The Devil wears Skis

I had never been SO excited about doing anything in my life. Not even sneaking out of Analog Communication class to watch Manmadhan ( I had officially bunked class to watch a lousy Tamil movie ..but oh what the heck)

I was going to to ski...!! Really ski..!! I mean on real snow!

God, this was a tough one to pass. I mean, think about it...could I even think about doing this in Madras? Even in Winter? Please, the place is so hot that ice melts even inside the refrigerator (but I love the place, so beat it!)

So NOW I knew why God wanted me here despite all my squirming. He wanted me to ..ski!

The Gods wanted me..to skiiiii!

Well, the Husband and I had a few concerns on whether we'd be able to do it, ski that is, considering this was our first attempt. So what was the big deal anyways? I mean, we'd have a an instructor who'd brief us on how to NOT break our vital parts, plus we'd be given helmets to protect our heads. Besides, I knew how to ice-skate decently as I'd done a considerable amount of it in 8th grade (courtesy Girl Scouts) so...it was just the Husband who had to balance on ice for the first time, technically.

Man, this was gonna be cool.

So, a couple of friends decide to come along with us on our skiing escapade on this bright Saturday morning. Hema and Vish (names not changed to protect identity 'cos they really don't care) were as excited as were were and what was skiing if you didn't do it with company?

So we reached Hunter Mountain which is in Upstate New York, filled up the forms and rented the skis and helmets. We looked like super Heroes on a roll. Or dorks, depending on who you were looking at.

On our way out to the snow-mountains, we were divided into groups where the Husband was put into the group that headed out first while I was put in another with the rest of our clan. No biggy, just that we started off almost an hour later.

The first group had a Chinese instructor who (later I'm told) apparently 'forgot' to teach his group how to 'stop' their skis from crashing into a wall while rushing down a hill uncontrollably. I thought these lessons were ALL about knowing how to stop the goddamn skis. Bah!

We, however, had problems of our own. An enormously fat lady as our instructor who made it difficult for us to concentrate while we were busy making cartoony pictures with our heads of her rolling off her ski's and into a wall, was a challenge on its own. But we were soon to discover that excepting for us 3 doofuses (thats a word 'cos this is my blog), the rest of the group comprised of skillful 'pros' who were born naturals from the moment they put their skis on. Actually they were all just kids half my age but deep down, I was willing to bet that they had skied to glory in their previous lives as well. It didn't take too long before it was evident that we stood out quite distinctly from the group, for all the wrong reasons.

As our fat lady started to sing instruct, the 3 of us tried to pay very special attention to what was our skiing lesson. I'd however take an extra minute longer in translating the American-accented instructions to the Indian ones in my brain 'cos I'm from the villages and I think white skin is so cool.

From what was being our first instruction that required me to put my skis on, I was the group's clumsy goofball. I'd feel as though I was falling off a hill, all this on a flat surface! As the instructions began to pour in one by one, I'd find myself accelerating uncontrollably down a slope each time I tried to follow the new instruction or a new move. It was crazy I tell you! I mean, all I'd intend to do is ski down a ramp for about 8 feet and then make a slight 'turn' towards the right or the left in order to stop the motion down hill ...but oh no, my skis would be on a jolly trip to the walls some 100 feet away and I'd have no other choice BUT to forcefully 'make' myself fall (if I were that lucky) as that would be the only way to impede a crash into the gated-walls. Charming, I tell you.

An hour later, our Instructor decides to free the class, a good 30 minutes before schedule. Why this early? To quote the fat lady 'This group barring a very few (which meant just me..grr) doesn't need any help..you are all born naturals'. Hema had given-up a good forty-five minutes before, and Vish...well, I don't know what happened to him...I couldn't even find him. So I was out there on my own, trying to have my skis on and not go tumbling down the mountain at the same time. Fun eh?

For those of you who may implicate that I didn't 'try' or put any effort to sustain on that battlefield, in my defence let me just say that I must have spent at least 50 minutes trying to master the 'wedge' (Plus I'd given up trying to locate the Husband and clan)

I should have packed my skis while I had the chance, but I'd decide to give another whack at it. And, try I did! The wedge, might I add, is an up-side down 'V' shape you form with your legs in a desperate attempt to stop moving at 500 miles/hr. Its supposed to work like a charm, and stop your skiis instantly however fast you may be skiing down. This trick, however didn't work with me (why aren't we surprised). Infact it would do quite the opposite in effect and I'd end up accelerating my way down a 100 feet slope in some 800 miles/hr on my way to Crashsville. All that snow. Christ, were was the sun when you needed it.

If you're still thinking why I didn't stop and give-up, well sorry to burst your bubble, but I quite did.

At around 4 pm I decided to call it a day and broadcast the fact that I proposed to officially quit my long and successful stint in skiing. The Husband, quite apparently had a jolly good time skiing his butt off and refused to come out till the authorities switched the lights off.

I on the other hand, had a couple of things I could use from this escapade...a ton of loony photos which me look like ludicrous astronaut, a couple of broken bones around my neck (from the thousands of times I came tumbling down, who'd think?), and a twisted tale to inspire fellow ambitious Desis.

Goooooooooooooooooooooooo ski ! :D

Mic please..

So I've tried and tried AND tried to put something up here for quite a while but in vain and all I can boast of, as for now, is a big fat drafts-section in which I can proudly proclaim that I've probably exhausted all the possible 'n+23' ways to start a fresh post. Its taken me THIS long to come back here and I don't quite intend on making this an I've-Not-Been-Blogging-oflate-Because.. post , considering that disappearing and re-disappearing is so much a part of Confounded-Lady's life.
Syaad I know.

Yenihoo, I finally post. Not that its post-worthy material, its a post.

So now that we're convinced that this IS a post and I can assume that you'd accept whatever I write here, I don't think I have to bother with the minute details of the various frivolities of life.

