A nation of spitters

I know it's a time when everyone is talking about terrorism and recession. There is so much uncertainity in the air, you never know when you are about to lose the lifestyle you are used to, your job, or your life.

However, while everyone is busy talking about that (mind you, it affected me as badly) i want to talk about something very small that gets me buzzing with anger and frustration. It's the national sport of spitting.

Wherever you go; in any city and town; you'll see multitudes spitting away to glory; be it tobacco, "paan" (betel leaf) juice or snot (ewww...ghhh) someone at any given point in time is indulging in the activity under discussion... It forms the glorious decorations of walls in public offices specially the staircases, possibly providing immense satisfaction to its creators (hmm.. that could be the unity we keep talking about.. hundereds of people contributing to the cause of art... interesting)

Watching the ardent players gearing up for the big spit is a sight to behold...they'll pull up their trousers or fold their sleeves (a matter of personal preference), wrinkle their noses and pull air inside, then with a great noise out comes a perfectly aimed glob...digusting to the normal eye, but a creation of beauty for the "spit-champion". If this could be entered in the olympics we wouldn't need to waste so much money on training other athelets, we'll get all our medals without effort!

Spitting is omnipresent, and getting splashed at some time in your life with a few drops of the said nectar-of-the-gods is unavoidable for the common unsuspecting person. It could come at you from an innocent looking balcony while you are walking under it, it could come flying from a vehicle while you are driving along its side, it could come from a bus/ truck window while you are waiting at the traffic light. You could be lucky if you drive a 4 wheeler in which case you could see the contents of the missile dripping down your windshield while you sit safe inside if not, then god save you.

Infact the occurance is so frequent that if insurance companies insured the risk of getting splattered with spit, they would go bankrupt.

What amuses me though is a thought of a "spit battle".. if two avid spitters, fans of this sport came across each other...and one of them accidently spit on another.. would that trigger a battle of SPITS??? :D

Hail our mighty spitters!

October in Mumbai

Hot, humid, sleepy, sultry, lazy..... when will winters arrive.. if there is any such thing here....

Gonna Be a Bear

Got this in my mail a while back.. and it's SOOOOOOOOOOOO profound.. lolzzzzzzz.. Read on:

In this life, I'm a woman. In my next life, I'd like to come back as a bear.

When you're a bear, you get to hibernate. You do nothing but sleep for six months. I could deal with that.

Before you hibernate, you're supposed to eat yourself stupid. I could deal with that too.

When you're a girl bear, you birth your children (who are the size of walnuts) while you're sleeping and wake to partially grown, cute, cuddly cubs. I could definately deal with that.

If you're mama bear, everyone knows you mean business. You swat anyone who bothers your cubs. If your cubs get out of line, you swat them too. I could deal with that.

If you're a bear, your mate EXPECTS you to wake up growling. He EXPECTS that you will have hairy legs and excess body fat.

Yup, gonna be a bear

Google is playing games with me

Hey folks... my laptop is hopelessly screwed. All google applications act funny. I cannot change my orkut account settings, i cannot delete wierd friend requests, i cannot upload pictures, i cannot delete mails from gmail... and the worst.. I CANNOT RESPOND TO COMMENTS on my blog :'(

Someone help me... if it is some frigging virus again i'll just break this thing...

((RC and anonymous please let me know who you are.)

How many of us identify with this?

Main zindagi ka saath nibhata chala gaya
Har fikr ko dhuye mein udata chala gaya

Barbadiyon ka sog manana fizool tha
Barbadiyon ka jashn manata chala gaya

Jo mil gaya usi ko muqaddar samajh liya
Jo kho gaya main usko bhulata chala gaya

Gham aur khushi mein fark na mehsoos ho jahaan
Main dil ko uss makaam pe lata chala gaya

Lisa left. Sitting in a cubicle all alone is bugging. Thinking of putting a sign outside it now:

Wanted
Female occupant. 25-28 years of age.
Must drink, Smokers ok, must be a party animal.
Those who appreciate P.G. Wodehouse will be given preference

Hmm.. Maybe I should add that only Chinese people with British orientation (Read Lisa) need apply. I’ll miss that scatterbrain; so full of energy and enthusiasm. Hope China meets her expectations.

