such a pig..

MCP: so that woman, have you seen her boobs? i mean you cannot miss them. haha. i forgot her first name. but... who cares about that right? wow. she must have been a size ...uhm ... arre! i forgot i was talking to a woman

Me: fuming*. yes. you forget i know her.

MCP: wahi toh! you woman toh would know what size just by looking, why am i wasting my energy by trying to guess....

Me: very amazed at how idiotic the people of the opposite gender could get.

Mooch part 2, with photos

and so was chronicled our hairy brunch :)

cheers~
ps: bloody mooch tickled nose bad, wonder how people have it for ever and ever?

mooch nahi toh kooch nahi

we were supposed to meet over brunch this sunday ... and i forgot, so did sri.
we had all of 10 odd minutes to announce our departure, put ita to sleep, leave instructions for when she would wake up, get out of pyjamas, wear clean clothes (damn the bath, damn the bath... it was sunday!) and leave.

minutes before our destination and in the middle of the zillionth signal, we noticed an auto driver trying to commit suicide under a water tanker. on closer observation we realised that the guy had wedged the auto (almost) underneath the tanker so he could clean his windsheild with the water dripping from the leaking tap behing the tanker. we almost missed the bearded salesman during our enthusiastic photographing of this cleansing ritual. almost but not quite.

the false beard and moustache set we bought for Rs.15/- turned out to be a riot at the brunch meeting. fulltoo paisa vasool. all of us tried it on, with variations of course - with moustache, without moustache, the beard on the head (a few drinks later) ... and got ourselves photographed.

it was one of the most amazing meals i have had. we laughed more than we ate, which if you know us, would really tell you how much fun we were having.
if only i could find the picture of mugdha and me posing as sardars now.

No matter what.

upset or sad
yell or shout
hungry or in pain
for a hug, for a cuddle
mums are the best.

i didn't quite get it.
until now.

no matter how much i yell and keep her from doing fun things (eating the chappals, toppling dustbins, putting fingers inside sockets) ... she holds up her little hands and wants her mother to comfort her ...

i am going to miss it when she grows up.
wonder if my mum does too.

willpower

must ...

lose ...

weight ...

uhm... is that a blueberry cheesecake? i'd like 2 slices please.

i hate sequels.

thanks to the delhi book fair, i have loads of books to read. and then, there was the landmark sale. so you understand just how many options i have, right? wrong. you know why? coz, i read the part 3 of christopher paolini's eragon series: 'Brisingr'... and the thought of having to wait for another 2 years for the concluding part to arrive is driving me batty. so batty, that i cannot concentrate on any other book.

bleddy nonsense.

superb third book btw. go pick. atleast just so we can all discuss and crib about the waiting period.

Monk-ita

Apparently, ankita looks like a buddhist monk.
Only we know that she ain't no peaceful meditating kind.

So, between all of us we have agreed to call her Monkita ... half monkey, half monk, full timepass :)

Sea Saw

The husband had to travel to Chennai on business and the 'lukkha-aatma' that I am these days, ankita and I tagged along.

I had so forgotten how beautiful the sea is. And how wonderful the breeze feels.
We are lucky that the sister in law has a house that faces the sea. And thanks to the crazy schedule the daughter keeps, am up at all hours ... staring at the sea. I have seen so many shades, so many moods, so much loveliness.

And, I have been eating kaccha aam and sundal and boiled channa and bhutta ... no wonder sri ka standard joke these days is ... what did the baby elephant say when he saw toinks? Mommmmmyyyy :D:D:D

Ok bye.

my mobile phone

is not letting me download the pictures i took with it.
and i am too lazy to re-charge the battery of my camera.

stupid mobile phone.

inglis is my 18th language and i spik it well

i was reading the Zoya factor by Anuja Chauhan (nice, nice) and i actually noticed that most people around me speak just like the characters in the book. very very desi english. it is is so much easier to communicate when you have a masala mix bag of several languages and you can pluck and choose and plug in words from all of them to form one gloriously riotous language that reflects your deepest thoughts in the most effeiceint manner, unlike this long sentence.

for example, if you had a brilliant idea, you can't just say hey, i have a brilliant idea ... it is wayyy better if you say something like, abbe sun, i have this super tohdu idea. i mean .. do you see the difference?

