Taking it Easy...

Did I ever mention that I rock? Like totally? ;-)

The sudden burst of star-spangle and sunshine on the blog, is due to my current feeling of elation that the presentation was a success - well atleast, the response was good. Sure, we swallowed up 75% of the class and still haven't finished (I'm gonna take a big bite out of the next class, since I still have to cover around 10 years) but nobody fell asleep. De plus le directeur semblait content - now that is an achievement, 'coz he is like so drab and boring he rarely ever says anything encouraging or nice. Gawd - he needs to develop a sense of humour and get a life! (Ok stop being bitchy Geets - remember - Director? Like head of AFP right now?)

Plenty more reasons to be happy, one of them being the sudden (albeit welcome) change in weather. Pune experienced pre-monsoon showers on Sunday evening...it started off with a wind-storm on Saturday evening, which wasn't too nice. Everything in my room was covered with a fine layer of dust - and I had to spend a long time gettng the dust out of my books. Ick. But the showers on Sunday and Monday have made the weather so incredibly nice! I was full of regret on Sunday evening, when I was sitting with my nose buried in L'Histoire de la France, with the furious intent of finishing the second draft for my presentation before I slept, so I was ready to discuss it with my friend the next morning...it most definitely wasn't the weather to be slogging one's ass off, that too on a weekend! Like I do have a life...glad that little sacrifice paid off. Ofcourse ideally speaking, in Utopic terms I'd love to indulge in my favourite rainy day activities - settle down with a cuppa steaming hot coffee (or even nice hot soup) with an engrossing read and some of my favourite music playing in the background. Perhaps Shakti...or Prem Joshua or Shiv Kumar Sharma. And if it's a regular storm a la Bombay rains, then it has to be a heavy dose of percussion, rock or 80s pop to beat in tune with the rain pattering on my window panes...alternate activities - movie with friends, lotsa wine and good conversation after or ofcourse any of the option I'd mentioned in Naughty Ideas ;-)

Rains in Pune generally means terrible roads and lots of trees falling down - which happened. I'm dreading the total degradation of the roads in the area I stay in - last year when we shifted here in June, we were horrified at the complete non-existence of roads in the area...freaking hell, even the incredibly posh Koregaon has terrible roads...(the abysmal lack of drains just turns the whole locality into one mucky stretch of potholes) - heheh, waiting to hear what Kunu baba has to say about this, specially since he's promised to visit soon! Remember last year baccha, when we walked down from Arthur's Theme to the Barista in Lane 1 and later bargained with rickshaw-wallas to take us back home? :-)

Currently listening to some really awesome music, on borrowed headphones...we used to have this awesome set of speakers to drool over, but they got screwed up soon after we came to this hamlet and they just never came back from Bombay where my brother sent them to get repaired...so I ad a set of decent headphones I'd picked up in Germany, but my brother misplaced them at his previous office (read donated them to those losers) - and so here I was, sweet little innocent Geets unable to access her MP3s, leading a dry existence, deprived of the nectar of life, Music. Well that has changed since yesterday and I shall ensure I have new headphones soon. Meanwhile Julien Clerc makes me swing to the story of Melissa Metisse d'Ibiza :-) Sing along people -

"Mélissa, métisse d'Ibiza
Vit toujours dévêtue
Dites jamais que je vous ai dit ça
Ou Mélissa me tue..."

(Melissa, mistress of Ibiza,
She's always disrobed,
Don't ever say that I told you so,
Or Melissa will kill me..."

:-)

Next on my Windows Media Player :- To be with you - Mr Big. It's one of my favourite songs - each time I hear it I"m immediately transported back to the early 90s, when cable TV had just started invading our lives and chaddi-pal Mansi and I thrived on MTV. She's coming down to Bombay soon - the countdown has already begun...so much to do this time I hit Bombay. Been the longest time since I was in my beloved Bombay...

Geebaby Gets a Makeover!!!

Over the weekend, I hunted and experimented with a new look, but was not the least bit pleased with the new look - far from it! I was wondering why I changed the look at all...I've also been wondering why I am not the type of a person who took up "computer classes" in college - atleast if I'd done that, I'd know how to fiddle with damn HTML settings and tweak the templates to my liking. Instead I must be content with someone else's creations. Ick...
Finally settled for this template - not really MY colours, but it works for me.
So what think?

Blogging to the Rescue..

LivingHigh blogged for therapeutic purposes today, so I thought I'd try it as well. After all this Blog had started off as a means of therapy/catharsis. It's a different matter that it has grown and evolved into something much more mature and audience oriented. Doesn't mean I can't blog just for myself once in a while does it?

Yesterday Deepak of Hints, Allegations and more passed the baton to me - what baton you ask? That of a music meme - it reminded me of another meme that had been sent to me by Gulnaz of ApplePathways, which I never got around to filling up. I did fill up this one and here it is :-

1.Total volume of music on my computer:- Umm...mmmm...several folders full of them? Being illiterate as I am about GBs, KBs and the like, I can't throw numbers at you ;-)

2. The last CD I brought:- Trilok Gurtu's latest album Broken Rhythms - have to post a review on it. It's mindblowing stuff!

3. Song playing right now:- "Tu m'ennuies, j'ai sommeil" from Pascal Heni's Concert Evolutifs Double CD album.

4. Five songs I listen to a lot, or that mean a lot to me:-
This would have to be Five Cds, since I can't narrow it down to Five songs
1. Crossroads - BonJovi (you know why!)
2. Mystic India - for it's sheer rhythms
3. Rhydhun - it features Zakir Hussain, Alla Rakha, Shankar Mahadevan along with Taufiq - need I say more?
4. Yesterday no more - a fabulous collection of Oldies from the 50s and 60s - divine stuff!
5. ABBA Golden Hits - they still rock!:-)

Since we are on the topic of Music, I simply must rave about one of the albums I've mentioned in the above meme. Trilok Gurtu's Broken Rhythms - I picked it up a fortnight back, and still can't get over it. It's mindblowing stuff and I'm itching to share it with someone; unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who's perspective you are looking at) I can't play my usual sweetheart and give my buddies a copy of the CD, since it is "Copy Controlled." So I can just rave about it on my blog, and urge those who are into this kind of music (or even if not) to go grab a copy before it disappears into the archives of music stores! It's an album worth having. (The site allows you to hear some of the songs - check them out!)

With some amazing sounds, Sohum is my favourite track on this album. There are some intersting collaborations, but the one that most caught my attention was The Way to Banganga, which uses throat singing. A friend has once sent me an email about this form of singing, and though I read the email with avid interest I never quite got how that could contribute to a rhythmical sound. Even hearing some examples on a Discovery Show which showcased Mongolian culture didn't help, since it simply sounded very raw and rudimentary to me. Now I do - and it's awesome how the sound can contribute so much to the track!

For those of you who don't know who Gurtu is - well to start with, he's the guru of percussion! Son of late Shobha Gurtu (Hindustani classical vocalist, famous for Thumri). He was a tabla player in R D Burman's troupe and had gone for an Europe tour with Asha Bhosle as headline singer. While on tour, he took off on his own and went to Germany. Even today, he lives in Hamburg. The story is that for six years he lived under a bridge and pursued his dream. Today, he's considered one of the best percussionists in the world.

Recommendation :- If you like this one, hunt for Shankar's Song for Everyone - phenomenal sounds, it includes a track by Gurtu - Rest in Peace.

PS I believe the baton has to be passed on to atleast three people...I'd urge everyone to fill it up, but as of now I officially pass the baton on to Rahul, Phal, Gulnaz and August.

The Game of Life...

As I sit me down to type this post, I hear the sound of the car doors shutting six floors below and I know it's my cousin who has arrived (an hour too late - why don't people adhere to punctuality?) and I shall have to get up just when I FINALLY sat down to write. An interruption that I am not happy about. After all, it's been aeons since I've written and I'm feeling positively constipated with all the words and ideas being stuck inside me for so long. The bell rings...I excuse myself.

Back; boy am I itching to write today. Even at the cost of staying up late to finish reading Histoire de la France (1815-1850) - the second section of the period from 1789-1850 that I'm handling for the presentation on the History of France, due on the 31st. Reading this book reminded me of why I enjoyed History so much back in school - we had adecent set of teachers, who more than made up for the inadequacies of our ultra-boring S.S.C History textbook and I had even considered majoring in History at one point. Then came Junior college, a terrible teacher and an incredily soporific syllabus of Indian History (again) and Maharashtrian History (which we did each year from Std IV to Std X)...and all plans of taking up History were dropped. My combination for Under-Grad was Psycho-Socio-Literature.

The last one week has been exhausting, stressful and hectic to say the least. A person who likes things in order and treasures a sense of routine, was thrust into a choatic existence with not even an iota of routine - end result? I was extremely tired and cranky and irritable yesterday. Last night I threw a tanturm on the phone while talking to close buddy, counsellor, guardian angel rolled into one (Kunu Baba - what would I do without him?) and finally felt relieved once the catharsis was taken care of. It helps that our beloved Shanta tai, who has worked for us for 23 yrs (from the time I was 6 mths old till last year when we moved from Bbay to Pune) has come down for some time to help us out. She's an amazing woman - in tune with our needs, she senses our moods and knows how to handle us even when we are out ous worst. Even with a maid for the housework and a cook, we didn't feel like it was alright to forget about the housework when Bhabhi was in the hospital and later when the baby had just come home. Monitoring them just added to our stress - but now that Shanta is here, we can focus on getting the baby's routine settled and bringing the house back onto it's well-oiled wheels!

