New Blog

Ok, so I know it's not Blogger's fault, but I just couldn't continue blogging at the same place anymore...Feels like a damn different life and time, and so I thought, this calls for a new blog.

I don't know if anyone still actually comes here anymore, but if you do, here's where I'm at these days -

http://ramblingsofaconfuseddesi.blogspot.com/2009/11/first-act.html

I know the first two posts are somewhat lame, but whatever. I'm trying. Atleast I get E for effort. See you at the new digs

The Spirit is Willing But The Body is Weak...

Toronto has been gray and gloomy the past few weeks. The locals call it the February blahs. Despite being the shortest month of the year, it feels loooong here, mainly because we're sick and tired of winters and want some sunshine. I like to walk and usually use my lunch hour to walk around a few city blocks, as much for the exercise as for clearing my head. But the slick and icy streets through the past 3 months had started to threaten my walk time. I started walking indoors in the mall, but the wonderful displays of chothes, shoes and handbags were starting to threaten my wallet and bank balance.

So a few weeks ago a colleague who has a membership at the local YMCA which happens to be five minutes from office, convinced me to join for a trial membership. In true Indian fasion, I kept waiting till the YMCA started a 2-week free promotional membership. Why spend money on something I may not like enough to continue?

The Y is pretty awesome. 2 pools, gigantic gym, sauna, whirlpool, steamroom, pilates room, dance halls, basketball and squash courts and even an indoor running track (!!). Ofcourse, being as comfortble as I am in my winter blubber (hey its perfectly natural insulation), I am not very interested in most of those activities. However I remember that as a child I tremendously enjoyed swimming. So I took up the free membership (hey, who wouldn't? it was free) and went today for the first day. I swam for 30 minutes, sat in the sauna for 10, and then showered and was back at work...my lunch hour well-utilized. However, it is now 4:30 pm...and my body hurts in places I did not know I had muscles in. Typing on the keyboard is somwhat hard because my arms HURT. my back is screaming at me. and my shoulders...they'll get their revenge tonight.

What was I thinking? Well, actually I was thinking it might help winters go by faster if I could just be as active now as I am in summers. But my good intentions are no salve for the pain. I long for the sunny winters in Delhi, when all I did on weekends was sit on a khaat in the sun and nap or eat dry fruits.

Tomorrow I plan to attend the Ice Fest at Bloor-Yorkville, which is sort of like the GK meets Sundarnagar of Toronto. Its expected that we'll see hundreds of ice sculptures which winter-weary locals and expats alike will swoon over. I'll try to get photos.

I'm here, I think

I'm terrified of writing this post. I looked at the date of my last post. 1 year, 7 months ago. I don't know if I can write anymore. I want to, but I don't know if I can. So I'll keep this short. Just a way to get my feet, well maybe toes, wet again.

The First Kiss Tag

So this one is for Lalit who tagged me a couple of weeks ago to write about my first kiss.

First kisses are so special aren't they? Mine was as perfect as first kisses go. I was at the ripe old age of 19 and my best friend P and I were both losers having never kissed in our whole lives...It didn't make life any better that P was a year and a half older than me and a guy to boot. Pressure was mounting on us both. The idea that someday our kids would ask us at what age we had our first kiss, and that we'd have to admit to the truth was humiliating! What would they think of us?

More than the anticipated reactions of our progeny it was the peer pressure that was bugging us. Things really hit home when we met up this guy we went to high school with - a complete loser - u know the type who brings lunch in a pink plastic tiffin box with a spoon even in class 12. So anyway, we met loser...lets call him G...at McDonald. After flunking class 12 physics practical exam, he had joined the Merchant Navy...While I wish I could say G had become cooler, if possible, he became even more of a loser. During bites of his Fillet of fish burger, he casually asked P and me if we'd done it yet. Being innocents, we actually asked him what he meant. He says, "You know, it. Have you fucked anyone yet?" Now...I've heard a lot of things...but this was a little too direct for P and me, not to mention crude...Being somewhat smarter than him, we knew G would never bring something like this up unless he had gone and done it first. So we asked him. And he had. Said it was on some port in Spain...He woke up one morning on shore leave and he wasn't in his bed. But with some prostitute. Again being smarter than him, P and I discredited his night of passion, by asking him details, none of which he remembered ofcourse, seeing as how he was drunk as only sailors could be. We surmised, if he didn't remember it, he didn't do it. And besides, paying to get it, doesn't count. Being ever the loser, G fell for our line of reasoning, agreeing that he was as much a virgin as us.

After we took leave however, P and I had a serious heart to heart, deciding that it was very uncool that G had actually gone and done it, and we hadn't even bloody kissed. We made a pact, that if another 2-3 months we hadn't kissed anyone else, we'd just kiss each other and get it done with. Ofcourse, neither of us mentioned that the thought of locking lips with each other made us want to gag!

6 months passed and P and I did nothing about it.

Then this other friend I had, A, lets call him, got closer to me...and we became boy friend and girl friend. One fine August day, we were at my college. It had been raining and all the trees were this amazing shade of new green. A had driven down from his college to see me and spend the day with me. We had till then, in our 2-3 month dating, only held hands. That day we walked around my college campus, getting drenched in the rain, enjoying the solitude of the area after 4 PM. We went back and sat in A's car where he had kept flowers for me. Overcome by the romance of the moment, the scent of the beautiful flowers, and ofcourse helped along by the now totally misted up car windows, I smiled and said "I love you". A leaned in and pecked my cheek. A first for me. It was sweet and fumbly. I didn't say anything. So A leaned in and kissed my cheek again. That was followed by some more kissing...the kind you read about in Mills and Boons. The ones where the heroine feels her heart beat in her head and her toes curl up. It was amazing. Perhaps the technique was new and untested. Perhaps we weren't experts at what we did. But its amazing the effect atmosphere can have on a moment such as this. When we finally stopped kissing, and looked at the watch, we realized we had been at it for about 30 minutes. Kissing and whispering sweet nothings. It was perfect. To date I remember it fondly, even after A and I parted ways a few years later...I think it was the sweetest moment we had together. I silently patted myself on my back and waited to drive home and tell P all about it.

The same night, across town, P was with a junior from his college. A gutsy little girl, she asked him to drive her out to Jumbo Point near the airport. Innocent as ever, P did just that. Unknown to him, our young Jezebel was aiming for a make out session with P, and was far more experienced. When P returned from his evening, I was sitting by the phone trying to call him. P called me first. Said he was sitting at Haldirams eating Gulab Jamuns. When I asked him why, he said, "To celebrate things that happened." I asked him what had happened and he said, "Things that happen when you're 21 happened." I curled up on my couch and told him I was eating a Cadbury Rum and Raisin big chocolate bar. P asked me why. So I told him, "To celebrate things that happened." He asked me what had happened and I said, "Things that happen when you're 19 happened."

Update

I don't have anything specifically new happening these days, but I still feel like writing. So this'll be one of my rambly updates where I'll go where my mind takes me.

It was the long weekend last weekend in Canada. Monday was Victoria's Day and therefore a holiday. Did I tell you how I was hinting to my husband that we should go for our honeymoon this long weekend (since the last one was so indescribable)? Well, I had been. Infact I told him he could surprise me (All the women out there know what I am talking about when we allow a man to surprise us). Then did I tell you, that he asked me if I'd like to go to the zoo? He did. And no we ended up not going anywhere at all. Infact we were like an old couple, and stayed up late every night watching movies.

On Sunday, after Church, we came home, had chicken curry, and took a nap. I KNOW!!!! Where is the young exciting life I had thought to lead in this new free land?? Anyway, during my nap I had this dream about this dessert we had seen at this little cafe in Greektown. So when we woke up at 6 PM, thats where I demanded to be taken to. Trust me, if you'd seen this dessert, you'd know what I am talking about. Infact I took a pic just for everyone.

THIS IS BEFORE



THIS IS AFTER



TIME TAKE: 8.5 SECONDS

Its called a Tongue Depressor. Why in the world would anyone call that a depressor is beyond me. The cafe has this corny little menu, I should have snapped a pic of. This menu has names like "The Julius Ceaser", "A Bird to the Wise", "Stand by your Ham", "Fowl Play", "Yes Sir, Cheese my Baby", and my personal favourite, "Poultrygeist".

On Monday evening to celebrate the end of the holiday, I went to the park. There's one about 2 minutes from my place. Its a dog park, and me being a doggie lover, I go there to pet all the dogs. I know how that sounds. But I love them so much. Dogs are so stupid and brave and loyal and idiotic. Owners come to the park with these complicated toys, and the dogs just run around chasing squirrels and picking up dead pieces of wood to play with! Goes to show how simple is sometimes best. They have the greatest fun running around an empty fountain and jumping over the benches. The only problem is that they also love to drool, so I usually need to wash my jeans after every visit to the park. After observing the dogs and the owners, I realized their primary motivation is food. For the dogs I mean, although if you saw some of the owners, you'd think the same of them. They, the dogs, don't come to everyone in the park. Only to the people who have food. Having observed this, I now go to the park prepared. Before leaving the house, I pick up one of the muffins I've baked, and sort of rub it over my hand and palm, and then I go to the park. Poor dogs keep coming to me and licking my hand, and everyone thinks I am like the Dog Whisperer. Even my husband doesn't know about my dirty little trick. I tell him its because the dogs sense my pure aura. Ofcourse, all they smell is chocolate chips and orange muffin. One of these days, I know he'll figure it out, but till then.............

