Ye life hai....take it lightly!

Black and White

2012-02-11T17:54:00.003+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 24; the Twenty-Fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month is BLACK AND WHITE.

People have such crazy notions these days. Like murder is taboo. Like a murderer has no right to be heard by an everyday audience. Like if you ignored to acknowledge my existence I just might cease to exist. You secretly hope that, don’t you?

I could change that for you. Give me a chance, yeah?

Now that you choose to hear me, you must know my story is rather tragic. I’m not raging with vengeance or evil though. That’s what I hate about you. You judge me. And you pretend like you’re fair. Justice and all that baloney.

Some sing, some write. I kill. It’s much the same. It’s art.

And the thing with art is, you can’t decide it to be ugly or beautiful. It all boils down to a perspective. Odd isn’t it, that an uneducated bunch of your folks gang up against me for a bad show of art and suddenly I’m crime material?

And then there is the rigmarole of a pattern. A serial killer must positively have one, they say. Crazy notions I told you! My ‘episodes’ don’t have a pattern. Unless you thought the lack of one to be the pattern. Which could make sense, but then that leaves only a shadow of mutually exclusive outcomes never to recur, as opposed to a universe of unexplored outcomes that you have no idea about.

Worse, if I unwittingly chose to imitate myself from the past that would leave you all confused and messed up. A bit like you are right now, eh?

To tell you the truth, I never choose my victim. If I could, there may have been some satisfaction. But that’s bad for my soul. It’s selfish and if you don’t know by now, I’m a giver. My subject is nothing more than a variable. I often see the attractive faces on board, their dainty laughs, lean fingers and wonder what would change if they encountered me up close. Would their eyes still flutter? Would their lips quiver in shy anticipation? Or is it all a facade that will rip apart?

I don’t know if the sting hurts. But as my pierce scathes one soft layer of flesh through to the next, deeper and deeper, there is a faint trail of crimson that oozes without restraint. The stuff you’re really made of. All those ideals of truth, morals and identity can go kiss the drain for there is just one raw emotion.

Fear.

Such a beautiful thing. It makes people so real. Come back to their innocence. The arrogance, the class, the tantrums, all those additives washed away leaving plain simple pleading. Uncomplicated. Man, I dig it!

I take away the life breath but I give to you in those last seconds of your pathetic existence what really is priceless. What always was. Every act you were ever passionate about, every soul that ever touched you comes alive. I taught you to value it! Now that is satisfaction.

I don't care for your disapproving gaze and I'm not afraid to confess it to the world. It's what I am. A German knife.

One that talks into murdering innocent strawberries every single day of my life. Big ones, little ones, unripe ones, ones that look good on the outside but taste really bitter on the inside.....all of them.
Go figure! :P

When you have a day that looks a glum black and white, tip the blues away with a splash of red.

It’s a sick world with a sick sense of humor!

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Blurs and Blends

2012-01-03T17:33:00.002+05:30

Being an ice cream junkie, watching dweeby Christmas reruns of Notting Hill and Runaway Bride *they don’t even feature Christmas in it! #justsaying*; and reading a girl-in-twenties’ fair share of MnB’s, I can tell for sure her idea of romance was pretty skewed. Enough at least to blur the line relationships drew between faking serious, pretty serious and seriously serious. The ‘really’ kind. Assuming you’re catching on to my lingo. If at all!

Yes, so that being her, or ‘her type’ rather, it’s no wonder at all she found herself never too haggled for mood swings or confusion.

Falling out of love needed to be done right. You cry, you sulk, you sleep. You wake up with a bright smile and before you know it, he’s flushed down and out. The End.

Banking on its success rate and works-for-all-sizes nature, that was Plan-A. No, there was no Plan-B.

The phone buzzed on vibrate and she made an easy swerve to catch enlightening midnight girly gossip that never failed to disappoint.

Instead there was a short crisp message that flashed, ‘At your doorstep.’

It wasn’t entirely odd that she hadn’t forgotten the sender’s number or the about average face behind it. Alarming though was why an old flame sent her fluttering in a near frenzy to rush to the door, almost tumbling down the staircase and dangerously tearing to keep her composure and breathing balanced.

If a perfect date meant black halter dress girl meets black tuxedo guy who greets her with orchids, this was night-suit clad girl in bunny slippers and hair at the top of her head meets tee n tracks guy greetings et al with milkshake. Not elegant, not sober but taken O.k.!

He was not the kind of visitor she had been expecting this late in the night. Yet somewhere in the corner of her brain, probably the part where little most personal thoughts stay nestled to be grazed in moments of loneliness, this moment had been played on loop already.

Keeping him at the door fumbling for words hardly seemed like the right thing to do. With her house teeming with family that was lost to snores and sweet dreams, the only place left to go without calling any attention was the terrace, and go they did.

It was a dangerous place to be. No, not the terrace, the company I mean. The sad part was, almost in a time set to long ago it had been settled that there was nothing left to say between them; nothing of consequence at least. Things just weren’t going to work and holes that couldn’t be darned were best left un-tattered.

And so they simply talked into the night.

Pretended the milkshake made them tipsy. Talked of mundane things.

Of straws and bubbles. And threw guesses at names of aircrafts that flew over their heads, fought even. Of queer waiters from times gone by. Of dialogues from unheard gory movies. Of keys left in refrigerators. Of childish fears. Of teachers who beat them blue. Of dream tree houses. Of how sleepy ruffled hair looked better. Of why the night breeze made awkward people beautiful.

Of how all things good blend into each other and never have an end.

Never have an end.

Somewhere in between, the pretence became real and blurred everything over. Strained smiles inverted and laughter flowed. Uncertain eyes sparkled and danced. Remember I said the ‘really’ kind and you weren’t so sure you got me? Yes, that.

Maybe they didn’t need to have an end after all. Maybe every time they neared the end, they could make a new beginning. Like the two shredded halves of a crescent moon that eventually come together.......Cos that’s where they belong. Never too surprising, is it?

The long and short of it you think. Well there always must be a story to tell on another day.J

Hamaar Desi Beetle-wa

2011-12-23T17:40:00.006+05:30

Haa haa Namaste Namaste. Yaar zyada formal hone ki zaroorat nahi hai.

Attacking the main course, THIS is what the post is about-

You see that up there? *if you don't then emm click refresh?*

Now I want you to think real hard. What does it look like?

You’re probably thinking *and scratching your head in case you don’t use Clinic All Clear* num num nummmm ‘Ok it’s a Tata Nano where they forgot to put the doors on the side and the Break Dance ride wala headlights.’

Hai na hai na???

This is what our new auto rickshaws are going to look like.

*sad eyes*

I object your honor!

Corruption, Mayavati, Chikni Chameli- all that I can handle;

But taking away my sweetu black and yellow bhopu wala buggy for this oh-look-at-me-I’m-so-chic-and-shiny dumb blonde equivalent is blasphemyyy!

Now as free social service let me explain to you why this is going to be the biggest monumental flop after Delhi-6.

And Raavan. And Idea commercials. And Players. *ok so that’s not released yet but it will still be a flop, you dekh lena!*

Firstly, it doesn't have a carrier! Now please don’t tell me you don’t know the importance of thatttt! We as Indians can travel as cramped as possible; even three people sitting one on top of the other, on top of the other’s lap. *no pun intended please. Shame on you!*

BUT we want due respect and space for our saamaan, OH YES!!!!

And boss what are those two handle like things on the hood? I mean what am I supposed to do with it? If I really wanted isstyle then would I travel in an auto rickshaw you TVS wala dodo???

Secondly, tip tip ke bajaaye dhumad dhumad barsa pani then???? The heaviest rainfall in the WORLDDDD is in my country *Cherrapunji hello?* and this sophisticated pseudo beauty does not even have a curtain! That means I will now be exposed to contaminated water ANDDD possible company with saawan ka maindak’s. Still think it’s attractive, huh!

Wait till I blow you away with my next analytical sooper dooper fundoo point.

Look closely and you’ll see it does not have our old mini ~~Vuvuzuela~~ 'Vuvuzela' shorriee. *the name sounds a lot like Venezuela no? Talk about irony with the country having cheapest fuel prices. That’s why they probably call it vuvu. To rub it in our face each time L(((((* Haa so like I was saying, this one here just has a normal basic flat peep-peep wala horn.

Now think for a minute.*ok that's too long. One second maybe* Does anybody EVER take car horns in India seriously??? That just makes you blend into the crowd and the one reason for autos to swell their noisy jing-jang engine and entourage with pride has been taken away too. It’s like stripping them off their identity! Know what I mean??

I understand this leaves you a little depressed about our golden future. Hence!!!! I present to you the magic vehicle. The REAL saviour. The true warrior that spells DESI all over it.

Tadaaaa!

The next time this elegant lady honks and the bhayya up ahead screams obscenities with, ‘Ud ke jaayega kya????’

We can do just that! Wohoaaa!!!

Time management.

Aerial view.

Extra storage in the tail ‘compartment’.

Aesthetic colourful exteriors.

You name it dude! J

Bloggers And Bummers

2011-11-30T08:50:00.002+05:30

*This post is written as a guest post @ Ye life hai...take it lightly! to keep the blog in running condition. The same way as we need to fire up our old car once in a while to keep the battery from dying.

I was terrified when Sadiya told she wants to add me to her ‘team’. Whenever I bring myself to write something my mind goes as blank as a new MS Word document.

In my student days even my essay type answers dint last more than a pitiful few lines, so to write an entire post without being called a literary massacre, was too much to ask for. I like writing for sure and this was Sadiya’s way of encouraging me to start writing. So I wrote for Blog-a-ton aka BAT and when I wrote, the words came out in spades. They ate up an entire week-end of the poor reader. Nevertheless, I ‘Batted’ for 2 innings managed to score a few votes and was declared ~~winner~~ retired hurt and I had my i-told-you-so moment.

I was advised that to win any contest either make the audience cry, cringe or criticize. People of giggles and guffaws are not taken seriously and have no moral standing in the society of esteemed writers. That’s the reason people like David Dhavan have never cared to buy a tuxedo for themselves (one for wearing at awards function).

Anyway, by now you must have known that I am the passive and non-working member of ‘chotu sa team’. People who still don’t agree can click here to find two soporific posts in the last 200 years. So to sound cool, I call myself as a ‘seasoned writer’ (draught and famine?). I write on special occasions. Such as now.

The occasion?

Saving my life!

Yes.

Sadiya ke blog se khilwaad karna maut ko daawat dene ke barabar hai!!

She had handed over the Power of Attorney of her blog to keep updating it with posts so that her beloved readers don’t think she has left the noble cause of blogging and has taken up other insignificant and unnecessary activities like awareness of Global Warming and child labour. No she has not. FYI she returns back from abroad next week.

All this time bloggers were mistaken as loners, nerds and geeks but truth be told, it needs a lot more audacity and courage than you think to turn away from that interesting Big Boss show on TV or resist that movie plan with your friends/cousins or that long sweet chat with your boy/girlfriend on Yahoo Messenger and sit in front of the computer and feed it with thousands of words. So basically they are super-humans. Like Drona and Ra-one.

Now that Sadiyaji has shown immense faith in me, I wish to jump into the bandwagon of bloggers again. Fortunately for me, the situation is all ideal. Here in Riyadh, with an almost non-existent social life and lots of spare time at job (yes you heard it right. Will have a complete post dedicated to my job 'responsiblities' later) I hope to become a ~~Drona~~ good blogger.

Having said this, I have decided to launch a "Mega Project" in my blog, where I will write posts under the title 'Women and Men In My Life'. It will detail some interesting people and my bizarre/funny experiences with them.

Thats about it. Now for the disclaimers -

1-*statutory warning - I hold the license to exaggerate, kill common sense and logic

2-If you find any spellos/irritating stuff, just don't get angry, take a deep breadth and think of some good old days.

3- Un/knowingly you may feel offended by my posts/remarks and it mite break your heart. But let me tell you or rather remind you -since none of you are in Samarkand you are prone to heart break.

4- Aur han.. No offended souls trying to intimidate me by using different names, if u know what I mean.

Because @ my blog I WONT take it lightly!

* For feedback and complaints you can reach me (please) on Twitter -Mudassir443 &
FB - https://www.facebook.com/#!/mudassir.saudagar

I refuse to die!

2011-10-27T22:16:00.003+05:30

She had been my best friend forever. I’m not sure she thought the same way about me. Sometimes I even wonder if she took anything I said seriously. The first time we met was at our school assembly as little kids standing in crooked lines, fighting the cold and staging a forced attention in what didn't concern us. Kids don’t care. I wish grownups knew that.

The sun gave a lukewarm smile and the wind made our brittle scraped knees rickety, biting lightly every few moments in sudden gusts. It got harder to concentrate and that’s when a roving eye brought me to face her. That was the day I found my ‘smile friend’. It’s all we did for the next few days- smiled at each other. Besides spreading the warmth there was also the part about us having a lot in common. Never popular, never sought after, what you may call- just average.

There’s a time when you don’t know anything about yourself. If there is a ‘you’ and how it’s not the same as others, doesn't matter. What you like, what you don’t. What you want to become. That’s not to think.

To think is, if you could get to plait your hair by rolling it round and round about your fingers. To think is, why it opens up and doesn't stay. Now that’s what you call a real heartbreak.

I don’t know anything about parents. I don’t know if I had any. Nobody tells me now and back from when I was born, I don’t remember a thing. I hung out a lot at her place though. Her parents really doted over her. It’s funny actually. Even when her pony wasn’t really straight they’d still call her beautiful. I’d tell her that, but she never listened to me.

I was always telling things. I still am. Sometimes she listens. But that’s only when no one’s around. There are always too many people I’m competing with to get her attention. I’m not sure how over the last few years she suddenly got popular and I stayed behind. Sometimes that makes me sad. Mad even. And then when she asks me stuff, I lighten up. I feel important. I don’t mean to brag but my ideas are always better than her other friends’.

Yesterday she seemed upset. I thought I must make her happy and told her my new theory. The smile. Again. She wouldn’t believe me. Again.

It’s rather simple really. Well, I believe in it entirely. Here, let me help you with it.

Most people never really do what they want to, until they turn seventy. Cos then they can afford to have diabetes or get fat. The pretty people aren’t going to look at them then, anyway.

Better still, slog up and then hope to have a happy retirement. They always dream about reading newspapers in rocking chairs. I think I’m pretty intelligent for my age. I read a lot.

But I also think I’m immortal. She thinks that’s dumb. She says all humans must die. Uh oh, I beg to differ, sir!

It’s all about dying. It’s all about the end. That’s the all important thing. If you’ve devised a way to fulfilment then, you’d just as well start running now.

Always worried about not making it to some awkward old age.

Lucky for me, I’m never going to have an end.

Unlike her, I don’t worry about being swept over by a Tsunami. My heart doesn't start racing when I hear thunder reverberate. I don’t flinch when a car stops short. I am not afraid.

Because I refuse to die.

And she doesn't listen. Again.

I tell her. I tell her. I whisper to her. I wish she would hear. She thinks I’m crazy.

But one day when everyone’s gone and abandoned her forever, I will be there.

She had been my best friend forever.

Although her shadow is all I am, yet again, like old times I will tell her,

I refuse to let you go.

I refuse to die!

Sifar- Part 3

2011-10-14T16:33:00.006+05:30

Part 1

Part 2

Canthara looked out the castle window at the majestic twilight sky. The whole world soaked in hues of brown and orange exuding a caution of warmth tingled with the decoy of sublime cool breeze. A perfect evening what promised to be, was disturbed by a little figure trudging the drawbridge with a spring in his step.

Dismissive hope, she rued.

Looked on and mere advancing footsteps aggravated the hostility in her mind for every assuming person who imagined an act of barter could win her over. Judged by strangers who understood nothing but their own selfish desire to what they may have liked at attaining and hopefully her aspirations would coincide with.

The nearer Zaid got to the castle, the stauncher his imprints seared to ooze deep-seated hurt.

In a matter of perceived thoughtful flashes, the Emir sent an attendant with a parcel that marked another suitor.

As little shuddering hands and cold eyes unwrapped to witness this new advance at mockery, they softened, if only for a moment.

From emotion or newness one couldn’t tell.

But they stared alright. The crimson shrieked and her hands complied to pacify it with hesitation.

She commanded for her eyes to move away but they had grown a heart of their own. A daze of unrest followed with ears ablaze and a face that spoke of acquired celestial glow. As every sense fought a battle with the other, she ordered the hideous scarf be taken away.

In a fleeting moment, she reeled to get one last look at the gleaming magic fabric and before any of the confusion could make sense, the object was out of sight.

An impact of sheer brilliance naively dismissed as freefalling imagination.

What could have been felt was merely touched, and that made all the difference.

A sad piece of cloth now, examined by the wrong hands; hands that were raised to evoke submission, but never to kindle dying flames; consequential hands; hands that clutched the giver to unveil his lustrous secret.
Refused to believe the magic couldn't be recreated. Refused to gauge it's impossibility.
Adamant at bringing rolling a fortune from hunting like savages for a mere moth.
Never mind, it never was intended that way!
And when the pious word was parted, sworn in secrecy was a man who merely wondered of setting a heart to flip and twirl, locked and thrashed in a dungeon forever to be.

No, not the end, as every time in shadows of nothingness when two lone souls would spare each other a grazing thought of what could have been, it would all end at the point where a lanky figure walked under the twilight sky and a face unknown housed a pining heart misunderstood.

The point where two roads that briefly met, diverged forever on a course of indifference.

The point that defined a listless journey from start to finish.

Sifar. Zilch.

*****THE END*****

Sifar- Part 2

2011-10-12T13:05:00.002+05:30

Part 1

Breathless as though life had ordained its concluding traces, the monk’s fading poise leaped up at the eventual twig of hope in gulps of fresh water endowed by a young lad whose eyes read concern. Life breath restored, a saviour must get his due and so he did.

A hollow cane box and a secret preserved over centuries revealed.

Not a mere matter of chance that floated along as serendipity.

It needed time.

It needed sweat.

It needed caressing affection.

It needed murder.

Zaid’s single minded instinct tore at the adventure and its perfectly asymmetric outcome. Seasons rolled by as he forgot all else in the ploy of one discreet task. Looked after its every need, stroked its every whim with undying passion, submitted unto ecstasy in order it evolve to a form that befitted a fated goal. And then, when the time was right, killed the squiggle.

Gurgled till no pulse escaped and smothered in silence; with wrath or agony, never to fully comprehend.

One of a kind, a tribute must be.

And then he assimilated. Long and short; spools, spindles and yarns; loops and strands; tighter, terser, stifled together; a gleaming expanse that placed itself stark and serene.

Unseen, unheard of creamy lustre.

Soft.

Too soft.

Except, it wasn’t yet over.

It still needed splashes of life.

Of a colour that could speak in silence lest he waned.

Deep, impressionable and holy.

Dipped and dyed to give it the blushing tint of blood.

A crimson silk scarf.

To be continued..... (the concluding part)

Value Addition

Silk, in ancient era was credited only to the Chinese for centuries, until a few monks acquired access to the ‘secret’ knowledge of sericulture and smuggled silkworm eggs in hollow cane baskets on their way to Turkey.

It is during this journey that unknown circumstances led to filtering of the ’secret’ in Syria and what later became another reason for the city of oasis to excel in trade for which it is now known as ‘Bride of the Desert’ .

Click for Part 3

Sifar

2011-10-11T01:29:00.006+05:30

Disclaimer- Set in AD 550 Syria, the following story is a work of fiction. All landmark events are real, and places mentioned therein have been restored as present day UNESCO World Heritage Sites.

In the lustrous oasis of Palmyra that greeted every tired traveller to dispel forlorn thoughts of home and renewed their motives with a zest to adventure, to live, to conquer; there once thrived a race of people wiped from the face of history perhaps for the lack of what too many, too good could not say too much of in too little.

They behaved like the Romans. They behaved like nomads. No restraint. A city with no boundaries, to be picked as a frothy feather and carried at a moment’s notice. No fear, no lies, no longing.

A haze of dust clung on never to see a canvas of the sky studded with little neon twinkles. Yet some nights it was luminous. At the far end, so far you couldn’t trust how real, on the highest point of a peak stood shining as a North Star the Qala ibn Maan castle of the Emir Roudafshan. To say it was an ordinary structure as the far many others would do adequate justice, but for the connect it had to the city. A steep drawbridge from its iron gates knitted into the veins of the roads that led to the oasis and pent up a sense of regalia. A foreboding presence of an equal in figurative but hierarch in perception is what prevailed.

‘The Emir’, revered the people.

‘The Emir’s daughter’, thought Zaid.

Canthara. All that was ever known about her was a mere name. If a slight remark had ever been made about her being, the sheen may have come to pass. It was the lure of the unseen that enthralled a dwelling thought. The rhythmic familiarity her name brought in the minds of its people was acquaintance of a person known and yet a stranger whose face couldn’t be acknowledged.

How may one decide the worth of that?

It was an unusual calling. In a time where trade ruled supreme, alliances brought fortunes and a princess couldn’t settle for much shorter, what could reconcile for a fitting barter that royalty may be appeased by? The Emir adjudged to oversee who from his kingdom and afar, rose above the rest to please the princess with a tribute that marked her entire worth in a single sweeping gesture.

Days passed into months as people from far and wide poured in gold ashrafi’s and jewels, treaties for chunks of land and every which way the rich could sell himself to be a mere pauper. It was a prize veiled thus far in the decoy of losing to a less esteemed clincher. None succeeded as the lady at her throne observed, absorbed and rejected one, the other and then yet another.

Farthest from the castle in a little shack filled with moonlight at the hem of the city’s limit lived an unassuming commoner. Zaid.

Not for love.

Not for lust.

But a desire to know what eluded a winner from a keeper.

What would a pair of eyes hidden away from the menial grind raptly peer at?

What would a heart indifferent to monotonous ridicule soar at?

What could be the worth of an unfurled soul in tireless wait?

He didn’t know the answer.

He didn’t know how close he was to it.

He didn’t know it came knocking at his doorstep as a monk entering the city straits feebly tapped his humble abode for a glass of water, the price of which altered a few pages of history.

To be continued.......
(Click for Part 2 of 3)

Chashmish kisko bola, huh???

2011-10-07T21:59:00.002+05:30

You know that amazing never to forget moment when you accidentally hear an exceptionally nice compliment about you, like some motu aunt exclaim ‘Allah! Kitni pyari bacchii hai na?’

*and then your mind refuses to believe you actually had the audacity to address a sweet moderately healthy woman as motu*

You feel like you’re reclining on a lot of Fairy dish-washing liquid waale bubbles and ethereally floating in the cool cloudy sky.

Yeahhhhh, that uber awesome feeling.

Hmm.

It’s never happened with me.

Ever!

What really happened is this.

I attended this crash course sometime ago *at the time when exams play tablaa tak-dhina-dhin on your head and you go into a state of Omigod-I’m-gonna-flunk-and-mum’s-gonna kill-me, sort of panic*

So somewhere in the middle of that a *not so good looking to be honest* guy asked his friend if they must clear a subject doubt with the girl in orange *read- me*.

To which the other dude friend said this, ‘Kaun wo chashmish?? Don’t even think! *nods head* She’ll just slap you and keep walking.’

*!!???!! What the what???*

Never mind the above statement makes me look like a total geek or worse still a hapless behenji of sorts. Never mind also, my failure to comprehend why I would slap a poor guy for asking a harmless subject related question.

*I mean do I look like the sort of person who goes around slapping random people??? And what does ‘keep walking’ mean anyway??*

The most irritable thing though, was the use of this word ‘chashmish’. I mean talk about discrimination. Whoever said I wanted free access to that league by complete strangers??

For a start I don't even wear them all the time. A year ago my eye doc gave me this wowwieee news that I need to be wearing specs when reading, at the computer or watching T.V. *which frankly I still don’t understand cos reading is short distance and T.V. is long. Uhh correct na?*

Anyway, this was like my dream come true. Ever since I was in Class 3 I had prayed to God to please please pleaaaase let me have those plastic really really round colourful specs like my friends, so I could keep touching it and act like a total snob.

*Don’t ask. In school, I was just weird*

So after much over-enthu deliberation, bugging the sales lady for about an hour and value addition on how buying something round would make my cheekoo face blow up to look like a ‘balloon’, this is what I bought.

Smart, eh? If you think that way for one teeny beeny weeny moment then you got to see me wearing them and you'd imagine I jumped out of The Flinstones in a black and white TV set. In my defence I was soooo confused.

Also, might I tell you, my family cooperated really well with this new change in appearance.

My bro said- 'Dideee what’s that ‘thing’ on your face!'

Dad said nothing. His expression was a blank stare *read- yuck yuck yuckkkk!*

Mom said- 'Beta aur kuch available nahi tha?'

Don’t even ask me how much I paid for it. Except, well I didn’t. Somebody else did, and I got it for free so it’s cool.

Now after this unwelcome response I seriously pondered over how specs is really a long term investment and I need to focus on delivering my absolute best in term of aesthetics and I came up with this-

Oh right.

*Image Unavailable*

Why, you ask? Because emm

I lost it.

Ok ok. I KNOW I kept it on my bedside table but then under some shady inexplicable circumstances the next day it just disappeared. Now don’t be a baalti and suspect my ability to search stuff. I did. On the table, in the draw, on my head *just in case you know*

Critical analysis- I think somebody stole it. Which btw I take as a great compliment. I mean surely they have more faith in my choice than I do myself. How awesome! \m/

Hence, I bought yetttt another pair and here’s how they look.

Did you just imagine them to be slightly broken?

*bheegi billi expression*

Yessssss, they broke. *buhoo*

But you know this is what ‘experience’ is all about.

Now I know and can even give YOU some serious gyaan on why you must never dump ze pince-nez in ze duffle bag without the fatso Dabba.

Anddd this brings us to my absolute final venture. All the manhoos Dhanno's are out and Raampyari is in!

Tadaaaa!

Honey, I promise to love, honor and cherish thee, 'till death do us part.

O yea!

Purple is the color of this season and that’s what I was gifted last week.

What you thinks??? Tell tell! *tukur tukur expression*

Soooo that’s my specs story. I’m a really low maintenance person that way.

Share your specs story too. If you have one, that is. J

The (In)eligible Bachelors- Book Review

2011-10-01T14:13:00.012+05:30

Yo mehrebaan’s and kadardaan’s, listen up!

A couple of days *or months? I'm not so sure yaar* ago, this girl named ‘Raam Pyaari’ commented on my blog *I hope not by mistake or anything*, which is why I visited her page and *gasp* what do I see?

