It was a 'Oh My God' day...

In a matter of 70 minutes, I have been stepped on, pushed by & yelled at, by half the human population in Delhi NCR.


But this is not where ‘today’ starts. I woke up late today, thanks to the ‘all nighter’ that I had pulled earlier. (Project, you know.) I came in late, sweet-talked my way into the class, settling in with a cup of much-needed coffee.

Okay, so, last night, one of my friends had taught me a Malyali word ‘Maire’, which she said, meant ‘Monkey’. So, when I spotted my mallu friend in class, I greeted him with a loud, “What’s up Maire?” He looked dumbfounded but politely told me that it is a swear-word, roughly meaning ‘pubic hair’.

Super. I can never get over that one.

Later, we had to go for an assignment/field-reporting at one of the press conferences happening. We attended it…& hello?…it was brilliant! At least the part with Siddharth Varadrajan (from The Hindu) was. I taped the whole conversation.

Oh no, now comes the nightmare. I had been told that the nearest metro station from the place was INA. So I went there. And - Oh. My. God. The trains were soooooooooo bloody crowded! It was as if I were on an escalator. I got pushed into the train, as if by magic. No, not the, you-rub-a-lamp-&-pop-comes-a-genie-type magic. It was more like a Rumplestillskin act. Completely horrible. Then, I got down at Rajiv Chowk, which is like the most crowded stations in Delhi. I went round & round looking for the right platform. I couldn’t even look at the sign-boards properly, because, as soon as you loose focus, you ram into someone. And people yell at you. Finally, after 20 minutes of station-trotting, I found the right platform & stood in a line. The metro came, jam packed, as usual…

And I got in…just so. For the next 15 minutes, all I could smell was sweat. Sick, man. And whenever a station came, I was jostled & shoved from all sides. The names of the metro stations started to sound more & more unfamiliar, and that’s when I realized, that I had got into the wrong fucking train! Damn it!

I got down, cursing my luck, got into the right train, went to the connecting station, and finally reached my destination. I was sure that by this time I would be smelling like a dead fish. Yep - and I was. Now it should come as no surprise to you, my readers, when I say that it had started raining. Pouring. I looked like a drowned cat by the time I reached home. By the way, I’ve never understood why they say ‘drowned cat’. I mean, a drowned cat wouldn’t look any different than a drowned dog, or a drowned hyena.

Anyway, that’s when it struck me. If I’ve had such a terrible time, the only way to counter-act would be to write as funny a description as I can, of it.

So here I am.

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Of Devils and Details...

The Devil is in detail, they say. I say, not always! Most of the times, it's the little things that matter. For example, a pinch of cardamom in that tea makes all the difference. From being just tea, it becomes Tea. Or, a little chip in your nail-polish can ruin your whole impression! I always pay attention to details. It is those little details that make a pleasing whole. But remember, it can work both ways.

This one time, I was in Bangalore (which is one of my favourite cities, by the way) and was visiting a famous temple. We had to stand in a queue for a really long time. As it is my favourite past time, I began observing other people. What they were wearing, how they were dressed...etc. I like to make guesses about their background, personality & nature. I'm not bragging, but I am right most of the times. Anyway, I noticed this guy, a village guy, must be around 18, wearing shabby but not unclean clothes, standing in the queue. His hair was weired, he was not shaved...normally, no one would ever give him a second look. Being inside the temple, we all had to remove shoes outside the temple premises. When I saw his feet, I was surprised. They were extremely clean! He had clean toes, no signs of hangnails, nails neatly clipped & the skin of the feet was moisturised. That's when I decided he must be a guy from a village (obviously) but he must be rich & must never have done any outdoor-type work.

To quote another incident, I was at my Dad's resort having a cup of tea with my sister. My Dad was sitting just across the room with a person who was giving him a presentation quite enthusiastically. I mean literally, the guy was bouncing in his seat. I saw that the guy was wearing a white shirt with the top button undone, grey trousers, & a grey jacket. He was wearing brown crocodile scaled shoes. I thought, Aahaa! gotcha! You are not what you try to portray my dear friend! I could even get a sneak peak at his white *gasp* socks!

