emperess of gib and gab

ATTENTION PLEASE!

2010-07-30T21:35:00.003+05:30

RHEAA KA TADKA is now at http://www.nospittinghere.blogspot.com/

a REGULARLY UPDATED, group blog! my pre-adult blog!

be there!

<3 the Rheaa-tard

Bras, buckles, blackheads.......

2009-07-28T21:21:00.007+05:30

This post is like peeking into the girls bathroom.....a bit of insight into our world, no matter how brash it sounds.... but I'd rather write it as myself than with a mask of anonymity.....

Ok......a girl's worst best friends are.....

1. Waxing: no, waxing isn't that bad.....unless you're sitting next to some hairy being who yelps, digging her fingers into her cheeks like she's going into labour pain. The pain is exaggerated, anticipation kills you when the evil parlour woman applies piping hot wax like jam on bread, flattens this plastic sheet against it, smoothens it.....smoothen......smoothen.....looks at your face with an sadistic grin [tongue out and all] and......shck.....ahhhhh!!!! no seriously, its not that bad, at the most I just bite my lips and cringe a bit.....

If you go to places like Lakme they give you their expert comments, "have you done your upper lip yet? no? thought so!" [it makes me feel like a gorilla, really!]. If you go to cheaper places, its like getting waxed in the middle of the road! One will be waxing your hands and the other your legs, making you stand in the position of a kathali dancer [albeit less graceful], so that they'll be done with you quickly, while other people getting threaded- beaded- whatever look on.....convos are in typical, amusing Hinglish, "aap bahut 'heighted' ho gayi hai"......

2. Blackhead removal: I just removed the blackheads on my nose once [they had grown to nearly look like mushrooms]. But seriously, after doing that just once, I'd rather never do it again! They steamed me up till I felt like an idli, and almost destroyed my nose [I really thought they intended to re-shape it], dug into them with tweezers like they expected to pull out bloodthirsty parasites! my nose still goes red merely thinking of it!

3. Tiny, t-i-n-y clasps: you find them everywhere.... necklaces, bracelets, shoe buckles. The worst kind are those in which you've dig your nail to open while desperately trying to close them on to the other end [an impossible feat, atleast a hour's task] and then while you do.....oops, they aren't tight enough.....slide.....smash! I swear, i'd break my nail, my head but never, ever, EVER manage to get the clasp in one go! why!!!! why can't you just make nice, big, ungraceful buckles? It'll help perpetually harassed people like me from getting a nervous breakdown! another hassle? there are these really tiny, tiny holes in which you have to put these...errr.....sticks.... [ok, this sounds so peverted]....wait.....i meant the really, tiny, nifty buckles.....and if they're on your shoes, you can't even use your teeth to fasten them unless you want to look completely wierd and die of a sprain....or maybe you can treat it as a dose of power yoga?

4. Delicate Bra straps: it took me a lifetime.....really, it took me a 'lifetime today' to get it right. I had brand new bra straps, transparent with brass buckles and all. It took me so freakin' long to fasten them on to the bra properly! either it came out totally twisted or bunched up while I tried to loosen it threatening to snap.....oh god! sorry, this is a beginners guide isn't it? I suppose I must explain....its sort of complicated to tighten or loosen the straps to fit you [maybe I'm just not used to these complicated ones].....the strap is double, so as you pull the buckle it becomes a single, longer strap or a double shorter strap if you tighten it....actually it may be the other way round.....trial and error! oof! I still haven't figured it out and if your not careful it kills you with complicated loops like a mobius strip, no- beggining-no- end- types.....arghhh!

5. Heels: ah! ah-ha! you were waiting for this weren't you? 'heels'....rhymes with 'jail'? no? no! guess not! I'm just really ungraceful! really! I mean I should know where to wear them right? certainly not for mall walking, which was first just supposed to be a get-together followed by quick dispersal. I'm brave though! I ventured out with [fairly] large wedge heels [large by my standard of shoes, a large 'stage' than flats surely]. I had everything to comfort me, a strap in the front, one at the back, semi-closes to reveal a toe-and-a-half, wedge heels [really wide, fat].....but I..... tottered.
But before you shut this window in disgust, I have my excuses, really, hear me out! Some really sadistic people had made ramps [ones that would make me half-slide and fully fall] in 'strategic' places where I had no way but to use them or get elbowed by some boors.....the pavement was cemented with tiny rectangles, the ones with tiny gaps that tip your heels over and since they're making the 'world's largest parking lot' close by, everything was uneven, first I was walking in cement, then stone, then jute, then someone's toes.....ouch!

And why do we do all this? why face torture when you can wear flats and loose shirts and jeans and tie up your hair? I dunno? guess it makes for good photographs and impressions that you can look back to all your life.....and memories of growing up into a woman, memories of the sweet-sour pain of shoe bites, and the digging in of straps and elastic and all.....and home grown, feet- grown corn [yuck!]......or maybe we're just masochists?

CORNERED: tweet fiction

2009-07-19T11:15:00.005+05:30

I attempted to write really short stories.....shorter than flash fiction.....lesser than 300 characters, just a small experiment. The theme I chose was 'cornerned' from the perspective of different people, situations and things because whenever i read about someone in the newspaper, like MJ or Shiney Ahuja, I keep thanking my stars that I'm not in their place, reaching a dead end, totally cornered.....every person will interpret what I've written in a different way, that's why I've not specified whom or what I've written this about. Please drop in ur comments along with what u thought each one was about [each small paragraph is about a different thing.]

Cornered:

1. I sail down amongst the boxes, alone, with just me and without me. Silhouettes cheer me, stamp me, judge me, but I grapple alone in a corner, living on prescribed air. The air aches of me, the 'me' I struggle to grasp and slip from. Escaping left me with tags of me….. It’s the tags that cost a lot, the tags which come with a price.

2. Smother, smudge, a red burst, spread, bulb out…..fight the smothering, more than the layers, the smell of a strict fight, squeezed corner. I branch out, hide, die, and come out when you turn your back. Fight me teen, the heats with me; I’m a part of your forehead destiny.

3. Shock smudged eyes; they saw it as smoky black make-up. Murmur, rumour
Twitch, tangled
D
R
I
P
[ft]. Its sealed as you escape with me. Door vs. air, a thread with the dead.

[if u want to know what they actually are about to match with ur interpretations, read the first comment :) ]

all thrown in

2009-07-04T19:16:00.002+05:30

I'm still recovering from the wedding.....a wedding that I had been excited about for seven months...... and its over......like the end of some grand festival......

The bride: Sanjana Govindan.....she remembers me since when i was zero [or so she says]. I remember her since when I was a pesky toddler and she was an exasperated pre-teen, jealous of the extra holidays these insect-like five year olds get......and we've been in touch since then because our moms are best friends [i'll leave the details and webs of stories for later]. So when I heard she's getting married *gasp*, i checked my own scalp for grey hair [none] and pondered over this suddenly apparent generation leap [yeah, K-serial style].

I always thought 'the bridal glow' was way too filmy.....but when I was greeting by this flushed pink face of the bride I was forced to believe it......mehndi wasn't a large affair but thanks to those little building kids who practically bombed the place, dried shavings of mehndi and a clogged basin were what we were left with. we did attempt to dance a bit till the bride's mom began getting palpitations about the noise and excitement and wedding and decided that we must quiten down a bit. Our mehndi had dried up.....pretty designs but obviously nothing as intricate as the bride's. They had even inscribed the groom's name, each letter somewhere in the hand, but she only managed to find the J! [check pics on fb]

Edit. Cut. Let me jump straight to the wedding. Murphy’s law vs. Rheaa’s law. What? Not very philosophical, believe me. Murphy’s law: if anything can go wrong, it will go wrong [pretty pessimistic if you ask me]. Rheaa’s law: if anything can go right, it will go right [yeah, call me a cheap imitation]. Why am I mentioning this instead of the wedding? Oh my followers, you should know by now, drama, drama!!

Supporters of Murphy’s law:

Traffic signals [if you catch one, you’ll catch them all…..especially when you’re in an infernal hurry to get to the wedding site]

Trains [on the day of the wedding, after all that pleading of those Lakme women to come early….yup, the electrical wire holding the train in Mulund collapsed, so did the entire western line…..and we were late!]

Rain [I’m a monsoon baby, but I would get crabby when the rain caused traffic jams and wet my sari]

Supporters of Rheaa’s law:

Rheaa [thaaaaaat’s me!]

The lakme girls [at least they managed to drape me in sari in a jiffy]

Our neighbours [even though there’s this India-Pakistan hostility between us, they did help me drape the sari (even though we got the lakme people to re-drape it)]

So I stumbled in, pushing all the people on the boy’s side who were getting ready to burst in and snatch the bride away. I was supposed to hold a plate with a diya and flowers and walk around in a line of young, unmarried girls and then around the mantap [stage] but alas there were no more trays left so I walked around pretending I was holding a tray and shielding the flame from going out…..when it began to look absurd I walked around flashing my million dollar smile and politely ‘namaste-ing’ all those poor, harassed dears around me.

Enter the groom…..with a polite smile looking rather please and slightly embarrassed at the ‘shenai’ people going complete beserk with loud, extra-dramatic typical Indian wedding music and everyone grinning at him with that ‘ah-ha, caught you’ look. But he has that poise, that calm way of reassuring people that everything was fine and that he wasn’t going to run away.

Enter the bride from the other side amongst the gasps of admiration and the convulsed head-turning of those shenai people giving in all that they had to hammer into people, “marriage, marriage, marriage!!!!” with that single…..single…..haunting tune……I still hear it…..

Decked was the word. If I say that her face shown more than all her jewels: her ornate necklaces, ancient family lion claw necklace, her armlets, her shimmery delicate red sari, her sexy blouse, her hair done up with flowers from end to end…..*gasps for breath*…..if I say this, you may call me soppy, but its true. I’ll never find the perfect word, the perfect phrase to describe the bride…… “ there were tears in my eyes when I saw her” my mom attempted. Its like seeing a completely different person, the beauty you may not have given much thought to earlier, the features sharpened by the glisten….and then you think……do I know her? Have I known her all this while? Okay….stop! too mom-crying-in-hindi-film-types……

Soon we [the ‘bridesmaids’] were circling the mantap…..the garlands were exchanged, the couple did their rounds……over……blessings were taken, they were fed bananas-and-milk…..touched everyone’s feet…..over…..over!!!!! In five minutes!!!!! The whole wedding!!!! Sealing a commitment of a lifetime!!!!!! Sealed…..finished….. [No, I’m not commitment phobic; I was just trying to sink it into my head]

Now for the juicy titbits……
1. My mom, in her excitement of clicking pictures came in the way of the couple while they were doing the ‘pheras’ [rounds] around the mantap [its done that way in Malyalee weddings instead of around the fire] and instead of 7 rounds, its just four according to their rituals [parle 20-20 khao, short mein niptao, huh?]. Anyway, they couldn’t stop, and she didn’t realize she’s in the way despite my screaming [some people never listen do they]…….*dramatic pause* *turn to shocked faces of everyone, going pale*…… until a bob-cut-aunty saved the day and pulled her aside. Whew!

2. some sadistic person had placed lots of wires around mantap…..making it difficult for sari-and-heel-clad souls like me to walk around……a little later, I had to run to keep up……

THE FOOD: now you know my history of gluttony! We were seated at long tables with rose petal spreads and served malyalee food on a plate with banana leaves!! Normally I don’t like south Indian food much…..but who can refuse rice with ghee and rasam, beans with grated coconut, lots of things I couldn’t name but were oh-so-delicious…….and the desserts!!!!!!!!! The desserts beat ‘em all……piping hot jackfruit paysam and hot and sweet kheer [someone help me with the technical names]. The jackfruit paysam was thick, yellow-occur and tickled my taste buds [even the bitter, sour, salty buds begged for an extra serving], complete with small pieces of tender jackfruit, the overpowering essence of which had spread all around the dish, naturally. The sweet kheer was creamy, of perfect consistency with vermicelli blended in so well, not like large worms like I feel when I’m eating some other kheer…….yum……to die for…….competes with chocolate for the top ten tastes of my life <3

The reception had great food too…..a mix of everything for people of all shapes and sizes….. and I just couldn’t wait to dig into eat but for some pesky old ladies who tried to remember where they met me, and how small I was then, and blah blah while THEY were eating while depriving me of the same…..argh! No one comes in the way of Rheaa and her food [specially desserts], otherwise I love endless chattering. Anyway, the reception food. There was thai, Chinese, live dosas, Punjabi……but nothing beats our afternoon malyalee lunch! I’m a fan, I swear! I piled myself with a plate of mixed kulfi! Hmmmm….creamy, fruitilicious…….and walnut halwa, crunchy and g-o-o-e-y……

And then I felt sorry for the newly wed couple……they could only get their paws on the
food after saying hello to the lot……and you know how long the hellllewwws
can get here with dollops of gossip and a pinch of salt and the chatter of old
ladies…….

in the meanwhile my heels began to pinch me.....its a sign.......time to get home! ;)

u'll never know

2009-06-23T16:16:00.003+05:30

people surprise me....really.....i used to think i'm the only one who's like this.....just like this...[don't ask for descriptions now, u'll get a whole epic] but then i find out 99 other people think along my lines [well almost]. everyone of them has that individuality, that exoticness if i daresay, that spark.....and what can be better, i'll be spending two whole years living with them! no, i'm not off to some reality show, though you could call it a sense of adventure: living far away from home at the MUWCI campus with people you've never even met before.....people i didn't know existed till a week back! now we're on touch through fb, the lifeline, and coming from diverse backgrounds, from different parts of India and the world , its shocking how much we have in common!

i've been warned by people....no drugs, sex, communities [like goth and all i suspect], no drinking, roaming around with people who are a bad influence on you....ya, I KNOW, I KNOW!!! i've been warned by people....life isn't fun and games, you could have continued your IB here, what if you don't like it there, what if we don't like you after you come back, what if you're too independant after you return.....but guys, like Aslan says, " no one ever told us what could have been". no one shows me what will happen with each decision I make, no one shows me the big picture.....it would spoil the fun of the whole thing.....life is unpredictable anyway, it is.....its like, pushing tables away, pushing whole worlds away......for eg, if we had settled in Australia when i was a kid, i'd have not been in HP colony, St. Anthony's, D.A.I.S., or probably even MUWCI, i'd have not met millions of people and even the important ones that changed my life.....but could i have known, would it have made a difference since i didn't know what i'm missing?

its sort of scary, but its like this......every decision you make leads you on to another path, and then another and another and....and you'll never know what COULD HAVE BEEN and you'll never know WHAT WILL BE.....

