"hey mom..........do you think you could be the monster in our power ranger game."
That was the request from my six year old son at his impromptu birthday celebrations yesterday. The theme was Power Ranger Party. Three eager faces peered at me, and I had to relent. The next half hour went away with me screaming and walking tall, and being beseiged by laser guns, power rays, socks, kickboxes, gamma rays and even a sneezing spell.
By the end of it, the power ranger monster morphed back into a 33 year old mommy. And yet, at the end of the evening I heard my son confide in a little pal, "My mum is mean, isn't she?"
Well, exactly my point. The poor power ranger monster aka mommy seldom gets a chance to redeem herself. Kids think she is too strict, dad thinks she is too lenient. Teachers think she is too pushy and other moms think she is competition.
Next on my agenda is the yearly scary event. The annual formal b'day party of the six year old. Meticulously organised, planned, and put down to the last detail. Then there are the little guests. Some who are travelling, others who have fallen ill, and the rest who are coming. With each 'no', my heart sinks a bit......what will happen to all that cake and return gifts....with each 'yes', i worry, 'will they kill each other by the end?'
Well, thankfully by tomorrow evening we will be over the hill, unwrapping gifts, oohing and aahing and feeling happy and satisfied. I will get a sloppy wet kiss for my troubles and will be dead to the world by eleven, aided by the manna for adults-alchohol.
In the meantime, the little tyrant who rules out lives will be taking a decision on what we have to do next year. I just hope we dont have a Harry Potter theme party,cos well, I'm just a muggle!
Friday, July 13, 2007
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
On the beach!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The resort I stayed at a recent holiday in Kuala Lumpur seemed to be very popular with visitors from the Middle East. We found scores of families from various areas there, staying at the hotel. Apart from us Indian's of course :) !
The Sunway resort where we stayed had a man-made beach and lagoon. It had a lot of adventure theme parks and a water park with fun stuff to do for everyone. The day we spent there was memorable with the many rides and adventures we had. However, what struck me and cut me deep was a young woman in a Burqua on the beach.
By her body language I could make out she was quite young, and she was accompanied by her husband and two young chilren. The latter three were appropriately dressed in shorts and swimming gear for a day at the water park. The former, however, was covered from top to toe in a burqua and a veil for her face. The only visible area at the eyes was covered by sunglasses. In short, apart from her hands, there was no visible skin anywhere. This lady stood on that beach watching her family frolic in the water for a good three to four hours, at least till the time we were there.
Watching her in the searing heat, surrounded by other women of all shapes and sizes, in varying swimming gear, from bikinis, one peieces, tankinis, cycling shorts to burkinis even, felt odd. In that heat, her ensemble choice did seem out of place. Watching her somewhere sent a shiver down my spine, and perhaps left me thankful of being born in a more liberal country in more liberal times.
While leaving I wondered if she had ever felt tempted to throw off the restrictions and jump into the water. Sometimes the smallest things in life you take for granted make you pause and ponder.
The Sunway resort where we stayed had a man-made beach and lagoon. It had a lot of adventure theme parks and a water park with fun stuff to do for everyone. The day we spent there was memorable with the many rides and adventures we had. However, what struck me and cut me deep was a young woman in a Burqua on the beach.
By her body language I could make out she was quite young, and she was accompanied by her husband and two young chilren. The latter three were appropriately dressed in shorts and swimming gear for a day at the water park. The former, however, was covered from top to toe in a burqua and a veil for her face. The only visible area at the eyes was covered by sunglasses. In short, apart from her hands, there was no visible skin anywhere. This lady stood on that beach watching her family frolic in the water for a good three to four hours, at least till the time we were there.
Watching her in the searing heat, surrounded by other women of all shapes and sizes, in varying swimming gear, from bikinis, one peieces, tankinis, cycling shorts to burkinis even, felt odd. In that heat, her ensemble choice did seem out of place. Watching her somewhere sent a shiver down my spine, and perhaps left me thankful of being born in a more liberal country in more liberal times.
While leaving I wondered if she had ever felt tempted to throw off the restrictions and jump into the water. Sometimes the smallest things in life you take for granted make you pause and ponder.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Why Johnny Depp Rules
It’s a simple answer really………….
Because he is SEXY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He looks delicious as any character. Yes, even as the neurotic bugger in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, or in the most defining role, where I fell in love with him, Edward Scissor hands!
I have a feeling it’s because it’s his uniquely androgynous appeal. The man knows how to be both a man’s man and a woman’s man. He has hips that swing, eyebrows that quirk, and eyes that dance. And yes in the latest role that he has immortalized in the three part series, The Pirates of the Caribbean he takes Captain Jack Sparrow to new heights and new depths with élan.
But for me what really works with him is the sensitivity of his face. It acts like a mirror, showing you at various times, not Johnny himself, but the character, from depraved, lustful to damned and hesitant, his face chooses to mould itself to whoever he is. Not to mention that his agility and precision with sword is well………………intensely appealing. The best part is, as I recently discovered in the ‘World’s End’ sequel, even older women like him. His latest fan is my mother who raves about him and assures me he is the cutest guy she has ever met. My six year old son , calls him a ‘Mast Banda’.
As for me……………………well….like they say in the movies………….”I will always remember the day, I met Capt. Jack Sparrow!”
Because he is SEXY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
He looks delicious as any character. Yes, even as the neurotic bugger in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, or in the most defining role, where I fell in love with him, Edward Scissor hands!
I have a feeling it’s because it’s his uniquely androgynous appeal. The man knows how to be both a man’s man and a woman’s man. He has hips that swing, eyebrows that quirk, and eyes that dance. And yes in the latest role that he has immortalized in the three part series, The Pirates of the Caribbean he takes Captain Jack Sparrow to new heights and new depths with élan.
But for me what really works with him is the sensitivity of his face. It acts like a mirror, showing you at various times, not Johnny himself, but the character, from depraved, lustful to damned and hesitant, his face chooses to mould itself to whoever he is. Not to mention that his agility and precision with sword is well………………intensely appealing. The best part is, as I recently discovered in the ‘World’s End’ sequel, even older women like him. His latest fan is my mother who raves about him and assures me he is the cutest guy she has ever met. My six year old son , calls him a ‘Mast Banda’.
As for me……………………well….like they say in the movies………….”I will always remember the day, I met Capt. Jack Sparrow!”
Thursday, May 3, 2007
Salad Days...........yummy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
It all started with the office party which is of course still to take place in two days. I had promised the 'girls' a long awaited treat of biryanis and bacardi at my place...which slowly evolved into a well............salads, pastas etc lunch. Perfectionist that I am, i whizzed off to defence colony market today to check out some exotic pasta sauces and salad leaves for the day. I usually am pretty happy to open a can of ready made pasta sauce but this time I wanted to simmer the sauces at home, my way. Its not everyday that my work colleagues see this domesticated side of me.
I am glad I went because it helped me pick up everything for my favourite salad in the world. To begin with anyone who hasn't shopped at the defence colony market for food has missed an experience. I will never forget how many years ago a snooty aunt made an uncle drive all the way from Civil Lines to get fish from Defence Colony market. After today I think she was on to something there.
I stumbled on some fabulous rocket leaves, delicately placed in an AC shop and that spurred me to hope that I could make my favourtie salad at home. I do not have the energy to go to INA market, an experience I am saving for those happy days when I will potter around in the kitchen after retirement. My favourite salad in all the world is the Insalata Felix, served at restaurant I promote...........while the salad has actually been named after a pet, it offers the delectable combination of goat cheese, orange, pine nuts and rocket leaves,with a dressing which I will now keep secret!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway after some sweet directions from the vegetable vendors I found imported goat cheese.manna from heaven..........and the shop keeper kindly cut me a wedge from a very formidable looking chunk.
Back home, my maids looked at me aghast as I mixed my favourite salad, dunked it in the fridge to cool and sat and stuffed green leaves unshamedly into my mouth once it was done. Total cost??????????Well rocket costs Rs. 200 a kilo, my bunch came for thirty bucks, cheese that went in would be about 50, half an orange, i'd venture ten bucks, pine nuts worth another twenty bucks, so say about 120 bucks for a salad................cheaper than what you would pay outside and absolutely fresh and delicious..................
As I have happily told the vegetable vendor who gave me his card and promised home delivery to my office (luckily in defence colony too).........he had made a permanent new customer...........