Who said you need to be completely honest in a marriage about everything? He was wrong. Infact I bet it was a he who said it, because women just know better. For example, every morning, when the alarm goes off, and my husband lovingly touches my feet with his (read: he kicks me) to go shut it off, I tell him, I already went and snoozed it 10 minutes ago and you never heard it......Its been 3 months so far, and needless to say, he's not figured it out yet. Infact thinking about this, brings me to the next interesting topic I could blog about - Lies Women Tell. I'll start my list immediately after I post this entry.

I can hear the dogs barking. So I'll be off now. Besides, I don't want muffin crumbs on the laptop.

These Are a Few of My Favourite Things

Ever since I moved to Toronto, things that I took for granted in India, are what I miss the most. Oh I won't pretend I don't enjoy the unbroken high-speed Internet, un-interrupted power and water supply, and the 14 degree weather, but still, there are things about home that I will never get here. Since its raining today, and I'm feeling somewhat homesick, I thought making a list of a few of my favourite things will make me feel better.

1. Samosas - Oh c'mon, its raining! What fun is rain unless you are sitting with some garam garam chai and samosas...Wait I know...pakodas....paneer pakodas....food fit for the Gods.

2. Smell of aloo frying - You know how when you walk in Connaught Place and suddenly your senses are assailed with the incredible aromas of aloo frying in one of the little corners...and there is this crowd of people surrounding that HUGE frying pan, waiting for their aloo chaat...Oh man, I never ate it when I was in Delhi, even my stomach can't handle that food, but those awesome aromas haunt me even 12,000 miles away.

3. Neighbourhood sabzi walas - Saaaaaaabbbbbjiiiiiiiii...Man, those guys can shout. I used to feel bad in Delhi, when I'd hear them still trying to hawk their wares at 9:30 in the night, knowing that next day, they'll be up at 3 AM to go to the mandi, pushing their carts, and then push that laden cart around for the rest of the day, until night time again. But I miss those fresh veggies to the door. Who needs organic labels. Everything in India is organic!

Yes, I know it appears as though I am singularly obsessed with food ever since getting here, but you have to be out of India to know what its like...I have a lot of buddies living in London, Denmark, US etc. and here is one food description that they love to hate:

"Going to Pandara Road, ordering butter naan, tandoori chicken, dal makhani, and kadhai chicken...breaking that melt in the mouth naan...with butter dripping down it. the slightly spicy and tangy flavours of tandoori chicken bursting upon your tastebuds...till you taste the kadhai chicken that is...with chillies and chicken swimming in pyaaz and masala...then you wash it with a dip of naan in the creamy dal makhani..."

HAHAHAHAHAHAHA...so how many of you are ordering dhaba food tonight eh? I know I know...writing all this is a bit sadistic....but hey, I'm going through it too remember.

So what else do I miss...Aaah, street shopping! I miss Janpath, buying all that junk jewelery one could find only there...You know those long earings girls wear, with little squares designed in bronze...they are soo popular in Toronto...but when I saw them in Eaton center, they were priced at $40. In Delhi, they are available for 30 rupees! I am so tempted to get into business. Buy a suitcase full of those from Janpath, and sell them in Toronto. I'll recover the price of my ticket and more! But I guess every Sindhi bhai in Toronto worth his papad has already gone and done that. Infact they are probably the enterprising souls selling these trinkets for $40 at the mall!

I miss Eid and the sewai that came from a muslim friend's house. I missed Lohri and the bonfires and random dancing in the street in front of my house. I miss listening to Rabbi on my way to work in the morning. I miss going to Priya with my friends, and sitting at Barista playing scrabble. I miss having aloo parathas on Sunday mornings, and having that with dahi and aachar. Yes Yes, we're back to food again so its come a full circle.

Most of all, I miss having a maid, who my mom would gossip with. Now I have to vacuum the house myself with my husband for gossip company. And he knows nothing about what the Chaddas' 17 yr old chori was doing with the Sens' 19 year old son in Sector 14, Block B park like my good old maid did!!!

A Day in the Life of a Job Hunting Immigrant

So you know how I said, when I come here and gripe about whatever is bothering me, I am able to see it in a lighter vein, well, I'm back for the same therapy again. Slightly cheaper than going to a shrink I think, plus there is always my fantasy about being discovered by some great publisher who wants to pay me a shit load of money for my rants.

Speaking of shit, I must, I must write about my day yesterday. It was one of those days when just as you think you can't possibly feel lower, life gives you a veritable kick in the balls.

But before I tell you about yesterday, I have to go into flashback.

Having moved to Canada a few weeks back, I enjoyed the first week being entranced by the snow. The second week was spent learning how to master things like an electric cooking range, and learning not to run and cross the road Delhi-style. The third week was spent moping and missing mommy. But through all these weeks, was the underlying restlessness that accompanies those miserable souls who've worked most of their lives. People like me who don't know what to do without work. Who will bitch and rant about office, but will miss it tremendously when not there anymore. So throughout those weeks, yours truly spent time on the Internet looking for jobs.

Realistically, I knew I was not going to be getting a job 2 hours after landing here, unless I wanted to work in airport security, and from what I saw, the Punjabi and Sikh community in Toronto has exclusive rights on that one. Chak de phatte!!

But perhaps in my state of optimism, I thought I'd land a job in about a month. This is where I was wrong. See apparently not even resumes are written here the way they are back home. So after a month of misfires, a friend's aunt who works in HR gave me a resume writing session. That's when I realized I wasn't getting a single call because no one liked my resume. Back in India, using the same resume, doing multiple save-as copies, and simple changing the position name usually did the trick.

I then re-started the entire applying process all over again. 7 weeks and over 100 applications later, I have had only 2 interview calls. The first one was crap, the second, I’m still waiting to hear about, but I am pretty hopeful. In the meantime, I am going nuts in the house. Mondays are the worst. I feel like I’ll never get a job and I have kittens just thinking that. Combine that with my new found love for cooking and baking, well-meaning friends started telling me I’m the perfect housewife. With friends like that, who needs enemies!

So yesterday, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I got a copy of Employment News from a newsstand. Back home, Employment News typically has UPSC results and government openings. Here it has small time jobs and mostly call center listings. So I thought, here goes, while I search for that elusive perfect job I can blog about, I’ll go and do some itty bitty job just to get out of the house. The husband didn’t look very convinced and said, “You know that paper is a little shady”. Ofcourse noticing the light of battle in my eyes after days of seeing me look just despondent, he didn’t continue. In retrospect maybe he should have, and I should’ve listened seeing as how being born and raised here, he knows a little bit more about the country than me.

So armed with copies of my resumes, I made my way yesterday to hurriedly set-up appointments at 3 offices.

Interview 1: 9:30 AM – Yonge Street

So unlike large sprawling Gurgaon and Delhi call centers, this one was on the 6th floor of a high rise. A cramped space, I knew it was probably not the place for me, when I saw a mop and pail standing next to reception. Still I continued with the interview. When they took me to the lunch room for my initial interview (in a lunch room!). I was amazed to see that it wasn’t the 5000 sq. ft area I had gotten used to at my last place. Instead it was a small 10 by 10 room with 3 plastic chairs, 1 table, 1 sink, and 1 microwave. I was thinking if these people could see how Indian call center cafeterias are, they’ll probably all line up for immigration! So the interview went fine, and they wanted to know when I’d join. I said I’ll call you back. I still haven’t. Is it wrong of me? I kept thinking…but the minute I walked into that place, I was so depressed. It was like I had walked into one of those crowded domestic call centers that line the inner lanes of South Ex and Rajouri Garden! So obviously I’m not going back.

Interview 2: 11:30 AM – Yonge Street

When the receptionist who had taken my call told me that the office was just next to the huge MTV office with the MTV signboard, I must admit I was impressed. When I got there however, I realized that there is a big difference between the MTV office and ghetto next door. As I walked down the musky carpet towards the door of the agency, this feeling of total helplessness washed over me…It’s a friggin call center and I am supposed to be doing this for time pass!! They didn’t even take my resume, just gave me a job. Atleast in India, they interview you at a 5 star and pretend to have 5 rounds before selecting you. That’s the difference. In India, call centers are jobs college kids take to have a good time. Here they are jobs you take if you can’t get a job at the mall selling clothes. This depressed me even more, although I’m not sure if it was because I was just missing India or work.

Lunch: 12:45 PM – Eaton Center

After my morbid morning, I decided to meet the husband for lunch at Eaton Center, a mall nearby. He helped me get over my depression by clogging my arteries with KFC and fries. It worked.

I came back home, took a nap and decided to leave for my last interview of the day. It was at about 4:30 also at Yonge Street. Incase you are wondering about Yonge street, it’s the longest street in the world, and stretches from Toronto all the way to Thunder Bay…another city, and hour away by air.
So anyway, the address was 719 Yonge Street, and I kept looking for this place and I couldn’t find it. Somehow all I could see after 714 was 730. I couldn’t help notice that the area was a little dingy. With shanty shops selling “body art” and “adult videos”. And that’s when I saw 719, Yonge Street. A godawful old house converted to office. Nestled between a strip joint called Brass Rails and a store that sells “Novelty ID cards”. That’s it!!! I thought to myself, I can’t possibly go in there. Obviously they are selling something other than “a line of new products” as the ad said. Or maybe they are new products…just being used in the oldest profession in the world!

Here is what amazes me about Toronto. In Delhi, we know the areas that are bad and can actively avoid them. Here you have a business district like Bloor-Yonge, but 2 minutes from there you have business of just another variety.

