Being Tongue-in-Cheeky

Unusually tongue-tied

2011-09-24T23:55:00.000+05:30

That inexplicable feeling of utter weightlessness and suspension of all faculties when an unexpected encounter happens. Never mind that there is no relationship or even friendship to speak of.

That feeling that breathing has suddenly become a conscious activity, and the flutters that erupt in the chest. Never mind that we haven't spoken in months.

The split second of utter certainty that someone is meant for you, no matter what their/your relationship status happens to be - before the brain kicks in and tells you to stop being a fool.

The power of someone to unsettle you so much that three days later, he is still all you can think about. Never mind that logic is one of your strongest points.

This is not love. It is not infatuation. It is not attraction. It is not chemistry. Whenever I try and get this boy out of my system, he comes flooding into my life in the most unexpected ways. I haven't spoken to him as a friend in over a year. We admitted to having feelings for each other, and decided that they couldn't be acted upon. I imagine we are both doing the right thing by backing away.

Only thing is, I wonder if the expression on my face mirrors his when we see each other unexpectedly - the shock, the widened eyes, the sudden tenseness of all limbs. The conscious effort not to look like a gaping fool and attempt to utter a few words in English that are not drawn completely from random.

Who knew saying 'hi' could be so difficult?

Hitting the wrong target

2011-06-26T06:57:00.002+05:30

Note: I have been absent for a long time, so I figured I would put up my newspaper editorials as a meagre sop to my conscience. There are two types: ones that I write for Junior Herald, which is once a week, and the others which I write for the broadsheet, once a month.

Aditya Arya, new DGP of Goa police, remarked that if he was present in Balli, he would have ordered firing on the tribal protestors. I happened to be seated behind him at the time, and was part of the collective gasp that followed his comment. He may have explained, refined or even retracted his statement later, but the damage was done. The press, us included, have been hard on him; justifiably so, as a matter of fact. Why? Because his remarks hurt sentiments; inexcusable, regardless of whose sentiments they happen to be.

I apply the same logic to the controversial paintings of the late M F Hussain. People have argued artistic license and creative freedom till they were blue in the face, but the fact remains that his depictions of the Hindu goddesses Sita and Saraswati, hurt those of us who revere them.

To draw upon a simple analogy, which one of us, irrespective of caste, creed or religion, would like to see our mothers painted in that fashion? None of us, and yet Hindus who worship Sita as the epitome of motherhood are expected to swallow nude paintings of her without an objection. Personally, I find that unreasonable, and while I certainly did not celebrate his death, I found myself entirely indifferent to it.

When recounting this to someone, they then said me it was unfair to judge a person on the basis on a few misguided examples of his work. M F Hussain was a revolutionary figure in the industry of Indian art, and his contributions shouldn’t be forgotten. True, I replied, but the man lost my respect when he displayed such flagrant disregard for the sentiments of others. Just because he has a certain societal standing, doesn’t give him license to be careless of other people.

As a matter of fact, M F Hussain’s standing should have been the very factor that compelled him to exercise more discretion. The same applies to Aditya Arya; as a figurehead of sorts, he not only represents his own views but is effectively speaking on behalf of the Goa police. How could he be so wantonly careless? Or was that really the message he wanted to send to the tribal folk?

Effective communication is crucial, and shooting one’s mouth off in the heat of the moment rarely brings about happy consequences. And frankly, it is not restricted to just public figures; a number of misunderstandings would be avoided if people embraced the concept of careful thought before speaking. Additionally, if we stopped to consider how hurtful words can be, we wouldn’t unleash them with so much uncontrolled ferocity. I don’t know who once said that words were like arrows, once shot they could never be taken back; and like arrows they have the ability to wound and sometimes kill, though not in such a literal sense.

All of which leads me to the sad belief that human sentiments are not considered important any more. Unfortunately, we live in a society that is transactional and symbiotic, and no man can really live, in the true sense of the word, without other beings. So how do we co-exist harmoniously and productively in an environment such as this? The answer is quite simple: as of now we cannot; and until we all undertake to change, we will not.

No answers, No questions

2011-04-29T14:56:00.003+05:30

In my usual headlong and heedless fashion, I've managed to convey an impression far from what I was feeling. Yesterday's post was all about how I was in a difficult position - and looking back, I am appalled and ashamed that that was the thought uppermost in my mind.

The true reason for my immense disquiet was actually a deep sense of sadness. A person I cared about was in a rough position, but I was not in a position to help. The reasons for this are multiple and highly complex - but the fact remains that I AM SAD.

I also feel sad for the other people involved, and for the deep trauma they are undergoing or going to undergo. I see a relationship that has broken down, and a lack of clarity and maturity to fix it. I am afraid of the consequences if irrevocable steps are taken and lives are damaged as a result.

Like I said before, life has never been a cakewalk for me - but I've managed to stay positive most of the time. When this hit me out of the blue, I confess I was really upset and I did NOT handle it well. To the person who confided in me, my last post would have given the impression of resentment. I am profoundly sorry about that - there is no resentment AT ALL. Please forgive me.

I wish I had the answers; hell, sometimes knowing the right questions would be a start. My only recourse now is to pray very hard that people who have lost each other find ways to be together again.

God, you'd better be listening. You freakin' owe me.

Life? Take a breather already.

2011-04-28T17:54:00.002+05:30

I have spent a nerve-racking day, trying to figure how to tackle a difficult situation. The situation is NOT of my making, and yet I have the most to lose by it. However, for the sake of everyone involved I can't talk about said situation here. All I can talk about is why I am currently so close to tears.

I am a private person. In the sense that I share my life's joys with the world - mostly anyway. I present a genuinely smiling face to everyone around me. I crack jokes, play the fool, work hard and enjoy life. But heck, that doesn't mean my life is easy - this couldn't be further away from the truth.

My life lacks stability. It lacks security. And that, my friends, is just the tip of the iceberg.

Today I listened to someone worry about his world crashing down around him - as though I have all the answers and somehow my perfect little life would rub off on him; little knowing that is the state of my life every. single. day.

Not that I didn't sympathise, but the situation was such that any help I extended to him would have looked inappropriate. And if everything was out in the open, it would have damaged my working environment severely.

The reason I am so close to tears is that there is no way I can feel 100% comfortable with the outcome. I believe in being above board always, and I have had to choose a path that I am not happy having chosen.

I am not making any sense; not even to myself. Although I sometimes wish I could hide away in a corner, and let the world pass me by. It is tiring being strong and weathering all the crap that life throws at one. And believe me, while I am grateful for the beauty in my life, there is HELLUVA lot of crap that life has seen fit to shovel into my lap.

Leave me alone already. Tired of being a cosmic punching bag.

Take that, Dog

2011-04-12T07:19:00.000+05:30

Believe me, any recriminations that anyone else has to offer regarding posting to the blog can wait in line behind me - I have gazed mournfully at my blog once or twice in the last month, but I think about updating every single day. I have loads to tell the dear blog frankly, and I don't want to let it go like I have ever other time that life has managed to overwhelm me.

Last night I decided that today needed to be a new start. I had gotten into the habit of sleeping very late, getting up mid-morning (at 8) and therefore getting into work really late. As a natural consequence, I have started staying in the office till 8 - by which time it is crawling with lizards, and my nerves are frayed to breaking point. So I decided to get up early, so I went to bed at 10:30 last night.

Best. Decision. Ever.

I woke up, bright and shiny, only to realise that I needed to let the dog out before I could water the terrace plants. I padded down to the parents' room, and saw one small black nose emerging from under a pile of blankets. Quelle surprise.

I prodded. Poked. Hissed. Whispered. Shook. All to no avail - she didn't even open her eyes. I shall but glance briefly on the sonorous yet rhythmic noise emanating from her throat. The pain jsut wasn't waking up.

Finally I ripped the blankets off her, only to be rewarded with the flicker of opening eyelids and the blissful cessation of afore-mentioned noise - which was promptly replaced with a warning growl.

To which I raised an eyebrow, and lugged her off the bed. And dumped her (carefully) on the floor. And grinned.

Hustled a protesting cocker spaniel up two flights of stairs and ushered her out into the dewy morning outside.

Take that, dog, for waking me up at the odd hours of morning just to be let out, and then do nothing while I sleepily prop myself against the door-jamb. The number of times I have hauled my butt out of my cosy bed to lift her sorry bottom onto my bed, only to have her curl up on the very spot I have just vacated, because it is the warmest. The innumerable occasions where I have woken because a freezing nose was shoved into my neck, demanding cuddles and covers - and then subsequently reawakening shivering, only to realise the dog has appropriated all the blankets and I am left with nary a stitch of blanket.

Revenge is sweet.

Somewhere I Belong

2011-03-07T14:06:00.004+05:30

Yesterday I had a great conversation with the mother and the aunt, reminiscing about our life back in Dubai. For those people who are new here (Hello! *waves*), I spent the first 19 years of my life out of India. Since that post, I have moved to Goa, gotten a full-time job at a newspaper and well, split up with the boyfriend I was CONVINCED I was going to marry.

Getting back to my conversation with my folks, I was recounting a particularly amusing incident that had happened to mom and me, as we were migrating back to India.

Our last few years in Dubai were financially difficult for us, and because of a whole bunch of reasons, we had to come back in an amnesty. So to get our butts back to the motherland, we had to have our expired visas cancelled by the authorities. The process for this was not complicated, but it was separate for men and women. So one fine morning, Mom and I went to the immigration department in Dubai to get our visas cancelled.

Without meaning to be class-ist or full of myself, we didn't fit the mould of the average defaulter. So basically when we were in line, we stood out like sore thumbs amongst the housemaids, gardeners, cleaners and so on. We waited quietly in line, and I was holding passports.

My passport was a modest 2 booklets, because I was only 19 at the time. Mom's, on the other hand, had 4 booklets. Don't even get me started on Dad's passport. I was holding both passports together, when one of the surtas (cops) saw my hand and exclaimed loudly.

She called us up to the table, and asked with incredulity: "YOU two want amnesty?? And for God's sake, HOW many of you all are there?"

A little confused, I replied: "I have only two passports."

She snorted: "These are just two passports? How long have you people lived here?"

Mom: "26 years."

Her jawed literally dropped open. She halted the queue (hard to believe she was from UAE, she was behaving just like an Indian government official), and called her colleagues together.

They jabbered in Arabic for a while, examined the passports carefully. All I understood were the exclamations of astonishment. By this time, Mom and I were fighting to stay serious. The whole situation was ridiculous.

One of the cops turned to me and then said: "But you were born in Sharjah! You are a UAE national. Why the hell are you going back?"

We laughed, answered their questions and finished the formalities. It lightened up a considerably stressful day. We were guests in someone else's country after all, nothing could change that.

Returning to India gave us peace. No visas, no hassles - as far as we were concerned. We settled down to our lives here. When my Dad moved to Goa, we followed, and after a long LONG time, the family was together again.

When I was in Pune, I heard a lot of nonsense about "Maharshtra for the Maharashtrians". None of my contemporary Marathis subscribed to this philosophy. I figured they were uncouth and ridiculous people.

I visited Bangalore, where someone categorically told us that they wanted no more people to move to the state. WTF? (Just as an aside, I have Kannadiga blood in me too.)

But the worst was reserved for Goa. Up to this point, all this happened to OTHER people - at least in India. I still considered myself an Indian - after all, what choice do I have with my parentage?

Somebody in Goa called me a migrant. I was stunned. A migrant? Till I realised that the Goans don't want us here. I considered settling down in Goa, but now I am completely against it. I don't want to stay anywhere where I am not wanted.

(PS: Title is one of my favourite songs by Linkin Park)

Dinosaurs and Laptops

2011-03-07T13:58:00.002+05:30

February was crazy, and the worst part is that I can't remember a thing of importance that happened. I just remember rushing back and forth from work and home, getting chores done in the market and that's about it.

The only truly monumental occurrence was that we finally bought mom a laptop. She was using an old one of mine, and to say it was feeble is giving it way too much credit.

What really thrilled me is that I effectively bought the computer for her. In my household, whatever Dad, Mom and I earn goes into a common kitty. Therefore, although I am drawing a fairly good salary with essentially ZERO expenses, I ask my dad for spending money. (Which I love - because I feel like his little girl still - and he loves too, for the same reason.) But in spite of the common kitty, I told Mom that I would pay the credit card bill next month. Feels so good to be able to do that. Just saying.

I have a few posts planned to talk about the Carnival, but those will have to wait till I have a little more breathing space.

Detachment FAIL.

2011-01-22T19:58:00.001+05:30

My mother very kindly calls me an emotional garbage bin because people find it easy to confide in me. Previously I used absorb their emotions, and feel equally high or low (as the case may be) as a result.

Not so any longer. To retain a shred of sanity, it behooves me to maintain an emotional buffer. That doesn’t mean I am not empathetic, but it does mean I manage to stay sane.

Which is why at work I have refrained from becoming pals with the people here. Not that I don’t like them, but I am wary of forging friendships that may go awry. (And with my track record of friends? They WILL go awry.) So I am pleasant to everyone; I laugh, chat and joke; I even meet them outside office occasionally; but to none of them to I actually confide. Therefore the relationship remains friendly-professional (much like smart-casual).

Which is why I was so surprised with what happened yesterday.

I was watching my team executing some work. I happened to pass an offhand comment about how chilly it was because of the air-conditioning. They agreed and the discussion veered towards something else.

One of the designers was looking for images on the Internet, and she suddenly thrust her fingers into my hand and remarked, “See how cold my fingers are!”

I rather bemusedly agreed, because as a team we were not given to sudden displays like that. (Remember the status quo I mentioned before? Yeah.) As soon as she took her hand out of mine, another team member held my hand and proclaimed how cold her hands were as well.

It was unexpected, but spontaneous and really lovely. It made me smile. And then it struck me that these girls treat me as some sort of mother hen. They come into my office at a drop of a hat, and for the most ridiculous of reasons. I certainly don’t mind, but it does surprise me.

Why? Because I am only a year older than one, and 2 years older than the other.

My Pillar of Strength

2011-01-21T14:39:00.001+05:30

With all the disasters happening around the world, I have encountered a number of people who question my unflinching faith in God – “How can you believe in an Almighty who has the power to stop this kind of suffering, but does not wield it?”

My answer is simple: “Easily.”

It wasn’t always that pat though; what I believe today is a conclusion arrived at after much deliberation, reading, counseling from masters and gurus, and finally understanding a fragment of Hindu philosophy.

In my religion, the soul is considered to be pure. It has one goal, and that is to realize that there is really no concept of duality and to merge with the infinite divine. The soul has a learning curve that is analogous to our schooling here on Earth, and a soul’s classes become lifetimes. However, unlike the arbitrary regimen put upon children, a soul is able to chart out their lessons in a lifetime, and accordingly sets up situations to help him along the way. These situations are like examinations, and passing them successfully indicates a lesson well-learnt.

Consider a thought – there are many times when I have felt faced with the same situation over and over again, albeit with different characters and places. Until I changed my reaction to these situations, I found myself encountering them again and again and again. Once I dealt with said situation from a position of strength, they never arose again. The lesson was evidently learnt.

Therefore I have no trouble in believing in God, nor in his encompassing love. One of my biggest lessons is to be careful when wishing – in my experience, if something is in your best interest, it will happen regardless of wishes. I have had wishes granted, only to regret ever asking for them.

Perfection

2011-01-16T11:43:00.001+05:30

I love my job (not the working culture, the nincompoops I deal with or the lack of process - but the actual JOB) but I do look forward to the occasional day off. I say 'occasional' because I rarely get a Sunday completely to myself at home, regardless of good intentions.

Today started off on an awesome note, and I really hope the awesomeness continues into the day/week/month/year.

1. Got up late this morning. (8:45 am, in case anyone was wondering)

2. Crawled out of bed and padded my way two flights of stairs, to see mom still cuddled up under the covers with the cocker spaniel and dad just disappearing into the bathroom. Mom was complaining bitterly that he woke up and therefore she now feels guilty about lolling around. I, of course, felt no such guilt and promptly jumped into my dad's spot for a quick snooze. Bliss.

3. Cocker spaniel had other plans, and therefore decided that since my face was accessible to her, she must give it a thorough washing. She was unceremoniously shoved away, and dragged into mom's arms for a cuddle. Happy me, happy mom and happy dog.

4. Dad comes out of the bathroom, and mom gets up grumbling. I ignore all such happenings, and the dog escapes from mom's clutches to come and snuggle against my face. My face is now full of soft cocker spaniel fur. Love it.

5. Surface about 5 minutes later and hug father, amidst loud complaints that it is HIS room and HIS bed and she is HIS wife, and what right did I have to come in the middle? Smile seraphically at annoying father and amble into the cold to play with gambolling puppies. Heaven.

6. Play with puppies for a few minutes, and then get into long chat with neighbour about said puppies, my newspaper, the Hanuman chalisa and various other issues. Fun.

7. Amble back into the house, only to find father has disappeared to get milk and bread from the shops. Hinder mother's bed-making by jumping on half-made bed and encouraging cocker spaniel to do so as well. Then proceed to complain loudly as both of us are thrown out of the bedroom and the door is locked behind us. Grin.

8. Dance around the kitchen to cheesy Bollywood tunes blaring from the kitchen speakers. Yes, we have speakers in the kitchen. No, I will not explain. Yes, I can be bribed to explain.

9. Get handed some more work by the father. Demand exorbitant payment to do said work. Get backed up by tiny mother. Outnumber father. Girlie power, yay!

'Nice Kid'

2011-01-09T01:58:00.001+05:30

One of the more annoying things about being a blogger is to have interesting stuff to post, and not having time to write about it. (Because the two are usually directly related.) Then to add insult to injury, taking out the time to write about afore-mentioned interesting stuff yields nothing because you've forgotten what it is you wanted to blog about.

Or at least that what usually happens to me. Today is no exception.

Lots of interesting stuff has happened to me over the past few months. I've introduced my readers to the idiot that is J, his charming partner A, and various other characters. I have resolutely refused to post about work, because let's face it - I don't want to ruffle any feathers. Plus I try and maintain a cordial working relationship with everyone, no matter what my personal opinion happens to be.

But today I make an exception, because the incident is harmless, and well, it just jolted me slightly. Not in a bad way - merely surprising. Maybe I am making too much of it, but then you can be the judge of that.

I was meant to interview someone this morning, with the view of hiring a reporter for my team. I desperately need help with the content, especially since I have very active involvement in the design process (mainly because I want to assure myself of it being perfect). I met the candidate, and frankly I thought she was pleasant, willing to work, had a good command over the language and was a good fit in my team. I was a little uncertain about her expectations, as she would have preferred to work in the features section and wanted minimal travelling. But on the whole, I was happy about her coming to work for my team, provided she actually wanted to, of course. (I want willing subordinates who are as invested in making the product successful as I am.)

I took her down to the HR department, and left her to their devices. She then met up with one of the new editors of the newspaper, who had just joined himself the same day.

Later on in the afternoon, I came out of my office and was accosted by a pleasant, silver-haired man. He smiled at me, and asked me whether I was Karishma by any chance. Turns out, he was the new editor. I had heard he was joining, so I was actually pleased to meet him.

We exchanged civilities and I prepared to move away. He then recalled my attention, saying that he met the candidate from the morning. He said that she was pleasant and would be good for the paper. I agreed with him, and we discussed her abilities a little further. He finally ended with, "... and she seems a nice kid."

I just nodded and moved away. In the hierarchy of the organization, this silver-haired gentleman and I are possibly at the same level. Along with the magazine editor, and another new editor (that is a whole other post!), there are four people on that level. We all report to the main editor, although he interferes very little with the day-to-day running of the papers.

The other three individuals are ALL older than me. And the funny part? The candidate I interviewed in the morning was exactly a month younger than me. So if she's a 'nice kid', what on earth does that make me?

Guilt-free Trip Down Memory Lane

2011-01-07T20:27:00.000+05:30

When I was dating my exes, occasionally I would remember my first boyfriend. Well, technically he was the second, but then again the actual first was a total wash-out. So NAM was whom I considered by first real boyfriend. I would feel horribly guilty, because whenever I thought of him, there was a wistfullness that crept into my mind. He and I were so good together - we laughed, we quipped merrily away, and we were so young. But it was a doomed relationship from inception because he was a Arab Muslim and I was an Indian Hindu - and never then twain shall meet. (Although he was rather liberal in his outlook.)

However, I am not going to dwell on the pitfalls and the eventual demise of our short relationship, but more on the parts that still make me smile when I think of him. He had to be the most intelligent, romantic, exciting, charming individual I had ever met. He was kind and sweet, and he had a roguish twisted grin that used to melt female hearts left, right and centre. His jet-black hair flopped cheekily over his brow, and he had the most chocolate-y brown eyes I had ever seen. It was no exaggeration that he could have had any girl in the entire college, but for some bizarre reason decided I was the one for him.

There was the complication that my best friend at the time was completely bowled over by him. It also helped significantly that she was also Arab and Muslim. I really didn't think I stood a chance with such a dazzling character, so I didn't try. (I was seriously overweight and had hair that went beyond my knees. DWEEB!) Oh and I was all of 15, whereas both of them were 18.

I suppose we started becoming friends because we lived near each other. I would spend hours after class in the IT centre, and he would be hanging around as well. Just goes to show how incredibly innocent I was that I never thought it was odd that his and my work finished at the same time. I lived about 45 minutes away by foot, and I used to walk that distance (I was in England, and I loved the countryside). He had a bicycle, and again it never occurred to me that it was odd that he pushed it all the way home. Just to walk alongside me.

I still remember the day we actually started dating. He had been coming over and spending time with me, watching stupid movies and chatting into the small hours of the night. My best friend obviously didn't appreciate our budding friendship, and talked to me at great length about how she and NAM were dating and hitting it off so well. It never struck me to consider WHEN they were actually dating. I was such a DUMB kid. The feelings continued to develop and I continued to deny they existed. I had only confided in my landlady's daughter.