Like say, you wouldn't be interested in Confounded-Lady's daily confrontation with a 60 year old driving instructor who screams for his dear life when she crosses 25km/hr...would you?

Or perhaps...the humour she's s attempted to locate in sharing a house with a 16 year-old teenage NRI kid who's fashion sense would give Paris Hilton a run for her money (or another run to jail :P ) or even better, make Confounded-'ol-Lady look like an archaic work of art from the Medieval ages.
(I love you Divya/Dipsu-kutti anyways)...

.....Or how about being terrified of the newly hired servant-maid who constantly yells at CL for changing the place of the broomstick from behind the kitchen to..well, somewhere behind the kitchen where Maidy-dear couldn't bother to look till Confounded Lady saves the day...

I still think that watching 16 year old Dipsu-kutti get her hair coloured dark-red at Maha's is worth a separate post, 'cos I'm yet to get over the fact that my family heirloom does comprise of some twisted fashion-sense-DNAs after all and not just the traditional 9-gajam way of thinking. Goooooo Dipsu!

Ok..yayy, you've got me all excited. :D
So where do I start?

I am not facing a Writer's Block.

I am not.
I am not.
I am not.

Be afraid...very afraid.

On May Day today, Confounded-Lady turns one.
The last one year has been a whole lot of fun
But there's a LOT more where this came from (Mayday indeed :P )
Dum-di-dum dum, Dum-di-dum dum.

...Oh, here comes another one (with that Rachel Green accent)

Wolfkid and Preets had tagged me like a gazillion years ago.
I think I slept through all that time..and its just dawned on me that these tag posts seem to be so so 'in' these days...and that I'd better be 'it' before I'm 'out'.
You didnt get 'that' did you?
No probs, neither did I.

I am now konjum romba senti today as I've been listening to Pibarae rAma rasam in rAg Ahir Bhairavi the whole day. This song has it in it to make you all silent, reminiscent, mushy..and perhaps bit more 'blue' if you miss someone you really..well, miss.
Its really a must listen.
If you're (still) interested in listening to this song after the 'yellow' description I've given you, don't hesitate to dial toll free: I-WANT-TO-BE-BLUE(er)-AND-MISS-MY-GIRLFRIEND
Kidding, mail me..I'll send it to you with pleasure. (This should be interesting)

OK- you might want to give it a try even though you pretend you don't miss xg.

Enough awready. Tag. Yes.


1. Last movie you saw in a theater?
...Laga Chunari Mein Daag.
And I liked it. hmph.

2. What book are you reading?
The Mahabharatha by Rajaji. Started it at least 5 times within these 3 years.
I'm finishing it else I'm...well, I'm finishing it.

3. Favorite board game?
Scrabble. I used to make words up and try and win when I was a kid. No its not cheating *straight face*
'Zittle' was the adjective used for small/baby animals according to Yours Pretentiously when she was 7 years old :P

4. Favorite magazine?
India Today.

5. Favorite smells?
SambarANi on washed hair :)

6. Favorite sounds?
My mom yelling my name :D

7. Worst feeling in the world?
Regret having said something..or even worse, having not said something to someone.

8. What is the first thing you think of when you wake up?
Christ..have I overslept.

9. Favorite fast food place?
TCS Chaat counter, Velacheri Madras. But not without the gang. *sigh!*

10. Future child’s name?
I am so not telling you. Don't want anyone to steal my lil Emma :D

11. Finish this statement. “If I had lot of money I’d….?"
I'd spend it all on charity and World Peace.
Crown please?

12. Do you drive fast?
Depends on what fast is for you. No, really.

13. Do you sleep with a stuffed animal?
Nope. Simple.

14. Storms - cool or scary?
Sexy

15. What was your first car?
Car a? Naana? Yeah right.

16. Favorite drink?
Orange Juice

17. Finish this statement, “If I had the time I would….”?
..become a doctor.
Confounded, yeah yeah,

18. Do you eat the stems on broccoli?
I don't eat broccoli.

19. If you could dye your hair any color, what would be your choice?
I'm fine with the way it is thank you very much.

20. Name all the different cities/towns you’ve lived in?
Madras and Bahrain.

21. Favorite sports to watch?
I cannot watch cricket even if it were the last thing to be screened before the end of the world. I'm fine with anything else.

22. One nice thing about the person who sent this to you?
Preets-I've known her ever since I was old enough to say Peepee and Dolly. She's family. I love family.
Wolfkid- Hey, thambee. You're okay kid :)

23. What’s under your bed?
A lot of ..space..? :-/

24. Would you like to be born as yourself again?
Tosh! I'm not being born again in this pot-hole....I'm getting moksha. Oh yeah!

25. Morning person, or night owl?
Depends :D

26. Over easy, or sunny side up?
What was that again please...?

27. Favorite place to relax?
Home and 'Home' :D

28. Favorite pie?
Apple from McDonalds.

29. Favorite ice cream flavor?
Pista.

30. Of all the people you tagged this to, who’s most likely to respond:
I think I'm the last one to do this tag in my circuit. That should answer your koshchin.

I dedicate the space occupied by this post along with all the mirth I was most likely to have experienced doing this, to the taggers. BEE happy, always.
And the rest of you non-taggers....well, you BEE happy too, with a lot of yellow and orange (and a bit of black too) in your lives.

Till then, let the all pervading confoundedness lead your way from darkness to light.
Om Shanthi Shanthi Shanthi:

CL

Ok, lets see..