So I texted my Dad & asked if I could come over. He said yes, and me and my sister Pester joined them. My Uncle M was listening to the guy, mesmerised. My Dad was looking interested. And I was trying not to count his 37 mistakes in every sentence he spoke. Later he even gave my Dad a presentation on the some lame dances he had arranged for some "yelite" (that's the way he pronounced elite) clients. The presentation was fantastic. They had this whole Arabian theme with - hear this - balle dancing (pleeese do not make me explain that it was belly dancing)!! I have never practiced so much self control! Pester was sitting a little behind the group and was shaking suspiciously. I willed myself not to look at her, or I would be in splits!

After the 'meeting', I just said to my Dad, "No way, you've got to be kidding me! You are not thinking of hiring him?!?!" My Uncle M butted in, "No, no, he's too pro-Islam...won't do for our clients...didn't you see his emphasis on Arabian theme?"

That's when I lost it and laughed my ass off!! :-)

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Regarding Lingerie

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman with or without a great fortune has no use for lingerie whatsoever in her life...

Shopping for decent underwear is a thing which requires skill, precision, determination & an ability to choose, to make the wisest decision when you are bombarded with lethal (underwired) choices.

Shopping for my undies has been a painful experience for me, always. Since my 15th birthday, I have been shopping for my underwear on my own. Till then, it used to be a family affair, when 3 times a year, we were bought matching sets of bloomers. It was really hassle-free. In my teens, my Mum bought me sporty bras that made sure that my non-existent cleavage remained inconspicuous.

I remember a particularly painful experience, when I was living in Bangalore and my friend and colleague Rits recommended me a particular lingerie store. The owner/attendant was a middle aged woman, rather like a sweet auntie. That's what I thought first. Then she asked me, "What is your size, baby?" I told her, to which she replied, totally checking me out, "No, no baby, you'll want a B, not a C!" I blushed and asked for some everyday-wear bras, you know, the comfy affairs, which any self-respecting girl would rather die, than show it to her boyfriend. She thrust a brown silk & lace piece with underwire & padding under my nose. "Just try this one, baby...it'll look so good on you" she said checking me out again. I thought I'll find Rits and make her pay for this. She shoved me into a dressing room & started throwing more lace & wire from the top of the door, yelling all the time, "try this one baby...and this...and this will look so good with your skin colour!" Finally & firmly I got through her. I said, "I really like these auntie, but I'd like to see some cotton ones too, please." She shook her head sadly saying, "but baby, you're so young! These horrid cotton affairs are meant for menopausal women!" That was when I dropped everything and fled.

I now take care that whenever I shop for underclothes, I always pick small stores, that carry no labels. Huh. Life has taught me much.

I was moaning about this to my Bua (my father's sister), Aunt Uma, when she said, "come, I'll show you the perfect shop!" My Aunt U is a black belt shopper. Her bargaining skills are unsurpassed & she knows exactly where the sales are. I'm sure she has a network of something like Baker Street Irregulars, who provide her with the names and addresses of the shopkeepers who are malleable. So she took me with her, in one of the city's most crowded areas. We went through familiar shopping streets, bustling with people, to the slightly unknown areas of the place. We went inside a nondescript building & rode in a elevator, which could very well have been the First Elevator In India.

You know, there is a moment in your life, when everything feels right and the second you meet someone, you know that he/she is the right one for you. You feel that no one else can understand you like him. You just look at him, and you know, everything is gonna be alright.
This is what I felt when I first saw "New Ladies Paradise - Wholesale woman's underwears & bra". What's in a name, I ask like Mr. Shakespeare. There were no vulgar "2-piece" or "4-piece" (?) clothes hanging out, no photographs of busty women showcasing impossible bras. Just a shop, a regular shop with mind-boggling rows and rows of neatly labeled boxes. The shop owner too, was a fatherly looking old man, with a paunch & a benevolent smile.