Some time back a friend commented that it was amazing how I had such high standards of housekeeping despite my upbringing. I didn't know what he meant by "upbringing" then and still don't know, but I couldn't refute him then and won't refute anyone who points it out to me. Home-maker or not, woman or man, I think a house should be clean, aesthetically pleasing and practical. I guess it's come down in the genes from Ma who's a super woman and has always kept our home the perfect haven.

Today the same friend commented that I also have high standards on how a child should be brought up - I'd never thought about this, but I guess all those years of seeing my cousins bring up their kids in all the possible ways, has ended up in me having strong views on how children should be, and how much parental relationships and upbringing has an effect on the child and eventually the adult. I have nieces and nephews I adore and love spending time with and ones that I'd gladly slap the senses out of and very often itch to kick off the terrace, or atleast into a swimming pool! I hope my brother's child doesn't fall into the latter category.

The same goes for mothers - I never understand why so many women who long to become mothers aren't prepared for the responsibility that goes with it (not just towards the child, but also towards yourself). Why do they think that a baby is merely a toy that they will have to play with and that it will just grow up by itself without a helping hand to steer him/her in the right direction? Ek baar paida kar lo, bacche to apne aap hi pal jaate hain - God I feel like shaking the people who say that. I hope my own Bhabhi doesn't disappoint me - for I can't do or say much if I don't want to spoil relationships. And I hope I'm not expecting too much. Sometimes I wonder if it's good to have such high expectations, but how can I settle for mediocrity?

Time shall tell - que sera sera. All we can do is play our roles to the best we can and see what cards open next in the game of life! *Amen*

Lullaby for the Baby

Sent to me by a Fellow Blogger, for my little nephew - thought I'd post it here in lieu of a post from me, which is long over-due. I'm so tired these days by the end of the day I can barely bring myself to sign-in and check my mail and drop by my favourite Blogs; just the thought of penning down anything for a half-decent post fatigues me even more! So until I get around to storing energy to write a post, and inject some sense of routine back into my life...here's a little lullaby for the baby, courtesy Sreekesh. Thanks Sree!

la la la la ....Mm ..Mmm. Hmm..Hmm...

Little fingers and tiny toes
Baby face and all its glows
You are now our brightest shine
That star I can call mine

Your mama is sleeping
Dreaming of her little sun
Your daddy is out searching
For a name for his everything

Baby boy you are our everything
Our everything, our everything

la la la la ....
la la la la...
Mmm...Mmm. Hmm..Hmm...

Holding you little nephew
In my arms , watching you wink
Stealing my heart with your every look
Singing you slowly, slowly to sleep

Your mama is sleeping
Dreaming of her little sun
Your daddy is out searching
For a name for his everything

Baby boy you are our everything
Our everything, our everything

This is gods will little one
You in my arms, in my eyes
In my heart and In my life
You are my little prince

I will be your best friend
I will even teach you all my tricks
Even make you the best baby of the house
Oh yes baby boy , much better than I

la la la la ....Mm ..Mmm. Hmm..Hmm...

Your mama is sleeping
Dreaming of her little sun
Your daddy is out searching
For a name for his everything

Baby boy you are our everything
Our everything, our everything
Our everything!

Say Hello To...

Baby Shrivastava
Originally uploaded by Geebaby.

The Newest Member of the Shrivastava Khandaan - my nephew born on 15th May 2005, at 4 a.m after a long and tiring Labour that ended in surgery!

Showing his Taurean colours already - he burst into the world with a bang and made sure his mother felt every little bit of it! :-)

Getting Gorgeous...

Yesterday evening, while my Almond cake was baking in the oven, I plonked myself in front of the television for some serious channel-surfing. After around 10 minutes of surfing I found myself watching [V] - they were screening the repeat of last week's Get Gorgeous show - I'd quite totally forgotten about my own experience with the show! Hehe - my mother nearly fell off her chair when I said this to her! She was quite shocked to say the least that I had ANY experience with the show and more so, that she didn't know about it!

Several months back, when [V] had probably started hunting for contestants, I was at CCD, Law College Road with a friend. My friend had excused himself for a few minutes and I was sitting there observing the people around me when a [V] representative approached me. This is how our conversation had proceeded:-

She:- Hi, would you like to take part in [V] Get Gorgeous?

Me:- (Shocked out of my wits) Thanks, but no thanks.

She:- We'll provide you a great platform to enter the modelling world.

Me:- Kaam Dhandha nahin hai kya?

She:- (Shocked even more than me - this was probably the only reply of the sort she got) Excuse me?

Me:- Well apart from the fact that I'm not the least bit interested and not at all cut out for the modelling scene, don't you guys have to adhere to any kind of criteria? Or do you just randomly approach and bait any girl who's passably good-looking?

She:- You stand a good chance of winning..

Me:- (Nearly choking in disbelief) Lady I believe one of the first criterias to become a super-model is HEIGHT which incase you didn't notice I'm sadly lacking - 5.1 ft doesn't quite fit the Statistics required does it?

She:- Oh you're that short!

Me:- (Baring teeth by now) Yeah luckily intelligence has nothing to do with height. Now if you'll excuse me...

As I replayed this scene out for my mother, the show continued in the background. Later I thoght back to the kind of girls who were participating and it got me wondering what the girl had hoped to achieve by roping me into the competition! Had I been stupid enough to consider it, I'd have been kicked out right at Stage 1 just on the basis of my height. I can't blame the girl for not realising and picking up on the other details that make me so inadequate for the modelling scene (she really couldn't make that out from just seeing me from a distance) but I still don't get why she approached me when there wasn't even the slimmest chance of me making it to the finals. I mean, are they out there just to get as many contestants as possible so they can proudly proclaim to have screened the new supermodel from thousands? How does it help when the batch you've started with doesn't even fit the criteria needed? Why approach someone of that sort to begin with?

Anyways - I was quite amazed and impressed at how this contest means so much to some of the girls and how amazingly self-confident they are - most of them seemed to think that have no competition at all, so sexy and gorgeous they are! Hats off to these girls for what they have - it takes something to let yourself be subjected to such scrutiny and even the possibility of complete embarassment & humiliation on a show being watched by several thousands of people, at the least!

On Urban lifestyles, development and me

This summer has been an eye-opener for me. Life changed drastically when we'd moved from Bombay to Pune, last year. In the months that followed I got used to a more relaxed pace of life; having little on my hands and very little to tax my brains I indulged in other pursuits and alot of introspection, some of which has led to me being more comfortable in my skin. Then there were the changes in quotidien habits, some of which have become even more drastic in the past few months.

The water that flows from the taps is different, because we don't get enough water from the corporation to suffice full use. So that water is only supplied in the kitchen for an hour everyday and we have to actually fill water for the day's use. For the rest, we get water from borewells which though filtered (Thank God for small mercies) isn't treated otherwise, so it's basically hard, salty water that we use for washing etc. End result? All steel products (utensils & taps primarily) end up looking patchy and dirty. The faucet for hot water in bathrooms actually turns white with this clacium deposit and we have to scrub it clean every few weeks. White clothes don't stay white unless you bleach them once in a while. And sometimes the clothes that emerge freshly washed from the washing machine have a wierd, stale smell...like they need to be washed!

I now have to ensure I bathe before noon; whether it's a week-day or a weekend doesn't matter because the water is shut everyday from 12.00 to 17.00 and again from 23.00 to 05.00. So bathe before noon and if you want to shower just before sleeping, make sure you do it before 11 pm, or else fill water in a bucket and use that! I've anyways pretty much abandoned use of the shower, because it's extremely annoying when the holes in the shower get clogged because of calcium and then the water comes out through just a few holes in horrid, piercing needles that attack, rather than soothe my skin. So I simply sit down under my tap - thank god I'm short and can get away with such things!

It's like moving back several decades in terms of what I considered basic necessities. Water should be flowing freely from my taps 24/7 and the water should be clean, good water. Living in an area of Bombay where such amenities were never questioned, the water-shortage problems most of the country faced always seemed so distant. I knew about it and have even experienced it when I've travelled or visited cousins elsewhere, but to deal with it as an inseperable part of my life was just so alien. The difference in quality of water was also something I'd never given much thought to, except when I went to Ahemadabad a couple of times the last few years or when I'd go to Noida as a kid - and then also it was only while drinking that I felt the difference so I simply drank less water and more of juices ;-)

I find it so difficult to reconcile myself to the Water in Pune, yet I know I should be thankful for there are still innumerable places in India where even this is a luxury. Makes me wonder about alot of things. For instance, whether we should be merrily sanctioning the indiscriminate (and almost criminal) use of water by television and film-makers every time they decide it needs to rain in order to lend "atmosphere" to the romantic scene or that a storm in absolutely necessary to provide the perfect backdrop for the breaking of an earth-shattering news. Profits in that department don't really help us progress in this department do they?

Part II in this vein of thought is soon to follow...

New Fiction

So I didn't write what I had in mind that day. I started off with it, but we had an unscheduled power-cut just 10 lines down the story. Since I hadn't saved it till then, the 10 lines went poof with the electricity! Grrr...Anyways later that night, I saw to fruition another idea I'd been toying with for the past few days (weeks?)...