and then we have some drastic classic examples. like the names caterers give their "special" concoctions.
like stay fried vegetables
like paneer saslick
like hukka nudles

so cool neh? they make for so much entertainment.
chalo abhi katlo.

go... went ... gone

after the initial flush, this sudden window that enables freedom is beginning to look daunting.
tomorrow is my last day at work.
i
am
so
freaked
out.

we went out for a nice lunch today. just soo, nigel, nishtha and me. and i realised, i am not going to have anybody around to maaro my stupid pjs on.
nobody is going to understand sarcasm.
nobody is going to sit with me and crib about the nonsense deadline.
nobody. nothing.
and worst of all ... no pay cheque at the end of every month.

how am i going to pay my phone bills?
and my credit card bills?

penury ... here i come.

older and poorer, thats what my tomorrow looks like. and lonelier.

mumma :(

i am obsessed

with dragons, elves, dwarves, fairies, magic and such.

now i cannot read anything else.

please tell me it is just a phase.

to chronicle or not to chronicle

i want to write about every little thing she does...
the way she looks
the way she smiles
about how she loves curds like a good tam-brahm kid
about how she babbles all the time
the way her eyes shine on spotting a newspaper
the way she tries to put everything in her mouth
...

i don't know how or when i morphed into a wannabe mommy blogger
and i always thought i would never ever go on and on about ita.

...
and all ye parents, i do not want to hear your "we told you sos".
go and smirk some place else.
buggers.

The bald baby

there is this baby i know,
who used to touch her bottom when the nappy was off ... just to make sure her bum was still there.

the other day, her parents went and got her head shaved ...
and now she alternates between assuring her head is on and her bum is still there.

very very funny.

to know more about this baby, check her papa's blog.

For the first time

.. in over 9 years, I am not going to have a job.
i have no plans
and i am loath to take up other offers.

the prospect is daunting.
and strangely liberating.

now would be a good time to catch up on all the housework.
and to go to the gym.

and maybe ... just maybe, it is time to revive an old dream.
pruthvi - a fistful of earth.

dreams and schemes
crown and glory
one more chance
one more time...

peter peter, pumpkin eater

alright, it is supposed to be something like:
ita, ita, potato eta (eater)... but the pumpkin version sounds better.

sri, ita and i went out for brunch last morning.
and she managed to destroy a toast and polish off a wedge of boiled potato ... toothless as she is.



now we know she is our kid.
never say no to potatoes. in any form. any time. tooth or no tooth.

am gonna miss you amigo

was flipping through 'The Roald Dahl Treasury' this morning and was relishing the beautiful illustrations and thinking to myself ... Soo would love these ... when it came to me, she would not be around at office anymore... to discuss a design, admire a cover, talk about animation movies or share books with... and i am gonna miss it, lots.

have not known her for long, and i know we will be in touch ... but i would like to thank her now before i forget to be properly grateful ... for letting me inside her world of colours and teaching me to observe the beauty of lines drawn just so.

thank you, and i now know why you insisted on calling them graphic novels and not comic books :)

rock on, become insanely famous, write many-many books, make pots of money ... and share it with us poor folks. okbye, happy sailing ~

Thought bubbles

sometimes i think of those people, who touched my life briefly and vanished
when a current life incident triggers a buried memory
when a word, a song brings forth a face to my mind
when i am traveling and have nothing to read

i think of them
and wonder about where they are today
and why we fell out of touch.

i don't miss them
not like i would miss some others
but i would still like to say hello sometime.
just for old time's sake.

underneath the mango tree
there was a girl
waiting, waiting, waiting ...

All you people in Bangalore..

please tell me you all are safe...
Can't get through to most of you.

you bloody asswipes who planted those bombs ... may your liver be eaten away by red ants.

Have you ever

... confused a person for someone else and had a long conversation with him?
I did.
Today. Over the messenger.
Not my mistake actually. He shares his first name with another good friend. And his second name. But still.
Mighty silly.

letter in earnest

To,
The husband
Please come home. And take over midnight-baby feeding-changing routine.

Yours lovingly
Dog tired wife.

2 weeks have never seemed so ridiculously long. sigh*

how do i say i am sorry ...

