Sarah lent me a hammer, Paula lent me a book, I found a little chocolate bar in my letter box last night with a note saying, “Happy Friday!”
The frangipani trees are sending out leaves, the jacaranda trees are starting to bloom purple, the star jasmine buds are bursting with anticipation. What more could I want?
Friday, October 09, 2009
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Chhutta hai kya, madam?
What's with the change situation in Bombay? No one, but no one seems to have change. OK, maana ki if you give a 100-rupee note, it might be difficult for the other person to give you Rs87 back. A little awkward.
But come on. The fare is Rs17 and when I give him a 20-rupee note, the taxiwala asks if I don't have change. What, am I supposed to have Rs17 exactly or is HE supposed to have three? And the Shopper's Stop checkout girl was the limit. The bill was for 1850 and when I handed over two 1,000-rupee notes, she - you guessed right - wonders if I have change. How does a chain of stores grow so big in spite of asking for change in every bloody transaction?
And what do they do with all the change they extort from helpless customers, all these taxiwalas and shopkeepers? Do they stash it away buried in a little corner of their building compound and go forth looking for more change?
I was in the bus one day, and it was nearing the end of the route. The conductor was seated near me, sorting all the money in his satchel. He then waved a bunch of ten-rupee notes and said, "Would anyone like change for a hundred?" I'm sure all the people who reached for their wallets/purses would have hugged him if they could. They must have felt such a sense of relief receiving the change, thinking how they could probably scrape through tomorrow at least.
Yup, that's how the good citizens of Bombay live - a little change at a time.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
A tale of the bovine ilk
So Payal, Sarika and I (names changed) decide to do a dinner-and-movie at Govindas in Darlinghurst. It never ceases to surprise me that a place like Govindas is situated in a place like Darlinghurst. Maybe they had this idealistic dream of converting the whole of the drug and alcohol ridden place into soy burger-eating, almond milk-drinking Lord Krsna devotees. If so, then last I saw, it has not quite gone according to plan. They have a fair way to go.
Anyway, so the three of us go to the place on a Saturday evening. Upstairs is the dining room. We fill up our plates with food and settle down at our table. Ah, nice. The room looks congenial with large portraits of our dear Lord Krsna. There is one of him with Radha. There is one of him with his beloved cow. Sarika just loves cow-related subjects. I think she finds this Hindu devotion to cows fascinating. If you find the conversation lagging a bit, just mutter “cow” under your breath. It will perk up her ears and bring out the best in her. It was just then that Payal looked slightly mortified. And she said with horror, “Oh no! I’m wearing a leather jacket, leather boots and carrying a leather purse! And I’m here, at Govindas.” Were they going to kick us out of the place? Were we in danger of being permanently barred from the premises? From the whole of Kings Cross? Moods were tense for a few moments. But no one seemed to be giving us hateful looks. We had an uneventful dinner.
After dinner there was about an hour and a half to kill before the movie, so we decided to go to have a drink or two. No dearth of bars in Kings Cross. We entered one that turned out to have a strange disco/grunge/urban chic kind of setting. The music was loud and the speaker was turned in our precise direction, but the waitress was charming. There was a very interesting looking cocktail list with the strangest of names like Mary Bleeds Again, and Mother’s Milk, and I don’t remember what else. I settled for a martini, Sarika got herself an exotic cocktail whose name I don’t recall, and Payal ordered a gin and tonic. The waiter came with two of our orders after a while.
“Martini?”
“Yes, that’ll be me, thanks.”
“Here you go. And the Beefeater?”
“Sorry?”
“Beefeater.”
Confused looks. Then Sarika realised what it was. “Yes, the gin and tonic, Beefeater, that’s Payal there.”
And we burst out laughing. The cows were haunting her that evening.
At the end of the movie, Payal and I had to take the rail bus back to Central and take our respective buses from there. Kings Cross was unbelievably crowded and noisy. Each person there trying to stand out in a crowd of a million others who were trying to stand out in the crowd. A bunch of kids beside us in the bus were so irritating, it started giving Payal a headache and we decided to get down at Town Hall. She got her bus straightaway, and I was waiting for mine. I happened to look up and gasp! the Town Hall clock had stopped. It was weird. I’ve never seen it stopped before. On a whim, I SMSed it to Sarika, who wrote back, “clock stopped in gods angry response to payal wearing dead cow”
I think Payal will think of cows whenever she sees leather for a fair while now.
