At a party this evening, I spotted a gay young lady in blue. She giggled and sparkled but beneath her vivacious charm, I thought I could spot reserve. She sported no man at her side. And when as I was beginning to think that she was a solo act, I heard her mutter to a confidante in an angry undertone "This is precisely what I was telling you about. I don't have a face!!!. For so many years, I have dressed myself in alien costumes, performed rituals that made no sense to me and tolerated rude, narrow minded people I can barely communicate with...Just so that he does not loose face in his society. But does he even know that I have a face too?"
Obviously not I thought to myself, as my heart went out to her.
And then, I quickly arranged my features into an expression of nonchalance as her glance swept over the room and embraced all within with a warm dazzling smile.
Sometimes life sucks, doesn't it?
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Cats Under My Bed
I haven't slept too well last night.
For the past several nights in fact!!
There were cats under my bed, you see.
And they came to life just as I was about to cross the last stile and drift off into the land of nod.
My woes find shape in the form of Don C, Ging's erstwhile love interest, who creeps into our lair as soon as the lights are out.
For those not in the know, Don C is a bandit..Not the Antonio 'Desperado' Banderas types, but the mean,greedy Ugly types...of Good, Bad & Ugly fame. This, people, is not the ranting of an over-protective cat mommy incensed by the local Romeo's courtship of her feline child. Don C is indeed an unsavoury kibble-digger,without a single scrupulous bone in his furry body....A typical rogue lover who weasels his way into the heart of a demure maiden with both eyes trained on her food bowl!! And even though the scales had dropped from Ging's eyes long back, she lacked the gumption to send the bounder packing, when he slunk in to crunch down her meal in the anonymity of darkness.Which is why the events of last night came as a rude shock to me.
I was well settled under my covers and about to hop, skip & jump past the last level of consciousness into blissful sleep, when a tremulous "hssppssst" rudely broke my run.
As I struggled to wakefulness, another hssppssst -this time stronger and fiercer- cut through the silence. My first panicked thoughts were about the wicked snake-beastie. And then reason raised its cold antiseptic head.
Ging!!!
I frantically poked about the bed with my foot, trying to locate my cowering kitty...But came up with naught.Yet another violent 'hhhhsssst' rent the air. And a moment later, a semi-hesitant deep throated miaow permeated the air.
Panicked by visions of kitty being pounded to pulp by the neighbourhood mafioso, I peered blearily under the bed. Two startled pairs of fiery yellow eyes glared back at me.
Don C and, surprise of surprises, a bristling Ging.
Kitty probably wanted to show-off her new found bravado, because, much to my shock, Ging fluffed herself out like a feline yeti, sprung out her talons and emitted the most blood-curling shriek I have ever heard in my whole entire life.
I froze.
Don C backed gingerly, almost into my face, and scampered out of the room before I found my voice.
As for Ging....well, she nonchalantly licked herself a couple of times, before shooting a triumphant "didn't I kicked a***??" look at me.
Sighing deeply, I huddled back under my covers.
One small hssst for mankind...A sonic boom in Moggie Land.
:) :)
For the past several nights in fact!!
There were cats under my bed, you see.
And they came to life just as I was about to cross the last stile and drift off into the land of nod.
My woes find shape in the form of Don C, Ging's erstwhile love interest, who creeps into our lair as soon as the lights are out.
For those not in the know, Don C is a bandit..Not the Antonio 'Desperado' Banderas types, but the mean,greedy Ugly types...of Good, Bad & Ugly fame. This, people, is not the ranting of an over-protective cat mommy incensed by the local Romeo's courtship of her feline child. Don C is indeed an unsavoury kibble-digger,without a single scrupulous bone in his furry body....A typical rogue lover who weasels his way into the heart of a demure maiden with both eyes trained on her food bowl!! And even though the scales had dropped from Ging's eyes long back, she lacked the gumption to send the bounder packing, when he slunk in to crunch down her meal in the anonymity of darkness.Which is why the events of last night came as a rude shock to me.
I was well settled under my covers and about to hop, skip & jump past the last level of consciousness into blissful sleep, when a tremulous "hssppssst" rudely broke my run.
As I struggled to wakefulness, another hssppssst -this time stronger and fiercer- cut through the silence. My first panicked thoughts were about the wicked snake-beastie. And then reason raised its cold antiseptic head.
Ging!!!
I frantically poked about the bed with my foot, trying to locate my cowering kitty...But came up with naught.Yet another violent 'hhhhsssst' rent the air. And a moment later, a semi-hesitant deep throated miaow permeated the air.
Panicked by visions of kitty being pounded to pulp by the neighbourhood mafioso, I peered blearily under the bed. Two startled pairs of fiery yellow eyes glared back at me.
Don C and, surprise of surprises, a bristling Ging.
Kitty probably wanted to show-off her new found bravado, because, much to my shock, Ging fluffed herself out like a feline yeti, sprung out her talons and emitted the most blood-curling shriek I have ever heard in my whole entire life.
I froze.
Don C backed gingerly, almost into my face, and scampered out of the room before I found my voice.
As for Ging....well, she nonchalantly licked herself a couple of times, before shooting a triumphant "didn't I kicked a***??" look at me.
Sighing deeply, I huddled back under my covers.
One small hssst for mankind...A sonic boom in Moggie Land.
:) :)
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
My Body, My Rights!!!
Yet another blow has been struck at womankind.
And for once, I am at a loss as to how to react.
Voices around me register anger and outrage.I am tempted to join in and fume at the impotent guardians of this nation. I am tempted to demand of the media how they could stand-by, recording this moment of shame for posterity, when they could have help averted it. But above all, I want to demand explanations from the mute spectators at that Manglorean pub for their passive silence.
