recently I guess.

15. What is your dream job?

I'm in the industry I wanted to be in. Hereon it's free territory to be explored.

16. What’s your favourite magazine?

Reader's Digest between the 60s and 80s.

17. If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?

Books. Or more presents.

18. What do you consider a fashion faux pas?

Following fashion trends because they're 'in' right now. Ever heard of thinking for yourself and having a personal style? Actually, fashion be damned!

19. Who according to you is the most over-rated style icon?

Aren't they all? It's not like they have much to do with it anyway, they've almost all got stylists working for them.

20. What kind of haircut do you prefer?

I'm forced to stick to the one I have because I'm yet to find something radically good that is easy to maintain. Meh

21. What are you going to do after this?

Sleep.

22. What are your favourite movies?

Stardust. Death At A Funeral. Ice Age, all three parts. Madagascar. Bridge to Terabithia. Okay I'm a cinema ignoramus. Shoot me.

23. What are three cosmetic/makeup/perfume products that you can't live without?

Put like that, I will adopt a high and mighty tone and tell you I can live without dependence on anything, thank you very much. I use moisturiser for my face, scrub, body lotion and the tiniest hint of lip gloss when I can be arsed to.

24. What inspires you ?

Beauty. Sadness. Truth ... mostly, reflection.

25. Give us three styling tips that always work for you:

Pass.

26. What do you do when you “have nothing to wear” (even though your closet’s packed)?

A) Call mom and tell her to parcel some gunny bags which I will cut holes out of and wear as a dress.
B) Call in sick and stay home in my pyjamas.
C) Go out in my pyjamas.

What do you think I do?! I usually have a back up ready.

27. Coffee or tea?

Depends.

28. What do you do when you are feeling low or terribly depressed?

Shut myself out from the world. Retreat behind a book and bury my nose in it (it's been To Kill a Mockingbird behind whose pages I have examined my life a lot of times but of late Stardust has served the purpose just as well). Talk to someone, depending on what bothers me.

29. What is the meaning of your name?

DewdropDream? Self-explanatory I think :) I was once told my non-blogger name means 'Yet to bloom'.

30. Which other blogs do you love visiting?

Refer to list.

31. Favorite Dessert/Sweet?

Will eat almost everything except petha and jalebis.

32. Favorite Season ?

Spring

33. If I come to your house now, what would u cook for me?

It's bed time and you want me to cook for you? I've got pasta. Or Maggi. Or Uttapam mix.

34. What is the right way to avoid people who purposefully hurt you?

Give them the cold shoulder. I'm working on the being mean to them bit.

35. What are you afraid of the most?

Being made a fool of. I think.

36. My Question: Is it possible to be in love with two persons simultaneously??

Yeah I guess so. Possible, yes. Practical? Probably not. What was that about what you do being the thing that mattered and all the other platitudes about love one usually hears. All those.

Ya wanna da tag? Take-a da tag!

What are you looking at?

2009-10-02T03:30:00.000+01:00

There's nothing here to see.

The party is happening at Galadriel's. And I am a guest. YOU on the other hand should hop over and wish the Lady of Lorien a Happy Birthday and join in the festivities (kick-ass sambhar to be had!). Off you go now ... Scram!

Resistance is Futile

2009-09-23T10:15:00.003+01:00

Well what do you know.

I'm used to people looking at me like I am a new species of bacteria under the microscope. Make that a mentally deranged, smug bacteria. All because I am not doing anything IT related and did not take up engineering like most of my friends did.

What I am not used to is having this IT stuff creep into my brain stealthily such that I suddenly begin to talk fairly intelligibly about it and have people give me 'Wow! How on earth did you know that? WHY do you know that?' looks. I mean! It's nice, this near-respect I am getting but I guess the only explanation would be that I am Indian and we Indians are born with this stuff coded into our brains and in our genes. I am telling them that. I so am.

And despite making an active effort to not spend too much time on the computer, keeping my laptop in the living room and not switching it on every evening when I get home from work, not blogging half as much, guess what? I apparently still spend a lot of time with computers.

Recently, it dawned on me that heard the typical routine hum of a computer, (like when it comes on after being on stand-by?) rather regularly. One fine day it happened and there was no computer in sight. Turns out it was me.

:|

Edited to add: Okay so I don't get MATLAB even now but so what? :P

Of Great Bosses and Good-byes

2009-09-16T14:51:00.002+01:00

My boss left the company yesterday after five years of working here, to follow his dreams.

Now I know many people can only ever complain about their bosses but I am not one of them. I have always been fortunate enough to have bosses who have been nice, patient, kind and easygoing.

DH though was something else again. It's astonishing just how much one can get used to someone in the space of just two years, even if all you're doing is seeing them for eight hours everyday when you work, sharing very little of anything of your life beyond work.

And now that the new one is here and I have to occasionally offer a little help regarding how things function here, I am surprised at just how much I seem to be speaking and behaving like the old one! I guess I am easily influenced then. But really lucky I had someone like DH to be influenced by.

So DH, here's to you. Here's to people like you and bosses like you. May your kind flourish! You really were the best boss I have ever had. Thank you for everything, you've taught me well and I hope you feel proud for having done so. It seems a little strange without you around. you will be missed a whole lot. But I hope you have a fantastic life and that all your dreams come true.

It's only been a day so it's still too early but I'm hoping to get the New Boss settle into a routine of the occasional random chat in the middle of work very soon. I'm not having some things change if I can help it ;)

Against All Odds

2009-09-14T23:05:00.001+01:00

Heart-wrenching sobs. They’d stop for about five seconds and then start afresh, more intense than before. It had been like this for a few days now. Even by her standards this was quite bad. And all for someone who had so not been worth it. Hell, she’d seen them all and this one had been the worst of the lot, no kidding. Lord knows how she fell or him or any of the others. All those sweet nothings and hours of meaningless promises perhaps. You’d think she’d have learned to err on the side of caution by now, but no. She continued down the same path, up again after another fall, oblivious to past mistakes and learning, forgetting what had transpired. You could almost have admired her ability to pick herself up, dust herself off and carry on, but honestly, after a time, it started to appear stupid.

Sila. Surely it was some sort of a sick joke. It was a name that seemed designed to invite trouble. Oh it also attracted men by the droves. But maybe it was fate that only the defective of that lot seemed to win the lottery that was Sila. Till they wasted it, of course. Sila of the virtues that the most exacting of people would be pleased with. Sila.

Dark eyes watched Sila. Eyes that flashed with anger. When they were not looking stormy with trying to accommodate the million emotions they felt on seeing her bunched like this, crying fit to die of sadness. Eyes that held a lot of love for her and some other emotion which seemed to be locked away, an emotion that you could spot if you looked out of the corner of your eye but was out of reach when you tried to focus. One that would always only be a sort of frission, never a concrete tangible thing. At least to the world, because the possessor of those eyes knew exactly what it was.

Tidying up the table of stray books, she gave vent to a sigh that had been lurking within for a while. And allowed her thoughts to run because reining them anymore threatened her stability.

How had she landed in this mess? It was difficult enough for most people in her situation but she’d gone several steps ahead and gotten enmeshed in a snafu that took the cake. Not that one could really ever have a say in these things. It had been hard enough realizing she was lesbian. Coming out to the people who mattered had been another hurdle altogether. But that had been dealt with and she’d received unconditional support from those who mattered, Sila included. Which had been wonderful. Until of course, things changed.

Love is hard at the best of times. But try being lesbian and then try being in love with your best friend. Who is most definitely NOT a lesbian. If that isn’t enough, try simply having to stand-by while said best friend goes about fantastically fucking up her life by going out with all the wrong men and having her heart broken more or less incessantly (Men weren’t all bad, strange perhaps but there were a decent few around. But WHY did she have to end up seeing all the pond-scum samples?!!). Try having to do nothing but offer a shoulder and a hanky and cups of hot chocolate and staying up nights while she weeps down the phone. And try having to sit through the worst kind of romantic comedies. And when that is over, try having to live trough another round of blush-giggle-gush-he’s so awesome!-I’m in love!-yada-yada until (sigh) the cycle turns around and it’s back to the weeping heartbreak. Rinse and repeat. And all this while, try having to work really really really hard at having to keep that overpowering rush of love you feel for her under check. Try having to live in so checked a manner that even when senseless drunk, that one part of you stays locked up in a straitjacket with duct tape over your mouth.

There wasn’t a guarantee that she and Sila would have never quarreled and lived a happy life forever. It wasn’t that she thought Sila had a better chance with her than any man. It was just that she loved Sila. Truly, madly, deeply, overwhelmingly … inexplicably.

Sila. She was bound to have the world fall in love with her. And her best friend just happened to be a part of it.

Des-crimination

2009-09-11T23:17:00.002+01:00

One of my dearest chums D (not popular blogger D, another D I know in person and has been mentioned here before) has started blogging recently and sweetly wrote me a guest post (seeing as how of late I find it hard to come up with two lines worthy of being written down). Off you go to read that:

Thanks DewD for the honour of writing a guest post for you! [Aw man, too much credit you give me! The pleasure's all mine babe, thank YOU! :)]

So here it rolls -

A couple of months ago, I was in Mumbai. One evening I went to catch up with some old friends, had dinner and returned home in a rickshaw.

So it was 10.30pm, and as we approached my street, the driver, in his late 30s, pointed at my building.

Driver: Is that where you need to get off?
Me: Yes
Driver: See! I knew it! How do you think I know?
Me: Have you been here before? (Mr. Desperadooooooooo)
Driver: No. (Waits for me to guess again)
I have no interest in playing games at this point, so
Me: Then?
Driver: I can tell everything about the passenger just by looking at them. It comes with experience in our profession. All the 'hi-fi' people who come to this locality live in that building. That's how I know you live there.
Bloody show off! Although at this point I was tempted to lead him into making a fool of himself.
Me:Oh wow, you've got good skills
Driver: (enthusiastic now) Let me explain. For example, do you know 'Brahmand society'? I can look at a passenger and know that's where they want to go. Because people living in that society are all dark and fat. You know, the typical SOUTH INDIAN types.

WTF???!!!!

Being a south-Indian myself, I am offended at this point although I don't fit into his description. I could have given him a lecture, got into an arguement, spoken about being an Indian first and make him bite his words. Well, I choose not to. I decide to play along and teach him a lesson, in a way that he might hopefully understand.

Me: (with a very serious voice) Do you mean to say all south-Indians are dark and fat?
There is a 5-second awkward silence.
Driver:(with a scared, shaky voice) Madam, are you a south Indian?
By this time, I have got down, and searching for my wallet in my handbag
Me:(with a sarcastic chuckle) Well, it looks like you don't know everything about your passengers after all...
Driver: Sorry madam. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Please. Sorry. Actually I had not looked at you well enough, otherwise I would not have said that
Me:(but you still would have opined that throughout your life! Anyway, since you apologised...) Its OK.
Driver: (hesitating)So are you a south Indian?
Me: (handing him the fare) No
The smile of relief on his face would have brought tears of joy to his loved ones!
Driver: Thank God!
Me: (before turning and walking away in a stern voice and a straight face) I was kidding. I am what you guys would call an 'Idli sambar'. I am neither dark nor fat. (I hope you learnt your lesson today.)

