Table of Content

Back Home	Out Here
Walk on the left side of wings in office	Walk on the right side of the narrow passage in office
Boss yells "Onnesha!@#$ ekhaane aaye" Me: 'Aaaaaaashchiiii"	JL: Unwayeshea Me: I'll be rite withya in a moment Jim
Theek achche	Aowkay
Files	Daaquments
Nobody asks "how are you" first thing in the morning. Its usually "code ta shesh hoyeche?" Me: Naa:-((( aaro time laagbe	"Good Morning Unwayeshea. Howeru dewing today" Me: Guuuud..:-)))))
Lunch - tiffin..Ma ka haath ka khana. sniff sniff!	Lunch in cafeteria. Er….does brocolli contain beef? No? then please add it to the topping. Pepperoni is just a cute Italian way of referring to the salt and pepper wala pepper right? Add it by all means!!!
Parties: Coke or Fanta?	Parties: White wine or Red wine?
Free cardomom tea from the vending machine. Accompany DJ and SS to the vending machine and yawn while they have coffee.	Free french vanilla decaf from the coffee maker or 60 calories per serving hot chocolate which I always have first thing in the morning.
Proxy server blocked: No Yahoo Mail, Rediff Mail…	Gmail, Orkut, Rediff Movies, Blogger...
9am: empty office. Nobody around to appreciate your punctuality.	8am: everyone deep into work. Gosh! I am late!!!
8pm: sneaking out of office, hoping that nobody will notice.	5pm: Bye J :-)))) Have a nyice evening. :-)))) J: Biiii Unwayeshea. Cya tomorrow!

;-)

I am now mastering the painful art of killing time while pretending to work. I was always great at staring into nothing for hours and hours together. But now the brain must function overtime to invent work that never existed and act like I am very busy doing it. Greater men and women have done it before me and its now my turn to be baptized in fire. I am sitting right next to the person to whom I report daily and it is my job to convince him that by doing nothing in particular, I am actually doing a great job and adding my bit of kinetics towards pulling his company to the next generation of progress. I have had an easy beginning so far, and I suspect he was beginning to regard me as a genius of some sorts. Then, in a moment of carelessness, I slipped and confessed to him that I did not have much to do. Since then, the chips have been down and my image has taken a beating. But the brain will once again rise to the occasion and find avenues for restoring my reputation as the master of deception.

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.

Ugh! Ash and Abhi married each other eventually. News papers and channels have had no other news for the last 3 days – one Jahnavi Kapoor slashed her wrists in public and Shah Rukh Khan and Rani Mukherjee were not invited. Somebody from Lucknow arrived at AB’s doorsteps with 500 ladoos and gate crashers were dealt severely by the security men.

Why should I care?

I do because I would hate to put myself in Abhi or Ash’s shoes. Marriage is after all a very personal thing and I would hate to have people intrude and comment on my intentions. It’s as bad as the whole of India demanding to know who made it to the national cricket team and why the world cup was a disaster. True, I pay to watch the game, but the hype created by the media is really unwarranted. We are a nation that lives on sensation. Following the Georgia Tech shoot out, a similar incident took place today in Hyderabad. A student shot at his college mates, because they were trying to stop him from ragging!!!!!

Cooped in my little world, shut out from ‘real life’ for the last few weeks thanks to a viral infection – suddenly the guns seem a lot louder, the wedding bells jarring, and the colours very garish. The world is too much for me right now.

Just read – Jhumpa Lahiri’s Namesake

Intend to – watch the movie

Oodles of Noodles

Has anyone tried the new Maggi Dal Atta Noodles???? It is to borrow an expression from Stilettoes 'craptacular'. I have always been a great follower of Maggi instant noodles and at the age of 4 along with Thums Up, it used to be my dinner on Sunday evenings. Maggi has rolled many stones since then (literally) - people accused Maggi of clogging gall bladders and small intestines and for malfunctioning livers. When I had a stomach upset at the age of 5, the doctor reeled under the shock of discovering my Sunday dinner Maggi habits for the past one year. Maggi was banned instantly.

Life was difficult and not worth living without Maggi - the advertisements on TV made it difficult for 5 year old A. Chatterjee to forget. Grief overcame me and when my parents found that I was but a shadow of my former self, they yielded...a Maggi a month they decided was not going to send me packing to the doctor again.....

So, I indulged...in Maggi Sweet and Sour flavour (that remains till date my favourite) and Chicken flavour and Masala (that's one the that has survived the see-saw of time) Then, there was Maggi Shrimp and Maggi Kheer (don't remember the exact name now - but it was a sweet flavoured horror) that I gave up after one try. As soon as the factories churned out new flavours and television announced it, it found its way into my intestines. Maggi and I were inseparable.

When we went to visit my super rich uncle - we played Genie and Aladin. He said I could ask for anything under the sun - i thought for thirty minutes and asked for Maggi noodles.

Then Nestle came up with Maggi Tomato and Maggi Curry - but they didn't tickle the palate much. I was into my teens at this time, and the only flavour that was easily available was Maggi Masala. It was too spicy for me and for a while I thought, I was going to give up the one food that I had declared as my all time favourite.

In the meantime, the pretenders were baring their fangs - I hated Top Ramen, but I got lured by Cup Noodles. For a while it seemed that I was going to fall prey to the charms to Cup Noodles vegetables flavour. That was before the great trip that turned me into a true Bharatiya.

Flung into a land half way across the world, where people counted their money in dollars and drank Starbucks coffee, I rediscovered Maggi noodles, paying for it at a premium price at Indian stores. It was the only food that I knew how to cook and for me Maggi spelt survival. Luckily, a few angles disguised as super chefs came to my rescue and I was once again eating 'ghar-ka-khana', but I could never repay my debt to Maggi.

Back home, there is a new flavour in vogue -Maggi Atta vegetable noodles - great taste and yummy - and considering that it is not made of flour , I also feel less guilty about having it. I am also looking forward to trying the Maggi Rice Noodles. But Maggi Dal Atta noodles yesterday morning, was a blot on the history of Maggi and sambhar. I love my Dosa and Idli and I think nothing makes the taste better than a bowl of well prepared sambhar. Maggi Daal Atta noodles is an insult to the holy sambhar and should be stopped. But what next? Shall we now have a Maggi Biriyani noodles? Maggi fish flavoured noodles?

I simply think that I am lucky to have been born at a time when they decided to invent something like Maggi for us common folk!!! Thank you God!!! Even though, you did not time our exit from the World Cup 2007 too well, you did a darn good job about timing my existence!!!!

I share my birthday with Osama Bin Laden.

I hardly know whether I should be amused, ashamed or flattered.........

Our Day

She could not have got it more correct. Claiming to be on the road to nowhere, I really think she is underestimating her capability for understanding people! Kudos!!!!!!!

Its Women's Day and I am pretty sure 85% of the world does not know that its Women's Day today and 90% of the remaining 15% could not care. That's why I got pushed in the train today and did not get a ladies' seat in the bus - today of all days. I woke up late and got late to office and the sun was beating down my head and nobody tried to be extra nice to me today!

