A waste of time.

 

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix…

Please don’t blame me for buying pirated DVD’s as I see no point to spend my hard earned money going to a theatre (unless I am 100% sure the movie is worth it). Its one thing to take your chances to go to a cinema hall and come out amused with the film or just be a little careful like me to buy DVD’s.

Now the point of discussion being well… Mr. Potter. Reading the book is living the fantasy for at least a whole week. Being a Potter, fan I have always read the book before the movie is released. I did the same this time around as well. My expectations from this movie were much more than the previous ones. As they say “looks are deceptive” and I fell prey to looks of the fifth movie. Alas and alak.

I went to the DVD store very excited like a young girl going to get her first pink bicycle. My heart was racing and telling me over and over to brace myself and what I yearn shall soon be mine. Rather Potter-esque, if you ask me! Blushing as pink as a piglet, I bounced into the shop. My DVD supplier, Mr. Scribbler had called them prior to my arrival, had assured me that the DVD is indeed available. As I made a dash to the only zone of entertainment in Bangalore (for the two of us, anyway!), I was greeted with rolling eyes and I could sense their exasperation as they handed over the DVD to me. For a moment, I was ready to run home to the DVD player but I had a thought. I needed to check the quality of this saucer. So I did, and happy with the print, I paid the man. As he wrapped it in a seal king bag, a little boy came to the shop. As suspected, he saw my DVD being handed over to me. My sinister self hoped it would be the last one! I raised my eyebrows to him sympathetically. But these guys always have their “stock”. But then the adult in me thought, “let him enjoy the movie”.

As I walked home (or glided home) with my seal king bag and the goody inside, I was already in my fantasy world, thinking to myself that the promos looked so real just like the book just like I know just like read. The clouds thickened over my heads and it got darker and the breeze had turned into a gushing wind. I was in the moment, just like Harry as the world grew darker around me… well, it got cloudy, you see! My hair was being teased and tossed by the wind. I have arrived… but this time, I arrived closer to my building, closer to the contraption that would transmit the rays and turn it into an image, a movie I waited for during my entire 30^th year.

I reached home to find “He who must know” that I love no one but Harry in my fantasy world… Mr. Scribbler. There he was standing and smiling at me like a father would beam to see his child holding her first bicycle. The DVD was ready to be played…

Do I write more? Do you want more melodrama? I think not, because I wonder how much of emotional drama can one go through for just one movie which can finish your fantasy world in two-and-a-half hours. Slained, murdered, killed… killed my joy of watching a movie made of a book. A book, that is fabulous, that I lose myself to in a world of fantasy… Harry’s world! Though his world is dark, it seems so real. A world, where I can understand his pains of growing up, his fight against the Dark Lord.

David Yates has murdered the book, chopped important chapters like Ron and Hermione getting elected as the school prefect. The Occlumency classes with Professor Snape were shot abruptly to put it mildly. And where was Firenze, the new Divination teacher? The part about Harry, Fred and George serving detention with Dolores Umbridge while missing out on Quidditch while Ron tries out for the team… And where was Rita Skeeter, the annoying journalist from The Daily Prophet. No mention of The Quibbler either. I can go and on about where my stomach did a somersault and triple flips. The ending is so bizarre that I don’t even remember Voldemort’s soul entering Harry’s body in the book.

Mr. Scribbler and I were left wondering where and what on earth was J.K. Rowling thinking if the script was passed on to her for approval. I say, shame on these directors and screenplay writers for killing the joy of watching a movie with such an eye for detail. Rather, the lack of any detail. I now solemnly declare I will not ever be excited about any forth coming movies of Harry Potter. I rather read than watch a movie with such abrupt begins and endings.

P.S: Looking forward to get my copy of the seventh book soon. Any free copies are welcome!

In the name of God!

On 24^th November 2004 my father gave my hand in marriage to Mr. Scribbler. It was a typical Maharashtrian wedding with all the rituals performed to the tee, which was held in Pune. Mr. Scribbler’s parents are staunch believers in God compared to my upbringing as almost an Atheist. The ceremony was followed by more Pujas at home, outside home and a short trip to the Tuljadevi Mandir which is situated somewhere outside Pune, it’s about 5 – 6 hours drive from Pune. We were to take a trip to Tirupathi as Balaji is the “Kuldevat” of his family. I wonder how they were associated with Balaji… maybe Mr. Scribblers forefathers belonged to the south or something.