One evening, NAM and I had had a small argument - which I can't even remember right now. He called me up saying he had something to say to me. I stood on the porch in the freezing cold and waited for him. He showed up, and stood making small talk. I was so mad that I didn't want to invite him in, but the daughter overruled me. (She was really fond of him.)

The mother and daughter pair were going out, so they were off getting ready. NAM and I sat watching TV, and I refused to speak to me. (Yes, I am aware that was infantile, but 'poise' wasn't in my dictionary at that time.) Stacey hung around trying to get us to talk, till she lost her temper with me altogether. It was her belief that NAM fancied me, not my friend and therefore I should tell him I liked him too. (She was a much smarter 11 year-old than I was a 15 year-old.)

Finally she and her mother were leaving, and she left with the parting shot that maybe I stood tell him that I fancied a bloke. I couldn't believe my ears, and I stared at the shut door in abject horror as she winked out of sight. I mustered up every inch of courage and looked at NAM, and I remember squeaking out, "Didn't you want to tell me something?"

Every trace of the grin habitually on his face had been wiped off. He replied, "Yes, but who is the guy that you fancy?"

Me: "That's irrelevant. What did you come to tell me?"

NAM: "You first."

Even after that tell-tale remark, it didn't strike me that he had come to tell me he liked ME. I cringe at my stupidity.

I looked at the carpet for approximately half an hour, while there was pin-drop silence in the room. Finally I realised he wasn't leaving without an answer, and wanting desperately for the earth to swallow me up, I blurted out that I liked him.

Again with the pin-drop silence.

And then a few seconds later, I was pressed up against NAM, looking up into his smiling face and doubting my hearing because he whispered, "Me too." in my ear.

Random thoughts in the Morning

2011-01-06T11:04:00.001+05:30

1. I feel gift-wrapped this morning, because I’ve tied a ribbon around my neck in a big floppy bow.

2. My dad said I look like a kitten because of above-mentioned bow, and I have realised that cat/kitten/feline or some synonym thereof is a pretty popular way to describe me. I cannot fathom why though.

3. The inability to sleep is making my eye twitch uncontrollably and constantly. It’s ridiculous and feels like my eyelid has morphed into a butterfly.

4. I am stressed out about the 12 pages supplement I am coming out with tomorrow. 4 additional pages, without any additional help.

5. I let J goad me into verbal warfare again yesterday. Although I deleted him off Facebook, I felt bad and added him back. The tu-tu-main-main went on for 50 comments, out of which only 3 were not by J or me.

6. It is the most fun thing in the world to imitate my dad. He looks so astounded and helpless and speechless that the rest of us collapse into uncontrollable giggles. I especially love it when he looks at my mother in mute entreaty. She can’t help grinning. It’s so funny.

7. My mother actually said to me that she has stopped watching television because my life is more exciting. And the sad part is that she is the third person to say something along those lines.

8. I am utterly SICK of Tata Indicom and their highly inefficient systems and processes. I have never experienced this level of sheer negligence. I am actually considering taking them to consumer court. (PS: I just received a call from them, therefore I am furious. This wasn’t an original ‘random’ thought. It actually deserves a post all its own.)

In Training for Motherhood

2011-01-04T22:42:00.002+05:30

My blog seems to be a running commentary on my experiences with J, even though initially I thought I would refrain from posting too much about that idiot. However, till the madness runs its course, I'm afraid my readers are in for the next instalment of J-related craziness.

I mentioned a while ago that I have not been getting much sleep recently. This is mainly because I have been super-hyped up since new year's. There are a number of ideas going through my head, and they all seem to be materialising at the same time. So I have had some serious sleep issues, which in turn has resulted in an odd mix of exhaustion, exhilaration, over-productivity and a very brittle snapping point.

Frankly, I haven't snapped anyone's head off - except J's. And he jolly well asked for it. Today I was not in the mood to dealing with tantrums, and as usual that's EXACTLY what I was treated to. So J got the tongue-lashing of the year.

I'm not going to detail the minutiae of the encounter, because it's not really that interesting (I think this post is already beyond recall as it is). However, I do like the fact that I gave it good to him today.

I have also deleted him off Facebook, thereby ending his ridiculous obsession with keeping track of my life. He knows about this blog, but doesn't have the patience to read it. Thank goodness for small mercies.

Perhaps this is finally the end of J's saga.

Peter Pan Complex

2011-01-03T23:09:00.001+05:30

Today has been quite the day for posting, but as it is painfully obvious - I've had a nerve-racking day altogether. So I honestly shouldn't be surprised when the uncomfortable 'business' meeting wasn't the end of my misery for the day.

I trod to a nearby cafe that serves fresh juice. J and I used to go there all the time because it is very close to my office. I sat down to enjoy my orange juice when I see I had missed a call from J.

Brilliant, I thought. The 'bye forever' stance didn't last very long. Sighing at my deep-seated masochism, I rung him up.

J: "Why have you taken me off?"

K, seriously at the end of her tether and extremely tetchy, not in the mood for theatrics and tantrums: "What the hell are you on about now?"

J: "Facebook! You've deleted my off Facebook. I'm so sick of this. Why do you love pissing me off so much? I'm tired."

K: "Listen, you stupid moron. I wasn't angry with you, I didn't throw a stupid tantrum in the morning, and I wasn't the one who decided to end our friendship. That was ALL you. I have no reason to delete you, except that you are currently irritating the crap out of me. Last time I disappeared from your friend list because your darling wife deleted me. And then blocked me as well. So before you make ridiculous accusations, check your privacy settings."

J: "Fine! I'll check and call you back."

No response for a while. I sighed and called him again. I wanted to finish this little drama before I returned to the office.

K: "Figured it out yet?"

J: "No. But I'm sure you did something."

K: "You are juvenile and infantile, and I made the gross mistake of thinking you were intelligent. You are clearly stupid, because if I wanted to block you, I wouldn't have logged into your account - since I can do it just as easily from mine. Additionally, I don't know your login information. I'm seriously exhausted with your nonsense, so I suggest you refrain from calling me until you GROW UP!"

I had about 6 hours of peace and quiet, and just work. I attempted to stay awake the whole day, getting a great deal accomplished nonetheless.

In the evening, J calls again.

In a exceedingly sheepish tone of voice, J: "You were right, you were on my block list. But I didn't do it. I can't understand how it happened."

K, tired out: "What difference does it make? You didn't want to talk to me every again, remember?"

J: "I was just upset."

K: "Yes, and you say whatever the hell you want. You blame everybody else for the consequences of your actions. You are blaming me because of your situation with A, because you don't have the gumption to admit that you no longer want to honour the commitment you made to her. Start taking responsibility for your actions, and stop behaving like a whiny, badly-behaved infant."

J: "Don't fight with me, I'm not well. I'm sick. And I'm sick of my life."

K: "The only person who has the power to change your life, is YOU. And quit your whining. I'm not 100% either. I have averaged about 4 hours sleep a day since New Year's. On top of which, I got only 2 hours sleep last night. I'm tired and exhausted and frankly not in the mood for you arrant nonsense."

J, in a very small voice: "My stomach hurts."

K: "Should've eaten something then. You need a full medical, but telling you to get one is utterly pointless. Do what you want, but stop blaming me for the unpleasant and unpalatable consequences of your actions."

J: "Sorry."

Dealing with J is like handling an extremely badly-behaved child. The fact of the matter is that he is not MY child and therefore not my responsibility. I wish that would penetrate his stupid skull.

More Madness

2011-01-03T14:57:00.001+05:30

One of my friends wished me health, wealth, happiness and sanity this new year’s. I wonder whether I should expect the the first three at all, considering it is day three of 2011 and my sanity is hanging by a precarious thread.

I would like to apologise to my readers, because I try and keep the tone of my blog lighthearted and upbeat, because my sense of humour usually comes to my rescue with weird situations. However, this time it has failed, and I have the uncomfortable sensation of drowning.

(This lapse of humour is largely due to severe insomnia last night, where I must’ve slept for all of 2 hours. I gave up trying to sleep at 5, got out of bed, wrote an article for a client, watered the plants, filled up the water bottles, played with the puppies outside, teased the father and dog, exercised, had a bath, got dressed and got my butt to work. Also, I had a lengthy meeting with my designer, in an effort to bring her up to speed with the latest developments of our newspaper. So, in short, I am effing knackered.)

I was getting merrily on by, when J picked a fight with me because of the stunt I pulled on New Year’s. I should’ve known I would pay dearly for that moment of fun. *sigh*

So anyway, last night we (the family) went out to a restaurant that I’ve been meaning to visit for a while. As an unrelated aside, J is distantly related to the owner. The owner turned out to be a charming individual, who hit it off instantly with my folks. It so transpired that his wife is a pediatrician, and dabbles in child psychology. So of course my mother was jumping for joy, because I have been on the lookout for one for my paper.

So I make plans to meet up with him the next day, as I didn’t have my card or phones on me to exchange contact information. So this afternoon, after the fight with J, I trudged off to the restaurant.

To be greeted very warmly by this person, and kissed on both cheeks and pulled into a tight hug. The part of me that has been severely damaged by the touchy-feely ‘uncles’ in my past recoiled a little. (I’m not over-reacting – this was a BUSINESS meeting.)

I sat down at the table, and we proceeded to exchange life stories. To say I was a little thrown is the understatement of the year. I was racking my brains as to how I could steer the conversation to the all-important newspaper – which was the reason I was there in the first place.

I did somehow manage to do that, but the conversation was peppered with gratuitous compliments that made me VERY uncomfortable. He also asked searching questions about my ‘relationship’ with J, and I couldn’t put him off without sounding horribly rude. He was a kindly gentleman after all.

Until I came to the part where I told him I broke it off with J after I found out about A. To which he calmly replied, “But that shouldn’t stop you.”

I did a credible job of preventing my eyes from starting from my head, but there is so much endurance a human being has – because wild horses couldn’t have restrained my tongue from saying, “It certainly did! I don’t get involved in situations like this!”

To which he shrugged nonchalantly and said, “Well, my wife and I have a very open relationship. We are individuals, we perform our responsibilities and we lead free lives.”

Okay. Karishma Sundaram is officially ready to bolt. She laughs uncomfortably, and somehow steers the conversation back to J, because that was actually the LESS awkward one.

(The life I lead is BEYOND ridiculous.)

I tell him that I expect honesty in any relationship, and J should’ve told me about his previous involvement with A before embroiling me in this mess. To which he replies with a grin, “It’s not hard to see why he must’ve been blown away by just looking at you. I reckon it would beyond anybody’s control not to fall instantly in love with you.”

I squeaked out a ‘thank you’ while my soul was cringing in horror. I made a big production about going back to the office and having lots of work. It still took me another half an hour to extricate myself from there though. There were more random remarks that made my skin crawl, including ones like, “Do give me a call if you ever fancy a drive.” or “Anything you need at all, please let me know.” and "not to forget, “Oh you are so close by, you must drop in frequently.”

Can someone please tell me WHY this happens to me?

Singledom

2011-01-03T12:31:00.001+05:30

I’ve always been kind of, sort of flaky. Not in the important aspects of life, but more with what I want. Food, for example, is one these aspects. I will swing wildly from eating only vegetables and fruits for days on end (and loving it) to thoroughly detesting the sight of any fruit (this doesn’t apply to vegetables ‘cause I love ‘em).

The reason I am bringing this charming quality in myself is because I have just gone from an unbelievable high, right down into the depths of despair. A few posts back, I mentioned that when J brought A to my dad’s hotel it bothered me – and at the time I didn’t know why.

Now I do: I was lonely.

The last few years have brought a great deal of heartbreak for me. Breaking up with my ex last year nearly annihilated me, to the extent that I took months to stop crying myself to sleep every night. I swore off guys after I got a semblance of sanity back into my existence.

I didn’t want a relationship, because in my head boys that I loved only brought pain into my life. So I associated romance and love with pain. Lots of pain.

Then since June, God has seen fit to thrust guys into my life in one unattainable sequence. They gave me lots of confidence, no doubt, because they blatantly displayed their attraction for me. They claimed to love me. In spite of all my previous heartbreak, I felt one small kernel of my heart responding. And that was the chink in my armour that let the pain come flooding back into my life.

I am over J, without a doubt. But he was so charming, so amazing, so loving initially. He claimed to love me so much. He looked at me with blatant need. It melted the stone walls around my heart.

I was so stupid.

Because by letting down the walls, I got SO badly hurt that I still recoil from the pain of it all. The deep sense of betrayal, and the icky feeling that has somehow latched itself into my skin.

And yet on New Year’s Eve, I watched A go up to J because he was hers. And I felt a shard of pain twist itself into my heart.

I was alone.

****************************************************

Added later:

This morning I logged into Facebook from the office, and the first thing that I see is that “J is married to A”.

He comes online on chat, and pings me after a few minutes: “Are you ignoring me?”

K: “No, why would I ignore you?”

J: “I’m mad at you. You did such a good job with the introductions, that I am marrying her.”

K: “I wasn’t wrong, was I? You ARE married to her. So sayeth your FB profile.”

J: “Yeah I changed that this morning. Anyway, leave it. This is all your fault. Bye forever.”

K: “My fault??? How?”

J: <no response>

K: “Fair enough. Lots of love to you and A. Have a nice life.”

Catching Up

2011-01-02T01:54:00.000+05:30

I'm one of those strange people that keeps in touch with their exes - mainly because although my break-ups are painful and riddled with tears, they are never because I've fallen 'out' of love. So I give myself time to get over the boy in question, and then we become friends again.

My previous relationship was very serious, to the extent that we started thinking of getting married soon. It didn't work out, and the break-up was agonizing. But all that was over a year ago. Now we are GOOD friends.

Akshay came over to Goa for New Year's and I caught up with him yesterday. It was tremendous fun - we walked around Calangute for a while, and then finally had an early dinner at Infantaria.

Then I proceeded to buy an obscene amount of sweets for home, but that's a whole other story.

What I ended up taking away from the experience was that I have become a confident, mature human being and quite capable of handling a number of social 'situations' which would ordinarily have floored me.

I'm growing, I think.

How to Bring in the New Year with a Cracker

2011-01-01T12:56:00.001+05:30

New Year’s is always a special time of year, with new beginnings and a hope-filled vision of the future taking precedence over mostly everything.

This year was no different – it was fabulous. My family and I went to one of my Dad’s hotels to bring in the new year. The hotel is in Baga, Goa, and there was a great party planned. It was tremendous fun, even the part where we spent close to 3 hours in traffic to get our butts there. The party was awesome, the DJ was competent (which is a LOT considering the kind of music one usually hears) and the food was yum.

J was there too, because my dad had hired him to provide security. He called me about 20 times from 11 onwards (when we were still in the car) asking where the hell we were, because he had been planning to leave. We arrived and being the colossal idiot that he is, hugged my mother, nodded to my aunt, and COMPLETELY ignored me. To be fair, I was so preoccupied with talking to my dad, I didn’t notice him come and go. We really are a ridiculous pair.

Anyway, after bringing in the new year on the dance floor, my mom and aunt returned to our table, while I stood watching the fireworks. And who should I see at the bar? A.

I wasn’t as surprised as I should have been, considering he specifically said he was NOT bringing her – but that is J all over. Full of hot air and, well, crap. She didn’t see me, thankfully, and she went back to a boozing J on the dance floor.

Frankly this whole thing shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did. I don’t even know why, but it did. I gave myself a very stern talking to, and by and large I was back to normal.

After about an hour, mom wanted to stroll around, so we walked towards the entrance of the hotel. I espied A filling up a plate at the buffet, and I figured I can rise above my irrational irritation at having her there. It was new year’s after all. So I went up behind her, and tapped her on the shoulder. I felt a little better about myself that my smile and wishes were genuine, because I honestly don’t wish this girl any ill-will. I introduced her to mom as ‘A’ and we proceeded on our ramble.

While walking down we saw a rapidly dissolving J draped in a chair near the security counter. He blinked at us, slurred something about ‘security’ and proceeded to eat the food that loving A had brought to him.

I hardly know why, but my mood picked up after that. (Okay, feel free to call me mean.)

On our way back, I was horsing around mom, imitating everyone in sight – when we bumped into J and A again. He was REALLY drunk. And this is where all the funnies of the night happened.

Mom: “You’re drunk, J!”

J: <mutter, mutter something coherent and something incoherent>

I wasn’t paying attention, because I had just seen my dad walking towards us.

K: “Hey! What’s up?”

Dad: “Nothing, what are you guys up to?”

K, very chirpy and in the mood to be a pain: “Nothing! Dad, this is A, J’s wife!”

Dad and A: <pleasantries>

J turns to glare at me behind my dad’s back, something which is not lost on either mom or A. I smile sunnily at him, knowing perfectly well why he was so mad with me.

A: “Wow, look at the way he is looking at you!”

K: “Ah, I’m used to to his death glares.”

Dad moves ahead at this point, as he had some work to see to. J is still glaring at me. I am grinning like a Cheshire cat because I’m finding the situation vastly amusing.

Mom and A start talking about J and his health, and him needing a check-up, etc, etc.

K, following up on something about getting his chest examined: “… and his head too!”

J’s lips split into a smile, but it is a totally humourless and mirthless one. Boy, was he MAD with me! This of course had the effect of making me chirpier.

K: “Kyun, kya hua? Mu pe aaj tala lag gaya kya?” (Why what happened? Got a lock on your mouth?”

J refused to stop glaring at me, and all the while mom and A were talking. He started moving closer to me, and I saw something shift in his gaze. And of course, being the tongue-happy idiot I am, I said in a undervoice: “Tsk, tsk.. biwi ke saamne?” (in front of your wife?)

Which stopped him dead in his tracks. Whew. He grinned that awful grin, and said: “I’ll deal with you later.”

Mom and A had big question marks on their faces, so I explained that he wanted to cuss me out, but couldn’t because mom was there. He stormed off while mom was talking, and called A after him. As she scuttled off, I remarked in a tone loud enough to reach his ears:

“Good luck, A! You’re going to NEED it.”

Happy New Year, folks!

Goad-ee

2010-12-31T12:34:00.001+05:30

I may have mentioned before that J is still on my Facebook friend list, even though we had stopped talking in between.

Because when he called to tell me that he was ‘never going to talk’ to me again, he also asked me NOT to delete him off Facebook. Apparently that interaction doesn’t constitute ‘talking’. I left him on the list, because frankly it was easier than having to deal with the resultant tantrums if I had deleted him. And honestly? I figured phasing the dude out would work better if I did it in small increments. (He is the kind of person that would constantly call just because he knows I DON’T want to talk to him.)

Anyway, as I said before, we have moved past all that angst. We are pretty good friends now, and in fact enjoy each other’s company occasionally.

(I still get the occasional impassioned ‘I love you!’, but I’ve learnt to ignore it.)

I wondered WHY he wanted me to remain Facebook friends with him, and it dawned on me only recently. It is simply because he finds our caustic exchanges stimulating.

The git.

He posted a status a while back, and the ensuing comment war was hilarious – to the extent that people called me up to tell me it was funny. J even read back the exchange to me the next day on the phone. It WAS funny.

And subsequently, he posts statuses that are evidently goads for me to respond (as they mostly are mocking commentaries on women and their foibles). He also comments on every single one of MY status messages, in and effort to draw me into an exchange again. Here he doesn’t consider that there are OTHER people also commenting alongside him.

And all this has made me cognisant of a rather interesting trend – my friends and family all pick me to goad into these exchanges. Either it is a provocative message or wall post or sentence slyly slipped into conversation – but the fact remains that I seem to be the prime target.

The other day I wasn’t well at all, and my mother turns to me and says, with that craftily intent look on her face: “Play Literati with me. I’m sure I’d make more 7-letter words than you.”

I shrugged and said: “Yeah you probably will.”

Utter disappointment for my mom. Why? Because my response was, and I quote, ‘so thanda’.

Excuse me?? Same thing with my dad. Makes comments only to goad me into retorting.

What is wrong with my friends and family? Shouldn’t they be pleased when I give my caustic, tongue-in-cheek, silly sense of humour a break once in a while?

Happening Friday Evenings

2010-12-30T17:25:00.001+05:30

Note: This post is actually a continuation of the previous one. (I have this dread of writing long, boring posts that no one wants to read through.)

I thought I had some peace and quiet after the dust settled with J. I was wrong of course.

I was working till late that evening, as I had earmarked a great deal of work for the subsequent few days, and I wanted my designer to be free to handle that load. Dad was on his way to pick me up and J’s food was still sitting happily in my cabin, where he conveniently left it in the afternoon. So I rang him up and told him to come pick it up quickly.

Of course he didn’t. He said he would before a certain time, and finally I lost all patience and rang him up again, threatening to leave without handing his precious food over. So being the obliging soul he is, he came to the office.

I was waiting outside the main entrance, in view of the J-prohibition being enacted in my office, when he pulled up ahead. I get a call asking where I am, and as I didn’t immediately perceive him, I told him so.

Then I saw him. And he wasn’t alone. Uh-oh, I thought. And ‘uh-oh’ was right.

Because guess who was with him? Riiiiiiiiight.

She got off the bike and turned to me with a big smile, which was promptly extinguished the second she saw me. I handed J the plastic bag, telling him off for being unable to keep time, and using that as a pretext to gather my scattered wits.

I finally turned to her and smiled, saying (with astounding composure, I might add) “You must be A. How nice to finally meet you!”

Lies, lies, BLATANT lies. Damn the social dance we must perform.

I don’t remember the exact sequence of events, but I managed to keep my shit together, strangely enough. I was dangerously close to bursting into slightly hysterical laughter at the ridiculous situation.

J looked at her and said, “Well you wanted to meet her. Now you can fight with her.” To which A responded, “I don’t want to fight with her!”

J: “At least talk to each other.”

A: “I don’t want to! Don’t behave like you did yesterday.”

Karishma maintains discreet silence, while thinking: “HAHAHAHA!”

A, turning to me: “Yesterday he took me to meet one of his friends. He kept saying ‘talk, talk, talk’, and when I started talking to her, he says, ‘why are you revealing this?’ and ‘why are you telling her that?’”

K, not trusting herself to speak: mmmmhmmm..?!

