April 29, 2011

The write side of my brain

2011 has been a good year, writing- wise. I’ve written more in these four months than I have in the last three years put together. My friends are happy that I’m writing more, I’m happy that I’m writing more. And just when that warm glow envelopes me, some of them burst the bubble by asking me, “ You’re really jobless, aren’t you?”

What makes you think that I’m writing more because I’m jobless?

Let me clear the air a bit.

# I do NOT write because I’m jobless. I write because I have more time on hand now. There is a thin, but very VERY distinct line between these two.

# I write because I can. That is the one gift that the dude up there in the clouds bestowed upon me, and I plan to put it to use.

# I write to describe what is happening in the world around me.

# I write to tell people about me and my little life.

# I write to emote.

# I write to make fun of things and people. Thankfully, sarcasm IS one of my strengths (God and his strange ways...)

# I write because it’s easier to be sarcastic to people over the internet. Face-to-face confrontations have never been my cup-of-tea.

# I write because there are so many interesting things to write about. I don’t know which idiot he was talking about when Shakespeare said “Life is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” I guess it depends on who tells the tale.

# I write to show my creativity, how much ever limited it is.

# I write to rant and rave, without anyone telling me to shut up.

# I write because when someone appreciates my writing, everything in the world seems alright.

In the end, I write because I love to. I may never be an author, I may never give away autographed copies of my books to fans, I may never get a Booker or a Pulitzer, I may never have a picture taken with Ruskin Bond. But at least I would die happy that I made a few people laugh, a few people cry, and a few people to think, with my words.

If that is percieved as joblessness, then so be it.

April 27, 2011

All the single ladies*

Inspired by this post, I thought I’ll write a list of my own.

A tribute to my single life.

# True, I have a fully functional kitchen with everything that’s required (except a fridge. Contributions welcome, by the way), but I may have more of Maggi in stock than dal-chawal or vegetables. Am I forcing anyone else to eat it?

# I may clean my room every day, once a week or once a month. As long as I don’t have asthma attacks again, I don’t think it should be a problem for anyone else.

# No, I don’t have furniture except a plastic chair and a bean bag, I don’t even have a cot. It’s not like I have guests coming over for high-tea or dinner. The only ones who come over are my friends, and after a couple of beers, they won’t even know whether they’re sitting or flying.

# Given a choice between buying cooking oil or a shampoo, I might go for the shampoo. Clean hair is so much more important that healthy food.

# I may have just two biscuits with coffee in the morning. It’s not like I have to pack tiffin for the husband and kids.

# On weekends, I may wake up at noon if I want to, and have pasta for brunch. And there’s absolutely nobody to question me.

# I may wake up only by 8:30 even during working days. It’s not like my kids’ school bus is honking away to cacophonic glory outside my gate.

# I hate wearing clothes in the bathroom itself soon after a bath. Everything gets wet and messy. Now imagine if I was living in a house full of in-laws?

# Savings are for people with responsibilities, and I have none. Of either.

# I may go for a movie after work and have dinner outside and come back late. Neither do I have children who are waiting for their bedtime stories nor a husband whose bed I have to warm.

# I may spend the entire weekend watching movies and reading books. Do I have any homework or projects to help with?

# If I want, I can pack my bags and go somewhere on a whim, without having to worry about whether I have stored enough food in the fridge or whether all the bills have been paid on time.

# I can walk around my house wearing whatever I want, or without it even. Nobody’s eyes are getting scarred.

# If I want to dance to Desi Girl at two in the morning, I can do so without the fear of waking anyone else up (except my roommate who won’t wake up even if a bomb falls next to her).

# If I want to watch Sex and The City, I can do so without worrying that my little innocent children will see it too and then get influenced by it (If any of you have watched SATC, you’ll know what I mean).

# I may have bottles strewn around my front room rather than scented candles and Raja Ravi Verma’s paintings, and newspapers instead of carpets. If you have a problem, notify me well in advance before you plan to visit, so that I’ll have ample time to clear away the evidences of my single life.

Me and my shallow single self...

*Title taken from a song by Beyonce. I don't mean to say that all single ladies are as loony as I am.