Anyway, after all this was done, we got back to the daily grind of work and such. We couldn’t go to Tirupathi for almost about 2 ½ years, as it was bit difficult with our work schedule clashing with the trip to seek blessings of Lord Ventakeshwara.

Its was when we moved to Bangalore we planned a trip to Tirupathi as it was closer plus I had stopped working and Mr. Scribbler had quit his job to start on his own. His parents were to visit us and decided we all as a family will go to Balaji. We made our bookings in advance. All geared up, we went to the pick up point and as usual the bus was late by half hour. Once we climbed and all settled in our respective seats we experienced our first glimpse of a Telegu/Tamil/Kannada (can never really be sure!) “Masala movie”. Mother & son batting eyelashes at each other (in the movie; it was almost incestuous and uncomfortable to watch) followed by some usual song & dance, flashbacks, fight scenes and more eyelash batting. Sick. Luckily, the sidekick of the bus driver decided to turn off the movie and we could hear sighs of relief from most the passengers.

We reached Tirupathi around 2 am and were asked to descend to get our Darshan ‘tickets’ and submit some fingerprints and “Ladoo Prasad coupons”. Once we were out of the booking office we got back into the bus. It was another hour later that we discovered that the travel agent had forgotten to book the hotel as he kept us waiting for almost two hours in the bus. Three hours lost and just two more to go before we had to get into line at the Mandir to avoid the rush. They sorted it out anyways. Sort of… We were all taken to the rest house and were asked to be back once freshened up in 1 hours time. And so we did. They first took us to Padmavati Temple and later to Balaji Temple.

The bus ride up to the temple was breathtaking. The roads are in amazing condition and so are the flower beddings along the way, which are placed in the middle on the road dividers. We reached around 8.30 in the morning. It was my first time to Tirupathi. I had visions in my mind how and what the temple would be like and the long queue. My. Mother had once told me that they line you up in cage like passages and it can get little claustrophobic. But what the heck I was here and I will have to do whatever it takes to get a glimpse of the God.

Have you ever wondered why this temple is one of the richest in the world? My guess is it starts from basic facility for example keeping your shoes in a safe place which costs you ten rupees per pair. Then one has to pay Rs. 30/- per electronic appliances like mobile phones and camera for safeguarding them. Hmm! We managed to smuggle ours in and save some good money.

Well, all said and done, all our footwear and a camera were deposited with the care takers of the God. We walked for about half hour to reach the gates of Balaji. To my horror, just like my mother had described it caged and narrow passages. I trembled for a few seconds and took a deep breath and began to walk. For all the luck we had it wasn’t crowded as it generally is. We reached the temple in two hours. We walk in the narrow passages and to narrower corridors which opened up to huge halls divided in three halls with chairs as we passed through those halls we realised that there were TV units where they relay the Puja on the screens when the temple gets to crowded so that people can sit and watch the Puja being performed. After passing through many of these caged passages we reach on to a bridge that connects to the entrance of the temple. On this bridge, as we entered, we could hear faintly people chanting Gopala – Gopala. As we moved closer It felt as if you were in a discotheque or a rave party where the DJ, in this case the leader of group chanted loudly in a rhythm after him and the party goers were grooving on this one. At first it felt scary, and then groovy and later, I especially was in a trance like all the devotees.

I was got back to my sense when I was pushed hard by one of them and started my walk towards the temple. Many believe that one needs to take the hard and rough road to attain blessings of The Almighty. I, for one, was convinced. But a certain part of me felt it could be a bit easier if I weren’t jostled around and pushed as much. During this time, I went through a narrow passage with now over a thousand people forcing themselves to move ahead I thought I would faint. I was gasping for air.

The thing is, no matter how civilised you are by not breaking the rules and obeying the certain laws of conduct written on the board of the temple there comes a time when you are forced to became like the others. As we were closer to the shrine it got worse. My heart started beating faster then I could have ever imagined. Ultimately, I came face to face with the shrine known for its gold and shiny ornaments and gold pillars my mouth dropped several notches. And then I was shoved out. Eight hours of travelling, two hours waiting in the bus, three hours outside the temple and all I got in front of the idol were 4 seconds. Serious!

