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

Lessons my Elders (didn't) teach me

Flushed with the success of conducting a grand TamBram wedding (if I may), all my parents have to now do is sit back and watch discerningly as to how their li'l girl survives her new life.

No, I don't really mean to make it sound like boarding school or rehabilitation, but marriage (or post-marriage to be more specific) is indeed a big deal for any Indian parent and an even bigger deal for any Indian parent's child. So, I am work in progress, every single minute of the day.
The thing with marriage *I go on to say in wisdomous tone, lowering spectacles so that it rests firmly on nose to give intellectual look* is that there are very many loopholes and..I'm afraid that there are somethings only experience can teach you.


For instance, they say that you ought to shed your ego, every ounce of it, when you're starting off a new relationship with your spouse. Heck every relationship can do well with little or no ego, but I'm restricting my insightful thoughts to marriage as for now, cos...everything now is about what I think about marriage isn't it?

Yes it is. That was just a rhetorical question.


So.
As I was saying, amongst all the precious pieces of advice the Elders from back home had given me, like smile, be nice, be friendly, be neat, be less finicky, don't frown, don't use chilly powder as weapon, don't be yourself, shop at Debenhams (just kidding), yada-yada-yada blah-blah, the most common words of wisdom I'd received was to shed my ego ( I travel with excess baggage, that's sometimes so not very nice) and be truthful if I didn't know something.

That is sane advice, yes I know. So before I leave to my husband's place, I resolutely practice my lines in front of the mirror, "Sorry, I don't know how to do that", "Sorry, I'm new at this, can you teach me?" or "No I've never made tea all my life..can you make your own tea for the first 10 years of our married life?"
See, that wasn't so difficult. Everything just needs a little practice. Even the non-ego part like the Elders said, can be conquered with just a little determination. Yay for me.
Or so I'd think.

But its not as easy as I thought it would be you know, this no-ego thing.

You see, humans have this inherent tendency to say 'I do' without even the slightest hesitation (if you're Ross Gellar, you're a pro and I'm not even talking about you).
Its not just the weddings, its everything else in normal life..in dealing with people, things, situations, especially when they're new... I've learnt that it takes a lot of courage and strong-will to say 'Nope, sorry, I really don't know how to'.

So the other day when V asked me if I know how to iron shirts, I say 'yes' so matter-of-factly like I was asked if I knew how to eat thayir-sadum.
I surprise me.
I mean, how good was I at ironing anyway?
Lets see..All my life my mom ironed my school-uniforms.
I'd ironed my Salwars to college, but that was just because I loved ironing over large flat surfaces, it made me feel nice. I never really cared how it looked even if it looked far more wrinklier after I was done with the iron-box.
Then there was always the ironing my clothes before packing, so that they'd fit perfectly into my suitcase. It was clearly another case of ironing out of desperation, so it didn't really matter whether they looked nice or not..as long as they fit neatly in a row.
Wait, there must be more.
Oh yes, I remember ironing my Appa's shirts before he'd leave for work.
I am now beginning to realise that he wore the shirts which I ironed to work without much of a grumble JUST to not hurt my feelings. No wonder he never removed his suit at work.... he'd get sacked if anyone saw how an Investment Banker dressed to work at this Bank!

So! Not even bothering to consider my promising past with the iron-box, I daintily trot to the iron-stand and pick up one of V's shirts that need ironing on my way.

I JUST then realise that I don't know where to start. I iron over the flat surfaces (and enjoy the good feeling like the 'ol salwar days), and stop at the sleeves. I really don't know where the crease ought to be. I mean, in a proper shirt where you go to work not expecting to get sacked the very next day for looking like rubbish.
Same with his trousers, where is the goddamn crease??? At the sides or at the front?

After ironing all the flat parts (something I can do as professionally now), I go up to V and tell him that my father was a good man for wearing what I ironed for him all these years.
V gets the picture, he's a fast learner.
I give my sheepish grin (another thing I can do quite professionally).
V irons his clothes to work for now..and makes his tea (for now). I love his tea.
I take care of the cooking, and the fire-alarms that go off during the process.

