My Photon Pipe-dream

Anyone who has ever used Tata Indicom's Plug to Surf Internet device will probably sympathize greatly with my desperate desire to get rid of it. Unfortunately, I am thoroughly handicapped, because my net connection frequently conks out and I am reduced to using the beggarly device to get information I may require from the web.

Tata Photon + was then announced, and I did cartwheels of pure happiness, as I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

However, it turns out that the light at the end of the tunnel was a mirror reflecting the light from my lamp as I looked for the end of the tunnel.

(Did that make any sense? No? Good.)

After months of wondering when Photon + was going to grace Goan shores, my father finally surprised me by telling me about the Tata salesperson who visited his office. Apparently, my father is a rather big shot because of the company and position he holds, so people flock to his office.

(Hell, that works for me. Never been waited upon like that in all my life.)

Feels. so. good.

Where was I?

Ah yes, so he gets all the paperwork and verification done without input for me whatsoever. A pleasant change from the kind of running around I usually have to do. And then I was told the Photon + would be home delivered the next day.

Wow, I thought.

So when the guy actually did call up today, I was impressed beyond belief. He showed up and proceeded to install the device on my laptop.

Nothing. Nada. Zip.

He tried to double-click, single-click, reboot, shut down and restart, stare balefully, and every other imaginably useless course of action one could take when trying to install new hardware. He hadn't a clue what was wrong with it.

After a lengthy discussion, during which he was unpardonably rude to my mother, I finally deduced that the setup for a 64-bit machine (like mine) was not working. So he went away. And I was left with my Tata Indicom and a broken heart. (not really.)

All my mother was trying to say was that the reception was bad in our colony because the signals from the network towers was poor in this area. She gave him the analogy of BSNL which works in every nook and corner of the house. He responded by saying that BSNL and Tata were two different companies, and that no one listened to him and his colleagues because they were outsourced employees.

I am utterly beaten by the abysmal work ethic in Goa and overall in India. Beaten and subdued. I've lost my will to battle with these people.

Puppies!!

One of my adoptees has littered. A while ago, but she brought her puppies over only last Sunday. An awesome welcome home present if ever there was one.

My days have been filled with 7 little fuzzy barrels that are cutest things ever. There are three boys: Currant (a pure black one with brown paws), Champagne (carbon copy of his mother) and Chiclet (the runt). There are four girls: Caramel (sandy one with white paws), Coco and Cashew (twins that are pure brown) and Chocolate (a multicoloured brown one).

Unfortunately someone walked off with Currant and Champagne, the two best looking pups. I was really sad but I am just hoping they will be loved and looked after.

However on the other hand, I have five darling toddling little pups to look after. I'm happy.

NaBloPoMo 09

I don't know whether posting about the NaBloPoMo is cheating, but anyway..

So I've been posting my blog posts the morning after I write them. There is only one reason for this, and that reason is that I have written most of them half asleep.

So basically I'm doing everyone a huge favour. So no comments about not sticking to the schedule. I have loads on my plate, people.

Weird Foreigner

One thing I hate about myself is that I seem to be a magnet for weirdos. I just wish that once, just once, a normal, reasonably good-looking bloke struck up a conversation with me - instead of the raving lunatics, the oddballs and the ones that seem to think girls were created to be hit on.

However, this particular episode was funny.

I was roaming the halls at the National Museum, having managed to stretch my alloted hour to two and a half already. It is hard for me to tear myself away from such grand beauty. There were pillars carved with tales from the Jakata Tales; scenes from the life of Buddha carved into solid stone; metal statues from the Gupta period. I wandered the halls lost in a daydream where I wondered what passed through the minds of the artisans, designers, monarchs and peasants that looked upon these awesome pieces of art. I always feel rather funny when surrounded by ancient objects; I feel excitement pulsing, and a sense of mystical wonder envelops my mind like a cocoon.

Of course the feeling didn't last long. Because that's when the Iranian guy came along.

He was so obviously a foreign import, I didn't pay him much attention. I am not one those Indians that find foreigners unbelievably attractive; which means I don't drool or stand staring with my mouth agape.

Honestly, I didn't really notice him. That is until he accosted me. I turned politely, although there was a definite chill in my manner. (Remember what I said about guys I didn't know? Just because he was foreign, doesn't mean he's exempt.)

However he turned out to be extraordinarily polite. So I was forced to be polite as well. He trailed me in my determined (now slightly frantic) trek through the museum halls, assailing my unwilling ears with non-stop chatter.

Yeah, I may not be the friendliest person - I was in a museum! Leave me alone.

But he didn't. We went from exhibit to exhibit, swapping life stories and travel experiences. He waxed eloquent about Istanbul and how beautiful it was. I muttered something about always wanting to go there. He reacted with transports of delight. I rolled my eyes when he wasn't looking.

We were in the Gupta Art section of the museum, with great stone cravings of Hindu deities. I honestly just wanted to imbibe the gorgeous beauty in silence. He of course was tickled with depictions of our mythical tales.

