Of missed calls and foul moods.

Thanks to the Service Provider that promises that its signature puppy will follow you everywhere (sounds like a damn stalker), I am on the threshold of a nervous breakdown.

Huh! What? You might ask.

I retort simply, hear me out.

It all started out a fortnight back when an innocuous-looking message landed on my mobile.

My ears perked up (akin to a certain pug).

A little rambling here: though a self-confessed dog-lover, I find that particular pug obnoxious. I mean what is so special about it that has all people(age / gender no bar) gushing and cooing over it. It’s just another mutt. Before people take up cudgels against me, let me hastily add that I have nothing against their breed as such; however, making them almost instant dog-icons is frankly, quite outside my range of comprehension.

Sorry for the outburst; but yeah, I definitely needed to let off steam.

Coming back to the message in question, it straightforwardly asked me to revert with my address details (mind you, it only said that I had to message back).

My mobile-thumb, ever up for some heavy-duty messaging, was instantly on the go, and before you could say Rumpelstiltskin (ok ok, Jack Robinson), my address details were on their way to the service provider’s triple number.

Well, that was that.

Except for what happened yesterday.

Imagine the scene: Sunday morning. Yours truly is all snug in her bed.

And then the phone had to shriek like a banshee at an unearthly hour.

One eye open, I groaned and reached out for the luminescent mobile.

Blinking hard, I saw that the call did not display the caller’s name or number, but simply, “unknown caller.”

Oh well. Thinking it to be an ISD call from one of my numerous friends who study / work abroad, I stifled a yawn, cleared my throat, and muttered, “Hullo.”

To my surprsie, it was one of my good friends calling, well within the confines of the country, and who was perfectly baffled when I asked her who she was.

Seemed like there was some problem with my one-year-old phone. I listened to what she had to tell me, and was quick to bid adieu when she was through. (Who doesn't love his / her sleep, tell me?)

With a couple of thoughts about what possibly could be wrong with my phone, I drifted off once again into a blissful slumber.

An hour later, my phone had taken on a life of its own; caller upon caller followed.
Parents, brother, best friend (who’s getting married next weekend incidentally:-)), other friends, all had taken it into their heads to outdo each other in greeting me first thing in the morning.

And the phone, you may ask.

Well, it didn’t display anyone’s number or name.

Now this was queer, and a slight sense of uneasiness crept into me.

A call to the customer care service(or make that a call which ran into several minutes, thanks to being put on hold like what seemed like an eternity), revealed that although I had submitted my details(read id, address proof, photograph) three years back when I got the number, certain rules made it mandatory for me to submit those details again. WTH.

My Sunday was definitely not looking very bright.

Trying to keep my temper in check, I listened to what he had to say, and then politely hung up.

Thanks to the weekend, the option was to wait for a day, and submit the blessed documents the next day(that being today, Monday).

Just as I was bringing myself to terms with the non-display-of-callers, I found, to my utter dismay today morning, that my messaging and outgoing calls were both barred.

Haaaaaaaaaaaaaalp.

The last nail to the coffin: my friends, knowing that I can’t see who’s calling me, have taken it into their bright heads to give me tons of missed calls. Wait till I get my hands on their necks.

The aspirin is right on my table; head throbbing, I am just about to pop it with some water.

There goes another of them missed calls again.

Aaaaaargh.

I'm just hoping that the guy whom I gave my documents to submit does his job today; or somehere tonight, there is gonna be a murder.

Lodger: Door Steps

I've recently become a fan of the Finnish rock band, Lodger.

Though their lyrics(and music videos) would get stern glances from many; you have to give it to them - their one-eyed stick man is plain awesome.

See their flash video, Door Steps, here, to know what I mean.

I bet my mom wouldn't really approve, but I'm counting that she doesn't see this post.:-)

64th Golden Globe Awards 2007: Winners

The verdict is out. The 64th Golden Globe Awards (2007) ceremony, held at a glittering ceremony in California on January 15, announced the winners.

Not surprisingly, movies like Dreamgirls, Babel, The Departed, Happy Feet, and The Devil Wears Prada emerged winners. Even the highly controversial Borat: Cultural Learnings Of America For Make Benefit Glorious Nation Of Kazakhstan garnered a Golden Globe for its protagonist, Baron Sacha Cohen.

Here’s a list of the winners:

 Cecil B DeMille Award: Warren Beatty.

 Best Motion Picture – Drama: Babel.

