Que sera, sera

The year's drawing to a close again.

Inevitably, I look back at the year gone by.
Regrets.
Questions.
What-if's and maybe's.
Joy.
Success.
Trips to bars that were crazy.

And then, unavoidably, I read the numerous forecasts for the year ahead.
Marriage?
Money?
Property and cars?
Sickness?
Even crazier trips to even wackier bars?

I breath deeply, and put aside the nth article I was reading titled "Your Stars in 2011" or some such thing for I realize that there is no point.
Of looking back.
Or ahead.

"Que sera, sera,
Whatever will be, will be;
The future's not ours to see.
Que sera, sera,
What will be, will be."

Until next time...
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One more down

Be grateful for what you have, not disgruntled for what you don't have. Life always evens out. You have something someone else would give their life to get. Look at that, for that's what matters.
Another year, another lesson.

Happy birthday, girl. 27 ain't that bad.

Until next time...
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The Last Look

Willy & Pep
3rd Oct 2000 - 22 Nov 2010.
There is so much to say about you two. How you come - tiny 50 paise coin sized super scared little babies. How we all collectively raised you, walked with you, fed you, didn't sleep when you didn't, held you, crawled with you, saw you grow to quarter plate size, toko you to the vet, got bitten by you, got scratched by you, played nosey with you... the list is endless.
Today it all boils down to one word: Goodbye. I dont know if I will ever see you again. So.
Goodbye.
God bless you, and may you live a 1000 years.
I'll remember u, I'll pray for u and I'll miss u.
Always.

Until next time...

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A Beautiful Poem - By Paash - Sent to me by a friend

Mehnat ki loot sabse khatarnak nahi hoti,
Police ki maar sabse khatarnak nahi hoti,
Gaddari, lobh ki mutthi sabse khatarnak nahi hoti.
Baithe bithaye pakde jana bura to hai,
Sahmi si chhup me jakde jana bura to hai,
Par sabse khatarnak nahi hoti.
Sabse khatarnak hota hai murda shanti se bhar jana,
Na hona tadap ka, sab kuch sahan kar jana,
Ghar se nikalna kaam par, aur kaam se loutkar ghar aana,
Sabse khatarnak hota hai,
Hamare sapno ka mar jana.

-- Paash

Until next time...

Bitter-Sweet

Kahin to dil mein yaadon ki ek suli gad jaati hai...
Kahin har ek tasveer bohat hi dhundali pad jaati hai..
Koi nayi dunia ke naye rangon mein khush rehta hai..
Koi sab kuch pake bhi ye man hi man kehta hai..

Somewhere hearts meet.
Somewhere hearts break.
All in this world.
Simultaneously.
So much joy, so much pain.
Someone's loss, Someone's gain.
I'm happy.
I'm sad.
I'm amazed at this bitch called life, one moment so bitter and the next so sweet.

Until next time...
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Laughing laughing the roads we'll cut

Hanste hanste, kat jaye raste,
Zindagi yuhii chalti rahe..
Khushi mile ya gum,
Badlenge na hum,
Duniya chahe badalti rahe..

Until next time...
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Dil tarasta hai ab, zindagi ke liye

Ek khalish dil ki, kya se kya kar gayi,
khushiyon ki aankh mein baarishen bhar gayi,
log apno se bhi bekhabar ho gaye, khushboen chool ke shok mein kho gaye,
khushboen chool ke shok mein kho gaye…

Pak jugna zara roshni ke liye,
Dil tarasta hai ab zindagi ke liye…

Surk phoolon ke jo narm saye mile, apno ki shakl mein jo paraye mile…
Surk phoolon ke jo narm saye mile, apno ki shakl mein jo paraye mile…
inke peeche zara sochke bhagiye, kachche rangon ki hai titliya dekhiye,
kachche rangon ki hai titliya dekhiye…

Ek pal hi mila tha khushi ke liye
Dil tarasta hai ab zindagi ke liye…

Ek khwaish mein thee sekdon aandhiyan, pal mein bhikre sabhi rishton ke ashiyan.
Ek khwaish mein thee sekdon aandhiyan, pal mein bhikre sabhi rishton ke ashiyan.
pyase lab ka yahi sabko haasil mila, justjoo dariya thee khusk sahil mila…
justjoo dariya thee khusk sahil mila.

Khoke neende kisi ajnabee ke liye,
Dil tarasta hai ab zindagi ke liye…

Until next time…

Apt

As the weather, so the mood.
Dark, gloomy, cold and wet.

Am in Blore and hating it again, but this time for a different reason.