But of the 10% of the 15% who care, there was a beautiful red rose for each of us women in the office. I got mails and smses from my dear friends and yes! there will be a function arranged for us in the evening, where men would be participating!!!!! Isn't that super duper nice?

Who cares anyway......every day is a Women's Day as long as you are proud to be a woman. If you hold your own respect and dignity even when the world refuses and if your conscience gives you a clean chit, every day is yours to celebrate!

Here's a big thank you to all the MEN who make women feel special. There are very few of you who exist, but your numbers are good enough for us to carry on smiling in this world!!!! Thank you, from the heart.

She says that I am true blue Bong! I could not agree more with her. I do not go to office on days when I feel that the weather is not fine enough for me to take the daily drudgery. I watch 'Saans- Bahu' serials with religious fervour and yet snigger at them in front of the intelligentsia. I miss my 'maacher jhol' when it does not turn up on my lunch plate and denounce swim suit rounds in beauty contests. I think drinking coffee and indulging in 'adda' in office is a mandatory part of my job in office and rush out of the office with my lunchbox and water bottle in tow, when the office bus takes off. I have routine stomach upsets because of street food and yet I am back at gorging them at the earliest opportunity. I do not hesitate to join the ranks of the protesting public whenever the boss declares that we have to come to office on Sundays to get over with extra work and do not miss my roshogolla in wedding parties. I hate Greg Chappell for throwing Dada out of the team and still hope that Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose will return and solve our economic problems by stopping construction of factories in Singur and Nandigram. I wanted to fast when Didi (Mamta Banerjee) fasted, but gave it up when I spotted 'beguni' being fried. I think no decision can be reached without discussing the same matter over and over and killing time till its too late to decide. I love to procrastinate.

And she says I am a true blue Bong! We need to sit down and discuss this someday and come to a conclusion.

Pritamania

All I knew about Amrita Pritam was that the movie 'Pinjar' was adapted from one of her novels. Till I read this Wild Flower

Now I am hungry for more........

Anwesha's laws for persons traveling in the ladies' compartments in local trains

Law#1: Persons who will get off at station: #1, #2 and #3 from the point of departure must not occupy seats. They must exhibit magnanimity by offering their seat to long distance travelers.

Law#2: No one standing is allowed to book a seat by telling the person sitting in the nearest seat that she will occupy the seat when the seated person gets off the train. Believe in your destiny. If you are standing in front of a seat, play the waiting game and wait for the seated person to get up on her own accord.

Law#3: Women in the ladies compartment are not allowed to talk to each other. It has been observed by independent sources, that meaningless banter is the primary reason for fist fights, foul mouthing and hair pulling sessions in trains. It has also been observed that most of the arguments are because of seats and always take place between persons who are not seated.

Law#4: In the event that two persons are found fighting for a seat, the seat will go to the person who makes them quiet. The law licenses such arbitrator to use violence if necessary to make them quiet

Law#5: Any vendor trying to sell clothes or fancy items such as hair clips or broaches will not be allowed to do so. Women tend to get excited over nothing. They spend hours discussing the merits of the item and then resolve not to buy it, thereby wasting time and patience (of the vendor) However, vendors selling food are welcome with open arms and must give special discounts to regular customers

Shah Rukh Rocks!

The curious thing about being Shah Rukh Khan is that the character he plays always slips into his skin. Raj Malhotra in DDLJ was acting as Shah Rukh Khan, so was Veer in Veer Zaara and Raj again in Kuch Kuch Hota Hain, and the injured footballer in a forgettable movie my memory has bidden Alvida to. When Don was bombing the place, in his mind he knew that he was only pretending to be Shah Rukh Khan and when a ghost in a deserted drinking place in Rajasthan pretended to be a living trader who was pretending to be SRK, he had his comeuppance!So what happens when SRK tries to act as SRK in KBC? While we juggle with acronyms, he gives away his wrist watch to a participant who was winning 3.2 lakhs and gave a wrong answer to slip to twenty thousand. His uncanny ability to dole largesse is not confined to green backs alone, he hugs men and women in the hot seat again and again kyoonki "main logon ko bahut pasand karta hoon" The shrill scream of delight when he phones a friend is real and he revels in it.KBC is fast becoming the show that actors are trying to host to reaffirm their popularity with the masses. Amitabh Bachchan's fading career zoomed into the stratosphere with KBC and Shah Rukh who needs a hit badly has realized that selling laptops and washing machines may not give him the boost he requires. Hence KBC. Under the pretense of exposing IQs the Baadshah upthrones the Shahenshah. Skeptics who had written off King Khan will eat their words. SRK is finally acting himself and what's more he is doing a good copy of Amitabh Bachchan!If the 70's generation is alarmed at the idea of the little guy trying to fit into the shoes of the Big B, they forget that SRK is an acquired taste. He grows on you till you learn that you have no choice but to accept him. He is everywhere. Greeting Ladies and girls and aunties and gentlemen and boys and uncles SRK is an epitome of chutzpah. The panache with which he wears a denim blue suit with tomato red stripes over an equally colourful shirt and beckons you from a billboard is breathtaking. Black satin tie over bare neck and a white shirt unbuttoned for as long you can see and a blazer over it - no one can carry it off like SRK.Watching SRK is fun. Like the way he pretends that his wife is calling him back home when the hooter blows at the end of the show, or his "Freeze It' call. The nicknames he uses for the contestants and the completely unfazed look on his face when he reads a question he clearly has no idea about. SRK is taking over the game in a way AB never did. Even though AB was the chief attraction of the show, he never let himself grow bigger than the game itself! With SRK it seems, things are about to change! It’s less about knowing the answer now and more about being feted by Shah Rukh in the hot seat, rolling with laughter with his gimmicks and getting hugged by him and telling him how much we love him. The quiet dignity of show is suddenly gone and with the infusion of young blood KBC's character suddenly resembles a day in office when the boss is away.The last word will rest with my father. A diehard SRK allergic, I was astonished after one particular episode of KBC. Dad just said "O Paarbe!"

Yahooooooooooooooo

ONE HUNDRED POSTS!!!!!!

It took me long, but here I got to a hundred posts earlier than Sachin got to his hundred one day centuries!

:-p

Me feels like celebrating!

Meri Mummy Ko Gussa Kyoon Aata Hain

Crash!
Boom!
Break!
Split!
Woosh!
Upset!
Fall!
Splush!
Throw!
Cling!

Just about some of the usual sounds that reverberate in the Chatterjee household when A Chatterjee Junior ( yours truly) is around have been listed above. I have been spoken of among the legends of goof ups. The other day when I could not get any sleep thinking of that bar of Lindt chocolate that tasted so good at dinner, I stealithily sneaked out of my room and opened the fridge at midnight. The crashing sound of the milk bowl falling woke the entire house. I was caught red handed.

