Sunday, April 24, 2011

I'm sold!

Via
Oh dear Lord, would you just look at this little froggie! Get me this baby now!

26 turning 18

Today I discovered that Thom does not know when my birthday is. (To be fair, he knew the birth date and month but not the year. But that's still atrocious and ridiculous and obnoxious and unpardonable all rolled into one.)

However, the implications are twofold.

One, that I will always always always have leverage against him.

Two, that I can claim to be in my twenties way into my thirties and in my thirties way into my forties and Thom can never refute!

Aren't all you women jealous that my boyfriend's so awesome? I sure am a lucky 18 year old.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Spring!

'Spring' was the inspiration for the week over at Kristi's and Melissa's, but I live 8° North of the equator and the only seasons down here are the 'hot season', 'stew season' (when it gets so hot that you feel like you're being stewed in a pot) and the monsoons. And right now it's kind of all rolled into one big heat - rain medley. And that's what we call spring.

This is a picture I took last week when I went to my dad's house in the suburbia of the suburbia of the suburbia of Kerala. And I have already written tomes about the visit so I will refrain from an elaboration.

I have chosen this picture not only because technically it would represent the Indian version of spring and because it is beyond green, but also in protest to the weather.  

Note to the weather God: 'If you don't give me spring to shoot pictures of and post for Kristi's challenge, I will shoot pictures of spring like tendrils and post these pictures labeling it spring, and that's just going to make you look inept! This is a threat. Otherwise, next week, I will be forced to post the picture below.'

 The End

Sigh!

Via
My heart has refused to stop pitter pattering after seeing this.

It has refused.

And there are no words left in me.

Friday, April 22, 2011

A groundbreaking revelation

My mother made lemon cheesecake today and because she used unsalted butter and forgot to substitute for salt, she decided to make up for it by sprinkling table salt on top of the ready cheesecake. To add insult to the poor cheesecake's injury, she topped it off with some lime juice for a reason yet unbeknownst to the world.

My first bite of the revamped cheesecake (a.k.a. the pretty thing that tastes like a badly made tequila shot) was seminal in my life because in one moment, all my musings about being an adopted child  rescued from a pigsty were quelled once and for all. I am definitely my mother's daughter. Strangeness is clearly an inherent thread in both of us, though the manifestations do differ. And maybe it takes one to know one.

Where the rains never stop


One look at the mango tree, and I knew that I had found gold. Branches hung low with the weight of tumescent mangoes, its flesh itching to break the boundaries dictated by the raw green hide. Birds chewed away happily at the prettier mangoes and this tugged my heart as jealousy at their insouciance and annoyance at their impudence reared their heads together, but then I remembered what the earth goddess Georgianna Lane had said as a caption to an image in one of her first posts: 'Cherries from our tree, before the birds ate them all. Oh well, we can get them at the store and the birds can't.' And then I quieted down and enjoyed their song.

But then my father's friends, the house help whom he had also gone to school with, Pappu, and another buddy, Janardhanan (JD), came along, and they promptly climbed on the garage roof and brought down enough mangoes for a feast or two.







Some were for brining for a later day, while others were to be made into one of my favourite things in the world - 'Kaduku Manga', translated roughly to 'Mustard Mango'.

And an itinerant one was destined to sit pensively on a patch of moss in the shade of the nutmeg trees.


The name 'Kaduku Manga' hardly does justice to what it is because this is dish is 'delicious gloriousness' redefined. It is an innocuous side to rice and anything else you please, made of chopped up mangoes, ginger, garlic, mustard seeds, fenugreek seeds and loads and loads of chilli powder. And this is what it looks like.


I was so happy after we made it that I kissed the chef and ate the whole thing in one sitting. This is what the forlorn vessel looked like bereft of its beloved mangoes.


Ok. Just kidding. This is what happened.

This is not me, in case you're wondering. This is the chef.
And for the record, the most I've eaten of this in one sitting is a bottle and I regretted this for days post that. But I did eat around 4 tablespoons of it, which is much more than what a normal person would eat, which is more like a teaspoon. The stuff is spicy I tell you! But I'm sure that you can make that out from the picture.



Then we went to my other house nearby which is in the middle of a rubber plantation and that's where I helped manufacture the rubber that your erasers are made of. (Think about the magnificence and the prodigiousness of it all! Without me, you would not have any erasers! Whenever I feel that my sense of self is ebbing, I think about this fact and I'm back to being a megalomaniac! And then all's well with the world.)



This is the house.


This house will be my inheritance after I pay my dad the price he's asked for it. And the payment according to him, is due homage. I don't know how I am ever going to accomplish that! And he says that the bugs, snakes and the ghosts that haunt come free of cost.

But getting back to my livelihood which is rubber production, it goes like this.

