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.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
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!
Friday, February 18, 2005
Thinking of:
watching Finding Neverland/Aviator/Raising Helen back to back
going berserk in a book fair
dashing off to Bombay for Mark Knopfler
getting a rich aunt
saying bye bye to the mag
shopping till my head hurts
reading more of Ruth Reichl
watching Love Actually on the DVD
cutting my hair
making chocolate strawberries and coconut paste sambhar
watching Finding Neverland/Aviator/Raising Helen back to back
going berserk in a book fair
dashing off to Bombay for Mark Knopfler
getting a rich aunt
saying bye bye to the mag
shopping till my head hurts
reading more of Ruth Reichl
watching Love Actually on the DVD
cutting my hair
making chocolate strawberries and coconut paste sambhar
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Valentine Boys
We spent Valentine’s Day peacefully. We don’t celebrate it, never have. The day doesn’t matter to us of course (we're too cool kya!) but we went out for dinner as I was too tired to cook and had gotten home late. We went to the food court where I turned up my nose at the sight of two scrawny youth in oiled hair walking up and down with red roses. Considering it was 9.30 pm and the roses looked pretty much wilted, it was obvious the girls around were smart enough and their efforts hadn’t paid off. I sniggered quite loudly when we passed the boys on our way out (half an hour later). My dear husband thought I was being unnecessarily mean. Apparently all boys do such soppy things (yikes) at some point or the other. I'd say it's meanos like us who show them the light.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Reading Vogue In a DTC Bus...
...is inviting unwanted attention, of course. However a 45-minute long traffic jam ridden ride in a somewhat soiled vehicle requires distraction, which is why I dug into my bag, discovered Vogue and proceeded to read about Donald Trump's third wife. I was immersed in the engrossing details of her shopping trip to Paris when some stray comments of the not-so-polite-Hindi kind made me look up. Two men standing next to me were having a good time. The back cover had a model sprawled out in a perfume ad. Fully clothed (by fashion mag standards) but with enough peeking out for the guys to lose their equilibrium. Being the easily-embarassed type, I primly rolled up the offending mag, remembered a friend's tryst with the Financial Times in Germany, though for entirely different reasons, stared out of the window at the endless traffic and tried to ignore the dust. The men didn't give up. They were now looking at my bag.
How I miss the ladies compartment of Bombay locals!
How I miss the ladies compartment of Bombay locals!
Friday, February 11, 2005
I've been thinking whether we really need movie reviews. Isn't the reviewer (and all of us are guilty of this at some time or the other) creating a bias in people's minds and in some cases, affecting the movie's chances at the box office?
We react to any creative effort, including cinema, in our unique, individual way. Which means it's quite impossible for everyone to arrive at the same conclusion about a film. I loved 'Black' and most people loved it as well but there are some for whom the movie did nothing.
I found 'Shabd' disappointing. Sid liked it. So did Anita. Most of us loved 'Bend It Like Beckham'. But there are people who quite hated it. Ditto for 'Hyderabad Blues' (Part one of course. The lesser said about part 2 the better. See there I go!).
When 'Page 3' released, the Indian Express reviewer trashed it. I'd already bought the tickets so we went ahead with the film and ended up liking it.
So do we need reviews at all? I asked a friend and she said, so that we know what to expect. Isn't a synopsis enough for that?
We react to any creative effort, including cinema, in our unique, individual way. Which means it's quite impossible for everyone to arrive at the same conclusion about a film. I loved 'Black' and most people loved it as well but there are some for whom the movie did nothing.
I found 'Shabd' disappointing. Sid liked it. So did Anita. Most of us loved 'Bend It Like Beckham'. But there are people who quite hated it. Ditto for 'Hyderabad Blues' (Part one of course. The lesser said about part 2 the better. See there I go!).
When 'Page 3' released, the Indian Express reviewer trashed it. I'd already bought the tickets so we went ahead with the film and ended up liking it.
So do we need reviews at all? I asked a friend and she said, so that we know what to expect. Isn't a synopsis enough for that?
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Still wondering about...
* JNU students: They've thrown out a Nestle coffee vending machine from the campus as it is elitist (nestle achine is definitely gourmet coffee), expensive (Rs 5 only. ouch. we'd rather go to barista) and corporate (which their phones and shoes and watches aren't of course). What'll they throw out next? Themselves?