The kitchen is my favorite battleground - burning food, breaking glasses and upseting the pan seems to be a normal day's work for me. So, when I was banned from entering the kitchen for sometime, alongside everyone else, I also heaved a secret sigh of relief. But even if you take me away from goofing up, you can't take goofups away from me. Like leaving the hot water tap on and cold water tap fully off and walking off only to hear a scream of agony as the person who turned on the shower next got scorched. Like dropping the terrace keys in the kitchen garden and remembering it at night when we had to use a torch to hunt for the keys in a virtual jungle. Like forgetting to lock the kitchen garden gate in the excitement of finding the keys and remembering it only after I reached the third floor of a building without a lift.

I have been good with the car so far, but I almost drove into a wall the other day as my father watched enraged because despite his warnings, I took to driving it when he wasn't around.

I also burst a bulb the a days ago. The fuse had blown up and I was looking at it intently, when somebody shouted behind my back. I shuddered and dropped it. I tried to clean up the mess, but when somebody hurt himself while stepping on the glass accidentally, I realised that the cleaning could have been better.

Talking about cleaning, Ma usually has to clean up my act - all the time - from forgetting to take out my lunch box from the bag to leaving home sans wallet - leaving my mobile phone at unknown places - she manages to handle it all. Patient that she is - sometimes (and this happens all the time) I get on her nerves. Yet, she never scolds me much. I have often wondered why, while slipping over sme oil that I had split in my room, she comes to my rescue time after time and why she never gives up on me. The only thing I could come up with was:

"Kyoonki Ma bhi Kabhi Main Thi"

New Year yes, but Happy????

Another year's here again and I hardly noticed how 2006 came and slipped by. As usual, I am stuck 2 years behind time, and I find it tough to believe that its not 2005 but 2007 that we are in - that's me as usual - jaded, confused and all muddled up.

Saji - a good friend - has resolved this year to eat his words if he cannot keep them. He has written down his resolutions on a piece of paper and has promised to chew it if he breaks any of them. Saji, if you are reading this - I already broke a resolution before writing it down, so I am glad that I did not chose to go your way!

My foremost resolution is not to miss the 7:20 train in the mornings - unfortunately, I missed the train on 2nd January. It would have happened earlier had 1st January not been a holiday. My next resolution is to give work a royal ignorance this year. Work must suffer and cry out in neglect, but I refuse to heed. I had a particularly harrowed time in the last three hundred and sixty five days and it has left me with coal black circles under my eyes and a bloodshot look above. I have been jaded and confused most of the time, have fallen asleep in all ( mind you all!) dinner parties that I have attended, forgotten friend's birthdays and feel like giving up this job by the age of 27.

New Year started with a rather ugly feeling. Some people empowered by USA hanged Saddam Hussein. The whole affair was distasteful. If the people of Iraq were the ones to sentence him to death, I would not have felt so strongly - but this was clearly a case of US orchestration. If the USA can get the President of a country hanged by his own people, then they can get any of us - ordinary citizens - killed any day without a reasonable cause. To begin with, the entire war centered on WMD’s which were never found, but it ended with the hanging of the head of the country. Can any of us be sure of our freedom and right to life after this? I also do not support the idea of capital punishment. Life imprisonment seems little more merciful. Who are we to take away the life that we have not created. When a common man kills, it is murder, but when the law decrees that a man be hanged, it is hailed by all. Isn't the end result one and the same thing?

Umm....terrible things have been happening in Noida too, with all the killings of children. Suddenly, the world does not seem as rosy as it used to be, when I did not know or understand these brutalities. Looking at everything through rose coloured spectacles, is merely a means of escaping from reality, but sometimes its best to ignore those things that we can do nothing about. On the better side, Mamta Banerjee will eat in 2007. The President of India, a former Prime Minister and low blood pressure made sure of that. True, it did not make much difference to the farmers in Singur, but she will live to cause more traffic jams, and train disturbances and make my 7:20 come a few minutes late. Touché!

PS - Tatas sure want to make a car that costs 1 lakh. Do they also want to create more roads for us? When a car starts costing 1 lakh, even an impoverished Indian as me will be able to buy a car with a few years’ savings. What will happen to our streets, when millions take to Geeta Pishi (our cook) who instead walking to our house in the morning suddenly drives her new Tata IndiSmall?

Kolkata on Christmas Eve

Music World and Flurry's behind

Giggles the original 'Archies' and 'Hallmark'





Kwality Restaurant and Oxford Book Store

Autobiography of a spun cotton jumper

Aah well, somebody did pluck the cotton from the tree and then they had to spin it into a yarn in a factory and then some machine wove it into linen. But I will not go into all that jazz. Suffice, that I was born as a spun cotton jumper in some obscure factory in India. Dyed white and black and fitted to the 't' for my size. I wish I knew who designed me, because I thought I looked quite attractive. Then one day they decided to ship me across the seven seas. It was cramped journey with my brethen and it lasted quite a while. When it was over, we found ourselves displayed in a showroom somewhere in USA.

Life was good and life was cosy in the shelf. Till, one day a foolish girl from India who had flown to USA for a short while decided to have a closer look at me. She decided that she liked me and paid for me twenty times the price than she would have paid otherwise , had she purchased me in India. She was back in India after sometime and only much later while sending me for drycleaning did she discover a tag that read "Made in India"

Now-a-days , she looks at me with a tinge of regret. She wears me still, but cringes whenever anybody asks where she found me.

And I thought I was quite good looking!

Not fair!!!

Double Dee

Dear Dee,

Following your suggestion, I watched 'Khosla Ka Ghosla' this weekend along with Mum and Dad. Allow me to thank you for motivating me to watch the movie. KKG turned out to be one of the funniest movies that I have seen for a long time. All of us were in splits. It also brought back some old memories. KKG rightly depicts the attitude of the babu class in Delhi. The way they speak, their propensity to sniff a bribe from a mile's distance and the general notion that all of the people in Delhi suffer from: your bigger your bark, the less is the need to bite.

I loved the scene where Khosla encounters a Jat chowkidar guarding the property that Khurana has dishonestly taken from him. The guard speaks with the confidence that only one Delhite (i know how much we hate that term) can speak to another. I love the political connections and the pehlwans from the aakhra that Khosla's son gathers to get what is rightfully theirs. Not so long ago, people I know ran into a spot of trouble and we had to make similar moves (no, we did not need pehlwans, the matter was solved much earlier than that). Watching the movie made me recall how helpless we had felt that day....just the way Mr. Khosla felt. I aslo loved Cherry ( er..more because the character was played by the irresisitable Praveen Dabas) and his "I-don't-know-anything-beyond-my-IT-job" attitude and his father's pride in his computer engineer son. Now, I could relate to that!!!!

Anupam Kher as the gullible Mr. Kamal Kishore Khosla is believable, but Boman Irani as Khurana the dishonest property dealer is too good to be true. I watched 'Don' on video the night before and watching Boman Irani slip into a totally different skin in KKG was as much a pleasure as a delight. It was also good to see Kiran Juneja on screen after so long. Ranveer Shourey and Tara Sharma were also good as was Navin Nishchol. I hope and wonder that I will see a day in Delhi where the girlfriend drives her guy on a scooter. I thought Delhites were too snooty for that!!!!

