Necessity

Chinese Whispers

2012-01-19T08:00:00.004Z

It doesn't seem to matter how many times we've been proved wrong. Most of us continue to persist with our endeavours to make two plus two equal 22. Or even 50, for the more creative among us.

I've always found that age-old rhyme of 'Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me' to be quite untrue. It's often words that are the undoing of so many relationships, well-built reputations, and even the most resilient of self-confident armours.

What is it that compels us to pass on useless information that is almost always unfounded, most likely to be untrue, but almost certain to cause harm? And before someone thinks this me waxing eloquent while sitting on my high horse, it really isn't. In hindsight, I find that I've been just as guilty of gossiping like an old woman about things that have nothing to do with my life, and are absolutely none of my business.

The thing is though, I haven't been able to figure out why I do it. Or why any of us do it. Can it simply be that we are just bored? Or that there's a nasty streak running through us all that loves to see someone fail? Worst of all, it might be that the easiest way for us to feel better about ourselves is to trample over someone else, metaphorically speaking, of course.

I'm not sure if I'll ever have the answer. But after observing two completely undeserving people be talked about like they were trash, for no other reason than 'it just happened', I'm going to try my best to do the only thing I can when the next bit of juicy news comes along.

Keep my mouth shut.

Note to Prissy HR People

2012-01-12T12:16:00.000Z

Get a little perspective. You're a cog in the giant corporate wheel. And while I'm sure you do a great job and are worth every penny they shell out for your services, you're not running the Universe.

Now that we've established you're not God, start acting like it.

Obsession with Man Hours

2012-01-08T18:48:00.000Z

If you’ve ever been watched by several pairs of eyes as youleft the office on the dot of the official closing time, you will know exactlyhow I feel on most days at work. Admittedly, I only have to go in to the officefor two days of the week, and after meeting several of these stares with a ‘Yes?Is there something you’d like to say to me?’ look, things have been marginallyless confrontational. But after spendingalmost two years at a company where ‘official’ hours were a joke and you wereexpected to work on weekends, national holidays, and pretty much any other timethe client needed you, my patience with those who obsess over man-hours runsthin.

Here’s my rationale. I’m paid to do a job, and as long as Ido the work, do it well, and don’t get any complaints from my boss, I havelittle or no interest in sticking to a clock just to please anyone else. And really, let’s be honest –there isabsolutely no guarantee that someone who is pinned to his/her seat for 12 hoursof the day is actually spending all that time doing actual work instead oflooking up movie timings for the late show.

‘Work to live, not live to work’ is the theory I’ve beensubscribing to for some time now. Not as a cop out for doing a shoddy job, butfor having some balance between what’s important, and how you can afford tohave it. And while I’m not sure if this is more an Indian trait or if clock-watchersare spread far and wide across the globe, I really, really hope that this obsession with how many hours each personspends at work will stop. Right about now would be a good time actually.

Anew

2012-01-01T18:03:00.000Z

To borrow a line from Dorianne Laux, 'I've traveled this far on the back of every mistake', and God knows I've made enough of those to fill volumes. But in the grand scheme of things, as another year ended, I've had another year alive. As morbid as that may sound, it is something that I am truly grateful for. Three years ago, I would have been, to put it mildly, quite pissed off if my life had come to a standstill. So many things not achieved, so many dreams unfulfilled, and a whole bucket list still unwritten, never mind lived out. But facing an uncertain future was possibly the best thing to ever happen to me, and 2011 was a testament to that. I found a job I loved, travelled to places I'd only ever made vague plans to visit, spent an amazing amount of time with family and friends, realized that the end of a relationship doesn't make the love any less real and true, and the clincher - had my hair grow long enough to braid down my back.

It's been a time of extraordinary happiness, contentment, and calm. And should 2012 not bring more of the same, it has still been one hell of a ride that I wouldn't trade a single minute of.

My wishes for the next 12 months - no more 'project' men, more converts to letter-writing, more friends who kick their cigarette addiction, and the guts and craziness to finally sign up for a sky dive. Tall orders on all counts, no doubt, but I've still got 364 days to go.

Blank Slate

2011-12-26T13:39:00.000Z

The art of forgetting requires great craftsmanship;
the careful peeling of sacred memories,
and an iron will to scatter them to the winds.

It is not for the fainthearted,
or those of weak mind.

The art of forgetting,
my friend,
is for you and me
who had the strength
to just let go.

This movie is amazing and by the way, I earn an embarrassing amount of money

2011-11-10T07:37:00.001Z

Is it just me or are more and more people dropping how much they earn into completely unrelated conversations?

I can understand it as a response when I ask you how much you earn.
And if I don't know you well enough, please response by saying it's none of my business.

But in a conversation about movies, random travel, birds, and all manner of arbitrary things...not so much. Then you're just the weirdo that tells people how much he/she makes because clearly, you're in desperate need of validation.

The thing with boundaries in India

2011-10-04T12:33:00.002+01:00

I met agirl at the gym who looked familiar.

I thoughtperhaps we went to the same school (which proves I am in severe denial abouthow old I look, because it turns out she’s about six years younger than I am)so I asked her which school she went to.

A fewminutes later we’re having a perfectly pleasant conversation about things thatstrangers usually talk about, and then she pop in this question:

‘So, areyou married?’

Me: ‘No.’

She, withan understanding nod: ‘Ahhh, so that’s why you’re working out?’

Um. No. Strangelyenough, I’m not running on a treadmill just so I can catch a man. This is justfor me.

Yup. That’swhat I should’ve said.

Instead I went with, ‘Um. No.’

The thingwith boundaries in Indiais, there sometimes aren’t any.

Leaving the dabba behind

2011-09-25T20:17:00.000+01:00

The time has come.

We've been through good times, my cell phone and I, but now it is hanging on by a thread (or scotch-tape, if you want to be literal about it), and I think I'm strong enough emotionally to finally cut the cord.

The thing about an ugly phone, is that no one wants to take it from you. I've left it in dozens of places and it has never been stolen. And though I've had to deal with some very snide and sometimes funny comments about my archaic choice of technology (including: Oh no, she can't give up her phone. What dabba will she carry her lunch to work in?), it served its purpose well. I could make calls, send texts, and in some truly great moments, even check my email on it.

So for the past few weeks, I've been asking for suggestions regarding the impending upgrade to a phone that actually looks like it's not prehistoric, and the overwhelming response has been, 'The Blackberry'. Points in favour include:
-Messaging is free! Your phone bills will be much lower.
-You can send pictures, etc, at the drop of a hat.
-All your emails are at your fingertips.
-It's cool!
-Everyone has one.
-Rinse and repeat all of the above.

All of these are true, and I have to admit that I was sorely tempted. After all, I'd had a smart phone before. And as frighteningly addictive as it was, perhaps the day had come where I could actually be cool. Who doesn't want that?!

Turns out, I don't.

And the decisive factor was actually the very people who wanted me to get a Blackberry in the first place. I recently spent a few evenings with some BB friends (yes, I'm categorizing them now) and an afternoon with another. And I found that no conversation lasted longer than 30 seconds (I kid you NOT!) without something pinging or buzzing or ringing, and simply had to be replied to. So I'd be left mid-sentence, or even worse, they would stop talking in the middle of a story, so that the the seemingly-critical message/email could be dealt with.

I realize this is the norm now. And yes, that not everyone does it. I know a few people who can actually put their smart phones away and have an uninterrupted conversation. Kudos to them.

But the truth is, I don't quite trust myself. What if I become one the shifty-eyed BB-owners with no ability to concentrate on the real-life conversation I'm having because I'm so compelled to continue the virtual ones?
I don't think I want to risk finding out.

The dabba remains for now.
And in a few days, I'll look around, and find something that's not quite falling apart. A cell phone that lets me make calls, and send texts, and if I'm really adventurous about it, will also give me access to the Internet.

It turns out I may not be cool after all.
Ah well.

Flying Irony

2011-09-03T18:32:00.002+01:00

When we're kids and our bladder control is... limited, we always want to bag the window seats on airplanes. The view (of clouds, no less. Just endless oceans of clouds) wins out over a clear route to the toilet that doesn't involve jumping over people and upsetting trays of half-eaten food.
Which is just silly, as the view will never be good enough to justify peeing in your pants.

But as adults, when most of us can hold on for quite a while, we have little or no interest in the view and an aisle seat takes priority. No more jumping over grumpy-middle-seat-person for us. Oh no, when we need to go, we're going to do it with dignity.
Of course, once we have this unobstructed path to the loo, we probably don't need to go as badly as we did when we were kids.
But then, there's the irony for you.

It's official

2011-08-24T09:28:00.002+01:00

I'm the oldest 26 year old in history.

Last weekend I indulged in excesses that would have been nothing more than a mere blip in my teenage years. Not so in my mid-20s it seems.

Four days later, and my feet still hurt from dancing in heels, my tummy is still griping from something I ate (or alcohol poisoning), and my memory remains firmly in a foetal position regarding some things better not recalled.

Don't get me wrong, I had a great time! But now I need a vacation to recover from my vacation. And it seems that two nights in a row of staying up until the wee hours of the morning are enough to prove that wild-times, short lived though they were, are firmly over. Could it be that I am officially... (gasp!), a grown up?

I'll consider it while I take another day to recover.

Self Preservation is

2011-08-17T13:53:00.003+01:00

instinctive.

It's the reason why we clutch at our possessions the minute we think someone is going to take them away (I have that reaction when anyone comes near me when I'm eating chocolate), and perhaps why despite all our endeavours to be wonderfully selfless human beings, we will kick someone else to the curb if it means our survival depends on it.

