Do Visit my very own 'Food' Blog' for delicious meals

Wednesday, 28 July 2010

Can we import Europeans luck to India?

kyon ki european enjoy too much of Aish..haahaa!!!

such luxurious trains winding through hills

Wah! What a taxi maan? I would like a ride too, hope people don't have to cross the road to go to their destination

No climbing stair to catch a train, no warm weather to sweat and soak

bus..aish hi aish!!!!

kya kismat pahi hai gore log ne...hahaa!!

Monday, 26 July 2010

Memories of an another day

Doctor says I need to walk but I am lazy, always too lazy, and have various reasons for not going out for a walk…endless reasons…grin*....sometimes I have to push myself to walk in order to remain in good health.

And now-a-day I have some excuse too…It’s raining and the roads are slippery…hahaaha*.. I know, its not a good reason and on my way back home from my class of web-designing, I force myself to walk one-way.. it’s 20 minutes walk I save some auto fare…heeheehe (No, I am not chingoos…don’t get ideas) but this walking through these streets with pollution everywhere, is not healthy, I know, but it is a walk. Right?

So today I decided to walk and it was jeopardized once again. Heavy showers again with strong winds that blew my umbrella clockwise, giving it a nice dancing swirl and folded on the wrong side..(*how embarrassing*), soaking me in rain. I looked for an auto and got into one that was waiting at a signal.

"Get in fast” said the driver, “I am scared, today is 26th July”.

"So what about 26th July? Huh?" I said

“You don't remember 26th July? Every time it rains heavily, I am reminded of that horrible day when the water had touched my chin as I waded through the floods. I had parked my auto at Versova and went walking to Chembur.” He said

"You walked all the way from Versova to Chembur? That is quite a distance.” I said

“Yes it is; I walked through those dirty lanes, filled with filth and scum, wading through water for more than fifteen hours. It was a nightmare and those memories haunt me till today. Every time it rains I am scared and am reminded of that horrific day.” he said

Five years ago, on 26th July, I was on holiday in Hongkong and had escaped that deluge. I had watched the Mumbai rains on TV from the comfort of my family home. The flights were getting cancelled and there was more commotion at the airport. I had extended my stay in HK and came back after one month.

After I returned back to Mumbai, everybody had a horror story to tell. "There was no light and water for two days" said one neighbour, "Our lane was submerged in chin-deep water "said another. The stationary store down my lane had to buy a new photocopy machine, all the stationary was destroyed and he had to start all over again. The next shop, a cyber cafĂ©, had all computers destroyed. A woman next door was mentally depressed as she reached home only in her petticoat and blouse and her sari was blown away. She was so rattled that she didn’t talk for days after that episode and had to be treated to normalcy. My maid, who lives in slums, talked about her how her family had perched themselves on the roof of their house and waited for rain to stop. Every person, whom I met, told me different story and each was a horror story. I was saddened to hear their woes.

I think schools should give a holiday today” said the auto driver, “The things have not changed. During last five years there has been no improvement. The people still use plastic bags, the infrastructure is still poor and there is no guarantee that 26/7 will not re-occur, I have lost my faith in my government.” He said.

Sunday, 25 July 2010

Face-Off the Book

Every person I meet asks me the same question. They want to know if I am on facebook and if I am then would I accept their friend request. Yes! I will but only after I know them cause facebook, like my little private world, is dotted by the friends I trust.

Facebook had made our world into a narrow space where we get each day connected with our friends, visiting their thoughts on their walls, seeing their pictures, reading their notes, exploring their private space. Did you say private? What private? Who wants privacy? It is more fun to be open about your views. That’s the reason why we are so choosy in the first place and confirm only those friends whom we know.

Sometimes I think about my life during those pre-facebook days. Oh! I did many different things then. Read books, painted in oils, made many handicraft items, made stuff toys, knitted, crocheted, cooked and visited my relatives without any reason, I led a very busy life until this facebook ruined me.

Three years ago, during a private meeting, I heard two of my friends discuss Facebook and they spoke about the fun they were having at this network. I had received many invitations/tags from different people asking me to join this network, but I was reluctant to join yet another social network. I was quite active on Ryze and would read my people’s work on the forums and the extra time that I had, I would spend it surfing the net and maintaining my blogs. I didn’t feel the need to join any more of those social networks. But after listening to my friends discuss their Facebook activities, I was tempted to give it a try. As soon as I logged in, I was surprised to see so many friends lined up, all welcoming me, it was like I was entering a party zone.