[everyone says it, not very original, huh?]

WAG

2009-03-09T17:10:00.002+05:30

sorry for the lapse.....i was buried with coursework and revision and yes, i did manage to meet and fight all the deadlines [the worst monster in student life. die! die! die!]......ok now that this rate of apologies on my blog i can as well be 'super- excuse woman'....tan-ta-dan!!!!!!

anyway, if you're a Rheaa Rao fan, you'll naturally know about my labrador brother Hari [well, you obviously know, he's 'world famous' in my school]......so Hari will make the saddest, deprived, pinched face you can imagine when you're looking at him and wag his tail [or rather his whole body] when you inch towards him to kiss his hairy forehead. so recently I was wondering how embarrassing it would be if humans had tails.....yup, our pants would have holes in them so our tail can come out, or perhaps we'd hide them....either way, it would be too much of trouble while going to the toilet...but i'm not on about that......imagine......there's this cute guy you have a crush on.....you're standing right in front of him, he's talking to his friends and you're talking to yours and you pretend you don't see him because you don't want to stare and make it too obvious and you don't want to drop any hints before he does...... and then your eyes meet.....and your tail starts wagging [i suspect it has a brain of its own, you can't just control it, like how you can't control blushing, and now it works AGAINST you as an inbuilt lie detector] and then he walks towards you looking past you so nothing's obvious from HIS side, and you pretend to do the same.....but......instead you go beserk.....your whole body wobbles like some sort of violent bout of shivering, and it moves faster and faster as he walks towards you, till you look like your doing this really energetic shimmy your tail toppling over lunch plates, slapping people, sending test papers flying all over the room, showing whatever your face has been trained to hide........

OOOOO! DEFINITELY EMBARRASSING!!!!!!!!!

must watch this kala bunder

2009-02-21T08:53:00.003+05:30

I've always liked movies to be sort of loosely based on escapism, something that exports you to a new place and a new set of mundane problems which are solved with a few songs. that's probably why I like Dilwale Dulhainya Le Jayenge, Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi...... all far-fetched fairy tales which leave you with smiles. But Delhi-6 is the sort of movie which is quite bizarre, almost crazy but leaves you thinking about it days after. here there's no place for escapism, face the harsh reality but through this really crazy, entertaining way.

its NOT a documentary, the sorts you are forced to watch at school, obliged to keep your eyes open inspite of yourself. no, its NOT a documentary, its very close, personal....like a diary full of colours, smells, people, layered with symbolism, themes. I'm not very sure if our audience will receive the movie like it should be received, whether they'll understand the symbolism, whether they'll appreciate it, whether they'll think its too preachy, too superficial, whether they'll realize that this is what is happening around them.....exactly this......we dismiss wisdom as being 'too preachy' and leave everything to God 'uppar wala sab thek karega'. We don't want to do anything, change anything but simply say that God will see that everything is okay [and which God, from which religion are we talking about anyway?] is exactly what Roshan [Junior B] says.

A perfectly peaceful neighbourhood [except for minor undercurrents, family strives] where Hindus and Muslims co-exist amicably is disturbed with the entry of a kala bunder [black monkey] which creates a scare making them fight over the religion of this monkey and for which god he could be working for. how petty! yes! the kala bunder is 'invisible' and people keep adding their own versions of him further forcing the communities apart. the kala bunder could stand for a number of things.....terrorism, political tensions which causes repurcussions amongst the common man, the fear of superstitions, of appearing god fearing which create petty biases, or perhaps the fact that we make a mountain of a molehill, exaggerate every trivial issue to make it into the sensation [courtesy, the media also portrayed hysterically here]......the fact that all these issues are faceless, don't have a religion, that we have to unite to face these problems, FACE them and not escape. there is a dialogue where the Muslim head and a rich Hindu moneylender are relieving themselves on the same street and they wait for each other and walk together [during the riots] saying that the root cause of the whole problem was the kala bunder.....exactly!

then there is this so called 'mad fakir' who keeps trying to show people their face in an old mirror, saying that God exists in everyone. Mehra doesn't want to anger his viewers, or make them feel so ashamed of themselves that they berate the film. so there is an element of the fact Indians are intrinsically good, but their biases can divide them almost instantly......we are warm people, but also keep the kala bunder within us ready to take over anytime.....the fakir says we're all the same.

i read a few reviews in the newspaper today and most of them had to say that there was too much of symbolism, an overdose of it in Delhi-6. this is probably because most of Delhi-6 was so perfectly put, critics like me find it difficult to put it all into words. we can't just summarize it because it won't do justice to its themes. of course there were many themes, the most important one being communal riots [sorted out in the joint pursuit of the kala bunder]. the minor ones included family tensions [sorted out in the joint pursuit of the kala bunder], a pigeon symbolic to a girl with dreams trapped into family obligation 'tradition', both set free at the same time [while the family decides to use the kala bunder excuse to avoid insult in their community].

so....hmmmm......there were many themes but they were all connected to the kala bunder.......while it was the root cause to all their problems, people used it to solve their problems, even for escapism.....so people use their kala bunder within them to justify their actions, to do exactly what they want to do [they can tell 'god' that the 'kala bunder' made them defy 'his rules']. the most ironical thing to this theme of the internal kala bunder was the ram leela performance, relevant snips of it shown throughout the movie. the lessons inferred from the ram-leela performance was exactly the opposite of what they did as a part of tradition, 'god's orders' [the caste system bias] which is merely their interpretation, Hanuman doesn't kill Ravan, but just sets fire to Lanka [ they don't kill the kala bunder intially, but its just used to confuse and anger the communities further]. hmmmm.......curious.....Hanuman was a monkey, a bunder too.......

of course all this isn't put as a preachy prattle but an engaging narrative.....the ram leela sequences act as foreshadowing techniques, the songs are fantastic [courtesy, A.R. Rahman's composition] all of them, from Ghenda Phool, to Kala Bunder, to of course the song which is topping the charts in almost every radio channel 'Masakali' [courtesy Mohit Chauhan's fantabulous voice]. Junior B was quite natural and fitted his role to the tee, Deepak Dobriyal as Mamdu the jalebi seller had such queer mannerisms and a scarily human character [many shades to him] which he did justice too and definitely deserves praise for! the whole cast fitted in perfectly except Sonam Kapoor.
before you come after me like I'm the kala bunder, let me justify.....yes, she's beautiful, has an excellent wardrobe, lovely eye make-up etc, etc.....but the way she walked down chandni-chowk, the way she spoke to people it seemed like she [and not Roshan] had landed from America......her mannerisms were so NOT that of a middle class Delhi-ite, instead more of a Bombay girl, according to me. the heaven sequence which had Amitabh Bachchan in it was completely atrocious and not needed for such a wonderful movie like this, but I'll let that slip by because the end, where each of them looks into the fakir's mirror was SO cute.....each of them preening, looking proud, with that beautiful song 'maula....maula' playing in the background was so touching.....it made me feel like.....we aren't that bad and we can make things better together..... a mirror just shows you your identity, not your religion and this is our identity....we are Indians and CAN be a country whose unity is a force that can't be broken or swayed......

hari's tryst with girls

2009-02-15T08:41:00.007+05:30

well, i'm not going to write about valentine's day, except for the fact that EVERY restaurant/cafe we went was teeming with couples- skinny girls with a slick side fringe covering their eye nibbling at a piece of cake somewhat reluctantly, unhealthy looking boys all shocked that the girl had actually agreed to go out with someone who looks like that [i'm not being mean, that was the look on their faces]. mom and me were having our regular girls-day-out [we always do don't we? even when i'm hundred i'll be watching movies, eating, drinking, travelling with my mom], we had valentine's day cupcakes so that we'd have a reason to be silent [a reason other than pure chagrin] and the icing turned out to be so bitter, the bitter,creamy feel still makes its way up my throat a day later! *shudder*

ok......stop......why does food ALWAYS seeps into my columns, discussions, everything......god! and this column is not meant to be about valentine's day, food, couples, whining, jealousy, the ram sena, pink chuddies.....ae la! now i really don't have a topic do i.....especially after you took away food and whining ;)

well.....i could talk about this big flirt i know......Hari....he just about ignores men and boys or just gives them an obligatory smell down and walks away. he looks up to my big brother siddarth like some sort of god, waiting for him in the night while he packs and doing him A HUGE FAVOUR by not stealing his socks. but with girls.......he'll climb up on the jhula with them, run around with their handbag, try to pull of their rubberbands, look at them with this look of utter admiration staring right into their faces and then giving them this ultra huge wet slobbery kiss right from their forehead to chin and cheek to cheek....that million dollar kiss can cover the whole of india!

he has this weakness for pretty girls. i thought dogs were almost blind and had this strong sense of smell.....but its the opposite for hari......he spots girls, little puppies and rats but can't find me when i'm hiding in the living room right BEHIND him. well, so if a gang of girls walking down our lane......he'll walk his famous flirty lion walk with his tail all high and proud and his ears going all funny and then run behind the girl who squeals the most. once there was this lady who was going for a party looking all decked up and pretty and mom and me causally commented that she look pretty.....hari in the meanwhile sat in the middle of the road staring at her while she walked from stretch to stretch and wagged his tail with so much vigour he could supply mumbai all its electricity and then he looked incredibly dissapointed, his ears going all low again and his tail forgetting its position in the skies when she didn't even spare him a look [forget about falling for him].....

well......he didn't get any valentine yesterday, but he isn't moping or whining or complaining about bitter cup cakes. all he was worried about was that we'd go galavanting again and desert him oh! that question mark look on this face, a slight bend with his tongue sticking out, ears cocking in that alert signal, eyes going all huge and pleading.....ready to attack, turn, dive whatever the situation demands.....

oh hari! here's a valentine tribute to you <3

a good laugh

2009-02-08T19:06:00.001+05:30

i wrote these alliterations in a fit of boredom a few months ago......half of them don't make sense, but could probably extract a guffaw or too......

The agonizing aunt ambled around an American anteater

The breathless Bengali babe buttered buckets and bathed with bread.

The crippled cat caught a curious chauvinist counting the calipigous asses by the cot

The devious drunkard dressed up distressed dog.

The European elephant etched eleven elves this eve

The frumpy falcon finished a full falooda

The grumpy gorilla got his groin grated

The hoaxed hummingbird hummed a hiccup

The ill Indian illicitly ironed an ice-cream

The juvenile joker jolted and jittered

The king sized kangaroo kicked a karela

The luminous leech let a limp layman lie low

The monstrous mangoose molested malicious Mogambo

The naughty nincompoop nets a nitwit

The opera Odyssey is older than Othello

The pompous puffed pancake patted his potent patella

The querulous quarter-foots were quietened with quinine.

The rounded rump gathered a roaring rumpus

The stuttering sailor shot a starry stare at the stumped stewardess

The teetering tiger gave tottering tweet

The ugly underwear undermined the umbrella

The voluminous vicar vied his villainous vices to ‘vanvas’ with vases

The woeful walnut wailed at the wicked welter.

The Xerox x-rayed himself with xenophobia.

The yacht yelped at the yawning yam

The zebra grew Zamias at zenith.

..................BLANK.....WONK......BLANK.........

2009-02-03T18:08:00.003+05:30

well.....what does unite the world? globalization? bah! too commercial......well suffering and compassion? nah! too phylosofical [never mind if the mucked-up spelling reminds you of floss, you get what i mean right?] hmmm...... cruelty.....ah-ha! now you're talking......actually no.....whining!
the world's too big, my pants are too small, its too cold, its stiflingly hot, my boils have turned green......whine, whine......the more sophisticated term is bitching....nah-ah! don't you deny it, we all LOVE doing that don't we?......especially whining stuffed with sarcasm through poker-straight faces which does become funny. well, this column is getting nowhere! i was going to write about the manglore pub incident....but thats going to take a lot of time [BECAUSE MY 'FEMINIST RIGHTS' SPIRIT IS FLAMING] and i'm living on borrowed time. chill! now don't go dropping that 'puja ki thali' like tulsi and parvati.....i'm not terminally ill.....i've just borrowed time from my mom, 'break time' i call it to take a break from all those useless formulas flowing through my nose. yup! you guessed right! i have my mock exams going on [RHEAA YOU HAVE YOUR MOCKS! GET OFF THE NET THIS INSTANT!]. i'm done with my pre-mocks and my 'break-between-mocks-tadpole-tests-and-projects' and all that faff.....so much preparation.....geez, we're not going to war! talking about slow torture, it really doesn't help having ten million papers in each subject....orals, listening, writing, walking, sleeping, mistake-finding......and what's cruel about this is that its during a time when we're terribly restless [harmonal changes I reckon] so that really doesn't help guys.....
in the meanwhile i'm craving to read a new book, preferably 'the last lecture' or 'Q and A' [oh shut up! so what if i haven't read them, i've read some books you probably haven't even heard off].....most of dave barry's american humour is going over my head perhaps because I DON'T LIVE THERE AND DON'T KNOW WHAT THE SHIT HE'S TALKING ABOUT.....and i'm binge eating, i can't sleep, i'm tired of the same songs on radio, i can't stop fidgeting, i don't want to watch anything......i don't know what will put my restless spirit to ease......

P.S: does anyone have a straight jacket i can borrow?

MY FIRST PROPER SARI!

