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Showing posts from June, 2007

A Mad Man Or A Boor

What does one do when one encounters a mad dog? Or what does one do when one encounters a man with pre-fixed notions about everything in life, most specifically of women who live alone and give him some importance? The two are equivalent to me and basic intelligence says avoid the paths they tread like plague. But I chose to tackle them head on. I almost got rabbies. The mad man said [sic] " You sound like a very desperate person. A single and frustrated woman who is looking for anyone to leave a comment on your blog so much so that you wouldn't even spare a spammer ." Spammer being, the first comment on the previous post is apparently a spam, an advert for T-shirts. Bummer! I thought it was a handsome Spaniard or Latino, so I had replied "Hi Rodrigo", hoping to take the conversation forward offline. Anyway! All this the mad man found out. I didnt. Sure, I dig comments because I love the spontaneity and intelligence of my friends. And I didn't invite the ma

Love In The Time Of Diarrhoea

"It's started," screamed my sister. By now, its no secret I love Reality Zone and their programmes. This one is Cheaters: inspirational chronicles of human lives . The theme song is as cheesy as it could get. "It happens everyday, another heart is broken by the devils on the [whatever]..." Girlfriends, boyfriends, spouses are caught cheating by the surveillance cameras of the detectives who then set the trap on erring partners. After investigation running into days, the day for confrontation is fixed to verify the suspicions. And what unfolds is high voltage drama...Huh! Enter the arguments: "Who pays your phone check? Who runs the house?" From then on, some walk out, some seek counselling, and yet there are some who stay put to rebuild the relationship. "I've invested nine long years into this marriage.. spent so many years with that man that I cant imagine my life without him..' a survivor laments, after catching her husband red-handed


Four advertising biggies -- Alyque Padamsee, Prahlad Kakar, Prasoon Joshi and Piyush Pandey -- were commemorating 100 years of Indian advertising on NDTV tonight. They, of course, stand for a certain attitude. And it was nice listening to them. I was thinking the only person missing in the panel was Businessworld's former media editor -- God's gift to media and advertising writing in journalism, or so she thought. She in the panel would have added the zing thing to the flurry of rhetorics from the four ad gurus. Quite a behenji in the head, she was also a bundle of contradictions to me! But she was a demiGod to the desk. Was never late with her production briefs and stories, handed everything on time, that she made the other reporters look like wankers in comparison. Of her, the Pro once said "fury is the name of thy woman whose story is cut." She loved her words -- they came in all forms and expressions. According to her, "million people armed with handsets w

Naked Rain

I woke up to pitter-patter raindrops, the Gods are smiling I thought. I love the rains. Nothing can be more comfortable than sleeping while it rains. Drizzles, too, are half as good, but it doesn't drizzle in Delhi. After Shillong, it only drizzles in London, I think. Shillong's monsoons are romantic. The sun peirces through the pine trees soon after it pours. The city wears a clean look, almost cathartic in experience! And there is still something more unique. The sun also shines as it rains. When kids, we were told that somewhere the wolves were getting married, hence the phenomena. I don't know know where this came from, but we believed it and rejoiced in the marriage of the wolves. Delhi's rains accompanies woeful feelings. Getting up from bed is a struggle. Going to office an even bigger struggle -- the invariably snarling traffic because of water logging everywhere. By the time one reaches office, losing all that cool is kosher. But today was no typical weekday,

Mundane Matters

Routine Tuesday. Came home, filled water... this has become a must chore. The pangs of staying in a government accomodation, water supply is twice a day and in the summers, if you don't run the motor once, the neighbours and their over crowded families dry up the tanks. So I have to do the needful and run my motor with vengeance. The days I work late, I hand over my keys to my neigbour Usha didi and she does fill the waters for me. The Garwali family above my flat is funny. We share the same connection, so when I run my motor, their water stops coming. Each time they hear my car park dot at 7 in the evening, I can see grim writ large -- the daughters with their nighties, the men topless and in their striped pyjamas like prisoners sit in their balcony everyday and keep a hawk's eye on me. Must be thinking 'the bitch has come on time, again'. Then they start sending emissaries. They want me to stop running the motor. Well, I am not that unreasonable, so after 20 minutes,

