What really works - As the previous post says? Posting entries via e-mail. And whatsmore, it’s really convenient. Here’s to technology for making life easy!
(A rather controversial statement the last one!)
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Two today!
Does this really work??
Posting after a long time.
Thanks for stopping by.
Friends still keep the link.
For friendship’s sake I think.
Friday, August 26, 2005
From the Archives...
I had liked this a lot when I wrote it three years ago. Not so much now. All I can see now are the grammatical errors! :-)
Reflection
A murky state of mind, a melancholic mood, a gloomy feeling, an inexplicable grief surrounded my being as I stood staring at the night sky. Not a star to be seen, it seemed as if the heavens empathized with me.
A cool breeze swept past me, as if to uplift my spirit, did not serve the purpose, it left me cold, and more helpless than before.
There was a time not so long ago when a climate like this would enliven the romantic in me. A time when the eyes of the mind ignored the dark clouds and only noticed the thin silver lining, a time when the scorching heat brought confidence rather than pain. Not anymore.
A time when I craved for attention, for people around me, now I resented the very same people. Was it me? Or was it them?
Children playing on the street, they had so much to smile about, just like I had not so long ago. The gay abandon with which they played brought sheer happiness, evident from the glee on their face. The sweat on the brow hardly meant fatigue, if anything zest for living. The enthusiasm had not faded despite the dark clouds.
Dark clouds. Symbolic of my life. Did they in their child's play have a message for me? This was a stage when the mind had closed all its doors. In spite of knowing that the visiting thoughts would bring joy, the negative thoughts inside refused to let the light come in. The mind was accustomed to the familiar darkness and feared the unknown.
I stared down at the pavement from the balcony of my apartment on the 5th floor. I didn't feel suicidal. Just sad. The sorrow did not stem out of loneliness, I wish it had. I could have atleast defined my state of mind.
My armpits ached. I turned around to go, unable to stand on the crutches any longer.
I stared into my image in the life- size mirror. I felt crippled. It was one of his ways of telling me I was lame, that I needed support, his, and that I was not normal. He had never loved me. It occurred to me that everything he ever did for me was only to bruise me deep, so that the wound remained long after he was gone. The wound would heal, the scar would remain, forever.
I collapsed on the floor and broke down. I hated myself for harboring such thoughts about him. He came like lightening into my life, which until then was like a night sky with dark clouds, with pent up feelings, ready to explode. He helped me pour out my feelings, like the showers they came. Out went the dark clouds, in came a clear sky, tranquility like never before. I gazed at the reflection of his framed photograph. He was smiling, like always.
Like a whiff of fresh air he came, he went as fast.
Reflection
A murky state of mind, a melancholic mood, a gloomy feeling, an inexplicable grief surrounded my being as I stood staring at the night sky. Not a star to be seen, it seemed as if the heavens empathized with me.
A cool breeze swept past me, as if to uplift my spirit, did not serve the purpose, it left me cold, and more helpless than before.
There was a time not so long ago when a climate like this would enliven the romantic in me. A time when the eyes of the mind ignored the dark clouds and only noticed the thin silver lining, a time when the scorching heat brought confidence rather than pain. Not anymore.
A time when I craved for attention, for people around me, now I resented the very same people. Was it me? Or was it them?
Children playing on the street, they had so much to smile about, just like I had not so long ago. The gay abandon with which they played brought sheer happiness, evident from the glee on their face. The sweat on the brow hardly meant fatigue, if anything zest for living. The enthusiasm had not faded despite the dark clouds.
Dark clouds. Symbolic of my life. Did they in their child's play have a message for me? This was a stage when the mind had closed all its doors. In spite of knowing that the visiting thoughts would bring joy, the negative thoughts inside refused to let the light come in. The mind was accustomed to the familiar darkness and feared the unknown.
I stared down at the pavement from the balcony of my apartment on the 5th floor. I didn't feel suicidal. Just sad. The sorrow did not stem out of loneliness, I wish it had. I could have atleast defined my state of mind.
My armpits ached. I turned around to go, unable to stand on the crutches any longer.