April 26, 2011

You're Facebookly invited...

(Please to be moving along if you're not in the mood to listen to a rant)

Long back when I was in school (Err.. Ok, maybe not that long back), one of the few things that I enjoyed making in SUPW class was bookmarks. Well, that may also be partly because the only work involved in that was artfully cutting out old wedding invitation cards and fashioning them into bookmarks.

My mom had this superstition that wedding invitation cards, once the wedding date is over, should not be retained and had to be destroyed. I offered to destroy it creatively and productively.

Now, tell me, how do I make a bookmark out of a Facebook Invite for a wedding? Hmmm? Do you even know what you’re depriving me of when you send me a FB event request for your wedding? Will you be answerable if my children have to read old books of mine that have been dog-eared beyond recognition, because I ran out of invitation cards that I could have destroyed?? I want an answer dammit!!

No no, I’m not ranting and raving against Facebook. God knows I spend most of my time there myself. But somehow, inviting somebody for your wedding on FB seems, I don’t know, very impersonal. And that too from people I hardly know except for when they sat next to my table once in the canteen in college. So is it like, our parents take the pain of going to everyone’s homes and inviting them or posting cards, and taking time out to call up everyone in their telephone directory, but our generation (Yes! The G factor) prefers to just send out FB invites? And call rates are as low as 1 paisa per second now. Are the most important people in your life, who you really want at your wedding, in your phone list or your FB list?

When I asked one of my friends about it, he told me that it’s probably because they want an RSVP- a confirmation of who all are attending. Umm.. Sure, that works in the west, where they have very small intimate weddings with just about 200 guests. But in India, where a wedding is no less than a circus, would you even notice who came and who didn’t? And would it really matter if a few extra people turned up to join the already 1000-odd crowd? On the day of the wedding, the only thing you would remember is the discomfort caused by all the heavy jewelry and silks, and the ache around your mouth from smiling too hard too long. Only when you see the albums later on, will you really know who all attended.

And there’s the other thing about FB invites. The confirmations- I’m attending, maybe, no. Really, what is the point of that? If you’re very good friends with that person, can’t you just tell them in person that you’ll be attending? (In fact, you go even without a formal invitation!) Isn’t it just brutal to click a ‘no’. I mean, imagine the poor guy’s condition when he sees more ‘No’s’ than “I’m attending’s”. And the people in the “Awaiting reply” list come across as just plain insensitive for not even bothering to reply. And what’s with the ‘maybe attending’. Is it another way of saying “Oh let me see, I have an appointment with my dentist that day to get my gold tooth fixed, so I may or may not be able to attend your wedding.”

I can understand creating an FB invite for an actual event, like a fund-raiser or a concert, because you want to spread the message and have as many people on board as possible. What message do you want to spread here? “Girls, sorry to break your heart, but I’m getting married. Come watch me trash your hopes!”, “Guys, stop giving me anonymous calls and sending me flirty sms’es. I’m getting married. Do come, I'll point you out to my husband-to-be who's a gym trainer.”

I don’t mind missing out on a sadhya to which I was invited over FB. Congratulations! But no thanks.

Wish you a very happy FB, I mean, married life.

(Why do I have this sneaky suspicion that I may not get invited to many weddings hereafter? Oh well...)

April 25, 2011

Song of the rain... Kahlil Gibran

All I've been hearing for the past few days from people back home is about the rain. And you know how I feel about rain...

I was reminded of a poem by Kahlil Gibran, about the rain, and thought I'll put it up here (and also because all the praise for my last post has gone to my head and I'm temporarily incapable of writing anything original because of all the swelling. Sigh...)

I am dotted silver threads dropped from heaven
By the gods. Nature then takes me, to adorn
Her fields and valleys.

I am beautiful pearls, plucked from the
Crown of Ishtar by the daughter of Dawn
To embellish the gardens.

When I cry the hills laugh;
When I humble myself the flowers rejoice;
When I bow, all things are elated.

The field and the cloud are lovers
And between them I am a messenger of mercy.
I quench the thirst of one;
I cure the ailment of the other.

