Good Days & Bad Times

2011-10-20T00:40:00.001+05:30

My son goes to a school where they place a lot of emphasis on Indian culture, festivals, etc. While I'm glad that he learns all that there is to about Holi, Diwali, Dussera, Id, Janmashtami and Christmas, that is not the reason we decided to send him to this particular school. It therefore amused me no end to hear someone mention that this school was perfect for him as on his own he would not have learnt about our cultures and customs so much. The underlying text being that with a mother who doesn't create too much of a fuss about rituals or fasts or temple visits, the poor boy would have missed out on his stipulated dose of Indian culture.Confusing culture with rituals and religion never fails to amuse me. Did you imbibe more values and culture if you grew up watching your mom and everybody around you fast during Navaratri? Is your culture quotient zero if your parents never really visited the temple or kept fasts or rushed you to Kolkata during every Durga Puja season? The more I see around me, the more I believe that people confuse the two. So I never visit temples unless there's something within prompting me to step inside one. Does that make me less of a believer? Why is belief and faith confused with your willingness to be first in the queue to get the charanamrita or prasad or pay hundred bucks extra for an express darshan of star deities at the country's five star temples? Yes I know rituals have a certain comfort in them and all of us have our favourite ones. I love the Aarti, especially one I watched on the banks of Ganga years ago as a child and the Dhunuchi naach during Durga Puja (though very smoky and not very comforting if said Durga Puja is being held in a closed community hall). I also love the gesture of 'cupping hands over the arati flame and raising it to the forehead.' To me it comes involuntarily and there's something about the lamp, fire and smoke combo that makes it alluring. But does it increase my faith and believer ratings than earlier? Don't think so. I remain as much of a believer or as much of a non believer as I was.

2011-07-22T23:16:00.002+05:30

Inky's posts are making me nostalgic these days, especially when she writes about evenings in Paris and the waterways of Amsterdam. The nostalgia isn't because I miss spending my evenings walking the cobbled lanes of phoren lands or staring wide eyed at unending perfume stores in Rue Je ne sais quoi. It isn't even for the heady whiffs of weed or the drool worthy sight of crepes and freshly baked baguettes.
You see, Inky's posts are making me remember a time when I could just pull the door and walk out (which is exactly what I did in those lovely cities). More importantly pull the door and walk out with nothing but a set of keys and wallet. No diaper bags, no water bottles, no squabbling over coke or chips, no wipes.
Before you lynch me for such unmotherly thoughts, yes I dearly love the kids and am thrilled to bits that I produced them but a girl is allowed to indulge in a bit of nostalgia isn't she?

2011-06-16T00:09:00.001+05:30

Principals in delhi university colleges have decided to up the cut off marks to 110 per cent to prevent students from getting admission and colleges getting overcrowded. When reminded by rampaging parents that no student in history has ever got 110, except for that Apsara Pencil boy on TV who got ‘Sau mein se ek sau panch’ in Maths for good handwriting, the principals retorted that they were very well aware of that.

“What are we to do?” said one principal who was being shouted at by an irate host with high BP on a TV Channel (real reason behind shouting: host was once denied admission in said college and now found great opportunity to vent his anger). The principal’s logic? Since students are getting higher and higher marks every year, they decided to raise the bar. “This will help us in many ways,” said the knowledgeable principal. “First of all, we will hardly have any students as barely anyone will get admission with such a cut off. Secondly, the ones that do get admission (for instance, my niece, the college librarian’s daughter, the science prof’s grandson, etc) with get complete attention of the lecturers as the ratio of student teacher will be 2: 20.” According to the principal, lesser number of students will be great for the teachers as they would get more time to ‘ideate in the staffroom’ (i.e have cups of cutting chai and read the newspaper). In fact, there may be times when the classrooms would be empty as everyone knows how many classes students bunk. This would be great for the classrooms as these would stay clean, saving us on sweeping and maintenance bills.”

When questioned by TV channels on his chances of admission with a 110% cutoff, the Science topper of this year who has the now useless score of 99% said he was extremely thrilled. “I now have the perfect excuse to reject the education system and take up DJing, something I have wanted to do for long but haven’t because of my overbearing parents.” He added.
Meanwhile the Sau mein se ek sau panch Apsara Pencil boy received mixed reactions across the country. While DU principals applauded him for giving them the idea of increasing the cut offs and planned to start an Apsara Pencil scholarship, students and angry parents blamed him for setting a “bad precedent of impossibly high percentage” and vowed never to use pencils again.

You know you are losing it when...

2011-06-06T23:32:00.002+05:30

You go on eBay and feel the thrill of life when you spot the Electrolux Cordless Vacuum Cleaner on sale at the Global Easy Buy. Worse it leads to a series of fantasies in which you imagine situation where you remain calm and collected (like foreign woman doing yoga in white threadbare kurta that looks good only on her) even when the maid calls to say she is sick and therefore unable to come for the next three days. You imagine yourself cleaning the chocos off the sofa, the bits of craft paper off the floor and the various discarded pieces of parantha your son has artfully hidden around the house in a jiffy, because ta....da..this vacuum cleaner is a cordless one and moving it around is a breeze.
At some point you give yourself a mega shake and come out of your vacuum induced reverie. You even recover enough to open a new window and check out the latest fool-the-world gizmo Apple has on offer. But old habits (or recently acquired strange habits you thought only old people had) die hard. You return to the household appliance section and order a mini accessories basket for the dishwasher. Along with a wall mounted kitchen scale and swim diapers. And you feel the thrill of wonderful shopping wash all over.
Like I said. Help is surely required here.

Being Indian

2011-03-15T22:37:00.001+05:30

You feel absolutely authorised to comment on anything and everything be it your neighbour’s son’s constant refusal to agree to an arranged marriage or your irritatingly slim gym partner who never seems to put on a pound despite the energy and chocolate bars she constantly consumes. Indians feel they have the birthright to comment on anything and everything all the time. It could be your appearance, you weight, your choice of school, hospital, lifestyle, brand of beer, the number of children or lack of it. We should replace unwanted comments as our national sport instead of kabaddi, which nobody seems to play these days.

You brave traffic, screaming toddlers and rampaging crowds to visit discount sales in a far off mall. All because you spotted the irresistible offer of a melamine dinner set free if you shop for Rs. 3000 in the morning paper.

You want Bollywood to get original and esoteric but would still pay good money to watch Band Baaja Baarat than Love Sex or Dhoka.

You spent your twenties dating ‘fast’ and ‘modern’ girls (read smokes, drinks, swears, thinks nothing of wearing a mini to work according to your mental dictionary) yet when it comes to getting hitched, you depend on Mummy and ask her to find you the gharelu seedhi saadhi type.

You crib about the lack of hygiene and cleanliness in trains, stations and even airports, yet think nothing of chucking a candy wrapper out of the window of your car. After all, there’s no trashcan inside and you just got the car cleaned and serviced.

Weddings are completely Bollywoodised events in your mind thanks to Yash Chopra, Karan Johar and clan. In fact, you cannot think of a wedding without band, baaja and baraat or the mandatory mehendi ceremony, even if weddings in your community are a completely different affair altogether.

You believe in being eco-friendly, saving the trees, stopping eve-teasing, helping Tsunami victims, cleaning up the streets of your city and saving the tiger. In fact you believe in many causes and champion them all. As long as they require you to sign a petition online and forward an email.

Friendships are very important to you. You spent several of your formative years trying to ‘make friendship’ with the girls from your local college and now you have 475 friends. All on Facebook. In fact, you can’t even remember meeting some of them.

You may not know who’s the new telecom minister or the name of our Vice President but like everyone else, you believe that politics is a dirty game and love to rant against money-hungry, land grabbing politicians. In fact, you are absolutely certain the country is going to the dogs. You just don’t know the names of the breed.

The Second Coming

2011-03-15T21:54:00.003+05:30

One of the advantages of being sleep deprived is you can always blame your slightly erratic and weird behaviour on it. For instance, thanks to the wonderful Vodafone network at home, I received a friend's congratulatory message at 4 am the other day (night? dawn?). She had sent it the previous day. "Thanks a ton." I immediately texted, thrilled to have something else to do apart from being a human rocker for baby and making mental notes on the vegetables to be ordered the next morning. And then, just to demonstrate what a thoughtful friend I was (the ideal 4 am kind), I also added, “And how is little A? Fever gone yet?”

Big mistake. Little A is her son alright but the fever happened to Little B, son to yet another friend whom I had spoken to just that evening, a time that at 4 am seems million light years ago. Then again, I had the best excuse in the world. “Sorry,” I texted (and lied), “message meant for someone else. Blame it on the lack of sleep.”

The sleep deprived state also comes with other advantages. For instance you could always avoid boring dinners with the excuse that you need to be up and about a bit and night and therefore need all the rest you can. “Oh of course we completely understand,” says the not so interesting acquaintance before launching into an account of her own nigh time feeding schedule and how she always slept when the baby did, when he was born 10 years ago. “I do the same,” I say in my well practised heavy with sleep voice and go back to reading some enriching literature like Julia Quinn, which I plan to finish through the two mandatory wake up calls at night.

In the meantime, being a human rocker is fast becoming a habit. Went for a regular baby check-up at the hospital and had to remind myself that it was a) the nurse who was carrying the baby who b) was fast asleep and therefore c)I needn’t go back and forth on my heels.

Need to also stop posting baby pictures on FB, though can’t help myself with some nice ones. Since baby photos invite the mandatory coos and awwws after a point I run out of things to say apart from Thanks. Now would you ever do that in offline life? If a friend came over, looked the little bundle up and down and said awwwww, would you say, hey thanks? Probably not. So there.

2011-01-23T00:04:00.002+05:30

I spent one of the most uncomfortable evenings of my life sitting in Gladys Staines’ living room in Baripada, Orissa. The discomfort was not because of Gladys, who was a wonderful host, taking me around the leprosy clinic that her husband had set up in the morning and inviting me over for tea in the evening. The discomfort was all mine. I couldn’t just get it out of my mind that here I was sitting in a house that had once seen three kids running around, two of them boys who must have played football, chased the dogs and done all those things that boys generally do. All that was left of that for this woman were memories, haunted by the worst possible end any mother could imagine.

Sitting there, I didn’t have the heart to interview Gladys or remember the list of questions I’d prepared. It seemed enough that she had shared the work she and her late husband had done at the leper clinic with me in the morning; that I had seen her interact with the people she was caring for and the people who worked with her. It felt normal to sit there and simply talk to this amazingly strong woman who shared memories of her husband as and when they came to her, smiled if an object in the room associated with the memory caught her eye, spoke about her daughter who was then studying in Australia, spoke of her ailing father back home and the support she got from people around her in India and why she forgave the fiends who committed that heinous crime. She never mentioned her two sons. I never asked. There are some things you just can’t intrude upon. It feels like slapping the person awake from a stupor that's probably keeping them sane.

I wasn’t a mother then. Very far from the thought actually. I’m one now and cannot even think of what Gladys as a mother must have gone through after that horrific night. How would you feel if your husband and kids who weren't even 10 were burnt alive as 50 men with sticks ensured they couldn't escape the inferno? Would you feel they were converting people into their religion forcefully and therefore deserved it in some way, something the court judgement reeks of when it calls this crime not the rarest of rare and comes down heavily on conversion, completely ignoring the work done by the same man in other areas altogether?

So when I heard of the Supreme Court verdict that has removed the noose off Dara Singh’s neck, I thought of Gladys Staines. And prayed that Dara Singh’s conscience, which apparently tells him he’s innocent, gives him an equally horrid death within the walls of the jail where he will hopefully spend his life term now, mentally, physically or otherwise.

Happy New Year

2011-01-02T18:31:00.001+05:30

To all those who still come here. Spent New Year's Eve at home with friends having potluck party. Had plans of making exotic food with complicated name as a gourmet type start to the year but realized most people I know prefer paneer makhni and butter chicken to pesto sauce and prawn croquettes. Eventually had the table laid with very odd combinations that included dal makhni, pulao, gobi mussalam, dahi bhalle and chicken biryani courtesy me and my friends. Have become complete behenji type and will never be employed by Brunch or Mint where recipes are only about interesting sounding things like onion tarts, honey glazed pork and apricot ginger cake, best had in a French spa type ambiance.
Chances of employment though are very weak this year as have baby number two coming soon this February. Yup, I seem to be a sucker for staying up nights and going in the cow mode again. Jokes apart, we really are excited and that includes the young man who alternates between wanting a baby brother and a baby sister. Though am not quite sure if it's because he expects the baby to emerge ready to play with him.
Speaking of babies, what a difference the first time and the second time is! The excitement is still the same but the preparations are different, mentally and otherwise.
The first time I had a list of baby names by now and had shopped at every baby store I could find in Bangalore. I had also memorised What to Expect When you are Expecting and by this time had started practising my breathing exercises.
Have since then given away my dog eared copy of What to Expect to a friend and between reading out Cat in the Hat to the tyke and trying to finish my own review copies have had little time to read anything else. As for shopping, I have a lot of the tyke's stuff that I could use for the little one and some lovely generous friends. Oh of course I am shopping for new stuff but I am older and wiser and no longer fall for 'this is a must have for baby' spiel by salespeople and books written for American readers.
The names? Perhaps it's time to get started on that.

Five

2010-11-28T19:20:00.002+05:30

The biggest development has been the little man sleeping in his own room. It has been decorated with planets, stars, rockets and aliens and has worked its magic on our man. He still finds his way to us from time to time and curls up in between though the days he wake up in his own room he's rather proud of the feat. I'd thought getting him a fancy new bed would do the trick but it's the simple space stickers (some made by us in joint mother-son collaboration) that actually did. You can never tell what works with kids!

North Indianizing

2010-11-02T23:49:00.003+05:30

The American woman sweetly asks if I am celebrating Karwa Chauth. I smile sweetly and tell her no. She seems surprised and I decide to use the limited time we have in the lift to tell her that it is a festival mainly celebrated by women in the North of India, while I come from a family that is from the East, where we don't celebrate it. She is extremely surprised and perhaps a bit confused. The papers this morning (Bangalore papers to be precise) have informed her that this is the day when women across the country fast and pray for their husband's long life.
Really?
I grew up in Farakka, Orissa, Goa surrounded by my parents and their circle of mostly Bengali friends. Karwa Chauth was as alien a concept to me as it is to the American lady I met in the lift. Of course we had enough Punjabi friends and neighbours so over the years I did hear about it, though the first time it probably made an impact to make me remember it enough was in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge. Thanks to that movie, every year on KC day when I get the inevitable call from a hungry friend asking if I can spot the moon from my balcony, I have DDLJ's Karwa Chauth track running in my head (complete with the sickening line: tere haath se peekar paani, dasi se ban jaoon rani).
KC is also alien to a lot of my friends from the South or from Gujarat or Assam. So I absolutely do not get it when newspapers declare it a festival celebrated by women across the country, unless their version of country doesn't extend beyond Delhi and NCR limits.
I'm not speaking against Karwa Chauth though I couldn't fast to save my life and don't exactly agree with the basic thought behind this festival. However, to each her own. I do know many women from other communities who do the KC fast voluntarily. A friend from Shillong keeps it for her Punjabi husband, despite him urging her to eat every year for the last 15 years. A Tamilian friend fasts with his Punjabi wife and a Bengali cousin fasts for her longtime boyfriend who of course thinks she is being dramatic and influenced by Yash Chopra. But I do wonder how a festival that's essentially limited to certain parts of the country gets a national assumption? It's like saying every Indian groom comes dressed in a sherwani, sitting on a horse with a dancing baarat. Or that Jamai Shashti is a festival celebrated across the country. If you don't know what that is, it's absolutely alright but it does make me wonder since when KC became an 'assumed' national phenomenon.
Is it because we have several uninformed newspaper editors? Or is the Johar-Chopra gang more deeply entrenched into our national psyche than we believe them to be?

The Great Man's Wife

2010-09-28T00:08:00.001+05:30

An old post I wrote after meeting someone. It was lying in draft. Had forgotten to post it, God knows why!

The Great Man's Wife spoke with the faintest hint of an accent. All those years of first doing her masters in the US and then spending a considerable amount of time living and working there had left their mark on her speech. Her home was open, big and for the want of a better term, earthy. Red brick walls on the exterior, limewashed walls with the right niche hollows in the interior, plants spilling tastefully into the living area and the lawn giving a view of the greens outside. The outdoor furniture was simple but possibly expensive and you couldn't miss the discreetly kept but too prettily painted to be missed terracotta kitchen waste composter. The drink was organic as were the biscuits.

I nibbled on all that health as she told me the story of how her business came along. Though it wasn't as much business as 'economic empowerment.' as she repeated. The Great Man's Wife enlisted women from villages in the outskirts of Bangalore to transfer her much researched creativity onto silk stoles, blouses and on special customised requests, usually from her expat friends who 'understood and appreciated these things' sometimes even on a jacket, a wall hanging on a sari.

Thanks to the soothing combo of the garden breeze, juice and often heard words, I may have been part asleep as she spoke but did catch words of vital importance like 'at the grassroots level,' 'self-sustaining' "at the ground level,' 'preserving heritage,' and so on.

It's good work no doubt but I do wish it was done without the congratulatory self-pat on the back, that is meant to be invisible but yet, is visible enough. And then I thought perhaps I am getting too cynical, that even with the kids abroad, the huge house in the middle of the city and the works of art dotting the walls, she does mean it when she says that at heart she still is very middle class. That she belives in giving as much as she has got. That even now, everything she does is centred around the Great Man and his approval.

And somewhere through the chink, I couldn't shake off the feeling that I spotted a rather lonely woman.

2010-09-23T11:58:00.002+05:30

I'm listening to Alanis and crying my eyes out. Sometimes life turns out so different from what you expected or imagined it to be. It doesn't mean that you are unhappy or dissatisfied with what you have and the bed is probably of your own making but yes, it does make you sad at times to imagine some things that could have been. Some things that you have stopped being.

Yes the setbacks are temporary and there's no other way to go about it but that doesn't stop the sadness from creeping in sometimes.

Don't be alarmed. Just a bit low, it's one of those days and the only way to deal with it is to write it out. Otherwise in many ways this should be and is a very happy time.

Random

2010-08-07T22:34:00.002+05:30

Was happily watching Aisha with friend, drooling over Abhay Deol and generally enjoying the froth until she, Sonam Kapoor that is, appeared in the hospital (having apparently rushed there because her sister went into labour) wearing a jacket and mini dress with a Dior bag. Forgive me if I goof on the details here because I was laughing too hard to concentrate. Yes I know this is a film where style is what matters but a hospital? And that too when she rushed because her BIL poked his head into her room and said the 'drop-everything-grab-wallet-car-keys' word It's Time!
Couldn't they have shown her at least in skinny jeans or jeggings or whatever they are called and perhaps a loose top? Who wears a party frock/mini to the hospital in a hurry? Unless she packed her designer tote along with sister's hospital kit? Or perhaps rich, super stylish Delhi girl do these things. Who are we to know. Anyway forget that bit and the punchless end and the endless L'oreal and Dior ads and it makes for quite an entertaining film. Especially if you've had a bit of experience of the party hard, bitch harder Delhi chics the film talks about. Teeeheee ;-p
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When some long lost acquaintance sends me a friendship request on FB, I assume they at least wish to say hello if not share their lifetime secrets. Was quite surprised to receive one such request from a former colleague I rarely interacted with. While accepting the request I sent a message to the ex-colleague asking how she was, saying hello, etc. Got this in return: 'Oh hi, it's you. I did one of those Find Friend things and I guess FB emailed all my gmail contacts. Never mind!'
Thankfully it was a message and not a wall post or it would have been public mein dhulai. I was a bit taken aback at first and did find it rude though as I thought about it, I couldn't help but be amused. In a world where friendships all but skim the surface at the click of the mouse, it's good to have a reply that's forthright. In whatever manner that may be.
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Watched Tere Bin Laden. Badly shot funny movie. But not as funny as expected. Or pehaps my filmi streak is diminishing. Don't seem to love things as I used to earlier and usually find some fault or the other with everything. Age takes your blinkers off when it comes to Bollywood I guess.