That said, however, it is certainly a beautiful temple. Had I not been elbowed and hustled so much, I could have grasped every little detail of the temple. The sight of the Idol was not being seen because of my shortcomings… yeah all of five feet and 2 inches. I tired to do bit of acrobatics as I entered the temple. Scribbler’s sister who is all of five feet and 5 inches has wrapped her arms around me as I was almost about to be squashed into a pulp. (God bless her). As we approached closer, there was this “Gentleman” who felt no shame in feeling me up in the temple rite in front of Balaji, was yelled at by Scribbler’s mother and sister. (Talk about girl power). He was well-behaved thereafter and made sure kept his distant after many eyes were peering at him for the shameful thing that he had done.

Alas! We reached the idol and I before I could join my hands and pray for exactly two seconds I was grabbed by my elbow and hurled back into the line by one of the attendants. I had no idea what took over me and yelled back at him and other attendants there after telling them to not touch me not even with their little finger. But I guess these guys are immune to getting abused. Well so this happened and we were manhandled by the so called “Guardians of the Lord” and hurled outside the temple like the drunks are thrown out by bouncers in a discotheque. This was quite an experience for me for the first time in my entire life-time that I got out of the temple yelling, shouting and it my time to hurl abuses aware of the fact that the in-laws were rite there. Oops.

The question that still lingers in our minds is whether are these temples which are extremely commercialised will ever let people like us who want to believe in god allow us to regain our confidence in ‘Him’. And why was it that we were not hurled and jostled or manhandled while we put our generous donation in the Hundi (Donation Box) in the name of God. And why is that we who travel this far to seek His blessings are treated so badly. My question to these guys is isn’t there an organised way for them to allow devotees to seek Darshan in a more civilised way? Or is it that only Mr. Bacchan or The Ambanis are entitled for a hassle-free Darshan?

Hmm one wonders!

Traffic Signal.

Well this isn’t a movie review. If you are looking for the review you can go to Mr. Scribbler’s site in a couple of days.

Ok! So we got lucky (?) with the movie tickets. Eureka Eureka… Surekha Surekha! We drove for at least about 40 minutes to get to this blessed (blasted?) little theatre called Innovative Multiplex on Sarjapura Road. There was nothing innovative about it, though. The seats were sure comfortable, but that’s not innovation! We reached about some 5 minutes late for the movie Traffic Signal. Thank god!

We parked in this deserted-looking place next to the theatre and as we wondered who and where the attendant was, we were surprised to find a dog there with the parking tickets in his mouth and a bag of money around his neck. Ok so I made that up. But the dog was there. Seriously! And so was an attendant who appeared out of nowhere.

As Mr. Scribbler and I were coming up with our own versions of how the dog must be trained to give out parking tickets and tickled ourselves pink. Finally, we got our parking ticket and we sprinted to the movie hall.

Traffic Signal… Well the only thing I bought back with me after watching the movie were some questions. The network of beggars, eunuchs, gajrawallis, old men and a sorry looking gentleman (Ranvir Sheorey, an amazing actor) fleecing passer-byes to lend them some money posing as a software engineer in the movie, who had lost his wallet and had no money to go back home and the prostitutes did expose the dark underbelly of Bombay, but it’s nothing unknown. Everyone knows that this is an industry and while the size estimates about it vary, there’s no doubt that this is organized and well-run.

I have come across many of the people mentioned above when in Bombay. And some of my questions are answered after watching this movie. I used to travel a lot in Bombay (My darling city) by trains, auto rickshaws and taxis (never did the bus route… would be petrified… most of you will know why!). I saw women strapped with a child on their back begging, urchins on the roads selling newspapers, books and flowers. Some sold with dignity some sold their merchandise through pure emotional blackmailing.

To really believe how well they can blackmail you emotionally, one must listen to some of these children; the way they are trained is super and it won’t take you too long to fish out some change or a straight ten rupee note. The eunuchs are really scary, though, as they can get very aggressive when they want to be. That is, if they are genuine eunuchs!