The voice of thunder declares my arrival;
The rainbow announces my departure.
I am like earthly life, which begins at
The feet of the mad elements and ends
Under the upraised wings of death.

I emerge from the heard of the sea
Soar with the breeze. When I see a field in
Need, I descend and embrace the flowers and
The trees in a million little ways.

I touch gently at the windows with my
Soft fingers, and my announcement is a
Welcome song. All can hear, but only
The sensitive can understand.

The heat in the air gives birth to me,
But in turn I kill it,
As woman overcomes man with
The strength she takes from him.

I am the sigh of the sea;
The laughter of the field;
The tears of heaven.

So with love—
Sighs from the deep sea of affection;
Laughter from the colorful field of the spirit;
Tears from the endless heaven of memories.

What are your favourite poems/songs/memories about the rain?

Photo flicked from Rohan.

April 18, 2011

The Essential Mallu-Food Guide for Non-Mallus.

“Do you have squid today?” I asked the waiter.
“No, we don’t have squid.”
“Damn! I was craving for some squid! Anyways, do you have prawns?”
“Yes. Prawns curry, prawns roast, chilli prawns.”
“Hmm.. ok. Then get me two velleappams and one prawns roast.”

I was at a mallu restaurant with a friend, to satisfy my mallu food craving. My friend, a non-mallu, decided to play safe and ordered a chicken biryani.

I was pigging out on the prawns roast with single-minded focus, when a couple came and occupied the adjacent table. Non-mallus, going by the hindi they were speaking. And also going by the amount of fuss they were creating over everything that was there on the menu. Why come to a Kerala food joint if you don’t like the cuisine, I thought to myself. They were dismissing anything and everything that the waiter was suggesting. For one, they didn’t have a clue about half the things on the menu, and were making the bewildered waiter describe what went into all those dishes. And on top of that, it didn’t look like they were seafood or beef-eating people, which, hello, is the whole point of going to a mallu place.

I lost interest in them somewhere in between and got back to my second plate of prawns roast. (Do not judge me, I haven’t been home in 6 months!)

“I’m sorry sir, we don’t have mushroom masala.” I overheard the waiter telling the couple. They still hadn’t ordered.

Err..Mushrooms?? In a Kerala restaurant??!! Umm..ok. Whatever suits them.

Wait wait. The best is yet to come. The guy goes through the menu and asks “How about chicken biryani?”
“Ya! We’ll have that.” The girl is finally interested.
“But wait. Usme tho poora coconut coconut hoga.” (There’ll be coconut coconut in it, whatever that means)
“Oh! Nahi nahi, mujhe coconut nahi pasand.” (No no, I don’t like coconut.)

I was speechless. This was the height of ignorance about mallu food!!! Coconut in chicken biryani, for god’s sake??!!

So here’s a little food guide for all you non-Mallu’s. It’s time you got rid of certain misconceptions about our cuisine, and also were aware of certain things.

1)Yes, we come from the land of coconuts. Yes, we love coconuts. Yes, sometimes we love them enough to make babies with them. But that does NOT mean that we put coconut in each and every thing! And definitely not in Biryani!

2)I really don’t think you should order edible fungi in a Mallu restaurant. The fungi might be edible, but the dish might not be.

3)Yes yes, we luuurve banana chips. But that does not maketh a meal.

4)We do love our coconuts and our banana chips, but we do eat other stuff too, you know. If one more person goes “Ohhh!! Kerala Kutti! Coconut oil and banana chips!” with the all-knowing glee in their eye, I swear I shall not hesitate to break said coconut on their head.

5)We use coconut oil on our hair, and we use the same coconut oil for cooking. If you have a problem, eat bread and jam while you’re vacationing in Kerala. There’s no coconut oil in that.

6)And while we’re on that, if you’re planning to visit Kerala, be willing to taste our cuisine. Don’t expect to find the food of your land here. We Keralites are accommodative and gracious hosts, but if we hear you complaining about our food, you might just find an empty pot of toddy upturned on your silly snooty head.

7)We loooove cows. Go figure.

8)If you’re planning to start a hotel in Kerala, and you dish out Continental and Chinese fare, you may or may not strike gold. But start a porotta-beef thattukada (wayside eatery that serves yummy food), you’ll be a millionaire overnight.

