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Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Selfies for Dummies!

Recently when I went shopping, I saw a lot of girls clicking selfies completely oblivious of the surroundings. I was relieved because I thought I was being weird and narcissistic by clicking my own pictures all day. However for most guys this is something they don’t comprehend. Why blame them when even our spelling godfather Microsoft Word does not get it!  I just want to say …Dude we depend on you for all our spellings…update yourself!

Well for all those husbands/boyfriends/brothers/fathers out there who don’t understand what a selfie is, here are some insights.

A selfie is a self-portrait. Like you most probably believe, we DID NOT invent this word; it was included in the Oxford Dictionary from year 2013.

      We do not ask you to click our pictures anymore, and torment or embarrass you. When we are clicking a selfie, if you feel embarrassed you can just move out of the frame and act like a stranger. We will be really grateful.

      Most selfies are taken in restrooms. This is because corporate and mall restrooms are well lit. Do not complain, as you are probably waiting somewhere checking out some hot chics, or in the worst case inquiring when Apple is releasing the next iphone.

      A selfie is harmless. It hardly costs anything. We don’t even send our selfies to you.

      You may think why we need a selfie when there are mirrors everywhere. You are not expected to understand this.

     With selfies there is no dearth of profile pictures.

     Almost anyone looks like a celebrity in selfies.

     Selfies relieve us from stress and uplifts our confidence like no other.

      It is the most loved feel-good activity, after shopping and cupcakes.

      It is foolish to think that women who click a lot of selfies are self-obsessed. Yeah we are, but it is still foolish to think like that.

      If we click a lot of selfies it doesn’t mean that we are selfless.

      Selfies are not clicked only when we are wearing something new. Even a school uniform is reason enough.

      Selfie experts can pose like it was Dabboo Ratnani who clicked them by not showing their extended hands which holds the phone. This is no ordinary feat. 

      A good selfie involves some financial risk . Chances of the phone falling down when we are adjusting our hair cannot be ruled out. It is not a child's play, and moreover, it is not silly. 

      A selfie that turned out very well may not even need to go under the editing knife! It is a real time saver!

      Selfies with friends rejuvenates friendship and keeps memories alive. We do not lose patience if we have to click countless pictures just to make sure everyone looks good. When everyone agrees on one, that is one of those moments when we have bonded for life.


So next time she takes a selfie at the mall, or takes more time at the restroom, you know what to do. Just stop asking and keep walking. 

Thursday, January 16, 2014

The great Indian CAR-ste System.

Recently a very amusing encounter happened between an Audi and a Nano at Trivandrum. Apparently cars do not respect each other based on their make. Well here is what really happened. A family was driving home in a Nano. They did not give way to the celebrity vehicle Audi that was following them, because the signal was red and there was no choice for the Nano but to stay where it was. Apparently the Audi got fast and furious that the Nano did not hold her skirt and bow down as it was supposed to. Further things got lame and silly when the Audi driver got out of his car after overtaking the Nano and manhandled the Nano driver who was travelling with his family. Poor Nano was publicly reminded that the road was the ancestral property of the Audis and the BMWs, and that traffic signals were not applicable to them. And that Mukesh Ambani does not enter Reliance offices by swiping his id card. You need to have polarized vision to read unwritten, but pretty obvious celebrity vehicle rules, my Nano friend! 

As for me this is like watching the CARS movie, or a long drive with the hubby, whose mind is full of car politics. For example when we used to drive a Maruti Swift in India, he used to give way to Honda Accord to overtake but not to an i10, because apparently i10 dint have what it takes. May be i10 needed to grow up and become a Honda Accord or something. Other Maruti Swifts with brighter colors and better alloy wheels would not be spared either. And let’s not discuss Nano! This was one of the startling revelations about him I learnt post marriage because till then all the trips I ever went were with Papa and Mummy during which even bicycles overtook us. So after understanding car politics I was like Wow! These guys do not have ANY right to mock us girls, just because we go green eyed when somebody turns up in a brand new dress or handbag. They have mean car politics going on in their heads! Untold dark secrets of stupid car politics!

For the uninitiated, the car-ste system is something like this. The Big B travels in a Rolls Royce because it is old,rich, handsome and elegant just like him. His granddaughter travels in a Mini Cooper, because it is small and cute, and also showcases the brand of the family she belongs to. Salman Khan drives a Range Rover as he is a ‘young’ sporty bachelor, and that’s also something which can kill innocent people on the streets and get away. Other rich businessmen and celebrities drive BMWs, Benz and Audi variants. All other cars, invariably Maruti and Hyundai hatchbacks are owned by honest, taxpaying aam aadmis. And there are classes there too.

