RAINY DAYS ARE MADE OF THESE...

1 A steaming hot (giant) cup of coffee (of course!) and even better conversation

2 A good book (or e-book, in my case) and a light quilt to snuggle in to

3 A long drive (alone, with the significant other, friends... you pick)

   ... Yes, view from the front seat =)

4 Unexpected visitors at the kitchen window

5 Fritters (potatoes, I love you all, unconditionally!)

   ... No pics. They got eaten (and shared with above said visitor) :D

That's been what this past weekend's been like for the most part, with a movie thrown in. And some quality family time.

CHAI!

Of the green, healthy, full of anti-oxidants variety, but chai nonetheless.

Yes, my first love IS coffee - and always will be - but chai's also a good thing to have. (No, having to change the name of this blog has nothing to do with the continued liking.)

Which reminds me. I have these wonderful (or so I'd like to believe, since I was behind the lens) pictures of a visit to a tea estate/ factory in Sri Lanka. Hang on a mo while I dig deep into the innards of my laptop and unearth those pictures... Or maybe have a chai until then.

BOARD GAMES. REMEMBER THEM?

Not saying that technology is bad (though it sometimes often repels me), but when it comes to a few things, I can't help but thinking that simpler times (read the mid-80s/ early 90s) were way cooler.

Play dates, for example. For mums it still remains the same - the non-hosting mum gladly packing off her child to the poor (harried) mum at the receiving end, and secretly digging into her chocolate stash in ecstasy. The kids (that included my friends and I) went berserk for the time, with a gazillion outdoor games (a large chunk of which were on-the-spot inventions) and others played (or enacted, as the case may be) indoors. These included board games and jigsaws. Cardboard (and later plastic coated) boards, brightly coloured counters, dice, play money.... oooh.

The jury is out on whether tablets and other forms of e-play (for want of a better word) actually do enhance the child's skills, but I'm of the opinion that there is no charm to it at all. Take a tablet game that allows the player to design a cake and 'bake' it, followed by generously garnishing it with a multitude of toppings. All electronic. My idea of fun? The same game, but with cardboard cutouts (either made by Mum, or dicier versions that we helped her make, so very proudly) of everything, then popped into a play oven. Garnished, too. Maybe not with coulis or berries, but at least good old chocolate frosting and a cherry on top.

Here's some board games/ jigsaw puzzles from way back when:

YOU KNOW YOU'RE GETTING OLD(ER) WHEN...

... like me, you're tucked in under your duvet, bed socks included, at ten-thirty on a Friday evening, with a good book for company.

I wouldn't change a thing.

CRAZY CARD BILLS. ALL MINE!

Right at the start of this post, I'm convinced that it's not my fault that I have crazy credit card bills.

I remember the first card that I'd ever gotten. At the start of my career, as a management trainee (absolutely at the bottom of the employee food chain, basically) I had a card company send me a shiny new piece of plastic basis the salary I had just started to earn. They didn't care that the grand sum total of my work experience was about a quarter of a financial year, or that what I had stated on my application was an amount that I hadn't even seen in one place, as a student. Still, they loved me. Loved me enough to give me a gold card. Ironically, the bank that I worked with then, was not so benevolent - they gave me a silver, and that too around six-odd months later.

It's so much easier to flash plastic, right, versus carrying around cash? One, you don't have to have a cow about bags getting picked (pretty routine on our public transport systems here, thank you), and second, more place for the kitchen sink. That's another thing - however hard I try, the bag always has an assortment of stuff that I don't always need - but I'm sure I will. And of course, given the deep love and affection that Murphy has for me, I will - just as soon as I remove it from my bag, in a bid to lighten the load. Meh.

And so the cards live on. Of course, the downside is you don't always keep tabs on where all it's been swiped, unless you save the chargeslips. The last time I did that, it worked well - until I cleaned my bag and tore up those slips into teeny little bits of non-paper.

Worse are the bloopers. Went to purchase clothes once. And thankfully got a call within minutes of signing a charge slip from the card company, asking whether I did indeed spend fifty thousand rupees (or about nine hundred dollars) on a single garment. After I was done hyperventilating, turns out that the shop assistant (or whatever is the politically correct parlance) had swiped my card for two zeroes more. I love when they 'void' sales. I wish they'd do it with legit purchases too, as a surprise for being a good customer. But I guess that's what gets me into a fix in the first place.