And if the next blog is on shitake mushrooms or perfectly plump asparagus right in the middle of the city...................you will have to pardon me!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I am glad I went because it helped me pick up everything for my favourite salad in the world. To begin with anyone who hasn't shopped at the defence colony market for food has missed an experience. I will never forget how many years ago a snooty aunt made an uncle drive all the way from Civil Lines to get fish from Defence Colony market. After today I think she was on to something there.
I stumbled on some fabulous rocket leaves, delicately placed in an AC shop and that spurred me to hope that I could make my favourtie salad at home. I do not have the energy to go to INA market, an experience I am saving for those happy days when I will potter around in the kitchen after retirement. My favourite salad in all the world is the Insalata Felix, served at restaurant I promote...........while the salad has actually been named after a pet, it offers the delectable combination of goat cheese, orange, pine nuts and rocket leaves,with a dressing which I will now keep secret!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anyway after some sweet directions from the vegetable vendors I found imported goat cheese.manna from heaven..........and the shop keeper kindly cut me a wedge from a very formidable looking chunk.
Back home, my maids looked at me aghast as I mixed my favourite salad, dunked it in the fridge to cool and sat and stuffed green leaves unshamedly into my mouth once it was done. Total cost??????????Well rocket costs Rs. 200 a kilo, my bunch came for thirty bucks, cheese that went in would be about 50, half an orange, i'd venture ten bucks, pine nuts worth another twenty bucks, so say about 120 bucks for a salad................cheaper than what you would pay outside and absolutely fresh and delicious..................
As I have happily told the vegetable vendor who gave me his card and promised home delivery to my office (luckily in defence colony too).........he had made a permanent new customer...........
And if the next blog is on shitake mushrooms or perfectly plump asparagus right in the middle of the city...................you will have to pardon me!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Sunday, April 29, 2007
Excuse Us ................We are Indian!
It must have been more than two decades back............yes, exactly...........give or take a year or two. A magical summer where we went to Texas, and like sensible little Indians made a trip to the Nasa Space Centre, Houston. The turning point in my life should have been the whole new world of the stars opening out in front of my eyes in the first world American wizardry.
No....for me it was the moment we chose to walk across the sprawling grounds of NASA, not on the designated pathways like good tourists but on the deliciously green grass. As the jaunty third officer and radio officer of our ship put it, our small little rebellion was pardonable because, 'excuse us ...................we are Indian."
While in many ways that rambunctious duo has formed my opinion of men, at an impressionable age......I love bad boys still!...............It also goes on to prove our own perception of ourselves. Mine has changed with time. I have ceased to be apologetic about a lot of things that irk a foreign eye. I dont care to explain to them about our social and class systems any more, I simply refuse to put up with their rants and raves about our lack of infrastructure, (and still they come here...need I say more?), and I cannot abide being asked questions that begin with, "Do all Indians...............?". There is actually no such thing as all Indians. In fact Indians would scratch their head in puzzzlement if you asked them to explain fellow countrypeople to a foreigner. How can you expect to classify and categorize a trillion people in one sentence like a genus of butterflies, moths or sundry insects? Its myopic.
In this respect I think my son's generation has it better. They seem more able to express themselves and they have a confidence we lacked. Our parents of course lived in terror of upsetting status quo and apple carts, the fact that thye had been born slaves and were freed while they walked or crawled as infants still lies somewhere under their skin. Perhaps that is why their generation slaved and scrimped and survived in foriegn lands struggling for citizenships, green cards, work permits, mortgages and worked their way up the ladder.
In the past few months I have met two young women, who went to western countries to seek their fortune and want to come back. They admit to noticing an invisible glass ceiling that has always existed but never been acknowledged, and now they want to come back, to an environment where they get to be at peak, and get to have a go at trying to reach higher. Something they cannot do in the host country they stay in.
Maybe its time we started accepting ourselves, loving ourselves a little more, and giving in to our baser impulses. No on caught us when we walked on that grass that afternoon. It saved us an additional twenty minutes in the sun and well..................it felt Indian!
No....for me it was the moment we chose to walk across the sprawling grounds of NASA, not on the designated pathways like good tourists but on the deliciously green grass. As the jaunty third officer and radio officer of our ship put it, our small little rebellion was pardonable because, 'excuse us ...................we are Indian."
While in many ways that rambunctious duo has formed my opinion of men, at an impressionable age......I love bad boys still!...............It also goes on to prove our own perception of ourselves. Mine has changed with time. I have ceased to be apologetic about a lot of things that irk a foreign eye. I dont care to explain to them about our social and class systems any more, I simply refuse to put up with their rants and raves about our lack of infrastructure, (and still they come here...need I say more?), and I cannot abide being asked questions that begin with, "Do all Indians...............?". There is actually no such thing as all Indians. In fact Indians would scratch their head in puzzzlement if you asked them to explain fellow countrypeople to a foreigner. How can you expect to classify and categorize a trillion people in one sentence like a genus of butterflies, moths or sundry insects? Its myopic.
In this respect I think my son's generation has it better. They seem more able to express themselves and they have a confidence we lacked. Our parents of course lived in terror of upsetting status quo and apple carts, the fact that thye had been born slaves and were freed while they walked or crawled as infants still lies somewhere under their skin. Perhaps that is why their generation slaved and scrimped and survived in foriegn lands struggling for citizenships, green cards, work permits, mortgages and worked their way up the ladder.
In the past few months I have met two young women, who went to western countries to seek their fortune and want to come back. They admit to noticing an invisible glass ceiling that has always existed but never been acknowledged, and now they want to come back, to an environment where they get to be at peak, and get to have a go at trying to reach higher. Something they cannot do in the host country they stay in.
Maybe its time we started accepting ourselves, loving ourselves a little more, and giving in to our baser impulses. No on caught us when we walked on that grass that afternoon. It saved us an additional twenty minutes in the sun and well..................it felt Indian!
Saturday, April 21, 2007
The Relevance of Art
Sometimes I think Marx got it right when he said that all art, should be the perogative not of the artist or the consumer, but of the public. Art cuts across various mediums and creates a platform for thought and debate. Unfortunately, in our country, art has begun to have an elitist connotation. The newspapers today are full of the financial value of a work of art, the pulling power of the artist, or the glitterati who attended them.
Whatever happened to the art?
Where is the future of art in our country going? Will we continue to fete the old masters, or allow the resurging new voices to emerge. I recently went to an art exhibition which had a group of young artists showing their installations and creative expression. The medium for the same traversed various genres, from furniture, to remote controlled mechanical devices to pop art, and digitally reworked expression. Among my favourite pieces was a piece dedicated to the commuters of Mumbai, a swinging pedal device and to the street vendors to display their wares. Another one that captured me in its still calm was a set of six crutches working through a motor on a wooden table.
Atypical, kitschy, crazy, wierd, and even disturbing would be the way I would denote some of the works on display. But then, is that not the true purpose of art? To bring out comment, dissension, praise, passion, awe, fear and even disgust?
Is art not expressed to create reaction, and not always of a financial kind?
The measure of a true work of art lies not in it's financial value, or its beauty, but in it's endurance and relevance which cuts across the modalities of time and space. That is why Van Gogh's vase of flowers, or Ruben's curvaceous angels still elicit a smile.
Closer to home, Indian art has a rich legacy, and if I may venture to add, a rich future if the young artists are allowed the financial and creative freedom to work.
In the end, its more than the celebrities and the money, so lets break the ice and talk about the work itself!
Whatever happened to the art?
Where is the future of art in our country going? Will we continue to fete the old masters, or allow the resurging new voices to emerge. I recently went to an art exhibition which had a group of young artists showing their installations and creative expression. The medium for the same traversed various genres, from furniture, to remote controlled mechanical devices to pop art, and digitally reworked expression. Among my favourite pieces was a piece dedicated to the commuters of Mumbai, a swinging pedal device and to the street vendors to display their wares. Another one that captured me in its still calm was a set of six crutches working through a motor on a wooden table.
Atypical, kitschy, crazy, wierd, and even disturbing would be the way I would denote some of the works on display. But then, is that not the true purpose of art? To bring out comment, dissension, praise, passion, awe, fear and even disgust?
Is art not expressed to create reaction, and not always of a financial kind?