And You Call it India Shining

Getting something as routine as a passport is still tough despite rules being relaxed. Stepping into any foreign embassy is like stepping into Nasa -- you switch off your cell phones, your bags are sanitised, and you feel like an invader, imposter, the works. Getting a visa to any developed country, if you are an Indian and single, is tougher than getting through the IAS. Then, the list of questions that these application forms ask are ones prepared by psychos, I would like to think. But what can be more illogical and frustrating than this. Friend applies for dependent visa of a European country [spouse is already abroad in that country working as a top honcho in a corporate office]. The embassy says no documents should be older than six months, which includes the marriage certificate and the birth certificate. This is hilarious! I think no one in India (or anywhere) can get a passport made without the birth certificate because your birth date is printed on the passport! Now, every m

If Wishes Were Horses...

I once asked my mother a cheeky question: why she never thought of family planning, basing on her five kids -- one son and four daughters. She didn't chide me this time but gave me a very simple answer. She said she kept trying for another son and turns out they were all girls one after another, so when my last sister (I am the fourth in the line) was born, she said she didn't even look at her properly. And it's a mean joke we always play on my youngest sister till today, we keep telling her that she was actually picked up from near the river! Anyway, so when my nephew was born to my elder sister, who is settled in Shillong, my parents, particularly my mom, was the happiest person on earth. Mothers and their fascination for the boy child, my mom was no exception. She named him Mihir, after her favourite TV actor Mihir of Kyon Ki Saas Bhi Bahu Thi, amid protest from my sister and the rest. In her last years, Mihir, my nephew and only grandson of my parents, was the recipient

Of Jay Leno & Rakhi Sawant

There aren't quite so many like Jay Leno, he manages to take on one and all. Smart, skilled and full of tomfoolery, he makes me laugh. I haven't been following American news, so the revelation of presidential candidate John Edwards' 400-dollar haircut, paid apparently from his campaign money, was funny especially the way Leno put it. "Oh, Edwards said it was a friend so he charged only that much, but what kind of friend charges a f***** 400 dollar for a haircut? Even an enemy won't screw you that bad." And should Edwards become the president, what would his plane be called -- Hair Force One! Next, Jay Leno called American Idol dropout Sanjaya Malakar and made so much fun of the poor guy and his hairstyle that all the poor kid did was dance and dance to whatever music was being played on screen and in the background. By the way, I've watched the guy sing and I don't think he really is as bad as was made out by the American press. But good thing is, in


Sometimes my own thoughts scare me... I see a tomboy and think there comes another gay. I see a fat woman on the street and think, here is a lazy bone on a desi ghee diet. I see an unkempt person and I assume, this one feels miserable about life and couldn't care about appearances... Well I try not to go beyond this, but being me has its traits. Some days ago, I was chatting with a buddy. Buddy asks, "do you still keep in touch with your ex?" I replied, "yes". He answered, "I don't know how you do it." My reply, "not everyone can keep relationships healthy." His remark, "you are the sentu types who can't let go." I logged off. We haven't spoken since. I didn't know what to make of this last sentence. So, when the table was turned around and I was judged, I just didn't like it. The point is, I hate it when anything becomes a subject of character or moral judgement. So I have friends who are married and have boy


I often wonder how children deal with alcoholic fathers, abusive fathers or fathers in absentia. Strangely enough, the same question does not arise of the mother because, I guess, the instances are few and far between. The feeling is at once scary as it is painful. My neighbours Sarah and Jeane in Shillong grew up in a family with an alcoholic father who never worked but drank from morning till night. Uncle John's famous lines whenever I bumped into him were,"I drink like a fish and smoke like a chimney." But that's again typical of Shillong's Khasi men, who live in a matriarchal society, where the women are the stronger lot, run the house and marry of their sons who prefer household chores to a 9-5 job! I want a house husband too. But jokes aside, Sarah and Jeane did not at all look like deprived kids. In fact, they are today both doing well in life and settled with good husbands :). Maybe they are an exception. But I can't imagine being in their shoes. I ha