Saturday, 31 December 2011

The Story of My Assassins, by Tarun Tejpal.

I picked up a lot of books this year but couldn't finish many, thanks to lack of time and occasionally just out of sheer boredom. The Story of My Assassins is a fast paced one. Smartly written, the author takes the reader for a giddy roller-coaster ride through the elite society circle of Delhi, the underbelly of the city, brutal crime scenes in the heart of U.P and  more.

I have not been in a good mood these days and the last thing I wanted was a brutal crime-politics-sex cocktail. Thankfully this book had that all-important ingredient- humour. The humour kept me going. The plot is replete with twists and turns and is not predictable. What disappointed me a little was the very typical depiction of the underbelly of the city, from slums to railway stations etc. It was like an RGV film , and at times I felt that I was reading a Slumdog Millionaire script.

The book  revolves around the assassination attempt on a journalist, the subsequent arrest of the five suspects and the story of those 5 suspects. So whether it's the story of Hathoda Tyagi, Chini or the rest, they are all gripping. From fingers being sliced to delicate knife patters being etched on chests , from rape to passionate extra marital sex- it's all there. I reiterate , the humour comes as a welcome relief. Just when things get too brutal for comfort , a laugh-out-loud line eases the tension.

Overall it was an enjoyable read.I intend to read more of Tejpal. Alchemy of Desire. Sometime later. Now it's time to get Possessed by Byatt.

Oh and Happy New Year everyone. :)

Good Night.

Friday, 30 December 2011

Full Stop.

I will be officially jobless from tomorrow. I have a huge problem with endings of any sort (okay not romantic ones , they appear- heaven knows what I mean- too cheesy to bother me now). I can never manage to end things properly, especially if it actually meant anything or slightly more than anything to me.

 There was a tuition, a chemistry tuition, when I was in class 12, a very gentle old man, loved the way he taught and tolerated our nautanki. Towards the end of our session he began to take some horrid mock-tests, and that did it. I stopped going after clearing my fees. Just stopped. Did not even call. I know I should have but I did not. Did not care a fig for Chemistry, still don't but the person was a nice man. He deserved a call, a "thanks". 

Then there was another teacher. A so-called "tuition",  but it was more , much more perhaps because it had something to do with Literature. There were people who called him for silly doubts and grave affairs. I wasn't bothered with any. So after classes stopped , I wasn't "in-touch". Then there were calls about teaching a junior, I  promised to be in touch. But I never made that call. The reason- I did not have anything to say. When you have nothing to say you make a call to friends not to people you respect and are in awe of. To this day I think of calling but I recoil in horror thinking of the conversation. (worrying runs through my veins )

So now there is this job, of course I did not like everything hence the resignation. But there are people who meant no harm, who made me laugh, saved my ass on a couple of occasions, they deserve a proper goodbye.  But I have not been going for the last two days, tomorrow is my last chance to say a proper goodbye. Not that people are waiting for it , just a basic courtesy. Something that I find myself incapable of doing. The possibility of having to explain my reasons for leaving, and smiling, and talking is just too arduous to me.Curling up with a book, looking around my dusty room and worrying is infinitely easier. Now this is gnawing at my brains. I really wonder what is it with me and endings.  

Wednesday, 28 December 2011


I love cakes. It shows. There are nice ones, and there are yucky ones. The chocolate ones that are rich and dark are yum ! and the yellow and white, pink and white, any-colour and white yucky pastries are ewww. Some times I wonder with what do they actually make that yucky cream? It churns in one's guts and is the stuff that puke is made of. So obviously I steer clear of them. Yes this post is a cake report.

1. Monginis: No definite opinion because I have visited parties where stupid parents had ordered a joker or a barbie to be made out of the cake. Seriously, you want your child to have a toy, gift them a toy, why make a toy out of cake? A barbie or a joker is not chocolate in colour, they have pink/red/blue/green stuff in them, everything that involves the use of pukish cream. All these experiences were terrible. BUT! Last year I attended my friend's birthday and there was this super yummy cake from Mongi and another friend said she gets the same one for her birthday every year. The cake was heavenly. It was a pure chocolate cake. Loved it!

2. Nahoum's: It's not a store. It's NAHOUM's! It's in New Market. It's the place from where my dad got my birthday cake every single year (even this year). Always the chocolate one. No pukish cream. Just a piece of awesome cake. However over the past few years , I found the cake too sweet at times, and there's this scent. Then there are those delightful macaroons and soup sticks (which I polish off without a drop of soup).

3. Flury's:  even if one does not have a sweet tooth, the bright pink box can cheer up any soul. It cheers me up. Bright pink and a golden cursive flury's. The "baba" cake was a yummy fruit cake , the pastries are yum and my friend got a chocolate cake which if given half a chance I could gobble up in a single sitting.

4. Kookie Jar: I like the pyramid. Hated. HATED the lemon tart. (it's lemon and butter...and it's supposed to be very popular). The cakes are tasty but often too buttery. Waaaay too buttery. I prefer their savoury stuff, the sandwiches and the tomato breads can brighten up a dreary afternoon in a jiffy. Often after catching a movie at the mall, i head to KJ and armed with my favourite bread , I plonk myself on a rickshaw and return home, well on my way to become a few kilos heavier.

5. The French Loaf:  Their cake was awesome. I had one from their chocolate fantasy range, it wasn't too sweet (this matters, especially to people like me who love larger portions :), you can eat a lot of what's not tooooo sweet) . Their Sandwiches are yum (Subway like) and so are their breads but those envelopes and what-not savoury dishes...sorry did not work for me. Too bland. A special mention of the tiramisu. Comes in a tiny cup , but wasn't there something about good things coming in small packages? :)

My mother also makes nice cakes at home, plain old ones that can be stored in a dabba and pulled out at night for a lovely midnight snack. Then there was that yummmy delight me and J (my friendu) cooked for G (our furry bro), it was an adorable one decorated with Gems and icing. There was a special charm to that, buying those ingredients , buying that icing bag. A cock (yes . morog.) flew inside that shop as my friend and i were busy buying cake-stuff. The poor thing had it's legs tied and was making a last attempt to escape. But it was  scary and funny. one moment everything is calm and the next there is a screaming cock flapping it's wings beside you.

TLC, Rachel , Nigella (with her yucky way of making stuff) and Masterchef Australia leave no stone unturned to whet my cake-appetite. A special mention of a certain Mr. Zumbo who makes houses out of cakes, a person with a disarming smile creating larger than life desserts. Love him. MA taught me so many words, I know what's a ganache ! :) In comparison , the Indian version had an episode where they made a rasgulla black forest which was the favourite of Aishwariya Rai. (rolls eyes , sticks out tongue...wyak wyak)!! who watches it anyway!!

Okay bye. 

Friday, 23 December 2011

Blah- la la la la.....A long post.

I spend a large part of my day reading blogs of people I don't know . I always go through these "about me" sections on other social networking sites as well and I see these lists of singers and I feel like an uneducated and uncivilized moron. But a moron who had fun nevertheless. I do not like instrumental music, it puts me to sleep. I do not listen to Western classical music. I do not listen to Eastern classical music.Okay sometimes I do. Very rarely. I like some compositions of some artists but no i certainly do not claim to know "anything" about it.

I do not listen to those classic rock songs, my friends used to flood my inbox with songs waiting for an excited feedback. They were disappointed. I could hardly get through the entire songs. The hard rock ones I don't even understand. One of my friend sent me alternative rock , coldplay, I liked reading the songs. Yes you read it correct , I wrote "reading". I am actually worse than the auto wallah who listens to nasal Reshamiya all day. Why? Because at least he has a definite choice. I don't. I like a bit of this , and a bit of that, and might be a bit of that too.

So what do I listen to? And how did I end up like this? That is what this post is about. (If you are yawning then well go to sleep, I feel like talking about this now, so I will.).

