Showing posts with label Me Myself and I. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Me Myself and I. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
A Dream Gone Topsy Turvy
Circa 1989
The Mad Moggie, probably aged 19 or 20, day-dreams over an indescribably boring text-book.
She dreams of being a graceful swan, surrounded by a bevy of admiring men, tripping over the other to fawning men, the object of envy of other young women.
Pretty much like young Scarlett at the Wilkes plantation of Twelve Oaks.
Now, if only dreams came true.
2009
The Mad Moggie, aged 36, skips blithely down a crowded road, gleefully dreaming of the succulent kebabs and saffron rice clutched possessively in her hands, that was to be her lunch.
And suddenly, she was down and rolling unstoppably. Pretty much like a road roller sans the driver, sans the brakes.
When the world around her stopped revolving, she gazed up with dizzy eyes at the ring of young, concerned, boyishly handsome faces above her.
And wished that the earth, at that precise moment, would swallow her and her lunch .
Funny, how dreams have a strange way of coming true.
Just wish they would stick with the plan, instead of assuming shapes that one least expects!
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Dance To The Last
Yet another birthday looms large on the horizon, and, my inner circle is abuzz with questions.
About celebration plans, wish lists and the special gifts that will come my way.
About the countdown to the larger than life '40' milestone, which now hangs over my neck like the sword of Damocles.
And, above all, if I intended to continue allowing the irrepressible child in my heart to manifest itself in my personality...
Most, I am afraid, are a little disappointed by my vague responses and perhaps, more so by my nonchalance about the impending event.
As the questions continue to stream in, I answer them as best as I can. All the while, wondering if the listener has sensed that, at this moment, my birthday plans are the least of my concerns.
This is not to say that I am against birthdays or anniversaries or celebrations in general.
Or, that I expect the rest of the world to slave their fingers to the bone, in making it a special day for me.
What does not appeal to me is the element of contrivance which prior planning brings to these special days.
I would rather go with the flow and take each moment as it comes.
Over the past many years, what made every birthday special was the love and warmth that I was cocooned in.
I love the fact that people care enough to remember, to call, or better still, to drop by for a drink and a giggle.
I am always touched when they stretch that extra mile, to do something that warms me to the cockles of my heart.
And I enjoy the sense of anticipation a beautifully packaged gift offers me.
The excitement of discovery as I rip it open.
It doesn't matter what is inside.
It could be a string of cheap beads or a ridiculously expensive solitaire.
For me, what matters is the element of surprise, the excitement of the moment and the warmth of being loved.
So inevitably, year after year, when friends ask me how I plan to celebrate my birthday or what I have asked for by way of gifts, my answer always is none what so ever.
I look forward to seeing what the day brings my way..the fun, the spontaneity, the discovery and the savouring of the emotions.
For me, this is what life is all about.
And I think I will carry this passion for life, with all its good and bad, right to my grave.
People tell me that everything slows down with age, except the time it takes for an utterly sinful wedge of warm gooey chocolate walnut brownie to reach your hips.
I disagree.
Age does not bring wisdom...Life and its many experiences does that!!!
At 15,I thought 20 was the Golden Age, and just couldn't wait to hit the magic number.
Unfortunately for me, life started at a snail's pace.
By 25, I was a little panicked because I thought I would be semi senile by the time I hit 30 and was haunted by visions of myself rocking away aimlessly on the porch of a geriatric care center.
But then, life in the 30s lane have proved to be incredibly exciting.
Probably because I have shed a lot of inhibitions, don't worry over much about looking like a fool and laugh easily when I do.
And, I am not afraid to demand love, express sorrow and more importantly, eliminate the weeds in my garden of life.
I find myself increasingly open to experimentation and new experiences.
So much so that on my 36th birthday, the only thought in my mind is that if the 30s are so incredibly exciting, then, what do the 40s and 50s hold in store for me?
Would I dare go skinny dipping in the moonlight...Climb a mountain...Tend a raucous bar in true coyote style...or swim with the dolphins in the deep blue ocean...
Would my dream of being a renowned writer come true?
Would my vision of bringing love and hope into the lives of abused children translate into reality?
Who knows?
For all I know, I may be skydiving at 60 or even doing the salsa at the ripe old age of 70.
Because in my heart I believe that you don't stop dancing because of age.
You grow old only because you stopped dancing.
Note: Reproduced from www.soul-talkin.blogspot.com with minor variations
Monday, May 18, 2009
Funny How Life Turns Out....
My father, where ever he is now, must be laughing his guts out!!!
At 17, he and I, had one of our fiercest fights ever.
Over my choice of career.
Achan's fondest dream was to see me an engineer.
And, he wasn't picky.
Any kind of an engineering degree - Mech, Computer Science, E &C, Architecture....
Just, anything would have sufficed.
But, sadly for him, his beloved first born had inherited none of his mathematical skills.
Nor, a yen for the sciences.
But, all she had, was, a head full of outlandish dreams.
Of being a writer. A journalist. A radio jockey.
Or, a T.V personality, at the very least.
Much to his dismay, I was almost always meandering about, aimlessly, with my nose buried deep in a book.
Or, was scribbling away, in a raggedy diary.
That is, if, I was not sassing him, about wanting to enroll for arts.
To, maintain peace, we made a pact, when I turned 16.
I would pursue the sciences as an undergraduate, and, give engineering school my best shot.
BUT, if, I failed to make the grade, the first time....
My father would allow me to pursue the arts.
Fair as it may sound, I must confess that, it was a deal, which, neither of us had any intention of keeping.
As I slacked at my studies, smugly thinking of the regret letter from Engineering School, my father was busy trying to secretly book me a seat in a famous South Indian private college!!!
I should have smelt a rat when, I came home with one bad report after another, and, my father blithely patted my shoulder and urged me to not give up.
The truth, eventually, saw the light of the day.
When my near sub-zero, end-of-the-year grades in mathematics, physics and chemistry, had the school authorities, and me, begging my parents to re-consider my continuance.
And, my father still remained determined.
He, had to, let us in on his plans.
Which, was when, all hell broke loose.
To cut a long story short, there were tears galore.
A lot of yelling.
And, finally, the sulks.
Much to the beloved parent's dismay, I went ahead and followed my heart.
And, a decade later, here I am, working for an true blue 'brick and mortar' engineering company.
Not one of those uber cool 'IT' companies Bangalore is famous for.
Where people are paid insanely with all kinds of bizarre benefits to work in swanky, luxurious offices.
But, for a technology company, which, makes real products.
For cars and tractors and aeroplanes and battle tanks!!
It is a tough place for a non-engineer to be in.
But, do I have any regrets?
No way.
I get to do what I love.
I get to ideate and implement the ideas.
And, I am challenged every single day
But, every now and then.
When I am poring over an impossibly technical document which, has an army of unfathomable jargon attacking my poor grey cells...
I swear, I can hear my dad, somewhere above, chuckling away in glee....
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
We Turned One, Today!
It's amazing, how, life, can come, a full circle.
In, just, 12 short months.
This day, last year, the Mad Moggies was born.
Not by design.
But, because, I had had a rough morning, all thanks, to, a recalcitrant domestic help, and, a blood-thirsty cat.
I was home alone, and, needed a space to vent!
None of my friends were online, to take the flak.
Ging, was sulking.
Somewhere.
And, so,I thought, why not write it out, and, put it up for the world to see.
Surely, someone out there, could use the laughs.
Even though, I was not particularly amused by the morning's events!
The rest, as, I would like to say, sometime, in the future, was history.
One post, led, to another.
And, before, I knew it, a good 12 months have passed us by.
Today, I am, once again, tempted to vent.
About, the tribulations caused by our still recalcitrant domestic help, who, finally, threw in the towel.
Who, would have thought, a few goggle eyed spiders, and, the black gossamer curtain hanging in the porch, could result in such a dramatic walk-out!
About, a difficult day at work, which ended with a back-handed compliment from the boss " It is very well written but also know that NOT everyone is as intellectual as you, Rekha".
*sigh*
About, an aching heart, which, misses a much loved one, and, is trying to cope with the pain of longing and desperate need.
About, a stubborn cat, who, mutinously, refused to participate in a home-video experiment.
Especially, since, I have made my thank-you speeches, twice before.
In, my 100th post.
And, once, when I counted the blessings in my life.
Even so, I would like to say my thank yous again.
To my friends, readers, and especially those, who faithfully follow the Moggies.
Post after Post.
To each one of you, who have made me a better writer & thinker.
With your feedback, and, comments.
As I have said before, the confidence, some of you, have in me, scares, the living daylights out of me.
To my toughest critics, and, dearest friends.
Sunita. Vinny. KKay.
You are all, in a sense, as much a part of the Moggies, as I am.
Happy Birthday To Us!!!
In, just, 12 short months.
This day, last year, the Mad Moggies was born.
Not by design.
But, because, I had had a rough morning, all thanks, to, a recalcitrant domestic help, and, a blood-thirsty cat.
I was home alone, and, needed a space to vent!
None of my friends were online, to take the flak.
Ging, was sulking.
Somewhere.
And, so,I thought, why not write it out, and, put it up for the world to see.
Surely, someone out there, could use the laughs.
Even though, I was not particularly amused by the morning's events!
The rest, as, I would like to say, sometime, in the future, was history.
One post, led, to another.
And, before, I knew it, a good 12 months have passed us by.
Today, I am, once again, tempted to vent.
About, the tribulations caused by our still recalcitrant domestic help, who, finally, threw in the towel.
Who, would have thought, a few goggle eyed spiders, and, the black gossamer curtain hanging in the porch, could result in such a dramatic walk-out!
