To continue a tradition I started last year, I’m just doing a quick recap of year 2008.
At the end of last year I said and I quote, “2007 for me was the year of friends and beginnings. In a very God Shiva sense. Things got destroyed and were regenerated.
Something paramount happened in almost everyone’s life this year and I can only wish that 2008 sees it all through happily.”
Well… 2008 - the reality.
Audrey Jane did get married to her Bingley. The wedding was a fun affair for all of us but her. She’s made a cozy little nest and is in jobs that keep her out of home so much that she doesn’t get a chance to enjoy the nooks she has created.
Bee got hitched too… a lovely resort wedding. And I just have to hand it to her - she was one chilled out bride and really meant it when she said that all she wants is for everyone to enjoy the wedding. There were no feelings of pique that all of us were hanging out while she sat thru pujas. She was rather cute in her gajras and as matter of fact as ever. If Bee is ever anything but less in control of herself… I want to be there to see it.
Mars quit his job and got one as a freelancer. He’s also in talks to set up a business of his own with a friend and another with India. He still comes on TV, still gets to test awesome bikes and go on trips but he no longer has to burn the midnight oil.
Paris is sailing along. They’ve moved to a new house and she’s happy with the bigger space. I’m sure yoga will help her achieve further nirvana of the old soul.
Titania has taken the reins of Mr. H’s factory. She knows no other enjoyment and wonders at us mortals talking of meagre things like love and fresh air.
Sky’s movie is all but ready to go on floor but recession has pushed it by a few months. This gives her time to get fit, look hot right in time for all the press she’s going to get.
Sytar and her husband moved closer to where India stays and there have been many lazy evenings spent over movies and board games and teas of various flavours.
Alanis got a registered wedding done in London with the DR. but we’re still due our Indian affair. She’s happy with her choice of man not so much with her man’s choice of country.
Kat got her certificate that qualifies her to teach dance and is happier than she’s ever been. Now if only her family was happy that she was happy.
Sal is going strong with his girl.
Aldair’s grown up but doesn’t like to admit it. Once upon a time India took him at face value but now she’s reading between the lines.
India doesn’t know how her year was. In this moment it was a dead year… her skin has mottled, her animation is mechanical, her hair is lank and she wears plum lipstick to hide the rest. But ask her tomorrow.
a new year is never the answer. a new year will soon just be the old year.
S'lainte.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Monday, December 22, 2008
Make Just One Someone Happy
It's been a really long time since I wrote here. I felt like I didn't even remember how to log on.
Anyway… there have been a lot of things on my mind and nothing concrete really. It's probably the first time I don't have a "peg" or a central idea to why I’m writing.
At least not yet. Maybe as I continue rambling something will emerge. Actually there is something that I have been thinking about a lot... Home. Having One. Doing one up. Feeling the need to go back to a place.
What does "home" mean to people? Comfort? Security? A place where you have no obligations? Where you're free to do as you please because it's your space? A place you can turn to without feeling burdened by gratitude? A place where you're always welcome?
I guess all of the above. I've felt some of these things at some of the places but never all in one place. It's a strangely vagrant feeling. Like some part of you or maybe even all of you is not in your body but looking for contentment in a place it hasn’t found yet.
And when I do I’ll always have fresh flowers in it. I’ll go buy daisies and gerberas and carnations and roses in pinks and yellows and whites and reds and peaches everyday and have them grinning about the house.
The greatest romance of my life will be finding a home.
Anyway… there have been a lot of things on my mind and nothing concrete really. It's probably the first time I don't have a "peg" or a central idea to why I’m writing.
At least not yet. Maybe as I continue rambling something will emerge. Actually there is something that I have been thinking about a lot... Home. Having One. Doing one up. Feeling the need to go back to a place.
What does "home" mean to people? Comfort? Security? A place where you have no obligations? Where you're free to do as you please because it's your space? A place you can turn to without feeling burdened by gratitude? A place where you're always welcome?
I guess all of the above. I've felt some of these things at some of the places but never all in one place. It's a strangely vagrant feeling. Like some part of you or maybe even all of you is not in your body but looking for contentment in a place it hasn’t found yet.
And when I do I’ll always have fresh flowers in it. I’ll go buy daisies and gerberas and carnations and roses in pinks and yellows and whites and reds and peaches everyday and have them grinning about the house.
The greatest romance of my life will be finding a home.
Monday, September 01, 2008
And You Thought All We Care About Is Money.
The process of meeting single guys is fraught with he-could-have-been-the-one-if-only-he-didn’t-something type of conditions. I’m pretty sure every girl has her own set of standards for The Man. Some more predictable than others – smart, intelligent, funny, drop dead gorgeous, rich or getting there, etc and some that are unique to just you. So I asked around and got some interesting answers.
My question was simple, “What is that one elusive thing, almost a subconscious thought that makes you want to meet a guy again?” (this basically means anything that is not a given, the proverbial X factor infact)
Here is a list of x factors women came up with:
1. If I think I can fart in front of him I meet him again
2. if I can picture him as a CEO (simply picture.. the guy could be a NGO activist for all I care but he should look like he could be a CEO)
3. I imagine the kiss and if it doesn’t gross me out I’m in for the second date
4. I think about walking into a family wedding or a party with the guy and if I feel good/ proud about that thought, I’m okay with walking into a coffee shop for a second time.
5. If he has a pulse.
I need to ask more women. Unfortunately all my non-single friends claim they didn’t really have a criterion. Ha.
My question was simple, “What is that one elusive thing, almost a subconscious thought that makes you want to meet a guy again?” (this basically means anything that is not a given, the proverbial X factor infact)
Here is a list of x factors women came up with:
1. If I think I can fart in front of him I meet him again
2. if I can picture him as a CEO (simply picture.. the guy could be a NGO activist for all I care but he should look like he could be a CEO)
3. I imagine the kiss and if it doesn’t gross me out I’m in for the second date
4. I think about walking into a family wedding or a party with the guy and if I feel good/ proud about that thought, I’m okay with walking into a coffee shop for a second time.
5. If he has a pulse.
I need to ask more women. Unfortunately all my non-single friends claim they didn’t really have a criterion. Ha.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Where there's a will, there's a word
So Paris texts me this morning saying, “If you cannot be the poem, be the poet. Nice na?”
I get suspicious. What is she implying? Huh. I could be a poet if I wanted.
If I wanted to
I could say boo
To scare you
Or I could coo
To comfort you.
I could write a line
With a pen of mine
I could write nine
They would be fine.
See? Explains a thought in rhyme. Poetry. Poet. Ha.
Having comforted myself with this jiffy rhyme I text her back.
It would be lovely to be someone’s poem. It’s like being someone’s song only without the tune.
If you could be a poem which one would you choose? If you could be a song which one would you be? If someone was to read you a passage what would you like to hear? If you could command words from a mouth that you love what would they be? If an artist were to come to life whose Muse would you be?
I take Dali. I’d like to imagine that all my restlessness and motion and mobility of lips, eyes, hair, hands would be his fluidity of brush. (I write for myself all the time as you can see.)
If I could hear a passage, heck, even find someone to read it to, I’d pick Wuthering Heights – Catherine’s talk with Nelly.
If I could be a poem I’d like it to be one written for me. Good, bad but mine.
I get suspicious. What is she implying? Huh. I could be a poet if I wanted.
If I wanted to
I could say boo
To scare you
Or I could coo
To comfort you.
I could write a line
With a pen of mine
I could write nine
They would be fine.
See? Explains a thought in rhyme. Poetry. Poet. Ha.
Having comforted myself with this jiffy rhyme I text her back.
It would be lovely to be someone’s poem. It’s like being someone’s song only without the tune.
If you could be a poem which one would you choose? If you could be a song which one would you be? If someone was to read you a passage what would you like to hear? If you could command words from a mouth that you love what would they be? If an artist were to come to life whose Muse would you be?
I take Dali. I’d like to imagine that all my restlessness and motion and mobility of lips, eyes, hair, hands would be his fluidity of brush. (I write for myself all the time as you can see.)
If I could hear a passage, heck, even find someone to read it to, I’d pick Wuthering Heights – Catherine’s talk with Nelly.
If I could be a poem I’d like it to be one written for me. Good, bad but mine.
Monday, August 04, 2008
Wisps of Smoke
I feel like talking about cigarettes. Everything I can think of about them.
When I was in school I used to judge guys on whether they smoked. Not harshly but I preferred a non smoker over a smoker. I guess when you’re busy defining yourself at that age you come up with these list of dos and don’t. Nice girls don’t being the most popular. So I thought nice boys don’t either.