We had this tape/radio thing, small thing, imported thing where I listened to Preeti Sagar belting out one Nursery Rhyme after another, in her wonderful sweet voice. Then one of my relatives gifted me a cassette of Sukumar Ray's poems , a funny voice introduced me to "hukho mukho hyangla" "ram gorur er chana" and the rest. Then came the Bollywood typhoon. Super Hit Muquabla and those songs. (I don't relate to people who have grown up watching Cartoon Network all day, we did not have cable TV, we had dd1, dd2 .That's it.) My first Hindi cassette was Hum Aapke Hain Kaun? and I mugged up all the lyrics. Many others followed.

In the mean time Mr. Tagore also entered my life through songs to which I danced at the parar pujor functions, paying great attention to my dance movements and seldom understanding a syllable of the song. Come on ..Not every Rabindrasangeet is a "purano shei diner kotha" or "phool e phool e".  In fact my mother had this desire that I will learn how to sing. She gt this harmonium and sent me to my neighbour to acquire some singing skills. I learnt "shara jibon dilo alo shurjo groho chaand" and I thought "what a stupid song! about sun moon and stars, everyone knows alo dey etc etc" Yes I was a cocky child (benre paka jake bole, no sick jokes please). Needlessto say that the lessons did not last long. I can't sing, I should not sing. But I still sing, whatever I want  .
Till today I firmly believe that Rabindrasangeet should not be introduced to one before one has the capability of understanding the words. But then may be I was just a lousy child. Thankfully I am slightly better now. Mr. Tagore makes sense to me now, more than he ever did. But I do not get this Shreya Ghoshal-Shaan and Babul Supriyo- performing-Tagore-songs sort of functions. No thanks. Mita Huq , Hemanta, Chinmoy , even Swagatalakhhi will do for me. I had this cassette , Swagatalakhhi's,in which I heard "kotobaaro bhebechinu" for the first time, I was nursing a broken heart at that time and listened to it for days.

For days on end that Aunty taught me "sa re ga ma pa" and then I said I need "words" and a proper "song", so that clever lady told me "okay, learn this two line song- no-mo  no-mo bi-na pa-ni, no-mo ba-ni na-ra-yo-ni" it was sung in the sa re ga ma tune only. Yah try it , you'll know what I'm talking about. I was duped. Anyway I am not a crooning birdie. More the screaming kind.

But it is only in the last few years that I have really started to "listen" to that dear old man's  songs. There's another reason  why for a long time I was repelled by his songs. My father loves these "functions", he took me to this yearly "mela" (fair) where people performed these songs , I grumbled about the cold, the mosquito bites, the crowds, he remained unfazed and for an eternity I associated rabindrasangeet with weird people closing their eyes and singing and mosquitoes biting me.I have recovered. Thankfully.

Back to rock bands (yes right after Robi thakur, so what? it's my blog nah?) , I have come across people going gaga over Floyd, that Park, Yes. Nah thik jome ni sorry. Boddo chyachaye. I like reading them.That Cobain person, with some Spirit that smelled. Sorry I do not understand that brand of lyrics. I prefer complete sentences, conventional sentences. Too postmodern for me Mr. Dylan is a sweet person who makes sense. I like him. Mr. Billy Joel also works well. I haven't heard much though.

When I was in the fifth standard I watched MTV Most Wanted, Shehnaz hosted that show, a nyaka girl with a cute nose ring . So a whole lot of BSB, Westlife, Shania Twain , MLTR Vengaboys and other such stuff to which I nodded my sleepy head for a few years. I used to hum "I'm a Barbie girl" (GOD! a part of me is making faces right now) .Westlife still works for me. "Seasons in the sun" . Yes oh yes , it works for me.

I am bad. But my "badness" has its limits. have not heard that Bieber person. Gaga. I don't know how to react. I am often just gaping and wondering "what" is happening?

The endless "magnet" sessions had their own magnetic attraction in school. Bollywood never left me. I and a pal of mine had our own "la-la" game, one would imitate the tune of a song, by replacing the words with la-la and the other had to guess the song.

Oh OH OH did I talk about the singing classes at school? Five Hundred miles, Jamaican farewell, Julie Andrews (LOVE LOVE LOVE HER) polly wolly doodle, filled my life. Mrs. R, would dictate songs , we would write them down in our copies with stupid spelling errors. The best part? We learnt a song, it went like this-

"Why doesn't my goose ,
squack as loud as thy goose?
When i paid for my goose,
twice as much as thine."

So the class was divided into two groups. One began "Why doesn't my goose?" After the first line the second group began "Why doesn't my goose?".The two groups sang simultaneously, one line behind each other, creating a royal cacophony, the memory of which is making me laugh a decade later. Phew.

Anyway so naturally with this amazing history, I easily get annoyed by people who try to force their Floyds and Parks and Chopins and Coldplays down my throat. Whenever people go gaga about anything I lose my interest  instantly. A reflex action. I am yet to read Harry Potter. I am yet to read Twilight (don't even know what is that, wolf, man, thesis on anemia..vague ideas I have).I don't need no education. I don;t need no thought control. Shoo! Shoo!

I have this bag full of old cassettes. They had their own charm, those long brown threads, that would get all coiled up in the tape recorder, and I would patiently straighten it out with pencils. Limewire, and youtube has killed all that. Who hasn't laughed while hearing a poignant song rendered hilariously funny by the "fast forward" button? I have. You haven't. Good. Go to hell.

They say a playlist reflects one's personality.  Baishe srabon, Bari barsi, Amar mukti, Path harabo Abhiman, Billy Joel, Chandrabindoo's bhin deshi tara, Agni, Maa Rewa by Indian Ocean Hotel california,Saawan ka mahina, mehbooba o Mehbooba, Ole Ole ole by ricky martin (was he endorsing ponds?) . Friends title track, Jungle book title track...these are a part of mine. Now, go figure! Oh I also had Dhinka Chika.Now I don't. Grew tired of it.

I have to sleep. This is such a boring post. Did you read it? Really? I am bored of writing. Tired actually. But I'll publish it. May be some poor soul rotting away in an office, just like me, will spend 5 minutes reading this, forgetting about annoying colleagues and prison like office.

Why did I write this rather long and boring post? I was singing on the roads . "We wish you a merry christmas" and some other hymns. My friend was annoyed. But I was happy. Okay Good Night. It's cold.Mr.Tejpal and my blanket are beckoning me. Another drab day awaits.


Sunday, 18 December 2011

Nothing "grand" about it.

Grandmothers come in every variety. A friend of mine introduced her's as her "best-friend". For most people I know, their grandmothers are a source of TLC and god knows what else. I am not so lucky. My thakuma expired before I was born, hence her daughters i.e my pishis call me "ma" , my mother explained in childhood that this was because they thought I was their mother in my previous birth (I came into this world soon after her death). So I saw my thakuma's pics in albums and I was very happy because she was very pretty. I thought if I was that pretty in my previous life then by default some of it will manifest itself in this birth too. Nature however had other plans, we shall not go into it. We shall not.

So now my maternal grandmother, my dida, is alive and kicking (metaphorical kicks of course). From what I hear, I never had a cordial relationship with her. In my childhood, during winter, she used to admonish me for not wearing socks, cap, sweaters etc, and she nagged a lot about that. So one fine day, she came and knocked at our door. My mother was sleeping. My aunt was doing something ( I obviously don't remember what), and I went to answer the door , I peeped, saw my dida and very firmly shut the door. I told my aunt there was no one at the door and asked her to tie my hair in two pigtails. My aunt ,overcome with love and affection at my earnest demand, very lovingly did that. Only to hear some ear-splitting doorbell ringing a few moments later. She went, answered the door, dida complained, and they set out to find me. Upon finding me, as expected the very first thing dida said was "in this cold no caps , no socks". I very calmly replied that a cap will spoil my pigtails. Then I walked away. The story lives on, of course.

