Ducking under pressure

So I succumbed to the delight of grilled duck again last evening and also to tiramisu and chocolate soufflé despite my vows to lay off fat, trans fat, high carbs, low carbs, good and bad cholesterol. I tactfully avoided fiber which I should have gorged instead and grabbed for fried calamari which was now going to glue itself to the rest of my adipose-why don't you just leave me- tissues.

If adipose tissue is so light as to float in air, why are fat people so heavy?

Large chunks of ice float in water, fat also floats on water.

Last weekend, I walked in ankle deep snow for almost an hour and still did not catch a cold. But sometimes, I can just walk out of home in perfect weather and come back home with a cold. Murphy's Law exists. Behind me the skies darken, its going to rain very soon. I don't have an umbrella, but its been a while since I got wet in the rain.

Rain

Sleet

Icicles

Snow

Ice cream - I've gotto stopit now!!!!

Ugh!

I am selfish. Earlier, I would never spend money on myself. Rather, most of it would be spent on buying things for others. Now, it is just the opposite. I am selfishly buying things only for myself, without a thought for others. I am even making excuses for not buying things for them!!! And to think that this is the season for forGIVING

Ugh!

Thanks to AB's generous pile of gifts on my b'day among other goodies, I am now the proud owner of a box of premium assorted dark chocolates. My will power is a rocking boat in the ocean of temptation and abstinence. I take a longing look at the chocolates and shut the box. I try and count the calories -the nutrition facts clearly state that they're not enough to make me wrestle sumo after the box is finished- on the other hand, I so badly want to fit into that black and white shirt that is making me look like a puffed balloon these days. My obsession with the chocolates has turned me into a depressed maniac. I devoured 4 chocolate chip cookies at breakfast and a huge chocolate brownie at lunch to forget that box of chocolates. When it did not work, I ate a giant slice of chocolate cake to get over it. But visions of the box linger on. I see it in front of my eyes after every mean, whenever I am hungry and during those malicious TV commercials on desserts.

I am now thinking of meditation and yoga. Maybe Tai Chi and shadow boxing. Suggestions are welcome. Meanwhile that box lies next to me as I blog, invitingly......

Old Vistas Revisited

Yesterday I ate sushi for the second time. The first time had been in a buffet meal with something of a pretension of a shushi - but yesterday was the real thing. I felt like a cat stealing fish before it is cooked. The Indian palate is such that without a strong sauce (wasabi with soyabean) nothing tastes good. I dipped the sushi in the sauce and gulped it in one go. Aaah heaven!

I had duck for dinner too...a new meat for me. I don't think I liked it much, so I am not very keen on having duck again. I tried Thai pad noodles which was a tad bit sweet. But I have a sweet tooth, so I liked it.

Then I had fried ice cream with cherry sauce. It was like a cresendo of an opera. Could not have asked for more....

Earlier in the afternoon, I managed to drive on the highway, overspeeded and did not get caught.

Must check my stars. Yesterday must have been a good day. The boss left office at 3PM and my home made pasta finally tasted good.

Day after

Age: one more

Location: center of my universe. Away from everyone I care about, yet close to all.

Mood: meditative. Does love at first sight really exist?

I want to: speak my mind.

I wish I could: rewind time and be here.

How many times can a woman say 'No', when she really means 'Yes'?

I think not more than twice.

For men who don't try a third time, the game is over.

Dedicated to the memory of those who died waiting for the codebase to freeze...

Long time ago, once in my life
When I was unallocated,
I used to lament the lack of work
I was sincere and dedicated.

I used to hope for bugs to fix,
Miles of code to write.
I prayed that someone would notice
But alas! I was denied.

Then one day, they heard my prayers
And the jailor called my name.
Put her in iPub, they need bravehearts there
That prison has earned some fame.

I jumped right in without a thought
Coz where angels fear to tread.
Fools rush in to write TDs,
And FDs tracked in red.

We missed deadlines and ate pizza,
By swimming pools and shopping malls,
We watched blue screens with bated breadth
As boolean logic turned from true to false.

I laboured by the front end then
And by the back end did I toil,
I tried to find a route of escape
By burning midnight oil.

Some dug hard and found the tunnel
And escaped to down under,
Some broke fences and crossed the seas
While we watched in wonder.

