अभी मुझे बहुत आलस आ रहा है इसलिये कोई पोस्ट नहीं।
बस एक गाना बनाया कल या परसों, वह सुन लो:
bum बने
दुम बने
इक दूजे के लिए
September 10, 2007
Hibernation
अभी मुझे बहुत आलस आ रहा है इसलिये कोई पोस्ट नहीं।
बस एक गाना बनाया कल या परसों, वह सुन लो:
bum बने
दुम बने
इक दूजे के लिए
September 03, 2007
TeeHee
Walking past the beyooti parler the other day, I could not bear to go up and get my caterpillar-eyebrows fixed, because with the illness, they’ve been neglected for two months now, and BOY IT WILL HURT! I told the husband I could not bring myself to do it, so he says.. “chill maadi! teri bhauwon mein kho jaane ko dil chahta hai!”
And talking to phrand about creepy guys visiting her blog since she put up her pic, I told her “pic daalegi to parwaane to ayenge”… “pervaane you mean” quoth she…
It is the nice to bees with the peepuls with the sense of humour, peshally when most of the day is spent with pecimens who have the sans of humour……
And talking to phrand about creepy guys visiting her blog since she put up her pic, I told her “pic daalegi to parwaane to ayenge”… “pervaane you mean” quoth she…
It is the nice to bees with the peepuls with the sense of humour, peshally when most of the day is spent with pecimens who have the sans of humour……
August 31, 2007
Mast-Melon
Last night I remembered one of the many stories by grandfather used to tell me. Once there was a man who was sitting by the roadside crying. Another man passed by and asked what the matter was. “I have only fifty paise, and my hens, my horse, and I….we’re all hungry. I cannot figure out whom to feed with this little money.” The passerby said, “It’s quite simple. Buy some kharboojas with the fifty paise. Feed the rind to the horse, the seeds to the hens, and eat the flesh of the fruit yourself.”
Of course my grandfather did not recalibrate the story for inflation since his childhood, but you see the point.
Kharboojas (muskmelons) were in regular supply in our home. They came in those delicious early days of the summer I secretly felt thrilled that though it was May, it was not really as hot as summers are wont to be. It even rained once or twice, to delude me into believing we were going to have a cool-ish summer. Kharboojas are all about the heady fragrance and succulent coolness of the early summer, and when the blazing heat kills the infant summer, it tries to make up for its crime with the frontal attack of the mangoes, making the kharboojas taste bland in comparison.
Each home probably cuts up and serves muskmelons in their own unique way. Our style was long slices (never cut along the ridges on the skin of the fruit, for some unfathomable reason) from which the rind was separated with a clean sweep of the knife, but left joint at the end…maybe to catch the drippy juice, maybe for ease of holding, maybe as an umbilical connection. Thus each one of us had a pile of rinds on our plate when the kharbooja session was done. My pint sized sister made sure grandpa had no more slices than she did, being born in a democracy and all…
Another ritual was to save one half of the first kharbooja if it turned out to be exceptionally sweet, in case the rest were disappointments (the family being in the insurance business). Some were so bland that we refused to eat them, but Grandpa stressed their “utility value” as roughage, an argument that has never historically worked with children.
The kharbooja sitting in the fruitseller's shop is so unyielding of its mysteries. Who knows what lies underneath its thick skin? Many standards for selection were tried with varying degrees of success: dark green lines, sharp contrast, no lines, small ones, light ones, early ones, late ones….
And now we go to a fancy vegetable store and but Sardas (called some fancy name in English that I refuse to look up). They look like lemons gone berserk sizewise and have very thin skins, few seeds, and are almost invariably sweet. All the fun of the kharbooja, and none of the mystery or hassle. I love the taste , and hey, they’ve been here almost the whole year now… But they’re non-magic food.
I can live on sardas, grandpa, and I don’t worry though they’re close to 25 rupees for one now. But what about my horse and hens?
Of course my grandfather did not recalibrate the story for inflation since his childhood, but you see the point.
Kharboojas (muskmelons) were in regular supply in our home. They came in those delicious early days of the summer I secretly felt thrilled that though it was May, it was not really as hot as summers are wont to be. It even rained once or twice, to delude me into believing we were going to have a cool-ish summer. Kharboojas are all about the heady fragrance and succulent coolness of the early summer, and when the blazing heat kills the infant summer, it tries to make up for its crime with the frontal attack of the mangoes, making the kharboojas taste bland in comparison.