To, the other Dee,

I spent the last weekend at your place attending your wedding. Dear as you are to me, I was excited about your wedding for a long long time. But what I saw, rather put me off as far as Bengali weddings are concerned. They made you get up at 3:00 am in the morning, to eat curd and beaten rice ("Dodhi Mongol"). Then you had to fetch water from the Ganges. Then you had to go to a bangle shop early in the morning to buy the "shakha". Then when like anybody else who hasn't eaten food since 3:00 am, you were supposed to feel hungry, I's sisters brought turmeric for you and so began the 'haldi' ceremony. Even when that was over, there was a puja that you had to sit through and all this was before the sun was overhead. While the rest of us lunched, you had to skip the meal. I had decided earlier, that I would fast with you, but somehow, seeing so many friends around, I got carried away and forgot about my intentions. They took three hours to get you ready for the wedding. I have never seen you look more beautiful. You still had to wait without food till 10pm at night, when they started the wedding ceremony. All this while, you had to smile and greet people who had come to attend your wedding. Your wedding was over a little after 3:00 the next day. For one whole day, you had to go without food and yet kept on smiling for the guests and the photographer.

The rituals and ceremonies will go on. Its been eight days since your wedding and tomorrow you will observe the oshtomongola...Really, these rituals will now keep coming on and on, for as long as you are married. I know it isn't exactly a frightfully welcome way to usher in a new life, but I hope you enjoy a long and happy married life. I consider myself lucky to call you a friend, and for you, I wish nothing short of the very best of everything!!!!

Random ramblings and rather rowdy ruminations

“Tsch tsch.” I can hear the silent chiding of the computer as I lose yet another game. “You cannot even win an easy one?” It has been this way for the last two years. I have devoted myself single-mindedly to this game in pursuit of victory at one careless moment when the machine would forget to notice. It never happens. Like a gambler who loses and yet takes another chance, I will myself to try one last time and bear the brunt of another defeat every time.

I never seem to learn. Much like the aunties and uncles who will never realize that ‘Nach Baliye’ isn’t quite their piece of cake. Last week, my mother cajoled me to attend another of those numerous parties that my Dad’s office seems to throw without an excuse. I am glad now, that I went to attend it. There was a “cultural” programme before dinner where “local” talent was showcased. My mother was rather hopeful that I would strum a few lines on my guitar. Women have a sixth sense (atleast I do). Something warned me beforehand, not to take the risk. At the cost of incurring my mother’s displeasure, I refused to be a part of the circus. The function featured a few officers’ wives who were self-proclaimed dancing prodigies. Not content with basking in their wife’s reflected glory, their husbands also joined, a la Nach Baliye. The combination was a total disaster. From ‘Kajra Re’ to ‘Omkaara’, no song was spared. It was quite funny watching the men taking clumsy steps in their office attire. Clearly most of them had not even rehearsed, but were quite keen to please their wives and bosses (who were watching keenly). I hope their annual appraisal did not depend on the performance. I roared with laughter and remember falling off my chair while my mother gave me deploring looks. Well, okay, at least they went up on stage to perform. My mother’s daughter did not even do that, despite owning a fine Fender’s telecaster.

I must be in a pretty cynical mood now. Because I am going to lambast Nach Baliye next. First of all, putting a married couple on stage and making them dance maybe a cute idea, but does not find favour time after time. Nach Baliye -1 was quite a new concept, and even though some of the couples were quite a horror to watch and some rounds were downright vulgar – we digested it. Nach Baliye -2 is worse than the original. In an effort to get hold of 10 more couples, they have gathered together some rather reluctant couples, who couldn’t care any less about dancing. Add to that, most of them are overtly sentimental about getting an appreciative whistle from Saroj Khan or a 10. They break down at the slightest pretext. I remember blogging about how rather disgusting it used to be watching Poonam Narula cry everytime a couple got eliminated. Ironically, when she lost the final round, she forgot to cry!!!

Malaika Arora, one Chaiya Chaiya has made you an expert in judging dances? I thought you were pretty bad as a DJ and I think you are worse as a judge because most of the time the other two judges do not agree with you. In any case, you were quite bad in Chaiya Chaiya as well. Kunal Kohli probably gives the director’s perspective. He’s not much of a director according to me, but, thank God, he does not steer towards controversy. Saroj Khan is the one whose opinion matters and as an ace choreographer, she is the face saver of the show. No matter what, I hope there is no Nach Baliye -3.

But Sa Re Ga Ma should carry on and on and on and on. And Shaan should host it again and again and again. The great thing that they have done this time, is to make sure that the best talent got the prize. It was bad enough to let Debojit win the competition last time, when it was clearly evident that Vineet and Himani were far better singers. Watching Sanchita Bhattacharya win this time was a relief. Hearing her sing was like feeding on honey dew and drinking the milk of paradise. She comes from a family of professional singers and her brother has also won a singing competition in a Bengali channel. They have a bright future ahead. I just hope that she does not end up like Sunidhi Chauhan. Sunudhi sang exceptionally well when she won the ‘Meri Awaaz Suno’ competition, but the quality of her voice has deteriorated so much in recent years, that I no longer listen to her songs. Alas! Not every one is a Lata Mangeshkar or an Asha Bhosle. But Shreya Ghoshal sure has a long way to go. She is an exceptionally talented singer and right now, I would rate her as the best in Bollywood.

Ummm…I seem to be getting nowhere. Would like finish off this postwith the link below.
Should Abhishek marry Aish????
I think judging by their history of breakups – they deserve each other. I also think Rani Mukherjee is too good to have a fellow like Abhishek dumped on her!

Under Pressure

I never realized that using a pressure cooker would involve so many casualties. The spotless white ceiling of my kitchen now sports a lovely lemon yellow color of boiled moong daal. The tiles on the walls (again in white) will have to be cleaned. The gas burner is bubbling with daal and the kitchen board is waiting to be wiped. Somebody should have told me not to remove the weight while the gas was still burning and the cooker was spouting full steam.

They say, I am lucky to escape without any injuries. Whoa! Who wants to step outdoors for adventure when it is lying in wait right indoors in the kitchen? My escapades in the kitchen if chronicled astutely could make one Robin Hood hang his head in shame. Like burning my hands and face while trying to fry fish. The mark on my face is a tiny one that is fast disappearing, but while it lasts, it serves as a testimony, that I have for a fact fried fish at least once. Like burning the cauldron while trying to make chicken curry. I managed to fit in 12 chicken drumsticks in a small wok. It was tough moving them about the place and so while some remained raw, over melted, while some got charred. I will remain eternally grateful to the angels who ate it with an amused smile, but nevertheless ate all of it – raw/cooked/burnt.