Until next time

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What a start!

Dagdu seth ganpati at 7 AM. What a start to the day!
Ganpatti Bappa Morya!!

Until next time...

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Barbaric

Someone at the table next to mine is eating fish, and rice. And I can see the exact shape of the fish - tail fins and all.
Eeewww.

Until next time...

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When

When you have to pretend, when you have to keep up a facade, when you have to force yourself to talk to someone, when that someone used to be a good friend.
When you don't know what's up, when you don't know what will happen, when u can do nothing but sit and wait.
Then, it is Bloody. Fucking. Irritating.

Until next time...


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Boy

For the first time in my life I wish I was a boy. I could then get into one of these sleazy looking cabs and be on my way to Bombay, instead of waiting endlessly for a bus.
Uff.

Until next time..

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Beautiful

Here.
Posted on Tuesday, August 24, 2010.
By Bikram Snehi, soon-going-to-be-an-amazing-poet.

Until next time...

Once Upon a Time in Mumbai

This movie is not for us bombay-lovers. Its for those people who don't- or rather can't- understand why we love this city so much.
The city with a heart so big, with a compassion so strong and with opportunities so many.
It gives u whatever u want - money, power ,fame - and then as easily, as instantly takes it back. Betrayal is as common here as are all the above mentioned and people here betray only for one reason - who will be the king of Mumbai.

Until next time..


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Children of a lesser God versus Children of the Devil

From the past few days I have been noticing very strongly 2 different types of people in my world.
The sweeper in my office, the cleaning lady, the canteen boy who picks up my plate. Mild, unassuming they go about doing their work hoping to be inconspicous, not making eye contact and actually trying to not get noticed. When I say thank you, when I smile at them they get startled and scamper off hoping they didn't do anything wrong. These are the Children of a lesser God and my heart goes out to them. What did I do to get so much more then them in life? For them I wish abundant happines, prosperity and good luck - God knows they deserve it. For being so dedicated, so nice and so hardworking.

Then there is the second type of people - the autodrivers, the domestic help at home, the milkman. Aggressive, irritating and assholic they behave as if they own the world. They go about doing favors, not working. He is doing me a favor by letting me sit in his auto, she is doing me a favor by sweeping my floor - never mind that both are charging me exorbitant amounts of money for whatever it is that they are doing. These are the Children of the Devil and I wish with my whole heart that nothing good ever happens to them. May they live and die exactly like they are born - lowly guttural creatures. They don't deserve any better.

Until next time...



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By the way

By the way,
On the way,
Humko jo mili hai zindagi…
Gaati hai,
Hasti hai,
Badlii si hai zara!!
Roothe bhi,
Mane bhi,
Har lamha nayi hai zindagi…
Moody hai,
Ziddi hai,
Kya Kare kya pata!!

Rukte hain kahan hum roke se,
Chalte hain hawa ke jhonke se,
Apni to aisi hai zindagii – yeah!
Yahi apni adaa hai – kya Karen!
Koi bura jo mane – kya Karen!
Humse to hai khafa ab sabhi!

Jane do – chodho bhi!


Until next time…

Advertise

Some MBA Gyaan -- Off an email i received:

Said a tiger to a lion as they drank beside a pool,
"Tell me, why do you roar like a fool?"
"That's not foolish," replied the lion with a twinkle in his eyes.
"They call me king of all the beasts because I advertise."

A rabbit heard them talking and ran home like a streak.
He thought he would try the lion's plan,
but his roar was a squeak.
A fox came to investigate - and had his lunch in the woods.

The moral: When you advertise, be sure you've got the goods!

Until next time...

The Other Side Of The Coin

While in South India, I would feel left out when two South Indians spoke in their mother tongue. I would think that these people have no basic manners, speaking in a language that I cannot understand, right in front of me, when I am present and a part of the group.
Today, I was on the other side. A colleague and I were speaking in Hindi for quite some time, when I suddenly realized that the third person walking with us was a Tamilian, and did not understand Hindi.
Of course I apologized, and we switched to English immediately, but I also realized that it’s not that people lack basic manners, but it’s that anyone just can’t help talking in their mother tongue.
My typical jumping to conclusions, proved wrong once again.
Until next time…

Bangalore: Butterflies, Bars & Buddies.

This is for my memories. So that when I’m 80 and all alone, I can remember Blore, and my time there for what it was. Its lengthy, a recap of the exact 3 months, and took me over a week to complete.