 Best Performance by an Actress in a Motion Picture – Drama: Helen Mirren – The Queen.

 Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture – Drama: Forest Whitaker – The Last King Of Scotland.

 Best Motion Picture - Musical/Comedy: Dreamgirls.

 Best Performance by an Actress in a Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy: Meryl Streep – The Devil Wears Prada.

 Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture - Musical Or Comedy: Baron Sacha Cohen.
– Borat: Cultural Learnings Of America For Make Benefit Glorious Nation Of Kazakhstan.

 Best Performance by an Actress In A Supporting Role in a Motion Picture: Jennifer Hudson – Dreamgirls.

 Best Performance by an Actor In A Supporting Role in a Motion Picture: Eddie Murphy – Dreamgirls..

 Best Animated Feature Film: Cars.

 Best Foreign Language Film: Letters From Iwo Jima (Japan, United States).

 Best Director - Motion Picture: Martin Scorsese – The Departed.

 Best Screenplay - Motion Picture: The Queen.

 Best Original Score - Motion Picture: The Painted Veil.

 Best Original Song - Motion Picture: "The Song Of The Heart" – Happy Feet, .

 Best Television Series – Drama: Grey's Anatomy.

 Best Performance by an Actress In A Television Series – Drama: Kyra Sedgwick – The Closer.

 Best Performance by an Actor In A Television Series – Drama: Hugh Laurie – House.

 Best Television Series - Musical Or Comedy: Ugly Betty.

 Best Performance by an Actress In A Television Series - Musical Or Comedy: America Ferrera – Ugly Betty.

 Best Performance by an Actor In A Television Series - Musical Or Comedy: Alec Baldwin – 30 Rock.

 Best Mini-Series Or Motion Picture Made for Television: Elizabeth I (HBO).

 Best Performance by an Actress In A Mini-series or Motion Picture Made for Television: Helen Mirren – Elizabeth I.

 Best Performance by an Actor in a Mini-Series or Motion Picture Made for Television: Bill Nighy – Gideon's Daughter.

 Best Performance by an Actress in a Supporting Role in a Series, Mini-Series or Motion Picture Made for Television : Emily Blunt – Gideon's Daughter.

 Best Performance by an Actor in a Supporting Role in a Series, Mini-Series or Motion Picture Made for Television : Jeremy Irons – Elizabeth I.

Buck up Leo / Brad.

Or as they say, better luck next time.

Of pigeons and sleep deprivation

Pigeons.

The word probably conjures images of cooing, gentle, pacifist birds, released during weddings.

Or the visa advert in which Richard Gere releases a number of pigeons from captivity, much to the joyous enthusiasm of a girl.

Or probably the flock that collects at Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Gardens, or closer home - Connaught Place.

Perhaps, you are reminded of homing pigeons, which have proven their importance during periods of unrest and war.

If movies are your cup of tea, I’m guessing that you would have also remembered a certain Bollywood movie from the ‘80s, in which the heroine made ample use of a pigeon to deliver letters.

Till last weekend, I too had quite a charitable view about pigeons.

Not any more....

It happened somewhat like this.

Saturday night, after a blissful day, what with watching a lovely movie (Happy Feet), eating, shopping, and partying, I returned home in the wee hours of the morning to catch-up on some much-needed shut-eye.

The quilt beckoned me, and I inched myself gratefully into it, looking forward to some hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Ha. Fat chance.

A family of pigeons, which had recently decided to make the top of the jutting air-conditioner their home, were in a major mood for some action and fun.

What I initially thought was gentle clip-clopping and pitter-pattering of pigeon-feet, soon increased to a regular fast-paced dance number, and showed no inclination to stop.

My patience ran out.

Teeth chattering, I made my way out on the verandah, clasping my woollens (read thermal, sweatshirt, jacket, and shawl) closer to my body, and switched on the bulb.

Bleary-eyed me tried a loud “Shush”(that would have earned me scowls from any ornithologist), but which only caused the over-familiar-with-humans pigeons to peep at me, but continue cooing and thumping their feet, LOUDLY.

When they saw that I meant business, they deigned to quieten down; much to my immense and obvious relief.

Giving one more look that would have scared any mortal, I switched off the bulb, and made my way to my warmly-inviting bed.

This was at 4 a.m.

5.15 a.m. – Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat was happening?

Some demons had descended outside my room, and were in the throes of an extremely enthusiastic foot-thumping session, with some strong cooing vocals thrown in for good measure.