The measure of a true work of art lies not in it's financial value, or its beauty, but in it's endurance and relevance which cuts across the modalities of time and space. That is why Van Gogh's vase of flowers, or Ruben's curvaceous angels still elicit a smile.
Closer to home, Indian art has a rich legacy, and if I may venture to add, a rich future if the young artists are allowed the financial and creative freedom to work.
In the end, its more than the celebrities and the money, so lets break the ice and talk about the work itself!
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Cos.........they are just children!
Yesterday, I went to see a play produced by a dear friend and mentor, created by a theatre group called Pandies. Pandies has been a radical feminist theatre group picking up social issues and creating awareness on the way our idealogical perspectives have created a self-defeating society.
In it's current avatar Pandies has moved beyond the 'three walls' theatre of the auditoriums and worked with street children and children affected by violence and terrorism. Though I have not always whole heartedly agreed with every perspective of the group, having been a member since it's inception, I passionately believe in their passion!
This time, Pandies has been working with an NGO called 'Saksham' which has been consistently working with slum children near the areas adjoining Noida. Nithari has also been one of the areas they have been working in. Till January 2007, Nithari was just another place they worked with children and helped them become more aware of the dichotomies of their lives. Post January 2007, things have changed a quite a bit.
The plays performed includeed two more segments: One a skit of what the children belived actually happened in D5, and believe me when you see another child casually lopping off imaginary limbs from a child co-actor, it scares you more than any newspaper or tv coverage would!
The other a conversation which followed into an interaction with the audience on what the NGO and theatre group have worked to achieve both pre and post Nithari.
The skits covered various issues the children face in their day to day lives: money, education, child labour, bad parenting, cruel intentions, religious bigotry and riots, and even love affairs which go off into tangential directions.
The plays have been scripted, directed and conceptualised by the children. The adults are around just to help them fine tune their ideas. Creative imagination lends itself to a boistrous and ebullient set of performances. There is always closure as everything returns to the natural order in the end. The world is utopian, imagined by children and very far away from the perspective of an adult.
While there was much debate on social issues and the Nithari debate did rage on, what mattered to me more, as an adult, a parent and a closet performer, was the children. Their innocence, their sense of fun, their desire to live in a better world, unlike the one we have given them, their intuitive sense of understanding, took you away from the slum clusters of their life to a wonderful imaginary world created by their expression. As a parent I know how much it takes to get 5o odd children to perform on stage towards a logical conclusion. As a parent I hoped their parents felt pride seeing them take to the stage so naturally. As a parent I wished they could all find their natural birthright: love, respect and nurturing.
In the end, they are just children. Surrounded by violence of the grossest kind, surrounded by poverty, need, apathy and neglect they still find time to be children, and for that one must always salute them!
In it's current avatar Pandies has moved beyond the 'three walls' theatre of the auditoriums and worked with street children and children affected by violence and terrorism. Though I have not always whole heartedly agreed with every perspective of the group, having been a member since it's inception, I passionately believe in their passion!
This time, Pandies has been working with an NGO called 'Saksham' which has been consistently working with slum children near the areas adjoining Noida. Nithari has also been one of the areas they have been working in. Till January 2007, Nithari was just another place they worked with children and helped them become more aware of the dichotomies of their lives. Post January 2007, things have changed a quite a bit.
The plays performed includeed two more segments: One a skit of what the children belived actually happened in D5, and believe me when you see another child casually lopping off imaginary limbs from a child co-actor, it scares you more than any newspaper or tv coverage would!
The other a conversation which followed into an interaction with the audience on what the NGO and theatre group have worked to achieve both pre and post Nithari.
The skits covered various issues the children face in their day to day lives: money, education, child labour, bad parenting, cruel intentions, religious bigotry and riots, and even love affairs which go off into tangential directions.
The plays have been scripted, directed and conceptualised by the children. The adults are around just to help them fine tune their ideas. Creative imagination lends itself to a boistrous and ebullient set of performances. There is always closure as everything returns to the natural order in the end. The world is utopian, imagined by children and very far away from the perspective of an adult.
While there was much debate on social issues and the Nithari debate did rage on, what mattered to me more, as an adult, a parent and a closet performer, was the children. Their innocence, their sense of fun, their desire to live in a better world, unlike the one we have given them, their intuitive sense of understanding, took you away from the slum clusters of their life to a wonderful imaginary world created by their expression. As a parent I know how much it takes to get 5o odd children to perform on stage towards a logical conclusion. As a parent I hoped their parents felt pride seeing them take to the stage so naturally. As a parent I wished they could all find their natural birthright: love, respect and nurturing.
In the end, they are just children. Surrounded by violence of the grossest kind, surrounded by poverty, need, apathy and neglect they still find time to be children, and for that one must always salute them!
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Th best item number aka where is the party tonight?
It is foregone conclusion that partying in your thrities gets affected by many irritants: these include children, house guests, work, absent spouses, warring friends, divorces among friends ie no couples to go out with, money (do i really want to pay 2 grand to be pushed around and drink watered down alchohol?), etc etc.
But some saturday nights the pressure of the weekend gets to you and you need to be out on a saturday night. This is a typical scenaio of my saturday night partying. At 6 pm after getting to know that one gang of buddies whom we usually hook up with are planningto sit in and drink for the nth time, I call up r and a friends of ours, and also a cosy twosome. After going through distances and cover charges we decided on Tapas, at Jay pee vasant.
R agreed as long as we picked and dropped her. All sounded good till the husband dropped the bomb, "Hey I ned to be outta the house at 7 tom!"
Tunign around in shock, I said, "But, thats too early....we arent leaving the house till 9, I mean who wants to go out partying at 9 in the evning?"
He gave me dirty looks, I called r who was getting her hair done at the parlour and she croaked, "I'm gonna take an hour." she relented after i threatened to cancel, and with two people already screaming at me for bad organisational skills we bundled the kid into the car, dumped him at my parent's for the night, and zipped halfway across Suraj Kund area to pick up r. Post which the husband had to go to the temple in gk 2, and r got paranoid on the time.
"Better call up a and tell him we will be late, " she muttered, "he screams otherwise."
"Shuck...i thought all that only happened after mariage." i said smugly, and this was after I had threatened my husband that i would call up our son and complain to him about his bad driving all the way to gk 2.
Tapas had only three white chicks, and two seedy uncles in a corner when we reached but at 500 chips a couple it wasnt so bad.
WE eyed a skinny chick surreptiously and decided that thin wasnt hot and a girl had to have some meat on her bones. Saturdays are sala nights at Tapas so the music was vintage Latino and did nothing for us.
When r and i went to argue this out with the dj, he shrugged and said it had to be latino till 11 as per their rules, to which r helpfully pointed out, "No one is dancing"
at which I soothingly informed him that he was Anal.
the music changed after that to shaka laka latina at which we decided to shake a leg, and that is when the item number happened
a white girl , quite tubby, a bit unkept and wearing a white sports bra and a rag for a skirt too to the floor. Her performance was a pure Bollywood item number, complete with jhatkas and matkas. R and I got off the floor to let the lady have her space.
:Do you think she is white trash, or euro flesh?", i asked.
the husband shrugged obviosuly enjoying the dance.
actually wierd things always happen aound me. Like the time i decide to go to climax there is an excise raid and everyone gets thrown out. Or the time when i go out and get picked up by a 15 year old girl in Orange room, this time my luck has the performance. As an assuredly sleazy time it was great fun.
what got to me was the woman's confidence. She danced in front of a crowded room, with all sorts of people including some pot bellied uncles. And she was hot about herself despit having a very ordinary and chubby figure.
After that of course we took to the floor. and danced to some great house music.
as post script, we left when we overheard a girl negotiating a rate for the night with an 'uncle', and discussed tubby performer as
1. she was a stra struck chick learning bollywood dance from a guru in india.
2. she overshot the flight to goa and landed in delhi by mistake
3. she was a happy girl
Frankly who cared, the anal dj ould have played some nice bollywood numbers and we would have got the cellulite moving too.....................but in the end we left happy and fulfilled that saturday night had been given its just respect.
But some saturday nights the pressure of the weekend gets to you and you need to be out on a saturday night. This is a typical scenaio of my saturday night partying. At 6 pm after getting to know that one gang of buddies whom we usually hook up with are planningto sit in and drink for the nth time, I call up r and a friends of ours, and also a cosy twosome. After going through distances and cover charges we decided on Tapas, at Jay pee vasant.