During those earlier days, I would visit various groups and read discussions on their board and play many virtual games. I had even written a poem for one of the contests on FB during those days, where we had to start a poem with word ‘Face’ and end it with the word ‘Book’. I had written about my experience on FB then…

Face is potholed by too many pokes
Of friends and families in every nook
Vampires fights, somersaulting werewolf
Frightening shadows of their crazy look

Playing Scrabulous, and other virtual games,
Enjoying cold coffee by the brook
Many summers ago, on a rainy day like this
All I would do, was to just gape at a book

I had attempted six short poems, my favorite was

Face above sand
caught in a blizzard
unprotected, helpless
trapped like a lizard
A joke turned sour
his friends, all gone
if by miracle , he survives
he may write a book

Of course I did not win then, because I couldn’t compete with the talented poets who wrote such beautiful lines.

The first prize for this contest had gone to Tolu Ogunlesi from (Nigeria) for his winning entry called

Face the future.
Pick the moon off
the dark, cold floor
of night. Slot it gently
into the earth, and wait.
Nothing might happen.
Just like in an empty book.

I was quite fascinated with different groups and would take part in many such discussions where there would be different interactive word games. I remember making a story with my set of six friends by adding just three words. Each one of us would write just three words in one turn and a long story thus created was really good.

I got addicted to facebook

For many months after that I interacted with my friends (On FB, I had very few friends, I could count them on my fingers and toes) and would envy those who had 700 friend. “700 friends?” I had asked my friend when I saw his friends’ list on Facebook, “Do you really have 700 friends?” and he boasted that all those 700 friends were not mere numbers, they were all real friend. It’s been three years now but I still have not managed to collect 700 friends.

Over the years the popularity of this network has grown. As reported in HT -
If Facebook were a country, it would have a larger population than, say South Africa. This week, the social networking site crossed 500 million users. This means that one out of every 14 people on earth is on Facebook. India’s share is 12 million users, three times the population of Hyderabad, the city where Facebook will open its first Asia office soon.
Who would have thought in 2004, when it was first launched, that it would become so popular? When Mark Zuckerberg started this social network, it was just to share notes with his friends and other students. He and his roommates, Eduardo Saverin, Dustin Moskovitz and Chris Hughes founded this website whose membership was limited to few students but was later expanded to other colleges in Boston.

The original concept for Facebook was borrowed from a product produced by Zuckerberg's prep school Phillips Exeter Academy, which for decades published and distributed a printed manual of all students and faculty, unofficially called the "face book". (source-Wiki)
Facebook has travelled a long way so have I.

I have more friends now with whom I can communicate and share my notes and my travel albums. I like the comments that are made regularly on my wall and like to interact with everybody. In the real world too, I have become friendlier, although of course, I am still shy of strangers and still never make the first move, I never start a dialogue with strangers. I never talk to my co-passenger while travelling, preferring to read my book, generally, I don’t make friends easily. I talk to only those who will talk to me, and am reserved by nature, but with those whom I have become friendly on FB, I seem to have fun.

Many of my offline friends still remain away from Facebook unless they are writers. Some of them have refused to learn. They wean me away from the internet, insist on meeting me regularly, want to go for long walks with me by the sea-shore or watch a movie, sit together at a coffee shop and have good time. They don’t understand my addiction on net and think I am wasting my time reading the personal views and making unnecessary friendship with people whom I may never meet.

I too am not sure if I will ever meet those online friends.

What does it matter? It’s the happiness that counts and if an unknown face can give us happiness by their expression of their sweet words, we have nothing to lose.

On a rainy day like this, none of my offline friend will visit me. I am stranded in my house in the self imposed curfew, I cook for a me a nice meal, and even enjoy a hot cup of coffee but cooped up in my dingy room only a FB friend can cheer me.

I am participating in the WeBlog's Sleepy Sunday contest! You may read other participating posts HERE

Thursday, 22 July 2010

(Un)Blessed Children

I feel pain, an intense pain, when I see children begging. I never give them cash, always afraid that they will know the taste of easy money at this age when they should be learning that begging is not a dignified thing to do, that education is the better option and if one is educated, there are wide choices available out there in the world. But at this tender age, I see them at every signal, running from one parked car, to another auto, to another car, some of them selling flowers, some of them sell books and some of them only beg, peeping through the glass window, putting on the pathetic face and asking for cash of which they may not even comprehend its value. Many of them might kidnapped and abused, their childhood scarred forever.

