Sonia Gandhi who now declares "We can no longer sit back....."
This after almost 5 years of governance!!!
Sure you can't sit back, lady...Not with elections round the corner.
L.K Advani & Raj Nath Singh who refused to participate in the Government's all party meet because they wanted to go campaigning...
Non participation makes the blame game so much easier, does it not?
The CM of Maharashtra who visited the Taj with his entertainer son and a film director in tow...
Gifting Idea for the Deshmukh family: A copy of Julius Caesar with the "Caesar's wife must be above suspicion" quote flagged for easy reference???
R.R. Patil, the Dy. CM of Maharashtra, who claims that such incidents can happen in a big city
What if it had been the state Government which was held hostage in its seat of power?
Abhishek Singhvi who told the survivors of the ordeal, & an entire nation, that if R.R Patil remotely meant what he said, to trivialise the acts of terror in anyway, he would be the first to condemn him.
Seriously Mr. Singhvi, who bloody cares what he meant?
Interestingly, in the NDTV show 'We The People' aired earlier this evening, Barkha Dutt mentioned that the channel had attempted and failed to rope in several politicians to participate in a discussion with the survivors of the ordeal and a few leading citizens of the city. Apparently, Abhishek Singhvi was the only one who accepted the gauntlet.
So why didn't Ms. Dutt name the politicians and expose them for the yellow bellied skunks they are?
Post Update
And just when we thought the politicos couldn't sink any lower, Mukhtar Abbas Naqvi of the "lipstick & powder" gaffe and V S Achuthanandan of " ....Even a dog would not have visited that house" fame, stepped up to restore the public's faith in the Slime Quotient of our politicians.
When will we see light at the end of the tunnel???
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Mommy Fetch!
Yet another rainy day in Chennai city.
I had spent the greater part of my day flipping through NDTV & CNN-IBN and devising new methods of torture for the terrorists in Mumbai. Across the table, Ging napped on my favourite chair.
A wet little mouse screwed his courage to the sticking point and ventured inside timidly, seeking shelter from the pelting rain....straight into the path of two startled moggies.
I glanced at Ging in excitement, half expecting her to pounce on the mouse and mince it to mush.
But instead, a pair of of luminous grey eyes glowed back, flashing an urgent message at me
"Mouse, mommy....GO FETCH..."
@#$@*^&$!!!!
I had spent the greater part of my day flipping through NDTV & CNN-IBN and devising new methods of torture for the terrorists in Mumbai. Across the table, Ging napped on my favourite chair.
A wet little mouse screwed his courage to the sticking point and ventured inside timidly, seeking shelter from the pelting rain....straight into the path of two startled moggies.
I glanced at Ging in excitement, half expecting her to pounce on the mouse and mince it to mush.
But instead, a pair of of luminous grey eyes glowed back, flashing an urgent message at me
"Mouse, mommy....GO FETCH..."
@#$@*^&$!!!!
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Salut Mumbai!!!
The terror and carnage is back....Once again, India bleeds. This time, we have been hit where it really hurts!
Mumbai is a city besieged...And the nightmare continues even as I type.
Like millions across the country, I can only suppress my horror and pray for some reprieve...Mumbai needs our prayers like never before.
Brave men have laid down their lives....Civilians, Commandos, Policemen, Tourists......Innocent people are still being killed. May God keep their souls and grant their loved ones the strength to cope with the loss. The media, as expected, is turning this into a circus. The only saving grace is that the blame game is not on...Thank goodness for small mercies!
The name of the outfit responsible matters no more....The Lashkar, SIMI or Mujahiddins of any nomenclature....What is in a name, after all? Terrorists, by any name, are still terrorists.
The only thing that matters is that the situation be dealt with with an iron hand... By the concerned agencies, the Government and by each and every denizen of this country.
When I spoke to friends and colleagues in Mumbai this morning, I was amazed to hear that life still goes on. People are out at work, on the roads, thumbing their noses at those who would tear asunder the fabric of our nation...
Bravo Mumbai, Bravo!
Mumbai is a city besieged...And the nightmare continues even as I type.
Like millions across the country, I can only suppress my horror and pray for some reprieve...Mumbai needs our prayers like never before.
Brave men have laid down their lives....Civilians, Commandos, Policemen, Tourists......Innocent people are still being killed. May God keep their souls and grant their loved ones the strength to cope with the loss. The media, as expected, is turning this into a circus. The only saving grace is that the blame game is not on...Thank goodness for small mercies!
The name of the outfit responsible matters no more....The Lashkar, SIMI or Mujahiddins of any nomenclature....What is in a name, after all? Terrorists, by any name, are still terrorists.
The only thing that matters is that the situation be dealt with with an iron hand... By the concerned agencies, the Government and by each and every denizen of this country.
When I spoke to friends and colleagues in Mumbai this morning, I was amazed to hear that life still goes on. People are out at work, on the roads, thumbing their noses at those who would tear asunder the fabric of our nation...
Bravo Mumbai, Bravo!
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The Lost Anniversary & A Goodbye Left Unsaid
It has been one year since we moved in. Artfully hidden somewhere in the next two weeks, is the day Ging walked into our lives and mewed us into submission. Sadly, none of us can remember the actual date, because a case of mistaken identity left us oblivious to her entry into the moggie household.
End November 2007, Dsk, Orange and I moved into our present house. For those not in the know, Orange was our indolent tabby who had come into our lives just 6 months before. He was the exact replica of Ging..Only fatter, less demanding and capable of infinite love. Although he lacked the independence of most other cats I knew, he was my special cuddle bunny who allowed me to smother him with affection, never letting go of any opportunity to snuggle into my arms.
Shifting a cat to a new home can be a daunting prospect as most cat moms know. Even so, I wasn't worried. Moving Orange, I assumed, would not be a serious problem. After all, he was such a low maintenance kitty. As long as I was in sight and on hand for some tender loving, I believed that Orange wouldn't protest overmuch. And he didn't...Not when I put him into the unfamiliar carrier for the first time in his life....Nor when he and I rode the broken, bumpy roads to our new home. It was only confinement that he took exception to.
A month after we moved in, Orange broke a little window on the landing and set out to discover the new world around him. For two weeks, I fretted and worried. And when a thinner and noisier cat reappeared on the doorstep, I was far too happy and relieved to suspect that life had switched cats on us. By the time I realised that the kitty which seemed drunk on freedom was in fact a whole different feline, Ging was in charge.
