Greedy guts!

I was happy, very happy with life so far. It all started with my trip to Shimla for a story. I got to stay at the Wildflower Hall, an Oberoi resort, on a higher altitude than Shimla in a place called Chharabara. I felt like a princess.

I used to get up early in the morning and do yoga out in the open with only the gushing sound of the wind through the tall cedars and spruces and the occasional twitterings of a lone bird. Thereafter I would go on wild strawberry trails through the woods around the resort. Sip on wine and settle down for long lunches while staring at the pouring rain through the bay windows of the restaurant. Roam around and take in the beauty of the old buildings surrounding the Mall. Or even stop in at a mini zoo and see sloth bears, brown bears and black bears in all their incredible fatness pacing around their pits or just lying around and once in a while shaking their heads to shoo away pestering crows and flies. I found them incredibly cute though the person with me did warn me that they are anything but that. "Once a man tried to shake hands with a brown bear in this very pit. The bear pulled him in and thumped him all around the pit," he told me. I couldn't stop laughing hysterically at the story -- I could actually visualise it playing before my eyes. And the comic element tickled me more than the scary side to it (I know it was not justified at all, but when did we react the way we are supposed to!)

I returned and after zapping in my cover story in a matter of days hurried off to Calcutta to attend my brother's reception. Which however turned out to be a wedding! It was not exactly to my parents liking because my brother went ahead and had a registry marriage. It is something I don't like him for at all, because it has given birth to a very dysfunctional family. And it is very annoying because I am the outlet for my mother's woes. Also I do not happen to be the most sympathetic listener to her.

Nonetheless I did have a good time there because that is where I started my fondue trail at KK's Fusion with a Bourguignonne Fondue (a pot of hot oil on a wicker of flame is served with a selection of marinated raw meats and seafood and it is almost like tapas because you dip the cooked dunks into an assortment of tangy and cheesy sauces) and a Cheese & Spinach Fondue (that was paired with tender kebabs, grilled fish yakitoris and crumbly batter-fried chicken). Along with it I had their Crepe Fantasia for dessert which turned out to be a chocolate pancake stuffed with vanilla icecream doused with whisky and topped up with slices of mango. They flambéed it on the table itself. It was the perfect way to wind up dinner for sure.

Back in Delhi I continued on the trail and tried out some fondues at Mocha. Where they serve the cheese one with crisply done bread sticks and red, deep fried potato wedges with skin. A whole egg also comes with it, with the invitation to scramble it in the fondue. But I am not very fond of scrambled egg not cooked well that remains kind of raw, the way the Swiss apparently like it, so we did not attempt to break it into the fondue. I couldn't stop dipping into the yummy fondue which was as cheesy as it gets with three kinds of cheese melted into the pot. So at one go I was tasting a blend of Gruyère, Emmenthal and Cheddar. We of course overdid it when we chose to dig into a herbed chicken pie as well. But even with our tummies threatening to explode, we did dunk profiteroles, vanilla cookies, Angel Hair Cakes and marshmallows into the dark chocolate fondue they served. My next stop was Tabula Rasa where they offered us a mean cognac-flavoured pool of chocolate. It was right out of my chocolate dreams.

So with so much of happiness in my bag, I guess it was not meant to be that I should have been sitting in a cafe in Mcleodganj, even as I am going clickety clack on this keyboard, slurping hot soup down my system. I had come with packed bags to office to take the Volvo from wherever it started. Everything was done except the booking for the Volvo. Which is where we erred big time and this is the end result that I am wallowing in a well of self-pity.

The bad thing about feeling low is, at least for me, that I start counting all the things I don't have in life. I think about this Bombay guy I really like and I cannot ever have in my life, I think about the unsuitable guys I go out with (I don't know why), I think about my sad family, I think about the official trips I should have been on and wasn't on...the reasons then seem to go on and on.

I guess I am greedy. Greedy for happiness. I also guess that I will have to wait.

Of meeting the writer of Kane and Abel

I got a book signed by Jeffrey Archer. His latest thriller - A Prisoner of Birth. For which he is touring India at the moment. So I met him yesterday for a one-on-one.

It is funny how first impressions go for a toss.

The day before I was gung-ho after listening to him at a book reading in Gurgaon. He was witty, he was sarcastic, he had a good deal of expressions on his face, he was a good speaker (Add for good measure the fact that Kane and Abel happens to be one of my favourite reads). My attention was riveted. As was that of the rest of the audience of readers which applaused him with unreserved gush. He knew exactly how to woo them all.

With ravings about Indian cricketers to an audience of Indians, you just cannot be off mark. Especially when you say, "I have to tell you all that your Indian cricketers are your best ambassadors abroad".

To top it all, he signed each and every book at the book store and refused to leave till they were all done. Touching.

Then on Sunday morning I met him in The Mountbatten Hall of The Oberoi.I was disillusioned. Not that I mistook him as a man with a spotless reputation. In fact I find men with nothing scandalous in their pasts a tad bit boring!

But what is it with foreigners being patronising about Indians? And paying backhanded 'compliments' about bloody Indians taking over Harvard, Yale, Oxford and Cambridge in the next few years? I am not sure I quite fell in line with old man Jeff.

