No. of days in London: 21
No. of miles walked: Many, Many
No. of local bus rides: 0
No. of tube rides: 4
No. of kilograms of weight lost: 0.5
No. of rounds of laundry: 2
No. of Shakespeare plays seen: 2
No. of concerts attended: 1
No. of bookshops visited: 7
No. of books bought: 1
No. of sponsored meals: 2
No. of parties: 0
No of books issued from the library: 5
No. of books read properly: 0.1
No. of visits to Millennium Bridge at night: 12
No. of good female pals: 2
No. of years since this was last observed: 5
No. of times Delhi was missed: 0
October 11, 2005
October 10, 2005
How I Know This Is The Last Of My Formal Education
This is the conclusion of an essay I had to read in preparation for today’s lecture:
“Phallogocentrism was the egg ovulated by the master subject, the brooding hen to the permanent chickens of history. But into the nest with that literal-minded egg has been placed the germ of a phoenix that will speak in all the tongues of a world turned upside down.”
“Phallogocentrism was the egg ovulated by the master subject, the brooding hen to the permanent chickens of history. But into the nest with that literal-minded egg has been placed the germ of a phoenix that will speak in all the tongues of a world turned upside down.”
October 09, 2005
:-P
I open my book, and thereby engage
years of research to speak to me
But a playful smile dances on the page
and makes the English Greek to me
For my friend, who has a crush on her (Greek) Prof
years of research to speak to me
But a playful smile dances on the page
and makes the English Greek to me
For my friend, who has a crush on her (Greek) Prof
October 07, 2005
Thanks
I’ve discovered a new feeling in myself lately. Gratitude. For people who hold the door for me. For the people who thank me if I hold the door for them. For the cool weather. For maps and directions that make me independent in a strange land. For the infinite variety that is London. For the gift of a pair of legs that work, and take me around the city. For the neighbour who knocks at my door to return the wallet I have forgotten in the community fridge (long story). For my parents, who have loaned me their life’s savings to fulfill my dream. For Google Talk, which keeps me connected. For my sister, who bridges the gap between what is said and what is intended. For the lunatic who worries if I am not online by 7am. For the neurotic who is probably spending her days worrying that I am not eating right…
I could go on forever.
Thank God for all this and more!
I could go on forever.
Thank God for all this and more!
October 04, 2005
Lost in Translation
I spent a good fifteen minutes trying to explain to my friend from Hong Kong what a “behenji” is. I failed miserably. I don’t generally fail miserably at describing Indian things to people I meet here, so I am quite sure it was not a lack on my part. It’s just that there are no behenjis in Hong Kong.
I am worried now. Amitabh Bachchan and Sachin Tendulkar are on TV all the time asking me to take my children under three years of age for polio drops. But nobody is thinking of keeping up with the world as far as eradication of the behenji is concerned! Maybe a celebrity should be on TV asking us to take out little girls to the nearest health centre for immunisation against salwar suits, oiled hair, spectacles, and suchlike.
Observation: Just because he sounds like this chap, don’t turn around and look. There’s every chance he looks like this chap.
I am worried now. Amitabh Bachchan and Sachin Tendulkar are on TV all the time asking me to take my children under three years of age for polio drops. But nobody is thinking of keeping up with the world as far as eradication of the behenji is concerned! Maybe a celebrity should be on TV asking us to take out little girls to the nearest health centre for immunisation against salwar suits, oiled hair, spectacles, and suchlike.
Observation: Just because he sounds like this chap, don’t turn around and look. There’s every chance he looks like this chap.
October 03, 2005
Diary
7:00am: Inky shakes off the duvet and climbs out of bed. Her eyes are red. This happens everyday. Inky suspects she gets drunk in her sleep.
10:00am: Inky goes to the library, which looks like it’s from “The City of Angels”, but shakes like it’s from “Jurassic Park”. Inky vows never to go there again if she can help it. She can’t, by the way.
11:00am: Interview with tutor. Inky tells tutor that she has an uncomfortable relationship with word limits. She cannot write enough to reach the word limit. Tutor says she will whip Inky’s lazy ass. Only she says it more lady-like. Inky is in trouble.
1:30pm: Inky splurges on a scholastic planner that will hold a million little notes and detail, and shock the world with its pinkness. Inky is penny wise and pound foolish. But Inky kind of loves the diary.