Anyway, just in case you want to read JNU arguments against this criminal coffee, I came across studentsolidarity.blogspot.com. This time, I'd rather side with the horrid Mcmedia.
* The Battle For Pitampura: It was hysterical to see Delhi divided into two over this stinging issue. There were the Absolute Snobs who couldn't imagine going to Pitampura and driving with the metro over their heads. There were Pitampura Loyalists who looked down upon the snobs looking down upon them and said it was a great place. There were the Music Lovers who said they'd go anywhere for music, even if it's Pitampura. And now, after the concert, there are Pitampura Converts who it seems will only go there for concerts now and nowhere else. Between quotes from Rina Dhaka, Subir Malik, Palash Sen, Rohit Bal, DNA head, south delhi studs and Pitampura teenieboppers, it was hugely entertaining. Thank you guys!
Anyway, just in case you want to read JNU arguments against this criminal coffee, I came across studentsolidarity.blogspot.com. This time, I'd rather side with the horrid Mcmedia.
* The Battle For Pitampura: It was hysterical to see Delhi divided into two over this stinging issue. There were the Absolute Snobs who couldn't imagine going to Pitampura and driving with the metro over their heads. There were Pitampura Loyalists who looked down upon the snobs looking down upon them and said it was a great place. There were the Music Lovers who said they'd go anywhere for music, even if it's Pitampura. And now, after the concert, there are Pitampura Converts who it seems will only go there for concerts now and nowhere else. Between quotes from Rina Dhaka, Subir Malik, Palash Sen, Rohit Bal, DNA head, south delhi studs and Pitampura teenieboppers, it was hugely entertaining. Thank you guys!
1994 (As far as I remember): Bryan Adams is performing in Mumbai. Five girls an three boys at Fergusson College, Pune, are over the moon. A rock concert! In India! Wow! The last time Sting and Bruce Springsteen came to India we were kids. Now we can actually make it. So what that we have exams going on? By a stroke of luck the concert is on the last day of our exams. One of the boy's brother buys us tickets, some of us pay him. Some of us promise to next month after mummy daddy send the cheque. Boy's brother organises Maruti Van. We shall rush to Mumbai as soon as the paper's over. We buy t-shirts with Bryan Adams' mug on it and barely stay quiet in the examination hall. We are soooooo excited. A rock concert!!! We barely finish paper, get into the van and dash off. Van bangs into tractor type vehcle. Two of us are hurt. It's off to a dispensary in Satara instead.
1996: Led Zeppelin and Bryan Adams perform on stage for the Channel [v] Awards. Me (and countless other journos) get to meet the rockstars but hey, where's the excitement? Caught in the whirl of too much work and too many celebrities, I've become a snob journo. Only notice that Robert Plant looks HOT. Rockstar Hot! Bryan Adams? Yeah, there's a tiny man moving around somewhere...
Sometime around that: Michael Jackson makes it to Mumbai. Horrid RE of course send his favourite (who's friend of mine so won't bitch). Tickets almost equal my salary. I don't want to go anyway. Who wants to see a monkey on stage. That too blessed by Bal Thackeray.
2002/3: Pink Floyd plays in Bangalore. I'm all ready to go. Eventually can't because it's a new job for me and don't have leave! Brother makes it, comes back raving and says he's disappointed in me, someone who saved up pocket money and bought their albums.
2005: Sting performs in Pitampura. Don't go again. First coz nobody I know wants to go including the formerly bohemian husband who is now too busy making presentations. Even the brother is working. The rest want free tickets.
2005: Mark Knopfler is coming to India. Now this is someone I'd give arm, leg and other body parts to see. Only, he's performing in Bombay and Bangalore. Not Delhi. Will I make it to Bombay? Unlikely. We bought a house last year. We are doing it up now. We are as Washington Post says, cashtrated.
My rock star karma surely is bad.
PS: I know the post has no point. But bad karma and old age lethargy needs to be documented.
1996: Led Zeppelin and Bryan Adams perform on stage for the Channel [v] Awards. Me (and countless other journos) get to meet the rockstars but hey, where's the excitement? Caught in the whirl of too much work and too many celebrities, I've become a snob journo. Only notice that Robert Plant looks HOT. Rockstar Hot! Bryan Adams? Yeah, there's a tiny man moving around somewhere...
