I love tea.
My idea of bliss, is to curl up with family/friends, and have a nice long chat over a hot cup of tea.
When I say I want to drink tea, it is very rarely for just the tea itself. It is for the entire ritual - taking a break, preparing the tea, sitting comfortably and drinking it with somebody, enjoying their company. In fact, when I am alone, I have tea only when it is absolutely necessary -- just to get rid of a mild headache, or just to drive away the vestiges of sleepiness.
I like my tea with just a teaspoonful of milk, and just a touch of sugar. Honey and jaggery are interesting substitutes too! For a change, I love ginger tea, especially when I have a cold or a sore throat.
The Sundays of my childhood was full of lemon tea, made oh-so-perfectly by my father. Just that little lemony tang, and the fragrance of tea, and sugar enough to please a child's palate. Papa, why don't you make lemon tea any more?
In fact, it was my dad who taught me to prepare tea. I followed his instructions to the T(ea). And it always was fantastic!
As I grew older, my tastes called for lesser milk and lesser sugar. But the process still remained the same. Then my aunts taught me a tasty new alternative - brewing tea - just like the oh-so-propah English. Just add those tea leaves into hot water, wait, and drink. Wowie! And this tastes best without sugar or milk.
The best tea I have had out of home are at Darjeeling, right inside a tea garden, and at Kemmannugundi, though this one was very milky and sugary. (I have no doubt that the places had a lot to do with it, though!)
When I am slightly hungry, I love dipping a biscuit into the tea and eating the soft, squidgy result. This is an art in itself; you hold the biscuit in the tea for just that right amount of time - to make it soft, but not long enough such that it lands into the teacup and forms a gooey residue.
I love trying out varieties of tea. Darjeeling, Assam, Earl Grey, Lemon, and that yummy Chocolatey Sikkim tea that my uncle brewed for us the other day - wow!
So, imagine the effect that a tea bar would have on me! That's my latest post on Metroblogging Bangalore - hop over and have a look. In fact, if you browse a bit at MB, you will discover some fab eating joints for you to try out. Bon appetit!
Friday, July 28, 2006
Monday, July 24, 2006
The angel in white.
A few years back, Isha Yoga Foundation conducted Sahaja Sthiti Yoga classes at our college. Finding that we would be taught breathing exercises, and being aware of the benefits of Pranayama, I enrolled for the course. It went on for two weeks, and I quite enjoyed it, especially the 15-minute Shoonya meditation, which I find very effective.
[For a time, I did the entire exercise cycle regularly, and was surprised by people asking me why I was glowing with health. But in spite of knowing that it is good for me, I don't do the exercises, nor the meditation, and I have no excuses for that.]
Anyway, back to the course. On the last day, it was arranged that we would visit the Isha Yoga Foundation at Coimbatore. I was persuaded to go with the promise that it is in a very picturesque setting. So off we went, in a bus from college.
Arriving early in the cold winter morning, I found that the place indeed is beautiful. It is in a kind of valley, with low, green hills all around. It has pristine green lawns and beautiful trees, and pretty buildings - in all, a very peaceful environment.
After a painful, but refreshing bath with freezing water, and a sumptuous breakfast, we were taken around the grounds by a couple of volunteers. It was cloudy, and there was a slight drizzle. Beautiful weather for a beautiful place.
As we roamed around, it started raining. We ran, enmasse, across the green lawns, towards the main building, for shelter. As I reached the building, I kind of lost my bearings, and wondered aloud, "This way or that?" A soft voice behind me said, "To your left". I turned to thank the source of the voice. And the picture I saw took my breath away.
In the background, emerald green hills, grey clouds, green lawns, with the rain coming down. And framed in this setting, stood a vision, swathed in spotless white. The pure white in stark contrast to the bright green lawns, freshly washed with rain.
She was pleasantly plump. Her round face was crowned with short black curly hair. She was smiling very sweetly. Her expression was one of serenity and joy all at once.
She must have thought I did not hear her, coz she repeated, "To your left", and she pointed with one finger. And she smiled again. "Thank you!" I said, and ran in to get shelter from the rain. I caught up with a friend R, who saw that I was looking bewildered, and raised her eyebrows questioningly. "I just saw an angel", I said, at the risk of sounding corny, but I meant it. R looked at me funnily, and we went in.
The angel also came in, and walked over to our group. She introduced herself as Tina, and said that she was our guide for the day. Another pleasant lady, Angela, joined her. They were resident volunteers at the foundation.
They took us around, and patiently answered all our questions. The day was good. We ate, played games, did the breathing exercises, meditated, went around the place, and relaxed.
I saw with amusement that I was not the only one upon whom Tina had had that extraordinary effect. R agreed with me about her being like an angel. As for the guys, they were following her around like puppies. ;)
When we got some time to sit down, we chatted with Tina. She was funny, friendly, enthusiastic, but more than anything, she seemed at ease with herself and the world. Always smiling that tranquil smile.
She said she was from Lebanon, and was staying at the Foundation for a while. We did not press for more information, nor did she say anything else.
After a round of photographs, we said goodbye and left. In retrospect, it might be that I followed the exercise regimen so strictly in the hope that I would also turn out as happy, calm and graceful as Tina. ;)
Tina, I have no idea where you are now, but I hope you are safe.
[For a time, I did the entire exercise cycle regularly, and was surprised by people asking me why I was glowing with health. But in spite of knowing that it is good for me, I don't do the exercises, nor the meditation, and I have no excuses for that.]
Anyway, back to the course. On the last day, it was arranged that we would visit the Isha Yoga Foundation at Coimbatore. I was persuaded to go with the promise that it is in a very picturesque setting. So off we went, in a bus from college.
Arriving early in the cold winter morning, I found that the place indeed is beautiful. It is in a kind of valley, with low, green hills all around. It has pristine green lawns and beautiful trees, and pretty buildings - in all, a very peaceful environment.
After a painful, but refreshing bath with freezing water, and a sumptuous breakfast, we were taken around the grounds by a couple of volunteers. It was cloudy, and there was a slight drizzle. Beautiful weather for a beautiful place.
As we roamed around, it started raining. We ran, enmasse, across the green lawns, towards the main building, for shelter. As I reached the building, I kind of lost my bearings, and wondered aloud, "This way or that?" A soft voice behind me said, "To your left". I turned to thank the source of the voice. And the picture I saw took my breath away.
In the background, emerald green hills, grey clouds, green lawns, with the rain coming down. And framed in this setting, stood a vision, swathed in spotless white. The pure white in stark contrast to the bright green lawns, freshly washed with rain.
She was pleasantly plump. Her round face was crowned with short black curly hair. She was smiling very sweetly. Her expression was one of serenity and joy all at once.
She must have thought I did not hear her, coz she repeated, "To your left", and she pointed with one finger. And she smiled again. "Thank you!" I said, and ran in to get shelter from the rain. I caught up with a friend R, who saw that I was looking bewildered, and raised her eyebrows questioningly. "I just saw an angel", I said, at the risk of sounding corny, but I meant it. R looked at me funnily, and we went in.
The angel also came in, and walked over to our group. She introduced herself as Tina, and said that she was our guide for the day. Another pleasant lady, Angela, joined her. They were resident volunteers at the foundation.
They took us around, and patiently answered all our questions. The day was good. We ate, played games, did the breathing exercises, meditated, went around the place, and relaxed.
I saw with amusement that I was not the only one upon whom Tina had had that extraordinary effect. R agreed with me about her being like an angel. As for the guys, they were following her around like puppies. ;)
When we got some time to sit down, we chatted with Tina. She was funny, friendly, enthusiastic, but more than anything, she seemed at ease with herself and the world. Always smiling that tranquil smile.
She said she was from Lebanon, and was staying at the Foundation for a while. We did not press for more information, nor did she say anything else.
After a round of photographs, we said goodbye and left. In retrospect, it might be that I followed the exercise regimen so strictly in the hope that I would also turn out as happy, calm and graceful as Tina. ;)
Tina, I have no idea where you are now, but I hope you are safe.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Waiter Rant
I recently discovered Waiter Rant. If you haven't heard about this, it is the blog of an anonymous waiter of a restaurant in New York. Oh is he popular!
Now if you, dear reader, already know Waiter Rant, and if you are thinking, "Huh, has this girl been living in a cave all this while?", then please bear with me for a while.
If I just say that I find the blog entertaining, I would be doing a disservice to Waiter, as he calls himself. The blog is totally enjoyable, and frighteningly addictive. Since he started blogging long back, I have a lot of stuff of his to catch up on. Whenever I am bored, or have ten minutes to spare, I go to his blog, click on the archives, and proceed to read.
What does he write about? Just about his work. About co-workers. But mostly about his customers. Their eccentricities. Their cheapness. Their silliness. The funny side of his job. The sad side. Everything. His stories are hilarious, wicked, poignant, all at the same time. He grabs you at the first line of each post, and holds your interest right down to the end. Anyway, in short, Waiter Rant is just a Waiter's Rant. And man, is it enjoyable!
Now, this blog got me thinking. If I were to write a blog only about my work, what would it look like? Left home. Boarded bus. Got stuck in traffic jam. Reached office. Checked mails. Drank tea. Pretended to work. Took some calls. Had lunch. Blogged a bit. Drank tea. Pretended to work. Left office. Got stuck in traffic jam. Reached home. Yawn.
So, a blog of which profession would be as entertaining? It has to be a job where you come across a variety of people. Just machines cannot be too interesting.
A doctor? Might work, but you might not really want to read it in your lunch break.
A lawyer? Maybe, but the legalese might get heavy.
A beautician? Now this one might be interesting.
But I can't think of anything more interesting than a Waiter's blog. (Can you?) Coz at a restaurant, people come in groups. And they spend some time there. You get to observe not just the person, but you also see his behaviour in a social setting, which tells you a lot more about him. And Waiter of Waiter Rant has this habit of drawing conclusions from the little slice of life of his customers, that he gets to observe. It might be slightly cruel at times, but for a bystander, its funny!
I guess that's what makes his blog popular. By Waiter ranting about his customers, you feel a certain superior goodness. That you could never be so rude. You would never tip so badly. You would never be so mean. I guess people read this blog for their daily dose of superiority!