It's just the way nature works.

It's the reason I'm taking a deep breath, and letting go of a lot of things, people, memories, and mementos.

I have to.

In the long-run, it's either me, or them.

And really, I'd much rather choose me.

So, in apology, I'll steal a really corny line and say, "It's a self-preservation thing, you see..."

Added to the list of things I just can't understand

2011-08-05T09:57:00.002+01:00

The Jegging phenomenon.

Work in Progress

2011-07-13T10:00:00.004+01:00

You can fill up your days with inconsequentials. Shop till you drop and buy things you don't need.

You can work and work and work until you've stopped counting the hours you clock, driving your mind to places where exhaustion doesn't even begin to describe how you feel.

You can socialise and talk on the phone and rebuild friendships from the scraps left behind, knowing all the while that these new ties won't erase the old, no matter how hard you try.

Try everything. Stuff your days with everything you can.

Because when night comes, and your mind goes quiet, it all comes back.

Your memories emerge, wave after crushing wave.

Until the morning comes and you try again.

2011-07-08T13:21:00.002+01:00

I am what I'd like to think of as a born-whiner. It's a natural talent and one I've steadily improved upon over the years.

So for us born-whiners (and I know there are more of you out there than you would care to admit!), it's especially hard to drum up the energy to be happy and grateful. Grateful about anything really. Even if life is one giant bed of roses, and one teeny, tiny thing goes wrong, the whiner tendencies bubble to the surface quicker than you can say "I can rise above it".

So it takes years of self-restraint and training, and perhaps a harsh word from a well-meaning friend about how no one likes a whiner, to focus on the good things. The things that you can be grateful for despite the annoying bits that are vying for your attention.

I'd like to think that I've now arrived at this place. It's been a long, hard road, and by no means is the struggle over. On an off-day, I go straight back to my natural inclinations and complain about everything in sight (and some out). But for now, life could really not be any better.

Well, perhaps if New York were a little closer... but that's another whine coming along.

Focus!

Life is good. Work is good. Friends and family are great. Almost no one I love and care about is getting sick(er) or dying (just yet).

I AM GRATEFUL!

Yay!

Oh nothing, I'll just stand here and ... watch.

2011-05-22T16:25:00.003+01:00

There are tons of blogs and books on netiquette and office etiquette. But one that combined the two, and especially addressed the issue of 'hovering' would be greatly appreciated. At least by one reader... me.

Those who have not encountered the hoverers (and yes I know that's not a real word) cannot understand the extreme irritation they cause. It's not even that they're really doing anything annoying.

Then again, that's just it. They stand there. Doing nothing.

Not really engaging in what you're working on, offering constructive advice, or suggestions on how to make things better.

They just... stand there.

Watching.

Making you nervous.

Distracted.

And in the end, ruining whatever productive streak you had going.

I have a job now where I have to write stuff all the time. Make the content seem witty, articulate, and (dare I say it?) half-way intelligent. None of which I can do when some twit is hovering over my shoulder and watching my every click on the keyboard. I'm suddenly paralysed - forgetting what I'm saying and how I'm going to say it. Every seemingly-brilliant sentence construction I had planned suddenly goes out of the window, leaving me annoyed, irritated, and most importantly, behind on deadlines.

The hovering has got to stop!

Seasonal Whinging

2011-05-16T16:02:00.004+01:00

When the monsoons arrive, I run outside and splash around in the puddles.

Yes, don't ask how old I am, I continue to do this every single year without exception. Everything looks green, an average cup of coffee starts to taste better (damn Nescafe ads and the power of suggestion), and even the mud starts to smell divine!

But then I have to travel to work and there's never a rickshaw to be found when it's pouring down. Just before I get into one, a car will speed past and plaster me with water and filth. A couple of years ago it got to a point where I kept a change of clothes at work just so I wouldn't have to spend the day in dirty, wet clothes that would chill me to the bone after encountering the office's Arctic temperatures.

Then the roads will flood and I won't be able to get to work, but will have to make a pretence of it anyway just so I can say I tried, before turning around and crawling back through the immovable traffic.

All of this, and I haven't even started on the state of the trains yet.

So about two weeks into it, I'm ready for the monsoons to be over and done with and wait longingly for the winter (such as it is in India) to come around.

You know, so that I can crib about how cold it is.

But for now, it's *$%#ing hot, people smell a lot, and I'm even more cranky than usual because of the mere 45 minutes I spend commuting from one air-conditioned environment to the other. So even though I'm probably spoiled as hell and going to regret saying this in about a month or so...

I can't wait for the monsoons!

Brevity

2011-04-17T15:53:00.003+01:00

I have ideas fleeting in and out of my head, but when it comes to putting it down in writing, I lose all interest and decide to look up random videos on YouTube. There; that explains why nothing has been posted here in a while (of course, this is assuming that someone has been wondering why. To my knowledge, there are only two such individuals.)

Anyway, a couple of days ago, I realised that I finally ‘got’ Wordsworth’s Daffodils. We did it in my sixth grade English class, complete with a page and a half worth of interpretation. This involved what had inspired the poet, his background, his family, what the author of the textbook thought the poet meant by each and every word in the poem, etc. If anyone had asked for my honest opinion regarding what I thought had inspired the poet, I would have replied, ‘Maybe he just liked daffodils.’ But of course, no one was looking for an honest opinion, least of all mine. So I dutifully replicated the textbook author’s thoughts and words and managed to get a fairly decent grade as well.

Now, thirteen years later and in England, I've seen the daffodils. Without a page and a half explaining why, what, where, and how, I feel the poem. Which makes me wish that every poet/author/composer/artist would add to their work a short paragraph or even a few sentences explaining what inspired them and what the poem ‘actually means.’ This would immediately eliminate all this presumptuousness on the part of textbook authors, and future generations of students will be infinitely happier. I may go even so far as to say a little original thought may emerge from not having to constantly reproduce someone else’s ideas. Case in point, Wordsworth on Daffodils could have been as follows; Good piece of work, quite proud of the rhyming. Enjoy it as just that. For those who want a deeper understanding, go look at a field of daffodils. Else, leave well enough alone.

Now all that's needed is for the millions of other poets/authors/composers/artists to follow suit. Easy as that.

As fun as job hunting is...

2011-03-30T23:59:00.003+01:00

I now consider myself an expert at job hunting. I can write cover letters and tailor CVs to particular job profiles in my sleep. Then again, maybe that's why its taken me this long to find a job I want to have (you'll notice I didn't say I was an expert at finding a job, just the hunting part).

Anyway, the point is, I've applied to a LOT of jobs over the last few months. And while reading a job profile, I always have this little movie playing in my head. I can imagine the type of office I'd be in, the co-workers, the kind of tasks I'd be doing, and yes, I also imagine the work clothes wardrobe. This lasts all of six minutes and then I move on to another profile and a new movie.

But now that I've actually decided on a particular job, signed on the dotted line, and gotten comfy with the idea of being paid more than peanuts, it's a little sad to be saying goodbye to my movie series. As happy and relieved as I am to have found something I want to do, it also means it's the end of all the endless possibilities and what-ifs.

On the upside, solvency is a good antidote for my disappointment.

Well looky here, there's a call button on this phone too!

2011-02-28T22:08:00.004Z

I should state at the outset, sometimes I'm not great at keeping in touch.

But, since I know and accept this fact, I also recognise the difference between the following two sentences;

'We haven't spoken in a really long time.'

'You haven't called me in a really long time.'

In the first one, perhaps we've both been at fault and just haven't had the chance to catch up. Or maybe the other person has called me loads of time and I've not responded, in which case, they are fully justified in using the second sentence.

But here's a heads up for those who haven't called me in a really long time either; you don't get to complain about me calling you. The phone lines are connected both ways.

I know, I know, it takes a little getting used to. But try it.

You'll find the results quite educational, and perhaps even just a little rewarding.

Everyone's got problems

2011-02-23T16:45:00.000Z

This was brought to my attention during a conversation with a friend (one of the select few that is privy to the less frequent but still energetic whining that I must indulge in). So she was taken in by the woes and troubles of a colleague, a minor something that was made to seem like the Armageddon, and only later realised how piddly and downright silly these complaints were in comparison to the significantly larger and more serious problems in her own life.

The point, as she told me, was this; whether you've got a broken toe nail or a terminal illness, your problem is great and all-consuming only because it's your problem. No one has problems bigger or smaller than anyone else. They're all big. And they're all terrible. And only because they're personal.

Now, this insight may be as old as time, but I've taken the little gem to make my own woes just a little bit better. So when I've got the broken toe nail, I think of those with terminal illnesses. And should I have a terminal illness... well, then I'll know that what's required to make me feel better is to think of someone out there who's hopping around with a broken nail and thinking that the world has come to an end.

Try it. I think it works!

Where did you get that?

2011-02-11T22:49:00.003Z

This is how you know you've lived away from your siblings for way too long.

You look at recent pictures of them and don't recognize any of their clothes.

If you have to ask more than twice 'Where did you get that?' or 'When did you get that?', then it's been too long.

100-114

2011-01-19T23:57:00.003Z

That's the average IQ of the human race (give or take a few points depending on group statistics, etc).

When I was younger, I wanted to be the gifted child.

The genius who could do math without getting an instant headache, and remember all the formulas required for the chemistry exams.Even my doctor dream died because I didn't have the intellectual aptitude for it, never mind the mythical status of being an astrophysicist or engineer par excellence.

I had to face it - I was normal. Just regular, average, nothing special.

As far as academia went, I was nothing outstanding. I had no grades that would be legendary; I was just normal.