But then came the other defining realization. I don’t like nice boys.
I think it started with dating Aldair (who gave up smoking or claimed he gave up smoking for the period that we dated.) But he needn’t have bothered. I no longer care if guys smoke or don’t. I’ve grown up to bigger don’ts.
There was this para in Atlas shrugged on smoking that I love…
"I like to think of fire held in a man's hand. Fire, a dangerous force, tamed at his fingertips. I often wonder about the hours when a man sits alone, watching the smoke of a cigarette, thinking. I wonder what great things have come from such hours. When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind--and it is proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression."
I remember I mailed it to Aldair and he didn’t appreciate that I was encouraging him to smoke. But I wasn’t really. I just appreciate words like fire and man and force and tamed and burning strung together. Heh. Freud would have a field day with me. Or actually I’m too pedestrian for him.
The other thing I read about cigarettes that I like the imagery of is that the writer Amrita Pritam was madly in love with this man and they would meet and sit in silence while he smoked and after he left she would smoke the butts he left behind to inhale him. In fact she has written a few lines on that:
Ek Dard hai
When I was in school I used to judge guys on whether they smoked. Not harshly but I preferred a non smoker over a smoker. I guess when you’re busy defining yourself at that age you come up with these list of dos and don’t. Nice girls don’t being the most popular. So I thought nice boys don’t either.
But then came the other defining realization. I don’t like nice boys.
I think it started with dating Aldair (who gave up smoking or claimed he gave up smoking for the period that we dated.) But he needn’t have bothered. I no longer care if guys smoke or don’t. I’ve grown up to bigger don’ts.
There was this para in Atlas shrugged on smoking that I love…
"I like to think of fire held in a man's hand. Fire, a dangerous force, tamed at his fingertips. I often wonder about the hours when a man sits alone, watching the smoke of a cigarette, thinking. I wonder what great things have come from such hours. When a man thinks, there is a spot of fire alive in his mind--and it is proper that he should have the burning point of a cigarette as his one expression."
I remember I mailed it to Aldair and he didn’t appreciate that I was encouraging him to smoke. But I wasn’t really. I just appreciate words like fire and man and force and tamed and burning strung together. Heh. Freud would have a field day with me. Or actually I’m too pedestrian for him.
The other thing I read about cigarettes that I like the imagery of is that the writer Amrita Pritam was madly in love with this man and they would meet and sit in silence while he smoked and after he left she would smoke the butts he left behind to inhale him. In fact she has written a few lines on that:
Ek Dard hai
Jo maine cigarette ki tarah piya hai
Kuchh nazmein hain
Jo maine raakh ki tarah jhaadi hain...
There’s an English translation that I don’t really think is right. Either way I just like the story behind it.
The only story I have with cigarettes involves a night long smoking session. Kat’s sister had a house party and the clean up involved her getting rid of cigarettes from all over the world. Somehow that packet landed with me as the best candidate to regulate contraband. So it lay in my cupboard for months with Mars and Salvatore trying to convince me that they’re smoking anyway so I might as well save them some money. I could have I suppose but I was pain in the ass sister.
And a good thing too. One night Paris and I had nothing better to do. We got into Lauran Bacall mode and smoked every single brand in that packet. More, Marlsboro Light, Classic Mild, Nice, Gudang Garam, Dunhill, Lucky Strike, Benson & Hedges… that was it I think.
There’s a cigarette brand called Elixir (pretty self explanatory) and another called Romeo y Julieta… isn’t that interesting? I wonder why they named it that and what it tastes and smells like. A little sweet, a little tragic?
That was it for me and cigarettes. In later years when some classmates in my post grad course urged me to beat the stress with the sticks I was amused and disinterested. Without wanting to sound condescending I can’t believe that’s why people smoke or start smoking. When I think of myself smoking I feel like a poseur. Like a little kid playing dress up in front of her mom’s mirror as she clanks around in heels too big for her. And now that I think about it I never played dress up either.
Cigarette aficionados can tell the smokes apart I’m sure but even to a non smoking, weak olfactory nerved person like me the smell of a cigarette is the most definite thing. It’s as distinct and strong as the smell of my first heart break.
(I think this might be part of a Pensieve tag where in I write all the associations I have with a particular word. You are welcome to throw me a word.)
There’s an English translation that I don’t really think is right. Either way I just like the story behind it.
The only story I have with cigarettes involves a night long smoking session. Kat’s sister had a house party and the clean up involved her getting rid of cigarettes from all over the world. Somehow that packet landed with me as the best candidate to regulate contraband. So it lay in my cupboard for months with Mars and Salvatore trying to convince me that they’re smoking anyway so I might as well save them some money. I could have I suppose but I was pain in the ass sister.
And a good thing too. One night Paris and I had nothing better to do. We got into Lauran Bacall mode and smoked every single brand in that packet. More, Marlsboro Light, Classic Mild, Nice, Gudang Garam, Dunhill, Lucky Strike, Benson & Hedges… that was it I think.
There’s a cigarette brand called Elixir (pretty self explanatory) and another called Romeo y Julieta… isn’t that interesting? I wonder why they named it that and what it tastes and smells like. A little sweet, a little tragic?
That was it for me and cigarettes. In later years when some classmates in my post grad course urged me to beat the stress with the sticks I was amused and disinterested. Without wanting to sound condescending I can’t believe that’s why people smoke or start smoking. When I think of myself smoking I feel like a poseur. Like a little kid playing dress up in front of her mom’s mirror as she clanks around in heels too big for her. And now that I think about it I never played dress up either.
Cigarette aficionados can tell the smokes apart I’m sure but even to a non smoking, weak olfactory nerved person like me the smell of a cigarette is the most definite thing. It’s as distinct and strong as the smell of my first heart break.
(I think this might be part of a Pensieve tag where in I write all the associations I have with a particular word. You are welcome to throw me a word.)
picture's from flickr
Friday, August 01, 2008
Never Say No
This has been going on for days. In the quest for a better lifestyle, better skin, better work output I decided to start sleeping early and waking early to put in some serious solo writing hours. But it isn’t meant to be. Everyday something comes up.
Just last night I’m practicing deep breathing to relax my body into sleep when I’m nudged awake.
“Come on sweetie… wakey wakey.”
“No. Go away. It’s late. It’s already 12. I should sleep now.”
“But I’m up and I want to do it.”
“I’m tired now.”
“Oh come on! I’ve got some great new ideas I want us to try out.”
I am tempted. I am caught. My silence is taken as compliance and I am wooed. Soft words float over me, powerful words arouse me. A magical touch lingers in my blood taking over my thoughts, my mind is coming alive and compelled by a greater force I feel my hand reach out…
It hits the clock.
“Listen to me. I am tired! Why don’t we do this in the morning? See? I’ve set an alarm. We’ll get up and do it then. All fresh.” I try for a jaunty tone.
“I may not be in the mood in the morning.” The threats really fly.
A little worried I change my tone to a wheedle, “Don’t be like that. We need to break patterns and I’ve been told early morning is a really good time.”
“Really? Good for you. Let’s see you do it on your own.” Bang. And gone.
Damn. Now I really am screwed.
Come morning. I open my eyes and sit up. I wait. And wait. I decide to start on my own. But I’m not able to hit the right zones solo.
That’s when I give up. You can’t mess with the Muses. They’re Greek. They’re on a different time zone. I have to work on their schedule. I utter a silent apology, pull up the covers and go back to sleep.
Moral of the story: When you’ve got the energy flowing forget routine or you’re definitely not going to bed satisfied.
Just last night I’m practicing deep breathing to relax my body into sleep when I’m nudged awake.
“Come on sweetie… wakey wakey.”
“No. Go away. It’s late. It’s already 12. I should sleep now.”
“But I’m up and I want to do it.”
“I’m tired now.”
“Oh come on! I’ve got some great new ideas I want us to try out.”
I am tempted. I am caught. My silence is taken as compliance and I am wooed. Soft words float over me, powerful words arouse me. A magical touch lingers in my blood taking over my thoughts, my mind is coming alive and compelled by a greater force I feel my hand reach out…
It hits the clock.
“Listen to me. I am tired! Why don’t we do this in the morning? See? I’ve set an alarm. We’ll get up and do it then. All fresh.” I try for a jaunty tone.
“I may not be in the mood in the morning.” The threats really fly.
A little worried I change my tone to a wheedle, “Don’t be like that. We need to break patterns and I’ve been told early morning is a really good time.”
“Really? Good for you. Let’s see you do it on your own.” Bang. And gone.
Damn. Now I really am screwed.