I remember once when I was coming back from school after my exams and the auto rickshaw halted at the signal and I saw a eunuch coming towards me (Mind you they are very sharp face readers. They easily notice a prey!) and started begging in her case demanding for money and I had exact money to reach home. I tried telling her that I don’t have any money to give. Finally she said pulling my school bag that if I dint give any she will take away my schoolbag. Finally I gave her whatever every money I had including an éclair which was there in my school uniform pocket along with extra emergency pocket change. It’s funny when I think of it but incidentally the auto rickshaw driver did not even interfere or tried shooing away the eunuch. Networking, bhai!

I heard of a funny incident a while back. Mr. Scribbler and his colleagues (now good friends) were traveling back home from work. They came to a signal junction where one of the urchin girl came up to them asking for money and ranted out some well taught words in Hindi. “Acchi didi, pyaari didi, gori didi”… one of his colleagues who was sitting behind, who already irritable with an aching head, lowered down the window and very curtly retorted, “Acche se dekho! Hum gore nahi hai!” living the poor girl speechless. Living in Bombay long enough can teach you that too!

What I am trying to say here that the movie was definitely an eye-opener but slightly over-the-top if you ignore the wedding song and the end of the movie. The movie does make sense in some way with several incidents I have faced living in the city. And this also makes one realize that the underbelly of Bombay is extremely dark and scary.

As they say, poverty is a curse but the survivors of this curse can best tell you their story in the truest sense. I feel strongly for these people but I have also come to realize that they don’t want to help themselves nor do they want to come out of this situation. They are happy being where they are and the power of quick money will never make them want to do anything for the betterment of their lives even though generous amounts are donated by the citizens of Bombay and charity workers and social organizations.

Survival of the fittest is ‘the’ thumb rule if you gotta be in my city. A lot has been written about this and about the increasing poverty in Bombay and the poor state of the city. But I don’t see any change. It’s the same even as of today when I make a trip to Bombay.

My question to you Mr. Bhandhakar, is: What’s the outcome of your movie? Would you be doing something about it? Is it about just about “quick money” and instant fame by making these art-style movies?

I think it’s just another movie that you have made?

Technorati tags: traffic signal movie, madhur bhandarkar, mumbai, bombay

Sights & Sounds (of Ranka Court)

As most of you may know, I am on a sabbatical. This allows me to sit back and reflect on my life and tells me what I have been missing out on when I was working, partying and working in Bombay.

Life in Bombay (my dear Bombay!) is difficult and enjoying ‘personal’ time is a luxury most can’t afford themselves. Add to that the fact that the city has turned into a concrete jungle and this even takes away any chance of enjoying nature. Unless you stay close to Aarey Milk Colony, that is! For the rest of the city, there are hardly any gardens or parks where one can take an interesting book for company or just sit around and let the world pass you by.

Now that I am in Bangalore, I am trying hard to catch up with all that I missed when I was in Bombay (my dear Bombay!). Sitting in our house where the temperature drops with very passing hour (and those who have visited me will know how that happens!). And as if that wasn’t enough, we have the sounds of Ranka Court to keep us company. And not just any sounds, mind you, we have brooks flowing through our house at all times. Ok I lied a little there. But only a tad! And before you have visions of me living in some meadow with brooks flowing unhindered behind me and cow grazing in the background, let me explain…

It was a night like any other. The air was still. And cold. As it always is. Did I mention it was a dark night? When we moved into this house in Bangalore, we found the silence all around to be rather eerie. We were used to the hustle, bustle and noise of Bombay (my dear Bombay!) after all… and our complex is huge with well-manicured lawns, big trees all around and colourful flowers and potted plants (Anyone from my dear Bombay will know that landscaping and plants are a rarity in that city). And then there were sounds… Bhoot Bhoot!?! (Ghost, Ghost)?

…we have the sounds of Ranka Court to keep us company. And not just any sounds, mind you, we have brooks flowing through our house at all times…

All the bones in this five-foot-two inch frame of mine were in a state of shock. Tagging behind Mr. Scribbler, we knocked the door open and switched on the lights. To our surprise there was nothing. No taps were left open and no wet floor. We decided to chant some mantras and sleep and consoling ourselves that it must be our neighbours washing their bathroom windows because they weren’t getting sleep. This water thing went on for few days.

All right, I’ll cut to the chase! So on this particularly cold, still and dark night, Mr. Scribbler and I heard some water gushing around us. For a minute we thought it was heaven. And then we freaked.

