It's a Blog's Life!

I've been thinking of writing this post for some time and I finally cranked it out in a not very inspired mood. But let us go on!

There was this question in my Computer Security paper last semester:

Describe the life cycle of a virus

Never mind that I probably am going to score a zero on that answer (I faintly remember writing something about virus babies) but I decided to write that answer in relation to something I love (as opposed to an evil virus)...my blog!

That coupled with another new fascination. GIFs. These tiny little moving pictures manage to say what authors attempt to express in several paragraphs(sometimes several pages!) and they might be bad for writing but I lurve them!

The Life-Cycle of a Blog

Phase 1:

INCEPTION

Where you first fall in love (and envy) with someone else's blog!

Elder brother, sister, chacha, mama, favourite author, anyone.

The freedom, the creativity, the virtual popularity it presents...unmatched!

A lot of blogs are born out of the oh-that’s-so-cute-I-want-that-too thought when we first see a blog. All of us have that inspiration story.

It starts for some (like me) as a spot to collect all the writery drivel we write and hopefully not have people ridicule the stuff, for some a popularity game to flaunt on Facebook(I’ve heard it helps if you have a sexy mugshot as your profile picture!),for some to use as a journal(but FB ruined all that!) or whatever.

Me, when I first saw eM’s blog.

Phase 2:

DEFLATION

This is the place where all the elation from Phase One plummets (busted balloon style...with the high pitched wailing) when your little baby isn't considered all that great in big cruel outside world.

Secretly whispering 'I just got my own blog' to friends (no family because...'course not!) doesn't elicit more than a 'Really?' from close friends and a 'Yep it’s cool. You did this yourself?' after they have a look.

No wonder cats are cool!

Phase 3.

PROPAGATION

Where you pull yourself out of the I-just-made-a-blog-and-no-one-gives-a-s**t-about-it haze and chalk out an active plan to get that stat-graph and GoogleFriendConnect box filling.

So you go on a blog-finding spree and end up finding some awesome writing in the process. You contemplate obliterating the pathetic excuse of a blog you've created after your self-esteem takes a serious beating after reading all the gorgeous goods which much more talented people have online.

And you read and read and keep reading and comment and stalk and one day, you get comments of your own too...you join this little virtual world of crazy misfits, non-popular geniuses and generally awesome people you always wished you’d meet one day!

Me,when I get a comment...or a compliment.

From here the story can go two ways,

ONE.

Stuff goes exactly the way you wanted it to.

Your blog grows, and grows and grows and reaches dizzying heights of blog-success and popularity, till you reach that point in time when you talk to *awesomekitty* from Timbuktu and pat-the-lad from Tennessee more than you talk to your real-life boyfriend/girlfriend and you sometimes get these wide-eyed stares when you describe that crazy-ass long comment thread on sparklysam that went on forever over dinner with your family...

Then they decide to pack you off to a far flung college with no outside connect except a phone in the principal’s office so that you stop all this blog-shog nonsense and begin passing in some subjects.

OR less dramatically, you get busy with life. With studies. Or a job. Or a new girlfriend/boyfriend(this is a little unlikely because I've seen that getting yourself a partner only sharpens the need to spill your guts to the public...not generalising of course).Or you get married. Or basically life happens.

Or you die.

End of blog.

Something like this:

                 

TWO.

Stuff doesn't go the way you planned.

You tank. You go bust. You’re defeated by the evil blog-monsters. Your self-esteem goes to the dogs. You spill tears over the blog-audience you never had. You decide to go back to more quaint methods of expressing yourself...the good ole diary, or more probably #Facebook, #Instagram or #Twitter.

What??You're telling me I can’t make hashtags on my blog?!

You never come back.And you feel something like this:

Phase 4.

DECLINE

The fate of all blogs.

I wish it weren't.

Just like the two cases above.

But the world calls with jobs and spouses and more lucrative and Boring but Necessary Things to do.

And the loser is the blog...the place that got you through many a hard day with all the happiness, goodness and encouragement.

When I stop being so jumpy, when I go from crazy teen to mommy-ish...do I graduate to a group of mom-and-babe blogs or techie blogs or something?

I need answers.

But then there's always...THE COMEBACK!!

All my plans to produce better writing simply aren't working. Call it writer’s block. Or the balderdash of an untalented uninspired writer...I simply don’t write stuff I’d be proud to call my own. Like what Zeba writes. This girl is the cause of many a bout if self-writing-loathing and swooning over how beautiful words can be. You’re missing something big if you haven’t read her. Go fall in love!

