Love is in my pages

God has a funny of going about his divine interventions. I wonder if he crafts his plans out with painstaking detail or just poops it out sitting on the crapper, chewing through his cigar? And, although I believe that he has my best interest in heart, I have to wonder if he does not take a special glee in torturing my soul, dragging it through muck, nose smooshed into the ground to make his point.

More than Superman’s chaddi ka colour, it is public knowledge that my mother has wanted me to tie the knot for quit some time now. Since I was 18, actually. Find love. Settle down. Falana falana dimka. I have dodged the bullet till now. And, with the program I am currently studying, human contact let alone relationships feel like unfathomable phenomena.

But then, along comes an assignment. Wherein, I come up with an insight that for women, searching for boots is like searching for their man – the ONE. I come up with a few other strategies as well but the teacher likes this one so much, she insists I only work further on that. She does not even WANT to look at my other ideas, apparently so well have I nailed this strategy down.

Quite a victory, right? Go ahead silly girl, pat yourself on the back. NO. For now, I have been trapped into a maze of love. I have been staying away from love, avoiding a relationship to focus on this course. But for the very same course, I am neck deep in love research. It has become a full-time job. I am reading love poems, blogs, articles on finding your soulamtes, browsing through personals, love quotes, synonyms, love love love. Dripping in sweetness, dark night under the moon and stars, champagne and strawberries, cuddling in bed love. It makes me acutely aware of how not in a relationship I am, how I am only the proverbial “aadha”. That I am SINGLE.

And now, I really want to MINGLE.

Not cool, God. NOT. COOL.

(Bawls)

All in a night's work

Right now, I will tell you this is a thoroughly immoral, stupid post. But, it needs to be chronicled so here goes:

We started the night as a typical Circus Thursday night – meeting up for drinks at Moe’s and Joe’s – an old bar with wooden seats, a jukebox that was never updated from since the 70s, graffiti made from sharpie that has somehow become the staple haunt of Circus kids for the sol reason that PBR is sold here for really cheap. And, we are despicably broke.

It was a pretty good night to be out. The weather was pleasant and cool and we enjoyed a round of drinks sitting on the makeshift patio outside the bar. We even lined up against the gates, so people who were coming in thought we were the bouncers. Some even flipped out their IDs for us. We played along, asking them for an admission fee as well but fessed up when they actually started paying us. Damn you, conscience!

It was BG’s birthday and by popular vote, it was decided to take him to a strip club (ATL is famous for insane number of strip clubs and porn-related stores – I’ve never been to a more sex-obsessed city). Our party broke and we headed to M’s place while some other went and picked up more friends. On our way there, we decided that we had to count all the bumps on the road just like the Count would on Sesame Street (the show, stupid). At every bump we’d go, “ Onnnnne! One bump! Aa!Aa!Aa!”, “Twoooooo! Twooooh bumps! Aa! Aa! Aa!” “Threeeeeee!Three bumps! Aa!Aa!Aa”…you get the idea.

Then at M’s place, we got bored of waiting and D’s buzz was wearing out. So, M pulled out some Absinthe, a euphism really for Some Nasty Shit. The sadder thing is that we actually drank it- it smelt like black liquerish but that’s where the similarities ended.

Thereafter, M took us on a tour of his complex and we decided to explore the restooms in greater detail. As I came out of the women’s room, I saw K walking down the hallway with his belt flailing and pants unzipped. His shirt covered his gentleman parts. As I did a double-take and balked, he said to me, "What Did you see my underwear, no right?” Oh, the joy of being one of the guys.

You might think this is where the debauchery ended, but hardly. We were heading to a strip club remember. We did make it there, and we did remember to print out a coupon for free entry( yes, we are resourceful when it comes to not paying for anything - even boob watching). And, BG got about 7 lap-dances that night. His girl friend also got one. Honestly, she looked like she enjoyed it more than he did. Stripper seemed to be more comfortable letting her touch than him anyway.

The night ended with me and D walking home from the club. Not to fear, we live right down the block from it, next to the largest liquor store in the neighbourhood. Yea, we are pimpin’ like that.

Naat.

I miss..

Having Mom wake me up in the mornings.

