Ok, I'm probably overdoing this now, but this song is giving me serious punarjanam vibes. It's "O re paakhi" from Khoya Khoya Chaand... just the first few words....they evoke a Mohammad Rafi ke gaane ki aatma and I am completely unable to figure out which one...help!
UPDATE: Kya mausam hai! Ae Deewane dil! Chal kahin door, nikal jaayein! From Doosra Aadmi... Imagine stealing from Rajesh Roshan!
November 28, 2007
November 24, 2007
cheater cheater!
ok...this is too trivial for a tang-ta-dang comeback post, but if someone out there has the DVDs for Chak De India and Life in a Metro, can you please confirm my suspicion?
In Chak De, go to the scene where Shahrukh is locking his house and leaving. Check out the background music...very haunting sound. Now in Life in a Metro, go to the scene where a defeated Kay Kay comes home and the kid runs up to him saying "daddy!"... same music???? I don't have access to Chak De to Check de! :(
In other news, my husband and I bacame proud parents during the blogging break. It's a boy. No, it's an "Oh Boy!": the 24" iMac, lovingly called Apple Gulati and we're fussing over it like a baby. It does not poo and pee, and is cute and smart. Nazar na lagey!
And I am going bald, but that is another story. I suspect it's the job.
And oh! I finished LOTR! So I almost named the Mac "Precioussssssss"
In Chak De, go to the scene where Shahrukh is locking his house and leaving. Check out the background music...very haunting sound. Now in Life in a Metro, go to the scene where a defeated Kay Kay comes home and the kid runs up to him saying "daddy!"... same music???? I don't have access to Chak De to Check de! :(
In other news, my husband and I bacame proud parents during the blogging break. It's a boy. No, it's an "Oh Boy!": the 24" iMac, lovingly called Apple Gulati and we're fussing over it like a baby. It does not poo and pee, and is cute and smart. Nazar na lagey!
And I am going bald, but that is another story. I suspect it's the job.
And oh! I finished LOTR! So I almost named the Mac "Precioussssssss"
October 29, 2007
eSpar ya uSpar!!!!
Am in love with Spar, the new Hypermarket on Bannerghatta Road. It’s a clean, organized, non-claustrophobic place to do your grocery shopping in, even if your grocery needs include flat screen TVs, cameras, clothes and whatnots.
The fresh veggies on the first floor are plentiful and you can pickup your weekly quota in an ergonomically-designed basket and head to the weighing section to have them weighed, packed and barcoded. Each species(?) of vegetable is put in a separate clear bag and weighed, and the bag is then sealed with the barcode sticker, which is read by the machine at the checkout counter. This step filled me with mild horror on my first few visits, since I buy 200 grams or so of many things, and end up with a lot of waste plastic.
Today, however, I was delighted to see they had figured out a way to solve this environmental and logistical problem. My motley 200 gram veggies were all weighed separately, stickers were printed out, and then all the veggies were thrust into one clear bag, and all the stickers were put on it! The checkout dude just beep beep beeped the bag thrice, and that was it!
Ambani uncle became the world’s richest man today, but in my humble opinion, the fact that a megastore figured out a way to cut plastic use is equally important news. Yay Spar (Ok. Yay Ambani uncle also.)
The fresh veggies on the first floor are plentiful and you can pickup your weekly quota in an ergonomically-designed basket and head to the weighing section to have them weighed, packed and barcoded. Each species(?) of vegetable is put in a separate clear bag and weighed, and the bag is then sealed with the barcode sticker, which is read by the machine at the checkout counter. This step filled me with mild horror on my first few visits, since I buy 200 grams or so of many things, and end up with a lot of waste plastic.
Today, however, I was delighted to see they had figured out a way to solve this environmental and logistical problem. My motley 200 gram veggies were all weighed separately, stickers were printed out, and then all the veggies were thrust into one clear bag, and all the stickers were put on it! The checkout dude just beep beep beeped the bag thrice, and that was it!
Ambani uncle became the world’s richest man today, but in my humble opinion, the fact that a megastore figured out a way to cut plastic use is equally important news. Yay Spar (Ok. Yay Ambani uncle also.)
October 28, 2007
kuchh to hua hai...
It’s official: I cannot stand theatre in Bangalore anymore! If Naseeruddin and Ratna Pathak Shah could not hold my attention for ninety minutes, then either something is terribly wrong with me or I have officially become a West End snoot, addicted to things I cannot afford. Either way, I’m unlikely to be seen at high-falutin theatre places here.
A word about the beautiful sarees the audience members wore to the play: thanks ladies, you made my day!
The boy has bought an iPod Touch and we’re playing with it! Very very nice! Here’s to jobs that fund toys!
A word about the beautiful sarees the audience members wore to the play: thanks ladies, you made my day!
The boy has bought an iPod Touch and we’re playing with it! Very very nice! Here’s to jobs that fund toys!
October 23, 2007
Mujhe Nahin Pata!