In fact I ended up having mini verbal battles with him. He was expressing surprise about the kind of considerable audience he has in Japan and India. I raised my brows immediately and said, "What is so surprising about that?" He fell quiet for a few seconds and then said, "I guess I shouldn't be." Then he comes up with an inane sentence like, "But I guess you Indians love storytelling and romance?" Uh!

My hackles rose further. He happened to make a statement on women's wants being simply about dressing up well and going out at night. I was astonished and I reacted as such. And to my indignation, he led it off track and said, "Young lady, you are pretty and you dress well. How many people out there can have the same? Come out with me and see for yourself!" I retorted: "My reference was rather about your making women sound so frivolous." (I probably sounded like a feminist). So he pounced back and said: "Why, do YOU like soccer?" And when I replied in the positive, he said, English women care for neither cricket no soccer. What a nonsensical argument it was.

And what a weird interview it was. Where the interviewer was being interviewed as well. My lord insisted on knowing stuff like when I get up in the morning. And took me aside at the end of the interview and rasped, "So young lady, you will get up in the morning won't you?"

Happy days are here!

My Brit friend SD from Goa certainly brings good times along with him. The dude came down to Delhi for four days. He had already threatened to go Ferragamo shopping here. I had prepared to go into hiding.

But I did not need to. He finally decided to leave brand shopping for his trip back home to
London. But he did haul his other friend AS to go shopping with him for glares. Apparently it was quite a task getting him to pick one. Of course he didn't, because he said none of them was the 'it' glare.

Well, Friday night for us took off at Smokehouse Grill where we ended up in a huge group. There was SD, AS and her friends along with my friend PS. It so happened that another friend of mine was in town and decided to drop in as well with his group of friends. So it was a merry group indeed who got very sloshed when drinks were mixed like crazy. I, of course, overdid it with beer poured into rum n coke and vodka shots and what not. The result: a spinning head, spinning as rapidly as a top, and two hours of sitting in the washroom in an unreal haze.

The next day started off on a note that was not very pleasant. I quite felt like a sick dog at work. All resolves however fell off once I reached The Park at night. To be fair to myself, I did start off with a cranberry juice in Aqua. Then we tripped into Agni and I was seduced by rum n coke. And there I was dancing away merrily into dawn. SD happened to have some friend's friends there who bought us more drinks. They later apparently popped open a bottle of Champagne for him and went off to buy a Rolls Royce!

While friend PS and me drove home in early hours of the morning to catch up with our sleep before we met SD and AS again for a late lunch on Sunday.

As it so happened, sleep was not a sure shot for me. All my own fault so not that I can go into a strop over it. I had switched on the water pump at 5.30 am. At precisely 8 am there was a loud banging on my door. It was my upstairs (very irate) neighbour informing me that the pump had caught fire and got burnt (whisper: I had forgotten to switch off the pump). So there was no water and no electricity!

The entire morning a bleary-eyed AB spent attending to calls from the landlady who is visiting her son in Bangalore. And shelling out four grands to get the pump and electricity wires repaired *SIGH*

Late afternoon me and PS were off to Flavours for a four-hour long brunch with SD and AS. Oh was it long drawn out and relaxing. So we started with chocolate & kahlua smoothies. Our appetizer was a wood-fired juicy pepperoni pizza. After polishing it off, I had to plow through a baked chicken penne while I listened to AS telling me why her neighbours never took to her and her flatmate. AS said with rather a straight face: "First of all, my flatmate is a guy. On top of that, one early morning a friend of mine, a Spanish girl, fell off the balcony on top of the neighbour's car. I think he never recovered from the shock of it."

The conversation was, as you can see, pretty entertaining. PS warmed it up further with our old Times of India stories over a lovely Tiramisu that we all dug into with equal fervour.

The evening finally winded up with a film. The Pakistani film -- Khuda Ke Liye. It is brilliant. Not a film to miss out on for sure...

Now time for me to pop back to file a story!

Holy smoke!

It's 6.45 am. I am walking on the treadmill trying not to feel sleepy. I am the only person in the gym. Till a plump guy walks in and steps on the next treadmill. "Are you A?" he asks. "I just checked the register and realised it has to be you?" The awe in his voice being quite apparent.

"Uh, yes," I reply a bit cautiously.

"What a holy name!" he exclaims. "My day has been made."

"I am not holy at all!" I bite back. Not that he is fazed out in the least.

He starts quizzing me. Till he knows where I come from, what I studied in college, where I put up, how I travel to the gym, how the gym next to my house sucks, etcetera etcetera. Of course I am informed as to how he is so knowledgeable about my name and how he is a follower of Ram Krishna's religion (never knew it existed!) and is extremely spiritual.

After learning that I have been staying in Delhi for six years now and been working for five of them, he assumes I need to get hitched! "So are you looking at catching a guy?" he goes on. "Because it is essential to get married." That is exactly the term he uses - "catch". I don't know whether to laugh or slap him. So I just assume a poky face and keep walking.

Making a return...

What do you do when money keeps flowing out like there's no tomorrow. And tomorrow, when it comes, you will be scrounging around for the pennies.

I can see it happening to me.

And I seem to be helpless to put a hold on anything. Well last week, I probably need not have
bought the three saris that I fell in love with at Nalli's. But I did buy them. Then today I visited a dermatologist for some relief from a particularly irritating lip drying problem. Doctor's advise: Do not let saliva touch your lips (essentially no lip smacking or smooching!) To boot that, it came with expensive medicines.