Naturally, as you read this blog, you start viewing waiters in a totally different light. Now, as a rule, I am pretty polite and nice to waiters. After all, they bring me food. :) But what about tipping?
Waiter is very vociferous when it comes to tipping. How he treats a customer the next time they come in, depends on what they tipped him the previous time. Waiter says that the decent minimum is 15 %. If you are really happy with the food and service, you tip much higher. I googled a bit, and found that yes, this is the expected figure - but that is in the US. My momentary pangs of guilt dissipated. I googled a bit more, and arrived at some sites, which say that the average tip expected in a restaurant in India is 5-10 pc, which is comfortably equivalent to what I am used to. Phew! [Some restaurants add a service charge. So you are spared the agony of wondering how much to tip.]
But, really. I am sure I will never look at a waiter the same way again. What if one of the waiters at Aromas of China is a blogger, and writes about the crazy creature who always comes in, orders a plate of Honey-Pepper vegetables, attacks it and finishes it all, not letting her hapless husband take even a bite? *Shudder*
[Reading this through a feedreader? Here is the link to my blog until the end of the blog ban in India.]
Now if you, dear reader, already know Waiter Rant, and if you are thinking, "Huh, has this girl been living in a cave all this while?", then please bear with me for a while.
If I just say that I find the blog entertaining, I would be doing a disservice to Waiter, as he calls himself. The blog is totally enjoyable, and frighteningly addictive. Since he started blogging long back, I have a lot of stuff of his to catch up on. Whenever I am bored, or have ten minutes to spare, I go to his blog, click on the archives, and proceed to read.
What does he write about? Just about his work. About co-workers. But mostly about his customers. Their eccentricities. Their cheapness. Their silliness. The funny side of his job. The sad side. Everything. His stories are hilarious, wicked, poignant, all at the same time. He grabs you at the first line of each post, and holds your interest right down to the end. Anyway, in short, Waiter Rant is just a Waiter's Rant. And man, is it enjoyable!
Now, this blog got me thinking. If I were to write a blog only about my work, what would it look like? Left home. Boarded bus. Got stuck in traffic jam. Reached office. Checked mails. Drank tea. Pretended to work. Took some calls. Had lunch. Blogged a bit. Drank tea. Pretended to work. Left office. Got stuck in traffic jam. Reached home. Yawn.
So, a blog of which profession would be as entertaining? It has to be a job where you come across a variety of people. Just machines cannot be too interesting.
A doctor? Might work, but you might not really want to read it in your lunch break.
A lawyer? Maybe, but the legalese might get heavy.
A beautician? Now this one might be interesting.
But I can't think of anything more interesting than a Waiter's blog. (Can you?) Coz at a restaurant, people come in groups. And they spend some time there. You get to observe not just the person, but you also see his behaviour in a social setting, which tells you a lot more about him. And Waiter of Waiter Rant has this habit of drawing conclusions from the little slice of life of his customers, that he gets to observe. It might be slightly cruel at times, but for a bystander, its funny!
I guess that's what makes his blog popular. By Waiter ranting about his customers, you feel a certain superior goodness. That you could never be so rude. You would never tip so badly. You would never be so mean. I guess people read this blog for their daily dose of superiority!
Naturally, as you read this blog, you start viewing waiters in a totally different light. Now, as a rule, I am pretty polite and nice to waiters. After all, they bring me food. :) But what about tipping?
Waiter is very vociferous when it comes to tipping. How he treats a customer the next time they come in, depends on what they tipped him the previous time. Waiter says that the decent minimum is 15 %. If you are really happy with the food and service, you tip much higher. I googled a bit, and found that yes, this is the expected figure - but that is in the US. My momentary pangs of guilt dissipated. I googled a bit more, and arrived at some sites, which say that the average tip expected in a restaurant in India is 5-10 pc, which is comfortably equivalent to what I am used to. Phew! [Some restaurants add a service charge. So you are spared the agony of wondering how much to tip.]
But, really. I am sure I will never look at a waiter the same way again. What if one of the waiters at Aromas of China is a blogger, and writes about the crazy creature who always comes in, orders a plate of Honey-Pepper vegetables, attacks it and finishes it all, not letting her hapless husband take even a bite? *Shudder*
[Reading this through a feedreader? Here is the link to my blog until the end of the blog ban in India.]
Monday, July 17, 2006
To Kill a Mockingbird - Impressions.
A teacher once told us that you shouldn't read too much when you are too young. You should wait until you are mature enough to really be able to appreciate good writing. Of course, who listens to stuff like that when you are too young?
I had heard a lot of good things about "To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee, and so when I came across a copy, I browsed through it and saw that the narrator was an eight-year-old girl, and so I went ahead and read it. I was least impressed with it. I don't think I even understood it.
I usually avoid reading books a second time. I am of the opinion that there are too many books waiting to be read, so I'd rather read them than waste time reading books I have already read.
But I know many people who name "To Kill a Mockingbird" as the best book ever. And I wanted to know why. It bugged me that I had read it and did not remember the story at all. And try as I might, I could not remember any significant birds in it, let alone a Mockingbird.
So I broke my rule. I read it again.
And I want to read it again.
This time, it is not because I did not understand it. But because it is such a beautiful book. Moving. Touching. Thought-provoking. Wonderfully written.
The book is alive with incidents and characters. But everything happens in a sleepy, laid-back age and town. The book sometimes thrills you and sends chills down your spine, sometimes it just makes you feel warm and fuzzy.
The characters - The eight-year-old narrator, Scout Finch, is very likeable, as is her brother Jem. Though all the colourful characters in the book are from an unfamiliar land, and a distant age, they are very real, and believable.
Atticus Finch is probably one of the best male characters I have ever encountered in the world of fiction. Wish there were more people like him in real life.
I will not review the book, but here is a very nice review if you are interested. If you haven't read the book yet, you really should!
I had heard a lot of good things about "To Kill a Mockingbird" by Harper Lee, and so when I came across a copy, I browsed through it and saw that the narrator was an eight-year-old girl, and so I went ahead and read it. I was least impressed with it. I don't think I even understood it.
I usually avoid reading books a second time. I am of the opinion that there are too many books waiting to be read, so I'd rather read them than waste time reading books I have already read.
But I know many people who name "To Kill a Mockingbird" as the best book ever. And I wanted to know why. It bugged me that I had read it and did not remember the story at all. And try as I might, I could not remember any significant birds in it, let alone a Mockingbird.
So I broke my rule. I read it again.
And I want to read it again.
This time, it is not because I did not understand it. But because it is such a beautiful book. Moving. Touching. Thought-provoking. Wonderfully written.
The book is alive with incidents and characters. But everything happens in a sleepy, laid-back age and town. The book sometimes thrills you and sends chills down your spine, sometimes it just makes you feel warm and fuzzy.
The characters - The eight-year-old narrator, Scout Finch, is very likeable, as is her brother Jem. Though all the colourful characters in the book are from an unfamiliar land, and a distant age, they are very real, and believable.
Atticus Finch is probably one of the best male characters I have ever encountered in the world of fiction. Wish there were more people like him in real life.
I will not review the book, but here is a very nice review if you are interested. If you haven't read the book yet, you really should!
Thursday, July 13, 2006
A forgotten poem.
A few days back, appreciating somebody, I found myself quipping, "May his tribe increase". I stopped with surprise, for it had been years since I used that expression.
I learnt this phrase from a poem, "Abu Ben Adhem" by Leigh Hunt, which we had learnt and memorized sometime in school.
At first read, the first line "Abu Ben Adhem (May his tribe increase)" had seemed a very funny thing to say. I had assumed that Abu Ben Adhem was the headman of a tribe in the forest, and the poet is just hoping that his tribe prospers. Until our English teacher explained what it really meant. We kids, of course, used it at every opportunity, regardless of context, over the next couple of days.
The dreadful thing is that, now, after all these years, when I tried to recollect the name of this poem, I desperately tried to remember the name that preceded the phrase under discussion, and the only name that kept popping into my head was "Abu Bin Laden". Ugh!
I learnt this phrase from a poem, "Abu Ben Adhem" by Leigh Hunt, which we had learnt and memorized sometime in school.
At first read, the first line "Abu Ben Adhem (May his tribe increase)" had seemed a very funny thing to say. I had assumed that Abu Ben Adhem was the headman of a tribe in the forest, and the poet is just hoping that his tribe prospers. Until our English teacher explained what it really meant. We kids, of course, used it at every opportunity, regardless of context, over the next couple of days.
The dreadful thing is that, now, after all these years, when I tried to recollect the name of this poem, I desperately tried to remember the name that preceded the phrase under discussion, and the only name that kept popping into my head was "Abu Bin Laden". Ugh!
Metroblogging Bangalore
I received an invitation to join Metroblogging Bangalore as a contributor. When the invitation came, I was in two minds. One part of my brain said that it would be a good experience, and the other part said, where will you find the time to do justice to posting at two places? [Coz one of the agreements at Metblogs is that you don't crosspost at your own blog!].
But then, the urge to be part of something new won over. Time will find itself somehow, if I am really interested, correct?
So I am now officially a Metroblogger. My profile is here. My first post is just up. Do hop over and have a look at it. And please don't forget to comment away as usual!
If you would like to read only my posts on the site for some inexplicable reason (like if you are my parents), then you could subscribe to just my posts using this in your regular feedreader - "http://embed.metblogs.com/authorRSS.php?author_id=1224". Or if you look at the sidebar, you will find the links to my latest posts there.
What I need from you, my dear readers, is a load of ideas. Come across anything exciting happening in Bangalore? Drop me a comment. Come across an interesting story, about anything connected with Bangalore? Write me a line. It could be anything at all. If you have posts about Bangalore, do let me know, I could link to them if I am doing a story on a related subject. You could also directly hop out here and suggest a story.
Posting on this blog will continue as usual.
But then, the urge to be part of something new won over. Time will find itself somehow, if I am really interested, correct?
So I am now officially a Metroblogger. My profile is here. My first post is just up. Do hop over and have a look at it. And please don't forget to comment away as usual!