The warden frowned on parole day,
"You must be back by COB
There are bugs in your code which need to go,
After all, its your baby!"

I tuned the query and swept the code
At corners you would not know
In vain I lowered the defect count,
The bugs! they would not go.

Now, I know the end is near
For I sigh and cough and wheeze
I lay in waste, unallocated still,
Waiting for the codebase to freeze.

Now-a-days we are playing the uneasy game of Russian Roulette with the coffee karafe at home.

A month ago, upon the demands of my mother, I purchased a wispy thin glass jug with a bakelite top which can be used for making coffee in the microwave. I did not know that it would come to haunt me like this. For this particular instrument is extremely delicate. Too much heat and it can crack. Drop it a wee little bit too heavily and it will shatter. Pour some cold water on it while it is still hot and it will break. Everyday, as we nervously take turns to make coffee with it, we bite our nails not knowing who will be the person unlucky enough to pull the trigger a bit too hard.

I have an incurable habit of pleasing people.

I like to see everybody happy and satisfied. I dread the idea getting into anybody's bad books. Years ago, when S lamented that nobody treated her to ice cream, I gave up the pocket money that I was saving for two months, to treat her to an ice-cream. Never mind, that I was was a kid too and saving all that money to buy one for myself. I felt like an angel that day. When DC shouted at me the other day for no fault of mine, I kept quiet because I thought if I shouted back she might feel hurt - never mind that I was getting very badly hurt too. I even ended up apologising to her, because I was getting nightmares about the argument. I am addicted to making people happy and making them feel special. AG once told me that he did not like my perfume, I changed it the next day despite the fact that AG does not even count as my friend. I can take the stairs when my legs cry out in agony for the elevator just because the people I am with don't want to take it. I can go hungry and wait for food just because somebody's favourite TV serial is on. I can end up writing clueless compositions in new year resolution competitions just because I don't want people to feel bad that nobody participated.

Er...not quite. Its time things changed. No more pleasing people. This new year, I am going to be myself!

PS - its still December and I still don't want to hurt anyone. If you are reading this, don;t even try to work out the initials, because I changed all of them.

Hastalavista

My computer has crashed and I am bypassing the proxy server in office to blog (yes ! they 've blocked blogger as well!)


Duniya Waalon! I am not gone yet...should be back soon, with a brand new computer and more of my tales very soon!

A 1955 Good Housekeeping Article

Arranged Marriages and the Art of Mutual Fund Investments

Hmm, so where should I begin... Say that when I first heard the following line, I was, to say the least, offended. The similarity between a girl and a mobile phone is that "Kuch din aur intezaar kar liya hota, to aur bhi achcha model mil jata"

It left me astonished. But come to think of it, it was right to an extent. Like mutual fund investments, finding a girl, or getting your parents to do the same for you, can be a test of your patience, if you know the tricks of the trade.
Sounds confusing?
Lets take a look at the graph below. A bell shaped curve is shown with respect to time and expectations. In a typical case of a mutual fund investment, where you cannot predict the market, you are advised to invest in small amounts over a period of time. Whether the market is high or low, you can even out your investments and stand to gain in the long run anyway.
Arranged marriages are like a systematic mutual fund investment plan. If planned the right way, you mutually end up with a handsome profit. Rest not assured that one matrimonial section is going to yield the partner of your dreams. In a highly unpredictable world, diversify your investments. Look at all the matrimonial avenues, in all newspapers, websites. Don't confine yourself to partners of any one community - learn to be cosmopolitan. Spread your net over the span of time.

However, our bell shaped curve has its ups and downs. Say you are at point A. You have just started looking for a partner. Naturally, your expectations are on the rise. You reach point B, where you have almost met your criteria. If you are not the perfectionist, you are advised to quit at this point and give a big high five to the shehnaaiwala. However, if you are picky, you will move on to point C. This is the most dangerous point. If you recognise point C and realise that no matter what your expectations are, you cannot get better than this, you are a genious. Unfortunately, most of us are not. We reach C and then descend to B. With time, your expectations must lower themselves. At point B, most people would be wise enough to call it quits. A wise decision indeed. A majority of people fall into this category. Sadly, some of us still continue hoping that we will reach C and instead come down to A. At A - the game is over.

