Mirroring my Thoughts...!

Valentine's Day Special: A true story.

2012-02-14T16:27:00.000+04:00

While most ofyou might kill to go back in time to your college days, I would rather die thango back to it. A bunch of people who were far from being anywhere near thewavelength as me were my batch mates. As a result I had no other deviation orentertainment I could turn to, just to place a blame for my declining marks, so I found studyingas a way to overcome adverse effects of this pathetic species on my otherwiseblooming youth.

So there wasthis person, let’s call him Ken. Although he was in a different department, hewas f~~amous~~ notorious in college for more reasons than one. He also hada very famous affair with one of the girls in the hostel. This girl, let’scall her Ms.Weirdo, was weird even before she fell in love with him.

Callingher weird would be an understatement, as ever since this guy had got into herveins, she’d been aloof from her own friends. Although she was in a differentfloor at hostel one could see her heartthrob’s name carved and written on herpillows, walls, ceiling fan and on every surface on which pen could make a markon. However, Ken made it a point that heridicules her when she was not around, so that the general public knows thathe wasn’t serious and the affair was just aprank. Even the studious and insignificant me knew this. However Ms.Weirdo wasin a different world altogether and was oblivious to everything around her. Noone would dare open their mouths about Ken in her presence.

One of thosedays Ken, who looked quite drunk on a study leave evening, even insulted me and myfriend by passing a derogatory remark as we visited the college canteen forsnacks. I never had any reason to hate him before, but after this incident,like every other female in the campus I hated him too. (Ms.Weirdo was notconsidered as a part of the female community).

Anyway, Igraduated from that college and started living a life. Ms.Weirdo was a juniorso she must have been there a few years more, I don’t know.

I was finally backhome for good, and CV-printing, job hunting, interviews, group discussions,aptitude tests and the like started. Six months went by, and I landed a job atmy own home town. The pay was small…but who cares. I was staying with myparents- so food and accommodation free. Whatever meager salary I got was usedto buy clothes, shoes and to recharge my prepaid mobile. The initial six monthsat my new firm was a training period, during which we had to do a project too.We burnt the midnight oil for getting this project done, and I stayed at aworking women’s hostel a couple miles from my office, with a friend for arounda month.

Now workingwomen’s hostel is the new definition for hell. But our super busy schedulesmade us stay most of the time at office itself. Arriving at midnight to the hosteland leaving early saved me the energy to kill cockroaches and rodents whichwere permanent unpaid tenants and added to the misery of us losers who have noother option but stay in this building. There were three girls in a dingy room whichcould hardly accommodate one. My friend, me, and a stranger. Lets call thisstranger Ms.Despo.

Ms. Despo was desperate for love. As soon asit is morning, all she can talk of is about her boyfriend. We figured that outanyway because this woman never slept and talked on her mobile all night in lowvoice under the blanket. In such a small and closed room, one could even hearthe footsteps of cockroaches, when this disgusting female would whisper sweetnothings on her mobile all night. Either she wanted us to vacate the room orshe thought that we were deaf.

One Friday, as Iwas getting ready to go home, Ms.Despo asked me:

“Anita, whichcollege did you go to?”

“Oh its XYZ.Why?”

“My boyfriendwent there too. He knows you”.

I noticed fromthe corner of my eye that she was blushing at the mention of the word ‘boyfriend’,but I was rather focused on wondering which guy it was.

“Whats his name?”

‘Ken Mathews”.

I was stunnedinitially but extremely amused within a few seconds.

“He wants totalk to you”

I took thatmobile, whose keypad was hotter than KFC chickens due to overuse and placed itgently near my ear and I said,

“Hello?”

“Anita, this isKen here. I am sorry, really very very sorry for whatever I said to you at college, please don’t tellanything about Ms.Weirdo to Ms.Despo. I am serious about Despo and “might”marry her also please”

He finished that in afraction of a breath. I tried to pinch myself to stop the roar of laughterbrewing within me. I am not sure what he meant by “might” and “also” in that sentence. I got goosebumps and it felt like a Bollywood climax whenthis once self assumed Don, Ken begged me to not spill the history of hiswayward life to his prospective bride.

I replied nonchalantly “ Okay..hope you’redoing good” and ended the conversation briskly.

Years later I foundKen Mathews on facebook. He’d actually got married to Ms.Despo and has put uptheir wedding photo as his display picture.

Its now..or NEVER.

2012-02-08T11:39:00.003+04:00

Long back therewas this incident when I had a lot of dresses in my wardrobe which were either wornout or unfit. I gave it to my mother who donated them to people who couldn’tafford them. Later when I came across a send off party photo from my mother’scollege I found a girl wearing that dress which I discarded. It was probablythe day everyone dressed their best and that was her best dress. My eyes welledup as I confronted the painful reality of the financially challenged and howdestiny doesn’t favor everyone.

My parents weregivers and not receivers, in all the two plus decades that I lived with them.Clothes, money, food, moral support, advice, you name it , they gave it.However what they received had always been criticisms and brickbats. But Ibelieve that blessings come from God and not from the thankless mortals weextended a helping hand to. And yes, over the years I have seen my parentsblessed by the Almighty abundantly by each passing day through all the pains and hurdles that befellthem.

It had methinking… which is right? Donating something which you don’t need, or somethingwhich you selflessly want another person to have? As per logical and practicalconclusions, no deed is selfless in this world, which may be true if weperceive it that way. There are scores of people who contribute to charitabletrusts and orphanages by being anonymous. And there are people who pose forphotographs and get a receipt from them as a part of their personal financemanagement and cheap publicity. However I cannot comment or start a debate onthis, because, frankly speaking, I do not know. But as per the scriptures, theone who has is expected to give the one who doesn't.

So when I washaving a late night chat with my mother, she casually mentioned about her maid,who was so poor that she and her daughters lived in a single room hut. Whenthey went to church on Sundays, dogs and cats would break into their home –which was now closed with plastic sheets as the rain washed away the mud walls-and eat the lunch they made for that day. I fought tears as I heard this. Oneof these daughters was getting married and this woman was trying to make somemoney for the wedding. Well, affording gold was out of question, but for goodclothing? Any girl, rich or poor would want to look good on her wedding day. Itis the single most important day of her life, whether she gets married in athatched chapel or at a Cathedral.

I made a decision.

I made somephone calls, and made arrangements with the help and support of my in-laws andparents....and I gave my wedding reception saree to her. This saree, which I worejust once, is not something I would discard. Even though the chances that Iwill wear it again in my life are very remote, I’d save it, as it holds anemotional value. As a part of this so-called “emotional value”, I would stackit up in a wardrobe and over the years it will be eaten by insects. But today,it could change a woman’s life.

And so it did.

Shopping fiasco !

2012-01-29T16:21:00.002+04:00

Shopping days are back as Mummy is around, and we took her to all malls we know pretending that we are helping her shop, but in reality she din't and we ended up swiping the credit card everywhere :(

Recently it was at Lakeland. There were these egg poachers, a holder to lift the poacher, another to separate egg from the holder, and another to actually pull out the egg, and then there is an egg separator which separates the yolk from the white, and a series of totally useless kitchen stuff. ( On a totally different note, I would be delighted to meet the woman who uses these on a daily basis ).

As we were browsing around, suddenly hubby came holdng an item which looked like a tiny remote.

Me: “Whats that?”

“I’m buying this. It is a key locator.”

“WHAT?”

“The car keys, you see. If we lose it, this remote will help us locate it”

“How?”

“This one, **shows me another tiny box** is the main thing. We should keep it always in the car and carry this remote with us all the time. That’s all !!”

Me: “What if you lose this remote?”

He: “Nono I wont lose the remote na?” **stressing the 'I' which also means, ' we all know who is the careless one' :-|.**

Me: “Well then just guard the car key like you will do the remote!”

**stares angrily and keeps it back**

I walk away. Oh my God. Is he serious or what. Egg poachers and the associated junk looks useful to me now.

Soon he was back again, with another item. It was an orange peeler. “ Did you see this? I am buying it. I have a hard time peeling oranges everyday”

Me: “I will peel them for you.”

“Nono you have baby to look after na…you wont have time”…and there it flies straight into the shopping cart.

I let out a huge sigh. My mother, for whom we actually came to this store, was taking a look at muffin trays and making mental notes of their sizes and reading catalogues. She had no plans to open her wallet unless absolutely necessary.

So when I was just beginning to retire from that store, there he appeared again, with something which looked like a torch. Before it flew into the shopping cart I interrupted…”Wait!! Now what is that ?”

“Its this awesome thing which removes the seeds from apples”

“I can do that with a knife!!”

He put that also in the cart and walked straight to the cash counter completely oblivious of my comment. I was sure these things were going to run up a huge bill. I could have bought a pair of jeans with that money.

I gasped and turned to look at the shelf I was leaning on, when I saw this lemon squeezer. I have one in my kitchen, but it is shaky due to daily use, discolored and old.

So I called him and said, “ Well then take this lemon squeezer too”.

He looked surprised and asked ‘Why?’

“Ours is worn out completely” I explained.

He: “C’mon, you can do that manually. You have to use your fingers in a rotating motion and then drain out the seeds! That’s how everyone makes lime juice! Do some work !”

:-|

Was awarded a new tag !

2012-01-21T14:25:00.003+04:00

My Mom is here. She brought me one of her special homemade chocolate cake. I don’t know what you’ll think of me when I say this, but I ate the entire cake on the same day and I’m not even sorry or guilty. (We have a family friend here, and my Mom had plans to distribute a few pieces to them as well, but I got violent when she revealed this evil plan to me). So my little one is enjoying a little more attention than what is actually required .Clearly, we are spoiling him.

So as I was browsing through my blog on the weekend (heights of luxury as my Mom is here to take care of the baby), I came across this comment which Reflections had posted on my last post and the award. Wow Reflections thinks I am versatile! Yay ! I’ve been tagged to write seven random things about myself and collect the award as well. As this award is already on my blog, I’m thanking Reflections below it, and continue with the tag.

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I am very infamous for misplacing things. Back home, if anything goes missing from its usual place, my parents tend to immediately call me (in a volume and tone which doesn’t sound so good) or search my room if I’m not home(the search usually ends successfully). The same continues after my marriage. However, if someone misplaces my stuff I get confused as logically, I can’t blame anyone for it. L

Right from my childhood I hated food. When I spent vacation at my grandma’s I kept everyone on their toes. I made them run after me with spoon and food for hours. This continued into my college days, when I was underweight and immunity took a toll on me. I caught all diseases which are usually attributed to malnutrition. Even now, (I am visibly NOT underweight) although I can generously treat myself with chocolate cake or grilled chicken, eating healthy is a very difficult task for me. I have alarmingly low sugar levels and Papa is very angry with me right now for that. I have a weird feeling that my son will follow suit.

I am into the fourth book of Sophie Kinsella’s shopaholic series and can identify totally with that character. Not like I buy Armani or Vera Wang gowns all the time, but I have this knack to make whatever clothes that catch my eye, feel like they are a total necessity. Last month I thought, that I should buy a black formal pants and my wardrobe would be perfect. But now I think I should have a few more tshirts and I just cant seem to get enough.

My husband is a total foodie, especially for beef and mutton, but I have an allergy to all red meat. Surprisingly we totally get along with fish and chicken and till date, never had differences of opinion on food matters.

Whenever I come across relatives who worry about their unmarried daughters and are secretly groom hunting ever since they completed high school, or those aunties who anticipate on when their newly married daughter will start a family, I let a silent sigh, mostly of relief and a feeling of liberation, as I am done with that horrifying phase.

If I had an option I would like to relive my school days once again. But I’d like to skip the exams and result part and then directly slip into the place I am now. The worst punishment that can ever be awarded to me is to make me relive my college days.

My favorite food is biscuits. I used to hog on cream biscuits all through my days at hostel. Later after graduation I was home with parents and started gaining weight due to all the normal food they forced into my food pipes and the additional packs of cream biscuits which I kept eating. So I switched from cream biscuit to normal biscuits.After that I followed a diet plan and said goodbye to biscuits altogether and whenever we are out buying grocery, I make my way to the biscuit section and stare at each of them, fighting the urge to put them all into my cart.

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Phew! Those are seven not-s0-interesting-or-useful-in-any-way facts about me. I am not sure I’ll find fifteen people to tag, but I am going on to tag a few of them.

What you need to do:

 Add the Versatile Blogger Award picture to your Blog Post
 Thank the Blogger who nominated you
 Share 7 Random things about yourself
 Nominate 15 fellow Bloggers
 Inform the Bloggers of their nomination

Good Luck !!

New Year deeds.

2012-01-14T10:50:00.001+04:00

Two weeks already into the new year and I haven’t posted anything on my blog- which essentially means that I’ve been busy. I had to fire my maid cum babysitter for reasons that her monetary demands started increasing by the day. Then started a series of maid hunting and background checking which took a lot of my time and patience. Like one of my friends said, it’s more difficult than finding a life partner.

December is the most beautiful month of the year, accounting to the celebrations and food, but it is also the month in which time flies at the blink of an eye. May be no one realized this yet, but it is true. You buy a Christmas tree, decorate with stuff even costlier than the tree, put up serial lights – thanks to very informative electronics classes back in college, and there , Christmas mass it is, and before you know it, its new year’s eve. After that, the tree looks outdated and it literally calls out to be dismantled. There, it’s all over and before you know it, you are there in front of the mirror, sluggishly wearing that identity card on top of a dress which you can’t decide is formal or casual.

By the way during one of our cake distribution visits at a friend’s house we saw an exquisitely decorated white Christmas tree which my son set his eyes on. After coming back home he wouldn’t even look at my humble tree like it was anything special, and chances are that he might have even thought that it came with the house or was an extension of the living room furniture. Sigh for all the effort I put in to hang those little shiny things. But one should always look ahead. Two decades from now if he asks, ‘Mama how did I celebrate my first Christmas?’, I will tell him how he let me down by not being excited about the Christmas tree I set up just for him and add on a few crocodile tears. Yes in fact I am very optimistic when I say he will ask me that. No way, I know : D On a realistic note I will mostly end up pulling him by the collar and say…You have no idea how much effort and ideas I put into this tree to celebrate your first Christmas and then he will probably give me those ‘Are you leaving my collar now, or…’ look and I have to look for ways to escape.

I just realized that I have nothing worthwhile to write here. Anyway last day I got a call from the maid I fired few days back, asking me how my son was doing. I suddenly felt few pangs of regret, but I tactfully tried to hide it with words and expressions. I also told her that my Mom would fly down to Muscat soon. I also invited her over to meet my Mom so she can spend some time with my son too. (Even though I fired her I am thankful to her from my heart for taking good care of my son). She was excited and happy to hear that and gracefully accepted my invitation. Everyone is jealous for money, and so was she. So are we! Don’t we all shamelessly bargain with the HR once the interview is cleared? Yes we do. I thought, God could have created me like her, and made me clean vessels too. Instead He gave me education and a good job. So there…we are not expected to judge anyone who works for us. She might have called to know whether we hired someone else…or may be for some other reason I can’t think of…but when I invited her to my home to meet my mother I can say from her voice that she was pleased.

And yeah, I might have started the New Year on a bad note, but I managed to undo the damage too.

RED Christmas !

2011-12-24T10:00:00.001+04:00

Its that time of the year again. Jingle Bells ! I remember writing a very home-sicky post last year as I couldn't be home for Christmas. Its not like I am not home sick this time, but its Aaron's first Christmas and we are celebrating it in every possible way. I have put up a Christmas tree, just with red and silver, and he loves it ! So I am posting a picture of my Christmas tree, which gleams in the corner of my living room, with small round white lights which shines subtly in the darkness of the night.

Merry Christmas to everyone here at blogger, the ones who read me and supported me :) I am really thankful ! Another year of blogging has passed by, and this could probably be my last post of 2011. So here is wishing all a happy, peaceful and blessed 2012 and may the movie 2012 NOT come true :D

Luck By Chance !

2011-12-17T11:09:00.001+04:00

There always comes a hurdle or two when I try to send gifts for my sister.

My sister who is very lovable, genuine and witty, is also notorious among us at home for being slightly pessimistic and calling herself unlucky for even trivial coincidences.

Last I remember, it was this cute little woolen jacket which I found at a store. I bought one for myself, as I was unsure whether my sister would want a similar one or not. So I displayed it to her on webcam, she loved it, and off I went again to the same store to pick up another one for her. The store had like tens of it in different colors, and I picked up the black one which she wanted, and waited at the cash counter in a queue which seemed to move at a snail’s pace. Finally after around forty odd minutes, when my turn came, the cashier guy nonchalantly threw the jacket into the basket nearby and heartlessly mumbled that it does not have a price tag, and printed out a bill for the other items I bought. My rage took the better of me and I argued with him, only to invite cold stares from people waiting behind me in the same queue and some were close to pointing a knife to my head. I left the store, weeping all the way home. I decided to give my jacket to her which she pleasantly denied.

It’s Christmas, and this time I was way too determined for any ill fate or anything to come my way. I bought a dress for her. The next day, my colleague was going to India, to the same place as my sister and I decided to send the dress through him. So everything was well planned and I ensured that nothing could go wrong this time. The previous night (yes I am Miss. Procrastinator who waits until the eleventh hour to buy the gift) I went to a neighborhood mall, and chose a dress which I thought she would love. We hurried home and I started packing when I noticed that there were no buttons on it. It was a damaged dress.

I was supposed to send it the next day. I couldn’t believe that all situations were only helping to prove my sister right. I hated myself for not checking the dress as I chose it, but made a mental note to get it exchanged the next day and give that lady at the store an earful.

Morning came, my reminder ticked off, telling me that its vaccination day for my son. Now this is a dreaded day not just for him, but for us as well. We left to the clinic in the morning, gave him the vaccine shot and returned home with the little one crying in pain. Now consoling a crying baby is no cakewalk. I carried him around, sang to him, showed him some moving objects, and finally lulled him to sleep. I gave instructions to my maid and fled back to office when my lead told me about a technical document pending from my end which was almost like a showstopper for a process. I sat down at my desk, trying to focus, but my head was spinning. I was mentally at my home, where the baby slept and I couldn’t imagine the hell that will break loose if he wakes up to his pain. At a corner, I am unable to accept that this time around too, a gift exchange with my sister will be a total failure. (Not that I cant send by courier or cargo, but it would take longer and I wanted this to be reach her sooner for various reasons). But I typed away, completed, and sent the document across to the people concerned.