I'm yet to go up to him and ask him where the crease falls.

The After-math, the Cook-book and Me

Retrospection on a profound level leads me to the conclusion that I was never really a home-girl.
I've always deplored the word house-wife, even the very way the term was coined 'h-o-u-s-e' 'w-i-f-e'. I mean, lets face it...what in heavens name did you wish you convey by the word house-wife? That you were a wife at home? Weren't you his wife outside the house? Eew.

Yeneways, kutti digress there.
As a kid who was perpetually hyper and restless (excepting for the times when I was asleep where I'd look like a mad- driver-woman on Prozac). I always had something to do solely because the very thought of being bored scared me out of my wits as I always associated 'boredom' to 'loneliness'. So, despite being the only kid to my parents which always saddened me..(still does to a certain extent which is why I resolve to get busy in the near future in order to prevent history from repeating itself :D) I made sure that I never banked on my house or my parents for solace...I'd explore the neighbouring streets on my bicycle, go out on walks on my own, make friends with the watchmen and gardeners in our locality.. whatever it took to get me out of the house, even if it meant knocking on random people's doors and asking them, ingratiatingly, if I could play with their kids if they had any.
It was sad you know, that parents sent their 6 year olds to Hindi tuition. I think I learned more Hindi chatting with the watchmen and gardeners.

With such a manipulated state of mind that made me believe that one had a life only if it were outside the house, I grew up sympathizing all women who were house-wives, including my very dear granny and Mom. I'd ask my Mom time and again in the kitchen how they did it... How could one not go out, know places, meet people, get paid, get bankrupt, get into fights, get out of fights (the last two clauses were offered in copious amounts in our house..living with me is no joke mind you) how could you just be busy at home?'
I mean...with with due respect to what all the woman folk go through to keep a family running hale and healthy, how could you work, at home?? Wouldn't these 4 walls drive you plain mad?'

My Mom would just smile and ask me to switch on the exhaust fan on my way out.

A home-maker's job is no joke, I'm told, although I never try to understand the gravity of that statement more so because I know that the home-maker is never really..'me'.
I cant disagree with the fact that all of us are here, healthy and successful (to a certain extent at least) only because some woman/women in the house chose to care and see if we had food on the table and in our boxes everyday.

So as I pack my suitcases to a whole new world at the other side of the globe with a chunk of my stuff comprising of shiny non-stick vessels and brand new cook-books (the cook-book saga..ah! This surely deserves a post dedicated to itself), I still wonder to myself if I can map a vessel to its utility or turn the pages of Tarla Dalal's Continental Food Book without falling asleep looking at the picture on the front cover itself.

My colleagues from work will surely have fun reading this. They know.

Two weeks notice

I've never actually been 2 weeks away from my wedding because...well, I've never really been married before. No one always gets to be 2 weeks away from one's wedding until he's actually... two weeks away from his wedding, so it isnt a very common feeling, this two weeks notice thing.
Cha, this isnt exactly the dream start for this post, but just to show you how I blog when I'm not very high on editing. I promise I'm going somewhere with this one though.*

The amount of activity that takes place during the last 2 weeks before a wedding makes me wonder if there WERE any weeks before the 2 weeks before the wedding. You know in an Indian Wedding its like, the whole world earnestly works towards making the wedding a grand success like they were producing a movie, but its just during these last 2 weeks that all of the action takes place.
I have a feeling I havent made an iota of sense till now but hear me out when I say that I am simply amazed at the speed at which things unravel during this period...its like all the work that had to be done gradually before a wedding, suddenly gets done in such an unimaginable pace during this period.