In the meantime, I have experimented – sometimes with reasonable success. Like using salsa sauce in pasta with a little bit of cold milk – it actually tasted good. And used shortcuts: like using packaged frozen vegetables instead of fresh ones in my sabji. Meantime, there have been disasters – like using tomato sauce to make fish curry look brighter and using chat masala with mustard paste – ugh!

Cooking is about Chemistry – says Ma. You have to mix the right ingredients at the right time and voila! You have created magic. Helping me to churn out the right chemical reactions are people who I can never forget: SB, SM, AB, AD. Beginning with rice, to daal, chicken, fish, chutney…virtually all avenues of Indian cuisine were explored. The taste of AD’s cabbage curry and shrimps still lingers. So does SB’s mutton and SM’s fish and AB’s cauliflower in curd (really!) I pledge to always remain jealous of those people, who have mastered the art of making food, taste good. Someday, when I get there, where you are, we shall exchange notes!

DON’t you miss this one!

My foremost reason for watching Don was sheer curiosity. I just had to check out Farhan Akhtar’s third movie. After ‘Dil Chahta Hain’ and the slightly lukewarm ‘Lakshya’ Farhan took two years to come out with this one and I wanted to know why. Secondly, and more importantly, I had to see whether Shah Rukh would be able to say Alvida to badly made movies. And the result is that both have redeemed themselves. Don is not quite the most heart warming movie of the century and it certainly cannot lay claim to the title of the most thought provoking cinema of this millennium, but yes, for three hours, I was glued to my seat, watching out for what would come next. Shah Rukh takes on the person he publicly claims as his icon – Big B – Amitabh Bachchan. This remake of the 1970’s classic is not exactly a verbatim copy of the original script. Instead, the storyline twists, turns, rotates, spirals and revolves round the characters of the original screenplay and metamorphoses into a completely different entity. Don here is an important member of international drug dealer Singhania’s gang and even though not much is shown about his drug dealings, we get to see plenty of cold blooded killings to assure usthat he is ‘bahut hi khatarnaak’

Enter Kamini (Kareena Kapoor) in Helen’s role with an unforgettable performance of ‘Yeh mera dil pyaar ka deewana’. Bebo’s fiancé (Diwakar Pundir) has been killed by the Don and she hopes to set things right by handing him over to the police. Sadly, Kamini’s plan misfires and she gets killed by the Don. But all is not over. Kamini’s would-be sister-in-law Roma (Priyanka Chopra) is a martial arts expert and she vows revenge. In meantime, keeping with the original storyline, Don is killed in a police encounter but only Inspector De Silva knows about it and he finds out Vijay – a village simpleton who is a Don look-alike and trains him as the Don. Vijay now tries to expose the gang. After this however, the story takes a completely different turn including the climax which proves to be the ‘kahani mein twist’


Now, I watched the original movie quite a few years ago and I really do not wish to compare the movies. Suffice to say that Farhan Akhtar has built a new story using the same characters and has merely retained the skeletal structure of the old story. But there are sub plots within the plot and some like the character played by Arjun Rampal are quite uninteresting. Somewhere along the line you feel that the story is losing its grip and frankly, there were times when I glanced at my watch wondering how much time remained. However, it would be unfair if I said that I did not enjoy some of the action sequences. There is this terrific scene, where Vijay is kidnapped by his gang, while he is a police ambulance in a freeway in Malaysia. Instead of going the old fashioned way of pulling the driver out and driving away with the ambulance , or taking Vijay’s stretcher out and getting away, Roma arranges for a crane to lift the ambulance into a truck which then drives off. We laughed off our sides when we watched the next one. ShahRukh and company are in an aeroplane and they are being taken to a special detention camp in an island in Malaysia because they are ‘khatarnaak mujrim’s. Don must escape and by now, his gang knows that he is not the Don, but Vijay and so they are baying for his blood. Well, our Vijay and a firangi start fighting in the aeroplane with their handcuffs and then with just one parachute between them they jump off the aircraft. The rest is hilarious. In an action that defies all laws of gravity pertaining to free-fall, they fight mid-air for the parachute and as all stories go, Vijay gets the parachute just when they are quite close to the ground.


Shah Rukh, is the probably only person who could have acted this role. His arrogance mixed with amusement is the perfect for the 21st century Don, who has no ethics or code of honour. Comparisons with the Big B are obvious, but to his credit, Shah Rukh handles the character in his own way and passes the test (though not with flying colours.) On second thoughts, Vivek Oberoi could have done this role as well. In anycase, after his mesmerizing ‘K k k k Kiran’ it’s good to see Shah Rukh in a negative role that he will be remembered for. Priyanka Chopra steals the show. She is maturing into one of the finest actresses in Bollywood. Priyanka takes on Roma – Zeenat Aman’s character, but at the end of the show, we do not want to compare the two actresses, because Priyanka has shaped Roma in a different garb and she does full justice to her part. Isha Kopikkar –as Don’s moll makes no difference to the movie. Anybody else could have done that role. Kareena Kapoor appears for five minutes, looks ravishing a la Helen and bows out. Arjun Rampal is good, but his character is pretty boring and I wish he would stop behaving like a bank manager and learn to emote a little more. Boman Irani as Inspector De Silva does his usual act, but he has a cute assistant Inspector and I wish he was the person to catch the Don.

All said and done, Don is quite a nonsensical movie if you try to make sense out of it, but in the truest sense of Bollywood style masala movie, it scores a perfect 10. Complete entertainment and satisfaction guaranteed. Farhan Akhtar – good job. What next?

A for Apple

Isaac Newton don't impress me much

I have been eyeing an apple tree in the neighbourhood for quite sometime. Today just after lunch, I went and stood below the tree. No, I did not fall asleep, nor did I wait for an apple to fall on my head and thereby start a new thought provoking venture into science. I reached up and plucked an apple from the tree and took a juicy bite. Ummmmmm, I think I just ran short of expression.

One thought provoking venture into human behaviour though......a full grown apple tree, with red juicy apples, looking invitingly at all passerbys and nobody bothers to pluck??? Its not even on some private property. Maybe, out here nobody needs to worry about where their next meal will come from; a sharp contrast from the land where I belong to........

Angels fear to tread

Good-bye and Goodnight

I stayed up till 4am this morning, to watch Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna. Arrrgghh!! I am totally bleary eyed now and a bigger fool than I was last night, when friends warned me not to sacrifice a good night's sleep to see ShahRukh divorce Priety to marry Rani. KANK is 3.5 hours, boring, dull and lacks something that I really cannot pin point at (atleast not now, when I am so disgusted)

Shahrukh, please grow up. You are nearing the end of your career. I agree, that you are have had more box office success than nearly any actor in Bollywood history (is he really the most successful in terms of box office collections?) but we need a break. Ten years after DDLJ, you are still acting the same way. When I saw you in Swadesh, I thought you might have changed, but I suppose box office obligations drove you to revert back to the same school of acting.

