The (Un)willing Groom

Indian guys are luckier than guys in other nations. On their marriage day, it is customary for some Indian grooms to sit on a white mare.

Talk about getting a last, providential chance to escape….

Their less-fortunate counterparts on the other hand, keep thinking why they did not invest in those superbly-crafted running shoes, that would have carried them far-far away to safety…to the land of the five Bs – Budweisers, Boys’ night outs, Bikes and let me not write the last two which go hand-in-hand, and which if I make a mention here, will cause my blog rating to change from a neat PG13 to an A.

Unfortunately, a Japanese guy, Tatsuhiko Kawata , who was due to get married on October 26 this year, decided that he couldn’t get the better of his decidedly clammy case of cold feet. And he wasn’t even to be given a horse to sit on.

A decidedly raw deal, he was certain.

Which is when the 39-year old, unwilling-groom-to-be, hit upon a brilliant plan.

In the week hours of Sunday, he set fire to the hotel that was to have been the venue for his marriage later that day. And cancelled the wedding thereafter.

The cancelling-act did him in, because he was arrested soon after.

After he is released from prison, I sure hopes he invests in some heavy-duty protection wear, including the toughest helmet money can buy, and maybe a bouncer for himself. Sturdy pair of ear muffs – optional.

After all, you never know what ‘gifts’ his (now-ex)fiancée will be bestowing upon him...

Diwali 2008 vis-a-vis Diwali 2007

With tomorrow being the much-awaited Indian Festival of Light, Diwali (a.k.a. Deepawali), I expected the entire city to be lit like a bride on her wedding day, garlanded with flickering fairy lights, earthen lamps, and strings of gaudy papiermache lamps hanging from doorways. I also expected people driving up in droves to shopping malls, carrying several colorful, crunchy-sounding shopping bags, filled to the brims with gifts, consumer goods, clothes and firecrackers.

Instead I encountered endless traffic snarls – where are all these people driving to anyway? On a Saturday afternoon too, no less, there seemed little respite for the choking roads, with people barely helping, thanks to flaring tempers and the occasional rude comments they hurled deftly at one another, etiquette and soft-spokenness be darned! Add to that, a winter on the verge of spreading its chill, and you had to also contend with shivering bikers who rode their bikes fast, albeit a little wobbly on the tyres.

While storekeepers did grumble about the paucity of shoppers, it would be wrong to say that all shopping malls wore a desolate look. People did trickle in - however, the recent economic slump had made the to-be-distributed gifts less extravagant than last year’s.

So out went the Swarovski-studded idols, making way for more pocket-friendly deities, exotic champagnes and Merlot bottles fizzled out in favour of their domestic partners, sparkling diamonds and platinum were left unpurchased with people preferring their more ‘humble’ gold and silver counterparts…

Even companies that had showered generous gifts on their employees last year, made do with sensible one kg sweetboxes.

Children, flanked by their parents, pointed at the firecrackers on bright display in glittering windows and at roadside stalls, which seemed less than the bountiful display evident in 2007. Because of the steep prices the firecrackers commanded, the visibly-disappointed children had to contend with 2-3 boxes as compared to the indulgent 8-10 packs they had burst last year.

Thankfully though, this year, because of more stringent rules, the elderly, the ill, children, pets and other animals might sleep a bit more peacefully as compared to the fitful sleep they kept dozing in and out of, last year.

With ears that don’t quite hurt as much.

And maybe you will be able to see the car threading its way through the neighbourhood gate this year. Which is more than what you could squint at, last year, through the thick smoke that enveloped the street outside your home.

And maybe your Grandpa’s asthmatic cough this year might not get aggravated...making you too breathe easy...

Wish you all a warm, sparkling, prosperous, and safe Diwali!

Yayyyy!

It's been one crazyyyyy week
Monday - Dog tired, ears-pressed-back me. Pots of work. Aaaargh
Tuesday - Dog tired, ears-pressed-back me. Pots of work. Aaaargh
Wednesday - Dog tired, ears-pressed-back me. Pots of work. Aaaargh
Thursday - Dog tired, ears-pressed-back me. Pots of work. Aaaargh
Friday - TOOMA is in town. One word - HURRAY!