Each home probably cuts up and serves muskmelons in their own unique way. Our style was long slices (never cut along the ridges on the skin of the fruit, for some unfathomable reason) from which the rind was separated with a clean sweep of the knife, but left joint at the end…maybe to catch the drippy juice, maybe for ease of holding, maybe as an umbilical connection. Thus each one of us had a pile of rinds on our plate when the kharbooja session was done. My pint sized sister made sure grandpa had no more slices than she did, being born in a democracy and all…
Another ritual was to save one half of the first kharbooja if it turned out to be exceptionally sweet, in case the rest were disappointments (the family being in the insurance business). Some were so bland that we refused to eat them, but Grandpa stressed their “utility value” as roughage, an argument that has never historically worked with children.
The kharbooja sitting in the fruitseller's shop is so unyielding of its mysteries. Who knows what lies underneath its thick skin? Many standards for selection were tried with varying degrees of success: dark green lines, sharp contrast, no lines, small ones, light ones, early ones, late ones….
And now we go to a fancy vegetable store and but Sardas (called some fancy name in English that I refuse to look up). They look like lemons gone berserk sizewise and have very thin skins, few seeds, and are almost invariably sweet. All the fun of the kharbooja, and none of the mystery or hassle. I love the taste , and hey, they’ve been here almost the whole year now… But they’re non-magic food.
I can live on sardas, grandpa, and I don’t worry though they’re close to 25 rupees for one now. But what about my horse and hens?
August 17, 2007
Bangalore Antarrashtriya Hawai Addey Par Aapka Swagat Hai
Jaan Bachi To Laakhon Paaye
Laut Ke Buddhu Ghar Ko Aaye!
Laut Ke Buddhu Ghar Ko Aaye!
August 14, 2007
Blabbering About Illness Generally
As magically/mysteriously as I had fallen ill, I have recovered. One side effect is partial amnesia: it took me five minutes to remember the name of my apartment complex, and frankly, when I saw my parents’ and my husband’s face, it took me a little while to figure out what they REALLY looked like. It’s the end of an era of taking my temperature obsessively, looking up terminal diseases on Wikipedia, reading books and watching movies, and lots of medicines and delirium.
I’m going to take some time to regain my strength and fit into the “fit” world, most importantly the job about which I seem to have only vague recollections now…
People use their illness to rethink their lives and priorities. I don’t think I used this opportunity well enough, but I did manage to get some thinking done. That’s confidential, of course, but what is quite public is my fantastic experience at the very multicultural and very bumbling-idiot-like hospital in London, from where I emerged no better, with no medical guidance, with a painful hole in my arm where a very inept Mallu doc inserted one of those contraptions that make a semi-permanent input-output channel into your bloodstream, and a painful hole in my ankle where the X-ray lady rammed my pretty yellow wheelchair in (ow!). The hole in the ankle persists feebly, while the four inch purple bruise on the arm is now faded, after excellent service as Voldemort’s death eater mark in my Harry Potter reading days.
Also, what is it with putting you in that nangu hospital gown???? I mean, it’s all strings, and after I took ten minutes to tie it up, they came and told me it was backside-front and whatnot! They expected me to tie a million knots behind my back??? When I am sick enough to need emergency treatment?? Loonaticks! The gown was not even pretty!!!! And they gave me a cheese sandwich in unopenable packaging for a snack in the evening, which looked oh so tempting but my drip-waali right arm was no good at opening it, so it just lay there…
Compare this with the Emergency section at the Delhi hospital where my parents took me in Delhi as soon (I mean AS SOON) as I landed. The nurse knew more about everything than any doc in the London hospital, told me which tests would be negative even as she drew my blood, put me in a wheelchair that was not yellow but which she did not ram into my ankle, and packed me off in an hour, while in the neighboring cubicle a young man was reassured that he DID have heart disease at his young age, as did a lot of other people, and that the swank hospital could not be funded by the heart diseases of the elderly alone… It is another matter that the hospital’s thermometer recorded 103 degrees temperature in my left armpit and 98.7 in my right (Hello!) and there is some reason to believe they messed up my samples. So basically, when you are ill, you are in the hands of God Almighty only.
So children of the world, rest adequately after a baby viral or momma viral and granny viral will come get you…do not mix your paracetamol and ibuprofen…stay away from Wikipedia when ill, and trust in God. Change your path labs till you get normal results, and try and have whatever fun you can. And I am serious: No Wikipedia!!!!