Ohh, a belated realization dawned. These were no demons; just the blessed pigeons, which had probably slept their fill the day before, and were intent on keeping me up with their constant ruckus.

Resigned to my fate, and too lazy to either bellow at them in anger, or shush them again, I turned over, pulled the quilt over my head, and did my best to fall asleep.

All to no avail.

A grumpy, red-eyed me woke up on Sunday morning to the following phone call:

“Hey, do you wanna go to Connaught Place to feed pigeons? I've got bird-food.”

Can you blame me for issuing a blood-curdling scream and banging the phone on the poor, bewildered caller?

Movie Review: Happy Feet

Happy Feet, the well-directed movie made by Australian George Miller(who gave us Babe:Pig in the City and Mad Max), reminds you in a lot of places of Richard Bach's maverick Jonathan Livingston Seagull.

Like Jonathan the seagull, ostracized by other seagulls for his passion for flight, the protagonist in Happy Feet - penguin Mumble, faces similar alienation by his tribe.

The problem – penguins sing; they don’t dance.

And our dear Mumble can’t get a note right.

But boy! Can he tap-dance!

Born to Memphis and Norma, Mumble (originally named Mambo, but later changed, all thanks to his inability to croon), is held responsible for the shortage of fish by the colony of penguins, and hence exiled.

With a heavy heart, Mumble leaves his lady love, Gloria, and his heart-broken parents behind, in search of the aliens who were taking all the fish away.

Joined by Lovelace, a self-confessed Oracular penguin, and five smaller Adelie penguins who call themselves the amigos, Mumble sets out on his quest.

Does he ever return to his parents and love?

Does he find out the reason for the famine?

More importantly, does he stop tap-dancing, and start singing lilting melodies, like your average penguin?

Too many questions.

Do yourself a favor – get a ticket for Happy Feet, and find out yourself. You'll thank me for it.

Several Hollywood celebs have lent their voices for this animation, including Hugh Jackman(Va Va Voom), Elijah Wood, Nicole Kidman, Robin Williams, Brittany Murphy, and Hugo Weaving.

The don’t-think-of-missing-it Happy Feet is dedicated to Steve Irwin (aka The Crocodile Hunter), who died a month after lending his voice as an elephant seal in the movie.

The tracks are groovy.

Recommended for adults and children alike.

The movie in one word, “Wow!”

To have or not to have...gol-guppas

A self-confessed gol-guppa and chaat aficianado, I was pretty alarmed when I heard about the man who died last week with his wife and daughter, purportedly after eating gol-guppas.

The scare is still around.

Though it seems to be a local case of food poisoning, many of my friends have made it all too clear that they are staying away from the all-too-tempting, lip-smacking savory.

Seems like I would have to polish the pani-puris all by myself.

Burp.

Free hugs campaign

Was reading a while back about a "hugging" guy in Washington D.C., 34-year old Jon Clark, who hugs people twice a month there.

And seems like he fares pretty well.

Inspired loosely by Richard Mann's Freehugs site, which set-off the free hugs campaign, Jon holds a sign announcing "Free Hugs," and does a fine job in bridging social gaps by his novel gesture. At least one out of every ten passersby stops to be hugged by him.

Quite a few people are not averse to getting an impromptu hug from a stranger, it seems.

Though it seems to be working in the US, I wonder if such a thing would in our country.

Some people might get creeped-out, getting hugged by a random stranger.

The proponents of free hugs campaigns here could get ostracized; there would be many who would readily smirk and scoff behind their backs(or even on their faces).

Terms along the lines of perverts, corny, and absurd might do the rounds more regularly than rounds of beer at plush watering holes.

And after all, what with the rate of moral policing we have in the country, it wouldn't take too long a while for saffron-robed fundamentalists(oops, loyalists) to raise a hue and cry about obscenity, going-against-our-rich-heritage-and-tradition tales, "westernization" of the country, etc.

Tut tut.

See the original Free hugs campaign video below.

Mercedes McLauren SLR New Delhi

Even Paris Hilton owns one.

The mean-machine, Mercedes McLauren SLR, on almost every auto-aficionado’s most-wanted list, is being showcased right here.

Yup, you read it right.

The event is being organized in association with arguably the most famous potion of all, Johnny Walker.

Wipe that drool off your face people.

The stunning beauty will be on display in Delhi (you’ve already missed seeing it in Noida on January 5, 2007).

So if you do want to gasp in admiration, do remember to get yourself to the MGF Mall, New Delhi, January 12 – 14, 2007.