She is an author! I almost instantly decided she would be my New best- blog- friend and to give the saboot of my never to die pinky dosti, I promised to read her book reallyyyy soon. You may think *yes, you! The one crinkling your nose to read this* that I lied *Ok ok I did, but that’s not important now*

You see Ek baar jo maine commitment kar di, usko do chaar maheeno main poora kar hi deti hoo. *sooper dooper smug*

Given my first class ~~air conditioned coupe like~~ kismat the book came knocking at my doorstep *sunglasses please* and here I present to you a cut to cut review of the same. Yenna rascala! Yenjayy!!

---------------------

‘The (In)eligible Bachelors’ by Ruchita Misra comes as an ‘inspired’ version of ‘Bridget Jones’s Diary’ with Kasturi, the protagonist, playing not-so-hep-not-so-demure-ish working kudi from Delhi trying to keep up with her perennially harrowed mother who is worried stiff. Why? Because she’s 24. And Single! *hawwww! How horrible!- aise thinks her mummy. not me*

What follows is a series of Mother *India?* dwaara arranged muh-dikhaai dates with random wannabe grooms in the form of Vishal, Pita Ji *that’s right*, Komal and Purva. Kasturi however remains disinterested in them given her ‘pehli baar dekha aur louuve ho gaya’ feelings for Rajeev Sir *thy boss mademoiselle*- Greek God incarnate and his growing interest in her only adds fuel to fire.

The chick lit trudges at a steady pace, doesn't dwell too much on mush and has a subtle sense of humor. Rickety at the beginning, it gets a lot better midway as the romantic tale of Kasturi finding true love takes shape and keeps the reader engaged in spurts of funky side artists. The vocabulary is very strictly conversational and doesn't even make a lukewarm attempt at a staged literary contribution *Ok too much to expect. I know. Still. Just saying.*

High points over its breadth would scale from-
The character sketch drawn out for Pita Ji chap. He comes as a delight in the shape of a goofy and irritable geek who by the end warms your heart in a quirky sort of way. If the book was about him alone, I’d give it a five pointer.

Purva too comes across in an endearing neat package for most part of the story. Ananya and Varun, Kasturi's colleagues are sweet and say all the right things at the right times.

Cameo roles in particular are brilliantly creative with 'parents meet parents' setup coming in as a long awaited delight in hilarity.

The low points would stretch a little further I guess.

For a start, the tale is thoroughly stale so a fresh voice may have helped, but that’s hoping for a lost cause.

Kasturi’s personality is hugely one dimensional and never really evolves, mainly because she has no opinion about anything. At best, you get to know she likes Pepsi, is a big fan of F.R.I.E.N.D.S, and loves Maggi *which is weird because she doesn't know how to spell it!*

Bluntly put, the woman is fickle, lacks spunk and is uhh *nail biting expression* Boring! *Yes, I said it*

The alleged Omigod-drop-dead-wowwiee Rajeev Sir isn’t half as drool worthy as say, Luke Brandon and rather platonic in most parts.

Lowestttt point *I mean haunt me for the rest of my life kind of low* being, the book is a product of God-awful editing. Multiple spelling mistakes, poor grammar and typing errors. Yep! you have it all!

Beyond a point you want to shake up the author to say. Hello hellooooooo, it’s-
God* not god

lose*, not loose

Case in point- ‘loose the look’, ‘loose their depth’, ‘loose my way’

Anyway*, not Anyways

Case in point- ‘Anyways, the induction is now over’, ‘Anyways, coming back to LSD’, ‘Anyways, coming back to the doorbell’

MAGGI*, not Maggie for crying out loud!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, *underline, underline* the book on the whole is good for a light time pass read. If you were to watch Force or Mere Brother ki Dulhan then I highly recommend the book priced at 195 bucks.

At its crux, The (In)eligible Bachelors has a good heart.

Now if only it had a soul.

Star rating - 1 and half *somebody please teach me how to type out a star. No, not the teeny asterisk wala*

This review is a part of the Book Reviews Program at BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

P.S- @ Raam pyari ji- In case you read this, please FIRE your editor with immediate effect.

And hire me off course. I promise I will work for much, much cheaper. J

Urzu Durkut

2011-09-26T17:13:00.005+05:30

Rahul continued to stare outside his window as his hand moved in auto pilot mode to dial her number.

‘The Vodafone number you are trying to reach is currently unavailable. Please try again later’, said the firang voice for about the one hundredth time.

‘Damn you, Vodafone!’, he thought. The irritation made him want to wring every single ZooZoo’s throat except that- well, they don’t have a nose so it kind of means they must breathe from their pot shaped bellies or something.

Any thought however nonsensical, didn’t help him get rid of the question that lurked at the back of his mind for what seemed like an eternity now,

‘Would she come?’

If the possibility of rose petals pulled out could give a conclusive answer, he would have done that too but as you may know plastic tulips are the closest to nature that you can get in a reckless bachelor’s apartment.

It was in the hope of seeing her that he had come to pass the opportunity of an extravagant lunch buffet treat by one of his colleagues. Some choices plainly hurt to pick. Floating images of barbecued seafood, delectable desserts and dribbling friends entered his mind. Whether it was misery from hunger or their exaggerated expressions that soured more was difficult to tell.

The intestines in his stomach crunched, churned and cringed as he kept alternating his gaze from the cuckoo clock back to the window. 2 o clock had been agreed upon and here it was five minutes late already.

As his anxiety progressed, he made a mental resolve. Despite the baited wait, if she chose to overlook his request to grace her presence today, their relationship needed some serious reworking.

With each passing second the acrid flavour grew at her insolence.

What did she want?

What was it that lacked?

Why didn’t they share the same bond that he had seen so many others do?

Too many questions.

His subconscious stayed lost in thoughts, while his eye still fixed at the window caught a glimpse of her accentuated kohl lined eyes. A sense of relief washed over him. All negative vibes disappeared as he waited for her to get to the door of his apartment.

He didn’t want to complain or crib. She was here and that was enough. For the both of them.

As she neared the door, a hint of fragrance from her gajraa lovingly adorned on a fierce bun floated all the way to him. On turning to face her, she waved her Max Mobile handset in his face and briskly trashed the doormat.

The light of his life had finally arrived.

Let’s hope you’ve guessed it right! :P

Shoestrung. Moonstruck.

2011-09-13T15:40:00.002+05:30

It was on a bright sunny morning into the final semester of their course that Zoya had first seen him. Intense shining eyes and small pearly white teeth. That would be the only two enticing features to set him apart. Not much, if you think about it.

But then sometimes what you withhold in a random clasp is so remarkable that nothing else ever matches up to that level of brilliance. It’s a wonder how every roving eye does not feel the exact same way about it.

As days passed by, a tiny crush progressed to take more earnestness. She found herself waiting in corridors for a couple of seconds longer or step up the conversation by a few decibels the instant she caught sight of him.
Alas! He never spared her a moment of eye contact. And even if he did, the glance was a detached one to scan the faces in a crowd that blissfully dissolved in the recognition of an elite few. The few, that she wasn’t a part of.

Course one can count on their friends to mess things up for them. The dreamy girl she had become, attracted solace and advice from kith and kin. Ranging from raunchy remarks of ‘Bindaas bol daal, yaar!’ to an inquisitive, ‘Ab kya karogi?’, questions posed seemed more diabolical than the problem itself.

It is situations like these where a state of static inertia doesn't exist. Either you are moving closer or falling apart. So yes, she tried.

The remnants of an eloquent speech from the dilemma stage to its execution, was a lot of stammering and utter disarray. Most part of the conversation with the man himself, bordered on ‘Yes’, ‘No’ and multiple ‘I don’t know’ 's.

What did ordinary people like her know about the barracks in Kashmir anyway?

Even a slender acquaintance on the subject couldn’t be feigned.

Classic, you think?

Ecstatic for a minute and depressed the next. That’s how diverse the spectrum of her mood swings became.

One such day as she sat in class chewing the end of her pencil and daydreaming of prince and romances, something hit her head to bring her out of this reverie.

A piece of chalk.

She looked up to see a stern Ms. Victor, eyes piercing into hers and yelling to explain the concept in reading.

But obviously, she didn’t know.
Truth be told, she didn’t even know the name of the subject, much less its content.

On another day, Ms. Victor may have let it slip. Not today. Not for the foul mood she was in.

Insult was her vengeance and Zoya was the object.

Looming personality, booming voice and a lot many taunts later, a very sorry, downbeat and sobbing girl stood outside the class rueing in the hot summer breeze.

‘Ms. Victor is awful’, she thought.

It could well be the worst day ever.

It wasn’t.

It couldn’t be.

A light tap on the shoulder, a small pat on the head, a cheerful pearly white smile, shiny compassionate eyes, ‘It’s alright!’ and a big bear hug.

That’s how much it took to switch crash landings with bobbling parachutes.

In its spur of the moment embrace, she shut her eyes to a fuzzy flip- flop fluttering.

It felt as if the Big Guy up there had the entire universe on hold for a day, to work on her case alone.

‘Ms. Victor is awful’, he thought.

In a light cuddle, he could vaguely smell the light fruity fragrance in her hair.

Four years.

That’s how long he had wondered what this moment would feel like.

That’s how long it took him to get to her.

He looked up to the summer sky that yielded a faint drizzle.

It felt as if the Big Guy up there had the entire universe on hold for a day, to work on his case alone.

*****THE END*****

Credits
Ms. Victor
*You don't want to take any kind of pangaa with her* :-)

Yaba daba doooo

2011-09-01T15:36:00.003+05:30

If you have known me for a while then you may have started to wonder why there has been no halka phulka *Pilsbury aata type* post ki baarish in the recent past. Or maybe you didn’t wonder at all and I’m just giving myself fokat ka bhaav.

*sad eyes*

Anyway, so today I’m going to talk about this problem I’m facing. Yeah can you believe it? The girl solving problems actually has one of her own??? As pathetic as it may sound, I’m sure you will be able to help me with it. Ahaaa! Finally finallyyy your big chance to prove yourself has arrived. I hope you have already begun biting your nails *yikes :P*

Ok cut to the chase.....My super-sangeen, dil dehla dene wala problem.

No wait.

To appreciate it fully well, we first need to rewind by a few years to when I was a chotu sa, sweet sa, chinky-eyed two braid wali girl and there were all these hi-fi events happening in our school where they’d ask the then perceived intellectual questions like, ‘What do you want to be 10 years hence’ or ‘Who do you love the most’. Anything that boils down to World Peace is a clear winner. This is really why they taught us all about malleability and ductility in the first place- so we know how to mould our answers to attain desired outcome. Obviously we were not shaana enough to get it then.

Now when all this was happening and I was busy dissolving myself in the world of Lakhmir Singh and Manjit Kaur’s references, and Ned touching Nancy Drew’s hand was the most hawww thing, I got picked for a ‘Table topics’ contest ekdam achaanak se and this is what they asked me.

‘Sadiya, tell us about your role model.’

Course, Sadiya would willingly tell about her role model except that...

uhhhh....

ummm....

She didn’t have any! *hides face*

But I did give some loony hunkajunk like my mom is my role model and I want to be JUST like her *which by the way is utter nonsense cos she’s a teacher and if a kid starts yelling, my first instinct is to want to slap them*, but then kya karey- Majboori ka naam Gandhiji!

Since then I have made it my mission in life to find a role model for myself. And I was doing great.

*Yes, Omigod! We haven’t yet gotten to the problem.*

So about five years ago, I made up my mind on who I wanted to be like.

*drum rolls*

I wanted to be like Benazir Bhutto!!!!!!!

Although this may lead to a lot of controversy, I honestly did think she was a great speaker and her interviews just blew me away like Fardeen Khan’s performance in Prem Agan. *sarcasm tha ji. C’mon what was a person like me to know about country policies? I still don’t know about most of them anyway.*

Everything was ok. I was doing great. Anyone would try playing a dhoom dhadakka shot with the 'role model' flip of the bat and I’d give a breezy 'Ms. Bhutto' for an answer to manage a diving catch. Muhahaha!

Then.

She had to go and get herself killed.

You have NO idea how upset I was.

After screening all those famous people ka applications, this is what I get. Hello hello- Is there justice or what!

Anyway, being the karate pink belt girl that I am, I decided to start the whole taam jhaam from scratch and zero in on yet another booming personality. Cos we Merchant's don’t give up. No sir!

Andddd after much deliberation I made my BIG decision.

I wanted to be like Steve Jobs!

No really!

And I even read an entire biography about him.

Given that my knowledge database about Computers is- Monitor, Keyboard, CPU, Internet and Facebook, this wasn’t the easiest task but I just kept thinking about all the times I could show off my techie gyaan in front of my not so enlightened friends. *sunglasses*

Then.

Of all people in this whole wide universe, HE had to resign.

I mean he’s just 55. That's like- not even as old as a senior citizen!!! Ok fine I know the poor guy had cancer and stuff, but then how was I supposed to know that?? Couldn’t he at least inform me in advance???

Now Sadiya does not have a role model again. Buhooo!

Could you please help her find one?

I thought Omar Abdullah, but then almost immediately he started losing his hair too.

Tell no. Pray please?

*puppy eyes*

Hop, skip and JUMP!

2011-08-24T16:34:00.002+05:30

Risk it. Break it. Set it free.

Nay, not your spirit.

Your bones.

There once was a burglar.

You may think circumstances made him that way.

Isn’t that how you know it? A reason to justify everything as oh- alrightyy and then sympathise with a poor soul. You’re too good not to know compassion dearie.

Nay, I won’t give you that.

Cold.

Rohit.

There wasn’t any helplessness about him. Only charm from what crystal eyes to hazy vision couldn’t miss. The mundane wasn’t his choice. The mediocre wasn’t his taste. It wasn’t in the extreme he found his calling. So you jump off a plane and make it to fine cut grass cos hey a bruise is bad for you.

Nay, a lull wouldn’t suffice.

Bunkum.

Real macho, yeah? Exactly what it isn’t.

The rush is when you don’t know the end, or whether you will stick around when it arrives.

You make it or you don’t. No assurances. No ‘Don’t worry’s’. That’s for momma’s boys.

He had too much finesse for that.

The juggling of keys, the lurking shadows, the dim lit concentration, the nerve racking after each failed attempt like destiny wants to push you off into a hurricane, the comeback with resilience to yet another strike and finally the click of a lock conquered.

The click.

Nay, the click.

Ecstasy.

There were many good days and then there were few better days.

The good ones cut him slack as he got away with the heist. The better ones pulled him out of oblivion to the grind of a prison wall, that switched stakes from a game of skill to a game of intellect.

Nay, playing with people’s psyche made a wholesome feast.

Amusing.

Came one such better day and they threw him in a dingy cell. His neighbours there couldn’t be more pleased. The rainmaker was here and it would be a matter of time before he conjured a bird from his dilapidated hat and flew away with it. Quite the apple of everyone’s eye he was.

Nay, with vital connections.

Heroic.

The prison wardens on the other hand found it agonising more than gratifying to get hold of him, as rest assured his escape was imminent. What wasn’t, was the fate of their job once his gimmicks had seen the blush of daylight. Tightened to a stifling knot was the security around his cell with not an instant when he was left unattended save his trip to the restroom and even then one hand remained handcuffed to the door.

Rohit carried on for the next two days with a breezy smile like he was on vacation.

Nay, the taunts of prison mates at his first failure to elope, didn’t perturb him.

Languid.

The next day just after dawn, the prison warden ran to the Superintendent to inform him of Rohit’s unresponsiveness.

So this was how he planned to play his cards, eh?

The doctor on being summoned reported a critically high temperature and implored immediate professional attention at a proper hospital.

Suspecting the doctor’s views the Superintendent himself touched the prisoner’s forehead and withdrew it quickly.

Nay, the rogue had a raging temperature alright.

Regret.

An ambulance was hailed, and together with a driver and constable in the front seat with a police nurse to aid him, the vehicle sped off as an anxious Superintendent looked on.

No sooner had it cruised a little over five kilometres, the prisoner sat back to relax himself against the cool railing of the vehicle. He looked at the constable from the rear-view mirror and winked at him as he smiled at the driver.

His throat felt good with all the paste he had gobbled.

'Toothpaste eaten in large amounts raises the body temperature.' So he had heard.

Nay, now he knew for sure.

Mischief.

Oh the nurse.

Was she his accomplice too?

Course she was.

Or maybe she wasn’t.

Well he was charming enough to make her one.

Or maybe not.

Was she? Wasn’t she?

Yes, I want to tell you.

Nay, I can’t cos......

Story. Just. Ended.

********THE END*******

If you can't work on it, work around it.

Beat fuel hikes. Make well- connected friends ;)

Credits

Indiblogger and Fiat Lenia

Bell the rebel!

2011-08-15T00:02:00.002+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 23; the twenty-third edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month is FREE.

Ice cream. That’s what I felt like.

Open the freezer and what do I see?

Vanilla. Bleh! I wish my brother didn’t have such bland taste.

Course I was going to eat it anyway. Just saying.

Today was one of those days when I felt happy without a reason. No, not happy. Over the moon.

Everything was beautiful.

And I wanted to dance with my eyes closed.

Ever had that feeling of being swept away before you catch your senses?

Or like when your favourite music plays and your feet want to move away in a frantic rhythm.

Or when you’re on a swing, up in the air above the rest of the world where no one can hold you down.

Or when the train moves backwards and a strong wind gushes in your face, you can’t keep your eyes open and can only just breathe gulps of pure freshness.

Or you want to laugh your heart out and never stop.

I can tell if you’ve ever felt that way a lot of people would qualify you as psyched.

That’s about us.

Always the soul of every huddle and yet spaced out into a dream galaxy.

Maybe it was the rain or the lazy Sunday that made me feel so fuzzy and needlessly romantic.

I decided to indulge in my bowl of ice cream sitting at the window.

It's like a smile was pasted on my face and I couldn’t get rid of it.

It was in this mood that I caught him walking across the apartment compound, shielding a girl standing next to him from getting wet.

I stared. The smile vanished. I could feel a lump in my throat.

The mercury rising, the tenseness that stiffened every muscle in me and I found the immediate need to do something extreme.

I didn’t want to give it a second thought.

I didn’t want to think about the rationality or lack of it.

And I ran.

I ran down the stairs, out the lawn and into the compound.

He looked my way a little alarmed.

So he never thought I’d get to it. Well never mind.

This had to be my moment.

I looked once more at him.

His smooth chiselled features, lazy stubble and intense expression.

I didn’t care if he thought I was creating a scene.

I could almost feel my hands shake as I said in a tone that spelt hurt,

‘So this is your important office meeting?’

My voice cracked midway and all the vulnerability erupted.

Dazed and uncomfortable, he looked at the girl who now had a confused expression. Clearly, she wasn’t expecting this either. For those innocent puppy eyes of his, nobody would. He came nearer as he tried to calm me down. I didn’t want to break down. No, not in front of him.

Stifling the sob, I ran back the stairs all the way to my apartment.

He called after me but I didn’t look back.

I wouldn’t, I vowed to myself.

At the apartment, my ice cream sat next to the window almost entirely melted.

Oh well, I like melted ice cream too.

It tastes all soft and creamy.

I know, I know. All you really care about is who the guy was.

Him?

I have no idea!

Just like to fool around in my free time.

Now tell me what you think. Black nail paint or red?

Jeez! The unending dilemmas in a young girl’s life!

*sigh*

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. Happy Independence Day!

Sar jo tera chakraaye!

2011-08-01T17:18:00.005+05:30

Isn’t that a beauty???

Yaaa I made it myself. Mast hai na? And I didn’t even know I had it in me until I created this genuine, original masterpiece. *Mwwahh!*

Sometimes na I think I’m just too talented.

The artist in me wants to go sob sob and fill a few buckets of salt water but then this post is not to deal with Paani, but instead Thaili ki samasya.

Arey mere pyaare greenoo popat. Nahi samjhe?

You know what. This is all because you don’t read the newspapers.

Haa so even I don’t, but (un)fortunately I have cousins who feed me with all this faaltu information and guess what. I thought I’d ~~dump~~ pass it onto you.

Sweet no?

Ok ok no more bakwaas. Getting straight to the subject.

As you already know my blog is totally totally janhit main jaari and my only motto is to serve my readers.

Don’t tell me you didn’t know that! *rolling eyes*
So now there is this new mega super duper duniya hila dene wala problem that has come up.
It’s ok baba!

Do not fear, when the Sadiya is hierr! *was that another original? Phew! Main bhi na. Too much hi hoo!*

Problem in question is our very own beloved Central Government that has put a barricade on giving us free plastic bags!!!!
Andddd to make this bad news absolutely the worst, Mumbai and Bangalore *to my knowledge* have even started to implement it.

Yes you have the right to feel morose cos until now there were just two things in India that were FREE FREEE FREEEEE!

Kadi patta and Plastic bags.

And now the latter is gone! Like poof!

*Poof? Sound when genie disappears? Hello hello?*

To ab kya karey?
That’s what you’re thinking. Hai na, hai na?
I mean pehle there was the immense dukh of not buying anything at a mall and still paying 25 bucks as parking fee and now there is the threat of buying something and then too paying 7 bucks per bag! So the aunty log who at one point were fighting for more bags are now going to be doing dishum dishum for lesser ones instead.

The good thing is they allow you to get them thaili’s from home. But the last time I checked, you were supposed to leave all your packs and parcels at the entrance. So how is this going to work?

I mean just when you reach the counter, you say ‘Ruko rukooooo mere paas my own thaili hai!!’ And then race back to the token guy, get your bag, unzip you packages, carefully unfold your angels and offer them as, ‘Lo. Isme daalo!’ Won’t that lead to really long queues? :o

Chalo leave that. Some may argue girls could consider putting extra thaili’s in their handbags. But do you really think it’s as simple as nikaalo, daalo, gholo type? Let me tell you accommodating any alien substance in a girl’s handbag is a maaaaaaajor task cos there’s just so much traffic!!

Wallet, phone, nail filer *oh excuse me but everyone knows, accidents bataakar nahi hote!*, hand sanitizer, gloss, comb, tissues, pens, diary, watch, rubber bands....I mean baangdoo’s and bundhoo’s, you only tell- where’s the space!!!

And what about guys? I was just thinking about it the other day and I felt so baaaddd!

Hence, I have worked out a raapchik solution for all.

Here’s what can be done.

As we all know, it’s rainy season in Mumbai and Bangalore. Ok na?

So everyone’s wearing raincoats.

Now my theory is you could just wear your raincoat to the store, dump all the stuff you buy into the topi and tadaaaaa! Sorted!

Also, if you don’t want to carry it, you just put it on your head, not to mention all the extra security your head gets. Mann! How cool is that!

What do you think?

Got any better ideas? Bring it on! It’s a step towards helping the jantaa of our country!

Disclaimer- Exclusively for any Govt. people or blog blocking folks reading this.

Mazaak tha ji!
I totally support environment friendly activities.

Although mere bacche nahi hai, I’m very keen that 50 generations down, my family dude’s get Voltas AC type shudh air to breathe so basically we are on the same team.

No really!

Revenge

2011-07-23T22:10:00.007+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 22; the twenty-second edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Thoda sa baadal
Thoda sa paani
Aur ek kahaani!

Some say watching the rain is eternally romantic. Living in Mahabaleshwar where it poured every five minutes, he found that hard to believe. A thousand tourists came in every year to watch the cold and rain only to settle in the warm confines of his neat little cafe.

Farhan was always a bit of a cleanliness freak and on one such rainy day as he tidied the showcases for little specks, entered an Iranian girl, rain drenched, dressed in shorts and chewing gum. That she wasn't geared for the rain didn't bother him as much as the mess her mud filled slippers had created on the freshly washed floor.

Placing her phone on an empty table she walked over to the counter and tapped it for his attention. As he handed her the menu card, she skipped to the dessert section and with an indifferent glance dismissed it with a vague 'Item no. 4 please!'
'Caramel! Would you like a chocolate topping to go with it instead?'
He looked back at her for an answer but she stared blankly at him, blew a small bubble of the gum in her mouth and turned away to be seated at her table.

Must have meant a ‘No’.
He hated pricey customers. He hated gum. He hated the gooey caramel on the order she had placed.

See that's the thing with caramel. It sticks and stays. Tingles.
But not chocolate. No, not that. Smooth. It flows. Subtle and yet lingers.

He placed the dessert on her table and tried to avoid watching her eat as she cupped her face in one hand and neatly savored bite after bite. Every little movement was in perfect grace.
'Beautiful!', he thought.

As she finished her little indulgence and signaled for the cheque, it occurred to him that once out of his cafe, he may never be able to see her again. For some unexplained reason that made him sad. Immensely upset. Like something sudden had to be done to rescue the fleeting moment.

He handed her the cheque folder with a comments card and in the most casual tone he could manage, lightly asked, 'Enjoyed your dessert I hope miss?' She looked up at him and nodded her head,
'You really want to know??' After a brief pause she continued, 'Look, I wanted real authentic caramel, not some artificial essence flavoring ok!'

The stern tone of her voice was something he would never forget.

Stared. Stammered. Apologized. Angry.
Dang!
He should have known nothing better would come his way. He hated snobs.

As he cleared the table and opened the cheque folder, the comments card lay on top with neat handwriting on the suggestions space that read-

'Staring at people when they eat is rude Mr.!
Nice little place you got here. Will drop by tomorrow so I can teach you how real caramel is made. Hope you're not a quick learner or anything.'
-Aleena

He smiled.
He loved the rain.
He loved the dim yellow lights.
Most of all he loved Item No. 4 on the dessert list.
Sweet Revenge- Caramel lover's delight.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

When you kiss a frog....

2011-07-14T22:30:00.004+05:30

This post is written for Blogeshwar and Campusghanta

Are we going to talk about frogs? Yes, absolutely!
Just one in particular actually- Dodi, the hero of our story.
Now ever since he had been a little toadie to the time he grew into a handsome green slimy frog, he had only one girl in his life- Tinky.
Unlike humans, frogs don’t have different complicated sets of girls in their lives, like ‘just friends’, ‘more than just friends’, ‘good friends who can be potential girlfriends’ ‘girlfriends’, ‘fiancée’s’, ‘wives’ etc. No. It’s just one and that’s it. Besides, why take all the trouble- they all look the same anyway.

Haa ok so let’s focus here. Tinky was the only girl frog Dodi had ever known and loved and now you may think I’d say somthing like she didn’t love him back or the father was unwilling. But nah! Frogs are just eggs and grow up on their own, remember? None of this family waala pangaa.
HE loves; SHE loves; NO villain. Simple plot.

Everything was smooth enough for red heart shaped bubbles to float in the water of the moat that they called home but if that's all there was to it, then there wouldn’t be a story to tell right?
So one day as Dodi was having a sunbath for his shiny, slimy green coat to get a rugged tan and floor Tinky all over again, the unthinkable happened.
An ugly creature scooped him up and kissed him. His already huge round eyes almost popped out of its sockets like spiral springs in utter shock.