1. Rubber flows down from these incisions on the trees and collect in these halved coconut shells.


2. Then they are taken out and poured into these large cans.



3. Then I say 'Abracadabra' and 'Hey Presto' and 'Mambo Italiano' and lo behold, it transforms itself to rubber dough. Rubber dough is much like play doh. You can fashion it in any way you want and use it to suit your need. It's a undoubtedly a very 'flexible' produce (pun intended!).

Visit me for a more detailed tutorial.

Address:
777, The Rubber Plantation,
Middle of Nowhere,
The Universe.

After that, we went back to my other house by the river and that's where I encountered all these pretty flowers and they totally rocked my day.

Here are the lilies, in stages of birth, life, dying and death.




Now do you know why I have such a deep, philosophical understanding of living and dying and other metaphysical concepts? It's because I have these lilies to learn from. That, and because I read 'Sophie's World' as a child, and later, 'Philosophy for Dummies'. (Who's the dummy now. huh?)

Then I sat and meditated by this hibiscus.


The red hue tempted me and lured me into a web of deceit and cunning. And that's where I learned about temptation and sin and redemption and also about Adam's Folly with Eve.

Try it yourself. Stare at the red with all your mind and body and observe what happens 20 days later. Just don't blink in between. And be sure to let me know your experiences with this experiment.

Then I meditated by the heart shaped hydrangeas.


They taught me that love has no beginning and no end but if you do not nurture it by buying expensive gifts for the women in your life, this love might wither and die. (I dedicate this revelation / finding to all the men in my life.)

And then I sat below the papaya tree and the nutmeg tree and stared up at it for the longest time.



Man! Staring up at these trees in a still posture not only forces your mind to transcend to a level of consciousness that is rarely achieved, but it also makes you stark raving hungry! I did not enjoy that towards the end.

And then the rain started.



And it poured. And poured. And it poured some more. And then it played out like it did in 'The Sound of Music' when Maria and the children say this to each other.

Maria: The lightning talks to the thunder, and the thunder answers back. 
Von Trapp Child: But the lightning must be nasty.
Maria: Not really.
Von Trapp Child: Why does the thunder get so angry? It makes me want to cry. 

And then they burst into song and dance about a few of their favourite things.

This didn't happen in my case but the conversation did occur between myself and me and I.

This is when I started looking through the images in my camera and marveled at how pretty everything was and wished for the hundredth time that I could fly down Georgianna Lane and make her do a photo shoot of every nook and corner of my pretty house and my pretty village and my pretty district and my pretty state...well, of everything. It's like everything the Midas woman touches turns to gold. I just can't get over her images. They are so stunning and breathtaking and magical and spirit filled. When Maria sang about her favourite things, she sure did miss out on Georgianna Lane's world. And that's where I win over Maria!

What if....

Tucked away in a sleepy cranny of Kerala is this pretty little hamlet called Ayroor, and this is the stage for some of the most significant events and occurrences of my life. This is where my forefathers lived and died. This is where my great grandfather built a sturdy stone house and bequeathed it to my grandfather, the wise and mighty farmer and school principal. This is where he brought home his Ceylon born and Singapore raised doctor wife at a time when running water was scarce and electricity was unheard of. This is where she started the hospital that served the rank and file of the village at their darkest hours and their deepest needs. Ayroor is what made my father the man he is today - a devotee of trees and birds and all things wild and free, a connoisseur of a kind of languid living where time and tidings are no matter to the biddings of one's whims and fancies, someone whose decisions and choices are based on an innate wisdom and on the precepts of an unspoken code of moral living rather than the demands of a fleeting circumstance - a simple soul with method in his madness, madness being his method.

It is the place that gave my father his wife; the place where they possibly had their first fight, a seminal one as it gave way to many more fights, and these fights are probably what defined a lot of us in a lot of ways. (But everything happens for a reason and life really is too short for lamentations in any case.) This is where my mother possibly spent many a day missing her husband and my father possibly spent many a night missing his wife. This is where I allowed my fear of the snakes that are clothed in the folds of darkness to heighten to a dread that dictated even my desire to come to this wild and wanton place. This is where my brother was christened and that day was when I first fed him alone from a bottle.

Twenty two years have passed and these years have been rife with defining moments that have made us and broken us in a multitude of ways. These are the moments that bring out the edges of people that are otherwise dulled by disuse. I now know that my mother is the strongest person I know, at least from where I stand, and that my father in my eyes is so wise that he can do little wrong. I now know that I love my brother so very greatly that I will probably save his soul over anyone else's if I could. I also know that everything contributes to who you are today - I could hope for an unsullied childhood and an enviable adolescence, but I wouldn't be me if that was the case, I know.

