I should learn how to ride a bike!

Labels: , , - Monday, February 23, 2009

How often do people stop doing things because someone may have passed a disparaging remark once?


Probably not many. But me, I am one of those.

I don't particularly like it, but I have a tendency to take criticism very seriously, just as I am uncomfortable with praise. (Yes, I am weird. Bear with me.) So when someone commented that my blog was one big moan-fest, it stuck.

Maybe that wasn't entirely accurate, as I know I rant and rave, but I figured this was a personal outlet. After all, I am hardly holding a gun to any one's head, whispering menacingly, "Read it, or die." (I'm not, for the record.)

But I realise that that person had a point: who wants to read about someone whining and moaning all the time? Not me. Hardly entertaining.

Which gets me to my point, I haven't been blogging regularly, mainly because I haven't had anything interesting to blog about.

(Unless turning into a hermit for the last week counts.)

(It doesn't.)

Although I did have an 'experience' (what a lofty word for the following episode) with Akshay's bike.

Akshay has the most amazing bike (and girlfriend, of course, but we won't get into that): a red Karizma (Oh, the irony.), one of the newer models. He bought it last year and it is still is in impeccable condition. Long story short - I love that bike (and it's owner) and I am exceptionally proud of it, because it was his first big (read: grown-up) buy. So basically, when he rides in on the big red bike, I glow with pride. (I know, I am very lame.) Plus it suits him; an extension to his personality.

(All this is not vital to the story, but then what the hey.)

He has been in Hyderabad since November (Seriously, how much are they going to train these poor people?) so he has come to visit a few times. Usually a weekend or a few days at the most, so we decided it's best he stays with me. But his bike was parked at his place, so we had to keep getting it every time he came over.

So this time, I told him to leave the bike here. (Now this part IS vital to the story.)

A few days go off happily by, and I get a knock on my door. Unfortunately at this point of time, I was just wearing a T-shirt. (Yeah, I live alone.)

I crept to the door and peered through the peep-hole, only to see the incredibly useless security guard. So I opened the door an infinitesimal crack, and poke my dishevelled nut around the frame.

He asks about the bike, whether it's mine. I stare at him stupidly, hoping it isn't Akshay's bike. I don't have a parking spot, so we randomly park in the building. So I enquire after the registration number. (Remember, I'm still in just a t-shirt.)

He shoots of numbers in Hindi. All I hear is: 'blah, blah, blahddy blah blah'. (I don't know Hindi numbers.) I stop him, and ask whether the bike is big and red (this I can manage in Hindi).

Yes, he says. Bugger, I say. Come, he says. Wait, I say.

And I go in and pull on track bottoms, root around for the bike keys, almost walk out the door before I realise I've left the flat keys inside. Curse myself into oblivion, and follow him downstairs (apparently he felt I would get lost). I stand in front of the bike, and he asks me to move it, because a flat owner wants to park his car. He is perfectly in the right, so I don't argue (which is very unusual for me). So I proceed to move the bike.

Now, I am a very modest 5'5". When I get on the bike, Akshay has to tilt it a bit, because I am too short (and I am hopeless with bikes). I stood in front of this bike that I loved (past tense is totally deliberate), gripped the handlebars and tried to move it.

Didn't. budge. an. inch.

I cursed myself some more, fished the key out of my pocket, and inserted into the ignition. (Yes, I know the technical words.) And peered at the tiny markings to see which way to turn it. (Did I mention I can't drive? Never learnt.) I turn it, and suddenly the handlebars are free. Yay! Small victory to me.

I straighten the bike and slide the siderest up into place. And then nearly collapse as I am now supporting the whole weight of the bike. That thing is HEAVY! And TWICE my size!

I somehow manage to steer it, with the ineffectual guard flapping like a hysterical chicken in my way. I get the monster (as I have started thinking of it) into a slot.

Only to realise, there wasn't enough space to put down the side stand. Brilliant. That meant the main stand.

I had a good laugh while holding this bike, as I knew full well that that was completely beyond my powers. It was a miracle I got this far without turning the bike into a wreckage.

I had no choice. I whipped around, hoping desperately to see a man or even a boy (I'm ashamed, believe me) but there was no one except the flapping chicken (who by this time had turned purple). So I stood on the main stand, and finally got the thing in place.

I would have done a little victory dance, but I was stuck in between the bike and an ancient scooter. So I refrained. I turned to go back inside when I realised I had left the keys in the ignition.

