Loo Blues

It’s now more than five years since we moved to this city. That is the longest I’ve stayed in one place after my marriage. We are so accustomed to moving around that Pickwick still keeps asking me ‘When are me moving to a new house, Mummy?’  He thinks it’s perfectly normal to move houses like one upgrades mobile phones.

For me this has now become my second home. Not yet my first love, but more like a happy crush one thinks fondly of. But when we came here the whole thing was a bit of a culture shock.  Tiny things, that make you realise that you’re from a completely different world. Take loos for example. Yes, Loos. We wash. Here, they wipe. No really, I don’t get it. Do you say ‘Gee, I’m all sweaty. Let me wad up a bunch of paper towels, wipe my armpits, and a quick dab all over, and Voila! I’m all clean’? NO? Then how the hell is it okay to do that for arses? And there is no concept of floor drains in loos.  How the hell are you supposed to wash the floors of the loos?  And we’re supposed to be the third world country??

Speaking of washing, we, that is, us Indians are obsessed with bathrooms. We need more bathrooms. When we first came here, we went looking for places to rent. The estate agent showed us plenty of houses, mansions even with 5 bedrooms, a reception room, a dining room a conservatory  and one, yes, ONE  bathroom and ONE toilet! I mean what is it with these guys? Don’t they ever need a shower? Oh yes, I forget – all they need is paper towels.

image courtesy:origami-resource-center.com

I still remember my grandmum used to freak  out when she came to houses with  bathtubs. She was used to, well, wells and rivers and such. So when I explained the concept of a bathtub to her, she went ‘chee!  You lie around fermenting in your own juices? That’s DISGUSTING!’ (This is a loose translation for her words from Tamil.  The literal translation would have be banned from blog sites) Thank God I didn’t have to explain toilet papers to her, she would have disowned me.

We have recently invested in a small apartment in India. We are delighted with it. When people ask us about it, we say, ‘Oh, it’s not much, it’s just a 2 BHK, and the proportions are quite small but it’s got TWO BATHROOMS!’

Ballooning in the Cotswolds

"A place of outstanding natural beauty" the tourist blurb says. Well, I was about to find out.
The Cotswolds aren't too far away to drive from London. Took us about a couple of hours to get there, and straightaway, you know that the information brochure does not lie. It was like I was transported back in time. There isn't even 3G in this place! But what it did have was ballooning - and weather Gods permitting, we were about to take off, after eleven unsuccessful attempts at praying for decent weather over weekends.
The snaps simply don't do justice to the amazing beauty we witnessed during the ride.

Hot air to get the basket upright. We then had to scamper in real quick before we were untethered from the station wagon

Looks like an image from Google maps, doesn't it?

Clear skies with visibility right up to the sea!

Keeping us alight

One of the most beautiful sunsets I've seen....

We were treated to a spectacular show by Mother Nature

The man, the moment, all very moving.

We Landed in a field - in the middle of nowhere.  The  pilot had to signal  the balloon chaser (yes, that is his profession, I'm not making this up) with giant flames shooting up into the night sky to guide him. Don't even ask how we packed the balloon up!

who knew landing the balloon and packing up would be more adventurous than the balloon ride itself!

The heart of London

So I attended this photography course over the wee

kend. And all in all it was pretty neat. Most of all it reminded me what was so amazing about the city of London. There we were, right in the heart of the city, and this is what we spotted:

No idea what that contained, but what a pretty colour.

Tre

k

k

ie moment

My attempt at creating movement.

Hail-O, halo

Atmosphere

A heron with a Mohawk

Easy Peasy

'Gosh! It's so easy in this country. As simple as that!' said the baa-lamb after he'd finished updating his records on line. We'd just moved house recently and the baa-lamb was referring to updating our records with the various companies and services.

'Erm... don't you think you're missing out on something?' I ask

'Huh? really? I'm pretty sure I've covered everything- the gas, the electricity, banks...' ' There's the matter of the land line, the telly, the broadband...' I interject.

'Do we really need those? You have a mobile, and you can surf on the phone, and what's with the addiction to the telly... or maybe I should get right on the phone and get cracking' says the baa-lamb hastily spotting the homicidal glint in my eye.

So a quick check on the internet (from the phone, of course) and we'd zero-ed in on a service provider who was pretty much promising us the earth. We placed a call to the sales team, and they wanted our land lord's go ahead to come and tinker about in the house, so they could pretty much get off the hook if they left desolation and destruction in their wake.

The Landlord, the gentleman that he is, agreed, but was pretty nonplussed that the service provided agreed to come out to our house in the first place. Apparently a decade ago, the entire street had been up in arms about anybody digging up the road for them new- fangled fibre optic cables. I'm guessing they didn't want this 'internet' and 'electronic mail' business to get in the way of them growing their daffodils and tulips. Hmm... interesting. So we though we'd call up the service provider again, just to confirm.

SP: Welcome to SP. We're the best money can buy, and your money definitely needs to buy us.

(or something to that effect)

Moi: Hi, I'm at ---------- (edited in the interest of our health and safety) and I've subscribed to your service, but I was just wondering if you provide services in my area.

SP(without missing a beat): Yes we do.

Moi: At my address? I was just informed that there was no cabling...

SP(Bored): yes, yes, yes, ok.

MOi: SO that's a yes, then?

SP (mindful she was talking to a customer, but really wanting to throttle said customer): I just said that dinnae?

Moi: Oh good. So you'll be coming around in a week then?

SP: No, that'll be three weeks from now.

Moi: But... but... the earlier confirmations was for a week.