1. Got up quite early this morning -before my dad actually (which is inhumanly early) and almost killed him with the heart-attack he got, on seeing me roam about the house in the wee hours of the morning.
*2 Aapee points (I think)

2.Told amma I'll take care of 'all' the cooking 'today' while she can rest for the whole day.
She wasn't particularly amused.
See thats why Ekadasis are extra special.
*1 Aapee point (*smug look*)

3. Banged my toe against the same door I banged it against the day before.
"Ooooowwwwch" doesn't seem to be strong enough a word.
*2 Not-so-Aapee points

4. Made call to India and spoke to friend for 30 minutes. Me the happy. >:D<
*2 Aapee points

5. Realised that I do have some matter to blog on after all, but am too lazy to blog.
Shame shame Confounded-Dame.
*3 Not-so-Aapee points

6. Learnt a new song in rAgam ShadvidamArgini. She has such a beautiful scale..and *such* a beautiful name.
Me the sooper happy.
*3 Aapee points

7. Almost deleted mail from Mr.Fiance thinking it was spam :O
Note to self: Must get used to important mails in mailbox for a change
*5 Not-so-Aapee points

So that leaves me with.... Net 2 Not-so-Aapee points today :O

*colon-pipe*

Think I should blog more often and not bang my toe against the door over two days consecutively.
Or..perhaps make more ISD calls to buds in India and petrify my dad more frequently in the mornings? :-/

I don't know. You do the math.
I'll do the honours.

:D

Geographic coordinates: 26 00 N, 50 33 E

Location: Middle East, archipelago in the Persian Gulf, east of Saudi Arabia

Climate: arid; mild, pleasant winters; very hot, humid summers

This place used to be Home for me. It still is..in some sense.

Ah, it feels great to be back Home. It certainly does.

Yet...I have a feeling that I still miss 'Home'.

I miss 'Home'.

Do you like...get me?

..And then there were None.

Author's Note:
This post is long. Quite long. But please don't stop reading in the middle .
And oh yes, any resemblance to real life characters is merely purely PURELY coincidental. Really.

*****************************************

She wasn't late for work. She never was.

But that never stopped her from speeding down Kasthoori Ranga road which was her favourite road in Madras solely because of the speed at which she could drive her Blue-Scooty. The luscious greenery on both sides, the conspicuous absence of gargantuan lorries and the tireless stretch of smooth cement for as far as the eye can see, was more than just an enticing reason to adopt that route to work. Driving and speeding had never been this peaceful before.

She knew the route to work like the back of her hand. Well everybody who took the same route to work did, but she'd known the nature and the soul of that area so well that she subconsciously knew all the spots at which she had to slow down or speed. And it worked each 'n everytime, everyday. She was the master of that route, she knew.

Her mind was the busiest during this time. She would hum a different tune every 30 seconds, try an aalaap for an exotic rAga for the next 120 seconds, think of a friend she'd recently gotten to know and like, reminisce over good times with old friends, try memorizing a DIshitr krithi, wonder what her dad would be doing at this time at home- such a multifaceted array of thoughts, however, never once concentrating on the road and its traffic.
She prided herself for that, for being able to maneuver her vehicle down even the toughest roads of Madras, with such admirable ease and agilance.
That too inspite of her her rash driving.

'Touch wood' is what she'd smile and say when people gasped at her abominable speed on the roads, and she'd immediately lift her right hand and touch her head.

Today was no different. The rAga on her lips today, was vArAmu. Such an enchanting rAgA would have customarily made her close her eyes and surrender but she was after all, driving. She sang, neverthelss, as loud as possible, knowing that at 07:30 AM there would be no one on the roads to turn around and give her the 'huh-what-the..' look.

Half way through Kasthoori Ranga road now, there was still a long way to go. She brought herself to see the road in front of her and register . But for a sinfully beautiful Black Skoda far in front of her Blue Scooty, it was just her vehicle on the road. Just as always.
Lovely.

But all of a sudden the Black Skoda in front of her, came to a halt. A sudden stop.

Ok, this was too sudden. Too unexpected.
Why did the car stop?? Why did it friggin stop??
There wasn't any signal in front..not for miles, and there wasn't any vehicle in front of it either... and what were the chances of an old blind-deaf-dumb lady crossing a usually-desolated road at 7:30 AM in the morning??? Zilch??

Crap..She now had to stop her Scooty. And fast. And how!
Thoughts rushed through her mind as she quickly scrambled for the brakes.

As she was fast approaching it, she had a look at the Car. It was far too shiny and far too beautiful be crashed against. She tried to maneuver her vehicle to the right without skidding and managed to pull the brakes in time, probably saving her from being thrown head over the Skoda-however not without a significant crash at the Car's posterior and a terrible fall.

The next few minutes were a dream. She lay there on the road, with the Blue-Scooty on top of her. Motionless....

(To be continued..)

Talk to me no?

Rite, so whats up?
Nothing??

I'll tell you whats up. Off late, a lot of my friends from the Not-so-Fairer sex (pun intended like never before) have mysteriously disappeared and stopped talking to me. See, this is unfair. I'm just engaged you know. Not like I've been accused of murder or am down with small-pox or something. I can talk. Yes, to you. Very much.
So talk to me no?

Guys suddenly get this thing with committed ladies, I notice. They think they're infringing upon public property if they're still talking to an engaged/married girl. Sad na? Tsk-tsk.
Yes, I know, its every Reggie Mantle 's worst nightmare to get beaten up by Moose when all he's doing is having a friendly banter with Midge.... but seriously, Moose isn't so Moosey you know. So , whats with the disappearing act?
Talk to me no?

My girlfriends. I shouldn't go ahead with this post without their mention.
They have been extra sweet 'n all with me by still generously calling me up time and again to ask me if I'm making the whole thing up just to attract attention. See, that's what best friends are for. What would I do without you gurls? :P
There's another set of girlfriends that's not been talking to me off late as they feel that they'd be 'wasting my time' -as they put it- at this point.
"Huh" you say? Yeah, I say that too.
How would my gurlfriends be wasting my.... (sniff).. Oh crap, You've got me all teary now.
Screw you. I'm going shopping now. :P
But seriously, talk to me no?

See, if you'd just talk to me, I'd talk to you, and I could tell you how boring interesting my life is and you can tell me how interesting yours is. Exciting no? Just imagine all the fun we're depriving ourselves just because you're not talking to me.
Talk to me no?


Listen, I'm not as desperate as I sound.

No, really.

