Pieces of the Puzzle

Oh hi!

2010-07-13T23:00:00.004-05:00

This blog has become that friend that you postpone calling because you need at least an hour to catch up and you never ever find that hour. How awkward!

If that friend were to be on facebook, he/she would have seen this on my profile- Moving back to India with my company working on Bangalore International airport.

Thank God for facebook, I don't have to update my blog.

Costa Rica, Do you really want me?

2010-02-10T15:49:00.005-06:00

Came across this while whiling away on travel sites. Nomadic Matt and Gap Adventures are giving this trip away and I am entering the contest in the high hopes of white-water rafting in Costa Rica this spring. Here's my entry-

Costa Rica, you say? No thanks, I say! This isn’t the case of sour grapes even though it has been established in many years of my existence that I am not to win anything, not even a game of Pictionary. So with lady luck definitely on the side of another loser, I can be less skeptical and more honest. I am entering this contest because it gives me a chance to update my blog. It also gives me a reason to stand out from the rest of the pleading contestants. I don’t have stories of a troubled childhood, which definitely will make me deserve this holiday. I am not a single mom with quintuplets whose babies are stuck in Costa Rica. No sir, I am not even an adventure extremist who can live on slugs or cross the river on a raft made out of chest hair. I do not have much chest hair to boast of.

To qualify my first line, Costa Rica hasn’t really sent me those magnetic vibes like, say, New Zealand or Botswana has. Whenever someone looks at me with glee and goes,’ Guess where I am going next? Costa Rica!’ he can be certain I am not scheming to eradicate him out of abject jealousy. Beaches, volcanoes, islands, hiking, rafting, rainforests and green spotted frogs all sound like something out of my very own dream, but I was never intrigued by Costa Rica. The more I dwell into this issue, the more I am perturbed about my indifference to this apparently lovely country. I’m concluding it to the lack of country knowledge and my general apathy towards a certain demographics that don’t like traveling too far from their comfort zone (America). These people give bad press to the countries they go to- like Costa Rica. Why go to Faristan when Costa Rica is so close? Or maybe it is too green for my untrained urban eyes. Now if I were planning on checking off countries, Costa Rica would be somewhere I’d see myself spending a few hours on a weekend trip after visiting neighboring Nicaragua, Guatemala, Mexico and Belize. But I am not that kind of a traveler. I become a ‘ShamWow’ when I go to a new country as I feel the need to soak it all in. Only the sights and sounds, not their entire water bodies (For this free advertisement, ShamWow better send me someplace cool.)

When I heard about this contest, the first thing that went through my mind is, Wow, here’s one competition I can participate and not worry about winning. Otherwise I am a sore loser. I have fantasized about winning such trips, but I never entered any of them for the fear of losing.

I will admit to a few things that may be relevant. I am a person who would like to keep the earth as is and experience the world. I would like to travel everywhere if I could (even Costa Rica), preferably all the time like Matt. I love people who travel and I admire Bruce Poon Tip for what he has accomplished in his lifetime. As my role models, you probably will want to award me with this trip, but I understand if you are put off by my lack of enthusiasm for Costa Rica. But if you feel compelled to prove a point and make me fall in love again, I will grudgingly go.

He proposes, she disposes.

2009-11-17T22:29:00.008-06:00

Angelina, a friend after my own heart, has turned 40, and unfortunately the knight in shining armor has been scared witless and has probably choked on a spear (of asparagus). The boys are there, yes, but no boyfriend. One failed marriage under her belt, she’s rightfully skeptical of everything the spells men, boys, and grandpapas. As much as she puts forth a brave face in front of family and friends and declares she cares ‘two hoots’ for the institution of marriage, she does feel a strange sense of melancholy every time she spends time with her friends who seem content with their respective families, even though Angelina’s heart cringes when she sees Katie, her wild best friend Katie, flipping pancakes and throwing birthday parties for her kids, baking the cakes from scratch. Shudder! If only she could find a husband who’d be there in the cold wintery nights to cuddle with, cook food, one who would indulge her unquenched travel obsessions to exotic countries, and the one who might engage in deep romantic conversations that involve Theory of Relativity. Did I mention she has a doctorate and moonlights as a professor, apart from serving in committes that control the fate of Pittsburgh?

Living in Pittsburgh, there are only two kinds of people she encounters, the Pittsburgh native who can’t fathom leaving Pittsbugh or the people in transit who in their right mind wouldn’t want to live in Pittsburgh after their degree from CMU is complete. An average Pittsburgh man has two sets of clothes and both are the black and gold Steelers jerseys. The nicer one he wears during the super bowl game and the other one is worn proudly everyday. If all the people in Pittsburgh were to line up their Steelers Jerseys around the earth, I think it will go around the earth twice. But the only problem with proving such a fact is once the line of jerseys inches closer to the Western Pensylvania border, I doubt anyone from Pittsburgh would want to move further along the globe even if it is to make some well deserved world headlines. People here do not like to travel away from their comfort zone which includes two houses from their own home in that block. Moving zip codes is almost unheard of unless two people get divorced and everyone in the suburb knows the cause of the divorce. Pittsburgh people might leave the lovely city in search of jobs or whatever insanity, but invariably they come back to their hometown. Being so engrossed with their sports teams; it becomes exceedingly hard for Pittsburgers to devote time for any other activity other than lying on the couch and regarding the television with fondness.

So it is a miracle that our worldly wise Angelina even found a boyfriend in the vicinity. In some weak moment she would get attracted to some dude’s looks or bank balance, only to realize after a week that she needs someone who would take the Steelers less seriously and her feelings more.

Softly cooing into his ear, she wanted to know what was the last book he read.

‘In high school, I guess. Why do you ask?’

She dumped him.

The next one didn’t want to travel to Bolivia with her.

‘Why go to Bolivia when you can be in Pittsburgh? If you really want to go to a foreign country, how about Canada?’

She dumped him.

Being a hardcore liberal and vegetarian to boot, the last boyfriend tested the limits.

‘What are your hobbies?’ she asked casually trying to get to know him after some great sex.

‘Well, watching football and hunting.’

Worrisome indeed. But she attested that everyone is entitled to their own hobbies and like every woman she knew she could change him. She figured that the hunting rules are much simpler to comprehend. You shoot and, boom, your target should cease any activity it was performing by dying. That is much more than she knew about football.

‘Hmm.. Hunting? You have a er.. gun?’

‘Yes, three in fact. You should see my babies. Do you shoot?’

‘Yes, with a camera. I have three lenses. You should see my babies. Heheh. I just got back from Botswana and the camera really helped in capturing some of the animals.’

‘Yes yes. It’s in the Caribbean, right? You took pictures of dolphins?’

She decided to be polite and move on to some topic that involved Pittsburgh Symphony Orchestra. He seems to show some excitement by asking if they play in some bar on East Carson Street. So she tried to change the topic back to his original love.

‘So where do you practice, ermm…this hunting?’

‘On Montour Run trail. I hunt deer there.’

She dressed up quickly. A month later she left Moon Township (where she ran everyday in the Montour Run trail) and moved into the city where there are no woods. Needless to say she dumped him that night itself.

After many such car wrecks, her family decided to show some concern to her lonely state and decided to hook her up with people they thought would definitely work considering her desperate state. Till now her family didn't interfere. Her aunt took her aside and said, ‘I’ll introduce you to Roger. He’s been divorced thrice with 8 kids and is probably paying more alimony than what Bill Gates earns. He lives with parents, but the good news is that he has driven them insane, so they might end up in an asylum soon. You may meet him next week when he is released on bail.’

Now I’m wondering if I should introduce Angie to Karthik.

Gandhi lived here

2009-10-02T22:57:00.011-05:00

January 24th 2009- Johannesburg, also fondly known as Jo'burg is roughly located on the Northern central part of South Africa. A few hours away from Krugger National Park, Drankensberg mountains, and the country of Bostwana, its location is quite coveted. The biggest surprise as we land in Jo'berg is how progressive the city looks. The transportation system is in par with the US. We just rented a car from the airport and took off with a GPS. Though unlike America, we get a tiny car that rivals the Maruti in India. Hilly and almost picturesque, we see cute little subdivisions that dot the slopes. Just like Lagos, white people don't seem to be on the streets walking. Blacks are everywhere, walking with umbrellas, either going to school or cleaning the streets. As a brown person, I guess I could choose which camp to be in. Most black people were working menial jobs and most white people were shopping at the malls. Did I tell you things are very cheap in South Africa. Cheaper than the US and much cheaper than Nigeria. BTW, Nigerians are regarded as scum in every part of Africa other than some parts of Nigeria itself.

South African art is quite pleasing to the eye. But then there are somethings that the eye can't see. Deep down in every South African's psyche is the strange feeling of actually walking in an (apartheid) free country. I couldn't get my head around the fact that 4 million minority whites ruled 20 million blacks. To do this with such brutality and for so long right into the 90s….is something I can't even imagine. Can you imagine how it must have been for me to actually stand on the ground where so many people fought for their rights- to able to go to schools, to get health care, to be able to live in areas they wanted, to walk freely with their heads held high, to live in peace and above all to be treated as humans in their country, the country of their ancestors?

In our tour of Jo'burg, we passed through a highly affluent neighborhood called Houghton. During the Apartheid Government, this locale was primarily a 'white-area' and any blacks trespassing would be arrested without interrogation and put in prison for 6 years. Even now, as South Africa heals, we don't see many black people here other than staff. The houses here are grotesquely huge. Unfortunately we couldn't admire these homes due to high compound walls, with electric fencing as heightened security measures for a once paranoid white population. Some of these houses are now being converted to offices.

Hillcrest was another White-Area, but it was the only area that blacks were allowed to come to and the only place where they could meet the whites if they 'had' to. Present Jo'burg is seeing a lot of black people moving into this area and the whites slowly moving out. We do see signs on abandoned stores that show some evidence of the past. 'Non-Whites not allowed' or like the photo above.

Our next stop at Soweto (South Western Township) was quite an eye-opener. In the 1900s there was an outbreak of bulimic plague and many blacks started getting affected by it. Using this as an excuse, the British council moved ALL the blacks and Indians to Soweto to be used as 'evacuation camps'. Soweto is 10 miles away from the white city. With more gold being found in the area, more blacks came from every where to work in the mines. The Soweto slums increased in size to 1 million people. Many uprisings against whites took place here. Many freedom leaders grew up here as did much of the African consciousness. One most noteworthy person is Nelson Mandela. Winnie Mandela (Nelson Mandela's ex-wife still lives there in a division in Soweto called Beverly Hills-slightly nicer neighborhood, hardly the Beverly Hills of Southern California). Nelson Mandela's house in Soweto is on the same street as Desmond Tutu's. So Vilakazi Street is the only street in the world to house two Nobel laureates.

Seeing the prison that housed both Mandela and Gandhi was quite a stirring moment. And there, said someone, is the Gandhi statue. Yes, I do see the signs saying Gandhi square, but that guy is not Gandhi. I was certain. Then it struck me, quite profoundly! Gandhi was not always old, slouching with a stick talking a long stride looking at heaps of salt in the horizon. He was also a young barrister smartly dressed with books tucked away in his hand, a stern face that would take no racial nonsense, not in India and definitely not here in South Africa where he was flung out of the first class compartment in the train for not being white. He stood up for the atrocities shown to his country men in South Africa before he left for India to lead the country to freedom. It is also said that he didn't really care much for the black people and considered them savages. Interestingly, our good old man is branded racist among the blacks of South Africa and they was some resentment for this statue to be unveiled in the first place. This could be attributed to awareness at that time and brainwashing of the Indians in South Africa against the Blacks (which I believe is still prevalent). Later in India, Gandhi stood up for the cause of untouchables and no 'rasict' would have done that. Anyway, I think Gandhi started the first passive resistant movement in South Africa and got the Black people motivated to begin their political movement.

So Yay to our Gandhi!

In the corner, there's a Zulu Muti store 'Museum of Man and Science', that sells every conceivable ingredient for the traditional African healers to perform their medicinal skills for any ailment ranging form common cold to hepatitis A. The store sells star fishes, snakes skins, lion teeth, bones of assorted animals (or maybe humans too..i didn't ask) and of course intestines neatly folded. There were drums and spiders. I bought souvenirs for all of you from here, but they ate each other up. Expecting to see a Zulu guy with face paintings and spear, I walk into the store to get a closer look. 'You don't look Zulu at all' I say to a few folks that look more Indian than I. They laugh and say they are from Madras, at least their great grandfather was. They were so excited that I spoke fluent Tamil (hah, at least I could trick them into believing that) and were very happy to have met fellow Tamilian. I think I had more similarities to that stuffed monkey in their store than them. Indians seem to have permeated all sectors in South Africa, even as freaky as above. Being third or forth generation Indians, they speak very little of their mother tongue, but are fluent in Afrikaans and other local languages. Just as I was leaving their store they wanted to know if Aishwarya Rai is Tamil. I say she is from Mangalore. It took me a while to assuage their sorrows.

Drakensberg (Mountain of the Dragons) in South Africa is the home to the Zulu warriors, who have for the most part abandoned their spears and taken up to farming. I was very disappointed to see Zulus in pants riding bicycles. What was not disappointing was the stunning scenic beauty of their home in the mountains, a backpacker's paradise. Beautiful and lush green mountains are found just a few hours south of Johannesburg. We hiked up to a few caves at Big Castle Mountain to see some bushman paintings. Nomadic bushmen used to roam around in these mountains only 500 years ago. They are said to have traveled all the way from West Africa in the BC to East Africa and finally to South Africa in the later stages. They are just 4 feet tall, nomadic hunter gatherers and talk in the famous 'click language'. See Gods Must Be Crazy movie. A few tribes still thrive in the Kalahari Desert though many of them are lost to colonization, civilization and the lure of better lives in the cities. One of the people we met was a bushman and when she spoke in that 'click' language, I was stunned to note the kind of sounds a human body could make. All day I tried to bring out that guttural click and in the end I managed to hear my bowels groan.

South Africa seems to have it all. Capetown was awesome in its own beachy way. The vibrant culture, the wonderfully friendly people, the wildlife, the natural beauty, the natural resources (gold and diamond mines), the art, the history…No wonder the British couldn't leave. I didn't want to either.

No Shower without Thunder

2009-09-24T15:51:00.007-05:00

When mankind plunges into amnesia just because they all bumped their heads on the same rock, I would want them to regain their entire memory only to have forgotten one thing- baby showers! Yes, that would make me very happy.

I went to one baby-shower during those days when my thinking was confined and my exposure limited. Hoping to see a naked pregnant lady getting into a shower while guests looked on, I was in for a rude shock and am still paying shit loads of money in therapy. What confronted me was a fully clothed glowy type pregnant person who seemed quite smug and hassled at the same time, ’Thanks guys! So sweet of you to do this for me.’

I had already done the congrats bit before and since I had to say something, I lied,’ You look great.’ In fact in reality she looked like a python that swallowed an auto-rickshaw.

After settling that awkward bit, I just about sit down to eat the nipple shaped cookies when the hostess (a friend of hormonal pregnant lady, equally hormonal and obsessive about making sure everyone has a terrible time) decides to kill whatever little joy by announcing games. Right under our noses, are 6 diapers that are disgustingly soiled to depict various stages of stomach malfunction. In fact, the hostess proudly informs us that it’s not human excreta, but different chocolates melted to look like the real deal. ‘Look at the various poop in the diapers on this tray and please write down what chocolate you think the baby had for dinner. You are allowed to smell and taste.’ This is a sure shot way of keeping all the other women in the room very prompt with their birth control pills.

Melted on a diaper with little raisins and peanuts peeping from the shapeless brown mass, however much you want to believe it is chocolate, you end up swallowing some of your puke. If this makes Guantanamo Bay sound like a massage parlor, wait till you hear more torture that I had to endure.

Then there is a game where you have to guess the correct circumference of the mommy-to-be’s stomach. ‘Diameter of the earth’ was the wrong answer and so was ‘I’m not sure’. More appalling is how some women will try to cheat by asking me, ‘Would she be at least 6 times my size?’

Then there is the dreaded gift unwrapping at which point there is the mandatory ‘Awwwww’ for each gift from us onlookers. I also have a problem with this word ‘Awwww’, but not so much that I would write a whole post on it. [It would suffice to say, I grew up on Shakti Kapoor going 'Awww' at every nubile damsel he wanted to rape on the silver screen.]
‘Awww, it’s a cute little toy train. You must have missed my gift-registry that was typed twice in the invite,’ she croons while shooting murderous looks at me. ‘Well, I just wanted to get rid of this dumb train that you gave me for my wedding.’ I said while creating more wrinkles in the fabric of the event.

After that terrible experience, I had a huge success rate of avoiding baby showers all together. I fell terribly ill, ran away to New York, had out of town guests visiting…and somehow managed to stay out of the excitement of digging my nails into my skull while playing ‘baby shower’ games.

This time my luck wore out and I got invited to a shower where my friend knows only three people and the person throwing the shower postponed, preponed etc, just to accommodate those three people, including poor me. At that point, after 15 emails, I threw my hands up and said with resignation, ‘Alright, show me the well.’

The hostess in all zeal sent us ideas for games. ‘Who wants to volunteer for conducting the games? I went to this baby shower where they had the measure the belly game. Or this other game with baby diapers, its gross…but we can do it…’ My faculties started failing me instantly and I hated myself for being surrounded by pregnant people. It isn’t their fault, I know…but they are the root of this misery. What probbaly started off as a well meaning congregation of experienced women teaching a few things about raising a child to the expectant mother and giving nice gifts, has now turned into a nightmarish ritual of cheesy décor, terrible games and a very awkward atmosphere which expects single women, never-been moms and men to attend. Why in the name of Lord do we Indians have to do this? Our traditional bangle ceremony is so cool...some little prayer, bangles, loads of good food and no games! West, please look at the East in this aspect.

So I am big time trapped and dreading this upcoming baby shower. I have volunteered to help with the games with the intention of making it bearable for me. I am seriously considering strip poker. Worry not, pregnant lady will be excluded from game!

On the road to Timbucktu

2009-07-11T01:20:00.005-05:00

March, 2009

If losing your baggage is on your travel to-do list, please refrain from doing so in West Africa. In almost all situations it isn’t your fault, unless of course you feel your camera and the various lenses are more important than an extra set of clothes that you could have packed in your carry-on luggage. So there I was in the market in Bamako, haggling for underwear from a wicker basket with my translator Sekou Camara waxing eloquence in native Bambara. At that point, I failed to comprehend who was more hassled; me, who had never worn anything that was covered in a four inch layer of dirt or Sekou, who probably never ever bought lingerie for any of his three wives. After taking care of that awkward detail, we proceeded to buy the rest of the ‘outerwear’. Sekou, who had an idea what I would care to wear, took me to a section of the market loosely known as ‘Dead Toubab’s Closet’. Toubab meaning ‘White Man’. These clothes are donated by the west and are sold in the streets as 'dead white-man’s clothes' because Malians are convinced that nobody in their right mind would discard their clothes unless they are in the grave. One of the many eye-openers I would witness in the world’s fourth poorest country.

So from a huge pile of T-shirts ranging from second-hand Tommy Hilfiger to Levis, I chose a green T-shirt that said, ‘MARDI GRAS PUB CRAWL’. It came with some gentleman’s body odor (is all, I hope) as an add-on bonus. I found a fabric for a native skirt, which was basically a colorful wrap-around that was to be tied around the waist. After a day of frolicking around in my skirt all over Mali, I was politely reminded that the slit should be on the left to signify a lady of decent standings. ‘I am sorry, where I come from, we don’t wear skirts.’ I tried.

We boarded the Bani bus to Segou on this 100 some degree afternoon (It gets hotter in May). Just before embarking on this four hour journey, Sekou asked me to buy myself a hand fan. ‘I have a book to keep myself busy,’ I assured him. I wish I had listened to him and bought two. Now this bus was supposed to be Belgian import and the Belgians didn’t design it for Malian conditions. The A/C had stopped working eons ago (to save on diesel) and the windows were sealed shut (for A/C efficiency of course). To make sure the passengers didn’t die of suffocation, the officials had punctured a few holes on the roof of the vehicle for inadequate ventilation. The whole scene reminded me of a frog in a bottle. Very soon, I started to feel dizzy and very uncomfortable. If not for the umpteen stops the bus made (for checkpoints, prayer sessions, food breaks, toilet breaks, god-knows-what-else-thanks-to-language-barrier), I would have definitely perished in this very unglamorous way.

Outside the bus, poverty was in open display everywhere and even in the capital city of Bamako, infrastructure is limited to the main roads and a few brick and mortar structures that are used as government buildings, hotels, shops and restaurants. Most of the buildings were made entirely of mud and held together by sticks and tin roofs. Garbage was being burned in every conceivable open space and many plastic covers survived the cremation process. Some kids rummaged the vast fields of garbage for treasures such as a used plastic bottle. What they needed was a good waste management program. Fortunately for Mali, the population was under control and they didn’t produce much trash as the reused almost everything. The scenery was really nothing much to gloat about…just vast stretches of brown and some dirty green (occasional baobab and acacia trees). Every check-point greeted us with a surge of hands of young women thrusting grocery on our faces. You could buy anything from a choice of water-pouches, boiled eggs, carrots, meat, cakes, peanuts, juice, apples, bananas etc.

This was my second trip to Mali on this Engineers Without Borders Project and the tragedy of the most friendliest country hits me each time. More to come..

Crime, Sex and Book Clubs. Lagos, Nigeria.

2009-07-07T09:20:00.004-05:00

Alpha's diary- January 19th, 2008

With a population of 24 million, crime rate hitting the roofs, corruption and huge environmental concerns, I guess I can say I am feeling completely at home. From the sky, this sea of a city looks flat except for the occational cell phone towers that rise higher than the modest sand-color settlements. While driving us to our home from the airport, the driver says that if you don't know the 'blood-language' of the locals, you would be termed as 'goats'. 'You know that they do with goats right? They slaughter them.' I just hope to learn the blood language sooner than later.

Huge population of Christians in the south of Nigeria, this part of the country is not really conservative by any standards. I wonder why I brought only long skirts and kurtis while women are walking half naked. 'Oh, she is a prostitude,' said Dennis, the driver. I saw another skimpily dressed woman and expressed my concerns about a city laden with sex workers. 'Oh no, can't you see, she isn't one. She looks like a Goddess. The last one we saw was my ex. Hence I call her that. That bitch, she slept with me and now says she is pregnant.' [I could write a book on this driver and his shenanigans]

English speaking and trying hard to make a living, the city is distinctly poorer than many Indian cities I have seen. We live in a real nice part of town called Ikoyi Islands. The place has fairly new roads (paved) with open drains. This is due to the fact that the governor is our neighbor. Nigerian food is definitely not the greatest I have eaten and the sentiment is shared by all. They eat pepper soup and interesting bread that needs acquired taste. They eat this bread for breakfast (a whole loaf) with water. I am sticking to my honey bunches of oats. They live on cassava that is eaten in the form of gari (cold and flowy) or eba (hot and lumpy). Jolof rice (tomato rice), fried plantains is something I liked. I don't eat meat and they have a variety of suspicious looking (and highly suspect smelling) meat dishes.

I am spending my time exploring the city on foot. It's not that unsafe as people had scared me. Yes, in the nights you sometimes could be looking at a barrel of the gun and handing all your valuables. But that is in the night. Even our Nigerian driver pees in his pants if he has to drive at night. Daytime, its fine, especially in the neighborhood when we live. I sometimes ride on the 'okada', a two-wheeler public transport that gets you from place to place for a dollar. So you hail an okada like you hail a taxi, he hands you a helmet (safety first always) and expertly weaves through the traffic, sometimes crashing to the asphalt as we avoid a mini bus with more people than there are in Pittsburgh and its suburbs. Most of these bikes interestingly are Indian makes like Bajaj. People are not overtly friendly like the Malians, but are friendly enough if they trust you. Once they do, they are loud, funny and very friendly. There is a general mistrust among the expats…and its both ways. The resentment is due to the fact that even after colonialism, they feel that they end up being subordinated to the wealthy Expat community. You will not see an expat walking alone on the streets. They get carted by cars everywhere and do their shopping in Dubai. They socialize with other Expats and this is but natural. Most of the crime in Lagos is towards the expats by the poorer locals. Just for a few bucks, they apparently kill.

Interestingly I went to this book store where I got chatting with the book store owner and Tundum (her name, I just like saying it) hooked me up with the African Book Club of Lagos and today I was in a room with 20 women, all expats. As much as that was not the Nigeria I came to experience, it definitely helps me gain some perspective on what the 'oyibos' (white people) think of Nigeria. And also get me to read a lot of African Literature.

A little bit of India in Africa

2009-07-01T16:19:00.008-05:00

Last four months I spent in Africa. I met strange people, ate stranger food, walked into juju markets of Nigeria, lost baggage in Mali, danced and sang with Nubians in Egypt, got lost in the medinas of Morocco, dined with Zulus of South Africa, made eye contact with the Mountain Gorillas of Rwanda, relaxed in the beaches of Ghana, cheered for the lioness as she pounced on the wilder-beast in the vast Serengeti plains, and managed to completely avoid winter in Pittsburgh. And here I am, kicking myself for not seeing Ethiopia, Namibia and Bostswana. Life is calling me an ingrate!

I may or may not get into all the details of my trip in this blog, but you shall hear snippets for a long time to come. I met lots of Africans and this was their reaction to India:

Nigeria
'Man! You Indian people never part with your money even though you sleep in golden beds. If we get one Naira (equal to $1/150) from an Indian, we throw a party. By the way, if you didn’t get it, we don't like Indians.’

South Africa
'My great-grandpa was Indian; from Madras. Is Aishwarya Rai from there? One of these days, I would love to see what India is like. We Indians have thrived here from generations, keeping our culture alive. If you think Cape Town is infested with Indians, go to Durban. Can I offer you some chai? '

Mali
'India? Hind? aaahh! (glazed far away look) Where ever you are from, your skin color and hair is great. Wish all Malians could have brown skin and straight black hair.' (touches to see if I am real)

Tanzania
'Indians control all big businesses and keep to their own community. They never let their daughters marry localites and are forever suspicious of us. but you both are very different and friendly.'

Egypt
'You know Amitabh Bacchan? You look like heroine! What eyes! What body! Be my wife. I will give your husband 1000 camels in exchange for an Indian bride. He can have my fat sister too for free. '
[I plan to go to Egypt everytime I need ego boosting]

Ode to Ignatius

2009-06-30T00:47:00.010-05:00

‘We’ll have a driver, cook, maid, laundry-boy and even a gardener’, said Pi in order to entice me into following him to Lagos, Nigeria. What he didn’t mention was there was also a pool-boy for the private pool in the backyard for the bungalow. Fume away, fretter all you want, you lesser beings in Western countries who clean your own bathrooms. I was dying to be waited on by my own Men Friday.

Our pot-bellied chef, Ignatius, walked in majestically with a white coat and a chef’s hat. Mentioned he went to chef school. My gastronomic cells jumped in glee. I learnt very soon that Ignatius couldn’t cook. In fact, Ignatius and the word ‘cook’ should never be in the same sentence. But he cooked nevertheless. He had all the signs of a person who wanted to do the right thing – as in cook a decent meal. But he failed every time he tried. His food tasted like something, but we are yet to ascertain what. Some say donkey tastes like that. Even his fried items tasted like cardboard soaked in oil. What he was adept at was making something terrible out of perfectly good ingredients (oil and flour. How? How?). He mixed up coffee and tea; salt and baking powder. After he cooked, the kitchen would look worse than the garbage truck filled with road kill. On top of that, he was a little slow for a human being. It took him three days to comprehend that we were vegetarian.

‘No meat.’
‘No chicken madam?’
‘No, Ignatius.’
‘Oh. I understand madam- o. I know one lady vegetarian. She dey eat no chicken.’ He said in perfect Pidgin English.
‘I am glad you have encountered such species.’
‘Tomorrow I dey make pork chops madam with white sauce.’

What ensued was an hour class on vegetarianism filled with drawings and actions. I gave him a cue cards and cheat sheets. ‘Nothing with eyes.’ He nodded his bulky head. He went shopping muttering 'no eyes..no eyes' and came home with Carp.

‘Ignatius, we don’t eat fish. I told you no eyes.’
‘They cut the head off. See.’
ARRRRGGGGHHH!
‘Oh, madam! You say no chicken, I dey understand. No pork, I dey understand. No beef or mutton, it is very hard. What I dey cook if I dey no cook fish. You come to Nigeria to starve?’

I spend the next two hours showing him how to cook dal and cabbage with whatever I could scrap from the kitchen. Everyday after that, we had decent food except for the fact that dal and cabbage started seeping out of our nostrils every time we breathed. ‘Ignatius, please put a stop to this. If I have one more meal of dal and cabbage, I will combust in my own fart. Ask Alpha madam to give you some recipes. ’ Pi warned and left to work.

So while I was busy working on some project and looking more important than I needed to be, Ignatius waddled up to me, sweating and breathless (he always managed that look even if he was watching TV on the couch),’Madam, Pi sir told me to ask you for recipes.’

Patience wearing thin, I wrote down good Indian recipes and even showed him how to make a few things. Considering he was being paid, I had no intentions of doing the job for him. No one finished my design report for me when I taught chefs how to cook. ‘Ignatius, you better improve, or else!’ He had signs of panic in his eyes and stuttered something about making a decent meal for dinner after he is done grocery shopping. Palak paneer was laid out.

Relishing it, Pi commended my training and said he would congratulate Ignatius the next day. I beamed with pride for my new ward.

That is when I saw empty packets of MTR ready-made palak paneer in the garbage.

[Part of my 4 month stint in Africa after taking a break from work. Now I'm back in Pittsburgh]

Back to being me

2009-06-28T22:58:00.005-05:00

Hello there!!! Anyone still lurking? This feels like coming back to a house you abandoned because life handed you a mansion of experiences in exchange for this little hut where you saved memories. I couldn't stray away too long as a familiar sense of happiness dragged me back. On a very bad day, I read my blog and it made me want to be more like Alpha. I just realized how much money I saved by being my own shrink.

Should you run?

2008-09-15T11:37:00.013-05:00

For all the years I have known myself, I have wanted to do many things like being able to sing, dance etc.

But I never wanted to run. I hate running. I can't run. I had mixed feelings regarding people who run- pity plus indifference. ‘Tsk tsk, whatever dude’. Sane people run when chased by dogs.

‘Congrats!’ I effused to my friend who completed the Marathon.

‘You can do it too,’ obligatory punctuation followed.

‘Why should I run? No marathon shit for me! In the end what have I achieved? Breathlessness? Naah! ’ I tried to sound positive and sensitive to what he had achieved.

‘Try a half marathon,’ my friend would besiege assuring me that I could definitely do it considering my fitness level and so on. As pandering as it was to my ego, I couldn’t see myself indulging in such a mindless activity.

‘Half Marathon? Yikes! Why would I ever do half of something when I can very well do the full? I would rather run a 5K than something that is called ‘half’ of something. So demeaning!’

‘Call it a 13.1 mile race then.’ He was postively giving me a headache.

‘Bah! It doesn’t just sound cool. I would rather bump my head on a railroad track.’ I despised running.

Just a day (24 hours) after this conversation, I signed up for the half marathon on some whim proving that I can't stand up for what I stand for. I had discovered runners high. I couldn’t stop running and couldn’t explain my predicament to the other non-runners.

Between my training sessions, I had to make a two week trip to India. And I had to run.