I’m going to take some time to regain my strength and fit into the “fit” world, most importantly the job about which I seem to have only vague recollections now…
People use their illness to rethink their lives and priorities. I don’t think I used this opportunity well enough, but I did manage to get some thinking done. That’s confidential, of course, but what is quite public is my fantastic experience at the very multicultural and very bumbling-idiot-like hospital in London, from where I emerged no better, with no medical guidance, with a painful hole in my arm where a very inept Mallu doc inserted one of those contraptions that make a semi-permanent input-output channel into your bloodstream, and a painful hole in my ankle where the X-ray lady rammed my pretty yellow wheelchair in (ow!). The hole in the ankle persists feebly, while the four inch purple bruise on the arm is now faded, after excellent service as Voldemort’s death eater mark in my Harry Potter reading days.
Also, what is it with putting you in that nangu hospital gown???? I mean, it’s all strings, and after I took ten minutes to tie it up, they came and told me it was backside-front and whatnot! They expected me to tie a million knots behind my back??? When I am sick enough to need emergency treatment?? Loonaticks! The gown was not even pretty!!!! And they gave me a cheese sandwich in unopenable packaging for a snack in the evening, which looked oh so tempting but my drip-waali right arm was no good at opening it, so it just lay there…
Compare this with the Emergency section at the Delhi hospital where my parents took me in Delhi as soon (I mean AS SOON) as I landed. The nurse knew more about everything than any doc in the London hospital, told me which tests would be negative even as she drew my blood, put me in a wheelchair that was not yellow but which she did not ram into my ankle, and packed me off in an hour, while in the neighboring cubicle a young man was reassured that he DID have heart disease at his young age, as did a lot of other people, and that the swank hospital could not be funded by the heart diseases of the elderly alone… It is another matter that the hospital’s thermometer recorded 103 degrees temperature in my left armpit and 98.7 in my right (Hello!) and there is some reason to believe they messed up my samples. So basically, when you are ill, you are in the hands of God Almighty only.
So children of the world, rest adequately after a baby viral or momma viral and granny viral will come get you…do not mix your paracetamol and ibuprofen…stay away from Wikipedia when ill, and trust in God. Change your path labs till you get normal results, and try and have whatever fun you can. And I am serious: No Wikipedia!!!!
August 08, 2007
Strange Birthday
It is the Happy Birday today, but the fever has somewhat peed over the happiness. The doc has given me till Monday to cure myself, otherwise she will do bad things to me. So I am dressing up pretty pretty and being spoilt by doting parents, and sticking a thermometer into my mouth every two hours to check progress. Which reminds me, I counted and figured I’ve used eight different thermometers in the last 20 days!
So I am 28 now, and though no maturer, infinitely more happy than, say, at 25. Which is great. So thank you God for everything!
So I am 28 now, and though no maturer, infinitely more happy than, say, at 25. Which is great. So thank you God for everything!
August 07, 2007
On The Brighter Side...
Books read in the last 20 days:
Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett (Funny!)
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (queued up at Piccadilly AND Covent Garden for the launch. Kiss my little finger.)
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (Re-read, again during an unexplained fever)
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (Which probably explains why I am not getting better)
Short Stories by Roald Dahl (Creepy but nice!)
Movies seen in the same period:
An Inconvenient Truth: Overrated
The Namesake: Weeping copiously into airline orange juice makes a nice mocktail
Flushed Away: Loved the Underground London!
Cheeni Kum: Ok. Again.
Moliere: French for “I Kick Shakespeare In Love’s Ass”
Annie Hall: Funky Cool!
Sideways: What was all the fuss about?
Music And Lyrics: Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore. What? You want a story too??
Blades of Glory: Hilarious!
The Pursuit of Happyness: Hype killed it for me a bit I think.
TV Shows That I Can Now Write Dissertations Upon:
Home Improvement: Did not rest until I found out where the third kid went in the final season!
Eight Simple Rules: Too many broken families on TV
Scrubs: Not nice to watch a hospital all the time when sick
Frasier: Amazing as ever
Hope and Faith: Irritating but addictive
Friends: Forever!
Equal Rites by Terry Pratchett (Funny!)
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (queued up at Piccadilly AND Covent Garden for the launch. Kiss my little finger.)
The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini (Re-read, again during an unexplained fever)
Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (Which probably explains why I am not getting better)
Short Stories by Roald Dahl (Creepy but nice!)
Movies seen in the same period:
An Inconvenient Truth: Overrated
The Namesake: Weeping copiously into airline orange juice makes a nice mocktail
Flushed Away: Loved the Underground London!
Cheeni Kum: Ok. Again.
Moliere: French for “I Kick Shakespeare In Love’s Ass”
Annie Hall: Funky Cool!
Sideways: What was all the fuss about?