2010-07-31T19:38:00.007+05:30

Yikes, now they are demanding the Kohinoor back. What if the Brits demanded all the stuff they built back from us? We'd have to dismantle legendary things like Howrah Bridge and pack it off among other things, thus depriving future generation of Bongs to enjoy the priceless joke, 'I'm enjoyeeng the breej on the breeze'. Though must say, good of Cameron to admit that Brit museums would empty out in a flash if they started to give our antiques back. At least he was being honest. As for the Kohinoor, remember standing in queue to see it at the Tower Museum and coming back utterly disappointed. It looked lost in the hideous purple (or is it blue, can't be bothered to google) crown and much much smaller than expected. Instead what moved me and made me want to write patriotic comments was Tipu Sultan's automated tiger at Victoria and Albert museum. Was feeling patriotic enough to write 'Wapas Karo' type stuff in the Visitor's Book while going out. Have no idea why, perhaps it's because I devotedly watched The Sword of Tipu Sultan (Had strange taste in those days), whereas nobody ever made a serial on the Kohinoor diamond. That figures.

2010-07-07T11:13:00.001+05:30

A friend of mine went to her alumni dinner some days back and came back rather disgusted. My friend has not been working for the past few years because of illness and other crisis in the family. She's what you would call a housewife and Femina would stylishly call homemaker. At the dinner, teeming with ex-friends and ex-batchmates who are now AVPs, VPs, CEOs, GMs, TLs and suchlike my friend says she felt like shit. And it wasn't because she realised what she had been missing all along. It's because most of the her ex-batchmates recoiled in polite horror when she came up with an honest answer to THE question: So what have you been doing?
Nothing much, she replied. I married soon after we graduated, had two kids and have been basically at home with them.
"Their look said it all. It's almost as if I was nothing. Not being a working woman or having had a career," she said.
You can't blame her, given the super achiever CVs that were dropping off people's lips the moment THE question was asked.
Why is it that achievement is always measured in such tangible terms? Where do you work or what do you do and how much you make? Why do we tend to look at a woman, label her a housewife and think she has done "nothing with her life" simply because she chooses not to work?
It's a tricky argument I know. With no side doing anything right or wrong. What really matters, and this took my silly brain years to figure out, is what you enjoy doing. And if it is setting up your home, taking care of it and being there, so be it. If it is being at work, getting things done, getting a high when you take over a new team, touchwood.
My friend married her boyfriend right out of the institute whose alumni dinner she attended. The boyfriend-turned-husband was setting up his own business and had a family that was on a rather rocky patch due to several reasons. Without being asked or pressurised or being forced to as is generally assumed, she decided to help him set up his thing and be around for his folks at home till the rough times were over. Before she knew it she had one kid, followed by another and in her own words, never found much time to get herself a job she liked.
But instead of just lounging at home watching serials, baking pancakes and chasing the kids to eat (as the popular cliched image goes), she has been going about a lot of work. The kind she liked doing, without anyone asking her to.
She has been the husband's unofficial consultant/telephone operator in the arly years/brochure designer/content editor and the family's anchor, financial planner, head chef, travel guide for many many years. She's one of the most content people I know and one look at her and you know she is no pushover. Doesn't that count as achievement?
Apparently not. You need to be earning a salary in multiple figures to qualify for that. In the process you may have ignored your home, kids and relationships but who cares? You earn. You hold an important sounding designation. That's all that matters. And before anyone jumps on me, I'm not saying working women ignore their homes and children. If you think that you are missing the woods for the trees so stop reading :)
My friend did try to take up a job once, after her first child. She had a supportive family and good help so she gave in to everyone saying 'Don't waste your talent!' and started work. She lasted five months. "Because this is where my talent was. I loved being home. I loved doing craft with my kids, taking them to the park, cycling. I loved all that," she used to tell me, when the monkey was smaller and I used to be perpetually confused about to work or not to work. "I see myself doing this all my life and still being happy and if you can't see yourself doing it forever, you should get a job."
It settled my mind and I decided to freelance. Because I couldn't get away from the child and I couldn't see myself enjoying craft and staying away from work either. Even if it amounted to almost nothing in terms of money. And today my mind is settled. I know this is what I'll be doing. Working from home. Perhaps increasing the volume as time goes on but perhaps never taking up a fulltime job, unless circumstances demand it.
But this isn't about me. It's about my friend who is very clear in her mind about what she wants. She has good degrees, she has intelligence and the required amount of smartness to get some kind of a job if she wants. She's a favourite in her family. She's built bridges between broken relationships, mended illnesses and done a thousand other things many of us are too timid or indifferent to attempt. Yet in her hi-profile alumni dinner she feels like nothing because she doesn't hold a job, an enviable salary and a blackberry. Not fair, this achievement calculator.

The IT book

2010-06-17T13:55:00.003+05:30

Just got mail from big bookstore inviting me to event where ex-IT honcho (according to PR) who has written life-defining book will be launching his book and be in conversation with ex-BPO honcho who has looked at the intense trials and tribulations of the BPO industry in his previous book. Since it's in the evening and I'd be unable to go and attend such a stimulating event thanks to lack of babysitting, I decided to waste my time on the computer by imagining the conversation. Please read at your own risk.

Ex-BPO: Hello Sir famous ex-IT honcho, what prompted you to write this book?

Ex-IT: You know I was always stuck in Bangalore's horrible traffic jams while getting back from work and used to be so bored. After all, there's only a point up to which you can pretend to be busy on the laptop, play with your iPod, etc. Calling up friends I had no time to call otherwise was a big no as it used to be only around 7.45 PM and I didn't want them to think I waslukhkhaand had absolutely no work. Which was the truth but cannot be admitted after all, right? In fact, there have been times when I have left the office at 5 and deliberately taken the stairs from the 10th to the ground floor and then admired the fountains in the office buildings, the leather Italian sofas in the reception before proceeding to Coffee Day downstairs and placing the most complicated order I could think of. Since those buggers take several minutes to process any request other than for simple cappuccino, this way I was able to waste precious time before reaching the exit gate and calling my driver to get the car around at the (almost) respectable hour of 6.30. In fact, there are times when I have asked the driver to stop at 3 ATMs on the way home even if I had money in my pocket just so that I'd not reach home before 8.30 or 9. After all, my wife also has to maintain standards with her kitty friends and tell everybody how late her husband comes home, right? The pity is that I don't even travel much so she's really not left with much topic for conversation. Oh sorry, I'm really blabbering a rather lot, aren't I?

Ex-BPO: That's alright sir. It's good for the heart. So your book came out of these traffic jams, did it?

Ex-IT: You could say it did. As I saw the beggar woman hold her bowl near the car window, the grumpy looking driver of the big Volvo bus honking behind my Scorpio, the autorickshaw driver who looked like a copy of the Kannada hero Upendra, people standing in queues for buses as us lucky ones in cars whizzed by stuttered by, I realised how uncertain life was. You could be here one day and there next. And you could be anyone, autorickshaw Upendra or Volvo driver or person who had to wait for bus even if it was over crowded. It gave me meaningful insights into people's lives and I decided to turn it into a book.

Ex-BPO: How interesting. But didn't you also describe your experiences of working in the IT sector in the book?

Ex-IT: Of course I did. I didn't mean to first but since I also wrote most of the book in office (a great way to motivate yourself to stay back beyond 5.30) parts of it kept getting in. I also realized it was beneficial for my ego. When I went to the canteen at 7.30 to get a cup of tea instead of my earlier 4.30, the canteen man looked at me with utmost respect and said in a worshipful voice, "working late sir?' The best part was hearing my wife tell her cousin on phone that I was very busy and working very late, so she would see if we'd be able to make it to their house for dinner on a weekday. It almost makes up for the non travelling part.

Ex-BPO: There are some memorable characters in the book. Are they from real life?

Ex-IT: Shhh...my ex-boss' wife is at the reading. (Loudly) Of course not. Though I must say it was inspired by different instances and people I came across at home, shopping malls, get-togethers. Not at the office. The setting was inspired by my office though. It's such a boring beautiful steel and glass building that it's difficult not to get inspired.

Ex-BPO: You were inspired by your office building?

Ex-IT: Yes, why not? Also by the security checks at the entrance, the ban on camera phones, the smart looking identity card...

Ex-BPO: I'm speechless sir.

Ex-IT: Are you being sarcastic?

Ex-BPO: No sir. I'm too moved to speak. In fact I thought I was the only one inspired to write by these smart looking office things. Now that I find a kindred soul I'm overcome by emotion to talk. Why sir, in my book 'BPO Baby,' I have devoted one entire chapter to the office I-card, how it defines your professional personality and inspires sameness, the problems if you lose it. I've also talked about the almost dress code like adherence to blue shirts and brown/black pants by men in corporate world Sir. I've had people sending me fan mail saying how much they appreciated the deep thought process and insight that went to writing that particular part.

Ex-IT: I can understand. I myself am very attached to the episode where the department shifts from C-Wing to B-Wing and the employees had to abruptly switch over to new ways of sitting, dual screen monitors, new desks, chairs, cubicles and coffee machines, etc. It was an evolution that took some time to get used to resulting in interesting dramas and developments. For instance, there's this character who has a horrible day that starts because she's unable to figure out the new and complicated Italian self-vending coffee machine in the corridor and it sets of a chain of events. Also the B Wing being nearer to the new Indo-Chinese-Thai restaurant outside the office complex, I was able to weave in a romantic angle as well.

Ex-BPO: Yes sir, I can totally understand. And it helps to have seen these things first hand. For example, Cafe Coffee Days play a big role in all my novels, because they are the breeding ground of blooming office romance. I have seen it Sir.

Ex-IT: Exactly. I'm touched by your understanding and I'm sure that there are many more like you. This is the reason why more of us from the IT/BPO sector need to come out, write and share these experiences with our fellow readers.

Audience member: Sir, could you please share some tips for successful writing and getting published?

Ex-IT: Sure. Should be based in office. Should have one frustrated protagonist who doesn't get a promotion or the girl in the beginning. Allow a lot of scandal and gossip to flourish. Maybe a suicide but not at the workplace. Give some real life instances like off sites, team outings in the evenings which make great setting for clandestine stuff, office lunches, team dinners, etc. Write about things people identify with like bad boss, good mentor at workplace, traffic jams and mix in some jargon like brand extensible, web-enabled applications, etc., to show your audience that you know your stuff. The story will write itself.

AM: But sir, what about those lesser fortunate Volvo drivers, people waiting at bus stops? I couldn't find them in your book!

Ex-IT: Oh that. See they gave me this germlike germ of an idea which developed into something different. But don't worry. Someone will write about them too. What are Indian authors based in foreign countries for?

2010-06-13T12:14:00.003+05:30

@McDonald's

"But sir the coke is free. It comes with the meal."

"I know that but I don't want it. I already got one with the meal my wife ordered."

"Sir but this one is for you. Two meals, two cokes."

"No thanks yaar we want only one coke. You take this one back, why waste?"

"But it's free sir!"

@buffet lunch

"Arre, why only two desserts? They are charging us for the other sweets also na. So you must try everything!"

"No no I'm off sweets."

"To buffet lunch mein kyun aye? Ek din me kuch nahi hota. You must try everything."

Always makes me wonder what the takeaway boy/insistent buffet lady think after such an exchange. Did takeaway boy think we were too slow on the uptake and unable to comprehend the magic term free which means anything you don't have to pay for must not be refused?

Did insistent buffet lady think you were new to the buffet culture and therefore needed education which certainly is load your plate even with things you do not want to eat so that every morsel justifies the 400 odd bucks you were paying?

Random

2010-06-08T21:44:00.004+05:30

It's one of those days when I have to key in 2000 words by tomorrow which means I get going tonight. True to tradition have written only 20 words so far and have spent the last hour watching The World's Extreme Restrooms on TV and finding things like http://recipes.bbclifestyle.com/. Given that I drive myself and the girl who helps me around at home batty wondering what to cook everyday I sure need this. Though I wish they had a section on India too. Much as we love Seafood pasta and Summer couscous salad, a life without dal really isn't sustainable for too long. At least in this household. Off to watch Castle on Star World now. The husband is away on work and the son is asleep and though the double decker words need to be written, procrastination is too long a warning to remember!
Oh and by the way finally found a copy of Embroideries by Marjane Satrapi at Blossoms. See that's what I love about Blossoms. The good children at Landmark would ask you to pronounce Satrapi five times as you resisted the urge to type the name yourself and save them the trouble of remembering their alphabets. They'd then possibly announce they're out of copies or disappear in the pretext of finding the book. At Blossoms, you simply park yourself on the ground floor, point to a copy of Persepolis and ask in a rather distracted manner if they have that 'book called embroideries' by her and it materialises like magic in two minutes. Neat haan?

Of crazy tarantulas and bloody oranges

2010-06-07T13:51:00.001+05:30

Cannot get myself to like Quentin Tarantino's movies (will be cold shouldered by brother for the rest of my life now). In my mind, they are all jumbled up in a profusion of profanities and guns. And the overdose of gore is a big turn-off. I never understood Reservoir Dogs (bunch of men abusing each other in warehouses and cars) and though I did sit through Pulp Fiction I think that was mainly because of Travolta and Thurman, both of whom I love. Managed to watch Kill Bill 2 up to the point where Thurman kills her former fellow assassin and tells the little daughter she'll have her chance of revenge later. Would've probably gone ooh and aah at such coldly sassy attitude earlier in life but by the time I watched the movie I was a mom and had started turning teary jelly at any suggestion of cruelty to kids in any movie.

Which brings me to the koshchen that who decides which movie is great and which isn't? Because what you like and dislike is so subjective. Remember queasily sitting through Clockwork Orange in my mass communications film class as the slightly unwashed documentary filmmaker taking the course gushed over it. Couldn't even close eyes halfway and pretend to watch all that blood and gore as had to dissect film after that. Your call that classic cinema? Yeah sure. Just like Tarantula's Tarantino's Reservoir Dogs is called one of the top independent cult films ever? Vat nonsense. At least in my world. Gimme In The Mood for Love or Rashomon or Breathless or Lost in Translation anyday over Tarantino's capers. At least they do not have psychotic men trying to cut each other's ears as justification of crazy plot that involves four different gangsters doing four different shootouts in a disco/warehouse/church all the while going f*#k, f*#k, f*#k, f*#k. My thoughts exactly. Yeah.

In Bombay...

2010-05-19T16:42:00.004+05:30

...For the week with the boy. This time the brother has shifted conveniently to Bandra so the bad mamma is dragging the boy around, showing him her old playground. And guess what he's mesmerised with? The street food vendors. Of course, he is far from trying anything out yet but he loves standing in front of the sandwichwala, bhelwala and dosawala to see how thy work. His eyes go wide as they deftly go about slapping chutney-butter-aloo on bread and circle dosa batter nonstop on the tawa. He also loves what he thinks are very fancy 'machines' even if it's the just-pressed sugarcane juice his mother would stay miles away from after a college time gastro scare.
All this awe and admiration has made me suddenly realize the lack of street food scene in Bangalore. At least a visible one. Sure you have the nariyalpani vendor and the peanut and fruit sellers but those aren't essentially streetside junk, like Delhi's Chole Kulchas or Momos or golgappe and the abovementioned lot in Bombay. In Bangalore, you're better off walking into a darshini or KFC for a quick hog. In the last five years I don't recall eating anything exciting at a street vendor and no, Empire's late night chicken dosa doesn't count. That's a shop. Street food, as it thrives in Delhi, Bombay and Calcutta is surely missing in Bangalore. Wonder why is it so? Or am I wrong? Any idea, Bangaloreans who perhaps still read this blog? Any street food memories in the city that you think I missed? Please to tell.

In Vombay]

2010-05-19T16:40:00.000+05:30

2010-05-08T01:16:00.002+05:30

Was asking A to eat his vegetables (carrots really) when he declared that he positively hated them and asked me why I was eating mine. "To grow strong," I said, giving the standard boring Mummy answer. "For what strong?" he demanded to know and when I was silent for a second provided the answer: "Oh to shout."
Did not know whether to laugh or cry or be proud of son's excellent sense of humour like good Indian mother. The husband, predictably enough, was in splits. And once I stopped choking on my peas, couldn't help but think is that how he sees me really? The mamma who's always shouting? The mamma whose favourite word is No?
Did not get too emotional about it as by the time your child is four and half you know that kids really do say the wildest things. So quite a pro at this by now, though this is the first time very teenager style, let's poke fun of mamma comment has happened. If anyone needs a self help cum how to boost your spirits book it's us moms. Perhaps I'll write one. Hmmm....

Why do they call it water cooler moment?

2010-04-08T14:53:00.004+05:30

Why not the Chai Wala Gossip or Ciggie Break Talks. Think the Water Cooler is a very foreign concept but some people (esp the kind who think it will make them sound witty) do end up using it. Met a former finance guy ("Wall Street is an addiction") who kept talking of the "watercooler moments" that inspired him to start the venture he's now running. 'Wait a sec,' I wanted to tell him, 'All you guys ever did in that swanky office was buzz around the watercooler? Didn't anyone ever want chai or coffee or a soggy sandwich or even an artery-choking mayo-rich salad at the cafeteria?'

To me, a Watercooler conjures memories of school on hot afternoons when everybody's bottles had dried up and the area around the watercooler would be stamped with muddy shoeprints, lost hankerchiefs or bottle caps. We would let the cold water trickle down our throat, inside and outside and hope to God the PT Sir wouldn't make us play Kabaddi in the hot sun. That is the image I have. Certainly not of a workplace gossip session. That usually involves a certain amount of milk powder ki Chai, watery Nescafe and a lot of smoke.

In every place that I have worked, gossip sessions invariably bring to mind the office staircase or as many would call it, the fire escape. Whether you smoked or not, it was the place to escape when you wanted to bitch about the new babe who wore so much mascara it looked as if she had it surgically inserted or the boss who had no idea how long it took to travel from Bhayandar to VT. Does anyone ever think of watercooler? Now that I freelance and spend most of my working hours at home, I'm wondering what could be my chai escape equivalent and there's only one sad answer: The kitchen!

Kyunki Main Us Din Bilkul Free Thi

2010-03-22T23:19:00.001+05:30

This is what happens when a deprived woman like me has the house TV to herself and no work on hand. Watched TV nonstop and discovered the following facts of life:

Little boy Aditya Narayan has grown up, lost weight and turned horror film hero
Katrina's hand wave in Rajneeti is exactly like you know who (yes I didn't know even that)
Poor Arbaaz has finally got Malaika to do some naach gana with him in a film cheesily titled Prem Ka Game. Chee chee
Ze famous Barbara Mori doesn't look all that hot. At least to me. Think this will be a big dud.