I stared into my image in the life- size mirror. I felt crippled. It was one of his ways of telling me I was lame, that I needed support, his, and that I was not normal. He had never loved me. It occurred to me that everything he ever did for me was only to bruise me deep, so that the wound remained long after he was gone. The wound would heal, the scar would remain, forever.
I collapsed on the floor and broke down. I hated myself for harboring such thoughts about him. He came like lightening into my life, which until then was like a night sky with dark clouds, with pent up feelings, ready to explode. He helped me pour out my feelings, like the showers they came. Out went the dark clouds, in came a clear sky, tranquility like never before. I gazed at the reflection of his framed photograph. He was smiling, like always.
Like a whiff of fresh air he came, he went as fast.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Sleepless in Rohnert Park
It's 12.00 in the night and I can't sleep. So I blog-hop and somewhere I catch an old Archie comic cover and now I go Pandrah-saal-pehle....
Friends' Circulating Library opposite the East-West school bus stop. The librararian who would keep aside the latest issue of Sportstar for my brother. Walking to the library alone and saying "114-return" for the first time. The Archie double digests we would borrow only during weekends. Narrating a tale to my mom in Kannada and getting a tepid response. Returning the book late and hoping not to be fined. Cancelling membership.
Wonder who's 114 now...
Friends' Circulating Library opposite the East-West school bus stop. The librararian who would keep aside the latest issue of Sportstar for my brother. Walking to the library alone and saying "114-return" for the first time. The Archie double digests we would borrow only during weekends. Narrating a tale to my mom in Kannada and getting a tepid response. Returning the book late and hoping not to be fined. Cancelling membership.
Wonder who's 114 now...
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
Hmm...
Seems like yesterday, when I landed at the SFO airport one cloudy afternoon in November. And it's already time to leave. Time flies. Yes. Especially when Life is so Beautiful.
I just read that and it seems like a last post. :-) Well, it's not. Not yet at least. Pressed for time right now; thanks to shopping, packing, disposing stuff. Will come up with a better post to shut down the blog, if I ever do that! :)
Have a great day!
I just read that and it seems like a last post. :-) Well, it's not. Not yet at least. Pressed for time right now; thanks to shopping, packing, disposing stuff. Will come up with a better post to shut down the blog, if I ever do that! :)
Have a great day!
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Unrealised Dream
The first few minutes on the first day of school were always spent in introductions. While some teachers were happy knowing just the names of their new students, others wanted to know their parents’ names and their occupations. Some were curious to find out what each kid dreamed to be when she was older, and sometimes why the chosen profession. It was evident from what most of my classmates said, that medicine and engineering were the preferred courses even back then.
I can’t remember what I said before I got hooked to film magazines. But after I started devouring film gossip from the glittery Startdusts and Filmfares, I was sure what I wanted to be. A journalist, as my brother had told me. What a life, they led, these journalists, I thought! They get to meet all the glamorous film stars that we can only dream of, sometimes in their lavish homes too. They certainly must have several pictures taken alongside the stars. What luck! Imagine, I’d get to do what I loved doing – write and also meet all the stars for free. This profession was made for me!
Soon, my cousins and my own brother, who always had a word of advice for their sis, said film journalism was not that great. I had to be a political journalist if I had to be taken seriously. That way, I could expose corrupt politicians and unearth ugly scams. The rich and the famous would be scared of me. Wow!
And then in high school, one teacher told me that I didn’t have to be a journalist, in order to write. I could pursue a ‘more suitable’, which probably meant more lucrative career and still write. Free lancing it was called. My biggest influence, my brother, couldn’t agree more. “You should take up Engineering. You can do a course in journalism after that if you still want to”, he said. I gave in half-heartedly.
I would peep out of the BTS bus window and look wistfully at the “Asian school of Journalism” on my way to school and back. And I would tell my mom that journalism was where my heart was. Being the more dynamic of the two, she once went to the school and enquired, to be told that they only offered post-graduate courses. We made a pact between us. I would graduate, in Arts like I wanted to, and then come back and take their entrance test. I would surely clear it and go on to study journalism. And I would be a journalist.