2009-01-18T18:47:00.006+05:30

by now you'd know the sort of filmy buffoon i am.....carried away by sushmita sen's saris in 'Main hoon na', Priyanka Chopra in Dostana [looking sexy in one of my favourite songs 'Desi Girl'], i attempted to be a heroine myself. I had this keeda to wear a sari since i was an infant, my seventh grade navari sari was kind of like cheating.....[it had a zip and was pre-folded] and wearing a sari for one of our casual 'dress as you like' days at school would be too much.....

then i was presented with this perfect opportunity......my uncle's 60th b'day puja!!! i was firm, i had strongly made up my mind to wear a sari.....if I couldn't wear one now, then i never would. mom tried dissuading me, "you won't be able to sit", "you won't be comfortable the first time", " are you sure you want to wear a SARI for the PUJA?" she tried to convince me into wearing an angarkar. now normally i'm not that stubborn [atleast that's what i believe], but this time i was. no one could drill their finger of sari-phobia in my mind the way they drill their finger into a firm idli! this way, mom was forced to wear a sari and so was my aunt!!!

i loved the colour combination.....a bottle green sari with a lovely, rich border [mom faked a heart attack thinking it looked too heavy] and a maroon blouse [thankfully not holding my arms ransom like hand cuffs]. draping it was difficult......you couldn't switch on the fan and you have to pleat it carefully and now which side becomes the pallu and how to drape it and make the pins stay in place [they're as disobiedient as Hari :P ]. mom did everything for me while i stood with my hands in the air [literally]. but it was confusing for her because its not the same as draping a sari on herself [or so she said] and i watched so i've learnt how to drape one [almost].....so don't u dare call me spoilt and born with a silver spoon and all that chiding nonsense adults blabber when they don't know how they can yell at you.

then putting on all the jewellery, delicate with millions of things to plug in and tighten and pull, the eye liner [with your eyes closed], cream and powder on my back [the patch my blouse would leave naked].......and then clicking all the pictures [hilarious ones of me looking like an air hostess in a namaste position, desi-girl step and sitting like someone's mom] and then.....the terror......tottering down the steep stairs which had gazillion stairs i normally skip or pace up. tottering in heels, lifting the sari, stepping out of the building with everyone watch......all made me feel too much like a heroine [arre, make-up man ko bulana! touch up! touch up!].

the puja was like a networking site, move around talk to relatives [some you haven't even heard of], smile contently when everyone says, "you've grown sooooo tall like your dad", "you look like a younger version of your aunt", " i saw you when your were a little girl/ baby/both". my cousins were the best, i saw them aeons ago and they're like cute stand up comedians......one will start their sentence, the other one will add a hilarious rejoinder......great flatterers too [which is why i'm promoting them here :P]

the food was excellent, the best South Indian food i've eaten.....served on banana leaves..... rice, saar [translation: yummy south indian thin dal], beans with coconut, chitrana [flavoured rice, nah! the translation doesn't do justice to it], sweet puri, sweet gravy to go with it, masala vada [like dahi wada, we were all betting its dum aloo or egg curry intially, but obviously thats not south indian and won't be served in a south indian mutt (temple)], laddoos, kheer, pickles, i bet i'm missing something.......and you could start after the bhatru [priest] bellows somethings loudly inaudible [don't ask] and his assistants run about serving from huge buckets, " anna solpa, solpa anna" [some rice, have some rice]

we came back exhausted from the Puja......not in a sari state......no pain at all......at first i thought the sari would rip if i take big steps, but when it didn't i was nice and comfy......i managed to sit, stand, walk with/without heels without falling/ripping/spilling [almost negligible amounts don't count right?]...... a proper desi girl! yah!

the 'factors'

2009-01-16T20:46:00.002+05:30

ya....sure.....go ahead.....be judgemental as usual..... u'll make this really grumpy face and shut your window [computer window ok!], put your hands in the air in defeat and say.....she's done it again.....she'll talk about one of those asine, utterly useless maths formulas..........well! ha! i proved you wrong AGAIN didn't i? i'm going to talk to you [ummmm......write to you?] about too books I loved......or liked.....or atleast appreciated [ya, definitely]......'The Zoya Factor' by Anuja Chauhan and 'Like Water for Chocolate' by Laura Esquirel.

'The Zoya Factor' is for any Indian who loves romance, far-fetched-filmy-ness and know about cricket [i won't say 'loves cricket' because i know terribly little about it: i know it has a great market in india, i can name a few players, IPL teams......but i can't fanthom the rules or what exactly we're meant to watch for! when i was in grade 5, our whole class was made to play cricket and it was my turn to make runs, so, being the 'ultimate cricketer', terribly flustered and confused.....i ran AWAY from the stumps instead of between them. ya, go one, choke with tears of laughter, call me an idiot.......Rheaa 'GATHER!' [courtesy Kate Winslet's terrible Golden Globe speech.....i'm straying now]

anyway, back to 'the zoya factor'.....i just remembered i was discussing a book and not 'the times, trials, tribulations and titrations [? ( i think i heard it in science, but oh well, starts with 't')] of Rheaa Rao'. the lead character, Zoya, her insecurites, her un-perfect way of life[ not shattering or depressing.....but just not.....complete] can be easily identifyed with, even though she's supposed to be a decade older to me: 27 years old in 2011 [set during the world cup year]. Nikhil Khoda the skipper of the Indian cricket team [in the book], handsome, exclusive, lean and mean [coincidentally (?) he's our Zoya's hero]. Khoda's character is based on Dhoni and the whole idea of him falling for her seems too far-fetched, too DDLJ types which makes silly teenage girls like Gauravi [my best friend] and me swoon with tears of joy and bubbles of hope.

the whole set up, the characters: assortment of media, PR, advertising people and crickets [some boorish, some over-punjabi], the story [zoya is presumed to be the lucky charm of the indian cricket team because they win whenever she has breakfast with them], the sequence is great for filmy buffs but may seem over baked for snobbish 'pure literature fans'. its like.......if you've had too much of swiss toblerones you wouldn't love Indian cadburies [they're still chocolate, so i still love them.... but you get the comparision don't you].....curious......food seems to seap into whatever i write......and think.....and [well, never mind]. the language, the tone is engaging......both G and me went through more than 500 pages without fatigue or the urge to put it down. the language has hindi, punjabi slangs, typical indian idiosyncrasies of talking......which makes it funny, and entertaining like i said......but it isn't what i'd call a literay masterpiece. but what's more important......the literary gyan or how much you enjoy......the latter obviously [though being a 'global citizen' would mean i'd say 'both]

Like Water for Chocolate.....yummy, yum. the way its written is what makes it a cut above the rest......the story may not be a great story one: opressions and traditions of a Mexican household where the protagonist Tita isn't allowed to marry her beloved because according to family tradition the youngest daughter is to remain a spinster and look after her mother till she dies. but the way its written......weaving in incidents with recipes and anecdotes till it sounds almost implausible.....like an ironical legend......like a fable.....thats what made G and me sink into the book [yes, we read several books together.....share a copy even! fight to read it (almost)]. its written monthly......every month there's a new recipe and a story [the continuing story of tita] in it. so everything is not written in a flow or in sequence, like a diary of recipes, tales and life. again....it may seem silly to people.....some IBs who have to study it in year 11 english say so too. but you have to see the irony, the woven fantasy with dreams of fanstasy in hope of a fanstasy.....if you get what i mean....well....if you don't.....JUST READ IT.....read both of them....

i'll be back with more scoops......if u grovel enough......

ANNUAL DAY TIME [2003-2008]

2009-01-04T11:48:00.016+05:30

from the left: esha, khusnum, me, aishwarya, utsav, binoy, parth [2005 annual day]: my bus stop buddies

from the left: utsav, me, aishwarya, aayush [2005 annual day]: my bus stop buddies

time....you can never capture it [only in your memories], you can never be its master, or even understand it or fanthom how it creeps up on you. yes, this is how anyone would feel at the end of a long christmas break.....mock exams *groan* and board exams *double groan* are not exactly what normal people look foward to. here i am....looking like Phulan Devi, clutching a weapon which freezes unsuspecting people....the weapon called 'Mumbai weather', something as ambigious as time, cahoots with it.....but not even this can freeze time! so i'm using my blog to freeze time, freeze my best memories because time while bribe my mind to give way ......muhahahaahhaa! fiend! caught you at last! you're trapped here!

Annual day rehersals, [ie, night school, ie, no classes or school in the morning for a whole WEEK!] top my chart of 'top ten best memories' [because i have to think what the other nine are :P]. we've had an annual day from when the school first opened in 2003....i was in grade 5 then and I remember those horrendous sadhu-orange costumes with giant slits all over [i'm not exaggerating, yes, they were way bigger than your piggy bank slits]. they had constructed this stadium like ambience and we'd sit really high up, watching the show, gossiping, cheering, clapping. after being a part of the suns rays for the 'surya namskar +sun dance', i was also in the taekwando item. i looked absolutely asinine fighting with an imaginary partner [my partner was absent in the last minute], but Shah Rukh Khan- who was the chief guest then- flashed me a smile and gave me a thumbs-up signal making me feel all better [people still insist it was a figment of my imagination and that he must have just smiled looking at the item in general.]

next year, we had our show called 'Jivtara' at Sharmukananda hall. when the other scenes were being rehearsed, we would sit in the dark upper stalls exchanging ghost stories [courtesy Alric, Ishita, Rishabh]. we'd have food on the stairs where the younger kids could come running out, point out at us and shout, 'Joker, Joker', giggle and run helter-skelter [no, this wasn't because of my mango nose, we were supposed to be jolly jokers from the 'land of colour']. since it was so dark in the stalls we were seated, we'd also use the opportunity to stare at the cute guys from the higher classes. the older 'prince of perfection' and the 'shadow weaver' were the top favourites of girls from all classes that year! ;)

ohhhhhhhh! 2005 was the year night school actually started. all these years, we had rehearsed during the day [or sometimes during weekends]. this year, we seventh-grade girls had to wear 'navarri saris', the ones which traditional maharastrians wear, which are pulled from between your legs making you look like an insect [if you aren't used to wearing it]. i remember feeling all pretty inspite of my nerdy glasses and fake mangalsutra, but amongst all the fuss and chagrin and dismay and moaning and groaning and hiding by the other navarri ladies......no one paid much attention to me......and now when i look back at the picutres, i did look like a house-maid ;) [check the pictures attached with this entry].

when i was in the eighth we had this mini-olympics in our school ground. schools from different countries visited our school and took part in sporting events. grade eight was also made to go for a movie with some of our guests [optional]. we were shown 'lage raho munnabhai' with english subtitles and we were to sit in another block in the theatre, away from our guests, so there was no interaction. the atheletes of our school did get to interact with them during work-outs and given got to where a decent looking sari and dance to vande mataram with the indian flag. the rest of our class were the 'evil elements' who wanted to snuff out the olympics flame but were defeated by the peace dove. so we were involved in this very complicated dance+ making evil faces. our make up was a lightning scar and braided hair [decent], but....uh-oh! since i was also singing the school prayer with the indian music group in a chikan salwar [oishika: "its made of chicken! i'm not wearing it!" haha] much before our dance.....our music teacher insisted on taking off my braids and make up [which i didn't allow her to do, i spent so much time and money getting it braided].
so for the pooja, i was in a chikan salwar kameez with braided hair and evil make-up [no, i don't have pictures for you to laugh at]. during the dance, we had to move in circles of three, and since i was bigger than the other too and we had to be fast, i found my partners almost flying. on stage we collided into another circle, got hit on the head by one of those wooden lightining bolts and almost got skated on [thats how crowded the stage was]. no one knew of this though, even though there were huge screens, they only showed our formation from a top view.....so we were saved.
being a secretive black sheep, i also gave my teachers a slip [they didn't think I could do such a thing] and ran off with my friends to sit in an empty lab and sip coffee [strictly for teachers], almost getting caught by our head teacher [no comments].

every year, at least one class has to do the vande mataram dance [from what i've observed].....last year, grade nine [that's us] had to do the honour. initially there was a strange group who tried to teach us puppetery, walloped us, attacked a few boys, bragged a lot about the break up of every single theatrical action and expression in each minute of theatre and how they had mastered it and we couldn't but had too [?]. they finally left defeated [or were kicked out] and replaced by another group, an extreme who knew little about these 'expressions of theatre' and tried to make us dance to 'mumbai meri jaan'. then finally we were given 'vande-mataram', transparent white salwars with blue duppattas deceptively pinned up so they wouldn't slip off and electric diyas.
during the rehearsals some of us even sang and danced to 'silsila yeh chahat ka' [from devdas] with these diyas. this was the year of pagal-panti. we weren't small now and didn't get dinner bags to eat quitely in class, but instead were allowed to use the dining hall like we do during the day. we were also allowed to romp about the school......so we raced off to the 'social area' in the girls toilet [a huge dry area+ a comfortable marble bench] where we acted scenes from om shanti om and saas-bahu serials on camera.....NAHIIIIIIIIII!!!!!!

this year, grade 10 did a broadway dance, armed with golden hats, golden tailcoats, golden pants [ringmasters from fairyland according to me]. my cheeks were flushed from the excitement of night school and all the make up made me look rosier [like Kareena Kapoor in chup chup ke]. initially, we had to all remain in class where we started playing poker [no, not strip poker!]. i didn't [and don't] know how to play this game, so i watched politely, commented, cheered. then the cards were confisticated and we weren't allowed to bring our ipods and cells [we did anyway for after the heads were gone]. our practise didn't take quite long, but the whole school had to remain in school till 9:30 so we crept out of class to watch the grandeur from a top view. of course we had our moments, i had got my binos [to spy on.....well.....you don't need to know] and we stood on the fifth floor, screamed out [name held for security reasons] and ran and hid and laughed when they looked up. we also made prank calls from our cells in the bathroom [heellllloooo, chunnu ji hai?], gossiped, gaped at the Michael Jackson dance and dodged footballs the boys of our class nearly hit us with. this year, we seriously felt grown-up, from having dinner in packets up in class, to dining in the hall, this time were dining in the front lawn! beneath the stars, in the open air out of close scrutiny! how romantic!

after both our shows got over of november 15th, i was feeling so low...both me and my friend were crying over the phone because annual day was over again......like a major festival was over......like time was speeding by while i'm standing and shouting at it to wait for me. during the night rehersals, we'd stand and watch the view from class.....the large football field glistening of night dew, the calm, calm hills, the starry Mithhi river, buildings glistening further away......i could even see this flame [HP colony flame, i used to live there years ago].....small, twitching in the dark......far, far away.......like something wonderful in the past.....glowing.....glimmering......always there......you're watching it but you've passed it and will never be back......the journey of no return.....YOU'LL NEVER BE BACK!

GAY: the stamp.....the scar?

2009-01-01T19:29:00.003+05:30

i wrote this article as part of the DAIMUN press application around four months ago..... i didn't get selected in press, but oh well! atleast i was in the SC! i decided to put this up because there was a comment on my blog which called both the films RNBDJ and Ghanjini 'gay' [meaning stupid and asinine] which another blog-reader didn't much fancy!

The word ‘gay’ has become a terribly ‘frivolous’ one in our daily speech. It’s often used as a derogatory term, almost a synonym for a blend of the words asinine and effeminate. We, as the youth, highlight human rights, like the right to freedom, life, work, education, expression, food, and life; make resolutions at prestigious MUN conferences against breaching human rights. But more often than not, we are the ones you use this word derogatorily or perhaps too carelessly, thus snatching the right of gays, the right to be accepted as a regular part of the society.

