Do I write about this or that?

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!

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

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

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?

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

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

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

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.
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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

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

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

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

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

Stop means Stop

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.’

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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

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.

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

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

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

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?

‘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

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)

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

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

Strange Strangers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

Few of My Favorite Things

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

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

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

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

‘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.

Every Thomas, Richard and Harprathap Singh

I wasn’t warned or educated about this. That book 'Living in the U.S.A.- A handbook for Indian Students' handed out generously at the US consulate had no mention of this strange phenomenon that plagues this country. Orientation sessions conducted in the campus before we could embark on the Americans, talked about ‘kallu’ not being a politically correct word for African Americans, but no… we weren’t told about this. Maybe I was supposed to know- just like that.

Robert Stafford was to be my professor. My first day in the campus, fresh off the boat, I looked all over for him in my department…searched every corner of the campus. When I was convinced that I walked into another University by mistake (possibility of that happening was high considering my past), someone said they could lead me to this elusive guy in question. I saw the nameplate. No no, he is not that guy! I have met him before. He just shares Robert Stafford’s last name. You think this Bob is his brother?

Right there I was introduced to the American nomenclature system never to recover. Bob and Robert are the same entity? And everyone must take it for granted? Nick names are official names here? Just like Bill Clinton is actually William Clinton and Jim Morrison is James Morrison? And what? Dick is Richard? Why?

Seriously, I do not appreciate such sense of humor. Why take pains to morph a perfect name to mean a male genitalia? Me wondered if I should call Office assistant Pamela, Pussy, to prove that I got the picture.

It’s a learning process. You can’t get it all down in one sitting. I can see the American parents going, ‘Since we can’t decide on the right name, let’s name her Elizabeth. Now she can choose from eleven names- Beth, Bess, Bessie, Betsy, Betty, Bette, Eliza, Lisa, Liza, Liz or even decide to keep the actual name. Halleluiah.’ Actually I feel that comprised of 50% of the American girl names right there. Yeah, it’s like playing that game- make as many words as you can from this long word.

Talking of names and games, ever tried playing the game where you think of an important person, give out a clue (initials) and answer 5 yes-or-no questions for the other team to guess the right answer?
The opposition will never win if you think of Dick Cheney and call out RC. Throw them completely off track.

Imagine if Mahmohan was called Twinkle at home (with these Punjabis anything is possible). He would be Twinkle Singh and that would not be a cool name for a Prime Minister. To make matters more confusing, my friend Harry could be Henry, Harprathap Singh, Hariharasubbramani Iyer or Xiuxiu Soong Ching-ling.

The story behind the the pillow cover and scarf

My green long skirt is a living testimony to the great quality and workmanship of our cotton fabric industry. It was probably bought/handed-down when I was 3 years old. It was a long skirt that reached my ankles, but it was not destined to remain a long skirt.

With my brother in the alleged skirt..I don't talk about my brother's dressing preferances

A single article of clothing that can make it from black & white photos to colored ones must have lived a life that would make a turtle flip inside its shell.

As I was rummaging through my childhood photo albums, I noticed one thing that remained constant. My green skirt with three stripes on the top and bottom- yellow, red, yellow. It became a knee length when I was 6 years old and a mini skirt when I turned 11. This fateful (or rather faithful) skirt kept featuring in many pictures until the photos themselves transitioned to snapshots of adulthood. Maybe my waistline finally expanded. For once, you’ve got to be thankful for that. I was quite aghast at my mom’s despicable kanjoosi! Such exploitation will be dealt with appropriately. Actually I was hiding this fact- I even saw the same tattered skirt worn in a high school play where I was a psychopath (My dad volunteered me for that role; I was a natural I believe).

Later during my college days, I would cut off five inches from the bottom of my jeans every year till it became a bio hazard (No photos of that, sorry to dissapoint you). My mom cringed; I reminded her of the green skirt trauma. This was the same thing, in reverse. Rationale being, I wasn’t growing any taller.

One day when I come home from college, I saw an ugly patch of cloth stitched to the bottom of my jeans (which had by then morphed into short shorts). The patch was faded green with three stripes- yellow, red and yellow.