My mom was gone a few years after that and with her that childhood dream of mine. Today, the pact remains a memorable conversation between the two of us. And I constantly wonder if I should live it out for her...
I can’t remember what I said before I got hooked to film magazines. But after I started devouring film gossip from the glittery Startdusts and Filmfares, I was sure what I wanted to be. A journalist, as my brother had told me. What a life, they led, these journalists, I thought! They get to meet all the glamorous film stars that we can only dream of, sometimes in their lavish homes too. They certainly must have several pictures taken alongside the stars. What luck! Imagine, I’d get to do what I loved doing – write and also meet all the stars for free. This profession was made for me!
Soon, my cousins and my own brother, who always had a word of advice for their sis, said film journalism was not that great. I had to be a political journalist if I had to be taken seriously. That way, I could expose corrupt politicians and unearth ugly scams. The rich and the famous would be scared of me. Wow!
And then in high school, one teacher told me that I didn’t have to be a journalist, in order to write. I could pursue a ‘more suitable’, which probably meant more lucrative career and still write. Free lancing it was called. My biggest influence, my brother, couldn’t agree more. “You should take up Engineering. You can do a course in journalism after that if you still want to”, he said. I gave in half-heartedly.
I would peep out of the BTS bus window and look wistfully at the “Asian school of Journalism” on my way to school and back. And I would tell my mom that journalism was where my heart was. Being the more dynamic of the two, she once went to the school and enquired, to be told that they only offered post-graduate courses. We made a pact between us. I would graduate, in Arts like I wanted to, and then come back and take their entrance test. I would surely clear it and go on to study journalism. And I would be a journalist.
My mom was gone a few years after that and with her that childhood dream of mine. Today, the pact remains a memorable conversation between the two of us. And I constantly wonder if I should live it out for her...
Monday, August 01, 2005
A Longish short break!
So many things to write about. So much free time on my hands. But I can't get myself to write. Not now. Will come back soon!
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Close to my heart
I am ashamed that being a Kannadiga-Bangalorean myself, I did not write about an issue I am genuinely concerned about, all this while. It took someone who has just moved into Bangalore to bring out the plight of a local Kannadiga in Bangalore! And he has done a remarkable job!
Do read it here.
An excerpt(I simply couldn't resist putting it here!)--
"It’s probably the only city in India where the natives account for less that 30% of the population. It’s the only city where cinema theatres screen films in as many as five languages. It’s probably the only city where a person from another state can go about his business for years, without knowing a word of the local language.
And that seems to be a matter of concern for the Kannadiga. Every Kannadiga I’ve spoken to since my return to the city has wasted no time in reminding me how very few non-Kannadigas seem to make the effort to learn the local language. Why is it such a big deal? Are they fanatics? Not by any stretch of imagination! But they are concerned that while that city has provided opportunities to the outsider, the non-Kannadigas haven’t reciprocated by ‘blending’ in. Which to a great extent means learning the local language."
I have a few things to add. It's easy to point out the flaws in Bangalore (that have surfaced mainly due to the large number of people the IT industry has brought to the city). It's easy to curse auto-drivers and policemen and declare that they all treat localites and the others differently. It's easy to criticise the decision the Kannada film industry took to save itself. But, don't you all agree that it's also easy to live in this friendly city amongst the hospitable Kannadigas wihtout even knowing their tongue? Something that would be unthinkable in some other cities.
But, there's one way of reciprocating. For the goodwill shown and the hospitality endowed - learn the local language. So please, all non-Kannadigas reading this, make an effort to learn the language of the city you wish to make your home. Before putting German and French on the agenda, put Kannada on it. It's the least you can do.
Thanks Karthik, once again. :)
Do read it here.
An excerpt(I simply couldn't resist putting it here!)--
"It’s probably the only city in India where the natives account for less that 30% of the population. It’s the only city where cinema theatres screen films in as many as five languages. It’s probably the only city where a person from another state can go about his business for years, without knowing a word of the local language.
