Hug the old and welcome the new

*Phew* Finally this year is getting over. There were a lot of depressing times both personal and external. But I would like to focus on the fun times for the next couple of days.
This year Chrys and I did a lot of travelling. There were so many wonderful memories inspite of some hiccups (like travel sickness, maniacal driving by chauffeurs and diversion of flights). We visited Mashobra in Simla, Lonavala (several times), the vineyards in Nashik and Ashtamudi in Kerala. Even within Mumbai we discovered new places to eat at and made a lot of new friends.
As we inch towards the 7-year (itch?) mark in our relationship, I believe our bond has grown stronger. We understand each other better and I am more and more in love with this man each day :)
Happy new year my dear and cheers to many many more years of togetherness and fun :)

Meow!

I think I'm gonna install that app that will de-baby my FB page and replace those photos with pics of cats or something. The thing is that I don't like cats either. The previous statement suggests that I don't like babies. It might be true... I don't know. Every morning I login to FB to find that yet another friend has produced them... babies not cats. I wish they would stop, but no! Not only do they produce them, they rub it in my face by posting googly eyed photos of their drooling little faces.
I wish the world would procreate like they did in yesterday's episode of Dr. Who. A machine takes a tissue sample from you. Then using it, it creates a brand new twenty year old human being equipped with fighting skills and outfitted in soldiers' clothes. No more goo goo gaa gaa. No more potty susu cleaning.

*Maybe the grapes really ARE sour*

These days whenever someone tells me that someone's had a baby I react with indifference. I am neither happy nor sad. As I see it my life is perfect right now. A kid might enhance it but it also demands some huge sacrifices.
Besides all this nonsense about "feeling happy FOR someone else" is... well... nonsense. You can feel genuinely happy only if something effects your life in a positive way. Someone else having a kid is not effecting me. For all you know I might be meeting my friends even less now coz they can't socialise with a tiny tot hanging around. I actually feel a bit disappointed for someone else being so hyper-fertile and ruining their perfectly lovely lives.

*Don't mind me. I am PMSing (where's my ginger tea?)*

Mean me

A few weeks ago I was at this really beautiful resort in Lonavla. I had breakfast and while Chrys was still tucking in some more, I decided to take a stroll in the lovely grounds. I walked with butterflies flying all around me, the birds chirping away, a cool breeze blowing and I am in a trance. Suddenly a shrill voice shouts out, "Excuse me". I turn around and see the most hideous thing I have ever seen. It's a black tent enclosing something that is obscenely blubbery. Four appendages stick at different points and there's a big bloated balloon on top with some wispy black hair. Through all those blobs of flesh on the balloon there seems to be some opening that's speaking these words. "Excuse me", he/she(I'm not sure) says again, "Did you just have a massage?"
"No", I manage to croak out after he/she asks me a couple of times.
"Oh! I wanted to know if it's any good".
I just make some shrugging sort of gesture and slink away, although all my instincts are screaming to me to run back and warn the people at the spa to escape while they can.

#IknowIammean

Nailed it!

I recently started growing my nails. I have always kept them short. The last time I grew them was almost 10 years ago. It was around the time I went from a Rs.4000 a month job to a Rs.9000 a month one. I had joined a call center. From the horse-cart and rickshaw town of Kalyan I landed in the taxi-filled mill area of Lower Parel.
There were jeans clad teenagers everywhere. People were "hanging out" more than working, at a place that reminded me of "FRIENDS"... I was working at a "Call Center". It was new and it was hip AND it had a "Cafeteria"!
I bought my first pair of jeans (size 24-SIGH!). Nail polish went from being a "luxury" to a necessity. When I heard some people discussing manicures and nail art, I decided to grow my nails. It was tough coz I used to bite them when I was tensed ... and I was always tensed. The famous "Minty ki mummy" (a punjabi lady in our building) lent me a pale pink nail polish (even after my "big-household-depression" ended, I was stingy). I applied it carefully, capping the bottle with a peice of paper when the brush was taken out for fear of drying out the liquid in it. I waited a full hour watching it dry and did nothing with my hands while it did that. I know, I know... it doesn't take that long, but just to be safe I gave it an hour.
I was so proud of my nails, I kept admiring them when I typed out a call record or stirred my coffee or ate my sandwich or just held them up in the air while speaking to a caller. I even have a picture, taken during the bus ride home, where I am holding my arms in an extended "Balle Balle" pose showing off my pink nails.
I also remember digging them into my palms in the 1.5 hours it took me to travel from work to my home on the day my dad died. The next day my nails were gone, I don't remember if I chewed them off or whether I sat down and cut them... most probably the former.