Then the other time I swiped my card at dinner. And left my card at the till, so that our server returned with the bill, and some cash. A tip to the customer it wasn't, as it turns out - but a cash refund. What had happened was, since I had left my card at the counter, they'd swiped it for the next customer as well. Not that I'd realised.

Another time that I was so sure I'd lost my card. Got it blocked too, since I couldn't recall where I'd put it, when attempting to bill at the next store. Wasn't lost - I'd left it behind two stores ago. 

And after all this, I persist. And whimper in actual, real pain when those stupid statements come in. Must do something about it, really must. Like leave the cards at home.

SPORTS AND I ARE NOT FRIENDS

I was afraid of the grandfather for a laundry list of things. One of these horrors was sports, or rather, my lack of understanding or interest in almost all of them. For someone who is gravely challenged in the hand-and-eye coordination department, it really is difficult to show genuine interest and concern about sports at large, and adoration and concern for athletes in particular. Growing up, my bedroom walls were plastered with posters, magazine clippings, newspaper cut-outs of pop and movie stars. So much so that you had to hazard a guess at the colour of the walls, given that there was no place for even an ant to rest its world weary rear. But never did you find a sports star. Never on my radar, those.

The grandfather, however, was a sports fanatic. From when I knew him, strictly from the couch with the bowl of peanuts and beer, but the mother swears he had a mean handle on the tennis racquet, and could out swim Moby Dick. But that's another story, for another post. He was burdened with me each summer, whose idea of exercise was to flip over pages of the book that I happened to be reading. Or, in an Herculean effort, aiming the remote control at the then God of music devices - the three-CD changer, to switch from one pop song to the next.

By the time I'd pick my book off the floor - from where it would've landed, after I'd have dropped it in terror at the grandfather's shouts at a goal or a run or whatchamacallit - and look up shakily at the telly, trying to come to grips with what had happened, the grandfather would have turned to me, expecting a similar ecstatic response. At best, a weak whimper is all I could come up with. Frown. Not me, him.

Figured then, that maybe it was time to read some more - this time, a book on sports, so that I could (hopefully) decipher what all those mysterious terms meant - goals, runs, sets, innings, games, fouls... you get the drift. And so the tome was purchased. After a few initial (mustered up and fake enthusiastic) tries, the book had other uses - that of a mouse mat, and also to boost the height of the PC monitor alternatively.

Then one year the cricket World Cup happened. By the time I figured out which team wore which colour, the tournament (or whatever it's called) got over. I didn't even get down to knowing team members' names, let alone recognising their faces from the news. My only conclusion was that I liked the happy sunshine-y yellow that some team (I think it was the Aussie) wore.

As for tennis, between all the love and games that were oozing on to the courts, the last I knew, Andre Agassi and Steffi Graf ruled. I'm now given to understand that not only do they not play anymore, but have gotten married and made babies who may just make their own tennis debut sometime soon. Of course, whether it'll be on grass courts or clay or any other substance, I'll never know.

When I see swimmers, all I marvel at is how on Earth water doesn't get into their eyes, ears, nose or any other orifice. How they don't gasp and choke for breath, the way I do if I injest water even in the shower. The significant other had the Olympics going on the telly last evening as I got home from work. Coffee mug in hand, I settled in to watch something new (to me at least) - synchronised swimming. Amid all that perfection, all I could think of, was water inside my nostrils.

Am I anti-sports? No. All I know is, I should stick to the sitcoms on the TV, and drive to work for exercise. Shifting from 'D' to 'N' to 'P' is exhausting enough, I reckon, given the traffic I wade through on Mumbai's roads. Which I will rant about separately.

HO-HUM

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

Drat.

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.

MY FAVOURITE CORNER

...of our living room.

That lovely glowy bit there?

Courtesy this:

When lit up:

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?

ONE BLACK COFFEE, PLEASE!

Seriously, black coffee should be declared a religion. How is it even possible to start off the day *yawn* without a steamin' hot cuppa?

