ALL FOR A HAIRCUT

Have you ever been to a salon and felt inadequate? You know, the kind of salon (or maybe even a spa) that intimidates you to simply step in the door even? I confess I have this morbid fear of such places, wherein just behind the glass fronted door is seated the hostess? receptionist? some fancy name that I don't even pretend to know? with the perfect hair, perfect nails, perfect face... in short, pretty much Perfect Everything. Huh.

Even if you do - albeit hesitantly - step in, you're greeted by a whiff of perfume, dazzling teeth, and a casual toss of the perfectly coiffed mane, all the while enquiring in dulcet tones as to how-may-we-help-you. Swallowing over the lump in my throat (all the while pretending to ignore aforesaid perfect-ness), I struggle to croak out the word "haircut", all the while unsure whether 'haircut' is even accepted parlance. Should that have been "Oh, I need to see your stylist, please?", or, "Whom do I speak with for getting myself perfect hair that I didn't even know I had?". Anyway.

By now, I'm ushered to a seat (accompanied by another whiff of perfume, after The Perfect Nails have clacked their way across a keyboard to see whether I could be "fit in") and offered "something cool to drink, perhaps?". Almost scared to speak, I nod, and struggle to get upright in the soft, squishy sofa that has had my self-esteem sink low into its plush depths by this time. A tall glass of something later, Perfect Perfume has asked me to follow her high heels to where "Sandra, our senior stylist" is waiting, plastic smile in place and plastic cape in hand.

With a flourish worthy of the best superheroes, I'm now cape-clad, and wait with bated breath for Sandra to speak. Enquiring just how I would want my hair cut (Now if I knew that, would I honestly sell my kidney to be there? Really, now.), she picks up a few limp (thanks to being generously doused with water) strands of hair, pores over it (presumably she has to get her PhD degree in the Deplorable Condition of My Hair) and exclaims - softly, but loudly enough for the guy in the next suburb to hear, I'm sure - oh, but your hair is so weak! your scalp is so dry! And there goes whatever little self-esteem I had managed to salvage from the sofa depths. Bah.

I make a few weak protests, offer garbled explanations when she solicitously asks me what shampoo do I use? do I even condition?, and come off sounding as someone who has just recently been introduced to the chemical joy that is the aforesaid cleaning agent. Could've just as well told her I use dish washing liquid on my hair; her facial expression wouldn't have changed an iota. I swear. Of course, the brand I use is (obviously) inadequate, quite incorrect for my hair type, and don't I know about the glorious product that is This One? Obviously sold exclusively at said salon. Another weak smile, while I sit through the process.

That done, hair coiffed to perfection, cape whisked off, I'm muttering profuse thanks, and am waved towards the billing counter. I fork out my credit card, watch fascinated as The Nails work their magic, hand me the charge slip (together with my bill, in a lovely handmade paper folder) and the little paper bag which contains The Products.

Definitely can't quit the job just yet; the card statement hasn't come in yet.

MOVING ON

They had decided to move on, they had their reasons. But wasn't there a reason they'd gotten together in the first place?

Meeting at work. Playing footsie under the table, making those otherwise intolerable meetings fun. Snatched moments over sweet vending machine coffee. Late-night movies, snuggling together with a tub of fragrant hot butter popcorn (caramel for her). Tears and laughter. Birthday surprises and anniversary celebrations. Almost a decade of togetherness, almost a decade of memories created together.

They had decided to move on, they had their reasons. But wasn't there a reason they'd gotten together in the first place?

FUNNY, I KNOW, BUT LET'S TALK ABOUT FONTS

Okay, bizarre for a post, I agree. But really, does age have anything to do with one's liking for specific fonts? Random thought that just struck me, really.

If I quickly look back a few some years, back in school, Comic Sans MS was my Absolutely Favourite Font. And how. Everything just had to be typed out in Comic. A few years later, in Junior College (grades XI and XII), Comic Sans MS had still not lost its sheen. Much. However, Comic shared space with Garamond. And also that kinda twirly Monotype Corsiva. And then came handwriting, in the form of Lucida Handwriting. Ironic, seeing that by this time, I'd all but forgotten how to actually hand write even a letter for the most part.