Ok, maybe a bit.

Actually a bit more...

Wait..can you repeat the question ?

Shady, Very Shady

Ok..so how different is my life now anyway?
Not very, really.
Except for the 'Neeya??!!? Kalyanam aa?? Bwahahahahaha ' reaction I seem to be receiving from my friends time and again (@friends :P), everything is peach normal.

Lets see now. Recent excitement contributed by mad mad shop-hopping which has made me all the more gleeful and happy. Nothing like seeing money float in the air (a bit creepy when its your money though). But you know, I never thought that shopping could leave me so pooped at the end of the day that I was too tired to even life my feet off the ground….To lie down of course (what were you thinking?)

A few interesting lessons shopping with family has taught me.


1. Enlightenment #1.
Sarees look gorgeous in shops. Gorgeous with a capital Gee. They're meant to.
But it's a different thing 'looking' gorgeous in them. When you're 153 centimetres short tall, a saree around you sometimes looks like a quilt wrapped around a pencil, or an eraser for that matter. Sad I know. But my family members are always supportive and diplomatic. And I go ahead with buying the most gorgeous ones in the shop anyway without the slightest bit of remorse.


2. Enlightenment #2.
My addiction to pink is a potential embarrassment to family. Being lured towards all the pinks in the saree section, ok understandable. But constantly groping the pink shirts in the men's section??
You think I have a problem??
Yeah, join the club. I need help. And how!
Ideas perhaps, anyone?


3. Enlightenment #3
Must confront conflicting choices regarding breathtaking colours in saree shop.
Not a wise move to ask person-at-saree-section 'Inda saree nannarikuma, ilati iduva?'
(Translate: This one will look nice..or this one?)
He will say, 'Rendumae edthukonga, wonga colour-ku wo-ho-nnum irikum'
(Translate: Take both ma, they both suit your complextion'
Yeah right, like we're gonna fall for that one. Ha! *conceited smirk*
I'm sure we can choose between Jyothika-Pinks and MS (MSubhalakshmi)- Blues on our own thank you very much.

Right, so where does all this leave me now?
Well, I'm still tired. And hungry. And yes, a bit tired too (wait did I mention that already?)
Ok, before you think I'm drunk too, I'm gonna make a dignified exit, lift my legs with both my hands, lie down on bed and crash.

I do, after all, deserve tonight's sleep don't I?

:D

Yours shopping-ly,

Confounded-Lady

Foot-note: Oh btw, we ended up taking both the above mentioned colours at the end of the day. Yes, these shop-keepers are a nasty influence on us gullible juntha. But what to do? Both colours were stunning. So much for complexion, flattery and all that jazz.

:D

New News

Finally. The two movies are out.

I can now heave a sigh of relief and watch all the national chaos on the telly like good 'ol times.
Whether its Mamta Banerjee wailing her guts out in Nandigram or the lil kid with 8 limbs or good 'ol Sonia Gandhi reading out verbatim from her transliterated script...I really missed watching all the real news which was moreorless overshadowed with all the hue 'n cry over the Diwali releases 'Om Shanthi Om' and 'Saawariya'.
Seriously.
One more look at Shahruk's hand getting stuck to Deepika Padukone's pallu or Ranbir Kapoor prancing about the sets of Saawariya in his white towel which looks like its gonna fall off any second and I will solemnly swear never again to switch on the telly (news channels, get a life. Please.)

But wait a minute...whats that I hear you say..Its not yet over???
Movie review time???

Oh Dear.

Of Confounded Birthdays et al

I have that darned confounded look when...

1. ....I wake up this morning to find the whole house sleeping with no one to wish me. So I get back to bed and sleep a wee bit longer...
2. ....when I still get calls when I'd thought that I'd been wished my everyone I knew last night..
   
3. .....I realize that I don't have a new birthday outfit to sport so I choose the most decent looking one from my wardrobe...
4. ....I rush to the temple just to realize that the therai (doors of the Lord's Chamber) have been shut and that I have to wait another hour to get the Lord's Darshan..
5. .....I don't know how to react when I visit my friend who's just then lost her father...
6. .....I meet all my college folks there who have the same confounded look when they whisper a silent Happy Birthday to me at the mourning place...
7. .....I get a call saying that I have some roses and a cake delivered to me.... (oooooh!)
   
8. .....I plot how to flaunt the flowers and cake at work..
9. .....I cut the cake at my office's canteen knowing that no one's really interest in singing a tune for me when there's a big fat mouth-watering Black-forest cake awaiting us...
10. .....I watch all the cream being smeared across my face while secretly I wish I could have licked all the cream off my face.. (I'll send you the pics when I get them Harish) :)
11. ......I receive Takloo 's 'Happppppppppui Budday' call with the same josh-even though its the fourth time..
12. .......I answer Ramangouda's call by wishing him a Happy Birthday over the phone (this time he had the confounded look)
13. .....I call Harish and thank him for the beautiful flowers and delicious cake- and narrate how interesting my day has been..
14. .....I wonder how to describe this day in just one word...

Would 'confounding' to the trick?
;)

Happy Boithday To Me

The Way of Dude-ism

*Its been long since I last blogged. A month to be precise and that's the longest hiatus I've given. I actually do have tonnes of reasons for not being able to blog, read and comment(the complete ritual of a blogger) ,but lets just leave that for some other time. Nevertheless, I'm thrilled you bothered to turn up just the same and read me again. (Actually I'm jumping so high out of glee that I just bumped my head. Wait did I just hear the ceiling crack?) *


Of late I've been relentlessly struggling NOT to suffix or prefix everything I say with the word 'Dude'. No, not food, not doodh...you heard me right, 'dude' ( and to think you always thought that you had weird neighbours).

I admit it does sound stupid, might make me sound like a desperate wannabe from an arbit 1980's American movie. Yeah. Nevertheless, I just can’t seem to fathom why this sudden obsession over the word.
Why dude. Why now.