... when i have never met the person who has passed away
... when i have never experienced a similar pain
... when i know the words are going to sound superficial
... when i cannot look her in the eye
... when i have a frozen tongue

how do i tell her ... that life will go on after her father's death?
i know it will, painful as the times would be ... but how does one go and offer condolence?
condolence ... such an ugly word. a poor representation of the anguish one feels for a friend going through a terrible phase.

i can only hope and pray for the soul
hers and the departed one's ... and mine
peace unto you.

a cat lives in my throat

and is trying her damndest to get out.

itchy scratchy cough-scarred throat.

bring on the sympathy and some hot water. and also strepsils. forgot those at home.

okbye.

I have noticed

that there are two kinds of people in my industry.
one who can write
the others who think they can.

Poetry from inside a cement pipe

I pinged prabha late last evening and asked her to take a dekho at my brand new blog header. I was super proud of it plus I needed to know if she was ok with being pictorially associated with my blog.

She was. Said she would have probably killed me if I hadn't put her snap.
Ok, its prabha we are talking about. She is so mild, she would probably just have gone all silent on me. And that would have killed anyway. So coming back to the long drawn point, she was quite ok with it. She ought to be. We share history. We wrote poems together. Whilst sitting inside an abandoned cement pipe. In the middle of a ground. Next to a gutter.

And she has got amazing memory. She actually remembered a couple of them. The following is the product of two kids with too much time at hand, a book and a pen.

I met a girl from fairyland,
She had in her hand a magical wand.
She looked at me with a friendly glance
And invited me for a little dance.

But I couldn’t dance as I was in a trance.
And so I missed my only chance to dance with a girl from fairyland.
And that is the dream I had had and so I am sad because I missed my only chance to dance with a girl from fairyland!!

Now if I can only find the book so I can treat you all to some more classic pieces of work.

My head needs to go for a walk

I know I ought to share, but it kills me to let anyone else bask in her smile.
But I know I am being bad, so I force myself to leave her with them.
And then hang around just beyond the door, watching, hoping... she'd miss me.

I know I ought to move on, but it hurts to know that my reputation is dog shit.
But I know I have a point to prove, and hang in there.
And pray everyday that they would give me a reason to say good-bye.

I know I need to confront her, but it scares me to think of not having her around anymore.
But I know I am being a coward, and I pick the phone up to call her.
And tell her about how it rained heavily today.

Mugs used to say that I carry a lot of baggage.
She must have been speaking the truth.
Suddenly the weight is overwhelming.
And I am not even talking about it in Kgs.

Let it up,
Let it go,
Heavy heart
Feather light.

sometimes

the sun shines
and it rains, hard

clouds converge
and the wind blows

happiness happens
and sadness seeps in

in and out
out and in

over and over again
cycle of life.

this and that

The only thing I seem to talk about these days is about the daughter.
I really ought to write about my life.
Now, wait a single minute ... what life am I talking about?
Mera jeevan ek susu potty nappy dudu routine ban ke reh gaya ...

Arrrgghh ...
Ok. Am so not letting the boredom demon seep in.
But it is difficult.
To suddenly be house bound. Not meet friends. Not have brain storming sessions. No deadlines. No lunch time gossips...

Am I a bad mother then? Because I cannot seem to find complete joy in just looking after my child?
I love the kid. I would hate to miss a second of her life. But somehow, the heart seems to crave for more. Not like I have the energy for more though.

Oh well, the silver lining is the number of books I have been able to read. Buddha the graphic novel, the entire artemis fowl series plus everything else that eoin colfer has written, the avalon series, a couple of daniel steels and ...uhm, a few mills and boons...

Oh and, the daughter has managed to crawl ... in reverse gear. Doesnt seem to get why the toy she was crawling towards suddenly seems so far.
Total nutcase.

Cheers~

The Golden Period

... ah, that would be a time when I get 8 hours of sleep, but thats not what I started to write about.

Since the time I hit 25, my monthly cycle has been a pain, I have often wondered how anyone could call it "chums"... admittedly some of my so called friends are bigger pains, but firbhi. Nausea, backaches, drowsiness, cramps, headaches ... its a wonder I have not plunged a knife and removed the bloody uterus myself yet.
So, when the other day the periods arrived, I was overjoyed. No trouble at all. This motherhood thing must work. Man ... I can stand them sleepless nights. Fair exchange I say.

And then, just like when the brat lets out an almighty yowl when we are sneaking out of the room after a 45 minute marathon session to put her to sleep, the tank dries up.

WTF? False alarm and all that.

No golden periods for you sweetie. Howdy womanhood.