So I cross the road to start my trudge back home. That’s when I saw the queerest thing ever. And I use that word as a pun. This British guy, reed thin, completely gay, and wearing the most outlandish fur coat I’ve ever laid eyes on. Infact its entirely possible it wasn’t a coat, but just a dead animal slung over his shoulder! By now I’m used to such sights in what my husband lovingly calls the “Gaybourhood”, but obviously the Britgay was also a bit high. So he’s just standing there talking to himself, when these 2 men walk past him. Both men were HUGE, rippling muscles and tattoos on their necks. Obviously not men you would like to get upset. But cocaine does strange things to people. So the Britgay starts shouting at these huge bouncers, “What are yuu laughing at aye? Is eet my coat u baboon?” Like I said, cocaine has a strange effect on people, or perhaps Britgay just fancied a spanking…so he keeps heckling the baboon, oops, I meant bouncer guy. So the big guy finally gets pissed and starts advancing towards Britgay. I think he said, “Yeah, what are you going to do about it?”. And then he started chasing Britgay and beating him!!! Britgay tries to hide behind a car, and pretty soon they are chasing each other round and round the car…It would be funny if it wasn’t scary! Before I could grab my cell, someone else called 911. Unlike Delhi, where the thullas would arrive much after everything is over and the 2 guys are having a drink together, Toronto police are a bit faster. Within 3-4 minutes, the 2 were getting handcuffed. I don’t know about the bouncer, but I think I saw the Britgay smiling.

I decided this was as big a sign as I could get, and I am definitely not returning to 719, Yonge street for an interview, atleast in this lifetime. So I continue my walk back home, when I see this “Hiring” sign outside this optician’s store. I thought to myself, well, it can’t hurt looking can it…I mean, I do still have my resume. I could just drop it off…After all, I want something to keep me out of the house. So I go in, and I see this huge store, with 12 customers, and only one little Chinese girl behind the counter. Ofcourse, everyone is waiting their turn like normal individuals yours truly included. Suddenly this shemale walks in behind me, and I didn’t see her, uuh him, ahh it…When my turn comes, this shemale pushes me aside, walks up to the counter and starts ordering around the Chinese salesgirl. The salesgirl says, “I’m sorry, but she (me) was ahead of you so I need to speak to her first”. Knowing I’m only in here to ask about a job I possibly don’t even want, I said, “Oh you can take her (shemale) first.” Sales girl says “No, you first.” Now I know that in principle the salesgirl was right, but no one could have anticipated what happened next. I said, “Oh I’m just here to check about the job sign for more information.” So this nasty shemale turns to the sales girl and announces to the whole store, “She is just here for a job. I’m here to pay you money…” then she pretends to walk out and says, “Oh go ahead, serve her first.” Not wanting to be in the middle of this, I told the Chinese girl, “Go ahead, she needs help more…” Hehehe…I don’t think either of them caught the insult. I would’ve said more, wanted to, but you know, a shemale…I mean, what can I say to make her…ummm..him…umm it…feel worse than life probably already is for her…um…him…umm it…You get the idea.

Anyway, so I left the store (obviously!) and continued my trudge back home. Met my husband mid-way, got hysterical, laughed and cried and then we walked home. Just when I thought it couldn’t get any worse…it did.

There was this Chinese guy walking his little furry dog. I hate little dogs. I usually just want to kick them across the street. This does not hold true for puppies. I love puppies…I just hate dogs that are tiny even when fully grown. That’s just disgusting. So before I get carried away, back to the story. Chinese guy, walking his furry little dog. The little dog decides to attack me, and bares his tiny teeth at me, straining at his collar, walking on hind legs…You should’ve seen it…This is how it looked:



Well, pretty close anyway. And then, the owner says, “Don’t be stupid IfITellYaI’llHaveToKillYa”. Ok so he didn’t call the dog “IfITellYaI’llHaveToKillYa”.

But that dog and I share a name. I rest my case.

Honeymoon from Hell

Hey everyone. Actually after a hiatus of well over 5 months, I wonder how many of my old readers actually bother checking back this blog. But well, if you do, thats nice! So what have I done in these past few months...lets see, I got married, went on a honeymoon, tried to pack 25 years of life in India into 3 suitcases and 1 backpack, moved countries, tried and still trying to settle into my new life in Canada (or Ceh-neh-dah as I really like to call it, with full janani accent)!

While I've been somewhat caught up, and frankly devoid of much inspiration, I thought its about time I get back into the game. As I am typing infact, I realize how much I've missed this. My alternate life. The ability to come here and spew out whatever the hell is bothering me, and in the process, finding somehow, the sense of humour in it.

For anyone who has ever been married, trust me, you know, there is a lot of humour to be found in the wedding and everything that follows. Not because its all haha-hehe, but simply because if you didn't take it in good humour, you wouldn't be able to take it at all!

So to start things off, I thought I'd share vignettes of my honeymoon with you. No you filthy bastards, it wasn't a hidden camera. It was one out in the open. The camera handywork is my husband's and mine. Yes. Yes. On our honeymoon, this is what we were doing in our hotel room. Taking photos of it. Scroll down, and you'll see why.



Ofcourse, if one is on a honeymoon in winters, one doesn't need room heaters...that seems to be the idea why this monstrosity was in our room! Look at it!! It looks like the previous occupant used the heater to keep warm by setting it on fire. That's pretty much the only way this thing could work! Not to mention the fact that its propped up on a plug. Check the front left side. See! See!!

And when we decided to risk switching on the heater shown above, we came to the switchboard. Now, who in their right minds would actually TOUCH this??




You would think this looks pretty normal right? But wait till you check the wall below caught in this shot:



It was WET. Frigging wet. I kid you not. Perhaps the reason why my new husband found me wearing 2 pairs of rubber slippers (his and mine), holding a stick, to turn the heater on every night. Not the sexiest image mind you, but I think I'll withhold comment on the merited sexiness of electrocution.

If you thought this was bad, you should've seen our bathroom. When I first entered the room, I wondered where this strange sewery smell was emanating from, till I saw the damn pot. Here it is for your viewing pleasure alone:



And doesn't that just cap it. But wait, before I sign off, and I promise this time, I'll come back more regularly, because I want to...here are two images we could see only in India (damn I miss home). The first is self-explanatory:



Glistening buttock of buffalo. A sight one can see only on the highways of north India. Don't miss the dead squashed bugs on the windshield. Isn't that awesome!! The buffalo I mean...Look at it...their butts are actually shining!!!

And finally, I spotted this in the airport at Indore and I HAD to take a photo. Observe carefully. Behind the motley crew of baniya uncles from Indore, travelling to Delhi on business, on the wall, there are some boards and some doors...the boards signify the various entry points.

Toilets - Under this is the door for toilet, or latrine, as we all like to call them. Its an unmarked door. Enter at your own risk.
Drinking water - Under this board, one can see the drinking water cooler clearly. Ofcourse the fact that its just next to the latrine, is a bit if a turn off, but still, you can see it.
Gents toilet - Under this board, you can see some sort of entry, to what - I assume its the gents toilet..oops, I mean latrine (shee...that word...doesn't it sound dirty?)
Ladies toilet - Look under this board people - its a WALL. This is what the women of India get to pee on. A wall!! I think the MP government got just a little confused when designing the lavatory area between the genders.

And THIS is exactly what happens when the state that has Khajuraho in it, bans sex education in their schools.

Diwali Joys

Here is a list of things I love about Diwali:

1. I loooove the sweets. Although I love salty stuff more, Diwali time, I just love the sweets...Besides there is a valid excuse to stuff my face with motichur laddos, sandesh, gulab jamuns, ras malai...ummmmmm...And best of all, thanks to the adulteration, I end up with loosies the very next day. Pooping it all out means never putting on the extra calories. If anyone of you know better, and want to contradict me out of my beliefs, stay away!!!

2. I hate crackers and the noise they make. I made the casual remark to my fiance, a 4th generation Canadian Indian, and he was perplexed and very worried. He kept asking me how I would survive in Canada if I hated crackers. I thought lack of sleep and math exams were robbing him of his sanity, till I realized that "crackers" is what they call white people in Toronto...Well well, the things I learn thanks to Diwali.

3. I love dogs and I hate how they start crying because of the damn crackers. I want to bring them all into my house, but they poop and pee when they are scared..Damn...Who'll clean up the mess?

4. I love having the excuse to buy clothes and jewelery. I turn into a total female and love getting beautiful silks and gorgeous heavy Indian jewelery...The rest of the year, I never wear it, because I hate it so much!

5. I love watching all of Delhi crowd the markets. No matter which market you go to, its totally crowded...And Delhites are obsessed with creating bigger impressions on just about everyone. So you have people carting around HUGE giftboxes...You'd think they'd be heavy and full of stuff...Then someone gifted one to us. It looked big enough to fit a mini TV into it...When I opened it, it had a big shiny plastic box, with 6 teeny weeny compartments filled with 3-4 cashews and raisins each! Rest of the box had air. Hmmpff!!! I prefer those heavy Haldiram boxes instead. Refer to point 1 for any clarifications.

6. Diwali gives me a holiday. Except on those horrid years when it falls on a Sunday or something. I think pandits should have a secret agreeement to always declare Diwali on a Friday or a Monday. That way, I get a 3 day weekend.

7. I love Eid also as it comes just after Diwali. My office has to give a Eid holiday too, coz otherwise we accuse them of being partial to the minority religion. Thats how we got a 5 day weekend this time!! Yay!!

8. I love watching lights. I think diyas look nicer than those blinky lights. I wish everyone would go back to diyas...You know what looks wonderful? Houses decorated with diyas and mango leaves and marigolds.

9. The holiday gave me a chance to download 6 Harry Potter books. I'm reading them all on the lappie now and preteding to my mom that its office work...har har har.