GK lesson over I switched on to the serials to see what depths our society had plummeted to and got thoroughly confused. Every second serial featured a havan or a mandir or a heavily veiled bahu with too much sindoor or a tense looking boy trying to talk to a tense looking girl in churidar and choodha. If you do not know what those italics are, do a google search. I'm too lazy for translations. Anyway, all that mandir and mangalsutra overdose made me wonder if serial writers ever met people from other communities and religions. Probably not. They probably also attend the same school of headlines serial titles. That explains the names which sound suspiciously same no matter which channel you switch to. You could almost make up a story with these. Since I'd nothing better to do, apart from updating myself with Anandi's wellbeing in Balika Badhu (very updated with the serial after Mint's plug last week), I suffered surfed Colors, Star Plus, NDTV Imagine, Star One, Zee and wrote a weird letter. Read at your own risk. And if you are a TV moron like me, yes, these are all names :

Sabki Ladli Bebo,

Hum hai Do Saheliyan: Kismat ki kathputliyan. Waise to Sasural Genda Phool Hai par Kabhi to Raja Ki Ayegi Baraat aur tum kahoge Saajan Ghar Jaana Hai. Kyunki har ladki ka Sapna hai Babul ka Bidaai. Jaldi hi tum banoge Do hanso ka joda. Ab na rahega tera kagaz kora. Kyunki tumhe Rehna hai Palkon ki chaon mein. Kyunki Sabki Jodi wohi banata, bhagyavidhata.

Have lost all readership now.
Alwida

2010-03-04T21:57:00.004+05:30

Made payesh (Bengali for rice pudding) the other day. Here it is:

Nothing monumental about it except that I'm now officially my mother. Growing up, payesh was the answer to everything in our house. Birthdays? Anniversary? Overnight guests? Is-there-anything-sweet-at-home cravings? Payesh it was. To be fair to mom, she also baked cakes, made fish in white sauce, malpuas and various other things but payesh was and still is her signature offering. Post marriage, when I started calling up mom to get recipes in my usual loving manner (but why do I beat the butter and sugar together? Why not everything? Why do you make everything so complicated?) I would steer clear of payesh. Or for that matter macher jhol (Bengali fish curry) and anything standardly mundane that I scoffed at as a kid/teen. It's different now of course. Age has taken over and is fast turning me into my mom as I keep repeating stuck record like. Macher jhol is made at home at least twice a week. The only difference with mom's is that hers is more regularly made and tastes a hundred times better. And now there's the payesh. It's a good thing I thought while stirring it that day. Stays in the fridge long enough to keep the hungry husband happy and doesn't look too bad when served in a nice bowl if there are guests. Now let's see what else is there in the mother's repertory of the mundane that I haven't tried yet....ummm...aloo bhaja? Is there something your mom made that you scoffed at as a kid for being too regular but found yourself cooking later in life? Am I the only one?

Search me

2010-03-02T14:43:00.003+05:30

Thanks to God Google (term not invented by me) I learn new things eveyday. For instance, yesterday I was searching for 2009's bestsellers to send somebody a list and came across an entire world of books that were unknown to me. Did you know that Abraham Lincoln was a vampire hunter? Nah? Then how about Elizabeth Bennett? Did you know she was part of Zombie warfare? Well I didn't. And while I was hiding under a rock, a guy called Seth Grahame-Smith was putting zombies in Mr Darcy's pants and bloodsuckers elsewhere and striking mega deals worth $575,000 with publishers. Oh and he also went on the New York Times Bestseller list says the Guardian. Strange are the ways of the world indeed. Shall bare my fangs the next time anyone makes fun of my collection of Marian Keyes, Sophie Kinsella or for that matter, Georgette Heyer.

2010-02-25T22:36:00.002+05:30

Strange how some women will spend thousands on creating jwalry they don't really need but will balk at giving 500 extra bucks per month to the maid. Just a thought.

The Dalli

2010-02-21T22:01:00.004+05:30

A source of much entertainment to the kiddo. Whether from the car or the metro.

Nice, no?

And the cows go marching on...

Somehow it's only in Delhi that I spot signs that say Dupattein hi Dupattein, Pancard hi Pancard, Bhature hi Bhature, and so on. Have you spotted these anywhere else in India? Please to educate me then. In this case, Satman auto in Karol Bagh clearly has an abundance of Vikrams.

2010-01-31T22:09:00.002+05:30

Duniya badal gayee hai par cameramen at filmi award shows haven't changed. Bas, the stars have. Nowadays, instead of the Amitabh dancing-pan to Rekha and vice versa routine they have a wide range of faces to choose from:
Shahid dancing
a)Pan to Kareena
b)Pan to Vidya
c)Pan to Amrita (Rao not Singh)

Kareena dancing
a)Pan to Shahid
b)Pan to Saif

Katrina dancing
a)Pan to Neetu Singh
b)Pan to....oh ok...both Salman and Ranbir are not around, spoilsports

Salman dancing
a)Pan to Ash
b) Pan to Kat...oh no...she's smart and has fled home

Oh and there's Rekha again in all her Kanjivarammmmd glory. Amitabh is going up on the stage.
Samai badla par kuch cheezein nahi badli.

So much fun no? Better than spending money at expensive parlour just to read Stardust because it would be against self-respect and dignity to actually go and pick it up from the stands. That's why award shows are perfect. Ek to unsaid gossip, woh bhi muft mein!

2010-01-20T13:16:00.003+05:30

The What To Expect ladies should write another book. This time titled, What To Expect: Activity Classes for Your Preschooler and The Best Way To Time Manage Them. Then again, we would require our own Indian version of the book. Don't think they have Shloka & Scriptures classes in New York do they? Or who knows, maybe they do. NRIs after all, are more desi than us desis in desiland.
To get back to the classes, they require serious time-management, making some of the class toting mommies into multi-tasking-driving-commuting women par excellence.
"I'm in Bombay! Let's meet," I yelled excitedly on the phone to my friend S. "Oh God," she exhaled regretfully, "Kyra has her ballet today at 3. Could you make it now?"
"How about tomorrow?" I persisted.
"We could do a quick coffee at about 11. Post noon I need to take Shivam for the Robotics class and then at 3...." Kyra has her ballet, I completed.
"No yaar," S was a bit irritated by my lack of knowledge. "Ballet (Improves posture)is only on Tuesdays. Wednesday is Shloka (Improves Indianness) and Friday is Swimming (Improves life-skill). We are free on Thursday though as her Art & Craft teacher is on holiday."
See how difficult it is? Not just the time management part but also the bit about meeting. Especially if you wish to meet a mommy to a preschooler and have one at home yourself. You need to discuss and juggle schedules like school, lunch, nap, playdates and of course, Shloka, Gym and Ballet Class. All unavoidable and sacrosanct. Trust me, it's tough.
Back home in Bengaluru, I get a call from K. Her son and mine are the same age. Which she thinks makes us mothers in arms when it comes to the class system.
"I spoke to the swimming sir. He can take them in the new batch starting soon, every Wednesday and Friday. This leaves Tuesday and Thursday free for Piano lessons (improves music skill) or Speech and Drama (improves confidence), whatever you want to choose."
Choose? Let me breathe first.
Totally Martian when it comes to this part of motherhood. Come undone just dropping and picking up the child from school and live in complete nightmare of not checking diaries and forgetting life-changing assignments like 'Make a decorative object out of waste materials lying around the house.' And this is when he doesn't leave for school at crack of dawn (yet) or have uniform (yet) or homework (yet). But I try for sure. After all, do not want son be left behind in learning important lifeskills. Now excuse me while I call up the girl who teaches skating. Improves balance.

2010-01-18T22:47:00.003+05:30

Watching Luck By Chance on TV. How come Hindi movie strugglers always manage to find sunny, breezy homes in Mumbai? That too complete with terrace big enough to keep a sofa in (like Konkona's in Luck) or with fab sea view (again Konkona, in Wake Up Sid). What happened to the damp walls, leaky taps, cracky bathrooms eh? Though Wake Up Sid's chai on paani ki tanki on the terrace was rather realistic.
Went to Toto's after ages (like last Dec) and got the shock of life on my way to Bandra from Worli. Came out of the Sealink at Lilavati and could see nothing but a sea of cars all the way to Hill Road. Took forever to reach. And zipped through Highway-Sealink when I did Malad-Worli the next day. Strange are the ways of Bombay traffic.

2009-12-29T21:53:00.002+05:30

Back from Goa. Did not take laptop along and did not visit business centre either. To add icing to the cake, phone also decided not to work on roaming. Needless to say, had fabulous time, with no calls from best friends like Airtel and Tata Aig Life Insurance or texts from Body Care and VLCC.
Was back in Goa during Christmas after 15 years though it wasn't quite planned that way and realised it all looked rather beautiful, especially if you went driving around at night with practically every house draped in starry lights. Of course this was probably because we stayed away from Baga with its way too many lights and stayed in Utorda, which though populated this time of the year, at least gives you enough space to move around in the hotel pool, the beach, etc. And the village is a beautiful one with old houses, winding roads, lots of green...you get the picture. Made the mistake of dragging self, husband, sleeping child (am kind mother) and brother to the Saturday night flear market in Arpora and ruined relations with entire family by getting stuck in the longest traffic jam of our lives. Wasn't impressed with much heard about and hyped flea market (which I ran and saw while they sat stuck in the car) that seemed to be great place to shop if a)you never visit quiant, quirky stores selling silk drawstring totes for 5000 bucks in your own city
b)this is your first time in India and you never visit quiant, quirky stores selling silk drawstring totes for equivalent dollar/euro amount in your own city
c)You don't mind rubbing shoulders (and other body parts) with 600000 people descended from Bombay and other parts of India to buy things like sequined cushions, mirrorwork elephants and beaded curtains exactly like the ones you get in your hometown.
d)You are from foreign and seeing 'excotic Indian' for the first time.
Wasn't any of the above so came back empty handed.
Spent an hour and more waiting inside Dabolim airport seeing off the inlaws and waiting for the brother to arrive. Spotted Salman Rushdie or lookalike who was with sons and the smirk. Far more interesting was observing honeymooning couples on their way in/out of Goa in jeans and trendy tops accessoried with mangalsutra, chooda and other jewellery. Depending on whether they were incoming or outgoing, the mangalsutra stayed off and jeans came on. Also spotted some oversized sunglasses and LV/Birkin type bags, courtesy the Mumbai flights. Wrote many posts in head (even tried one Parmanu type moody observation piece) but all forgotten in beer-sand-fish combo. All in all, best airport watch in a long time.
Off to bed now. You have a great 2010.

The days are just packed

2009-12-18T21:50:00.002+05:30

One of the reasons why I haven't updated. Also have been busy with stuff to do for home and work. Off on holiday next week to Goa (yes we really cannot think of any other destination but what the heck, it makes me happy) and a bit panic stricken as the entire family is going in one car. That means the husband, me, the son and the in-laws. Have gone crazy shopping for different dietary needs and restrictions to keep us fed and satiated through the 11-12 hour road trip. Chocos/fruit/honey loops and whatever else Kellogs can throw at me in a coloured, sugary form for the son; namkeen and chivda packets for the MIL who (I think) likes being surrounded by food once she is seated inside a vehicle and on a highway; juice packets and tetrapack shakes for the milk fiend son; things to munch for the husband who I plan to keep happy as he's going to drive me to places like Florentines and Literati and my friend house in Altinho and keeps asking if there's anything 'interesting' to eat while driving long trips.

Utterly envy those people who can decide at night that they are going to take the car and drive off to places 10 hour away in the morning and do nothing more than pack a few clothes and toothbrush. Used to think of myself as one of those cool types till I popped out a child and realized I'm the most hyper, overprotective, what-if type people I'd ever met. I'm a packing maniac who needs therapy, especially before a car trip. Box of tissues? Check. Wipes? Check? Change of clothes just in case he spills water? Check. Change for change of clothes just in case he spills the tetrapack juice? Check. Pillow? Check. Blankets? Check? Books, handheld game, colouring and activity stuff? Check. More books, activities and colouring stuff just in case the first lot don't work? Check. Every available and portable food item he likes to eat? Check. Scissors, just in case I need to cut something? Check. Torch, just in case we got stranded in the middle of a forest? Check.

This time the in laws have been added to the list, turning me into an utter nut. Like I said, they also come with certain diet restrictions and though they are spending only two days in Goa and the hotel assured me they'll discover new heights in Jain culinary requirements within that time span, I am still in the packing nut territory. Nobody in the family has insisted on being equipped with their own personal mini diner cum bedroom cum walk in closet in the car either. But I'm a woman on the run. Cannot help it. Tomorrow I think I'll stock up on some Haldirams, including instant bhelpuri mix. And perhaps some tea bags for emergencies like when the hotel room ones get over and room service takes too long. Just in case.

I want...

2009-11-29T22:49:00.004+05:30

Decided to create a list of things I have been perpetually drooling over. Basically because I have nothing to do, the husband is watching Ocean's 11 or 12 or 13 for the 14th time and there is a computer in front of me. Also just in case I have a lot of money to blow up sometime in the future and need a ready reckoner. So here goes:

Cushion covers from Good Earth. Those super bright magenta and green combos. I also love the ones with old Bollywood icons printed on them and almost end up buying one everytime I visit Good Earth (which is whenever I go to the UB City terrace to see the boy's favourite fountains, which is not very often). Then I remember that in my house, cushions spend most of their time on the floor when baap beta are around and are ocassionally also decorated with sauce, breadcrumbs and their bretheren. Given that, I think the affordability stretches just about to non silk, cotton Fabindia.

Since I am on a wanting spree here, I also go and stare at Tod's D bag everytime I am in UB City and can drag the child away from the fountain. This serves a two-fold purpose: I tell myself that at Rs. 45,000 and more it is too much money to spend on a bag that will eventually hold a box of chocos, a wallet, a pack of wipes, a few crayons and a sipper and possibly visit exciting places with me like the play area in Oasis Mall. Also I do not have 45k to spend on a bag. The moment this thought occurs, I cheer myself up by thinking the number of Hidesigns and Baggits and streetside fake leather totes I can buy for that amount. I won't but sochne me kya jaata hai?

There's also an autorickshaw bag that I read about recently (and instantly wanted) in a Brunch article and autorickshaw cushion covers from Play Clan in Delhi (google them if you want, I tried the link but some fake scanning message keeps popping up). Nice and different. And would bring a smile to your face everytime you spotted them. To me that part is very important. Oh and some t-shirts from Masala Tee (though at Rs. 2500 I find it too much for a t-shirt for the same reasons as given for the D bag).

Oh and while I'm on the desi overdose topic, maybe a painted kettle or bucket by Aarohi Singh who makes absolutely mad things like a table made of a snakes and ladders game. And also this Happily Unmarried truck photo frame. Have the beer mugs and their chai ke cups, though the finishing on the beer mugs isn't all that great.

I love having a fun aspect to design. It makes you laugh in the oddest of moments and has a certain cool factor (how uncool am I to admit that but that's the truth) that I like. The good thing is that a lot of product design is getting influenced by a severely desi dose of humour now and can make for great gifts, to yourself or others. Like the Bhaisaab Clock at Loose Ends for instance. The great thing about such design, at least to me, is that it's almost like an inside joke. Not everyone would understand or appreciate it but the ones who do would have a good laugh at its inherent, quirky Indianness.

In Bnagalore, they used to have a great store for such stuff called The Native Place on Museum Road, which has now shut shop. Probably because they couldn't find enough customers who appreciated a toilet paper roll called Cheerharan or the ones who did thought twice about paying for it (me, kanjoos me. I did think of buying and displaying it on the sideboard though). There's another fun store here called Levitate, which is quite neat with its collection at times but a bit like being in a Goa flea market and feeling that you aren't the target audience sometimes.

I'm also discovering that with advancing years, I have started loving a fair dose of bling, one of the reasons I loved cushion covers from Area, which has closed in Bangalore now. What doesn't work for me is old world lace and embroidery, though I really, really do love looking at them and imaging well laid out tables with crisp embroidered linen, lace , the right cutlery and well behaved children sitting in neatly combed hair and checked shirts. Just doesn't seem to work in my house. Bring on the auto cushion cover anytime.

Tinted glasses

2009-11-28T00:21:00.003+05:30

WARNING: Utterly nostalgic, self-indulgent post
Couple of weeks back, I read a post where Kushal said how Calcutta, the city she grew up in and subsequently moved out of, would always be stuck in a time warp in her head. I tried to imagine Calcutta like that and couldn't. Having grown up in several cities and small towns, the city that is, and probably will always be stuck in a time warp for me is the one where I learnt how to handle growing up. Bombay. When I read Kushal's post I thought Bombay has the same effect on me as Cal has on her when she visits. I stayed in Bombay from May 1995 to March 2000 and everything I associate with the city stays fixed within those five years. When I visit Bombay now I don't want to explore Zenzi or Blue Frog or any of the new places that I keep reading and hear everyone raving about. I want to go to Toto's. Shop in OMO. And Cottonworld (yes, it's in Bangalore. But Bombay Cottonworld is different). I want to eat in Pot Pourri, Gazalee and Pizzeria. I want Bandra, Marine Drive, bhel at Worli Sea face, dosa at Khar and near Sophias and vadapao near Kirti College. Of course going with a kid means I end up not doing most of these, but what I mean to say is that Bombay for me is seen completely through tinted glasses that are very, very sepia. With unabashed nostalgia.
Bombay for me means many things. Some exciting, some fun, some sad and some downright silly. My first newspaper article and buying every copy me, the roomie and the friend I shared the byline with could find. The local train rush and the stink of home when you reached Bandra after a long day of work. Sitting on the water tank on top of your building late at night and chatting. Escaping the building eagle eye when you came home with the doodhwala after a night of pubhopping. A bunch of mismatched girls sharing beers and planning features. Trusting the autowala/cabbie to take you home even if you can't tell your left from your right. Coming to work on a Sunday and actually liking it (Beats me how. And I loved that job. Youth!) Maggi and anda bhurji dinners. Fitting seven friends, six pizza boxes, several bottles of beer and the cat in a matchbox sized room for an impromptu party. Discovering how to turn khichdi into a gourmet meal. Making thousand rupees stretch for the last five days of the month (impossible). Discovering that despite Bollywood's dire warnings, some men and women (not all) could actually just remain friends. Even if left alone for long periods. Discovering Mount Mary steps post midnight. And the mess it became during the fair. Speaking of which, there are several messy memories too, of being stood up; and worse than that, being stuck at Elphinstone station during the rains (Imagine Elphinstone station. Then imagine the entire street waste of Sayani Road and Lowest Parel flooding down its steps. Ugh.) And of course the general mess your mind is pre-25. The glasses are sepia alright and mostly happy sepia. The messy and sad bits I hope have only made me ahem...wiser.

Attitude Shattitude

2009-11-09T12:51:00.001+05:30

I'm sorry, says the silk smooth voice, but I do not like being interviewed on the phone.