After that I have preferred keeping my nails short and colourless. But my recent sedentary lifestyle needed some diversion in the form of nail-filing. So I have decided to give it another shot. Chrys loves it, he says it makes me look feminine. Those 24 inch jeans will never fit me again, but a pale pink nail-polish might still become me :)

Muffins in my dream

I get the weirdest of dreams and usually I forget them. But last night's dream was unforgettable and funny. So, I am in this baby shop... not a shop selling baby items... a shop selling babies. It's like a bakery cum grocery. A lady brings me a tray of three really large muffins and says that they are my babies. I look at them puzzled and the lady apologies saying "Sorry your embryos didn't have any nucleus and when we put them in the microwave they turned into muffins". I ask, "Why did you put them in the microwave?". She says, "That's how we create the babies from the embryos. Don't worry, you can eat the muffins...they are delicious". I stare at the muffins. They really look delicious. "Hmm, look like blueberry and chocolate chip", I think.
Then she says, "We have a baby for you but it's neither male nor female". I hesitate, then Chrys pops in and says, "I am OK if you are OK". I say, "I am not OK, I'll wait for another one". Then Chrys starts ranting that I never let him make any decisions and I just ignore him (as usual). I tell the lady to call me when she has a perfectly formed baby and leave.
Nope, I am not gonna analyse this dream...it's just weird that's all!

Mango Stories (contd)

When speaking of mangoes I can't help but remember one mango filled day in my childhood. This was when we were staying in Hoshiarpur in Punjab. My sister was a baby and I would have been about three and a half years old. My dad and several of his friends made plans to visit a farmhouse near Chintpurni in HP. This was peak summer. Early in the morning, the four of us, mom, dad, sis and I, piled onto my dad's Vespa scooter and were on our way. I remember standing in the front of the scooter and taking in the eucalyptus tree-filled scenery. This was an entourage of scooters... Bajajs and Vespas.... vroom vroom vroom we went...or should I say scoot scoot scoot!
The farmhouse was just a basic structure with a little tank filled with water outside and huge mango orchard. Fresh, ripe mangoes were dunked in pails of water to keep them cool. The menfolk jumped into the tank...to keep cool too. I remember taking several jumps into the tank where my dad caught me just in time after the splash. Then we sat on the charpayis and gorged on those juicy mangoes... I don't know what variety they were, but they were delicious.
On our way back we stopped at a dhaba for food and tall glasses of lassi. I, of course, was a chillar party so was only allowed to sip from my parents' glasses. I still can never finish a full glass of punjabi lassi. That day in my childhood and several others like that stand out in my memory. Those were simple times. I had never heard of a TV or cartoons... just ate, drank and made merry :)

Mango stories

I have never had a langda aam in my life or so I thought. Chrys has been raving about this type of mango since years but every mango season we would just binge on alphonso and the box of mangoes Chrys' dad sends sometimes. This year we finally got around to buying a few of the Langda variety. The moment I tasted it I was taken back to my childhood when I spent summer vacations in Kerala. My maternal grandad had these huge mango trees in the backyard of his house and those mangoes tasted just like these langda mangoes. Of course they call it something else and they look smaller, but the taste is the same. There were so many of them that we had it all day. My grandpa would squeeze an overripe mango into his rice and have it for lunch. Grandma made a curry of it with grated fresh coconut and curd. In the night when it rained, mangoes would fall off the trees and just after sunrise we would accompany grandpa in the grounds looking for them. It was like a treasure hunt. My grandpa almost always predicted the exact number of mangoes we would find. He counted the "thuds" in the night LOL!
One of those trees was cut down for grandpa's funeral... it was the one closest to his bedroom window... the one that kept him awake in the night with the sound of falling mangoes.