10. I love my mom. She's too smart for me. She figured wizard and magic talk wasn't a part of my office work when she snuck up on the lappie and read over my shoulder. I've been drafted to clean my room, pack away extra clothes, go shopping for curtains, and visit ALL my relatives.

Oh well, I still love Diwali. Have fun you all. Be safe.

Performance Anxiety

No bride-to-be worth her weight in salt, and that is a LOT of salt for this bride to be - its all the water retention you know, ok veering off topic...let me start again.

No bride-to-be worth her weight in salt, will ever confess, that secretly she doesn't want the wedding. Oh no, its not that she doesn't want the marriage, although in some cases that may be it, but its just the whole wedding hoopla.

Ever since Sooraj Barjatya inflicted that Hum Aapke Hain Kaun flick on us, he's set up umpteen Indian families for failure. Everyone expects multiple functions, a perfect family that stands in one line, dancing with an ever smiling papaji, mamaji, buaji etc. They also expect fluffy dogs that can play cricket, and sensing family tensions, can convey messages between unwilling-to-wed jeejas and saalis...The only fluffy dog in my family is psychotic and likes to bite everyone. He even pees in the house at night when everyone is asleep.

The pressure I tell you is immense.

Mr.Barjatya has made it so that all families are expected to turn in dance performances at their weddings. Somehow, the bride's younger sisters are always roped in for this task. My younger sisters have far to much self-respect to do that. And yet, societal pressure has had numerous family friend "uncles" asking them what song they are performing to. I had to hold them back when they almost named songs like "Tu Cheez..." and "Samundar mein naaha kar..." To say that would have incited a couple of heart attacks is an understatement.

I also have a set of uncles, none of whom are anything like Alok Nath, smiling beningly at one and all. No siree. Mine are more like Prem Chopra. They love their whisky and can drink an Irishman under the table. They cuss enough to put the Haryanvi guys who drive my office cabs to shame. They abuse each others mothers and sisters, even though they may be married to each others mothers and sisters. The women look fondly, and in some cases, not-so-fondly on.

I feel like I'll be walking this tightrope at the wedding with Alcohol-Hating-Seriously-Religious-Mother-In-Law at one end, and Alcohol-Loving-Ciggie-Smoking-Cussing-Uncles at the other.

Then there are my aunts. Every single one has a unique neurosis. One aunt loves looking at prospective boys for her girls, and then promptly rejecting them. She's gone through more boys for her girls than Liz Taylor has gone through face lifts. She once even rejected this great guy, who is now in and out of the Indian cricket team, and plays county cricket in London. My sister could have been giving Reed Thin Spice a run for her money. Instead she travels from Ghaziabad to Gurgaon, crossing 3 state lines twice a day. I know, marriage isn't a way out (it's usually just a way to turn yourself in). But still, where will you find the perfect man?? George Clooney is too happy with his pig you know. But what is really scary is that my aunt has now set her sights on my poor single brother-in-law. Don't even get me started on my other aunts. Thats a blog on its own.

Mr.Barjatya has also espoused the concept of the perfect bride. He obviously hasn't heard of the "Bridezilla" concept. His brides blush demurely at the first glimpse of Daddyji, Mummyji and ofcourse "Prem". Brides today are a tad different. They gripe in their blogs and bitch about relatives.

As if Sooraj Barjatya wasn't enough, we then had Laxmi Mittal, getting his daughter married at a goddamn Palace in Paris for God's sake! Then that Sahara Parivar dude took over all of Lucknow for his sons' weddings. He chartered all his guests to the venue in private jets. Last night, my uncle told me, we needn't book the Indian Railway sleeper coach for our guests, as everyone is making their own bookings. I even heaved a sigh of relief at that one! Yeah yea, so I'm cheap.

I know some of you may think that comparisons are odious. After all, I'm getting worried comparing my shing-a-ding to movie weddings and multi-millionaire baraats. But isn't this what happens to normal men and women when they start comparing themselves in bed with digitally enhanced porn stars? Maybe I should get Wiagara (Wedding + Viagara). Get it...haha...I'm funny at 11:27 in the PM.

Holy Matrimony

I know I haven't written in ages.....But what was I supposed to do. My creativity is being sucked dry by my relatives who are planning my wedding.

Let me start at the very beginning. I returned back to Delhi (40 deg + humidity) in the middle of August from a wonderful vacation in Toronto (20 deg + cool winds).

Husband-to-be took me sight seeing in his city. The highlight of the tour was our visit to what is popularly known as a "Novelty" store. A store that sells candles, movies, blow-up dolls, things that look like 12 inch sausages...well, you get the picture right? No we didn't buy anything (personally, I figure people need those things after 3 years of marriage). But still, worth a good laugh...

I saw men and women walk right in and out of the store without a trace of embarasment. Some were even brown. Now how does one tell the difference between a seasoned-almost-white-brown, and a Fresh-Off-The-Boat-Brown (FOB brown)? The guys standing outside the store, peeking looks inside, and pretending they are reading the Toronto Star (held upside down) are the FOB browns. Somehow, all of us in the sub-continent, Indis, Pakis, Bangis, Lankis...all of us are collectively taught to be ashamed of our sexuality. Amazing then, that we have the fastest growing population in the world! Compare this with Europe, one of the most open societies in the world - who are paying citizens to have babies to battle declining birth rates. Lesson to the Indian goverment - Advertise Sex!

So what happened after I returned? A wedding date was decided. To anyone, who has ever fixed a wedding date without a pandit deciding an auspicious occasion (suiting the side of the family that gave a bigger dakshina), you know what I'm talking about when I say this is just the first of the battles. No date will suit everyone. You could pick any date in the calendar. Someone will always have a kid with exams, someone will complain about not getting leave that time of the year, and someone will just say no for the heck of it...After the to-be-married couple try to spend a couple of weeks doing people-pleasing, they give up. In our case, we told our families, they could pick any date they wanted...but the wedding might not be as much fun if the bride or groom or both were missing in action!

Once we had a date, we set about to the task of appeasing those who we couldn't please. I need to mention here, that for some reason, women always end up with the appeasement task. What is it about us? Is it the extra chromosome (or is that the missing one?)? But somehow, all the man has to do is turn up at the right place, at the right time. Everything else is for the woman to handle. I'm not saying this is deliberate because the man doesn't want to help. Its just the way it is. If I have a child, I'll beg him/her to elope.

Just like appeasement, everything else from venue to cake to color combinations - is all the bride's work. And God Forbid, if you think you have a choice in the matter, you've had it. You must, you must pick something every one else likes, if even you think its puke.

When I started, I had accidently believed myself to be important to the wedding, till a friend at work, also planning her wedding told me that I was the least important person in this whole thing. After all, I am just the bride! Another friend told me that weddings are a test of patience. You try to get through the months preceding that day, and the day itself, one day at a time...

So why am I so venomous about my own wedding. Well for starters, my relatives decided that this being the first wedding in the family in 15 years, it needed some added celebration...like all of them organizing it for instance. Can someone say too many cooks...?

They are all trying to do everything they couldn't do at their own weddings...and making a total mess of mine...and they FIGHT...about everything. Being in the unenviable position of needing to please everyone, you may see this bride in some "unique" attire.

You'll see me walk down the aisle wearing a saree that looks like a gown, or a gown that looks like a saree, wearing 5 veils, to please my 5 aunts. The makeup will make me look like a goth chick, or Raveena Tandon from the early 90s, considering aunty 1 leans towards baby pink based makeup for that fresh innocent virginal appeal, while aunty 2 prefers a more smoldering look ("he'll be wondering when he can be alone with you" - eeuuuu, please please don't talk to me about that ever again).

Then there is the cousin brother, who wants a bollywood bhangra DJ at the reception and also to book the best disc in town for the night. When I asked him his opinion on how this will fit within our budget, he said "No comments on that" NICE!

And how can I forget the uncle who has ordered a 5-tiered wedding cake...I'm afraid when they click photos, it'll look like my groom is holding hands with the cake, because I sure as hell wont be visible behing that monstrosity.

Then there is my dear beloved husband-to-be, who bought a wedding cake top online. Most couples choose romantic figures with the groom sweeping the bride off her feet. My man picked one that has a groom being dragged by the collar by the bride...obviously to the altar...Husband-to-be thinks its the FUNNIEST thing since Archie set up a date simultaeneously with Betty and Veronica.

And moms...yours and his. Especially yours. Seems like the emotions of the time get to them so they feel the need to pick fights with you all the time. Then when you fight back, they cry, making you want to crawl right back under that big dirty rock where you belong.

So, fellow brides-to-be, or those who may join us soon, in the near or distant future, here are some handy tips for us all -

1. Remember, YOU are not important. Everyone else is.
2. If you have a choice, keep it to yourself.
3. If you have a dream wedding, don't ever imagine you can get it for yourself...Instead hold your horses...Force you niece, nephew, child suffer ur perfect wedding instead. May the circle continue.
4. Be nice to mom. You'll regret any other way later.

Pet Cemetary

Its been a long time since I've posted. Don't blame me. Ok, blame me. But also blame the corporate slave masters who've chained me to the conference room from where I'm penning this down.

I'm currently attending an extremely boring (and that is the understatement of the year) session on SAP. Infact, the session is so boring that:

1. The speaker's colleague nodded off to sleep 37 minutes after the start
2. The speaker himself headed out to get caffeine during the break because he realized he was delivering his presentation under the influence of sleep

Somebody, please drive a knife through my heart. It'll be so much kinder than having to bear this torture chamber any longer. A meal followed by a monologue by this sleep-inducing man in darkened conference room are not my idea of a fun post-lunch activities.

