Sunday, 26 February 2012


And Agnes. And Tina. And Mansi. And Me.

Yesssssssss!!!!!!!! Jubilation, folks - just got done with a 225 km drive from Mumbai to Lavasa, on the Lavasa Women's Drive 2012.

More details (and pics) later - am about to drop dead with exhaustion and cantreallythinkanymoreeeeeeeee.........

Saturday, 18 February 2012


The rocks and Tetrapods together somehow seem to make a harmonious whole...


... just doesn't end.

Hence even though completely out of season (Dusshera comes up in the months of October/ November), here's a picture of one I spotted on Mumbai's streets last year *cough* year before last.

See his overlarge head? And nose, and hands, and feet, and fuchsia-and-blue tunic? They're all stuffed silly with firecrackers, which will light up the night sky a little after twilight, when all such effigies are burnt. The significance? Good v/s evil, and here's a link for more information:

I can meander on about Indian mythology, and my fascination with it, but maybe this isn't the post. So let's just leave you with this little slice - and maybe you could do your own exploring! Enjoy!

Friday, 17 February 2012


While on a visit to one of the more rural locations in the country.

Notice the amalgamation of modes of transport: bicycles, auto rickshaws, motorbikes, other four-wheel drives... and cows!


This has to do with my long-standing romance with baked good(ies), and bread (and its variants thereof) in particular. Have raved about bread - and baking - on this blog before, I know. So no half-baked (pun intended, hee hee!), recipe this time but just a picture of Sheer Unadulterated Bliss.

Fresh out of the oven, and eaten up quick!


It's just one of those lazy, dull days that follows a holiday. More specifically, a mid-week holiday.



It's pretty amazing how some people can turn others' fights into their own. If I remember correctly - albeit vaguely - from Psychology class back in college - there is a term for this. Anyway.

I was at the passport office, having to wait in line for my turn at the counter, when there was a commotion at the doorway. Guy In Green muscled his way in, not-so-gently elbowing the security guy at the entrance, and shouted about having to make a complaint. When ushered in to meet with the official manning the grievance cell, his (the guy's) voice got louder, the argument uglier - and generally caused a commotion big enough to constitute a war in a small nation. To make it worse, Guy In Green was ably (a matter of perspective) supported by his better half, Lady With The Shrill Voice. Aargh. To cut a long story short, the fault lay with Guy In Green and Lady With The Shrill Voice. However, verbal abuses rent the air as they accused the passport officials of insensitivity (ha!), rude behaviour (double ha!) and of having committed an error (ha again!) which in fact, was their own. They were eventually escorted out by cops, but not before having made a very ugly scene in an otherwise calm office on an even calmer morning.

Just as they left, Auntie Dripping Diamonds (waiting in a queue from where she had an unobstructed view of the grievance cell), dialled a number on her cell phone (when a signboard very close to where she was seated clearly banned the use of said instrument) and started to rant and rave about what had just transpired in the office seconds earlier, presumably to her better half. I mean, who else would tolerate such a vile tirade? She had a field day as she invoked the entire pantheon of Indian Gods and Goddesses, the political system, government officials... you get the drift. Inaccurate, of course, and definitely unjustified.

All. For. A. Fight. That. Wasn't. Even. Hers.

Wednesday, 15 February 2012

Monday, 6 February 2012


Spotted one of these in the city recently. Didn't know they even exist anymore, except for some poor stray battered ones. Or in books. Neat and clean, this was. I wonder if it's in use. Hmm.

Brought me back to school days, when we were taught to write with fountain pens. As part of The Great Upgrade from the Pencil, one activity was to write a letter - yes! write! an actual, real letter! - and post it (using a post box similar to the one above) to your neighbour - the one who sat next to you in class, that is. Oh the delight to have an envelope marked to you in the mail! To open it up and read a letter from your classmate! And then share the whole thing in class... Even though you knew whom it was from, and the thought behind the activity, it still had bucketloads of charm. An exercise I would love to repeat with my kids someday. But by then, will even the random stray post box stand?


So I've signed up for a car rally that comes up later this month. No, it's not some thousand people tearing bumpers off each others' cars or kissing lamp posts in a bid to wind up trumps, but 300-odd women, in an all-women's rally, supporting a cause of their choice. How it works is nice - you don't have to turn into roadkill, or worse, turn innocent bystanders in to the same, but drive along at a good - if steady - pace, and any kind of rash driving/ crossing speed limits gets you penalised. The more penalties, well, too bad - you'll be (a) driving all day, and (b) coming last... waaaaay last. Kinda diametrically opposite to the conventional definition (or human understanding) of a car rally. I like. And ergo, we come to sentence one of this extremely long-winded paragraph - So I've signed up for a car rally that comes up later this month.

Right now, though, it's fingers crossed - given the large number of enthusiastic ladies in this part of the world, there's obviously a limited number that will make it through - that 300-odd mentioned earlier. How do you get to be one of them? Well, you register, and then get your family, friends, co-workers, the lady who smiles at you in line at the convenience store, the cute guy at the gym (hmm, this should garner a good number of votes, methinks), neighbours, babysitter... uhh, you get the drift... to vote for you via email and/ or SMS. And I see you asking me to stop rambling on, so... The more the votes, the better your chances of driving through, supporting your cause, your car reflecting the same (yes! you can decorate), the wind in your hair (no, I do not drive an open-top convertible, sigh) and a (tuneless, in my case) song on your lips.

As I type, the leading lady apparently has over 6000 (whaaaaat??!!) votes... and I'm guesstimating at a less than 1000 for myself. Ahem.

Watch this space for more. And wish me luck. And votes - loads and loads of votes.