OMG

People grow more spiritual as they grow older... I am not so sure I will go that way. It's the opposite for me. I have studied about the "The Big Bang", read "A brief history of time" and seen a lot of "The origin" style programs on TV. The more I read and understand, the farther I move from the idea of an all powerful God. I just grow curiouser and curiouser.

Even if there was some supernatural being who created all THIS, I don't think he/she/they/it have any more control over it. Everything around us is evolving and playing out in surprising and unpredictable ways (except for Cher.... what's going on there?).

We humans have become all powerful... powerful enough to cause earthquakes (http://www.popsci.com/science/article/2011-10/fyi-can-humans-trigger-earthquakes), floods and all sorts of catastrophes. Wasn't that the job of your God? So are we God? No, we are not... we are simply tiny dots on a tiny dot in the vast Universe.

So don't fret the small things... don't even fret the big things... you are never really gonna know the truth... just chill and put on some music.

After four years of being miserable, I have decided to be happy now. Which means that I have put a full stop to my fertility treatments. I am SO done with being pumped up with hormones and steroids. Many people have found success with such treatments but the whole thing is not for me. I have gone through too many emotional ups and downs and come out a bit scarred. Also my lovely body has taken a beating and is not so lovely any more.
First step, get my back problem out of the way...i.e. exercise and make it strong.
Secondly, lose all that extra weight and tone up.
Thirdly, find something to do with all the free time in hand.
And last but not the least, BE HAPPY ALWAYS.

Why does a show of intense rage (without violence) raise objection and a show of love doesn't? Why must I be discreet with my anger and open with my love? I am mean sometimes (actually most times) and I wish to have the freedom to express my meanness just as I have the freedom to express my affection.
If being in "civilised" society means that I must mask my real emotions about a person or situation to "maintain decorum", I'd like to go live in the jungle.

Thoughts...

I have decided not to click any pictures on my next vacation. It's true that pictures serve as a sweet reminder of the fun times we have had, but sometimes we are so engrossed in clicking photographs that we fail to savour the moment.
This time I just want to be in the moment and later recollect from memory. It's like trying to remember the taste of a delicious dish you've had. Let the brain build up it's own visual bank without a photograph trying to help it.
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In these times of the smartphone, I have realised that I have lost patience to read a book in one sitting. I am taking much too long to finish a 200-300 page book!

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I don't know if we should be called humans anymore when a half dead man is left sitting on the road with his limbs scattered all around, pictures are clicked, questions are asked with no hurry being shown to take him to a hospital. Did they instantly know he was guilty? Does that mean he didn't deserve medical aid? #imphal

Mujhse Fraandship Karo

Being friends in today's day and age means patiently tolerating endless vacation photos and updates(occasionally being asked to eat your liver too), driving the person home when he/she is drunkenly singing in the back seat, cooking up a delicious meal only for the person to inform you that he/she hates chicken/mutton/bhindi or is on a diet, being sworn enemies in your childhood and the dearest of friends when adults.... and much more. I love you all my dear, crazy bunch of friends :)

Maid in Mumbai or Dirty linen?

So after begging, pleading and threatening for the better part of the last five years, Chrys agreed to buy me a washing machine. All these years we relied on our unpredictable maid(Marriam) to do the washing. She had this habit of going off on leave without any advance warning and turn up a few days later as if nothing had happened. I, while working a stress-filled full time job at the time, would be left to do the housework or beg other maids in the building to do it for the day. Inspite of being willing to pay them a tidy sum, some maids act like they are some superstars being asked for an autograph - it depends on their mood. Since Chrys wouldn't let me buy a washing machine my next solution was to keep a cook who could also do other housework in case the maid didn't turn up. That went well for a while till the cook got pregnant (must have had a power-cut or something - it was before 3G).