And then I grew up, out of college and into Business School. Among the many things that a management education taught us, it also introduced us to the - gasp! - plainer, sober Ariel and Times New Roman. Buh-bye, Twirly; see-you-almost-never-again, Comic.

Observation: Either (a) I am getting old *shudder*, (b) I clearly have more time on my hands than I should - and in which case I should go sort out my wardrobe that's been (ineffectively) hollering for attention these past few months weeks, or (c) I need a rest, seeing that my brain is obviously over-wired.

Hmm.

So do you have a uhh, font fetish? (Yes, yes, we're still a 'U' rated blog.)

DRIVING MISS DAISY

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.........

BY THE SEA

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

MY FASCINATION WITH RAAVAN

... 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: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ravana.

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!

MOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

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!

ETERNAL LOVE

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!

HO-HUM

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

Drat.

YOUR FIGHT IS MY FIGHT

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.

WHAT DID YOU DO THIS V-DAY?

Achha. So with all the moral policing around, did you wind up getting married this V-Day?

RELIC FROM THE PAST

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?

VOTE FOR... ME!

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.

ONE SATURDAY

And too many things to do. Sigh.

MUMBAI MARATHON 2012

The Dream Run has, well... been *cough* walked.

Took in all the sights and sounds (and myriad they sure were!) along the way, realised that the 'serious' Marathon is the Half and the Full (all 21 and 42 kilometres respectively).

Here's some pictures:

The amazing Indian Navy Band

MONKEY BREW

The instructions say it all!

LIFE WITHOUT A GOOD BOOK

... is simply unimaginable. Oh, the horror. *shudder*

Currently on my bedside table/ in my over-eager paws:

- The Immortals of Meluha (super fascinating, unputdownable)#

- The Secret of the Nagas (need to finish Immortals first, this is the second part of the trilogy)

- The House of Silk (promising start; presently my second read*)

- The Interpretation of Murder (to be read after I'm thru' with The House of Silk)

- Tintin and the Secret of the Unicorn (light reading; my third read**)

* I normally read around three books at a time. Sigh. Yes, yes, I'm a nerd.

** Naturally, follows from the explanation above.





# Technically, on my office desk. Took a cab to work this morning, and didn't drive, just so that I could read en route. Bought myself a half hour of solid reading time. Hurrah!

FEAR

And you thought nightmares = fear. So did I.

Until January 01, 2012.

Here's the lowdown: On holiday, the significant other and I are happily last-minute shopping at a prominent mall on one of (let's call it) City B's busiest streets, when we decide to head back to our hotel and check-out, in preparation for our flight home. It's around 03:30 on a bright and sunny afternoon, when we hail a cab, one of those regular meter cabs that are available for hire. About five minutes into the drive hotelwards, the cabbie gets abusive, drives off the main road onto a freeway, then off the freeway into a rather seedy area, and holds us to ransom, at gunpoint. No, I don't know whether the gun was indeed real, and no, I don't know whether we were merely being small-time conned, but when faced with a gun - you don't really want to find out, do you?

The city in question is very, very touristy; you have about a gazillion people hopping into these cabs all the time. So did we, for a full three days prior to this. And then we landed up with this cabbie. That done, we were about USD 70 lighter, dropped off onto a deserted freeway outside of city limits - forced to find our way back to the hotel in a foreign country, wherein even the street signs were not in English, or any language that we understood.

What did we do wrong? Nothing, apart from the fact that we were sheer unlucky, to be in the wrong cab at the wrong time. Did we argue with the cabbie? No. Did we fight? No. Were we abusive? No. Guess we were just destined to be one of those 'we-have-been-mugged' statistics.

In hindsight, it could've been a lot worse - our passports were on us, we were alone in a strange land. Guess we got off lightly. A week after, we're glad to be alive, and whole.