Picture this.
All my saree-blouses suddenly get stitched and come back home from the tailors who had them for like...forever, just because I say there are only 'two weeks left'.
My house maid has been working like an ox (I dont know if that simile conveyed what it had to...I never trust my self-made similies) cos its apparently crucial time now. Heck, she's started coming regularly...thats a miracle by itself.
Our Iyengar samayakaar-maami (cook) feeds me like a baby with all the possible greens, yellows, oranges, pinks (didnt think I'd list colours without a pink did you?) in the world 'cos I'll be leaving home soon.
My neighbors *actually* smile at me when they spot me in the elevator. (Wow)
Appa is extra jovial. (Now that I'm not particularly comfortable with. The folks are already relieved I'm leaving.. And I havent even left yet. hmph!_max)
Everyone on the never-ending list's finally been invited and I'm mentally tired of revising the list to make sure I haven't left anyone out. I sent out the last batch of invitations today. Amen to that. And I thought this day would never come.
The most common words uttered by every random woman who enters my house is 'Rendu vaaram thaan iriku baaki la? :O ' (For the uninitiated in Tamil, "Just two weeks left no 'Colon-wo'?" )

I'm very evidently getting psyched now. You can tell from the sense I've made so far (or the lack of it). Actually, I dont think you'd know the difference if you know me by now.

But do you blame me?
I'm getting married....in two weeks!
:O

*Or then again maybe not.

My Not-so-secret affair with Typos

Geek and I recently came to a conclusion that there are 3 types of typos in this world.

1. The Typo-typo (TT)
2. The Word-typo (WT)
3. The Smiley-typo (ST)

I would have stopped with this customarily (yeah right) but since you're still in this page reading this...this.......and oh yes, this too............. I will elaborate with a few FAQs.

I) Typo-typo
1) err... sorry, but what is a Typo-typo?
Oh, simple. This one is the spelling typo, the quintessential typo everyone commits. The 'o' instead of the 'i', the 'e' instead of an 'r'... they're very very common in IM especially if you type sooper fast like me.

2) Ok...So?
So...your chat transcript would look like this:

Friend1: So how are you feeling these days? Recovering from that nasty allergy?
Me: No. I'm feeling very colon-pope these days
Friend1: (silent)
Me: Chs....I meant colon-pipe
(Silence....A few seconds later)
Me: Cha...I meant cha
(A moment later)
Friend1: Are you done? *straight face*

3) So how should I feel after committing a typo-typo?
Relax...its not like you've killed the US president (if you did, can we hire you?)
If I were you, I'd just ignore this typo and pretend like it never happened. No need to cover up with the 'cha', 'oops', '* 'n all.
Its a waste of time.

4) So what do I do, really?
Nothing, don't bother with anything. Your partner/friend/girlfriend/not-so-girlfriend/foe/boss(ouch) is going to figure out what you were trying to say anyway.
So chill.

5) Peace. Can we go ahead with the next typo then?
Yes we can.

II) Word-Typo (WT)
1) Word-typo va? What the hell is that?
This one is the most abominable of all typos.
Its when you type the wrong word instead of the one you were planning on typing. Its a very painful typo to endure..particularly when you're the one committing it. A few of these in your IM transcript, you can be instantly declared as the I'm-trying-to talk-Englees-but-its-blowing-up-royally-on-my-face king of the community.

2) Come on...how on earth would you type the wrong word while IM'ing?
Sometimes when you think really fast and your fingers try to compete with the speed of your thought process, you end up typing words that 'sound' like the ones that actually ought to be there. And as Murphy would have it (in some way or the other), the word you've put down will have absolutely no relation whatsoever with the one you intended on putting down.

3) Eh? Double Eh??
For instance you'd end up typing an 'after' instead of a 'have to' because these two happen to sound quite similar.

So instead of typing I 'have to' stop at Mylapore on my way there,
You'd end up typing I 'after' stop at Mylapore on my way there

Not very enjoyable I tell you.

3) Christ! Do people actually commit such typos? Do you ?
Do I?
God, that is all I do on IM these days.
I don't know how or why but of late my chat transcripts are full of WTs...is it probably because I'm thinking faster these days than usual?