J, giving up on A: “Well here she is. You wanted to tell her that there is nothing going on between us right?”

K, sobering up finally: “Um, not exactly. I merely wanted her to be satisfied that there is no romantic relationship between the both of us. We are really just good friends. I honestly thought it would be better coming from you.”

A: “You know who I am right?”

K, starting to crack up again: “Um, yeah. You’re A.”

A: “No, I mean you know who I AM, right?”

K, thoroughly at sea: “A?”

A: “ I am his WIFE.”

K, dawn breaking: “Ahhhh, yeah I know. But frankly, it doesn’t matter to me either way.”

A, slightly deflated: “Well I AM.”

K: “Jolly good.”

A, a little belligerent again: “Friends are all okay, but family is important too. He doesn’t tell me everything.”

K: “Look A, I really do sympathise with you, but honestly that is something you and J need to sort out between you. I am a third person, and I have no interest in being embroiled in someone else’s personal relationship. I’m sure you see that.”

A: <silence>

J: <silence>

K: “Anyway I have to leave, as my dad is waiting for me. I wish you both a very merry Christmas.”

K then proceeds to FLEE to her dad’s car before she collapses with laughter.

Happening Friday Afternoons

2010-12-30T14:17:00.001+05:30

It has been a while since I mentioned J on the blog, and there has been a good reason – I was trying to deflect his attention into ‘friendship’ channels rather than ‘relationship’ channels.

It worked – he finally backed off, and I have some breathing space, without wondering whether the next guy I date (whenever the dude shows up in my life) is going to end up at the bottom of the ocean.

I wish I was kidding.

Anyway, J and I have become pretty good friends, and therefore a great deal of tension has eased from my life – which leaves me to enjoy some of the incidents that take place because of him, with unmitigated amusement.

On Friday last, I had invited J over to my office for lunch. He is perpetually hungry and refuses to eat on his own. Part of my ‘phasing-out’ process was to meet with him platonically, and avoid intimate situations. So lunch at the office was perfect, because hello? it was AT the office.

He shows up, and we have a nice half an hour chatting randomly, whilst having lunch. Before he leaves however, he pulls stupid faces at another dude who works in my office. Why? Because the afore-mentioned dude had the audacity to come and tell me that J was married. (And a whole lot of stuff besides, but that isn’t the point.)

I find it almost prophetic that I refer to the idiot as ‘J’ on my blog, because it could stand for JUVENILE.

Anyhow, he trots out of the building, and I get engrossed in work. Five minutes later, he calls up – hopping mad – to ask why one of my colleagues has had him banned from entering the building.

Cue astonishment.

After a series of phone calls, I find out that my fellow editor was told that he was a dangerous character, wanted by the police and known for assaulting women. In short, the same stories that dude mentioned had told me.

Sigh.

J was reacting predictably, with a lot of shouting and a whole lot of “I’m going to do this!” and “They are going to regret this!” and so on. It took me AGES to calm him down enough, so that simple logic would penetrate his head: that if he pulled stupid stunts, he was cementing the bad rumours instead of dispelling them and therefore they were justified in banning him.

After dealing with a very volatile J, I was knackered. And it was only afternoon.

Don Bosco – Part 2

2010-12-23T12:45:00.001+05:30

I’ve had plenty to blog about, but being the sole content generator of my paper/magazine/supplement at work has exhausted all my writing vim. However today it seems to be flowing, so flow it shall.

In my last post, I think I ended with the terrifying realization that I had to talk to a bunch of kids. Seventeen young boys to be exact.

I was PETRIFIED.

Why? Because firstly, I hate public speaking. I used to be a nervous wreck when making presentations in college, and although I have newly discovered self-confidence, it hadn’t been put to the speak-in-front-a-group test. Plus, I happen to be deathly afraid of children. Don’t ask why; I just AM.

So it was a very unhappy Karishma Sundaram that trudged back to Don Bosco on the appointed day. Because of my insane work schedule, I hadn’t prepared a presentation, nor a speech, and frankly I had no clue as to how I would take the talk forward. I somewhat vaguely assumed I would wing it, because in my mind I figured I would be better able to engage my young audience than if I went prepared with a big bhaashan.

Turns out, I was right. I explained the process of creating a newspaper (information I did not know two months before this talk), and then I explained the dynamics of content creation.

Very frankly, I had no idea I knew this much about my job. While that sounds completely ridiculous, it is completely true. When I was recruited, I asked a million questions, I did copious amounts of research and I blundered through certain obstacles – but I still felt like a rank newcomer fumbling her way through work. I also thought my relatively smooth progress was largely due to intelligent parents and lucky stabs.

I was supposed to speak to the boys for about half an hour. Once I finished talking to them, I fielded their questions. After the last question finally petered out (there were A LOT of questions), I figured there was no other way to kill time. So I asked someone the time. Turns out I had been yapping away for a little more than two hours – and the passage of time hadn’t occurred to me or my audience.

I came away from the episode much calmer and more confident than I had ever felt in my life. I had managed to connect to a group of boys by just being myself, without airs and graces. I laughed alongside them, and yet I managed to retain their respect.

It was a definite turning point in my life. I will be eternally glad that my tongue ran away with me on that occasion.

Don Bosco – Part 1

2010-12-11T13:11:00.001+05:30

Last month, something wonderful happened to me that was an epiphany in many ways. As I have been consumed with so much, I didn’t have a chance to write about it, till I remembered it again this morning.

Since I have become an editor, part of my job involves me visiting various schools to speak to the heads about the product. To use a tired and hackneyed phrase, it is edutainment and therefore the teachers are fundamental stakeholders in the process.

The school I was visiting was Don Bosco in Panaji. I had had to postpone my appointment by half an hour, because I had gotten late at the one prior to it. I was told to wait and I saw a stern-looking person striding towards the office a whole 45 minutes later.

Now I quailed a little on the inside, because let’s face it, I still haven’t gotten completely rid of my childhood traumas in school with my supervisor. (She was an unholy terror of whom I was petrified.)

However, I gritted my teeth and waited for my turn.

When I walked in, I put on my most ingratiating and placating face – which was met with an extremely disapproving one. *sigh*

Forget it, I thought, I might as well be myself. So I smiled genuinely, and apologised for being late. Decided that fear was really not the answer to anything, and was rewarded with a big grin.

I sold my spiel to the father, and although he wasn’t too impression with my company, he was highly impressed with ME. (He actually SAID those words, I’m not making this up.)

The long and the short of it was that he invited me back to the school to speak to his magazine committee comprised solely of school children. And he was such an amazing person, I found myself saying ‘yes’.

It was only when I left Don Bosco that I realised, holy hell! I had to talk to a group of kids. Directly! Without the newspaper as a medium! Children! By gum!

(Did I just say ‘by gum’?? Moving quickly along..)

I was terrified. What had I gotten myself into with my uncontrollable, mind-of-its-own tongue?

Letter to God

2010-12-10T23:09:00.001+05:30

Dear God,

Let me start by saying I love you. Because I really do. You are a wonderful part of my life, and I would never change that. I suppose I think of you (in your Shirdi Baba form at least) as my personal property, much like I think of my parents. I love that I can talk to you at any time of the day, and that whenever I have a niggling instinct in my head, I know that's you guiding me through life's shoals.

Now that I've got the good news out of the way, can I please be really really mad at you for putting me through what you have recently?

Multiple bad relationships in the past were evidently not enough. I have been dragged over hot coals by my mother countless times because of the way I let my relationships rule my life. So when I broke up with the ex last year, I practically swore off guys permanently. I wasn't ready for romantic involvement. And yet you sent me A.

A created a very pleasant turmoil in my life, leading me to believe that he had feelings for me. Which was nice considering I was far from svelte at the time. However A had (and still has) a fiancee. He led me to believe he wasn't happy in that relationship, but it was (and still is) going strong, so I'm glad I didn't get further involved.

I thought the association with A was bad enough, even though we never met outside his restaurant. It messed with my head big time. Thanks for that. (Sarcasm.)

I get a job, which I love and my life is going swimmingly. I made a new friend in Goa, and my cup runneth over. Yet you still sent J into my ordered existence. And I know why - I'm coming to that.

J was charming and intelligent, and swept me completely off my feet. I became starry-eyed with romance, because let's face it, I had major trust issues earlier. Mom managed to chisel off that hard layer so now I was vulnerable and trusting as before. Like a wide-eyed puppy. So I got swept away. I am not going to reiterate the mess that my life has become lately, because you can read the previous posts for that.

I know why J came into my life. It was for HIS sake, not mine. It was the first time he had come into contact with wholesomeness. Please don't think I am giving myself airs. I know my (and my family's) lifestyle is wholesome - because frankly, I figure you wouldn't tolerate anything less. So yeah, you brought him into my life for him. But what about me? Not fair.

I once asked for excitement in my life, because it had become dull. But I was very specific about it being the 'good' kind of excitement. Which translated to NO STRESS. What has happened in the last month has not only caused me great stress, but has also strained my sanity to breaking point.

I am not looking for a relationship, nor excitement. I love my family and job, and I am happy with the one good friend I have in Goa. I am not afraid of consequences because a)I am wholly innocent and b)I know you are there to protect me and my folks (because repercussions would wound them too).

Could you please let up for a while at least? I am really tired now.

Thanks,

Ever yours,

Karishma Sundaram

Trust

2010-12-10T22:45:00.001+05:30

Trust is a weird concept. In this day and age, suspicion until proven innocence seems like the logical and sensible course to pursue.

Yet, how can there be love without trust?

I am a major sap when it comes to my relationships. I trust the people I care about NOT to lie to me. It isn't such a leap of faith really, because I tend to be very open in my relationships. For crying out loud, Googling me will lay open my life story as it actually has taken place.

I have closure from my latest 'relationship' (read previous post), therefore what happened today, didn't really create too much negative energy.

Today I spoke to another one of J's friends. (Never mind how this transpired, explaining the process is well beyond coherence.) Turns out he IS actually married. My reaction? Yeah, so what else is new?

No, insists the fellow, he really REALLY is married. I believe you, I say. That's one of the reasons I broke up with him.

B: "Oh. You broke up with him?"

Me: "Yup. A while ago. It's just taken me a while to get him to understand that. "

B: "Oh." *sounding positively deflated*

Me: "So what did you want to talk to me about?"

B: "Well, I was a witness at his marriage, and I thought you were still dating him without realising he was married. I called to warn you because I thought you didn't know you see. He has screwed up with my life, so now I am going to screw up his life. I was going to click pictures of you two together and submit them in court."

Me: "Wow. Yeah B, I didn't know he was married when I started seeing him. When I found out, I broke up with him. Then he swore blind and got the person who told me to retract his statement that he wasn't. So honestly, I haven't the faintest clue what mess this guy has gotten me into, so if you don't mind keep me well out of it."

B: "Yeah yeah. I'm a good guy with a mother and sister, so I know what women are like. So I called to warn you."

Me: "In that case, thank you. I have no interest in wrecking anyone's anything. Least of all someone's marriage. Totally innocent victim here."

*yeesh, I can't believe I actually said that - however bleeding true it is. I have NO control over my tongue.*

B: "Yeah okay, don't worry. I'm going to screw his happiness."

Me: "Okay. Good luck with that."

Now how will I EVER trust ANYONE ever again, after this episode?

Closure

2010-12-10T09:43:00.002+05:30

I think anyone who has spent a few days in my company has a fairly good idea of what kind of person I am. So when I say that I cannot deal with certain qualities in my partner, I friggin' MEAN it!

I told J the first day we met that I would never consider a relationship with a smoker and heavy drinker. I guess he thought I wasn't serious, because he swore blind that he would stop and never did.

I also will not consider being in a relationship with someone who already is involved with someone else. Apparently, J was in the process of thinking of a solution to the issue. As far as I can see? That just means sitting pretty with two girls on either side.

Lastly (in J's case), I will not consider being in a relationship with anyone who doesn't operate with integrity. I don't really want to elaborate on this one, because I guess it is pretty self-explanatory.

Relationship Surrealism

2010-12-08T13:14:00.003+05:30

I used to think I was a little wacko, but that opinion has been drastically altered as of this morning.

I have refrained from writing too much on the good ol’ blog about the new guy, except for the first few ranty posts. (I was overcome with frustration. Please to be excusing.)

However, although the drama has lessened, it hasn’t stopped altogether. In fact, so much has happened that great chunks of my recent life have been missing from here. I make no apologies though, because I have been way too spaced out to make the effort to blog.

As many of you may already know, I have got the cold from hell. The reason it is so much worse than all previous attacks is two-fold: one, it is accompanied by acute nausea, and second, I have to power through the blasted thing and go to work.

New Guy also has an equally bad cold, and the symptoms (including the two-fold ones mentioned before) are the same. We probably caught the cold at the same time. (Although he is behaving like a huge over-grown baby about the whole thing, but then again, all guys do that.)

So yesterday, I was out shopping with the mother (See what heartless parents I have?) and he was on his way home, so he dropped in near us to, and I quote, “see you”. I am giving this so much emphasis because well, that’s it: he literally stopped next to us for 2 minutes, said ‘hi’ and took off home. Mad, I tell you, completely barking mad.

Anyway, he reaches home, downs a few shots of brandy and instantly feels much better. What then? Oh yeah, call the girl who is crazy enough to put up with your erratic behaviour. (Please note that I refrain from calling myself his girlfriend, because I don’t think of myself as such. He on the other hand announces our ‘relationship’ to random strangers on the road.)

We spoke on the phone, and I said I would call him back later. I did, and we spoke a little more. So far so normal.

When I was getting into bed myself, after dragging myself through the trauma of a hot shower and getting dressed, I sent him a message. And I am reproducing the whole conversation below because it was really THAT insane:

Me: “Feel better soon. Thinking of you. Good night.”

J: “M drunk re.”

Me: “Then sleep sweetheart.”

At this point, it stopped being ‘J’ and the phone was used by someone else (A).

A: “M his wife here.”

(And I thought, here we go again. This time, however, I did not flip out.”

Me: “He told me he wasn’t married, and that you are his ex.”

A: “He is my husband and he will remain my hubby 4eva.”

(Cringe at SMS-speak)

Me: “In that case, I strongly suggest you get him to stop saying he loves me.”

A: “I cnt do that. He really does luv u. Now go to sleep. Or we will have a war.”

(Huh?!?!)

Me: “Look <name redacted>, I have no wish to fight with you, or be the reason you get hurt. I have told J many times that we are best off as friends. I cannot help his feelings for me.”

No reply, till morning.

A: “Wel he feels nothing bout u dat I knw. We hav no prb in out marriage. So dnt give me shit cos I knw hw many frnds he has n wat feelings he u.”

(Sigh.)

Me: “It really doesn’t matter to me whether or not you believe me. I was merely trying to mend fences. The rest is your outlook.”

(No response.)

Finally, I thought, no more drama. Boy, was I right! Because after this, the COMEDY started.

J calls up. I grinned expectantly, because I figured that this would be very funny.

J: “Are you an adult?”

Me: *double-take* “Huh? Yeah, what? Huh? Yeah, of course I am an adult!”

J: “Then what is this whole SMS conversation between you and A?”

Me: “Dude, she started talking. I merely responded.”

J: “She’s just trying to irritate you. And you are letting her.”

(Please note, not once during this entire episode did I feel irritated, or for that matter anything apart from mildly amused.)

Me: “I am not. Please read the messages and see for yourself, I have been quite mature about the whole thing.”

J: “I am not going to do any of that. Don’t get me involved in this.” *starts shouting some random incomprehensible stuff – to which I pay no attention*

Me: *start shouting equally loudly* “Shut the hell up! I am pretty sick of you and her. You both freaking deserve each other.”

J: *silence*

Me: *start laughing* “And how can you say, ‘don’t involve me’ when all this is happening because of you?”

J: “Don’t laugh at me!”

Me: *laughing even harder* “Marry her!” *gasp, gasp, splutter, splutter*

J: *sheepish silence*

Me: “I’m going now. I have work to do.”

J: “I love you.”

Me: *gasp, splutter*

Now, you would think that that’s it. Right? WRONG!

Half an hour later, I was watering the plants on the terrace and the phone rings. It is A. Shaking my head at my evident masochism, I answer.

A: “Hi Karishma!! How are you? This is A.”

Me: *controlling laughter with iron hand* “Good morning, A. What can I do for you?”

A: “I have some products which you might be interested in.”

Me: “Oh? What kind of products?”

The conversation goes on for FIFTEEN minutes, where she is trying to sell me beauty and wellness products. I have no idea how I managed to stop myself from laughing out loud. There was a distinct tremor in my voice for sure. I finished speaking to her, and let out a roar of laughter. Tears rolled down my face, it was just so surreal and funny.

I called up J.

J: “Hiiiiiiii!”

(Such a suck up.)

Me: “Hi. A just called me.”

J: *instantly wary* “Oh? What did she want?”

Me: “She was making a sales call about these products.”

J: “hahahahahaha!”

Me: “My reaction precisely.”

Wilful Masochism

2010-12-06T03:26:00.001+05:30

Apparently I am a masochist. Why?

Because I know that I love to-do lists, and I have this compulsive need to tick off every last item. And that although my life is complicated and busy enough as it is, I evidently feel that the challenge factor can be increased significantly.

I sense by now you are wondering what in the hell I have done now. Well I created a profile on Day Zero Project. Day Zero Project is a website where you figure out 101 goals to complete in 1001 days.

Masochism, I assure you.

A Song after my Heart

2010-12-01T16:43:00.001+05:30

Back in college, I used to listen to a weird mix of music. I am not the adventurous sort (music-wise), so my taste was heavily influenced by boyfriends and well, just stuff I heard on the radio and liked. I wasn’t one of the people who made an effort to listen to all the latest stuff. Na-uh. Me = boring and tried and tested.

So, back in college, I used to listen to heavy metal, a la Arab ex-boyfriend when I was in UK, and also to bhajans – Marathi, thanks to mother dear, and Hindi – because of my father’s penchant for lyrics. I loved all the songs I listened to, and of course had certain moods where I wanted to listen to one particular type over the other.

As evidenced by the previous paragraph, God in all his glory played and still plays a huge part in my life.

Anyhow, now that I am all grown up (despite what my parents say), I do actually make the effort to listen to new songs. It takes all my (musical) initiative to listen to Hindi music, so English music has taken a backseat for now. Especially since my most recent ex introduced me to the wonders of hip-hop, which I now love.

After 4 paragraphs of explanation and build-up, I am finally coming to my point.. which is the new song that is on repeat morning, noon and night in my room (when I’m there of course): “Aas Paas Khuda” from the Bollywood movie Anjaana Anjaani.

In deference to the readers who are blissfully ignorant of the Hindi language, I found a translation of the lyrics on another blog. The translation is a little simplistic, in my personal opinion, because it doesn’t convey the heartfelt emotions in the song properly. It is however a literal translation, so I guess it will suffice.

My favourite lines are:

Jhuk jaaye sar jahan wahin, Milta hai rab ka raasta
(It is only when you bow your head that you find the way to God)

Ho shaam bhi toh kya, Jab hoga andhera
Tab paayega dar mera, Uss dar pe phir hogi teri subah

(And even if evening falls, and it turns dark,
you will then see my door, and at that door, your morning will come)

Every time I listen to these words, something warm glows in my heart, and although I knew it before, I feel the love that I have for the Almighty, and that that he has for me.

Why I HATE Indians: reason #7910381

2010-11-29T02:42:00.001+05:30

I've had a long day today. First there was the tension of getting my butt to work (on a Sunday), then mom wasn't feeling too hot so I waited out the afternoon. After which, dad came home for the day, just as I was leaving for work. And I DID go to work, that too on a blasted Sunday. However, the parents came to pick me up and the evening was salvaged from my wreck of a weekend.

However, everything went for a toss on our way back. As we were driving leisurely back home, chatting as we often do about the state of the world, a motorbike overtook us at breakneck speed. I was watching the motorbike with a sense of impending doom, and sure enough we were due to turn into the curve of the road, while the bike shot straight into a bush on the side of the road.

Not only did the bike fly about 8 feet into the air, but the pillion rider shot straight up and out about 20 feet ahead. He landed facedown in rubble. It was awful and I saw the whole thing.

We were right behind, so we pulled to a halt, while I quickly dialled emergency services. I ran to the guy on the road, but as I reached a few bikes had stopped as well and were turning the poor fellow over. I was on the phone, but I am pretty sure that you aren't supposed to move the bloke - in case of any broken bones.

Within a few minutes, the place was crowded full of people. They were all interested in seeing the spectacle, while doing absolutely bugger-all. My mother lost her temper, and yelled herself hoarse for them to stop crowding around the poor chap, and let him get some air.

I hadn't realised until that point that there was another fellow. The rider had fallen near the bike, and was shaken up obviously but conscious. He was bleeding from a gash on his head, and frankly he REEKED of alcohol. Surprise, surprise.

The emergency services rang me up again to ask for directions while the crowd became larger and larger. Two policemen showed up. 'Ineffectual' and 'useless' are two adjectives that immediately spring to mind. We waited for the ambulance to show up, as I had dialled for them. Mom was losing it with everyone in sight, which was something I wanted to do, but figured there wasn't much point.

It was an awful experience, and for some time I thought the pillion rider was a goner. The police did say that his condition was serious - duh - but at least the medical staff got him away alive.

The body of the post probably doesn't explain the title, but it refers to the way I feel about gawkers.

Famous Last Words

2010-11-25T14:40:00.001+05:30

I have noticed with frightening regularity that whenever I say something along the lines of: “I will NEVER do such-and-such”, I DO end up doing exactly that at some point.

Thank you, universe. I really appreciate the sarcasm.

For instance, I used to wax eloquent about how I would never be caught dead behind a desk, and certainly never become an administrator. Lo! and behold, that is EXACTLY my job right now.