I saw Orange just once after.
He popped in to say hello and much to Ging's horror, stayed on for one last cuddle in my arms...Before strolling away jauntily, into another pair of warm, loving arms. Or so I hope.
It was a farewell of sorts...I see that now...
And he left in his stead, a little feline monster with an aversion to intimacy except when faced with the possibility of loss.
I would like to think that Orange knew the world was filled with hearts to love him and made way for a temperamental little diva called Ging, whom only a true lover of animals could accept into their hearts....Perhaps he sensed that she and I were, in a sense, kindred souls who needed and belonged with each other....
Because as I sit on my weather beaten couch with Ging gently snoring beside me, her paw just about touching my thigh, I realise that the excruciating pain of losing Orange has waned....And the wistful longing which used to grip me in the past has now given way to fond memories that warm my soul.
I suppose the time has come for me to say, with all my heart, God Speed Onj...Welcome Home Ging....And yes, Happy Anniversary House!!!.
End November 2007, Dsk, Orange and I moved into our present house. For those not in the know, Orange was our indolent tabby who had come into our lives just 6 months before. He was the exact replica of Ging..Only fatter, less demanding and capable of infinite love. Although he lacked the independence of most other cats I knew, he was my special cuddle bunny who allowed me to smother him with affection, never letting go of any opportunity to snuggle into my arms.
Shifting a cat to a new home can be a daunting prospect as most cat moms know. Even so, I wasn't worried. Moving Orange, I assumed, would not be a serious problem. After all, he was such a low maintenance kitty. As long as I was in sight and on hand for some tender loving, I believed that Orange wouldn't protest overmuch. And he didn't...Not when I put him into the unfamiliar carrier for the first time in his life....Nor when he and I rode the broken, bumpy roads to our new home. It was only confinement that he took exception to.
A month after we moved in, Orange broke a little window on the landing and set out to discover the new world around him. For two weeks, I fretted and worried. And when a thinner and noisier cat reappeared on the doorstep, I was far too happy and relieved to suspect that life had switched cats on us. By the time I realised that the kitty which seemed drunk on freedom was in fact a whole different feline, Ging was in charge.
I saw Orange just once after.
He popped in to say hello and much to Ging's horror, stayed on for one last cuddle in my arms...Before strolling away jauntily, into another pair of warm, loving arms. Or so I hope.
It was a farewell of sorts...I see that now...
And he left in his stead, a little feline monster with an aversion to intimacy except when faced with the possibility of loss.
I would like to think that Orange knew the world was filled with hearts to love him and made way for a temperamental little diva called Ging, whom only a true lover of animals could accept into their hearts....Perhaps he sensed that she and I were, in a sense, kindred souls who needed and belonged with each other....
Because as I sit on my weather beaten couch with Ging gently snoring beside me, her paw just about touching my thigh, I realise that the excruciating pain of losing Orange has waned....And the wistful longing which used to grip me in the past has now given way to fond memories that warm my soul.
I suppose the time has come for me to say, with all my heart, God Speed Onj...Welcome Home Ging....And yes, Happy Anniversary House!!!.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The Great Indian Train Chase...
Have you ever run after a departing train and managed to board it just in the nick of time? As Kajol did, years ago, in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge...And as Kareena failed to do, more recently, in Jab We Met?
Well, I did this morning....And, it was nothing like in the movies!!!
For starters, there were no handsome heroes, either on the train or off it, to make the run worthwhile. At 5:45 a.m, potential candidates were still tucked in their warm cozy beds, oblivious to my plight on platform no. 7 of Bangalore's central railway station. All I had by way of company was an unkempt porter in clothes that reeked of sweat and with a breath so stale, that I am sure, every little microbe in the vicinity must have quietly curled up and died.
He looked, smelt and sounded like a typical Bollywood villain's flunky.
But, with my train due to depart in precisely 10 minutes from a platform right across the station and no other porter in sight, my options were limited. Come hell fire or high tide, I had to board that train home. And so, the villainous porter and I ran as if the hell hounds were breathing fire at our heels.
I wish I could claim to have run as gracefully as the Bollywood heroines. But sadly, I was bogged down by several layers of lard, a rather large hand bag as well as a laptop bag about to burst at the seams. And, I am afraid that I must have resembled a podgy little potato rather than a sinuous beauty....A squat little spud on heels who huffed and puffed and jerked and jolted all the way up and down the stairs and across the bridge until the train was in sight. To add insult to injury, the villainous porter who bore my cases on his head not only outran me with ease, but also paused at intervals to cheer me on!!!
We managed to make it into the train with a minute to spare.
While the porter stashed my bags away, I sank with relief into my seat gasping like the proverbial fish out of water....Given the sweat bath my body was experiencing, I probably smelt like one too.
Baggage stowed away safely, the villain turned hero beamed in triumph at me. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, a voice warned me against making hasty judgements about people. As I wheezed out my gratitude to this most unlikely of knights, I was accosted by a grubby outstretched palm which I promptly lined with three crisp 50 rupee notes.
" Madam, ini 150 kodi....." [ Madam, give me 150 more]
The noxious fumes from his mouth quite overwhelmed me. Too exhausted to argue, I extracted a crisp 100 and as I rooted for more amongst the jumble in my bag, the train jerked and gently began to move. The villain porter grabbed the 100 in my hand and had dashed down the passage, out of the door and onto the platform....Before I could even say Shakthi Kapoor.
*Hmmmph*
Once a villain, always a villain!!!
Well, I did this morning....And, it was nothing like in the movies!!!
For starters, there were no handsome heroes, either on the train or off it, to make the run worthwhile. At 5:45 a.m, potential candidates were still tucked in their warm cozy beds, oblivious to my plight on platform no. 7 of Bangalore's central railway station. All I had by way of company was an unkempt porter in clothes that reeked of sweat and with a breath so stale, that I am sure, every little microbe in the vicinity must have quietly curled up and died.
He looked, smelt and sounded like a typical Bollywood villain's flunky.
But, with my train due to depart in precisely 10 minutes from a platform right across the station and no other porter in sight, my options were limited. Come hell fire or high tide, I had to board that train home. And so, the villainous porter and I ran as if the hell hounds were breathing fire at our heels.