His facial muscles tightened, eyes wide in horror. As I enter the elevator with this expression as my compensation, I hear another 'Sorry Madam' yelled in the background.

He was not a bad person. Neither are many. What they have is an opinion. A racist opinion. Thrusted and imposed on them by society, friends, family. Every racial group or clan has a tag - cheaters, misers, bad-dressers, cunning, and so on. Proposals are rejected in arranged marriages openly because of the skin colour. All this is inflicted by none other than fellow country-men. And we mock other countries for being racist.

How do we change this?

Romance

2009-09-07T20:35:00.003+01:00

is like hosting a good dinner party. It's important to have the correct ambience, company, music, conversation et al. But long after the first taste of food has elicited oohs and aahs of appreciation, there must be plenty left over for seconds and thirds.

Sunday Night Reliever

2009-09-06T22:58:00.003+01:00

One dissertation-crazed housemate.

One dog - pining for its masters and otherwise acting bonkers.

One more housemate, melancholy as can be.

A bunch of yellow calla lilies on the table, arranged haphazardly but looking cheerful and pretty.

Take two mugs. Spoon a hot chocolate mix from different brands in them and throw in a chunk of dark chocolate with hazelnuts for that magic kick. Pour in hot water and turn the mugs into containers of magic potion.

Play random romantic songs from hindi movies.

Crunch on the hazelnuts and sip on the chocolate goodness. Ahhh bliss!

Oh hang on, there's no excitement.

Right.

Cue housemate making minor whimpering sounds while pointing in horrified fascination at the huge-ass spider that's crawling across the carpet. Interrupt chocolate slurping to throw book on spider and squish it. Excitement over, back to chocolate.

NOW it's perfect.

Heal the world

2009-09-02T10:28:00.002+01:00

I am sick of the world I happen to be living in. Sick of corrupt governments. Sick of the rich and famous abusing their wealth for selfish reasons. Sick of publicity-hungry useless eejits wyho clog the media with their unwanted crap. Sick of the media that sensationalises and fails to do its duty. Sick of decent people being given a hard time. Sick of crime. Sick of women getting the short end of the stick. Sick of the environment being violated a gazillion times over. Sick of all the wrongs that I see around me.

And yes, there is still much to look forward to: there are still rainbows and dolphins, monsoons and the smell of damp earth, smiles and sunshine, laughter and poetry, delicious food and music, languages and adventure, India and Italy ...

But it wouldn't be so bad for it all to end. I want Armageddon to come and finish the world, give it a chance to start over and do things right this time.

Common Sense

2009-08-29T11:10:00.002+01:00

So rare, it could be considered a super power

— Quoting the Boss quoting an inspirational poster.

Homecoming

2009-08-24T21:33:00.004+01:00

The exhaustion is rather evident in her tired eyes, almost squeezed shut as they appear. Fatigue invading every single pore after a fairly exacting day at work, she manages to get her train — heels clopping, weighed down by her bag and the rather large paperback she carries to amuse herself while travelling, ignoring the indulgent smiles of people around her who see a frowning girl in a Smurfette tee.

The paperback remains untouched on the train as her mind drifts away into random nothings. She walks, glad to be going home at last, knowing it finally is home and not just a place to sleep at night. And even though she may only be stopping briefly before she heads out again, she's content knowing she's going back to a welcoming, bright, tidy and populated home where there's music playing, the smell of delicious cooking, laughter, conversation and the prospect of lazing about in the last rays of the sun in a little green garden.

Keys ready, she opens the door and is met by two dark beady eyes looking at her with something that could almost be adoration. "Hey baby!!!" she greets. Puts her bags down and turns around to find the eyes still looking at her, a plea in them. Puzzled for a moment, something finally clicks in her mind. And in a tongue far different than anything she has ever spoken thus far, she utters the magic words.

The happy look in those eyes tells her she got them right. And having pulled on her yellow shoes to take a walk, feeling suddenly refreshed, she reflects again on what truly makes this place feel like home. She mulls over how easy it seems, delightedly smiling because she was being given a kiss and today she's being asked for more ... that home seems home because it holds the one thing she really and truly wanted:

Nope, I didn't get a dog because I got married :P I moved houses and this delightful creature belongs to my housemates. And while she's partly the reason I haven't been around of late, there was much more keeping me busy and it simply didn't feel like the right time to get back until now.

How ironic

2009-07-15T13:10:00.001+01:00

that they say 'Time heals all wounds'

and then they also say 'Time and tide wait for none'

The stufff Heroes are made of

2009-07-11T23:02:00.002+01:00

No not those Heroes. Or these ones (going by this conversation between Ritu and her youngest).

I rather meant the Greek kind. You know, world-famous, heartbreakingly handsome/beautiful (no wait, how many heroines did they talk of?), annoying the gods, stuffed full of derring-doo*...

And apparently, they are half-god and half-human.

I have the lovely Mukta to thank for putting me onto this particular series involving demi-god boy-hero Percy Jackson and a host of his friends and enemies in a world that revolves around Greek Gods, Titans and their minions, all relocated in modern day America.

I've finished the first three books in the series now and to sum it up very shortly... the series gets better with each book — the plot, structure, narrative, setting, characters and general feel of the books seem to get better with each new one.

Of course, if one had to explain what the series was about in about ten seconds (as would happen in conversation) one would immediately reference Harry Potter and say they are similar. But they aren't. The only reason there is a comparision is because Harry Potter happens to be a handy reference to talk about a series that involved children heroes who did wonderful things and lived in a magical world so different from what most of us are used to (and this is where I indulge myself with the thought that there actually are some of us who get to be a part of different magical universes). Harry Potter is a phenomenon. Hence, easy as a popular culture reference to explain something that might be in the same line.

Percy Jackson and the Olympians, however, deserves to be a phenomenon and I find it baffling that it isn't quite as popular as it could be. Quite honestly, in some ways this series is far better than Harry Potter in that they do not get cliched or predictable. Harry Potter was certainly imaginative, trouble is, latin names and incantations and the supposed twists in the end are far too much of a trademark to seem novel after a point. Not so with Percy Jackson. Having to work with Greek legends of yore and still fashion something that is gripping, not cliched and keeps the reader guessing is something of a stellar effot. And Rick Riordan has nailed it. There was always the danger of sounding rather patronising and the series turning into a sort of re-hash of who's who in Greek mythology, but he's managed to steer clear of these dangers and write books that are entertaining and interesting enough to be read by adults even if they were written for kids between 9 and 11.

The series starts off with The Lightning Thief where we are introduced to Percy Jackson, supposed delinquent who has been kicked out of all the schools he has attended and enrolls in a new one every year. We see him come to terms with his demi-god status, fight monsters and almost get killed, find a haven in Camp Half-Blood, grapple with the ideas of immortality, super-powers, training in special survival skills and take on a quest that is of Olympian magnitude and puts him in an audience with various gods in their modern day avtars. Much finger-biting action except the finger-biting is interrupted by explosions of laughter thanks to the numerous well places wisecracks. I mean, seriously, who addresses a Minotaur as 'ground beef' while fighting it to death?

As the first book in the series, there was much explanation required about various things. Why Olympus was now located in America, for example. The basic premise of that was that the gods have been responsible for the progress of mankind through centruries and therefore have moved with the times as humankind flourished in different eras. In other words, the gods have sustained Western Civilisation and are based in America now as it is the centre of western civilisation. Personally, I had issues with this explanation because that discounts the rest of the world that doesn't belong to the 'west'.** Coming from a land that was around before even the idea of America or the West came up, a land that has a vast and rich heritage of its own, one that rivals Greek civilisation and mythology... it's natural that I take exception to this monopolising by the 'West'. Also, I thought there was a rather distinct tone of 'America is the greatest country on the planet that the universe has ever seen' and while I understand that an author may write whatever they wish, I do think it's important to be a little more understanding of things outside your own cultural sphere when you are addressing an audience that is global.

There is this one instance in the book where Percy asks a girl at camp who her father is, assuming that her father too is a god, as his is. She replies "He's a professor at so-and-so university. What, you thought only male gods were capable of seducing mortals? How sexist is that?". I thought it was laudable, this idea if not assuming that men have the upper hand and putting it across in a book meant for children. This theme of gender equality is rather noticeable throuhought the series***. Sure it revolves around one seemingly central male character but it has two female leads who each are central to the narrative..

Other things that are dealth with very convincingly are the issue of how mortals do not seem to see gods and demi-gods or their activities (they are under the power of the Mist and essentially see exactly what they wish to see), what are the limitations of heroes/heroines/demi-gods/goddesses (they are human and god so they may be destroyed by weapons on both sides), the idea of life after death in the underworl (and this is really worth a read) and loose philosophical musings which make a lot of sense.

The Lightning Thief was well written but it felt a little unsure as if the author were testing the waters and was trying rather hard to convince readers. Specially when it starts off saying 'Don't believe me if you want to but everything I say is true and there really is such a world'. He eases up further on and really gets into the story-telling so it's not so bad... and as the books roll on, the writing is effortless, seamless, confident and very riveting.

Book two, The Sea of Monsters has Percy going off to help an old friend who is in trouble which ties in with another doomsday prediction for Olympus and the gods, while dealing with a brother who has been sprung upon him and more of the meet and greet/meet and duel with different monsters and gods.

Book three, The Titan's Curse sends Percy and his friends off on a quest to stop the Titans from overtaking Olympus, all the while being treated with suspicion because the prophecy revolves around one of them betraying Olympus.

Everytime a god is introduced in the book, the description of them and their mannerisms are just so endearing. Apollo for instance is shown as a teenager who drives a Maserati Spyder and is constantly getting up the back of his avowed maiden sister Artemis (who prefers to appear as a 12 year old girl), specially by teasing her huntresses. Aphrodite is shown to be indescribably beautiful, actually being able to manipulate love as a physical power. The gods and godesses wear modern clothes, talk slang soemtimes and are cool. Mythical creatures such as Hippocampi, Pegasi and Ophiotauri crop up and are just as delightfully sketched.

I am not sure if these books would interest and entertain anyone who has read Greek mythology but they have spurred me to read up on Greek mythology. My only gripe with the author is that the books seem too short, even though it it took me the better part of three hours to finish one. However, there doesn't seem to be a danger of the series ending quickly due to lack of plot and continuation. Which is far more than can be said of series on similar themes anywhere else.

*That is a funny word, seeing as how 'doo' is generally associated with err... crap. Maybe it was supposed to mean 'being brave enough to take risks but still crapping their pants'.

** I have issues using the term 'the West' because, as one rather prolific teacher on my media course, who really influenced my understanding of the media, explained: It isn't quite the right term. Who really did term it the West and why does the geographical position and consequent terming by this person influence the thinking of the rest of civilisation, irrespective of their respective geographial locations, specially when it is so obviously wrong?