I landed there on the 11th of March 2010, unsure, uncertain and unhappy. I was being pulled away from Bombay – my favoritest (yes, that’s a word. In my dictionary.) city in the world – with no idea when I’d be back (for good. I knew when I’d be back to Bombay – it was exactly after 15 days!) I still remember my drive from the airport to EC. I drank in the sights of the city, comparing every tiny detail to Bombay, and at the same time trying to familiarize myself with the place. When I saw the “Mojdi & Joothi” shop on Brigade Road Junction, I remember feeling slightly better: they had road-side shoes; it wasn’t as backward, remote and isolated a place as I’d thought it to be – I could shop for cheap shoes when I got really depressed (yes, I am a strong believer in the concept of Retail Therapy, and my friends in Bangalore will vouch for that!)

Friends in Bangalore.

Never thought I’d say those 3 words, together, in a sentence like that. When I came here, I was all prepared to be one of those hoity-toity-I’m-from-bombay-cold-bitch, prepared even to run up a huge phone bill talking to all my friends scattered all over the world. For me, a friend is someone who I can crib to endlessly (Cribbing, for me is a way of life now. Bad, I know. Should stop, I know. Am working on it? No! : P), one who I can talk to, endlessly, one who I can listen to, endlessly, one who I can fight with, one who I can call an asshole, and still not offend, one who I can sit in comfortable silence with (I cant do that with most of the people I know. I need to have a very, very strong comfort level with that person), one who I can eat with (sloppily), one who can call me fat- and not offend me, one who actually counts my calories for me – for everything I eat, and then shamelessly tells me, every time that I shouldn’t be eating that, one who goes ahead and shares their dessert with me anyways, one who calls me an emotional fool – exactly what I am – on my face, one who I can shop with, literally, till we drop, one who I can giggle with on every damn thing (it seems), and one who actually agrees that Sagittarians are the best!

I found all this, and much more.

My first seven days here were spent in the Wipro Technologies Guest House, a well maintained, almost three-starish hotel type accommodation, within the EC Campus. For the fear of living with some unknown (May I, at the expense of sounding racist, add South Indian?) entity, I chose my roommate as a Batch mate from NMIMS, Nimmy, and arm-twisted the receptionist, Chandru to allot us a room together. I was verbosely appalled at the fact that such a simple request was met with so much resistance. She was a South-Indian, I knew that, but her hair didn’t smell of (jasmine?) oil all the time, and that was good enough for me. However, the first thing she said to me was, “Oh, I have to share a room with you. I wanted one to myself actually. Anyways. ” Appalled again, I was at the snooty Mallu who spoke immaculate English without any trace of an accent, had the most beautiful curly hair and a red hand bag that I fell in live with at first sight! However, I went on to have very strong relations with the both these appalling people during my time here. The first weekend was spent finding potential room-mates (considering her opening remark to me, I had figured that my current one didn’t seem to like me very much) and of course livable accommodation. After a lot of contemplation, uncertainty and irritation I still hadn’t found either. But as with life, suddenly things fell into place, and I moved into SRK Samrudhii Suites with Nimmy (turns out, she did like me, after all!) as a roommate. Rather house mate, for it was a 1 bedroom, hall-kitchenette studio with a balcony overlooking, well, nothing much. But it had beds, a T.V with cable, a couch, a fridge, an AC, a swimming pool, a gym and was close to office. The fact that it was smack in the middle of no-where didn’t bother us too much after looking at all these things. And did I mention, it also had free, unlimited, internet, wi-fi enabled? Thus started my affair with Samrudhii that lasted for 2 month and 1 week and 1 day. And this period I feel I lived two different lives.

The first was when it was me Shveta, Geetanjali, and of course Nimmy. The four of us were like the power-puff girls, snooty, giggly, inseparable and totally unaware of the others around us. The numerous shopping expeditions, with Shveta, the late night chats about the right way of dieting with Nimmy , the boy-bashing sessions with Geetanjali (rather, Geethanjali!!) and one month passed in a blur that was fun all the time. I got to know more people during this period, but none was as close to me as these girls. There was Sanjeev the chef, Kabir, the kid, Punit the even bigger-kid, Raka (Rahul Kumar Aggarwal) the tourist, Amol - party hila denge!!, Adi (sigh), Divya the awesome dancer, Muthu, Archana, Arpita, Aabha… and the list is endless. We went partying to Fuga – fun time as it was Bombay Night! I danced late into the night, much to my heart’s content, and my parent’s distress. Got high on a single breezer( yes, I did!) and haven’t heard the end of it till date. We went for the Bombay versus Bangalore IPL Semi-final match to Extreme Sports Bar, and hooted an entire bar full of bangaloreans down, and finally, we went to Hint, the disco that on Fridays had a free entry for girls, and a 1000 buck eat-drink-all-you-want for guys. Let’s just sum that night up by saying that I had to get two very drunk guys home, I was soaking wet in water and vodka (some drunken asshole threw it on me) and there wasn’t Nimmy to get back home to.