Now though, when I see the geniuses with limited (if any) social skills, or the eating disorders; the brainiacs who hate their parents for all the pressure; the heavy-duty achievers with all the accolades and not much else; I am more than grateful for my normalcy.

For every one genius that appears to be relatively well-balanced and still make it to the top, there seem to be about ten that are totally screwed up.

Lesson for today people, embrace the normal; it's sadly underrated.

Navigating the World of HR

2011-01-15T12:29:00.002Z

True story.

I was looking for a job and as you do, applied to more than one place. One of the companies I'd applied to got in touch and asked me to do an editing test. Then I spoke to one of their senior managers. Then another. And finally, a third. Then the HR lady called me back, and asked me how much I was expecting in terms of a salary - I told her. Finally (about a month later), they offered me a job. At which point, I was sorry to inform them, that I'd decided to give it a miss. I really was sorry to be passing on the opportunity, but in the grand scheme of things, I'd probably regret not giving another path 100% of my efforts.

The HR lady was livid. I should have told them I was looking around elsewhere, I should have given them some indication etc etc. Okay, understandable that she was upset about losing a candidate after so much discussion and time.

However, consider the situation in reverse - A company interviews several applicants for a job. Every applicant knows that there are other candidates for this position, and not one will delude him/herself that he/she is the only person being considered for this job. Finally, someone is chosen and there is a polite mail (if you're lucky) saying that you have been unsuccessful in your endeavor, or else, there is simply no word from them and you are left to guess where you went wrong.

The second scenario of course, is what is expected. It is expected that there will be more than one candidate for a particular job but heaven forbid that one candidate should consider more than one company to apply to for a job.

Is it just me or is there something seriously out of balance with this thinking?

HR people, fix it!

2011-01-15T12:25:00.002Z

I am reclaiming love.

The love of being alone and peaceful and content.

It has been glorious to be with you, with all of you, and spread my many cares and worries across your collective shoulders.

But now it's time to regroup.

To sit quietly, and remember all those things that made me strong before you were there.

To remember alone is not lonely.

And that love isn't always happy.

It is time now. For Me.

The Party of a Lifetime

2010-10-24T18:09:00.004+01:00

I'm not trying to be morbid, but I frequently think about my funeral.
I've planned it out like I would any birthday party. Given some thought to the food, the drink, the decor, dress code and of course, the entertainment; as with any other, the speeches should be kept to a minimum!

When my grandad died, one of my aunts knocked me on the head for laughing too loudly the next day. Someone had said something funny, and I'd reacted. But of course, this wasn't 'proper'. I didn't take into consideration that the fact that I could laugh made is seem like I was grieving less for someone I loved. When I thought about it later, it seemed to me that my grandfather would've wanted a whole lot more laughing and a whole lot less crying at his wake.

Anyway. Since then, I've planned my own funeral in elaborate detail.
There will be no wearing of black. I'd like colour to help brighten up a sad day with a little visual stimulation. People always talk about funerals as a celebration of the person's life but then dress in black and white as if going to an extremely boring business meeting. For me, bring out the blues, reds, greens and yellows, and look happy about it!

There will also be good singing. I've had this arranged before anything else - I told a friend he would sing either at my wedding or my funeral, whichever comes first. At this present stage in my life, it seems the former is nowhere in sight so the funeral it will have to be.

Then there is the waxing eloquent about how lovely and perfect the dead person was. Hardly any eulogy tells the truth. Again, no one wants to be disrespectful of those dearly departed, prefering instead to lie in church about his/her nonexistent virtues. I'd like whoever spoke for me to keep it short, and keep it honest. A ten minute talk perhaps, outlining the main points - I had a terrible temper, made some horribly impulsive or ill-judged decisions, had more friends than enemies, loved my family, my dog and my food - all in equal measure, and for the most part, was pretty darn happy.

And then on to the things I love best - food, drink and merrymaking in the company of fun people.
The party of a lifetime, to celebrate mine.

The Bottomless Pit

2010-10-15T10:01:00.002+01:00

It's nice to know that there are more of us out there, whose stomachs are bottomless pits.

An hour after we ate a fairly substantial meal, my friend looks at me seriously and asks;

"We did eat, right? It doesn't feel like it."

Nashville on the down low

2010-09-30T23:39:00.003+01:00

Here's the truth of it; I'm a closet Country music fan.

There are few that will admit to it. Country music is something you hide in your CD collection, waaay back behind even 90's pop. It occupies a obscure, but not forgotten folder in your computer's music files. It is present, but never mentioned in our music lives.

Country music is too whiny to be cool. The whole banjo, cowboy hat, 'everyone died and my cat ran out of me too' story line is just a bit much to cross over into something we will publicly own up to liking. But the thing is, every now and again, everyone needs a little country music.

When you're curled up in bed, missing your family or your someone special. When you've had a rotten day and you're sure everyone and everything was put on this planet to ruin you. When you feel ugly and your hair is a fright and your whole world seems one big shade of grey.

That's when the cowboy hat, banjo, violin and crooning (if but slightly whiny) voice can make music that sounds exactly like what you're feeling; a big pile of sentimental mush with no real logical reasoning behind it.

So if you'll excuse me, I need some Tim McGraw and Faith Hill right now.

The whole Venus/Mars thing again

2010-09-28T13:25:00.003+01:00

Girl: I like this. It's so comfortable. We fit so well together.

Boy: Yeah, just like Lego.

Cue laughter.

(Shared with permission of those concerned)

Everyday People

2010-09-27T22:48:00.002+01:00

We have an extraordinary ability to adapt. I don't mean in the scientifically proven sense of evolution, but in the way that we get used to changes in our situations, possessions, people, etc.

Wherever we are, we build a network of everyday people. They are not necessarily soul mates or best friends, but they become such an ingrained part of our lives simply because at a point in time, we have a shared location.

And then you move, or they move, and you find new everyday people, as do they. You keep in touch and write long emails, chat for hours on the phone perhaps.

Or maybe not. Maybe these people who you saw everyday, ate every meal with, spent some of your best and happiest times with, maybe they just fade away into oblivion. A memory you call on occasionally, if at all, with no great emotion attached.

Here's to all my everyday people, who are still slipping away as I'm writing this.

2 by 2.5

2010-08-29T12:59:00.003+01:00

It's incredible that after all the shopping, gifts, exchanges and accumulation of things whose origins you have forgotten; your whole life can fit into a suitcase.

I am a hoarder. The postcard my Grandad wrote to me on a flight from Bombay to London. The T-shirt my sister gave me that may or may not have several holes in it but feels like a warm hug. The little pin of Christopher Robin and Winnie the Pooh that has survived four wallets and my penchant for losing small things.

I have all these and I've refused to let go.

But other possessions that I felt emotionally invested in have not been so fortunate. As I've once again upped and moved, I had to be ruthless with the packing. Just the bare essentials, weighed with the practicality of what a girl 5 feet and 3.5 inches tall can lug around.

Not much made the cut into the big black bag.

Which leads me to think, new resolutions are in order. Less hoarding, more recycling and just a little bit more common sense (did I honestly think that the laundry basket was going to move with me?!).

In the meanwhile, there's are still a few summer sales on.

You know, presents for other people of course!

You're a completely worthless waste of space, but, you know... don't take it personally!

2010-08-11T14:35:00.003+01:00

I will never understand this line, 'Don't take it personally.'

The Manager at the store where I have a part-time job (that I am thankfully quitting soon) had a little talk with the Assistant Manager. She told her that all the other staff had complained about her 'driving them too hard', being rude and unapproachable, that a client had called to talk about her attitude and 'tone' and that she needed to 'chill out and relax.' She then proceeded to leave the store early because she wasn't feeling too well and gave the Assistant Manager a list of about 12 things to do for the next day. You know, so that she could... relax and take it easy.

So when I was asked by this lovely Italian lady if I had said anything to the Manager, I was surprised, because I quite like working with her. Moreover, if I have a problem with someone, they're likely to find out about it in a more direct manner, i.e. through me.

Then the Manager asks me if the Assistant Manager had spoken to me (yes, I hope you're following the intricacies of retail politics), and I expressed my displeasure about being used as a little pawn in whatever weird strategy games they were trying to play,especially when I had never said anything to anyone about any of this!

To which she says, 'Oh, I had no idea she'd take it so personally.'

Which leads me to ask, what exactly does that mean? What other way is there to take it when your personal and professional qualities are being called into question? Are you supposed to file it under some other alter-ego and carry on as if nothing was said?

No one seems to know, but no one wants you to ever take anything they've said 'too personally'. Heaven forbid they may actually hurt your feelings with their unthinking words, callousness and (in the case of this particular Manager) downright lies.

Baggit

2010-07-12T23:35:00.002+01:00

I have a cousin who said that no self-respecting adult should be caught dead carrying a baby bag.

A baby bag of course, is entirely different from a bag that has baby stuff in it.

A baby bag is the one with pastel colours and pictures of clowns or toy trains on it. It's large, unattractive and always knocks people over when the carrier of said bag walks by. It is not clear what purpose the clowns and toy trains serve. The kids for whom the bags are carted around don't know their elbows from their knees yet, never mind being amused by a clown face. In most cases it would seem they are quite as entertained with a spoon. Or mud.

Moreover (and it has to be said), the bag does nothing whatsoever for the adults carrying it. Absolutely. Nothing. It does not add to the style quotient, and it doesn't help to announce that they are parents; the fact that they have a child attached to them serves to do that quite well.

But then there's the issue of how convenient they are.

