An 'ode' to a wonderful mood, though not literally...I just cannot be poetic *sigh*

The mood is festive. And I guess, as with everybody else, I am so happy... it's that I believe I can fly feeling. Especially the sight of the stores opposite my place. Besides being lit up like Christmas trees, they are decked as prettily with mounds of chcocolate boxes, fancily tied boxes of Danish cookies, Munchinis and what not.

All of this put together, even the biggest of stories that I have to churn out have not been able to make me feel put out.

So I think I dreamt this happy dream today morning. I was strolling on a beach with my friends and soaking in the sounds and sights. I can still hear the gushing sound of the waves. And then add to it, that it had the people I love in it. There were my parents asking me where I was headed to each time I left the house, and my friends of course with whom I checked out the flea market on the beach. Oh I wish it was for real.

I put on some Billy Joel numbers after I woke up. This particular number is my song for the day:


She can kill with a smile, she can wound with her eyes
She can ruin your faith with her casual lies
And she only reveals what she wants you to see
She hides like a child, but she's always a woman to me
She can lead you to love, she can take you or leave you
She can ask for the truth, but she'll never believe
And she'll take what you give her as long it's free
Yeah, she steals like a thief, but she's always a woman to me

Ohhh... she takes care of herself
She can wait if she wants, she's ahead of her time
Ohhh... and she never gives out
And she never gives in, she just changes her mind

And she'll promise you more than the garden of Eden
Then she'll carelessly cut you and laugh while you're bleeding
But she?ll bring out the best and the worst you can be
Blame it all on yourself 'cause she's always a woman to me

She's frequently kind and she's suddenly cruel
She can do as she pleases, she's nobody's fool
And she can't be convicted, she's earned her degree
And the most she will do is throw shadows at you,
But she's always a woman to me...

Die zarteste Versuchung, seit es Schokolade gibt

Now if you can make out any of that part, kudos to you...Of course you can make out the Schokolade part, so you do get that pat on the back;) It's just what I saw inscribed on a beautiful lavender coloured pack of milk chocolates, Milka Alpenmilch, that my colleague S has just got from her sojourn to Germany.







So you can guess as much that while I am writing this, I am happily nibbling on that, another milk chocolate bar Cote D'Or and a really fat bar of dark chocolate that S had got from her Switzerland visit. Right now she told me she has sneaked the last one out from her husband's bag of dark chocolates.

I love this feeling...

And this feeling is not rare for me these days I guess. Which is good. Yesterday at the launch of the Longines Belle Arti watch by Aishwarya. Apart from a spread of Indian and Continental spread, which was excellent considering it was at the Maurya, the chocolate mousse was heavenly and truly to die for. So of course, I was greedy and had two huge servings of it.













There were also platters of different kinds of cheese. I could only identify the blue cheese, a pressed cheese which was quite hard and dry, a stinky cheese with a hard red rind. I only wish I knew the names.

What do you do when you are feeling strangely restless? Do you do as I do? And blog...

A relaxed holiday at home seems to do much harm to me. I just don't feel like getting used to work again. It's been almost a week, but I still look back and see how nice it feels to do nothing -- wake up, gorge on chocolate macaroon tarts, mocha biscuits, loiter around the house, sink into the couch, watch the telly mindlessly, cycle in the evening or spend hours chatting with friends in the nearest mall and sleep. And not to mention the time spent talking with or rather explaining to parents what kind of a guy I want to marry. I think it is the hardest job on earth to do. Like how do you explain the notion of vibes to your mother who seems to think that a nice job profile and a nice family should be the focus.

To that extent, a 'nice' guy and his family -- mother, father and sister -- came to see me at our pujo bari. I was furious. I couldn't help the fact that I felt painfully shy. So I did something very funny. I kept running away from them. Wherever they appeared, I disappeared. My father tried his best to get me to chat with them, but he couldn't insist at the cost of making it obvious to my relatives. So I took full advantage of the fact.

At the end of it, I was obliged to see them off, when all I did was just smile and smile at the mother. And then I was told that I had to meet the parents and the guy again. I informed my dad very coolly that he was welcome to chat with the guy and his family, but I would not be there. Now, my mother surprised me with her reaction. She scolded my dad: "Hasn't she said clearly that she wouldn't like to meet the family again? Is my daughter some vegetable that she has to be exhibited?" So she made my dad call up the parents and tell them that they could meet me later only if I liked the guy after meeting him for coffee.

I met guy A. He was nice and I felt completely at ease with him. Only I couldn't see myself married to him. In the course of the evening, I even tried to link him up with someone else. I think he was a bit taken aback as he was by the fact that I was completely at variance with his first impression of me. He had seen a snap of mine that belongs to my high school days. So the present me quite confounded him. Plus it was a shy AB that he had seen running away from him at the pujo bari. And here I was frankly talking to him nineteen-to-a-dozen. At the end of it, he told me that he liked me but he would like to keep in touch before saying anything final about it to his folks. I was hugely relieved. I wanted to tell him then and there itself that somehow it would n't work. But like a coward I kept shut because I couldn't imagine being hurtful.

At home my parents were happy and I think immensely relieved that I liked guy A. But then at the end of an extended conversation, my mother realised that it wasn't going anywhere. So she made sure that my dad never called the guy's parents back. Neither did the guy. He and his folks were waiting for some word from my folks. I wanted to fix him up with a college friend of mine. But I guess it wouldn't have done.

Then there was guy B. His father called up and told my mother: "My son is going near your place to meet a girl. Can he see yours?" I couldn't believe at the lack of tact on his part. It turned out to be a blessing however that I didn't have to meet guy B. He apparently fell sick the day we were supposed to meet. He mailed me his details and the photographs quite reminded my colleague of the primitive man.

Anyway, I got a lecture from some people who insisted that I should not care for looks. It didn't feel nice considering the fact that I am sure that had the same people been told to make their daughters marry such a guy, they would have blenched at the prospect. One asked me: "How come you don't meet guys on your own?" When I said: "Oh I do. But somehow I don't feel anything." Immediately this other person popped in and said something so rude and with such a weird expression on her face that I was quite speechless. She put in: "You know guys may also not like you. They might find you primitive too!"

Even my mother can be biting at time with her comments. She likes to put me down and say really hilarious things. She is my mother however. And I entitle her to say anything she pleases to.

But I must say this that I have really buffed my parents well. They are cool with whatever I say nowadays. Only while I was leaving home, my mother said: "I wonder how many more interviews my daughter will take!"

After such experiences, I have decided to give up on being married at all. I just saw this quote the other day that completely summed up what I feel about the institution of marriage. That you don't marry someone you can live with, you marry the person who you cannot live without.