The first day my mom was shocked to see me up at 5 am, tying my shoe lace. The last time I woke up at 5 am was when …ermm.. there was no such recorded incident. It was required as it gets too hot after 6 am. Before she could stop me, I was out of the door running in the community feeling on top of the world. This would be great. Being used to run in long stretches on a trail along a river (in my backyard) with squirrels and deer scrambling past, in Bangalore I was encountered with roads that led to other people’s gates. I would have to make an abrupt U-turn just to face another dead end. I was running in a freaking maze- in the dark, bumping into the same house again and again. Out of nowhere, seven neighborhood stray dogs congregated and ran after me. There suddenly seemed to be a point in my running...and running fast! I somehow found my way and bolted into my house, breathless, just after scaring the living daylights off an aunty walking with Nikes and a head scarf. I just barely managed 15 minutes and had enough for the day.

My mom was wringing her hands in fury, ‘What is wrong with you? Why are you running like a mad woman? What will people say? We have to live in this neighborhood you know. You didn’t even have breakfast. What if you fainted?’

Day 2- I decided to run outside the gated compounds of this colony to keep my sanity and my mom’s name intact. So I snuck out early and ran along Bhanerghatta road towards this Shiva temple I knew to have a long secluded road. As I ran, people stopped what they were doing and their eyes followed me till eternity or till the awkwardness stopped (whichever came faster). I almost got run over by a few autos. Avoiding running over some kids sleeping on the ground, I leapt into a garbage dump. If I was training for hurdle race, this would have been so worth it. The secluded road did give me a few jitters when strange people appeared out of nowhere. But I managed a good run that day inspite of the locals wondering what ‘Goddess’ got inside me. I got back home to a livid mom.

‘Where were you? Its 2 hours since you left! I sent your mama in search of you. Stop running. Or if you have to, you better not go before the sun rises! It’s not safe.’

Day 3. Out of despair, I called up a few elite runner friends in Bangalore and got their advice on options. ‘We usually drive to Turali (which is 1 hour away) and then run along this beautiful stretch uphill. Sounded good to me. Plus I would have human company.

‘Can you pick me up from my place?’

‘South Bangalore eh? Then we’d have to wake up at 3 am.’

‘Holy Bambolee! I don’t think I can get permission to leave home that early. You see my mom is more used to me staying out till 3 am. She is having a hard time dealing with this. Plus the watchman would think I am eloping. Too much drama. ’ I was bummed and thought about Pittsburgh fondly when I could run in abandon anytime I wanted.

Day 4. My mom piled on pooris and aalo subzi on my plate and insisted I eat before going off to the gym. The gym, we decided, would be ideal given the situation. I sauntered off whistling towards the community gym letting my mind wander over the feeling I was going to get after the workout. There were at least dozen men in the gym and the swimming pool just sitting around in their hunches staring at me, some brushing their teeth with neem twigs. I smiled and they all just froze mid activity. They were caretakers and not gym users. I walked into this empty gym with rusting equipment. I opened the windows to let some breeze in and walked over to the treadmill. Hmmm….no treadmill. I looked around in vain and went out to ask one of the guys about the mystery of the missing treadmill.

‘Woh andar hai memsaab’ (It is inside)

‘Accha, Dikhta hai kya?’ (Is it visible to naked eye?)

The guy (who is apparently the caretaker or manager of the gym) walked in and scratched his head.

‘Kya bola apne?’ (What did you say?)

‘Treadmill on which you run.’ I did some running action to drive the point.

‘Agar aap kehte hai, toh nahin hoga.’ (If you say so, it probably isn’t here) ‘Aap dumbbell kar sakte hain memsaab’ (You can do dumbbells)

‘What do I do now? Can’t run outside, can’t run inside.’ Crestfallen face met puzzled face of Bahadur Singh.

Bhagna zaroori hai? (Should you run?)

PS: In spite of the Universe trying to conspire against me, I finished the Pittsburgh IKEA Half Marathon on Sept 6th in 2 hours 34 min. I wasn’t the last person to finish. There was a 10 year old. Yippee! Now if I had dogs following me, I would have had much better timing for sure.

Extraordinary people can't be related to

2008-09-14T20:51:00.007-05:00

Say Godzilla decides that he wants to have some Indian today. He carries you off and places you on the buffet tray in Taj Mahal Indian restaurant. Definitely a worrisome proposition. You need help. Whom would you turn to?

a. Superman, the guy who paid too much for his chaddi and now needs to show it off.

b. Priya, the girl who flunked in Social Studies- just like you.

If your answer is b, you must be a white Republican suburban hockey mom! Just because you dimwits relate to Sarah Palin, doesn’t mean she can save you from the Godzilla. Go have some paani-poori with this woman and please vote for someone capable. [hint: Obama]

This advertisement is paid by the polar bears, moose, wolves, pigs, gays and people who would like to see less of the bleached wax statue called McCain on TV for the next four years. I might be forced to watch the E! channel (excuses excuses).

Smile Please Madam

2008-08-27T22:29:00.014-05:00

We went to a friend’s house to congratulate them on their newly wedded status. They showed us their wedding album. It was a tastefully done coffee book with pictures that didn’t garishly shock, but rather sublimely blend. The pictures showed the bride and groom laughing into each others eyes looking lost in love and there was a picture of their silhouettes walking on the sands of Kovalam beach hand in hand. At the wedding ceremony the people were not even looking directly at the camera. The photography was brilliant and the lighting natural. The album brought a tear in my eye. A tear of abject jealousy and self pity.

‘That sucks!’ I said swallowing back more tears. ‘No, I mean it really sucks’ I tried explaining to the visibly perturbed hosts. ‘Not your album, but ours.’

‘Oh, come on…I bet it is awesome. We must see it sometime when we are your place.’

Both Pi and I cried in unison, ’Nooooo!

I shuddered thinking of the photos and the cameraman from hell (or rather Triplicane). On the album cover was my face, almost murderous, and around the photo was a message in golden letters ‘Heven shower blissings on the happy coupple.’ Next to mine was Pi’s face with his eyes closed…hoping no one could see what he saw.

If he hasn’t burnt them already, Pi guards the photos like a crazed watch dog. His figure not being a perfect ten during those days, made him protest vehemently against the cruel treatment given to Brahmin bridegrooms. ‘Sorry, you can not wear a shirt and the poonal (sacred thread) over that. You will have to go bare-chested.’ they said.

‘Can we wait for a year longer to get married? I could go to the gym or convert to Christianity.’ he begged.

Unfortunately no one even considered it; Pi had to pose without a shirt. I believe the constipated look on the guest’s faces was actually shock mingled with sympathy for me.

So there he was consciously half naked exposing chest hair to open fire and there I was telling him how his tummy was making the priest jealous as I poured some ghee into the flame. At that time, the the cameraman would call out loudly, ‘Madam, look here madam. Can you smile please? Tilt head towards him please and point that little pinky towards the Jupiter if you don’t mind. And while you are at it, could you move to the right so we can get the mapilai’s (groom) love handles in our frame.’

When Pi tied the mangalsutra, the camera guy made me shake hands with Pi and pose. *Click* At first I thought it must be the first kiss equivalent of Indian weddings, but later when he made my brother shake hands with Pi after my brother poured puffed rice into the flame, I was a little confused.

Some things perplex me to date. First, why should there be a videographer in a reception? Second, why is there a band on a stage singing ‘Gemini Gemini Gavani Gavani?’ Third, why should there be a reception at all?

On Pi’s insistence, who was now more comfortable in his Sherwani, I decided to stop making faces at the cameraman. ‘It’s alright. Just deal with it today. Cooperate with him so you look good in the pictures.’

‘Madam, don’t grin. Please look here. Smile saar. Saar, look here saar. Aiyoo Saar, here here!’

‘Ok, who hired this moron!’ Pi was livid.

Video guy would pull people who were in the middle of greeting us and rearrange them beside us and make them stand straight and look directly into the camera while he rolled his video camera to take action shots. The camera guy clicked a still picture to accompany the action shot just in case we missed who presented that plastic tea cup set.

Ohm… Ohm… Ohm! Slow breaths. There will be an end to this. All I have to do is believe in it.

I protested against the filmy poses and he finally gave in. If I lived to tell this tale, I want to retain some dignity. Not a single wild horse was going to make me hold Pi's cheek with one hand and throw my head back in coy abandon. I told him not to bother with any graphics and just do a simple album and video. 'No frills pa.'

‘Aiyoo, how is that possible madam? For all that money, you will have to get all this only no?’ I considered handing him all my jewelry to disappear with the photos forever.

He wanted to do real time computer simulation and dazzle the crowd. It definitely was a crowd puller as we turned around and performed a fake puja to the screen behind us; he morphed the screen with an image of Thirupathi Balaji Yelumalai Venkatesa of Govinda Govinda fame. The audience could see all this and we had no idea what was happening. As we offered flowers to the screen and folded our hands in devotion, the crowd was yelling how close I need to go to the screen to get the flowers falling in the right angle. Next we had to stand with our side profile to the camera. We were being flown to Singapore on this Honeymoon Airlines with our faces sticking out of two windows, one behind the other. Even they were prudent not to get us booked on adjacent seats.

After a few days 3 humungous albums in sets of three and 3 sets of DVDs arrived at the door in a truck. I left my copy back in India giving the airline-baggage-limit excuse. If they ever needed an extra bed, it would come in handy. My mom cried as she watched the video of people standing in the reception unmoving. ‘Look look, how fat Seetha has become. I wish we could do it all over again. Sniff.'

Shudder.

I had no courage to watch the video for the longest time. When I finally did in the company of a few drinks and persistent friends, I was pleasantly surprised to see most of our footage replaced with Simran and Surya’s dancing. Then there was the whole computer graphics deal that would put Spielberg to shame. My head splitting into ten and forming a little trajectory into Pi’s eyes. It’s quite possible I actually performed that stunt under those circumstances. I wish he could have turned me into Kali mata with blood dripping from the corners of my mouth and tongue sticking out. Oh well, that wasn’t necessary. From what I saw of myself in that red saree, I came close.

A year later back in India, just as I walked into my parent’s house, I saw a gigantic laminated picture of the both of us looking completely hassled in our wedding garbs, hanging on the wall. The very picture I detested as my hair was all frizzy and Pi was er... fat. Horror of horrors!

‘The nice fellow that he is, Popular Studio guy presented us with two such laminated pictures, for free!’ my mom gushed. ‘The other one is at your in-law’s.’

Kilimanjaro Hakuna Matata

2008-04-29T23:29:00.013-05:00

(February 17th)- At breakfast, all of us were so upset that this was coming to an end. The porters sang the Kilimanjaro song and the Hakuna Matata song with high spirits. I can't stop humming it even now.

KILIMANJARO KILIMANJARO KILIMANJARO

KILIMANJARO MILIMA MREEFU SANA,

NA MAWENZI NA MAWENZI NAMAWENZI

NA MAWENZII MILIMA MREFU SANA.

-------------------------------------------------------------

JAMBO JAMBO BWANA,

HABARI GANI? NZURISANA

WAGENI MWAKARIBISHWA
KILIMANJARO HAKUNA MATATA
TWENDE KILIMANJARO HAKUNA MATATA
TWENDENI POLEPOLE HAKUNA MATATA
MLIMA WA KUPENDEZA HAKUNA MATATAA

We gave tips to the porters and they were quite jubilant as it was the day they would go home to meet their families after working so hard for us. One of the porters hollered just as we were breaking camp, "See you tomorrow!" like he would do every day. We laughed. I wanted to say 'Hope not', but I knew that I would miss them even in the comfort of my home, my bed and an attached bathroom. Our Good Earth crew did everything to make us feel comfortable in the harshest situation and for that I will be eternally grateful.

The air in Mweka camp was very festive with most of the campers heading back after a successful climb. By 11.40 am, Pi and I reached the Mweka Gate after 45 miles of walking in the wild and that’s where we had our first tryst with the modern world- clean flushable toilets.

Kilimanjaro in the end wasn't just about the mystical mountain with snow in the middle of Africa. It was about the Chagga people, swahili music, the abundant wildlife, the cheer in the air, the strength of people of all ages who attempt to climb Kilimanjaro, the humility of the best at the face of adversity, the shimmering African sky, the unbelievable vegetation, the hot masala tea, and a pletora of memories that will take me to Kilimanjaro whenever I want to be there.

On Top of Africa!

2008-04-29T23:16:00.005-05:00

Mweka Camp (February 16th)

It was brilliant! I was so happy to see the stars and at that point nothing else mattered! No storm! I grinned for an hour straight as I looked to the right at the beautiful silhouette of Mt Mawenzi that we completely missed in the last morning’s storm. Mt Mawenzi is the second tallest peak after Kibo on Mt Kilimanjaro. Everywhere I looked there were little dots of light. The unpolluted African sky with its million stars, the headlamps of resolute people moving in a single file. When you looked up in the darkness, you could mistake the headlamps for the stars, which is well and good. We had a long steep climb. But that didn’t bother me a bit. Instead of being in the tent and counting sheep, I was just happy to be out here, in a place like this, with people like this. This was better than the dream I dreamt about Kilimanjaro. I never felt better than I felt now. I followed Herment and just kept going. Somewhere along the way, Freddie brought out some hot tea in a thermos and we had tea in pitch darkness sitting on rocks. We saw some people returning as they couldn’t go on. It was probably heart breaking for them after having come this far.

We reached Stella point as the sun rose over Mt Mwenzi and the clouds way below us. If I could hold my breath any longer, I sure would have. A sun rise that will stay with me for life. Sat down and enjoyed the moment and then continued on to Uhuru peak (which is the highest point on Kilimanjaro). We were almost there. To the right we could see the Reusch crater and to the left was the Furtwangler glacier. None of the photos that I have ever seen of this place does justice, which is why we went there to testify that. I just can’t imagine what Kilimanjaro would look like without the ice cap. We were there- on the Snows of Kilimanjaro, leaving our foot prints. Sadly, the foot prints and the snows are all transient. By 2020, it is said that this would all disappear due to global warming. But what would remain etched permanently in the Rosetta stone of my mind are these memories. I couldn’t stop taking pictures of this unbelievable sight.

The last strech was the most grueling and killing. I had to keep stopping to take a breather. The dawg was walking like Shankar Dayal Sharma had got into him. Pi had severe headache and was squinting and would sit down every 10 meters. Lee kept moving towards the goal, ‘I just want to get this done with!’ and she kept going with the kind of determination that is so characteristic of her.

The four of us reached the famous marker on Uhuru peak (19,340 ft) together at 8.45 am that day. As I approached it, my weariness withered to give way to a strange kind of sadness. When you know you have reached the top and there is no where else to go, but down. The jubilation was in the journey and not the destination. Somehow for me, seeing the final point didn’t hold the significance it held for everyone else. I know Pi shed a few tears of joy. So did Lee. We spent fifteen minutes on the top of Africa hugging each other, clicking pictures and generally hanging around. Suddenly everyone regained their energy. The power of achieving something was incredible. There were times on this mountain when I felt I couldn’t have come this far. All that was forgotten now; we had done it! The view from the top of Africa was stupendous! I could see years of bragging rights apart from the vast African plains. And mountains that once looked formidable when we were on them, looked like mounds from up here.

We started descending quickly so as to alleviate any symptoms of altitude sickness. We reached Barafu camp for lunch after sliding on loose gravel for most of the way down. Layers were being peeled as we headed down. After we reached Barafu Camp, Professor brought out our celebratory pineapple juice. It was a wonderful feeling to be congratulated by all. Feeling accomplished and in good shape, I decided to venture out and brag to the climbers who were yet to summit. Just then, I had a horrible fall on the rocks (face first). I was lucky to have not broken my skull. I looked like I had a small bar fight with a cut lip, a slit on the forehead, bruised hands and feet.

Leaving the gloomy miserable Barafu camp, we limped down to Mweka camp (10,101 ft). Since we had a late start (with everyone feeling out of sorts) and stopping for Kilimanjaro beer, we reached Mweka camp at 9 pm in the dark after maneuvering some treacherous downhill (slippery granite rocks). I fell three times again and by that time I was aching from butt to head. At one point I just sat down in the middle and refused to move. Somehow after the summit, you don’t expect anything more difficult, but this downhill part butchered me.

We had our final dinner in the mountain after 17 hours of constant hiking without a wink of sleep. It was the toughest, yet most exciting day of my life. Every part of my body was badly hurt, but sleep evaded me and for the first time in 6 days, I was out like a lightening. With the summit in our pockets, I guess nothing really worried me now. I could sleep.

Highest Camp on Kili

2008-04-29T23:07:00.005-05:00

Barafu Camp (February 15th)- Steep uphill, but only 5 hours long to Barafu Camp (15,000 ft) which is also called the base camp. The weather was very bad- Freezing rain and sleet all the way to camp. Visibility was at an all time low and so was our spirits. With our gloves wet, our hands were freezing. The climb was unrelenting. Oxygen was rare and we were left gasping for breath after every step we took. It would have been a cake walk in lower altitudes, but at these altitudes everything became hard- even saying ‘Damn!’. So we moved slowly and very quietly. For once I didn’t feel compelled to chatter on. Herment gave a silent prayer of thanks. We saw many others struggling here for a good measure. Chipped and Broken rocks that looked like shale were all over the place and beyond that all we could see was an engulfing curtain of haze. We reached Barafu camp in these conditions and were completely spent. We make the summit push tonight, in the dark.

We saw many people who had just summited and come back to base camp by mid day. They didn’t look too cheery either. We were too tired to even talk to them. Barafu camp was on a desolate exposed ridge with a huge clutter of tents placed uncomfortably on huge boulders. There was garbage strewn in places and toilets in inaccessible areas. To get to a toilet, we had to climb over huge boulders and scramble with our hands. This took every ounce of our strength. And then there was the activity of defecating itself. On top of that we had to drink and eat more to combat AMS and couldn’t avoid the input-output cycle. This was way too much work.

We were told to sleep in the afternoon when the sun came out for a brief time and solarized our tents as we baked inside with our 5 layers. As we started peeling the layers, it started freezing again. If anyone was complaining that they weren’t getting enough exercise, I think they were well taken care of. We were woken up at 6 pm for dinner and made to eat a hearty meal. Herment warned us about ‘Loss of Appetite’ at these elevations. Pi wondered what he meant by that as he hoarded the third helping of pasta. Loss of appetite was one side effect of Altitude none of us experienced. The food was just good. Herment, Freddie and Anthony (the head honchos) all walked into our tent as we were finishing up with dinner and stood solemnly. Hermant began to speak (for he knew English) ‘The moment is here my friends. We are finally going to make it to the summit and you all should be very happy to have come this far. I am sure you are very excited for the final summit push that will start at 11 pm tonight. Does anyone have any concerns?’

‘Will the storm go away?’ I asked like a 10 year old.

‘I think it is better if it rains as the temperatures will be warmer.’ This was Herment’s way of putting my mind at ease and seeing the positive of something as horrid as the weather outside. This time I thought he was mad and so I prayed hard for the skies to clear up. I tried sleeping, but was too damn excited and anxious. We nibbled on some snacks at 10.30 pm, wore all clothing we had including 3 pairs of socks and pulled ourselves out of the tents with our head lamps. The Dawg had a hard time moving, let alone pulling himself out of his tent. Looking like well fed polar bears; we were ready to hit the trail. Barely able to move, our guides led the way. Herment offered to carry my bag as he had nothing on him. This one time, I gladly obliged. I can’t thank him enough for this. Even that little pack with water and rain gear became a huge burden as we crawled higher. Better to conserve my energy than to act heroic, I thought. The Dawg spent the majority of his hike calling me a cheater for offloading my bag on Herment and when Herment offered to carry his bag, he happily obliged.

Ready for the midnight summit push

Valentines Day Drill

2008-04-29T22:58:00.005-05:00

Karanga Camp (February 14th)- Valentines day! We acknowledged it by going, ‘Guess what, its Valentines Day.’ That’s as much energy we were willing to part with for this day. I was forced to take a picture with Pi and that was that.

Freddie with his transistor
The Dawg dancing to Swahili music

Herment pointed at a vertical wall next to our campsite that we would be climbing to get to Karanga camp. ‘Its very easy hike today’ he said. I had stopped believing this guy..for a good measure too. Last time he said it was easy, I was willing to trade my life for a day in Hell.

Fearless leader- Herment

So there we were, scrambling up the ‘Breakfast Wall’, which is a rather tame name for something that needed all the four limbs to maneuver. Very scary in parts, almost vertical but mostly fun. Gained altitude pretty quick and passed some lovely valleys walking amidst the clouds. Had to stop and look back to sigh at the pretty sight that we would leave behind. After we caught sight of the Karanga camp (which seemed like we could reach it in 5 minutes), there was still an hour of downhill to Karanga valley and uphill.

Antony helping Lee

Karanga valley was the last source of water. So from now on, porters would carry all the water for the rest of the days. We would be very prudent with our usage. No more water balloon throwing activities.

We had hot lunch at Karanga Camp ( 13,300 ft) and spend the afternoon playing cards as hail and rain pounded our tents. I had a terrible headache that wouldn’t go away, so I took Tylenol. The headaches subsided, but came back with a vengeance at night. The weather calmed down and the clouds parted to reveal Kibo for maybe 10 minutes. I watched with awe the symphony of ice and rock, intertwined in harmony. Even as we neared the peak, I had a sense that Kibo was mocking our unwise fortitude. That night when I came out to take a pee break, I could see the city lights from Moshi and Arusha under me, the stars shining over me and the moonlit peak of Mt. Kilimanjaro. There was a lightening and for a brief second, the place lit up to reveal the other tents in the Karanga Camp. I shivered as I plowed my way into the tent and spent sometime doodling in my little dairy. I switched off my head lamp to conserve the batteries and spent some hours flopping like a seal unable to sleep. With depleting oxygen levels, every activity including eating became hard. I would yawn and spend the next few minutes panting and puffing. Acclimatization was in progress as we spent more time in the mountain. It was definitely getting tougher to remain upbeat.

The peak from our tent and the toilet

Doubts creep in

2008-04-29T22:56:00.010-05:00

Baranco Camp (February 13th)- Thank God for the Ziploc, I could sleep better (one full hour)and not make half a dozen trips to the stinky bathroom in the middle of the night. Wish it was simple as ‘going to the loo’. It’s a HUGE process. Unzip yourself out of your sleeping bag, quickly wear your outer layers (inner fleece-outer fleece jacket-down jacket-rain pants-winter hat), zip yourself out of the tent, yank on stuck zipper, wrestle with it for 10 minutes, give up, squeeze yourself out from a 10 inch hole like toothpaste, fall in a heap outside, shudder at how cold it is, collect yourself, orient yourself to the general direction you want to travel, move towards origin of smell, trip over rocks in pitch dark, turn on your head lamp, get blinded and trip again, reach bathroom, remember you forgot to get toilet paper, curse, rewind, play, make way back in freezing rain holding nose.

Ziploc- I owe you my life.

Sometimes, I would be mesmerized with the beauty of the night. The zillion stars that light up the African night, like no other place I have seen. The serenity of the mountain, as it is suddenly seems to belong to me alone. Solitude was a treat in Kilimanjaro. Seeing the rounded peak against the moonlight validated my being there, in the night, all by myself, going to pee.

The morning, just when I was declaring how well I slept, I had some symptoms of altitude sickness. I felt like puking while eating breakfast. The Dawg suddenly came to my recue,’ Hold it in! Hold it in! Do not puke!’ I tried tilting my head backwards, then suddenly I ran outside the tent and emptied the contents of my bowels, Malaria pill included. What the?! How does one hold puke in?

I felt very apprehensive about the rest of the days to come. Especially since I couldn’t hold the puke in as I was supposed to. Leela told me not to let this get to me and that sometimes achieving something is just a state of mind. I nodded weakly while lying on the tent floor getting my energy back. Herment, our guide, came to my tent and told me not to worry and that this is quite common. ‘I get sick too’. Herment had this uncanny way of putting people at ease at the most grueling times and I thank him for it even though sometimes we knew he was just saying things that he really didn’t mean. He did it very nonchalantly without creating a fuss. ‘Also if you feel like throwing up again, don’t try to hold in!’ That does it! I am convinced The Dawg is has been sent to twart my plans of making it to the top!

I felt instantly better as we moved away from the camp and Kibo came to full view again. We walked though some amazing expanse of Moorland vegetation (consisting of some huge cacti) and some black volcanic boulders. The vast starkness of the landscape was mind-blowing and we continued to prod on as the air became thinner. We reached an altitude of 14,000 ft after which we would descend to 12,850 ft to camp. This is the best mantra to acclimatize- Climb High and Sleep Low.

The Dawg declared that he was developing cerebral edema and we laughed at him like good friends should. ‘Dude, that's your Gatorade spilling on your ear.'

In fact his delusions in the mountain didn’t stop there. Every time he came back from the shithouse panting and puffing, he would declare he just had childbirth. His kids surely didn’t take after the mom.

I had lunch in a hailstorm. That’s one thing I would advice you not to put in your list to check off. It was brutal till it lasted. Though it was pounding with all kinds of white substance from the skies, it didn't last long. Downhill usually doesn’t bother me and I had a wonderful time admiring the snow covered landscape and then all of a sudden the clouds parted to my left and we got the glimpse of Kibo yet again, suddenly so close and so majestic. My heart skipped a few beats as I looked up. Nothing could be so perfect and nothing could take this moment away from me. I just sat down on a rock and admired this wonderful creation on earth. I could see the Heim and Kerstein Glacier , beautiful, though receding. A few glacial streams that cascaded down as little waterfalls adorned the path. The giant cacti (Senecio Kilimanjari) surrounded the landscape rendering this picture very illusory. I wished hard for one thing. I hoped to remember this for a long time to come. We had walked for 8 hours straight and were completely exhausted when we reached Baranco Camp (12,850 ft) right under the shadow of Kibo. To the other side was the vast plains of Africa and could spot the city of Moshi way below us. We felt very high and very cold.
Pi and the Dawg staggered into camp an hour later looking completely drained off every ounce. The Dawg collapsed in his tent refusing to come out for dinner. We literally dragged him out. The Dawg suddenly realized that this was not easy and for the first time he started having self doubts. He started talking fondly of his wife (This was highly concerning). He was in pain and had slight fever. Pi had a terrible headache, which is usually associated with high altitudes. Lee’s feet were hurting from an ankle sprain. But luckily everyone could speak two words before they retired into their sleeping bags.

To Pee or not To Pee

2008-04-28T09:39:00.002-05:00

High with no Alcohol

2008-04-27T09:06:00.009-05:00

Shira Camp (February 12th)- 'Good Morning ladies!' We heard a booming voice followed by some vigorous shaking of the tent itself. It was still dark. The tent shook again. In my troubled state (I was thinking of lions all night remember) with sore muscles, I managed to open the tent zipper to encounter a cheery Professor with a tray of tea and biscuits. Yikes! I was aghast. I probably died and went to heaven. No I was sure I hadn't, I still felt like I was hit by a truck. We were (or rather Lee was) woken up with bed (in this case sleeping bag) tea every morning by Professor. Ewald is a porter who is also known as Professor as he knew three extra words in English compared to the others. He was quite a sincere and likable chappie who moved on to Pi and the Dawg's tent...'Good Morning brothers!'

As we were about to head out of Machame camp, my water bottle started leaking and spilling most of its content on my pants. Sleep deprived and butt freezing wet, I wasn’t feeling too pleasant as we scrambled through terrain that was steeper than the previous day. The path being very steep and narrow made us stop and let the harried porters pass by. They passed us in huge numbers and we saw ourselves falling behind every group. There were hundreds of porters. By day two, without shower and change of clothes, the stench of body odour was overpowering. There were times when I felt I would throw up. I mean it was sad and all to see them carry 1/2 their weight (sometimes more than their weight) uphill. But my condition was definitely sadder. They at least got paid for this madness. Herment offered to carry my bag , but I refused feeling silly about having difficulties on the second day itself. I also remembered Herment saying todays hike is comparitively tame to what is in store! Couldn’t deal with the fact that the Dawg was racing up the mountain like it was a molehill. Must have been that extra omelette he thulped off my plate. I was out of breath every few minutes and had to stop to catch some air in my lungs. I got loads of advice from Pi from changing my wet pants to keep moving as I was slowing him. If I had some energy, Pi would have been a dead man. I would have regretted that act later of course.

Thick vegetation was replaced by Stoebe Kilimandsharica (twiggy trees covered in cobweb like lichens) Lunch break was on a breathtaking landing where we could see the neon green expanse of Heatherland extending as far as the eye could see. Well fed ravens came for scraps and regaled us with some amusing acrobatics in the air. Mood was elevated instantly. We reached Shira Camp (12,600 ft) soon after and could catch the glimpse of the highest peak of Kilimanjaro (Kibo). Kilimanjaro consists of three peaks- Kibo, Mawenzi and Shira. Uhuru Point on Kibo is the highest point on this mountain that we were aspiring to reach. It was a sight to behold and we watched mesmerized the Snows of Kilimanjaro. Like a massive scoop of chocolate ice-cream with vanilla sauce. The destination seemed so far away and daunting, so high above us that I felt ridiculous to think I even dreamt of being there. Yet Kibo seemed so alluring and beautiful that it would be ridiculous not to be there.

Shira Camp itself was on an open expanse with the perfect triangular outline of Mt Meru looming behind.
Some people were shaving their underarms outside the tent! I couldn’t even think that far- my immediate worries were regarding sleep. Will I be able to catch a few winks tonight? If I had more energy, I would have shaved everyone's underarms and doused it with deo. Sleep came in spurts and by then I decided not to worry myself about it. Agonizing is my forte and I knew that would be something I had to let go in this mountain.

Hold it or Bold it

2008-04-16T16:44:00.006-05:00

click to enlarge

I do not miss the pit toilets of Kilimanjaro. It was mandatory we use them as the sheer number of people shitting anywhere can be disasterous to the fragile environment. As much as I value that sentiment, never again! Corporation toilets in Madras smell like green apples in comparison. I 'm bringing my own shit bag next time. It was an adventure, especially the time when there were strong winds while you were at it. Some details even I can leave out.

On the slopes of Kilimanjaro

2008-04-13T13:59:00.018-05:00

Machame camp (February 11th, 2008): When I finally got some sleep battling with the power cuts and the mosquito net, it was time to wake up. In fact we were still in bed when Lee and the Dawg called from the reception area all ready. Jumped out of bed and thought about skipping a shower when it dawned upon me that we won’t be having a bath for the next seven days. I acceded to the indulgence and got really late. All packed up, water bottles filled, and slathered with sun screen, we definitely looked like we were ready to ascend the mountain of our dreams. At the new Arusha Hotel, we boarded the Good Earth bus filled with our guides, porters and cooks. Our Head guide introduced himself as Herment Mosha and then he proceeded to introduce us to the others in the Good Earth team. By the time he finished, I had forgotten everyone in the crew except for Justin. Just couldn’t point to him. There would be enough time to figure out everyone as we go.

We passed through the city of Arusha and some dotted villages along the Savanna and couldn’t help notice how similar the landscape was to India. Villagers sitting in a group, talking, combing each others hair, buying vegetable, cycling and some marathoners preparing. So you really don’t see runners in a typical Indian village. We also saw a few drive-through orphanages. As we reached the foothills of Mt. Kilimanjaro and drove up the slopes through the village of Machame, we were greeted with lush green cultivation of predominantly banana trees. We could never see the mountain even though we strained our eyes in that direction as it was always covered by a veil of clouds, frustratingly so.