There was this time in the early 2000's where the semi-hit movie 'Dude, Where's my Car' turned out to be a cult amongst the wannabe-so-cool youth. Dude had then become a word no sentence could do without.

““Dude, where’s my eraser?”
“Ouch, you stepped on my toe, Dude.”
"That is soo cool, dude"

Yeah, we were young and oh-so-hep back then. Then we all grew up .
Well at least some of us did.

And now, its all coming back to me. This time with more feeling.
I’m bitten by the dude-bug all over again and this time, it’s a more of a corporate and matured way of dude-ism.

“Dude, mail the boss and ‘cc’ me.”
“Dude, I’ll be there for the conference call at 7. Count on it”
“Dude, there’s a bug in my tea”
“Dude! Damn!”

Now, with the ‘D’ word being thrown here,there, everywhere, every time, my teammates weren’t particularly comfortable with that, initially.

Ravi was my team's 'dude'(pun intended, maybe) thanks to Yours Truly's fabulous-yet-weird name-keeping skills and of course not to mention, annoying fixation over the word d*de. For quite some time, I saw him rebel relentlessly to do away with the D word.
This innocuous title bestowed upon Ravi stuck on to him over due course of time where he soon became the well acknowledged dude of my team, whether he liked it or not. The ‘ol boy just had to relent.

I mean, initially it was like:

Me (frantically) : Dude!!!!!!! The mainframes are gonna crash…. We'll be hunted down like goats for an explanation and then sacked..and then our families will be stranded in the middle of no where, and it will all be because of this stooped command we issued. We're dead meat dude. We are so dead. Dude!!!!!!! Are you listening??????

Ravi/Dude (Chewing gum): Yeah. Don’t call me Dude.

Me (contorted face): WTF!

And nowadays, its like..

Me(frantically): Dude..!!! Storage says they don't have enough volumes to bring up the system…I’m out of gum…The systems are gonna crash…We'll be hunted down like rabbits (or was it goats?)…Our families will suffer…We'll be devastated and it will all be because of…

Ravi/Dude: Chill dudette. 'Dude' 's got it all under control here. And, did you just say we’re out of gum?

Me(for different reasons): WTF!

So, you see, over a period of time, people have learnt to respond amicably to dude-ism without much of a smirk. Its now a become a way of living. Now who would have thunk eh?

Well, like I always say (well not 'always', but yeah sue me) that’s just how the cookie crumbles. Dude-ism is here to stay and no one in my team could/can stop it. But just to be a bit fair, I’m fighting real hard trying not to start every scrap/mail/chat-session/sentence with dude. But with dudes and dudettes like my teammates who have so warmly welcomed the way of dud-ism into my team (despite Ravi-dude’s relentless efforts), I don’t think I should really try so hard.

Dudes and dudettes are here to stay.

Now isn’t that real groovy?
:D

Kangana, me...and a lot of thinking

Making reviews just isn't my forte because of which I'll never subject the readers of my blog (however few in number they may be) to a movie-review by me . Well, never again at least. I promise. Now that thats out of the way, I begin my blog...on a movie I just saw recently.
* chuckkles slyly*

Some eight months back when Krati and I were roommates in Trivandrum, I'd asked her what the movie Gangster-A Love Story was all about and why people were raving about that movie 'n why girls were swooning over some new dude called Shiney Ahuja. Krati, the very darling she is, patiently narrated the entire story, scene by scene and by the end, I'd already gotten a feeling of watching the movie already.

But ever since then, I longed to watch the movie. I had to see it for myself... Could human emotions be this complex? Could something this intense be portrayed in celluloid without confusing the viewer and making him/her endure two 'n a half hours of an emotional-fun-fest?

I finally got to watch it yesterday with Rema (the diabolical-cousins doing what we do best. Switching on the telly and shutting- up) and it was just what I'd imagined it to be.

Ahuja is a Greek God. Yes. I wish I were 16 years old so that I could openly drool and swoon over him as it doesn't particularly look appropriate for a girl... sorry, 'woman' of my age to be doing so. *I so hate growing up...sob!*

The movie had very intense and poignant scenes which should have ideally made my tear-glands function with unprecedented efficiency, but I surprisingly found my self thinking through the movie and even more intensely after it.

Kangana Ranaut 's character, however whorish it may have seemed in the movie, portrayed the basic instincts of a woman - in its rudimentary and crude form. That, she wasn't satisfied completely until she was emotionally satisfied. That, no matter how much you gave her, how much you loved her, 'n how much you promised to give her, nothing enticed her as much as the inner feeling of knowing that someone could give her/be the solution to her (otherwise) passionless life.

Kangana's character betrayed the man who loved her more than life itself, while in search of true passion.
Well, you'd think that that's perfectly natural, if not justified, for a women to have behaved the way she did in the movie. I mean, with women always carrying that 'emotional' tag around wherever they go and with bullshit quotes like 'Men think with their brains, women think with their heart ..coz they can't otherwise' floating around, you wouldn't expect 'her' to introspect or think deeply on what she'd be gaining or losing in the bargain of satisfying her inner most needs and desires.

A woman has needs and if it means tearing down the curtains and drinking your way to hell, so be it.

But the actual risk, in the blind pursuit of satiating what one's craving for - lies in not being able to realize or understand what she has in her life already. In the quest for more happiness 'n bliss, she might lose whatever little happiness she has.
People say that those who think with their hearts, are the happiest. Well yes, maybe. You may be awarded with bliss and ecstasy,just like you're lil heart wanted. But you can't count on being successful all the time.

hmm...so what was I trying to insinuate all this time?
That there's always a trade off or compromise in love? That you cant *always* afford to follow your heart and that it may be sensible for one to opt for the most rational of all options -even if one knows that it isn't going to promise her/him whatever she/he had dreamt of all her/his life?

Well like I said, I did a lot of thinking. Plus it was the weekend -I had nothing better to do.
So, *contemplates very deeply* I think I'd be better off thinking with my brains than my heart.
But wait. Did I just say that?
Who am I trying to kid anyway.



