Friday, September 29, 2006
Shoshthhee, Shaptami, Ashtami, Nabami, Dashami...
Durga Puja came yesterday, with mahashoshthhee, and I trekked all the way to Santa Cruz, to visit the Ramkrishna Mission puja, like I did last year. RK is eminently preferable to the traffic and human snarls of the bigger pujas at Lokhandwalla and Vashi, and I convinced Aristera to come along with me. The funny part was, I kinda forgot the precise location of the place, so I called up my mum in Calcutta, who knew exactly where it was!
The puja itself was quaint as usual. Felt very weird, assuming the role of Expert on Bong Myths, holding forth to Aristera, explaining the concept of Mahaloya and 'baaper-baari', etc. Cutesy stuff. Even attempted a kind of synopsis of the battle with Mahishashur, but Aristera looked bored at this point, so I stopped short. He was quite shocked when I suggested that we sit down in the hall there and gupshup - "One sits and prays here!" - so then, I had to explain how Durga Puja for Bongs is more Community Catching-up time, rather than Fervent Worship time.
As we headed out, though, Aristera realised that somebody had nicked his new Nike floaters. Ahem, ahem... serves us right for not depositing them with the shoe-keepers. Aristera put on an affected air, proclaimed it was all part of his 'boraat' (fate), that the goddess had taken 'dokkhhinaa' (offering to the deity) from him, and then we retreated for a hoity toity dinner at the Lokhandwalla O! Calcutta -
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Finally got tired of having people tell me I look old and seventy-five in my glasses, and decided I need a new pair. A pal told me, rimless was in. The storekeeper however said, they were not advisable for guys with high power like me. So then, the next suggestion came: try chunky with loads of colour. A colleague asked me to try something like her black-and-orange ones. Though I admit I used the same scheme for this blog, I balked at wearing the Livinghigh combo atop my nose. But I did like the idea of 'chunky'. So I went along with her.
Tried on the blues and the greens and the reds and even the yellows. Loads of greys and blacks fringed with colour. Discarded the metal ones, cuz they scar one's nose. Finally alighted on one.
The perfect one. Retro look. Very posh, very in. In dual shades of black and silver, black sticks with silver criss-cross patterns. Me like very much. ;-)
And , of course, my customary Impulse Buy: have been lusting after one of these over-sized babies for a loooong time.
Sunday, September 24, 2006
Calorific Value of a Sunday
Lazy Sunday morning and I've got a terrible headache (engendered by a terrible cold) and a terrible hangover (engendered by a terribly great party last night). Potent combination. But I grinned through tandoori chicken and mutton khichda this morning because food, after all, is what we live for, and I hogged through the kulfi-falooda and the gelato that came after that as well. O, well, gelato at least is supposed to be 94% fat-free.
Note to self: must stop counting calories.
Larger note to self: Are ya kiddin' yerself, moron?! Have ya looked at the mirror lately?!
Schizophrenic brain battles between the bulge and the beautiful, even as the papers go haywire on the topic of Spanish models not allowed to be stick-thin anymore. They say, it's all about propagating the right values. So, you wouldn't want your daughter/ son to look like a dead tree, about ready to collapse from its own (negligible) weight. But then, you also wouldn't like him/ her to look like the typical obese American. Move over McDonalds and KFC, Hello 94% fat-free gelato. At least, that's what Mumbai seems to say.
... cuz the truth is: there's no such thing as low-fat Indian food. Was at the Hilton recently on an event and, as usual, I hogged on the potatoes and the paneer and the kaali dal and the chicken and the mutton and the chocolate mousse and the rabdi, and during the pigfest, I turned towards a colleague and wondered aloud, how much weight I'd gained after getting this job.
That's when the imbecile puts on a worried face and says, "Actually, I've lost weight after getting this job." Aaaa well, what does he know ? - silly flunky who jumps around when orders are barked at him - he's supposed to get stressed out and lose weight.
I just realised, I sound like a horrible human being in the last para. Looks like I'm not losing my touch after all! ;-)
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Hurtling through traffic this morning on the way to the Hilton, Nariman Point. Was supposed to pick a client up at 8. 15 am for an interview, and I woke up at 7.39 am, so you can understand my panic. The little yellow-and-black cab is shaking on all four wheels, but my cabbie is a gem - silent and strong and forceful on the pedal, as I like my cabbies to be.
As we take the turn behind Azad Maidan, he twists around in his seat, and says: "Sir, today you came very early in the morning, na? Your regular driver, Patel, hadn't arrived yet."
I mumble something, a grin as well - it feels heartening to know that taxi drivers stalk my moves when I leave my buiilding. I didn't even know I had a 'regular' driver.
He continues: "You must be a in big rush, eh? I see you leave every day in the morning. You know this area well, eh? I'm not very sure about the hotel you mentioned - I know there's a big hotel in Nariman Point - don't know it's name, though."
Yes, yes, I'm in a rush, yes I come to this area regularly, I reply in my broken shards of Hindi.
That spurs him on further: "So, you look like you're from UP - are you from Lucknow, sir?"
Having never been mistaken for an UPite before - though I've had my share of being labelled Marwari, Bangalorean, Konkani, Tamil, even Sri Lankan - I decide to take it in my stride, and hasten to inform him that I hail from good ole Calcutta - whereupon he doesn't have much to say.
Until - "Your regular driver, Patel, is from Kanpur."
Monday, September 18, 2006
Meals for One
Some people just can't eat alone. As simple as that. The old flatmate was quite a terror at it. As soon as lunch time would come calling, he would amble over to the cubbyhole where I used to sit and suggest lunch - even if I'd already eaten. Just come and sit there, na, he would whine, and I would usually agree - cuz I'm nice and sweet and yadayadayada. ;-) Living with the gyaaneshwar has been an experience, in more ways than one!