Sometime around that: Michael Jackson makes it to Mumbai. Horrid RE of course send his favourite (who's friend of mine so won't bitch). Tickets almost equal my salary. I don't want to go anyway. Who wants to see a monkey on stage. That too blessed by Bal Thackeray.
2002/3: Pink Floyd plays in Bangalore. I'm all ready to go. Eventually can't because it's a new job for me and don't have leave! Brother makes it, comes back raving and says he's disappointed in me, someone who saved up pocket money and bought their albums.
2005: Sting performs in Pitampura. Don't go again. First coz nobody I know wants to go including the formerly bohemian husband who is now too busy making presentations. Even the brother is working. The rest want free tickets.
2005: Mark Knopfler is coming to India. Now this is someone I'd give arm, leg and other body parts to see. Only, he's performing in Bombay and Bangalore. Not Delhi. Will I make it to Bombay? Unlikely. We bought a house last year. We are doing it up now. We are as Washington Post says, cashtrated.
My rock star karma surely is bad.
PS: I know the post has no point. But bad karma and old age lethargy needs to be documented.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Black
It isn't just the performances, the photography and the direction that deserves praise. It's the fact that a mainstream filmmaker has the guts to show the box office the finger and make a film that is far removed from conventional Bollywood standards. For those of us who've always watched and liked Hindi movies, even when it was uncool to do so, films like Black make you confident that the film industry is coming of age. At last!
Great film. Go watch if you haven't already. And not on DVD. This is for the big screen.
On the other hand Shabd was a disappointment. Great story but weak and overstylised direction. It could have been a fantastic study of a writer's complex, distraught mind, fanatic about proving his genius to the world. All it ends up being is a confused Hindi film with bad songs.
Great film. Go watch if you haven't already. And not on DVD. This is for the big screen.
On the other hand Shabd was a disappointment. Great story but weak and overstylised direction. It could have been a fantastic study of a writer's complex, distraught mind, fanatic about proving his genius to the world. All it ends up being is a confused Hindi film with bad songs.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Saturday!
After years of going to work on Sundays, holidays and other unmentionable days when friends are planning mini vacations or plotting picnics while I travel miles to sub copies on warts and pimples, I finally have the luxury of a two-day weekend. For the sake of all those unfortunate souls who do not have this privilege (Now, why do I smirk?), I have to say that it is an awesome, mind-blowing experience. To an extent.
Here’s how it’s been going so far:
I wake up on Saturday at the usual workday hour.
Realise with a bang in big, bold fonts that it’s a holiday. HOLIDAY!!!!!!
I promptly show the clock the finger, dive back inside the quilt and get back to sleep.
Pause
I try to get back to sleep. With one small hitch. Sleep has also gone back on me. I toss and turn, count sheep and try to think of nothing (which means I think of everything, including my neighbour’s acne problem). And I can't sleep.
I can’t wake up at seven either! Haven’t I endured endless Saturday mornings struggling to pull myself up from the bed while most of the world (the civilized working world at least) sleeps, especially the snoring bundle next to me? Haven’t I stifled four-lettered retorts when friends have called and announced in their just-out-of-bed voice: ‘Ohhhh myyyy Gawd...(Yawn)...You’re aaaattt work! Gosh...(Yawn)...ok dear...so I guess you're working...(yawn)...I
just woke up!’
Ugh!
So how can I wake up THAT early?
Just to punish me sleep has a way of staying away when I need it the most. Therefore, in a resigned state of mind, I get up (ignoring the snoring bundle), bring in the newspapers, make a cup of chai and put my feet up and sit.
That’s when it really hits! I DON'T HAVE TO GET READY IN HALF AN HOUR. NO WORK TODAY! YIPEEE!!!
As a former six-day-week slave, this mindblowing fact takes me the entire day to digest. During this time, the snoring bundle has woken up, had his chai, bathed, exercised, met friends, gone out for lunch, shopped for CDs and DVDs, watched a lot of television, driven around half the city and drunk himself silly.
He's always been a privileged five-day week type, they take such luxuries in their stride.
I, on the other hand, am still slouched and zombie like. There is a different one liner running in my mind: CAN'T BELIEVE TOMORROW IS A HOLIDAY TOO!!!!