As I attempt to transcribe my thoughts to paper, my hands are stayed.Not because anger cannot find its voice. Because I do not know how much of my ire is rooted in fear.
Yes, Fear.
I never thought I would live to say these words. Me, who thought the world was mine for the taking. And, never was afraid of anything, except letting myself down.
I had always known that I would fulfill my responsibilities to myself. Being responsible for ME -body, mind and soul -kept me happy in my skin, all the more so because I got to make up the rules as I went along.
I worked for a living, not because I had to but because I wanted to. I favoured western clothes over the sari. I enjoyed being with myself & my thoughts. I pursued my passions with great enthusiasm. I prayed. I enjoyed the odd glass of wine. I relished my binges. I loved having friends in all sizes and shapes and, of both sexes. I travelled. I indulged myself when I thought I owed myself a treat. And today,I think I am all the more richer for my knowledge and experiences.
I think I am a woman who knows her mind and is not afraid to speak it.
I know I am a woman who is willing to take charge of her life & live it on her terms.
And, I sense I am a woman who would violently antagonise the Talibanistic mentality of our society.
Which is why I now feel the first stirrings of fear.
I cannot help but wonder if I have taken my independence and freedom for granted.
At first, I thought not.
After all, Liberty & Equality are basic human rights, due to me as to any other human being on earth. So why the fear?
It isn't the self titled defenders of the faith who worry me. When I see a Government which refuses to ban organisations whose members blatantly violate basic human rights.. the politicians who bay for the eradication of the pub & mall culture...When I see the media sensationalising to escalate TRP ratings than offer real solutions..And when the silence of the masses encourages crimes against humanity..I experience a frisson of fear. Because it becomes painfully apparent that while all Indians are born liberated and equal, some grow to be less liberated and equal than the rest....Like us lowly women?
Mangalore is not just an affront to women. It is a slap on the face of humanity. I do not know how many would see it that way. To those who would attempt to shrug away this blot in the name of Indian culture and Hinduism, I say remember Kunti*. Remember Gargi**. And, remember Durga***.
The ladies of yore show us the way forward.
To live our lives fearlessly by our dictates and of none other..
To raise our voices against those who seek to gag us...
And to guard our dignity from those who would crush it...
We must remember that if we do not stand up for ourselves & our sisters, no one else will.
* Kunti: The mother of three of the Pandava brothers from the Indian epic Mahābhārata, Kunti is a figure of great importance within many Hindu traditions. Kunti was given a special boon which enabled her to bear the sons of great celestial devas as many times as she wished. Kunti had four sons - Karna by Surya, Yudhishtara by Yama, Bhima by Vayu & Arjuna by Indra.
** Gargi: This ancient Indian female philosopher is mentioned in the Sixth and the Eighth Brahmana of Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, where at a philosophic congress she challenged the sage Yajnavalkya with perturbing questions on the soul. In Vedic literature, she is honored as one of the great natural philosophers.
*** Durga: In Hinduism, Durga is a form of Devi, and an embodiment of creative feminine force (Shakti). Durga exists in a state of svātantrya (dependence on the universe and nothing/nobody else, i.e., self-sufficiency) and fierce compassion. Durga manifests fearlessness and patience.
[Source: Wikipedia]
And for once, I am at a loss as to how to react.
Voices around me register anger and outrage.I am tempted to join in and fume at the impotent guardians of this nation. I am tempted to demand of the media how they could stand-by, recording this moment of shame for posterity, when they could have help averted it. But above all, I want to demand explanations from the mute spectators at that Manglorean pub for their passive silence.
As I attempt to transcribe my thoughts to paper, my hands are stayed.Not because anger cannot find its voice. Because I do not know how much of my ire is rooted in fear.
Yes, Fear.
I never thought I would live to say these words. Me, who thought the world was mine for the taking. And, never was afraid of anything, except letting myself down.
I had always known that I would fulfill my responsibilities to myself. Being responsible for ME -body, mind and soul -kept me happy in my skin, all the more so because I got to make up the rules as I went along.
I worked for a living, not because I had to but because I wanted to. I favoured western clothes over the sari. I enjoyed being with myself & my thoughts. I pursued my passions with great enthusiasm. I prayed. I enjoyed the odd glass of wine. I relished my binges. I loved having friends in all sizes and shapes and, of both sexes. I travelled. I indulged myself when I thought I owed myself a treat. And today,I think I am all the more richer for my knowledge and experiences.
I think I am a woman who knows her mind and is not afraid to speak it.
I know I am a woman who is willing to take charge of her life & live it on her terms.
And, I sense I am a woman who would violently antagonise the Talibanistic mentality of our society.
Which is why I now feel the first stirrings of fear.
I cannot help but wonder if I have taken my independence and freedom for granted.
At first, I thought not.
After all, Liberty & Equality are basic human rights, due to me as to any other human being on earth. So why the fear?
It isn't the self titled defenders of the faith who worry me. When I see a Government which refuses to ban organisations whose members blatantly violate basic human rights.. the politicians who bay for the eradication of the pub & mall culture...When I see the media sensationalising to escalate TRP ratings than offer real solutions..And when the silence of the masses encourages crimes against humanity..I experience a frisson of fear. Because it becomes painfully apparent that while all Indians are born liberated and equal, some grow to be less liberated and equal than the rest....Like us lowly women?
Mangalore is not just an affront to women. It is a slap on the face of humanity. I do not know how many would see it that way. To those who would attempt to shrug away this blot in the name of Indian culture and Hinduism, I say remember Kunti*. Remember Gargi**. And, remember Durga***.
The ladies of yore show us the way forward.