I also said I would NEVER date a guy who had done drugs any time during his life, because I felt these people are too volatile for my temperament. And the dude I am currently in a Facebook-style ‘It’s Complicated’ relationship with? Done the whole hog as far as drugs, smoking, drinking and aimless partying. For multiple years. He’s outgrown the partying and the drugs, but the smoking and drinking is still going strong. (And I really am never going to accept it, but the fact of the matter remains that I like him.) *sigh*

Oh, I also was very categorical about never doing marketing, mainly because I used to be inordinately shy and self-conscious. No prizes for guessing how big a part of my job marketing happens to be. And the shyness? Yeah, that didn’t last.

I’ve noticed this phenomenon so many times that I actually tried the reverse. Needless to say, it did not work.

I was telling my mother all this in the morning, and she said she realised that lesson long ago. You see, just after my dad and she met, he used to take her around to various places and introduce her as his wife. They weren’t dating (they never did actually date), so she used to turn around and say, “Are you crazy, Sundaram? I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth.”

Moral of the story? No. More. Absolutes. EVER.

And I thought I had bad friends.

2010-11-22T11:59:00.002+05:30

I must apologize for using my blog as a vent, but I find that when I write things down, the swirling thoughts in my head seem to clear a little.

So the guy I have been on about for the past few posts called me this morning. To be fair, he received a message from me. I had sent that message ages ago, but it got delivered (providential, wasn’t it?) only after I had decided I never wanted to speak to him again.

Anyway, I didn’t really let on about that. I made up some stupid excuse. He surprised me by blaming me about the way our ‘relationship’ had gone. That I was a cold and calculating heartless being. And why? Because when his best friend (his words, not mine) called up to tell me that this dude was married, I believed him.

I was so taken aback by his accusations, I doubted my own sanity for a second. I am not a coldly logical person at the best of times, because I tend to get carried away with emotion. So let’s recap the events..

1. When this guy added me on Facebook, his status was engaged to 'X’. He told me he was falling for me, to which sentiment I responded saying that it was a bad idea considered his engaged status. He told me that the status was a ploy to keep girls at bay, and the girl in question was playing along. Far-fetched at best, but I figured I was no one to judge. The status disappeared instantly.

2. He tells me an ex-girlfriend is coming to stay with him. Again, a little weird, but I am friends with a few of my exes, so I didn’t judge. Again. Besides, this is a new dating scene, I am not really in a position to dictate terms to this guy, especially since I was not sure of my own heart. Oh and did I mention? It was the same girl he was playing pretend engagement with.

3. One fine day, he calls me up stone-drunk and very upset. I described this incident in the previous post, so I won’t reiterate it here. Suffice it to say, a girl answers his phone and says she is his wife. It was a shock – to put it very mildly. He calls and explains the next day, and I am willing to give him a chance. After all, I figure, he really could be telling the truth.

4. Of course by this point, I am out of my mind with terror at being involved with a married man, or engaged man, whatever. I talked to my mother at length, and she felt that if he met them (my parents) it might go a long way at relieving my fear. After much argument, he agreed. (He didn’t seem to understand that it was not a declaration of a relationship, but more a vote of confidence thing.)

5. His ‘best’ friend calls me up one fine evening, to ask me to spend some time with him. I told the disgusting little leech that I was busy. After which he told me that this dude was married. Frankly, I didn’t believe he was married, I still think he is just engaged. And this weasel is trying to make inroads with me by removing his friend. Some friends.

But the upshot of all of this is that the guy is definitely in some sort of relationship with the girl. Which means he lied to me in some form or the other – completely unacceptable.

Even IF he isn’t lying, if he cared for me even a tiny little bit, he would have understood that after encountering so much in a few days, my reaction is hardly surprising. But no, he flares up and blames me for wrecking our relationship.

I have reached a point where this has all become too much for me. I am a simple being, with simple needs from my partner. Evidently a relationship with him is going to be far from simple. So I guess that I am well out of it. I always said we were wrong for each other.

Fatherly Antics

2010-11-14T18:50:00.001+05:30

If my blog had a cast, I think my family would be the main actors while my dad received star billing. I find his antics so lovable and amusing that I can’t help but share them.

Take the one of a few days ago, for example. I was coming downstairs, rather audibly (because of humongous foam slippers). I could hear my parents’ voices in the kitchen as I took a small detour to turn off the A/C on the middle floor.

When I came all the way down, I saw my mom standing at the counter, while there was no sign of the brat (also known as the father). The dog came jumping to greet me (as much jumping as that fat little barrel can manage). I looked around the kitchen, went into the bedroom, saw the bathroom latched from the outside, and even his walking shoes were still on the stairs. So where had he disappeared too?

He certainly hadn’t come upstairs, so I asked mom where he was; only to be surprised by my 63 year-old father emerging from under the staircase.

He had the world’s cheekiest grin, and proudly proclaimed to my mother (not me, who was looking for him, but my mother), “Look look, I surprised her! I knew she would come down looking for me!”

Mom had no idea what he was on about, because she had been busy with some work. I explained that her darling husband had hidden under the stairs just to trouble me.

Unbelievable.

I lead my life in the light.

2010-11-14T10:44:00.001+05:30

Contrary to popular belief, I am NOT a snob. I have no hang-ups about wealth, position or pomp. What I do feel strongly about is positive energy.

Recently, I have encountered a strange world that inhabits the same space as mine, but runs on a different frequency. Although I have no issues as such with alcohol (I use it liberally in food) but I am frightened of the world where people attempt to escape from reality using it. In fact, I fear the world where people require external stimuli to escape reality.

I have no illusions about the world – it can be an ugly place. People suffer and there is torment. I understand the scars that life leaves upon people. But I am not part of that world; I lead my life in the light.

That is not to say I haven’t dealt with my share of ugliness. Being a rather well-endowed, somewhat-attractive girl, I attract a LOT of unwanted male attention. Sometimes it gets out of hand. It shakes me up for a while, but eventually I move on. I think I learn from the lesson, but I don’t carry the darkness forward.

My soul cringes in shady places filled with sleaze and the despair wafting off from the people there. I draw into myself thinking, I don’t belong there. I am not being judgmental or snobbish; just aware when tendrils of someone else’s unhappiness try and sink their claws into my consciousness.

I may be a very silly human being, with a naive, idealistic and unrealistic view of life. But being with me means making the transition from darkness into light.

And frankly? As appealing as that sounds, it takes a tremendous amount of courage.

Warm Fuzzy Feelings

2010-11-10T12:50:00.002+05:30

Since I left college, I've felt rather aimless and drift-y. It has taken about a year and a half of living at home again to 'find' myself. I know that sounds rather pompous and artsy, but it is true nonetheless.

Most of my depression came from my work-less state. Not that I didn't work - I DID - but it wasn't fulfilling enough. I was doing the same kind of stuff over and over, and frankly I was losing the inclination to do it at all.

In addition to my dismal work state, I was feeling boxed in at home. Since I broke up with my boyfriend of two-and-a-half years, I was fragile and disillusioned. There had been a lot of pain, and with that pain came hardness (a coping mechanism).

But all in all, it wasn't really me.

Being with my parents has washed away all that hardness. I have become stronger and wiser, while reverting back to my natural smiley nature. All the credit for that goes to the parents; mostly mom, but dad was awesome too.

Which is why yesterday happened.

My mom was sitting in the spare room, playing some idiotic game on the computer. My dad was watching TV in the adjacent room. I had just finished some work upstairs (in my room) and I strolled downstairs to hug my parents good night. I walked into the bedroom, and stood talking to my mom. A few minutes later, I heard the TV go off, and I whispered to mom that dad was coming in. (Why this is funny is a WHOLE different post.)

Sure enough, he came in and plonked on the bed. Five seconds later, he was stretched out for a snooze. I was sleepy too, so I lay down on the twin bed. He complained that there was no blanket, so I dumped a blanket on him, covered myself up and went off to sleep. About ten minutes later, the cocker spaniel decided that curling up IN my stomach was the best idea in the world. Pretty soon, the three of us were asleep.

Mom turned around and realised her whole family had gravitated together in one small room, even though we all had our own areas to sleep in. She told me this morning that it was a magical moment for her.

Frankly? I agree.

Fragile Beauty

2010-10-11T21:45:00.001+05:30

I have always maintained that I am the QUEEN of ridiculous problems. I have more than one story to back up this claim; and my dear readers are about to be subjected to one more.

(You might as well stay. This is quite funny, even though I was really not laughing at the time.)

When I went to UK, I had clothes, shoes, sweaters, and all the attendant paraphernalia that a student takes when going far away from loving parents. One of the items from the last category was a mobile phone.

That’s right. My parents insisted I have a mobile on my person at all times. (Incidentally they still insist on that; a whole 11 years later.)

This was no ordinary mobile phone though; it was a Nokia Communicator. Possibly the most beautiful mobile phone I had ever laid eyes on.

(What? I was 15 and I had seen about 3.67 mobile phones before then. I was hardly a judge.)

The front had a smallish screen with the numeric keypad trying to cover up a LOT of space. The backlight was a toxic green colour, with tiny lettering in grayish-black. The front opened up to reveal rows and rows of neat keys inside. The screen on the inside was also toxic green, but one was able to overlook that because of the cornucopia of features that was displayed.

Each function had a small blue button, analogous to the function keys on a keyboard. It took me weeks to figure out all the functions of that phone. Alas, no service providers were able to make using the features in real-time a reality.

(I think I sobbed a little. However I was comforted by the fact that I would have no one to send ‘picture’ messages to, since their phones didn’t support it. Smugness is a delightful feeling.)

All in all, it was a beautiful phone. (Never mind that it was COLOSSAL. Even for that era of mobile phones? COLOSSAL.)

One fine evening, I was walking home with a friend. There was a lonely access road to my place, and it was lit by 2 measly streetlamps placed at huge intervals. The road was less than perfect, I was wearing shoes that didn’t fit very well and there were pools of darkness that we were gingerly navigating.

We clung to each other’s arms and stifled girly shrieks every time a leaf blew past. And then of course, I stumbled and landed in a crater on my knees. M (the friend) helped me back up and dusted me off, scolding about my carelessness and penchant for heeled shoes. She scolded all the way home, while I sheepishly followed in her wake.

She decided to return to her place, and I thought I would catch up with my landlord. We chatted for a while and he left for work soon after. I wasn’t remotely sleepy, so I hunted for my mobile phone to call the parents.

(Because an international call from UAE to UK is an extremely appropriate, not to mention thrifty, method to while away boredom. I’m sure Etisalat worshipped the ground I walked on. Not to mention BT.)

Only, I couldn’t find the phone any where. After an abortive search of the house, in a state of ever-increasing panic, I called up M from the landline to ask whether I had left my phone at hers. I held the line while she looked. (You’re so welcome BT. Don’t mention it.)

She didn’t find it.

Cue uncontrollable panic.

Tore at hair? Check. Sobbed loudly? Check. Bargained with God? Check. Another search of the house, including the fridge and toilet tank? No, of course not. I was upset not crazy!

I was sitting with my head in my hands when I realised the wretched thing must have fallen out of my purse when I slipped on the road. I pelted out of the house in a T-shirt and flip-flops. I reached the approximate place where I had tumbled and started hunting.

And I found my beautiful phone. In. Four. Pieces.

And the best part? It was my landlord’s car that did the deed. If only I had realised it was missing earlier, I wouldn’t have to listen to my dad teasing me now about being the only person to leave a mobile lying around on a road.

Sigh.

Nature Bites

2010-10-11T11:17:00.003+05:30

My mom had a television installed in my room merely for one reason: because I used to want to watch National Geographic or Discovery when there was a great movie going on.

I'm not a geek, I swear. I just happen to get my entertainment stuff from the Internet. I download, watch and delete - and then when the shows come to India, I buy the DVDs. I know that I am advocating piracy and stuff, but in my defense, I DO buy the DVDs later.

Coming back to my original point, I do happen to have an absorbing interest in the wonders of the natural world. Which essentially should have prepared me for the heavy contradictions inherent in the incident I am about to describe.

There are legions of stray dogs in Goa, and our colony is home to a large group. They have their territories and defined packs, one of which inhabits the area in front of our house. These are our strays - since they adopted us. We got the matriarch spayed last year, so thankfully we have been minus puppies and the associated heartache. Unfortunately, there are other females around which haven't had the benefit of having their tubes tied.

Therefore we were pleasantly surprised to see two tiny cream-coloured balls of fur gamboling around in the grass patch behind our house. Their mother was sprawled out majestically on the pavement nearby, keeping a wary eye cocked for the posse from front.

We didn't really approach the puppies, electing not to create a jealously-laden situation for our strays - but we did coo at them extensively. Obviously.

After that, we've seen them playing around, and the colony echoed shrilly with their piping little yips.

Then one fine morning, I woke up to hear both the pups having what seemed to be a heated argument. Now when puppies fight, it is all kinds of adorable and cute, so I went to the window and peeked out. They were rolling around in a patch of grass, tiny paws everywhere and yips punctuating every jab and nip.

I promptly dissolved into a ball of mush, aw-ing and ah-ing profusely. Till I saw the cause of the argument.

A dead pigeon.

Two tiny little pups, barely more than balls of fur were fighting over a freshly-killed pigeon. It was macabre. And cute. At the same time. I felt nauseous.

Pity my future hubby.

2010-10-09T16:25:00.000+05:30

Another gem from dear father; it was just TOO hilarious (and sweet and cute) not to share.

I have mentioned my father and his childish antics numerous times before (but I'm too lazy to link to those posts). I may have also mentioned that he is incapable of expressing himself, and never once has he told either me or my mom that he loves us. His love is expressed in hugs, and statements like "She's my kid! I'm not giving her to anyone." meaning potential partners, not different parents.

So whenever he spouts this line, I know he means "I love you."

Of course he then stepped it up a notch. It took my mother and I several minutes to stop crying with laughter.

One day, I hugged him and he repeated his line. And then followed it up with: "When she gets married, she will stay with us and he can make do with a photograph."

My First Mass at St. Tome Chapel

2010-10-09T11:31:00.005+05:30

I seem to have finally broken out of the (writing) rut that my life had suddenly dwindled to. It was easy to sit at home, doing very little that was gaining me any sort of new experience. I'm not complaining though, because it was important in its own way. However, now that I am back out in the world, interacting with different people, I find that ideas just keep coming.

(Thank GOD!)

Anyway, speaking of God, today I had an interesting experience. I say 'interesting' because it was new and I was experiencing it alone.

This morning I attended Mass for the first time. (In case of new readers, or that I haven't clarified this before - I'm a pretty staunch Hindu. Without the dogmas of course. (I feel sad that I have to add that rider.))

It is the newspaper's 27th anniversary today, and to commemorate the achievement and the success which it has enjoyed, there was a Mass held to give thanks to the Lord. Something which I can totally vibe with; because every time something big (and nice) happens in my family, the temple is the first stop.

I had a few misgivings about attending Mass, not because I have any problem praying in a church, but more because I wasn't sure how the Christians would feel about it. Reassured on that head, I attended the service this morning with an open mind and heart.

One of the doctrines of Hinduism that I truly believe in, is that God exists everywhere and in everything. Also, any place that houses together people that pray together becomes a powerful place of sanctity - so attending a service of another religion isn't so much of a leap for me.

The chapel was beautiful and meticulously clean, with a distinctly old-world charm to it. The service itself was planned down to the last detail, with the hymns having been picked out beforehand. (I imagine this manner of doing things is fairly commonplace for those familiar with it, but it is unusual for a rank newcomer like myself.)

I listened to the sermon, which was thankfully in English and not Konkani. It was again unusual to understand every word that was said, because Hindu bhajans/kirtans/poojas/everything are in some Indian language or the other, and I frankly don't understand a huge chunk of what is being said. However, because I don't, I let my mind focus on the feeling involved and not the actual words - which I found difficult to do this morning. Perhaps it felt a little like being in class, as the priest talked about being morality.

It was a beautiful service though, and I was surprised to find I knew one of the hymns quite well. Turns out we used to sing it in school, and I didn't even know it was a hymn. What I took away was a sense of tranquility and peace, as the service was calming and ordered. Comparisons are odious but to contrast it to my only frame of reference, when I leave a temple after an aarti or pooja, the feeling is one of euphoria and lightheartedness.

I was thrilled to be part of this, as like I said before, I do believe in the sanctity of prayer and faith regardless of religion. I also appreciated that I, as a non-Christian, was allowed to partake of most of their service (not the Holy Communion, for obvious reasons). Mostly Hindus will welcome anybody into their midst, although there are certainly those who forget the basic tenet ingrained in our philosophy.

Like I said, it was an interesting experience, though not a spiritual one.

Appearances: Part 2

2010-10-08T15:37:00.003+05:30

NOTE: My apologies to all those of my readers that don't speak Hindi, because the utter hilarity of the conversation I am going to transcribe here is based on the connotations of the words in Hindi. They cannot be easily translated into English without losing much in translation. That being said, I will give it a shot alongside, and I also call upon my compatriots to correct me if I get it wrong. The words with the asterisks next to them are literally translated, but I will try and explain their context at the very end of the post.

One of my close friends (G) is getting married in December and we were long overdue for a girly chat. I found myself twiddling my thumbs yesterday, while waiting for my dad to pick me up. So I rang her up.

In the course of the conversation, I told her about my new job and how I got it. I went on to elaborate that it was easier to land a job with a face-to-face interview rather than over email, because of my lack of media-related qualifications. At least with an interview, the person on the other end knows I can speak English fluently.

K: Yeah, so that's how I ended up becoming an editor.

G: Achcha hua, apna chehra ka aisehi pura istimaal kara karo. (It's a good thing. You should always make full use of your face like that.)

K: Pagal ho gayi hai kya?! Maine apne chehre ka 'istimaal' kaise kiya? (Have you gone mad? How the heck did I 'use' my face?)

G: Arre, koi bewakoof hi hoga jo tera shakal dekhke tereko job nahin dayga. (Oh, only a fool wouldn't give you a job after taking one look at your mug.)

K: *couldn't stop laughing* Yaar, tu pagal hai! But thanks.. I guess! (Dude, you are crazy! But thanks I guess!)

G: Aur nahin to kya? Tune apne contacts pehne the kya? (Absolutely! Did you wear your contacts?)

K: Pehne to the, but clear-wale, coloured-wale nahin. Unko heart attack dena ka koi irada nahin tha - aur tereko pata hai, mereko stupid sawaal kitne poochte hai contacts ke baare mein. (I had worn the clear ones, not the coloured ones. I had no intention of giving them a heart attack - and you know very well, I usually have to answer such stupid questions about my coloured contacts.)

G: Haan, woh to hai. Waise bhi, tere natural aankhen bhi koi kam jaanleva nahin hai. Nagin jaisi aankhen hai teri. (Oh yes, that's there. In any case, your natural colour is no less lethal. You've got eyes like a female snake^.)

K: *spluttering incoherently* Nagin?!?! JAANLEVA?!?! Oh my GOD! (Snake?!?! Lethal?!?!)

G: Haan yaar, yaad hai? College mein tereko kaise dekhte the? Jaise koi alien aaya hai. (Yeah dude, don't you remember? How everyone used to stare at you in college? As though an alien had landed.)

K: *speechless*

^Snakes in India are considered to be magical entities, and are revered for that reason. Snakes are also said to have hypnotic eyes that lure men to their doom, and this is the context of the comment G made.

Appearances: Part 1

2010-10-08T15:28:00.003+05:30

It amuses (and horrifies) me that people tend to find me intimidating. Very simply because nothing could be further from the truth.

The honest truth is that I am a pretty timid character, prone to being wallflower-esque rather than flamboyant and aggressive (in a good way, I mean). I am trying VERY hard to overcome my natural tendency to shrink into myself every opportunity I get and avoid the spotlight, but honestly it is easier said than done.

Just yesterday I was chatting with a friend over coffee and I was telling her that I had to introduce myself to the people in my new office. Her immediate reaction? I could never do that.

I laughed.

(Not AT her; it was just that a few years ago, I would have said the same thing with the same level of utter conviction.)

But it all changed. I haven't become less shy, I have merely learnt to conquer the fear of rejection and ridicule that rises in the back of my throat.

So when people think I am intimidating, I shake my head and laugh at their foolishness.

Brand 'Karishma Sundaram'

2010-10-08T12:39:00.002+05:30

I have been reading an amazing book targeted at writers, addressing some of the common problems they face and helpful hints. The best part about it is that it a series of essays. The book itself has been reposing on my shelf in a thick pile of dust for months, and I only ended up reading it because I have been having bouts of twiddling my thumbs when in office.

(Don't judge me; I don't have a system yet. I have been clubbing together bits of work through the use of some of common computers in the editorial department.)

In this amazing! awesome! full of brilliant advice! book, I came across a section about writers maintaining blogs and sites, to build upon their brand and establish an identity by reaching more people. The top reason these admirable attempts remain 'attempts' and fail spectacularly at drawing in regular readers is the spotty posting and infrequent updates.

Yeah, tell us something we don't know already. Right?

Right. BUT. Of course there is a 'but' otherwise there would be no post.

I wondered how I applied this dictum to myself.

I have now been blogging for two and a half years, and I have posted about 250 times. While this isn't an earth-shattering number, it is fairly respectable. I call myself a writer, but I haven't actually authored anything. I write articles and more articles, but that wasn't the goal of being a writer.

Yet, I am aware that I have created a personal brand. Fair enough, I suppose it will stand me in good stead when I do decide to pen down a series of witty, charming, humorous novels that will take the world by storm.

(A girl can hope.)

However, marketing my brand is something entirely foreign to my nature. I don't have an issue with marketing a brand that isn't personal, like a book or cola drink or space shuttle manufacturer, but when it comes to 'Karishma Sundaram' I feel like a boaster when I mention my blog.

Apparently 'shameless self-promotion' is filled with shame for me. I have no idea why I feel like I am putting myself forward is unbecoming conduct, although a possible reason is my school experiences. (I won't even post a link to my blog on Facebook; Twitter is okay because they are essentially strangers.)

My point is that I have to find a way of getting OVER this particular hump.

Because without putting oneself, there is no way of moving ahead. No one is going to come up to a wallflower and say, "You have the potential to be a rose. I recognise this trait in you, although you have never really been proactive enough to offer extra services. I am a benevolent soul and my life's aim is to learn to discern and nurture the hidden qualities in wallflowers/potential roses like yourself."