Well, it would seem that an ordinary bag, something that may (heaven forbid!) not attract the attention of everyone within a five-mile radius but still attractive enough to be taken out in public, would serve to carry around the nappies, bottles, bibs and baby trinkets just as easily. I've even seen some parents do this (including the aforementioned cousin), so this is not a figment of my imagination or me waxing eloquent from my childless utopia.

To all those companies that manufacture and endorse these hideous things, please, stop.

Let parents regain their dignity and pride.

God knows that when they're changing the 100th soiled nappy for a new one out of that bag, they're going to need it.

Just Block

2010-06-25T23:22:00.001+01:00

You'd think that with the multicultural population of London, it would've occurred to the major chemist outlets in the city to stock what in the rest of the world is known as simply 'Sunblock'.

But no. In spite of the vast number of brown people that live in this city, it seems that none of them want to protect their skin from UV rays during the summertime. That's the only explanation I can fathom for the fact that there is no pure sunblock to be bought in this city.

Geared at the pale folks, there is suntan lotion with protection from UV rays, tanning sprays with 'mild protection', mild tanning with 'strong protection' and even (this is my favourite) 'bronzing sunblock'.

Now, seeing as I am quite happy with the shade of bronze I already am, I just want to find something that will leave my skin the colour it is, while still protecting me from skin cancer. Is that really so hard to do?

In London, apparently so.

Dissertation Research

2010-06-18T16:26:00.003+01:00

This is so clearly the best piece of research I have come across while reading for my dissertation on Diasporas:

'At the independence day celebrations in Ghana, a toast was proposed to the mosquito, which had discouraged white settlement.'

Cancer Chronicles

2010-06-16T21:49:00.003+01:00

It seems to be the season of recurrence and death.

You can pray hard for things to not happen.

You can believe in the power of 'good', and that 13 year olds don't die when there's still so much of life that they haven't seen or done.

And yet, my pint-sized hero, older and wiser and calmer than any adult in his situation is dead.

When recurrence and death do occur, the rationalisation process begins.

I can imagine he's in a better place, no longer suffering etc etc; because really, what else is left than to explain it any which way I can?

Unfortunately, whether I can comprehend what happened or not doesn't change the fact that a little boy died, a family lost their only child and the rest of us feel guilty and grateful for still breathing.

Eureka

2010-06-08T21:38:00.003+01:00

You know the people that have always known exactly what they wanted to do with their lives? The ones that had purpose and direction and unwavering belief that they were meant for a certain profession?

I'm not one of those people.

I was meant to be a doctor. Then a journalist. Then a social worker perhaps (insert laughter here), or a PR person... my career seemed to be assuming the direction of endless dabbling. And I was really okay with this, given the rationale that the more things I try my hand at and end up hating, the easier it would be to arrive at the thing I really wanted to do.

Simple process of elimination.

Which is why it was such an absolute joy to have worked at something that I enjoyed every minute of for the last three months. Now, it's true that I didn't get paid for it and that some of the work also involved drone stuff (read data inputting), but these are minor details. In the grand scheme of things, there is the possibility I have found the exact job profile that I would be happy to do for the rest of my life. And by that I mean the next five years at least!

Yay to me.

I did not know that...

2010-05-27T23:57:00.002+01:00

Facebook came with a sense of irony.

On the little sidebar on the right hand side of the screen, where it says who you should add on your list it suggested to me that I add my ex as a friend on Facebook, because apparently we still have 22 friends in common.

I don't know if you can tweak the account settings to fix that kind of thing!

It's that time of year

2010-05-11T13:59:00.002+01:00

I want you to remember me pretty.
Sans make up and with my hair down.
Smiling
For no reason at all.

If you see me... human
With my fears and anger running down my cheeks
It would ruin the memory
Of a perfectly good face.

So remember me
Pretty.

Getting older and all that

2010-05-08T14:34:00.004+01:00

It's been a while.

But what better time to make a reappearance than when I'm supposed to be studying?

I have a birthday coming up and that's got me to thinking about where I am at this point in my life etc etc.

When I was 8 years old, I was pretty certain that by 25 I would be married and have at least one kid. It was what my mother did and therefore it was good enough for me. This was before I discovered I did not like children.

When I was about 15, I wanted to be a hot-shot professional making tonnes of money and living the good life sans husband and kids. Never realised that knowing what you wanted to do and then being good at it was part of the criteria of being a hot-shot.

By 20, I wanted to stay young forever and never get a job unless it involved loads of travel to exotic foreign lands. A year later I got a PR job that took me to Delhi, Chennai and let us not forget, Baroda.

Ah well.

A few weeks short of 25, I know nothing worked out as I planned it.

So my new plan is to have no plans unless it involves deciding tomorrow's lunch.

The next 25 years (or however long I last) is going to be a series of menus.

Ah the Space

2010-03-26T02:07:00.000Z

So few are the people who truly understand space.

No, I don't mean the great beyond where the great mysteries of life lie etc etc.

I mean my space.

The place and time that I want for me. And only me.

When it's okay to be selfish and do whatever I want to do - be quiet and read a book, hang out with my friends or take a good long nap.

There's only one person who ever really got it. I'm tired of trying to explain it to anyone else.

And because of this tiredness, I'm going to retreat a little into my dark corner, where it's quiet.

Because, you guessed it, I need some damn space!

I lost

2010-03-19T21:50:00.002Z

My favourite ring

My phone

My patience

I lost

All sense of time

Of tiredness

Of trust

My appreciation for distances

my proximity to family

my love

for the old familiar

I lost

My footing

My second chances

My eternal regrets

Children in Churches

2010-03-19T20:09:00.003Z

There is no good reason served by taking children to church.

The children are bored, the parents frustrated and the entire congregation distracted. I'm secretly convinced that even the priest sometimes wants the kids to just shut the hell up or leave! So much for the holy environment and all that...

I know some parents have the idea that if children go to church from a young age, they develop a reverence for the place and become accustomed to the traditions of their religion.

Perhaps they're right.

Then again, my sister and I went to church when we were young and all I remember from those times was that my mum's lap was very comfortable to take a nap on until the whole singing, praying, bowing heads bit was over. I don't think that quite equates a reverence for Catholicism. Then again, that's just me.

In a perfect world, and by that I mean the world where I ran things the way I wanted to, anyone that did not understand volume control could not enter a church.

We can all agree that children have no concept of appropriate voice modulation (some adults don't either, but lets not deviate from this present subject). Therefore, until such time that they do, church is a no go.

Unfortunately, the church I frequent does not subscribe to this theory.

I believe it is time to look for another parish.

(Over)Cautious?

2010-02-28T18:35:00.002Z

I'm so busy trying to avoid the mistakes I made before, I making huge, brand new ones.

That perfect balance of learning from the past and enjoying the present while not fearing the future.

It eludes me.

Tonight, I realised a gift my parents gave me....

2010-02-21T23:15:00.008Z

was the ability to sit in a fancy restaurant, drinking expensive alcohol and the knowledge of which knives, forks and spoons to use without embarrassing myself.

It is the same ease with which I can sit and eat a simple meal with no cutlery involved (true Indian style!).

When we were young, my sister and I used to hop over the wall of our garden and go to a labourer's shack next door. The lady was working on the renovation work of our neighbour's building. We sat on the floor, ate from her plate and played with her baby.

Looking back, I see the house was makeshift and tiny, the food simple.

But the enjoyment was the same as any we had when we ate out with our parents.

One day we were at her shack. The next, we were at the five-star President Hotel eating at their famous Thai Restaurant.

It never seemed strange or out of place, the dichotomy of our social interactions.

But now, when I see how uncomfortable some people are when they are not at a place that serves food 'just so', or see friends who are used to simple food shift uncomfortably when they are invited to la-di-dah restaurants, I am able to appreciate this gift.

So to conclude, I was totally and completely able to enjoy Lahore Kebab House tonight.

Just as much as I was able to enjoy Assaggi, Status, Global Fusion or any other place I went to.

The fact that I'm a foodaholic has nothing to do with it of course.

Onwards

2010-02-20T00:52:00.002Z

While looking through some old folders in my email inbox, I cleared two thousand emails from my 'work' folder.

Yup, that's right. Two thousand.

If I choose to look at the bright side, I am grateful for the job through which I learned a hell of a lot about the real world, how to get along with all sorts of people diplomatically, met amazing colleagues who became friends and gained immense respect for at least two clients.

If I choose to be realistic about it, the job was hell. Sure it had its perks and the pay was great, but anything that makes you want to not get out of bed in the morning and want to have a drink by noon, is not a good thing in the long run.

So as I head toward a career change away from being the 'yes' person, here's my wish list for whatever I work at next:

- I won't receive more than ten emails a day. More importantly, I won't have to answer them within five seconds of receiving them in order to appear to be 'on the job'.

- I can leave work at a decent hour and not get stared at on the way to the door (I swear to God this actually happened every single time I left before six o'clock!).

- I will have a Monday to Friday job that actually entails not working on Saturdays from home.

- Lying about what is possible to do will be an anomaly, not a part of the job description.

- Most importantly, I won't have to smile all the time when talking to idiots.

Here's to the dream job!

Villa Prisca

2010-02-18T21:42:00.002Z

I don't need to re-tell my story.

Because you know it already.

You know why I speak the way I do.

Why I prefer the company of older people.

You know I hate loud, noisy folk.

That I prefer hugs to kisses.

You know my scars,

my short-form words that don't make sense in real languages.

You know my family,

my connections, my attachments, my stupid little 'happy' thingamajigs.

I don't want to explain them any more.

The re-telling emphasises the pointlessness of it.