Me and hubby work in the same office, so I decided to put the dress issue across to him, but when I walked out of my cabin, I caught a glance of him striding across the corridor with a few people carrying laptops, as if they were on their way to stop a major bomb blast. So I called a friend who offered to drive me to the mall and help me get it exchanged. She came at around 3:30 pm, and I waited for her at my home. She called me as she reached my building and as soon as I closed my apartment door, a shrill cry from the cradle startled me. My little one was in total pain. I apologized to my friend and hurried back home, fed and consoled the him, rocked him patiently and soon he fell back into a little slumber, and I put him down in his cradle. I made my maid watch over him. My friend waited, and we left soon after. It was almost 4:00 pm, and I was rushing through the store when my friend said, that the guy who was supposed to carry my parcel already left for home. . I felt shattered. She continued to say that he leaves for the airport only at 6:00 pm.

When I reached back to office, I found a guy there who offered to give the parcel to the colleague who was travelling that day. And my mission was finally accomplished.

The day after, I got a call from my sister and as I answered it, there were no words, just flying kisses! It was totally worth the adventurous day I had, the day before.

See? I told you no? Do you think she is “just plain unlucky” as she always says ?

An underrated picture.

2011-12-12T16:26:00.000+04:00

This is a snap taken by my hubby on one of his "bachelor trips" to Salalah, a place near Muscat. It was the time he assumed bachelor status, as I had gone to India with my new born for the customary functions with subsequent pampering and eating spree( also known as maternity leave ) in which he had absolutely no role, so he stayed back and enjoyed his short term freedom to the maximum !

He has a passion - or should I say a growing passion for photography and had spent an astronomic amount for a camera, which supersedes my six month old in size and weight. Anyway, I should mention that he is not much into portraits yet, but some landscapes and nature photography which he had done is brilliant and I fished some of them out of the 'My Pictures' folder of his laptop.I think these are stuff which are to be shared, and not be archived under folders.

This picture, of two camels, one behind another is a momentary capture, and I guess that is the essence of photography . A minute later one wouldn't have got the same picture. So I am posting it over here as I am very proud of him for this picture. I also think it is the most underrated one, from his collection.

Motherhood Makeover !

2011-12-04T12:03:00.002+04:00

When I was single, I thought my life couldn’t be better. And then, I got married. Then I thought oh it’s not that bad…its good atleast until a kid comes into picture. And then the kid came. And I am still the same with a few teeny tiny details changed.

I hear myself telling the beautician that I’m unable to book a prior appointment, and my arrival depends on the mood of the baby and availability of my husband.

I find myself in a rocking motion even when I am not holding the baby.

Soaps and shampoos do not form lather on my hair or skin as they are washed off before that. I wonder what I did during my forty minute bath before. And what a lather looks like.

Hormonal imbalances took half of my hair, and the rest were uprooted by my baby.

At malls I make mental guesses of the age in months of any babies I see around and compare them with my own.

I browse through babycenter as much as facebook and twitter.

My mobile reminders consist of vaccination dates.

I've given strict instructions to everyone in the house to talk in hushed tones when the baby is asleep.

That guy who honks in front of our house exactly when the baby is sleeping is going to hell .

My maid is trained to treat vessels like flowers so that no noise comes out of the kitchen.

Packets with plastic covers which need to be opened while the baby is asleep either has to wait or will be opened outside the apartment.

If the shoe polish is not found around in the last minute, baby wipes will be used.

If I meet anyone who has a baby the first thing I check with them would be about the pediatrician they consult, or about the reputation of ours.

I started folding our clothes to form small squared lumps so that they fit in the corner allotted to me and hubby. The rest of the wardrobe belongs to the baby.

I have stopped wearing watch, bangles or bracelets for the fear of hurting my baby as I hold him.

I have also stopped wearing long earrings as when I wear them my baby thinks they are hoops to which he can hang on.

I sleep at the edge of the bed. In fact I am almost hanging from the edge of my bed.

I make international calls to my friends I've known since primary school and end up discussing about feeding bottles and baby utensils.

I call my parents only to narrate what my baby did that day, as no one wants to know about me.

In photographs people seem to see only the baby. To my parents I am invisible ever since he was born.

I cant remember what the hell I used to talk with my close friends before.

I have a baby poop stain in all my tops and tees in the washing machine.

I sigh aloud seeing prices of bibs.

I shop more at mothercare than lifestyle.

There isn’t any furniture in the house on which there is no hand sanitizer.

If someone advices me about infant food or medicine, I reply quoting from WHO guidelines to infant feeding and supplements.

Oh now coming to think of it, these are not teeny tiny details. It’s a huge makeover ! I deserve a relaxing holiday. I need to get a break. I should remember to discuss a vacation with my friends next time I call them. Wait. Don’t I have to check with them about baby walker? Wonder whether they bought it. Or is it time to get my baby one. Where is the phone. I will ask her right away. Ohh what was the other thing I wanted to discuss?

The Super Drama Family !

2011-11-20T17:24:00.003+04:00

My parents were the top favorites of the strictest nuns and teachers at my school.

Some teachers acted like their main concern was to see whether I wore the uniform tie around my neck or not. I hated the tie . Just like I hate seat belts. So, my tie rested peacefully cuddled within the comfort of my skirt pocket. Unable to stand it any longer, one day I went home with a note in my school diary saying,

‘Dear parents,

Your ward, Anita Jeyan, does not comply with the rules and discipline of the school. As you can find in Page 9 , Column I, paragraph 3, point two of the school diary, all students are expected to wear the uniform tie while they are within the school premises . However your ward has repeatedly violated the rules despite warnings. I request you to either sign this note or come to the school to have a word with her class teacher’.

Signing the diary hardly took five seconds. But Noo…Papa took the longest route – he came to school promptly the very next day. He doesn’t believe in signing diaries or letting me go. He had to ride the ancient, creaky scooter all the way to the school, drag me along, almost pin me on the wall, gang around me with the teachers and throw dart arrows at me. Then he rode atleast 30km to his office in the hot morning sun. And when he arrived, they came running to him with complaints ranging from socks not pulled up – not wearing the right pair – wore nail polish – turned around and talked to a friend during the national anthem type of silly, unreasonable complaints with an expression as grave as if I took drugs or something. And I stand there, inspecting my nails, or the lizard on the ceiling, with a sheepish expression. Mostly I’d be tediously gulping down laughter wondering how jobless must be these people to be discussing intently about my socks on the prime working hours of a productive day. The note in the diary was not worth it you see. Papa could’ve just signed the page and saved the day.

That’s not all, buddies. There was an open house day at school, which was the most dreaded, and the most awaited day for me and my parents respectively. It was the day the parents were allowed to see the term exam answer sheets. My parents came equipped with all the question papers, pinned and sorted by date and sat down with the corresponding answer sheets in classroom. What followed was at least an hour of brickbats and I skillfully wore three dresses to shield my thighs from the occasional pinching that most pages of my answer sheet triggered. Most parents of all my friends were more or less the same – they were on the teacher’s side – but very few pinched their wards on the venue of open house - for them the pinching waited until they got home.

But there was this girl, Ms.K, whose parents came to school to sing praises about her- Who’d yell at the teachers for reducing her marks for spelling mistakes - Who wouldn’t let her travel in school buses or vans - Who waited outside the school chanting prayers as she wrote exams.

Our school had this policy that the students were allowed to wear color dress on one day of every academic year, and that was for Christmas party. On that day, we ate, drank (frooti of course) , danced, sang, commented on each others dresses, talked, screamed and did everything which we were usually yelled at for doing inside the classroom. Then we had make-believe fashion shows, mostly comical, and based on popular interest we chose a class beauty. Every year. So when I was in my seventh grade, one of my friends was chosen as the class beauty, and we all lauded and celebrated that by making a lot of noise. However, K was of the impression that she would be the class beauty that year and started crying while the other girl was chosen. Noone could console K. She cried so much that her eyes became red, cheeks swollen, much to the amusement of my friends and myself. Oh how she took this class beauty thing seriously! We slowly came out of the classroom and laughed our lungs out, went inside as if nothing happened and enjoyed every moment she cried. Sorry if I sound like a sadist but this girl was unbelievably silly.

Soon after, my friends and I walked to the shop just outside the school with permission and fund from the teacher to buy sip-up for the whole class where we met K’s parents eagerly waiting for her. I really wonder what their source of income was. May be someone paid them for waiting there all day. Seeing us, her mother asked, ‘How is the party…whats K doing?’ Then we all replied in unison that K cried because she wasn’t crowned the class beauty and few of us smirked sarcastically. Her mother looked like she was going to pass out. Then we went our way back to school.

As soon as the bell rang, K snatched her pink bag, which by the way no one is allowed to touch or even look, and ran outside after banging the classroom door in total disgust. Few minutes later, regaining our composure after laughing our heads off, my friend and me walked to the school gate where K waited with the pink bag, her parents by her side. K looked like she was using her pink bag as a weapon for a war against the bulls that were running at her. Her mother rolled eyes at us. We almost walked past them, when K said ‘ Wait’ , in a filmy bass and tone. The drama family looked at us fuming with anger. And her father spoke. “ Who told you girls that K cried ? “ We looked at each other and at K, who was now all composed and confident. We mumbled..’Err…uncle… actually’… and he roared ‘Don’t you dare talk nonsense about K !’ We mumble again…’But….the….’ But K and the drama King and Queen already strode off into their luxurious Maruti 800 car and vroomed past us leaving a cloud of smoke and confusion.

We weren’t able to speak for the next few seconds. We then looked at each other in sheer disbelief and then burst into peals of laughter.

This incident, which then did rounds at school in various versions created a brilliant sucker image for K , which she rightly deserved.

Her self-assumed super-model display picture on gtalk makes my day :D

Dubai Chronicles.

2011-11-13T15:22:00.002+04:00

I’m back to my space after a five day trip to Dubai. Of course after much convincing and making a zillion promises to parents.

Our five month old kiddo was not interested in outdoor trips, which we learnt the hard way. So all other outdoor ideas were cancelled and we stuck on to what I like the most. The malls.

The magnificent malls of Dubai which makes one go wide mouthed. The malls which would make you run to edit your location preference in the resume at naukri. The malls which are huge and run in kilometers but never makes you tired. The malls which are the houses of worship for every shopaholic. The malls which raises the spirits of every child. The malls which are the nightmares of every husband.

About Dubai – It’s the land of the decent Malayali. The majority of arrogant, perverse, excessive spitters of Kerala are all gentlemen in Dubai. They undergo a makeover in the three hour flight, I guess. But at malls and other tourist attractions they sometimes go overboard so much that the actual Malayali pops out of the thin layers of fake decorum. Some of them got fashionable overnight, ripped off their shiny, sequence stuck salwars, crawled into tee shirt and jeans and walked straight into the malls. However they forgot to undo the oil plait, the dot on the forehead and jewellery. Now that’s why Dubai calls them - Typical Mallus ! It is such a pleasure to watch them search for dustbins to dispose the empty package of cheese chips, because back in Kerala, it usually lands on the road, or floats in the air only to land on your face, that is, if you are very lucky.

Anyway, there was this one incident which came as a huge surprise to us. As we walked on, our kiddo showed signs of a diaper change and we stopped for one. I walked into the baby room, when hubby temporarily sat on a wooden bench where few others were also resting their butts. As I came out, I saw a middle aged couple sitting next to where our bags were, with a baby that looked like a doll. Size wise. Not exaggerating here, but considering the texture of the skin of this baby, it could have been hardly five to ten days old. And it was not more than 1 kg heavy. Looked more like a premature baby. I’m sorry I had addressed the baby as ‘it’, but its hard to say ‘he’ or ‘she’ considering the size. The baby was all red and the usual Dubai trend of not staring or poking into others business stopped to take a look and pity this one. The baby was fast asleep (well what else can it do at a mall) and the parents trying their best to avoid the ‘why the bloody hell cant you stay at home’ looks that came daggering into their fake conversation like arrows.

Its their baby, their business. Who am I to discuss about it, right ? But I still cant stop wondering, why did they bring a baby as tiny as that, whose immunity wouldn’t have even formed, into a mall which in a baby world would rather be a pool of viruses ? Why, oh, why ? To check out fall/winter collection at mothercare?

People are different, so are cultures and customs. I am young, haven’t seen the world and am barely the one to comment, but I seriously doubt whether there will be any community in the world which will support them.

Baby, I feel so sorry for your ridiculously ignorant parents, and I hope you don’t catch any germs from here. Stay safe. Take care.

Mobile Appointments.

2011-11-01T08:42:00.002+04:00

My first mobile phone was a Nokia 1100. It had a white moonlight display and was gifted by Papa in my final semester of engineering, as he was overwhelmed by my marks in the seventh semester. Haha I wish ! The truth is, there were only two theory papers and a project in the final semester. The project demanded frequent shuttling between hostel, printing press and computer center, and the gadget helped him trace me.

After six tiresome and frustrating months of job hunting after graduation, I landed at a software firm as a trainee and started earning on my own. My first investment was a mobile phone (which is hardly an investment ) worth twice my trainee pay. I spent my entire salary of that month and a monetary donation from Mummy to buy it and flaunted it around for almost three years. That’s when I got married and ever since I’d been using my husband's discarded phones.

Okay I am not trying to be the super modest wife here because the very infamous nagging also happened in parallel. Whenever I shop for clothes or shoes, my excuse would be…’See this? I don’t even have a mobile..This is your old one. Poor me .’ and it always worked. Last month he bought me a new mobile, the most happening Android. ( Ya I know what an Android is, he explained it to me.)

Ever since, our appointments and reminders happen as follows.

Our son has to be taken to the Clinic for his third dose of vaccination on December 7^th. I create a reminder in my calendar and add hubby’s name as the participant. As soon as I create, it sends an email to my hubby with the attached calendar , which looks somewhat like this:

Event: Aaron vaccination.

Date: 7^th December 2011.

Location: Muscat Clinic

Participants: Anita Jeyan

Going? Options: Yes No May Be

Then he clicks ‘Yes’.

Immediately this is added to his calendar as well, and I get an email saying ‘Accepted’.

Aren’t we the super hifi Gizmo freak couple or what ? So the calendar became our Godfather reminding us for Sunday Mass, Grocery purchase, Car servicing, ATM, etc.

Later one day I reported a dearth of clothes in my wardrobe and wanted to go shopping.

As usual I created the event on my calendar.

Event: Shopping.

Date: 3rd November 2011.

Location: City Center.

Participants: Anita Jeyan

An email pops up in his inbox.

He notes the undesirable event.

The mail continues.

Going? Options: Yes No May Be

May Be.

My email reads: ‘Tentatively Accepted”. L

The Banana Sequel.

2011-10-19T13:55:00.001+04:00

Its 4:00 pm, and here I am, at office, drinking milk. Not the warm milk from the vending machine (which does not exist), but the milk I brought from home in a vacuum flask. Yes people, I am a child in an adult’s body. If my Papa sees me drinking milk at office, he will jump with joy. Anyone else seeing this might think that I am retarded. Well, I don’t care as long as there is a calcium blast happening in my stomach.

My life was very eventful during my high school days. I’d get up at 5 am, get ready and travel many miles to attend the tuition class, then go to school, after which I’d race to my entrance coaching center ( which proved to be unfruitful when the results came) , and would reach home by 9 pm. Pretty hectic.

So my parents derived a round the clock, all-round nutrition plan for me which goes something like this. A full mug of Horlicks at 5 a.m…. in which the horlicks would be just a negligible percentage and rest would be whole milk. Anyway the color made me believe that it was hot chocolate or something and we had a win-win situation there. My breakfast was carefully packed in aluminum foil, which was usually toast and omlette. How many eggs went into the making of the omlette is not known till date, but a diet conscious me was made to believe that it was just one egg and nothing more. ( After marriage when I stepped into the kitchen and started making omlettes myself, I realized that one egg cant make an omlette as big as the one I used to have. Later,I forgave them for that ). Then came lunch, which was usually a combination of rice, vegetables and fish.

However, the evening snack was my personal choice. Before going to entrance coaching I was expected to eat a banana. But I ate hot chicken puffs. Papa said it was junk food, and that bananas were healthy and some nutrition facts about bananas and blah blah….

But bananas? In front of people ?

So years and years of chicken puffs, hot dogs, burgers and pizzas later, here I am, at my desk, drinking milk and wondering which fruit to crush for my baby.

How about bananas ?

Fraud Fraaands !

2011-10-15T12:58:00.001+04:00

I grew up watching my parents help a lot of people who were either in need or in trouble. Back in the 90’s, when we bought a second hand car, whenever we went to the city they slowed down at the bus stop to check for familiar faces. And if there were any, my parents would drop them first. However I used to get pissed at that, as I’d have to share the seat with some random aunty who would eventually ask me my grade and how I was doing at school. That’s the last topic I want to discuss about, you see.

My sister and brother in law are sponsors for the education expenses of a child at an orphanage and are doing their bit. My mother, ever since she started earning, saved a portion of her income for the poor. I am not proud to say that I’m not doing any of these, but I never turned down any genuine opportunity that came my way.

Recently I got an email from an acquaintance. Not a school friend, or a college mate or an ex colleague. Just a random face I met once or twice in my journey. In the email, she said: Hey Anita, hope you’re doing good. How is your family? I need a small help from you. I want to do a course in a XXX university here which would cost me 15000 euros. I can’t ask my father as he is in a financial crunch from a recent huge expense. My husband doesn’t want me to do this course. Can you please send some money to my account? I will return it once I get a job. Thanks, Ms. ABCD.

Now my reaction to this is WHAT THE HELL !? or even worse.

The mail talks volumes about the immaturity of the person and her perception of others that they are fools. Her husband doesn’t want her to do this course. So she is going around begging and how the hell is she going to collect money as much as that? And she says she will return the money if at all she gets a job ! What if she doesn’t and decides to stay at home? Would that mean that as per the deal the money doesn’t have to be returned? When the husband is around, and the wife collects fund from her friends for her expenses what does that say about the husband? Anyway, I replied to the email in the most decent way possible, that I had a baby now and we are currently unable to meet our own expenses and closed the chapter.

A month later, Ms.ABCD posted on facebook: “ Browsing through my new iphone”.

The same month a bunch of pics were posted in facebook. The album was named ‘ Weekend at the London tower’. Ms. ABCD and her husband, dressed luxuriously looked all classy in the pics.