‘Whoaaa! Wohoaaaaa!!!! Who the hell does this mad woman think she is? I’m committed for God’s sake!’, Dodi wanted to croaky yell but all he could manage was a cough.
He had often heard at his froggie school about this age old folktale of a frog from their fraternity that turned into a prince and some such baloney, but hey, wasn’t that just a story?

Apparently not. No sooner had the ugly creature kissed him, his beautiful handsome gooey green coat was shed to become a pale white dry mass covered in silk robes with stick like hands and legs jutting out of from odd places. His long tongue was cut to an economical size too and as he stared at his reflection in the moat water, what looked back at him was an odd, ugly, squinty eyed creature.

Maybe this was what aliens were all about. And now they had taken him on their team. As he almost lost balance on his newly acquired feet the girl who called herself Neemi held him up and kept hugging and screaming alternately until a huge crowd gathered. That’s when she decided to announce to them that he was her prince. Naturally, anybody would be more than happy to dump a nagging loud mouthed girl like her on him.

They gathered around Dodi, introducing themselves and shaking hands all asking the same question, “Yo, Your Highness! Wassup!”.
Whatever that meant! Quite the show stopper he had become. He nodded and said something incoherent to which they rolled their eyes and walked away. Till date he had only met a few fruggly fishes and fatso whales but they too now seemed gorgeous when pitched opposite these uhh ‘specimens’.

Next he was shown to his ‘room’ by Neemi, which FYI was nothing but dry land with fancy wooden pieces and a ‘box’ that flashed colors in which was yet another ugly woman reading some gibberish. Hello! Whatever happened to water. That he found was what came out of a funny looking thing in another small ‘room’. This surely had to be the smallest waterfall he had ever seen.
His heart hurt to think of his poor Tinky who would be waiting for him to come home.
Would he ever be able to see her again?

If only he could get Neemi woman to convert him back to being a frog! He could barely sleep in the brimming bath tub that night due to his longg stick legs. As he eventually dosed off with fatigue, Dodi dreamt of a Fairy Frog-mother who gave him the answer to his haunting question.
If the girl creature slapped him within 24 hours, he would become a frog again!The next day he set himself to the task of getting slapped. He thought of all the things that annoyed Tinky the most.
Well for one thing, she hated him croak loudly. Bingo!

As he met Neemi, he tried to croak loudly and out came a cough.
Hurried, she patted his back and showered him with confetti of concern.
He tried again, and out came a louder cough which sent her on yet another concern spree after which she fed him with food that didn't have a single worm!!!! Veggies, more veggies, root veggies, leafy veggies, light green veggies, dark green veggies, olive green veggies, even flower shaped veggies.
He had never felt more miserable before.

As all the food and medicine closed in his throat he felt a nauseous sensation that brought it all rolling out on her dress. Tishcaooo landed a tight slap on his face with frenzied agitated cries of anger.
Well who cared! His slimy coat had returned.
Dodi leapt out of the house and dived into the moat to meet his lovely Tinky.

As he met her, she folded her hands and asked the daunting question ‘Where have you been?’
Helpless he turned around and said, ‘Oh nothing. Just went hunting to reserve our hibernating location. Girl, don’t you know anything about inflation and recession and stuff?’

Cultural shock had certainly left him with an acute hangover.

**********THE END***********

P.S.- Thanx! ;-)

Gentlemen don't come by too often

2011-07-12T17:08:00.004+05:30

Chinnatambi had only just typed his name on the Google homepage to scale the geometric upward graph in his virtual popularity when the maid announced the arrival of a guest. ‘That’s so very odd’, he thought for someone to call upon him in this part of the night. Maybe he should send the person away. But then he thought about how they may have counted on his expert advice and in dire need of his kind, most gracious help. He sulked inwardly for the demanding nature of his work. Oh well!
Instructing the maid to send the guest in, he kept aside his spectacles to divert his attention to the incoming visitor.

The door opened and entered an out of breath vibrant girl in her mid twenties who looked rather harrowed for her personality.
‘Hello Sir. I’m Ruchi' she said and extended her hand.

The famous detective he was, troubled people often came in to seek his help, though they weren't usually half as attractive. His forte lay in spying or gathering evidence on cheating spouses. Course other more out in the open sources, like ‘Emotional Atyachar’ had tried to play a dent in his popularity but hadn’t succeeded much thus far. He certainly maintained tag for being best in the business.

Before he could ask the girl reason for her dropping by, she delved into all explanations herself. She suspected her husband was cheating on her.
‘Office Secretary?’, he volunteered.
Ruchi vehemently nodded her head to indicate a yes and her eyes showed deep gratitude for now being convinced of coming to the right place.
‘But you will help me no, sir?’, she asked with pleading in her eyes.

Chinnatambi examined her countenance. The girl sure blinked a lot and as she talked a deep dimple showed in her cheeks to every time she pronounced the letter ‘e’. Now you may want to know that he wasn’t the type of person to be swayed by any easy on the eyes woman who barged in at odd hours but she was different. Less for the features and more for the sadness that now reflected in her eyes that you could surely tell were used to dancing with happiness.
An extreme sympathy, that’s what he felt for her. Had it been another person, he would have asked her to come again the following day, but this time or this person rather, he did not want to disappoint. He was going to have to use all his super awesome detective skills to get to the bottom of this matter.

---------------------

Was it really a good idea to see this fellow? To me he didn’t look half as smart as I had anticipated and the way he scrutinised my appearance sure freaked me out a bit. Now if it wasn’t for the dicey situation at hand I never would have come here in the first place.

---------------------

So instead, he agreed to take up her case and was about to begin questioning her when the girl’s cell phone beeped and as she read the contents of the text message, her face turned pale. It was Ruchi’s husband who had found out about her absence from home to meet some detective. Scared and shaking like a leaf, she rose to leave his residence but he stopped her midway.

Where would this frightfully attractive woman go in the middle of the night to a husband who sounded scary and unforgiving at the very least? He worried for her safety and being the chivalrous gentleman he was, offered for her to stay as he went to meet this nasty husband of hers. Ruchi’s eyes filled with gratitude and the thus far elusive dimple cut into her cheeks at which Chinnatambi found it hard to contain his appreciation for the most gorgeous smile he had ever seen. In the meantime, she gave her address and thanked him profusely for being the considerate man he was.

Two hours later as he entered his house, the door was left ajar, the maid disappeared, safe broken and the entire house relieved of its valuables.
But obviously Miss Ruchi was nowhere to be seen.

-------------------------

Oh c’mon what did you think. Batting eyelashes was the only role I had in the story?
Calls himself a detective!!!!!
Bleh!
That was pretty much the easiest target in my five years of business!

--------------------------

Chinnatambi surveyed the mess, nodded his head and called the police Superintendent to free the arrested maid and her sister who had tried to get away with a fare of almost two lakh rupees.
‘And may I speak with the girl in red please!’
He waited as the superintendent held out the phone to the girl.
‘Yes!’, spoke a gruff irritated girl’s voice at the other end.
‘Oh hello miss! I trust you've had an eventful evening. Might I suggest, the next time you intend on robbing a house please ensure your address isn't the same as the one put down by the housemaid in her bio-data. It was a pleasure meeting you. Pretty girls ought not to stay in unpleasant places.’, he said and hung up.

Seriously! Over smart girls are just so tiresome.
No sugar cookie ain’t beating the best just yet!, he thought and smiled to himself.

********THE END*********

The real Ruchi *my sweeto sis*, I understand won't be too happy to read this. So here's a publicity pitch.

Visit her blog at Kamikaze Speaks. You're gonna louuuuve it :-)

Uff so phoneyyy!

2011-06-24T16:27:00.004+05:30

You know what the latest trend these days is? It’s not attending Page 3 parties or winning elections. On the contrary right now that's taboo and vain. The really reallyyyy- like- totally totallyyy in thing this season is fighting for rights. That’s right. It’s what everyone is doing. Human rights, Consumer rights, Children drinking alcohol rights, Tiger rights, I could go on!
*no that’s a lie. I’m out of other names. Maybe Tendua as in leopard rights. But yikes! What sort of a word is 'Tendua'!*

Now I have a question. What do tigers know about their rights anyway? And is it really wise? So like listening to all the gyaan by this Aircel initiative if I blog about it and a tiger killer thinks- Oh hey! Let’s check out Sadiya Merchant’s blog. Now brimming with all the mind numbing enlightenment assuming he decides to quit his k-k-k-killer ways, then what happens? Killer guy meets tiger and says, ‘Hey big guy, nah can’t kill you buddy. Aircel and stuff. Only 1400 of you folks left.’ Tiger dude goes, ‘Oh yeah man. Lucky you. Get to take a direct flight to swarg!’
*5 seconds silence*
Ahem. A tiger’s got to do what a tiger’s got to do.

Yes, I believe I have vastly digressed.
The point of this post is actually to come up with fighting for a certain class of rights that have been repressed, suppressed, oppressed and you get the drift right? Even if you don’t, you will at least by the time you’ve finished reading this.
I think!
Haa so guess what!!! I came up with one such hairat angez, chowka dene waala, chamku chamkeela and mind bhadkeela cause to fight for!! Tadaaa!

I intend to start a whole new revolution!!! Move over zaffrani clothes wale Baba’s and Nehru topi oldies cos the chakachak vibrant tracks and kurti generation fighters are on the block. *sunglasses*

I am going to fight for PHONE RIGHTS!

That’s right!

The other day when my brother bought a phone and I was taking a look at it, to ensure its proper functionality off course, cos I care so much and what’s his is totally mine *though what’s mine is not necessarily his, cos I’m a girl and girls must have their privacy*, and I tried to peel off the sticker cos that’s my first instinct when I see one *even soft drink bottles actually* and next thing he just jumped up and snatched it from my hand *Is that rude or what!*.

Now it's not just my brother but mosttt other people who completelyyyy destroy the look of their phone by these half clingy stickers with a few hundred bubbles. I don’t get it. So the phone might get a little scratched. Big deal!!!
When you reason with them, it’s all about getting lesser resale value.
I mean you shell out a wow 10 grand for a phone for YOU and spoil its entire look for as long as you use it, just so some random stranger pays you 200 bucks more? And even if you have a perfectly neat scratch card, still what about all the invisible dirt that seeps through its edges anddd contaminates your hands anddd messes with your health?? Hawwwww didn’t think about that, now did you! :-)
Plus, how would you feel if somebody puts a tape on your mouth so you never got unclean? That’s just dumb, isn’t it!

Another thing is those dressy covers. Ok so I can get used to cut- to- figure clothes on item number starlet Jalebi Bai’s but why do you need to smother your phone in such inhospitable conditions???
Putting and removing itself is such a big ordeal that by the time the phone is out of its cover, the call has already been dropped.

Also, what’s with subjecting phones to ear banging, head hitting classics? Picture this. You’re in a meeting soberly taking about stock market analysis and suddenly someone’s pocket decides to go all Dhinka chika Dhinka chika. God!! Why why why???
If you can’t keep it on silent then why not just keep an instrumental tone or at least something pleasant?
Can you imagine how embarassed your phone must feel to be owned by you???

Lasttt but most most important, why are phones being used as objects of discrimination!!!!
Case in point-
We are the Blackberry boys- Like oh so classy. I mean hello. Attitude to whom you dikhaaying huh? Availing its messenger services itself costs a cool 400 bucks as opposed to other handsets that offer 2GB internet at 98 bucks so you can just log into your system and send an email or use normal simple hamaar Yahoo Messengerwa!
Duh! :P
Another one,
If you don’t have an iPhone, well, you don’t have an iPhone- Oh wow! That’s genius! At least I have a Bluetooth you dodo!

As you may understand from all the above arguments, I am totally out and out in dharnaa for this phone rights thingy and I will not shut up untilllllllll all poor phones are given their due share of justice or I get a new phone at leasttt. And don’t take me lightly, o ye reader! If my demands are not met na, all my 116 followers will go on an indefinite hunger strike.
Ji haa!

I'd say, morbid!

2011-06-14T21:33:00.001+05:30

This post is written for Blogeshwar and Anubhooti.

Like a tiny shard of glass on the floor in a dark room.

It decides to spare your feet nine on ten times. And then in one moment it changes its mind. A small little pluck and it severs your skin. You scowl and crib, at best ignore. It gets provoked at your neglect and probes deeper into your flesh. Gnawing and tearing apart layer after layer. No, it’s not a parasite. Hell, it’s not even human. But it has a goal. For the want of hurting you. For the want of watching you bleed.

Do what now.
Finally you care, eh?

He loved her. Dearly.
She inspired him. Every time she cried for help, every time she struggled to endure his gaunt thrust, every time he hit her. Every tear she shed. Each suppressed sigh. It made him feel powerful. Like an additional life was surged into him as prize for what he owned; what he felt made him a distinguished man. Neev, a gentle Delhi artist with a charming personality, some said.

He looked for reasons to inflict his love on her. Every time she dosed off in his presence, every time she outstretched her hand baring her fair skin to so much as a beggar, every time she set foot out of the house. And sometimes when he found no reason well he just trashed her anyway.

The docile wife she was, Shaira loved him too. Loved him for fear. Loved him, for she was supposed to feed his ego. Loved him for she didn’t know what else to do.
Hers was a bruised coconut, but well there was no door to resonance, you could tell. To think, the bruises surely didn’t hurt so much and fairly soon even disappeared. Ok a little harsh maybe. But a marriage is what you make of it, isn’t it?

And then one day when he came home, the woman behind the perpetual ghoonghat sat outside the ground floor apartment with her hair, the colour of a flame, blazing open and a song on her lips. Shocked, he flew into a rage and pulled Shaira by her hair. She laughed and pushed him away so he toppled over the pots outside. The neighbours stared at this new circus. For the first time were they seeing the Painter Baabu’s wife and she sure had more intensity than imagined from her thus far submissive image.

Fuming he went inside. Well the woman was going to pay for this. Half an hour later she walked in as the same meek wife he had known for the last five years. You can be sure he beat her blue for her audacity.

This continued for days together and each day as Neev returned home, Shaira’s new loud avatar greeted him. She ignored his taunts and any action from his end would ensure his head between the pots. Sometimes people spoke of her yelling at vegetable sellers with her hair open, sometimes roaming about the streets like a mad woman laughing all the way and all of a sudden things would change. She wouldn’t know what had happened to her or how she landed in a certain place, almost like woken from a deep slumber.

‘The woman is possessed’ was the verdict given by Hakeem Saab with elaborate pleas of taking her to Mira Datar, in Gujarat, the place that healed possessed souls from evil spirits.

Neev ignored it. However when no medication worked for a month and his next project slated for an art exhibition was in Gujarat, he decided to pay the place a visit. Truth be told, he was quite fed up or more aptly said, scared of the woman his wife was turning into and wanted to get rid of her.

As they reached Mira Datar, Shaira shrunk even more from terror of what was likely to happen. The sight of people doing abnormal things alarmed her enough to want to run away. Firmly, Neev took her to the Baba and after a 5 minute long conversation it was decided, she be left there for a couple of months. No resistance helped. She wailed and pleaded with him to not leave her amidst the shady looking strangers. And when that didn't help, she begged. A roll of unheard shrieks, tears, stammering and vulnerability she was, when he left her all alone.

Perhaps he would miss her abused agonising cries.
No, certainly not. He didn't need a retarded woman for a wife.
He smiled at the prospect of how well his paintings would do at the exhibition. The fruit of his labour couldn’t be anything but saccharine.

He opened his case of paintings as the train left the station to find a whole lot of ash within it, with a crumbled note that read-
'The aroma of freedom.
It wasn’t in your nature to bend.
It isn’t in my nature to break.
Oh the ash. It’s what you made of my life and I made of your dreams.
That’s just karma, baby.
Love,
Shai!'

Little hearts in Samarkand

2011-06-11T11:22:00.004+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 21; the twenty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Hideous! - That was the word.
Didn’t look anything like a cat. Its ears stood out awkwardly, blue eyes spelt evil and a voice that was enough to make one think of wailing babies and all the wretchedness of this world stemming from one little throat; if you called the skinny thing a throat at all!

Did you know, in Samarkand little hearts are never, never, broken?

Sarah had been terrified of it from the day the creature had arrived. Created quite a flurry, the little one had. Something so ugly didn’t deserve to be looked at for more than a few seconds. The neighbours had named it Genghis. Its evil face evoked the same emotions as the forbidden ruler. Sarah had wanted an adorable little pet that could be looked after and cared for. This poor excuse for a cat didn’t quite make the cut. A rabbit may have been better perhaps.
But you know, in Samarkand little hearts are never, never, broken.

In the course of the next few days Genghis persistently followed Sarah everywhere until it was impossible for her to avoid it anymore. Once she let her guard down, their tryst was a bond of affection for life. Genghis became an attention seeking star who demanded every trice of her time and simultaneously climbed to being the centre of her universe. The neighbours continued to despise it but she and Abu, her father, grew to love the cat as family.
Those were good times.

Then came the other day.....that changed everything.

Sarah’s father was a craftsman who had fallen to hard times and couldn’t quite afford a livelihood very well. He sold all the furniture to sustain their daily needs and when that too didn’t suffice he had to look for other ways. That was when someone suggested he sell the cat in the Samarkand bazaar. In light of the desperate situation, this was a blow that had to be endured. Sarah was distraught.

Her most precious little cat was going to be taken away. The one with whom she had shared a hundred secrets, fed a thousand meals, heard a million yelps and sometimes just understood in stark silence. Her best friend.
But you do know what they say, right?
In Samarkand little hearts are never, never, broken.

Sarah walked on for miles into the arid city with her father to the bazaar outside the Registan Madrasah. In the sun, there flocked sellers from all over Uzbekistan with every article imaginable. From fruits to carpets to even slaves; if you wanted something there was an auction for it. To imagine her Genghis would belong to someone who believed in such a hideous display of wealth made her sick. As Abu stood to announce the sale of his cat, a few spectators gathered. They looked on with disgust at the dark ugly creature. Several hours passed with no one even enquiring for the price let alone an auction or a bargain. Secretly Sarah was happy. Maybe she wouldn’t have to part with Genghis.
After all, in Samarkand little hearts are never, never, broken.

Once the afternoon prayer concluded, the traders got their articles in order and a middle aged trader from Tashkent stopped to look at the cat. One look into its shiny blue eyes and he was enraptured. A crisp conversation with Abu, and the deal was struck. He paid the money and extended his hand to take the cat from Sarah.

As she held on to its rusty fur tightly, her heart melted quicker than ice on a desert rock to the soreness of parting. Her vision blurred and tears stung her hot cheeks. One swift grasp and he had taken her friend. Gone forever. She turned away to look at the haunting Registan square. So much blue dwelled in it. Every shade, from the pale hues of the sky to the deepest overtones of indigo reverberated. A marvel some may have said, but to her it was revolting. It would always remain the dreary place that had snatched her dearest companion. She searched for the shade that matched Genghis’s eyes but the sun played spoiler until her eyes hurt to stay open.

Abu clenched her hand, lifted her on his shoulders and wiped her tears. They would have another beautiful cat very soon. But she knew there never would be anything as wonderful as Genghis. Her Genghis.

And for the first time in Samarkand ever, ever, a little heart was broken.

Dawned yet another day.
As she lay glumly on her bed, Sarah felt a slight tickle on her feet and she got up to face a little cat jumping up to her cot to touch her feet with its paw.

The Tashkent trader had returned Genshis to Abu.
'Hideous!', his family had said it was.
Well you never should have doubted when I told you;
In Samarkand little hearts are never, never, broken.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

(Mis)Adventures of Jhopu

2011-06-09T23:16:00.004+05:30

Quick Recap- Nerdy Jhopu is smitten by Princess Laali and thinks of a sure shot way to impress her *click for detailed verion*. Here's what happens next.

As soon as Jhopu reached home, he shut himself in his room and opened the last page of his notebook in order to make crisp notes of the new idea execution. With intense determination, he wrote-

Mission Laali
Objective- Impress ~~Laali~~ Dearest Laali.
Requirement- A gift that is thoughtful, isn’t too overdone, doesn't look like a gift, isn’t given as a gift and yet melts Laali’s heart altogether and leaves her in awe.
Case strength- Pencil episode and exclusive smile received.
Case weakness- Lack of experience, poor communication skills with girls, no pocket money, poor dressing sense, zero charm.
Compromise acceptable- If not love, at least position self adequately, in order to attain decent level of friendship with potential for future build up.
Remarks- Lots of planning and hard work required.

Now that his analysis had been made, Jhopu felt a lot more confident. Excitement and nervousness didn’t let him sleep all night and eventually when he dozed off in the wee hours of the morning all he could dream about was Laali’s fair innocent face and gleaming silver braces. Her braids swish swashed his face as he smiled in his sleep. For the first time he overslept until 6am and didn’t study or listen to his most adored Navi Kankar CD!
Ah! Love changes things.

Jhopu rushed to the BEST-EST bus stop much before time. He contemplated running all the way to school but good sense prevailed. After all he didn’t want Laali to see him panting for breath or worse, breaking into a sweat. Such frivolities couldn’t be afforded especially in a situation as delicate as this.

As he entered class, his Belle had already arrived. On seeing him, she flashed yet another exclusive smile. The sweet pain in his heart only intensified as butterflies erupted in his stomach and Cha-cha-cha- 'noed for joy.
He clumsily wiped his TAG Heuer-icane spectacles and seated himself next to her.

Class started and the teacher droned on about Algebra-no. Jhopu looked sideways into Laali’s notebook. The passing seconds hammered in his head as he feared possibilities of her not making an error at all. How had he been careless enough to make such a preposterous assumption? A million permutations worked in his head only to be broken by a slight movement in the next seat as Laali wrote down the digit incorrectly and began to search for her eraser.

Show time baby!
Jhopu dived into his pockets and held out to Laali a long white eraser which she carelessly took without so much as looking back at him. He patiently waited.

As class ended and Laali returned the eraser to him, Jhopu eloquently started to explain, ‘This isn’t an ordinary Ca-ra-mel eraser you know. I made it in a way that it never will shrink. In fact, you can keep it from now on. I’ll make a new one for myself’, he said modestly and made sure not to look too concerned and simultaneously not too indifferent.

Laali stared at him with her eyes wide open and not a word was said.
Not even a ‘Thank You’!
He was utterly dismayed.

And all of a sudden she gushed, ‘But I already have one. I too made it myself. By breaking bonds of Neoprene, dipping them in sodium, the rubber cells multiply with friction and the eraser never shrinks! And I even put fluoride in it so it keeps the paper extra white.’

Jhopu stared at her in disbelief.
Dumbfounded. Confused. Perplexed. Astounded. *and all other words that mean the exact same thing*
Not only had she not accepted his token of affection in guise, but also turned out to be more astute than him.
Broken were all his hopes of ever doing Chemistr-ophy experiments together, sharing each others tiffin or pulling her milky white cheeks. More importantly, broken were all his dreams of love or friendship.

As Jhopu brooded, Laali, unaware of this change continued her banter, ‘But Jhopu you are so much smarter than all the other boys. I hope we can be friends!’

Love in Lala- Land

2011-06-08T16:03:00.007+05:30

In the land of Bigshow, the king, there lived a boy named Jhopu. Now Jhopu was the typical geeky chap you would meet at boring science exhibitions. He religiously got up at 4 in the morning, had a shower, oiled his hair with Para-glide coconut oil, rehearsed Carnatic-i music from Shri Shri Navi Kankar CD's for an hour and studied for the rest of the morning until it was time to leave for school.

At school he was the brightest star in his class. From the value of pi up to 15 decimals, to the toughest trigonometric formulas, he knew them all by heart. This was his life and he loved it. At least such was the case until something big happened.

As he walked into class one morning, rumours of a princess joining their batch floated like wild fire. He scowled at his classmates for wasting their time over silly girls who knew nothing but to giggle or cry in the most dreary voices imaginable. What they actually ought to be doing, was divert the same attention to Nano-Noetic science and device a machine that combined all happiness molecules distributing them with varied proportion to eventually attain world peace!!!
*sigh*
Somehow girls could always be tracked down as the root of all global problems.

The bell rang for class to begin and entered what appeared to Jhopu an angel divine. Never before had he seen anyone with prettier braids or cheeks as white as Amul-ya milk. Her specs were even more round than the roundest roti’s his mom had ever made. To compare this stranger with his mom sure was a huge leap. The irony of it all, Laali was a princess and he was but an ordinary commoner. From the reaction of his classmates who gasped and gaped at Laali, he immediately understood that there was plenty of competition in the arena. However he mustn’t lose hope. Thus started a series of attempts at flooring the lovely princess.

Yes, I believe some of you have met her before.

Now luck had so ordained that the teacher too signalled the princess sit next to him. So thrilled was Jhopu, that he almost forgot to breathe for a couple of seconds. Laali fumbled in her bag for a few minutes to find her pencil with no outcome. Being the hero, with Superman-o like deftness he held his Apsara-ya pencil for her. What a fitting name for a pencil to be given to its sobriquet holder. She flashed a toothy smile that had a neat line of braces and instantly his heart leapt like a Ferrara. Throughout the class he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the squiggly handwriting of Laali learning every twist and turn like it was carved on his heart.

Giving a pencil however wasn’t enough. He needed to do more than that, to gain her attention and more importantly affection. He thought and thought until his hair oil dried out and yet no trace of any hard hitting idea. He recollected all the ways his classmates had used to charm the so called less pretty girls. He looked for inspiration from the clean blackboard, to the bunny on his tiffin box, to his neat black Bataata shoes but nothing seemed to ignite a strategy. And that’s when he had the stroke of a sudden brilliant idea. The idea that can change your life- or at least in the words of the very famous Abhicake Makkhan!

What the idea wasssssss, I’m going to tell you very soon of course.
Until then, leave your imagination to freefalling mode ki boss, Sangam hoga ki nahi!

To know what happened next, click here

To know more about my heroine Laali's story until just yet, click here.

10 step jugaad to ROADIES!

2011-05-25T23:28:00.001+05:30

*Warning- Venture only if you know a decent amount of Hindi*

Kya????? You don’t know Roadies??
Ok how about this guy.

Hawwww! Did you just say he’s bald?

Arey looks pe mat jaao! Although he doesn't have too many stud like qualities, let me assure you, this guy holds the kismet of a good many thousand nawjavaan who are dying to be Akshara’s sisters and Ammaji’s daughters in hamaar Indian soap operas.

The show he hosts is for these really ‘kewl’ kinda people where ‘intellectual’ *that’s what people outside of our fraternity think of us* blog readers like you and me would never ever make the cut. Plainly cos we would be too scared to do our band bajaana in a way that our parents would probably disown us from their jaaydaad forever and ever!

