Looking for a mate for your mutt?

If you stay in New Delhi or planning to visit it this weekend, it could very well be a ‘knotty’ one for your canine.

In a first, the Ansal Plaza Business Center, which has been in the news recently for its plans to throw open its mall doors to pet dogs during non-peak hours, is organising a mutt-marriage tomorrow – Saturday, August 30.

The ‘ceremony,’ besides allowing pet owners to decide upon a suitable partner for their pets, will also feature fashion shows, and titles like ‘most lovable pet,’ ‘most photogenic pet,’ etc.

The four hour long event, can be registered for free, and will see the likes of pet marshals and vets, besides the regular police personnel, to ensure safety and security.

Promises to be lots of fun.

And if you are scoffing at the idea, maybe you should go eat your hat, as ninety pet owners have already registered for the event.

Quite a novel way to saw ‘Bow Vows,’ I must say.

I approve.

Wuff Wuff.

Awesome Amritsar

So seven of us girls decided that Amritsar could do with some girl power over the weekend.

Which is why we paid a visit there this weekend.

After a six hour train journey, pouring rain and an army jeep welcomed us at the small Amritsar station.

Sights and smells beckoned us from all angles; however, journey fatigue persuaded us to do otherwise and head for the army guest house, which was to be our residence for the next two days.

Braving the rain, we ran towards the vehicle, hopping pell-mell into its open warmth.

Our prayers to the Rain Gods did not go in vain, and soon enough, the clouds gave way to clear blue skies, and a merry wind which decided to ruffle our hairthroughout the rest of the day.

After a hearty meal, the Wagah border was our intended destination, where with much fanfare and national fervour, we, accompanied by over a thousand people had decided to see the beating retreat between Indian and Pakistani soldiers.

Slogans reverberated in the air, cameras saw some of their busiest action till date,
throats went hoarse, flags were brandished with gay abandon, inhibitions were dropped and there were some very enthusiastic dancing to the pulsating music that boomed from the loudspeakers…the works

After two hours of shouting ourselves hoarse, we made our way to a roadside dhaba, where we thankfully gulped down piping hot tea

The evening sped by, and the next morning dawned too soon

Soon it was time to see the breathtakingly beautiful Golden Temple – where a multitude of approximately 70,000 devotees braved it out on the hot, humid day, in a queue that could only best be described as moving at a snail's pace

The next stop was Jallianwala Bagh – where we sobered up, the bullet-ridden walls that bore testimony to that sad day making us walk right into the books of our school history books.

Ambling down the busy streets, we wove our way to the most famous dhaba in all of Amritsar, where an hour later, we emerged like trussed-up turkeys.

Except that thankfully no Christmas knife lay ready to carve us for the dinner table.

And then it was time to catch the train back home.

The journey back was the exact opposite of the previous day's, in which we had riotously kept all our co-passengers awake, what with our endless chatter, and leg-pulling routine.

Within minutes of the train starting on its return journey, seven heads plopped to
sleep, exhaustion writ in bold letters on their faces

And to think that we didn't even do our gender proud by what we are second best at – shop, I can only say that the trip was too short…

Oh well, maybe another trip to Amritsar (this time with TOOMA) might materialise sometime…

A girl can dream, can't she?

Amritsar Ahoy!

After an extremely eventful, nope, actually call it blissful last week, this week looks pretty much mundane...no TOOMA, all five days of work, no holidays making their presence felt on my desk calendar, not even nice weather to give me company.

The only thing that is keeping me going however, is my trip with six gal pals to Amritsar this weekend.

Promises to be loads of fun...

After all, what else can you expect when you have seven women, jabbering nineteen-to-the-dozen, out on a trip, where they get to see the border of the country, complete with the Beating Retreat Ceremony and smartly-dressed soldiers, proudly marching with their boots held high?

That we will we staying in the army area only adds to the fun...

Smiles ahead of the trip

Atta Gurls!!

Hic Hic Hooray!

After what seems like ages, though the nagging calendar on my desk begs to differ, pointing out stubbornly that it is only 8 weeks (Ha! What does the foolish thing know how long that is), it is time for me to bring out the champagne chutes....