I understand. Many people don't and hey if it involves their life story, even I'd rather they share it with me face to face. But this one involves a general comment on the art scene in Bangalore. Because I work in isolation from home, I love meeting people usually but if the quote involved requires 15 minutes and doesn't require me to see something that person has created or is working on, I don't mind speaking on the phone either.

But this one seems insistent. We could meet, I say and ask her for a convenient location.

She gives me the address to her studio (she's an artist) and I do a double take.

It's in Mysore.

I have spent the last five minutes explaining to her that I'm writing this article for a local website and therefore focusing only on Bangalore based people. Perhaps she has misunderstood, perhaps she works in Mysore but lives in Bangalore. I tell her we could talk but it has to be the phone as I would be unable to get on a bus/car or vehicle of any form and get myself to Bangalore any time this week. She repeats her displeasure. I tell her I could read out every word of what she has said if she fears being misquoted.

Can you mail me a copy of the article before it's published? She asks. Sorry not possible, I say as politely as I can, trying to smile so that my voice doesn't convey the irritation I feel. Well I would need to think about it, she says, starting a diatribe about being misquoted by two newspapers and talking to a journalist for an article that never appeared. Then she asks me how many years of experience do I have and if I have written for anybody before. All for a quote that will stretch to four, maybe six lines and take 10-15 minutes.

I lose the Zen like voice just at that moment and curtly tell her thank you but perhaps I shall avoid interviewing her for the article this time. Half an hour later I get an email from her.

Would I please mail her the questions?

Nice, when attitude works. J

Aao Tweet Karein

2009-11-03T22:44:00.002+05:30

Did try out Twitter just for fun. After updating it twice in one day (what's the point otherwise?) I ran out of words. I mean I had many words but wasn't sure if they a)made sense b)were witty and dhamakedar enough to make everyone go, wow! c)were important enough to be read on a daily basis. I mean half the time when FB asks me what's on your mind, my instant replies are: 1. Nothing 2. Sleep or how to get A to sleep by eight 3.checking out what Naughty Namita from college wore for her Goa vacation. In no particular order you understand. But of course I don't write them and rack my brain for something funny or peculiar or observant. And mostly leave the space blank. Unlike my friend D who makes caustic comments about Raj Thackeray's Marathi madness or my ex-colleague who seems to have become word warrior and is taking panga with all her exes or would have been exes on FB. Very tough. Really. And now you have Twitter to add to the jargon. Won't be surprised if staus messages and tweets start getting outsourced in a couple of days. Quite possible in fact, given the rate things are going. Phew!
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On a completely unrelated note, have started walking to maintain good health in old age. I do this right after A leaves for school which I believe is designated Walk Time for stay at home mothers. Needless to say we all bump into each other as we try to outrun each other in the Brisk Walking Around Mango Grove competition. The radio on my phone has stopped functioning and I intend to get something else to make some music. But in the meantime I have Mummytalk. This is conducted between Two Brisk Walking Mummies and covers a gamut of topics like Biology (When are you planning second baby?), History (and this is what my MIL said the morning after my marriage), Economics (How much are you paying the maid? Why so much? I only pay her xyz for two hours' work!), Humanities (They start handwriting practice in UKG in my son's school. Have they started phonics yet for Rahul?), Fine Arts (Tomorrow Ankit has to go dressed like a Mango. I've go buy chart paper) and of course General Knowledge (And which school are you finalising for your son?). So much to learn, that too just in an hour.

Days with the monkey...

2009-10-27T22:40:00.005+05:30

Are largely spent

Being fireman

Doin 'big boy' things

Colouring furiously

And on days when mamma is in a good mood and doesn't mind the mess, even playing with mud or to put it properly 'gardening' :)

2009-10-25T23:01:00.002+05:30

You still have the Zen?

The question threw me off balance. It was after all loaded with surprise, unsaid hints and expectation. The hint was to provide them with an explanation as to why, like most of our friends, acquaintances and social circle, we han't traded our old car for something better and obviously, bigger. The expectation was that we should have. After all, if we could dine at the Blue Ginger* and visit Umrika on holiday, the least we could do was to get ourselves a big car, couldn't we?

Nothing probably highlights aspiration levels in our society as the transition from the small to the big car. It's seen as a step towards being upper class, from small fry to higher-mid if not top management. And it's a great thing, really. Just that it may not be the top agenda on everyone's list of the moment, simply because other people feel it can catapult you into a social higher-up.

But because most people believe they need to cast you into some social slot, the car question is mandatory to ask. During a school run, I ask one of the mums living nearby if I could offer her a lift as her car has broken down. "Thanks," she says, sliding into the seat, "How does your husband commute to work? Does he take the other car?"
"This is our only car," I tell her. "Oh," she says before telling me a sweet story about her dad's Maruti she learnt to drive around in and culminating in "sent it to his dad in Delhi after we bought the (Honda) City."

Subtlety is the name of the game here. "Could you drop R home after they finish playing please? My husband's taken the other car and the Corolla has gone for servicing," says the voice on the phone. Perhaps I'm reading more than what's required into it, but I love the way the 'Corolla' is mentioned and not the other car, which being an Alto, probably doesn't cut the size limit.

Of course, as my dear husband, who's oblivious to all these innuendos (and thinks only I can hear them) believes, I could be horribly, horribly wrong and people may just be mentioning matter of fact things. But some things are a given nowadays if you need to maintain status in the society. A big car is one. And a blackberry that you need to keep checking assiduously throughout dinner with friends, whether you have emails or not is the other. And, as Parmanu mentions in his wonderful post, an apartment complex with a swimming pool is another.

* Only once in a blue moon by the way :)

Random thoughts pre and post Diwali

2009-10-19T22:07:00.004+05:30

Being the organized woman that I am, went to Spar just the day before Diwali to shop for festival related overpriced stuff. The entire North Indian population of South Bangalore was there. Thankfully the husband was at work and the bachcha was at the playschool's Diwali party so I only had silent arguments going on in my brain and was free to watch other families as they had theirs out loud.

Number one argument was about sweets and chocolates, displayed enticingly right at the entrance. The husband would pick up the glossiest looking choco box and the wife would immediately take it out and plonk it back where it was. 'You also na...this is just overpriced bad chocolate. Thoda classy type kuch dena chahiye,' she would say, before walking briskly to the fridge where they displayed a few forlon looking boxes of Lindt.

Found myself mentally agreeing with her. There's nothing worse that glitter paper golden ribbon wrapped flimsy chox in a box. Though I find even Cadburys classy, not just Lindt.

There was also a mother daughter (or saas bahu?) duo who were buying expensive cookie packets and the older woman was saying things like, yeh mehenga wala packet le lo. At which the daughter (DIL?) pointed to her trolley and replied, Mamma, these are also equally expensive, don't worry.

Nice, no?

At the diya counter a family of mother, father and daughter were having their own argument though this being in Kannada there was no point in me pretending to browse and listen. But gestures say a lot and the father was clearly being asked to keep out of the selection process. Felt really bad for men at that point. The poor things really can't tell good from the bad and have to still suffer being carted around shopping malls just for the sake of their wallets. Tch tch.

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Read Chetan Bhagat's latest book, 2 States. Have to say that despite the editing bloopers (I think Rupa editors sleepwalk through Chetan Bhagat edits now. They know it will sell) and the somewhat amateurish writing at times, I enjoyed it and finished it in a day flat. This was my second CB book after One Night At The Call Centre (I think the only person who liked it was Salman Khan) which the husband bought after he ahem, liked Five Point Someone. You get the gist.
So I basically bought this one for the husband who has ignored it for the last two days and concentrated on a bunch of printouts called Eastern European power line or something like that. There's much to like (or rather laugh) in the book (2 states not powerline). For one it is Rs. 95 only. Secondly, it is full of stereotypes but as we all know, stereotypes are ALWAYS true. My favourite was the Punjabi one about mentioning the amount of wealth and money in casual conversations. It's a trait fully followed by any self respecting Delhiite (Punju, Baniya, Jain) and conversations between some relatives I know often go like, 'Guddo itni ziddi hai behenji. Uske liye hum assi lakh ki shaadi karane ko tayar hai par use ladka pasand aye tab na.'
Nobody feels the slightest embarassment in asking others how much they earn or how much their kothis and cars cost. And of course I too don't think anybody has ever read the edit page of any newspaper.
The Bongs by constrast read every possible edit page (starting with the sports page) and buy every fat pujobarshiki they can lay their hands on and definitely cannot think of aath, forget assi lakh but would be most offended if you gifted their child an envelope with Rs. 251 instead of a book on their happy budday. And the monkey cap maybe a perennial Bong stereotype but it's also the universal truth. Last year my cousin who lives in Brussels sent some winter pictures. In between all the fireplace, frosted window and whiteness was her son, sporting the eternal monkey cap. So you see, stereotypes are not just fun. They are true.
Ok I digressed but this ain't a review so I guess I can. 2 States a Bollywood movie in waiting and it's fun (and as Inky says somewhere, cheaper than a movie ticket) and I think there are bits in it that stand true for any marriage that involves two very disparate states and cultures. Good going, except for the editing and the India lecture.

2009-10-11T21:08:00.010+05:30

My friend M was over few days back and after we had chatted for the better part of the day and exhausted every mutually agreeable topic at our disposal, she walked over to my bookshelves and started examining. It's a time honoured ritual. I do it every time I go to her place and years ago when we shared a PG in Bombay we enjoyed making people play Guess the Books by asking them to guess who owned which book on our Bright and Hand painted flimsy cane book rack. They always got it wrong.

Anyway, this time she walked over to the books at home and instead of clucking negatively like she usually does or making sarcastic comments like I do to hers (she's deep into healing and meditation and most of her books reflect that), actually lifted off books and started looking at some of them with interest.
Hmm, Smoke and Mirrors...Indian journo in China...seems interesting!
Istanbul...Pamuk...I got that one too but need to sit down and read
The Duchess...don't know why you'd want to read gossipy history that doesn't concern you
And then just as I thought tradition was being turned on its head came the downer:
You know for someone who reads fairly varied stuff I really don't know what you're doing with so much chick lit!

So I decided to do a bit of soul searching and asked myself why and here, purely for the sake of self-indulgence are the reasons:

*Good chick-lit is like comfort food at your favourite restaurant. You always know what you are going to get and don't have to break your head trying to figure out whether the flavours were just right or the masala completely masked the natural taste and make intelligent comments. In fact, you don't need to comment at all.
* It's the best thing to read when you are surrounded by a child who's zipping around the house pretending he's a fighter plane and a husband who's practising the same guitar chords for the last one month. You know that even if you zone out Pages 125-130, you will still know what happened and don't have to waste time by going back.
* It's deliciously predictable. In Brit chick lit the girl is a middle class type from distant suburbs with an utterly embarrassing mom. But she (not the mom) has good enough looks, clothes, posh friends and a barely affordable life in London. And the perfect man in the garb of a superbly wealthy lawyer or entrepreneur lurking around. The Manhattan types are easy to describe. Sex and the City turned into book, with different characters, shoes, clubs and clothes. And of course, failed writer turned average drummer turned the world's only humble celebrity chef type man waiting in the wings. The Indian chick lit in accordance with our diversity varies a bit. If it's written by an author living outside India for a while, the girl is invariably from a sheltered, over protective conservative background making her way up the competitive and sometimes scandalous world of modelling, fashion journalism, ad films, etc. If the author's been living in India and therefore aware of how the urban girl actually behaves and thinks, her protagonist is more interesting with witty one liners and a great sense of humour. As with everything, there's always the mandatory He's-too-good-to-be-true-for-me man waiting in the wing. Usually a CEO type or an investment banker. Though there have been very enjoyable guitar strumming dads and star cricketers.
The best of all? They are cheap. C'mon, in the world of books starting at Rs 800 plus, Rs 295-395 counts as cheap. So that if you can bear to part with it or are too embarrassed to place it next to the Gurcharan Das book you know you will never read, you can always go to Blossom Book House on Church Street and sell it or better still, donate it to the building library. The teenage girls coming there to borrow M&Bs will love you and probably develop a taste for reading something that's a shade (and sometimes, many a shade) better.
It's practically social work.

2009-10-06T09:26:00.003+05:30

Called up very famous school near home to find out about admissions. This is what the admin lady wanted to know.

Child's name
Date of birth
Father's name
Father's email number (har har)
Father's contact number
Where father works
Where you live
At this point I was expecting her to ask which floor qwe live in or what car we drive when she asked for our residence number.
And don't you want the mother's name, email, contact etc, etc, I asked since you took the father's details. Not necessary madam, admin lady replied, we will send email or contact the father if we have seats.

And not bother informing the mother who does the research on school, most of the school rounds and can recognize every single squiggle the child draws.

The process was repeated at yet anoter very famous school.

Am going to have thanda thanda water. Hmmph!!!

Why I love my work

2009-09-30T00:28:00.003+05:30

Because I sometimes meet people who look me straight in the eye and say 'Oh yes I talk to animals and plants. For that matter, even spirits if you want to mention that.'

Because on the same day as the 'spirited' lady I meet a couple in a mud home that looks straight out of Architectural Digest (ok, with a rural edge) who do not waste a single drop of rainwater.

And because when the house is asleep and I turn to God Google to provide me with life's answers (read search results/story ideas), I come across amaziung stuff on all purpose grinding machines called Veetamma Yantram and egg boilers designed by 15 year old kids. Or a Boiled Tea Making Machine for Customised Taste by a Haryana lad who spends his meagre income on innovations and a Kerala girl you may have read about, who built a washing machine that also works as an exercise bike.

Lost...

2009-09-21T22:45:00.004+05:30

...and also confused. As to why on earth did I spend 699 rupees (on Dan Brown's latest. Knew I shouldn't have. In fact, as I approached it in Crossword, it gave out strong vibes that clearly said DON'T BUY ME I'M A MARKETING TRICK but being a non-believer in powers of the mind like Langdon I did anyway. Nateeja? Sardard aur badhajmi.
From labouring through Langdon's never ending lectures and remembered conversations and examples and illustrations of all those symbols and magic squares which you must mentally try to solve but cannot. Also from googling Noetic Science and hidden chambers and tunnels of Washignton DC and of course from reading the book late into the night(s) and desperately thinking okay, just three more pages, maybe something earth shattering really will happen this time. It does. In page number 509. The book comes to an end.

Sleep now. And if you can't, read http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2009/sep/15/lost-symbol-live-reading-dan-brown

Images from holiday...

2009-09-01T22:24:00.009+05:30

Spotting 'Nemo' at the Museum of Natural History in DC

Vintage models at the Air and Space Museum, DC

How my son usually finished most of his food

Niagra ya Naya Agra. I shall forever wonder why Indians do transatlantic travelling to eat Paneer Makhni and Butter Chicken

The lights over the falls at night were quite neat though...

Moment of calm at Central Park

Boats opposite MIT campus

Playing Bob The Builder at Boston Children's Museum

The tyke goes wild at the waterpark

Pumpkin spotting...

...and blueberry picking with the kids at a farm near Marlboro

The right way to sleep after a few beers...spotted outside a pub in Boston

An old marketplace, now turned into a food court

Dregs of an evening in DC...

Gotham City

One of the best parts of any holiday...

2009-08-31T17:09:00.002+05:30

...is meeting old friends. Mine had a most unexpected evening thrown in at Busboys and Poets, a great cafe and pub in Washington. I was meeting three friends, one had last spent time with me when I was expecting the tyke and puking my guts out in the car, another had driven three hours just to come and catch up and yet another and moi had been out of touch for almost 10 years. We started sedately with coffee and ended by gulping down many mugs of beer and packing pizzas that I don't think we ever ate.

Why am I mentioning this? Because it was the most wonderful impromptu evening ever and those things don't happen much these days :)

If we were honest on Facebook/Orkut...

2009-07-27T01:06:00.001+05:30

Here's how it really should be but how it really is.

You get friendship request from Sandhya M, the girl you are struggling to remember from your KV in the Orissa hinterlands. Of course you do not remember her even a little bit and do not have any problems in telling her so. Of course you cannot admit this to Sandhya and hurt her enthusiastic 'Remember me?' So here's how it goes.

Sandhya: Remember me? We were in school together, Kendriya Vidyalay, Xyz, class of 89, etc, etc.

Me: No. I'm sorry I don't remember you. (End of story. Wow) Of course I remember! Great to see you J (Secretly hope Sandhya leaves it at that).

Sandhya: That's great. I thought you may not remember. How's your brother? Is he still as naughty?

Mortified me: You remember I have a brother? How well did you know me really and how come I do not remember you then? He's er...rather grown up. Lives in Bombay. How are your brothers and sisters parents? (safer to write parents, everyone has them at some point after all).

Added to mollify inner guilty self: Your kids look adorable. (It's the truth. They do. Phew!)

Sandhya the Persistant: Oh the kids keep me busy blah blah blah...job in finance blah blah...gave up working after the kids blah blah...managing home and kids alone blah blah...hubby busy...Vice president blah blah...last holiday in Kenya...12 years of marriage blah blah...you remember him don't you? He used to be one class senior to us. Check out the album titled My World, you can see whether he still looks the same.

Mortified me retorts gives up: Oh God! Why should I? As if we are going to become great pals from this instant. Remember him? Maybe. Ok...let me check your pictures.

And what happens when you get back in touch with the guy who got your heart leaping into your mouth for eight whole months in school? Me and good friend Sangs get a request from Gautam the heartbreaker. Not his real name. But gives you the gist. We accept immediately of course, bitches that we are.

Gautam: Hey it's great seeing you girls again. And Rash I can't believe you are a mommy.

Me: Ditto Gautam. Can't believe you are a daddy either. And that you have a paunch and are stupid enough to post a picture of your pot belly jutting out of a swimming pool for public viewing.

Gautam: Saw your pictures. Cool. So where did you and your husband meet?

Me: You looked up my pictures, you sneaky $^%^%&. Wait till I look up all your pictures and call Sangs. Hmmm...I wonder why you wanted to know about my husband. Did you by any chance have a thing for me in school...nah...wouldn't have done. Look at what you've turned out to be. Gautam, we met in Bombay through common friends. Your pictures look like you are having fun with those two girls who could redefine the term cheapo. Won't be surprised if you turn out to be some shady automobile dealer from Ghaziabad at the time-of-your-life-conference in Goa. What do you do btw?

Gautam: I manage Ásia Pacific for xyz. In Delhi at the moment but will be shifting to Hong Kong later this year. Wife will stay back for the kids' school.

Me: Asia pacific head and all that huh? Well, there was something in you in school after all then considering you aren't the shady auto dealer I thought you were. Kids? Boys? Girls? Hey put some pictures of your family too.

Gautam: Hey my wife's picture is already there. She's on the left in that picture of all of us in the pool. The other one is a friend of ours. Will upload the kids' soon. Still figuring out this FB thing.

Me: That cheapo with the red lipstick overdose is your wife? She sure needs a tummy tuck. Serves you right. Oh is that her? She looks lovely. Great being in touch with you. Say hello to your wife. Have fun. Bye.