See, this is one of the reasons why I'd rather not IM someone I wish to keep in good spirits. I prefer the telephone if I'm yet to impress you.

4) God! :O This sounds like a malicious typo. How does it feel?
If you instantly identify your WT, you'd sometimes not even feel like going back and correcting it for fear of answering the embarrassing question 'Huh...how on earth did you put that word there?'
However, its a totally different story if you don't identify the WT at all.
I'm at total shame when I think of the WTs I've committed and NOT identified till very recently..because of which I hesitate to go back and read some old enjoyable transcripts with some good friends.

This following instance is the most nefarious of the lot.
Note: The word 'you' is a WT instead of the word 'to'

KindFriend: We have these wonderful music sessions every weekend. You could join us if you want to :-)
Me: Oh wow...I'd love you
(few seconds pause)
KindFriend(terribly confused) : err..sure..whatever.

Not a pretty scene no?

5) Ouch, yes. I see what you mean, So what do I do to obviate such WTs? I'd like to keep my friends you know :P
Yes, yes, I understand perfectly... the only way out, is reading what you've typed and THEN pushing the Enter button.
I won't be doing that though. Too much of a waste of time. :P

6) Ok, and the last typo?

III) The Smiley-typo
1) Let me guess...its by putting the wrong smiley?
Well yes, you got it.
But its not too harmful or anything to your reputation. So you can just put the right smiley following the wrong one.

2) You *actually* make smiley-typos 'n all? Christ!
Its not my fault. *all defensive now*
Sometimes different IM clients use different character combinations for their smileys.
For instance, :-x is the angry smiley in Orkut.
While :-x is the 'falling in love smiley' in Yahoo!

3) *yawn*...so?
So, I wouldn't exactly be conveying what I wanted to in Yahoo! if I said:

Me: God, you're so infuriating I could throw my bookshelf on you
":-x"

4) Ah, I get the picture. So what do I do to not make a Smiley-typo?
Just remember which client your using. Simple.

5) Ok, thank you. That was indeed very enlightening. You're the best blogger in the world and I love you. Are you done?
Yes. I am done, thank you very much.
But sometimes its really worth committing a typo you know. Any typo.
Geek and I have laughed our guts out for hours looking at the typos we make.

Try it yourself.
The more preposterous the typo, the harder you laugh and the harder you fall off your chair

Happy typ(o)ing.
Till then, its Confoundud-baby saying 'wood-dye' to all of 'yoi'. :-x
:D

...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

That post without a Title

Confounded-lady is back!!
Thunder, lightening, creepy-music and 'bwahahahaha'.

(That was evil-laughter just in case you bothered to read that)

Not that anyone missed me (if you did, for the record, I love you), but contrary to the normal alibis I see these days for not being able to blog; say for instance, lack of time (which is not even remotely my problem these days. grr), not getting the right flow of thought (whatever thats supposed to mean) and the like, I actually did have plenty of intellectually stimulating topics I wanted enlighten my readers on but was in a dilemma as to which one to discuss. No, really..

*straight face*

Ok, I hear you. You can stop laughing now lest you fall of your chair. I'm already being accused of trying to impair every one's vision with the bright shades of my blog. I don't wish to do you any (more) harm.
So enough already.

I thus commence .
I've been tagged by fellow bloggers Busy-writer and Preets.
According to OK's Law of Crapping, Engineers cut to the chace without much useless banter. Under normal circumstances this would be konjum kashtam given the very purpose of this blog, but I seriously do wish to abide by this rule considering that this may tragically be the only testimony to me having endured 4 educative years of Engineering.
The question for us engineers is after all, to BE or not to BE, no?

No??

hmph. I'll just shut-up and get along with the Tag then. :P

Some 10 random points about me which no one knows. I doubt if there are that many actually, so I'll do 6. Peace.