No matter what anyone says, I LOVE this joke I made up tonight!
ek baar santa singh sadak ke oopar jaa raha tha
ek baar santa singh sadak ke oopar jaa raha tha
ek baar santa singh sadak ke oopar jaa raha tha
saamne se roadroller aaya, peeche se coaltar ke truck ne maara
tab se sadak santa singh ke oopar se jaa rahi hai
Thankyou very much ok bye horn please....
ek baar santa singh sadak ke oopar jaa raha tha
ek baar santa singh sadak ke oopar jaa raha tha
ek baar santa singh sadak ke oopar jaa raha tha
saamne se roadroller aaya, peeche se coaltar ke truck ne maara
tab se sadak santa singh ke oopar se jaa rahi hai
Thankyou very much ok bye horn please....
October 21, 2007
Finally Reading LOTR
...at the repeated insistence of dost and pyaar.
Everyone probably finds a reason to love the book. Here's mine!
Bath Song
Sing hey! for the bath at close of day
That washes the weary mud away!
A loon is he that will not sing:
O! Water Hot is anoble thing!
O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain.
and the brook that leaps from hill to plain;
but better than rain or rippling streams
is Water Hot that smokes and steams.
O! Water cold we may pour at need
down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed;
but better isBeerCoke, if drink we lack,
and Water Hot poured down the back.
O! Water is fair that leaps on high
in a fountain white beneath the sky;
but never did fountain sound so sweet
as splashing Hot Water with my feet!
Everyone probably finds a reason to love the book. Here's mine!
Bath Song
Sing hey! for the bath at close of day
That washes the weary mud away!
A loon is he that will not sing:
O! Water Hot is anoble thing!
O! Sweet is the sound of falling rain.
and the brook that leaps from hill to plain;
but better than rain or rippling streams
is Water Hot that smokes and steams.
O! Water cold we may pour at need
down a thirsty throat and be glad indeed;
but better is
and Water Hot poured down the back.
O! Water is fair that leaps on high
in a fountain white beneath the sky;
but never did fountain sound so sweet
as splashing Hot Water with my feet!
October 02, 2007
Lamerick
I wonder if you've heard of the case
Of the girlie who wanted her space
And those who wouldn’t let her be
Were promptly made to reason-see
Some say she used a hammer, some a mace
Hippo Birdie to Bunny...one of my first readers, and a fellow believer in violence.
Of the girlie who wanted her space
And those who wouldn’t let her be
Were promptly made to reason-see
Some say she used a hammer, some a mace
Hippo Birdie to Bunny...one of my first readers, and a fellow believer in violence.
September 25, 2007
Bandars
Saw Dard-e-Disco recently. No girls seemed to be throwing themselves at Shah Rukh’s temporarily tashan torso, but lots of water seemed to be emerging from unexpected quarters and flinging itself all over the guy in either some kind of crazy hydro love, or in a desperate attempt to give him a much-needed bath. Either way, am never going down dard-e-disco lane again.
This one is a much better performer. Presenting: Tying a turban in five steps and not quite succeeding.
1. Contemplate the task at hand.
2. Check to see if task is tasty.
3. Use minimum of three limbs for precision and control.
4. Check to see if audience is cheering.
5. Give up with a “someone throw me a bone here” look.
Pics by Saawariya, offkores
This one is a much better performer. Presenting: Tying a turban in five steps and not quite succeeding.
1. Contemplate the task at hand.
2. Check to see if task is tasty.
3. Use minimum of three limbs for precision and control.
4. Check to see if audience is cheering.
5. Give up with a “someone throw me a bone here” look.
Pics by Saawariya, offkores
September 20, 2007
But seriously...
... WHO calls their kid V.D. Philander?
I don't have a TV, but did he look like a South African AIDS awareness programme?
I don't have a TV, but did he look like a South African AIDS awareness programme?
September 18, 2007
September 15, 2007
Bhajan
Mann re tu kaahe na dheer dharey?
Woh nirmohi moh na jaane
Jinka moh kare
Utna hi upkaar samajh koi
Subah ko chai pilaa de
Janam maran ka mel hai sapna
Yeh sapna bisraa de
Laptop se tu kyun jaley?
Mann re tu kaahe na dheer dharey?
Woh nirmohi moh na jaane
Jinka moh kare
Utna hi upkaar samajh koi
Subah ko chai pilaa de
Janam maran ka mel hai sapna
Yeh sapna bisraa de
Laptop se tu kyun jaley?
Mann re tu kaahe na dheer dharey?
September 11, 2007
Situation Vacant
This is from the application form of an aspiring scriptwriter. The candidate holds a Masters Degree in English and was the University Topper of her batch:
As a person, I am very much dedicated to my work, to say, over-dedicate. I always willing to work completely. I am a time-conscious person.
If you are in Bangalore, looking for a writing job, have a couple of years’ experience, and are willing to take a grueling test, write to me. The email ID’s in the profile. And if you are over-dedicate, shove it!
As a person, I am very much dedicated to my work, to say, over-dedicate. I always willing to work completely. I am a time-conscious person.
If you are in Bangalore, looking for a writing job, have a couple of years’ experience, and are willing to take a grueling test, write to me. The email ID’s in the profile. And if you are over-dedicate, shove it!
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….
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