At the Machame gate, suddenly there was a population explosion injected with a flurry of activity. The place was filled with people who came to climb the mountain and the guides and porters who took these people up. European tourists in their brand new mismatched clothes and the porters with their hand-me-down mismatched clothes. We being the only brown people were definitely outnumbered by the whites and the blacks. Other than in Thirupati, I am not sure where I saw a bigger crowd. I had no idea Kilimanjaro was so popular. I heard only 50% make it to the top. Well of course, that guy with pink tights can be ruled out right away. There were touts selling rain gear, bandanas and walking sticks at the gate. The guides were busy registering us for the climb, porters were packing and weighing the stuff they would carry, while the we hikers ate boxed lunches and waited for the go ahead sign. Before we were about to ascend, the guide told us that this is no competition and that we must walk extremely slow (pole-pole in Swahili) so we acclimatize better. We started at around 1 pm and walked through the equatorial rainforest, mostly uphill, and mostly difficult. The forest was very lush and beautiful. Endemic trees consist of Macoranga Kilimanjarica and the flower Impatiens Kilimanjarica.

Thankfully our guide, Herment, could sustain long (3 min) conversations in English after which he would lapse into animated Swahili with the assistant guides, Freddie and Antony. They all were good friends and hailed from the same Marangu village on the mountain slopes. Most of the porters and guides belong to the indigenous mountain tribe called Chagga who migrated to the slopes on Kilimanjaro from West Africa many years ago. They are essentially farmers, but have been drawn into the lucrative tourism business lately. Swahili is a very sweet sounding language that I grew to like and learnt a few key words like Jambo (Hello!), Caribu (Welcome). The Tanzanians we met had a very easy going attitude towards everything in general and were cheerful people who never complained. In any situation, you’d hear them say- Hakuna Matata! (No worries!) Everytime I stopped gasping for breath, Herment would say Hakuna Matata! 'Oh come on! I will hakuna.. I better hakuna...its not normal for me to feel like I am going to die.'

When I did have energy, I would probe Herment about his family and the mountain that drew us to Africa. He was very knowledgeable and gave us a lot of pertinent information. Freddie spent most of the time in mountain with a transistor that played loud Swahili music, which seemed to entertain other groups along the way too. The Dawg would suddenly lapse into dappanguttu (South Indian folk dance) for 2 minutes after which he would collapse as he probabaly spent his last ounce of energy appeasing the African Gods. But Swahili music did something strange to him everytime. Antony was the quieter guide who usually led the way. Anytime Antony sensed some trouble, he’d turn around and ask casually, ‘You are Ok?’ It didn’t take me long to understand that any answer he got from us would have resulted in the same reaction from him- to turn back and walk on. One time when Leela was struggling, he turned around and expanded his vocabulary,’ You carry my bag?’ Leela gave one look at his humungous backpack and shuddered. She instantly felt better and moved on without a sigh.

Our first glimpse of the peak

We reached Machame Camp (9,900 ft) at sun set and found to our surprise that the porters had already set our camp for us. Sumptuous dinner was served and we ravenously consumed it. Soup, Rice, Vegetable stew, fruits and of course the famous hot tea that they insisted we drink all the time. Having backpacked in the US a lot and not being used to porters and cooks, we felt all this was way too much luxury in backcountry. Pi went on about how terrible it was to have a chair to sit on when we could very well manage sitting on the floor of the tent and eat. Infact, after day 3, the same Pi wanted a ski lift to get him to the top of the mountain. Tired and aching in every joint, we tried to stretch a little, but eventually fell into our sleeping bags and tried to sleep. I am a light sleeper and have trouble falling asleep in the best of the situations. I spent the most of the night reading a book that spoke about Sudanese children being eaten by lions on their way to refugee camps in Kenya. In detail. Now whose great idea was this book? I sat up all night counting Sudanese kids and watching Lee sleep like a baby. How would it be if a lion came and ate her?

Exploring Arusha

2008-04-01T08:54:00.016-05:00

I decided to step away from the breakfast bar (where the three of us seemed to be hovering around for hours ) and explore the gardens while enjoying some solitude with my camera. There was Raphael standing among the flowers beaming at me. I grinned back wondering if I should strike a conversation. ‘Do you know what this flower is?’ he asked.

I was confident about this one.’ I don’t know,’ I said. I like to imbibe life without having to remember names, whether it is an album, movie, book or a freaking flower. Checked off from my list of career options are Taxonomist and horticulturist.

He looked hurt and said it was called the Bird of Paradise. He repeated it once more so I remember.

Then he grabbed me by my hand and took me to another corner of the garden, behind a bush. Just as I was about to scream for help, he asked me to name another flower. Slightly perturbed, I examined the flower. ‘It could be…..’ Before I could complete the sentence, he pulled out the little flowers from the stem, crushed them in his palm and thrust it into my nostrils.

“Ahh, Lavender” I said profoundly.

He blushed and looked very proud. He introduced himself as the head gardener. Now I understood this over-the-top behavior as it had had me perplexed for a minute. So the botany lessons went on for a long time till he moved on to chameleons and squirrels. Raphael had put his blood and sweat into this garden and it was evident in the way he spoke about his plants. He didn’t know the names of his daughters, but remembered obscure plant names like Patenestasia. I gave him a couple of dollars for this unexpected tour and he beamed again. Its amazing how much Raphael had managed to grow in this area. Its amazing how much of variety actually grows in this equatorial climate.

Walked up the Dawg’s room where the party apparently was. Both Pi and the Dawg were watching Aljazeera TV and all over the floor were the Dawg’s hiking stuff. ‘Hey di, pack this up for me no. My wife gave up last week in Philly and now I have no one to do it for me.’
Took a few deep breaths. Congratulated myself for marrying a saint like Pi. Thanks to the Dawg, my marriage suddenly looked bright. I started the packing process. Remember I had even walked him to the store and helped him buy this shit. And he couldn't even pack!

‘Where are the rest of the socks?’

‘That’s all I have di.’

‘What? You need a pair of socks a day! You have only 2 pairs for 7 days! You need to really look after your feet or you’ll get blisters.’ Going by the fact that he hadn’t even changed his T-shirt from the time I saw him in the Detroit Airport (which was 35 hours ago), I didn’t think socks really mattered.

‘You didn’t even tell me to buy the socks.’

‘So then why do you have freakin six bags of trailmix (nuts and raisins)? Are you panning on eradicating all the hunger in Tanzania?’ I yelled. ‘Why did I spend three hours making a list and emailing it to you? To wipe my virtual ass with it?’

‘But you never told me to buy the socks that day.’

‘Arrrrgggh! Ok, where is the hiking pole that I had you buy for Lee?

‘I didn’t bring it. It’s at home!’

Next he looks at my bandana and wants the same one. ’Why didn’t you get me something like the one you have? I am taking it. You can have mine.’ He grabbed mine and flung his bandana away.

That does it! I took some painkillers and sprayed some insect repellent on him hoping to get rid of the pest.

We decided to walk into the city of Arusha and maybe I can hire some local thugs for this job. If his wife becomes a widow and his kid becomes fatherless, even the devils cant make me guilty at this point.

Just as we walked out of the gate, a guy approached me and started talking about Abishek Bacchan in good English. ‘Very good actor. By the way madam, you must look at these necklaces. They will look so good on you.’ He pulls out some trinkets from his pocket and tells me, ‘For you 20 dollars!’ I shake my head and walk on. We are met with many more and they just follow us, bargaining and lowering the cost. I looked at the guy and told him to leave us alone. He stopped abruptly, turned around to the rest of the touts and sternly said,’ Can’t you see fellas, Madam is getting annoyed by your constant nagging. Could you all please leave?’

They all did except him. He followed us to the restaurant and ushered us in and then said he would wait outside. In the restaurant, we decided to order ugali. But it so happens that we are in the midst of some African conspiracy and had to order from the various curries and chappatis available. Very tasty, very Indian. My bet is that there exists no African dish and hence no ugali.

As we walked around Arusha (which reminds you of a city in Kerala), I jumped up with joy pointing at a distance. There it was, behind the buildings, rising above the clouds, Mount Kilimanjaro! A shiver ran down my spine. The first sighting! We gaped at it for a while mesmerized. A local passed by and we smiled. We asked if he had been on Kilimanjaro.

‘No, that mountain you see is Mt.Meru’.

‘Erm, Yeah yeah, it does not look like Kilimanjaro of course.’ To think we were planning on climbing Kilimanjaro the next day.

Leela finally arrived late that evening from an adventurous bus ride and cancelled flights. This was the first time I was seeing her, I was eagerly waiting her arrival on the hotel steps. Her bus pulled in and I ran to hug her. Shocked, disheveled, completely disoriented and 4 feet tall. Under the circumstances, she was still very cheerful. Yeah, inspite of her height. Her stories of the bus ride had me in splits even though I probably should have shown some sympathy. She started emptying her really heavy suitcase to repack into the duffle bag- 50 notebooks (did I mention she is a journalist sort), 100 pencils, 30 wet wipes (She is also a clean freak sort), 2 torch lights and a headlamp (a paranoid sort), sandals and wollen scraves (a confused sort), 2 cameras (a rich sort) and of course world famous dates from Dubai.

We started to pack her duffle bag with the stuff that she'll actually need on the climb. It seemed like this packing would never end for me. If someone gave me a death wish or pack wish, I would have gladly walked into the diamond studded coffin. But then I had to make a good first impression on Lee and the poor thing had a stressful journey. Also her case was excusable as she could not have packed her stuff before. I had brought most of the hiking gear from Pittsburgh.*halo* Since Dubai has no concept of outdoors, they don’t sell outdoor gear (except wollen scraves). She just had to order everything in the US and take a huge leap of faith that it would all fit her. In fact, most of the stuff did as she tore out the labels and wore them one by one before packing.

That night I was quite excited about the climb that I could hardly sleep.

Setting Foot on African Soil

2008-03-30T15:41:00.006-05:00

We saw ‘The Dawg’ at the Detroit Airport fully geared up with all the regalia to be worn during the actual climbing. With a water tube jutting out of his backpack and swirling around his neck to finally hang precariously near his nose, he looked more like a patient wheeled out of the ICU. I was quite shocked to see more of him that I had imagined. He was easily 30 pounds heavier now.

'Dude, are you wearing all your layers too?'

‘One website advised to load on carbohydrates before departure. They didn’t say from how many months before departure.’

‘Well, did the website say anything about training for this climb?’

I should have realized The Dawg has limited comprehension. Even when it comes to emails. In reply to my 300 words email, I would get an answer from him that would consist of three words that would bear no context to the mail itself. ‘I am Bored!’

Or maybe it did have a context.

We reached Nairobi after flying over America, Europe and Africa. The snow-covered Alps in Switzerland was a huge contrast to the vast dessert of Libya. We met a bunch of hikers in Nairobi who we would meet up again in Kilimanjaro. We learnt that Leela’s flight got cancelled from Dubai and she would try to get on the next flight. We felt so bad for her, but all that melted away when we learnt that she would be taking a private chartered plane from Nairobi to Kilimanjaro. Next thing we learn the chartered flight was full and she was going to take an armed vehicle. Finally she managed to get into a rickety bus and got to the destination just in time. Her journey to Arusha from Nairobi is probably going to become a best seller right away, so I will withhold from giving away too much of the plot. She was holed in a bus with a mad woman, a rapist, a thief and a lion wrestler.

At the Kilimanjaro airport, The Dawg was detained for not having taken Yellow Fever vaccination. He was hoping to slip through the cracks of the Tanzanian health department that was checking for the documents. Since he was overweight, they caught him and finally poked him. He came out simmering and was convinced that the whole world was out to get him. From then on, he stopped trusting. He complained that I had not told him about the vaccination. Pi had to hide my pocketknife quickly.

Warm air, starry night, gulmohar trees- Tanzania did feel a lot like South India. Outside the airport we were greeted by David, the computer guy from Good Earth Tours. He took us to our hotel in Arusha (the nearest town to the mountain). David spoke in his lovely African accent about the different tribes in Tanzania and how Christian missionaries helped them get to where they are. They are now Christians and have names like David. He seemed very proud about this. This topic has been debated to death between Pi and I (with Pi very skeptical about the intensions of missionaries). I wanted a pleasant ride and wanted David to do much of the talking. I started sending frantic signals to Pi not to began some heated discussion on this topic when the Dawg jumped up and went, “So David, don’t you think these missionaries are buying you in the name of charity?”

So you can just imagine what ensued. I just closed my eyes and prayed that our tour company wouldn’t
a) poison us while we are on the mountain
b) throw us off a cliff
c) take us the wrong way and leave us to fend for ourselves like Hansel and Grethel
d) do all of the above unless we all converted

After this awkward discussion, The Dawg tried to do damage control by asking David to give him a list of great Tanzianian music. Kuch kuch hota hai and Oops I did it again featured in the top 10.

At 2 am, David took leave after dropping us off at the New Arusha hotel where Bill Clinton had apparently stayed- probably when he was trying to hide from paparazzi. Actually speaking it wasn’t bad at all. One of the nicer hotels with a lovely courtyard garden, an uber rich desi owner and an inefficient front desk. A few towels missing, the mosquito screen fluttering away from the window shouldn’t be that much of a concern. It definitely confused the mosquitoes. And oh, we had to start using our headlamps in the hotel itself whenever there were power outages. Sometimes rudely in the middle of watching Aljazeera on TV. The hotel was still very welcome after the 24-hour flight from Pittsburgh. We went up to our rooms salivating for local fare and decided to order some ugali that David was talking about. From the choice of Burger, pasta and steak, pasta seemed as close to African food as it could get. Pi looked at the dessert menu and did a little jig when he noticed chocolate mousse. When the order arrived, we saw some guey pink mass. ‘Sir, that’s passion fruit mousse. We didn’t have chocolate mousse. It’s one and same.’ We got billed for it.

A little observation on passion fruit- it’s better inside a face cream than a fruit.

To the top and back

2008-03-26T21:32:00.002-05:00

Unfortunately I haven’t even had a chance to thank you all for being so supportive and wishing us well. As you could tell from Lee’s post, WE MADE IT TO THE TOP OF KILIMANJARO!!! What an amazing experience. I can go on and on….but before all that I want say- Thank you! … for goading me on (I could have died, you freaks!!!). To whoever advised me to take the ipod, I want to kiss you! (Just as I figured that the guy is Smiley, I quickly withdraw that offer.)

Thank you also for all those who donated to my cause. I raised $3,500 from this fundraiser! It will all go towards constructing a fish farm in Mali.

Yes, Kilimanjaro was tougher than I had ever imagined. Much tougher than coming out of my mom’s stomach. (yes, babies have it tough too. They just can’t express themselves as eloquently as the moms).

It has been a month since I am back, but I can’t stop thinking about Tanzania. Someone take me back….just one more time. So unfortunately for some, I will attempt at recreating all the good times (as and when time permits). The bad times will be exaggerated so that some of you don’t jump up and say, ’Hmmm. I could have done that too!’ Even Edmund Hillary didn't climb Kilimanjaro!

[Also posted in my other hiding place]

EWB Fundraising Update

2008-01-13T14:42:00.000-06:00

Thanks to all those who contributed to the Kilimanjaro EWB fundraiser. We have also reached out to several corporate sponsors and hope to receive similar enthusiasm from them. I am very happy to have received this kind of support from you (in words and donations) without which all this would have been a daunting dream.

If you had planned on contributing and have not already done so (or if you are hearing about this for the first time), there is still a month to go before I start the climb. I still haven't made my goal of $5000.

Here’s the link through which you can donate. Paypal has been made an option now.

Update on the Mali Project- We at Engineers Without Borders, Pittsburgh, have chartered out a project plan, schedule, budget and are looking at various sources for more funds. We have been working over the Christmas break on a mock design of the fish farm. We are excited about our first trip to Mali in March of this year to understand the community and bring back with us all the information needed to successfully design this project. We will make another trip during December to construct the fish farm.

Thanks again for all the support. All your proceeds will go towards constructing the fish farm and training villagers to sustain the business as a steady source of much needed income for their community.

Regarding the Kilimanjaro Climb Preparations, check out the blog.

Mountain Alert!!!

2007-12-20T08:37:00.000-06:00

The Kilimanjaro blog is up! Witness our highs and lows as we try to climb the highest peak in Africa. Make sure you subscribe to the feeds, check in hourly, comment regularly, give up your normal life, but mostly please come by to cheer us on!

PS- You might see some writings other than mine. And no word verification! I guess that's the extent to which I am going to plug this.

Leave the Rest to Pi

2007-12-18T11:57:00.000-06:00

Last night we were at a friend’s place for dinner. The friends had invited their other friends to check us out. We were still on probation to secure an extended friendship. If we appealed to the other friends, Pi and I could potentially be invited into their inner circle and could be privy to all the local scoop. We would also be laughing at inside jokes like- ‘He is like an orange juice’ that seemed to take the crowd by storm.

So I had obviously hyped up my resume (best cook, best gossip magnet, best social skills etc) to even get an invitation here. I was also at my best behavior- laughing at everything the host said, commenting on their cooking skills, letting them win in a board game. I could see sparkle of approval in the other people’s eyes and a tinge of pride in the host’s. It was going pretty well and this time even I didn’t see it coming.

We had finished eating (which could be taken as a sign) and Pi went on to inquire about this person’s work, trying to make small talk and look positively interested. The guy just started his monologue with genuine passion and just when he was about to launch into further details, Pi’s eyes glazed over and as we all watched, he went off to sleep.

Not sure if we might have to pack up and leave Pittsburgh or live with bad reputation, but I do know one thing. I am pissed! Let me explain why I seem to be over reacting to something perfectly normal as someone sleeping after a good dinner. If there is one thing I would like to acquire from Pi, it would be his sleeping sickness. In close contention were eating disorder, obsessive controlling disorder and a big nose. I already have the big nose, so there!

I am cursed to be a light sleeper and I have known to wake up with a start if someone coughed in Nigeria. I could drink all the warm milk I wanted, use lavender scented eye patches, read History and listen to Chopin…but after a whole hour I would be agonizing over sleep while Pi would be waking up another light sleeper in Nigeria with his snores. I normally end up getting a headache with all that lavender smell and sound effects. It also takes a very patient benevolent soul like me to ward away any murderous thoughts during these trying times. It would be still fine with me if Pi needed some sort of ambience to drift off to sleep- soothing music, dimly lit room, a rocking bed, nagging wife… something that would validate the act. My hubby can sleep like a baby the minute his head hits something soft like the granite kitchen counter top. His claim to fame is sleeping at a rock concert in IIT (Sarang), next to speakers no less.

So it probably shouldn’t come as a shock when I tell you he drifts off mid-sentence when we have guests at home. Now it wouldn’t worry me under normal circumstances. It definitely seems fair enough to show displeasure when the aforementioned guest happens to be his most annoying friend, who could potentially be the reason why he has developed this trait in the first place. The friend takes this as a sign from Pi and makes himself comfortable, insisting on sharing his escapades with me… all night long (emphasizing the ‘long’).

Obviously last night was not a lone incident. Pi has dozed off in other people’s houses, sometimes in their couch in sitting position (if they are lucky), or sometimes in their master bed in diagonal sleeping position (if they are unlucky). “So, this is your new bed, eh? Let me see if it feels comfor…..zzzzzzz… Snoooooorrrrrreeee… burrrrr… brrrrroooom… vrrrrooom”… and very soon he launches off the alien mating calls.

Here’s one more disturbing fact. None of our friends have shown any concern or disapproval. They are either too polite (remember we are talking about my friends) or pretty pleased to get Pi out of the way. Personally, I shall take that as a compliment, thank you!

Huh, What was that again?

2007-12-12T13:04:00.000-06:00

I am convinced that I should have developed into a high-profile, Armani-wearing, Jaguar-driving executive by now. After blaming my high school math teacher, my crooked teeth and my rotten toe nails for not becoming the highly successful person I should have been, I have finally realized where the true problem lay. In my Fake American Accent (FAA). The last time I was giving a presentation, I was more focused in figuring out how to pronounce ‘route’ …rowt or root? By the time the word presented itself in front of me, I was so exhilarated by the possibility of masking my Indian accent that I forgot what point I was trying to make. So with a painful expression, I ended up drawling, 'I just had a Rowt-canal.'

I am screwing up so bad that the whites have started to think my FAA is actually the way we Indians normally speak. Then an Indian colleague comes along and confuses them even more by saying this is actually the British Accent because the British taught us how to speak English during their extended stay in our country.

When we first came to USA, we had to repeat words twice and spell out our names. Frustration crept in pretty quick and we changed the way we spoke and shortened our names. ‘Hi, table for two…the name is Sue!’ But there are some of us who are stubborn and stick to our roots (or maybe routes). We continue to spell out the 14 letters of our last name…D as in David, A as in Adam, H as in Jesus…and by the time we are done, we have the all the biblical names covered and the person typing the name gasping for breath. ‘Sorry’, I say (not feeling apologetic at all), 'My parent’s way of teaching me the alphabet.’

It always helps to try and fit in, to enable the majority to comprehend you so that you can be sucessful in half the time it takes for a person repeating words. The intention is to be global, but in the end of the day we get drawn to the people with whom we can converse with ease and poke fun of their FAA. Hence for most part, Indians hang out with Indians, Chinese with Chinese and Mallus with Mallus.

When I am with Indians, I don’t stop talking- all the time thinking that the universe might vanish without hearing what I have to say. But with the Americans, I am unusually tongue tied, busy forming sentences in my mind with the FAA. When I catch myself saying something in my Indian accent, I correct it immediately making it look even more preposterous. I squirm and to cover up, I reach for the cookie and stuff my mouth and keep nodding. So for most of the conversation I stick to -Sure! Awesome! Yeah! Kewwl! and of course, the universal hahaha!. So Americans think I am dumb at the best and psycho at the worst.

I do not impress anyone anyway. So I have made up my mind. I am sticking to what I am comfortable with. I will speak like an Indian, with pride. After all, I need to give the Americans a chance to be global. If they don’t understand my English language, they’ll at least get my body language. *finger shooting up*

Warming up to Global Warming

2007-12-03T14:14:00.000-06:00

Boy, I am so glad that I camped in real cold conditions before Pittsburgh winters got extremely obnoxious like today. The winds howl in antagonizing horror, the snowflakes perform their last intoxicated dance before self destructing and the temperatures have frozen my bile juices. But I am unperturbed. I am well conditioned to tackle the worst. After all, I spent quality time in Utah camping out in the cold. I had almost lost my limbs walking in ice-cold water for a whole day and since that didn’t kill me, I have emerged stronger. ‘Pfft!’ and ‘Pah!’ at the weather trying to scare with a measly chill. ‘Haha!’ at freezing temperatures. I have endured the worst 25 miles thinking my limbs might have to be amputated due to frost bite (that too hiking in an obscure desert and not really the Mount Everest). Such risks I have taken. So what is mere two blocks in city winter? My skin has transformed into thick dinosaur hide and all the cracks have been sealed with Vaseline. I am having a real smug feeling about the Kilimanjaro glacier that I might have to spend considerable time on. Should be a piece of cake without the frosting. This year’s winter will be a breeze, a warm one at that!

Such becoming thoughts enveloped me as I sat in the coffee shop sipping hot fancy-named-awful-tasting latte and stuffing my face with Black forest. That is a part of my training regime to tackle the extreme weathers. No one has seen a skinny Eskimo!

I paid the cashier with a cheery disposition that only a confident winter veteran could muster. And I opened the door and walked out...

I made it!... To the book store which happened to have a door connected from the coffee shop. I tried poking my nose out and had to withdraw inside real quick. Shuddered, thawed, checked my bearings, checked my heart-beat, ran to the nearest fireplace and picked up my cell phone.

Boogles, come pick me up now!

Yeah, the same bookstore you dropped me off at!

I know! It’s just that I forgot to carry the third pair of gloves, the monkey cap and chemical hand-warmers.

Oh just beat it, Kilimanjaro is definitely not this cold!

A rocking weekend

2007-11-27T20:19:00.000-06:00

I've always wondered about humans who torture themselves by spending their vacations lying in a spa and sipping wine. Because to me a wonderful vacation means carrying 40 pounds for 25 miles in freezing cold waters of a dark narrow canyon. I get a particular satisfactory glow when I eat Luna bar that tastes like ear-wax combined with pig's excreta (just to set the record straight I might have eaten ear wax but never pig's excreta).

We hiked the Buckskin Gulch in Southern Utah this Thanksgiving weekend. The first semi-scary situation came when we were dropped off at the trail head by Susan the shuttle woman. It was godamn cold and after I had oversome the initial shock of freezing in a desert, I wailed, 'Aunty, please come back and take me!' My fellow hikers thought I was being obnoxious (as usual) and paid no heed to my sufferings. I pulled out chemical hand warmers from my backpack (to be used in emergencies only) and tore open the cover in a psychopathic frenzy while jumping up and down violently shaking my frozen fingers. All this before I had even started the hike.

We walked into the longest slot canyon in the world, the Buckskin Gulch. I truly believe that claim and I can't tell you how much mental preparation is required to make sure you dont get claustrophic and bury yourself in the canyon out of sheer panic that it might never end. It's tiringly long, achingly deep and extremely narrow. In places we had to remove our backpacks, inhale and squeeze sideways. Its also jawdropping surreal and extremely exquisite. The walls tell tales of erosion, flash floods and beauty. Its almost a spiritual experience. If you look hard, you can spot pertoglyphics (ancient rock art by Anasazi settlers). There are times when you can't see the sky through the 500 feet tall sandstone walls. Like ants carrying their food through long burrows inside the earth, we plodded on as every part of our body ached. Starts off with the calf muscles, moves over to your hips and then to the right shoulder. By the end of it, you are one big vessel of pain and it doesn't matter any more. You might as well get that rock and throw it on your left shoulder so that there is some equilibrium.

Apart from the sweet tango of pain, concerns were flash floods, claustrophobia, rocky terrain, boulders blocking the way, cold weather, walking in ice cold water (knee deep for 5 miles), and pooping in a bag (and bringing it back). To top it all, our stove decided to commit suicide on the first night itself. So we were doomed to eat our emergency food, the Luna bars! I am convinced the makers of Luna bars tested their product only on animals.

I am also convinced that I live for these moments.

Like the moment I got into the car after the hike and said, 'Turn on the heater, quick!'

The moment my hiking buddy says, 'I'll go into the shower first!' and I think of that extra fuel that could be used on him at this point.

The moment we saw a real meal after days of eating above mentioned Luna bars and bellowed at the waitress,' You forgot to add olives on this pizza!'

After hiking relentlessly for miles, the minute we all sat in the car, no one wanted to volunteer to get out and fill gas. It suddenly seemed like the most daunting task ever.

As you can tell, I couldn't have asked for a better vacation. Proof is in my limp.

Because Dreams Need Doing

2007-11-20T08:18:00.000-06:00

I am hoping against hopes that I will be able to pull this off. Please click the below link and support in any way you can. Even if you spread the word, it would help

CLICK

Thank you for your time (hopefully you gave more than that). Ask me if you have questions like 'Is 400 too little?' Please note, the online option will take minimum of $25, but you can definitely write a check for lower amounts.

Engineers Without Borders helps me realize many of my passions- mentoring, traveling, interacting with community, doing good and of course engineering. No profession unleashes the spirit of innovation like engineering. Few have such a direct and positive effect on people’s everyday lives.

Off on a practice hike in Utah this Thanksgiving and spending the flight time learning on how to breed fish.

Andy ko maro goli

2007-11-16T17:33:00.001-06:00

Writers Strike has affected alpha-2.blogspot.com. Despair not folks, let's look at all the wonderful alpha moments from the past. (You still around?)

ReRun 1- When Alpha was wronged by short sighted evil parents

ReRun 2- When a particular party went Northeast.

ReRun 3- When Alpha was subject to third degree by people she called her own.

ReRun 4- When Alpha returned unscathed from a wedding that was not her own

ReRun 5- When Alpha's body parts were attacked by a Vietnamese conspiracy

(Didn't see how else to break the news that Andy was a lab mate who spoke to me when he wasn't guzzling diet coke from a 7 liter tank. So in essence I spoke to him twice in my life. I also need to mention that you had to take 140 steps back to not mistake Andy for a department store. He probably was a department store considering how much he could store inside him. He was a white-washed department store that would shine like an EXIT sign every time he came back from the sun panting and puffing with 3 double cheese burgers, huge french fries, 7-liter diet coke and say, 'Duh Alpha, I heard you worship cows in India. I hope you eat em after that!'

Oh well, sorry about the ending. It is bound to build your character.)

Gori tera gaon bada pyara

2007-11-15T13:15:00.000-06:00

Just like everyone else (except of course Sonia Gandhi), I arrived in America to do my masters. Yuck, not really. I wasn’t a part of any kinky slave trade. Rephrasing, I came to the United States to study like the throngs of other Tam Brams. I saw more eligible bachelors in Gainesville, Florida, than I ever saw in Tamil Nadu. I tidied up my horoscope and brought out the best jasmine strand and waited to be wooed by the ultimate pick-up line, ‘Which college did you pass out of?’

But alas, the desi boys were busy savoring the culture and trying hard to fit in. The same eligible bachelors spent majority of their waking day walking in slow motion, gawking at American couples making out (from a safe distance of 2 feet). Slow motion became motionless when a particular fair lady came bouncing along in what could be construed as a ‘shimmy’ in India. Most of our boys suffered from acute eyeball-to-lowball syndrome. Every endowed female of the Caucasian clan could only avert her gaze so much 'coz wherever she looked, she saw a Desi staring at her popping cleavage. She would have to smile if there was eye-contact, thus pushing our brethren into the deep abyss of sleepless nights and lone activities. Lord was to be praised if even one guy had his window facing the apartment swimming pool. Some brave ones would venture into the pool only to drown in estacy of being in the same body of water as the body of blonde and eventually be saved by his trunks turning into sails. This happened for much of the first semester. As you might have guessed, my jasmine flower strand just withered away in abject despair. I started to question my decision to come to the United States.

By second semester, a few rude shocks shook our men to reality:
1. The girls didn't care much for the 3 inch thick glasses, VIP designer frenchies and open mouths.
2. The girls didn’t make idli-sambar
3. They didn’t smell like their mom
4. They couldn’t integrate or for that matter differentiate
5. They owed a lot of themselves to their surgeon.
6. They weren’t female. (Some guys were lucky not to reach that point of discovery)

(Oh well, other than #1, everything was a manifestation of my imagination combined with natural flair for over-emphasizing.)

Just when the desi guys frantically turned to their mothers for procuring the vendakka curry recipe that would definitely impress me, I met Andy.

Stay tuned.

Falling in Love

2007-11-12T19:39:00.000-06:00

On a fateful day, many years ago (precisely 2) while visiting Pittsburgh briefly for a friend’s engagement ceremony at the Venkateshwara temple, I recall gasping at the lush green forests and delightful countryside of Pittsburgh. ‘What a tranquil place, I could definitely live here!’ I gushed while digging into the puliyogre rice that could be procured at your whim for just two bucks.

Note to Self: Never wish for something when you are hungry. It might just come true.

Before I knew it, hubby gave me a choice. ‘Cleveland or Pittsburgh?’

‘Chicago’

I like multiple choices that don’t make me go through the actual process of choosing. Apparently Chicago was not an option.

‘Does Cleveland have run down steel mills?’

Thanks to that important criterion, we moved to Pittsburgh. The rolling hills, resort-like apartment, unparalleled greenery, Andy Wharhol, Mount Washington, Oakland, Shadyside, Pamela’s Kitchen, Steelers, Strip District on Saturdays, Falling Water, the sandstones cliffs... everything Pittsburgh, everything that could have normally blown my mind away seemed to turn my nose up till I could feel mucus in my throat. Not even the puliyogre made me warm up to Pittsburgh! Pittsburgh to me would remain forever cold and I had made a steely resolve that nothing would make me love this place, not even my in-laws visit!

But like every relationship that starts with skepticism and hate, there is always a glimmer of hope that the two of you will never have anything to do with each other after a year.