Every once in a while, I'll catch myself mid-sentence

wishing I could just take a deep breath

and go home, where I can be quiet.

Because you know it all already.

I know what I want to say but...

2010-02-17T01:05:00.003Z

No one who knows me will ever accuse me of being at a loss for words.

Unless it's under extraordinary circumstances, I usually have a pretty good handle on what I want to say, when I want to say it.

Lately though, I feel like someone stole my words.

There are a loads of things I want to say, but the articulation is proving trickier than I imagined.

In the usual structure of introduction-body-conclusion, I have the beginning down. But then...it sort of trails off and dies. Or gets lost in the muddle of other things that need saying, all at the same time.

So I end up staying quiet.

Coasting along in silence, because it's easier than persevering with my broken sentences.

It's beginning to show though.

The silences beam through the cracks in the words.

Tone It Down

2010-02-12T23:18:00.003Z

I sometimes find myself backing away from the loud people.

I know sometimes I forget myself and talk at a higher volume than I should.

These times are usually associated with alcohol or a subject I feel strongly about. Or both.

But for the most part, I'd like to think I speak at a volume that is acceptable to the majority.

Which is why when I now come across someone that shouts at me instead of talking to me, I find myself cringing and taking a few steps backwards.

I can't stand it.

Unless we're in a place with ear-splitting music or other such detriments to the audibility of one's voice, I see no reason for the shouting.

It seems perfectly logical to me that there should be no shouting.

Either that or I'm getting old and cranky.

Therapy

2010-02-08T21:35:00.003Z

When intuition and paranoia are at odds.

When confusion meets happiness along with denial.

When blissful numbness gives way to a whole host of tangled emotions.

There's only one thing to do.

Eat.

The Liberal Illusion

2010-02-05T00:20:00.005Z

I thought acceptance and tolerance had become the norm.

I was taught that everyone is equal and though we come from different backgrounds, colours, religions and economic classes - everyone had to be treated the same and with respect.

I had friends who were rich and those that weren't so well off; friends who were Hindu, Muslim, Catholic and certainly a whole bunch of disillusioned agnostics and atheists.

It was lovely, and to a large extent, it still is.

But now I'm finding that the norm has limits. Tolerance and respect is all very well, as long as you don't bring it back to your doorstep. Friendship is great, but if you marry - make sure it's from the right religion, caste, community and socio-economic class. When push comes to shove, even the friendship lines will be drawn on the side of those we can see in our 'groups'.

The Liberal illusion is well and truly shattered.

The exception to the norm is not the intolerant person.

It is the person who says he/she is accepting of all, and is able to follow through with more than just words.

Life is full of disappointments

2010-02-03T17:18:00.002Z

Like when you discover the lovely fragrance you always associated with your Grandma is actually the smell of the psoriasis cream she used to put on her hands.

The reasons for Friendship

2010-01-31T19:38:00.002Z

She lives down the road for me.

We're the same size, we can share clothes and shoes.

He lives in the same neighbourhood, so it's easier for him to drop me home after a night out.

She gets my space issues, no one else does.

There was no one else really. It was a shit hole, and I looked for the most like-minded one.

We liked the same books, we had nothing else to talk about, but we really did like our books.

She made me laugh. We had nothing in common, but dear God, she could make me laugh!

He gave the most amazing hugs. Yup, that's really all it took.

He was popular, and I wanted in on the in group.

Her mum used to give me a ride home from school. And then we got to chatting.

She's my brother's ex-girlfriend. Yes I know it's weird.

We were on the train together once and I fell asleep on his shoulder.

I'm not really sure how it happened. But I'm so glad it did.

. , ; !

2010-01-29T01:20:00.005Z

The punctuations in sentences are good.

The pauses give you time to stop, take a breath, consider.

Take stock of words behind you, weigh them and feel them.

Appreciate how the simple ones are the nicest...the most beautiful.

The pauses make you anticipate the words that will follow.

And so it is with you and me.

I always look forward to our next sentence.

How To Turn Yourself Into A Lady

2010-01-24T18:18:00.002Z

Whenever I talk to BG, there are words of wisdom to be had.

Here's another kitchen conversation example that I have her permission to share.

"I could just walk around with a book on my head. Because that's what I've learned from all those movie montages. As soon as you put a book on your head, you automatically know which fork to use for what. It's that simple."

Blindsided

2010-01-24T01:41:00.002Z

My college in Bombay had a system of students doing social work at another Postgraduate college which had several blind students enrolled in programmes there.

A few days ago, I came across a girl who was with me in college who told me why she had stopped at 10 hours of social work instead of the usual 60 hours. It was because she felt extremely uncomfortable with one of the blind students she used to read to. It was an intuitive feeling, and luckily, nothing had actually happened. She stopped going there before it did.

Two other friends of mine however, did not.

The same boy had molested them and they felt absolutely conflicted about what they could do about the situation because after all, he was blind. Who would believe them?! They felt bad about reporting him because of his disability. He apparently, felt no such qualms about exploiting it to its full potential.

I'd love to say that there was a point to this post, but the truth is, there isn't.

The story just absolutely and wholeheartedly sickened me.

So I'm going to proceed to break a self-inflicted rule of mine on the blog and name names... to an extent anyway, and say, 'Rajesh, you are an absolute BA****D'.

Facts

2010-01-21T21:29:00.002Z

Any song sounds better when it's in French

Calling people 'interesting' when they're just plain weird is out. 'Socially unaware' or 'Socially awkward' is much more honest, and surprisingly, still acceptable.

When you cook with garlic, the smell never leaves the sleeves of your shirt. Not the whole shirt, just the sleeves. What's up with that?

There are nice, intelligent Americans out there. I know, control the European/Asian shock. It's true.

People will always ask obvious questions or make obvious statements. Like when you're sitting with a book and they go, 'Oh, you're reading'. Even worse, you will do it at some point. And hate yourself for it.

The dramatic void

2010-01-17T23:27:00.004Z

Today I overheard a familiar conversation. It went something like this:

'Yes, he did this... so I did this... and then he said... so what is the deal? I mean, what did he think he was doing?!! It's so ridiculous... etc etc'.

That wasn't the exact conversation of course, but pretty much the essence of it.

The reason it sounded familiar, was because I'd heard it before. I recognised the dramatic urgency of each sentence, the way everything sounded as if it were a matter of the utmost importance. In fact, I'd even been a part of many such conversations.

The only difference is, I remember it from school.

When I was younger. Much younger. And every minor hiccup seemed like a major catastrophe.

Since then, I've encountered some real mishaps... actual catastrophes that made school-time gossip seem like story books. It seems like most other people have as well. Or maybe it's just the majority of people in my life, who have moved on to a place where we can not sweat the small stuff quite as much, and appreciate that the small stuff isn't as horrible as the big stuff.

Then again, there are those who remain in this enchanted void, where 'he said... she said' continues to be the main dramatic theme. Where nothing is more gut-wrenching than a two-month failed could-have-been relationship and every day life is filled with all the emotion of a day-time soap. I wonder if maybe they're better off?

I feel old.

In Conversation

2010-01-16T13:55:00.003Z

Sometimes you discover the pearls when you're not even looking for them.

Conversation about someone...nice.

Person A: Nice? Since when are you into 'Nice'?

Person B: Ever since 'interesting' turned out to be a synonym for 'asshole'.

The In-between

2010-01-13T16:34:00.002Z

So the concept of everything fitting into 'black' and 'white' died a quick death.

I'm finding I'm more inclined to believe that everything is in shades of grey.
There's no black really, just a really really dark shade of grey. No white, just a light dusting of grey.

Black and white was easier.
Either/Or and there you have it. It was done.

The in-between is complicated. It makes allowances for anomalies and exceptions to the rule.
The best friend who would be at your side at a moment's notice to help you with all your drama is still capable of being a really bad boyfriend/husband.
Or the loving, accepting, open-minded couple can still let all kinds of traditional hell break loose if one of their children marry outside 'the community'.
And the boss you look up to and admire, even aspire to be, can be unethical on more issues than you care to count.

It's all allowed and there's not really much you can do about it.
It's the grey you see?

Overkill

2010-01-10T01:55:00.003Z

Today I was stuck behind a man whose olfactory senses were dead.

I know this because that is the only explanation for how much cologne he had on.

I felt bad for him.

But not as bad as I felt for myself. Stuck behind him. For twenty minutes. That felt more like forty minutes. In a packed train. With no immediate escape. Or ventilation.

As he got off the train, I whispered softly - just enough to be audible, but not enough so as to appear rude and he'd want to hit me, "Moderation".

2010-01-10T00:01:00.003Z

There's no such thing as perfection.

That's one of the big disillusionments isn't it?

The perfect life, the perfect man/woman, the perfect house, the perfect car, oh yes, the perfect job.

They don't exist. So chasing them is pointless.

The bitterness of that lesson doesn't fade with time or the number of reality checks.

Today I was reminded of it again.

But as I sat there, having dinner and conversation with someone I loved like family, that was perfection right there.

My brothers' hugs, countless times of perfection.

Shoes that fit just right, perfect!

Maybe all those fairytale stereotypes of 'the ideal' whatever won't come true.

But I'm quite content with living from moment to moment of my own perfect constructions.

Failure 1 for 2010

2010-01-07T20:55:00.001Z

I bought coffee.

I know I said I wouldn't.

But I did.

And it felt so good.

Oblivion

2010-01-03T00:25:00.003Z

Four year old: Can you read me another book?

Me: No. I read you three already.

FYO: But I want you to.

Me: I can't. I need to study.

FYO: What's 'study'?

Me: I have an exam. So I need to do some work for that.