These girls had moved out by now, all scattered, and I was left all alone. It was by sheer luck, absolute shamelessness, loads of chewing Kabir’s brains out and 4 nights of living “alone” and fighting the ghosts that I found Mansi: my next roommate. The last night that we four girls were together, we wanted to make it a night to remember, and so Nimmy and I went and sat by the pool, dipping our feet in the cold water, and reminiscing about the time gone by. Kabir joined us, and the three of us sat there for the longest time, chatting about random nonsense and giggling and just talking crap. These two tried, very unsuccessfully, to push me into the pool and I was so proud about the fact that I resisted them all the time! Whether it was by physical strength, or because of all the screaming and pleading and puppy-face making that I did every time they tried, I’ll never know, but I like to think it was the sheer physical strength. We were joined by Shveta, Sanjeev, Geetanjali, Amol and Abhinav soon after and we sat there like 8 year olds who dared only to dip their feet in a pool, and not jump in and swim. Everyone was daring the other one, promising that if one person jumped in, all would follow suit. Suddenly I realized that
A. I was the only one talking &
B. there was no one to my left or right.
A little too late I realized that all of them had crowded up behind me, and before I could do anything, I was unceremoniously pushed into the water.
Freezing cold water.
At 11-fucking-o’clock in the night.
It was so cold I could not breathe for two minutes and warmed up only after I swam two laps. I was, needless to say furious, until Abhinav jumped in, and suddenly everyone was in swimming, tryint to swim, shouting, splashing water and doing what not! The great ones like me who knew swimming gave swimming lessons to the lesser mortals who didn’t. In freezing cold water. At 11-fucking-thirty in the night. And boy, was it a fun night! Loads of splashing water at each other’s face (kabir, you loser, you lost miserably: P) and swimming competitions later I headed to my room, soaking wet but very, very content.
I guess Nimmy finally got her (pseudo) revenge for the April Fools Gag that i played on her by making her run un-necessarily for a flight that was 2 hours late!

The second life was a mix of living alone, testing my strength, Kabir's & Punit's patience and then living with Mansi and Archana. In the four days that I was alone, it came to a point, where if I mentioned that there were ghosts in the room, Sanjeev would say, “okay give the phone to the ghost, I’ll scare it away from my room only!” Then after 4 long days (and even longer nights) came Mansi, my second roommate. The first day she moved in was the day we had planned to go to Hint. She came along, and god, was she scandalized! The whole bar and their uncle was swooning over her, and poor girl didn’t know what to do. I had to physically fight off Sankalp and a 100 others and like literally protect her. To their defense, the whole bar and their uncle were highly drunk. Anyways.

By now at Wipro, we had moved into a smaller training batch, and I was making a new friend: our 60 year old trainer. We called him Daddu fondly, and he is a sweet eccentric 60 year old man, like a child who wants to have fun, but is scared of the system. Weekdays consisted of training (read: sleeping in the training room, surfing the net, finding bus routes to new local markets, blogging, giving tests randomly without studying and a little bit of trying to understand what was being taught), followed by power yoga, walking all the way to SRK with Kabir, dinner at the dhabha and talking to Mansi and watching Indian Idol on TV. I think the part that I minded most about living alone was that I had only myself for company, and that meant that I had to talk to myself, and I am not a listener, I’m a talker. So in short that meant that I didn’t have anyone to listen to my non-stop blabber. Well, not anyone. Kabir was there and so was Punit but they weren’t there all the time as they weren’t my roommates, and I didn’t want to be in their room all the time for the fear of over staying my welcome. With Mansi it was a classic case of two Saggis getting along instantly. In fact, sometimes we both had so much to talk about that we would actually be competing with each other so as to who will talk first!

