I don't use yahoo mail any more as paranoid ex-office had included it in its strange list of banned websites (Dear employees, surf porn by all means but no going on yahoo, rediff and DEFINITELY NOT HINDUSTAN TIMES!).
So I checked my yahoo address book after ages and have made interesting discoveries.
The number one name in the address book belongs to the former regional editor of the newspaper I worked for. In fact I have not one but two email IDs for a man who positively disliked me and whose feelings I reciprocated. When did I this ID down? Also I was acquainted with him in those pre-email days, so still wondering how...
I have email IDs of several people whose existence I seem to have forgotten. One of them is interestingly called silky followed by a number. The other calls herself/himself teekhimirchi.
There is one called Sujata but she isn't one of the two Sujatas I know. Who on earth are these people??!!!!
Discovery of the afternoon: email IDs of two ex-crushes. Hatching evil plan. Hehe
There are four alternative IDs for one certain person who was part of the alcoholics network masquerading as the features team at one point. Shows the strength of our friendship in those days I suspect, though I can't seem to remember much of it.
Strange are the ways of the world and the internet.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
I’ve always hated being asked this question.
‘What’s your caste?’ Aap logon ka caste kya hai?
I see no reason why someone needs to know such intimate details of my background within 15 minutes of being introduced to me. And I’m always at loss to understand what they mean by the word ‘caste.’
Very often, in my experience, people mean community when they wrongly say caste. Though some never-say-die types also want to know what your caste (now meant correctly) is after they’ve figured out the community.
Among friends, we do make jokes about each other’s community and we do at times want to know what they do similarly or differently from us but what I don’t understand is when people plunge into the question almost right away.
Believe it or not, leaving aside other instances, I’ve heard this question from a teenager in Delhi (yes, she wanted to know what my friend’s caste was) and yesterday from a reasonably young mother in the neighbourhood during my evening walk, which is a lovely thing people who stay at home can do, though not when strange questions are coming their way.
Well why do people need to know? Are they going to further their interaction with you based on your answer? Or is it plain curiosity, sheer habit or perhaps mummy papa didn't tell them it wasn't an important thing to ask?
When I lived in Bombay I never once had to face the caste question. At most, people asked where you were from as it was apparent you lived on your own. Thankfully, I never had a landlady who brought such things up either.
But I inhabited a different world in those days. We made friends easily and how far it would go was based on that person’s capacity to work, laugh, party and imbibe first day first shows rather than on personal details they had no control over.
‘What’s your caste?’ Aap logon ka caste kya hai?
I see no reason why someone needs to know such intimate details of my background within 15 minutes of being introduced to me. And I’m always at loss to understand what they mean by the word ‘caste.’
Very often, in my experience, people mean community when they wrongly say caste. Though some never-say-die types also want to know what your caste (now meant correctly) is after they’ve figured out the community.
Among friends, we do make jokes about each other’s community and we do at times want to know what they do similarly or differently from us but what I don’t understand is when people plunge into the question almost right away.
Believe it or not, leaving aside other instances, I’ve heard this question from a teenager in Delhi (yes, she wanted to know what my friend’s caste was) and yesterday from a reasonably young mother in the neighbourhood during my evening walk, which is a lovely thing people who stay at home can do, though not when strange questions are coming their way.
Well why do people need to know? Are they going to further their interaction with you based on your answer? Or is it plain curiosity, sheer habit or perhaps mummy papa didn't tell them it wasn't an important thing to ask?
When I lived in Bombay I never once had to face the caste question. At most, people asked where you were from as it was apparent you lived on your own. Thankfully, I never had a landlady who brought such things up either.
But I inhabited a different world in those days. We made friends easily and how far it would go was based on that person’s capacity to work, laugh, party and imbibe first day first shows rather than on personal details they had no control over.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Rainsong
Now that it's raining in Mumbai and newspapers and TV channels can't get enough of the waves splashing on Worli Seaface and Marine Drive, am getting very nostalgic. True my memories of Mumbai rains include many that involve a lot of muck but nostalgia always excludes those ones.
I loved getting soaked by the waves on Marine Drive during the rains but my two absolute favourite rainspots were Bandra Bandstand where the wind could carry you off and the grotto with the curving srairway opposite Mount Mary church. You couldn't feel the waves there but you could keep standing there, sometimes alone for hours, get soaked and watch the sea merge into the blue grey sky.