To live our lives fearlessly by our dictates and of none other..
To raise our voices against those who seek to gag us...
And to guard our dignity from those who would crush it...
We must remember that if we do not stand up for ourselves & our sisters, no one else will.
* Kunti: The mother of three of the Pandava brothers from the Indian epic Mahābhārata, Kunti is a figure of great importance within many Hindu traditions. Kunti was given a special boon which enabled her to bear the sons of great celestial devas as many times as she wished. Kunti had four sons - Karna by Surya, Yudhishtara by Yama, Bhima by Vayu & Arjuna by Indra.
** Gargi: This ancient Indian female philosopher is mentioned in the Sixth and the Eighth Brahmana of Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, where at a philosophic congress she challenged the sage Yajnavalkya with perturbing questions on the soul. In Vedic literature, she is honored as one of the great natural philosophers.
*** Durga: In Hinduism, Durga is a form of Devi, and an embodiment of creative feminine force (Shakti). Durga exists in a state of svātantrya (dependence on the universe and nothing/nobody else, i.e., self-sufficiency) and fierce compassion. Durga manifests fearlessness and patience.
[Source: Wikipedia]
Milestone 100 & Thank Yous!!!
We just hit a 100.....YIPPEE!!!
The Moggies just can't stop purring!!!
Salut Shail.
Thank you!
The Moggies just can't stop purring!!!
But before we bring out the party hats, we thought we should take a moment to display the Awards & Trophies awarded to us this past month or two.
I know, I know.... We should have done this much earlier. And as much as I would like to say that we were waiting for a special moment to preen and take our bows, the fact is the moggies have indeed been a little tardy!!!
So without much ado, Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to thank my fellow bloggers who have so graciously bestowed three awards on us.
I know, I know.... We should have done this much earlier. And as much as I would like to say that we were waiting for a special moment to preen and take our bows, the fact is the moggies have indeed been a little tardy!!!
So without much ado, Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to thank my fellow bloggers who have so graciously bestowed three awards on us.
This Trophy made my day!!! And I cannot thank Pallavi enough for awarding us this. As a young girl, I had always been quite captivated by the gleaming trophies the school sports-stars held aloft on the victory stand. I dreamed of taking one home but sadly, it remained a dream unfulfilled....Until now.
Juvenile as it may sound, the Shiny Silver Trophy more than makes up for all those moments of disappointment on the sports field, as dream after dream were dashed to smithereens!!!
Juvenile as it may sound, the Shiny Silver Trophy more than makes up for all those moments of disappointment on the sports field, as dream after dream were dashed to smithereens!!!
The Proximity Award from Shail's Nest
Shail was my first blogger friend....And, to date, the special-est one too. In the two years I have been blogging, I am yet to meet another like her, who uninhibitedly reaches out with an enthusiasm and abandon that cannot fail to warm you to the cockles of your heart.
For me, Shail is the master relationship builder. And to receive The Proximity Award from the Mistress of Relationships is an honour beyond compare.
Salut Shail. Thank you!
The Coolest Blog Butterfly from Roopa at Tattoo
To be judged and deemed worthy by your peers is perhaps the greatest accolade of all. And for this reason, all our awards are special. However, the gorgeous butterfly Roopa sent our way will always occupy the pride of place on this page!!!
For starters, it is the first on our mantle-piece. But more importantly, the qualitative excellence of the awarder's writing makes it a much cherished trophy. And last but not the least, its a butterfly for chrissakes...how do you a feline to resist it???
Thank you Roopa...You made my day!
For starters, it is the first on our mantle-piece. But more importantly, the qualitative excellence of the awarder's writing makes it a much cherished trophy. And last but not the least, its a butterfly for chrissakes...how do you a feline to resist it???
Thank you Roopa...You made my day!
There are a handful of blogs - Tattoo, A Slice Of Life, Shail's Nest, Crocodile's Tales- which draw me over and over again. And in my mind, each of them qualify many times over for the these awards. Shail, Roopa, Ganga & Pallavi - You Ladies Rock!!!
As much as I love these blogs and am sorely tempted to divide the booty amongst my favourite ladies,I thought it might be fun to break the cycle and rope in other worthy writers for the honours. So, in our turn, the Moggies award
As much as I love these blogs and am sorely tempted to divide the booty amongst my favourite ladies,I thought it might be fun to break the cycle and rope in other worthy writers for the honours. So, in our turn, the Moggies award
The Shiny Silver Trophy to:
The Proximity Award to:
Notes From A Harried Mom
Devi Writes [ Devi, we miss the good stuff !!!]
Weaving A Web
Notes From A Harried Mom
Devi Writes [ Devi, we miss the good stuff !!!]
Weaving A Web
The Butterfly to
The Renegade Of Junk
India Uncut
The rules of the game are simple:
1. If You Got It, Flaunt It: Go ahead...put the logo on your blog.
2. A Head Butt For Your Patron: Add a link to the person who presented it to you.
3. Spread The Joy: Pass the Award on and link other bloggers that you'd like to share it with.
India Uncut
The rules of the game are simple:
1. If You Got It, Flaunt It: Go ahead...put the logo on your blog.
2. A Head Butt For Your Patron: Add a link to the person who presented it to you.
3. Spread The Joy: Pass the Award on and link other bloggers that you'd like to share it with.
The Champagne has been cooling in the bucket for a while now. But before we pop it, I would like to thank everyone who has joined us on our journey this past year and become an integral part of the Moggie World!!!
Cheers Amigos!
Cheers Amigos!
Friday, January 23, 2009
Long Live The Mob!
There are times when I am ashamed of being a Indian.
And then, there are times when I am embarrassed to be a woman.
But both at the same time?