What a start to the new year.

Nightmares are made of this.

On the bright side, there evidently is a God, isn't there?

BEAUTIFUL CAMBODIA

Just back from a wonderful, wonderful holiday. (Did I mention wonderful?) Visited Cambodia, or more specifically, the Siem Reap province and all the breathtaking sights it had to offer. Yes, yes, Angkor Wat! While I will write more on the place, and all it had to offer, I 'll leave you with some pictures for now.

Sunrise at Angkor Wat

A close-up of bas-reliefs at Angkor Wat

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Wish you a warm and wonderful 2012, y'all!

WAVES

Waves
lashing,
roaring,
white foam.


Coming in from the sea
to pay obeisance at your feet.


Cooling,
tickling,
playful.


They speak
a language of their own.

THE TREE IS UP ALREADY!

... That's because we're away over the Christmas break.

DEBATE

This one's got to do with ebooks v/s 'real' books.

What's an ebook, anyway? So the dictionary definition may differ (more than) slightly, but essentially it's a lovely book that's taken and put into electronic form, with no way to feel the pages, cool and crisp to the touch. No way to hold the book up to the old olfactory glands and take a deep breath, and inhale the - if I may - aroma. Have you noticed how each book carries a different smell, has a personality of its own? A new book, all crisp white pages has a sharp tang, while an older book, slightly mellow, a warm, musky aroma? At the risk of sounding like I have (more than just) borderline OCD, let's move on... *cough* objectively.

Why would I read an ebook? Umm, speaking for myself, at the risk of sounding geeky and so not with it, I may not. Ever. As of now, I don't. Nothing, and I mean nothing, comes even remotely close to holding a book, turning each page over carefully, popping a bookmark into place, and then... re-reading it once done. Rinse repeat. At home, should you ever visit, you'll realise that I'm running out of space for mundane things such as linen, clothes, random odds and ends... and all because the books threaten to take over the apartment. It's a mutiny of sorts, really.

For the sake of argument, I do realise that reading something online, say right here in blogland, does come somewhere close to an ebook. It's not like you print these pages and read, right? Hmm. But I choose to ignore that. *looks away and whistles*

Convenience and things apart, I like my half hour of bedtime reading; there's nothing that puts a crazy day into perspective better. Unless it's a dog. Hmm. But I digress (as usual). Conclusion = no ebooks for me, not for a loooooooong time.

The dog is another story.

COUNTDOWN

... to vacation time begins.
Fun places, here we come!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD!

Here's to many, many, many, many more!

We love you!

BEING

I amWho I am

No excuses
No pretenses

What do you see?
Rather,
what do you want to see?

THE WEEKEND'S HERE!

Yippee!

Gonna catch up on reading a Tintin (or ten), of course. Now that I've just seen the movie - what else? The first one will be The Secret of the Unicorn - so I can go, hey! now this wasn't in the movie. Or, that bit from the movie isn't here. You get the drift.

Maybe another movie, starring my current Bollywood heartthrob. The hottie. The super drool-worthy cutie, a.k.a. Ranbir Kapoor. *melts into a puddle*

Family time. Very important, this.

Finalise vacation plans. Ooh, fun.

Turn out closets. Get ruthless with self and sort out clothes. (Note to self: DO NOT get sentimental.) Dust furniture. Put up freshly laundered, ironed curtains at windows. Sort out kitchen cabinets. Inspect Tupperware that houses suspicious growth food in the back of the freezer.

TINTIN!

Simply. Loved. The. Movie.

Fantastic animation, brought to life on an IMAX 3D screen. (Have you also felt like you're gonna fall while in the Dome? I always do. Sigh.)

Here's what I saw:

Every teeny, tiny detail - laugh lines around Tintin's/ Haddock's eyes. (Hmm. Girly, to notice.) Tintin's tuft of hair waving gently in the breeze. The Unicorn's scale model with some glorious detail. Waves in the sea. Bubbles. Bianca Castafiore's jewels. Snowy's velvety little nose and beady eyes.

