Problem 1: The problem with having been in only long relationships is that I can never begin my stories with “I once dated this guy…” Because soon as I say that you know who I am talking about and just like that my anecdote loses its enigma.
Problem 2: I constantly envy those girls who can blog about their new boy and how cute his tush is. For even when I was at the stage where I found the new boy’s tush cute, I could not make such posts. He was already a friend of mine and was reading my blog by the time I noticed his hotness. My problem is that unless you are a Milind Soman or an Yvonne Strahovski lookalike, I would not notice how gorgeous you are until you buy me beer.
Problem 3: All my Internet endeavors share a many-to-many relationship. Therefore, if you know me on twitter, then you know me everywhere else and vise versa. This results in a wholesome ego search on one hand, but dips my mysteriousness to minus forty one.
Problem 4: I tend to get fixated with the book I enjoy or the show I dig, and have to gush about it online. Who has ever seen a Carrie Bradshaw or a Compulsive Confessor ever obsess about John Casey? My interests are too menial to make it to an oomph-y blog.
Problem 5: My geek-factor is a five point something, which leaves me hanging in a limbo. I am too geeky to be an ooh-la-la girl but too regular to be an awesome geek-God.
He was an exceptional storyteller and he loved telling them to her. He could pick the mundane little pieces of everyday life and spin golden webs of tales, mysterious, magical, and mirthful. He would talk of mammoth white monsters that killed for pineapple pastries and of little pixies that lived on lotus leaves. He could recite the life of old man as if it were his own, and could relate the nightmares of a tiny tot like he dreamt them himself. He talked, and she listened. This was the relationship they shared.
teller of tales
Every morning she rose with the first call of the rooster, washed her face, brushed her hair, and slipped on her flat shoes that were noiseless even on the pebbles outside. She slipped out of the back door and quietly made her way to the orange grove. He would be waiting at the edge of the grove, his lips curled in a happy smile and his eyes twinkling with joy. She always ran the last few steps to get to him faster, sooner.
Hand in hand they walked through the deep orange grove until they reached the lazy river. She would take off her flat shoes and dip her feet in the cool water. He would sit beside her, and tell her about the shooting stars and the nine-thousand years old genie in a bottle. She would listen with rapt attention, eyes opening wide every time his voice reached a higher note. When the story grew bluer, her eyes would well up and she would refuse to speak for the fear of hearing her cracked voice. He would laugh out loud when he would see her struggling to hide her tears, and this would make her giggle as well. As the sun came up, they would get up and walk back into the grove and then part ways at the edge.
This was a happy beginning of her day but as soon as she reached home, she would feel the hunger for more amusing stories, more delightful words. So, she would go about her day looking forward to tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow morning was always joyous until today.
She had reached the orange grove at the crack of dawn and for the first time she was there before him. This thrilled her to no end, for he forever joked about being the one who waited. She stood there thinking of various quips she could use today and the time passed. Soon other people appeared on the otherwise deserted street. She looked at the sky, and the sun was already there, all plump and dazzling. She decided to walk into the grove and wait for some more time, but ultimately had to walk back home when the tenants started to walk in with their tools. As she walked home, her heart felt heavy with an emotion she could not articulate. Was she saddened, was she livid, was she disheartened? She was uncertain.
The afternoon was very cool today. As she lay on the ground next to her mother, she could smell the jasmine flowers from the bush in the backyard. She decided that she must keep her hope up and go to the grove again next morning. She felt sure that he would come back, for he had promised forever to her. But then again, had he promised her anything at all? For he was a teller of tales, his sweet words were not to be believed. He spoke of desires, of optimism, of fondness but he never spoke of tomorrow. He always spoke of forever.
And that is how her wait began. A wait that would go on, forever.
I have no idea how long back this happened, and I am extremely disappointed in all my friends back home that they never told me about this mini movie that Ponds released in five 45 seconds advertisements. Maybe it has been discussed and maligned or appraised a million times in every possible media, but I saw the five ads for the first time today and I am appalled.
Now, I love the advertising strategy of releasing the ad in five episodes and I am sure it created a reasonable amount of buzz when it first hit the television. Basically, these ads are a beautiful work. They have every element that I love: romance, suspense, glamour. They tell a simple story in great detail in less than four minutes, approximately.