This is what most of my mornings look like:
Wake up smiling grumpy most of the time.
Look around bleary-eyed.
Stumble to kitchen.
Plug in the trusty best friend, uhh coffee maker.
Scoop in the grounds, add the water. Slosh some on hand, of course.
Keel over wait while the coffee manna is brewed.
Inhale the goodness.
Garner enough energy to open one eye, as a result. See what magic coffee can do?
Eagerly grab mug with both hands, inhale the happiness again. And again. Sip. Scald tongue. (Oh, how does that even matter? It's coffee heaven.)
Sip some more.
Open the other eye.
Mournfully look down at the dregs, wondering where heaven vanished to.
And then... start off the day.

Now, can this be anything but a religion?

MY DAILY FIX

How many of you out there also need their daily fix (many, many) scoops of Nutella?

(No image while I take my own and upload it; dunno about all those scary copyrighted pictures floating around cyberspace.) Finally! Done!


Serving suggestion I:
1 slice of bread
1 banana
LOADS of Nutella
How-to:
Spread Nutella on to the slice of bread, this nice thick layer that ensures zero bread visibility. (No, no - I don't hate bread at all; just that Nutella should be seen - and eaten - and not heard.)
Chop up the banana and top the Nutella, uhhh, bread with these l'il circles.
EAT! Hee hee.


Serving suggestion II:
Know crepes? Yes? Great, how about a Nutella crepe then? Trust me, it just doesn't get better than that!


Serving suggestion III:
Have you tried Nutella with pancakes? Yeah, hot buttery 'cakes over which Nutella is drizzled? Do!


Serving suggestion IV:
1 JAR of Nutella
1 spoon (or fingers, if said cutlery is unavailable)
How-to:
Unscrew Jar of Heaven.
Dig in with the spoon (or finger).
Need I say more?


How do *you* eat your Nutella?


P.S.: In a saner world, I see you folks slowly shaking your heads in disbelief, and thinking about un-reading this blog, or hey... maybe there's more of us out there? Please say I'm not the only one who needs a daily fix? Please? Pleaseeeee....


P.P.S.: Did you know there's a World Nutella Day? *dances a happy dance*

WEEKEND UPDATE

So what're we doing this weekend?
Here's the complete list of ingredients:
The significant other - 1 nos.
Self - 1 nos.
The in-laws - 2 nos.
The significant other's nephew - 1 nos.
Car - 1 nos.
Packed overnight bags - 2 nos.
Sunscreen - 1 nos.
Beach gear - LOADS!

Watch this space for pictures of our weekend trip to the beach!

And... what does your weekend look like?

POLITICS

Normally, I stay away from this topic. Several happy ways to do this:
Ignore the newspapers that come in every morning.
Switch telly channels the minute you come across a newsy one.
Slink away from conversations that are remotely related to said subject. (Honestly, talking to cactii would be more productive, am sure.)
Nod intellectually with a very knowledgeable look (practice, baby, practice) should you be unable to avoid such conversation, and then quickly change the conversation to say, knitting, or film gossip.

But the news these days, I tell you! There's a circus going on, in the guise of politics, and how. Everyone and his cousin wants in on the political pie, and has been doing their very best to jump in. It's official: the caravan's overstuffed now. It's soooo In.Your.Face, you'd have to be totally lame (and some) to miss it. Time to stop paying for DTH, eh! :D

ON MY KITCHEN SHELF

Really, nothing like a cheerful kitchen, given that the said place is not exactly my favourite hangout. I'd rather be reading a book.

ON MEDITATION

So woke up one morning and decided to start off with meditation. Experienced bliss. Hooked on for life. Hah! Now that would be a fib, and how!



This is actually how it started off.

Got introduced to this very warm and wonderful couple, aquaintances of the folks'. They are both deeply spiritual and religious, of course with both being mutually exclusive. (Which is what I like.) A few evenings at their place, some discussions on who we are, what are we doing here, what is our purpose in life...you get the drift. Basic questions, maybe, but every time you visit them, you have a different view, a different answer. Then of course, there's karma. Without going into a crash course on spirituality (I'll leave that for another post), discovered with them that it's plain and simple wonderful to sit quiet and meditate.

This is how I go about it:
Dimmed lights
Air conditioner on
Diffuser with some pleasant aromatherapy oil (my current favourite's cinnamon)
Favourite CD (instrumental/ chants)
So all you have to do is have the above organised. Yes, it's comfortable. Yes, it's convenient, and at my convenience. Even a 15-minute meditation, with just myself for company is good. Sure there are times (most times, to be honest) when it's difficult to not think about anything, or clear my mind of every little thought, but that's okay. It's okay to have the random thought flit by, but it's more important to focus on your breathing, and soothe your mind with the music/ chants. (See, that's why you pick something restful.)