If you would like to read only my posts on the site for some inexplicable reason (like if you are my parents), then you could subscribe to just my posts using this in your regular feedreader - "http://embed.metblogs.com/authorRSS.php?author_id=1224". Or if you look at the sidebar, you will find the links to my latest posts there.
What I need from you, my dear readers, is a load of ideas. Come across anything exciting happening in Bangalore? Drop me a comment. Come across an interesting story, about anything connected with Bangalore? Write me a line. It could be anything at all. If you have posts about Bangalore, do let me know, I could link to them if I am doing a story on a related subject. You could also directly hop out here and suggest a story.
Posting on this blog will continue as usual.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Into darkness.
One moment they were watching the hypnotic sway of the handles, thinking of going home to a dry set of clothes, and hot food. The next moment there was darkness.
Shattered lives, destroyed dreams.
But yet, life goes on in Mumbai.
Hope the families of the dead find the strength to live on.
Hope the injured recover soon. Both physically as well as mentally.
More info at Mumbai Help.
Shattered lives, destroyed dreams.
But yet, life goes on in Mumbai.
Hope the families of the dead find the strength to live on.
Hope the injured recover soon. Both physically as well as mentally.
More info at Mumbai Help.
Sunday, July 09, 2006
An Ice Cream to Remember.
An inspiration. The seed of an idea. Built upon. Tried out with trepidation. Result - Astoundingly delicious.
If you like nuts, and if you like ice-cream, and if you like ice-cream with nuts, here is a very simple, but delicious recipe for you.
Discovered and prepared by none other than S himself.
What you need:
X Scoops of Vanilla Icecream. [X depends entirely on you.]
Tip: Amul icecream is a good choice ! It's tasty, light, and doesn't leave a greasy residue in your mouth.
Nuts of your choice. The more nuts, the better. [Excluding the chefs, of course.]
Tip: Badam and Pista is a great combination. But any kind will do.
Ghee - Just one teaspoon.
How to make it:
1) Break the nuts into sizeable chunks. So that you can easily get your teeth into them.
1a) Prevent predators from putting them in their mouths.
2) Lightly roast the nuts in the ghee, in a shallow pan, just until a maddeningly pleasant aroma rises up.
2a) The aroma will attract more predators. Keep a keen eye on the nuts.
3) Pour the roasted nuts into the icecream, and mix well.
4) Put the resultant gooey mass back into the freezer. Wait for about 15 minutes. Long enough to get the icecream to solidify again, and short enough to ensure that the nuts don't go soggy.
4a) Try hard not to keep opening freezer to see if icecream is ready.
5) Remove frozen icecream from freezer, and serve in glass bowls.[Appearances matter].
6) Gorge.
Very simple, yes. But absolutely scrumptious!!
What distinguishes it from ordinary ice-cream-sprinkled-with-nuts is that the nuts somehow release their flavour into the icecream during the 15-minute freeze. Also, The nuts are large and crunchy, and find their way into your mouth with each divine spoonful. You will find yourself licking the bowl after you finish.
Try it out! And if you like it, please do come back and let me know! And also, please pray that S gets more such brainwaves!
If you like nuts, and if you like ice-cream, and if you like ice-cream with nuts, here is a very simple, but delicious recipe for you.
Discovered and prepared by none other than S himself.
What you need:
X Scoops of Vanilla Icecream. [X depends entirely on you.]
Tip: Amul icecream is a good choice ! It's tasty, light, and doesn't leave a greasy residue in your mouth.
Nuts of your choice. The more nuts, the better. [Excluding the chefs, of course.]
Tip: Badam and Pista is a great combination. But any kind will do.
Ghee - Just one teaspoon.
How to make it:
1) Break the nuts into sizeable chunks. So that you can easily get your teeth into them.
1a) Prevent predators from putting them in their mouths.
2) Lightly roast the nuts in the ghee, in a shallow pan, just until a maddeningly pleasant aroma rises up.
2a) The aroma will attract more predators. Keep a keen eye on the nuts.
3) Pour the roasted nuts into the icecream, and mix well.
4) Put the resultant gooey mass back into the freezer. Wait for about 15 minutes. Long enough to get the icecream to solidify again, and short enough to ensure that the nuts don't go soggy.
4a) Try hard not to keep opening freezer to see if icecream is ready.
5) Remove frozen icecream from freezer, and serve in glass bowls.[Appearances matter].
6) Gorge.
Very simple, yes. But absolutely scrumptious!!
What distinguishes it from ordinary ice-cream-sprinkled-with-nuts is that the nuts somehow release their flavour into the icecream during the 15-minute freeze. Also, The nuts are large and crunchy, and find their way into your mouth with each divine spoonful. You will find yourself licking the bowl after you finish.
Try it out! And if you like it, please do come back and let me know! And also, please pray that S gets more such brainwaves!
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
A Short History of Nearly Everything - Book Review
[A book review of A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson - This review of mine appeared in the latest quarterly issue of our office magazine]
As a child, I wished, like probably many others did, that my textbooks were like storybooks, so that I could read them as easily, and with as much interest. But then I would chide myself - you cannot explain science like a story, can you?
You can.
Bill Bryson, in his book "A short history of nearly everything", has done just that.
The book is a short journey through the history of science. Not only does it give us facts and figures in a way that we can understand and enjoy it, but also tells us how we came to know what we know.
Bill Bryson is an acclaimed travel-writer. This is his first foray into science writing, and hopefully, not his last. He says he wrote this book because one fine day, he sat up and realized that he did not know the first thing about the world he lived in. He “didn’t know what a proton was, or a protein, didn’t know a quark from a quasar, didn’t know how an atom was put together and couldn’t imagine by what means anyone deduced such a thing."
So he set out to remedy that. He spent three years reading books, talking to the people who wrote those books, went looking for trivia in unlikely places, and obviously had lots of fun on the way. Then he sat and put it all down, and the result is this book, crammed with information and tidbits about the world around us. It speaks about the expanse of the cosmos and the smallness of the proton, and everything in between.
The book reads almost like a novel, without a central theme. It is a group of longish essays, each dealing with a different aspect of the world around us. There are six chapters in the book.
Lost in the cosmos talks about the expanse of space, the beginning of time, the origin of the earth, and the remarkable personalities who figured all this out.
The size of the earth tells us about the earth, what is in it and on it, and about the interesting investigations that led to discovering its age and size.
A new age dawns speaks about new revolutionary discoveries, like the concept of the atom that stumped the foremost intellectuals and entirely changed the outlook of humanity.
Dangerous planet warns us about the seemingly placid planet we live on. There are inherent risks like volcanic eruptions, and threats from outer space like meteor impacts. And just in case you are interested, the earth is statistically overdue for both these occurrences. And they may happen without any warning whatsoever.
Life Itself takes us back in time to the beginning of life, explores why the Earth is the only planet around that is conducive to life, and then traces developments to the present age. He talks about evolution, DNA, genes, and much more.
The road to us is about us, humans, and our evolution to what we are now. It also speaks about our role in the extinction of a number of species of life, and the strong conservationist in him tells the tale in poignant words.
The book is full of interesting characters, incidents, and situations. Scientists and thinkers, who were until now, just names which were associated with theories – for example, Brown of Brownian motion, or Halley of Halley’s comet – all these people take on a distinctive identity.
It also tells us more about scientists we already knew about. Newton, who to us, was just a scientist in a wig, with the habit of sitting under apple trees, comes to life as a brilliant, eccentric, absent-minded, and terribly secretive man.
The author also narrates heart-rending stories of brilliant scientists who worked in drudgery for years, some of whom were rewarded with recognition, but most of whom just faded into oblivion due to various circumstances. He tells us about scheming people who stooped so low as to take credit for other people's work. He talks evocatively about bitter rivalries and successful partnerships.
What is special about this book is that the author enables you to comprehend the magnitude of everything. For example, he says that if an atom is the size of a cathedral, then the nucleus is the size of a fly in the cathedral, but a fly which weighs much more than the cathedral. He points out that the solar system can never be drawn to scale in a book. In an attempt to do so, even if you represent Mars as the size of a pea, you will have to draw Jupiter 300 m away, and Pluto more than 2 km away.
Each page is sprinkled with his trademark wit and humour. In the middle of grasping an ostensibly out-of-reach topic like the space warp, you spontaneously burst out laughing at a funny offhand remark that he makes.
The book enlightens us about how much is yet to be discovered in science, despite all that we already know. Also, about how everything that we think is true, might not be so at all.
This is an ambitious book. It covers a huge range of topics, but as can be expected, everything is just touched upon. If you are the kind who, after reading a bit, is tempted to delve deeper and know more, this book will not suffice.
This delightful, interesting book makes science seem accessible. If you are the kind who is fearful and wary about science, fear no more. This book is just for you.
As a child, I wished, like probably many others did, that my textbooks were like storybooks, so that I could read them as easily, and with as much interest. But then I would chide myself - you cannot explain science like a story, can you?
You can.
Bill Bryson, in his book "A short history of nearly everything", has done just that.
The book is a short journey through the history of science. Not only does it give us facts and figures in a way that we can understand and enjoy it, but also tells us how we came to know what we know.
Bill Bryson is an acclaimed travel-writer. This is his first foray into science writing, and hopefully, not his last. He says he wrote this book because one fine day, he sat up and realized that he did not know the first thing about the world he lived in. He “didn’t know what a proton was, or a protein, didn’t know a quark from a quasar, didn’t know how an atom was put together and couldn’t imagine by what means anyone deduced such a thing."
So he set out to remedy that. He spent three years reading books, talking to the people who wrote those books, went looking for trivia in unlikely places, and obviously had lots of fun on the way. Then he sat and put it all down, and the result is this book, crammed with information and tidbits about the world around us. It speaks about the expanse of the cosmos and the smallness of the proton, and everything in between.
The book reads almost like a novel, without a central theme. It is a group of longish essays, each dealing with a different aspect of the world around us. There are six chapters in the book.
Lost in the cosmos talks about the expanse of space, the beginning of time, the origin of the earth, and the remarkable personalities who figured all this out.
The size of the earth tells us about the earth, what is in it and on it, and about the interesting investigations that led to discovering its age and size.