I call it The Bus Ride and it's up on Literary Mosaic to be read, discussed and assessed. :-)

Rainy Days, Never Say Goodbye...

The skies have been washed clean and shine down, through the thick cover of dark grey clouds. There's a freshness in the cool breeze that caresses my cheeks and plays with my hair, tossing it around into a tangled mess. The atmosphere is pregnant with the odour of freshly watered earth that teases my olfactory nerves into alertness and makes me sniff with curiosity. The suffocating presence of smoke, fly ash and dust particles seems to have been tamped down by downpour.

The streets, with their colossal absence of storm-water drains (I swear I don't understand why so many streets in Pune are missing drains for the longest stretches - pray where is the water supposed to go when it rains?), were flooded this afternoon creating a wonderful chaos that is so quintessentially "Indian Monsoon." Several trees on F.C Road, J.M. Road and I'm sure elsewhere couldn't withstand the naughty winds that lashed across the city and fell down to block entire streets and add to the commotion. A few billboards also bowed down to the forces of nature - fully-bent mind you, not that half-hearted bowing down!

Yes, it rained in Pune today. While the heavens have been opening up occasionally in the past couple of week, it wasn't much of a show and didn't succeed in bringing down the temperatures much. Today's grand display reminded me (almost painfully) of the monsoons I was accustomed to in Bombay - fierce winds that made a mockery of umbrellas accompanied by a sudden and heavy downpour that left you soaked to the skin within seconds. The pretty flowers adorning the street that goes upto from Patrakar Nagar were blown askew and scattered themselves all over the tarmac. Nature at her disheveled best.

I was caught in the downpour as I left class - and nearly got soaked, but for the semi-shelter of a bus-stand and then the parapet of India Art Gallery. As I stood there shivering in the cold wind and rain (I'm tempted to describe it as "un orage" a.k.a, a storm, but I know that would be a gross exaggeration) my minds drifted back to the innumerable times I've been caught in such rains in Bombay.

At Marine Drive with Aprajita, when we were both soaked to the skin within seconds - we had later walked down shivering like drowned rats to Churchgate Station to get ourselves some mouth-watering Frankie and Softy from the stall at the Station. Appu insisted later that I got a bigger softy because I was wearing a white top ;-)

At Bandstand with Kunal and Appu after having been unsuccessful at getting tickets at Gaiety (this was in the days before multiplexes happened to India) - we had forced Kunu to get into a bus on our way back to my place, gotten stuck in terrible snarling traffic that made the 45 minute commute last for over an hour and then walked from the bus-stop to my place bent under the onslaught of the rains. Kunu, I think, caught a rick from my place to his, which is like a stone's throw away! ;-) We had nagged him into changing and rerturning back for dinner and post-dinner talking into the wee hours of the morning!

At Mithibai when the rains had flooded all of Bombay - we were told to "evacuate" college - had to find our way out of college balancing on stilts because the "campus" outside the canteen entrance had flooded completely. I managed to get a bus which was packed like a tin of sardines and stood on the second step almost all the way home - at one point the water actually lapped at the feet of the person on the last step. A friend walked home, another hitched a ride with complete strangers. A professor who lived in the far-flung suburbs of the city had to take refuge in a colleague's home because trains were not running at all!

At Versova rock-beach, again with Appu and Kunu - this time we stubbornly stayed stuck to the rocks till we were quite wet, acting silly and drunk, scandalising the chana-wallas and others who were on the beach, singing a stupid song we'd made up right then and there..I vaguely remember the lines "It's raining in paradise, You are my fire I am your ice!" ;-)

At Amit's house in Versova, sipping garam garam chai and watching the waves lash angrily at the walls below, even as the winds howled wildly around his building. I'd shifted away from Pune the week before, and this was my first visit back "home" - little did I know how much I'd yearn for that sight in the months to come.

At my adda in the months that followed, high up on the 6th floor of my building, the windows pushed to one side, perched on the granite platform, arguing with Mansi at 2 am. She was down for her annual vacation and I'd rushed to Bombay to spend time with my bosom-buddy and guardian-angel - spent three unforgettable days in Bombay, catching up with her, opening my heart out to her (as always), chatting until the wee hours of the morning, not to mention getting my bheja-fried. That night it had rained like crazy and we'd sat there just admiring the sight of the rain-lashed streets below us till Mansi couldn't resist the urge to pick up at my brains again! ;-)

By the time I parted ways with my classmate who was my fellow-refugee, I was flooded with images from those wonderful days. It feels like yesterday, yet so far-away and so out-of-reach. I never thought I'd say this, but I love monsoons - the good Bombay variety, which spell heavy downpours, skies over-cast with dark grey clouds for days at ends with no hint of sunshine, the dampness which permeates homes, wet clothes and musty smells, flooded roads, chaotic traffic et al.

While my father would say all this calls for a cup of steaming elaichi chai and pakodas, I call for a big mug of steaming cappucino and a massive salami sandwich dripping with mayonnaise! I believe they call this a generation-gap ;-) On that note, I bid all of thee adieu and a good monsoon this year!

(Meanwhile a story brews to perfection in my head and I shall sit me down and type furiously away till I have carved out my newest creation to my satisfaction...)

Questioning, Endless questioning...

Back from Delhi and still trying to get back into routine - it's wierd, I slipped back into my usual routine within a day when I got back from from Germany after three months of more-or-less independant living, different lifestyle, not to mention quite a bit of traveling in the last three weeks of my stay there. But a week away from home unsettles me much more and I end up taking nearly two-three days to settle down...and while I'm doing that I indulge in an array of melancholic thoughts that inevitably lead the way to introspection, self-questioning and sometimes downright depression as I wonder where I'm headed.

In Delhi, my uncle who's been an astrologer ever since he retired as a Principal of an Engineering college, told me that I have a very stubborn personality and once I have a particular vision in my head I refuse to veer from my path, no matter how many other opportunities are thrown my way and no matter how good and enticing they may be. I hated to admit it to him, but he was so right - I've been indulging in exactly that for the past six months and I sometimes wonder at my wisdom in these actions. Yet I know I would never be happy doing any of those things that came my way - and I simply refuse to settle for something I haven't wanted/planned for. A bit too early in life to compromising on dreams, isn't it?

Questioning, endless questioning. Does it really bring us any answers? And if it does, are we really satisfied with the answers we get? Sometimes I think if we just stopped looking so desperately for these answers that we seem to be perennially seeking, if we simply paused in this relentless quest for the meaning in our life, and just "be", we'd probably find the answers have always been right there.

Faced with a dilemma once again. Disappointed once again by a friend, in whom I put in way too much faith way too soon. Why do I set myself up for the fall each time? I thought I'd learnt the lesson the last time. But, no, I didn't. So who do I blame?

Yet another question.

I need to read something invigorating and exciting - the two books I'm crawling through aren't doing anything to excite my grey cells - Foucault's Pendulum by Umberto Eco and The Way of All Flesh by Samuel Butler.

Gwen Stephanie's "Holla Back Girl" - I liketh! Very cool, very danceable number! Need to find a bakra who will download some songs for me, or else go on a major music-shopping spree. Wonder which will happen first?

Back from the Capital City

Delhi was good.

Actually I should say Gurgaon was good since I spent most of my time there. We headed straight from the airport to my Bua-phuphaji's place in Gurgawa (as the locals call it) - a very relative-centric trip, I didn't really step out much and when I did it was oriented towards running errands along with my cousins, or else going to Delhi to meet some more relatives and friends. Had hoped to get out more, indulge in some bohemian shopping, pick up interesting stuff from the much famed Delhi-bazaars, check out my friend's studio and more - but when I reached there, I discovered my Phuphaji, whose 50th wedding anniversary we were there to attend, had an entire itenary of events planned up for the next four days. There would be simply no wriggling out of it, without in some way displeasing/insulting/offending him. So there was a drastic alteration in plan-of-action and I ended up spending most of the time, chilling out at home, catching up with aunts/uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, while dodging religious functions (by playing Uno with my cousins and their kids, no less!) and pigging out on endless meals! I was actually feeling "food-ed" out (pardon my use of neologism) by the last day there.

The one day we went to Delhi - Greater Kailash and Jor Bagh - I liked what I saw of it. My last trip to Delhi had been in 1999, just after my H.S.C exams, and I was still lacking all sense of geography and appreciation of different city cultures, so I was actually seeing Delhi with new eyes. I liked the wide, well-laid out and well-maintained roads. I marvelled at the gardens surrounding Qutub Minar when we crossed it on our way to GK. I was very impressed by the fly-overs that have apparently eased traffic load on the hitertho congested Delhi roads. (Hate to admit it, but they simply aren't doing it right in Bombay - most of the completed fly-overs are such an eye-sore and have ended up as a haven for squatters, instead of the shopping complexes/green islands etc as they were planned to be.)

