Actions speak louder than words: New Year Resolutions - 2009

With 2008 speeding away, I thought I would do a volte-face.

So this time, instead of sticking up at nose at New Year Resolutions, I decided to make a few to hold on to in the coming year.

Only time would tell if I have set myself up for failure. Or if success does come in my stride...

In no particular order (or implementation due date), hear them out.

In 2009, I will:

 Not roll my eyes or look condescendingly when people don’t understand a joke that I just cracked
 Stop wearing too much makeup. Only some gloss, mascara, and maybe a liner, and I should be ready to roll
 Learn how to drive. And cook. A car and food respectively. Instead of driving people up the wall and cooking sarcastic comments
 Get a French Connection. And not by ordering French bread. Learn the language
 Eat less junk food. And exercise. And get into a couple of sizes smaller jeans(Difficulty level – Highest. Multiplied by 10)
 Not song binge. Instead of listening to the same song over and over again, I will change the track. Or the CD
 Keep my room clean. Instead of it looking like a mix between a pigsty and something the rats broke into
 Participate in this year’s marathon
 Stop eating Maggi for dinner. On a regular basis. Smack my lips and gulp down some dal instead
 Stop buying yet more facewashes that I don’t use. Or creams. Or clips. Or nail enamels. Or mints. Or chewing gums. Or wet face tissues...
 Not cuss loudly when some bugger’s cell phone blares the latest Bollywood track in the theatre. Will just prettily show him the middle finger. Or cast a murderous look. Might work better
 Stop being a scrapdealer and give away old magazines, clothes, makeup, and footwear I have hoarded over time
 Not burst into laughter when I see a person walk by me, wearing something in neon green. Or anything that has all the colours of the rainbow. Or who looks like a bejewelled Christmas tree
 Improve my memory. And not forget people’s names. It’s embarrassing
 Write more letters to my Mother
 Watch at least some TV. So that when people discuss what’s playing on air, I can throw in a word or two. Instead of blinking rapidly / scratching my head / smiling blankly. Or worse – moving away from them to a corner
 Not become a shrieking idiot even when anyone says that my college may not be the absolute best, contrary to what I think
 Be open to criticism. Instead of pretending that it’s alright, but sulk later in my room
 Make more trips. Physical ones. Not ego trips
 Look TOOMA straight in the eyes, cup his face in my palms, and utter those three words on a more regular basis. And see him melt…
 Buy a white T-shirt. Instead of yet another black one
 Watch Godfather. And Rambo. And Rocky. And Pirates of the Caribbean. And Lord of the Rings. Bourne series. All parts
 Whiten my teeth
 Take more leaves from work. And sleep at home
 Learn to accept that not every lustworthy shoe / bag / perfume is for me
 Watch all movies starring George Clooney. Mmmmmm....
 Not wear un-ironed clothes and look like a ragpicker. Will pick up the darn steam-iron, and iron them
 Not average more than one perfume in 3 months. And stick to it
 Read more
 Not fight with people close to me
 Learn a new language (optional). Other than monkey-speak, that is
 Text less over the phone. Ditto for mindless yapping (Difficulty Level – High)
 Wear the two Levis caps I bought. And sock any of my friends who giggle when I do
 Not tell the same stories at get-togethers. Or the same stale jokes
 Buy a camera. And shoot the world
 Not show all my pearlies by breaking into a Cheshire cat grin everytime someone clicks my pic. It’s perfectly alright not to show all 32 of them in every pic
 Not bite my nails. Long nails look classier. Besides looking pretty when painted. Period
 Be less bitchy. And less superficial
 Get regular trims. Instead of cribbing about split ends
 Kill every mosquito that buzzes near me
 Not leave a job unless I complete at least a year and a half there. Which means that this year I am not changing my job
 I will not pet every dog who wags his tail at me
 Shed weight. And keep it off
 Save money
 Stick to my having kicked the butt
 Drink less alcohol
 Not wait till 4 o’clock on weekends to take a shower
 Not pretend to listen to boring stories when I can barely keep my eyes open. Will yawn and snore. Or politely move away
 Learn Excel and PowerPoint. And learn them Goddamned well
And lastly,
 Keep blogging

Saving the best for the last...