Music And Lyrics: Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore. What? You want a story too??
Blades of Glory: Hilarious!
The Pursuit of Happyness: Hype killed it for me a bit I think.
TV Shows That I Can Now Write Dissertations Upon:
Home Improvement: Did not rest until I found out where the third kid went in the final season!
Eight Simple Rules: Too many broken families on TV
Scrubs: Not nice to watch a hospital all the time when sick
Frasier: Amazing as ever
Hope and Faith: Irritating but addictive
Friends: Forever!
July 30, 2007
Zindagi Humein Tera Aetbaar Na Raha....
It’s nice how some people have already pronounced me dead. I wonder if they’ve also found replacements.
Anyhow, it’s interesting to know that if I survive, I’ll have a severly curtailed profile. Wonder if the old authorities will have me back… worth a shot, I’d say….
Anyhow, it’s interesting to know that if I survive, I’ll have a severly curtailed profile. Wonder if the old authorities will have me back… worth a shot, I’d say….
July 29, 2007
Bukhaareshwari On A Slow And Suspect Mend
Bahut aarzoo thi, gali ki teri
So ya se lahoo mein nahaa ke chaley...
So ya se lahoo mein nahaa ke chaley...
July 26, 2007
The English Patient
Long time no blogpost. Have been struck by an unidentified illness that makes my temperature soar thrice a day to personal highs, and the paracetamol and ibuprofen are just about working their feeble magic on it. From an adventure-filled trip to a London hospital to long TV and book-filled days in wendigo’s pretty house, this is turning out to be an unusual vacation.
Watch this space for more. For now, this is about all I have the energy for. Take care of yourself.
Watch this space for more. For now, this is about all I have the energy for. Take care of yourself.
July 14, 2007
Phir Milenge!!!!!
Kuchh Khushbooein
Yaadon Ke Jungle Se Beh Chaleein
Kuchh Khidkiyaan
Lamhon Ki Dastak Pe Khul Gayin
Kuchh Geet Puraaney
Rakhey They Sirhaane
Kuchh Sur Kahin Khoye They, Bandish Mil Gayi!
Jaaney Ke Ishaarey Mil Gaye! Ticket, Visa Saarey Mil Gaye!
Yaadon Ke Jungle Se Beh Chaleein
Kuchh Khidkiyaan
Lamhon Ki Dastak Pe Khul Gayin
Kuchh Geet Puraaney
Rakhey They Sirhaane
Kuchh Sur Kahin Khoye They, Bandish Mil Gayi!
Jaaney Ke Ishaarey Mil Gaye! Ticket, Visa Saarey Mil Gaye!
July 13, 2007
It's 'Twas A Girl!
Got this from The Times Of India:
India plans a national mandatory registry of pregnancies and abortions to stem selective abortions of girl fetuses, a minister said, according to a report on Friday.
Ok. So forget for one minute about the complete insanity of thinking this a viable programme, and tell me this: Do we want the birth of girl children whose parents wish they were dead? Tell me about the right to life, and whether the right to dignity, or the right to happiness figures anywhere in it…
India plans a national mandatory registry of pregnancies and abortions to stem selective abortions of girl fetuses, a minister said, according to a report on Friday.
Ok. So forget for one minute about the complete insanity of thinking this a viable programme, and tell me this: Do we want the birth of girl children whose parents wish they were dead? Tell me about the right to life, and whether the right to dignity, or the right to happiness figures anywhere in it…
July 10, 2007
Maggi! Maggi! Maggi!
NehaVish (I always think of her like that, for some reason) posted about Maggi when I am sick and Maggi is the only raw material in the house. So Maggi is now officially occupying 100% of my brain space.
Earliest Childhood Memories of Maggi: When the strictly rationed half packet a fortnight, and that too cooked with healthy beans, without Masala tastemaker, and served with ketchup managed to brave the odds and still be the favorite food. Of course, many healthy lunchboxfulls were secretly swapped for congealed Maggi blobs in school. (Note to Mommy: Whatchya gonna do NOW?)
Worst Memories of Maggi: When one childhood upchuck was blamed on Maggi and the Era Of The Blanket Ban began, and lasted for about ten years (The shrink uses this as the explanation for my….condition) The ban was removed when my Sis and I discovered the facts of life, the primary one being that we were two and mom was one, and we were loud and mom could give up under certain decibel conditions.
Best Memories Of Maggi: At the Chhota Canteen in MICA, eaten every Thursday during lunch because the mess made, well, a mess on Thursdays. Made with onions and tomatoes, and cooked just right in a pan that was, in all respects, absolutely wrong. And oh! The discovery of Sakthi Stores in East Ham (again courtesy NehaVish) with 25pence Maggi packets! Maggi ki hai jo khushboo, tu kaise bhulayega…..