I am hopelessly broke.

So any one looking to help out a damsel in distress, feel welcome:)

Because she has plans up her sleeve. Travel plans to Lithuania, Egypt, Turkey and Greece. For which she needs to save like lots of rupees*sigh* Living is so
expensive.

The aforesaid travel plans have been fuelled by this one perfect holiday I had in Goa a month back. I happened to travel with a girl friend who is quite chilled out and likes to do all kinds of crazy things. So I ended up having the time of my life parasailing, driving all around Vagator and losing our way of course in the narrow winding alleys, lunching in Fort Aguada (which is a must really), rolling joints, dancing all night with extremely cute French strangers in discs and garnering up the courage to give vent to my vocal skills in karaoke bars.

Let me mention this particular bar that we took a fancy to. Cocktails & Dreams in Baga right beside Tito's. We used to frequent it every night (the bartenders knew us as the Delhi Girls). We fell in love with this cocktail called Mr Mesh -- quite a concoction with chillies and Tabasco spicing it up.

If life is lived in moments, then I did have my moments.

A memory that makes me feel all catlike -- an evening in Baga when I sat on the beach, gorging on a chocolate eclair from Mambo's patisserie. I am used to eclairs that have just cream to offer. This one was sheer poetry. It was stuffed with gooey chocolate that oozed out of the sides as I bit into it leisurely and as the sea breeze ruffled my hair, I knew nothing but bliss.

Another was a chance meeting with the French stranger from St. Tropez. As a friend of mine claims, nowadays, all desirable men are either gay, married or they are young. This one was young too. He was just 21, but danced like a dream (and kissed well too). However when he hopped into my friend's car to come with us to the next bar that we were heading to, my friend lost his cool and started badmouthing him. I was a bit taken aback for this friend is a Brit and doesn't usually mind hanging out with strangers as he and his housemate have both confessed to me.

Even in my drunk stupor I was squirming with embarrassment. Poor guy was quite bewildered. But I am glad he still came with us. The third time however he decided to let go because my friend just pointedly ignored his questions as to where we were heading next. So he kissed my hand ala Frenchmen and I left. It was, as has been aptly put by former flatmate S, "like fleeting ships passing by in the night".

Oh, it takes my mind away from all petty problems and just makes me grin like a chesire cat.

Ever wonder what a super duper Sunday is like...

It is spent at a beautiful house in the suburbs of the city. Like me and my colleagues did at S’s place for a Sunday feast. And what a feast!

Kicked off with barbecued fish, juicy seekh kebabs, crispy chicken drumsticks, spinach pakoras, mushroom and baby corn fritters, grilled cottage cheese, paapris with dahi bhallas. To the accompaniment of Bloody Marys and Shandies.

By the time lunch happened we were already full. The mean eaters we are, we did not hesitate to pile up further on makke ki rotis smeared with generous dollops of butter, daal makhni and sarson ka saag. Not to forget the mutton curry with rice. All rounded off with apple pie and hot gulab jamuns. And washed down with more Shandy.

So there we had the perfect feast laid out for us.

At the end of which I threw myself on the big bean bags in the back garden and soaked up the sun. I had company. S’s golden retriever -- Pollu.com. An adorable, fat baby who lives the good old life of minimal movement – plodding on two steps and eventually flopping down on a chosen spot. Once in a while waking up to watch the world though droopy, sad eyes. She actually cannot run. So when one of my colleague’s kids was scared of going near her, I told her: “Rest assured, Pollu does not believe in chasing anything.” I am not exaggerating. Once in a while though her ears perk up at the mention of mice. You have to meet Pollu.com to know what I mean!

Now the house was so pretty, I was besotted with it. There were lovely warm colours on the sofas and beds, brightly painted walls, ancient haveli-style doors, Oriental dragons, sun soaked verandahs, the occasional nook with family photographs, a corner bar, an entrance with those huge bowls of floating rose petals and marigolds…just what I would love my home to be like. With of course the cute tangerine tree at the entrance, a picture to behold with tiny tangerines hanging from each branch!

I have to be off – for a historical novel wants my attention – but let me add this that those of you who live in Delhi have to try out the churros with hot chocolate in Choko-la, Khan Market. A treat on a chilly winter’s evening!

Let’s see what it means to be living

How has the year started for you all? Mine started on a bruised note. I fell down on a road in front of my office one day while trying to cross, it in the face of cars rushing in suddenly from a bylane. It gave me a bloody knee, taking me back to my childhood badminton days, days when I often fell on pebbly roads and got scars thereafter.

Though the present wound has healed after giving me a few sleepless nights, it has left patches I could have done without, considering a much-awaited holiday in Goa is coming up.

Just talking about Goa makes me feel so tra la la. If you know what I mean. This floaty feeling that takes care of the cares of life. It’s the kind of feeling that swamped my senses today even as I sipped on reds, whites, rosés and the sparkling varieties of wines at a wine and food show. They came from all over -- Argentinia, Hungary, South Africa, Italy.