I wish I could claim to have run as gracefully as the Bollywood heroines. But sadly, I was bogged down by several layers of lard, a rather large hand bag as well as a laptop bag about to burst at the seams. And, I am afraid that I must have resembled a podgy little potato rather than a sinuous beauty....A squat little spud on heels who huffed and puffed and jerked and jolted all the way up and down the stairs and across the bridge until the train was in sight. To add insult to injury, the villainous porter who bore my cases on his head not only outran me with ease, but also paused at intervals to cheer me on!!!
We managed to make it into the train with a minute to spare.
While the porter stashed my bags away, I sank with relief into my seat gasping like the proverbial fish out of water....Given the sweat bath my body was experiencing, I probably smelt like one too.
Baggage stowed away safely, the villain turned hero beamed in triumph at me. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, a voice warned me against making hasty judgements about people. As I wheezed out my gratitude to this most unlikely of knights, I was accosted by a grubby outstretched palm which I promptly lined with three crisp 50 rupee notes.
" Madam, ini 150 kodi....." [ Madam, give me 150 more]
The noxious fumes from his mouth quite overwhelmed me. Too exhausted to argue, I extracted a crisp 100 and as I rooted for more amongst the jumble in my bag, the train jerked and gently began to move. The villain porter grabbed the 100 in my hand and had dashed down the passage, out of the door and onto the platform....Before I could even say Shakthi Kapoor.
*Hmmmph*
Once a villain, always a villain!!!
Friday, November 21, 2008
Belonging
At times, what you want desperately is something you cannot have.....
.
And yet, in a mysterious cosmic way, it is yours.
:) :)
.
And yet, in a mysterious cosmic way, it is yours.
:) :)
Thursday, November 20, 2008
An Ambition For Self Destruction
There is a battle raging in my body!!!.. And I didn't even know...
I had always assumed that I was challenged as far as issuing directions went. If I said right, the left hand would automatically pop up. And when the left was called upon to lead the way, the right was all too ready to upstage it. At first, I assumed I was being absent minded. But when months of diligent effort failed to rectify the mysterious cross responsiveness of my hands, I wrote it off as a trifling foible and one which would only enhance my cuteness quotient.
No small wonder that even remote acquaintances refuse to allot the role of navigator to me. However, the poor unsuspecting auto and cab drivers of South India who are not in the know, inevitably fall victim to my garbled instructions and often waste precious minutes retracing paths.
This morning, after I had confounded my umpteenth cab driver, self doubt struck.
I decided that I simply had to know if the mystery of my recalcitrant hands was rooted in some unheard of, unpronounceable disorder of the nerves. And an hour later, I had my answer. What seemed as a coordination disorder was merely a battle for supremacy between the two hands.
Yes indeed....believe you me, people!!!
Apparently, hands have Alphas too....
While most people's hands take turns at being the boss, it appeared that both of mine were clamouring for power and were unwilling to consider a compromise!!!
My new found knowledge explained why I was able to use both my hands dexterously. It explained the secret behind my swift typing skills...As well as my propensity for typos. And sadly, it also explained my clumsiness.
If there was a piece of china to be dropped and smashed into smithereens, liquids to be splashed, food to be spilled or a pile of cans to be tumbled at the supermarket, I was sure to rise to the occasion. How could I hope to be graceful and fluid in my movements if my hands were competing with each other instead of working as a team?? And if that wasn't bad enough, I realised that the many cuts, nicks and burns my fingers sustained over the years and of which scars remained, could only be attributed to the blood thirsty machinations of my own two hands.
Talk about cutting off one's own digits to spite oneself!!!
Clearly, both had not been listening when the rest of me was enraptured by Lady Macbeth's efforts to cleanse her hands!!!
So, how does one effect truce between such barbaric body parts? It wasn't as if I could pick one for neutering and resolve the situation!!! But a solution I had to find..Before my hands mutilated each other and I resembled a victim of a serious psychotic disorder!!!
As I pondered my options, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps my tendency to trip and fall at periodic intervals, for no obvious reason, could perhaps be yet another secret war raging in my body...between my feet!!!
*long deep sigh*
Warring hands.....Squabbling feet....Some people have all the luck, don't they???
I had always assumed that I was challenged as far as issuing directions went. If I said right, the left hand would automatically pop up. And when the left was called upon to lead the way, the right was all too ready to upstage it. At first, I assumed I was being absent minded. But when months of diligent effort failed to rectify the mysterious cross responsiveness of my hands, I wrote it off as a trifling foible and one which would only enhance my cuteness quotient.
No small wonder that even remote acquaintances refuse to allot the role of navigator to me. However, the poor unsuspecting auto and cab drivers of South India who are not in the know, inevitably fall victim to my garbled instructions and often waste precious minutes retracing paths.
This morning, after I had confounded my umpteenth cab driver, self doubt struck.
I decided that I simply had to know if the mystery of my recalcitrant hands was rooted in some unheard of, unpronounceable disorder of the nerves. And an hour later, I had my answer. What seemed as a coordination disorder was merely a battle for supremacy between the two hands.
Yes indeed....believe you me, people!!!
Apparently, hands have Alphas too....
While most people's hands take turns at being the boss, it appeared that both of mine were clamouring for power and were unwilling to consider a compromise!!!
My new found knowledge explained why I was able to use both my hands dexterously. It explained the secret behind my swift typing skills...As well as my propensity for typos. And sadly, it also explained my clumsiness.
If there was a piece of china to be dropped and smashed into smithereens, liquids to be splashed, food to be spilled or a pile of cans to be tumbled at the supermarket, I was sure to rise to the occasion. How could I hope to be graceful and fluid in my movements if my hands were competing with each other instead of working as a team?? And if that wasn't bad enough, I realised that the many cuts, nicks and burns my fingers sustained over the years and of which scars remained, could only be attributed to the blood thirsty machinations of my own two hands.
Talk about cutting off one's own digits to spite oneself!!!
Clearly, both had not been listening when the rest of me was enraptured by Lady Macbeth's efforts to cleanse her hands!!!
So, how does one effect truce between such barbaric body parts? It wasn't as if I could pick one for neutering and resolve the situation!!! But a solution I had to find..Before my hands mutilated each other and I resembled a victim of a serious psychotic disorder!!!
