My phone got stolen!

And may the thief rot in hell.

All my contacts from the last so many years, all the birthday reminders, all the lovely pictures, my Snake score.... aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa

And I loved my phone. While S saw it as an opportunity to buy a new phone, I wanted the same model. My sleek and slim beautiful phone... sigh...

Jaane tu ya...

I've been wanting to hear the "Aditi song" after this film critic dedicated his weekly column to this AR Rehman number. So finally heard it the other day when I went and saw the movie (Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na). Loved it. And why not? It has the simplicity of running down stairs. But it is disappointing that in the film, what brings about the song is the death of a cat. Uh...

Anyway, about the film. Just another college romance flick, people have said. Chocolate boy hero, cliched plot, people have said. But I enjoyed every bit of it. Apart from the fact that the boy and girl called each other Rats and Meow. Ack! But the supporting cast -- superb! Naseeruddin Shah in his portrait frame, Paresh Rawal insisting that there are many more nasty policemen like him in the force, Ratna Pathak Shah trying to keep the violent strain out of her son. The best of the lot is certainly the witty and engaging script.

Like adding his signature at the end of a letter, Abbas Tyrewala's parting shot: An old man with a long grey beard fallen asleep in the arrival lounge of the Mumbai airport holding a placard that says "Mr Godot". :)

What god gets happy when some 50 men including four frenzied drummers keep an entire neighbourhood awake for over 3 hours in the dead of the night?

In the last three years that we have lived here, we have had several godly processions disturbing general peace. But this was the last straw. The procession started at 11 in the night from somewhere in the labyrinth beyond. The noise took an hour to die out of our range of hearing. At midnight, when things had quietened down, we stumbled bleary eyed to bed. Only to be rudely woken up again at 1 am. It soon peaked, as the return journey closed in on us. And stayed at that peak, right below our window, for a good 15 minutes. And so the procession proceeded, painfully slow, stopping every 100 metres or so and going into frenzies. We even called the cops, and said how can you allow such public nuisance at this time of the night? But it's god's business, they said.

If that particular god was really happy yesterday, I really don't want to know that god.
And if your religious sentiments have been hurt by this post, please explain to me this style of worship and why it is unavoidable.

Here's more

Found one more of the unforgivably bad water bottle philosophy.

I spent my youth never questioning a destiny that made me spend years gathering natural minerals on the Himalayas. And now that yours has led you to me, don't hesitate to drink up.

I say, I would really like to meet the guy who comes up with these.

Water bottle philosophy

Frequent flier that S is, the house at any point has a collection of at least six tiny airline water bottles. The latest two in the collection are truly worth keeping. It comes with its own philosophy. These are those pink Himalayan bottles, which Tata has redesigned and all. So I suppose some frustrated philosopher felt the need to inflict his thoughts on the world.

Anyway, here goes Bottle 1:

"I grew up in a world where Ayurveda came without labels attached. Where water was filled with natural minerals like sodium and calcium. In keeping with the times, we've just put a label on it."

Even better is Bottle 2:

"I look back on life -- it's funny how things turn out. You, a connoisseur of fast food, now gaze at water that took years to make. And I, some of the purest water in the world, stand here, trapped in a bottle. Come, enjoy the irony."

How could one drink it after all that...? I felt I should set it free or something...

Back!

I am back I am back!
After over three months.
Not that I didn't have anything to write about.
But that I didn't want to write.
:)

:)

Spring time in Bangalore :)
Though it is horribly hot already.
Such lovely colours.
One only had the phone to take pictures. So the quality ain't quite great. But still :)

These at Koramangala:


Vasanth Nagar:


Lovely pinks at Jayanagar (women's day special?):


Venketappa art gallery:

Hot scones and boarding schools and fairies and adventures

Enid Blyton. I pretty much grew up on what she wrote. My fantasy world was peopled with aunts who baked the yummiest cakes, moms who packed the best picnic lunches of sandwiches and lemonade, sumptuous meals of homemade bread and strawberries and cream, dogs that obeyed when you said “heel”, beautiful boarding schools, holidays at Welsh villages and quiet beaches, adventures, secret passages, ruins of castles, caravans, camp fires.

I didn’t grow out of those for a long, long time. Who would want to? The British countryside and all the lovely food would have anyone hooked. But then, one discovered Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys.

Anyway, why I am rambling about all this today is because after several years, I picked up an Enid Blyton. A mystery story with two boys and a girl. I was enjoying it till I read this:

“Pam, you may only be a girl but you have some great ideas.”

Whoa!! What? Did I just read that? And it went on – the girl was very pleased at the compliment. The book was full of such remarks and instances.

And then one sat down and recalled all the characters one could. It was appalling. It was always the girls who brought the lemonade, Anne loved to “keep home” for the rest of the Famous Five while George(iana) had to have the excuse that she wanted to be a boy in order to wear trousers and keep her hair short and generally do everything the boys did, the aunts did nothing better than bake. Did I really grow up on such stuff??