***Maybe it's due to the fact that Greek mythology itself has never been about brushing things under the carpet or treating female characters as secondary. Goddesses such as Athena, Artemis and Aphrodite are as much about power as gods such as Apollo, Area and Hermes. Greek goddesses are not relegated to the task of looking pretty and being brainless. They DO stuff. Which includes pursuing men and having affairs if that's what they want. And none of that is treated as shameful. Aphrodite's dallying with Ares while being married to Hephaestus was an open secret. Hepheastus was mad of course and did all in his power to mock his wife and her lover but nowhere does Aphrodite or any other goddess get burdened with having to be virtuous, docile, meek, submissive or any of the other things that are so typical of female characters in Indian mythology. Really. We have goddesses of wealth and knowledge and so on and while that is good, the power to create and destroy still rests with male gods (ironic considering reproduction is a function that is largely the province of a woman) while the women have to put up with being pure and beautiful because they are female. If they are female and they get up to tricks because they are smart, they are reagarded as vamps who must be done away with. When goddesses themselves are portrayed thus, is it any wonder that female characters in epics are portrayed as delicate beings who cannot take things into their control, are simply pretty and about as useful and furniture? Any wonder that the Bharatiya Nari is expected to conform to these standards? You know what, after all, I think I can actually see why 'the West' is more progressive than the subcontinent.

The End. Or The Beginning. Whatever.

2009-07-10T22:41:00.003+01:00

Seeing as the excitement of her budday is now over ... or at least calmed down a bit, here's the last part that you've been waiting for so eagerly.

Neelam, being the super naagin, manages to save Nero. Vitamin saves Baby. The girls have a catfight over "Nero mera hai!!" while Nero fiddles and wonders wtf is going on. Neelam is abt to win (considering she DOES have naagin powers)... but acquiecses. she, then confesses to not being interested in Nero, but in his royal coin pendant. She tells them the story of how Nero is the only royal heir and can free her lover. Her plan was to seduce Nero and steal the pendant to free her lover!

Nero promises to help.

The four of them fly off to the palace on the magic carpet. By the time they arrive, there's a "homecoming" party being thrown for Karan Singh's daughter. 3 of them enter as dancers with the band, while Neelam takes her naagin form and slithers down to the dungeons. Vitamin falls in love with the princess.

At the party, Baby does an item number with Vitamin to the tunes of "Mehbooba Mehbooba" and they manage to distract everybody while Nero enters the dungeons. The sultan gets wind of someone breaking in to the dungeon and expecting only the wizard, he tells his guards to "check it out".

However, when the guards realizes that it is Nero - because he's still wearing the coin pendant - they join forces with him and help him fight Karan Singh and his evil goons. After a fight involving magic swords and flying dragons, Nero is forced to retreat to the dilapidated maa kali temple where he is reunited with his mother.

Karan Singh challenges Nero to come out and fight by saying that he would easily kill Nero and get the coin to ultimate power.

Karan Singh: "Mere paas flying dragons hain, riyaasat hai, harem hai... tumhare paas kya hai?"

Nero: Mere paas maa hai.

Nero, Baby and maa exit the mandir to the Tashan background score...

Rejuvenated by his "maa ka aashirwad", Nero manages to defeat Karan Singh in the duel. Neelam is finally reunited with her naag. Vitamin continues to attempt to romance the ex-princess (who is allowed to retain her princess rights). Baby weds nero and they take over as king and queen and restore peace and prosperity.

What's the similarity between a Walkman and a Cat(ty)

2009-07-09T07:00:00.004+01:00

They're both now 30!

I didn't forget after all. Not that there was much chance of that happening what with you reminding me every two seconds literally and behaving pretty much like a four year old about to turn five .. hee hee! :D

You know, I really wanted to post something witty, nice, slightly sentimental and one hundred percent mental to mark this day ... but I guess that's gone the same way as my wish of being with you to celebrate. It's a bit disappointing that it's not even like it was last year. But hey, not all is lost! :D

Anyway, here is to you, item-number expert, bollywood trivia encyclopaedia, script writer extraodinaire and exceptional high priestess of insanity ...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BIYATCH!!!

I love you very much :)

And if you still haven't figured it out, something is happening ... obviously I ain't gonna tell you what :D But you do get given a clue: This is a treasure hunt and the link to your next clue ...

ought to be obvious ;)

Aage hua yeh

2009-07-07T20:29:00.002+01:00

The beginning

Nero, meanwhile, is rescued by a passing dolphin who carries him to safety and leaves him at a sapera basti on an island far far away where he is adopted by Vitamin Singh's (Arshad Warsi) father who teaches him to make fiddles. In the meantime, Karan Singh takes over the throne, and begins ravaging the land and hoarding women for his harem. He, however, cannot use any of the charmed coins. He binds the wizard, breaks his wand and dumps him in the dungeon as well in an attempt to seize the coins. The wizard lends his magic carpet to his ichchadhaari naagin, Neelam (Bipasha Basu) and tells her to scour the earth and oceans and find "the one" coin as only it would now be able to free him and reunite her with her lover, who guarded the royal treasure.

Nero is happy with his footloose and fancyfree lifestyle and is a regular at the local bar, "bay-bee" with Vitamin. The bar-owner's daughter Baby (Kareena Kapoor) is in love with Nero. Nero, initially plays hard-to-get because he thinks she's way out of his league. Baby breaks out into a remixed version of "Pathhar ke sanam"... after some antics by Vitamin, Nero realizes that he does, afterall love Baby. Nero sings romantic song (main tera nero hoon), to now convince the "I-can-play-hard-to-get-too-and-I-do-it-better-than-you" Baby which ends up with Nero asking her to marry him. She goes home, tells her father to go and speak to Nero's adoptive dad and happily breaks into "Silsila yeh chahat ka". Nero, eavesdropping, then discovers that she has loved him since they were kids and has filled an empty beer bottle with kerosene and lit a diya, which she has kept lit all these years.

Both fathers agree to the wedding and the date's set. Vitamin throws Nero a bachelors party, which has Neelam dancing to "raat bhar jaam se, jaam takraayega" for the boys. Neelam tries to hit on Nero, who turns down her advances. Obviously, Neelam doesn't take this very well. She now starts stalking him and sings "aap jaisa koi meri zindagi mein aaye". A day before the wedding, she locks Baby in the bathroom, hangs a sign of "out of order" on the door, dons Baby's avatar and turns up at the wedding.

However, non-english reading audiences open the bathroom door and un-gag Baby. Baby turns up at the wedding scene and insists she's the real bride. Nero challenges her to prove it. She runs up and gets her beer bottle diya which is still lit. Neelam gets back into her own form... and confesses to being an ichchadhaari naagin. They both duel to a song (main teri sautan, sautan tu meri... main naagin tu hai baby...) which ends in Neelam smashing the diya. It sets the mandap on fire.

Where there is an Eve ...

2009-07-05T12:55:00.004+01:00

One of the things that I love London for is that I don't have to put up with eve-teasing or sexual harassment when am on the street, minding my business. I can wear what I like, do what I like and even then, rare is the occasion on which I might hear whistles or catcalls.

Which is not to say the populace here is completely sterile. More often than not, strangers might walk up to you and say "You're pretty/gorgeous/beautiful blah di blah", but that is that. You respond (smile, say thank you, whatever) or not, and you both move on.

Personally, I haven't ever felt threatened by some man on the street checking me out. Unlike in India where every outing is some sort of battle against every other random male you encounter, hell bent on stripping you of your dignity and making you feel hunted, desperate and even ashamed for something that isn't even your fault.

To be classified an eve-teaser here, the requirement is to be some sort of labourer, going by what I've seen, heard and read on occasion. Building workers, painters etc are bound to take on the role of eve-teasers out here with their jeering cat-calls and rather frequent passes at every passing thing remotely-female. They call you 'love', wish you whatever time of the day it is and try all the time to strike up conversations. Having had painters work on the office building for a good month or two, I've been subject to all of that. They discovered where the ladies' loo was and we had to out up with several instances of them hanging out right there making it difficult to use the facilities. Except that if you told them to go away, they would. Never mind that they returned.

And having faced much worse back home, this does seem rather harmless. Which is not to say it ought to be condoned, but it's easier to deal with. Somewhere, a society that is sensitised to women being more free in their dressing and behaviour with the opposite sex seems a safe place to be. Relatively though. Because apparently, there is plenty of eve-teasing going on here as well. If it isn't the rising cases of 'up-skirting', it is the numerous instances of women on bikes being targeted (mostly a summer phenomenon because winter would dictate the use of clothing that was more voluminous).

What intrigued me mainly is the reaction to both these pieces (do follow the comments). While there was much 'Why wear a skirt then, wear trousers' sort of reaction (which gave rise to the "Yes of course, it's always a woman's responsiblity/problem. Why can't men act more civilised?" argument) on the piece about up-skirting, the reaction on the piece on women-bikers has been more constructive input on what to do, a lot of it from women readers.

And I suppose that is where the Indian society and the 'West' part. There isn't any 'Wear approporiate clothing' 'Do not make yourself conspicuous' sort of advice coming from other women, nor do the laws not take eve-teasers seriously. And nobody is giving women strictures on how dressing conservatively/modestly will earn them the respect of men.

This isn't abour comparing crime rates in either place or a comparision of whether there are more psycho stalkers here than in India and so one or the other society has merits over the other.

This is about how women are treated with far more respect (without having to dress conservatively) out here than there and what a vast difference it makes. It may not be a completely safe society but where a problem exists/arises, there is the assurance of it being dealt with.

Which makes one wonder. What does it/will it take to bring about a similar state in India? Is it that men here are used to the company of women, and their liberal attire, for it to be distracting? Or is it something beyond?

One of things one notices as an immigrant is other immigrants. Specially of the desi variety. Now, very loose and general observations gleaned are how hitherto conservative girls tend to 'bloom' on getting here — what with adopting modish raiment that shows far more skin than they have ever dared to back home, perhaps even getting into the drinking/smoking culture. What is far more evident is the utter cluelessness and consequent disastrous attempts of a huge number of the male desi immigrant population at mingling with the natives and other nationals (read girls).

A lot of times, they tend to believe firmly in the assumption that is the bequest of bollywood — that foreign girls (specially the white ones) are 'easy'. And everything they do, tends to stem from here. Which doesn't make for pleasant encounters.

A friend of mine (a native) went out for a drink with this Indian chap she met at some random inter-college party. She came back saying it was a very 'bizzarre date'. Which is to say the guy kept insisting she have another drink (and boy, the smell of wine on her breath that night was VERY strong) and when she made to leave, he'd get upset and his behaviour took a drastic 180 degree turn. Having been far too used to this sort of a male, I told her that she probably should not have gone out with him in the first place. What upset me is that such men tend to spoil the game for everyone else, leaving a bad taste lingering. I've met a lot of decent desi guys who know very well how to behave themselves, whether around firang company or not. What makes the rest so despicable then?