But then what can one do??

In my life time, I have taught many maids to read and write, teaching them simple mathematics, to read and write alphabets, to write their name, to be able to write phone messages and numbers for their employers. There have been many maids who have learnt a lot and have migrated with their employer because they are able to read and write. But most of the time I have been disappointed. I spend money buying all the necessary books and stationary but they lose interest and are not sincere. Some of them are plain stupid and I have to really try very hard to make them learn some simple things. And most of them have interfering parents who are always suspicious of my willingness to teach.

I once had a maid who used to bring her 9-year-old daughter to work. Most of the work she would ask her daughter to do, with her only supervising her daughter’s work. I would feel that she is taking advantage of her young child and thought it was not very nice thing to do. But the kid excelled in all the chores that she did. She washed utensils, swabbed floors and did all other work efficiently. She was an enthusiastic learner too and I saw great potential in her. I wanted to educate her and asked for her mom’s permission.

Her mother was very pleased. She suggested that she stay with me and help me with the household chore while I could teach her whenever I could. The next day, she moved into my house and into my private zone. Now I am very uncomfortable with live-in maids and I prefer to do odd jobs on my own. I don’t like to take any service from anybody and especially not from this 9-year-old kid. Anyway, now I was committed.

Her mother enrolled her in a school and I got for her all the necessary things that she would require like school uniform, books, stationary and all her personal items that she would require for her day to day activities. I was feeling like her prodigal mom. I fussed over her food, making sure that she was ate well, took up her school work and doted over her. She would wake up early morning, get ready for school, come back and study. Personally, she was of no use to me; the only work she did in my house was to help me with chopping of vegetables and dusting the furniture. All her free time, she would spend in her personal grooming or watching TV. But her mother thought she was doing me a great favor by getting me a live-in maid.

As the days passed, it was becoming very cumbersome for me to have this girl in my house. I couldn’t leave my house unless I chose to take her with me. Her family would visit her at all odd hours of the day. Her TV habits were giving me a head ache. I had lost my personal space. Since she was a normal girl, just like the children her age, she would have her temper tantrums when the things would not go her way. At once such occasion, I scolded her and she decided to go on hunger strike.

She just refused to eat.

What can one do if the person is stubborn? I was not about to apologize to her for the scolding which was due and proper. Sometimes it is important to point out the flaws in the person to show them the right track.

I tried to coax her to eat but no cajoling helped.

She skipped dinner and the breakfast the next morning. When her mom came to work, she complained about me and accused me of starving her.

What followed next is too messy to relate.

Till date, I have never again invited any maid for free tuitions nor do I go out of my way to offer my help to anybody. I would rather help in an institution voluntarily and work at my own leisure. Sometimes it is best to leave things as they are.

What can one do?

Monday, 19 July 2010

Furious Critter

Last night my room-mate Smitha, came running into my room, screaming, “There is a flying cockroach in my room.” She said

“Kill it”, I said

“No! I am afraid, Please come and you kill it” she said

"What are afraid of such a tiny thing? If you were in China you could have sold these by dozens" I said

But actually, I am afraid too. Its very sight is so disgusting, That chocolatee brown body with those menacing whiskers, more ferocious than Ram Gopal Verma film heroes but I was not to show my cowardice in front of my room mate who had great faith in me. She trusted me to solve her problems so I bravely went to the battle field. The cockroach was flying in all directions, a tiny helicopter type species. I armed myself with pesticide spray and stood at one corner of the room, and sprayed from a distance. The spray filtered through my nostrils, I covered my nose and didn’t see cockroach getting furious. It flew in my direction, I heard the whoosh closer to my ears as it brushed against my ear-lobes then flew back in opposite direction and Smitha screamed. I threw the tin on the floor and climbed up on the bed, covering my ears, hopping on the soft bed, lost my balance and down I was on my butt, unable to move. The pesticide was playing its tricks on cockroach too, it fell down next to me on its back with his feet doing the latest aerobics, swinging its tiny feet in the air and spinning round and round.

I slowly crawled a bit further away, so as not to disturb the spinning cockroach. “Your hours are numbered” I told the cockroach showing my tight fist and slid away on my bruised butt away from this critter.