As I pondered my options, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps my tendency to trip and fall at periodic intervals, for no obvious reason, could perhaps be yet another secret war raging in my body...between my feet!!!
*long deep sigh*
Warring hands.....Squabbling feet....Some people have all the luck, don't they???
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Weighing Jumbo...
Ill news travels fast, I hear. And now I know.
It appears that news about Operation Downsize Jumbo has spread far and wide. The martians are popping up from behind every little shrub and tree, to lend their services in helping Jumbo shed her lubber.
My friend Vicky threatened to conduct a fat test on me in 6 months and pulverise the Diet Controller if as much as an itsy-bitsy cell of fat chanced to stray into the test stream....A threat which I suspect has motivated my former Diet Controller into planning a long vacation in Timbuktu.
Another studied my newest photograph and hectored me for an hour on the fat zones on my face, paying little heed to my protests that the chubby cheeks were a legacy from my dear departed father. I dread to think what he would have to say about my hips and thighs...An inheritance from my doting mother, which I would have cheerfully passed on to my sibling if I had been given any say in the matter.
The third, supposedly sympathetic, rang up to "motivate" me into staying on course...
" Hey, so you have become really fat, huh?"
" Err, not really...I mean I think I have lost some weight..."
" Oh yeah?"
The sarcasm that drips from his voice forms a caustic puddle between us. Beware all ye little creatures who blithely go about your business on earth...A dip in the toxic pool would suffice to transform y'all into little mutant balls of lard!!!
" So how much weight have you lost? 1 gm?"
" Noo...actually, I dunno"
" Liar!!!"
" I seriously do not know"
" What was your weight a month ago?"
"....I dunno..."
" Ok, what is your weight now?.."
"...mmmm...clueless"
" Why aren't you weighing yourself? What kind of a weight loss drive is this where you do not weigh yourself??? Don't tell me you have broken your weighing scale...."
I thoughtfully chew the flat end of my favourite multi-coloured pencil as I wonder how to break the news that I did not possess a weighing scale.... Never did.... And I had no intentions of acquiring one at this stage of life.
" Err, I don't have a weighing scale..."
" You are kidding me, right? "
" Nopes"
" Then how on earth do you know if you have lost or gained weight???"
" Well, I just go by the jeans..."
" The jeans???"..'
" yeah and the blouses.."
The pained silence which greeted my confession would have fazed anyone else other than a pachyderm. But we pachyderms are a breed apart. Nothing fazes us...well, except the possibility of being deprived of our favourite food and drink.
But all the same, I thought my well meaning friend deserved an explanation.
"You see, I know if I have lost weight by the fit of my jeans and my sari blouses..So every now and then, I make sure I try on both just so that I can keep track...if its loose, I know I have lost some weight and if it is tight, I know its time to watch the diet...And when I outgrow a pair, I know its time for drastic measures..."
Again, the silence....I couldn't even hear his brains creaking and cranking!!!
" Oh come on, the only thing that matters is the way we look, right? I mean I cannot walk around sporting a display board with my weight on it, can I? And what could be a better measure of one's figure than a pair of jeans and a sari blouse?.... "
And for once, my irrepressible martian friend was at a loss for words.
It appears that news about Operation Downsize Jumbo has spread far and wide. The martians are popping up from behind every little shrub and tree, to lend their services in helping Jumbo shed her lubber.
My friend Vicky threatened to conduct a fat test on me in 6 months and pulverise the Diet Controller if as much as an itsy-bitsy cell of fat chanced to stray into the test stream....A threat which I suspect has motivated my former Diet Controller into planning a long vacation in Timbuktu.
Another studied my newest photograph and hectored me for an hour on the fat zones on my face, paying little heed to my protests that the chubby cheeks were a legacy from my dear departed father. I dread to think what he would have to say about my hips and thighs...An inheritance from my doting mother, which I would have cheerfully passed on to my sibling if I had been given any say in the matter.
The third, supposedly sympathetic, rang up to "motivate" me into staying on course...
" Hey, so you have become really fat, huh?"
" Err, not really...I mean I think I have lost some weight..."
" Oh yeah?"
The sarcasm that drips from his voice forms a caustic puddle between us. Beware all ye little creatures who blithely go about your business on earth...A dip in the toxic pool would suffice to transform y'all into little mutant balls of lard!!!
" So how much weight have you lost? 1 gm?"
" Noo...actually, I dunno"
" Liar!!!"
" I seriously do not know"
" What was your weight a month ago?"
"....I dunno..."
" Ok, what is your weight now?.."
"...mmmm...clueless"
" Why aren't you weighing yourself? What kind of a weight loss drive is this where you do not weigh yourself??? Don't tell me you have broken your weighing scale...."
I thoughtfully chew the flat end of my favourite multi-coloured pencil as I wonder how to break the news that I did not possess a weighing scale.... Never did.... And I had no intentions of acquiring one at this stage of life.
" Err, I don't have a weighing scale..."
" You are kidding me, right? "
" Nopes"
" Then how on earth do you know if you have lost or gained weight???"
" Well, I just go by the jeans..."
" The jeans???"..'
" yeah and the blouses.."
The pained silence which greeted my confession would have fazed anyone else other than a pachyderm. But we pachyderms are a breed apart. Nothing fazes us...well, except the possibility of being deprived of our favourite food and drink.
But all the same, I thought my well meaning friend deserved an explanation.
"You see, I know if I have lost weight by the fit of my jeans and my sari blouses..So every now and then, I make sure I try on both just so that I can keep track...if its loose, I know I have lost some weight and if it is tight, I know its time to watch the diet...And when I outgrow a pair, I know its time for drastic measures..."
Again, the silence....I couldn't even hear his brains creaking and cranking!!!
" Oh come on, the only thing that matters is the way we look, right? I mean I cannot walk around sporting a display board with my weight on it, can I? And what could be a better measure of one's figure than a pair of jeans and a sari blouse?.... "
And for once, my irrepressible martian friend was at a loss for words.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Where The Mind Is With Fear
" Do you know how many call girls I can get with just a phone call?" he asked in exasperated amusement...
" Very many I know" she replied.....
...And she wondered if she would ever dare say the same with such casual confidence?
Even to he who was the love of her life and her closest confidante?
Would any woman dare?.....
So much for women's liberation.....
" Very many I know" she replied.....