One can map their behaviour rather precisely. Having spotted some hapless chick to bestow their unwanted sorry attention on, the next step is to somehow manage to be in the same vicinity as their target or get her number, by hook or crook. Then comes the calling her (repeatedly, if she doesn't answer the first time) or wrestling in on the conversation only to make her the target of all their comments thus effectively achieving three outcomes — making a spectacle of themself while alienating self from other gathered company, bringing to a halt any conversation that has hitherto been going on and embarassing said chick to no end. And then, they 'ask her out'. At which point, if the girl says yes, the following date is going to be an experience she will want to forget in a hrry but will not. If she says no, then this is the cue for them to act VERY upset and issue statements such as 'Oh I am SO sorry I hurt your feelings, i should have NEVER asked, I really regret it' and then proceed to slag her off as a 'slut' in front of friends. In the middle of all this, please include clumsy lines such as 'I really liked blah di blah about you... and I never give compliments, you should think yourself fortunate tat I am complimenting you.' (Oh really? And just WHO THE HECK are you that the girl ought to be so so honoured and grateful for your 'compliments'?)

I fail to understand where the anger comes from. Is it because all these years they've been so conditioned to think of themselves as the bees' knees by their mammas and families, little rajkumars who can have everything they want, never mind if they deserve it or not? Why is it so hard for them to accept a no as a no and then go on? I would draw a comparision here and say foreign men are better able to deal with 'rejection' but I am not entirely sure if that is true.

Where does this tie in with eve-teasing though? Often, it is reasoned that the lack of opportunity to interact with women regularly makes men behave thus, in trying to attract the attention of women. Which is a fair point. Indian society still doesn't quite sanction casual platonic interactions between the sexes, gossipping aunties are testimony to that fact.

Technically that should mean that the attempts of men to attract attention ought to be innocuous to a large extent. Why then is it that women feel threatened on the streets of India? Why is it that eve-teasing in India isn't as harmless a thing as it is here? Personally, I feel a marked difference between men there and men here. Out here, men may look, whistle, call out and that's okay. You know they're funning, they know they're funning and it ends there. In India, I always felt like there was something sinister lurking behind every time a man so much as looked in my direction (I am talking of a certain type of man here so hold your horses). There was something rather unsettling in that gaze, in their voices, their manner...

The trouble is, one cannot put a finger to it. It's just a feeling. But it's there. Why?

Pride

2009-07-05T12:00:00.002+01:00

A trifle late, but such momentous things must be commemorated and celebrated.

Other people have said it before and better than I, and I don't have anything to add. What I do have to tell you is that up until I went to work on Friday morning my reaction had been one of pleasant surprise, quiet admiration and silent pride.

But then I started to say to my boss "Oh, I don't know if you heard the news but ..." and between then and finishing the sentence my eyes were shining with fierce pride. I'm just so proud of my country for doing the right thing.

While it may still take ages for society to accept homosexuality with equanimity, at least there won't be any hide-and-seek being played anymore because, hey, the law says it's okay! Those who oppose can go take a hike, preferably off a cliff.

Although, if at the age of near-80 my grandmother can be educated about homosexuality by my aunt and react with giggles rather than express shock or anything, I do think there is hope, a lot it. :)

Across the Universe

2009-06-30T20:37:00.004+01:00

Ever thought, that the idea of a parallel universe may not be all that strange? That perhaps a parallel universe isn't as mystic and unreachable as we really think it is ... that maybe the time-space continuum doesn't require any special breach to be accessible and manipulated ... that perhaps, we each visit our own little parallel universes very regularly without realising it?

What if our dreams are not the concoctions that our brain rustles up in collaboration with our subconscious? What if the things that we consider dreams are actually our forays into a parallel universe ... a universe where things are more in our control, where happiness is easily attainable, where we meet our past and are able to deal with it, where one meets the people one fantasises about meeting, one senses (touches, smells, tastes, hears, feels) the things one has wished for and they are more tangible ... where one can escape the harsher bits that are nightmares by simply jumping out of said parallel universe? What if we really and truly live there ... in our dreams, through our dreams, while dreaming?

And just as I was getting used to blogger's block I get hit on the head with a post. I'm done interrupting, back to the entertaining movie programming.

Nero: Kahin Deep Jale Kahin Dil

2009-06-29T22:09:00.004+01:00

Blogger's block and Life continue to plague me so I have nothing to post. Catty has kindly come to my rescue though and provided me much fodder, while she's still on a roll at her own space. Gotta appreciate that! Now, I don't know how many of you followed the lengthy discussion that happened between Amey, Catty and I over an actual movie called Nero, but having now appointed ourselves director, writer/lyricist and producer, respectively, here's presenting Catty's very vivid script... in parts.

A beautiful land, very far away is ruled by a just and kind king who is obsessed with things Roman . All is well in the land except that the king can't have children. His evil half-brother karan singh (Arbaaz Khan) seeks to usurp the throne, and live happily ever after with his harem. Karan Singh has instructed the queen's maid to add 'the pill' to the queen's tea every morning. However, the maid's loyalty gets the better of her and eventually, Nero (Abhay Deol) is conceived.

On Nero's birth, the king speaks to the court wizard and they conjure up 200 new coins to symbolise the new era. The coins bear a picture of the king and queen with the royal heir on one side and the royal seal on the other. These coins are magical, as the royal wizard has charmed them. Every year, till Nero turns 20, 10 new coins would become visible in the chest. These coins would bestow upon the ruler (presumably Nero) one super power per year. The loophole is that if in the wrong hands, the superpowers could be used adversely - to plunder and destroy. And only the royal heir could stop the mayhem.

The wizard then puts the coins in a box and curses one of his ichchadhaari naags that he will guard the coins for Nero. Only the royal heir with the "one" coin would be allowed by the snake to touch the chest and take the coins. Once nero is over 20, and has taken all the coins out, he would be able to free the snake and return him to the state of his choice by gifting him the coin he wore around his neck. He then puts one coin, strung on a gold chain, around Nero's neck.

Karan Singh, however, overhears the first part of this "private" discussion and decides to get rid of Nero. He throws a party for nero's first birthday, aboard a ship. (cue Sunny paaji doing a "Lucky Kabootar")

While the guests are busy watching the item number, Karan Singh pays one of the maids to throw Nero aboard. He is unaware of the coin around baby nero's neck. The king suffers a stroke and dies. The queen, heartbroken, withdraws to a dilapidated kaali ma temple and swears that she will not speak unless reunited with her son. People eventually forget about her.

... Yeh jaanne ke liye ki aage kya hota hai, dekhte rahiye, Nero: Kahin Deep Jale Kahin Dil!

If the last post brought up bad feelings of any sort in you, the time to turn away is NOW

2009-06-22T22:24:00.004+01:00

So, Medusa and her lover fought. And as women are wont to do, she railed and wailed and was furious ("Nothing's wrong! FINE! You don't understand me!").

Did she then give her lover the death-stare and break into a rendition of "Patthar ke sanam"?

Yes yes, I know. Long time indeed. No, I did not spend four weeks in hibernation only to come up with another awful pun. It just sort of came to me and I thought it too good to waste :D Back into my unintended hideout cave, see y'all back here when I do. Will continue to pop up at your respective spaces however.

*disappears ~~in a flash of lightning~~ after getting clobbered on the head by a huge stash of books, struck by an especially large one titled 'Life'*

Nero

2009-05-26T23:21:00.002+01:00

Okay so maybe he didn't really fiddle while Rome burned.

But who's to say he did not sing "Is diye sang jal raha mera Rome Rome Rome"?

I know. Utterly dreadful. But this is partly why I blog :D

What a tangled web we weave...

2009-05-25T16:37:00.002+01:00

Gather around kids, I'm going to tell you a story today (yes, another story).

So in this story are five people. Two guys and three girls. Let's call the girls Mini, Skinny and Bonny. And let's call the guys Thor and Arthur.

Mini, Skinny, Bonny, Thor and Arthur all knew each other (even if just vaguely) since they all went to the same school.

Mini, Skinny and Bonny all lived somewhat near each other. Mini had hung out with Bonny on several occasions and was quite friendly with Skinny whenever she saw her in school.

Thor and Arthur had always been good friends.

And the girls all were friends with the guys in some way or the other.

A few years later:

Mini and Thor are friends and talk to each other infrequently about inane things.

Thor crushed on Bonny but nothing came of it and they've both moved on.

Bonny and Skinny are the best of friends, as of years.

But neither Bonny nor Skinny talk to Mini. In fact, when Bonny was visiting the place Mini lived in and a crush-crushed Thor requested that she extend a friendly hand to a lost-in-new-city Bonny and Mini did so, Bonny wouldn't acknowledge it.

Bonny was showing her solidarity with Skinny because Mini had dared come between Skinny and Arthur at one point. Never mind the fact that Skinny had been engaged then and was basically going to screw up things royally for herself, Arthur and the invisible boyfriend. Never mind at all the fact that Mini only stepped in trying to protect Arthur from said screw-up without any intention of bagging him herself.

Arthur is happily partnered. He hasn't been in touch with Thor for months. In fact, it would be safe to say that he has been totally incommunicado for a while with everyone. Mini is a special case though.

Arthur has cut contact with her entirely.

"You cow!" "Actually, I'm eight of them"

2009-05-18T22:31:00.003+01:00

When I sailed to Kiniwata, an island in the Pacific, I took along a notebook. After I got back it was filled with descriptions of flora and fauna, native customs and costumes. But the only note that still interests me is the one that says: “Johnny Lingo gave eight cows to Sarita’s father.” And I don’t need to have it in writing. I’m reminded of it every time I see a woman belittling her husband or a wife withering under her husband’s scorn. I want to say to them, “You should know why Johnny Lingo paid eight cows for his wife.”

Johnny Lingo wasn’t exactly his name. But that’s what Shenkin, the manager of the guest house on Kiniwata called him. Shenkin was from Chicago and had a habit of Americanizing the names of the islanders. But Johnny was mentioned by many people in many connections. If I wanted to spend a few days on the neighboring island of Nurabandi, Johnny Lingo could put me up. If I wanted to fish, he could show me where the biting was best. If it was pearls I sought, he would bring me the best buys. The people of Kiniwata all spoke highly of Johnny Lingo. Yet when they spoke they smiled, and the smiles were slightly mocking.

“Get Johnny Lingo to help you find what you want and let him do the bargaining,” advised Shenkin. “Johnny knows how to make a deal.”

“Johnny Lingo!” A boy seated nearby hooted the name and rocked with laughter.

“What goes on?” I demanded. “Everybody tells me to get in touch with Johnny Lingo and then breaks up. Let me in on the Joke.”

“Oh the people love to laugh,” Shenkin said, shrugging. “Johnny’s the brightest, the strongest young man in the islands. And for his age, the richest.”

“But if he’s all you say, what is there to laugh about?”

“Only one thing. Five months ago, at fall festival, Johnny came to Kiniwata and found himself a wife. He paid her father eight cows!”

I knew enough about island customs to be impressed. Two or three cows would buy a fair-to-middling wife, four of five a highly satisfactory one.

“Good Lord!” I said, “Eight cows! She must have beauty that takes your breath away.”

“She’s not ugly,” he conceded, and smiled a little. “But the kindest could only call Sarita plain. Sam Karoo, her father, was afraid she’d be left on his hands.”

“But then he got eight cows for her? Isn’t that extraordinary?”

“Never been paid before.”

“Yet you call Johnny’s wife plain?”