SP: that was before this call. It'll be three weeks now.

Three weeks later...

I bounced up on waking. 'Today's the day!' I cry joyfully! I bounced into the bath and bounced down to breakfast and bounced to the trash can and bounced on my way to open to door for the installation team from the service providers.

They came, they saw, and they laughed at the though that we could ever receive service from this provider. To make matters worse, they tell me that if I moved house just 50 meters down, to the end of the road, I'd receive service, no problems. Thanks, guys, that really helps. Suddenly I wasn't bouncing. The world had lost it's sunshine and I was ready to crawl back into bed.

The baa-lamb, sensing I was close to breaking point rapidly called up a rival service provider who gleefully agreed to provide service in ten days at twice to cost. oh well, at least they didn't say 3 weeks (frankly if they had, I was seriously contemplating moving into a service apartment until the whole street wises up to the arrival of the 21st century)

Ten days later...

'Is it here yet?' this was the fifth annoying phone call from the baa lamb to check up on the arrival for the broadband equipment. Each time, my heart sunk a bit more as a said 'no.'

In desperation the baa-lamb called the rival service provider again.

RSP: welcome to RSP. We're actually better than SP, which is why we cost more money.

(or something to that effect)

BL: Right, I'm calling about the equipment that was supposed to arrive today...

RSP: OK, just let me check that for you... yes, it hasn't arrived.

BL: Yes, I know that. That's why I'm calling. What I need to know is, why.

RSP: ah, yes, here it is... we didn't send it.

BL(in exasperation): Why? Why would you do such a cruel thing?

RSP: well, the department who was to mail it to you didn't. I'll ask them to do that now, shall I?

BL: What were you waiting for? An invite? maybe with gold leaf on it? You didn't seem to want all this confirmation and re-affirmation when you were taking money form my bank account!

RSP: I'm sorry Sir, would that be a yes?

I think the baa lamb has now recovered sufficiently after a quiet lie down, but he's definitely rethinking ease of services in this country now.

D

Disasters, when they happen, do have a tendency to happen in my vicinity. My last outing was no exception.

After a week of spending day in and day out at Pickwick's bedside, until he was pretty much sick of my face, I decided both my son and I needed a break. So, entrusting him in the care of good ol' poppy and mommy, I decided to use the services of the car to step out for a few books for self and son as I would have to continue the long vigil by his bedside. Now before I stepped out, Poppy gave me the number of the driver- a chap called Rajesh. Considering Poppy had about 15 -odd entries under the title 'driver', I have no clue, how he was unerringly able to pick out this particular chap's number, but I supposed he must have some kinda system worked out.

Things started out tamely enough, and after battling the usual 'schumis-in-training' style driving and other sundry folk with a death wish calmly crossing the road at arbitrary points, thus ensuring a steady stream of patients being treated by the local physiotherapists for whiplash, we arrived at or chosen dest. - the local roadside bookshop.

Now the driver, having discovered that the whole of Kochi had suddenly decided to become bookworms, couldn't find a parking spot anywhere close to the venue. Thus it was decided between his broken English and my broken Malayalam and some rudimentary sign language, that he'd be hovering around somewhere, circling the area and when I'd finished, I just needed to call him up, and he'd whizz along to pick me up (thank you mobiles!).

It took me all of fifteen minutes to browse, haggle (having thus brought the price of my purchases down by a princely 10 rupees) and bag my loot. Patting myself on a job well done, I was feeling refreshed, all set to face another week at the Hosp. All that was left was to summon the car and hop in.

Two calls later, the driver wasn't answering. Maybe he's battling traffic, I though. Lord knows you need all you wits about you in this city. I gave it one more shot.

On the fifth ring I hear ' 'Allo?'

Me:Ah. Erm... Yes, It's me. Come along then.

silence. Then ' yaaru aana? '

My rudimentary understanding of the language led me to say ' Now is not the time to start babbling about elephants, man. Is there some kind of procession out on the street? Hop to it! I'm waiting in the middle of the road. You can't miss me. I look exactly the same as I did half an hour ago'

More silence. Followed by some panicked mumbling and the phone being handed over to someone, who I hoped would have a bit more sense. ' 'Allo?' Here we go again...

Me: Ah. yes. This car you're in. It needs to pick me up from where the chappie's dropped me.'

The other voice: No, no! this car is now someone else!

Now this made no sense (unless you were in a transformer movie). I was assuming he meant it was now going to pick someone else up. But who? The grandparents were safely ensconced by Pickwik's bedside in charge of amusing the fella. This only meant that the chappie was doing 'nuther pick up on the job. NOT a good day to pull a double shift on the sly!

'Now listen here, Rajesh,' I say sternly, in my best 'naughy Pickiwck' voice, 'that's my car you're driving.' well, OK, so it was Dad's car, but we don't want to confuse the fella by getting into semantics now. 'You just turn right around and get back here. I'm standing opposite 'sea lord' hotel. You can't miss me.' (yes, 'Sea Lord'. and yes, it did have a picture of a merman. Can we please stop giggling and concentrate on the matter at hand, people? We may have a potential car -jacking in progress!)

'Okay! Okay!! we come now, madam!' says the panicked aide-de-Rajesh.

Much better. I think to myself. You gotta be stern with these sorts. There no point in... thoughts interrupted by urgent ringing of phone. It was dad. 'Hey Pops!' I say. 'You'd never believe...'

Pops: Nevermind all that, sense. This driver, Rajesh

me: yes, yes, I know. would you believe it?

pops: you do? but how, dash it? and erm.. HOW?

me: Pops, calm down! I've got it under control. I told him to come pick me up right away, see?