Of late, my trips to Ayroor have been wrought with nostalgia: for a time past with dear and near ones for my father, and for a more mindful, conscious and conscientious life for me. Ayroor first took my breath away not too long ago. Having grown up in a near paradise, it is easy to imagine the same to be true of the world as well. But a few months of city living stirred in me a sentience of the fact that there was something extraordinary about these little villages in Kerala, hidden in space and forgotten in time. And amazingly enough, one of these places is actually my stone and wood house resting on a hushful river bank.

Each visit hence has been a slow but sure journey into lessons of wistfulness and melancholia and the feeling that I hold in my hands something so transient and ephemeral that it could slip away with the slight absence of consciousness - something displaced and in place and time and hence abandoned, but fast catching up with a world that has surged on without an afterthought.

Now each time I visit the place, the house looks more forlorn and sad, aging in a way that a grandparent seems to, each time you visit - as if years have passed in a matter of months; as if ebullience has given way to despondence and fortitude to frailty. Each time my father hears a creaking stair or a sees wood on the floor whittled away by a beetle, I know that his heart breaks a little. In his eyes are a myriad 'what if's. 'What if I had stayed back instead of going away to seek a fortune?' 'What if I had stayed here and had my family with me?' But as much as there are whimsies made of dreams and hopes, there are those that are made of disquietude and trepidation. 'What if no one enjoys the fruits of this plenitude?' 'What if this fortune whittles away like the wood on these walls?' Of course, once you start indulging your imagination, it does run wild.

But the rain has its way of distilling and intensifying emotions and experiences of any sort and the rains are what defined my last visit there. The foliage was more verdant and the lilies glowed in the light of a burnished sun that made its advent when the rain busied itself at another forgotten spot before returning and indulging itself with a wild abandon hitherto unknown. The mangoes were a plenty and they beckoned temptingly to be bitten into. The nutmeg trees had flowered and nutmegs hung from the boughs like ornaments on a Christmas tree. The only thing that remained unchanged was the river, steadfast and sure, as it surged nonthreateningly and unobtrusively on its chosen course. The rains in Ayroor have its way with everything else other than the river these days. And the rains have its way with melancholia too and lure you to construct a world of your own liking, pregnant with 'what if's and 'if only's and 'maybe it will come to be's. And in Kerala, the rains never stop. That's the beauty and the folly of it. That's the glory and the story of it.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Insidious Intentions

If you have a parent or grandparent who makes life (unjustly so) hell for you while they attempt to teach you something, say for instance driving, you can get back at them by offering to teach them computers (or video games, or the inner workings of anything related to technology for that matter).

The alarmingly slow rate at which they will pick this up will give you ample time and field space for sweet, sinfully delectable reciprocation of their behavior, a.k.a revenge.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Carried away by carrots!

Since my last memory of solid food is of carrots, (see here), and being a compulsive food thinker who spends 20 hours in a day (including dream time) thinking about food, I would like to ask the powers that be a few things about carrots.

1. If carrots are really good for the eyes, why is it that rabbits do not have the best vision in the world? Apparently, rabbits have very poor near sight and also have colour blindness. They in fact, can only distinguish between blue and green! Poor bunnies!

2. If I eat enough carrot cakes, the carrots will be included in my daily required servings of vegetables right?

3. Why is the Easter Bunny always surrounded by eggs instead of carrots?

4. Where is Alpha Carotene? 

via

Please reply via snail mail or email or just comment right here, powers that be! I'm waititng...

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Flying

You gotta check this one out! It's the commercial of Trapeze School New York. It's so sharp and snazzy and it completely illustrates why I want to be a trapeze dancer. In fact, I think I was a trapeze dancer in my last life. But I'll tell you that story if you watch this video and tell me how you like it.

Toodles!

Go figure!

I just sprained my jaw while I was eating. Does that even happen? Or did God finally decide to take control of my diet life and decide that I NEED to stop gobbling up whatever I get? Whatever said and done, now I am unable to take anything more than baby bites of mashed up food. The ironic thing is that I was eating a carrot when this happened. God has a really weird sense of timing, I must say. Or the world moving too fast even for him and he gets his timings all wrong as a result.


My new ad campaign! Coming soon in technicolour.

Not all who wander are lost

You will not believe what The Universe told me yesterday.

When you don't know what you want, Teena, it's probably time to begin
enjoying what you have.

You've done so well for yourself,

   The Universe


It's kinda silly of me, but I forwarded it first to my father and then to everyone else I know, because it kinda validates my aimless, desultory, purposeless self and makes it sound beautiful and glorious. Ha ha.

It's not always a great feeling to be aware that you do not know what you want to do with your life. It is confusing and frustrating and you often feel like you're being pulled in these million directions all at the same time. You actually end up wanting to do so much with your life and may end up doing all that or absolutely nothing because the process is so tiring. I've been there all my life. I've always wondered what my purpose is; what my calling is. And everyone in my life will testify to the fact that one of my greatest desires in life is to find this calling. And a note like the one above is such a comfort at moments when you wander and may get lost in that. So here's a thank you to 'Tut' for bringing this into my life today!