The delight is writ large over my face, more so, when I look now at my watch, and see it is only 7 more hours to go...

Celebrations are in order.

And why not!

I get to be reunited with my sweetheart tomorrow, after his longish trip (work-related, let me add)

The champagne bubbles are definitely getting a run for their money from me :-)

08-08-'08 - Olympics

I made an exception to my usual I-don’t-watch-television routine today…

After all, it’s not everyday that reads as 08-08-’08.

Besides being one of top dates this year for couples to get 'knotty,' it also kicks-off the 16 day Olympics in China.

So, after surfing sundry news channels, which were all falling over each other with repeats of the opening ceremony, I finally arrived at my preferred one.

The view at Beijing’s state-of-the-art National stadium, was breathtaking, to say the least.

At exactly the eighth moment of 8 o’clock, the extravaganza had commenced for a spell-bound audience.

Approximately 91,000 people sweated it out to watch the dazzling display, which cost China a staggering $43, beating Athens’ record of $15 billion in the 2004 Olympics, by a more than fair margin.

Now I have seen my fair share of fireworks, considering that they are de-rigueur at Indian weddings, the Indian festival of lights – Diwali, when the country beats its arch-rival and neighboring country at a match of cricket, and other equally pyrotechnical moments.

However, the fireworks at this ceremony were a showstopper and completely jaw-dropping.

To add to them, were hundreds of thundering drums, strobe lights, acrobats who performed gravity-defying stunts, contortionists, martial arts performers, you name it…

I'm putting my money on the fact that quite a few people from amongst the audience will be numb in the ears for sometime at least.

But I also bet that the experience must be totally worth it...

Birthday Bliss

BFF (Best Female Friend) gifted me a spa experience yesterday on my birthday

Oh boy! Was it invigorating!

The two hours that we spent there, slipped by wayyyyyy too soon, leaving us glaring at our watches and the clock that tick-tocked its existence on the wooden wall. The experience definitely 'clocked' its one-of-those-defining-moments-one though......

So after trotting into the visually appealing building, we were led to a tastefully done up reception area. BFF had done her homework, and after the friendly receptionist checked our appointment time, we were ushered into a subtly-lit room, our trademark heels having been traded for the more appropriate heavily-padded carpet slippers.

Lounge chairs were neatly arranged for us. After the two-minute foot cleansing and drying ritual, two lovely metal flat basins appeared as if by magic, full almost to the brim with water, rose and lotus petals floating lazily on the surface.

And when we dipped our feet into that water that was at just the right temperature, a delicious toe-curling moment it was. Sheer bliss…

What followed next is what would have made TOOMA* go into raptures.

We were led into another wood-paneled, wood-floored area where two comfy barcaloungers were spread invitingly for us. BFF and I needed no second bidding.

Ohhh heaven! No wonder Joey and Chandler (of F*R*I*E*N*D*S* fame) were so attached to their respective recliners. The barcaloungers spelled comfort with a Capital ‘C.’ I’m definitely getting one of those one day, but that is another story…

The foot massage started – all physical strain looked set to evaporate, what with the heady dose of massage, the smell of jasmine joss sticks wafting towards us, the soporific air conditioning (just right again), and the pleasing-to-the-ear Oriental instrumental music

After an hour of one of the most stress-relieving foot massages I had ever received, it was time to change and make our way to the massage room.

Shiatsu was what followed next – the traditional Japanese hands-on acupressure therapy cum massage. An indescribable sense of calm prevailed in the air, and BFF and I were almost lulled into sleep. Our two Oriental masseuse’s fingers deftly wove our pressure spots, releasing the strain within, and leaving in its trail a most exquisite feeling of serenity…

The hour passed too soon, and we were loath to open our eyes, and wake up after that…

However, wake up we had to, and had to also make our way outside, where it was raining pitter-patter…

Oh unfair world!

And damn those clocks and watches that make lovely hours like these pass so soon…

*TOOMA: The Object of My Affection

Bidding adieu to my sole(s)

Yesterday I cleaned my shoe rack. And boy! Was it therapeutic!