The weekends during this period, at least the ones when I was in Bangalore, were spent almost always, and completely, with Nimmy, shopping, hanging out at Blossoms, Café Matteo, going to the Clarins Spa, lunching at Ebony and doing all other girly things. Nimmy, as I have already mentioned, is this super-uber-cool Mallu who perennially has a don’t-mess-with-me, rather don’t-even-talk-to-me-you-lowly-creature look. We did have a shaky start, but went on to build a real strong friendship discussing boyfriends and sex and weddings and calories and appetite and food and weight loss and god-knows-what. Once you get past her snooty attitude, she is this loveable girl who giggles at every damn thing, is a world-class negotiator and has the best curls in the whole wide world! Not to mention she gives good, practical, grounding advice. My time with her was fun, refreshing and uplifting. I don’t think she ever realized how much the weekends meant to me. I remember when she, Roshin (her sister) and I went shopping for salwaar kammez and sarees and I was stuck on i-want-something-that-is-south-indian so bad that the two of them had pretty much branded me as a racist by the end of that day. And that other time (my last time out shopping with her, infact my last time shopping in B’lore) when she and I went to Mysore Silk Palace (where I blew up 15k in 3 hours) she actually told her dad over the phone, “Dad, I’m shopping for suits and sarees with Lehar… no she’s not getting married… she’s just having an I’m-leaving-south-india-forver-panic-attack. I’d better go and stop her now, she’s buying the entire shop, it seems!” And there was this one weekend I couldn’t meet her at all, even though I was in B’lore, but I know she completely understands why! ;)

Towards the fag end of my and Mansi’s time at SRK ,Archana (Archie) joined us. Initially, she was wary of me (can you imagine, poor harmless me?) but as she understood my loveable, affable, adorable (ok I shall stop now) self, we bonded like petrol and fire. The day I was leaving, after I had said my good-bye to her, the penny dropped on why she was so wary of me! During training, very initially, we had a role play and were asked to play the personality type that we were. I was naturally a
Driver, someone who gets things done, and during the role play which consisted of me and her, I may have taken it too far. But by the end of it we were awesome buddies having our own code languge (hiss...) . In fact she even gifted me this awesome Pashmina Shawl as a good-bye gift for i was always feeling cold!

My last night there (the night of 11th June 2010) was exactly what I wanted it to be – wild, fun and crazy! Well, at least by my standards. My flight to Pune was at 6AM on the morning of 12th June which meant that I’d had to leave from EC (Electronic City) by 3 AM. We planned a cookout at Punit, Kabir and Natoo’s place, and I made aloo jeera, salad, masala papad & dessert (Jelly, milk maid, jujubes & bananas – yumm!)and Mansi made rice, and Punit made kadhii and dal. Suhas, Mansi and Nimmy were the only ones who ate as soon as the food was prepared. We finished making dinner by 11 o’clock but ate only around 2 as these guys started drinking (Green Apple Vodka with sprite) and then Kabir insisted that I have 1, chotu, really chotu, drink, and well, against all practical reasoning I agreed! Soon, I was just giggling non-stop and having the time of my life! We went to drop Mansi to her Villa and in the car Aabha was going on about some non sense on the phone and we were giggling. I don’t think I have giggled so much in my entire life, as much I did that night.
Some losers who couldn't hold their alchohol dozed off around 1 ish beacuse of which i couldn't say bye properly, but nevertheless, the night was definitely one of those once-in-a-lifetime-thigis for me.

Nimmy, thanks for coming to drop me all the way to the airport; I wouldn’t have liked to be alone in my last few minutes… And will always remember the Mind Over Matter Lesson that you gave me at 4 AM on that freezing morning! Will miss you, babe. (I was so damn late for my flight, and I had to run through the entire process, but girl, spending that one more hour with you - it was worth it!)

Kabir, thanks for listening to all my cribbing, for being my soundboard for most of the time. And yeah, thanks for finally, finally, getting me drunk.

Life's too long for good-bye's Archie... we shall meet agin and take our saggis-are-the-best conversation to another level altogether!


Today, on the 12th of june, exactly 3 months (1 quarter) later, I sit at Bombay Airport (the Pune flight got re-routed to Bombay as it couldn’t land there due to bad weather; can you believe my luck!) waiting for clearance etc leave, and I thank my stars, for giving me this opportunity to get out of Bombay, see Bangalore, hate it, fall in love with it and last but not the least, meet these awesome people, and make them a part of my life.

I had a picture of you in my mind...
never knew it could be so wrong...
why did it take me so long just to find,
the friend that I had all along...

Until next time…

Hi

Once in a while during your day to day life, you are suddenly reminded of a very good friend, one who you cannot reach at that moment, but are missing terribly anyways.
This post is for my that friend.
The one who I could call randomly, even after 4 months, and get on like as if I spoke to him yesterday.
The one who I could ignore randomly and not call back for months at a time and then finally get a call and get yelled at and then feel bad.
The one who when ignored me for even four week’s I would scream and screech and make his life miserable.
The one who went one, two tree…!
The one who I could call when I was crying, because I couldn’t (or rather didn’t want to) call anyone else but I had to speak to someone comforting to make my tears stop.
The one who would call me honey, and I would be like, I’m not your honey!
The one who always made me laugh, either at his jokes or at him or at his silly laugh.
The one who made me cry. Once.( in 8 years of being my friend) And paid hell for it.
The one who I haven’t spoken to in really long, and am missing terribly today.
This one’s for you, Nikhil.
Hi.
Wherever you are.