My brain is sluggish and I don't know what this man is saying anymore. Something about client ID, session, process and a bunch of acronyms like SD, BD, SM, PA that mean nothing to any of the attendees. Well, I've got a bunch of acronyms that do. How's MC, BC sound to you old guy?

Ok brain, 57 minutes more. I promise that if you do this for me, I'll give you your heart's desire (Ok, that sounds wrong. How can a brain have a heart's desire?). OK brain, basically you can have your fill of oxygen.

My mind wanders in a bid for survival. It latches on to the first mildly amusing thought that comes to it. And that brings me to the wildlife sanctuary of chaos that is my house these days.

A pack of street dogs constantly wander the lane outside my house. They are very loud. Always. But because I've known them since they were pups (infact I think I may even have observed their conception), I have a soft spot for them. However that does not mean that I'm ok with their excitable barks at all hours of the day and night. I know they mean well and are playing guard and all, but what are a couple of burglaries compared to uninterrupted hours of sleep or phone conversations? Atleast the burglaries give the neighbourhood a reason to get together and talk.

And then there are the monkeys. A couple of them climbed out to our balconey a few evenings ago. Now here is something we all wish to see when we return home from a stressful day at work - a bunch of monkeys in the balconey, one sitting on the rose pot scratching its buttocks. Two grooming themselves on the clothesline. And one making a meal out of my pink lacey thingies. So atleast the last one had good taste.

If you remember, there was also a cat that had taken over my house once. His progeny stalk around these days.

And NOW, we have a pet lizard. How did I end up getting one of those? Well, during the mating season, we got a baby lizard who never learnt how to climb walls like most self-respecting lizards. Yours truly being petrified of anything that crawls never quite learnt to be fond of "Lizzie", but my mother ofcourse found it "cute" (belch) to see this lizard crawling around eating up all the insects. So now Lizzie has made the foyer her permanent abode. A few evenings ago mum came to me and started telling me how Lizzie was sitting there and staring at mum. My mother sounded almost affectionate (!) and I felt as thought I'd suddenly acquired a bug for a sibling or something. I warned mum that if she continued talking to the lizard like that, the lizard's likely to get fond of her. And guess what happened? I was right. I now have a lizard who scurries away at the sound of my footsteps, but sits and just swishes her tail when mum walks near her.

The lizard has developed an identity crisis. I think she thinks she's a dog! The other day, I swear, I caught her wagging her tail at mum. So now we have this lizard that follows my mum around the house and wags her tail. In fact tonight, this rain bug came and landed near mum's foot. Lizzie jumped out from behind the couch and ate the bug up. Loyalty people. Another doggie trait.

I found a solution to my dilema though. Mum's come to fear Lizzie's devotion finally. Especially since I told her that Lizzie may start wanting to lick her now to express affection.

Peace prevails.

Hyderabadi Biryani

A few weeks back during a meeting with my big boss, I told him how I wanted onsite opportunities and direct interaction with clients. See, all I wanted was a free ticket to the US to sightsee...I thought I had made myself crystal clear. Apparently not.

Last week, I was caught hold of and told I had to go onsite...to Hyderabad.

As with all MNCs I was told a day before about my trip and the remaining time was spent trying to get approvals for payments and tickets from just about everyone from the janitor to the CEO. I made the strategic error of booking Air Sahara tickets. Both times, my 2-hour flight was delayed by 3 hours. You know, I honestly think that all those rumors about Subroto Roy having HIV and dying were spead by the honcho of the airline division to deviate attention from the perpetually late flights.

Not to mention the age of the Sahara planes. The one I went in, had the following message printed infront of my seat: "Incase of submersion, use lower cushion as floatation device." What The Fuck...you mean to say that if the stupid plane were to land in deep water, I would survive by hanging on to a tatty cushion?? Well, perhaps the absorbed gases of the previous passengers (they are not to blame, the day-old food served in-flight is) will keep me afloat!

The really fun part were the 4 brats who were sitting next to me. I had tele-checked in like a seasoned traveler, and had got a window seat. The 4 brats kept whining to their mom about why "aunty" wouldn't let them sit at the window. "Aunty"?? Bloody hell. I even stuck my tongue out at them when their mom wasn't watching.

Anyway, so in Hyderabad, once I reconciled myself to the fate of a domestic "onsite" of 3 days, I figured I could still enjoy the city in the evening, visit Char Minar, have some fantastic biryani, and buy myself some pearls. But did I manage to do that? Well, lets see, between getting my laptop to work, getting cabs and commuting for 4 hours daily, ummm, no. The only biryani I got to eat was at the office cafeteria, and all of you who work in MNCs, are probably laughing out loud right now, or just shaking your heads along in pity. You see, office cafeteria food is a separate blog of despair all together.

So anyhow, I never managed to visit char Minar either. But on the way back to the airport, I begged the driver to stop at Mangatrai and I picked up 2 sets of pearls - black and white. When I reached the airport and reported at the Air Sahara counter, I got a call on my cell. Guess who? Air Sahara - informing me that my flight was delayed by 3 hours. What fucking geniuses man.

When I finally got my flight, I was relieved to note that this time around the plane had life jackets and did not expect me to float on a cushion the size of my ass.

I spent my time at the airport and in-flight with a wonderful gentleman who I recognized to be from my office. Ofcourse I had no clue who he was. It was sometime during the flight, when I was grabbing my arm rests in fear because of the turbulence (bitchy storm), that I found out that the man I had been gabbing with was the damn Asst. Vice President for Finance. Rest of the trip was spent trying to flash back to try and remember if I had said anything ungainly about my company. I realized what a futile exercise it was. Waiting at the airport, all I had done was bitch about Air Sahara and my company. I had specifically bitched about the compensation packages, and how the finances of the company were in dire straits. Way to go woman, I said to myself. Pat on the back doesn't even cover it.

In conclusion, on this business trip I did the following:

1. Scared kids on the plane
2. Got sick on the plane
3. Worked till 1 AM at the hotel, woke up at 5 AM to work more - everyday
4. Traveled for 4 hours everyday
5. Fought with transport and IT
6. Ate office food that I eat in Gurgaon anyway
7. Cooled my heels at the airport for 6 hours
8. Embarassed myself in front of the AVP Finance

When I reached back office, my AVP sauntered over to me and asked, "So, how was your vacation?"

Introducing - My Photo Blog

I find myself wanting to capture silly things on the street. 4 boys riding on the scooter, celebrating India's win in some cricket match. A little girl crying with a pouty bottom lip on her way to school. Aunties haggling over veggies with a vendor. Those huge tractors from the farms with veggies stackpiled so neatly on them. Vendors selling colorful baloons to kids. A 50-year old distinguished CEO-type licking an ice cream with the same joy as his 4-year old son. A pretty flower just growing out of a cracked concrete driveway.

Therefore, introducing my photo blog - Through The Lens I See.

Interview With The Vampire

The idea for this post came when Safari Al posted a comment on my last post, asking me for any pointers for job interviews. Seeing as how I'm older and wiser, I've decided to help good 'ol Safari, and any other about-to-interview kids out there. The only condition being, you have to buy me a glass of some superlative ice wine or what the heck, beer ought to do.

One of the most traumatic experiences you'll ever go through in your life is an interview.

It starts when you're a 2 year old toddler and need to get admission into a playschool. Now what is the maximum that 2 year olds can do? I mean drool and ga-ga is pretty much it right? However, to be able to check that you can drool and ga-ga in a social situation with 10 other little todds, you need to give an interview where they will check if your social conditioning is appropriate and if your psychological makeup is at par with your peer group. What the fuck? At 2, the only social conditioning I had was to make sure no one stole my chocolates out of the tiffin box. And my peer group? Heck, we all came to playshool with our names stitched onto our hankies and panties.

The playschool apparently prepares you for the next interview. The school interview. As if it wasn't enough that our parents like to treat us like monkeys infront of relatives ("Beta, uncle to namaste karke dikhao" - Child, show uncle how you do namaste")! Now the playschool will teach us how to be uniform monkeys. So you have a bunch of 3 year olds all trying to identify colors. Parents will pay teachers extra if their kids can say fuchia instead of pink and tangerine instead of orange. Ofcourse, this is a double-edged sword. My niece, the by-product of 2 doctors was a precocious, although intelligent 3 year old. When asked what her parents did for a living, intead of saying they were doctors, she told the nun that her "dad is an ortho surgeon and ma is a paeds anesthetist". She was denied admission on account that she was being "over-smart". Now tell me this - how is a 3 year old over smart??

You must be wondering where I am going with this. I mean this post was supposed to be advice on job interviews. But see, being older and wiser, I'm just setting precedent. Basically you have given interviews your whole damn life, so this one will be just the same.

Anyway, so then you give interviews after school to get into college. Everyone has heard how at Stephen's some dudes were asked, "What's the color of the wall behind you?" Most of the simple ones turned their necks to check the wall behind them. Other's confidently strutted, "Same as the color of the wall behind you Sir." No prizes for guessing who got it and who didn't. I have just one question here. In the Asian Paints advertisement on TV, for that matter Nerolac too, they show how every wall of the house has a different color. So now what do you do?? Here's my suggestion, take it for what its worth. You just say, "I'm color blind, and I hope you don't prejudice against me because of my disability." If you don't get in, just leak to the press how this famous institution does not welcome students with disability. See how fast they offer you a scholarship. Actually, even better, get an SCST certificate, and see how the doors open for you. You don't have to even study you know. And thanks to Arjun Singh and all the pro-reservation idiots, we'll have a country of inept fools, who won't know what color the wall is.