Seeing her sitting on the floor, reading the newspaper with her steaming morning tea.

Watching my brother take his G.I. Joes, He-Mans and Hot Wheels into the shower. Don't ask me why. I don't know. Really.

The smell of melting ghee that Mom would smear over hot chapatis.

Wishing all the family members "Goodnight" when we retired to bed.

Talking random stuff with my brother as we lay in our beds, trying to sleep.

Sitting on the terrace on a cold night, using matchsticks to decorate our hands with henna.

Shelling peas with my aatya, Rani tai and Mom.

Mom showing me how to scrape off dried henna with oil.

Going for walks on mini Seashore and eating pani puri right after.

Being surprised with chikki or falooda when my parents got home from work.

Playing Land and Water, Hide and Seek, Sakhli, Lagori with colony friends.

Getting my ass whooped by my bro in badminton(but secretly proud that he played so well).

Playing badminton late at night till we could barely make out the shuttlecock/birdie. And, with imaginary nets.

My brother making phulkas under Mom's supervision(I baked the cake).

Visitng Mom's office in World Trade Center and pressing every floor on the elevator( there were 32).

Setting the table for Sunday lunch - tata, vatya, chamche, paanyacha jug, glasses and awesome food!

Watching an afternoon movie after Sunday lunch.

Dad saying all the punchlines of the movie we were watching.

The TV remote spazzing out when Dharmendra came on screen(Dad was the biggest fan ever!).

Dad touching my head and pretending he was burnt everytime I was angry...which happened a lot!

Chasing my brother when he irritated me. Then, him chasing me to hit me back.

My brother doing the "Hrithik" dance from Kaho na Pyaar hai..tining tining tining tin nin nin...

Biting into hot juicy, roasted, chilli-lemon smeared bhuttas when it was wet and rainy out.

Going to my aunt's office and THEN asking for a dosa. Sada, not masala.

Playing Jolly with school friends. Princess M! Had a mole on her hand so you could never win with her!

Getting to school early to copy out other people's homework.

Imitating teachers during the free periods. Pal, Albert, Nair Madam... ahhh esss come back!

Riding a bicycle with my Dad supporting the back.

Picking at scabs, pricking blisters even though we were told not to.

Going to school in blue and grey uniforms. Coming home in brown. And without the tie.

Climbing the colony gates and jumping over..

Swinging on the school gates.

Antakshari on the school bus ride home.

(incomplete)

3 months exactly...

since i last wrote on the blog. I miss random venting.

Is there an app for that?

6 Iphone apps Apple needs to create right now...

Call checker - App would predict the mood of the person I am calling. Sad, angry, with their OTHER girlfriend, horny, whatever… I can figure out if now’s a good time to ask Dad for some cash. Or not. Guys could totally use it to get some phone sex action. And maybe, then some.

Cheer Up app - Tells me I look fabulous even on my most bloated days. I press a button and a eulogy fit for a goddess pours forth, praising my name to the heavens. It’ll even give me frequently needed boosts like, “You are nothing like that bitch you work with."

I want that app – when I see a girl wearing the shoes I want the app allows me to take a picture of it and finds the fastest and cheapest place to get it. Bit stalkerish, but it’s a sin to pass up good fashion.

Translation app – An app that converts all the sports mumbo-jumbo into lay woman terms. So we woman can actually make sense of the words coming out of his mouth. An adaptation of this for guys would decode what we really mean even though we say it’s ok.

Teen pregnancy app – I thought of this cos of a friend’s brother who’s having a baby. And, he’s only 18. This app would have all the shocking pictures of childbirth that teens should watch before making out. If they still have the stomach for it after…

Parents Alert app – Sounds off the alarm when the fam is within a mile of the house so that I have enough time to clean up and throw out the boyfriends they don't know exist, among other things.

Day 7 Important lessons in Sri Lanka

Sri Lankans are a proud people. Their sense of dignity manifests itself in several ways. Most SL will sport the Sri Lankan flag – unlike India, it is not a crime to hang the flag at your home or location of business. In fact, it seems to be encouraged. But, my personal experiences have shown me just how much these people value their esteem.