P.S- Krati. You've been an inspiration for this post. Please read my blog (from now on at least).

:D

Ta!

Of shrewd mothers, presumptious daughters and two louts in between.

The more I think about it, the more I find it quite funny being uncharacteristically tongue-tied infront of a 9 year old kid and watch her deftly rag us when we ‘attempted’ to do the same.
Ragging will never be the same for me, whether from the ragger’s end or the receiver’s end.
The phrase ‘Putting my foot where my mouth is’ has never ever made more sense than it does now.

My parents wanted to go to Thiruvendipuram for the weekend for some sort of ritual/pilgrimage and I wasn’t particularly thrilled when they forced me to tag along first thing Saturday morning.
Not that I have anything against the hundreds of rituals we Hindus perform on practically any and every day of the year (with due respect to their respective reasons of course), but what triggers the intolerance in me is when they require migration or any activity of that sort on a Saturday morning. Saturday mornings are for hibernation, just for hibernation and nothing BUT hibernation. But then again, who listens to me.
I thus move on.

My cousin Rema had also volunteered to accompany us, thankfully for me. So, that kept me from whining and complaining all along our way to the Aashram. It was a 6 hour journey in our Ambassador. I didn’t compromise on the hibernation-part ..even if it meant leaning and dribbling over my mommy’s shoulder on our way there.

After visiting a few temples nearby and having a sumptuous Iyengar-type dinner in the Aashram with some 30 other people within the community whom we hardly knew yet smiled at for reasons which are still unknown to yours truly, Rema and I sat down on the steps outside and watched all the oldies retire for the day.

It was 8pm and the whole village was asleep. There could be a bomb blast and yet people wouldn’t notice.

All of a sudden a girl comes prancing down the steps, hopping merrily on the road.
This girl reminded me of….well, I’m not ashamed to say it but..me, when I was a kid. She was perhaps the plumpiest kid in the face of the Earth and she was our meat tonight.

“Hey ponnae! Romba Azhaga irikae won dress…. Won paer enna? (Translated to: Hey girl! Your dress is very cute… Whats your name?) “

“Thanks. Solla maataen” (Sollamataen=I won’t tell you)

(Sensing that we were dealing with a smart-alec) “Sollamaten? What a cute name. That’s a nice name you have there Sollamaaten. Is that what they call you at school Sollamaataen ”

(Defensively) “Noooooo..Sollamaataen is not my name.”

“Then what is your name?”

“Sollamaataen!”

“Precisely what we’re calling you, kid”

“ But that’s not my name. And I’m not going to tell you my name. So there.”

On saying this, she comes and sits beside us on the steps.

Now this was beginning to seem like fun. I mean, any other normal kid would have walked just right past us into the Ashram or ignored us all the way. Most of the other kids did just that..but not this one.

It was around 9:30 pm now…it was Saturday night…we had no telly, no music, and most of the lights in the street where out..And just when we’d lost all hope on how we were going to survive the early night, here we had an incredibly chubby, plumpy entertaining, over confident kid who refused to give in.

“This is indeed a very cute dress Sollamaataen. Where did you buy this?”
This was Rema trying to start a conversation.

“Hyderbad”

“Oh”

“I dance.”

“Eh?”

“I dance. I learn dance”

Wow. That was quick.
I mean here we were, trying to break the ice and socialize the cordial way or to be more precise, the ‘corporate’ way, asking her her name, complimenting her on her oversized flashy chumkee-chimkee dress, while Miss. Chubby here was more interested in giving us the bigger details.

“You do eh? How nice! What dance do you learn?”
Us sounding genuinely interested.

“I learn Bharatnatyam” Like every second kid in South India.

“Ok..so how many jathis have you learnt? Have you learnt all the adavus and jathis till Allaripu?”
Ok, This was me, trying to flaunt the very little dance I could remember from my younger days.

“You know dance?” Kid, Incredulously.

“Yes I do” Correction, ‘did’ .

“Don’t lie ok-va? I learn from Lakshmipriya Miss.”

“Who’s Lakshmipriya-miss?"

“My miss” Saying it like she were Queen of England or something.

"Ohhh!!! Lakshmipriya-va? Of course! We remember her....We only taught her dance”
This was uttered in unison by the both of us, Rema and I, the diabolical cousins we are.

“You taught Lakshmipriya Miss?” Voice sounding incredibly surprised.

“ Yes we did. We taught her everything we could. But poor child, she wasn’t a very bright student. That’s why she’s still teaching despite learning dance for sooo many years”. Rema was unstoppable now.

“Lakshmipriya-Miss is 22 years old”. Boy, this kid was shrewd.

‘Only’ 22 years old? See what too much of dialogue can get you into?

“Oh? Well…there have been dancers who have achieved much more at that young age” This was me trying to back Rema up.

“You mean Sheela-miss? ”

“Who’s Sheela-Miss?”

“Sheela-miss is Lakhsmipriya-Miss’s miss”.
And the plot thickens.

“ Oh Sheela-miss a? Ah, I remember her! Yes, she was an extremely bright student. One of a kind. They don’t make ‘em students like her these days”.
I was trying my best to make all this seem plausible to the 8 year old kid.

“You know Sheela-miss?”
Kid’s eyes widened like space-saucers from space.

“ Know her?? She is what she is because of us. We put her up on the map. You go and ask Sheela if she knows ‘Maythini Sridharan’ and she’ll tell you of the sacred relationship we share. Go and ask her tomorrow itself at dance-class, ok-va? ”
Ok, I was trying a bit TOO hard.
And, I was beginning to get the ok-va slang from Miss. Chubby. Kids! Geez!

“ Sheela-miss isn’t in India. She’s in the U.S. running a dance school”
This was said very matter-of-factly by kid.
I was losing all weapons of defence.