Pops: Told who? From where?

me: (cue much eye rolling and accepting the fact that pops might be hitting senility a tad early) Rajesh. From where I'm standing.

pops: But you couldn't have. You don't have his number

me: (doing a quick mental check on symptoms : memory loss, gibbering... maybe a brain scan was in order) You gave me the number, Pops, remember? I called him up. The Chap was acting funny at first, but I gave him a proper talking to. He'll be down here in no time.

pops: Ah. Er. Sense... see that number I gave you, well, it's for Rajesh alright, but this Rajesh isn't the right Rajesh. This is another Rajesh who isn't exactly driving our car at the mo'. In short, it's the wrong Rajesh.

The head swam. I tottered. I needed to sit down. I waited for the chorus of Right Rajesh and Wrong Rajesh to die down.

'So the poor sod...' I whispered...

But Poppy wasn't through yet...

pops: but don't worry poppet - I've spoken to the right Rajesh - the one who's actually driving our car, not the wrong Rajesh, who's probably in someone else's car... and he's on his way to pick you up. Right-ho, then. Pip-pip.

and just on cue, 'Right -Rajesh' arrives with the vehicle.

I meekly got into the vehicle and drove to the hospital in silence. I wasn't coming out again until sanity had returned to the world. And parents stopped naming their offspring Rajesh.

In the meanwhile, somewhere out there is a Rajesh, who's undergoing counselling coz he quivers uncontrollably everytime the phone rings.

Lessons from child to mother

Lessons that Pickwick's taught me in the past month:

• Life throws a curve ball at you when you least expect it. If you're not ready, it's apt to hit you in the face, and you might end up with a broken nose - or a broken femur as the case may be.
• Having failed to catch said curve ball, get back up on your feet real quick. That's the only way you'll know if you're fine or, when you collapse in a heap, unable to support yourself - you need to get professional help.
• Now that you're at the doc's, learn to swallow the bitter pill. Just coz you haven't seen the x-ray, doesn't mean the bone isn't broken. It will need need mending.
• Time is relative. It can always be measured as the space between chocolate breaks
• Your real family is the one that calls you/ writes to you/ sends you a hand made get-well-soon card that you can always go back to when there's nothing good on the telly.
• Your phone's pretty useless unless it has at least 2 games and 6 of your favourite songs
• There's no such thing as listening to a favourite song too many times. And however often you listen to it, it'll still have the power to cheer you up.
• If some one objects to listening to a song one more time, he can always listen to your personal rendition of the song. Listening to the original might suddenly become a whole lot less objectionable.
• Life is a battle of wits between you and your oppressors. Every time they think of ways of making your life miserable, or immobile (apparently for your own good), you need to think of new ways of outsmarting them by contorting your body into impossible positions.
• There's always a silver lining. The number of days you're tied down in bed is directly proportionate to the number of chocolates you'll receive, and be allowed to consume by guilt - ridden adults.

Tube Zodiac

I have lately stopped reading my book in the tube. I find it for more interesting to watch other people while listening to the latest hindi ‘gaana’

 

Like Ms Goodman chooses to classify people into 12 broad categories, we can classify the tube commuter into 12 broad catergories:

 

The Ram: The ram bulldozes his/ her way into the crowded compartment and yells at the top of their voices ‘Move alonnnng, please’. Yes, dear ram, we needed you to tell us that, otherwise, we just so love to leave vast expanses of unoccupied seats and standing space, all to huddle together on the 3 square feet of space you need to occupy.

 

The Bull: The bull just goes a step further and pushes you out of the way. One needs to be especially wary of the female variety, as they just zero in on the seat they’ve spotted through the window. PLEASE, for your own safety and for the safety of those around you, jump out of their way! Once they are comfortably seated, of course, they’re the most pleasant things to have around.

 

The Twins: These are generally of the adolescent variety, and one is seriously tempted to urge them to get a room. They are so entwined that it is hard to decipher where one ends and the other begins. The upside to this, of course is that they occupy one seat instead of two, or if standing, will stand collectively on only two feet at a time.

 

The Crab:  we tend to spot the crab at most major interchanges. They dart in, espy two-odd seat in different direction, mentally calculate the distance from the door to the seats, pick the closer of the two, and with some deft maneuvering (that can only be describe as ‘crab-like’) he’s sitting pretty, while others are still struggling to get in.

 

The Lion: The lion is not afraid to voice his opinion. He’ll have an opinion on the services, on Gordon Brown, on the recession, on the weather, on you...and it’s this last bit that particularly galling, because he’ll be there ‘tch’-ing at the bull, rolling his eyes at the Ram, hissing at the twins… you get the picture. Watching his back must be a full-time job for him.

 

The Virgin: This is someone you’d like to unleash the lion upon. Super –critical doesn’t begin to describe them. They’ll be the ones running their finger over the window sill with a raised eyebrow. A 30 second delay in departures with have them impatiently looking at their watch while tapping their feet. God forbid, you choose to jump into the tube seconds before the door shuts, then you’ve really had it – You will be root cause of any delay henceforth, be it signal failure or a man having a cardiac arrest 3 trains ahead. You Were The Cause. And the Virgo won’t let you forget it. Maybe there’s a reason they’re Virgins?

 

The Balance: These ones would do you proud on a footboard in a Mumbai local. They’ll be the one’s standing near the door, first to hop out as soon as the train stops. No, not just at their station, but at every station – they’re also the last to hop in. At every station. Why they do this beats me, but I suppose it give them a warm afterglow to know that they have successfully shaved 1/625 th of a second off their travel time in a day. 