That place was my zone of peace. Went there when I was feeling happy, sad, strange or nothing at all. And during the rains.
I loved getting soaked by the waves on Marine Drive during the rains but my two absolute favourite rainspots were Bandra Bandstand where the wind could carry you off and the grotto with the curving srairway opposite Mount Mary church. You couldn't feel the waves there but you could keep standing there, sometimes alone for hours, get soaked and watch the sea merge into the blue grey sky.
That place was my zone of peace. Went there when I was feeling happy, sad, strange or nothing at all. And during the rains.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Going To KV
Subs’ comment about some parents not sending their kids to a middle class school got me writing this one. WARNING: LONG RANT. HAVE POSSIBLY RANTED ON THIS BEFORE
From Class II till Class X, I attended the most middle class school of all in India — Kendriya Vidyalaya or Central School as it’s better known. A number of them actually as dad had a transferable job. No matter which remote area we went to, the syllabus remained the same and admission was more or less guaranteed so mom and dad were happy with the arrangement. It did occur to them to send us to a boarding school for a while but both me and brother threw ultimate tantrums at just the mention of it and till date, I’m glad they never took that step.
I studied with all sorts of kids. If the squadron leader’s daughter was in the same class with me, so were the school’s clerk’s twins. My parents did not seem to have a problem with this mixing of classes. Strangely though, scores of other people did as I realised gradually.
The general perception about KVs is that it is a ‘Hindi medium school,’ teaching standards are extremely low and that crowd that studies there has ‘all types.’ Some allegations aren’t very far off the mark. There are some 800 plus KVs around the country and abroad and there is a possibility of poor teaching standard in some of them. I’ve gone through a terrible history teacher, a wonderful English teacher who taught me to love reading and two Maths teachers, one of whom made me hate the subject and the other ensured I ended up liking it enough to get a decent score in my board exams. This lack of uniformity isn’t unique to KV. There are several upper middle class schools across the country where the teaching standard isn’t uniformly excellent.
A friend and I had an argument once. She is a young mom and pretty concerned about which school her two year old will eventually get into. She’s limited her choices to the crème de la crème (at least by repute) schools of Delhi. It HAS to be Vasant Valley, Modern, Mother’s International, Sanskriti or something else in that super school category. Her argument: A good school shapes you for life. And you study with people from good families.
I don’t know how much of that argument I agree with as I've never quite understood school snobbery. I’ve seen kids from the best of schools do miserably in competitive exams while someone from a school we hadn’t even heard about has sailed past with ease. Of course these aren’t generalisations. The opposite can be true as well. The thing is whether you study in Kendriya Vidyalaya, Ferozpur Cantonment. or Cathedral and John Connon Bombay, how you ultimately shape up depends on a lot more factors than just which school you went to.
I studied with kids from all kinds of backgrounds and cultures. I may not have ‘connections’ with the vice admiral’s kids as my friend Adi does thanks to his days in Modern Barakhamba, Delhi but I do have friends from diverse backgrounds and communities and a reasonable amount of knowledge and level of tolerance about them than in many other people I know. People who think all Gaons are Catholics and Maharashtrian cuisine consists mainly of pao bhaji.
And no, am not bragging.
PS: On an absolutely different note have a problem maid at hand. Does the work well and claims to understand Hindi but the moment I want her to do things a certain way, pretends to lack all knowledge of the language and gets weepy.
From Class II till Class X, I attended the most middle class school of all in India — Kendriya Vidyalaya or Central School as it’s better known. A number of them actually as dad had a transferable job. No matter which remote area we went to, the syllabus remained the same and admission was more or less guaranteed so mom and dad were happy with the arrangement. It did occur to them to send us to a boarding school for a while but both me and brother threw ultimate tantrums at just the mention of it and till date, I’m glad they never took that step.
I studied with all sorts of kids. If the squadron leader’s daughter was in the same class with me, so were the school’s clerk’s twins. My parents did not seem to have a problem with this mixing of classes. Strangely though, scores of other people did as I realised gradually.
The general perception about KVs is that it is a ‘Hindi medium school,’ teaching standards are extremely low and that crowd that studies there has ‘all types.’ Some allegations aren’t very far off the mark. There are some 800 plus KVs around the country and abroad and there is a possibility of poor teaching standard in some of them. I’ve gone through a terrible history teacher, a wonderful English teacher who taught me to love reading and two Maths teachers, one of whom made me hate the subject and the other ensured I ended up liking it enough to get a decent score in my board exams. This lack of uniformity isn’t unique to KV. There are several upper middle class schools across the country where the teaching standard isn’t uniformly excellent.