The show by itself however is a complete entertainer. It honestly gives me a kick to watch self professed rock stars come in and do their izzat ka falooda. If you may have noticed, there is always a huuuge mob outside of the auditions with people yelling and screaming and most, even short of begging with ‘Puhleeeeeez mujhe le loooooooo! I AM DIFFERENT!’

Now if there is a problem, it must be addressed, and since nobody is taking the initiative I figured it’s my absolute kartavya to coach the odd one off person dropping into this space on the same. I may not be equipped to face the heat *cos of exams, nothing else baba*, but I have seen nearly 4 seasons so that must count for some sort of value addition right?

Ok ok without wasting any further time, cut to some serious gyaan in the shaanpatti department!

1- Get a bunch of funky tattoos that read deep stuff like ‘Karma’, ‘Attitude’ or ‘Peace’. I mean.... C’mon! What are a few needles stuck into your arm as opposed to a lifelong tryst with fame through Videocon commercials?

2- Fake an accent. Contrary to what they say, if you show the remotest qualities of the REAL YOU, chances are they will kick you out from the word go. So be a cool dude with a ‘Center Shock’ type hairstyle and waak and taak like you own the world. Relax! It makes you masala material.

3- If you got some self- respect then leave it at home cos DarrLinggg this ain’t no place to showcase it. Possibly even add stuff like you tried to commit suicide and they will go all ‘Wowwieeee!’

4- Scream and shout for absolutely no reason. That way they will think you are this really passionate person. If you’re a guy beat your heart out to show how much the show means to you. If you’re a girl then, emm well just do a Mamata Banerjee *know what I mean?* ;)

5- Hype your relationships like you have been a casanova ever since you grew old enough to tell red from yellow. Make Emran Hashmi look like an amateur in front of you. Mind you, current status though must shriek ‘Single’ and an additional ‘I respect women’ is a mandatory. This to them is read as gentle, sweet and great potential for likely link ups.

6- Learn a few kya-adaa-kya-jalwe-tere-Shakira dance moves from an academy and say you just made it up. Cos music is in your veins, yaar!

7- Say you’re fame crazy and manipulative. They’ll say ‘Awwww! How genuine!!’

8- Stage a few tears and tell them how the 5 minute interview on their show has made you a better person by putting your whole life into perspective. The ‘different you’ has suddenly become even more ‘differently different’. Yes, they REALLY buy this kind of stuff.

9- Get a sound coaching in swear words and use them at your liberal best. It makes you sound grounded and earthy. Duh!!

10- If none of the above work just keep showing up at the auditions year after year after year. They will go fida on your dedication, give you a clean chit and say ‘Isme humko wo keeda dikhaai deta hai’.

Yes, yes you can thank me on Live National TV sweeto.....Much Louuve! :-)

The taste of water

2011-05-20T16:17:00.005+05:30

About four months ago, my mom *who is a teacher* took me to her school for a day as she was in the middle of some really hectic ‘Annual Day’ preparations. So in the hope that her students didn’t go berserk with delight in her absence, she put me in place to keep them occupied for a bit.

Now one thing you must know is, I had never played the whole ‘teacher- teacher’ role before and this being my first time, it was hugely important that I make an absolute OMG!-she-is-the-bestestt-teacher-in-the-whole-wide-world impression before the little kiddies *yeah I know, they are just kids...but it’s reallyyy important to me!*. That’s totally as opposed to my stern no nonsense mom who wouldn’t worry about any of these silly things.

Well so anyway, I tried to look my best, most cheerful self, smiled a whole lot in class, gave all the little girls compliments and in every way tried a one hundred and ten percent to be my extreme ‘awesomestttt’!

The good thing is, almost everyone responded well. We played games, interacted a lot, had fun and barely studied anything.
All in all, I absolutely fell in love with my one day job.
So far, so good.

Reality check!

At the end of the day, when my mom got back all tired and weary, she asked her little angels what they thought of the new teacher. Everyone was all chirpy and had sweet things to say, showering affection on me like confetti and I, needless to say felt a mystical halo appear on my head.

However, here’s a conversation of how one girl reacted-

Nuraan: Teacher, is that teacher your daughter?
Mom: Yes. Do you like her Nuraan?
Nuraan: Yes, your daughter is very nice.
*After about 2 seconds*
But I feel you are more beautiful.

Yep, those are the exact words she said. *no exaggeration or editing*
Andddd I was standing right there, just about two spaces away.

You see, I have met a few dozen people who have told me I look like the ‘caaaarbon copy’ of my mom! Still another score of them who say we look like sisters *and I always cringe. I mean how can my mom look like my sis? That’s just dumb!*
The essential point being, we look much the same.

But this was new.
The genuinity in her clear-cut statement touched me.

It’s like everyone walks past....some judge you at face value while others don’t really care. And then one day a pair of unsuspecting eyes comes around and looks past your smile, your acquired charm, breaks past all veils of pretence and as plain as white from black, can tell unblemished purity of a loving heart apart.
The real beauty of a person.
Not cute. Not pretty. Not hot. Not stunning.
No.
Beautiful.
It’s just so hurtfully simple!

**********THE END**********

Credits

Dove- Coincidentally that actually is the shampoo I use *aapki kasam*. Used to be Ultra Doux lemon too, but then I once hurt myself with the dhakkan and my finger started bleeding so now I've decided ki Dove hi best hai!

Yahoo! - The Messenger with the bestesttt emoticons!! And the frown smiley is sooo cute that it makes you want to go awwww and just pull the yellow guy's golu molu cheeks :-)

Zeal uncut!

2011-05-07T15:49:00.007+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 20; the twentieth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

He stepped out of the lift and walked through the plush doorway, nearing his destination towards a door that read in small printed letters, “Miss Zuhaina Ali”.
His newest catch. If only his soaking wet shirt didn’t cling onto him, he may have made a better first impression, he thought.

Snip snip snip.
The best sound in the world.
Everything had to be just right. Ever since she had known a thing about anything, her drive for perfection had annoyed the living daylights of all around. They thought she was crazy, compulsive and cranky and took every opportunity to beat down her spirit into believing she was nothing but a piece of unattractive junk.
Like she cared!

They didn’t matter because there always would be a set of people who adored her; who wanted everything to do with her. Every word she said to them was devoured. Her clients. Her benefactors. Her angels.

Zuhaina never had to struggle for a stature. Everyone knew her to be an ace. If she took it up, there was no scope for the slightest error. They trusted her. Even if they weren’t aware of her credentials to begin with, the passion her eyes exuded was impossible to elude.
Oh yes, her passion- Hair.
No.
Perfect hair!

It was what drove her out of her dreams to a coveted reality. A confront to create a master piece every day. Everyone who came to her was but a slipshod work in progress. A diamond that awaited its eventual chisel. A withered disfigured skeleton that had been starved and needed nourishment.
She would feed it. The life breath back in, so its soul would beam and gleam of a new life.

She had trained herself to do it all. Her hands clucked at a pace that held others in awe. Fringes and curls, little flicks, shaft after shaft, it snipped little ringlets lightly over the floor, until what remained was perfect symmetry.

But that was not all. It was still a mop of hair.
The ordinary hadn’t yet evolved to be the brilliant.

It had to be tamed.... to match her tunes. To face the heat. To dance to her beat. And she led each little strand by its soft tips to be blown over her way. Up, around and about on her expert lean fingers.
What stayed was the one perfect look. Soft, smooth and easy. No wreath imbalanced. What the slightest breeze could bring swirling undone and leave a heap of gleaming volume.
If it was a mess, it was still beautiful.

And at the end, each time she held the mirror for her muse to see her work, she felt asphyxiated. Like her throat was closing in and the slightest drooping facial movement from their end would choke her.
But the smiles on their faces never disappeared. If anything, they grew broader. Or maybe she imagined it.
She finally breathed easy.
Yes, she was the best!

He watched as the little immature girl, absorbed in a trance, snipped the blonde hair of her little doll with what looked like utmost reverence.

The rain lashed on her window pane but she remained engrossed in her reverie, unaware of how the world broke down, sobbed and sniffed.
Nothing mattered.
His shirt was quite the last thing.

On the bedside table rested a neat array of dolls with pretty clipped hair.
Another queer schizophrenic at his clinic.
Ah, talented at that!
Talent....The stuff you praise out loud, the stuff you envy in your head. The stuff that makes life unfair.
Almost.

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Credits

Image - Window Rain Drops by Eric Alder
Courtesy - http://www.deviantart.com/ via http://www.blogaton.in/

Welcome to Lala- Land

2011-04-28T17:34:00.007+05:30

Once upon a time in a land far far away, *I mean so far away that you can’t locate it on a map* in the kingdom of Lala Land, there lived a princess, Laali.

Now unlike other princesses you may happen to know, she wasn’t the typical vain oh-so-pretty type. In fact, all her life she had been given a sound education by her father Bigshow, the King, and never found time for frolicking or silly airy romances.

And then one day, she met Teenoo, a carefree village boy who had an impressionable cool dude attitude. He had been brought up on his father’s farm and bore the typical traits of a tough dishevelled lad.

As their eyes locked each others on one fateful day in her palace garden, Laali felt a sudden pang of breezy fluttering in her heart. The kind that people often call love. Teenoo however walked past without a care for this ordinary bespectacled dame lest she fired him for stealing the garden fruits.

Laali returned to her palace hugely upset and with a crushed confidence, only to meet her aunts. No sooner had they asked her the cause of her concern, she burst into a stream of tears, ‘Nobody loves me, nobody cares for me’, she wailed and recounted the tale of her newly found love.

Her aunts exchanged knowing glances and were more than willing to shell out their piece of advice for her, given their elaborate experiences and the popularity their respective love stories had made far and wide.

Her aunt Cindre-wari, cleared her throat and in a dramatic way explained to her of how she had managed to rope her prince. ‘All men really.....like reallyyyy realllly care about is looks...good looks, good looks andddd good looks. A chic outfit, a twirl here and there, carelessly leave behind a possession like your glove or slipper and Voila! He will come running for you like a puppy.’

On listening to this, her aunt Snow-mati airily contributed her two pence. ‘Well I don’t know about your other aunts, but in my case your chaacha fell for my beautiful flawless chaar tone tak adhik gori skin. All you have to do is create a base of anti pimple cream, apply one coat of haldi, then another of Fair, Young and Lovely, one of FairForever and lastly give a few finishing touches with Garniered Age lift. Trust me on this babe, he will have eyes only for you. Even ghosts of four hundred years ago won’t stand a chance against your chaaiyya- free twacha!
And just for added precaution, get some seven to eight dwarfy’s hanging around you. After all we don’t want this Romeo to think he ain’t got no competition eh?’, she said and winked at a wide eyed Laali.

Rapunza-vanti nodded her head in disagreement. ‘Now, now ladies, let’s not get carried away here. What I think men really are smitten by is a woman’s hair. I just had to shake my mane and look what that did for me. One bottle of Javed Kabab’s Sunnysilk and half a bottle of soft, silky and extra black conditioner for dry, damaged and abnormal hair later, this Teenoo ji will be ready to shave his head for you.’

On listening to all these enlightening speeches from her wise aunts Laali decided to give herself a complete makeover. She was determined to get Teenoo to fall in love with her.

Before

After

Gone were the big round spectacles and the behenji type attire was replaced by a gorgeous Chanel-a gown, nails French manicured, hair blow dried and smelling of the most exotic perfumes. She took her entourage of newly acquired chamchaa’s as suggested, into the same garden at the same time she had met her beloved Teenoo the other day.

And there he was again.
Mesmerised by her good looks he gaped at her.
With all her make-up, she fluttered her eye lashes coyly.
There definitely was a connection.

5 seconds and he was spellbound. He was intimidated by her beauty and perfection.
A minute later, he finally found his tongue.

As Laali held her breath, for the first time, he spoke to her, ‘Emm hi. Can I get your phone number?’

She was puzzled.

‘What? Aren’t you supposed to ask me if I will marry you so we can live happily ever after??? Or at least compliment my beauty and tell how you are willing to lay down your life for me?’

He stared at her and gulped.

He walked back two spaces and replied in a meek voice.

‘Lay down my life? For what? You don’t even look as good as Katreen Kaif! Sorry girl, but a fancy princess like you is just wayyy too high maintenance :o’

Moral of the story- Zamaana badal raha hai jaani! :P

To read more on the Laali series, click here.

Dum Maaro Dum- Reviewed!

2011-04-12T13:55:00.001+05:30

I’m guessing your reaction is, Huh? Movie release ho gayi? Hehe no. It doesn't release until 10 days from now. This is another of my advance reviews so I can gloat like the Headlines Today wala’s of ‘Yes, folks....THIS is where you heard it first’.

Dum Maaro Dum comes as an ‘inspired’ version of the Hollywood counterpart ‘Traffic’ starring the ‘critically acclaimed’ Abhishek Bacchan. Why do I use those words in single quotes? Well, because this ‘cool accent- Get Idea- Thank God my dad’s a star’ dude has managed to get things consistently wrong....from Drona to Raavan to Khele Hum Jee Jaan se to Game...flop after flop after flop, you start to think, Wow! This guy must be made of Sona Chaandi Amritpraash!
Yep, acting ain’t no Bhangra baby! :P

Before the post mortem, I would like to divide this movie’s audience into three broad categories,
1- The type who compulsively watch every movie. They might actually end up liking it cos I can guarantee, in their time killing career, they may have seen much muchh worse ones. I mean, what with movies starring Mimoh Chakraborty or Himesh ji’s Kajra! Oh silly me! That crashed even before hitting the theatres. :o

2- The second one is for those tagged by friends. I can totally feel my sympathy rooting for them. What can I say, life’s like that! :-(

3- Jeez Louise! Are you kidding me? This segment is for the empty chairs in the multiplex! I mean what kind of person in their right mind could actually ‘like’ Abhishek Bacchan AND Bipasha Basu???

The Plot- This comes as a story of 6 people who meet in Goa, get involved with the drug mafia and turn their lives into a run for your life, mummyyy bachao bachao, hotchpotch.

What’s hottt!
Deepika ka item number- Ok I must admit, until Munni and Sheila I thought myself to be quite open- minded to accept any form of bold and raunchy numbers. This track here however raised the bar to a whole new level and as cool I’d like to think I am, it kinda knocked me over with my mouth open in mid sentence to a ‘hawwwww!’
*Yess, I’m a girl and I’m straight*

Prateik Babbar- Ever since his appearance in what the Sentosa natives may call ‘Dobigaught’; friends, Mumbaikars and countrymen have actually started taking him pretty seriously. Also, lurking in the wardrobe are remarks of his star parents which I’m not so sure is a good thing. I mean, look what that has done to ‘Abi Baby’.
All the same, I do think he would come as a mood lifting element in an otherwise fit for the dumps package.

Dolby 7.1 Surround sound- This, it seems is the first Indian movie ever to have that. Ok lemme be honest. I don’t even know what it is!

What’s NOT hot!
Aditya Pancholi- Ewwwww! I didn’t even know he existed! Also, the last time I remember, he was in the middle of some high on dope controversy. Aha! So they wanted the movie to be absolutely life like. Numm nummm...okies! Me gets it now!

Rana Daggubatti- First of all what kind of a name is that? Supposedly a Telugu actor paired alongside hamaari Bipasha ji. Anyway, the last time we heard of a certain Harman Baweja, he came down like a pack of cards given his resemblance to Hritik Roshan.
The Rana chap looks like a clone of Shabbir Ahluwalia! Need I say more?
Nope nope. I see no hope for you my man!

Controversiesssss- The movie has already been dragged into this rigmarole of Dev Anand objecting to remixing his movie song as their title track. Course, he saw the video and we heard from him no more. Ahem!
Also, there was the case for the movie trying to tarnish Goa’s ‘clean image’ and derogatory remarks to the women of Goa which has created ripples at the State level and gone knock knock to the High Court.

Drugs, a flop cast with no ‘Dum’, crappy story and now hardcore politics...Oye hoye...they’ve been there and rocked that!

Star rating- Zero. *BECAUSE I HAAAATE Abhishek!!*
My take- Avoid!!! If you musttt watch it though, then I reckon you ensure leaving your sanskaar in a neat pile at the PVR doorstep. :P

Sailing on clouds

2011-04-03T23:09:00.006+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 19; the nineteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Dear Diaryyyy

7 pm- Dubai Standard Time. *I think*
‘Humi did you reach safely? Did you eat anything? Beta, please eat something! What will you eat? You will find something yourself na? Please please don’t stay hungry!’
Uff khaana khaana khaana! My beloved Bollywood mumma still thinks I’m her chunnu munnu and living in India has made me a poor famished size zero kitten.
Keehee.
I wonder why these airports are sooo sooo cold man! Also, the guy sitting next to me on the sector here had this awful yuck yuckkk type cologne and now my abaaya smells of it too! Buhoooo :-(
5 hours of frolicking at Dubai Duty Free! Yayyy meeee!
Laterrrrr!

9 pm
Bhrrrr. Bored. Seen everything. Done everything. Roamed around the entire shopping arcade. I wonder what kind of people buy stuff like Rasna from here. Weird no?
The Swarovski crystal showcase was wowwwieee! I really wish I’d be standing there and some bell would ring over my head after which everyone would come rushing to me and say ‘Congratsssss Miss Humera! You just won the big jackpot and can take anyyything from our showroom......FOR FREEEE!’ Yippeeeeee! *sigh*
By the way, something half as cool almost happened. I bought a chocolate and got a scratch card that actuallyyyy for a minute lured me into believing I could win the multiple grade yaada yaada mileage Lexus!
Grabbed a coin and scratched it!
Card says- ‘Better luck next time’
Bwackk! Classsic!
Me is the hungry’ssss!
So long!

9.15 pm
Mc Donalds!!! I’m lovin it. Turoo tuttooo
Almost tempted to use the tag line ‘Pet khush to sabbb khush’ Emm what was it for?
Hajmola?
Hehe. Dang!
Wonder why that guy is waving at me. Do I know him??
Nah don’t think so! Will hog now. Over and out!

11.15 pm
Dudeee! The weirdest thing happened. I told you na someone waved at me, but then I couldn’t recollect who he was. And then he came to my table and was all like
‘Heyyy! How are youuuu! How have you beeenn!!!! Rehan! You remember me right?’ etc....etc.
The whole thing got really awkward. I even tried searching my memory database for a Rehan....searching.....searching...key word not found :-(
How could I have missed someone so good looking? Or maybe he was like the ugly duckling who grew into a swan. Ah! Whatever!
Anyway so I staged a ‘Ohhhhh it’s youuuu!’ wala drama. And thennn he said all about how he missed college days in Bombay so it all kinda fit in.
And THAT’s when he gave me a shock shock shockkk!
‘How come you haven’t been coming online Sana? It’s been ages! And you look soooo different in a burkha! Cute, I say!’
Sana???? Sana??? Arey now who is this Sana?
And thatttt is when the dimaag ka bulb lit up. Suddenly all his good looks were slashed to a half. Poor guy thought I was someone else.
Also, he went on and on about how he and his ‘Sana’ dame were bestesttt buddies and blah blah!

I mean think about it. If they were soooooo good friends, then how come he totally mistook someone else to be her? Or maybe I have an identical twin sis. But I never even went to a Kumbh ka mela!!
*PJ I know! :P*

11.30 pm
At the boarding gate. Thank God! Flight’s on time! Seeee that’s why I louuve Emirates. Even though the food smells yuckkk and the bread is cold, at least they have cool movies that you can kill time with! Wonder what he will do when he speaks to the real Sana. Such a nice guy...damn this Sana!
Just had a sudden thought. Why did he ask for my email id?
Weren’t he and so called ‘Sana’ supposed to be friends on chat???
Weird!!
Okies! Time to board!

11.40 pm
Lol! Was just at the boarding gate when I caught a note on my boarding pass. Here’s what was scrawled on it in the tiniestttttt, most God- awful handwriting!-

“Suni meri sadaa to kis yakeen se
Ghataa utar ke aa gayi zameen pe
Rahi yehi lagan to aye dil-e-jawaan
Asar bhi ho rahega ek haseen pe!

Not the most articulate I daresay, but 9 hours of jet lag have quite literally killed the shaayar in me so turned to the next best option- a Bollywood song!

Hi Humera!
Your boarding card fell out of your passport while at the cash counter.
I guess I embarrassed you for a bit there mistaking you for a friend. Was apprehensive I’d mess things further when I did find out. Thank you for being such a sport and bearing with my banter. Talking to you was an absolute delight! Wish we could start over.
I trust you will be hearing from me again......so I can apologise more coherently ofcourse. ;)
Bon Voyage!”

Lol!
Awww! How sweeeet!
Will sleep now! Seated next to an aunty.
Blah!
Why do I always have to sit next to uncles, aunties, total duds or wailing babies???
Trying to feel bad but I just can’t stop smilinggg!!!
*happy eyes*
Hehe!

Tataaaa!!!!!.......Lub youuu!......Fiamanillah!
Humeraaaaaa :-)))))

Another one bites the dust- Part 2

2011-03-25T00:28:00.004+05:30

Part 1

Nahla felt nauseous after the day’s events. Bad for hoodwinking a perfectly innocent chap and disgraced at having to compromise for a meaningless future with a raunchy and unscrupulous man. She stared at the first carpet that Kaizer had offered. It felt soft and instantly reminded her of his pleasant face. All these years she had never met anyone who had believed her so easily. For the first time, she didn’t feel a sense of accomplishment. On the contrary, she felt overcome with an extreme sadness. She wondered how anyone could trust another so simply.

What was his name? Why hadn’t he asked her any questions? What had he come to Sumer for? What use did he have with her goats? Where did he live?
Even more humdrum questions like- Were all the people in his country like him? Did he have any sisters? Why did he have a halo of leaves on his head?
How precisely parallel he was to Amar Suena! And that brought her back to reality. Amar had announced their wedding in 36 days without even bothering to ask for her consent.

Isn’t it funny, how, to get out of one mess you pull yourself even deeper into a whole new jumble? No, there was no way she was going to let someone dictate her being. She had already cheated hundreds of people for his selfish motives. But letting him ruin her life was not quite on the agenda. That left just one solution....running away.

But where would she go? There was no one to whom she could turn to for help. A sound plan had to be drawn up. She could not do this on her own. If she left the house, the people would recognise her and send her back.

That’s when the stranger from the market came to her mind. She had instinctively liked him for his simple odd features, his forthright manner and casual smile.
Would he help her? He undoubtedly had a good heart. But off course, when you like someone, everything about them seems just right, just perfect and justly endowed.
Besides, he was to meet her in the same span of time.

She decided to place her trust in him. There really wasn’t much of her mind working there anyway. Go was the word that her heart echoed and she obeyed.
------------------------------

Kaizer thought back of the woman he had met at the market earlier in the day. Her modesty had enchanted him. The more he thought of her, the more he wanted to think of her, the faster his heartbeat raced, the sooner he hoped time would pass as 36 days would come to an end. She had become an enigma for him, one who could only be admired from far. He tried to rehearse what he would tell her, but for that he needed to find someone who could teach him the language. Her language.

As he held the jar close to him, he wondered what may be in it. The seal however could not be broken until the day of the agreement settlement so its contents had to be held suspense. He shook it once again. Maybe he would crack just a part of it and take a peek inside. He took a large stone and hit it on the edge. The seal broke and as he inverted the jar, a string of stones fell from inside. He was quite taken aback.

How could the jar contain stones? It was supposed to have miniature trinkets of goats. Had the woman in the cloak cheated him?

Had it been another person, he may not have rebound so abruptly but to have been cheated by someone he had been smitten so much by, made his heart sore. All hopes of meeting her were now replaced by anger and resentment. He decided he would go away to his country. He didn’t need a bunch of crooks to deceive him. NEVER would he come back again to this hated place.

As he walked on the pavement retracing his steps towards a journey back home, he noticed a person across the road hit against a solid bar, sprawled on the road with a bleeding eye. Kaizer rushed to help the ailing man and removed from his garment a small burette of yellow coloured herbal ointment and applied it on the outer edges of his eye. The bleeding stopped shortly and the man recovered.

The man thanked Kaizer for his timely help and enquired of his name and whereabouts. This was the first person so far who understood Pashtun (his language) and almost felt to him like a man from his own mother land. Sumer, he realised wasn’t such a bad place after all.
On hearing that Kaizer was homeless, the man insisted on him to stay for a couple of days in his house. Besides, there was rather a lofty occasion coming up for which his presence would be solicited.
Given the little spacing Kaizer had to deny this offer, he accepted and just as they walked homewards, the man introduced himself
‘My name is Amar. Amar Suena.’, he said and smiled.

Another one bites the dust

2011-03-19T20:12:00.003+05:30

Nahla stood at the side of the busy and shabby unmetalled marketplace of Kish, pulling the folds of her cloak in apprehension. Under it she hid the clay jar that she hoped to sell off to a worthy visitor. Most people in the locality recognised her; less for her appearance and more for the deceit that she was well known for. Who was she going to swindle today?

As people passed her by, nobody spoke to her but each onlooker’s eye displayed a shaft of recognition for the most talented slave of the Sumerian clergyman, Amar Suena. A few people here and there stopped to examine her course of action.

She scanned the crowd from among proud and demanding wood sellers who hurled abuses at docile pleading goat seller’s, to Lebanese cedar sellers and amidst them there stood a man in white attire with a tiara of olive leaves on his head. Clearly, he was from another country, who had come here with the hope of making a kismet. She smiled as she saw in him the traces of an ideal target and slowly paced towards him. How prefect, she thought.
--------------------------------------

Kaizer had finally reached the last leg of his journey. A trader’s life had always excited him. Travelling to countries far and wide, a new culture each time, new people and new hope. If only their language wasn’t a barrier for him. He had been told by his Afghani countrymen of the fetching Kish market where many a fortunes had been made. A few carpets were all he had with him to offer. As he listlessly walked down the street looking for a prize that would be worth his humble offering, he came across a cloak clad woman.

All he could tell was her dusky complexion that glistened in the sun and the most riveting eyes ever. For a brief moment he entirely forgot the business he had come for. She held a clay jar towards him and pointed at the carpet. Was that a deal she wanted to strike with him? A carpet for the jar? For the delight at having her want to do anything with him, he would have given the carpet for nothing. Without a scrape at trying to bargain or wanting to enquire the contents of the jar, he extended the most elegant carpet from the dozen of them to her.

She nodded her head and signalled to mean them all. All carpets for one jar?
Now his curiosity piqued. What did the jar contain?
He looked at the lid but it was sealed so he shook it as the insides clanged. He tried to break open the seal but no sooner had he touched it; she firmly snatched the jar away from him.
How queer!
She then waved at him and pointed towards the surface of the pot on which was scrawled a picture of six goats.

It then dawned upon him the clarity of what was happening. This woman here was trying to buy from him carpets in exchange for six goats that she would give on another prefixed day. That he had heard from his friends was a popular trend in Sumer.