 

The Scorpion: Beware the scorpion – they strike when least expected. Largely prevalent in shady locations, they normally move in herds.  Their sting, also called switchblade swiftly deprives you of your most prize possessions, and they melt way into the night, never to be seen again.

 

The Archer: The archer loves to, well, ‘arch’. He arches over you to get at the newspaper, arches over to open the window, arches over to grab the hand-hold… erm, hey, archie, newsflash: believe it or not, shoving smelly armpits in peoples faces is not the best way to get them to like you. In fact, it might surprise you to know that it has quite the opposite effect (yes! Really!)

 

The Horned Goat: Or the tube lothario. Normally, despite being hampered by a severe shortage of it, people are quite respectful of each others’ personal space, but the horned goat delights in getting up close. This is because under normal circumstances, the ladies would rather join a nunnery that be caught having a conversation with the goat. With some faces, even that mother of all beauty creams – beer, fails miserably.

 

The Water- Carrier: Thanks to the miracles of modern science, pregnant women can now work further and further into their term. Now if only science could find something to calm co-passengers and they get more and more nervous. The reason for this, is not that they’re worried about the health of the mother and baby, but more on account of the fact that if the water- carrier turns to the water-breaker, there’s a good chance that they might miss the kick-off of the football game they’re going to. Would make a grown man cry, it would.

 

The Fish: Ah! The fish! Commonly sighted at Pubs, other tube zodiacs magically transform into the fish after football matches, weekends, hours of hard partying, stag dos, weekends, rugby matches & weekends. Look out for the fish’s tendency to assume everybody’s their best friend, a total lack of co-ordination (like the inability to put food into the right orifice in the face), the inability to find their home, and hence, assuming that you’re their best friend, now that they have known you for all of 38 seconds, they can crash at your pad for the night. Naturally, if you’ve transformed into a fish as well, you will not remember any of this the following morning.

Visit to the Homeland

The recent visit to India had me behaving like the typical NRI, as I sheepishly admit.

Here are the following rookie NRI faux pas I committed:

• As soon as I landed, I commented on the noise levels in the city at 1 am in the morning
• Almost threw up in the vehicle after being treated to road-rash style driving
• Visited the temple – in traditional garb, not sparing Pickwick either
• Managed to infest kid with virus
• Managed to catch the aforementioned virus myself
• Was surprised that the country has not frozen in time and has managed to move on in the years that we were missing
• Commented on how expensive things had become and started sentences with ‘I remember back in my days when…’
• Clicked photographs of absolutely arbit. things which I now found hilarious (a key chain advertising ‘steel balls’ and a billboard for ‘sham publicity’)
• Had the junk food off the streets and marvelled at it, swore it was nothing short of gourmet
• However, did drink only mineral water, in case I caught something
• Caught something anyways
• Accidentally let the accent slip to a friend – and didn’t hear the end of it for the rest of the trip.
• Thoroughly enjoyed the rickshaw ride, and pooh-poohed at the natives who were sputtering at the pollution levels – and went giddy breathing in the concentrated levels of carbon monoxide.
• Caught with the 159 relatives who live in the city, mostly on a single day. Had Pickwick thoroughly confused on the number of tatas and pattis he has. He didn’t mind much though – his equation is simple: the number of relatives are directly proportional to the number if goodies you get. (‘pwesents!’)
• Went to relatives houses with chocolate, and got desi sweets in the bargain - and wondered for the nth time, why on earth they preferred the chocolates.
• Stacked up on the DVDs of our traditional mythological heroes (Hanuman and Ganesha) despite Pickwick not watching more than 60 seconds of anything, unless it’s a song and dance sequence
• Refused to move around in anything but tops, capris and cut-offs, and worked on my ‘tan’
• Went overboard with sending off clothes to the ‘ironwallah’ since I wasn’t the one doing the ironing
• Had to be frequently reminded by relatives to ‘just leave the dishes’ after a meal, I didn’t need to wash up afterwards *bliss*
  
  Future visits will possibly iron out these quirks… although I’m rather hoping I can just get back to being the desi who’s visited by the NR relative.

Pick -asso

That's Pickwick's first recognisable work of art. It's a doggie, in case you couldn't figure out what it was... it's got 2 eyes, a nose, and mouth and 2 legs... *sigh* my son's a genius!

Finding David

When one of my unmarried friends was discussing the dearth of eligible men the other day, she was telling me how lucky I was to find Baa- Lamb. Now I’m not about to contend that – far from it, but really, the baa-lamb of today isn’t the Baa-lamb of yesterday. He’s been a work in progress.

I’m generally not a male basher. I have a healthy respect for them. They are essential and vital for the propagation of our species – until medical technology can catch up. So it is not lightly that I say this. Men have to be viewed like works in progress. Take David for example. No, not your hunk of a neighbour that you’ve been eyeing for some time now. I’m talking about Michelangelo’s David. That perfect specimen of manhood that Michelangelo lovingly crafted into perfection. Before Michelangelo could lay his hands on ‘im, he was just a block of marble – a block of marble with potential, no doubt, but a block of marble. It took 25 years of exposure to the elements, the eyes of a Michelangelo and the craftsmanship of a true master to realise David as we see him today.

Just like David, there may have been others who saw potential, but gave up half way, and I guess that’s what the ex-es are. The quitters. You, my love have to be the Michelangelo.