Now I claim to be no Imelda Marcos (though I would give an arm and a leg to be her. Well, actually, make that just one arm).

So sandals of all shades and styles spilled out from my two groaning racks, the same racks that take up quite a bit of space in my already-overflowing-room

There was even an aubergine pair of atrocious-looking footwear, which I had absolutely no recollection of ever purchasing

Though my heart was pained beyond imagination to part ways with my treasure trove, I had to give in sheepishly under my roommate’s stern arched eyebrow

So stilettos, boots, peep-toes, ballerinas, pumps, mules, wedges, kitten heels, and some flats were gradually piled up.

When I had painfully piled-high my collection of never-used / oft-neglected footwear,

The next part was the more painful one…

Handing over ‘em shoes to the utter delight of my maid..

With a heavy heart, I parted ways with those faithful pairs…

However, one look at my maid, who was only two steps away from dancing with glee at the very thought of ‘em shoes adorning her happy feet, made me also break out into a slow, and then full 100-wattage beam…

Plus, with my racks now a little free, there is always scope for more shopping..

And oh, by the way, my new satin peep-toes, barely three days old, have a new place to sit pretty

Tee hee

The swirling sands of Jaisalmer

After incessant questions from people who thought we were plain dotty to tour the desert in the month of July or that we were both on lookouts for exotic places to get married(no no, not to each other, stooopid), my friend, Radhika (let’s call her R) and I valiantly set out for our much-awaited trip to the Golden City, Jaisalmer.

And might I say, we were not disappointed.

Though the train journey of around 20 hours dampened our initial enthusiasm, books, those best friends, kept us sane. Add to that, incessant cups of tea, entertaining tourists in our coach, chattering, standing at the foot of the train step (guaranteed to give my Mom an acute case of alarming hiccups), and you get the picture, dontcha…

The next day, we descended at Jaisalmer station - a picturesque fort-looking structure (on our way to the hotel, we soon gathered that most official buildings, banks, post offices etc were shaped like forts, and it was difficult to distinguish one building from the other – thanks to the same sandstone used).

The hotel turned out to be a lovely haveli which had been converted into a boutique hotel. We were whisked to see our room, and discovered that every room was done up in a particular vivid shade. After ensconcing ourselves in the lavender colored room, we grinned at each other. We had made it to Jaisalmer. All those days of looking forward to the place could not equal the satisfaction we felt when we peeped out from behind the lavender curtains in the hotel room, and caught yet another breathtaking view of the Jaisalmer fort. Perched on a hillock, it looked fantastic, to say the least.

Bargain shopping was fun. But the most fun was going to where the Thar desert began by an open-roof jeep, and then getting onto camels. Yes, the desert safari was indeed something. While the camels gallantly plodded through the sand, we couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by the vast expanse of vacant land around us. Seeing the forts, temples, lake, and havelis in the morning, had made us feel as if we had been thrown back into time. However, now in the midst of the desert, where not even a bird fluttered, and a shrub bravely put up its head from amongst the sand, we felt in the middle of nowhere.

The sight from the top of the sand dunes was breathtaking, to say the least. The orange sun which was slowly setting, made for a sight that I won’t forget in a hurry. And when the camp people proceeded to break off some twigs, and make some fresh tea for us, the aroma that wafted towards us was lip-smacking. The sandstorm the previous day had ensured that the day was pleasant, with the sun not beating upon us mercilessly, but graciously giving way to a gentle drizzle.

The over one hour drive back from the desert was peppered with excited chatter, but after a while, we drifted off into an exhausted slumber land. The trip was rapidly coming to an end, and we knew it. Yet the eyes could scarcely stay open.

The next morning dawned with a fierce sun, which seemed intent to show us what a desert actually was. Slathering ourselves with triple layers of sun block, we made our way one last time to the market and fort, soaking in more than the sun – soaking in memories, before we made our way back home.

My only regret – I wish I had made the trip with him…Walking among the sand dunes barefeet, I was engulfed by an inordinate yearning for his footprints matching mine in the sand…

Who says exercising is fun??

So yours truly joined an aerobics batch a couple of days back.