Come morning. I open my eyes and sit up. I wait. And wait. I decide to start on my own. But I’m not able to hit the right zones solo.
That’s when I give up. You can’t mess with the Muses. They’re Greek. They’re on a different time zone. I have to work on their schedule. I utter a silent apology, pull up the covers and go back to sleep.
Moral of the story: When you’ve got the energy flowing forget routine or you’re definitely not going to bed satisfied.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Work In Progress
I spent the best part of my childhood living in a place that would be something between a village and a town. Our house had made its place near a river. The water wasn’t clear but a deep green like water moss. Groves bordered two sides of the house – mangoes and guavas. Two separate gardens were carefully maintained by my mother. We hung tree ladders and clambered on walls, ran because we could and played with our dogs. Evenings were spent taking walks up a nearby hill or playing on jumping grass. It was perfect for children growing up on a diet of Peterswood and Kirrin.
And we had our own set of adventures. Floods and missing dogs and an angry workforce that necessitated police protection. And we didn’t think they were extraordinary. The lives we led were regular like the books we read.
Now years later, when I’ve become an aunt, children read a different kind of book. They read about special children who do miraculous things. Who are not ordinary. And I wonder if what my kids are learning is just a deep restlessness with who they are.
And if I, their aunt, will add to it with my own restlessness - do everything, be everything and go everywhere in this one life.
The other day succumbing to the lure of the thought – I started thinking about whether I’d like a super power like in the TV episodes or the many books I read. And I couldn’t find any that seems like it would be mine. I’m not really the kind who likes to be invisible (ha) or a flyer or see through things. I suppose I could really go for snapping my fingers and being wherever I want to be. But then I guess that’s one power that anyone living in Cesspool would kill for. I think I’d really choose memory. I’d love to have a memory that remembers the moment I was born, what I thought when I was 4 months and what I felt when I was 2 and I’d love to remember the time I was a Chinese or that lifetime in Prague or that moment when I floated like a wisp being nothing…. If I remembered everything I have been then maybe I’d find some answers for who I am.
I go back to the past I do remember and I am wafting above the river near my old home. I remember it well still. The green with a hint of brown, its lazy flow as if it wasn’t in a hurry but was moving nonetheless for lack of better things to do, the bend and then the bridge above it. Wait… I didn’t remember the bridge earlier. But it was there and the new me marvels at the dullness of the child me. Why did I never cross the bridge? Why, I didn’t even think of it! And I wonder if I can go back and cross that bridge. But if I did it now to make up for then I still will never know what I would have seen then.
I can never cross that bridge.
And we had our own set of adventures. Floods and missing dogs and an angry workforce that necessitated police protection. And we didn’t think they were extraordinary. The lives we led were regular like the books we read.
Now years later, when I’ve become an aunt, children read a different kind of book. They read about special children who do miraculous things. Who are not ordinary. And I wonder if what my kids are learning is just a deep restlessness with who they are.
And if I, their aunt, will add to it with my own restlessness - do everything, be everything and go everywhere in this one life.
The other day succumbing to the lure of the thought – I started thinking about whether I’d like a super power like in the TV episodes or the many books I read. And I couldn’t find any that seems like it would be mine. I’m not really the kind who likes to be invisible (ha) or a flyer or see through things. I suppose I could really go for snapping my fingers and being wherever I want to be. But then I guess that’s one power that anyone living in Cesspool would kill for. I think I’d really choose memory. I’d love to have a memory that remembers the moment I was born, what I thought when I was 4 months and what I felt when I was 2 and I’d love to remember the time I was a Chinese or that lifetime in Prague or that moment when I floated like a wisp being nothing…. If I remembered everything I have been then maybe I’d find some answers for who I am.
I go back to the past I do remember and I am wafting above the river near my old home. I remember it well still. The green with a hint of brown, its lazy flow as if it wasn’t in a hurry but was moving nonetheless for lack of better things to do, the bend and then the bridge above it. Wait… I didn’t remember the bridge earlier. But it was there and the new me marvels at the dullness of the child me. Why did I never cross the bridge? Why, I didn’t even think of it! And I wonder if I can go back and cross that bridge. But if I did it now to make up for then I still will never know what I would have seen then.
I can never cross that bridge.
Monday, April 28, 2008
Dot Line Dot Dot
I’ve decided to defeat the purpose of a blog… I shall write this post in code. I have many other reasons but I shan’t say what they are. I shall be contrary. I am making a statement but I won’t say what the statement is.
Whoosh whoosh Whoosh.
Interruption between Harry and Sally. Pink flowers grew in my mind.
There is talk without the dinner table. A bed is obviously enough for conversation.
Everyone’s living on a trampoline.
Twist. Twist. But no… the devil’s gotten hold of my feet. I love him. I bow down before him. But he’s just interested in my feet.
I won’t go. I’m a crossroads dweller. The house is falling apart but the cat says that I’ll get nowhere some day.
There are fucked up people inside me. I’m working on sorting out their lives. About 100 minutes per person.
Whoosh whoosh Whoosh.
Interruption between Harry and Sally. Pink flowers grew in my mind.
There is talk without the dinner table. A bed is obviously enough for conversation.
Everyone’s living on a trampoline.
Twist. Twist. But no… the devil’s gotten hold of my feet. I love him. I bow down before him. But he’s just interested in my feet.
I won’t go. I’m a crossroads dweller. The house is falling apart but the cat says that I’ll get nowhere some day.
There are fucked up people inside me. I’m working on sorting out their lives. About 100 minutes per person.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Stuck
I feel like shutting down this blog and running away. Every single day that I don’t write anything here weighs heavily on me.
I visited a private Chinese room that felt straight out of a Hollywood mafia movie. The host narrated stories so colorfully that he deserves to be on film but I have nothing to say.
I went to a derby. I went for the experience, the joy, the rushing power of so many hoof beats and the roar of the crowd. I felt nothing.
My friends are getting engaged, married, having babies. I go through the motions of joy, support, encouragement, involvement. I can no longer make a distinction between feeling it and knowing it.
I bought new curtains for my room – bright, cheerful pink and pale green stripes. They do nothing to the room, good or bad.
I met an old friend twice in the same week and found I had nothing to say the second time round.
My days are filled. I go from work to friends to books to events and think I am doing well. I am content. Except when I think about the empty pages of my blog and know that really all is not well. I am empty too.
Writer’s existential angst is a trite bitch.
I visited a private Chinese room that felt straight out of a Hollywood mafia movie. The host narrated stories so colorfully that he deserves to be on film but I have nothing to say.
I went to a derby. I went for the experience, the joy, the rushing power of so many hoof beats and the roar of the crowd. I felt nothing.
My friends are getting engaged, married, having babies. I go through the motions of joy, support, encouragement, involvement. I can no longer make a distinction between feeling it and knowing it.
I bought new curtains for my room – bright, cheerful pink and pale green stripes. They do nothing to the room, good or bad.
I met an old friend twice in the same week and found I had nothing to say the second time round.
My days are filled. I go from work to friends to books to events and think I am doing well. I am content. Except when I think about the empty pages of my blog and know that really all is not well. I am empty too.
Writer’s existential angst is a trite bitch.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Found it!
Put A Penny In The Slot
For ages i've been trying to find this song. All i knew was that it plays in the bg in Jerry Maguire when he slips her strap off on the doorstep. Useless people (read Salvatore) that I requested should source the music for me got me Secret Garden and Aimee Mann instead. They're good songs but i wanted this.
It's the gentlest, softest piece of music ever. It's called Singalong Junk by Paul McCartney.
Friday, March 07, 2008
With Hand on Heart
Last night I read Sophie Kinsella’s “Can you keep a secret?” It’s basically about a girl who thinks she’s going to die in a plane crash and ends up spilling her guts to the guy on the next seat. It’s chicklit so obviously he’s the hero. She doesn’t have any secrets that will change the face of national security or even break up a marriage… they’re mostly inconsequential like she lies about her weight or she broke her bosses coffee mug or she doesn’t like jazz. But really it’s the small things that define us. The book was okay but it made me think of my secrets. Now I’m not dying today as far as I know so I’m just going to push the edge a bit not jump off it.
I…
1. …wear Sky’s clothes, come home, iron them and put them back in the cupboard so that she doesn’t have the right to borrow mine.
2. …swapped one of Titania’s favourite books for a book I really wanted and she still goes crazy trying to remember who she lent it too.
3. … have a favourite Mills and Boon author.
4. …have a fabulous memory and sometimes let people think that I remember because I care.
5. …didn’t give my seat to an old woman on the bus and tried to justify it.