My Worst Maggi Experiment: Maggi with sprouted moong dal. Never, EVER, try this at home. Either guilt trip yourself into a healthy meal or have Maggi chupchaap. Ne’er the twain shall meet! Damn! Just thinking of it killed my appetite!
My Safe And Best Maggi Recipe: Sliced onions, tomatoes, capsicum, chilli sauce and chili flakes from Pizza Hut. No frying just boiling in the water. Guaranteed to bhulao most gham. Not for the fainthearted, obviously.
Favorite flavour: Masala
Favorite Consistency: Non-watery
Favorite Eating Equipment: Bowl and fork. (Marriage is all about adjustment, so now plate and fork)
Now this is looking like a meme, and I dunno if anyone reads this blog anymore, but if you do, please take up this meme if you want and leave the URL in the comments box!
Earliest Childhood Memories of Maggi: When the strictly rationed half packet a fortnight, and that too cooked with healthy beans, without Masala tastemaker, and served with ketchup managed to brave the odds and still be the favorite food. Of course, many healthy lunchboxfulls were secretly swapped for congealed Maggi blobs in school. (Note to Mommy: Whatchya gonna do NOW?)
Worst Memories of Maggi: When one childhood upchuck was blamed on Maggi and the Era Of The Blanket Ban began, and lasted for about ten years (The shrink uses this as the explanation for my….condition) The ban was removed when my Sis and I discovered the facts of life, the primary one being that we were two and mom was one, and we were loud and mom could give up under certain decibel conditions.
Best Memories Of Maggi: At the Chhota Canteen in MICA, eaten every Thursday during lunch because the mess made, well, a mess on Thursdays. Made with onions and tomatoes, and cooked just right in a pan that was, in all respects, absolutely wrong. And oh! The discovery of Sakthi Stores in East Ham (again courtesy NehaVish) with 25pence Maggi packets! Maggi ki hai jo khushboo, tu kaise bhulayega…..
My Worst Maggi Experiment: Maggi with sprouted moong dal. Never, EVER, try this at home. Either guilt trip yourself into a healthy meal or have Maggi chupchaap. Ne’er the twain shall meet! Damn! Just thinking of it killed my appetite!
My Safe And Best Maggi Recipe: Sliced onions, tomatoes, capsicum, chilli sauce and chili flakes from Pizza Hut. No frying just boiling in the water. Guaranteed to bhulao most gham. Not for the fainthearted, obviously.
Favorite flavour: Masala
Favorite Consistency: Non-watery
Favorite Eating Equipment: Bowl and fork. (Marriage is all about adjustment, so now plate and fork)
Now this is looking like a meme, and I dunno if anyone reads this blog anymore, but if you do, please take up this meme if you want and leave the URL in the comments box!
July 03, 2007
Template for an iPhone Worship Website
I’ve seen so many of them in the last few days that I think I have cracked the code.
1. Clean Apple-y interface with minimum clutter, big text, and the apple logo discreetly used somewhere.
2. Early entries should be links to Apple’s publicity of the iPhone. All the ads are wow and nobody thinks otherwise.
3. Then have pictures and interviews of people queued up for the iPhone. This must include variants of the following:
a. The man who has been sitting in the queue since the first ad came out…he is seventh in the queue
b. The man who has been in the queue since Steve Jobs was born. He is second in the queue
c. The woman who is sitting in the queue in place of Lindsay Lohan, who will replace her as soon as the store opens.
d. The family that is reconnecting after twenty years of separate dinners. They are almost together now: numbers 13, 15, 19, and 327 in the queue.
e. Interview with the guy who thinks this is the soup kitchen queue and nobody bothered to correct him.
4. Then there will be some pics of the Apple store with people checking out the phones, getting their fancy bags, and everyone looking very happy. Later, someone can download these pictures, Photoshop in an alien or celebrity, and host the pics on their blogs, from where other people will pick it up and Photoshop in a Zune or something instead of the iPhone, by which time people will be queuing up for the next-gen iPhone (iPhone With a Vengeance? iPhone and the Order of the Phoenix? iPhone and the Dead Man’s Chest?)
5. Token photograph of you holding your iPhone in your hand. In your excitement, you’ll forget your crush reads your blog and is right now staring at your unkempt dirty and geeky fingernails. That’s the end of that! To sound cool, say that you disapprove of the too-close-together onscreen keys and the lack of copy-paste (which is the foundation of your career in the IT industry), but the fingernails have done the damage.