And that seems to be a matter of concern for the Kannadiga. Every Kannadiga I’ve spoken to since my return to the city has wasted no time in reminding me how very few non-Kannadigas seem to make the effort to learn the local language. Why is it such a big deal? Are they fanatics? Not by any stretch of imagination! But they are concerned that while that city has provided opportunities to the outsider, the non-Kannadigas haven’t reciprocated by ‘blending’ in. Which to a great extent means learning the local language."
I have a few things to add. It's easy to point out the flaws in Bangalore (that have surfaced mainly due to the large number of people the IT industry has brought to the city). It's easy to curse auto-drivers and policemen and declare that they all treat localites and the others differently. It's easy to criticise the decision the Kannada film industry took to save itself. But, don't you all agree that it's also easy to live in this friendly city amongst the hospitable Kannadigas wihtout even knowing their tongue? Something that would be unthinkable in some other cities.
But, there's one way of reciprocating. For the goodwill shown and the hospitality endowed - learn the local language. So please, all non-Kannadigas reading this, make an effort to learn the language of the city you wish to make your home. Before putting German and French on the agenda, put Kannada on it. It's the least you can do.
Thanks Karthik, once again. :)
Friday, July 15, 2005
Of marriage..
Marriage and Love seem to be the hot topics in the blogosphere currently, so says this post; and incidently that happens to be the topic of this post too.
Last evening's news featured a couple in Ohio that has been married for the last 82 years! The man's 101 and the woman a 100 years old. When asked the secret behind the successful marriage they didn't say the expected, read "trust, love, care and share". The man said, very frankly, "She's been feeding me well!" and the woman said, "He never puts me down, always lets me do what I want to".
With our first marriage anniversary a couple of months away, I wonder what has made it work wonderfully for us. Friendship and patience mainly. And there's one thing I've realised - there's no definite formula, you have to find what works for you, and stick with it.
Last evening's news featured a couple in Ohio that has been married for the last 82 years! The man's 101 and the woman a 100 years old. When asked the secret behind the successful marriage they didn't say the expected, read "trust, love, care and share". The man said, very frankly, "She's been feeding me well!" and the woman said, "He never puts me down, always lets me do what I want to".
With our first marriage anniversary a couple of months away, I wonder what has made it work wonderfully for us. Friendship and patience mainly. And there's one thing I've realised - there's no definite formula, you have to find what works for you, and stick with it.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Funny...
Saw this on a Car sticker:
Support Search and Rescue. Get Lost!
And this on a piece of equipment in the gym:
Consult a physician before beginning a new exercise program.
Use Common Sense. Stop if you feel giddy, dizzy or faint.
Very direct; aren't we?
This at a fast food joint:
Timings:
Monday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Tuesday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Wednesday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Thursday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Friday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Saturday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Sunday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Surely, they didn't know what to do with the rest of the page if they said
'All days of the week 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.'
Support Search and Rescue. Get Lost!
And this on a piece of equipment in the gym:
Consult a physician before beginning a new exercise program.
Use Common Sense. Stop if you feel giddy, dizzy or faint.
Very direct; aren't we?
This at a fast food joint:
Timings:
Monday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Tuesday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Wednesday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Thursday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Friday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Saturday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Sunday 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.
Surely, they didn't know what to do with the rest of the page if they said
'All days of the week 9.00 A.M. to 9.00 P.M.'
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Why the US is the best place to lose weight....
Everytime you switch on the TV.....
there is an ad trying to sell a total-workout machine for three easy payments of $19.99.
There are people who claim they’ve gone down 25 lbs, 10 inches and 5 dress sizes and are thrilled about it. They are either truly ecstatic or are convincing actors. Either way, you can’t help but wonder how you’d look if you could shed those extra pounds.
Oprah is talking about her transformation.....
and so are her guests. They insist they are more confident, more active and more successful now. Anything to be successful; what?
You can’t eat out as much as you can in India.....
more so if you are a vegetarian.
How long can you wash a BK Veggie and a King size French fries down with a tall glass of diet coke?
How many times can you relish the Veggie Delight at subway?