1. :-)
I'd like to think that my obsession over smileys is unparalleled. I very rarely type stuff on the Internet without a smiley at the end. Smileys make me happy. Well, so does chocolate but you don't care do you.
Yahoo! is a beautiful experience altogether. I'm forever in love with Colon-dee, the way it blinks its eyes. :D :P >:D< ;;) these are my favourite smileys, in the same order.

2. My Impeccable Memory
My memory can be bench-marked with Gajini (of Gajjini fame) and you'll find that I indeed am endowed with depressingly pathetic memory skills. I forget names. I forget birthdays. I forget rAgas. I sometimes forget what I was going to enter next while chatting (someone might know what I mean :D )
I personally think its because I think a lot, rapidly. My thought process is very fast and I end up thinking a trillion things within a short span, so there is perhaps just too many to recollect.
Every cloud has a silver lining.
Is there anything healthy about a bad memory?

3. Growing up and being paranoid
I just refuse to accept that I'm growing up. I find it terribly agonizing you know. I'd like to stay young forever, 22 would be ideal. These days I find a lot of people calling me akka. Kids in the tempe call me aunty. grr_max. Everyone grows old up, I know.. but I still yearn for for Neverland. :

4. I was called Swetha once upon a time.
Actually, I was called 'sweater' in school. Not that I minded much.
Mommy-dearest gets a brainwave one fine morning in 1990 and decides that I should be called 'Jennifer Lopez' from then on (name changed to protect identity). The rest like they say, is mystery.

5. I leave the house with the I-don't-give-a-damn look.
It really pains my mother so to say. And offlate my 15 year old fashion-queen cousin who happens to live in the same building as me. Divya (name NOT changed to protect identity) was visibly appalled by the orange butterfly clip I wore to her party at Caesar's'. Poor thing. I don't blame her though. I too sometimes think that orange and black just don't go together. :P

6. I am that Bulb-Goddess you always feared .
I don't think this will be a major surprise to people who know me well. I just don't get things instantly-whether they're jokes, witty comments whatever. Even a fast conversation leaves me twiddling my thumb.
Once when I was on a bulbing-high, someone asked if I was feighning my confused state. :P
I said yes and changed the topic. That still cracks me up. :P
I am konjum slow and trust me, I'm not at all proud of it. :

7. I am skeptical of the Internet. Period.
When it comes to making friends or developing a good relationship, I am wary of the Internet. I think the Internet is the most precarious medium and cannot/should not be banked upon. There have been quite a few exceptions off late, but I think they are too good to be true.
The probability of a misunderstanding or baseless assumption is maximum on communication over the Internet. I will perhaps blog more on this. Or maybe, I won't.


There. I could rattle my head and come up with a few more..but I have a feeling I might have lost you somewhere in point#4 itself. So this should very well do for now.

Hope I'd done you girls proud. This space is dedicated to you .
I tag anyone who's facing a writer's block currently.

Take care, and say hi to your mom for me :D

Yours confoun'deadly',
Me.

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?

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

ZtheZ - Zapping the Zit

Zit-zit go away,

Come again another day...
...Confounded Lady wants to play,
So scoot from the top of my forehead you mean thingamabop.


Ok, that didn't quite rhyme, so lets try this one more time shall we.

Zit-zit go away
Dont come again another day
This isnt the place for you to stay,
SO just quit my forehead, okay..?


There is something about female hormones that makes them do unkind things to us dainty creatures especially when least anticipate them. I'm sure I'd have the entire female fraternity agreeing with me when I say that the cruelest curse bestowed upon women (after the monthly bleeding we endure of course) is the 'Curse of the Zit'

To the particularly naive or inexperienced (read horribly-lucky souls), the 'zit' is a bright-pink ugly blob that sprouts up out of nowhere one fine day, on the most strategic spot of your face.
Be it on top of your nose which makes you look like Rudolph with measles or on your left cheek which over shadows that cute dimple, the zit can more than just ruin your face, it can very well ruin your day. Red, after all, looks great on women, but certainly not on their faces.