I may have frozen solid at that point. I can be very snooty when I want to be; I informed him, icily, that those were scenes from our revered religious texts. It was inappropriate behaviour on his part after all, and I wonder how many Arabs would have stood for me making fun of their prophet's life. Zero. So back off buddy.

To do him justice, he ate the humble pie pretty readily. He was starting to make suggestions about exchanging contact details, so I beat a hasty retreat. I will be able to go to Delhi again, but I cannot foresee myself dealing with a leech-like foreigner permanently.

No thanks.

National Museum in Delhi

I think I had finished with Pushpa, the slightly nutty reservations clerk, in my last Delhi post. Feeling very battered, I made my way to the lobby to await the imminent arrival of the driver. He was very unappealing to look at, with greasy longish locks framing a dark, rather pig-like face. I live in terror of having to be chummy with these people, so I refrained from uttering anything but monosyllabic answers.

(By 'these people' I mean 'men I don't know'. Also known as 'potential rapists'. It is entirely unrelated to the work they do.)

The first place I wanted to visit was the National Museum. I am a completely sucker for all things historic and ancient. It never fails to amaze me, when I consider the technology used at that time was primitive by modern-day standards; and yet, they had more true knowledge in their toes that we have collectively.

There I encountered exhibits from Mohenjodaro and Harappa civilizations. I took pictures through glass cases (like the true dork I am), zooming in so much that the proportions of the objects are not visible at all.

This weighing scale may actually look life-size, but in fact the whole thing including the weights

scattered in front of it would fit easily in the palm of my hand with loads of room to spare. I'll post pictures of the museum on Flickr and then link to them here. (Sometime soon, hopefully.)

The glass cases had me enthralled with their contents: small figurines, intricate urns and stamp tools the size of my fingernail.

Anyway, I moved on from there, only to encounter a burial site.

(Yes, you read that right.)

There was a grave(!) in the middle of the museum(!) with the skeletal remains of a prehistoric lady visible to everyone(!). I was spooked to say the least, but then I figured she was essentially harmless, so I clicked a few pictures. I still kept my distance though, since I have learnt my lesson unlike the varied stars of horror flicks.

(I'm kidding. Ok, maybe not.)

I put it to you, however cool this may look - isn't it the tiniest bit creepy? Like someone walked over your grave? (No more bad puns in this post. Promise.)

Biting off more than I can chew

I've decided that this November I'm going to do everything in my power to punish myself. (Otherwise known as the attempts to write tip my fingers fall off.)

I am going to do these things this month:

1. NaBloPoMo - Blogging every single day of the month.

2. NaNoWriMo - Write a 50k+ word book in one month.

3. Learn driving.

4. Finish the bucket loads of work I've taken on this month.

5. Study for an exam at the end of the month.

In all honesty, blogging everyday isn't going to be too much of a problem. I still have to finish blogging about my trip to Delhi. Then there is the marathon one to Bangalore, Mumbai and Pune. Also, there is a post about my uncle's wife and the disastrous medical situation in India, which I really want to share.

The novel on the other hand is going to be a pain of gargantuan proportions. I have an idea, which I will write about - but whether I can stretch it to 50,000 words is doubtful. Also, I am seriously afraid of anyone actually reading my novels and stories. (I am SUCH a coward.)

Learning how to drive has been on my to-do list for the past 6 years.

(I'm waiting for the jeers to subside. Are you done? Good. I can continue now.)

I have taken on projects which I have never attempted professionally before: I think I can do this just fine but I need to spend some serious time planning it out properly. I have also decided to go in for the Tata Photon mobile Internet because I've been having serious issues with my broadband connection. It crawls.

As for the exam, I have to really gird my loins. Set my teeth. Imbibe copious quantities of alcohol to provide myself with Dutch courage. Well, maybe not the last one. But yeah, it's going to be a doozy.

Wish me luck people. I'm gonna need it!

Thanks, I feel weird now.

NB: Continuation of my first REAL day in Delhi.

I stood in front of the desk and waited for Pushpa to come in. After she asked me to have a seat, she continued staring into my eyes. Then it dawned on me that I was wearing grey contacts; thank goodness, I thought, 'cause I was starting to get creeped out.

Then the funniest thing happened:

"Are you a foreigner?"

Double-take. "Uh.. no. I'm 100% Indian."

Double-take on the other side. "Oh! You just look very different."

Suppressing laughter. "I guess so; I'm not from Delhi."

Nodding vigorously in complete agreement. "Where are you from?"

Allowing imp of mischief to take control. "The south. Maharashtra, Kerala, Karnataka mix."

Widening of eyes. "Really? You don't look South Indian. Are you wearing contacts?"

Just as an aside, bear in mind that I was there to ask for sightseeing guidance. I was however sitting there, discussing my genealogy. Okaaay.

Smiled. "Yup."

Dawning comprehension. "Ah. That explains it. So what do you do?"

Dawning dismay. "I'm a writer. I'm sorry Pushpa, but do you think we could discuss sightseeing in Delhi? I have a few things I need to do?"