How many times before you realize that you are a far better cook than the non-Indians who cook at the Indian restaurants?
The gyms here are great for three reasons:
The equipments have displays that work!
Nobody gives you a second look ( or even a first for that matter ), no matter how fat or how gorgeous you are.
There are people who are much much fatter than you are, so there is hope for you.
(‘Fat’ did I say? Sorry, it's banned here. We're all just ‘overweight’.)
There is no wedding to attend every weekend.....
and no vanilla ice-cream with gulab jamun that you simply cannot resist.
There are no aunts’ houses to visit.....
and no samosas and sweets to force down your throat.
And lastly....
if you are sitting at home like me, there’s nothing better to do! :-)
-------
If that was 'why...', there’s also a 'why... not'
French fries never tasted better.
So this is what real brownies and doughnuts taste like! Can I have another piece of coconut pie please?
Lazy afternoon with a good book to read, can a bowl of Mocha Almond Ice-cream be far behind?
Dress sizes can be misleading. 'M' here corresponds to the 'L' back home. An easy fit into the M can give you a false feeling of fitness.
Finally, All sedentary work and no play can make jack(and jill) not just dull, but also dangerously overweight!
So....what are you waiting for? Don your gym wear and head staright for the treadmill! Or do you like weight training better?! ;)
there is an ad trying to sell a total-workout machine for three easy payments of $19.99.
There are people who claim they’ve gone down 25 lbs, 10 inches and 5 dress sizes and are thrilled about it. They are either truly ecstatic or are convincing actors. Either way, you can’t help but wonder how you’d look if you could shed those extra pounds.
Oprah is talking about her transformation.....
and so are her guests. They insist they are more confident, more active and more successful now. Anything to be successful; what?
You can’t eat out as much as you can in India.....
more so if you are a vegetarian.
How long can you wash a BK Veggie and a King size French fries down with a tall glass of diet coke?
How many times can you relish the Veggie Delight at subway?
How many times before you realize that you are a far better cook than the non-Indians who cook at the Indian restaurants?
The gyms here are great for three reasons:
The equipments have displays that work!
Nobody gives you a second look ( or even a first for that matter ), no matter how fat or how gorgeous you are.
There are people who are much much fatter than you are, so there is hope for you.
(‘Fat’ did I say? Sorry, it's banned here. We're all just ‘overweight’.)
There is no wedding to attend every weekend.....
and no vanilla ice-cream with gulab jamun that you simply cannot resist.
There are no aunts’ houses to visit.....
and no samosas and sweets to force down your throat.
And lastly....
if you are sitting at home like me, there’s nothing better to do! :-)
-------
If that was 'why...', there’s also a 'why... not'
French fries never tasted better.
So this is what real brownies and doughnuts taste like! Can I have another piece of coconut pie please?
Lazy afternoon with a good book to read, can a bowl of Mocha Almond Ice-cream be far behind?
Dress sizes can be misleading. 'M' here corresponds to the 'L' back home. An easy fit into the M can give you a false feeling of fitness.
Finally, All sedentary work and no play can make jack(and jill) not just dull, but also dangerously overweight!
So....what are you waiting for? Don your gym wear and head staright for the treadmill! Or do you like weight training better?! ;)
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Bitten by the Ammani bug!
At the cost of sounding like Anu Malik, I must admit that what follows has been "inspired" by Ammani's quick tales. :)
They moved out to live in a far away land, away from relatives and friends. Children would not be disturbed during exams and unexpected guests would not drop in at unearthly hours. It worked. They now make frequent trips to their native land to re-establish broken bonds. And they talk to their son every Sunday morning, begging him to return.
They moved out to live in a far away land, away from relatives and friends. Children would not be disturbed during exams and unexpected guests would not drop in at unearthly hours. It worked. They now make frequent trips to their native land to re-establish broken bonds. And they talk to their son every Sunday morning, begging him to return.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Hot Crossed Buns; anyone?
For a country and culture that believes that bread is for bedridden patients, we have a whole lot of bakeries. I bet there isn’t a single main road in Bangalore that doesn’t have one. From the small, lack-lustre Iyengar bakery to the the suave Nilgiris and Sweet Chariot, bakeries have come a long way.