6. …fell asleep through Citizen Kane.
7. …once spotted an old crush and sneaked away from a hotel because I was looking like shit.
8. …pretend to be asleep when I don’t want to be disturbed in the middle of a book.
9. …can’t stop myself from keeping track of the tiniest amount of debt owed by me or to me.
10. …am a total pushover. I don’t know how to say no.
11. …love dancing to Ricky Martin’s La Bomba.
12. …’ve never smoked up, lied to my parents or been attracted to anyone.
13. …would like to be attracted to someone and have my feet knocked off the ground.
14. …cried with joy watching a tennis match.
15. ...felt guilty when Cykie died and I got over it so fast.
16. …am not comfortable with special children.
17. …lie all the time about being at work to get out of partying.
Maybe I’ll get more personal next time.
I…
1. …wear Sky’s clothes, come home, iron them and put them back in the cupboard so that she doesn’t have the right to borrow mine.
2. …swapped one of Titania’s favourite books for a book I really wanted and she still goes crazy trying to remember who she lent it too.
3. … have a favourite Mills and Boon author.
4. …have a fabulous memory and sometimes let people think that I remember because I care.
5. …didn’t give my seat to an old woman on the bus and tried to justify it.
6. …fell asleep through Citizen Kane.
7. …once spotted an old crush and sneaked away from a hotel because I was looking like shit.
8. …pretend to be asleep when I don’t want to be disturbed in the middle of a book.
9. …can’t stop myself from keeping track of the tiniest amount of debt owed by me or to me.
10. …am a total pushover. I don’t know how to say no.
11. …love dancing to Ricky Martin’s La Bomba.
12. …’ve never smoked up, lied to my parents or been attracted to anyone.
13. …would like to be attracted to someone and have my feet knocked off the ground.
14. …cried with joy watching a tennis match.
15. ...felt guilty when Cykie died and I got over it so fast.
16. …am not comfortable with special children.
17. …lie all the time about being at work to get out of partying.
Maybe I’ll get more personal next time.
Wednesday, March 05, 2008
Know Thy Goddesses
t for trivia
I’m lying on my bed and pretending to be a cold bunch of grapes. But Sky stops me from fermenting. She plonks herself down and goes on and on about something.
“so then.. I don’t know what he means…”
…”had a fantastic meeting today…”
“… that’s a masterpiece scene Sky, sir said…”
“… have to go to a Saraswati temple tomorrow…”
There’s a pause so I come out of my fog.
“What?”
“Do you know any Saraswati temple?”
I am bewildered, “No.” I say as if it’s strange to ask. And it really is. Sky asking anyone else directions to temples is a little absurd. She’s probably visited every God in the vicinity.
“Fine. Then a temple that has a Saraswati idol?”
Now I’m roused, “no.” Emphatic. Then to stress, “I don’t even know what a Saraswati idol looks like.”
It’s her turn to look astounded. “you don’t!”
She looks so shocked like Mr. and Mrs. H have failed in some way that I hasten to add, “I mean if I look at one I’ll know it’s Her but just from memory… she holds a book right?” I’m quickly putting things together in my head – Saraswati, we pray to her on dussehra when Mrs. H makes us put out all our books and music and paints and creative things for blessings in the puja. So I figure book is a good guess.
“No! she hold a veena.”
“Well... doesn’t one of her hands hold a book?” I plead.
“No.” Sky says drily.
“Oh. Ok. She should hold a book then. She’s our Goddess of intellect and creativity right?”
“the Veena is a sign of creative gifts. You really can’t tell your Goddesses apart.”
“I really can’t tell our Goddesses apart. I mean the Gods are easy. Shiv’s got a third eye. Ram looks goody goody, Ganesha has a well... trunk and Krishna’s Krishna. The ladies all look alike.”
Sky still looks like a dear stuck in headlights.
“Sarawati wears a white sari with a red border and holds a Veena with usually a peacock near her. Laxmi stands on a lotus with two of her hands holding a lotus each and a third one pointing palm down showering coins. Durga is usually on a tiger.”
“I like tigers,” I say to shut her up, “I don’t know if a subjugated tiger is good representation of the dwindling tiger wildlife.”
Sky leaves my room and I return to being fruity.
I’m lying on my bed and pretending to be a cold bunch of grapes. But Sky stops me from fermenting. She plonks herself down and goes on and on about something.
“so then.. I don’t know what he means…”
…”had a fantastic meeting today…”
“… that’s a masterpiece scene Sky, sir said…”
“… have to go to a Saraswati temple tomorrow…”
There’s a pause so I come out of my fog.
“What?”
“Do you know any Saraswati temple?”
I am bewildered, “No.” I say as if it’s strange to ask. And it really is. Sky asking anyone else directions to temples is a little absurd. She’s probably visited every God in the vicinity.
“Fine. Then a temple that has a Saraswati idol?”
Now I’m roused, “no.” Emphatic. Then to stress, “I don’t even know what a Saraswati idol looks like.”
It’s her turn to look astounded. “you don’t!”
She looks so shocked like Mr. and Mrs. H have failed in some way that I hasten to add, “I mean if I look at one I’ll know it’s Her but just from memory… she holds a book right?” I’m quickly putting things together in my head – Saraswati, we pray to her on dussehra when Mrs. H makes us put out all our books and music and paints and creative things for blessings in the puja. So I figure book is a good guess.
“No! she hold a veena.”
“Well... doesn’t one of her hands hold a book?” I plead.
“No.” Sky says drily.
“Oh. Ok. She should hold a book then. She’s our Goddess of intellect and creativity right?”
“the Veena is a sign of creative gifts. You really can’t tell your Goddesses apart.”
“I really can’t tell our Goddesses apart. I mean the Gods are easy. Shiv’s got a third eye. Ram looks goody goody, Ganesha has a well... trunk and Krishna’s Krishna. The ladies all look alike.”
Sky still looks like a dear stuck in headlights.
“Sarawati wears a white sari with a red border and holds a Veena with usually a peacock near her. Laxmi stands on a lotus with two of her hands holding a lotus each and a third one pointing palm down showering coins. Durga is usually on a tiger.”
“I like tigers,” I say to shut her up, “I don’t know if a subjugated tiger is good representation of the dwindling tiger wildlife.”
Sky leaves my room and I return to being fruity.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
The Lives of Others
Quickie: Watch it even if you don’t usually watch foreign films.
Yada Yada:
Before the fall of the Berlin Wall citizens in East Germany were strictly monitored by the Stasi- secret police. Very few people are above this kind of interference in the private lives and playwright Georg Dreyman is one of them. But when a corrupt politician falls for Georg’s actress girlfriend he is put under surveillance too. His house is bugged. An upright and stringent Captain of the Stasi is in charge of the operation. As the captain eavesdrops on Georg and Christa he becomes increasingly involved in their lives and begins to question his own leading to life altering events for all three of them.
I love the way the 3 characters have been formed. Each one of them makes a marked transition in the duration of the film. Their decisions may not surprise or shock but you feel each one.
Okay... I’m itching to say things that’ll be spoilers. Just watch for a compact drama.
Length: about 2 hrs 20 mins
Yada Yada:
Before the fall of the Berlin Wall citizens in East Germany were strictly monitored by the Stasi- secret police. Very few people are above this kind of interference in the private lives and playwright Georg Dreyman is one of them. But when a corrupt politician falls for Georg’s actress girlfriend he is put under surveillance too. His house is bugged. An upright and stringent Captain of the Stasi is in charge of the operation. As the captain eavesdrops on Georg and Christa he becomes increasingly involved in their lives and begins to question his own leading to life altering events for all three of them.
I love the way the 3 characters have been formed. Each one of them makes a marked transition in the duration of the film. Their decisions may not surprise or shock but you feel each one.
Okay... I’m itching to say things that’ll be spoilers. Just watch for a compact drama.
Length: about 2 hrs 20 mins
Michael Clayton
Quickie: Not worth the 200 bucks in a theatre. Get a DVD.
Yada Yada:
MC is an okay film. It’s certainly not deserving of the hype considering that neither the subject nor the treatment is new. The end resolution is surprisingly flat and the turnaround of the kind you see in really simplistic films.
You have a ‘fixer’ who works in a firm of lawyers without actually going to court himself. He’s called either the ‘miracle man’ or the ‘janitor’ but when a senior counsel flips he starts off a chain of events that make Michael question what he’s cleaning up and whether this is what he gave up the courtroom for.
Some angles were rather forced to me – the whole Arthur and Realm + Conquest highlighted notes. That didn’t point Michael is any direction other than get him the bill for the photocopies.