Though she has been trying her best to keep up her cheerful demeanour, she only knows the many aches that can scarcely keep from escaping her tightly pursed lips.
Muscles that she barely knew existed, are making it a point to get their hours of fame - throbbing, and getting more than their fair share of sore acknowledgement.
The feeling is akin to that of an iron camping bed, creaking at all joints – not a very happy feeling at any cost.

Thank God the batch members more than make up for the pain she is undergoing by sheer variation of their vivacity, and general camaraderie.

So when she goes One-Two-Three-Four, in tune with the pulsating music, the encouraging smiles of her fellow-sufferers is the only thing that helps her keep up with the steps, and stop her from frowning when stern instructor belts out a command to not hog the air conditioning unit.

Drat all those endless Highball glasses of Old Monk she irresponsibly consumed, thanks to which she now has to sweat it out at the gym…

No Hic Hic for her for quite some time now.

"Driving" a wedge between schoolchildren

A schoolboy in Chicago won the lottery from amongst 1,90,000 students – all of whom secured perfect attendance at school.

Brought me back memories of my own school days, where I would have probably been the contender for top honors for the same spot, thanks to parents who believed that rain or shin, a child’s rightful place was the school. A little fever notwithstanding.

So downpour or sultry morning, yours truly would drag herself out of her toasty / cool and inviting bed, shuffle to the loo to make faces at the mirror while brushing her teeth, inspecting her eyes, skin, anything that would give her a chance to pinpoint at it, and thus create an official excuse for not attending school.

No such luck, however.

My eyes would always be crystal white, skin a spotless shade of alabaster, pimples an unknown word, and forehead always the right degree of warm. Nothing more, nothing less.

And my parents an unrelenting shade of grey.

When I would reach school, a storm roaring outside, and looked around to see the rows of empty desks around me, a sense of annoyance would sweep over me.

Why couldn’t a little fever creep over me sometimes at least?

Talk about good health, duh!

And to think I would get a certificate and a book at the end of the year, while this 12 year old schoolboy walked away with a neat Dodge Caliber.

There is nothing like justice in this world, I daresay!!

ADD and me

It’s official.

I am a certified sufferer from ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder).

So while I am in the midst of discussing the dynamics of an important project at work, I have been known to screw my nose, look quizzically around, and ask if anyone other than me could smell someone wearing Ralph Lauren Polo Sport.

Obviously, the only thing I get to see are some blank stares, and an exasperated sigh from my favorite colleague, let’s call her ‘N,’ and a nudge that signifies see-I-told-you-she-was-weird-didn’t-I?

At some other point of time, my eyes will glaze, hearing someone drone about the same crib (yet again), and then suddenly light up of their own accord. The reason – I just realized that the weekend was near, and i could indulge in some retail therapy – my absolute favorite…

Of course, fidgeting, looking into vacant spaces, pulling out my lower lip – all when someone is trying to strike a conversation with me, are fairly common features.
Now this is not to mean that I want the conversation to center on me. Nope, far from it.

Just that a feeling of inordinate restlessness slides over me, and that I get distracted a tad too soon, an annoying feature to everyone, I am sure.

So while I work upon it, and promise that I will not toss my hair around while you continue with your monologue on the rising cost of gas, it is only fair that you glance at the pretty butterfly that just glided over to those sunflowers, and also see that guy over yonder with the crooked nose…

When will my horrid fever break?

With a five-day fever that refuses to leave, yours truly has truly been under the weather.

Add to that sales galore and she unable to lift a pretty foot to step outside home to do justice to them. Quite a sad state of affairs, I must say.

So while the rest of the world enjoys savories in the rain outside, she has to stay cooped up at home, with only endless cups of tea to keep her company, and the odd stack of magazines that, despite their multi-colored hue, do little to add cheer to her life.

Then, there are the medicines that have to be popped into her unwilling mouth ever so often. Medicines which try to disguise their bitter, poisonous taste by their gaily-colored appearance, but which fail miserably. And the ever-smiling doctor who pats your feverish hand, trying to feed you a whole lot of jazz about how it is a seasonal fever, and how by the next day, you would be hopping like a tadpole - happy, sickness-free, sans the croaking voice. And who, smilingly, adds a couple more of those horrid medicines, while merrily pocketing your hard-earned money.