A friend and I had an argument once. She is a young mom and pretty concerned about which school her two year old will eventually get into. She’s limited her choices to the crème de la crème (at least by repute) schools of Delhi. It HAS to be Vasant Valley, Modern, Mother’s International, Sanskriti or something else in that super school category. Her argument: A good school shapes you for life. And you study with people from good families.
I don’t know how much of that argument I agree with as I've never quite understood school snobbery. I’ve seen kids from the best of schools do miserably in competitive exams while someone from a school we hadn’t even heard about has sailed past with ease. Of course these aren’t generalisations. The opposite can be true as well. The thing is whether you study in Kendriya Vidyalaya, Ferozpur Cantonment. or Cathedral and John Connon Bombay, how you ultimately shape up depends on a lot more factors than just which school you went to.
I studied with kids from all kinds of backgrounds and cultures. I may not have ‘connections’ with the vice admiral’s kids as my friend Adi does thanks to his days in Modern Barakhamba, Delhi but I do have friends from diverse backgrounds and communities and a reasonable amount of knowledge and level of tolerance about them than in many other people I know. People who think all Gaons are Catholics and Maharashtrian cuisine consists mainly of pao bhaji.
And no, am not bragging.
PS: On an absolutely different note have a problem maid at hand. Does the work well and claims to understand Hindi but the moment I want her to do things a certain way, pretends to lack all knowledge of the language and gets weepy.
Monday, June 20, 2005
My two bits...
ON PARINEETA
Very nice period details. Esp. the Saridon ad and the switches which sent me back to my grandparent's old house in Cal. Saif looks hot. Vidya Balan is a discovery. Good they picked her out of those chai ka patti and washing powder ads. Only sore point, did they need to have such a dramatic climax?
ON GARBAGE SEGREGATION
Recently started in the building. Largely due to the efforts of two ladies, one of them retired, the other a post graduate student. The reaction? Surprisingly varied according to the volunteers. An 80 plus grandmom has no objection doing it after a lifetime of habit where she probably had maids dumping all the garbage in one bin. On the other hand a 30 something woman has been complaining about how such stuff takes up a lot of time and is almost impossible for a busy working woman like her. Some things can be eye-openers in a strange way.
ON A CERTAIN HOT SHOT INTERIOR DESIGNER IN BANGALORE
Was talking to her for a story I'm working on. Her response to one of my remarks: 'I don't do middle class homes my dear. They're too many people involevd and they aren't just worth it.'
Very nice period details. Esp. the Saridon ad and the switches which sent me back to my grandparent's old house in Cal. Saif looks hot. Vidya Balan is a discovery. Good they picked her out of those chai ka patti and washing powder ads. Only sore point, did they need to have such a dramatic climax?
ON GARBAGE SEGREGATION
Recently started in the building. Largely due to the efforts of two ladies, one of them retired, the other a post graduate student. The reaction? Surprisingly varied according to the volunteers. An 80 plus grandmom has no objection doing it after a lifetime of habit where she probably had maids dumping all the garbage in one bin. On the other hand a 30 something woman has been complaining about how such stuff takes up a lot of time and is almost impossible for a busy working woman like her. Some things can be eye-openers in a strange way.
ON A CERTAIN HOT SHOT INTERIOR DESIGNER IN BANGALORE
Was talking to her for a story I'm working on. Her response to one of my remarks: 'I don't do middle class homes my dear. They're too many people involevd and they aren't just worth it.'
Thursday, June 16, 2005
The Best?
I don't know about you but all these best blog listing always leave me cold. Esp the ones about Indian blogs. Find most of the blogs featured there either too opinionated or trying too hard (but please note, I said 'most') to be cool. And do we really need to know the life of every kid in every B school? Spare us for God's sake.
Some of the best blogs I read regularly are private so that rules them out but some aren't and in my opinion they would rate highly in any blog list anywhere. But that's my opinion and perhaps the listmakers of blogworld differ.
What brought about this current grouse, went to a listing of best Asian blogs (sorry can't gove the url, have deleted address bar history) and with the exception of a genuine blog or two, there wasn't much to cheer for. So I have some 'koshchens.' Do you get the same feeling whenever you visit a best blog list? Why does this happen and er...am I sounding terribly opinionated too?