The first ad begins with the boy (Saif Ali Khan) parting ways with the girl (Priyanka Chopra), they take apart their heart-shaped lockets as they walk away. Then three years later, the girl sitting in her flower shop spots the boy’s picture with a sexy girl (Neha Dhupia!) on the glossy cover of a magazine. The boy is back in town and will now bump into the girl every five seconds. This constant bumping into her ex and his sexy girlfriend prompts the girl to use Ponds whitening cream, that does not make you white, but pinkish white. You chose whether you want to be pink n white or just white, coz being brown is a sin and will definitely lead to you ending up alone with only three cats for company. Coming back to the story, the new sexy (apparently fairer too) girl is actually a bitch, who screams at the boy in public when he accidently breaks her manicured nail while slipping on a huge rock on her finger. The boy then goes to the only flower shop in the town and sees his ex, who is increasingly becoming pink and white. He notices she still has her locket on, and this makes him instantly text her to tell that he still loves her. Soon after this text, he is back with his sexy girlfriend to offer her the rock in style over a romantic dinner. But a simple “be happy always” reply from the girl beeps on his phone and he excuses himself. The bitchy sexy girlfriend reads the message, and responds telling the girl to get lost. This breaks the girl’s heart, she applies some more Ponds whitening cream and takes off the locket. While the boy finds out about the ugly reply sent from his phone, and breaks up with the fairer bitchy girlfriend, the girl decides to leave the country. The boy comes running to the airport and looks for the glowing white n pink girl, finds her and she sees he has donned his locket and she cries happy tears and they live happily ever after. Phew.
What the fuck! No, seriously.
It is a shame that a former Miss World is promoting fairness creams in such a fashion. While there is nothing wrong with fairness creams and even in wanting to be fairer, but giving the message that you will not get the one you love until you are fair is repulsive. Fair and Lovely has been making ads where a girl gets a job or gets a good match after she uses the fairness cream for ages, but I have never seen a star (and that too the one I thought was opinionated enough to understand how damaging her promoting this product could be) do this before.
Our society, like any other, struggles with hundreds of serious issues that need sorting out for a better tomorrow. However, making fairness one of the prominent problems in life is something we all can happily do without. While I see many people concurring with me on this point, there is always someone who wants to milk this opportunity for their gain.
Or maybe, I am wrong. Maybe one needs to work on the melanin instead of trying to be a fun-loving, well-read, and open-minded person. Maybe Ponds will release episode six of the ad, where Neha Dhupia will rub in some cream and then Saif will run back to her, requiring Priyanka to work a little harder on her face. Saif will continue to ping-pong until one of the girl looks like a snowman.
The movie love happened in very late ’80s, in fact, the last quarter of the last year of the ‘80s. I caught on to the movie scene in the early ‘90s and thus, the particular decade has always been and will remain special to me. I have often made many lists about my top five movies by a certain actor or director or in a specific genre, but now it is time for the worst five of the decade. Now, if you are tuned into Bollywood of the ‘90s, you know there is extremely tough competition for the five positions. Nevertheless, the winners are:
Number Five: Sapne Sajan Ke
This Karishma Kapoor and Rahul Roy starrer came in the year 1992, when the love stories sold like hotcakes, especially if you added the icing of Nadeem-Shravan’s music to it. Lawrence D’souza also added some chocolate chip cookies to this already tempting cake in the form of guest appearances by Dimple Kapadia and Jakie Sheroff. The two stars played themselves, while Karishma plays daughter of a tailor or some such and Rahul is the son of Jakie’s chauffer. Rahul portrays himself as a rich guy to gain Karishma and her mother’s approval, only the mother discovers the truth in the second half of the film. Such refreshingly new story was enacted by the stone-faced Roy and pre-Manish Malhotra Kapoor in her garish avatar. A clip to refresh your memory:
Number Four: Guddu
Shahrukh Khan had already attained his star status by 1995, when this film released. Along with used-to-be-gorgeous Manisha Koirala, Khan made this unbelievably thick film and it was released amidst a lot of hype. Shahrukh plays a pampered rich boy, Guddu (as if this was not enough) Bahadur. He loves Manisha and the two innocent kids run around in the hay promising to ask their daddy about love-induced cold sweat. And then they meet with an accident in which Manisha loses her eyesight and Shahrukh, along with the girl’s parents, blames himself for it. Manisha does not agree but never bothers to tell this to Shahrukh as she does not want to “burden” him. This pure and unselfish love is reciprocated by Shahrukh who finds out that he has brain tumor and is destined to die soon. Reasonably enough, he decides to donate his eyes to Manisha, but no his parents would not let him! Excessive hamming, twisted story, and more, Guddu had it all. For your viewing pleasure:
Number Three: Yarana
One of the copies (won’t call it a remake coz there was no acknowledgement!) of Sleeping with the Enemy, the film starred the always-ravishing Madhuri Dixit in a very ugly wig and round-like-a-football Rishi Kapoor, along with the forever-evil Raj Babbar. Madhuri’s evil uncle sells her off to Babbar, who falls in love (not lust, this is a Hindi film, ok.) with her at the first sight. She runs off on the wedding day, and turns into a mannequin to hide from Babbar’s people. A drunk rich boy, our football-lookalike hero, falls in love with the mannequin and picks it up to take it home. This time around, Madhuri does not mind. She then poses as Rishi Kapoor’s girlfriend to help him appease his ailing granddad whose dying wish is – TAKE A WILD GUSS – to see his grandson married! Much crappiness follows. Amidst all this crappiness was a delightful song that is still fun to watch:
Number Two: Raja Hindustani
First off, let me tell you that this film was a very strong contender for number one position. Story was simple, poor boy meets rich girl, falls in love, kisses her by mistake, post the kiss the girl loves him too and calls him Raja Jee, and marries him against the family’s wish. Step mom is very unhappy and makes trouble, girl fights with the boy and then things happen that are very blurry in my head. Ultimately, the boy grows beard, steals his own son (who was born during those blurry moments) and runs away. The girl begs the boy to return the baby and then somehow everything is alright, all misunderstanding clear up and the whole bloody nation is giddy with joy. I still cannot believe this shitty film was block buster. What is wrong with you people?! And no, I will not link to the Pardesi song here, if you want to hear it you can go to Lahore or Lukla or Kasauli …anywhere not my blog. Nevertheless, here is an equally disturbing song:
Number One: Isi Ka Naam Zindagi
Tell me, did you know about this film? If not, consider yourself very lucky or maybe not. This film is so bad that it is hilarious. It leaves the usual bad Hindi films way behind. The movie stars none other than the perfectionist of Bollywood, Aamir Khan along with Farah and Shakti Kapoor. The story is so contrived that I do not remember it, but it went something like this: Set in the times of British Raj is a small village with a generous landlord, who dies leaving everything behind to his lecherous son (Shakti Kapoor) who likes to rape virgins. But this son also wants a particular piece of land of a poor farmer, who does not want to sell it. The landlord’s son dies somehow. Then the dead son’s lookalike brother comes and asks for the land. All this while the dead landlord roams around as a ghost, trying to make some point that I cannot remember for the life of me. Then time passes and finally the lookalike son comes to meet the farmer again (he got busy for like good thirty years in between), but the farmer is now a hundred years old and has a grandson (Aamir Khan) who wants to use the land to open a daaru ki bhatti. The landlord decides to take advantage of this situation and then there is Farah who sings gulai gulai gu. What? You do not believe me? Wait, watch this and tell me you love me for giving you such gems:
It has been a while since I ate a well-made dosa. Now, my standard is not very high but I have lived in the southern part of India long enough to tell a good dosa from a fake one. Considering that a reasonable chunk of Singapore population snacks on dosas every day, one would assume that getting one in Little India should be a child’s play, right?
Well, let me tell something to the one who thinks so – IT IS NOT.
Having eaten a very disappointing dosa (it was served with only tomato chutney!) in Banana Leaf a couple of weeks ago, I decided to find out the exact location of the two popular eating joints that are “world renowned” in Singapore. I gathered the intel on Friday night and on Saturday evening, I braved the mad weekend crowd and the beer-drinking gangs of Little India and walked down the Syed Alwi Road. The eager Indian chaps rattled their menus as I walked past them, engulfed in the strong smell of jasmine mixed with the stench of beer. As the tiny beads of perspiration formed on my forehead, I turned around to check that husband was still following me. I must digress here to tell you that it was only his true and undying love for me that made him walk behind me on this very crazy Saturday evening. For he is someone who does not care two hoots for dosas, and would have been extremely content if I had fed him some pasta and let him play some Brutal Legend instead.