But what was he going to do with goats and how would he take them back home? He nodded his head in disagreement. The woman’s eyes fell with regret as she turned away.
A strange surge of guilt arose in him. How could he upset someone so ravishing? He hadn’t seen her face but her eyes were enough to talk of her loveliness and soft nature. Also there was the decoy of meeting this young woman again.

He lightly touched her shoulder and held out the carpets. At first she looked mildly surprised but without much ado hurriedly accepted it and pointed to the watch in his pocket, moved her hands in a circular fashion twice and then signalling with a show of hands indicated three and six. 36 days!

That’s when she was going to repay him. As a man blinded by her grace and poise, he didn’t question the deal much further. All the people who were now overly keen on the outcome of seeing a man cheated, sighed in despair. Among the people supervising the proceedings was Amar Suena, the clergyman who owned Nahla. She had proved his allegiance and loyalty to him by conducting his business in a more than suitable fashion.

Heavens knew there was nothing in the clay jar besides a few stones which when unsealed would prove the traveller as a liar tainting the image of an impoverished street side slave girl when he asked for the goats that belonged to him.
-------------------------------

Amar Suena felt a sense of pride for this catch of a slave and on examining the ace quality of the carpets agreed to honour his promise to Nahla by setting her free. She had served him well and deserved to live without being bound. However the price for this kind gesture from his end would be for her to marry him. In his opinion, it was the greatest ideal a slave could aspire for. Never to have to do menial jobs again, never to dupe strangers again but stand aside him as his better half, a tribute she was not even worthy of, given her deplorable status.

Nahla however had other ideas. She wished for freedom. She wished for a new life. She wished for falling in love....perhaps with just an eccentric foolhardy smitten trader from Afghanistan.

Click for Part 2

I can burn, oh yeah!

2011-03-14T23:52:00.003+05:30

This post is written for Blogeshwar and Anubhooti
Afternote- Tadaaa! I won! :D

No guesses there. Dressed in drab beige again!
She had destroyed him with a disdainful relish. Tore at the core of his heart without leaving so much as a tangible scar.
He had always known it. Right from the first time he ever laid eyes on her serene countenance. She looked just as her million peers, and yet so different. There was the same innocence, the same gracious gait, yet a forbidding elegance that only lured him to drift nearer.

He had often spoken of his desire to attain her. Easy. That’s what she was. The trophy however was not in the getting; it was in the keeping. He had never been serious to begin with. It was but another of those passing affairs. The pleasure of company, the promise of commitment, the privacy of contentment and finally the predicament of closure. That was his plan.

Never had he foreseen that his charm would fail. It had managed to conquer alright, but what he soon realised was, his slice was only the edge of the dipping valley. There was the greatest physical bond between them but her disloyalty couldn’t be more pronounced. Her soul remained indifferent. Her hands touched his, but her jaded eyes wandered much past into nothingness. Expressionless, visionless and hard as metal.

It shrieked at him but he refused to surrender. He was a taken man. His friends jeered at him for his inability to detach from such an ordinary mortal. Were they envious? But they too had floored his prize. Each one of them at that. They had all gambled on her and won, but he had mistaken her to be HIS eternal possession.

And wrong he was, because she had never belonged. She didn’t know how to. A moment’s solace is all she was designed for. Maybe two.
Maybe he could teach her. Maybe she would reciprocate. Maybe there would be a moment of weakness in her sordid aura.
But it wasn’t to be.
As denial wore out, all he now wanted was to stretch the few fading hours together. The future was a mirage anyway. All in the present, to savour and preserve from a journey lost, a few moments of devotion.

As she sat next to him, her features didn’t give away the slightest hint of her conniving customs. He didn’t care if she didn’t spare him another chance; he didn’t care if she was the reason for his crumble. All he craved was one soft caress. To inhale her presence. To vie for her passion. Even if it meant smouldering away. That’s how much she meant to him. HIS affable lady. His cigarette.

Statutory warning- Oh I know, the mundane but much prophesised- Honey, it’s injurious to health! ;)

Soft landings...Soft hearts

2011-03-10T17:25:00.004+05:30

Post ek aur awards do!!! Bohottt na-insaafi haiii! :D

and

-----------------------------------------------------------------

"Mere dil ke kisi koney main ik masoom sa baccha
badon ki dekh kar duniya, bada hone se darta hai"

Credits

Radwa and Moin

Tax Shax for Dummies

2011-03-07T17:06:00.001+05:30

‘Sir aapko tax bharne ko aayega’- As good as 90% of the people at the receiving end of this comment would remove a large white hanky and wipe their forehead- (and might I tell u we have a well ventilated office so make no reservations)……Then the next thing they want to know is the extent of damage ‘Kitna madam?’…….Irrespective of what the amount is, the reaction is a huuuuge sigh accompanied with ‘Thoda kam kar do na’….Gives the impression almost as if we are in a sabzi mandi selling pyaaz and aalloo…. looting our customers by charging a whole extra rupee in this hard time of ‘recession’.

Just about everyone unrelated to this subject I’ve come across, is almost wary of the tax ka topic……BORING ….that’s what the grey cells tell them….but fact remains….it’s important to know about it….at least if u intend to get rich someday in your own country and don’t want to be swindled by an XYZ…..You see all good things, in India at least, come with a ‘taxes apply’ wala tag.

So what follows forth are the basic elements of our tax system.
But before that I’d like you to know that these are laws pertaining to income earned between 1st April 2010 to 31st March 2011 alone! – underline underline!!!

WHAT is Income Tax
You earn an income and you pay tax on it. That’s income tax- Simple as that! And because it’s almost too easy for you, here’s the different categories based on which income is classified-:

Ø Salary- You work for your boss, he gives you a paycheck at the end of the month. That’s income from Salary.

Ø Property- You buy property for yourself or your dad buys it registering it in your name. You then find an attractive person to rent it to.
That rent = Income from Property.

Ø Profession- In case the work you do, gets you money that is termed as ‘fees’, then that makes you a professional and your hard earned money gets taxed under this head

Ø Capital Gains- The profit you make on purchase and sale of shares or real estate finds its way to the noose in this category.

Ø Other Sources- All the money you earn can’t really be kept in the house…..under your bed…can’t trust aajkal ke domestic helpers….so the next best option is to put it all in a Bank in a Savings Account. This account pays you interest for keeping your money with them…and the interest you receive forms ……Income from Other Sources.
(Note- If you are a Muslim, it is not permissible to earn income by way of interest, so you might consider putting your money in a Current Account….where you have Security + No Interest + Overdraft facility).

WHY do you have to pay Income Tax
The money collected from income tax goes on to fund Government activities such as electricity on roads, public security, making newer flyovers etc………… an unfair share also goes into miscellaneous people’s private pockets….but then kya kare……no system is perfect.
The question arising from this is, What if we do not pay Income Tax?

Once on the NDTV show, We the people, hosted by Barkha Dutt…… a discussion about the terrorist attack in Mumbai was being held and the gist of what they said was on these lines-
The Government is ineffective, so let’s not cooperate with it, Let’s all not pay taxes…..zyada se zyada we won’t have electricity in the house…and they can’t possibly put so many people in Jail……………
Unfortunately, that’s an incorrect and misleading statement. The consequence of non-payment of tax is prosecution. In other words, you go on a trial…stand in the adaalat ka kadgharaa and have the judge saab tell you to pay the money in addition to a penalty *over 100% of the tax evaded*, and if you don’t do that…..thennnn ho jaayegi ghar ki neelami (you know what that is right?....picturein to dekhte hi honge)

WHO is supposed to pay Income Tax
Any person who earns an annual income of over Rs.1,60,000/- in case of a guy and Rs.1,90,000/- for a girl, needs to pay Income Tax. (Feminist in me says…Huhh!!!)
The amount you pay as tax depends on the slab rates that are released in the Budget of the previous year. In depth info on that can be referred to from the former Budget post.

WHEN do you have to pay Income Tax
The last date of payment of Income Tax is 31st July 2011. And in case you are really rich……( that is…..annual sales exceeding Rs.60,00,000/- or annual fee receipts exceeding Rs.15,00,000/-), then the last date of tax payment is 30th September 2011. Isse late kiya to one lakh rupees ka fine lagega boss.

WHERE do you pay Income Tax
At the Income tax Office aur kaha! There’s also the option of e-filing but my suggestion is, avoid, avoid, avoid!!!! And I say this because the form that needs to be filled is extremely confusing, super pakaao and also needs to be signed digitally……..which means an additional expenditure….wo bhi for your own signature! Also, it needs to be renewed every 2 years and there’s nothing fancy about it…..looks just like a barcode!!!

That, I think is about the basic stuff you need to know. In the unlikely event of you wanting to get any further information, you could look up the Government website. That’s- http://www.incometaxindia.gov.in/
And still better option, main to hoo hi…..consultation charges starting from Rupees One Thousand Only!

P.S. - Last date for payment of Advance Tax- 15th March 2011.
Buck up!

Budgetwa Aayo Re!

2011-03-06T20:34:00.001+05:30

Like I mentioned before, I happen to be an ex-taxwaala or rather a taxwaali, and the Budget seems to have the most acute impact on my area of work….the result being everyone takes for granted ki I know all about it….But do I? Well the skeletons are here to be tumbled out.......

Anyone who fancies himself/ herself as an intellectual has a keen interest on this hot topic. Before it comes, the media runs prime time on roughly kya hoega and after it’s out, the discussion rolls to exactly kya hua…..similar to the election story, is the Budget story…..

Here is your one stop guide to understand…… not what the Budget 2011 presented…… but what you can tell to others it presented so you don’t ever have to sound dumb again….Tadaaa!!!
This I hope you understand is valuable stuff I’m handing over to you so dhyaan se padhna and drink up the knowledge ka saagar!

Question- What do you think about the Budget? (Mosttttt common question)
Smart Answer- I think it’s pretty ‘balanced’

Reason- All Budgets are balanced….they always have been and forever will be….balanced is a neat way of saying not too good and not too bad……it can’t be too bad cos else we won’t vote for the Government in the upcoming elections…….and it can’t be too good because we are a nation of over 1 billion people with at leastttt half a billion critics…..surely they would find something wrong with it somewhere right?…It’s what we Indians are naturally talented at…..See? Ki-lear hai babua?

Question- What are the main changes we have seen this year (Sounds tricky na…but don’t worry…mere hote hue koi tumhara baal bhi baaka nahi kar sakta!)
Smart Answer- The Government has tried to ease taxes for the middle class segment. That’s a very healthy sign for the ‘aam aadmi’

Reason- No rocket science…they do it every year…have done it for the last 10 years and will probably continue to, for the next 10 years as well….same stuff…….rich should pay more…. not so rich should pay lesser and save more….poor should not pay at all….at least in theory…..Its set to stereotype!
Question- What have been the major disappointments this year (Huh! Like you care!)
Smart Answer- No incentive to foreign investors in public holdings and petrol prices remain tragic.

Reason- We never give any kind of incentive to firangi log in the public sector because if they come in, then the crores of losses (upar ki kamaai for the netaji’s) would be slashed leaving public servants literally as their name suggests……obviously not a fine move.
Notice, where concerns petrol prices, we use the word ‘tragic’ without divulging into whether it has been reduced or not. I mean c’mon if you did know hardcore facts, you wouldn’t be reading this guide now, would you? It’s as they say.....Average is the new Exceptional! ;)

Once you’ve mastered the above Question-Answer round, you are almost set to firing the floor with brilliance……but before that, here are a few tips as add-ons

1- The Budget is sacred stuff…when talking about it, do not mock it or make fun of it…..laugh onlyyyy if everyone else is laughing… like in the Parliament….everyone bangs the table onlyyyy when Sonia aunty bangs the table…..(so uncouth….looks like the modern version of Early Man pounding his chest and yelling “Food!”)

2- Put on a very serious expression and a solemn face…..even wear your specs if you have them….nooo don’t buy a pair just for this…arey too much ho jayega yaar!

3- Overacting mat karna please! Don’t look over-enthu cos then everyone might think you know a lot, and direct all their thakela questions at you…..for which you have only limited answers…remember?

4- Look people in the eye when you talk to them and don’t fumble… that way it will look like you know what you are saying, so even if it’s the wrong thing, people would just assume you know something that they missed…..which is quite likely because almostttt everyone sleeps when Pranab dada talks and catch only the highlights after the ordeal is over....for all you know they might even think ki Hayo rabbaa soooo intelligent! ;)

5- DO NOT use this Budget conversation on a date….zyada se zyada one line so it clears you as an intellectual…..anything more and you will go down in history as the boring types! Hhh!

All that said you are now ready to strike the iron…..next budget on……it’s all eyes on you….. So do the Sadiya ji ka naam roshan......Chak de!!!! :)

As part of value addition *just in case you’re a spoilsport or looking for some real substance*, here are the top highlights of Budget 2011
1- Tax exemption limit raised to Rs. 1,80,000/- from Rs. 1,50,000/-
2- Tax exemption limit raised for citizens over 80 years to Rs. 5,00,000/-
3- No change in working women tax slabs so its guys n girls at par :P
4- Senior citizens age revised from 65 years to 60 years for tax purposes. So now it’s aligned with all other services as you may know was the case with senior citizen railway tickets.
5- Grey areas- No changes in petrol prices or tourism sector.

Change, change, change!!!

2011-03-05T15:37:00.004+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton Season 2 edition 18; the eighteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

I’d say WE WANT CHANGE and you’d think I’m running for Indian President but that’s not really on my list of things-to-do, given the potholes our current Prez has dug for us.....which is why I was hoping for change on another front.

Are you full on pakaaofied with the World Cup already? Have you heard more news items for it than even A. Raja going all ‘My neerdosh oo’?
Heard the same analysis doled out N number of times?
Good for you. Make that N+1 times cos it’s what I’m going to talk about too. *Now you know who didn’t need to steal the cookie from the Math teacher’s cookie jar*

You see right now I’m a bundle of self pity. My conscience is pounding at me saying, ‘OMG Sadiya! 15 days down the World Cup and you haven’t written a single post on cricket??? And you call yourself an Indian???? You are like a black dhabbaa on the name of a Bharteeya kanya which even Ujaala Safedi cannot rectify!!’
So for my peace of mind *btw I could actually try yoga too, but then I might end up breaking the floor or something*, I want to dedicate this entry to the changes I’d like to see in the World Cup. Besides, everyone has some vishesh tippani’s to give on this subject, so here's pitching in a few of mine too.

Course I don’t have peacock colored hair to my credit, but I certainly can tell a Four from a Six and who is out when. That much knowledge I suppose is enough especially since I am a girl!

Dear BCCI/ Match sponsors/Rule makers,

Yep you motu guys sitting in suits in that black box like room *Every time I think of that room, the only thing that comes to my mind is lots and lots of Mango Frooti’s. I have NO idea why!*. Ok haa so please listen to a few changes I would like to order from your end-

1- Why in the world do we have teams like Canada, Ireland, Netherlands and Kenya? Now believe me I am not racist when I say this, and I too believe in encouraging upcoming talent and blah blah but then unfortunately not at the expense of my time. And forget me *just for 2 seconds haa* I mean so many poor bacha log who are investing their precious time with board exams looming over their heads....what about them huh? And that too for 40 days!!! Dewddd! It’s a question of our bhavishya!!!

2- Puhleeeezzzz keep the matches in quick succession. It’s like we have to wait for an entire week to watch our Mummy land play, and that too against some dumb *no offence* team like Ireland! Do you have ANY idea how much mental agony that is for the youth? And worse, dwell in the fear of God forbid, losing to THEM! Yikes!

3- Next up, Piyush Chawla!!! I genuinelyyyy feel his bowling is God awful and there is no way in heaven we are going to get past the biggies with this fruitcake on our side. So emm could you like...emm chuck him out and get Pragyan Ojha instead? *eyes fluttering*

4- Now I know you guys are really intelligent and all that, but this whole idea of LBW appeal to the third umpire is like reallyyyy realllyyy emm....ok bakwaas! I mean not only does it question the on field umpire’s credibility, but also is a complete spoiler. It’s like you think a wicket is down and start celebrating by giving hi5’s to everyone all over the house, jumping on the bed, even mock the opponent team supporters in all the excitement andddddddd next thing you know, it’s a false alarm so that leaves a bundle of spent energy and a veryyy awkward-huh!-in-your-face kinda moment! Know what I mean?
In fact this is the signal Gandhiji was giving to us, when he said 'believe in karma'!

5- Puhleeeeezzz monitor the commercials. It’s a family channel you know! Just yesterday I saw a commercial, with a girl who enters her house and undoes her hair.
Ahem ahem.
So what do you think?
Naturally you mentally tune yourself for some steamy commercial.
Then she is in the shower holding a soap.
Automatically your head starts listing out the options of the likely soap brands....Lux, Dyna, Margo, Hamaam etc....or maybe a new brand like say Zarinacobaniacal Soap.
Next thing you know, it’s the commercial of Maruti Suzuki!!!!!!!
Emm ok hello?
Did I miss something here?
It’s the World Cup relay!!! Have some class yaar!!

6- Now a personal request. Could you possibly take Ravi Shastri out of the commentary box? He yells and yells and yells to a point where I think I will go deaf *scared eyes*
And I hate Nasir Husaain too! He not like India= I not like him. :-(

You see this is not just a game for us. It’s our passion and we take it VERYYY seriously! So don’t mess with it.
Also, deep down we feel nobody deserves to win more than we do. Others may be good too no doubt.... yea yea........... APNE GHAR MAIN! :P
Looking forward to a positive response from your end.
Merci
Sincerely,
Sadiya Merchant

P.S. - Does anyone think Rameez Raja looks like Professor Snape from Harry Potter?

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Girls of Riyadh- Reviewed

2011-02-16T19:13:00.001+05:30

For the uninitiated, it’s the book by Rajaa Alsanea that I am talking about. If there’s anything else you were thinking then emm.... Poof! I sense your disappointment. Hehe. Well rest assured reading any further is not going to be worth your while :P

In my opinion, what Girls of Riyadh did to Saudi Arabia is the exact same as what Slumdog Millionaire did to India.....Brought in a whole lot of limelight but sadly, for all the wrong reasons as they both addressed a class of people that the majority thought as inconvenient truths, at best ignored if not effectively concealed. *Course India’s case not possible yaara...I mean where will you hide Dharavi...it’s all right there bang on for your swaagat in plain view from the Raashtreeya hawaai addaa!*

Yes yes focus. Haa so let me tell you I have never been more excited about reading a book as I was about this one. Firstly, because it’s about a set of people who live just four hours away from the place I was brought up *Love thy neighbour and all.... you know na how it is!*
And secondly, the controversy surrounding it and a whole 3 year ban it faced in Saudi Arabia. So naturally you start to think ki yaar ye hai kya cheez!

Right so the book borrowed *duh!* and me all set to read, the first three quarter of the book, let me tell you was beyond awesome. A perfect narrative, an instant connect, little cute honest love stories and most importantly the sense of elation I felt at knowing stuff others might take a while to grasp *believe me it rarely everrrrr happens with me, so kindly put up as I gloattt*. All was in order, until a terrible thing happened.*sad eyes*
I fell asleep.

And even in my sleep, I kept imagining what may happen further in the book to the main characters as the story progresses.

Next dayyyyyyyyyyy unfortunately, nothing thereon ever took off. The smooth ride so far went all glub glub glub underwater.

The book is about four girls who are all starry eyed at the thought of louuuuve. The story revolves around their love lives set in the backdrop of Arabian customs and practices that are stringent to say the least.

The positive of the book is the format of writing; as in a narrator who sends weekly emails to random people telling the real stories of four of her friends. I thought the idea was pretty unique. Also, the characters of all girls are very likeable and not particularly *oh I think I broke my nail* kinda vain and stoopid.

The downside however is the fact that there are just wayyyy too many make ups and break ups so by the end you get confused as to who was with whom as suddenly people from the past start to pop up in the plot.

Also, a lot of parts in the story seemed like more than being bold about the truth of society, it was trying to be loud and sensationalise for the sake of striking as different, by blaring the pitfalls and extremist views.
For instance if one girl liked to wear the abaaya/ burkha, it was covered in a sentence; but if another thought it ugly, 2 pages were expressly devoted to that. Know what I mean?

Another thing was the end, which I thought was extremely abrupt, without giving a logical conclusion as to what happened about the girls, given the idea itself was to talk of their love life. It almost gave the impression like the author got really bored and wanted to end it at the earliest.

One thing I couldn’t follow though was the character traits of all the men in the story. They seemed designed without a backbone, extremely fickle, hugely dependent on family ties and too afraid to stand up for their love without adequate reason. All of them! Strange no?

On the whole, a good read, a unique story....the culture part though needs to be taken with a pinch of salt as it seemed a little biased for hype.

P.S. - If you happen to be a girl nursing a fresh break up, this one isn’t for you my dear, cos it may make you dislike men in general for long, and particularly men in Riyadh for life. :-)

Humsafar- Part 5

2011-02-14T15:07:00.004+05:30

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4

As he held her in his arms, she felt herself disregard everything; the pain, the wait or even the anxiety of whether she had exceeded her tenets by a whisker. If only that one moment would last for eternity.

Her intestines cringed with anticipation of the likely outcome as seconds ticked past and nothing happened. They just stood looking at each other in a peaceful frigid land.

One hundred steps it was.

And now for the first time Nysa realised that she had been so absorbed in attaining the goal, so focused in getting to him, that the thought of what she may say when she met him never occurred to her at all. Somehow the feat itself had seemed so incredibly challenging that her imagination never chanced upon her course of action once it had been accomplished.

But the moment had arrived and she didn’t know what to say. What puzzled her though was the look on his face. Marquiz didn’t quite bear a questioning expression. It was rather a knowing gaze. How come?

He had seen her from the time she was a chirpy little girl with wide eyes that wondered at every little mystery of life, to the time she had grown into a demure young woman who lowered her gaze every time a piece of history about him was related. From the time she had looked at him; looked and looked with starry eyes, unaware that he had looked back.
He had known it all along. And he had yearned for her, just as she had for him.

It wasn’t meant to be, he had often thought;He was just another soul lost in space, he had often thought; His love was feeble and handicapped, he had often thought....but he hadn’t accounted for what her love could do for him.

If he was her prize, she was his pride.

As she stuttered to how she may open a sentence and what best to say, he placed his hand on her lips. He fretted what silence had spoken for so many years; words may under cast living up, to the same eloquence.

The feat having been completed, the spell broke and they found themselves in the same old cave. She had brought him back with her. The person she wanted to introduce to her father, the person she loved, the only person she had ever dreamt of a ‘happily ever after’ with.....

Marquiz couldn’t help but endear her restrained vulnerability; and held out her tiny slippers for her...... The ones she couldn’t have done without in the past, the ones she had forgotten all about now. To her soft smile, he melted feeling like the luckiest man ever to have lived.

And yet again, the same thought crossed his mind,

“Main to mar jaaoo agar sochne lag jaaoo usey

Aur woh kitni sahoolat se mujhe sochti hai

Kitni khush-fahem hai wo shakhs ke har mausam main

Ek naye rukh, nayi soorat se mujhe sochti hai

Main to mehdood se lamho main mila tha us-se

Phir bhi wo kitni wazahat se mujhe sochti hai!”*

*sahoolat- convenience, khush-fahem- optimistic, rukh- face, soorat- form, mehdood- constrained, lamho- moments, wazahat- in a detailed/ meticulous way.

*************THE END************

Credits
Rinaya Jena for tagging me at ‘time travel’

Humsafar- Part 4

2011-02-12T12:04:00.003+05:30

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3

Nysa steadily placed her palm on the surface of the mirror, and whispered his name, ‘Marquiz’. She had said it a hundred times in her head, but as she said it aloud, it sounded outright different to her ears; as if she was hearing it for the first time ever.

But there was little time to ponder over these trivialities, as no sooner had she uttered his name, she was swept away by a strong wind all into a haze of white. As she adjusted to the sudden whirl and subsequent inertia, her eyes took in the blaring whiteness everywhere. It was a land of clouds and mist, where she could see not what lay inches ahead of her, and the floor was a sheet of bland crushed ice. As her feet touched the floor, a tremble reached all through her like raw current.....She tottered and shuffled her feet by this sudden change in temperature.
1, 2, 3, 4 steps. All in the exact same spot.

The gravity of the situation suddenly occurred to her followed by the loss she had incurred in these few moments of abrupt daze. The next few steps Nysa took straight ahead were more calculated, longer strides with a determination in her eyes.
She was going to do it; and she was going to do it right!

10, 11, 12..........38, 39, 40.
As she walked on, her bare feet froze to a point where its nails turned blue followed by a numbness and she couldn’t concentrate on anything anymore.

All she cared now was numbers that jarred and whirled in her head with a steady pace.

54, 55, 56
Her senses were jammed. The cold had overpowered her so much that the perception of numbers was being shut out by the frost bites that gnawed into her little feet like splinters.

71, 72, 73
The pain surpassed anything she had ever felt before. She profusely rubbed her hands and hugged herself to get some respite from the chilly ambience. Fresh tears stung from her eyes with each step she took.
The only thing that kept her going was the thought of his picture.

85, 86, 87
She couldn’t do it any longer. Her legs gave away under her as she fell to the ground and felt all the life and stamina seep out.
88.
Exhausted and cold, yet her eyes searched for his face in the mist.
And she saw the hazy contour of a person.

It was as though a sudden gust of vigour had been infused into her sagging poise. Like a flash of the finish line had been shoved in her face.
She got up with a fresh heartiness and treaded once again towards the now more pronounced figure of a person.

92, 93, 94
She could see his fine-looking face plainly in sight. The chill didn’t bite her any more. The thrill of looking straight at him superseded the numbness and eased the pain.

97, 98
The heart felt the warmth, but the mind didn’t.
It was aware of its depleted immunity....and it gave away as she crumbled, tripped on her dress and fell.

Marquiz bent over to scoop her and she hobbled on the ground as he helped her up.

99? 100? 101?

To be continued.......*the concluding part :o*

Part 5

Humsafar- Part 3

2011-02-08T12:36:00.004+05:30

Part 1
Part 2

The Magi took Nysa to a little cave in the outskirts of the city. In the cave, they descended a little stairway that led to a small stuffy room which was cluttered with lines of ancient curios. And in one dusty corner, there stood a rusted mirror that had been cracked on the edges but held firmly by a solid silver frame.

He touched the edge of the mirror and explained to her what it really was. It didn’t just show a person’s reflection but was the entrance to a parallel world that was years away from their time. In this, lay the residence of Nysa’s knight in shining armour.

Sparkling with excitement, she asked the Magi how she must enter or find Marquiz from among the teeming millions of yesteryear souls. In her mind, the mirror would take her back in time to when they had existed. The Magi though, cut into her thoughts and explained the details of what was needed to be done.