...And she wondered if she would ever dare say the same with such casual confidence?
Even to he who was the love of her life and her closest confidante?
Would any woman dare?.....
So much for women's liberation.....
Downsizing Jumbo!
Never let go of your sisters, they say. Amen to that.
Where would we be if we didn't have our safe, warm Venusian cocoons to retreat into for that special brand of sisterly love to cope with the highs and lows of life? Probably lolling about on the couch glued to the idiot box with candy wrappers and tubs of ice cream strewn about our feet. Or pounding the payments in search of retail therapy.
As much as I love my women friends, I must confess that there are instances when the male of the species is definitely more effective...Say like when the fat monsters come for a visit and overstay like the proverbial camel!!! Gain a pound and all my male friends descend on me like demons from hell, while my girl friends only soothe my battered ego and sympathise.
No small wonder that I have been fighting a loosing battle against the bulge for as long as I can remember. The rare lean days that came my way were all gone with the wind before it even registered. In vain have I scoured the the earth for suitable diets and practical exercise regimens. And when that failed, I learned to suck in my stomach and hold my breath until I was pink in the face. When people raved about my peaches and cream complexion, I smiled a secret smile and kept counting to 100...
But with age came sluggish metabolism. And before I knew it, I had transformed from voluptuous to jumbo size. The roses in my cheeks disappeared into fleshy folds and I even contemplated whale bone stays and corsets to contain the girth. On the best of days, I looked and felt like a dwarf pachyderm.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. So when the gazillionth square of gooey fudge brownie had found its way to my hips, I decided to recruit the most ruthless of my male friends into Operation Downsize Jumbo.
Venu, my fitness guru from back home, was the first one on board....His fitness blue print and caustic barbs drove the carbs out of the window and, much to my regret, sugar, spice and everything remotely sinful as well. For two whole months, I diligently puffed away on my cycle, turning a deaf ear to the enticing pleas of my favourite foods as they clamoured for attention in the windows of my mind. Sadly, I was never the one for discipline nor abstinence. And ever so slowly, the calories trickled back in until the exercise could no longer combat its effect.
A Diet Controller, I decided, was the need of the hour and who better than my good friend and fitness maniac Anu?? Anu took to his new role with the utmost zeal and relish which, might I add, bordered on sadism. I was required to report in on every morsel that passed through my lips....Consumed only after an in-depth discussion on its protein-carb-fat content. In between meals, I was besieged with messages that threatened dire consequences if I were to succumb to the charms of the grass skirted hula dancing chocolate donuts or the tantalising smells that emanated from the local patisserie.
I should have shed a considerable amount of lubber and probably would have, if it weren't for the fact that the forbidden fruit was indeed unspeakably desirable. " No point fighting the lard. Let us all just remain happily fat" crooned the voices in my head as I watched the retreating back of my Diet Controller. And for sometime, we - me, my fat cells and the voices in my head - were just that....Happily Fat!
But the happy state of affairs was not to last.
Enter R, a very dear friend, who decided that I needed to be taken in hand and pounded into shape...Not because it would make me look good, but because, it was important for me to be healthy. He did prove to be a lot more effective than his predecessors. Probably because there were no pointed barbs, no veiled or direct threats and above all, no extensive bad foods list to adhere to. All R wanted me to do was to exercise and eat in moderation..And this he achieved by gently prodding me into action with his lazy humour - " hey, your lips have gotten fatter in just two days!..." - which inevitably brings on an anxiety attack.
It has been close to 20 days now and I have so far, not fallen off the wagon.
If R goes the way of his predecessors, I shall find myself some happily fat friends with whom I can gorge myself to repulsive corpulence...Just so that the rest of the 'Wanna-Be skinnies' can feel good about themselves.
*Sigh* .....Such Altruism!!!
Where would we be if we didn't have our safe, warm Venusian cocoons to retreat into for that special brand of sisterly love to cope with the highs and lows of life? Probably lolling about on the couch glued to the idiot box with candy wrappers and tubs of ice cream strewn about our feet. Or pounding the payments in search of retail therapy.
As much as I love my women friends, I must confess that there are instances when the male of the species is definitely more effective...Say like when the fat monsters come for a visit and overstay like the proverbial camel!!! Gain a pound and all my male friends descend on me like demons from hell, while my girl friends only soothe my battered ego and sympathise.
No small wonder that I have been fighting a loosing battle against the bulge for as long as I can remember. The rare lean days that came my way were all gone with the wind before it even registered. In vain have I scoured the the earth for suitable diets and practical exercise regimens. And when that failed, I learned to suck in my stomach and hold my breath until I was pink in the face. When people raved about my peaches and cream complexion, I smiled a secret smile and kept counting to 100...
But with age came sluggish metabolism. And before I knew it, I had transformed from voluptuous to jumbo size. The roses in my cheeks disappeared into fleshy folds and I even contemplated whale bone stays and corsets to contain the girth. On the best of days, I looked and felt like a dwarf pachyderm.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. So when the gazillionth square of gooey fudge brownie had found its way to my hips, I decided to recruit the most ruthless of my male friends into Operation Downsize Jumbo.
Venu, my fitness guru from back home, was the first one on board....His fitness blue print and caustic barbs drove the carbs out of the window and, much to my regret, sugar, spice and everything remotely sinful as well. For two whole months, I diligently puffed away on my cycle, turning a deaf ear to the enticing pleas of my favourite foods as they clamoured for attention in the windows of my mind. Sadly, I was never the one for discipline nor abstinence. And ever so slowly, the calories trickled back in until the exercise could no longer combat its effect.
A Diet Controller, I decided, was the need of the hour and who better than my good friend and fitness maniac Anu?? Anu took to his new role with the utmost zeal and relish which, might I add, bordered on sadism. I was required to report in on every morsel that passed through my lips....Consumed only after an in-depth discussion on its protein-carb-fat content. In between meals, I was besieged with messages that threatened dire consequences if I were to succumb to the charms of the grass skirted hula dancing chocolate donuts or the tantalising smells that emanated from the local patisserie.
I should have shed a considerable amount of lubber and probably would have, if it weren't for the fact that the forbidden fruit was indeed unspeakably desirable. " No point fighting the lard. Let us all just remain happily fat" crooned the voices in my head as I watched the retreating back of my Diet Controller. And for sometime, we - me, my fat cells and the voices in my head - were just that....Happily Fat!