2:00pm: Inky attends her first lecture. A 50-minute apology by a hassled little boy explaining why he knows nothing about the course he is teaching. Inky dozes off, but not before making a note in her little pink diary to get a pillow in the next class.
3:00pm: Inky attends a lecture by a female version of Dumbledore. Dumbledora is bitching about Aryan boys, when one walks into the room to borrow a chair. Seventy feminists angrily stare him out of existence for disturbing their class. He will never sit on a chair again.
5:00pm: Inky goes for the welcome party, and eats papad and drinks orange juice, both of which she hates. She escapes and walks along the Thames under the newly-dark sky, both of which she loves. Inky will suffer parties only when they come with a death-threat attached.
7:30pm: Inky is turning into a bluddy phirang having “supper” at 7:30. But not really, because she adds copious amounts of ketchup and pepper to her stir fried vegetables and noodles, to make chowmien.
8:30 pm: Inky realizes she has run out of a supply of certain garments that will not be seen but will be needed the next day. So Inky bundles four kilos of stinky clothes and marches down to do laundry while the world dresses up as hookers and pimps to go for parties. Maybe not hookers and pimps, but definitely not anything Inky can relate to from the world as she has known it.
9:00 pm: Inky posts her online diary as Ariel washing powder does good things to her clothes.
10:00am: Inky goes to the library, which looks like it’s from “The City of Angels”, but shakes like it’s from “Jurassic Park”. Inky vows never to go there again if she can help it. She can’t, by the way.
11:00am: Interview with tutor. Inky tells tutor that she has an uncomfortable relationship with word limits. She cannot write enough to reach the word limit. Tutor says she will whip Inky’s lazy ass. Only she says it more lady-like. Inky is in trouble.
1:30pm: Inky splurges on a scholastic planner that will hold a million little notes and detail, and shock the world with its pinkness. Inky is penny wise and pound foolish. But Inky kind of loves the diary.
2:00pm: Inky attends her first lecture. A 50-minute apology by a hassled little boy explaining why he knows nothing about the course he is teaching. Inky dozes off, but not before making a note in her little pink diary to get a pillow in the next class.
3:00pm: Inky attends a lecture by a female version of Dumbledore. Dumbledora is bitching about Aryan boys, when one walks into the room to borrow a chair. Seventy feminists angrily stare him out of existence for disturbing their class. He will never sit on a chair again.
5:00pm: Inky goes for the welcome party, and eats papad and drinks orange juice, both of which she hates. She escapes and walks along the Thames under the newly-dark sky, both of which she loves. Inky will suffer parties only when they come with a death-threat attached.
7:30pm: Inky is turning into a bluddy phirang having “supper” at 7:30. But not really, because she adds copious amounts of ketchup and pepper to her stir fried vegetables and noodles, to make chowmien.
8:30 pm: Inky realizes she has run out of a supply of certain garments that will not be seen but will be needed the next day. So Inky bundles four kilos of stinky clothes and marches down to do laundry while the world dresses up as hookers and pimps to go for parties. Maybe not hookers and pimps, but definitely not anything Inky can relate to from the world as she has known it.
9:00 pm: Inky posts her online diary as Ariel washing powder does good things to her clothes.
September 30, 2005
Rambling
Being in a college with seven thousand students is an overwhelming experience. And a college that is spread over a dozen buildings right in the middle of the city, with so much individual character and yet so little, is a maze through which I shall never figure my way.
It’s great to see how you can group seven thousand people using various filters, and come up with interesting results. The Gender group is a bunch of peppy young women whose education nobody on the planet is willing to subsidise. The Media group is a bunch of very very loud people in black clothes. The Accounting and Finance group is an illustration of the portent that between them, the Chinese and the Indians will soon take over the world. The Indian community will lapse into Hindi to make racist comments and will turn back to look at people kissing on the road. The newspaper committee will take notes assiduously. Ok. That’s a LOT of generalization. I’m sorry. But most of it is true.
Must get hold of a camera and start posting pictures. One of my friends has a digicam and is low on enthusiasm, so I think I should buy her lunch one of these days.
Two weeks, and I’m already losing touch with my friends back home. I even wrote them long emails, but they did not respond. And my mailbox at the reception is empty. Of course I get handed a lot of letters in this country, but they are mostly French.