‘My company hasn’t got rid of me yet,’ hubby breaks the news gently while handing me a ‘Things to shop around in Pittsburgh’ book as a peace offering.

But then something did happen that made me fall in love with…hold you breath… Pittsburgh. Fall. (Yes, the new shoes too.)

I was wonderstruck by nature’s partiality to Pittsburgh when it came to performing her greatest show. In Pittsburgh, she uses all her passion coloring the leaves. In Pittsburgh, she enthralls and entices and uses the mountains as her infinite canvas. I was done for, infatuated and giddy… Exclaiming in glee at every tree, gasping for breath at every bend. Almost rear-ended a few cars gaping at the colored hills that would make the driver in front actually forgive me. Glad I didn’t test that theory.

It was a torrid affair and lasted for less than a month for Winter coldly walked into the scene and stole the Pittsburgh I loved.

Happy Deepavaleen!

2007-11-09T11:09:00.000-06:00

May the flickering lights of your neighbors TV blaring with the Steelers game bring you cheer. May the shivering breeze wafting into your home as you try to open the windows to let the curry smell drift out greet your heart with warmth. May the almost bare trees shower you with the love of the remaining leaves that hang on for their dear lives. May the Halloween trick-or-treaters not digress Goddess Lakshmi to fight the Frankenstein instead of entering your home. May you eat crackers that come with soup to remind you of the ones that emit noise and light. May your new jeans bring you as much excitement as a new silk saree. May the jack-o-lantern brighten your porch. May you have your fill of Halloween left-overs (Reeses- peanut-butter-cups) instead of laddoos and burfis. May you meet and greet all your friends today in scrapbooks and walls.

Happy Diwali to you all out there!

Home Un-shanti Home

2007-09-27T13:09:00.000-05:00

Before we arrived in Pittsburgh, buying a house seemed the only good thing Pittsburgh had to offer. For the price of living in a car’s exhaust pipe in Chicago, we could get Buckingham Palace in Pittsburgh (well, at least in Boondocks Pennsylvania, which is just about 4 hours from Pittsburgh). So we narrowed in on this mansion I was talking about earlier. Chutes from bathrooms to laundry room, intercoms, deck with a slide to the swimming pool, completed basement with a bar and a mini stage to perform puppet shows. It was something I had not even dared to dream about (My dreams don’t extend as far as puppet stages). A kitchen that would make me guilty for not being Rachel Ray. It was 10 minutes from work and close to the airport and mall. It seemed a little quiet and secluded. Isn’t that a good thing for future buyers? So we were about to sign the closing papers, when I got a frantic call from my parents in India.

‘Nahiiiiin!!! Don’t!!!’

Dropped the pen to the floor where it bounced across the hall in resounding horror many times till you get the point that nothing good is about to happen.

‘Why mom? You don’t even have to go out of the house to take your long walks. In fact, we could rent the basement for the International Puppets Conference.’

'Check out Google Earth! This place is in the middle of nowhere.’

Cursing myself for teaching mom how to use Google Earth and knowing very well that this place (like every place in Pittsburgh) was exactly in the heart of some obscure forest, I looked at Google Earth.

Holy cow! The woods that we saw from the deck didn’t end in someone else’s backyard in a few hundred yards as we had hoped. This forest stretched all the way to Alaska and beyond. If a Ted Bundy lived in my back yard, I wouldn’t even know. If he brought his family to our forth room, I surely wouldn’t have a clue till I saw their undies in my laundry. Shudder! Did I mention the hidden attic?!

I do like backcountry and forests, but then too much of a good thing is not good, right? Also the dense perspective from where I was coming from needs to be considered. A aerial comparison of the Chicago and Pittsburgh.

In fact, Google Earth saved us the frightening prospect of buying that house and getting stuck with a mortgage. So instead, we now rent in an equally wooded area with no one in sight for million miles. We don’t have four rooms or a laundry chute or a puppet room. We have an escape route. We continue to pay more in rent for that peace of mind.

Bollywood, Need a Stunt Woman?

2007-09-21T10:47:00.000-05:00

The parking lot from where I flew off of.

downhill...to park somewhere down there at the edge of a creek.

....not entirely hidden.

crowds gather at the spectacle...quite dumbfounded.

Many hours later, my car emerged with a few dents. Nissan Altima - a great car for off roading!

Radom guy who witnessed the whole scene of my car charging down the hill was so happy to see me alive that he hugged me with tears of happiness.

Cop: Is that your husband?

I am sticking with the mechnical failure story. The brakes just failed! The things I had to hear after everyone realised I was safe, completly unhurt, wasn't suicidal, drunk or plain insane (last point will be contested in the court)-

Cop: Ma'am, are you sure it was not a human error? *gives me a look that is reserved for blondes*

Cop: You are an aviation engineer, you must know it takes wings to fly.

Cop: No wonder husband travels. He must feel safe that way.

Little girl of five: Wow! That must have been scraier than Atlantis!!(roller coaster ride in Universal)

Me: No sweetheart, it wasn't. *trying to hide the wild heart beats*

Little girl: Can I get a ride?

Me: How much did Atlantis charge? (Parents pull the kid away after telling me Jesus lives)

Good news- I found my lost set of keys that came flying on my face while I was trying every possible way to come to a stop on the steep slope. Good thing I didn't stop on the slope. Would have overturned for sure and my brains would have come flying out. Some lost and found moment that would have been!

All said and done, thankful to be alive! The only scratch I got was from a bush that I walked on while climbing up.

All women drivers, I hope I didn't malign your name further.

How I lost my first friend in Pittsburgh

2007-09-20T16:27:00.000-05:00

A year ago, desperately finding a silver lining to this dark cloud, I figured buying a house would be the best thing to bind me to Pittsburgh and keep me occupied. I couldn’t stop dreaming about mowing lawns, wiping hard wood floors, drawing basement plans, buying new door knobs to replace the green ones, buying chandeliers to compliment those door knobs, buying new furniture to match the chandelier, eating home made rasam rice everyday to be able to pay mortgage, selling the house to be able to buy a winter jacket when the cold gets unbearable trying to save on heat bills. Sigh! My dream house!

We found a huge mansion that could fit all the homeless of Chicago in the second floor, all the rodents of Karni Mata Temple in the basement and hubby in the laundry room. We had to believe it was the perfect location when we saw a desi family peering intently at us from their dark garage, door half drawn. I ran up to them, squeezed myself inside their garage and bombarded them with a few questions of the neighborhood and specifically the lady’s culinary skills. Husband did a little talking, wife just nodded while the kid wailed. Overall I was thrilled to have neighbors who could lend curry leaves at the crucial time during preparation of aforementioned rasam. Unfortunately they shut their garage door when we were just about to invite ourselves to their house to check if they had a similar granite counter top.

We went back to Chicago and were debating about the new house when I realized that I had another grave question to ask someone who lived in that area. It could make or break the deal. I went into zillow.com, a website that lets serial killers and other antisocial elements find out how much you paid for your house, your full name and general details like your mole locations. All you have to do is type in the address and viola! your whole neighborhood’s horoscope will be on your lap to lap it off. That’s how I found out that Mr. Rao paid 5K less than what we were being quoted for a similar house. ‘They probably don’t have the granite counter top,’ I argued with hubby. Unwanted information was also gathered- He moved in with Pramila Rao in 2005 from Guntur and their kid Gugulu Rao has 5 teeth. I typed his name in google.com (a site where jobless people and nerds spend quality time increasing Google’s stock prices) and got his email id through some other association site (Andravaadus of Pittsburgh who love Chiranjeevi). Overall, I had him nailed.

I emailed him the next day, brushing his memory on my divine intervention into their garage the other day. He surely hadn’t forgotten and confessed I had startled him again as he didn’t remember divulging his name, let alone his email id. I didn’t bother with the details, but asked him the question that was plucking my mind,

’Is there a nice eyebrow place nearby?’

Smoke while Blogging. Check.

2007-09-19T10:35:00.000-05:00

I am overwhelmed. I have so many things happening in my life that ‘pausing to smell the flowers’ is there in my list of things-to-do.

I make to-do lists during the better part of the day and agonize over efficiently prioritizing my work. Mostly I try to multi-task to be able to perform many such activities in minimal time and achieve pride and contentment.

Shit before brushing or Brush before kissing? Maybe shit-brush-kiss.

Since I simply can’t decide, I just exist in a plane of indecisive dilemma doing practically nothing till it’s almost time to eat. Glad to note I do have some priorities straight.

Great minds think alike. Fools seldom differ.

2007-09-17T17:01:00.000-05:00

No news is good news. Hey people, I am back!

Opposites attract. Why should you have to choose your freaking life partner based on behavior patterns of magnets?

Distance makes the heart grow fonder. Some conniving Management Consulting Recruiting Staff coined that term so certain dumb wives would fall for that ploy. I don’t.

Speech is silver, silence is golden. Who ever heard of reticent leaders? The fact that we would like some to be quiet is not the point.

Slow and steady wins the race. Apart from the stupid rabbit and the delusional tortoise, I haven’t heard another application of this theory. Just yesterday this lady ran ahead of me and picked up the last sweater off the rack! It was a turtle neck to boot! :(

Early bird gets the worm. This has mom written all over it. What about that worm? Wasn’t he early too?

A penny saved is a penny gained. You are definitely not investing wisely dude!

A bird in hand is worth two in the bush. Depends on whose hand and whose bush. Hey birdie, you want company?

An apple a day keeps the doctor away. Doesn’t work on PhDs. I tried.

Good things come in small packages. Haha! Good one.

Rats desert a sinking ship. Strange sinking feeling about this one. I think I will follow them rats.

The best things in life are free. Better things come at a premium.

God helps them who help themselves. Heaven Inc. cost cutting measures.

Money isn’t everything. Except Food, Shelter, Clothes and maybe a few private jets.

Necessity is the mother of invention. Jeez..why haven’t I invented a space travel machine or a winter chaser yet?

No pain, no gain. This proverb was probably conceived before Television came into existence.

Practice what you preach. Not everyone has the time and patience for this. Go on, leave comments to boost blogger morale.

All good things must come to an end. Now that is sometimes true…like right now. Adios!

One Desperate Soul to Another

2007-07-05T10:03:00.000-05:00

Pittsburgh social life is looking up for us. FINALLY!

I replied to a plea on the internet. I will keep you posted on our budding friendship.
I've copied this guy's post and my reply follows:

Looking for friends (Anywhere in Pittsburgh)

Posted on: Friday, 29 June, 2007 12:28

Hi,
I will probably get a lot of flak for this post but this is really a final ditch effort to find some decent friends in the Pittsburgh region. Over the last few years, my wife and I have had a tough time finding friends who are sophisticated yet warm. We either find people who're too snooty or pretentious or those who are gauche and inflexible to living a life commensurate with the ways of the US.

We're looking for friends who:

1. Are active, fun and sophisticated.

2. Are not parochial.

3. Are perfectly bi-lingual in English and Hindi.

4. Are interested in travelling and learning new activiites.

5. Are between 25-35.

If you know what I mean and are nodding empathetically, you're the kind of person we want to meet. If you're confused or annoyed because you think that friends are not meant to be mail-ordered, I completely understand. Please accept my apologies and disregard this post. My aim was not to offend anyone. It was just an easy way to find friends that share the same tastes.

_______________________________________________
Look No Further

Dear friendless in Pittsburgh,

My husband and I have moved to Pittsburgh from Chicago and we are on the brink of moving back if we don't find friends in this area soon. I just dropped my packed bags when I saw this post of yours. We nodded so much that we are on tranquilizers now. We are the right people for you and you wife to hang out with. And here’s why-

We have credentials and would qualify for all the points-

1. We are very active. Hubby channel surfs while lying on the couch and drinking beer (actively multitasking) while I am actively thinking on how to throw the TV while he blinks.
Regarding fun, we laugh at appropriate times when one says something that is perceived funny. Like your post.
I am not sure if owning a pair of shoes qualifies for sophistication, but I assure you we wear shoes. Hubby has stopped spitting on the roads ever since Bihar stopped exporting paan. (Of course, this was to also to be flexible to living a life commensurate with the ways of the US)

2. You can be rest assured we are not parochial since we are not entirely sure what it means.

3. Except 'parochial', I think we know all the words in English, even 'bi-lingual'. Sadly, my hubby needs subtitles to watch Hindi movies. Damn it! I knew this trait in him would pose a threat to our social life one day!

4. We love traveling just to eat pretzels offered in airlines. We are mostly constipated from this indulgence. We don't mind learning new activities as long as they are geared towards somehow getting ourselves featured in the Limca Book of World Records. We are in the process of making dinnerware from earwax.

5. For the first time I feel good about my age. Thank Heavens I am not 23 or even 24!

Please consider our application and let us know at the soonest if we made the cut. We are in dire need of friends and I am not kidding this time.

P.S. - You both are invited to dinner anytime. (Hope this brings out our warm personality)

Sincerely,
Hubby and I

Going Clubbing

2007-05-25T09:49:00.000-05:00

I tried to escape from the relentless tentacles that entwine the corporate world. The only thing I managed to succumb to is going on company retreats. I avoid the Christmas party and Happy-hours (got mislead by the name a few times hoping to find something happy). I don’t drink beer and I don’t eat chicken wings. I don’t talk football or baseball. I am the office loser and I would rather give them space to make fun of me while I am not there. Instead of attending stuffy conferences, I believe in getting run over by an aircraft. Basically my networking skills are at an all time low and this is affecting my progress. The corporate ladder at this point might as well be made out of Jello.

To top it all, I turned down a few golf outings with the client and a recent one with the CEO. Someone took me aside and hit me with a three-hole punch. ‘Better take Golfing lessons, you nitwit.’

‘That four letter word gives me the heebie-jeebies and hysteria of the worst kind. As you can see, I have a healthy prejudice against golf. I can't imagine myself rolling on atrificial looking patches of green wasting half a day with a bunch of potbellied old men talking about market shares and (shudder) golf! NO WAY! If the clients want to spend time with me, they better take to climbing or kickboxing. That way talking will be at minimum while they concentrate on their immediate safety.’

Colleague looks very happy at prospect of me improving his chances of survival. He enrolls in golf classes and also takes a course in the ‘Art of appreciating beer and steak.’ He even hired a personal trainer to increase his waist line, calls his dog Caddie and uses his golf clubs as pointers in presentations.

This is getting to be too stressful for me. I can’t let XYZ colleague take my promotion. When it comes to abject jealousy, I’ve got my head in the right place. Reluctantly I asked someone where I can find the best golf outfit and shoes. If that works out, I’ll buy the state-of-art set of clubs. Next I might watch a few Hollywood movies like Tin Cup. Hope I'm not forgetting anything. Yes ofcourse, I will need to include Tiger Woods in this agenda somehow.

This whole golf thing better NOT compromise my identity of a golf-hater.

Engineers r us

2007-03-26T19:34:00.000-05:00

In one of my benevolent moods, I decided to do something for E-week (Engineers Week) to spread awareness of Engineering among the unsuspecting school children in my area. This also serves as a good community outreach effort to bring visibility to our company and a chance do something to impress the office manager. My work wasn't really doing it.

Mikey, the co-worker, offered to help out with this initiative... and help he did. He got in touch with his buddy who happens to be a Math teacher at a High school in the Pittsburgh area and before I could even say ‘holditbuddyweneedtograsptheseriousnessofthis', he got us committed to give 7 presentations one single day! Sigh, another trauma teenagers have to face these days- Two geeks talking about how building roads could lead to salvation. Oh well, why not! It’s a good chance to get out of the office and interact with a bunch of kids and tell them how cool Engineering really is with a straight face.

Engineering in the United States is not as popular a career option as in India or even Bihar. Kids here want to make a career out of American Idol or selling hot dogs in the Soldier Field. Not a bad idea, if you ask me at 2 pm every working day. If you are a fireman or a nurse, the kids go,’ Awesome, that’s totally kewl!’ Engineers rank highly at number 23 only after Farmers and Priests in the “Professions of Very Great Prestige” poll of 2006. I should have taken Circumcision 101 and become a priest instead. The possiblities! (wait, I need to soak it in). Ok yeah, many engineering companies are concerned about the dearth of engineering enrollment in the recent years and the fact that there might be no one to fill my size 10 shoes. Anyway, all this will have to change. Can't let them get away with that smirk!

I laid out the presentation and Mikey deleted a few slides as his contribution! Next we discussed at length on what we ought to be wearing to make a false impression about Engineers. Football jersey and jeans to look cool or Armani suit and Prada Sunglasses to look well paid. Mikey decided to wear thick glasses and a tie. I took my drafter and a drawing board hoping to complement him.

We start our spiel, ‘How many of you want to be Engineers?’

In a Math class of 20, one hand would rise and the guy would feel almost guilty and quickly wave at the guy next to him. I embarked into the various ways we Engineers make life for the rest of the species worth living. They were quiet kids for the most part especially when they slept soundly without snoring. From managing to keep my fake American accent going and remembering what I had to speak, it suddenly seemed like a daunting task. I had to pick the most attentive student and focus all my energy on him to keep my morale high. So the poor kid had to keep nodding and smiling and raising his eyebrows like he was understanding what I meant by perceived social needs and commercial applications. I had given presentations before, but never to school kids, who were enjoying passing notes (probably on my hair style or the lack thereof). Nostalgia of my school days took over and I only felt immense pity for my teachers. Since it was 7 presentations back to back (with a lunch break), every word uttered after Presentation 4 better not be used against me.

Presentation 1: Phew, I remembered to whip out a joke on my last name. At least the Math teacher laughed.

Presentation 2: Did I crack the cheesy butterfly joke in this presentation or the previous one as it seemed quite fresh in my memory of actually saying it and not hearing anyone except Mikey snort. Skip.

Presentation 3: Darn, I finished 10 minutes earlier than the previous time. I must have missed out all the jokes. Shall I tell them all now in one go?

Presentation 4: Holy Macro! What is she wearing?! Oh shucks, it’s a He! I am too tired of repeating stuff. I can’t do this anymore. Mikey, please take over my slides too. I'll teach you how to be hilarious. Trip and fall.

Presentation 5: That joke just sucks. It’s too late. My sense of humor level has already been established and if one of their dad’s owns a Comedy Club in downtown Pittsburgh, I’ve lost my chances of a stand-up debut.

Presentation 6: One more to go. One more to go. I will survive. Teaching is not a career option for me. How monotonous. Teachers get paid only so much? What a pity!

Presentation 7: Oh wow! My bald-eagle joke was a hit. Why did I have to think about it in the last presentation? Oh wow! They laughed at the way I called Mikey a nerd. Should have used that one earlier too. Darn! It’s over just when I was making an impact on young impressionable minds.

Feedback was provided in the form of a few lines of what the students thought about the presentation. Even negative comments were encouraged. Almost every response in the feedback forms were very positive and seemed like our presentation did exactly what we had hoped it would. Like so- ‘After listening to the presentation, I have become more interested in getting a future in Engineering. I had no idea how interesting and rewarding this field could be. The stability and pay benefits are also very appealing.’

Or politely decline like so- It’s not really something I’m interested in, but if it was, I would totally be an Engineer.’

We felt on top of the world. It was like a feeling that every mother gets when her kid is found watching TV instead of doping. But still we were pissed that we didn't get any critisism. Do we look super sensitive or frail?

On our drive back, I was rummaging through the two hundred or odd feedback forms; I came across one that could be taken as constructive criticism. I read it aloud to Mikey- Engineering provides many opportunities and advancement in a wide range of fields for different people. Their presentation was great, but it seemed like they would cut each other off when talking.

Mikey- Did he really say that?

Me- Yes apparently we both like to talk a lot.

Mikey- Come on! It was meant to be like that!!! We wanted it to be informal… like a conversation between two people.

Me- True. Or maybe this kid was in the fourth period when I wasn’t facing you and didn’t know when you were talking. Remember the weird set up.

Mikey- Whatever, but we didn’t cut each other off! That’s ridiculous! I would...

Me (cutting him off)- Here’s this kid’s handwriting. Maybe you could get your buddy to find out who he is. It’s not like they were paying us to do this that we need to get some juvenile rudely lashing out on us like that. Secondly, if we were to...

Mikey (cutting me off)- Ingrates! No appreciation for bailing them out of Math class! Dipshits!

...and so we agonized about that single comment till destination.

Theta's curse

2007-03-13T10:04:00.000-05:00

Theta is a cleanliness freak. He is the reigning champion in fact; the whole world of clean freaks idolize him and Cleaners Digest ran a 10 page article on his sanitized undies. It is rumored that Theta will achieve the coveted Godliness stature in just another year; the only man to even venture into this program through the cleanliness track. He frets and fumes at the sight of a little thumb print on his sparkling wooden floor and will spend 30 agonizing minutes wiping the print off with some sort of liquid that will banish fingerprints, but will not alter the shade of the wood. We all watch in awe when Theta wipes off a dust particle from his balcony railing the minute it disembarks. The fact that he also manages a full time job elsewhere perplexes many. Dust Particles Mafia, in their grimy underworld, have allocated an award of 6 million USD if any of their kin set foot (or whatever they use to move around) in Theta’s house. If they can stay long enough to take pictures of his living room, they would be decorated in the Hall of Stain.

Theta starts losing hair (which he promptly picks up and discards) whenever he knows guests are to arrive in his immaculate abode, especially his good friend Alpha. Alpha is careless and absentminded, has no regard for spotless washbasins and leaves colorless fingerprints on the wall below his switch boards. She washes her hands and doesn’t even wipe the basin clean afterwards. She sits on his sofa and doesn’t spray Febreeze at 5 minute intervals. One day she walks in, offers to make Aloo Gobi and while carelessly mixing the vegetables laden with turmeric and masala, she flings a whole dollop of sabzi from the tawa to the carpet in the dining area missing the linoleum floor of the kitchen completely. Mortified Theta managed to keep his calm under circumstances. He was wheeled back from the hospital within a week of surviving a cardiac arrest. Then he promptly ran over to Walmart, bought the best carpet stain remover that claimed it could remove all conceivable stains from beetle nut spit to Dinosaur blood. But there was no mention of turmeric stain. Theta found the out the hard way that Stain removers don’t lie. He then spent a fortune on a kasmiri rug with stain protection to cover up the yellow mark. He has, since then, banned Alpha from cooking in his house, much to the joy of everyone concerned.

The incident was long forgotten and recently Alpha arrived in Chicago to stay over at Theta’s. Alpha was home alone that morning and deciding to show some appreciation for their lasting friendship, she embarked on a cooking spree. Palak Paneer sounded like a great plan. She boiled the spinach, taking utmost care not to spill anything anywhere. She meticulously cleaned up every box of condiments touched so that there is no evidence of her ever cooking there. Nothing could go wrong. She was going to break the myth of her being a cooking disaster when she cooked at Theta’s place. She brought out the mixie to grind the palak. She turned it on…

She didn’t know how it happened, but 2 seconds and a horrifying noise later, there was bits of palak everywhere! Not just in the mixie, but on Alpha’s face, on the floor, on the counter top, on the sofa, on the artificial flower arrangement and on his TV. Old memories came flooding. She also remembered breaking an egg on his cell phone by mistake. How come these things happen only in his house, she worried. Alpha felt she should have tied herself to the corner of the house and stayed there for the whole day licking a bone. Luckily now that he had moved homes, there was no carpet involved. It’s all wooden floor. Easy to clean. So Alpha spent the better part of the afternoon using up all his kitchen towels and cleaning liquids. She felt satisfied at the sparkling result while every muscle in her body ached. She would get allergic reactions at the sight of palak henceforth.

Evening arrived. Small references to depleted paper towels were made and dismissed quickly much to Alpha’s relief. Palak paneer, made out of remains that was lifted off the floor and extracted from Alpha’s nostrils, was immensely enjoyed by Mr. and Mrs. Theta. They licked it all off and asked for more. Alpha sat smug, exonerated from her secret crime.

Suddenly, out of the blue, Theta gasped loudly looking skywards, 'What the F*** are those things on the ceiling? Oh Man! Jeez, I never saw anything like that before! Is my roof getting fungus?!!!’

Alpha looked up and saw it too. Huge chunks of dried-up spinach were suspended like stalactites. Dammit! If only she knew where to look, there would have been sufficient quantity of Palak Paneer.

Now the world talks of their friendship in past tense.

Fishy-terians!

2007-03-12T14:05:00.000-05:00

One of my non-vegetarian friends got all riled up against other non-vegetarians who claim they ONLY eat chicken and fish. Why the holier-than thou image? He insisted that the guy is not doing a big favor to animal kind if he stays away from eating pigs or cows. Meat is meat. Why not just eat the rest and do yourself a favor by realizing how delicious pork is. Why does a butchered cow make you all sentimental about cruelty to animals and a chicken hung upside down is acceptable? Religious issues and allergies are an exception of course.

I wholly agree. You eat meat; you might as well eat all and not differentiate.

I asked my friend to let me know when he was planning on cooking his pet dog. Let’s stuff Snoopy with turkey this Thanksgiving and bake him at 400 degrees. Canary sauce with that? He recoiled and shuddered. He balked at the thought of Koreans eating roaches and lizards.

Now I am completely confused. So you’ll eat any animal that is mediocre looking…not as cute as a dog and not as ugly as a cockroach. Plain Jane and you’ll devour it! Trustworthy and intelligent, you’ll pass. Creepy crawly and you’ll recoil. Sure there is the matter of taste, but if you don’t even want to try it, aren’t you being a hypocrite? Where is equal opportunity? When will the minorities make their way into your stomach? When will you tell the doctor who detects worms in your stomach that you ate them happily with Ragu’s pasta sauce?

Sometimes it’s easy being a vegetarian. I can hold my head high, thump my chest and say I eat all my vegetables however ugly or cute.

Daze of my life

2007-03-09T14:46:00.002-06:00

Spending dreadful winter days in a small town with nothing much going on can do weird things to my phyche. I have been going through a lot of self analysis and I am convinced that I was born for something huge. No not Pi, something bigger and better. I was referring to life in general. So I concluded that I should start this process of attaining bigdom by first taking control over myself. I definitely need to stop getting distracted. No more dreaming. I had to live in the present. While driving to work, I immersed myself completely in these thoughts of self improvement when I started driving in the opposite direction and realized after ½ hour that I was going to the mall instead. As you can see my plan was being thwarted even before it started taking shape. I managed to somehow get to work, walk into my office only to realize that it would be impossible to work given the circumstances. I had forgotten my laptop at home. I drove all the way back home and realized that a few lights were turned on in various rooms. Felt good about switching them off and consoling myself that the laptop issue did serve to address some big ecological and economical problems. Potentially saved 5 cents in electric bills and inturn the earth by a whole nano percent. I immediately got caught up with thoughts of more greening initiatives. I started backing my car from the apartment parking lot only to suddenly realize I forgot something. My laptop! Trying hard not to be self critical (you have to be encouraging during new ventures like this), I proceeded to look for my house keys to conclude they were missing. By some strange workings of my mind, I did remember locking the door. Found them lying at the door step as an invite to anyone who passes by to steal my chaddis. Thanking my stars that forgetting the laptop again had its own merits, I made my way to work with laptop securely placed under my armpit. Once I was safely ensconsed in my chair, it didn’t take me long to find out it was Saturday and that I had actually planned on going to the mall. I guess I was better off inside the womb.

Court Case and Pizza Base

2007-02-09T09:55:00.000-06:00

The court date was set and my only hope was that Ms. Purple doesn’t show up as I had quite an excellent alibi. I had pictures of her bumper in close-up. I deleted forensic evidence of my car’s past. I took Google Earth print outs of the intersection and charted out a 10 minute monologue on the unsafe geometry of the intersection (my Transportation Engineer background finally comes of some use). I prepared a report on capacity constraints and operational deficiencies and created a proposal on improving the intersection and the cost report read 1 million dollars. Weather report of that particular day suggested ice-rain that made roads potentially unsafe. A phone conversation between me and Pi where Pi asked me to come home or he would finish up the kheer in the fridge was deleted.

Pi decided to come with me to the court for moral support and took a day off from work. By adopting my life, I feel it is his way of adding some drama in his. While I was busy preparing the case, he was busy checking out the location of the Garden-of-Eating pizza place. ‘Guess what? It’s on the way to the court. We could get it on our way back!’

‘Get what?’ I asked preoccupied.

‘That only.’

‘Oh, ok.’

On the way, he spotted the pizza joint and jumped up and down with glee. I nodded still wondering if the woman were to show up, I might have to run her over.

No purple cars in the parking lot. So there we were, the Judge, the officer, Pi and I swearing to speak the truth and nothing but the truth.

The officer presented his case. I was surprised that he dragged the part where she followed me to my apartment.

The judge was perplexed. Alpha rear ended her. So how was Ms.Purple following her?

I was squirming now. Jeesus officer, stick to the case man!

Anyway, when my turn came, I performed to the best of my potential and judge was amused with my thorough research and material but still wanted to know why she followed me to my apartment. I explained. He was even more amused.

He asked the cop if she seemed that sort of person when she stormed in with her purple jacket and purple hair band and one look at her the judge passed his verdict.

Not guilty.

Ahh, joy! Raptures! Jingilala Jum Jingilala Jum! Hoohaa hoohaa!

A slight smirk and snigger at Ms Purple and we got up to leave. Pi pulled up to the pizza place and ordered the pizza. Take out. He asked me which topping I would like and I said onions.

‘Why the heck she did show up to the court? Hope she didn’t have to travel far and wide. But thank God she came late. Whatever, she deserved it. The look on her face was priceless. Haha! You think the judge took a liking to me? Do you think if I called him ‘your honor’, he would have been happier? You think they might take up my proposal and rebuild that intersection. My office just needs a project like that.’

The pizza was brought into the car and I kept rambling about this all the way home. The pizza was placed on the dining table and the almost drooling Pi dug into the box and was about to sink his grinning teeth into the cheese laden slice.

‘ARRRRRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!’ I screeched.

Dropping the piece, he was shocked. ‘What happened sweetie?’

‘What is this pizza doing in the house?!’

‘We just brought it.’

‘What nonsense?! Why did you get it? Look at that cheese. It’ll send the clot waiting near your heart straight to the brain. Aiyooo! It’s so huge; it covers the whole dining table. Keep off from it.’

‘I am eating it. To hell with you!’ he was obviously shaken.

‘Dammit! Eat and Die! I don’t care. I am having dal rice.’ So to prove a point, I did have dal rice while the aroma of the pizza under my nose was too much to bear.

I was so pissed about this pizza appearing from nowhere that I cursed a little more. Pi yelled back saying I had gotten arrogant after winning the case.

‘Bah! I will show you real arrogance!’

So when he went upstairs to take a break, I loaded the rest of the pizza in the car and took off to my office and laid it in the kitchen for my office folks like a kind hearted Annadata (food providing Goddess). Let others get fatter and clog themselves. I have saved my hubby.

I got a phone call. All I heard was abuses that would have put Ms Purple and the whole of Bihar to shame. Taking away food from under Pi’s nose has the worst consequences and I was not prepared for this. There were a lot of deals that had to be made and promises that need to be kept. Basically, I am a goner!

The next day, I opened the fridge in the office kitchen to bring out my lunch of dal rice and reheat it in the microwave oven when I was confronted with a huge familiar cardboard box and demons in my head.

Guilty as charged.

PS- It was yummy.

Plead ‘Not Guilty’. Check.

2007-02-08T12:25:00.001-06:00

Things you should know before you read this post.

I am addicted to car bumpers. The minute I see one in a vulnerable position (like parked in front of my car), I make sure I show my excitement by crashing into it. It happened once, twice, thrice before and now I am convinced that God is telling me something in Swahili.