We decided this demanded further investigation. So we investigated! Much to or chagrin, we found that this was no brook in a meadow with a cow, rather the innards of the walls that dear Mr Ranka had constructed to take the daily absolutions on their way to its rightful place. Comprende? Ok. One more time… these were the drain pipes of Ranka Court. And they ran (run) through the walls. Gross!

Believe me when I tell you that the sounds are absolutely identical to the gushing of a river or a brook. And at times, it even overpowers the sound of children playing outside in their cute little playpen that I can see from one of our balconies. Well, we can still hear the kids, but only if they are high on (the) grass .(Grass beds are found in the playpen area).

So the end result is that we have to tell every visitor at home we warn them about this ‘in house brook’, and beg them to think that they are indeed sitting by one!

Dear friends (and my dear Bombay!), as I type this, I can hear the water running down from the pipes. I have mentally tuned myself to this sound and by now, we even have a timetable of our neighbour upstairs… the number of times he visits the loo… never mind!

And then there are the other regular sounds like menacing auto rickshaws and cars (without silencers) that pass by in the middle of the night. No, we don’t stay under the new flyover being constructed, but the complex is so quiet, that we hear these vehicles pass!

I don’t know about you but have you heard pigeons coo? I think their cooing (or koochie-cooing, if you want), is most annoying. We have two balconies in this house… again a rarity in Bombay. The one which overlooks the playpen is where we dry our clothes (not the way they do in Bombay, my dear Bombay, for the world to see). These birds have made it their personal potty place-cum-maternity ward. They have made my life a living hell. I have to keep a constant check on these birds as they love to perch on the clothesline and drop their… well, droppings! I don’t know how they manage to do it… but I simply hate it when they make those annoying mating sounds.

I do enjoy these sights and sounds (of Ranka Court) vis-à-vis those of a noisy office with the constant ringing of telephones, clicking of keyboards and loud (sometimes VERY loud) men and women. Unfortunately, I cannot cast away my life being around the personal brook system (aka drainage) and the pigeons and perhaps it is time to update my CV… no?

(So much) Food for thought!

Disclaimer: This is free advertisement for all the restaurants mentioned below.

If you are a food lover, Bangalore is the place to be. With over a 1000 restaurants, bars and eateries of all shapes, sizes and cuisines, it is important to have a regular exercise routine! For increasing appetite and decreasing health are good buddies!

Like with most cities, the best places are normally tucked away carefully in some obscure corner of the city that is difficult to find if you are new to the city. The ones that are obvious are, well, on the main roads and can’t be missed.

Since we started exploring the nooks and crannies of Bangalore, we have discovered a lot of places and I am happy to report that we are more than delighted with the variety of food served in these places. For specifics, read on!

Andhra food (recommended for the heavy rice eater!) is very popular around here and can be enjoyed by most. A word of caution here: the food will be spicy and the condiments served along with it will only make it spicier. So be careful of what you choose to garnish or ‘enhance’ your food taste with!

Some Advise: Carry a handkerchief or a napkin with you. I can bet that you will sweat and fumigate (heh!) with each morsel. It’s hot! In most Andhra-style restaurants, food is served on a banana leaf with a wide variety of vegetables, sambar, fiery rasam and rotis (occasionally) with a heapful of rice and a dole of pure ghee as the main course.

Personal recommendation: Try Bheema’s on Chruch Street (turn right at the Levi’s shop and walk on straight. It’ll be on your left just as you are nearing the end of the street).

For Chettinad-style food (that’s from Tamil Nadu), one can go to Annachi. You are welcomed by a very down-to-earth and “Madarasi” ambience. The food is (surprise, surprise!) spicy and don’t be shocked if you find only curry leaves in just about everything you order. While this style of food doesn’t exactly appeal to my tastebuds, I would recommend the Chettinad Chicken with rice. It’s an awesome combination.

I truly enjoy Kerala food and have become very attached to the ‘Coconut Grove’ on Church Street (yes, again!). The Appams and Vegetable Stew are to die for and this truly is God’s own food. The Sambar (Kerala-style) and Chor (the brown rice) is a must-try. While the ambience isn’t scintillating, it won’t put you to sleep either! The service is all right, but needs a bit of improvement, if you ask me.