Mercedes and Malts.

You can't go wrong with the combo.

Vroooooooooooooooooooooom. Cheers!

Movie Review: Babel

According to the Genesis, it was at Babel that a multitude of humanity made efforts to create a tower that reached heaven. Their plans were however, put into disarray, when an irate God caused each person involved in the project to speak a different language, unintelligible to the others.
Such is the drift in the much appreciated Babel, mind-blowingly directed by Mexican Alejandro González Iñárritu.

The actors brilliantly portray universal emotions of conflict, pettiness, helplessness, familial love, anguish, hope, anxiety. What looks like four disparate tales is not the case at all.

Besides starring one of my perennial favorites Brad Pitt (playing Richard), the movie also has powerhouse performances by Cate Blanchett (as Susan, Brad’s wife), Adriana Barraza(as the Mexican nanny, Amelia), and Rinko Kikuchi(as the traumatized, emotionally turbulent Japanese teenager, Cheiko).

On one of his hunting expeditions in Morocco, Cheiko’s father, an avid hunter, presented his rifle to Hassan, his tour guide. An ageing, poverty-stricken Hassan sells the rifle to goatherd Abdullah, who in turn gives the rifle to his two sons, Yussef and Ahmed, to scare the jackals that come to prey upon the goats.

What started as just another sibling fight between the two brothers Yussef and Ahmed to try out the range of the rifle, turns an ugly turn when a bullet hits Susan, vacationing in Morocco with Richard, to piece together their rapidly-failing marriage. The US is quick to denounce the stray incidence as terrorism, as can be seen in the almost instantaneous telecasts on global tele-csreens.

What follows next is anyone’s nightmare; Richard has more problems than just the language barrier to get the locals to attend to his grievously-injured wife. His fellow-travelers do a volte-face and within minutes change from concerned countrymen to sour strangers, leaving the couple to fend for themselves in an alien country. Their only savior is the tour-bus guide, Anwar, who acts as their interpreter, guide, and messiah of hope. In their hour of anguish though, Richard and Susan do come closer to each other (tut tut – me the incorrigible romantic).

Meanwhile, back home at Richard and Susan’s home in the US, their two kids are with their loyal nanny of 16 years, Amelia. It is Amelia’s son’s wedding, and as she is unable to find anyone to babysit her two wards, decides to take them along to the wedding in Mexico. They never make it back home: Amelia’s intoxicated nephew, Santiago (hottie Gael García Bernal) is driving them home, but their car is stopped by border guards. A visibly-panicky (and cussing) Santiago zooms past, only to be chased by the guards; he decides to leave his passengers in the desert, lose the guards, and come back for them later.

A distraught Amelia leaves the kids in the desert to look for help, but horror! horror! She is arrested.

The intricately-woven plot keeps you on the edge of your seat. A must-watch movie, you would be more than crazy to miss it. It's already bagged a couple of awards at Cannes and nominated for quite a few Golden Globes.

So, when are you watching it?

Visa power - go get it

To think that a few of us at office(me included) are trying their utmost to get Corporate Credit Cards(no no, not for their snooty appeal, but for work reasons), but are nowhere getting close to getting them within a week, and then I get to hear about this pet Moggie cat, Messiah, that landed a Visa Card, thanks to its owner's efforts.

Isn't that just purrr-fect?

To cut a long, astonishing story short, the owner of the feline, Katherine Campbell, who owned a Bank of Queensland's credit card, applied for a second card in her pet kitty's name.

And lo and behold! The cat got Visa power.

Though a lot of people saw the funnier side of the situation and were in splits, it was quite the contrary for the Bank which now had a lot of explaining to do.

K(c)atherine, just proved a point about some banks taking CAT-naps.

Now the cat's out of the bag.

Meowwwww for Messiah.

Awwwww for the Bank of Queensland.

Shop till you drop

Check 1 - So you would like to get your hands on that bag that a certain hotel heiress was toting to a snazzy party, but are clueless where to find (another like) it, at one hundredth the price?

Check 2 - You would give an arm and a leg to become the (proud) owner of the watch that adorns the wrist of a naturally blonde footballer, who is usually in the news for his various hairdos than ability to bend the football, but again, find yourself at a loss where to find the large-dialed chronometer?

Well, help is here at hand. For self-confessed shopaholics like me, the world just became a more colorful shopping spree, what with the introduction of world's first visual search engine, Like.com.