Coming back to my ordeal, we walked and we walked until I saw those sweet-sweet words shining in red letters on a while electric-display board – Saravana Bhavan. My euphoria lasted exactly seven seconds because by the eight second I had spotted the serpentine queue amidst the tables where people ate like hungry-hungry hippos. I stole one glance at the husband’s face, the patient look was still there and taking it as an encouraging sign, I found a place for myself in the queue. Waiters came and waiters went, some people were ushered to the second floor seating, while I stood patiently watching the husband reading Tabla. After around ten minutes, I saw a man in black walking out with a paper and a pen. As he started to take down names, I raised my hand and stated at him with all intensity. It worked. He looked at me, and then he looked away. He kept taking down names of the people who were standing behind me, and behind those who were standing behind me and so on. I tried again, repeating my name and number of seats I wanted. He continued to ignore me. Almost at the verge of tears, I decided that he did not like my face and walked out.
Next stop was Murugan Idli. Although, equally crowded with even less sitting area, the place seemed way more welcoming than the previous one, where I may never go again for I do not tend to take being ignored so well. This place seemed to hold hope for a good meal, and a mixed aroma of all things nice had hit me as soon as I had walked in. Nevertheless, my patience ran out. I turned to the husband and begged him to take me away. Away from the crowd, away from the madness, away from this elusive aroma of dosas that used to be my daily snack around 18 months back. The husband being my prince is shining armor did exactly that.
I had a good dinner on Saturday. It was delicious and filling, and it provided a good background for some hearty conversation. But I still did not find that one dosa that my colleagues assume I eat every day for breakfast and dinner. Because that is what Indians eat, right?
For the past one month or so, I have been stuck in a bad-Hindi-film-rut. It started with the Salman Khan starer Wanted, which I watched because it was a remake of a highly acclaimed Telugu film that I have unable to catch. Next was All the Best, for which I have no excuse. I went to watch a Fardeen Khan starer, I only have myself to blame. And then, this afternoon, I spent $31 watching another poorly made film, Ajab Prem Ki Gajab Kahani.
There is nothing gajab about the story at all. It is the same old run of the mill love story where the girl only realizes who her true love is after donning her wedding gown (a shimmery red and silver lehnga in this case) that has been paid for by a rich guy who does not really appreciate her. I am more than a little disappointed in Raj Kumar Santoshi for making such a disconnected film. The films is fully of clichés and in-your-face references to everything from dad Rishi Kapoor’s super hit songs to the boyfriend Salman Khan and his own last super hit comedy.
The movie tries hard to be Andaz Apna Apna and fails miserably, but there are some truly fantastic scenes in the film, but sadly they do not connect. So, it is just like watching a standup comedy show where one joke in every five minutes is hilarious but the next one instantly kills your mood. I was rolling on the floor when Smita Jaykar flirts with her husband in an effort to delay him from walking into the bathroom, where she is hiding Katreena Kaif. In another scene, Katrina Kaif surprised me with her adorable expressions as she tries to woo Smita Jaykar into giving her shelter. So, a couple of funny scenes is about all the film has to its credit, and then again, there is Ranbir Kapoor.
The boy is terrific! I do not remember the last time I saw a new bollywood actor with comparable charisma. He is a whole lot of fun to watch in the comic scenes, his comic timing makes him look like an Akshay Kumar waiting to happen and then, his charm and screen presence reminds me of Shahrukh Khan in the late ’90s, when you could not help but look at only him as soon as he walked in to the frame. Ranbir is all that and then a little bit more. However, seeing the kind of movies he gets to do, I am sure he still has a long way to go before I can tweet the link to this post and boast to my friends, “See, I always knew he would make it big.”
- Is the funniest dialogue I have heard of late. It is mouthed in the most mechanical tone by Himesh Reshamiya in the rushes for the film Radio.
- Is also the name of the film which stars the hottest old woman in town, Meryl Streep.