Now things have taken a different turn, it's not about caps, it's all about great life-altering things like my weight, my marriage, my hair, my skin, every cell in my body and every atom of my room. My mother is not well, hence dida has arrived and on the first day, after hearing about all the doctors, prescriptions , possible problems, she calmly proceeded to take the most important step for restoring my mother's health. Nojor-porano (burning the evil sight that others have cast on you), no issues if that burning was a symbolic one and the ritual was some anna-type fast or puja, hell no! this is burning in the literal sense, she comes armed with god knows what in her fist, raising hell fire in front of my face (and my parents') three concentric circles and then it's left to burn on the gas. Yes now we are all safe and healthy and we'll live till 90. Thank you so much. (reminds me of that milk jingle..rahoge fit , fit and fine, jiyoge past ninety naaaaaine...doodh doodh doodh, wonderful-doodh).

She loves me very much, she thinks I am wonder-woman. So whenever she watches KBC , she tells me at least 5 times that I should go there. She tells me I should skip. As in, not skip lunch, or breakfast or anything but actually "S K I P" , like with a rope. I almost have convulsions imagining the sight and the activity.

She loves me. She loves nature. These two coincide and create mayhem. She thinks juices from all vegetables are beneficial. So vegetables that I find disgusting in a cooked state are offered to me in a raw , mashed up semi-liquid state. Gourds, bitter-gourds and so on. 

She is concerned about my health and tells me that the dust in my room is responsible for my cough and cold, she asks about my defecation schedule,she tells me very proudly that at my age none of her 4 daughters were "like" me,implying, not in a subtle manner, that she thinks me to be a version of Frankenstein. 

Okay I am tired of writing and ranting. She is here to stay. I am a very good person. I am a very good person. I am a very good...I am a very...I am a....I am.....I...

Be with me Lord.

Monday, 12 December 2011

By the way.

The mercury is dipping. I woke up today morning and I thought it was July . The same overcast sky, the same cold, the same it-might-rain scenario. Thankfully it didn't but officially the season of wearing socks is here. That's one extra activity in the morning. ARRRGH!

As it is taking a bath is becoming a nightmare , on top of that there is this stupid thing called a gel bathing bar by Fiama di wills. A soap is a soap is a soap. It is not a gel if it is in a bar and trying to fuse a gel and a soap , they have created a super slippery variety of soap that has a mind of its own and launches itself into ambitious trajectories whenever it so desires.

But the icing on the soap (very literally) is that when I use it , place it back on that soap dish/rack or whatever and  take a look at it few minutes later, it is a thing of beauty, transparent crystals form all over the body of that wretched thing. A thing of beauty, in a cold bathroom at some evil hour in the morning. What do these people think when they come up with products like this ? I am sure you have not been able to imagine what I am talking about, and since I am too lazy to get a snap , let's forget about it.

Every single morning, when I sit in that godforsaken shuttle and travel through Bypass, I always imagine myself making the same journey back a few hours later, the sky darker and me tired. Every single day I imagine what I would have done if I did not have to make this journey, I could have done what I liked, I could sleep, read, eat , be a merry crocodile. Then suddenly the dust blows right into my face, thanks to all the flyovers and metros and god-knows-what-else being constructed, and I come back to reality, I realise I have missed a whole stanza of the song I was listening to.

It's the same story in the evening, while I return, finally the day being over, I think of the same ride awaiting me early the next day, what if I could skip it?

When did life become so miserable? If I actually try to pause and find out the moments of the day when I am happy or at least at peace with myself then well ...there are some..

1. When sometimes I reach the office early, there are not too many people around and it's quiet.
2. After 6, if I don't have work at office, I eagerly await that much awaited going-home hour.
3.Stepping out of the office. There is this sense of freedom I can't explain.

I know I have made it sound terrible but believe me I don't work in a concentration camp.

Last year I bought a few books at the Book Fair. Many of them are still unread. This year's fair is knocking at the door and I'm excited again even though I know there isn't much to be excited about. Books that I can get anywhere, no great discounts , dust-storms. For the past few months there has been this strange restlessness which has prevented me from actually finishing any book. I have finished 3 or 4 probably. I start reading one, then I jump to another. Anyway looks like I will break the jinx with The Story of My Assassins by Tarun Tejpal. Enjoying the book immensely. It's brutally honest, smart, funny and by all means I am hooked.  Oddly I found this one at BCL. I recall my very first visit to the library, back in school-days , there was not a single book by any non-British author , and now the fiction shelf is overflowing with so many Indian authors. I am happy.

Rambled on, in a non-cynic way. The bitch has been tamed by life. Not for long. Just you wait.

Friday, 9 December 2011


I have just realised that my grammar is poor and I make stupid spelling mistakes. I have to get back to my Wren and Martin as soon as possible.I wish I could blame it on my inclination to use sms language but it is more than that, it is my sheer laziness to be a little more careful and responsible.

I am sad.  

Wednesday, 23 November 2011

good mawning

TOI: hey good morning!

HT: yaaaw...yeah hi ...

Telegraph: gawd so much chatter...okay yaa hi! where's et?

HT: still sleeping, no one's gonna disturb him anyway...he lies there whole day on the table

Telegraph: true, o nomoshkar PD

HT: PD? she's here?

Telegraph: yeah

Pratidin: shuprobhaat

TOI: hi-5 PD, so ..someone's missing

PD: t2, hey tele where's your bro?

Tele: it's genY all the way now...t2 disappears early in the morning and is caressed whole day...i forgot hw he looks actually, never see him at the table...CT HT CITY come close but gawd

ET: don't talk so much please, lemme sleep , today's not my day

HT: yeah right, so when is your day?

ET: wennnnesdddai, Brand Equity day. they give me 2 mins on that day. okay good night lemme sleep


Wednesday, 9 November 2011


oooh no it is 7.45 but it is jaaast 7.45 i can get up 10 minutes later okay now it is 8 i can still sqeeze in a few more minutes may be till 8.30 will have to leave by 9.10 but then 9.15 is okay so i can sleep till 8.35 yes ma sandwich is fine for tiffin okay bye okay now i have to wake up but wait what if i don't go today why do i have to go everyday ? no i can't afford a leave now will take a leave later when the weather is more disgustingly cold but eeww it is cold now more cold later  o god how cold will that be SHIT 8.50 now no chance of 9.15 dumbhead so next target is 9.30 at least so that is roughly 40 minutes so 10 minutes in the loo of course no shampoo coz i shapooed yesterday at 12.30 am then get dressed and leave SHIT SHIT SHIT 8.55 but what if i don't go ? okay  it is not an option get up get up get up its so cold fan needs to be switched off ah there is my brush hate this dabur lal paste makes the bristles of my toothbrush red one day my teeth will also be red like the toothbrush bristles imagine how that will look hheee heee SHIT 9.00 am okay mission loo why don't i have a clock in the loo i forget this time thingy in there anyway done okay 9.15 really? how!! was i in there for so long ommmaigawd ommaigawd dress dress dress tiffin where is tiffin can't find tiffin ma has taken it school along with her own tiffin i guess like the other day o no another dosa day okay breakfast chhatur sharbat gulp it down vaseline  keys water-bottle 6 rs change for the goddamned auto 1 rs hike oggawd i will become a beggar i should junk the auto for a bus hell who am i kidding people will literally fall out of those buses someday so auto 6 rs where where where GOT IT! okay lock door wear shoe out out out walk fast cannot ofcourse jeans are too heavy hahaahaa i have a great sense of humour but there will be no auto so walk walk walk okay auto auto no seat at the back aunty already sitting beside autowallah aluminium plate instead of seat no option 9.35 seriously have to wake up early tomorrow squeeze beside aunty stupid beardy uncle please get down at the next stop yay now i have a back seat o gawd that hell hole of dust is approaching o no what now yes yes call passengers from their homes MOVE or i will kill you MOVE please sir MOVE plsplspslspls
 o k a y thank god , hand over fare and run there there is that old beggar woman okay she sees i have no change and walks past me as if i don't exist HAHA that's why i carry exact change gawd please let there be a shuttle great there is a line what's that on her eyes? what's that on her? sunglasses clothes dumbass okay shuttle is here get in get in phew 9.50 no chance of reaching office before 10.20 at least so let's stay calm plug in the earphones god i need to change this playlist what is that ghttar ghattar noise o it's just the gas cylinder underneath the seat or may be its the seat the broken seat of course  this man   in his 40's calls his lover or talks in a nyaka nyaka funny way hihihi but why am i judging does that make me better than the people who have sprayed "gays r cancer to da society" on the ajc bose road flyover such a sombre thought to ponder upon O SHIT  i missed the best part of katiya karun.nachdi firun tabdi firun akeli main nabdi firun.haddd karun hadd karun hadd karun ru ru ru ruuuuuuu no signal plsplsplspls o there's a signal o we have crossed it GOD SHIT AAWWW oh thank god i thought we'll kill that girl crossing the road no girl alive me alive okay good driver fast driver go science city jam jam jam pls pls green light green light 10.01 that is okay but no worries can't do anything now what shitty roads pls god don't let anybody get down at vishwakarma building that is another signal and let everyone have exact change yay no one gets down signal godd o wow i love this girl's wardrobe few days in summer she wore those long tops now she is into nice silk kurtis but she is tall yes yes yes stop stop stop yes I have reached please don't let too many people come before office okay breathe in breathe out empty chairs good sign client servicing people in they are always in i think they live here never see them leaving yes can i have a pen signed switch on PC gmail facebook twitter done .