And my signing-out song.

May It Be by Enya. You've heard it in Lord of the Rings. And if you've been wondering who sang it, like me, I bring it to you!

P.S. I meant this post to be a funnier and more LOL-worthy post than the drivel you had to read through but after this sudden spate of comments on my blog and the virtual popularity(and the non-virtual bloated head), the truth is my noggin plain ain't working.

But as a present for you who laboured through that post, here’s something that’s REALLY funny. Ladies and Gentlemen, Presenting,

Achmed the Dead Terrorist!

Stay sane!

An Everythingly-Incorrect Tata to 2012!

I really didn't start out wanting to make a list-post of what I've been doing this year but this is how it turned out and I'm way too good(read: lazy)to take away from you this work of s****y literature, this  Specimen of nonsense gone wrong.

Aaand Here it is!

STUFF I'VE DONE THIS YEAR:

1.       Got myself an internet connection (the beginning of it all!)

2.       Found myself a place on the Internet (This blog is my very first adventure in cyberspace; I have no other social-networking experience. I mean it! Explanation here.)

3.       Met this wonderful crowd of people who actually (and shockingly) find my scribbling worth reading! Love you guys!

4.       Said a lot many things I wish I could take back and did a few things I wish I could obliterate from my past (nothing too drastic. All you people with your heads stuck in a saas-bahu saga like gutter, get it out... ‘Control my tongue’ new New-Year resolution)

5.       Got a mature take on a lot of 'adult' matters...Politics, Sex* and the like. The Internet is really no place for the faint hearted, and for kids.

6.       Learnt a lot many English cuss-words and detrimentals and finally understood a few Hindi ones (chutiya means stupid...Can you BELIEVE that??! And to think I wasted a year lecturing college guys about it...shows that they are clueless too!)

7.       Understood that it’s OK to be me. That it’s OK not to be able to come up with a snappy reply to all the ribbing I have to suffer. That not being a size-zero, fair-and-lovelied Miss India does not make me ugly (because for guys it doesn't matter how you look because they’re just after ONE THING...sex. S**t. I do sound drunk...only on New-Yearly cheer guys. No worries. I'm clean.*hiccup*)

This un-politically (or morally I suppose) correct post makes my blog officially out of bounds for my parents...actually it’s nothing very incriminating but somehow I can’t bear the idea of my parents knowing that their daughter actually does think about guys and sex and even has views on them. Like a parent-child relationship is asexual...that makes me sound like a victim of bad parenting or something.

I dunno...it’s a little confused. All the things I wouldn't (or don’t) say in real life, I say on my blog. In that way, you guys who read me have more power (and knowledge) over me because you know what I'm REALLY thinking...scary thought. Or maybe not. I actually like it!

So the key to knowing someone is to get their blog URL (Tip for arranged-marriages...trick the guy's blog URL out of him and then decide!).

But then in writing even a horrid person can be made to look good (e.g. Her coal black eyes, her nut-brown skin, her ebony hair...when in effing reality it'll be plain old me...see no wonder matrimonial ads are misleading!) And not only physically, but mentally as well.

*Another major realisation:

Sex is so NOT the great thing it’s cut up to be you know, granted all my knowledge comes from books(yep, All of it is from novels(or education books). I'm still porn-clean..yay for good girls!), but there is some truth to them. It’s just a physical expression of love...it’s NOT the moony, sparkly thing it’s made out to be in teen-girl fantasies, NOR is it the hush-hush, too-hot-to-be-handled-by-girls stuff which stoned guys our age(and adults) make it to be.

I'm swimming in dangerous waters now...time to stop. Yeah, I am feeling a leetle bit antagonistic now. Maybe I should shut up and just learn something I can do for my hubby to make up for my obvious flaws. Beating myself up again. Stop.

This post was definitely NOT what I had in mind when I started writing a bye-bye post for 2012.But I'm still going to publish it anyway and hope that none of my sudden and new-found readership runs away. And a heartfelt Thank you for all the comments. You guys have no idea how goofy the grin on my face is every time I see my comment number go one up(yep I'm disgustingly blog-stat greedy!)

But on a serious note, thank you.

And I somehow wanted to show off this new template layout and button gadgets and things to prove I've not been a lazy, do-nothing all this time...didja like it??