'Nuff said!

Movie Review: Babylon AD

Despite our best efforts to reach in time to catch the latest Leonardo Di Caprio and Russell Crowe CIA flick, Delhi’s traffic had already made up its mind to play killjoy.

Hence movie aficionados us had to make-do with the second choice – Babylon AD.

And a poor choice it turned out, might I add.

The movie started fairly well - not exactly keeping-one-glued-to-one’s-seat-stuff, but passable fare nevertheless.

Till after intermission, when it started the tanking and the tanking-hard routine.
So you have a heavily tattooed Vin Diesel (he has a sigil tatoo, for God’s sake, on the right side of his neck), playing the role of Hugo Cornelius Toorop (let’s just call him Toorop), a mercenary. He’s hired on a mission to transport a package (Aurora - played by 27 year old Mélanie Thierry), from Eastern Europe to New York.

Sounds like a simple case of a mercenary protecting and delivering a blue-eyed, innocent, hormonally-charged teen?

You couldn’t be more wrong.

‘Cos Aurora has been cloistered in a Noelite Convent all her life, and has the uncanny ability to prophesy the truth. Except that she only spells pictures of doom. Her Japanese guardian nun, Sister Rebeka (the eternally-elegant Michelle Yeoh), revelas how, when Aurora was barely 2, could speak as many as 19 languages. And often acted strangely, more so after a Noelite doctor had administered a pill to her.

Things take a turn for a science fiction twist then, when it is revealed that Aurora is a sort of biological weapon. She was genetically enhanced as a foetus by one Dr. Arthur Darquandier (Lambert Wilson), who ‘implanted’ super intelligence into her brain. This doctor considers her as his child.

Aurora also has a so-called ‘mother’ – the wicked High Priestess (Charlotte Rampling), who is looking for an opprtune moment to reveal her as the miracle of the Noelite group. The High Priestess had made Dr. Arthur program Aurora in such a way that she was to become impregnated despite being a virgin, thus propagating a modern day Virgin Mary analogy and a Messiah figure for the Noelite religion.

Popping guns, snowmobiles that whizz past the gleaming Russian snow, a cybernetics twist, revival after death, a lacklustre Vin Diesel, a wasted Michelle Yeoh, arctic tundras that freeze your mind, a passport that is to be injected under the skin of the neck, bombings, tracking rockets – this movie has them all – but will eventually, do one of these thigns to you:

a) Put you to sleep
b) Make you glare into your tub of butter popcorn
c) Make you delve into your or your companion’s bag for an aspirin
d) Make you swear off Vin Diesel for a long time

I should know. I did (b) and (d)

Yet another Booker: The White Tiger (Aravind Adiga)

Aravind Adiga is in esteemed company indeed.

After all, he has joined the likes of V.S. Naipaul, Salman Rushdie, Arundhati Roy, and Kiran Desai, making him the fifth India, after the four mentioned here, to win the prestigious Man Booker Prize for this year.

His debut novel, ‘The White Tiger,’ beat the likes of Amitav Ghosh (Sea of Poppies), Steve Toltz (A Fraction of the whole), Sebastian Barry (The Secret Scripture), Linda Grant (The Clothes on their Backs), and Philip Hensher (The Northern Clemency).

A seasoned writer, Adiga has made his mark in writing as a financial journalist at the Financial Times, writing well-received pieces for Money and the Wal Street Journal; his most recent career association with TIME magazine.

The protagonist in one Balram Halwai. The story outlines his journey from abysmal poverty in Laxmangarh (a fictional village) to huger than huge successful business (in New Delhi). The journey is one which sees him metamorphose into a cynical, sneering, manipulative, one who carries a secret in his dark heart – he has murdered his employer to reach his social standing in ‘new’ India.

The second debut novelist and the second India debut novelist to win the award in its 40 year-old inception, this 33 year old celebrates his birthday this month.

He couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present.

Unsmiling faces on the ramp

See any model sashaying down the ramp, and chances are that he / she would be parading elegant evening wear, swimwear, prêt lines, ready-to-wear collections, you name it - all with poker straight expressions on their faces.