The relatives we met in Delhi are uber-cool. Specially Shyam Mama, a.k.a. Commander Shyam Varma who is an ex-Navy pilot and has had an extremely interesting, exciting, colourful career and life. His wife, a supreme sourt lawyer, who can snap your head off with one single sentence, and is still practicising law even at 67 years is no less interesting! I spent a delightful evening at their place - it helped that they have travelled extensively in France and Germany and had loads of anecdotes to narrate, and that Mama is a chef par excellence when it comes to Mutton and dished out two delicious preparations that evening. Last, but not the least, their handsome German Shepherd - Nero. Drool! ;-)

I had intended to spend ample time with my friends in Delhi, but both times it turned out to be more of a 'snatched date' than a real rendezvous. Met up with a friend at the famous M-Market in GK-II in a resto-bar - though I've known him for years now, I felt like I got to know him so much better in the span of that one evening. Glad I could manage to meet him while I was there :-) I was forced to meet Bhuvan in one of Gurgaon's malls ( Gold Souk, a friggin mall for jewellery, to be exact!) since I couldn't co-ordinate with my friend in Delhi, so I could spend the last day there, before heading off to the New Delhi station. That must be my only regret in this trip, for I was looking forward to checking out his studio in Panchsheel. Bhuvan, incidentally is also part of a band - H.F.T (check out their site!). Once again the time I spent with him was really not enough, but I'm glad I managed to squeeze in the tête-à-tête with him at the last minute! :-)

The journey back was "epouvantable" ( of want of a more apt word in English I resort to French - this meaning horrible, but conveying it much more to my satisfaction) - it made me think I've been spoilt by all the flying I've done in the past two years. Actually not. I've never been subjected to such horrid fellow-travellers in all my bus journeys between Bombay and Pune and even when I went to Bangalore. They were what I'd describe as the quintessential Indian train-travellers - noisy, unruly and infinitely insensitive to the nuisance they are creating. The nieghbouring berths were occupied by a Marwari family, with two highly ill-mannered, noisy, irritating boys and an extremely cranky baby, whose mother did nothing to quieten her down - they basically wrecked the peace of the entire compartment! The innumerable cockroaches that had infested our compartment didn't make matters any more bearable - I must have swatted and killed a few score roaches during the over-night journey from Delhi to Bombay! And to think that the Delhi-Bombay Rajdhani is supposed to be one of the better trains running in the country!

I was so glad when we entered Bombay, though it was a bit unnerving to get down from the train and step directly into the car waiting for us, so we could head back to Pune immediately. I compensated by listening to the Good Morning Mumbai show on my favourite radio station Go 92.5 FM right upto 11 am, when we hit the expressway and started getting bad transmission. Oh! The joys of hearing Jaggu and Taraana ramble on-and-on about the latest in Bombay and the even greater joy of hearing English numbers during the day on radio! ;-)

Back in Pune and finding the weather here is worse than in Gurgaon, which had become quite pleasant after the weekend's storm and rain. Bua-Phuphaji's well-ventilated flat was nice and cool post sunset. Here, I've pretty much abandoned my own room and set-up sleeping arrangements in my parent's air-conditioned room. My bedroom is now more-or-less a dressing room, for it's hot and stuffy enough to rival the best oven available in the market! *Sigh*

PS I have some "uber-mutha-fuckin" cool relatives and friends, and even though I didn't manage to do the sight-seeing, tourist-cum-shopping bit in Delhi, I'm so glad I didn't miss out on this opportunity to meet so many of my relatives under one roof, not to mention the mini-rendezvous with my friends :-) All said and done, this was a pretty good trip!

Lost in Translation :-)

(I'd read some of these before, in my book of Foreign Phrases, but this by-far is the best compilation of translation goof-ups that I've ever come across!!! :-))

The American Dairy Association was so successful with its "Got Milk?" campaign, that it was decided to extend the ads to Mexico. Unfortunately, the Spanish translation was "Are you lactating?"

Electrolux, a Scandinavian vacuum manufacturer, used this ad in the U.S.: "Nothing sucks like an Electrolux."

Colgate introduced a toothpaste called "Cue" in France, but it turned out to be the same name as a well-known porno magazine.

When Braniff translated a slogan touting its upholstery, "Fly in leather," it came out in Spanish as "Fly naked."

Coors put its slogan, "Turn it loose," into Spanish, where it was read as "Suffer from diarrhea."

Chicken magnate Frank Perdue's line, "It takes a tough man to make a tender chicken," sounds much more interesting in Spanish: "It takes a sexually stimulated man to make a chicken affectionate."

Bacardi concocted a fruity drink with the name "Pavian" to suggest French chic...but "pavian" means "baboon" in German.

A hair products company, Clairol, introduced the "Mist Stick", a curling iron, into Germany only to find out that mist is slang for manure. Not too many people had use for the manure stick.

When Kentucky Fried Chicken entered the Chinese market, to their horror they discovered that their slogan "finger lickin' good" came out as "eat your fingers off"

Parker Pens translated the slogan for its ink, "Avoid Embarrassment - Use Quink" into Spanish as "Evite Embarazos - Use Quink"...which also means, "Avoid Pregnancy - Use Quink."

When Pepsi started marketing its products in China a few years back, they translated their slogan, "Pepsi Brings You Back to Life" pretty literally. The slogan in Chinese really meant, "Pepsi Brings Your Ancestors Back from the Grave."

In Italy, a campaign for "Schweppes Tonic Water" translated the name into the much less thirst quenching "Schweppes Toilet Water."

Chinese translation proved difficult for Coke, which took two tries to get it right. They first tried Ke-kou-ke-la because when pronounced it sounded roughly like Coca-Cola. It wasn't until after thousands of signs had been printed that they discovered that the phrase means "bite the wax tadpole" or "female horse stuffed with wax," depending on the dialect. Second time around things worked out much better. After researching 40,000 Chinese characters, Coke came up with "ko-kou-ko-le" which translates roughly to the much more appropriate "happiness in the mouth."

Not to be outdone, Puffs tissues tried later to introduce its product, only to learn that "Puff" in German is a colloquial term for a whorehouse. The English weren't too fond of the name either, as it's a highly derogatory term for a non-heterosexual.

The Chevy Nova never sold well in Spanish speaking countries. "No va" means "it doesn't go" in Spanish.

Ford introduced the Pinto in Brazil. After watching sales go nowhere, the company learned that "Pinto" is Brazilian slang for "tiny male genitals." Ford pried the nameplates off all of the cars and substituted them with "Corcel" which means horse.

When Gerber first started selling baby food in Africa, they used the same packaging as here in the USA - with the cute baby on the label. Later they found out that in Africa companies routinely put pictures on the label of what's inside since most people can't read.

In the French part of Canada, Hunt-Wesson introduced its "Big John" products as "Gros Jos." It later found out that the phrase is slang for "big breasts."

ROTFLMAO

Random Rambling

Call it random rambling or call it a quick update of the last few days/a preview into what's lined up for the next few days or call it an array of disorganised thoughts...
Here it is :-

- Short trips to Bombay simply don't cut it - had to squeeze so much in the span of less than 24 hours on the 16th. A quick shop-stop and a hurried lunch date with Aprajita (some things never change - she still made me wait for her for over an hour). A quick catch-up with Aranyak (my host for the night) and then getting ready for the wedding reception of Tasneem's sister (the real reason for the trip). Driving down from Juhu to NCPA, the venue of the reception and a fun time with Tasneem's college friends at the reception. Then another long drive, picking up people on the way, to Bandra where we dropped off half the car-load 'coz they wanted to go clubbing. Picking up Kunal at Toto's from where we headed to Mocha for wine, which was simply divine...Back to Aranyak's place - gup-shup till 4 am...crashed for 2 hours. Left for Bombay at 6.15 am!

- Promised myself my next trip to Bombay will be MUCH longer, LESS hectic and MORE peaceful - so I can also do some of those chilled out things I enjoy in Bombay, not just race around town cramming as much as I can in the time allotted to me! ;-)

- Back in Pune for Godh-Bharai ceremony of Bhabhi - lotsa people in the house. No electricity. Fan and cooler running on invertor, till it died on us. Then we sweltered in the heat till the power came back!

- Getting my butt into action after procrastinating for months. Trying out something new in glass painting under the tutelage of young woman in same residential complex as me. Human figures as opposed to the floral/birds/abstract stuff I've done so far. Also some interesting stuff with broken glass. Tomorrow it shall be ready.

- Holy Shit, but Diplome Superieur is no cake-walk. I'm going to have to start polishing up my act - can see myself perusing Le Petit Robert - Micro (Dictionary) and le Becherelle (Grammar book for conjugation of verbs) in the immediate future. Not to mention revising Grammar, reading more French stuff and generally being an even more conscientious student.

- Bloody hot in Pune. Heat waves rise from the ground and the sun beats down on me mercilessly, when I make my way to class. The buses are like f***ing tin boxes left to roast under Phoebus' angry glare. The dust in the atmosphere coupled with the dry climate of the city makes me feel suffocated.

- My poor baby Schnapps is suffering from Gastroenteritis. He doesn't like the heat either. Spends the day in front of the Cooler, eats only Dahi-Roti and drinks lots of cold water. Mind you, it has to be cold or he won't drink it!

- I got stung by a bee on Monday. It hurt like hell - made me curse and scream in pain as I hopped over to the elevator to make my way back home, entering the house with a howl of agony that brought my mother racing to the door. She rubbed Baking soda on it and made me sleep in her air-conditioned room. By evening the swelling had gone down and my foot looked like a human foot again!

- Longing to have a tall, glass of cold ganne ka juice from one of those stalls in Nariman Point or around Asiatic, or at Andheri Station. Had to settle for awesome Cold Coffee made my mother. It comes a close second to quenching my thirst.