We had taken B’s cousins along with us to visit Galle. B’s aunt had instructed her boys that each was supposed to buy the entire group something during the trip – it was their way of saying thanks or returning the favour. At least, that’s what I was able to glean from it. The elder one did his job fairly well, buying us popsicles at Galle. I for one was at my multitasking best as I sucked an orange popsicle, trying to hold down my skirt that threatened to do a Marilyn Monroe in the sea breeze, avoiding afore-mentioned popsicle from spilling on my white skirt, clutching onto my itty-bitty purse and holding down a cap of my head. Thankfully there is no record of this most harrowing and embarrassing experience.

Anyways, back to the dignity thing. The little one had been trying hard for an opportunity to buy us something, anything. But, when you are small, it’s not that easy to get elders to listen to you. So, he tried buying us coffee and was shooed away from the counter by B, who paid. Then, he attempted to buy a Milo and water and his attempts were completely washed out by me. We returned to Colombo and he had still not bought us anything. Not that he hadn’t tried or that we complained. So what does the little fella do? He comes over to B’s house the next morning with Milo milkshakes for us. That’s when I realized that their sense of self-respect is very important to them. They do not like being burdened under someone else’s favours.

The second incident happened when me and B went shopping. We stopped for lunch at a restaurant. I ordered food that was way too much for me. So, after eating my fill, I thought I’d get it packed and we could have it later. I said so to this effect to B who just shrugged and said, “Leave it.”

Well, I wasn’t about to and said I’d request the waiter to pack it. B urged again to leave it, that it didn’t matter, let’s go. I couldn’t figure out what had gotten into her. This place had takeaway boxes so it’s not like I was asking for something unfeasible. She whispered to get to takeaway box from the counter and leave, not wait for the waiter. I countered that there was a long line at the counter. Besides, the waiter would do it much more neatly than I could.

Finally, a distraught looking B hissed, “Just leave it, will you? It’s just not done. You don’t ask for takeaways after you ordered.” I was shocked and asked her mockingly, “What? Is it like below your dignity to ask for one.” To which I got a taciturn reply of, “Yes, it is beneath our dignity. It’s not done. Now, leave this plate and let’s go.”

My practical sense fought against this waste of food. But when in Rome, do as the Romans. I think for B, it was more important to preserve her respect than save a few morsels of food. And, perhaps when I finally agreed to her, she was relieved and hopefully forgave me for my slight oversight in Sri Lankan customs.

Day 6

We went to Galle today. Nothing spectacular to look at barring the Galle fort built by the Dutch. Hence very colonial and charming in every way that a colonial Dutch building is. There was even a totally rad coat of arms at the entrance.

But the most interesting part was the ride there and back.

Colombo to Galle was the worst hit area during the tsunami of 2004. While most the area has recovered from the setback, the scars can still be seen. Several houses had been rebuilt and stood with fresh costs of paint next to some not so fortunate ones. Water had seeped into every pore of these homes. Walls lay broken like bits of a cookie, crumbling into the foundation. Walls were covered in festering moss. Homes lay raped open and hollow, stark naked on either side with only few concrete bits, shreds of clothing holding their integrity together. Their gaping windows screaming a sad song, remembering a forgotten time. In some other places, the only trace of a house ever having been there was the rubble, as if it wasn’t a house that existed 4 years ago but had been dead for centuries. In others, Mother Nature in her all-embracing way had enveloped the standing structures with grass and new life in form of small trees and shrubs had begun to spring forth from it.

As I looked at the remains of the destruction on one side and the gurgling sea on the other, I could only feel the heavy weight of the sadness twisting my heart. It was an experience that I could only feel myself alone, not to be shared with anyone. Feel this pain and remember it always, carry us with you always, try and stop this from happening again, whispered the homes to me.

I will. Always.

Day 5 - longest day ever!