A new age dawns speaks about new revolutionary discoveries, like the concept of the atom that stumped the foremost intellectuals and entirely changed the outlook of humanity.
Dangerous planet warns us about the seemingly placid planet we live on. There are inherent risks like volcanic eruptions, and threats from outer space like meteor impacts. And just in case you are interested, the earth is statistically overdue for both these occurrences. And they may happen without any warning whatsoever.
Life Itself takes us back in time to the beginning of life, explores why the Earth is the only planet around that is conducive to life, and then traces developments to the present age. He talks about evolution, DNA, genes, and much more.
The road to us is about us, humans, and our evolution to what we are now. It also speaks about our role in the extinction of a number of species of life, and the strong conservationist in him tells the tale in poignant words.
The book is full of interesting characters, incidents, and situations. Scientists and thinkers, who were until now, just names which were associated with theories – for example, Brown of Brownian motion, or Halley of Halley’s comet – all these people take on a distinctive identity.
It also tells us more about scientists we already knew about. Newton, who to us, was just a scientist in a wig, with the habit of sitting under apple trees, comes to life as a brilliant, eccentric, absent-minded, and terribly secretive man.
The author also narrates heart-rending stories of brilliant scientists who worked in drudgery for years, some of whom were rewarded with recognition, but most of whom just faded into oblivion due to various circumstances. He tells us about scheming people who stooped so low as to take credit for other people's work. He talks evocatively about bitter rivalries and successful partnerships.
What is special about this book is that the author enables you to comprehend the magnitude of everything. For example, he says that if an atom is the size of a cathedral, then the nucleus is the size of a fly in the cathedral, but a fly which weighs much more than the cathedral. He points out that the solar system can never be drawn to scale in a book. In an attempt to do so, even if you represent Mars as the size of a pea, you will have to draw Jupiter 300 m away, and Pluto more than 2 km away.
Each page is sprinkled with his trademark wit and humour. In the middle of grasping an ostensibly out-of-reach topic like the space warp, you spontaneously burst out laughing at a funny offhand remark that he makes.
The book enlightens us about how much is yet to be discovered in science, despite all that we already know. Also, about how everything that we think is true, might not be so at all.
This is an ambitious book. It covers a huge range of topics, but as can be expected, everything is just touched upon. If you are the kind who, after reading a bit, is tempted to delve deeper and know more, this book will not suffice.
This delightful, interesting book makes science seem accessible. If you are the kind who is fearful and wary about science, fear no more. This book is just for you.
Monday, July 03, 2006
A prick in the conscience
We were driving back home late last night. We saw a little boy about ten years old waiting to cross the road. He was carrying a couple of bundles too heavy for him. He had crossed halfway, and was standing on the non-existent median, trying desperately to cross the other half of the road. His face was one of bewilderment and terror, as vehicles zipped by on either side of him. His pathetic little face was brightly lit by the glare of the headlights of the cars that zoomed past him. S stopped the car, leaned out and motioned for him to cross. It took him a while to understand, but when he did, he scuttled across quickly and disappeared into the darkness. We resumed our journey.
The face of this child stayed with me. It was disturbing. A child of his age should have been in bed by now, after a hot meal. How often do we see kids like these, begging, working, their faces much older than their bodies!
There was a time when I allowed myself to get affected by them. I would think of the child for a long time. I would compare the child to a boy of the same age in my family or neighbourhood, pampered, loved, cared for, and ensconced in comfort. I would try to put the face of this fortunate boy on the body of the less-privileged child. And that picture would move me to tears. But as I grow older, I find myself becoming more and more immune. I resist all unpleasant thoughts, for my own sanity. We all do that, don't we? We tend to build up a kind of armour around us. We prefer living in an ivory tower than accept reality.
There are some people who have been so deeply moved that they have gone ahead and dedicated their life for the betterment of the lives of people like this boy. I always wonder what stuff these remarkable people are made of. How they can put up with dealing with such sorrow, day after day. How they have the conviction that they can make a better life for the less privileged.
I often think, what can I do about it? That is, apart from cash contributions, and maybe occasional voluntary service. Sometimes I have a sense of failing and shame. That I am here in my comfort zone, fully aware, but pretending that I am not.
Anitha has put across her feelings beautifully in this piece "I met a man". She talks to a man with a typical story of helplessness, and she says,
The face of this child stayed with me. It was disturbing. A child of his age should have been in bed by now, after a hot meal. How often do we see kids like these, begging, working, their faces much older than their bodies!
There was a time when I allowed myself to get affected by them. I would think of the child for a long time. I would compare the child to a boy of the same age in my family or neighbourhood, pampered, loved, cared for, and ensconced in comfort. I would try to put the face of this fortunate boy on the body of the less-privileged child. And that picture would move me to tears. But as I grow older, I find myself becoming more and more immune. I resist all unpleasant thoughts, for my own sanity. We all do that, don't we? We tend to build up a kind of armour around us. We prefer living in an ivory tower than accept reality.
There are some people who have been so deeply moved that they have gone ahead and dedicated their life for the betterment of the lives of people like this boy. I always wonder what stuff these remarkable people are made of. How they can put up with dealing with such sorrow, day after day. How they have the conviction that they can make a better life for the less privileged.
I often think, what can I do about it? That is, apart from cash contributions, and maybe occasional voluntary service. Sometimes I have a sense of failing and shame. That I am here in my comfort zone, fully aware, but pretending that I am not.
Anitha has put across her feelings beautifully in this piece "I met a man". She talks to a man with a typical story of helplessness, and she says,
My inadequate words could not and did not give him any solace. As I just sat there, listening to him talk, feeling empty and useless, it struck me: I didn’t really know how to feel. Emotions were a waste: they were all about me, they could not do anything for him. I would never know how it felt to live hand-to-mouth, to wake up and go to bed hungry, or to be oppressed and obligated to people financially forever, with no hope of breaking the bondage. It felt like I was almost living in a parallel universe, sitting across from him.
He wasn’t asking for much – just a life with dignity. And it was a promise I could not make, much less keep.
It’s at times like this that make you really wonder: what is life all about, anyway?
Friday, June 30, 2006
Paper packages and cranberry squash
What do you do when you fall ill? You go the doctor.
According to my experience, going to the doc consists of the following steps:
1) Go to the doctor
2) Doc examines you, identifies the illness, writes out a prescription.
3) Take the prescription to the chemist, buy medicines, take them.
4) Get well.
But it works slightly differently in Mumbai.
1) Go to the doctor
2) Doc examines you, doesn't tell you what is wrong with you.
3) Doc's assistant puts 3-5 pills each into little paper packages, puts these packages into ziploc covers, and hands it to you. Each ziploc cover is for one day, and the contents of each paper package is to be taken after each meal.
4) Get well(???)
I discovered this paper-package phenomenon when one of my pg-mates, D, fell ill. Since we did not know any docs around, PG-Auntie took her to her family doctor. D came back with these paper-packages-in-ziploc-covers and a bewildered expression.
Me: What are these??
D: Medicines!
Me: For what?
D: I don't know!
Me: What did the doc say is wrong with you?
D: He didn't say!
Me: So you don't know what medicines you are taking, and for what illness?
D: No!
Me: Didn't you ask what these medicines are??
D: Of course I did! He said "How can I tell you my formula?"
I made her throw the tablets away, and dragged her to the OPD of a nearby hospital, without telling Auntie. There they diagnosed her sickness, and wrote out a prescription. We bought the medicines at the pharmacist, and got back. Ah, the comfort that comes with knowing what you are swallowing!
After that I did a lot of research. All the docs I enquired about in and around Andheri were the paper-packages-in-ziploc-covers types. So I took refuge in the OPD of the hospital, and brainwashed other pg-mates to do the same.
Once, my roommate R told me that someone told her about a good doc, and it looked like he is the prescription type. The next time I developed a sore throat that I couldn't cure on my own, I thought it was best to go and try out this doc. R came with me.
Scene at clinic -
The doc examines me.
Me: What's wrong?
Doc nods.
Me: Is it an infection?
Doc writes something on paper.
I reach out to take it.
Doc looks daggers at me, passes it on to assistant.
Assistant starts wrapping up little pills in paper packages.
I look daggers at R.
R looks at me apologetically.
Doc takes out a big white can that one normally associates with kerosene. Can contains a bright red sticky liquid which reminds one of cranberry squash. Doc pours out an amount into a small white leaky plastic container. Hands it to me along with the little paper packages.
Doc: After every meal, take the medicines in each packet and drink two spoons of this liquid.
Me: What are these medicines? What is this liquid?
Doc: (Glares at me) Sixty rupees.
I don't reply. I pay doc, and leave with R. Leaky bottle is disposed of right outside the clinic, and medicines are thrown away after being brought home and subjected to an unsuccessful scrutiny to determine what medicines they are.
Next morning sees me at good old hospital.
Now, why, you ask, can't I trust the doc and take the medicines that he hands over to me. Here is just one reason. Suppose I turn out to be allergic to something in the medicine, or a pill has some side-effect, and I need to be treated. Imagine the conversation.
Me: (Aaakkhhhkkhhghgkkghg) I have rashes in my throat! Please doc! Do something!
Doc: Have you taken any medication recently?
ME: (KKKGHHHHGHhhhhhh ) Yes!
Doc: What medicines?
ME: A large round white pill, a little red pill, half of a yellow pill, and an orange capsule. And cranberry squash.
I rest my case.
According to my experience, going to the doc consists of the following steps:
1) Go to the doctor
2) Doc examines you, identifies the illness, writes out a prescription.
3) Take the prescription to the chemist, buy medicines, take them.
4) Get well.
But it works slightly differently in Mumbai.
1) Go to the doctor
2) Doc examines you, doesn't tell you what is wrong with you.
3) Doc's assistant puts 3-5 pills each into little paper packages, puts these packages into ziploc covers, and hands it to you. Each ziploc cover is for one day, and the contents of each paper package is to be taken after each meal.
4) Get well(???)
I discovered this paper-package phenomenon when one of my pg-mates, D, fell ill. Since we did not know any docs around, PG-Auntie took her to her family doctor. D came back with these paper-packages-in-ziploc-covers and a bewildered expression.