But this one belonged to some Pathan species, very, very strong, had a great will power to survive and would not die easy. It kept swinging its eight arms/feet in such a way that it suddenly turned over and started walking, like a drunkard. Smitha screamed again, “look, it is not dead” she said

“Okay, bring the slippers and kill it now, just crush it under your feet” I said, gritting my teeth, feeling the genes of Naxalites crawling under my skin.

“No! I shall not kill.” she said wriggling her nose, very devoted to her PETA clan

“Kill or it shall walk up to your bed and come and sleep with you” I said trying to instill the fear in her.

“No!” she screamed again as the cockroach turned to walk towards her direction.

She waited far away and watched attentively, following its every movements. TV programs forgotten, hunger vanished and internet was idle. Such undivided, focussed concentration! I think if she meditated on the cockroach for next one hour she might have reached Nirvana.

The critter walked slowly, aimlessly, its wings loosely dragging from its flesh. It seemed like it had wardrobe malfunction. It walked from room to room, parading with caution, until it went under the bed in the living room and disappeared.

Smitha spent the restless night unsure of her safety. When she slept for a little while, she dreamt about the cockroach that had come back with the army of hundred critters to get their revenge.

Early morning, I swept off corpse.

Saturday, 17 July 2010

Passing the parcel

Although my birthday was last month, but it never ends till all my friends have wished me, so today, another set of friends (just eight) came over for lunch to enjoy the belated party.

Now eight is a big number for a private party and I don’t like to leave anybody out of conversation so I decided to have some games to get everybody involved. After the delicious lunch of Veg Briyani, Samosas, bhajiyas and Raita followed by chocolate ice-cream, we started the normal game of bingo for warm up and almost everybody received a small gift for their participation as the play progressed from jaldifive to 3 lines to full house.

Next we started to play the interesting game of passing the parcel. When we were kids, game of passing the parcel was all time favorite where we had punishments which would be quite entertaining with something like ’sing a song’ or imitate so-n-so, or some other childish punishment which sometimes would be quite an embarrassment. But today these kinds of punishments were not on my mind. I wanted to do something innovative.

So I made list of six topics for discussion as punishments where in I put the question and the person was asked to express her views. Following questions were asked:

Q1: As we all know that Imran is a gay icon- how will our community behave if they start exposing gays. Do you think that older generation will be able to accept this fact? What kind of conversation will the people be having during discussion of latest trend of our youth?

Q2 Do you feel suicidal sometimes? What things irritate you the most and you get this kind of feeling that the world is not worth living in?

Q3 Do you think media is responsible today? If you were a reporter what would be your first priority of reportage?

Q4 You know your friends are not paying attention to their health. You want to help them but you also know that she/he is not likely to follow your advice. What strong words would you use to bring home the message?

Q5Do you believe in idol worship and blind faith? If someday, you became a spiritual guide, what kind of preaching would you do to explain the existence of Supreme Being?

Q6 How responsible is our Indian Cinema? If you were given chance to make a film, what kind of movie will you make? What important message would you give in your films and whom would you cast in the film?

There was heavy discussion on every topic and there were difference of opinions too. The fun part of this game was that one person spoke while the rest listened carefully and gave their feedback and there was some healthy conversation. Normally, the shy ones never get chance to speak and they are left out from conversation. This way, everybody was participating.

The discussions went on till tea-time after which we all headed to Baidas Hall, Vile Parle, to hear the Vedanta lecture on ‘Happiness’ by Jaya Row.

Friday, 16 July 2010

Today I am in a phunny mood!

During my last visit to China, I noticed that nobody smiled and I was thinking are they stressed out? All had tight lips sealed from corner to corner, not a curve anywhere, as if their lips were glued in position and were afraid of some kind of punishment if they dared to smile.

So you would think there is no humor in china

There! You are wrong again.

They have fantastic sense of humor only they don’t see it

But they truly have phunny translator who do justice to our language

Justice to English?

Well! why not?

Have you travelled by bus in China? No?

Then next time you visit China, please do travel by bus and if you are lucky you will be travelling in the same bus as I did, which had this threatening note just above the dashboard.

The bus is running? and I am not supposed to spam seats? How do we spam seats? Mess around? Oh never mind…..

Sitting in stable?… ....I am reminded of horses….

Never spreading arms and body? How do we spread our body outside the window?

I might try to..but my size is not as thin as Chinese size. .maybe they use window to exit from the bus? Er?

Going up and taking off?? Is there some short cut to heaven?