R agreed as long as we picked and dropped her. All sounded good till the husband dropped the bomb, "Hey I ned to be outta the house at 7 tom!"
Tunign around in shock, I said, "But, thats too early....we arent leaving the house till 9, I mean who wants to go out partying at 9 in the evning?"
He gave me dirty looks, I called r who was getting her hair done at the parlour and she croaked, "I'm gonna take an hour." she relented after i threatened to cancel, and with two people already screaming at me for bad organisational skills we bundled the kid into the car, dumped him at my parent's for the night, and zipped halfway across Suraj Kund area to pick up r. Post which the husband had to go to the temple in gk 2, and r got paranoid on the time.
"Better call up a and tell him we will be late, " she muttered, "he screams otherwise."
"Shuck...i thought all that only happened after mariage." i said smugly, and this was after I had threatened my husband that i would call up our son and complain to him about his bad driving all the way to gk 2.
Tapas had only three white chicks, and two seedy uncles in a corner when we reached but at 500 chips a couple it wasnt so bad.
WE eyed a skinny chick surreptiously and decided that thin wasnt hot and a girl had to have some meat on her bones. Saturdays are sala nights at Tapas so the music was vintage Latino and did nothing for us.
When r and i went to argue this out with the dj, he shrugged and said it had to be latino till 11 as per their rules, to which r helpfully pointed out, "No one is dancing"
at which I soothingly informed him that he was Anal.
the music changed after that to shaka laka latina at which we decided to shake a leg, and that is when the item number happened
a white girl , quite tubby, a bit unkept and wearing a white sports bra and a rag for a skirt too to the floor. Her performance was a pure Bollywood item number, complete with jhatkas and matkas. R and I got off the floor to let the lady have her space.
:Do you think she is white trash, or euro flesh?", i asked.
the husband shrugged obviosuly enjoying the dance.
actually wierd things always happen aound me. Like the time i decide to go to climax there is an excise raid and everyone gets thrown out. Or the time when i go out and get picked up by a 15 year old girl in Orange room, this time my luck has the performance. As an assuredly sleazy time it was great fun.
what got to me was the woman's confidence. She danced in front of a crowded room, with all sorts of people including some pot bellied uncles. And she was hot about herself despit having a very ordinary and chubby figure.
After that of course we took to the floor. and danced to some great house music.
as post script, we left when we overheard a girl negotiating a rate for the night with an 'uncle', and discussed tubby performer as
1. she was a stra struck chick learning bollywood dance from a guru in india.
2. she overshot the flight to goa and landed in delhi by mistake
3. she was a happy girl
Frankly who cared, the anal dj ould have played some nice bollywood numbers and we would have got the cellulite moving too.....................but in the end we left happy and fulfilled that saturday night had been given its just respect.
Friday, March 30, 2007
The pursuit of Happyness
I know many people might have already seen the movie....The Pursuit of Happyness.................in its own place it is an amazing movie..........will smith has acted very well, and it is also an inspiring movie in its own way. My friend and I who watched it were amazed at the depths and heights to which the character in the movie went. We who have learnt to do a lot with materialism and comfort as the base for our happiness would find it educative. We who have learnt to live with maids, and support systems and money in the bank would find a life where a man loses everything except his child and his will very very scary.
But that is not what got to me..................what amazed me was the fact that a politician wrote about the pursuit of happiness for his citizens , while our own politicians have not risen above the issue of roti, kapda air makan, for almost 60 years after independenc.
Given that and given the fact that our capital city boasts of one out of seven delhi-ites being depressive and suicidal....I wonder when we will ever have a country where the nitty gritties of life will be given over to finding a more sustainable and meaningful existence.
Perhaps not in my lifetime..............but then again since the partition much has changed. My grandfather came to this country with the clothes on his back, a wife and two small kids. My father learnt to fend for himself the hard way. My son goes to school in a chauffer driven car, and has holidays abroad.
Which gives me a sense of perspective.................our leaders might now know this, but we have learnt to be happy.............living in small towns, learning to ride crowded buses, living with less, or on inverters through long summers...we the Indian public have learnt the pursuit of happiness...........even if it is self-generated..........and a small drop of rain on a prched land in the middle of a searing hot day.
But that is not what got to me..................what amazed me was the fact that a politician wrote about the pursuit of happiness for his citizens , while our own politicians have not risen above the issue of roti, kapda air makan, for almost 60 years after independenc.
Given that and given the fact that our capital city boasts of one out of seven delhi-ites being depressive and suicidal....I wonder when we will ever have a country where the nitty gritties of life will be given over to finding a more sustainable and meaningful existence.
Perhaps not in my lifetime..............but then again since the partition much has changed. My grandfather came to this country with the clothes on his back, a wife and two small kids. My father learnt to fend for himself the hard way. My son goes to school in a chauffer driven car, and has holidays abroad.
Which gives me a sense of perspective.................our leaders might now know this, but we have learnt to be happy.............living in small towns, learning to ride crowded buses, living with less, or on inverters through long summers...we the Indian public have learnt the pursuit of happiness...........even if it is self-generated..........and a small drop of rain on a prched land in the middle of a searing hot day.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Technological Inventions I would like to see!!!!!!!
Sigh!!!!!!!!!
Most people would call me a technologically challenged person, apart from a good friend, who belives that 'Burning' a CD means putting it afire!
But, even then while i struggle with jpegs, eps files, nokia phone transfers and scary microwave suggestions, i do dream of an ideal world where technology comes up with something a bit more useful than fuel guzzling cars and vibrating cell phones.
The first technological invention I would like to see is:
1. The Zapper: Zap from Kathmandu to Bangalore. Zap from crowded CP to Suraj Kund. Zap from board room to bedroom, seriously won't it be fun, cheap and easier? We could actually spend all that time we spend commuting on something more productive like blogging, flirting and sleeping.
2. Stun guns for noxious drivers: Yes, I know while they work on the Zapper transport system, I'd like a stun gun to shoot at all nasty drivers. Hopefully the stunner should have the facility to send them into space for a while.
3. Obnoxious People Dark Room: A scary room for all obnoxious people where the thing they fear the most is bigger and meaner then them. Perhaps lessons in humility will help them come a few notches down.
4. People identifier: A machine that puts a name to the face, a face to the name, and also gives you the person's medical, professional and personal history. Never blank out at a party again.
5. In Law chooser: Alter the gene code of future in-laws with this new cocktail spritzer! Its self-explanatory
6. The Robotic Boyfriend: He cooks, cleans, gives foot massages, makes love and reads poetry all at the same time. A must for the busy working married woman. Single women get the choice of Robotic Husband too!
7. Wardrobe in a Purse: No more harassed shopping. Download your new look while you wait in the line for the movie, or the elevator to work. No more bad hair days too!
8. The Miracle Thin Drug: Enter the miracle machine...lose weight in 30 minutes and get the same cloned figure that the rest of the world has. Look like Kate Moss anytime you feel like. Individual fetishes need to be requested in advance.
Most people would call me a technologically challenged person, apart from a good friend, who belives that 'Burning' a CD means putting it afire!
But, even then while i struggle with jpegs, eps files, nokia phone transfers and scary microwave suggestions, i do dream of an ideal world where technology comes up with something a bit more useful than fuel guzzling cars and vibrating cell phones.
The first technological invention I would like to see is:
1. The Zapper: Zap from Kathmandu to Bangalore. Zap from crowded CP to Suraj Kund. Zap from board room to bedroom, seriously won't it be fun, cheap and easier? We could actually spend all that time we spend commuting on something more productive like blogging, flirting and sleeping.
2. Stun guns for noxious drivers: Yes, I know while they work on the Zapper transport system, I'd like a stun gun to shoot at all nasty drivers. Hopefully the stunner should have the facility to send them into space for a while.
3. Obnoxious People Dark Room: A scary room for all obnoxious people where the thing they fear the most is bigger and meaner then them. Perhaps lessons in humility will help them come a few notches down.
4. People identifier: A machine that puts a name to the face, a face to the name, and also gives you the person's medical, professional and personal history. Never blank out at a party again.