But the happy state of affairs was not to last.
Enter R, a very dear friend, who decided that I needed to be taken in hand and pounded into shape...Not because it would make me look good, but because, it was important for me to be healthy. He did prove to be a lot more effective than his predecessors. Probably because there were no pointed barbs, no veiled or direct threats and above all, no extensive bad foods list to adhere to. All R wanted me to do was to exercise and eat in moderation..And this he achieved by gently prodding me into action with his lazy humour - " hey, your lips have gotten fatter in just two days!..." - which inevitably brings on an anxiety attack.
It has been close to 20 days now and I have so far, not fallen off the wagon.
If R goes the way of his predecessors, I shall find myself some happily fat friends with whom I can gorge myself to repulsive corpulence...Just so that the rest of the 'Wanna-Be skinnies' can feel good about themselves.
*Sigh* .....Such Altruism!!!
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The Alpha Martians Vs. The Corporate Amazon...
Normally, home truths about humanity dawn on me at the most mundane of moments...When I am lounging about in a blue pool..or ambling along without a care in my heart. However, this time, departing from the routine, enlightenment struck at a corporate meeting....And my discovery? The Alpha Martians.
The Alpha Martians are no near extinct species I chanced to stumble upon. They are everywhere...Airports, Pubs, Theatres, on Trains, Orkut, Face Book...In short, everywhere! They proudly trace their bloodline to Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan or at the very least, to the marauding vikings of yore. And they make no bones about wanting to following in the footsteps of their adventure seeking ancestors, by transforming myriad spaces in the modern world into long forgotten battle grounds. Some do so with great forethought and careful planning while others sally forth fueled by adrenaline alone.
At first glance, they can pass off as mere martians but not for long. For you see, the Hun Gene plays second fiddle to none.
As I discovered this morning when a group of martians transformed before my eyes into Alphas of the whimsical kind. It was with a thumping heart that I walked into the meeting room. Bringing a group of martians around to the Venusian point of view is, without doubt, a herculean task. And one which I do not always relish. It calls for master cunning, strategy and a whole load of snicker bars!!!
My entry into the male bastion was noted with interest mingled with speculation. Eyes gleamed rapaciously..... Not at my comely form as I would have liked to flatter myself, but at the prospect of a fresh conquest and the opportunity to show off the martian mental prowess.
" So we have this exhibition coming up and I think its time we sat down to work out a master plan...You know the litera....."
As I opened the discussion, I could almost hear the testosterone addled brains whirring into action. And I had barely progressed past my first sentence when they pounced upon me like a pack of ebullient puppy dogs on a big juicy bone.
" Oh yeah, you should send me a profile so that I can fill up some paperwork for the event..."
" We should get Cd's......maybe a TV screen where we can play a video..."
Without doubt, the hi decibel ideas which were whizzing all over the room were meant to intimidate...As was the pack attack. But the corporate amazon in me remained unfazed. " As I was saying, we should discuss ideas from which we can create a master plan..set deadlines and work systematically.....we need to identify the literature, products to be displayed, the branding for us and our partners,......"
" Oh, that's all easy....we are in a recession, so obviously there won't be a big budget. You can use the back of our neighbour's stall as a wall, put up posters, use some of the existing furniture to display the products...we can check with our partners if they have knock down kits which we can borrow and integrate into our stall...."
As I gaped in astonishment, the alphas plunged on, unmindful of the lone Venusian ranger in their midst.
Strangely enough, I was reminded of my trysts with the Indian breads, especially the part which requires me to knead the dough into putty. I hate kneading dough!!! The task is sticky, tough and my tussle with the stubborn dough almost always exhausts my muscles and extracts the choicest of cuss words from my lips. And here I was experiencing a similar situation with the alpha martians. The question was how would I pound them into putty? As I pondered over my options, my gaze fell upon a rather senior member of the team who seemed absorbed in his work, oblivious to the raucous discussion around him. The weak link I was so desperately looking for!!
" Listen all of you" My strident tone had the desired effect. Attack is indeed the best form of defence and all the more so when it is unexpected. Conversations stop. A few eyes bulge. " This is not purpose of the meeting. I don't need ideas on execution. I am more interested in the expectations of this group is as well as that of your associates, so that we have an event which satisfies everyone. So I want to know a) what literature to print b) products to be displayed c) what would our partners want to see at the event......"
" Our partners have given us a carte blanche as far as the displays and designs go..."
" But have we asked them for opinions?" The silence spoke volumes. And I went in for the kill. "He..." I waved my hand at the quiet martian " He will tell you how embarrassing a situation your boss is going to have on his hand on the opening day if we were to follow the suggestions just given...and even worse, when he has to explain the pathetic show to your unhappy associates..." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the weak link nod sagaciously. ".....And given the fact that we are in the middle of a recession, there is no saying what the consequences would be..."
As I ended on an ominous note, I could see the Alpha pack flatten their ears in a conciliatory gesture.
" Well, maybe we are not quite ready for the meeting....perhaps we should meet in a days time by when we can collect the information required...."
As I graciously sailed out of the room, I could hear them enthusiastically allocate tasks to one another and then commence arguements about it.....
* big broad grin*
Putty!!!
The Alpha Martians are no near extinct species I chanced to stumble upon. They are everywhere...Airports, Pubs, Theatres, on Trains, Orkut, Face Book...In short, everywhere! They proudly trace their bloodline to Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan or at the very least, to the marauding vikings of yore. And they make no bones about wanting to following in the footsteps of their adventure seeking ancestors, by transforming myriad spaces in the modern world into long forgotten battle grounds. Some do so with great forethought and careful planning while others sally forth fueled by adrenaline alone.
At first glance, they can pass off as mere martians but not for long. For you see, the Hun Gene plays second fiddle to none.
As I discovered this morning when a group of martians transformed before my eyes into Alphas of the whimsical kind. It was with a thumping heart that I walked into the meeting room. Bringing a group of martians around to the Venusian point of view is, without doubt, a herculean task. And one which I do not always relish. It calls for master cunning, strategy and a whole load of snicker bars!!!
My entry into the male bastion was noted with interest mingled with speculation. Eyes gleamed rapaciously..... Not at my comely form as I would have liked to flatter myself, but at the prospect of a fresh conquest and the opportunity to show off the martian mental prowess.