Marriam continued with her erratic schedule while I got a new (extremely chatty) cook. One fine day when Marriam didn't show up again, I snapped and sacked her on reassurances from the cook that she could get me a replacement. The replacement however refuses to wash clothes coz she works for up-scale households that own washing machines. She will only extract the clothes from the machine and hang them out to dry (thank you very much). So I finally put my foot down and bought the thingummy. Now the problem is that the new maid (Zubaida is her name... I kid you not) has (in her princess voice) told me that she will come to work at 8 AM sharp by which time the clothes must be washed. Which means I need to wake up at 6 AM and start the damn thing or put it in for delayed wash (which means more electricity consumption). Plus she will charge me the same money I paid Marriam even though washing is not involved... coz I'm being hung out to dry... literally.

Disclaimer: No names have been changed because their identity needs no protection... plus who would want to hide such lovely names.

Bring back the simpler times

When my sister and I were young, we used to wait eagerly for our dad to return home from work. He would usually come in really tired from the local train travel but always had a big smile for us. Mom would quickly make piping hot tea which my dad would leave on the side table till it was really cold and had a thin milky film on it. Mom always complained about it. Dad would ask us about our day and then bury his nose in the newspaper. That was another thing my mom complained about. Especially on Sundays. She would say that the newspaper was like my dad's second wife. But a man can only read so much news. Eventually my dad would put it down and we had a nice warm family dinner, chit-chatting, my sis and I monkeying around, dad subtly flirting with mom and then off to bed. Sometimes we watched T.V, but those were the days of Doordarshan. The only thing worth watching was the News and even that was government controlled.

These days there are so many things to help your pass time and communicate with your friends. Has anyone stopped to think if it's stopping you from communicating with your family? There are smart-phones with that Facebook app loaded in it. There are high-definition T.Vs with programming to suit all ages and there are Hi-Fi music systems to blast your ears and brains to space. Dinner is usually had in front of the T.V followed by an update about it in Facebook.

Does anyone even think about how much of their life is getting wasted in updating and checking updates from random acquaintances while the people who really care about them are being ignored at home? How can anyone achieve intimacy if they are checking their phones even in bed? Then one fine day you will realise that life has passed you by and you made no real bonds. You might die and some old school-mate or ex-colleague would make a "R.I.P" update about you on Facebook.

Maybe that's all there is to it. Maybe that's all we deserve.

Pause

"Woody Allen: A life in film" is a documentary with a candid interview with the artist himself.
He talks about some of his movies, one of which stands out - Interiors. This was about three sisters. One, a very talented writer who wasn't getting anywhere inspite of her gift, the other was an actress and the third - Mary Beth Hurt as Joey was someone who was full of feelings but had no artistic talent at all - in the words of Woody Allen- 'which is a terrible position to be in life - to have intuitive feelings about life and nature and suffering and human beings and love and have no way to express it. Not being able to write or paint or compose or get these feelings out in any way.'

This thought stuck with me. How many of us are like Joey - Passionate and emotional yet unable to express it due to a lack of talent?

Life is actually very ordinary without talent - work, eat, sleep and die. Whatever!

Maaf karo yaar, time nahi hai

Sanjay Leela Bhansali is hell-bent on making movies about the physically challenged. Khamoshi (deaf-mute), Black (blind, deaf-mute), Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam (Salman Khan-go figure), Devdas (SRK-stammer), Saawariya (Ranbir-nudist - may be a disability in some countries) and now Guzaarish. There are other movie directors who have tackled autism and dyslexia too.

Chrys suggests that we should take inspiration and come up with a script for more common illnesses like ... well... the common cold.

The protagonist would undertake extremely dangerous tasks like taking a bath in cold water, getting wet in the rain, diving into swimming pools, etc; all to gather enough money for his nose surgery. He suffers from a deviated nasal septum and is prone to colds.

Other movie ideas include

- Smelly Feet - even the temple deities run away when the protagonist comes to worship after removing his shoes.