Though a parallel universe, what lay on the other side of the mirror, wasn’t anything like the life she had seen thus far. To get to the person she wanted, it was mandatory to first lay her palm on the surface of the mirror and then call out his name. The mirror would then take her to a land of ice and mist, with no people around. After this, she must take one step for each year she wanted to transverse.....a 100 steps that meant.

There however were two conditions she must fulfil to complete this ploy.
The first one being, she must walk barefoot throughout the journey.
The second and dicier condition though, was in the event she took even one step more than the stipulated 100, she would be returned to the dungeon in the cave without the ability ever to be able to walk again.
At the distance of a hundred feet stood the man she had wished for. If she must complete getting to him without faltering at any of the covenants, he would return with her to her world. THAT was a promise.

Would she stand the test of love risking her own life? Love for a person she had never even met; and knew not whether he felt anything for her at all?

It was only the power of love that could instil or deter her. And the course she took would decide the face of her destiny.

As those conflicting thoughts entered her mind, she took off her little shiny slippers and felt the scorching heat of the floor in the stifling room. This, Nysa realised, was the first time she had ever kept her foot on the bare ground.

Well this was just the beginning.......the beginning of a lot of un-princessy things that lay ahead.

Somewhere in a parallel universe, a once upon a time prince, with the name Marquiz thought to himself,

“Main toh mehdood se lamhon mein mila tha us-se

Phir bhi woh kitni wazahat se mujhe sochti hai!”*

*mehdood- constrained, lamhon- moments, wazahat- in a detailed/meticulous way
To be continued....

Part 4

Humsafar- Part 2

2011-02-07T15:30:00.008+05:30

Here’s the first part in case you missed it :)

What could the dream possibly have meant? Day in and day out, the thought of it dwelled on her mind. She obsessed over it until the possibilities led on to drive her crazy. She imagined his face peering at her from everywhere, she imagined herself talking to him. She blacked out when others spoke to her, only to be lost in his thoughts and smile all day without a reason. She daydreamed of them holding hands and walking through lush fields, laughing together at small silly things; until nothing made sense anymore.
She was incurably falling in a pit of euphoria.....but despite that, she couldn’t confide in anyone.

The king, looking at her restless state, summoned for the kingdom’s Magi to come visit her, in the hope that he may be able to make some sense of his daughter’s now fanatical mood swings.

A man of a portly built; the Magi's persona radiated an aura of mystery. Legend had it that he was recognised for his magical powers and could tell the state of a person’s psyche by taking merely one look at them. A private meeting was arranged for him to be with Nysa.

As she entered the room and sat down, he took one cursory look at her, and bluntly asked, ‘You love him?’
Surprised and unable to contain the bolt from the blue, she almost instantly said a ‘No’.
He raised his hand, looked into her eyes and slowly repeated the same question again.
This time however, she took longer to answer. She pondered over the question. Did she?

The mind had given a firm grounding in the negative of her insane idea of love. However there was another voice that probed her to think it over; to consider her decision just once more. It made her ponder over why then she thought about him all the time, why it gave her so much happiness, why nobody else held any importance when put at par with him. Well, it’s difficult to tell these things with rigidity.

She looked back at the Magi with irresolute eyes, but his calm composure and earnest look led her on to say what she had, in some moments always known, in others unsure, and yet those where she didn't know, didn't believe or was plain confused.
Yes, she loved him. And she said it with conviction.

The Magi looked satisfied with her answer but no sooner had she said that, she poured out all the reasons for it being a nonsensical ‘idea’, her vague dream and the impossibility of it ever coming true. To this he only nodded his head and quoted the relegious text,
‘Love never fails'

She would have to travel long and labour hard to find him. He could only show her the way. The challenge of pursuing it was hers. Travel back a hundred years, strive to earn his love and bring him back. If she managed that, Marquiz was her prize....for keeps.

Thus began Nysa’s journey..... for and into...

To be continued......
Part 3

Humsafar

2011-02-04T16:04:00.003+05:30

Every time Nysa’s father introduced her to a striking gentleman from a royal family, in the hope that she may approve one of the many eligible bachelors presented, her mind raced back to one familiar face.....one familiar name, Marquiz.

Each of the many men she met, were full of graces, achievement and chivalry. They opened doors and pulled chairs for her. Each of them was a cut above the other. But none of them held her gaze. Either an ease of familiarity or a mystique in personality was what lacked. But then she wasn’t quite sure of what she wanted in any case.
Must the heart always wrench for the unattainable?

The only daughter of the king as she was, her father was anxious to find a fitting groom who had the capacity to hold the reins of an empire into whose crafting had taken up his entire life. As each father, poor or rich, he too wanted his daughter to have the best of everything. She was free to choose from any kingdom, any man, irrespective of his class or standing. A princess, she was after all!

She had seen him exactly three years ago, when she accidentally chanced upon a less frequented passage in the castle. He was oddly different. Something that spoke of power in his eyes. Something regal in his posture. Something she was unused to seeing.....Enigma?
As it often happens with an infatuation, his was a face she couldn’t forget for some time. The fact that this ‘some time’ extended for a couple of years was alarming. Even worse was the idea, that she unwittingly took each opportunity she could get, at learning every little detail about him.
His name, his family, his gallantry, his story.

As days passed by and Nysa rejected each alliance that was brought forward, the king started to get more apprehensive. He demanded an explanation but she chose to remain silent. What would she say?

That she had fallen in love with the picture of a man who had died a hundred years ago?

It was so ridiculous to even say it; believing was quite out of question. There had to be a way of forgetting that face.

And then one day she had a dream. She dreamt of him walking towards her. His demeanour was a lot different from the picture. But it was the same person alright. All she could make out was his face in the fog and as he approached closer, she caught the spry in his step, the warmth in his eyes and the most disarming smile she had ever seen.
She held his gaze and walked at an unstrained pace towards him. Suddenly she tripped over her dress....One smooth scoop and he helped her up, holding her hand for a second. The next thing she knew, she woke up with a start.

Now the thing about her dreams was.....They came true.
All of them.

To be continued.........
Part 2

Customer is the dhobi

2011-02-02T13:48:00.003+05:30

You know this is what I have noticed lately. Despite all the hungama of after sales services, six sigma, TQM and other fancy terms used by just about every company on the planet, the scenario in our mummy land at least, is ‘p’ for ‘pathetic’! The minute you give your autograph on the credit card bill and the purchase is made, the company wala’s stage a Ghajini act and remove any trace of remembrance they may have ever had of you.

Now though the tag line of the product may say Life’s Good or guaranteed suraksha or lifetime sukh, the company wala’s do just about everything to ensure they make reaching out to them as difficult if not more, than finding a super stud millionaire boy for a crippled Dalit girl.

Here is what the process looks like.

First you need to contact the company, which means finding the manual that needless to say has done the disappearing act right from the day you bought the gadget.

After an hour of searching, you finally find the required papers, with the customer care contact numbers on it and you punch them on your now less trafficked landline. *there’s no telling how long they will ask you to hold the line, you know*. You are almostttt in the mood to celebrate your success at passing one hurdle when you realise the number is busy.

So you try the other number and that’s unavailable, yet another and that obviously has the operator saying something in Tamil which makes you worried if she is unwell.....the translation two minutes later though, makes you realise that the number doesn't even exist! *Panic alert*

Kya kare, kya karee, kya kareeeeeeeeee

One word- helpline.
After telling your name, address and email id for the one hundredth time, answering ridiculous questions like,
'Do you want it for the branch in your city?' *Nahi ji...I was hoping to get one somewhere around Andromeda*.....followed by turning down seductive offers of real estate in Salem, Hosur, Vaniyambadi and a few other unpronounceable God forsaken places, you hang up waiting for the SMS to show up on your phone.
10 minutes later.

Phew! Now you feel like you’re getting somewhere.
With the frisk of a tired winner you punch this fresh set of numbers, hold your breath for a few seconds in anticipation and Voila!
A pre recorded message plays itself for the millionth time to your burning ears.
After the whole- press one, press two, press star, press hash, press my head ordeal, you reach the music stage.

If you are lucky, you get some soothing Beethoven; if however your shani ka prabhaav is bhaari, then God save you! Cos that would pretty much mean you’re stuck listening to some loud obscene Tamil song for the next 20 minutes.

And thennnnn some gentleman or gentlewoman will take your call and even their coarse voice sounds to you like honey. You go wailing about your problems and what do you get? ‘Sorry madam’, coupled with a transfer to another department. The same raag is played a few times until you get hold of the right person who asks for your product number.
If you have it- good!
If you don’t- Buhahaha!

After quoting something that looks like- DSI#37*74#FH49*0FJS#84U, and a promise of 24 hours main service guy haazir, you feel content.

Now wait for the next 10 days anticipating the shubh kadam of this savior to step your ghar ki dehleez.

When he finally decides that it’s time for muh dikhaai, we the product holders are only too happy to have his august presence amidst us. Situation probably demands breaking a few coconuts, asking for chaai thanda, and all that done, when the real work needs to be sorted, this is what you get-

‘SORRY'
Damn you!

Here are a few real time answers I have received-

LG
*the lousiest service EVER*
Them- Sorry spare parts not available.
Me-HUH!!!!! Now where am I supposed to get them if your company itself doesn't have it?
Them-Try waiting for a few months.
Not even DAYS.....MONTHS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HP
I went to replace the RAM and the guy quoted a price, after which he said if I contacted him outside he would do it for a thousand bucks less.
*!!!!!!!!!!!!!*
....and that too such talk in the service centre premises!
SOMEBODY PLEASE FIRE HIM!

Vodafone
Them- Customer care cannot be reached...Try again later.
For An entire week!
*!!!!*
They even stole 13 rupees from me!
Will never ever everrrr forget that! Paap lagega, paap!!! :(

Eureka Forbes
Them-Spare parts cannot be replaced under AMC.
Me- But the contract says it DOES include spare parts!
Them- Sorry that is a mistake.
Oh yeah?? Mistake?
Finally wrote an email to the company and they set it right that very day!
CHOR LOG!!!!!

Reliance Communications
Me-I broke the teeny meenie antenna. Can you fix it? *sad eyes*
Them- Nope you need to buy a new one.
For 2500 rupees .
*!!!!*
Buhooo! Mumme! :(((((

All of the above have definitely become black listed products for me!! Except Vodafone that is.
Waat to dooo.....it still has internet at 98 bucks a month.
Hee some injustices I guess I can adjust with. *sheepish smile* :)

Average irregular lovers

2010-12-23T17:32:00.004+05:30

This post is written for BLOGESHWAR and Anubhooti

Afternote- I won!! Yayy! :D

They were an ordinary couple. The type who never stood out at any gathering. They didn’t profess their love for each other in an outlandish manner. Mir never bought flowers for her and Heena never lit those fancy scented candles in the house. They kept each other happy with living up to the little that was expected of them. He replenished the basic household requirements; she cooked the meals and helped supervise their cafe.

Running a cafe had always been her dream. The sound of mindless chatter, the jingle of laughter, the echo of expressions that meant different things at each pitch...she often looked at those people and wondered what her voice may have been like. Maybe it would have been the confident orator like; or a little shrill....maybe childish.....and would soon lose herself in a reverie of pleasant dispersed thoughts until someone came round at the counter only to catch her bright 100 watt smile.

A pretty package covers up the product’s inner flaws. Smiling was Heena’s idea of taking the onlookers attention away from her inability to talk....short lived as it may be. The world however had tried to convince her that she was different. Her mother had said she was talented. Mir had told she was special. The one trait however that everyone agreed unfailingly upon was that her eyes could talk.
Could they?

As she and Mir were on their way to the cafe, Heena’s gaze stopped at a dress in the display case of an uptown designer store. Beautiful was an understatement given the task to describe it. Made of white satin and a tinge of lilac that melted with the white, it looked stunning in the display. What only helped was the sunlight that got all the pearls in it to glow ever so much to make it look fitting for an angelic attire. She was spellbound. Suddenly she had the craving to touch the soft gleaming fabric....

And she heard Mir’s voice behind her. ‘Like it?’
Broken from her thoughts, she fiercely nodded a ‘NO’.
He smiled, held her hand and they walked on. The dress stayed on her mind.

That afternoon as Mir left the cafe on his way to the electricity office, he asked the customary, ‘Want me to get something, on the way back?’
She smiled and nodded to mean no.
‘Okie Dokie! How about the dress then’, he said, winked at her and left before she could react.

Really? Would he?
All day long, her thoughts were caught in the same loop.
He doesn't believe in this gift giving ritual.
He may not find the time.
Maybe he was kidding.
Maybe it’s too expensive.
He may not know if it fits me.
But it did look my size.
Would it be in a silver gift wrapped box?
She warned herself not to get carried away.
But her vow didn’t last.
She imagined herself frolicking with the dress in front of the mirror.

As he returned in the evening, she greeted him with expectant eyes and the prettiest smile ever. He smiled back, patted her head and moved towards the kitchen.
There was no package.
No gift.
No surprise.
No dress.
Why hadn’t her eyes spoken? Why didn’t they tell him she wanted it? Why had they failed her? She tried to be extra chirpy and pushed away the thought with her signature smile but it wouldn’t come. Her smile too had deserted her.

An hour later, as she returned from rolling down the blinds, a package sat at the counter table.
Confused, she opened it and there shone back in its finest beauty a white dress. HER white dress.
Attached to it was a card that read, ‘I told you my dear, your eyes speak....Love, Mir’
Her heart danced. She smiled. Her natural lopsided, warm smile.
With zero effort.

Half an hour ago,
As he walked back into the cafe, he scanned to see the strength of the customers and bubbling at the counter was his wife, barely able to contain her excitement, poised with a childish lithe. She seemed different. Cheerful. Expectant. He entered the kitchen and looked back at her to examine the reason for this happiness , but what met him was a sad, dejected face. The sudden change in so little time surprised him. Surely he had done something wrong. But what.
Had he forgotten something? He tried to recollect their last conversation. What did he miss? And he remembered. The dress? Did she want the dress?
He dialled the helpline and got the store number- Unavailable.
He rushed from the back door and ran a mile to the store- Shut.
He turned to leave.
He had tried. She would understand that. He thought of her sad eyes. And he thought of her expression if he got it.
Nope.
He bribed the security guy to let him in, picked the dress from the mannequin, left the money on the counter with a note,

‘Took the white dress....I don’t generally do this, but what can I say....I think my wife kinda liked it.’

Saat samandar paar

2010-12-21T18:14:00.002+05:30

Ok ok not saat....just one maybe....I guess that’s how many samandar’s there are between India and Saudi Arabia..... and yepppp, I’s the going’s the home sweet home’s for the nice month longgg chuttiiiii *read- visa expires...got no choice*

To begin with, I’m one of the world’s worst travellers.....I don’t mean ki I start screaming just before the take off or anything....I mean the overly hyper kinda behaviour where your intestines start sprouting like ActII Popcorn on the inside for the most part and you anticipate all the world’s worst case scenarios...Omigod I lost my passport! Omigod I forgot the ticket at home! Omigod what’s that sound....noooooo puhleeez I don’t want to dieee!!! Yes for real. No kidding there.

Now with all that paranoia you might think I am very careful with the udaan formalities and believe me, I am. But somehow, for some unexplained reason, I have become poster girl for travel related muddles. But I’m learning. Here’s a couple of things I have already learnt from my travels in a span of less than 2 years.

Use those big golden locks with big silver keys on your luggage. Ok ok I’m kidding....but surely no more number lock for me.
It’s like this. I once had an automatic lock on my suitcase.....you know the one where you have a code to remember. Right so far so good. Now the woman at the baggage screening sez she wants to check out all the treasures inside. Ok no problem. So I jingled with the code and set forth to open it. And haila! What happens? The lock wouldn't budge. Panic gong starts yelling.... reaching higher decibels in my head with every second......and in that frantic moment what am I to do? Redo. Redo. Redo. No luck. Ok try from 000 all the way to 999.... thennnn by some stroke of dumb luck the woman (God bless her)....said never mind and allowed me to go (Phew!)...and what am I supposed to say next? Thank you??? Nah! Instead with all the tension in my head this is what I say instead,
‘Are you sure?’
*bheegi billi expression*

Never ever ever everrrrrr carry shampoos
Now you may think why in the world I needed to carry a shampoo in the first place. Allow me to explain. I was going to my naani’s place and pretty much our entire khaandaan was going to show up as well.....so I gave some sound advice to self...I said, ‘Hey Sadiya...where are you going to find the time to shop for a shampoo?...take one from home.’ Thik kiya na ji maine?
But nahi. The bottle BROKE!!!! Into two pieces!!!!! In the suitcase....To make things worse, thanx to the suitcase tagging along with me, I smelt like a shampoo ki dukaan, all the conents of the bag were ruined and the worsttttttesttttt part being, I had to wash the bag when I got home and the ‘jhaag’ filled up the entire bath tub. Also, the high its perfume gave me, went straight into my brain....Neverrrr use the yellow wala Sunsilk mannn! Can't even manufacture strong bottles so what kind of strength is it going to give to my hair???? Socho socho!

Holding an aircraft hostage, can be pretty cool
No, my aircraft wasn’t hijacked. It’s like I forgot my handbag at the security check and given my kamzor yaaddash, I remembered it only 5 seconds before they closed the aircraft door....so I went all....roko rokooo.... chain kheecho kind....after which, what followed was a pretty fun experience.....they took me in this van like vehicle with armed police guys and back at the airport where some responsible folks had already opened my bag, opened my wallet and had my name yelling in the speaker! Whooopieee! I have never felt so like a Miss Popular! And as we got back, I realised the flight had been delayed a good 5 minutes just for meeeeeee. Yayyy! How cool is that! Let me tell you mere liye to generally Auto bhi nahi rukta! :(
The only dampener was the other passengers glaring at me. But hey! Who cares! Ye india hai boss. Chill. Sab chalta hai!
Keeheee :P

Buy dhinchak bags.
Really! And I mean traffic signal types. Now its not that I am color blind or anything, and believe me when I say this.....when I had put my luggage at the check in counter, my bag was black..... I repeat BLACKKKK.....underline underline!!! But then suddenly at the baggage claim it became blue and obviously I didn’t identify it and waited for almostttt half an hour although it was rightttt mere nazro ke saamne!!! Honestly. Some things, you just can’t explain!

Those have been a recollection of my experiences thus far. Wonder how it's going to be this time. Maybe I'll miss my onward flight and then be put up at a fancy hotel and naturally that's where I'll meet my soulmate! *sapno se bhare naina* :o
Let me know if you have any of your own travel bloopers to share.

Shining clean muskaan

2010-12-14T16:07:00.003+05:30

Chamatkaar hui gawaaa! :-)))

Has it been a while since you read some silly, stoopid stuff? Tension mat lo!!!! That’s the precise reason why I maintain a blog. Ab boss demand hai to supply to banta hai na :-)

Ok cut to the topic now. And wo to aap samajh hi gaye honge....what with the gracious and oh-so-expressive pic up there.

After all my mehnat and research, presentinggggg the very hyped and interesting world of......toothbrushes and toothpastes!

Main bataa doo....it took me hours and hours of watching soap operas in waiting for the relevant ads to make an appearance....Ahh Murphy’s Law.....you want an ad to be showcased and it will play the lukka chuppi....then you really want to know what happened with Dolly Bindra palpitating and bang! in the middle of that it chooses to say.... Paaiye total muh ki super clean suraksha. Main kya ji...Thank yeww! :P

And may I tell you the commercials just blew me away. Like totallyyy! Picture this. Two brushes tied together. One to clean your teeth and the other to clean your tongue....So first thing in the morning you force them together in your mouth....I mean is that creative or what! Oh and I almost forgot the ad with two brushes talking to each other and doting over their kid.....yes, that’s right....no spelling mistakes, no typos....toothbrush log ka KID! Mmm how cool!

What’s even better is standing in the middle of a university, a guy all hendsumm in white coat and intellectual type, singles out a sundar shusheel kudi. Now what do you think his opening line would be? ‘How YOU doing!’ or maybe even something thakela like ‘Maine aapko pehle kahi dekha hai!’. Correct na?
Hehe....Oh you poor thing, Soooo wrong!
He will obviously ask her, ‘Kya aapko pata hai aapke muh main kitaanu panap rahe hai??' Like duhh!!! And thennn hold hold....what do you think happens next...she slaps him??? NOOOO! India main naye ho kya?
She allows him to take a scan of her teeth and gets uberly upset at the number of kitaanu...Alelele! Becchaaaar! :-((((

Also, isn’t it amazing that these dental association wala’s have nothing better to do than just keep brushing their teeth all the time in order to tell which one is the best? I mean think about it. So they have a record book with the names of various brushes and pastes. Then they try the first.
Colgate ok 9 on 10.
Pepsodent uhhh 7 on 10.
I hope they checked the Pepsodent brush with the Colgate paste. I mean dude! Science ka sawaal hai.... I am toh very particular about it haa!..... Absolutelyyy precise results hiii mangta hai!

What I don’t understand is, does anyone even listen to these ridiculous ads? Has anyone really tried Colgate with namak??? Bolo bolo! Tell tell!

Just like that!

2010-12-09T20:34:00.002+05:30

Aaj ke liye a simple and non messy post ...cos I am feeling good no yaar!

When was the last time you did something for no reason at all? As in something crazy that didn’t make sense to anyone....not even you?

I have come across millions of people who have a tagline or these days status updates that say.... 'I’m bored’, still more cases that remain ‘eternally bored’ and sometimes even ‘bored of being bored’. And I don’t understand it. Isn’t it weird that there is a whole world out there, so little time to live and yet people should sit and kill their lives sulking?

And then there are these set of people who question everything....even good things.....if a creative idea should ever strike them, they beat it down to pulp with stuff like, Why should I do this? How do I benefit from it? What will happen if I don’t? Maybe I’ll do it later...and tadaaa...the end of what could have, if not changed your life then at least made a memorable moment.

You get what I’m trying to say? Don’t lie. I’m sure you don’t.
Just this. It is my job to make projections and tell people to invest in what’s good for them...to ‘be on the safe side’ and despite that, it flops. People make losses, huge ones at that. All those sciency calculations end up being mere speculations and meet the trashcan. So boss... Basically faida kya hua??? Why do so much planning and mehnat?

I mean why not for a change, just one day maybe.....do what you feel like? Like really really feel like on a sudden impulse? Even if that’s not the smartest thing....What if you tried making a never heard of soup with total no- no ingredients? What if you went to the park and played on the swing whose very existence is threatened by your weight? What if you watched a crappy soap opera and predicted every dialogue before it was actually delivered? Got wet in the rain? Blew bubbles with dishwashing liquid? Picked an old wind chime lying around the house, gift wrapped it *in the most shabby way, I understand...even using used wrapping cover* and gave it to your sibling? Took your bike on a never taken route and then got confused on how to get back home?

I don’t know how it works for everyone but I do know that nobody is ever busy enough not to find time for the stuff they really want to do. And nobody is really lonely unless they feel alone! Even if these things question your sanity or mess up your today, they definitely make great stories to tell to your grand children tomorrow......a lot better than, ‘hey kiddo, as a youngster, I used to be really bored’.....No?

Yep! Pravachan over.....get your blanky and go to sleep now. Until another bright, sunny day......Sadiya ka bubbieee! :-)

Do aur do paanch

2010-12-08T17:32:00.001+05:30

I’ve been meaning to write a book review for a while now, but lately all the books I have been picking, have been one flop after another. So I thought maybe it actually would be a good idea to put down all flops together and make a list of 5 books never to read. Also, before I begin, I’d like you to know that the first three on the list are genuinely terrible and the last two are hugely popular, blockbusters *maha successful hit hit kinda books* that I didn’t like...chances are you will think differently. *long post ahead*

You see all of a sudden I had this craze of reading young Indian authors who wrote light stuff..... the types who don’t give dimaag pe too much stress...Never mind, the process ended up in making me feel more depressed than ever. Here’s a brief look at a few of my terrible encounters so far-

Oh shit, not again- By Mandar Kokate
The title of the book is precisely how I felt on reading this one. Of all the bad books I have read till date, this is the mind- numbing worst. It’s like there is this guy who is sitting at home during vacation....nothing to do, bored to death, so he decides...’Hey, why don’t I write a book! I could talk about my girlfriend and the hot aunty next door’.....Lucky for him, his dad’s a hot shot guy, who gets it published...result being, sirji’s magnum opus makes an appearance on the ‘best- selling’ shelf. Believe me when I say this, the writing is God awful; the plot...Oh there was a plot? Hmm missed it! Damn! I don’t even know how this guy made it to being an author. If he can write, I believe I can win The Nobel Prize! Oh yessss I’m thaaaat annoyed!

The Department of denials- By Anurag Mathur
This one, thankfully I didn’t buy and picked from the library instead. So time is the only thing I lost out on. I had read one other book, ‘Inscrutable Americans’, by the same author which was fairly alright, barring the profanities *which I have a very low tolerance for*...This book was basically my idea of time pass. So what happened? Nothing. Yes, just that. Nothing happened. The book starts with the guy wanting to be the Prime Minister of India. Now is it very wrong on my part to expect him to at least join politics in order to achieve his dream? No na? But nahi ji! From start to end, the author doesn’t know what he wants to say, the protagonist doesn't know what he wants to do. It’s like the guy becomes an engineer, doesn't get a job, uses dad’s influence to get a government job, finds a rich girlfriend, gets married...yalla story over.
What? Who? Where? Bwackkk! You won’t even bother asking all these questions cos you would have been soooo full on pakaaofied by the crassness of the story.

You are here- By Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan
The only extra points this scores over the previous two is, it is written and presented in a relatively better way. The plot however does very little to surpass the lowest possible standards. Actually it’s not even a story....just a ‘dumb’ confused uptown girl with an urban lifestyle. She gets dumped.... To get over him, she falls for another guy.....he fools around for a bit...finally she nails him down and then realises, ‘Oh I don’t need him cos I’m too damn good.’ Whatever!
Lust, lust, lust!.....Sanskaar gaye bhaad main!

There were other books too, like Piece of cake, Of course I Love you...till I find someone better, Almost single, The Zoya Factor, Keep off the grass......all of them huuuge disappointments! This probably explains why Chetan Bhagat sells like hot cakes...cos however he says it, at least there is some quality, some clarity of thought and some basic idea that is trying to be conveyed!

After these series of flops, I decided to go in for some seriously intellectual stuff. Turns out they were just wayyy too good and sophisticated for my little mind to gauge.