That happens only once in an azure blue moon....Like this morning, when I chanced to read the story of young Saba Najam.
Saba Najam, a 20-something Pakistani student was roughed up in a Mumbai mall last week, only because she dared sport a tattoo in Urdu which thanked the Good Lord above.
Before you ask....No, this was not the handiwork of Raj Thackarey's goons. Nor was it a mob of rabid men using religion to crush a woman. This, believe it or not people, was a case of women using religion to break the spirit of one of their own.
And why?
Not because religious sentiments were actually wounded. I suspect it had everything to do with an over-possessive mommy who needed to vent her blind fury at the object her dearest sonny boy desired!!!
How else can we explain the alacrity with which Shabana Talukdar responded to her son's complaints about a brazen hussy in the mall who, heaven forbid, actually dared to have ‘Shukr Alham Du Lillah’[Thank you, God’] inscribed on her back?
Now, did mommy stop to ask her darling boy just what he was doing hanging around in the mall, scrutinising the figures of strange women?
No, she did not.
Did she try educating her son about living and letting others live?
Again, the answer is a resounding no.
But instead, the lady and her cronies marched over to the mall and proceeded to beat up a girl who was young enough to be her daughter!!!
Did anyone object? NO!!!
The mall authorities passed the matter over to a local police station where, despite her profuse apologies, young Saba was forced to submit a statement promising to have the tattoo removed within 3 days!!!
Ironic isn't it?
All the more so, when one considers the admission of the police inspector that" “There was nothing objectionable about the tattoo and there are no legal provisions under which we could have booked her. But since the group of people were agitated we asked Saba to give her statement in writing.”
The news report shamed me...As did some of the reader comments which showed no sympathy for the victim!!!!
What was Saba being penalised for?
Her nationality? That she dared assume ownership of her own body and embellished it as she deemed fit? Or was it because she had inadvertently attracted lust from a vicious mall rat?
All three, I suspect....Going by the responses of the people concerned.
Everyone - the whining pansy, his rabid mother & her cohorts, the by-standers, the authorities & even the media - has conveniently turned a blind eye to the real truth...The truth that this is not a legitimate case of religious impropriety or hurt sentiments, but one of assault on an innocent girl.
Saba Najam has returned to Lahore...
Riyaz Ahmed Talukdar says he is happy she is gone...
His mother must be gloating in glee...
Viva La Mob Power!!!
And then, there are times when I am embarrassed to be a woman.
But both at the same time?
That happens only once in an azure blue moon....Like this morning, when I chanced to read the story of young Saba Najam.
Saba Najam, a 20-something Pakistani student was roughed up in a Mumbai mall last week, only because she dared sport a tattoo in Urdu which thanked the Good Lord above.
Before you ask....No, this was not the handiwork of Raj Thackarey's goons. Nor was it a mob of rabid men using religion to crush a woman. This, believe it or not people, was a case of women using religion to break the spirit of one of their own.
And why?
Not because religious sentiments were actually wounded. I suspect it had everything to do with an over-possessive mommy who needed to vent her blind fury at the object her dearest sonny boy desired!!!
How else can we explain the alacrity with which Shabana Talukdar responded to her son's complaints about a brazen hussy in the mall who, heaven forbid, actually dared to have ‘Shukr Alham Du Lillah’[Thank you, God’] inscribed on her back?
Now, did mommy stop to ask her darling boy just what he was doing hanging around in the mall, scrutinising the figures of strange women?
No, she did not.
Did she try educating her son about living and letting others live?
Again, the answer is a resounding no.
But instead, the lady and her cronies marched over to the mall and proceeded to beat up a girl who was young enough to be her daughter!!!
Did anyone object? NO!!!
The mall authorities passed the matter over to a local police station where, despite her profuse apologies, young Saba was forced to submit a statement promising to have the tattoo removed within 3 days!!!
Ironic isn't it?
All the more so, when one considers the admission of the police inspector that" “There was nothing objectionable about the tattoo and there are no legal provisions under which we could have booked her. But since the group of people were agitated we asked Saba to give her statement in writing.”
The news report shamed me...As did some of the reader comments which showed no sympathy for the victim!!!!
What was Saba being penalised for?
Her nationality? That she dared assume ownership of her own body and embellished it as she deemed fit? Or was it because she had inadvertently attracted lust from a vicious mall rat?
All three, I suspect....Going by the responses of the people concerned.
Everyone - the whining pansy, his rabid mother & her cohorts, the by-standers, the authorities & even the media - has conveniently turned a blind eye to the real truth...The truth that this is not a legitimate case of religious impropriety or hurt sentiments, but one of assault on an innocent girl.
Saba Najam has returned to Lahore...
Riyaz Ahmed Talukdar says he is happy she is gone...
His mother must be gloating in glee...
Viva La Mob Power!!!
Ladies,Don't Get Mad....Get Chocolate!!!
Ladies, if you are crazily in love or in search of this delightful emotion, stock up on Baskin Robbins' Bavarian Chocolate or Ferrero Rocher Gelato! If neither are easily available, stash away boxes of Bounty, Snickers or Twix bars in your refrigerator...Failing which, keep your fingers crossed and hope that the local supermarket runs a 'Buy One, Get One Free' offer on facial tissues while you are out shopping for your monthly groceries.
Because, chances are you will need one or all of these three to cope with the tears that are bound to follow when the first flush of love starts to pale.
Like it or not....With deep love comes conflict and.......pain. There is no point telling yourself otherwise, because that is the way love goes. Many times, we are pained because of the difference in the way men and women respond to conflict in an intimate relationship.