Of course, the last nail on the coffin is that TOOMA is not even in the country, which is understandably making her fret more.

The only silver lining is her trip to the colorful city of Jaisalmer, scheduled on July 26.

But even that is a fortnight away.

Till then, let her use Graham Bell’s invention, and act the role of whiny woman to perfection….

Rainy days

Schools in the capital opened to grey clouds and rain pitter-pattering on the brick structures.

The children were only too happy to be the receiving end of the inclement weather, drawing up detailed plans of the fun they would have post-school (read playing in the slush, dancing on the roads with their satchels on their heads for cover, smiles plastered on their cherubic faces, sludgy football etc).

The three guard dogs who faithfully walk me from my house to the colony gate where my cab comes to pick me, were also in a particularly frisky mood. While they followed me at heel, the way they faithfully do on al weekdays, they stopped to see an interesting frog that went hoppity-hop into the nearby park. With cocked-up ears, the three black dogs eagerly dashed to give something to the frog to run about.

Face pressed against my cab window, I saw the rain droplets trickle down silently.

As silently as my tears that streamed invisibly across my cheeks, marking yet more days of his not being here…

Shades of grey

If I had to think of the most depressing or boring color, there are no contenders for the blah grey.

I mean, have you ever seen a grey flower?

Grey for me, stands for all that is plain – grey clouds that wreak havoc on crops, the skeptical greys, grey for the hardened, the first grey strand, grey for the rigid, grey for the wallflower, grey for the rocks, grey owls, grey for ash.

Besides of course, being the color of solitude.

Movie Review: Made of Honor

Notwithstanding the uncanny resemblance to my Best Friend’s Wedding, Made of Honor does have its own spurts of radiance, where you smile in spite of yourself, similarities be damned.

So you have Patrick Dempsey (swoon yum dreamy delicacy) essaying the role of Tom, the eternal Casanova, who when he is not leading willing blondes, brunettes, you name it, into bed, is tagging along with his only platonic friend, best friend Hannah (Michelle Monaghan), a director of acquisitions at the metropolitan Museum of Art.

Their friendship goes back ten years, when Tom, masked as Bill Clinton, is looking for his Monica at a Halloween bash, and mistakenly jumps into bed with her roommate, Hannah, only to have perfume sprayed into his eyes. The two strike up an unusual friendship, discussing flavors of cakes, petting random canines on the way, and walking along the breathtaking New York streets.

Tom, fondly called “Fornicator,” by Hannah’s grandmother, has made millions by inventing the coffee paper-cup sleeve. His rule while carrying out his favorite pastime is singular – never do back-to-backs with the same girl (a la Joey from F*R*I*E*N*D*S*), and never call a date until a full day has passed.

Of course, he’s got competition – from his father (Sydney Pollack’s last role), who is a church and a divorce attorney’s dream customer – rolled into one. So while he is on his way to the altar to get “knotty” for the seventh time, the gorgeous bride and her lawyer are already negotiating the pre-nup settlement. So much for the sanctity of marriage.

Then Hannah announces that her work requires her to go to Scotland for six weeks, much to Tom’s petulance. The next six weeks are a trial for Tom, who realizes how much he misses Hannah, and makes up his mind to confess his love to her, but without offering matrimony.

His dreams are dashed short, ‘cos Hannah returns from Scotland, in love with Colin (the quintessential Scotsman, who in an almost Bronte style of romance, whisks her off her feet, on a white horse no less.

Tom, not to be outdone by some Scottish thief, decides to strategize. Things are made easier for him because Hannah, the typical, postfeminist, asks him to be her maid of honor (a situation that makes him the butt of some gay jokes).

Now Tom has to think, and think fast. So you have his basketballer guy friends pitching in, each stage-managing the mega plan of stealing the bride. There are magazines to be read on how to become the perfect maid of honor, videos to be watched, gifts to be wrapped, lingerie to be bought, trousseau to be decided upon, besides of course trying one’s level best to bring up the dirt on Colin, who reminds me a lot of Daniel Craig, sans the famous boxers scene. Here’s the kicker – Colin is squeaky clean, and has it all – a perfect family (he’s a Duke for God’s sake), perfect vineyards, perfect way to dunk the basketball, and during a locker room shower session, a view at his more than perfect “package,” which leaves Tom's friends goin "Whoa" and Tom more than a little snappish understandably.

