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Showing posts from December, 2008

Yash's Party

Sausages in shawls, breaded fish, deviled egges, marinated paneer, kahndvi quiche, mirch ka salan, sukha mutton, methi malai matar , malabar paratha , fruit with mint and ginger, vannilla with caped goosberries conserve... It's not my razor sharp memory, if you are wondering I am typing it away as I recall. A day before the party, Yash text me the list of menu she was slogging her ass on. I knew it had to be good knowing how worryingly meticulous she is as a host. From the colour of the napkins to the sizes of the crockeries, nothing can go wrong. The party last Saturday was a good one. It heralds the start of my yearend bashes. Eat, drink and be merry will be by motto this week. To hell with recession. The more you think, the more it depresses. So don't think about it at all. Like every year ender, I feel Oh Gosh how quickly the time has passed. And soon it will be another new year and ufff.. a grim reminder that I am getting old too. But the truth is I cant feel much of a

Red Is In

When I was in university in the early ninetees, red lipsticks were in. It was good old Max Factor and Lakme that most friends relied on. Didn't know or have access to Mac, Lancome, Body Shop or Clinic. I am told today from a friend in Paris that the bloodi red lipsticks are back in trend, something that will carry on to 2009. I feel a little dated now having stuck on to the nude shades of pale pinks and naturals. So, this Christmas and New Year shopping wll include some of the vampire bits in my metal makeup box. I love colours -- loud and flamboyant. And it is something that I would chose on occasions. So I am happy that I wont be totally out of sync with the times. Of course, it is not something that I carry to work. Loud makeup invites looks and makes you feel like a secretary. The same with perfumes. I hate strong odours during the day although some people make you want to empty your bottles of perfume because they just wont do something about the smells they emanate. I admir

War On Mumbai

That night when terrorists took the city to ransom, I was lying inside the cosy warmth of my bed and watching a movie. There was a brief call from a friend saying gunshots in Mumbai. Roomie and I dismissed it nonchalantly as some stray incidents of firing. So we watched our movie and fell asleep. It was only until the next day early morning when we opened the papers that we realised the enormity of the attacks. Mumbai was burning. And then, like everyone else, we were glued to the TV, calling, SMSing friends and sharing our thoughts. Then there was the news that Sabina Sehgal Saikia, whom I knew since my Times of India days, was in the Taj hotel and that she had smsed her husband saying the terrorists were in her bathroom. Suddenly, the attacks became even more personal to me. Sabina did not survive. A second tragedy was the news of a young Manipuri front desk manager at the Taj, who had just finished his shift and was waiting for his colleague to take over when he fell to the bullets