“I said it would be kindness to call her plain. She was skinny. She walked with her shoulders hunched and her head ducked. She was scared of her own shadow.”

“Well, I said, “I guess there’s no accounting for love.”

“True enough,” agreed the man. “And that’s why the villagers grin when they talk about Johnny. They get special satisfaction from the fact that the sharpest trader in the islands was bested by dull old Sam Karoo.”

“But how?”

“No one knows and everyone wonders. All the cousins were urging Sam to ask for three cows and hold for two until he was sure Johnny’d pay only one. Then Johnny came to Sam Karoo and said ‘Father of Sarita, I offer eight cows for your daughter.’”

“Eight cows,” I murmured. “I’d like to meet this Johnny Lingo.”

I wanted fish. I wanted pearls. So the next afternoon I beached my boat at Nurabandi. And I noticed as I asked directions to Johnny’s house that his name brought no sly smile to the lips of his fellow Nurabandians. And when I met the slim, serious young man, when he welcomed me with grace to his home, I was glad that from his own people he had respect unmingled with mockery. We sat in his house and talked. Then he asked “You come here from Kiniwata?”

“Yes.”

“They speak of me on that island?”

“They say there’s nothing I might want that you can’t help me get.”

He smiled gently. “My wife is from Kiniwata.”

“Yes, I know.”

“They speak of her.”

“A little.”

“What do they say.”

“Why, just….” The question caught me off balance. “They told me you were married at festival time.”

“Nothing more?” The curve of his eyebrows told me he knew there had to be more.

“They also say the marriage settlement was eight cows.” I paused. “They wonder why.”

“They ask that?” His eyes lighted with pleasure. “Everyone in Kiniwata knows about the eight cows?”

I nodded.

“And in Nurabandi everyone knows it too.” His chest expanded with satisfaction. “Always and forever, when they speak of marriage settlements, it will be remembered that Johnny Lingo paid eight cows for Sarita.”

So that’s the answer, I thought: vanity.

And then I saw her. I watched her enter the room to place flowers on the table. She stood a moment to smile at the young man beside me. Then she went swiftly out again. She was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. The lift of her shoulders, the tilt of her chin, the sparkle of here eyes all spelled a pride to which no one could deny her the right.

I turned back to Johnny Lingo and found him looking at me. “You admire her?” he murmured.

“She…she’s glorious. But she’s not Sarita from Kiniwata,” I said.

“There’s only one Sarita. Perhaps she does not look the way they say she looked in Kiniwata.”

“She doesn’t. I heard she was homely. They all make fun of you because you let yourself be cheated by Sam Karoo.”

“You think eight cows were too many?” A smile slid over his lips.

“No. But how can she be so different?”

“Do you ever think,” he asked, “what it must mean to a woman to know that her husband has settled on the lowest price for which she can be bought? An then later, when the women talk, the boast of what their husbands paid for them. One says four cows, another maybe six. How does she feel, the woman who was sold for one or two? This could not happen to my Sarita.”

“Then you did this just to make your wife happy?”

“I wanted Sarita to be happy, yes. But I wanted more than that. You say she is different. This is true. Many things can change a woman. Things happen inside, things happen outside. But the thing that matters most is what she thinks of herself. In Kiniwata, Sarita believed she was worth nothing. Now she knows she is worth more than any other woman in the islands.”

“Then you wanted–”

“I wanted to marry Sarita. I loved her and no other woman.”

“But–” I was close to understanding.

“But,” he finished softly, “I wanted an eight-cow wife.”

I read this story a long time ago in Reader's Digest and loved it to bits. Even today, Johhny Lingo beats any of the other heroes I've read about hands down.

Googling for the story today, I found that a short film had been made too ... not too much to talk about apropos the picture quality and definitely doesn't compare to the prose, worth a watch still... there's even a very recent version made!

It almost makes me wish that system was still around. Hell, in keeping with my 'men must be wooed too' pratigya I'd pay eight cows for the man I loved!!!

Although, if the experience of one gentleman were anything to go by, it's not a good idea. He says:

I called my wife an eight cow woman and.. no dinner.

What do you say to your boss

2009-05-16T12:41:00.001+01:00

when you see something that looks like fluff atop his head and he catches you staring?

"I thought I thaw a puddy tat!"

Vicissitude

2009-05-15T15:02:00.002+01:00

is one of my favourite words (even though it does not end with 'ous'; yep, those are my absolute favourite for some unfathomable reason).

Anyway, vicissitude has been the flavour of my day because my morning started off with me musing over how tiny things had changed over months and contributed majorly to my 'growing up'. Such as remembering to renew my travelcard the evening it expired instead of waking up the next morning, panicking because it would take time to renew it, huffing and puffing and being late for work (heck, I managed to remember and renew it one evening in spite of being fairly inebriated! Go me!).

Then there were the posts that Chandni and Dee put up today...

And then the biggest realisation. I stopped myself from sending an email to a friend. It was typed and ready. It was okay sounding. Hell, it didn't even have any matter that might cause inconvenience, trouble or bad feeling. But it didn't seem right. The time. My inner voice told me I'd be better off if I did not send it. And I listened to it. So I guess that's goodbye to the rash old bit of me.

Finally, that I write about feminism quite a bit (no, wait for the part that follows) and since feminism is in itself a rather changing thing ... my old tagline could well apply to it. Or maybe I could have a new tagline: Feminism is a dewdropdream.

Perspective

2009-05-12T00:17:00.002+01:00

While in conversation with Winger today, we were talking about someone who proposed to his girlfriend over the weekend.

"He took her to Venice ... on a Gondola
waited for sunset
and proposed
!"

"WOW! Man he's got style!"

"Yeah. And money :)"

And at that moment, it struck me.

That we women are a bit sexist ourselves.

There are those of us who might decline expensive trips and costly trinkets and the like ... even if we secretly want them.

But how many of us actually go to the lengths men sometimes do, like whisking away our men for a weekend in Venice and propose to them dramatically? Or anything akin to that?

We might be empowered, earning, ambitious, and making financial decisions independently. And yet, something like this doesn't come to us. We are happy to cook a fine meal, dress up nicely and keep house wonderfully to show our love ... hell, even deal with difficult relations and in-laws with fortitude as an extension of our love for our men. Yet, the wooing continues to be done by them.

There are good men out there who deserve to be wooed, god knows there are men like that out there. And yet, there is no sign of them being showered with those elaborate displays of affection that they bestow upon their women.

Suddenly, I feel a bit small.

Oh and she said yes, in case you were wondering.

Tenner

2009-05-09T14:03:00.004+01:00

D tagged me to do this a really long time ago and I am finally getting down to it (sorry, D!). I'm also partly borrowing D's idea for doing the tag.

1: My roll number from class 1 to 7. Loved being the first one to have her name called every morning to answer... and then I could spend the next 20 minutes day-dreaming while the teacher finished her list :D

2: Number of laptops I've had thus far. Meet Yvonne the second!

3: Number of cities I've lived in — Mysore, Bombay and London. Also the number of countries I've visited: England, Scotland and Singapore (I SO need to travel!)

4: Number of bloggers turned good friends — Mahi, M, Catty and Galadriel.

5: My favourite number... I also like to think of it as my lucky number.

6: Number of cellphones I've used till now. I have some stories to tell there... of the ancient but sleek one that died a slow death and the trusty one whose face I managed to destroy one night ... bejeezus!

7: My favourite day every month, even if the actual day is pretty crap. Also the number of years I've lived away from home.

8: 2008 rather, if I had to be precise. The year in which blogging took off for me in a big way

9: the soft toys I had when I was growing up.

10: The number of books on my desk right now ... take a look!

Tag done! Anyone wanna take it up?

'... an institute you can't disparage'*

2009-05-06T22:24:00.008+01:00

It would be something to raise children in a world that has no need for feminism. But since that is unlikely to happen in my lifetime (the world without feminism bit, not the children bit), I shall consider myself a success if I have raised my son to be a feminist.

In the meantime, I take heart from the fact that there are men like this woman's fiancé. He identifies himself as a feminist ... how many men do you see doing that, on any given day?

The article ties together two of my favourite topics for debate: marriage and feminism. It's going to be a long post, bear with me.

It shall have to begin with what the author states shortly into her article, '... there is no such thing as perfect when you are a feminist getting married.'

She's referring to the reactions of family, friends, colleagues, fellow-bloggers and feminists when they hear of her unconventional wedding plans (Among other things, no proposal, no ring, no white wedding gown).

From non-feminist acquaintances, the reaction has been one of utter bewilderment. Compounded on hearing that she intends to keep her last name (and here I was, thinking it had become more common and accepted). In a society where the rock-on-a-gold-rope and a white dress are the symbols of marriage and every girl is brought up to dream of being given versions of these two items for her very own, it is perhaps ... understandable, why they may react so.

After all, it's very hard for the Indian society to calmly accept a woman who does not choose to wear a mangalsutra or changer her last name when she gets married. As a feminist however, the questions that arise are the ones that I am asking when I read about such reactions: What is the need for symbols of marriage? And why does the onus of sporting them fall upon the woman? (I am also wondering why a diamond is the stone of choice for an engagement ring here. Anyone knows where the tradition comes from?)

Valenti goes on to talk about 'the misogynistic traditions that accompany marriage'. " have always thought of marriage as involving the loss of a certain amount of autonomy ... plenty of issues that continued to make me question marriage: the father "giving" the bride away, women taking their husband's last name, the white dress, the vows promising to "obey" the groom. And that only covers the wedding." she says.

Described that way, marriage does seem misogynistic. When the burden of keeping house and rearing children falls onto the woman alone, yes. But that is akin to saying parenting is misogynistic if you take into account that traditionally daughters have not had the opportunities and liberties that sons have been given. The way society has come to interpret marriage is, unfortunately, the way marriage is being defined these days.

Which is why there are feminists who voice disappointment at Valenti's wedding announcement for "seem[ing] to find flaws with patriarchy, but fail[ing] to find a way to bring it down".
And this is where I find myself parting ways with this sort of a feminist. I do not see marriage as a product of patriarchy. True, patriarchy has managed to assert itself in a manner that influences marriage. But marriage in itself was never a concept that was meant to cage women, in my very humble opinion at least. Marriage is about two people making a committment to each other. How they divide duties and responsibilities is therefore a product of their union, unique and very much their own. It is unfortunate that it has become the norm for the women to be the inferior partner in this institution while having to do the donkey's share. But it does not take away from marriage the chance that it can be different.

And that is why I am amazed at feminists who think of marriage as being patriarchal, misogynistic and anti-feminist. Feminism has always been about equality. About having choices and the freedom to choose. Feminism gave women the right to vote and the right to own property. It does not necessarily mean that every woman must/will vote (if you think voting is bounden duty, please read this), must/will own property, then it isn't so. Because both of those are still choices. A right, any right, is still a choice (Again, if anything is a must, it becomes restrictive itself, even if aiming to free). Therefore I do not see how marriage is an anti-feminist institution. It is a choice. To be made by an individual. Being married does not take away from the fact that one is a woman and/or a feminist. The two are not related, in my view.