Humor is freely interspersed – so you have appalling hairdos that would do bees proud, a grandma who takes a string of dayglo beads (Ahem Ahem) from a “lady” at a bachelorette party and puts them around her neck (Holy Moly), a more-than-plump maid of honor who survives on some indescribable liquid diet – all to fit into a size 8 dress, but which rips at the seams on the actual day, an obsessed woman who updates her blog on her favorite subject – Tom, amusing wedding customs and some more.

It takes a lip lock between Hannah and Tom, when she is exchanging kisses for change – a Scottish wedding tradition, which sets her thinking.

The rest is fairly predictable fare. But nevertheless makes for a sweet watch with your popcorn and cola.

Watch it for some smiles with your girlfriends.

Not bad at all.

Of cabs and cabmates...

It’s been over two years since cabs have featured regularly on my weekdays, taking me to that destination called the workplace.

This has put me in a more than capable position to pen my observations about the people who share them with me.

Quite a few specimens, they can be.

So you have the girl with large, soulful eyes, whose main joy in life is to whisper sweet-nothings into the ears of her (un)willing (?) beloved, who might just be cursing Graham Bell’s invention. Anyway, the motto for this lass is ‘till death do us apart,’ a motto she seems to take a tad too seriously.

Then you have the guy who, every five minutes or less, pats his carefully gelled hair,, and who is terribly partial to any shiny surface that even remotely resembles a mirror, and into which he can manage a peek at his shining crop. This guy is the easiest one to deal with – as you have to only touch his mane, which will make him shrilly scream for cover, and mutter to himself throughout the way, leaving you free to smirk all the way.

Then you have the bloke who believes in making everyone present fully aware that he suffers from ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder). Nothing else can explain why, within a spell of two minutes, he has to change the blessed radio station at least seven times. Just as soon you think you can settle down into a cosy doze with an oldie playing melodiously in the background, you are shattered out of your complacence by what can only be best described as a toad which has a severe case of the sinus, and has to make-do with a nasal, guttural rasp. At the end of five minutes, all that you can remember is a throbbing sound where your forehead used to be, and a heart that yells bloody murder.

Moving on, how can we forget the girl who makes everyone sit up and take note? And not because of the flaming lip colour she swears by. This is the girl who strongly believes in the phone syndrome – ‘Have mouth, will speak.’ And loudly, at that! So you can’t help but hear how so-and-so has bad breath or body odour. Or how the bespectacled person at work digs his nose in full view. Or what she had for dinner last Tuesday (with a running commentary of the recipe). Or to which doctor so-and-so had to go to sort out his little ‘problem.’ Ahem! Or where her family would be going on vacation in the next decade. Boy! This lady sure has some thoughts to share.

Next is the girl who is probably preparing for a chequered career in the secret services. How else can you explain the barrage of questions that come your way - How is your work? Do you have a boyfriend / girlfriend? What does he / she do? What, you don’t have one? Why not (look of unspeakable pity and horror write large on her painted face, and in her saucer-like eyes)? Some more digging around - have you never had one? Or did you decide to part ways? Why? Do you plan to stick to the job? Have you seen the new movie being aired at the theatres? What will you do for the weekend? Yada yada. She Till your eyes become glazed, your throat becomes parched, and you have to reach out for your phone to pick up an imaginary call.

Aha. Leaving out the self-proclaimed DJ would be a crime. With earphones perpetually stuck to his ears, and a mouth constantly chewing on gum, you can’t help but notice him. Or rather, hear him. So loud is the volume of the rock he is hearing that you are tempted to carry along your own set of headphones the next day onwards.

The above sometimes make way for new faces, notably the girl who can’t stop humming (and who makes you constantly look out for the mysterious bee inside the cab), the guy who can’t wait for the weather to get pleasant, so that he could request that the air conditioning be kept off (and he can conveniently puff smoke-spirals), the guy who constantly drums on the window panes (perfecting his hand at the bongos, no doubt), the constantly-rummaging-in-her-bag-for-something-or-the-other-girl etc.