The Indian media dragged on the alleged gay relationship between Karan Johar and Shah Rukh Khan till it sickened the public and a section of people still abhor them because they’re allegedly ‘gay’. The word ‘gay’ has topped the charts as a reason to dislike and demean people; it has grown to be a ‘fault’ or ‘short-coming’ amongst us. People have even started being vary of friendship between people of the same sex, intimacy between friends is looked upon with suspicion.
Being gay has become tabooed, and sticks to a person like a tag, often growing into a cult and is not looked upon as a state of mind or a preference. How come straight relationships don’t form cults then? naturally, because they’re accepted by the society. This shows our society’s obstinate denial to make room for those in between. However, this is gradually changing, and acceptance of gay relationships and legality of gay marriages have become more common. Nations like Canada, Belgium, Norway, Netherlands, South Africa, and Spain amongst others have recognized gay marriages, and so have several American states. So, in this case, its not one but several countries that are fighting against discrimination of gays. On the other hand, it is strange that South Africa has recognized gay marriages, as the gay HIV rates have skyrocketed most in this country!

Still, in my opinion, gay marriages and relationships should be legalized all over the world, simply because being gay can’t be helped, it’s a subconscious state of mind for most, just like how liking a particular colour or a particular song is, you have no control over it.
However, I wonder if I’d be the same breezy, open-minded girl if my close friends or relatives turn out to be gay; would I be cautious, pretentious of what I say and do in their presence? Would I be more sensitive to gays, or would I be revolted? Would I be careful as to how close I am to them and intentionally or involuntarily distance myself from them? Would I subconsciously harp on the fact that they’re gay? These questions cross my mind, as our family friend, whose daughter is friendly with a gay keeps saying, “She has a friend…..and he’s GAY!” She personally has no qualms regarding gays, but it’s just engraved in her mind that it’s something different from what she is used to, from the regular norms.
The reaction is involuntary, just like being gay is, so we can’t actually blame the society for being intolerable and insensitive about this issue. It entirely depends on the psychological make-up of each individual....both being gay and accepting gays.

BOLLYWOOD-GLUTTON'S DAY OUT!

2008-12-31T19:36:00.005+05:30

chinki doll and porcelain doll!

mummy and urmila

yesterday was the ultimate bollywood-glutton's [that's me] day out! perhaps i'm the only girl who doesn't fancy shopping much.....trying out millions of clothes ruffles my hair and mood [especially if i like stuff made for the super-anorexic which naturally don't fit me], actually i only tag along because shopping expeditions spell eating out *yay*. you wouldn't believe that i actually fell asleep in a shoe shop a year back! i even heard the music playing in the mall as 'i walked in closed shoes' after a weary day of a long unsuccessful quest for the 'perfect closed shoes' [ courtesy Urmila].

so yesterday I was out with my regular jing-bang, my 'fairy god' mother [well almost, because she's wherever i am, or vice versa] and my 1/4 Deepika Padukone, 3/4 live porcelain doll Urmila [we'll decide the ratio later]. we initially wanted this dress code for the three of us, 'a vest' suggested mom, but she dropped the idea after I said, 'if we all wear a vest, everyone will be forced to look east' [sorry lame!]. so we visited fabindia where i politely said, "wow! this is really nice" to every second thing i saw so that both of them would hurry up and buy something. then we visited moshe's and picked up a dessert each. i had this thing called Gooey Chocolate which was chocolate crusted and oozed out more chocolate which was div-ine!!!! everyone eyed it and dug their spoons into it slyly [and actually got away with it!]

then we whizzed away to colaba causeway.....its a good place to learn to dance because you have to constantly step back, front, sideways, bend, slide through [only a 'shimmy' was missing] so as to avoid colliding into other lonely orbits. i was feeling all tall when some foreigners double my height passed me [errrr......]. then there was this trinket seller who was digusted with my bargaining skills [and made no effort to hide this], probably because i laughed like a hiccupping hyena every time a quoted a low price [its very easy to start me off]. so finally, after buying nothing ,we rested our weary backsides at theobrama where we shared a sandwich and had a chocolate brownie each [different ones though]......chocolate surprisingly corrects my mood and makes me fresh, chirpy and energetic again [much better than that red bull anyway, it tastes like my Dr. Desai's worst syrup medicine which washed away the taste of everything good for sometime]

anyway, then we went to Nariman point, clicked pictures and flashed those tourist-y smiles. we hitched a horse called Krish [and you thought only I was filmy] for a huge round around Nariman point. while we were on a ride, we sang all our favourite Hindi numbers [i started this naturally] as loudly as possible [Krish's master must have thought we were tipsy] and I continued to sing them while we were walking.......the breeze was cool and refreshing and made my hair fly in a filmy way [i felt no less than Priyanka Chopra in Dostana in that song, Khabar Nahi].......

after touring our ancient family hotel we sat down for....yes.....yet another meal! [this was our final, final dinner ok!]. Badshah is the best place EVER for pau-bhaji and falooda......since we were so full, we shared the pau bhaji but obviously things like underwears and desserts can never be shared! my Badshahi falooda had a bit of the best of everything in the world in it, so i didn't bother to even glance at what the other two ordered. there are two things that keep me absorbed.....i won't flinch till its done......one: writing exams.....two: eating desserts.......

ok......now i think i've scared my readers! i appear as some sort of female bakasur! someone you can never trust with your [abbe.....not izzat] food...... relax! relax! i only do that once in a while.....otherwise i'm pretty much under control..... no really! ek thopdyat deil, don't snigger!

CAFE BASILCO

2008-12-30T12:56:00.003+05:30

now that i'm this self-proclaimed food and bollywood critic.....let me get started on my adventures and mis-adventures with food <3

one place i'll never forget [or forgive] is Cafe Basilco. i had been there around three years ago for an 'elegant' breakfast with my mom after reading those million reviews about this place which gave it the thumbs-up sign. okay, so we travelled all the way to town on a Sunday for a breakfast more exciting than our regular idli-dosa-cornflakes and guess what we got? ............

not so fast, i have to build up the drama for our brilliant [anti] climax! so i sat there fingering the menu with my crooked finger, reading those mouth-watering descriptions that cheat customers into buying the same old regular dish....rehashed! we placed our order.....mom ordered something that sounded fairly normal [read not more exciting, innovative than what we usually have at home] and i ordered something that sounded exotic.....i can't remember the name, or the description, but i remember the waitress lighting up and saying that i must try it.....what was the description....fluffy something something with delicious blank blank accompanied with blank blank of your choice....bah! no use, i can't remember the exact description.....but oh! how it sounded! so after waiting, peering, flashing polite smiles at the staff around us, i was presented my dish...the ultimate dish which was meant to bait me, make me a regular customer......cafe basilco's 'agni pariksha' and it turned out to be......gasp! gasp! gasp!................UPMA!!!!!!!

WHAAAAAAAT!!!!!! i travelled this far for UPMA! i mean.....UPMA.....are you serious! *sob sob* MA......UPMA??? *sniff*..... i could have had the same UPMA, 100 percent original, 1000 times more delicious, 10000 times cheaper at home......of course, the one at home may have a few stray strands of dog hair but its better than eating my own hair in frustration!!!!!

[i got dessert as a consolation, but it wasn't brilliant enough to lift up my dampened spirit......]

RNBDJ and Ghajni

2008-12-29T17:21:00.004+05:30

yup! i've seen both the movies and i'm not going to make this review overloaded with purple-rage sarcasm to show off my wit and writing skills like most other critics. ok, so let's start: while rab ne bana di jodi warms your heart, Ghajni makes your head boil!

Rab ne bana di jodi was light hearted, funny, emotional.....like sweet-and-sour chutney, very delectable. of course, you have to be an ardent shah rukh fan to fall for both his characters in the first shot: Suri being a nerd with a samosa for a nose, Raj being extremely annoying and too loud but of course, king khan did a great job in both their skins. Anushka Sharma was fresh, cute and very confident. she glowed on the screen and was a pleasure to watch. i don't know why the critics spoke so little of her. they've got these very strange parameters which frighten me!
of course the movie was complete with its dose of song and dance. however, there were very few characters compared to other yash raj movies which had truckloads of 'punjabi parivars' which was quite a relief. 'Tuj mein rab dikta hain' has been sung so sensitively that it echos true love with every note <3

Ghajni was stuffed with nail-biting violence [yes, i was even biting my toenails during some of the fight sequences!]. it was picturized extremely well, with not one scene being out of place or context. Asin was spunky, lively, with excellent expressions and dialogue delivery not to mention a great wadrobe which made her look even prettier. her character was extremely believable and very easy to fall for. Amir Khan was fantastic as usual, but sort of freaked me out the way he jumped on the villians and growled and grunted at them like an animal. he almost reminded me of Hari, my dog, in his worst mood. it seemed like he beat up everyone he saw throughout the movie! Jiah Khan did her part well, but perhaps people didn't like her because she made the movie longer with all her blondness and hindrance in our hero's plans. Ghajni, the villian, was convincing, but I couldn't help laughing when he kept calling our hero 'short term memory loss' and said 'yaad hai woh rod' as 'yaad hai woh road' confusing the audience a bit.

in the meanwhile, these heroines are giving me a complex. all of them are helpful, kind, sweet, dutiful, peppy, spunky, beautiful, good dancers, lively.....abbe! bas bhi karo yaar! don't they ever get mood swings, bad hair days, or boils?

angels

2008-12-25T16:15:00.005+05:30

the newspapers are full of them.......so are our conversations which used to be full of wit and gossip......no, i'm not talking about terrorists, but negativity.
yes, the year has been pretty low in terms of the stock market, humanity, politics but don't we get scoops of that in the newspaper every morning? the air almost creaks like achy limbs with dull, restless silence......so i've decided, i'm not going to carry this legacy of sorrow like its some 'foward-to-at-least-ten-people-or-you'll-have-bad-luck' chain mail.....i'm going to shake out of it, even if its through one blog, one person.....only if the atmoshpere changes, the droopy, heavy atmosphere, hanging like a heavy black coat on an old hunchback.....only if this feeling changes will times be able to change. the worst things possible have happened, so now things can only get better and i'm going to transmit these vibes of excitement and change for the better.....

today i was watching 'jab we met' for 10 millionth time and i feel happier, lighter, charged.....if one movie can make so many people lighten up.....so can one person, or one blog and that's what i'm trying to do. no more depressing poems, no more heavy droppy articles.....make things snappy, say it from it your heart....
let me start by being grateful......Rhonda Byrne's 'Secret' says that being grateful is the first step towards lightening up the atmosphere....
i'm greatful for all the angels in my life....you know who you are and what you mean to me.....we all must have hurt each other, some have written nasty blog comments and sometimes when i look at facebook profiles i feel like i'm living in some parallel universe cut away from you all....but i love everyone who has walked into my life [some a little more or a little less than others] because all of you are here to write my fairytale, so hugs and chocolates from me <3
i'm grateful for me.....and i think 'me' sumarizes everything i have to say about 'me' because i don't have to explain me to anyone because i already know who i am.......

so, keep dancing, humming and enjoy every minute of yourself and if people glare at you....well, they're just envious of your free spirit.

<3 empress of gib and gab,
warrior of the light [http://www.warriorofthelight.com/engl/index.html]
tolerable, tolkien-like teen
RHEAA RAO

*hum hain rahi pyar ke, phir milenge, chalte chalte!*

SPLITSVILLA

2008-06-21T22:20:00.006+05:30

i was watching this show on MTV called Splitsvilla. its quite an interesting concept where 20 girls try to woo 2 boys, and its being hosted by Ranvijyay, the winner of the first Roadies. the first two episodes were fairly interesting and the characters of all these twenty girls [not very interesting, if you ask me] and the two boys have come out quite clearly by now.

Varun Saini, one of the Splitsvilla boys [who was also seen in this season of the roadies], is exactly like some of the wannabe, stupid, shallow, effeminate looking boys i know. in every episode he feels some 'connection' with a different girl, depending on who looks 'hot' to him. from what i've seen of him in Splitsvilla, the only quality that excites him in a girl is how 'hot' she looks. he rarely appreciates the girls for the effort they put in, whether it was this girl who was slightly nervous while singing a song for him, or poetry which a few girls write for him. infact, he blantantly makes hideous faces while they're trying to put in their best. his 'vision statement', his pathetic pick-up line etched on the MTV website is, "nice pair of mountains, when will i get a chance to climb them!". i do like shockingly bold people, but on the whole, i find him pathetically unattractive, though he acts like the cat's whiskers. i seriously can't fathom why some girls in Splitsvilla find him 'hot': he overall appearance or personality seriously doesn't attract me!

then there's Vishal Karwal, a kind, sweet, gentle, sensitive, chivalrous man. he doesn't only measure girls according to their oomph quotient, but tries to find streaks of intelligence, humour and etiquette in them too. in the first round, he was actually upset about dumping [eliminating] girls, because he thought it was too early to dump them, since there wasn't much scope for interaction initially. he always looks genuinely dissapointed while dumping girls at the end of each round.

from the first show onwards, I had found him cute and sweet, however, what he said and did today really bowled me over. he fired this particular conceited, arrogant girl called Hoorzan before dumping her and said that he was upset and ashamed by her behaviour as she showed disrespect and attitude to her fellow contestants by interrupting, walking out and even laughing while they were trying to woo the boys. he told her that she wasn't better than anybody and that everyone had an equal right and equal chance to be on the show, because each of them had something special in them. he said that if she was a boy, he would have broken her bones and teeth for showing disrespect and that he was really angry as he'd never spoken to a girl like this before. he even asked the other girls how they bared with her and said that they should have given it back to her as she hurt their self-respect. he concluded by saying that no one should let anybody hurt their self respect, ever, no matter what the situation is.