Vetoing marriage in effect negates feminism. It is taking away the very essence of that ideology and taking women back to square one albeit by giving them a different set of must-dos.

The repercussions are that both marriage and feminism/feminists invite criticism. In trying to be independent, ambitious and emancipated, living up to the impossible ideals set by fanatic feminists, women might choose to be rigid and walk out of marriages which could well have been saved, bitter about the concept of marriage itself .

On the other hand, feminists (and here I am loosely grouping staunch feminists as well as those open-minded, liberal, independent and ambitious women who do not choose to identify themselves as feminists), are viewed as a threat to the institution of marriage. In reality, neither of them are mutually exclusive.

I am a feminist and I am most certainly going to get married. I won't need an alter-ego or a body double to juggle those roles.

*From Frank Sinatra's 'Love and Marriage', I rather think the line describes both feminism and marriage.

How annoying can you get!

2009-05-04T17:28:00.002+01:00

Following darling AlwaysHappyKya's admission of her pet peeves, here are mine (Other than the cake and the other list I already made, that is):

I have to straighten the bedcovers in the morning before I leave. I cannot stand to come back to an unmade bed.

My books have to be in mint condition at all times. You can guess I don't lend them.

I also have to buy books, long as I can afford to. I do not like to borrow books and give them back ... chances are that I will buy a book I have liked rather than borrow it again from the library. Same for DVDs.

The bedroom door must stay closed when I am sleeping, even if the main doors ar securely locked and people within are known to me. (same pinch AHK and Silvara :D)

It's also an absolute must for me to cover up with a sheet/duvet when sleeping ... it makes me feel secure, never mind if i kick it off later in my sleep.

Jeans. I iron them. I know you can wear them without doing that/ are supposed to leave them unironed, but I cannot. I have this deep-seated conviction that thy fit better if ironed :P

I can never not wear earrings.

Can't eat pasta if there's no parmesan cheese.

I do not eat beans. Ever.

When I wake up, I do not talk until I reach work. I do not like being talked to soon as I wake up. Or being woken up by the sound of voices. It helps majorly that I live on my own at the moment ... and that friends who stay over are either understanding of this habit or are simply early risers :P I know for a fact that I cannot be heard if I talk soon as I am up and it bugs the hell out of me to have to increase my volume to be heard. Grrrrr

Okay maybe that is enough for now.

Frood Alert!

2009-05-01T10:11:00.002+01:00

Matt Dunn. What a find... WHAT a find!

So I read The Ex-boyfriend's Handbook. Four hours of absolute enjoyment and four hours well spent, in my opinion. My only problem was the three and half hours between lunch (when the book was delivered and I started it) and the end of the work day that kept me from finishing it sooner. Also it was a bit tricky having to hide the cover trying to read it while out because it's just so ... amusing. I noticed at least three people glance at the book and then smile surreptitiously at me. God knows what that was about, but then again, I see people smiling surreptitiously around me a whole lot so maybe I shouldn't be too bothered.

The cover. I honestly thought they'd sent me a mangy copy when I'd asked for a new one, till it turned out that no, it was the cover design. The frayed edges, the old looking paper... bloody hell, that's clever! I thought ... still, not a good cover as such. Why the heck are the letters in bright pink?!

The book now ... there's only one word to describe it: Chuckle-fest. It's full of clever lines and puns and the story moves forward fairly speedily and the narrative style is just so matey.

The story itself is pretty ... straightforward and ordinary: Boy gets dumped and gets told it's because he's let himself go. Boy decides to turn over a new leaf and win girl back. What follows is part 'What is the point of my life? What do I want?' and part metrosexualisation of said boy. Helped (or hampered, depending on how you look at it) by a slew of delightful characters, along the way.

I absolutely loved the character sketches. There's the narcissistic, babe-magnet best friend who gets into scrapes for sleeping around and keeps trying to help our hero get some action. There's the barmaid who despises the best friend and the verbal sparring between them is thoroughly entertaining. Then the boss, unpredictable and volatile, the homeless man who has his own skewed values and principles and regularly bullies our hero into buying multiple copies of the Big Issue in a given week. And there's the personal trainer ... She's that unidentifiable factor in the story which adds the va-va-voom. Bit like the hint of cinammon in a cake — barely there but without whom the cake would fall flat.

I'm hooked. Matt Dunn is among my favourite authors without a doubt and I so cannot wait to read Ex-girlfriends United and From Here to Paternity!

Name-calling

2009-04-27T12:26:00.001+01:00

What did the cloth say to the mordant when it saw that the dyeing hadn't been done properly?

"You BLEACH!"

:P

Does my face look like a canavas for modern art?

2009-04-27T11:25:00.002+01:00

I don't get it. I just don't.

WHAT is with the stupid trend of people being smeared with cake on their birthdays? Just ... WHAT! I'd like to know which moron came up with this stupid idea and thought it great.

Pay attention. Cake is FOOD. it's meant to be eaten. You know? Open that hatch, throw it in, chew, swallow.

NOT plaster it on someone's effing FACE. That is DISGUSTING. And no, it's not funny. Not at all. Do not tell me it's meant in fun, playing with food and wasting it is not fun... are you out of your bloody mind?!

Lost in Regency England

2009-04-26T10:46:00.004+01:00

*Peers groggily from under her duvet and seeing people milling around looking at her and then their watches, let's out a groan*

Whiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeee... I'm so tired! It hurts to think :( I wanna sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeppppppppppppppp.

But now that I'm here anyway, let's have a chat

*Brings out tea-cups and plates of snacks and hosts impromptu tea-party imagining it's the one which the Mad Hatter attended. Wait, maybe SHE is the Mad Hatter... she's dressed in PJs and a strange night-cap.*

The night-cap and tea-party being a hangover from too much Regency-England novel reading. In the last two weeks I've finished Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict, Cotillion and Her Royal Spyness and enjoyed them all thoroughly. And neither of them would actually qualify as chick-lit in my humble opinion. They're light reading... the last two at least. Her Royal Spyness is a murder mystery with an unlikely female detective and a very amusing host of characters... I'm going to get the next one in the series soon. Cotllion was typical Georgette Heyer ... it was the first Heyer I'd ever read and it was great going back to it.

'Confessions ... ' on the other hand ... it sounded like chick-lit and it has a cover that it VERY chick-lit. It started off okay ... this chick wakes up and finds herself in Jane Austen's England and what follows is a slightly hilarious account of her adventures as an anachronism while having to figure out how to live the life of the woman wh'd body she is inhabiting. She's trying to find a way of getting back to her own world and time but the book slowly veers off-track and there is much philosophical musing about life, love, the place of women in society and such... she even meets Jane Austen herself and manages to freak her out! I thought the book was bit heavy, to be honest and tried to be many things but failed to be any. But as my boss pointed out, that is a feature of many time-travel works... he also put me onto 'Lost in Austen' ... I have something new to watch now!

Okay I almsot deleted this post because I thought it was such utter rubbish... but I started watching 'Lost in Austen' and our heroine (Amanda Price) just announced to Kitty Bennett that the strange tunic she had one with breeches (your everyday jeans and top attire now) is an Otter Hunting Kit. Priceless!

“Matlab-ing me!”

2009-04-09T09:36:00.002+01:00

For the longest time, I had been trying to get M — M of the hair-curler fame, M who's mug I like and with whom I compete for the... (ahem!) affection (?!) of a certain cutie — that M, to do a guest post for me, considering how entertaining she is and that we have rather insane conversations usually. So I did. And then she put it off, for the longest time, but surprised me last night by emailing me her post! So, without further delay, here's presenting, M, malai maarke! It also happens to be the very first guest post on this blog!
P.S: M, fantastic post! I hope you'll agree to doing more :D

You know, one of the many good things about having a friend in a completely different time zone from yours is that while you are suffering from lack of sleep, drinking coffee by the litres, burning the damn midnight oil and finishing off your assignment (that is taking AGES to finish) in the lab, she is in another part of the world, sitting behind her pretty office desk, probably getting bored at work, probably drinking (a lot?) of coffee and probably trying to get her work done by time too.

Now where’s the good in that you ask? The good thing, my dear readers, is that she is awake too! When I’m awake and fretting over my assignments, she’s there, just a ping away! Well she kinda has to stay awake unless she wants her boss to fire her ass...buuuuut i’m sure we don’t want that now do we? :P

So anyways, while its late-night-ish here in Perth (where I am), it’s afternoonish there in London (where my ‘matlab-ing’ friend is), and both of us are trying to keep each other awake, being a “friend in need is a friend indeed” et al. Also can I just add- God bless gtalk!!! May God also bless all the offices and the bosses who allow their employees to use gtalk at work! Actually, while we are at it, God bless that MAN in orange polka dot mini dress, with white knee-length stockings, long shiny blonde hair and ballerina shoes on who waltzed into the library and sat at the computer next to mine. Oh, God knew I was having a bad day and desperately needed a good laugh! I kid you not guys, this actually happened just a few days back. You won’t believe the kind of things that happen with me, but then that’s another post for another day.

Coming back to my story- so it was a typical weeknight when I was doing my work in the lab and chatting with Dewdrop; both of us talking about extremely serious, frown-worthy issues like how our lives totally suck, and how we are stuck in a rut day after day and how “great” a gift pms is, things like that..just when I began whining about my assignment. Now my fellow engineers reading this, you must be very familiar with a computer programming language called ‘MATLAB’? This is what happened when I made the mistake of NOT explaining it to The Dewdrop first about what it was.

Me- .......I know how to do ALL the questions for my assignment ..BUT.. there is this one small thing for which i dont know the command for.. and THAT is stopping me from doing ANYTHING AT ALL!

Dewdrop- Eh?? How important is that command to the assignment?

Me- I have to use the programme na..so I need to know the command for it.

Dewdrop- Oh. What software is it?

Me- Matlab. Bohot pakau cheez hai yaar.

Dewdrop- Ohooo. What programme are you using to write your assignment??

Me- Matlab.

Dewdrop- Arrey how are you writing this assignment???

Me (now thinking what’s wrong with her)- Meaning???

Dewdrop- Okay now you’re doing it on purpose. Shooo.

Me- Lol, arrey I don’t know what you mean!

Dewdrop- Shaddup.

(After a few seconds)

Me- Abeyy dhakkannnn

Dewdrop- Tu dhakkan!!! :P

Me- Abey the programme is called MATLAB. As in MAT-LAB!!!!!!!!!! I didn’t mean ‘matlab’ in hindi!!!!

Dewdrop- GOOD LORD!!!!!!!!!!!!!! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!! M, you did that on purpose!!!!!

Me- HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! You kept asking what programme I’m using...toh I kept answering your question! Oh my god, I can’t stop laughing!!!

Dewdrop- Abbe teri!!!! You’d have kept going ‘matlab matlab’ all night man.. and as if that’s not enough, you ask ‘meaning?’.........Matlabing me! Sheeeessh. :P

And this is how ladies and gentleman, two mad women, one in London and one in Perth, laughed continuously for a whole fifteen minutes!

That was probably one of the few times I had laughed the hardest! :D

By the way, later on I realised there were cameras all over the computer lab.
Imagine what a scene the lab assistant witnessed when he watched the tape the next morning- an Indian girl wearing an oversized jumper, therefore dressed rather shabbily, staring at her computer screen and laughing like an idiot. The things I do!