Its more than just that for me.
This coldblooded contrivance is so craftily schemed by my body in such a way that my hormones run their wildest especially when I'm all pepped up for an incredibly important occasion where I'd be expected to look my very best. I've noticed the pattern all these years now.... be it my class photo in class XII, my college farewel, my cousin's engagement, my best friend's wedding, or the most-recent-testimony-to-theory my cousin's Grihapravesham, there is one common factor in all these special occasions in my life - The Zit on my face.

Having my skin crystal clear throughout the month and having a spherical blob the size of Bulgaria pop up exactly 20 hours before a public event, is nothing I'm unaccustomed to. But this time for my cousin's Grihapravesham, I refused to give in. I was determined NOT be seen with that bright red blob in all the pics that were to be taken.
So what did Yours Truly end up doing?
Zap it. Thats right.
Zap the Zit.

Let me just tell you that its a world acknowledged fact to leave your zits untouched tell they disappear on their own..and 'Zapping the zit' (ZtheZ) is not exactly wisest thing to do to yourself.
I'm not gonna go into all the messy details of what I went through after that painful ordeal of ZtheZ.
I'll let the scar it left on my face do the talking.

(sob!)

So dark the con of woman I say.
So dark the con of woman.

The Middle-Name Tag or What's my Middle-name Ma?

I'm beginning to like these tags; not because they call for a lot of introspection, retrospection or maybe even fill up the otherwise-empty space in my blog.
No wait, those actually are the reasons. :D
Face it, they're fun. Especially when these topics are as absurd as the one I'm doing right now thanks to fellow-blogger Lavs. Check her blog out, she'll make you laugh to splits. :D

The rules of the tag are:
1. The rules must be mentioned in the beginning of the tag.
2. You must list one fact that is somehow relevant to your life for each letter of your middle name. If you don’t have a middle name, use the middle name you would have liked to have had.
3. At the end of your blog post, you need to choose one person for each letter of your middle name to tag. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

Awritey then.
For starters, I've never actually known what my middle name is. In fact, I never even knew I had one of the sort.
We the people ofTamil Nadu don't have a middle-name or a family name making us pretty much unlike the rest of the nation and we take ultimate pride in doing everything differently (read ostracizing ourselves from the rest of the nation for political reasons I do not wish to get into lest some MLA clad in white from a popular kakshee (read party) happens to bump into my blog and vanquish my family, but wait am I digressing? )

Right...middle-name-tag. I hear you. :D
I just discovered this morning from my mom that my middle name is 'Rukmini'.

Yeah yeah, you can laugh it out while I take a long walk around my house.

Done?

Right.Its my grandmother's name and I'm eternally grateful to my folks for not deciding to christen me by that name (I'm having enough trouble with my first name itself thank you very much)
Reminds me of a conversation between a pair from the-popular-sitcom where they discuss what to name their yet-to-be-born baby girl:

Ross: I like Ruth. What about Ruth?
Rachel: Oh, I'm sorry, are we having an 89-year-old? How about Dayton?

:)

R- for Red.
Dark red. I just love that shade. Thats what most of my wardrobe comprises of. Well, next to pink actually (please don't judge me :D) I've read that red as a colour for your clothes is rather provocative. Bull. I've been to places wearing red and even my mother wouldn't notice me. :P
So much for colour-psychology.

U- for Unique.
Thats what my 'first' name is. Rhymes with Rukmini. Hell lot more complicated than the same. There used to be a time when I'd curse my name for the complexities I had to endure because of it but now, I love it 'coz here is no other like it. No chance of having 2 me's in the same class, in the same college, or for that matter, in the same state itself. (;-P) .
I think this should say more.

K- for Karnatic Music.
My heart. My soul. I wish to do it proud, some day.

