Goodbye 2005, Hello 2006

Hope this year is a good one...

Less money, less hair

Being back in India officially sucks. No, not complaining about the potty roads. Nope, not the obscene traffic or the strangling pollution. It's having to rely completely on my parents again that is hurting. I don't think I will ever be used to the 'pocket-money' funda in life again. How does one wait to be doled out money in instalments, be monitored consequently about the expenditure ("500 rupees gone? what did you do with it!") and feel guilty about it all the same?

I burnt a hole in my pocket yesterday that threatened to swallow my pants whole. Some would try and find some justification for it, but you would generally draw the following reaction (and I quote) "How much? On WHAT? Jeeeeeez!" Thus is tainted my long-sought after 'Cutting and Highlighting Hair Experiment'.

My hair, untouched by any sharp object for about 5 months, had begun to show signs of neglect. Add to that my mother's constant nagging about how I looked unkempt. So a haircut was long in order. I have never done anything apart from that to my hair in my *beep* years of life.

Now, for quite a lot of females of my acquaintance, shopping and a trip to the salon are healing, rejuvenating activities. Having not subscribed to that notion till now, I decided maybe that was what was missing in my life. So I took the bold step of highlighting my hair.

5 hours, 3 dozen aluminium foils, 3 assistants and 1 wash later, I am a new woman (uh.....). One of the assistants is (appropriately) oohing and aahing all over me, the hairdresser insists the cut looks glamourous and me...I am trying to spot the highlights. Emm is beckoned (poor thing she came so quick, thanks for that!!), and she affirms all my fears....can't spot the highlights! 'why didn't you get an auburn?', says she. Oh well. What can I say.... I entrusted my hair to the experts! and Brown is in this season (and if you don't believe me, check with Kareena Kapoor in the Garnier adverts). If only I could SEE it!

Well, dah-lings, we did spot the elusive highlights eventually. And they do look quite nice, albeit very 'subtle'. But the best part is yet to come. The bill. I scramble around in my purse, frantically marshalling all my financial resources (which apart from my mother's money equals my friend who is getting her hair done RED - red u hear, a colour you can SEE).

I managed to get together 1450. Aah, fine, am safe. HA! As safe as your back is on a Pune road! As if there aren't enough embarassing (self-induced) moments in my life, the lady shows me the magic figure ...1500. Jeeez! As pink as I can get, I have to explain the situation to her. She graciously waves away (not waives) my excuses and is ok with me paying the balance tomorrow. Now how do I explain to her that I am already paying through my nose!!!! Main apni maa ko kya mooh dikhaoongi! (How shall I face my Mother?)


Result: God's glory....Mother is ok with hair (trick: do not say the figure out loud, never utter it), says it knocked a couple of years off my face. I still catch myself trying to spot the colour, and Emm, sweetheart that she is, says my haircut is 'glamourous'. At least she can fib well!

This one's for you

At Long Last Love

Is it an earthquake or simply a shock?
Is it the good turtle soup or merely the mock?
Is it a cocktail, this feeling of joy?
Or is what I feel the real McCoy?

Is it for all time or simply a lark?
Is it Granada I see or only Asbury Park?
Is it a fancy not worth thinking of?
Or is it at long last love?

Is it an earthquake, or simply a shock?
Is it the good turtle soup, or is it merely the mock?
Is it a cocktail, this feeling of joy?
Or is what I feel the real McCoy?

Is it for all time or simply a lark?
Is it Granada I see or only Asbury Park?
Is it a fancy, not worth thinking of?
Or is it at long long long last love?

- Cole Porter

Ah that giddy, achy feeling that is love! I know it oh so well... and in my experience it really is worth fighting for, being brave for, risking everything for...

Meeting the Parents

Sunday, 9th October 2005:

This was easily one of the most important days of my life. I finally met the parents of The Boy Who Will Not Be Named As Yet, lets just call him Bee for the sake of my convenience.