About, a difficult day at work, which ended with a back-handed compliment from the boss " It is very well written but also know that NOT everyone is as intellectual as you, Rekha".
*sigh*
About, an aching heart, which, misses a much loved one, and, is trying to cope with the pain of longing and desperate need.
About, a stubborn cat, who, mutinously, refused to participate in a home-video experiment.All, she had to do, was lip-sync to the Birthday Song, and, look cute.
But, guess who had to act as pricey as ever???
My day was rough.
So, I figure, I am allowed a little leeway.Especially, since, I have made my thank-you speeches, twice before.
In, my 100th post.
And, once, when I counted the blessings in my life.
Even so, I would like to say my thank yous again.
To my friends, readers, and especially those, who faithfully follow the Moggies.
Post after Post.
To each one of you, who have made me a better writer & thinker.
With your feedback, and, comments.
As I have said before, the confidence, some of you, have in me, scares, the living daylights out of me.
To my toughest critics, and, dearest friends.
Sunita. Vinny. KKay.
You are all, in a sense, as much a part of the Moggies, as I am.
Happy Birthday To Us!!!
Monday, February 23, 2009
Where Did The Dreams Go?
Last week, I took a much needed break from life.
From high pressure work situations, oppressive politics and deadlines that hung heavily over my neck. From people, expectations and demands. From mundane routines and, the monotony of everyday life as I knew it.
I retreated into a cocoon of seclusion - a womb which proved to be the perfect space for introspection and intense soul searching.
It was with a sense of foolish pride that I turned my eye inward.
And, why ever not?
In my mind's eye, I had arrived in the world....On my own steam.
Success was mine for the asking.
I was attractive, personable and intelligent.
I had a job I loved.
I had friends to die for.
I had won great battles in life.
People admired me...Envied me.
But as I retraced my steps to look back on the achievements of the past decade, I was not as proud or happy as I should have been. Or as I once had been.
I sensed lassitude in my life. And ennui.
It was as if the fire that once raged within, was about to be doused.
As if the edges on the square peg were being evened out, and therefore, I was fitting better into the round hole.
I realised, with dismay, that I did not seem to be the person I once was.
Where had the fire gone?
When had the stardust faded from my eyes?
There was a time when I had dared to dream. Had pursued dreams with a passion, that bordered on obsessiveness.
There was a time when there was adventure in my soul. And, I had reached for the moon, and the glittering stars in the dark velvet skies, caring little for convention and society.
I used to speak my mind. Pursue knowledge with a thirst that just refused to be slaked.
The voices of fear were quelled, before its ugly tentacles held my being in a vice grip.
My heart knew what was right.
My spirit was strong and I knew I had it in me to achieve all that I wanted from life.
But now, as my mind reeled out a list of achievements, my soul gurgled vociferous protests. I was no longer the spunky, gauche girl who had left home at 24 with her meagre belongings, in search of fame and glory under the bright city-lights.
I had grown. And achieved much.
But, there still was no escaping the truth.
Somewhere along the way, complacency had set in.
I had begun to dream less. To want less and, to fear more.
And, I hated it.
Was the very act of living was beating the fight out of me?
I wondered if my ability to dream and achieve was being impaired by a fear of loss. And, by errors of judgement, which instead of serving as lessons, were sapping my soul of its uniqueness.
As I pondered on, I knew the reasons did not matter.
For, it is in our rare moments of alone-ness that we realise what our souls really need. We realise what is true. And, what we are made of.
I needed to feel alive again. To be able to dream grandiose dreams. And, be unafraid once more.
I discovered that the fire had not gone out.
It flickered feebly, demanding to be stoked...And, fed.
All is not lost.
From high pressure work situations, oppressive politics and deadlines that hung heavily over my neck. From people, expectations and demands. From mundane routines and, the monotony of everyday life as I knew it.
I retreated into a cocoon of seclusion - a womb which proved to be the perfect space for introspection and intense soul searching.
It was with a sense of foolish pride that I turned my eye inward.
And, why ever not?
In my mind's eye, I had arrived in the world....On my own steam.
Success was mine for the asking.
I was attractive, personable and intelligent.
I had a job I loved.
I had friends to die for.
I had won great battles in life.
People admired me...Envied me.
But as I retraced my steps to look back on the achievements of the past decade, I was not as proud or happy as I should have been. Or as I once had been.
I sensed lassitude in my life. And ennui.
It was as if the fire that once raged within, was about to be doused.
As if the edges on the square peg were being evened out, and therefore, I was fitting better into the round hole.
I realised, with dismay, that I did not seem to be the person I once was.
Where had the fire gone?
When had the stardust faded from my eyes?
There was a time when I had dared to dream. Had pursued dreams with a passion, that bordered on obsessiveness.
There was a time when there was adventure in my soul. And, I had reached for the moon, and the glittering stars in the dark velvet skies, caring little for convention and society.
I used to speak my mind. Pursue knowledge with a thirst that just refused to be slaked.
The voices of fear were quelled, before its ugly tentacles held my being in a vice grip.
My heart knew what was right.
My spirit was strong and I knew I had it in me to achieve all that I wanted from life.
But now, as my mind reeled out a list of achievements, my soul gurgled vociferous protests. I was no longer the spunky, gauche girl who had left home at 24 with her meagre belongings, in search of fame and glory under the bright city-lights.
I had grown. And achieved much.
But, there still was no escaping the truth.
Somewhere along the way, complacency had set in.
I had begun to dream less. To want less and, to fear more.
And, I hated it.
Was the very act of living was beating the fight out of me?
I wondered if my ability to dream and achieve was being impaired by a fear of loss. And, by errors of judgement, which instead of serving as lessons, were sapping my soul of its uniqueness.
As I pondered on, I knew the reasons did not matter.
For, it is in our rare moments of alone-ness that we realise what our souls really need. We realise what is true. And, what we are made of.
I needed to feel alive again. To be able to dream grandiose dreams. And, be unafraid once more.
I discovered that the fire had not gone out.
It flickered feebly, demanding to be stoked...And, fed.
All is not lost.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
My Fairy God Mother Is A New Age Communist!!!
Having grown up on a steady diet of fairy tales from Brothers Grimm, Hans Anderson and finally Enid Blyton, I spent most of my growing years (and adult life too) believing that everyone on this planet came with a kindly Fairy Godmother attached. And why ever not? After all, Cinderella had one and Sleeping Beauty did too. So why not any of us in the real world? Who other than a Fairy God Mother could possibly keep us from hopping, skipping and leap frogging into trouble or bail us out of it...And even more importantly, send Prince Charmings our way?
There was no doubt in my child mind. We all simply had to have a FG*. As a child, I remember devoting much time and energy plotting to net my elusive Fairy Godmother - a mischievous grandmotherly being who sailed on a puffy white cloud above me refusing to put in an appearance to discuss life and its many secrets with me. But as the years advanced, skepticism set in. Forget playing hide and seek, FG never put in an appearance with an umbrella or a rain coat when the storm clouds gathered above me.
At a certain point in time, skepticism gave way to anger. Perhaps it was the disappointment of my child-mind's expectations. Or maybe it was because I felt I have had more than my fair share of woes, most of which were circumstantial and some, I confess,were of my own making. Either way, the quantum of misadventures that came seeking me most definitely qualified me for a FG.
My rage against the recalcitrant FG peaked sometime last week, while I was taking stock of the paths I had travelled. As I stewed and simmered and shook an angry fist at the imaginary cloud above me, a reedy voice piped up peevishly.
"Such a racket!!...What is all this fuss and bother about?"
" Just that you haven't been doing your job!!!.You are never around when I need you" I fumed "You are supposed to be following me around...watching out for me..And I haven't seen you even once in all these years!!!"
" Oh yeah? And just who do you think has been talking to you and holding your hands every time you flirted with disaster???"
" You have????"
My best shot at sarcasm ricochets off FG's hide. Obviously, she is a worthy adversary!
" You are never around!!! Just look at my life....Trouble courts me and you are never around to bail me out"
" Do I look like a goddamn seat belt to you? You need to take responsibility for your life and your actions. I am around to guide you gently, if you would choose to listen to me"
For a whole minute, I was speechless. And then anger once again welled up finding its voice in the form of bitter accusations
"Oh yeah? That was not your line when you sent Cinderella off to a fancy ball in a pumpkin chariot and finery to find her Prince Charming. Or when you put Sleeping Beauty to sleep for a hundred years till her Prince Charming kissed her back to wakefulness!!!"
" That was in the fairy tales...Do you think FGs in the modern world have time or energy for all that jazz???In the real world, both of us have to work hard to keep your life on an even keel. After all, it is your life. You enjoy the fruits of your labour all by yourself, don't you? So you need to work hard for it too. There is no reason I should be doing anymore work than you are"
This I liked...An invisible Fairy God Mother who was not just spouting communistic principles at me but was also rubbishing away my favourite fairy tales!!! The communism I could digest but her take on fairy tales was a little too much for me to swallow and I couldn't resist reminding her about the Fairy in FG.
But much to my surprise, she waved me aside breezily.
" Fairy God Mother...The Voice of Conscience....Gut Instincts...Sixth Sense...Call me what you will....Its all the one and the same...Now, am I to be faulted if your notions and expectations belong in Utopia???"
Her tone brooked no argument. And honestly, I was a tad too nervous to even try. What if I offended her for life?
Just my luck that my Fairy God Mother turned out to be a new age commie!!!
* FG = Fairy God Mother
There was no doubt in my child mind. We all simply had to have a FG*. As a child, I remember devoting much time and energy plotting to net my elusive Fairy Godmother - a mischievous grandmotherly being who sailed on a puffy white cloud above me refusing to put in an appearance to discuss life and its many secrets with me. But as the years advanced, skepticism set in. Forget playing hide and seek, FG never put in an appearance with an umbrella or a rain coat when the storm clouds gathered above me.