 RIP till next morning.

Saturday, 5 November 2011

"Sichuan Frid rice" anyone?

There comes a moment in life when everything just goes wrong , when every effort goes down the drain , when I feel like a complete loser , it is during those moments that I grumble, at times cry, shout, fight, and then when every goddamned thing fails I take the ultimate step, I make that all important phone call to - dominoes or Xing chinese/indian/tandoor home delivery.  Music can go for a long walk, because for me- food is the food of life. Over the years the take-away services near my home have evoked a lot of emotions ranging from - relief  , horror, anger, to that of absolute bewilderment.

 The best and worst of it ..

There is a hierarchy of course. there is the 45 rs (and that was YEARS ago) veg plate  which my mum once ordered from "dui burir hensel (that n is a chandrabindoo-substitue since english language has no such interesting stuff like chandrabindoos and bishorgos) so anyway, it basically means "two old women's kitchen" . It is normal everyday khana. the rice and dal were  good and the aloo bhurji in a packet was also great but the horror was that layer of oil in the veg curry but then any packed thing from outside can never be ghar ka khana so why complain!  This one is the cheap-emergency alternative when the maid takes casual/medical leave for days on end and mum's temper reaches the Everest summit. Next in the order is the multi cuisine takeaway .And finally ,when I feel really really rich or really really torchered I call Dominoes. (when i feel that i am not-so-rich i order the combo thing  and on special days  , like when my part-2 exams ended its gourmet pizza please !).

 I also feel that they should publish their own dictionary. "Schezwan" "Sichuan" "Shechuaan" - all synonyms for that red runny gravy, which is so hot that I cry more than a girl suffering a break up. You can also take your pick from "pan-frid" noodles, or "veg haka chowmen" or is  want a starter , just go ahead with some delicious "panner pakora".

 They have innovation at their finger-tips. The dishes are re-invented every single day. Once a dal makhni was my favourite dish , it was 5-6 types of dal , slow cooked with dollops of butter. One day I ordered that and imagine my horror when I stared at the barely boiled unseasoned lentils staring at me from the foil container. Also today's manchurian is tomorrow's chilly and tomorrow's manchurian is day-after-tomorrow's schezwan. The gravies play musical chair.

They all have conversation specialists who receive the calls. They are all amusing in their own way but the Pizza guys win hands down. Ever played a cassette in fast-forward mode? A hich-kich-pitch noise where you can't make out a single word? that's what they sound like , they introduce themselves, give me a list of new "offers" in which i am not interested in a span of about a second and then ask for my order. They sound more programmed than a C++ program.

The funniest bit is the way the Dominoes person always asks for my phone number, looks it up in his pc and then in a very happy tone says " from so and so", of course they have been taught that this would make the customer feel special, the fact that they "remember" me, yes I would feel special only if i had an IQ of 0.00007 and did not know about the computer thingy. somehow the honest "onek din por elen?" (coming after so many days?) from my xerox-walla sounds more sincere. But pizza ke liye kuch bhi !

However, no matter how much I ridicule them , the fact is when I sit down with some of that super-greasy stuff , in my 100 year old  dress (which ma threatens to donate to my maid  for sweeping) and I switch on the T.V or when a few of my closest , and dearest pals sit down with all kinds of home-delivered trans-fat loaded junk , for a hot n happening bitching session, I am in heaven. I don't have to worry about my jeans constricting the life out of my guts or about stupid company. Take away food spells comfort with a capital C. I simply fail to understand how some people eat so much at weddings, how can food be swallowed and digested in those  strange crowded place where strangers in hideous costumes are eating all around you , a chicken's leg hanging from one's lips, an FF1 aunty gulping down fishes (FF1 is foundation face number 1), some people even transfer some of the best chosen stuff to their kid's plate as if that wedding is their only chance of getting proper nutrition. restaurants are fine , though one has to wear civilized dresses when one visits those places, my 100 year old rag and hawaii chappals won't do ! (no i don't wear hawaiis , I wear nice aerosoft chappals but Hawaii added more drama to this sentence -don't you think?)

I have digressed again. Doesn't matter. Nothing more to say. Except describing another blissful occasion. I am a pig, I dig out leftover food. Isn't there something blissful about cold leftover bahar ka khana? Or is it just me. the Sherlock in me awakens at night as i search for my leftover veg fried rice etc in the fridge and eat it without Microwaving it. (Of course I say a loud "Yes" when my mother asks me the next morning whether I had heated it) others do it? I don't know! I don't care! I am la-femme-despicable (that is not French dumbo).

Okay bye. Will share more such worthless gems for which you all love me so much. what would I do without you my dear reader (hi-5 jane eyre)!

Tata amigos.

PS: (gyan alert) I generously tip the delivery boys. You should too. They do a lot of hard-work. Don't be a miser.

Tuesday, 1 November 2011

Awkupeytion, Kayrier, and other such demons.

There are times when I feel that life has made a complete fool out of me  (if you are even thinking about cracking the stale "so-you-thought-you-are-sane joke then that only shows how goddamned predictable you are.) . Sometimes I pray for something, I want it to happen and it happens and then very soon I am cursing myself. When I was sitting at home right after my exams , I felt restless, as if someone had injected red-bull into my veins and forced me to sit quietly. I had all the time in the world to do "things" and I wasn't satisfied. Now, that I have a "job" , and my schedule is one big fat chunk of monotony, my free-time does not exist and my hobbies are gasping for breath, NOW I realise what a curse it is.
In my university days , the early morning routine was- open eyes-look at clock- grumble about weather-decide not to go- go back to sleep. Now it is- open eyes- look at the clock- curse!curse!curse!-make faces-grimace-sit-look at clock-curse-finally get out of bed.  Sad. Very sad. 

At office, when there is work, well I work (and no, despite this post, I do not hate my "work")but when there isn't any, I am stuck to that goddamned chair, in front of that goddamned p.c. All I want is a couch and a book. Only if someone could pay me to read books (not editorial "read" , which to me is "hunting bad grammar" reading). Then there are days when I start reflecting about what I am doing , and how it affects the larger scheme of things, it is like when you are at a beach looking at the sea, trying to figure out the purpose of your puny self in the larger context. I write, for ads, wait for approvals, big CEO's with bigger salaries debate about the content, we get feedback, we make changes, this continues for a long time, finally it gets published,  at times it is read (though of course no one knows its by me), then they are forgotten, then new ones arrive. How does it matter? Am I making a difference to the world? I feel the hollowness of it all, the mind-numbing dullness of it all. 