- Absence of a sense of humour - Tons of politicians would qualify

- Kleptomania - Oh wait, Farah Khan has already completed Tees Maar Khan.

Chrys has loads of other ideas (mostly unprintable). Worth wasting time on instead of watching an SLB movie.

Meri bhi ek luv story hai

In my younger days I was in love with the concept of love. I could fall in love at the drop or a hat... love at first sight happened all the time. Sometimes I thought that I was in love with two people at the same time. Of course I never did anything about it. Just the heart flutter, shy glances, a little simple flirting and then I was done. There always came a day when I saw the guy in true daylight without my rose-tinted glasses and the magic was lost. I believed that that was how it was gonna be. So I settled for an arranged match and got engaged. Then the real magic happened. In true filmy style I fell in love with someone else. Someone who was also a really "good friend". Being with him, talking to him (running up telephone bills) made me happy. I dumped my fiance` just before my shaadi cards were to be printed (has only happened in like a dozen movies) and my dream love story was fulfilled (some parental opposition and other masala happened though)

Magic- does it even exist or is it all created by movies? I don't think so. I finally did find my magician, someone with whom the magic is never lost.
My magic happens when I meet my sweetheart every evening when he walks in the door. All day I may not miss him, although I think of him a lot. But, the moment he walks in the door, it's my magic moment. I cheer up and for a few moments I forget everything.
There's magic when I wake up early and watch him sleep. There's magic when I spot him from far in a crowd. There's a tiny little flutter when I suddenly see a new picture of him tagged by someone on Facebook.

We share our lives together including the mundane things like paying those phone bills, but the magical moments aren't lost. I hope we never lose them.

PS: This post is the result of watching "I hate Luv Storys" (horrible BTW) and listening to romantic songs.
PPS: All the stuff I wrote is true... well most of it.
PPPS: Somebody please shut off that music!!!!

Bakshees

When I went to Egypt a few years ago, I was really irritated by the blatant demand by all and sundry for a bakshees. Of course this concept is an ancient one all over the world, they just call it by different names - chai pani, tip, service charge, etc. I think it is just a sign of laziness that people don't wanna work unless there is something "extra" in it for them.

The world is full of nincompoops and incompetent people, but I think the airline/travel industry has the most of them. Either that or they just don't want to live up to their "service industry" tag. The service they are providing is to themselves in filling up their pockets.

You try buying air tickets on the net and don't realise the amount of hidden "service" charges or taxes you end up paying. Most websites have hiked up their service charges to a minimum of Rs.500 per person. That's a lot considering that you are doing all the searching and planning and paying. The cancellation charges are exorbitant to say the least and most websites don't even disclose the charges when you book the tickets. They just say that some airline cancellation charges apply. They may run into several thousand rupees plus "service charge".

At a travel agent's desk the situation is worse. They make you wait for ages while they chat away with their boyfriends/girlfriends or file their nails or something (this actually happened to me today). If you are only buying one ticket they are not even interested in you. If you are doing a bulk booking they might offer you a glass of water, nothing more.

Restaurants apply service charges too these days to compensate for people not tipping. You can distinguish such restaurants by their really bad service. The waiters know that you are being forced to tip anyway so why put in any efforts for it.

Stores like Big Bazaar have attendants who stand around chatting. They glare at you or are flippant with their replies if you ask for help. They are gonna get paid their salary anyway as long as they are generally present at the scene of work. No actual "work" need be done. Only the ones at perfume counters are proactive because they probably work on commission.

Why is it that we don't want to work any more for the salary we are paid unless we are given a commission or a tip or a service charge over and above that?

Donate for a cause

Just when I was in the mood for shopping it started pouring cats and dogs. Just as well, I really didn't know what I wanted to buy. I think I'll buy myself a happiness cake, a piece of heaven and a big red umbrella for when it rains.

Today's newspaper says that $75,000 annually is enough to buy happiness. Anything above that doesn't really make a difference. So anyone out there with spare change over $75,000 please pass it on to me. Don't worry about me, I'll manage even if the figure crosses the 75K mark.