Here's to some wishful attempts

Jobless again. The feeling is unusual but hey I am not complaining! It's almost setting a pre holiday mood. I am going home for the Pujas as always. And I can feel it in the air. Here though sadly I can't see the kaash phool which I get to see in some of the parks and empty plots in Calcutta.

I have rediscovered the joys of sketching. Not that I was ever an artist. My father tried his best since he and my aunts are very good artists. So he used to make sit with a drawing book and divide a page into grids. Then he would try to make me draw portraits. The first one he made me try was Rabindranath Tagore! Can you imagine poor me trying her best to capture the poet on paper? Well, I never managed to. Finally after a few attempts my father decided to accept defeat at my ineptitude to make use of my artistic genes. I never had any I guess. But I was so bored yesterday after my long conversation with Essar and VK, that I decided to try my hand at sketching.

And I thought I could find some parallels in real life. I see Essar in Jon and VK in Garfield:0)

I think I have a few Odies in my life. Not half as odiously cute.


Oh the face of Garfield here is so me!

I can only identify a few of them with my friends. Colleague CP is as dumb as Thomson and as cute. The hermit next to Thomson was pointed out to by a friend and he said, "So this is what you look like when you are angry ha?!!!" The rest will take time it seems, while I have to get back to my stories. But this was a nice distraction...

Let's tag you

Since I am pretty jobless at the moment, here's a response to Essar's tag.

I am thinking about........
opening a shack. If only I could come up with a plan to lure a venture capitalist into parting with some dough. I have the name of the shack as well a theme. Of course t is going to be in Goa. So if any of you are interested in sponsoring a shack, do let me know.

I said.............
yes to two partners for the shack.

I refuse...
to toe the line.

I want to....
get married without any rituals or anything on an island. Cyprus.

I wish.....
I could go back to my school days, not for anything else (certainly not the studies), but the lovely friendship I shared with AM and SK. Those morning walks to the Central Park from where we used to come back to my home in a rickshaw and then collapse on the sofa while my mother had hot pakoras and chilled orange juice ready for us. After a short snooze, AM and Sk would leave for home. And the evenings when we used to hang out at Scoop. Those were the days.

I hear.....
Let me say that I try to avoid hearing anything most of the time. Nine out of ten times you will find me with the headphones plugged in.

I wonder...
What is up with SK. Is she happy with her husband? There's no way of finding that out it seems.
I regret....
oh so many things. Most of all I regret my impulsiveness. There have been so situations I have wanted to undo -- situations that were a direct outcome out of my impulsiveness.

I am...
a dreamer, impulsive and lazy.

I dance...
to anything in particular. But not trance. Somehow I can't figure out how to sway to it. And I love shaking it especially when I am high. The last time I really got drunk and danced like a crazed person was at a party thrown by my erstwhile newspaper. Oh was it fun!

I sing...
Breathless by The Corrs. I love the feel of it.

I cry....
once in a while. When I am feeling real blue. But then again, I do let those fat tears roll down -- when I am watching a film. I can't seem to stop myself:) And I remember that crying used to be a part of my life when I was with my previous office. I would rush to the loo every day after my senior had a go at me and after I returned my boss would ask me what was wrong. He would actually counsel me and say that I had to take care of myself since I was on my own in the city. At times like those he could be nice.

I am not always....
finicky. There are some things like a cluttered room, badly handled books and an unlean loo though that can raise my hackles considerably.

I make with my hands....
salads and veggy dishes, mostly to sustain myself. But I must say this for cooking, that it is a great way of destressing. On days when I feel very tired, I need to chop onions, beans and let the smell of garlic soak into my senses to feel better.

I write...
for a livelihood. And I quite like it except at times when I am feeling particularly jaded or have to come up with story ideas. I want to throw all of it then and poof! just disappear.

I confuse...
places when I am home. I don't know how I do it considering I have lived most of my life in Calcutta. I think I know Delhi better. Wonder whether that says much;)

I need...
a corkscrew. To open a bottle of Zinfandel and Chenin Blanc that are tucked into one end of a rack merely because I don't have a corkscrew. The last time I tried to pry the cork of one loose with a knife, a huge portion of it landed plop on my lap.

Nothing like a tag to bide time. Are any of you as jobless as me at the moment?

Why Do We Keep Strangling Life/ Wound This Earth/ Crucify Its Soul/ Though It's Plain To See/ This World Is Heavenly

The airlines which I applied to is getting on my nerves by the day. They keep calling up every alternate week for more casual photographs. By now, they should have an album of me!

And yet another photograph of a prospective groom. By now I should have been used to it. The whole grind I mean, of seeing the snap, deciding on whether I like him or not (on the basis of that scrap that says what all he is doing at the moment and what his interests in life are) and then having my parents call up anxiously to know my answer...How I wish there could be a miracle and I would be in the middle of a Notting Hill like romance. Or any kind of romance actually.

Not that I can do anything on my own. I have joined a new gym where the morning trainer is lanky and cute. So I can be caught very often casting furtive looks in his direction. I guess checking out a trainer is kind of tacky, but I have good reason. He resembles the coach in Bend It Like Beckham.

The evening trainer is an upcoming cricketer who is a very enthusiastic creature. Whenever he sees me cycling or cross-training, the words that come out of him are: "Lage raho India lage raho." Quite a chirpy fellow that.

Enough about trainers. The dark side of my life says that I am becoming too snappy. I guess I have to curb my tongue. On Saturday, I was in the bus waiting to get down at a stop, when this man with a beard and pan stained teeth asked in a surly manner whether I was planning to deboard. Even after I replied in the affirmative very clearly, he shoved me hard and went ahead. So I naturally said loudly: "Asshole".

He whirled with his beard almost in my face and challenged me vehemently: "What you means?" While I had quite a few things to say in reply, I was suddenly struck dumb by the scary look on his face. And I know precisely why he got away with it. Because he was a Muslim.

I have never felt it so strongly till it actually happened to me. The kin of those dying in these terrorist activities all over the world -- I wonder how they feel. And here we have people living in denial. As VK puts it, human right groups which insist that terrorists should not be hanged.

I know it is true that had it been just another guy, he would have heard quite a few things. At that moment, I felt it so strongly and felt so helpless at the same time because it would have probably flared into a communal issue. Knowing what happens nowadays you can never be sure about anything.

I was watching The Path to 9/11 on Zee Studio yesterday. It was mind boggling -- the brilliant and educated minds that go into the creation of such plots. Till date I think I can't believe that a bunch of people could fly aeroplanes bang into some buildings. They have successfully created a world where you can't go shopping, watching a movie or move around without thinking twice. It is one where even carrying a lipstick has been made unsafe. I wonder why?