9)If you want to eat the best food in Kerala, eat from a thattukada*. If you pass it off thinking it’s unhygienic, then you really don’t know what you missed.

10)If you can’t take spicy food, either go on a liquid diet or come prepared to spend ample time in the loo. We are not known as the Land of Spices for nothing.

11)We eat bananas, we fry bananas, we make sweets out of them, we make curry out of them, we eat out of a banana leaf, and when the need arises, we may even use the banana peel to take revenge on somebody. You’ll just have to learn to accept it.

12)When we see fish, we lose all self- control. You’ll have to accept that as well.

13)Mallu children might grow up reciting the different names of fish that we get here rather than A B C D. Yes, we are proud of our coast and the bounty it brings.

14)Mallus are very adaptable to other cuisines. We will try anything once. If we don’t like it, we will still eat it. And then go crib about it to our ‘country’men over a pot of toddy and some fish fry.

15)We eat rice. A lot of it.

16)A bowl of kanji (rice gruel) with coconut chutney and a papad equals one satisfied Malayali.

17)‘Avial’ is not just a rock-band. It’s a delectable dish that every Keralite is proud of.

18)If you visit a Mallu house and are served Jackfruit chips, and half an hour later at lunch, find jackfruit in your curry as well, along with jackfruit sabji, do not be alarmed. The jackfruit kheer is on the way.

19)Same is the case with tapioca. We believe in maximum utilization of our resources, as you may have figured out by now.

20)We worship the sea-goddess. In every sense.

21)No matter how busy the mornings are in a household, we still take time out to prepare and eat puttu-kadala or appam-egg curry or idiyappam-stew for breakfast. We believe in starting the day royally.

So, there you go. I'm not sure if this has helped in making you any wiser about Kerala cuisine, but it sure has made me crave for some good home-made mallu food. Dammit!!

April 15, 2011

On the experiment called cooking.

Experiments, when they go wrong, can be ghastly. And one such experiment is cooking.

One of my colleagues got married recently, and happens to be quite a novice in the kitchen. Never having had to make even so much as a boiled egg up until her wedding, she now treats her kitchen as a chemistry lab. As a result, we are treated to half-boiled dal, improperly fried vegetables, new dishes that started off as something else but ended up as something else, and she’s still to make acquaintance with salt and spices. In short, her cooking leaves a lot to be desired.

What is it with cooking, that makes it so hard for some? Now, I’m no Tarla Dalal or Sanjeev Kapoor, but I’m no burner of chai either. I’m, what you can call, a moderate cook. I don’t cook daily, can’t be bothered to, but whenever I do, it’s not too bad. I’m a weekend cook, as of now. My roommate cooks for me during the weekdays, and I cook for her in the weekends. I make the occasional Khichdi or sabji-rice on a weekday sometimes, but for the most part, I go in there only to make coffee and wash utensils.

But somehow, I’ve managed to never burn anything or make a complete disaster of it. Maybe, by some stroke of luck, I finally managed to inherit some good quality of my mother’s. She is (as every kid in the world would say) the world’s best cook. Not just that, she is a very meticulous cook. She’s not one of those who cooks up a storm and ends up leaving the kitchen as though a hurricane swept it. She’s spic and span, something that I failed to inherit in its full extent. I try, but I know I can never be as cleanliness- obsessed as her.

I started off as an experimental cook, not a I’m-doing-it-coz-I-have-to-do-it cook. My mom never called me or my sister into the kitchen to help her cook, or rather, we never really offered (Yes yes, I know what you’re thinking. Save it.). In fact, she tells me that when she was younger, she never stepped foot in the kitchen, but she ended up getting married to someone who is very very very finicky about food- the right amount of salt, proper meals at proper times, and a lover of non-veg. My mom? Vegetarian. She used to eat non-veg at some point in time, ages ago, but stopped because she didn’t like it anymore. But in spite of being a pure vegetarian, she manages to whip up the best of fish curries and chicken biryani. And the best part, she has a recipe for everything. I’m a recipe-less cook. I don’t follow any recipe- I go by my sense of smell (Is it pungent, like rotten eggs? No? Good enough), sense of taste (Does it taste like boiled newspapers? No? Good to go.), and my sense of sight (Does it look like ulcer in a curry? Not so far). My mom has two fat diaries filled with recipes she wrote down and cut out from papers and magazines, and she does try them out.