I am at a stage of my life where I am surrounded by friends most of whom are between B and C. Advice, comments and counsel flow as freely as the water of the municipal corporation. Some say its a gamble, some have learnt to measure it with their own stride and some have rather chosen to ignore it. I watch and learn...........

Yeh Haath Mujhe De De Thakur!

Rain Maker

I have a dress that used to be called white at one point of time. So, what's special you might ask. Every one has a white dress that does not remain white for very long. The reason I choose to blog about this particular garb of mine is that it is jinxed. It can make rain. Yes, in the 21st century where people scoff at witchcraft and wizardry, some whites can still be the reason behind 'black magic'.

Whenever I wear this white dress, it rains inevitably. While I don this dress, all cleaned, starched and shining, and pray fervently that it should remain that way till the end of the day, Mother Nature always seems to have other things in store for me. Last time I wore it was on a sunny day, when it seemed nothing could go wrong; it rained all of a sudden. It always has to rain just when I am on the road in that dress negotiating a particularly muddy area. Or when I am trying to cross a street and a moving vehicle splashes rain water.

As a result, my white dress has become mud stained, spotted and in short cannot be worn without proper restoration. I stopped wearing it for nearly a year and last night suddenly thought about it. It’s the middle of summer here and there is little sign of the much awaited monsoon. I smiled to myself because nothing could go wrong and put out the dress that had been restored to its old glory.

I woke up this morning to a flood of rain - it’s rained so much that most streets are flooded, trains are not running and going out anywhere is out of question.

I am next thinking of taking that dress of mine to some famine stricken area.

The 30 minute crisis

While the whole country is rife with speculation as to who will succeed Kalam as the next president, the Chatterjee household is biting nails trying to guess who will succeed PM as the next maid servant. PM quit yesterday and we are at a loss today.

It all started because of those 30 minutes. For reasons best known to her, PM always turned up at 4 in the afternoon even though my mother had made it very clear to her that she should turn up 30 minutes later. In a world where we always turn up late for appointments, we were taken aback by her overwhelming sense of punctuality. The only way the mother sought to counter this, was by switching off the front door bell till 4:30pm and this, my mother did with limited success. Trouble started during weekends when my father who is at home and completely unaware of such rules, admitted her at 4pm. PM started coming at 4pm on weekends and at 4:30pm on weekdays. Slowly, laws of induction started taking their course and she started coming at 4pm on Mondays, then Tuesdays followed, till my mother realised that 4pm was now the rule rather than the exception. Yesterday, when she came at 4pm, there was a minor argument at the end of which PM walked out for good.

At first, we were lost for words. We had got so used to PM, that it was difficult to imagine what life would be without her. Soon however, Chatterjee Junior ahem! Yours truly stepped in. It’s a weekend today and I volunteered to clean the house. Unfortunately, things are tougher for me than for PM and it has nothing to do with the fact that she is experienced in the matters of housekeeping. There are numerous constraints involved when a member of the household tries her hand at work meant for maids. Even though our neighbours know that we are short of a hand, I must not be observed cleaning the house. So, all windows were shut, the balcony was abandoned and the house was miraculously cleaned, seemingly without any human intervention. While I am technologically challenged, my parents are gadget freaks. There is a special mop reserved for use when the maid servant is not around. While PM can have it easy with a bucket and rag, I have to use this special mop (SM) which only my father knows how to assemble and my mother knows how to dismantle. SM consists of a really long pole and a flat blade. A special kind of cloth is wrapped round the blade which is then attached to the pole. As I was struggling to mop the house with SM, my grand father who was taking a nap, woke up with a start wondering what I was doing in his room, with a medieval martial weapon. My grand mother looked on with curiosity, following me from room to room tsching tsching that things had to come to this, that the daughter of the house had to do such menial tasks and I merrily worked, hoping that this exercise would help me lose some calories.

Things are fine for now, but I wonder what we will do during weekdays, when I shall not be around. 30 minutes - cost PM a job and me some calories and my mother - a whole lot of bother. Time will not be able to heal this one!