- Way too many mosquitoes in this hamlet. How will I ever have sexy feet that I can offer to my lover to kiss and nibble on, if these damn insects won't leave my feet in peace? Don't see him kissing feet dotted with mosquito bites, or worse covered by Mosfree! Ewwww....

- Way too many phone-calls and SMS in the past few days. Wonder how people stay glued to their phones and cell phones for hours at end. I just get so stressed when too many people suddenly decide to remember me. Am too accustomed to being Plain Jane and generally meandering through life, setting my own pace and organising it the way it suits me. Suddenly jumping through hoops stresses me out big time.

- Delhi next week is going to be just as hot as Pune, if not worse. Am dreading it, yet looking forward to going there after so many years. It's going to be a week-long affair of meeting aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces & nephews and hopefully a couple of friends I have staying in the capital city.

- That translates into a week-long hiatus from Blog-world. Be good while I'm away people - I know you'll will miss charming little irresistible moi, but don't worry you will survive ;-)

Baby Talk

I've oft noticed how there is so much excitement in the house when a baby is due, especially on the part of the aunt-to-be. Now my own brother and bhabhi are expecting a baby in May. When I first heard the news, my reaction was rather...prosaic? I just took it as another logical, accepted step in life. People get married, people make love, people produce kids. It was interesting to think of my brother as a father, since he reacts to little babies the same way I do - as if they are aliens from another world. Leave him (or for that matter me) with one alone in a room, and there is something akin to panic situation in that room! I still can't see my brother as a father - me thinks he's got to do some growing up himself before he can raise a kid, but then men never grow up, so I guess he's no exeption there! ;-)

But why are we talking about my brother? This is an egocentric post - it's about me.

So I'm still not like uber-excited about the baby-to-come.
I have seen my bhabhi go through morning sickness and the first-trimester nausea.
Then I saw her resist food meant for her own good, because she was scared she'd put on too much weight and not lose it after delivery.
I've lectured her on how such stupidity and vanity doesn't help - given her nightmares of giving birth to a weak baby and how she will also become weak later because the baby would have sucked everything out of her - calcium deficiency if she avoids milk at this stage etc etc..
I've seen print-outs of her Sonography and Colour Dopler - showing progress of the baby inside the amniotic sac - reminded me of S.Y.B.A Human Development class and Mrs.Ramola.
I've seen her start eating sensibly (touchwood) and put on atleast some weight, though she's still not ideal in that area.
I've seen her tummy grow big to the size of a football and seen her struggle to fit into her clothes.
I've helped her shop for new clothes.
I've gone shopping for baby clothes - which was kinda fun - ever realised how much a little baby needs and how you could spend so much money creating a wardrobe for a baby that will fit into those clothes for just a few weeks before needing a bigger size?
I've seen my mother and bhabhi knit, crochet, embroider all kinds of things for the baby (ranging from blankets, to booties to little bonnets to sheets for laying in the cot and covering the baby).
I've painted a bedsheet for the baby and am even planning to make a glass painting for their room.

But I'm still not excited and going ga-ga over the thought of a little one crawling around the place.
When I think of the baby I think practically.
I think that I've already seen cousins with their babies and have been an aunt several times over to several neices and nephews, some of whom actually list me as their favourite aunt these days!! (Something to do with my being an "un-professional" bua/mausi who thinks it's cool to have crushes on that guy in class and tells them not to break their backs studying for an exam, 'coz it's not the end of the world if you don't get 90% in the next exam)
I think of nappies and sleepless nights.
I think of the need to provide a good atmosphere for the child to grow up in, the need for parents to strike the right balance between discipline and pampering the child...all such very sensible things.

I don't think of baby powder and all the sweet smells and things associated with babies. I don't coo and make silly noises about how babies are so cute and have chubby cheeks (all of them don't!)...

And I'm thinking to myself - am I normal? Or am I normal?

Guess the innate maternal feelings in me are yet to blossom.

Guess I still have to grow up myself (my brother has company!!) - the child-woman in me still rules supreme! :-)

Starting Afresh...

Burning Old Memories...


Sowing the Seeds of Love...

Petunia

From a Slightly Masochistic Petunia

I'm so sexy I could spit!

Please notice my dark, velvet tongue

lapping at the ground, lightly.

Ah! Deep-throated cry:

My want poisons me.

Stay with me, snap my blossom,

please, while I am coming down from passion,

or I'll die, lie dormant.

The idea of a swaying, living bloom.

- Mary R. Bast

Wanted to post a poem with this photo, but me being the rotten poet that I am couldn't even two lines of verse to go with it - then I stumbled on this poem and simply couldn't resist posting it - the connotations totally left me agape.

P.S These pretty Petunias bloomed on our balcony under my mother's loving care - she has the green thumb, not me - lending a splash of colourful to our collection of plants striving to stay alive under the cruelty of the summer sun.

P.P.S Check out my foot clad in Blue Osho Chappals ;-)

Anti-Jewish Mythology

Although medieval Christians didn't know much about the Jews, their existence held an important place in Christian mythology. Jews were important and productive members of European society, yet their existence as a minority in what was an overwhelmingly Christian and superstitious society, made them the perfect scapegoats. the antiquity of their faith gave them a role as holders of wisdom abd arcane knowledge which mde them both powerful and, to the Christian mind, potentially very dangerous.

Christians, encouraged by the Church believed in the Blood Libel legend, which contended that the Jews engaged in ritualistic murder. Knowing little of their religion and practice, Christians suspected Jews used witchcraft and black magic, concluding that they conducted murder of Christians in order to drink their blood in a parody of the Christian mass, or for other magical purposes. the blood, or other substances, was sometimes believed to have been used to poison wells, and these in turn were thought to have brought on the Black Death. The rumours and legends of the Blood Libel resulted in the torture and expulsion or murder of Jews who were blamed for the death of Christians.

Source: Mythology – Myths, Legends, & Fantasies Ed. Parker Janet, Stanton Julie
© Global Book Publishing Pty Ltd, 2003

Read more about the Black Death and the Jews 1348-1349.

P.S. Reading this reminded me of Arthur Miller's The Crucible - the play was powerful scathing indictment of anti-Communist fervour that had swept the nation under Senator McCarthy in the 1950s. The Communist witch-hunt at that time mirrored the Salem witch-hunt several centuries earlier. Read more about the context of the play here. The play was also made into a well-researched and powerful film with some awesome performances by Winona Ryder and Daniel Day-Lewis.

Adventurous Escapades

Here's a story for you'll (Yes I know it should be on Literary Mosaic and not here, but humour me and play along)...

"It was a sultry summer evening when the young girl emerged from her French class into the growing darkness of the city. Since she lived on the opposite corner of the city, rickshaws usually refused to go there unless she paid them double fare and public buses that she usually relied on, catered to the unsavoury sorts at that hour. So on days that she had classes in the evening, she usually had to ask either her father or brother to work a little late so one of them could pick her up on his way home. That day both of them were out of town, so she swallowed her pride and asked one of her nice-gentlemanly-sort-of-male-friends to do her a favour and drop her home...

Being the perfect gentleman, the man in question rose to the occasion and agreed to come to the rescue of this dainty damsel. He was there on time. Her professor, as usual, left the class a little late, so she came out a few minutes late to find him lounging on his powerful bike, admiring the pretty dames that emerged from the class. Reminding him that he had a fiancee waiting for him in another city, she climbed onto his bike, taking care to tuck in her gossamer fine white Lucknowi kurta underneath her, so it wouldn't get entangled in the bike's tyres.

Her friend grunted in response, revved his bike and shot off like a rocket into the twilight zone. He took the longer route via the Cantonment, as he was prone to. This route allowed him to show off his skills on the bike, since it had wider, better laid roads and wasn't subject to heavy traffic. So he could zip from one side of the road to the other, revving his engine up when he wanted and letting it idly coast along the slope when he felt like that. Meanwhile, she leaned back in her seat and let herself get lost in the web of leaves that covered the roads like a canopy. The stars twinkled back at her through the leaves and the breeze ruffled her hair into a tangled mess. She'd have to spend a long time brushing her hair out when she got home...

Her friend suddenly stopped in the middle of the road cursing heavily. She looked ahead to see the road block and a traffic policeman steering all traffic through the High Explosives Factory in the Cantonment area of the city. Her friend wanted to turn back, but she reasoned that if he did so, they'd have a ver long ride ahead of them and urged him to take the deroute. After all it couldn't take them longer than a few minutes to get out of this region and back on their usual track! Little did she know...the tiny lane that wound it's way through the Factory stretched on for an eternity before finally showing them out in an unpopulated area. they looked left, then right, but all they could see were trees . No sign of human inhabitation. He turned around and asked her what she'd like him to do next. Refusing to see any possible danger in the situation, she relied on her keen sense of direction and asked him to turn right...

15 minutes later, as they passed a bunch of old villagers and their fourth set of government buildings that looked exactly the same as the previous one, she wondered if they should have turned back from that road block after all. As though he was reading her thoughts, her friend spoke up and told her in a terse note that this was reminding him of the time when he was driving down such a deserted area and a bunch of drunk hoodlums stoppe dhis bike and beat him up. He turned his head slightly and added, "I was alone that time. This time I have you with me and I'm answerable to your parents..." She had a sudden vision of a bunch of drunk men beating up her friend before turning to her, sending chills down her spine.