Still haven’t got that FIR. Popular advice: bribe that guy...

Of Robbers and Policemen

The Robbery:

On 24th of Feb I got mugged. I was happily coming home after a very satisfying shopping spree. I had bought oodles of stuff at giveaway prices and was feeling that warm glow that comes from within when a woman has shopped her fill (which is not often, mind you). So I engaged an auto to come back home and settled down for a long ride home, with thoughts of a hot cup of tea and a fashion show later on. But it was not to be.

Not even five minutes into the ride a bike came dangerously close to my auto, and a hand came in and grabbed my handbag. The snatcher pulled at the bag so hard that I was pulled along with it and rammed into the side of the auto. Still I tried to pull my bag back, but the straps broke and the thieves were off with the bag. It was like gone in 30 seconds.

Well, being a true damsel in distress (heh heh) I screamed for help, but like true unconcerned passersby no one came forward to help. My autowallah did give a heroic chase, zooming through the traffic, but what chance does an auto have of catching a bike?

The Police Station:

I was advised to go to the police station to lodge a complaint and taking the good advice I went. It was my first time in a police station and to put it mildly I was a little scared. You know all those bollywood movies do have an impact. So, in I went and I was directed to a certain desk where music was playing on a cell phone on full volume. As I tried to tell them of my plight in a voice that was continuously drowned by the beats of some telegu number, I knew it was hopeless.

The conversation went like this:
Me: Two guys on a bike snatched my bag
Policeman (P): (Silence)
Autowallah (A): (something in telegu, very excited)
P: (Something in telegu)
P (To me): When did this happen
Me: just now, 15 minutes back
P: where
A: Something in telegu
Me: Described the whole incident
P: Don’t worry madam, ye to hota hai, ab kya karein. Kal ko hi ek aurat ke bag mein se log teen lakh rupye ke jewar le gaye, aapka to bas bag gaya hai. Ab bag to milga nahi, aap compliant likha do, hum certificate de denge to duplicate documents banwa lena. Abhi ghar jao.
Me: Bag nahi milega?
P: Vo log kahin faink gaye to milega, nahi to gaya. Ab aisa chhote chhote chor ko kab tak dhoondhege? (if they throw your bag somewhere we’ll get it else gone. How long will we look for such small thieves?)

Anyways after this enlightening conversation the inspector (or whoever) on duty wrote down a small paragraph in an ancient register, describing the incident. And I was asked to come the next day and collect a copy of the FIR.

Today is 27th. No FIR yet, no bag yet, no idea about the thieves yet. Still running around trying to get everything in order. I only wonder what happens to people who are really in trouble?

hermione granger

Ah! hair woes! here goes....

Once upon a time I had silky straight dark brown hair; and then the fateful day arrived when i decided to get it permed. Translated for the not so fair sex, a perm is when a woman surrenders her hair to a beautician, to pull, jerk, smother it with a lotion that stinks to high heavens, curl it tightly and stack it up on her head (the woman's not the beautician's), then sit around flipping magazines for hours till the time the revered beauty expert finds time to wash her hair and take out the curlers (yes, in that order) and the result is happy ringlets ala the model in d'damas ad (the name eludes me).

Well getting back to the topic, i did go through the above mentioned torture and well.. ahem.. even i was a little scared by looking at the woman staring back at me from the mirror. I'll get used to it, it's ok, just the initial shock...

The thing with a perm is that as long as the hair is moist, it looks hot and sexy, with those tender ringlets framing your face. But the minute it dries.. and heavens forbid if you run a COMB through it.. my!! it's like the centerfresh ad then or more like you put your finger in an electric socket and turned on the switch just for kicks.

So was it with me; and after getting a mixed opinion (hot and happening & scary) i was getting pretty used to it. Though now and then bumping into an old acquaintance would bring out remarks like "what have you done to your hair", "it looks like a broom", "i don't know you".