Do you think this person actually needed the money?

P.S: This was one of the very few instances in all my life that I felt proud of myself. If I had sent the money however small it may be, the above updates on facebook would have made me suicidal.

Random family amusements ..:)

2011-10-04T16:04:00.001+04:00

The dentist finally gave me the verdict. Root Canal it is. I hurried home and the first thing I did, was to call my sister, reason being, if something is painful she plainly says it. For her, sympathy and consolation comes later. It was helpful to me many times before, as I could mentally prepare to face such situations. (The other instances I asked her this, was about threading eyebrows and recently about delivery - and for the latter any mental preparation doesn’t help)

Me: Does it pain?

She: No, not at all…They give you an anesthesia before doing it. You wont even know it.

Me: Really ? You sure?

She: And yes, I had a small jaw ache initially, but that’s nothing to do with root canal…its because I had to keep my mouth opened for a long time.

Me: Ohh !

She: But for you, that shouldn’t be a problem. :|

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

Now that our baby is here and we do most of the talking to him (which I think is better at this stage as he isn’t old enough to respond) , the only time we get to talk to each other is during the long walk from the parking lot to the grocery shop.

Me: You know, Mummy said I have lots of patience when I give oil massage and bathe Aaron…my sister also said the same. Why don’t you ever appreciate anything about me..?

Few seconds later. (Ya that’s all he takes to find a convincing answer to death questions)

He: “There are too many good things about you that I don’t know where to start from”.\

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

When Aaron was a couple days old, and we were still at the hospital, he started crying at night and my Mom picked him up. I’d been flamboyantly living like a bachelorette post marriage and now post delivery, and so wasn’t used to baby cries or waking up in the middle of the night. I slowly opened my eyes and saw my Mom pacifying the new born and he soon drifted off to sleep in her arms. I dint get up from my bed, instead peeped into his cradle through the two round holes of the arm rest of the hospital bed.

As my Mom turned, with an expression which clearly said ‘will she ever learn!’ , all she saw were my eyes, through those holes. As she walked back to the bystander bed, she murmured, ‘Reminds me of the dinosaur’.

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

Although my Papa advices everyone to drive safe, one needs to be life insured and iron hearted to be in the car while he drives. He uses neither of the rear view mirrors - I was told that it wasn’t in the syllabus during his time. That our car rests unscratched in the garage is the simple testimony to the existence of God and that he listens to our prayers. Once as we were speeding on a particularly busy road, I noticed a small cat which was about to cross. I yelled ‘Papa, don’t !’ and closed my eyes tight…In a split second I turned around and saw that the cat had escaped unscathed. Papa continued the drive totally oblivious of me, or the cat.

Then I asked, ‘Papa, have you ever run across a cat and killed it?’ ..

Papa: ‘No, but I badly wanted to’.

Scrappy Oxymorons .

2011-09-27T23:27:00.002+04:00

Dear Internet ad/app programmers,

Please have some sense. Or atleast humanitarian traits.

By the way, have you ever seen a baby?

Yours sincerely,

Human Beings.

P.S: Screenshot from a random site I was browsing through.

Car Scars !

2011-09-18T11:01:00.002+04:00

I have seen a lot of passionate people, their passion varying from bikes to earrings to interior decoration, but I should genuinely admit that none were as intense as my hubby’s passion to drive cars. Any aspect of a car is known to him, may be as much as a mechanic. He works in software but I believe he was born to be a mechanical engineer.

We owned a Maruti Swift VDi ( high end Diesel version) at Bangalore and traveled by car from Bangalore to Cochin and back, almost 550km one way, and not a second was boring with him.

The story goes like this...Long long ago, I introduced my best-boy-friend ( presently my hubby) to my parents. Years later he turned out to be such a darling with them that I (still) feel like a daughter in law in my own house. One of those days, Mummy was talking to him on phone and she mentioned casually that I rejected one other proposal of a guy who was very rich, owned several cars and that one of his cars was a Skoda . Of all the things why Mummy had to specify that, and how the Skoda part alone struck deep with him, is still a mystery.
Since then, no skoda would be spared on the road without him overtaking it. :D Sometimes in the jam packed roads of Bangalore city, if he spots a Skoda, he goes out of his way to overtake it.! Are we mad or what :D

Coming back to the point, all other cars on the road are rated based on its technical specifications. For example, if a swift Ldi honks hard from behind he still won’t give way for it to overtake us, whereas he will not only give way but also make the car bow down to a Honda Accord !!. Are we weird or what:D

Our car not only had a soap but a shampoo and conditioner as well ! So now you’d know that this car rests in the car shed only because we dint have enough space to bring it to our bedroom.

One unfortunate day, while I was parking in the basement of the closely packed parking lot of my office, I happened to glance into the rear view mirror and found that the Maruti Zen parked next to where I was trying to park was shaking. The rear end of my car had accidentally ‘touched’ it (due to poor visibility *cough cough*)…I then took a reverse and parked right, but a teeny weeny scar had appeared there. (I din't check what happened to the Zen... of course :D ). On reaching home when I told him this, he jumped out of his chair, grabbed the keys and ran to the car shed. After ten to fifteen minutes of close examination, during which a lot of undesirable ‘hoo’s and hmph’s and ‘grrrr’s were hurled at me, he said that I was careless and still unfit to drive on the main road on a non-hartal day. I sheepishly went back to my room.

The next day, my aunt invited us to her apartment and we both went very enthusiastically (as she was a great cook ). At the parking area for visitors, hubby could not find a decent place to park and was struggling amidst lots of other cars which were parked in total disarray. I requested him that I will get out of the car and tell him how much more to go on reverse but my request was dismissed with a grin and a hmph.

BANG !

The noise alerted a sleepy security guy who came running as I hurried to the backside. A pillar had hit into the rear end of the car. The damage was awful. I turned and looked at him.

“The pillar settings are not right in this building” he said.

Baby news :)

2011-09-13T13:10:00.001+04:00

When our baby came into our lives in June, many people asked me whether I’d continue to write. Why should I stop blogging because a baby is here? A new born can hardly read my blog and ask me to stop, I thought. But now I know the gist of that question. If I stretch out in any direction, my hands are sure to land on a diaper(sometimes a soiled one) or a baby tissue. Such is the state of affairs at my house after I came from my hometown. I literally worship my parents now…they looked after my sister and me at a time when there were no diapers and took us places when prams were unheard of. Having said that about diapers and prams, it doesn’t mean I am old and lived in the black and white era. Diapers weren’t there or we couldn’t afford it that’s all.

Now talking about the baby, he is a sweetheart. He sleeps all day and plays at night, so that when I toil at work all day I can come home and play with him at unearthly hours …which in turn means that his age in months is equal to how many days I was sleep deprived. But somehow nature has it that a mother falls for her baby’s smile even if he smiles at 2:00 am and so it happened that I have forgotten what sleep is like. No I am not complaining, because sometimes I wonder what we did before he was born. I cant seem to remember how my husband and me spent our evenings and weekends before he came :D Of course, we talked, gossiped, argued and even fought – about what? No idea.

Walking at malls pushing a pram has become a new experience as well. As he is an infant now, we have adjusted the pram in such a way that he can see us…and I am sure one day he might blog about how he had to see my face all the time, even at malls where there were lots of hot chicks flocking around. And when he is inside he has no other option than to flash his oh-so-innocent toothless smile, which I fall for, and as a response I also start smiling and playing with him. However other people don’t see the baby inside ; they just see me smiling and talking playfully and think I am crazy or something. Well one cant be bothered about all that. Once I am out of Kerala, I can be assured that others mind their own business and not poke into mine.

However I always think that the pregnancy phase was the most beautiful one. People opened doors for me, stared admiringly, gave way at long queues, parents pampered me to bits and above all, I had the license to eat. Well that eating habit still continues. Earlier I had the tummy and a small person inside to justify about. But now? Neither. Hmm. Certain habits die hard , you see.

So that’s all I can find to write. I am fearfully anticipating the day my baby grows up, finds this blog, and disowns me. :-(

Choir Gags

2011-08-27T09:29:00.002+04:00

I used to be one of the forty singers of a popular choir. It was not a church choir, but one which was conducted independently by the grandson of a Christian musical maestro, who composed many popular Christian songs we sing in church to this day. Our choir master, who is a seventy-something old man, weak and frail, was very particular and strict about English pronunciations, tones and every other technical detail of Western church music. We practiced two hours on Sunday evenings, and held concerts during Christmas, sometimes on Easter and on the death anniversary of our choir master’s grandpa.

The attendance of choir members was consistent, regardless of the choir master being extremely strict. When forty of us sang in a harmony, this old genius would know who sang the wrong note, and made us sing from the start.

The two words our choir master insisted on were ‘round tones’. He pressed on the fact that for good vocal output, one should open the mouth and let the jaws loose. But most of us in the choir never did that, and the choir master kept on accusing us saying that we were tight lipped singers who sang through the nose. He was so annoyed with our lip movements and said that we were more concerned of how our faces would look when we opened our mouths, than in the tone quality of the song. He used to advice us to stand in front of a mirror at home, open the mouth in round tones and sing so that we can feel the sound from the chest. Well, you know we can do anything but sing in front of a mirror.

Soon, our choir master became so infamous on this, that the church public commented that the dog at his house barked in round tones in fright.

One fine Sunday evening, my Mom was bathing my eight month old niece who was in turn, trying to crawl out of her grip. It was a usual ritual so my Mom kept on talking to turn her attention and said… “Does anyone want to see my little beauty here without clothes…no tickets required…it is a free show…free show…” . My grandmother also used to call it ‘free show’ when we were little one or two year olds and refused to wear any clothes. Anyway, after her bath, Mom and me quickly got dressed, waved at the little one, and sped to the choir practice.

Soon after, our choir master appeared with black notes of a new hymn and distributed it. Along with his copy of the song was an off white envelope which clearly was an invitation card. He opened it, put on his spectacles and read through it seriously. He then slowly put the card back in the envelope raised his small, thin head looked at us, and said,

“There will be a Russian church concert next Sunday; All are welcome. It will be from 5:00 pm onwards at the Parish hall next to the cemetery”

After a serious pause, he continued, “I repeat. This is no joke. I should see all of you at the concert next Sunday and learn how lip movement and round tones make a difference in singing”

Soon we all started whispering among ourselves. The choir master, noticed our concern, and proceeded,

“No need to worry about entry passes. It is going to be a free show”

From rags to riches...a real story.

2011-08-22T10:35:00.001+04:00

I was three years old when my parents built their dream home in Trivandrum. It was not in the heart of the city, but very close. My neighborhood looked more or less like a slum and our house was the only double storeyed structure which stood tall in the entire locality.

Every day, be it day or night, you could hear a tapping sound from any room of our house. Soon we got so familiarized to this noise that we couldn’t hear it anymore. Behind our house, was a small thatched hut, where a man who carved little elephants out of wood for his livelihood, lived with his family. His wife, three sons of whom the youngest was retarded, lived in this hut of two rooms. However all other houses here were more or less of the same type, and so we never felt anything so special about this hut or the people living in it. You could hear the tapping of tools on wood even at nights and many a time I have wondered the practicality of this to raise and educate two kids.

When I was in high school a major change came across this hut, as it changed from thatched roof to a tiled one. Tiled roofs are not very helpful on rainy days but are certainly an improvement from a thatched house. Then Papa used to tell me how hard work and modesty paid off. Me being a teenager at that time, despised advice and stories with morals - or lets put it this way, I hated anything which had atleast a remote chance of making me a better person. And not to mention at that age, parents would always sound wrong and outdated.

Years passed. Our neighborhood changed for the better. This month I came down to my home on a month long vacation. As usual I went to the terrace, and was in for a huge shock. In the place of the tiled roof house there is now a palatial double storeyed building, with modern amenities, granite floors and was huge enough to place our house inside it. Obviously, the man who made wooden elephants moved out and sold his land. I heard that his youngest son was moved temporarily to an asylum and this was a painful occasion for them and everyone else in the neighborhood. This could have made them move out. I stared blankly at the new house, which was getting ready for a house warming ceremony, decorated in blue and yellow lights.

Soon a lady emerged from the front door, appearing all busy and tensed with a huge vessel of a local sweet in it. She called out to someone and a guy took the vessel from her and went out. She looked familiar.Papa came on to the terrace for a smoke and told, that she was the same old lady, whose husband was the man who made wooden elephants. They’d saved and accumulated the meager income, and educated their sons, by living in poverty and sacrifice. The sons made good value of the money, got placed, promoted, worked in Dubai and London for almost a decade and gifted their parents with a home they deserved for sacrificing all their lives for them.

Do you know a better real story for the same theme?

Stork Visit :)

2011-08-17T21:27:00.001+04:00

There is absolutely nothing like being on a vacation at home and to be pampered by parents, I tell you. Once again, I got to be my real self, the crazy and lazy daughter, who opens the fridge every now and then wishfully searching for the appearance of a new dish. As my Mom and me had just returned from Muscat, we bought chocolates for relatives, friends and neighbors which were religiously consumed by yours truly. So now my Mom has to look for alternate methods to satisfy her acquaintances whose demands and expectations seems to grow each time she returns from Muscat.

As I was lazing around, gluttony took the better of me and eventually Mom had to toil in the kitchen to meet my ever changing menu. Soon after, my sister and six year old niece turned up from Chennai and we had a blast. Literally it was a blast, as I fought with her, and it hurt her bad. And to mention about the war-of-words, it was not with my sister, but with her six year old. I must be really sick to fight with a kid. Anyway, after leaving for Chennai she accepted my apologies over telephone. I hear she has high regards for me, as I do for her, I will continue to fight with her but if anyone else tries to hurt her I will kick their butt.

Kids, these days, I say. Well, if God gives us kids, then He must surely know how these little menaces are born gizmo freaks. My niece knows better than my sister about the varied options on her mobile phone and so my sister prefers not to reveal her qualification. Shh…She is an electronics engineer, you see. However my niece is not much convinced about this, as she was taught in school that engineers design and build bridges and buildings.

I remember another incident when a friend was expected to visit us with her family on a weekend. They had three kids, and we thoughtfully stocked ice creams and chocolates in the fridge. On their arrival, we proudly offered the kids ice creams first when the eldest of them snapped ‘Sorry aunty, this is chocolate flavored ice cream. My flavor is butterscotch. Anyway, thank you’. God will ask me justification on the judgment day if wasted ice cream. (Even before God asks, my ice cream crazy sister surely will). And so I had to consume that also. ( No, I am not going to conclude this article stating how and why I gained weight).

Another friend of mine, who owns a laptop which signs in with his fingerprint says, that his two year old takes his laptop while he sleeps, brings it to him, takes his finger and swipes it across. Now that the laptop is logged on, the kiddo has signed in to his world of games :D

Well, I am saying all this to conclude, that kids can be fun, tough to handle, a challenge to raise, and a huge responsibility to bear …but we were kind of ready to welcome one and see how we excel in it. God has blessed us with a baby boy on June 7^th this year, and all posts after that were typed hurriedly when he was sleeping, and so they were not really spell checked. We christened him as Aaron. So that is the reason why posts these days are not as frequent as before, but you readers out there…don’t be happy that I am gone…I will continue like I always did…there is always time to type a few paragraphs!

Undisclosed Utilities !

2011-07-30T10:35:00.002+04:00

On a particularly boring weekend, I was alone at home wondering what to do. Time seemed to stagnate every passing second. Suddenly I noticed this wall in the living room which looked all plain and blank (ready to be spoilt by me) and I decided to give it a new look. I opened my cupboard and took the envelope holder which my Mom gifted me…It is a beautiful jute piece which had pockets that can hold envelopes and post cards (exactly like the one in the picture ). When we were younger, my Mom used to put the day’s mail and post cards in it.
I hung the envelope holder on the wall, which now looked full and aesthetic, and lay back in the bliss of having done something productive.

However, my tech savvy husband has an aversion to wall hangings or any home décor, like I have to his endless cables and wires which runs haywire on the floor and ceiling. After reaching home, he switched on his denial mode when he saw it.

He: Whats this ?

Me: Envelope Holder .

He: “Envelope!!” he exclaims, as if I told a new word. “Soldiers at Kargil have 3G phones!”

Me: You can put other stuff too.

He: ‘Like what !!!”

Me: **cold stare**

Conversation ends, and the outcome is settled. The husband dislikes, but the envelope holder stays. (Cold stares bring screeching halts to any conversation, good or bad. It is very handy in such situations.)

Few weeks later, on a similar boring day, I was at home lazing, and hubby was out to settle bills. ( " bill payment " reminds me of Papa, as he used to say, that it had actually turned out to be the purpose of his existence over the years :D )

Me: Hello?

He: Hey I am at Airtel office…Can you check this month’s copy of landline bill and call me back..?

I searched every nook and corner of the house, but in vain. The mobile rings again.

He: Found?

Me: No ...

He: Check that envelope holder of yours…I keep airtel bills there…

Me: !!!! Oh, I see !

The shy grin at the other end would've made an excellent Kodak moment :)

A 'fishy' collision...

2011-07-21T18:12:00.003+04:00

It was the last working day of the week. Mom and I were waiting for hubby to come home, after the grocery purchase for the weekend. Papa had already left to India.

10:30 p.m.

Me: Hello? Where are you?

Hubby: At the parking lot… will be there in five minutes.

So Mom and I arranged plates and got ready for dinner… Meanwhile she also diplomatically made space in the fridge for the items that were on the way. We switched on the TV, but my mind was programmed for the five minute wait, the noise the entrance door makes when someone enters the building, followed by the ring of the bell at our apartment.

5..10…15 minutes passed, and the bell did not ring.

I optimistically expected a traffic block, which could scarcely happen at this part of the town especially at this hour of the day. I took my mobile and dialed him on the speed dial. The call opened initially to the noise of a crowd, followed by his voice.

“Hello..Actually there is a small problem…I met with an accident here…a guy on a two wheeler was hit by our car and he is being taken to the hospital…I am surrounded by his people here…I will call you back”.

The statement sent chill waves down my spine. I ran to my Mom and broke the news to her.

We’re just two ladies at home. We do not know what exactly happened. It is a country where punishments are quick and extreme for even trivial faults. We are expats here. We do not have lawyers or support of any kind. I broke down emotionally, as pessimistic thoughts clouded my head..which also froze my ability to think. I took my mobile and rang up a colleague. He did not answer the call…it was 11 pm already. I rang up another colleague who said that he was already at the accident site, but also added that he couldn’t make out anything.

