A post-dated colourful tale

Yes, it's coming a tad bit late. But what the heck, I have got to share my exhilaration with you. If you remember Holi was celebrated in Delhi on Sunday...On Friday night, I was buying film tickets for Eklavya at a theatre in West Delhi along with friends C and T. T's husband P was in the process of parking the car.

Now C expressed her fascination for a certain pattern on the shiny granite floor outside the counter. In two minutes, we realised that it was actually water that had assumed an arty tree-shape and that it was the result of some people thowing water balloons at the people queued up at the counter. Mind you, they were all grown-ups laughing loudly and taking potshots from a first floor balcony right opposite the counter.

I was in a very tra-la-la mood. Just two days back I was in Bombay and the feel of the city was still fresh in my mind. You could say that at the time I was in the Bombay-state-of-mind. And there was a perpetual dreamy smile on my face I guess. That made my friends grin too.

All was fine till I felt and heard a splat sound on my trousers.

I dialled 100. The first time I explained the whole thing for a long time to the cop. Midway he hung upon me. The second time I called, I made a point to tell this other cop that I was from the Press and I wanted them to come and do something about the matter. "Madam, aap rickshaw walle bhi hote to hum aate," he said. I felt like retorting, "And pigs can fly!" ( a trademark line of mine that comes out very often whenever I express disbelief). Difficult it was, but I had to suppress this particular expression and say, "Then just come and prove what you said."

Meanwhile, I was dying to do something about it. I was not sure that the PCR would arrive. I asked P where the police chowki would be. He did and before he could ask why, I was stalking off to the chowki along with C and T. We found two constables, whom we immediately dragged along with us to the house. While we were thus stalking towards the house suddenly I was thrilled to see a huge group of cops coming towards. So there we were -- proceeding towards the house in full strength. I vaguely remember the sounds of people clapping at the counter.

The entrance at the house was so dark that for a moment I faltered. The stairs looked exactly like they would lead us into a dungeon. Anyway, when we reached the door of the 'perpetrators', we found that theywere seated for dinner. The expressions on their faces were what I wish I could have captured on a camera. Because you have to see to believe how the guilty can pretend.

Initially there were two teenage boys and their mother (she had been standing and laughing at the spectacle of people being bombarded) who kept insisting that they had no idea what we girls were talking about. Then when the cops collared one of the guys, she caught hold of my arm and said: "You are doing something very wrong. When we go to the market, people throw stuff at us also." To which I said: "Then you should do something about it." And then she said: "This is going to come back to you..." and went on and on. I was furious. From somewhere this fat middle-aged Punju aunty emerged and started convincing C that she is her 'dadi'. C, being a sweet natured person, was nodding her head. While I said, "Dadi? Which dadi?"

Soon the cops hauled the guys downstairs on to the road where there was these mohalla wallas had gathered to partake of the 'fun'. One of them in an abhorring black shirt with loud silver sequins took my breath away. And an old man who was trying to tell me that I was making a mountain out of a molehill. Then suddenly anti-climax came in the form of T's husband P who came and listened to the whole thing and uttered just a few words "Ye to chhoti si baat hai".

Heavens! It was almost comical. But the matter was taken out of our hands when the cops decided that they would take care of it. They did note down my name, father's name, cell number and address. So we went ahead for our show while they, I am sure, wrung a neat dough out of the donkeys. Good for them.

You're beautiful, you're beautiful, you're beautiful, it's true, la la la la la la

Woke up to strains of James Blunt. Then sprayed on S's bottle of Beautiful. As did E. And almost instantly we were taken back to our days of staying together in Malviya Nagar. Umm... I sound disjointed. It's a random state of the mind. You know when you are so happy that you cannot just put it down in words. When you feel like flying around work and making everybody smile cause you are happy.

Now to throw some light on the above. I have been on a kinda roller coaster ride in the last two months. Great highs and great lows. But to quantify, the highs have been higher than the lows.

If I start from yesterday night, I would tell you how I had the most amazing time with ex-flatmates S, E and S's husband V. The evening started with S and E making me wait at Sarojini Nagar Market for half-an-hour. After which we set ourselves on shopping, shopping and shopping for 33-100 ruppee skirts and what not. In between, we were caught in this shoe shop (Soft and Sleek -- if you are a shoe freak, you must visit this shop in SN. It rocks and I am not exaggerating), mainly thanks to E. It almost felt like we were part of the staff at the shop -- only we were trying out all the shoes under the price tags that said 150, 200 and 300 ruppees.