And oh, the movie, too.

BUSINESS TRIP

After ages. Nice.
Good to meet up with people from other locations. It's interesting, the viewpoints you get. The same routine you follow gets a fresh perspective, with new ideas from your counterparts.

Hmm. New things to absorb and learn.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

FRESH FROM OUR GARDEN

Lime soda, anyone?

DIWALI IS HERE

Happy Diwali, y'all!

OFF ON VACATION!

Yes, it's Diwali. Yes, it is festive. Yes, I am finally done with preparations. Of course, as usual, I'm sure I could've done more. In any case, too late now - it's a little past midnight, and here I am, channel surfing (a fruitless exercise, but being the eternal optimist,...) and blogging. And quickly sending/ replying to work mails, because...

... I am off on vacation. Hurrah! Yay! Yippee!

Nothing fancy, just the annual visit to the in-laws, but it's not reason to complain at all. Of course, will put up loads of pics while there *snort* when I'm back. Will blog regularly too. Okay, occasionally.

So what did I do to prep, anyway? Here's the list:

• Cleaned house
• Washed curtains/ changed bedlinen (which we do otherwise too, but it's almost mandatory at Diwali)
• Put up the fairy lights and the kandeel, or paper lantern. (More on that later, remind me)
• Piously lit diyas and placed outside the door (Again, more later)
• Made chocolates. You think? Well, unfortunately this is the one thing that I didn't get down to doing. Sad. So bought these small pouches, bought chocolates, bought diyas and made up packages to give the neighbours. (You'll notice the malls love people like me - note the overuse of the word 'bought'.)
• Bought gifts and wrapped them (LOVE that!), ready to give away with loads of warm Diwali wishes

That's more or less it.

So while I'm away (and possibly too lazy to blog), have a wonderful and safe Diwali, y'all out there!

SHOPPING LISTS

Because it's soon going to be Diwali. (More here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diwali)

Things to buy for:

• The family
• Friends
• House help
• Some acquaintances

(Given that there are just five days to go, yes, I am running late. Very late. All that I have done is the list, so far. *panic*)

P.S.: Will also be doing some crafts (senility second childhood just for fun) this weekend, so stay tuned for pictures!

*claps hands in glee* Oooh, what fun!

WHAT'S ON YOUR READING LIST?

Currently, this is what my bedside table holds:

Been meaning to read The Tao of Pooh, Te of Piglet for the longest time now; finally got myself a copy and have made (very small, as of now) inroads into it. Good reading.

Of course, books by Betty Neels and Mary Higgins Clark are my all-time favourites, so I'm invariably re-reading (sometimes, even re-re-reading) some of their books - which is the case right now, too.

Weekend agenda: Finish up with these, start off a new lot, and also find some time to paint. (Meeting The Mother-in-Law Later This Month is on the cards; will be gifting her a me-made painting.)

MID-WEEK HOLIDAYS

... are quite my favourite by far.

Makes you happy about having managed to sleepwalk through half the week, with just a couple more days to go.

Am already planning the weekend!

P.S.: Did nothing today, but for digging into my jar of Nutella (mmm-hmm), and then taking myself off for a guilt-walk, an outcome of having demolished a good part of said Nutella jar. Sigh. :/

SPIDEY!

Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh!

Found him sunning himself on Mum's dining table this afternoon. Agreed, she cooks amazingly well, but that's no excuse for Mr Arachnid to stop by.

Ick. Ick.

GRUMBLE, GRUMBLE

WHY does a public holiday have to fall on a Sunday? :(
Yes, that's the problem with tomorrow - I need a weekend! Can someone order me one now, right away, please?

WHAT WOULD YOU BE?

Not necessarily in another life, but say you were to re-do/ un-do stuff in this one itself?

Rockstar? Actor? Scientist? Doctor? Engineer? Artist? Teacher? Spouse? Parent? Sportsperson? Entrepreneur? Salesperson? Financial guru? Writer? Horticulturist?

Hmm. So you picked one.