At a certain point in time, skepticism gave way to anger. Perhaps it was the disappointment of my child-mind's expectations. Or maybe it was because I felt I have had more than my fair share of woes, most of which were circumstantial and some, I confess,were of my own making. Either way, the quantum of misadventures that came seeking me most definitely qualified me for a FG.
My rage against the recalcitrant FG peaked sometime last week, while I was taking stock of the paths I had travelled. As I stewed and simmered and shook an angry fist at the imaginary cloud above me, a reedy voice piped up peevishly.
"Such a racket!!...What is all this fuss and bother about?"
" Just that you haven't been doing your job!!!.You are never around when I need you" I fumed "You are supposed to be following me around...watching out for me..And I haven't seen you even once in all these years!!!"
" Oh yeah? And just who do you think has been talking to you and holding your hands every time you flirted with disaster???"
" You have????"
My best shot at sarcasm ricochets off FG's hide. Obviously, she is a worthy adversary!
" You are never around!!! Just look at my life....Trouble courts me and you are never around to bail me out"
" Do I look like a goddamn seat belt to you? You need to take responsibility for your life and your actions. I am around to guide you gently, if you would choose to listen to me"
For a whole minute, I was speechless. And then anger once again welled up finding its voice in the form of bitter accusations
"Oh yeah? That was not your line when you sent Cinderella off to a fancy ball in a pumpkin chariot and finery to find her Prince Charming. Or when you put Sleeping Beauty to sleep for a hundred years till her Prince Charming kissed her back to wakefulness!!!"
" That was in the fairy tales...Do you think FGs in the modern world have time or energy for all that jazz???In the real world, both of us have to work hard to keep your life on an even keel. After all, it is your life. You enjoy the fruits of your labour all by yourself, don't you? So you need to work hard for it too. There is no reason I should be doing anymore work than you are"
This I liked...An invisible Fairy God Mother who was not just spouting communistic principles at me but was also rubbishing away my favourite fairy tales!!! The communism I could digest but her take on fairy tales was a little too much for me to swallow and I couldn't resist reminding her about the Fairy in FG.
But much to my surprise, she waved me aside breezily.
" Fairy God Mother...The Voice of Conscience....Gut Instincts...Sixth Sense...Call me what you will....Its all the one and the same...Now, am I to be faulted if your notions and expectations belong in Utopia???"
Her tone brooked no argument. And honestly, I was a tad too nervous to even try. What if I offended her for life?
Just my luck that my Fairy God Mother turned out to be a new age commie!!!
* FG = Fairy God Mother
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Milestone 100 & Thank Yous!!!
We just hit a 100.....YIPPEE!!!
The Moggies just can't stop purring!!!
Salut Shail.
Thank you!
The Moggies just can't stop purring!!!
But before we bring out the party hats, we thought we should take a moment to display the Awards & Trophies awarded to us this past month or two.
I know, I know.... We should have done this much earlier. And as much as I would like to say that we were waiting for a special moment to preen and take our bows, the fact is the moggies have indeed been a little tardy!!!
So without much ado, Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to thank my fellow bloggers who have so graciously bestowed three awards on us.
I know, I know.... We should have done this much earlier. And as much as I would like to say that we were waiting for a special moment to preen and take our bows, the fact is the moggies have indeed been a little tardy!!!
So without much ado, Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to thank my fellow bloggers who have so graciously bestowed three awards on us.
This Trophy made my day!!! And I cannot thank Pallavi enough for awarding us this. As a young girl, I had always been quite captivated by the gleaming trophies the school sports-stars held aloft on the victory stand. I dreamed of taking one home but sadly, it remained a dream unfulfilled....Until now.
Juvenile as it may sound, the Shiny Silver Trophy more than makes up for all those moments of disappointment on the sports field, as dream after dream were dashed to smithereens!!!
Juvenile as it may sound, the Shiny Silver Trophy more than makes up for all those moments of disappointment on the sports field, as dream after dream were dashed to smithereens!!!
The Proximity Award from Shail's Nest
Shail was my first blogger friend....And, to date, the special-est one too. In the two years I have been blogging, I am yet to meet another like her, who uninhibitedly reaches out with an enthusiasm and abandon that cannot fail to warm you to the cockles of your heart.
For me, Shail is the master relationship builder. And to receive The Proximity Award from the Mistress of Relationships is an honour beyond compare.
Salut Shail. Thank you!
The Coolest Blog Butterfly from Roopa at Tattoo
To be judged and deemed worthy by your peers is perhaps the greatest accolade of all. And for this reason, all our awards are special. However, the gorgeous butterfly Roopa sent our way will always occupy the pride of place on this page!!!
For starters, it is the first on our mantle-piece. But more importantly, the qualitative excellence of the awarder's writing makes it a much cherished trophy. And last but not the least, its a butterfly for chrissakes...how do you a feline to resist it???
Thank you Roopa...You made my day!
For starters, it is the first on our mantle-piece. But more importantly, the qualitative excellence of the awarder's writing makes it a much cherished trophy. And last but not the least, its a butterfly for chrissakes...how do you a feline to resist it???
Thank you Roopa...You made my day!
There are a handful of blogs - Tattoo, A Slice Of Life, Shail's Nest, Crocodile's Tales- which draw me over and over again. And in my mind, each of them qualify many times over for the these awards. Shail, Roopa, Ganga & Pallavi - You Ladies Rock!!!
As much as I love these blogs and am sorely tempted to divide the booty amongst my favourite ladies,I thought it might be fun to break the cycle and rope in other worthy writers for the honours. So, in our turn, the Moggies award
As much as I love these blogs and am sorely tempted to divide the booty amongst my favourite ladies,I thought it might be fun to break the cycle and rope in other worthy writers for the honours. So, in our turn, the Moggies award
The Shiny Silver Trophy to:
All That Brash & Trash
A Riot OF Green Reasons
Filthy, Funny, Flawed, Gorgeous
Where I'm Calling From
A Riot OF Green Reasons
Filthy, Funny, Flawed, Gorgeous
Where I'm Calling From
The Proximity Award to:
Notes From A Harried Mom
Devi Writes [ Devi, we miss the good stuff !!!]
Weaving A Web
Notes From A Harried Mom
Devi Writes [ Devi, we miss the good stuff !!!]
Weaving A Web
The Butterfly to
The Renegade Of Junk
India Uncut
The rules of the game are simple:
1. If You Got It, Flaunt It: Go ahead...put the logo on your blog.
2. A Head Butt For Your Patron: Add a link to the person who presented it to you.
3. Spread The Joy: Pass the Award on and link other bloggers that you'd like to share it with.
India Uncut
The rules of the game are simple:
1. If You Got It, Flaunt It: Go ahead...put the logo on your blog.
2. A Head Butt For Your Patron: Add a link to the person who presented it to you.
3. Spread The Joy: Pass the Award on and link other bloggers that you'd like to share it with.
The Champagne has been cooling in the bucket for a while now. But before we pop it, I would like to thank everyone who has joined us on our journey this past year and become an integral part of the Moggie World!!!
Cheers Amigos!
Cheers Amigos!
Thursday, December 25, 2008
A Christmas Offering
Yesterday, Santa left me a wonderful Christmas present in my stocking.
A diary from my youth, which I believed had succumbed to the ravages of time.
I spent most of the night reading the thoughts as I traversed the rocky path from adolescence to adulthood. At times, I smiled at the innocence of the child I was. And at other times, my wisdom awed me. But when I had turned the last page, there only remained a sense of amazement....Even after 15 years, there were very many beliefs which remained unchanged.
And in the true Christmas spirit of giving and sharing, I offer my world as a gift, a few glimpses of my journey:
November 1989
Someday I'll find someone who will love me to distraction, cherish me and pamper me. Someone who will share my burdens with me and help me laugh through my troubles. I know I will find this special person because if I exist with all my flaws, there must be a match made for me endowed with vast reserves of love to lavish on me. Someday I will find my second half
May 1990
I loved "My Left Foot" which is about Christy Brown - a victim of cerebral palsy who actually typed out a whole book with the toe of his left foot. Amazing!!!. Maybe someday I will too write a book. And the book will become famous. What I loved about Brown was his perseverance and the God Awful tantrums he threw. Well, I may not have the patience or the genius to write a book in this lifetime, but I can most definitely put into effect the latter
December 1990
The one thing people around me must understand is that there are facets of my personality they cannot touch or satiate. I need my space. And I need to be free.
February 1991
I wonder if my diaries will ever be found years later..Something like Anne Frank's Diary. Wow!! What a Thought!! I better watch my language & handwriting.
August 1991
A little love goes a long long way in raising the spirits of those less fortunate than ourselves...
March 1992
The best part of having a brain and a heart is that one is endowed with the ability to glean a few precious nuggets from life and store them away as lovely memories. Such cherished memories are so important for our survival - when the going is tough, just the thought of lovely moments from the past makes me feel that life is worth living.
June 1994
Ten percent of the time, even your best friend may hurt you by saying something utterly thoughtless
July 1994
I think the most difficult thing for human beings is unconditional love. There are always so many strings attached - parental, filial, sibling,lover. People want relationships as if it is some kind of a contract....As if it needs to fit a preset mould.
November 1995
There is a world of difference between wanting to do something and having to do something. The latter is almost like being black mailed!!!
January 1996
Love is a double edged sword. At times, it wraps you in a warm, secure cocoon. And then there are times, when no matter how bad you feel, you have to take into consideration the feelings of the other person and sometimes, even swallow your pride.