Take care: Step out in style

Yet another fashion week and yet another end to a glitzy affair. Cause that’s what a fashion week is. Glitzy. The high point of it being the different kinds of ensembles you see, not only on the models and designers but on the guests and journalists as well. Day one quite felt like a homecoming of sorts, considering the fact that the autumn/winter fashion week was just a few months back. It seemed, well too soon, to see those familiar faces five days in a row.

The first show of the week itself was a mind boggling introduction. It was none other than our very own Manish Arora’s �cocky’ collection. The first thing I noticed as we stepped in was the headgears on the ramp with cocks sitting plump on them! Quite an unusual sight, may I tell you. Anyway, besides his clothes what or rather who captured everybody’s attention was Miss Blow. Believe it or not that's the the surname of the erstwhile fashion director of The Tatler. The complete one -- Miss Isabella Blow. She’s the one who has brought the likes of Alexander McQueen to the limelight.

But let’s say this that the entire fashion fraternity will remember her for her hats, particularly the bird hats. The first day she wore a dress with an amazing number of ruffles and a hat which was a ridiculous concoction of feathers. Go ahead. Use your imagination.

Miss Blow’s hats are the creations of one of her fashion associates, Philip Treacy. The latter came to her attention when he arrived at the Tatler office sporting a green felt hat.

Coming back to the designer scene, it was a spring/summer collection alright with nature as the focus of most. The collection that simply charmed all was Rohit Gandhi and Rahul Khanna’s. They did beautiful dresses and skirts in porcelain blues on off whites. As I went to their stall and ran my fingers over the pleats and seams, I was strongly tempted to splurge. I think it’s my bank balance that keeps a good check on my shopaholic tendencies. Which I think is a good thing considering that I saw some sexy retro looking stilettos by Vanilla Moon in the stall area and some of the classiest pieces of jewellery at Suhani Pittie’s.

Some other collections I liked were by J J Valaya, Ranna Gill, Shantanu & Nikhil, Gaurav Gupta, Rajesh Pratap Singh and Varun Bahl. The one which charmed me was Gauri & Nainika’s clothes. Teamed with wide brimmed sun hats, the polka dotted dresses made me feel like going on a long cruise in the Mediterranean, if you know what I mean.

And then came the grand finale with Manish Malhotra’s show. As it happens every year, it was badly organized. Hence, there was a stampede with the photographers trying to rush in and secure places for themselves. The bouncers pushed them from the front and the rest of the photographers did the same from the hind. For a moment, I had the impression that I was going to have a sad end there at the entrance to the show area. But it was one of those moments when I was glad that I belong to the female species. Yes, because three of us girls in the front were allowed in because of the jostling.

The show started off with a sensuous dance performance by a professional dancer couple. The woman was beautiful and exotic and really sensuous. This was followed by the appearance of Urmila Matondkar who gyrated her hips so badly while walking the ramp that I quite she was in danger of hip dislocation. While that didn’t happen, what did happen was what I call an �ouch’ moment. The lady tripped.

The showstoppers were Shahid Kapur and Kareena Kapoor. Though they looked good, their black outfits stood out like a sore thumb amongst a pastel collection. And what did our stars think about the collection of their �dear friend’? A gesture of both thumbs up from Urmila on behalf of the three.

That was fashion week for you. Uh oh, I was missing out on the food. Lots of salad, mustard fish, fish in red wine sauce, yummy biryani style chicken, shredded lamb, stuffed karela, zucchini lasagne...The highlight of the meals for me were the desserts. So Sunday night I stuffed myself up with tiramisu, blueberry mousse, apple strudel, apple tart, chocolate terrine, lemon cheesecake. Yes, it was sheer greed. And I also managed to follow up the above mentioned delicacies with some melt-in-the-moth marshmallows.

Something in the wind has learned my name/ And it's tellin' me that things are not the same...

It is one of those days -- do-not-feel-like working days -- that is. One of those days when you feel happy for no reason really. Maybe it's the Fifth Avenue perfume which I have dabbed a bit too generously, the new cord skirt or the new hair style...But it's good to feel good.

Because I have not been having a good time recently. Like, I met a shooter who was so grim that I thought I was weird. Till date, I don't think I have met any one like him, even though he happened to be quite a young gun, only 23. I almost quailed when I had to ask him about his 'wife'. Actually I made the usual gaffe -- I pointed out to a huge portrait asking him if he was married when he had an are-you-kidding-me look on his face. "Do I look like that to you?" he said sounding offended. Apparently the groom in it was said shooter's brother-in-law and shooter's wife.

And shooter was stinking rich. His bungalow itself was like a palace, tastefully decorated with mini bars, huge fireplaces, wooden floors and the works. But somehow he depressed me beyond reason. During the entire course of our chat, not once did a glimmer of a smile cross his countenance.

The day after that I was supposed to meet another shooter at the Tughlaqabad shooting range. The photographer was supposed to pick me up at 10 am. The interview time was settled at 11.15 am with the shooter. And I have never messed up interview timings. It's almost a credibility thing you know. Anyway, the photographer reached my place at 11 am.

When I got into the car and asked him the reason, he gave me the lamest of all -- traffic! On top of that he said defensively that he might have been 15 minutes late in getting out of his place. So what? Apparently, it is the done thing to be 10-15 minutes late. I had a row with him and I could feel myself shaking with rage. So I just shut up, turned my face away and gave him the coldest treatment I have ever given to any body in my life.

Then the other day I was on my way back from an art exhibition and I just couldn't fnd an auto rickshaw anywhere. When I finally found one, he drove me mad. Even when we had agreed on an amount, that seemed pretty unreasonable but then I just wanted to get home, he refused to switch on the meter. I wanted to check how much it would actually come to. Not that I would pay him less. But he asked me, "Will you pay me if it comes to more?" Finally when I couldn't take it anymore, I bit out coldly: "Meter chalana parega. Aur sar mat chatiye," to which he said in an amazed tone: "Achcha aisi baat hai?" To which I didn't bother to reply. I stuck my ear plugs in. As we reached my place, I realised that I had been had (I was going to pay him way more). It irritated me beyond reason. For the rest of the evening, I was feeling weepy.

I wish I could have borrowed the second shooter's double barrel gun and returned it after finishing off all auto wallahs!

Put together more little incidents like my gym shutting down forever and you have the summation of them is what I have been feeling like for the past two weeks. I am sure my blood pressure must have been abnormally high. I could almost feel it.

The only highlight of the period was a tiny thing -- watching a film. It was the day I watched 'A Wedding Date' on Star Movies. My sms date that night was former flatmate E. She in Bombay and I in Delhi, sipping on our wines and lighting up candles while drooling on Dermot Mulroney. Oh was it nice!