5. In Law chooser: Alter the gene code of future in-laws with this new cocktail spritzer! Its self-explanatory
6. The Robotic Boyfriend: He cooks, cleans, gives foot massages, makes love and reads poetry all at the same time. A must for the busy working married woman. Single women get the choice of Robotic Husband too!
7. Wardrobe in a Purse: No more harassed shopping. Download your new look while you wait in the line for the movie, or the elevator to work. No more bad hair days too!
8. The Miracle Thin Drug: Enter the miracle machine...lose weight in 30 minutes and get the same cloned figure that the rest of the world has. Look like Kate Moss anytime you feel like. Individual fetishes need to be requested in advance.
Sunday, March 11, 2007
Why are the women getting better?
Everywhere i go, whether it is in this city, beyond, or some other country also, I notice only one thing. The women are getting better!
Seriously, if you go to any party, event or even a small gathering you only notice one thing. The women are just getting better in every respect. They are smarter, better looking, more social, outgoing and enthusiastic about life in general. In most social gatherings they take the lead in new innovations and getting the group together.
Perhaps, this is just another step in human evolution. When civilisation progresses to a level where reproduction is controlled and the procurement of food and security no longer depends on the sword but on the click of a mouse, womne have better evolutionary skills to cope.
They are now in a Feminine Renneiscance, where everthing is in new bloom for them and they are getting into a space which they have hitherto never explored. Which makes them infinitely more interesting than men. Also, I think in the 150 odd years of the oddball feminism of our times, women have learned the most vital ingredient for progress- they have learnt to love themselves!
Which only brings me back to the men..........please evolve and soon, else the sperm banks are going to lead to an extinction of the species which would just be very very sad for us ladies!
Seriously, if you go to any party, event or even a small gathering you only notice one thing. The women are just getting better in every respect. They are smarter, better looking, more social, outgoing and enthusiastic about life in general. In most social gatherings they take the lead in new innovations and getting the group together.
Perhaps, this is just another step in human evolution. When civilisation progresses to a level where reproduction is controlled and the procurement of food and security no longer depends on the sword but on the click of a mouse, womne have better evolutionary skills to cope.
They are now in a Feminine Renneiscance, where everthing is in new bloom for them and they are getting into a space which they have hitherto never explored. Which makes them infinitely more interesting than men. Also, I think in the 150 odd years of the oddball feminism of our times, women have learned the most vital ingredient for progress- they have learnt to love themselves!
Which only brings me back to the men..........please evolve and soon, else the sperm banks are going to lead to an extinction of the species which would just be very very sad for us ladies!
Vignettes from Sri Lanka
Vignettes from Sri Lanka
Arrival……….
If the arrival lounge of an airport gives you a microcosmic glimpse into a country, then Sri Lanka’s airport is nice enough to make me want to cry. I know comparisons with my own country are unfair, but seriously, the carpets in the airport corridors at IGI airport look like someone shat on them. In contrast The Badranaike International airport smells good, looks squeaky clean and shiny new and makes you feel Ayubowan!
My traveling companion……….
My husband is the sleeping partner of this trip. No, it’s not a dirty weekend unfortunately, but a business trip for him and holiday for me, where he is absolutely busy with meetings, dinners and even a flying trip to the Maldives. My real traveling companion this trip has been my son, Aryaman who at five and half is like a small sponge soaking up the knowledge of the world. In some ways this trip opened vistas for me that went beyond visiting another country. They showed me how beautiful it is to bond so exclusively with another human being, in the guise of your little boy. We spent every minute of this holiday together, and he bravely accompanied me on snorkeling trips, shopping expeditions, a corporate dinner and even sat on the beach patiently waiting for his mad mother to come back from a dip in the ocean.
Hikkaduwa………
In non-chronological order, I need to begin with Hikkaduwa because that place has a piece of my heart. The Coral Garden’s Resort where I stayed on this pristine beach paradise is ostensibly the best hotel here, but please don’t go with visions of a luxurious resort. It’s basic! Front office managers speak barely passable English, and it took me close to an hour and lots of flashing of an Indian passport to check in. The rooms, service and quality of food is also basic, but then so is the price. Thankfully the five star loving husband was away in the Maldives and the pacifist Buddhist staff was spared an Indian volcanic explosion typical Delhi-ite style. It’s for old retired couples, large families, very serious honeymooners, or simply beach lovers like me. But, what they are really selling is that pristine bit of beach which you can see from your room. Sleeping to the pounding of the surf, and waking up to an awesome sunrise on the horizon was worth the lack of basic luxuries for me.
The beach is not just pristine; it is poetic, evocative of verse, clean, and absolutely safe. But, that’s not just what I went for. I went for PADI scuba diving courses and water sports facilities that litter every beach resort in Sri Lanka. This is wind surfing and scuba diving haven, albeit at cheaper rates than Phuket.
But, the diving instructor did not understand my impatience.
“I came from very far, only for this.”, I whine, pointing to the four hour scuba crash course that includes sessions in the swimming pool and two dives in the sea.
He shakes his head. Its not that he doesn’t want to make money, but the sea is too rough and I am a greenhorn at this sport.
As a palliative, he offers me a snorkeling session the next morning, asking me to pray for calmer sea.
“Maybe you won’t see too much…” he warns.
Reckless and impulsive I chance it and we start off the next day at 8: 00 am. My little son trails behind us, with the promise of the ride in a glass bottomed boat. My snorkeling guide (and I am always lucky with them) is a lean, mean product of the beach with sun bleached blonde hair, pure muscle and tattoos.
“Are you Sri Lankan?” I ask curiously.
“Yes, but nobody thinks so,” says the hero smugly.
(Warning to all hapless princesses surfing the high seas……our prince could be too in love with himself to help you when you get stuck on a coral bed or the piranhas come)
Visibility was poor, I scraped my knees on coal, and the damn guide disappeared on me. But the few brief minutes o swimming with school of fish almost tickling my belly, had me entranced in Paradise! Some things have their own rewards.
Luckily alcohol is dirt cheap all over Sri Lanka, and the currency conversion helps so it wasn’t altogether a bad end to a stressful morning. I ended up with an impromptu body surfing lesson from my cute instructor; the son got a great session in the kiddie pool, with some Gaulish children and life after a nice Sri Lankan style punch and devilled crab was decidedly good. The latter was served at a restaurant called ‘The Beach’ which has found itself in every travel guide for its fresh and exquisite seafood.
On the way back the shoreline plays hide and seek with us. Blue Ocean, small bays, atolls, and backwaters are fringed by palm trees. A grim reminder is broken down homes and mass graves are what remain of the Tsunami which gave this island country a taste of the wrath of the ocean.
Colombo………….
The Blue Elephant, at the Hilton, Colombo was shut, for security reasons. A brief foray into a casino called Bally’s with entry only for ‘foreigners’ was sweet but dimly lit and full of vague half breeds. A gossipy receptionist at the Hilton assured me that most nightclubs have gun toting young brats swaggering around and messing up the scene. The bars at the Hilton however were peaceful and happy. My husband’s Sri Lankan colleagues were a nice motley mix of men and women, all dusky, and beautiful and with mellifluous voices that make you forget what they say half the time.
Samanthi, my husband’s colleague is responsible for my travel plans and trip. She organizes a lovely dinner for all of us at the Mount Lavinia Hotel, on Mt Lavinia beach, about 30 minutes drive form the city. An old charming dowager of a hotel, the beach restaurant is five star version of a shack and offers grills in the shape of a fish market. Choose your own fish, crab or lobster. After some research Aryaman and I suspect that the crabs scuttling on the beach could possibly be the poor creatures ending up on our dining table.
Sri Lankan women………..and Sri Lankan men!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
To begin with as a race, they are much nicer than Indians. People are educated, polite and smile a lot. They are calm, take things easy like anyone living on an island paradise would, friendly and warm. Colombo reminds me of the Mumbai or Calcutta of the eighties. The staff at the private lounge where we have Breakfast everyday are inordinately curious about everything. Commenting on my sandals, a young woman assure me with stars in her eyes, “Indian is a big country. I believe you can really shop there. One day I will go to India to shop.”
While the women still see a little held back, it’s the men who have me goggle eyed. Whether it is at the parlour, on the beach, in the shops or in the hotel, they smile at you with dark eyes and long lashes. Dusky and pretty most of them seem polite. A lot of the younger lot have blonde hair and piercings which make them look like funky islanders anywhere in the world. They laugh a lot, chat with you like old buddies and make you feel so chilled, that you forget the North Indian paranoia that is second skin. In terms of feeling safe, secure, alone, and abashedly admired, in the nicest possible way, my vote goes to the Sri Lankan men.