Rema to my rescue. “She left without telling us?? Maythini, after all you’ve done for Sheela-miss, just see how she’s absconded without the slightest indication. Dancers these days, cha!”

“ I know, Rema. Cha! I am very upset now.” Trying to fake a hurt-look.

Kid tries to cheer up the not-so-diabolical twins by changing the topic.

“So…Are you running a school anywhere?”
Kid now fishing for more details from the not-so-diabolical cousins.

“Oh yes certainly. “

“Don’t lie, ok-va?”

“We aren’t lying ok-va!” I was sounding a bit desperate now.

Kid waits patiently as one of us makes the story up as we go along.

“We run a school in Australia and Bostwana. We’re doing very well in northern parts of Australia (heavens forbid she opens up a map and discovers a desert all over) and also in Bostwana (clueless of which part of the world the place may be in). The problem with opening up a school in London is that there is a lot of racial-discrimination there and also oflate a lot of political disturbances. You know how these English people are, don’t you? They’re never gonna send their kids for dance lessons once they know that a guy from our country is bombing up their place. So we preferred not to expand towards Europe, and decided to just settle with our success in Australia and Botswana.”

All this to an 8 year old kid with a flashy chumkee-chumkee dress.
Like they say, if you can’t convince them, confuse them.

“ Oh, ok. But Sheela-miss is doing very well ” Kid is still smitten by Sheela-miss.

Hell with your Sheela-miss I felt like saying. But all I could think of is “ I can only be too glad for her. She’ll contact me if she needs to learn some more dance the next time she comes to India”

Just when we were going to switch topics to a much more ‘safer’ one, a woman comes down the stairs calling out for Rajalakshmi.

In a split second, Sollamaten-dearie jumps up and shrieks, “Amma! They know Sheela-miss”.

Ok… firstly, Sollamaten’s name is Rajalakshmi eh? Well, that’s a lot of help.

And secondly… Now, we have your mom in this mess???
What the *@#*$@!

Mommy-dear looks at 2 pretty girls clad in a sari with the most skeptical of looks.
“You know Sheela-miss, do you? Which Sheela-miss?”

We’re both silent like we were caught cheating in an exam.
Rema. Not a sound from her.
Me. “ Well….Sheela-miss..the one who….who…..”
And we both burst out laughing.
And we were laughing and laughing.

Kid pointed her index finger at us and was chirping, “ I knew it all along. I knew it alllll along. I knew you guys were bluffing. I was just waiting for my mom to get here”.

Guess kid wasn’t that dumb after all.

Mommy-dear wasn’t ready to forgive our sinful act. Stern, teacher-amma look all over her face.

“So..where are you girls coming from?”

“Madras” Both of us spoke in unision.

“Ok. My daughter really learns dance” The word ‘really’ stressed with a bit of emphasis.
“ We’re looking for a good teacher now, because our Rajalakshmi is very very talented”.

Sure she is.

I was now trying to cover up the seemingly sinful act of deceiving young Rajalakshmi for which Mommy-dear was still glaring at us.
“Well why don’t put her in a good school? I travelled all the way from Nangannaloor to Kotturpuram (some 20 kilometres) for dance-classes.”
I was now giving my 2-cents worth advice.

Mommy-dear now fires. “You learnt dance?”
History sure does repeat itself.

“Yes, aunty I did”.

“Which school?”

“The Dhananjayans.”

“The Dhananjayans? You learnt from the Dhananjayans?”
She looked as though wouldn’t have believed me even if I said that cows moo and pigs oink.
She gives her child a crafty smile and moves her right hand in a circular motion to indicate that what I was saying was ‘reel’.

“Noooo”. This was me now.
“I really 'did' learn from the Dhananjayans school. Srilatha Vinod is my miss’s name. I was her student. Honest to god ”.

Ok now, I was sounding really desperate.
But this was the truth. And mommy-ji and chubby-ji were reluctant to believe me.

Rema and I tried to indulge in some other polite form of small talk. But aunty-ji didn’t budge. She still had that ‘you-tried-to-fool-my-daughter..MY-DAUGHTER’ look on her face.

We knew that mommy-dear was inconsolable. So we politely said our good-bye as fast as we could and tried to bail out without a trace.


I think about it now..and still wonder what went wrong where. We had everything under control while Rema and I worked with such unity in concocting crap instantly. But still we felt like losers in the end.

Kids these days. And their moms.
Gotta lot to learn.
But its not fun.....being stuck in the middle of one shrewd mom and a presumptious kid.

Just One Bag

Current status: Packing

YOU: Oh? Then what are you doing 'here' if you're currently packing? And packing?
Where're you going, for Pete's Sake?

ME :Well... I'm off to the Land of Opportunities..the Land of undiluted Glitz and Glamour, the land of the Bold...and not to mention, the extremely Beautiful....the Land that has all the filth and dirt, and also the strength to clean up the same (quite literally)...

YOU (incredulously): Don't tell me..!! Your going to LA.... Holy mother of God..really????

ME (smug smile): Naah.....I'm off ta Mumbai.


(Maaaaaa...Help...some one's after me with a frying pan..!)


Ok. I'll really tell you what I'm up to.
I'm going to Bombay for a 3 day trip. Its all happened so quickly and I'm fluttering with extreme excitement. (excuse me while I do I mini-dance here)

Now Bombay to me is not just any city. For confirmed Madrasis like me who envision themselves to live, breed and die in Madras, Bombay is like Hollywood; the land of glamour and sparkle. Considering my pre-conceived notions about this place, expectations are currently sky high and I'm soooo gonna make a conscious effort not to fall in love with the place that makes news every single day or every other day.

I called up my dad 3 days ago and told him about my impending jaunt for the weekend.
Reason for this impetuous plan ? Simple... no particular reason at all.
Just to meet some dear friends there.
My father doesn't know how to react and I feel sorry for not being able to view his expression at that point of time. Thats OK, cos I know what he looks like when he's majjorly flummoxed.
Oh yeah, 've been there...done that.
But anyways...He's fine with it...not without few words of wisdom of course:

"Child, its a 2 day affair. Please don't pack the way you normally do. Pack light and pack sensibly."

blah-blah-blah.... The way you normally do.. blah-blah-blah ..