M- for Madras.
A place I spend half my time cursing and yet, defending till I run out of breath. A lot of my friends AND a lot of my relatives find some sense of queer pride in chiding this conservative metro for its weather, its people (whom I'm told are very 'unkind'. Yeah, I'll show you unkind ;-P), its narrow-outlook towards contemporary ways of life (read rock-concerts, pubs and discotheques or the lack of them) and most importantly, its haughty auto-men.
(Well with regard to the last point, I sort of agree that our auto-kaarans are a special species altogether and deserve special mention in a separate post itself).

But what about Madras, the cultural-haven?
The place where you can be confident that you're children would have gotten their share of both worlds if not just the ultra-traditional one. The proud host of December Music Season..
The home of India's much prided dance Bharathnatyam...The place where people are simple and don't judge you for not dressing up like Rani Mukherjee just to shop at a vegetable store nearby..

I often do run out of arguments to defend this place for what it is and isnt and sometimes all I'm capable of doing is just being silent. Anyway, its just one less person to tolerate in this city :D

I- for Intolerance.
Thats what I have for people who kill the English language with absolutely no concern for its grammar or pronunciation. Yes, no one's infallible I agree. But to those who refuse to correct 'cannot be able to' or 'please say me how to' despite repeated correction. I'm not playing Shakespear or English-miss here, but if you want to speak a language, shouldn't you at least try to know how?

N- for Neverland.
A place I've truly always been fascinated over ever since I was old enough to understand the dialogues from Disney's Peter Pan. I fell in love with Peter, Tinker-Bell, Captain Hook, the mighty pirates, cute croc and the captivating concept of a faraway land where you'd never grow up.
It was nice to think about then, but as I grow older, I tend to wish it were more than just a fantasy.

I- for India.
Kidding, that was lame. But wait, actually, why not? For a country that I never ever thought I'd fit into a decade ago, its now become a place I'd live in despite its many cons. I'm now reluctant to live anywhere else under ANY pretext; be it work or the inevitable, matrimony.

I now tag thee Preethi , Venki, Busy_Writer and Mark IV and anyone else who wishes to take this tag up.
Do me proud guys ;-)

Much love!

EOP

Whats up Doc

Evil-Doctor (ED) sticking evil- laser down poor-me 's throat:

ED: Say 'aaaaaaaaaaaaaa'

Me (mouth wide open): 'aaaeeee'

ED: Say 'aaaaaaaaaaaaaa'

Me (with more conviction but not quite): 'aaee'

ED: No, say 'aaaaaaaaaaaa'

Me(almost close to tears): 'aaee'

Am suddenly reminded of Henry Higgins from My Fair Lady where he'd eat Eliza Dolittle 's brains forcing her to get her 'ayyy' s and 'aaai's right. Frankly, am rather disturbed that I cant enunciate 'aaaa' with precision just like the doc has instructed me to, but with him pulling my toungue out and a nurse pulling the corners of my mouth side-ways for an endoscopy (dont picture that please), I realize that the only possible vowel that can be uttered at this point is 'ae'.
So, enough already.

ED(looking at TV which supposedly screens the insides of throat): Hmmm.. your vocal chords asdfasn sdfgdfg kasdfadsf gdfgdfgafg (something in medicine-language which I couldn't comprehend of course). Think you've over-strained them.
(Right..that should explain why I've been sounding like a frog for the last 1 week)

Worried-mommy: So....now what?

ED: Just have these for a week and get back. And oh yes, did I mention absolutely no talking for the next 5 days?

Me (aghast): What the...

Suddenly-not-so-worried-mommy: You mean she's not supposed to talk...at all?

Very ED: Yes, thats the minimum period she'll have rest to allow her throat to heal.

Me (touching mouth to see if its in place after agonizing session with evil-doc and evil-nurse): Can we go home now mommy?


So, now that I've been sentenced to a 5-day tenure of 'mounavrath', the only form of allowable communication is the scribe and paper. But if that means having to write every single word I wish to utter, I fancy just keeping my gob shut and not say anything at all...which is exactly what I'm doing now. (*sob*)
The house seems a lot quieter now and I'm sure the entire neighborhood must seem so too, considering all the yelling and debating my mom 'n I are depriving it of.