- Is the state of my mind at the moment. I am extremely sorry (to myself mostly) for this delayed post of the day but the work was crazy this afternoon.
- Is also the apt description of how I felt this evening. I had a wonderful time catching up with a friend over wine and cheese but as she talked about her latest adventure of climbing mountains, it made me realize how little I have done with my own life lately. Nevertheless, I got my first birthday gift of 2009, and a fantastic one at that. I am now a proud owner of the coffee table book 501 Must Visit Destinations, and I also have Ilam tea, freshly packed in Nepal. I now know how to start my Saturday morning.
I know this does not count much for a post but please read between lines and try to figure out what I have been doing this evening. It may give you an insight into my current state.
Recently I read a manga called Oishinbo – Ramen and Gyoza, and loved it to bits. The book goes into pornographic details of the food and discusses each and every ingredient that goes into making a good ramen dish and a succulent gyoza. Exceptionally well-paced for its subject, the manga pays attention to everything from the flour, meat, condiments, to the grains fed to the poultry and soil used to grow the condiments. If I get off my lazy bum and visit an Isetan grocery store this weekend, I can prepare a perfect ramen dish by just following one of the stories in the book.
I seriously doubt I will get off my lazy bum though.
The point of the post however is something else. The book made me realize how the wrong condiments can spoil the taste of the dish rendering the whole preparation meaningless. Some extra chili or even a pinch of MSG is the worst culprit. This realization has lead to the fun factor of my lunch hour go down to zero. Alright, one, for talking to friends is still fun.
Ever since I came to Singapore, I have taken immense pleasure in tasting the different kind of food of all possible cuisines. I have some favorites but there is hardly anything that I do not like. Wonder why?
The answer is two simple words – Monosodium Glutamate.
Although MSG adds a well-rounded flavor but it also numbs my tongue. As a result, I like almost everything I eat and find cutlery as the only differentiating factor between $3 and $17 laksa. I feel cheated and I want my money back.
I want to be like one of those people who can take a spoonful in their mouth and tell the ingredients of the dish, who can smell the food as it is served and tell you that you forgot to add some salt. I want to be like “Yamaoka” from the Oshinbo books!
Following are the seemingly simple but not effortless rules of the mission ‘quest for taste:’
Rule 1: Never mix tastes. Savor each one for its own flavor, there is a time for spicy curry and there is a time for ice cream. Usually, the two times are few hours apart.
Rule 2: Do not wait to eat until your stomach starts growling. You can never taste food if you are too hungry. Eat small portions, slowly if you wish to savor the taste.
Rule 3: Do not drink while eating food, unless the drink is suppose to complement the flavor of the dish. So, wine with pasta is good but iced lemon tea with chicken rice is not.
Rule 4: Stick to the top three rules.
Ok, time to put up the post and pull up my socks. See ya tomorrow.
“The saree’s radiance, vigor and variety, produced by a single straight length of cloth, should give us in the West pause and make us think twice about the zipper, the dart and the shoulder pad.”
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It is a rare Indian (from the Indian subcontinent, for that matter) girl who does not like saree. Depending on how it is draped, it can make you look anything from fiercely in-control to a sex-kitten. I, for one, love the attire and am always in search for opportunity to don them. It is definitely an attire deserving a photo feature on my blog.
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Shades of Yellow
This was the first, therefore it holds a very special place in my collection till date. The yellow Chanderi with gold border was bought for my best friend’s wedding back in 2005. I have worn it on two other weddings ever since, and it has always fetched me many compliments. Chanderi is not very easy to drape, but if done the right way it looks most elegant. In the above picture, the bride is wearing a gorgeous gold-embroidered silk saree while the other bride’s maid is draped in a yellow and green silk from Nalli.
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The Sparkling Pink
The sparkling pink chiffon was a wedding gift from the mother in law. I wore it on one of my wedding functions the first time, and then on two other wedding ceremonies in the family later. It has always looked gorgeous, and because it has also been borrowed by my family member, I know it is popular. However, I strongly believe that the loveliness of this saree is yet to be tapped. Chiffon is the most sensual material a saree can come in! I would love to wear this one on a non-wedding party, so that I can drape it differently for once.