December 1996
Isn't it amazing just how we never stop wanting? It is like when we get something we want very badly, we find something else to wish for earnestly.
August 1997
Sometimes I wonder if this emotion called love is a creation we force on ourselves. Are we more in love with love than with a person? I think sometimes love becomes a habit over time.
December 1997
Why is everyone so afraid of death? Is it because they are afraid of the unknown? And are unwilling to let go of what is known and defined for what is unknown? Or is it the fear of pain before one begins his journey into the unknown?
April 1998
People are fools seeking pots of gold at the ends of rainbows. And when they fail, they need to blame someone. God is such a convenient scapegoat. Once upon a time, I too believed in a God. Because it was convenient to ask Him the all important question - why?
August 1999
When you are at the nadir, the easiest solutions to your problems may not always be the best.
May 2000
Brooding never helps. All you want to do is sit in the dark..sheltered from the prying eyes of the world and lick your wounds. But then, one sunny morning, when you venture out into the world after your self imposed confinement, you are often at a loss as to what to do... Because Life has raced on ahead while you were away.
January 2001
Loneliness can be such a scary state to be in. It kills all feeling in you. Makes you wither away - not being able to feel the world around you or appreciate the lovely things that you stumble across in your day-to-day-life. You just get through your days without feeling, not caring if it is a Monday or a Saturday.
August 2002
How many of us put out 75% for a meagre 25%? or are such instances only exclusive to fools?
May 2003
Complete independence can be such a heavy burden to carry. Having to look out for yourself. Knowing that if you do not, then nobody else will.
December 2008
Unconditional Love exists! The Second Half Exists! Life Is Indeed Beautiful...
Merry Christmas!!!
A diary from my youth, which I believed had succumbed to the ravages of time.
I spent most of the night reading the thoughts as I traversed the rocky path from adolescence to adulthood. At times, I smiled at the innocence of the child I was. And at other times, my wisdom awed me. But when I had turned the last page, there only remained a sense of amazement....Even after 15 years, there were very many beliefs which remained unchanged.
And in the true Christmas spirit of giving and sharing, I offer my world as a gift, a few glimpses of my journey:
November 1989
Someday I'll find someone who will love me to distraction, cherish me and pamper me. Someone who will share my burdens with me and help me laugh through my troubles. I know I will find this special person because if I exist with all my flaws, there must be a match made for me endowed with vast reserves of love to lavish on me. Someday I will find my second half
May 1990
I loved "My Left Foot" which is about Christy Brown - a victim of cerebral palsy who actually typed out a whole book with the toe of his left foot. Amazing!!!. Maybe someday I will too write a book. And the book will become famous. What I loved about Brown was his perseverance and the God Awful tantrums he threw. Well, I may not have the patience or the genius to write a book in this lifetime, but I can most definitely put into effect the latter
December 1990
The one thing people around me must understand is that there are facets of my personality they cannot touch or satiate. I need my space. And I need to be free.
February 1991
I wonder if my diaries will ever be found years later..Something like Anne Frank's Diary. Wow!! What a Thought!! I better watch my language & handwriting.
August 1991
A little love goes a long long way in raising the spirits of those less fortunate than ourselves...
March 1992
The best part of having a brain and a heart is that one is endowed with the ability to glean a few precious nuggets from life and store them away as lovely memories. Such cherished memories are so important for our survival - when the going is tough, just the thought of lovely moments from the past makes me feel that life is worth living.
January 1993
The most difficult thing on earth is to find people who can accept you for what you are - every fibre of your being and every shred of your soul for what it is. June 1994
Ten percent of the time, even your best friend may hurt you by saying something utterly thoughtless
July 1994
I think the most difficult thing for human beings is unconditional love. There are always so many strings attached - parental, filial, sibling,lover. People want relationships as if it is some kind of a contract....As if it needs to fit a preset mould.
November 1995
There is a world of difference between wanting to do something and having to do something. The latter is almost like being black mailed!!!
January 1996
Love is a double edged sword. At times, it wraps you in a warm, secure cocoon. And then there are times, when no matter how bad you feel, you have to take into consideration the feelings of the other person and sometimes, even swallow your pride.
December 1996
Isn't it amazing just how we never stop wanting? It is like when we get something we want very badly, we find something else to wish for earnestly.
August 1997
Sometimes I wonder if this emotion called love is a creation we force on ourselves. Are we more in love with love than with a person? I think sometimes love becomes a habit over time.
December 1997
Why is everyone so afraid of death? Is it because they are afraid of the unknown? And are unwilling to let go of what is known and defined for what is unknown? Or is it the fear of pain before one begins his journey into the unknown?
April 1998
People are fools seeking pots of gold at the ends of rainbows. And when they fail, they need to blame someone. God is such a convenient scapegoat. Once upon a time, I too believed in a God. Because it was convenient to ask Him the all important question - why?
August 1999
When you are at the nadir, the easiest solutions to your problems may not always be the best.
May 2000
Brooding never helps. All you want to do is sit in the dark..sheltered from the prying eyes of the world and lick your wounds. But then, one sunny morning, when you venture out into the world after your self imposed confinement, you are often at a loss as to what to do... Because Life has raced on ahead while you were away.
January 2001
Loneliness can be such a scary state to be in. It kills all feeling in you. Makes you wither away - not being able to feel the world around you or appreciate the lovely things that you stumble across in your day-to-day-life. You just get through your days without feeling, not caring if it is a Monday or a Saturday.
August 2002
How many of us put out 75% for a meagre 25%? or are such instances only exclusive to fools?
May 2003
Complete independence can be such a heavy burden to carry. Having to look out for yourself. Knowing that if you do not, then nobody else will.
December 2008
Unconditional Love exists! The Second Half Exists! Life Is Indeed Beautiful...
Merry Christmas!!!
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Great Indian Train Chase...
Have you ever run after a departing train and managed to board it just in the nick of time? As Kajol did, years ago, in Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge...And as Kareena failed to do, more recently, in Jab We Met?
Well, I did this morning....And, it was nothing like in the movies!!!
For starters, there were no handsome heroes, either on the train or off it, to make the run worthwhile. At 5:45 a.m, potential candidates were still tucked in their warm cozy beds, oblivious to my plight on platform no. 7 of Bangalore's central railway station. All I had by way of company was an unkempt porter in clothes that reeked of sweat and with a breath so stale, that I am sure, every little microbe in the vicinity must have quietly curled up and died.
He looked, smelt and sounded like a typical Bollywood villain's flunky.
But, with my train due to depart in precisely 10 minutes from a platform right across the station and no other porter in sight, my options were limited. Come hell fire or high tide, I had to board that train home. And so, the villainous porter and I ran as if the hell hounds were breathing fire at our heels.
I wish I could claim to have run as gracefully as the Bollywood heroines. But sadly, I was bogged down by several layers of lard, a rather large hand bag as well as a laptop bag about to burst at the seams. And, I am afraid that I must have resembled a podgy little potato rather than a sinuous beauty....A squat little spud on heels who huffed and puffed and jerked and jolted all the way up and down the stairs and across the bridge until the train was in sight. To add insult to injury, the villainous porter who bore my cases on his head not only outran me with ease, but also paused at intervals to cheer me on!!!
We managed to make it into the train with a minute to spare.
While the porter stashed my bags away, I sank with relief into my seat gasping like the proverbial fish out of water....Given the sweat bath my body was experiencing, I probably smelt like one too.
Baggage stowed away safely, the villain turned hero beamed in triumph at me. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, a voice warned me against making hasty judgements about people. As I wheezed out my gratitude to this most unlikely of knights, I was accosted by a grubby outstretched palm which I promptly lined with three crisp 50 rupee notes.
" Madam, ini 150 kodi....." [ Madam, give me 150 more]
The noxious fumes from his mouth quite overwhelmed me. Too exhausted to argue, I extracted a crisp 100 and as I rooted for more amongst the jumble in my bag, the train jerked and gently began to move. The villain porter grabbed the 100 in my hand and had dashed down the passage, out of the door and onto the platform....Before I could even say Shakthi Kapoor.
*Hmmmph*
Once a villain, always a villain!!!
Well, I did this morning....And, it was nothing like in the movies!!!
For starters, there were no handsome heroes, either on the train or off it, to make the run worthwhile. At 5:45 a.m, potential candidates were still tucked in their warm cozy beds, oblivious to my plight on platform no. 7 of Bangalore's central railway station. All I had by way of company was an unkempt porter in clothes that reeked of sweat and with a breath so stale, that I am sure, every little microbe in the vicinity must have quietly curled up and died.
He looked, smelt and sounded like a typical Bollywood villain's flunky.
But, with my train due to depart in precisely 10 minutes from a platform right across the station and no other porter in sight, my options were limited. Come hell fire or high tide, I had to board that train home. And so, the villainous porter and I ran as if the hell hounds were breathing fire at our heels.
I wish I could claim to have run as gracefully as the Bollywood heroines. But sadly, I was bogged down by several layers of lard, a rather large hand bag as well as a laptop bag about to burst at the seams. And, I am afraid that I must have resembled a podgy little potato rather than a sinuous beauty....A squat little spud on heels who huffed and puffed and jerked and jolted all the way up and down the stairs and across the bridge until the train was in sight. To add insult to injury, the villainous porter who bore my cases on his head not only outran me with ease, but also paused at intervals to cheer me on!!!
We managed to make it into the train with a minute to spare.
While the porter stashed my bags away, I sank with relief into my seat gasping like the proverbial fish out of water....Given the sweat bath my body was experiencing, I probably smelt like one too.