Yesterday, as I sat with a friend at a warm Pizza Hut, the only tell-tale things that bore testimony to the quick meal we had just wolfed through, were dregs of mushroom soup in two bowls, and an odd olive from the salad.

Oh yes, and a full cheese tortilla slice.

Both of us eyed it, asking the other if she felt like it. Both answered in the negative.

Eventually, I broke it into two, proffering one part to her.

End of story?

Not quite.

How many times have we sat across a table with friends, measuring how that last scrumptious piece of pie will melt in your mouth, but for general courtesy’s sake, refrained from reaching out for it?

On more occasion than one, for me at least.

As the last finger-smacking kebab piece cries loudly to be picked and placed on your plate, you look around, hoping someone would offer the same for you.

You are in luck.

Someone suggests just that, and after feigning the correct amount of reluctance (read: I’m-so-full-I-couldn’t-possibly-eat-another-morsel routine), you shake your head, daintily using the fork to deposit the nibble onto your filled-with-onions-and-mint-dip plate.

You pause – and then place the savoury appetizer on the tip of your tantalised tongue.

Pure bliss.

Reaching out for that last delectable McDonald's French fry is not about gluttony.
For me, it’s sometimes saving-the-best-for-the-last mindset that makes me wanna reach out, but on almost all occasions, I desist from doing so.

What transpires in the heads of people when they want to help themselves to the last serving, but don’t?

Is it embarrassment? Awkwardness? A nagging fear of ridicule? Fear of being branded a human version of the Hungry Hippo?

What’s your take?

Drop me a line...

For crying out 'loud'

Since when is it ok to shout over your phone?

Continuing upon my (extensive) list of pet peeves is yet another – obnoxious people who will insist upon you hearing every gory detail about the lame-assed manager they have been cursed with, that erm..little problem that is affecting someone in THAT area, what they ate for dinner the previous night, what conversation they had with the hot neighbour, what you will. No matter how much you want to ignore them, you can't.

Their louder than louder voices ensure that each bit of their conversation faithfully breezes into your reluctant ears.

Leaving you looking like a mix between a flaming tomato and the exact crimson shade of the Persian rug that sits prettily in your aunt's sitting room. Smoke drifts out from your ears and nose, and you have woken up to the thrills of snorting like the stout buffalo from the Spanish matador's nightmare.

You decide that being a murderer is just not your style, and instead just concentrate on perfecting that that unbecoming scowl on your face.

You can't help but grin you teeth in annoyance when random people holler into their phones as if it is one of two cans held with a string, the kinds that children play with.

I wince each time they increase their decibel, wishing there was a tank or a pond nearby into which I could drown their phone, or better still, they.

While I am tempted to repeat their conversation word for word as they are in the middle of it, my gumption encourages me not to work upon that original plan. Instead I clear my throat impatiently, an abrupt cough rising to the occasion, raise my perfectly-arched eyebrow and give them a death-stare, the kind that always works well.

Except in this case, sometimes it doesn't, and those people who should probably have had silencers fitted into their throats in the first place, also need to invest in a pair of hearing-aids, since they are seemingly oblivious to my (loud) exaggerated cough / clearing my throat.

Which leaves me with the last option…

Now where did I leave my sturdy mahogany cane?

Biting the bullet (literally)!

Of course, it's a fact that everyone wants to wreck their car(s).

Want to sabotage yours?

Simple. Take your home keys, and drag it across the sides, ensuring that the entire front to back gets equally scraped. Then step back, wipe the perspiration off your brow, and enjoy the admirable vandalism you have committed.

Too extreme for you? Chicken, eh?