I am just so slow in realising these things… A quick internet threw up a lot of information on controversies and revisions, on how her writing promoted negative stereotypes regarding gender and even race. But will this stop me from reading her books? I certainly was disgusted with this one instance, but I still love Malory Towers and all those farms and the magic Faraway Tree.

How desperate can (some) men get?

There are oh so many of those scary emails that tell you how careful you have to be when you go out partying. And in oh so many ways. Don't do this, don't do that, this happened to this girl in this city, something else happened to that girl in that city. Here is my addition to the list:
If you are a girl, and if you are at a restaurant/pub/disc, and if you need to go to the loo, and if you have a girl friend with you, please take her along.

Last weekend, San and I were at this rather hep lounge bar in city with another couple. Several songs later, the place was closing for the night, and we were leaving and I took a quick trip to the loo. I open the door to the women's loo and what do I find? A man sprawled on the floor, peeping into one of the stalls through the small ventilation panel at the bottom of the door. The daze that I was in kind of snapped as I wondered whether he is the cleaning boy blowing dust off the door. That couldn't be. So then one shouted -- what the hell was he doing? The chap mumbled something about how he was looking for his friend and said "It's ok, I will wait outside."
I was such a dull head then that I actually bought the story and thought there really weren't anyone in the stalls. And just then one babe walked out of the stall, called out to her friend who was in the other, who also walked out soon, and they left. And I gaped...

Long and short of the story is, no matter where you are, if you are going to the loo and if you have a friend with you, please get her to accompany you...

The little town is all grown up

I recently happened to spend more than 10 days in my hometown. Ten days! It has been so long since I spent that much time at home. Anyway, this is not about the nostalgia and all; that is a whole different post.

How the place has changed...
The road that was once a mere trickle of tar, is now a broad road complete with bustling shopping centres on either sides, a huge traffic island and all such jazz.
There are hardly any locals left. Oh well, how would there be? They are all here in Bangalore! :)
People do not stare at foreigners any more. White skin seems pretty much as common as coconut trees.
The city has gone green! Plastic bags of some certain quality have been coming under bans for long, but now stores are giving out paper or cloth bags. One of the most popular local supermarket chains is offering incentives to customers for returning plastic bags.
Real estate has shot up and how! And much like Bangalore, it is now one of the favourite topics of discussion.
People I know pay more rent than I do in Bangalore.
People pay with Sodexho coupons.


But there are some things that will never change...
If you are female and are wearing jeans, you will be stared at because possibilities are, u are the only one in jeans in a 2km radius.
If you are female, you will be stared at because the mass migration to greener pastures seems to have left behind all the lecherous men.
The buses are just as rash; the conductors still have the same incantations to announce the destination.
Most of the junta still know the timings of the peak-hour inter-city trains.

Click

One evening, when it rained in Bangalore...




And the next day...

Mumbai

How can I not comment on the Mumbai issue?

That I am appalled goes without saying. That I am now scared of crowds is understood. That now I am very conscious about every small action or look of mine when I go out (what if someone misunderstands my glance at the traffic for a come-hither?), is scaring me. What am I turning into? Where will such paranoia take me?

Here's one remark I heard recently about this: "They were smooching on the road. No wonder the women got grabbed at."
I don't know how far that is true, but nevertheless pointed out that if a woman is kissing her partner on the road, it is NOT an invitation to the world to paw her.
Counter argument came: "This is not US, this is India. When they are here, they better know how to behave here."
So then, is this a punishment for not "behaving"?

That apart, what egged the crowd along is the fact that the women swore at the men for commenting at them. So at the base of it, it is a simple question of a hurt male ego. Problem was, this was a case of a mammoth inflammable ego -- the collective ego of a monster with 70-odd heads.

Ugh.... I don't even want to talk more about it... Only hope the girls manage to get over the trauma. But will they ever be able to? I don't know...

There's a discussion going on here. Do join in.

HNY

People can't even type in a proper New Year greeting on SMS anymore, is it? Anyway, Happy New Year, world.

I am back, refreshed.

There certainly is a good reason why a relieving letter is called so. It is so damn relieving! So relieved to be out of there, relieved not to be worrying about the next day, relieved not to be bothered about lists and lists and lists, relieved that I will no longer be playing event manager/host/shadow/entertainer/usher/errand girl at the many inane events. Whew! :)

I have support :)

I don't believe I am saying this, but I can so relate to what Bangalore Times has written today :)

Nasty on the Net
US researchers recently reported that
hateful text messages, abusive emails and cyber-gossip are giving bullies new
power over their victims. BT explores
SHILPA BANSAL