Baggage stowed away safely, the villain turned hero beamed in triumph at me. Somewhere in the deep recesses of my mind, a voice warned me against making hasty judgements about people. As I wheezed out my gratitude to this most unlikely of knights, I was accosted by a grubby outstretched palm which I promptly lined with three crisp 50 rupee notes.
" Madam, ini 150 kodi....." [ Madam, give me 150 more]
The noxious fumes from his mouth quite overwhelmed me. Too exhausted to argue, I extracted a crisp 100 and as I rooted for more amongst the jumble in my bag, the train jerked and gently began to move. The villain porter grabbed the 100 in my hand and had dashed down the passage, out of the door and onto the platform....Before I could even say Shakthi Kapoor.
*Hmmmph*
Once a villain, always a villain!!!
Thursday, November 20, 2008
An Ambition For Self Destruction
There is a battle raging in my body!!!.. And I didn't even know...
I had always assumed that I was challenged as far as issuing directions went. If I said right, the left hand would automatically pop up. And when the left was called upon to lead the way, the right was all too ready to upstage it. At first, I assumed I was being absent minded. But when months of diligent effort failed to rectify the mysterious cross responsiveness of my hands, I wrote it off as a trifling foible and one which would only enhance my cuteness quotient.
No small wonder that even remote acquaintances refuse to allot the role of navigator to me. However, the poor unsuspecting auto and cab drivers of South India who are not in the know, inevitably fall victim to my garbled instructions and often waste precious minutes retracing paths.
This morning, after I had confounded my umpteenth cab driver, self doubt struck.
I decided that I simply had to know if the mystery of my recalcitrant hands was rooted in some unheard of, unpronounceable disorder of the nerves. And an hour later, I had my answer. What seemed as a coordination disorder was merely a battle for supremacy between the two hands.
Yes indeed....believe you me, people!!!
Apparently, hands have Alphas too....
While most people's hands take turns at being the boss, it appeared that both of mine were clamouring for power and were unwilling to consider a compromise!!!
My new found knowledge explained why I was able to use both my hands dexterously. It explained the secret behind my swift typing skills...As well as my propensity for typos. And sadly, it also explained my clumsiness.
If there was a piece of china to be dropped and smashed into smithereens, liquids to be splashed, food to be spilled or a pile of cans to be tumbled at the supermarket, I was sure to rise to the occasion. How could I hope to be graceful and fluid in my movements if my hands were competing with each other instead of working as a team?? And if that wasn't bad enough, I realised that the many cuts, nicks and burns my fingers sustained over the years and of which scars remained, could only be attributed to the blood thirsty machinations of my own two hands.
Talk about cutting off one's own digits to spite oneself!!!
Clearly, both had not been listening when the rest of me was enraptured by Lady Macbeth's efforts to cleanse her hands!!!
So, how does one effect truce between such barbaric body parts? It wasn't as if I could pick one for neutering and resolve the situation!!! But a solution I had to find..Before my hands mutilated each other and I resembled a victim of a serious psychotic disorder!!!
As I pondered my options, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps my tendency to trip and fall at periodic intervals, for no obvious reason, could perhaps be yet another secret war raging in my body...between my feet!!!
*long deep sigh*
Warring hands.....Squabbling feet....Some people have all the luck, don't they???
I had always assumed that I was challenged as far as issuing directions went. If I said right, the left hand would automatically pop up. And when the left was called upon to lead the way, the right was all too ready to upstage it. At first, I assumed I was being absent minded. But when months of diligent effort failed to rectify the mysterious cross responsiveness of my hands, I wrote it off as a trifling foible and one which would only enhance my cuteness quotient.
No small wonder that even remote acquaintances refuse to allot the role of navigator to me. However, the poor unsuspecting auto and cab drivers of South India who are not in the know, inevitably fall victim to my garbled instructions and often waste precious minutes retracing paths.
This morning, after I had confounded my umpteenth cab driver, self doubt struck.
I decided that I simply had to know if the mystery of my recalcitrant hands was rooted in some unheard of, unpronounceable disorder of the nerves. And an hour later, I had my answer. What seemed as a coordination disorder was merely a battle for supremacy between the two hands.
Yes indeed....believe you me, people!!!
Apparently, hands have Alphas too....
While most people's hands take turns at being the boss, it appeared that both of mine were clamouring for power and were unwilling to consider a compromise!!!
My new found knowledge explained why I was able to use both my hands dexterously. It explained the secret behind my swift typing skills...As well as my propensity for typos. And sadly, it also explained my clumsiness.
If there was a piece of china to be dropped and smashed into smithereens, liquids to be splashed, food to be spilled or a pile of cans to be tumbled at the supermarket, I was sure to rise to the occasion. How could I hope to be graceful and fluid in my movements if my hands were competing with each other instead of working as a team?? And if that wasn't bad enough, I realised that the many cuts, nicks and burns my fingers sustained over the years and of which scars remained, could only be attributed to the blood thirsty machinations of my own two hands.
Talk about cutting off one's own digits to spite oneself!!!
Clearly, both had not been listening when the rest of me was enraptured by Lady Macbeth's efforts to cleanse her hands!!!
So, how does one effect truce between such barbaric body parts? It wasn't as if I could pick one for neutering and resolve the situation!!! But a solution I had to find..Before my hands mutilated each other and I resembled a victim of a serious psychotic disorder!!!
As I pondered my options, it suddenly occurred to me that perhaps my tendency to trip and fall at periodic intervals, for no obvious reason, could perhaps be yet another secret war raging in my body...between my feet!!!
*long deep sigh*
Warring hands.....Squabbling feet....Some people have all the luck, don't they???
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Weighing Jumbo...
Ill news travels fast, I hear. And now I know.
It appears that news about Operation Downsize Jumbo has spread far and wide. The martians are popping up from behind every little shrub and tree, to lend their services in helping Jumbo shed her lubber.
My friend Vicky threatened to conduct a fat test on me in 6 months and pulverise the Diet Controller if as much as an itsy-bitsy cell of fat chanced to stray into the test stream....A threat which I suspect has motivated my former Diet Controller into planning a long vacation in Timbuktu.
Another studied my newest photograph and hectored me for an hour on the fat zones on my face, paying little heed to my protests that the chubby cheeks were a legacy from my dear departed father. I dread to think what he would have to say about my hips and thighs...An inheritance from my doting mother, which I would have cheerfully passed on to my sibling if I had been given any say in the matter.
The third, supposedly sympathetic, rang up to "motivate" me into staying on course...
" Hey, so you have become really fat, huh?"
" Err, not really...I mean I think I have lost some weight..."
" Oh yeah?"
The sarcasm that drips from his voice forms a caustic puddle between us. Beware all ye little creatures who blithely go about your business on earth...A dip in the toxic pool would suffice to transform y'all into little mutant balls of lard!!!
" So how much weight have you lost? 1 gm?"
" Noo...actually, I dunno"
" Liar!!!"
" I seriously do not know"
" What was your weight a month ago?"
"....I dunno..."
" Ok, what is your weight now?.."
"...mmmm...clueless"
" Why aren't you weighing yourself? What kind of a weight loss drive is this where you do not weigh yourself??? Don't tell me you have broken your weighing scale...."
I thoughtfully chew the flat end of my favourite multi-coloured pencil as I wonder how to break the news that I did not possess a weighing scale.... Never did.... And I had no intentions of acquiring one at this stage of life.
" Err, I don't have a weighing scale..."
" You are kidding me, right? "
" Nopes"
" Then how on earth do you know if you have lost or gained weight???"
" Well, I just go by the jeans..."
" The jeans???"..'
" yeah and the blouses.."
The pained silence which greeted my confession would have fazed anyone else other than a pachyderm. But we pachyderms are a breed apart. Nothing fazes us...well, except the possibility of being deprived of our favourite food and drink.
But all the same, I thought my well meaning friend deserved an explanation.
"You see, I know if I have lost weight by the fit of my jeans and my sari blouses..So every now and then, I make sure I try on both just so that I can keep track...if its loose, I know I have lost some weight and if it is tight, I know its time to watch the diet...And when I outgrow a pair, I know its time for drastic measures..."
Again, the silence....I couldn't even hear his brains creaking and cranking!!!
" Oh come on, the only thing that matters is the way we look, right? I mean I cannot walk around sporting a display board with my weight on it, can I? And what could be a better measure of one's figure than a pair of jeans and a sari blouse?.... "
And for once, my irrepressible martian friend was at a loss for words.
It appears that news about Operation Downsize Jumbo has spread far and wide. The martians are popping up from behind every little shrub and tree, to lend their services in helping Jumbo shed her lubber.
My friend Vicky threatened to conduct a fat test on me in 6 months and pulverise the Diet Controller if as much as an itsy-bitsy cell of fat chanced to stray into the test stream....A threat which I suspect has motivated my former Diet Controller into planning a long vacation in Timbuktu.
Another studied my newest photograph and hectored me for an hour on the fat zones on my face, paying little heed to my protests that the chubby cheeks were a legacy from my dear departed father. I dread to think what he would have to say about my hips and thighs...An inheritance from my doting mother, which I would have cheerfully passed on to my sibling if I had been given any say in the matter.
The third, supposedly sympathetic, rang up to "motivate" me into staying on course...
" Hey, so you have become really fat, huh?"
" Err, not really...I mean I think I have lost some weight..."
" Oh yeah?"
The sarcasm that drips from his voice forms a caustic puddle between us. Beware all ye little creatures who blithely go about your business on earth...A dip in the toxic pool would suffice to transform y'all into little mutant balls of lard!!!
" So how much weight have you lost? 1 gm?"
" Noo...actually, I dunno"
" Liar!!!"
" I seriously do not know"
" What was your weight a month ago?"
"....I dunno..."
" Ok, what is your weight now?.."