Today, we travelled to Polonorruwa - the capital of Sri Lanka at one point of time. If you ever want a preview of what Hell feels like, go there. The weather is unbearably hot and dripping humid – temperatures hovered around an unbearable 38 degrees( CELSIUS) throughout. The afternoon sun didn’t help much either. There was not one pore of my body that wasn’t sweating during the entire time. God’s sense of humour must have been working overtime during era Polonnrauwa was built because this city is also home to perhaps the largest man-made lake in SL. Built decades of centuries ago for to provide water for the dry farmlands, this lake now stands a serene blue expanse, brimming with shimmering liquid. It took all my willpower not to toss my clothes and jump into the invitingly cool waters. That and the fact that I would break my bones jumping out of a speeding car.

Like Sigriya, Polonorruwa has an acient history. King Parakramabanu created the lake and built the giant citadel as well. Unfortunately, later conquests and Mother Nature have destroyed most of the palace and the ancient city. What are left are a few viharas , a giant statue of an erudite sage and 3 large statues of Buddha. All carbed into the fucking rock!

Walking among the ruins of the city, we realized how much effort must have been put in these cities. The ruins have stood the test of time which is further proof of the craftsmanship devoted to them. I was awestruck walking through them, almost transported to a different time. Looking at the statues, noticed the intricate details carved into the rock – the painstaking detail in minarets, Buddha’s curly coif, his serene expression must have taken several hours of manpower to chisel. Even then, the mind could not fathom the beauty of this long-forgotten city. It’s at times like these that I wish our brilliant scientists would hurry up and create a time machine so that I go back in time and see the grandeur of the cities in their hey-day.

AS if the heat wasn’t enough, the artisans in these cities have taken a special pleasure to build staircases EVERYWHERE. It seems like we have just been climbing up and down, up and down stairs for the last two days. Of course, not to be outdone, the Archeological Society of Sri Lanka has happily placed more marble stairs, in every place the ancient artisans have overlooked.

As with all great travels, we lost our way on the journey back. Don’t ask me how, I was asleep. That’s another thing, I seem have developed an infinite capacity to sleep on this trip. Put me in a whirring car or plane and I am promptly comatose.

But wherever it was that we took a wrong turn, it took us straight into the heart of spice gardens of Nalanda – don’t get too excited like I did. The gardens are hardly anything like lavish tea plantations that we have seen Aamir prancing about in. I expected aromas of cinnamon, basil, mint and more to fill the air but sadly, that was not so. Just spice shrubs growing in pots or rising from the earth all over the place. Moreover, I was informed that if I tried to buy some “authentic” spices from these gardens, I was twice as likely to be thugged and sold spices at “paryatak”(tourist) rates.

The only good thing about being a “paryatak” in SL, was that our car was not stopped at any of the checkpoints all the way to Colombo. It seems that the strife with the LTTE has cost SL dearly, with tourism taking a nose-dive. So, the army has been recruiting public speaking classes for its jawans so that they may learn to speak in a polite and friendly way. There is also the uncommunicated understanding that tourists are to be minimally harassed. So, with a quick check of our IDs, we were sent off at the first checkpoint.

Only to be stopped again 15 minutes later. Memories of my Texan/Mexican adventure flashed in my mind. That time I didn’t even have a passport on me. I clung to it dearly as a silent prayer escaped my lips – let this trip not turn ugly, please. The dude in fatigues looked at my passport, asked me India? As I weakly nodded, my eyes as wide as a deer dazed by headlights, he smiled at me. A thousand watt, flashing smile that reassured me all was well.

We came home all exhausted and had a hearty dinner where a second helping zinged its way onto my plate, catching me unawares. Aunty B! My bloated stomach pleaded mercy but Mothers, you can’t win against them, na? My eyes are drooping shut and I shall now happily collapse into bed. Sweet dreams!

Day 4

Sri Lanka is a beautiful country. I have never seen so many shades of green bursting forth all around me. The splendor of nature here shames the word “life” with its vivacity. Everywhere I look, there’s lush and thriving greenery. And, everywhere I look mangoes and jackfruits hang low on their trees, some as low as my hip. One could just reach out and pluck them. It’s as if the entire country does not realize what treasure troves of delicious sweetness lies within its grasp. I am tempted to be a mischievous imp and pelt down the mangoes with stones or climb the trees and collect some in my skirt and run. Only repeating “foreign national, foreign national” like a mantra has kept me from breaking into a mad frenzy and grabbing the delicious mangoes.
Conversation as B and I are examining crystals and gemstones at a souvenir vendor at Sigriya
Aunty B: Aaah stones. B, didn’t you want a stone for your skin, baby?
B: Umm, err, you mean a pumice stone?
Aunty B: Hmm, that’s not there. Oh okay.