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Have discovered the magic word to get work done -- 'sahab gussa karega,' 'sahab ko achcha nahi lagega' and various other combinations with the word ‘sahab’. This is how it happened. Was fruitlessly telling the cable guy to tune Travel and Living and National Geographic properly so that I can actually watch them instead of just hearing disembodied voices when inspiration struck. 'Sahab sham ko aake yehi channel dekhta hai. Ye achcha nahi ayega to sahab gussa karega.' I told the guy. The next thing you knew the man had pulled some wires and the reception was crystal clear. Never mind that 'sahab' (P who is blissfully ignorant of the things that get done in his ‘name’) doesn’t venture beyond HBO and ESPN.
Tried same tact with the carpenters next. Was unhappy with the work done on one of the kitchen pullouts and had been unsuccessfully chasing them. Just had to pick up the phone last Sunday and utter, ‘Sahab bahut gussa kar raha hai,’ and bingo, the men came running. Had to of course train ‘sahab’ to look suitably angry when they arrived.
Similar story with man who came to fix the computer. Now am no techie but I do know the basics (I’d like to think so) and it’s me who’s going to be a permanent fixture on the home comp. ‘Let me speak to Mr P madam,’ said the computer guy after finishing his work.
‘Mr P wouldn’t be using this computer much. You can speak to me.’
‘I need to explain certain things to him madam,’ our man persisted with the look one preparing to battle with a five-year-old kid.
I ended the conversation the only way possible: ‘Look here. It’s me who uses this machine. So it’s me who has to know and understand the complicated stuff. NOT MY HUSBAND. UNDERSTAND?’
All that brings me to a slightly disturbing thought. Why is this happening suddenly to me? Is it because people automatically assume that a lady cannot take decisions without getting it approved by her husband (especially if she’s a housewife) or doesn’t have the mental capacity to understand technology? Or is it just mild-mannered, gentle (ahem) me?
On a different note:
Have discovered two good things. Daily Bread. A company that makes very exciting types of bread from spinach to whole wheat. Even one with mustard and curry leaves that smells like avial!
And Biryani Merchant. They even do a hilsa biryani!
...and the fact that I posted this in red tells you I don't have much to do.
Tried same tact with the carpenters next. Was unhappy with the work done on one of the kitchen pullouts and had been unsuccessfully chasing them. Just had to pick up the phone last Sunday and utter, ‘Sahab bahut gussa kar raha hai,’ and bingo, the men came running. Had to of course train ‘sahab’ to look suitably angry when they arrived.
Similar story with man who came to fix the computer. Now am no techie but I do know the basics (I’d like to think so) and it’s me who’s going to be a permanent fixture on the home comp. ‘Let me speak to Mr P madam,’ said the computer guy after finishing his work.
‘Mr P wouldn’t be using this computer much. You can speak to me.’
‘I need to explain certain things to him madam,’ our man persisted with the look one preparing to battle with a five-year-old kid.
I ended the conversation the only way possible: ‘Look here. It’s me who uses this machine. So it’s me who has to know and understand the complicated stuff. NOT MY HUSBAND. UNDERSTAND?’
All that brings me to a slightly disturbing thought. Why is this happening suddenly to me? Is it because people automatically assume that a lady cannot take decisions without getting it approved by her husband (especially if she’s a housewife) or doesn’t have the mental capacity to understand technology? Or is it just mild-mannered, gentle (ahem) me?
On a different note:
Have discovered two good things. Daily Bread. A company that makes very exciting types of bread from spinach to whole wheat. Even one with mustard and curry leaves that smells like avial!
And Biryani Merchant. They even do a hilsa biryani!
...and the fact that I posted this in red tells you I don't have much to do.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
My interesting life as a stay-at-home girl officially begins today. Well it should have technically begun about one and half months back in Delhi when I said bye to the girlie mag but circumstances kept me busy and circulating.
We finally shifted to the apartment in Bangalore yesterday. It’s pretty nice. High up again. We seem to be catching an aversion to anything below the 15th floor. The two balconies have excellent views of Bangalore’s unending greenery (yes, have fallen for the greens) and within the complex, you can feast your eyes on the manicured lawns. Ok. Not so manicured but at least that’s what they look like from this height. There’s also a lovely blue swimming pool. Again, the height helps.