"...mmmm...clueless"
" Why aren't you weighing yourself? What kind of a weight loss drive is this where you do not weigh yourself??? Don't tell me you have broken your weighing scale...."
I thoughtfully chew the flat end of my favourite multi-coloured pencil as I wonder how to break the news that I did not possess a weighing scale.... Never did.... And I had no intentions of acquiring one at this stage of life.
" Err, I don't have a weighing scale..."
" You are kidding me, right? "
" Nopes"
" Then how on earth do you know if you have lost or gained weight???"
" Well, I just go by the jeans..."
" The jeans???"..'
" yeah and the blouses.."
The pained silence which greeted my confession would have fazed anyone else other than a pachyderm. But we pachyderms are a breed apart. Nothing fazes us...well, except the possibility of being deprived of our favourite food and drink.
But all the same, I thought my well meaning friend deserved an explanation.
"You see, I know if I have lost weight by the fit of my jeans and my sari blouses..So every now and then, I make sure I try on both just so that I can keep track...if its loose, I know I have lost some weight and if it is tight, I know its time to watch the diet...And when I outgrow a pair, I know its time for drastic measures..."
Again, the silence....I couldn't even hear his brains creaking and cranking!!!
" Oh come on, the only thing that matters is the way we look, right? I mean I cannot walk around sporting a display board with my weight on it, can I? And what could be a better measure of one's figure than a pair of jeans and a sari blouse?.... "
And for once, my irrepressible martian friend was at a loss for words.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Downsizing Jumbo!
Never let go of your sisters, they say. Amen to that.
Where would we be if we didn't have our safe, warm Venusian cocoons to retreat into for that special brand of sisterly love to cope with the highs and lows of life? Probably lolling about on the couch glued to the idiot box with candy wrappers and tubs of ice cream strewn about our feet. Or pounding the payments in search of retail therapy.
As much as I love my women friends, I must confess that there are instances when the male of the species is definitely more effective...Say like when the fat monsters come for a visit and overstay like the proverbial camel!!! Gain a pound and all my male friends descend on me like demons from hell, while my girl friends only soothe my battered ego and sympathise.
No small wonder that I have been fighting a loosing battle against the bulge for as long as I can remember. The rare lean days that came my way were all gone with the wind before it even registered. In vain have I scoured the the earth for suitable diets and practical exercise regimens. And when that failed, I learned to suck in my stomach and hold my breath until I was pink in the face. When people raved about my peaches and cream complexion, I smiled a secret smile and kept counting to 100...
But with age came sluggish metabolism. And before I knew it, I had transformed from voluptuous to jumbo size. The roses in my cheeks disappeared into fleshy folds and I even contemplated whale bone stays and corsets to contain the girth. On the best of days, I looked and felt like a dwarf pachyderm.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. So when the gazillionth square of gooey fudge brownie had found its way to my hips, I decided to recruit the most ruthless of my male friends into Operation Downsize Jumbo.
Venu, my fitness guru from back home, was the first one on board....His fitness blue print and caustic barbs drove the carbs out of the window and, much to my regret, sugar, spice and everything remotely sinful as well. For two whole months, I diligently puffed away on my cycle, turning a deaf ear to the enticing pleas of my favourite foods as they clamoured for attention in the windows of my mind. Sadly, I was never the one for discipline nor abstinence. And ever so slowly, the calories trickled back in until the exercise could no longer combat its effect.
A Diet Controller, I decided, was the need of the hour and who better than my good friend and fitness maniac Anu?? Anu took to his new role with the utmost zeal and relish which, might I add, bordered on sadism. I was required to report in on every morsel that passed through my lips....Consumed only after an in-depth discussion on its protein-carb-fat content. In between meals, I was besieged with messages that threatened dire consequences if I were to succumb to the charms of the grass skirted hula dancing chocolate donuts or the tantalising smells that emanated from the local patisserie.
I should have shed a considerable amount of lubber and probably would have, if it weren't for the fact that the forbidden fruit was indeed unspeakably desirable. " No point fighting the lard. Let us all just remain happily fat" crooned the voices in my head as I watched the retreating back of my Diet Controller. And for sometime, we - me, my fat cells and the voices in my head - were just that....Happily Fat!
But the happy state of affairs was not to last.
Enter R, a very dear friend, who decided that I needed to be taken in hand and pounded into shape...Not because it would make me look good, but because, it was important for me to be healthy. He did prove to be a lot more effective than his predecessors. Probably because there were no pointed barbs, no veiled or direct threats and above all, no extensive bad foods list to adhere to. All R wanted me to do was to exercise and eat in moderation..And this he achieved by gently prodding me into action with his lazy humour - " hey, your lips have gotten fatter in just two days!..." - which inevitably brings on an anxiety attack.
It has been close to 20 days now and I have so far, not fallen off the wagon.
If R goes the way of his predecessors, I shall find myself some happily fat friends with whom I can gorge myself to repulsive corpulence...Just so that the rest of the 'Wanna-Be skinnies' can feel good about themselves.
*Sigh* .....Such Altruism!!!
Where would we be if we didn't have our safe, warm Venusian cocoons to retreat into for that special brand of sisterly love to cope with the highs and lows of life? Probably lolling about on the couch glued to the idiot box with candy wrappers and tubs of ice cream strewn about our feet. Or pounding the payments in search of retail therapy.
As much as I love my women friends, I must confess that there are instances when the male of the species is definitely more effective...Say like when the fat monsters come for a visit and overstay like the proverbial camel!!! Gain a pound and all my male friends descend on me like demons from hell, while my girl friends only soothe my battered ego and sympathise.
No small wonder that I have been fighting a loosing battle against the bulge for as long as I can remember. The rare lean days that came my way were all gone with the wind before it even registered. In vain have I scoured the the earth for suitable diets and practical exercise regimens. And when that failed, I learned to suck in my stomach and hold my breath until I was pink in the face. When people raved about my peaches and cream complexion, I smiled a secret smile and kept counting to 100...
But with age came sluggish metabolism. And before I knew it, I had transformed from voluptuous to jumbo size. The roses in my cheeks disappeared into fleshy folds and I even contemplated whale bone stays and corsets to contain the girth. On the best of days, I looked and felt like a dwarf pachyderm.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. So when the gazillionth square of gooey fudge brownie had found its way to my hips, I decided to recruit the most ruthless of my male friends into Operation Downsize Jumbo.
Venu, my fitness guru from back home, was the first one on board....His fitness blue print and caustic barbs drove the carbs out of the window and, much to my regret, sugar, spice and everything remotely sinful as well. For two whole months, I diligently puffed away on my cycle, turning a deaf ear to the enticing pleas of my favourite foods as they clamoured for attention in the windows of my mind. Sadly, I was never the one for discipline nor abstinence. And ever so slowly, the calories trickled back in until the exercise could no longer combat its effect.
A Diet Controller, I decided, was the need of the hour and who better than my good friend and fitness maniac Anu?? Anu took to his new role with the utmost zeal and relish which, might I add, bordered on sadism. I was required to report in on every morsel that passed through my lips....Consumed only after an in-depth discussion on its protein-carb-fat content. In between meals, I was besieged with messages that threatened dire consequences if I were to succumb to the charms of the grass skirted hula dancing chocolate donuts or the tantalising smells that emanated from the local patisserie.
I should have shed a considerable amount of lubber and probably would have, if it weren't for the fact that the forbidden fruit was indeed unspeakably desirable. " No point fighting the lard. Let us all just remain happily fat" crooned the voices in my head as I watched the retreating back of my Diet Controller. And for sometime, we - me, my fat cells and the voices in my head - were just that....Happily Fat!
But the happy state of affairs was not to last.
Enter R, a very dear friend, who decided that I needed to be taken in hand and pounded into shape...Not because it would make me look good, but because, it was important for me to be healthy. He did prove to be a lot more effective than his predecessors. Probably because there were no pointed barbs, no veiled or direct threats and above all, no extensive bad foods list to adhere to. All R wanted me to do was to exercise and eat in moderation..And this he achieved by gently prodding me into action with his lazy humour - " hey, your lips have gotten fatter in just two days!..." - which inevitably brings on an anxiety attack.
It has been close to 20 days now and I have so far, not fallen off the wagon.
If R goes the way of his predecessors, I shall find myself some happily fat friends with whom I can gorge myself to repulsive corpulence...Just so that the rest of the 'Wanna-Be skinnies' can feel good about themselves.
*Sigh* .....Such Altruism!!!
Saturday, November 1, 2008
In Search Of The Perfect Brows
When it comes to looks, a lot of people have really simple stuff to deal with. Bad hair days. Zits, big and small. Or at worst, a bad hair cut which needs to be camouflaged by hats, scarves or bunched into scrunchies until it grows out in a week or two. I have all of these and as a bonus, problematic eye brows which are the bane of every parlour maid's existence. Oh yes people, I exaggerate not one wee bit. I have unique misfortune of being blessed with sparse, barely visible brows, the strands of which insist on pursuing their own growth paths. And the consequence? Two raggedy moth eaten brows!!!
As a kid, I was so taken by the sight of my father's morning shaves that one fine morning, I decided I just had to try my hand at it. All I had to do was identify a suitable implement and the appropriate test ground. After an hour of serious contemplation, I decided there was only one place to work the tiny needlework scissors through...And sniped a rather interesting maze through my eyebrows.
Sadly, it was not just my family which was traumatised by my bold action....The appalled hair follicles revolted, refusing to rise to the occasion any more. In vain did I plead with the Gods to restore a semblance of a brow on my face. But all my coaxing and cajoling fell on deaf ears....as did the bottles of Castor oil I poured over myself. It seemed that I was stuck with the horrendous moth brows for life!!!