If I had to be my usual cynical self, I’d say it was an interview for the post of their daughter-in-law. Only it wasn’t. They were just sooo wonderful. The mother esp. - such a dear soul. I am lucky.

And I categorically choose to turn my back on the endless tirade of doomsday predictions meted out by my Soothsayer Don’t Count Your Chickens Before They Hatch Mom. Maybe she has a point, but I am too happy to care.

Reading is a Good Habit

I love Cosmo magazine.........and Hello, and OK, and Closer and Marie Claire and Elle.......I can already see people writing me off as one of those bimbettes who don't know that the term 'reading' cannot be related to the above. But I don't quite care. Why Cosmo (I have just realised) is my favourite is because it poses as the 'knowledge-giver' to the uninitiated, or indeed the experts. And boy, can they count! '10 ways of making your man moan', '45 ways of turning the heat on', '300 ways of power dressing', '365 things that you should know about sex', et cetera. You have NO idea how informed I am now. Me, from the land of the Kamasutra (a much loved Cosmo word, btw). I don't take the quizzes, which must disappoint Cosmo editors, but that is only because I am so busy 'getting into his mind and his pants' (on paper, you perverts!).

I actually spent an entire hour inside a coffee shop on one of the rare sunny days we have. In complete silence in the company of a close friend. Me reading Cosmo (surprise!) and she, Closer (she is the boring type who prefers reading about Charlotte Church's adventurous night out). So there was nice hot cup of green tea in front of me, a sinful chocolate chip shortbread, across the table from a girlfriend, with only occassional 'aahs' and 'ohs' to break the silence. At the end of the session, I was so much wiser, willing to share the new skills with fellow females...but alas! most of those I wanted to rush to talk to were a 9-hour plane journey away...... in the land of the Kamasutra.

So I shall load up on more knowledge in the meanwhile..... '8 sizzling sex lessons your man should know' and '7 steps to ultimate confidence'....... after I know 'what sex feels like for him'. Hold your horses, people...... you'll be passed that info on soon!

Number of sounds one can make...

...using just the throat. And maybe the nose. Sans tongue and teeth and lips.

1) a noise that sounds like 'hmm' indicating yes.

2) a noise that sounds like 'um-hmm' indicating no.
.
.
.
.

...'n' no. of noises which are purely gut-wrenching-grunts-of-pain.

Back from another visit to la dentist. :(

Ditto October heat. Ditto winter.

Read in a forwarded email:
-----------
Dear God,

I keep waiting for Spring but it never come yet. Don't forget.

Mark.
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Is one bright and sunny day too much to ask?

I HATE the monsoon, period!

It’s been raining and raining and raining for the past four and a half months. And this is why I am so sick of the rains-

- The monsoon sky, listless, pallid ashen grey, the color of death. It’s so depressing, this melancholic blanket of grayness, so thick you may even begin to doubt the existence of the sun. And you can’t see the moon or the stars at night. I miss looking up at the night sky and thinking ‘hey, there’s Orion the Hunter!’, that being the only constellation I can recognise.
- The muck, the dirt, the potholes, the all encompassing dampness and clammy feeling, the wasted Sunday spent evading the mold attack.
- Petty neighbors picking petty fights over petty nothings. This is not unique to the rainy season, but for some strange reason it gets pronounced then.
- The rain gods have something against me. Why would it otherwise rain only when I happen to be on my way home or to work? Why would it rain hard and heavy enough to soak me to my skin only when I am not carrying my raincoat? Why would it stop raining just after I have decided to stop and go thru the tedious and tiresome process of putting on my raincoat? Any idea how embarrassing this is when your long distance ride takes you in your semi-wet-clothes-covered-with-an-almost-dry-raincoat glory into a part of the city which in the height of the monsoon is miraculously as dry as the Sahara itself and everybody looks at you like you came out of a circus?
- ‘I used to pee that much when I was pregnant’- exclaimed a fellow colleague the other day, naturally overawed by my frequency in visiting the loo. ‘It’s the damned rain’ I retorted. The rain is not good for my bladder.