I was convinced that someone died and that we were going to face a criminal lawsuit. Tears started gushing out of my eyes... followed by persistent whining and melodrama. My Mom, who couldn’t stand me crying, took great effort to hide her own and consoled me despite the mountain of anxiety burning within her. Soon I got calls from various friends of his, who pacified me with updates every now and then. The latest one being, that the victim had come from the wrong direction, on a one-way road and the mistake was all his. He was not injured and was discharged from hospital after dressing up minor wounds. Hubby was in the police station now, where the police tried to document an FIR. Although this much information was enough to stop the tears, I couldn’t get back to my normal self unless and until I could see and talk to him. The FIR could take some time, I was told.

Mom and I thanked the Almighty for being there when the world was miles away.

Soon, there was a knock at our door. I rushed to open it... it was a friend, and he held out a small plastic bag to me, and said : “ Hi Anita…I just came from the police station…saw him …he is fine… by the way this is some fresh fish…he said , if he has to stay longer at the police station, it will become stale, and you might be pissed”

What do I say to that? "Thank you" ????!!!!!!
His friends must now have built an excellent image about me... the wife who would be worried about the fish going stale when husband is at the police station. Sigh..!.

Anyway, hubby was back home in another hour, by God’s grace, and I quietly explained to him that come what may, I just can’t do without fresh fish :-D

Being me !

2011-07-15T21:34:00.001+04:00

I was the youngest in my family for several years, until my cousin was born. Its not a cakewalk, my friend. Yes, I was pampered to bits…but it all came at a cost !!!. Here are a few prices I pay to this day, for the unintentional fault of being the youngest and these might be true for you if you’ve been there too.

You may be a he or a she, but your family refers to you as ‘It’.

They will take you for movies and picnic, but never will the choice of movie/picnic spot be yours.

You are shushed if you try to speak when they are discussing something.

If at all you speak, they will find grammatical mistakes in your sentence, or simply laugh for reasons only known to them.

If you make the mistake of: singing a song by the wrong lyrics/writing poetry/speak English in your younger years, it will be remembered by them all your life and will be recited even in front of your spouse.

As you grow older, you grow younger in their heads.

When you complete high school / degree / graduation, they will wonder how it even happened! (Your grades wouldn’t matter)

To you they increasingly appear to be silly people who do not understand the concept that once toddlers will not be toddlers forever.

At your marriage they will laugh and pity your spouse.

They will ensure that the spouse also doesn’t take you seriously.

After your marriage they will continue to make decisions.

You will be shushed in front of your spouse.

They will make long distance calls to your hostel/workplace and wind up asking you to check whether the front door is properly locked, and not to play with power plugs.

You will not be entrusted with money, gold, keys to home/car, umbrella, purse …in short, any valuables.

Whenever they get a chance to book tickets for you, they think aloud that it seemed like yesterday they booked a half ticket for you. Every time.

If at all you make a serious statement at any point in your life, they will annoy you further by a melodramatic reminiscence of the frock and shoes you wore at age 3, which sits in the in the Godrej wardrobe of your ancestral home.

They will make you feel that you did a terrible crime by growing up.

;-) Here is to all my folks for whom I am still the little girl in a pink frock! Yes, you are welcome.

A super-cool B'day gift !

2011-06-22T22:38:00.002+04:00

It was my birthday on June 15, and Indiblogger decided to give me a birthday gift !

Its true, I won Rs.10,000 in their contest to write on 'Real Beauty' , and the prize was announced on my birthday ! I couldn't ask for more !

Thanks to everyone who read that post on my blog, and to those who promoted, supported

and selected my post on Indiblogger! I am so motivated ( and also scared now that I have to keep up a standard ) ! Thanks again !

You can scroll down to see my prize winning entry, or just click HERE.

You can find the Indiblogger prize winners on this page - and navigate to see the prize winning entries.

Conversational Torture .. MUTED.

2011-06-06T12:12:00.002+04:00

*Papa, Mummy , Hubby and me are on a road trip*

Me: You know what? There is one MNC in which if an employee completes 25 years of service, they acknowledge the tenure with a certificate and a pug !

Mummy: A pug ! Why would they give a pug ! 25 years of service… all for a pug? What if that guy doesn’t want the pug?

Me: May be they will give cash equivalent to the cost of the pug…Pugs are costly…atleast 30k for an old and dying one.

( Papa is surprisingly silent)

Mummy: Anyway I still don’t understand why they would do that.

Hubby: “Basically, pugs are useless. It has wrinkles on its face which needs to be brushed and cleaned on a regular basis, has to be fed special food and in return...it just lazes inside the house and poses for photographs. What a waste”

Me: “Who wouldn’t want to brush a pug…it is so cute ….” **unwarranted high pitch noises to justify the degree of cuteness**

Papa couldn’t stand it any longer and breaks the silence…

"What is a pug ?"

We all break into a roar of laughter…Few minutes later, after dramatically regaining my breath, I explain to him saying that it is a breed of dog commonly seen in the Vodafone ad. Well, we all know he hasn't seen that ad either unless it was aired in the news break.

His expression changed from a question mark to complete regret on the time wasted discussing about this creature.

But sadly for him, the discussion goes on…as I explain animatedly about a guy whose family in India hesitates to come to stay with him, as they have a dog back home and cant part with it at any cost.

Mummy: This reminds me... Do u remember my ex colleague ABCD? Her daughter and family went to the US... Initially they decided to sell their puppy…later they thought of leaving it at their relative’s place where it will be taken care of…but emotional attachment to the pup took the better of them and finally the it got to go to US too !

Me: Oh my.. ! That could be costly right? What if after spending so much on its travel expense it dies after reaching there, succumbing to climate differences or something like that?

*Looks worried*

Mummy: You don’t worry about it too much…they will take care :D

Me: You know what…there is another guy from India who got the offer letter from our office, and accepted the offer … then he and his dog came first…his family came three months later!

Hubby: Oh ..! That is nothing... There is one animal saloon here…where they bathe puppies using dog shampoo…then they blow dry and brush its fur, and even pedicure and manicure them !!

(Papa is still in the car despite his exponentially increasing urge to escape, just because it was scorching heat outside)

But little did we know that he was cooking up a brilliant idea to silence all of us.

Papa : “ Do you know what Karl Marx said about pets” ?

Complete silence.

Epilogue: Thus ended the conversation about dogs, or even animals in general. Thanks to our collective knowledge about Karl Marx.

The Real Beauty...

2011-05-21T10:33:00.002+04:00

She is not a celebrity. Nor does she belong to the entertainment or beauty business. She was the fruitful branch of a once illustrious family tree…which was eventually chopped off.

Two decades ago. I might have been six or seven then, when a grand wedding took place in our family. I was one of the flower girls. It took place with much pomp and show…the bride as usual, was the subject of speculations for multiple reasons, one of them being, that she hailed from an aristocratic family- hence significantly more refined than the family she was married into. Her charm and humility won hearts and spread cheer around.

Soon, she flew with her husband to Sydney, to pursue her career and family life. A couple of years passed by, and the marriage started losing its rhythm, and gave way to noise. By then, she had two kids, and life got thorny and harsh. Harmony and peace gave way to domestic abuse. Back home, people started poking their noses into the issue and sadistically gossiped their hearts content on the painful series of events. She and her family were demoralized and wounded by verbal abuses by her husband and parents in law.

And no, they weren’t done yet. She had to be hospitalized when her husband’s arguments took the physical form. Violent living room and hospital scenes started taking place in court rooms. After months of struggle through false allegations and downright brutality, she was set free from the chains of the wild misfortune which blew her life like a storm. She was still a young mother, her parents crushed beyond words and kids deprived of a family.

Giving up was not an option. Turbulent waters had passed, and the sailing should continue. She raised the kids, excelled in career, and moved on. Her life was dedicated to the normal upbringing of her children, in the absence of the father figure and this was no cakewalk for a working mother. In the hearts of her parents and few others who knew and cared for her, the wound remains…and the series of events made them doubt whether God really existed…and even if He does, why does such injustice happen to good people. Such were the neglect and harassment she faced, at an age when any woman would long for love, affection, and more importantly, a secure family life.

Zillions of women might have undergone situations like these. Some are known to us, many go unnoticed and others just give up. But what makes this woman different is, once at a court room she was legally separated from an abusive man…but to this day, when she comes down to her hometown, she visits her mother in law, who once played the evil supporting actress to her downfall, but is bedridden now with old age and related ailments.

Who is this old lady to her now? How do we define the empathy she exhibits to this old woman?

Compassion… un-fabricated, unmatched, pure and scarce.

Her visits triggers tears in the eyes of this lady who was once her mother in law. ..in the same living room where years back her tears pooled up but was overlooked and walked upon.

Today, do we realize how each of us holds on to grudges on trivial issues? Let alone an encounter, can we even think about any individual who abused us or our parents without a frown? How effortlessly do we carry a mountain of ego within us and consider it indispensable? Have forgiveness and selfless love become endangered emotions?

Waistlines widen, hairlines give way to scalp, skin sag, teeth fall out, and bones weaken. Physical beauty fades away with each passing day… but real beauty does not.

'Real beauty' is the beauty of character, the compassion which knows no reasons, the love which forgives, and the perseverance which stays on forever… and needless to say, she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

Also check out: http://realbeauty.yahoo.com/

GPS torture.

2011-05-16T12:01:00.001+04:00

She is the guardian angel who guides us through main and off roads..she leads us not into wrong routes , and delivers us from radars… she shows us through green pastures of the shortest road…she is none other than our lady gadget, the GPS.

When we have absolutely no idea or even a sense of direction about the place we want to go, she comes to our rescue.

‘After 400 meters, keep right’..’Follow the course of the road for 8 kilometers’ ..’Observe speed limit’…’At the roundabout take the third exit’..says she, and when we err, she forgives us by saying , ‘Route recalculation’ and routes us back on track.

After having gracefully rendered so much service, and helping us reach home after every weekend, my hubby heartlessly replaced her voice to that of another female, who sounded very stylish with a fake accent. Poor Lady gadget. She silenced herself and gave way to the new quirky female, who was more concerned of her accent than in route calculation. After much argument from my side to get rid of her, hubby updated the GPS altogether, and now it’s a guy, and his dialogues are different too.

Instead of ‘Observe speed limit’, the new guy says …’Observe speed limit…we will always stick to it, wont we?’ (sounds gay, doesn’t he) and instead of ‘Follow the course of the road’, he says ‘Follow the course of the road and everything will be just fine’.

This guy is unbelievably annoying and more often sounds like a priest talking to his lost sheep. The more I am irritated by his comments, the more amused is my better half.

So one fine day, we were helplessly lost and had to turn on the priest for his righteous sermon, which presumably leads us from darkness to light . Halfway through the lost world, the road looked familiar to us and I told hubby…’Now that we know the rest of the road … can we switch off this navigation torture’…hubby nodded but dint show any signs of switching it off. I repeatedly urged him to switch off the damn thing, each time my decibel levels rising, and then came his reply.

“Please keep quiet, and everything will be just fine”.

First Anniversary to Exit Hassles !

2011-05-01T16:54:00.001+04:00

Hello Friends, I'm celebrating the first year of exit from my previous firm, from where the exit hassles are not completed yet !

I left my previous firm a year ago, and ever since I’d been hopefully checking my bank account to see whether my PF amount is credited. As my salary account is with a foreign bank which liberally allows people like me to maintain zero balance without any penalty (well, if I had the money to pay penalty would my account be empty) I make the maximum use of this provision. So if my PF is debited I can easily make out without using the calculator ( some losers has six and 7 digit balance on their account so they have to see the account summary to see how much PF has been credited …thank God I do not have any such troubles).

Some of my friends actually said that they badly wanted to quit from their firms but when they think of these exit formalities it makes them think twice. Now I understand the painful truth behind it.

*A few words of enlightenment to anyone who plans to quit*

Once a resignation letter is submitted, then you are prone to extremely harsh and ruthless behavior from your managers and leads. (As if it wasn’t like that before).Okay, lets say it gets worse. (Can it get any worse? Yes it can, try sending a resignation letter). Then you will be called by your manager and he will brainwash you to make you realize that working with him is next to achieving salvation. Of course, you won’t fall into that trap. So his next step is to extend your notice period, making you do donkey work like documentation, etc, asking you to share knowledge (ya , right !) in multiple sessions, assigning your workstation to someone else so you have to beg, borrow or steal computers to check emails and the like. Then the HR calls up and says that she had been your personal HR representative (you’ll be forced to exclaim ‘Really!’ but DONT). She would ask you to specify the reason for taking such an extremely drastic decision, in a tone which sounds like you won a million dollar lottery and decided to donate it for charity) and also ask you whether you would think about joining back in future. You’d have vowed never to let even your enemies join there, but never say it, if you want a smooth relieving.

* end of enlightenment*

I had the additional privilege during my notice period, that I talked to the HR for like forty minutes from the balcony of the 8^th floor of my office and one guy from the admin asked me to get inside and he promptly shut the door behind me. He’d received confidential information from an anonymous resource that ‘one girl is standing at the edge’ and had come to save me from committing suicide. As I got inside I got pitiful stares from an entire floor of people. Thanks, you guys. Ironically I was about to tell the HR that working there had always been a suicidal experience for me.

Anyway a year passed and I received an email from them. Here goes :

Hi,

We have received your PF withdrawal forms. While processing we have noticed the following error in the documents submitted by you.

• You have not submitted form 10C.
• So you have to submit Form 10C.
• Please find the attached Form 10C.

Did you notice the rhythm of that email. You could make a nursery rhyme out of it. Anyway I will do whatever it takes to get my PF back.

So, my ex employer,

I was not aware of Form 10C.
But now I have duly filled Form 10 C.
Please see the attached Form 10C.
Kindly accept the Form 10C.

For God’s sake, Give me my PF !!

How a painting turned me pale :(

2011-04-19T12:22:00.000+04:00

The college where my Mom taught looked stereotypical of an old university. Large hectares of land, buildings which looked haunted , cobwebs which signified home to generations of spiders, and the names of students starting from the 60’s engraved on every wall. In between if one spots a room with a potted plant or a creeper, it is probably my Mom’s. She has a penchant for interior designing, decorative furniture, indoor plants, wall hangings and these attract her more than sarees or gold (Or so, I think ;-) ). Our home in Trivandrum and her room in college are living examples to her vast experiments. She has a creative eye to see aesthetic beauty even in the weirdest piece of wood. Over the years I too started loving wall hangings and hung a few of them in my room.

Soon after my marriage I realized that my better half doesn’t appreciate wall hangings. However I got a few oil paintings as gifts on my wedding and carried them enthusiastically to Bangalore where we rented a home. Soon our home was garnished with new furniture, carpets - well the carpets were to cover the innumerable wires of the home theatre that went helter skelter on the floor. A clock was nailed on the wall of the living room.

One Saturday when he had to be at office, I took out the oil painting which featured Shakuntala . It was a very common Ravi Varma duplicate piece, but looked quite awesome. I replaced the clock in the living room, with the painting. The painting was quite large to go unnoticed… and when he was back, he gave me a gyaan on how functional the clock was to the living room, compared to the 'useless' painting I hung in its place. I continued to hold a deaf ear to it as it wasn't a big deal anyway.

Few days later, we were informed about guests who were to arrive on a short notice and I had to rush to the kitchen to cook a meal. Planning and execution of a last minute meal wasn’t easy for an expert cook like me, who relies on cook books and long distance calls to boil eggs right…still efforts continued until every cutlery crockery and utensil was smeared with bits and parts of the ultimate lunch which was being cooked. Hubby continued to dictate the route on phone to the guests who were already on their way. ( If it was me I would have told them longest route to reach here…) but I couldn’t afford to handle more disasters than the ones which were already cooking in a pressure cooker, frying pan, microwave oven and rice cooker simultaneously. Lunch time was fast approaching, the guests had almost reached and I called out to him to know what time it was. Pat came a roar from the living room.

'Ask Shakuntala ! '

A portrait experiment.

2011-04-12T17:23:00.009+04:00

It was my Mom’s b’day last week, and I thought… a pencil sketch of one of her prized possessions – a black and white photo taken from a studio soon after her marriage would be a creative gift.

I discussed this with my hubby and he gave me an encouraging and hyper excited ‘thumbs up’ – Of course he is thinking of the hours of peace there would be in the house once I start the venture. Anyway I took my art drawing book, eraser and all the graphite and charcoal pencils and sat on my bed. I held the photo on one hand. Here I go…Papa stood on the left side and looked less complicated; so I decided to start with him.

I took a deep breath.

Sketching him looked easy. The long and pointed collar of the 70’s which almost dipped into his shirt pocket, and the bell bottomed pants were not as complicated as the silk saree my mother wore. Thankfully for me, he sported a normal moustache and not the Veerappan one which was a rage of those times. However, he had thick hair and eyebrows, and I got confused on which pencil to use. If I use the charcoal pencil it would look like a wig. I’ll go with the graphite one. HB looked fine. Few strokes on paper. And the inevitable eraser brushed out the little that I made. Not to worry…I said to myself, no artist ever worked without making flaws. Yes, I call myself an ‘artist’ .

I continued to console myself, arrogantly dismissing the fact that my confidence is down by a level now . I’ll draw the faces at the last…I procrastinated, and decided to start with the shoulder. So here comes Papa’s shoulder! Oh man, he is wearing a white shirt. Or is he? These Black and White photographs…! How complicated they are compared to the colored ones! This portrait would have been completed and framed by now if the original was taken in a SLR camera. ahem :D

Or is he wearing his wedding shirt which is actually white ? But the creases and folds are not visible. And the collar…where does it start from ? Looks like it grew from his neck. Make an outline, Anita, make an outline ! So an outline was made up to the belt. And eureka…I drew the belt too. But he is not standing straight like I just drew…he is slightly slanting towards Mom’s side. And the belt I drew was oversized and looked like hat of Santa’s. Its eraser time!!

If I complete this picture Papa would look like Shrek and Mom would get the most abusive gift of her life. I painfully realized that I can’t make portraits and went back to do what I do ~~best~~ better… the birthday post for Mom on my blog. I got a ‘like’ for it on facebook and a few comments.

I'm now, a happy and contended daughter.

Happy Birthday, Mummy ...

2011-04-07T07:21:00.003+04:00

She is the one, who on my birthday ...every year ...