Varun, the lizard, on the other hand, according to me, showed disrespect for this girl who was singing, just as Hoorzan did; but he quickly agreed with Vishal, said something mean to Hoorzan about her habit of laughing for no reason [?] and dumped her. Vishal spoke from his heart, without pretence, which was clearly seen. Varun, on the other hand, snapped at the girl half-heartedly and reluctantly, but did so to win respect from the girls as Vishal had just won......

i always thought that boys would woo a girl only if she is hot and terrible irresistible, even if she is arrogant and ill-mannered. What Vishal said today made me realize that it's not the case with every boy.....he has truly won my respect, changed a few opinions and thoughts and made me an ardent spiltsvilla viewer.....

kanyadan

2008-06-02T19:38:00.003+05:30

i recently watched this play at Prithvi theatre scripted by late Mr. Vijay Tendulkar, called Kanyadan. set in the 1980's its about this Brahmin girl called Jyothi, born to a middle class family active in the scene of politics, mature, sensible, well-to-do-beings. this girl wished to marry a Dalit man, whom she doesn't love, but just wants to 'break caste barriers' as her father has always encouraged. she does face objections from her mother and brother, not because the boy is a dalit, but because he is an odd-ball: violent, abusive, hot-tempered and awkwardly wierd and scared. supported by her father, she marries him, bears with his physical and mental abuses just so that she can reform him.

the last scene was a memorable one where she yells at her dad and scolds him for his beliefs and virtues he has made her grow up with, which, while teaches her to be a reformer, makes it difficult for her to leave her husband as she'd feel guilty she didn't bring about 'change' in him.

Arun Athavale, her husband, played by Joy Sengupta has given a brilliant performance. from the change of his body language from a scared, wimpering Dalit, to an arrogant, famous dalit writer, his rash-temper, his awkward way of showing affection [which made me shudder]....he was the best. he truly made me feel revolt and loathe for his character which shows the power in his performance.
Radhika Apte, who played Jyothi had also delivered an excellent performance. i simply adored Rajendra Gupte as Nath, Jyothi's father, not only did he act well [the sudden sobbing in the end left me stunned], but his character was cute, doting and at the same time, respectful, with good values, most of which i agree with. one of them was that he NEVER imposed his views and decisions on anyone. he always expressed his sentiments and views, but left the final decision to the person it concerns. Lillete Dubey was wonderful as a worried, anxious mother and Raaghav Chanana, the mature, concerned son of the family did his part well.

but i was shocked by Jyothi's inability to leave her husband. he was a dalit man, hurt by his past and history and thus takes all revenge of his ancestor's difficulty, his troubled, difficult childhood and circumstances on his brahmin wife, which is upseting and rather disturbing.

my mother often says that the boy you decide to marry should come from a good family with a decent background and upbringing. earlier i used to scoff and tell her that it depends on the boy himself and has got nothing to do with his family, but i guess, i'm wrong. it does rely on the upbringing of the boy. boys often get influenced by the way their father treats their mother. if they are used to chauvinist dads or abusive ones and meek, ill-treated mothers, even if they are educated, a large part of them would expect their wife to be like their mom, while they assume the part of their agressive dads.

sometimes, parents treat and bring up their sons and daughters differently, conciously or subconciously. while they try to teach their daughters to be meek, sacrificing and caring, they let their sons get away with murder. this makes them think they have an upper hand over women and many of them may not give women the respect they deserve. this also sows seeds of a terrible epidemic called 'double standards'. while they enjoy at night clubs, party around with women, they think girls 'invite trouble' by enjoying at night clubs, going out with their friends.
its sad and disturbing that women have to curb THEIR OWN RIGHTS because of such cheap, double-standard men. its terrible that in a democratic country we are deprived of such basic liberties like walking safely on the road in the middle of the night!
note: this may not be related to 'Kanyadaan', and i don't mean to demean men. there are lots of mature, sensible men who do not have sick minds and are fair to all. they respect opinions, are trustworthy, along with being charming and witty.

of exams and 'maricream'

2008-05-16T19:39:00.002+05:30

bonjour monsieur, mademoiselle, madame, or whoever is reading my blog! this particular post shall be rather frantic in half english, half french as i have my french oral exam tomorrow! je aurai mon francais examen demain......blaggghrrr! forget it, i don't even think its gramatically correct............

qu'est qui ne va pas? je mal a la tete......i'm going maaadddd preparing for my upcoming final [important sigh], ninth standard examinations, we have two, or even three papers for most 'matieres' and to top it all, we're being told that our exams will be extremely hard/taxing/ long and that we'll probably flunk/ not finish it/ not 'crack' it! thanks.....that makes us all feel sooooo much better, especially since other kids are yelling their lungs out, shouting and frolicking in my lane, completely enjoying their 'vacances'.

plus, i have to stick around ten million mental notes in my mind so as to remember trivially important 'tips' for every subject * say 'merci' and 'bonjour' as frequently as possible, be as polite as a frenchman during your french orals*

'poissons' are supposed to be good for your brain, right? [fish, i mean!] well, to a certain 'fish-icream' called mari-cream has been invented, which, though doesn't carry a whiff of fish, allegedly carries all the useful proteins and is 'rich in flavour'........the only hitch is....its inventors, scientists of Central Institute of Fisheries Technology [Cift] are still waiting for entrepreneurs
or venture capitalists to buy/fund this project..........so it may take way for this product to actually come out in the market.......its still in the research and development stage of its product life cycle. if and when somebody buys the idea, they'll first have to conduct market research to 'anticipate the needs and wants of their target group in a changing and competitive environment' and before that they'll have to find their target group [fish ice-cream anyone?].....ahhhhh.....there's business studies pouring out of my nostrils [i already have a cold to add to the cream [pun-unintended]]

okay.....i better stop, or i may be asked to calculate the volume of mari-cream in a cone with the radius of........stop! stop!.....or maybe find the volume of it, if its concentration is 0.5 M and it has 10 moles...........okay......i've got to stop.........i'm babbling.....using precious internet time and space. you'll hear from me after my exams and there'll be sensible articles minus the nonsense and frustration...............bye! au revoir! merci de votre gentillesse!

caution: this is a pointless article full of the frustrations of a holiday-straved 14 and 3/4 year old.....read it in exchange of your sanity....

The Great Divide

2008-05-09T19:43:00.004+05:30

okay.....its not what you think from reading the title. It's about the suble [?], underlying [ahem?] politics in my school, which suddenly hits you when you have reached and/or crossed grade eight.
till the seventh standard, you frolic about with your set of 'best friends', weep on the last day of seventh standard on the last, huge '7A' class cake, promise your everlasting friendship, love and unending phone calls to all, and then.....
......you're in the eight......you pay small visits to your ex-classmates [ who have now taken ICSE/ IGCSE] for, about two days.....and then the ego inflates like a large baloon before our bosoms. you start calling your best friends, 'these IC's', or 'those IG's'.

you stop talking to, or even acknowledging each other by some invisible barrier [invisible from the other side of course] as each 'segment' thinks they're being targeted/neglected/ignored by the other.

Facebook groups prop up with 'YAY IG ROCKS' or 'IC BATCH ONLY, WE RULE' and all those asine groups you force people to join and make them part of your IC/IG war.

its not escalated to a really high level in my batch [or maybe it has, but i've not noticed as I acknowledge and receive acknowledgments from everyone I know, whether they're 'IC's' or 'IG's' or even peons].

Anyway, 'subtle bitching' actually, open taunts against each other prop up, or one 'segment' picks on a single child or group from the other. Some keep in touch with their 'other segment' friends but on a superficial, pathetically artificial level.

even during the farewell party we had thrown for the year tenths, the IC's and IG's were setting separately, pretending they never knew the other existed, pretending they had forgotten what wonderful times they'd had together with each other before these divisions came up.

on a large scale, this is exactly how wars take place.....we've divided ourselves.....the world into countries, into races, caste, creed, colour, and these divisions, the ego, lack of respect and logic for other people and their believes lead to war. To top it all, to add to the 'cream' GenNext, who are supposed to be the 'Olympics-torch-hope-flame' for the world are pettily arguing over minor divisions like the of class rooms and exam boards.....

Cheers to all the brilliant 'IG's' and 'IC's', you attend Model United Nations conferences, solve pressing issues, give [farcial] speeches on anti-war and anti-discrimination, while back at home.....hypocrisy.....you make distinctions and divisions amongst your own friends.......

Kheer-gaming

2008-04-20T14:26:00.004+05:30

now for a small break from Russia......

we had a small puja at our hotel, New Vasantashram, last week......as much as my folks believe in it, though I'm not an aeteist, I despise pujas. You sit there, in front of an eye-burning fire, the smoke tearing your lungs apart, your body decked in finery and sweat......

after a few hours of sheer torture, it was time for 'pet pooja', ie, feasting.....we ate in banana leaves [instead of plates], heaped with generous portions of rice, puris, beans, 'saar' [spicy orange gravy to go with rice], raita, citrana [coloured rice]......hmmmmmm.............then it was time for dessert.....

my eyes sparkled at the mention of piping hot kheer, an excellent epilogue to the meal......the cook [a simpleton, I guess], poured the hot kheer on my banana leaf!!!!!! as much as I enjoy doses of video games, this was certainly not fun! I had to struggle to balance the liquid kheer on the leaf, without letting it touch the chutney or flow out on my pretty salwar-kameez AND try eating it at the same time ...... now that was challenge!

i struggled for ten minutes, rolling the leaf as a pipe, clipping the edge, tipping it this way and that, holding the struggling white vermilcelli and milk between my fingers [yes, there wasn't a spoon], while the 'bhatrus' [those who performed the puja] laughed, wobbled their hairy jelly stomach in bouts of roaring laughter.....

how i managed to get up with my legs asleep, without falling or spilling the kheer out is another story.....i won't bore you with that though!

RUSSIAN TRIP: PART 3

2008-04-08T18:12:00.002+05:30

the next day, Monday, all of us were smartly dressed well-ironed formals. i felt like a pretty wannabe-secretary straight out of a Hindi movie, complete with black formal pants and a smart black blazer, straight black hair and an important looking file. but today, I was exceptionally nervous as i had to make my opening speech on behalf of the five of us representing Germany [in different comittees] in front of 300-odd delegates.

all the schools were seated country-wise [according to the countries we were representing in our comittees] in a huge hall in the place called the 'international bussiness center'. my hands were cold and I was shivering with anticipation. Coats and bags were piled on the walk-way and i was scared of tripping and making a spectacle out of myself [i've very accident prone you see]. One of our deputy secretary Generals was screeching in her piercing hawk like voice, "DAALLLLEGITS PLEASE MAANTAIN DECORAAAM, TAKE YOUR CHEERS" [delegates, please maintain decorum and be seated].

Finally, the opening ceremony started [after about ten-fifteen looooong, booooorrrrinnnngggg speeches that acted like sleeping pills for the coup of us]. the Secretary General was picking out chits as to which countries would deliver their opening speeches [in batches of seven]. my country, Germany was picked in the second last batch when I was virtually dying of anxiety. Finally, when it was my turn to speak, my shoes clipped noisily against the wooden floor of the stage and then i realized..... i was speaking to a bunch of half-dead, gum-chewing, ipod-listening people. most of them had curled up around the comfy seats and were peacefully snoring! Nevertheless I delivered my speech about peace and human rights along with quotes by Kofi Annan. i received congratulatory note from another delegation, and appreciation from a few of my classmates, so i was quite content by the outcome. two of my other classmates: a representative of Bangladesh and a representative of U.K. also delivered quite apt speeches [few of the only ones i could actually understand]. then there was this crazy delegate of Iran who made a rap song about his country which was ripped apart by other delegates. the delegate of U.S.A. went a step too far and said, " if you don't agree with us, we'll screw your country." which created quite an uproar.

post lunch, we were asked to go to our respective comittees for an informal lobbying session. one of my classmates and me were in the same committee: the ECOSOC, where we were to discuss the role of transnational businesses, steps to eliminate the negative effects of brain drain and ways to control urbanization. we could choose to sit on any table to discuss the topic we were well versed with and discuss our draft resolutions. on our table, the delegate of China and me were the only active [or rather hyper-active ones], so we merged our resolutions and saw that our merged copy didn't compromise with either of our policies. China, a developing country, and Germany a developed one, so our resolution covered areas to benefit both developing and developed nations. however, the other resolution had more signaturies [very clever] and thus more support.....we were anxious to see the outcome the next day...........

that night we had a delicious four-course Russian meal in a quaint Russian restaurant overlooking the beautiful winter palace. so, the day ended on a rather good note......

RUSSIAN TRIP: PART 2

2008-04-06T19:46:00.004+05:30

The cold dark streets of Russia, with shady looking, mud ridden cars wizzing by, interlinked lanes shining under the moonlight, the occasional droning and drudging of the trams.....i felt like i was flying above them all....but this time I wasn't in Aeroflot, instead, I had my nose pressed against the huge, double-glassed windows of room number 6051 in a hotel overlooking an eerie street.

I had risen at around five in the morning [Russia time], taken a bath and was all ready for my [9' a clock] breakfast. my yellow bag was loaded with my camera, passport copies, money and a few creams and balms. everything was so unaturally quiet that i found myself drifting into a fairytale reveire only to be shaken by a gasp from my room mate who came to investigate the rather large shadow crouched behind the curtains.

Breakfast was a variety of cheese and breads and meat slices, omlettes, cottage cheese pudding [a rather sour delicacy], jam and chocolate tarts, muffins, juices, yogurt...cereal, milk.....whew!! [this sounds typical Enid Blyton] i had a little of almost everything, taking care not to load the imp in my tummy as we were geared for a rather long day.

half the schools had not yet arrived as the conference was to begin on Monday. So, all of us, along with our guide Cathy, visited quaint, historic cathedrals, an eerie graveyard with the busts of famous Russians, an expensive souvenir shop [we stopped here for a long time], the jaw-dropping winter palace, the cathedral of spilt blood and several yellow coloured buildings which gave dull, sun-less Russia a vibrant feel.

for lunch we stopped at a pizza place, where no-one [including the waitresses] understood a word of what we said. most of us chose a pizza with what looked like door knobs on them [they were actually pieces of chicken and mutton]. though I'm accustomed to eating veg fare, i was keen to try out new things since this was a once- in- a- life- time oppurtunity [and the veg food was rumored to be awful here] and as our rather irriated teacher told a bunch of fusspots, its a shame to have khakras and theplas in Russia. the pizza with goat cheese [which tasted like omlette according to Vivek, who generously handed me a piece of it] was absolutely lip-smacking.