Earlier in the day decided to do the following today or some of it at least from this list:
* Walk in nice looking (from above) garden. Only it was 11:00 am and a bit sunny for a walk. Wish had dog. Great excuse for walk.
* Check out the pool. Only can’t swim. So could only go, gape and get back. Could do that from the living room balcony so avoided.
* Check out the shops around. There isn’t much though, except Jai Hari Supermarket which isn’t very high on the excitement factor.
* Check out Bangalore.
* Find a beautician who offers door step services and get various body parts scrubbed and polished. Just the thought made me go zzzzzz…
It's about 4 in the evening now and haven't done any of these exciting things. Instead have spent the day finding a plumber, chasing the cable guy, getting washing machine repaired and shouting at the carpenter. Now awaiting man to come and fix aquaguard. Humph!
We finally shifted to the apartment in Bangalore yesterday. It’s pretty nice. High up again. We seem to be catching an aversion to anything below the 15th floor. The two balconies have excellent views of Bangalore’s unending greenery (yes, have fallen for the greens) and within the complex, you can feast your eyes on the manicured lawns. Ok. Not so manicured but at least that’s what they look like from this height. There’s also a lovely blue swimming pool. Again, the height helps.
Earlier in the day decided to do the following today or some of it at least from this list:
* Walk in nice looking (from above) garden. Only it was 11:00 am and a bit sunny for a walk. Wish had dog. Great excuse for walk.
* Check out the pool. Only can’t swim. So could only go, gape and get back. Could do that from the living room balcony so avoided.
* Check out the shops around. There isn’t much though, except Jai Hari Supermarket which isn’t very high on the excitement factor.
* Check out Bangalore.
* Find a beautician who offers door step services and get various body parts scrubbed and polished. Just the thought made me go zzzzzz…
It's about 4 in the evening now and haven't done any of these exciting things. Instead have spent the day finding a plumber, chasing the cable guy, getting washing machine repaired and shouting at the carpenter. Now awaiting man to come and fix aquaguard. Humph!
Friday, June 03, 2005
Wow! Feels great to be online at last. although only for a while as the furniture and the rest of our stuff hasn't reached so it will be a while till I get the computer fixed and running. Have finally landed in Bangalore. Welcomed by bad traffic and great weather. Coming from 40 degree plus Delhi the weather more than makes up for the traffic. And yes, the greenery too. Think am going to like thic city, unlike the previous shitty I stayed in.
Feels weird to have been cut off from the blog world for so long. Time for catching up.
Feels weird to have been cut off from the blog world for so long. Time for catching up.
Thursday, April 28, 2005
What do you do when a colleague you do not particularly like insists on taking you for a farewell lunch, gives you nice farewell gift and proceeds to tell you what a great help to her you have been through all these years.
You stay silent. At least for a while. Concentrate on food. Then smile shiftily (remembering all those bitching sessions that centred around her) and say...oh no...c'mon...I did nothing.
And feel like a total fraud.
Life should be easy. You should have some memory box in your head with easy to operate buttons and depending on the mood of the person or the moment just press start the required memories.
You'd look funny of course but that's quite another matter.
You stay silent. At least for a while. Concentrate on food. Then smile shiftily (remembering all those bitching sessions that centred around her) and say...oh no...c'mon...I did nothing.
And feel like a total fraud.
Life should be easy. You should have some memory box in your head with easy to operate buttons and depending on the mood of the person or the moment just press start the required memories.
You'd look funny of course but that's quite another matter.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Just read somewhere that Gauri Nanda, the MIT scientist who invented 'Clocky' (an alarm clock that rolls off your bedside table, hides around the room and basically keeps pestering you until you wake up) has also developed an amazing handbag.
It makes sure you haven't forgetten your wallet or house keys (My lifelong ailment!) and even lights up in the dark to make rummaging through it easier (I need this!).
And wait, there's more. It even tells you if you've forgotten something you will probably need later in the day. An umbrella for instance.
It takes a girl to invent the really smart and useful things, haan?
It makes sure you haven't forgetten your wallet or house keys (My lifelong ailment!) and even lights up in the dark to make rummaging through it easier (I need this!).
And wait, there's more. It even tells you if you've forgotten something you will probably need later in the day. An umbrella for instance.
It takes a girl to invent the really smart and useful things, haan?