What women want

What my mother needs is a nice, docile "homely" disciplined daughter-in-law who will help with the household work effortlessly, i.e. without appearing to slog herself. She will know exactly where the Kashmiri Mirch Masala is kept in the kitchen, without my mother telling her. She will know exactly when my mother is not feeling well and take the reins of the household and then hand it back dutifully when my mother feels Hitlerish again. She will know exactly what to say at the right moments, and act in every way to make my mother proud of her. She must be able to take decisions which please my mother. She must not irritate my mother with simple and silly questions like "For how many minutes should I set the microwave oven when trying to make shahi paneer with combination cooking?" She must be beautiful, intelligent, working in a great job (sadly, the definition of great is not clear - but from discreet circles, it has been determined that a great job is one where you have a cabin to yourself and a peon who serves you tea) She must must must know how to drive a car, operate a demat account, play atleast two obscure musical instruments, know the phone number of every specialist doctor in the country and appreciate Lebanese food.

Interested girls out there may respond to fedupmotherseekstoexchangeuselessdaughter@digyourowngrave.com

There is a small catch: My mother has no son.

Okay

During my first year in college, I once overheard my classmates D and S (both females) discussing among themselves the merits and demerits of the other girls in the class. "What about N?" asked S. "Too showy" said D. "And R?" "She thinks she is pretty, and she is quite snooty about it" "How's Anwesha?" asked S. I held my breadth. "She's okay" said D. I must confess, I was disappointed. I thought D would display some more charity. That she would say Anwesha was nice, charming, friendly, polite and all the good words in her vocabulary. Years later, in a world dominated by back stabbing, criticisms and malice, I know how much it takes for a woman to call another woman "okay". Those words mean mean the world to me now. Thank God, I am OKAY!!!

Frozen watermelons on a hot Sunday afternoon.aah heaven!

Its grand pa's birthday today, though he is not very sure if it is on the 6th of May or 6th of April. He confessed this after we slogged it out on a hot morning, churning out lau chingri, pabda maacher jhol and paayesh. Atleast I thought it was a shade better than gran ma who has no idea which month she was born - she vaguely remembers spring - but it could even be summer. Grand Pa has his post graduation certificates and hences knows his age - grand ma does not even know that - in essence she epitomises Bryan Adam's eternal song : 18 till I die!

Kiss Ko Konnect Karu?

I hate it when a daily soap or a game show that you watch regularly comes to an end. No matter how detestable it is, you get used to viewing a certain program at a certain time of the day. When it goes off air, you are faced with a sudden void. It’s been two weeks now since KBC is no longer aired, and we are at a dilemma. Pre KBC, we used to fight for the remote over 'Kasam Se' or 'Hare Kaach Ki churiya' and all those nameless soaps - we hated each and every serial, but we loved the certainty of getting to see it at 9pm every day of the week. When KBC started and Dad insisted that refreshing our general knowledge was far more important than acquainting ourselves with the modus operandi of the scheming sister-in-law, we sulked, but we capitulated. Suddenly, 9pm was about Shah Rukh Khan and his silly antics. We loved it at times, sometimes, we yawned and looked at the watch wishing that sixty minutes would take only five to get past us and at times, we bit our nails, hoping that the hooter would ring and the contestant would get a reprieve.

But all that is history now and we are lost in a maze of ninety channels and more, wondering how best to spend our sixty minutes. I suggested watching news channels, but gruesome news about war and violence does not go well with paltry dal and roti. We certainly need something that is unreal enough to help us digest dinner. Its 9:20 pm and unlike the golden days of yore, the TV is switched off. I am busy blogging, Ma is finishing her novel, Baba is reading his newspaper and if we had a pet cat, it would have curled up and gone to sleep by now. We are probably the perfect picture of domestic peace, but I sense a restlessness that will remain until our hunt for the ideal 9pm time pass reaches an amicable conclusion.

I spotted a white man on the streets of Kolkata yesterday. Presumably a tourist, he was wearing the customary T-shirt with a rucksack on his back. But what took my breadth away was the lungi he wore to bear the brunt of the Kolkata heat. Green vertical stripes and blue horizontal stripes, he wore the lungi like all other men did. But, much as I appreciated his attempts to localise himself, I could not help noticing that he had missed a vital point. While men in India who do not have the privilege of working in air conditioned offices wear chappals or open sandals, our white man completed his gear with a pair of socks and sneakers!!!! I snatched my camera phone out of my bag but my bus had moved on by then. Perhaps, some impressions last best if left to the memory.