I had august company I realized when I fell for the pale amber and sweet Tokaji Aszú. Louis XIV apparently, according to the Hungarian at the counter, dubbed it the ‘Wine of Kings, King of Wines’. I tried both the 3 and 6 varieties which refer to the number of baskets full of rotten grapes that have gone into the making of the wine and thereby affect its sweetness. It goes best with dessert or as my Hungarian friend informed me, “simply by itself as you put your feet up on your porch staring out into the horizon”. Unfortunately I own neither the porch nor the Tojaki *sigh*

An Italian sparkling red wine, the Brachetta, earned me a kiss from the chic Italian lady at the counter. And an invitation to mail her on her personal mail ID! It was as feel-good as it gets. The Brachetta with its fruity flavour was most unlike a full bodied, rich red. Do let a glass of it pass through your lips. You will thank me and hopefully buy me a round.

Another hit with me was the Pearly Bay from South Africa. I had both the white sparkling and rosé Pearly Bays. Both to watch out for. The Argentinian Malbecs and Chardonnays meanwhile lulled me since by then I had tried out innumerable sips.

I did pick up a few tips as well for choosing one's wine. The common ones: Pair the reds with spicy kebabs or other rich dishes and the whites with fish and other light dishes. And the uncommon one: never go for aged rosés. Unlike the reds and whites, they are best had young.

Enough wine talk for a day. And enough wine to drench the self. You can picture that by the time I got out of the show I was blissful as blissful can be. I have been in a happy haze since!

All your baby talk

A baby is quite a piece of art. Really. That said I absolutely adore the species.

At a lunch hosted by friend C, I met a cute, chubby angel. She looked like a female cupid. The only thing missing was probably a bow and a quiver of pink-tipped arrows!

Tiny brown curls capped an entrancing face made even more charming with pink cheeks. Baby pink was a bonny little thing wearing a pretty pink frock with her fat legs encased in pink woollen pants.

She was a happy child. Kept showing off a front row of two teeny weeny bottom teeth and kept babbling away. Keeping up with her garbled talk was enchanting. But the real task was walking with her. Her father was holding on to her hands while she tried her best to walk upright (she is just a year old, so has some time ahead of her to perfect those steps) when I intervened. And he warned me that I would have to walk her too to be of any interest to her.

So I got up and let her tiny palms rest in mine. Thereafter started a walk which made my back ache. And wasn’t her father glad. He had a wide grin pasted on his face as he said, “Tell me when you get tired.” Now I couldn’t really give up soon, so I had to humour my angel. In between, I tried stopping her and picking her up, but she was adamant. Amazing what will power these small individuals can exert!

Till I couldn’t do it any longer and swung her up in my arms and made her sit in a chair. Whereupon she grabbed my hair and wouldn’t let go.

I wish I earned enough to adopt a baby of my own. I have always yearned for one for the longest time. My mother though always expresses much concern at my train of thought. “It’s time you had a tot of your own,” she chides.

I once alarmed her when I seriously proposed adopting our tenant’s grand daughter H. I couldn’t believe it when she left our house with her parents to go back to Bombay. Every evening after I returned from college, I would rush to spend time with her. Once she peed on me. I was so angry that I did not let her come near me. Served me right when after changing she refused to let me come near her. It was only when I really cajoled her that she suddenly came running with unsteady steps into my open arms. Her favourite thing was to push my chin up and show me the sky.

She had an unusual name and an unusual twin brother too. The latter, a fat little boy with equally fat cheeks, once took a tumble from his pram onto our cemented driveway while I was wheeling him around. I will never forget that day. He started yelling and I started running up the stairs of my house. I got some really huge ice cubes for him which the nanny promptly put into his mouth. He loved it so much that he wouldn’t just pop it out.

That evening I was tensed like never before. I was sure I would be behind bars when he suffered a brain haemorrhage. It almost seemed like my mother had a black tongue. She had said earlier, “You never know when something happens and you will be sitting in jail.”

The next day however the nanny told me, “He fell down again on his head while he was playing on the bed.” Ouch! But boy was I relieved!

“I still have my feet on the ground, I just wear better shoes”

Not that I have a reason not to have my feet on the ground, but those feet savers have never made me feel so good. So I cannot have the Loubotins, the Aigners, the Diors, the Choos and the Blahniks (there's of course the pleasure of just gawking at them), but life never did stop for the lack of 'em, did they?

In two days, I have bought three pairs of boots -- beautiful ankle length booties, a pair of very comfortable Go Gos and one with killer stiletto heels. The inner glow is threatening to overwhelm my being. Isn't it just wonderful to slide your feet into a pair of new shoes and walk out, letting the heels tap smartly on the pavement?

Shoes for me once upon a time translated into a rather unobstrusive leather sandal from Sreeleather or something equally inane from Bata. Now that I look back I wonder how I ever wore them and felt good.

Really if my parents knew how much I spend on my feet, they would flip out and how! So when C spoke of stashing the bills carefully so that her grandmom couldn't come across them, I couldn't stop grinning. The horrified expressions of my parents leapt unbidden.

Little details that I would have made a face at, a decade back, have now firmly made their place in my list -- like those fur trims, cute bows, glittering sequins. If you ever drop by in Delhi and want to check out great deals, do take a peek at the collections of Soft & Sleek (however corny it sounds, the shop has lovely stuff from Bangkok) in Sarojini Nagar Market, The Shoe Garage in Shahpur Jat and Heels in Connaught Place. I promise.

Oh, it feels so good to be frivolous!