Then there are the spoilt brat cars. For example the Ambani kids drive the Aston Martin, some NRI kids of Kerala under ten years of age drive the Ferrari and other rich kids of the Middle East drive Lamborghinis and Porsche, a regular sight for us commoners. And when they race through those lesser travelled roads near the airport, a 5:00 pm weekend sport of rich teenagers, regular cars either stop or reduce speed and shift to a side as a sign of reverence. Or fear.

People choose cars by how it makes them look among others. If you drive to a fancy restaurant in a normal car, the security may gesture you to park outside, but if you go in a shiny SUV, he will open the door for you and park it too. 
In an Indian arranged marriage if the groom comes in a top end car then he is considered to be a great catch by the bride’s nosey relatives. Whereas if the bride arrives in a luxury car, the guy is considered to be lucky and any flaws associated with either of the couple will be conveniently overseen. What if the bride is a notorious college dropout? Her father gave her Audi Q7 as dowry wedding gift…! Instantly she is elevated to sainthood.  

Flashback to year 2007.
I was in Mumbai on a project, with five others, trying to cross a busy road. We stood by the zebra cross trying to make eye contact with speeding drivers for at least fifteen minutes.

Me (to friend): “Let’s start taking baby steps, until we reach somewhere near the center of the road. Then at least somebody will let us pass… come” I took two steps.

A lorry was coming slowly.

Friend: “Hey if you want to die then target that Benz, not this lorry. Atleast the news of your accident will sound cooler.”


P.S : I always had such awesome, 'caring' friends. I still do. Thank you very much J

Tuesday, January 7, 2014

The year that was - hits, misses and growing old.

While working days are like HD videos played using a dial up internet connection (buffering…buffering... buffering…YAWN), vacation days are like a movie when it is fast forwarded 32X. More so, if it is Christmas. A fun filled masala entertainer with frequent intervals to eat high calorie food in large quantities with zero guilt and maximum gluttony. Back in Oman now, wondering where to place all those shoes I bought during my shopping spree at Cochin, and the extra kilos I gained around my waist. And by that I have been denied the right to even look into any shoe shop for the rest of the year. So 2014 will be the first year of my life I will be not be lusting after shoes. It’s not a resolution or anything, just a decision enforced on me. 

Let’s see!(evil grin).

2013 had been an okay kind of year. It was not good for me, or my batch mates, as we all turned fat, lazy and a year older. Our kids also became naughtier. Looking back, I remember being in a large group of friends, whose whereabouts are not known to me now. How a person who came to school with me can be in a place where there is no internet, I sometimes wonder. But it is not about internet. It is about the efforts we take to keep in touch. And this effort originates from genuine friendship. All other show offs and fake pretense die in time. And I lived to turn thirty to establish this shocking revelation which is already known even to small children.

Everyone who turned thirty now knows what betrayal feels like. Some friends walked away from my life for good, leaving me distrusting anyone who crossed my path. If I had 40 friends when I was 18, and even during my 20’s, I have like five friends now, to whom I don’t open up for the same fear of betrayal. But true friendship exists and at thirty realization dawns clear and most of us almost know who will stay and who will not. We are all judges at our own courts. 

2013 also took away a major portion of my hair. I dread the thought of combing it these days, as that’s when whatever is left also falls off! Anyone else turned bald at thirty? Please let me know!

2013 also marked certain other changes. Loud ringtones irritate me like no other. (Earlier I used to be loud myself so these ringtones were insignificant in comparison). I also can’t stand the fact that any person in my address book that uses whatsapp appears on my whatsapp list. This includes the shopkeeper at whose shop I gave my pressure cooker for repair, the plumber of the building where I stay and the sales person at a retail store who promised to call when there is a sale. And we wonder why people still swear by BBM.

I have also stopped screaming in potentially painful situations like paper cuts, knife cuts, and other minor accidents.  I also do not alert the neighborhood if I discover a spider in my bedroom.

2013 was also the year when some of my best clothes started showing their age. They are either pale, faded in patches, or the fabric has given way to anomalous spaces. They are still too good to be worn at home.  As such they now occupy a backseat in my wardrobe, and have grown hands and feet themselves, thus pushing the newer ones in such a way that once the wardrobe is opened it rains clothes (giving my spouse a false impression that I have too many of them). He is very unlikely to believe the hands and feet story theory.