Then I try to look for alternatives- 1. content : pros-weekend holidays, definite work hours, easier, higher pay , cons- zero growth, more stagnant than a cess pool.  2. MBA- pros: better pay. cons: looking fat in formals, learning maths, working like an ass, equally if not more hollow. 3. School teacher: pros: back home by afternoon (oooooh) , slightly better pay initially, cons: kids-kids-kids 4. Public Sector: pros- pay, security cons: everything, 5. journalism: pros: exciting cons: i am lazy, like comfort and hate dirty loos (suppose i am told to cover a flood, i will think less about the victims and more about the loo options)6. Higher studies: pros-the fact that it is "higher" studies , cons: the fact that it is higher "studies" . compared to all my options except the last one, what I am doing seems as bad. At the end of the month I am a pauper but then what-the-heck it takes one minute to quit!  

So why do I continue despite all this?- a tiny voice whispers "because if you are doing nothing you will be just as miserable-because that little money matters to you- because it is at the end of the day something that you "do" and you chose to do-because on some days it is not so bad, and things are actually exciting. 

I do not know where things will go tomorrow. I really don't. But I know I'll do something I want at that time, something that I have chosen myself, and not blindly followed a rule book. As long as I do that I'll be fine.

Yes . By now you must have guessed, I had a super-bad day hence the ranting. But then a little catharsis chalta hain !

goodnight folks.

Sunday, 23 October 2011

Sunday Diary.

Writing after ages.... and don't know where to begin. Parents returned from this amazing Europe tour while I was  at home with my grandmother and spent 14 days with her (the twenty-sixty saga- yes i know i am not twenty , so what? the saga is for another day). Parents had the time of their life in Europe and I did the same in Kolkata. Visited Maddox square for the first time ever. That is pretty unusual for someone who has grown up in Kolkata but really, if you know me, the lazy me, then it is not that surprising. Apart from the gorgeous traditional idol at Maddox, the atmosphere was electrifying. The theme Pujas have really killed the true essence of Durga Puja. We have pandals constructed out of every materaial on earth- you name it, we have done it. Amidst the frenzy of being noticed in the puja competitons and grabbing the advertiser's attention-  the Idol has receded into the background, the competition is no longer for the best puja it is for the most bizarre puja...thankfully one look at the Maddox idol was enough to bring back the peace that I associate with this festival, yes peace, not shopping-pandal hopping-egg roll craziness . Those mesmerizing pair of eyes , fierce as fire yet full of motherly benevolence. I could have spent ages just looking at the idol. One thing that I will never forget is the sight of a 70 something Dadu blowing a bhenpu (a toy whistle made out of paper). The sheer spirit of vibrant , unfettered joy was exhilarating. Fultooo masti (sense could not be conveyed without the  desi touch).

Back to my Sunday. Flipkart was a great help. I ordered some books and 4 of them are here. Born Free , Nine Lives, The Palace of Illusions and Debjan. Two more will follow. I have begun reading the Palace of Illusions by Divakaruni, which is the tale of Mahabharata told from Draupadi's POV. So far I like it. I have a soft corner for the epic and plan to read the whole of it some day (had started but thanks to a thing called life, never managed to finish it). The Born Free book is an anniversary edition and it has many pictures of Elsa and the Adamson couple, admired Elsa for a long time. I still remember crying buckets while watching the movie. First came across Elsa, the amazing lioness, in a small extract from the book, which we had in our English Literature Syllabus back in class 5. Can't wait to read the book and revisit Elsa's terrain.

A lot happened last week:
1. I read Revolution 2020.Huge disappointment after 2-states.  It was cliched, annoying, in fact more annoying than the call-centre book. I am not looking for serious stuff , just plain 2 minute maggi masala entertainment and it did not even deliver that. Sorry Mr. Bhagat.
2. It rained and the weather is slightly chilly , that time of the year when it is dark by 5.30. Miss the sun, not the sweat.
3. Irritating Tuni (tiny ) bulbs are up in my neighbourhood houses. I know, I know diwali is the festival of light and sound , yes the sound is on too (arrrgh!) and the light is annoying because the bulbs light up my terrace and i can't take my dark, brooding, lady-byron walk anymore.
4. I absolutely adore the "chutki" song in Dirty Picture.

In other news, I have gobbled up a big packet of chanachur, and an endless amount of Swiss chocolate. A friend is getting married next month and a few of us had plans to shed a few kilos , needless to say , our collective will power is that of a hungry dog with a bowl of chicken in front of him. :)

Sunday just whizzed by,  a little desk-cleaning, a little bit of books, loads of sleep, a phone call, utterly unhealthy food, ambitious will-do-it-next-week plans and yes it is over once again.

That is about it.

Crapatharsis over.

 get back to work my lovely jobless people. I write only for you, serving you the boring details of my life on a platter. Enjoyed? Good. Now bye. 


blog and table. life waits in queue.

Sunday, 11 September 2011

Musical Sunday..overdose of metaphors

The songs are a rage downloaded them this morning...and had a GREAT time !! 

1. Gobhire jao... I imagined dolphins...diving..

2. Amar chokhe thonte gaal e tumi lege acho.... tumi ki cadbury silk khachhile??

3. Notun aloor khosha aar amar/amader ei bhalobasha..... peeler kenar taka nei??  (aloor khosha??? er por ki pocha shosha??...) ..

4.ei srabon shyant shyante boro amar kache....amar kaada hoy na !!

5.keu dyakhe ni ghaash e harano tomar khelar putul..... eco friendly putul !! way to go!

6.traffic er ei cacophony amader shopno chushe khay......phew !! cacophony?? (they could not find a good bengali equivalent..neither can time i am stuck in the jam at science city/topsia/ajc bose rd...i'll sing this) 

7. jebhabe joldi haath mekheche bhaat...... tarahuro teh bhaat khabar dorkar ki? cornflakes nei?

8. Tomar nokher dogay tibro premer crap for this line...because I am speechless!

9.Jol jomeche buker bhetor, roder obhabe....pneumonia! pneumonia!

10. Jekhane shurur kotha bolar agei shesh....prokhha dichhilo?

p.s - I still cannot help humming the songs....because I like them :P 

Tuesday, 23 August 2011


Technology and I don’t get along well. There are some of them who are very kind to me- Mr.Fan, his cousin Mr.A.C , Fridge granny, Tubelight aunty and so on. But there are cruel monsters lurking everywhere, so there is that teeth baring claw sharpening touchscreen thing, and that weird your-finger-is-your-mouse lappy..these are the  kind of gadgets that scare me to death.  Some rather memorable encounters are listed below.

1.B and I are walking down Elgin road, some people are taking bath on the pavements (we are slumdogs after all !). B’s mobile phone lands up in a dirty puddle. My Hygiene-freak brain’s instant reaction .. “eww eww eww here here take my bottle..wash it !! NOW!!” , B is aghast …and shoots back “THIS is my CELL” …then I realize that poor cell won’t survive the water attacks…huh!…okay go on ..enjoy your functioning bacteria soap lather stained phone ..blah !

2. I am having a rather nice evening with few school pals, a lot of madness, chit-chat and of course movies being copied-shopied on dvd’s and pen drives….one of them is particularly enthusiastic and is guarding the pc like ..well…a guard.….I go near the pc and calmly assure her that she can  let me browse the song list and I’ll start the copying process for her…she agrees. I sit on the chair in front of the pc, friend launches herself on the bed and dictates her movie choices…I click a few buttons…and PING goes the pc…paranoid friend rushes to the pc…and announces “YOUclicked on a DRIVE”…I give the perfect what-you-speak-is-greek-to-me look…and then she explains…you are trying to copy data occupying 80 GB on a DVD….yaah ..okay…mistake….sorry….but it was just a careless error ! **gasps and laughs all around**

3.Few friends have touchscreen phones which are super-sensitive and something or the other happens whenever you “touch” it…so things go like this – “hey I don’t have that song….give your phone…I’m taking that” …I take the phone and I am in the messages inbox without a clue about how to exit it..I try and woohoo I am staring at some babies…yes images folder…***resigned gasp***  … then “hey I like this pic…who is that?? Can I zoom this one?” friend – “ yaah just drag your fingers” …I give her my w-h-a-t -? Look and then she shows me how one should drag both fingers in opposite directions to zoom in !! Give me a break. 