(Okay maybe I went a little overboard with the playacting. But I JUST read The Oatmeal, and the style is still fresh in my mind.)

I suppose my reluctance to posting my blog's link on Facebook is that a great chunk of those people are ones I felt rejected by at some point. And this blog is so personal, I would feel raw and exposed to them, whereas on Facebook I get to distill my statuses to reflect the unassailable me (which I'm learning to become). Here, the painful process is visible.

I know the post is rambly and confusing, but these were the thoughts jostling in my mind - all triggered by the essay on branding oneself. I have come to the strange conclusion that I can't market my personal brand to people who fall in the category between 'close trusted friends' and 'people whose opinions don't affect me'.

Selective Herpetophobia

2010-10-07T15:39:00.003+05:30

I have a healthy respect for most dangerous things, although I suppose the only thing I am irrationally afraid of are lizards. (Funnily enough this doesn't extend to snakes, because although I wouldn't cuddle one, I am not reduced to a dissolving dribbling hysterical mess when I see one.)

It is very unfortunate that I moved back to India, considering this fear, because India is FULL of lizards and geckos of every description. Therefore I am repeatedly reduced to tears and mini-heart attacks because one scampers across a wall, inches away from my face. Therefore the one place I am 100% sure is lizard- (and hence heart attack-) free is the car. Two things have happened to change this comfortable conviction.

The first incident was not an incident so much as an anecdote a friend related to me. He was cheering me up over SMS because I was depressed. He asked me why I was depressed, and I presented a litany ending with the fact that on the other side of my (hermetically sealed and) closed room door, there were two merry lizards partying on the stairwell walls.

This friend is relatively new, so when he asked, "Did you just mention lizards?" I automatically assumed is was the usual lecture about how they were harmless. So I said 'yes', followed by a long explanation about phobias, and how I know they are harmless and blah blah blah. He then responds in a very strange way saying, "Do you know, we can never ever ever get married?".

Of cour- HUH?!?

(Anyway, that is another story, so I'm going to tantalisingly drop that train of thought right here.)

What the guy was getting at was that he was also mortally afraid of lizards, and that he once jumped out of a moving car because he saw one in it.

The second incident:

(Yes, I am mean enough to leave that story there.)

This morning, Dad was dropping me off at work, and I was merrily singing along to the songs playing in the car. We were driving under the abundant Goan flora so leaves cascaded onto the car and butterflies flew past. It was idyllic. Until of course a lizard suddenly appeared on my window ledge.

I am not the screaming type, but I definitely would have shot through the bonnet in shock if I wasn't strapped in by a seatbelt.

It took my frightened brain 1 whole minute to process that the lizard was on the OUTSIDE. I was trembling like a leaf, my eyes glued to the hideous creature. I know full well that it had no where to go, so I just willed it to stay on the outside.

(Something it accomplished very easily, since there was no way to come in - as the window was rolled up.)

I no longer feel safe from lizards in cars. Oh the tragedy.

What just happened?!

2010-10-07T14:40:00.005+05:30

(In case anyone is wondering why I am suddenly blogging so much, I have made a resolution to post 31 posts this month. I would 'at least' to the previous sentence, but that is just tempting fate.)

(And also, I have had a hectic few months. July and August, I've pretty much covered because the high(low)light of those months was my father being seriously unwell. September, on the other hand, has been busy in very nice ways mostly.)

One fine morning, I sauntered down to the cosy kitchen and found a tiny newspaper clipping wedged underneath my mug of hot water. I barely looked at it because two members of my family physically demanded my attention (my dad and my dog), while all three assaulted my ears with their racket (add mom to previous list).

(Oh by the way? I have the world's NOISIEST family.)

Much commotion later, I finally get to my hot water and read the clipping; one of the local newspapers is looking for an editor, writers/contributors and a graphics designer for a children's magazine. Sounds interesting, I thought, very casually.

A few hours later, I shoot off an email with my resume, completely forgetting to mention the position I am applying for. A couple of days later, I receive a call for an interview.

Long story short, after a gap of many days, and a lot of following up, I found out that I had gotten the job during the first interview, and all that was left was the logistics. (Okaaaaaay.)

Turns out I made editor - which was awesome. New product launch- even more awesome. My own department - holy crap! give me a sec willya?!

So therefore, here I am - Editor of Junior Herald in Panaji, Goa.

Teeth on Edge

2010-10-07T11:42:00.003+05:30

Soon after my toothy troubles, it was my mother's turn to sit in the chair of doom. Luckily for her, her extraction was a simple one, as the tooth had broken away ages ago, and all the remained was a small stub attached to the roots. The procedure was meant to be routine and really simple, but it turned out to be quite traumatic.

My mother is quite delicate physically, and she has the most extreme reactions to the mildest of external stimuli. She will anyone (mainly me, when she gets mad) that her body has lost its immunity because of the stress her family (my dad and I) cause her.

(Without sounding like a justification, I would like to point out here that my mom has VERY high standards of behaviour. For example, being off-mood = being selfish, because it affects everyone else as well. Also, getting colds and other minor ailments is directly attributable to not having the willpower to combat it.)

Having said all of this, she started feeling dizzy once the anesthesia shots had been administered. The dentist pulled his assistant off the case, and handled her extraction himself. Later in the evening, her dizziness and uneasiness returned manifold, so I rang him up to ask him what I needed to do.

He asked me to take her to a cardiologist and check for heart irregularities that may have been exacerbated by the medicine. So I rang my dad and we rushed off to the clinic, and then were rerouted to a cardiologist.

As it turned out, the dizzy spells were anxiety-attacks. We were very relieved of course, because previously we suspected she may have a heart condition. (Turns out indigestion has similar symptoms.)

The whole experience was a complete nightmare.

32 - 4 = 28; 28 - 1 = 27

2010-10-07T11:08:00.005+05:30

I am one of the odd people that isn't particularly afraid of the dentist. Before anyone steps forward to congratulate me on my extraordinary bravado and unshakable courage, please let me clarify that the reasons are that one, I have exceptionally good teeth, and two, I used to have braces, so a certain amount of familiarity has bred contempt of the dreaded chair.

(And that I am highly compulsive about keeping them spotless, plaque-free and lightly perfumed at all times.)

However, one fine day about a year or so ago, I developed this niggling ache in one of my teeth. At first I ignored it because it was dull rather than sharp, and I attributed it to walking into a door or something. (I am excessively accident-prone, so the odd bruise, here and there, comes as no surprise to me - even though I usually have no recollection of getting it.)

The ache unfortunately did not go away on its own (like I foolishly expected) but continued to worsen. I should perhaps mention that I have sensitive teeth thanks to the extensive treatment for braces, so I thought a batch of icecream was the culprit.

I had a bottle of clove oil handy for just such aches, so I stood in front of the mirror and peered into my mouth. The offending tooth looked white, so I didn't immediately perceive the damage.

Turns out the 'white' part was a collection of food particles, which would have fed a small army.

(I know. Gross.)

I dug it all out with a safety pin, only to see in absolute horror that one of my wisdom teeth was half gone. There was black rot surrounding a gaping hole. With a lot of hope, I balled up a bit of clove oil-soaked cotton and shoved in the tooth. While that killed the pain, it also massacred the skin around my mouth.

I went to two dentists after that, and they both pronounced that the tooth must go. The damage was too deep to salvage the tooth, and because it was impacted, it would require dental surgery.

Cue panic.

Since I was living alone at the time, I thought it was best to forgo the surgery. I wouldn't have been able to survive, considering I did all the chores of the house myself. I kept the tooth (obsessively) clean and any flare-up of pain received a clove-oil soaked piece of cotton.

This system worked till about 2 weeks ago. Suddenly the pain flared up again, and for days I was surviving because of a variation of combiflam, brufen and antibiotics. Then on one fateful afternoon, I literally collapsed because of the pain.

It had become so bad that my dad rushed me to the hospital, where they saw my condition and injected me with morphine straight away. It was the most pain I had ever experienced in my entire life, and I am a migraine-sufferer.

The same evening I went to the dentist who proclaimed that the infection was dangerously close to the nerve, so the tooth must come out without further delay. He also mentioned the dreaded words 'dental' and 'surgery'.

I went back home a gibbering mess, terrified about the upcoming ordeal. I cursed my tooth for being impacted and growing at the 45 degree angle. It was growing into its hapless neighbour, and therefore had successfully resisted all my vigorous cleaning.

I was expecting the whole procedure to last an hour or so, but it turned out that the tooth was still in one piece, so it came out without a fuss. The roots were still thankfully intact.

I glared at the tooth, and the dentist laughed and asked me where I wanted to keep it as a souvenir.

Gross.

Bloggerly Musings

2010-10-07T10:57:00.003+05:30

When I started blogging about two years ago, I was pretty sure that at some point it would fall by the wayside. This conviction was present mainly because I know myself well enough. Then a year passed, and I was stunned to see that blogging hadn't lost its initial charm. The two-year milestone was even more surprising, because I realised it about two months AFTER it had passed. Go figure.

Therefore I have come to a new conclusion, which is that I really do enjoy blogging. I have a list on most of my devices, detailing ideas for blogging. In fact, I had designated October as the month for my personal goal of writing 31 posts in 31 days. (Please note I didn't say 'one post per day' - because that is an impossible ideal for me at this stage. Baby steps for now.)

Why am I telling you all of this?

Well, the blog has been awfully neglected, and although I have plenty of reasons, I am saving those for the subsequent posts (please keep the goal in mind).

I hope I manage to achieve my (far from) modest goal.

Sleepy Pleasure

2010-09-04T20:54:00.001+05:30

I get ridiculously excited about the most ordinary, everyday things. I wouldn’t usually blog about them, but then again I have had an unusually carefree day and I’m, well, excited.

I spent most of mid-morning and the whole afternoon shopping. I used to hate shopping (back when I was into being a tomboy) but that changed (I hit puberty (with a bang)).

Mom and I trawled our favourite shops in Panjim, picking out accessories, clothes and eating in sad little udipi joints.

(Fellow Indians, how cool is it that ‘udipi’ has a Wikipedia entry? I just saved myself a WHOLE lot of explaining.)

We didn’t really buy too much stuff, it was just the fun of being together and absolutely at peace with the world. (It’s a wonderful feeling.)

But what I was most excited about buying amongst the truly luscious goodies we scored, was pyjama bottoms.

(I’m waiting for the sniggering to subside.)

Ahem.

I am really picky about the texture and fit of my sleepwear. It’s all about maximum comfort and softness, with a large dose of almost-not-wearing-anything feel.

(I used to wear nothing when living alone, however with my penchant for unconscious nocturnal activity, I think pyjamas are just safer. For everybody.)

Previously all my sleepwear bottoms, I had gotten from a megastore in Pune. I don’t go for the sets because they tend to be cutesy and, in my opinion, nauseating.

So when I found these ultra-soft, cotton, three-fourth length, loose pyjama bottoms, with just a hint of lycra – I went nuts. I bought four amidst loud protests from my mother that I didn’t need any more than I had already. (She conveniently forgot that she had pinched numerous sets from me already.)

Anyway, I bought them nonetheless, and like the kind-hearted, generous soul I am, I gave her two (after making a big production of how she tried to stop me – OF COURSE).

(What a crappy, rambly, random post. I’m so sorry, but I’m publishing it anyway.)

Bad Choice of Words

2010-09-03T19:11:00.001+05:30

I sometimes amaze myself with my extraordinary clumsiness in verbal communication. I have often said that my written communication is miles better, however today I surpassed myself.

As a bit of background, each of my really good friends is wildly different from each other. So while one might understand the context of a phrase I use, another will interpret it in a way I wouldn’t never have foreseen.

I was chatting with one of my friends this evening, and he is one of those double entendre kind of blokes. Usually I wouldn’t make gaffes in his hearing, because he would turn them into the most obscene jokes (which can be fun at times).

I was telling him about a boy that I have sort of fallen for, and how I cannot fathom his behaviour. All that passed subsequently isn’t pertinent to this post so I shall skip it. However I did end the conversation saying: “I just wish I could get him out of my system.”

Now considering the context, a normal person would assume that I am saying that I want to get over this guy. Right?

Evidently my friend is far from normal. He said:

“The best way to do that is alcohol. Have a few cocktails, and there will be more than one guy in your system.”

*crickets*

Brat

2010-08-30T14:50:00.001+05:30

My dad is a funny guy. And he can hold a straight face while pulling the most outrageous prank, and only breaks into a grin when he is caught. And essentially, getting caught is the one part he likes the most.

(Please bear in mind for the reminder of this post that I am 26. My dad is 63.)

The mornings in our house are chaotic, and the eye of the storm is the kitchen. There are 3 adults plus one sleepy, yet still excited, cocker spaniel. There are million little things to be done in the morning.

(To be honest, there is no actual NEED to finish them in the morning. This has been ordained by the Mother (superior) and therefore us vassals follow accordingly.)

The chores are delineated per se, but there are ones that my dad specifically does, and same for the rest of us. One of my jobs is to fill the drinking water, and replenish the bottles in our room with freshly filtered water.

Now the filtration unit installed in our kitchen is slow. Once I’d finished the bottles, I rinsed out the water dispenser and proceeded to fill it up again. It has the capacity to hold 10 litres, and due the painfully slow drizzle from the unit, it takes forever to fill.

I turned it on, and went to the floor above to fold the laundry. I could still hear the container filling, and by that I could gauge how much time I had left.

In the middle of folding clothes, I suddenly hear the water stop altogether. In a panic, I rush downstairs thinking the force of the drizzle had changed. In my mind’s eye I imagined water cascading all over the floor, under the machine, into the various nooks and crannies of the kitchen.. you get the picture.

Only to find my father looking up at me from the foot of the stairs, with a very naughty expression. I looked past him at the unit, and sure enough it had been turned off. The container below wasn’t even half full.

K: “Did you turn off the unit?”

D: “Yup!”

K: “Why, exactly? It’s not filled up yet.”

D: “That’s enough. There are 3 people in the house; how much water do we need?”

K: “That’s not the point. I do this once every two days. Can you please keep your fingers to yourself?”

(I was laughing by this time, so he figured his game was up.)

D: “I wanted to bring you downstairs.”

K: “I knew it! You absolute pest.”

Here is when I exploded into helpless giggles.

I turned on the unit again, and had to wait for it to be ready before I could turn on the water flow again. The whole time I was standing there waiting, my father was flitting around making comments like:

- “You should thank me. You got some exercise running up and down the stairs.”

- “Why are you turning it on again? I’m going to turn it off as soon as I hear you back upstairs.”

- “I’m thinking 5 times more should be enough exercise.”

- “Mama is in the bathroom, and she can’t do anything.”

Sure enough, as if on cue, my mother emerges from the bathroom. In the middle of giggles, I explain what her bratty husband was up to. He ‘explained’ that he was a ‘grown-up adult’ and I was ‘just a kid’.

He got a smack.

I was SO happy. (It also put a cheeky grin on his face.)

Just for fun: Laundry List

2010-08-23T18:05:00.001+05:30

Because I feel a little guilty for being such a wet blanket yesterday, I thought I would come up with a laundry list of qualities I am looking for in a prospective husband.

Starting with the Indian favourites:

Religion: Not important, so long as I can practice my beliefs in peace. I would like my children to be Hindu as well, because I believe in the spiritual essence of Hindu teachings – and not the dogmatic rubbish that pandits preach. (Unfortunately, I cannot marry a Muslim. Under ANY circumstances.)
Caste: Again, except for Brahmins, all castes are welcome. Brahmins can shove their caste where the sun don’t shine.
Age: At least 5 years my senior. I have recently discovered I am most comfortable with mature, self-assured gentlemen instead of the frothy, giggly, insecure schoolboy type. Thanks but no thanks.
Height: I wasn’t ever fussy about this until my last boyfriend. I loved that I was so much shorter than him. It made me look petite – no mean feat for someone of my size.
Level of fitness: I honestly don’t care. Of course I like fit guys (who the hell doesn’t?!), but I am not into looks-obsessed nutjobs either. I’ll settle from anything from athletic to overweight.
Colour: (Haha!! My Indian-ness is asserting itself..) Again – don’t give a damn.

Other pre-requisites:

Must be highly educated – at least a Master’s OR highly intelligent. (The level of education is my mother’s requirement not mine. The intelligence is mine.)
Must speak good to flawless English. Incorrect English grates on my nerves. This doesn’t include typos.
Must have open mind. And heart. (And wallet.)
Must love my parents. (I will love his parents.)
Must love dogs, and respect all forms of life. (And food too. I HATE people who do not accord food its due respect.)
Must have sense of humour – preferably one as stupid as mine. (My ex told me I merely ‘tried to be funny' but failed’. Ouch.)

There you have it. The laundry list of virtues. Of course, this is a far from comprehensive list but then again, that would be very very VERY long indeed. Also I am open to adjustment, as I find rigid people are very difficult to live with.

Send all applications via comments. Let’s talk.

Wanted: Life and Life Partner

2010-08-23T00:16:00.001+05:30

Okay, I am officially tired of being single. I did it for a few months now, and honestly I’m heartily sick of it.

I miss the companionship and youth of a partner – somebody to do ‘young’ stuff with. My parents are awesome and I adore them, but coming home at 11 PM is such a bummer sometimes. In fact, this Saturday I actually called it a night at 8:30 PM. (Granted I was suffering from the mother of all migraines – but that’s not the point.)

All my school life, all I wanted was loads of friends. I wanted to have the fun that my classmates were having, even when 14 or 15. I was told that the time for that will come. Come college, and I was stuck in a miserable paying guest accommodation with an old hag for a landlady, who refused to let us stay out after 9:30 PM. Wonderful. I was 20 and cloistered like a nun. Again all my classmates had fun; while I watched unhappily from the sidelines. My mom still told me that the time would come.

Now I am out of college, staying at home, working from home and with minimal responsibilities. It’s great. Except that I know NO ONE my age in Goa. I have NO opportunity to meet them, and I am literally within these four walls all day long. When I go out I go out with my parents, who given their age have a limited level of energy. I love them for making the effort, and I wouldn’t say that I’m bored, but I miss the companionship of people my own age.

I have been extraordinarily unlucky when it comes to friends. Perhaps this is the safe option. I don’t know; I just know that life seems to be passing me by sometimes.

And therefore, I want a life partner. Please God.

With Friends Like These…

2010-08-20T18:21:00.001+05:30

Red (K) – My best mate from high school. The one with the multiple receptions and the father that wanted me to die on the spot. (She speaks flawless English, however she talks like this informally. It’s cute, actually.)

Gray (R) – A friend from French classes in Pune. Absolute pain, but I really do love him. He is, as one can clearly see, always mean about me not calling him. (Even though he never calls ME.)

(Hello, Mr. Pot. You were saying something to me? – Regards, Ms. Kettle.)

(White is all the other people who commented on her status, and her replies to them. Luckily these people don’t know me, otherwise I shudder to think what would have happened. (Also, the guy mentioned in the post linked to above had also commented. I am happy to say the dude is getting married TO SOMEONE ELSE. THANK GOD!))

This entire conversation took place on K’s Facebook profile, and I saw it completely by accident. I introduced the two of them when I was attending her wedding, and get this they spent an hour and a half together.

Apparently that is enough time to form a consortium and gang up on me.

My favourite part is when she tells him that I will kill him and make it look like an accident. LOVE.

One thing at a time

2010-08-09T23:31:00.001+05:30

I honestly should do just ONE thing at a time. I used to be quite good at multi-tasking, but somewhere down the line, there is so much stuff going on in my head, I do some really crazy things.

A mild example would be a stunt I pulled the other morning. I have two pairs of contact lenses, both prescription – one grey pair, and the other clear. I mostly use the clear lenses.

That wonderful morning, I was thoroughly preoccupied with the immense drama that had transpired the day before, and I managed to put one clear lens in one eye, and a grey lens in the other. Since the boxes are completely different, I am BAFFLED as to how exactly I managed to do this.

The icing on the cake was when I looked in the mirror to check my hair, and I spent 2 minutes wondering WHY my eyes were looking so different from each other.

*facepalm*

The more embarrassing incident was about 5 minutes ago. I let my dog out on the terrace to do her thing. I’d just come in from dinner at a restaurant, and my jeans’ button was threatening to pop right off. So I took off my jeans and was clearing my room in just my top and my skivvies.

Of course, my dog yelled her insistence to be taken in and I obliged, noting at the same time I needed to clear the mess from outside.

Which I did.

In the clothing I mentioned above.

Outside.

On. the. FREAKING. terrace.

(Thank God it’s night-time, and no one is really awake in the colony at this hour.)

*facepalm, facepalm, facepalm*

I’m doing something right..

2010-08-03T01:09:00.000+05:30

I am just happy that I have managed to:

a) Stick to a diet

b) Be disciplined about exercise

c) Lose 6 kilos in one month because of a) and b)

Since I perhaps the laziest bum in the world, I’m posting pictures. That too, it’s ONE picture of my mug, because the rest of me needs more work.

Also, 27th July was my mom’s and aunt’s birthday (they’re twins) and we had a lovely dinner at Pan Asian Bowl in Panjim, Goa. LOVE that place, especially since they have the best prawn sesame toast I have ever eaten. Yum. *drools*

The owner is a sort of, kind of friend of mine, although we never meet outside the restaurant. (Busy lifestyles, people.) He ordered a cake for the terrible twins, which I thought was very sweet of him.

However, because we really don’t want to seem to take advantage of his generosity, we probably won’t go back for my dad’s birthday on 17th August. (That’s right folks – I live with 3 Leos. Please express condolences with gifts.) A real pity, because I really do love that restaurant. (And no, it has nothing to do with the owner. He IS cute, but he is 23. A good 3 years my junior, and I so need someone at least 5 years older.)

