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..."
@#$@*^&$!!!!
Thursday, November 27, 2008
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.
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