Me: What are these??
D: Medicines!
Me: For what?
D: I don't know!
Me: What did the doc say is wrong with you?
D: He didn't say!
Me: So you don't know what medicines you are taking, and for what illness?
D: No!
Me: Didn't you ask what these medicines are??
D: Of course I did! He said "How can I tell you my formula?"
I made her throw the tablets away, and dragged her to the OPD of a nearby hospital, without telling Auntie. There they diagnosed her sickness, and wrote out a prescription. We bought the medicines at the pharmacist, and got back. Ah, the comfort that comes with knowing what you are swallowing!
After that I did a lot of research. All the docs I enquired about in and around Andheri were the paper-packages-in-ziploc-covers types. So I took refuge in the OPD of the hospital, and brainwashed other pg-mates to do the same.
Once, my roommate R told me that someone told her about a good doc, and it looked like he is the prescription type. The next time I developed a sore throat that I couldn't cure on my own, I thought it was best to go and try out this doc. R came with me.
Scene at clinic -
The doc examines me.
Me: What's wrong?
Doc nods.
Me: Is it an infection?
Doc writes something on paper.
I reach out to take it.
Doc looks daggers at me, passes it on to assistant.
Assistant starts wrapping up little pills in paper packages.
I look daggers at R.
R looks at me apologetically.
Doc takes out a big white can that one normally associates with kerosene. Can contains a bright red sticky liquid which reminds one of cranberry squash. Doc pours out an amount into a small white leaky plastic container. Hands it to me along with the little paper packages.
Doc: After every meal, take the medicines in each packet and drink two spoons of this liquid.
Me: What are these medicines? What is this liquid?
Doc: (Glares at me) Sixty rupees.
I don't reply. I pay doc, and leave with R. Leaky bottle is disposed of right outside the clinic, and medicines are thrown away after being brought home and subjected to an unsuccessful scrutiny to determine what medicines they are.
Next morning sees me at good old hospital.
Now, why, you ask, can't I trust the doc and take the medicines that he hands over to me. Here is just one reason. Suppose I turn out to be allergic to something in the medicine, or a pill has some side-effect, and I need to be treated. Imagine the conversation.
Me: (Aaakkhhhkkhhghgkkghg) I have rashes in my throat! Please doc! Do something!
Doc: Have you taken any medication recently?
ME: (KKKGHHHHGHhhhhhh ) Yes!
Doc: What medicines?
ME: A large round white pill, a little red pill, half of a yellow pill, and an orange capsule. And cranberry squash.
I rest my case.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
Arbitrary Articulations
When I was a kid, my mother made all my clothes for me. A-L-L of them. The ones that were not made by mom, were made by my aunts. Anyway, you get the picture. The best part was that though mom chose the cloth and the design, I could choose my own button, my own lace. Then the fittings. One fitting before the sleeves were attached. One fitting before the final hemming. One fitting before the buttons and the laces were attached. And then the final trial. How exciting it was! To see the dress take shape from a piece of cloth to a favourite frock!
Each piece of cloth was chosen with care. Comfortable cottons with floral designs. Smart, bright, checked patterns. Once it was brown suede, another time it was purple satin with self prints. Then once it was a soft synthetic bottle-green, matched with cream. My mother and my aunts pored over Sears' catalogues, identified good designs and brought pretty dresses into the world. Scores of photos bear testimony to those lovely dresses.
And then once, I don't remember why, mom could not stitch a birthday frock for me on time. So my parents decided to buy a dress for me. I was highly excited. I was actually going to the SHOP to buy a dress! It was a never-before scenario. I jumped around all day, and finally we went to the shop. There it happened. For some obscure reason, I fell for a blue and yellow monstrosity. I wanted that frock and nothing else. I thought it was fantastic, totally unlike anything I had ever owned. My parents were obviously shocked, but being the nice parents they are, *Ahem*, they gently tried to talk me out of it. They reasoned that I might not like it after I went home. I did not care, I stood my ground. Finally they gave in, the horror was packed, paid for and brought home.
I don't remember liking or disliking it, but I know that I wore it. Photographs tell me so. Among all the pretty pinks, lovely lilacs, this one stands out. Blue and yellow, with patches of white. Oh, how I cringe whenever I see that photo! I even go to the extent of accusing my parents for not having talked me out of buying the dress!
But isn't that what we always do? We think that we are right all the time, in spite of our parents' warnings and advice. We throw tantrums, shout at them, and do what we want, and realize much later, that our parents were right most of the time. [Not all the time. No :)].
It might be that friend whom you thought the world of, but of whom your parents disapproved. It might be that party you wanted to go to, about which your parents had misgivings. Anything. Everything. But the best thing about parents is, that they never say "I told you so". Nor do they hold any of your harsh words or "You don't know anything"s against you. How do they have so much patience? How can they tolerate their kids? Those selfish, stubborn, foolish little packages of overgrown ego?
[Why this post? I have absolutely no idea.]
Each piece of cloth was chosen with care. Comfortable cottons with floral designs. Smart, bright, checked patterns. Once it was brown suede, another time it was purple satin with self prints. Then once it was a soft synthetic bottle-green, matched with cream. My mother and my aunts pored over Sears' catalogues, identified good designs and brought pretty dresses into the world. Scores of photos bear testimony to those lovely dresses.
And then once, I don't remember why, mom could not stitch a birthday frock for me on time. So my parents decided to buy a dress for me. I was highly excited. I was actually going to the SHOP to buy a dress! It was a never-before scenario. I jumped around all day, and finally we went to the shop. There it happened. For some obscure reason, I fell for a blue and yellow monstrosity. I wanted that frock and nothing else. I thought it was fantastic, totally unlike anything I had ever owned. My parents were obviously shocked, but being the nice parents they are, *Ahem*, they gently tried to talk me out of it. They reasoned that I might not like it after I went home. I did not care, I stood my ground. Finally they gave in, the horror was packed, paid for and brought home.
I don't remember liking or disliking it, but I know that I wore it. Photographs tell me so. Among all the pretty pinks, lovely lilacs, this one stands out. Blue and yellow, with patches of white. Oh, how I cringe whenever I see that photo! I even go to the extent of accusing my parents for not having talked me out of buying the dress!
But isn't that what we always do? We think that we are right all the time, in spite of our parents' warnings and advice. We throw tantrums, shout at them, and do what we want, and realize much later, that our parents were right most of the time. [Not all the time. No :)].
It might be that friend whom you thought the world of, but of whom your parents disapproved. It might be that party you wanted to go to, about which your parents had misgivings. Anything. Everything. But the best thing about parents is, that they never say "I told you so". Nor do they hold any of your harsh words or "You don't know anything"s against you. How do they have so much patience? How can they tolerate their kids? Those selfish, stubborn, foolish little packages of overgrown ego?
[Why this post? I have absolutely no idea.]
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Thriller!
Swamped with work nowadays. (You can see by the sporadic posts, and lack of my comments on your posts). Sometimes, I feel like just dropping everything and running away and doing something really crazy.
That made me think. What is the craziest thing I have ever done? If I think back, I realize that my life has been pretty dull that way. But the most thrilling thing I have ever done (which can be safely mentioned in public without fear of embarrassment) is to cycle in the dark through pouring rain.
I had come back from a day out, and reached college just a couple of minutes before the time the hostel gates would close. I had parked my bicycle near the main gate, and I needed to cycle about a kilometre to reach hostel. The rain was coming down with a vengeance. I couldn't see two feet ahead of me. I just had to get to the hostel before the gates closed, or else there would be a thousand explanations to give. As I found my bicycle, and fumbled with the lock, the lights went out. It was pitch dark, there was water everywhere, and I had just over a minute to reach hostel. I got on my bicycle and pedalled furiously. The rest was taken care of by the slippery road.
Even in that tense moment, I was aware of the greatest feeling of exhilaration ever. The wind was whistling past my ears, my eyes were full of water, I could feel the pricking of the rain drops on my face and arms. It was dark, and all I could see was a vague blurry road. My heart was thumping away, and I could hear it in my ears. I cycled blindly until I could vaguely make out the hostel gates in the distance. The guard was just closing them, and I rang my bell desperately. He paused, and held the gate open. I whooshed past him through the gates faster than (it seemed to me) an arrow.
Needless to say, I was dripping wet by the time I reached my room. But the thrill of reaching on time, and the pure unadulterated joy of cycling that fast in that pouring rain - it made me shiver with excitement (or cold?), but at the same time, I felt a warm glow inside me. It was a beautiful, beautiful feeling.
Ok, Amma, Papa, you can stop reading now, and you can call me and scold me. The rest of you, go on, tell me - what is the most thrilling thing that you have ever done?? [I won't tell your parents.]
That made me think. What is the craziest thing I have ever done? If I think back, I realize that my life has been pretty dull that way. But the most thrilling thing I have ever done (which can be safely mentioned in public without fear of embarrassment) is to cycle in the dark through pouring rain.
I had come back from a day out, and reached college just a couple of minutes before the time the hostel gates would close. I had parked my bicycle near the main gate, and I needed to cycle about a kilometre to reach hostel. The rain was coming down with a vengeance. I couldn't see two feet ahead of me. I just had to get to the hostel before the gates closed, or else there would be a thousand explanations to give. As I found my bicycle, and fumbled with the lock, the lights went out. It was pitch dark, there was water everywhere, and I had just over a minute to reach hostel. I got on my bicycle and pedalled furiously. The rest was taken care of by the slippery road.
Even in that tense moment, I was aware of the greatest feeling of exhilaration ever. The wind was whistling past my ears, my eyes were full of water, I could feel the pricking of the rain drops on my face and arms. It was dark, and all I could see was a vague blurry road. My heart was thumping away, and I could hear it in my ears. I cycled blindly until I could vaguely make out the hostel gates in the distance. The guard was just closing them, and I rang my bell desperately. He paused, and held the gate open. I whooshed past him through the gates faster than (it seemed to me) an arrow.
Needless to say, I was dripping wet by the time I reached my room. But the thrill of reaching on time, and the pure unadulterated joy of cycling that fast in that pouring rain - it made me shiver with excitement (or cold?), but at the same time, I felt a warm glow inside me. It was a beautiful, beautiful feeling.