..gave me a tight hug and lots of kisses when I woke up..

..baked my favorite chocolate cake..

.. insisted that I wear a new dress and bought me one of my choice..

..managed a gift, invited friends and made me feel special..

..cooked me the best meal...

..clapped and sang aloud the birthday song...

..prayed and blessed me...

..Called and wished me when I was away from home...each word seemed to say that she missed me...

...whose dedication has left me without words…

Mummy,

As you are miles away from me, I could not do one hundredth of what you did on my birthdays...I humbly wish you lots of happy and healthy years ahead...

....

and thank you, for being YOU.

Happy Birthday, Mummy.

...And thats how it's done.

2011-03-26T10:31:00.006+04:00

During my Bangalore days, we used to hang out with friends at The Leela. Well…we are not the dining-at-The-Leela types. We go there for bowling. A glass of lemonade costs a hundred bucks at the bowling area, we'd painfully realized (after drinking it of course). Anyways, this place was a top favorite among us three couples.

One night, after bowling and subsequent roaming around the Leela, we dragged ourselves to the parking area. Thirty minutes to midnight…and thoughts of going to office the next day had nearly wiped out the weekend smiles from our faces. The parking area of Leela was somewhat the size of a football ground, but not a single spot was vacant. We reached our car…and were alarmed to find a highly modified and accessory laden sports car parked diagonally behind ours, rudely blocking any attempt to move our car. Beer bottles were also found strewn around that car.

We called the security, he called his supervisor, and they assumed dutiful expressions by reaching out to their wireless handsets. We went up to the reception and made a complaint to the heavily decorated female receptionists who could hardly move their faces, possibly due to fear of damaging the carefully applied makeup, and they in turn reported this to other blazer wearing-good-for- nothing- English speaking volunteers. An announcement was made (they claimed) with the number of the car at the pub and other places. Nothing really happened.

We were hungry. And its not like Leela was a place we could dine from. Home was miles away.

We then saw another couple driving their way at a snail's pace into the parking area, trying to find an empty space. As they saw us three angry ladies, with hands on our hips – eyes wide- lip movements which possibly suggested swearing, they politely enquired what the problem was. We pointed at the sports car parked across ours and all three of us voiced our minds in an absolutely engaging chorus. And the lady said, "If it was me, I would have released the air from the tires of this moron’s car".

And that’s exactly what we did.

For all the four tires. And, a note to remember, right across the moron's windshield.

And the feeling after that was done....PRICELESS. :D

A reason to REJOICE !

2011-03-07T10:49:00.001+04:00

A week ago, I was in Dubai, on a well deserved vacation, after a few months of dry spell in Muscat. Hubby had a few bachelor friends there, and I guess all of them silently wished that I wasn’t with him during this trip ;-). Anyway I was also welcomed gracefully and we had a great time together.

One of these guys owned a car, and another was a close friend, so the four of us hung out one night, at the movies. During the movie, these guys got frequent phone calls which sounded very critical and since then, they were at the edge of their seats waiting impatiently for the movie to end. As soon as the movie was over they sped out and were rushing to drop us at our hotel. It was half past midnight, and I silently assumed that these guys had missed out big on some midnight birthday celebration. During the drive from the multiplex to the hotel, they kept getting calls from aggressive party animals, who were blaring out their vocal cords and music in the background was so loud that it could’ve been audible to people in other cars on the road.

A birthday party couldn’t be as violent as this one…or was it a bachelor party…my assumptions wandered.

We drove on.

In a matter of minutes, the car halted reluctantly at our hotel (bypassing certain red lights en route) ,and the guys who now appeared like they fought a tsunami all along, were entirely oblivious of the good nights’ and thank yous’ I was sincerely saying. We both got down and hubby asked, ‘Where’s next?’

And seconds before the car could vroom out of our hotel came the reply…

“There is a party at my friends’ apartment… as his wife just went to her native place”.

Rodent Menace ...continued.

2011-03-01T16:52:00.002+04:00

Following my article Rodent-o-phobia, my sister (who is also my critic and an unmatched support behind this blog) was online and was giving me feedback along with a few LOLs. She enjoys my poor jokes to such an extent that she not only LOLs, but also ROFLs and ROFLMAOs at some of them, whereas the same joke would not have any effect on others. In fact, my ability to crack poor jokes is nurtured by her.

(After reading my article she says...)

She: How can there be mice in your house. It is very unhygienic!

Me: Yeah I thought it was healthy and invited it.

She: No I am serious. There was once a mouse in my kitchen…and I knew it from the smell.

Me: Deodorant?

She: Mice stink, don’t you know. I found it and drove it out with a mop. Also cleaned the kitchen…especially the area where it hid.

Me: You killed it?

She: No I drove it away.

Me: Okay check your wardrobe.**laughs**

She: I saw it going outside my apartment...

Me: Towards your neighbor’s house?

She: No it sped towards the elevator… and squeezed inside...then someone from parking lot pressed the button and the elevator went down.

Me: Mice these days, I say…!

She: **ROFL**

Laptop queries , Laptop worries.

2011-02-22T15:21:00.004+04:00

My office laptop shows its true colors regularly, three times a day to be precise. Basically this laptop is a pessimistic moron. When I am doing something official, it works fine (moron) , when some person comes on chat, it gets irritable and slow, and when the conversation reaches its interesting best it simply hangs (pessimistic).

When it hangs, the next step is to reach to the system administration team, who are seated in a highly secure glass cage. The entrance to this cage is a sliding door, which when opened, makes a noise loud enough to wake other hibernating computers and even some colleagues. But the pessimistic moron is immune to any sound, you see. I carried the pessimistic moron to the glass cage countless times that, when I open the sliding door the creatures in the glass cage almost know it is me, without even turning around ! Well that’s quite an attribute of the sixth sense category, and it explains why they are seated in a glass cage…we never know!

The weirdest people I've ever come across are mostly from the workplace (or sometimes some relatives ;)). Some weirdos have this obsession of escalating every trivial issue and send emails marking a copy to the leads, managers, directors and CEOs. But I am a seasoned programmer you see. They think that they can easily climb on my head and pull my hair. Others think that every issue can boil down to pin pointing a programmer. Little do they know, that by the number of years of experience in the resume we mean : experience to encounter the above species and strike the ball back to their court…or the satisfaction we get by allowing some people to climb on our heads and then swatting them away at a crucial moment !

People, why I am blabbering so much is that the creatures in the glass cage are analyzing my laptop and I have nothing else to work with…than to take out my notebook and write. The laptop evidently has some hardware issue, it’s a new one within the warranty period, and the logical thing to do is to send it back and get it replaced. But who are we to say. The creatures in the glass cage should decide, you see. They pretend to think it is some virus, which every layman around knows it is not. But the creatures in the glass cage know best, you see.

But today I am going to gather some guts and say that I want to get my laptop replaced. If the creatures in the glass cage revolt, then I will use the deadliest weapon ever. Sentiments. (You thought I was going to escalate? lol :D) No one screams at a girl almost in tears. Even the creatures in the glass cage. Shh..now they are in a meeting- which would mean that they won’t be at their desk – but most of them will be seen walking the corridors looking lost. As and when they appear lost, they won’t smile at you for the fear of being assigned with any work and will continue to act intellectual (just like I act sentimental). So when they are back, I will drop the bomb.

Wish me luck !

Finally, a non cartoon :-)

2011-02-18T23:43:00.000+04:00

This is my first attempt at portraits. A change from routine cartoons.

Testimony to a childhood inspiration :-)

2011-02-08T12:48:00.001+04:00

As a kid, I was scared to go alone to another room in the house, if no one was around. I would hear my footsteps echo like it would inside an empty auditorium…I’d turn around to check if some shadowy creature was following me…the palm of my hand would sweat incessantly.

Mummy used to knit, read, or value answer sheets from college and be engaged all the time. Therefore she sends me to get her scissors, red ink pen, spectacles or something from her room. I always used to wonder why she can’t keep these things handy, at a place where she can pick it up herself. May be she sensed my fears and kept it at the farthest possible corner of the house, which is on her desk on the first floor. Climbing stairs alone itself was a terrifying thought for me.

One day, when me and Mummy were at home, she asked me,

“how many people are there in the house now?

I said “Two, you and me”.

She said, “No, we are three”.

May be she counts the spider in the bathroom as a separate person.

She continued, ‘Jesus is with us na? When Jesus is an invisible presence we don’t have to fear anything. So when you have to go to next room and you feel scared to, just say, Jesus, come along with me”.

It got etched in my head because at that age, going to another room was the biggest cause of tension. So by softly saying ‘Jesus, come along with me’ I could go fearlessly to the darkest room in the house, even if it had a spider in it.

Years later, as I walked back from office cab after night shifts, amidst hundreds of street dogs, “Jesus, come along with me” was the line which gave me strength to overlook the beasts and move on. Practicing a childhood trait like this one, never felt like something to be ashamed of.

And few days back, I washed my pink tshirt with hubby’s favorite white kurta and the inevitable happened. Pink patches on the white kurta! How am I going to put this out to dry ? !! He is definitely going to see it !

‘Jesus, come along with me !’

Rodent-o-phobia !

2011-01-31T11:37:00.001+04:00

We all develop notions in our heads, or sometimes wrong impressions about people, places or anything that come our way. Some of them change with time, maturity or an experience which proves otherwise. But some stays on until a spouse gets irritated and chooses to sleep on the couch.

A few weeks back, as I was enjoying an afternoon nap on a lazy weekend, hubby opened the main door of our apartment for some reason. And it happened. The drawback of being on the ground floor of a building – a mouse sped inside and hid behind the shoe rack. It sat there staring at him, helpless, but smartly planning the next course of action. Hubby cleverly closed the kitchen and living room doors and blocked other ways through which the rodent can get inside, and left the main door open. The mouse was check mated and kept staring at him for some more time (silently appreciating the intelligent homo sapien), and fled out. However, the incident was forgotten or purposely neglected by the better half...and I slept away to glory.

Two days later, during a usual small talk the mouse incident spilled out and this scared the guts out of me. “That means there are other mice in the house !” He knew where I was going with that and efficiently changed the topic, but the fact that I have to co-exist with mice was strongly registered in my head.

The next day onwards I started inspecting the area where the mouse hid and kept a watch on that area whenever I crossed it.

At midnight I woke up in horror saying that there is a mouse on the bed and that it touched my toes.

Any small sound, be it from the building behind ours which is under construction, or the random swaying curtains, was concluded to be the work of a gang of mice.

Another night one of the pillows fell off the bed, which was later creatively interpreted that, the pillow actually fell on a mouse, and that I heard a squeal from under the pillow. The pillow was washed and sun dried.

The better half swore to God, that any rodents/reptiles/mammals/dinosaurs, if sighted, will not be disclosed to me.

Psst..that means….there are other rodents in the house. Now that I know he wont tell me, I have to be constantly on the lookout !

An Archimedes incident :)

2011-01-16T12:32:00.001+04:00

I had already blown my trumpet loud enough about my parents visiting me. Well, I have now safely landed as the hot air of excitement has blown off after they both left, and now I am here at my desk wondering what to write.

Papa had been around for two and Mummy for three weeks. She cooked my favorite meals and I gained appetite and loads of weight too! Why? I am allowed to. When parents are away for a few months and they come to visit, who watches calories anyway. To eat whatever comes your way becomes the order of the day and the better half also indulges happily, as the one who usually rolls eyes at him and blows undesirable signals has no time now! So it was the time to be happy and merry. Luckily they came at the best time of the year…Papa is likely to come again in May, and I can’t wait to see his reaction when he realizes that the summer which tries its best to touch a fifty degrees here will give him enough burns than a normal cigarette does.

This time around, it was total fun, and one night he put two ice cubes into his glass and poured water, which filled the entire glass, up to the rim. It was clear that he cant lift the glass without spilling. Mummy, who adjusted her glasses firmly on her upper nose, in her usual professor mode, was silently, but curiously watching the interesting turn of events. And then she said…”when the ice cubes melt, it is going to overflow, so watch it”

Suddenly, I was enlightened. By a Physics theory. Seriously. I don’t know why, for what, and HOW it happened. But I was reminded of the Archimedes Principle. People who know me from school and are reading this will find it difficult to believe, I know. But I cant help but say this.. kindly refrain from laughing and read on.

And I said… “Mummy if you don’t mind can I correct you for something you just said?”

“Sure Anu, why not…what happened? “

“Actually, the ice cubes themselves has displaced some fluid upwards, because of its mass…so when it melts the level of water will not increase further”

Mummy, surprised by my knowledge exclaims “ Oh!”

“It is called Archimedes Principle, Mummy….. this guy Archimedes discovered it as he immersed himself in a tub of water …din't finish his bath and ran shouting eureka! You've heard about that na?”

The surprise and curiosity increased on Mummy’s face. She looked at me with a deep feeling, that I knew something, after all. (Meanwhile Papa and the better half have their jaws dropped and are in a state of temporary shock for which I cannot blame them)

Then I continued “ Mummy…when you said about the ice cubes, I just got reminded of this, and told you.. don’t think I am trying to be smart”

Mummy hugged me and said…” I am feeling so proud of you and so excited to learn this “ and a few kisses.

I have no words to express how it felt when my mother said she was proud of me..

Mummy is a post graduate in Botany and is working at a renowned college. So her stream of thought goes with Plant species, Classes and Subclasses, which people like us would take ages to learn, but she was so keen to know a new concept, which she actually doesn't have to bother about !

I am reminded of similar situations when Papa or Mummy talks about something I don’t know, and they ask me whether I’ve heard about it...I am often insulted and pretend to know it!

Well, there are things which Physics doesn't teach..you see.

An undue apology...unacknowledged.

2011-01-04T15:23:00.010+04:00

2010 had been an eventful year, as I was uprooted from the comforts of Bangalore and replanted in the scorching Muscat. Bangalore was always my second home…warmth and fun of friends around, and parents reachable in a matter of hours. But many factors of a detailed plan did not allow us to succumb to the warmth of familiarity any longer. It was a milestone, or a significant turn in my journey, but this did not count as the most surprising or should I say, the most remarkable event of 2010.

Rewinding ten years back in time... and I was in Grade 11. I’d been in the company of girls until grade ten, and suddenly we were introduced to students of an acclaimed boy’s school, at a tuition center, in the eleventh grade. Soon we were good friends with them.

I was in the company of eight other girls at school; one of us soon had an affair with a guy at the tuition class. This guy, hereafter referred to as P, was very friendly with all of us girls, even when he was pulling a string with her (hereafter referred to as N). N was away from her parents and staying with a strict relative. P and N had our support, but we never interfered in their affairs. However, many of our parents had seen them on the roads holding hands, which was considered extremely sinful during those times. Papa had also seen them together and asked me what was going on…to which an awfully excuse-retarded me said that P and N were cousins.

Time passed and our tuition teacher once spotted them together. Whether she warned them or did she directly inform their parents is still not known. Anyways, their relationship became known to N’s relative. N was not allowed to answer any calls, or attend tuition classes anymore. However, God knows on what grounds, but P blamed me for it. I had absolutely no role in this, except that I helped them contact each other on phone many times.

So what happened next was devastating.

It was a time of yahoo mail, and each of us had yahoo ids and dial up internet connections at home. P misused it by sending me an email, in which he insulted, brutally humiliated, and hurt me to my very core, thus shaking my very conscience. P even went on to hack my email, and sent forwards from my email id to guys of his school and others.Soon I noticed unknown guys whispering to each other and pointing at me at various occasions. But this did not even bother me in any way.But the mail he sent me ...really , badly, did. I still remember words from that email, even after these ten years, and my eyes well up. It hurts like hell. The following year in school, and later in college, I was an insecure, incompetent person bound by complexes triggered from that email.

By the second year in college, I had little or no time to nurture these complexes, and I was back to myself once again, active and bubbly and made and lot of friends. I buried the dark phase, but never did I forget it. I never had any contact with P or N since.

Some friends I discussed this to, heard me casually... often visibly wondering how seriously an email can hit a person this hard. It’s happened to me and I know how words can hit harder than a punch.

Ten years after the incident, in year 2010, I got an email from P. He is getting married.

This is the email:

hi,
hope u remember me!, i know it is a long long time.....
just wanted to say sorry for all the stupid things i have said n done....

i know it is little too late...but really felt i should say this.... 'I M SORRY'

im now into our family business...n things r quite ok....get to hear of u once in a while...

my greeting to ur sister and family!

tc...regards.

I never replied to this email. By typing a breezy mail like this, he must have steered clear of a pending apology and must be feeling better. And as per the Holy Scriptures, I am supposed to forgive and forget. May be I can take a little longer… or can I?

Two years of marital Bliss :-)

2010-12-28T13:01:00.000+04:00

It’s a special day. We are celebrating our second wedding anniversary. And my parents have flown in from India. It is double dhamaka. Lalala. With a cool wedding anniversary gift. Lalalalala.

Two years! Wow and I really can’t believe it’s been that long…Thanks to my sweetheart who has shown me that life is more beautiful than what I can see from behind the pallu of Mom’s saree.

And about my blue Christmas and all the long distance nagging about my current location. Parents have visited me for the first time that too during the best time of the year, and complimenting on how there are flowers on either side of the road, the cool climate, the romantic drizzles, occasional rains. Now I am the liar who said that temperature hit fifty and people actually melt here. I came in May-June. I am inviting them again in May !!!

Here is wishing everyone a peaceful and blessed 2011. Take care.

A Blue Christmas...

2010-12-13T10:41:00.006+04:00

Come December, and the mood of Christmas magically spreads on.

My native place in Trivandrum gets lit up with stars and other glitzy decorations right from the first week of December. Mistletoes, Christmas wreaths, candles and Santa caps adorn homes and every building around... The songs of Choirs (customized or apparently slaughtered versions of the original ‘Silent Night’) bring glad (!) tidings from home to home. The extensive luxury of a ten day holiday, accomplishes all the ingredients of a wholesome feast - the intimacy of family, joy of gifts, music of Christmas songs, sanctity of church worship, and above all, the unmatched warmth of togetherness.