Hits of Aamir Khan

2009-07-23T10:54:00.003+05:30

When's the last time you heard that wonderously tacky but fun Poocho Zara poocho from Raja Hindustani? Or Ghoonghat ki aad se from Hum Hai Rahi Pyar Ke? Brings back memories of those Jhankar beatswale days when Kumar Shanu/Alka Yagnik/Nadeem Shravan/Anuradha Paudwal and Mahesh Bhatt combo reigned doesn't it? In case you are wondering, I picked up CDs from those 'glory days' as gifts for the sister in law who said she wanted to hear music from old times. And what fun I've been having. Listening to stuff like Koi na koi chahiye from Deewana and remembering the gang of 12 girls from Jog Hostel who trooped to the theatre to watch the first Shah Rukh Khan movie. Hearing Sanson ki zaroorat from Ashiqui and laughing at the fact that some of us actually liked that hair gelled mistake called Rahul Roy! It isn't often great music but definitely great memories!

Couldn't resist ;-p

2009-07-17T10:58:00.001+05:30

Breaking News
Bangalore/Delhi and Bureaus, July 17: Mothers of unmarried men across India held special gatherings to celebrate the arrival of a saviour for their sons in the form of Rakhi Sawant. In Bangalore, the event was held at Palace Grounds, the venue for many happy marriages and attended by a hundred strong gathering of misty-eyed moms.
“I no longer need to persuade Manjunath to register himself on Kannadamatrimony.com,” said an elated Gangamma, adding that “as Manjunath had always wanted to be a model, he would require no persuasion to appear on television, making the process easier for us.” As for her son getting through the process, Gangamma was quite confident. “He’s already been watching the program repeatedly on YouTube at office. He already knows what is expected of him.”
Sowbhagya Rajagopalan who came from Chennai to attend the event also applauded the fact that there is an older brother (Ravi Kishen to the uninitiated) to veto any untoward incidents. “You know the process is going to be fair and uphold all traditions under such watchful eyes.” She however added that Rakhi should adjust her style of dressing to also include clothes from the Southern states. “At present, her dressing style is very North Indian.” she said with a slight wrinkling of her nose. Kavitha Muthanna who’d braved the heavy Kodagu rains to attend the event added that Rakhi should also improve her English skills as their sons would want their wife to be proficient in the language.
Mothers at the Kolkata gathering in Maidan seemed to be satisfied with Rakhi’s sartorial splendour, being used to the heavily embellished Marwari style of dressing all around them anyway. However, some of them expressed concern about her academic background. “My son has degrees from IIT, IIM, MIT and a few other places I cannot remember. Although he is looking for a smart, fair and beautiful girl and Rakhi fits the bill perfectly, he would like to know whether she is convented and has done her MA from a well known college, preferably under the Delhi University,” said Debashree Dattachowdhury from Lake Town. Amrita Meghani, mother of Bakul, who owns an electronics repair shop in Barabazar expressed her concern that the organizers of the swayamvar should also allow boys who were not proficient in poetry, painting or Taekwondo. “Bas dil sachcha hona chahiye (the heart has to be pure),” she said.
Echoing her sentiments was the almost 200-strong gathering of mothers at Pragati Maidan, Delhi. “It is a social service this girl is doing and I bless her with all my soul,” said Kanta Gupta, mother of Mohit, who’s doing his MBA before joining the family business. “It is so difficult to persuade today’s youth into an arranged marriage but this is different from everything,” she added.
As for their fears that Rakhi may well be on her way to choose a life partner, mothers across India remained optimistic. “It is a reality show and everybody knows they never finish in one season. And choosing a life partner is a time consuming task, therefore our sons can apply for the next round,” Ashlesha Patil added from Pune.
Finally, if any mother was harbouring a slight qualm about Rakhi’s past as an item girl, they have no reason to worry any more. As Daljit Kaur of Delhi explained, “She has started observing the Karwa Chauth fast already and that too for five men. If that is not the sign of a traditional and pure minded bahu who wants the best for her husband and his family, what is?”

Social Studies

2009-07-13T22:46:00.002+05:30

If you are a socially upscale creature in Delhi, or are aspiring to become one, you are instantly recognizable by some of the following traits:
* You have a connection to a farmhouse. You either own one or are on first name/first drink basis with people who own one. If you are yet to achieve these dizzying heights, you probably got married in one and if you are an absolute bottom of the dregs aspirant, you spent your New Year farties...oops...parties getting drunk in one.
* You wear more sequins than clothes.
* You cannot, just cannot even begin to imagine buying a small car. Even if your parking space is matchbox sized.
* You are somebody/know somebody/ know somebody who knows somebody. Bas!

If you are a socially upscale creature in Bangalore or aspiring for the position, you:
* Have a nice red brick house with tiles flown in from Kerala, antique doors and windows and a lotus pond in the courtyard. All these designed in the most contemporary manner possible and with the same hi-tech comfort as your former pad in LA. Inside a gated community of course.
* You are a Cause Champion. You divide your time between gay rights/rainwater harvesting/saving Bangalore’s trees/stopping the Metro/keeping the race course. You also ensure everyone notices your good deed, namely the gullible media.
* You believe in carpooling. Especially when others are doing it.
* You address THE Nilekani as Nandan and casually mention having a personally autographed copy of his book. Bas!

2009-06-29T21:50:00.003+05:30

Was quite thrilled to see Zoya Factor author Anuja Chauhan say her current read is Georgette Heyer's Frederica in TOI's supplement last Sunday. And this is not just because my current read is The Talisman Ring by the same author. Thrilled because the moment any celeb type is asked what they read, their answer is never ever Georgette Heyer or John Grisham or even Marian Keyes for that matter. Everyone is either reading Thomas Friedman or Paulo Coelho or even Ayn Rand. Centuries ago in my youth, the newspaper I worked for had a section called Who's Reading What that meant calling up random celeb types and asking them which book they were reading. The starlet types (and their male equivalents, now what should they be called, star lads?) usually mentioned Ayn Rand or Chicken Soup for the Soul. Not having read any of these (yes not even Ayn Rand, will lose all readership now), always wondered if these were regulation reads in Kishore Namit's and all those other acting classes. These days Paulo Coelho seems de rigeur, at least in the starlet/lad/ad model-turned-movie model world. Which is why, I was so happy to see Anuja Chauhan's instant 'Frederica' admission. Because nobody admits to reading anything frivolous, much less romantic, in public these days. Unless it's stuff like Adrian Mole, already stamped and sealed with . Now will all those people who have snuck in a Mary Higgins Clark or even a Mills & Boons as a brainfree late night read please get up and say so when they are asked? Which reminds me, what incidentally is your current read?

Good Bahu Strikes Back

2009-06-20T23:22:00.008+05:30

An old college pal has shifted cities and since I'm an old Bangalore hand compared to her, I'm helping her settle in by pointing out all the right malls and rivergrass chatai shops. Old pal has an another old pal who is soon to be shifting permanently from US in what they call R2I in NRI and ex-NRI lingo, and as a consequence, all of us have been on Skype and Google Talk a lot. To my utter (inital) dismay and constant amusement, I have discovered the label that these lovely souls have had me stuck with for the last nine years: The Good Bahu.

The reasons behind the label are as follows, however strange.

I had lived alone in Bad Bad Bombay for five long years, worked in offices where we thought nothing about holding edit meets in pubs, mostly came back home around the same time as the milkman on weekends and despite that opted to stay in a joint family in Delhi after I got married. And horror of horrors, it was a vegetarian Jain joint family.

Aur sabse badi baat yeh hai ki, R2I and Old Pal stayed with their parents, never drank anything stronger than Coke (no jokes here, okay?) and had arranged marriages and despite that they couldn't adjust to their joint families or MILs . So I had to be either the yes mummyji type good bahu variety apparently only seen in Ekta Kapoor serials or a complete doormat.

During the illuminating chat where I found out this excellent side to myself, R2I was appalled by my in-laws' ostrich like attitude to non-veg . "But it compromises your freedom," she wrote in bold.

"Well not if you managed to eat everything from Prawn Koliwada to Tangdi Kabab everytime you dined out," I said.

"What if someone spotted you?" asked Old Pal, always the careful planning type.

"We'd decided to deal Ostrich with Ostrich and would've crossed the bridge only when we came to it, thankfully we never did,"I countered.

"Kam se kam you could have asked them to keep anda at home,"they said.

"But why? It was their home. I started keeping enough anda to feed an army the moment I shifted into mine," I replied.

That wasn't enough to control the curiosity of course. "So what do you do now when your in laws come over?"

"Simple. I just eat up all the salami in the fridge and go on a detox diet of ghia and toori for a month."

"And you still get along fairly well with your mother-in-law..." R2I answered her own question in utter wonder, before adding, "You must be doing whatever they tell you to do, yaar."

Frankly, that's the part I never get. That it surprises many people who have known me for a while that I get along with MIL. Well not in a 'let's go shopping together and have lunch afterwards,' manner, that's with my mum. Let's just say if my in-laws, who've been here for the last one and half month, were to extend their stay by another month, I wouldn't exactly be hitting the roof in hysteria. I may just suddenly increase going out for a fish heavy lunch.

When it comes to my relationship with the in-laws, food is the only area that is surrounded in a haze of white lies and unposken assumptions. They're pure vegetarians and I am purely non vegetarian. When I got married, they (or rather MIL) assumed I'd given up non-veg. Why don't ask me, considering her son wasn't exactly a vegetarian out of home. Since in the initial years, we chose to live with them, I went along with the charade because outside the house, I lived exactly the way I had in Bombay. I ate burger-shurger and tikka-shikka, I partied, I worked late and no eyebrows were ever raised if I said I was working late and wouldn't be home before 10. There was the standard Delhi parent concern, yes, but no scorn. Oh, I did feel stifled sometime and I did hate everything sometimes but never enough to rebel because frankly, there was nothing to rebel against, except an overdose of paranthas, ghee and affection.

MIL and mine is a relationship founded successfully on a desire to be nice to each other and those white lies. Nine years down the line, I'm sure everyone can see through the lies but it still remains an unspoken area. Everything else about the relationship is truly the stuff that Hindi film dialogue writers can make a happy family drama out of.
Some of my friends like R2I, Old Pal and few others see it as compromising on my individuality, freedom and abracadabra but sadly, since I do not seem to have a single feminist bone in my deplorable body I fail to see it like that. The way I see it is simple. I'm not missing out on anything in my life. So why jump the gun? Why try and complicate happiness, care and love when you are getting a lot of it in return?

You're fooling them, especially your very trusting MIL, a friend said to me long ago. Really? She knows I'm short tempered, I hate ostentatious Jain weddings, that I would rather wear silver than diamond jewellary and never develop a taste for thande thande jamun with salt. They both know I hate drying clothes out of the machine, can be lost in a book for hours and stay up nights staring into the computer. They also know I can shout at maids and autowalas, that I rarely visit temples and would rather read a magazine than watch Baaghban on TV with them. I wonder if it would still be called fooling.

Like I finally said to a very persistant R2I, who I'm afraid is considering me her pet project in India, what works for someone may not work for another. Somehow, this has worked out for me. And there are other elements at work here than just the fact that I do not eat non veg when they are around. Why is that so hard for someone to fathom?

2009-06-19T18:10:00.003+05:30

In Steve Martin's book Shopgirl, Mirabelle has to keep fighting 'the immobilizing depression that would otherwise surround her and seep into her body like a poisonous fog.' I loved the book just for that one sentence. Though there's certainly more to like in it. There are days when depression really is like a fog, whether it reaches a level where you need medication or not. Nothing you can think or make yourself believe can lift it. It starts by clouding your morning with gloom and self doubt and goes on to blank out every other positive flicker throughout the day. Mostly without any reason. Most days we are lucky to call it PMS. But today, it's not even that.

Two thoughts for the day

2009-06-09T01:31:00.007+05:30

Thought No. 1

When Mr Murphy was making his law he certainly wasn't thinking moms. The thing is, when you are at home with a bored 3 year old, chances are you'll spend the rest of the day trying to keep him occupied, reasonably entertained and trying to dodge Murphy's law. Because if anything can go wrong it will. For instance the glass of milk kept unescorted (by me, who else) on the table will spill. The TV, sometimes a much needed babysitter, will go blank. Frantic calls to cable guy will yield nothing but a busy ringtone. Child will reject every DVD in his possession and want to watch Oswald and only Oswald. Who for those not living in cartoonland is an Octopus that looks like a big blue balloon and speaks and sings in the voice of Fred Savage of The Wonder Years.

The mother, who could have easily abandoned everything else and played the nth round of bowling or jenga with the monkey, will have her nicest editor asking (on a Sunday that too) if she could help with just one input for a story and fast.

Poor freelancer mommy who must keep good editors happy in these times of need will say yes and try to multitask. This will involve switching on computer in the other room (the hand-me-down laptop has expired) and rushing back to continue with bowling in the hall then rushing back to comp to look up required numbers and making required phone calls and then rushing to kitchen as usually non-demanding child will suddenly have pasta craving. Mother will scan shelves and even look under the kitchen sink but fail to find new pasta packet. Will call the home delivery who will cheerfully inform her that it's Sunday, they are short staffed and therefore cannot deliver. Child will insist on pasta and nothing else. Mother will morph from wannabe freelance writer to wannabe marketing girl and try to sell child other edible stuff like french toast, parantha, idli etc etc. The doorbell will ring during all this commotion and it will be the maid's daughter, come to inform that her mother will not be coming today. It is a Sunday after all.

Thought Number 2

When you have one flash card too many thanks to the happy birthdays, this is a good way to keep the child occupied. There can be another point of view of course, as my friend who visited with her child when the project was in progress added.

Friend said she wouldn't do this as three year olds are too young to figure out when it's okay to safely keep toys/books or gifts and when it's ok to do something else with them. Phew. I'd never given it so much thought, though it is a point worth pondering over.

Me? I think it's okay if you drill into the child's head that not everything is meant to be torn or toyed around. I keep doing this 50,000 times a day with the simple use of that all in one expression NO*, although I'm not sure if Dr Spock or Dr Anand and those nice ladies who wrote the What to Expect series advised this. Tricky, this Mataji business. Or is my overly well read generation making it trickier?

* Nowadays NO comes automatically out of my mouth, due to sheer habit, just as words like Look! Aeroplane! and Look!Camel! tend to do. Even if child isn't around.

What are you doing?

2009-05-31T22:06:00.002+05:30

Twitter is asking me.

Facebook is even more concerned. What's on your mind?

"Trying to edit really boring copy," mind replies instantly. But hey, do I write that? Of course not. It's so everyday and insipid. Instead I think a bit and and ask myself what I am really doing. "Nothing!" replies my most uncooperative mind with glee. Disgusted, I log out of FB/Twitter. What's the point of being on it when I can't even bring myself up to say something witty and observant?

The eighties had incongruities like Mithun Chakraborty and Michael Jackson. We have the status message. Do you ever see a status message on Facebook that goes, X has just got up and switched on the computer and hasn't brushed his teeth? Nope. You're more likely to see something on the lines of X has justed landed in Goa and is on route to his first lobster. If it's Twitter, X will probably be having a bite of that lobster instead of being on his way to it.

Then of course there are the er...status pictures. In fact, given the lack of activity in my life, I'm slowly convincing myself that people probably travel frequently because they need to post pictures on FB and update their cool status messages. I'm probably getting the signals all wrong but you can't blame me. They may not have been anywhere but Manali in the thousand years that I've known them but give them three months on FB and suddenly there will be albums crawling with pictures from Andalusia to Andamans.

Ditto with gTalk. I'm always here and there on it because I feel compelled to tell the world that I am not always around the computer. And not always fully there mentally either. Whether the world wants to know or not.

Long ago, in the sad days of Orkut where everyone could see anyone, I spotted (ok spied/sneaked/couldn't resist) one of those ex-crushes from school who posted pictures of himself in front of prominent monuments across the world. Needless to add, my century old crush vanished in seconds. Makes me envious about how lucky today's girls are. All they need to do is spy upon their object of desire on FB/Twitter or even Orkut to see if the guy is a smarmy showoff or a subtle sikandar. Sigh.

Going now. Need to update FB, Twitter and maybe even gTalk.

2009-05-29T21:34:00.004+05:30

And so, just like that it is over. With a thumb impression and a hastily jotted signature on court paper. No goodbyes. A clean break is perhaps the best of all. I watch their marriage dissolve and think how different the end is from the beginning.

The beginning is handmade paper cards and an afternoon spent dotting them with haldi and sindoor. It's metres of brocade making their way to the must-have tailor and fat gold bangles balanced by delicate platinum rings. Benarasis at Gariahat market and Central Avenue for kundan work gergettes and crepes. It's train tickets booked in bulk to a different city and a red suitcase packed to the gill with zardozi, satin and cosmetics. The beginning is excitement, expectations and trepidation.

The end is simple and governmental. Stamp paper, photocopies, and attestations. Dry and monotonous. The contrast struck me the most. Ironical (or perhaps fitting?)that something which starts with so much abundance should end with so little of it.

The FREE in freelancer

2009-05-26T17:45:00.007+05:30

In the two and half years that I have been working on my own, on and off, I've realized that being a freelancer is a good way to make many people show their asli side to you. For instance, if I'm working on a story for a well known publication, there are people who'll fall all over themselves to be available at the oddest of hours, get themselves shot at their own expense (with a camera of course) and even proclaim anytime lunch and undying friendship. Call them back the next time with the name of an obscure journal and suddenly they'll develop every imaginable block from network problems to nerve disorders.

There's also the Impatient Editor. She'll ask you to send in ideas at the speed of light and then disappear from your inbox forever. At some point, she will magically surface to demand the story that she had apparently forgotten about. In a few hour's time. Do remember however NEVER EVER to ask where the cheque is, if you do not wish to be vilified by her forever. So what if you spent 500 bucks one way on the cab to Yelahanka?

The editor is only beatable by the Sweet Talker, though both share a common trait. The aversion to all things monetary. You'll end up scrutinizing boring copy for sweet talker late into the night because he wants it "just looked into" as a favour. Sucker that you are, you'll also fine tune his press relase and in the end rewrite whatever is there in it because you cannot bear to edit every word written by the pre-teens he calls his PR girls. After you've got circles dark enough to qualify for the smoky eyes look, talker will thank you profusely, put his tail between his legs and run. What if you turn into a cheapskate and ask him to pay you whatever it was all worth? Money talk is so non classy, isn't it sweetheart? And you are a FREElancer remember? The free part is ingrained in your ahem...designation.

Eat, drink, man, woman*

2009-05-20T21:36:00.006+05:30

He: I'm going for drinks with my colleagues this evening. Just got planned.
Me: Ok. I hope you have the keys. You do? Great! Don't ring the bell. Bye
End of conversation. Zimble!

Me: I'm going for drinks with R this evening. She just called.
He: Great have fun.

(Calls back 10 mins later)
Please ask S (the daytime help) to stay back late if she can. Can't reach home before 7 sorry.
Me: S, can you stay back a little later than usual? Like umm...7?
S: Theek hai didi. But Thursday ko chutti chahiye.
Heave sigh of relief. Rush to kitchen. Cook pasta & soup for father and son. Keep packets of popcorn handy. Keep A's favourite toys and books, special chocolate milk cup, jam biscuits etc, etc in the line of father and son's sight.

Run to wardrobe to look for nightclubby tops. Most have holes due to lack of usage. Realise after wearing standard Cottonworld/Fabindia uniform that one of the holes-in-the-top is actually a sexy sleeve! Make mental note to a)read highheelconfidential/vogue etc and stay updated on fashion AND most importantly b)GO OUT MORE OFTEN!