Thanks to all this now I know what I am going to say to the salesman when I go to buy my next cell (that will not be before 2 years if thieves allow)-I’ll say  “Show me a non-qwerty…non-touch screen phone”…hate those qwerty phones….They are made for malnourished people who have bone-like fingers, they are certainly not for the well-fed chubby species like me. 

In addition to this there are softwares, os’s and what not ..Android..what on earth is that? Before you give me some stupid boring answer…pause and read what I think it has the potential to be … (why should you read that? Well, you read so far..did I ask you to ? so go on now ! )

  1. Another dreaded disease like Thyroid ?? We could have an Android gland somewhere!  The next time someone says “o you are so fat!” I’ll say “ya …could be my android..I’ll have to get it checked”..
  1. An adjective like schizoid.. …it can mean the exact opposite.. for instance if someone displays two personalities at the same time…think of a man imitating Big B’s baritone voice and in that voice saying kkkkkk…kirrraaaan….he has an android personality…!

Don’t tear out your hair….Yes, yes, I will stop.


Sunday, 21 August 2011

Self Reflection - The non-mirror-but-super-vain kind.

I  Know

1.Orange flavour breezer is not much different from Tropicana orange juice. or Real . ( I'm not a brand loyalist you see)

2.I am positively , in caps lock, an introvert. Mostly.

3. I do not like people. The not-my-friend kind.

4. I am good at small-talk for a small time.

5. I am a roaring tigress with people I love ( tigress - roar wise only- don't get ideas) many other situations I am quite a seekh-kabab.

I still do not know:

1. What I want to do career-wise. ( I go with the flow , although I wish I knew what exactly I am flowing along...a  river, a stream, a drain-pipe).Clueless is THE word. Though this in no way changes my belief that I am better off than smug people who have made stupid choices. Ha! Ha!

2. What the term follow-your-heart means. I wish it could be s simple thing, you know like a tiny thing , the size of my palm, suspended in air, moving in front of me, like darling Macbeth's sword..and I would just have to follow it. But it is not that is screaming out the names of hundred different things everyday.

I want 

1. All offices to commence work at 11 am and get over by 5.  ( what is the point in wishing for something that is possible in the real world)

2. A license to kill.

3. A treadmill. ( Mi padre is convinced that I shall hang towels on it after a few days so he won't buy me one..alas ..will have to wait for the paychecks...:( cruel cruel world !! )

4. Two Sundays in a week.

Tuesday, 2 August 2011

The Last Mughal : William Dalrymple

Again this is not a typical review, I do not have the knowledge or expertise to write one.

I got this book from the library just to find out what William Dalrymple's was all about. This is the first book by Dalrymple that I have read. I remember reading an excerpt of Nine Lives in a magazine and I quite liked that. But the general review of his novels (friends, friends of friends etc) was almost always "boring" or something similar. No wonder I stayed away from them and it was just out of curiosity that I picked up this one. Now I thank my curious spirit. Yes I loved it, no suspense there.

I generally like books that have something do with history. Not boring Life-and-Ideals-of-Gandhi kind of history  but totally war-kings-drama kind of history, yes I love sensational stuff. I mean it is history and if I am reading it today then it must have been something larger than life may be misery but it should be larger than life misery. If I have to read about one mundane person being killed then I can just pick up my newspaper! If your judgement is that I am an insensitive sick person then well...I do not care!

Back to the book. I admit the first few chapters were a drag. I especially found the chapter titled Believers and Infidels extremely boring. But as I progressed I realized that the chapter was important to show why what happened, happened. In the beginning I could read barely 4-5 pages in a day...But I have this peculiar kind of patience when it comes to books (not humans) ..and I am so so thankful for that.

The title is explicit , it is about "The Last Mughal" Bahadur Shah Zafar , the Sepoy mutiny of 1857 and the subsequent fall of Delhi. I liked many things about the book. Firstly the tone that Dalrymple used. It was one that allowed me to visualize and get a feel of the events narrated. Nothing puts me off than a detached mundane narration of an extraordinary set of events (example: Taslima Nasreen's narration of slaughters and rapes in the most irritating manner in the first part of is a huge list,which is 100 % statistics and 0% emotion.Whatever rage I felt at the system metamorphosed into irritation directed at Nasreen for writing  about it like that) ...

I also liked the way Dalrymple blends a general overview of a particular event with the narration of the fate of a single family or person. You now how it would have felt to be there and you also get a broader picture. Thumbs up !

Another aspect that I liked is the fact that Dalrymple narrates the events with a lot of emotion yet never takes sides, he is impartial and equally cruel to the faults of both parties- the British and the Sepoys. So during one phase I was enraged reading about the slaughter of innocent British women and children at Cawnpore and later I was again cursing the British soldiers for practically stripping the forts and ruining the city of Delhi. The  book  avoids a simplistic reading of the situation which either declares the Last Mughal as innocent or as a culprit. Dalrymple manages to  portray the character of the emperor beautifully.

The vulnerability of the emperor is what strikes one the most. He was an old poetry loving octogenarian forced into taking sides and making decisions that he never wanted to.   We remember all the great mughals, Babur and Akbar among them,  and the sheer contrast between that glorious history and the picture of this abject old man in the book is the real tragedy which does not fail to stir. But on the other hand there was the advent of democracy, the organization skills of the British government ....yes the reader cannot take sides either.  You know that what has ended is the story of a great dynasty which was reduced to a puppet king and decadent descendants but you cannot help but lament the loss of the thriving cultural city that Zafar had nurtured. Strewn amidst the glorious events are some great insightful sections. Ghalib's poetry and the letters that some soldiers wrote to their relatives back in England were touching to say the least.

Reading the book was like experiencing the mutiny on celluloid. The sepoy attack in May 1857 and the British attack later that year and numerous other events unfold in front of the reader's eyes. Once again the book shows just how absurd and futile war is .. death takes no sides , it ravages all. You cannot fail to be moved as you read about the last emperor of the great Mughal dynasty being buried without even the hint of any ceremony, at Rangoon, far away from the land that his forefathers conquered and ruled for years.

It took me few weeks to complete this book, but that was more due to my snail's pace reading than anything else.

Friday, 22 July 2011

I am a nasty person in general and I hate so many people in the world. The feeling almost always is mutual. I was just wondering about the reasons why humanity in general tires me..

1.I do not like people giving me advice that is almost always unsolicited. This is usually in the form of an aunt telling me how fat I am when she weighs about 200 kilos and is currently spending a few hard-earned thousands at a gym.These people do it as if they are saving your life.Well , thank you but please take a long hike.

2.Just when you start liking someone, (not romantic and all, just like spending time with someone) he or she changes and reveals some royal flaw which is mind-blowing (literally, i can feel my brain tissue crawling on my face like earthworms).

3. The level of confidence in some people also leaves me spellbound. I have this relative who will eventually join the family business and is now working at a place recommended by her father and this person never hesitates to give me the most condescending advice  about my career and the way I should live my life.  She is younger than me but a 5 minute conversation with her makes me think "wow she can give dida (granny) a run for her money"..... well she can !

4. I also hate people who lack basic forms of civility. I mean h.e.l.l.o! I am not living in the amazon , I live in the civilized world so please teach yourself some manners ! There is this brother , really old brother ,who thinks it is his birthright to look through everything in my room. He even opened my purse, in which there was another purse, I told him not to open that, he did- there was Whisper Ultra in that, I gave a sweet smile which said "I guess you don't need that".  He has stopped after that. Next time, I'll say that aloud. he now just sticks to applying all the deo's on my dressing table....yes ALL ...a spray of AXE on one underarm , Nivea Body Spray on the other, and so on. he leaves my house as an olfactory treat.

There is also one family where the kid thinks his ancestors paid for my personal computer. He comes only to play video games. I mean please why don't you save me the horror and stay at home. But then I knew it was not the poor child's fault, his father came to our house and spent the evening watching a 70's flick on zee cinema while relishing the food that my mother took 4 hours to prepare (toothpricks in chingri machh and all) !!