Men, I am told on excellent authority, need to take time out when caught in a hostile situation. They need to get away and air their minds....focus elsewhere....work off the steam and then return home with a lighter soul when the sun comes down.
We women, on the other hand, love to talk and analyse everything threadbare, so that everything is sorted out tidily. Perhaps it stems from our 'homemaker' genes which hates loose ends and unfinished business. After all, what is an argument left incomplete or a fight not sorted out?
Unfinished business, right?
So, what would be the anatomy of an inter-planetary skirmish?
Two talking furiously at each other instead of to each other?...A sense of annoyance and frustration which culminates in the Martian running to the hills for space....Leaving in his wake, a fuming Venusian who frets and brood herself into teary anger, all of which is unleashed as sulks or more squalls on the happy martian when he returns home.
Imagine that!!!
But fellow Venusians, fear not. You no longer have to talk your man into a miserable knot, in the hope of receiving emotional reassurance and comfort in the aftermath of a war.
Help, in the form of chocolate, is at hand!
Let's face it...for 99% of the women, chocolate, in one form or the other, equals love and romance. It tastes great...It makes us happy...And, it supposedly lowers risk of cancer and heart disease.
True, chocolate is an indulgence. But, difficult times warrant indulgences. Especially when it promises moments of true ecstasy...And a phenylethylamine induced high which gives us the same warm fuzzy feelings of comfort that love does...
What more can we ask for?
For those of you who are prone to feelings of guilt, do remind yourself of the health benefits chocolate offers...After all, we do owe it to ourselves to keep ourselves healthy, don't we?
So ladies, if you are fuming after the retreating back of your man, stay cool. Reach out for that much loved chocolate bar or a jumbo tub of your favourite chocolate ice-cream. And if your martian rumbles like Mt. Etna about excess flab on your figure, smile sweetly through your choco-high and tell him there is all the more of you to love!!!
Because, chances are you will need one or all of these three to cope with the tears that are bound to follow when the first flush of love starts to pale.
Like it or not....With deep love comes conflict and.......pain. There is no point telling yourself otherwise, because that is the way love goes. Many times, we are pained because of the difference in the way men and women respond to conflict in an intimate relationship.
Men, I am told on excellent authority, need to take time out when caught in a hostile situation. They need to get away and air their minds....focus elsewhere....work off the steam and then return home with a lighter soul when the sun comes down.
We women, on the other hand, love to talk and analyse everything threadbare, so that everything is sorted out tidily. Perhaps it stems from our 'homemaker' genes which hates loose ends and unfinished business. After all, what is an argument left incomplete or a fight not sorted out?
Unfinished business, right?
So, what would be the anatomy of an inter-planetary skirmish?
Two talking furiously at each other instead of to each other?...A sense of annoyance and frustration which culminates in the Martian running to the hills for space....Leaving in his wake, a fuming Venusian who frets and brood herself into teary anger, all of which is unleashed as sulks or more squalls on the happy martian when he returns home.
Imagine that!!!
But fellow Venusians, fear not. You no longer have to talk your man into a miserable knot, in the hope of receiving emotional reassurance and comfort in the aftermath of a war.
Help, in the form of chocolate, is at hand!
Let's face it...for 99% of the women, chocolate, in one form or the other, equals love and romance. It tastes great...It makes us happy...And, it supposedly lowers risk of cancer and heart disease.
True, chocolate is an indulgence. But, difficult times warrant indulgences. Especially when it promises moments of true ecstasy...And a phenylethylamine induced high which gives us the same warm fuzzy feelings of comfort that love does...
What more can we ask for?
For those of you who are prone to feelings of guilt, do remind yourself of the health benefits chocolate offers...After all, we do owe it to ourselves to keep ourselves healthy, don't we?
So ladies, if you are fuming after the retreating back of your man, stay cool. Reach out for that much loved chocolate bar or a jumbo tub of your favourite chocolate ice-cream. And if your martian rumbles like Mt. Etna about excess flab on your figure, smile sweetly through your choco-high and tell him there is all the more of you to love!!!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
About Respectability & Honesty
A storm broke last week....And it continues to rage on....
An incredible amount of sound-byte has been expended on the description and analysis of this catastrophe. I guess it will continue until the next sensation rocks us.
Last night, I happened to watch an interview with Mr. N Narayana Murthy, the face of Indian IT, where he stressed upon the need for creating an environment of respectability in corporate India. He also called upon the media to undertake an annual publication of the 50 most respectable personalities in India, so that respectability became aspirational.
Mr. Murthy's word of the evening surprised me.....Respectability???
Not Honesty. Or even Integrity. But, respectability!!!
I took umbrage to Mr. Murthy's call for respectability for one simple reason. That Respectability is Not a Synonym for Honesty!
Satyam was a company that reeked of respectability...Pretty much like Infosys. It was listed on foreign stock exchanges...Certified to the highest industry norms...Rated as one of the best employers and has to its credit, an enviable string of awards. However, all the hype and medals did not make Satyam an ethical organisation.
As I watched Mr. Murthy speak, I was reminded of Infosys's moment of shame in 2002, when NRN's protege and Infosys were slapped with a sexual harassment suit. Those who followed the story would remember that the lady in question elected to move the American courts rather than seek justice through Infy's much lauded internal mechanisms of corporate governance.
As the the Demi-Gods of Infy raced to patch the damage sustained by their shield of respectability, I wonder if they had, at any point, paused to allow the painful truth to register.....That Ms. Maximovitch did not trust her employer to ensure justice was done by her.....And if one employee lacked faith, then how many more walked amongst the multitudes that throng Infy's plush campuses?
For some in India Inc., respectability is closely integrated with truth. For many others, it is all about maintaining appearances.