Aunty B is so darn cute! She is also phobic, maniacally phobic about public restrooms. You should have seen her rushing out of one that we had stopped at on the way – it was like the restroom had caught fire!

A step-by-step guide to creating your own Vanar Sena(Monkey Army)
Preparation time: 5-10 minutes.
Step 1. Buy a bunch of sweet Rabutan(a fleshy fruit like the litchi, with red skin and green spikes on the outside).
Step 2. Ignore all warning signs.
Step 3. Feed one Rabutan to one monkey.
Step 4. Stand back and watch. Pretty soon, monekys will materialize from bushes, tops of trees, nooks and crannies of the pathway, eagerly anticipating more Rabutan.
Step 5. Start walking away with the Rabutan. Watch with glee as malicious monkeys snarl and follow you in an attempt to snatch away the fruit.
Step 6. Maintain leadership by holding fast to the Rabutan – even if monkeys threaten to perch on your head. Show them who’s the boss!
Step 7. Enjoy the satisfaction of having led a Vanar Sena, for 5 or 15 minutes or whatever length of time you survived.
Note: Injuries including but not limited to scratches and bites may be experienced. Attempt at your own risk.

Day 3

I woke up at 6.30 am today. Not bad for being on vacation. In fact, we all went for a walk around beautiful Independent Square in the morning. Built to commemorate SL’s independence, the square is an intricately carved structure with lions ornamenting the length and breadth of the square. Around it is a beautifully maintained, vibrant green garden that had been freshly watered (or it had rained last night). It smelled heavenly and made for a lovely experience in the morning. When we returned home, Uncle B treated me to some fresh coconut water. He shaved off the “Tammili” as he called it right in front of me and drained out the sweet, cooling liquid for me. A walk in the cradle of history and Mother Nature and coconut water every morning. I might not tire of this vacation at all.

We went to shop at the International Convention Center here. Being the Tamil New Year, there are discount sales and fairs happening in every nook and cranny and the ICC(International City Center, not the cricket board) supposedly has some VERY good deals. And they did. I bought some delicious SL pickles – something native to take home with me. B’s parents used the fair as an excuse to get away and buy a gift for B whose birthday was on the next day. I too had forgotten this itsy-bitsy fact (as many who know me are aware, I am besieged by amnesia since birth, which also I have no recollection of) but since I had travelled so many miles to see her, I was somewhat forgiven.

After shopping, we were to head to B’s aunt’s house for lunch. I had developed a migraine and wanted to rest my thumping head in the car. As the car pulled out of the ICC, I thought the mind was playing games with me because I distinctly heard Aunty B say, “Look! An alligator.” When I heard it again a second time, followed by B’s “Yeah, right out here on the road too.” the eyes snapped open. An alligator on the road? I had to see this. Sure enough, it was this critter cooling strolling on the road.



If you can’t make out, let me help you.



A ginormous monster lizard was walking on a public street of the capital city!

It was like being on an urban safari. The chilled out G that he was, the lizard shuffled his way along and smoothly made his way onto the grassy pavement when he saw our car blocking his way. As if, he was doing a favour by making way for us on his lane.

Pumped with adrenaline and a throbbing head, I arrived at B’s aunt’s place. I eagerly lunged for the pain killers to get the thumping out of my head and popped 2 in my enthusiasm. And then I fell asleep for 2 hours. When I woke, I couldn’t have been more mortified! I’d fallen asleep in a stranger’s house that I visited for the very first time without so much as talking to them for five minutes! There was some drowsy crap in those pills that NO ONE told me! Half-asleep, half-Neanderthal, I walked out and talked to Aunty.

B led me to the lunch spread- everyone else had of course eaten already. Lunch was prepared by B’s granny and at the end of it, I wanted to kneel down and kiss those gifted hands. It was – chicken cutlets, cuttlefish in spicy coconut curry, prawns, cucumber and pineapple salad, sweet, lightly fried plantains. She converted the fish hater like me into a freaking shark. I gorged on all that delicious food and topped it off with traditional SL dessert of cold yogurt with honey.