What worked for me were the character and his journey – his debt that needs to be paid off, his relationship with his brother and son, and a certain despair that cloaks him even as he does what he does best.
The person I went with thought that George Clooney was as always – himself. But I disagree. When I watch a Clooney film I know that it’ll turn out alright for him since he’s got such a cocky arrogance. He’s never any other way. You expect him to sail through. This is the first time I felt that things aren’t going to go his way.
Watch it when the movie scene is dull. Right now there’s too much happening in theaters for Michael Clayton to be top of your list.
Length: 2 hours
Yada Yada:
MC is an okay film. It’s certainly not deserving of the hype considering that neither the subject nor the treatment is new. The end resolution is surprisingly flat and the turnaround of the kind you see in really simplistic films.
You have a ‘fixer’ who works in a firm of lawyers without actually going to court himself. He’s called either the ‘miracle man’ or the ‘janitor’ but when a senior counsel flips he starts off a chain of events that make Michael question what he’s cleaning up and whether this is what he gave up the courtroom for.
Some angles were rather forced to me – the whole Arthur and Realm + Conquest highlighted notes. That didn’t point Michael is any direction other than get him the bill for the photocopies.
What worked for me were the character and his journey – his debt that needs to be paid off, his relationship with his brother and son, and a certain despair that cloaks him even as he does what he does best.
The person I went with thought that George Clooney was as always – himself. But I disagree. When I watch a Clooney film I know that it’ll turn out alright for him since he’s got such a cocky arrogance. He’s never any other way. You expect him to sail through. This is the first time I felt that things aren’t going to go his way.
Watch it when the movie scene is dull. Right now there’s too much happening in theaters for Michael Clayton to be top of your list.
Length: 2 hours
Monday, March 03, 2008
Ready Or Not... Here She Comes!
I went for Penelope’s baby shower. Her due date is 18th march 2008.
Her baby’s Godmother Taz threw a shower. There was wine and gifts and biryani but no games! I went expecting a bonafide baby shower with nappy changing games and guess-what-the-suspicious-goo-in-the-bag-is kind of party. I was disappointed. Penny said that since I want to do indulge in such entertainment I can turn up at her place for the real thing. I decline since I’m not stupid really. The high entertainment of the shower was when one of Penny’s friends threw a fit on discovering that she wasn’t the baby’s godmother. Hahha. I enjoyed that show. She was so perturbed she even banged into a glass door.
But that aside we did sing songs for the baby. Unfortunately everything has a pervert’s version now.
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water
God knows what they did up there
But they came down with a daughter.
But I guess our kids will need to know what to watch out for. So no going with Jack up the hill all alone with your hands tied up with a bucket.
I have a whole list of things I’m going to put my baby through in the belly.
1. Read Atlas Shrugged again
2. Read Wuthering Heights again
3. Sing silly songs with words of my own making “the tigers had a brandy fix when the animals went in six by six.” I love tigers.
4. Kiss my husband an awful lot
5. Shout “10000 blistering barnacles” and wave a pretend sword whenever someone annoys me. Note the gradual change in the violence of my abuses.
6. Paint, play with paint. Enjoy colour and then enjoy darkness.
7. Have everyone say something to the kid. Anything at all. Paris will refuse I know but she must. Alanis will talk the baby’s little bum off. Eve can be big sister and studiously give the latest book dope. Salvatore can groan and grumble. Piper will ask me to shut my ears and Sky will be unabashedly corny. Mars can scoff but the baby must hear them talking.
8. Take a holiday to a cool place where there are many pretty paths to wander by. Take those walks. Sit on a bench. Look at new things.
9. Do something that gets the adrenaline rushing – like bungee jump (not allowed me thinks) or go to a Tennis match. Experience something overwhelming.
Okay I cut short my list here to announce that Penny had a baby girl 18 days before her time. She is tagged Baby no. 6 by the hospital and Nandini by her dad. She’s a cute little thing but looks suspiciously like baby no.4 and 5 to me. It really must be easy to swap babies in hospitals. Maybe I’ll inherit some money yet.
Her baby’s Godmother Taz threw a shower. There was wine and gifts and biryani but no games! I went expecting a bonafide baby shower with nappy changing games and guess-what-the-suspicious-goo-in-the-bag-is kind of party. I was disappointed. Penny said that since I want to do indulge in such entertainment I can turn up at her place for the real thing. I decline since I’m not stupid really. The high entertainment of the shower was when one of Penny’s friends threw a fit on discovering that she wasn’t the baby’s godmother. Hahha. I enjoyed that show. She was so perturbed she even banged into a glass door.
But that aside we did sing songs for the baby. Unfortunately everything has a pervert’s version now.
Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water
God knows what they did up there
But they came down with a daughter.
But I guess our kids will need to know what to watch out for. So no going with Jack up the hill all alone with your hands tied up with a bucket.
I have a whole list of things I’m going to put my baby through in the belly.
1. Read Atlas Shrugged again
2. Read Wuthering Heights again
3. Sing silly songs with words of my own making “the tigers had a brandy fix when the animals went in six by six.” I love tigers.
4. Kiss my husband an awful lot
5. Shout “10000 blistering barnacles” and wave a pretend sword whenever someone annoys me. Note the gradual change in the violence of my abuses.
6. Paint, play with paint. Enjoy colour and then enjoy darkness.
7. Have everyone say something to the kid. Anything at all. Paris will refuse I know but she must. Alanis will talk the baby’s little bum off. Eve can be big sister and studiously give the latest book dope. Salvatore can groan and grumble. Piper will ask me to shut my ears and Sky will be unabashedly corny. Mars can scoff but the baby must hear them talking.
8. Take a holiday to a cool place where there are many pretty paths to wander by. Take those walks. Sit on a bench. Look at new things.
9. Do something that gets the adrenaline rushing – like bungee jump (not allowed me thinks) or go to a Tennis match. Experience something overwhelming.
Okay I cut short my list here to announce that Penny had a baby girl 18 days before her time. She is tagged Baby no. 6 by the hospital and Nandini by her dad. She’s a cute little thing but looks suspiciously like baby no.4 and 5 to me. It really must be easy to swap babies in hospitals. Maybe I’ll inherit some money yet.
Friday, February 29, 2008
The Silver Eel
– A Film Watcher’s Guide to What to Watch and What to Slip Out of.
(Because no film worth it’s salt has no tag line) (e.g. Shabd – The word)
Someone pointed out that I’ve been watching quite a few animated films recently. I caught Enchanted, saw Miyazaki’s Spirited Away (which I recommend to all), caught Paprika (which I fell asleep through) and downloaded Grave of the Fireflies (which I hear is great). Well… it’s quite by chance. I’m just re-committing to my filmy career and planning to catch everything I can. So I made a list of must watch films from recent times–
1. The lives of others
2. No country for old men
3. Killers of sheep
4. Atonement
5. Sweeny Todd – the Demon Barber of Fleet Street
6. Persepolis
7. No End in Sight
8. In the Valley of Elah
9. Waitress
10. Michael Clayton
11. Before the Devil knows you’re Dead
12. There will be Blood
13. Dan in Real Life
14. Juno
As I check off on the list I’ll develop some review system to point you guys in the right direction. After all you haven’t committed yourselves to films. (Significant background music here).
– A Film Watcher’s Guide to What to Watch and What to Slip Out of.
(Because no film worth it’s salt has no tag line) (e.g. Shabd – The word)
Someone pointed out that I’ve been watching quite a few animated films recently. I caught Enchanted, saw Miyazaki’s Spirited Away (which I recommend to all), caught Paprika (which I fell asleep through) and downloaded Grave of the Fireflies (which I hear is great). Well… it’s quite by chance. I’m just re-committing to my filmy career and planning to catch everything I can. So I made a list of must watch films from recent times–
1. The lives of others
2. No country for old men
3. Killers of sheep
4. Atonement
5. Sweeny Todd – the Demon Barber of Fleet Street
6. Persepolis
7. No End in Sight
8. In the Valley of Elah
9. Waitress
10. Michael Clayton
11. Before the Devil knows you’re Dead
12. There will be Blood
13. Dan in Real Life
14. Juno
As I check off on the list I’ll develop some review system to point you guys in the right direction. After all you haven’t committed yourselves to films. (Significant background music here).
Monday, February 25, 2008
To See or Not To See
Put A Penny In The Slot
Music is a very visual medium to me. If a song doesn’t give me an idea of how I’d shoot it, dance it, see it wafting through smoke or falling clear with rain then I just end up switching to the next number.
