Feb 05, and the quality is dipping!

 

I am now a freelance writer, which means I have lots of time on hand, and being of the undisciplined variety, most of it is spent thinking idle thoughts (and idli thoughts, which, by the way are the healthiest thoughts I've had in a long time).

So one way or another, I ended up listening to some Bhojpuri devotional music set to the tune of Bollywood hits, and not only is Bhakti remix insanely cool, it is apparently a very profitable industry as well! Since I have time + access to songs + the illusion that I can write, you have to suffer this:

Ram Bhakti meets Beedi Jalayile

Dhanuswa chalayike…… Chhuda li Siyaa!!!!

Lanka maan lagi aag hai!!!

Jai SiyaRam Jai SiyaRaam Jai Siyaaam

In other news Satan ke rishteydaar Airtel have tempted my bhola bhala pati into upgrading the home Internet connection. Soon I will be able to see Youtube videos even before they are uploaded!

Feb 04

The other day Lakdi ki kaathi (that cute little song from the 80's that duped many people to take their kids to the theatre to see Masoom and regret their decision bitterly) was playing on radio, and as I was dancing along in my kitchen, one line made me remember a ludicrous thing.

Charta hai Mehrauli mein, par ghoda apna Arbi hai!

Now as a kid, this song was fun to sing, but definitely not easy to understand! Arbi had nothing to do with Arabia in my little head, but everything to do with the slimy veggie colocasia, which I've never had any fondness for. A horse made of colocasia? What kind of bizarre slippery ride would that be? Grown ups were crazy!

Which brings me to another children's song I sang enthusiastically but never understood: Nanhe munne bachchey teri mutthi mein kya hai…especially the line: Humne kismat ko bas mein kiya hai! The "control" version of bas was 100% alien to me, but the DTC version was part of my daily life! For the longest time, I thought a bunch of kids had accompanied someone called Kismat to the bus stop and successfully ensured he/she had boarded the correct bus on time! When you're five years old, that seems like an achievement you would be singing about on TV and radio!

Now I happily phodo raat ki matkis, but I would not be surprised if there are kids out there who are holding beedis to their jigars to see if they light up!

P.S.: And oh! It's Zeenat Aman and not Zeena Tamaan… can never forget the day I lost that illusion!

Feb 03, Enjoy some funny dose of laughter

Today's heading is from an email I received at work today.

Three people have asked me in the last two days why I do not have kids. It takes too much time to explain again and again, so I'm just putting it down here. Made in Visio, right after the funny doses of laughter assignment.

Feb 2, 2010 (Your father is mafia don)

The headline is from the last rediff comment I read before I remembered I am supposed to write a post. It has nothing to do with you personally, unless of course, your dad is a mafia don, in which case please leave your email ID in the comments section, so that I can send you the list of people I want bumped off.

So the other day I was in Coorg (again) and on a solitary walk, taking normal-human sized steps. That is a rarity. The thing with having a tall dark and handsome husband is that your shoes break every 6 months trying to keep pace with him. Being 8 inches taller, he takes steps many inches longer than me, thanks to the cruel workings of trigonometry. Even with as many steps per minute, I fall wayyyy behind. A small step for man(si), a giant leap for husbandkind. Couple this with his passion for brisk walking, and you have a huffing and puffing bundle of flesh running for dear life in broken shoes on the pavements of Bangalore!

Back to Coorg and my solitary walk. There was a family (complete with a little kid) standing a little way ahead of me when I decided to turn about and go back to the homestay. As I turned, a little kid started shouting: left right left! Left right left! I did not turn back to see if he was marching, or if he was yelling for my benefit. Either way, I perversely tried to avoid falling in step with his orders, but guess what? My feet refused to listen to me, and followed his leftrighting as if hypnotized! What fun he must have had seeing my dutiful obedience! Grrr! Looks like I am destined to march to the tune of others!!!

Feb 01, 2010

If you have to choose a month in which you intend to post everyday, you've gotta choose February if you're as lazy as I am!

So Happy February people, and you who send my paycheck, hello! It's the first! Please prod the bank into making my phone ring-a-ding with the SMS of Good Hope!