Some more shopping and we were finally out of SN. Once at my place, we of course modelled all our clothes and each of us had two more opinions to count on (I shudder to think of my bed. It is a humongous pile of clothes). By the time, we were out, dressed in our respective new buys -- E in her 'bordello' top (an affair in red topped off with sheer net), S in her lime green sphagetti and me in my new tunic -- we were pretty late. So much so that we reached GK and found that we were walking down the middle of a ghost town. It was only 10 pm.

But Gelato Vittorio was open. "You got us here for gelato?!!" the two shrieked. But since it came right at the point through which we entered the market, there was not much choice left for them. I was conned by the guy behind the counter in to buying two scoops of Chocolate Hazelnut Crunch and Whiskey Irish Cream and shelling out Rs 135. "Divine justice," mouthed E and S.

Since there was hardly any dining option, we sat ourselves in Yo China. Where I did an Obelix. As in picked on three plates of Crispy Honey Chicken and ate my through a huge plate of vegetarian noodles. The fact that I could move on my feet after that was in itself a piece of good luck. Meanwhile V had joined us and had what he said was soup that tasted like nothing he had before. It was not a very appreciative comment actually. And E had met her friend who is getting married.

When all was done, the four of us headed to Shangri-la. This time for coffee. I have probably never laughed so much in my life what with old stories and reminiscences of our recent trip to Murud Kashid together. I think you have never heard of any one drunk on chicken. I was. It was so bad that I was planning to rest my butt on a water-filled platform in the hotel. S stopped me thankfully. Thus we ended our night or should I say started today.

But truly, simple pleasures create such great memories.

To capture moments that put me on a high...

Funny, how one week I was sitting at home watching the ad campaign of 'Malaysia, Truly Asia' on the telly and the other I was staring at the rather imposing twin towers which are apparently 279 times my height. Though we didn't get to go to the skybridge, because our tour guide didn't happen to book the tickets ahead of time.

The twin towers, by day:

The Prada window inside the Suria KLCC:

And a peek at the towers by night, from in between the Hotel Nikko buildings:

The same day, we rushed from the twin towers to a shopping mall called The Weld. My friend P wanted to buy handbags from there cause there was quite a deal at hand. She bagged three of them for just 100 RM (ringgits). I had to literally keep my hands tied down, as I had quite finished with shopping by then. Which is why, I have resolved to keep a tight rein on my impulsive and compulsive shopping. At least I would not have to suffer from shopping pangs on future outings.

While returning to the towers (where we were supposed to meet the rest of the group and guide D) we had a nasty experience. We hopped into a cab. I mentioned that the Twin Towers were our destination and P happened to say Suria KLCC (which is basically the same because the mall is within the towers), when the man behind the wheel turned back and bit out: "I am confused about where you want to go." He was a bad 'un, that one. Whirling back he asked us where we were from and in a trice asked us to just get down. It was the offensive manner in which he spoke that raised my hackles. But I guess for every good experience you have, you do come across a bad one.

One evening we had the chance to walk down to Central Market or Pasar Seni. It was just perfect. I love to explore a place by walking through it. After I had shopped like crazy at this departmental store called Watson's, I came across these street musicians strumming the guitar and singing romantic numbers. With them was this little kid with a small guitar. He was adorable. So I went up to him. He was accompanied by this cute young hippy guy (not in the pic) who was quite a flirt. He told me that if I wanted to take the little fellow, I would have to take the big fella with me as well!

While these musicians were on with their strummings, young guys and girls were seated around enjoying a breezy cool evening. An ideal setting for sitting down with friends and doing nothing. Not even chatting probably.

Here are some ganeshas I saw at the Central Market that I was totally enchanted by:

(Clockwise) Canopy Ganesha, Teaching Ganesha, Bathing Ganesha, Mirror Ganesha and Sleeping Ganesha.

