My arms are empty

The key was with the neighbor next door. I unlocked the door. This has happened before only on Sundays when Rebecca is off to church, Rhea out for the weekend and Ken and I are back from church. As I unlock the door he is bouncing by my side, some little souvenir from his church classes pinned to his shirt, his coloring sheet for the week and a crayon clutched in his hand.

Kiss me...

Kiss me out of the bearded barley
Nightly, beside the green, green grass
Swing, swing, swing the spinning step
You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress.

Oh, kiss me beneath the milky twilight
Lead me out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me

Kiss me down by the broken tree house
Swing me upon its hanging tire
Bring, bring, bring your flowered hat
We'll take the trail marked on your father's map

Been listening to this after a long time now. And been listening to it almost all afternoon. I don't have any idea why this song does this to me... But it does.

It brings up the image of a ramshackle country house shaded with big trees, a girl in a flowered summer dress and a straw hat, a tire hanging from a tree, a guy in a white shirt and jeans, walking hand in hand, laughing, almost with childlike happiness. And when they are not laughing, they are kissing.

Whenever I hear this song I want to run into that image that is formed in my mind. I want to forget about work and life and home and prosaic things. The only reality is to be there at that ramshackle house. The only reality is to be kissing him.

And damn, damn, damn, I can find neither the guy nor the house when the song is not playing. And I don't know how to get there. Or where to find him.

To raise or not to raise

It’s been a strange first day back at work. I came back to find that along with most of the office I had got a raise. I don’t think I deserved it and told my manager so. But I find that people don’t do their MBAs from Wharton for nothing. He won. We spent 15 minutes haggling on whether I deserved it or not. I tried to explain to him why I didn’t think I did and he said he had never in his managerial career met someone who refused to accept a raise. We pushed the paper to and fro across the table and he told me how everyone was getting a raise and not making a fuss about it. “There’s nothing you can do, you have to take it,” he said in a tone that boded finality. I still believe that I should be a better judge of this. Life can be tiresome and unfair sometimes.

Shopping!!!!!

Swabhumi was our first stop for shopping. We entered to be confronted by a statue of a horse. Nearby hung a sign that said ”Do not touch.” A man stood nearby with a horsewhip and I wondered if he was there to ensure that no one touched the horse. It took a second look for me to click that he was a statue too. A fairly good piece. 

The city of Food… And Color

We traveled in a bright yellow taxi to Tollygunj where the relatives stay. (There is also a Ballygunj, the "gunj" probably is much like the "pets" and "gudas" of Hyderabad.) As we passed the Science Museum and Nico Park and every place of remotest interest, Rhea promised that we would go there - (needless to say, we didn't.) There were more Bengal cottons and kurta pyjamas on the roads than in the airport. Yet far fewer and further between than I expected.

Oh, Calcutta

Landed at 9:50. Claiming our baggage (which always has the knack of coming in last), washroom break to repair the damages to our faces and calling up all and sundry who were interested in our safe arrival. By the time this round was done, it was 11. We were ravenous and Rhea had spent the 2 hour flight time talking about the wonderful cafeteria at the airport. Alas, by 11 the "wonderful cafeteria" was closed!!!! Our last meal was at noon in Hyderabad.

Tere bin jeena nahin

The Calcutta trip had been planned long ago. (February 01, 2006: The madness of being 30 and me)... And the moment I planned it, I told Ken all about it. He knew I would be going. He knew his grandparents would be coming over till I got back and he knew that I would be back in two days.
Ken also knew that until his grandparents came, my pals would be staying over with him. he had hitherto been quite happy about the whole idea. But when 5 o clock and I got ready to leave he rushed to the door, balanced himself with an arm out on one of the frames, leg on another and the argument began.

You are ruining my Education - A tantrum in the morning

Kevin had a light cough on Wednesday.

“Don't go to school today”

“You will be at home?”

“I need to go in to work. But Rebecca (nanny) will be here.”

“Then I am going to school.”

Oh, for something to do….

