ya we get along, but...i feel there's a distance between us

I will never be a good cook.

I think it’s an inborn talent.

I try and i try.

I go by the recipe. I improvise.

It still doesn’t make a difference

The food tastes, at the most, all right.

A is gifted

Mostly his food turns out great

But this morning

The poha was sublime.

Thing is i love the kitchen

I love spices and racks and bottles

I love pressure cookers

And blackened kadais

And saucepans

I think of them as people

The kadai is the old mausi

The pressure cooker is the nepali boy cook

The saucepan is a youngster

The masala ka dabba is the rolling pin’s mother in law

The oil cans are tall friends

The spice bottles are naughty children

They are one big joint family

And i’m hoping one day

They’ll welcome me in to the fold.

somedays i don't make much sense

I like what I’m wearing to work today.

The top makes me look real good. It adds to parts that need adding (yippee), and skims parts that don't.

Tra la la. It’s nice to come to work dressed killer for a change. Not that there’s anyone worth dressing killer for in office. But still.

That’s the thing. I don’t get those who say but why should we dress for men. What bullshit I say. Of course they also say that you should dress for your own self. Huh? Hogshit!

If I was dressing for myself, it would be a disaster. I wouldn’t bother. Really, why match, why accessorize, why put on make up, why wax…why bother. There’s only you who’s gonna see it. It’s a pretty stupid argument.

And as far as dressing for men is concerned, if it’s of any help I also dress for women. I mean women notice faster. They are more difficult to get compliments out of. And if they do, you know it’s because they really mean it, not because they are hoping to stick their tongue in your ear. Not that all men who compliment you are…but well, men don’t just notice the finer things do they?

They’ll just say, “Wow, you’re looking good.” Whereas a woman would say, “ Wow, that shade of lipstick is fantastic. Where did you get it?” whereby, you can lie and then feel smug that you’ll have something she isn’t going to get... not now at least.

I’m not a nice person.

Anyway, then there’s this thing I noticed today. That I stare more at women than at men. No, really. It’s because I’m trying to see Oh nice shoes, What jeans are those, Oh why is she carrying that sucky bag with that nice dress, Hmm…wonder where she cuts her hair.

Even if the world’s most hot looking guy came and hit me on the head, I probably wouldn’t notice. Because I’ll be looking at the girl with him and thinking, “Are those from Promod…is the sale still on?”

Whew. At least I don’t do that with my girlfriends. Because if I did, I wouldn’t have noticed Farhan Akhtar when S &I were going for our yoga class yesterday.

He was in his car. And the weird thing is he was laughing, head tilted at an angle and looking like a poster of himself at 6.45 in the morning. And there was no one else in the car. I’m thinking, boy, he’s strange. How can he look so perfect, smile and hair intact, head at an angle, full on pose look at this unearthly hour in the morning?

What if he’s always looks like that? Brushes his teeth, grin in place, head at an angle. Poops, grin in place, head at an angle. Drives, grin in place, head at an angle. What if he is Ken?

Bring on the impossible high heels. I’m gonna be Barbie!
By the way I wrote this post with my grin intact, and my head at an angle.

let it all hang out

Okay, I’m somewhat real estate obsessed at the moment.

I think I’ve turned Mumbaikar. I’m plotting things like how to bring the flowerbeds into the house, how to steal the neighbours vent area, can I encroach into the common lobby, should I make my window grills large enough to house a study room.

Nothing new. Considering in Mumbai sab chalta hai when it comes to making the most of every inch of space.

Check out what I saw from Z’s window. it looks like just another building, with a bunch of windows facing you. But wait...


... what on earth is that?

...it is... fooking shit... a flush tank!

my. what will they do next? say attached toilet and put the pot out.

dangle and download eh!

kabootar ja ja ja, kabootar ja ja ja

Pah! I’ve turned into a freak. A mush ball who’ll start cooing like a demented pigeon any minute now.

And it all started when we were talking about our bed last night. It’s a huge king size bed, that could easily fit three. Nah, we’re not talking what you’re thinking.

Anyway so A tells me, “shit, maybe we shouldn’t have bought this huge bad-ass bed.” Reference to context: our tiny to be house, no thanks to the pathetic folks at ING Vysya (see, never lose an opportunity to bad-mouth them.)

Anyway back to cooing. So I tell A, “But this bed is fabulous. We’re no longer fighting over who takes up most of the bed and viciously digging our elbows in to each other, to make some space.”

Two minute pause. We’re both thinking of our previous bed. And our undignified attempts at grabbing more space, which included kicking, elbow shoving, and stabbing at the ribs.

Then A grins and says, “ Ya, that’s true. This bed is huuuge. Sometimes I have to find you at night.”

Oooooooooh. I turn to mush. He actually, in his sleep, reaches out for me…and he actually said that.

I played it cool. But inside I’m just about ready to hug a soft toy and start singing, “ main teri hoon janam, tu mera piya…”

*photo chepoed off http://www.crestock.com

things you learn along the way

Last week we had a house guest.

And she asked me, “ okay, so is there anything I should know about Bombay before I go out. Like what places to avoid, what streets not to walk on in broad daylight.”  That sort of thing. Just what a white girl living in Delhi, and getting her ass grabbed at least twice a day would ask.

So I though and thought. And then gave her my standard advice.

“ No, it’s actually pretty cool. Though there is one thing you should always remember in Mumbai. Pee before you leave home. Or if you’re in a restaurant, mall, coffee shop, make use of the facilities.”