Sight seeing and Shopping:
Any guide book will tell you hat there is loads to see in Sri Lanka and loads to buy. I didn’t go for either. To be honest the thrill to my nomadic bones as the fact that this country has mercantile holidays. I could see the sea wherever I went, and had a great gin at the old romantic Galle Face Hotel. I didn’t see too much, and I didn’t shop at all. My only commercial experience of this kind was at the M. Pierce salon, where I wanted a spray on tattoo and funky hair colour. I walked out half way when cock-eyed Mr. Pierce accosted me with mineral spirit to clean my face. But that is another story………………..
Arrival……….
If the arrival lounge of an airport gives you a microcosmic glimpse into a country, then Sri Lanka’s airport is nice enough to make me want to cry. I know comparisons with my own country are unfair, but seriously, the carpets in the airport corridors at IGI airport look like someone shat on them. In contrast The Badranaike International airport smells good, looks squeaky clean and shiny new and makes you feel Ayubowan!
My traveling companion……….
My husband is the sleeping partner of this trip. No, it’s not a dirty weekend unfortunately, but a business trip for him and holiday for me, where he is absolutely busy with meetings, dinners and even a flying trip to the Maldives. My real traveling companion this trip has been my son, Aryaman who at five and half is like a small sponge soaking up the knowledge of the world. In some ways this trip opened vistas for me that went beyond visiting another country. They showed me how beautiful it is to bond so exclusively with another human being, in the guise of your little boy. We spent every minute of this holiday together, and he bravely accompanied me on snorkeling trips, shopping expeditions, a corporate dinner and even sat on the beach patiently waiting for his mad mother to come back from a dip in the ocean.
Hikkaduwa………
In non-chronological order, I need to begin with Hikkaduwa because that place has a piece of my heart. The Coral Garden’s Resort where I stayed on this pristine beach paradise is ostensibly the best hotel here, but please don’t go with visions of a luxurious resort. It’s basic! Front office managers speak barely passable English, and it took me close to an hour and lots of flashing of an Indian passport to check in. The rooms, service and quality of food is also basic, but then so is the price. Thankfully the five star loving husband was away in the Maldives and the pacifist Buddhist staff was spared an Indian volcanic explosion typical Delhi-ite style. It’s for old retired couples, large families, very serious honeymooners, or simply beach lovers like me. But, what they are really selling is that pristine bit of beach which you can see from your room. Sleeping to the pounding of the surf, and waking up to an awesome sunrise on the horizon was worth the lack of basic luxuries for me.
The beach is not just pristine; it is poetic, evocative of verse, clean, and absolutely safe. But, that’s not just what I went for. I went for PADI scuba diving courses and water sports facilities that litter every beach resort in Sri Lanka. This is wind surfing and scuba diving haven, albeit at cheaper rates than Phuket.
But, the diving instructor did not understand my impatience.
“I came from very far, only for this.”, I whine, pointing to the four hour scuba crash course that includes sessions in the swimming pool and two dives in the sea.
He shakes his head. Its not that he doesn’t want to make money, but the sea is too rough and I am a greenhorn at this sport.
As a palliative, he offers me a snorkeling session the next morning, asking me to pray for calmer sea.
“Maybe you won’t see too much…” he warns.
Reckless and impulsive I chance it and we start off the next day at 8: 00 am. My little son trails behind us, with the promise of the ride in a glass bottomed boat. My snorkeling guide (and I am always lucky with them) is a lean, mean product of the beach with sun bleached blonde hair, pure muscle and tattoos.
“Are you Sri Lankan?” I ask curiously.
“Yes, but nobody thinks so,” says the hero smugly.
(Warning to all hapless princesses surfing the high seas……our prince could be too in love with himself to help you when you get stuck on a coral bed or the piranhas come)
Visibility was poor, I scraped my knees on coal, and the damn guide disappeared on me. But the few brief minutes o swimming with school of fish almost tickling my belly, had me entranced in Paradise! Some things have their own rewards.
Luckily alcohol is dirt cheap all over Sri Lanka, and the currency conversion helps so it wasn’t altogether a bad end to a stressful morning. I ended up with an impromptu body surfing lesson from my cute instructor; the son got a great session in the kiddie pool, with some Gaulish children and life after a nice Sri Lankan style punch and devilled crab was decidedly good. The latter was served at a restaurant called ‘The Beach’ which has found itself in every travel guide for its fresh and exquisite seafood.
On the way back the shoreline plays hide and seek with us. Blue Ocean, small bays, atolls, and backwaters are fringed by palm trees. A grim reminder is broken down homes and mass graves are what remain of the Tsunami which gave this island country a taste of the wrath of the ocean.
Colombo………….
The Blue Elephant, at the Hilton, Colombo was shut, for security reasons. A brief foray into a casino called Bally’s with entry only for ‘foreigners’ was sweet but dimly lit and full of vague half breeds. A gossipy receptionist at the Hilton assured me that most nightclubs have gun toting young brats swaggering around and messing up the scene. The bars at the Hilton however were peaceful and happy. My husband’s Sri Lankan colleagues were a nice motley mix of men and women, all dusky, and beautiful and with mellifluous voices that make you forget what they say half the time.
Samanthi, my husband’s colleague is responsible for my travel plans and trip. She organizes a lovely dinner for all of us at the Mount Lavinia Hotel, on Mt Lavinia beach, about 30 minutes drive form the city. An old charming dowager of a hotel, the beach restaurant is five star version of a shack and offers grills in the shape of a fish market. Choose your own fish, crab or lobster. After some research Aryaman and I suspect that the crabs scuttling on the beach could possibly be the poor creatures ending up on our dining table.
Sri Lankan women………..and Sri Lankan men!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
To begin with as a race, they are much nicer than Indians. People are educated, polite and smile a lot. They are calm, take things easy like anyone living on an island paradise would, friendly and warm. Colombo reminds me of the Mumbai or Calcutta of the eighties. The staff at the private lounge where we have Breakfast everyday are inordinately curious about everything. Commenting on my sandals, a young woman assure me with stars in her eyes, “Indian is a big country. I believe you can really shop there. One day I will go to India to shop.”
While the women still see a little held back, it’s the men who have me goggle eyed. Whether it is at the parlour, on the beach, in the shops or in the hotel, they smile at you with dark eyes and long lashes. Dusky and pretty most of them seem polite. A lot of the younger lot have blonde hair and piercings which make them look like funky islanders anywhere in the world. They laugh a lot, chat with you like old buddies and make you feel so chilled, that you forget the North Indian paranoia that is second skin. In terms of feeling safe, secure, alone, and abashedly admired, in the nicest possible way, my vote goes to the Sri Lankan men.
Sight seeing and Shopping:
Any guide book will tell you hat there is loads to see in Sri Lanka and loads to buy. I didn’t go for either. To be honest the thrill to my nomadic bones as the fact that this country has mercantile holidays. I could see the sea wherever I went, and had a great gin at the old romantic Galle Face Hotel. I didn’t see too much, and I didn’t shop at all. My only commercial experience of this kind was at the M. Pierce salon, where I wanted a spray on tattoo and funky hair colour. I walked out half way when cock-eyed Mr. Pierce accosted me with mineral spirit to clean my face. But that is another story………………..
Monday, February 12, 2007
Science proves we dont need IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes.................
Our secret is out.....thanks to those cruel little men in white coats.
We women are suckers for the wardrobe and very few of us can be induced to change it for anything else, like you know..............Sex!
Simply put, in the case of either or survivor, a woman will choose Dior over Durex.
Its something in our genes. As one of my friends rightly put it, if we depended on the female libido for human evolution, the future of the human race would have been in serious jeopardy.
Only a woman who has felt the heady rush of placing her foot into her 80th shoe, or who has shimmied into another pair of jeans can understand what I am saying.
Its the lustful surge of possession that cannot, simply cannot be replaced by other forms of lust. Love at first sight, the desire to pursue and even emotional engagement are the factors of the chase here. The thrill of the chase, the pride of the mirror, the orgiastical sense of shopping in twos and threes, now how is anything going to take the place of that?