Dev (played by ShahRukh) is the failed footballer who turns to coaching after an accident cripples him forever. Rhea (Priety Zinta) is his ambitious wife, who is a go getter and a winner. Maya ( Rani Mukherjee) is a simpleton at heart married to party organiser and (hence) party amimal Rishi ( Abhishekh Bachchan - don't I love that guy!). Now, put the four in a churning pot and watch the concoction brewing into a Bollywood masala mix.

Dev thinks his wife is too ambitious to have a happy family. Maya thinks her husband is too engrossed with himself to care about her and so, Dev and Maya fall in love with each other. Thereby hangs a tale. Now, the pathetic part of the plot is that, Rhea (Dev's wife) is ambitious, but makes real effort to look after her family and be with them whenever she can. Rhea's character is not painted in black, but had shades of grey. It really throws the same question that Abhimaan with the Big B and Jaya Bachchan posed before society nearly 30 years ago, with so much more subtlety. What's wrong if the wife is more successful than the husband???? Why is it that a husband can get away with long working hours under the guise that he is doing all this for his family while the same does not hold for the wife? In the story, Rhea works extra hard so that she can buy the best for her son and provide him with all the comforts in life. What's so wrong with that????

On the other end, we have Maya who thinks that she has not been able to connect to husband, Rishi. Agreed, that the fellow is a party animal, but it does not justify a failed marriage. Fellow shows his love for his wife all the time, and tries to keep her happy day in and day out. Infact, Rhea has the weakest character, but the most screen presence in the movie and it has puzzled me to no end. Why on Earth does she think she cannot connect to her husband. He is after all, not the indifferent phlegmatic man who does not have any interest in his wife!!! To the contrary, Rishi does his best to keep Rhea happy, but she is the one who seems to be indifferent.

Now, even as I am trying to figure out why Dev and Maya think that their respective marriages are failing, we come to the part of the movie where they spend time with each other and fall in love. Falling in love is the prerogative of Hindi cinema and therefore, I dare not question it, though Rishi's father Sam (Big B - more on that later) does offer by way of explanation that two people trapped under similar circumstances will bond closer. I agree with that. When R, M and I did not study for our DBMS paper and decided to 'co-operate' during the exam - we bonded very well during those three hours. The rest they say is not called Essential Repeat.

So, then I do accept that just because they have both had rocky marriages, they bond while discussing their problems and realise that they would be happy if they spent the rest of their lives with each other. After this it gets tough. You see Dev and Maya meeting secretly and doing what tantamounts to cheating on their respective spouses. You are supposed to empathise with that. At the same time, you have not exactly been taught to consider Rhea or Rishi as villains, so you are totally dazed, because you do not know what is right and what is wrong. There! got it. What's missing in KANK is a message. This movie was supposed to be some path breaking movie in Bollywood, but it does not leave any definite message. You come out of the movie wondering who was right and who wasn't. As for myself, when I sat through 3 hours of this mammoth movie and switched off my laptop when there were 30 minutes still remaining, I thought the only message worth remembering was that it was no use losing sleep over KANK. Yawn!

PS - Big B - wasted - as some kindof a compulsive sex maniac, who yet mourns the loss of his wife. I respect that guy too much to accept him in a role like this.

Desperado

There is something I have come to realise. When you desperately want something, you usually get it. Somebody told me that in this country, when people misplaced buttons in their shirts, they usually threw away the shirt because, nobody sold loose buttons or needle and thread. It worried me a lot, because I am so used to mending things that the thought of throwing away a perfectly sound dress was giving me sleepless nights. Then one day, I discovered an entire section devoted only to needles, threads and buttons in the supermarket and my fears were dispelled.

A week ago, I managed to lose the buckle of my handbag. Again, going by popular perception, I was under the impression that I would have to throw away an absolutely new leather bag, just because one buckle was missing. Today, I found yet another section in the supermarket devoted solely to buckles for strapping up bags. Funny, I never noticed it before in all these days.

This supermarket is like Harry Potter's wishing room. You only need to wish for something and you will find an entire section devoted to your needs - someplace that you probably passed by a thousand times before but never gave as much as a glance. For the past one month, I had been dumped with a lamp shade that cost me a lot of money, but was not required. I had been wondering what to do about it, when somebody told me that I could return it without any hassles. I managed to find a returns section also in the supermarket also. As a senior told me, this country is a desert and the supermarket is your oasis. You better make sure that you know your way through this place blindfolded. I'm trying to...

Biriyani Blues

Last Saturday, we set out on what is increasingly becoming our fornightly trips in search of our roots. We went on one of those long drives, where we are always on the lookout for anyplace that smells and spells I-N-D-I-A from a mile's distance. As a result of our enthusiastic ventures, one 'Bombay Bazaar' is flourishing. Whoelse I wonder would shop for Britannia 50-50 biscuits, Maggi Hot and Sweet Tomato Sauce and Haldiram's khatta mithaa mixture and end up spending $200 everytime? The store owner - one sharp businessman with enough acumen has been quick to spot our weakness. So, he never fails to gift us DVDs (surely copied from other pirated DVDs judging by the poor quality) of the latest Hindi movies and always tempts us with sample 'Frooti' bottles. This way, he ensures, that we keep going back to the same place, even though prudence tells us that if we travel further down to a slightly known place called Chicago, Maggi Noodles will cost less than $7 ( I believe it costs Rs.9 in India and that $1 = Rs.46 now) and that a plate of Biriyani will cost not $11 but $3.

Anyway, fools will rush in and so did we when we soptted something that looked like a restaurant and called itself 'India Darbar'. Deprived of biriyani, this place seemed like manna from heaven when we found Mutton/Chicken and vegetable biriyani on the menu. We immediately ordered enough to feed a family of four for a week. When the goras in the next table sniffed and wept because of the spice in the food, we satisfied ourselves, that we were in the right place. Somebody got a chicken sizzler and our appetite soared. Politeness was all that stood between us and the kitchen door. Then somebody walked towards our table carrying food...

The rest they say is called anti-climax. What lay on my plate was rice and mutton gently sauted in meat masala. Gone was the Basmati rice without which biriyani is indispensible. Gone was saffron and even the smell of rose water that I detest so much in biriyani was missing. We could not eat it. I still remember some people weeping out of shock. We ordered tandoori chicken and given that our expectations had sunk to a new low now, it was quite good. We drowned dinner then, with some decent chicken curry and peas pulao (that's what they called it, but it was actually rice with some green peas thrown in for effect) and naan (I suspect it was a pre-cooked naan, but it was edible)

Nearly $80 the poorer but still not wiser perhaps, we left for home. Our initial mission from which we strayed so much was to find a place where we could get Halal meat. This we did not get. Seems to me, there is sufficient reason therefore, so set out again next weekend for another place from where we can hope to get a whiff of India!!!

