INDIRA LAISRAM

The hazards of living in Delhi. Talking about it is a pet peeve. Inquisitive neighbours. They pop their heads out ever readily whenever any guests come to visit you, and more so when the guests come in vehicles. And when they leave and you come out to bid the guests goodbye, they have that smile that kind of implores you to tell them all about the visitor or visitors. “Can’t be your brother, uncle, sister?” Er… well… you don’t oblige of course. Uncivilised blueline drivers. We know about them and they are the most talked about for all their untamed ways. Even in the thick of traffic they would blare their horns and drive at break neck speed. Or, invariably they would slow down bang in the middle of the road any time to offload passengers or pick up a few. They are the king on Delhi’s roads. A few days back, I had a mishap and my first brush with the killer blueline. I was slowing down as the green light turned orange and bang the bugger swerves from the left to jump the red light. Be

My gift today from the don You're a falling star, You're the get away car. You're the line in the sand when I go too far. You're the swimming pool, on an August day. And you're the perfect thing to say. And you play it coy, but it's kinda cute. Ah, When you smile at me you know exactly what you do. Baby don't pretend, that you don't know it's true. Cause you can see it when I look at you. [Chorus:] And in this crazy life, and through these crazy times It's you, it's you, You make me sing. You're every line, you're every word, you're everything. You're a carousel, you're a wishing well, And you light me up, when you ring my bell. You're a mystery, you're from outer space, You're every minute of my everyday. And I can't believe, uh that I'm your man, And I get to kiss you baby just because I can. Whatever comes our way, ah we'll see it through, And you know that's what our love can do. [

I was trying to get on to people's nerves with my ceaseless prodding through the day: So, how are you spending your Valentine's Day? This one deserves to be the most irritating question of the year. And I burst out laughing at this one. "On most days I am double but on this particular day I am single it seems". By double she was referring to her weight. This came from a young colleague in the team – 20 something and quite funny. And taking me seriously asked me, "What is the V-Day fuss all about? "Don't you know love is in the air?" Wasn't amused with the cliche. Finally she tells me her plans on the chat. "I'll be watching adult movies with my cousin. My parents will be going out." I sensed the excitement. I've taken a liking to this one in the team. She is a normal young girl – doing things that conventional women in the team consider outrageous – smoking and drinking occasionally and hanging out with friends while focusing a

I am thinking dirty. Don’t get me otherwise. It’s just one of those memories you can’t help erasing. And it stems from a conversation the don and I shared a few days back. Well inane conversations that often crop up in between long serious talks about our lives, career and finance. I’d threatened to blog about it and here I am reliving it again! And you do need that comic relief once in a while. For some reason, I've had one reflex action – that of bowing my head in front of temples, churches or any places of worship. I am not religious but it's perhaps a feeling of respect for the place that people deem sacred. Delhi’s architecture is funny, you have dilapidated temples (some are being reconstructed) and you have state-of-the-art toilets which are thankfully cropping up everywhere, the paid toilets where you can always do the needful if you can’t help it. I was once passing by a Sulabh toilet and bowed my head little realising it was a newly inaugurated toilet. Ever heard of

Why do I do it? I ask myself at the end of every fight. When the night seems like all mine to fight as much as I want, I throw goodbyes like papers to the bin, I keep hurling the choicest of abuses and I wear the super bitch look. And it never ends because I won’t give up the fight easily and I won’t relent, won’t forgive for the next 5-6 hours. I want to make life hell for the don. I succeed. “You just lose it over silly things.” “Well, do I? What about you? You are no less”. “But I didn’t say this.” “And I meant this.” For the next few hours, you explain, don explains. But the hurt continues to nag. You have a heavy head and when you finally hit the sack, there’s a feeling of not enough, of whatever. Like a typical chick flick, fight, goodbye, fight, goodbye, fight... and make up. Sometimes, the nights are long. It’s funny how fights can bring out the worst in us. I hate to even recall what I am told during these insane moments. For a moment you think, “Am I like that in reali

I remember the good old guava tree at the backyard of my house in my sleepy hometown. It still stands there timeless and strong, bearing fruits by the year. At the age of ten, I learnt to climb it like the neighbourhood boys who were so drawn to it. And I was drawn to it for a lot of reasons. On many sunny mornings, it was my place to read my books and pen sweet epistles -- I was a hopeless romantic even at ten. When the years went by and I stepped into college it was the private spot where Julie, my friend, and I sat and exchanged stories, she about her seaman and I about life. But tonight, it is not the guava tree that haunts me as much as the stories of romantic idealism that Julie and I exchanged. In a lot of ways, I was envious about Julie. She had a perfect romance going on in her life with a man she called her seaman because he worked with the navy. He pursued her, he loved her and he was ready to give her a home, children and a family to call his own -- all the things that a w