So I tried locking the bike. The bike wasn't having any of it. Apparently fed up of me, and my inexpert handling, it refused to lock. Till I squinted at the tiny markings again, and saw I needed to push the key in to lock it. Tried that. Uh-uh.

This went on for a good 10 minutes, before lightning struck and I realised the handlebars needed to go back in the same position as before. And hey presto! the key turned. The bike locked.

Now, during this entire episode, I wasn't quiet. I was muttering spells and incantations and consigning every bike on earth to a deep fiery hell. I turned around to see I had gathered an audience.

I cursed more, and ran upstairs as quickly as I possibly could.

Because I can't think of what to blog about.

Labels: , , - Saturday, February 21, 2009

I really really wanted to blog, but I couldn't think of anything, so decided to do this:

Make your own wordle here. And post a comment with the link. I have a feeling only girls will enjoy doing this. 

Puzzling Friendships

Labels: , - Thursday, February 19, 2009

Warning: This post is going to be a rant (of sorts) and on my favourite hobby horse too, friends.


(I feel bad about subjecting my readers to this mindless drivel, however there are two things that help me quash my conscience completely. 1. I have very few readers, and although those few are truly cherished, they still number 8. 2. This is my version of a diary, even though I censor a lot of stuff.)

There, now that the disclaimer is out of the way.. 

I have often wondered at my dismal luck with friends. I have had very few friends that I have absolutely no problems with. In fact, I think I can count those friends on one hand. Tragic really. 

I have no delusions; I am pretty certain I am completely culpable. My stringent standards of friendship aren't everyone's cup of tea. Or coffee, as per preference. 

I expect my friends to be unconditional. Caring. Ever supportive. Loyal. Nice. And not freeload off me. Or take advantage of me. Because, really, I am really stupid when it comes to cottoning on to these sort of schemes. I have a blind spot where my friends, and it takes a huge and very rude awakening usually for me to see the obvious. 

After the whole marriage shebang, I have been contemplating who to invite for the actual wedding. I reckon I will just post a notice on Facebook for the reception, but the wedding is probably going to be very small. Just family and very close friends. I wonder who will make the cut?

This is actually my mother's fault, because she planted the idea in my head that I should have only true well-wishers at the wedding. In the ranks of my friends, that stipulation narrows my list down to two. Two persons. Two friends who I think truly love me from the bottom of their hearts, the way I love them. 

Hm. 

Can't girls be friends?

In Dubai, I had great friends, and then we went off in many many different directions. But two friends remain dear, even though we may not be very similar. We have remained friends throughout the years, even when separated. With one, I'd lost touch for about 5 years. 

Then in UK, my international crowd of friends. Lovely, wonderful, dear friends with whom I have spent my hours laughing and crying. We were great friends, but a language barrier and again great distance has taken them away from my circle of confidants. (I really can't afford huge phone bills to UK.)

In India, I have been disillusioned too many times to count. I count only one friend here that I truly believe cares about me. Without envy, without jealousy, without competition. Even with her, communication has ground to a virtual halt. 

Then there is Akshay. We started out as friends, and to this day, he is really my best friend. Yes, he is my boyfriend, and love is a factor. But he was an amazing friend even before that. When I had him, I needed no other support. I told him everything. I've lost count of the number of times I've called him sobbing, and he has calmed me down and made me laugh. 

Akshay unfortunately doesn't count in this tally, well, because he is the future groom. I shall just have to find some others. 

Thus Spake the Oracle

Labels: , - Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Of all the nutty things my mother comes up with, consulting astrologers is the one I consider most dangerous.


Ever since she was little, my mother was led on a trek to various god-men, pundits, astrologers, etc, etc. Some were authentic (really), some were, well, not. So ever since our family fortunes have taken an unprecendented nosedive, my mother has kicked into this crystal ball-gazing gear. Dangerous.

Why? Let me explain.

I believe in a rather complicated philosophy, which is a combination of free will, destiny and divine intervention. I won't get into that now, but suffice it to say that I think trying to gaze into the future is an exercise in self-delusion.

However, being the consummate hypocrite that I am (also known as being a girl), I wanted to know what the latest in the line of astrologers said about the members of my family.

This particular one is my father's subordinate at work, and they had him over for dinner last night. My mother decided on a course of just listening for a change, instead of asking too many questions (you're welcome, panditji!). But surprisingly, he was fairly accurate.