How high does the sycamore grow?/ If you cut it down, then you'll never know...

Life has been beautiful since the last few posts here. Ever since I returned from Calcutta. I learnt a lot too in those days. Like how you should learn to ignore strangers on the road and give them a wide wide berth, if you want some peace of mind. All I do is plug my iPod into my ears and go with the flow of music. Often I sing along. Yes, I am sure I look funny, but who really cares. The thing is we all learn to be happy.

But life is ironic. Things happen which you never thought could happen to you. Some time back I was out with a guy and I happened to meet his best friend, a photographer from Bombay, at a nightclub here. We danced together. That was the first time we had met and I had liked him a lot. It seemed the feeling was reciprocated. He had asked me if I would go out with him again when he returned to Delhi. There were some complications. I was not his friend’s girl or anything but he seemed to have got the impression.

After a long time, 8 months to be precise, photographer guy called. And suddenly at the end of the conversation he wanted me to be his girl. I was completely taken aback. I was floundering like crazy. I did like him but I certainly didn’t see THAT coming. Since then we chatted a few times. But one day I got very freaked out because he was thinking in terms of us setting up house together! He talked of converting for me (he belongs to another religion). On top of that he pronounced some words a bit funnily. And he has studied in a not-so-great college. Do I sound very superficial? It’s just that I do not want to be ashamed of the guy I am with.

One night I told him that we shouldn’t even talk because it would go nowhere and that he was rushing things. He wouldn’t hang up without a proper reason and really I couldn’t think of any except the religion card (which I admit was very cheap of me and wouldn’t really matter much to me). Finally he said he wouldn’t ever call me up.

A day passed. The next day he called. This time he said that he had to meet a girl from his own religion. “My mother and sisters are trying to set me up with her. And you cannot imagine how beautiful she is. You will lose your senses! She is so much more beautiful than you” -- was what he had to say. My reply: “Good for you! Go for her then!” I was hurt. I have never claimed that I am a beauty queen. So I thought that was pretty nasty and unwarranted. He ended the conversation with the fact that he had made up his mind about the girl he wants to be with. Then three days of silence and he called yesterday with a story about how that girl turned out to be pregnant. And how he was pretty astonished about me not calling him once.

Let me confess. I was a bit cranky about the absence of calls or text messages from him.

Right now, I am so confused. I really do not know what to do. I don’t even know much about him. He was supposed to come down to spend New Year’s Eve with me. But I told him not to. WHAT do I do?

Getting festive

Sitting atop the roof of a truck on the day of bisharjan, I was as happy as a 26-year-old can get. Really the simple pleasures of life such as bouncing a massive balloon back and forth at your 16-year-old cousin and entertaining a 2-year-old cuddly little niece gets to you!

On the way to the bisharjan


The sights enroute were beautiful. As beautiful as they look each year. The Victoria Memorial looking majestic and shimmering in the waters of the lake adjoining it, horse buggies standing by the roads waiting for enthusiastic passengers and Durga idols passing by on trucks with young guys in hordes leading the processions.

And then to return and feast on huge amrittis (imartis), shorshe ilish, aloo posto. Oh just thinking about it makes me feel so contented and full.

We actually have a puja in the family. It's about 150 years old and my father quite likes to boast about how it started off in Faridpur in Bangladesh. So an idol is brought to our relative's home and the entire family gets together during these four days of Durga Puja to celebrate it.

The ladies of our house during shondhi pujo when 108 diyas are lit. The shondhi pujo happens at a time when Durga is worshipped as Chamunda as she is believed to have killed two asuras - Chando and Mundo.

Below are some snippets of my jaunting around the city on ashtami night with friend E and her sister and brother-in-law.

All the way, Ma Durga!

On Vijay Dashami, I made sure that we had a look at the Hogwarts pandal in FD block, near my place in Saltlake. Apparently, J K Rowling and her publishers had sued the FD block association for it, but the association had gone ahead with it anyway. Am glad they did so. It was grand.

And Rowling lost!


P.S.: I got bitten by a dog. By a Dalmation of all dogs! Can you imagine how absurd that seemed to me. It was only after he barked, pounced and bit me (that happened so quickly I had no time to react) that my father said, "He had torn my shirt last time. I told you not to go near him." I wish he had said it earlier because when at night I applied some Homeopathy medicine on the bite and blood kept oozing out, it sure felt like hell. Especially after I had to take a tetanus injection thanks to which my arm swelled to twice its normal size and refused to go away for the next three days. Talk about an anti climax to the friendly 'hello' I sent the Dalmation's way!

Here's to good times!

Life is strange. It does funny things to you. If it lands a slap on your face, it kind of makes it up for it by making you go places. If it makes you work hard, it makes you smile too. And the happiness kind of makes up for the sadness.

And literally I did get slapped. It happened while I was in the metro station crossing a bridge to catch the metro towards my home. A guy passing me by molested me. I turned back and said, "What exactly are you upto?" The insolent look he passed me just had me fired up. And before I could think, I had slapped him. The next moment I felt a resounding slap on my cheek and I fell down. When I got up, I was trembling from anger and disbelief. I wanted to take him to the police. But he was too strong for me. I actually tugged at him.