My cooking experiments started with eggs, and then slowly moved on to chicken. And once I realized that chicken is probably one of the easiest things to make, I started enjoying making it. It became a ritual at home, when only mom and I were there. I would make either eggs or chicken, and since she didn’t eat either of this, she felt safe enough to let me experiment (Ahem). It was only after I started living on my own that I began experimenting with dal, sambar, and other sabjis. And thankfully, my roommate at that time too was a good cook. Together we managed to keep the kitchen from blowing up.

But somehow, I never could bring myself to cook daily. I just can’t wake up early enough in the morning, and by the time I come back at night, I’m too tired (Or so I convince myself). My future husband and kids can look forward to a lot of frozen dinners and pasta/noodles variety. But one thing I can assure them- every weekend will be a feast.

Alright, so I may not be one of those moms who’s the world’s best cook. Maybe I can settle for being the world’s best drama-queen mom.


April 13, 2011

Artistically challenged

The other day, I’d been to a city publication’s office, with regard to some freelance writing work. During our chat, the lady there asked me what I would be comfortable writing about. I rattled off a list- books, movies, theatre, food, etc.

“What about art? Would you be interested in going to an art exhibition and do reviews?” She asked.

“Err..I don’t think so. I’m not much of an art person.” I said.

What I almost said, then thought better not to, was “Sure, if the art is a pencil-colour drawing of a house with a tree in the garden and a few v-shaped birds in the sky, I don’t mind.”

Alright, confession-time. I can’t draw to save my life.

My idea of drawing was, like the above-mentioned description, a house, a tree, a few birds, if possible a sun, and a couple of stick figures to pass off as people.(Refer pic. It's not just in MS Paint. That's how I draw in real life too). And even to draw a house, I needed a scale! Art class used to be torture time for me, and my art sir finally gave up on me. I used to spend most of the art periods outside the class because I hadn’t completed an assignment, or my friend Nisha, the resident art genius, used to take pity on me and complete it for me.

But, so what if I could not draw? I had the next best thing to it- a mother and a sister who could! Now, all of you who’ve been through this art and crafts charade in school would know how important it is to have a relative or a neighbor or a friend who can draw well. I was blessed enough to have all of them! All my projects that required drawing were promptly handed over to my mom and sis- I didn’t even bother trying, because that would be just a waste of time and resources. ( I used to love to colour, though, but even then I had trouble staying inside the lines).

I still remember, one time, I had a Social Studies project, where we had to submit a model of South America, either on chart paper, or on thermacol. And it had to be a full page drawing on a regular chart paper, which is slightly bigger than the size of a newspaper, and it had to be submitted in two days’ time. I promptly went home and told mom what was expected. Amma took one look at the size of the chart paper, the map of South America, with its collection of teeny-weeny islands (or whatever it was. Geography was never my best friend) at the bottom, and then looked at me. Her eyes silently said “If only you weren’t my daughter... “. I woke up next day morning to see the most wonderful sketch of South America on the dining table, complete with the miniscule islands and everything- she hadn’t missed out on a single detail. She had stayed up almost half the night, bent over the chart paper, replicating each and every shape. I was so gonna get top marks for this!! (Yes, even back then, I was quite shallow. Thankyouverymuch). So all I had to do, was fill in the colours. Sunday night saw my mother, my sister, and my neighbour, Ritu Didi, trying to undo the damage that I had done to my mom’s hard work. I was strictly told to stay away from it. So I did. I needed the marks, after all. Needless to say, my SS sir was mighty impressed by the final outcome (I think most teachers already know that it is the parents who do most of the work. Saves us a lot of explanation, I guess).