Sunday, April 17, 2011

10 reasons why I should start a restaurant

1. I can get whatever food I want whenever I want. And the food will be made for me by gourmet chefs!

2. I may be utterly wrong about this, but one of my mother's friends has a restaurant and all I have seen him do is loll around the kitchen snacking, loll around the dining area talking to customers and have elaborate dinners on the table with a whole load of his hooligan friends. And the restaurant does really well. Like I said, I am sure that this is not what would actually happen, but if it is.... not to shabby for Lizzie.

3. It's the ultimate tribute to food to have a restaurant, be able to learn and experiment with food and serve the millions that would go hungry otherwise.

4. I could feed another million by donating my food to those who need it everyday.The million will just have to think of food and say 'Abracadabra', and there I'll be with cartloads of the stuff..

5. I can start selling my tomato jam. I think my calling in life is to start selling my tomato jam. It is that awesome.

6. If I don't start my own restaurant, I will have to do some other job, and I would rather shrivel and faint away than do 'just another job'. Ugh!

7. Work travel would entail me going around the globe and eating food made by the best chefs in the world. Imagine getting to eat Heston Blumenthal's grub and tell me if it's not worth the effort!

8. If there is someone I don't particularly like, I can lure them to my restaurant on the pretext of feeding them and actually give them sneeze muffins and dust doughnuts. What an exciting prospect!

9.  I will never have to cook what I don't want to cook but want to eat. In fact, I'll never have to cook again when I don't have to. I can just get it made at my restaurant. Ha ha!

10. I can get whatever food I want whenever I want. Period

Bed Time Tales

I've been looking at beds of late because the one I have in my room currently is growing mould from the legs and mushrooms from the base and my parents are convinced that it might be inappropriate for when I come and visit after I get married! (My parents sure are fore thinking, but not that I am complaining about getting new things!)

These are what I came across when I hunted obsessively today for it. If you don't know this, I have gone so deep into the Internet thing that now I go through periods when I act like the Internet is the real world. This condition is what leads me to scour the net for beds rather than get up and go to a furniture shop. I believe that a cure is just around the corner and it might involve stone and knives and fire. But here goes anyways.

via







To be fair, I am partial to this bed only because the Good King Francis-I gave me a similar one for my parlour way back in the 16th century when I was Eleanor of Austria and blissfully wedded to him. We used to play Scrabble sitting on that bed. And that is how I trained him to be 'The Father and Restorer of Letters'. That bed served us very very well in retrospect.

via

This is the bed I intend to use when I'm feeling lazy and want to treat myself to breakfast in bed. I'll just prod the bottoms of the birds in the nest above and I imagine that they will just drop down an egg or two for me to feed on. It's the least they can do, considering that I'm letting them rest in my nest.


via
 This is the bed for when Thom has forgotten to wash the dishes. Or when Thom has forgotten to walk the dog. Or when Thom works too much too long and spends no time with the dog. Or when he goes drinking with the boys and comes back without pizza for the dog. Or when I need someone to bring me breakfast in bed and I have forgotten to sleep on the nest bed. I can push him into the water and that should wake him right up.

That is me sleeping on the bed, by the way. Yes, I am that beautiful. And y'all know my number! Call me.


 
via
A big, sturdy, manly looking, low lying bed. You should have gotten the drift by now!

via
 I want to be a child again. I want to sleep on that bed on my tummy wearing that pretty pink outfit. I want to sleep all day and scream all night. AND I WANT THAT BED!!!

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The explicit reason that my room resembles a pigsty is thus: I do not have a bed that lets me place things neatly on the headboard. I therefore only have the floor at my mercy. When things rest on the floor, they have a tendency to stagnate. Therefore, buy this bed before your room reaches the irreparable, irredeemable, godforsaken state that mine has. 

via
Would you just look at this antique looking bed? It looks like something that little Jean Paul Sartre would sleep in. Now you know why I am everything that Sartre is not? (And That's no insult to Sartre. Sartre is awesome. Sartre can kick anybody's booty!) Yes, it's because I didn't have this bed as a child!

via
This image appeals to my sense of practical living for the reason that in all probability, my bed will look exactly like this. Unmade, you might say, but this is what I call homey and lived in. But as I have written here, I do not believe in repairing things that will be broken in a matter of hours. To me, it is no different from going to a priest and confessing, and then stealing a car on the way back home. Its a yo yo diet of sin, confession, regret and redemption that I wish to abstain from in my life. 

Oh man! I have gotten so deep in these existential theories and other such deep philosophical thoughts in this conversation that I have digressed so greatly! But my point is really only this. Since my bed is likely to look like this rather than any of the lustworthy beds in the other images, I feel inclined to forget about the beds and covet these gorgeous lace curtains instead. Classy and stunning and very very low maintenance. So pretty in fact that I bet no one will even notice the bed. Two birds. One stone. Both down.