Here’s how it’s been going so far:
I wake up on Saturday at the usual workday hour.
Realise with a bang in big, bold fonts that it’s a holiday. HOLIDAY!!!!!!
I promptly show the clock the finger, dive back inside the quilt and get back to sleep.
Pause
I try to get back to sleep. With one small hitch. Sleep has also gone back on me. I toss and turn, count sheep and try to think of nothing (which means I think of everything, including my neighbour’s acne problem). And I can't sleep.
I can’t wake up at seven either! Haven’t I endured endless Saturday mornings struggling to pull myself up from the bed while most of the world (the civilized working world at least) sleeps, especially the snoring bundle next to me? Haven’t I stifled four-lettered retorts when friends have called and announced in their just-out-of-bed voice: ‘Ohhhh myyyy Gawd...(Yawn)...You’re aaaattt work! Gosh...(Yawn)...ok dear...so I guess you're working...(yawn)...I
just woke up!’
Ugh!
So how can I wake up THAT early?
Just to punish me sleep has a way of staying away when I need it the most. Therefore, in a resigned state of mind, I get up (ignoring the snoring bundle), bring in the newspapers, make a cup of chai and put my feet up and sit.
That’s when it really hits! I DON'T HAVE TO GET READY IN HALF AN HOUR. NO WORK TODAY! YIPEEE!!!
As a former six-day-week slave, this mindblowing fact takes me the entire day to digest. During this time, the snoring bundle has woken up, had his chai, bathed, exercised, met friends, gone out for lunch, shopped for CDs and DVDs, watched a lot of television, driven around half the city and drunk himself silly.
He's always been a privileged five-day week type, they take such luxuries in their stride.
I, on the other hand, am still slouched and zombie like. There is a different one liner running in my mind: CAN'T BELIEVE TOMORROW IS A HOLIDAY TOO!!!!
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
There are reasons why I’ll never make too many friends in Delhi. For one I'll never figure out the ‘Haanji’ crowd. It's impossible to have a serious conversation with people who pick up the phone and go 'haanji?' Excuse me? What about 'Namaste,' 'Hello,' etc? 'Haanji' sounds like you are demanding to know why the caller had the audacity to call. Even if it was just to wish you Happy New Year (ending with ji). Whenever I call someone and get confronted with a 'haanji,' I find myself launching into a long-winded explanation on why I called and almost apologising. Really.
Then there are the ‘Pancake’ queens. Especially the crack of dawn variety. Ok honey. Nothing against looking well-groomed and pretty but do you have to wear eyeliner and gloss at seven thirty in the morning? And the reason you and I will never see I to eye is because I’ll never learn that it is bad manners to walk up to you and say 'my god you actually comb your hair this early!' when you have not only combed hair but also blow dried it, applied makeup and look ready to catwalk.
This is the other thing that instantly makes me an outsider: I’ve actually taken the Delhi metro! If you are a true blue Delhiite, you never step into a mode of transport that also carries the 'aam janta.' If it's a modern invention like the metro, you appreciate it and say how proud and how international and how like the metro in Bangkok, which naturally, you have travelled on extensively. Of course, it's not your fault that the metro’s not even in South Delhi. It’s in strange places called Shahdara and Kanhaiya Nagar. And sure, you know all about public transport — like what the inside of a DTC bus looks — but that’s only because you took the U special 15 years ago to college when dad refused to give you the car.
But what has me confused the most is the 'auto expression.' It’s a mixture of awe (?) and disbelief in the eyes of a delicately bred Delhi babe, after hearing that I have taken an auto to remote, rapist-infested areas like Mehrauli, Vasant Kunj, etc. That too in the middle of the night, i.e 8 pm. I love this one and revel in the heroine worship (Brave me! Ooh I took an auto!) but I suspect that’s not what it really means.
If you have reached here and aren't itching to break my neck, you are either not from Delhi or have nothing else to read or you're simply a saintly type of person.
Before you (the possible non-saintly Delhiite) curse me for being a determined Delhi hater (who me?), let me say this. There are loads of wonderful refreshing girls, totally comfortable with how they look. PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY AVOID WARPAINT IN THE MORNING. And of course there are people who take the bus or the metro to work, to meet friends, to the movies. You do meet people who don’t look at you like you are from a different planet if you mention the word public transport. It’s just sad that I don’t meet too many of them.