6. Then pics of people opening up their iPhones to figure out what’s inside. The following procedures MUST be documented
a. iPhone opened up to line up all component parts in a single line
b. iPhone opened up by curious toddler
c. iPhone thrown under a moving truck to see what happens
d. iPhone put back together creatively to make it look like Steve Jobs
7. Then stats from the users, a.k.a the iPhone Awards
a. The first iPhone accidentally flushed down the toilet
b. The first iPhone thought to be lost or stolen
c. The first iphone thought to be lost or stolen but actually left at home. Duh!
d. The first iPhone broken unfixably. Preferably by throwing under moving truck.
e. The first iPhone used to take naked picture of self.
f. The first iPhone to play a Himesh song. That’s it!
8. Then you can have market anal-ysts fighting it out over how many iPhones sold over the first weekend. Vary the numbers wildly: “Microsoft-R-Us refuses to acknowledge that more than three iPhones were sold over three days”. “Exageneration claims 3 billion iPhones were sold, about twice as many as were manufactured.” Nobody reads these articles through. I bet YOU are so sick of the iPhone that you stopped reading this blogpost ages ago.
1. Clean Apple-y interface with minimum clutter, big text, and the apple logo discreetly used somewhere.
2. Early entries should be links to Apple’s publicity of the iPhone. All the ads are wow and nobody thinks otherwise.
3. Then have pictures and interviews of people queued up for the iPhone. This must include variants of the following:
a. The man who has been sitting in the queue since the first ad came out…he is seventh in the queue
b. The man who has been in the queue since Steve Jobs was born. He is second in the queue
c. The woman who is sitting in the queue in place of Lindsay Lohan, who will replace her as soon as the store opens.
d. The family that is reconnecting after twenty years of separate dinners. They are almost together now: numbers 13, 15, 19, and 327 in the queue.
e. Interview with the guy who thinks this is the soup kitchen queue and nobody bothered to correct him.
4. Then there will be some pics of the Apple store with people checking out the phones, getting their fancy bags, and everyone looking very happy. Later, someone can download these pictures, Photoshop in an alien or celebrity, and host the pics on their blogs, from where other people will pick it up and Photoshop in a Zune or something instead of the iPhone, by which time people will be queuing up for the next-gen iPhone (iPhone With a Vengeance? iPhone and the Order of the Phoenix? iPhone and the Dead Man’s Chest?)
5. Token photograph of you holding your iPhone in your hand. In your excitement, you’ll forget your crush reads your blog and is right now staring at your unkempt dirty and geeky fingernails. That’s the end of that! To sound cool, say that you disapprove of the too-close-together onscreen keys and the lack of copy-paste (which is the foundation of your career in the IT industry), but the fingernails have done the damage.
6. Then pics of people opening up their iPhones to figure out what’s inside. The following procedures MUST be documented
a. iPhone opened up to line up all component parts in a single line
b. iPhone opened up by curious toddler
c. iPhone thrown under a moving truck to see what happens
d. iPhone put back together creatively to make it look like Steve Jobs
7. Then stats from the users, a.k.a the iPhone Awards
a. The first iPhone accidentally flushed down the toilet
b. The first iPhone thought to be lost or stolen
c. The first iphone thought to be lost or stolen but actually left at home. Duh!
d. The first iPhone broken unfixably. Preferably by throwing under moving truck.
e. The first iPhone used to take naked picture of self.
f. The first iPhone to play a Himesh song. That’s it!
8. Then you can have market anal-ysts fighting it out over how many iPhones sold over the first weekend. Vary the numbers wildly: “Microsoft-R-Us refuses to acknowledge that more than three iPhones were sold over three days”. “Exageneration claims 3 billion iPhones were sold, about twice as many as were manufactured.” Nobody reads these articles through. I bet YOU are so sick of the iPhone that you stopped reading this blogpost ages ago.
July 02, 2007
Bruce Almighty
Saw Bruce Willis ka naya dhamaka - Die Hard 4 - yesterday. There was a time when wild horses couldn’t have dragged me for a movie with that kind of name, but this weekend I stood in a queue for half an hour to procure the tickets, and went in for the movie jumping with joy and anticipation. That’s what marriage (and the guilt of having watched Shrek-3 without the husband who was equally keen) does to you.
I had tested the waters with Die Hard 3 to brace myself for the big screen onslaught, so I was expecting lots of flying cars and bullets, lots of wit and lots of fights and blood. I was not disappointed. It was a smashing movie in all senses of the term!