Ok, so now after college, assuming you get through your MBA interviews (since I'm not one, I cannot athoritatively write on the matter), you finally get to the Holy Grail. The job interview.

Job interviews work differently if you are a man and if you are a woman. So I think both sexes should be tackled separately.

If you are a woman -

1. Depending on where you are interviewing, dress carefully. Ask the HR the name of the person who will interview you. Google the person before hand and see if you can get some dirty goss on them. For instance, if you are being interviewed by a male, and you find his name and number at a men-wanting-sex-with-men site, then he is probably my ex-boss. If you still want the job, go with something cleavage revealing and you'll probably get the job before you open your mouth. Remember though, once you do get the job and start working for him, the only time he'll want you to open your mouth will not be to speak! So beware.

2. If you are being interviewed by a woman, make sure you dress severely and professionally. You cannot under any circumstances afford to be perceived as an attractive woman.

3. What to say - Now this is not as tough as it sounds. Pepper your sentences with words like core competencies, benchmarking, best practises, six sigma, market thrust, critical to quality, proactiveness, initiative, my dad is the director, market intelligence etc. You'll just sail through.

4. Should you get a call back, don't start talking excitely. Try and remember how you behaved in college when hot dude Rahul finally asked you out. How did you calm yourself on the phone? Do the same here.

If you are a man -

1. If you are being interviwed by a woman, make sure you are slightly flirty and complimentary. At the same time, you also need to appear like a good boy. You must walk a line as narrow as the yellow line that divides the roads in Delhi. And if you fall on either side of this yellow line, you will just end up being road kill. This takes years of practice, but don't worry. You walked the exact same line in 12th grade when your practicals invigilator was a female. And you got through that one didn't you?

2. If you are being interviewed by a man, you cannot under any circustances appear to be more confident or powerful than he. Remember he has to feel secure about his position as the king rooster (or cock, take your pick). You on the other hand are the little chick (or baby cock), no matter what you try to convince your gym buddies and girlfriends with.

3. What you must say is pretty much the same as the ladies. Use the phrases listed above frequenty and you should get by just fine.

4. Men must remember one more thing - the handshake. Remember the old saying, "Limp handshake, limp d**k." Trust me, it holds so true in the corporate world. At the same time, your handshake cannot appear stronger than the male interviewer's. And please please be careful while shaking hands with women. You have to be firm, but you cannot crush her hand and leave it imprinted with her diamond rings.

5. Finally, men, you must also remember that the Kwality Feast advertisement showing on TV these days (where the interviewer and interviewee get all hot over a cone) is purely a work of fiction.

With these tips, I welcome you to the corporate world. Its bigger, messier, and nothing like what you dreamed about (Inject evil laughter track). We'll be waiting.

The Wanderer's Tags

Its been a long long time away from the blog. Life has been hectic with new and interesting things happening. But before I start on any of those, I have to execute the great Wanderer's tag that Silverine tagged me with. So here goes-

5 people who top your shit list..... and why:

1. The Games Teacher from 2nd grade at Fr. Agnel's School, Delhi - As a 2nd grader giving her final Math exam, I was a bit unclear about a question on long division since I had been out of school for a couple of months because of Measles. When I went to the Games Teacher (the invigilator) to ask for a clarification, he slapped me infront of the whole class. Now I wouldn't be dramatic enough to say he sparked a life long fear of mathematics, but I always remember the humiliation of my first and only ever slap in school.

2. The ex-boss - Some men are just born so that they can be killed again. He was one such item. The man harassed every female within a 10 km radius. Infact I believe he just had to look at a woman to harass her. He made my life living hell, constantly arranging so I had to work late, and then offering to drop me back home. The sick bastard didn't even spare the pregnant HR Head!

3. Arjun Singh - He's the asshole who started Mandal Commission and the whole reservation shit. What is the point of blocking off some 50% jobs on the basis of a piece of paper, which can pretty much be bought off the street. If he really wants to give opportunities to those he feels are lesser blessed on account of their birth (!!) as SCST, why he can't open more schools and colleges?

4. Irresponsible Parents - Especially those idiots who never make an effort to calm their little brats. Don't get me wrong...I love kids...but I don't love brats...and certainly not their parents, who insted of controlling them, smile on adoringly. What is it with that eh?? On a recent trip to Agra, one such brat happened to make my aquantaince. Now the little brat kept running up and down the AC Volvo bus, and every monument we visited, he spoilt the serenity with his constant screaming. And what did his mom and dad do? They sat and smiled proudly at their little creation. Ghhrrrr... Yours truly was visiting the Taj with her fiance (yes I got engaged!) of one day, so a little peace and quiet for a romantic moment was much desired. But did the brat allow that? Nooooo...so what did I do? Outside the main Taj monument, I caught the little brat when his mommy wasn't around, and had a little staring down competition. And I made him CRY!

5. Delhi Auto Wallahs - I know I know I've mentioned them before. But what can I do? They fit the category so well. Why do they have a meter if they refuse to ever use it. And if they ever decide to use it, the damn meter will run like its in a motor rally for meters. Often they refuse to go to a certain destination as they may have to return empty. Oh really? I didn't realize I had to pay return fare when I travel in a rickety vehicle balanced on 3 wheels. Figured that part was reserved for rickety vehicles that fly and do a landing on 6 wheels, and sometimes even 5 or 4.

Close brushes with death/danger:

1. On the way to Kodaikanal with parents, our little bus almost plunged into the ravines. They aren't kidding in the Kodaikanal sightseeing guides when they call every single point a "Suicide Point".

2. Almost got run over by a bus while crossing the street at Janpath. Why? Because I had just spotted a gorgeous pair of Kolhapuris. Thank God the bus driver spotted me.

3. On the way to a dam in UP, our Ambassador (yes, I've actually ridden in one!) got stuck on this really narrow road (if a dirt path with boulders can be called that). There were no oncoming verhicles, but somehow the driver of our Ambi thought it was a good idea to honk. So there we are, hanging off the dirt road, ready to plunge to our death, and the driver was honking like his life our ours depended on it. For a minute there, I think my family preferred the plunge than an Ambi horn, but I lived to tell the tale.

5 Preferable modes of suicide, in descending order:

I'm going to skip this one, because I have no intention of killing myself, or giving any ideas to those who may be thinking along these lines.

5 Guilty pleasures:

1. Dark Temptation at Barista - A scrumptious dessert with warm Chocolate excess cake, ice cream and whipped cream covered with chocolate sauce...Ok people, wipe off the drool.

2. Long Island Ice Tea - 2 of these babies, and I can pull a Marilyn Monroe on a piano top.

3. Big Chill Food - Penne with mozzarela, chicken, and cheese. Bolognaise with tomato sauce. Naplotanaise spagetti. Belgian chocolate shake. Squidgy dark chocolate cake. Missisipi mud pie. Need I say more?

4. Saturday sleep-ins - Getting to sleep in on Saturdays till noon. Read a little. Sleep a litle. Read a little. Sleep a little. Hmmmmmm....

5. Responding to Blog Comments at Work - I'm supposed to do it...but then rules are made to be broken right?

5 things you never want to forget:

1. My mom and my fiance - The 2 more important people in my life.

2. My first kiss - It was outside college, when it was raining and Delhi was its prettiest best. The kiss however was not! It was so awkward and funny that we both just ended up laughing afterwards :-)

3. First time I felt a baby kick - My cousin sister stayed with us during her final trimester, and at night, her baby would get all active. I felt that baby kick, and it was the most significant moment of my life. I've wanted babies ever since.

4. My engagement - He proposed in a bus. And I proposed in an auto rickshaw. How can I ever forget :-)

5. My school farewell - All my false bravado at never crying on the farewell was swept away when I made that long walk from my seat to the center of the school field during my farewell. The Principal was reading out my citation, how I had come there as a gawky 7th grader. I was surrounded by beautiful diyas. And as I walked past the teachers who had taught me all those years, who had laughed and cried with me...I couldn't help it. I blubbered like a baby.

5 things you wish to forget:

1. First slap - Read above.

2. Basic Instinct 2 - It is horrible. I can't believe the last 2 movies I've seen are Memoirs of a Geisha and Basic Instinct 2. And I saw BI (or BS, take your pick) on Easter!

3. Math exams in college - Honest, Real Analysis sucked

I can't think of anything else I'd like to forget. I figure, if I forget, how they hell will I learn from it right?

5 really exotic dishes you have tried:

I'm really not into experimenting with food. If it has more than 4 legs, you can just leave it ff my plate, thank you very much. Same goes if it doesn't have legs.

I did however go to this chocolatier at Priya, Basant Lok, which served these amazing chocolates. I had a chocolate sauce...which was AMAZING.

5 crushes/loves in your life... in chronological order

1. This guy in my office. I don't know what department he is from, or even what his name is. But he has a shaved head, and he is super hot.

2. Dude from French class. He was a German trying to earn French. I had never before been so interested in Germany before.

3. Choir boy in Church

4. Judo Champ

Strangest dream you ever had:

I have only strange dreams, so picking one out is quite a task. I used to have a best friend in school who lived in the hostel. He was this tall arab kid and we got along super well. Only problem was that he got in regular trouble with the other boys at the hostel. One night I dreamt that I walked into class, and looked to the left. Tauqir was sitting on the left most bench with a bruised left eye. I ask him in my dream how he got the bruised eye, and he says he had a fight at the hostel and got hit. About this time, my mom woke me up to go to school. Guess what happens. I reach school. I walk into class, and look to the left. Tauqir is sitting on the left most bench with a bruised left eye. I ask him how he got the bruised eye, and he says he had a fight at the hostel and got hit.