Surely this little deroute cum adventure to narrate at home wouldn't turn into something she'd regret for the rest of her life? Pulling her Bandhini dupatta tighter around her body, she squinted into the darkness looking desperately for some landmark that would guide them back to civilisation. She was lucky, for they soon entered a village. As her friend made his way across a cobbled path (in India?) she cursed under her breath, for with every bump her back lightly hit the back of his bike. She'd have a sore back by the time she got home - it was hurting her in the exactly the same spot she'd hurt herself five years ago, when she'd slipped down a flight of stairs in college!

As soon as the cobbled path got over, they stopped at a Paanwalla and asked him how to find their way back to the main city. He asked them to go straight ahead and turn right at the third crossing...10 minutes later, they saw a familiar building loom up at them! Bombay Sappers, Cantonment, Khadki, Pune. Had they not been derouted they would have crossed this building just a few minutes after that road-black. Instead they had spent nearly 45 minutes riding through previously unmapped regions of the city, getting their backs screwed on cobbled paths, that were definitely not made for two-wheeler traffic!

Another 30 minutes later, he delivered her safely home, none the worse except for a slight bump on her penultimate vertrebra that would probably require a gentle massage and a heat-pad later that night. Exhausted, she trudged up to her house, while he turned back to ride back across town to his own pad...."

Replace that charming young girl with me and her gentlemanly friend with my friend who I've mentioned before, but can't name on this Blog for fear of being sued. Now replace his Bike with a Scooter, that rarely goes above 30 km/h because of an accident he had while speeding. Last but not the least, cut out some of the drama that I threw in there to make it a racy read...Voila, that was my little adventure last evening!

P.S Since you've already read one piece of "Fiction" I assume you must be in the mood to read some more - I hunted up an old attempt at fiction writing (perhaps the second thing I wrote) and have posted it on Literary Mosaic. Comments are awaited! :-)

Ways of Seeing

On my last trip to Bombay, I had stopped by NGMA and discovered they were running an exhibition of works by Pakistani artists as a part of the Indo-Pakistani cultural exchange. My curiosity suitably piqued, I entered the grand Jehangir Cowasjee Hall with my usual sense of awe and respect, hoping not to be disappointed by what was to meet my eyes. I wasn't. The Calligraphy art was quite interesting (specially the one done in colour, which could be interpreted in so many ways - though I'm sure the script also plays a role in the interpretation, I could make sense of it sans understanding Urdu.) Then there were these series of images done by a female artist all portraying a classic Moghal style juxtaposed against a modern digi-art background. Quite fascinating and an interesting way to show the dilemma of a society torn between traditionalism and modernism. On the third level, there was this painting that said so much about a woman's life in the zenana, how even in that exclusively female domaine life really revolves around the male, and how despite all these "protective" and segragating measures she is still subject to voyeurism. The fact that the art was framed in a Jharokha, made the viewer (in this case myself) a part of this voyeurism.

On the fourth level, they had put up this huge digi-art image showing a Pakistani crowd looking upwards, presumably at a cricket ball. Nothing worthy of comment at first sight. Infact I was rather bemused when I noticed one man giving it detailed attention - so I went forward myself to see what had caught his attention and then the light dawned on me! The entire picture was composed of thousands of tiny pixelated images of scenes from Bollywood films! Now that's how to make a statement with style! :-)

The series of images that truly snagged my attention were on the top-most storey. Radical, they were all feminist in nature and served the purpose of making you sit up in your seat and take notice of each one of them. At times like this, I almost wish NGMA was smaller, because by the time I reach the top storey I'm beginning to feel glutted by artistic impressions. Anyway, digressions apart, flanked by two panels with actual henna aplique work, were three digi-art works, which according to me were the most radical and interesting works. Like the earlier digi-art work that I mentioned, at first sight, this was also a banal portrayal of women in purdah. But on closer observation, you notice that the image is made up of tiny pornographic images, mostly of white women. Not very difficult to interpret, is it? Do what you want, hide her in purdah, lock her up at home, segregate her into an exclusively female area, but the male gaze is still there to strip her naked, inavde her private space, assualt her mentally, physically and sexually.

For a long time after, I was mulling over some of these pieces, in particular these three images and the painting framed by the Jharokha, and came back repeatedly to John Berger's landmark essay "The Female Nude" featured in his book "Ways of Seeing." Berger states that the social presence of men and women differ - while the male presence is contingent on the power he embodies and projects on the world exterior to him, the female presence is expressed by her own attitude towards herself, her body, her appearance, of which dictates what can and can not be done to her. To born a woman, says Berger, is to have been born within an allotted and confined space into the keeping of men. A woman is forced to continually watch herself. She thus becomes her own surveyor, even while she is the one surveyed/object of survey under the male gaze. It works this way - how a man perceives a woman's presence dictates how she will be treated. With the internalisation of these norms, the woman looks upon herself with a similar gaze so as to fashion herself and demonstrate how she she would like to be treated.

Berger then makes, what is perhaps, the fundamental statement of the essay: "Men act and women appear. Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at...The surveyor of woman in herself is male: the surveyed female." (The Jharokha? Also think of the women in purdah.) "Thus she turns herself into an object - and most particularly an object of vision : a sight."

Berger, uses the examples of several pieces of art and examples from advertisements to underline the fact that at all times, the woman (subject of art/advertisements) is aware of being seen by the spectator. As he puts it, "She is not naked as she is. She is naked as the spectator sees her." Nakedness in these works is not an expression of the woman's feelings, but more of a sign of her own submission to the owner/viewer's demands and expectations.(Connotation of the pornographic images?) He then differentiates between the naked and the nude. "Naked is to be oneself. To be nude is to be seen naked by others and not recognised for oneself. A naked body has to become an object in order to be a nude...Nakedness reveals itself. Nudity is placed on display." (Pornographic images v/s an image of the woman in purdah?)

To come back to the point, the viewer (voyeur, if you please) has been assumed to be the male ever since the Classics first painted nudes and this tradition has been carried forward into the modern media of advertising, journalism and television. The end result? Women are depicted to please the male gaze and this has been embedded so deeply in our culture that it structures the very consciousness of women, and women readily do to themselves what men would do to them. Think about it....

PS No artists names were cited, because I couldn't remember any! *shame-faced*

Saw that Fat Bitch rolling her mass down the road?

A few days back I saw red when someone insisted on making repeated snide comments about "fat women" that were excused away as jokes (supposedly) - now to me, that kind of a repeated joke is akin to racism or marginilising of any other sort, be it towards a particular race, community, social class or in this case, physical attributes.

While I accept the importance of staying fit and not being obese, I find it extremely devoid of taste, class, not to mention intelligence and basic etiquette when people make continual references to someone's "size" in a pejorative manner. More so, when the person concerned is really not "obese" but merely not in possession of the perfect body...my first reaction is an urge to slap the daylights out of the speaker! What aggravates me more is that these comments are inevitably directed towards women! Even more when the speaker happens to be a male with no perfect body to boast of. And like, why is it that women have to bear a greater social pressure of being "in shape" while if a man goes around town porting a big bellly, it's considered a sign of "happiness", "marital satisfatcion" (WTF?) and the best - "wealth"!!!

Yes, it is good if you're in shape. Yes having a slim and trim body makes you feel good about yourself. But incase you didn't notice, the rule is applicable to both sexes! The way I see it, any guy who expects to his woman to be in shape bloody well be in shape himself. As for the rest of the world with nothing better to do than observe whether someone's "meat-rolls" are spilling over from his/her waistband - Go get a life!

Related reading :- Obesity Epidemic?

House-Full

Good Friday, Holi and Easter – religious significances apart, it made for a long weekend, one on which both the earning male members of the family got holidays and were at home ;-) Made for a full-house this weekend. Add to that our esteemed guests for the weekend who blessed our humble abode with their divine (ahem) presence!

Kunu Baba, took the opportunity to come down to Pune for a relaxing, unwinding, de-stressing weekend, away from the worries of his high-profile clients for whom he scurries around town so they have the perfect home. It’s been a very long time since I had him to myself, so I truly cherished this weekend – somehow talking to him always puts things into perspective and makes me realize how trivial my moments and issues of angst, are in the grand scheme of things…and makes me a wee bit more sensible and mature. He has a good effect on me…*Absit Omen*

Friend from Pune joined us for dinner on Friday night, at Polka Dots – scrumptious meal was tucked away into our tummies – and then on Holi, for wholesome ghar ka khana. We went out for My Brother Nikhil and then for chai and refreshingly cool neembu pani at the Y-point in the University.

Last, but not the least, out adorable little canine guest of the weekend – Filoo. She was adopted by my brother’s colleague around a month back. When her “mummy” had to go out of town for the weekend, my brother happily jumped in and offered to baby-sit her for the weekend – so it was that Filoo came over. Trembling with fear for the first 10 minutes, she quickly threw off her mantle of fear and set about harassing our gentle Schnapps with her rather aggressive feminine wiles ;-) Some bitches start early! LOL – Schnapps who seemed to mature in seconds was rather harassed by her for the first 36 hours or so – he was also amazingly tolerant of the little scamp who’d hang on to his ears and run after him, dive into his food and water and generally refuse to leave him in peace.