Something fizzy

Soft drinks here come in only one size and it is called unlimited. Once you buy a glass of soft drink, you can refill it free of cost again and again and yet again for as many times as you want. People seem to prefer soft drinks here to water. I have been amazed to see families carry home huge cartons of Diet Coke cans home from the supermarket. It’s incredible because, I was always under the impression that people here were health conscious and that soft drinks had high glucose levels and so, to put it in simple words made people fat!!! In office there is a guy who finishes almost one litre (people here measure in Oz and gallons i think - though I shall never get used to the idea) of soft drinks everyday. It is no wonder then, that he is 5 feet wide and 5 feet tall and when he walks, you'd think a wall is moving. I have been quite petrified of soft drinks ever since the infamous incident of pesticides was discovered in India in 2003. People here assure me that in the Uncle Sam's land, such a thing is impossible. Pepsi/Coke/ [your soft drink company] would have to down its shutters if something like that had been discovered. Whoa! Talk about mass discrimination on the basis of the water!!!!

Back home, there is a rather limited variety of soft drinks that are available. Here, the numbers are mind boggling. You get to choose between 30 different varieties and even as I speak, they are probably launching a new variety and disbursing it for free at gas stations (yes, I got to taste a new flavour of Coke last Friday) Vending machines are everywhere; near the super market, down the basement which no one visits more than a month, close to the parking lot, at the canteen. You're probably lost in the middle of nowhere if you cannot locate a vending machine with 100 metres (again - I believe that people use to measure distances in miles here, I have no clue how much a yard measures) of your vicinity.

Every morning I watch intently an ad on TV which says that people here are getting fatter and fatter and soon airlines are going to charge the rate of 2 seats for an obese person. Should motivate people enough to cut down on the gallons to save the miles. More on gallons and the Oz, miles and yards and pound soon....

Oh! Just a passing thought...most of the men and women who win the 100 metres sprint are Americans. When you have spent all your life counting yards, how do you beat the world to 100 metres????

Catastrophic Concoctions

In a country where people do not leave home without a cup of coffee, I have spent an excrutiating 3 weeks without coffee. The result has been a sleepy, bleary eyed and de-caffeinated A Chatterjee with a deprived-of-coffee look on her face.

For reasons best known to the mysterious forces of nature, the coffee jug is always empty in the breakfast table in the morning, when I try to get some for myself. I watch with green eyes as everyone else sips their favourite cuppa.

When we tried to make coffee at home, somebody forgot to distinguish between salt and sugar and we ended up with a cup of very salty coffee which once again, I did not have the privilege to taste.

The other day, when we tried to make some of it on the microwave, the cup burst and the coffee flowed freely everywhere but to me.

As if to prove that when God does not will AC to have coffee, she shall have none of it, the vending machine betrayed me one morning. It has never refused to help me with hot chocolate so far, but that morning, just when I thought of giving a break to the hot chocolate ritual and go for a cup of coffee, the machine refused to dispense coffee on one occasion and a cup to pour the coffee on the other, I watched disgusted and gave up.

PS – this incident took place a week ago. Stars have changed since then. Have lunched at a coffee bar with a benevolent Italian with some fine coffee, have been to Star Bucks at a time when their coffee machine was working just fine and was just treated to some delicious home brewed coffee a short while back. To borrow an expression from the Reprobate ‘Inshallah!’

To the government of the greatest democracy on Earth,

Dear Sir,

Sitting many many miles away from home, and in a country that does not lay to as much claim to democracy, as you do, yet provides it the truest sense of the word, I am one of the few Indians privileged to read what I have written in this blog. Elsewhere, back home, in the place that I'm afraid I belong to, they say, you have blocked all blogs, because they spawn hatred and brew violence. They say, you yourself are not so sure why you have done it, but it seemed like a step to take to counter the resentment growing against you, as you have repeatedly failed to protect us from being blown up every other Sunday. What next? Are you going to block emails, then the Internet, telephones? Are you going to stop people from talking because that is also a medium of spreading violence? Are we going to use silence to isolate criminals and non criminals alike?

Do you even know why people blog? There are those among us, who tell the world the little things that happen to our lives that nobody would care to listen to. We pen it down here, because we can come back here and read it again and again. After a day of work, I read what my friends have written in their blogs and when I can understand that they are going through, I know that no matter how far we are from each other, we have connected. So many of us assume names and tell the world tiny things about our everyday lives that we would shy away from talking about. This is our private diary in a very public domain. This is where we bare our souls without any inhibitions!

If some people use this medium to spread violence, you've gotto stop those people, not the medium. Long back, a friend of mine used to say, the treatment of dandruff is not to cut off all the hair. I still remember how we used to laugh whenever he said that, but today I realise the truth of his words. Do you think, stopping blogs is going to stop them from finding other means of communication? What next are you going to ban? Where will you stop?


True, they say, the pen is mightier than the sword. But how do you expect to conquer the pen if you cannot conquer the sword? If you wish the curb the voice of the nation, remember you are chocking your ownself and creating terrorists within. Meanwhile, the world keeps laughing at you.......

River of Dreams

There goes my hero

Edit #1
World Cup's over now and so is Zidane's career. It hurts that it ended in such a terrible mess. A great hero like Zidane could not even be present at the medal giving ceremony, because of this. Zidane, you will nevertheless be held in our highest esteem always and you shall still be counted as one of the greatest ones that ever kicked a soccer ball

Solstice

And all who heard should see her there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
Her flashing eyes, her floating hair !
Weave a circle round her thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,

For today Anwesha Chatterjee is going to cook today!!!!!!

Weird huh?

I thought it was weird enough that Aparna would want me to write the 6 weirdest things about myself. Do I need to prove that I am weird? Isn’t this blog proof enough? Being old –fashioned, I cannot say No to a friend, and so here goes the public confession, that she is demanding:

1. I don’t lose my temper ever. Its weird, it’s crazy and I cannot figure out how it happens. It frightens me most of the time, but its true, I NEVER lose my temper. When I get seriously angry with someone, I just stop talking to them. Then I cool down after sometime (and it usually happens pretty soon). But I just do not let out any steam.


2. Unless I am reminded of it, I do not feel hungry. I can go on for days without food (never tried it though) and I have no favourite food. I eat almost everything and like almost nothing.


3. I forget names of people very easily, I mix them up and I confuse them and finally, I resign by giving them nicknames, but I never forget their faces. The faces come back to haunt me all the time, accusing me of forgetting the names. I suppose I must be suffering from the absent-minded professor syndrome.


4. I don’t change myself with time. I think I got stuck in a time-wrap when I was 15 years old. I still think feel and behave like a 15 year old and cannot alter my opinions.


5. I am lazy and I go to sleep early and wake up late, but when it comes to sprucing me up with the latest fiction, I can stay up all night and wake up at the first call of the alarm at 3 in the morning. Apart from that, nothing else would keep me awake.


6. I can start smiling for no apparent reason and keep smiling and go on and on and on. It’s not a loud boorish laughter, but just a smile that refuses to leave me. Weird huh?