Ok, Amma, Papa, you can stop reading now, and you can call me and scold me. The rest of you, go on, tell me - what is the most thrilling thing that you have ever done?? [I won't tell your parents.]
Thursday, June 15, 2006
The burning ambition
I had a burning ambition. The thought of it had been eating into me for quite a while now. Finally I achieved it.
What could this ambition be, you naturally wonder. Let me not keep you in the dark for longer than is necessary. Simply put, it was to travel in those cool new Volvo buses on Bangalore roads. Ah, I can hear you say, "What a lame 'burning ambition'". No comments.
I had had no occasion to use these buses before. We use company transport, and I very rarely use buses to commute elsewhere within Bangalore. But each time I saw those gleaming red buses with electronic route display, those wide doors and huge scrubbed windows, those plush blue seats and the yellow handrails and the sophisticated grey interiors, my eyeballs would follow the bus until it turned a corner.
I finally got to travel in one this week. I left office early, and took one of these volvo buses (which have an additional advantage that they stop right at the office gate). As the doors softly slid apart, I entered the cool interiors, and selected a nice window seat. The polite and smiling conductor issued me a ticket with that ticket-vending machine they hang around their necks. The volvo noiselessly made its way through the clean and green streets of Electronic city. With the soft strains of a song from the radio, sitting in the cool comfort of the bus, gazing out at the glass buildings on either side of the road, it was like being cocooned in a different world altogether.
The bus is, naturally, well-equipped and high-tech. A rear-view screen for the driver. A microphone, into which the driver talks to his passengers and announces bus stops. Well, you know, the works.
It was interesting to watch first-time passengers. A family of four got in. The youngest girl was extremely delighted. She was giggling and jumping around, thoroughly excited to be on this bus. Her older sister was as excited, but she tried very hard to maintain her dignity. But ever so often, her face creased into a smile and she let out a joyous laugh, and then looked up shyly at her mother. The mother, supposedly busy telling her younger daughter to keep quiet and sit down, couldn't get the expression of awe off her face. There was suppressed thrill in each action. And then, of course, the father. Exulting in the reactions of his family, his face was a picture of pride and importance as he peeled off notes from his wallet and paid the conductor.
The conductor, ever smiling, stood near the door, and at each stop, as passengers got in, he appraised them coolly. If he suspected that a passenger was getting in without being aware of the high fares of the bus, he would lean close, and ask, "Yellige, sir?" [Where to, sir?] When the passenger told the conductor his intended destination, the conductor would lean even closer, and softly mouth what was obviously the bus fare. Then a shocked look would come over the passenger's face, and he would back off, and stumble out of the bus, while the bus driver waited patiently. It was uncanny, the way the conductor homed in correctly on what he thought was a passenger who couldn't afford to pay his way in the Volvo. It was somehow saddening too. Yes, I know that it is a special bus, and there are many more ordinary buses along the way, yet, it is depressing that the majority cannot enjoy the comfort of the Volvo. Anyway, let me not dwell upon that.
It wasn't that I haven't been in such buses before. It is just that I hadn't been in such buses in India. And they look even more gleaming and inviting in contrast to the other vehicles. Like a shiny new coin in a bunch of old coins. All a matter of perception, huh? Anyway, I finally did get to travel in the BMTC Volvo, and I enjoyed the comfortable ride. More so, because I had at last achieved my "burning ambition". Again, no comments.
What could this ambition be, you naturally wonder. Let me not keep you in the dark for longer than is necessary. Simply put, it was to travel in those cool new Volvo buses on Bangalore roads. Ah, I can hear you say, "What a lame 'burning ambition'". No comments.
I had had no occasion to use these buses before. We use company transport, and I very rarely use buses to commute elsewhere within Bangalore. But each time I saw those gleaming red buses with electronic route display, those wide doors and huge scrubbed windows, those plush blue seats and the yellow handrails and the sophisticated grey interiors, my eyeballs would follow the bus until it turned a corner.
I finally got to travel in one this week. I left office early, and took one of these volvo buses (which have an additional advantage that they stop right at the office gate). As the doors softly slid apart, I entered the cool interiors, and selected a nice window seat. The polite and smiling conductor issued me a ticket with that ticket-vending machine they hang around their necks. The volvo noiselessly made its way through the clean and green streets of Electronic city. With the soft strains of a song from the radio, sitting in the cool comfort of the bus, gazing out at the glass buildings on either side of the road, it was like being cocooned in a different world altogether.
The bus is, naturally, well-equipped and high-tech. A rear-view screen for the driver. A microphone, into which the driver talks to his passengers and announces bus stops. Well, you know, the works.
It was interesting to watch first-time passengers. A family of four got in. The youngest girl was extremely delighted. She was giggling and jumping around, thoroughly excited to be on this bus. Her older sister was as excited, but she tried very hard to maintain her dignity. But ever so often, her face creased into a smile and she let out a joyous laugh, and then looked up shyly at her mother. The mother, supposedly busy telling her younger daughter to keep quiet and sit down, couldn't get the expression of awe off her face. There was suppressed thrill in each action. And then, of course, the father. Exulting in the reactions of his family, his face was a picture of pride and importance as he peeled off notes from his wallet and paid the conductor.
The conductor, ever smiling, stood near the door, and at each stop, as passengers got in, he appraised them coolly. If he suspected that a passenger was getting in without being aware of the high fares of the bus, he would lean close, and ask, "Yellige, sir?" [Where to, sir?] When the passenger told the conductor his intended destination, the conductor would lean even closer, and softly mouth what was obviously the bus fare. Then a shocked look would come over the passenger's face, and he would back off, and stumble out of the bus, while the bus driver waited patiently. It was uncanny, the way the conductor homed in correctly on what he thought was a passenger who couldn't afford to pay his way in the Volvo. It was somehow saddening too. Yes, I know that it is a special bus, and there are many more ordinary buses along the way, yet, it is depressing that the majority cannot enjoy the comfort of the Volvo. Anyway, let me not dwell upon that.
It wasn't that I haven't been in such buses before. It is just that I hadn't been in such buses in India. And they look even more gleaming and inviting in contrast to the other vehicles. Like a shiny new coin in a bunch of old coins. All a matter of perception, huh? Anyway, I finally did get to travel in the BMTC Volvo, and I enjoyed the comfortable ride. More so, because I had at last achieved my "burning ambition". Again, no comments.
Monday, June 12, 2006
Weirdness quotient - High.
Anu has tagged me. She wants me to write 5 weird things about myself. Well, I would love to think that I am very sane, but like everybody loves to keep reminding me, I am nowhere near normal. People who know me will most probably have already concluded that 5 points is just not enough to describe my weirdness. My parents, grandparents,aunts, uncles, cousins, friends - they all think I am weird.
Two people who think I am thoroughly weird are S and my sis P. Especially P. She things that I am the weirdest person to have walked the earth. She is just as weird as I am, but no. She is blind to her own weirdness. S and P go off into fits of laughter at any display of my weirdness. If the weirdness comes out when they are together, the laughter of one triggers off the laughter of the other, becomes a chain reaction, and I need to call for a couple of oxygen masks.
Anyway, here's what I personally think is weird about me :
1) I have infinite patience with people who come to me with problems, I can listen to them for any amount of time, and give advice also if required. But if the same people start getting silly/chauvinistic/artificial/snobbish/nosy/etc., I get so
irritated that I can be very very rude, going to the extent of pretending that they don't even exist.
2) I love going to get-togethers and weddings and such events, and I am always in my element, the perfect social animal. but after 3 hours, an inbuilt curfew plays up, and I withdraw into a shell. If I escape before that, I will be fine, but if I am already inside the shell by the time I leave the venue, I need at least 8 hours to recuperate.
3) I love the play of light and shade, and the dance of light on water. I love watching reflections, and I love to watch water in any form. I see beauty in unlikely places, and can spend hours observing all the above, without getting bored.
4) I am crazy about food. I can get lost in thoughts of food, I hallucinate about food. I dream about food. I wake up in the middle of the night with thoughts of food. It is an obsession.
5) Is for you to fill. Go ahead, this is your chance! If you know me personally, you won't have any problem filling this up.[But go easy on the personal details, please :D] If you know me through my blog, I would love to know what impression I have created :). Have fun!
I tag (no compulsion, of course) -
1) Chitra, coz I am sure some of her weird characteristics will be "yuxtremely" similar to mine.
2) Nirwa, coz I myself can name 5 weird things about her - she is that crazy.
3) Sachin, coz he sounds so sane and level headed that I would love to see if he is weird.
4) Ravi, in the hope that at least this way, he will put up a post.
5) YOU.
Two people who think I am thoroughly weird are S and my sis P. Especially P. She things that I am the weirdest person to have walked the earth. She is just as weird as I am, but no. She is blind to her own weirdness. S and P go off into fits of laughter at any display of my weirdness. If the weirdness comes out when they are together, the laughter of one triggers off the laughter of the other, becomes a chain reaction, and I need to call for a couple of oxygen masks.
Anyway, here's what I personally think is weird about me :
1) I have infinite patience with people who come to me with problems, I can listen to them for any amount of time, and give advice also if required. But if the same people start getting silly/chauvinistic/artificial/snobbish/nosy/etc., I get so
irritated that I can be very very rude, going to the extent of pretending that they don't even exist.
2) I love going to get-togethers and weddings and such events, and I am always in my element, the perfect social animal. but after 3 hours, an inbuilt curfew plays up, and I withdraw into a shell. If I escape before that, I will be fine, but if I am already inside the shell by the time I leave the venue, I need at least 8 hours to recuperate.
3) I love the play of light and shade, and the dance of light on water. I love watching reflections, and I love to watch water in any form. I see beauty in unlikely places, and can spend hours observing all the above, without getting bored.
4) I am crazy about food. I can get lost in thoughts of food, I hallucinate about food. I dream about food. I wake up in the middle of the night with thoughts of food. It is an obsession.
5) Is for you to fill. Go ahead, this is your chance! If you know me personally, you won't have any problem filling this up.[But go easy on the personal details, please :D] If you know me through my blog, I would love to know what impression I have created :). Have fun!