If we take a cold hard look at facts, we will see that the central theme of the Satyam story is not about the lack of respectability. It is about dishonesty. And negligence. And irresponsibility.... As much on the part of the auditors, bankers and a host of certifying & regulatory bodies in India and Abroad, as on the part of Team Satyam and the Rajus.
Respectability, in my opinion, merely masked the problems within!
So, would that make Respectability the answer Corporate India is really looking for?
I am not entirely sure....
Idealistic as it may seem....Difficult as it may be.....I would STILL vote for ethics and integrity!!!
An incredible amount of sound-byte has been expended on the description and analysis of this catastrophe. I guess it will continue until the next sensation rocks us.
Last night, I happened to watch an interview with Mr. N Narayana Murthy, the face of Indian IT, where he stressed upon the need for creating an environment of respectability in corporate India. He also called upon the media to undertake an annual publication of the 50 most respectable personalities in India, so that respectability became aspirational.
Mr. Murthy's word of the evening surprised me.....Respectability???
Not Honesty. Or even Integrity. But, respectability!!!
I took umbrage to Mr. Murthy's call for respectability for one simple reason. That Respectability is Not a Synonym for Honesty!
Satyam was a company that reeked of respectability...Pretty much like Infosys. It was listed on foreign stock exchanges...Certified to the highest industry norms...Rated as one of the best employers and has to its credit, an enviable string of awards. However, all the hype and medals did not make Satyam an ethical organisation.
As I watched Mr. Murthy speak, I was reminded of Infosys's moment of shame in 2002, when NRN's protege and Infosys were slapped with a sexual harassment suit. Those who followed the story would remember that the lady in question elected to move the American courts rather than seek justice through Infy's much lauded internal mechanisms of corporate governance.
As the the Demi-Gods of Infy raced to patch the damage sustained by their shield of respectability, I wonder if they had, at any point, paused to allow the painful truth to register.....That Ms. Maximovitch did not trust her employer to ensure justice was done by her.....And if one employee lacked faith, then how many more walked amongst the multitudes that throng Infy's plush campuses?
For some in India Inc., respectability is closely integrated with truth. For many others, it is all about maintaining appearances.
If we take a cold hard look at facts, we will see that the central theme of the Satyam story is not about the lack of respectability. It is about dishonesty. And negligence. And irresponsibility.... As much on the part of the auditors, bankers and a host of certifying & regulatory bodies in India and Abroad, as on the part of Team Satyam and the Rajus.
Respectability, in my opinion, merely masked the problems within!
So, would that make Respectability the answer Corporate India is really looking for?
I am not entirely sure....
Idealistic as it may seem....Difficult as it may be.....I would STILL vote for ethics and integrity!!!
Not Enron, Just Satyam!
The Satyam Fiasco has caught every one's fancy.
Software pros across India are either ruing their bad luck or thanking their lucky stars, depending on the brand they sport on their corporate gear.
India Inc. can't stop talking about it...
And the media just can't stop licking its chomps in glee....
Why ever not? After all, we have our very own 'Enron' now.
The nation's acquisition of a corporate debacle in the true American mould comes hot on the trail of India's 9/11. A few short weeks ago, Mumbai writhed in the vice grip of terrorism. Of course, at the time, our over-enthusiastic media conveniently forgot similar incidents of terror which has been rocking the nation at regular intervals over the past couple of years.....Such was the media's eagerness for an attack which would place it at par with the World Trade Center tragedy.
And now, we have been given the Enron moment.
Our eagerness to liken and brand our national tragedies with those of another nation baffles me.
Isn't each nation's sorrows and shame unique to itself?
We didn't call the Bhopal Gas Tragedy anything other than the Bhopal Gas Tragedy. Probably because there wasn't an industrial disaster of its magnitude in the annals of American history. The Bhopal Gas Tragedy remains the world's worst industrial disaster and yet, no where in the world, have we seen a similar catastrophe being rechristened as Bhopal.
So why Enron? And why 9/11?
Why not just Satyam and 26/11?
Can't help but wonder what's next on the cards....Ku Klax Klan episodes? Or perhaps, Palin moments in the next elections? Or maybe, India will find her Obama!
Your guess is as good as mine!!!
Software pros across India are either ruing their bad luck or thanking their lucky stars, depending on the brand they sport on their corporate gear.
India Inc. can't stop talking about it...
And the media just can't stop licking its chomps in glee....
Why ever not? After all, we have our very own 'Enron' now.
The nation's acquisition of a corporate debacle in the true American mould comes hot on the trail of India's 9/11. A few short weeks ago, Mumbai writhed in the vice grip of terrorism. Of course, at the time, our over-enthusiastic media conveniently forgot similar incidents of terror which has been rocking the nation at regular intervals over the past couple of years.....Such was the media's eagerness for an attack which would place it at par with the World Trade Center tragedy.
And now, we have been given the Enron moment.
Our eagerness to liken and brand our national tragedies with those of another nation baffles me.
Isn't each nation's sorrows and shame unique to itself?
We didn't call the Bhopal Gas Tragedy anything other than the Bhopal Gas Tragedy. Probably because there wasn't an industrial disaster of its magnitude in the annals of American history. The Bhopal Gas Tragedy remains the world's worst industrial disaster and yet, no where in the world, have we seen a similar catastrophe being rechristened as Bhopal.
So why Enron? And why 9/11?
Why not just Satyam and 26/11?
Can't help but wonder what's next on the cards....Ku Klax Klan episodes? Or perhaps, Palin moments in the next elections? Or maybe, India will find her Obama!
Your guess is as good as mine!!!
Saturday, January 3, 2009
The Importance Of Not Being Different.....