A woman selling yummy eatables on the pavement outside Sogo Mall:

This is a cafe outside the Sogo mall area where I tried Mee Goreng (spicy fried chicken noodles with the leafy local vegetable sawi and doused in soya sauce). The cafe owner was a Malay who was just very amused by us. I don't know why though.

The cutest chef I have laid my eyes on:

One night I went to Zouk (check out its facade with the lovely lighting that changed from blue to magenta and thereon), the hippest nightclub in KL, with the despicable Mr D.

That was the night he decided that he could hit on me. Even after I had warned him that the fact that I was talking and dancing with him doesn't mean that I am easy. The git had the guts to say later that he wanted me to put my arms around him because there were four girls trying to seduce him. I wish I could have flicked out a mirror and made him take a look at himself.

Inside Zouk:

A shot from the car, of Selangor, the city of lights:

We set out early in the morning on day four for Putrajaya, the venue for the Flora Fest. There were hardly any security hassles once we were in through the initial barrier. No checking. Nothing. After all, the place has been lucky so far as to have not been hit by terrorists.*Touchwood* It was a refreshing change.

These lovely girls wearing orchid garlands were waiting with pretty bouquets for the king and the queen:

It was kind of equivalent to the displays on our republic day. The individual states like Sabah, Johor, Selangor, KL, Terrenganu all had their flower displays. Even KFC had a display. Check out the KFC float:

With lovely music playing in the background and colourfully dressed men and women dancing, it was absolutely stunning:

The national mosque of Putrajaya. It was so pretty. I wore a bright pink huge jubba to get inside. That's when they decided that I could not get in because I was a non-Muslim. It hurt. The driver S who accompanied me there apologised profusely. It was touching considering the fact that it was something he could not help. Neither could I.


Just married!

Yes, this couple had just got married at the mosque. They made a charming picture in their shining white clothes. The guy is wearing a sampin (skirt), the baju malayu (kurta) and a songkok (cap), while the lady is in a kabaya (dress) along with the dudong (headscarf).

Aha, this one is a shot of the sting ray.

Inside the KL Towers itself there is an aquaria called Aquaria KLCC. Where I got to touch a star fish (rather gingerly) and a shark that looked more like an eel (the reaction here was a shudder). And of course I got to see all kinds of creatures -- green sea turtles, hawksbill turtles, bamboo sharks, electric cat fishes, tree frogs, treetop serpents, tarantulas -- very eeky creatures most of them. The cutest of them was the common marmosets which were very human I must say. They kept on playing with each other. By that time, I was out of battery, so the digi cam wouldn't work, much to my dismay. Hence I missed out shots of the beautiful leopard shark and a massive black thing called the Tapa fish. The latter was omnious. It was resting quietly in a corner of the aquarium. "Mind you, that quiet demeanour is deceptive. It was bought by these locals from the rainforests. They had to carry it and bring it here. It was possible because it can live for an hour or two without water," said Fiona, the pretty PR for the Aquaria.

Now let's come to the most adventurous part of it all. It was the day we drove from KL to Penang. A tiring road trip, but when we stopped at a snake temple on the way to the hotel, here's what I saw:

This huge lady was open as was the one in the background and another python (not in the pic). This python seemed awake, while the other two appeared dead to the world. The reason being the fact that they were shedding their skins. What I did next never ceases to amaze me.

I touched the lady python.

It took me a good five minutes to actually touch her (you cannot imagine what a phobia I have of reptiles. I get nightmares of crocodiles and snakes with their slimy selves trying to get at me). The owner, a Chinese man called Chew, really coaxed me in to patting her. But when I touched her, she hardly felt slimy or the like. It was exactly like the way those smooth crocodile skin bags feel. After that Chew urged me to wrap her around my neck and get a pic taken. Now that I couldn't do. Lady python had her last meal some three weeks back.

Then there was Naja Naja:

This cobra was initially lying quietly in a corner with its mate. Till my idiotic group guys wanted it poked because they wanted nice pictures. "Aisa kijiye ki ye phan phailaye na!" said Mr J, which was translated duely to Chew by Mr J's friend, Mr S. But the funny part was that all of them went and stood behind the open cage, while I who is a complete coward, stood in front of it and went click, click, click, as it rose up with a hiss thanks to a good few pokes from Chew.