One day, I may take this a notch higher, where I may not need the music to calm me, I may not need the diffuser to waft a soothing aroma and I may not need the AC on to feel good. Until then, however, my brand of meditation works!

Try it, do!

SEPTEMBER GARDEN

September's a happy month.
Here's why:
First and foremost, it's Mum's birthday month. That in itself makes it special, because Mum's super special. (A separate post will see me go into raptures about Mum sometime.) But hey, do think about it - doesn't your Mum make your day? If you live together, or close by, a smile, a hug, or even a few quick words (or gossip!) exchanged can do it. If you live a distance away, or your Mum's that extra-shiny star in the sky, even a memory can do the trick. Anything, really, because Mums are always, always there.

Next, my window box flowers bloom. They're finally not rain-soaked anymore, neither are they gasping for breath (and water) like they do in the scorching hot summer. They're in that happy plant-world balance of good food, sunlight, shade and just that occasional rain shower. If you look closely, when it rains in September, it's almost as if the flowers are reaching out daintily to the sky, their delicate faces uplifted to capture that tiny sparkling jewel-like rain drop. Beautiful.

While on the rains, let me tell you that for someone with hair that can at best be (politely) described as frizzy on a good day, the fact that we're slowly inching towards sunshine is goooooooood. No more bad hair life, never mind days. Honestly, HOW can those waif-thin (Another grouse. Hmph.) models look all hot and sultry with rain-soaked hair, pray tell?! I can manage a frumpy and mouse-like, and that takes a lot of effort. Else, we're talking clumpy and we-have-given-up-on-life strands that stringily stick to the scalp. *whimper*

Plus, we're inching closer to November. Dunno why, but just love November. Maybe it's the sound of the word, I dunno. But November it is, as far as the best month of the year goes. You know, it's just one of those random things, like lucky numbers and the sort. But back to September...

Also, come September (Ah the old movies!), it's the advent of the festive season in India. It's from here on that we move into new clothes/ fairy lights/ scrumptious food/ magic mode. Pure bliss.

Yay, it's September!

MOVING CITIES... ALMOST

So this is really from 2004, when the significant other and I had decided to spend our lives together, come summer 2005. And all was well. Almost. The thing is, while I was happily living in Mumbai city, he was some xyz miles (I can NEVER get distances right; I'm hopelessly geographically challenged.) away in the far away land of New Delhi.

Now the thing is, Mumbai is well, Mumbai. For someone who's lived here all her life, moving cities to India's capital city is not the easiest (or most palatable) of ideas to fathom. Anyway, so moving being in the name of love and all, wasn't much of an option - like extracting a rotten tooth, it had to be done. And there started my numbered days in Mumbai.

First things first, then. Mumbai is synonymous with the sea, the beaches, the gorgeous monsoon. Had my fill of them all - spent solitary evenings by the sea, just taking it all in, almost as if to absorb it for a lifetime. Took long walks on the beach; oh the feel of the soft cool sand between my toes, waves lapping at my ankles! Deep breathfuls of the salty, tangy air. My own little heaven, to be assimilated and imprinted on my mind.

The almost in the subject line that you see? Well, Somebody up there loves me - barely was the engagement ring on my finger and the congratulatory messages pouring in, that one which made my world even more perfect came in: the fiance was transferred (for good) to Mumbai on work!

Mmmmmmm-hmmmmmm....so it's now the both of us, taking those walks by the sea, breathing in the wonderful salty air in tandem...and building castles together.

CHILLIN'

Literally. It's around 9.4 degrees, and cold, by Mumbai standards. A good feeling, this, all tucked up, toasty warm in a quilt, sipping on a mug of coffee. :)

Sometimes, life doesn't get better than this!

TERRIBLEPHONESERVICE.COM

So much for communication. A mobile phone company can be loads of trouble, I've learnt.

Dial the supposed helpline... Listen to a tinny voice, ear-splitting hold music... and dial:

1 for billing details.

2 for special offers.

3 for latest updates.

4 for caller tunes.

What about a number that connects you to a real, live human?