Just like the darshinis of the 90’s that metamorphosed Chinese food to suit the Indian palate by introducing everything from the original gobi to the latest mixed-vegetable Manchurian, bakeries have been inventing their own recipes for a long time now.
Black forest and pineapple pastries are common today, with every birthday party in town being celebrated with one, but some years ago it was unheard of. The best cakes then were the honey cakes, which didn’t have a drop of honey in them and plum cakes, which had everything but plum.
Pizzas and burgers were stuff in the Archie comics; what we did have were potato buns and vegetable puffs. Potato bun, a bun stuffed with a spicy potato-onion curry, complete with mustard and chana dal, made for a healthy snack option. That no one was bothered about calories and cholesterol then, is another matter.
And then, there were these triangular pies called dil-khush and man-pasand, both stuffed with tooty-fuity and desiccated coconut. I can’t quite tell why they had two different names, but they did live up to the names. How can I forget the cheapest cake - the apple cake, named so for no apparent reason and made from leftovers of the other cakes; a cake I relished for several years before I discovered the secret recipe.
Apart from these delicious and ingenious products that made bakeries irresistible for people and stray dogs alike, bakeries also made the standard breads. Not the whole grain, whole wheat and white bread that you get in the west; the ordinary, milk, fruit and sweet varieties. The ordinary for sandwich, the sweet for jam, fruit to have as is and milk on the doctor’s advice, for the sick kid, who’d rather starve than have it.
Posh bakeries have sprung up in several parts of the city today, but they are no competition to the neighbourhood bakery-behind-bus-stop.
These are places you rush to for a quick bite, in sickness and in health. On normal days and during curfews, when they sell milk and bread at exorbitant rates through half-closed shutters. Where the pale yellow banian clad guy assures you that everything you ordered is “Just made, fresh from oven madam”. Right. Fresh from the microwave oven stashed away inside. :)
Bakeries - we love them!
Just like the darshinis of the 90’s that metamorphosed Chinese food to suit the Indian palate by introducing everything from the original gobi to the latest mixed-vegetable Manchurian, bakeries have been inventing their own recipes for a long time now.
Black forest and pineapple pastries are common today, with every birthday party in town being celebrated with one, but some years ago it was unheard of. The best cakes then were the honey cakes, which didn’t have a drop of honey in them and plum cakes, which had everything but plum.
Pizzas and burgers were stuff in the Archie comics; what we did have were potato buns and vegetable puffs. Potato bun, a bun stuffed with a spicy potato-onion curry, complete with mustard and chana dal, made for a healthy snack option. That no one was bothered about calories and cholesterol then, is another matter.
And then, there were these triangular pies called dil-khush and man-pasand, both stuffed with tooty-fuity and desiccated coconut. I can’t quite tell why they had two different names, but they did live up to the names. How can I forget the cheapest cake - the apple cake, named so for no apparent reason and made from leftovers of the other cakes; a cake I relished for several years before I discovered the secret recipe.
Apart from these delicious and ingenious products that made bakeries irresistible for people and stray dogs alike, bakeries also made the standard breads. Not the whole grain, whole wheat and white bread that you get in the west; the ordinary, milk, fruit and sweet varieties. The ordinary for sandwich, the sweet for jam, fruit to have as is and milk on the doctor’s advice, for the sick kid, who’d rather starve than have it.
Posh bakeries have sprung up in several parts of the city today, but they are no competition to the neighbourhood bakery-behind-bus-stop.
These are places you rush to for a quick bite, in sickness and in health. On normal days and during curfews, when they sell milk and bread at exorbitant rates through half-closed shutters. Where the pale yellow banian clad guy assures you that everything you ordered is “Just made, fresh from oven madam”. Right. Fresh from the microwave oven stashed away inside. :)
Bakeries - we love them!
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Some things you learn as a new (house)wife...
Coffee tastes better when someone makes it for you.
Pant pockets should be checked before tossing them into the washing machine.