My hubby, Pi, is addicted to any food that can potentially deposit itself in wrong places. The gleam in his eye when he sees a blueberry pie is only matched by the excitement he shows towards nacho cheese. I normally don’t seek such fast means to a heart failure, but have no control over myself when he is munching in front of me. They end up in my stomach without a fuss (the only fuss happens when I try to wrestle a chip out of Pi's hand) and show up later in my weighing scale. So it is in my extreme benefit to make sure Pi doesn’t walk around in the dessert aisle. One of the reasons why I was hiding this 'Free Pizza from Eating-Garden' coupon from him. (I won that coupon during an unlucky draw.)

Yes, these two aspects of my life are related. Read on.

On this rainy day (slippery road and all), I had an accident with the most benevolent soul this hemisphere could produce. She got out of her purple Volvo, with a purple jacket and purple hair band and started hurling the kind of language you’d only hear in remote Bihar or some shady parts of UP. Knowing very well (gauging by the color of her skin and jacket) that she wasn’t from these respectable parts of India, I came to realize that I was being spoken to in English. I said a quick ‘sorry’ and acted the part of innocent-foreigner-not-knowing-why-her-read end-jutted-out-so-much. I examined the situation from my car and my microscopic eyes concluded there was no damage to her car and her exalted self. Much ado about nothing! She stormed around her car and walked in. I assumed things were fine and that she would put her revolver away and maybe use it on migratory birds instead. But no, she was pissed that I wasn’t showing enough remorse, she jumped out of the car again and screamed, ‘Pull over Bitch!’ I felt bad for the amount of stress she was under. Maybe she got some horrid Christmas present from her boyfriend. I do not want to speculate the reason for her trauma, but I sure wished I had created a nice dent on her car. I would rather take abuses for something substantial.

So I followed her like Marry’s little lamb all the time seething in rage about someone with a purple hair band creating a dent in my perfect day. All the while, I was staring at her bumper looking for a scratch of some sort. After making me follow her for a mile, she pulled over in a parking lot near my apartment complex. I decided to spare her more agony of yelling at me and saw an opportunity to put her out of misery. I fled. Don’t ever do this unless you plan on fleeing this country too. I parked my car next to my apartment complex and ran inside only to be confronted with Pi who panicked on the prospect of giving refuge to a convict and he urged me to go find her and exchange information in the rightful way. Bah! Whatever! I hate these plesantaries.

I didn’t have to go far as Ms.Purple was right there, stomping about angrily around my car.

‘Hi’, I said amicably.

‘What is this apartment name?’, she asked not so amicably.

‘Jicamma Muniamma,’ I replied.

‘She lives in Jicamma Muniamma. I see her car parked here. She must have ran into her apartment. We’ll find her.’ she blasted to someone on a phone.

‘I am her,’ I tried to explain.

‘Oh its you!’, dumbfounded at first, she suddenly became indignant. ’Talk to the cops. I don’t want to waste time talking to you.’

I felt like hugging her for not putting me through the torture of talking to her.

It was pouring now. She sat inside her car waiting for the cops to arrive while I sat in my toasty apartment sipping tea wanting to pack and leave to India for good. It's too cold here.

For what took almost an hour, the cops came. She screamed, huffed and puffed, pointing fingers at me.

‘Which intersection was it ma’am?’ the cop asked after having to hold his breath for 10 minutes while she spewed venom.

‘Kalthappa Ave and Muthanna Rd’, she hissed.

‘That will be under Gooseyland Jurisdiction. You may have to call them.’

So after three sets of cops arrived in the scene, they couldn’t still ascertain which jurisdiction that particular intersection would come under.

Needless to say, I was enjoying inefficiency for the first time. Very sadly the right cops came to the scene and were taken by the woman’s story, especially the fact that she was standing in the rain for two and a half hours straight. They asked for my story. They called her the victim and me a criminal. The way I was being talked to, any passer-by (that included three guys in the apartment complex who moved out last week) would think I lopped off a few people and dashed away.

I told them that the so called victim used foul language so I panicked as I wasn’t used to hearing such bad words in the protected world I live in (which isn’t entirely false as I find Tom and Jerry violent). I wanted to deal with such a character in familiar surroundings (actually I didn’t want to deal with her at all. I was hoping she would give up) with my husband by my side (extra brownie points for pativrata stree angle). Who knew, she could have shot me. I didn’t have my cell phone (which was true) to alert the cops.

After much debate and rants, from a criminal offense of fleeing the accident scene, I was given a lesser charge of careless driving. I got my traffic violation ticket by mail.

I contested that.

Stay tuned for ‘Court case and Pizza base'

With Much Ado

2007-01-16T10:14:00.000-06:00

Much to write about, much to rant
Much has happened, no time to pant
I could glorify the times I spent in a haze
Underplay my deeds that set the world ablaze
Whatever I did or whatever I set to do
Would have no meaning at this time to you
My trip to Cancun or my New Year woes
Would hold the same relevance as fungied toes
One day I would be famous as famous as can be
More famous than the Alpha you happen to see
That day you’ll read this poem and wisely infer
Using inane adjectives and some useless metaphor
That I was a tad piqued, maybe euphoric or arguably aseptic
You literary souls will conclude that my life was placidly hectic
You’ll bet that I was running a marathon or mothering five kids
That I might have got gingivitis after eating those squids
You could scrape this manuscript and even take a lick
But you’ll never be able to guess that today I’m deliriously sick

Blues Clues

2006-11-27T15:31:00.000-06:00

The neighbor girl I meet in the gym (Gymmi) saw me after my long vacation and declared I have never looked sadder. ‘Why are you looking so depressed?’

‘Me? No yaar, I am fine.’ I insisted for the third time.

‘No, but you look so withdrawn and gloomy. Is there anything you want to talk about?’

‘Hmmm…Yeah, I am in the vortex of sadness and excruciating pain. I think it’s the weather. All the leaves departing the trees has made my happy soul depart me.’ While I was at it, I also launched into Pittsburgh-bashing convinced that we have finally arrived upon the reason why I looked so sad.

‘I hope you tell Pi what’s bothering you if you don’t want to confide in me.’

I tried to think how many times I might have met her before. I could count with the two fingers of my right hand. Both the times I didn’t recall bouncing about like a clown in front of her. I was as sober as an ailing hyena.

Anyway, it did get me thinking about this depression and I came up with a few more causes. Next day I met her.

‘Hi Gymmi!’ I tried to jump up and down and wave, all the time beaming my guts out trying to look extra happy. 'Hehehahahaw-yoodle doodle!!'

‘Are you all right? You sound a little down,’ she started off without a cue. If she was an aspiring shrink I would have sued her for shameless self promo. But she works for an IT firm. To think I was the one who’s supposed to be depressed.

‘You know what, I think I know why. Last time you saw me I was going on vacation. Now I am back. Obviously I am not a happy camper. Logic, eh?’ I congratulated myself.

‘No no, now I get it. When I met you, you were this normal person. Just as you were leaving for vacation, my friend (who reads your blog) told me you are damn funny. So I guess I was under that impression all along. Anyway, mystery solved. Wanna go for dinner?’

Now I am truly depressed.

Die Maharani

2006-11-25T09:02:00.000-06:00

The title is the name of this Geeta Mehta book that we saw hoardings for everywhere we went, translates to 'The Maharani', much to my utter disspointment at the tameness of it. Hilter country and no goriness? Bah! We headed to Germany with Sims being very apprehensive about the hosts (since they were my friends). I guess it was because I hadn’t met them and they were bloggers. Ok, I had met Parmanu for a short time in Chicago when he bought me a banana. I had to assuage her fears about bloggers saying that I was one too and perfectly normal at that. That’s when I think she had a small breakdown. But as luck would have it, the scenery was turning to look very DDLJ-like outside the train. She felt much better. 'Wow, look at these lovely hills with pretty tudor homes.' It was quite pretty. Germany felt much more manicured and newer than ther other European countries we visited. Their roads reminded us the US roads.

We met Gini and Parmanu at Heidelberg Train Station a couple of minutes late by which time Gini had concluded that I am a rebel for not following her instructions closely. She scolded me just as we hugged. So much for the initial niceties. Brother Parmanu impressed me with his Mercedes and business suit (probably Armani) that he wore just for this occasion. I just hope the Merc loaded with an annoying GPS unit wasn’t an expensive hire. Heildelberg had a very dreamlike feel to it. A lovely castle on a hill with the full moon as a backdrop and swans on the river….I came back to reality only when the swans bit my fingers. Sister Gini just heard about her new job offer and we went, ‘Treat treat!’ What perfect timing, I say. We were treated at the Indian restaurant much to our happiness. That reminds me, I hope the biryani I packed is still in the fridge.

Reached their cozy home in Waldorf and as tired as we were, the hosts started this insane fight with us and got us exhausted. Parmanu decided to let me and Sims sleep in the bedroom while he slept in the living room. He had also cleared up some shelf space for our belongings. So very sweet. But I couldn’t let them do that unless they had intentions of letting us stay there for a month. We fought and finally they relented when I threatened them with some of my jokes. It wasn’t such a big sacrifice as the living room was perfectly fine and even had a nice pull out bed. It had fluffier pillows and soft mattress. Hmmm... maybe that’s why he wanted to sleep here. I had one scarring incident some years ago due to this kind of behavior. This was during my brother’s first night when they (brother and wife) felt bad that I was sleeping (rather happily and comfortably) on the living room floor. After a long battle, the three of us were sleeping uncomfortably on the bed. My mom still blames me for their not having kids yet.

So coming back to Parmanu’s home, it was very comfortable and the hosts made it even more so. Colours(Parmanu’s wife) was having an affair in Switzerland and hence couldn’t make it. We missed her whenever someone said she makes some really good food.

Next day morning after a spectacular spread of delicious breakfast by Gini, we were driven (in the same Mercedes to the songs of Rang de Basanti) to Sasbachwalden, another pretty little town in Black forest.

We also spent a considerable time talking about blogging and bloggers. I am sure Sims enjoyed every bit of this part. We tried to explain the whole deal and she tried to understand, poor thing. ‘You get free accommodation if you blog?’

The highlight of the day was of course the Indian play ‘Teen Sakina Manzil’ by Ramu Ramanathan whom we had a chance to meet and get impressed with. Ramu seemed quite enthusiastic himself about the small scratch he was making in Germany. Even I was quite taken by the German response and visibility this play had gathered. If you think our experience in Germany was getting to be quite India oriented, wait till you hear the rest. That night in Frankfurt we had some great Indian food at a restaurant. With Parmanu around, I am told, we were lucky that we had our fill of other cuisines before we embarked in Germany.

Next day we went to the well known Frankfurt Book Fair with India being the theme this year. Lucky me- I was just not getting enough of India in Europe. Indian authors like Shashi Tharoor, Vikram Seth, Vikram Chandra etc were invited as guests. There were Indian programs and book readings translated to German. When I walked in, a Tamil poet, Salma, was reading out excerpts and it was being translated to German. It felt quite good to see all the excitement about India and Indian authors. As much as I am fond of books, Parmanu survives on them. If it was possible, he’d be reading one while driving. Or maybe he was being polite this one time. The clincher to the day was the anna-saaru that Gini cooked that night. She will get hundred children if my blessings work. By that time I think the hosts were tired of being nice all the time. Their true colours surfaced. They made me watch the movie Padosan! The fact that I hadn’t watched the movie before got them all worked up and they assured me that it was a hilarious movie that I shouldn’t miss. Half way through the movie, I will agree that Padosan is a movie I will buy to torture my kids when they disobey me. ‘Go watch Padosan, you ingrates… If I tell daddy that you broke the flower pot, he’ll make you watch it twice again. Just you wait.’

Gini, Colours & Parmanu, I didn't do justice to the wonderful times we had just coz I did not want to advertize your place for random bloggers to take refuge. I think we might have made Sims a die hard blogger, if not a believer that all bloggers aren't as weird as me. Overall, the weekend couldn’t have been more perfect. Let me think….. really hard…nah! I think you guys made our Germany experience worth gloating about. Die End!

Paris (un)done

2006-11-23T12:30:00.000-06:00

No more true stories for you all. No more telling you that the ant ran away with the elephant or that there is a Chinatown booming somewhere in the world and fake LV purses are selling like hot potatoes, so much that the Chinaman got so emotional and contracted a painter to make a fake Da Vinci of me. Louvre bought that painting and called it Alpha Lisa.

I had great expectations of the Louvre only to realize my zest for Art and History took a hike at the most inopportune time. I had intentions of spending two full days assimilating what the entire museum had to offer. Suddenly seeing decapitated Greek guys with only their penises intact, paintings of women strategically covering a single breast with loin cloth that Gandhi later advocated for these purposes, Napoleon’s dining table and all his gaudy furniture …. had me running to exit and getting misled and lost only to find myself in some other art gallery where I walked into this painting.

I was so taken aback that I turned around and laughed so hard as to not hurt the sentimentalities of the people who were seriously admiring this work of art and taking down notes. After 10 minutes of uncontrolled giggling I looked up at the painting I was actually facing- a very gruesome depiction of crucifying of the Christ! Jeezus!

Next thing I know I was following the signs that led to Mona Lisa…. There were at least 23 of them. All the hype and we were greeted with that mocking half mysterious smile from this lady who was enclosed in a glass chamber and protected by an armed security. If she still has a reason to smile living in the Louvre day and night, I think we all better learn a thing or two from her.
We saw the Pantheon and hanging scrotum sacs (or balls as you kids would call it) from the ceiling. Some designer’s weird sense of humor, I guess.

Next we ate crepes, got drunk on wine and ate from garbage cans and drank from ornate fountains (I have a valid excuse- water and food is expensive in Paris). I even spat on the streets of Paris. Got up with terrible headache the next day and enacted the whole Bhishma pratignya thing to swear off of booze forever (after the Europe trip and New Years eve and…some blanks to be filled later). Yes, another must do in Paris was checked.

Next couple of days in Paris went off pretty quick just when I had pulled out my English- French dictionary to facilitate doing the laundry. I couldn’t figure out the machine and a helpful handsome French guy, tried to explain the whole process in French. I cast vague helpless looks and he took charge. He put my clothes in the washer (said something in French which probably meant ‘Put your clothes in the washer like so’), and then he proceeded to use another vending machine to buy some laundry detergent while continuously talking in French (obviously telling me ‘You twit, this is how you buy detergent). Patiently he explained the working of the machine, while pressing some buttons, turning some knobs and actually doing the whole thing for me. He could have been on mute and saved himself the trouble of dealing with my love struck self trying to hold on to every little French word and saying ‘Merci’ some million times. Lord have mercy!

In the laundry room, after my French God left, an American guy smiled and said, ‘I could have helped you, but you seemed to be having a better laundry experience with him.’

‘Merci’, I told him.

La Symbiose à Paris

2006-11-17T07:57:00.000-06:00

If you haven’t understood your Biology lessons in school, here is a chance. My second day in Paris will be able to elucidate these topics with examples.

There are various categories of symbiosis seen when two organisms interact:

Parasitism, in which the association is disadvantageous or destructive to one of the organisms and beneficial to the other (+ −)

So here I was wondering as to how I managed to convince myself to come to Eiffel Tower when I was having a great time shopping at Champs Elysees when I was interrupted by an Indian guy asking me to take a picture of him in front of the tower. Obviously I obliged. He felt obligated to take a picture of me in the same location with my camera, making me stand with a hand on my hip and my head slightly bent for studio quality photograph. I obliged to his obligation. That’s when the story went downhill... or rather, up the tower.

I started to wander around the base of the tower and wherever I turned, I met him by sheer coincidence of course. ‘Can you take a photo here in front of that statue?’
‘Now let me take yours. Give me your camera.’

‘Oh look, it’s you again. One more photo please!’… and then so it went on forever.

That explains my extreme emotions in certain photos. So I ran amok to try to flee from the Photo-Nazi when I was confronted with a superb idea. I decided to climb the stairs instead of taking the elevator as a means of escape. Seeing his bulk in person and through the lens, I was pretty sure he’d find a more sedentary prey to continue with his Eiffel Tower portfolio.

In five minutes of running up the stairs, I heard unmistakable panting and puffing. ‘Do you know I am a Sri Lankan? Huff..Pufff.. slow down. I want a picture taken here on the stairs!’

‘Wait, let me take a picture of you in my camera and send it to you by email. Isn’t it so cool that we found each other to take pictures? ’

That does it! I sprinted ahead, crouched behind a dustbin and didn’t move for 30 minutes straight. Yes, at the cost of looking suspicious to people wanting to throw trash. That’s when I lost him much to my utter delight.

BTW, when you do have time after escaping from self obsessed Sri Lankans, do look out of the tower. It’s got a great view with no openings to throw yourself out of!

Mutualism, in which the association is advantageous to both (+ +)

Back in Champs Elysees, a Chinese guy stopped me in the middle of the sidewalk and asked me if I spoke English. Very wary that it might be for some money, I replied in affirmative. Maybe I liked being asked for money. Gives me kicks that people think I do have money. Especially decently dressed individuals like himself. But he didn’t ask me for any cash. He gave me some infact. 330 Euros in hard currency. He asked me to quickly put the sum in my pocket lest someone notices. I was about to thank him and skip away into the sunset; but like all sweet deals, there was a catch to this one. I was asked to buy this particular wallet from Louis Vuitton (for which he had a sample) for him. I get no commision in this deal and I could very well be arrested if the notes were counterfiet. But in some whim, I agreed to carry out this weird request. If he had asked me to take a picture of him, I might have screamed. This way, I thought to myself, I get to go inside the swanky LV store and actually buy something. I could walk out of the store for one block with a Louis Vuitton bag in my hand. Hah! This is great!

Before you conclude I am quite an abnormal person, he did mention that he wasn’t being let into the store and I had heard rumors that stores in Paris were known for their snooty behaviour. Helping the hapless and walletless was my prerogative.

So I walked in effortlessly and stayed in the store for an hour admiring the disgusting purses locked up behind glass cases some billed at 20,000 Euros. I took my own time as I had to keep our Chinese man on his toes. Hopefully he was breaking into a sweat thinking that I actually ran away with his money from some underground passage. After going from one sales rep to another, I was finally handed the wallet in forceps to check. It was then neatly wrapped in some box and placed in a LV bag. ‘Ma’am, credit card or cash?’

I needed cash so the thought of using my credit card did occur, but I decided against it imagining it would hurt me more than the store if that money was actually fake.

As I walked out, I could see him waving to me across the street excitedly, at the same time suspiciously looking around. Anyway, I handed the wallet to him asking him to check if it was alright. He grabbed the bag, thanked me quickly, threw the packaging, pocketed the wallet and walked away real fast. A little perplexed, I was glad to take the empty bag home.

If you ever buy a fake LV from Chinatown for 10 bucks, remember Alpha and thank her for that prototype that she provided to make your purse look like an exact replica.

Chinese people were having a tough time entering the store.

Commensalism, in which one member of the association benefits while the other is not affected (+ 0)

I saw Arch De Triomph at the far end of Champs Elysees and decided to get a closer look having come this far. As I went closer, familiar music engulfed me. ‘No way! No freaking way!’

Abhishek, Lara and the croonies were here too. Second day in a row. My stars were aligned perfectly and literally. Same clothes, different venue…the song sequence continues. I was hoping to let Aby baby know about my plans for the next day so I could see him again. Sigh!

Pari Hoon Mai

2006-11-02T15:35:00.000-06:00

It was night by the time we got off at Paris after much debate as I was convinced that the announcement in the train, ‘Pariee di Nooaahha’, didn’t sound one bit like the city I intended to go to. In spite of the French and their complete disregard for phonetics just to make their language sound cute, the Metro is very comprehensible and easy to follow even for a dumbass. The precise instructions got us on the wrong train only 4 times on the first day of arrival. The bus system, I must admit is quite confusing and we used that only as a means to see the city after which we had to take the train to get to where we wanted.

‘Mmm..what do you think? You like it here? You can live here?’ Simran would spring this precise question every time we landed in a new place. This would be before we even embarked from the station, before I could even breathe the air. And I had this uncanny way of exasperating her by saying, ‘Yes of course, Lovely, isn’t it. I could live right here on his escalator. Always wanted a moving home.’ Same answer in Amsterdam, Brussels and Brugges. She never tired in trying to find out if I hated any place.

Holding up the map to locate our hotel from the Metro station was no easy feat. Follow a Street called Rue that intersects another street called Rue. ‘Hey hey, guys, I found it. Here is Rue. Come follow me.’

Thankfully the other two had higher IQ to figure that Rue means Street and if they were to follow me, we’d be going around in circles and we would get lucky if our feet gave in eventually.

The three of us had some great Japanese dinner with hot sake that put us in a nice mood. Remind me to eat some French food while I am in Japan. We had more wine while relaxing in the room where we would be reminded (by Pierre or Pyo downstairs) from time to time to keep our decibel levels a little lower and shut the eff up. Or in his dainty words- Shhhhh!

Conclusion about Paris after Day 1- If you want a quiet place to live in Paris, this hotel is it!

Took off by myself in the morning as I felt it would be prudent to leave the lovebirds by themselves in the romantic place while I could spend some quality time exploring this city alone.
‘Are you sure you’ll be fine all by yourself?’ Sims asked out of concern.

‘If I can’t deal with myself, who else will!’

I went whichever way my fancy took me. Yes, towards the Louvre. Especially since our hotel was a block away from it, it seemed the right thing to do. Wow, the Louvre looked quite grand. Took a million pictures. It looked very different from what I had envisioned. Slightly smaller and someone had stolen the glass pyramid, I concluded after walking around it. Walked inside to realize that it was the Opera House and that the Louvre was probably somewhere else intact with the Pyramid and Mona Lisa. Must remember not to mention such honest mistakes to the others. They would never believe me if I said the Opera house was worth a visit and that it was close to a lovely mall that I was intending to go to anyway.

Somehow by midday, I reached the Louvre to learn it was closed on Tuesdays (which happens to be the very day I happened to be there). So I got to see it from the outside without the bustling tourists. This time the Louvre looked every bit like I had expected it. Historic ochre monstrosity that would have been grandiose but bland if the resplendent pyramid right in front of it didn’t add a factor of surprise. Walking into this quadrangle gave the sense of being in a place that was worthy of only the royalty, of valiant heros and regal maidens…of Abishek Bacchan and Lara Dutta. The serenity of this place was shattered by loud Bollywood music. I rubbed my ears in disbelief and looked wide eyed to see a crew dancing to some song from the new blockbuster Jhoom Barabar Jhoom. I forgot all about Louvre and the Pyramid and ran with all my might towards this new Parisian Wonder. My day was made while I clicked away pictures trying to get the attention of Abishek’s make-up man. Was about to send an SMS to Narsim and Simran when I saw that I missed an SMS from them earlier- Come to the Louvre ASAP.

So they were here before me. Darn, I get no bragging rights for this one. Ms. Dutta, your clothes are going to be a rage at the red light district in Amsterdam. They'll take anything remotely from Paris. I'm so thankful for these photos, because none of the other pictures of Europe held the same sanctity for my relatives and friends back home.

Moved on to Notre Dame and came across many more majestic buildings and churches that looked as historic and important as the Louvre, but since I had no clue as to what they were, I wowed and continued my journey. That’s the thing about Paris. There is this grotesque display of history at every turn, wilting away with dignity or majestically mocking at you for not knowing what it is. A statue here, a fountain there and then you are faced with the eternal dilemma... to photograph it or not. Graciously greying without ever losing her sophistication and youthful glitter, Paris makes you fall in love. I walked along the river Seine, supposedly the most romantic walk in the whole world. I didn't pine for Luc, though I must admit it was very dreamlike. I am in head over heels in love with myself again. It was quite secluded and since the weather was wet, the book sellers that would have normally lined up their books in little green boxes had locked up and left much to my disappointment.

I crossed the river to St Louis Island (Ille de St Louis) and bought myself a pair of earrings. It’s impossible not to wander into the little stores in Paris. The women are stunning in a very casual way. The tights and boots combo that you’d see in runways and lunatics sat on these women with ease. The women are so well dressed and if I couldn’t get myself to look like that in a million years; I can at least try by buying what they wear and end up looking like the lunatic I had mentioned before. I walked in and out of book stores looking for anything English. A few hours later, I had nothing to show about Paris other than Abishek Bacchan. No museums covered, no Eiffel Tower, not even the famous sewer tour of Paris. But oddly enough, I was enjoying every minute of my time doing just this. I spent three hours in a coffee shop teaching the woman English. I know I know, I should be the one learning Bonjour, Comment Allez Vous etc…but she is the one who gets English customers. I’m here only for four days…who cares if I learn this language or not as long as I was getting my hot chocolate. She taught me a few things in French too… but seriously, what good is that now? Maybe if she had taught me how to make that lip smacking apple pie. Whoever said Parisians are snooty. They are proud, but not rude. It’s a good thing not to know the language sometimes. You can just smile when they’re ridiculing you at this store for trying out a sweater over your T-shirt. A truly general example.

It got dark and that’s when I opened the map for the first time. I had to know how to make my way back. Jeez, I had walked quite a bit around the Latin Quarter. It’d take me a while to get back to the Hotel and the thought of how much more money I would spend along the way brought in a new set of jitters. Maybe a cab would turn out cheaper than walking. Got back in time to have dinner with my friends. They had cabaret plans for the night and I declined the offer to go and see women in feathers kicking one leg in the air. On exchanging notes, by God, they had covered a lot of ground in one day. They had seen the Louvre, Notre Dame, Eiffel tower, the Grand Arch, Champs Elysees, Arc de Triomph and now they were going to this cabaret. To think my legs were aching and I was planning on retiring for the day.

‘Where did you go?’ they asked and I answered.

Going by their reaction, I might as well have said I slept in the hotel all day.

Paris continued……

The Sprouts and Waffle Ex-pee-rience

2006-10-31T16:29:00.000-06:00

Enroute to Brussels on Eurail, my friend was mighty disappointed that the view outside the train wasn’t as pretty as they showed in DDLJ. For the uninitiated, DDLJ is a Bollywood blockbuster starring Shahrukh, Kajol and a cow. After much deliberation, the blog name for my friend will be Simran. So when I realized Simran was actually in Europe for the DDLJ experience, (people have weird reasons to travel…some travel to buy magnets and some to sing ‘Tujhe dekha to yeh jaana sanam’) I knew for a fact that I had better recreate Amrish Puri quickly or deal with huge sighs of disappointment through out the trip.

‘What yaa, the stations don’t look like the ones in the movie,’ she sulked.

If I could get my hands on that Chopra fella, I’m demanding a freaking explanation. Why Europe? Why Eurail? Why make such movies available to all and sundry? Can't wait to get my Sound of Music revenge in Salzburg.

Anyway, Brussels was very tiny. If we had actually moved from the two blocks we kept wandering in and out of for the fear of getting lost, we might have felt the city was enormous. The Grand Place square was incredible. Since we just stumbled into it, we were struck by its beautiful cathedral and gothic buildings. Many roads just end in such open squares all through Europe. But none compared to the grandiose of this particular one. It’s lovelier by the night. Coffee shops and restaurants line this square. A local artist painting, kids playing, a concert in progress, a tourist taking the 56th picture (not me, I stopped at 52) didn’t mar the beauty of this place. Waded through the tourists to check out this little peeing kid, Manneken Pis (name doesn't leave much for imagination) and that's exactly what we saw..a bronze kid peeing away to glory. I am sure tourists avoid buying his statue as we saw loads of them in the stores. We also saw a bronze dog peeing on the road. Belgians must surely come to India and see the real thing!

Brussels is also known for its cartoonists like Herge of the Tintin fame. So there are many murals/cartoons throughout the city giving the historic city an element of fun.

And like every cool traveler, we did a very cool thing. Ate at an Indian restaurant that sent magnetic forces towards us the first day. We decided to eat in a local joint and got cheese and more cheese into our blood stream. How much chocolates and waffles can a man eat…same as a woman. By the second day, we succumbed to the smell of aaloo baingan. Those restaurant people did have some sense of humor. The samosas had brussel sprouts as filling. Try this at home by all means, but not when I am invited. Thank you very much.

Big Ben in Belgium (not as big)

We took a train to Mini Europe. Now this place had always caught my fancy in pictures. Whenever someone showed me photos of walking among tiny scaled models of the Big Ben and Eiffel tower, I was quite enthralled. I didn’t mention to Simran and her hubby (chalo, let’s call him Narsim, who was a kabab-mein-haddi during our initial travel..so much for Shahrukh Khan bouncing towards us) that I had seen these pictures when I was a kid. So they played along and accompanied my excited self to this theme park called Mini Europe. I can’t tell you how I escaped strangalization by this suddenly turned violent couple. The park was at its cheesy best. I could have strangled myself…but put a brave front to ward off any more disgusted stares. ‘Wow, look at this…miniature Grand Palace Sqaure.’ I think that was when all of us developed allergic reactions towards the Grand Palace Square and decided to stay away from it for the rest of the day.

‘Let’s buy lace.’ Simran declared out of sudden fascination for procuring items that a certain place was famous for.

‘What?! That granny stuff? No way are we buying lace.’ Narsim simmered.

‘Why not’, I asked. ’They’d look lovely as head rests on your couch so that when I come to your house with my head full of Parachute oil, it wont stain the backrest of the aforementioned sofa. Also you could use lace to cover your telephone and TV when they are not in use.’

‘If you are buying lace, then I am buying a pipe and placing it over the TV.’ Narsim protested.

‘Pipe? Like PVC pipe?’

‘No, a smoking pipe.’

‘That might actually go with our décor. Forget the lace. Let’s buy a pipe. Is it famous here?’

So while this couple sorted out their differences over pipes and lace, I bought knives. It might come handy to slit throats in case it became necessary.

A souvenir for every road checked

2006-10-30T20:25:00.000-06:00

Towards the end of the trip, while we were sinking our tired legs in Latha's Indonesian couch, our good hostess in Netherlands was showing off some photos from her recent trip to Egypt with her family. Their house full of odd souvenirs testified that the family was well traveled and hence proved that souvenir collectors do not make good interior decorators. A cuckoo clock from Switzerland, papyrus from Egypt, a photo frame from Greece, and a huge Chinese rosewood dining table made the home look like a spread at a potluck dinner.

‘My dad in India thinks that we always have fun because we travel a lot.’, Latha said as suddenly as the cuckoo appeared from the clock.

‘You don’t?’ I asked, quite taken aback considering they seemed to be dishing a lot of cash in this activity.

‘You travel, you should know. You know how much you have to walk and eat all kinds of shit. When Dad came here, we took him to Paris and make him walk all over the city till he collapsed. After that he has agreed that travel is not all that fun.’

I didn’t ask Latha the obvious question because I knew where she was coming from. Checking off places and buying souvenirs as trophies for all that hard work done, she epitomizes majority of us tourists. Though my idea of seeing places might be slightly different, in some bizarre level, we are all varying degrees of Latha. But when my relatives ask me how many states in the United States have I checked off, I simply say I am not sure if I want to go to Idaho even if that is the 50th state I have to tick off. It is impossible to fully savour any place by merely walking over its surface and taking pictures. Landing in a place while you are in transit is not considered visiting a new country. Three years are not enough to know a place, let alone three days. You have got to imbibe the smells, taste the flavors, meet with locals, connect with travellers, share a part of yourself to even scratch its surface. I can safely say that I have just been introduced to these wonderful cities in Europe; I am still waiting to shake hands. I regret not spending that kind of quality time to even give you a decent account, but here are the samplers. I'll go back for the main course some day, unless of course South America beckons with its unchecked countries.