I wanted to tell you about Blackmore’s Night. They’re a musical duo with lovely music (and lovelier singer, guys!) and some Yanni favourites but this post would start looking like a YouTube Magazine if I linked all of them here, hence the music player at the bottom. It’s not on auto-play since I realised a lot many people find that irritating but go click the play button!*

And a noteworthy band I couldn't bear you not to listen to: RGM.

Their cover of Rihanna’s Diamonds more specifically (courtesy BrownGirlBloggin...she’ll have you ROFLing in a snap!)

Here’s to a scrumdiddlyumptious New Year and for those of you who are reading this in 2013, Hap Hap Happy New Year to yooou!

Happy Voldemort!Good omen or bad??

*I'm sorry but I got rid of the SCM player I mentioned after I realised it takes people ages to load my blog page.And I don't want people to leave in despair do I??! 
But you'll find the YouTube link to Blackmore's Night here.All their top tracks together and I specially recommend the first three.Have fun! 

I Hate Love-Stories

(Warning: Contains Spoilers...heck,it's the whole story.Don't tell me I didn't tell you!)

I just saw this movie, Thattathin Marayathu(or Behind the Veil)...Roy gave it to me saying he loved it and I didn't want to hurt him with my cynical singleton views on love(ha!) stories so I watched it.

For those of you who didn't know, I'm South Indian and the movie is in Malayalam (yeah with the loopy writing. Which you’re not going to understand).So here’s the story:

Hindu boy sees Muslim girl. They’re 10 years old. Or some other ridiculously small age to decide who you’re going to marry and talk like you’re an 18 year-old guy. Still, young Vinod decides little Aisha is the girl he’s going to marry. And tells God too.

Repeat after 10 years when he sees Aisha in a hospital after knocking her down some stairs when running during a Muslim friend's wedding. Enter young girl with stencil and secret message writing technique. Sorry Aisha. Aisha smiles. Vinod rapturous. Falling in love.

Manages to get a letter to her. She says nothing. Hero gets warned to leave the girl alone...still, he goes jumping over walls to meet her in the night. She still doesn't say anything. More falling in love. Song.

Enter rival in love. Our hero calls Aisha up to bitch(or whatever you call what guys say about each other) about Mr Rival.

Gets a telling off from a friend and he wants to meet her for the last time.

There she takes his hand, tells him that she doesn't want to be like the countless women she knows who hide their dreams behind a veil forever and hands him a letter. She loves him. He reacts with general Sreesanth-goes-to-Lords behaviour (Indian cricket. Ignore if not understood)

Song.

He gets beaten up by the girl’s family.

Interval.

Scene: Police station.

Present time (because all that was a flash back when our hero was languishing in prison)

The police like his story and are kind-hearted (and have nothing else to do).They are going to help him in his quest.

Vinod walks out of his home due to family-pressure. Starts a helmet-business to earn money to woo Aisha.

Super successful (obvious in India where hundreds die on roads).They enlist the help of her tutor (typical) to smuggle letters and the romance blooms. And Vinod opens (or begins) a purdah shop where he kisses her on the forehead.

Best-friend: 3 months and you only got till the forehead??

Girl’s uncle caught in factory-workers strike due to a mining-accident or something.

Lover boy fends off party-workers attacking the uncle. Father angry and decides to send her off somewhere else to a new life.

Crying on both sides. Vinod arranges a last meeting with the help of elder sister Mehru.

Loved this dialogue: Aisha the girl will never forget you but Aisha the Muslim has to.

Crying in car. And pleas to stay and run away(on Vinod’s part).Aisha runs off into the rain.

Thoughtful uncle says this is wrong. Because it wasn't what Aisha’s late mother wanted for Aisha. What happened to Mehru (terrible failed arranged marriage) wouldn't happen to Aisha. Permission granted.

Beautifully happy Aisha tries his cell phone. Expectedly switched-off. Last-minute tension.

Has he killed himself??

Till they trace his phone to a port/bridge. They meet (Cue: confetti throwing!!):Kiss...as seen from behind the girl's head. Like in a fake kiss in a cheesy Hindi movie. But this is(supposed to be) real all right. Pretty considerate toward a parent-including audience.

Smart-aleck best-friend: Bugger finally got beyond the forehead.

Sweet as sugar smiles on everyone’s face.

 Lights on!