Until next time…

Bombay

A clear sky,
At dusk the first star.
A wish made,
For a time that seems very far.
A different city,
My home, my heart.
Go slow time,
With it I don’t want to part.
The noise, the smell,
My school, my bike.
Even though there are a thousand things wrong,
This place always seems so right.

Until next time...

The Gujrati Family

Disclaimer: The views presented below are solely of the author and are in no way meant to hurt anyone intentionally. Read at your own will, and take nothing to heart. The author would also like to mention that she has a lot of close friends who are Gujratis and are awesome people, irrespective of the fact that they are Gujratis.




The Gujrati Family is a pack of the can-never-be-extinct genus Gujratis, also called as Gujjus. These creatures are members of HomoSapiens, the family of Homos (of the happy and gay variety) and Sapiens (close relatives of modern-day people.) They often (almost always) make a loud continuous chattering noise and, in some higher-strata species are equipped with the latest cellphone, a fake designer bag, an almost-as-good-as-the-original duplicate Rado/ Omega/Tissot each. They have been in existence from around 4.8 million to 4,500 years ago, ever since Speech as a form of communication was discovered. The word Gujrati comes from the region Gujrat, India, where this species is found in even larger numbers. They are usually always found in large numbers everywhere anyways. The Gujrati Family moves in packs of 10 Gujjus or more, and in multiples of 10 thereafter. If the pack size is less than 10, they are looked down upon by the other packs, and are commonly referred to as just Gujratis. They display clannish behavior by taking a keen interest even in the daily affairs of family that is up to three levels away in the family tree. The Gujrati Family has a very distinct structure and every member’s role in the pack is predefined. The pack is headed by the eldest living male, and each pack extends to at least four generations at a time. The males are the bread-winners of the pack, and (almost) all earn their living and lifestyle with the help of two major bourses namely, N.S.E and B.S.E. The females are the house makers and keepers, child bearers and child raisers. All women in The Gujrati Family in their spare time collect together to give / get update on all family members at least three levels away in the family tree and / or discuss jewellery. This is done on a regular (read: at least three times a day) basis.

It is very easy to identify The Gujrati Family mainly due to the loud constant chattering that goes on within the pack. Once The Gujrati Family has entered a restaurant, an aircraft, or even a train it is very difficult to hear anyone or anything else (yes, even the plane's engine noise is drowned out.) This constant chattering comes from their urge to communicate on a real time basis, and since they are very soft at heart, each member wants every other member of the pack on anything that it has just discoverd. They don;t like to be left out of any peice of information is shared between any two random people, however uselsess it may be to them. Like, if one member finds out there is Frooti available at the airport cafeteria, the entire pack will know either by being within hearing distance of the member who made the discovery, or by asking the most preferred question of the clan - WHAT. The Gujrati Family are highly emotional in nature and feel for even television characters and can take to crying at the drop of a hat (especially the females).

The next time you come across this species be sure to observe them, as it can be highly entertaining!

Until next time...

How to Kill 3 Hours (Alone )at Bangalore Airport

1. Walk really slowly with your luggage to the check-in counter. Like in Slow-Mo.
2. While checking in, chat with the cute guy at the counter, flirt a bit, have some fun. ( fun is a subjective word, and the people in line behind you do not think of this as fun. irritating, boring, funless people, i tell you.)
3. Go through security check, and insist that even though all your luggage is cleared, each piece be opened, and each item micro-analysed.
4. Call up people you haven't spoken to in centuries (ok fine, decades will also do) and chat like you were their best friend and they were the last person on the earth to chat with.
5. Find a nice quiet corner with a plug-point nearby, plug in your laptop, and study SAP FI/CO for upcoming test on monday. (to get ALL of the above is an achievement and takes atleast an hour to accomplish!)
6. End up listening to, word by word, the conversation that the chick sitting behind you is having with her boyfriend. (named saurabh. the boyfriend, not the chick. the chick had an awwwful day becase she had nine bags - can u imagine saurabh, i had NINE bags!! and... well, it was a long conversation)
7. Read your sisters blog, and get a slap (virtual) on your face.
8.Sit like a zombie, in shock at what you just read.