Some of them look straight out of the pages of a magazine which is dedicated to grim, sombre, serious expressions – such are the deadpan looks plastered on their dour faces.

The others look straight ahead, hands in pockets sometimes, the women gracefully keeping their hands on their tiny waists – unseeingly walking towards a wall ahead, tossing their pretty curls disdainfully, towering on their strappy stilettos.

The number one reason why most models pout, sneer, half-smile patronisingly, or look sneeringly at the front-row socialites dripping with diamonds, is that often many designers themselves forbid their models from showing their pearlies on the ramp, lest it distract the audience from the clothes.

True.

With the number of beauties and hunks who parade on the ramp, many of whom look like perfect Grecian specimens of graceful womanhood / manhood, it would indeed be distracting to tear one's look away from the sheer dazzle of their sparkling smiles, and try instead to concentrate on the clothes they are modelling.

There is also the opinion that smiling makes one look younger, and that may look a tad out of place from an elegant collection of formal evening wear.

There is of course the group of funnies who swear that sales would boom if only the models would flash (their teeth, sillies) on the runway, and bet that many women models don't smile because of the sheer pancake plastered on their faces, all in the name of beauty cosmetics.

Smiling, in that case, would cause cracks in the makeup.

There are others who are willing to believe that most models don't
smile on the ramp, because they are:

a) stressed out
b) hungry (not eating for the last two days, all to fit into that
ouch-inducing corset)
c) in pain (blame those footwear and clothes that pinch, all in the
wrong places)
d) scared of developing wrinkles
e) a dentist's delight (what with bad, jutting, maybe uneven teeth) –
a little far-fetched, this one
f) all of the above

Whatever the reasons, the truth is universal – models rarely smile on the ramp.

Even the most theatrical setup for a show will seldom have models who smile dazzlingly.

Instead they prefer to keep stoical, solemn, sneering looks on their expressive, high cheekboned faces, a condescending look plainly evident to all who can see.

Making us go Oooohing and aaahing over their 'attitude,' the clothes they model, and making us wonder about how similar they are to blank canvases displaying an outfit.

What if they traded their expressions, making us think they were animated clothes hangers?

Would that really be such a disaster?

Blast from the past

Today morning, while walking to my colony gate where the office cab comes to pick me up faithfully everyday, I saw a group of children, dressed in all their finery, gathered around a house.

With yesterday and today being days for Kanjak, the Puja wherein pre-pubescent girls are ceremoniously worshipped, their feet washed, and they are offered sweets, gifts, and money, I wasn’t too surprised at the sight.

Smiling at them, I walked on.

And then there was a booming sound.

I froze dead in my tracks, my mind racing to the slew of bomb blasts that had the length and breadth of the country shivering in mute terror.

My first thought was of the children who were chattering excitedly among themselves.

Hoping for the best, fear writ large over my face, I swung around.

Where I saw a boy, aged no more than 10 years, circled by the admiring group of children, beams resplendent on their rosy cheeks.

Apparently, he had lit a firecracker, much to the delight of his friends.

An innocuous firecracker had succeeded in driving fear into the innermost chamber of my heart.

With the festival of lights - Diwali, fast approaching, I can't help but shudder thinking of the times when a firecracker would fizzle and then burst, causing nearby people to freeze in whatever they were doing, the dread of blasts uppermost in everyone’s minds. Chaos is inevitable, a stampede more than a possibility.

Or worse, in the eventuality of an actual blast, people might continue milling around, carrying on with their routine chores, misconstruing it for a display of loud pyrotechnics. Putting themselves and others in grave danger.

Both cases chill me to the very core…

A Timeless Love

Yesterday, while walking down the corridors of Connaught Place, I saw a touching sight.

Two octogenarians were enjoying what clearly looked like a leisurely post-tea stroll.

Hand in hand, they looked the picture of love personified, the etched wrinkles only adding character to their time-worn faces.

The gentleman, attired in a shirt and loose trousers, had a small diary tucked neatly under his arm, while with the other hand, he gallantly held onto two colorful shawls, lest the evening decided to act nippy, in which case they could keep the chill at bay.