The simplicity of the dessert yet its immense flavor made me realize that simplicity is what fills our heart with pleasure rather than the elaborate schemes of lavish palaces and umpteen luxuries that our minds fool us into believing. I discovered today that a full stomach is the taut drum on which the baton of philosophy is free to wield itself and create lilting harmony.

A profoundly exciting day.

Marriage Blurs and blues

It was my birthday yesterday. That time of the year when you look back and wonder - how the hell did I grow up? I was trying so hard to avoid this!

And then, the sense of humour life has, I get an email that chills my very soul.



In case, you are having trouble figuring out what I am talking about, let me help you.


Yes, dear ones, after months of suspicion that my parents have my profile set up on Bharat Matrimony, there was proof staring me in the face. Apparently, all the vehement refusals to marry fell on deaf ears. I didn't have time to ponder over poor blokes who'd be traumatized for life after meeting me. I was wallowing in the depression of having to deal with rishtas, muhh dikhai, chai, kanda pohe and the whole sha-bang (At this point I just left and went and ate a whole chocolate excess pastry, I needed the endorphins).

When I came back then I opened the mail. This is what I saw:



There were 51 different matches for my profile and they were ALL WOMEN!
It’s real heartening to know that my parents think I am a lesbian (Where's the rest of that chocolate excess?)

Edit: After calming my nerves, I investigated and have to come to know that there is dude ou there with the same email as me – except his has a dot in the id that just about every website omits. I realized it’s the same chap whose bank statements kept coming to me till I threatened to empty his entire bank account the next time I got his bank statement in my email.

Unfortunately, he took me seriously. Pity, I could have done so much with the extra cash.

Like stealing all my thunder :(

Yes, I am well-aware that I have posted only 2 of the 10 days of my amazing , gloroius vacation that I am so unhappy to be back from that I have taken to snarling in addition to grunting in the mornings. While I promise I will post it as soon as minor hitches are sorted(Benedict for example might give snails a run for their money when it comes to mailing stuff. We are talking E-mailing here), there are some other awesome things I want to write about.

Like this game for example. Pathwords. I want to create a word just to say how amazing it is. Like fanta-stupen-impress-lous or even better(suggestions welcome). No seriously. I am in love with the game. More than coffee. It's as if all those years poring and memorizing word lists for my SATs have been preparing me for this day. Except that I never really remember or can spell words longer than 5 letters on this game. I play it ALL the time.

Ok, well not all the time. People keep interupting me in the middle of it. Like i am in the middle of this great streak, whacking off words here and there and someone comes in with work. W-O-R-K, 20 points! Then I have to stop and there's no pause on it of course, so i lose my brilliant score. Fucking not so brilliant geniuses who didn't put a pause button in there when they made the game.

And, then the worst thing ever happened. Like EVER. I made 580 points and this is like only my 3rd day of really playing this(I wanted to throw a party and eat a cake, except that I remembered I am on a sort of lifestyle change..more on that later). And facebook froze! went limp. unresponsive. Corpse-like. U get the idea. An, my brilliant score is not even getting published :((((((
I have been waiting for the last 30 minutes for the page to shake itself and post my score.
An, now i feel like Phoebe who was on hold for days on end for her phone to get repaired. I might just go in a corner an cry. That's how much it hurts (the fact that I am a competitive Nazi and a spoilsport is totlly irrelevant here).

Day 2

B’s home is super far from the airport. It felt like forever getting there. On the way, you could see cops and the army - there were check posts and nakabandis even at 4 am in the night. I promptly crashed as soon as we reached home.
Morning brought a lovely breakfast of home-made omelettes and rich SL coffee (NOT Nescafe). I haven’t had either in so long that I had forgotten how good it was. Nevertheless, the caffeine did not stop me from being a sloth and sleeping for most of the day. Yes, this is exactly what I flew 7 hours for. The time I was awake, I remember taking a tour of the city. Here’s what I can remember:
- A man taking a bath on the street. Yes, he was furiously scrubbing himself with soap with a small sheet wrapped around him. Quite the communion with nature.
- Red prickly fruit with green spikes over it. Its called Rabutan. Haven’t eaten it yet although I am assured I will be soon. This should be interesting.
- SL has this curious thing where people will dump all their garbage on one particular spot in the street. The rest of the road is clean, garbageless. But there’s no public dustbin there, not one. The reason being that guerillas, terrorists etc. could put bombs in the trash bins, making them very hazardous to have around. Never thought I’d appreciate my dustbin’s harmlessness so much.