Anyway, so the three of us go to the place on a Saturday evening. Upstairs is the dining room. We fill up our plates with food and settle down at our table. Ah, nice. The room looks congenial with large portraits of our dear Lord Krsna. There is one of him with Radha. There is one of him with his beloved cow. Sarika just loves cow-related subjects. I think she finds this Hindu devotion to cows fascinating. If you find the conversation lagging a bit, just mutter “cow” under your breath. It will perk up her ears and bring out the best in her. It was just then that Payal looked slightly mortified. And she said with horror, “Oh no! I’m wearing a leather jacket, leather boots and carrying a leather purse! And I’m here, at Govindas.” Were they going to kick us out of the place? Were we in danger of being permanently barred from the premises? From the whole of Kings Cross? Moods were tense for a few moments. But no one seemed to be giving us hateful looks. We had an uneventful dinner.
After dinner there was about an hour and a half to kill before the movie, so we decided to go to have a drink or two. No dearth of bars in Kings Cross. We entered one that turned out to have a strange disco/grunge/urban chic kind of setting. The music was loud and the speaker was turned in our precise direction, but the waitress was charming. There was a very interesting looking cocktail list with the strangest of names like Mary Bleeds Again, and Mother’s Milk, and I don’t remember what else. I settled for a martini, Sarika got herself an exotic cocktail whose name I don’t recall, and Payal ordered a gin and tonic. The waiter came with two of our orders after a while.
“Martini?”
“Yes, that’ll be me, thanks.”
“Here you go. And the Beefeater?”
“Sorry?”
“Beefeater.”
Confused looks. Then Sarika realised what it was. “Yes, the gin and tonic, Beefeater, that’s Payal there.”
And we burst out laughing. The cows were haunting her that evening.
At the end of the movie, Payal and I had to take the rail bus back to Central and take our respective buses from there. Kings Cross was unbelievably crowded and noisy. Each person there trying to stand out in a crowd of a million others who were trying to stand out in the crowd. A bunch of kids beside us in the bus were so irritating, it started giving Payal a headache and we decided to get down at Town Hall. She got her bus straightaway, and I was waiting for mine. I happened to look up and gasp! the Town Hall clock had stopped. It was weird. I’ve never seen it stopped before. On a whim, I SMSed it to Sarika, who wrote back, “clock stopped in gods angry response to payal wearing dead cow”
I think Payal will think of cows whenever she sees leather for a fair while now.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
My blue fabric shoes
My very first uploaded image here! These shoes are very pretty. And theoretically, fabric shoes are supposed to be as comfy as can be. Except that these seem to be particularly feral.
The first time I walked in them, at the end of less than two minutes, the back of my ankles were bleeding profusely. Now, I’ve always been prone to shoebites, even old shoes. Shoes just bite me whenever they are in the mood. I’m quite used to it. But this pair is just vicious. When oil wouldn’t soften them, I tried on cotton socks, nylon socks, anything that would protect my skin. But no. They continue nipping away.
But I’m not one to give up. Guess what I do now. I take them to work in my bag and wear them in office only, where I don’t walk around much. I’m hoping doing this a few times will finally tame them.
We have a sadomasochist relationship, me and my blue shoes. They are the sadist for inflicting the pain, and I’m the masochist for tolerating it.
The first time I walked in them, at the end of less than two minutes, the back of my ankles were bleeding profusely. Now, I’ve always been prone to shoebites, even old shoes. Shoes just bite me whenever they are in the mood. I’m quite used to it. But this pair is just vicious. When oil wouldn’t soften them, I tried on cotton socks, nylon socks, anything that would protect my skin. But no. They continue nipping away.
But I’m not one to give up. Guess what I do now. I take them to work in my bag and wear them in office only, where I don’t walk around much. I’m hoping doing this a few times will finally tame them.
We have a sadomasochist relationship, me and my blue shoes. They are the sadist for inflicting the pain, and I’m the masochist for tolerating it.
Monday, February 09, 2009
How can I not forgive him?
He always does that. He’s done it far too many times now for it to be my fertile imagination. Every time the day looks like it’s not been fun and bubbly, if I’ve been subdued for some or no reason, if I haven’t sent silly mails or said nice things, or any such thing to indicate that maybe, just maybe I’m a tiny bit displeased with him – he’ll make sure to say goodbye to me when he logs off. Something he normally doesn’t do. Aise mein, even if I was a little cross with him (like I was today), I can’t help but smile and wish him joy.