We need to stop looking out for David. What we need to identify is the block of marble that with T,L & a whole lotta C can become David. Besides, what, to me is David, is to someone else primitive Gay Porn. And lets face it, we’re no Venuses either (at least I’m not. I’m more Rubenesque, but let’s not mix art forms here). When you’re a couple, I guess that’s what you do; you subconsciously sculpt each other into the person they are today.

I’m a daughter, a wife and now a mother, and I now know the task that lies ahead of me with Pickwick. It’s not my job to sculpt David. I just have to make sure there’s enough in the block of marble to let someone else see a potential David in him.

The Usual Gang of...

Now normally, the many places I've worked at houses a pretty decent bunch of people, but it's not without it's 'regulars' and I've learnt to spot those a mile away.
Primarily the cast of characters would include:

The Boss:
Most of the chaps in this lot are good 'uns, but occasionally you come across the odd exception who takes this description to heart. He's a throwback to the good 'ol days of the Raj where it was perfectly acceptable to flog the subordinate for even having the balls to ask 'why'. Nevermind the fact that the reason you've asked the question is because the man has just asked you to bop him on the head with a sledgehammer.

The Minion:
AKA the snivelling sycophant SS. Specimen will always be found not far from 'the Boss' (TB). When TB barks, 'Jump', SS will respond, 'yes sir! How high sir! And would you like me to do a pirouette while I’m at it sir!' Best not to voice options around said specimen, unless you’d like to have it repeated verbatim to TB.


The Ladies Man:
Disclaimer: the above mentioned term in no way describes the author’s opinion of the individual. It is the individual’s own warped opinion of himself, arising out of years of bad eyesight and massive ego, both left unchecked.

The Barbie Du-uhl:
Used to getting her way just by batting her eyelids, it comes as a shock to these individuals that one has to actually *gasp* work to earn a salary. Undeterred, however, they still try and bat eyelids at the first possible moment to get others to do their work. This works wonderfully well in the short term, but eventually, as queue of ardent admirers dries up, the Barbies hatch plots to bat enough eyelids at a loaded suckers, to get them to marry – to love, cherish and obey until the credit crunch do us part.

The Office Clown:
A throw back to the school prankster who still thinks fart bags are hysterically funny, this individual needs to be avoided like the plague, unless you like having pie on your face just before an important client meet. Usually, one would give in to the strong urge to punch a hole through this chap’s skull with one’s stilettos, but most specimens are blessed with a blooming heart of gold. This is probably also one of the reasons this person has survived this long without any major reconstructive surgery required.

The Drama- Queen:
Not to be fooled by the title, this specimen comes in both the male and female varieties. Life around these chaps is anything but dull, and quite often an epidemic of migranes follows in their wake. Everything from a simple meeting with a vendor to traveling by train turns into an Event – to be described in great detail, to a largest possible audience to milk the last drop of sympathy. Quite often the best way to avoid the DKs taking over your life, when greeted with ‘You’ll never believe what just…’ is to quickly counter it with ‘NO! You poor thing!’ Trust me. It’s ALWAYS the right answer.


The Shirker:
This class has two sub-species – the communist and the dictator.
The communist variety is happy not doing work, and more than happy if you join him in his state of happiness by not working either. As long as no one’s rocking the boat by talking dangerously about ‘performance’ and ‘productivity’, he’s a content chap. The dictator on the other hand is a far more treacherous sub species. In order to continue his state of non-work, it is imperative that someone else, i.e., YOU take over all his work. Don’t worry about the boss finding out. He’ll never know, coz the Shirker, sub-class: Dictator’s right there to take the credit…

The Super-Woman:
This is the most annoying of the lot, coz the lady’s near perfect. I’m sure that a male of this species exists somewhere, but I have yet to encounter them. This is the kind of woman who will be in office on the dot at half nine after preparing a 4 course breakfast for hubby and kids, dropping the kids (who’re all mini Da Vincis in the making) off to school and still looking like she’s stepped out of a magazine cover. The mother-in-law adores her, and the boss thinks the sun shines out of her… oh, nevermind.
Over the weekends, after treating the family to a six-course gourmet dinner prepared from scratch, and throwing the dinner party of the century, ensuring that the house can be photographed in the annual issue of the ‘House and Garden’, she’ll still have time to spend some ‘quality time’ with the hubby while the kids obediently hit the sack at 7 pm.
I have a sneaking suspicion they have a clone hidden somewhere in the garage which they conveniently fish out while they’re actually putting their feet up and stuffing their face with chocolate and reading a chick flick like the rest of us. (Or so one can hope, so that our battered self esteem can finally shout a feeble ‘Yay!’)

There are some other regulars, which I haven’t mentioned (like the best friend in office, sympathetic co-worker, super efficient office boy/ secretary, benevolent boss, fun group of singles, the office hunk/ hottie…) but life in office wouldn’t be the same without these amazing group of people, who’re just nice enough to not be mentioned in this post.

Que Sera Sera

If Pickwick’s antics could give any indication of future careers, he’d be…

A Politician: Coz whenever the Baa-lamb comes over for a cuddle, he plays the part of the Moral Police.

An Actor : Coz he’ll do just about anything for a round of applause.

A Chef: Coz he loves to stir things (up)

A Banker: Coz he knows the currency of chocolate is flattery

An Engineer: You should see the delight he has in stacking up towers – and the greater delight when it all comes tumbling down

A Singer: He SO love the sound of his own voice

A Star: Coz he loves playing dress- up (yes, the bindis, the bangles, the hair bands – the works!)