What really made me feel nice was holding a baby bunny and feeling it burrow in my hands. This talkative little 6-year-old Chinese girl, Zhiling Teow, who stays on the farm with her parents and uncle Chew, is holding the baby for me.

Just a feel-good picture by the pool at the Bayview resort in Penang:

A delicious lunch at The Happy Garden restaurant in Penang. The owner, Sherin, is a former Miss Hainan, who prepared this authentic Hainanese meal for us. So there were stir fried veggies spiced up with garlic, chicken dry fried in chilli and cashewnuts, claypot tofu and sizzling prawns served along with special Chinese tea.

More food! This time it was at the open eating area in Padang Kota in Penang. In the yellow bowl is the Laksa (rice noodles in tangy fish gravy), the blue plate has the Kampung (vegetarian fried rice and noodles cooked in soya sauce, garnished with an omelette) and in the orange dish is some Javanese noodles (cooked in a thick brown peanut sauce along with fish balls and prawns).

I especially enjoyed this meal because I was eating out with only guide D and driver S. The others were dining at Pizza Hut after we had just had a huge row between spoilt Ms S and D. Her mother even called up D threatening him with his job. It left him quite speechless as it left me ashamed of this group that I was stuck in.

A guy on with cooking satays:

This is the evening before the morning we set out for home. I took a real long walk on the beach by myself. And it was refreshing though I did feel a bit lonely at moments.


Whoa! It sure was a marathon post. As you can see, it got me going.

A big hallo!

I was sitting in the middle of this ballroom yesterday night. It was done up in red right from the luxurious drapes to the woman dressed in red silk dresses. Yes, it was a pre-Valentine bash thrown by a cosmetics company that launched its new age miracle cream. Cyrus Sahukar, who was hosting the show, described the place rather aptly -- he called it a giant tomato.

But be it a giant tomato or not, they played the most mushy soundtracks from Roxette, Savage Garden, Seal... You might cringe at the thought of it, but paired with red wine and cheese croquettes, it was a heady combination alright. It was the moment when I thought of all my loves -- past and present. And how futile they always turn out to be.

And however much I might snigger at the concept of Valentine's Day, it feels sad and pretty left out to watch couples linking up hands and revelling in each other's company. Wonder what that feels like.

Before I fall into the blues, let me talk about a trip that I went on to Malaysia. It was magic all the way.

In seven days, it felt like I had lived a lifetime of happiness. However it was a sponsored trip by the tourism board of Malaysia, so I was stuck with other journalists who were a shame to be with. There were six of us altogether -- three girls and three men.

Two paunchy middle-aged men were only interested in drinking and making us wait, without fail, in the hotel lobby every morning and evening. The third man was someone who was so well-travelled that he couldn't stop talking about Italy and Mauritius, that too with a fake accent. His grammar might have been occasionally screwed up, but hey he had an accent! Now among the girls, there was this madam who was flaunting her wealth besides the unwholesome sight of an ample paunch and the crack of her butt (thanks to a low-rise jeans and a short top). "I own three luxury cars in Delhi -- a Baleno, an Accent and a Corolla," she told our first tour guide. This guy was loaded with ready wit. He insisted, "We'll take you to one of our luxury car showrooms and you can take home another one." The fifth of us, this girl with a travel magazine, was the only one I got along with.

Now that I've let out my co-traveller woes to my heart's content, I must confess that the place itself was perfectly cosmopolitan. There were no lecherous men on the streets or anywhere, the people were very well-behaved, the public loos were spick n' span, the buses were swanky, the cabs were all air conditioned and ran by meter. Add to that a tropical breezy weather san humidity and you had the perfect place on earth. I was totally won over by the ample opportunity to do cheap shopping. So in the first two days, I exhausted my budget and ended up buying a huge travellers' bag to stuff everything in!

If we start at the beginning, the Kuala Lumpur International Airport is fantastic. There are aerotrains that go right into the main terminal. Now on the way from the airport to the Hotel Nikko, which was quite a long drive (a one-hour one) flanked by zillions of palm oil trees, I was a bit taken aback by the sight of fields of dead palms standing out among the lush greenery. The guide pointed out that they kill their palms when the trees are around 30 years old by pouring kerosene oil down them. "To do away with the less productive ones," he said. Sounded morbid, even though it makes sense to them I guess.