Call R to say I’m ready to leave. Dejected voice answers my call.

R: Sorry darling. Was just about to call. N is getting back late. Apparently has to do a business dinner (Stops for some heavyduty swearing). The live in maid is away this month, so tough luck.

*The title is a fabulous Ang Lee movie. In case anybody is wondering :)

A weekend of nothing

2009-05-04T14:05:00.014+05:30

We left for Kuruva Island in Wayanad on the May Day weekend. And yes, that's the highway. As we discovered soon, the whole of Bengaluru had packed their bags and left on that very same day.

Standard jumbo darshan en route in Bandipur. These were with their mahouts.

Though this one wasn't...

No prizes for guessing what excited the boy most :)

Rich wood & red floor...mmmm

A sit out by the river...

And the obligatory winding village road that tempts you to take a walk that you never do because a) you are playing Jenga with the kid b)You do not wake up on time c) It rains in the evening d) You are ONE hell of a lazy person

What you do however is to read endless cups of tea on the inviting verandah and plan nothing...

And sometimes you actually stir yourself enough to go on a jungle walk with enthu father and son

The son incidentally had a great time and did all those ideal childhood type things that our dads and uncles and even 35 plus men are always going on about. Stuff like climbing over rocks, throwing stones into the river, killing ants with a chappal, playing football with a raw mango, dozing on the verandah, trying to eat kaaju straight off the tree and checking out chamelions while the mother shuddered and photographed it from the greatest possible distance.

The mother meanwhile spent her time gazing at the river, photographing the flowers (and a ladybug which came out blurred) and trying to finish a chick lit and The English Patient. For the record of the book snobs, she finished the chick lit first. Eng lit...er...patient is still on.

How to feel good about yourself...

2009-04-22T22:45:00.002+05:30

Step 1: Visit a parlour. Ideally when your eyebrows start taking a Frida Kahlosque shape and your nose has more blackheads than skin. Or when you are almost there. Can guarantee you'll positively feel like something the cat dragged in once the beautician's through with you. Verbally through that is.

Step 2: Follow this up with a visit to the dentist. This will save you the trouble of having to sort and select through 20 different kinds of toothpaste at the shopping mart on your next grocery hunt. Why waste money on microgranules and minty flavors when your all you have is yellow, uneven, cavity infested teeth?

Things I found after spring cleaning...

2009-04-19T16:04:00.003+05:30

&...

2009-04-05T00:59:00.003+05:30

Just finished watching Revolutionary Road. Fabulous, immaculate and disturbing, everything about it. Don't miss.

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

'Ány vices?'asked the doctor.

'Depends on what you mean by vice,' I snapped, wishing for a moment I could add smoking to the vice list that included drinking. What else should we add when faced with questions like these? White lies, jealousy, judgemental...?

Questions like these always throw me off balance. They make me wonder how an educated person could think these up with a straight face. This is the second doctor to ask me the vice question and it always surprises me how casually it is asked. To me, it implies that the good doctor already has some assumptions deep-rooted way inside her mind when it comes to the word. I once gambled in Goa, I'm tempted to reply. Does it count as vice as the thrill of winning/losing huge amounts of money probably played yo-yo with my blood pressure? Sadly, such people usually do not possess a sense of humour and my deep and searching questions just stay where they are. Inside. The vice question however, rates way up there when it comes to the weird questions list. 'What's your caste?' being the other all time favourite.

Mashed eggs with pasta and other delicacies

2009-03-31T14:02:00.006+05:30

I'm the queen of leftover breakfasts. Ask Kahini and she will tell you of wonderful mornings of being hungover in Haryana and battling it with a great and greasy breakfast of leftover biryani and eggs fried in a few strips of fatty bacon. If you just went yuck this post is not for you so don't tell me I didn't warn. These days I do end up making a proper breakfast for the husband and the child. Now before you get any vision of a BBC Good Homes style colour coordinated table with a bread basket, Good Earth porridge bowls and gleaming cutlery, let me tell you that in my house 'proper breakfast' translates into one kadai of Poha/vermicelli upma/pasta plonked on the dining table with accompanying yells like 'Add some salt to the poha/take the bread out of the toaster' etc,. But still it's food that is good enough to go but would you find me eating it once the boys have gone and I have the house to myself? Never. I cannot eat a straightforward breakfast. I need to make it complicated. So the Poha would have some aloo bhujia thrown in and if I have energy left to throw it back in the kadai and toss it with some puliogare powder nothing like it. My absolute favorites tho are Mashed eggs with pasta and Moong dal with prawn balchao. For the first one you need a bowl of pasta and one boiled egg left unfinished by a three year old. This three year old part is very important because only then will it have the right consistency of being pricked with a fork a hundred times over and doused with sticky, sweet ketchup. Dunk this mashed concoction (carefully taking off the extra ketchup with a spoon)in a pan with a nice dollop of butter (I believe in good health) and press it all further with a potato masher. Add some water and let it simmer till you have something that looks unfit for human consumption. If you have Oregano left over from Domino's Pizza delivery add that. It's yum. My current fave though is Moong dal salad. No not the sprouted version. I run mile away from them. This is basically moong dal soaked overnight and then sauteed with jeera and hing and mixed with cucumber, tomatoes, chopped onions, etc. That of course is the husband version. Mine gets dried prawn balchao (available at the Koramangala Fabindia) and loads of green chillies thrown in for good measure. Simply divine. My heart will possibly not agree few years later but hey, as long as it gives me a good start to the day, who cares!

Rambling mommy post

2009-03-29T00:51:00.008+05:30

Sometime early this evening, as I was climbing up the stairs to an electronics store, I tripped and dropped my sleeping son on the ground. He fell with a thud, rudely awake and crying his guts out. P scooped him up and there we stood for the next two minutes, rubbing the poor child's head and trying to soothe him and angry with each other. P with me for I wasn't exactly looking where I was going. Me at myself for doing what I'd just done. The fall was a nasty one, the sound of it even nastier. Mercifully there were no bruises or cuts, except a minor scratch on his arm. Back home, after a small hospital check up (I bet the emergency guy logged us as Paranoid Parents mentally), we couldn't get it out of our minds that it had been a close shave. He could have fallen further down the stairs and it could have been worse. Predictably, in true mother mode, I've been feeling horrible, despite everything getting back to normal. A's even done his Rock On routine for us before bedtime and proudly shown off the Band-aid on his arm. It's me who's in jitters. The klutziest mother on earth. Of course that isn't true. I may not have Angelina Jolie's ability to balance babies on various parts of her body but I do usually manage to walk in a straight line. Though to be honest, this isn't the first time I've dropped my son. The last instance was unavoidable but when he was a jiggly necked baby, my hands would almost turn to jelly every time I had to pick him up, which was practically all the time. Do other mothers feel like this? Perhaps they don't. Look at Meghna my friend. She can balance a clutch and her pretty daughter while walking in high heels. And another friend goes rock climbing with her son. I'd rather be turned into stone that do that! Why am I finding it difficult to move on after something so small? Do fathers have it easier? P came back to normal once we knew nothing was wrong. I'd have shouted at him too had he dropped A instead of me but would he have been feeling as weirdly horrid as I am? I'm indulging in self pity? Absolutely. What else do I have a blog for! Need to have this written and off my chest. Motherhood is such a fucking complicated box of emotions. You can go from happy, sad, warm, angry, frustrated, guilty, elated, proud, thrilled, envious, foolish, sheepish, bitter...all in a matter of seconds and I've actually run out of adjectives. There are many more. You can beat yourself to death mentally for having dropped your son and then feel frustrated later when he refuses to even touch his dinner. You start shouting/trying to make him eat and then that one drop of tear silences you because today of all the days, you should go easy, shouldn't you? The child being the cunning monkey that he is, knows just which buttons to press and when. Which makes me wonder if I am pressing the right ones. Of being able to take care, take charge, do all the right mother type things and blah blah. There was some Cher movie (forgot name) where she says to her kids 'It's not as if you guys came with some instruction manual. Well at times you do wish they did. Dropped child today? a) Allow him to play with his food b) Gently, but firmly remind him that food is meant to be eaten and there are no alternatives available c) Run to loo and cry. Scroll down to see answer.

Possible professions in 2009

2009-03-02T23:55:00.004+05:30

With the job market in such a state, me and some friends thought of a few possible jobs in today's troubled times while having dinner. Here goes:

1. Moral Mausi

Job description: Upholder of Indian culture. Heavy demand in every Indian city. Will start by standing at every building gate and checking for errant school going girl children with skirts above their ankles. Will also post herself in front of pubs, clubs, movie halls, gyms and at rich Marwari weddings at the Oberoi to check for women in skin showing spaghetti tops, skirts, capris, shorts and sheer saris with sequin overdose. In fact will forward proposal to ban the sari altogether as it shows too much skin, that too around the erm...erogenuss/nous/noze (Chee chee! Moral mausi doesn't know spelling of such bad words) areas and still pretends to be Indian. Will uphold Mayawati style one size covers all salwar kameezes for anyone who's not a man. Problem solved.

2. TV Terror

Job Description: There is only one word for it. Suhel Seth. You will require a passable knowledge of what the 'gorment' is up to, highly stretchable vocal chords, some wisecracks and a dictionary with words such as 'buffoons,' 'cartoons,' 'baboons,' etc. A few years in Delhi cozying up to powerful media types will also help.

3. Luxury Consultant

Job Description: There isn't any. Will need to own sufficient Vuittons and Venetas, Cavallis and Choos. Will also require rich dad/husband to buy luxury mall post which candidate can call press conference, flash the Vuitton, call herself luxury consultant and pose for photographs. Tough call but easy job. All you need to do is look convincing as you give quotes like, 'The luxury segment is opening up in India/people are well travelled and know what luxury is/the time is right for luxury goods to enter the Indian market, etc etc.' People have been saying the same for the last five years so you will have enough research material.

4. Chamelion

Job description: Self explanatory. Think US returned IT person turned kiddie library founder turned playgroup founder turned restauranteur turned delusional turned IT person working on Banerghatta Road.

5. Model Mother

Job description: Franchisee for serenity, world peace and inner poise. Will need to be former model well trained in Yoga, own a large number of Lucknawi chikan churidar kurtas and a calm, peaceful expression. Will need to have friend with bungalow surrounded by greenery and basement for meditation.

Am off to sleep now on that peaceful note. Feel free to add.

2009-02-26T09:21:00.002+05:30

Loved Gulzar's reply to why he didn't attend the Oscars in this morning's Bangalore Times. 'Kaala coat nahi mila,' he says. Cackle cackle. How could Raakhi divorce this man. Actually on second (and more mature) thoughts...how could he marry Raakhi!

Bitching apart, wish Rahman had thanked him a wee bit more publicly though...considering he's credited everyone from Subhash Ghai to his mother. Speaking of Rahmania, terribly glad that I'm not a Chennai based lifestyle journo at the moment. Friend working there says they've been asked by their newspaper bosses to dig up every impossible, unknown bit of info about him in the next few days or else...

2009-02-03T00:19:00.003+05:30

Oh we're attacking the Sri Ram Sene, Yediyurappa and any moralistic political bugger all right but we've forgotten the handsome, yuppy puppy boy next door. He's the one who is part of your fun gang when you start going to pubs after work; he's the one hailing the autos for you at midnight and dropping you home (in these days of easy loans he probably has a car); he's the one going out with you for a late sunday hangover healing breakfast;he's the one who likes you, hasn't quite met anyone like you but won't take you home to mummy. Not even when you are sober. Coz you see, it's alright for him to take his sorry ass to the pub when he's tired after a long day's work but when you do that, you automatically get struck off as ideal wife material from his long-standing mental list. To make the cut you need to go home straight from work (after politely saying NO to all those loose moraled girls who want you to come out and drink), change into cute striped pajamas, eat your chapatis and spend your time watching 'First Ladies' or HBO. On the days you are out with him, you need to ensure you have nothing more incriminating than a Cranberry Breezer. A beer? Certainly not. Ciggies? Look around, I think he's run away already. So why just rant on the Sene in TV debates. Deep down in their hearts, most Indian men (and several women) still believe drinks and decency do not mix.

A very good friend got dumped by her handsome, supposedly cool, liberal boyfriend a while ago. The reason? He didn't really feel she could be the 'family type.' Now that they were talking marriage, he felt she needed to sober down a bit. Not too many long hours at work, not too much after work bonding with the girls, not too much this, not too much that. It's not commitment phobia. It's hypocrisy. Trying to mould someone to your skewed idea of what's moral and what's not, despite the fact that you aren't exactly following them. My friend is sad but thankfully had the guts to walk out of the relationship. So we are off to celebrate. In true 'pub culture' tradition of course.

Clarity, thou art hard to find...

2009-01-27T12:53:00.003+05:30

Yes, even after 34 long years. Ok, may be I should make the number of years lesser because I'm sure I didn't try looking for clarity at four or 10 or even 15. At 20, maybe. In fact, I was quite sure I had found it. I was going to be a journalist. At that time, it was an all encompassing word, no shades attached. I had a job I loved and a clear head. This is where I belonged. At least for the time being. Until I found another newspaper or magazine that paid me better. Simple. Full and final.

Well, life, at least the so called professional part of it is not so final after all. Because here I am, 14 years down the line, confused as hell despite knowing where some of the answers are. I know that I do not want a full time job. The answer to that is in my guilt ridden mind and heart on the days I have a long assignment and have to pick A up late from the daycare. I know I want to freelance. But to what extent? Do I take whatever comes my way, work late nights, make my money and be happy? Or do I choose only the kind of stories that I really want to do even if those are few? Do I network and try to revive long lost contacts even if some them are masters in the art of cold shouldering or do I make myself believe that work will find me and sit tight no matter how implausible that may sound? Well I try it all. I take up crap edit jobs that make no sense except bring me a decent enough cheque which I promptly go and spend at the Strand Book Sale on vast amounts of books for myself and the child. I trudge halfway across town to meet a social worker for a story that will pay me lesser than the cab fare. I wonder whether to start a content writing service with a friend. I wonder whether to keep myself free, writing only what actually makes me feel good and not being the hyper when-will-I-be-busy-again kind of cranky person I usually am. And I wonder when will the focus, the clarity finally stop being elusive. Maybe when I do.

Of Goa, Bombay and other random stuff...

2009-01-10T23:09:00.004+05:30

So the entire month of December 2008 was spent travelling. Well almost the entire month if you discount the 3 or 4 days of interim breaks in Bangalore that were spent in visiting dentist, cleaning dirty dishes left by absconding maid, fixing a non absconding one, attending budday parties and doing other such exhausting stuff. We drove to Karwar and Goa and as soon as we crossed the Karnataka border, a friend called to ask where we were. 'Goa,' I said, rolling the windows down to smell the (truck infested) air. 'Again?' She shrieked, 'don't you guys have any imagination?' Our trip to Hampi in between elicited mostly positive responses (That part of Karnataka is a must do, said one 'doer') but when we landed up in Bombay at the end of the year, most people laughed. 'You've actually wasted four precious days to holiday in Bombay!' the husband heard. I'm of course spared as I do not 'work.'
Who wouldn't love exploring new places on a holiday? Especially say a place like Hampi where we climbed several hills and stairs with a child perpetually attached to our backs. Ok joking, he was permanently attached but we loved the place, though it isn't exactly a holiday for a three year old. Going to Goa is like visiting an old friend. You know exactly what to expect. There's fun in that too isn't it? Like lounging on the sunbed the entire morning as your child is babysat by the sand and a few buckets; ordering the same prawn rechado and fish curry at the same shack everyday; going sick hearing your husband say he plans to paraglide, jet ski and do everything Akshay Kumar can since the beginning of the holiday (Yes Rupa, it's a middle aged male disease) and knowing that by the time you get back exhausted thanks to all those Kings and Belos in the afternoon or evening, the bed would be made and the bathroom would be clean :D. As for Bombay....for me that's a happy story forever.

The random stuff
* Why on earth is Ghajini the name of the movie? I mean the villain is hardly iconic...I could have understood Sholay being named after Gabbar Singh but this one is sheer stupid.
* And shirtless Aamir doesn't work for me at all. It's conditioning I guess. After all these years, the only shirtless 40 plus Bollywooder I can still tolerate is Salman Khan.
* Luw Dev Patel of Slumdog Millionaire. Terribly young yes, but that's how they all are these days. Except me :(

On the rocks

2008-12-28T02:22:00.011+05:30

It's fascinating to see how the old, the new and the ordinary merge in surreal, boulder strewn Hampi. Fourteenth century balconies serve as drying spot for clothes

The granite columns of a century old bazaar becomes the perfect place to rest a tired bike.

A 14th century gateway stands tall as innumerable cars, autos and cycles pass through it everyday.

The ancient Virupaksha temple still holds wedding ceremonies. In fact, one was on while we visited. The beautiful ghats of Tungabhadra is at once a laundry and a shrine. The Hampi Bazaar that was once thought to have sold precious gems and rich silks is still as fascinating if in a slightly offbeat way with everything from Che Guevara T-shirts (didn't know they were still so popular!), lungi tops, Kutchi bags, musical instruments, Janpath style silver jewelry to Rajasthani handicrafts.

Across the river, in Hampi Island or Virupura Gadde it is a different world altogether. One that moves slowly with makeshift 'lounge bars,' tiny guesthouse with chickens and children running amok, internet cafes offering Skype and broadband and a lot of shaloms in the air. The landscape is mindblowing. More so when you head towards Anegundi. Boulders in browns and rusts, ruins strewn with granite and the sudden vivid green of paddy fields. I plan to go back again (Perhaps with Subs, who has actually worked among the ruins here!) may be to just wander along aimlessly or spend the afternoon lazing at Mango Tree, a very busy restaurant in a banana plantation, with 'seats' under a huge mango tree. Happiness!

Sun, sand and sunset...

2008-12-18T00:49:00.002+05:30

What makes you sadder...

2008-12-02T00:41:00.004+05:30

The fact that our cops wore bulletproof jackets that didn't even meet the required specifications?

The political drama going on all over? That we now have a home minister we identify with finance?

A little boy orphaned the day he turned two...

Or the story of so many families losing love, hope and loved ones.

2008-11-30T15:28:00.002+05:30

The morning after the firing started and schools were declared closed in Bombay, a friend told her eight-year-old to stay in bed as there was no football practice and no school either. 'Why, is there a bomb blast?' he asked.

Yesterday's Hindu had a picture of the Taj on its edit page. The standard beautiful tourist pic, with the sea in the foreground and the Taj looming large. My son, who was playing nearby had a glance and asked, 'Mamma, where's the fire?'

What's the world in which our children are growing up?

The third birthday was very happy indeed...

2008-11-25T23:16:00.006+05:30

And that's the ear-splitting but much loved 'Budday gift!'

One of those Dear God moments...