And now, it is my pleasure to tag my fellow bloggers. Your punishment for taking time to read this post is to write 6 of the weirdest things about yourself (oh! You don’t need to pretend, if you’re my friend, you gotta be weird in more than 6 ways alone). Here goes the death row list:

1. Stilettoes
2. Akash Sen
3. First Rain
4. Frog in the salad
5. Aniruddha ( I know you are reading this)
6. Amrita
7. Lal
8. Reprobate ( you have been tagged already – So I guess unless you want to expand your list, you are excused from this one)
   

Hee hee hee.....enjoy!

Goodbye SN

SN died last night and he was only 26 years old. This is the first time that somebody I know has died at such a young age. There was no accident, no suicide, no nothing. Just a mild heart attack because of gastroenteritis and he passed away.

We are all in a state of shock out here. SN died fourteen thousand miles away from home, away from his parents and loved ones. Which is a terrible thing, because SN was a rather lovable guy. He was a brilliant student, a very sharp quizzer, and a very jovial fellow. We loved talking to him, because he was always so helpful and cheerful. What is really appalling is that he was the most health conscious person around and he was seen as an example of physical fitness. He lived life on the fast lane, walked fast, drove his car really fast and his brain whirled round the globe with solutions faster than most people.

SN, you left us and you are probably smiling in heaven now, because that's what great people like you deserve, while down below, we will all mourn your irreparable loss.

The football fever

The whole world seems to be going bonkers on world cup football. People have stopped working night shifts and have demanded to be shown matches. Most people are leaving early to catch their favourite matches. We are also playing something called phantom football in office. I never cared much about football myself, not atleast after I broke B’s foot in a foul on terrible day in monsoon. I was a burly ruddy girl, with a predisposition towards football and cycling. There weren’t enough guys to make up a 22 member team, and there were fewer girls – so we played in a mixed team. Our teams changed in all possible permutations everyday. That fateful day B – possibly our best player was in the opposition and as a terrible footballer, but a determined defender my keywords were, ’don’t let the ball get past you’. Sadly B was playing his best game and as he moved towards our goal post, I missed the ball and kicked his foot instead…….

I still don’t know what stopped them from throwing me out of the team. Some of them tell me, that B spoke out on my behalf. He was two years older and quite fond of me. But my guilty conscience would not let me play anymore. Like a true blue professional, I hung up my boots while in my prime and took to cycling alone along the long winding roads in our campus. Those were the days of Itlalia’90. I had eyes only for Jeurgen Klinsmann. I wonder if Ma has thrown away the scrap book that had around 90 pictures of Klinsmann. I am told he is now coaching Germany and if I do watch any matches this time, it would only be to catch a glimpse of Klinsmann.

Meanwhile, I am playing football with my life now. I am now living in a different country and a different continent. Some people have called it seemingly paradise, I agree with seemingly. I seem to be playing football with my sleeping hours. The midfield mind says its midnight, attack the sleep nerves, the body defends by saying, it’s daytime in India. Here the sun does not set before 9p.m. putting all my time management into a quandary. I am learning for the first time, how to cook Indian food, in a foreign country from a group of men, who hitherto had commanded merely respect from me. They now have my whole-hearted admiration. Learning to count the cents and save the dollars. Learning that phone calls are free and Internet access is as easily available as pollution in India. Learning that if you do not know how to drive a car, you are doomed to lead your life dependent on others. Learning that there is no such thing as the local grocery wala or the mishtir dokaan. I am learning that restaurants are expensive and that I am an object of curiosity here because of the colour of my skin and my salwar kameez – two things that I always took for granted.

The neon lights at night blind my eyes. Sometimes, it’s an escape from the homesickness and the depression that has begun to set in. Living fourteen thousand miles away from home is not always the easiest thing to do. But some people have helped to ease the pain. I do not know how to express my heartfelt thanks to all of my friends, who have mailed, called, scrapped and have in everyway let me know that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Thank you!!! I am indeed touched.

A Thousand Words

Holy Cow!

Ainul - my little friend

Grand Ma obviously enjoying this trip

22nd floor: The Bong

Hilarious!
Devastatingly funny!!
I am still rolling with laughter!!!
Please read the following link....
22nd floor: The Bong

The meaning of life, the universe and everything

I formally declare my sincerest and most humble respect, admiration and obeisance to all those superlative humanoids (dead or alive, past, present and future included) who have mastered the art of cutting potatoes into perfect cubes of the same size. I have been at it for quite a few years now and this morning as I tried it for the zillionth time, I knew that some are born to cut potatoes, some acquire it and some have potatoes thrown at them.

I have been reading Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy for the past couple of weeks and the absolute nonsense of it has shocked me to the last bone marrow. Are we Earthlings, as the author claims a part of a huge organic computer commissioned by rats, which are actually the most intelligent race in the Universe?

The author also claims that the art of flying consists of two parts: the first easy one, which is to fall, and the second seriously tough one, which is to miss the ground. Since I have already proven my expertise in the first one, methinks a good way to gain lead over fellow fliers would be to start from the second part.

Further, the author claims that forty-two is the answer to the meaning of the life, the universe and everything. This was the result obtained after a million years of processing done by the greatest computer in the Galaxy (it wasn’t an Earth computer ofcourse) and the answer was so baffling, that nobody knew what the question was. Since death is the reverse of life and the answer lies hidden in the question, I have decided to work on my little question. Describe in 42 different ways, means to assassinate Anwesha Chatterjee.

Now, for reasons unknown to me, this has been bothering me for quite sometime. I surely know that I am not yet famous enough (never stop hoping) to merit an assassination and that murder would fit the bill more, but what if somebody really wanted to kill me.

#1. Easy target: Every morning at a known time, I set out of home. Though the driver drops me to a vantage point, I still have to walk a small distance along the walls of a factory. Somebody/anybody could hide himself in the factory terrace at that time (for a whole 5 minutes I am to be found walking alone) and take a long careful aim. Bang! Crash! Boom and I am gone. Should our predator miss his target, he (I am extremely friendly with women and since the female of the species is deadlier than the male, I make it a point to maintain good relations with them. So the killer’s gotta be male) he could hire an assassin and repeat the exercise in the evening.

#2. When I sit in the bus at a fixed time every morning, my unknown enemy could take another bus (state buses are difficult to highjack I think, but the same cannot be said about private buses) and in classic Abhishekh Bachchan - Yuva style (Yes, stilleto, I agree he is HOT) shoot me. The problem there would be that a lot of witnesses could be found, and since I am sure no son of a minister is going to shoot me, so chances of witnesses turning hostile are highly improbable.

#3. A still more interesting way to kill me would be to wait till I went to the open-air smoking lounge in office. Now, I do not smoke and but our colleagues who do, are gracious enough to allow non-smokers get a breathe of fresh air in the lounge overlooking a lake. The lake has small islands with straw parasols and coconut trees. Our hired assassin could wait and watch in one of those islands, till I come out for a break from work and give me a permanent break.

Thirty-nine far more innovative ways to get myself assassinated were lost along with a little red diary somewhere in the galaxy during leak in a time wrap. I have decided to figure that it is an SEP (Somebody Else’s Problem)