And this is why I can bear the monsoon, reasons other than the most obvious one being that I really don’t have a choice-
- The recurring daydream of stormy weather outside and me inside in a cozy window seat, curled up with a warm quilt, a good book and piping hot adrak wali chai & kanda bhaji for company. Heavenly bliss or what?!
- The rainbow.
- The greenery- the shades and tints of green, so soothing, so gentle. On the rare days when the sun shines and the monotonous gray gives way to pockets of blue sky with tiny fluffy white clouds and huge fluffy blue-black ones, it’s a lovely picture that Nature paints- the myriad hues of green against the backdrop of the sky. Add to that the brown of the tree barks and the red of the earth, you get a picture so sublime, its worth all the four months of incessant rain and muck and potholes and the grand whiny inconvenience.
- Mom admonishing me everytime I start cribbing, "Think of those poor farmers!" By which she means, of course, think of poor us when the prices will shoot through the roof.

Why can’t it rain at night? It should rain at night- nice and heavy. In the morning it should be clear and sunny – everything squeaky clean and fresh. Wouldn't that be just neat? *long drawn-out sigh* If I were to be sent to the gallows right now, my last wish would be a sunny day.

Foot in mouth and other diseases

I might be overdoing this 'common saggis' thing, but seriously, here are some things Urja and I do that are the same without any conscious attempt to imitate:

1) If there is only one bump/ pothole on an entire expanse of smooth, freshly laid road, we are bound to find our way into/ over it like moths find their way to light.
2) We end up jumbling the simplest of sentences....regularly :' 'there is no one by this number on this name here' (that gem is Urja's)
3) No one should read our chat conversations.....not only does our spelling get atrocious when we are typing, it's sometimes not even a word (e.g. wo9rk8ing = working)
4) Keys, wallets, cell phones and scarves are from the family of things that are meant to go invisible when with us. (We once spent about 40 mins searching for a key on a busy-ish Pune road, that was well, safely resting in Urja's purse.)
Urja: I can get quite restless at such times, which, sadly for people around me, happens often as I the proverbial absent minded professor. I used to drive my former roomie, whom we'll call Arpita coz that's her name, up the wall constantly. Aarti, I am going to be grateful to you forever and a day for not getting exasperated at me that day. You are the best!
5) Murphy is our great, common friend...... if we step out together dressed fabulously on sunny days, that one BBC (Big Black Cloud) will pour only on us.
6) How we keep tripping over our own feet, more often than not this happens when we are at our cautious best and the chances for embarrassing ourselves are maximum.
7) We are forever bumping into tables & chairs, cupboards & overhead cabinets and all other furniture, whether protruding or not. Big deal, you might say, after all people keep bumping into furniture all the time. We bump into walls of our own houses as well. Motor coordination? What was that again?
8) This incident took place during the days when wearing the helmet was not yet made mandatory. Or was it? I dont remember exactly. But I had a brand new helmet and wasnt really used to either wearing it or lugging it around. Venue- another busy-ish road in pune. Time- just about right to go home. I dropped Aarti off at the cake shop (monginis) and after a whole lot of blah-blah-yak-yak we said our goodbyes. I put on my helmet and suddenly the world around me went black. It took me a whole 30 seconds to realise that I had pulled the helmet over my head the wrong way- my ponytail was hanging out of the opening meant for my face. I could hear the muffled sound of Aarti's laughter. Even today I cant believe I did something so idiotic.
9) That one time when Aarti (it was you, wasnt it?) used a fork and knife to eat a pizza. And with such enthusiastically concentrated effort that the knife flew out of her hand and landed with a clang on the floor between two table. Venue- Pizza Hut. Witnesses- the entire staff and a hundered million other people besides.