Don't boil milk and watch your favourite program on TV at the same time.
The fabric you least expect to lose colour will, soiling all your whites, so don’t take any chances.
It is difficult to come up with innovative breakfast/snack ideas everyday.
Upma tastes a lot better when you’ve made it yourself.
Electricity costs this much?!! Why is that light on? Is someone in the room?
Work has a way of spreading itself, so don’t look surprised when housewives say they are busy all through the day.
Jars of sugar and spices don’t replenish themselves, someone fills them up.
You do the housework just the way your mom did it, even though you never did it her way when she was teaching you.
There’s great joy in making sacrifices, big and small.
And finally, being a housewife isn’t half as bad as you’d imagined.
Pant pockets should be checked before tossing them into the washing machine.
Don't boil milk and watch your favourite program on TV at the same time.
The fabric you least expect to lose colour will, soiling all your whites, so don’t take any chances.
It is difficult to come up with innovative breakfast/snack ideas everyday.
Upma tastes a lot better when you’ve made it yourself.
Electricity costs this much?!! Why is that light on? Is someone in the room?
Work has a way of spreading itself, so don’t look surprised when housewives say they are busy all through the day.
Jars of sugar and spices don’t replenish themselves, someone fills them up.
You do the housework just the way your mom did it, even though you never did it her way when she was teaching you.
There’s great joy in making sacrifices, big and small.
And finally, being a housewife isn’t half as bad as you’d imagined.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Coorg Diary - Part two
After the OC breakfast, we headed to the marketplace close by to buy film for R’s camera. Loaded (with film I mean), we looked for an auto rickshaw to take us to the first spot on the agenda – Abbey Falls. After some haggling, one guy agreed to take the four of us in his three wheeler for a reasonable sum. I sat on the side bar, while R, B and S were cramped in the seat which was clearly meant for two. The man drove like a maniac and the tortuous route and bumpy roads didn’t help matters at all.
After an uncomfortable and dangerous drive, we finally reached the destination. We got off the auto, but there was no sign of a waterfall anywhere. We got to know through a soft-drink vendor that we had to walk down 4-5 miles to get to Abbey. It was a pleasant walk, firstly because the path was shaded by trees, and secondly because I had thoughtfully worn shoes. A rather frail looking bridge had to be crossed to reach the waterfall and as usual I was scared. After B’s “Is there anything you are not scared of?” I relented.
The waterfall was breathtaking. We noticed a young girl on top of the falls, walking precariously to the other side and for a few moments were convinced she wanted to commit suicide. But as we watched terrified, she disappeared, only to get into a hut at the far end. These people live dangerously, everyday I mean.
Now it’s not possible that I go to someplace and don’t fall. So I had my customary fall at Abbey falls and B or S even captured the embarrassing moment on film. R refused to lend a helping hand, for the fear of getting drowned along with me. I was miffed, but they later convinced me it was for my own good. Yeah right!
Several photos and splashing-water-at-each-other later, we headed back. We had seen a foreigner cycling his way to Abbey on the way and now he was there. He had our back to us and since B was curious to know what he looked like, she requested him to take a picture of ours. She handed over the camera to him while a dozen desis looked on. If he was flattered or surprised, he didn’t show it.
We trekked back to the road, where our auto waited for us and we braced ourselves for the treacherous drive back to the city. We stopped at a restaurant for lunch and eager to taste Coorg-special cuisine asked the waiter if there was anything he could suggest. Suggest he did, but what? To quote him, “Handi Maamsa” [Translated verbatim: Pig’s meat]
“Naalakku South Indian Vegetarian mini meals please”
After an uncomfortable and dangerous drive, we finally reached the destination. We got off the auto, but there was no sign of a waterfall anywhere. We got to know through a soft-drink vendor that we had to walk down 4-5 miles to get to Abbey. It was a pleasant walk, firstly because the path was shaded by trees, and secondly because I had thoughtfully worn shoes. A rather frail looking bridge had to be crossed to reach the waterfall and as usual I was scared. After B’s “Is there anything you are not scared of?” I relented.