I tag (no compulsion, of course) -
1) Chitra, coz I am sure some of her weird characteristics will be "yuxtremely" similar to mine.
2) Nirwa, coz I myself can name 5 weird things about her - she is that crazy.
3) Sachin, coz he sounds so sane and level headed that I would love to see if he is weird.
4) Ravi, in the hope that at least this way, he will put up a post.
5) YOU.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Floccinaucinihilipilification
Floccinaucinihilipilification (FLOK-si-NO-si-NY-HIL-i-PIL-i-fi-KAY-shuhn) noun
Meaning - Estimating something as worthless.
[From Latin flocci, from floccus (tuft of wool) + nauci, from naucum (a trifling thing) + nihili, from Latin nihil (nothing) + pili, from pilus (a hair, trifle) + -fication (making).]
- My current favourite word!
Ever since my uncle introduced me to A Word A Day from Wordsmith , I have been hooked. A Word A Day(AWAD) usually lands in my box at lunchtime, and it is one of the brighter moments of each work day!
AWAD was started by Anu Garg. Each week, he presents five different words with a common theme. Along with the pronunciation and the meaning of each word, he also describes the root and the origin of the word. There is usually a short witty note on the word too. He also gives an example of the usage of the word in the media. And as a bonus, he puts in a very interesting quote (not related to the Word of the Day). [Sometimes I suspect that I wait for the quote more than I wait for the word!] At the end of each week, Anu sends across a mail, a collection of titbits and inputs from readers all over the world, on the words of the previous week.
Each email usually brightens up a dull day, and livens up a lifeless post-lunch Shruthi.
In fact, the credit for the name "Nychthemeron" goes to AWAD. The day I decided to start blogging seriously, I decided to change my url, and was trying all sorts of words. Nothing was available, and I was getting increasingly frustrated. Then I received that day’s word, and found that the word was Nychthemeron . I loved the meaning and the way the word slid off my tongue. I tried it – and it was available. And the rest is, of course, a branch of Social Science.
If you like words, and have not subscribed to A Word A Day yet, then go ahead and do it NOW. By the way, not all words are long and unpronounceable like today’s word is. This week’s theme is “long words”. So don’t worry!
AWAD is interesting and informative, and yes, you cheapskate - it is free.
Meaning - Estimating something as worthless.
[From Latin flocci, from floccus (tuft of wool) + nauci, from naucum (a trifling thing) + nihili, from Latin nihil (nothing) + pili, from pilus (a hair, trifle) + -fication (making).]
- My current favourite word!
Ever since my uncle introduced me to A Word A Day from Wordsmith , I have been hooked. A Word A Day(AWAD) usually lands in my box at lunchtime, and it is one of the brighter moments of each work day!
AWAD was started by Anu Garg. Each week, he presents five different words with a common theme. Along with the pronunciation and the meaning of each word, he also describes the root and the origin of the word. There is usually a short witty note on the word too. He also gives an example of the usage of the word in the media. And as a bonus, he puts in a very interesting quote (not related to the Word of the Day). [Sometimes I suspect that I wait for the quote more than I wait for the word!] At the end of each week, Anu sends across a mail, a collection of titbits and inputs from readers all over the world, on the words of the previous week.
Each email usually brightens up a dull day, and livens up a lifeless post-lunch Shruthi.
In fact, the credit for the name "Nychthemeron" goes to AWAD. The day I decided to start blogging seriously, I decided to change my url, and was trying all sorts of words. Nothing was available, and I was getting increasingly frustrated. Then I received that day’s word, and found that the word was Nychthemeron . I loved the meaning and the way the word slid off my tongue. I tried it – and it was available. And the rest is, of course, a branch of Social Science.
If you like words, and have not subscribed to A Word A Day yet, then go ahead and do it NOW. By the way, not all words are long and unpronounceable like today’s word is. This week’s theme is “long words”. So don’t worry!
AWAD is interesting and informative, and yes, you cheapskate - it is free.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
A few links.
Since I am very busy (for a change), I haven't been able to blog at all. So I will leave you with a couple of links.
Anu, on Mysore - this beautifully written post reduced me to tears - with my love for Mysore. And no, this statement does not mean you get the license to crib about Bangalore on this post , coz I still love Bangalore :)
The weekend was very eventful. I have written about the Kannada serial Muktha earlier. When I went in search of info about the serial, I landed here. During the course of discussions, I was drawn into writing daily updates of Muktha here. The regular commenters at this post became so familiar, that we decided we had to meet up. We did meet up last Saturday, and the surprise guest was Mr.T.N.Seetharam himself. (The acclaimed, popular and well-loved director of the serial). I am itching to blog about it. Let's see if I can.
I gotta go now - please don't forget me ;)
Anu, on Mysore - this beautifully written post reduced me to tears - with my love for Mysore. And no, this statement does not mean you get the license to crib about Bangalore on this post , coz I still love Bangalore :)
The weekend was very eventful. I have written about the Kannada serial Muktha earlier. When I went in search of info about the serial, I landed here. During the course of discussions, I was drawn into writing daily updates of Muktha here. The regular commenters at this post became so familiar, that we decided we had to meet up. We did meet up last Saturday, and the surprise guest was Mr.T.N.Seetharam himself. (The acclaimed, popular and well-loved director of the serial). I am itching to blog about it. Let's see if I can.
I gotta go now - please don't forget me ;)
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
At my wits' end.
Somewhere in the world
There is peace of mind
Somewhere in the world
That's what I must find
Somewhere in the world
Himesh must be unheard of.
[with apologies to Boney M].
Friends, foes, fans(?), and fellow countrymen - I can take it no longer. I am going away in search of that elusive place. I was thinking that the worst was over, but now I hear that Himesh Reshammiya is to lend his voice for the song "Mehbooba Mehbooba" in Ram Gopal Verma's remake of Sholay. Probably because he can howl so well. "Oo-oo-oo". Well. I don't want to be here when that happens.
Before I run away, I will leave you with an idea for foolproof, effective torture. Take your subject, tie him up or strap him down, plug his ears with huge earphones, and play Himeshquito's "Aa Aa Aashiqui main teri, Jaa Jaa Jaayegi Jaan meri" in a loop. Before long, your subject will be a blithering idiot and will do whatever you say.
And no, I am not giving you the link to that song. If you haven't heard it yet, good. We need sane people for the future of the world.
Update: Don't miss the comments on this one!! :)
There is peace of mind
Somewhere in the world
That's what I must find
Somewhere in the world
Himesh must be unheard of.
[with apologies to Boney M].
Friends, foes, fans(?), and fellow countrymen - I can take it no longer. I am going away in search of that elusive place. I was thinking that the worst was over, but now I hear that Himesh Reshammiya is to lend his voice for the song "Mehbooba Mehbooba" in Ram Gopal Verma's remake of Sholay. Probably because he can howl so well. "Oo-oo-oo". Well. I don't want to be here when that happens.
Before I run away, I will leave you with an idea for foolproof, effective torture. Take your subject, tie him up or strap him down, plug his ears with huge earphones, and play Himeshquito's "Aa Aa Aashiqui main teri, Jaa Jaa Jaayegi Jaan meri" in a loop. Before long, your subject will be a blithering idiot and will do whatever you say.
And no, I am not giving you the link to that song. If you haven't heard it yet, good. We need sane people for the future of the world.
Update: Don't miss the comments on this one!! :)
Monday, May 29, 2006
Mumbai Monsoon.
The rains are here! Of course, they've been here for a while now, but I was tempted to write it off as one of the quirks of Bangalore weather... but the constant cloud cover, the drizzle, the chilly mornings - it can't mean anything else!
And that reminds me of another city which has a distinctive monsoon - Mumbai.
The rains in Mumbai took me by surprise, to put it mildly. It is an entirely different culture out there. Coming from a place where people take shelter at the hint of a drizzle, here I saw a city that does not stop! What is amazing is the attitude of the -
People. They walk nonchalantly in pouring rain through knee deep water. They cheerily walk into office in casual clothes, drenched to the skin, and then change into formals in the changing rooms, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. They don't put off any business, or any visits. They just treat the rain as a minor inconvenience, and go about their business, unfazed.
Another thing that amazed me is the nature of the -
Rain. Continuous. Sometimes pouring, sometimes drizzling, but raining all the time. Initially, after a day of incessant rain, I said, "God! It's been raining for 24 hours non-stop!" My colleagues rolled their eyes at me with a "You ain't seen nothin' yet" expression. Sure enough, the rains continued round-the-clock for a week! Roads were flooded, trains stopped, but Mumbai went on.
One distinctive feature of the Mumbai monsoon - the ubiquitous -
Tubs. Or buckets. Outside shops and commercial establishments. Where you dump your dripping umbrella, before going in. Very convenient. The watchman doesn't have to take the risk of offending a customer by telling him to deposit his umbrella outside. And the owner of the establishment doesn't have to endure the agony of seeing rainwater dripping over his newly polished floors. But you need to have a knack of depositing your umbrella in just the right place in the tub. If you dump it right in the middle of the tub, then it will get entangled with the other dripping umbrellas, and you will have to move heaven and earth to retrieve it in one piece. Or if you place it on the periphery of the tub, someone, in the process of looking for his dumped-in-the-middle umbrella, will displace yours, and it will land ten feet away from the tub. You have to place it just so. And yes, if you have a distinctive umbrella, and if you place it in the tub all tied and folded, you have a better chance of getting it back. In one piece.
Then of course, is the major matter of -
Shoes. After the first major rain, I tried to skirt puddles daintily, trying to protect my footwear. When I realized that daintiness doesn't really work on the streets of Mumbai, I waded through ankle-deep water, and promptly spoiled my shoes. My room-mates guided me to Andheri to buy footwear suited for the rains. I duly landed in the market, expecting to see cheap plastic monstrosities, and was stupefied to see rack upon rack of "Rainy shoes"(sic), some really elegant. I bought a cool brown pair, which served me beautifully even as .. um... non-Rainy shoes.