Let's decide the time and place

I have been tagged by Sines. But it's a nice tag. It's about the bloggers I want to meet and where I would like to meet them (I have tried my best to link everybody but I am so horribly challenged that I am resorting to italicizing names). So here's the list:

I want to meet a bad person with a nice body and a good head. He's one of the first bloggers I read and a dear one at that. I think I would like to meet him on a train. It would make a dreary journey seem so much more interesting. No wait, I just thought of a much better meeting place - the Gay Pride:) Still not guessed who it is? Why, it's Jay of course!

I love Mint Chutney's posts, be it her post on her eyebrows, her ex-flames or her cute little kids. I have a pact with Mint. She said she's gonna drop off Chutney at my place soon. So I guess we meet at my cubbyhole in Delhi. Hey Mint, I am waiting...

I connected with Sonal when Mint started the postcard exchange. And I have to say that even though Sonal sent me one soon after she got my postal address, I haven't got around to sending her one. The postcard's still lying in my office drawer. That's how lazy I am! Sadly, I can't make it to her wedding. So, Sonal I will make it up by visiting you in Detroit. Promise. And bring the postcard along:)

Now since Sines has so kindly offered to introduce me to her hot doc friend, I would be very rude to refute it, no?*impish grin* That's a nice incentive by the way. At the rate my folks are going, I would jump at the chance. So I will be generous with you -- you get to choose the venue...

Saltwater blues is mad (Swb don't you dare feel offended because with you I can never tell how you're gonna react to something;)). He loves to delete posts and comments, but he is nice. He's going to help me set up a shack. So I would like to meet him in Goa.

I have to meet Sonia. We seem to have a lot of things in common including our parents. We get to meet in Dubai, if I get to go there that is. The one thing I wouldn't go anywhere with Sonia though is on a long drive. C'mmon Sonia you can't blame me:0)

Rat and Penny Lane - Aha the party girls... They seem to be on a constant roll, so our meeting point has to be a party (maybe in Goa). I would love to get sloshed. I would have company I know!

Now let's see how and where we meet.

And whoever reads this, consider yourself tagged.

When once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward

I am really jobless. It's a great feeling. A feeling so rare. So I am listening to The Corrs and feeling on top of the world. I tried to bug colleague AD into playing chess, but he's also very jobless. He's at present trying to fix up a nice ring tone on his mobile. So I decided to write about what all has been going on in my life.

A few days back I got a call from R, the former Lufthansa air hostess I had met. She asked me to forward my resume to a girl for recruitment in an international airlines. The girl I forwarded it to told me to be at the venue the very next day. I got real worked up when I heard that you have to be dressed in formal gear - close fitting shirt, short skirt, stockings, closed shoes and hair in a bun- cos this particular airline is very strict about a well groomed appearance.

The day was supposed to start at 8.15 am there. I woke up at 6.30 am and gave myself ten reasons why I shouldn't be going for the interview. This, after I bought two shirts the day before. I didn't go.

While at work the same day, I got a call from a girl from that airline. She asked me why I was not there for the interview. So I told her that I couldn't make it because some work had cropped up. "No problem, come in tomorrow," she said. Now that they actually bothered to call me a second time made me think twice. So the next day, I got up early and went for it. I was dressed in a half-sleeve formal shirt and a long black formal shirt. With my hair clipped at the back. There's a reason why I am describing what I wore that day. Because the moment I stepped into the room there where the candidates were waiting, I froze. They were dressed to a T. In smart short skirts, stockings and the works. I wanted to disappear. Next I had to submit a full length photograph of myself along with my resume. I had a very casual pic that my father had taken some time back when I was vacationing in Calcutta. First of all, I was wearing huge shades and a T-shirt that said, "Therapist for crazy guys". And secondly, I had no passport size photographs of mine. So I had to give in that casual pic to my utter embarrassment.

Anyway, the entire thing go underway. We were shown a video presentation on the airline, its staff and the country where the hired cabin crew would be based. It was feel-good to say the least. I think it was after watching it that I actually felt inclined to go for it. Soon the 50 of us in the room were split up into four groups. I was in the third group.

The first two groups went first. So the other two groups had to wait in an adjoining room. During which I watched this know-all guy speak a lot on airlines and his experience in general. It was amusing. Most of the candidates were already working as cabin crew with some airline or the other. Some who had trained at aviation academies and others like me who were from another profession altogether. It was a cocktail really.

My group was finally called in at 12.30 pm. I was so hungry and sleepy that I wanted to run back home with my tail (imaginary) between my legs.It started with an ice breaking kind of thing where we had to introduce ourselves and tell the others two interesting things about ourselves which the resume didn't mention. Next we proceeded on to the group discussion. Each round was an elimination round. So there we were, eight of us -- five girls and three guys -- who were asked to stay behind through chits of paper after some three group discussions and a written test. We had to then sit down for a psychometric test. Following which we were asked to return two days later for another interview.

As the lady conducting the interview told us that we were lucky to make it there, what with their having received 17,000 applications, she also emphasised that we had to come properly groomed the next day. And I don't know whether I imagined it, but I could swear she kept looking at me while stating what all we needed to do. We had to get photographs clicked as well by the next day.

So the day before the interview, there I was doing a last minute recce of the market for a short pencil skirt, close fitting formal shirt, skin coloured stockings, pumps and hair net. In short, a complete makeover. I was quite close to tears while at it. It was frustrating as hell trying to put all of it together. Needless to say, that after I had bought myself a short black skirt from Mango, I saw this neat skirt at Benetton. But having spent a fortune already, I curbed my enthusiasm.

By the way my parents don't know about anything. On the Sunday I was busy getting ready, my mother kept asking me if I was going for a party while my father insisted on knowing where I was headed to. I shouted. Then I shut myself in the next room and came out all decked up. But I just couldn't let the cat out of the bag even though I was feeling guilty. I have to get my passport from them. It's gone for renewal.

As I looked into the mirror before stepping out, I must confess I felt like I was staring at a stranger. I looked, well, so different with the make-up and all. But it was fun. After the photo session, I hurried for the interview. It was a personal interview round. And I must say it was fun talking to them.

At the end of it, the pretty woman who was asking the questions told me,"A, you have done very well for yourself." And she handed me a folded letter but warned me, "But this is not an offer of appointment. We will be getting in touch with you later."

Amen.

The parents are here.

And from the minute they stepped in to the house, I started bickering with them. *Sigh* It promises to be an eventful visit.

As soon as we dumped the luggage and all, my father took out three packs of sweets and insisted that I wolf down some. I refused. He insisted. I refused. He said, "No mamma, don't say no." That was it. I screamed.

Next I stepped out from the bath to find a suspiciously bright living room. My father had taken down the curtains, to let in some breeze. "No, no let it be! You don't know...that window lets in a lot of dust and is very public -- anybody can see what is happening inside," I started off.