FYO: What's 'exam'?

I didn't want to disenchant her blissful oblivion.

It will happen soon enough!

There's a lesson in here somewhere...

2009-12-31T06:03:00.002Z

While two friends and I were walking along a busy street in Bombay at rush hour, I pointed to the sky and said, "Look! That's such a pretty sunset".

One of them looked up as well and said, "Huh. Funny how little we bother to look up since we're so preoccupied trying to see where we're going".

Over the next few months, I tried hard to be philosophical about that moment and look up at the sky more often. The colours, the cloud formations, the sheer artistic brilliance of it is truly mesmerising.

I currently have nine pairs of shoes.

In the span of three months since I had this revelation, seven of them have had dog poop on the soles.

2009-12-29T06:21:00.003Z

Yesterday I received a ridiculous email from an old friend which made me laugh out loud. It was filled with nonsense that had a rich sense of tradition, i.e. we had been carrying on with the same fictional characters and story lines for the last three and a half years.

The point is this - there are some things that are worth hanging on to.

Old friends that make you laugh with stupid emails is one of them.

The people that resemble the spawn of Satan are not.

I made some bad character judgements and terrible decisions over the last couple of years. Today I took the time to really think about them and it was hard.

And then I let it go.

I have no doubt that there will be moments when I will come across a picture, an email, or have a conversation that gets me annoyed and wonder, 'How on earth....??!!!'. But I spent the better part of a year working hard on getting my physical health in order. So it's not too high a price to pay to do the same for some mental peace and quiet, and rid myself of the self-recriminations, the effort it takes to not forgive the sorry bastards that we are all blessed with.

With three days left of this year, I have no intention of making any New Year's resolutions for 2010.

Except to be as happy as possible without being annoyingly chirpy about it (I hate those kind of people), while I continue to put one cautious foot in front of the other.

Snow

2009-12-21T22:41:00.003Z

This time of year is all about making lists.

There is a synopsis of your life as Facebook status messages, shopping inventories for Christmas and yet another round of New Year's resolutions written on an ever-shortening piece of paper.

I usually like to do a run down of all the things I can tick off the 'Giant List of things I want to do while I'm Alive' and then, in a more philosophical moment, consider all the lessons learned, things to be grateful for despite the crappy bits, etc. However, this year, things have been a bit more... busy, than usual. I feel older, a tad wiser, richer (despite being broke), happier, thinner and on the whole, more content with my lot.

So I'll end my reflection on my most recent lesson after witnessing snow for the very first time this past week (yes I know, I'm one of those people that had never seen snow before):

Snow is prettier and infinitely more enjoyable when you're inside, where it's warm and you can feel your feet.

Life is full of teeny, tiny little epiphanies.

Out to Dinner

2009-12-20T16:24:00.003Z

I can see them wondering what our connection is.

What could we possibly have in common?

The old, white gentleman and the young, brown girl.

I can see what they see.

How absolutely happy we are to see each other.

How we both have tears in our eyes, and they lean closer to catch a snatch of the conversation - the stories you're telling me of people long dead and gone.

How I reach across to hold your strong, wrinkled hand - to comfort you as much as myself, as we talk of the worst bits of our shared story.

I want to tell them to stop staring.

To look away,

because they will never understand that what family means to you and me

has nothing to do with geography, colour or age.

Reality Check

2009-12-14T00:42:00.004Z

Today I was told that I was a bit of a hypocrite for asking people not to be too bitchy, and then slagging off others on my blog.

It actually got me thinking, what if that's true?!

I'm not a fan of pretentiousness, so this scared me quite a bit.

But after a chat with my sounding board, here's how it is.

Yes, I do talk about things that annoy me, and even people that annoy me and you know what? this is my space to do that.

More to the point, I never mention these people by name - even when it would've been really easy (and God knows more satisfying!) to do so.

I've never found myself with such a low level of self-esteem and nastiness that I needed to talk about someone's physical attributes in order to make my posts seem funnier or more sarcastically appealing to someone reading it. And I hope I never will.

I've been told that 'this is what some people do'. But for the sake of my own sanity and faith in those who I still consider decent human beings, I have to hold on to the hope that this isn't true. And that when the funny talk gets to being downright debased and trashy, someone else has the guts to say that it's wrong, and then walk out of the room.

Something I Wish People Would Understand

2009-12-11T12:43:00.002Z

There are degrees of comfort.

For example, I am a hugger, but that doesn't mean I'm open to hugging everyone. Or just because one person puts his/her arm around you, it does not mean a proclamation of 'he/she's okay with it', so it'll be fine if anyone does it.

I grew up with a friend who I had an amazing level of comfort with. We could hold hands, hug, sleep right next to each other, and there was never any weirdness involved.

Unfortunately, another friend took this to mean I was all sorts of 'cuddly'.

Which I really am not. It didn't end well.

So the lesson for today boys and girls, is don't base your assumptions about what's okay in terms of physical contact based on what someone does with other people.

They're not you. The rules do not apply.

Something's Off

2009-12-09T00:20:00.004Z

Last night, a man I'd just met told me that I was lovely.

I'd like to think the traditional answer to that would've been 'Thank you'. Instead, before I could help myself I said, 'Yeah! I've heard that before!' before clamping a hand over my mouth to curb the flow of any more cynicisms.

And as another in a (thankfully!) relatively short line of as***** boyfriends walks down the aisle, I think, 'Whew, sidestepped another potential landmine'. I hear other women talk with regret about the 'One that got away' and wonder what that must feel like. All I have as a frame of reference are the ones that I'm really happy are far, far away from me.

Yup, something is definitely off.

Need To Know Basis

2009-12-07T01:19:00.005Z

There are people who like knowing things.

Not important things.
Not things that are pertinent to their lives.
Not even things that would enhance their general understanding of the world and all its complexities.

They need to know the mundane stuff. The 'where are you going' and 'what are you doing' and 'who you're doing what with' etc... the stuff that is of really no significance to anyone else.

My Dad is one of those people. Our answers of I'm going out - with friends-to hang out- will be back in a while were absolutely infuriating to him not so much out of parental concern I suspect, but because of the sheer lack of detailing.

There are other people in my life who also have this Need-to-Know issue; and because I do not have enough entertainment in my life, I like to mess with them.

It is absolutely amazing to watch someone get so worked up about a teeny little detail that they know probably won't amount to much, but they need to know about it anyway.

They just can't seem to help themselves.
Then again, neither can I.

Familiarity Breeds Contempt

2009-12-07T01:15:00.003Z

And that's why we all look forward to the Christmas Holidays.

(TBN: This sprouted from a combined effort of thought. Thanks T)

To my friend the smoker...

2009-12-01T21:19:00.003Z

There's really no need to explain why you are slowly killing yourself.

After all, we've all been there; when you have those really bad days that just make you want to numb the pain by inhaling tar and a variety of other strange substances.

Then again, the rest of us have moved on.

We discovered alcohol and hugs and other things that made us feel better.

I'm sorry you didn't.

But my pity is limited.

For example, it does not extend to an allowance for making my hair stink every time I'm with you. Or having you accountable for an extra laundry load because all my clothes smell of that horribly acrid stench. Not to mention all that second hand smoke you so kindly share with me.

Those are the mere details.

The real problem I have with the whole situation is, I HATE smoke.

It was fun hanging out with you while it lasted, but I'm afraid that while you continue to slowly introduce your lungs to the possibility of cancer, I'm choosing to... not.

Spill: The Aftermath

2009-11-30T05:19:00.001Z

Tell me your dreams,

Tell me about your life before me,

Share with me everything,

especially your friends.

Tell me about your family,

your favourite movie,

your addictions, your fears,

your biggest regrets.

Bare your soul and all that you are,

Give me the privilege of your trust,

your heart and mind.

And then let me trample it,

crush it all and throw it away.

So that it becomes indecipherable

to the next person who cares to try.

Everybody goes 'Shriek!!!'

2009-11-27T23:57:00.003Z

I can't scream.

I'm not even trying to lace this with innuendo, it's just a fact.

I have absolutely no capacity for working up a good scream.

At the very most, after a particularly scary movie and a friend jumping out at me in a dark corridor, I managed to work up a yelp before proceeding to beat the crap out of him.

But over the last few weeks, I've been treated to a variety of very loud shrieks and screams (I don't even want to know what caused them!) which made it seem like they could be summoned at a moment's notice and without any great effort thrown into them.

Spider = Shriek, Startled by random person = Loud shriek, Passing whim = Loud Scream (yes indeed, there is a tad bit of a difference between a shriek and a scream)... this has been my recent experience with some part of the female population.

It seems like an absolutely feminine thing to be able to do. After all, which good old entertainment movie (Hollywood or Bollywood, take your pick) does not have at least one damsel in distress who can truly exercise her lungs for all she's worth?!

Then again, when I consider the hearing loss that I've probably suffered from all the shrieking and screaming, I consider that I'm doing my part for the environment by keeping the noise pollution levels waaaaay down.

Perhaps I'll keep my yelp after all.

S

2009-11-27T23:25:00.002Z

Since you were expecting to find yourself mentioned here at some point, I thought, why not end your misery?

I'll admit I have a penchant for pessimism, therefore writing about you and things that annoy me in the same vein would be... easy. Then again, where would be the fun in that?

So we'll leave it at this; we've come a long way, you and I. And we're all the better for it.

You have my hugs and I have your diamonds... equal footing when you really think about it.

I'm glad we're us with the stupid humour and the sarcasm and the cuddles and the fact that we can cry unabashedly when we both needed to.

Oh yes,

I almost forgot to mention,

I really do love you.