There is always a constant though - the twinkling-eyed girl who has made it her business to observe them all, to pen her next blog post…

(Optional applause).

Stand back people. Let me give a sweeping bow.

Some more food for thought...

We Indians, oh boy! We share a deep-seated common passion for food.

While I will not put ourselves in the hedonist bracket, I will also not discount the fact that for us, all occasions (and there are really a lot of them), become a long procession of delicacies, sweetmeats, and savories which we religiously chomp our way through.

By the time we lick our fingers, and reach out for the strategically-placed box of tissues, we have already thought about our next mega meal.

Lest you think that the penchant is limited to prepubescents and / or children who coo in delight at the very mention of food, I’d say, try again. All drool equally.

With festivals and occasions a regular feature on our generally expansive calendars, I is hardly surprising that a lot of attention goes into deciding what makes a delicious entry or unceremonious exit from the menu.

So sweet-toothed Sandra is taken care of by three varieties of desserts (tiramisu, gulab jamuns, and the ubiquitous ice-cream). Greens-loving George is given due course of attention, and salads “sprout” on the menu. Jack who will eat anything that moves in his house (save his German shepherd, that is), is spoilt for choice, and the table shudders under the combined weight of steaks, kebabs, pork chops, rolls, etc. For the likes of vegan me, despair need not even cross their minds, a delightful spread winks at us invitingly.

The gastronomes that we are, we are also not averse to experimenting with new cuisines, generously indulging in them. So paneer tikkas rub shoulders with pasta and penne, while shorbas and sherbets are neck to neck with the shrimp and mulligatawny soups. Similarly, gajar ka halwa is reached out for, as are gelatos and guava soufflés. The pan-admired chicken tikka masala and flavorful Dal Makhani, ungrudgingly, share space with Hakka noodles, risottos, pizzas, and fish and chips.

Relatives, armed with gaily-wrapped sweetmeat boxes, (the wrapping next only to their sparkling, spangled dresses), arrive on our doorsteps, and after the customary round of back-slapping, pinching of cheeks (ohhh painful), and updated versions of who’s-doing-what and marrying-into-what, hurry back to their respective homes (and Thank God for small mercies). However, this deliverance is only after several rounds of snacks, (soft / hard) drinks, sweetmeats, and the odd lunch or dinner episode (depending upon what time they choose to land up on your doorstep) have made their appearance on the large table kept in the sitting room (kept for that very purpose perhaps?).

Whatever you will, food plays a pivotal role in the lives of us Indians. The concept of “Ghar ka khaana” (home-cooked food) is not wasted upon the likes of hose who stay away from their homes – students and people who work in place other than their own (TOMA and I being prime examples).

So when an invitation pops up from an ex-colleague, for a round of piping-hot-made-in-clarified-butter at his home on a Sunday morning, I’d be a fool to pass up such a brilliant offer, right?

Which is why, unlike other Sundays, this Sunday morning will see me showered, clothed, and perfumed , making my way to the colleague’s place, a song on my lips, a spring in my step, and an expectant hum in my belly.

Sunday, here I come….

"Penciling" it out

When I “upgraded” from pencils to pens in school, I couldn't be happier; infact, I felt a strange sense of deliverance.

After all, the sound of a pencil on paper is as disgusting to me as a person sucking snot out of his nose into his mouth may be for you.

While a lot of my classmates in school and college flinched when the teacher’s chalk, in a hasty spell of writing, produced a screeching sound where it met the blackboard, I was the only “whacko” who would cringe every time someone would hastily jot down something with a pencil.

It became worse in college, when my roommate (now my best friend), would study with me for the approaching exams. While m textbooks and notes looked like a rainbow, thanks to the multi-highlighter approach I was partial to, she would proceed with her studying by underlining (and boy! Could she underline) the text, much to my obvious vexation.

One look at my perfectly arched disapproving eyebrow, and she would promise not to use the displeasing pencil.