The lady, dressed gaily in a long, flowing violet-colored skirt and matching flip flops, clutched a small pouch, no doubt containing some currency.

A child, no more than 8, approached them, his arms covered with red rose buds.

As is their wont, he singled out the elderly couple, pulling at the lady’s skirt.

With a girlish laugh, she patted his head, and proceeded to make way with her husband.

The child was not to be that easily shaken-off.

Despite the lady’s vehement protests that they did not want to buy his roses, he looked like the sorts who refuse to hear ‘No’ for an answer.

And then he must have said something, because next I remember the lady tugging at her husband, who all this while, had an amused look on his vizened face.

A tender look replaced the amusement on his face, and the gentleman lovingly pushed back an errant strand of silver hair that had come out of the lady’s neatly coiffed hair.

Looking down at the child, he proceeded to grasp the posy of roses that was proffered to him; however, his wife shook her head and signaled ‘one.’

Much to the child’s diappointment, the elderly gentleman took one blood-red rose, and paid for it.

Off the child went to find his next customer.

All the attention of the gentleman now rested on his aldy love.

A gentle look on his face, he whispered something into his wife’s left ear – she blushed as prettily as a young bride, and still flushed with radiance, accepted the single rose he held out to her.

Mouthed a ‘Thank you,’ and with me still watching, she walked off, hand in hand, with the man she loved.

Who loved her back equally, if not more.

The sunset into which they walked, made a fitting background....

Kick the stick

Union Minister for Health and Family Welfare, Anbumani Ramadoss, is bound to be a happier man starting today, what with the stringent ban on smoking
in public places coming into effect.

The country's puffers are up in arms with him though, raising a hue
and cry, spluttering indignant protests against the ban, gathering for
community smoke sessions, twirling smoke from their fingers, venting
their angst at anyone who proffers a sympathetic ear.

Ramadoss though is intractable.

After all, though the No-smoking-in-public-places ban-Act was brought
out by the Center over three years, it remained just a piece of paper.

And now, the Act is back with a vengeance.

Extending itself to even those who swear by their preferred brand of
chimneys at the place they call home for 8 hours on weekdays – the
workplace.

Even those Organizations that have designated smoking zones are not to
entertain employees with ciggies. Penalties have been raised – from a
paltry Rs 200 to a sizeable Rs 1000 on violators.

Next are the proposed pictorial warnings on all tobacco products, due
to come into effect from December 01, 2008. So, there are orders in
place for graphic warnings on cigarette packets, which the Center
hopes will dissuade smokers or those who are keen to try out that one
addictive drag.

Non-smokers on the other hand, are a relieved lot - no longer will
they be passive smokers, or have to hear smokers' dry coughs, which
some say, sound like a mix between bleating goats and old, crotchety,
senile men.

It's not all that bad though - those who had been planning to 'kick the nicotine stick' feel this is the right time to do so. Some of their partners are even going so far as terming it Providential Intervention, in the guise of a national embargo.

A random glance at the busy Connaught Place today saw people looking furtively at their surroundings before taking a long drag on the taboo stick in hand, before hastily throwing it aside at the sight of the approaching 'thhulla' (policeman).


While there are two clear divisions over the proposed Act which is to
be implemented today, it remains to be seen if it proves to be a
success, or gets 'stubbed' out as it was, three years ago…

It's October

Hurray, it’s October!

One of my favourites when it comes to months.

Besides being my Mom’s birth month, October endears itself to me as this is the time spring kicks into high gear.

Before people descend into winter gloom (though winters are delicious too)..

October is the time when the skies are azure like in those clear-blue skied flight calendars,
the mornings crisp,
the temperature mild,
and the breeze brisk and invigorating.
The leaves are slowly turning at the tops of trees.

Take a morning walk in October to know what I mean.

Robert Frost brilliantly rose to the occasion when he penned this poem dedicated to October…

I quote below:

OCTOBER

O hushed October morning mild,
Thy leaves have ripened to the fall;
Tomorrow's wind, if it be wild,
Should waste them all.
The crows above the forest call;
Tomorrow they may form and go.
O hushed October morning mild,
Begin the hours of this day slow.
Make the day seem to us less brief.
Hearts not averse to being beguiled,
Beguile us in the way you know.
Release one leaf at break of day;
At noon release another leaf;
One from our trees, one far away.