Then there are the ‘Pancake’ queens. Especially the crack of dawn variety. Ok honey. Nothing against looking well-groomed and pretty but do you have to wear eyeliner and gloss at seven thirty in the morning? And the reason you and I will never see I to eye is because I’ll never learn that it is bad manners to walk up to you and say 'my god you actually comb your hair this early!' when you have not only combed hair but also blow dried it, applied makeup and look ready to catwalk.
This is the other thing that instantly makes me an outsider: I’ve actually taken the Delhi metro! If you are a true blue Delhiite, you never step into a mode of transport that also carries the 'aam janta.' If it's a modern invention like the metro, you appreciate it and say how proud and how international and how like the metro in Bangkok, which naturally, you have travelled on extensively. Of course, it's not your fault that the metro’s not even in South Delhi. It’s in strange places called Shahdara and Kanhaiya Nagar. And sure, you know all about public transport — like what the inside of a DTC bus looks — but that’s only because you took the U special 15 years ago to college when dad refused to give you the car.
But what has me confused the most is the 'auto expression.' It’s a mixture of awe (?) and disbelief in the eyes of a delicately bred Delhi babe, after hearing that I have taken an auto to remote, rapist-infested areas like Mehrauli, Vasant Kunj, etc. That too in the middle of the night, i.e 8 pm. I love this one and revel in the heroine worship (Brave me! Ooh I took an auto!) but I suspect that’s not what it really means.
If you have reached here and aren't itching to break my neck, you are either not from Delhi or have nothing else to read or you're simply a saintly type of person.
Before you (the possible non-saintly Delhiite) curse me for being a determined Delhi hater (who me?), let me say this. There are loads of wonderful refreshing girls, totally comfortable with how they look. PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY AVOID WARPAINT IN THE MORNING. And of course there are people who take the bus or the metro to work, to meet friends, to the movies. You do meet people who don’t look at you like you are from a different planet if you mention the word public transport. It’s just sad that I don’t meet too many of them.
Monday, January 10, 2005
“It’s the Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston syndrome we are going through,” my friend laughed into the phone. “He wants babies, I don’t. I almost feel like a celeb!”
I laughed along with her, at that moment it seemed the only way to handle the situation.
It goes deeper than that. My friend wants to go for further studies. Doesn’t mind having children at some point in life if she feels like but not now. Not when she is at what she feels is the most exciting time in her career. An opportunity to let go of a well paying job and spend a year or two studying overseas.
The world thinks differently. It includes her husband, also a friend of mine. They’ve been each other’s rock-like support and guide through the best and worst times of their personal and professional lives. They’ve stayed together despite seemingly obvious differences in background and mindset. Until now. To my friend’s husband, her reluctance to have a child now equals a lack of interest on her part in their relationship, in the future.
She thinks he’s being drastic. Honestly, I think so too, which is why I’m writing this. And what hurts her the most is his refusal to accept that she might genuinely want to have a child although not now, that she might really want the relationship to continue but not because of a compromise.
We talk pretty often, even though we don’t end up meeting much. I don’t know what to say, I listen, because that’s what she wants me to.
It also strikes me that this is not my only friend who’s going through a rough patch in her relationship. I look at these relationships from an outsider’s point of view and to me it looks like a jigsaw puzzle gone wrong. Perhaps all it requires is some concentrated attention, some shifting here and there, before it all fits in. But life is more complicated than that I suppose.
I laughed along with her, at that moment it seemed the only way to handle the situation.
It goes deeper than that. My friend wants to go for further studies. Doesn’t mind having children at some point in life if she feels like but not now. Not when she is at what she feels is the most exciting time in her career. An opportunity to let go of a well paying job and spend a year or two studying overseas.
The world thinks differently. It includes her husband, also a friend of mine. They’ve been each other’s rock-like support and guide through the best and worst times of their personal and professional lives. They’ve stayed together despite seemingly obvious differences in background and mindset. Until now. To my friend’s husband, her reluctance to have a child now equals a lack of interest on her part in their relationship, in the future.
She thinks he’s being drastic. Honestly, I think so too, which is why I’m writing this. And what hurts her the most is his refusal to accept that she might genuinely want to have a child although not now, that she might really want the relationship to continue but not because of a compromise.