PS- Dewdrop, I laugh like crazy even today when I read that chat. It was the funniest thing ever! :D

Alarm

2009-04-02T21:34:00.004+01:00

He awoke from deep slumber. Something had disturbed him. Groggy and in the state between sleep and wakefulness, his brain managed to convince itself that sleep was the way go. And in the split second before sleep was actually attained, whatever woke him up returned.

A sound. That was what it had been.

He was awake now, heart hammering away, head throbbing, panic sending cold waves all over his body. He kept his eyes closed.

It was getting louder now. He could sense the ground thumping beneath him. He was afraid.

Louder still.

He began to tremble. Eyes squeezed shut and terrified into immobility, all he could do was listen as it came nearer and nearer and nearer. Heavy, hard-hitting, thunderous. It sounded like a stampede. Or a herd of elephants. Stampeding elephants. Much louder.

What was he going to do? He could get trodden on by these creatures and be dead in no time! And him so young! He did not want to die! There was so much he wanted to do, so many things not done yet! If he did get out of this okay, he would do it all. He would travel the world! Work harder! Take up a hobby! He would be a better, sensitive, caring, giving person. He would be a loving son and brother. He would not be such a pain-in-the-arse boyfriend. He would propose to her the very next day! Have a big wedding! A wonderful honeymoon! Have kids! Give to charity. Do social work. In fact, the first thing he'd do if he got out alive was visit god in his house and pray and show his gratefulness.

Rumbling like frightening thunder, the sound was upon him now. No use. He'd be dead any second now. He opened his mouth to scream...

The rush of commuters from the first train of the day walked out of the station without sparing a second glance for the drunk young man lying in a heap outside the station moaning softly.

One Night in Every Call Centre

2009-04-01T21:56:00.003+01:00

This is not a book review.
This is more an enthusiastic recommendation urging you to buy the book NOW. You know, like one of those things one of your friends might tell you to do: "Oh you MUST!!! It's so brilliant!! Go get it NOW!!! Now, now, now, now!!!!"

Let me tell you about the book! It's a bit like reading Chicken Soup for the Soul — which is to say, it's a bunch of short stories narrating incidents. But there the similarity ends. There's no mushy, fluffy stuff in there. Instead, in a very entertaining and bantering manner, you're pulled right into the heart of the industry, among its many faceless members and given a peek at everything there is to be seen, everything you'd care to see. An almost voyeuristic peek. It's probably like that bit of Harry Potter when he's sucked into a memory and can see and hear everything and learn much, but without ever registering his presence.

Funny stories, ones that will leave you taken-aback, ones that will make you re-think your attitude to the industry — stories aplenty to keep you amused and hooked. I had several instances of 'I really should sleep, but, okay, just ONE more story and I'll shut this' happen... only to end with me reading more than just one more story and going to work sleep-deprived and strangely satisfied for not having put the book down sooner.

And the cover!!! How can you not love it!!! It's just SO perfect!!! The graphics, the design, fonts used, colours ... I would totally pick this book solely on the basis of its cover.

More on the book here.

Do get a copy, I guarantee your enjoying it.

No I'm not getting paid to advertise it, but let's just say I have a vested interest ;)

Weariness-induced-vacuouness-inspired-fluff

2009-04-01T21:34:00.004+01:00

Marshmallows... mmmmmmmmmmmm. I love them. Soft and squishy and just sweet enough. If they were a gender stereotype they'd be girls. I wonder if that's why none of my brothers took to them as I did. In fact, I haven't met any men who like marshmallows. Or at least confess to liking them. Would I want to meet them? Maybe not. I wouldn't have to share then :

Came home from work dog-tired and not wanting to cook. Which is saying something because some evenings I come home and spend a great deal of time cooking. Today all I did was sit like a lump and wish wistfully that a plate of food, good tasty food, would appear before me by magic. I wouldn't even have minded if a pair of hands had brought it to me. Instead, I tortured myself by going through the recipes section on the Guardian and drooling with tired eyes while my tummy sent up feeble protests at such inhumanity. I was obliged to give it some pasta finally to shut it up.

The Magnolias are in bloom! And Cherry Blossoms! They look so pretty! Soon the Roses will be here, vibrant, glossy-petalled, huge.

The boss recommends, and I recommend in turn, Marillion! I really loved their sound, go listen to them!

Surely it's an omen

2009-04-01T20:06:00.002+01:00

That the g20 talks are happening on April Fool's Day?

I hear that this one day is costing taxpayers 21 million pounds. I'm not happy with my hard earned money being squandered on people who've mucked up the way they have. Hmpfh. Hopefully ze economy shall steady soon.

One Evening

2009-03-30T22:39:00.003+01:00

"Look at what you've done! It's done for!!!! I had it all going so perfectly and now that's gone! GONE! Can't have it back now. Oh dear god!"

She sat there looking at him calmly while he burst out like that, studying him, not feeling indignant, defensive or angry in the least. For the briefest moment she tried to imagine what it was like for him and then gave up because it was out of the reach of her fathoming, of even her rather ample imaginative and cognitive powers.

While he stood there, his face a mix of equal parts of exasperation, panic, loss, anxiety, bewilderment, amazement and wonder.

Still looking over at him calmly, she said "Yes."

"What's that?" he asked her unable to at once apprehend. And then went from looking puzzled to rather relieved to sheepish and finally embarassed as he said "Sorry dear, it came to me all at once and I guess it still hasn't quite sunk in but I assure you, I fully intended to ask you properly. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?"

Not too long later.

She: "We really should get going or we'll be late."

He: "Oh yeah. What did you say we were going to see, again?"

"The Taming of the Shrew". Heh

The Tale of Genji — The Beginning

2009-03-20T10:51:00.002Z

Right then, by popular demand.

For actual information on the book and its publication, go here.

There are of course other editions and versions... and given how they all seem to be translations or interpretations, they will have rather major differences between them. I picked up this one because it seemed the longest, had been around for a while, appeared to be keeping to the original better than the older translation by Waley and just somehow more appealing than the other long translation published by Penguin. Its hardback edition versus the paperback by Penguin also tilted decision in its favour.

I did read the introduction (I know, how many people do that really?! But this is what working in publishing does to you. You really do get hooked to the smallest thing about books) — I shall be referring to the introduction in between because it gives an overlay of the book and I feel it would be better to refer to it in relevant places than finish it off at once. Oh btw, the introduction is a very well-written one. Next they have Note on Topography, Note on the Text, Select Bibliography followed by the Chronology.

I loved how they've done the layout for the Chronology. They've spread it across two pages and alongside the date, they have a section for Author's Life, then a Literary Context and finally a Historical Events section. They've used small caps for the headings and it is very appealing to the eye. The one thing that puzzles me is, this is the second instance I have seen of the beginning of things being measured against the spread of Islam. As in, they take the spread of Islam as the starting point of anything... can anyone throw any light on this? Why is it that important? Wasn't Hinduism in existence long before that?

In the 50 pages that I have finished, I have covered two chapters (I'm taking this slowly because this is a book that demands to be read at ease, at leisure. It's literature, to be savoured. Not a thriller to be finished soon as you can so you know the end).

The basic premise is that this is a book about the life of Genji, who is a prince by birth but leads the life of a commoner. The first chapter describes how his father, the emperor is so deeply in love with one of the women at his court, someone not of a very high rank, that he comes dangerously close to throwing off his imperial status and duties for her sake. The lady meanwhile suffers much at the hands of the other courtiers for being so favoured. In all fairness, she isn't a woman who uses her wiles to attract the attention of the emperor but someone very virtuous and beautiful and deserving of such devotion — sadly only not in a position that would silence her adversaries. She has a son by the emperor but slowly falls victim to an illness that makes it very difficult for her to perform her duties at court and removes to her mother's house, away from the court. After a while she succumbs to her illness and the emperor is left heart broken and grieving.

The boy meantime, is being raised by his grandmother and when the emperor recovers somewhat from his loss, he begs with the lady to send his son to court so that he may give the child the advantages an emperor is capable of and because having the son near him alleviates his pain in some measure. And thus our hero comes to live at the court. Being the son of a woman thus despised, one would expect him to be shunned by one and all. But being possessed of a countenance so pleasing and charming, he is much adored by everyone present. The empress, mother to the heir apparent, too softens somewhat on encountering this beautiful child, setting aside her worries about the child usurping her son's position as heir apparent.

Meanwhile, the emperor summons to court the relation of another woman at court who is said to very closely resemble the love he lost. Genji takes to her immediately — one cannot say if this is due to her countenance or because she reminds him of his dead mother. Yearning to be near her always, Genji has to eventually learn that there cannot exist free interaction between them as he grows up and she is obliged to use the screen used for conducting meetings between members of opposite sexes.

As he grows older, Genji's initiation ceremony is performed by the emperor with much splendour, just as if it were the heir apparents. And yet, realising that Genji cannot be promised the life of someone born nobly, the emperor decides to make him a commoner and appoint him at the court, and hus gives him the name 'Genji'.

Genji's somewhat high standing prompts his marital alliance with the daughter of the Minster of the Right. However, as his bride is older than him and he does not have an evident connection to her, this leads to him spending much time at court and, if the rumours are to be believed, having as many affairs as he can be bothered to.

The proof of his infidelity is presented when Genji goes to stay at the house of a court official later and seduced the young step-mother of the official while there. And, the next night, when she refuses his advances, her younger brother.

There is a dialogue between Genji, his brother-in-law and two lesser court appointees in the chapter detaling the kinds of women there are, the perfect woman, and why the said women do not meet the requirement for being the perfect women. A dialogue that would get the goat of feminists all over for being a rather condescending and shallow appraisal of women in those times.

The thing that I found somewhat odd about the period spoken about here is that everyone seemed to be having affairs with everyone else rather openly. Or rather, supposedly secretly. The women seem to be decorative pieces, even when serving at the court and having duties. Also, every character seems rather young. Age referred to in the work is the number of years that the person has seen rather than the actual period of twelve months that is counted as a year. So a child that is said to be of three years is perhaps actually of the age of 18 months or two years.

In the rather short space of two chapters, we see the transformation in the hero that the introduction forewarns us about. Genji goes from being the perfect young protagonist possessing all the virtues imaginable, to a questioning young adult in whose character the cracks are beginning to appear.

What do YOU think of it, thus far?

At the speed of thought

2009-03-17T11:51:00.004Z

Bliss is the first lick of chocolate-topped cappucino froth in the morning.

Can three years really be defined as a 'long time' to have been in a relationship? It seems reasonably long but not something that should make people go 'Wow how did you stick that long?!'. Isn't that more five-years or seven-years and more sort of thing? I dislike the committment-phobic, non-stick trend that is rampant these days. Whatever happened to longevity and forever-after? Actually, fuhggedit. I needn't care about what other people do.

Committment-phobes. Or 'rubber-bands' as some of them are want to be. I thought it's easy to spot them since they do follow a pattern. But drawing the line between hanging on because there is hope and they will change and cutting-loose because it's not going to change... man, that's a bloody tight-rope walk. Last word? Shouldn't keep someone hanging.