Cut to present time - current Flatmate buzzes me on the phone this afternoon: Where are you? Still at Phoneix?
Nopes, I'm in town, I reply, what's up?
Naaa - I was wondering if you could have them pack this great dish I had at this restaurant there and bring it home - I really wanna eat it, but don't wanna go there by myself.
Ummmm.... why not?
So flatmate pouts and professes that for all her splendid views on the sacred feminine, she's quite chauvnistic in these matters and still feels that women going to eat at fancy restaurants are branded 'pathetic'.
But what about when men do it? I ask, smirking to myself.
No problem there at all, she declares, and I can't help hiding the smirk. I'm a chauvnist myself, and make no bones about it.
But one thing I do do all the time is eat alone. Especially for lunch. At the Fort, there are just too many alternatives for lunchtime, and you can't always depend on your boss or colleagues to share your gastronomic tastes - so the best thing to do at times is go solo. Egg bhurji from the roadside, Parsi food at Cafe Military, plain old Bhaji Pav, Fish thali at Gomantak, Chaats at Pujabi Halwaii, and so many others that I've stumbled onto.
Diet? What diet? *innocent face*
Saturday, September 16, 2006
Tee To Tall?
Had a thought this morning: maybe I should rechristen this blog The PR Diaries. But then, I gave the thought up on two counts, primarily: 1/ I'm going to get bored with that after a while, and 2/ I'm liable to be fired if I write some of the really juicy stuff. So, since I value my Rs XXk a month paycheque, I'll stick to snippets here and there.
Like the do last night. A social thingy, organised for jittery clients. (Most of the clients are jittery - otherwise they wouldn't be clients.) And as I was talking about it later on the phone with a friend, the comment I got was: "Your job involves so much of entertainment and partying that it's no wonder your diet is off track! There's just too much fun in your life!"
To this, I retorted, "What entertainment? Where are the exotic dancers then? Just a bunch of stodgy old men around!"
"I can be an exotic dancer for the right price!" came the reply, and I burst out laughing.
But when I thought about it later, some of it made sense. Especially as far as my socialising habits are concerned. This morning, a co-worker asked me how drunk I got at the do last night, and I realised that I never drink more than a glass at these shindigs (an Archie Andrews word!) - at the most, maybe two. That manifests itself even when I go out partying with friends: I would much prefer a great dinner at a great restaurant, rather than go boozing at a hot pub. When another co-worker bemoans the fact that he hasn't had any liquor in two weeks, I don't really identify with his need for booze. It's all ho hum for me, and no longer any hic hic hurrahs!
Yes, and everyone thanks for your appreciation of the new blog skin. I really like this one, even though its soooooooooo orangeeeyyyyy! ;-)
Sunday, September 10, 2006
So I got tagged by Ma'amselle Chamique here, and that means I expose the sillier part of my existance... ummm.. of the many silly parts therein, I mean. This is by far, the funnest me-me I've done, by the way. Everybody's supposed to upload some silly pic of him/herself on their blog.
So, ahem ahem....
Actually, maybe I should make that one the title picture of this blog - lol. "Live high and dance like Travolta, my son, and you will prosper....!"
Exhibit no. 2 below is what I like to call the 'pimp photo'. Taken just before going out to a party - and yes, at the very last moment, I got sensible and ditched the shirt! ;-)
... Which brings us to the last one - Gangsta Wannabe Snap. Self-explanatory, actually. I thought, either 'gangsta snap' or wannabe Moulinrouge hustler. ;-)
Who's tagged? Everyone who commented in the earlier post - Xara and Mizfit. And anyone else who reads this blog and would like to have a few laughs! ;-)
Wednesday, September 06, 2006
Blowing My Nose
Strange how it's been such a long time, and Himess-bhai still rules the charts! I remember, how on the Goa trip, wherever we went, we could hear that nasal voice of his everywhere - bus, breakfast, beach shack, shop shack, nightclub, hotel. Aaarrrgghh!
It reminds me of that silly song he wrote (which has quite a catchy tune, mind you!): 24-7, I think of you...!!!
So my dance classes should start soon. Am really looking forward to this. Have been completely fascinated with ballroom dancing since forever, and I finally decided to take the plunge. Of course, it also helps that the wallet size has increased a bit, allowing me to indulge in my little whim. I'm planning to join a pokey li'l outfit called Farida's School of Ballroom Dancing, and I have noooo idea what Farida looks like, whether she's old or young, a women or a she-man. Ok, that last part was silly and gruesome. Betcha, Farida would not like to read this blog post ever as a testimonial to her school. Eeks.
Talking about gruesome, I have a horrid cold, and that's why I'm to be excused for all this bunkum here. Head feels like there's a chainsaw in there, aching to get out. And that explains also why I saw this horrendous movie called My Super Ex Girlfriend. Yeee-yikes! Uma Thurman is scary - but not as scary as the numbskull Luke Wilson who plays the (if you can call it that) lead. Of course, I died laughing during the crappy movie, but everyone knows I have no taste in movies. ;-)
Monday, September 04, 2006
Sitting up way past my bedtime, surfing through blogs and filling up my application essay. There's a song from some Hindi movie I don't recognize playing in the background on my computer. Kylie was crooning earlier, but now that's over.
The concept of Space. I never had much use for it earlier, except as far as it concerned my own. Learning slowly that space and love are both two-way streets. How strange that so many people think I'm the happy-go-lucky creature 90% most of the time. People fall in love sometimes because of that, people worry about uncertain futures sometimes because of that. I can't really comment much on this - what should I say? Just because I'm the happy sort, that means I never take anything seriously? Balderdash. I'm venting here. Strange, because I thought I already did it face to face.