Coming to think of it, I have the Joey syndrome now. Every birthday I am like ‘Why, God, Why me!!?’ and I dread to death those number candles.

Even though it is a depressing fact that we are not growing any younger, it’s a solace that nobody else is. 
And whenever I feel low, I think of Priyanka Chopra. 
She is older than I am.



 Buhahaha ;-)

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

'X'mas is here..! Find X.

I am so overwhelmed by the response my first ever story got and I can’t seem to bring myself to the ground and am currently in a floating state, after tens of people liked it on Facebook and others, through blog comments and even in person. Christmas has rung itself in; there are voices of Boney M and Jim Reeves in the air. The  trip to hometown is in the pipeline, packing is halfway through, the festivities have started, the tree is lit, its ornaments are everywhere, the house is in a complete mess, so in short holidays are here! Yay!  

Christmas is the festival of merriment. We often exchange wishes saying ‘Merry Christmas’ or ‘Merry Xmas’ , both of which are intended to mean the same thing, but I was confused whether the latter was a colloquial usage. Because replacing Christ from Christmas with ‘X’ just dint make sense. I remember writing out cards that read 'Merry Christmas'…but ever since Christmas cards went down in the pages of history, the sms lingo made the situation worse with people saying ‘Hey Happy xmaz xoxoxo’ to which I just want to say 'Dude. It is Christmas'. 

Call me an idiot, but since Christmas brings with it the incredible season of winter, and festivities enjoyed by everyone regardless of religion, I believed that the non-Christians pulled the Christ out of Christmas and commercialized it. So any Christian worth his salt should not say 'Xmas', is what I thought although I used it in my whatsapp conversations. Because by the time I type Christmas, my phone would have become a thing of the past, thanks to my toddler who is extremely fond of throwing expensive stuff. 

Image courtesy: www.ligonier.org

But Google later told me a different story altogether. It seems there were protests by people across the world who had similar feelings as mine, over replacing ‘Christ’ with ‘X’. There were people who felt like the word ‘Xmas’ was more like an algebraic term which by the end of if wants the reader to Find ‘X’.  (A portion of me died by the the time I graduated, after hunting down all X, Y and Z which were absconding ever since I joined)

However, the word ‘Xmas’ originated somewhere around the 16th century, that is like really long ago.  Here is what the Wiki has to say about it:
Xmas is a common abbreviation of the word Christmas .The "-mas" part is from the Latin-derived Old English word for Mass,[1] while the "X" comes from the Greek letter Chi, which is the first letter of the Greek word Χριστόςwhich comes into English as "Christ".[2]
There is a common misconception that the word Xmas stems from a secular attempt to remove the religious tradition from Christmas[3] by taking the "Christ" out of "Christmas", but its use dates back to the 16th century.

Another article reads:
First of all, you have to understand that it is not the letter X that is put into Christmas. We see the English letter X there, but actually what it involves is the first letter of the Greek name for Christ. Christos is the New Testament Greek for Christ. The first letter of the Greek word Christos is transliterated into our alphabet as an X. That X has come through church history to be a shorthand symbol for the name of Christ. Source: http://www.ligonier.org/blog/why-is-x-used-when-it-replaces-christ-in-christmas/
So Xmas also means Christmas , its got a beautiful history behind it, so chill. People back in 16th century wouldn't have used it if it was sms lingo.
16th century. Hmm. It just struck me that this was also the time Shakespeare lived. Going by his work and especially his characters and their soliloquies, it is very unlikely that people of those times would actually think about using smaller words or concepts. 

In other news, I had hatched a master plan to put up an exclusive Christmas tree for the IT department of our office. With the help of some friends, we achieved a beautiful outcome and here it is.


This could be the last post of 2013, and so here is wishing all my readers and to everyone who stumbled upon this page and cared to leave comments, criticism and suggestions, a Merry Xmas and a joyous and blessed New Year 2014! 


Monday, December 9, 2013

Between Leya and me.

This short story, the first in its genre I ever attempted, was published under 'Fiction' in the November issue of the popular emagazine, Tamarind Rice. 
It is naive. It is amateur. It has got gaps and potholes. I accept all of its flaws and any criticism with utmost modesty and respect. Thank you all my readers who were my Boosts and Complans all the way!