Here’s a list of numbers from among many that are just seeped in grocery shopping, curved handled canes, sex, top hats, purple silk dresses, legs kicking up gently while walking on a street, exultation and all that jazz.
1. Green Hornet by Al Hirt
2. New York New York by Frank Sinatra
3. Between the Bars by Madeleine Peyroux
4. Sinking Soon by Norah Jones
5. Take Five by Dave Brubeck
Music is a very visual medium to me. If a song doesn’t give me an idea of how I’d shoot it, dance it, see it wafting through smoke or falling clear with rain then I just end up switching to the next number.
Here’s a list of numbers from among many that are just seeped in grocery shopping, curved handled canes, sex, top hats, purple silk dresses, legs kicking up gently while walking on a street, exultation and all that jazz.
1. Green Hornet by Al Hirt
2. New York New York by Frank Sinatra
3. Between the Bars by Madeleine Peyroux
4. Sinking Soon by Norah Jones
5. Take Five by Dave Brubeck
Friday, February 22, 2008
Herald of New Intentions
t for trivia
For some time now Piper has been at me about how the blog has not been living up to its promise of being about everything and everyone. And I find that it’s true. There were supposed to be movie reviews and music reccos and must reads and… Like I said in the first post - I spend so much time trying to make everything special and important that I lose the plot. Well... no more. As promised, the blog will be random and regular and about all thoughts and opinions.
So let me begin with some Trivia that I picked up yesterday –
I was chatting with Mrs. H and there is a statue in the room of a man on a horse with forefeet in the air. Mr. H said it was Shivaji but Mrs. H said it can’t be. And then with superiority she asked, tell me why this can’t be Shivaji.”
I looked from my prone angle and said, “He’s got a lance and his turban is different.”
Mrs. H tells us something interesting. “When a man dies a natural death, the status has all the hooves of the horse on the ground. When a man dies of battlefield wounds but not on the field, one foot up and one down. And when he dies on the battlefield both feet fly.”Shivaji died of wounds received on the battlefield but not on it.
For some time now Piper has been at me about how the blog has not been living up to its promise of being about everything and everyone. And I find that it’s true. There were supposed to be movie reviews and music reccos and must reads and… Like I said in the first post - I spend so much time trying to make everything special and important that I lose the plot. Well... no more. As promised, the blog will be random and regular and about all thoughts and opinions.
So let me begin with some Trivia that I picked up yesterday –
I was chatting with Mrs. H and there is a statue in the room of a man on a horse with forefeet in the air. Mr. H said it was Shivaji but Mrs. H said it can’t be. And then with superiority she asked, tell me why this can’t be Shivaji.”
I looked from my prone angle and said, “He’s got a lance and his turban is different.”
Mrs. H tells us something interesting. “When a man dies a natural death, the status has all the hooves of the horse on the ground. When a man dies of battlefield wounds but not on the field, one foot up and one down. And when he dies on the battlefield both feet fly.”Shivaji died of wounds received on the battlefield but not on it.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
So the wedding evening arrives and we go to help Jane get ready. Ostensibly. We actually end up blitzkreiging her with camera flashes and make ourselves useful by feeding her and helping her cousins do up their saris and drapes. Jane was quirky as usual.. no shadow of tension on her, or atleast none relating to getting into a lifelong commitment. She had more earthly worries - toget the perfect balance between being a Punjabi and Kashmiri bride.
We don't know if she hit it to her satisfaction but we thought she was beautiful. That's Corey in the bg taking the sanp. She's a professional. Our Bride is captured and waiting.
And Bingley arrives. On the horse weighed down by a silver crown and a garland of ten rupee notes (one of which i stole as souvenir). He was happy and dancing and most importantly... before time.
Corey joined the baraatis....
... and danced with the more than ready wife-to-be.
As Jane and Bingley got wed, we got fed and tried to keep ourselves close to the fires. It was a middle of the night wedding in Capital's winter. We shivered and sneaked out to the car park for medicinal alcoholic intake.
That's all us girls at the wedding bar Jane who was busy -
Getting married.All the best to two people who are like babes in the woods. Warm hearted, generous, naiive, sweet and worrying to all those who love them.
Happy married life.
Back from Surajkhand we indulged in a bit of R & R. Bee and I got out nail polish only to inspire a revolution. The conversation wandered around to French manicures and the MEN summarily dismissed the beauty of it as 'paying good money to make your nails look more like nails... pink and white.' We groaned.Dundee and Mr. George decided that the nail industry lacks imagination and soon i was being used as a celebrity promotional client. (Read: guinea pig). Armed with his Swiss army knife and an array of polishes Dundee proceeded to paint faces and landscapes (cough) on my nails. i do have a close up but i'm sparing you guys.
Then we headed out to The Groom's Cocktail Party... better called the Gadda and Whisky Fest. We had a hous eto ourselves and a chef. Starters appeared at a blink and you inhale food rate and we drank away. The night was cold and we were warm. We drank to Bingley....
... and ragged him a bit. Question-Answer Round.
D: You guys done it yet?
B: You can't start with the one crore question.. you got to start with a grand.
hmmm.. he has a point.
D: When did you first know you liked Jane?
B: At the alumni meet.
(he claims he doesn't remember the song playing. We don't really believe him.)
We taped it all for the Bride. And also passed on a message from her - Be On Time.
The excesses of the night before forgotten and with true adventurous spirit.. we got on the road again.. this time for the Surajkhand Mela. Varying reports told us it was 'far', 'very far', 'mayhem', 'madness' but we had resolved to go.
On reaching Surajkhand we came up with a plan in case of anyone getting lost or wandering away from the others. We would meet under this archway. Dundee disappeared half way thru the plan and the rest of us stuck together anyway.
There was performers ina every segment of the mela.. singing or dancing or both or performing with puppets. These Rajasthani women were fabulous in their dazzling colors and dervish whirls. I never have a camera. If i did what fascinated me most about them were their feet. They were lined and lined and lined not just on the sole but also up front. And so beautiful with their thick anklets and those lines of dance.
This was one of many transformed rickshaws roaming the place. Little kiddies were taking rides but surprisingly it didn't strike me to take one. I am now desolate at the missed opportunity. I'd have been horse riding! It's so jazzy.
This was a mask shop. I loved the sadhu. 
And this burst of colours was a shop of window hangings and stick puppets. There camels that had every joint moving so that at one instead of stooping to sit it was as if the camel is beheaded. And there was Hanuman and Ravan (both of whom Dundee purchased). The paper is translucent and coloured so that it's like stained paper art and you stick it on your window and it slooks pretty. I decided that when i have kids i'll have one window in their room with different art in each pane - so Ravan and al elephant and a horse and all that. Only later when i met Dundee he tells me that the translucent material is not thick paper oiled over as i had thought but rather goat skin!!!! Ack.
Wandering about the expansive grounds we came upon this man selling jaljeera. He was performing for his audience with panache and flare and a mechanically fluid grace in the selling of his wares. We went back to him when we got thirst again.
There was this huge bunch of students with their faces painted posing for photographs. I think they were addressing issues. The girl with the pink wings is i think a statement on the girl child as an angel.
And finally... there was this man with his magic movie machine. And i'd see a fairy tale unfurl with every circle of his and like a wand being waved. Yeah right. He was showing a string of unrelated posters taped together so suddenly there was a chubby baby followed by a film poster and then a valley scene. Sigh. why can't people be a little more enterprising. Is a story too much to ask for? Does anyone know what this machine is called? I think i want one.
Friday, February 15, 2008
The intrepid explorers.. we were ready to set off for the Bride's Cocktail bash with smiles (for her) and hopes (for drink)... little did we know the trials that awaited us.
That's right. We were stuck in TRAFFIC for three and a half hours. Corey asked me to pose for a photo that showed i was bored and miserable. I did.
Bee got the same brief. She is a bad actress. Or actually a good one. She was whining till the flash went off. For the camera she finds smiles. We passed some time watching Dhoom II in the car. I think that made us even more miserable.
This is the cause. We circled the airport for a good hour and a half waiting for Mr. George to land. Delayed. Landed. Delayed. Let's Leave Him (that was obviously me). Finally he came and this is him changing clothes in the backseat of our Innova. (Corey misses the best shots).
The Bride was angry with us for being late.