We talk pretty often, even though we don’t end up meeting much. I don’t know what to say, I listen, because that’s what she wants me to.
It also strikes me that this is not my only friend who’s going through a rough patch in her relationship. I look at these relationships from an outsider’s point of view and to me it looks like a jigsaw puzzle gone wrong. Perhaps all it requires is some concentrated attention, some shifting here and there, before it all fits in. But life is more complicated than that I suppose.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Why don't you get the floor polished?
Why don't you change the maid?
Why don't you have your hair coloured?
Why don't you visit us more often?
Why don't you start planning children?
Why don't you get a better job?
Why don't you drive?
Why don't you do something exciting with your life?
Why don't you learn to control your temper?
Why don't you tell me what's wrong?
Why don't you make more money?
Why don't you start saving?
Why don't you stop chewing your nails?
Why don't you learn how to tell people off?
Why don't you stop drinking?
Why don't you stop having junk food?
Why don't you stop thinking so much?
Why don't you learn to sell yourself?
Why don't you call me often?
WHY DON'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE?
Why don't you change the maid?
Why don't you have your hair coloured?
Why don't you visit us more often?
Why don't you start planning children?
Why don't you get a better job?
Why don't you drive?
Why don't you do something exciting with your life?
Why don't you learn to control your temper?
Why don't you tell me what's wrong?
Why don't you make more money?
Why don't you start saving?
Why don't you stop chewing your nails?
Why don't you learn how to tell people off?
Why don't you stop drinking?
Why don't you stop having junk food?
Why don't you stop thinking so much?
Why don't you learn to sell yourself?
Why don't you call me often?
WHY DON'T YOU LEAVE ME ALONE?
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
I’d forwarded the tsunamihelp website to some friends and acquaintances when one of them wrote back saying 'Have already donated 10k. But will forward this one.'
It irked me immensely. It always does, when people declare 'how much' they have done or contributed to something. It makes me feel that they are not doing this because they genuinely feel for the cause but because it is a way to make themselves feel good and make others think how noble/selfless/concerned they are.
Perhaps mine is a very cynical and myopic way of looking at it. And I could be far off the mark. But I can't help being a skeptic. Vivek Oberoi rushing off to Nagapattinam and adopting a village does impress me but I invariably wonder how much of it is work he is actually doing and how much is publicity? Yes, I know I shouldn't be doubting the guy. At least, he's there. There are so many of us just saying 'wish we could be there' and sitting stuck to our chairs instead. And stars would perhaps motivate others to join in or donate. Therefore it is a good thing that there are many coming forward both from hollywood and bollywood. But is it necessary to mention in the newspapers how much they've donated? Is the amount a reflection of their sincereity?
Perhaps I'm very conservative. I still believe that people who actually do something do not advertise it. I feel that if you can make a difference (by giving money/volunteering/whatever) make it in whatever way possible, big or small. Make it within your means and keep quiet. Unlike a lot of talk happening around. You frequently hear people saying 'I donated xx amount.' We don't need to know do we?
It irked me immensely. It always does, when people declare 'how much' they have done or contributed to something. It makes me feel that they are not doing this because they genuinely feel for the cause but because it is a way to make themselves feel good and make others think how noble/selfless/concerned they are.
Perhaps mine is a very cynical and myopic way of looking at it. And I could be far off the mark. But I can't help being a skeptic. Vivek Oberoi rushing off to Nagapattinam and adopting a village does impress me but I invariably wonder how much of it is work he is actually doing and how much is publicity? Yes, I know I shouldn't be doubting the guy. At least, he's there. There are so many of us just saying 'wish we could be there' and sitting stuck to our chairs instead. And stars would perhaps motivate others to join in or donate. Therefore it is a good thing that there are many coming forward both from hollywood and bollywood. But is it necessary to mention in the newspapers how much they've donated? Is the amount a reflection of their sincereity?
Perhaps I'm very conservative. I still believe that people who actually do something do not advertise it. I feel that if you can make a difference (by giving money/volunteering/whatever) make it in whatever way possible, big or small. Make it within your means and keep quiet. Unlike a lot of talk happening around. You frequently hear people saying 'I donated xx amount.' We don't need to know do we?
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