Bleh !

Tuesday, 19 July 2011

Fridge er dorja ghenshe holud ek kon
maggir packet e shajano shukhi grihokon

Dhulo makha boi gulo dichhe haathchhani
mone pore dhulo balir  boimelar... shei onekgulo praani

Mobile r headphone aaj boshe royeche shaantoh
Shoptaher dourjhape tara je boroi klaanto

er majhete dutoh chokh onichha prokash kore
aaj toh rob baar, eto aalo dhukbe kyano ghor e?

Wednesday, 6 July 2011

Clean and Clear.

"This is not what a 20-something's room looks like."   I agree with my mom on this, but the problem is that we both have a slightly  different idea about how it should look like. I believe I need one of those Joey-Chandler type chairs , if you are not a F.R.I.E.N.D.S person then you can imagine the chair at your dentist's like that...( the dentist's chair is the perfect honey-trap, you are comfortably seated before the torcher begins.)..

yes so I need a chair like that, a HUGE bookshelf which is HUGE breadth-wise, at 4 feet 8 inches ..thinking high or reaching high is out of the question and i do not fancy climbing up a ladder to get a book. I should have a laptop (yes I DO NOT have one...I am stuck with my desktop..I love it though !), with a hard drive of some zillion TB's....yes the TV and AC should stay intact and I should have a knocking that I don't have one parental invasion every half an hour to ask about my dinner/career choices. I would also like a walk-in closet but it's okay, I won't stretch it too far. I have also fancied having blank walls where i can throw tubs of Asian Paint (Wake Up Sid style) while decorating it......sigh..

The sad thing's idea of what my room should look like differs from can be summed up in one line...everything in it's place. What is the big deal about keeping everything in it's place? Isn't it a projection of a hidden desire to conform to caste and class hierarchy....? I have never tried putting this across to her ...I don't like the blank, Are-you-really-my-child?...kind of a look that she gives me sometimes.

 There are days when I ultimately decide to clean up a corner...and I take the entire day to do just that - clean up a corner...then i move to another corner only to realize that the first corner has things piling up again ! Why take so long to clean a corner? well there are so many distractions ! Something or the other just tumbles out and you waste minutes thinking about it...farewell diaries  remind you about old dress reminds you about a waistline issue...cassettes remind you about cassettes.... a dozen of glittering hurts-my-eye jewellery reminds you about the terrible style-sense time when you thought they looked good ... and Arabian Nights reminds you about goromer chuti on earth can some people take less than a day to clean up a corner? how?

Okay , perhaps the fact that I do not allow my maid to touch my stuff has something to do with it. I also do not like guests pacing up and down my room touching my dust-covered stuff.....excuse me? Go home...get touchy-feely with your own stuff... the dust serves a dual is a good canvas on which one can draw stick figures and it prevents stupid "emma-ki-dhulo" type of people from touching your stuff...... no I do not have the kohinoor diamond on display on my study table...all the same , even if it is last year's xerox notes, or a photo frame with no photo...I want you to stay away from it....but there is a unique specie called "grandparents" grandmother never fails to remind me how so much of dust can cause lung  problems and breathing trouble....

Of course my tiktikis (lizards) pay no heed to my desires and move about freely among my stuff...that's okay...I like them...It's just that I hate their overactive metabolic system....

Tataz........ much cleaning awaits.

Wednesday, 22 June 2011


hotam jodi kono barir posha meni biral
char pa tule ghumer belay bhultam shob kheyal

hotam jodi rastar dhare khyank khyakane kukur
nijer lejer pechon doure katiye ditam dupur

hotam jodi kono tarokar aquarium er imported mach
rupoli pordar mohomaya just beyond the kaanch

hotam jodi rajabajarer igol bongsher ongsho
moner shukhe khetam chhire kancha kancha mangsho

hoi ni toh er ektao, ki r kora jabe?
khukumuni ghorar dim er omlette banabe.

Sunday, 15 May 2011

Another Day Goes By.........................and I stare. yes. STARE.only.

Before the exams one must not blog and one must not go out for movies and follow it up with some uhhh well not-hen-tail session..... Someone-I-know defied all these rules. ******evil grin*********

 It was a movie about kids and food. The kid was actually cute (when I call a "kid" .."cute"...he or she IS cute).  It was hilarious when that someone, whom I know, screamed "palak paneer !!" in the midst of the show because  there was mouth watering palak paneer being focussed on-screen.

not-hen-tail session.attended by X,Y, Z, A, B :
X: wow this place is good!
Y: its smelling weird, excuse me do you have a room freshener.
Z: there is a pool table! (none of the infamous five knew how to play pool)
A (to X): Pa uthiye bosh na.....
X: uhhh ya okay but boshle my feet keep hanging...let me remove my shoes. (wish god had granted her a fair share of inches in height or heels)
B: kono photo uthbe na.  Ki ondhokar!
X: wow I love these pebbles...stones....
Z: ishhh these pebbles are dirty! .................(clean it up !)
Y: the pebbles are cold! .....................(err the ac was on !)

a few minutes/sips later.

Z: let's go the pool table.
X: parchi na,
Z and B head towards the table.
X: what is B doing?
Z: she thinks she can play pool
X : hehe okay let me poke around the balls ! this is fun (yes pool balls cried out in silent moans)

from the stairs descends a couple ...

A: wow..yaar people come with their families out aar chele
B: dhyat....shut up
Y: o god but seriously that is not ma and her chele (a fact confirmed by then thanks to observed glances and general behaviour).....


exams . ahead. porte bosho dushtu meye.

There is really a hell lot stuff riding on  these dominoes fed shoulders. **sob sob**


Tuesday, 10 May 2011

The Darling Buds of May : Where? Where? Where?

I had promised myself that I wouldn't blog till my exams were over but then it's too hot to study. Winter makes me sleep, rains make me grumble and summer....oh summer ..... it makes me slightly crazy.

Dad at office meant ac at 12 pm... retired dad means ac not before 2pm...and loads of nagging about "you-don't-know-how-much-it-costs" if switched on a minute earlier. I restrain myself from replying "there is no way i wouldn't know because after the bill comes, every single relative knows about the electricity bill that you had to pay thanks to your daughter. In fact, the whole month is about THE bill." it my problem that we do not stay in Canada ...okay Himachal....?

I read somewhere that you lose weight in summer...uuhhh okay....provided you are on fluids....fiiine ! I was taking plenty of fluids....pepsi, thums up, limca, orange squash, lassi till i realised the sugar in them was enough to keep me obese till eternity.

The biggest disaster of all- my fast-approaching exams..... well I made grand plans of going to the national lib but then I did not. One should visit it once during his or her graduate/post-graduate study....people will throw scrambled eggs at me if they come to know I have NEVER been there! My first question regarding the place was "ac ache?" answer in the affirmative was of no use . In fact my darling friend very generously sms'd me...after many such cancelled plans to go "there"...------" don't worry  you will have a long holiday after your exams, you can go anytime after that." .... hopeless? I agree.

I wanted to study yesterday instead i thought it would be "kewl" (yes yes yes hamburger-hiphop style-kewl) to compose an inspiring rap song......don't make faces...of course I will write it here.... it's MY blog !! ok so here it goes ...   "let us do the study thing...or we'll both go ding ding ding...ding ding is no good sit down with your books ya...sit down NOW -say bow -vow .....gili gili chhhoooo yaa"    (I am great I need for applause ....) of course you get a better feel when i sing it in my unique style....anyways not everyone is lucky.....

and and and there are red ants everywhere......first of all unfortunately they do not eat babies and their organization skills mock the hell out me...... recently I also realized that my entire family is crazy when I found my dad exploring the walls of his room with a torch...... hidden treasure?? trap door?? Well I asked him "What are you doing???"  ...reply: " look at these shundor line kore jay na...shei ranna ghor theke line kore ashche"........errrr okay.... I have a love-hate relationship with times I squash them mercilessly under my hawaii choti upgraded to aerosoft stylish chappals....and sometimes when the sensitive me awakens I try and imagine how would I feel if the ceiling crashed on me in a second.....well then I let it go...

and these ants make my mother crazy as well....once i returned home from college to find weird light green lines all over my bed ..."MAAAAA" .....she entered and solemnly declared that : "Laxman rekha na dile moteo jaabe na"......that ants= laxman rekha everywhere.....If my mother had her way she would draw those lines on my limbs as well. Me and dad tried to explain "You Know this is toxic, we could die"....but even the brand ambassador of laxman rekha wouldn't have defended the product so hail laxman rekha ! one remedy I like  is sprinkling kerosene...i adore that divine smell...

anyways enough time wasted...Time to get back to les livres.