My mother pulled me aside and said, "Don't do chik chik with your father."Well, to say so, I felt quite ashamed of being so ill tempered. But it's one of those things I can't help.

I have made a kind of deal with myself-- not to lose it during their stay here. For whatever and however I do react, the truth is, it's good to see them.

In the meantime, I have just made two Yankee friends from Kansas. I met them, Jo Ann and Jeanie, when I was dining out a few days ago with friends T and C. Jo Ann and Jeanie are here on a cultural exchange from Kansas University with a couple of other girls and boys. The meeting sparked off a Sunday shopping and eating out expedition. It was amusing to introduce them to our street food. After a few gol gappas, they stopped. They were scared of getting tummy aches. But they did love the dal makhni, naan, reshmi kebabs and malai kofta dinner we had at a GK restaurant.

Curiously they had never heard of gelatos. And I was determined that they should have it. So I mentioned it a zillion times. Till the time came to take them there for dessert. When I realised that I had forgotten where exactly Gelato Vittorio was. It was their friend, Seth, who finally led us to it. It was embarrassing, alright. Seth had this mischievous look about him as he assured us that he would make sure we 'hop, skip and jump' to Gelato Vittorio.

At Gelato, there were eight of us trying out different flavours at a go. Whisky Irish Cream, Ferrero Rocher, WildBerry...I can actually remember the taste of the Whisky Irish Cream.*Drool* In fact, Kristy swore that if I opened a gelato joint of mine in Goa, she would be my loyal customer. Amen to that..

"I don't pay taxes cuz I never file/ I don't do business that don't make me smile/ I love my aero-plane, she got style..."

I stepped out to deboard to be almost swept off the stairs. The wind whipped my hair with gay abandon and a wave of happiness washed over me. It was beautiful and wildly windy as we walked across the tarmac. It kind of washed away the feeling of frustration that I was feeling just a few minutes back.

I was with a few other journalists and we were part of an in flight training for air hostesses and flight stewards. The morning started precisely at 7 am when I woke up with a start to realise that the air hostess academy guys might just leave me behind. So there I was rushing and trying to do everything at one go. Till I was seated in a cab by 8.15am.

In some time, I found myself in the bylanes of Gautam Nagar. Something that irked me considering the fact that my destination was the airport. The driver finally deigned to inform me that we were picking up another journalist. And he wanted me to call her up. While we were talking, I realised we were positioned in front of a gurudwara. "Is this where she is supposed to meet us?" I asked him. "Madam, they told me that the gurudwara was the landmark," the driver told me.

Now a place like Delhi has many gurudwaras. So I did something for which I patted myself 2 minutes later. I asked him to read out the address. He mumbled, "Xyz". It was the name of the lady we were about to pick up. "No, the address, the ADDRESS," I repeated. I peered over his shoulders.We were supposed to head for Green Park. "We are in Green Park, are we?" I asked him sarcastically. All sarcasm was lost on the man. "No, we are in Gautam Nagar. Because I often pick up someone from here and there's a gurudwara here," he said and insisted we wait there. Till I bit out in a no-nonsense voice: "Take me to Green Park immediately." At Green Park, he stopped in front of the gurudwara and refused to budge. It was a task getting him to move. It's a wonder we reached the airport on time. It was 9.30 am and I realised that we were way too early for the entire exercise that involved the training of a melee of girls in red and guys in white.

As we checked in, it was worth watching the security guard's reaction to our Jet boarding passes. It said, From Delhi, To Delhi. It would be a first anyway, I thought to myself. It took some time for the co-ordinator from the air hostess academy to explain it to the guard, who for the life of him, couldn't believe his eyes.

Once in the waiting lounge, we were informed that the boarding was delayed from 10.30 am to 12.30 pm. I got chatting with a former Lufthansa air hostess, a part of the faculty at the academy. R was not dramatically good looking but she was a warm and pleasing personality. With her was K, a former flight steward and another faculty member. K was very metrosexual indeed -- with lipstick, foundation, coloured hair and the works.

Anyway, while talking with R, I exclaimed that I wish I had thought of being an air hostess earlier. R looked at me and said, "Why, how old are you?" My reply was a woeful, "25". She said: "You look so young. There will be no problem for you to get through the international airlines. You must try it out. I loved flying though it was hard work. I kept stopping at Frankfurt and Munich and travelled to London very often," she said a bit wistfully. I realised, she meant it, when she searched me out as we were departing and told me that she had found out that there's a vacancy at the Emirates. .

Then began a long wait...doodling, doodling, solving crosswords, yapping, yapping, munching on sandwiches, watching the students and wondering how any of them could undo 20 years in a year of training and gain all the sophistication in the world (the guys and girls were so naive that I really hope they can make it where they want to).

In the loo, I came across a little girl who I thought was in need of the hand drier. I don't know why on earth I thought so. But I did. So I tapped her on the shoulders and pointed out the drier to her. She kept looking at me in askance. So I explained it to her. And then I happened to look down and I realised that all the time she was trying to squirt some liquid soap onto her palms. Yet another gaffe to my evergrowing list.

It was 1.30 pm when we boarded the air bus. It was a doomed take-off. All we did was sit and munch further on sandwiches and cakes. And wait. It was six hours of waiting that ultimately was a let-down. The redeeming part was meeting new people and liking most of them. Another interesting highlight of the day was getting inside the cockpit. It was kind of fascinating to have it all explained by the captain -- the controls, the panel... Oh we were also given a tiny model of the Jet airbus we were on. "They are very special. We usually give them to kids," smiled a Jet Airways hostess. It's quite a cute number. It reminds me of a childhood of growing up with my brother's toy cars, pick-up trucks and aeroplanes. All those bright blue and yellow Mercs, Nissans and Gulf Airs.

But the day has got me thinking. About whether this is a calling. To be up there in the skies.

I really can't tell you why I feel so right now, but the feeling - it refuses to go away

Experience takes years. And the years teach you a lot. For instance, life isn't as you always thought it would be when you were the ubiquitous school girl with pony tails. When you thought it would be a grand affair and you would be the queen of it all. I can't even begin to count the number of things I have learned over the years.

*For instance, you can never take anyone for granted. Not friends, not anyone for that matter. There was a time when I thought friendships are indestructible. They are always there to stay. I was so wrong. I have lost so many friends over a period of time. A guy I knew pointed it out and said, "You know, maybe the problem lies with you". Is that true? Because if it is, I wouldn't know how to deal with it. But I do try to reach back to friends I have lost. There's my school friend SK. Amy, me and SK were thick till college. Till Amy decided to go to Canada and I had just S with me. Then a bunch of complications crept in, in the form of a man she is married to now, and nothing is as it was. I tried to call her when I went back home the last time. She was kind of funny and she never called me back. Her husband by the way is a professor I took tuitions from when I was in college. I still think he is a damn good teacher but I have doubts about the human being in there. I get the feeling SK is alienated from everything she is familiar and I wonder how she is actually.