Slowly people started stopping. And then from ones and twos a sizeable crowd gathered around me. Out of which a woman came and advised me, "Let them go. You are only making a scene of yourself." A man came up and said, "You slap this guy. Come." I was horrified. It was as helpless as one can get. Taking advantage of the crowd who were standing around doing nothing, basically enjoying the scene of a girl trying to take a guy to the cops, the guy ran away.

For four days I couldn't get out of it. Fat tears kept rolling down all the while. And just like that, on the fifth day, I snapped out of it. Why let a louse ruin my peace of mind after all.

Well, a friend then said that something good will happen to you. Like a junket will come your way.

And voila. It has. A junket has come my way. So on Wednesday I fly to Sri Lanka.

Though I must say I have been getting nightmares that the Tamil Tigers will probably get to know about the Indian tourists who have been put up in X hotel and take us hostage. Or that we will get bombed during our shopping or sightseeing expeditions!

I am sincerely hoping none of the above will come true.

Who says it doesn't get dark?

I have always wondered what it feels like to fly. My curiosity was sated yesterday.

It happened thus. I was walking down a road in Defence Colony while returning from my gym. I was trying to plug in my headphones, when suddenly a hand shot out from a bike and snatched at my bag. And because they were passing by at quite some speed, I flew in to the middle of the road and fell on my back.

Some labourers working at a construction site opposite came running and asked whether I was okay. By that time, I was up. It was numbing, so that I couldn't even say anything. All I could do was shake my head and just walk on.

Two or three yards away, there were these cops standing by a picket. The irony of it -- they had a bike on them (which they could have kickstarted by the time it happened and caught those guys). What did they ask me? "What happened?" To which I replied cuttingly (as much as I could between tears welling up and making them appear all blurred), "Didn't you see what happened?" Cop: "Did you note down the number of the vehicle?" While I felt like replying that I was busy falling, to see even the guys on the bike or the number, I pointed out to their bike and said: "You could have gone after them." Cop: "The rascals ran away."

The kind of conversation that can only make you feel more helpless and ridiculous. So I got away as fast as I could.

Now of course I am sitting with multiple bruises. Last night all I could do was cry and feel incredibly helpless. Today I have decided to do something about it. Call up the DCP and complain. For whatever it is worth, nothing might come out of it, but at least I wiill have done something.

Didn't I tell you everything is possible in this deja vu?

The humidity is killing. It rains for some time and, well, everything stays the same. But then have you looked, really looked I mean, at the sky especially as the sun sets. As the rays light up the contours of a streak of cloud. Along with the puffy little clouds floating past on a rather azure blue sky. The effect is of gazing at a watercolour work. At times when I am gazing at such a sky, I feel like going somewhere. Don't know where though. I think if ever one was to grant me my wish of travelling, I would be torn between the places I have already been to and those I have not.

A friend has to do a monsoon story, you know, one of those typical things where you have to ask celebrities what they would like to do on a rainy day. So I gave her my opinion (which she really didn't need I guess) of what I would like to do. Sit on the box seat of a bay window looking on to lush greenery and the sea in the distance while sipping on a mug of creamy cappuccino and snuggling into my guy *sigh*

What would you like to do on a rainy day? Assuming that you are not working or rushing somewhere. Imagine an ideal setting.

The Lord brought me so far, he won't leave me now

So I spent last evening sitting at home. Munching on a whole lot of goodies -- a medium thin crust pizza topped off with cheese, pineapples and barbecued chicken, a pack of chocolate chip cookies, a small pack of Pringles, all washed down with diet coke. And reading my newly bought copy of These Old Shades (I dig Georgette Heyer for her witty heroines). And a book that starts off His Grace of Avon Buys a Soul is reason enough to get hooked.

Pounding on the treadmill at the gym obviously went for a toss. It is okay to take a break. Hmmm...no?;)

But I am glad that I am back to reading voraciously. Whatever I can lay my hands on. The credit for which goes to Chicken Pox. That much-dreaded disease. At least I have always dreaded it since I was a wee thing. Because I happened to have seen a snap of a certain Guru in my history book whose poor face was marred by pock marks thanks to the fact that he had contracted small pox when he was a child. He had even lost an eye. Thenceforth I have always thought of C Pox as S Pox, even though there is a world of difference between the two. All these days that I have managed to not get the virus is probably because my mum would always put me on a diet of shojne datas (drumsticks) daily with the onset of spring. Now obviously I don't have her here to do the same.

So when the doctor looked at the bright red spots on my legs and tummy and pronounced solemnly that it was "Chicken Pox", I was ready to bawl. The curious thing however was that I had no fever or cough. I was fit as a fiddle. When you are as fit as that, you cannot imagine how painful it is to sit at home pretending to be sick. Only this was no pretense. The damn spots itched so much that I would go out of my mind even when asleep.

My mother flew down, it being barely a month that she had left me to settle things back at home. Parents will be parents no matter what. What would we do without them.

Anyway, this was the time that made me dig out all the books that I had kept stacked in my cupboard (you see, I have this habit of buying new books and saving them for later). A month back I had raided ex-flatmate S's collection. Among which was The Kite Runner. I just couldn't stop reading it through the night. Neither could I stop the tears from welling up as I turned the pages. It was beautiful.