But...

... somewhere, aren't we all (or most) of these things, at various life stages?

Aren't you a rockstar to the person(s) you matter to the most?

Aren't you the doctor who kisses those boo-boos away?

Aren't you the artist who works on those masterpieces that your parents proudly display on their living room walls?

Aren't you the financial guru who skillfully runs a home on a budget?

Aren't you the horticulturist who livens up a dreary room with a window box full of blooms? Aren't you the scientist, the engineer who thinks quick on your feet to come up with solutions to the most complex of (daily) concerns?

Aren't you the writer who painstakingly pens letters (okay, e-mails!) to stay in touch with those whom you care about?

Aren't you the sportsperson who sprints about from task to task, successfully juggling several activities at a time?

Aren't you the entrepreneur who works on your own new ventures?

Go on, don another hat today! Or maybe, just doffing it to yourself would suffice!

SO I HAD A DATE

Not with the significant other, but some super exotic ones out of the fancy packaging above. (Apologies for the very well taken photo, but that's just lazy me who can't bring herself to haul out the DSLR and will make do with sub-standard images from the cell phone camera, you see.)

So what is the brouhaha about, anyway? Well, for one, the dates were simply divine. Of monstrous size, embedded in each was an elegant blanched almond, balancing the sweet taste of the date with the uhh... non-taste of the almond. Heavenly. Second, there's Van Gogh as well.

P.S.: The Van Gogh book you see there was just to place the package on, but I now like how two of my favourite (albeit unrelated) things have been captured in the same frame.

TAKE THAT, TRAFFIC MONSTERS!

Hah! *evil leer* Defied the Traffic Monsters this morning: reached work in half the time it normally takes, which is no mean feat, I tell you. Anyone who lives the horror that is Mumbai traffic will vouch for this. I dunno why and how, but I sure ain't complaining!

TORTURE

in the form of the movies.

I'll refrain from naming said horror film, but all I can is that, for a change, I'm speechless. Speechless at how a perfectly good storyline can be ruined simply by long-winded narration that travels across continents, traverses time, space and eventually defies any and all logic.

I want my money back. Better still, my money back with compensation for mental harassment and physical torture (it was a three-hour film).

On the positive (?) side, there were two three (yes! three!) good things about the film:

• My tub of caramel popcorn
• My coffee
• The interval

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MUM!

First, the cake.

(Pineapple and cream, yum!)

 And then, the present.

(A hamper, with Mum's favourite products from The Body Shop, some chocolate, foam-and-chenille-stem flowers, gauzy silver net and silver and gold ribbon to pretty up the basket. Think I succeeded. Or at least, Mum assures me I did. That's mums for you!)

BIRDS

These are what the sky was (over) populated with, earlier this evening.

MY KITCHEN WINDOW

is green.

Now if only my thumb, more so.

SOAP

Taking a shower just got more fun!

THE FRAGRANCE LINGERS ON

He would stand patiently on the corner of the pavement, under the shade of a tall old Ashoka tree, the wisdom of his years showing on his weather beaten face, browned with the sun, a slight smile playing about his lips. Calm, always unruffled, his arm stretched out, laden with fragrant garlands of delicate brown blooms, those of the bakul flower. Dressed in a white shirt, always clean and pressed, but one that had obviously seen better days, together with a pair of brown trousers, carefully preserved and crisply ironed on the crease. His feet ensconced in brown Kolhapuri chappals, and a Gandhi topi on his near-bald head.

This is how I remember him.

Every summer and winter break (and some weekends in between),  Mum would whisk my sister and me off to Pune, to her parental home, where our grandparents lived. Having to keep us entertained (and thereby alleviate boredom and crankiness), she would take us out for a walk every evening. It was on one of many such strolls that I first saw him, standing facing Kaka Halwai, a sweetmeat store, under the Ashoka. Mum did too, and exclaiming at the exquisite beauty of the bakul flowers, purchased a garland for her hair. This was only the beginning of our association with him. Every day, every holiday - I had got accustomed to walking down that busy, bustling street - and seeing him stand, alone, almost unmoving, hand stretched out to display his fragrant wares better. A slight smile, a confirmation of the price, and subtly shifting a garland from one hand to the other, to be placed in a waiting soft, velvet-like green leaf, deftly folded over and tied loosely with string - all then handed over to Mum, the smile in place. The pattern of years.