An Activist: He goes on strike every time the channel forgets to air his favourite ads (‘baby, you can’t control what goes on air…’ is met with a ‘not-yet-but-just-you-wait’ look)

An Astronaut: Coz everytime we ask him where he wants to go, he looks up and says ‘Moon’! (Apart from the occasional, rainbow, and for some strange reason, Bruges)

A Sports Star: If jumping from high places without a parachute could ever become a sport

An Artist: coz he’ll draw a tiny squiggle and launch into an elaborate explanation as to how that’s a plane flying through a cloud and the shadow of the bird on that plane.

A Marketeer: Coz he’ll do his best to convince you that he’s a good boy for eating all his chocolate and politely asking for more from your share.

An IT guy: He’s managed to crash 2 systems, pluck out 3 keys from the key board and ruin 1 mouse in his short lifespan. I’m sure he’s not through yet.

A Doctor: Coz he loves giving people ‘Medicine’ for ‘Owwie’ (never mind that he’s the reason for the ‘Owwie’)

A Mathematician: Coz he thinks, logically, three- teen should precede fourteen, and nineteen ought to be followed by twen-teen

A Vet: Coz he loves to use Great Danes like his own personal Pony, and wants to pet the spider, the pigeon, the tiger, the bear, the fox, the ladybird…

Whatever the future may hold, I know what I'm going to be:
The Proud Mommy: who'll be standing behind him, egging him on, shouting herself hoarse, sporting prematurely greying hair, having the first-aid kit on standby and the emergency room number on speed dial.

resolutions, then and now

What a difference a decade makes...

Then: this year, i shall NOT get drunk.
Now: This year I'm hoping to go to a party which serves drinks that are Not in a spill-proof cup

Then: This year, I shall meet my prince Charming
Now: This year, i hope the Prince still remains charming

Then: Greatest Achievements: radical new building design
now: Greatest Achievements: potty training Pickwick

Then: Most often heard singing: Comfortably Numb
Now: Most often heard singing: Do Re Mi

Then: Ambition: Aga Khan Award for Architectural Excellence
Now: Ambition: Making it home before Pickwick's asleep

Then: idea of a Fun night out: Noisy Disco getting pickled
now: Idea of a fun night out: Any Night out is fun, as long as it's a. Child friendly
b. resistant to breakage
c. lets you get back home without any trips to A & E

Then: fun adventure – para gliding in Goa
Now: fun adventure – a guilty trip to the movies minus Pickwick

Then: happiest when – alone with work and music
Now: happiest when – alone with Pickwick and Music

Then: late nights – back home at four, nap, shower and out of the house at seven
Now: late nights – back home at eleven, sing baby to sleep, load dishwasher, load washing machine, do three sentences of quiet reading, and just as your head touches the pillow, it's morning again – as happily pointed out by a Gleeful Pickwick bouncing on your tummy

Then: Tummy – flat and meant for flaunting
Now: tummy – soft and meant for supporting little (and not-so-little)heads while sleeping

Then: pencil test – passed with flying colours
Now: wont even pass a rolling pin test

Then: when buying clothes, make sure they fit, and the rest is taken care of by mommy
Now: when buying, make sure they're stain resistant, crease resistant and drool resistant. And oh – wait for the sales.

Then: choosy about food – I'm not putting that into my mouth
Now: food? As long as I'm not cooking, who cares?

Then: idea of a good house – fit for the architectural digest
Now: idea of a good house – one where Pickwick wont manage to cause major harm to either himself or the furniture

Then: Idea of travel - 2 pair of jeans and plenty of clean undies, trusty SLR
Now: Idea of travel - 2 pairs of jeans, plenty of clean undies, baby buggy, six pairs of spare clothing, healthy snacky food, juice, sunhat, first aid kit... and baa lamb if there's space

Then: Nothing cheers you up like good food and the company of good friends
NOw: Nothing cheers you up like good food and the company of good friends

Glad to know some things never change...

A Blogger's Guide to the Real World

There have been many , many self-help, money-spinning guides that guide a beginner through the wonderful world of blogging. None, however, that recognise that there are millions of bloggers out there who actually need a guide to function during the time that they spend away from the safe haven of the computer screen.
The world is a mean and cruel place that makes no allowances for techno geeks who're totally at sea with any communication that does not involve a monitor and/ or Avatras. This does not bode well for bloggers such as myself. Thus the need fo the guide: 'A Bloggers Guide to the Real World'
This guide should be a step-by-step process of discovery of how the rest of the world (those strange, unnnatural, unevolved beings) communicates.
It should include useful tips such as what to do when a member of the Opposite sex talks directly at you, how to react if another member of our species attempts to indulge in physical contact - like trying to shake hands (it is not to be construed as an act of over aggression, in fact, strangely, it is supposed to mean quite the opposite) and even how long should one engage in eye contact before it is considered creepy , at first, and if a bit longer, disturbing. Of course too short a duration (of eye contact, that is) , and its' considered impolite, or symptomatic of ADD. See - tricky stuff, this.
Geeks such as myslf, all over the world, who think the face looks most luminiscent when viewed bathed in the reflection of a flickering monitor and people who've been outdoors too long have an unnatural glow would naturally think it most foul to indulge in any sport that does not involve a keyboard or a joystick. But considering the fact that so far, the Olympics have not included the video games category (and I'm still wondering why not) we are apparently in the minority. Thus when asked by one of the 'others' as to what sport do you pursue, the guide would tell us that it's not a good idea to tell them 'Ultimate Speed Racer Level XX' at Such times, infact it would gives us uselful little white lies we could use, for example: I used to be a footballer in colleges, but after my knee injury, I'm now more of a viewer, than a doer. or I love skiing, but now that I've moved to Chennai, there's not many places where I can indulgein this passion.
It is also not a good idea to tell the 'Others' that their so called password protected files and systems are ridiculously simple to hack into, and you could wipe out their entire credit history if you so chose. This is apparently not a subject that has them rivetted. These strange beings hate to be told how vulnerable they are, and how much we control the world they live in. They would much rather hear about your opinion on the most recent movie release, and how much CGI has changed entertainment. This guide should give you access to an online site that has the latest movie release with their reviews, which is updated every week. All you need to do is log in to this site before your evening of intermingling and brush up on the latest news.
I have searched the realms on the world wide web for such a book, and have found nothing. Zilch. Nada. Maybe such a book does not exist.