In other news, there is now an official main road under my house, and my laundry officially smells of exhaust fumes half an hour after it is lovingly spread out in the sunny balcony. Something must be done! Considering plastic clothing. I have heard there are industrial bin liners that might fit me.

In yet another news, I've had to delete Shahrukh Khan from my Twitter feed, because his verbal diarrhea prolific musing on life eclipsed all other updates by everyone else, and I need my fix of PJs from people who have a real sense of humor.

Also, I've given up Farmville after a recent perspective-correction week in January. I was at level 49, and if that means anything to you, you should seriously consider giving up too!

So that's the writer's block (writers' block? Is it common property?) out of the way. Hopefully something sensible will get posted tomorrow.

 

Aman Ki Asha Lyrics/Words

What better way to begin the new blog year than with Gulzar's words!

Here's the Aman Ki Asha anthem!

Dikhayi dete hain duur tak ab bhi saaye koi

Magar bulaane se waqt lautey na aaye koi

Chalo na phir se bichhayein dariyaan bajayein dholak

Lagake mehendi sureeley tappe sunayein koi

Patang udayein chhatton pe chadh ke muhalley waaley

Falak to saanjha hai us mein penche ladayein koi

Utho kabaddi kabbadi khelenge sahardon par

Jo aye abke to laut kar phir na jaye koi

Nazar mein rehtey ho jab tum nazar nahin aatey

Yeh sur milaatey hain jab tum idhar nahin aatey

Nazar mein rehtey ho jab tum nazar nahin aatey

Yeh sur bulaatey hain jab tum idhar nahin aatey

Misc

Worked from home due to the passing away of a Kannada star, and the ensuing burning of buses and stoning of streets with which such news is regularly greeted. Doorbell rang and a hyperenthusiastic salesman greeted me, shook my hand and wished me a Happy New Year, and then asked me if I was studying or working. Of course I said studying (to be fair I had been reading a book after having finished my work assignments when he appeared). "Engineering or Software?" he asked, since everyone in Bangalore obviously studies one of the two hallowed subjects when they are not torching buses. Software, I replied. I guessed software only, since you are speaking so decently, he said (and yes, decent is a compliment where we live, ok?)

Of course I did not buy the crazy eyebrow trimmer he was so keen on demonstrating to me, but hey, I can still convince a guy who wants to sell me a 300-rupee Chinese malfunctioning gadget that I am a student! Of Software. Which is the part of the computer that you can curse but not smash. See. I know!

And the line that made my day comes from the Venerable Fount Of All Knowledge we call rediff.com comments, where a guy has written about a suicide story:

"Did he really commit suicide or is it just news?"

Way to go India. If you can see the difference between news and truth, there is still hope for you! Now leave that bus alone.

Anniversary!

Completed 3 years of fights, hugs, midnight Maggi, amazing vacations, side-by-side computers, unlimited idlis, abysmal PJs, shared jeans, kurtas, jackets, dreams, and hatred of political correctness! Yay us!

Saw 3 Idiots today. Particularly liked the time travel device that transports people from Vasant Vihar in Delhi to IIM Bangalore in half a second. I know a coupla eternal teenagers who would pay good money to use it every other day!

Don't wanna reveal anything more: just go ready to laugh a lot and cry in equal measure.

Koschun

If a guy called Venkatesh had a twin brother, what would his name be?

Dendukhesh!

(Sorry)

Suffer Chaloo Aahe

Just back from a trip to Mumbai-Pune. Phyan ji chose the same time to visit as us, so that was a dampener, but that's ok. As the idiots say, "All eez well".

Pune is no longer the city I used to live in. There are malls everywhere, and wherever roads are not wider, they are one-ways. All that is very nice, except that the things one would hope to see changing alongside the development are not doing so at all. The public transport, for instance. I remember the difficult time three-wheeler wallahs used to give me whenever I would go to the airport to pick up or drop someone. Not only would they charge exorbitantly even though it was a 2-way ride, they would refuse to help with the bags, even if it was my mother who was travelling.