He tirelessly showed me the things that I wanted to see, gave me a fat discount and bid me adieu. This is what a shopping experience should be like. He has gained a customer for life. God bless you man!

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Rant, Rant, Rant

There's this strange but true phenomenon about me. I can only be creative late at night. Like now, for example. Its 9:14 pm, a perfectly reasonable time for a person to have had his/her dinner, watched some TV, decided against coffee and turn on the computer in expectation of squeezing some creative juices. But does the creativity juice flow? Nooooo. Not for me at least. It must be the magical combination of heavy eyelids, yawning mouth & scrubbed face. Grrr.

So considering that I'm in a 'rant' mode, let me tell you about my interview.
Today I had a Group Discussion & Personal Interview (GD/PI for short) session for my MBA entrance exam. Since Dad & I have decided that unless I get a 'A' list college from Bombay, I won't be going for it. I mean, what the use, right? I'll just be wasting two more years on a mediocre degree & will get a mediocre job. It'll be much better to get married, go some place nice and then enroll in a good college. So, anyway, I was there, 10 minutes early, neatly dressed in a Salwaar-Kameez & completely stress-free.

I had a little trouble in finding the exact building in the Pune University campus (I mean, the place is huge! Must be at least 20 kilometers in radius). After I parked my car, I went there and was made to sit in a classroom and fill out a form. It contained questions like, "What are your strengths and weaknesses?", "Which one of your family you'd save first in case of a fire?" and "What is the biggest mistake of your life?". So I spent my 30 minutes in answering these questions, keeping them as far from reality as I could. Later, we were given a serial number (I was no. 11) and made to sit in a semi-circle. Our topic for the GD was "Is Common Sense more important to running a business that Genius?". I did my thing.

Later came the PI. There were two guys who were interviewing me. They were trying the good ol' 'Good Cop, Bad Cop' routine. But after a couple of minutes due to my charming manners, both of them turned into 'Good Cops'!

Well, lets see how it turns out... I mean, either way I win, right? Anyhoo, I've got another one of the GD/PIs on the 28th. Will have to miss out on one of the south Indian summer weddings. Anyway, the heat at this time of year in the south is simply unbearable! Phew! God luck, Mum, she's going, by the way.

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Why, oh why, don't they write songs like that anymore!

Why, oh why, don't they write songs like that anymore!
God! Their language, their thoughts, their passion, was so...perfect.

I wish someone would write a song for me like that *sigh*

She - by Elvis Costello
From Notting Hill

She

May be the face I can't forget
The trace of pleasure or regret
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay

She
May be the song that summer sings
May be the chill that autumn brings
May be a hundred different things
Within the measure of a day

She
May be the beauty or the beast
May be the famine or the feast
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell
She may be the mirror of my dreams
The smile reflected in a stream
She may not be what she may seem
Inside her shell

She
Who always seems so happy in a crowd
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud
No one's allowed to see them when they cry

She
May be the love that cannot hope to last
May come to me from shadows of the past
That I'll remember till the day I die

She
May be the reason I survive
The why and wherefore I'm alive
The one I'll care for through the rough in ready years

Me
I'll take her laughter and her tears
And make them all my souvenirs
For where she goes I've got to be
The meaning of my life is

She
She, oh she


*Jackie starts daydreaming*

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Today, Tennyson!

Following are some of my favourite lines from Lord Alfred Tennyson's Maud:

"Half the night I waste in sighs,

Half in dreams I sorrow after

The delight of early skies;

In a wakeful doze I sorrow

For the hand, the lips, the eyes,

For the meeting of the morrow

The delight of happy laughter,

The delight of low replies"

Enjoy!

See ya later!

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Hello...

Hello everybody!
How's everyone doing?

Well, I just wanted to let you guys know that I've registered on Authonomy!! Yay!
Lets hope something comes out of it! :)

So, I was just wondering, how to start it...you know what I mean? Seriously, I can't imagine, because, I love a different book every day.  I admire a different style, every week. This week its Austen. "Really, you astonish me". And last week it was Bridget Jones' style rant. "Weight: 8st 10lbs, Alcohol units: 9, Calories Consumed: 3584." Huh.