Hot diggity damn! I am soooo rich in SL. The Indian rupee is more than twice the SL rupee. So, I converted my money and KA-CHING! At this point, I don’t care about the rest of the trip. Ok, I do but only because I want to spend my Benjis knowing full well that I am spending sooooo little, haha.

Day 1

It really doesn’t help anyone when both the international and domestic airports are called Chhtrapati Shivaji International Airport. So while some politicians have been listing “renamed airport” under list of achievements in their resume, I was struggling with figuring out which airport my flight was from. See, the challenge was that I was connecting in Chennai but I didn’t know if I was transferring to another aircraft or would remain in the same that would then go ahead to Colombo. After frantic calls 3 hours before my flight to travel agents and customer care and the like, I was relieved of my misery that it was the domestic airport after all.
Side note: What is wrong with the politicians? Was there only one noteworthy Maratha in all of our illustrious history? Our heritage doesn’t seem that illustrious or old if all we could produce over the MILLIONS of years was ONE great king, no? Perhaps the politicians should devoted more time scratching their heads than their balls when renaming everything in sight and we would have had a diversity of names to sport – Ahilbai Holkar, Vinoba Bhave , Lokmanaya Tilak do spring to mind fairly easily.
And we’re back.
I do love going to airports though. Everyone is in a jolly mood cos they are heading somewhere new and different – there’s a kind of happiness in the air. Although in Chennai, it was overshadowed by the thick scents of coconut oil and mogra flowers. It’s like the Ultimate Fighting Champion – each smell trying to overpower the other and neither really quite managing it.
Man, Chennai airport was crazy. I saw so many mogra garlands hanging off the women that I was convinced that Chennai women might single-handedly be supporting the entire mogra industry of India. They were like the stripes used to identify army ranks – if you are wearing mogra, you’re a woman and if you reek of coconut and jasmine oil, you must most definitely be a man.
Chennai people are just very aggressive in general. Lines at the airport are for reference purposes only. Inconsequential really. People just shoved their way around all over the place – jumping the line at customs, ignoring directions and straight up pushing you aside and moving to the front, even if they moved only one up. I would have liked to pick a bitch fight with more than one person there but I had my revenge, even if it was indirect. See, in all their shoving they forgot to fill out the paperwork properly and of course, government officials are more than happy to make you look stupid. Beats sticking my tongue out at them any day.
It also seemed like a lot of Bollywood had decided to travel today too. So, I met demure A.R. Rahma minus the 2 Oscars (I mean, the least he could do is carry the glory of India around for others to see, share a little man, geez!). Rahul Bose was there too, sporting a stubble the thickness of the African Prairie and then there was Diana Hayden who is still tall, fir and gorgeous and still thinks she is soooo much better than us. Well, she didn’t say it but I felt it. Prrbt, can she speak Hindi? I guess we’re even then.
The flights did not disappoint me by being thoroughly late. If flights in India start taking off on time, I think it would throw the whole industry off balance. Increased efficiency, accountability and punctuality? The idea!!
What did disappoint me was the immigration. It’s 2.30 am in the morning; the immigration form is ONE piece of paper. What did the customs dude think he was? The freaking FBI? The line did not move for 30 minutes. I kid you not. And, it’s not like there were beds for us to take a power nap while we waited for Sherlock ya know. Yea, the lack of beds is just an appalling oversight by the SL government.

In SL…excited what tomorrow will bring.

Prime Minister gives Obama the middle finger
Cricket higher priority than Indo-US talks, says PMO.