Maybe my synopsis hasn't been kind to the movie so for the interests of fairness,it was a sweet lovey-dovey romance of the innocent lambs type but not of the silly chunariya-udti Bollywood kind...depicted like only serious cinema can and Bollywood can’t. And the songs were pretty good too. The only problem: I couldn't watch it. However cynical and scoffy I sound here, every time the hero (what we call the male lead in India)went ultra lover soppy eyes at the lady or a very romantic song began I’d feel uncomfortable and skipped it. This is acceptable if you’re watching the stuff with anyone else but I wasn't.

Funny that I can’t handle two people making puppy eyes at one another when I don’t mind some hard core making-out between Jean Grey and Wolverine.

And I've been wondering why.

It’s just like singletons can’t bear to be around two people who are really in love. All the closeness. The privateness. It’s like your'e invading a person’s home when they’re singing in the shower (or having sex.Trust me to dramatise drama).

And this was a damn movie. They WANTED to be invaded. Still I couldn't.

Maybe I'm a jealous single 18 year old. Funny, because I really don’t want to date.

Or maybe the protagonists were REALLY in love and those love beams were seeping out from the movie. But no news of a scandal.

Or maybe it’s some spell or potion my parents have secretly fed me to keep me single (and out of the influences of romantic tosh) till they can marry me off. Highly unlikely. Though daddy’s Keep-the-family-name-high speeches do have a similar effect.

Or maybe I'm just not a romantic person. No. Because I do have crushes and things like that (yay, I'm normal. Take that, shrinks!)

Or maybe I should stick to cartoons. And X-men (anybody else think James Mc Avoy is geek-fantasy material? no one?), which is a pretty good lookout, so, oh yeah!

I rediscovered Cheb Khaled after another crazy 90’s music session with the family. And boy do I love the songs!

The first is an Aisha song I'm really loving...it's a remake of a Khaled song by Outlandish.But you can go watch the Khaled version on YouTube.

And the next is Didi. One of his most famous songs.You'll probably remember hearing it from your childhood like me!

And I have a job with A Lot of Pages...well, not a job. But it is a commitment so I reviewed Let’s Pretend This Never Happened. Boy was I crazy punch drunk after that book. You’ll find the review here!

The Winter Welcome Wagon!

December...the month of cold winds and warm blankets. And sneakers and socks. And boots and baking. And winter-blues and warm baths!

I've been busy with my final exams and even wrote a poem about it(which I’ll post soon),hence the lack of posts...but I'm back with(out) a bang!

Ooh and something I didn't mention in the previous list: Christmas and cooking!

Speaking of which, here’s a story I dug out from an old children’s storybook. It’s a story I've always loved and is perfect to go with all the cooking going on everywhere (which I'm sorely missing but anyway!)

The story is about Petal, an Elf who has newly moved to Elftown and is from ‘The Elegant Elf’ of the Little Library series by Parragon.

                      The Secret Recipe

Everyone in Elftown agreed that Petal’s restaurant was a great success, and one of the reasons was her extra special blueberry cake. Any elf who was feeling a little tired in the middle of the morning or around teatime simply hurried into the restaurant for a slice of cake. In two minutes he felt better...and ready for another slice!

Many elves asked Petal for the recipe of her special cake, but she would just smile mysteriously and shake her head.

“I was given this recipe by a very wise woman,” she said. “I promised her that I would not tell it to anyone else, unless they knew the secret already!”

That didn't seem to make sense at all. Why would anyone need to ask if they already knew the recipe?

Of all the elves who longed to know what Petal put in her blueberry cake, Old Mother Sedge was the most curious.

“I can taste honey,” she would say, munching a large slice.

“Yes,” said Petal. “It is honey from your own bees, Mother Sedge. Isn't it delicious?”

“And there are blueberries in here”“cried Mother Sedge triumphantly, taking another bite.

“Well, there would be, wouldn't there, in a blueberry cake?” smiled Petal. “Another slice?”

By the end of the week, and several more slices of blueberry cake, Old Mother Sedge had guessed all the ingredients except one. Yes, there was flour and butter and eggs. There were lots of blueberries and at least five dripping spoonfuls of honey. But what was the last ingredient?

“Nuts?” asked the old lady.

“What kind of nuts?” asked Petal in return.

“Hazelnuts? Brazil nuts? Peanuts? Pecans? Walnuts? Almonds? Cashews?” Mother Sedge was thinking so hard her face was as wrinkled as a walnut herself.

“No,” said Petal. There are no nuts in the cake at all.”