Or maybe I should go to an actual, Physical book shop. One hears that these things are located at every street corner. Hmm... perhaps tomorrow. For now I'm happy in my little cubicle with the tap-tapping of the keyboard to soothe my nerves and my IM friends who're a very very safe distance away.

Kabhi Alvida Naa Kehna

I have some vacation time coming. It's been long overdue. So I decided to utilise my two weeks vacationing in China. Reactions at work went thus:
Boss
Sense: Boss, I'd like a holiday
Boss: no.
S: But Boss...
B:Are you nuts? This is peak season. This is no time to take a couple of days off to go gallavanting!
S: Erm... I was thinking more along the lines of a couple of weeks.
B: Ha! the work must be getting to me. I though I just heard you say something about weeks...
S: actually I did. Two weeks to be precise.
B: (after some hysterical laughter) ah Sense! you crack me up!

Co worker
S: I'm off for two weeks.
CW: really? and your boss let you? no way!
S: yeah, so listen, could you like, erm handle a few things for me? I'm in the midst of it and... it's just taking it ahead. no sweat really.
CW: (breaking into a sweat) You say that now. wait till the whole thing goes pear- shaped. Then who's caught holding the bag!
S (rolling my eyes): relax! Nothing that drastic is going to happen.
CW :(now seriously beginning to freak me out by doing an eeerily accurate imitation of Gollum) Nothing drastic she says. we know better don't we? She just has to turn her back, and we know it's all going to go bad. Baaad! Baad, I tell you.

Friend in the next department:
friend: so it's true then? they Actually let you go?
S: erm yeah... so far.
F: (with awe) wow. So where are you off to?
S: China.
F: eh? China? The country? like in the Olympics and 'Free Tibet'?
S: I didn't know there were options. Are there any other Chinas that you know of?
F: Ah. K. Well... don't forget to get me ... erm - what do you get in China?
S: Everything that you get here. just cheaper.
F: well, then - get me something. a fake Rolex or whatevva.

So my voicemail now goes:
'HI this is Sense here and I'm off for two weeks (short pause to let that filter past incredulity and sink in) For any queries, please contact Boss or Co-worker. Of course, they've instructed me not to pass on their number to Anyone, so I guess unless you're psychic, you'll have to wait til I'm back and can really clean up the nuclear fall- out caused by my Vacation. Have a nice day!

How we spend snow days.

My family has always been proud of being foodies. We make no bones about it. hence the conversation that follows.

Venue: Our House. Time: 8:50 am, on a Sunday. The Occasion: our first real snow shower in London.

For The benefit of all the non- Tam-brams reading this post, I have translated the conversation for you.

Baa Lamb: ... BIG flakes.

(pause)

Have you made the curry already?

Mother-in-law: Almost. Everythings' ready. You can start if you want. Just have to fry it a bit more. it's done.

(pause)

IT's nice... soft (No we are NOT talking about the snow here) or we can stop now.

BL: what's the time?

MIL:not even 9.

BL: 8:55. (thoughtful pause)

MIL: so should I fry it?

BL: Don't you always fry it??

MIL:It's fried! it's done!

BL: Fry it.

(sound of frying...)

My Day in Pictures

Just so you know, my life in the parallel universe is occupying far too much of time. Travel time has doubled thanks to a switch in office premises (with no relocation or disturbance allowance, I might add), so I though I should let you in on my day (stop yawning already! i haven't even begun!!)

Buskers - The firang version of our train singers. A lot of them are very talented - much like our home grown variety, and of course we have a fair bit of Godawful screechers as well - again, much like home. The difference? it's all in the presentation, baby!

Pickwick playing peek-a-boo in my closet. He loves it there. Always unerringly manages to dig out my most embarassing Fashion faux Pas

The Picadilly line. My route to office. Takes blooming ages!

Ah! Poems on the underground. An endless source of amusement.

Men at work. A much better way to amuse myself. :)

I'm not being pessimistic- The Glass IS empty!

On the way back home. It's all a blur by this time

CPR

*Sense... Can you hear me? SENSE? SENSE! *lights being flashed into eye*

...Sense is in low responsive but not in a presistent vegetative state...at times, however, there are posts... comments left on other peoples blogs...that gives us hope, despite the lack of regularity... all we can do is monitor and wait...
Sense. SEnsorcaine...can you hear me Sense? We're waiting, Sense,
Whatever you may be experiencing isn’t real Sense. You can escape. You only need to take that definitive step. Do as I say and you will be waking up with your blog family and net friends around you.

something tells me this is my last window of opportunity... I MUST. I must... and Just maybe, maybe Sense can post again.