By Sunday evening, he’d given up his gentle behaviour and started retaliating by shaking his head to free himself of the pesky little brat, playing back and indulging in a little gentle combat with the little one. She left this morning – Schnapps is dozing since then – recuperating from the weekend or missing his new friend and playmate? (Perhaps something more in the future?) ;-)

Positive outcome of this canine exchange:- We realized that Schnapps, who in the past 2 years has been the baby of the house and is an amazingly possessive, jealous and human dog, shall not react too horribly to the human baby that shall arrive in May. If handled with care and not ignored, he shall easily slip into the role of the baby’s fiercest guardian, protector and close friend for life, just as Tika was to me! *Amen*

Negative outcome of this canine exchange:- The humans of the Shrivastava clan were relegated to the back-stage as the canines took on main-stage. We were more like the extras on a film-set, who were around only to add to the canine drama, provide entertainment and nourishment for them and mop up after them! Puppies are nice, if only they came toilet-trained – hold that thought – babies are nice, if only they came toilet trained! LOL!!

My Brother Nikhil

My Brother Nikhil – I hardly noticed any publicity for the film, perhaps due to my rather decreased intake of television these days or perhaps because the movie isn’t really being marketed aggressively like most other films. I did hear good things about it, and wanted to see it, preferring saner movies to the typical naach-gana-Bollywood fare. So we went for it, after a rather satisfying and satiating meal on Holi. I expected to find hardly anyone at the Multiplex and was quite surprised to see the crowds – more so, when we got tickets only in the 2nd row from the screen, despite being there over an hour before the show!

The film, starring Sanjay Suri, Juhi Chawla, Lilette Dubey,Victor Banerjee and Purab is very sensitively made. Dealing with the issue of AIDS, set against the backdrop of a conservative, closed society of Goa in the late 80s and early 90s, the My Brother Nikhil has subtly but effectively pointed out to the ignorance of the public vis-à-vis AIDS, the ostracism and marginalization faced by the patients by society, friends and even family. What I liked about the film were the realistic portrayals of relationships, the fact that nothing was ridiculed or made trivial, the intelligent handling of homosexual relationships and the subtle dealing of the subject. Purab quite surprised me with his decent performance – the rest were good, as expected, by me.

Drool worthy – Both houses shown in Goa. The palatial house owned by the Kapoor’s (dealers in antique furniture) set by a river, decoated tastefully in old-world charm of antique wood furniture and white-washed walls, set off by the terracotta red roof and tiles and pillars was just so impressive. More appealing to the bohemian side of me was Nigel’s little cottage away from the main hub of the city, overlooking rice fields and a little run-down (or as Kunu would say, lived-in!) Tres nice, specially the room with lines from poems painted on the wall – one of them being “Rage rage against the dying of the light...” from Dylan Thomas’ poem Do not go Gentle into the Night. Also that poster of French films :-)

Disappointing – The crowd at E-Square, which was obviously too wrong for this movie – way too juvenile and too insensitive. They were laughing at all the wrong moments, sometimes at very sensitive moments, showing their complete abysmal lack of maturity and sometimes for no reason at all, making me wonder if they’re perhaps still suffering from the dose on Bhang in their Thandai! True, such a movie doesn’t appeal to most people – but then stay away from it. Why make it difficult for others to appreciate the movie? Me thinks it’s better if few people go watch the movie, as long as the ones who do, actually comprehend and appreciate it.

Bombay Darshan?

So what would you do if you had to introduce Bombay to someone who stubbornly resisted it and thought it to be simply a land of enormous crowds that jostled with you in your private space, a crazy city that seems to work round-the-clock without stopping for a breath, a metro which just seems to spill over everywhere and swallow up everything (and everyone) that comes in it’s path?

*Phew that was a long sentence, said in one long breath*

This is what I did. I treated the person to a gamut of typical Bombay experiences, ranging from Churchgate to Mira Road! :-)

We started off by grabbing b’fast at an Udipi joint then hopped onto a train to Churchgate. Next up – a taxi drive to Fort and then Colaba. Walked around a lot, ogling at those old, though sadly neglected buildings in Fort and later around Causeway (wish I’d stopped to pick up some good bargains – there were some awesome ear rings this time)…Mondegar so rocks! Right from the Caricatured walls, to the “No Smoking” sign that doesn’t prevent anyone from smoking, to the jukebox and the food ofcourse! ;-) NGMA had this interesting exhibition of works by Pakistani artists – some of which were really interesting, not to mention radical! Remind me to talk about this later…That walk down Oval Maidan – I don’t think I’ll ever tire of it – turning around and gazing up at Rajabai Tower just gives me such immense pleasure. Coffee at Gaylord’s before catching an A/C bus to the suburbs…

Midway across town, we hopped off at Bandra – the queen of the suburbs as some people would call it. Down crowded Hill Road to Jogger’s Park and then a long leisurely walk down Carter Road…spent some time there just idling time away till my friends decided to deign us with their presence. Went Café hopping from the CCD at Carter’s to the CCD at JATC – settled in at the latter for a longish period of time, by the fountain so it was nice, cool and breezy. Din-din at Lemon Grass – the food and ambience makes your forgive them for their rather sloppy and tardy service. I don’t think they’ve EVER served me the drink BEFORE the hors-d’oeuvres are over! Ah well, I still love that place and would gladly go there again, with yet another friend who’s not experienced it before. Dessert and wines at Mocha (and I was talking about quick service before, right?) – most nice. Though I think I prefer the Juhu Mocha – nothing beats sitting under the moon, digging into a Kahlua Mousse Cake/Vertical Limit, knowing you can skip over to the beach later for a Kala khatta Gola! :-)

Hopped ricks to the station, as the first one got into an accident in his hurry to get us to the station before I transformed from the Cinderella to Plain Jane ;-) I figured Bombay aint just about the South, or about the queenly suburbs, but also about those far-flung suburbs that are technically outside city limits, so off we went to Mira Road. The Virar local was actually crowded, even at midnight! The only bit in the day that I wished I hadn’t subjected my friend to – but considering the roof over our head for the night was to be in Mira Road, I had no choice…anyways it was quite interesting, what with the guy insisting on forming a protective circle around us to “protect” us from the men drunk on tharra. ;-) Surprisingly, the station market was very much alive when we got there at like nearly 1 am! Wrapped up the day with a session at my friend’s place, after we had spent some time with her adorable brother and even more adorable three dogs.

Friend actually admitted to having enjoyed himself - and thanked me for introdcuing him to Bombay! Score! :-)

Only regret about this trip was that I never made it back “home” – staying as I was away from my usual “adda” I couldn’t squeeze in a trip to my hunting ground. Though I had a wonderful day, followed up by catching up with one of my bosom buddies who’s just shifted back to B’bay from Delhi, I couldn’t help but feel that something was left incomplete. Next time…pakka!

Bombay v/s Pune?

Have been exploring Pune with my friend and guide these past few weeks – he knows some really charming places in Pune and has been dragging me there, willing and unwilling to open my eyes to the charms of the city – it’s his eternal quest to make me admit that Pune is better than Bbay. It isn’t, but yes, I’m beginning to admit it’s not a hell-hole either! Two stubborn Librans locking horns on this one!

Last week I was introduced to the charms of a Tekdi, just off Law college road – a short climb upto a mid-way vantage point near a temple (there’s no shortage of those in Pune) from where you can see the city spread out below you, and then a walk through some brush and trees up to a stone quarry, that made me think of Mount Vesuvius and the buried city of Pompeii – my friend of course disagreed and said the crater is too small for my line of imagination, preferring his own version of a fantastic land from the LOTR and some weird creatures scampering around unseen to the human eye. We didn’t quite see eye to eye on this either – so it was yet another horn-locking session! :-)

It was dusk by the time we started back, so we were treated to a most romantic sight – as the sun set and the night crept over the city slowly enveloping Pune in its velvety folds, the city’s lights slowly start twinkling in the growing dusk. I am totally in love with that place – can’t decide which is better, the tekdi or that watch-tower in a crater at the University…

I guess it’s time to concede a point – Round 1 goes to you my dear friend. But I haven’t abandoned the battle field yet. Wait till you see Bombay through my eyes and watch it if it doesn’t hit you with all its glory and that completely unique culture that can be best described as a palimpsest. Watching the sun set behind the Gateway of India, as you come in from Elephanta Islands, is a sight to behold and guaranteed to deliver a hard blow to your solar plexus. Top it off with a walk down Marine drive, hop into a cab towards Malabar Hill and watch the Queen’s Necklace twinkling back at you – you don’t need any inducement to drown in the sheer magic of the moment! :-)

Speaking of fantastic lands, I just posted my review of Salman Rushdie’s Haroun and the Sea of Stories on Literary Mosaic. Go read the book people!

Warli Paintings

Triangular human beings and animals with stick-like hands and legs dance in a loose, rhythmic pattern against an earthy background.

Warli paintings are popular because they are so alive, one can almost hear the drums beating and the tribals singing their folk songs.

Folk paintings from Maharashtra, they are traditionally done on mud, charcoal or cow-dung, using only white chalk powder made from rice-flour. The seasonal cycle, integral to the survival of the tribes, is a central motif. Circles are another motif of Warli paintings, representing the unending circle of life, and carrying forward this spiral movement that gives everlasting joy to the human race.

What you see above is my rather bastardised first attempt at Warli painting (not to mention quite decent first attempt at painting a wall!!) - if compared to an authentic painting (like the one you see here on Akshay's blog) it looks rather empty and spaced out, and well not authentic. But hell I'm so proud of it!