As most people could have made out from the remarkably few posts I have made on my blogspace, I have been feeling down. And I have been lying curled up in my cave. I know that the Mars-Venus book, (which is the handbook on all things gender-relationships-related), says that the cave is for the “man” to withdraw into. However, in my single parent home, I am both the man and the woman (or the Pummy, as Kevin used to call me - Papa+Mummy), so I reserve the right to use up both the tissue box and the cave as the mood takes me.

Fake takes

This was one of the weekends I dedicated to movies. Began with Rang De Basanti and ended with Casanova. Yes yes.. I confess. I did watch RDB only on Saturday. Probably one of the last Indians to do so. The India of Chandrashekhar Azad and Bhagat Singh was as alien to me as the India of Diljeeth and Aslam. Sitting next to a guy who looked like a version 1.1 of Kunar Kapoor added to the feeling of unreality that had set in.

Yikes! I have Acrophobia!!!!

I’ve been on the top of the Golconda and admired the view. I’ve loved to stand on the top of the cliffs near Fundy National Park and look upon the rolling waves below. I’ve been in glass lifts and still done ok. I love my terrace. I’ve sat on the parapet wall of my terrace and my portico as I’ve watched the traffic down below. Feeling like a bird suspended mid-flight as R. Kelly sang I Believe I Can Fly.

Coming out of my cave to say....

Yesterday, visitors at Lifestyle and Hyderabad Central were shaken to see a wild looking woman storm the portals of both happening places, 4-year-old child in tow. Hair parted in the middle and flying in opposite directions in an attempt to get away from the grubby, tired face.

To the commentators....

Scenario One

Extreme horror flicks disgust me. Sensible rational person that I am, I do not watch movies or surf websites about extreme horror flicks. There are however a few eccentric individuals who function differently. They watch movies about extreme horror (all the while hating them).

How to tackle a blank blog

As a person who has been around computers for long enough, I know that with computers, if you can't fix 'em, you shut them down. They probably just need a break. Restart them and, abracadabra, the problem is ficed.

Following this principle, I thought that I'd add a new post. But that didn't put my content back up. I knew now that I had to attack the problem from another angle. I changed my template.

What looked like driven snow yesterday afternoon, now has text on top of it. All my blog was crying out for was a makeover. My blog like myself looks and functions better in new clothes. :)

An empty page

I come in to work today and get a number of messages about my "empty blog". It looked full to me. But then I checked again and Whoops! All my content is wiped clean. My blog looks as pure as driven snow - with green lawns on either side. Kind of strange. I have no idea is putting up a new post - which I have no mood to put up - will put some data on the blog. One can but try. Of all the strange things that AI does, wiping blogs clean, is probably one of them.

Oh, to be a woman….

As most people who’ve been reading this can guess, I revel in my womanhood. Given a choice I would pick being born as a woman any day. Women, I believe, are not only the better survivors – with healthier lives, greater mental stability, a firmer grip on life and better opportunities; they also get to have more consumerist choices.

We get to wear all colors – without looking silly or gay. We have far more and better-looking accessories. And we have more magazines with better layouts dedicated to us. And we feature in all the men's mags as well.

The Night of the Tattoos

When an entire night has been dedicated to fun and people, how can you capture that in black and white? It all began when Krish decided to get a tattoo. Avi’s pal Jeetu, the tattoo artist – was holed up at Medchal, so they decided to use my place.

Meter Down

My latest craze - Meter Down. What a totally cool song, picturised in one of those completely Chicago gangsta’-n-moll style. A pouting Sameera Reddy, a sinister looking Patekar and pretty boy John Abraham. Very cool!

A remake of Changing Lanes, Taxi No. 9211 feels like a very Indian “amchi Mumbai” movie, the tongue-in-cheek screenplay and of course Patekar’s mind blowing performance as a cab driver with a mind of his own, made it worth a watch – twice.

Do the losers have more fun?

If by Rudyard Kipling

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

To me Kipling's If is the mother of all How-tos.