I lost my ability to see beyond the bars. The big black bars of the cell I was detained in. Every other sight I could see was marred by these bars, which held my mind captive within the darkness and loneliness of its four walls. The walls were the hostile witnesses to the fear, guilt, tears, loneliness and regret of prisoners over the years. The sky that changed colors and the moving clouds were the only changes that happened in my otherwise standstill life. I was not sure whether it was the gallows or a life sentence for me or whether one day I will get to go home only to be ridiculed forever. My lawyer came once in a while and often left unsure of my case. I ate, drank, and stared at the sky.

It was an old but well known prison that held women offenders. Often it has witnessed the arrival and quick departure of the famous. Once a day, we were allowed to walk in the prison ground and adjacent garden. I saw a lot of women in a similar plight as mine, depressed and weary. They hardly spoke or socialized. On many days I saw the beautiful lady with sparkling grey eyes and a huge tattoo on her arms either talking to herself, or sometimes even hesitating to come outside her cell, for that break we could be human beings and not zoo animals. Nobody talked to her, nor did she talk to anyone. Days passed.

I had nothing to look forward to. I did not know what was ahead of me. My husband died eleven years ago, and I have no offspring, in short there was nobody waiting for me. My parents had written me off the books when I married against their wishes.

If it was the gallows, I could prepare myself for it. But my life lay in the passive, discolored corridors of the jail, hooked on uncertainty. Suddenly, the inkling of the lock and key blared into my ears from the deafening silence. I turned around. I could not see the person in the adjacent cell, but someone had occupied it. It was the only cell that was closest to mine.

“Hello… “I started my conversation, my first self-initiated conversation in months.
I did not expect any response.

“Leya here”

I was delighted.

“How long here?” I inquired.

“You came after I did..” Leya said matter-of-factly.

“Eight months since I came..” I remembered.

Leya had a sweet, young voice. That day at recess, as soon as she was released she walked to me. I felt her desperate need to talk and be understood. It was not money or luxury or even love that a person needs…it is a certain someone who can listen, without being judgmental. She had murdered her senior colleague in an act of defense as he forced himself on her one night at the workplace.

That guy had a good lawyer and things turned against her. She was all of 25. I could almost feel her pain, and how she had longed to share her feelings. And I narrated my story, the story of my life as a nurse and on the fateful night how I messed with the dosage of a medicine and the man lost his life. I was sentenced on grounds of medical negligence and murder. She nodded.

I started looking forward to the recess during which I could be with Leya and walked around the prison garden. She had everything – career, love, money and happiness. The world turned upside down when on one night she had to work late. She did not have any intention to kill him, but it was that fatal blow she struck with the vase. Other women looked at us sympathetically, as we talked but never approached for anything. Nobody else in the prison preferred to talk to me, and avoided me like plague. However, I dint care much.

A week later, my lawyer emerged. He was seen talking to the security and duty policemen and pointed at me. He exchanged glances with the policemen as they talked to me. He said my trial was scheduled that week and any time he may come to take me to the court room for the proceedings. Sadness, anxiety and fear had become alien emotions. Over the eight months, I had turned into stone. The lonely life, aimless existence and the tomorrow that may not exist – I welcomed these to my life. Few days later, I was asked to follow the lawyer to the prison entrance and from there we went to the court accompanied by police. One of the prison policemen testified that I was not normal in my behavior. After the proceedings the judge considered my age and ‘mental stability’ and severity of the crime I committed and sentenced me to the mental asylum for six months. I did not understand what exactly was happening or why I was being treated for non-existent mental disorders. I followed the policemen and asked them a million questions but they refused to answer. I was escorted back to the darkness of my cell.

As I walked I turned to look at Leya, as I knew she’d be anticipating the judgment from my trial. However she was not there. All other inmates were in their respective cells. I asked the police on duty,’ Where is Leya?’

‘Leya, who?’ he asked neglectfully.

‘The one in this cell…with the tattoo’. I said pointing to her space. On hearing this, Jeena looked at me from her cell in surprise.

‘There was nobody here’ he said coldly.

‘The grey eyed lady, with the tattoo on her arm…’ I continued.

‘I said there was nobody here! Now stop dreaming and take your belongings! Fast!’ He screamed.

I walked to my space, confused, and started packing my things. Jeena’s eyes followed me.
May be this policeman did not know Leya, I thought. I turned to look at Jeena, pointed to Leya’s cell and gestured to question Leya’s whereabouts.