Amsterdam- Cycling the Canals

Don’t let the Dutch fool you with their collecting-phlegm-from-the-inner-cavities-of-the throat-ready-to-spit kinda language. They all know English. They speak that way to ward off tourists so that they can drink all that beer in peace. First thing that strikes you about this place are the bicyclists. They can run you over if you are not watching them from the second floor of your hotel room. A mom riding her bike with three toddlers thrown in a beer barrel like contraption attached to the font of the bike. A businessman in Armani carrying a briefcase in one hand and a talking on the cell phone with the other. Nothing extraordinary about that if he wasn’t maneuvering his bike at the same time through the crowded canal streets. The bikes are not even fancy owing to the number of bikes that get stolen or thrown into the canals. I really didn’t spend enough time in Netherlands to understand why anyone would want to hurl vehicles of transportation into bodies of water. Maybe during their equivalent of Ganesh Chaturti.

Amsterdam, being below sea level, is a city of canals that look very romantic by the night. Canals bordered by narrow roads that are lined by cute row houses. Cute from the outside and pigeonholes from the inside. The houses are quite tiny and it’s quite a feat to climb those narrow steep staircases. Which is why every house has a slab like protrusion from the roof with a hook attached to it. This helps in moving furniture with the help of a pulley through windows. Some of the houses actually are built leaning towards the ground for the same purpose. Being a Civil Engineer and all, I almost went ecstatic thinking I discovered an engineering flaw in construction. Felt disappointed to learn that people living in these houses are actually safe.

People must set aside at least 4 hours for dining here (actually most of Europe). They have no concept of hurrying up. For harried Americans or for people from countries with large population and less seating, it is difficult to comprehend. The waiters take their own sweet time to take your order and a light year to bring the food. To obtain the check, you must perform three mujras to get the attention of the waiter who is merrily smoking pot in the next table.

Made way to the Rijksmuseum to see the milkmaid woman the Dutch painter Johannes Vermeer painted. Saw Vermeer’s house in Delft and the museum where his famous Girl with the Pearl Earring is housed. Thanks Gabby for that book and making me want to rediscover this beautiful place with my own eyes and compare it with what my mind had once construed through the wonderful narrative of Tracy Chevalier. It was fun trying to look for that fish market where Griet ended up and actually finding it with the help of our noses.

Anne Frank Haus was a slight let down and for people who hadn’t even read the book, it must have must have been a torturous tour. Personally, I feel it can be skipped; the tour and not the book.

Night took us to the red light district after having a piece of hash brownie. Our local friend, Mich, advised us on having ¼ of what was doled out to us in the coffee shop. Yes, a normal coffee shop. Drugs are legal and as easy to procure as...yes coffee. Last time a friend went to Amsterdam for a conference, he ate this brownie thinking it was well…a brownie. He woke up two days later missing his flight and the conference. This brownie thing was hardly hitting me. Was getting slightly frustrated after having paid six bucks for something that tasted like a brownie that would normally cost a buck. Ate another quarter piece without anyone’s knowledge. Still nothing. Got distracted by the lovely ladies in interesting negligee selling their wares by their respective windows. You could get as close as you would to a red tailed chimpanzee in Mysore zoo. But you couldn't take photos. A red light above their window meant they were ready and a purple light meant they were ready too. Just that the purple were transvestites and if you don’t notice the 5 o’clock shadow and the occasional Adam’s apple, you could mistake them for the nice ladies under the red lights. If a curtain was drawn, it meant they were busy…maybe painting their nails.

Sometime at midnight that brownie had a profound effect on me. I had a giggling attack. So much for the sinister effects of drugs. My friends got jealous that it didn’t hit them and tried to put me to sleep very unceremoniously. The world went in spirals and I felt like I was being sucked into my pillow. Like some kind of engulfing feeling. Like they show in the movies. The same purple-pink thingies going zigzag and the yellow-orange thingaboos spiraling outwards. Pulled out my dairy put a check mark next to Take a Canal Tour in Amsterdam.

Sneak Preview

2006-10-29T13:20:00.000-06:00

A regular reader (Hi Alpha) would have realized by now that I take occasional breaks from my blog to create a false aura of an exciting life. This time I have to admit life couldn’t have been more fulfilling. No accolades, no achievements, no pigs flying…just a little peek into paradise. Of traveling wide and going home. Of unseen adventure and familiar comfort. To take the heart where it has never been and to bring it back to where it belongs- clotted with saturated memories. A heart attack will be averted with compulsive exercise and Fish oil capsules- twice daily henceforth.

Europe trip was awesome. The fact that I have reached safely without any mishaps (I am discounting the time when I rummaged through a garbage can for food in the streets of Paris) has changed Pi’s life. His theory that I am incapable of taking care of myself in his absence has been tampered with and he is desperately seeking answers. While he is busy plotting, I could tell you all about the journey, the destination and every speed bump inbetween. I’ll obviously skip the happy predictable parts so that you don’t get bored. With a demanding public like you, it’s difficult to make good stories out of a perfectly orchestrated trip such as this. Surely you don’t want to hear how lovely the scenery was and how yummy the apple strudel was. You’d probably strangle me if I told you that our hosts in Germany were the best and they made our stay pleasurable. Darn you Parmanu and Hardu! Couldn’t you guys have electrocuted me? Or at least my friend?

India was great too. Family bonding at it’s best. Dad-in-law’s sixtieth birthday was celebrated in the traditional way with style. We got him married off to the woman of his dreams- the same woman he had married 36 years ago. Nobody better complain that they didn’t get a second chance. To think Pi happened after the first marriage itself, they probably will be prudent this time.

Somehow it is good to be back home in Pittsburgh. In the comfort of the pot, I realised that one’s bathroom is certainly where the heart is.

All about this and the trip in subsequent episodes. Tune in regularly or be cursed to read the archives.

Que Pasa?

2006-09-28T08:31:00.000-05:00

I may not have a hold on the European languages, but I’m off today- 15 days in Europe.

Just pray that I don’t-
- Lose my passport, wallet, tickets, friend and mind
- Wander into someone else’s room in the hotel (by mistake of course)
- Take a train to Wisbejiesgystan (I bet that is a country)
- Get caught for illegal possession of rice cooker
- End up reading map upside down thinking its French
- Spend more than 3 days in the Louvre and kill myself
- Sing ‘The hills are alive with the Sound of Music’ in Salzburg and kill others.
- Get too high on hash brownies that we don’t wake up for two days straight and miss the hash brownie plans for the next night. Shudder!
- Use my friend’s toothbrush –ewwwww!

But do pray that I get hopelessly lost in the lovely cities never to return to reality.

Philly girl

2006-09-28T01:20:00.000-05:00

I did find a friend in the gym... no points for guessing that she is someone who laughs at my jokes. I am blessed or what. When I saw her, I almost jumped up and kissed her in sheer glee. It can happen to the best of the people when they haven’t interacted with anyone other than a grocer for weeks. Actually she seemed equally desperate which explains her enthusiasm to wake me up at 6 in the morning to chat up. Do I have to admit it that I made her call? When she said she thought there were theives in her house and she got up, locked her bedroom door and went back to sleep, I knew we would get along.

Today she stunned me by suddenly asking me if I blogged as Alpha. I thought it was a very well concealed fact barring a few hundred individuals who know I blog as Alpha but who don’t even read my blog.

As the story goes, this newfound friend of mine was gloating about meeting me (yeah me) to her oldfound friend in Philly (Philly girl) ‘This girl is nuts, needs her eyebrows trimmed, almost kissed me ..yeah here, has red eyes, doesn’t exercise in the gym and just moved from Chicago, claims to be married but looks like a teenager (the last bit I made up).’ Now Philly girl is into something sinister and illegal, which makes her read my blog on regular basis. So she said, ‘Oh that is Alpha.’ Just like that! My freaking real identity got compromised by my blog identity. Not really complaining as I did get a healthy dose of on-behalf compliments from Philly girl. Thank you, thank you. I swear this world is round- the size of a golf ball.

Pittsburgh and Beyond

2006-09-26T14:04:00.000-05:00

Almost forgot I had a blog. Don’t get stupid notions that the city is keeping me busy with its charms. Actually it’s the other way around. My charms seem to work on no one here. Not that I can claim it ever did in the past. But you get the drift. With Pi out of town for a whole month, and my office consisting of furniture and a front desk lady who doesn’t pick up the phone (coz she is at home), I am desperate for people to talk to. I have to talk to someone who can respond. My plants are stooping over with my incessant chatter and my bathroom mirror shattered when I asked the obligatory ‘Mirror mirror on the wall’ question.

So I smile, say hello to random strangers hoping they would smile and hand me over their horoscope and family medical history. I invited the bank ATM lady home for dinner when she said ‘Have a nice day.’ She is my best friend in Pittsburgh! I lost one friend the minute I got to know him. The Indian grocer. I asked him if there was a better Indian grocery store around and he took it personally.

Gym is a good place to pick up friends. It’ll freak you out to know that I am going to the gym more than ever now. All along I realized I was burning calories by tripping over sheer guilt of never going to the gym. The only humans I see there are Ray Romano if I go at the right time or Susan Lucci (the fifty year old who sells microdermabrasion kits) if I go at the wrong time. The fact that I bought one of those kits by ordering it while I was on the treadmill proves my miserable existence and why Susan Lucci is getting that glow on her skin. Because of all that money she is making from poor suckers like me who’d call and order a 40 dollar kit just to talk to another human voice. Fine, I will agree that my derma layer was having serious desires to get microabrased by sponge rotors dipped in suspicious looking goo. All this gym time hopefully lets me eat all the Belgian chocolates I want and still keep me in the 20 Most Sexiest Women Alive list. If you haven’t noticed, Pittsburgh has surely hasn't taken away my objectivity.

Moving on to my Europe trip... the reason behind this post. Now the people who didn’t even reach this far wouldn’t even know why I was writing what I was all along. What a pity!

Netherlands, Belgium, France, Germany (maybe Luxemborg), Austria and Netherlands. I was hoping you wouldn’t notice the repeat. Parmanu, Aggressively yours Colours and Hardu were kind enough to let me stay with them for three whole days while in Germany (This might actually come as a shock to them. Since I was a little worried about dejection on the phone, I am resorting to this method). If they are still friends with me, please do not judge them. You’ve gotta love this blog; not only has it brought me closer to wonderful people whom I can stay for free, it will also make them strive to be wonderful hosts so that they can be written about gloriously after the trip. Sigh!

This trip planning has brought my cool factor to the abyss and my Patel factor to the top. I started off wanting to go alone, backpacking in Europe, meeting strangers and connecting with people (as you noticed Pittsburgh was my practice arena), taking in the sights unhindered by a set agenda.

See, that’s what I mean by cool. A cool that would get my grandchildren writing books about me. I was all set when in a weak moment, I invited a good friend. We found ourselves reserving hotels to stay. And yesterday while I was packing I realized that we are really not backpacking, much to my utter shock and dismay. We knew exactly where we would be and when. I had to shed my pride and my unwieldy backpack to reach out to my stroller suitcase. Ashamed as I am to admit it, I have to say, the clothes fit in perfectly with extra space for souvenirs. Heck, while I am at it, I might even take my camcorder and rice cooker (with seed for curds, of course!).

A deep sigh for every wish not granted

2006-09-10T12:21:00.000-05:00

In Pittsburgh. In a three bedroom rental townhome. Never lived in such a big home before so I have to keep reminding myself that those are my clothes in the walk-in closet and not that of my friend’s. That I don’t have to throw old jeans every time I buy a new one due to lack of space. I can ride a bike in the kitchen. I can finally own a dining table! This has been exhilarating. At the same time I am missing one key element. I have the space, but no one to occupy it other than just the both of us. We left our friends behind in Chicago. And that’s a trade off I am not willing to make. Take two of the bedrooms and give me my friends back. Give me the rocks on Lake Michigan back. Give me the white chocolate milkshake from Kafein and the retarded folks next door. I want to be able to peek into the lit up windows of every high rise building driving on Lake Shore Drive. I want to fall in love with the blue placid waters at the Montrose Harbor once more. I want to trip and fall on my skates when I suddenly recognize a Frank Lloyd Wright style of architecture. I want to sit in A’s house and talk to him till its dawn. I want to go back to a place I have known. I want this and much more.

The Alaskan Drizzle..Wait for the Rain.

2006-08-24T20:35:00.000-05:00

If I could describe it in words, I would have a best seller with my name on it. If my picture taking abilities could replace the thousand words that I would like to say, I’d never have to speak again (That swwwishhh was Pi rushing to enroll me in a photography class). For now you have to make do with a short summary of the trip and mediocre photos.

Day 1/Seattle: SIL, thanks for the hiking pants handed to me in the Seattle airport. We were inseparable. I spent the rest of the 10 days farting in it. Will return it to you soon.

Day 2/Seward: Portage Glacier wasn’t one of the 50 glaciers we saw on the way and called out, ‘Look Look, Wow Portage Glacier.’ It was the one we saw after paying a substantial amount for a cruise that took us right to it through the back alleyway.

Day 3/Anchorage: Blamed Pi for not explicitly telling the Bed & Breakfast lady that we preferred vegetarian breakfast. Considered smearing all the bacon pieces in Pi’s underwear out of abject hunger.

Lost one sock. So kept the other one visible to trap the thief. I still possess only one sock. N looks at a lame guy crossing the road with crutches and exchanges meaningful glances with us. Jeez, how insensitive!

Day 4/Talkeetnas: We were feeling at home on Ruth Glacier with the majestic Mt McKinley looming over us. Blissful moments cut short by bitchy pilot, Erica, who wanted to go home early.

Day 5/Talkeetnas: Café Mitchell was the best food we had in ages and when the bill arrived, we agreed that pleasing our palates shouldn’t be our highest priority.

Day 6/Denali National Park:

Backpacking tip- Make loud noise so that you won’t encounter or surprise a grizzly bear.

Us: ‘Hey Bear! Hey Bear! Lalaala. Dumdeedadum! Kaliaa, Kitne bhalu the?’

Suicidal person in our group: ‘Shhh..Shut up, you are scaring them away! I wan’t to see one.’ Day 7/Denali National Park: Wish I didn’t have to burn right glove by lifting scalding water off the stove. Now I have one glove. N doesn’t say a word about single handed people, but does give me a helpful suggestion. ‘Cut the fingers off so you can scratch your head.’

I spot a bear cub rushing across. Since I was the only one who spotted it, the fact remains under contention among the group.

Day 8/Denali National Park: The sun setting at midnight was rather disturbing. Not to mention, rising at ungodly hours like 4 am. Add to this phenomenon, Pi's snoring. Sleep deprived? Nod.

Day 9/Denali National Park: No more Ptarmigan sightings, Judy. No please! The bus driver pulls over to show us squirrels this time. ‘Oh, look look, The squirrel is chasing a Ptarmigan.’ Judy is the most patient when it comes to these idiotic creatures.

Author’s note: Ptarmigan is a fancy name for a bird that looks like a quail. It just sits with it’s family on the roadside waiting for eager tourists to look out and click pictures with their 20X zoom digital SLR. When the picture is visualized with bated breath, the bird looks like a freaking bird. When you don’t see grizzlies by the dozen, you get a bigger aversion to these innocent birds, like I did.

We saw Alaskan Huskies leading a sled. New words learnt- mushing, Iditirod race, Susan Butcher, Balto, Yukon Quest

Day 10/Fairbanks: Nothing to do in Fairbanks. We eat in Thai place.

Day 11/Fairbanks: Why the hell are we still in Fairbanks? We eat icecream.

I get chased by 2 extremely ferocious pit-bulls on the road. I survive to tell this tale.

Day 12/Enroute to Anchorage: Met hikers at the airport and exchanged stories. I did brag about the cub sighting. At least they seemed to believe me. We agreed wholeheartedly that there is no place like Alaska in the whole world. Breathtaking, simply breathtaking and yeah, just breathtaking. They didn't get to see Mt McKinley (Denali) the whole time they were there because the mountain was covered by clouds. I quickly pulled out my camera and gloated about my luck and how close we were to Denali. I showed her this picture.

She invited me to London to come and stay with her...maybe to poison me out of sheer jealousy.

Do I write about this or that?

2006-07-31T13:55:00.000-05:00

Spent the whole drive to work shedding uncontrollable tears. My eyes are red. I am still waiting for this yawning to stop so my jaws can get their well deserved rest. For something that sends a signal that one is sleepy, this yawn goes on to make you more tired than you were before you even started the yawn series. There should be a legal limit for the number of yawns per day after which you should be able to take sick leave. It doesn’t help when you begin to write something comprehensible and end up thinking about the significance of yawns to human society and how they could be harnessed to provide energy for sleep deprived people.

Needless to say, I am a little tired now. Sleep deprivation usually results from two main activities over the weekend- cracking the D'Agapeyeff code or too much partying. Since I didn’t know who the heck D’Agapeyeff was till today, you are safe betting that I partied all weekend.

There is so much to write about, but time has reduced itself to a bonsai. For starters, I could write about this PhD ordeal coming to an end and how I will have to look for another topic to nag Pi about. Or I could write about the Great Alaskan Odyssey (just a cool name for the vacation we are planning to take this week). Once I am back from this backpacking trip, we pack and leave to Pittsburgh. I can write about how much it’s going to suck to leave and about the house that was never bought. I am dying to talk about the backpacking in Europe and the India trip that ensues in October. On a totally related note- anyone living in Paris or Salzburg ready to host one beautiful girl and her friend? Please send in your statement of intent along with your wife’s endorsement of your character. If I said ‘the friend’ was the author of this blog, I may be refused blatantly. That’s one of the reasons why S is coming with me, to help with the advertising. Am planning on using her to get free rides and museum passes too. My feeling is that her hubby wanted to get rid of her somehow and hence allowed her to go on a trip alone with me.

Or even better, I could write about how…..yawwwwwn!

Aah, the Horror!

2006-07-18T19:33:00.000-05:00

You know what really irks me- the fact that India's Department of Telecommunications passed an order to ISPs to block several blogs. I was hoping someone would do it here. My dream of doing something worthwhile with my time has been thwarted yet again. My way of protesting- I will put a self-ban on blogging till all my friends in India are given the right to while away productive time by blogging. If this ban is not lifted in three days, I'll rethink my protesting strategy.

Update: Unblocked. People do listen to angry bloggers! Now if I can get Pi to make dinner.

Terrible

2006-07-11T11:18:00.000-05:00

When natural calamities like floods and hurricanes strike, you have harrowing moments, gripping fear, immense sadness, sense of helplessness and a resolve to move on. But when something like this happens, all of the above is reinforced with feeling of pure anger. And when did anger solve any issue?

Scenes from Mahabharat at Home -IV

2006-07-11T09:23:00.000-05:00

Pi's take on my Mahabharat series:

The Kauravas. Pure Evil. Hundreds of them lying around when only two[1] are required/significant.

[1] Dhuryondhana & Dhushasana

As mom Gandhari, I am mighty offended.

Better safe than sorry?

2006-07-09T09:19:00.000-05:00

The worst part is you aren’t even allowed to make fun. Last time Pi went to a doctor was because he had a cold. The doctor, who was slightly shocked that there are patients who love to challenge him from time to time, simply stated that he needed to ride it out. Pi was distraught, ‘My wife said the same thing and it can’t be true. Could you please give me some medication other than Halls so that it looks like I had some sinister viral infection?’ So as a consolation, doc looked at his ear and removed some wax. Pi came back home a happy man (to know he wasn’t bidding adieu anytime soon) till he realized that my voice was loud and clear while I was trying to bask in my 'Itoldyou' moment. ‘Shhh. Softly softly. I think I need to see the doctor again. I need protection for my eardrums.’

This morning Pi decides that he needs to see a doctor... AGAIN. It’s an emergency he declared. Every time that happens I have a hard time keeping a straight face and feigning concern, ‘What’s the matter, Kutta?’ (Now Kutta doesn’t mean dog; it’s a male version of kutti (not bitch), discounting the fact that kutti means ‘little’ in Tamil.)

‘Breathlessness.’

‘Oh my god. That is a serious problem. Why didn’t you tell me before, you poor baby? Is it happening now?’ I sat on the edge of the sofa.

‘When I’m on a treadmill.’

The doctor's co-pay and the gym membership fees could have been used for logical things such as counseling for me. While Pi knows how to get to the hospital with his eyes closed, he had to introduce himself to the treadmill yesterday.

But I Love Their Sandwiches

2006-07-06T15:27:00.000-05:00

Day 1.

‘Indian?’ asked the equally Indian looking lady behind the Subway counter.

I nodded and smiled genially.

Day 2.

‘Try this Southwest Chipotle sauce. Bahut accha hai.’

I nodded and smiled genially. I ate sandwich with Southwest Chipotle sauce.

Day 3

‘Have a cookie. Rakh lo beta. No, no, I am not charging you for that.’

I couldn’t believe this. Me, who doesn’t even win a single pepsi can in lotteries, is getting a free cookie from strange Indian lady. I ate sandwich with Southwest Chipotle sauce and free cookie.

Day 4

‘This sandwich is on me.’

Woah! Hold it lady. Next you’ll give me your shop and I don’t think I can handle this business. I ate free sandwich with Southwest Chipotle sauce and free cookie.

She came and sat next to me , 'Beta, where do you work? What is your caste?'

‘Brahmin? That’s ok. I think we can adjust.’

‘You must meet my son. He owns this store. Have you seen him? He is 45 and we are having a hard time finding a bride.’

I broke the news of my long standing torrid affair with my husband expecting an uncomfortable apology and maybe another white chocolate macadamia cookie for peace.

She got up and walked off unceremoniously. Luckily she didn’t grab the last bit of the cookie that was being stuffed in a hurry.

That’s when I realized I was her investment, a risky one at that. It would have been better if she was selling Amway products. I could have at least thrown a few curses and walked out in a huff. A 45 year old? Aiala!! Wonder if Botox is the way to go.

Strange encounters with Subway women don’t end there. So as you would have guessed, I stopped going to that place. I wouldn’t have been able to deal with the trauma of not getting free stuff anymore. I tried another Subway joint. Again an Indian lady behind the counter. Much younger and hipper. She spoke incessantly without ever letting me interrupt her for what I wanted on the sub. ‘Err..I don’t want those onions.’

‘Forget that, what I was saying is my husband comes to work at 5 pm. Till then I have to run this store. For a graduate from NIFT, I don't think I deserve this. I was better off attending parties in Delhi. Now I have three kids. I know it doesn’t look like that…..’

I got to eat what she thought was good for me. Even as I ate, she managed to leave her work to somebody else and continued her yak sessions with me. I munched on my lunch and she spoke about the travails of living in the US as a bread-wali. 'Imagine what my friends in Delhi must be thinking of me... yada yada... zardosi sarees...yada yada...'

Today she couldn’t get off from her duties (silent prayer of thanks), so she quickly ran towards me and slipped her phone number.

‘Give me a call. We should go on a date on Sunday.’

Whatever it is, I better get busy looking for another Subway restaurant in the area.

World Tibet Day and Dalai Lama's Birthday

2006-07-05T22:27:00.000-05:00

My little Tibetian friend, Aqua, has pointed out that June 6th has been picked out to spread the awareness of Tibet's long non-violent freedom struggle against China. Learn, educate and act. Don't let your love for Chinese fried rice impair your judgement.

A Meek Wife's Horror Tales

2006-07-03T15:04:00.000-05:00

I don’t know how other women do it, but I just haven’t been able to domesticate Pi. Not even a bit. Puppydoglike is absolutely ruled out; he isn’t even close to transforming himself into a pet cobra (or any other ferocious animal if you have hyperactive imagination involving cobras). I take complete blame for this lack of management and delegation skills.

Just the other day, I asked him for help in the kitchen. ‘Could you please chop these onions?’ (Ok, it was more like- Get your sluggish mass here and cut the freaking onions if you have any devious intentions of eating what I cook today.)

He used the famous three strategies-

1. Eardrum failure to external noises other than TV.

2. After I managed to get his attention (which by itself was a horrendous feat worth a whole new post), sudden important work that needed his immediate attention came up and he promised to cut the onions as soon it was done.

3. He continued acting like the work was of never ending nature, hitting the keyboard at regular intervals and closing his eyes in deep meditation whenever I passed by.

An hour passed and the onions were the ones crying unable to bear the suspense of their demise anymore. To preserve my sanity and to prevent myself from smashing his computer in abject hunger, I decided that the onion cutting process would take only 2 minutes if I took the high road. Ambitious plans of disciplining him could wait for another day when I was less famished.
-----------------------
When I got back from work the next day, I saw him lying on the couch in the same position I had left him in the morning. I was certain that he had blinked once as the settled dust from his eyelids had fallen on to his cheeks. He mentioned something about an integral chapter of his PhD work that he intended to complete for the day.

‘Why don’t you do it now?’ I asked with growing concern.

‘I’m waiting for you to ask me to cut onions.’

Scenes from Mahabharat at Home-III

2006-07-01T15:46:00.000-05:00

Yatra yogeshwara krishna yatra partho dhanurdharaha

Tatra shri vijayo bhutir druvo nitir matir mama

Translation- Where the yogeshwara Krishna who represents vision is present and where Arjuna who represents action is present, then there is success, justice and wealth (and a nagging wife).

In case you are missing my writing

2006-06-29T06:19:00.000-05:00

As if writing on my blog was not enough, I was invited to write on Desi Pundit. Check this out only after you are done feasting your eyes on the porn because if it was that worth it, I would have written a separate post to alert you (it's on the top right corner).

Since Ash is the only contributor in DP who seems to have taken the onus of scanning my posts to see if any are worth linking, I have to make sure she doesn’t go on vacation. I must thank DP for sending a few clueless travelers my way who only have to take one look at Draupadi and run for the nearest exit.

Scenes from Mahabharat at Home- II

2006-06-28T21:16:00.000-05:00

Draupadi again and the five Pandavas. Bhima to the left, Yudhistira, Arjuna and the Ashwini twins.

Warning: If you are 18 years or younger, please erase this graphic scene from your memory.

Scenes from Mahabharat at Home- I

2006-06-28T07:17:00.000-05:00

Draupadi's Vastraharan in progress. Hubby (Lord Krishna) replenishes the robes later.

Stop means Stop

2006-06-25T09:38:00.000-05:00

Almost felt homesick when my car came to a screeching halt at this intersection. ‘Eat!’ my mom would say. ‘When I say eat, I mean eat’, she’d scream almost immediately as if she knew I would disregard her first time around.

Also felt like sulking when the guys in the perpendicular road didn’t have the ‘stop means stop’ sign attached to their stop signs. What is this partiality, I say! Are you saying the drivers that use that road are law-abiding people while we aren’t? That we need prodding and helpful pointers (in the same language as the actual sign) to ultimately comprehend? What if I don’t stop? Will I get a whack in my head with a ticket? A little shaken, I looked for a sticker on my car that says ‘Better stop at Greenwood and Damen Intersection.’

---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oh no, you just can’t stop me
‘I’m clearly on a roll,’ he said
‘If you put a break to my stride
You will be as good as dead.’

I asked him to slow down
‘Relax and have some tea.
If you insist on running,
It’s hard to catch up, you see.’

‘No temptations of tea
Nor pouting faces galore
Will stop me from taking you
To a place you’ve not seen before

Now stop the hesitation
Just turn the freaking page
Don’t mess with me, darling
I’m the inevitable Age.’

Another year whizzes past
Leaving incomplete goals.
Goals are after all dreams
with deadlines and loopholes.

Life stamped

2006-06-22T21:43:00.000-05:00

Only the once-wannabe-serious-Philatelic will relate to this post. The rest of you, what’s new?

As a kid, you needed a hobby to answer the question- What is your hobby? There was no other hobby other than stamp collecting that easily came to everyone's mind. Collecting abuses was not a serious pursuit as uniqueness was generally frowned upon. So stamps it was. Collecting them was not the hard part. You pillage, plunder and steal and before you know it you have three assorted boxes full of stamps of various origins containing diverse saliva. The two of the three boxes are in your friend’s house for the time being (till she dies a premature death). You owe 90% of your collection to your uncle who has been looking for his stamps to date.

It’s the categorization and organization that gets tricky. Now to trade stamps, you need to be able to display your wares in a professional manner. Sitting in boxes, under the bed, they end up getting stuck to each other in the heat and no one in their right frame of mind would exchange stamps with you. You dream of filing them all in a fancy album, carefully labeled with notes of the origin and history of each stamp. The exciting world, past and present, lies before you in the form of tiny bits of paper with serrated edges. You coax your parents to buy you a stamp book and they threaten to stop your weekly subscription to Amar Chitra Katha. So you use up all your pocket money to buy this album and curse Amar Chitra Katha for having such a strong hold on you.

The air in the room fills up with excitement when you actually are able to put your plan to action sorting them into different countries- Bharat, India, Malawi, Danmark, etc.. Then you put them in tiny covers and label them while they wait to get displayed on the album as their final destination. A rare Japanese stamp of a panda bear keeps you occupied in admiration for some time. You know it’s rare coz none of your friends have it. A circular one, a triangular one and you know you are probably the most sought after Philatelic in the parts. A smile.

Blue, pink, orange, yellow, green... these guys are so unoriginal. One more of these pesky little queen stamps, you just want to scream. Ok here goes..aaaaaaaaagggggrrrhhhh! How come you have too many Indian stamps? Way too many. No sucker wants to trade your 35 paisa Gandhi stamp with their Madagascar butterfly one. Wonder if these family planning stamps are really spreading the message? Or are they being delivered at the same rate as the babies? Who is Deendayal Upadhyaya and why is he important enough to be made a stamp of? Oh look, here’s the Leonardo Da Vinci one. Muah. Stick it next to the Mona Lisa. How cool!

Ouch your back hurts a little, your vision gets slightly blurred. Now you mechanically start distributing stamps without taking personal interest in them. Soon you start clubbing continents, as the space on your bed has become limited. Your brain is saturated and drained at the same time. You are at it for the last 12 hours and you aren’t even half way done. Numbness ensues and quickly you start gasping for breath. You look at the clock- its hours past midnight and if you don’t stop this now, you will probably throw them all out of the window in disgust(keeping a few rare ones of course). Overdoing things has always been a biggest cause of waning of exuberant interest that was once displayed. You are completely spent and bored out of your wits. With the last ounce of energy left, you clear the junk off your bed before you stagger and hit the pillow. Another day passes with only half your desires fulfilled.

Life is like collecting stamps. You collect little dreams, ideas, thoughts; some hackneyed and some rare. You want to compile those ideas, make an scrap book of your thoughts and implement a plan to realize those dreams. As you begin to execute them eagerly, you sometimes get tired, breathless, abandon interest and before you know it, you are 60. It’s time to retire. Time to complete that stamp album.

Alpha Hydroxy, P.E.

2006-06-19T12:01:00.000-05:00

They will hear what they want to even if you talk without your mouth full. I just broke the news (fully baked) to one individual (in hushed excited tones) and she jumped up and hugged me (as expected). All of a sudden the whole office knew.

'Congrats, did I hear right?' Yes, you did.
'Finally, long due. Great news!' Yeah, I know.
'Wow! Congrats!' Thanks.
'You must be so excited.' Yes, i am.
'How's Pi taking it?' Great. he is quite happy. wha..?

Wait a minite! Took me the whole hour to undo the damage. 'No, I am not pregnant. Just found out that I passed the PE exam .'

Phew! That aside... I passed! See, I am not just another pretty face.

To prove that I am all heart too, I called up my friend who hadn’t passed the exam and told her that I didn’t make it through too. That made her day.

A true friend is one who dies a little every time you succeed.

Now to call and tell her that I was kidding and that I actually passed.

A truer friend is one who stabs you and writes a glorious obituary.