Sunday, 24 April 2011

MUM's the Word. Naaah!

Well I thought i'll bid farewell to blogging till my exams are over, but i am wasting a lot of time as it is , so why not blog? ..I can survive another guilt pang.

well my mother is out of station and here is how things are going.

Some relatives call to console and offer help , acting on the presumption that my life has qualitatively deteriorated due to my mother's absence, but very often they are disappointed...let me give a small example:

aunt: " hiii what are you doing?"

me:  "  eating muri (puffed rice) with chola"

aunt: "see this is what happens when mums go away....."

me: " when mum is here i eat the same thing without the chola...this.. I bought"

aunt:  "O"

(I guess she assumed everyday my mom had no job except cooking for 24 hours and preparing gourmet meals for me)

Shifting to slightly spiritual stuff now.

My mom has this puja corner where she devotes many hours doing things like reading thin books in a sing-song voice once a week (I am stating facts not disrespecting "the" gods.:P). Needless to say before going she instructed her husband, my dear father in an earnest tone "shokale thakur debe"...(hilarious literal translation is "giving god") ...err well that refers to the elaborate ritual of wiping all the photos of the divine beings and showering water over the shiva linga and laying out food (read three tiny cubes of sugar) and water for them.

In my childhood I was very fascinated by this process and took great pleasure in doing all this....not out of any religious feelings but because i saw it as an extension of my "rannabati khela"...or playing "ghar-ghar"....obviously such innocent charming perspectives do not exist now.  My mother laid the important morning divine duties on my father's able shoulders and I was asked  to light the incense sticks in the evening--talk about labour hierarchy. She left on wednesday. Yesterday (saturday)..... Dad and I, in a sublime moment, looked at that corner, was covered in dust. Like remorseless beings we laughed and joked about this great fault. Waiting for retribution (trust me one month before my exam that is a brave act).

Another key area where I will shift my focus now is the kitchen. We have a huge problem there since I am a vegetarian and my parents are not.  So today I made two veg dishes and this is what followed:

me to dad: I cooked....

dad: what?

me: panir and soyabean ka bhurji and baby corn

dad: --------------- (expression was as if I had stabbed him)

me (sheepishly) :  uhhhh mashi (maid) has cooked fish for you

dad: (weak smile, recovering-from-a-near-death-experience type expression)


so yaah my dear well-wishers we are managing fine....nutritionally speaking of course...about the Gods..ahh they have a will of their own ...why bother !

tata !


Tuesday, 19 April 2011

Spare A Thought Please.

I am still debating whether to write on this issue or not, I might come across as preachy and an annoying miss-goody-two-shoes, but, what the hell...!

It is about something that I have felt right from my first day in college and sadly I still feel the same way--- students just do not bother to talk in a respectful manner when they are communicating with teachers.

I remember back in my school days, a teacher's entry would mean that sing-song "goooooooood morrrrrrning ma'm" and a similar ritual when they left. The rule was the same regardless of the fact whether we liked or hated the teacher. Asking questions to a teacher would mean talking in the most respectful way possible. Things changed in college. 

My college was nothing better than a school, it was a virtual prison, yet I noticed from the first day that remarkably different tone which some students used while talking to teachers. What surprised me all the more was the fact that the teachers did not rebuke them, may be that was  the norm. Teachers can be friends, and one need not always be almost sycophantic while talking to them but still the basic tone of respect (god-knows what I mean by that, do not ask me to explain) was lacking in a few people (not all mind you).

But that was almost 5 years back, what prompted me to write this today is something that occurred yesterday. A person (this was not the first time) talked to a teacher in a way that made me feel as if the teacher was a log lost junior buddy, on top that the tone was one of accusation. 

I agree that all teachers are not great at teaching, some of them are lousy persons and go on making our lives miserable in class and they might even be clueless about what they are saying, BUT  at the end of the day, they are teachers, someone next to your parents (please do not make faces, i know it sounds super-idealistic but that is true). 

You do not have to fall in love with the teacher and you can utter curses under your breath when he or she leaves the class, and have a gala time mimicking them but the minimum you can do is show some respect while talking- and THAT  is not buttering, THAT is basic (very basic) courtesy.

I do not know about the teacher-student equation in other countries and I do not want to know. I like the way things were when we were back in school. One can be friendly and close to the students yet there is always a thin line between casual disrespect and warm respect. Am i overrating "respect" ? may be. Don't care. Each to his own, this is my view and I jolly-well stick to it.


Sunday, 27 March 2011

Ingredients Alone Do Not A Perfect Dish Make.

In Fond Memory Of My Sunday: A page from The Diary Of A Not-So-Young Girl.

I had spent Saturday night and Sunday morning pondering about some grave truths:

  • Some couples should invest in a mutual fund instead of breeding. All they look for is "return on investment".
  • Getting a dream job is tough, knowing what it is is tough ^ 2
  • Am I endomorphic .as says my weekly magazine?..(the body type for which fasting and work-out does not work )
  • Why am I suddenly unable to finish certain books , which I do not actually find boring?
etc etc.   

Needless to say, my thoughts did not exactly shine bright .........a gloomy stage had been set.

Had every reason to be happy on Sunday, a lazy morning, the prospect of spending time with a friend, dinner at a fancy restaurant and so on..... yet a mind numbing boredom weighed heavy. After all Sundays are "brushing-at-1p.m " days. .. a slew of activities can ruin it. Sulked the entire day ( I am an expert at that).

Did not meet the friend...went for dinner at that fancy place....apart from few moments, got totally bored.
A couple of hours at a mediocre restaurant with a few good pals, or half an hour with a person with whom conversation is not a labour seems divine...and compared to that...the 3 odd hours spent at a fancy place, exchanging stupid pleasantries, being too conscious  of the decor  royally screws my mood.

And honestly....I found the food quite mediocre....barring the appetizer, which was a palak-cheese kabab (some of my non-vegetarian friends will die even trying to imagine what a veg kabab looks like !)

Dress up, travel to that place, eat those fancy stuff, admire the an obscene bill  (or watch r dad pay..ya don't judge me....I'm still a student ..obliging the world by studying)...

I am really sorry.....can you please leave me alone with a Dominoes pizza and a movie/book/nothing ...... ? It would suit me just fine.

PS: When I started this blog, I promised myself, no sob stories, no diary-like confessions etc etc. . But I have decided to allow myself an exception here and there (still adamant about the sob-stories part though).
I have realized I love reading about what goes on in people's lives (I am curious, bitchy,inquisitive and all that...unapologetically so.) , of course the details have to be non-cheesy, interesting, fun, or listless. So I am going to indulge in all that myself. With few readers, my blog is my best-bet right now!

Good Night.

Tuesday, 22 March 2011

Rescuing Brands

Actors and Cricketers charge a fortune for brand endorsements........ the following can come to their rescue.

Zeus:     Thums Up                  Taste The Thunder

Paris:     Lehar                Control Nahi Hota

Helen:   Loreal                I'm Worth It

Archimedes   Moov        Ah se AHA tak

Achilles (some may not agree)  Sprite          Seedhi Baat. No bakwas. Clear Hain?

Hercules  Rin                Dho Daala

Menelaus  Mirinda          Zor Ka Jhatka Zor Se Lage

Chorus (in most plays)   Garnier      Take Care!