I am going to the library now to get some new, totally unheard of books. Last week, I got a book called as Fairytale of New York by Miranda Dickinson, and reviewed it for my college application. I got selected for their Interview (!). I was to review a Book, a Film or a televison Show. At first I decided to review a film, Alice in Wonderland...but then I thought, its a famous movie, everybody must have seen it & must have formed their opinions about it. T.V. show was out of question. The only shows I like are 90210 & Skins, and I didn't think the professors would be impressed by my addiction to teen drama... Thats why I chose a relatively unknow, fresh book, just published in Oct 2009. And my theory was proved correct.

I'm feeling really groggy now...couldn't sleep last night. I have to do something about that. Anyhoo, it's not a big deal. Nothing that a high dose of caffeine won't cure!

Gotta scram now y'all... Will write some more later!

Ciao.

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Auguries of Innocence by William Blake

Hey Guys,
Long time!
Just thought I'd share with you this wonderful poem by William Blake:

"To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house fill'd with doves and pigeons
Shudders hell thro' all its regions.
A dog starv'd at his master's gate
Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road
Calls to heaven for human blood.
Each outcry of the hunted hare
A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,
A cherubim does cease to sing.
The game-cock clipt and arm'd for fight
Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf's and lion's howl
Raises from hell a human soul.
The wild deer, wand'ring here and there,
Keeps the human soul from care.

The lamb misus'd breeds public strife,
And yet forgives the butcher's knife.
The bat that flits at close of eve
Has left the brain that won't believe.

The owl that calls upon the night
Speaks the unbeliever's fright.
He who shall hurt the little wren
Shall never be belov'd by men.

He who the ox to wrath has mov'd
Shall never be by woman lov'd.
The wanton boy that kills the fly
Shall feel the spider's enmity.

He who torments the chafer's sprite
Weaves a bower in endless night.
The caterpillar on the leaf
Repeats to thee thy mother's grief.

Kill not the moth nor butterfly,
For the last judgement draweth nigh.
He who shall train the horse to war
Shall never pass the polar bar.

The beggar's dog and widow's cat,
Feed them and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer's song
Poison gets from slander's tongue.
The poison of the snake and newt
Is the sweat of envy's foot.

The poison of the honey bee
Is the artist's jealousy.

The prince's robes and beggar's rags
Are toadstools on the miser's bags.
A truth that's told with bad intent
Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so;
Man was made for joy and woe;
And when this we rightly know,
Thro' the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,
A clothing for the soul divine.
Under every grief and pine
Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands;
Every farmer understands.
Every tear from every eye
Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright,
And return'd to its own delight.
The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar,
Are waves that beat on heaven's shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath
Writes revenge in realms of death.
The beggar's rags, fluttering in air,
Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier, arm'd with sword and gun,
Palsied strikes the summer's sun.
The poor man's farthing is worth more
Than all the gold on Afric's shore.

One mite wrung from the lab'rer's hands
Shall buy and sell the miser's lands;
Or, if protected from on high,
Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant's faith
Shall be mock'd in age and death.
He who shall teach the child to doubt
The rotting grave shall ne'er get out.

He who respects the infant's faith
Triumphs over hell and death.
The child's toys and the old man's reasons
Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner, who sits so sly,
Shall never know how to reply.
He who replies to words of doubt
Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known
Came from Caesar's laurel crown.
Nought can deform the human race
Like to the armour's iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plow,
To peaceful arts shall envy bow.
A riddle, or the cricket's cry,
Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet's inch and eagle's mile
Make lame philosophy to smile.
He who doubts from what he sees
Will ne'er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,
They'd immediately go out.
To be in a passion you good may do,
But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state
Licensed, build that nation's fate.
The harlot's cry from street to street
Shall weave old England's winding-sheet.

The winner's shout, the loser's curse,
Dance before dead England's hearse.

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day."



Such a lovely poem...

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