It’s great to see how you can group seven thousand people using various filters, and come up with interesting results. The Gender group is a bunch of peppy young women whose education nobody on the planet is willing to subsidise. The Media group is a bunch of very very loud people in black clothes. The Accounting and Finance group is an illustration of the portent that between them, the Chinese and the Indians will soon take over the world. The Indian community will lapse into Hindi to make racist comments and will turn back to look at people kissing on the road. The newspaper committee will take notes assiduously. Ok. That’s a LOT of generalization. I’m sorry. But most of it is true.
Must get hold of a camera and start posting pictures. One of my friends has a digicam and is low on enthusiasm, so I think I should buy her lunch one of these days.
Two weeks, and I’m already losing touch with my friends back home. I even wrote them long emails, but they did not respond. And my mailbox at the reception is empty. Of course I get handed a lot of letters in this country, but they are mostly French.
September 27, 2005
Ram Ram!
God could not be everywhere, so he made chocolate mousse.
Yum!
The Devil HAD to be everywhere, so there was pork gelatin in the mousse.
EW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Five packs of the stuff now have to be given as a gift to the knock knock kid.
Sigh.
Hope the sixth one does not come out in reverse gear tonight.
Yum!
The Devil HAD to be everywhere, so there was pork gelatin in the mousse.
EW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Five packs of the stuff now have to be given as a gift to the knock knock kid.
Sigh.
Hope the sixth one does not come out in reverse gear tonight.
Ram Ram!
God could not be everywhere, so he made chocolate mousse.
Yum!
The Devil HAD to be everywhere, so there was pork gelatin in the mousse.
EW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Five packs of the stuff now have to be given as a gift to the knock knock kid.
Sigh.
Hope the sixth one does not come out in reverse gear tonight.
Yum!
The Devil HAD to be everywhere, so there was pork gelatin in the mousse.
EW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Five packs of the stuff now have to be given as a gift to the knock knock kid.
Sigh.
Hope the sixth one does not come out in reverse gear tonight.
September 26, 2005
Post-Its
- I live next to Shakespeare’s Globe and yesterday I saw “The Winter’s Tale” in true groundling fashion, with my elbows propped on the stage. I can now die a happy person.
- I can spend the rest of my life walking by the Thames (and even if I do that, I will not lose one gram of weight, thanks to the cheese and potato pie I had for dinner tonight.)
- That text in parentheses reminds me that it is very easy to lose pounds in the UK. I’ve been losing about £15 every day since I came here.
- There are people playing bagpipes on the road, people juggling while perched on a unicycle, people sketching the London Bridge, and people taking pictures of the Thames with their cameras perched on dustbins. All these people exist on the twenty-minute walk to college.
- There is a notice I saw on the fire exit of a building today. It said: “This door is alarmed.” I wonder why. The city as a whole is pretty unruffled.
- I’ve still not learnt how to be social and make friends. Now I am an international failure. :-)
- I am ancient, a “feminist”, a non-party person, and am not looking for a boyfriend. That is not really an exciting profile, so I can expect to be reading by the Thames even at the end of the term.
- The woman in the room next to mine is listening to a Kumar Sanu song. Do I really WANT to make friends here?
- I’d rather be walking along the Thames than blogging right now.
In other news, the “knock-knock” kid did knock, and so I have someone to bug if I am willing to suspend my disgust. And oh, a big hug to the character who thinks that knocking someone means killing them off. Blessed are the Innocent, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Yours forever, Inky.
September 21, 2005
Hostile Hostel
Am living alone on the eighty-room third floor of the hostel tonight. Shudder Shudder.
What is more scary, though, is the assurance of the friendly Indian guy on the seventh floor that he will "knock me" tomorrow morning.
Stop laughing. He's here on a scholarship.
What is more scary, though, is the assurance of the friendly Indian guy on the seventh floor that he will "knock me" tomorrow morning.
Stop laughing. He's here on a scholarship.
September 20, 2005
Change of Plans
Am no longer marrying a taxi driver at Heathrow and setting up a Dhaba. Now I am marrying a doctor in Liecester and setting up a takeaway joint. But this has to wait till I get my degree. Off to London morrow!
Quick Fact: In Liecester, you can buy a car for UK500 and then pay UK4 an hour to park it. They aren't even trying to find out where they went wrong!