So while guys get their thrills chasing the ladies, the ladies are happier in Saks, Bloomingdales or a reasonable Indian version of it in our country.
Now please tell me...............why not?
A man will never make you feel thin.
His colour may not complement your skin type.
He cannot make you three inches taller.
He cannot help you smell nice.
He cannot bring just the right pink to your cheeks or shimmer your eyes up.
He absolutely cannot, hug your figure and make you feel like a Goddess, in flowing chiffon.
So till they dont break the gene code and give us what we want, we have settled for the next best thing.........Barcodes!
Our secret is out.....thanks to those cruel little men in white coats.
We women are suckers for the wardrobe and very few of us can be induced to change it for anything else, like you know..............Sex!
Simply put, in the case of either or survivor, a woman will choose Dior over Durex.
Its something in our genes. As one of my friends rightly put it, if we depended on the female libido for human evolution, the future of the human race would have been in serious jeopardy.
Only a woman who has felt the heady rush of placing her foot into her 80th shoe, or who has shimmied into another pair of jeans can understand what I am saying.
Its the lustful surge of possession that cannot, simply cannot be replaced by other forms of lust. Love at first sight, the desire to pursue and even emotional engagement are the factors of the chase here. The thrill of the chase, the pride of the mirror, the orgiastical sense of shopping in twos and threes, now how is anything going to take the place of that?
So while guys get their thrills chasing the ladies, the ladies are happier in Saks, Bloomingdales or a reasonable Indian version of it in our country.
Now please tell me...............why not?
A man will never make you feel thin.
His colour may not complement your skin type.
He cannot make you three inches taller.
He cannot help you smell nice.
He cannot bring just the right pink to your cheeks or shimmer your eyes up.
He absolutely cannot, hug your figure and make you feel like a Goddess, in flowing chiffon.
So till they dont break the gene code and give us what we want, we have settled for the next best thing.........Barcodes!
Friday, February 9, 2007
Cannibalize!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
This post is an ode to someone from whom I learnt this word, Cannibalize.
Cannibalism (from Spanish caníbal, in connection with alleged cannibalism among the Caribs), also called anthropophagy (from Greek anthropos "man" and phagein "to eat") is the act or practice of humans eating other humans. In zoology, the term cannibalism is extended to refer to any species eating members of its own kind.
Now that we have set the meaning clear, i would like to add the following ways in which this term finds further meaning:
1. Life has Cannibalized Art.
2. The art pages and events have Cannibalized all news on Page 3 in page 3 oriented papers.
3. Shilp Shetty has Cannibalized the imagination of a nation which earlier spoke about the weather with more pasion.
4. TV has Cannibalized reading.
5. Polution has Cannibalized our greenery.
6. Social networking has Cannibalized our work hours.
7. Brangelina has Cannibalized a perfectly great hunk and sexy chick into the smug married of the century.
8. AshAbhi has Cannibalized all religious temples and pujas etc.
9. We hope the Tatas can help us Cannibalize the international market.
10. Indiscriminate urban planning has Cannibalized any hope of ever walking down a road/ lane/ area with less than 10,000 people at a time.
cheerio.................
Cannibalism (from Spanish caníbal, in connection with alleged cannibalism among the Caribs), also called anthropophagy (from Greek anthropos "man" and phagein "to eat") is the act or practice of humans eating other humans. In zoology, the term cannibalism is extended to refer to any species eating members of its own kind.
Now that we have set the meaning clear, i would like to add the following ways in which this term finds further meaning:
1. Life has Cannibalized Art.
2. The art pages and events have Cannibalized all news on Page 3 in page 3 oriented papers.
3. Shilp Shetty has Cannibalized the imagination of a nation which earlier spoke about the weather with more pasion.
4. TV has Cannibalized reading.
5. Polution has Cannibalized our greenery.
6. Social networking has Cannibalized our work hours.
7. Brangelina has Cannibalized a perfectly great hunk and sexy chick into the smug married of the century.
8. AshAbhi has Cannibalized all religious temples and pujas etc.
9. We hope the Tatas can help us Cannibalize the international market.
10. Indiscriminate urban planning has Cannibalized any hope of ever walking down a road/ lane/ area with less than 10,000 people at a time.
cheerio.................
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Why I still love Sallu
Yes.................I love him, absolutely and irrevocably, I love Salman Khan.
I know he has been replaced by younger sex bombs like Hrithik, Abhishek, and John. But, my Sallu still gets my eart pounding, knees trembling and cheeks dimpling.
No one...yes...not even John has mastered the art of taking off his shirt the way Salman Khan has. No one has shown us the addictive appeal of the waxed chest like Sallu baba.
I know he mows down people when he drives, shoots a few stray animals and beats up his girlfriends, but I still love him.
I think its just the classic appeal of the bad boy. Sallu is the quintissential bad boy. And every woman loves a rogue.
He is also the only man I know who can carry off a see through black lace shirt, or in the current case an orange open necked jacket (Salaam-e-Ishq) and not look like a dork.
I saw him after a long time on screen in role written for him. Not for my Sallu baba the tear jerkers or machismo roles. Make him a James Dean who can love em, leave em, and sweep them off their feet, and then coolly sip his glass of red wine.
Let him growl, Raohuol.......in your ear, bite your neck and run away. OOHHHHHHH LALA!
Maybe I'm just growing old, but Sallu is as sexy as ever, and if that muscular torso is albiet a lil more beefy and the hair looks well-woven on, then so what? I am no spring chicken either and very very perfect young men only make me feel older. So we are growing older together, Sallu and me :)
He makes the other heros look like sweet innocent boys, and he plays the refined rake with a heart of gold to perfection.
Yes, he hams, cos he is the master of the comic love story. And cos he is the bad boy who can whisk you away and make you forget the world, the way even Hrithik in Dhoom 2 just about manages.
And thats why I love him......................I once bumped into him at a discotheque told him I loved him and the foolish man offered to be my brother instead. Perhaps that was because my husband was glaring at his drunk wife batting eyelashes at her fav hero and a svelete Somy sumthing was with Salman. But this love story hasn't ended yet...................
Not till the next Saalam-E-Ishq, it won't!
I know he has been replaced by younger sex bombs like Hrithik, Abhishek, and John. But, my Sallu still gets my eart pounding, knees trembling and cheeks dimpling.
No one...yes...not even John has mastered the art of taking off his shirt the way Salman Khan has. No one has shown us the addictive appeal of the waxed chest like Sallu baba.
I know he mows down people when he drives, shoots a few stray animals and beats up his girlfriends, but I still love him.
I think its just the classic appeal of the bad boy. Sallu is the quintissential bad boy. And every woman loves a rogue.
He is also the only man I know who can carry off a see through black lace shirt, or in the current case an orange open necked jacket (Salaam-e-Ishq) and not look like a dork.
I saw him after a long time on screen in role written for him. Not for my Sallu baba the tear jerkers or machismo roles. Make him a James Dean who can love em, leave em, and sweep them off their feet, and then coolly sip his glass of red wine.
Let him growl, Raohuol.......in your ear, bite your neck and run away. OOHHHHHHH LALA!
Maybe I'm just growing old, but Sallu is as sexy as ever, and if that muscular torso is albiet a lil more beefy and the hair looks well-woven on, then so what? I am no spring chicken either and very very perfect young men only make me feel older. So we are growing older together, Sallu and me :)
He makes the other heros look like sweet innocent boys, and he plays the refined rake with a heart of gold to perfection.
Yes, he hams, cos he is the master of the comic love story. And cos he is the bad boy who can whisk you away and make you forget the world, the way even Hrithik in Dhoom 2 just about manages.
And thats why I love him......................I once bumped into him at a discotheque told him I loved him and the foolish man offered to be my brother instead. Perhaps that was because my husband was glaring at his drunk wife batting eyelashes at her fav hero and a svelete Somy sumthing was with Salman. But this love story hasn't ended yet...................
Not till the next Saalam-E-Ishq, it won't!
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Three in Bed
I know the title is so misleading..........................
yesterday two friends of mine, a gal and a boy, spent out evening in bed.
Before you faint in shock, this was not a seedy menage a trois. Instead it began when I called up my gal pal and invited her over for a 'gals nite in', and she in turn invited our mutual guy pal.