Still all was fine until a month ago. That's when my perm entered its decline stage (the marketing guys will get it; PDLC). Now it's neither curly nor straight and i fully empathize with the Hermione Granger of first Harry Potter book. I wish i could get some of the potion that made her hair smooth and silky later on. The look of my hair has now been degraded from a broom-look to that of an unbrushed dog. No hair style would stay, can't tie it, can't leave it open, don't want to cut it... so the only option i have is to wait and watch and pray that this mess straightens out asap.

Moral of the story: don't mess with your hair.. even if you think you know what you are getting into.

oie.. what's happening

A long long time ago in school, i dreamt of becoming a fashion designer. If I closed my eyes I could hear the applause people gave after leggy models had paraded my clothes in a high profile fashion week. Then the fateful day came, when I had to choose amongst art, science and commerce. Any guesses?? Yup, the winner was science with PCMB (for the ignorant; its physics, chemistry, biology and math)

Later there was the logical choice between engineering and medicine (parents frowned upon fashion designing “hippy career, what-will-it-get-you, no respect”) and engineering won hands down. Not because I had any inclination towards it but cogs in my brain were calculating the time in years to get a degree. So it was 4 of engineering versus approx 10 of medicine.

Ah! Finally done with engineering now I can say goodbye to books forever, possibly burn them? Nah selling would be better. But alas, the best laid plans of mice and women (:D)…

Study more.. study more.. Bachelor’s degree isn’t enough.. what the hell.. well, one fine day it was the CAT paper. Wrote it without a clue; and later bit my nails all the way till the results came, waiting for the assault at home when they found out that I flunked.. parents have these weird expectations from their children.. I AM NOT A GENIOUS… in fact I’d like to be less than average.. just spare me the books..

But I wasn’t that lucky, the results came out and I was amongst the top 5% people who wrote that dumb test and hence had to go through the entire grind of GDs and PIs and what not… and ended up with a PGDBA course.

All is not lost, so I thought.. I can still enter marketing and enter the world of new products and brands and media and colour. So the choice remained marketing, till the time I had my summer training. I was amongst the lucky few who had to meet corporate clients, but after running around the length and breadth of Mumbai, and reaching home everyday resembling a wet dog, I changed my mind.

Hoo baby, I have to do finance… nothing to it, just a few numbers and sitting in an AC office all day. Wow!! That’ll be life. So, yours truly graduated with a degree in finance AAAAAAND (mind you) marketing.

I was picked up in the campus by a well known IT company, and here I am folks, doing something which is indefinable, it’s neither engineering, nor marketing, nor finance. I make newsletters, edit documents, design websites, compile excel sheets.

It’s just something to while away my time and get a salary every month. It’s a relaxed life, but I wouldn’t know about job satisfaction…

All I can say is.. oie!! This is what I wasted so much education on????????

The City of Nizams

Having successfully completed 6 months 20 days in the city of nizam's, I consider myself an authority on Hyderabad. As is usual with outsiders, I have poked around in every corner of the city trying to find its pulse.

The first impression of the city was not so heartening, more discouraging i should say. When I landed at the airport after a weary flight which was delayed by 5 hours I was greeted by a dingy, not-worthy-of-its-name airport. Bone tired and juggling the entire luggage associated with women who are shifting cities, I struggled to find a cab. The clerk at the pre-paid cab counter totally ignored my presence. Long stares, tapping the window, and countless “excuse mes” later, he obliged me with a grunt. Having obtained a taxi receipt and fighting my way through the tumult of taxiwallahs I finally deposited myself in a rusty ambassador which dropped me off at a passable hotel at the end of a narrow, barely lit lane. Not a good start by any standards. Nor were the coming days any better.

It took me a long time to find a footing but once I did from then on it was a phase of discoveries. That’s how it is with cities, they surprise you everyday. Here I’ve spent months looking for a suitable house; I have argued endlessly with the stubborn autowallahs who’ll never go by the meter, always asking for an extra 20 bucks; I’ve eaten delicious food in the dingiest of places; I’ve roamed the side streets near charminar looking for a bargain; I’ve grumbled at the eve-teasing; I’ve even started talking Hyderabadi hindi J…. I’ve met people who helped me out at every stage and accepted me as their own. And finally I’ve come to like this place.

But I guess the time to go is coming nearer, I am restless for a change…
Let’s see what my next destination is….