MInd our business

A curious thing about us Indians – we are a curious lot. We make it our business to poke our nose in other people’s affairs. I have been pointedly asked some very perturbing questions right from my salary to my bust size. However, what really annoys me is when people take the unasked for onus on themselves to chastise an act that hardly affects them in any manner. And even more vexing, they will talk but wouldn't spare a drop of sweat to rectify it.

Case in point: My plumpness. I admit it, I am no size zero. I used to be a size 6 but that was a long long long time ago. Granted I could lose a few pounds, but a hectic lifestyle afford me with very little time to indulge in weight-loss activities (I would much rather use that time to nurse the bags under my eyes with therapeutic shut-eye). It also does not help my case, that India happens to nurture rather slender stalks as an excuse for women (Food crisis be damned! Has Bush seen the paltry amount these women eat in name of a dinner?).

Nevertheless, I am secure in myself and knee-deep in the conviction that my friends, family, would-be husband are in love with me for the person that resides within the physical shell.

My confidence must not be shining at its fullest these days. For Auntys have taken it upon themselves to tell me that I have put on weight since I last met them 2 years ago. Of course, their hips don’t lie but then again, they have been busy birthing children. I smile and nod, patting the tummy and promising them I will work on it. These days, the commetary has become so frequent that I am marking all the exit routes as soon as I enter the room. My situation is further aggravated their eternally slim daughters, who I secretly wish in moments of envy, are bulimic. I vented to a friend online who pointed out that in many cultures, such as India, saying that you look big is actually an indirect way of appreciating the good times that have fallen on you. Fair enough, but I ask, must you appreciate it every time I see you?

And, here is the clincher. A work colleague who thinks its his moral responsibility to point out every time I am inserting fare into my mouth and saying "How much you eat" for exacerbated effect. That is when I lost it. Auntys I have to bear, work colleagues who know less about me than they know about the Dalai Lama, are going to be whacked. And this one was. I told my colleague that my weight or lack thereof, was none of his business, in no less words. It’s not like I am eating his flesh or for that matter, embezzling money from him for my meals. My money, my body, my mouth, my food. Back off okay. Unless he is ready to foot every meal bill and pay for those weight-loss programs, maybe he can shut his hole and mind his own business. Not mine.

More rain mayhem...

Perhaps only Seattle in the US experiences the kind of torrential rains that lash on us poor Mumbaites. Then again, they probably have some great infrastructure in place to combat it, knowing the penchant Americans have to be organized and prepared. Those of us living at the mercy of the Indian bureaucracy that manages a city that has historically been shaped haphazardly, are not as fortunate. Every other day, I am wading through ankle-deep puddles – bye bye stilettos and pretty pretty heels, hello sandals. I made the mistake of getting a pedicure after my first day walking in puddles – it lasted 5 minutes in the muck. I also have learnt to gingerly feel my way around gutters on the sidewalks– there are many open gutters and ones that are covered, are only just barely. There is a fair chance that they might collapse into the gutter when subjected to a human weight. I shudder at the vision of me stepping on one, which promptly gives way and I drop into a dark, rat-infested tunnel full of trash and faeces, and god-knows-what-else infected water.

I also wonder if the mortality rate of pigeons is directly proportional to the onset of rains. For there seem to be an increasing number of dead pigeons on the roads, sidewalks and building compounds. The ones I have witnessed so far, are completely squashed, the bones sticking out of their blue, spattered feathers and bloody, mangled heads mixed in with thick, pasty mud. Quite the appetizing sight before dinner, sigh!

But, Indians have developed a thick skin for hardships and we still manage to have our fun. With the rains, comes the chance for all sorts of warm food – fried dumplings in tomato sauce or how about barbecued corn with butter, lemon and red chilli powder smeared all over. Of course, cradling that steaming, hot cup of coffee or tea in your hands while watching the rivulets of water run down the glass window is a joy entirely its own. I love the verdant green carpet that covers everything, bringing a liveliness to even the dullest rock.The scent of wet earth is intoxicating - I often times stop by the garden, just to take in a few whiffs of the heady aroma. An, it is an amazing feeling to peek out from under my cozy covers to watch rain drops kiss the green leaves in the wee hours of morning.

I have been meaning to get a few pictures of the rains but turns out my camera is not exactly waterproof. Hopefully, I can share a slice of my rainy life soon J

Rain madness

It has been barely three days since the rain gods have undone the silver lining that binds the dark clouds and Mumbai already feels as if it has been in the throes of monsoon for weeks. Over the weekend, I had the (mis)fortune of traveling to all parts of the city and watched the monsoon saga unfold in front of eyes – some scenes were amazing and, others just blew my mind.

As late as Thursday, I was grumbling to my mother about the balmy weather and how I wished it would just pour already and douse the searing heat. I should have wished for a million dollars – by nighttime, people were running drenched on the streets, caught off-guard by the sudden onset of rains. Within minutes, the vendors had put up bright yellow -colored plastic tarpaulins over their little carts, staving off the showers they assumed would last only for a few hours, if at all. Ha! The torrential rains whipped the city all night – letting up only for a few hours of the early morning. But one could see the signs that heralded the oncoming of monsoon everywhere – the bus floors were marked with mucky imprints of shoes, umbrellas were ensconced under the shoulder of travelers, traffic cops were wearing their flimsy, shiny yellow, translucent ponchos that did not stand a chance of keeping them dry. Parts of Bombay had already flooded by this time – the compact cars struggled to wade through water that was steadily rising and creeping through the crevices into the cars. The whole city was so easily crippled by the rains – and to think, these were only the pre-monsoon showers!

Later in the morning, I happened to visit a friend in Bandra- we were sitting outside a coffeeshop at Bandstand, overlooking the sea. It was a beautiful morning – cool and refreshing breeze blew from the sea as it lashed against the rocks. As we sat drinking coffee, it got dark as the clouds glided over us and let loose once again. It became extremely windy - so much so that the umbrella we were sitting under swayed precariously before toppling over. Like a scene out of a movie, giant waves laced with white foam rose up out of the tumultuous sea and crashed over the rocks. I don’t think I will be able to forget the wondrous display of the force of nature – how humbling an experience it was!

Of course, the BMC failed to contain the water logging once again. In a classic and expected case of bureaucratic lethargy, the BMC’s false assurances that they had prepared adequately for the rains were shamelessly exposed as many parts of the city reported rising water levels and many citizens called into radio stations with reports of accidents, crawling and in some cases, non-moving traffic as a result of water logging. Yet, with great effrontery, one of the BMC officials on radio today morning claimed that there was little flooding and congestion due to the rains. He failed to mention that the fire department had SOSed the Navy to send in rescue boats to help citizens stranded in the “little flooding.” It is quite appalling that the municipal corporation of a city about the size of New York can be so ill-prepared to deal with a crisis that it faces annually with predictable regularity. How many times do they have to do it wrong before they get it right?

(Joke: How many BMC officials does it take to screw in a lightbulb?

Ans: For your request, you have to first fill in a form, with black ink, deposit it, then follow-up on the file, ensure the supervisor is “happy” with what he sees, get the form signed, take it back to the official, only to find out he is out at lunch, wait for an hour for him to return, whereupon he will ask you to fill in the next form……..).