Or maybe it really is my fertile imagination. After all I’m a daughter of the tropical Konkan coast.
Or maybe it really is my fertile imagination. After all I’m a daughter of the tropical Konkan coast.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
A slice of lime with that?
It is uncanny how smells take me instantaneously back in time and space. I was cutting up a lime the other day for my tonic water and it was almost as if that Moscow Mule guy was standing next to me. All he did was mix up a cocktail and talk about it in the most gorgeous East European/Middle Eastern/Australian accent for half an hour in our office one afternoon and he was gone from my life. And yet, now it seems like the fragrance of lime is him. Fresh, light, bright kind of a memory it evokes. A smiley, tingly memory.
Very few smells represent one single person to me. Mostly they’re encompassing. Like jasmine fragrances are always aunty fragrances, wedding and Udupi smells. Wet earth is always that first day of school smell, little rivulets flowing down the gully beside my building with rainbow patterns on them due to the oil of a leaking car engine, and the water from the school terrace gushing down the pipes and all of us letting it flow over our feet cos it felt so nice and cool. Eucalyptus oil is still that entire holiday at Ooty and Coonoor.
There’s only one other smell I think that evokes memories of one single person. The cologne of a man - the only man I was ever frightened of, whose memories still stunt me emotionally… But that story for another day.
Today, let me enjoy some lime-flavoured effervescent, zippy, zingy whimsy.
Very few smells represent one single person to me. Mostly they’re encompassing. Like jasmine fragrances are always aunty fragrances, wedding and Udupi smells. Wet earth is always that first day of school smell, little rivulets flowing down the gully beside my building with rainbow patterns on them due to the oil of a leaking car engine, and the water from the school terrace gushing down the pipes and all of us letting it flow over our feet cos it felt so nice and cool. Eucalyptus oil is still that entire holiday at Ooty and Coonoor.
There’s only one other smell I think that evokes memories of one single person. The cologne of a man - the only man I was ever frightened of, whose memories still stunt me emotionally… But that story for another day.
Today, let me enjoy some lime-flavoured effervescent, zippy, zingy whimsy.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Am I open enough?
The more things change, the more they remain the same. No matter how well I open my heart to the world, that safety barrier shoots up at the smallest sign of insecurity. And I have the audacity to wonder why others don’t let me into their hearts.
I had two perfect days recently. Two separate days, separate places, separate companions. So perfect, I didn’t even have space in my heart to think thoughts such as I must be the luckiest person, etc, etc. So perfect, it just seemed like the most normal thing to happen. But even though time is infinite, like a cycle - kaal chakra - moments are linear. They have to end.
हर अघाज़ का अंजाम क्यों होता है?
Why can’t moments be infinite? Maybe they are. After all the day and night still come, the rain of that day still falls, the river still flows, people still laugh and snooze and kiss on that lawn, the big, gnarled tree still grows. Only one person is missing from each place.
It’s funny how the heart feels lighter the more people come into it, and feels heavier the more people leave.
Why is it so difficult for people to show their affection? What holds us back? And why is it even more difficult to tell people that we wish for their affection? Why does wanting love mean it is a sign of weakness? Why do we act like if we showed too much love, we might soon run out? Why does our love have to be strictly for one group of people only?
नहीं कोई इंसान मोहोब्बत से खाली।
हर इक रूह प्यासी, हर इक दिल सवाली।
I had two perfect days recently. Two separate days, separate places, separate companions. So perfect, I didn’t even have space in my heart to think thoughts such as I must be the luckiest person, etc, etc. So perfect, it just seemed like the most normal thing to happen. But even though time is infinite, like a cycle - kaal chakra - moments are linear. They have to end.
हर अघाज़ का अंजाम क्यों होता है?
Why can’t moments be infinite? Maybe they are. After all the day and night still come, the rain of that day still falls, the river still flows, people still laugh and snooze and kiss on that lawn, the big, gnarled tree still grows. Only one person is missing from each place.
It’s funny how the heart feels lighter the more people come into it, and feels heavier the more people leave.
Why is it so difficult for people to show their affection? What holds us back? And why is it even more difficult to tell people that we wish for their affection? Why does wanting love mean it is a sign of weakness? Why do we act like if we showed too much love, we might soon run out? Why does our love have to be strictly for one group of people only?
नहीं कोई इंसान मोहोब्बत से खाली।
हर इक रूह प्यासी, हर इक दिल सवाली।
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)