Just in case you're thinking this relates to me, it doesn't. It's stuff the papers have been full of lately.

Friends who are getting hitched? Get done with it already!

'He's not a monster'. Really?! $*&*&$$()()*&^%%$$"£%$£%$£$£$£!!!!!

Torn between ridiculing and treating it with contempt.

Japani

2009-03-13T20:41:00.002Z

I love Japan.

Old and ancient Japan that is. Or some part of it anyway. Some of its quaint customs and rituals. And I'd love nothing better than to go off gallivanting there given half a chance. No no, I have no intention of going there and singing 'Sayonara Sayonara' while dressed in a Kimono and looking very touristy. I'd probably land there with Dad though, given he's just as mad about the place as I am (Really Dad, what next? First it was the Carpenters and now this. What next I ask you?)

But given I'm not rich enough to actually do that, I do the next best thing I can. Lose myself in descriptions of Japan and its people whenever I can. Yes 'Memoirs of a Geisha' was super, I loved it but it still wasn't enough... something was missing. I'll prolly look up 'Oshin' again.

But right now, I am reading 'The Tale of Genji' — and intend to finish all 1184 pages of it. It's only a translation, wish I could read it in Japanese ... translation doesn't quite cut it you know. It's supposed to be the first ever novel written... should make interesting reading.

What I am getting at however is, should I do short updates/reviews of the book as I finish parts of it? Here? I don't do book reviews here as such. Should I do it with this one? Yes? No?

Tell me.

Hey, Doll!

2009-03-09T22:00:00.002Z

Every year, in the run up to the day that declares me older, I wonder if I shall finally be given a prettily dressed Barbie as a present. Hasn't happened so far, but I live in hope. And have done so for the last 15 years at least.

Which is not to say I have never had a Barbie. I was given two of them, 1980s versions (Men out there, just in case you didn't know, Barbie is a brand, a legend, that is just like those cars, bikes, what have you that you covet and keep a strict eye on year after year). Long after I had outgrown the stage of playing with dolls, I'd still spend the odd Sunday afternoon lovingly washing their various outfits and going over my collection, taking a break from reading copiously. One afternoon I nearly washed out the strawberry print on this very pretty summer gown and spent the next hour feeling very sad.

As she turns 50 this year, being celebrated with a £ 20 m six-storey departmental-store of pink and crystal fabulousness, questions that go deeper than Barbie's smooth plastic skin are being asked.

One could almost write it off as new age falderal — the aggressive, vehement often acerbic tirade of this doll being the most anti-feminist icon to have ever been seen on the planet, how it is encouraging millions of little girls and women alike to aspire for an impossible figure, doing themselves much harm in the process and how we'd all benefit if it were completely obliterated.

My first reaction to this was 'Balderash!'. Except of course, one can no longer ignore such talk. Simply everything becomes subject to debate as being feminist or anti-feminist, progressive or regressive. Which is why one can almost write such talk off, almost. But not quite.

So before I jump into the discussion, let me first proclaim: It's just a DOLL. A plaything. Why is there a need to turn it into an object of such serious attitude? Sure it's very girlish, in the mien of ideas of the feminine in a patriarchal society: pink, curvaceous, charming, pretty ... but it's still a harmless object that is the source of much fun, joy and fond memories.

Having said that, I wouldn't dream of thinking Barbie as being anti-feminist or regressive or harmful to the female populace. One of the arguments for her was that since she has been just about every sort of woman one can imagine, an astronaut, doctor, veternarian, olympic participant, etc., "Barbie lets the imagination run free ... Barbie is also a brilliant role model." There are those who will say '"Career", of course, is another name for "outfit",' — Both very valid points. Although, I don't think there are many women out there (or even little girls) who decided they wanted to be in such and such profession because they saw Barbie like that. Besides, it would be really confusing considering how many careers she has changed and how fast. So, sure, she's more of a clothes prop. What's so wrong with that then? Being feminist hasn't stopped women from buying outrageously expensive, beautiful clothes, has it? Or wanting to look good?

Logically, the two have no connection. Unless you get into that argument about how all the models are stick thin and they're inspiring a generation of eating-disorder ridden women who are perpetually unaccepting of their natural selves. That still might hold some water. But to declare that a plastic plaything gives rise to the same effect is a bit much. Other real women inspiring inferiority complexes, insecurities and doubts, I can fathom. But an inanimate object? If you're letting something like that be the source of your unhappiness, or thinking it could cause such issues, then maybe you need to have your head examined. That attitude is akin to thinking donning a cape will make you a super-hero. Really. There is something inherently wrong in thinking a real-life individual equal to a fictitious character, or comparing the two. Which is what Barbie is, in the end — fictitious. And if you're going to put forth the argument of why she can't be sown in more realistic light, then let me point you towards those creations known as Russian Dolls. They're still too pretty, wait. A rag-doll then.

Barbie is certainly a feminist, however. Simple because she is every woman. Put aside her role as pilot, rockstar, cyclist, etc., aside. She is every woman out there. She has been an Indian woman in her various avtars, an Irish princess, a Maori princess ... representing 45 nationalities in total. She has successfully united women over the world in her unique way, by just being female. And isn't that feminism in its basic form?

Also, consider the fact that Barbie is not limited to the presence of a man. There is Ken, sure. But Ken is more of 'Oh yeah, Barbie's Ken' figure than being the figure of authority who defines her existence. The expression is 'Barbie and Ken', not, not 'Ken and Barbie'. Anti-feminist? Really?

And as Moira Redmond wrote, "Here are some things I defy you to imagine Barbie doing: housework; sucking up to men; cowering; being bullied or intimidated; being sexually harassed." Okay other than the housework bit, (which I don't think as being anti-feminist, it's just the victim of gender stereotyping, IMHO), if you can actually visualise the rest, something is wrong with you.

Lastly, she was created by a woman. In some measure, that makes her more believable than a similar creation dreamed up by a man wh has only the faintest idea of such a thing. And just how plausible is it that Ruth Handler sat there thinking 'Hmmm... let's see... what can I do to outrage millions of women in the decades to come? I know! Let's make this beautiful doll they will hate for being beautiful!'. Less pretty dolls would have been very popular, pity a majority of the world seems to think Barbie is better. 'sides, I'm not sure any mother out there who loved her daughter would want to put out a doll she named after her little girl if it wasn't the prettiest around. That's what it began as, really.

She's pretty. She's popular. She's rich. And the only point of her, is to have her.

Female, 24, seeks Romance*

2009-02-22T16:56:00.002Z

Lately, when anybody asks me 'Watched any movies?', I blank out. It might be due to the fact that when someone puts me on the spot I draw a blank anyway, but in this case it is more to do with the fact that none of the movies I watch seem to be the sort that stay with you hours after the credits have rolled. It's also true that I do not watch a lot of movies as such. I firmly believe in selective absorption of popular culture. And after one particularly traumatic incident (I don't remember what it was), I decided I was going to be very very choosy about which movie I watch, given how I was devoting 2 hours of my life to it when I could be making better use of those precious hours.

So, it's mostly been a case of trying to watch P.S. I love you/Bride wars/Marley and Me/random supposedly good flick and turning it off after a few minutes because I cannot bloody stand the nincompoopery I am being subjected to. I really should learn to apply the Bechdel test before I start a movie, as recommended by a reader when I cribbed earlier about movies.

And then I read this article and had a 'Twing!' moment. I kept reading and my brain was yelling 'She is so bloody right!!!'. The piece basically compares the rom-coms of yore to those of today and draws a conclusion that modern-day rom-coms are essentially misogynistic and dumbed-down versions. In a really bizzarre manner, it appears that movies about women in this supposedly modern era actually portray them in a poorer light than those earlier. Evidently, the heroines of yesteryears were far more advanced, individual, liberated and strong compared to the heroines of today. As the article says

... the women who people today's romantic comedies seem to have three main obsessions ... [shopping, babies and marriage].

And

Now, at a time when 70% of women are in the workforce, career women in romantic comedies are generally either portrayed as incompetent, cruel, or both... [it is] quite insulting that a career woman now is something that is so frowned upon. You see depictions of women who are supposedly at the top of their game, yet they can't walk down a corridor in a white suit without pouring coffee on themselves or walking into a bush. The films are not very subtly saying 'yes, they may be at the top in their jobs, but actually what they really need is a man. In fact, a husband.

And while on one hand there is this pre-feminist portrayal to be worrying about, there is another aspect that is equally worrying. With more and more heroines being portrayed as independent, career-minded, selfish individuals who get 'tamed' by the men involved, the message being sent out is that it's okay to simply expect that one will only get the best without having to put in work, that if something isn't perfect at the start and on the surface then there's no need to dig deeper but simply give it a boot.

As one of the girls Kira Cochrane interviewed post the movie watching, said, "I see marriage as a bit of a negative thing ... You're signing your life away. Very few of our parents are still together, so why would we want to go through all that?"

So while every other rom-com tells the girls of today that they can get away with being selfish and not settle for less than what they expect until marriage happens and all that will change, they are also sending the message across that marriages, nay, even stable relationships are hard to come by and do not last. Is it any surprise then, that the target audience ends up in a 'Why make an effort then?' rut.

It's a rather scary scenario. Specially for parents. It's come to a point where parents are simply thankful to see their children married at all, at whatever age, than simply shacking up with someone or turning out to be gay (no offense to the gay community there).

Coming back to the point though. It's imperative that the whole notion of romance and the role of a heroine are drastically altered from their present day avtars.

It's not just movies and TV shows that are the problem. Even books seems to be going the same way. Chick-lit's taken off in a big way but instead of liberating the modern woman, it has shackled her worse than before. And romance novels, or rather Mills & Boon romances, are not the same as before either. They seem to get raunchier and raunchier with nothing else to bind the pages together except the smut. As my friend D once said "It's not fiction dude, it's fuction!!!"

Now while I tend to avoid romance novels like french beans curry, I did read a few good ones. The most prominent ones in my mind are Georgette Heyers' books. Her heroines really were the sounky, imaginative, spirited creatures that heroines are supposed to be. Not in all her books, but most. I particularly enjoyed Sylvester and Cotillion. And if I were forced to choose an M&B work, it would have to be The Faraway Bride. Describing the journey of an orphaned English girl who marries an Australian visitor when he proposes to her in a fit of anger at his match-maing aunt, the book is more about the heroine's move to Australia and her very successful efforts at acclimatising herself to her new home while slowly building a relationship with this stranger she married than any action between all characters involved ... it's a book that has stayed in my mind for years. It's description of Australia and its characters made it a wholesome read. I often wondered why it was made into a romance novel ... I thought it deserved better than to be clubbed with 'fuction'.

And I truly wish this is what I could find in the movies, TV shows and books of now. A female role model who is spunky, imaginative, creative, smart, intelligent, hard working and just flawed enough to make her human. Someone who does not have outrageous expectations of romance but is happy to go along and play the game, make the best of it and emerge a winner. I wish to find A Heroine.

* No this is not an ad inviting proposals, decent or otherwise.