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
I am on a deleting spree. With barely 10 days left in this office, I’ve started getting organised about which files to take, which papers to shred and most importantly, which documents to delete. I don’t want person who inherits this rickety chair and hundred year old computer (not to mention the footrest!) to accidentally open any half-written blog or mails from friends that I’d saved in ‘My documents’ coz they were hysterical.
Deleting’s a tedious job and I quite hate it. Especially when I realise that I have lovingly stored copy written as far back as July 2001. What if I needed that info some other time? Small wonder that my doddering computer crashed so often!
Being a newly-turned alert and methodical person, I’ve also proceeded to delete my entire contacts list, which means I’m now grovelling before the systems guys to retrieve it some way or the other.
Minor hitches apart some of it has been fun. I’ve dug out a story I did with a group of travelling musicians in Oslo, which for some reason I never sent my editor. Something told me her ‘Indian values’ wouldn’t quite appreciate a family where the daughter was openly in lust with a ‘borrowed’ percussionist and the merry group of father, mother, daughter and ‘borrowed lover’ got happily sozzled after a well-paying performance. I think it's a keepsake. :)
Then there is the promptly sent but never used story on child sexual abuse, which despite all our hard work over it, went into cold storage as they wanted a ‘happy cover.’ That document will be deleted of course but it’s proof that perhaps I needed to say bye to this place much earlier. The happiest has been finding the Malaysia story. I wrote it with a friend who’d been there. We came back from our trip, exchanged a huge number of giddy and hilarious emails and that’s what became our travel story. It was fun while it lasted haan, fellow emailer?
Deleting’s a tedious job and I quite hate it. Especially when I realise that I have lovingly stored copy written as far back as July 2001. What if I needed that info some other time? Small wonder that my doddering computer crashed so often!
Being a newly-turned alert and methodical person, I’ve also proceeded to delete my entire contacts list, which means I’m now grovelling before the systems guys to retrieve it some way or the other.
Minor hitches apart some of it has been fun. I’ve dug out a story I did with a group of travelling musicians in Oslo, which for some reason I never sent my editor. Something told me her ‘Indian values’ wouldn’t quite appreciate a family where the daughter was openly in lust with a ‘borrowed’ percussionist and the merry group of father, mother, daughter and ‘borrowed lover’ got happily sozzled after a well-paying performance. I think it's a keepsake. :)
Then there is the promptly sent but never used story on child sexual abuse, which despite all our hard work over it, went into cold storage as they wanted a ‘happy cover.’ That document will be deleted of course but it’s proof that perhaps I needed to say bye to this place much earlier. The happiest has been finding the Malaysia story. I wrote it with a friend who’d been there. We came back from our trip, exchanged a huge number of giddy and hilarious emails and that’s what became our travel story. It was fun while it lasted haan, fellow emailer?
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
I felt like blogging today after a long time. Was going to write about something else. The lecherous building uncle for instance. But how can you think of humour and laughter when the person you associate it with, the girl with the super-enviable zest for adventure, is going through what is probably is the most trying time of her life.
Perhaps you've come across Lee's blogearlier, perhaps you haven't. But take a look today. She, her niece, her family and most of all her sister, need all our positive thoughts and prayers.
Perhaps you've come across Lee's blogearlier, perhaps you haven't. But take a look today. She, her niece, her family and most of all her sister, need all our positive thoughts and prayers.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Friday, March 25, 2005
The other day we went for dinner to a fancy new restaurant. Seeing it pretty much crowded, we decided to give it a try. Only when we had taken our seats did we realise that most of the diners were foreigners, with an Indian face or three as part of the group.
In MNC-infested Gurgaon, this generally means ‘the introduction to Indian food outing.’ It usually has four bewildered looking white people (no blacks ever!) accompanied by two officious looking Indian chaps who loudly proclaim, ‘No yaar, they should try the Tandoori Naan (accompanied by a knowing nod from the whites), Methi Matar Malai and the Butter Chicken. The rest of the stuff here isn’t
that good.’
This makes me wonder whether all those bewildered looking whites really want to have Indian food. Would they have gladly traded the culinary delights of ‘Punjabi Rasoi or Tandoori Tadka’ for the salami sandwich at the office canteen instead? And, with such do-gooders, do the poor souls get to choose anything on their own
at all?
Anyway, the restaurant we went to also had a heavy and gilt-edged menu listing its delights and being looked into with great interest by the firangs. Given the descriptions, it took us a while to figure out it was Chicken Do Piaza it was talking about. It went somewhat like this: Succulent pieces of boneless chicken, marinated in saffron and yogurt and sautéed with whole spices and baby onions.