" So we have this exhibition coming up and I think its time we sat down to work out a master plan...You know the litera....."
As I opened the discussion, I could almost hear the testosterone addled brains whirring into action. And I had barely progressed past my first sentence when they pounced upon me like a pack of ebullient puppy dogs on a big juicy bone.
" Oh yeah, you should send me a profile so that I can fill up some paperwork for the event..."
" We should get Cd's......maybe a TV screen where we can play a video..."
Without doubt, the hi decibel ideas which were whizzing all over the room were meant to intimidate...As was the pack attack. But the corporate amazon in me remained unfazed. " As I was saying, we should discuss ideas from which we can create a master plan..set deadlines and work systematically.....we need to identify the literature, products to be displayed, the branding for us and our partners,......"
" Oh, that's all easy....we are in a recession, so obviously there won't be a big budget. You can use the back of our neighbour's stall as a wall, put up posters, use some of the existing furniture to display the products...we can check with our partners if they have knock down kits which we can borrow and integrate into our stall...."
As I gaped in astonishment, the alphas plunged on, unmindful of the lone Venusian ranger in their midst.
Strangely enough, I was reminded of my trysts with the Indian breads, especially the part which requires me to knead the dough into putty. I hate kneading dough!!! The task is sticky, tough and my tussle with the stubborn dough almost always exhausts my muscles and extracts the choicest of cuss words from my lips. And here I was experiencing a similar situation with the alpha martians. The question was how would I pound them into putty? As I pondered over my options, my gaze fell upon a rather senior member of the team who seemed absorbed in his work, oblivious to the raucous discussion around him. The weak link I was so desperately looking for!!
" Listen all of you" My strident tone had the desired effect. Attack is indeed the best form of defence and all the more so when it is unexpected. Conversations stop. A few eyes bulge. " This is not purpose of the meeting. I don't need ideas on execution. I am more interested in the expectations of this group is as well as that of your associates, so that we have an event which satisfies everyone. So I want to know a) what literature to print b) products to be displayed c) what would our partners want to see at the event......"
" Our partners have given us a carte blanche as far as the displays and designs go..."
" But have we asked them for opinions?" The silence spoke volumes. And I went in for the kill. "He..." I waved my hand at the quiet martian " He will tell you how embarrassing a situation your boss is going to have on his hand on the opening day if we were to follow the suggestions just given...and even worse, when he has to explain the pathetic show to your unhappy associates..." Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the weak link nod sagaciously. ".....And given the fact that we are in the middle of a recession, there is no saying what the consequences would be..."
As I ended on an ominous note, I could see the Alpha pack flatten their ears in a conciliatory gesture.
" Well, maybe we are not quite ready for the meeting....perhaps we should meet in a days time by when we can collect the information required...."
As I graciously sailed out of the room, I could hear them enthusiastically allocate tasks to one another and then commence arguements about it.....
* big broad grin*
Putty!!!
Saturday, November 1, 2008
In Search Of The Perfect Brows
When it comes to looks, a lot of people have really simple stuff to deal with. Bad hair days. Zits, big and small. Or at worst, a bad hair cut which needs to be camouflaged by hats, scarves or bunched into scrunchies until it grows out in a week or two. I have all of these and as a bonus, problematic eye brows which are the bane of every parlour maid's existence. Oh yes people, I exaggerate not one wee bit. I have unique misfortune of being blessed with sparse, barely visible brows, the strands of which insist on pursuing their own growth paths. And the consequence? Two raggedy moth eaten brows!!!
As a kid, I was so taken by the sight of my father's morning shaves that one fine morning, I decided I just had to try my hand at it. All I had to do was identify a suitable implement and the appropriate test ground. After an hour of serious contemplation, I decided there was only one place to work the tiny needlework scissors through...And sniped a rather interesting maze through my eyebrows.
Sadly, it was not just my family which was traumatised by my bold action....The appalled hair follicles revolted, refusing to rise to the occasion any more. In vain did I plead with the Gods to restore a semblance of a brow on my face. But all my coaxing and cajoling fell on deaf ears....as did the bottles of Castor oil I poured over myself. It seemed that I was stuck with the horrendous moth brows for life!!!
Abandoned by divine forces and the follicles, I turned to the modern day goddess makers, the friendly neighbourhood beautician. Although the prospect of shaping the ragged moth brows was a daunting task for the vast majority, I was, for the most part, fortunate enough to find a fairy god mother like my Zami.
Zami is the chirpy magician who zaps away my wrinkles, chides me for not sleeping enough and prescribes creams for the resultant dark circles but above all, she is the sculptor of my brows. With Zami round the corner, all is always right in my world. So it came as a rude shock when I nonchalantly sauntered into the salon late this morning only to be told that the eye brow fairy was coming in late.
" How late is late?" I desperately asked the proprietress.
" Oh, 11:30 madam....in about an hour....hopefully" The note of doubt in her voice brought me to the verge of hyperventilation. "I can have another girl thread your eye brows" She offered helpfully.
" But you don't understand. I have problematic eyebrows!!!. It would take a miracle to negotiate the cracks and crevices in them"
" Don't worry Madam. Kanaha here is as good, if not better than Zami"
Better than Zami? Impossible.
With narrowed eyes I studied the quivering Kanaha. A bad move, which I realised in retrospect...Long after I agreed to test the mettle of this paragon of threading excellence.
" Ok Kanaha, let's see what you make of my brows. There are lots of gaps and spaces in my brows, so you will need to wipe out the filler and then see how you can make it look full and seamless. And yes, both my eye brows are shaped different, so you will need to decide on a common shape and thread that"
Blank stare. So, I went over the drill once more. Once again a blank stare meets my eye.
And then,instead of rushing for the cotton wool,Kanaha pushed my head down and with a flick of her wrist, whipped out the little reel of thread. Perhaps it was my yelp of surprise, but all at once the menacing fingers stopped and above me, I could blearily make out a raised eyebrow.
" You are not wiping out the brows?..."
" Oh, you used a pencil...I thought it was permanent...OK, OK I take out"
This was far from reassuring...The paragon could barely make out the difference between a permanently inked brow and the painted shrubbery on my forehead !!!
I tried explaining once again " Kanaha, if you look at the brows you will see that both are different...And there are gaps in it...you must thread so that there is a common shape, OK?"