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I gotta admit. What drew me to this bed is the paraphernalia that adorns it and gives it a whole new dimension. The ghost chair that rests quietly beside the bed and Jesus' thorn headgear-like contraption above it are classic! Who wouldn't want to sleep in such a room on such a bed if it came with these pi├Ęces de r├ęsistance!

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Just tear out the pages of your books and stick it up on the walls. Not that I am not against vandalism and the destruction of books, which I absolutely am. But this right here, it's a part of the future I tell you. Hands free technology started from the concept pictured above and that's where it will end.

via
This is what I am going to do with my white wedding outfit - Chop it up and sleep under it.

And after carefully considering all the above mentioned options and a few others to boot, I have had to conclude that I desperately need three beds, which are these. They all have their specific purpose and function in space and time.


The first is for when I cohabit with fairies and elfins and gnomes and I want something that will be uplifting, spiritual and heaven bound.

The second is when I want to go into altered states of consciousness and start channeling Christ, Mother Mary, St. Jude and the likes. 

The third is when I wish to be taken by surprise and get beckoned into the sea to laugh with mermaids and cavort with mermans. The bed is my raft and the canopy is my sail. 

These three things much cover all that I do in my day, so I'm all set now. 

p.s. I thought long and hard about a title for this post. I feel deeply compelled to tell you that the other options that I had were 'Wed to Bed' and 'Bedding for Wedding', which lost out only because rhymes are corny, and corny is not me. Corny is definitely not me.

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Simplicitiousness


On Resentment

My mother is the only person I know who enjoys food more than I do. I deeply resent her for stealing my thunder on this one. Food's like.... my territory, you know... She shouldn't be able to enjoy her food as much as I do! It makes her the 'foodie' of the family, a title I covet more than the crown jewels.

Also, she has more shoes than I do and still wants to steal all of mine away. Same with purses and clutches and bags and wallets. Same with mobile phones. Same with clothes. Same with bangles and chains. Same with make up. Same with the blanket when I sleep on her humongous bed with her. (Cover hog!)

How bout we exchange all our possessions since you love mine so much and I'd be content with the insane amount of stuff you possess, huh mommy!

Man! I sound like a puberty angst ridden 13 year old! 

Note to self: Must. Move. Out. Must. Get. Life. Pronto.

Caution: Big Day Ahead

In the spirit of Election day which is tomorrow in my pretty pink state of Kerala, I repost this.

via someecards.com

In the spirit of reblogging, I repost this.
via this, which in turn is via this







Ha ha. The joke's still on me because i am the one who is reblogging. So I can afford to be a smart alec!

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Possible reasons for the persistence of my back ache

1. God thought to himself, 'Hey! I gave this girl two feet to run but all she does is lie down. From the time she was a wee child, she reads lying down, watches TV lying down, studies lying down, eats her meals lying down, writes in her journal lying down and solves complex mathematical equations previously solved only by Sir. Isaac Newton lying down. She never sits, never skips, never jumps and never ever runs. And she is constantly getting badgered by her parents and grandparents that if she doesn't get up and moving, she is gonna grow roots from her back to the ground and will never be able to move again. Poor wee child. Let me solve her problems by making her back ache so much that everyone will badger her to lie down all the time and not get up.'

2. My pesky neighbour cast a spell on me in retaliation to me calling her a 'Pain in my backside' and she actually turned things around and manifested as a pain in my backside. Is it a just a coincidence that she has been MIA for a week now? 'Get off my back you silly goose!'

3. God's giving me a taste of what married life might offer. After all, drawing water from a well and washing pots and pans and dirty clothes in the river may not be the most conducive for salubrious health and a spasm free body. From the looks of it, I will have to do all of this and much more after gettin' myself hitched. What say Thom? How bout gettin'your darling wife a place 5 months hence with fresh water supply and far far away from the river, huh?

4. In my last life, I was a drunken wife beater and now karma's being a chameleon and has turned colours.

5. Maybe my back is feeling withdrawal symptoms of not 'back'packing, Hardy har har! If I tell my father this, maybe it will convince him to fund me for another jaunt in the Himalayas. How I miss my hills!

6. I have been working way too hard the past month and my body is crying out in anguish and begging me to stop. It is wholly probable that my daily routine of making tea and sitting in front of the computer has gotten too taxing for my lithe, delicate body. Maybe I should stop making tea. My mother drinks it all up leaving nothing for me in any case!