He first started off with verifying a few things, as all he was starting with was the date, time and place of birth. He rattled off a few facts about each of us, which were spot on. He explained that astrologers use this technique to determine whether or not they are on the right track.

Apparently he was. Spooky.

Of course, I was very curious to hear about my life. And the following things happened:

1. I was told (again) that I was very lucky, and will be for the rest of my life. (This has proven true time and again, and well every soothsayer worth his geometric diagram has said the same thing.)

2. I suffered from insecurities. (Do you think he reads my blog?)

I do.

3. I would get married by the end of this year. Holy moly! Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhh.

(Not that I am afraid of getting married, I'm not. My boyfriend are planning to save up before this momentous event in our lives.) The only reason we want to get married is because then his mother will sanction us living together, and we can get a puppy. The puppy is top priority.

4. I would marry a guy who has one tooth overlapping the other. (Details!)

This point freaked me out a little. I was having this conversation with my mother in the morning, when Akshay was fast asleep. As far as I know, the guy has a perfect set of teeth, and I told her so. She sounded a little disappointed and pointed out that these things shouldn't be taken too literally (my phone evidently has an echo).

I slumped back into bed, and shook Akshay awake. I told him about the tooth thing, and that I was a little bummed out.

His answer was to open his mouth wide and point to a little toothling growing behind one of his canines.

(No comment. Imagine my reaction. Hint: Akshay was happy.)

A Humbling Experience

Labels: , , , - Saturday, February 14, 2009

When I was in Mumbai recently, I had the whole house to myself for a few days. Essentially, that translates into not having my mother around to wake me up early, or to usher me into the bathroom to have a bath early, or do anything early for that matter. 


Now my building doesn't have a society as such, and the usual societal perks like nosy neighbours are thankfully absent. We also do not have a garbage removal person, so getting rid of household trash involves a 5-minute trek to the neighbourhood skip.

Not that it is difficult, it was merely a case of sheer laziness that in 5 days, I elected not to go. So the day I left, I needed to make the pilgrimage. Not to big a deal, since I really don't generate too much garbage. 

I took the trash bags downstairs with my luggage in tow, trying to avoid a trip back upstairs. I managed fine as I didn't have much at all. I chucked the stuff into the skip, and proceeded to wait for a taxi. 

It took me half an hour to flag down a cab that would consent to ferrying me the short distance to the bus stop. As I waited however, I was witness to something that sobered me up considerably. 

A slightly loopy-looking man was sauntering down the road. He was exceedingly dirty, and was most certainly a beggar or homeless man of sorts. He was in high spirits, and I really couldn't tell whether this was a result of imbibing copious quantities of liquor, or that he was mentally unhinged. 

I am really uncomfortable with this sort of person, so I kept an unobtrusive eye on his movements. Under my astonished gaze, he proceeded to the garbage skip and pulled out my garbage bags. I am aware that people rifle through bins, but this was the first time I saw someone rifling through my trash. 

He pulled out the bags, and flopped on the edge of the pavement to investigate the contents. I usually douse the walls of my house with bugspray before leaving, to repel unwanted wildlife from setting up house. The empty can was also in the trash. 

Now bugspray is very toxic, even to humans. If I came across anything lumped together with a bottle of bugspray, I would have given it a wide berth. Not this guy; he sifted through the contents, abstracting quite a few items he was evidently interested in. 

I finally got a cab, and hopped in. As I drove off, the man was still happily occupied in the contents of my garbage bags. 

Poverty is a fact of life in India, and well, I have learnt to turn a blind eye as well. Not because I am unfeeling, but more because I hope that it will force them to stop begging. There are many scams involving children and these were depicted to some extent in Slumdog Millionaire. 

I have become desensitized to the abject poverty, consumed with my own life and my own peculiar brand of problems. However, watching someone rifle through my trash and treating it like treasure was a rude slap in the face. I was ashamed of taking the luck in my life for granted. To be sure, it is not perfect, but at least I am not reduced to hunting through trash. 

It was a humbling experience and one lesson I am unlikely to forget soon.

Religious Tolerance

Labels: , , - Tuesday, February 10, 2009

My mother often describes herself as a Hindu fanatic, and I've wondered why.


Before my parents moved to the Middle East, growing up in a multicultural Mumbai engendered a certain amount of religious tolerance. Followers of various faiths rubbed along harmoniously in their daily lives. People were not treated differently based upon their religion, at least this is what my grandfather's gentle manner had indoctrinated in them. Their outlook was truly secular. 