Last evening,I saw a young woman break down because the pressure of being 'nice & stable' wrecked her nerves! "People just push me" she wailed disconsolately "Sometimes it is such an effort to be nice.The nicer I try to be, the more they push. And when I crack, they crib about me being temperamental and weak or a b****, if not both? "
"Why not draw lines and tell them a firm no when the impossible lands on your plate?" I asked curiously.
I was rewarded with a blank stare. "That would still make me a temperamental b****, wouldn't it?" she retorted exasperatedly.
I know, I know..This is a radical post...
But seriously, how wrong can the voice of our soul be?
"Why not draw lines and tell them a firm no when the impossible lands on your plate?" I asked curiously.
I was rewarded with a blank stare. "That would still make me a temperamental b****, wouldn't it?" she retorted exasperatedly.
*********
A dear friend worries about her son's refusal to fulfil his filial obligations by marrying a suitable girl. She is tired of answering to family and friends about her eldest-born's singledom, which more often than not triggers off a guilt induced bride hunt. At particularly bad moments, she even worries if he is gay.
The merry bachelor,who is a romantic at heart, has denied the charge many times over and in a moment of weakness, had even offered himself up as a sacrifice on the altar of parental expectations...Just so that his mother's mind would be at rest. But, that only brought on fresh waves of maternal guilt.
"It's a catch 22 situation" she mourned " I understand his need to find the right partner and he does make perfect sense, but when people approach me with that look in their eyes and ask me why he is still single, I feel miserable...All the more so because his friends, peers and cousins are married and most even have a couple of kids...As much as I love him, I just wish he would fit into the mould!!!"
*********
My mother had a near meltdown when I blithely announced that I just might adopt at the ripe old age of 60."Why adopt? " She inquired with shock and disapproval." One never knows about an orphan's genes" she intoned like Cassandra, probably visualising the infant Jack the Ripper or maybe the chain saw murderer toddling after her on all fours.
"What will people say? Why can't you just get pregnant and have a baby the way normal people do?" She wailed in dismay.
I tried explaining that it is because I just like the idea of adopting..And that it is something I think a lot more people should be doing..Not as the last alternative but as the first.
But she doesn't get it.... As probably a large section of our combined social circles wouldn't either.
I tried explaining that it is because I just like the idea of adopting..And that it is something I think a lot more people should be doing..Not as the last alternative but as the first.
But she doesn't get it.... As probably a large section of our combined social circles wouldn't either.
*********
An old friend from home was divorced recently. Much to her sorrow, she also lost custody of her beloved child. Well, not exactly lost.....Surrendered would be the more appropriate word. For when the battle got vicious and nasty, her gentle soul had no choice but to surrender.
One lazy Sunday afternoon, we met for coffee and some old fashioned girl-talk. But as we worked our way through endless cups of coffee, the conversation became deeper, stronger and more honest.
As she bared her soul that afternoon, it became painfully apparent that the divorce had not only robbed her off the comforts of domesticity and motherhood, but had also unravelled the various strands of life, as she knew it, into a tangled mess.
Friends and family had melted away, shying away from being saddled with the physical and emotional responsibility of a young single woman....Not that she asked for it. People had no compunctions about mindlessly judging and labelling her as " selfish", "headstrong" and even "wanton". All at once, she had become a social pariah....A loose end her society did not know what to do with.
Indeed she had followed the dictates of her heart, but she had also paid too high a price for her choices. Aloneness.
" I never realised that life could be so difficult for a divorcee. Sorry, a divorced woman" She corrected herself with a wry smile. " People think I am un-motherly to have given up my child. They will never understand why I did so. Even my immediate family does not hesitate to brand me as immoral and as a monster....And imagine, if I had been unhappily married, I would have been highly acceptable..." She ended bitterly.
As I held her hand in mute sympathy, promising her that the shadows would, one day, dispel and that she would find happiness again..I could not help but wonder just why it was so darn important that we all conform?
Why is it deemed a luxury to follow one's heart, if it makes us different?One lazy Sunday afternoon, we met for coffee and some old fashioned girl-talk. But as we worked our way through endless cups of coffee, the conversation became deeper, stronger and more honest.
As she bared her soul that afternoon, it became painfully apparent that the divorce had not only robbed her off the comforts of domesticity and motherhood, but had also unravelled the various strands of life, as she knew it, into a tangled mess.
Friends and family had melted away, shying away from being saddled with the physical and emotional responsibility of a young single woman....Not that she asked for it. People had no compunctions about mindlessly judging and labelling her as " selfish", "headstrong" and even "wanton". All at once, she had become a social pariah....A loose end her society did not know what to do with.
Indeed she had followed the dictates of her heart, but she had also paid too high a price for her choices. Aloneness.
" I never realised that life could be so difficult for a divorcee. Sorry, a divorced woman" She corrected herself with a wry smile. " People think I am un-motherly to have given up my child. They will never understand why I did so. Even my immediate family does not hesitate to brand me as immoral and as a monster....And imagine, if I had been unhappily married, I would have been highly acceptable..." She ended bitterly.
As I held her hand in mute sympathy, promising her that the shadows would, one day, dispel and that she would find happiness again..I could not help but wonder just why it was so darn important that we all conform?
I know, I know..This is a radical post...
But seriously, how wrong can the voice of our soul be?
Friday, January 2, 2009
The Bad Girl On New Year's
I have been terrible this New Year.....Really really bad!!!
For starters, I did not party on the 31st. Or even make an effort to ring in the New Year with a lot of noise & fanfare. No, I did not cheer wildly at the crackers in the skies or embark on an effusive hugs & air-kisses spree as the clock struck 12. Heck, I didn't even have a sip of the vino.