My reading list thereafter included: Shadow Lines (Amitava Ghosh), a few MBs, Second Form at Malory Towers (Enid Blyton), The Mountain of Adventure (Enid Blyton), The Foundling (Georgette Heyer), Family Matters (Rohinton Mistry) and more recently Me and Mr. Darcy (Alexandra Potter). I think I read more than watch the telly.

Meanwhile I had to work from home on the office laptop. So I did not go mad as I had thought I definitely would. Then on the Sunday of the second week, when I couldn't take it any more, I escaped to Sarojini market. Why I use the word 'escape' is because my mother was dead set against me venturing out. And the minute I saw her moving stealthily towards the board where rests my home keys, I ran behind her and we had a mini tug of war (she was planning to lock the doors from within!). Thankfully, my Corey keychain came off the battle san much harm. And I was happy.

Between, I have bought this really tall umbrella with snazzy blue checks from Wetside -- the grandpa variety, complete with a wooden curved handle. I am in love with it. And so are people who come across it. Like my colleagues. They want me to buy it for them. It's a victory thing for me over my mum who insisted that I would look ridiculous walking around in public with a grandpa chhata. I have always wanted to use it for whacking wayward men -- the kinds who let their hands stray.

It was only today that I used the umbrella, to my glee, for the above mentioned purpose. I was walking down the road to hail an auto rickshaw, when suddenly a hand tried to grope my back and a man on a bicycle wheeled ahead as fast as he could. Simultaneously, I noticed a white Santro slowing down beside me and a guy peering at me through the tinted glasses. I just waved desperately at him signalling him to stop the guy.

Which he did! As I turned round the bend, I saw him catching the asshole by the collar and dragging him towards me. I ran ahead with my umbrella. You know what the ass said? He mumbled: "Haat galti se nikal gaya tha (my hand just slipped out by mistake)!" The guy slapped him real hard. And when the man tried to flee on his cycle, I landed the wooden handle of my umbrella on his back with a crack. Ooooooh how I loved it!

I was very keen on taking him to the police station. But then I had an appointment for a hair cut. The real hero, however, was the guy in the car. I thanked him profusely.

And when I turned to the auto wallah, who was sitting there watching the entire drama unfolding before his eyes, he agreed like a meek cow to the price I quoted without a word. Oh, the ways of the world!

Go West Where The Skies Are Blue

It's raining so hard. I wonder whether it will ever stop.

Inevitably I was caught outside, sulking at the stand, waiting for my bus. My saviour was my colleague P who happened to be passing by. As I scrambled in beside her, she said, "You don't how many jealous eyes followed you as you got into the car."

And now that I am in office tucking into a plate of puri and sabzi with great gusto, I am feeling all warm and happy. I guess it doesn't take much to feel happy. But then at times, those same little things seems so insignificant. Like yesterday evening I was happy for no reason whatsoever as I was walking down to the gym. But then I looked into the mirror in the gym and wanted to just disappear. An hour of cardio was showing in my trousers! Eeeks!

At that moment nothing seemed to matter but the fact that my part of my bums and the sides of my legs were wet. All I could do was bug gym friend S. Till at last she said it: "If you are uncomfortable, go home." That convinced me. Flinging my towel into the nearest basket I scampered out.

It was sweat. I know. Just sweat. So big deal. But the sight of it was mortifying.

And now I don't feel like going to gym today.

So the seconds went by

Happiness is so transient. Just when you think that something good is finally happening to you, the kind that you hear happens to others, it all ends with a bang. But this I have come to believe from this particularly mind numbing experience that please do not take away from anyone her right to truth.

It makes you wonder whether you can take anyone at face value ever again.

Actually, I just met someone. I had not previously, but I had seen his snaps. For two weeks I kept talking to him on the phone. Daily conversations that would extend to 3 am. He said all the right things. Of course I waited for that toe-curling feeling that accompanied those calls.

And then I met him. He flew down from Bombay.

A brief recap of what took place that evening.

1. The moment I set my eyes upon him, I wanted to let it out: "Err...you are NOT the same person I have been talking to!" The pictures he had sent me must have belonged to his brother. This guy looked at least 40.

2. He was a pansy creature. Too pansy for my comfort.

3. He insulted a girl who was trying to promote some wine to us with the words: "Do you realise you are interrupting an intense conversation!" And let me tell you what the intense conversation was about -- it was about my level of inanity. I was horrified. Next a waiter while passing us by asked him if he wanted another round of drinks. He received no response. So I had to turn to the hapless waiter and say: "Sorry, I don't think he wants anything else." Was he classless!

I have been never so humiliated in my life as I was sitting in that beautiful restaurant-bar. Whenever I asked him a question, he would turn his head the other way, turn back to stare at me and then say nothing.

4. Apparently the fact that I had chosen to simply sip on a cranberry juice had put him off so much that he couldn't bear to order a drink for himself or talk to me at all. And even though he did eventually ask for his favourite tipple, he would not talk. Just stare at me.

I have never spent a more strained 2-hour rendezvous ever. To the point of desperately wishing that anyone, just anyone, would rescue me.

Disbelief, shock, numbness, sadness and an incredible surge of anger that made me want to throttle the guy -- a variety of emotions has been keeping me busy the last two days.

And right now I have one wish -- that I could press the delete button. On all of it.