King Uncle

2006-06-13T16:39:00.001-05:00

Chandamama (a magazine you would buy for your kids in the hopes of making them pious individuals1) carried the story of the king and this ghost. It was very intriguing, partly because it was an interesting read and partly because the spirit (as in ghost and not vodka) in the book was illustrated to be scary & sophisticated. But Doordarshan, in their zeal to keep kids from getting petrified, made Vetaal look like a cross between a polar bear and Manpreet Brar2. It wasn’t as scary as seeing Manpreet Brar as a whole. Vikram aur Vetaal series gave my Sunday afternoons a completely different meaninglessness. One hour of self imposed torture. I actually loved to watch vetaal who spent too much time in the beauty parlour, but none at the dentist. King Vikramaditya was either under the influence of something very potent or he didn’t bribe the historians enough to portray him as an intelligent and capable king. Who in the right mind would spend half his life in the graveyard with a guy who loved cuticura powder and yellow eye shadow? Maybe he loved the vetaal stories as much as I did. Here’s a hilarious account3 of the series.

The reason for my post is not about recounting my experiences of enacting the whole Vikram aur Vetaal bit with my unsuspecting brother. I would drag him out of bed, sling him on my back and throw him to see if he flew. The ending to this story is very traumatic with my mom locking me up in the balcony where I only felt it practical to learn flying and then teach my brother.

Here’s the real raison d’etre. In his hey days, my uncle was a chief engineer for the Narmada Valley Project (Please please, let’s not get all riled up against my family. He was only getting paid handsomely for it). He got to stay in the Narmada valley. Now you’d think that’s not a big deal. It isn’t till you hear that he gets to stay in King Trivikramasena’s palace4 on the banks of river Narmada in Madhya Pradesh. The name didn’t ring a bell till my dad told me that his other name in the vetaal community happened to be Vikram. I was in raptures when we were slated to meet uncle and his family for summer vacation. My brother was too little to understand the thrills of staying in such a historically significant locale. Maybe he was smart enough to know that this vetaal thing was probably hooky, a figment of someone's imagination to make Chandamama sell. All he could care about was the servants who’d bring a golden wash basin to bed and brush his royal teeth with diamond bristles. He makes the likes of Anna Nicole Smith pale in comparison. I was certain that my uncle wouldn’t be sitting on a throne, but I never broke that news to my giddy brother. In fact, I did something I would come to regret. I encouraged him. I told him stories of a raging war against neighboring king in which King Uncle came out victorious to the cacophony of conch noise. His white elephant had tusks as big as the slide in the park. And of course, our Queen Aunty would spend idyllic days in the palace gardens (that’s the only thing that happened to be true).

My brother couldn’t hide his excitement in the train. He told the co passengers that he was on the way to meet his King Uncle and that if they happened to be on the same train on the way back, he would reward them with a few pearl necklaces that he’d bring from the treasury. My parents shot worried looks at each other. I was amused no end. Co passengers pulled his cheeks.
My uncle and aunt came to receive us at the station. One look at them and my brother completely lost his marbles. His wails competed with that of the conch din he had been made to envision. My uncle was taken aback by this sudden display of affection. Through his sobs, he made it clear that he wasn’t interested in traveling with a crownless king. Amused, my uncle said he had left his crown at home (er..palace) as he had to come incognito to escape from the enemy’s eyes.

Part two of my brother’s displeasure took place in the parking lot when he saw a car instead of a horse chariot. So to appease him, we took a detour to Ujjain where we hired a tonga (horse cart) to take us around the city; all the while my uncle had to pertend to be the king. I think that reconciled my brother a bit as we didn’t hear much of his howling till we reached home.

The palace- It was just fabulous. In my scheme of trying to goad my brother, I had downgraded my own expectations of this place. Not one of the huge castles with moats and canons, but a really humungous bungalow capable of accommodating only the royalty. A palace of a king who ruled small kingdom. The scene took us back a couple of centuries even though the palace was renovated with modern amenities. Red carpets and wood paneling still dominated certain rooms. Ornate chandeliers and unexplored rooms. Manicured lawns with dancing peacocks. Huge balcony with a painting-perfect view of river Narmada flowing in the backyard that housed scampering monkeys whose granddad probably made faces at the brave King (or found the ruby in the fruit). King Vikram may easily have spent days standing here watching the sun set across the river, wondering if he should accept any more fruit from suspicious vendors.

There is something to be said of places that are not made into museums and are left for you to discover. There is something to be said about running along the river to find a graveyard. There is a lot of be said of imaginations and transporting yourself to an era you have always wondered about.

The best part of the palace was the basement that was converted to my uncle’s office. An oversized mahogany table and chair that only looked proportional to the size of the room. An enviable library with topographical maps lining the walls. A scaled down model of the controversial dam with my uncle's imposing presence completed the picture. ‘Saab, aapke liye chai5,‘ the servant chimed in. He truly was a King uncle. My brother beamed with pride as uncle lifted his non-golden cup of steaming tea.

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Latest Update: Since I was just 10 when we went to visit uncle, I wanted to validate my memory and gather more information about this palace of King Vikramaditya. So I called my cousin in DC as King Uncle happens to be his dad.

Me: Cousin bro, where in MP was that Vikramaditya’s palace…where you guys lived?

Cuz: Vikramaditya? You mean, the vetaal king?

Me: Oh oh, don’t say a word. Ok, break the news. Was he even a king?

Cuz: It was Maharaja Holkar’s summer palace in Barwah.

Me (very very disappointed, especially since I wrote a whole freakin post on this Vicky fella): But papa told me it was King Vikram.

Cuz (mocking laughter): Your papa was probably pulling your leg. King Vikramaditya’s palace wasn’t too far off, if that is any consolation. It was in Ujjain. You probably did feel the chill of the vetaal while you were there.

Me (feeling more cheated than my brother would have felt, considering I believed it all along. Damn the power of believing what you want!): Is Holkar a decent king? I mean, did Chandamama have stories about his greatness?

*sulk*6

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1. In my case they forgot to hide the Harold Robbins
2. For people who aren't google educated, Manpreet Brar is a model, VJ and looks like a well bred horse (Google won't divulge that info)
3. Zap is a crazy blogger whom I used to frequent long time ago when he was in Rediff. He couldn't handle the fans and so he escaped. Thanks to vetal, I found him.
4. It is normal to allow Govt. officials to stay in renovated palaces during their tenure.
5. Sir, tea for you. ( I am pandering to my international and Tamil audience)
6. Still sulking

As Good As It Gets

2006-06-10T22:04:00.000-05:00

Meeting the baby brother and his wife, a hike in Mount Rainier, treated to no rains, a surprise advance birthday gift (one night in a log cabin in the mountains), catching up with ex roomie and her little one.

End result: Alpha is a happy individual.

When friends asked me how my trip to Seattle was, all I had to say to the was ‘It was perfect and wonderful.’ No crazy stories, no freak incidents, not even one instance of me flushing my cell phone. Yes folks, I regret to inform you that this post will only contain happiness and mush, contentment and good vibes. Seeya later.

Rationale (SIL), I know you might be still reading. So here goes- Baby brother, Beta, sent me ticket to Seattle, but Pi happily tagged along. Oh, this post was supposed to be nice. Habit is hard to break. Yeah, so we reached Seattle and ooh-aahed over brother’s new house done up superbly. The couple gave credit to each other. It was hard to believe my brother would have such great taste, but then you’ve got to give it to Rationale to be so benevolent. There are more instances where Rationale shone above the rest. Read last bit of this post for details.

Mount Rainier, the breathtakingly lovely volcanic peak (14410 ft above sea level) that can be seen by commuters in Seattle was a treat to my mountain starved midwestern eye.
We hiked there. Clear skies… much more than we could ask for in Seattle. Even the hardcore Seattle people couldn’t stop exclaiming on how beautiful the day was.

‘Look look, Mt Rainier’ for the 12th time en-route Rationale would jump up and down in the car.

‘Yes, I notice.’ I hadn’t stopped noticing. It’s hard to tear your eyes away from it.

‘WOW! Isn’t is so pretty?! Tsk tsk! Woah! You can see it still!! You guys are so lucky its not cloudy today.’ My brother exclaimed.

‘Can you belive how lucky you are?!’ the same brother added in the same journey in the same hour.

At this point I was beginning to feel that it was probably their first time seeing the mountain too. Maybe I ought not to feel that jealous.

Our hike was quite pleasurable. There was snow all over and we had to hike on melting snow. Going up was slightly better than walking on quicksand and coming down was better than ice-skating with no experience. It was like ice-skating with very little experience. The sights were beautiful and even though the ice covered mountain gave us cold stares, we never felt more welcome. We sat on vocanic ash, dipped our feet in gushing streams and slid on ice. Stayed overnight at a log cabin that was a birthday surprise for me. I really had no clue. I was overwhelmed, so I invited the others to stay with me too. I cut the yummy birthday cake that was snuck into the fridge somehow. My birthday is not till much later, so hold your horses on the cheap age jokes. I guess Pi wanted to get done with my birthday stress as soon as possible. It was nothing but touching.

The owners of this cabin had an eclectic sense of style. There was a scary owl staring at us in the loo that gave Pi some constipation issues. Rationale counted 37 hearts in the bathroom itself in various forms and shapes. Then there was a framed picture of a nude woman in the bedroom. Pi was convinced that it is the owner’s girlfriend. We didn’t explore the theory further as we were dead tired and slept in the middle of the movie -As Good As It Gets. No one other than Beta had seen the movie before. My brother claimed to have seen it three times, each time not knowing he had seen it the previous time. He told us that after watching it with us for an hour.

Pi’s new company wanted a picture of him for his portfolio. So he pained me immensely to take headshots of him in various locales. A few hundred pictures and boatloads of patient sighs later, he breaks the news that the company may prefer him in semi formals and not T-shirts. I decided to retire from taking pictures for life. That’s when Beta and Rationale came to my rescue; rummaging cupboards, ironing shirts, dressing him up and taking him to well lit areas for the photo shoot. Pi basked in all the attention, getting pictures taken and rejecting them. ‘Look my eyes look tired in this. My smile looks funny here. Yikes, my hair looks oily. My pimple looks like a freakin pimple.. so on.’

That is when my brother lost it. ‘Someone remind him the photos don’t lie.’

So Rationale was the only one left with the onus of being nice to Pi. She did manage to finally get a picture that he seemed to like. Photo number 1289. He brought it to us and asked, ‘Whatdya think guys?’

‘Yes!’ in chorus we yelled.

Today I saw the portfolio and I think the other photo was much better. The number 809.

BTW, I moved to England

2006-06-02T10:28:00.000-05:00

It’s hard to get on my nerves... but when you do (God forbid you do), I make sure I’ll throw some horrid curses your way and rant till my lungs tire (at least till I think of something more sinister). These people at Sulekha have done what my parents couldn’t accomplish. They made me a male. And available. Not to mention Interesting and Intelligent. My blog just happened to reproduce like an amoeba overnight. Mr Kartik Kannan (which I think is fake name for Automatic Spam) emailed me with request, ‘We wonderful people at Sulekha think you are awesome, etc etc (never did he mention Interesting and Intelligent though) and would like to shower you with riches in the form of duplicating your blog. Two better than one, right?’

Anyone would have fallen for this. Since I am possessed half the time, I remember saying a polite ‘no’. Can't handle the traffic congestion, I said. But as Kartik thinks I am looking for sweet devoted partner, he decided to take things under his control and do what it takes to get me hooked. So touching is the concern. Luckily there is no photo. Kartik obviously knows women prefer mystery. Imagine the look on their faces when they see my painted nails. Sulekha (apart from having moronic employees) seems to be the place to meet partners, I am to find out. Since I am a couple of years younger than I used to be, I am open to running around trees.

Amma, I am bringing home your bahu soon. Babes who read Sulekha, please don’t get worried reading my post on my marriage to Bihari dude. I can explain.

Update: I am back from England. Some of the above links will not work. Problem fixed, thanks to kiruba @ kirubashankar.com. I am now married, female who is not intelligent. Pshaw! How boring!

What are you doing?

2006-06-01T11:24:00.000-05:00

‘I am sticking my tongue into the pencil sharpener to come back with some sharp replies.’

‘I am highlighting myself in neon yellow so that people realise I am important.’

'I am stapling my lipstick to my lips so I don't have to retouch.'

‘I am swiveling in my chair real fast to see if centrifugal force can take me home instead of my car.’

‘I am punching holes in my nose so I can have more avenues to dig from.’

‘I am sticking a post-it note on my forehead that says- Is it lunch time yet? and am planning to sit all day in the lunch room looking for a nod from someone. ’

This is for people who call me at work and ask ‘What are you doing?’ I am working dammit! Even if I was stuffing my sore eyes with porn, there’s a fat chance that I would admit it. Now if you would excuse me for a bit…

The what-if diaries of Missus Alpha Missra

2006-05-30T09:54:00.000-05:00

February 14, 2000- Happy Balentines Day! Sigh. The reason why I was completely bowled over by Rossan was when he made a portrait of me by spitting chewed up tobacco on the wall of our Fluid Mechanics lab. He’d chew and then spit, chew and spit, c&s, c&s (sitting at a distance of six feet on a rocking chair)- till he created that masterpiece which I believe has become a holy spot for lovers from all over. Ross has actually changed a lot since marriage. He’s not as romantic anymore. No flowers, no greeting cards, no portraits, no nothing. I think this is due to the lack of boring moments such as the Soil Mechanics class here in the village. Not a dull moment here. When I am not watching the grass grow, I’m making babies.

April 20, 2000- I thought I should keep a diary just to document my life here in Goriteragaon, Bihar. It also gives me an opportunity to keep in touch with English and mainly keep track of my kid’s names- Manipozhi, Thalaiarazan, Kodaiazhaghi, Manmathakunju and the last one is Maangaoorga…(yeah, I protested against Bihari names and I prevailed. Made sure there is no ‘v’ in the names so that they won’t have trouble pronouncing them. A name like Vamsh in Bihar could be easily mispronounced as Bums).

Regarding keeping in touch with English, I guess it’ll come in handy when we take that vacation with the kids to Patna next month. I still remember when I set my foot in this house and Ross introduced me to his parents. He told them that I was a Trasportation Engineer and that I would make roads in Bihar as soft as Hema Malini’s cheeks. “Teeransportassan? U ka hai babuwa? Bahu sadak banayegi? Humri naak katwani hai ka!“ (Daughter –in-law will make roads? And cut our noses?)

Hema Malini’s cheeks do not have truck traffic on them, I protested quite worried about the high standard that was being set. But that was the last time I heard of Transportation Engineering.

May 3, 2000- I should continue to nag Ross to stop eating paan. It causes stains on his shirts and the amount of Surf I use is causing my monthly Hashish/Ganja budget to dwindle. On my insistence he stopped whistling at other women or having sudden urges to draw portraits of them. One step at a time.

I will never forget the wedding reception when everyone danced to “Khaike Paan Banaras Wala” and I jumped on the dance floor too only to realize everyone else stopped doing what they were doing and started staring at me. Must learn to keep emotions under control here. Seems like people get scandalized easily. And somehow my mother-in-law being pregnant for the 20th time hasn’t shocked a single soul. Strange! By the time I have all the names of his family members down, 7 more are born.

May 15, 2000- My parents tell me that my US cousin gets up at 5 am, goes running for some 2 kms, washes her car, cleans her own bathroom and cooks food in the evening. That’s too much work. Udders are easy to clean than undercarriages of cars. Oh, I forgot to tell you- I got a buffalo for my birthday that I named Anti. The in-laws thought I would get excited and jump up and down at the sight of Anti, but I was very indifferent. I would have preferred a cow.

August 22, 2001- My brother-in-law just got abducted and got forced into some marriage (looks like the parents of the women will do anything to procure slightly educated guys- or guys with educated sister-in-laws) . Wait till the abductors find out BIL is gay. In-laws bummed about dowry situation. Even in my case, my dad refused to give them the Kinetic Honda or the old Onida TV. So they are cursing their fate and I have a feeling that grandma-in-law is probably going to get a heart attack any moment. Ok, need to go and access situation and be ready to wail loudly if deemed.

May 30, 2006- I long ago no riting. So much hapening Goriteragaon. Anti die. Little cry. Happily new cow buying and name of cow giving - Anti. I is loving cow. But died buffalo getting up from died and becoming live. Socking and screaming. Not good I tell. Not good for two animals keeping name Anti. So I giving new name for old buffalo- Buffalo formerly known as Anti. As a Tam Bihari would say- Udderly kilebbur!

A love story that started with La loo (French for toilet)

2006-05-18T17:19:00.000-05:00

Some years ago in college, Building Drawing class-

Professor: What is this I say, why is there no toilet in your house plan, eh?

Student: Sasura pagla gaye ho ka? Oo ka hai ki humra Bihar ma, khetwa hi humra sandas hovat. Ab ismein hamri ka galti hai? (In Bihar, we use the fields)

I laughed and looked back. That is when I noticed Roshan Mishra. He blushed, the color of his face fighting to dominate the color of his paan stained teeth. Gabbar Singh of Sholay fame is rumored to have been modeled after our Rossan Missra. ‘Arey o Chamakchalo! Coming to home?’ he called out to me.

I turned around quick and didn’t dare to look back.

But the romance had blossomed even before the seed of the fateful apple tree was sown. I was duly sent flowers to my hostel signed- I love you.- Roshan Mishra.

Ewwww! (Every successful romance starts with utter disgust, said a wise man, who obviously didn't account for Roshan Mishra or hungover Cupid)

Then I got a greeting card which I regret not preserving for posterity. It said something like- I love you. You looking very cueit in the pink dress. Ware today.- Roshan (I am VP frend)

Yikes! He’s getting all cozy now and he also threatened me with the VP link. Rabri devi, ma, meri raksha karo! (Save me!) Why do I have to look so cute to Biharis in particular? Why does my laughter have to have that Jhumritalaiya ring to it? Bhy, I mean why? I need therapy now!

Pink salwar-kameez was pushed to the bottom-most part of my shelf with a hazardous warning scribbled all over it.

But he had full faith in his charms and my weak melting heart. Next thing I know, I got a gift. A framed pencil sketch of something that was supposedly me. I have to admit, it wasn’t as bad as his building plans. It was in fact, way-off-the-charts better than me.

My friends were moved to tears. They urged me to consider going with him to the land of Laloo and help propagating the Mishra family in hopes of increasing the literacy rate in Bihar by a whole percentage (I do realize that is a lot of kids). My so called friends also called me ruthless and bought me ‘Unlearn English in 30 days’ so that Ross and I wouldn’t have comoonicassan (rhymes with Kamal Hassan) problems.

Somehow, heartlessly so, I didn’t choose the life that would have fetched me fresh warm buffalo milk on daily basis, but I did read the book (which explains my English today). In Ross’s honor, I have taken to backpacking because when I stay in tents, I have to go out to answer nature’s calls. Just like in Bihar.

For my niece

2006-05-17T20:13:00.000-05:00

I am the aunt. Let there be no doubt or rolling of eyes.

Strange Strangers

2006-05-12T17:22:00.000-05:00

I must be mad. I spent a fortune buying gifts for a whole bunch of strangers. No, they are not poor or homeless (God forbid); they aren’t even expecting gifts. Forget thanking me for this gesture, they won’t even acknowledge it. But I still have to give them something that they will not cherish and will not remember me by. As years go by, strangely enough, my gift will probably be passed on to some other stranger.

‘Cooochie cooochie! Look what aunty Alpha got you. A bouncing .. ermm… flashing...what the heck is this called?’ I ask, as the baby looks at me like one would look at something completely nondescript as a milk bottle.

The mom knows exactly what it is and I see her eyes lighting with excitement at the sight of gift receipt. She thinks, ‘ She has no clue what babies need. Yes! I shall return that ugly thing and buy diapers instead.’

I must keep these parents happy as they are somehow connected to this stranger who has invaded their lives and has taken them away from me. This is my way of appeasing them, pledging my solidarity to this little drool machine while claiming their love back, even if it has to be for that minute when they say, ‘Awww, such a cute little dress. So thoughtful of you. You shouldn’t have.’

I look at them with soulful eyes that say, ‘You still like me, don’t you?’ To which they look at their bundle of crap filled diaper and go, ‘Googoo doll, you poopooed again! Little darling. Let me clean you up. Alpha, go wash your hands and just hold her legs like this.’

Priceless moments, these. Yet they will ask me, ‘Don’t you feel compelled to have one?’

Maternal instincts are getting extinct at an alarming rate. Actually the babies are cute and cuddly and very well deserve the little ducky booties on their tiny adorable feet. But seriously speaking, what’s the difference between this crapping baby and the random baby wailing in the Air India flight - the parents of course. They are the reason why crapping baby gets gifts from aunty Alpha. While I don't hold one baby against the other, deep inside I like the one in the flight, comepletely oblivious to my affection. At least that baby wasn't the cause of this rant.

Planes, cabs and elevators

2006-05-09T17:41:00.000-05:00

Lately I discovered my ability to use time effectively when stranded in an airport for 5 hours.

1. I took the escalator up and down (maybe 10 times) till I got a call in my cell phone from Pi asking me not to come back and sit next to him. ‘Act as if you don’t know me.’ That’s easy considering I just found out he flunked in English while in 3rd grade. Makes me worry about the other things he has managed to keep away from me just to get married.

2. Went into a watch store and tried all the available watches on display. The fact that I left my own watch hanging there somewhere shouldn’t deter you from trying this. Along the same line, I tried all the creams in Body Shop till I passed out due to overpowering stench.

3. Next, I spent some time in the bathroom making sure the lipstick I smeared in Body Shop didn’t look like I kissed a leaking drainage pipe. Actually going to the loo almost made me miss a flight in Amsterdam once. Flash back- When my turn came to use the booth, there were probably dozen ladies waiting (cross-legged) for me to be done and get out soon. Doing part wasn’t hard. Getting out was coz I couldn’t find the freaking flush, try as hard as I may. In a 3X 3 space, I searched every potential hiding place. I did jumping jacks thinking there might be some motion activated sensor…but nothing at all. It just wouldn’t flush. I spent close to half hour in panic when I heard some rude knocks from people convinced that I decided to change my address to this loo. Finally I decided to brave the crowd and explain situation and forbid them from going inside. When I opened the door, I heard the flush behind me. Who the heck invents these things?!!!

4. I talked to random people hoping they are either dentists or tailors staying very close to me in Chicago so I can use their services. Most of the times they turn out to be people stressed out about the delay in flight. So they stress me out too.

We finally reached Chicago at midnight, stressed and tired. The last thing you want to deal with is an over-friendly cab driver with a Russian accent who feels he is required to make conversation to get paid.

Cabbie: Ho Ho Ho! (might be moonlighting for Santa Claus when it is December in these parts) Wherzzz arzz you comeen from? (that’s not the drinks, but thick accent) Izzz zoo colzz ouzzz heeya , wozz zooo zzooo? (It’s so cold out here, what to do?) Ho ho ho!

From now on, I will give you translated version (or whatever of it I gathered). The preview was for you to realize how irritating it was when all I heard was a buzz and heckling laughter at the end of every sentence, graciously sprinkled with ‘what to do’ and ‘you know’.

Pi: Pittsburgh. The weather was great there.

Cabbie: Why come back here? Stay there only. (Remember to add 'Ho ho ho' after every sentence and ‘What to do’)

Pi (polite laugh)

Cabbie: What do you do Miss, other than spend all his money?

Me: (his money? What the heck?!) Ahh, I nag him too.

Cabbie: Of course, of course. Must tell you joke about women, pardon me , what to do… (some MCP joke for which Pi laughed politely again)

Cabbie: Lizzzzin to this joke….(something about horse and George Bush)

Pi (polite laugh)

Cabbie: I am sorry. I should put music but I am bothering you with my chatter.

Me (music to my ears. I nod furiously. Yes! music music)

Cabbie: This joke was so funny, so funny that a bartender gave me free beer when I told him this (tells another joke about something only Pi understood as he laughed politely again.)

Me wondered if bar tender’s idea was to get him piss drunk so he could pass out on the floor quickly.

Me: O Cabbie, what about the music?

Cabbie: She didn’t understand my joke and hence couldn’t take the insult. Ho ho ho! I know you will ask your husband in the night to explain all the jokes and next time I meet you , maybe you will laugh.. ho ho ho! (Goes on to tell another joke)

I was quite mad by now. Pi was chilling out and laughing at the right moments. Must ask Pi if some cabbie had scarred him in childhood. Why was he feeling so obligated to humor him? Someone tell him that this guy is not his Father-in-Law.

Me: Ok, tell me some interesting jokes about your passengers. Oh, but you may not have any because you don’t even let them talk. Ho ho ho!

Cabbie (to Pi): She talks too much. How do you deal with her? She is saying I don’t let her talk. My God. What to do! You know women are like that only. My wife…(another joke)

I kept mum for the rest of the journey to preserve my sanity and conserve enough energy to get home and stagger to the bed.

Pi: That’s our building.

Cabbie (pulling over): Ok fine, I will trust you Mister. If she had said it, I would not have stopped here.

Pi pulled out some money for the cabbie as we got out.

In the elevator,

Me: Why did you have to give him such a huge tip? I have a freaking headache because of that nut.

Pi: I was impressed. He was the only one who could keep you quiet for sometime, insult you and not get slapped.

Never prepared to move on

2006-05-08T15:17:00.000-05:00

I was looking for positive outcomes of our move to Pittsburgh and the only thing that comes to mind is how much I have began to love Chicago more than I have ever in the past. It will be difficult to let go of the place and more so the people who’ve become more than just friends. I usually never tend to hold on to people with the strongest tenacity just for this very reason. I think my childhood days of constantly moving from place to place has a lot to do with my ability to make friends easily and making sure I don’t get close enough because deep inside I know I’ll have to say goodbye. The fear of parting has always stopped me short from going the extra mile to get me that free ticket to eternal friendship haven. It has definitely kept me from wearing lockets that say ‘Friends Forever’.

Last time I sang ‘Yeh dosti hum nahin todenge’ with my friend Ruby, I was not only under age but also under the influence of Sulfur dioxide emitted from moving vehicles. Well of course, unlike Sholay, both of us continue to live in different parts of the world with no contact with each other. I do know she is a doctor and probably does come across patients who share my name. Maybe she thinks of me at the time and of the song we sang together.

She was a girl
Tall thin and fair
Her hair her hair
Was just the color of gin-nn-ger!!!

Epitome of female bonding is the above lines. Even today on the sidewalk of Michigan Avenue, I can be surrounded by girl friends standing in a single row holding waists and taking three steps forward, two steps backward while chanting this jargon and wondering why I am not even trying. Somehow, I am very inept at these things when sober. I stayed away from the likes of this while growing up… a centimeter away from this ‘poem’ is Plague followed by Bird-flu. Basically I think I am jealous as I can’t get the steps right and sincerely hope no one feels the need to teach me now. I had to email one of my girls to get a hold of the lyrics to this.

While girls in my school had little clans and named themselves BAD (that stood for Brinda, Anuradha and Deepa), I shuddered and winced at such a display of wanton camaraderie. Catch me dead wearing matching hair bands and Goofy tattoos (I really mean Goofy tattoos, not Mickey ones). I avoided going to the bathroom in girly groups in spite of them cajoling me to accompany them (To date I haven’t figured that one out). I hated the term ‘best friend’ and lost all my chances of getting a Singapore watch from Sheela who gave watches to her best friends only.

Sometimes I feel saddened to know that I am everybody’s friend and nobody’s real friend.

My college circle of 30 friends had at least 6 well meaning people who wouldn’t get along with each other at any given time. This I realized when I was pestered to take them all out to dinner on my birthday. I called everybody and gave them the venue and time.

‘By the way, will she be there?’
‘Yes’
‘Please take me out for dinner some other time when she isn’t there.’

That was my roommate. I had similar requests from many others after which I just gave up and gave them dinner vouchers to go by themselves whenever suitable.

A sure shot way of getting close to someone is making their enemy yours. I never get that part right. If you are calling to bitch about someone you hate, there are huge possibilities that I might have gone to a movie with that person last night and I will admit it too. I may even advice you (unsolicited of course) and tell you what a wonderful person she actually is.

All of them are precious to me in their own way and yes, I am already fretting about leaving this city in October. I know I will miss them more than they would ever realize... coz I am not the kinds to let them know. I have experienced separation in the past, but I know this time it’ll be harder than last time just like it was last time around- harder than the previous. I do wonder what it would be like to wear Goofy tattoos and sing ‘Todenge dam magar, tera saath na chodenge’ and actually mean it. It might actually be liberating.

Get Rewards

2006-05-07T12:33:00.000-05:00

Pi is a sucker to deals. Coupons and frequent flyer miles occupy a large part of his left-brain while his right brain scans the Internet for more. His outer brain keeps track of all the extra miles we would need to fly business class to somewhere in Idaho, while his inner brain keeps track of the time I forgot to use that ‘one dollar off’ coupon for a facial service. Oh, I had to take that spa appointment (against my wishes of course) so that we could use the coupon.

If the American consumer market can make a slave out of my hubby, maybe I can too. So I devised a similar system at home.

Dear Pi,

Exciting times ahead. Join the Alpha GOLD Club (Globally Opted Locally Devised). Free membership for this exclusive single member club (promotional one time offer). Easy redemption of points. Start collecting them now.

Bear hug when required- 5 points
Vacuuming the apartment- 10 points
Laundry- no points (that’s under the initial contract)
Grocery shopping- 15 points
Cleaning the bathroom- 20 points
Turning off the TV for 10 minutes- 25 points
Cooking a meal- 50 points
Not telling friends that I cried while watching a movie- 75 points
Not harassing me when I don’t use coupons- 100 points
Gazing at stars and going on walks together- 500 points

To redeem your Gold points, see catalogue below.

Upma- 100 points (for five bathroom cleanings, I think this is a deal)
Pongal – 500 points (I can see this product not selling)
Kesari bath- 1500 points (A die for! Maybe I ought to hire an advertising agency)
Apple Pie- 2000 points (Yum! Wait! What if ‘I’ want to eat this now? I have to wait for four moonlight walks... that’s a freaking lifetime!)
Ready meals- 5000 points (this is looking more like a Shanti Sagar menu)
Will change toilet paper roll when done- 5500 points (actually this is worth only 50 points.. but what the heck.. will make it look like torture)
Back rub- 10000 points (you think this might prompt the use of external services?)
Will not nag for a day- 20000 points (more realistic approach)
Will hang out with your geeky friends- 30000 points (it’s better to make sweeping generalizations)
Will use coupons and watch out for points during one shopping visit- 50000 points
Sex – er.. Priceless or 100000 points, whichever is lower. (Maybe this should not be included in this list or I’ll be the one starved)

Thanks for being a future loyal customer and helping us serve you better everyday. Terms and Conditions will be posted after we have translated it to Greek.

Sincerely,
Alpha

Still in Beta version. This list will be expanded. Will keep you posted if this breakthrough product helped in procuring me a slave or if it was trashed before reading.

Garbage Salad

2006-05-03T22:38:00.000-05:00

When I longed to relive my childhood days, I wasn’t thinking of exams. I will never hope for such preposterous things again. Eight hours of squirming in the seat made me realize I have more patience than I thought I did. I fully expected to murder one of the proctors. I didn’t and I won’t discuss it further. It’s over, that’s all. Results will be out in four months and I fully expect you all to forget that I ever wrote an exam (seems like I never let you forget even if you want to). If I never bring up the topic again, please be prudent and never ask me what happened.