Then look no further than decal vinyl stickers, all the rage these days, and freely available at stores worldwide.

Taking the world of customising cars by storm. To a new high altogether.

Of course, this is what every car owner wants – giving the impression that he is a badass gangster whose 4 x 4 has been riddled by bullets from a .50 or a .20, isn't it?

And oh boy! Is this fad popular! You bet! How else in the world would you explain the 4 cars that zipped past me last week, their exteriors proudly emblazoned with these 100% vinyl stickers, the hot wheels looking as if they have had more than their share of gunshots?

They look so real that unless you touch them, you wouldn't be able to tell them apart from, let's say, the real deal at the unfortunate Jallianwala Bagh wall.

Ingenious? No other word comes close to it...

Psst – can't locate a store? Fear not. Place an order online. There are a horde of websites who will only be too happy to assist you in making you look like a lame Alphaghetto. Go ahead – it isn't tacky or lame at all - Bullet1, Bullet Hole Decals, oh come on, even Prank Place has them.

Now admit it - isn't that exactly the kind of uniqueness and trendy fashion you were looking for in the first place? (Cheshire cat grin)

TOOMA* was visibly horrified to see a Safari whizzing past his own plain vanilla Accent, rolling his eyes at what he claimed was an 'eyesore.' Being his ever-wise gurl, I woke him up to the entire 'chic fashion statment' theory, exlaining that this was exactly what I called flaunting the 'right' 'With-It,' and with that, we let the subject drift to other light topics.

An enterprising poll on one such site asks readers to adjudge if applying decals that look like Bullet Holes to their cars, sends across a bad message promoting violence, or if it's cool? I voted for the former (as did 23.5% who agreed with me), but the remaining whopping 76.3% stated it looked cool and was for fun.

I mean, Foolish ol’ me! I should have had gone along with the safety in numbers theory. Duh!

That the website is dedicated in remembrance of the 9/11 attack could only be a mere coincidence, isn't it?

These guys are pure genius, I tell you.

As are those who buy these oh-so-in-vogue stickers.

Want to order some stickers for your bike / pair of wheels? Go right ahead.

My admiring glance is sure to follow you even seconds after you whiz by...


*TOOMA - The Object Of My Affection

The School of Hard Knocks

The chirpy face of the ruddy-cheeked, pre-school tot belies those of his parents.

While he grins and lightly pulls the pig-tails of his elder sister who screams and runs after him for a mock fight, his parents, who would otherwise have smiled at this engaging picture of family life, look the very pictures of worry.

They are not alone in their anxiety.

Several other parents across the country are losing sleep over the fact that highly sought-after schools do not have much to offer in the name of admissions for pre-primary.

With today being the day when quite a few schools put up their glossy prospectuses up for grabs(which don't come cheap by the way) as also their admission forms, parents are tripping over one another to get their hands on these, their teeth clenched in determination.

The last few days of teaching their wards various colours of the rainbow, names of fruits and vegetables, counting upto 100, the months of the year, and reciting letters of the alphabet in an endearing manner - look as if they might not pay off at all.

Infact the situation is so grim that some reputed schools have decided not to offer any seats in the coming academic year.

Leaving yet more parents high and dry.

Prepared to even pay through their noses for securing their wards' admission into one of the snooty / 'with-it' / elite schools, these parents are at a loss what with the Department of Education (DOE) doing nothing to allay their fears and misgivings.

Besides prepping themselves for the informal interview, bracing themselves for the grilling they could be subjected to, countering questions on anything from their religious levels to status in society to the moolah they rake in every month. Phew!

And if things don't go as planned, that done-to-death, heart-tugging scene in which a teary-eyed child refuses to let-go of his mother's finger as she leaves him at his first day of school, she walking back to the supportive, reassuring-shouldered husband in the car – could very well be reversed.

With the tot gleefully going back home in the gleaming pair of wheels, and the parents comforting each other through their tears.

Not all role reversals are happy. Or even welcome, for that matter.