Such are the ways of the world

If it's (as Jane Austen said that) true that one half of the world cannot understand the pleasures of the other, it's also stands that one half of the world cannot understand the pain of others. Why else would someone like Amitabh Bachchan be donating wads of Rs 100 and Rs 500 bills to fat priests in Tirupati? To earn blessings for the newly-weds? Couldn't he have just cast a look at all the poverty around him.

True, we cannot alleviate poverty all by ourselves, but then every drop counts.

Flipping through the newspapers, it's ironic to see right on the adjoining page featuring the preparations for the wedding, a man dying of malnutrition. And equally heartening to read about the simple gesture of some students from St Stephens' to take care of the treatment of a tea stall owner suffering from cancer in the urinary bladder. To the extent that though not completely healed, he is back in his stall and living life.

And as the story aptly concludes: Hope floats.

Come sing along with me

*Um diddle diddle diddle um diddle ay, um diddle diddle diddle um diddle ay
Supercalifragilistic expialidocious...*

Hummmm...

Remember those early school days when you could sing it out loud with your classmates? Maybe because you loved watching Mary Poppins over and over again *sigh* When life was kind of uni-dimensional. Getting hold of that bottle of grandma's tamarind pickle and slipping under the bed and finishing it off. Sneaking off your brother's share of Toblerones, Aeros and Mars and eating them till you felt sick and having to finally throw half a bar of Toblerone. Why? For if you got caught with one of them, the spanking would be bad. Anyway you would have gobbled them up by then.

Reminiscing does make one feel so happy. What at the time seemed particularly heartbreaking and sad suddenly seems to make one laugh in retrospection.

Back to the present, the world has suddenly shrunk.

The office has shifted. To a place where we don't need intercoms. We're all within hollering distance or should I say whispering distance of each other. But all my friends are around me, so I am happy. The room is very peppily done up in orange and lime yellow. There's a canteen here -- yippee -- that has food cooked by guys who have broken away from the Andhra Bhavan canteen. If I sound overtly excited, it's because our earlier office had a small pantry which sold only soggy samosas and kachodis.

The list in the canteen is runs long. It serves hot and spicy fried chicken cooked Andhra-style, chicken biryani, upma, dosa, idli, yadda, yadda. So we have been taking frequent food breaks, gorging on syrupy bread halwa and daal vadas along with filter coffee.

Life is pretty yummy and rummy at the moment.

Random ramblings for the day

Things go wrong. At times, it becomes so difficult to know where it goes wrong. Like it is at the moment with two individuals I know. Both seem to operate on a similar modus operandi. Seriously. Like calling you at their own sweet will and then expecting you to be ready to take them up from where they left.

The first one, VS, used to call only at night and land outside my door at say 2.30 am. And given how impulsive I am, I would go out for coffee and night walks with him. One day he suddenly stopped calling. After about five months, he called me one night and wanted me to go partying with him and his friends. I agreed. Like a fool.

Cause what happened that night quite took me aback. We partied. His friends were fun. In between, I happened to dance with one of his friends who is a photographer from Bombay. He was really cool. Photographer dude was the kind who sits quietly in a corner looking like a brooding duck. But he did open up gradually as I kept raving about Bombay to him. "Appearances are deceptive," he told me in between. And I realised what he meant soon -- that is when he joined me on the dance floor. He could really groove. We bonded.

VS didn't like that. And it is not as if we were seeing each other or anything of the sort. Later while driving me home, he suddenly dropped a line: "I know all about ND". He was talking about a common friend who had asked VS's friend about him on behalf of me. And that friend had obviously twisted things around a bit while telling VS about it. VS was apparently really upset. Which is why he explained, he had done the disappearing act on me. And he asked me something really stupid. "Were you trying to make me jealous by dancing with my friend? I have been two-timed twice before. So I should know". The rest of the time, I tried to find out what he was so upset about, but he wouldn't let on. So I stopped.

And I have decided to be a hundred miles away from such a complicated character. Just the kinds who can make you understand in a trice what the term 'mindfuck' is all about.

Then came another such individual. One with an inflated ego. Who apparently works frightfully hard for a living. So I told him that I too work hard, that my job has its pressures too. He has been asking me out on dates, cancelling, disappearing, asking me out again, and again disappearing. It's almost like I am a doormat.

Whatever have I done to deserve such louses!

In the meantime, some things are still running along the same track. Like my shoe jinx. Recently I was running about for my stories at the fashion week, when to my horror, one of my pump shoes gave way. And while I was walking on imaginary heels, loudmouth photographer RS had to draw attention to it. To which one of my fellow journos exclaimed: "Hey now you are a model!" (a silly one, but yes he had a reference. His line was drawn from last fashion week when one of the models had to walk without heels. The heels of one of her stillettos came off while she was walking down the ramp).

This incident prompted friend S to recall the time when I had to come back to work in Dhoni's bathroom slippers. "You could get Dhoni to sign them and you could auction them on e-bay!" S's brilliant idea would have worked because it was more than a month before. Life, however, has changed since then. Both for Dhoni and me. And let me confess that I had chucked the slippers last summer.

Then gym friend G tried to fix me up with a former model-turned-artist friend of hers. I was quite horrified because it brought this feeling of deja-vu along with it. That of S and her hubby making me meet one of his friends who is an actor. This time though my other friends accompanied us. And we all had a blast -- getting drunk and dancing our feet out.

At times, it does seem like I am waiting for something. But what is it?