Kanaha peered at my brows, bobbed her head in agreement and set to work. I was congratulating myself on my communication skills when I heard a loud gasp above me. And then, I was unceremoniously yanked back into sitting position.
" Madam, eyebrows are very important. I have taken out extras on your right eyebrow, but for final shape I think you wait for Zami..." I was beginning to visibly hyperventilate....Just a gentle push and I would have tipped over the edge into the dark lands beyond." No Madam don't worry...nothing wrong..I only say Zami know your eyebrows better..So she finish"
And with that, my threader vanished leaving me in the middle of a crowded floor looking like a semi plucked chicken. As I desperately feigned interest in a glossy magazine, I imagined every pair of eyes in the room were trained on my brows....... Time crawled at a snail's pace. And after what seemed like eons, another nervous lissome girl appeared.
" Madam, Zami is not reachable. We don't know if she is coming today...so would you come back tomorrow?"
" Like hell I will!!!...I have one eyebrow semi done and the other one not at all. Surely I cannot look more ridiculous than this!!!.....I am not walking out of here unless I get both done...and they better match"
" er, shall I try?"
" I don't care who tries...I want two matching brows!!!...." I declared mutinously, gripping the arms of my chair to signal my intention of not budging from my seat before the brows were done. And so the lissome girl of unknown name and pedigree set to salvage what was left of my forehead.
To her credit, she would have managed to accomplish her mission if it had not been for a yawning gap in my right brow. The mystery of the gasp was finally unraveled !!!
I raved. And I ranted. Might as well as get myself a bald python to complete the caricature I declared to anyone who would listen.....But there was very little one could do than pick out a suitable brow pencil and brush....
Sometimes, a girl's best friend is her make-up box!!!
As a kid, I was so taken by the sight of my father's morning shaves that one fine morning, I decided I just had to try my hand at it. All I had to do was identify a suitable implement and the appropriate test ground. After an hour of serious contemplation, I decided there was only one place to work the tiny needlework scissors through...And sniped a rather interesting maze through my eyebrows.
Sadly, it was not just my family which was traumatised by my bold action....The appalled hair follicles revolted, refusing to rise to the occasion any more. In vain did I plead with the Gods to restore a semblance of a brow on my face. But all my coaxing and cajoling fell on deaf ears....as did the bottles of Castor oil I poured over myself. It seemed that I was stuck with the horrendous moth brows for life!!!
Abandoned by divine forces and the follicles, I turned to the modern day goddess makers, the friendly neighbourhood beautician. Although the prospect of shaping the ragged moth brows was a daunting task for the vast majority, I was, for the most part, fortunate enough to find a fairy god mother like my Zami.
Zami is the chirpy magician who zaps away my wrinkles, chides me for not sleeping enough and prescribes creams for the resultant dark circles but above all, she is the sculptor of my brows. With Zami round the corner, all is always right in my world. So it came as a rude shock when I nonchalantly sauntered into the salon late this morning only to be told that the eye brow fairy was coming in late.
" How late is late?" I desperately asked the proprietress.
" Oh, 11:30 madam....in about an hour....hopefully" The note of doubt in her voice brought me to the verge of hyperventilation. "I can have another girl thread your eye brows" She offered helpfully.
" But you don't understand. I have problematic eyebrows!!!. It would take a miracle to negotiate the cracks and crevices in them"
" Don't worry Madam. Kanaha here is as good, if not better than Zami"
Better than Zami? Impossible.
With narrowed eyes I studied the quivering Kanaha. A bad move, which I realised in retrospect...Long after I agreed to test the mettle of this paragon of threading excellence.
" Ok Kanaha, let's see what you make of my brows. There are lots of gaps and spaces in my brows, so you will need to wipe out the filler and then see how you can make it look full and seamless. And yes, both my eye brows are shaped different, so you will need to decide on a common shape and thread that"
Blank stare. So, I went over the drill once more. Once again a blank stare meets my eye.
And then,instead of rushing for the cotton wool,Kanaha pushed my head down and with a flick of her wrist, whipped out the little reel of thread. Perhaps it was my yelp of surprise, but all at once the menacing fingers stopped and above me, I could blearily make out a raised eyebrow.
" You are not wiping out the brows?..."
" Oh, you used a pencil...I thought it was permanent...OK, OK I take out"
This was far from reassuring...The paragon could barely make out the difference between a permanently inked brow and the painted shrubbery on my forehead !!!
I tried explaining once again " Kanaha, if you look at the brows you will see that both are different...And there are gaps in it...you must thread so that there is a common shape, OK?"
Kanaha peered at my brows, bobbed her head in agreement and set to work. I was congratulating myself on my communication skills when I heard a loud gasp above me. And then, I was unceremoniously yanked back into sitting position.
" Madam, eyebrows are very important. I have taken out extras on your right eyebrow, but for final shape I think you wait for Zami..." I was beginning to visibly hyperventilate....Just a gentle push and I would have tipped over the edge into the dark lands beyond." No Madam don't worry...nothing wrong..I only say Zami know your eyebrows better..So she finish"
And with that, my threader vanished leaving me in the middle of a crowded floor looking like a semi plucked chicken. As I desperately feigned interest in a glossy magazine, I imagined every pair of eyes in the room were trained on my brows....... Time crawled at a snail's pace. And after what seemed like eons, another nervous lissome girl appeared.
" Madam, Zami is not reachable. We don't know if she is coming today...so would you come back tomorrow?"
" Like hell I will!!!...I have one eyebrow semi done and the other one not at all. Surely I cannot look more ridiculous than this!!!.....I am not walking out of here unless I get both done...and they better match"
" er, shall I try?"
" I don't care who tries...I want two matching brows!!!...." I declared mutinously, gripping the arms of my chair to signal my intention of not budging from my seat before the brows were done. And so the lissome girl of unknown name and pedigree set to salvage what was left of my forehead.
To her credit, she would have managed to accomplish her mission if it had not been for a yawning gap in my right brow. The mystery of the gasp was finally unraveled !!!
I raved. And I ranted. Might as well as get myself a bald python to complete the caricature I declared to anyone who would listen.....But there was very little one could do than pick out a suitable brow pencil and brush....
Sometimes, a girl's best friend is her make-up box!!!
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