We then traveled on a 150 m [or longer] escalator. Initially, i thought it goes straight ahead, so my heart skipped a beat when it took a sudden downward plunge. for around five minutes i couldn't see land and had Russian advertisements and smooching Russian couples on the opposite escalator to entertain me. We then stood before two rather large, automatic doors [ I initially thought they were elavator doors] which opened to reveal a train. the train whizzed so fast that i found myself swinging like a pendulam despite clutching on tightly!

we had the whole evening free, so after dinner at the Russian McDonalds, all of us curled up in a common room and watched AliG [wierd!] till we were dead bored and sleepy.

the first part of the next day, the morning, the breakfast, the bus journey was rather the same. two other schools shared the bus with us today and we were taken to another old cathedral, the winter palace again, but this time from the inside. the palace was beautifully done up and also had a throne for the king who died here [after he was assisnated near the cathedral of split blood]. it wasn't a really big room, since the king supposedly had a phobia for open spaces! we also saw the famous Hermitage muesuem which had masterpieces from some of the century's most celebrated artists!

in the evening, we attended a cultural programs, a mix of tradtional countryside music and lively dances, followed by an introduction a representative of each school had to make about the school they came from. each speech was a letdown, except the one made by the representative of our school, Ambika. Her speech was the only well-formed, well-thought out, elaborate one and I felt so proud seeing the Indian flag pop up in a powerpoint introducing each school from each country.

after this, we had an elaborate, four course Russian meal at an old university. all schools were seated at 'hogwarts style' long tables where we were given delicacies made of mushroom, grain, chicken, mutton....hmmm.....delicious. the vegetarians had to make do with rice and boiled vegetables, [but that's what you can expect in Russia, where meat is a real delicacy, and veg food has little or no place.] I was glad that I had experimented with typical Russian meals as there's no point fussing and cribbing about the food, its a part and parcel of traveling and visiting new places.

back at the hotel, most of us were given a dressing down for being terribly fussy and imprudent at dinner, so the day ended rather sourly for the fusspots!

RUSSIAN TRIP: PART 1: THE JOURNEY

2008-04-06T18:47:00.005+05:30

I recently had a really tiring trip to Russia, with a few of my classmates and teachers to attend the Saint Pettursburg International Model United Nations, which was a big 'ooh-aah' for most of us as this was our first international conference ever!

Fifteen of us arrived [half-asleep] at the international airport in Mumbai from where our flight was to leave at 7. But, obviously, because of those stupid airport procedures we had be there around four hours early. To our displeasure, the arrival-departure boards we going besurk with the timings of our flight. Initially we discovered our Aeroflot flight was a day late, then it moved down to ten hours and finally to fours hours late!

After a rather dreamy breakfast [sheera acted as an energy booster for me] and hours of snoring and drooling on the airport chairs, we finally boarded our plane at 11 a clock in the afternoon. The journey from mumbai to moscow seem to take forever [not to mention the time difference trying to make it seem shorter than it actually was] and pillow fights [courtesty, Abdullah], endless sessions of whispering [I couldn't hear those dark secrets, of course] , a rather queer Russian movie and cloud-watching didn't seem to help at all. I tried falling asleep but was woken up by a low, groning voice, "Fish or Chicken?" [Uh! i thought they usually asked "Veg or Non-Veg"] and so, chewing slowing and cautiously like a cow [the food was tasty though] I spent the rest of my monotonous flight.

All equipped for the killing cold in a dark blue cap [with a large pompom of top and a bow around my chin], a huge red jacket, cosy gloves and a bright coloured scarf, I attracted sniggers from virtually everyone around me. We were out for barely a minute and then had to stand in the sweltering hot, crowded, creepily silent Moscow airport in a two hour long line! The airport was packed with people towering over us who were somber and silent and didn't even exchange stares or glares! we were the only ones chatting rather loudly till our turn came.

Of course, Aeroflot was as efficient as my [darned] printer yet again. The fifteen of us were split into two different flights, while our teachers were coming in another flight an hour later. After a good dressing down from our teacher, who was purple with choking rage, Aeroflot put us together in one flight which was supposed to leave from another airport three hours later. We boarded a bus, our hands red from the biting cold and clutching our slippery bag handles and reached the airport within half an hour for the rest of our relay race: to catch our last plane on time.

So began a one-hour-five-minutes [or longer!] ride to St. Pettursburg in a rather uncomfortable plane [the seats were as flexible as Prabu Deva and seemed to bend and dance in all angles]. By the time we reach our hotel it was two in the morning [so around four in Mumbai] and of course walking along the endless corridors all the way to our rooms [gasp! gasp!] took another hour or so. I vaguely remember floating along the corridor, sleeping [while walking] on the handle of my bag!

whew! a whole day of aeroflot and disturbed sleep! i shuddered to thing of the return journey.......

I'M BACK

2008-04-06T18:42:00.004+05:30

to all my blog readers, i'm extremely sorry for being slack and not updating my blog, but so many things were happening around me, that i just withdrew from blogging for some time. but now i'm starting all over again and i promise to update you with juicy tidbits every week....watch out....cause I'm back and my blog is going to be bigger and better than ever!

Jyran7x

2007-08-21T19:14:00.000+05:30

I'm sorry I didn't write for sooooo long. There wasn't any time to apologize while writing my previous entry, so I'm doing so now. I was terribly busy participating in the Youth Leaders Summit and CMUN [Cathedral Model United Nations] and had tests and assignments to give up. I'm writing my debut novel, 'Jyran7x' which I have been working on for a year. I made millions of drafts and even junked hundred pages of it because I wasn't happy with what I've written. But no regrets, as Roald Dahl says, "A writer who is happy with his first draft is in big trouble". Finally the idea has matured and I've managed to cover up several loopholes. Here's the first few lines of it. You may be confused and curious after you read the excerpt, but I promise you, the novel will be power packed. There is a foward which I'm not including in the excerpt. Please read it when it comes out......

Chapter 1- I almost get split into a hundred pieces

The sky was a sick mixture of blue and pink. The numbers were still asleep but the wind flew silently pushing an old rusty board. On the board was carved [in pale, yellow, thin words] ‘THE HOUSE OF LOUTAL.’ The sign pointed to a cluster of wild bushes. The wind ‘wooohed’ sheepishly and pushed its way through the bushes. They opened up, revealing a triangle shaped house perched on a long tower.

The tower had no windows, only a single red door. Behind the door lay a winding staircase. The staircase stopped midway, and if you weren’t alert, you’d probably fall of, into a glittering pool right beneath. From the ceiling there hung a thick rope. To the left of the rope was a large triangular door. A neat one, with ten latches under it and a large, grotesque door knob, about the size of a cauliflower, right at the top.

An eerie shadow stepped out of the pool, where she was praying to the number god, PHI.
The PHI looked queer. It had a tiny pony on the top of its head, representing ‘1.’ It had a long trunk descending, [‘1’ again] ending with a squiggly ‘6.’ Its two eyes represented 8. Just below its pony was large dot, PHI’s third eye which was believed to have the equation of every numberling.
An equation was a simple sentence which told volumes about the past, present and future of a numberling.
A pair of emerald green eyes glittered with tears in the dark as it saw a tall, dark, muscular number, with almond eyes, a rounded nose and a large crater on his cheek. A large crater on his cheek! That was definitely him! After twenty-two long years she was seeing him at last!

Then she blinked back her tears, she had to be tough, she had to keep this a secret, for his sake……

past, present, future

2007-08-19T20:54:00.000+05:30

this is my first double meaning poem on pratyahara, controlling of the senses. its very english-literature types. i hope everyone understands it-

I press my nose against the grills,
Listening to the sound the city fills
I gaze and gaze at the world ahead,
Wondering which way I will head,

The city seems like a 3-tier cake,
The chocolaty one I just baked,
The first morsel--my past,
Seemed so simple and pure,
But I didn't pay it much heed,
I just devoured,
Waiting for the second morsel--
Black and rich,
As enticing as stories on a wizard and a witch,
I head for it,
In disappointment I grumble,
It tastes as dusty as rubble...

I look forward to the next piece
Which, I resolved,
I will sit quietly and eat.
The last piece- promising and bright,
Wholesome and light....

And when I go, and reach for it
My present calls with enticing smells
Which beckons me closer and closer,
I greedily take one spicy bite,
I don't know if this is right,
But my heart and stomach aches
For THAT last piece of cake
Instead of the chutney, I just ate...
I must control my senses before it’s too late
Or I’ll enjoy neither the chutney nor the cake

second part- orange paneer

2007-06-13T13:23:00.000+05:30

“Pride

Time

Curdled milk

and orange juice

that’s what makes me unique,”

boasted Paneerange, “I shall be the main dish,

you all shall be used to decorate me, when the guest arrive tonight!,”

she said, as the bread wore his coat of marmalade, and the soft vegetables came out from their steam bath, flushed.

“you’re so little” old bread giggled, “ a whole pan of milk makes just one tiny morsel of you.” he said. “nevertheless.” Paneerange scoffed, “I shall be the main dish, dear bread, not you.”

And so, dinner was ready for that night! The samosas were fried, the curries were done, the salad was made. But, there was no sign of vain Paneerange. “She’s used as a filling IN the main dish.” Rumors flew. “No, she’s been protected by old lettuce and lady tomato, so fresh and new.” They argued.

Paneerange?

Paneerilla!

I lied

For friendship, love

Which King Mango, bless him!

Deprived me off, because of my zany tongue,

My stingy tongue, bequeathed as an orange and as my new form, Paneerange.

Come let me narrate my story today, the magician who helped me woo the king, when I couldn’t afford a ring.

She made me bathe in hot milk, tied me up till I was dry. For me every king would pry. But my tongue gave away, and here I am, in the cheese grater today.

I was destined to be cousin paneer. Everyone thinks I’m the reincarnation of saint milk, but I am or was, lady orange. Haughty lady orange, now silly paneerange. Oh! Who’ll take me as a main dish? I’m just ‘sour cheese’, merely a flavor. Alas, I’m a salad topping, just out of a rusty cheese grater.

THE END

HISTORY-

For those not so ‘poetry-genetic.’ I’ll tell you what the poem means. The poem is a ‘Fibonacci sequence’ poem. Fibonacci sequence is something like this- 1-1-2-3-5-8-13….etc [ 1+1=2, 1+2=3, that’s the way it goes!] so, there’s one word on the first line, one word on the second line, two words on the third line, three words on the fourth line….etc.

EXPERIMENT-

Molecular gastronomy involves changing one ingredient in the traditional recipe to alter its taste, fragrance, texture, etc. my experiment broaches an interesting topic in this field

As we all know, Paneer is made by squeezing lemon in hot milk till it curdles, and then tying it up with muslin cloth for a few hours. Lemon is acidic, and hence makes the Paneer go bad. Orange is acidic too! So, I used orange instead of lemon…

ATTEMPTS-

In the first attempt, like arrogant Paneerange says in the poem, the orange was squeezed in cold milk, which didn’t curdle, as only hot milk curdles quickly. ‘The orange jumped in too soon.’ This phrase is used in the poem to state this failure.

In the second attempt, I squeezed the orange juice from the fleshy orange fruit, and put the squeezed out segments into the milk too! As a result it turned out to taste like a orange fiber ball or a ‘spoilt hairy-fibred ball’ as mentioned in poem.

My third attempt was a success. I added only the orange juice [ from one orange] minus the segments to a whole pan of milk. It took a day for it to curdle, and finally, the ‘orange’ Paneer, was the size of my finger. [Note: I learnt from my mistakes!] It tasted like a ‘subtly’ ‘sour’ cheese. Now, it would take a lot of milk to make a whole cube of this orange Paneer, so I thought I would be better if we used it as a sprinkler for salads and other such dishes. Definitely a healthy alternative for cheese!

ORANGER PANEER

2007-05-01T09:54:00.000+05:30

I'm really sorry that I didn't update my blog in so many weeks, for those of you who have been waiting for a new article. I was busy with my Checkpoint Exams [Maths, Science and English] and with countless tests....

Anyway, back to the point, my science project last year was on creating a healthy, fat free cheese, which could add extra zing if sprinkled on food without add extra inches to your stomach. I made this by squeezing orange in milk to make it curdle, rather than using lemons to do so. The result was orange paneer [cottage cheese] or PANEERANGE.

I also wrote a zany fibonacci sequence poem to supplement it. A fibonacci sequence goes like 1-1-2-3-5-8 and so on....adding the numbers before, to get another number. A fibonacci sequence poem is a real challenge to a writer's ability, as there can't be a word more or less. there has to be one word on the first line, one on the second line, two on the third line, three on the fourth line and so on.....

This poem is about how Paneerange came to be. It's really long, so I'll be putting it on three continuous blog posts.....

Paneer

a.k.a

Cottage cheese

Are his names

Hails originally from north India

As we often claim, but do you know

Do you know he is made by sieving hot milk as it curdles?

Soft, fresh paneer, with gravy makes a lip-smacking curry, and eaten with Indian bread, it’s a meal no one could dread.

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Eekkks!

Yuck!

The weirdo

The orange freak

“Who’s she? Could she be….

Our sister paneer?” Asked old flabbergasted banana bread.

“what happened, I dread to think? Filthy water? An escapade from the sink?”

“Nay, old fellow, something way better” the orange freak cooed, “ I was mixed with orange juice, dude” she laughed haughtily.

And so, she began her story. “I was kept in a huge bowl.” she mooed, “ part of me was used when I was cool, and the orange, fool! Jumped into me too soon.”

“go on,” the foods cried, much to haughty paneer’s delight. “ the second part of me was a waste, thanks to old orange’s haste. Orange juice was squeezed, and the squeezed orange segment jumped in too, to wave his beloved good bye, but he only turned up, making me taste like a spoilt hairy-fibred ball!”

“Continue.” They pleaded and Paneer waited till the noise subdued.“The third time.” she bursted with pride, “I came out all right. I was heated, just like the second time. The orange juice was squeezed, and the segment stayed in his place, but, because of the fusspot, silly orange juice, who refused to make me curdle, even after I abused. A day and a half she took, then, I was sieved, and tied on a hook, and out I came, orange and little, with an unusual title, ‘Paneerange’

to be continued....

BY THE RIVER

2007-04-03T21:50:00.000+05:30

I wrote this strange article while standing on a hill overlooking a river just behind my school. I had a strange, magical feeling though most people just saw it as a dry hill and dirty river.

Clusters of dried, wild shrubs made an unruly brown carpet at my feet. Thin, thorny green vines wrapped themselves around my legs. All these seeped out of the sunburned sand in the midst of a large crocodile-jaw shaped boulder. They grabbed me tight to the place I was standing. Huge scorpion holes glistened dangerously in the sunlight. The wind gently touched my face…it was a calm, warm wind gently playing with my hair. My hair enjoyed for the first time, dancing to the winds soothing ‘whooooooo’ tunes .I was at a dangerous position…one push could send me toppling into the depths of the muddy ‘Mithii River’. But I wasn’t frightened… I knew I was being held tight by nature.