The Alchemist- By Paulo Coelho
99.9999% chances are, you have read it and most definitely heard of it.... and before the post mortem I must say the book was pretty awesome.... I can’t even imagine how anyone can come up with stuff like that. The writing, the ideas, the presentation, the size of the book...all hugely impressive. The prologue too I thought was the best that I have ever read!
Despite that, this book finds itself on the not so good books list because, truth to tell, I couldn’t relate with it at any level. The build up was so enormous and sooo many people claimed it to have changed their life that I perceived it to be a little out of the world. And it pretty much fell flat. Frankly speaking, I didn’t quite get what the whole omen ka chakkar was..... I mean....stones fall and that’s an omen...you see a bird and that’s an omen.....if it gets windy...yep that’s right... omen omen.....Sounds fancy....but when you sit back and think about it, it’s like....ok kya bakwaas hai ye!
Also, I’m very literally the materialistic kind and when you say ‘treasure’, I expect bags full of gold....you don’t give me that, and some crappy philosophy instead, I give you the thumbs down :P

The Fountainhead- By Ayn Rand
First of all, I can’t pronounce the name of the author....It all comes out really wrong when I say it....and no that’s not the reason why it’s being showcased *I’m not thattt unreasonable baba*
Yes, the book does have a story... and a very unusual one at that....with glitches of course.
To begin with, the very object of the author I thought was to give the reader a dose of the unexpected...which is most definitely a good thing.....only don’t contradict yourself in parts.
The story of 2 architects, one good one bad, their lives and as a moral of the story- how you are supposed to be free spirited and not care about other people’s opinions.
Peter, who you think is really normal and imperfect...just like you...is likeable but then he goes and murders someone, so you lose the pitch right there. Then there is the other architect, Roarke, idealistic chap who is the good guy....so you think that’s what you are supposed to be like....but midway that too flops when he molests his girlfriend.....I’m sorry but no excuse, no soul- talk, however philosophical, is good enough to justify that! Also, there is a point where he says the problem with people these days is they want to impress, and a couple of pages down, in context to the building he has designed, and I quote, says,
‘If out of those thousands, one stops and sees it (the building)--that’s all I need’,
Make up your mind baba. Fickle, eh? Then there was his girlfriend Dominique, who is supposed to be the heroine.... the epitome of zero achievement, a retard and head weight the size that would bring down the entire Obama government. If I met someone like her, believe me I would slap her!
I read a good 300 pages with this outcome. 400 more? With dialogues like ‘He drank a
great deal of water; the cold, glittering liquid in a clean glass was intoxicating.’
Are you kidding me?
Nah! I decided I couldn’t take it much further. *quits*

Yes, so that has been the summary. Dude all I’m asking is for the book to have an iota of a good story that makes sense and if that’s too difficult, then at least let it be basic interesting!
Phew! Makes me value Pride and Prejudice so much more! :o

Something for you-
-What's the most fun book you’ve ever read.
- Also, if you have read any of the books mentioned above and think differently, lemme know!

Jab main chota baccha tha......

2010-12-06T14:49:00.001+05:30

.....badi sharaarat karta tha.....meri chori pakdi jaatiiiiiii....
Ok c’mon please be serious. As a kiddo na, we (me and my bro) were never allowed to watch much TV so there was this whole craze about it. Also, at the time there wasn’t all this cable thingy and a hundred different channels. There was only one channel....Bahrain Television. That’s it! Either you watch it or you go to sleep.

The only Hindi movies that we ever saw used to be on Wednesday, 8 to 11 pm....and let me tell you they were THE most crappy ones you can imagine.....Weekly back to back runs of Mohra and Aayi Milan ki Bela.....I don’t blame you if you have never heard of them.

If you haven’t yet figured it, then this post is about our TV. You know these days they have all these fancy LCD’s and LED’s and HD’s and what not.....15 years ago....there were no such nakhra’s....We had a TV that looked like a TV. Period. Also it wasn’t like today’s feather light types where you lift them in one hand....No. You needed 2 people to lift it alone, and once deposited in a place, well you wouldn’t consider relocating it for the next 5 years.

Here are a few things that I remember our little candy for-

The first ever English movie I saw- Helen of Troy....I couldn’t understand a single dialogue, let alone the plot.... so my mom and dad had to explain every single line to me. The English seemed so different and they spoke so fast....it was like a whole different language. Sometimes, I still feel that way when I listen to English music. That I understand is a whole different thing.

The first Hindi ad I ever saw....it was during the World Cup 99......a bike commercial....Kawasaki Bajaj...The Unshakeable.....I still remember the entire jingle.....was wonderful and no I won’t sing it, lest I should break your computer screen or something. Ever since, I have louuuved commercials and quote them at the first instance in almost anyyyy conversation!

Then there was this thing where my mom wouldn’t allow us to watch TV during exam time. The TV being in the hall, we living on the ground floor and the curtains always being open, were all perfect reasons to obey her. But nah! Me and my bro weren’t the ‘shareef’ type so we watched when my mom would go out and took turns to keep guard at the window. Then my bro would almost alwayyys get so engrossed that he'd miss the car coming in and mom would find out...after which we would be in for a round of sound trashing.....This happened like a hundred times....all the time his fault....and every time we made a stronger vow to be more vigilant in future....Course that never happened.

Instead something better happened. The TV was moved out to my brother’s room. Yayyy!

The first time I ever got full on senti....and not the sob sob wala....not even the trying to escape mom’s anger drama buhoo type wala....but the real wa wa wa kind....and what for you may ask....It was a movie... Ellen Foster, the story of an orphan. I remember I hugged my mom first thing...... For the record; I have never even done such a thing on her birthday or Mother’s Day or any other significant occasion for that matter.

There were also some other really memorable things like my brother making me watch wrestling to a point where I could tell the names of all the wrestlers by heart.....the part where we would watch Hera Pheri with Maggi every single day cos that was the only video cassette we had. Till date it remains the movie I have watched most number of times.
Watching The Tenth Kingdom, a day before my Board exam.......almosttt having a guilt attack and then scoring fab marks in it....so every time anyone asks me how to get good marks, I always suggest watching a movie before the D day!

Our little candy still remains, but then now there is the new, stronger and handsome looking competition it faces...so this has become the ‘Old T.V.’....and everyone at home is rather reluctant to watch it.

I know all of these are silly things.....don’t count for changing my life in any way....but they sure built a whole lot of memories and form a large part of my childhood *hope I’m not sounding ancient*.......all that said, if my parents were to junk it someday, I’d surely miss it! *weird thing to say, I know*, but that’s the way it is. :-)

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Kya adaa, kya jalwe tere Rajni!

2010-12-04T00:00:00.003+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 17; the seventeenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

You know the mystery that has been haunting me for a while now?....Ok off course there is this tiny little thing about why a car must be named ‘Punto’....I mean why would anyone want to call a car that? What may have been the inspiration behind it? Nah nah don’t worry. That’s not what I want to talk about. What I reallyyyy.....like really really dil se would like to share.....is the baap’s baap of all mysteries *arey baap’s baap means daadaji, you dodo*.....*and you thought ki Sadiya is using swear words....Shame on you!*....... Haa so like I was saying....THE mystery of all mysteries.....Thalaivar Rajnikanth! Dudewa what’s the deal!! Why is everyone so in louuve with him? Chakkar kya hai?

I mean have you ever wondered what must be working behind a lungi clad guy’s mind to climb a longgggg ladder....almostttt risk his life!......wo bhi with a milk ki thaili, over the surface of a hoarding, take a scissor, cut the thaili, then wash the Thalaivar ka foto shoto with it? Doesn’t make sense na?

And this nail biting question had been treading on my mind for a while....no no....please don’t think I am some gawaar ladki who doesn’t know anything about his macho herogiri and therefore underrate his greatness. Na ji na! Main bata doo....I have seen two entire movies gracing his hairat-angez performance.

The first was Bulandi....yes yes, the same one where Rekha ji lagaao’s the thumka’s with the Anil Kapoor ji.....nope baccha log, don’t close your eyes..... I will not go into any further details about them....and then there is the Anil Kapoor ji’s daddy who is also Anil Kapoor and then there is HIS daddy......haaaaaaaaa he is our man....daadaji....see see....kaha tha na maine!......ok so his screen presence here was all about ghumaaoing his dupatta.....fishcao fishcao.... with some really cool sound effects and yeah... that’s about it....That was my first encounter with THE man! But at the time I thought him to be a ....*shudder*......loser. Yesss! Judge saab mujhe maaf kar do! Just so you know, before writing this post, I too tried ghumaaoing my dupatta like that...Uhh Umm.....so my hands got caught in between.....but hey man, I ain’t no superstar....or starlet or whatever else you call it, so that should explain our differences.

The second episode was when I saw Endhiran......Kya? You don’t know Endhiran? Paglaayi gaye ho kaa! I reckon you better go and check your passport to make sure you are an Indian....but do that later....first read this...For the uninitiated, it’s the Tamil version of Robot. Ahhh so you get it now! Chalo ji better late than never!

And after all the hype, together with Facebook timelines flooded with the same video going gaga over.... Haiii look at his modesty, ooh so humble, so down to earth...so blah blah blah.... I thought...ok I too mustttt watch it!.... and wo bhi in Tamil. Now let me tell you.....my Tamil is soooo good, soooo good, ki even 24 karat Tamilians don’t understand it...you get what that means right? Haan ji! And I insisted we watch it on the first day itself...How can it be bad? Arey bhaai it’s a Rajnikanth movie!

Its only after this grand experience that I was able to unfold the mystery behind his name te fame te success te star status te hor ki dassa!....And now I’m going to pass on this first-hand gyaan to youuu.....Tan tadan!!!.......dil thaam ke baithiye! Here goes-

As we waded through the janta outside the theatre, I realised there were two classes of people....the one with tickets as in the ‘aristocrats’, and the ticketless as in the poor ‘commons’ a.k.a. wannabe aristocrats...oh yea....we were the E.L.I.T.E.!....... Offers poured in to switch over, from our opponents, imploring us to join their clan by selling our souls for a wowwiee 1000 bucks! But nah! We clung onto our tickets and zoom seeee dived into the theatre.

And that oh boy was something! Everyone had pretty much gone crazy. And it’s when you see so many people cheering, screaming and yelling, you start to wonder.....Why am I not behaving like this? Is something really wrong with me? So we joined in too. Just to keep up the spirit. Course we assumed this would end as the movie began. Huh!

As the movie started, the yelling just got louder.....and I thought, don’t worry....5 minutes and it will be fine.
5 minutes....10 minutes.....Half an hour.....Intermission..... Nope nope....the surprising thing is, nobody even got tired.....forget the fact that you can’t hear anything, everyone jumps around so much that you can’t even SEE anything! Oh btw I stuck it out through the entire movie. Whatay fun!...Most people after the movie said they would come watch it again, so they could actually get what happened. OHHHHH!

Yep so that’s the whole truth...everyone pretty much watches it again and again n again...the first time to celebrate their hero’s comeback, the second time to see him act, the third time to understand the story and then if they have pocket money and time left, then possibly to notice Jr. Mrs. Bachchan’s presence. So there! Meantime- Movie hit hit!

So much for the whole ‘suspense’ thingy! Aaho ji time waste kar ditta mera! And don’t you worry; I will get to the bottom of the ‘Punto’ mystery as well....Next Blog-a-ton maybe. :-)
Alternatively, if you happen to have a theory of your own, drop it in as part of your feedback.

Sionara!

Door ho jaao meri nazro se!

2010-12-02T17:33:00.001+05:30

Dramatic title na? Don’t worry. It doesn’t have any relevance to the post. Ae-wai doing time-pass....which also is the reason for this post. Today I am going to distribute all the gyaan that I have gathered over the last few months as part of my shopping expeditions. Presentingggg for your kind perusal, the 5 yuckiestttt (in)edible products that super markets have doled out in recent history. Why? Arey baba so you don’t end up wasting your precious money on it naaa!!! Thank you aur sab you can tell me later.

Ok so here are my more than few words of wisdom....*bows*

Kurkure Green Chutney Rajasthani Style- Have you seen those cartoons where the kitten eats something and smoke starts to come from both ears? Yeah that’s exactly what will happen if you try this. It’s like the taste is soooo sharp that it will cut through all your senses and you feel the irresistible urge to cough, sneeze and throw up all at the same time....yes buddy...thaaatttt bakwaas! Btw general knowledge ke liye, there recently were even tall cases of plastic wires being found in Kurkure packs.....don’t intend to defame their company....ok somewhat close to that maybe....Arey bhaai its because I care for my reader’s health!!! Kintu parantuuu I haven’t verified this so in case the company wala’s are reading then...Sorry hai ji...Menu maaf kari....Please don’t sue me :-(

Cadbury Bournvita 5 Star Magic- First of all let me tell you..... Cadbury (Dairy milk)= good, Bournvita= good, 5 star= so- so......but ‘nature and science ka aadhunik mishran’ all put together.....Bwackkk!!!
Believe me I am not exaggerating when I say this but it really really looks like mud and tastes just as awful....And no, I haven’t tasted mud....I knew you would be thinking that wonlyyy!
Plusss, correct me if I’m wrong but doesn’t Fiama Di Wills shampoo ad also say nature and science ki khoobiyan???? So does that mean we can use them interchangeably? Dekhaa!!! I told you they are messing with us poor consumers!

Smart chips- Yes this is the second chips on the list and I don’t blame you if you think I am some real fatso who goes munch- munch all day....not totally wrong anyway....Haa so coming to the point...Why do I have a problem with it? Actually I don’t. It’s just that this isn’t chips in the first place. The Aamir Khan dude can go full on galaa phaad ke about ‘You will need it’ triple xl sized t-shirts but calling it ‘baked’ over ‘fried’ and then giving us the sleek version of Monaco biscuits really doesn’t cut it baba!

Pepsi Cafe- chino- *Sounds like some Chinese drink no?* Actually am not really sure if it even exists in the market anymore but when it did, I remember we served it at a party and one sip down, everyone simply returned their glasses....Bole to fullto flop! And course there was the catchy Kareena and Priyanka commercial but unfortunately in the entire product that was the only good thing....ad was hot.....drink was thanda.
Not like thanda thanda wala thanda but the other wala thanda....Emm know what I mean?

Bru Ice Cappuccino- Now here’s the thing..... Since you are reading this blog, I assume you aren’t a robot and by virtue of being human, have taken an injection at least once in your life....No?...Now do you remember the awful smelling medicine thingy they put on your arm after taking the blood test? Yes, that’s precisely what this one smells like.....So I can only leave to your imagination what it may taste like. Wanna try? ;)

Rito aaj ke liye itna hi...ab Iodex maliye and kaam pe chaliye *yeahhh why do I keep doing this?* Anyway, a question for you before we part, does anyone know what happened to the mint flavoured Hide and Seek biscuits???? Was numm numm...bought one packet and the next time I went to the store, they were completely wiped out of the shelves!! *sad eyes* :-(

Love, 'Old- fashioned', eh?

2010-12-01T17:11:00.001+05:30

The other day I caught this debate on ‘We the People’...yeah yeah wahi Barkha Dutt wala show....which was based on live- in relationships and the hullabaloo over the new laws....well more than the theme, what got my attention was this certain term used by a person, who said, “I believe in ‘Old- fashioned’ love.”

You know sometimes, people use expressions so frequently that you get used to hearing them, you barely notice it and then suddenly one day, it goes knock knock, kaun hai on your head and you think.....'Uhh...Ok...What?' I mean isn’t it strange to tag love into two categories of old and new ‘fashion’? Worse, term it like it’s a fad or in vogue for a season! Turns out, I went in for writing an exam and by the time I came out, I was left behind by a whole fashion era!

So if I am to make sense of it, then the ‘old fashioned’ wala’s are the ones who believe in all these filmy stories and fairytales of happily ever after and the ‘lateshtt fashion’ wala’s are the ones who progress with time, prioritize between ‘stuff’ and ‘relationships’ and focus on being practical and realistic. Correct na?

I have a problem with that!

And yes, I understand that nobody could care lesser, but I still wish to say it. Aren’t relationships becoming more of a chutki main chipkaao arrangement?.....A doesn’t work....move to B...to C to wherever. Uh- Oh you don’t know? Honey, that’s fashion!
Whatever happened to honour and commitment???

What’s with all this drama of first endorsing a live- in and then going gaga over your rights? If the whole idea was to retain independence then where does the question of pinning down responsibility come in? Looks like nobody really wants to say it, but the object is merely to back out when the situation gets sticky. And as relates to the terminology used in law...You can actually indulge and we are playing spoilers by merely saying it??

More so, the laws in my opinion together with the law makers seem like they are doing it all for the sake of projection ‘Oh yeah look at us...We are so modern!’.... I mean does it take an insane amount of intelligence to be able to tell right from wrong? If marriage is a ‘holy bond’, then how righteous is it to call ourselves above God? Do we really know better than him? I don’t think so!

I don’t think it’s a ‘to each his own’ concept anymore...it’s a little more damage than that....I don’t think it’s wrong if children expect normal parents who have a little more shred of substance to their relationship than ‘we live together’.

Yes, I can be disappointingly serious sometimes and I don’t apologise to anyone who wishes to hold contrary views on the subject!

It’s a guy thing!

2010-11-18T19:07:00.008+05:30

No, no this isn't going to be a feminist write up where I will trash the ladka log.......just an attempt at stating their hatkey-ness.

Up and counting please. Presentingggg all the weirdness about guys that I don't get......at all....at any level...and in anyyy circumstance!

Disclaimer- This is a sole observation of the guy folk around me and does not generalise, so kripya don't be offended. (Blah! Not really...sab aise hi hai :P)

Okies starting haa ab-

What's their obsession with hair?- Mosttt of them I know just stand in front of the mirror and keep doing something something to it. Chalo no problem....but then at the end of that 'something' wouldn't it be justified for the hairstyle to look at leasttt 1% different? But na ji na! It looks exactlyyy the same! And when that doesn't work, they try stuff like hair gel (Oooh those 'Set Wet' commercials!).....Here's how it appears in my vision.......door se it looks like you have used uttam quality ka coconut oil.....and when you touch it, it's sooooooooooo sticky! Yikes! How can people put this stuff in their hair? Or maybe my fashion sense is not good. (Yaba daba doo. Nah! Can't be that!)

Driving is all about manhood- Seriously did you know this? If you want to take revenge on your ex, this is the sure shot way to get it done. Tell him his driving sucks.....My guess is, that will leave him scarred for life.....Ok maybe that's a bit too much....but then so is this emotion....Every guy thinks he is the best driver in the world.....And nope it doesn't end there. He also deep down thinks that all women drivers are the biggest bane to traffic etiquette....if there is a traffic jam and a woman is the cause, you can mostttt certainly catch them rolling their eyes. Course, if the jam is due to them, then that's just cos they got plain old 'unlucky'. Men!

Asking for directions is the cheapesttt thing to do. Someone put it in their head ki if you ask for directions, then that means you're actually saying.......I'm so dumb...I have no life.....I can't even find the road by myself....I want to die with shame.....Why else would it be so much of a problem? And when the ladki log offer to help, this is what we get 'Shhh! Will you please be quiet!' Is that rude, or is that rude!

And what's the deal with ringing the door bell so many times? From my brother to the sabzi wala to the postman.....bas no patience at all baba! They just ring and ring and ring until you think you might go crazy or deaf. Why is it so difficult to understand that if someone ain't getting the door, its cos they might be in the middle of something important? In the washroom? On the phone?? Kitchen on fire??? Arey bhaai kuch bhi ho sakta hai na!

Another thing is their obsession with news. And course I too believe it's important. But kitna?? All day long??? I remember when I was a kid, my dad would watch soooo much news that I grew up thinking it's the only thing that comes on TV and became wary of the idiot box itself!

Everything is sexy. If you accidentally find yourself in the middle of a place with too many guys, that is one word you're going to have to get used to....cos besides, girls.........there's cars, bikes.....once at a friendly cricket match I even heard people cheering 'sexy shot' for a sixer scored.......My reaction- ???? Uhh usme 'sexy' kya tha? No I didn't say that! Mad or what!

Lack of shopping skills. When you go to a shop to buy something, you are obviously going to check out all the stuff available and pick the best. Makes sense? Now if you don't like anything, you will come out empty handed. Ok na? But nahi. If the salesman has taken trouble to show it to you then the guys ka manual says that you mustttt buy something! Anything really. Toothpick bhi chalegi. Main poochti hoo why? Isn't showing stuff his job? What's soooo embarrassing about not buying anything?? Free main to nahi de raha na????? But no. To them it's apparently oh so I'm- not-coming-with –you-next- time-ishhhhhhh.

Then there is a lot more like this whole ritual of never washing clothes, being over protective of your behna like someone is just waiting to kidnap her.....could go on..... but I suppose enough said.

And course, the point in question, what do they want?
Putting it in one of my fevretesttt Aastha tv pravachanist's....Sri Sri Seinfeld-eshwar Baba ka words,

"Women know what men want, men know what men want, what do we want? We want women, that's it! It's the only thing we know for sure, it really is: we want women. How do we get them? Oh, we don't know 'bout that, we don't know. The next step after that, we have NO idea. This is why you see men honking car-horns, yelling from construction sites. These are the best ideas we've had so far.. The car-horn-honk, Is that a beauty? Have you seen men doing this? What is this? The man is in the car, the woman walks by the front of the car, he honks. This man is out of ideas. I mean what is he expecting? For the woman to stop and say "Hey you honked at me .. Ahhhh that's so sweet .. I never knew you felt this way!

The amazing thing is, that we still get women, don't we. Men, I mean, men are with women. You see men with women. How are men getting women, many people wonder. Let me tell you a little bit about our organization. Where ever women are, we have a man working on the situation right now. Now, he may not be our best man, OK, we have a lot of areas to cover, but someone from our staff is on the scene. That's why, I think, men get frustrated, when we see women reading articles, like: "Where to meet men?". We're here, we are everywhere. We're honking our horns to serve you better! "

Hee. Jai ho!

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largest community of Indian Bloggers at BlogAdda.com

Celebrations

2010-11-07T00:01:00.001+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 16; the sixteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Helloww! Exams on the loose for poor Sadiya starting from Monday, and considering the only celebration I need to be focusing on right now is the alarm clock being able to wake me up in good time, I haven’t really been able to put anything together this BATOM.
However, a friend so kindly accepted to hold the fort amidst the flurry. This here is his short take on the topic...

Presentinggg....tan tadannn..... AZHER, who will take it from here and throw a little laalten ki roshni...
------------------------
Here goes.....

Well its Diwali season and yet another reason to celebrate. We in India need a celebration for everything... Keeping aside the traditional and cultural vacations, we have holidays for the birth of every important person... oh yes, not to forget the national holidays, extra long lunch hours on days when cricket matches are played (a century, a wicket, a victory....just about anything runs the mile), and counting in the weekends it seems that we work for a little over half an entire year!! Not only are we investing a lot of time in these celebrations but also spending a decent amount of money...Course we already have it soaked in us well enough that money doesn't grow on trees and in India money can’t even be drilled or mined... think for a while how much we spend on celebrations and what if we spent the same amount in charity.... We could probably feed a million hungry children each festival!! And there's even more to it ...emotion, devotion, pollution...corruption...to traffic diversion every "tion" follows...

But like every issue there's another side to the coin..!! We in our materialistic lives are too busy to think about the unfortunate many, who spend their lives to aid survival... And if I weren’t away from India, I wouldn’t have given it a thought either... Here in the pardes we know a world of weekend outings...Sailing, trekking, camping and what not... But how about the poor Indian government employee who tries to stretch his wallet to suffice his family needs? There's no weekend for many professions in India nor any sense of proper recreation...All we know in India are festivals where all get a chance to celebrate....when everybody keeps their misery aside for a day, disguise their tears with a smile and proudly share their culture...it may seem exuberant and extravagant at times, but we Indians know how to celebrate life despite the severe hardships we face ...

And as these contrasting thoughts cross my mind, I lay back humming a tune...

"Kahin deep jale kahin dil..
Zara dekh le aakar parwaane,
Teri kaunsi hai manzil..
Kahin deep jale kahin dil......... "

The fellow Blog-a-Tonics who took part in this Blog-a-Ton and links to their respective posts can be checked here. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

What goes around, comes around!

2010-10-25T14:21:00.004+05:30

With the manhoos CA exams lurching and doing the Bharatanatyam like nritya on my head, I did the most sane thing expected from me....opened all my 20 kilo books, arranged them in a hap hazard way on the floor around me, sat at the center of all this storehouse of gyaan, wore my specs and made a thorough drama queen array of oh-look-at-me-I’m-so-busy-studying kinda pose.....My aunt almostttt nearly had a minor shockk.....considering that was the basic idea anyway....I mean you know cos I’m on study leave and having a girl in the house makes you the perfect target for all household chores....so this was my strategy at avoiding it...and it worked.... yes thaankuuu....*bows*

However the bottom line remains that study I must, especially considering the lukkha CA exam wala’s who only want an opportunity to show me thumbs down in front of all my khaandaan. Yes, that’s the truth...I study onlyyyy cos else, mumma will give me a grand firing, and that too over the phone. Arey bhaai it's uncool!

Right so started haa....with the magnificent subject “Financial Reporting”....tan tadannn....nah don’t scratch your head (and certainly don’t use Clinic All Clear either...they say it leads to hair fall...Dove hi best hai ji...and Livon conditioner...the maroon wala.... smells gorgeous). Ok ok, so like I was saying financial reporting is this fancy term they give for ‘Accounts’...to scare our poor fluttering soul into taking short gasps.....but no, we don't give them the satisfaction....nope nope! not just yet!

Enter Non- Profit Organisations.
Now here’s the thing-

This was a topic I had right from school...matlab class XI...so you may think I am pro at it by now....but then nah not reallyyy...you see there was this Rajni ma’am (Accounts teacher then) ka guarantee, that it would come as a choice question for our exams...and so I conveniently omitted it.
And it didn’t ccome....Yayyy....ye to hona hi tha!...and that’s when you start to get this over smart kind of feeling...the one that makes you think....I know exactly what to, and how much to study.... and you want to mock all those girls who do their homework every day and study all topics under a ‘just in case’ category....SOOO DUMB you think!

But then there is this thing called fate.

Same topic made a second appearance in B.Com......at a more advanced level that is, but then there is the ego...no wayyy....I didn’t study it then, and I won’t study it now! And course there was all the other baby stuff in the syllabus which formed a strong backing and I got off easy. Besides, the question didn’t even come in the exam! Second time- Yipee! :-)

Third appearance
CA Foundation.....yes, would you believe it...I skipped the chapter yet again....in my defense- it was reallyyyy boring....but then this time, the question did come in the exam....for 20 marks and I was blankkkk....in fact I didn’t even know how to draw the columns and what side does income and expense come....but just cos it is called as the ‘Income and Expenditure Account’ , I figured income on the left and expenditure on the right. And after that, I obviously copied most of the items from the question ditto...like how difficult is it?...Money come- income, Money go- expense.....Easy!
Phew! Lucky me- I didn’t flunk!