Thankfully, she then proceeded to tell me exactly what was covered in the sightseeing trip. I wanted to know what else was there to see, so I could check those sights out today. Unfortunately, while the information exchange was over, my interrogation wasn't:

Interest settling on face again. "You know, your face is very familiar."

Groaning inwardly. "Really?"

Nodding sagely. "Yeah, you have North Indian features; quite a few Delhiites look like you."

Resignation. "Oh, I didn't know that."

Unwilling to drop subject. "Yeah."

Desperate to drop subject. "Yeah."

(This continued for a while, finally tapering off to nods. Then we were just sitting there. In silence. Awkward.)

Making up mind. "Alright Pushpa, thank you so much for you time. I'll make a move now."

Fortunately, I did manage to get out in time.

First REAL Delhi day

A month has passed since my trip to Delhi. I was shamed into typing out these subsequent posts because in another 15 days, I am again off to Bangalore and Mumbai. Those posts are going to be filled with blood and gore. (I'm attending a wedding; family on my mother's side. Gack.)

Continuing directly from my last post about Delhi.

The next morning my mother had her meeting lined up. She had gotten everything ready the previous night, so all she really had to was have breakfast, shower and leave. She has arranged for a hotel taxi to drop her off. I had no plans for the day, and vague notions of sightseeing flitted through my head.

I saw my mother off, and promptly dived back into bed for another hour of kip. When I finally surfaced, I ordered breakfast and of course pulled out my laptop to check my mail. After chatting to the boyfriend and saying 'Hi' to my dad, I made tracks to the shower. My mom then called up to tell me that she would be stuck in the meeting till 5-ish in the evening, so to carry on without her.

We were planning to do Delhi sightseeing together the next day, so I didn't want to duplicate anything. I decided to get the itinerary for tomorrow from the reception; a pair of nincompoops, albeit nice ones, hadn't a clue about what was covered in the trip. I was then directed to the reservations clerk in the office.

Pushpa's office was on the topmost floor, so I rode the elevator up, while studying the guide book. Stepping out of the elevator, I was confronted by a vista of dazed faces. I couldn't imagine why they seemed so stunned to see me, considering I had already been there a while - and my mother had already made her presence felt.

The restaurant manager (very glorified title for the actual position of managing four tables) was sitting at his desk, a few waiters had stopped dead in their tracks at my appearance and there was a girl standing in the entrance to the restaurant.

Now, I know I'm Indian (that's right! I don't need to be told!) and I know I'm in India, but when I am feeling any sort of discomfort or confusion, I speak in English. Hell, I think in English, so there's the reason my Hindi is so rotten.

I asked for Pushpa, and the girl in the restaurant waved out to me. I told her I wanted to know about the sightseeing tour that the hotel offered. She finally stopped gaping long enough to invite me into her office.

NB: This post is incomplete - decided to post whatever I'd already written.

Photographs from the Bangalore trip

Finally uploaded most my pictures from my trip to Bangalore last year.

- See the pictures from Belur, here.

- And of course Shravanbelagola, here.

What is that I smell?

I read an article ages ago about someone who had lost their sense of smell. And I remember thinking how awful it must be.

Then of course I wondered why I felt so strongly about it. (I'm weird that way.)

I have a fairly sensitive sense of smell. Not that I am a Nose or anything of that nature. In fact it would be more accurate to say that I have very strong reactions to the scents and smells around me.

Starting with the bad, the smell of lemon car freshener churns my stomach to the point I want to actually throw up. There's a reason of course: back when I was in school, a friend of my mother came to pick me up a few times, as her son studied in the same school. Her car used to have this translucent bar of car freshener, which was a sickly colour between lime and lemon yellow. Then while she waited for us in the administration building, her car used to turn into an oven heating up the ghastly little bar of lemon scented horror.

But I have a lot of good associations with smell:

- the smell of rain on leaves and soil: so very romantic and dreamy

- the smell of leather and hair gel, with faint overtones of aftershave: remind me of my first true love. I don't get all maudlin about it, but I remember the sinking feeling in my stomach. I was so excited and so scared and so happy all at the same time.

- the scent of Malboro Lights smoke and Davidoff Cool Water: All my dad's clothes smelt like this.

- the smell of old books and mothballs: I reminisce about digging through the books that my mother read as a little girl.

- the smell of basmati rice cooking: my mother always puts a generous helping of ghee in the rice and it smells heavenly.

Today I was watching a movie, and there was a scene where a guy drops off a girl at her hostel. It's the first time they've met and they like each other as friends. Not that I could smell anything but as I watched I could imagine the entire scene: rain-soaked tarmac, dimly lit overhang, musty cobwebby woody smell of the doorway. The warmth emanating from the boy standing in front of you and the awareness that you both are smiling into each other's eyes.

Something stirred in my subconscious; a vague memory that I couldn't quite put my finger on. I felt strangely thrilled.

That set off another train of thoughts altogether; however that is also another post all by itself.