That place may have looked like a junkyard to many. But for me, it was a fairyland. I looked to my right…what I saw was odd. There was a neat cluster of trees- a big dark-green one, others had small light leaves, there were some climbers, and there were also fern-like plants. These plants didn’t seem affected by the wind. Only one huge tree rustled gently, acknowledging the wind. I also spotted an old rickety structure. It was white, and crumbling like a moldering wedding cake…there was a tiny picture of Jesus on it [ from what I remember when I came here before]…my imagination raced…what if it was a haunted house? Or perhaps secret barracks for soldiers? … Or a writers hut?….

I turned to go back! I had to explore that place! The thorny stems recoiled to there original place… threateningly. The wild shrubs turned there heads away with the wind… the wind needled me… millions of tiny, hot pins were poking my delicate legs… dust gathered in huge whirlpools, irritating my eyes. I blinked… nature was angry with me… I had shown them that I was another human, interested in exploring some man-made structure rather then seeing what they wanted to show me. “I’m sorry,” I pleaded. The hot wind seemed to make me turn and face a huge stone. It GREW on another hill. It was roughly shaped like a serpents head. “Wow!” I exclaimed, “Now that’s a wonder!” I smiled as I followed my boisterous class inside. The wind blew again… and I thought I saw the rock swaying gently…

YOU'RE FAT!

2007-03-23T16:43:00.000+05:30

This issue has been troubling me for the past few years. In this generation, you're simply not allowed to eat properly or have even a centimeter of flesh around your stomach. If you do, you aren't considered healthy. Nope, you're simply labeled into the group of 'fat hippos' or 'bull-dozers'.

Instead, if you are painfully anorexic, ie, if your ribcage, backbone slump under the weight of hardly any skin to drape it, if your cheeks sink into your face like two craters, *congratulations* you're 'sexy'!

We're only fourteen, not yet crossed our adolescence and here we are, critisizing each other's shape, tell each other to pull down to 'magically morph into a better induvidual'. However, TRY being kind, sweet, understanding, sharp, intelligent, broad-minded and then move on to being'sexy' for the next three fourth of your life. I don't consider being awfully skinny a good quality, nor to I consider having a waist size 30, something to be ashamed of.
I eat healthy and exercise regularly. I'm happy with the way I look, however, many people just can't see me being confindent with myself. If I slim down by 10 kgs, like a few tell me to, then I'll have to go crawling to school. I'll been scrawny and shriveled, worse than a dead plant!

So, my definition of looking good is- smile, maintain a good hygiene, walk confidently and always remember -your thoughts reflect on your face. Like Roald Dahl said in 'The Twits'. -
"If a person has ugly thoughts, it begins to show on the face. And when that person has ugly thoughts every day, every week, every year, the face gets uglier and uglier until it gets so ugly you can hardly bear to look at it. A person who has good thoughts cannot ever be ugly. You can have a wonky nose and a crooked mouth and a double chin and stick-out teeth, but if you have good thoughts they will shine out of your face like sunbeams and you will always look lovely."

Trust yourself and your capabilities. You can look 'sexy' even if you are plump. Because, to look 'sexy' you have to look good and you can look good if you are kind. Or else, no amount of cosmetics can cover your internal ugliness. You are not at a disadvantage if people are slimmer than you, so don't let people make you believe that you are. Most of those 'sexy chicks in school' starve themselves to death to 'maintain themselves'. Don't ever try that!
If Barbie was a real woman, she'd have to walk on her fours, as her body is not proportionate . So, be healthy rather than anorexic. Remember, you're NOT competing with Aishwarya Rai.

Just imagine life without food- bland, boring and bare! Why does everyone earn? To have money for food, to survive. If they don't eat, then whats the point!

A sci-fi poem

2007-03-13T17:20:00.000+05:30

this is a sci-fi poem about a molecule of potassium and chlorine, which i wrote a year ago to jazz up my science project. sadly, my teacher didn't understand it!

Young, handsome Potassium and daring, outgoing Chlorine made quite a pair,
Historian and actor respectively, they had lots of love to spare
Once, lady Chlorine, looked quite forlorn,
She wondered that if her success went
Would her love too be gone?

Old lady Zinc put her at ease
She gave her a magical potion
“Put two drops in his tea
and then tadaa!
The magic you will see”
Now before we proceed
Let me make it quite clear
The magic potion, given to chlorine
Was a one every unfaithful romeo fears
Just two drops of this
could spill out secrets…..

So off lady Chlorine went,
to her love’s house
she wondered if he would be,
her suitable spouse
then, slyly she,
put the potion in his tea
and when, the tea he drank
up from his seat he sprang
and confessed his deep love.

“Oh Potash” she gave a cry
"it was I
Who put a potion in your drink
Just to hear, what you think
and now, I’m ready to become
Potassium chloride.
I took this test, only for to see,
If you would really faithful be
And now I know that this is true...."

said potassium gently, " now I give my ‘Electron’, to you."

he loses his electron [heart] to her. potassium's valency is +1 [it loses an electron and thus gets a positive charge, remember?]

FAIR AND LOVELY? DARK AND UGLY?

2007-03-01T18:13:00.000+05:30

I wrote this article around two years ago because I was really angry with those fair and lovely ads and one of my classmates who said, "shut up, i'm an aryan, you're a dravadian. we chased you to south india. i'm far more superior to you because i'm white and you're dark."

when I read my article today, I thought it was really sweet. I liked my strong opinion of things then, which shows that I'm growing up to have a mind of my own. This usually gets me into fights with my dad who thinks I don't listen to or respect of other people's opinions. well, I do listen to, and respect opinions from others, but that doesn't mean I have to agree to what the majority think or what he thinks [ his idea of respecting opinions is agreeing with them]. like I said I have a mind of my own........

My name is Rheaa Rao. I’m an eleven year old girl studying at Dhirubhai Ambani International School. The article you are reading now is not about me. It is about my biggest problem, people differentiating between skin colours. Always favoring the white and pushing the dark skinned to a corner and making them feel humiliated.

All ads about beauty creams have the same irritating, unfair saga. A dark skinned lady applies for the airhostess post, they reject her because she is dark skinned, a few days later she puts a cream and becomes fair, she goes for her job interview and men jump out of their pants of awe and immediately give her a job. Are these ads trying to say that fair is lovely and dark is ugly, aren’t dark people beautiful or handsome, aren’t the fair skinned ugly?

Why are dark-skinned always meant to be felt small, and of a low caste? And why are the white meant to feel big, handsome and superior? Is it because the British who took over us were fair skinned? Is it because the white were the Aryans who overthrew the Dasus or dark skinned people and pushed them to South India? And what are they called now? South Indians. People mimic the way South Indians talk, but I think they speak good English; they only have an accent that’s Indian and that’s perfectly fine. But what about the Americans? They speak terrible English and mispronounce every word because of their scrawny, airy accent. But they aren’t mocked; they are followed just because they are ‘white’.

White means heaven, white is pure, clean, superior and black is shown as dirt, scum, filth, dust, devil. That isn’t fair.
In addition I don’t think that the ads should put wrong things in people’s heads. They show a dark skinned girl as a poor girl, with a sweaty face, and icky oily skin, dirty teeth and grime, they make the audience feel revolted and swear that they will never give a job opportunity to any dark- skinned person. Then comes the magic cream, she undergoes the change; they show her coming as a fair skinned person, with lovely soft pink and white skin and pearly teeth and lovely clothes and dainty heels and a beautiful smile. It makes everyone want to abandon their teddy bear and cuddle her instead. I don’t think creams should be made to make a dark skinned person a white-showy one; they should instead be made to improve the complexion.

We are Indians, come on, we are dark skinned, that’s our original skin colour, we will earn nothing following the West and behaving like them. Development and progress is good, but on the account of totally trying to cut yourself from your roots; forcibly putting on an accent and desperately trying those useless creams to turn 'FAIR AND LOVELY'.

Come on, we have our own riches, our country, our ways of dressing, behaving, talking, reacting, we have our special Indian accent, our own slang, our own unique personality and most of all, our skin colour. I’m dark skinned, but I don’t care, I’m feel beautiful and intelligent and I’m proud to say I’m a South Indian.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Adding to this, look at all the sucessful actors and actresses, Kajol, Bipasha, Rani Mukerjee, Ajay Devgan, Arshad Warsi, Johnny Liver, to name a few, who are dark skinned, but very good at their jobs [ and sucessful too]

We're learning 'Roll of Thunder, Hear my cry', by Mildred D. Taylor which talks about a coloured child, Cassie's trials and tribulations in a white dominated society. its a really sad book, with lots of gory scenes and sad truths, taught to tell us spoilt brats how safe and privileged we are in our society compared to the Logans [Cassie and her family].
A must read for all you folks who liked this article.

ATTACK !!

2007-02-09T21:22:00.000+05:30

I wrote this story about a year ago. Its about an anthill that exists as a whole new world of its own....

If you ever visit Sanjay Gandhi National Park, you will see rows of ant hills, each with their own unique characteristics. One such anthill was a beautifully designed one. It was like a spiral cone, so the rain drops will just slide by. It was red and green in patches which made it look very artistic, like it was covered with mosaic from head to toe [the secret was fresh and dry leaves carefully stuck on mud and cemented with wet sand.] The ant hill had twelve gates. Six for coming in and six for going out.

The queen of this wonderful palace - like anthill was a systematic ant. She was an ant of many interests. She was a master in interior designing and architecture and the mother for more than one lakh ants, each of them very well bred. The anthill extended more than twenty feet below the ground. This place was used to park their leaves. Each ant had their own leaf to help them get out during the floods. They also stored their supplies for the winter here . Heaps and pile of sugar, bread pieces, snake skin with salt [ methods of preserving] and many other wonders lay there. It was kept a strict eye on, by the Food Department, that was in charge of all the administration [ in matters of food] in the ant-hill.

The upper part of the anthill were filled with tiny houses. A special section for the soldiers, a special one for the workers. The queen ant who lived on the top with her princesses [ tenth set of eggs], sent out instructions through her special scent to the organs of her anthill, [like the brain]. Also there was a small room called the radio department where different channels were broadcasted and would reach any ant, as long as his/her antennas were straightened. The ants were allowed to listen to the radio only before bedtime and during the afternoon. There was also a small party area for the ants [ usually used for the little princesses birthdays]. This whole anthill was like a miniature world.

One day there was an unusual excitement in the anthill. At two a clock, just after the show, ‘ Recipe-o-ant’, [sponsored by the food department] the news channel, ‘ Ant news’ reported that there was a golden creature just five inches away from the ant hill. It had a strange face, with two hands stuck on it. It had twelve –thirteen bruise marks on it’s face. It was injured as it lies motionlessly still and that this was the best opportunity to attack, before the other ants grab it.”

All the ants in the anthill listened intently. The soldiers were all ready to attack. The chef ants put on their caps and got out their vessels. The food department remained alert. How wonderful it would be to have this creature for lunch! They had eaten snake tarts, elephant meat, rat soup, now they were waiting to taste this new dish. It sounded lip smacking. All of them waited for the queens instructions. But the queen climbed to the top of the anthill, looking at the gory scene. The soldier ants from every anthill [ but hers] were fighting for the creature. She sighed. She knew, just when her children described it to her, that it was a golden watch. This war was a complete waste!

In the mean while all her subjects sat as still waiting for her voice. She told them the news. There was a nasty silence….. and then a hearty laugh. A golden watch! Imagine eating that! Soon everything came back to normal. The anthill was buzzing with work again, and then, just before tea, the workers brought in…. snake tarts… yumm! What a feast they had.

an ad about the effects of drug abuse

2007-01-28T12:37:00.000+05:30

We are learning about 'DRUG ABUSE' in school as a part of biology. we were asked to make a small pamphlet on drug abuse. here's the zany ad i wrote. i also stuck a picture of a beam balance saying 'LIFE OR DRUGS- YOU CHOOSE' with 'life' on one balance and 'drugs' on the other. i also included a quote by Charles Munger from 'Poor Charlies Almanac', one of the richest men in the world.

P.S- the final result was a lot more colourful!

Flash backs , Crashes of anxiety , fatigue, depression, aroused sexual activity leading to the risk of Aids and Hepatitis, bad, mood and performance , marital problems, disruption, crimes, violence , threats, debts to cover up illegal acts, loss of control, highway deaths, suicides……………………………………………...

Are entertaining when seen in K serials!

But these same scenes can ruin your life… for if you become a juvenile offender in drug abuse…there’ll be no one to cry at your fate except yourself…

So don’t use your hands to take in drugs…use them to write ‘drug abuse awareness’ pamphlets and discourage other teens to from using drugs instead.

“While susceptibility varies, addiction can happen to any of us through a subtle process where the bonds of degradation are too light to be felt until they are too strong to be broken. And I have yet to meet anyone in over six decades of life, whose life was worsened by fear and avoidance of such a deceptive pathway to destruction.”
- Charles T. Munger
(One of the richest men in the world)

Life without drugs will give you a new ‘high’

Flash Fiction- THE MESSAGE

2007-01-28T12:31:00.000+05:30

Flash Fiction (also called micro-fiction or short-shorts) presents a simple challenge: tell a story with all the classical elements: a beginning, middle and end, a conflict and resolution, a credible protagonist.. but do so in a very limited number of words. the theme is message and i'm sending it to the Kala Ghoda festival. this is the first time i'm experimenting with flash fiction. the story is ambiguous and strange [ its meant to be]. enjoy!

His floppy ears cocked at the sight of the venomous monster. It made raucous ‘clink!’ noises and flashed its sharp, distorted teeth as it rode past him. A young lad with scruffy hair and dark, flaky skin rode it, with a large bundle flung across his shoulders.
Hari gave the monster a cursory glance and shrunk into his master’s shadow. They were coming for him… the same monster, shadowy lad, heavy bundle…exactly like the ones in lizard-lore…. Another death…. today would be his last night…
A sausagey figure with what looked like cigarette stubs for legs darted towards him. “It’s them!” Hari whimpered. “Run, Tango! They’ve come to get me…or you!”

“Ah!” snorted Tango, with a wild, playful look in his eyes. “I’ve lived two years of my life like a king. I need some challenges. I want to be a human next birth.” he added with a wag, “If you’re troubled, contact the B.O.N.E. for protection!”

“Yeah!,” said Hari, still looking a little troubled. Tango didn’t believe in lizard-lore, so he took the whole situation lightly. And there was Mumbai, brimming with them, those ‘Mauthwallas’! To people it simply looked like a laundry boy on his cycle. But they were monsters. They brought bundles of clothes starched with death and pain. They rang an odd bell on the porch of their next prey….