2008-11-12T23:56:00.002+05:30

Dear God,

In my next life, please let me be born as a woman who is putty in a man’s hand…oops…no make that a man who is putty in a woman’s hand. Drat! I got it wrong again! No of course I don’t want to be a man in my next life but a woman who can make a man turn complete jelly in her hands. Yes, I know that sounds gross but that’s not what I meant and anyway you know what I am talking about, don’t you? You see, all my life I have wanted to be one of those women. You know the kind who just have to bat one eyelash (or is it the lid?) and have a line of men ready to climb the Everest or scale the Great Wall of China or basically do impossible things like that. Have no idea if Great Wall climb is improbable but you get the gist again, don’t you God?
I of course don’t want anything so far reaching. Just everyday normal stuff would do. Like dozing off while putting the baby to sleep and not having to worry about rinsing the dishes coz the man would SURELY (and not when he feels like it) do that; like being able to make the man put away his socks EVERYDAY WITHOUT FAIL. Being able to stop the bugger from going to a boys’ night out on the day when I don’t want him to. You see, very simple, homely stuff. Utterly probable.

I also want to be rid of this insane belief that I can take care of myself and turn into a similar version of my neighbor Nita in Delhi. You see, Nita’s husband would drive all the way to DLF in Gurgaon from Rohini in North Delhi, crossing his office at Essex Farms in South Delhi on the way, simply because she had to work so far. He would repeat the process in the evenings. I on the other hand would take the Rs. 25 chartered bus and on certain forgettable occasions, even the deathly Call Centre Sumo. All because the man thought I could take care of myself and so, tragically, did I.

So Dear God, in my next life turn me into a woman who can doze off at 8.30 PM with the sound knowledge that her husband has cleared the kitchen and put the dishes under the sink. Turn me into a woman who only has to say stuff like ‘stay with me baby’ or some such dialogue to make the man forget a night of boy bonding. And grant me the ability to shiver at the thought of taking an auto after dark. Amen.

Ammi's saris

2008-11-05T09:42:00.002+05:30

This is from Subs...

I finally picked up the courage to clean out ammi's wardrobe.

It used to be an annual winter ritual -- my time with her, when she'd take out all her saris, old angarkhas, fragile chiffon and tissue dupattas and sun them.

Each one had a story woven in it.

The stunning orange and black tissue dupatta interspersed with silver threads and a silver brocade border, which was specially woven by the Banarsi neighbor at the behest of ammi's dada for her initiation into reading the Quran, when she just about turned 4.

Or the delicate gold sari which her nani left behind as inheritance. Her nani had nobody to support her financially, but the stroy goes that each night as she prayed the "tahajjud" namaz, she'd find 3-4 gold coins under the prayer mat.

The peach gharara with a velvet top and silver gota work on it still retains the nawabi look.

Each sari was hand-woven for ammi's trousseau, the silk is tattered now in some but as I held it against my cheek, I could still remember each story.

I hope this does not end with me.

Subs and I met while working for the girlie mag and have been gossiping ever since. I have only met her mum once, when I went over to Subs' and aunty fed me the best biryani ever. Aunty wouldn't recognize me if I were to visit now, in fact, there are days when she has difficulty recognizing her own daughter. I can't even imagine how difficult it is sometimes for Subs, who bravely battles it all and hasn't lost a bit of that infectious giggle of hers.

2008-11-03T03:38:00.002+05:30

At the Diwali party, a perplexed aunt watched some of us move mouths, heads and butts to Peechle Saat Dinon Mein and finally asked:

Ye laundry ka gaana kis film ka hai?

Sigh! I'm going to think of it as The Laundry Song from now on of course.

Random thoughts

2008-10-30T23:49:00.002+05:30

Why are cyclones and hurricanes named after women? There is the devastating Katrina, Rita, Helen, Sarika, Veronica, Velma, Xina, Bulbul, Shoba, Neelam, etc. So how do they come up with the names? Do some people in the met bureau sit over coffee and say hmmm...four cyclones predicted...now the wifey is becoming quite a nag as well...

I'm sure there are the Edwards and Amitabhs as well but I don't have much google time. Enlighten me if you know, will you?

Oh and five years years after I started reading her, met the adventure girl. Finalee! :)

Rant

2008-10-21T10:39:00.005+05:30

This is Bhadra. It's a set of cottages by Jungle Lodges on the banks of the Bhadra river near Lakkavalli. It's about six hours from Bangalore. During the day, the blue looks picture perfect and at night, you can slather yourself in mosquito repellent cream, sit on the balcony in utter darkness and gaze at the million stars overhead. Yes, you can almost see every star. Quite an amazing feeling.

This is in India? she asked, clearly surprised. Because she feels the best holidays are always had 'abroad' like they do every year. The best locations, best stay and best hospitality. Such thoughts usually bring out the bitch in me but with painting work going on at home and the madness of having people for dinner on top of it, I bit my tongue and stayed quiet. Oh yes, I loved the little bit of Europe I got to see and would love to go to Thailand, Malaysia, Vietnam, Italy, Turkey, Scandanavia, Germany or Scotland. I'd also like to see Hampi, Wayanad, Kerala, Arunachal Pradesh, Meghalaya, Andamans and more of MP and Rajasthan. Yes, yes, I know I'm sounding terribly preachy and Kendriya Vidyalaya type but kya karoon, I'm a bit pissed. It's a leftover from last night as our dinner guest and her husband went on and on about holidays 'abroad' and how everything was just right, where as in India you only got bad rooms and bad service. Their loss, not mine. Hope they continue travelling to Switzeland and the Far East, eat pure Indian food cooked by chef of Sita Tours and buy the tackiest of gifts. There. The fangs are out now. Peace!

I just finished reading...

2008-10-13T11:09:00.002+05:30

...Amruta Patil's Kari and absolutely loved it. I'm not too much into graphic novels and simply bought the book because the cover reminded me of someone. And finished it in one go. The illustrations are amazing and there's a lot to like in the book, especially in Kari herself. But what also touched a chord, with me at least, was life in the Bombay flat. Shared by three women and two semi-permanent men. Gossip, food, love, lust, toothpaste, shower gel all shared in a space not meant to be inhabited by more than two. Not the most ideal way to live but one that comes with inevitable nostalgia attached to it when you've moved on to better quarters :)

This one reminded me of the place in Bandra East we eventually got locked out of. Four women, one semi permanent men, an over-loving bai, rotting leftovers in the fridge, occasional mad parties and awkward bonding sessions when four very different girls found themselves alone together on some rare occasions...

It's a Bombay book through and through. For all those who have lived in the city at the start of their careers on a salary that didn't translate into a heady paycheck and company chummery, inhaled the stench of home as the Borivli local rushed towards Bandra station and drowned their triumphs and sorrows in Bombil Fry.

2008-09-24T11:53:00.009+05:30

We went to Bangaram Island in Lakshadweep around this time last year. It was one of our best holidays ever and I never wrote about it because a) I was too lazy b) I was supposed to write a travel piece and thought I'll save the words for that.

Being a magazine, they needed high resolution pictures and I only had a 5 megapixel camera (Did I just hear some gasps and shudders there? Wait I'm upgrading!) so the story never got published. So here it is, because a trip like that needs to be recorded forever and word docs can crash, while the internet hopefully will not :)

Bangaram should be caled the barefoot beach – because that’s what you do the moment you reach there. Kick off shoes, slump on the bar stool and try to take it all in. At 128 acres it is probably not much but the splendour of Bangaram Island is enough to leave you gaping. It makes you forget the boat ride from Agatti Island which, less than half an hour back, was challenging you to keep breakfast down with its twists and turns. It’s a natural effect, says a fellow guest and Bangaram regular. Apparently you forget everything, even misplaced baggage and cancelled flights the moment you step on to the ‘reception’ area of Bangaram Island Resort. You take in the nearly-white sand and a sea that’s dotted with every possible shade of turquoise and blue. If this isn’t perfect, what is?

Nestled in its own lagoon and surrounded by the sea and a coral reef, Bangaram Island looks like a teardrop from the plane and is uninhibited except for the resort.

Thankfully, it is simple enough to merge into the spectacular surroundings. Accommodation consists of palm fringed beach huts with verandahs. For larger groups, there are bigger bungalows with a living room. The resort is a very much back to basics one and while they do not expect you to turn up bleary eyed for yoga classes every morning (although these are held), there is no room service, no hot water, no air conditioning and best of all, no television. Phones don’t work unless you have a BSNL connection and I didn’t see a newspaper in the five days I spent there. At 40 miles across the ocean from any sort of civilization, Bangaram Island is truly isolated and they have ensured that you feel it too – in the best way possible.

Your life’s purpose here is simple: Do nothing or do something. If you belong to the do nothing variety, you’ll wake up early and go for a little walk along the beach and slowly make your way to the restaurant hut for tea and breakfast. This will be followed by moving yourself outside to find a lounger under a shade to settle down with a book and gape once more at the impossibly beautiful shades of cobalt and aquamarine surrounding the island. There are kayaks kept ready to use, should you decide to abandon laziness for a while. And then there are hammocks. Enough for you to find a favourite one to lounge on and count the coconuts.

If you are the do something variety, you’ll spend large parts of the morning underwater or at least in its vicinity. Bangaram is a famous diving destination and Lacadives, Prahlad Kakkar’s Kadmat Island based diving school, has a centre here. Beginners go only four metres deep but experienced divers can explore real underwater treasures. The other favourite activity almost everyone tries out is snorkeling. There are people who spend hours doing just that as the waters are crowded with bright, beautiful marine life of every possible colour. Even if you do not know your angelfish from your clownfish, it’s hard to tear yourself away to do anything else. You can bring your own equipment or hire it here at the watersports centre.

Whichever category you fall under, one must-not-miss activity is to go for a walk around the island during low tide, around 4.30 pm or 5.00 pm in the evening. Walking around the entire island at a leisurely pace would take your at least 45 minutes and the highpoint is walking up to the sandbank behind the resort and get that unbeatable feeling of almost walking on water, because that’s how it would look if someone saw you from a distance. This is where the staff goes to fish in the evening and you can have a great time just watching them at work, trying your hand at it, and sharing a joke with everyone. The sandbank and the walk back to the resort is a great place to spot sea birds in action and hermit crabs scurrying back into their holes. The stroll along the sandbank is also the only time your need to wear sandals on barefoot beach.

All that activity (or even the lack of it) can lead to severe hunger pangs and thankfully the variety at both lunch and dinner is not just sufficient, it’s also quite amazing. Meals are served buffet style and are a mixture of local and continental cuisine. Apart from being made into stews and curries, the catch of the day is grilled on an outdoor barbecue and served the way you like it. You can choose to have your meals outside, especially in the evenings when you can have candlelight dinner under the stars. But naturally, the best place to be in the evening is the bar, although it’s open even during the day. It’s right on the beach and the moon reflecting on the still, dark water is quite a heady sight. If the rounded bar stool (my only complaint with the place, honestly) gets too uncomfortable, spread a mat and on the sand and park yourself close enough to get that second beer. Just ensure you are liberally slathered with Odomos as soon as the sun goes down and you’ll be a happy soul. Rooms have mesh screen windows and mosquito repellants and it’s advisable not to leave doors open post sunset to stop the mosquitos from getting in.

Despite the lack of cartoon network or activities for children (unless you count the whiteboard in the library), this is a place that your child is sure to love, if she or he loves water. The monkey spent all his time doing things he cannot do in an apartment. He ran amok, chased the chickens and cats in the island, played football with mini coconuts and filled endless buckets with sand and water.

Bangaram Island Resort is run by the Casino Group. All visitors need a permit to visit the island which is easily arranged by the hoteliers. To get there, take a flight from Cochin to Agatti. Indian Airlines and Kingfisher fly the route and if you are lucky, the legendary Capt. Chaudhary will be your pilot on the 12-seater IA flight, which looks rickety but gives you an amazing flight with Capt. Chaudhary's comments. Go there now!

Diary of a harried mom

2008-09-12T09:00:00.007+05:30

Get up late as a result of last night's impromptu dinner at home with friends. Rue fact that no longer wake up late because of hangover but because of non-cooperating body parts despite the lack of alcohol.

Start morning on frenzied note as son's playschool has 'Hygiene' as the in-house dress-up theme. Try cutting shape resembling toothpaste and toothbrush out of chart paper and silently vow to become super organized mum with special drawer+desk for school tasks done five days in advance. Also vow never to have impromptu parties.

Child refuses to wear toothbrush. Tears toothpaste cap.

Reach school. Happily dump child in hands of enthusiastic young teacher (EYT). Who also looks mildly surprised. Must be the bad brush cutout. Watch in utter envy as EYT makes child wear both brush and paste WITHOUT A WHIMPER and shows him off to everyone. Resists urge to do a 'Why Me why me why me' dance on the spot and head home.

Start work. Continue for five minutes.

Answer doorbell. Has 10 minute mime show with presswala who speaks only Telugu. Finally realize he wants last week's balance. Try to remember what balance was and why it isn't paid but cannot. Finally hand over the obscene amount of money demanded. Vow to become organized homemaker with meticulous expense diary keeping skills.

Work for 15 minutes.

Answer doorbell. Maid's sister gleefully informs that didi won't be coming today. Sprints for the lift before being asked to work.

Shut laptop and head to kitchen. Stare blankly at pile of vessels. Spend eternity scrubbing. Also do jhadoo though for an insane moment think of saving that for the child. After all, he's always chasing the maid for the damn thing isn't he?

Leave home to collect child. Get lectured by child's class teacher for not sending cap and school T-shirt, required necessities for field trip. Erm...what field trip? Wasn't it the fancy dress?

Frantically hunt child's bag for clues. The toothbrush is for tomorrow. The field trip was today.

Hide forever.

Jai ho...HO HO HO!

2008-08-20T22:34:00.002+05:30

Hello darlings!

As you can see from the headline only, have gone slightly batty. Tis a result of this early morning read in the venerable The Hindu by an honored (with Capital H) gentleman called Abhimanyu Singh. You see, Mr Singh didn't like Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na. My friend's older sis didn't like it too. Too college type, she smirked. As for my college type niece, she doesn't like anything without Hrithik Roshan in it. Zimble.

Mr Singh of course doesn't go for such facetious excoozes. Especially after he thought Abbas Tyrewala was a Godard in the making. So what does he do after being sadly mistaken in this assumption? He makes my day and writes a long article in The Hindu on Jaane Tu...being a paean to patriarchy, stereotyping women, etc.

Here's a sample: "Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na" only serves to strengthen the codes of patriarchy that have dominated the representation and subsequent construction of masculine and feminine identity in cinema `. by disturbing the symbolic order of patriarchy in order to motivate audience assent to its restoration'. Here, that can be seen in Jay's initial reluctance to accept the three diktats of manhood prescribed by his father and later fulfilling them.' For the whole piece of cake, go here.

Wondering why nobody told him it was simply a nice, timepass Hindi film?

Back in touch

2008-08-13T02:46:00.004+05:30

Back in '92-95, a gang of girls doing Eng Lit. in Pune's Fergusson College were thick friends. They hung out at Vaishali, discussed Phadke Sir's linguistic skills, rued about the lack of guys in Arts, discussed boyfriends (both existent and non-existent) and sacked out in each other's hostels. At times, over spicy 'anda bun,' they discussed the future and how thankfully none of them were even remotely interested in an MBA (so much to study, huh?). Then college ended and some of the friendships frittered away. They'd never been too strong to begin with and had been merely sustained because of a common class, shared passion for idli vadas with 'separate sambar' and Bikram Saluja driving down FC Road in his Maruti Gypsy. Now suddenly the girls had to decide What To Do in life and slowly they drifted away. One of them moved to Bombay and shamefully forgot old connections in the new flashlights; one got busy with some inspiring developmental journalism in Pune and yet another, the spunkiest of them all, surprised everyone by suddenly agreeing to an arranged marriage and moving to USA. The girl in Bombay and the one off to USA promised to keep in touch. But such things were difficult to do in an age without mobiles and emails and with lots of excuses, especially when one had a new and exciting career in Bombay and another a new and exciting husband with a BMW in USA. Fourteen years later, the girls are back in touch. Well most of them anyway, thanks to those great finders, Facebook, Orkut and yes, in this case, even Linkedin. An yahoo group keeps them bound this time as the conversations flit between husband, number of kids, work or the lack of it. There are surprises too. Some irreverent ones seem incredibly polite and some barely heard voices have grown bindaas. Some mails bring memories, some a smile and each of them a reason to look forward to the inbox every other day.

2008-08-04T23:20:00.007+05:30

Was watching the TV report on Bombay High Court's verdict going against Niketa Mehta just now. Don't want to talk about whether it is right or wrong, ethical or unethical, because honestly, I'm not the one facing the dilemma and it is so damn easy to pass judgements when you aren't. And this is a difficult one, isn't it. Here's a couple who are being honest. Very bravely I think.
Yet, when I first heard of the case, I did think that it wasn't right in my 'smug-parent-who's-never-had-to-face-such-a-problem-touchwood' manner.Because 24 months is almost half the pregnancy over.
Then I read this and thought of a special child in A's school. Her mother had once told me how on bleak days, she forces herself to smile by staring foolishly into the mirror. But had she known during the pregnancy would she have aborted? Her daughter may not be able to speak coherent sentences or do a simple puzzle but is the most wonderful, well behaved child I have seen.

I pray to God Mehta's baby is born healthy and leads a good life. I can only imagine how tough getting through the pregnancy must be for her, knowing fully well that her child is going to have serious health problems because let's face it, every parent wants a healthy kid. But there's one thing I've been thinking about. Now that the case is out in the open, being debated in the media and recorded for posterity on the internet, what impact would it have on the baby several years from now?

As parents, surely Mehta and her husband will do everything in their power to shield their child but if the child ever learns of the case to abort, what kind of an impact would that have on its mind?

It's a scary thought.

The bylanes of North Calcutta...

2008-07-19T23:28:00.016+05:30

...can be cramped with kids playing gully cricket, rickshaws and the ocassional speeding Sumo/Maruti Van. They are also crowded, dusty and muddy, especially after a spurt of rain. But when it comes to the houses that inhabit these streets, there are some wonderful gems to be found, making you realize why Calcutta was once named the City of Palaces.

Even now in all their crumbling glory, you can get a peek into the beauty these old buildings once were, like in the now faded stained glass window...

Or in the chipped-off mosaic work above an entrance that has obviously seen better days...

One of my favorites was this carved canopy in an old apartment balcony, like a beautifully worked piece of cloth. There are several other gems like this one, discovered on a walk with Ifte of Calcutta Walks and Akhil Sarkar, an architect whose interest lies in the Calcutta of yore.

The walk was an eye opener. It started near a red bricked mansion that belonged to two rather colorful brothers, nicknamed Chatubabu and Latubabu, and then winded through the bylanes behind it. As one lane merged into another, we left the sound of buses, trucks, taxis and cycle rickshaws far behind. I tried to imagine a lost time of grand mansions with grander owners, a time when Calcutta would've been truly magnificent and also perhaps, a bit of a show off like the wealthy owners of most of these houses were.

It's also a walk that makes you incredibly sad. What would have been protected by glass cabinets and marked with blue plaques in Western cities, lies in utter neglect here. Ornate columns are either decaying or have been been whitewashed beyond recognition. Conservation attempts of some mansions are largely off track, with 'experts' chosen at the contractor's convenience.

Still, it's a walk worth every step you take. For thakurdalans (courtyard where Durga Puja was held, and still is) like this...

...old family temples

......and many pillared roaks (seating areas), perfect for addas and afternoon naps.

And also for the old Telebhaja (fried snacks) shop where I had the most amazing malpua in a long, long time.

All this, while crisscrossing the lanes and spotting this and that.