The twins were looking very good, as we seem to have lost weight as a family – like everything else we do. *smiles*

The above wasn’t taken at Pan Asian Bowl, but at a smaller place where we went to get glasses of fresh juice beforehand. The ambience is less than prepossessing, but it was really a lovely evening in all. The one on the left is my tiny little mother, and the one on the right is my dear aunt. *smiles more*

Of course, the resident patient was looking a little peaky – however he still manages to look unfairly handsome. I hope I marry someone who is almost as good-looking as my father. *swoons in anticipation*

Birds and Bees

2010-08-02T09:16:00.001+05:30

I am the queen of ridiculous problems. Things that make other people laugh with sheer disbelief plague my life. It is utterly unfair.

The most current problem I am undergoing (apart from the more serious nature of my dad’s health) is my dog.

Look at her:

This beautiful, innocent creature is IN HEAT. And the two people bearing the brunt of her amorous advances are my mother and me.

How do you explain to a cocker spaniel that:

a) I am NOT male.

b) I am NOT a cocker spaniel.

c) This is highly creepy – because I think of her as a baby.

Ridiculous, I tell you.

Can’t believe I’m trying this again…

2010-07-01T21:21:00.001+05:30

Remember my disastrous attempt at NaBloPoMo, some months ago?

Needless to say, I had failed miserably. And yet, I am trying again this month. I’ve officially gone mad.

Well, the real reason is that the topic this time was pretty serendipitous. This morning I blogged about rescuing a stray newborn puppy, and the theme for this month is ‘Saved’.

See? Serendipitous, I tell you.

(I’m a little thrilled I can use that word (serendipitous) in a sentence without being prompted by a know-it-all thesaurus.)

So I am entering the lists of the NaBloPoMo-ers this month.

Good luck to me.

On second thought, good luck to YOU.

That’s it.

2010-06-30T18:40:00.001+05:30

I know I have been very vague, and I know my posts have been far from interesting. I have spoken about the confusion that was raging in my head, and the calm that came after I prayed really, really hard. Now, I am neither confused, nor am I calm – I’m absolutely furious.

Let’s take this from the top, shall we?

Sometime ago, I met a guy. After about four or five encounters, we actually spoke once. Somehow, a conversation over text message was struck up, and went on for a few days. (That’s right, the conversation went on for a few DAYS!)

We made it categorically clear to each other that we were both not interested in a relationship – for different reasons. His were prior commitments, and mine were prior heartbreaks. Fair enough. It was a promising friendship nonetheless, because I honest to God enjoyed talking to him.

Then the signals changed dramatically. Of course, I was really taken aback by this, and I honestly second-guessed myself repeatedly. I kept telling myself I was imagining all of this. As an aside, I am not prone to making these assumptions because I have very low self-esteem. Therefore my brain was vehemently arguing against the notion that I was reading too much into too little.

So what’s a girl supposed to do?

Well I don’t know about any other girl, but I ignored the signals. (Remember our respective reasons? Good.) I just wanted to be friends.

The signals continued. I continued ignoring them. I was hoping for a close friend. Never mind that I was starting to like this guy. I am quite capable of putting my own emotions on a very tight leash. Really.

And then what happens?

The messages practically stop. I receive no replies to my messages. I make allowances for busy schedules and commitments; I am second-guessing left right and centre.

Then I get one message at the dead of night: “Good night”. I respond in kind, half asleep. The conversation ends. I figure the next morning, I need to make the first overture. I do. No response. I shrug.

Next night? Another “Good night”. Morning? I send a message. No response. I start to lose my temper.

Same evening, I send a message specifically designed to be a gambit. I know this is a message that he will respond to for sure. If he does, he received the one in the morning, and ignored it. So it’s a sort of test.

He fails. Why? Because 10 seconds after I send the message, I get a response.

I am so through with this guy. I can do without my head being messed up again.

Feelings? What feelings?

Calm after a Storm

2010-06-28T10:50:00.001+05:30

Yesterday, I wrote about how confused I was feeling and how it seems to be taking over my life.

This morning, I feel different.

The one thing I was absolutely desperate for yesterday, and I didn’t have, was peace of mind. I wanted to be able to deal with everything that was happening to me with a certain modicum of calm.

So last night, I prayed very hard.

In my lifetime, I have learnt not to pray for absolutes. For instance, I don’t pray for certain events to transpire, nor do I wish for certain things to appear. I merely ask for the strength to deal with what life has in store for me, because I truly believe that God only lets what is our best interest to happen to us. Yesterday I prayed for strength and the ability to achieve peace of mind. (Not for the peace of mind itself – just the ability to achieve it.)

This morning, I woke up after a good night’s rest, experiencing serenity.

My mind isn’t replaying all the text conversations over and over again. I don’t have to fight myself from the brink of starting a SMS conversation, in spite of feeling very pushy. Right now, I figure I have pursued a friendship to the extent I consider seemly. I think the ball is best left in the other person’s court for now, and I feel this without a shred of ego. My only contention is that I have no desire to foist myself on anyone.

As a result, I am now able to look at other aspects of my life with the enthusiasm I used to feel before – without dwelling on certain texts reposing in my inbox.

The calm is very comforting.

All Muddled Up

2010-06-27T22:21:00.001+05:30

When I was in one of my relationships, I used to look back somewhat wistfully at the times when the love/romance/attraction/the-disaster-in-question was first blossoming.

I’m sure everyone knows what I mean. The furtive sidelong looks, the uncertainty of the other’s feelings, and the certainty that there is chemistry although no one wants to admit it just in case it isn’t actually there.

And in my generation, it’s the text message at an odd hour.

The text message has been responsible for ALL my relationships. All. of. them. no. exceptions.

However, I used to discount the uncertainty. That nagging, gnawing worry in the pit of your stomach; the self-disgust when a text message arrives and your heart does a flip-flop. All that I forgot to consider. The terror of putting yourself out there, in case there is humiliation or hurt.

I was so foolish. I want to kick my old self in the head. Hard.

I am experiencing all these feelings again. I have spoken very sternly to myself in the mirror, I informed my reflection that this wasn’t the right time for a relationship. I am not ready to allow myself to be vulnerable again. I may be misreading these signals – there may not be signals at all. Additionally, there are complications on the other side – of which I have been told, but I don’t know how the situation stands. It’s a minefield.

The upshot of my little homily is that I gloss over all the suggestive comments that are made. Ignore, and focus on something else. There – sorted.

Uh. NO.

Because I KNOW I’m not misreading these signals. I KNOW it. I also know that I am keeping a very tight rein on my own feelings because of the complications on the other side. I refuse to put one toe past the line of friendship – and mostly I’ve succeeded. No one can accuse my messages of being anything more than friendly. I even went as far as putting a damper on one particular suggestive remark.

(Never mind that my heart and stomach were performing Olympic level stunts. Let’s not think of that, shall we?)

In addition to this madness, I have been swamped with work. So while half my brain is trying to plan an article, the other half is furiously suggesting I go out for coffee, and finally set the platonic friendship ball rolling. But I am house-bound till the end of the month, because of my work-load.

So essentially I have to live with this for another week at least.

I know this post may not make much sense. There is turmoil raging in my mind at the moment. So if you are confused after reading this, I hope there is comfort in the knowledge that I am infinite times more confused.

Computers haven’t taken over the world, yet.

2010-06-26T13:32:00.001+05:30

Yesterday, I was texting a new acquaintance I’ve made in Goa. And while I put it diplomatically, let’s just say he is the FIRST and ONLY one since I moved here.

(I’m waiting for the sniggering to stop. Done? Good.)

Because I have a job that entails typing, typing and more typing, I am somewhat restricted when it comes to meeting folks. I have no transport, therefore all classes, events and other chances to meet people is to all intents and purposes – not available.

Anyway, I received a text asking me what I was doing. This was part of a larger conversation, so I replied that I was planning an article in my head because there was no electricity at that moment. So, the next obvious question was what my article was about. I replied with: “Android 2.2. Fascinating isn’t it? :-(“

I didn’t receive a reply for half an hour. I was a little surprised, but I figured something came up. (He has the most hectic schedule I have ever heard of. I am in AWE of his endless supply of energy.)

By the time I get a reply, I had already gotten immersed in work. My phone beeped, and I saw this:

“Huh.. what??? It took me 30 mins to figure out what you were saying! Sounds like a Jetsons movie. :-P”

I stared at the tiny mobile screen for half a second before bursting into gales of laughter. I wasn’t laughing AT him, I was just thinking how CUTE the reply was. I mean, seriously? Jetsons? Awww!

After the tears stopped, I sent him a reply apologising for assuming that he knew what I was talking about. And then it struck me, how accustomed I am to speaking with techies or technophiles. Most of my acquaintances would have replied with: “Froyo? Ok.” Or something to that effect.

(Jetsons. So ADORABLE. *chuckles*)

I then realised how refreshing it was to know someone whose expertise lay in a completely different sphere. And he certainly isn’t an idiot, so that wasn’t the reason – just outdoorsy, while this is mainly indoors stuff. And I especially appreciated that it didn’t occur to him to Google it to find out what the hell I was talking about.

It was nice, and for the life of me, I don’t know WHY.

The Process of Friendship

2010-06-25T13:10:00.001+05:30

Contrary to the impression my tweets may convey, I really am not against making friends with boys.

(I AM against “fraanship”, but that is a whole different story.)

I believe there is a process for friendship to be established between two people. And more importantly, that process cannot be rushed, nor orchestrated.

Case in point:

A chap added me on Twitter the other day. Fine. Twitter is pretty much a free-for-all situation, and if I wanted to whet every follower, I would protect my tweets. But I want to do no such thing (as I already have a Facebook account with similar rules).

He responded to a few of my tweets, and I replied to him in turn. Also fine. Not someone I wanted to strike up a conversation with, because of the way he responded. I am mostly tongue-in-cheek and quite sarcastic. While I am aware everyone reacts differently, I have a certain reaction I expect in my head, and I usually find the people who I consider friends DO respond in kind. So I know when there is potential for friendship to develop.

This guy started asking me, oh-so-many questions. What do I do, where do I live, what are my interests. ALL valid questions. Yet, I felt like I was being cross-examined. Why? Because it was like a rapid-fire of tweets. I was questioned when my answers were cursory, or I hadn’t been online for a while. I started justifying why I said something or the other. And the trump card this fellow played whenever I started to snap was: “I was just trying to be friendly. If you don’t want that, please tell me honestly.”

Now, I am not rude enough to say, yeah go to hell, I don’t want to be friendly. I was hoping he would back off a little when I didn’t respond to every tweet, but he called me on it saying I was ignoring him. I WAS. But I was trying to hint him away.

Suffice it to say, it did not work. He was impervious to hints, used emotional blackmail and appealed to my sense of right to muscle in on my life. I was honestly choking.

Till I realised that I didn’t OWE him an explanation for anything. I was feeling uncomfortable about his behaviour, and although I couldn’t pinpoint explicit examples, the overall attitude was bothering me. I should stop feeling guilty about being uncomfortable.

So I sent him a message to back off, and blocked the account.

Of course, once I did this, I started second-guessing myself.

Was I being too harsh? He only wanted to be friends. Why was I so put off by him? Don’t all friendships start the same way?

Thankfully for my sanity, I realised that there is a natural progression to all relationships. When two people meet (on Twitter, real life or otherwise) neither can force the other person into a friendship. Yes, the questions were all right, but there is a gradual learning curve about each other, which takes place when both realise they want to share information about themselves. Cross-examining anyone sets up their back.

Like I said, I am not against making friends – but I don’t want to be forced into it.

Father’s Day

2010-06-18T11:49:00.001+05:30

Yesterday was absolutely the most awesome day in the history of awesome days (for me). Since Father’s Day is on the 20th, I had been racking my brains for the best gift to get for my dad – and yesterday I finally GOT it.

It is not an easy task, believe me, and my father is the sole cause of my firm conviction that men are IMPOSSIBLE to buy for.

It was easier in the past, when I was a kid; the concept of Father’s Day was non-existent. When I was slightly older and in sixth form college, I bought him the standard Hallmark/Archie’s paraphernalia like photo frames and keyrings. Those pall after a while, no matter how happy he pretend to be.

After I started shopping for him, I have gotten lots of stuff regardless of any occasion: ties galore, office shirts in numerous colours, shoes, perfumes, etc. etc. Which essentially makes shopping for an occasion so much harder – because once you buy someone 10 shirts, getting them one really nice shirt pales in comparison.

So my big dilemma was to get him something he really loves. My choices were:

Clothes
Perfumes
A watch
Shoes
Take him out for a nice dinner

In other words, boring, boring, boring.

I settled on a watch tentatively, and went out shopping with my mom and aunt. We looked at Titan watches (a brand made in India; subsidiary of Tata) which he promptly vetoed when we told him.

Great. I was left with the option of getting him a Fossil watch off the Internet. I’d seen one I liked, but he said he didn’t want another watch. (Please note the careful use of the word ‘another’. He has PLENTY.)

We were looking around, when I spotted an arcade in Panjim which we hadn’t checked out earlier. There we disappeared into a shop which stocked men’s apparel and picked out 4 ties on a whim. (See what I mean?)

After getting out of the shop, I spotted Furtado’s. It was a big music showroom with innumerable instruments displayed.

That’s when I had a brainwave – I would get him a tabla set.

My father has always been into Indian instrumental music, perhaps because his parents were each proficient exponents of musical instruments.

He always wanted to learn how to play the tabla, but never actually bought a set for himself. Yesterday, we went to the music shop and picked out a pair for him.

I have never seen him quite so beside himself with excitement.

To-do: Must install microSD card in brain.

2010-06-16T08:24:00.001+05:30

Of late, I have been less and less time on Facebook. I find it palled after a while. However, one thing it is great for? Birthday reminders. Because a great big airhead such as myself would make even stupider gaffes than I already do without it.

Case in point: On the 14th, the family and I were out for dinner. When thoughts strike me like thunderbolts, in the following sequence:

Oh my God! It’s June!
What date is it?!?
It’s a Monday!
Did I send in that article I was supposed to?
What was I thinking about?
Oh yeah.
It’s a Monday.
I’m sure I’ve left my window open, and it’s raining heavily.
Oh heavens, it’s the 14th.
Today’s is friend’s birthday.
I don’t have credit on my phone, and I’m in the middle of dinner.
Call her tomorrow and explain.
Why is her birthday not saved on my phone?!?
If she was on Facebook, this would never have happened!
Guilt.

I can be SO random.

Anyway, I returned from dinner only to realize it was too late to call her. So I called her in the afternoon yesterday – very apologetically.

Her response? “Karishma, I swear I’m going to beat you the next time we meet.”

My reaction: “I’m so sorry, I did remember on the 14th, but I had no credit on my phone and I was out and by the time I got back it was really really late. Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Evidently suppressing strong emotion: “We were roommates in college for two years and you can’t remember my birthday?”

Assuming strong emotion was annoyance: “I’m soooo sorry. I’ll make it up to you!”

Bursts into gales of laughter: “My birthday is on the 14th of JULY not June, you silly girl.”

Ah.

We finish our conversation and promise to talk later. I look up 14th July on my mobile’s calendar to save her birthday.

It was already there.

Random as Ever

2010-06-11T10:05:00.001+05:30

This month has been quite relaxed, mainly because I haven’t been able to do any work. Try as I might, I couldn’t find the right words for any of my articles, right to the extent that I have deleted all the ones I did because they turned out so rubbish.

However, I feel different today. (Thank God. I was starting to worry.)

I think my lack of flow was because of this new lifestyle regime I am on. In my ongoing effort to lose weight, I have slipped and slid many times over the past few years. Therefore I am hesitant to make a big deal of it. However the upshot of a reduced diet and a whole lot of exercise is that I am constantly sleepy.

And I don’t mean, my-lids-are-heavy sort of sleepy, but more the my-brain-is-trying-to-claw-its-way-out-of-my-head kind of sleepy.

Yeah, it’s no fun.

But luckily I feel different today. I hope to lose weight (note the lack of conviction – I just don’t want to get my hopes up) and I hope the constant throb in the region of my sinuses stops soon.

To work and beyond!

What the Future Holds

2010-06-09T15:32:00.001+05:30

My argument against modern-day astrology is very simple: how can you divide the fortunes of the whole world into just 12 parts? I mean, everyone is different, unique in their own way and has had a life of experiences completely their own.

That being said, I am a firm believer in the simple construct that I do NOT understand everything.

I have experienced a number of miracles, personally, and also heard my mother speak of many more. These are miracles that reaffirm my faith in God, destiny and powers that I cannot understand right now, without a shadow of a doubt.

When I was younger, I read books about eastern philosophy and life after death, till the information started coming out my ears. I devoured books on Tibetan culture, Egyptian mysteries, Hindu philosophy and many more, only to realise that so much of it correlated perfectly with each other. The teachings were based on sound and logical principles. What has corrupted these teachings have been the self-appointed custodians of God and organised religion.

My idea of faith is to love God, understand that I am loved in return, and try and be the best person I can. That isn’t to say I don’t slip up, and I quite frequently rail and rant in front of the picture of Shirdi Baba in my room.

(I know it seems like I’ve lost the plot, but I haven’t.)

In the true Hindu philosophy, logic and learning was never considered heretical. Great saints could predict the future and they were valued for their expertise. And thus, astrology comes back into the picture.

Although I am sceptical about modern-day astrology, I am thoroughly in awe of the true science of foretelling.

When we lived in Dubai, we had a circle of family friends that were mostly spiritually-oriented. We shared anecdotes about experiences, visited holy men together*, etc. etc.

One evening, one couple came home for a cup of tea. She had just spent a few months in India, and had come across patris. Patris usually refer to astrological forecasts made when someone is born. It is based upon the Hindu system, using the date and time of birth to analyze the position of the celestial objects to predict the life of the child. (Like most other things, the true science is practised by very few. The people that now practise are little more than charlatans.)

However she was talking about a different kind of patri. These were not commissioned by the family of the child; they had been written by a rishimunni** centuries ago. And there are two per soul. Not person – SOUL.

The shocks didn’t stop there.

The correct patri, which is written on a leaf, is retrieved through a complicated process involving a thumb impression. (I could go into more details, but this post is already getting completely out of hand.) A packet of corresponding patris is retrieved, and the person who is seeking their patri is asked to verify certain pieces of personal information. Even if one item is not correct, the patri is skipped.

Bear in mind that these are people who don’t know the seekers from Adam.

Once the right leaf is obtained, the guy proceeds to translate it – because it is written in Ancient Tamil. ***

The patri then talks about the past of the person in their current and previous lives, where they are in the present life, why they have come to retrieve their patri, and what their future holds.

Believe me, my mind was blown when I heard this.

She went to tell us how each event narrated in the patri was spot on. Things that no one except her immediate family knew about were written on the ancient leaf.

This was many years ago, and when we returned to India, I promptly forgot all about it. Till one day, my mother was in Hyderabad, and she called up to say there was a patri centre there and she was going.

The whole incident was incredible from start to finish. I won’t go into too many details because much of it was personal. However, the fact remained that the science was way more advanced then, as compared to now.

In my mother’s patri, I was mentioned a few times – for obvious reasons. One of the points was that my mother was concerned about me finding the right partner. The patri said I was going to have a very happy married life.

So far so good.

The clincher, however, was that I was going to get married in my mother’s 60th year. At the time I thought, big deal, that’s ages away.

My mother’s 60th year starts this year on July 27th.

* I know a number of bogus ones have cropped up lately in India. But there are cheap knock-offs because the real thing exists.

** Rishimunni is a Hindu ascetic. Usually renounces worldly life in the quest to attain enlightenment through contemplation.

*** The patris have survived because the Deccan plateau in India is the only tract of land on Earth that have never been under water.

Small Triumphs

2010-06-08T08:43:00.001+05:30

This morning, I set out with my dad to the fruit and vegetable market. It was a peaceful morning in beautiful Panjim, bathed in hot sunlight. I was enjoying the view, while a CD with devotional music played in the background. My dad and I drove in comfortable silence, and my mind wandered.

It all started out with my dad smoothly executing a difficult turn. He really is an exceptional driver, as my mother has said ad infinitum. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t consider his expert handling to be of very great importance.

I, on the other hand, was truly impressed.

That’s when I started considering the small triumphs that occur in everyday life.

In my everyday existence, my triumphs are writing a good article or figuring out a missing flavour in a dish. I also feel immense pleasure with a blog comment or a favourable response to some work. I love crossing off things on my to-do list, and I love the feeling of having just finished cleaning my room.

I love it when my nail polish remains smooth after I apply it, and when my outfit looks exactly like I imagined it. I love fixing small household items and having them stay fixed. I love mixing essentials oils in a diffuser and having the perfect fragrance permeate my dreams when I sleep.

I love it when my dog welcomes me at the bottom of the staircase every morning, or when she finds that sleeping cuddled into my body is the most comfortable position.

But more than all these small triumphs, I love being able to share it with my family. I can tell my mother all these trivial things, and she understands and partakes of my pleasure too.

I have come to realise that it is the small joys that make for a happy existence, because great happiness comes along once in a while and isn’t usually sustained or sustainable.

What are your small daily triumphs?

My Beautiful People

2010-06-03T17:23:00.001+05:30

May was quite hectic, what with crazy work schedules and family stuff. However, it was fun in a way that April SHOULD have been (birthday month) but wasn’t.

Since I’m not really in the mood to write today, and I do want to stick to my blogging once every two days resolution – I thought I’d make this a “Meet the family” post.

(Note: The girls of our family never photograph well, however hard we try. My father, on the other hand, photographs unfairly well. He looks exactly like the pictures for real, although we look much better in the flesh. So UNFAIR.)

Contrariness

2010-06-01T21:51:00.001+05:30

(Trying my hand at emailing a post to the blog for the first time. Fingers crossed this works. This is thanks to the lack of electricity.)

One of my besetting sins is wanting to do something just because someone idiotic has goaded me to revolt. Ordinarily, this would take the form of doing/saying/feeling exactly the opposite as the goad-er. This is especially true of sanctimonious and overly-emotional people; I can’t abide by them. And of course, male chauvinists. (I’ve deliberately left out ‘pigs’ from that title, because I have a lot of respect for all animals – including pigs – and I think it’s insulting to them.)