CA Inter- No Non- Profit Organisation bakwaas----Yayayaya!!!! Finally good sense prevailed....was such a stoopid topic anyway!

CA Final- first chapter- Non- Profit Organisation Amalgamations, Absorptions, Holding rights, yaada yaada yaada.....
HAYO RABBA! What is this!!!!! Mummyyy! Turns out, this time it is at a super hi- fi level.....and I thought....Ok yaar relax...don’t panic...tried reading the content.....went directttt sar ke upar se.....opened my loft and picked the almost still shining cover wala B.Com book......searched the chapter and read it.....Ahhhh didn’t understand anything.....Then?......Opened the loft yet again.....the big black bag with dusty old once upon a time school books....and there...Class XI- Financial Accounting......after which I read every page of it, solved all the numericals as well! Buhooo!

Hmm what was it...kaal kare so aaj kar? Damn damn damn!!! Self invited problems- thy name is Sadiya! :-(

Guzaarish- Reviewed

2010-10-21T15:51:00.004+05:30

In case you were wondering, I ain’t on a crazy spree of doing reviews, but this here is what I typed for my magazine. And now that we are on the subject, any contribution from your end, as in articles or just plain suggestions, are welcome. Feel free to let me know in the comments section. Magazine circulation is limited to 100 copies so you are not likely to get famous and no, I won’t be paying you for it.
Hee! Thanx all the same!

The real matter now-

Nope nope. The movie hasn’t yet released and I too think piracy is a crime...unless of course you get the DVD real cheap and no one finds out....releasing on 19th November, this here is an advance review of the movie.....yaba daba dooo.....just cos I love you guys so much and can’t stand to see you gaze with starry eyes in anticipation! Besides, current reviews are all over the papers anyway. So here we both know, this is where you saw it first!

Yet another magnum opus from our very own Bhansali Ji. You know why I chose to review this one, of all the happening chatakdaar line up’s this Diwali? Because it is art at its very best! Yeah the one that normal people like me don’t understand. And despite my shallow understanding, I genuinely appreciate it *especially modern art, cos I think I can do it just as well as anyone else. Only thing is I’m stuck here typing this review, else millions were just a splurge of paint away. Or so I like to think* .Truth is, somehow, pitch dark visuals, cast talking in hand movements for the most part, and for the other few remains, dramatic dialogues in just above a whisper, inspires me no end! *eyes fluttering*

In the words of Hrthik Roshan, “Guzaarish changed my life”.....I hope it doesn’t change our life too; and make us a demented suicidal lot. Let me tell you, after We are Family and Nakshatra, our jhelofying capacity has gone up a good deal!

Yes the review- what appears at face value as the colored version of Saawariya, *yes the movie where there was a girl, a guy, a bridge and umm umm..... oh right, that’s it*. So in this one, there is the usual black and white and just so we don’t get bored, ladies and gentlemennnnn, there is also some jhataakk RED! Yepp this movie is actually, *according to our 'vishesh' sources (read- Wikipedia)*..... an ‘inspired’ adaptation of the Hollywood movie ‘The Sea Inside’.... Story of a once upon a time magician who injures himself when performing a magic trick and thereby landing himself on a wheelchair as a paraplegic for life. Events revolve around his life, his protégée and nurse.....and how he instils in them a will to live with a purpose....simultaneously fighting for his right to commit suicide. Oh that doesn’t make sense??
Buhaha! What did you expect?

The star cast with Hrithik Roshan and Aishwarya Rai in the lead seem to share an awesome chemistry.....with Hrithik nodding his head in every possible direction a head can bend; and Aishwarya playing an over-enthu and slightly mad sort of woman, washing his hair, brushing his teeth, polishing his shoes, swatting flies on his nose....you get the drift right? Also, there is Aditya Roy Kapoor who umm well has a lot of hair on his head and hobs around to learn the magician’s tricks and do Hrithik baba ka naam roshan.

Music scorecard offers a free opera like experience and there also is the inevitable number where Hrithik needs to prove yet again what an incredibly rubber band like dancer he is. Aishwarya goes twirling in circles a few hundred times for no apparent reason.

Yes that should be all...screenplay, direction, choreography..... everything is going to be flawless (Does anyone really care?)....also it would do you good if you expected a couple of really long curtains, elaborate sets, huge chandeliers and a stage.

Star rating *because it’s fashionable to do so*- None really!
What was it? Hum zamaane se nahi, zamaana hum se hai jaani! *Ok honestly, I wanted to put one, but didn’t know how to type a star*

If you end up watching the movie and think differently about it, you can choose to punish me by sending a free ticket so I get a chance to relive your torture! Ting tingg tidinggg! :-)

Confessions of a Couch Potato

2010-10-12T19:54:00.005+05:30

If you take me in your team, you will lose. Period.

Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, there was a school that was genuinely famous for only 2 sports.... Kho- Kho and Throw-ball. And there was an average so so-ish girl...who for the sake of everyone’s convenience was a princess....as in me, your heroine. This is the story of her accolades in the sporting arena *Oh the things I get to do on my blog!! Balle balle!*

Kho- kho to begin with, is this game that the gaaoo ki gori’s play.....Oh don’t get this wrong..... our school girls gave it a whole new definition......there were girls who were actually kho- kho legends and played ‘pole tactics’ that would put global athletes to shame.....at least that’s how it appeared to me then.

Putting my self-obsessed foot forward, since MY kaarnaama’s in print is what is needed for a contest.....my take on the game was very simple. I thought it to be a piece of cake. You run, you catch. Easy!
Huh! Shock laga laga!!! For the first (and last) time I participated..... not only did I not succeed in catching a single girl, I also lost us our semi final match and no, I didn’t really care much about that....not because I’m mean (thoda thoda only), but because the sudden sitting and standing exercise all at once had made me so immobile, that I couldn’t even climb the staircase properly.....actually needed a friend to hold my hand as I climbed down one step at a time.....so much for kho kho.....and I told myself....Chahh.....dumb game....and what sort of a name is ‘kho kho’ anyway!

And then there was throw ball......which I gave a hand at too....but all my strength mustered together didn’t send the ball a few inches away from where I stood.....now imagine how desperate the team must have been to put someone like me on board....and then something terrible happened....the opponent team’s Mohamed Ali equivalent screamed “one-luv” and tossed the ball ye ghumaikeyyyyy..... next thing I knew, the ball jammed into my nose and I was on the floor.....course everyone was really nice to me then, with all the, ‘Are you ok dear’ kind of attention, but Alas! They put forth to me in the nicest way, that I needn’t be playing for them anymore. Buhooo!

Thennn to salvage the last shred of grace I had left in me, I cheered for them....but then whoever I cheered for, invariably messed up.
And that’s when my ex- team mates figured the divine sanket of bhagwaan.....That my presence is jinxed, and hence they sent me on to cheer for the opposition. Opposition lost! Muhahaha!!!!!!

There were other things I tried too......badminton, table tennis.....all the feathers of the shuttle cork came off after which my mumma refused to buy me another one and as with table tennis, well let’s just say I didn’t quite get the hang of how the service thingy is done. The only thing however, that I did do a good job, and mind you, even won a gold medal for, was The Grand Needle and Thread Race. Now that’s the sort of thing Olympics should be made of.

Despite my terrible success rate, till date I try my hand at a couple of sports that seem attractive and have minimal chances of me rendering irrevocable damage to myself or other players.....for instance two tappa (bounce) cricket with my brother and the other colony wala baccha log (it’s my fevretesttt sport of all time)...and I don’t want to brag, but I think I’m pretty good at it......after getting two chances of batting (cos I’m a girl!! Like duh!!).....I almost score as high as 20 runs on a bright sunny morning.....if that’s not talent, dude I’d like to know what is!

It’s too bad that my boss pays me so poorly and I can’t afford to go to Delhi, else I just may have won two or three medals for myself. Ahh well! Might as well just settle for watching IPL on SET Max with my big bag of Lay’s.......Sirjiii it’s dillogical!

Credits
Blogadda
Myntra.com

Everything is fair in Love and War?

2010-10-01T23:57:00.006+05:30

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 15; the fifteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

Zaid walked on what had once been the railway tracks of the Al- Hadithah station. Now they were sodden planks of wood that were trodden upon only by vagabonds. It was a deserted station with no trains. Unchecked public transport was too risky for a place like Iraq. He climbed the ledge towards a crumbling building. This was one of the few structures that had been spared by raw American militant gun power. What was the use of snapping down a dead place anyway?

The militants were wrong. This was what formed the meeting place of the Ansar Political Party.

Numerous difficulties in life had made Zaid strong. But his strength had caved in when it came to saving his own mother. He had needed money to save her. This unfortunately was a land where you either had ancestral farms or worked for the Americans against your own people. There were no other jobs. It was a crime to dream, and foolishness to ever imagine a business would flourish. In his helplessness he had been hired by the political party of the district to run errands. But the pay wasn’t enough for his mother’s medication. He knew she was sinking and the best he could do was get her to the hospital with advanced facilities in Baghdad. In her last days, he had asked for a loan. That was a mistake.

The party leader had agreed to give him the money in return for a small favor. It was to keep a package in his custody until a man named Nayeef Asad collected it from him. One condition. No questions were to be asked. He knew deep down there was something forbidden about it. But this wasn’t quite the time to think or argue. At the time, he had no other choice. He agreed. The parcel was handed to Nayeef. He now had the money with him. But his mother did not live to see it. His only pillar of strength was gone.

He didn’t need the money any more. The reason for his struggle was over and there was nothing else to do but return it. He hated the sight of it. And there he was again. At the station building, to meet the party leader as he had done once before. He stood outside and overheard two men talking-

“Oh give it time Ali. Once the bomb Nayeef plants burns down a militant tank with a few of their soldiers, the Americans will be like a pack of wolves. They will kill every living person in sight. We will show footage of civilians being killed to the media, and before you know it, an uprising will begin. The world will throw these American jerks out and offer power to the one that promises peace. US!” he jeered.

For the first time, Zaid cried. He had saved the tears at his mother’s funeral. But this time the guilt shook him like nothing ever before. People were going to die. And he was instrumental. He had to stop it.

………………………………………………………………

Yashfeen waved back at her husband. She had been married for a year and they were expecting their first child anytime now. Being brought up in Jordan, she was initially terrified of a life that was war prone. But love had made the imminent threat seem small in contrast. She had pleaded a million times with Haamid, her husband, to move away to another country. However he had always waved it away by telling her the same thing. “How can one leave one’s own country? We are all in this world for a stipulated time and nobody will live a second longer or shorter. Besides, here we have our family, our land. What will I do in another country? Would you want to deprive our children of what rightfully belongs to them?” She couldn’t reason with that and had to settle for this life. She was happy, no doubt.......but there was an insecurity. A nagging feeling like everything was a dream and might snap away in a split second.

No, this wasn’t the time to think sad things. She had to be happy. For her child. For Haamid who loved her so dearly. As he left to meet his father, he kissed her forehead and said, ‘You are glowing, my dear!’ She blushed and waved him goodbye.

…………………………………………………………………………….

Zaid quietly walked out of the building, onto the abandoned platform as he tried to make sense of what he had just heard. He had to find Nayeef and stop him from planting the bomb. The pouring rain blinded him, but he walked on. He tried to recollect the conversation Nayeef had had with one of his men the other day…..of plans to leave for Haqlaniyah.

He begged the occupants of a car to take him to Haqlaniyah and they agreed. There still remained the problem of locating Nayeef.

………………………………………………............................................

As Yashfeen got on with her daily chores, she heard a loud explosion that sent the house in vibrations. The worst was going to happen. Something in her head and heart knew it. She ran downstairs in an attempt to reach her in-laws who lived next door and almost immediately caught a glimpse in the window, of militants breaking open their house and firing at the entire household. She ran towards the house for what may have been too late to save anything.

Three minutes is what it took……and there was silence again.

………………………………………………...........................................

As they neared the city’s outer limits, Zaid noticed a military tank that had been blown up on the road……..and a little away, a house that was now partially up in flames. He ran towards the burning house and could hear the faint screams of a woman. And he rushed inside to salvage what he could. What he saw shook his very soul. Smoke and blood everywhere. The bodies of helpless women and innocent children stared at him. The sight made him want to throw up and his head ached uncontrollably. But the woman’s screams kept him moving.

That’s when he saw her. She wreathed in pain and anguish. Her eyes were filled with tears and the pain was excruciating. In that moment she wasn’t sure she wanted to live at all.

He lifted her out of the burning house and she let go of her consciousness. With no vehicle in sight, he walked on until they reached a hospital. It was already crowded with casualties from surrounding areas and there was no electricity.

Zaid pleaded with the staff to take the woman in and finally a doctor yielded. The whole day was a blur. He couldn’t find forgiveness in his own eyes. And he did what his mother had told was best. He prayed.

After eight hours, the doctor conveyed him tidings of a baby girl. He was taken to see the baby and the mother. As he sat at the edge of the stool and held the baby, an unbearable sense of guilt flooded him. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He had left this kid without a father and widowed a woman. He looked at the woman in deep sleep and an overwhelimg emotion tore him apart.
He wanted to protect her. To bring back what was lost. To make everything ok for her. And he made a vow.

He didn’t know if he could ever ease her pain and fill her sad eyes with just a smile. He didn’t know if he could ever make her want to live again. He didn’t know if he could ever get her to forgive him, much less accept him. And most importantly, he didn’t know if he could ever get her to love again, much less love him.

And she opened her eyes. He didn’t even know what he was going to say. But try he must!

Note- Although the story is fictitious, the incidents related are true as what took place at the Battle of Al- Hadithah, Iraq, in 2005 where over 400 civilians lost their lives purely due to instigation of American troops by internal political parties for their selfish motives. It's a shame!
Life is a gift....If only people knew how to value it!

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Credits

Image - Alston Station by Wandering Soul

Courtesy - http://www.deviantart.com/ via http://www.blogaton.in/

Anjaana Anjaani- Reviewed

2010-09-30T19:53:00.001+05:30

Hehe! Got you again! You thought I am from The Thubai or The Amreeka and saw it before hand. No, no???

So jisse pehle you find your emotions played with, lemme tell you I haven’t seen it. This, as has been done before, is just another of my advance reviews….you know....so we can check that we have both seen the same trailers and interpreted it correctly…..or something like that….however you like to think of it that is........

Know what the problem with movies aaj kal is? They give away too much in the promos leaving very little scope for surprises. That basically means you end up shelling a minimum of 250 bucks (inclusive of snacks and parking), to watch a rubber band version of what you had already seen on MTV a hundred times. If you watch 9XM then that’s probably two hundred times…official sponsors as they are.

Right right…the review….So this is what happens…the anjaana ladka meets the anjaani ladki (Am I smart or what!)
Haa so when they meet…girl acts pricy, guy acts flirty….become the boyfriend and the gulphrend......all well till they get stuck together…..on a road trip. Old school romance follows. If two people must fall in love, they have to be sent on a trip. Somehow no other formula works better. Also, if the heroine must run, it should be on a bridge alone. Running on stairs or normal streets with traffic is just too down market. Plus a heart wrenching number in the background is mandatory. Cheese! Films are so filmy!

Anyway so they annoy each other initially, then an hour down they find those exact same annoying things cute after which, predictably may I add, looouuvve ho gaya! Enter problems…...as in... ummm can’t say cos I need to leave someee suspense for you na *read- I dunno. Haven’t figured the reason yet*.…hence the classic dialogue….. ‘tum anjaane hi ache the’ and they part ways. Ranbir’s dil tootofies, he goes gaga over Pinky ji. She, in what seems like a wedding dress goes running running full speed main to meet him. Finally project milaap takes place and happy ending. Tadaaa! Get up from your seat and proceed to the exit door thank you. And throw all your kachra in the trashcan please. I am very particular about it haa.

On the whole there is absolutely nothing that stands out about the movie or the stars. Ranbir looks alright (he always does), Priyanka in my opinion looks better with tresses…. Aalishaaa song was the first and last time she got a thumbs up from me. This time round, she’s not beautiful, not pretty…cuteish maybe.

As for the music, my fevrett was Tumse hi Tumse which gets an above average score. I Feel Good seems well picturized and as for rest of them, they didn’t really catch on very well with me. And yes, contrary to majority opinion, I didn’t like Hairat at all!!

All in all, fullto time pass movie, a little out of tide due to the Ayodhya thingy delay. Considering the only competitors in sight are Jhoota hi Sahi and Robot, looks like this one’s going to be a riding success*.
*Tamil Nadu not included cos of Rajnikanth mania…..more on that on another bright sunny day. Till then toodles!

Bas karo......band karo!

2010-09-30T16:38:00.000+05:30

Pak gayi. Thak gayi….Here’s a countdown of the current tamaasha’s grabbing spotlight...all doled into one post.

1- Commonwealth games- The event by itself is a ten day ordeal but attention over its detailing seems to have stretched for what seems like over a year now. So people ate up a lot of money from it. Hello we are Indians? We live in joint families and get paid peanuts! That’s why getting a government job is considered so cool in the first place......Did we not know this simple fact? Why are we so ‘bhaunchakka’? The public reaction and dismay seems as though we just lost Rahul Gandhi to a Kenyan bride! Main poochti hoo why should we take the blame of doing a shoddy job? We are a third world country and if the phorener log are unaware of that, then they are just plain ignorant and stoopid! Not our fault that they didn’t have our kind of CBSE education now, is it?

2- Munni badnaam hui- Tune into any music station, any music channel, any time of the day and there it is. Even zandu balm and chaini chaini commercials have not been spared. Yes Malaika hot hot, thank you very much but being a girl it becomes rather difficult to appreciate this form of emm…art! And I have a question. Why is jhandu spelt as zandu anyway? Is it supposed to sound more sophisticated like that?

3- Facebook Likes- When FB timelines are not flooded with CWG updates, it is with stuff like-:

- I love my mom (Oh yeah?)

- I want to talk to you but I don’t want to call you. (Fine! Apne phone ko paani main dubaa do!)

- All these ‘likes’ are starting to tell my whole life story (You think so? Then freaking STOP now!!!)

If that’s not enough, there are even quizzes that get bizarre by the micro second! ‘What do moles on your body mean’. KYA?? Allow me to explain. Hate to say this jaani, but they sadly mean that you must be umm... pretty UGLY!

4- Ayodhya bhaai log- I do believe that justice must be served but at what cost is the question. For a country that can vote hands down for someone like Varun Gandhi, it’s pretty evident that religion is still an emotional matter for some gawaar log. To an everyday mango person, I doubt it has any utility, but for fear of another riot erupting that could burn lives and public money, good or bad, frankly I don’t think we need it. And thanx to this hungaama I missed out on watching Anjaana Anjaani too....Life’s unfair! :-(

5- Doing the “fraandsheeps”- Too much of anything can get rather annoying. So goes for this word. In my opinion the word ‘friendship’ seems to have evaporated from our dictionaries! Everyone uses the new desi version and worse, each one of them finds it unique and hilarious.....The next time I hear someone saying it, I just might pull every single hair on their head and say... “Arey don’t mind baba. After all we are fraands no!”

6- And the last straw, Karan Johar movies- Aaaahh! Bachaao! First Kurbaan, now We Are Family. For every good movie that comes from his production house, it’s followed by two mind numbing torturous penalties. We are Family is just about the movie that may want you to disown your family and go into sanyaas. My take- Kajol was a good actress. Really good. Then this terrible thing happened...she grew old! DEAL WITH IT! Music score card- all time low! Next time round, puhleezzz cut us some slack.

Insaaf bhi andhaa hota hai??

2010-09-29T19:51:00.002+05:30

They say when in doubt, Google it. *Me thinks, when in doubt about what to write, Rakhi Sawant it!*

The lasteshttt news and views have been raving about her new reality show....Rakhi ka Insaaf! Whatever happened to the show where she was supposed to appear as Mother Mary? Oh ok ok....she may not have suited the role. Duh! Anyway. In her own words she says, "Mujhe kanooni daav pech nahi aate, I just know how to think from my heart”.

Ok first of all, what is this whole chakkar of thinking from the heart? Blame it on NCERT if you like, but they did a pretty good job of drilling into us that heart is the organ that pumps blood alone. Andd Wikipedia seems to confirm that for me.

All along there was this Bollywood mumbo jumbo of ‘apne dil ki suno aur phir sab thik ho jayega’.....I mean how is listening to your heartbeat going to solve a problem? Yet another doubt, how can you put your ear to your heart? Physically that is not quite possible! Course you could run a couple of staircases, be out of breath and thennn listen to it. Then again wouldn’t you be too tired? And what if in the middle of this technologically advanced science of problem solving, you relax and can’t hear it anymore? Wouldn’t that leave the problem piecemeal solved? Then what do you do? Run again?

But folks, all that is passé. Miss Rakhi has broken all boundaries and taken it to a whole new level I say. Gone are the days of listening to monotonous dhak-dhak’s; the woman seems to have mastered the art of thinking from the heart! So now superheroes like Spiderman and Krishh can move over and give way to ‘Maatey’. Isn’t this cool? And unlike other superheroes, she doesn’t even need something to cover her face with! If you didn’t notice in the Swayamvar season, it’s her trademark......to press her own forehead with her hand while ‘sharing’ her dukh dard with us, the eternally sympathetic janta. *Manoj Kumar type*

Now as we mere mortals are busy raking our brains for exams and other petty stuff, lawyers are busy mugging sections and case laws, this madam can just come around, think from her heart and sab jhamela solved! Tadaa! How convenient!

And she also claims to understand people’s problems better as she is an ‘aam ladki’ and an ‘aam ghar ki beti’......*me thinks another Mayawati in the making*. Whatever happened to aam ghar ki beti ke sanskaar? Since when did it become synonymous with item girls, cum drama queens, cum deserting your parents?

Course it only remains to be seen the extent of good that comes of this new naatak. My expectations don’t surge over drunk people beating their wives and Miss Rakhi, ‘solving’ that by wailing away stories of the classic ‘Maine bhi life main bohot dard sahey hai’. Or maybe Dimpy and Rahul ki Jodi can make good clients for her. Still better, she can hire the Emotional Atyachar team to rope in a few more ‘troubled’ souls who are in need of her ‘guidance’!

As her mumma dearest pointed out in Bigg Boss triteeya, ‘Hey Prabhu! Rakhi ko aasees do’

Of Cruises and Sair Sapaata's

2010-09-14T23:23:00.001+05:30

I have seen loads of pretty pictures of cruises and liners.....you know those million lights in them and a glossy catalogue that does a show- off business of –Hey look we have a Jacuzzi- Oh we have a dance floor too.... nanana.....Oh bataana hi bhool gaye an upper deck cum five star hotel type rooms cum every kind of cuisine cum global passengers...and then like a statement of pity on our poor pathetic desi lives it will quote......hmm....*sigh*...Why don’t you join us?

*I mean attitude kisko bata raha hai huh?*...Ok truth is I probably wouldn’t be able to afford them (not to mention it’s a complete waste of time), but then again there is this whole bhankas theory of ‘It’s all about the experience deekra’...so I decided to go for it. I mean the more affordable and short-cut version of a cruise (that is based on time management mantra).....if you still didn’t get it....I mean I went to Apollo Bandar and took the boat/ship or *I don’t really know what it was cos it seemed middle sized and nobody around looked educated enough to go all gaga over dimensions* from Gateway of India to the Ajanta caves.

To begin with, we took our seats on the fancy upper deck (after paying 10 roopyaa zyada for better ‘bhew’ ke liye)....and the majestic thing (like I said I dunno what it was) set sail...course there were the firangi’s who took a million pictures of the Taj (the hotel, dodo) and referred to a number of handbooks and read and pointed and posed and what not. Btw did you know theTaj is actually built ulta? As in the front side peeche and vice versa? Anddd hold on... the architect even committed suicide because of this emm error....I say how disgusting yaar!....Jaan deni hi thi to wife ke liye deta no? Ek building ke peeche?? Plus nobody can even tell the difference!...As you can already see my general knowledge from the trip stands visibly enhanced.

Coming back to the ‘cruise’, once we were steering through the not so clear waters, 10 minutes down and it started to drizzle...which is actually a good thing...I mean I can totally handle it....nice weather and all....and I must say the firangi’s were very well equipped for the rain. There was this lady who actually had a raincoat made of polythene! Yep this is where you heard it first. When we gareeb Indians are busy typing blog posts, these hard working phoreners are busy cutting polythene to match the size of their neck and hands. How cool! We never even thought of it...this is probably why we still are a developing country!

And now from phorener ben’s, over to the baba log...Yes I’m serious there was a baba too...all dressed up in saffron and rosary’s...anyway this guy wasn’t the regular baba, he was a high maintenance baba. How do I know? Easy! Cos all the time it was raining, there was this poor chap holding an umbrella for him (and simultaneously getting drenched)....anddd the baba was busy talking to another babu who didn’t have an umbrella but had to pretend like it was all ok. Sad no!

Oh yes the trip....one facet that I had completely overlooked was that a cruise actually meant water all around you and absolutely nothing else in the way.....Now I know there are people who feel the serenity and peace emanate from within themselves when one with nature .....

But blah! To be in the middle of soooo much nature is really not my thing....And then the worst happened...I got bored!! Same ‘bhew’!! Same rusted looking *humongous fatso type* ships. Same murky looking water ....Anddd I got hungry too!...*they didn’t have anything on board the ‘La Bombhay’ cos else I would have munched and happily forgotten everything*...And it started raining bullets so we had to come onto the ‘lower deck’ *10 bucks bhi wasted*.....needless to say everything went downhill from there.

After an hour and half, we reached ‘The caves’....Doubt. Didn’t they find any better place to put sculptures than inside a mountain, in a dark cave, bang in the middle of an ocean? I mean pardon me for questioning hundred year old frailties, but in my opinion that really is pretty dumb! I honestly fail to see what is soo romenteeekkk about the place. Apparently I don’t have any kind of taste for these ornate looking uhh ‘things’ ...so rather than be stuck in a dungeon ...uhh cave...and get claustrophobic, definitely better to get back.....

Another two hours of...... ‘Oh look itna water!! ..so serene...mmm bliss!’....and my friend got a bit sea sick (yeah my friends aren’t nature lovers either....birds of a feather?), after which we finallyyyy got back on land.....But that wasn’t without the ‘La Bombhay’ jerking me on shore with a whole lot of keechad uchaalna on my poor dress. (Surf Excel contributing too, by being ineffective in removing the stain, and thereby proving ki daag itneee bhi ache nahi hai.)

I loved it! Why? Cos this experience has been sohoooo good that I will probably never everrrr everrr dream of going by any mode of transport that take’s the aquatic route.....as for the money I was planning to save for a Titanic look alike...well I’m just going to have to blow it in the mall now! Ahh well! I think I’ll survive! :)