- Robert Frost (1874 - 1963)

175th Oktoberfest: Munich (September 20 - October 05, 2008)

With best guy friend having touched Munich this month, and that too during the time when all ‘spirited’ roads lead to Munich, I can hardly be faulted for going green.

And not a very becoming color it is on my face, let me add.

After all Oktoberfest comes only once a year. Nonetheless, the 14 day long extravaganza leaves all hic-hic-happy people a lot to talk about for the rest of the year.

And ohhh, did I mention – it is the largest fair in the world.

And not all people go there to see racks of beer mugs balanced on well-structured women’s erm…racks, as you may think. Or only to try their luck at being able to find a sloshed girl and drink beer off her…you get the gist.

You have the serious drinkers who are only concerned with glugging all the beer they can manage to get their hands on. After all, that is what they were there for, weren’t there? There are those who liven it up by getting into traditional gear (read lederhosen [leather knee-breeches] for men and dirndls [bodice, blouse, full skirt and apron] for women). You have those who wear goofy hats, offset by goofy grins plastered all over their flushed faces. Then there the ones who do away with tons of traditional grub on display – cheese noodles, potato pancakes, sausages, pretzels etc.

The twleve-gun salute and the tapping ot the first keg of Oktoberfest beer at 12 noon by the Mayor of Munich, in accompaniment to hoarse cries, is the opening stroke. Colorful tents dot the area, music streaming out of them.

Getting back the customary Oktoberfest souvenir mug is di-rigeur.

As is getting back stories of revelry that will be begged for as encores by your granchildren.

Beer ahoy!

Hic!

Aaaaaaaaargh, I so wanna go.....

A scratchy affair

There are those people who wrinkle their noses when they take their petrol-guzzling pair of wheels to the gas station.

And then there are those like me who can scarcely wipe the delight writ large on her face when it is time for the trip to the one of ‘em gas stations.

This blog post, lest you may think is about gas (pun unintended), is not in the least about it. So before I go off into one of my favourite rambling sessions, let me launch into what this is all about.

Last week, on a Monday morning, while on my way to work, I chanced to see a car without scratches.

What’s the huge deal about it, you may ask.

Well, in a place like Delhi, where all cars, and I mean ALL cars, have at least half a dozen nicks, scrapes, and scratches, on their otherwise metallic frames, coming by a car without the proverbial graze is nothing short of a rarity.

Now, people do love their cars. In fact, some people love theirs more than they do their respective spouses. After all, there is nothing as liberating as getting behind the wheel, upping the surround system, rolling up the windows (depending on whether it is drizzling or not. In case of the former, the windows are rolled down), and settling out for a spin about town, the highway, the suburban mall, or what you will. Add to that, the car, not just a means of conveyance, has a striking personality of its own too.

So you have macho men who become gooey-eyed when they scrub their beauties on wheels, and stand back to look at their piece of art, covered with suds (the car I mean. Duh!). You also have the busy executive, who before settling down into his cushy sedan with his copy of the Economic Times, decides to take a step back and see the beauty he rides, caresses it lovingly, and then takes a step in.

You also have the girl who takes a look at herself in the rear-view mirror of the car she is paying EMIs for from her current job. Satisfied, she smiles, saying a silent prayer of thanks for the ability to drive down, come rain or shine, to any place that takes her fancy (read the mall, the salon, the grocery mart, the NGO for children etc).

Despite people guarding their cars with their life, the inevitable, ugly scratch rears its head, leaving behind distressed sighs from the owners.

And some exasperated / pained looks from the fathers who have shelled-out money from their pockets for these wheels.

If only….

The Big-Bang recreated

With the ‘Big Bang’ experiment having begun about 4 hours back, the world and all its brother is crying over how it will could earthquakes and tsunamis, bringing us closer to Judgment Day, our Maker, apocalypse, the day of reckoning, what you will etc.

Which is why the scientists working on the experiment have been snowed under by threatening calls and visits by outraged and anxious people, who believe the entire world is jeopardised by the research.