Thanks to the large number of expats in the city, continental food is another favourite. I have always been a fan of continental (especially Italian) food and two places that I really like are Herb & Spices (Indiranagar) and 100 Ft. (100 ft. Road). The added twist to the tale in the case of 100 Ft. is that it’s a theme restaurant and boutique that apparently allows patrons to buy the stuff they see if they like it. I didn’t try that part out yet, but soon!

Herb and Spices is a quaint little place that has been converted from a garage into a nice little bakery-style restaurant. Started by two hotel management students, it’s a simple and straightforward place with a ‘Blackboard menu’. So when you order, you just need to say ‘No. 16 with no mushrooms and No. 28 with extra cheese’ (please check what numbers 16 and 28 are on the day you visit, lest they be something you don’t like!). They really do dish out yummiest recipes and also have a fabulous dessert menu which certainly tastes as good as it sounds and looks!

Just recently (about three days ago), our friend took us to a place called Sue’s Kitchen that specializes in Caribbean cuisine. Run by a Trinidadian woman, the buffet spread is simply mind-boggling. I wouldn’t recommend breakfast the day you plan to visit Sue’s Kitchen. The cuisine is very simple and it reminded me of a Christian wedding buffet. Pork, chicken sausages, crabs and mouth-watering desserts. Recommended mocktail: Cocorico. Be sure to book for the rush can keep you waiting and the divine scent of the food will make you restless. Not a recipe to enjoy a meal!

And then you have the famous Afghan restaurant ‘Samarkand’. Wholesome and rich! Very rich, indeed! The ambience will definitely remind you of the movie ‘Kabul Express’.

Like with Sue’s Kitchen, ensure you haven’t eaten for a while (preferably a day!) when you are going to Samarkand. And it’s best if the group you have with you enjoys their meat. This is not the best place for vegetarians. The service can be good, and a good order of appetizers is recommended (must try the Shorba) to pass time till the main course arrives. Booking in advance here is an absolute must.

The eating adventures continue and as I sample more of the culinary delights that Bangalore has to offer, the chronicles shall be available right here for your consumption! Whew! Quite a mouthful, eh?

It’s interesting, though, that in my 29 years in Bombay, I never heard or came across Caribbean, Afghani or theme restaurant. There’s no doubt that Bombay has its own specialty restaurants, but these are few and far (away!). So there’s a challenge for all my Bombay friends. Find out if there are any such restaurants around and make me proud (of your and good old Bombay’s gluttony!).

Cheers!

Technorati tags: Bangalore, Restaurants, Eating out in Bangalore, Continental food, Italian food, Afghan food, Indian food

Angel on Earth

I haven’t heard of many philanthropists in India and if there are, they are unheard of (to me, as I mentioned!). As usual, I was watching TV and flipping channels until I came across the daily dose of the ‘Oprah Winfrey show’.

The show was called ‘The Moving In Day’… Oprah and three other organizations helped Katrina-hit victims of New Orleans, Mississippi and Houston to restore their homes.

The stories narrated by these victims who were hit by Katrina were disturbing and moving to say the least. People had lost just almost everything, homes were destroyed, and family photographs lost forever, furniture destroyed beyond recognition, electronic items damaged and any memories associated with their home washed away with the floods that followed the hurricane.

As she interviewed some of the new residents (who would be moving into Angel street), I felt tears rolling down my cheeks. There was one particular interview of a middle-aged artist whose lifetime of work was destroyed and the only painting that was ‘restorable’ was of his wife’s. Yes, there was a romantic touch to it and it appealed to the die-hard romantic in me. Maybe they are meant to be for life J. God works in mysterious ways and shows you light of the day. And true love is forever.

All those who would be moving into the new community were involved in building it with their own hands. With the help of 30,000 people from all over America and their generous donations, they were able to make this dream come true not in New Orleans, but in Houston. Nate Burkes, a noted interior designer, helped design each home giving it a personal touch.

As human beings, no matter what our standing is in the society be, we must remember to look beyond ourselves. It’s not like I am a huge fan of Oprah, but I am deeply touched by her gesture of humanity.

I personally don’t know whether she is doing it for the TRPs or because she is genuinely interested in the well-being of the people, but I do know that she manages to put a smile across millions of people by her charity work and massive donations.