What was most peculiar and to me most amusing was the premise of the movie. Warning: spoilers ahead if you’re dumb enough to care for the larger plot. So some guy threatens to disrupt the traffic, take away internet and cellphone connectivity, shut down the power, spark off false alarms, and crash the stock market. BIG DEAL. What he’s doing is not finishing off America, he’s just converting it into India. Imagine if the movie were set in India. Instead of widespread panic, there would be widespread normalcy. In fact, Mister Villain should have considered stages four and five… pollution and population explosion. It’s tried and tested and whole countries keep going on despite this five-point programme. If Bruce Willis had not killed him off after so much running about and fighting, the disappointment of his plan would have finished him off!
Still, you should go for the movie if you wanna have fun. But if you’re gonna sit next to your boyfriend and giggle unstoppably at every smart line in the film, then please wait for the DVD… Patience among the audience is in short supply when there is a provocation for violence every second onscreen.
In other news, after seeing the trailer of Ratatouille, I’m wondering if there are others like me who find the thought of a rat as chef completely unpalatable. I’ve made friends with ants, bugs, and creepy crawlies for Disney-Pixar’s sake, but a rat in the kitchen is a bit too much for me….
I had tested the waters with Die Hard 3 to brace myself for the big screen onslaught, so I was expecting lots of flying cars and bullets, lots of wit and lots of fights and blood. I was not disappointed. It was a smashing movie in all senses of the term!
What was most peculiar and to me most amusing was the premise of the movie. Warning: spoilers ahead if you’re dumb enough to care for the larger plot. So some guy threatens to disrupt the traffic, take away internet and cellphone connectivity, shut down the power, spark off false alarms, and crash the stock market. BIG DEAL. What he’s doing is not finishing off America, he’s just converting it into India. Imagine if the movie were set in India. Instead of widespread panic, there would be widespread normalcy. In fact, Mister Villain should have considered stages four and five… pollution and population explosion. It’s tried and tested and whole countries keep going on despite this five-point programme. If Bruce Willis had not killed him off after so much running about and fighting, the disappointment of his plan would have finished him off!
Still, you should go for the movie if you wanna have fun. But if you’re gonna sit next to your boyfriend and giggle unstoppably at every smart line in the film, then please wait for the DVD… Patience among the audience is in short supply when there is a provocation for violence every second onscreen.
In other news, after seeing the trailer of Ratatouille, I’m wondering if there are others like me who find the thought of a rat as chef completely unpalatable. I’ve made friends with ants, bugs, and creepy crawlies for Disney-Pixar’s sake, but a rat in the kitchen is a bit too much for me….
June 28, 2007
June 26, 2007
just popped in to share a dal recipe...
1 medium sized onion halved sliced into pungent moons
2 medium sized tomatoes cut into stripped
Some shredded ginger and garlic
One baby bottle gourd chopped into about half inch cubes
Salt
Turmeric
Water: very little
Soaked arhar/tuur dal: ½ cup
Dump all of the above in the pressure cooker and go whoosh, and then simmer for 10 minutes and switch off the gas. The contents should be gooey, not flow-ey
In a katori, put
A tablespoon of desi ghee
Mustard seeds/Zeera
Asafetida
Red chilli powder
Curry leaves (if you use mustard)
Sputter sputter and add to the cooker.
Add a bit of garam masala if you want, a bit of chaat masaala or lemon juice, and fresh chopped coriander if u did not already do the greening with curry leaves.
Quick and healthy!
2 medium sized tomatoes cut into stripped
Some shredded ginger and garlic
One baby bottle gourd chopped into about half inch cubes
Salt
Turmeric
Water: very little
Soaked arhar/tuur dal: ½ cup
Dump all of the above in the pressure cooker and go whoosh, and then simmer for 10 minutes and switch off the gas. The contents should be gooey, not flow-ey
In a katori, put
A tablespoon of desi ghee
Mustard seeds/Zeera
Asafetida
Red chilli powder
Curry leaves (if you use mustard)
Sputter sputter and add to the cooker.
Add a bit of garam masala if you want, a bit of chaat masaala or lemon juice, and fresh chopped coriander if u did not already do the greening with curry leaves.
Quick and healthy!
June 17, 2007
Hi-Ate-Us
Away having an existential crisis.
Back soon... or someday...whatever.
Meanwhile, kicking about to get another glimpse of khaliballi khaliballi yaar ki galli (cf. RDB if you dunno awready)
Back soon... or someday...whatever.