Find similar clothing, accessories, jewelry, color variants of products; you can also upload your own favorite items or products, and search more like them, at a budget that will not have you howling at your paucity of resources and or a grumpy family ATM(read father, spouse, sibling etc).

Pretty intriguing site, I think.

I'm guessing it wouldn't be too long before video serach engines also come hopping by.

Please queue up.

You may think that the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, but believe me, it takes only a trip to your regional passport office, to think otherwise, and count your blessings, however miserable you may consider your life to be.
Early-morning, a bleary-eyed you, make your way to the scheduled place, and find to your dismay, a sea of humans who have beat you to waking up in the morning, and can be seen milling around, all looking equally grumpy and sleepy.
Fighting an urge to dispel the frown that has slowly spread on your face, you try to plunge into the queue, saving yourslef from sharp elbows, and even sharper tempers of people who are awaiting their turn.
you can hear people whispering in your ears how they can get your passport issued / re-issued with just some extra money.
Blah.
Touts.
Fighting off their whispered advances, you weave your way through the crowd; after that last burst of energy, a good three hours later, you make your way to the blessed counter to take your token from an oily-looking babu.
just when you think that you can finally join the alarmingly-long line outside, post-collecting the token that is, the oily-looking babu looks you over (shudder), gives an orange-grin, and utters the dreaded words, "Problem."
Your face takes on that ashen look; and after hearing his monologue about rules, lawas, and the like, you make your way back glumly; your work undone.
That's what happened to me.
And no, I can't help the scowl.

Who says life is fair?

An endless wait.
My life right now can be summed up in these three words.
Endless calls to various agents(read passport, visa, property dealers) are only doing two things:
a) Alarmingly up my escalating phone bills
b) Make me frown / grimace / sigh in exasperation
Patience is in severely short supply.
Family folks' / colleagues / friends' / well-wishers' words of encouragement are doing nothing to cheer gloomy me.
Add to that, the weather isn't doing much to dispel the lack of cheer all around.
Getting up when the entire world is cosy in their warm quilts is another sob story.
Aaaaaaarg!

Happy Birthday Lars Ulrich

Despite standing a lil' over 5ft 7 in, this avid scuba diver is known more for the waves he makes on stage, thrashing on stage as a drummer par excellence.

Ladies and gentlemen, please put your hands together for Metallica's lead drummer, Lars Ulrich, as he celebrates his birthday today.

Dude, you rock big time.

Happy Birthday.

Keep drumming.

A foggy experience

It seems to be the hottest news since the focus shifted from a certain pouty Hollywood actress, in India with her equally famous hubby, and offspring from all over the world.

Delhi is severely handicapped because of the fog that seems to have got everyone in a fever.

The traffic in the city,famous for its snail-pace, just became slower, thanks to the mist and the fog that has gripped the city.

Fights and trains are affected badly.

Sample this: you miss the piping hot parathas that await you on the breakfast table, just so that you can watch that amply-rounded middle, and more importantly, so that you don't miss your scheduled flight.

An hour later, an empty-stomached you reached your destination - the airport, that surprise surprise looks a wee bit too isolated.

A frown on your face, you steer yourself, baggage in tow, to the counter of your preferred airlines.

A red-lipped, kohl-ed PYT looks up at you, trying to manage her face into a practised smile.

After mouthing the customary salutation, she looks at her brightl-painted talons, and utters the dreaded words, "Your flight is delayed by 4 hours."

You barely hear her apologies for the inconvenience caused, brush past the gentleman who has been peering anxiously from over your shoulder, and collapse on the ice-cold bench nearby. (Cussing words optional)

Frowning, you see the scene around you. Several people are in the same bad mood that you are in.

A young mother is trying to smooth her four-year old son's hair, while at the same time,rocks the infant in her arms.

A couple of girls are sipping coffee and looking all around themselves.

A bored-looking businessman is trying to decided whether to read the financial paper in his hand, or work upon his laptop.

An anxious looking young man keeps checking his expensive-looking wristwatch (probably a Rado).

Another is trying to amuse himself with his phone.

After taking in the entire scene, you manage a weak smile, and decide that a nap is just upyour street.

Now if only you had consumed those parathas...

The week that was

It's been a hellluva week for me.
Long hours, bleary-eyed me has made it through the loooong week...
But I'm not complaining.
I only wish The Prestige would have released this weekend to add some cheer.
Glad for the three-day break through.
God knows I need to put my feet up and let my hair down.
Whew!