Today, whenever I pass by that street, I still slow down that corner, almost expecting to see him standing there, flower garlands on his arm, never once calling out to passers-by, in a bid to sell his wares. The tiny, delicate beige-brown blossoms, those that would continue to give out their exotic fragrance even when dried. Those tiny flowers that helped him eke out his living, for so many years. The dignity they offered him, his humility and gentle nature shining forth. Simple and unobtrusive, similar to the blooms he held.

Of course, he no longer is there... physically.

The fragrance, however, continues to linger.

TV TIME

Harry Potter on the telly again! Hurrah! Off to watch The Goblet of Fire for the nth time.

ONE BIRTHDAY, PLEASE!

That's what I want. I love feeling special. I love the cake. I love them presents (heh heh!).

Oooh, I love birthdays! Can I have one already?

MY FAVOURITE CORNER

...of our living room.

That lovely glowy bit there?

Courtesy this:

When lit up:

TO-DO LIST

Because I love lists (never mind the fact that more often than not, I happily drive down to the supermarket leaving said cherished list at home), here goes:
1. Cleaning agents - a mop and a broom, please!
2. AA cells (or batteries)
3. Tomato ketchup
4. Veggies
5. Fruits
6. Yoghurt (or curd, or dahi)
7. Happiness Oreos

AND
*drum roll, please*

8. Bliss heaven manna NUTELLA

Am off shopping - if nothing else, to replenish my fast-diminishing supply (gasp! choke!) of item # 8 on the list.

BEING 'PROPER'

Back in the 80s, when I was in the single-digit age group, life was a lot less complicated. The early 90s, even. Did you know that being 'proper' was not a mandatory requirement? Nobody sang from the rooftops about how things were politically incorrect, nobody went all twisty to shout slogans about violent cartoons, nobody insisted that one of the - rather, THE - celebrated childrens' author of all time was racist, or even sexist. No comic books delightfully detailing the exploits of news reporter-heroes were quickly taken off the bookshelves.

...And then we got 'proper'. Bah.

Ergo, a certain feline and rodent duo were banned from homes, channels on the TV hurriedly flipped, with people delicately shuddering at the effect they apparently had on their children. No, never mind domestic violence, or even dramatisation on other more mature content on the telly that kids are constantly exposed to. That, of course, paled in comparison to the antics of the four-legged characters. How can we even compare the two? Gasp!

Consequently, beloved characters from books took on new 'correct' names, none that had sexual/ political/ racist/ any other seemingly offensive overtones. Worse still, you found that a toy or two had been erased from the bright, colourful pages of your childhood. Characters no longer looked the same, or spoke the same - if they were there at all!

So comic books were banned, panels from them (skillfully?) edited, and 'proper' versions were put up for sale.

Don't get me wrong, y'all - nowhere, and in no way, do I support biases, be it gender/ race/ lifestyle preferences/ any other. I'm as much for equality (or is balance a better word?) as you are. However, I honestly believe that some things that are sacred, and best left alone.

Somewhere, isn't it all a matter of perspective?

FOOD FOR THE BIRDS... AND ME

Sunflower seeds!

For those of you who have read Enid Blyton (or grew up on them like I did), you must be familiar with The Adventure Series (http://www.enidblyton.net/adventure-series/meet-the-characters.html). None of the said adventures would have been complete without Kiki the parrot golden crested cockatoo, a multi-talented winged (and supremely able) partner in crime to the four human children. Among her (Kiki's, i.e.) favourite foods are sunflower seeds, which she picks up in her little claws and daintily nibbles at.