She just smiled at me vaguely. Probably thought weirdo with a weak bladder.

But it’s true. If you move to Mumbai that’s the first thing you learn. I of course learnt it the hard way. The first time I was leaving work, and I felt just a little pee-ey. But then I thought home is just twenty minutes away, and if I go back to the loo, I’ll probably get caught for some work, so forget it...

Ha ha. I’ll never forget that evening. We got caught in a huge traffic jam, one truck had broken down, half a dozen traffic lights had stopped working, and it felt like everyone had left work at that very moment. Nothing moved, except my bladder which was painfully expanding by the minute.

I crossed my legs, leaned forward, gritted my teeth, tried to distract myself with thoughts of Anthony Bourdain. But no, nothing helped. The traffic would not move, there was not a single restaurant or coffee shop on that damn stretch, and soon I had tears in my eyes. A tried holding my hand, and singing a song, but nothing was helping. Only the thought of the grumpy Bihari cabbie going ballistic kept me from peeing in the cab.

Anyway, I finally made it to a Sulabh Sauchalaya that evening. And I swore to myself that it would never happen again.

But of course it did. A couple of times. The worst being when I was driving, and it was raining. Again on that same darned stretch of road. This time it got so bad, what with the persistent sound of rain on my roof and rivers running down my windscreen, that I removed my tiffin box from the plastic packet I usually carry it in. The idea was to slip the plastic packet into my jeans and pee in to it. But again, a packed double decker bus next to me, and tight jeans foiled that plan. I finally made it to the same Sulabh Sauchalaya, all teary eyed again.

Which reminds me, when I lived in Delhi, we used to pass this huge house in Vasant Vihar. And someone once told me it belongs to the guy who started the Sulabh Sauchalayas.  We always looked at it enviously.

But not anymore. Now when I go to Delhi, I’ll look at it with fondness. After all, it’s been built on my pee.

* as a sort of leave behind, here's something i found on http://natknits.wordpress.com. clearly, some people need a lot of help: dude...this is not the ocean...no, no...we can not find pomfret here...

motapa badane ke instant tarike

“Ji haan. I’m very satisfied with Miracle Tummy Popper. ING Vysya walon ne sach moch mere stomach  ko two pack se ganesh pack kar diya hai” -  satisfied customer Agentgreenglass.

                                                                  BEFORE

                                                                   AFTER

It is true. Nothing like a little stress to increase your stomach and make it looking popping and beautiful. Absolutely painless. One time stress. First they will suddenly stop your loan, then your body will go into instant shock, and metabolism will go on strike. And before you know it your stomach will be popping out, just like Agentgreenglass. Who is very happy now, because her wonderful bloated tummy makes her look like Punjab Sweet House ki malkin.

For further enquiries about Miracle Tummy Popper please call ING Vysya home loans. Now.

*The following actions should not be repeated at home. These images were captured under the expert guidance of specialised stunt teams.

ING Vyasa decides to wipe me out

Here’s my story

All those who read my blog, know how excited I’ve been about the new house.

A month back we found this house, and decided to take the plunge. In came ING Vyasa. The sweet man from the bank took our details, chatted with us, and assured us that if all the papers were in place; our loan would be ready in no time.

Tra la la.

Next, the loan was approved. Then, the nice agent from ING Vyasa told us we’d have to pay a higher processing fee because only ING Vyasa got a lawyer to check every single paper related to the house. In fact the ING Vyasa man told us we were unnecessarily paying a lawyer to check the papers, considering they were so stringent with their own checks.

Next morning the call comes, all papers are clear.

Tra la la.

Next we scramble to pay the owner the money. A huge fat sum. Begged and borrowed from parents, relatives and friends. We sell our investments, wipe out our bank accounts.

The nice man from the bank is encouraging. He tells us as soon as we finish paying our part, and do the registration, the bank will hand over the cheque. That’s the rule.

We pay, the registration happens.

Tra la la.

Then we start to break the house, run after contractors, plumbers, and the nice man from the bank. Who says the cheque is on its way. He’s just trying to get us a lower rate of interest. Nice man, we’re so thrilled.

Tra la la.

Then he arrives at our house, makes us sign some papers. Says the cheque will be given in two days. It doesn’t happen. We call him yesterday; he says the cheque will be paid tomorrow. The owner is getting jumpy. So we call the nice man at ING Vyasa’s boss. Who says, “Don’t worry Sir, the cheque is ready. I signed it. You’ll have it tomorrow afternoon.”

Tra la la.

This afternoon. No call. A calls them. And they tell him there is a problem. They didn’t realize one document was stamped, not registered, and there is another document which they haven’t got.

What does that mean?

Sir, sorry…but we can not disburse the loan.

I’m sitting here, writing this. I’ve paid the owner, money I’ve saved, money I’ve earned, money I’ve borrowed. And the nice man from ING Vyasa is sitting in front of me saying they knew about this a couple of days back, but they were confident they could solve it. However they can’t, and so they can not give me the loan. And ya, they were lying to me since Thursday.

A is stressed, I can see it. He’s on the phone, fretting, upset, angry. I’m writing, because that’s therapy. I’d probably be crying otherwise. The nice man from ING Vyasa has made a sorry face.

But they have no responsibility. They knew about this. They did not inform us. We paid them a processing fee, so they could check the papers. They couldn’t do it right.

Now they walk away scot free. And we stand to lose everything we ever had.