Quick Fact: In Liecester, you can buy a car for UK500 and then pay UK4 an hour to park it. They aren't even trying to find out where they went wrong!
September 17, 2005
Bbye!
Raah pe rehte hain, yaadon pe basar karte hain
Khush raho elhe-watan, hum to safar karte hain...
- Gulzar
This blog is being handed over to Inkyji Londonwali. Insha Allah you will hear from her soon.
Khush raho elhe-watan, hum to safar karte hain...
- Gulzar
This blog is being handed over to Inkyji Londonwali. Insha Allah you will hear from her soon.
September 16, 2005
Self Portrait
If this poster moves you to charity, my email ID is on the Profile page. All currencies are welcome.
September 13, 2005
Movie Review: Salaam Namaste
After sitting through horrors like Kal Ho Na Ho (In which Lillette Dubey was the only “ho”. Sorry. PJ.) and Main Hoon Na, I am weary weary scared of watching movies produced by Yash Chopra/Karan Johar. But I went for Salaam Namaste (SN). And did not regret it. (At this point, Rash leaves to book tickets, and Parmanu rushes to the Asian store for the DVD. Am not talking to both these people, because they saw Mangle Pandey).
Coming back to SN, I freely forgive Preity her shrieking and Saif his visibly advanced age. They are cool, and so is everyone else. The stupid teaser on TV is regressive; the movie is not. Living in is cool (of course, all cool things happen Utopic surroundings where Mummyji and the Big Bad Samaaj - MBBS - cannot reach: in the Forest of Arden if you are Shakespeare, in Switzerland if you are Yash Chopra, and in Australia if you are Yash Uncle’s prodigy.) Any filmmaker who PAYS ATTENTION TO THE LITTLE THINGS AND TREATS EACH SCENE AS IMPORTANT deserves our money and our encouragement. Even if he rips ideas off Hollywood.
Can’t say too much without giving away the story or spoiling the fun, so go see SN. You have my blessings. If you have too much Pepsi, go pee during the songs. There are four useless ones.
Coming back to SN, I freely forgive Preity her shrieking and Saif his visibly advanced age. They are cool, and so is everyone else. The stupid teaser on TV is regressive; the movie is not. Living in is cool (of course, all cool things happen Utopic surroundings where Mummyji and the Big Bad Samaaj - MBBS - cannot reach: in the Forest of Arden if you are Shakespeare, in Switzerland if you are Yash Chopra, and in Australia if you are Yash Uncle’s prodigy.) Any filmmaker who PAYS ATTENTION TO THE LITTLE THINGS AND TREATS EACH SCENE AS IMPORTANT deserves our money and our encouragement. Even if he rips ideas off Hollywood.
Can’t say too much without giving away the story or spoiling the fun, so go see SN. You have my blessings. If you have too much Pepsi, go pee during the songs. There are four useless ones.
September 12, 2005
Roadside Shayari
Dil se nichode hain aansoo par phir bhi yeh saste hain
Baadal to maheene bhar tarsaa ke ik baar baraste hain
Got drenched in fabulous rain today.
Coming up: Movie Review: Salaam Namaste
Baadal to maheene bhar tarsaa ke ik baar baraste hain
Got drenched in fabulous rain today.
Coming up: Movie Review: Salaam Namaste
September 11, 2005
Viva la Vivah
Met a friend whose parents are worried sick about getting her married off. Her complicated extended family would rather hinder than help, and between her mother’s desire to have her married off in Delhi and her astrologer’s orders to see her married this year, the situation is a mess. To top it all, no advertisement has been placed in a matrimonial column yet.
Since I was staying with them overnight, I offered to write the advert, and everyone co-operated and the blasted thing was ready in an hour. I kept casting sidelong glances at my friend, and she did not cross over from mildly hostile into livid, so I guess she did not mind my interference. Insha Allah, the ad will appear in next week’s papers (don’t bother replying if you’re the sorts who reads this blog).
Opened the matrimonials section of the paper this morning to see if I can find a suitable match for her. Headed to the Punjabi Khatri section directly, skipping my regular favorite: the cosmopolitan section, which has the funniest ads. There are a good 50 eligible mundas willing to sacrifice their lives and happiness. They’re looking for exactly the kind of girl she is. They’re fabulous packages: all handsome, all rich, all well-educated, all from status flys (I love this expression). Horoscopes will cause ninety percent of them to be rejected. (Digression: I recently matched my parents’ horoscopes online, something their parents had neglected to do. They scored 10/36, and the “passing mark” is 18/36. They now conveniently blame their late parents for yoking them together). Those who make the cut will be rejected because they are shallow people or because their cars are too small, or their houses too big.