Abandoned by divine forces and the follicles, I turned to the modern day goddess makers, the friendly neighbourhood beautician. Although the prospect of shaping the ragged moth brows was a daunting task for the vast majority, I was, for the most part, fortunate enough to find a fairy god mother like my Zami.
Zami is the chirpy magician who zaps away my wrinkles, chides me for not sleeping enough and prescribes creams for the resultant dark circles but above all, she is the sculptor of my brows. With Zami round the corner, all is always right in my world. So it came as a rude shock when I nonchalantly sauntered into the salon late this morning only to be told that the eye brow fairy was coming in late.
" How late is late?" I desperately asked the proprietress.
" Oh, 11:30 madam....in about an hour....hopefully" The note of doubt in her voice brought me to the verge of hyperventilation. "I can have another girl thread your eye brows" She offered helpfully.
" But you don't understand. I have problematic eyebrows!!!. It would take a miracle to negotiate the cracks and crevices in them"
" Don't worry Madam. Kanaha here is as good, if not better than Zami"
Better than Zami? Impossible.
With narrowed eyes I studied the quivering Kanaha. A bad move, which I realised in retrospect...Long after I agreed to test the mettle of this paragon of threading excellence.
" Ok Kanaha, let's see what you make of my brows. There are lots of gaps and spaces in my brows, so you will need to wipe out the filler and then see how you can make it look full and seamless. And yes, both my eye brows are shaped different, so you will need to decide on a common shape and thread that"
Blank stare. So, I went over the drill once more. Once again a blank stare meets my eye.
And then,instead of rushing for the cotton wool,Kanaha pushed my head down and with a flick of her wrist, whipped out the little reel of thread. Perhaps it was my yelp of surprise, but all at once the menacing fingers stopped and above me, I could blearily make out a raised eyebrow.
" You are not wiping out the brows?..."
" Oh, you used a pencil...I thought it was permanent...OK, OK I take out"
This was far from reassuring...The paragon could barely make out the difference between a permanently inked brow and the painted shrubbery on my forehead !!!
I tried explaining once again " Kanaha, if you look at the brows you will see that both are different...And there are gaps in it...you must thread so that there is a common shape, OK?"
Kanaha peered at my brows, bobbed her head in agreement and set to work. I was congratulating myself on my communication skills when I heard a loud gasp above me. And then, I was unceremoniously yanked back into sitting position.
" Madam, eyebrows are very important. I have taken out extras on your right eyebrow, but for final shape I think you wait for Zami..." I was beginning to visibly hyperventilate....Just a gentle push and I would have tipped over the edge into the dark lands beyond." No Madam don't worry...nothing wrong..I only say Zami know your eyebrows better..So she finish"
And with that, my threader vanished leaving me in the middle of a crowded floor looking like a semi plucked chicken. As I desperately feigned interest in a glossy magazine, I imagined every pair of eyes in the room were trained on my brows....... Time crawled at a snail's pace. And after what seemed like eons, another nervous lissome girl appeared.
" Madam, Zami is not reachable. We don't know if she is coming today...so would you come back tomorrow?"
" Like hell I will!!!...I have one eyebrow semi done and the other one not at all. Surely I cannot look more ridiculous than this!!!.....I am not walking out of here unless I get both done...and they better match"
" er, shall I try?"
" I don't care who tries...I want two matching brows!!!...." I declared mutinously, gripping the arms of my chair to signal my intention of not budging from my seat before the brows were done. And so the lissome girl of unknown name and pedigree set to salvage what was left of my forehead.
To her credit, she would have managed to accomplish her mission if it had not been for a yawning gap in my right brow. The mystery of the gasp was finally unraveled !!!
I raved. And I ranted. Might as well as get myself a bald python to complete the caricature I declared to anyone who would listen.....But there was very little one could do than pick out a suitable brow pencil and brush....
Sometimes, a girl's best friend is her make-up box!!!
As a kid, I was so taken by the sight of my father's morning shaves that one fine morning, I decided I just had to try my hand at it. All I had to do was identify a suitable implement and the appropriate test ground. After an hour of serious contemplation, I decided there was only one place to work the tiny needlework scissors through...And sniped a rather interesting maze through my eyebrows.
Sadly, it was not just my family which was traumatised by my bold action....The appalled hair follicles revolted, refusing to rise to the occasion any more. In vain did I plead with the Gods to restore a semblance of a brow on my face. But all my coaxing and cajoling fell on deaf ears....as did the bottles of Castor oil I poured over myself. It seemed that I was stuck with the horrendous moth brows for life!!!
Abandoned by divine forces and the follicles, I turned to the modern day goddess makers, the friendly neighbourhood beautician. Although the prospect of shaping the ragged moth brows was a daunting task for the vast majority, I was, for the most part, fortunate enough to find a fairy god mother like my Zami.
Zami is the chirpy magician who zaps away my wrinkles, chides me for not sleeping enough and prescribes creams for the resultant dark circles but above all, she is the sculptor of my brows. With Zami round the corner, all is always right in my world. So it came as a rude shock when I nonchalantly sauntered into the salon late this morning only to be told that the eye brow fairy was coming in late.
" How late is late?" I desperately asked the proprietress.
" Oh, 11:30 madam....in about an hour....hopefully" The note of doubt in her voice brought me to the verge of hyperventilation. "I can have another girl thread your eye brows" She offered helpfully.
" But you don't understand. I have problematic eyebrows!!!. It would take a miracle to negotiate the cracks and crevices in them"
" Don't worry Madam. Kanaha here is as good, if not better than Zami"
Better than Zami? Impossible.
With narrowed eyes I studied the quivering Kanaha. A bad move, which I realised in retrospect...Long after I agreed to test the mettle of this paragon of threading excellence.
" Ok Kanaha, let's see what you make of my brows. There are lots of gaps and spaces in my brows, so you will need to wipe out the filler and then see how you can make it look full and seamless. And yes, both my eye brows are shaped different, so you will need to decide on a common shape and thread that"
Blank stare. So, I went over the drill once more. Once again a blank stare meets my eye.
And then,instead of rushing for the cotton wool,Kanaha pushed my head down and with a flick of her wrist, whipped out the little reel of thread. Perhaps it was my yelp of surprise, but all at once the menacing fingers stopped and above me, I could blearily make out a raised eyebrow.
" You are not wiping out the brows?..."
" Oh, you used a pencil...I thought it was permanent...OK, OK I take out"
This was far from reassuring...The paragon could barely make out the difference between a permanently inked brow and the painted shrubbery on my forehead !!!
I tried explaining once again " Kanaha, if you look at the brows you will see that both are different...And there are gaps in it...you must thread so that there is a common shape, OK?"
Kanaha peered at my brows, bobbed her head in agreement and set to work. I was congratulating myself on my communication skills when I heard a loud gasp above me. And then, I was unceremoniously yanked back into sitting position.
" Madam, eyebrows are very important. I have taken out extras on your right eyebrow, but for final shape I think you wait for Zami..." I was beginning to visibly hyperventilate....Just a gentle push and I would have tipped over the edge into the dark lands beyond." No Madam don't worry...nothing wrong..I only say Zami know your eyebrows better..So she finish"
And with that, my threader vanished leaving me in the middle of a crowded floor looking like a semi plucked chicken. As I desperately feigned interest in a glossy magazine, I imagined every pair of eyes in the room were trained on my brows....... Time crawled at a snail's pace. And after what seemed like eons, another nervous lissome girl appeared.
" Madam, Zami is not reachable. We don't know if she is coming today...so would you come back tomorrow?"
" Like hell I will!!!...I have one eyebrow semi done and the other one not at all. Surely I cannot look more ridiculous than this!!!.....I am not walking out of here unless I get both done...and they better match"
" er, shall I try?"
" I don't care who tries...I want two matching brows!!!...." I declared mutinously, gripping the arms of my chair to signal my intention of not budging from my seat before the brows were done. And so the lissome girl of unknown name and pedigree set to salvage what was left of my forehead.
To her credit, she would have managed to accomplish her mission if it had not been for a yawning gap in my right brow. The mystery of the gasp was finally unraveled !!!
I raved. And I ranted. Might as well as get myself a bald python to complete the caricature I declared to anyone who would listen.....But there was very little one could do than pick out a suitable brow pencil and brush....
Sometimes, a girl's best friend is her make-up box!!!
Friday, September 26, 2008
Ooops, Down On My Butt!!!
What does a certain someone do when life suddenly pulls the carpet from under her feet and sends all *beeep* pounds of her tumbling down faster than Jack & Jill with their rusty pail?
Cuss a little......
Cry silent tears of rage....
Eat some chocolate....
And, get back into the rat race with her thick lower lip sticking out ominously !!!
Watch out world...Here comes the manic road roller....
Cuss a little......
Cry silent tears of rage....
Eat some chocolate....
And, get back into the rat race with her thick lower lip sticking out ominously !!!
Watch out world...Here comes the manic road roller....
Sunday, September 7, 2008
60 Minutes of Terror
There are very many of us who are impervious to the threats that dangle over our heads,like the mythical sword of Damocles. As a Nation, we are so used to news of floods, famines, random acts of terror and other such similar calamities which claim hundreds of lives with such regularity, that it would seem the general public may have overdosed on bad news and therefore, been rendered insensitive. Maybe it is that we honestly believe terrible things cannot happen to us. Or perhaps, it is the fatalistic Indian Psyche at work, believing that the fates cannot be crossed and what has to be will be. Despite being constantly bombarded with news of different kinds of disasters and the tragic loss of lives, it never ever crossed my mind that I could possibly be caught in any such situation....Well, until last night....