The miles of unhindered greenery gave way soon to skyscrapers and beautiful Islamic buildings, Moorish edifices and old Raj style buildings. The next day we visited the king's palace which is also called the istana.



The palace grounds

We were of course not allowed in. So all we could do was click pictures from outside, of royal guards on horseback (who change every two hours) and a colourful outer garden (changes every three months). The king here changes too! Every five years. The present king is Tunku Nizan Zainal and he happens to be the youngest king so far at 44. But he's a shy one. Apparently he doesn't meet anyone and even appointments do not work with him.

Our next few stops were the ASEAN Garden and a war memorial in the same compound.

Check out the bronze soldiers in the War Memorial -- they symbolize victory, bravery and courtesy



What I loved especially was the Moorish style architecture of the National Railway building:



Opposite it was the massive KTM Berhad, the railway administration building, designed by E C Norman, a Brit architect:



The National Mosque itself was unconventional. None of the usual domes that you associate with a mosque. It has a Javanese design with the main hall topped off by an open umbrella roof in a beautiful turquoise blue:



I think each building looked stunning, be it the National Library, the National Museum or be it the 'Sexy lady of Kuala Lumpur' which is actually the building of the Haj Foundation.

Where we went for lunch in the city centre actually was the icing on the cake. It was the Menara Kuala Lumpur (KL Tower) with a revolving restaurant. From atop the tower it was a lovely bird's eye view of the city.

These two old ladies admiring the view of the city while lunching at KL Towers were rather endearing:



Some miscellaneous pix from within the buffet area of KL Towers

This lobster shed its shell in the aquarium here apparently in the 1990s:



This cake is apparently three years old:



The buffet was very sumptuous as well.

The dessert counter:



Only I got excited by the sight of this jar stuffed with what looked like fried papads. I greedily piled a few on my plate, when I was warned that I might not like them. By that time, I had even popped one into my mouth. I can't tell you the incredible reaction it had on me. The papads were fried in fish oil. Not that I am a fish hater. I am a Bengali after all. But stinking fishes are the limit. I must say, that otherwise, the fishes were cooked very well in lemongrass oil and had a lovely flavour.

The evening was spent shopping in an arcade opposite our hotel and then soaking my feet in hot water. They were as sore as hell.

Part 2 of the trip follows in the next post. Kind of running short on time.

Life as it is...

I was feeling blue since yesterday night. But then I went and bought an Asterix (Asterix and Cleopatra) and a Tintin (The Seven Crystal Balls) this afternoon --the old ones I had having all gone on various trip to friends somewhere or lying in my library room back home. Nothing gives me a high as much as looking at books, reading and browsing through them. Dark chocolate edges in as close as it can of course. Considering the fact that I have been demolishing bars of Lindt's Madagascar, Cuba and plain bitter flavours every single evening with alarming gusto and persistence, I guess it would be kind of an understatement.

I have been meeting people, who I would like to believe, would make a difference in my life and that of others they have touched. Dame Anita Roddick, the founder of The Body Shop came over to Delhi to formally launch the store here.

My pre-conceived notion went somewhere along these lines: that she would look down her nose at everybody. What I saw instead was this spunky little woman with her head full of unruly brown curls. I have not heard a Brit be so un-Brit.

The dame was unconventional. Swear words came tumbling out by the second along with witty one-liners. And yet what touched me was the fact that she was stuck about doing the 'right thing'. How being an entrepreneur she has used her money and power to help others. The best part was that she didn't sound like a preacher or too self-important in the least. We all like to live for ourselves. I do. How many people actually reach out to those not so fortunate as us?

She was a funny and special woman. Her mother is 92 years old and wants her ashes to be exploded along with fireworks when she's gone. And she sneaks in chilli into her neighbours' tea. That tells you what a scream such a woman's daughter would be.

And in the mean time I have re-discovered my passion for vintage cars. My grandfather owned a Morris that was a cute black number. Over the years, however, following his death my uncle (father's elder brother) let it fall apart. Then one day we heard that they wanted to sell it. I was as loathe to let them do it as was my father. You see, my dad loves driving and he had learnt it in his dad's Morris. So there was much sentimental strings attached there. On my part, I might never have been in the car, but I love anything old and a vintage is authentic. Plus I have memories of the Morris lying unattended and in a decrepit condition in the garage of my uncle's home. I used to keep telling dad that we should have it with us since he was so attached to it. But his reply would go such: "You know we can't." Caught in the politics of the family, the Morris was sold. That was it. An old man's dream sold off. Just like that.