Moving to the United Arab Emirates, a Muslim country, all that changed dramatically. Practice of any religion openly (especially Hinduism) was frowned upon. I agree to some extent that our habit of setting up shrines in the middle of busy street pavements is very counter-productive, and we have a tendency to leave a terrible mess. (I can't remember the last time I saw a clean temple.) But, there was the constant feeling of being watched. A very uncomfortable feeling at that. 

(The Emirati police were on the constant lookout for uprisings or activities that could damage the city or harm the citizens. Very admirable of course, but it usually meant no privacy.)

Hindus, and Indians, are treated like third-class citizens there by the locals. Of course, that doesn't include the moneyed lot, just the general hoi polloi. They deplored everything about us, and towards the end of my stay there, an openly discriminatory policy existed in the industries. 

So be it. Their country, their rules. 

Then the terrorist attacks started happening, all over the world. Al-Qaida reared its ugly head and destroyed lives and families in one fell swoop. People who mistrusted Indians, now mistrusted Arabs even more. Muslims and Islam are akin to curses in the Western world. Hardly surprising. 

All this has had a major impact on my family and our psyche. My mother was raised to be tolerant of people and their religion. It was considered rude to question or argue on those heads. After living in a Muslim-dominated society, she has come to hate them. Sprinkle in a few Catholics who were out to convert her, and spoke about our faith in the choicest of colourful language, and the transformation from secularist to fanatic is complete. 

I, on the other hand, in my drive to be independent and forge my own opinions, tried to be fair. Till I encountered the same intolerance in the attitudes of my friends. It saddened me. I tried to explain, as best as I could at the time. My limitations were my lack of understanding of the issues and the complexity of the varied human psyche. 

I wouldn't call myself religiously intolerant, but I will admit to being a little more cautious around Muslims. I have loads of Muslim friends, but these are friendships forged before, and they have always respected my religion. Those that didn't fell by the wayside. However, I strongly doubt I will be able to trust a new Muslim person wholeheartedly. 

It is rather sad, but I suppose that something drastically would have to happen before all those years of exposure to the ugly side of that religion is nullified even a little bit. 

Virtuality

Labels: - Monday, February 9, 2009

Something rather funny struck me today, and I don't mean funny - ha ha - I mean funny, cynically. I have managed to build up a bit of an Internet presence of late, and I've started interacting with many of my peers in India. 


Quite surprisingly, these are the same people that would have avoided me like the plague if they saw me in person. 

I love the Internet and the sort of secure anonymity it brings with it. There is a thin, yet solid, veneer between interacting people. And as a result, the emphasis is on the mind and not the physical attributes. 

When I'm spilling my guts here, or chattering away on Twitter, my readers (wow, that makes me sound so lofty!) don't see that I am fat, or that I have short curly hair. I think they see the lively interest in everything, the slightly ridiculous sense of humour, and the struggle with day-to-day existence. 

I do sometimes wish it was as simple in the 3-dimensional world. 

Lifeboat, someone?

Labels: , , -

I need a financial advisor. Free of charge that too. Plus someone I can trust.


(Right, there goes my chances of finding anyone. The first two criteria are somewhat feasible, the third is completely impossible.)

I don't trust anyone, anymore. (Barring three people of course.)

I don't know what has turned me off trusting people; perhaps it's the lead up to it. I need to care deeply for someone to trust, and caring deeply means letting down barriers 100%. Not something that comes easily to me.

Letting down barriers involves giving someone the tools to hurt you, and then trusting them not to. (Is it just me, or does that just sound silly?)

Anyway back to my financial quandary. My grandparents, in their infinite wisdom, invested a great deal of money in shares. They opened up fixed deposits, bank lockers and the whole works.

But they made the mistake of thinking they could handle it forever. Or that their daughters would know what to do. No handover.

Daughters, in their infinite laziness, decide that the only granddaughter is a real patsy, and needs to learn at some point of time, so why not drop her in at the deep end.

Hence I am flailing around helplessly, trying to make headway in the mountain of investments. I tried telling my mother something today, and it was water off a duck's back.

"I know you'll handle it. Don't bother telling me," she declared. I nearly blew a fuse. I mean, HELLO?!?!

Sigh.

It's perfectly useless, I just have to get on with good grace. I am just tired, hence the rant. Ignore me, I really do love the lazy daughters (or terrible twins, as I like to call them).