“Fruit?” asked Mother Sedge. “Apart from the blueberries?”

“What kind of fruit?”Asked Petal with a mysterious smile.

“Er...apples? Plums? Peaches? Blackberries? Raspberries? Pears? Strawberries? Apricots? Mangoes? Bananas? Nectarines? Pineapples? Prunes? Grapefruit? Oranges? Lemons? Blackcurrants? Redcurrants? White currants? Gooseberries?” Old Mother Sedge stopped to catch her breath.

“No,” laughed Petal. “I can tell you that blueberries are the only kind of fruit in my special cake.”

Poor Mother Sedge! The more she asked the less she knew.

Not exactly the picture I had in mind but it'll do...the boy can be Mother Sedge who's pissed off because Petal(the girl!) won't tell her the recipe!

Then, one morning, the old lady happened to visit Acorn when he was making an apple pudding for his supper.

“At least I know what goes into one of those,” she sighed, and she repeated all the ingredients one by one.

“That’s right,” said Acorn, “but for a really fine apple pudding, you've missed one out, or at least, that’s what my dear old mother used to say, bless her soul.”

“Not you too!” cried Old Mother Sedge. “There are more secret ingredients in Elftown than I've had hot dinners!”

“Not at all, my dear,” said Acorn. “The secret ingredient is the same in all my cooking and I must say it makes a difference. I'm quite sure that you know it as well as I do, but if you like, I’ll whisper it in your ear.”

So Acorn bent down and whispered the secret ingredient, and Old Mother Sedge went quite pink for a moment, before she smiled at her old friend.

“You’re quite right, of course” she said. “My mother used to say the same, and I've never tasted anything to beat her raspberry tarts...except perhaps Petal’s blueberry cake.”

Next time Old Mother Sedge sat down to a slice of Petal’s special creation, she smiled at the younger elf but asked no questions.

“I can see that you have guessed the secret,” laughed Petal. “The wise woman who told it to me was my mother. She said, ‘everything you make will taste better if you put in a little spoonful of love.’ That’s the secret ingredient in all my cooking.”

She was quite right, you know. You should try it sometime.

And to top this off, Here’s a video that’s keeping me from slipping into cold gloom!

P. S. The tune is really hummable and might turn into an earworm if you're not careful. Don’t say I didn't tell you!

The Chattering of a (Temporary!) Airport Fairy

I'm back after that long (for me!) hiatus.I did write a lot these days but then all were the same old melancholy things which just didn't seem right...So!

Daddy took me on an official agent-receiving trip to the airport yesterday. Corporate Business and all...so I wore my most professional-looking normal-outfit (nothing great...black inner and sleeveless sweater for the fashionistas) and waited. And waited. And observed.

Since most international planes arrive at night, the journey to the airport is usually fun!

Orange street-lights shine bright, road reflectors look sleek, hoardings seem twice as natural, Mumbai seems more urban than ever, crowded and if you sit next to the driver, it's real life NFS, only scarier since the possibility of death is very real...zip zap zoom!

Driving at night is really awfully stressing...road rage is common, and gaalis abound... I've learnt a lot many cuss words through these enlightening journeys!

Going to the airport was a festival some years before...I remember wearing my best dress, trying to smooth out all the wrinkles and, not to be beaten at poshness, wearing my free Bournvita-sunglasses, putting on posh airs and my best angrezi accent...never mind that I was thin, chicken –muscled and probably worm-ridden at the time.

Also, the costly food and water...grabbing the chance to eat out at the posh airport hotel when an NRI aunt came, keeping all the tiny bottles and paper bags as souvenirs and showing them off at school!

Ogling at the pretty airhostesses...Jet Airways with the super elegant look,and Singapore airlines for the prettiest uniform...almost worth going to Singaapur (I really believed this was a place in India before!) to stare at the PYTs I think.

I saw Om Puri this time around (I've seen Ila Arun and Macmohan before!). Why is it that only old and retired actors (no offence to them of course) are seen at airports? Where do all the hot young things disappear??(Muscled hunks and PYTs, I'm looking at you!)

The airport is one of the best places to just sit and stare...there’s so much happening!

I feel like Professor X connected to Cerebro (non-geeks who don’t know...it allows Professor X to search for mutants for a large distance. Don’t know who Prof. X is?? Go watch X-Men. You need it.)