My dad keeps forgetting that I can't talk and whats worse is that he just doesn't seem to understand any of my sign-languages. I had to do a mini-dance show to convey that we had to get back to the Doc's after 5 days.
Like, I'd stick my hand out to convey 5 as in 5 days and he'd be like.. 'Stop? But what do you want me to stop?' :P

Oh well.
1 down.
4 more to go.

Sigh....

Phir bhi Tagged.

Tagged.

Yayy for me, again. Ok, Markiv, I was leaving this tag for one of those hopeless ‘I-so-wanna-blog-but-can’t-think-of-anything’ days, but oh what the heck, now will do. This tag is dedicated to the tagger without whom this wouldn’t have been possible *controlling tears of joy*, to all those generous readers who presumably will NOT have the patience to read single word I’ve typed here BUT will certainly try to give their best with generic comments *Lol! I love you guys * and last but not the least,to a special place where I spent a bulk of my life in. Bahrain.

91-93 The Lil kidd
Easily the fattest and chubbiest kid in class; a 'blessed' feature which would invariably win me a seat next to the class teacher in all class photographs. :D Teachers would try (note, try) to carry me in all the pics ‘coz I’m told I was the perfect ball then. Orchestra and sports was all I ever thought off. Not to mention, food too. Yes, those were good times :D

94-95 Switching ‘ovah’
Switched schools from a British school to the InDIan School. I was in trouble now. Being branded as the kid with the ‘fAreen’ accent who didn’t know beyond the 2,3,4,5 and 10 times tables, who had to mug every line of Hindi from Bal Bharati to pass in exams when kids in class could quote lines from 'Hum Aap Ke Hain Kaun' with admirable ease, who didn’t even know where India was on the map, literally- Yes, I was your typical loser then.
I’d cry to my mom every single day saying that I wanted to go back to the British School ‘coz I hated the Indian system of education and that I certainly wouldn’t learn anything from plain mugging. For some reason, I feel that I was much wiser as a kid. ;-P

95-96 Teen-bean
The year of the Spice Girls. Girl Power! They SO rocked and I was totally gaga over them. Wannabe, 2 become one…god! I could sing all of their songs word for word…and I even remember asking my dad to buy me Emma Burton costumes ‘n all. I’m thankful that my dad didn’t disown me after that period of crazy harmones.

96-97 Being Bad
Found a best friend in Anisha. Spreading rumours, being a part of rumours, imitationg teachers, being teased with the weird boy next door, this era totally transformed me from the silent insignificant no-one at school to the notorious kid who bunked Almeida’s math classes for some band-class practice and lived to tell the tale of it by acing her subject.

97-99. Postatem obscuri lateris nescitis - (You do not know the power of the dark side)
Power in the School Band. Anisha and I became Head Corporals of the wood-wind section (read flute) where the former was soon my partner in crime where we did things which totally make me cringe now. Yes we were teenage brats then, with hormones running wild. Bossing over junior flutists, flirting with the drummers, breaking clarinets and hiding it from the band master, bunking math and social-studies classes in the pretext of ‘leading the band’ (like it was training for Kargil war or something), being popular, life was good.

98-99 No looking back
A very special year for me as I’d moved to India. Was one of those do or die moves where all eyes from previous-home country were intently watching and speculating on whether this spoilt kid could survive the most conventional metro in India. I more than just survived it, I became a Chennai-girl from the word go. My school disproved all prejudices in me that Chennai and its people still belonged to the ooga-booga stonage era, and that pop music and ‘cool’ language was totally unheard of. This place was anything but that. There was just no looking back from then on.

Yep. There was just no looking back. :)

Right…that pretty much covers what I have to say about the nineties. There are quite a few things I miss, and even more things I don’t miss. :D
Anyways, this was a fun tag reminiscing ‘n all. For what its worth, I tag everyone who’d like to try this one out.

Take care..and stay out’v trouble!
Ta!