This time, we were able to brave the rains only because of taxis, and we accepted the fact that they would charge full fare for the day even though we needed them for a couple of hours. But when after that, the driver coolly sat in the cab while we got out in the pouring rain at the airport and were forced to pull our bags out ourselves (while he chanted "ohho! Kitni baarish hai" and sat pretty) I really lost it. This same gentle-my-foot-man demanded to know our plans in advance so that he could break for lunch, even though he knew that in any case he would be relieved by 1pm. I don't believe the vahanchalaks (vahan chaalaak rather) of Pune have heard of customer service or dignity of labour. It is very rarely that I feel like slamming the door of the trunk of a car down on someone's bare neck, and this was one of those days.

Compare this with the smartypants cabbie in Mumbai who refused to accept exact change that I popped under his nose one nanosecond after he stopped, since he gathered from our conversation that we were visitors and our friends were hosting us. Grrrr at him, but a big grin at his tribe!

Mann Ka Radio...

Nope, this is not about Himesbhai's latest pesh-kash, although his immortal line "Band jo bajey tera, khul te tu bhi saath gaa" has given me a whole new perspective on life.

This is about the cutesy little Sony mono radio I made my sister give me on my birthday this year. While the husband's pointy (really!) ears can detect about 10,000 different kinds of sound quality, I (deafly enough) do not find my life enhanced significantly by superior quality sound. Gimme a crackling little thingummy on the detergent ledge of my kitchen as I chop and stir and burn my fingers, and I am supremely happy.

Don't tell me that the only Hindi channel in Bengaluru has only a 100 songs a month, and all those are also on our iTunes, and shuffle is as good as radio, even better because nobody's trying to sell you jewellery and apartments in between songs. On radio, I always have the hope that some song I had completely forgotten about, will play again, and my neighbours, who entertain us with drunken parties on Saturday nights, will witness the spectacle of my kitchen choreography and rue the day they were born.

On another note: Either Mohit Chauhan has become too popular suddenly, or he's really upset that aaj ki padhi likhi kaam kaaji bharatiya naari works in the kitchen morning and night, but he serenades me daily while I cook. Which works wonderfully well for me! :)

Just so that October does not pass silently

1. The blog has become kind of redundant because I can let off steam on Facebook and Twitter.
   
2. There is no Farmville on my blog.
   
3. I'm too busy with Farmville and life to even think of things to say.
   
4. The anonymity thing is kind of pointless since most readers know who I am, including the parents, in-laws, and work people. Fat chance of noting down what I REALLY think, under the circumstances, wouldn't you say?
   
5. This month the blog turned 5 or something. No longer a baby. Do you know any good schools?
   
6. Did I mention Farmville? Am so addicted to it that it's a wonder I manage to do anything else.
   
7. So many people have so much to say. And some of it is even worth reading. Might as well just read that.
   
8. Damn, has something switched off inside of me?
   

Horror In Real Life

My hands were icky from the auto ride when I reached The Forum to catch up with friends this evening. I went into the ground floor ladies' room of the mall, and it being just shy of 7pm on a weekday, the mall was not crowded, and the ladies room was empty except for a determined cleaning lady who was mopping.

I pushed the soap dispenser's button to get some soap, but no luck. I tried all the other basins, but the soap seemed to have run out. I asked the cleaning lady: "Soap illa?"

I should have known that a paragraph of Kannada would be unleashed upon me. Shame-facedly mumbling "Sorry gotilla", I wondered how much my hands had become ickier because of all the dispensers!

Suddenly the lady said: "She has the soap."

I looked at her, and then looked at who she was looking at. She was staring at the place right next to the first basin, where NOBODY was standing.

"Who?"

"She has it" the lady said again, half-irritated.

There was nobody in the whole area except for us. The only reason I did not crap my pants was because I KNEW there was no soap to clean up with later.

I prepared to leave, and true to the horror tradition, the lady came after me……

….and jabbed the first basin's soap dispenser button hard about a dozen times. Till a few drops of soap began to trickle out.

So ladies, gentlemen and babies, remember that in Bangalore, all accessories in a Ladies' loo are feminine. I wiped my hand on Mademoiselle Paper Tissue delivered into my hands by her mommy Madame Kimberly Clark, and fled.