Bizzare? Hell yeah!

5 most valued personal possessions:

1. My books. My mother keeps threatening to sell them for recycling. But I've told her that if she does that, I'll leave home or something. I'm so kicked about the idea of giving these books to my future generations someday.

2. My Nokia 6600. Do I need to say more?

3. My engagement ring.

Not too many other possessions I'm nuts about.

5 favorite superheroes..... and why:

1. Superman: I think more than Superman...its Christopher Reeves I would end up admiring.

2. Spiderman: He was had such cool lines. The original one-liner guy.

3. Batman: Wham. Whack. Thud. Don't you miss that show?

4. Captain Planet: Is it strange that I found him hot? Recycle anyone?

I can't think of any other undie-over-pant heroes...so I'll sign off here.

I promise the next post will be quicker than this.

I tag Lalit, World Seller Gal, Vaibhav.

In Bed With A Tom Cat

My old bones have finally recovered from my recent office trip into the mountains. My mental state however is still undergoing recovery. So I figured before I start writing about the trip, I ought to write about the weeks I endured before it.

When I was a wee bonny baby, carrying my 50 kg bag to school each day, and studying countless books for pointless exams, I used to dream of growing up one day and going to a glamorous office. I used to wonder what it would be like to wear "civil" clothes each day instead of my dull blue and grey school uniform. And how wonderful it would be to not have to attend even a single PTA meeting ever again.

Then I grew up.

My 50 kg school bag has been replaced with a 60 kg laptop bag. Honestly that's how heavy it feels. Office is hardly glamorous considering the people I meet in the cab each day, the amount of FM I have to listen to, and the kind of food I have to eat. "Civil" clothes have become a headache unto themselves...Catty women abound the office. I have on more than one occasion observed a boardroom drama come to a climax with one cat looking at another and saying, "Nice top..Sarojini??" Meow anyone? For the uninitiated, Sarojini is Delhi's export surplus market. Everyone buys it. No one admits it. And PTA meeting. Well its been replaced with the MNC torture method - quaterly evaluation. Often I feel like my functional manager is my class teacher and my manager my daddy. I have to hear what a bad girl I have been in the quarter from both of them. And then I'm sure they discuss me between the two of them also. I can just picture it...

Class Teacher: She has not been doing her homework
Daddy: Really? You know, I give her sufficient time to do it
CT: Well, I know, I see her with her friends quite often...So I'm sure she has the time...But neither flesh nor spirit seem willing
Daddy: You're right. I'll just ground her.

And that's how I find myself working late hours.

Anyway, that's not what this rant is about. In school, I used to also dream of days when March would no longer mean studying for exams. Instead I would have the time to enjoy spring with long walks under trees with leaves of different colors. I thought this year would be one such year. Alas, it was not to be.

I received a merry mail in the last week of Feb announcing that there will be exams in March in office. Essentially to test the skills for which they have hired me. A little late in the day I say, considering I've been using those skills for a year now. There were going to be three exams...One each week of March. So much for spring.

Week 1:

An exam to test my grammar. Went smoothy enough. There were just a couple of glitches when during the exam, I was more fascinated with the invigilator's gorgeous white heels. Honest...They were super sexy. I think they were Ashley. They bore a resemblance to these Jimmy Choo's I saw in this month's Elle. What? You want to know how the exam went? Errrr.....Well....The heels were amazing.

Week 2:

A written or rather typed exam to test how well I can write. I hurt my left hand's middle finger 2 days before the exam. Don't ask me how THAT finger got hurt. Believe it or not, I was just cutting my nails. The finger was filled with puss and pained like hell. I had to get a minor incision to drain it all, but I figured I better do it all after my exam. The fear that a stich may disable my left hand from typing paralyzed me.

Anyhow, I started the exam and typed away with one hand. It was smooth like a baby's bottom. The exam. Not my hand. And I was through with it well ahead of time. Infact I even managed to review my answers once before time was up. Something I absolutely never achieved throughout my education. Feeling very proud of myself, I saved and closed both the documents I was working on. I was feeling particularly happy with myself. And guess what happened. When I tried to re-open my docs, one doc went MIA. I searched high and low, through various temporary folders, I almost dismantled the hard drive...But I never found doc 2. It was something I had been working on for 3 hours! Sysadmin wasn't much help either. He shrugged his shoulders and said...I suggest you just re-create you doc.

!@&#@@#($)_@*#&$

So what did I do? Well, I stayed back...Hurting hand and all. And I re-created the damn doc and gave it in. This is why they say don't count your chickens before they cross the road.

Week 3:

Project presentation before a tough panel. I had the luck of being one of the first presenters. Keeping in line with my luck the past 2 weeks, I didn't have much hope from it. My presentation was on Monday morning. Sunday night, I was still preparing my pitch till 12 in the night. Having planned to reach office early to prepare further, I was going to leave home in the morning at about 6 AM. That gave me about 5 hours of sleep.

Like a good girl, I went to bed at 12 midnight. The nervousness kept me up till about 1. Now my bedroom is placed in a manner that there is a balcony behind it. And just behind my head is a large window. A window with a cooler but no wire mesh or glass. In summers, its quite a relief to have all the fresh air...But this one night...Perhaps it wasn't so safe. Sometime towards 3 AM I heard a thud in the balcony. Sounded like someone had landed outside. Ma and I both got up with a start (I'm afraid of sleeping alone...Don't judge me!).

Ma (in a whisper): Did you hear that? Sounds like someone jumped onto our balcony
Me (in a whisper): Yes
Ma (very very loudly): Kaun Hai??? Who is it??
Me (irritated and loudly): Ma, what the hell makes you think its an English speaking burglar. If he spoke English, he'd be in a call center wouldn't he?
Ma (defensive and weepy): I said in Hindi also!
Me (pacifying but sarcastic): If its a thief, do you honestly think he's going to answer you????

My ma, still sprightly for her age...Climbed on the bed and tried to peep through the window onto the dark balcony to see if she could spot a thief. Since she chose to stand over my hand, there was nothing I could do to help. When I finally managed to get my voice back, I squeeked, "Ma, switch on the bedroom lights..Atleast you'll be able to see outside." Relief poured through my veins as Ma got off my hand and walked over to switch on the light. As our tubelight flickered to life, both of us now peered onto our balcony. We saw nothing. Finally we decided to call it a night. Time - 3:30 AM.

Sleep took over me again, although I was still palpitating at the thought of a burglar in my balcony. Suddenly, there was a loud CRASH and something jumped at the suitcase just behind my headboard...AAAAHHHHH...There was a very loud MEOW and both Ma and I screamed in terror! A cat ladies and gentlemen. A TOM CAT. A BIG BLACK TOM CAT. I don't know who was more scared, the cat or us! The cat streaked out and ran into the other room. Ma and I completely taken aback at this surprise visitor. Time - 4 AM

Ma heard me groan. I reminded her of the ordeal I had to face in just a few hours, and how the lack of beauty sleep was just going to make me cranky. Seeing disaster about to erupt, Ma told me to lie back in bed, cover my face with the quilt and go off to sleep while she hunted out the tom cat.

So while I covered my face, Ma went and got a broom to drive out our midnight intruder. I could hear her thrashing about with the broom. At one point I heard a loud "Stupid Bitch". I couldn't help but smile under the quilt...Evil laughter more likely. As if the expletive wasn't bad enough, Ma started whispering sweet nothings to the tom cat and went "here kitty kitty kitty...Here kitty kitty kitty".

At this point I felt a lumpiness in the quilt. I thought Ma was messing with me. Besides which I wanted to breathe and laugh at the whole "kitty" bit. So I uncovered my head. THE CAT WAS SITTING ON TOP OF ME 2 INCHES AWAY FROM MY FACE.

Tom cat: HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
Me: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

I quickly covered my face again. Ma ran into the bedroom. The cat got scared and started running up and down my body. I was screaming under the quilt. Ma got into action mode and started trying to hit the "kitty" with the broom. The cat was fast. ma wasn't. She hit me more than the cat. I felt like I was the victim of a village exorcism ceremony. Ma with open hair and broom in hand...Hitting me...Black cat tearing up and down me.

Ma ran and opened the back door to allow the cat to escape. But our kitty wasn't the brightest spark in the woods. He tried to escape from the same window through which he had come. Unfortunately, he was a little too fat to through the sill on the way out. Garfield anyone?

My traumatic night came to an end when the cat finally escaped through the backdoor. Time - 4:45 AM

She'll be back I know. Seeking her vendetta. V for vendetta.

Wake up time - 5:30 AM
Cab pick-up time - 6:15 AM
Presentation time - 11 AM

How did the presentation go?

Well, I don't remember any shoes, and I didn't loose and documents. So that's good news I suppose. I'll find out more when I get my results in April. Maybe at another pseudo PTA meeting!

Continued...

Some time back I was tagged to write a work of fiction. I duly completed the tag here. After the post, some very polite people asked me to continue the story...so I've decided to do so today...See this is what mom was talking about when she said "Be careful what you wish for. You might just get it!"

It was him. There was no mistaking it. He smiled at her then. That same aggravating grin she remembered from all those nights ago. Was it a month back, or a year? It felt just like yesterday. She hadn't been the same since then.

"So, fancy meeting you here", he said. "I wondered where you had dissapeared to. I had got your number from Deepa and called you a few times but I always got the answering machine." She was still thinking of what to say...should she tell him that everytime she came home from work and heard his voice on her machine, she either dropped the laptop bag on her foot and once even accidenlty nuked her cell phone in the microwave. Naah...that hardly gave the right picture considering what had happened.