The waterfall was breathtaking. We noticed a young girl on top of the falls, walking precariously to the other side and for a few moments were convinced she wanted to commit suicide. But as we watched terrified, she disappeared, only to get into a hut at the far end. These people live dangerously, everyday I mean.
Now it’s not possible that I go to someplace and don’t fall. So I had my customary fall at Abbey falls and B or S even captured the embarrassing moment on film. R refused to lend a helping hand, for the fear of getting drowned along with me. I was miffed, but they later convinced me it was for my own good. Yeah right!
Several photos and splashing-water-at-each-other later, we headed back. We had seen a foreigner cycling his way to Abbey on the way and now he was there. He had our back to us and since B was curious to know what he looked like, she requested him to take a picture of ours. She handed over the camera to him while a dozen desis looked on. If he was flattered or surprised, he didn’t show it.
We trekked back to the road, where our auto waited for us and we braced ourselves for the treacherous drive back to the city. We stopped at a restaurant for lunch and eager to taste Coorg-special cuisine asked the waiter if there was anything he could suggest. Suggest he did, but what? To quote him, “Handi Maamsa” [Translated verbatim: Pig’s meat]
“Naalakku South Indian Vegetarian mini meals please”
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Cinderella Man
For a simple and inspiring tale. For one man's love, sincerity and courage. For hope and faith. To root for the underdog. To cheer the winner. For Russell Crowe and the Joy of Winning...Watch the movie.
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Communication Gap
A: Hiiiii! How are you?
B: Oh Hi! I'm fine. So you finally remembered me huh?
A: Umm Yeah...I'm sorry I couldn't call you all these days.
B: Oh well, you've become very busy now. Where will you find the time for people like me?
A: (I wish I hadn't called! This is the last time I'm calling this person!)
Just how many times have you had a conversation like this? And which part do you play? A or B?
I'm A all the time and I'm tired of taking the blame. I call up, people say this; I log into msngr, I have msgs that ask me why I haven't mailed. They even end it with a "It's okay if you are too busy". Busy, me? Everyone knows that it's you who are busy sitting in your cubicle and kutting away, not me. So, what's with the insult? I'm sometimes tempted to ask these people why they didn't call. With phone and internet, I'm just a call or mail or msg away too, why didn't you take the initiative? One of these days, someone is going to get to hear this!
Sadly, I think this is how a lot of relationships end. Unfair expectations and the burden of being answerable all the time. Eventually, there are lies and the relationship begins to crumble. Do we need this? NO!
So the next time someone calls you after a long time, be nice. Ask no questions and you will hear no lies. Whatsmore, they will call you back sooner than later.
B: Oh Hi! I'm fine. So you finally remembered me huh?
A: Umm Yeah...I'm sorry I couldn't call you all these days.
B: Oh well, you've become very busy now. Where will you find the time for people like me?
A: (I wish I hadn't called! This is the last time I'm calling this person!)
Just how many times have you had a conversation like this? And which part do you play? A or B?
I'm A all the time and I'm tired of taking the blame. I call up, people say this; I log into msngr, I have msgs that ask me why I haven't mailed. They even end it with a "It's okay if you are too busy". Busy, me? Everyone knows that it's you who are busy sitting in your cubicle and kutting away, not me. So, what's with the insult? I'm sometimes tempted to ask these people why they didn't call. With phone and internet, I'm just a call or mail or msg away too, why didn't you take the initiative? One of these days, someone is going to get to hear this!
Sadly, I think this is how a lot of relationships end. Unfair expectations and the burden of being answerable all the time. Eventually, there are lies and the relationship begins to crumble. Do we need this? NO!
So the next time someone calls you after a long time, be nice. Ask no questions and you will hear no lies. Whatsmore, they will call you back sooner than later.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Las Vegas comes alive at night!
That's a photo taken from one of the several bridges that connect the two sides of the strip. There are trams and mono rails that run along the strip to take you to from one casino to another.
Newyork Newyork
Since the casinos look alike with slot machines everywhere, each hotel has a central theme to make it stand apart, this one's is New York and hence the statue of liberty.
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