I suddenly remembered a silly thing Amy, SK and I did when we were in school. We had stood beneath a tree outside my house and taken a solemn oath. I don't know if either of them would recall that evening when after an afternoon of pure mirth, one of those days when we couldn't stop laughing, we said we would never stop being friends.

*I have also learnt in these 25 years that the only people who you can take for granted and count on with your eyes closed are your parents. No matter what. For sometimes, I feel, you do need such people in your life to create a balance between the let-you-downs and the never-let-you-downs. I don't know how many times I have yelled at them and misbehaved, but they have always been there. Just the other day I told my dad that they didn't have an idea about my choice. This because he had yet again sent me a photograph of an eligible guy (a guy
who resembles comedian Vinay Pathak. Now don't get me wrong. I like Vinay Pathak but I don't know whether I would like to marry him). I felt terrible later, but still I didn't call him back. Because I knew the you-are-growing-old-and-past-the-marriageable-age thing would start again. They have their point, I want to tell them, but I can't help it if I don't fall in love with the guys they hunt out.

*There again, creeps in a disillusionment. Life is not a Georgette Heyer tale, where I could say hornswoggle to a rude duke and get away with it and even win his love. In fact, I have started wondering whether there is anything as the perfect guy out there. They say, there is a right time for everything. But is there a right guy? E says its karmic. Since she's kinda in the same boat, she commented: "We must have been kings in our past life with harems. Hence we are paying for it in this life."

*Brothers change. Mine has changed so much that I can't begin to wonder at it. The same brother who would treat me as a pesky little thing and a plaything to be toppled in her walker, has started treating me like I am his older sister. He relies on me and I think I have let him down. He wanted to marry a girl whom my mother never liked. To cut a long tale short, I didn't feel comfortable forcing my parents to accept it. It was complicated alright. Now my mother refuses to talk to my brother and I feel awful about it.

* There's nothing like young love. I met an old crush, a school friend of my brother's, who used to come over to our place pretty often. I was quite young and head over hells in love with him. Ex crush got married a year back and the other day he was in Delhi. When he called and said who he was, I almost fell out of my chair. We met up. It wasn't at all uncomfortable as I feared. I don't know whether he ever had an inclination of my infatuation, but he was very nostalgic. And for once I didn't feel like saying a sarcastic 'Oh yeah' when he commented to my brother: "AB has really grown up R. God I can't believe it." As he was leaving, he gave me a gift. The gesture touched me.

*Experience has taught me yet another thing. One fine day you just bump into someone you have never thought of laying your eyes on ever again. I have a list of such people I would want to meet and wouldn't want to meet. In the latter category would be rock photographer dude. Maybe I should forward it to my guardian angel and trust him to take care of it. And, oh yes, keep my fingers crossed.

What do you do when your worst nightmare comes true? Do you put your tail in between your legs and run? Or do you stay put and face it?

Life is strange. When I say that, I feel it in my bones.

A year back, I had met a photographer (let me call him Mr P) and collected some photographs from him for a rock band story. The day had been particularly harrowing for me. At the end of it when I reached office, I forgot the photos behind in the autorickshaw. I was racked with guilt and tension. And I wanted to be honest about it. I called up Mr P and explained to him how I had misplaced his pictures. I thought he would blow his lid. He did.

To make up for my callousness, I offered to get the prints developed. I asked for the negatives. He refused. Instead he asked me to shell out Rs 10,000 for each of the prints. Till that point I was being polite and I was making myself take everything he was saying (he said a lot) timidly. But the moment he quoted that figure I lost it. I bit out some cold remarks and hung up.

Our exchange was definitely not short and crisp as my account seems. It happened over the phone, the e-mail and then on the phone again. It was an ugly experience.

Today I called up a biker for a story. While I was talking to him, he mentioned casually that he is a photographer and a rock and roll one at that. The moment I heard that, everything kind of fell in place. In a flash. I was talking to Mr P. I was stunned. I quickly passed over the phone to my photographer who was seated beside me. I called up another biker and asked him where supposed Mr P lives. "Yes, he does have an office there," he said, confirming the place I had mentioned.

Now I have to go for the story and the shoot tomorrow. And meet Mr P. I am sure that once we meet, he will remember me.

I am scared.

It's another tequila sunrise, this old world/ Still looks the same,/ Another frame, mm...

Well, this old world -- a hot, sweltering one -- looked a bit different today. It rained in the morning and I woke up to this beautiful breezy morning. And I felt as happy as can be, except that there was that thing of going to office and filing stories. Of late, I have been thinking of entrepreneurial ventures. This time though I am serious. SoI am thinking of working towards it and am feeling pretty excited. At least I can do something for six months and if I don't like it, I can move on and do something different again. Am I being deliberately obtuse? It's just that till I don't do anything I don't want to blabber about it. Also because I have a partner who would be very sad if it didn't work out.

Also I have been meeting people. Like there was blogger Nish who turned out to be quite funny and cool. As in how many people actually have the guts to go and do something they want to. Right after meeting him, I had to go for an event where I met this chick. She was nice, pretty and chirpy and three years younger to me. We gelled well and we went for coffee when she slowly started pouring out her story. I should say stories, rather. And what she had to say freaked me out.

First of all, she told me she had wanted to kill herself and she had popped some 70 pills along with crushed glass. "I really wanted to die then," she said. More came out about her former psycho boyfriend and her broken home. The whole evening I was in a kind of a daze. Even till next day I had a hard time getting over what she told me. Was she lying or making up stuff for sympathy? For a moment, I entertained that thought. But whatever, she clearly was disturbed. These are things that seem to be straight out of a book or a film, but then meeting people like her, make you realise that such things happen in real life too. It's so painful. Even as I was listening to her, I felt so grateful for my parents, for the normal upbringing I have had, for all the happy times they have given me, in short a world where there has been no violence, incestuous stuff or anything of the sort.

“If you saw a heat wave, would you wave back?”

That happens to be a quote by Yankee actor Stephen Wright. Funny no? Talking of heat waves, Delhi could do with some respite.

It's hot. So hot that I think it would not be unsual to melt like the Belgian seashell chocolates I have been nibbling on of late.Which is why I am not very keen on going out on assignments anywhere. The other night I happened to be at the Bali Beach Festival at Hotel Nikko. It was in the lawns, an open air affair. There were giant standing fans that sprinkled water around. As I strolled in, I felt droplets of water sprayed on me. It felt heavenly. There were cool cocktails and glasses of wine with all kind of Balinese starters being circulated around.

