Why do they call it water cooler moment?

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

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:

1. Little boy Aditya Narayan has grown up, lost weight and turned horror film hero
   
2. Katrina's hand wave in Rajneeti is exactly like you know who (yes I didn't know even that)
   
3. Poor Arbaaz has finally got Malaika to do some naach gana with him in a film cheesily titled Prem Ka Game. Chee chee
   
4. 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
  

 

 

 

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

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.

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

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.

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!

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.

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.

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

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...

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

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

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

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...

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' :)

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

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.

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.

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!!!