That’s, perhaps, is why they call her an ‘Angel on Earth’!

Technorati tags: Oprah Winfrey, Hurricane Katrina, Angel St.

Code name: Nothing

Doing “nothing” nowadays has become my profession. We recently moved cities since my husband was offered an ‘irresistible’ job in Bangalore. As a result, I gave up my job and moved with my better/bitter half. This is the first time I have relocated from the city that never sleeps. Mumbai.

Oh… how I miss home… my friends, family and life. This transition period has been very difficult for someone like me who feels homesick even when we go for a vacation! Bombay (as I prefer to call my darling city) is where I was born, went through school and college, made friends and enemies and started my career.

When I compare life as it is now and how it was then, I feel like I am being held at a gun point here. Yes I know I haven’t given this city much time to grow on me, but I feel staggered. My freedom of movement and obviously speech (as most of you will know why) has been taken away from me.

We stay in the heart of the city where all the action is. But just how much can one spend on travelling, shopping and eating? The complex where live in is an SEC-A class society. Everyday, when I get up and go out to the balcony, all I see are IT wives with their sports shoes on and taking a brisk walk with their fellow IT wife. Trying to look very hip and busy. Juggling life between husbands, kids and maids.

It so happened that initially, I tried taking evening walks hoping to make friends, but it backfired. Nobody smiled or even acknowledged my presence. Then, I decided to become like them and aped them completely and tried to wear something more hip again hoping somebody will notice this 30-year-old with headphones and designer sportswear. Well… that just made me more unpopular with these ladies. Envious lot!

Well that phase is over… so no more evening walks and no more designer sportswear. Now it’s only me and my laptop. I have decided to make friends with this screen and the keys of this machine… and as a result, have started blogging incessantly.

So, my dear screen, I begin my day with a hot cup of tea followed by breakfast and then spend my time with you. Apart from this, to kill the monotony, the TV is always ‘On’ and creating background noise to overcome this killing silence. I frequent the much-vaunted MG Road and Commercial Street “alone” and try to sort my way out in this circular city.

We have friends who visit us over the weekends and we try to watch movies. Thus far, we have been lucky only twice with movie tickets! We normally entertain one friend who has made our house her living-cum-escape room when she wants to avoid work, but no issues as she has become a part of our family of two.

To proceed, I am told that once I do find a job and start working, I will be able to come to terms with this city and life outside this ‘Court’ we live in. But I am in this state of inertia where updating my bio-data and calling up headhunters has become a bit of a task.

Therefore, to succumb to this state, I proudly call myself a Housewife. When friends call up, I convince them enough that I am on a sabbatical as of now and I am still hung over with the previous job hence giving myself a much-needed break.

That’s life for me now… Doing absolutely nothing. This thought scares me though, because I have no financial backing and zero bank balance and the lifestyle I lead may get me into trouble big time someday. But as they say, “live for the moment” am gladly doing so.

Because doing nothing also is a big task by itself. You should try it.

Love Struck Iguana

Have you heard about this….

Interestingly the other day we were watching an Indian news channel and there was an interesting story about a love struck iguana. hmmm… well things news channels do for a living.

Apparently Mr. Iguana and Mrs. Iguana were being naughty and Mrs. Iguana decided to leave in the middle of the rumble. Poor Mr. Iguana could not hold her interest for too long and now he suffers from a permanent …. errr…Erection. The news channel was generous enough with the graphic details too. O.M.G.!!! spare us…

The noble doctors have decided to surgically remove the….errr… Erection. Poor reptile. Mrs. Iguana jilted him and now his manliness is at stake.

Well we arent trying to ridicule his situation… hope Mr. Iguana – the jilted lover, finds his true love someday.

Shilpa … u dog=winner

I was unsure about Ms. Shetty winning Big Brother the reality show. But yes the Indian inside me is extemely thrilled and proud. All i can say is… way to Shilpa – you Dog. All that hype and controversies you created was worth the walk down that stage area. I even know that cooking was tough like she said in the interview. But what the heck she got the cake instead. Hope her home coming is as hot as the controversies were or are. And as for Mommy Shetty.. what can i say…. Hope she has Koori Roti ready for her darling daughter….

P.S. Ms. Goody what do you have to say… any comments.