Dunno about dainty and/ or claws, but as the picture above suggests, a fair amount of them seeds are now ingested by yours truly. Yum yum.

Anyone with fun recipes for these seeds? Apart from bread/ similar baked goods?

A LITTLE SLICE OF HEAVEN

...Isn't it?

This, ladies and gentlemen, is a view of sheer awesomeness at the foothills of the Himalayas.

Thank you, Nimilita (a wonderful, wonderful friend - and not just because she lets me use her personal photographs out here in blogland), for a glimpse into what undoubtedly is Heaven - or as close as you can get to it, if nothing else.

 

 

This, I believe, is as good a reason as any to happily ditch the material world and turn holy/ spiritual/ whatever-suits-you, isn't it?

SUNSET ON THE SAND DUNES

Rajasthan.

Through my parents' camera lens.

PEN DRIVE

This came in complete with a video about the Chinese Year of the Rabbit too! Loved it! One of my more fun purchases in recent times, methinks.

FUN DAY AT WORK

... Involves:
- Music over the speakers
- Colleagues visiting from another branch office to celebrate with us
- Snack box lunch for everyone (and that too one involving apple pie and croissants, yum yum)
- Festive atmosphere (flower garlands et al!)

So I had one of those yesterday. :)

See?
(Ignore the bad photography - the lighting was poor too lazy to click better.)

SON OF SNAPE

While watching Part II of the Deathly Hallows, that's what came to mind. Heh heh! How is that possible? Well, imagine HP in Bollywood, or on Indian telly land. There, anything is possible! And by that, I do mean anything.

Sample these:

• Husband/ son of the family declared dead. Widow/ parents of said son in mourning. Post funeral, that is. So just when the widow about to be remarried, the dead - yes, dead - husband shows up.
• The Ms Goody-Ten-Thousand-Shoes daughter-in-law (DIL) missing/ presumed dead/ similar tragedy. Evil DIL (or equivalent scheming female relative) has taken over the simpering household and reigns Queen. In a twist of fate, the original DIL (believed to be dead, remember?) returns - with a shiny new face, courtesy the friendly neighbourhood Plastics Guy. Cosmetic surgery at its best!
• Child marriage long over, the matriarch of the family does not like the single-digit aged grand-DIL, and hatches an Evil Plot to have her (also underage) grandson remarried - to another minor. Many twists and turns and years (and finally hitting maturity) later, said grandson moves to the Big City and falls in love, forsaking the sweet little wife from childhood - with Wife Part II, i.e. the minor from his nightmares! Tough keeping up, eh?

So I figure, if any of that can happen, why not the Son of Snape? Or maybe sequels involving business rivalry (now that Lord Voldemort is no more - or is he? Heh heh! *eyebrow raised*) between the Potter/ Weasley kids and the Malfoys? Or wait - maybe even a marriage between them! Gasp! Of course, this would only be a plot to take over the Potter millions. Ahhh! See - endless possibilities!

What's your version?

HE'S BACK!

That adorable elephant-headed God is here again!

Hello, Ganpati. Or Ganesha, if you prefer that. Or maybe just hello, Gamps.

SUNSHINE!

...after some zillion and one days of rain. Hurrah for the bright blue skies and shiny green leaves!
Let's make a list (oooh!) of sun-filled likes:

1. No damp

2. The dog stays dry (not that I have one, unfortunately)

3. So do the rugs and carpets (these I do)

4. No fungus/ suspicious ugly growths on walls (this itself makes it worthwhile)

5. Dry footwear (bring on the strappy sandals, do!)

6. No ruined pedicures (and ergo pretty feet)

7. No stupid umbrellas that overturn at the slightest hint of a breeze (and get you wet in the rain, bah)

8. No frizzy hair (close to the non-appearance of fungus, close)

9. No excuse to not go on my evening walks (wait, wrong list...)

Unrelated, but stay tuned for a festival update!

BLOGGER-ED!

Just as I (finally) get used to changes on Blogger, I see some more! Arrrghhhhh.... gotta go figure 'em out now. *grumble*