Idling

Five mornings of sleeping in till one of four parents loses patience and calls

Two of catching crimson sunrises through eyes crimson with a cold

Seventeen afternoons of making mental grocery lists while looking busy at work

And three of obscenely long siestas after overeating one's own cooking

Fourteen evenings spent reading in coffee shops

Waiting for friends, calls, and that darned cappuccino I ordered 15 minutes ago

Umpteen nights of racing cars and growing tomatoes on the computer

While the washing machine spins and spins and spins

And each day a pointless pin driven into the velvet pincushion of eternity

Overheard

In a restaurant called The Tibetan Kitchen, Leh. Guy with 5 girls at a table

Guy: Can we have some fresh apple juice

Waiter: No sir, only bottled juice

Guy (suddenly getting firang accent): Is it Snapple?

Waiter: What?

Guy (maintaining accent): Snapple. The juice you're going to give us. Is the brand Snapple?

Waiter: No sir. Gulbadan.

 

At the Big B-School of B'lore, Staff Canteen, where Sis (Thinky) took me for coffee

Professor: Hey Thinky, what does the number on your T-Shirt signify?

Thinky: Oh that's my birthdate!

Professor: A guy once told me a joke. Give me any number and I'll represent it as "A to the power B plus B to the power A"

<some gibberish exchange later>

Professor: Like 24 is 23 to the power 1 plus 1 to the power 23

Professor, Thinky and I: Hahahahahahahaha

Later, I: Puke Puke Puke

 

In office today:

Dude: There is no comedy in my life!

 

Leh Gayi Leh Gayi

Despite the fervent wishes of many ex-readers, I am still hale and hearty (neither of the two words mean anything, I suspect) and the blog has been neglected because I've been busy travelling to Ladakh for about 9 days, and then I've been fishing out Ravalgaon candy wrappers from 9 days' worth of laundry all of last week. Ah, the sweet and sour joys of altitude and motion sickness (on our return, they've reverted to being attitude and notion sickness).

I could ooh and aah about the Ladakh scenery - the gigantic bare mountains with little veins of snow and ice on their wrinkled foreheads, the blue blue sky with little puffs of clouds, the riot of flowers where vegetation gets a fighting chance – but I'll leave that for the husband and his fotus. Instead, let's talk about the tons and tons of exquisite turquoise, coral and lapis jewellery in Leh bazaar? Or Jasmine tea and veg momos? Ok. I'm packing up and going back there right now!

Time for some evidence:

From the hotel, which I heartily recommend to anyone planning a trip.

Nine nights of waking up gasping for breath, bleeding noses and a hopeless inability to climb more than two flights of steps… matlab Lung Se Jung!

"Yak"een nahin hota that such beautiful places exist on Earth!

The breathtaking Pangong lake. I believe the film 3 Idiots was shot here recently…

We did manage to catch the shooting of the Ladakhi version!

...and this is one of the 274 reasons, my camera tells me, that I will go back!

30 Plus

This morning I woke up and realized that it's true. You really change in your thirties. My hair was weird, my face had wrinkles and lines I had never noticed before, my walk was slower, my back was stiffer, and every task took more time to accomplish. Then I had some tea and time magically turned around and I was back to my twenties! Bah! Kaiko itna hype I dunno!

 

Must Do Things Before I Turn 30

1. Hang the laundry out to dry
   
2. Fold yesterday's laundry
   
3. Brush my teeth
   
4. Heat water in anticipation of tomorrow's powercut
   
5. Comb what's left of my hair
   
6. You get the point
   

It's the big one, and I'm NOT going to mope (or mop) tomorrow. That's all I can promise.

Superpowerty

From the New York Times. Oh to be needy in the First World!

O Mere Maajhi Abki Baar Le Chal Paar

There comes that point in life where the whole world seems to be against you, their demands are unjustified, and you're too weak to fight them alone. You pin all your hopes on that one guy who has promised to stand by you no matter what, and asks for practically nothing in return for helping you through troubled times. I am talking, of course, about my chartered accountant, who might or might not get me my IT receipt this week. Sigh.

Leaving this stuff to parents/the husband seems the lazy way out, so I'll bumble along and learn a few things on the way. I think of it as the downside of being able to do what I want with my earnings. Like donate them all to the government, if some people are to be believed. The thought of doing this thrice a year is scaryyyy. Long live jobs! All hail Form 16!