25 things you don't know about me

Labels: , - Sunday, February 8, 2009

I really wasn't tagged for this meme, but I have read a few and as a result, thoughts have been swirling in my brain. So I thought I would give it a whirl. (I really don't know about 25 things though.)


1. I have very low self-confidence and self-esteem. I am a shy and timid soul by nature, and most of my bravado or apparent confidence is the result of hours of agonising, and sheer willpower. I usually prefer being a wallflower than being in the spotlight.

2. I don't like alcohol, except in food. I didn't drink till very recently, and that too only because I wanted to be able to have a drink without making a face.

3. My bookshelves are stacked with books on philosophy, religion, natural healing, reiki, crystal therapy and spirituality. I gravitate towards those books in a bookstore.

4. I am extremely religious. I believe in my religion with deep devotion. I just don't tom-tom the fact. I believe that belief in God is very personal and private,

5. I am very close to my parents; I talk to them every single day without fail.

6.

7. I have blind faith in the people I love. I trust them to the point of being stupid.

8. I am very uncomfortable around children - especially since they always seem to come for me. (My mother finds this very amusing.)

9. I have had loads of miraculous experiences. All divine.

10. I am compulsively clean. I hate getting any part of my skin dirty. I also have a bath twice a day - without fail.

11. I am extremely active when asleep. I sleepwalk, sleeptalk and loads of other things as well.

12. I am half-Malayali, quarter-Kannadiga and quarter-Marathi. And my father has distilled British blood in him. I consider myself from Pune, although my home is in Mumbai, and I was born and bred in the United Arab Emirates.

13. I cannot have a crush on a married guy. It makes my skin crawl.

14. I was never considered stuck-up and bitchy till I came to India. I actually had the mistaken impression that people here were nicer than the ones abroad. I was horribly wrong. During my graduation years, I was horrified with the number of ghastly rumours about me. I used to cry about it, till I got used to it. I hated that college because I felt everyone hated me without even knowing me.

15. I love reading about history, culture, traditions and folklore. I have spent hours on the Internet reading Wikipedia.

16. I don't have a washing machine in my flat, and I don't have a maid because I travel a lot. So I do all my washing by hand myself. Including huge bedsheets and towels. I also clean my own house, and cook for myself.

17. I think my life is incredibly boring. I would like to travel and meet new people, but I live like a hermit instead.

18. I hate deleting messages. I only started doing that once I realised I needed the memory on my phone.

19. I have never studied for an exam for more than a day. I have failed only two exams - once in Arabic in high school (I wrote gibberish in my paper.) and once in Maths during graduation (The teacher was as good as a chimp.). I have never cheated on an exam, although I have helped loads of people to do so.

20. I love learning languages, but I can only speak English fluently. I get by with Marathi and Hindi, I have learnt French and I understand basic Spanish. I also could understand Tamil, Kannada, Malayam and Arabic but sadly I've lost touch.

[This is getting to be really hard!]

21. I used to draw cartoons when I was a teen; I had taught myself. I've forgotten that as well.

22. My swimming strokes are perfect, but I am terrified of being underwater. (I think I've watched too many Discovery programs.)

23. I do very stupid and embarrassing things when dared to do so. (And later live to regret it.)

24. I had to take a two years gap between school and college because of finances. I had admission offers from University of Kent and University of Warwick and couldn't go.

25. I could sense auras, and I tried training myself to heal as well. I was successful, but I stopped practising altogether because I started college.

[Wow, that was very difficult.] I don't want to tag anyone, so please tag yourselves if you want to do the meme, and leave a comment on this post with a link. I would love to read it.

What am I doing?!?!?

Labels: , , , -

Today is one of those days.


I have these fits of uncertainty and uncontrollable fear from time to time. They are usually caused by those times when I am having fun.

(I have a very slight masochistic streak. Ok, maybe 'very' and 'slight' aren't exactly true.)

I've often wondered why I took the leap from being a dyed-in-the-wool IT geek to becoming a writer. I had even picked the hardest elective during post graduation. My skills as an IT person are in great demand at the moment, because not many people have grid computing educational backgrounds.

But I, in all my youthful exuberance, decided to chuck over a job at EDS and launch a full-time writing career. Based on what?

Previously, one of those bogus writing agencies that pay a dollar for press release rewrites used to send me regular work. I took a lot of nonsense from them, just because I didn't know how the freelance writing industry worked. I used to rewrite upto 10 articles a day, which translated to 300 dollars a months. A lot of cash for a student. So I thought I could live on that.