Learning Curve(s)

2009-11-22T17:48:00.002Z

If you keep chocolate in your room fridge instead of your kitchen fridge, you're kidding yourself that it's going to last more than an hour.

And it will come to bite you in the ass. Literally.

Kapwoosh Times

2009-11-19T11:12:00.000Z

According to the handbook of my life, i.e. Calvin and Hobbes, there are times when words are simply inadequate to describe something that is above and beyond beauty, greatness, happiness etc...

In one of the strips, Calvin is looking at a beautiful summer's day and with nothing in his vocabulary to articulate just how amazing it is, he ends up with a word that goes a lot like 'Kapwoosh'.
It means nothing of course, but then again, it means everything!

My life for the last few months has been one long series of incredible moments.

So in the absence of any other way to explain it -

KAPWOOSH!!!!!

Newsflash!

2009-11-18T09:41:00.002Z

Here's a little FYI moment for men - women always know when they're being felt up.

So when you're trying to do that casual brush of the hand 'accident' thing,

don't.

Siblings

2009-11-15T00:42:00.004Z

I sat with you for talk about shoes

I sat with him for talks about boys

I sat with the other him, for words in dictionaries that he would not explain to me

and with all of you, I felt such love.

I drank Old Monk and Grey Goose,

with equal ease and equal grace,

our old table of memories and stylish tables of novelty,

they seemed the same in the company,

did you notice it?

I held hands with all of you,

fell asleep lying next to you,

I cried for love of you,

when you were long gone and went your own way.

When I close my eyes,

I remember the room we were in,

The air we shared,

the laughter ringing off the walls.

I talk to you,

I talk to them,

And your voices make me happy,

wherever I am.

Just smile and say 'No'

2009-11-11T16:59:00.002Z

I used to be able to do it.

Just say 'NO'.

I've often berated other people for being pushovers and questioned them about why it was so difficult for them to stand up for themselves. I would tell them to just be polite, but firm and throw in a smile for good measure.

And then today I was one of them.

At an event whose description is really not relevant to this story, I met a boy from India.

Like me, he had come to London in September and like me, he is a student.

But that's about where the similarity ends.

This guy is obnoxious. He's chatty, but not really what you could call friendly. He smiles a lot, but there's a glimmer of someone that has the potential to be very, VERY annoying. And of course, the clincher - he has an opinion on everything, especially when he isn't asked for one.

So really, when he asked me for my number on the way back home I should have just said 'No' and left it at that.

Instead, I became one of the 'them' people.

I gave him my number.

Moreover, I gave him the right number.

When I got off the train, I was thinking of all the excuses I will have to make when he calls, and how I really must find out if I have a call -block facility on my phone.

I was mentally kicking myself for not thinking of a great excuse as to why I don't hand out my number.

The girl I was travelling with then says to me, 'You know, you should just smile and say No next time'.

The vicious circle of want

2009-11-08T23:08:00.003Z

It's the whole Mars-Venus thing again... isn't it always?!

If men want something, they are able to express themselves pretty easily.

I want - therefore I should get.

Somehow the vast majority of women aren't able to articulate this particularly well.

I want, but I want you to want to do whatever the hell it is that is the subject of the argument. Doing something just because I want you to do it is just not good enough; it's the intent that matters. Do you want to do it, or are you doing it just because I want you to do it?

Besides the obvious difference in complexity of one sentence versus four, what on earth is wrong with the female mind?

Simplicity in articulation... that's what I want!

Way too much free time

2009-11-08T22:57:00.003Z

He has a look on his face when he talks to her.

She twirls her hair and smiles a lot when he's around.

They spend waaaay too much time together.

'Just friends' don't act that way around each other.

There must be something going on.

No of course I'm not saying that they're going out! Don't be ridiculous!

But you know, she is single... and so is he.

Maybe they are, who knows?!

I'm not asking them, it's none of my business!

Her friend's brother's cousin's wife told my classmate's room-mate that he spent the night in her room.

He lent her a book, he never lends his books out.

She's taking a trip with him, a trip! We all know what that means!

He's gay? Well of course, he's gay! I knew it all along.

It was something about his mannerisms...

The way he spends all his time with her.

2 Down

2009-11-06T20:32:00.002Z

I had decided a few years ago to live with as little regret as possible.

While it sounded all Hallmark-cardish and inspiring at the time, it was harder than I thought.

So as a compromise, I can hang on to about three things, but everything else has got to go.

Right now, the count is up to one; but my days are spent doing things that I may regret not doing later on, e.g. speed dating, or not doing things that I know I will regret for sure, e.g. drinking until 5 a.m.

I guess while I was running around filling up up my time doing as much as was humanly possible, I forgot about my first and greatest love - sleep.

A cousin once told me he doesn't like to waste too much of his time in bed because he can sleep when he's dead. I tried to follow his sage advice... and failed miserably.

I know the rationale - seize the day, the birds are chirping, the sun is shining (ish, as far as London is concerned), live while you're alive etc etc, and believe me, I try!

But it turns out that I'm just one of those people who loves to sleep.

So against my better judgement, I'm notching up my second regret... and taking a good long nap.

Clean Slate

2009-11-01T10:46:00.002Z

The thing about new places; you can reinvent yourself.

You can go from quiet, shy, back of the class variety to being the gregarious, self -confident person that everyone wants to be friends with.

You can keep all your secrets, because honestly, who would know?

And can gloss over your past painful memories, by making new ones that you're happier to keep.

But here's the other thing about new places; everyone gets a shot at reinvention, even the assholes.

WTF??!!!

2009-10-27T10:19:00.002Z

Yesterday I sat next to a girl in class.

She was blonde, had blue eyes and for all intents and purposes looked.... well, white.

Then she turned to me and spoke;

In Hindi.

Not just Hindi, DELHI Hindi (for the uninitiated, that's the really good kind of Hindi).

It had been a very long time since I was that dumbstruck.

There's just no accounting for predictability any more.

2009-10-25T10:56:00.002Z

I spent last year watching the seconds, the minutes, the hours... waiting for stubborn time.

Wanting every day to pass quicker than the one before, taking the past with it into unknown oblivion.

Now an hour in the kitchen, two over tea endlessly stirred.

I blinked, a month went by.

The blessing - the human body has no memory for pain.

The curse - happiness cannot freeze time.

Fillers

2009-10-20T23:23:00.002+01:00

When I was in my second year of college, a friend and I found ourselves sitting in the canteen foyer, chatting aimlessly about the various things that constitute nothing at all. Amongst these was the frequency with which the word 'like' was used as a filler in everyday conversation.

E.g. He said he was going to the pub, and I was like, 'How could you possibly stand it?', and then he was like, 'But it's fun', and then I was like...etc.

We both agreed it was overused and annoying.

So we challenged ourselves to give up using 'like' unnecessarily for a week; and would you believe, we managed it. We noticed that our conversation was much improved and we had managed to reach within our vocabulary to substitute 'like' with actual words that had more relevance and meaning.

So today as I waited at a bus stop, I listened to three young girls (when I say young, I mean younger than I am) have a conversation that featured 'like' 26 times in ten minutes.

I know this because I counted.

In my defence, it was cold, I didn't have a book, and I needed something to take my mind off the fact that I couldn't feel my fingers any more.

After listening/eavesdropping on this fascinating discussion, my bus thankfully arrived.

I left with the regret that my one week challenge of dropping-the-word-'like'-from-all-conversation-where-it-is-not-necessary could not be shared with all those who are so clearly in desperate need of it.

Home

2009-10-18T11:19:00.003+01:00

I'm almost convinced of it - I was born to be a city girl.

Any place that has people walking with some sense of urgency, lots of lights and bustling activity, reassuring traffic noises, a shop around every corner and I feel instantly at home.

So while I may love the eye-candy, the fact that I live with people from over 10 different countries, the convenience of the Tube and the acres of beautiful parks, the reason I really love living in London is because it feels like I never left Bombay.

What was I thinking?

2009-10-13T09:04:00.003+01:00

Every morning, when I see the Italian coffee-maker on the stove-ring sending off aromatic smells throughout the corridors, I seriously consider decking the owner, stealing his coffee and making a run for it.

I do this, because in a moment of sheer stupidity (and ambitiousness?) I made the decision to give up coffee. New beginnings and all that.

It was a bad idea.

Giving up coffee makes you a grumpy person. Or in my case, an even more grumpy person.

And as lovely as ginger and lemon tea is, it just doesn't quite do the job.

Coffee was my wake-up call. It was the seven minute walk from VT Station to St. Xavier's College with my face buried in the Nescafe cup, it was timeless mornings spent in the kitchen, it was French Tuitions, it was quick dates that I didn't want to last too long, it was chats with my sister at 3 a.m., it was my favourite mug that no one else could touch... and now it's thoughts of murder just for one more sip.

I have an inkling this abstinence is not going to last. Just a hunch.

Come to me, all ye...

2009-10-10T18:26:00.003+01:00

I am a freak magnet.

I am convinced of this. If there is a weirdo/creep/socially maladjusted person within 10 kilometres of me, they will find themselves drawn to me for some inexplicable reason.

And then stay there.

This isn't to say that I don't meet normal people, because I do. I know tons of them. But it seems that none of them have the freak-shows lining up in their lives.

It's just me.

So while I'm cruising along trying to figure out the 'purpose' of my life etc etc, I'm desperately avoiding even considering the fact that this could be it.

Maybe I'm the supposed to be the one that saves them from themselves, stays friends with them despite all their innumerable and oh-so-obvious problems, tell people that they're really not as strange as they appear to be (even though I know better)... you get the picture.