A few drinks and lots of food later, we were abvsolutely knackered and wondering ways of beating the freezing cold. Till my horridly tyrannical five and half year old wanted to include us in his silly little game. The game was a spaceflight to thailand, if you please.
And he bullied and badgered us to go into my bedroom and wait for the ship to take off. Once inside the covers were too tempting for us gals, so we snuggled in. And we switched on the heater and slept. I mean I giggled, my friend did her kniting and our guy pal fell asleep. So much for exotic excitement.
This is of course,the closest I have got to a threesome in bed. But, it was still a cosy moment, and absolutely unpretentious, with friends who know you so well, you don't even need to brush your hair with them. The knitting of course, was the piece de resistance in terms of boredom, and absolutely take for granted relaxation.
And if you don'tbelieve the chaste evening, catch the pics my son took with the cellphone :)
yesterday two friends of mine, a gal and a boy, spent out evening in bed.
Before you faint in shock, this was not a seedy menage a trois. Instead it began when I called up my gal pal and invited her over for a 'gals nite in', and she in turn invited our mutual guy pal.
A few drinks and lots of food later, we were abvsolutely knackered and wondering ways of beating the freezing cold. Till my horridly tyrannical five and half year old wanted to include us in his silly little game. The game was a spaceflight to thailand, if you please.
And he bullied and badgered us to go into my bedroom and wait for the ship to take off. Once inside the covers were too tempting for us gals, so we snuggled in. And we switched on the heater and slept. I mean I giggled, my friend did her kniting and our guy pal fell asleep. So much for exotic excitement.
This is of course,the closest I have got to a threesome in bed. But, it was still a cosy moment, and absolutely unpretentious, with friends who know you so well, you don't even need to brush your hair with them. The knitting of course, was the piece de resistance in terms of boredom, and absolutely take for granted relaxation.
And if you don'tbelieve the chaste evening, catch the pics my son took with the cellphone :)
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Hair Spas and Supermodels
I don't know what it is about a hair spa that is an instant pick me up. Yesterday, I reached my colony ready to kill someone at the end of a long, tiring day.
Till my mother called me up and assured me of two baby free hours. We have a new parlour in our plaza building replete with the latest electronic and technical wizardry to make women beautiful.
Which is why I spent two blissful hours getting a hair spa done, and finished feeling like MS. Diva!
There is something about having a nice, stylish, sleek mane of hair that makes any woman smile. I am not an exception at all. There is nothing better than the intense pampering a simple shampoo and blow dry can give a woman. Not for me the facials, spas or massage treatments, just something nice for my crowning glory. A friend of mine comes every year from Mumbai and is a hair spa addict. She has been known to sneak into parlous before her events and spend one hour of ultimate peace before the panic starts. Of course, that is because as a business associate I do a lot of the panicking for her.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that inside this pudgy 5 foot 1 frame is a 5'11 super skinny Brazilian super model aching to jump out. After being designated shrimp of the locker room at many a fashion show, it is only the super confidence of the Brazilian supermodel that keeps this chica going.
Or maybe all those years of mental trauma of being first of three in line in school assembly (shortest to tallest) , has played havoc with my self-esteem, and created a split personality. The only advantage as I remember telling friends over a drunken evening is that unlike my Ms. World lookalike best friend whose tall lithe figure and curly locks scream for attention, my short, ordinary, average height and build, assures me all the secrecy of a supari killer, an alternative profession under consideration once i retire from pr.
There are always advantages in life, even if they are short ones topped with a head of sparkling, shimmering, spa-ed hair!
Till my mother called me up and assured me of two baby free hours. We have a new parlour in our plaza building replete with the latest electronic and technical wizardry to make women beautiful.
Which is why I spent two blissful hours getting a hair spa done, and finished feeling like MS. Diva!
There is something about having a nice, stylish, sleek mane of hair that makes any woman smile. I am not an exception at all. There is nothing better than the intense pampering a simple shampoo and blow dry can give a woman. Not for me the facials, spas or massage treatments, just something nice for my crowning glory. A friend of mine comes every year from Mumbai and is a hair spa addict. She has been known to sneak into parlous before her events and spend one hour of ultimate peace before the panic starts. Of course, that is because as a business associate I do a lot of the panicking for her.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that inside this pudgy 5 foot 1 frame is a 5'11 super skinny Brazilian super model aching to jump out. After being designated shrimp of the locker room at many a fashion show, it is only the super confidence of the Brazilian supermodel that keeps this chica going.
Or maybe all those years of mental trauma of being first of three in line in school assembly (shortest to tallest) , has played havoc with my self-esteem, and created a split personality. The only advantage as I remember telling friends over a drunken evening is that unlike my Ms. World lookalike best friend whose tall lithe figure and curly locks scream for attention, my short, ordinary, average height and build, assures me all the secrecy of a supari killer, an alternative profession under consideration once i retire from pr.
There are always advantages in life, even if they are short ones topped with a head of sparkling, shimmering, spa-ed hair!
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Hansel and Gretel?
Today morning I had to sit my five and half year old son down and explain to him the concept of a 'stranger'.
It took a lot of effort and a little help from the tradtional fairy tale to explain to him that every adult in this world is not nice to little children. In fact, suffice it to say that I had to literally show him pictures of the Nithari villagers holding up photographs of their children in the newspaper to get him to understand that the big bad witch and wolf do not just exist in story books.
Many times we explain to our children, don't open the door, don't talk to strangers, take nothing form anyone, don't smile at someone if they smile back at you.
And I wonder............"Welcome Xenophobia" and "Paranoia". This is the world view we are giving to them: Close your doors, close yourself to the world, because there are monsters out there.
And, yes, as Nithari shows us, there really are monsters out there.
When I was 12 years old I was molested for the first and last time. My parents took us to a toy store in CP, in Delhi and the toy store salesman felt me up. I still recall the hot shame, shock and anguish those few moments meant to me. I never understood what was happening. The store was crowded and I kept thinking it was my imagination. But the moment I got out of the store, I burst into hot tears. Needless to say my parents told me never to take that kind of treatment from anyone again. They supported me and believed me and taught me the gumption to slap anyone who touched me without permission.
No one ever did touch me again.................at least not without my permission.
But before that I did not even know that adults could treat children that way. Telling my son at half of the age I was, does not feel good. But, we have no choices. And I am sure every parent dreads this 'talk' as much as I did.
Knowledge is power in a world where the mind is warped and with fear. And research shows that history repeats itself in the case of child molestation.
If I was the government of this country, I would hand over the Nithari killers to the parents of those tortured children and let the natural and pagan laws of justice prevail. Sometimes the court of law is too banal for henious crimes.
But when we do start catching the real culprit which is the breeding ground of these horrors?
It took a lot of effort and a little help from the tradtional fairy tale to explain to him that every adult in this world is not nice to little children. In fact, suffice it to say that I had to literally show him pictures of the Nithari villagers holding up photographs of their children in the newspaper to get him to understand that the big bad witch and wolf do not just exist in story books.
Many times we explain to our children, don't open the door, don't talk to strangers, take nothing form anyone, don't smile at someone if they smile back at you.
And I wonder............"Welcome Xenophobia" and "Paranoia". This is the world view we are giving to them: Close your doors, close yourself to the world, because there are monsters out there.
And, yes, as Nithari shows us, there really are monsters out there.
When I was 12 years old I was molested for the first and last time. My parents took us to a toy store in CP, in Delhi and the toy store salesman felt me up. I still recall the hot shame, shock and anguish those few moments meant to me. I never understood what was happening. The store was crowded and I kept thinking it was my imagination. But the moment I got out of the store, I burst into hot tears. Needless to say my parents told me never to take that kind of treatment from anyone again. They supported me and believed me and taught me the gumption to slap anyone who touched me without permission.
No one ever did touch me again.................at least not without my permission.
But before that I did not even know that adults could treat children that way. Telling my son at half of the age I was, does not feel good. But, we have no choices. And I am sure every parent dreads this 'talk' as much as I did.
Knowledge is power in a world where the mind is warped and with fear. And research shows that history repeats itself in the case of child molestation.
If I was the government of this country, I would hand over the Nithari killers to the parents of those tortured children and let the natural and pagan laws of justice prevail. Sometimes the court of law is too banal for henious crimes.
But when we do start catching the real culprit which is the breeding ground of these horrors?
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