We also broke our heads over pickled baby mushrooms and peas sautéed in garlic and onions, served with cream. Turned out to be Mushroom Matar, in gravy suspiciously similar to the chicken’s.
After a not-so-hot meal and a completely unjustified bill, we walked out and wondered what got this lowest-of-dhabas-masquerading-as-posh-restaurant going. I decided it was probably the menu. Name anything in an exotic way and even your run of the mill ‘rajma chawal’ will sound exciting enough.
Cubed potatoes sautéed in cumin and coriander with a lime dressing, sounds so much better than plain ‘jeera aloo,’ n’est pas? Check out any French food menu. Nothing's never described in less than five lines. No wonder that the bread and snail cuisine is so hot around the world. Time we learnt.
In MNC-infested Gurgaon, this generally means ‘the introduction to Indian food outing.’ It usually has four bewildered looking white people (no blacks ever!) accompanied by two officious looking Indian chaps who loudly proclaim, ‘No yaar, they should try the Tandoori Naan (accompanied by a knowing nod from the whites), Methi Matar Malai and the Butter Chicken. The rest of the stuff here isn’t
that good.’
This makes me wonder whether all those bewildered looking whites really want to have Indian food. Would they have gladly traded the culinary delights of ‘Punjabi Rasoi or Tandoori Tadka’ for the salami sandwich at the office canteen instead? And, with such do-gooders, do the poor souls get to choose anything on their own
at all?
Anyway, the restaurant we went to also had a heavy and gilt-edged menu listing its delights and being looked into with great interest by the firangs. Given the descriptions, it took us a while to figure out it was Chicken Do Piaza it was talking about. It went somewhat like this: Succulent pieces of boneless chicken, marinated in saffron and yogurt and sautéed with whole spices and baby onions.
We also broke our heads over pickled baby mushrooms and peas sautéed in garlic and onions, served with cream. Turned out to be Mushroom Matar, in gravy suspiciously similar to the chicken’s.
After a not-so-hot meal and a completely unjustified bill, we walked out and wondered what got this lowest-of-dhabas-masquerading-as-posh-restaurant going. I decided it was probably the menu. Name anything in an exotic way and even your run of the mill ‘rajma chawal’ will sound exciting enough.
Cubed potatoes sautéed in cumin and coriander with a lime dressing, sounds so much better than plain ‘jeera aloo,’ n’est pas? Check out any French food menu. Nothing's never described in less than five lines. No wonder that the bread and snail cuisine is so hot around the world. Time we learnt.
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Was trying to remember how we dug out telephone numbers of government organizations and paranoid corporate houses, special reports on events that happened in 1957, backgrounders of people to interview in the pre-google days.
Sadly, I couldn’t. I’m that old.
The pre-google era, when one had to actually call Ask Me, get the BMC headquarter’s number and then beg them for the number of their Chembur ward seems a distant past. I have very hazy recollections, despite having worked in such circumstances for at least four whole years or maybe more.
The worse bit was finding out about people and their claim to fame before you went to interview them. Either you risked asking dumb questions that later made dumb copy or you had to request the PR (usually inefficient) for a backgrounder (usually insufficient) or make your ‘own enquiries.’ All you need to do now is type the name or subject in google and you are an instant authority, sometimes even on the person’s underwear preferences.
Weirdly though, I think I worked but better (and faster) then. Wonder why…
Sadly, I couldn’t. I’m that old.
The pre-google era, when one had to actually call Ask Me, get the BMC headquarter’s number and then beg them for the number of their Chembur ward seems a distant past. I have very hazy recollections, despite having worked in such circumstances for at least four whole years or maybe more.
The worse bit was finding out about people and their claim to fame before you went to interview them. Either you risked asking dumb questions that later made dumb copy or you had to request the PR (usually inefficient) for a backgrounder (usually insufficient) or make your ‘own enquiries.’ All you need to do now is type the name or subject in google and you are an instant authority, sometimes even on the person’s underwear preferences.
Weirdly though, I think I worked but better (and faster) then. Wonder why…
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Thank you people. :)
To tell you the truth, the real 'push' to chuck the job came with the imminent move to a new city — Bangalore. We'll be there sometime in May.
Had the 'move' not happened I'd be probably sitting on my resignation letter still, waiting for the 'right time.'