When I went on a lunch to a corporate lawyer's farmhouse, I was amazed by the collection of vintage cars in his shed. The stately black Minerva, the gleaming Buicks, the shining yellow Cadillac, the brilliant red Chevrolet, the black car from Zubeida, the Ford Station wagon from Gadar, the lavender Ford Zephyr driven by Hema Malini once, a beautiful old carriage with gas lights belonging to a Maharaja -- I was in another world altogether. Oh and there were lovely old Lambretta scooters too. I was so envious as I listened to the lawyer say that once a year he takes off in 10 vintage cars to Sariska with family and friends. Must be some sight.

Here, come put another candle on the cake...

While some things remain exactly the same -- like the Birthday Girl turning Sarojini Market up and down literally looking for The Birthday Outfit till she finds out the perfect shirt dress, the perfect belt and perfect leggings, the parents looking for a guy for their 'over-the-hill' daughter (mother reminded me this very morning that I am on my way to turn 27 next year!), a brother calling up his sleepy sister and cracking poor jokes on the morning of her birthday and and on the afternoon of her birthday finding to her delight beautiful flowers and feminine gifts lying on her desk from her colleagues -- some things somewhere, somehow change you as a human being.

These are not things that would bring about a literal change in a day or a week or a month probably. But they would be there with the self. Now I don't know necessarily whether that makes any sense. Cause I am a tad bit exhausted. I have tottering around on heels all morning, cutting yummy cakes, opening gifts, taking food orders from editor and colleagues, munching and talking a lot.

Right now I am seated quietly and thinking about other stuff. Stuff like will the guy I care about ever wish me. I guess not *sigh* and here I am, a fool, waiting for an e-mail with bated breath.

Then scenes from yesterday evening flit through.

You see, I was at AIIMS. I have been of late plagued by a case of tiny rashes on the upper lip (let me state here that I am not HIV-positive!). So my brother suitably alarmed me by saying that since the whole face is linked to the brain through a particular vein, I am in considerable danger of having my upper works affected. As ridiculous as that sounds now, you have to hear my brother at it. He even convinced me once that I was in danger of retinal detachment.

Now my idea of AIIMS has been rather exalted.

The sight that greeted my eyes when I walked to the casualty ward was that of people lying on the pavements -- lying, sleeping and eating on the ground. Who were these? They were the attendants (the families accompanying the patients from various states). My brother's friend Dr S (who was taking me to her fiance for the check-up) commented: "It is sad you know. These people hear such big things about AIIMS. And then the poor sods arrive here from places like Bihar to lie on the pavement."

We entered the casualty ward and the smell of urine and sweat was strong enough to penetrate my blocked nose. Then there were the sights of people with bloodied shirts lying unconscious on stretchers and dead bodies being carted away. Soon I was in the room where Dr X (S's fiance) rests during the night. It was dirty, with grime covering the white floor tiles and the bed sheets unwashed for god knows how many decades.

As I perched myself on one end of the bed waiting for Dr X to manage some time from his harried routine, Dr S told me how he hardly gets to sleep any night thanks to the fact that there are hardly 10 doctors taking care of 200 or more patients. "X was very enthusiastic when he started at AIIMS. Now he has resigned to his fate here," she said. "Do you know that AIIMS has the lowest mortality rate?" That really impressed me. "No, wait," she added. "Let me tell you why. That is because all the serious cases are never accepted here. The moment they get such cases, they send them off to Safdarjung Hospital. And if a junior resident at night happens to take such a case, he gets jacked the next morning by the senior resident."

It was reality check.

Even meeting Dr S. She was so simple and one of those earnest people who only care about studies and work. And she told me about my brother who is right now in Assam working and studying in a hospital there. "Half his bed is covered with books and he sleeps on a narrow strip. He's so thin. I guess that's how he manages. He studies all the time and just doesn't do anything else. He is a walking encyclopaedia," she said.

All of it just makes me very sad.

If I sound disjointed, blame it on the mood.

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.