Talking about Christmas, I am drawn back to my school days …and December is usually the month for midterm exams, and school Christmas celebrations. I used to be in the school and church choir…yes you read it right, and this was not entirely because I sang tunefully (self-realization). A choir practice session at school does away with two regular classes, which could include a Math class also, and any worry of a pending homework can be merrily sung away to glory …;)

Back home, my Mom would be busy, in the attempt to execute a fun-yet-tiring Christmas schedule, for which she assigns tasks to herself, and everyone else at home. The refrigerator would be filled with butter, eggs and meat. The noise of a food processor and smell of freshly baked cakes fills the house. No one forces my Mom to do any of these activities, but that’s how she has crafted Christmas for herself and for us. She makes delicious chocolate and plum cakes, beef cutlets, fish bake, and other delicacies…and pulls in Papa, to take time out of his busy schedule of reading the newspaper, to go with her to the homes of friends and relatives to distribute those cakes. I should say that my Mom is officially the most awaited Santa in town. I’d be busy too, decorating the Christmas tree and fighting away any reminders or warnings to the fast approaching midterm examinations. The evergreen Christmas songs of Jim Reeves and Boney M would play in the living room, at a decibel we can barely hear.

Visiting grandparents and gifting them goodies is another heartwarming memory. Only one of my grandparents survives today, and her home is silent and untouched by the waves of Christmas, as old age has already taken its toll on her. I dreamt about her yesterday, and in it she was healthy and happily running around the kitchen cooking her mouth watering Christmas lunch for us…her home hustling and bustling with playful kids, guests and lots of laughter…In the morning as I recalled the dream, I couldn’t gulp a heavy breath which resulted from holding back a few sobs.

This Christmas, I am miles away from home, and in a country where Christmas passes off like any other day. Circumstances are that I can’t be home this time around, but the fond thoughts of the soft music, and the warmth of being with family fills my soul…and I linger on those memories with teary eyes.

Click Play.

" You'll be doing alright with your Christmas of white but I'll have a blue blue Christmas...

I'll have a blue Christmas without you...

I'll be so blue thinking about you...

Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree

Won't mean a thing dear if you're not here with me..

And when those blue snowflakes start falling...

That's when those blue heartaches start calling...
You'll be doing alright with your Christmas of white but I'll have a blue blue Christmas..
And when those blue snowflakes start falling... "

- "Blue Christmas" by Jim Reeves.

E for... English !

2010-12-01T10:47:00.001+04:00

I’ve completed my entire school education in the same institution…for which I take credit (I don’t know how the school sees it)…anyway, the full sentences I write in English these days, with or without errors, are wholly attributed to this school and to my English teachers (and Microsoft Word spell check).

‘Talk in English within the school premises’ – was a discipline of this highly established Convent school, and this made us first grade inherent chatterboxes remarkably reserved and insecure. Hmm. Already we were busy with other routine activities like wasting lunch, losing pencils and other stationery, and tearing paper from text books(of other students, of course). Now see what a burden had befallen us. At 60, the Principal had nothing to lose to execute a discipline like this. But she did have something to lose. Her image. Once one of my English retarded friends wished her ‘Good Morning’- in the evening…and she also graciously returned her a good morning! So we aren’t talking about anyone’s image here anymore.

During our primary school days the struggle was topped with embarrassment. Although our parents were well versed in English, we spoke in Malayalam at home. So, one can equate ‘talk in English’ = ‘stop talking’. This eventually resulted in comparatively calm classrooms, and the class leader would have limited or no job, much to the delight of teachers. This was a period when passing of messages in folded papers was invented. This enabled free and full fledged communication between us friends, in Malayalam. Later, full notebooks were attributed for this purpose! But remember, all this happens within my circle of friends only; class leaders and studious girls were carefully avoided. Papa had advised me not to be in the company of bad girls, you know?

As we grew older, the ‘talk in English’ rule was prevalent, but we dint care anymore. This was a time when we had become fully grown brats and walked the corridors with heads up, and both hands in pocket… even when a teacher passes by. The same teachers at whose very sight, once upon a time, we used to wish, bowing our heads so low with humility and respect, that after she leaves we get a head rush and can’t see anything for the next few seconds. But the good thing was that all the English grammar, poetry, short stories, and the articles in the Hindu newspaper which was forced on us by parents, had borne fruit. But then the Indian Council of Secondary Education dint like what had happened; they dropped a bomb called 'Merchant of Venice' on us in the tenth grade.

Shakespeare lessons rewrote all our fundamental concepts of English grammar. ‘Aside’ and ‘Soliloquy’ became the order of the day. Oh my…and the turtle pace at which the ‘Merchant of Venice’ classes were going…! One paragraph or four lines in an hour!

Hidden meanings + Most likely other meanings + literal meaning + what the critics of the 16^th century thought + what Shakespeare meant + what we are supposed to infer = five 200-page notebooks for Merchant of Venice. It’s likely that Antonio and Portia wouldn’t have been aware of a sea of meanings attached to their casual conversations. Or maybe they meant something else. Ah who cares? We want marks.

Essay type questions demanded original Shakespearean sentences to be reproduced in answer sheets with quotations marks. And the teacher enlightened my friend N that ‘Even if you don’t quote, please don’t misquote’. So the bad news was that, we are not supposed to write our own sentences, beautify them with ‘thou art’, ‘Thine’ etc, topped with semicolons, commas and tildes, enclose them within quotation marks and expect teachers to award marks. They actually read these. Sigh.

Anyway our teachers, in the days when Google was not so popular, gathered enough information from the British Library to change our lives from miserable to pathetic. How we all overcame it all without tainting the image of our then teacher is another feat, and I hereby dedicate it to the sweat, BP pills, prayers, hypertension and support of our parents. *bowing head in gratitude*.

But the battle was not over yet! Picture abhi baaki hai mere dost ! HAMLET happened!

Shakespeare’s Hamlet began in the 11^th grade with a conversation of the ghost of Late King Hamlet. The characters which were living had already done enough damage. If a Shakespearean character had to appear after death, it means that it had something earth shattering to say. God what on earth did this guy miss to say during his lifetime, I wonder! We’d be immensely grateful if this ghost silently murdered an existing complex character. But this was no ordinary ghost. It went on to utter a few passages which made integration, differentiation, and Physics theorems look like nursery rhymes. Misery and more misery awaited us.

That’s when she came. Our new English teacher, Ms.Lakshmi.

She had big expressive eyes, and an unbeatably excellent vocabulary. Her style of speaking English…mode of teaching…and how she loved and enjoyed what she taught…was definitely a class apart. Sometimes we even felt the urge to make mental notes of her casual conversations! Oh for the impact she made! It was so perfect. Come what may, we never missed her classes...not even me. Well, if a teacher can keep people like me engaged in a subject for an hour then I needn’t explain any further. She made us realize how we Indians had customized the sound and pronunciation of certain words to our convenience…and ventured out of her way to teach us how it really had to be pronounced. Wow. She could read the confusion in our eyes and the wrinkles on our foreheads. She captured our concentration with smiles and not frowns. She talked, and did not scream. And finally, she walked us through Hamlet like a dream… and one of the many things I miss about school are these Hamlet classes. We virtually watched the entire play of Hamlet unfold before us…the effervescent voice, and the expressions that kept changing on her face. Live. And that’s how we loved English. And why we still do.

Thank you, teacher…because of you, I have a blog today.

Follies of 2010 - (Second and final part)

2010-11-23T17:12:00.000+04:00

The second and final loss whose full responsibility I accept is that of a theft, which could have been avoided if not for my carelessness.

I’ve always been notorious for losing umbrellas at school, some of which were retrieved from lost property boxes, and some, which were misplaced and later forgotten from public transport buses and the like. However this was a different case, and it made me extremely spiteful of myself.

We stayed in a beautiful locality in Bangalore. The parallel road to ours, was another residential area and there were a row of apartments, one of which was occupied by a friend. However this road was dug up for cables and the friend was unable to park his car in the garage, as the cable maintenance guys left for the day without covering the dug up area. So the friend called us and we let him park the car in our garage. Hubby came late that day and parked our car behind the friend’s car.

By 10:00 a.m the next fateful day, the friend came for his car. He had to move our car first, take his car out and park our car back. As hubby was not home, I came down and handed over the keys to him, and while he left, he said “remember to lock your car”. I nodded and waved to him, closed the gates, patted little Tommy Hilfiger (the neighborhood dog) and went upstairs. I had completely forgotten to lock the car.

By evening, we got into the car to go to a friend’s place and found the display panel of the car stereo missing. The ipod, some USBs, a sunglass, and car papers were all in place; just the display panel was missing. It was stolen.It looked like someone tried to pull out the entire stereo, but due to lack of time or some reason, couldn’t pull it out completely.

My eyes welled up, seeing the expression that was now on my hubby’s face. I told him that I had forgotten to lock the car… but he did not say anything. This car stereo was a result of weeks of intense research on the net, reviews, review comparisons with other models, direct user reviews from colleagues, ratings on websites and so on.

Later the following week, we checked with the shop from where we bought it, and came to know that the stereo could not be used anymore, as its display panel was the most expensive one, and if it was to be ordered from the U.S, it could cost more than another car stereo.

I hated myself. I wished if someone could just thrash me for being so careless, irresponsible and absent minded…but no one did, and that was in fact, the biggest punishment I could ever get.

To helplessly watch the expression on his face.

Follies of 2010 - Part I

2010-11-20T11:49:00.003+04:00

2010 had been a happening year, both in my personal life as well as in the losses contributed by me in the family income-expenditure virtual sheet.

Well, major losses include two incidents, one for which I am fully responsible, and the other, for which the responsibility is primarily shared by my better half .

My husband’s home in Cochin is situated in the middle of a large hectare of land, the boundaries of which exist beyond the reach of human vision. Due to this reason, there was a necessity to replace the existing watch dog which had grown old and weary (probably in its attempt to find the border of the land adjoining the house). So on one weekend, the mission to find a new watch dog was kicked off, and we set on our way to various private pet centers.

We visited a couple of pet centers, from where we couldn’t find the right candidate, but I thoroughly enjoyed the whole trip, trying to attract the attention of my favorite pug pups(which is ruthlessly considered ‘useless breed’ by everyone else in the family )… apparently pugs do not fall for flying kisses and eyelash fluttering.

Finally we reached another private pet place, which was situated roughly 23542354 metres away from civilization. Now we positively have to find the pet from here…as there were no signs anywhere saying that we’d require a hummer to reach this place, and the second hand value of the mediocre hatchback we were using, was cut in half by the time we reached.

On reach, we were introduced to a pack of cute little Labrador pups, eight to be precise. The owner opened the cage, much to the excitement of the little devils and soon they were all over the place. One or two were extremely lazy and found solace under a flower pot, while others were busy running around pulling on shoe laces and grabbing the car tyres (ya that’s exactly what the car wanted, to go back all the way through the jungle). Soon the pups were carefully scrutinized and we zeroed in on one, which looked ‘proactive’ ( a term my project manager uses to describe people who volunteers to initiate confusion and chaos in the team ).

Now came the payment part, and the owner guy said that the breed is very pure, and the parents and grandparents of this pup were champions at various dog shows (oh my…the pup was so humble for its credentials..), and that it had all injections done promptly and had a certificate also. Soon the li’l jovial pup jumped happily into the boot space of the car and stayed in an open card board box all the way up to civilization and then to our home.

The pup showed good signs and traits later.

However, this descendant of champions grew up to look exactly like the common street dog, with no signs of a Labrador anywhere.

That guy dint precisely mention in what were the ancestors of this pup champions in..may be a show for street dogs !@#$%^&*()
Now that’s a few thousands down the drain.

To friendship !

2010-11-08T15:11:00.001+04:00

I saw this wallpaper in a website..
.... presenting another humble attempt at pencil sketching.

Click on image for an enlarged version :-)

The "Husband Material"

2010-11-01T11:16:00.005+04:00

Flipping a few chapters backwards to Bangalore. It was a particularly hectic week at office. We decided to escape the hustles and bustles for the weekend, this time with my sister and family. At daybreak, we made ourselves comfortable in our car, and vroomed to a very particularly quiet and serene hill station near Bangalore. The drive was not less than seven hours, and hubby drove all the way with just a breakfast break in between.

Driving is a passion for him, and any long distance drive doesn’t make him impatient, weary or irritable.After long exhausting drives like these , he usually appears cool and fresh for photo sessions ... but me…who’d be sitting idle in the car end up looking like I'd been dragged all the way.

We reached our destination by noon... the resort cottages were crispy clean and cool. The men bought us Chicken Biryani for lunch. I collapsed into bed for a short afternoon nap, conveniently ignoring comments that if it was to sleep I could’ve slept at home…why drive all the way and pay for a resort. Zzzz.

By evening I was almost sure that what we ate was Biryani, but it was not chicken. The rumbling sounds in my stomach was almost audible to myself and eerie thoughts clouded my head as I began guessing what it could have been, having seen many dogs and monkeys en route. A trip like this one doesn’t happen every weekend, so I shushed the sounds to myself.

Soon it was dinner time. I ate a bare minimum, popped a Lopamide, drank warm water, restored myself and we lay down to sleep. The seven hour drive had begun to show now, and hubby retired to bed and fell asleep soon after. However the dogs and monkeys had no plans to let me. I was unable to sit or lie down. I walked up and down the room, visited the loo like 25 times, popped another pill, and by now the growling and rumbling had given way to unbearable pain in the abdomen. I sat by the window side, shut my eyes tight and prayed. Tears were flowing down my face.

By now, hubby dear was sleeping peacefully, with an expression which told that he was pretty amused by his dream. I had one hand on my stomach, whose affairs had gone way out of my control and sat on the bed next to him. His dream had gotten so entertaining that now he was laughing aloud.

Ignoring it, I switched off the lights and got under the covers…I don’t remember when I slept, but at least I could. In the morning I couldn’t wait to tell everyone of the scariest night of my life, the pain, the laughter, the helplessness and the action that could have happened if he had laughed some more.

Putting more thought into it…what would I have done if it was a room mate, a sibling, a friend or relative, who laughed when I was miserable? Either a kick on the ass or waking them up and making them stay awake with me throughout the night. But I never even thought of waking hubby up considering the long drive especially after a shift the previous day at office.

Husband is totally different from the rest of the world. Ain't he ? J

Lost and Found !

2010-10-15T16:10:00.001+04:00

Just a few weeks after we landed in Muscat, I lost a mobile phone. Not just a mobile phone, it was the ONLY phone in which the facility to make ISD calls was enabled. All extensive searches and raids were unsuccessful. My better half has known me for more than half a decade now, and I should say that he wasn’t very surprised, but I convinced him to not tell anyone at my home. And it was done.

However Papa started checking with me about this mobile, as he called on that number a few times and continued to receive a message that it was switched off. I gathered some courage and told him about the loss. The courage was not to present the situation to him, but it was to get enough self-control to listen to the reactions and conclusions that was to follow. Anyway he told me to make some alternate arrangement to connect with home and that was done too.

Five months later. This time I was searching for a doctor’s prescription in my laptop bag. And yay, there it was! Not the doctor’s prescription, but the mobile phone. My better half was again witness to this, was least surprised, and again I begged him to not tell my parents that we got the mobile phone from MY bag. And it was done. I’m sure Papa will come to know from here. And I am not calling home for a week: D

This reminds me of another incident at school. A and N were my friends. A was a dancer and she had lost a quintessential dance accessory during a competition at school. All 3 of us set out to search. A was in tears. We went to the school office and requested to see the Lost Property Box. We also explained what exactly we were searching for. Ma’am returned with a huge card board box. We identified a little more than what we intended to.

N’s pencil box.

N’s umbrella.

N’s notebook of the previous year.

N’s costume for fancy dress.

And, N’s text book for the current year.

A dint get the dance accessory, but the search in the lost property box was a fruitful one. N wasn’t even looking for these items, as she dint realize that these were missing. Unfortunately N’s name was there on all of them. (Otherwise we would’ve pretended that it was not hers). The Ma’am gave her an ‘I was waiting for you, Miss. N’ look and an evil grin.

It was also the first time ever, that A and N was in trouble and I wasn't !! I celebrated the rare event to pacify them.

Uncanny Responses :-(

2010-10-02T15:33:00.004+04:00

We’ve all had our share of abusive rickshaw drivers and dirty stares by bus conductors and cleaners (in case of females, but nowadays it doesn’t matter). However repeated embarrassment from an apartment security was for the first time.

Two of our friends stay in different apartments of the same building in Bangalore. So during weekends we usually drive to this place and hangout there. The security guy for this building was a tall, frail fellow, who dutifully forbids us to park in the car parking area. We usually convince him that we’ll be back in five minutes and this guy believes it every time. Also there were a few cars on the parking lot which looked like vintage cars, covered with dust, bird feces, paw marks of cats and dogs, cobwebs and the like. We always park our car in front of such cars, as, 1. We are sure no one will ask us to move it. 2. If at all someone calls to move it, we desperately want to see that guy.

One such day, we were watching TV in one apartment, and later decided to have dinner at the other. Being three married couples or in other words six extremely lazy techies, we took the elevator to the other apartment which was only a floor away. This elevator was designed to allow only three people…but our legs weren’t designed to walk upto another floor…so we all squeezed in, and pressed the floor number and waited. When we almost reached the next floor, the elevator stopped and door jammed. I cant say that this was totally unexpected, but we got panicked and called the security. After what seemed like five minutes, he came with a torch, pressed some elevator buttons from outside and we got out…

The guys among us maintained absolute silence, but we girls, definitely dint, and asked for whatever that happened after this.

We: “What is this? If something is wrong with elevator, no one should be allowed to use it!”

Security: Yeah lift ka koi problem nahi hai madam…bas yeh 3 log ke liye baney hain…aur tum…? 6 mota mota aadmi …

We couldn’t believe our ears. This guy has certainly gone overboard. And the three guys among us had swallowed their tongues and were still silent.

But we got angry and blurted…” Mota mota aadmi???!! Kaun hai mota aadmi…tum bolo…BOLO…!!!”

At this, we expected the frail old guy to apologize and relapse to his shell.

But the most earth shattering thing happened.

“ Mujhe pooch rahe ho kaun mota hai…? and he took out his filthy fingers and pointed at a few of us one by one.. ‘Tum…tum….aur tum…”

!@!!@@#$##$#$%$%^%^&*(*(*(&^%$#@@#@$#$^*(*()!!!!!

'Holier than Thou'..

2010-09-18T15:17:00.003+04:00

This incident dates back to a couple years, when yours truly had got a job as a fresher and eventually developed a huge crush on a guy at office.