The angel on the arch...

... and a glimpse of the andarmahal

The 200 something year old Twin Shiva temples, with a parasitical tree making for great photo op (for many before me, that is), though marred by the shiny marble platform.

It's a walk that takes in cast iron balconies imported from England by rich merchants, shuttered windows, vanishing mansions, canons from Siraj-Ud-Doula's time used in sewerage and a fifth generation family of engravers and trophy makers working in a tiny office hemmed in by plants and the narrowest of lanes.

When I visit, I usually see Calcutta from the inside of a cab or don't see it at all, because I have escaped to the metro, away from the traffic and pollution. This walk, in more ways than one, was an eye-opener.

Bollywood Thoughts...

2008-06-24T23:16:00.003+05:30

Doesn't Vidya Balan look older than Shahid Kapur in Kismet Konnection? Husband thinks everyone looks older than Shahid Kapur, including Kareena.

Shilpa Shetty's Yoga DVD!!!!!????? Why??? But of course it's THE way to sell yourself to the vest, sorry West.

Vogue has Preity Zinta all glammed up on the cover. So used to seeing her in the T-shirt plus Ness combo now that I squinted double hard to figure out the cover. Incidentally, I like Vogue. Get a good laugh out of their 'budget' buys.

Aamir Khan's Ghajini hairstyle is pretty weird. Yes, I know some people find it very cool but me am old fashioned. Gimme TZP Aamir anyday.

Rani looks a bit sad and kind of down in the dumps post Abhi-Ash wedding, doesn't she? The perky thing in her is gone. Or is it Aditya Chopra as Stardust says? But seriously, has she ever taken a good look at him? And doesn't Abhishek look too serious post-shaadi. I watched the Holy Trinity being interviewed on CNN IBN and the only bright spark in that pointless interview was Abhishek's quip, don't mess with the Nagres, when they were asked what the message of the movie was.

And oh well, this isn't Bollywood but never mind. Vir Sanghvi bitched out Sex And The City in Mint. How it isn't about emancipation of women at all but marriage being the ultimate thing. Now I don't know what kind of women Mr Sanghvi has been hanging around with but who in her right mind thinks Sex And The City is about emancipation of women?!!! And this is 2008, we are emancipated and so were we 10 years ago (or was it more?) when the series started. We don't need Sex and the city to make a statement about emancipation. We need it to check out clothes we may not end up wearing, shoes we wished we could wear, hats the size of garden umbrellas, gossip and fun. Simple. It's timepass. Something to take your mind off the real world. Like 300 is for several men. Or if that irks your cult sensibilities, a Van Damme flick. Guess the old man was facing a writer's block when he wrote that one.

A slightly meandering post

2008-06-08T22:34:00.005+05:30

Few days back, a friend and I were chatting about Jhumpa Lahiri's new book, Unaccustomed Earth. I told her I liked the book mainly because I identified with some of the Bong connections in it. Actually, what I identified with the most was one line from the first story, Unaccustomed Earth. 'Bengali had never been a language in which she felt like an adult,' Lahiri writes, describing her protagonist Ruma's dilemma about teaching the language to her three-year-old son.

That's exactly how I feel. Bengali to me is the language of my kiddiehood. Though I speak to both my parents only in Bengali and use a mix of Bengali, Hindi and English with my brother, I don't think in the language. This is despite the fact that I spent the first 16 years of my life at home surrounded by parents and their circle of largely Bengali friends and usually spent every summer holiday in Kolkata, discussing Pintu and sundry things with my cousin, in Bengali of course :)

The common language at P and my home is Hinglish. When A was little I would cuddle and coo to him in Bengali but now that he has grown up and understands/needs instructions, Bengali simply doesn't work. I can't be authoritative in Bong. And what's the point of screaming your head off in Bong asking him not to drop the jug of water if he doesn't understand it!

I'm sure if he were to hear Bengali around him more often, he'd pick up at least a smattering of it but unfortunately he just hears me, usually going ballistic on the phone with my mother. I'm not getting worked up here about him being able to converse in Bengali in future as I'm sure eventually he'll pick up something.

What I'm concerned is whether he would ever be able to read Bangla. No, I don't want him to turn a linguist. I just don't want him to miss out on the literature. I grew up on a steady diet of Bengali literature and in my bookshelf Shirshendu Mukherjee, Sunil Gangopadhdhay and Satyajit Ray shared equal amount of space with the Enid Blytons, Austens, Montgomery, etc.

There's no doubt about it, Bong kid lit is an absolute treasure. You can find everything there. Suave detectives and eccentic scientists, sidekick brats (usually cousins or nephews) and enormously intelligent and brave uncles or brothers. You'll also find imagination that's hard to top. Stolen statues, exotic stones, feuding families, scary sadhubabas...they have it all.

So that's my main worry. That kiddo will grow up to be a reader (have no doubt about it, he reads Pooh on the pot) and will probably read Feluda in translation but not in the language it's meant to be read in.

I guess I will introduce him to the language properly at some point and perhaps even make an effort (ha ha who am I kidding?!) to teach him to read. I don't quite remember how me and my brother learnt it as we lived outside Calcutta all along but according to my mother who has a very glazed over memory of these things, it happened quite naturally.

I hope such natural evolution (unlikely though it seems) happens with A as well and I am spared the task of teaching. Anything to escape being mommylike. Especially Bong-mommylike. A bhery dangerous species as those who know weel tell you.

PS: I know I should link every unfamiliar name (Shirshendu for instance) to a wikipedia type URL that throws some light on it but I'm usually too lazy to do that. Still I tried and came across this fabulous post by Calcutta Chromosome that also has some great comments. If any of you are Bong, have a fond memory of childhood literature or are remotely interested, check it out. It's better than any wikipedia blurb.

Wear your choos when you go shopping next...

2008-06-04T00:01:00.003+05:30

...because the magazine girl on the 'fashion' beat might just want you to be photographed. Well, it happened to us today. Correction. To my friend S, who was meeting me for lunch. We were standing outside the restaurant, waiting for another friend to turn up when this little girl approached and asked if we had two minutes. We thought she was a student doing a survey and gave her a we-hate-this-but-will-be-nice-to-you smile but it turned out that she was from a city magazine that does this 'Street Style' kind of page. They photograph well-dressed people and get the fashion editor to decode the look, why it works, etc. S was in two minds but I threatened her to be nice and pose coz I was sure the poor girl had been ordered by the editor to get 10 stylish people by the day's end. Once the photos were done, the girl asked S to tell her where her clothes, shoes and accessories were from. When S finished giving her the list, the girl asked if anything was designer.
No?
Hmmm...
Actually the watch looks neat...
200 bucks? Linking Road? What did you say the name was? N-a-g-a-n-i...oh it's just a regular store?
Well, is anything from overseas?
No?
Ok custom-designed?
Nah?
Ma'am, your bag looks really cool. Could you please say it's from Bangkok or Paris?

2008-05-30T16:23:00.005+05:30

Ever thought a forward could make you slurrp? Well this one did and ever since then I have been craving for Patishapta and Shukno mashla makha tetul (tamarind coated in dry spices). I did draw in the drool at the mention of Kosha Mangsho but they don't have the emotional attachment that patishapta and the spiced tetul hold for me. Those are the tastes of childhood. And a sudden invitation to so many memories.

Of long summer vacations. Of vacuous mornings spent staring out of the train window as the scenery unfolded from Mughalsarai to Howrah. Of midnight kulhar chais at unheard of stations.*

Of spending endless evenings at dida's place swatting the mosquitos while she battled those and the heat with a haathpakha (handfan, have seen them only in Cal) and we waited for the power to come. And of Patishapta. Nobody makes them like Dida did. Maami comes a close second, having learnt it first hand from her and is wonderful enough to make them everytime I visit Cal. But Dida's patishaptas were something else. Melt in the mouth with just the right touch of sweetness. So wonderful that you could eat them forever. It's a taste I search everytime I eat a patishapta anywhere, which is extremely rare. It's not a dish that's gone the roshogolla way in terms of availability and popularity. I wonder why.

And the spiced tetul? Well it has a love story associated with it. Of my cousin who carried on a long terrace romance with the boy next door (possibly named Pintu) for several years before any of them could gather up the courage to speak to each other. On my summer visits, I was the only witness allowed to take a peek into that romance while Pintu 'studied' in his small room on the terrace and cousin filled me on stuff: The day Pintu was caught looking for her, the day his friend asked for the cricket ball that had landed on her terrace, and so on. The lack of real spice in the gossip was more than made up by the tamarind. Before we could realize it, we had spent hours on the terrace, addicted not just to Pintu-analysis but also the spiced tetul.

* Had to write about the midnight kulhar chai. What is nostalgia if not clichéd? :p

You know senility is fast catching up when...

2008-05-28T00:03:00.002+05:30

Your random thoughts during the day include...

Oh I hope the curd has set properly

Wow I didn't need to take him to the toilet even once during his afternoon nap (in fact, this is the high point of the day)

Must order more jelly

Don't I have a single new book to read? Oh wait...there's that M&B I got free with Good Housekeeping somewhere..ah here is is with Pepper Learns to Share...something to read at last.

That was the cutest Tom & Jerry cartoon ever.

Snapshots from the past few months

2008-05-14T14:50:00.005+05:30

The little man is getting hugely entertaining day by day. And not just in his gardening avatar.

He loves pools. Of every kind.

And climbing anything. These days preferably without assistance.

Would love to post more pictures. But difficult to get ones that reveal yet hide :)

2008-05-10T15:38:00.002+05:30

I get a lot of flak for leaving my son in a daycare while I stay at home and work, as opposed to being away in office. Most of the flak is not direct of course. It's hinted at or expressed with a raised eyebrow or just an accusatory 'oh!' When he first started going, perhaps a bit of the 'guilt' (courtesy mom/MIL) rubbed off on me and I would find myself explaining to random strangers in the lift why he goes/for how long/how he loves playing there and all that.

Thankfully that stopped the day a wise lady cut me short and said, don't feel guilty darling, no mother takes a decision without thinking it through. I have worshipped the ground beneath her feet ever since (the floor of the lift as that's where we usually meet).

Yes, no mother takes a decision without thinking it through. Why then are we so quick to judge fellow mommies? We look at the child running wild flinging things off the shelves (okay, one chocolate) in the supermarket and we think the mother doesn't discipline him. What if she does? What if she's a strict mommy otherwise but may be this is a bad day, for him as well as her?

We shake our heads in unison as that cute girl from the building falls off the cycle and hurts herself while the maid flirts with the watchman. That poor thing, the parents shouldn't have chosen such a careless maid! What if they didn't? What if they took months over the decision, visiting as many agencies as possible and finally selecting who they thought was best? What if tomorrow, after she's seen the bruise, the mother doesn't spend a single guilt-free moment at work?

The thing is, we can't help ourselves. It's human nature to be judgemental. Maybe not in the absolute extreme sense but say, at least for 10-15 minutes, convincing ourselves that we've got it right while the other person has it hopelessly wrong.

How To Save On Your Monthly Grocery Bill

2008-04-23T00:23:00.002+05:30

Buy magazines. Yes, you read that right. In the last couple of months I have got green tea from Femina, silky hair shampoo from Cosmo, soup from Good Housekeeping, cream from Marie Claire and today, to my utter and complete amazement, some more shampoo, this time for strength and shine, from surprise, surprise, India Today. (Evil cackle here)

But what really cheered me up was the strip of Digene from Good Housekeeping. (Takes back evil cackle)

Really needed and much appreciated as the medical store down the road won't home deliver small quantities. Good housekeeping indeed! Now what else do I need from that grocery list...

Oh to be a television reporter!!!

2008-04-08T22:36:00.003+05:30

Ooooooh....the sheer thought of it is giving me goosebumps. Imagine if I were a television reporter in these exciting times. What a life it would have been. Since news these days means chasing Kareena and Saif Ali Khan and sometimes even his poor dad, I'd get to rub shoulders with celebrities. Ok, at least I'd get to rub the mike on their noses, wouldn't I? And what limitless possibilities of research would I have! Sifting tirelessly through repetitive footage of Manish Malhotra shows, Saif's tattooed hand playing the guitar and Kareena's kohl-laden eyes. Perhaps I'd stick in the shot of a sombre looking Shahid Kapoor from some award function for that real emotional angle. And for voiceovers (or whatever they are called), I'd get to write stuff that Hindi film's corniest dialogues are made of: Kya Chote Nawab chulbuli Kareena ke maang mein ek chutki sindoor bharenge? Kya Bade Nawab ko hai apne bahu ki doli ka intezar?
Gosh, just the thought of it makes my journalistic skills jump. Gimme a job someone!

2008-03-19T23:24:00.002+05:30

Tried to order pizza today. Girl at the other end said something like 'Anityullbyeonepurrssonilpyenyandgerlikbreyadnocyokemyam.'
After much blankness figured that she said 'and it'll be one personal pan and garlic bread no coke ma'am.'
Do they teach them to fake an accent even during pizza shop assistant training? Hyelp! Yam nyeverrrr khallinggg damminyos agen.

Sari buying...

2008-03-12T13:14:00.004+05:30

...from a big store is a nerve wrecking experience for me. Unless of course I'm buying from a small shop-in-the house run by nice Malleshwaram aunty who has been collecting exquisite silks for years. That too has its pitfalls. As aunty plies me with gorgeous silk after silk out of a 100 year old cupboard, I'm wondering if it would look too rude if I walked out without buying anything except a small silk stole perhaps.

But the stores are something else. I freeze the moment I step in. Especially if I'm alone. Everyone eyes you a tad suspiciously because after all sari buying in India is group activity. You're supposed to land up with your mom, maami, mausi and even third cousin and debate the merits of crystal work on pure georgette vs kantha stitch. Landing up single in a sari shop is as uncomfortable as landing up single in a pub. In fact, more so.

And why oh why are the best sari stores populated by men? I mean, c'mon it's women who buy saris largely, right? Then why would we want it draped around us by a man who is never going to look even remotely passable in those six yards? Isn't the job done better and more comfortably by a woman?

My worst nightmare is the eager beaver salesman. He'll insist you have 'cold drinks' the moment you step in and show you what he thinks are the best designs (bilkul fassnebale. Yehi design Anamika Khanna 30 thousand ka bechti hai. Aur hum apko almost free de rahe hai). Never mind if it looks like satin rags stitched together (with sequins, don't forget the sequins). In that rare moment when you can get a word in and ask to see a sari you think you may like, he'll reject your taste with a 'yeh to ekdum simple hai madam, partywear ke liye nahi jamega.'

The very same salesman, who usually looks like a stick insect will also critically evaluate your chances of carrying of designer stuff. 'Yeh pre-stiched choli ke saath aata hai, aapke size ke liye theek rahega.' AAAAAAAARGGGH!

By this time, you are halfway between a desire to leave and a strong desire to just sit there lulled by the AC+cold drink combo and keep staring at the technicolour display unfolding. Salesman is figuring out that you may not have liked anything at all, so switches into aggro mode: Aapko exactly kaisa chahiye? partwear? simple design wala? yeh ghaghra style sari chalega? Aap theek se batayegi to hum bhi sahi wala nikalenge na. Kanjeevaram mein zardozi work nahin pasand? Arre aajkal yehi chal raha hai.'

You finally find courage and meekly say that perhaps you will come back. At this salesman gestures someone to pick up the sprawled saris in a voice tinged with anger and despair. He tries one last time to interest you in a sari that screams SEQUIN ATTACK but the flick of his hand conveys that he's lost interest in you and is just finishing his job.

And you walk out of glittering sari store emotionally battered and head for the nearest 'cold drink' kiosk.

A Day In The Life of A Potty Trainer

2008-03-09T14:54:00.004+05:30

Excusez moi...

For months I tried to keep potty tales out of the blog but as it turns out this currently all-consuming aspect of my life is creeping in here as well.

The child is being toilet trained. We're almost there but days coem and go when the monkey thinks poop can be a source of fun and achievement. For him that is.

This morning I woke up, brushed teeth, made myself a nice cup of tea and was ready to sit down with the paper when I heard that loving voice call out 'Mama potty aaya.'

Thrilled mama forgot chai, rushed in ecstasy towards the bathroom (yes, motherhood gives you strange highs) with child in tow thinking 'great! He's finally trained enough to say it out loud', plonked him on his Winnie Pooh seat, handed him a Pepper storybook and waited in anticipation.

Child looked up with angelic smile and almost instantly said, 'Ho gaya, finish.'

Mother tried to peer down the thing and suddenly realized that in her half-crazed, chai-deprived state, she had forgotten to take off his pants. In fact, they had already been taken off, including the diaper...on his cot and here he was now, smiling sweetly and pointing to the mess.

And with that, if you are still reading, I shall stop disgusting you. The last post was a long time ago and I had nothing else to write about. Kahini, don't tell me the headline didn't warn you.

Whine Factory On The Loose

2008-01-30T23:33:00.000+05:30

There's nothing worse than being a stay at home working mom. For starters you aren't taken seriously by anyone. Not even by yourself. You cannot say No, today is Tuesday I can't go out for dinner because unlike proper working moms, you do not have a morning rush hour, PF or a boss. So you tag along, even if there's a deadline looming at the back of your mind and the spectre of having to work way past midnight.
The people you are working for seem to think they are doing you a favor by simply offering you something to do. "That Bangalore housewife wants the deadline extended. God, what do these freelancers do the whole day!"*
The direct fallout of this is that they think your work hours extend the entire day because unlike them, you aren't really working, are you? And then there are ever helpful family and friends. "You look terrible," a friend informs, "Go get a haircut."
"But I don't have the time," I whine, "I drop A to the daycare, rush home and work, finish and pick him up. My day's packed."
"What nonsense!" she declares, "You're working from home, aren't you?"
Then there are the moms. The scariest of the lot are the ones who have given up Ivy League degrees and fat paychecks for Project Pram. "You should get him down to the park more often. The weather's really nice," they chorus. Mommy scrutiny gets me all shaken and stirred, sorry scared, so I can't help but get into unstoppable confession mode.
"Erm...I had a deadline. So I let him sit inside his tenthouse and watch Winnie The Pooh five times nonstop. Oh and I also let him eat chips and almost got him beer, just to get him to stay quiet," I dread the questions that will inevitably follow after Work Vs Park. Might as well deflect them beforehand.
The saddest bit is that all your 'Me Time' (to quote Femina/Cosmo etc) gets eaten up. When the tyke is away/asleep you work and when the tyke is around/awake you a)try to work or b)feel terribly guilty about Winnie The Pooh viewings (Television! The nemesis of good motherhood!) and try constructive, fun activity which results in 30 mins of play and two hours of clean up. There are four unread books lying on the bedside table and I feel weirdly guilty (Guilt is truly every mom's best pal) when I spot them gathering dust. After all, I don't even have a proper job. How would we ever manage if I did?

* I'm sure in another life I would have been a bitchy ed to a freelancing mom. This, I guess, is payback time.

My first PR job...

2008-01-26T00:12:00.000+05:30

...is being done out of pyar and no paisa*. Though I'd welcome some chilled beers. One of my fave writers has finally started her own blog for 'your kind perusal.' Mayawatiji dhanyabaad.

* I couldn't resist that cheesy line. Toyed between sheer pyar and pure pyar. See how creative I am at 12.20 AM?