After a glass of wine and a chat with a photographer, I was bored. So bored that I started walking aimlessly and checking out the drinks being served at the bar. The drinks were beautiful and so made me feel like I was on a beach. Plus there was a lovely breeze blowing. I think it was the effect of so many fans at work. It's amazing how you can make a steaming place like Delhi turn into a breezy beachy kind of an affair with just the precise touches. I tried out a minty drink. Gah! It tasted awful. I settled down for the staid old orange juice. Yes, that was how bored I was. I called up VK and told her about a photographer she had a crush on. I used to hear about him constantly during our IIMC days. Naturally I was taken aback to meet him there of all places. He was quite a rude one in his own way. He told a fellow photographer, "Sir, please don't shave your hair off any more. You look like a coconut."

But VK was excited. I suspect he is the reason she came over to meet me. But I was glad. We tried out Nikko Sling, a cocktail with coconut water, gin, vodka, generous doses of cream and mango juice (it is one of the best drinks I've ever had) while we watched the Wendell Rodricks fashion show that was going on. I tried to introduce VK to her former crush but she kept acting coy and pulling me back. It quite took me back to my schoolgirl days.

Then I met Brett Lee. His guy-next-door attitude was quite refreshing. At one point we were moving to a quieter place when he made sure I picked up my mobile from the table. It was a touching gesture. None of the hangups that our so glorified dandy Indian cricketers have. He was pretty excited about getting married next month to his sweetheart. But then during the interview, I had to go ahead and goof up. He was speaking about his fears -- sharks. Now the way he said it, it sounded like shocks. So I asked, "Well, what kind of shocks? Do you mean electric shocks or being shocked by people?" He was quiet for a second. He looked stumped. Then he burst out laughing. As did his manager. "I said sharks. Those in the water," said Brett. One of those moments when you want to just disappear.

And what a contrast it was to the conference I attended where Rahul Dravid was there. The guy had so much attitude, I wonder how he lives with it. There is this thing that they have about blaming the media for everything that raises my hackles. "The media puts a spin on things. So I am not going to say anything to the BCCI through them," he kept on saying. He sounded so vindictive that the man whom I once was very attracted to sounded petty and repulsive. So much so that I didn't feel like running after him to talk to him. I wish our people could give these cricketers a wide berth. They need it.

Another thing I don't understand is when these guys come to a press conference, why do they act as if they are doing journalists a big favour by opening their mouth even once? The only time they look near to cordial is when they see a TV mike hovering nearby. There was the opening of a luxury pret store recently for which actresses Urmila and Raveena Tandon arrived in designer dresses. While Urmila was at her bitchy best, just pouting and posing for the shutterbugs and speaking only to NDTV, Raveena was the surprise package. Well, she was genuinely nice. I was talking to her along with a friend from another paper when this Total TV woman started nudging me and asked me to stop. Raveena turned to her and said, "You know these guys will ban you!" After a few seconds Total TV again started acting up. This time Ravs turned to her and shot out: "You have time na? Go have some food."

And on a totally different track, I bought a new mobile phone. A cheap Nokia. While buying which I was near tears. I was reminded of my former flip phone. The one which died in soap water.

The weekend that was...

Depression set in early on Saturday night as I started reading Gabriela Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude. What if I die an old maid like Amaranta or Remedios the Beauty? What if I end up an old woman as heartless as Colonel Aureliano Buendia? On Sunday morning I again ploughed through the novel. It was tedious even though it did provide a picture of Spanish life, its customs, its supersitions and its fears.

By the time I managed to get over with Marquez, I was exhausted. I slept and slept to feel better. It did help but the fact that I was horribly broke didn't. It spelt going out nowhere. The only hope was a cheque I had deposited to be encashed. I checked it. Zilch. Then I happened to check my other account. And my day was made. There was the lumpsome allowance from office in it which I had expected a day later. So there I was at Sarojini Nagar market which has to be the best flea market, at least in Delhi, Bombay and Calcutta.

Unbelievable cheap stuff lay for the taking. Of course I had to bargain and use my nagging powers. But when I got a flouncy polka dotted skirt for just Rs 35, my eyes nearly popped out. Something that brought a smile to the person who was standing at the stall chatting with the seller. And I shopped and I shopped. Even though it was hot and I really didn't need much. Compulsive shopping I guess. But it didn't hurt the pocket much. Just within Rs 1,000 I had as much as 10 small bags stuffed with lots of pretty skirts and tops.

The first time I had been to Sarojini was with a friend of my dad's. R uncle took us around the city when I came for admission to IIMC. When we went to Sarojini it was already evening and I could not make out much. Except for rows of shops with clothes popping out of every nook and cranny, the owners calling out and R uncle insisting that you could get anything for a steal here. But the actual time I remember falling in love with the market was when we used to go from IIMC in a huge gang. Times when we used to wander there for hours and times when we used to return to the hostel piled up in an autorickshaw that would refuse to go uphill with all us.

And as I walked alone through the alleys there, I felt so at home. Now I can boast that I know it like I know my slab of Lindt's dark chocolate. Once upon a time though I wondered at how you could find your way through the maze there. Funny that it's been four years almost and I am still here.

Back at home trying on the clothes made me feel even better. Finally a round of rearranging the wardrobe to hold everything that I bought and I could feel all the depression of Marquez evaporating like it was never there. The other high point was munching on my favourite Mc Donald's burger and demolishing a mud pie while watching Desperate Housewives.

The start might not have been great but the end was.

Let's take the good times as they go, and I'll meet you further on up the road...

Of late I have developed a strange fascination for flowers. Flowers from hotels. Be it from the loo or the lobby, I love collecting a bunch and bringing it back to office. If you think I am bad then there's colleague N from another newspaper who picks up an entire bouquet. But yesterday I felt like doing the invisible man act. I had gone for an interview with the Pak band Strings. Since it had gone well, I felt happy and relaxed. There was M (who is N's colleague) with me. After all the journos had gone trailing after Faisal and Bilal to the poolside, M and I had the room to ourselves.

So while sipping on coffee, we started gathering a few carnations. After leaving the room, we tried our hands at a few orchid blooms. To our consternation, this waiter came up and stopped us. I put on a blank expression but held on to the two blooms that I had already plucked. M was busy sticking them back. "There are flowers inside if you want," he offered without thinking for a second that I might just take him up on the offer. And I did ask him. Seeing the expression (quite a bewildered one, I must confess) on his face, I stopped short and decided to scoot. With the blooms.

It was embarrassing. But what the hell, think I will do it again.