But weeks before the exam, I had already started dreaming of all the cool things I would be doing after. I will vehemently deny that my exam performance has anything to do with my daydreams that occupied more space in my mind than formulae. I had visions of the heavens bursting, the birds chirping my name and the world becoming a better place to live (read extra daytime minutes on my cell phone plan). You know something, nothing of that sort happened. This is worse than an anticlimax. The exam got over and I was like ‘Yay. Now what?’ You would think that all my friends whom I avoided on the studying pretext would form some kind of stampede to spend quality time with me. Nope. You would expect hubby to let me have all the money to go shop. Nope. You would expect my bathroom to self clean itself. No freaking way. I had to clean it myself.

I have been busier after the exam. Exam preparation served me with ample time to relax with my feet up and make excuses to do nothing but whine. It was actually wonderful. If my whole life were about preparing for non-existent exams, I would have postponed everything for the creature in my next birth. Now I am paying the price. All procrastinated things came back to haunt me at once. Need to meet new niece in DC, need to clean my ears so that I can wax my legs, need to cook, need to hatch plans on how to avoid cooking, need to get involved in professional societies for networking purposes (gag), need to buy clothes for new fatter me, need to find place for tighter clothes in hopes of using them soon, need to bike all around Chicago, need to repair bike, need to see if bike still exists, need to think if I actually own a bike, need to understand why I have a clock that shows Istanbul time, need to learn how to manage time and clocks.

So I am in the process of sorting life. Last time when I did that, I lost track of everything.

Attire Satire

2006-04-11T06:56:00.000-05:00

Had an important client presentation yesterday. Spent a considerable part of the weekend obsessing about what to wear and whining about need for another suit. Seriously, if I wore my pin-stripe suit again, for the 14th time in a row, my boss might give me a raise and the clients might just feel sorry for me and award us the project. Of course, couldn’t let my outfit prove my worthiness and do all the hard work. I am a woman of principles.

See, if it were a black suit, it would have been fine… no one really notices. But a pin-stripe ensemble (yellow and red) with frayed collars and a huge patch on the front is bound to make people recognize me even while they are in coma.

So Monday morning, looking all confident and ready to conquer in my new suit (purple and orange), I arrive on time… a few minutes earlier even. My boss smiles benevolently. My suit is already doing its trick. ‘Lets go over the presentation quick.’ He murmurs while we have 10 minutes to go. I seem to be in good shape and good clothes.

So we walk into the war zone and get introduced to clients and other consultants. While the others are signing the attendee’s list, I look for my pen. Couldn’t find it. I see my lip liner, eye liner, mascara (different types), but no freaking pen...not even a pencil. Frantic eye contact with boss… explain the situation with hand gestures. He hands over his only pen; I sign and give it back to him. Couldn’t he have brought two pens? Now people are exchanging their business cards. I scan my purse and horror of horrors, find mine missing. I remember forcing the last ones in my wallet on my friends just to show off. I have fifty hundred of them lying in the office that pop up at the most inopportune times. My boss hands over his card and tells me to write my contact details on the back. I take the card and give him a helpless look; he takes deep breaths and gives me the pen.

We finish the presentation without any glitches expect during the times when I had to pause and borrow a pen to write notes … sometimes writing with my fingernails dipped in mascara. Overall, I think it went well.

So I take the clients for lunch, as my boss has to leave for another meeting. They say they’ll follow. We are on the interstate and I see a toll plaza coming ahead. I pull over to the side and flag down their car.

‘Can I borrow 60 cents please? I forgot to bring change.’

The onus is all on my attire now.

More Lame Excuses

2006-04-04T18:12:00.000-05:00

Nope, nothing! I mean nothing exciting happened during the past few days except for a few torrid affairs. I also have a chronic heart disease that unfortunately won’t kill me. Yes, the hall ticket arrived by mail yesterday. Figured I need to get back to damn studies. Pi says I can remove the winter cap I am wearing (for containing knowledge in the head) as I have nothing in there yet. It might prevent stuff from going in. Good point! It’s also not a good sign when I am still battling to find a good place to do this ‘assimilation of knowledge for betterment of society’. Of the options I have tried, sitting on a railroad track and working out problems seems like the best bet.

Home was considered as the first option, but was quickly ruled out when I realized that I can’t seem to focus with the TV on. Turn it off, you say? (hahaha* sarcastic laugh, in case you didn’t get it) Frankly, I don’t think our TV has the capability of switching off. I am also made to believe that my hubby will just self combust if things stopped moving in the TV. Pi's internal functions are controlled by the flickering and blaring of the TV. His pancreatic juices react with his food at the sight of Anna Devlantes blabbering away on NBC5. There’s proof that his white blood cells and red blood cells do their work diligently when Seinfeld takes over. He smiles and sometimes chuckles too. Proof of life is all I need to make sure that I cook some food for him too. When he moves, it's within the TV's line of sight (that's why the fridge is in the living room). If I whine, stomp, fake headaches and act as if the world will split apart, I’ll be treated to lowering of the sound from a 29 to a 23. Lord be praised! If he feels extra generous or if I have created enough noise to cause neighborhood cops to stop by, he’ll put the TV on mute while squinting to read the sub-titles sitting 3 inches from Larry King’s wrinkled nose. If cable companies are running low on profit margins, they know which house to blame. When he called me this afternoon, I couldn’t recognize his voice without the background commercials.

Hence the only place I can study with some prevailing sanity is in the kitchen somewhere between the masala dabba and the dustbin. Next thing I know, all my (borrowed) books are smelling of sambar and burnt brinjal curry. Very soon, hubby might just eat the books while making love to the TV. In the interest of protecting my books, I decided to try the public library... I mean, no TV, right?

But I didn’t account for stalkers and lawn mowers. This black lady has something against the Indian race and every time I settle down in a secluded corner in the building, she starts hurling out abuses (something about Desis not liking her hair style) and then coolly sits right across giving dirty looks. This happened three times to me. I mean, its fine.. free speech and all…but staring is what makes me slightly uncomfortable. Can’t even pick my nose in peace.

So I had to pack up and leave to another area where this man was happily ensconced on a sofa sleeping. I thought, awww…poor homeless fella. So nice that they can use the library facilities to take afternoon naps. I took another ten minutes settling down..opening calculator, pen, pencil, book1, book 2, book 3, chewing gum, air freshener,making sure cell phone works and checking the mirror. Just when I positioned myself to tackle a problem, this person started snoring. What started off as a puppy’s whimper turned into a battery operated sludge incinerator in a few seconds. Couldn’t take it anymore and this time I had resolved not to move again.

I called out ‘Sir Sir!’

He stirred. Looked at me ‘Ehh?’

‘Sir, you are snoring way too loudly. I can’t sleep.’

‘Now that you’ve rudely woken me up, I don’t think I can go back to sleep!’

Didn’t know if I should be sorry or thankful.

Oh well, he got his revenge by snorting or coughing or sneezing every 3 seconds. I was done with the library and its policy of being a refuge for random psychos. Notice humanitarian me just fell off the cliff.

I took my bags and was about to leave in a huff when good old man admitted that people had complained about his snoring before (in the same library- four times today) and that he needs to get this operation done.

‘Which one?’ my anger turning to curiosity. ‘My husband snores too when he isn’t watching TV. At nights I dream of silence and a shattered Panasonic TV.’

So we had a pretty nice conversation and I bid him farewell and moved on to my next testing ground – the railway tracks.

An Ode to thee

2006-03-14T11:06:00.000-06:00

Thanks dear. In response-

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Here's a little secret
I invested in you

The little things I buy
The small bills I pay
Is like watering a plant
That’ll bear fruit one day

You eat Ramen noodles
You pig on Nacho cheese
Your student way of life
Has made cooking a breeze

My in-laws are in awe of me
My parents give me sympathy
‘If you had let us arrange things,
We'd have found you a crorepathi.’

My friend's husband buys her
Coach bags and Prada gloves
Look, my little brother
Has gone and bought a house

But patience, I said to myself
And nagged you to the core
If you take another year
I'll fling the TV from the door

Folks, it’s the time to celebrate
My patience has finally paid
Six years of waiting
Now my dividends are made

You’ve landed a great job
Maybe you'll finish that thesis
Can't wait to blow your money
And yes, I love you to pieces!

Re-Return of the Ex

2006-03-08T19:32:00.000-06:00

This EX. It's back as I never had a chance to take it last time (after all that fuss). The happiness didn't last for too long. Now it's in April and I am freaking out! No time left to cram it all. How can I waste my time studying, when there is so much going on around me? I have suddenly rediscovered (over the past few weeks, sitting in front of study material) my love for reality shows, photography, neighbors, interior decoration, exploring the city and reconnecting with old friends.

My only hope- knowledge transfer while I sleep.

Warning- Trying this stunt at home may lead to stiff neck as discovered by author of this blog. It is advisable to study.

Hear me too

2006-03-07T16:59:00.000-06:00

Lots of voices heard ever since the Blank Noise Project blog-a-thon 2006 took off. I shall not be left out from this though I fear I might be a little late. I hope by now you all (the guys) are sufficiently shocked to realize how common sexual-harassment is and in spite of its daily occurrences, it’s vicious enough to leave a lasting impression on the injured party. I also hope you realize that as much as you think you can get away with a crime like that, you’ve managed to butcher a small tie that binds us to one other- a thing called trust.

I do tend to believe to some extent we women are responsible. Not because we ask for it, but because we let ourselves get embarassed enough to keep quiet. We don’t encourage them by dressing the way we do; we endorse their behavior by meekly removing our makeup, wearing loose clothes and clutching our books against our chest the next day. We let them thrive by not informing our parents and not educating our children. We let them walk away with a smirk by not leaving a print of our fate-line on their cheeks.

What makes these guys so bold? Lack of execution as a punishment or the lack of decorum as a human? So bold as to carry out their modus-operandi in public spaces in front of the victim’s parents. My dad had taken the five of us, cousins and siblings ( 7-12 year olds), to the Visvesvaraya Museum in Bangalore. It is an awesome place for a kid. Interactive and educative, the museum caught our fancy and we were prancing about excitedly pushing a button here to see the turbines move in a hydraulic model, pulling a lever there to see how the rainbow is formed thru a prism. My dad was in his best engineer mode explaining the mechanisms with gusto. Just as I was going to ask my dad a question, somewhere from the crowds behind me, a hand did weird things to me that I knew no hand should do. I froze as the hand continued to feel around. I was shocked as I wasn’t subjected to this before and in retrospect I don’t think any amount of exposure or education would have prepared me for the real thing. I turned slowly to catch the face of a well dressed individual in his late thirties wearing Ray-Bans. I forget what I wore, but I can vividly remember exact details of his clothing and demeanor. My eyes wrought with fear and confusion met his chilly stare. He glanced down at me coolly and put a finger on his lips as if to say- shhh! Suddenly the exhibits and the people in the museum seemed like a blur. I ran to my dad and held on to his leg. I looked back to see if the guy had disappeared now that he knew I had my dad’s company. He was very much there, a few feet from me…this time pulled out a knife to threaten me and quickly pocketed it. Suddenly the atmosphere got very chilly. I didn’t know what he wanted from me, a mere child. As I walked into the hallway of mirrors in a trance, there was my predator. Not one, but millions of them. Right behind me…his image multiplied by infinity by the power of the mirrors while mine was distorted and shaky. I ran with fear and held on to my cousin for dear life. Only when she told me that there was a guy who had been following her doing things to her, did I realize that she seemed visibly shaken too. I asked her if he wore Ray-Bans and she said ‘no’. We were dealing with a gang of some sort who probably molested and terrorized small children everyday here. We dealt with more groping and humiliation without saying a thing thinking our throats might get slashed till we left the first floor to go to the second floor of the building. That’s when I told my dad that I wanted to go home, unable to control my tears. The fact we told him and the fact that my dad did try to run and accost them doesn’t erase those Ray-Bans from my memory ever!

Street Harassment is so common in India that the times I am on a bus and no one shoves their genitals against my butt, I feel like the world might come to an end. If grandpa sitting next to me doesn’t grope, I think he’s probably an effigy of some sort. And if he gets up and doesn’t shove past my boobs, I normally faint on spot. Yes, I doubt everyone from conductors to classmates. I’d rather be that way than be shocked on daily basis. Too bad for the really nice guys who feel violated for falling victim to misjudgment. I feel for you, but if you prefer to just sit there and feel sorry for yourself while we get eve-teased, I feel you probably deserve the branding.

My stories from the streets are not much different from everyone else’s I have read so far. They all bring out the feeling of disgust for the perpetrator and immense sympathy for the victim. They open fresh wounds and make you wonder what would it take to get rid of these disgusting creatures from the earth? Maybe contact Sage Gautama to put a curse on these despos. Oh wait, he is the one who turned his wife Ahalya into stone doubting her chastity when actually Lord Indra sexually harassed her.

Then there was Draupadi who continued to live with her five wussy husbands even though they just watched helplessly as she was being disrobed in public by Dushasana. Krishna, her protector, didn’t come and break Dushasana’s neck, but merely gave her extra clothing, ‘Here, go and cover up woman.’

Maybe if Sita had a chance, she would have kept quite and not told the world that Ravana had kidnapped her. She wouldn’t have been sent to exile while she was pregnant by her own freakin husband. Such are the stories we grow up with. You know a strange thing, Ravana turned out to be a man of honor after all. He held Sita hostage just for revenge, but never ever laid a finger on her. That’s probably because he was Sri Lankan!

It would be an understatement to say that I haven’t been bothered at all in the USA. Even while I spent a month in the worst conditions (Katrina relief) with a bunch of partially drunk construction workers who were away from home and hadn’t encountered a decent looking woman for a long time, a lewd comment wasn’t passed at me leave alone being touched. I even had to sleep in tents with random guys and though I admit it wasn’t fun, I was 100% safe. For that I am thankful. I have come to believe in the power of sexual harassment suits and unlimited porn. I have come to believe that my brown skin acts as a great barrier in countries other than my own. Who’d want to mess with that Indian girl… what if she lets out a snake from her third eye?

Still I will be wary, for I know men will be bluddy men! And it’s up to us to learn how to kick- real hard…where it hurts! Scream out your stories.

Few of My Favorite Things

2006-02-21T14:50:00.000-06:00

If I sat counting the number of times I have watched The Sound of Music, I might eventually fall asleep. The reason could be due to the fact that it was the only video cassette my parents possessed. When we lived in Andhra Pradesh, we didn’t have cables running through our primitive dwelling (or so called colony) and hence didn’t even get Doordharshan. Apart from my family, Dev uncle owned a TV. But without a VCR, the TV served no one. So 34 movie deprived colony folks would cram into our living room and my dad would screen ‘The Sound of Music’ with pride. The audience was thrilled and would clap every time someone said something- even when Captain Von Trapp was telling the teary eyed Maria to shut up.

They came diligently the next Sunday and they were treated to ‘The Sound of Music’ again. By the third round they had gotten over the novelty of a television actually working in these parts and paid rapt attention to the story and characters instead (while ooh-aahing over Salzburg). It took them some five more sittings to finally give up on the movie and look for other avenues of entertainment like climbing trees.

During New Years, the club house boasted of showing a new movie. ‘Not Sound of Music’ was printed on the flyers. People flocked eagerly and when the screen showed the breathtaking Alps and a little speck that quickly grew in proportion to look like Julie Andrews, the guests wanted to ship my dad off to Austria. The truth was that the organizers wanted to get the movie ‘Sita aur Gita’, but as luck would have it, there was some last minute betrayal. Hence my dad was their last resort.

But I was hooked to the timeless story of the seven children, their lovable governess, the stern captain and mostly the immortal score that was so pivotal to the movie. As a kid, I was enamored by those children. As a teenager, I was lusting after Christopher Plummer (like I said, I wasn’t exposed to any other man). I got quite intrigued by the story and poured into books on the World War and Hitler’s Nazi army. When I was 20, I was jealous of Maria because the guy I had a crush on, told me that he wanted to marry a girl just like her. As much as I may, I could’t stitch clothes or sing.

To this day I watch the movie when my heart is lonely. I still insist on crying.

'My favorite things' is my all time favorite. I won something for singing this song at a school competition. I might have been the only contestant or I might have been studying in a ‘hearing and speech impaired’ school, I don’t recall. I couldn’t get enough of 'Do Re Me', and in an effort to shut me up, my parents recorded my rendition and played it back to me. It did the trick.

Kala and I became very good friends as we bonded by singing ‘Maria’ mimicking the different high-pitched shrill nun voices. It was late at night in her house and her parents came running to the room thinking we were killing her cat.

I was inconsolable when I turned seventeen coz I could no longer croon -‘I am sixteen, going on seventeen’ with that conviction anymore. Innocent as a rose? Who was I kidding! No longer timid and shy and scared. Men, beware as I embark.

One of the best times I had during my Himalayan expedition was singing ‘The Hills are alive with the Sound of Music’ on the top of my lungs when I was surrounded by the snow clad Gharwal peaks on all four sides. I could feel what Maria felt in those hills. On top of the world. The rest of my team seemed to be freezing as they were clutching their ears with their gloved hands. I think am ready to visit the Austrian Alps. My practice ought to be thorough by now.

One day, completely throwing me off guard, a certain special someone sang to me ‘For here you are standing there loving me, whether or not you should.’ Reciprocating this romantic gesture, I laughed. Real hard.

I’m thankful to the movie and to my parents for shoving it down my throat. I still feel the lump. Thanks also to a friend who got me the DVD and CD a few years ago. Man, if one movie can give me so many nostalgic moments, I wonder how much more interesting life would have been if my parents had something that resembled a movie collection.

Interested Anyone? -Season II

2006-02-16T10:52:00.000-06:00

Interested Anyone?, the hit show on POTP is back for its Second Season! The last one was a grand success (to my knowledge only). Every human candidate on the list got hooked up. Some are even married. (Yogi, I did mention human, didn’t I?) Ok, somehow it didn’t work the way it was intended…people protested and took matters in their own hands hoping never to be featured again. Patrix dumped Smiley and got engaged to Ash just because she looked better. Whatever it was, it worked in getting people moving. Now Alpha is considering a new set of not-so-fresh faces to be this season’s Bachelors and Bachelorettes. We hope our ‘single’ readers plunge in and seek companionship with our noteworthy candidates. Alpha is maha concerned about their lone standing in the universe especially when time is jaunting happily ahead.

Presenting to you *Tipu Sultan soundtrack*-

Leela:
Pickup line: You are priceless. Can I take a picture of you?
Expected answer: Absolutelee! Censored or uncensored?

Lee is very much single and would have settled with any random person a few years ago (yeah, even Yogi). Now she says she knows exactly what she wants- the strong silent types who like to be surrounded by local news. They look like mannequins to me. Before the desert heat gets to her and she breaks into one of these department stores in Dubai looking for the oasis in her life, we need to get her settled down quick. She can’t be running marathons and climbing rocks at this age. (Basically I am jealous, that’s all.)

Helpful hints: It’s not easy to impress her. Hmm.. that was not very helpful na? Ok, learn to solve the Rubik’s cube or be a cabbie who doesn’t ask silly questions.

Chitra-
Pickup line- “Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr !! It’s cold …. yuxtremely cold !”
Expected answer- Can I dig my nose?

Guys, proceed with caution and don’t sue me if a husband tapkos from somewhere while you are getting all mushy for her. Obviously my homework is not very thorough. But I strongly suspect she is single as she put up this matrimonial on her blog. (Wonder who does her PR! Big head, maniacal laugh, Capsicum nose!) Please be kind to her in spite of all that.

Some helpful hints: To get her attention you could dedicate a song in Radio City. She dislikes male colleagues in general and abuses them on daily basis. Not advisable to secure job in her company unless you are a masochist. Don’t bring up baby issue in your first date.

Rhyncus:
Pick up line- Wanna see my centipede?
Expected answer- *blush*

A milkman by profession who travels with a centipede. When you ask him,’ Kya bhiayya, this is water or milk?!’, he’d let his centipede loose on you. Unbelievable business acumen that!

I urge you NOT to read his matrimonial. Now I am not to be blamed if you are spooked out. I DID warn you. Now you have no option, but to buy that Vanilla flavored toothpaste and keep it near the bedside or hoard on vanilla ice-cream all night long. I heard Goofy is giving classes on licking elbows if you might be interested. In any case, please be applying soon. Last I heard, playboy playmate Synus Mucus (that takes care of the porn insecurity point), daughter of renowned insect collector of exotic Timbuktu, is in the line for Rhyncus’ hand in holy matrimony. She can cry through her nose (hence the name) and she loves diamonds. Why she is almost perfect except for one point- her morning breath smells of two dead centipedes. So hurry up gals!

Helpful hints: Buy vanilla toothpaste.

Hardu:
Pick up line- You are probably a Raffaello- someone whom I wouldn’t try, given your specs… but might end up loving you if I did.
Expected answer- Buffalo?

Hardu means ‘hard’ in Kannada just like softu means soft. I don’t want to know the origins for that name… does sound very kinky to me. Well, Hardu claims she is actually a softie with a hard shell (sorta like a turtle) and says she is not interested in love (psst..this is all for the nosy brother’s sake). But then she goes around making a checklist in the sly. Only worrisome aspect is that the brother spent all his money on Hardu’s education and is borrowing huge sums for his wife’s education. So don’t expect much in dowry. The whole family speaks in German when they have nothing better to do. The freaky part with German is you can’t tell the good from the bad. They all sound like bad words.

Helpful hints: Learn German so you both can watch Harry Potter. I couldn’t muster enough guts to see it in English itself. Also try to butter up the sister-in-law. She seems like the control freak types. Helpful hints in that regard: SIL loves food and Hritik Roshan.

Anti:
His pick up line- I’m NO Superman.
Fully expects the girls to go- Awww…you are!

I had to include him as I can’t deal with a grown up man sulking and all. He already has many women vying for his attention (in his dreams) and claims he is … (oh, he claims a lot of things that haven’t been verified by yours truly). So we’ll leave it at that. He does have a sensitive side when he poses for photos and not so sensitive side when he tries to impress women with his Hindi.

Helpful hints: Look past everything you see and you may find what you are looking for when you aren’t looking at that.

Leave your interests and whereabouts in my comment box and mention a wedding date before consulting astrologer. The couple who sends in proof of 5 love-email exchanges will get a free couple template designed exclusively for you by the exalted Chugs (if the girl doesn’t like his design, she can have him). They will also be mentioned in Desi-Pundit with appropriate links.

White, Black, Brown and Red

2006-02-14T09:54:00.000-06:00

Now who stops at an intersection when the light is yellow? Some idiotic guy with a gleaming new red Pontiac did and he was duly rear-ended by me. It’s rather difficult to pay attention to the road when one needs to change the CD, reach for the phone and dig the nose at the same time. So like I was saying, I was forced to come to complete halt while I was trying to make it to work in decent hour. Next thing I know the darn fellow jumped out from his car, ran to his bumper and started jumping up and down, screaming expletives with flaying hands at my direction! I guessed he might be a little pissed and thought of sliding my window down and offering an apology to calm him down. Before I could even say Sorry or something to that effect, he ordered me to get off the car and check out the damage to his new car. (Who buys a brand new car in Chicago anyway?) Fine! What a bore! I got off and looked... now carefully… now squinting. Dammit! Just a teeny scratch and he was causing a ruckus for that?! ‘I need your insurance details, miss’, he demanded.

Before I could dig into my purse and throw that information on this chap’s face, a brown town car screeched to a halt with some loud jarring rap music causing the birds in Chicago to migrate. A bunch of black guys with lot of chunky silver and gold jewelry got off. Never knew rear–ending was such a serious crime that would get the hoods involved. I was done for. Someone needs to make sure Pi doesn't remarry after my death. Oh well fine, even if he does, she had better not be strutting around in my new shoes I bought yesterday.

Unexpectedly the black brothers verbally attacked the Pontiac fellow, ‘Yo wassup maan, whassgoinonhere?!!’ They ruffled him up, told him it wasn’t my fault as they had seen the whole thing. Yelled at him and told him to get going. The poor guy was so rattled. He mumbled an apology to me and sped off in a hurry. I was too numb to even thank my… well… angels. I drove off in a trance. This whole racist thing being advantageous to me was a new angle to be explored.

Today (after a week of the incident) I saw the Pontiac guy stopped at the same intersection in front of me. He looked at me with disgust from his rear view mirror. As I gathered courage, I smiled at him genially. He glanced around suspiciously and when the lights turned green, he took his ultimate revenge. He shot up his middle finger as I watched in abject horror!

Spread the love people. Happy Valentines Day!

Move before the walls collapse on me

2006-02-10T18:39:00.000-06:00

It’s normal for me to come back from work and get surprised in some way or the other. No no, not the husband cooking for me, lighting candles and putting garland on my portrait kinda surprise. That sorta thing will surely facilitate my name becoming a part of statistics for heart attack deaths. I was talking about pleasant ones like someone parking their car on my spot. I look forward to this. I rub my hands in glee, park my car in some public spot that I find after 20 minutes and a mile away from my apartment, lug myself back in the snow to the place where the culprit has parked his car. If you think this is too much work to derive pleasures from, stop bothering me in the middle of my narration. So I look around hoping the owner doesn’t suddenly appear when I am getting to the best part of the deal. I pull out my weapon- disgusting orange stickers that were handed to me by the building Supervisor, old man Jim. I peel them off and stick them liberally all over the car and proceed to my apartment feeling satisfied.

Old man Jim gave a stack of these stickers to calm me down once when I complained about the 100 bucks a month that I pay for the building parking. If I wanted exercise that bad, I would be giving the money to the gym, I argued. He said the building covered their basis and that it wasn’t their fault. Yes, there is a nondescript sign behind the bushes that says-… wait let me go closer to check what it says- Not Public Parking. Violators will be towed at their own expense. Apparently towing companies weren't told. The stickers would do the trick, he said. The stickers are really difficult to remove and can cause public humiliation. It says- Illegal Parking- Can be Towed. I wonder why I still see cars with scraped off stickers on my spot every day.

Yesterday I got back from work and lo!.. no stray car (sticker seemed to have worked at last) and so I glided into my spot and was wondering what I could do with all that extra time I had saved. As I was thinking of ways, I stepped into the elevator and tried to hit the 5 button after the door closed. It (the elevator) decided to retire from services just after I had walked in. The sinking feeling was not mental… the elevator actually was going below the first floor and came to a jerking halt. Swell! All my life I had been waiting for this moment. Now I can press that red button that says ‘In case of Emergency’ without feeling stupid. With trembling fingers, I gingerly pressed the button fully expecting the earth to split open or worse, my hubby materializing from somewhere and smacking my hand in admonishment. Nothing happened. Maybe I should give it some time. Meanwhile I pressed the ‘Alarm’ button. I could hear a bird chirping in Alaska, but I didn’t hear any alarm going off.

Maybe I ought to panic at least now. Oh wait, I had a cell phone. I called Pi sitting on the fifth floor not aware of his wife’s captivity in the Venus flytrap. He said he would try getting me out. Try? Is that the word he used?! I asked him to get the fire department here for my rescue operation. They would know how to break open the door and would have the required equipment. I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t look as handsome as a fireman.

I could have called them myself, but then I had to use all my cell-phone charge in letting my friends know about my plight in the hope of getting them concerned. When they started talking about their dinner plans and recipes, I was beginning to be concerned if they were friends in the first place. Anyway, as I hadn’t heard from hubby and was beginning to form thoughts of him partying with his friends, I thought of something that I could do to salvage this situation. I pulled out my lipstick and touched up my makeup. Eventually Pi would get hungry and they would save me and there might be local press. I better look good.

After an excruciating hour, I heard a faint knock and Pi asked me if I was still there. I screamed, ‘Do you think I had that much alcohol to just evaporate? Is the Fire Department here finally?’

I heard some pushing and shoving of the door and old man Jim’s drunk voice, ‘Hope you have a magazine to keep you busy. Hahaha!’

‘I wish I had planned this, Jimmy. I would have even brought some chips and coke and done some accounts while I am here.’ I was convinced that the building authorities had a problem only with me. I am the center of some building politics here. Victim of hate crime.

After what seemed like a complete waste of my time, the door slid open as I was sitting on the elevator floor twiddling my thumbs. No cameras straining to catch a glimpse of me, no neighbors standing with flowers, no CNN reporters, not even the friggin firemen. Just drunk ol’ Jim apologizing and feeling pleased with himself as I climbed out of the elevator shaft from somewhere between the basement and the ground floor. Life went back to being sucky just when it seemed promising.

This time I didn’t bother getting on the other elevator in spite of Jim’s assurance through his drunken teeth. Took the stairs. Fancy how nature conspires in making sure I get my daily dose of exercise.

Married to a Dumbo

2006-02-08T11:19:00.000-06:00

‘Oh, Kundi told me that Bra is working in the same company as Boobs.’

I put the TV on mute and perked up my ears. Bra seemed to take centerfold of the otherwise geeky conversation with liberal sprinklings of Pinky, Lollipop and Grape. Shocking revelations indeed. My boyfriend (now hubby) was into something I had no idea of. This went a step further from the borders of kinkiness.

After this freaky phone conversation, I was all ready for a confrontation when he gleefully told me, ‘Guess who is coming down to visit us? Condom!’

This was the heights! To think IITians were a bunch of respectable folks who wouldn’t bring ‘that’ up on the second day of the relationship. And what a cheesy way to broach the topic.

Before I could call my girlfriends and weep, I was told that Condom was actually a guy who went to IIT with Pi. That was nickname given to him by his seniors as he brought some condiments from home. Yes, condiments became condoms.

So I will admit that we did have dinner with P-balls who didn’t flinch as he introduced himself. I will also admit that I don’t know his real name as it was never mentioned. My guess that it might be Prasad Balasubramaniam was of course very premature and juvenile. So I refrained from any more takes on his name especially after he assured me that his balls weren’t pea sized. Good to know, I guess.

Actually these days I am finally comfortable calling them by their nicknames with a straight face even in front of their wives, everyone except this guy called Romeo. Can you even fathom how that must be going for his wife? Me calling him Romeo is far from her troubles. Imagine a bunch of adult guys looking at him in the eye across the table in a dimly lit room going,’ Romeo, would you like some dessert?’

It’s not a very funny matter. They don’t recognize real names anymore.

‘Who Rajesh?’ ‘Rajesh Jayaraman? No, do not recognize him.’ What is the nick name?’ Oh Tampon?! Of course, he is my roomate and chaddi-buddy!’ (Note that chaddi-buddy is a great ad line for Tampax)

I believe it is a tradition, a passion and a full time hobby for many in IIT. The freshie is named, shaped and sent to the world as a different human being after four years. If only Victoria Secret knew that IITians were also involved in shaping a bra.

Say you are fed up of your given name. Now who wouldn’t be if you were named something like Karthik. How boring! You have seven other Karthiks in your class and you have no identity anymore. The other Karthiks don’t even look half as good as you. Time for a name change, but you can’t think of something that would do justice to your admirable, stunning personality. Your best bet- join IIT Madras and put the onus on your wonderful seniors. Be rest assured, after much deliberation and analysis, the best brains of India will congregate and confer upon you the name that will supersede any dull name that your parents spent months conjuring up. You will be aptly named ’Dumbo’.

I bet IIT-JEE has a case-question (this is taken from the 1997 paper)

You meet a guy called Srinivas Konchiluri on campus while you are happily farting with your friends. He is a freshie. He is wearing a peacock green shirt and laughs at everything you say even if it not funny. He is from Little Flower School, Hyderabad and says he plays in a Telugu band. What is the nickname you would give him? (2 minutes- 20 points)

Answers like Cheenu or Konchi will be the end of you. You might get a half decent score if you come up with LTTE- no relevance to the points mentioned in the question, but he looks like Prabakaran.

I am no expert in this field so I’ll refrain from coming up with the answer that would surely bag you the coveted seat of the IIT. I didn’t even make it past the first technical question. I went the easier route; I bagged the not so coveted husband of the same IIT.