However, contrary to the impression I seem to be creating, I am not proud of this trait. Really, really not. Therefore I am trying to seal my lips shut in the face of what I considering annoying behaviour, and not retort like a two-year old. I am, honest! I figure that’s the only way people will take my true opinions seriously, as opposed to me constantly swinging from one to the other like a pendulum.

It’s called growth, people. Look at me, I’m maturing.

Anyway, although I have this idiotic tendency, my reaction to male chauvinism is sincere however explosive and reactionary – which brings me to my actual point.

Names are tedious handles in India. They are long and convey oh-too-much information to everyone else. This includes, and is not restricted to, family name, house name, mother’s house name, village name, clan name, and caste.

(I wish I was joking.)

Thankfully for the sake of sanity, the format varies from place to place. However, one factor remains fairly constant – the middle name is usually the father’s name or the husband’s name.

I, born in a foreign country, have two names. My first name and surname – and THAT’S IT. No father’s name, and certainly no husband’s name (Ew). I am happy with my name, as it happens to perfectly symmetrical which appeals to my compulsive side. Plus I never gave it much thought till I came to India in any case.

Then I was told a story by someone who was applying for a job or course or something to that effect. This hapless girl had listed their name minus the obligatory middle name. The official on the receiving end (should have been a kick not a form) remarked sneeringly: “Oh! No middle name? Don’t you have a father?”

Someone kindly the sign the jackass up for elementary biology.

In India that is an insult of no mean stature. It essentially translates to calling someone a bastard.

Yeah.

Of course, when I heard this story, I was FURIOUS. And I was pretty adamant that I would NEVER use a middle name. I really can’t abide male chauvinism – even in tiny, practically non-existent doses.

(See where I was going with the whole contrariness buildup?)

So as a result, all my applications to various communities, clubs, institutions, companies etc. are filled up minus a middle name (which I never had to begin with). So the other day I received a bill in the mail from Tata Indicom, addressed to “K. M. Sundaram”. Evidently Tata Indicom had taken upon themselves to add the middle initial, as my father’s name, Mohan, is mentioned on the form.

The SIM card is registered in my name, so it was obviously meant for me. I think I deserve credit for not flipping out like I was half-inclined to doing. I figured it wasn’t a big deal anyway, and I don’t really care what a bunch of morons at Tata decide to call me anyway.

See? Told you I was growing.

But the funny part was when I gave the bill to my dad to settle. He looked at the bill, took in the name and asked: “What the hell does ‘M’ stand for?”

I adore my non-chauvinistic Indian father.

An Ode to My Father

2010-03-19T11:01:00.001+05:30

Since I have moved home, I’ve ended up renewing my relationship with my dad. We used to be close when I was younger, but his phone communication is seriously challenged. In fact, ALL his communication is challenged.

Just as an example, my parents have had a love marriage. While this may seem very ordinary to many people, most Easterners will recognise the ‘BIG DEAL’ factor. Their marriage has lasted 32 years, through various bumps. And yet, to date, my father hasn’t said he loves my mother once. NOT. ONCE. Not that she doesn’t know it; it’s pretty obvious, but the words are impossible for him. Same with me. I know my father adores me, but it just won’t ever come from him in words.

My father has had a rather unhappy, yet privileged childhood. After losing his mother soon after he was born, his childhood seems to have come now. As a result, my mother has acquired another kid, and I have a cantankerous sibling-like father to contend with. He grins like a happy baby with every overture of affection or every token of love. He basks in attention like a small toddler.

We are very similar, my dad and I, and we argue till my poor mother plugs her ears. It doesn’t have to be about anything particular – his clothes, my clothes, his office, my work, my mother, the dog, ANYTHING. We have the same silly sense of humour, although I tend towards mimicry whereas he leans towards theatrics. (One of my favourite gags is to mimic his gags TO him. That renders him utterly speechless. Fun.)Every morning is a laughter riot, with the both of us kidding around, driving my mother insane, and my aunt into helpless fits of giggles.

The other day we were driving home, and a few strays ran after our car barking their heads off. I often shake my heads at the silly creatures, wondering out loud what they would do with a car if they ever caught up with it. My mother and aunt laugh, and my father continues to drive in silence. Yesterday, I receive an email forward from him. There is an attachment with jokes about men. One of the jokes is: “Why do men chase women they will never marry?” The answer: “The same reason dogs chase cars they will never drive.” In the body of the email, there is one line: Babaa (my dad’s nickname for me), you always wonder why those dogs chase our car…

I wouldn’t change my father for the world.

Please Admire my RIDICULOUS Life

2010-03-17T20:04:00.001+05:30

(Hindi: Mujhse dosti karoge? English: Would you be friends with me?)

As I have a blog, with my real name, I automatically have a public Google profile. When Buzz came up, I was under the (manifestly incorrect) impression (and delusion) that only my contacts could see it. So I connected up my Twitter account and, for a while, my blog too.

Then I forgot ALL about it.

When I receive a notification in my inbox saying that one of my friends has commented on a Buzz post, I am pleasantly surprised. But, I AM surprised. Because like I said, I FORGET it EXISTS.

In the above picture, I have tweeted some random stray thought. The first comment visible, isn’t actually the first comment.

There was a bloke from Pune who has responded saying: “Hiiiiiiiiii!”. I didn’t know said bloke, so I ignored it.

It. didn’t. stop.

What followed was a long list of comments by my friends to block the guy. Now, not being a user of Buzz, I didn’t know that was possible.

Then of course, after I assured my dear friends I blocked the bloke, the teasing started. This isn’t the first time this has happened with me; it’s the first time it’s on display.

Introducing my friends (in order of appearance):

Biswa – we were classmates for our MS program

Ronita – we met during our bachelor’s degree

Rahul – we became friends through French classes

I haven’t got the faintest idea who Sanjay is. It is my fortune that he chose this particular Buzz to start up a conversation.

I love my friends, I really really do. BUT I am NEVER living this one down.

Stay (Un)Cool

2010-03-17T00:44:00.001+05:30

I often feel very un-cool. Possibly because, in school, I was the very definition of un-cool – short (ish), long (LONG LONG) hair, braces, chubby and bespectacled. Not precisely a recipe for hotness. Also, when I was in school, it was cool to, well, rebel. I never rebelled. EVER.

Not that I blamed my classmates – rich, spoilt kids, mostly higher-middle class. Both parents were always busy with their own lives, and had very little time to spare for miscellaneous offspring. Our school was practically full-day, from 7:30 in the morning, to 5:00 in the evening. They rebelled, loved it, and painted anyone who didn’t with the unanimous brush of un-cool.

Enter me.

My parents have always been there. I had (and still have) great relationships with all three of them (I consider my mom’s twin my ‘second mom’). My dad never yelled, my aunt showered me with love and my mother yelled till ceiling tiles dropped. It worked. We had fun together, and my parents were by far the hippest lot I knew.

(I’m totally serious. My mother thinks I should live with a bloke for six months before marrying him. UNHEARD OF in Indian society. Apparently I need to know whether I like his smelly breath and unshaven mug early in the morning. Her words, not mine.)

I have lived in hostels/paying guest accommodation/alone for the past 10 years. And in the last year, I moved back home (joint family decision). My teenage self sometimes asks whether I am violating my own sense of cool by living here (and enjoying it). All my peers are moving out, getting married and setting up lives FAR away from their parents. I, on the other hand, am getting more comfortably ensconced in my parental abode. I have no romantic plans, which I find a HUGE relief.

Then today, I heard my father cough (ex-smoker – GRRR!). I saw my mother’s knees stiffen after sitting for too long. I saw my aunt press a hand into the small of her back and wince a little in pain. It made my heart twist.

I may be the queen of un-cool, but my place is here.

Presentation Ceremony

2010-03-14T19:23:00.001+05:30

Please admire my first ever blog award.

(Please also note I said ‘first ever’. I am hoping against hope that someone takes the hint, and gives me another. I kid, of course.)

Ahem. Back to the subject at hand, I received this lovely award from a lovely blogger who blogs here. I am supposed to do the following things:

- Display the Sunshine Logo somewhere on your blog, or within your post.
- Pass the warm glow onto 12 lovely bloggers of your choice, and link to them.
- Inform these 12 pleasant people by way of commenting on their blogs.
- Share the love and link to the person that nominated you.

1 and 4 on that list were easy-peasy (an old thing I used to say, grew out of, and now have picked up again thanks to silly vampire novels).

2 and 3, not so much.

However I am going to take up the gauntlet of letting the bloggers I read so often that I, well, exist, I suppose. (I’m a lu..r..ke…rr. *hangs head in shame*)

Without further ado, I present:

1. Tangerine at An Enchanted Life

2. Catherinette at Bridget Jones has Nothing on Me

3. Mermanda at Cusp of Normal

4. Five Blondes at, um, Five Blondes

5. Joshlos at it’s a bloggy blog world

6. Dolce at La Dolce Vita

7. Carrie at Manic Cupcake

8. SillyGrrl at Silly Grrl

9. Hillary at Two L’s Please

10. Jenn at You’ll Grow to Love Me

11. Kristopher at kris.blog()

AND, last but certainly not least,

12. Heather Rose at Mad Madam’s Mim’s Mimsy

All the above, are bloggers that bring a smile to my face every single time I read their blogs. I haven’t had the courage to comment on most yet, but I hope I ahem grow a pair sometime soon.

Customization is Key

2010-03-14T11:59:00.001+05:30

As I mentioned in my previous post, I was having some serious computing issues; in that, my hard disk was showing a warning for ‘imminent failure’.

Thankfully the imminence (apparently that’s a word. huh. who knew?) of the failure allowed me to retrieve the majority of my data. Which means tears of blood were not shed, although sleepless nights were had by the plenty. I did lose a few items here and there, but honestly, I’ll live.

I have gotten my trusty laptop back and am currently in the process of setting it up.

There are a lot of positives about getting a new hard disk – there is more space (90 GB more to be precise) plus I got Windows 7 pre-loaded. So – score. Because, I don’t have to do the work – duh.

Reloading the data back into the system wasn’t difficult either. The programs took a while, but again, I am managing. It’s the customizable settings that are driving me around the bend.

I have to look up all my passwords, because my form history has been erased. The power button is set to ‘Sleep’ instead of ‘Hibernate’. My Taskbar has items I don’t need, and doesn’t have items I do need. I decided to use the Picasa photo management software instead of Nokia LifeBlog, and all the timestamps have been messed up.

Frankly, it’s driving me crazy. (Because I’m compulsive that way.)

However, again on the up side, I am giving the computer a much-needed break thanks to the stress of setting it up again. Hence my eyes have stopped being bloodshot and my stoop is disappearing.

Score.

Yeah, I'm still here.

2010-03-08T17:37:00.004+05:30

Last week was bad, in ways I don't even want to get into. One of the better of the bad things was my laptop's hard disk failing. So you can well imagine my week.

Anyway, I got a blog award from Heather Rose (please check out http://madmadammimm.blogspot.com. I can't insert hyperlinks into my posts from my phone.), which I've been able to check out only today. Unfortunately, until I find a decent mobile blogging app, I can't share it with anyone. But it totally made my day.

That, and shopping like a maniac on Baga beach.

Got me some fine clothes for THROWAWAY prices.

Karishma = Happy.

P.S. Thank you so much Heather Rose. I can't even leave a comment on your post. *sob*

How Pink Cheeks Turn Red

2010-03-02T12:57:00.001+05:30

Old school friends?

Worth their weight in gold.

Friend's parents who treat you like an extension of their household, because once upon a time they had to kick you out of their house?

Even better.

Except when they embarrass the crap out of you.

Friend's parents have that special place in my life, which is entirely unassailable. The only problem is that if my parents pulled a stunt like the one I'm about to tell you, I would have ranted and raved at them till I was blue in the face. In this case? Grinning and bearing was the order of the day.

So I was at my friend's reception. You know, the same one I have been talking about for half a million posts. (I know it's annoying - I'll stop. Eventually.)

So everyone had finished eating, except the happy couple and my friend's parents. She rescued (her words, not mine) me from her cousins, and plonked me next to her to, and I quote, 'watch her eat'. As people were leaving, they came up to the table for one last good wish. The families stuck around for the bidaai (where the bride leaves for her new home).

Now I should mention that in the run-up to the wedding, this dear darling friend of mine had been trying to get me 'introduced' to her husband's cousin. I was avoiding all such efforts.

Don't get me wrong, the guy was fabulous on paper. Lives in US, just finished his PhD, tall, good-looking (in her opinion), fun, smart, etc, etc.

Yours truly wasn't interested. (Yours truly can be very weird. At times.)

So this guy trots up to the table, to talk to his cousin and my friend. As we hadn't had much interaction during the receptions, I turned to my other side while he was talking to the family.

My attention was suddenly recalled by my friend's dad: "Karishma, what do you think?"

I was all: "Huh? Say what? I missed the whole conversation, uncle, I'm sorry what were you saying?"

Turns out, my friend's dad was complimenting this cousin on his smooth dancing moves and exuberance. He was teasing him, saying that all the single girls must've been very impressed.

And at this point, he claimed my attention.

Okay. Pause. Deep breath, Karishma, deep breath.

I turned to the guy, and said, "Oh yes, on behalf of all the single girls, I would like to say we were very impressed!"

Score! Recovery. Awkward moment passes with laughs at witty comeback from slightly pink girl.

Of course it doesn't end there.

My friend's dad: "Forget about the other girls, what about you, Karishma?"

Utter. Pin. Drop. Silence.

Thanks, uncle.

Only Exact Change, Please.

2010-03-01T19:45:00.001+05:30

I realised something quite amusing the other day - single girls are like currency in India. I don't mean in the serious way, like marriage and all that guff. But in a group of young unmarried people, unattached girls are assets.

When I say 'unmarried', the group includes singletons like me, as well as people with significant others. However, the latter bunch are still sometimes viewed as single in Indian society. And when I say 'unattached', I mean SINGLE in the most stringent sense.

On a trip recently, I encountered a number of old classmates in various locales. It was fun catching up with people I haven't seen in a while, but really there is only so much you can talk about. The reason? These people weren't exactly my friends.

I can pick up the phone and talk to my friends after 10 years and nothing much would have changed - unless of course they have changed drastically. However, of late, I have made a concerted effort to be outgoing and friendly, and therefore touch base with a number of acquaintances.

And boy, has our equation changed dramatically!

I now feel like someone's asset. I used to think that all Indian boys were creepy and regardless of their 'attachments', they hit on every girl in sight. But now I realise having girl friends (in the platonic sense) ups their value amongst other less fortunate individuals.

Hilarious, I thought.

When I Was A Kid: I really wanted to be BUSY

2010-02-21T12:53:00.002+05:30

My dad is an ace at marketing - always was. I remember an incident that happened when I was much younger:

I once heard a family friend recounting a story to my mom. It was about two people discussing my dad's hotel: one was the hotel's owner, and the other was a member of Dubai's hotel fraternity. (It's a small city; everyone knows everyone else. It's like one degree of separation.)

The owner was saying that the hotel had only 70% occupancy, and even though it was off-season, he was wondering whether it was good enough. (Again, Dubai was a bustling metropolis at the time. 70% occupancy was LOW.)

The other man asked the owner who had been appointed the General Manager of the hotel and the owner answered 'Mohan Sundaram'. The other man laughed and said, and I quote, "If Mohan Sundaram can't fill up your hotel, there is no one else who can."

(I know this is a bit of a detour from the post, but I really can't resist bragging about my awesome dad.)

Anyway, because he was in marketing, he used to get a whole lot of promotional goodies. My mom had her own business, and she too dealt in promotional items at times, so the only person excited about stuff like that was your truly.

I had pens from every hotel in the city, promotional tees from all kinds of cars, and loads of other knickknacks. But what I loved most were the diaries.

These huge hard, leather-bound books held enormous attraction for me. I used to see one on my mom's table, and at least three on my dad's. And they were never empty either: there were a thousand notations and scribbles along the margins; loose leaves of paper shoved into the spine; a long satin ribbon marking the date.

I loved it.

So my dad got me as many diaries as I wanted. I had diaries to my heart's content. But, they were always empty. I had nothing to write in them. I used to note school assignments in them, but we already had a school diary for that purpose so I dropped that. In the end, I used it to note birthdays.

Finally, I gave up trying to maintain a business organiser. Until this year. My mother got so sick of the pile of to-do notes/lists on my table, she had my father BUY me an organiser.

And now, my organiser looks just like theirs used to: overflowing with scraps of paper, and pages that just aren't big enough. I groan when I think of all the work I have to do; but I also smile thinking of a little me 15 years ago, who would have loved it.

Acid Test of Willpower

2010-02-21T12:35:00.001+05:30

One of my favourite feelings in the whole world is when I manage to finish off some work in the time I have actually allotted for it. The sense of accomplishment is so huge and so satisfying, I am almost tempted to become disciplined.

Almost. Discipline is much less satisfying than procrastination.

I kid, of course.

I am not great at sticking to resolutions like losing weight, but that's more because I have such an unpredictable lifestyle rather than lack of willpower. I once decided to give up non-vegetarian food for six months. And I managed, which considering how my parents really gave me a hard time about it - was a freaking miracle.

Sometime in the last year or so, I had started up a project to lose weight. I had even given it a ridiculous name which I cringe to repeat. However, nothing much happened and I am still about the same size, or slightly thinner maybe. This time I am going to bend my considerable willpower solely to the task of losing weight. And this time? I am going to do it.

(At least I hope so.)

A Good Cause

2010-02-16T12:56:00.003+05:30

In this silly blog of mine, with the ridiculous topics and various explorations of whimsy that I find interesting enough to share with the world, there is occasionally a chance to redeem oneself by doing something good.

This is that post.

Of late, the media in India has brought to our attention the plight of our national animal - the tiger. This majestic being is being hunted down for various reasons and their numbers are being depleted slowly but surely.

Each tiger that is slaughtered for whatever reason brings this beautiful animal closer to the brink of extinction.

There are only 1411 tigers left in India today. Who knows whether that number has reduced in the time I have taken to post this. As human beings, we have encroached upon the natural world in a number of ways. If we can't undo what we have already done, could be please at least put our formidable resources to work saving the last remnants of a species we are responsible for obliterating?

Save Our Tigers. Before it's too late.

No Ma'am, That's not Available

2010-02-07T01:33:00.002+05:30

I've been having the time of my life in Bombay, where I am meeting up with old friends and in general vagabonding all over the city. The highlight is meeting an old school friend, who was and still is a bestie. She's just gotten hitched and is in town for her receptions. (That's right, plural.)

Be warned people, I am going to write a rambly post about happenings this evening, just because I am in one of those soporific moods and I have no energy to tell the story in an entertaining vein. I will not judge you if leave. Promise.

Most of my evenings, I have been spending with her and her family. Today however the itinerary was ever so slightly different - she wanted to get a piercing done. Of course, I 'had' to go along, for 'moral support'. I also had to find out WHERE this momentous event was to take place, and also hold her had while it was getting done. (I am not using a euphemism here - I actually DID hold her hand.)

Post-piercing, we were extraordinarily hungry and we took off to a nearby cafe for coffee and sandwiches. I had been there once before with another friend, and I quite liked their brew. So we plonked into the first available seats, gazing hopefully at passing waiters for a menu.

A stunningly gorgeous waiter did finally come, and I got a dazzling smile for being nice to him. (WIN!) We looked over the menu, and wondered which of the mouthwatering combos was available. I flagged down the beautiful waiter and was told that about 75% of the sandwich fillers were not available. I sighed (mainly because he was so cute) and proceeded to order two sandwiches and a coffee.

In the while we were settling into out seats, there was a fancy photo shoot being set up in the cafe. It was a fascinating scene, and we were deriving great entertainment from the fake foreign accents and the oh-so-poncy behaviour of the other patrons. It was HILARIOUS.

After loudly airing our opinions to each other, much to the annoyance of the crew and to each other's unholy glee, we tugged on the sleeve of the cameraman, and asked him what was going on. He muttered something about Valentine's Day specials, and asked us whether we wanted to be featured as well. Sobering up instantly at the horrifying thought, we emphatically shook our heads and proceeded to make fun of everyone in sight.

I know, we are terrible people. However, in our defense, the people we were poking fun at were part of the beautiful people brigade. So no real harm done.

In the midst of all this fun, we suddenly remembered our empty stomachs and the food we had ordered. My sandwich arrived, with my coffee. My friend stared longingly at my plate, while I asked the waiter (sigh) where the other sandwich was - 10 minutes he assured me. I said okay; however, if he had asked me to stand on my head with that smile, I would have probably said okay to that as well. (Just saying.)

Anyway, 20 minutes later, we had both polished off my sandwich and were eagerly awaiting the appearance of the second sub. I waved our waiter over, only to be told that the cafe had run out of bread.

Stunned silence.

Run out of bread? Really? No tuna, no salmon, no ham, no white chocolate mocha, no loo and now no bread. Wonderful.

We left soon after; we were afraid they may run out of oxygen.

And it's that time of month again...

2010-02-01T11:38:00.003+05:30

No, I don't mean in the I-want-to-kill-someone-because-I-am-a-girl-and-I-have-to-suffer-through-this-no-fair kind of way.

I meant I am going to be travelling again, and we all know that means diminished posting, unfortunately. Also it is the first of February and I always make resolutions to coincide with the certain dates so that I can look back later and say I did so-and-so thing from such-and-such date.

What's that? Stop using hyphens? Okay. *sad face*

This month, I hope to achieve a little more in terms of social networking. I don't mean stalk old schoolfellows through Facebook, but more along the lines of interacting with bloggers I have admired from far. (Just how FAR far is, they have no idea.)

I also have joined a few writers' forums, in an effort to motivate myself out of the fear of writing those books bouncing around in my brain. I manage to over-think myself into a morass of self-doubt and inaction, usually dumping promising starts in utter disgust. I hope that interacting with other writers will teach me how to overcome obstacles of my own making.

To that end, I am becoming more active on 20 something bloggers and Ryze forums, as of now. I also mustered up enough courage to tell this blogger I think her stuff is awesome, after lurking for unspeakable lengths of time.

I'm getting there, I think.

When I Was A Kid: I didn't understand sex.