And did I feel deprived? Not at all.
Then, I passed up on a million opportunities to mindlessly pelt colleagues, friends and family with saccharine sweet emails & smses that wished them health, wealth and happiness. Somewhere along the way, I had talked myself into believing that my restraint would only control e-trash, apart from alleviating the aches in the heads and fingers of half the world's population.
And finally, I trashed my little black book and gave everyone a break from having to make small talk with one more effusive human being! Here, I must confess that I was just making sure that I was starting 2009 with a lot less crispy fried grey cells.
Now before you write me off as a social recluse, let me tell you all that I was only doing my wee bit to keep my carbon foot-print down!
.....Well, truth be told, I was actually nursing a terrible head cold which, as the best of us know, is a great leveller. Not the best of ways to kick start a New Year. But then, if one has not done all the conventional things that a 30 something adult normally does to ring in the New Year and even worse, has achieved nothing very much because she mindlessly sleep-walked through the first day of the New Year in a state of drug induced stupor..Well then, how bad can the rest of the year be?
It simply has to go uphill from there, right?
*fingers crossed*
For starters, I did not party on the 31st. Or even make an effort to ring in the New Year with a lot of noise & fanfare. No, I did not cheer wildly at the crackers in the skies or embark on an effusive hugs & air-kisses spree as the clock struck 12. Heck, I didn't even have a sip of the vino.
And did I feel deprived? Not at all.
Then, I passed up on a million opportunities to mindlessly pelt colleagues, friends and family with saccharine sweet emails & smses that wished them health, wealth and happiness. Somewhere along the way, I had talked myself into believing that my restraint would only control e-trash, apart from alleviating the aches in the heads and fingers of half the world's population.
And finally, I trashed my little black book and gave everyone a break from having to make small talk with one more effusive human being! Here, I must confess that I was just making sure that I was starting 2009 with a lot less crispy fried grey cells.
Now before you write me off as a social recluse, let me tell you all that I was only doing my wee bit to keep my carbon foot-print down!
.....Well, truth be told, I was actually nursing a terrible head cold which, as the best of us know, is a great leveller. Not the best of ways to kick start a New Year. But then, if one has not done all the conventional things that a 30 something adult normally does to ring in the New Year and even worse, has achieved nothing very much because she mindlessly sleep-walked through the first day of the New Year in a state of drug induced stupor..Well then, how bad can the rest of the year be?
It simply has to go uphill from there, right?
*fingers crossed*
Thursday, January 1, 2009
My Personal New Year :) :)
" Already 2009...How time flies" mused Sunita, my newest friend on the block, as we drove back from dinner last evening.
" Its only 11:00..There is a good 60 minutes more to the New Year" chimed in another friend indignantly " You girls really need to learn to live in the moment, instead of racing ahead of time"
I could well understand his outrage.
The three of us had had a quiet evening, pigging to our heart's content on some incredible Cuban-Chinese food and were driving back to our cozy beds..Satiated, content and brimming with good-will towards the world at large.
And at this opportune moment, Sunita decided to go philosophical on us.
" I am not racing ahead...Was just saying that another year has past..." She clarified, a trace of wistfulness still lingering in her voice.
Our live-in-the-moment friend shot an exasperated glance first at her, and then towards the backseat, where I was sprawled like a spent python that had swallowed a bandicoot too large for its gut.
" And you in the backseat, why are you so silent? Saying Kaddish* for 2008?"
" Actually not...Jan 1 does not signify the end of an year for me" I mumbled sleepily " My New Year begins on June 27th,the day I hit this earth running..."
In the darkness, I could sense a glimmer of a smile light up Sunita's face.
" I like that...It certainly is a different way of looking at things" She chirped "This means that I have another 8 months to go before my New Year" She concluded happily, drawing unintelligible noises of assent from the back
Our martian friend however was unimpressed by our Venusian wisdom." How convenient"He sniffed "Trust a woman to turn things to her advantage..."
Yes indeed, how convenient!!!
* Evil Glinting Smile*
*Kaddish = Used to refer specifically to "The Mourners' Kaddish," said as part of the mourning rituals in Judaism in all prayer services as well as at funerals and memorials.
" Its only 11:00..There is a good 60 minutes more to the New Year" chimed in another friend indignantly " You girls really need to learn to live in the moment, instead of racing ahead of time"
I could well understand his outrage.
The three of us had had a quiet evening, pigging to our heart's content on some incredible Cuban-Chinese food and were driving back to our cozy beds..Satiated, content and brimming with good-will towards the world at large.
And at this opportune moment, Sunita decided to go philosophical on us.
" I am not racing ahead...Was just saying that another year has past..." She clarified, a trace of wistfulness still lingering in her voice.
Our live-in-the-moment friend shot an exasperated glance first at her, and then towards the backseat, where I was sprawled like a spent python that had swallowed a bandicoot too large for its gut.
" And you in the backseat, why are you so silent? Saying Kaddish* for 2008?"
" Actually not...Jan 1 does not signify the end of an year for me" I mumbled sleepily " My New Year begins on June 27th,the day I hit this earth running..."
In the darkness, I could sense a glimmer of a smile light up Sunita's face.
" I like that...It certainly is a different way of looking at things" She chirped "This means that I have another 8 months to go before my New Year" She concluded happily, drawing unintelligible noises of assent from the back
Our martian friend however was unimpressed by our Venusian wisdom." How convenient"He sniffed "Trust a woman to turn things to her advantage..."
Yes indeed, how convenient!!!
* Evil Glinting Smile*
*Kaddish = Used to refer specifically to "The Mourners' Kaddish," said as part of the mourning rituals in Judaism in all prayer services as well as at funerals and memorials.
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