PEOPLE who have never been bullied are now becoming victims of cyberbullying. In chat rooms, via emails and even on blogs the vibes are getting nasty. So, how bad does it get? “It’s easy for anybody to post any kind of comment in response to your blog because the people posting nasty comments knows for sure that they will never see or meet you,” says Aravind Krishna, business analyst. Aravind, a regular blogger, says he’s seen crazy spats online, most ending in racial abuse. “That’s when it gets nasty and a whole chain of people get involved. The comments drift away from the actual topic of the blog,” he says.
But the comments depend on the feedback the blogger gives, believes Ravi, another blogger. “Responding to feedback is the prerogative of the blogger. If the feedback is positive and acknowledged, the person who comments feels satisfied. If not, over a period of time, the person feels slighted and tends to express himself with views opposite to that of the blogger. This then degenerates into an online mud-slinging match, with others taking up cudgels either for or against the blogger. People like to feel important online too. So when they’re ignored, the abuse begins,” he explains.
Amita, who has been blogging for the last five years, agrees, saying, “This happens, and there’s little you can do to stop people from leaving their opinions, especially if you have an open comments field,” she says. She believes that what you write about also determines the sort of reactions you get. “If you write on sensational and controversial topics, you have to be prepared for all kinds of feedback because few people know how to make their point in a polite way,” she adds.
According to copywriter Swaroop B, “If someone has posted a nasty comment, the blogger has the option of deleting it, but there are now malicious software codes designed to populate your comment box and attack it like a virus. This blog spam attacks your comment box in bulk and automatically posts random comments or promotes commercial services to blogs, wikis, guest books, and other public online discussion boards. Any web application that accepts and displays hyperlinks submitted by visitors may be a target.” Swaroop says he usually misses the constructive comments among the nasty ones. “There’s sometimes so much abuse that the meaningful contributions are lost,” he says.
Is there a way to handle malice on the Net? “Many of the popular blogging platforms offer in-built options for bloggers to block commentators or spam. Validating who you are with an email ID is one method. IP address blocking is another,” explains Ravi. But there are always loopholes. “Unfortunately, this is not foolproof as a person can easily change his name or comment from a different machine with a different IP address,” he adds.
Amita simply resorts to deleting unsavoury comments. “I delete and ban the IP address. The other way to ensure you’re not spammed is to have moderated comments, which means that the comment appears only after you have reviewed it. Some bloggers even prefer not to have comments at all. Also one can install spam filters; it’s a kind of hurdle that might put off someone who’s just trying to be nasty,” explains Amita.

Clearing out

How much junk gathers in two years' time. In the little space I have here at my desk, there are a zillion files and folders. Dusty, useless. A million old notepads, none of which even makes sense to me now.

The only interesting things I have found are the doodles and scribbles from long, seemingly unending meetings. Little scraps of conversation, tic-tac-toe, sketches, a bit of creative writing. Here is one such. The meeting in question was so boring that I remember the finer details of the chair I was sitting on that day. Pardon the bad poetry, but such was the day.

A silent scream of ennui
emerges from the pit
of my stomach.
With no place to go,
it explodes in my head.
Wild hair and errant eyes
Flailing arms and torn clothes
My spirit bangs its head
on the walls of my heart.
System error.
Hard disc failure
Ctrl Alt Del
Ctrl Alt Del
Beep
Blink

And yet another. This during a post-lunch session of in-house training. This was the only way I would stop from snoring.

"Where is the question," he asks. Where indeed is the question?
I am looking, I am looking; don't rush me.
The cupboard, an old carton, rigid chairs, an office table... Where in the world is that darned question? It couldn't have slipped out, it's too soon.
Is there a shredder in the room? Perhaps it fell into that. Uh-oh...
Hey! What's this falling off my head? It's a word...
Oh no! The question fell into my thought shredder...!

:D Who said nothing creative happens around here? Might be really bad, but it ain't dead.

Anonymous

A certain Anonymous sent me this comment. Made me think a while, this one. Should I or should I not approve the comment? Considering it had absolutely no connection with the post for which it was left, I should probably reject it. But then, is my ego that hurt that I won't publish it? Am I such a brat that I can criticise the world but can't take criticism? So anyway, I decided to reject it and put it up here instead. And write a letter to dear friend Anonymous.

Dear Anonymous

If I knew your name, I would send you a thank you note for the advice. This hiding behind anonymity is so sad... But I am thinking, if you are so concerned about my eyebrows, you need a life. Don't you think? Nevertheless, thanks for the beauty tip. Again, if I knew your name, I would approach you for such tips. tch... such a loss...

regards
me.

Itching to go back to college

Just what is it about beautiful college campuses that makes you go look up courses that you could probably do?
The idyllic setting, the open-air cafeteria, the on-campus hostels, the long flight of stairs, the pristine quiet of the library, the low murmur from classrooms, the unending monotony of corridors, the trees that have witnessed tens of generations.
The memories of campus life, the exam fever, bunking classes, sleeping through lectures, cribbing over canteen food, passing notes in class, curling up with a book by the tall windows, the sheltered and uncomplicated life with friends, friends and friends.

Disclaimer

I work to live. I do not live to work.

It was a photographic moment.

A lovely November evening when the sun is warm and it is cold in the shade. A sun-warmed bench on which sat two girls, their laughing faces turned up towards the two brothers who stood with sunshine on their shoulders. There was happiness, contentment, a bright tomorrow -- all packed into that one frame.

Full sigh-worthy material... :)
But then, it all seemed so far away.