Boy was I wrong.

So I applied for a job in a media company, and surprisingly, I got it. And I loved my job. But I was working long hours, plus I needed to keep up the freelancing just to make ends meet. By the end of the week, I was a train wreck. Additionally, my mother and grandmother kept falling very ill, and I had to rush off to look after them. Hardly feasible with a full time job. So I had to quit.

I got a few gigs as a freelancer, but I started discovering that the rates were pathetic. I was in serious depression by this time, as my grandmother had passed away, my mother wasn't handling it all that well and the burden of my grandparents' legacy fell on my very young, and very inexperienced shoulders.

Many months down the line, I have one gig that keeps the homestead running. But I worry about my choice. One in about 500 applications has a response. Mostly this is a direct result of lack of journalistic qualifications, and my nationality.

(For heaven's sake, please hire me! I've studied in the UK and I aced all my Pitman's English qualifications.)

Sorry. Couldn't help myself.

I'm not on the rocks by any means, but I seriously worry a lot. Plus the legacy isn't handling itself. I still devote a large chunk of my time trying to streamline an archaic bundle of investments.

On the upside (oh yes, there is an upside) I got a gig via my current one at Bright Hub. I write for their Symbian channel, and a phones site sent me a message asking whether I would be interested. Yay! Of course I'm interested!

Where do I sign?

Mouse in my house

Labels: , , , , - Saturday, February 7, 2009

(Apologies for the title. I cannot for the love of anything compose decent titles. They usually come off as bad puns.)


I was right to fear coming to this miserable city (Mumbai - for those of you who don't follow me on Twitter).

(Have I said how much I love Twitter? I do. So much. Total awesomeness. On so many levels.)

I came back yesterday to a house with inch-thick dust on everything, no food in the cabinets and, as I discovered later, a small very unwelcome visitor. The first two I could and did deal with, but the last one was a doozy. 

I have an all-abiding terror of all things small and rodent-like. I especially detest rats, although mice are cute from a long long (very very long) distance. They are like gerbils in a way, and I used to play with gerbils. (Not to cut to the end, but this is how I manage to stop shrieking hysterically.)

The mouse was playing (!!) in the bathroom, jumping from one pipe to another in (what I considered) highly inappropriate glee. Not only was the little menace in my house uninvited, it was actually making merry too. Thank goodness my dog isn't here - she would have made friends with it, I'm sure. (She really is very silly.)

I couldn't stay out of the bathroom area for long, for obvious reasons. So I mustered up a little courage, armed to the back teeth with a broom and bug spray (my reaction to all unwelcome guests) and additional stimulus being provided in needing to use the afore-mentioned facilities, I slowly approached the door. 

In a most dramatic way, I slowly slid the bolt, and opened the door by an infinitesimal crack. I peered in, hoping to see it so I could remove it altogether, and praying devoutly that it had already disappeared. 

Prayers were answered. It had gone.

Where - I don't know. Will it come back - I don't know. Where it came from - I don't know. Do I tremble every time I go in, and jump with fright at the merest brush - Absolutely.

Living-in

Labels: , - Friday, February 6, 2009

I have become a slave to my RSS reader; I don't think one day goes by without me checking it. And ironically, while I have a number of sensible tags like Technology and News, I have a tendency to cut right to my favourites, my blogroll. 


Most of the blogs (with a few exceptions) that I read are essentially the type as mine - they are entirely personal chronicles of people's lives. Interesting, humourous, sometimes sad, often frustrated, each post reveals a personal side to a complete stranger. 

And why on earth does that interest me?

I think it's because I end up finding a sentence or a post that resonates deeply with me. I find myself empathizing with the writer, and thinking, I am not the only one in the world that feels like that. A very reassuring and comforting thought. And more often than not, something I read in another blog sparks off a chain of thought that I can convert into a blog post myself. Pretty nifty I would say. 

So today, while trawling through various blogs (not ones on my list), I came across a post that irritated me. (Of course, otherwise I wouldn't have felt compelled to drop everything and write about it.)

It was about live-in relationships in India. 

Yikes. 

Written by an Indian male, the author himself admits to having double standards. (geez. Leaving the mud-slinging to me. I am exceptional good at it.)

To continue; he goes on to say he doesn't approve of live-in relationships and thinks they are reflective of a Western lifestyle that influences, yet has no place in, our culture. 