His master was hapless too. He wouldn’t be able to protect himself from these ‘Mauthwallas’. Hari struggled to communicate this message, but all he could do was cock his ears, twist his tongue and dart home, dragging his master behind him.

“We must try to avoid those cycles, or this dog will never walk properly.” His mistress mumbled.

Hari blinked at his owners and gave them a satisfied sigh. He had managed to convey his message!

PANCHAM PURIWALLA

2006-12-22T10:55:00.000+05:30

My mom and I have this queer collection of newspaper articles- important news, fun tidbits, zany ads, webpages and the best of our collection…reviews by food critics. Not five-star restaurants, but local ones, dabbas, old, quaint ones. We hardly visit five-star restaurants as they’re pricey and the food hardly fills quarter of our stomach [terrible for me because I’m a real glutton]

This review is of an old restaurant, called Pancham Puriwalla. It was a famous stall serving puri-bhaji about a century ago and was made into a proper restaurant much later….

We were hot and sweaty from that tiresome train ride. We were tightly packed like cola-cans in a crate. There was hardly any place to move! There were some old ladies selling their wares who were sitting at the mouth of the entrance. People entering the train kept tripping over them and falling on us.
We got down at V.T [ the last stop] and walked down to Pancham Puriwalla, peering at the dog-eared newspaper article about it for directions. A huge, rusty sign-board at the bend of the road caught our eye. There it was! teeming with men running about with red towels on their shoulders. Oh...You should have seen the place... I immediately rated it zero on ambience. It wasn’t well maintained. Old chairs and tables were strewn around the place. The place was as crowded as the train compartment.

“Errmmm” my mom cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable at the sight. One of the waiters, with a huge belly guided us up to the first floor. “There’s place here.” he explained. The first floor was not bad, [except for some sort of dicey looking, gigantic machine protruding from the wall] so, we took a seat, feeling somewhat relieved.

We were given a choice between three sorts of puris- plain, one filled with potato, another filled with a green vegetable; and three sorts of curries- potato curry with different vegetables to complement it. My mom chose the one with the least fat in it, and I did exactly the opposite. You can afford to go overboard sometimes. I mean, what’s life without food!

Within two minutes, our order arrived along with an additional bowl of two sorts of dal and a bowl of curds [each.] Those kind folks thought we were food critics or journalists [Yes! We do look like those crazy, adventurous sorts.] They even offered us their special pickle- one with whole mirchis [green chillies] with a tikka [spicy] coating over it. Hmmmmm….this was the best and most wholesome meal I’ve ever had in a restaurant. They deserved hundred points for the food and the quick service. The puris were huge, crisp and warm and the curries were the tastiest ever made. There was a perfect blend of spices and the right amount of salt, quite satiating for a glutton. And for dessert…. We had a super huge glass of fresh lassi [butter-milk.]

I was so full by then; I thought I could roll down the steps.And believe it or not, the whole meal for the two of us came within forty bucks! Promising them that I would write a review, I left the place with good memories and a full stomach.

THE GIBBERING GRANNY

2006-12-21T13:39:00.000+05:30

We were learning this 'hinglish' poem called 'A Farewell Party for Miss Puspa T.S.' two years ago, when we are asked to attempt a 'hinglish' poem ourselves. I wrote one about my grandmother [ajji], though she never attempts to speak in english [ her hindi is atrocious enough.] However she does pronounce 'skipping' as 'SPIKKING' and 'coca-cola' 'CHOCOCO LA'

Some instances, like the serious blunders she makes while calling the shopkeeper is translated from her conversations in Hindi. Through most of the poem, I've tried to imagine what blunders she'd make if she attempted to skep, I mean speak, english.

I'm not really proud of the poem. I wrote it two years ago and it seems very childish to me now. Nevertheless, read on....

P.S. I'd like to thank Ajji for taking this in good spirits....

“ONLY SLEEPING AND READING, EATING NOT COOKING,
RHEAA DARLING, WHEN YOU DOING YOUR SPIKKING?”
“READING BOOKS LIKE RAMAYANNA
AND AMAR CHITRA KATHA [ACTS PROUD]
RHEAA WOULD YOU LIKE CHOCOCO LA?”

“COULD YOU DO ME A FAVOUR?
TAKE IT, PLEASE OUT OF THE MICROWAY
THEN WE CAN ALL EAT THE CAGE.
GOOD, NOW KEEP THREE PLATES, TABLE,
DON’T DWEDDLE, BE ESTABLE.”

“BABY, SOME GUESTS ARE COMING, TAP, TAP [ON MY SHOULDER]
CAN YOU ORDER THE KATRI FROM THE SHOP?
OK,OK FINE, FINE , BUSY NO? CALLING MYSELF, NO TENSION,

“ HELLO, YES, I WANT A PACKET OF CHISPS, BEHIND, THREE PACKETS OF BUISUITS, BEHIND, PEDAS, IN PUSPA BHUVAN, 168, COLABA WEST, ROOM NO. TWO, FLOUR? COME UP WITH THE STUFF AND THEN I’LL GIVE FLOUR”

“ RHEAA DARLING, FOOD NOT COME YET,
WILL YOU HELP ME RULE THE LADOOS?”

NAMASTE, MR AND MRS. LOVEORWISHY, LETS SIT IN THE HOLE.
OH YES, FORGOT, THIS IS MY GRANDDAUGHTER,
EATING YOU FINISHED?
YOU KNOW, SHE LIKE ME,
SKEPING VERY GOOD ENGLISH.

JINGOIST JUICE

2006-12-21T11:00:00.000+05:30

I despise boringly written projects, so, i try my best to spice up mine. we were given a project [we had to work in pairs] for which my partner and me had to write about patriotism. so... we came up with a juice...JINGOIST JUICE... that gives you a zing of patriotism.... here's the idea.

JINGOIST JUICE-
BECAUSE YOUR COUNTRY
NEEDS PATRIOTS LIKE YOU!

Jingoist Juice was made by Aishwarya Gupta and Rheaa Rao in the year 2005. It gives you a positive zing of patriotism. Jingoist juice is made of only the best willpower, determination, strength, sense to identify between what’s right and wrong and of course alertness which you need to be patriotic. Patriotism doesn’t just mean about behaving violently to protect your country but also about analyzing and solving the problems your country is facing.

Contents-

Fats- 0.03 mg
Proteins- 23.45 mg
Carbohydrates- 0.00 mg
Vitamins- 0.3 mg
Will power- 65 mg
Determination- 64 mg
Strength- 25 mg
Alertness- 55 mg
Sense- 50 mg

This bottle contains one litre of the juice.
One sip every week will give you the ability to speak beautifully and meaningfully about patriotism. [ popular during elections]
Two sips every week will give you the abitlity to fight for your country
[ in case of wars]

So hurry! Be the next Bhagat Singh or Jawaharlal Nehru.

HARI ( my two year old adorable pup)

2006-12-21T10:46:00.000+05:30

"Groan!" all my friends would say when they visit my blog. "Hari is the only thing you can talk about!" [ my exasperated bus friends have threatened to beat me up if I continue to talk about him.]

But, since I have no sibling and I'm still a child with a lot of imagination, Hari is my only companion at home. He seldom barks. He emotes only with his expressions. His ears cock up, his eyes become small, emphasizing his huge, wet, billowing nose. yes! he's quite, but he seems to say a lot, and believe me, its fun making up dialogues for poor Hari when he's busy making funny faces. Then, again, he'd be awfully annoying if he knew how to speak [ more annoying and idiotic than he already is, that is]

Anyway, the short story you'll read bellow is the shortest thing Ive ever written about Hari. Its good those competition holders set a word limit, or else me and the other dog lunatics could have gone on and on....

“Butter eyes, brownie skin, chocolate nose” is what I call him sometimes. His eyes are gleaming black and they shiver like soft butter hit by cyclone when anyone leaves. He stands with his soft golden- brown hair held tightly in a small tuft at the center of his chest; his black- chocolate nose billowed with pain and anguish as you dart towards the exit. That’s my two year old pup Hari, a total joker. He slips, slides and pulls the very cloth he’s standing on! He is a sight for sore eyes.

He’s a thief. He’ll steal anything from onions to undergarments and give it back in exchange for biscuits and kisses.

Once, he jumped up and snatched a cricket ball from a few panic-stricken boys. He strutted all over Sion with it, in great pride! He proudly marked his territory [peed] with the ball still in his mouth. He looked so comfortable with it, that a few stopped to stare at him, wondering if that ‘thing’ in his mouth was some sort of abnormal growth!

He then sniffed around to find a dry spot to poo [incidentally, he found one near the gates of a very posh building]. We finally got the upper hand; we realized that the poor boy would break his teeth if he held the ball firmly while applying pressure. He realized that too and… gave up!

I gave him a sly glace and grabbed the ball from near his feet. I threw it back at the boys, who were too tempted to throw it at Hari again and see his reaction…and they did! They never saw their ball again!

LOST LENSES......

2006-12-21T10:40:00.000+05:30

This is a love story, but not an old, soppy, ordinary one. it involves a pair of lenses, a very proud crazy ball, a drain and an old mansion. I wrote this about 6 months back.....

Oh! The excitement when I was first put into my mistress’s eye. I was placed on the tip of her finger, and I immediately melted into a great, scary, black ball. My twin sister, Gitanjali, however, hesitated, toppled twice; and tested our owner’s patience to the maximum flexibility.

I’m sixteen now [a week old in the human world], I’m pretty, mature and strong [and adamant] I’m quite content with the eye and the spa [lens box] I’m kept in. I feast on pretty sights and lens solution [a delightful drink for lenses to beat the heat.] But one thing has changed my life forever. On Friday, my mistress was attending her classes, [Gitanjali and me are respected and praised there], when a small blue-green crazy ball hit her nose. She looked angry and humiliated when everyone laughed at her. Her nose became bulbous, like a male crocodile. Everyone laughed…except me. I was in love with this handsome crazy-ball! There was something about his speed, his confidence, his style that mesmerized me. The life that I was content with, now seemed fruitless and boring.

I uneasily shifted to corner. The eye watered, “ What do you think you are doing, miss? Barked the eyeball, “ Not once has your sister failed to perform her duty! And you? Don’t you have concern for your mistress?” he scolded me.
“Like hot fudge on a sundae, like dew on the rose petals so bright, I pine for my love, my handsome lord” I said, romantically.
“ And, who, I pray, is your love?” he asked, mockingly.
“ Dressed in blue and green armor, he hit our mistress gallantly, just a few minutes ago”
“ Gallantly? As if he was defending a nation! Gallantly! Huh! He was very haughty, and I suggest that you pay attention to your work, rather than pining for that idiot.”
I fell silent. There was no use of arguing with that stupidly stubborn eyeball, I thought. He is wrong and I am right! I went back to work, secretly resolving to run away tonight. I twinkled in excitement for the whole evening, though I was aware that it was troubling my mistress, who kept dabbing her eye every five minutes.
9:00 pm- dinner was done with, 10:00pm- I was going to be put in the spa. I impatiently moved from my place, I couldn’t wait THAT long! I took a deep breath… held on to the eyelashes and slowly crept out of my mistress’s eye and fell on to the floor. I moved slowly…if I were caught sneaking out, I would be put back into the lens box, for a few more tiring weeks. I floated on the smooth floor… oh! It was wonderful to be FREE! I hesitantly slipped down the drain…I had to go through a lot of tests to reach my true love!

The drain was dark, and hollow. It was stinking to the high seas. There was a very tiny outlet for me to get out. I saw a great finger feeling for me. Equipped with a torch and a frown, my mistress and her family searched for me, but in vain. I slid down the dirty pipe. “Aaagh” I screamed seeing a shimmery thing floating in the dirty water.
A pair of friendly eyes stared at me, “Hello, I’m Jahraan, who are you?”
“An-jali” I whispered, “Have you come in search of me?”
“ Great heavens, no!” he said, “I’m a runaway lens, like you. I’ve been living here for a long time. But, where are you off too, Anjali?”
I told him that I was trying to search for a drain leading to the first floor in Darbangha Mansion, to meet my love.
“I can take you there. I’m familiar with all the routes in this drain,” he said. He took me to my destination. Through the way we came across many perils, but he pulled me out of them. He saved me from a pair of grubby worms, a sharp needle and carried me across when the waters were very murky. Within a day I reached the abode of my love. “There you go,” he said sadly, helping me get out of the drain. “Thank you,” I said, delighted.

The rest was very easy. I slipped across many bathrooms and bedrooms, and there he was! My love! Bouncing up and down. I made my way towards him, ready to confess my love. He didn’t make an effort to stop; he just bounced over me to the other room. Attention seeking brat! I thought, but followed him nevertheless.

“My sweet love. My dear pretty one! I cannot say how much I love you. Do you love me, my dear?” he said. I was filled with happiness. Just then, a green marble rolled towards him, trampling me. “Oh! Yes my lord, I love you. But, if you want to be with me forever, you must roll, like me, and not bounce like an overexcited rabbit” she laughed, moving close to him. They moved away happily.

I felt lost, and empty. The eyeball was right. He was not worthy of my love. I couldn’t go back to my mistress, she wouldn’t recognize me. I made my way down the drain, reluctantly “ Hello” a very familiar voice said, “ Did you find him?” It was Jahraan! I told him my story. “What are you doing here?” I asked him, inquisitively. “ I just wanted to say, that… I love you,” he said, blushing. I looked at him, with joy. I felt a deep attachment towards him. My true friend… he was my soulmate…my true love. I gave him a tight hug. We lived together for many years, exploring new drains, new houses, living independently. I realized that everyone has a soulmate, but just doesn’t recognize him/her. The crazy ball loved the lady marble, and she loved him back. If it hadn’t been for him…if he hadn’t rejected me, I would have never found my true love…

Howdy folks...

2006-12-21T10:29:00.000+05:30

Hiii... This is Rheaa Rao, the Emperess of Gibberish and Gab. Here you'll meet my noble subjects, an assortment of odd animals, wierd people, an idiotic dog [HARI!] and several queer abstract things [lenses, numbers] brought to life in my kingdom, each with their own thrilling tale to tell. Travel to faraway camps in crammed trains, visit resteraunts through my reviews and explore strange worlds with my subjects. Of course post in your own comments too.
ENJOY.....

-tolerable,tolkien-like teen

RHEAA RAO