I'm fishing for compliments people! ;-)

A Glimpse into Anti-Semitism

That anti-Semitist sentiments have existed in the world long before Hitler, was something I knew (you can’t read The Merchant of Venice without realizing the extent to which Jews were disliked and prejudiced against – Shylock’s famous speech for mercy can be read at so many different levels, but that of course was the genius of Shakespeare), but I hadn’t realized that how many politically motivated movements against the Jews and Anti-Semitist writing existed nearly a century before Hitler was around. I came across a few while reading up for a French assignment last weekend...

In 1835, Arthur de Gobineau published his essay “Essai sur l'inégalité des races” (Essay on the Inegality of Races )which justified racism. Others who followed the same vein of thought were Alphonse de Toussenel who published “Les Juifs, rois de l'époque” (The Jews, kings of the era) and his disciple Eduoard Drumond. Drumond published "La France juive, essai d'histoire contemporaine" (The Jewish France, essay on contemporary history) and "Les Juifs contre la France" (The Jews against France), establishing the Anti-Semitist library of the newspaper La Libre Parole, which he founded.

And then there was the Dreyfus scandal:-

In 1894, a letter by a French official offering military secrets to Germany was discovered and soon after a Jewish official from Alsace, Alfred Dreyfus, Captain of the Artillery regiment attached to the Secret Services of the State was accused of treachery. The proof? Similarity in handwriting. He was condemned and publicly shorn off his status in the army at the Invalides in Paris, after which he was deported to the Devil Island in Guyana, on exile for life.

Dreyfus's degradation after his conviction: he is stripped of his braid and buttons, and his sword is broken. (Le Petit Journal, January 13, 1895. )

Efforts by his family and supporters to prove his innocence continued, and two years later the case was re-opened and a new suspect, Esterhazy was tried. However, he was acquitted and the President of counsel stated that “Il n’y a pas d’affaire Dreyfus” (There is no Dreyfus affair).

This political scandal ended up dividing France into two ideologies :- the Dreyfusards, who were in favour of The Rights of Man, a secular state and justice and the anti-Dreyfusards or those who following the principles of the old monarchists and Catholic conservatives were leaning towards militarism and nationalism. This was the first time France was being divided idelogically into two parties :- the Left and the Right. (The Socialist Party in France was officially formed for the first time during the course of this scandal that stretched for a decade, in 1901 by George Clemenceau, one of Dreyfus’ supporters.)

The Dreyfus Affair produced an enormous amount of postcards. This card uses the well-known anti-Semitic image of the treacherous Jew (Dreyfus) in the form of a snake. (From the postcard series "Museum of Horror," no. 6 : "The Traitor." )

While journalists like Edouard Drumont were writing anti-Semitist articles in leading papers like La Libre Parole (The Free Word), others like Emile Zola came out in staunch defense of Dreyfus and publicly criticized the government and courts of law for their slight in ruling. Zola, was sentenced to one year in prison after the publication of his “J’accuse” in a leading newspaper “L’Aurore” (The Dawn) – a paper run by Clemenceau. Zola’s open letter to the President brought attention back to the case and it was re-opned once again after the discovery of new proof of his innocence…only for Dreyfus to be sentenced to 10 years of prison on the basis of “attenuating circumstances” (sic) – it was ten years later that Dreyfus was finally absolved of all charges and re-instated into the army in 1906 under the government on Clemenceau.

It took La Croix, France's Roman Catholic daily paper, a 100 years to apologize for its anti-Semitic editorials during the Dreyfus affair. It finally did so on the 100th annversary of the publication of "J'accuse" in 1998.

What snagged my interest the most while reading about this, was one of the international repercussions of this scandal. A young Jewish journalist, revolted by the French anti-Semitism had concluded that it had now become essential to form a state for the Jews. And thus Israel was born in 1948.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you - Nicola...

With all this talk about Women’s Day and strong women going around, I thought I’d unleash Nicola on you –

“They knew her as Nicola. They called her Lady Nick. The feminine avatar of Old Nick – Nick the devil. She could reduce a man to a quivering mass of hormones ruled by his senses with a single slicing look of those sharp black eyes. All she had to do was set her eyes on the man and he was hers. “She’s had more lovers than I’ve had hot dinners,” was how they had introduced her in one talk-show. Lady Nick, they called her. Lady Nick, the home-breaker. You couldn’t cross her without regretting it. Lady Nick, they called her. Lady Nick, the ball breaker.”

She’s up there on Literary Mosaic – go get acquainted and don’t forget to let me know if you like her! ;-)

Currently:-

• Mulling over this statement I came across in a review of a new Franco-Israeli film, titled “La Fiancée Syriénne.”
  « ... Comme si l'espoir était devenu obsolète. » (...as if hope had become obsolete)
• Reading up about a political scandal that took place in France in the 1890s that led to the publishing of Emile Zola’s famous « J’accuse », a drastic evolution of the French press with greater liberty and criticism of the government being introduced, division of the society into two halves, the growth of the Socialist party in France, the first political anti-Semitist writings and the birth of Israel, as a country for the Jews. It’s interesting to say the least.
• Listening to Eagle Eye Cherry’s Save Tonight, off Jukebox Favourites.

Sauvez-moi Dieu! Il ya trop des idiots dans le monde!

I was under the rather wrong impression that only old people with nothing better to do go around finding unmarried young men and women and then harass them to get married. It seems this annoying hobby isn’t restricted to the elderly, as was proven by my rather exasperatingly frustrating conversation earlier this week with a classmate from AFP:-

Girl:- Ai, Geetanjali how old are you?

Me:- *Looking up from book* Hey, didn’t see you come in! I’m 23 – suddenly kyu poocha?

Girl:- So when are you getting married? I mean ab to umar ho gayi hai na?

Me:- *clearing throat* Excuse me? Umar ho gayi hai? Sweetheart est-ce-que tu as vingt ans ou quatre-vingt ans? (Are you 20 years old or 80?)

Girl:- No yaar 23 is the perfect age to get married…you don’t want to get married kya?

Me:- *wickedly* Na re I plan to take the vow of celibacy and join a sisterhood that shall have as it’s ultimate goal the re-establishment of the feminine sacred over patriarchy bring those men begging at our feet, forced to finally admit that women are the superior sex!

Girl:- *giving me a blank look* What all shit you people talk yaar. This is why I don’t read.

ME:- Weird, I thought you were doing French Literature and must be someone who enjoys reading…

Girl:- Accha so tell me, do you know how to cook?

Me:- Yeah. Like how do you think I survived in Germany for three months?

Girl:- Phir?

Me:- Phir kya?

Girl:- Arre, then why don’t you get married?

Me:- Duh! I’m afraid I don’t quite see the logic here. So I know how to cook, so I get married? Like knowing how to cook is the only qualification or something to get that oh-so-desirable job of a wife? *am getting irritated now*

Girl:- I’m sure you have a boyfriend…

Me:- *stifling the urge to throw the dictionary at her* Sure I do, more than one. But none of them are interested in tying the knot yet…

Girl:- *horrified* You are two-timing your guy?

Me:- Two-timing – let’s see now, with one guy in here in Pune, one in Bombay, another somewhere in Europe and…

Girl:- Ai don’t make fun of me! Tell na…

Me:- *smiling sweetly* I did. I adore each one of them and don’t waste a single opportunity to tell them that…

(Silence for a while, during which I go back to reading…)

Girl:- Arre you used to work na?

Me:- *thinking she finally got the message* Yeah, was freelancing as a copywriter for this design studio back in Bombay…but it didn’t work out.

Girl:- Why?

Me:- Ego on both sides, It didn’t help that I was doing this work just to prevent my brains from rusting and didn’t really see myself making it a career. Besides I’m in no hurry to pile up the green stuff in my account. Studying is what I do best – so I’m going to do that for a while longer, and then take up what I really want to do…

Girl:- You should take up a job in a call center. French. They pay well yaar.

Me:- I don’t find the idea of working in a call center attractive. Somehow it gives me the hibbie-jibbies, the idea of sitting with headphones and answering calls for hours at end, pretending I’m Georgia when I’m so not!

Girl:- No but if you do that, then you can work at night, study in the evening and still have time to cook for your husband, na?

Me:- Ummm? Sweetheart I thought it was established that I’m unmarried!

Girl:- Haan wohi to…get married!

ARGH!!!

GOD SAVE ME FROM SUCH IDIOTS!

Currently:-

• Listening to O Samba – a very good compilation of Latin dance numbers, sent to me by my adorable German friend.
• Excited about lunch – a friend, who’s been avoiding coming over to my place for over a month, has finally agreed to come today for lunch and I’m cooking. What’s on the menu? Nothing fancy – just some Onion soup, Veg-au-gratin, Stuffed Capsicums, Cucumber and peanut salad, served with French Bread. Banana loaf for dessert.
• Btw, I so don’t get it – why do guys have this problem about going over to their (girl) friend’s place? What’s with the “avoid parents and homes and anything remotely resembling family” attitude? Only Kunu doesn’t behave this way – but then he’s the most intelligent and mature guy I know, not to mention that he’s been coming over since he was 10...

Worth reading :-

• Observations from the Rooftop :- it’s a rather polemic blog, if I may say so, touching on issues ranging from the Party scene in Pune to the Nature of Love…