This list could be endless, as the two of us realised, and we are going to spare you the baring of the Clumsy Souls. And though we share our clumsiness, I must confess we share much much more........What more can a friend ask for than a true soul to share embarassing moments with?

A 'denting' visit

Could there be a position more hopelessly embarrassing, more helplessly vulnerable than reclining on the dentist’s chair with one’s mouth wide open? Or a pain more blinding than the one caused by all the awful apparatus that those dentists use? Or a glee more malicious than the one on Her Highness The Dentist’s face as she shows you her work which looks like nothing but royal carnage inside your mouth?

Didn’t I read somewhere recently that a dentist invented the electric chair? It must be true.

P.S.- Oh yes, I am still very much here, alive and kicking in the virtual world, making most of the limited time. They are talking of a restricted internet access vis-a-vis total ban. I am, needless to say, rooting for the former.

Is this the end of my love affair with the internet?

“We are going to streamline the network.”

“Sorry… WHAT?”

“Streamline. The. Network.”

“???”

“To instill discipline.”

Loosely translated it means – no yahoo, no hotmail, no ym, no msn, no blogger, no fun whatsoever…I feel like going over the top with ‘Nahiiiiiiiiiin, ye nahin ho sakata!’ How am I going to survive?

*sniff, sniff*

Wright on!

"If you can't hear me, it's because I'm in parentheses."
- Steven Wright

This guy is seriously funny! More of his quotes here.

The Pothole that ate Pune

The road back home from work is an excruciating 40 minute bumpy ride - so bumpy that at the end of it you wonder if all the organs in the stomach area are still in their designated place. This road has always been bumpy, as most roads in Pune are wont to be; but the pelting rains this year have ensured that we are left with just the potholes. This 12 km trajet would normally take 25 minutes, but in the Age of the Giant Potholes, an extra 15 are spent navigating the many generations of potholes, searching in vain for any semblance of a road. It’s like a maze of potholes through which one has to find patches of tarred road to reach his destination, and no, this not a fun kind of a maze - fun and potholes just don’t mix fun, in fact, fun and potholes in one sentence is grammatically incorrect.

To make matters worse for me, I somehow always seem to leave office well after twilight so that it’s too dark to actually see the potholes during all the skillful navigation; I usually have to make do with feeling them instead- and let me assure you, its not a very good feeling to feel, my back can vouch for that. The skill required to drive through the potholes in the dark is of an entirely different and higher level, because now one has to also contend with the blinding and relentless glare from the headlights of vehicles. With careful observation and diligent efforts, I have identified The Way – a relatively pothole-free, twisty patch of tarmac. And just when I think I have mastered The Way, it gives way to a new pothole (I was going to say a new pothole pops up, but that would have been so grossly inappropriate) and I think ‘Oh! Now that baby pothole wasn’t there yesterday…will have to work a way around it’. And then there are those times when some poor bugger is driving ahead of me, on My Way at 1/2 km/hr, and I have to go through the Mother of All Potholes to overtake him and reclaim The Way, thereby risking a fatal injury of the spinal chord - I am all but cursing him to the Land of Eternal Potholes where he may bump in peace till the end of time. I could go on ranting like this about The Giant Potholes till the end of time myself.

Last week, in a rare moment, I finally saw them potholes and their sight took me by surprise. They didn’t look anything like I expected them to look. And they certainly weren’t like the seamless potholes that I encounter everyday on the other side of the road on the way to work. It was more like a multitude of craters, like on the moon, small and big and it looked very much like this, with full zoom in, only not so cute. I wonder if it would have been fun if the potholes had been even half as cute…umm, maybe, if I could do a moonwalk.

Yay!!!

Here's to The Moods, The Madness and The... oh well, the word Muggly has many connotations :D but we just wanted it to rhyme (for no particular reason except the capricious whim of yours truly) with The Good, the Bad and the Ugly and do an alliteration while we were at it, so there.

Here's to our blog! Yay!!

First Post for two manic december borns!!