Osama dead?

With my mother currently in Assam, an insurgency-ridden state, it is but natural for me to read anything because of which the state is in the news.

Imagine my surprise when I read that Osama bin Laden had been hunted and killed in the state.

Disbelief writ large on my face, I read further.

Apparently a 10-feet tall jumbo also shared its name with the most dreaded and hunted-for man on the face of this earth.

The namesake pachyderm, known for terrorizing the people of Assam for over two years, was killed yesterday in a tea plantation.

Whether it was the same elephant that had caused so many people to live in constant fear, is not completely sure, but the Assam local assembly, which had ordered the killing, is in the line of fire definitely, with several conservationists and animal welfare activists bitterly criticizing the killing.

With India being home to almost half of the dwindling Asian elephant population in the world, this issue will certainly not go down well.

Watch this space for more news.

It happens only in Delhi

In typical Delhi fashion, several youth yesterday at a “happening” discotheque in the city, decided that enough was enough, and they just had to liven up stuff at the large gathering.
So loud, cussing words and oh hell! blows were duly exchanged. Next followed some more colorful vocabulary, introduction of a couple of mean-looking knives, and in the flash of a second, there was blood on the dance floor.
Within a matter of minutes, several well-dressed, so called "elite" people had become thirsty for each other's blood, in an extremely savage manner.
Sleepy-looking policemen made an entry on the scene, muttering loudly, wielding their lathis.
And all the people who had come out for a night of dancing and fun, were hastily asked to make their way to their respective homes. Or risked being dragged for a long, cold night at the nearest lock-up.
Loud, beer-bellied people exchanged scowls, and started off on their “Do-you-know-who-I-am” jazz.
It was a painful sight to see people running helter-skelter, looking out for friends who seemed to have been left behind in the crowd, or worse, embroiled in the fight.
My friends and I also beat a hasty retreat to the 24-hour-open-food-joint run by the Indian Railways.
Bleary-eyed, when we all finally returned to our respective homes, we just had one thought – why do some people have to spoil everyone’s fun.
And I have seen that such stuff usually happen in the capital city of our country.
What a shame!

New UN Secretary-General

Like many other Indians, I too was disappointed that Shashi Tharoor would not be the next UN General-Secretary after Kofi Annan.
The eighth UN Secretary-General will now be South Korean Ban Ki-moon.
Though already sworn-in today, the septuagenarian diplomat will only assume his new responsibility on January 1, 2007, when Kofi Annan steps down.
Good luck to him.

The Big Fat Indian Wedding

There are officially, a lot of “knotty” people out there.

While the rest of India puts freezing toes into hot-as-toast quilts, Delhi(and many other places) are gearing up for a long season of weddings.

I heard that this Monday, Delhi alone, had over 36,000 weddings. Whew!

Not to be left behind , yesterday had quite a few thousand lined up too.

Threading our way through traffic last night, it didn’t help us at al that there were several thousands of people on the road, bravely bearing the bitter cold, out to attend some wedding or the other.

A column in the national daily, perhaps because of lack of other newsy articles, reported how poor, “overworked,” politicos had an average of 12 weddings to attend every other night.

Sample this hypothetical situ: Secretary of a politician at a press meet, “Sir had to attend Mr. so-and-so’s brother-in-law’s son’s wedding last night. He is dog tired after all that revelry. So kindly excuse his political gaffes / howlers today.”
Wow!

So last night, on our way back from West Delhi (where we had gone to see a house for best friend who is to get married next month), we saw loads of Delhiite baraatis, out in all their gaudy finery, bejeweled hands raised in typical marriage dance style, swaying to the loud tunes that the local bands belted out.

Grooms sat on pretty white mares. Most looked unmistakably forlorn (was it because of the cold or the fact that they were abandoning their single status for a lifetime of in-laws, groceries, kids? lol)

Kids looked as if they were having the time of their lives, dancing, prancing, yelling gleefully, some so enthused that they were shrieking like banshees.
Despite the car windows rolled up, we could scarcely hear a word of what we were spouting; the deafening cymbals drowning any attempt at conversation with their deafening sound.

Is that what they call music?

I guess even the Bard, William Shakespeare, would think twice before saying again, “If music be the food of love, play on..”

Needless to say, my ears hurt till late last night.

And earaches suck big time.

Owwwwwww

And to think I have to attend quite a few nuptials in the coming few months.
Thank God for the awesome food they serve there, though.

Quite a saving grace. Burp.