Until next time...

GoodBye, My Love

I hereby give you up, for a greater cause.
sigh...



Until next time...

Limits

Why is it that people don't know where there limits end? Over the last 2 months I have been around people who really don't know when is a good time to stop. Every person has a tolerance limit, and while joking this should be kept in mind. And just because I am quiet, I take your jokes sportingly, I don't retaliate, doesn't mean i can't. I just choose not to, for it is beneath my dignity to fall to your levels. Yes, as friends we are allowed to make jokes at others expenses, but to a certain limit. Overly personal comments regarding families, or repeating the same shitty joke again and again and again does tend to get boring, if not irritating. It only reflects what your mentality is, and sick would be putting it mildly.
So, losers, grow up and get a life.
Oh, and a better sense of humour, while you are at it.

Until next time...

I Am...

Until next time...

Random Questions That I have No Answers For.

1. When will I get out of Bangalore.
2. Where in the world’s fuck is Subodh Mallya.
3. Where in the world s fuck is Nikhil Fernandes.
4. Will I be able to attend Hardik’s sister’s wedding.
5. When will I attend my own wedding.
6. Will I even have a wedding.
7. When will I be rich enough to buy a Fiat 500.
8. When will kiki stop pestering me with really absurd (so absurd, they can even classify as bizarre) ideas.
9. How will I get home from the airport at 1 in the night.
10. Is mango milk shake fattening or healthy.
11. Is mango milk shake, had for lunch with a plain veg sandwich, healthy.
12. Is mango milk shake ever healthy.
13. Why does it rain everyday in Bangalore.
14. Why am I sleepy in class – strike that, I know the answer to that.
15. How do u strike out words in Blogger, like u can in Word.
16. Why can I not sleep in class.
17. When will I stop sitting in classes, and start working.
18. Why can i not comment on Psy's Blog.
19. Why do these ppl in my class have so many doubts.
20. Why cant I think of any more questions!


Until next time…

To be hanged till Death.

Is it enough?
No.
But it is a closure.
Of sorts.

Until next time...

Hazaron Khwahishen Aisi...

Hazaaron khwahishen aisi,
Ki har khwahish pe dam nikle.
Har ek pal dar dar ke jiye,
Ki kahin kisi ki nazar na lage.

Chuuna hai aasmaan,
Panaa hai har ek makaam.
Kya poori hogi har ek khwahish,
Milengi khushiyan tamaam?

Kehta hai dil, hazaaron khwahishen hai,
Par chahne se kya hota hai.
Kaun jane vhidhi ka vidhaan,
Likha hai jo, wohi milta hai.

Hazaaron khwahishen aisi,
Ki har khwahish pe dam nikle.
Jo bhi ho, dil yahi mane
Ki har khwahish poori hogi.

Until next time...

How.

People think I crib too much, worry too much, complain too much.

How do I explain to them that I used to be a carefree, cheerful, not-a-worry-in-the-world girl who saw the world with rose-tinted glasses.

How do I make them understand that when I was like that, I had to become like this when the world was pulled out from under my feet; when the rose-tinted glasses shattered into a million pieces.

How do I explain to them why I am what I am, how I became what I am.

How do I make them realize that this is not what I wanted to be, ever.

How do I make see that this is a defense mechanism that I have built over the years to prevent getting any more unpleasant surprises.

How do I convince them that if you anticipate the worst and then getting something that’s not so bad, you are actually protecting yourself from the hurt of getting the worst.

How do I convey that if you have been hurt so badly, that you almost shattered, and you are still putting the pieces together, then one more tiny issue also feels like all that you put together is all going to fall apart all over again.

I don’t.

I can’t.

They won’t understand.

They can’t.

Until next time…

Momentous

Momentous events have taken place since the last time I blogged. I have got another job, I have moved out of home, I have enjoyed living out of home, I have cried bcause I’m living out of home.

Today, now, I miss home.

Badly.