However, ever so softly, within minutes, she would be willfully underlining with the offensive pencil again.

Despite the next to no sound, my keen sense of sound would be in force, and after five seconds or so of keeping my ears pricked like a vigilant cocker-spaniel, I would spring up from the chair or bed, as the case may be, cast a look of pure venom at my now apologetic friend, and fling myself on either the courtyard bench or the corridor stairs, a decidedly scowling look evident on my face.

What else could you expect from someone, who, right in the middle of an entire year of debating, writing, sports, quizzing, and retail-therapy, was rudely awakened by the call of the annual monster – the examinations? And who, while in the midst of a chaotic time of notes-borrowing, cramming, studying with one sleepy and one half-awake eye, on a tummy which craved outside food, but which had to contend with hostel-food for the time-being, had to also cope with dreadful pencil-underlining sounds.

The scene was no better in the college common-room, where students from all three years, probably vied with unsaid competitions of who-will-underline-the-most-and-drive-Vandana-hopping-crazy, leaving me very very hot and bothered.
Till now, when someone picks up a pencil, I look alarmingly at the person, a look of don’t-tell-me-you-are-going-to-use-that-thing-are-you? on my very expressive face.

It is easy if the person is known and if I have a comfort level with him / her, because then I can playfully a) pass a pen into his / her hands (like when I do to TOOMA when he is penciling a writing task) or b) in the eventuality of no pen in hand, plead with him / her not to make use of the odious writing instrument, citing the virtues of oral communication or honing a razor-sharp memory instead.

However, the trouble arises if the person is not too well-known to me, or worse, if I, for obvious reasons, cannot risk myself be termed a weirdo by confiding about my unease at hearing a pencil sound. I have known people who, after hearing about my idiosyncrasy, have a look of disbelief and / or pity at my plight plainly plastered on their sometimes smug faces.

Needless to say, they don’t do wonders for me.

At all such times, I just squirm in my place, waiting for the abominable sound to stop.

Sighing with relief when the monstrous pencil is put down….

This is probably me at her quirky best!

It's Friday the 13th

Considering that today is this year's only Friday the 13th, it was hardly surprising people would be a tad jittery.

So I have an acquaintance who has decided not to venture out from her home today; there is yet another colleague who got his tickets to travel back home postponed from today to tomorrow.

While some cases border on the bizarre, one thing is for sure, alarm bells sure trigger off when it comes to Friday the 13th.

And I am speaking for quite a generous proportion here.

There are of course the exceptions, people who try and shatter the superstitious hex that seemingly surrounds this date. So you have our unconventional director, M. Night Shyamalan who releases his movie “The Happening” today. But then again, it falls in the horror genre, so I can't say I am surprised.

You also have Black Sabbath which released its debut album on the (un)lucky day as far back as 1970. Going by its sales, the album was anything but star-crossed.

And now, a new Dutch study says that Fridays the 13th, long considered to be ominous, are in actual fact, safer than average Fridays. It points out statistics to corroborate its findings, citing that there are fewer accidents, fires, and thefts on Fridays the 13th as compared to your average Friday. However, people who believe this are less and too far in between.

There are however those who swear by the hard luck that befalls people on such days.

Whatever the case may be, I sure hope no gloominess comes my way.

Lemme jus knock my chair twice though.

There! now what was I saying?

Getting "ant"-sy

I like looking at ants.....especially when they clamber onto a morsel of food, and then make away with it, akin to an army victoriously carrying off a struggling POW.

It's not uncommon to see them in my room, for which they seem to have a strange affinity for , much to my maid's visible annoyance. Week after week, they plod their way through the length and breadth of my room, sometimes carrying a piece of chocolate that has eluded my choc-loving roomie, or some breadcrumbs (my now-regular clumsiness culpable here).

I can't help but be surprised by their quick turnaround - a piece of cookie falls; a string of ants collects there within no time at all. Their industriousness is worthy of emulation.

Similarities can be found to their human counterparts, who also sweat it out, teamwork and competition aside, what with unrealistic deadlines that need to be met, gargantuan tasks that need attending to...what you will.

And finally, they can literally move mountains.

Quite a few lessons these humble insects can teach us.