And then, you cannot expect to survive the rains without an -
Umbrella. I had brought a tiny three-fold umbrella with me from Bangalore, which would fit snugly into my handbag. I disregarded warnings that I would need a sturdier two-fold umbrella, claiming that mine was very strong. A week of enduring the rain and winds and the Tubs of Mumbai, my dainty turquoise umbrella was a clump of rusty spokes and muddy fabric. The next weekend saw me again in Andheri, bargaining for a hardy two-fold umbrella. I picked up a light blue one with white raindrops... that somehow made me feel like a Powerpuff girl, but which, I was sure, was pretty resilient to withstand the winds, and unique enough for a life in the Tubs. A month later, though the white raindrops had turned brown, the umbrella was intact. It even accompanied me back to Bangalore as a prized possession.
And I just cannot stop talking about the -
Sights. And the experiences. A walk down Marine Drive in the rain, biting into hot, spiced, corn on the cob. Or looking out towards Powai Lake. Or a drive on the Mumbai-Pune expressway, through Lonavala and Khandala, in the rain. One of the best experiences ever. Endless green hills and valleys with drifting cottony clouds. Black roads, dark tunnels. And the chill. My only grouse is that I had no one travelling with me to share the moment with, and I did not have a camera. Aaargh!
Of course, everything is not hunky-dory in the Mumbai monsoon. Cancelled trains, stranded passengers. Clothes take forever to dry, and attain that musty, sour smell that no perfume can mask. Grease gets on your clothes when you wade through water on the streets, and no amount of scrubbing will remove it. And if you are not too careful, the clothes in your cupboard develop fungus. And worst of all, if you are feeling lonely or if things are not going too well for you, the Mumbai monsoons have the immense ability to hurl you into the depths of depression.
But nowhere else is the monsoon an event in itself. And the way the city and it's people have adapted to this necessary evil(?) is a joy to observe. How can Mumbai possibly not endear itself to you?
And that reminds me of another city which has a distinctive monsoon - Mumbai.
The rains in Mumbai took me by surprise, to put it mildly. It is an entirely different culture out there. Coming from a place where people take shelter at the hint of a drizzle, here I saw a city that does not stop! What is amazing is the attitude of the -
People. They walk nonchalantly in pouring rain through knee deep water. They cheerily walk into office in casual clothes, drenched to the skin, and then change into formals in the changing rooms, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. They don't put off any business, or any visits. They just treat the rain as a minor inconvenience, and go about their business, unfazed.
Another thing that amazed me is the nature of the -
Rain. Continuous. Sometimes pouring, sometimes drizzling, but raining all the time. Initially, after a day of incessant rain, I said, "God! It's been raining for 24 hours non-stop!" My colleagues rolled their eyes at me with a "You ain't seen nothin' yet" expression. Sure enough, the rains continued round-the-clock for a week! Roads were flooded, trains stopped, but Mumbai went on.
One distinctive feature of the Mumbai monsoon - the ubiquitous -
Tubs. Or buckets. Outside shops and commercial establishments. Where you dump your dripping umbrella, before going in. Very convenient. The watchman doesn't have to take the risk of offending a customer by telling him to deposit his umbrella outside. And the owner of the establishment doesn't have to endure the agony of seeing rainwater dripping over his newly polished floors. But you need to have a knack of depositing your umbrella in just the right place in the tub. If you dump it right in the middle of the tub, then it will get entangled with the other dripping umbrellas, and you will have to move heaven and earth to retrieve it in one piece. Or if you place it on the periphery of the tub, someone, in the process of looking for his dumped-in-the-middle umbrella, will displace yours, and it will land ten feet away from the tub. You have to place it just so. And yes, if you have a distinctive umbrella, and if you place it in the tub all tied and folded, you have a better chance of getting it back. In one piece.
Then of course, is the major matter of -
Shoes. After the first major rain, I tried to skirt puddles daintily, trying to protect my footwear. When I realized that daintiness doesn't really work on the streets of Mumbai, I waded through ankle-deep water, and promptly spoiled my shoes. My room-mates guided me to Andheri to buy footwear suited for the rains. I duly landed in the market, expecting to see cheap plastic monstrosities, and was stupefied to see rack upon rack of "Rainy shoes"(sic), some really elegant. I bought a cool brown pair, which served me beautifully even as .. um... non-Rainy shoes.
And then, you cannot expect to survive the rains without an -
Umbrella. I had brought a tiny three-fold umbrella with me from Bangalore, which would fit snugly into my handbag. I disregarded warnings that I would need a sturdier two-fold umbrella, claiming that mine was very strong. A week of enduring the rain and winds and the Tubs of Mumbai, my dainty turquoise umbrella was a clump of rusty spokes and muddy fabric. The next weekend saw me again in Andheri, bargaining for a hardy two-fold umbrella. I picked up a light blue one with white raindrops... that somehow made me feel like a Powerpuff girl, but which, I was sure, was pretty resilient to withstand the winds, and unique enough for a life in the Tubs. A month later, though the white raindrops had turned brown, the umbrella was intact. It even accompanied me back to Bangalore as a prized possession.
And I just cannot stop talking about the -
Sights. And the experiences. A walk down Marine Drive in the rain, biting into hot, spiced, corn on the cob. Or looking out towards Powai Lake. Or a drive on the Mumbai-Pune expressway, through Lonavala and Khandala, in the rain. One of the best experiences ever. Endless green hills and valleys with drifting cottony clouds. Black roads, dark tunnels. And the chill. My only grouse is that I had no one travelling with me to share the moment with, and I did not have a camera. Aaargh!
Of course, everything is not hunky-dory in the Mumbai monsoon. Cancelled trains, stranded passengers. Clothes take forever to dry, and attain that musty, sour smell that no perfume can mask. Grease gets on your clothes when you wade through water on the streets, and no amount of scrubbing will remove it. And if you are not too careful, the clothes in your cupboard develop fungus. And worst of all, if you are feeling lonely or if things are not going too well for you, the Mumbai monsoons have the immense ability to hurl you into the depths of depression.
But nowhere else is the monsoon an event in itself. And the way the city and it's people have adapted to this necessary evil(?) is a joy to observe. How can Mumbai possibly not endear itself to you?
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Flitterwochen
Is a honeymoon necessary?
Why? To spend time together? Yes, definitely, but as some killjoys love to point out, you can spend time together sitting at home too.
Then? Is it to get away from dinner invitations from over-enthusiastic relatives? Now this one makes sense. A wedding is like a hurricane. You'd rather run away on a vacation, than display any more muscle-cramping plastic smiles or be subject to more bone-crunching handshakes.
Or is it just an excuse to take that much needed vacation? - This is the time when the boss is most accommodating, and is mostly likely to sanction that long-requested-for leave. I know at least one person who cited his honeymoon as the reason to take a vacation. If he had had his way, he would have gone without his wife - anyway, that's another story.
I have a very (in my view) compelling reason that a honeymoon is essential.
When you take a vacation with somebody, you get to see the real person*. An individual's behaviour during the sane, comfortable, predictable flow of daily activities might be in stark contrast to his attitude when he** is travelling.
Take a man on a vacation, and observe him. Even better, throw in some last minute glitches, a few obnoxious people, a couple of plans that go topsy-turvy, and a little unexpected hardship. Then stand back and watch him react. There is a high possibility that that's the real him. [Or her. Doesn't matter.]
A vacation can give you some pleasant surprises and some rude shocks. It can warm you, or warn you.
[Ever gone out on a long trip from college and come back with stronger bonds, or broken friendships? Same theory.]
I believe that a honeymoon is an indicator of your life ahead. Do I hear you say, what's the use, anyway you are already married? Maybe. But you might learn in a span of 1-2 weeks, what would have taken you probably a year or more to learn. [And even then, you don't know nothin' yet. But let me not go into that now.] And that might stand you in good stead.
Disclaimer -
*This is written in the context of a culture where the bride and groom are not too well-acquainted, or know very little of each other before the wedding. Or even in the case where they do know each other pretty well, but have met only in ordinary circumstances, and haven't spent extended periods of time together.
**I have used the generic "he/him". You can very well substitute "she/her". No difference.
Post inspired by an account of how Shastri discovered his wife's mental strength, during an eventful trip to Kemmannugundi.
Your thoughts, of course, are welcome!
Why? To spend time together? Yes, definitely, but as some killjoys love to point out, you can spend time together sitting at home too.
Then? Is it to get away from dinner invitations from over-enthusiastic relatives? Now this one makes sense. A wedding is like a hurricane. You'd rather run away on a vacation, than display any more muscle-cramping plastic smiles or be subject to more bone-crunching handshakes.
Or is it just an excuse to take that much needed vacation? - This is the time when the boss is most accommodating, and is mostly likely to sanction that long-requested-for leave. I know at least one person who cited his honeymoon as the reason to take a vacation. If he had had his way, he would have gone without his wife - anyway, that's another story.
I have a very (in my view) compelling reason that a honeymoon is essential.
When you take a vacation with somebody, you get to see the real person*. An individual's behaviour during the sane, comfortable, predictable flow of daily activities might be in stark contrast to his attitude when he** is travelling.
Take a man on a vacation, and observe him. Even better, throw in some last minute glitches, a few obnoxious people, a couple of plans that go topsy-turvy, and a little unexpected hardship. Then stand back and watch him react. There is a high possibility that that's the real him. [Or her. Doesn't matter.]
A vacation can give you some pleasant surprises and some rude shocks. It can warm you, or warn you.
[Ever gone out on a long trip from college and come back with stronger bonds, or broken friendships? Same theory.]
I believe that a honeymoon is an indicator of your life ahead. Do I hear you say, what's the use, anyway you are already married? Maybe. But you might learn in a span of 1-2 weeks, what would have taken you probably a year or more to learn. [And even then, you don't know nothin' yet. But let me not go into that now.] And that might stand you in good stead.
Disclaimer -
*This is written in the context of a culture where the bride and groom are not too well-acquainted, or know very little of each other before the wedding. Or even in the case where they do know each other pretty well, but have met only in ordinary circumstances, and haven't spent extended periods of time together.
**I have used the generic "he/him". You can very well substitute "she/her". No difference.
Post inspired by an account of how Shastri discovered his wife's mental strength, during an eventful trip to Kemmannugundi.
Your thoughts, of course, are welcome!
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