All the stories enfolding around you, there was this Punjabi ammi next to me in the waiting line(more like zoo-queue. I’ll tell you why) who kept yelling into her phone for her Amrika-returned puttarin whose India-number wasn't working but her Amrika-number was...30-minute baggage delay. Uff ye planes!

Poor thing was so excited she did not realize she had sat on chewing gum. Yech!

Moreover, she was wearing a bright pink jacket (arre you know the ones recently in-style here)and spent some time pulling it off with the khandan helping of course and yours truly staring!

The people coming out of the gates are fun to see too! Expectation writ large on their faces. They all first have this stoic expression on their faces when they come out (jet-lag? snobbishness? whatever) which turns to this grin if they spot their receivers and chagrin if they don’t. You can actually see their features twisting!

 And all the receivers standing there watching them like zoo animals coming on display... must be scary to see all those faces staring at you. And every time someone walks out the gate all the heads go up, which are otherwise busy, bent over digital darlings!

I feel pity for the foreign nationals who come for the first time and don’t know where to go...it’s a comically pitiful thing!

Remember this??

And I think I saw some Varun-something actor... some girl next to me kept squealing .

The melding of nationalities (these phrases just pop into my head suddenly, is it irritating?).

The India returnees with the huge electronics. Panasonic most popular return company.

The western backpackers with the cool sneakers and accents…all fun.

If I have to be a fairy, I choose to be an airport fairy!

It’s like a world on its own...the airport.

There are bookies (namely the taxiwalas, and porters and officials. And most everybody has a suit on or at least a blazer (I just lurve the blazer turtleneck combo...some random hunk had it on there!))

Wearing psychedelic colours on yourself and your luggage helps a lot...it’s easier to find you and your bags (and is a kind of safeguard against them being stolen). Though some of the fluorescent yellow and pink eyesores were a little too much.

Best by me survey:

Outfit: Black pants. Preferably something stretchy but looking sturdy.

Any pretty top. Something long-sleeved.

Sneakers and socks...the F1 racing-shoes look so pretty.

Guys wear a blazer if its official or maybe something layered.

Talking about outfits...I wish I could tell the women (it’s mostly westerners…not being racist or any –ist mind.) who arrive without wearing a bra...shocking. Maybe I'm wrong... But I remember seeing this woman in a pink top and nothing underneath when I was smaller and the picture has stayed. Everyone... at least the men kept ogling. And the twin things kept bouncing with the tip-of-iceberg showing. It was horrifying.

I spotted another yesterday. But maybe she had worn something... because she was a little too bouncy, no other problem. Don’t think me perverted, I'm a girl myself for crying aloud... but some amount of decency is expected... just saying.

Khana: Nothing. Eat beforehand. Unless your office is paying. Note: Water is 40 bucks a litre.

Attitude: be good. Elegant. Nose-in-the-air is not nice practically contrary to whatever I said. Also, be considerate about other people...no spitting, yelling, and general junglee behaviour.

Go stand in the front if you want your guests to see you. Use the usual train-me-jagah-pakdo technique (I.e. stand (and stare!?) behind the seat you want until it’s vacated.)

We met the foreign agent after a lot of waiting. Swiss. Talked and all in my best English accent. It’s funny understanding accents and thrilling using an accent yourself! I probably passive-smoked more than I have done in my entire lifetime in those 15 minutes of waiting for the car. Gawsh, the tortures my dad has to go through.

But I did learn a bit about Zurich (all snow and ski. And -1 degree temperature) and also got into the Leela to drop them (Obsequious gate-men. Rajasthan-outfitted bellhop...could have gone for dinner but realized that later)

The food was fun too. Though I have Bal Thackeray to blame for the stupid bandh, which meant no good places to eat and we had to eat at a dhabba sort of hotel...all the truckwalas stare, but the food is good. Hot and yummy...I enjoyed being Miss Priss and saying thank you and please to the bemused waiter-boys. Also I salute them for staying open when all the other cowards stayed closed...really, why would a dead old man ever want wretched travellers to go hungry...we almost dropped by the time we found the hotel.

Top this off with a Cornetto ice cream and Never Alone to sing along…awesome!

What’s in a Name?

I wrote this last evening.Everyone in the house seemingly irritated with me.I,the gloomy maiden then proceeded to weep and think profound thoughts(all rubbish!Don't tell me I didn't tell you.).And this is what was produced at the end of that session...

I'm sitting by the window, watching life go on outside...the old bai off to work at yet another rich house, the pani-puri wala opposite my building setting up his shop.