The physicists initiated this most ambitious atom-smashing research today at 1300 hours IST at European Center for Nuclear Research (CERN). Similarities to a virtual time machine are glaringly obvious, what with the Large Hadron Collider (LHC), a $10 billion and a 17-mile long particle accelerator lying in a circular tunnel, attempting to reveal how the universe came into existence 1.4 billion years ago.

While the entire world monitors the progress of this trial with growing panic and / or anxiety, there are yet others who believe that this will part the clouds for the one of the biggest mysteries for us.

The world is divided into two clear sects again.

To be continued…

The Sale Story

Sale.

A four letter word, guaranteed to send most people of my gender into a tizzy, and their male counterparts into a paroxysm of utter gloom, their grimaces barely concealed by the watery smiles they manage to write on their faces.

But you can hardly blame them.

The women, I mean.

After all, why wouldn’t they? That alluring lime-colored dress that had been making them go weak in the knees for months, and which was almost as addictive as looking at dishy Clooney in the Omega full-page advert, with genuine avarice in the eyes, is up for grabs.

At an unbeatable price slash.

One would be a fool to let go of such an alluring offer.

So why wouldn’t that make them put on their trainers, and make a beeline to the morning queue outside the store, where a number of other like-minded women had decided to make a mad sprint to, too?

Inside, the scene is nothing short of a war, where women of all shapes and sizes sweat it out to get that last wine-colored bolero jacket, the tan waistcoat, those charcoal-grey flannel trousers…

There is no time to waste over phone calls – so any calls received are done so in under thirty seconds – a record of sorts. Unless of course the caller in question has called with news of another discount in the vicinity, in which case the phone call is attended to with the utmost reverence…

Amid jostling, cussing, eyebrow-raising, and the odd stepping on one another’s toes, when one emerges with the garment / object of contention, it is nothing short of a victory.

And the look upon your colleague / acquaintance when you smugly show her the winning article – priceless, to say the least….

Yakkety-yak people and their instruments of mass annoyance

If aliens from a planet yonder spend a good amount of time peering at mortals, and if one of them right at this moment is penciling a sketch of one of us, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was an outline of a person with a hand to his ear, holding that much (mis)used gadget – the mobile phone.

Cellphones – ahh. Where do I even start from?

Everyone seems to have one these days.

Which is perfectly fine by me.

Except when it starts grating on your senses, making you want to snatch it.

Like off the ear of the person sitting with you at the restaurant where it has been doggedly perched for the last ten minutes. Instead of enjoying his meal, and using the cutlery neatly arrenged in front of him, the bloke with you is more intent on keeping one of his arms leaning on the teak table, to support the darned thing that is glued to his ear.

It’s only that you have sworn off violence altogether that you are able to keep those murderous intentions at bay, and instead smile sweetly through your second glass of bubbly.

Any other time, and the bubbly would have fizzled out of your chute glass into the surprised face of your companion.

You have many who swear by their cells, probably carrying them to their washrooms too, lest a call / message escape their ever-vigilant eyes.

And if they forget to was their hands after doing their ermm..business, cos they are going yakkety-yak on their phones, what’s a little unhygiene after all. Righto?

Sheesh!

Yesterday, while watching a movie, there were quite a few samples who obviously espoused the have-cellphone-and-my-ringtone-is-by-far-the-loudest-and-don’t-you-forget-that-in-a-hurry syndrome. So right in the middle of a lachrymose dialogue being spouted by the leading lady on the silver screen, an ear-splitting, nasal song announced its esteemed presence.

Several tut-tuts from the people around, and the owner of the offending instrument silenced it. Several minutes passed, and once again the audience settled into some peaceful movie-watching.

Not for too long though.

An old Bollywood number, warning a babu to walk slowly and cautiously on the path to love, ridden with treachery, trilled its tune for all to listen. Gasps of annoyance escaped from the audience.

Oh hell!

Haven’t these people heard of vibrate / silent modes?

And to those insolent people who stare sullenly at me when I stick out my tongue and ball my fist menacingly at them upon hearing their shrieking ringtones, here’s what I have to say…

Bite me!

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...