On the other hand, it is wholly improbable that the persisting pain is because I sit for 18 hours in front of the  computer (dedicating myself heroically to the sustenance of this blog and the upkeep of the information systems in my brain) without movement of any sort. My physician was probably high on prescription medicine when he told me that I should get off the computer chair and move my 'back' if I didn't want back pain anymore. My mother who is a doctor herself was overjoyed when he said this because she had told me this very same thing two days ago. But obviously it is their jealousy talking because they don't have any information systems in their head other than of Mycobacterium Lyciae, Taenia Solium and Penicillium Notatum. Or maybe they are conspiring to get me off the chair and into the drug trade. Hmmm. Conspiracy theories always have a vein of truth in them, have you observed?

Doctors are a strange lot though. Did you know that Jim Morrison was actually singing about doctors when he sang 'People are strange'? True story, this. (Source: Information System T1D2JM3 in Elizabeth George's brain)

And while I am being a whine and going on endlessly about backaches and big toenail aches and eyleash follicle aches, I would also, in the role of a grumpy girlfriend, like to state that Thom works way too much and he never has time to take me to the circus anymore! ('The Circus' may or may not be a euphemism for something else that is equally fun!) And also, my father doesn't buy me enough shoes. And my mother steals away the ones I already have. And Nigella Lawson is not responding to my frantic emails professing my love for her. Life sucks rotten eggs!

But aren't you glad that I got all that outta my system once and for all?

Friday, April 8, 2011

I tell you!

Trust changes people. They become what you tell them you expect.
- Scott Adams in “Stick to Drawing Comics, Monkey Brain!”



A Dream Of Long Ago

So when I told you that you mustn't clean your room here because you might sprain your back, I was not jesting. That's where I've woefully been for the past 5 days - parallel to the floor on my back - not blogging or doing all the other things I love that involve me being at least at a 90° angle to the floor. It's no fun living such a life I tell you. No fun at all. But after sleeping for 20 out of 24 hours on two of the given five days, I can now claim ownership for another priceless find, commonly sold by the name of Flexinol, a skeletal and musle relaxant. It was so sweet, the slumber. I don't remember ever having slept so contently. Those halcyon days when awakening was a brief interlude from a dream world of my making are just a distant memory now. But  I can always return to it at just the click of the medicine strip and a gulp of water now. Such is the power! Potential side effects include drowsiness, dizziness, upset stomach, flushing, blurred vision, and fever, and I did experience 5 out of the 6, but in those lazy days, I was too happy to care!

And now that I am hale and hearty and my back having healed enough to allow me to sit at an incline, I can (Hallelujah!) use a computer again, though my laptop has become my tummytop and my desktop has become a dusttop. So all's well with the world. And just so you don't think I am a bad influence on you non drug addled people, and so that the government won't confiscate my secret weapons, I leave you with this. 

Poetry is the ultimate redeemer if you ask me. It can make a dumb person appear intellectual and deep just by quoting a few verses. It can warm your heart to an unfaithful partner in the matter of moments. Try it at any occasion and it will work. Now before I feel compelled to share any more of my secrets at making people like me and do to my liking, I bid adieu. 

A Dream Of Long Ago

Lying listless in the mosses
Underneath a tree that tosses
Flakes of sunshine, and embosses
Its green shadow with the snow--
Drowsy-eyed, I sink in slumber
Born of fancies without number--
Tangled fancies that encumber
Me with dreams of long ago.

Ripples of the river singing;
And the water-lilies swinging
Bells of Parian, and ringing
Peals of perfume faint and fine,
While old forms and fairy faces
Leap from out their hiding-places
In the past, with glad embraces
Fraught with kisses sweet as wine.

Willows dip their slender fingers
O'er the little fisher's stringers,
While he baits his hook and lingers
Till the shadows gather dim;
And afar off comes a calling
Like the sounds of water falling,
With the lazy echoes drawling
Messages of haste to him.

Little naked feet that tinkle
Through the stubble-fields, and twinkle
Down the winding road, and sprinkle
Little mists of dusty rain,
While in pasture-lands the cattle
Cease their grazing with a rattle
Of the bells whose clappers tattle
To their masters down the lane.

Trees that hold their tempting treasures
O'er the orchard's hedge embrasures,
Furnish their forbidden pleasures
As in Eden lands of old;
And the coming of the master
Indicates a like disaster
To the frightened heart that faster
Beats pulsations manifold.

Puckered lips whose pipings tingle
In staccato notes that mingle
Musically with the jingle-
Haunted winds that lightly fan
Mellow twilights, crimson-tinted
By the sun, and picture-printed
Like a book that sweetly hinted
Of the Nights Arabian.

Porticoes with columns plaited
And entwined with vines and freighted
With a bloom all radiated
With the light of moon and star;
Where some tender voice is winging
In sad flights of song, and singing
To the dancing fingers flinging
Dripping from the sweet guitar.