*'Life on Mars'- BBC

Bit of a chinwag

Well, I though I was pretty conversant with the English language. So when I was asked to attend the ‘integrating with the UK workforce’ training programme, I assumed I wasn’t going to learn anything spectacular, and looked for ward to a good day of R & R at the companies expense.
The course, as it turned out, was an eye-opener in more ways tha one.
For example, only in India do we use the term ‘non-vegetarian’. Here you’re either a Vegetarian, Vegan, if you don’t eat meat. I mean, just because you eat meat does not make you a ‘non-vegetable-eater’.
There is no such word as ‘pre-pone’ that we so generously pepper our phone conversations and e-mails with. You either postpone a meeting or bring it forward.
I have no ‘batchmates’. We passed out from the class of ’01, sure, but unless we’re referring to cookies, there’s going to be no ‘batch’ business.
Eveteasing- again, you’ll spend all day explaining to your British Colleague what ou mean.
A jumper does not mean someone who’s contemplating ending his life by leaping from a skyscraper. It merely refers to a commonplace article of outer clothing.
A lollipop Lady, again, before the imagination runs amok is merely someone who helps school children cross the road.
Jimjams do NOT refer to that delicious jam biscuit we used to love finding in our tiffins at school. They’re just plain ol’ pajamas.
Fags are not a derogatory reference to your sexual orientation- they refer to butt kissing- erm, cigarettes, I mean.
And in the ‘cockney rhyming slang’, when you’re referred to as ‘old china’, they’re not referring to the tea set left by your grandmum. It’s the way they call you mate.
I'm now quite chuffed that eighteen pence has her two bob bit sorted!

Barcelone-Ta ta

Yes, we were in a Barcelona last weekend. Barcelonata, to be precise. Now before you go all 'ooooh', stop. Cease and Desist. For after the tale I have to tell you, you'll be going 'Awwwww' . Unless your struck dumb in Horror. Trust me- that is a very real Possibility.

The weekend started pretty much normally- Driving down to the airport Bleary-eyed and catching an early morning flight to Spain with a screming Toddler who decided he wanted to stop the plane in mid-flight to romp in the clouds. Normal.

Arrival at the hostel too didn't give any warning of the nightmare that lay in store. Centre of town in Passeig de Gracia- Just a hop skip and jump away from La Rambla and a stones throw for the gothic part of town. Nice. Especially when you planned to walk or use the public transport.

So, with a well-fed and duly freshed up Pickwick and a similarly content Baa-lamb, we set out to hit the Beach in Barceloneta, before it got too chilly to enjoy the sea.

Unfortunately we underestimated how throughly 'firang' we'd become- all that sun gave us a headache! Hence we trooped to a nearby cafe - empty at that point of time- because everyone was out basking in the sun.

As Baa lamb turned to get the coffee, while I entertained a restless Pickwick, he called out ‘grab the bag, will ya’. ‘what bag?’ I ask. ‘The bag.’ He say. ‘Our bag. The only bag we have. Haversack.’ he says making this absolutely clear.
‘erm… from where? ‘ I ask. ‘There’s no bag.’
‘eh? On the buggy! Look, will you!’ he said, a tad annoyed at my sudden lapse into obtuseness.
‘I am!’ I insist. ‘At the buggy. An empty buggy.’ I felt it was only fair that I should be as clear as he was.
He goggled. ‘but… where… there… no!’ ah. Not so clear now. But still, I grasped all. In case you, dear reader haven’t, since you don’t share the same telepathic connection with the baa-lamb, let me explain.

The bag- which I must add contained all out travel documents, passports, cards and cash- along with a smattering of Pickwick’s paraphernalia was missing. Gone. In an empty café. Someone had swiped it. Clean as a whistle!!
After some frantic searching up and own the beach- which included some very nasty discoveries in the trash cans around the area- but no bag, we resigned ourselves to the fact that the bag was gone for good.

Then began the nightmare- first cancelling cards (this was apparently so common, they had printed leaflets informing tourists what to do if they got robbed. Credit Card Company numbers, police station numbers, embassy numbers, the works!) , then heading out to the police station- the main police station, since the local once was shut for the weekend- a pity crime doesn’t take a weekend break.
Then of course we got to know that the Indian embassy in Barcelona was an honorary one- they can only advise. Eh? Advise? What do I need an embassy for advice- I have every man on the street doing that. What I needed was help. Action. Is that such an alien concept? Apparently, it was. The only ones who could help us were seated in Madrid. Also shut for the weekend. What is this? An international conspiracy to make it easier for thieves to rob tourists? Emergency Services!- surely if it could wait til monday, it wouldn’t be an emergency, now, would it?
Having lost all hope and all faith in the system, as a last ditch effort, we headed to the airport to see if EasyJet would manage to give us a refund on the ticket- or at least get us to Madrid in one piece.
The lady at the counter took one look at the passport copies (yes, the baa-lamb, that wonderful, meticulous planner, him- had scanned our passport and visa pages and kept it secure on the mail) and said… ‘well, I’ll speak to the Immigration Authorities and I’ll let you know if you can go back’
Eh? Were we hearing right? They’re letting us travel? Letting us get out of here? Back to London? We don’t have to travel to Madrid? And wait for the Emergency Services (ha!) to wake up? Really?
There was a glimmer of hope… ten minutes later she gives us the thumbs up… that’s it... we got outta there like bats out of hell before she changed her mind. Literally raced back to the hotel room, threw together our meagre belongings and rushed back to the airport- and checked in 4 hours before the flight.
We landed in London a bit past mid-night. The immigration authorities we expecting us. No- really. They had all our details and drew up emergency papers on the spot that would hold good until we got proper documentation here. Wow. And this was for people who weren’t event their citizens. While our embassy had emergency services shut for the weekend.
For the first time in my life, I was glad I didn't work in India. Forget 'Atithi Devo Bhava' - lets learn to treat our own guys right.