Bee took concept shots that only she understands the deep significance of. Kind of like Calvin (of Hobbes fame) saying that when you pander to the clichés and the majority you’re actually mocking them and hence there is true irony in your commercial art. That’s the best I can say about her photography skills. Dundee on the other hand is a better showman. He looks the part of a travelling photographer. His long hair, foreign looks and lack of Hindi certainly helps him in the country. So he wandered up to some bandwallahs loitering around a subway in their best and with trumpets and drums. Dundee asked to take some photos. They agreed with alacrity and soon enough he was surrounded. The photos taken with much smiling and posing with gleaming instruments Dundee turned to leave. One of them band guys says in hindi, “let’s take money from this f%&$er.” Dundee says, “hindi aata hai.” The band wallahs burst into guffaws as they correct him, “aati hai.” But fortunately they let him go.
I was having a great time. This was the first time I’ve been to a wedding where we are spending more time roaming around and getting drunk than attending mehendi’s and sangeets et al. The only downside was that given the size of Capital we hardly saw Jane at any time other than for the have-to-be-attended functions. The first day Dundee picked up Bee, Corey and I. We dumped our luggage and headed to Chandni Chowk by the metro. The magnificence of the new travel system stumped us hicks from different towns. Cesspool can only dream of such space and streamlined traffic. Once at CC we walked around, drank lassi, marveled at the brownness of everything and ended up walking around the Red Fort.
The Beginning of a Deservedly Cheesy Film
Tang tang ta tang tang tang ta tang… Friends continue their walk into matrimony. Audrey (now rechristened Jane) wed her Bingley last weekend. The nuptials were in Capital and a bunch of us friends from college put up together at a flat. I can almost imagine the nostalgia this weekend will evoke in later years.“Ohh... that was some trip… we missed the main function coz we were stuck in traffic for three hours.”
“God! Remember Gopi and his strange moaning! Dundee thought it was the pigeons.”
“Thank God we found our luggage!”
“But I lost my earrings.”
It’s funny how the hazards of a trip are so much more entertaining than the main event.
How You Doin'?
When I look at photos of Piper’s wedding I cringe to see the facial hair and the gaudy gold on red clothes, the bad haircut and the shararas. But when I think back on it I remember flirting, I remember smiling and holding my own and giggling with Sky over various men. Then somewhere along the way life became serious business. Simple joys like matching wits, exchanging inconsequential’s, charming with no serious intent began to seem like a waste of time. I lost an art that can give almost as much satisfaction as a well finished poem. The force was not with me.
The last weekend I felt some of the old joy seep back in.
I was a bit shy and a little hopeless but I managed. There are two kinds of power – when you don’t care at all and have nothing to lose and when you care and really want something. All I’ve wanted for some years is a fleeting ability to sparkle.
Last weekend at Jane’s wedding to Bingley, I was sharing a room with Bee (newly engaged) and Corey (newly married). They very kindly passed on any and all eligible men in my direction that id didn’t know what to do with. They also shared their knowledge with me.
“Always go in with what you expect, what you’re willing to give up and what you’re not.”
I apply this to my single status and come up with some interesting answers. Hehhe.
That night at the cocktail I got high, kicked up my heels and danced like a mad woman. I could feel the amazement in a few of my old classmates. Bharat says astounded, “How people change.” I’m too lazy to correct him. I don’t think they’ve ever seen me drink, dance or drink and dance.
There’s nothing like high heels and a little shimmy to shake loose the courage in you. If it wasn’t for my hangover I’d have been invincible.
The next night Bee and Corey requested a repeat performance of a bed time story. What little confidence still hid inside me now unfurled. There’s nothing more alluring to a story teller than to find an eager listener. And strangely enough when Bee started snoring in the middle of Kwaku Ananse and the Python I took it as a compliment.
The wedding night arrived. Jane was beautiful if a bit lost. It was a cold night and fires littered the grounds. All of us huddled here and there. When Bee and I stumbled upon Long Haired Hot Cousin Of Bride she pushed me towards him. I was scooping out ice cream for self when he wandered by and started small talk. I indulged in some non verbal communication. He asked for some extra dollops of chocolate sauce and I couldn’t squeeze hard enough. I passed the bottle back to the waiter and sidled away. Bee shut her eyes and shook her head. But I must have done something right (or my backless blouse did) coz LHHCOB came up to me later and started a conversation. Bee grinned and I blushed. In small ways that night I shone a bit. It was pointless but it felt good. I laughed secretly and hugged it close. And when morning came the light stayed. While waiting at the airport for our flight a sweet scene played out. In the midst of the sleepy airport a young man helped me take off my stubborn jhumka.
The last weekend I felt some of the old joy seep back in.
I was a bit shy and a little hopeless but I managed. There are two kinds of power – when you don’t care at all and have nothing to lose and when you care and really want something. All I’ve wanted for some years is a fleeting ability to sparkle.
Last weekend at Jane’s wedding to Bingley, I was sharing a room with Bee (newly engaged) and Corey (newly married). They very kindly passed on any and all eligible men in my direction that id didn’t know what to do with. They also shared their knowledge with me.
“Always go in with what you expect, what you’re willing to give up and what you’re not.”
I apply this to my single status and come up with some interesting answers. Hehhe.
That night at the cocktail I got high, kicked up my heels and danced like a mad woman. I could feel the amazement in a few of my old classmates. Bharat says astounded, “How people change.” I’m too lazy to correct him. I don’t think they’ve ever seen me drink, dance or drink and dance.
There’s nothing like high heels and a little shimmy to shake loose the courage in you. If it wasn’t for my hangover I’d have been invincible.
The next night Bee and Corey requested a repeat performance of a bed time story. What little confidence still hid inside me now unfurled. There’s nothing more alluring to a story teller than to find an eager listener. And strangely enough when Bee started snoring in the middle of Kwaku Ananse and the Python I took it as a compliment.
The wedding night arrived. Jane was beautiful if a bit lost. It was a cold night and fires littered the grounds. All of us huddled here and there. When Bee and I stumbled upon Long Haired Hot Cousin Of Bride she pushed me towards him. I was scooping out ice cream for self when he wandered by and started small talk. I indulged in some non verbal communication. He asked for some extra dollops of chocolate sauce and I couldn’t squeeze hard enough. I passed the bottle back to the waiter and sidled away. Bee shut her eyes and shook her head. But I must have done something right (or my backless blouse did) coz LHHCOB came up to me later and started a conversation. Bee grinned and I blushed. In small ways that night I shone a bit. It was pointless but it felt good. I laughed secretly and hugged it close. And when morning came the light stayed. While waiting at the airport for our flight a sweet scene played out. In the midst of the sleepy airport a young man helped me take off my stubborn jhumka.
I re-learnt the pleasure of a moment that doesn’t have to mean anything beyond the moment.
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Matthew 21:22 and Luke 11:9
I have nothing to write. I haven’t felt possessed and overtaken by a need to write in a long while. The persons that used me before, the haunted lost girl, the old Irish woman, the libertine playwright, the fey changeling have forgotten my body. I fumble to string together words that might be a story, a history, an argument, a hope, a lie, a discovery, an epiphany, a forgotten minute, a beloved secret or a note to Paris of half felt ideas that might seem whole to her.
The moon is nothing but a string of stars closely packed together like a ball of wool. They’re strung on platinum wire and hence the shine.
My fingers bloat and then stretch and stretch till they’re thin and cackly like a witch’s laugh.
Every surface is a dance floor.
If you don’t believe in love at first sight… you’ve just forgotten the first time you met. I want to travel back lifetimes and meet again for the first time.
Gold is our color. Rich, pagan, a houri on a block, painted queen and lion eyes.
I’m a word. So are you. The word is the biggest secret of our lives. Most often it is hidden even from ourselves.
If the world was simple a kiss would just be a kiss.
I’m waiting to slip sideways into another world. Imagine how exciting it will be. Poof. Sometimes I think I have. Women in saris fly on bears for their honeymoon. Once I was hurt, I lay down and became an icicle. I’d love to mix up the worlds so that everyone was traveling to and fro and then one day you’d all visit and I’d show you around.
I promise to do better tomorrow are the only words I always mean.
The moon is nothing but a string of stars closely packed together like a ball of wool. They’re strung on platinum wire and hence the shine.
My fingers bloat and then stretch and stretch till they’re thin and cackly like a witch’s laugh.
Every surface is a dance floor.
If you don’t believe in love at first sight… you’ve just forgotten the first time you met. I want to travel back lifetimes and meet again for the first time.
Gold is our color. Rich, pagan, a houri on a block, painted queen and lion eyes.
I’m a word. So are you. The word is the biggest secret of our lives. Most often it is hidden even from ourselves.
If the world was simple a kiss would just be a kiss.