Office and team parties were then, those unavoidable events, in which each of us participated, to prove right the ‘team spirit’ and ‘team player’ factors of the annual performance assessment form. Usually I end up checking the watch incessantly and fight the increasing urge to eat at the cost of project funds and get out. However this time it was different. Now that the crush is there, official parties have gotten interesting for me. I stopped yawning and dressed better.

It all began by people getting together in round table chit chats, patting shoulders, fake laughs and the like. Me and my friend sat together and shared interesting gossips about our crushes. Being single girls who dint have vehicles of our own, but essentially had ego clashes with people who had vehicles, we had to find our own ways to commute our way back home, so we initiated the buffet dinner a bit early.

Soon after dinner, we disposed the plates and walked into the wash room, still commenting and giggling at the awful color of the dress another female was wearing. As we washed our hands and pulled out tissues, my crush stepped in, stared at us both sarcastically and got into the restroom. Oh my.

“ What the hell is this guy doing here… these men! !@#$%^&*() !!!!!!!!!They just get drunk and get into the ladies washroom…look at the way he stared at us? Arrogance I say! “

And we got out of the washroom, feeling disgusted.

And we also noticed that there were a group of ladies in the adjacent washroom which was actually, the ladies washroom.

We got the hell out of there.

That he couldn’t remember this the next day and ever since, saved my head.

By the way, that crush is now the husband J

Digital memories :D

2010-09-08T16:27:00.003+04:00

During my days in Bangalore, malls were our favorite hangouts. We had friends too, and we girls and boys would team up and break into stores of our choice.

One such day, we set out on a window shopping expedition at Zigma mall. The two guys, instinctively stepped into a digital store. All there was were LCDs, LEDs, laptops, and some gadgets whose names I don’t know. Soon we got terribly bored as the sales guy got all technical and started talking in certain units of measure, and soon we found ourselves on a couch which was meant for the home theatre demo.

On one of the gazillion LCD TVs in front of us, was Tom and Jerry show and even before we knew it, we were laughing our heads off and getting a bit too comfy in that couch. As the husbands were gathering specifications minute enough to build that gadget at home, the store guys got tricked into believing that they are actually going to buy it, and so being girls who came with them, we were treated with most respect and Tom and Jerry started to play in full volume.

Soon after, some sales guys started to stare at us, but we ignored it in style…well, who doesn’t look at two irresistible girls... we innocently thought. But the stares got strange; some of them started murmuring and pointing, the volume of Tom and Jerry getting lower by the second. We looked at each other totally unaware of what was going on. We continued to sit there, expecting the sales guys to increase the volume of the show we were watching….but the interesting Tom and Jerry rudely gave way to NDTV Profit. Most of the salesmen now had a raised eyebrow on them, hands places impatiently on their hips, and looked more or less like lion tamers without the stick.

That’s when reality struck hard. The husband lot had taken some brochures and wandered off somewhere else long back. Now we were just two girls, sitting on the demo couch, watching TV in a digital store.

We chickened out.

And what happened to the husband lot is a long story.

Later we pacified ourselves, thinking that at least we realized and got out in time….as we were actually planning to ask the sales guys to increase the volume of Tom and Jerry.

My experiments with the Pencil :-)

2010-09-03T13:51:00.002+04:00

I always loved to sketch cartoons. I drew many of them during the management sessions of my final year of engineering. Thats when most of us realized our hidden talents, and worked on them.
Anyways, I collected greeting cards, downloaded disney wallpapers, and tried to sketch those on my own. Recently I posted a few of them on facebook , and here is one which many of my friends clicked 'like' for.

Creators of Tintumon dumber than their creation :D

2010-08-31T10:13:00.002+04:00

Hey,

This is a link I came across, about Tintumon. ( Tintumon is a Mallu counterpart of Sardarji ).

It roughly translates as :

Do you want a patent for Tintumon? If you do, sms TINTU #space# A to 56776.

If you DONT WANT a patent for Tintumon, sms TINTU #space# B to 56776. (!!!)

Brain Raid!

2010-08-24T09:44:00.005+04:00

Today, as I was in the kitchen, humming away the hangover of a good night’s sleep, hubby came by super excited.

He: Have you forgotten what is special about today?

The helplessness of a memory failure took me over instantly. Gradually, I slipped into a whirl of extensive brain raid. Staring at him, with a wok in my hand, I ran through a virtual calendar of birthdays. No I hadn’t missed any. The expression on his face changed from excitement to surprise. I continued to be in a state of intense thought. Did I miss his parent’s birthday? But no..Its August 24. Seeing me falling from surprise into a frenzy, he drilled deeper into the whirl I was falling in … ‘How could you…?’

Now I was almost done covering the birthdays and anniversaries of the current and previous generation. My pea sized brain has defeated me … and now I am so miserable that I am trying remember dates of historical importance. I am so ashamed and my ego wasn’t letting go even after I exploded and drowned inside the aforementioned whirl … that I said.. ‘Yeah I know…just fell outta my head”. Yeah that was super lame. But his smile said it all. That I forgot some important day even after him trying to remind me, doing rounds in the friends circle is too much to take at the moment. So he said those earth shattering words… ‘Women in the house are supposed to remember all important dates !’... The urge to ask what men are expected to do was over ridden by the mission to dig out the foolishly forgotten event.

Then he came over, shook me vigorously and screamed:

‘Its August 24^th!! LOST season 6 dvd releases today’ !!!

Really! ?

2010-08-15T08:23:00.003+04:00

Really ?

Does 'breaking news' still mean what it used to :D ?

Happy Independence Day, everyone!

Happy B'day, Papa..:-)

2010-08-09T18:05:00.002+04:00

Dear Papa,

Wish you many more happy returns of this day, and may all those days see you in the pink of health, encircled by boundless love, a peaceful n happy heart… blissfully content with all that you ever wished for and more...

Love you sooooo much you know? I am not buttering you! I’ve been thinking all these days on how I’d surprise you on your birthday.

Initially, I thought of writing you a poem. That’s when it dawned on me about the very creative poem I wrote about Mummy when I was in third standard, which, to my fate, you found and treasured for future blackmail. That you publicized it and marked the beginning of an era of sarcastic recitals of my poem, coupled with finger pointing and laughing made me drop that idea.

Then I decided to post a nostalgic photo from the 1980’s with you cutting your birthday cake. I got tens of photos of my sister’s and my birthday, but I couldn’t find any of yours. I then painfully realized how Mummy and you ensured that our birthday moments were captured every year. Selflessly. The sacrifices you both made. How you forgot yourselves, for us.

Then I ran through the photo albums of the 1990’s in which there are photos of your birthday party, but you posed with Mummy in all of them! I’m not even in the frame! Later I realized that I had taken those photos. Anyway, I dropped that idea too.

Then I thought I would dedicate an entire article for you, remembering good old times. But I wasn’t sure whether I could do it better than last year’s. I wanted to do something cute this time. So I dropped that idea as well.

Then I thought I’ll get a cute big bouquet delivered at 7.00 a.m right at your doorstep. But how you hate wasting money on flowers and perishable 'useless' stuff, made me drop that idea. I dint even think of buying a shirt and you know why! (The lecture u gave me on why I shouldn’t shop for shirts at least for another decade and a glimpse of your wardrobe having some shirts still with the tags on, was remembered and complied with)

So I am left with some ‘priceless’ love, hugs and kisses which will be delivered in person when you visit me here…then I will wish you a belated birthday and we’ll take lots of snaps and cut a cake too!

People are many but true ones are few,

Years have passed, with experiences new,

But all I have is a great Dad that’s you…

Love you more than you think I do!

Happy 61st B'day, Papa!!!

Lots of Love,

Anu.

First (worst) Impressions..

2010-07-26T10:38:00.002+04:00

Making first impressions was not destined to happen in all my life. I can sharply remember one incident wherein my sister greeted a teacher ‘good morning’ after the morning assembly in school and she got greeted back with a smile…but when I passed the same corridor and greeted the same teacher, she scanned me closely, up and down, sporting raised eyebrows. This incident is a superhit among all my relatives and friends, as papa performs it in the form of a solo skit which lasts about 20 seconds at family get-togethers, as he hyper-actively enacts the expression of the teacher, who was greeted by my sister first, and then by me.

Those were the days when there weren’t too many channels to fight over the remote. ‘Superhit Muqabla’ used to be the favorite and the only program my sister and me were allowed to watch. We enjoyed our favorite songs of those times… ‘Ruk ruk ruk’… ‘neela dupatta peela suit’ … etc and smile at each other with glee as that was the single entertainment hour in all week. However we dreaded the airing of the fiercely romantic songs ‘Tum mile…dil khile’ from the movie ‘Criminal’ and the rangeela songs (which when compared to today’s movies looks like children’s movies), as parents would still be hanging around the TV room. All the Ruk ruk and neela dupattas happens when Papa is carefully reading the newspaper…however when he comes to the TV room for some reason or the other, “Tum Mile” comes up from nowhere and me and my sister would look like criminals ourselves. I guess this has something to do with the name of the movie.

There was this chocolate called ‘Kismi’ during my school days. I was a very loud person ~~those days~~ and was once casually talking to my friend about 'Kismi bar' to which a teacher who sat behind us nodded her head sarcastically. After a subsequent amount of time (which is required for me and my friend to enlighten) , I realized that 'Kismi' can also have a pessimistic alternative, ‘kiss me’ and how the teacher must have coupled that with 'bar''. Wow quite a picture :( I was in fifth standard then.

Now it was Googl’es turn. I am a programmer and often I search some sample codes and syntaxes from google. Once I had to do some very specific stuff, for which I wanted a reference. One of the many people I was reporting to was standing right behind me and staring at my monitor. Then I typed in the search string, ‘find…’ and google gave me the first option...’

.
.

‘find single girls in Oman’.

My Sins against Gender-Stereotypes :-D

2010-07-14T16:46:00.005+04:00

Reflections has tagged me with ‘My Sins against Gender-Stereotypes’.

This tag is to list at least ten things I’ve wanted or done, which my gender is not supposed to. Sounds like a catchy tag…and Nancy has done it interestingly well!

So here goes a humble attempt.

I wanted to start with an oath ...the one which they say at court…just to make this funny, but all I can think of is ‘India is my country, all Indians..” so I’d better stop over doing these futile attempts at being humorous and get practical.

1. As a teenager I used to be protective of my elder sister. I thought of her as a little girl ( and myself as a brother brat) and even man handled a typical ‘pervert kumaran’ in a private bus, using my school bag when he tried to lean on her.

2. As a kid, I preferred to climb the wall at the back of my house to the neighborhood than take the regular route. Until last month at Bangalore, I climbed the gate of my apartment a few times after my shift. I was too sweet to not disturb owner uncle, and pitied hubby for having cowardly friends who said that it is ‘dangerous’ and ‘risky’. ( That guy told him that my leg might get stuck in the gate… he must’ve thought of me as an elephant or something)

3. When my mom disgustingly says that I became a female in the minute just before birth, I took credit and nodded as if she is complimenting me.

4. The first week of every month, Papa would go to the provision store and buy stuff for a whole month. This would consist of sacks of rice, coconuts and other heavy stuff. I have never missed this trip and would act like a male helper in carrying all the heavy stuff voluntarily. (even though sometimes I’d be biting my jaw in pain internally)

5. I hate the color ‘Pink’ and secretly love ‘Blue’ even though I tell everyone that my favorite is Black. There are no pink, white, yellow dresses in my wardrobe. Instead there are black, navy blue and gray. I also prefer square checks and lines against floral designs.

6. I love to drive in heavy traffic and follow my own road rules when people refuse to move out of the road seeing the female driver. If they are also driving I honk annoyingly until he moves out (like we do when there are cows/dogs in the middle of the road: D) and if they are pedestrians I give them small pats on the shoulder with the rear view mirror. I then stop, stare and flee before they raise the finger.

7. I hate TV soaps and Ranbir Kapoor. I cannot stand men who have pink lips and no moustache (although I know all girls fall for this category of feminine dudes).

8. I am very friendly with sales guys/gals at the local grocery, fuel stations, roadside vegetable markets, pizza delivery, and the like.

9. I think of saree as the most inconvenient attire ever. Also, I do not fancy nor have I felt the urge to check out the creams/lotions/mascara/ complexion compact/ perfume section of any store.

10. I used to pay the phone/electricity/water bills at their respective offices, waiting in long queues. But I couldn’t make a single cup of tea without checking for sugar, like seventeen times after which half a cup of cold tea would be ready.

Phew! Just pondered over a reel of memories, dug into it and popped up ten points which I think might match the tag…

Hmm…so let me make myself a cup of tea. :D

Review Mania !

2010-07-07T17:07:00.004+04:00

‘Director Ramesh Sippy has certainly lost it in ‘sholay’.. the villain cleanly gets on our nerves and overshadows both the lead heroes. Gabbar Singh is as weird as his name and looks like he has come straight out of a childrens magazine, the awful make up and irritating dialogues. He succeeds in making the audience pull their hair out, while Hema and Jaya Bhaduri are female characters whose role still remains clueless throughout the script of Sholay…Had Sippy concentrated more on the script of…’

Before you roar at me, hear me out. This would be the review of the blockbuster of all times, the movie that made history, Sholay, if it were written by today’s film critics.

Gone are the times we used to watch movies for the entertainment value.:-(

Leave Sholay, and take some other blockbuster of those times and watch it again through the critics’ eye. You will laugh at it.

*Flashback*

During school days, Hindi movies were a passion to us (me and my friends at school) , although a lot of dialogues were not interpreted to what it actually meant …as Hindi wasn’t the mother tongue to any of us...but Urmila and Madhuri were our style icons. There would be weekends we would get together at a friend’s place and watch movies back to back. On Monday at school we’d be narrating the experience of how sexy ‘Madhuri Dixit’ looked in ‘Hum Aapke Dil De Chuke Sanam’ !!

*Later*

I started reading reviews and got judgmental about every movie. Was there a top losers match goin on?

Then I boarded the movie spree yet again, and kept reading reviews after watching the movie...because I realized that I was missing out on a lot of good stuff.

*Now*

The most recent one was Ravanan, a spectacular movie, which I enjoyed every bit of. It was a great experience watching Raavanan but the reviews... man! I’d been singing “Veera..” all the time for around a month...its a catchy song. Some dumbos said that the songs weren’t peppy enough…

Some cheapos ran out of logical shortcomings that they called it ‘predictable’. Raavanan is straight out of Ramayana…and Ramayana is thousands of years old. How can we expect Raavanan to be not predictable? :-D

So good criticism comes with logical understanding of the facts of entertainment …it is so much different from regular fault finding . And comparing Mani Ratnam’s movie with his previous work is also irrational…

Big B supporting his son in this matter sounded like a PTA meeting to me…’my son did well…but they edited it! give him more marks!’

Coming back to the point…do not read movie reviews and get biased…watch the movie and then decide yourself. Movies are for entertainment, they dint use your bank balance to make them. If you want, you watch!

Even otherwise, why do we need film critics?

By the way, I gotto say that ‘Kites’ was unbelievably silly and a huge let down. :D

My Name is Mallu !

2010-07-03T16:36:00.008+04:00

This is NOT about ALL mallus; it is about a typical Mallu.... mebbe a mallu politician not less than 80 years of age (well is there anyone younger than that :D) or…a mallu cricketer… (u know who… lol) or an ignorant, jobless, zindabad hurling, lungi folding, native Mallu.

*There is one Mallu guy who is in the Indian cricket team and we all hate him; he is the symbol of arrogance and insanity.

*We have a personalized way to use the English vocabulary and look down upon whoever uses a regular, fluent slang.

*We use only coconut, coconut milk, and coconut oil as ingredients to any food and are proud of our high cholesterol records.

*We are totally against any new development happening in our state and hold strikes for every other reason...cos we consider 'Gelf' as an extension of Kerala .

*We get vegetables, meat and milk from other states and are not sure of what exactly we’re doing.

*We know Mohanlal, but we don’t know who Barack Obama is, though we’re hearing a lot about him lately.

*A few of us cannot stand to see females at any age walking the roads and want to pass comments at them otherwise our natural instincts would stand unfulfilled.

*At corporate levels, we are very good at smiling endearingly and stabbing from the behind.

*By the verb ‘drink’ we mean alcohol by default. If it is water we have to mention it explicitly.

*Even at a funeral ceremony, if we see Mohanlal, we shout and rejoice, and do not care about the surroundings or about the bereaving family.

*Arrogance is our attitude and weapon.

*We fold up the lungi, wear ray ban glasses, unbutton the shirt and walk the lifestyle store at Bangalore confidently enjoying all the ‘attention’ received ( I started talking in hindi that day).

*Lolakutty is our fashion icon.

*A few of us are not sure about what ‘friendship’ is, if there is no gain out of it.

*We criticize more than we appreciate and are personally not capable of anything other than that (seriously!).

*Our movies are suffering, as our directors are busy in Bollywood (making flop movies there).

We belong to God’s own Country.:-D

'We Three Kings...'

2010-06-27T11:46:00.000+04:00

I am an eager participant at various events for Christmas celebrations and an extremely talented choir member as well...( like anyone will believe that) ; :D This helps me fulfill the hidden motive, which is to cut classes at the expense of ‘choir practice’.

So there is this Christmas celebration event scheduled at the auditorium, the stage supposed to be the manger where there would be baby Jesus, Mary , Joseph, shepherds , hay, dim lights, sheep and goat. The choir had to be at the side, in their respective uniforms, and some guys were to play guitar and piano. The main song was ‘We three Kings’ where the story of the 3 kings would be enacted with the choir singing at the background.

This song told the Biblical story of the three Kings, who came to the manger in Bethlehem where Jesus was born, with gold, frankincense and Myrrh. They reached there by following a star.

The song had an initial stanza, and three stanzas, one for each King. When the stanza for the first King starts, that King would walk royally to the stage, place the gift gracefully, bow before Jesus and exit exactly when the stanza is over. This pattern would be followed by each King.

The star is initially at the entrance of the auditorium along with the 3 Kings. I do not have stage freight at all so I confidently chose to be backstage, pulling the strings of the star very proficiently and slowly so that the Kings can follow it. This star was put up and pulled from entrance to the stage a million times before the event and it was perfect, unless otherwise the Kings would never find Jesus and all existing beliefs would be shattered and rewritten by me.

The big day came.