I thought the decision would be easy for normal, middle-of-the-road people. But no. Kaun Banega Meri Saheli Ka Pati seems to run on and on like an Ekta Kapoor soap!
Since I was staying with them overnight, I offered to write the advert, and everyone co-operated and the blasted thing was ready in an hour. I kept casting sidelong glances at my friend, and she did not cross over from mildly hostile into livid, so I guess she did not mind my interference. Insha Allah, the ad will appear in next week’s papers (don’t bother replying if you’re the sorts who reads this blog).
Opened the matrimonials section of the paper this morning to see if I can find a suitable match for her. Headed to the Punjabi Khatri section directly, skipping my regular favorite: the cosmopolitan section, which has the funniest ads. There are a good 50 eligible mundas willing to sacrifice their lives and happiness. They’re looking for exactly the kind of girl she is. They’re fabulous packages: all handsome, all rich, all well-educated, all from status flys (I love this expression). Horoscopes will cause ninety percent of them to be rejected. (Digression: I recently matched my parents’ horoscopes online, something their parents had neglected to do. They scored 10/36, and the “passing mark” is 18/36. They now conveniently blame their late parents for yoking them together). Those who make the cut will be rejected because they are shallow people or because their cars are too small, or their houses too big.
I thought the decision would be easy for normal, middle-of-the-road people. But no. Kaun Banega Meri Saheli Ka Pati seems to run on and on like an Ekta Kapoor soap!
September 10, 2005
Rants
I’m seeing teasers of movies and programs that will be telecast on TV after I’m gone. It feels strange.
A whole lot of things are happening for the last time before I go. It’s a death of sorts.
I’m dreaming the strangest of dreams every afternoon. Through them, I am realizing who are the people and what are the things that matter to me the most. I’ve become addicted to my afternoon nap because in this strange way, it gives me clarity.
Every time I have fled home in the past, it felt like a temporary break. This time I have a premonition that nothing is ever going to be the same again.
And yes: I have lost all my friends and loved ones to that stupid game I wrote about. Why did I have to post that link?
A whole lot of things are happening for the last time before I go. It’s a death of sorts.
I’m dreaming the strangest of dreams every afternoon. Through them, I am realizing who are the people and what are the things that matter to me the most. I’ve become addicted to my afternoon nap because in this strange way, it gives me clarity.
Every time I have fled home in the past, it felt like a temporary break. This time I have a premonition that nothing is ever going to be the same again.
And yes: I have lost all my friends and loved ones to that stupid game I wrote about. Why did I have to post that link?
September 08, 2005
Javedakhtar Stuckinmyhead
Saare sapne kahin kho gaye
Hai hum kya se kya ho gaye
Dil se tanhaai ka dard jeeta
Kya kahein hum pe kya kya na beeta
Tum na aaye magar jo gaye
Hai hum kya se kya ho gaye
Tumne humse kahin thi jo baatein
Unko dohraati hain gham ki raatein
Tumse milne ke din to gaye
Hai hum kya se kya ho gaye
Koi shikva na koi gila hai
Tumse kab humko yeh gham mila hai
Haan naseeb apne hi so gaye
Hai hum kya se kya ho gaye
And if one's own supply of blues ain't enough to make it heartbreaking, some Iyer dude will indelibly link himself and his truckloads of woe with the song! No thanks man!
Hai hum kya se kya ho gaye
Dil se tanhaai ka dard jeeta
Kya kahein hum pe kya kya na beeta
Tum na aaye magar jo gaye
Hai hum kya se kya ho gaye
Tumne humse kahin thi jo baatein
Unko dohraati hain gham ki raatein
Tumse milne ke din to gaye
Hai hum kya se kya ho gaye
Koi shikva na koi gila hai
Tumse kab humko yeh gham mila hai
Haan naseeb apne hi so gaye
Hai hum kya se kya ho gaye
And if one's own supply of blues ain't enough to make it heartbreaking, some Iyer dude will indelibly link himself and his truckloads of woe with the song! No thanks man!
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