Trying to think thoughts worthy of my blog's name...no such luck.

Sifting through the solemn and sordid stuff floating in my mind trying to find the best to make it to my page. I'm too melancholy, nothing will do...I stare at the road again.

Triple seater scooters and hulky-bulky bikes with equally bulky riders all zooming away...far off in the distance I can see the crowded junction.

Pale wisps of cloud floating in sky...how it would feel to float away on one I wonder.

“EDI! IVIDE VA!” I hear someone in the house call me, derailing my train of thought, jerking me away from my daydreams, again and again and again incessantly like a baby whose diaper is full...and when I reach the source I hear the same disappointed tone of speech, the same you-know-I-don’t-believe-you stare.

My Siblings. To love and hate at the same time.

My Parents. Not very different,''You need to learn to knuckle down a bit young lady''. More orders...my name again...loud and harsh...repeatedly.

No wonder most people hate the sound of their own name by the time they've grown....it’s the one thing that belongs to me that other people use more...enraged parents. Powerful principals. Foolish friends. Silly siblings. Brutish bosses. Bad-tempered teachers.

How will I like my name when people use it so harshly, to lash out at me? To make me feel ashamed. And when there is something good to say they use pet names. Sugar. Honey. Darling.

What’s in a name - the most popular of all the name quotes...everything is in a name. The dust of the earth.The stars in the sky.

God calls everything by name. Dust. Stars. birds. You and me.

God. The one from whom I’ll hear my name, spoken with love and care and tenderness.

In dulcet tones, I don’t know what that is supposed to mean in a dictionary...I just like the sound of the word. Dulcet. Like velvet...wrapping itself around every syllable. Loving...like a mother’s cuddle or a silk sheet on a mattress.

Talitha...my name(you didn't think I'd tell you the real one did you?!). Spoken with love by the one who created love.

P.S. For anybody who missed my dynamic views template like me...I'm back!
      No more ageebogareeb templates...promise.:)
      They have a really bad effect on my pageviews...Ciao!

Three Things I'm loving!

I'm watching Peter Pan (the 2003 version) and I can’t believe how gorgeous Jeremy Sumpter is. Rachel Hurd-Wood is the luckiest girl ever!

He’s, like, the ultimate childhood love, oh that roguish cheeky smile, those long eyelashes.I love love love him (I've recently started this repeating thrice habit, it’s totally chick-lit-pink-girly style but it does give things a 'She really does mean it from the bottom of her superficial frivolous pink girly heart' kind of feel...whatever that means!

Olivia Williams is so very  beautiful playing Mrs Darling...the perfect fairytale queen!

Heck, I even love Captain Hook played by Jason Isaacs who is Lucius Malfoy in Harry Potter! He’s Mr Darling too!

Wit is very fashionable at the moment!
and
Better death than gossip!

Where do they get dialogues like these?!

You people really should watch the movie.

Another thing I'm going mad over is bananas and chocolate Dark Fantasy.

I first found out about this combination from a Mac Donald freebie book, they had this banana-chocolate-lollipop recipe:

You melt chocolate in a double boiler (a vessel in another vessel of boiling water) and coat the bananas with the chocolate...heavenly combo!

If melted chocolate isn't available...chocolate Horlicks or Bournvita will also do!

This is what comes written on the packet of dark fantasy and I solemnly identify with every last word!

Pure indulgence.

Alluring, dark and sinfully tempting, allow yourself to indulge in forbidden desires as you bite into the irresistible dark fantasy biscuits.Experience the dark savoury crust and slowly unfurl the pleasure of the soft dark chocolate cram made from the finest 'theobroma cacao-food of the gods.Enjoy the lingering pleasure and let the time stand still. Savour the irresistible.

I found one word to top the above: orgasmic!

And not to forget Amul Tricone!

I love love love this as well...it’s cheap (22 Indian bucks) and so totally yummy...creamy malai coloured ice cream (it isn't the normal butterscotch you normally get, don’t know why they call it butterscotch...yummy anyway!) and a lovely thick block of chocolate at the end of the cone...so you can go easy on the pocket and pig out too!

 This has long replaced the family-pack-ice cream tradition we had...which means we have ice cream almost thrice every week and I have a rapidly growing tummy but oh the pleasure of tearing the paper off and licking it...yum yum yum!

Daddy likes the last part of the cone and would earlier book it beforehand, but we've become smart now!

 P.S. How’s the new look??