I'm in a dilemma as to WHAT to put in quotes from the above statement...is it the 'normally' or the 'you' ? I mean, that line is plain euphemism for 'Dear, you screw up always. This time sweetie.. dont.'

I have my pride (no, really) and hence, I've resolved to carry one bag.

Just one bag.
If I travel alone, I travel in style.

A very neat and simple affair. I mean, how hard can it be? Packing 3 days stuff into 1 bag. Come one...its not rocket-science! To think that I'm even blogging on this.

I pack with a tune in my lips and a smile on my face.
Yea rite..I wish! I'm frantically rummaging through my wardrobe which is presently screaming out loud for its well deserved summer-cleanup.
Oh Lord...I'm desperate...Where's a decent bag when you need one!

After 20 minutes of searching and throwing some forty odd pieces of clothing on the floor... Finally...a 'BAG'!!
Ah-ha! Lets see... Its in one piece..it has a strap with no loose ends..and the best part, a zipper that hasn't yet fallen off....Ah, am I blessed or am I blessed!

NOW current status: Packing

Ok..Everything nicely packed into my small, blue and please note , 'single' bag. I'm all set...quite impressive if I do say so myself.
My bag looks like an overstuffed Turkey for Thanksgiving, but hey, protocol read 'Just one bag'...and am I the protocol-girl or what!

Awritey then..I'm movin outta here to Bombay..See you later.... but wait, whats this lying under my oversized-excuse for a bag?
Crap! Its my pair of JEANS!! Damn, I've forgotten to pack my jeans.
I'm not leaving without my jeans..no way!

(Detecting the skepticle look on your face) Whats that I hear you say...?
Why am I fretting over my *jeans* like it were some master-piece by Prada?

Well...yes I know, its just another pair of jeans. But I have my reasons. Let me explain why I'm not leaving without my jeans. I (and in all probability, you too) have nothing better to do while I'm still stuck here with Miss. Over-Stuffed-Turkey and a lonely pair of jeans...so, hear me out.

Reason 1: Firstly, I'm going to Bombay honey, not Anna University.

Reason2: These jeans are the only saving grace of my otherwise loser-wardrobe which I have not the time to re-vamp...and its these few loyal garments like this pair of jeans that leave me with some scrap of dignity at a social get-together these days .

There!!

So I'm tearing open this 'Turkey' and stuffing a pair of jeans into her whether she likes it or not.
*Grunt...puff...Grunt*
This zipper sure is stubborn. Fine...I've stuffed my jeans in successfu....*Snap*..uh-oh!

Christ....Nooooooooooo! Zip in hand!
My bag is now split wide open to almost a mile..and is now tragically zipper-less. Friggin detached-zipper!!
I have a flight to catch straight away from work... and I'm still looking for a bag with a decent zip.
Could ANYONE even be more helpless? (in Chandler-like tone)


Concluding points of action:

1. Will not panic.
   
2. Pick up phone, dial the 'friendly-neighbours' next door;

"Hello, Aunty? Mayth here...I was wondering if you had a bag......with a zip....."

:D

Love Actually...

A little bird from work is awfully chirpy these days and this is getting quite hard to ignore.

Madam Chirpy (MC) 's getting engaged to a bloke she was introduced to exactly 5 weeks back (the quintessential arranged types) and now, she's tragically been reduced to nothing but an uncontrollable blush-pot.

I'm not the only one who's noticed this distinct transformation in MC's behaviour ever since she's been..umm..well, booked (whatever the word may be) and this change is rather striking I tell you.

Now, for all you know, you could storm into the room and ask/ tell/ yell/ scream/ order/ command/ bellow/ beg/ implore her for something rather important but all your gonna get from her is a quaint giggle- giggle topped with a lot of blushing-blushing.

" What?", I exclaim out loud with the most incredulous look on my face.
"Please tell me, what!!!!! Is there something I'm missing here?"

"Ah Mayth dear, you wouldn't understand", says a girl in my cubicle with the most patronizing of looks. "And by the way, you might want to hush down a bit and not invite myriad not-so-attractive glares from cubicles surrounding ours and the ones surrounding theirs"

Ok..... see, that I can do. Hushing down isn't all that difficult for me. There. (Aravinthan would slightly disagree with me though...He thinks that I have 'mics' and 'amplifiers' for lunch everyday. Maybe I should tell him how untrue that is one of these days. Or, maybe I'm just loud, for life. *Shudder*)

But, getting to the serious part...
Really! Now, what wouldn't I understand?

That our damsel 's in love? That the world looks mysteriously brighter to her because of which she looks forward to waking up to the very next day, every day? That I shouldn't blame her for that disappointed look when she receives a message from anyone else but 'him'? That me wanting to have chickoo-milkshake with her at the canteen over a nice, bitchy chat about office no longer gains top priority in her Things-I-love-Doing list?

See, all that I understand, the smart girl I am..but what I don't get is the excessive giggle-giggle, laugh-laugh and the unexplainable mirth with which she says and does things these days. Does a commitment actually make you do all this? Are you a perpetually happy over...everything?

Right, yeah.. Maybe girl-in-the-cubicle was right afterall (she'd thrash me if she found her name here)... maybe I just couldn't understand all this .... till I eventually do.

Sigh! Whatever....I'm really really happy for MC (except for the fact that I have to wait in a queue these days just to talk to her ...grr...the darned-cell phone and the person at the other side of it).

I'm still the confirmed Mills-'n-Boon deprecator and I still squirm at the very thought of overtly-mushy and saccharine romance.
But I just can't help thinking...
If falling in love can make anyone this happy, then I actually find myself looking forward to it.

*Sigh*...(sob)..Oh Crap, where's that can of ice-cream?