Yesterday evening, I was flying home from Bangalore. I was happy...and excited to be going back to my moggies and could hardly wait to board my flight. Not even the extra strict security measures [ they made me take out my laptop before baggage screening and three-quarters of the contents of my handbag post screening!!!] could dampen my spirits. As I had almost an hour to kill before departure, I decided to browse at the bookstore and was engrossed in Jamie Oliver's Naked Chef when the first announcement was made.
Attention all passengers. If you see any suspicious, unattended bag or package anywhere in the airport, please inform the security personnel immediately. Please do report suspicious behaviour as well
I was intrigued. This was the first time I had heard such an announcement being made in any airport in India. Although it has been a while since I flew into or out of Delhi or Mumbai, I am a regular on the Bangalore-Chennai circuit and therefore, should know if this was a part of the routine.
I shrugged away my surprise, assuming that the authorities had finally become more vigilant. To be honest, I was a little pleased at the responsibility displayed. But then, when the same announcement was repeated thrice in a span of 30 minutes, the voices in my head began to mumble.
*Three announcements, each 10 minutes apart?...this can't be good news....Why? Why? Why?.....Could they possibly have received a Bomb Threat??? ... Oh my goodness, they HAVE received a bomb threat....why else would they make three announcements one right after the other...*
A moment of silence as that awful thought registers.....
* OMG, I MIGHT ACTUALLY DIE!!!*
I look furtively around me but no one else around me seems to be the least bit affected by the announcements. It suddenly occurs to me that the airport is not as crowded as it ought to be on a Saturday evening.
* Maybe there was something about a bomb plant in the Airport in the local news and people have cancelled their flights this evening....Drat!!! this is why I should be watching the news more regularly!!!...Damn my lazy ignorant corpulent self...I have no one else to blame but myself*
I contemplate ringing Dsk or a friend for an update, but then decide against it. There really isn't any point worrying anyone, is there? I mean, if a girl's gotta go, she gotta go.....
* But then, if there was a bomb threat, someone would have called me by now....Oh damn, as if people have nothing better to do on a Saturday evening than watch the evening news*
I gloomily consider typing my will on my Blackberry... Just as a precautionary measure. But then, what was the point? If I was to perish in a blast, it was highly unlikely that the Blackberry would survive me. It probably made sense to make my last calls to my loved ones...But how would I do it without starting a panic attack?
As I continued my musing in this dark, morbid vein, I spied a Kingfisher hottie breezing past, asking Chennai bound passengers to report for boarding.
* hey, that's my flight...But there is a good 40 minutes before departure...why on earth are they boarding us now???...There must be a bomb on the premises.....*
I grab my bags and stride over to Gate 11 where they were indeed boarding the Chennai flight. Screwing my courage to the sticking-place, I ask one of the Red Hotties the reason for the quickie boarding.
" Oh ma'am, we got our clearances early" She chirped at me.
But the voices in my head were not quelled.
* She paused for a whole minute before replying....And wasn't that smile a tad too forced? ..... Why? Why? Why?...Anyway, I bet its safer on the plane, so better we get our backside in pronto*
I heaved a sigh of relief when the doors were firmly latched ten whole minutes prior to scheduled departures and as the giant plane taxied down the runway as the clock struck 20:40 hrs. As we soared up into the dark skies, I snuggled into my seat with my favourite cat and mouse cartoon for entertainment and was just beginning to enjoy my ride home when all at once, the plane jolted. Not once. Not twice. But all through the entire journey. The mighty Airbus just kept jolting and shaking and rattling so much that my teeth were actually chattering vaguely.
* Oh great, I narrowly escaped being splattered across Bangalore's new international airport, only to be exploded mid-air into an unidentifiable mush of charred flesh and blood...no, wait...maybe just charred flesh.....err, does one bleed in a mid air explosion?...Oh damn...it doesn't matter.....OMG, was that lightening we saw???.....I REALLY AM GONNA DIE!!!*
I was dead tired...Tired of being rattled...Tired of the ominous voices in my head which seemed to have decided that this was it...And tired of worrying myself to death. In all probability, if the plane did not explode, I would most probably psyche myself to death!!
So, I switched off the voices in my head..turned on the volume on the Tom and Jerry show...Unwrapped the sandwich in my dinner box and decided to enjoy what may well be my last minutes in this world..
I would like to think that I infused some courage into the white knuckled, elderly gentleman beside me because after gaping at me for a few minutes, he too turned on the news channel and managed to stuff a cookie down his throat.
Fortunately, the plane landed safely in Chennai. A bit of an anti-climax I concede but then, in this instance, better an anti-climax than a disaster.
I was just so grateful to be alive...that I almost flew into Dsk's arms and couldn't stop patting him and Ging alternately....And for once, I didn't whisper any protests later at night, when I sensed my little furry purry gingerly sneaking in and settling down in the nook between my shoulders...
Nothing like love to heal a wound or still a tremulous heart.......no?
Yesterday evening, I was flying home from Bangalore. I was happy...and excited to be going back to my moggies and could hardly wait to board my flight. Not even the extra strict security measures [ they made me take out my laptop before baggage screening and three-quarters of the contents of my handbag post screening!!!] could dampen my spirits. As I had almost an hour to kill before departure, I decided to browse at the bookstore and was engrossed in Jamie Oliver's Naked Chef when the first announcement was made.
Attention all passengers. If you see any suspicious, unattended bag or package anywhere in the airport, please inform the security personnel immediately. Please do report suspicious behaviour as well
I was intrigued. This was the first time I had heard such an announcement being made in any airport in India. Although it has been a while since I flew into or out of Delhi or Mumbai, I am a regular on the Bangalore-Chennai circuit and therefore, should know if this was a part of the routine.
I shrugged away my surprise, assuming that the authorities had finally become more vigilant. To be honest, I was a little pleased at the responsibility displayed. But then, when the same announcement was repeated thrice in a span of 30 minutes, the voices in my head began to mumble.
*Three announcements, each 10 minutes apart?...this can't be good news....Why? Why? Why?.....Could they possibly have received a Bomb Threat??? ... Oh my goodness, they HAVE received a bomb threat....why else would they make three announcements one right after the other...*
A moment of silence as that awful thought registers.....
* OMG, I MIGHT ACTUALLY DIE!!!*
I look furtively around me but no one else around me seems to be the least bit affected by the announcements. It suddenly occurs to me that the airport is not as crowded as it ought to be on a Saturday evening.
* Maybe there was something about a bomb plant in the Airport in the local news and people have cancelled their flights this evening....Drat!!! this is why I should be watching the news more regularly!!!...Damn my lazy ignorant corpulent self...I have no one else to blame but myself*
I contemplate ringing Dsk or a friend for an update, but then decide against it. There really isn't any point worrying anyone, is there? I mean, if a girl's gotta go, she gotta go.....
* But then, if there was a bomb threat, someone would have called me by now....Oh damn, as if people have nothing better to do on a Saturday evening than watch the evening news*
I gloomily consider typing my will on my Blackberry... Just as a precautionary measure. But then, what was the point? If I was to perish in a blast, it was highly unlikely that the Blackberry would survive me. It probably made sense to make my last calls to my loved ones...But how would I do it without starting a panic attack?
As I continued my musing in this dark, morbid vein, I spied a Kingfisher hottie breezing past, asking Chennai bound passengers to report for boarding.
* hey, that's my flight...But there is a good 40 minutes before departure...why on earth are they boarding us now???...There must be a bomb on the premises.....*
I grab my bags and stride over to Gate 11 where they were indeed boarding the Chennai flight. Screwing my courage to the sticking-place, I ask one of the Red Hotties the reason for the quickie boarding.
" Oh ma'am, we got our clearances early" She chirped at me.
But the voices in my head were not quelled.
* She paused for a whole minute before replying....And wasn't that smile a tad too forced? ..... Why? Why? Why?...Anyway, I bet its safer on the plane, so better we get our backside in pronto*
I heaved a sigh of relief when the doors were firmly latched ten whole minutes prior to scheduled departures and as the giant plane taxied down the runway as the clock struck 20:40 hrs. As we soared up into the dark skies, I snuggled into my seat with my favourite cat and mouse cartoon for entertainment and was just beginning to enjoy my ride home when all at once, the plane jolted. Not once. Not twice. But all through the entire journey. The mighty Airbus just kept jolting and shaking and rattling so much that my teeth were actually chattering vaguely.
* Oh great, I narrowly escaped being splattered across Bangalore's new international airport, only to be exploded mid-air into an unidentifiable mush of charred flesh and blood...no, wait...maybe just charred flesh.....err, does one bleed in a mid air explosion?...Oh damn...it doesn't matter.....OMG, was that lightening we saw???.....I REALLY AM GONNA DIE!!!*
I was dead tired...Tired of being rattled...Tired of the ominous voices in my head which seemed to have decided that this was it...And tired of worrying myself to death. In all probability, if the plane did not explode, I would most probably psyche myself to death!!
So, I switched off the voices in my head..turned on the volume on the Tom and Jerry show...Unwrapped the sandwich in my dinner box and decided to enjoy what may well be my last minutes in this world..
I would like to think that I infused some courage into the white knuckled, elderly gentleman beside me because after gaping at me for a few minutes, he too turned on the news channel and managed to stuff a cookie down his throat.
Fortunately, the plane landed safely in Chennai. A bit of an anti-climax I concede but then, in this instance, better an anti-climax than a disaster.
I was just so grateful to be alive...that I almost flew into Dsk's arms and couldn't stop patting him and Ging alternately....And for once, I didn't whisper any protests later at night, when I sensed my little furry purry gingerly sneaking in and settling down in the nook between my shoulders...
Nothing like love to heal a wound or still a tremulous heart.......no?
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