New Delhi – Just days after U.S. President Obama expressed keen interest to strengthen Indo-US ties,the Indian Prime Minister, Manmohan Singh has canceled his April 2nd meeting with President Obama, opting to attend the Indian Premier League (IPL) in South Africa instead.

Speaking about the decision, the Prime Minister’s aide, Sanjay Lal Sharma said, “The Prime Minister feels obligated to dedicate his time to the national pastime. As it is, the public could care less if the Prime Minister was flying to the moon during the cricket season. And, let’s face it, he’ll get a lot more media attention if he’s with the film stars and cricketers. They are the only ones the public bothers about these days.”

The White House had previously stated that the President was looking forward to meeting the Prime Minister and discuss a range of issues, including the Afghanistan-Pakistan strategic review, climate change, and the world economy.

However, the Prime Minister is said to have tired of the endless talks on Af-Pak policy. “Basically, these Afghans and Pakis are shitheads. You tell them to stop playing with the bombs but they just flick you. Frankly, I am bored of discussing how to play nice with those assholes.”

The Prime Minister further added, “There are several foreign relations to attend to at the IPL. Especially the cheerleaders. Their booty is of grave interest, err, nationally speaking.” The PMO confirmed that the Prime Minister is scheduled to meet several IPL cheerleaders throughout the course of the forthcoming season.

The Prime Minister assured the media that his decision would not affect Indo-US relations. “In fact, they are stronger than ever. We share skin care tips over the phone. I was never this close with the earlier guy – he was just too vanilla. Besides, Barack is frank enough to tell me that he thinks our populism manifesto is a farce and I, in turn can tell him to fuck off. It’s an openness I’ve never shared with any President before.”

The White House was unavailable for comment.

So right after I posted my invective post, the boyfie sends me an email about this trip I have been eager to make for a while. He makes it impossible to stay mad at him for long.

I feel like I just kicked Ned Flanders in the butt.

I'm gonna go bury my face in the sand now.

So low on the brownie points

Who has a boyfriend who prefers to hang out with Gujju bamboo sticks than moi awesome self and refuses to help when his girlfriend desperately needs support(aka feeding her coffee addiction)?
I DO!!
He should know better than to mess with a girl who plays with guns and has a damn good aim.




But, I am too pissed off to tell him.
He'll totally get it though when I snap his neck in two in my caffeine withdrawal rage.

Philosophy or poetry?

Where do they belong?

Black. White. Male. Female. Normal. Physically disadvantaged. We love classifying everything and everyone in sight into sections – either here or there. Nowhere in between. But in an increasingly diverse world, perhaps there’s a need for us to revisit our segregations and reclassify them.

Starting with train compartments. Indian train compartments are either women’s or general (no, not men’s, women CAN travel in these. That they could be squished and molested by a leching crowd of men is a different story) with a few for vendors and the handicapped.

There was this sadhu on the platform today - saffron clothing, vermilion paste smeared on his forehead. His hair was matted and long and he carried the typical lota and staff in his hand. As he went on the platform, he was hurling invectives at one and all. Cursing because he had been pushed out of the more than crowded general compartment. No one wanted a dirty, soiled sadhu amidst their midst. As it is there was just about enough space to keep a toe, why bother with one more whole body. He kept shouting and finally climbed into the women’s compartment. It was no less packed but at least the women made way for him despite him being a male and therefore, not really allowed in the compartment.

The other passenger who got in a few minutes later was even more unwelcome. A eunuch. A transvestite dressed like a woman is a flashy sari, gajra in his, err, her hair, lipstick, rouge, kohl – the works. Once again, the Indian Railways have failed to classify where these passengers should travel. They are obviously not welcome in the men’s. But again, while they may be dressed as women they aren’t. The eunuch hurriedly got in and crossed the length of the compartment as women moved away so as not to touch him. He squatted in the corner and stared out, shunning the stares and disapproving looks.

Where do these people travel? They too are a part of our society, have been for ages. At one time, they were respected and placed on a pedestal by even our gods. Yet today, they are so despicable that they are not even worthy of designated traveling sections for them. Why should they have to suffer brickbats and ostracism when they pay an equal fare, walk the same earth, soak the same sun as us?

Isn’t it time to rethink the classes in our so called united masses?