Until next time…

Why Women Are Ninjas

A debate has been raging on for quite some time between me and a colleague, on whether Women can be Ninjas or no. His-royal-sexist-highness insists it’s a no.
Okay. Women can’t be Ninjas, you say. Fine. I agree. You know why? Because, Women ARE born Ninjas.
All of us.
Well, atleast the Indian ones.
Men have to undertake training to become a Ninja, but we women, we are born with the skills.
A Ninja is defined as “a covert agent or mercenary specializing in unorthodox arts of war. The functions of the ninja include espionage, sabotage, infiltration, and assassination, as well as open combat in certain situations.”
Now apply this definition to a woman, your average everyday woman.
Start from when she blossoms into a young teenage girl, covertly trying to win over her crush-of-the-season by unorthodox war methods like making sure he sees her competition with another rival boy, or wearing his favorite color (which she found out after a lot of snooping, and that too discretely)etc. As a wife, she infiltrates her husband’s home, and secretly plots various schemes of sabotage against her enemies (oh, I mean in-laws) so that she is accepted as the perfect bahu. As a mother she is a pro at espionage to make sure that when her teenage son says he is going to his friends house to study overnight, that’s exactly where he goes. She takes on the role of an assassin when her house is attacked by various dangerous creatures like cockroaches and rats and the likes. And open combat? Dude. Let anyone say anything ill about her errant husband or reprobate son, or abusive father or shrewd mother-in-law. She’ll take to arms and vehemently defend that person as if he were an Angel! Another form of open combat is when she sets her mind on something, anything, and things do not proceed that way. (Any husband will vouch for this one!) Hasn’t she covered all traits of a Ninja, in a lifetime, and that too without any training?
Men, on the other hand, just eat, sleep, fart, burp and talk/think about sex. Not very ninja-ish if you ask me.
Until next time…

Hope and a Second Chance

Hope.

And a second chance.

That's all we need to give ourselves.

For if we have those two things, we pretty much have the world. Hope gives you dreams, aspirations, and a sense that you may just be able to achieve them. And a second chance, well, it gives you a second chance at that dream if you make a mistake somewhere along the way.

Imagine this: a life without hope and a second chance. A life without the option of making a mistakes – many mistakes – and saying sorry, learning from your mistakes and moving on. Even The God's make mistakes. Prime example- Shiva granting Bhasmasur his boon and then running to save his own life. He never gave up on himself (Shiv-jee, not Bhasmasur. Bhasmasur died)as a failed God. Then who are we, mere mortals, to give up on ourselves? To deny us that second chance?

It needn't be pointed out here that a mistake is an action committed, unmindful of its consequences. A deliberate action, which causes a certain expected reaction can't be classified as a mistake. A bike accident on a slippery road is a mistake; a drunk driver is not.

So we were awful once upon a time. We were mean to someone. We did something that we now realize we shouldn't have.

It's okay.

Don't murder yourself for it. (Literally; and figuratively!)

The realization that it was a mistake, that it is never to be done again, that it hurt someone and is hence bad, the repentance for that mistake are all punishments enough. The human mind is a fickle one. Specially one that has a guilty conscience. It eats away at the happiness slowly, leaving behind an empty frame of flesh and bones. Don't let that happen to you. The world is harsh enough on us, we need not help it by being harsh upon ourselves too.

I'm not saying that we should be arrogant and do whatever we feel like, and then say – oops, sorry! What I'm saying is that when you realize that you have committed a mistake, forgive yourself. For if you don't forgive yourself, how will the world? Understand and face the consequence of the mistake, for every mistake has a consequence. Learn from it, vow never to do it again, but also give yourself a second chance. Hope. Dare. Dream. Again. A new start, a fresh beginning. It's never too late until your dead. And you are not. So live. Again. Breathe. Deeply. Forgive yourself, and move on.

The more excess baggage we carry, the more burdensome life becomes for us. Life already has a 100 burdens thrown on us, don't add to that. Liberate yourself of all that you possibly can, and grab that chance, that second chance, at happiness.

As I said to AJ, As with Mutual Funds, so with life: Past performance is no guarantee for future performance…

Until next time…

Aal Izz Well… All Over Again.

The first time I read this, I was in school and it was put up on the notice board. I still remember getting goose bumps after reading it that day. Thereafter I have read it on and off, but every time I read it, it hits me. It makes me want to ruffle up my feathers, draw my chest out, and sound the war cry.

Bring it on.

I'm not going to quit.

I'm putting it up here for a friend who is going through a tough time, one who loves poetry.

Don't Quit.

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will,
When the road you're trudging seems all uphill,
When funds are low, and debts are high,
And you want to smile, but have to sigh,
When care is pressing you down a bit,
Rest if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is queer with its twists and turns,
As everyone of us sometimes learns,
And many a failure turns about,
When he might have won had he stuck it out;
Don't give up though the pace seems slow,
You may succeed with another blow.

Success is failure turned inside out,
The silver tint of the clouds of doubt,
And you never can tell how close you are,
It may be near when it seems so far;
So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit,
It's when thins seems worse, that you must not quit.

I read it every day now, and it helps me.

If nothing, it helps me feel better.

Hope it does something for you too.

Until next time…