Even if it was a project that involved a lot of writing, my mom used to do it for me. She has beautiful, italics-type handwriting, and I have, to quote a friend “like-a-crow-crapped-on-your-page”-type handwriting. My English sir used to painstakingly write on each of my pages, “Improve your handwriting”, till one fine day, he got tired and wrote “Beautiful handwriting!” thinking that I might take a hint. I didn’t. I believe in consistency, you see.

Anyhow, I somehow managed to scrape through all my art and craft-related work thanks to the gifted people around me. My sister was good at drawing, and she used to do a lot of my projects too. My neighbour, Ritu Didi, was a genius at all these things. She used to do my fabric-painting assignments, my embroidery works, and she completed a major part of my biology record-book, with all those weird insects and flowers and what not. The only thing I was ever remotely interested in, was needlework and stitching, and that interest also waned gradually once I realized that you need more than just talent for such things- you need patience too, and that, was definitely not my cup of tea.

I once bought an Anchor Quick Stitch-kit because it caught my fancy (and I was in my Oh-I’m-going-to-be-a-fashion-designer-so-I-want-to-stitch phase). The rusted needle and sad-looking bunny in the unfinished frame is a testimony of my attention-span equivalent to that of a five-year old. So is the box of unused glass painting colours that I had bought when the glass-painting-bug bit me, and that project also met a premature death when my mother accidentally sat on the glass that I had laid out on my bed and broke it. That was the last time I tried to discover the non-existent artist in me. I now stick to admiring other people’s art and appreciating them.

This post is dedicated to my mom, my sister, and to Ritu Didi, for all the work they did. Thank you, for being so gifted. It sure got me out of many a tight spot!

I feel so sorry for the kids that I’ll be having. They’re stuck with a mother who cannot draw and has a terrible handwriting. Poor things.

Dear God, I don’t want a tall, dark, handsome, rich, kind husband. Just give me one that can draw and has beautiful handwriting. For the sake of my unborn children. Please!

April 12, 2011

Wishlist of a screwloose- Part 1

Warning: Highly imaginative content ahead. Proceed at your own risk.

I know I’m only 24, but it’s never too early to make a wish/ bucket list, right. Plus, I was bored at work.
So, here goes.

# I want to do a sleazy item number in a Bollywood movie, wearing all those sequined bustiers and skimpy skirts, gyrating to the beats of 'Munni badnaam hui’ or 'Babuji zara dheere chalo’. ‘Ek do teen’ will also do. Oh, and I need my own vanity van, which will have a well-stocked bar (I figure a certain level of intoxication is mandatory for that kind of inhibition-less gyration), an LCD TV to watch Emotional Atyachaar and Roadies, imported cosmetics, and Filmfare magazines. I will have a matronly manager who will attend to me and flatter me all the time “Babyji, juice”, “Babyji, biryani”, “Shot ready hai, Babyji”, “Aapke saamne tho Aishwarya Rai bhi kaamwali bai lagti hai, Babyji”. I should also get to keep the skimpy costume that I will later wear to my child’s PTA meetings.

# I want to star in a soap opera and play the vamp’s character, wearing the ugly sarees and uglier five-inch thick make-up. Only difference between me and the other actresses who play vamps will be that I will look beautiful even with all that ugly make-up and costume. My signature move, where everyone will know I’m up to no good, will be me buffing my nails with a purple nail file. Ivory-studded.

# I want to go to a movie and talk loudly into the phone. Just when a crucial scene is about to happen and everyone’s silent, I want to giggle into the phone “Oh my god, last night was sooooooo amazing!” irrespective of whether I was talking about a date or a meteor shower, and then blush when everyone turns to stare/glare at me (the blush will be visible even in the darkened movie hall).

# I want to go to a really crowded place, like a temple, and push through the queue and kick up a fight with all those who are not letting me cut the line. And I will not rest till I see blood. Preferably theirs.

# I want to buy a really huge house in the most expensive locality of the city, and then decorate it with the choicest of items from “Dee D├ęcor- Crappy Furnishings for Happy Living.” My bedroom will have one wall painted purple, another wall painted orange, and the rest will be a blinding red. My children’s room will have posters of Justin Bieber, High School Musical, Hannah Montana, Britney Spears etc.