I want to be the one that has the normal people... so this run of luck had better take a turn for the better. To think that this will continue for the rest of my life... I shudder at the thought.

No Last Name Needed

2009-09-28T17:33:00.004+01:00

Some of the best memories are created with people you meet just once.

There's something perfect about that one evening spent over a beer, a laugh, a random party that you didn't want to go to but glad you forced yourself to, because you ended up having one of the best conversations of your life.

It's 'Hi, my name is John/Jane', two hours of absolute magic, and then you never have to see them again! You never have to discover dysfunctional personalities, annoying habits, terrible hygiene or anything else that is a part of getting to know people better.

They're perfect! And they remain that way forever, just because you never saw them again.

Exchanging phone numbers is overrated.

Encore

2009-09-27T10:03:00.002+01:00

It has been said so many times before, and yet it needs a repeat. So let me be the one to say it... again.

India was colonised by the British. Therefore, it follows that our grasp on English would be fairly good, i.e. let go of the shock when I can string a whole sentence together without any grammatical or pronunciation errors.

And yes, it is completely possible that English is my first language. If you don't believe me, I could talk to you in Hindi, you could laugh, and then we'll settle this matter once and for all.

Agreed?

Sunday Morning Amusement

2009-09-19T13:21:00.000+01:00

'The Examiner' is a magazine published by the Bombay Catholic Sabha (indeed, such a thing exists). Every Sunday, we pick up our copy after mass and spend about a hour leafing through it over breakfast.

While most of the news consists of the latest announcements from the Vatican, the Pope's views on birth control, the plight of the dwindling Catholic community in India and so on, there are two pages devoted to my favourite part - The Matrimonials.

Since I was ten years old and first discovered this feature in the magazine, I looked forward to reading it every week. The Examiner Matrimonials provided me with a week's worth of entertainment in just ten minutes of reading time - For a mere ten rupees, this was money well spent as far as I was concerned.

The descriptions for brides always involved the following characteristics - good, God-fearing, homely, family-oriented, wheatish-complexion, under 30 years of age. For men it was usually much of the same, except the age limit was probably upped to 35 years and 'professionally qualified' was added to the list.

Apart from seeing which people I could actually identify by the few facts or email ids mentioned, I was amused by how each ad asked for more or less the same thing. If everyone indeed got what they wanted as advertised, I imagine they all married carbon copies of each other. So I'm on the lookout for the real Roman Catholic matrimonial ad. One that says exactly what the prospective bride/groom wants; no more, no less and forget all the frills of 'wheatish complexion'!

Then again, as a fellow cynic and I have concluded, the Examiner editor would probably go nuts with something that read as, " Groom wanted. Should fall under 'decent human being' category, preferably not an only child (i.e. no sharing issues), no Oedipus-complex, comes with own friend circle, has a decent job or ability to support himself (i.e. not be a moocher) and of course - is not butt-ugly. Being taller than the prospective bride (i.e. over 5'4") is an added advantage.

ONLY interested parties that fall under all these categories may write in. If you hear from me, kudos to you. If not, good luck with your wheatish complexioned homely God-fearing wife."

I'm pretty sure that would be over the word-limit and terribly out of line from what the good mamas are looking for, but at least I'd have a good laugh for ten bucks!

Poetic Justice Is:

2009-09-09T11:13:00.002+01:00

The biker staring at my chest for an inordinate amount of time while making sick comments rams his bike straight into a stationary auto-rickshaw.
The rickshaw driver was a tall, well-built man.
He was not pleased.

Dirty Words

2009-09-04T20:51:00.005+01:00

There's a lot of profanity floating around.

I was taught at a very early age to never say "Shit".
I used to fine my Grandmother Rs 1 every time she slipped up and used words like 'stupid' or 'idiot'. I made Rs 50 on one summer vacation alone that I spent with her!

Considering all the f***'s and B******s and truly conventional bad words, someone forgot to tell us that the worst of all profanity was 'What if''.

I'm swearing off the use of all regret.
What the fuck, life is infinitely happier without it!

Let me introduce to you to...

2009-09-02T08:49:00.004+01:00

The concept of the pavement.

Everyone in Bombay is well aware of the fact that if we're walking anywhere, it has to be on the road. Primarily because there is nowhere else to walk. Middle, Side, Edge of the road, or gutter - the choice is yours. While it is annoying to drivers that they have to look out for random pedestrians aside from dealing with crazy truckers and road rage addicts, they accept this as part of life in the city.

However, the BMC (Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation) has spent a substantial amount of money over the last three months to construct pavements in Bombay so that automobiles and pedestrians will no longer have to share the same space.

Since the pavements are built over the gutters, this presents a drainage issue during the monsoons. And since they've used paver-blocks instead of good old concrete, the pavements are about a foot and a half (if not more) higher than the road, making it extremely inconvenient to hop on and off every time the pavement ends. Now, while I admit that most of what the BMC does defies all logic, there are certain areas where the pavements are more than usable. There are no sunken areas, no gaping holes, no major height difference from the road level and no large branches obstructing the path. I know this because I walk on the pavements in these areas, and I am still alive and well.

So now, when I am driving my car and there are people in the middle of the road, I am going to slow down and look around to check if there is a pavement in walkable-on condition. If there isn't, I will slow down and make impatient noises while waiting for them to manoeuvre themselves out of the way of oncoming traffic.
But if there is, I'm going to accelerate and may God be with them.

Dab on a little colour why don't you?!

2009-08-28T07:19:00.003+01:00

As far as dressing goes, I stick to the safe, tried and tested. I have a few tops which scream with colour and at one point I even had pink pants (I know!). But for every time that I wear a funky top or a particularly bright shade of lipstick, I spend the next ten days scurrying back to the safe shades as a sort of penance for breaking my own safe-colour boundaries.

I know women who can wear what seem to be the most outrageous clothes in ridiculous combinations of contrasting colours and manage to make the whole thing look effortless and fashionable all at the same time. I on the other hand, have neither the pluck nor the talent to carry off such a look.

So, to the girl that was wearing the bright green fluorescent top over olive green leggings teamed with red shoes - your outfit was hideous. But I admire your courage!

Surprise!

2009-08-27T10:43:00.003+01:00

My morning routine usually follows this pattern:

Get up, walk to the front of the house, collect newspaper, skim headlines, make sure that the world is still going to hell in a hand basket, carry on with other morning activities.
The necessary ingredients in the newspaper are always present.
Murder- check
Rape - check
Corrupt Politician-check
Sania Mirza loses a match - check
And so it goes on...

But there are some mornings which just take you by complete surprise, even when you are as fairly cynical about life in general as I have become. Thankfully, I have only had the misfortune to come across one particularly crazy individual who dated three women at the same time. Not just had a drink, flirted, made a few calls; but actually had three functional relationships during the same time period. Now despite all the possible excuses of 'I work in advertising', 'My mother is dying', 'I had a bad childhood', 'My parents got divorced', 'I have no friends' etc etc, I somehow imagined that this was really as bad as it got!

But then, I woke up this morning and read this lovely article in The Times of India. I was in absolute awe! Despite everything else and all the moral implications of his actions, you have to admire the sheer genius of juggling 14 wives at the same time! And that too, on a mere Rs 70,000 per month salary. While the rest of us struggle to keep one life above water and in some semblance of sanity, this guy led 14 completely independent lives! Before he is jailed for bigamy (is it still bigamy when it's more than two?) and deceit and marrying women under false pretences, I think someone should give him a prize!

This is what I love about life. Just when you think nothing could surprise you, it does!

The Waiting Game

2009-08-26T12:11:00.002+01:00

Hospital waiting rooms are always portrayed as these grim, sterile places where no one is ever happy. Every TV sitcom, every movie, every book description is usually the same.

But I find them to be completely the opposite of all these things. For one, they're not very sterile. Anything you've never had before, you can catch in a doctor's waiting room. That's why I find it ridiculous when the doctor advises you to not go anywhere or hug people because who knows what you might catch when your immunity is low, but it's quite alright to wait outside his office with a bunch of sick people for about an hour or so, which is more than enough time for the germs to get anywhere they want to.

But more importantly, I've had some really good times in hospital waiting rooms. Last year, I spent a fair amount of time in them, and I thoroughly enjoyed myself. My mother was usually with me on these occasions, and we were periodically shushed for making too much noise while giggling away at ridiculous jokes that no one else found funny.

It's also a great place to watch people. I don't mean in the creepy-stalker way, but in the observing-human-nature-at-its-finest way. I've watched the old south Indian couple with 'arranged marriage' written all over them sit quietly in their seats, not a word spoken between them for more than half an hour. But then he takes her elbow to steady her when she walks with halting steps towards the doctor's office. The parents with anxiety written all over their faces, who manage brittle smiles and casual conversation to keep up appearances for their five year old with cancer. They never realise the kid knows exactly what is going on, he told me all about it while we were waiting together for our tests.

My favourite is always the sick parent accompanied by a child. There's always an air of 'This is wrong! It should be the other way around'. I remember one young woman crying bitterly while her mother underwent her radiation session, saying "This is not the way it should be". But when is it ever the way it should be? We're all meant to be hale and hearty forever! Until reality sets in anyway...

I've never been one to strike up conversations with random strangers, but my mother will go all out to talk to whoever looks even the teeniest bit friendly, and sometimes even when they don't! So we've met old people, young people, couples, widows, children, rich folk, the middle-class, eternal optimists and those who are just about ready to throw in the towel.

It may have been many things; but for my mother and I the waiting room was never unhappy, never grim and never, ever boring.