2010-01-31T13:12:00.001+05:30

When I was in 5th grade, all of nine years old, I had had enough with the mystery surrounding sex.

As all young girls are, I was thrilled by something so taboo in our society. All my knowledge was gained by whispered conversations at recess time, or hush-hush conversations on the telephone. Sleep-overs had only one motive - the latest smuggled erotic literature (Mills and Boon paperbacks).

But there was a lot of confusion because there was so much misinformation and half-knowledge that surrounded this most fascinating of topics. Things like logistics...

We all knew the male anatomy consisted of a stick-like appendage. However we were unclear as to where that appendage, um, went. In my young mind, I thought the corresponding aperture should be roughly in the same place. It wasn't. Hm.

Also, Hindi movies always picturize rape scenes with a dramatic removal of the sari palav*. Therefore I always assumed that a woman's breasts formed an integral part of the process. Again the logistics were baffling - did the man and woman lie in a sort of yin-yang position?

I finally reached the zenith of my curiosity and did what I did in any confusing crisis - I asked my mother.

Kudos to her, she didn't bat an eyelid and told me the truth. Unfortunately though, my mother is a very smart lady and therefore taught me all about the biology involved in sex: the X-chromosome, the Y-chromosome, the procreation part, etc. She also told me that the urges for sex were perfectly normal, as those were the ones that fuelled procreation. She also mentioned that the urges were the same as the ones people get when they need to use the bathroom, or are very hungry.

Mystique of sex? Destroyed for ever.

* A sari is an Indian garment which is draped around the lower body, culminating in a strip that crosses the front and hangs over one shoulder. The palav is the strip over the shoulder, usually covering the breast, and sometimes used to cover one's hair. Underneath the palav, a blouse is worn in a matching or complementary shade.

Nostalgia

2010-01-14T07:25:00.002+05:30

I found an old album in the recesses of my granddad's desk. In the album, I found a picture of myself smiling unreservedly at the camera. (A big deal for me, considering how nowadays my standard reaction to a camera is "I'll sue you, if you click.")

Anyway, I decided on using that picture as my logo for the series I was talking about earlier.

Those are my maternal grandparents. I probably won't use the whole picture, just the bit with me and the dog.

Sleep-talking

2010-01-14T07:24:00.002+05:30

Today I re-discovered the Blogs of Note tab on the Blogger Dashboard. I never really check it, because evidently I'm self-absorbed enough to care only about the changes on my blogs.

(That's not actually true - I read blogs with an almost religious fervour. I only have to learn to overcome my overpowering timidity when commenting. Baby steps people, baby steps.)

And I am so glad I looked it up, because I found this blog. Please go and check it out NOW if you haven't already because it is really hilarious.

And because I know everyone is shamefully lazy when it comes to links and leaving the couch-like comfort of their readers, I'll tell you what it's about: a loving wife with a strong sense of the funny records her English husband's sleep talk. (I know that sounds wrong, but just. go. with. it.) It is HYSTERICAL.

But while I was laughing my guts out, which turned out to be quite a painful process, I was terrified at the same time.

Why?

Because I do a lot of stupid things in my sleep as well. Talking is very minor. I have been known to have entire conversations while fast asleep. I have been known to EAT in my sleep. I have also been known to terrify hapless roommates into a state of gibbering incoherency - IN MY SLEEP.

The good part? I cannot be held accountable for my unconscious shenanigans. The bad part? Hello? Did you not read the last bit?

Right, this was back in undergraduate college and I was sharing a room with a law college student. She was a few years younger than me, and behaved like a prima donna at all times. Suffice it to say, I barely tolerated her - and that was because I am a sunshine-y person.

*cough*

One night, I was dreaming of our little room. We were inside, awake and it was nighttime. There were a number of small furry beings outside like raccoons and black squirrels, among others. (Incidentally, there are no raccoons and black squirrels native to India that I know about.) They had congregated for reasons best known to them, when suddenly I saw that there were a few dead squirrels right outside her window. I was afraid the wildlife would come in through the window. So I thought I should warn her. So I go up to her and whisper in her ear. She nods at my warning, and quietly shuts the window. Everything is hunky-dory. We sleep.

In reality, I had the dream, went up to my sleeping roommate at 3:45 AM, shook her awake and told her something to that effect. And then I went back to my bed and resumed peaceful slumber.

I woke up the next morning at 6:00 and saw my roommate sitting rigidly up in bed, clutching a pillow tightly to her chest. She was as white as a sheet and plainly terrified out of her mind.

Apparently my 'warning' was: "Hey, there are dead bodies outside. Be careful."

Yikes.

The poor soul was so scared she couldn't sleep a wink, and sat staring outside her window till the sun rose and she could see that there were no dead bodies anywhere.

"Sorry" was decidedly inadequate.

When I was a Kid...

2010-01-12T15:38:00.001+05:30

I was reminiscing with my mother about the strange notions I had as a kid. We had a loud guffaw about the misconceptions I entertained about sex, and the hilarious conversations I had with equally uninformed classmates. So I decided to start a series (because that would save me the bother of coming up with a new title each time) called...

*drum roll*

When I was a Kid.

As I am still hunting for an image/logo, I designate Sunday as the day to receive ridiculous confidences about my noodle-brained innocent yesteryear self.

200+1

2010-01-07T18:31:00.001+05:30

I just read my previous post. That's right AFTER posting it. I am neurotic enough to have my blog as one of the feeds in my RSS reader. I can be quite compulsive at times, and I needed to know the alignment works properly. Also, it is easier for me to re-read my posts and decide whether they are cringe-worthy in my reader, and pretend that I didn't write them.

I just read my previous post, and realised what a dismal decade I painted. It really wasn't that bad, although in some ways it was. I remember plenty of good stuff too. REALLY.

Also, that was my 200th post. I didn't realise that either until I logged into the Blogger Dashboard. I usually use Windows Live Writer, since my Internet connection has been less than cooperative recently.

200 posts is definitely a milestone, and I am still amazed that I have stuck it out. Yay me!

So yeah, that's all I really wanted to say. Expect a very similar post when I cross the 2-year mark in March/April/May this year. (Got to commemorate the milestones after all.)

I didn't wear dark glasses for SO long.

2010-01-05T12:08:00.002+05:30

I have nightmares about high school. However, unlike the usual ones of showing up naked in the school corridor, I dream of far worse stuff. Like DYING. And I think of my school as some sort of apocalyptic hell where the teachers were dull red in colour, with tridents and pointy horns sticking out of perfectly coiffed white hair.

At other times though, I vaguely remember the ridiculous teasing I put up with from time to time. There was the usual "ooh, that boy likes you!" or the kissing-in-a-tree gag. I was a prime target for teasing because I turn a fiery red when I'm embarrassed. (Unfortunately I haven't lost that particular childhood handicap.) Also, in retrospect I did attract a lot of male attention. Mainly because I was an oddity to look at: chubby, braces, long LONG hair which was always in a mess and well spectacles. The braces were in place to correct the most Bugs Bunny-like buck teeth I have ever seen. Surprisingly, I also got a number of positive male attention, but I never figured that one out.

Anyway, during my years at school, Hindi movies were a staple of the overall entertainment diet. There were numerous games based around the songs in the movies too. Everything was all hunky dory, and then Suhaag was released.

Suhaag, literally means 'husband', however the context is a little more complex than that. It was considered to be a blight on a woman if her husband was to predecease her. Therefore a lady whose husband is still intact on the earthly plane was an auspicious being. Suhaag was the title given to the man who had the good sense to stay alive till his wife kicked the bucket.

(Can you tell I find this whole charade disgusting? No? Ok.)

The movie Suhaag was idiotic, with organ-trading villainous doctors and stiff starchy mother figures in pure white saris; heroes with the playboy-good guy dynamic, and their respective love interests. The storyline was peppered with dramatic dialogues and searing monologues which held us spellbound in wonder then, and had me cracking up in helpless laughter last night.

And then I remembered why I wished Suhaag had never happened:

Gore, gore mukhde pe kala kala chashma (r)
Tauba Khuda khair karein,
Khub hain Karishma
Khub hain Karishma
Gore gore mukhde pe kala kala chashma

I endured this song for a YEAR. Everyday, EVERY SINGLE DAY, I walked into the bus only to be serenaded to the strains of 'Khub hai Karishma.."* It was AWFUL.

Back to the nightmare, I dreamt that my wedding was in progress, and someone strikes up this song on the music system.

Oh. the. HORROR.

* For non-Hindi speakers, the first paragraph roughly translates into this:

Black, black glasses on a fair, fair face, (r)
Dear God, take note,
what a beautiful miracle,
what a beautiful miracle,
Black, black glasses on a fair, fair face.

My first name translates to 'miracle' while my surname translates to 'beautiful'. Thankfully 'Sundaram' cannot be used in this context. It is used to extol deities in devotional songs.

PS: The song sounds only half as ridiculous in Hindi.

You Evidently KNOW Me.

2010-01-04T18:26:00.001+05:30

This is where blogs become a creepy way on keeping tabs on someone's life. I mean seriously, look at this:

At least TELL me who you are!

Alone Doesn't Always Mean Lonely

2010-01-03T12:35:00.001+05:30

I seem to be a strange kettle of fish. There are reasons, which I am obviously going to go into, you know, because it is a blog post. Revelations are commonplace. However these are thoughts swirling in my psyche at the moment, and I probably will get to one point per blog post.

Reason number one is a doozy.

I have no 'friends' to speak of - and while this may seem a huge exaggeration, let me define my notion of friendship.

I personally put a lot of effort into a friendship. And by effort, I mean I do things that are way beyond expected convention to help or succour a friend in need. In return I expect at least a percentage of effort. A SMALL percentage - like showing up for commitments, or calling once in a while. I also define friendship as the kind of relationship where you know the other person has one's best interests at heart. There is no subliminal competition. At. All.

In continuation, I do not find myself sharing anything with anybody other than my family. In fact, there are times where there are some things left entirely unsaid to anybody. I dislike the idea of sharing something I feel deeply about to someone who mocks that tender spot. In fact, I realised this just yesterday when I tried explaining it to someone else.

The sad part here is that I have become a hard person. I was this gentle, soft-hearted soul when I came to India. The experiences I have had here have turned me into a wise-cracking block of stone with flint in every pore. I refuse to allow anyone to have the power to hurt me. There is no trust except where my family is concerned. I am suspicious of the most harmless of situations. Up until very recently there was a fourth in that special circle, but that changed too.

In conclusion (mainly because I have exhausted my thought processes) I have no friends. And I am actually OK with that.

All Burnt Out

2010-01-02T12:58:00.003+05:30

The last few months have been indescribably hectic. I have finally managed to wind down after the new year began. I still have a load of things to do, like wish a number of people - which I was supposed to do yesterday - finish a project that I had taken on - also overdue from yesterday - and start writing in earnest.

But I just can't seem to get over the tiredness. I made a good start to the year yesterday, sending off a huge number of pending emails but during the day I just crashed. No Internet, no TV, no books. Just bed.

I haven't slacked off this morning either, and even though the fatigue hasn't worn off yet, I plan to use the weekend to finish all my work in time for Monday. Strangely unlike me. Looks like I am finally growing up.

In other news, planning to get out of the house this evening and do a little shopping. I fondly believed that I wouldn't be traveling till February, but that respite didn't last long. Off to Mumbai, Pune and Solapur once again in the second week of January. Luckily I'm off for only 4 days, as opposed to the 2-week trips I usually subject myself to.

I usually have a point when I post; not today apparently.

A New Year

2010-01-01T03:09:00.004+05:30

Happy New Year everybody! Without being at all snarky, I would really like to thank the people who read this blog. I haven't done much in the way of promotion because I didn't want to turn it into a money-making outfit. Frankly, the mere thought of 32 people enjoying my random rambles and idiotic take on life is very humbling. And flattering. But mostly humbling.

(I started off being genuine, but the snarky cannot be stopped people.)

Every new year comes packaged with some standard trappings: new calendars and diaries, fireworks, good food, lots of hugs, wishes from all over and a big whopping list of resolutions. At least my list of resolutions is whopping. So that I don't perjure myself later, I decided to type them up when the celebration is still going strong.

1. Lose weight. (I mean really! It's about time!)

2. Post at least 3 times a week. (I hear hearts breaking because I said 3 and not 7. Don't fret, that a minimum number.)

3. Write that book that been revolving in my head.

4. Acquire discipline where work is concerned.

5. Read one book a week. (I need more space on my bedside table. Currently there is gravity-defying stack books I have been meaning to read on it.)

6. Learn how to drive.

7. Brush up on French. (The language people, not the style of kissing. Just in case there was any confusion.)

8. Learn the art of photography. (My Flickr account is an. embarrassment. Eek.)

These are all I remember right now. I am going to try and make 2010 a sort of flagship year of being good, so that hopefully it will carry through to the end of my life.

2009 has been a mixed bag, like every year. There have been some beautiful ups and some really depressing downs. A lot of people have passed on, loads have started new lives and people who have changed drastically.

Like I said to somebody I love very much yesterday, I wish this story had ended differently.

Happy New Year, folks. I truly wish happiness and prosperity to everyone. I hope 2010 brings with it exquisite joy and manifold successes.

Googloctopus

2009-12-27T12:45:00.001+05:30

I always knew that I would probably go stark staring mad without the Internet, if I had to do without it permanently. I however never expected any one Internet phenomenon to be vitally important to my well-being.

I was oh-so-wrong.

Apparently Google has managed to get its tentacles into every facet of my online existence. And what is really horrifying is the insidious way in which this was accomplished.

First there was the search engine - I loved it for the simplicity of the interface and the speed, of course. Then GMail came on the scene and I was sent an invitation by a geeky ex-boyfriend who thought no end of his computer prowess.

For a while it stopped there. I did open an Orkut account, only to delete in in 7 days. I really couldn't cope with 45 new friend requests (DAILY!) asking me whether I would "like to have friendship", or whether I would be interested in "meet with true and bestest kind of friend". I was also unmoved by how "gorgeous my nose ring looks" and the "innocent smile on my face".

*SHUDDER*

I recently had to change the password for my Google account because some suspicious activity had been detected. I didn't realize my entire computer would fall apart as a result. (I exaggerate, of course, but who doesn't love a little drama?)

First it was all the apps I had on the Google Desktop. Mail, Calendar, Reader - you name it, it collapsed.

Then it was reconfiguring my clients all over again, because I got errors before I could even change the settings.

I finally thought I was done. But I was oh-so-wrong.

Today I had to change the settings on Live Writer. I invariably use the web interface to blog, simply because I am always using the browser. I decide to fire up Live Writer only when I have a dicey Internet connection and I really don't want to put my fist through my screen when everything I type is lost.

Anyway, the point of this long saga (yes, there is a point) is that those of you who use RSS readers may find a temporary post in your feeds.

Sorry 'bout that.

[P. S.: I deliberately wrote an annoyingly long annoying post about nothing. It's so awesome to have a blog. You can kill me in the comments section.]

Classic Case of Speaking TOO Soon

2009-12-27T12:14:00.001+05:30

Yesterday I blogged about how happy I was with the world in general. (Or that was the drift of the post, in any case.)

I WAS happy yesterday. In spite of continuing uncertainty, tension on various front and bucketloads of stress. I was HAPPY.

Not so today. In keeping with my resolution not to bum my readers out, I am not going to spew about how miserable and unhappy I am. Really. I just want to make a point - this is what happens when you speak too soon.

In other news, I managed to detach the A/C filter in my room today. After an unspecified number of months after installation, it finally occurred to me to clean it. Hitherto, any fledgling notions that I may have entertained were promptly dispelled by the inability to remove said filter. It never struck me to read the manual - because, really, who reads manuals?! Today, I did read the wretched thing (which incidentally has entertaining cartoons of an A/C unit reacting badly to all the do nots). After wasting a couple of minutes chuckling over the picture of an A/C freaking out because it was turned on without a filter (oh the horror!), I detached the filter only to nearly choke to death on the dust cloud.

Gross.

I am truly sorry for being a wet blanket, and also for the stupid A/C filter blog post. This about all I feel able to cope with at the moment.

Unfinished Projects

2009-12-26T11:24:00.003+05:30

I love projects.

When I say 'projects' I don't mean the kind you need to work on during an internship. I mean projects that involve making sweets at festival time; or sorting through mountains of photographs. I love those kinds of projects. And loosely fitting into that particular category are the numerous writing projects I have started. And not finished.

Because that's another thing I love - procrastinating.

Alright, I don't 'love' it, but it seems that once the initial excitement wears off, I lose steam. More often that not, thanks to my OCD, where I have my desktop completely free of clutter, all my projects are neatly filed away.

(And when I say 'neatly', I mean obsessively. The tree structure of my folders is complex, to put it mildly.)

I don't check out those folders often enough because, very simply, I have a terrible sieve-like memory. I may have mentioned lists? Maybe a master list to keep track of other lists? Yeah, I really wasn't kidding with that.

Getting firmly back on track, the point of this post was to remark upon the ideal conditions of the weather today. There is gentle cool breeze, sounds of post-Christmas merry-making, and a general feeling of bon homie pervading the very air.

In other words, a perfect time to pull out some unfinished projects.

What do you have planned for today?

THAT Person

2009-12-25T21:36:00.001+05:30

It seems that in spite of numerous resolutions to the contrary, every time I blog I am either spouting venom at somebody or complaining how busy my life is.

When did I become THAT person?

Spouting venom is therapeutic, insofar as that I cannot say these actual words to anyone because I am too polite. I do go seriously overboard with sarcasm though.

My busy lifestyle, on the other hand, is something I always ALWAYS wanted. I wanted to jet off to various places, gather new experiences and so on. However I should have been more specific - I wanted to do work that was interesting. Not stuff like pay bills and clean houses. However, I really don't want to complain (if though I may seem to be complaining - I'm NOT). I like the busy lifestyle. I love it in fact.

No, this time the reason for not blogging has been the stress at home. I can't really go into details, but the future had suddenly become rather uncertain, and frankly fraught with worry. For the past few days, each member of my family has been worrying themselves into a pulp. We aren't out of the woods yet, but I guess we are dealing with stress in a manner best suited to each one.

Honestly, this is possibly the only post I have ever banged out that has no undercurrent. Usually the undercurrent is humour, as the text is filled with snide jokes that perhaps only I find remotely amusing. Then of course there are venom-infused posts I mentioned earlier - no points for guessing that particular undercurrent.

All in all, humour has become a shield. I liken it to a Plexiglas barrier that bends with each attempt at penetration, but won't give an inch. From this vantage point, I can deal with barbs and comments, deflecting unpleasantness with a dismissive wave of my hand and not caring an ounce. I sound perfectly horrible, don't I?

I know when I became this person.

Just one of those months

2009-12-19T11:12:00.003+05:30

November was beyond hectic. And while I hate the self-important idiots who sing songs about how busy they continuously are, I have to be ever so slightly hypocritical and do the same. I was horrifyingly busy.

Unfortunately November's thirty days wasn't enough to contain my bursting schedule, therefore it spilled into December as well. I have NOW (19 days later) finally managed to finish a little of my work. And by 'work' I mean family work. Not the kind that earns me money. See? I work without monetary incentive. I have to be the world's biggest guff or a pretty nice person.

Ahem.

(Let's go with option two, alright?)

On the whole November was traumatic. There were three (THREE!!!) deaths in my family. All due to illness. Two were puppies, who we were looking after and they literally died in my arms. And one great-aunt too. More about that particular saga later, but suffice it to say, it was a relief. For her.

Then I managed to book airline tickets and a hotel room in Hyderabad, a month BEFORE my travel dates. Imagine my consternation at the ticket counter.

"Excuse me ma'am, these tickets are for last month."

"Say what?"

"October."

Melt. Down.

December brought the wedding of a cousin I didn't know existed. I was packaged off into the wilds of Maharashtra to attend said nuptials. Unwillingly, of course, in case that wasn't clear already. I did manage to visit a few temples, bringing back a whole host of treasured childhood memories. That gave me an opportunity to pray in some of the most powerful places of worship I have ever been to. It was wonderful.

Finally got back home a couple of days ago, and spent two days attacking the paperwork that had accumulated in my absence. Also, numerous followups were necessary. Enough said.

Today I will finish off the remnants of November, and hope that the next year is more manageable.

Oh, I'm sick again too.

2009-11-14T12:13:00.003+05:30

I wonder, there must be something radically wrong for me to have 4 colds in the span of 45 days. Ridiculous I tell you. And here's why:

1. I never have fever - which means the infection isn't really that great.

2. It always starts with a god-awful sore throat, which I promptly dose with honey and lozenges, to no blooming avail.

3. The next 4 days are spent with the constant companionship of a towelette. (No concept of personal space.)

4. The only thing (including antibiotics) that seems to give me any relief is my oil diffuser. I put a bit of eucalyptus oil in the thing, and light a candle underneath. (This explanation is for the males that read my blog.) The oil thus becomes vapour. It's almost like an excuse to light aromatic candles in my room, recline luxuriously on a pile of pillows and sip nice hot things with my eyes closed.

It's like a vacation. But I am SICK, I assure you.

Attention please. Thank you.

2009-11-14T12:04:00.005+05:30

I found the most amazing site for gorgeous blogger templates. That too for FREE. They are originally WordPress themes, modified for the Blogger platform. I downloaded three ages ago, one for each blog. I am so thrilled with them. So go get your own here.

After uploading the new themes, I realized that my widgets were deleted. I was very unhappy, but I figured the new look was totally worth it. So I spent half the night fixing up my blog widgets all over again. I still have to add links to Twitter, Flickr and Digg (which I barely use - even though I tell myself I will everyday). There were tabs just under the header initially, which I Photoshopped to read those legends, but the linking didn't work. So I used the tabs to display my heading. Cheesy I know, but I like the theme too much to eschew it entirely.

Also I was thrilled that I still can understand HTML. I never really learnt CSS, so I was pretty chuffed that programming still comes easily to me. (Not that I want to EVER take it up again. No sirree.)

Gave my spirits the necessary boost that they so desperately needed.