# I want to be one of those people who nonchalantly pee/ spit on the road, as though it’s the most natural thing in the world to pull out your thing (I’m a good girl. I don’t say the P word on a public forum) on a crowded road and scald people’s eyes. (Although, the fact that I’m a girl might make it a little difficult for me to do the same thing in public. Oh well, I guess that’s one thing off the list. Damn, I was so looking forward to this one!)

# I want to be a teacher and teach really awesome English to my students. For eg:-
Fill in the blanks:
Shahid Kapoor is ‘good friends’ with _______________ (No choices given. It might be confusing for the kids to list out more than ten names).

Nursery rhymes:
Roses are red
Violets are blue
If you don’t tell me the answer
Boo you boo you!

Spell a)Facebook b)Orkut c)Like d)Comment e)Frandship f)Request g) Photo album h)gmail i)Google j)Sachin Tendulkar

Utilizing English language for Conservation of Letters- SMS language.
A for Apl, B for Bl, C for Ct, D for dll, E for Elphnt, F for fud, G for gal, H for hw, I for imp...Z for zzzz.
(This could be a breakthrough course!! I could be on the board of directors of Facebook and Twitter!)

I will walk into class every day and greet students “Good maarning childrens, pliss sit dauwn.”

# I want to go to a five-star hotel and order for ‘chota chai’ and ‘biskut’. If they act confused or derogatory, I’ll say “Kya yaaron, biskut nahi maaloom?Maa ki kirkiri.* ”

# I want to go to a very traditional (but lavish. I want the free food) wedding, and yell just when the pheras are about to begin “Nahin, ye shaadi nahin ho sakthi!! Tumhe hamaare bacche ki kasam!!”. To the bride.

# Stand for elections and go for campaigning wearing a FCUK tube top and skinny jeans. It’s time somebody gave Ujala and Khadi a break.

# Kick somebody else’s bucket.

To be continued…

*Maa ki kirkiri- Quintessentially Hyderabadi swear-word.

April 7, 2011

The elusive goddess

“Please! Please come back! I beg you! It’s been too many days!” I implore.

She looks down her snooty nose at me. The feisty bitch is in no mood to humour me.

“I was vacationing. In France. And Spain. And Egypt.”

“Vacation?? Vacation?! You’ve been traipsing around the world while I’ve been sitting here waiting for Your Highness to come visit me?!!”

“Why should I come visit you? You don’t care for me as much as I care for you.”

“That’s not true!! You know how much I love you and involve you in every aspect of my life!”

“Ya right! You come for me only when it pleases you! Stop treating me like a whore!”

“Err.. technically, that isn’t possible, you know, since I’m a girl too.”

“You very well know what I meant. You come looking for me only when you are in the mood. You don’t take into account the fact that I may also want to see you every day, or at least a few times a week. Is that too much to ask for??!! I’m hurt!”

“Ok ok, I admit, I’ve been a tad bit negligent of you. But it wasn’t intentional. I had work, then I took a break for the weekend.”

“Why didn’t you take me with you?” Full-on pouting.

“I can’t take you with me everywhere, sweety. Please try to understand.”

“See! This is what I meant! You come looking for me only when it pleases you. The other day, I came to you and sat on your shoulder, you didn’t even acknowledge my presence.” Sniffle sniffle.

“Ok ok. Fine. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I’ll be more indulgent in future. Ok?”

“You’ll never turn me away?”

“I’ll never turn you away. Promise.”

“You’ll indulge me whenever I come?”

“Yes, I will.” This was getting tiring.

“And you’ll always pamper me and say nice things to me?”

“Yes, I will, my dear.”

“And you’ll buy me pretty purple shoes with diamonds encrusted in them and a pretty purple bag to put my lipstick and blusher in and donuts to eat?”

“Yes I.. What??!!”

“Will you or will you not??!!”

“ Ok ok! I will! Anything you want. Purple shoes, purple sunglasses, donuts, imli candies, fried chicken, Barbie doll, Sonu Sood, the Pyramid of Giza. Whatever it is I’ll buy it for you!! Just come back. Please!”

“Hmmpphh. Ok.”

Meet Miss Feisty. My Muse.

Now I’ve to go shop for purple shoes.