What nonsense. 

I wholeheartedly advocate live-in relationships. I have my mother to thank for that; she insists that I should live with a guy before marrying him. (Yeah, my mom is uber cool for a middle aged Indian lady.) Something about being able to withstand dirty smelly socks or something - she can be very funny at times. I know that I hang on to the beautiful traditions of my culture and religion, this doesn't become a culture issue at all for me. I would do it, given the opportunity.

Let me explain. 

I truly believe that marriage is a sacred union, and I wouldn't want my marriage to break apart under any circumstances. I am not a fan of serial marriages, while on the flip side, people can grow apart and that's okay too. But I want my marriage to be rock solid. And for my generation that is a pretty tall order. The easy way out has prevailed and very few people have the gumption to work at a relationship. 

So I'd rather have a strong base to build upon. But how do I get that?

Dating a guy for a certain number of years will only get me to a point; where I can say I know the person well. But will I be able to share the same living space with this person? Who knows?

My boyfriend and I don't have a live-in relationship by any means, but we have stayed with each other for short periods of time - a week to ten days or so. It has given us a vital glimpse into each other's characteristics. 

For example, he thinks I'm fanatical about cleanliness (I disagree of course, but that is a whole other issue altogether.) while I think he can be a total piglet. We argued about it, but eventually came to a common understanding. And this happened when we are still in that 'boyfriend-girlfriend' mode, so I didn't mutate into a nagging wife, nor he into an errant husband. 

It made a huge difference. 

As a result, we are both ready to get married. It isn't a plunge anymore, not remotely scary. It just has become the next natural step in our progressing relationship. Maybe we might end up living together for a while, and save up money to have a big wedding or buy a house together; I really don't know. 

But I know one thing for sure, I am ready to share my living space with this guy. And more importantly, he is willing to share his space with me. 

In Memoriam

Labels: , - Thursday, February 5, 2009

Yesterday I posted about my aunt's enduring grief over losing her pet, and today I thought I would write about how we got her in the first place. (I've had loads of pets over the course of my life, and each of them has a story.)


In the honour of a small white Maltese terrier.

I've been born and raised in the United Arab Emirates, and well, a great deal of my life happened there. My aunt had moved to Dubai when I was born, as she wanted to be closer to us. (Hence my oft-repeated lament of having two mothers to deal with.)

My aunt is mad about dogs. I too share her passion for dogs. She brought with her two dogs from India. And over the course of time, they passed away - leaving a great deal of pain. She, at the time, vowed never to have dogs again.

I had a dog and a few other miscellaneous pets at the time of this story. One of which was a green parrot with a red beak. I had fallen madly in love with this sorry little specimen of a parrot in a pet shop, and driven my mother to distraction till she bought it for me. It was really a miserable character - no feathers on its head (yeah, my parrot had a bald patch!), no tail, straggly wings and a ferocious bite. But I loved it, and it loved me.

Anyway, without lapsing into the story of my parrot, I went to a pet store to buy stainless steel feeding bowls. My mom and my aunt came as well, and of course I left the shopping to them and went looking for puppies. I stopped by a huge layered cage where a feisty little chihuahua was vociferously demanding my attention. I opened the grill and let the little thing out of the miserable cage. It was filthy, with droppings and all kinds of horrible (unmentionable) stuff.

After the chihuahua got out, I saw a tiny little mass of white huddled next to the grill. While my mother and aunt were fully occupied in playing with the chihuahua, I coaxed the little white ball out of the cage. It promptly curled up in my lap and licked my hand. I have a real soft spot for lame ducks, so I lavished attention on the little thing, being too young to realise that migh make matters worse for the mite when put back.

Time to leave, and we reluctantly put the two back into their miserable prison. I asked about the chihuahua, but it was already sold.

My aunt asked about the Maltese terrier and was given an exorbitant rate. My mother refused to pay that amount, since she knew the guy was swindling us.

We left the shop, only to hear a pitiful howling. And then my aunt snapped. All her willpower fled out the window. My mother and I went back to the shop to retrieve the dog, while he drove to the nearest ATM. Half an hour later, we were at her house bathing the Maltese terrier, Chickoo.

Chickoo almost died after we bought her, because she had worms in the tiny little body. But my aunt nursed her back to health. Soon she was a healthy happy little puppy.

My aunt also bought a kitten to keep her company, but that is another story altogether.

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