I’m waiting to slip sideways into another world. Imagine how exciting it will be. Poof. Sometimes I think I have. Women in saris fly on bears for their honeymoon. Once I was hurt, I lay down and became an icicle. I’d love to mix up the worlds so that everyone was traveling to and fro and then one day you’d all visit and I’d show you around.
I promise to do better tomorrow are the only words I always mean.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
Begin at the Beginning
I should have done this while we were still in 2007 but I couldn’t steal a half hour to call my own. The last two weeks have been spent under command from Myrine, Piper and their offspring. So if I wasn’t holding shopping bags, then I was being fed or I was being used. That’s right.
After about 5 days, I thought I deserved a little time off to read and walk around but Nikita quickly says, “But masi, if you go away then at least send Paris mami to take your place or who will entertain us?” So in one sentence I learnt that not only was I easily replaceable but also that I was only as good as a court jester. Sigh.
So I entertained. I sat in the balcony overlooking a terrace rose garden and told stories to Eve. I sipped chai while she had hot chocolate. We licked Nuttella for dessert.
Rosie laughed and giggled and made me wash her ass every morning. Her mother chose convenient times to be missing. She perfected the butt dance and wriggled it at every one she met. I regretted having complimented her on it.
Pearl has become softer. She clung to hands and for the first time in her 7 years displayed a child’s side.
Nikita ordered as only she can and admired everything. Chose my clothes, complimented them, remembered everything, gave cold shoulders, made up… she’s a big girl now.
And since this must be documented – Myrine and Piper suffered through 3 hours of a “perfect jeans hunt”. These jeans have eluded me for the past 4 years. I haven’t bought a pair in longer. I usually walk in to a Levis and try on something made for a giraffe and come away feeling trampled upon. There are never bottoms that fit my bottom. And then this December with my very supportive sisters, I finally found them. In Marks and Spencers. And carried away by the triumph of the moment (and some reasonable fear) I invested in not one but two jeans! Myrine and Piper were suitably impressed.
“In 25 years I’ve never seen you shop before.” Myrine said at least 5 times.
“You can’t complain about us shopping anymore.” Piper said smugly. I smiled winsomely and told her that this was not shopping, “this is like watching a love story get a happy ending. You have been part of my search and now you were in at the end. It’s almost like if I found my dream man.”
Piper agrees since she too is a troubled owner of the Flanagan bottom.
Anyway I have digressed. What I really should have done and didn’t get time to do was make a quick 2007 diary. I thought it would be nice to have a yearly summary of the affairs in the lives of the cast of characters. I like imagining a series of year end summaries. A lazy person’s diary.
2007 for me was the year of friends and beginnings. In a very God Shiva sense. Things got destroyed and were regenerated.
Something paramount happened in almost everyone’s life this year and I can only wish that 2008 sees it all through happily.
So here we go:
Mars: got hitched to Paris this February and also doubled his salary in a meager year. Became a TV star and found that he likes being creative.
Paris: got balled and chained to Mars. Made breakthroughs with both families – hers and his.
Sky: got signed on by “Back From the Past productions” as a director for their forthcoming feature. A HUGE accomplishment and a step that she has been working towards for the past 5 years.
Alanis: jumped some continents and jaded as she was found ‘it.’ The ‘it’ was a package deal that comes with joy, hope, companionship and Greek stories in a mellifluous voice.
Sytar: got wed this March and is deeply enjoying marital bliss. She is a prototype of a woman changed by marriage – she dresses different, wears her hair stylishly and all in all walks more surely. Kudos to her husband who I still have to find a name for.
Harry: had her script heard by some big names in the industry. Some important, some not so much… but she got professional feedback and all of it good. She cut ties with Express and walks free and unloaded after years.
Kat: quit her job and decided to move back to Solace where she will restart her professional dance training.
Titania: decided to move with the parents to Patina and work with Mr. H in the cooking business.
Salvatore: lightened his load after ten years and found closure. Found a girl to love and is working on it.
Quinn: cut ties with all of us and got engaged. We heard of it from his parents.
Mr. & Mrs. H: moved back to Patina. Their life is coming full circle and they are in a place where things are good. They also sold Peterswood. It is a loss that will be felt as some of our happiest and toughest memories are of childhood days spent there.
These were the highlights of 2007. Other important events were Audrey getting engaged. Bee strongarmed GG into buying her a ring. Piper and Philip managed to get out of some coils and things look better. I found employers I like and signed on for a job that I have hope from. (My new mantra is to be a career woman.)
So as you can see 2007 was a really BIG year for so many important people… marriages and engagements, moves and career highs, love found and friends lost. And now we’re in 2008 and it’s come bringing in so many possibilities.
All the best to everyone.
After about 5 days, I thought I deserved a little time off to read and walk around but Nikita quickly says, “But masi, if you go away then at least send Paris mami to take your place or who will entertain us?” So in one sentence I learnt that not only was I easily replaceable but also that I was only as good as a court jester. Sigh.
So I entertained. I sat in the balcony overlooking a terrace rose garden and told stories to Eve. I sipped chai while she had hot chocolate. We licked Nuttella for dessert.
Rosie laughed and giggled and made me wash her ass every morning. Her mother chose convenient times to be missing. She perfected the butt dance and wriggled it at every one she met. I regretted having complimented her on it.
Pearl has become softer. She clung to hands and for the first time in her 7 years displayed a child’s side.
Nikita ordered as only she can and admired everything. Chose my clothes, complimented them, remembered everything, gave cold shoulders, made up… she’s a big girl now.
And since this must be documented – Myrine and Piper suffered through 3 hours of a “perfect jeans hunt”. These jeans have eluded me for the past 4 years. I haven’t bought a pair in longer. I usually walk in to a Levis and try on something made for a giraffe and come away feeling trampled upon. There are never bottoms that fit my bottom. And then this December with my very supportive sisters, I finally found them. In Marks and Spencers. And carried away by the triumph of the moment (and some reasonable fear) I invested in not one but two jeans! Myrine and Piper were suitably impressed.
“In 25 years I’ve never seen you shop before.” Myrine said at least 5 times.
“You can’t complain about us shopping anymore.” Piper said smugly. I smiled winsomely and told her that this was not shopping, “this is like watching a love story get a happy ending. You have been part of my search and now you were in at the end. It’s almost like if I found my dream man.”
Piper agrees since she too is a troubled owner of the Flanagan bottom.
Anyway I have digressed. What I really should have done and didn’t get time to do was make a quick 2007 diary. I thought it would be nice to have a yearly summary of the affairs in the lives of the cast of characters. I like imagining a series of year end summaries. A lazy person’s diary.
2007 for me was the year of friends and beginnings. In a very God Shiva sense. Things got destroyed and were regenerated.
Something paramount happened in almost everyone’s life this year and I can only wish that 2008 sees it all through happily.
So here we go:
Mars: got hitched to Paris this February and also doubled his salary in a meager year. Became a TV star and found that he likes being creative.
Paris: got balled and chained to Mars. Made breakthroughs with both families – hers and his.
Sky: got signed on by “Back From the Past productions” as a director for their forthcoming feature. A HUGE accomplishment and a step that she has been working towards for the past 5 years.
Alanis: jumped some continents and jaded as she was found ‘it.’ The ‘it’ was a package deal that comes with joy, hope, companionship and Greek stories in a mellifluous voice.
Sytar: got wed this March and is deeply enjoying marital bliss. She is a prototype of a woman changed by marriage – she dresses different, wears her hair stylishly and all in all walks more surely. Kudos to her husband who I still have to find a name for.
Harry: had her script heard by some big names in the industry. Some important, some not so much… but she got professional feedback and all of it good. She cut ties with Express and walks free and unloaded after years.
Kat: quit her job and decided to move back to Solace where she will restart her professional dance training.
Titania: decided to move with the parents to Patina and work with Mr. H in the cooking business.
Salvatore: lightened his load after ten years and found closure. Found a girl to love and is working on it.
Quinn: cut ties with all of us and got engaged. We heard of it from his parents.
Mr. & Mrs. H: moved back to Patina. Their life is coming full circle and they are in a place where things are good. They also sold Peterswood. It is a loss that will be felt as some of our happiest and toughest memories are of childhood days spent there.
These were the highlights of 2007. Other important events were Audrey getting engaged. Bee strongarmed GG into buying her a ring. Piper and Philip managed to get out of some coils and things look better. I found employers I like and signed on for a job that I have hope from. (My new mantra is to be a career woman.)
So as you can see 2007 was a really BIG year for so many important people… marriages and engagements, moves and career highs, love found and friends lost. And now we’re in 2008 and it’s come bringing in so many possibilities.
All the best to everyone.
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