"Well, I had been a little busy...the company needed me to set up a new office at a foreign location", she replied. "There! Ha!" she thought. "What do you think of that now eh?" Ofcourse there was no point in telling him that the foreign soil was no further than good 'ol Bangladesh. Details hardly mattered.

"So what are you doing here? I thought I recognized the hackles at the back of your neck from a distance..." he asked. "Its a river...with rapids...people usually come here for the rafting. What do you think I'm doing here? Annual reports?" she retorted.

He said "Well you never know..Anyway about the other night...I hope there are no hard feelings." "No hard feelings", she thought, "Sure, for you maybe". Instead she decided to play it cool and said, "Oh absolutely not...these things happen all the time. No big deal. I've hardly given it a thought." "Grapes?" he offered again. "I wasn't kidding about going off Vit C at night you know...Do you know what it can do to you? Atleast as a guy you should avoid it", she said. He seemed to squirm on his rock at that...and looked at the grapes contemplatively...as though wondering if the price of the grapes would be too high. She almost burst out laughing...All grapes did was make her burp a bit...but what the heck. He deserved it.

He: So are you here on an office trip or otherwise?
She: I'm here with some friends
He: Office friends?
She: Yes
He: Boyfriend?
She: None of your business!
He: Oh c'mon...Don't be shy
She: Who are you here with?
He: Oh I'm here with my team
She: Female subordinates?
He: I like to think of them as equals
She: Yea right!
He: Your rock is so much smoother than mine
She: Stay by your rock. I came here first
He: Ok ok...Man...people will think you're some kind of victorian prude
She: Prude? Prude! What the hell! What kind of a nut are you?
He: Actually, speaking of prude, I am a Jane Austen fan. What do you think of Pride and Prejudice?
She: *Asshole...I'm not spoiling my beautiful night by discussing Jane Austen with him under a moonlit sky. Besides all I know of Jane Austen is some movie with Aishwarya and a white guy dancing to some really bad songs*
He: *If she would ony loosen up...I've even pretended to like Jane Austen. What more could a woman want!!*
She: I have to go. Good night
He: Wait. Before you go. There is something I've been wanting to do all evening

Hmm...thinking of 2 possible alternatives now. Will get back to this later.

Tagged, Yet Again

I have been tagged by Lalit to come up with a list of things I hate...I can't believe he would take such a risk!

But since I so admire Lalit and his perseverance, I shall do justice by his tag.

I HATE:

1. Memoirs of a Geisha - I saw it yesterday and I had this heavy cloud of gloom and anger over my head till today morning. Don't get me wrong...Its not the concept of women servicing men in this movie that bothers me...maybe the Japs do it and so its their business. Its the idea that a 30 yr old man can develop feelings for an 8 yr old girl. That he takes her under his wing and lets her grow up to be a Geisha. And despite being in love with her, he lets her virginity be auctioned...C'MON !!

2. Mamma's Boys - It seems very cute when a guy will tell you how he adores his mother. You think, well...atleast he knows how to respect women. But nothing bugs me more than a grown man who needs to seek permission from his mother for everything. Love her yes...but do you have to "love" her? Be a man and learn to make your own decisions too every once in a while.

3. People Who Are Rude to Servers and Hosts at Restaurants - This category of people truly anger me. The person serving you is just serving you...that does not make him/her your servant. A little respect won't hurt. And if you still insist on being rude...be ready to savor your dish with a seasoning of spit!

4. Bosses From Hell - When I say boss from hell, I don't mean the boss who expects you to work late or pick up their laundry. I mean the boss who will pester you for dinner and will offer to drive you home at 10 PM even though you can take company transport. I mean the boss who will pay you embarrasing compliments at important meetings, and who will mis-use a position of power and responsibility to seek special "favours". Ideal solution is to just puncture the wheels of the Lexus when he is not looking...well, either that, or post his pic and cell number at a men-seeking-men-for-sex site.

5. The New Budget - PC has really gone and done it this time. He's now taxing us every time we use a debit/credit card to pay for anything. He's also taxing us if we withdraw 10 grand or more from our ATMs. Wait a second...pretty soon we'll go back in time to the days of Sholay and we'll all have our own personal munshi ji. What the fuck man! Its my money...you are already taxing my income and every bloody thing I buy. Now you want to tax me to withdraw my own money? What am I supposed to do now? Carry 2000 bucks with me everywhere if I need to go buy groceries? Ofcourse if I get mugged and murdered for my money, I will be told I should have been more careful and was probably asking for it by carrying around so much cash. C'mon PC...I was expecting better than this regressive move.

6. The Vagaries of the Indian Justice System - Jessica Lal was murdered at a party infront of more than a 100 people. Witnesses were threatened, and today the accused have walked scot-free and one even runs a night club. Yes we are all protesting, but for how long can this mockery of the legal system continue? A medical student from MAMC was raped in broad daylight, the culprits were arrested and then released. Does any one know what happened to them? Every one knows what happened in Godhra. Yet the accused have not been brought to justice. If these lunatics want to fight wars to prove their religion is better, what better way to do it than rape and murder little girls right??

7. Delhi Auto Wallahs - These guys have their own mob scene going on. As soon as you step out of a mall, a hoard of them will descend on you like a swarm of locusts. They are better off than most of us; some even carry 2 cell phones. The cell phones are snazzier than mine. They are so choosy they will refuse to take you early morning when you are rushing to your bus stop. They will refuse to go by meter. And when you do sit in the auto, they will "adjust" the mirror so they can leer at you throughout your journey.

That's my lucky seven for the day. There is so much more to hate...but really...what is the point right?

I am tagging Safari Al, methinks, mind curry, and vaibhav.

Men...Ummmm

Owing to my last post, a lot of my friends/readers thought that perhaps I was one of 'em bra-burning feminists, who hate men, and everything they stand for (or everything that stands for them). That is hardly close to the truth because I quite like men. Infact I like them better than a lot things like bird flu, rodent plague etc...

I've been challenged to write atleast 10 things I like about men (without invoking the license to dream), without drinking, and without repeating myself. Ha I say to the challenge. Here goes:

1. I truly like the way men love little boys (NO, I do not mean like MJ). I just admire how they try to teach little boys tricks like how to turn cartwheels, how to hold a cricket bat, how to deal with rejection from girls...Its actually quite endearing.

2. I admire how men will not try and analyze every action, word, and gesture to death. If a woman shrugs her shoulder when the man says "So baby waddya think of em jeans eh?" the man will think "Oh great..Woo hoo..she wants me!!" Imagine what would happen if the sexes in this situation were reversed. Since I don't want to repeat myself, you can read the results here. Bottomline, men are definitely less stressed out than women and enjoy life more than we do. Why they die more of heart disease than women is a multi-million dollar research industry. Perhaps all those years of not telling us whether the turquoise silk looks better or the mauve chiffon finally catch up with them?

3. That men make better bosses is a world famous phenomenon. Most male bosses tend to be more sympathetic and understanding. Yes, they do tend to stare at Thelma and Louise, but then its either that or the hell bitch who will not let you take the day off that time of the month. I don't like dissing women bosses coz I have had some great ones, but somehow opposite sex boss-subordinate relationships work better. Don't ask me why. That would be probably be another blog.

4. Men are adorable when they are shy and in love. Try remembering how your guy pal's kid brother behaved moonily when he had a crush on you. How about that geek in school, who looked up from his Organic Chemistry book only long enough to spot you? Sure back then you laughed, but now he is probably an IIM graduate, working some high-flying job, and loves his wife and 3 kids. Guess who is having the last laugh?

5. Men go to puddles when we cry. It doesn't matter if we are sisters, friends, "rakhi sisters", mothers, whatever. Good men cannot stand to see us cry. They tend to do irrational things to get us to stop. This includes making a fool of themselves, or going and hitting the people who made us cry in the first place. Barring all this, nothing consoles a case of the weepies better than a pair of good guy arms. No point even trying to deny this. I know I know it seems like this is ammunination I'm handing over to the male bastion, but don't worry, I still have a couple of tricks up my sleeve.

6. Men are forever confused by women and we can get away with anything. Says cramps, menstruation...and see them run for cover. But my personal favourite is how they are so sure they think of you as a "rakhi sister" till 8th grade. However as soon as 9th grade comes (for some late bloomers 10th grade), its like a little bomb goes off and they realize their feelings are anything but brotherly. This is also the stage when they will start carrying your fat books and help you out with dissections in Biology.

7. Men have the most convinient neck space. No massage chair can come even close. God was very intelligent when he made that space between their chin/jaw and shoulder just so a girl's head could fit in there. This is especially useful when you are watching the Matrix for the nth time. Also useful after that last fight you had with mom over your curfew time.

8. Men smell good. No not all. But mostly they do. That familiar fragrance of Old Spice, and even the new age Ax Effect, do strange and wonderful things to our hormones.

9. Men will never remember that 4 years ago, when his mami's cousin sister gave you a saree, you didn't appear thankful enough. The off side to this is that they will forget the anniversary when you held hands for the first time. Men have the task of remembering some 5000 dates that commemorate your relationship. They will forget 4999 of these dates, but will go all out to make it up to you. This includes wine, candle lit dinners, diamonds, and other unspeakable joys.

10. It isn't exactly heart-melting when they check out other women infront of us, but when we catch them red-handed at it and call them out, that sheepish smile makes our stern expression so tough to maintain. Once again, they will go all out to make it up to you.

11. The way men look just after they wake up is another heart-melting moment. Hair typically resembles a gollywog, and their not so sunny termperament makes them so cuddlable.

OK...I was told 10, and I came up with 11. The extra one to let everyone know just how much I don't hate men. Convinced?