Sometimes is it not better to do what you want and not give two hoots to what the world thinks? Why not just grab the good times...In my alley, there was this fresh litter of fat little puppies of which somehow only one was left for me to pet. The other day I found it lying on the road and I started scratching it on its neck. When I realised it was weirdly quiet. In fact deadly quiet. Suddenly, a man on a scooter appeared and said, "He's been dead for some time now". I snatched my hands away. The next morning I saw him lying in a heap of garbage. The body was slowly starting to look distorted. Though I had not been overwhelmingly attached to it, I felt sad. For a life that was there. For a life that could have been. Everything is so transitory. You don't even know when you are gonna get snuffed.

So come tell me how many times have you actually done what you felt like without giving a damn about others...

Each day just goes so fast, I turn around it's passed...

Have you ever got up at 5 o'clock in the morning for a wedding? I did and since it was S's wedding, so did she. Actually whoever attended the wedding did. You see, it was a Tamilian wedding. I had stayed over the night before at E's place, so we could go together to the venue. So bleary eyed we somehow managed to wrap on our saris on the morning of April 3 and rush for the wedding.

The wedding itself was alfresco with a shamiana for the guests and a pretty pink pandal decorated with flowers for the bride and groom. S was wearing a maroon sari with a broad gold belt. She shooed us out of the room where she was getting dressed. I wonder why. Why S?:-) Mr S's relatives crooned as the ceremony took place. And as the fresh morning breeze carressed us, it felt nice. It was not a very long affair. Soon we were cramming down samosas and jalebis.

Then there was a short Bengali ritual that S and Mr S observed. Where they dipped their hands in an earthern bowl and had to fish out a ring. In the meantime, there was Mr S's Irish friend who sang two Rabindrasangeet songs very softly. Apparently she had picked them up in Benares where she has been staying for some time now. Mr S himself sang a song. And could we resist asking S for the same? Of course not (now if you have known S, you would know that singing is just not her forte;) But it is amazing how family can come together. The minute we started off, S's aunt came in and said, "Ok now it's time for breakfast."

By then all us sari clad women were feeling pretty hot and bothered even though we were inside an air conditioned room. But S's mom and aunt insisted we stay back for lunch. So there we were -- E, B, A (that's Tatonnement) and I struggling to find some way to entertain ourselves. It was a struggle alright but it was fun. The evening reception was fun. S looked very good and relaxed. So we left S very much a married lady now. Now I hear she is having a great time in the South. She's heading next for Goa.

As soon as I landed here in Delhi, it was time for Fashion Week. Jacquards, silks, nets, velvets, balloon skirts, frills, ruffles...I think at the end of three days I was ready to throw up fashion. But it was good to see eye candy material in the form of Suchitra Pillai's good looking firang hubby. The two designers who managed to put a finger on the pulse of the girls in the audience were Manoviraj Khosla and Arjun Khanna. They had only men walking the ramp and after watching just semi nude females, I must say it was very refreshing.

Aha how can I miss out the food that was specially put together by Shikha Sharma. It was all low calorie stuff but I wonder how low cal could it get if you really piled up your plate. The amount of baked fish I had two times a day for the five days can probably make up for the lack of it in my life the rest of the year. What I freaked out was with the dessert spread out there. Blueberry cheesecake, apple strudel, rich chocolate cake, fruit tarts, kulfi, malpoa...the list would run at least a mile long. Lunch and dinner were clearly the highlights of each day for me. I wish my mother could have seen me at work on during meal times. There's no way she wouldn't have done a double take.

Fashion week is fun but it leaves you as exhausted as it can. So I am kind of glad to get back to my normal routine. Except the day we got back to office, there was a fire here. Though some of my colleagues made fun of us for running down with our bags, the same night I caught the Meerut Fire clips on the channels and realised how scary it can be. Especially that our building has no fire exit. Just one entrance. It's liking waiting for a disaster to happen.

Oh to pack my bags and leave again...

Yes my bags are packed and I am ready to leave for Calcutta. Ten days of lolling around. I am so excited.

This is exactly the kind of life I want to lead. Pack my bags every week. Last week this time I was leaving for Palampur and Mc Cleodganj. It was an amazing trip. I can still feel the cold mountain air. Actually I was working on a story and stayed at a tea plantation for a day in Palampur. It was beautiful, the snowcapped Dhauladhars, the gurgling brook in the valley...that reminded me of Tennyson's Brook...you know that poem with the refrain 'Men may come and men may go but I go on forever'.

There was yummy homecooked food rustled up by the cooks at the estate. They were such people. Sarwan and Dharmo. They belonged to the local tribes -- the Gaddis and Dhogries. They reminded me of the good old servants who take care of you and make you feel cherished. Sarwan's gajar ka halwa was one of the best things I had on the trip.

The highlight however was my walk back to my cottage at night from the lounge area which housed a television. It was a Sunday night and I was desperate enough for Desperate Housewives to stay back in the lounge at 10 pm. The whole place was eerily silent by then. Everybody had gone to sleep. Now leopards are commonly seen prowling around the estate. All I could do was sit with an irregular heart beat and check my watch every 5 minutes to see whether it was 11 yet and when the soap would end. It was that bad. I was shit scared. Further the owner had showed me photographs of the British planters who owned the estate in the 1800s. And a picture of the planter's wife who had died here during the devastating earthquake of 1905. I kept looking at the glass doors thinking that any moment I would see a face staring at me. And I swear when I swtiched off the lights of the room and ventured out, I heard a rustling in the tea bushes. That was it. I ran for my life and for the shelter of my cottage.

It did not end there. You see I am rather a coward. I just couldn't go to sleep. I called up E who thought it was adventurous and sounded fun. "It must be good for newly weds. Roam around in the morning and have sex in the evening when there is nothing else to do," she mused. Even trying to read an MB didn't help.

Next morning I set out for Mc Cleodganj where I had spinach and potato momos for Rs 2 each (they were delicious especially as it was drizzling with a cold wind blowing. A monk called Tenzing egged me on saying they were the best momos to be sold there), listened to the Dalai Lama and couldn't make out anything of his Tibetan chants, saw nice looking firangs most of whom seemed like they needed a bad bath, searched for a monk I knew at the Namgyal Monastery but was told to look at the archives so didn't bother, bargained with a ruddy faced Tibetan junk jewellery seller who didn't relent much, sat down in a cafe and enjoyed piping hot coffee with macaroni and walked down to the St John's Church in the Wilderness (where Lord Elgin is buried) and thought I would get raped and thrown down the forest (it was that deserted, on top of which it was a dark and windy day). I did as much as I could do in a day before I set out for Delhi in the evening.

Now I have made some more plans. This time it goes like this: six months of the year I can spend in Goa, from October to April. The rest of the year in Mc Cleodganj.

Now I have to figure out some way to do this.