Meanwhile, kicking about to get another glimpse of khaliballi khaliballi yaar ki galli (cf. RDB if you dunno awready)
May 28, 2007
Gastrology
Somewhere between accurately predicting when there will be a traffic jam in Bangalore, and suffering tummy aches because of bad food, I figured out I had a para-scientific gift. Ladies and gentlemen, hold your breath (chiefly because of the stink) and bow before the greatness of: GAStrology.
Something between a gastronomist and an astrologer, I call myself a gastrologist. It’s in my email signature and on my business card. I’m two steps away from quitting my job and taking it up full time, with a board in front of my house:
Ink Spill
Gastrologist
Love? Money? Health? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind…
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not gonna go about sniffing out people’s problems (eeeyuck!)… I’m just going to predict their ordinary future in conjunction with their expected flatulence, assuming a direct relationship between the two.
Also I think it’s quite a challenge to come up with twelve sets of predictions according to the zodiac, so I’m gonna just come up with seven according to the day of week on which you were born. I am sure most people know which day they were born on, because they would have taken the trouble to find it out when they heard this poem by the famous poetess Mother Goose about how those born on Monday are gora hotties and those born on Sunday prefer lovers of the same chromosomal configuration:
Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
I am Thursday’s child and I have far to go…but I have been unable to understand what that means so far, so it probably means that I have far to go before I understand nursery rhymes….
So here is a sample prediction to test the waters before I make a commitment to my new science:
Monday:
You will be surprisingly efficient at work today, as all the meetings you attend will end ahead of schedule, leaving you lots of time to do work. It has to do with your well-honed decision-making skills as much as with the fact that you will be burping up the garlic chutney you had for breakfast.
Tuesday:
Your relations with the family will be strained and past problems might be raked up again. Expect tensions at home as your loved ones constantly bang on the bathroom door while you’ve locked yourself in and are creating bum music.
Wednesday:
Something between a gastronomist and an astrologer, I call myself a gastrologist. It’s in my email signature and on my business card. I’m two steps away from quitting my job and taking it up full time, with a board in front of my house:
Ink Spill
Gastrologist
Love? Money? Health? The answer, my friend, is blowing in the wind…
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not gonna go about sniffing out people’s problems (eeeyuck!)… I’m just going to predict their ordinary future in conjunction with their expected flatulence, assuming a direct relationship between the two.
Also I think it’s quite a challenge to come up with twelve sets of predictions according to the zodiac, so I’m gonna just come up with seven according to the day of week on which you were born. I am sure most people know which day they were born on, because they would have taken the trouble to find it out when they heard this poem by the famous poetess Mother Goose about how those born on Monday are gora hotties and those born on Sunday prefer lovers of the same chromosomal configuration:
Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go.
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for a living,
But the child born on the Sabbath Day,
Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.
I am Thursday’s child and I have far to go…but I have been unable to understand what that means so far, so it probably means that I have far to go before I understand nursery rhymes….
So here is a sample prediction to test the waters before I make a commitment to my new science:
Monday:
You will be surprisingly efficient at work today, as all the meetings you attend will end ahead of schedule, leaving you lots of time to do work. It has to do with your well-honed decision-making skills as much as with the fact that you will be burping up the garlic chutney you had for breakfast.
Tuesday:
Your relations with the family will be strained and past problems might be raked up again. Expect tensions at home as your loved ones constantly bang on the bathroom door while you’ve locked yourself in and are creating bum music.
Wednesday:
According to the rhyme you are full of woe so I’m giving you an easy time. You’ll have a great day, but do not expect to catch up on lost sleep in office meetings if your boss was born on a Monday.
Thursday:
Thursday:
You will finally have your chance to talk to that someone special when the two of you will find yourself alone in an elevator from the ground floor to the fourth. However, you will “blow it”…do I need to say more? Chances of romance remain slim after that. Do not vent your frustration on food. We do not want an encore if you’re in the elevator again….
Friday:
Friday:
You will suffer low self esteem today as you could be the butt (I love the way everything has a double meaning here) of jokes as you furiously (and rightly) try to explain that the aroma cloud was not emitted by you. (It was Tuesday’s fault, actually). You might give in to anger and this will have an adverse effect on your health today.
Saturday:
Saturday:
You will have to take a day off from work to deal with the street food you had yesterday. Enough said. And oh, please leave the exhaust fan on!!! Sheesh!
Sunday:
Sunday:
Fame and fortune await you as more and more people learn that you can burp the alphabet. A change in career is indicated as you might be tempted to set up a burping academy. Your love life remains abysmal, but remember this was the choice you made when you first burped “I love you”.
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