The auditorium was housefull, with teachers in the front row. Although my hands were a bit shaky seeing the crowd, I was happy I dint have to be onstage being one of those shepherds (someone actually recommended me for that), which would have resulted in comedy and controversy. I stood backstage and held the strings tight. The three Kings were ready at the entrance and so was the star. The choir started the song, and I slowly pulled the strings… The Kings, dressed in heavily sequenced shiny cloaks and ridiculously large jewellery, their respective gifts held tight (cos if it falls down there was no way to bend and pick it up, as the dance costumes which they were wearing underneath was very tight) walked slowly, repeatedly glancing the star. In between a wave of laughter slowly took the front rows…I immediately turned to check what was wrong. No… it was all perfect, just Mary sneezed and one of shepherds jerked in shock.

So the first King was about to start.

Ta Tang !!!! The worst had happened. The star was not moving anymore.Everyone froze. The choir started with the stanza, the King stuck in the middle of the hall, flabbergasted and helpless. A thousand eyes were focussed on that King, but he maintained the royal attitude.There was a knot on the string and the star was stuck. I felt faint. The choir girls looked at each other. Mary and Joseph rolled eyes. The shepherds were bewildered. The first stanza was over; the King was still only halfway into the auditorium. I instructed one of the volunteers to hold the string and called one tall girl there to help. Finally she eased the star out of the knot.

By now, the chorus for second King was almost over and Mary, Joseph and the shepherds looked tired and impatient waiting for gifts. I instructed the two Kings to come and place the gifts on stage and leave so that atleast the third King can follow the music and the ending would be right.
So the first two Kings rushed to the stage, hurriedly placed the gold and frankincense at the manger, and left the stage without bowing... like they were attending the wedding of some distant relative.

The third King did it just fine, and the song ended as planned.

At the end of the event, one of the staffs turned up backstage and said, ‘You just had to pull a string, Anita…’

$!$#^%&%&*()*)(*&^^&%$$#@$@!!!

Yet another birthday.

2010-06-19T13:41:00.000+04:00

Gone are the days when I used to wait for my birthday to come. For all the kisses, gifts, cheek-pinching by aunties and cousins ( it is a customary exhibition of love, but used to hurt), new dress (was in the same school for 12 years, still on birthday I have to ring up someone just to hear from them that I am allowed to wear ‘color dress’ that day), greeting cards from friends, birthday songs, candy distribution at school, and the special chocolate cake made by Mummy.

Today birthdays are painful, that there would be those number candles on the cake so everyone comes to know my age. This is also why I never publish the photos of the cake cutting event on orkut or facebook so that I can avoid at least 300 + people coming to know the "secret" number :-) (see how smart I am) . I also silently swear that I’ll use the same candles for at least three more years, but end up the next year with another pair of candles where
age = age + 1. Sigh.

One has to consider birthday as the day to remember and celebrate the day one was born. Why add it to the age and spoil the fun? Putting up those number candles showing the age is such a pessimistic thought you know.

I am sure that it was invented by some spoilsport guy.

Here are some things you can consider when someone is celebrating their birthday.

1. Never buy those candles with numbers unless its your enemy or your ex.
2. Avoid birthday cards which scream ‘yay! Its your n-th birthday!’
3. Avoid saying stuff like ‘yaayy…Miss. X is n years “old”

J Thanks to everyone who kept all those lovely birthday wishes flowing in on orkut and facebook all day. Love you all J

P.S: If anyone is laughing by seeing the numbers on the cake in the image, then don’t laugh too much.

Repercussions of a Dental Extraction..

2010-06-07T12:29:00.000+04:00

Two days back the local dentist here extracted my wisdom…err …a troublesome wisdom tooth. It was a noisy melodrama with an elaborate gush of fluids, blood and tears. Although blood was manageable by the dentist, it took two nurses to wipe my tears and giggle at my misery. I wished them both the same fate in the days to come. :D . Whats more…hubby was sitting in the same room carefully studying the E72, marking the dental hospital as a ‘favorite’ on his Google map, and conveniently ignoring the sobbing and wailing. And while going back, pointing to the Barber shop and saying ‘that belongs to Barbara Mori’ dint help.:-(

I am the only person in my family to have tooth problems. If anyone who is reading this wants to remind me to brush my teeth, God help you!

I brush my teeth everyday.:-)

I have a green oral-B toothbrush and colgate toothpaste with which I brush every roads, lanes and sub lanes of my mouth religiously. And I saw the tooth which was extracted. Yuck! The “was-that-thing-in-my-mouth-all-these-days” look on my face with tears still in my eyes set the dentist and nurses roll with laughter. Hubby too rushed in to take a final glimpse of the priceless piece of fossil which was just evacuated. Okay its yucky. But still it was my tooth and it was there when he married me! Finally he bought me all those medicines and also a nice dinner (to be eaten with one side of the jaw) and I finally decided to withdraw the furious signals I was radiating to him. (Well the furious signals were the ones which originated from jealousy…that he has an enviable row of pearly whites and also… in Muscat there are fewer people to whom I can show my true colors).

Now comes the ‘presentation to everyone at home’ part.

(Aside: Papa is currently reading the English edition of the Holy Book of Quran. )

I explain the whole episode in a nutshell.

Me: Papa, my tooth is still bleeding you know…

Papa: Are you taking medicines?

Me: Yes..but it is bleeding and its slightly swollen as well..

Papa: Don’t worry…one had to be brave and patient …these are all trivial issues..

Me: If you have one such tooth you will never say this..

Papa: Dental health is very important.

Me: I realized that while at the dentist…

Papa: Delayed realization of reality is the main reason for…

Me: Noooooo! Please spare me from philosophy...I have a bleeding mouth.

Papa: (laughs)okay Anu, we’ll talk later then. Take care.(laughs again)

Mummy is up next and she sounds worried at the catastrophic turn of events. The area of concern is surprisingly not my tooth. What?? Is he reading Quran? He should first try to read the Bible properly no?

Now that is one ISD call.

Bollywood Divine, Thy Kingdom come!

2010-05-30T17:27:00.000+04:00

Dangerously running out of topics.. so made a small attempt to scrutinize a few Bollywood characters that gracefully went down the most acclaimed genre of disastrously made movies.

Tony of Kites.

Rich, handsome, flirty. He was engaged to the girl he loved, and suddenly on the previous day of marriage, his sister’s fiancée(Hrithik) woos and abducts his fiancee(Barbara). After that, the evil heads steal his money; ruin the peace and reputation of his family. Hrithik is seen ‘apologizing’ to him with a gun pointed at his forehead and cheating him yet again, with two million dollars.

What is this guy supposed to do? Sit at home and pray for their well being?

He is flirty, possessive. Who isn’t?

And finally he follows the missing couple who are ‘madly in love’ (read lust)…which he does because he is manly and has guts. And kills neither.

So who is the villain here?

Preity Zinta of Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna

She is a pretty, fashionable, dutiful family woman and a working mother. She takes care of her son, excels at work, cooks at home, picks up and drops their son at school. She likes to party. Her husband SRK does none of these, and limps his way to immorality. He confesses that to her, assuming an expression that couldn't have been lighter. She slaps him modestly.

Suddenly she is a villain.

If he doesn’t like to party, don’t!! Please! This woman doesn’t party by leaving the house in a mess, nor does she flirt with anyone in spite of her being in fashion, and the environment she works in might offer her millions of chances to. She choosing to party was way holier than her husband who spent the same night with a woman of his choice.

He finally leaves her and ends up with ‘woh’.

And we are supposed to shed tears of joy (apart from the money spent on the ticket) for the ridiculously immoral couple.

Abhishek Bachchan of Kabhi Alvida Na Kehna

When Rani confesses to him about her affair with SRK, he creates a tantrum, which any husband worth his salt will. He is undoubtedly the most lovable guy any girl would crave for. He likes to party, while Rani doesn't (she behaves like a 75 year old).
Instead she even humiliates her husband at parties amidst thousands of hot girls and sleeps with a married man who has a son too. So she can do anything for love (read lust again), and turns out to be the heroine, while Abhishek ..poor soul is caught in a gray light.

Here is a standing ovation for Rani.

Anushka in Rab ne bana di Jodi.

Despite being saved from a disaster, she continues to treat her husband like a watchdog. She is a typical village girl and one cant comprehend which Prince Charming was she expecting to come for her. Consequently, she joins a dance class (a post marriage behavioral class would have done good for her) and is led into temptation by her dance partner, even thinks about eloping with him....when the bell of morality rang with a bang in her head, tuned with ‘Tujh mein rab dikhta hai’... This lady however is alarmed at how her lover and husband are one and the same (but we don’t know whether she is happy or not).

So SRK becomes the Holy One by forgiving her trespasses.

Now that he had learnt to dance, he is allowed inside the house as well!

Here is a big round of applause to the wife of the millennium.

There are much more, I know...but winding up here ..:D will come up with some more later ;-)

Way to Exit...

2010-05-22T17:51:00.000+04:00

Hmm..Currently I'm in no mood to write, but I can’t seem to abandon my blog just because a drastic wind of change swept over my life. Well, I resigned my job in Bangalore and have landed in Muscat, in a product based company. (Time to play client now ;-) ). It is high time I shared some details about people in my previous firm who even managed to make exit process complicated for me.

In the beginning of the month of April, I dropped a small bombshell titled ‘resignation’, in the form of an email, which was expected to bombard my team of a few programmers. However it took the guise of a nuclear bomb and smoked out the entire project including the teams who were onsite and I started getting international calls with strange people (whose names I’ve seen only in the ‘Cc’ of emails) asking me soberly why I took this decision all of a sudden, in a fake mushy tone as if their life and living depended solely on the lines of code I was painfully and regretfully writing. Many a times I indirectly I asked them questions which in plain language means ‘Who in God’s name are you?’

The biggest reason behind all the fake concerns flowing in from all over the world is that, if people leave the project, it requires immediate explanation from the project managers to the senior management. So they come down from being the commanding morons that they are to be the forged ‘perfect’ boss and try their level best to pull you down from prospering any further. Well, my case was different. My supervisor was this guy who doesn’t know how to talk to people ( I have seriously come to believe there are a pack of dogs at his house to which he commands ‘Sit’, ‘Eat’ etc and he practices the same tone with people who reports to him). He called me on phone, very impolitely demanding explanation on why I am leaving, to which I was itching up to my toenails to say ‘You are why’.

On the day I was running around departments to get clearances for exit, I was not aware of some formalities and approached him. Well his response was ‘I don’t know, I never exited from here’ coupled with an evil grin. The guy who sat next to him then knew that I was exiting and said , ‘Ohh you decided to resign, is it? Then we can’t help you’. This happened with a bay of people watching as if they were watching a saas bahu serial with the bahu getting beaten up.

However I managed to vent out my frustration at the innocent HR who during her fateful duty called me for an exit interview and I talked 40 minutes nonstop. I am sure she must also be thinking of ways to quit or opt for a role change now. Well that was the least I could do. :D

And yeah, on my last working day, the last person I pinged from my desktop was my supervisor, to whom I wanted to say Bubye. I really don’t know why. Just a bubye, and no ‘thanks for support’,’or thanks for anything else which he wasn’t …and this is how the conversation went.

Me: Hi

Supervisor: What do you want now? For exit formalities contact Mr.JP.

Me: Okay.

And that was it. Well, we can’t change some people or expect even humanitarian traits from them.
I have no regrets.

The weekend trip that was..

2010-05-13T14:19:00.000+04:00

Green picturesque hills, stunning meadows, spectacular streams and everything that is romantic. However the guys were more interested in capturing butterflies, frogs and flies when my friend and I wasted our strawberry lip balmy smiles and blow dried hair staring at them.

Yo and there is a big rock. The perfect place to pose for a couple snap. With a lot of effort I climbed up the rock and waited for him. Then he came and stood next to me. I pulled him, and tried to lean on him.

Then…

‘No! Move out of my reebok logo!’

Oh so there was a logo on the shirt.

So I decided to pose alone, near the car.

And.. ‘Move away from the alloy wheels’!

So he is going alone for the next trip.

And that was my 50th post :-)

Online B'day bumps!!!

2010-05-03T22:06:00.000+04:00

My sister's b'day falls tomorrow, May 5th. Well she thinks that I am trying to compose a poem of praise for her. So here is my little bday present ;-)

Whoever visited my blog till date knows my Papa and Mummy too well.

Now its time to torment my readers again, as I introduce you to the world’s cutest little weirdo, My Sister.

She is biologically my elder sister, but psychologically, NOT. I will not be discussing weird stuff about her here, cos if I do, she will unleash a beast capable enough to destroy my will to live.

Just discussing few normal things about her.

She has the weirdest taste in men. Look around and find a random weirdly dressed and insignificant guy. Thats her type.

She is a fan of Chennai Super Kings and spent more time in the toilet than in front of the TV during IPL finals. When they won, she threw a party and treat to her friends and blew up the salary for the month of April. Well I doubt whether the Super Kings themselves ever did that.

She says she had a blackout for...like ten minutes on the day of All Kerala Engineering Entrance examination. ( She is a victim of hyper tension with customized symptoms)

My cousin once stuck a sewing needle in her finger and had to rush to hospital. My sister accompanied her trying hard not to look at it. At the hospital, she accidentally saw it and fainted. There were more people gathered around her than my cousin whose operation got delayed cos someone ‘stole her thunder’ :D

She can solve the toughest of Math and Physics equations, but cannot get herself to draw a diagram. Convincing Mummy to draw diagrams in her Biology Record book the previous day of submission always created havoc at home.(She cannot draw straight lines, even with a scale and pencil, but can draw resistors with them).

She has to use the toilet every 5 minutes on each and every day she has ever written an examination.

Her wardrobe constitutes dresses, all of the same design, in variations of orange or maroon.
( But I can trust her more for honest opinions, than looking at the mirror myself).

Most of her close friends are at least ten years younger than her.

If she doesn’t like Ms.X, she calls her the most cunning and wicked person she’s ever seen. When she meets Ms.Y and realizes that she is cunning too, she starts to be all praises for Ms.X.

She hates all animals..birds too..or let me put it this way..she hates anything that’s not human. But of course, loves eating them.

When I told her on a long distance call that I cut my finger while chopping vegetables, and added that a little 'blood' came, she felt giddy and wanted to sit down.

So that makes her one in a million :D

Yes she is, and thats my sister ...

Happy Birthday...and many more happy returns of the day !!

(Please don't kill me..)

Elevator Fun :-D

2010-04-20T12:39:00.000+04:00

In my office, presumably fresher guys (hair stuck up like they got a shock/ low waist pants starting from the thighs/ tip of shoes reminding that of tipu sultan’s/ piercing either near eyebrow or ear/ tattoo/ wearing a watch the size of a clock/ shirt buttoned or should I say ‘unbuttoned’ unprofessionally/ annoyingly whistling or humming always) are usually irritating when they use the elevator.

When the elevator reaches the floor of the above mentioned species, they block its doors by standing right at the entrance and start calling their friends, who are sometimes still at workstations or at restrooms!! It is not like it is the last elevator in that route. I have been delayed and irritated many times due to this, but never told anything. No one says anything here, you see.

Few weeks back, I got on the elevator, and there was this foreign white lady, very smart and polite, and a few others inside. She gave me a smile and said a ‘hi’ with elegance. I returned that. The elevator carried on to the next floor. The doors opened to what sounded like a fish market. There was a huge noise, and people deciding whether to get in or not, and one guy quickly came and blocked the elevator door and called aloud, ‘Hey…Rakesh ! Priya! Pooja!..come..!’ The people there who were alerted by the calling of names, turned to him sluggishly and said ‘ Arrey yaar agle lift pe jaayenge…’ To this, this guy said…’ No you come..’ and he dint finish that sentence.

The foreign lady in the elevator tapped on his shoulder and said loudly
‘ Either u get in, or just GET OUT!’

The gang of fresher species fell silent, while this guy sheepishly walked inside the elevator and the doors closed behind him. He had hit rock bottom.

Everyone were silent after that. The elevator moved on. The air was thick with controlled laughter of everyone and the damaged dignity of the fresher . However I made a very weird noise through my nose as I got breathless in the process of controlling my laughter.

This guy looked at me, burning with rage. I guess it hurt his nonexistent pride.

As the elevator reached the cafeteria, I got out and pretended to dial someone and laughed my lungs out on a fake call.

Since then, every time I saw that guy , I got infuriated glares from him. It makes my day :D

Just 'google' it!

2010-04-16T09:59:00.000+04:00

When I talk about something I assume that the listeners are either aware or know something about it. That’s all Papa does. But he is mentally too extravagant that he takes the luxury of assuming that we are all updated on current affairs and events at the stock market. I know he went too far on that. And I have learnt to nod very convincingly to it, as I check the newspaper only on Fridays to check which movie has released. Well he already has a good idea about me, and pretends that my nod is genuine. I guess he still remembers that I asked him this Easter, whether the ‘Trivandrum Chennai Mail’ is actually a goods train (my tickets were already booked in that)…and also ‘is the train going in this direction or that’ while standing right near the engine.

Also, over the years, I have learnt not to ask the question, ‘where?’ . Both Papa and Mummy has this habit of keeping every item at the right places, and I’ve never seen them searching for anything in all these years ( just sometimes they search for me). And at the start of the day I’d be searching for tooth brush, which is met with a cold stare and ironically, it sets me ablaze. One is denied the fundamental right to search. After marriage things change but my habit of misplacing things continued.

On one unfortunate day, hubby started frantically searching for original documents of the car. We had just returned from hometown the week before and it had been missing ever since. The search continued to the kitchen, the wardrobe, shoe rack…After some time I heard him calling to his home to check whether it is there. His mom searched all over the place, but in vain. Now he turned to me and asked the earth shattering question…’call your mom and ask her to check whether it is there’. I stood bewildered.

( ASIDE: There is a shelf in my home where there are serially numbered files labeled ‘car’, ‘scooter’, ‘Insurance’ etc which contains original and atleast two attested photocopies, and also a laminated index with file number and title to locate the file.)

So coming back to the question…

WHAT???????

I would rather choose to die than ask that question to my Mom.

We needed to talk. I patiently told him, that either we have to visit my parents and search for the documents secretly, or just search elsewhere. There is no way we can ask them that. Hubby was surprised. Very. Looking at me mouth opened. Well, Papa’s reaction would be no different if I told him about this.

It was absolutely something to think about. Hubby was stunned knowing that we couldn’t search for anything at my house, and everyone is expected to keep things at the right places! I lived with it, but it is so weird for others! Or probably as I have told earlier, should be a generation gap issue. :D

And the documents were inside the car itself.