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The Esthetical Georgette
My favored types of sarees are the casual ones. This georgette in orange and pale yellow is a favorite in that group. I love how grorgette falls but yes, one has to be extra careful not to get it wet. I picked this one up during my wedding trousseau shopping against the suggestions to not pick something so simple.
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The Brilliant Red
This magnificent red and golden silk belongs to my mother in law, in fact, it is her wedding saree. Does it not say a lot in itself? The silk is thirty plus years old, at the least, and still outshines many new reds. I borrowed it from her for my friend’s wedding, it so was more than happy to see her wedding dress being put to some more use. I strongly believe that good silk never goes out of fashion.
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The Wondrous Kanjivaram
The opulent Kanjivaram is also a gift. Frankly, I would not spend so much on a saree, not because it is not worth it but because I never get enough opportunities to wear such brilliant ones. This one was a gift for the first karva chouth, and was worn on the first Diwali after marriage. Since then, it has been sitting pretty in my closet and to top that I regularly worry about it getting spoiled from the folds. Sigh.
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The Impertinent Combination
Blue and green are beautiful together, I believe. This one is a silk I picked up from Nalli, again for my wedding trousseau but no one objected to this one. The shade is gorgeous, especially on this silk and the pallu border is to die for. I confess that I struggle with it for a good ten minutes every time, but the results are always worth the effort.
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The Southern Yellow
Much love for this yellow and chocolate brown andhra silk that I picked up from Bangalore (Yes, I know!) along with two of my friends sometime in October 2006. I wore it a couple of times for wedding receptions of friends and family, and have loved it every time. Nevertheless, this one is tougher than the rest because it way longer than the usual six yards.
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The Lime n Peach Silk
This happy sea green has a lovely peach border and is studded with colorful stones. Not my usual type, but still a lively color to don. I wore this one recently although this too was picked by me for my wedding trousseau, yes that collection is huge and many of those are still wrapped in their colorful cellophane covers. I am partial to green and yellow when it comes to sarees and the ones in those colors get unwrapped first.
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PS: This was a very selfish post but then, this is my blog. Muhahaha.
In early 2004, I was in a very emotionally disoriented place. I walked through my day feeling oppressed, remorseful, delirious, and bewildered in phases. The mixed emotions and excessive brooding was not helping me expedite the resolution of my conundrum and to reinforce this point, a friend suggested that I should take up my favorite hobby – reading fiction – actively again.
Taking his advice, I bought some, and borrowed some others to make a huge pile of “To Read” books and one of the borrowed book happened to be The Alchemist. A lot of people had told me how wonderful this book was, and the magazine vendors at the traffic signals made it a regular habit of shoving the book under my nose, maybe that was the reason that I picked it up.
Although, I had never been a fan of allegory, I pushed myself beyond the first few pages because of the faith the owner of this copy had shown in the book. Besides being well-thumbed, the book was vigorously underlined and had many “notes to self” scribbled on the edges. If it worked for her, it might work for me, I thought. I followed the mundane adventures of the Spanish shepherd, trying to find meaning of life in every second sentence. It was tedious and unentertaining, but I liked the idea of following ones dreams and believing that the universe will conspire to make those dreams come true. I absolutely believe that I stuck to this book only because of my state of mind at that time. The book is a fable that talks about faith. It reeks of the bestselling formula, as the author cleverly spins the web of words to touch the confused souls of the readers. The book is targeted at people in a relatable state of mind as mine; confused, lost, forlorn, and seeking for some catalyst.
It provides a sense of hope, and motivation to go out there and give things another shot. I can recall searching my bookshelf for an old Khalil Gibran book after finishing this one. That is the kind of mindset The Alchemist leaves you in.
Today, when people ask me if I liked that book, the answer eludes me. I cannot picture myself picking up the book ever again, and neither have I been able to enjoy any other book written by Paulo Coehlo. I am usually embarrassed to acknowledge the fact that I liked this book because it is considered highly overrated by many and a lot of people call it their favorite book, which clearly indicates that they either do not read much or only read self-help.
I do not fall in any of these two categories and The Alchemist is definitely not my favorite book. However, this book was a milestone in my life. The book did not change my life, I changed it myself. But along with other accelerators, the book played its part as well.