Joys of Motherhood ...

and nope, am not talking about the book by Buchi Emacheta.

Our daughter Ankita is currently the source of Joy. Well ok, most times. Except when she wakes up at 2.30 A.M and for no reason. I mean, if a kid wants food or needs to be changed ... I get that. But if a kid gets up just for kicks ... I SO DO NOT GET IT.

Anybody who knows me understands that sleep is next to Godliness in my book. Does this 1 foot nothing tyke get that? No sir, not her. No respect for elders. Whats this generation coming to... tch tch tch.

Ok bye. The Empress is upset that I would rather stare at the computer than look at her making bubbles. Nonsense.

And the award goes to ...

I had borrowed the 'sisterhood of the travelling pants' from Soo.
Loved it so much I insisted she pick up the other parts for me (Lucky woman lives closer to the Landmark store than I do).
Read them all and felt strange. Like someone had placed a camera inside our lives. Mugs, Meera and I.

I knew Mugs had to read the book. So, with permission from Soo, I couriered it to her.
She loved the book and as usual, tried to whack it. Dire warnings about lost front teeth and bad curse for stealing third person's book had her couriering it back.

Got the courier today, and Soo ... just like that, gave the book away to me... because, it would complete my set. So cool! And, her note inside the book says:
Lifetime Reading Award :)
Of course, afterwards she keeps chuckling about how my lifetime is over at 30.

But wot the heck. I have the full set. Yipee!!

fearless warrior

and to doom i walk

all alone all alone

solitary soldier

braveheart girl
... half wise woman

on the way to work, i bit into a piece of roti ... and a part of my wisdom tooth just fell off.
now, it does not hurt or anything
i am not scared of the dentist or anything
but forces beyond my power (read very painful colleagues + husband) are insisting i go get martyred at the decay doctor's rickety chair.

so good bye and fare thee well beloved world.

he told me so :)

she: hey... beautiful sari!
he: uh huh... beautiful wife :)

ultra super.

No hang ups, no worry

Can I be like you?
You, who has lived and never learnt,
To feel the bitterness
That life has to offer…

Can I be like you, little girl
The one who has been cheated
But still bears no grouse
And is willing to give it one more try?

Can I be like you?
You …
The one “Maya” doesn’t seem to have a hold on?
Can I?
Please?

You might not know it, but you kick ass. Thank you Meera.

C ycle of life

I remember the days I used to come home from the playground to find my grandmom (my mother's mom) and my dad arguing loudly. She called him a cheat. He would respond in kind. They would glower at each other and walk their separate ways.

The fight was always about a game of carrom. Granny had her own set of rules. Dad was a pro. Both of them, bull headed. My poor mother, tired after a long day at work would be besieged with complaints from both the parties. I am sure most days she would have gladly rammed the carrom board down their collective throats.

One would think after an evening of bitter fighting grandma and dad would let up on their evening ritual. But no. The carrom board was a shrine they visited regularly. The ensuing argument, their homage.

Fast forward 2 decades... and I walk in on my mother and husband playing carrom. And they were accusing each other of cheating. When my presence was detected, complaints poured in.

Fulltoo deja vu happened :-)

Jai Mata Di

Ever since I have come to Delhi, I have always, every single time, tried to prove that Mumbai was way better than this *insert hugely popular bad word* place.
Mumbai locals blah blah
Public transport blah blah
Safety for women blah blah
People in general blah blah
Better food blah blah
The sea and the rocks blah blah
Closer to the mountains blah blah
Decent autowallahs blah blah....

The Delhiites hate it. Hate me. Tell me to go back to where I belong. And all that. Sometimes I grudgingly accept that the roads are way better and the Himalayas are worth the pain... and the forts and monuments and history is worth another round of paneer parathas ...
But today, when my ma got off the train, my hand reached for her bag and positively grabbed the bottle of water I knew she always carries with her when she is travelling and took one long swig out of it.

Ma gave me a smile and said "Bombay ka paani? :)"

Sigh *

HNY 2008

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=joidNeA5Q-Q

Starring:
Kiran as the God
Sriram as the God's 2nd pair of hands
Meera as celestial dancer part 1
Uma as celestial dancer part 2

That was what I was doing. Well, part of the time anyways. If the good Lord above made this year half as much fun as the last 8 days then I would so so so achieve Nirvana :-)

Rock n Roll...
Happy New Year.