As they say, a change is always good. Looking forward to it.
To tell you the truth, the real 'push' to chuck the job came with the imminent move to a new city — Bangalore. We'll be there sometime in May.
Had the 'move' not happened I'd be probably sitting on my resignation letter still, waiting for the 'right time.'
As they say, a change is always good. Looking forward to it.
Friday, March 11, 2005
So long and thanks for all the shit.
Should’ve said that ideally in my resignation letter but am one of those strong, silent types. I stay silent no matter what ;)
Will be here for the required notice period but saying bye feels great. Although a little unnerving as have never quit without a job in hand earlier, unless I count that two-month break after I shifted to Delhi post marriage. And that wasn’t exactly unnerving. The dotcom my friend worked for had shown significant interest so had the secure feeling that if nothing worked out that would.
Have no idea what I am going to do next. And in the strangest of ways that just feels great :)
HAPPINESS!!!!!
Should’ve said that ideally in my resignation letter but am one of those strong, silent types. I stay silent no matter what ;)
Will be here for the required notice period but saying bye feels great. Although a little unnerving as have never quit without a job in hand earlier, unless I count that two-month break after I shifted to Delhi post marriage. And that wasn’t exactly unnerving. The dotcom my friend worked for had shown significant interest so had the secure feeling that if nothing worked out that would.
Have no idea what I am going to do next. And in the strangest of ways that just feels great :)
HAPPINESS!!!!!
Friday, March 04, 2005
It’s a very strange feeling. To move or not to move. To quit or to stay. It's stranger when you don't particularly like the place and its policies but when you seem to have grown roots, without any reason for you to do so.
I’ve wanted to freelance for months, because even if the money is slow to come by, it does give an amount of flexibility in the kind of work you want to do.
Years back, when our joyride in a small publication suddenly ended, thanks to a publisher with illusions of false grandeur, I’d freelanced happily for some months, made some money, lost some. The stories I ended up doing weren’t always exceptional, the projects I took up weren’t always that great, but it was my decision and my time and I had fun with it.
Wonder what’s stopping me from doing the same now?
I’ve wanted to freelance for months, because even if the money is slow to come by, it does give an amount of flexibility in the kind of work you want to do.
Years back, when our joyride in a small publication suddenly ended, thanks to a publisher with illusions of false grandeur, I’d freelanced happily for some months, made some money, lost some. The stories I ended up doing weren’t always exceptional, the projects I took up weren’t always that great, but it was my decision and my time and I had fun with it.
Wonder what’s stopping me from doing the same now?
Friday, February 25, 2005
Not Idle anymore
Indian Idol has divided our two member family. I wasn't into the contest much earlier and neither was P, except when we happened to catch it ocassionally. We only started noticing it towards the end, all thanks to Prajakta Shukre and her pretty looks. P, like Sanjay Bhansali and Anu Malik, found the little girl a complete 'star.' Ahem...
Poor Prajakta didn't make it (though I'm quite certain we'll see her in playback singing and music videos soon enough) but Abhijeet Sawant and Amit Sana did.
And our household had instant division. P (like most of my friends, grrrrr...) wants Abhijeet to win. He thinks the boy is the complete package. I want Amit Sana.
And here's the reason.
Abhijeet has his smile. And pleasing looks. And Shilpa Shetty's compliment. And the entire Mumbai city. And one lakh plus employees of BMC, where his father works. Amit has nothing but his voice. And throat infection. And the people of Bhilai. And I suspect teenage Bhilai girls might just go for his opponent's smile.
All these makes Amit Sana the underdog. Why should looks count in playback singing?
No doubts about who I'm smsing for!
Poor Prajakta didn't make it (though I'm quite certain we'll see her in playback singing and music videos soon enough) but Abhijeet Sawant and Amit Sana did.
And our household had instant division. P (like most of my friends, grrrrr...) wants Abhijeet to win. He thinks the boy is the complete package. I want Amit Sana.
And here's the reason.
Abhijeet has his smile. And pleasing looks. And Shilpa Shetty's compliment. And the entire Mumbai city. And one lakh plus employees of BMC, where his father works. Amit has nothing but his voice. And throat infection. And the people of Bhilai. And I suspect teenage Bhilai girls might just go for his opponent's smile.
All these makes Amit Sana the underdog. Why should looks count in playback singing?
No doubts about who I'm smsing for!
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