Would my dreams were never taken
From me: that with faith unshaken
I might sleep and never waken
On a weary world of woe!
Links of love would never sever
As I dreamed them, never, never!
I would glide along forever
Through the dreams of long ago

- James Whitcomb Riley

James Whitcomb Riley (October 7, 1849 – July 22, 1916)


I'm the Queen of Lotions and Potions

The secret of my beauty is thus:

(I know there isn't much beauty to speak of and I would never preach to anyone who has seen me in real life, but I feel compelled to state this here.)

The kitchen!!!!!

Whenever I cook, (and I'm constantly making something or the other), I just plop a part of that onto my skin.

For instance, today I made a Dal with tomatoes, and because I find it much easier to squish tomatoes into pulp than to actually chop them, after I was done, I just wiped my hands on my face instead of washing them!

Just kidding. Or maybe not. But do take one piece of your neatly chopped tomato and massage your face with it in circular, upward motions and let it dry before you wash it off. A refreshing glow will be yours to call your own before you know it.

If you're done with dinner and you're making green tea for dessert, take a steeped green tea bag, snip it open and use the contents as a face pack. You can even add honey to it if you want! Imagine how sweet you will look after you finish!

Same works with oranges, honey, milk, yoghurt, cream, mayonnaise (for the hair), apples, pappaya, watermelon, cucumber....the list is kinda endless.

But if you feel the urge to scrub off the dead epithelial cells from your face with a grater, I say that's where you draw the line, even if your mischief ridden kid brother promises to wash the dishess for a month in return for letting him experiment this on your skin. Trust me. This one is tried and tested! And the adage 'No pain no gain' is absolutely not applicable in this regard.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Consequences of cleaning up your room

1. You can throw out your back and you may have to remain immobile and in a horizontal position in front of the TV for the next 72 hours. While this may sound highly desirable, it means that you will not be able to blog for that long a period. Additionally, the thrown back may have afflicted you in the middle of your cleaning and your room will have to remain in the state of limbo for days on end. Rooms need closure too, you know!

2. You may find an old, ant filled box of chocolates from the time when Titanic released, and because it's chocolate and (obviously) cannot be wasted, you may have to eat every single one of them and also lick the melted chocolate from the plastic wrapper. This may lead to increase in waist size and waste size and also unexplained stomach ailments for the following week.

3. You may unearth a sleeping snake at the bottom of your closet and then you will have to disturb it from its natural habitat. It may get angry and strike. Additionally, you may live on the 10th floor of an apartment building, leaving you wondering what to do with the snake. You may throw it out of the window in your dire state and it may land in your neighbor's Olympic sized pool and the kids there might mistake it for Anaconda and be terrorized for life.

4. You may discover a deadly mold hiding in one of your high heels and once you disturb it and expose it to air, it might lead to a repeat of Will Smith's 'I am Legend.'

5. You may discover that you have way more clothes that you bought to wear when you finally get thin, than clothes that actually fit you. This may force you into a mode of deep retrospection and introspection, which may cause you to take drastic measures into reforming your life choices. God forbid, you may even throw away the red mini skirts and sequined bikini tops that you saved to wear when you're size zero. God forbid!

6. The rest of your family might discover the stolen stash that you keep in your bottom drawer of things that actually belong to them - say for instance alcohol, jewelery, CDs of 24, boxes of cake mix, butter knives, a tennis bat.... Then they might question your motivations, or worse, your sanity, and they may take you to a doctor for psychoanalysis. Psychoanalysis is never fun, let me warn you.

So this is the plea of a manic old woman with no clothes, a broken back and a stomach ailment that won't quit: PLEASE DO NOT CLEAN UP YOUR ROOM!

Stick this list up on your door to ensure that your parent / sibling / partner / child never asks you to clean your room! Its been tried and tested and it works like a charm!

The end. 

Sunday, April 3, 2011

A question for a lazy Sunday evening

So it turns out that Jeez is short for Jesus, as Meg from Meg's Mind kindly pointed out to me.

So it's time for a new question.

When it says 'Untouched by hand', does it imply that the work is done solely by the feet?

A question for a lazy Sunday afternoon

Is 'Jeez' short for Jesus?

Responses I got when I told my friends that I am getting married

1. 'Again?' (This is not because I have been married before, but because I was supposed to get married last November, and I had to call that off because Micheal Jackson told me to. And then he gave up and died on me, so I decided to get married. Again.)

2. Oh no! Are you sure? You're giving up so easily? You're so young! (I'm 26) At least don't have kids till you're 40. (Oh well, at least he was concerned. But I'm rethinking asking him to be my man of honour. Might not help with my serious case of cold feet and clammy palms.)

3. 'Oh you're getting married? Where?' 'In Bombay', I respond, which is my friend's city as well. 'In Bombay is it? Well, I expect royal treatment for it then!' (Yes, you megalomaniac! The reason I turned my life upside down, changed my wedding date as well as the venue, and found the strength to start the process all over again is so that I can ensure that you can receive royal treatment.)