Jeena continued to stare at me in shock and suspicion.

‘Now don’t tell me you don’t know her”, I was annoyed by her unresponsiveness.

Jeena said, ‘Yes. I knew her. Three years ago, before she hanged herself to death in this cell, I knew her. Leya, the grey eyed girl with the big tattoo.’

I stood there, flabbergasted.

Jeena continued. ‘Leya was the name she called herself. Her actual name was Janice. Janice George. She came here roughly ten years ago. ’


Janice George, the lady who murdered my husband.


Tuesday, December 3, 2013

The Christmas tree I could not have...

To say the least, I get very intense around Christmas. I am bossy and I will have my way by any means. I will be on my toes most of the time, overbearing and highly intolerable, assigning duties to everyone including the toddler. Rest of the year, I am exceptionally sweet, lovable, modest and down to earth. I do not know how others perceive it though, as very often I am mistaken to be carrying over the Christmas code of conduct for another eleven months, but as we all know everyone has the right to judge and I exercise my right to ignore.

When I was younger, artificial trees like we have now and tree ornaments existed only in the homes of NRIs so we satisfied ourselves by decorating the fern plant from our garden. After my marriage I made it clear that in the month of December there will be a Christmas tree in my living room, at any cost. And so it happened. We had shifted to a different country, Oman, in year 2010 and had minimal furniture and vessels, but Christmas tree was certainly there (going by my unwritten rule). We still have the same tree carefully packed in its box resting under our bed cabinet, fresh and very usable, almost as good as new. However I am known to be extravagant and quite a wasteful spendthrift around Christmas…Oh did I not mention that earlier? It is the complete opposite of what Christmas really means, due to the obvious fact that baby Jesus was not born in Breach Candy hospital. So despite having a very usable tree, I went Christmas tree shopping.

Day 1: We went to the Lulu(supermarket) near our house and found the most amazing tree ever. But then a voice in my head said… ‘Hey! C’mon you should know better…you cannot possibly ‘like’ the first tree you saw…don’t you want to check those at Home center as well and make a wise decision?’ Of course, what was I thinking?
My favorite tree from Lulu

Day 2: We went to home center and found the most expensive trees not worth a single penny.

Day 3: We went to Sultan center mall and found trees from the 18th century. So Lulu tree it is…My favorite tree…here I come..get ready and pack your bags!

Day 4: At Lulu, I was told that my favorite tree was sold out. I yelled crazy. ‘We could check in the other Lulu right?’ I consoled myself (In Middle East, there is a Lulu in every corner).

Day 5: At the other Lulu, my favorite tree was there. Three of them on display, and others were in boxes. ‘Brother, please pack this item, we don’t have time to think ’I said. Whoosh! We almost flew home in excitement.

Day 6: The tree stayed in the box.

Day 7: The tree stayed in the box.

Day 8: Midnight: I opened the box and set it up. It was the ugliest tree of the entire Christmas tree collection in the history of Lulu. The damn sales guy packed the wrong tree.

Day 9: Complete hysteria. The car sped towards the Lulu that spoiled our lives, with the box of so-called tree, its bill, and a temper that had gone ablaze. The sales guy apologized and confessed that my favorite tree including the ones on display was sold out from there as well. We came home sailing in our own tears.

Day 10: I dusted my tree from 2011 and lit it. It took more time as I had to wipe tears in between. My son thought that putting up Christmas tree was some sort of sad ritual wherein one remembers dead forefathers.

At the end, my tree looked something like this. Not so bad eh?
My Christmas tree


Lessons Learnt:

1.      When you find something you like, buy it immediately. Do not wait to compare, especially seasonal stuff like Christmas trees, mangoes and watermelons. Cunning and ruthless people are waiting like wolves to grab what you wanted so dearly, I am telling you.

2.      When you buy an item, open the box and check it at the store itself before heading for home. This does not apply to milk and eggs.

3.      The intensity of your greed to buy something you already have is inversely proportional to your chances of owning it.

4.      When you put up Christmas tree, do not cry. Do it to create memories for yourself and your kids. If the kid does not give a damn of your precious and beautiful tree, it is most likely you are raising a boy. The male species develop such annoying indifference to all things beautiful at a very early stage. In this case as early as two years and five months of age.

Merry Christmas everyone! Hope you guys find your perfect tree!


Spread the word!