4. Oh ho ho ho ho he he he he he.... (on and on for about 4 minutes, after which I hung up my phone. I can still hear laughter ringing in my friend. I am unsure whether it's my friend all the way from UK or whether it's the port wine from Goa that I'm still drinking)

5. 'Wait. Is Thom sure? I mean why would he want to do that?' (Well, I don't know. He may be criminally insane. But your loyalty just fills me up and gives me wings!)

6. 'Oh really! And you never told me this! That's so awesome!' (I met this girl precisely 5 minutes before this conversation happened.) 'I am gonna help you plan this wedding. I'll be like your....' (she thinks for 20 seconds) '...wedding planner! We're gonna have so much fun! Woo hoo!' (And that is how she made her inviting herself to my wedding the least of her crimes.)
10 minutes later, she is still thinking. And then she asks, 'How come you never told me you were getting married? I had no idea!'

7. 'Hmmm....ok...you please talk to my husband and tell him to let me come for the wedding!'(Please remind me to have a detailed conversation with her before I get married and completely figure out the details of the marriage model that she follows so that I do exactly the opposite of that!)

8. 'Oooooh! Shopping! Can I come?'

Next time, I'm sending people an email invite with a message attached that says,  'RSVP Yes or No.', with no options for another reply. No words needed.

Yes, I said next time. And I mean, the next party, not the next time I plan to get married! Jeez!

An obsevation

Anytime Thom mispronounces an English word and I correct him, he says that that's how the word is pronounced in Hindi. It's kinda ridiculous and infuriating and hilarious all rolled into one. And it stumps me every single time! I'm hoping it's not indicative of how our marriage is gonna be!

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Wish upon a flower

Photography by Hannah Smith. Image via this



For beautiful, whimsical images that you can meditate on or create tales of love and longing around, check out her website or her flickr page. 

A day in my life.

6:00 AM - My day always starts around this time when I wake up, stretch my arms, thank God for the universe and this bright sunshiny day and go right back to sleep because I have about 4 more hours to go.

8:00 AM - I wake up again, try to remember my dreams at dawn and then go back to sleep.

10:00 AM - I wake up feeling groggy, tired and unslept, wanting to sleep more but unable to, and get off the bed muttering curses at the universe and the phenomenon of unfulfilled sleep.

10:05 AM - I'm in front of the computer, where I will remain until a little earlier than daybreak the next day.

11:00 AM - Cornflakes time in front of the computer. That's my dining table.

1:00 PM - Lunch time in front of the computer. This is when I watch Dexter. I revel in watching bloody, sinister, abuse ridden crime shows while I eat. It may be a problem.

2:00 PM - I start feeling flashes of drowsiness, which I ignore in order to feed my compulsive need to mindlessly sit in front of the computer.

8:00 PM - I get up to stretch and also get my dinner with me back to my throne. I watch the rest of the Dexter episode.

9:00 PM - I start feeling flashes of drowsiness, which I ignore in order to feed my compulsive need to mindlessly sit in front of the computer.

12:00 AM - I'm still feeling flashes of drowsiness, which I ignore in order to feed my compulsive need to mindlessly sit in front of the computer.

1:00 AM: I know that I am way past the time I should be sleeping in order to wake up at the healthy hour of 6:00 AM, but I ignore this gnawing feeling with the condolence that there is always a new day.

 2:30 AM: I am wide awake by this time, but I go to bed anyways because I know I should be going to bed.

2:45 PM: I am lying in bed now, reading a book. (I need to read a book before sleeping until I can no longer keep my eyes open. Just like everything else I do, this too is a needless but compulsive habit that I allow myself to indulge in.)

3:30 PM: I am still reading the book, painfully aware that I am as energetic as a horse on epinephrine, and that I should be sleeping. I am wide awake and absolutely aware at these moments.

4:00 PM - I turn off the light because I know I need to sleep. I start saying 'Our father', pretty much in the same way that we are told to count sheep jumping over a fence in order to fall asleep.

4:30 PM - God has possibly gotten tired of my endless 'Our fathers' but I am still wide awake and clutching my pillow. I am wondering how one hour before dawn is the only time in the day when I am actually completely awake. I am sleepy the rest of the day at all times!

5:00 PM - I'm guessing that I have fallen asleep by this time. It is a fitful, nightmare ridden sleep until I wake up at 6:00 PM.

Raise your right hand if you think I'm redundant or counter productive or counter intuitive

Raise your left hand if you feel that I am going round in circles in some way.

Raise your feet together if you think that something is wrong with the wiring in my brain. (It's backwards, maybe? Or maybe melatonon gets released instead of serotonin and vice versa.)

Now look at yourself with both hands and feet raised and tell me who the crazy person is.

Toodles!



Ho Ho Ho!

It's the most I've laughed in a long while I think! Lamebook is insane and awesome. People are insane and awesome!





:D