It was my first day in China, first ride and the humor had just begun

I did enjoy my stay in China…the humor was behind those closed lips...humor zipped behind those lips..hahaha.... Lucky lips!

Thursday, 8 July 2010

Fake notes are doing their rounds in ATM machines in Mumbai

and you can do nothing about it. Talk about trusting your bank? Well… that trust goes down the drain.

No bank will ever take any responsibility for the bank notes that are circulating from their ATM machines. If you have a fake note in your pocket, too bad! It’s your bad luck! Sigh!!

Today early morning, in a hurry to pay my web designer a fee of Rs5000, I rushed to the nearest ATM cabin, which is just outside the Bank of India, opposite National college, and extracted the money from the ATM machine.

But my web designer is smart lady, (maybe she has lots of time on hand, or maybe she had been cheated once, because she has made a study of each note and could distinguish the fake note in a jiffy). She checked each note before taking it from me.. and Lo! Behold! One of the one-thousand-rupee-notes was a fake note.

“This note I cannot take, it’s fake note” she said

“But, Maam, I have just removed this from ATM machine this morning, how can it be a fake note?” I said.

And she started to educate me.

She held the note up against the light and looking closely, she said, “Array baba, see the watermark na…this watermark on the empty portion on the left side of the note? Can you see that? One should be able to see a portrait of Mahatma Gandhi in this space, along with multi-directional lines and an electrolyte mark showing the denominational numeral, see, there is no 1000 numeration mark here.”

I looked at her with blank look

She took out the authentic note from her cash box and told me to look closely, “Can you see 1000 numerals in this corner?”

serial no 2BD 579808 is a fake note

At first I couldn’t see anything nor distinguish it but when I held it against the light, I was able to see the numerals. Then she gave me the fake note and showed me the difference. Sure enough, those numerals were missing.

‘Hmmmn” I said

She held the note at eye-level and said, “Look into the gap between the vertical band on the right and the portrait of Mahatma Gandhi. In genuine notes, one should be able to see the word RBI and the denominational numeral in this space.”

True, transparent numerals '1000' were not visible in fake note.

“Now see the micro-lettering too,” she continued “Hold the note up against light. On the left of the portrait and half down the vertical band on the side, one can see a floral design, which appears hollow on the front side and filled up on the opposite side. The denominational numeral can be seen as a whole in this floral design, though the half of the numeral is printed on one side and the other half on the opposite side.”

“Even the visually impaired person can identify the fake note.” She said, stressing her point on ‘visually impaired’, “Look below the floral design. One can see a dark patch in intaglio print (raised print). The shape of the intaglio print varies according to the denomination of the note. Did you know that there are different shapes for various denominations? There are vertical rectangle on Rs20 note, Rs50 - square, Rs100 - triangle, Rs500 - circle and Rs1,000 – diamond.”

I had never known that. My interest was deepening and I wanted to know more about it.

I listened with rapt attention as she told me about other features that appear in intaglio print like: Seal of the RBI, the guarantee and the promise clause, RBI Governor's signature, the Ashoka pillar emblem, and Mahatma Gandhi portrait, all of them had a raised effect.

Even the color of the numeral changed from green (when I held the note flat) to blue (when at an angle).

She then, pointed to the security thread on the note and said, “Look at this line here, this is a security thread. It is 1.4 mm wide. It appears in breaks on the front of the original note. However, from the back, it looks like a complete line. The words RBI and Bharat (in the Devanagari script) is inscribed on it. It appears yellow in ultra-violet (UV) light. This thread will not glow if it is a fake note. Continuity of the security thread is not maintained if it is a fake note.”

I saw the green glow on the real note. Wow!

I kept comparing the fake note with authentic note, seeing the difference for the first time. I had never ever held a fake note but today, I wanted to know everything about it.

“Now let me tell you what features one can see in UV light?” she said, as she took both the notes in her hand. Then she went on to explain to me about how the optical fibers on the bank note make themselves visible when held under ultraviolet light. (In case of a fake note, optical fibers are less in number), the year of printing of the original note is visible in the middle and the reverse side near the bottom, and how it has that unique feel and a crackling sound.

I felt cheated.

I took the fake note to the ‘Bank of India’ Khar, and I was directed to speak to the manager.

From the look on his face, I knew at once that it would be the waste of my time. Firstly, he did not believe me nor acknowledge it and I had to show him the receipt of the proof to convince him that the transaction was done from ATM outside his bank. He argued and I threatened to report it to the media. He got defensive and played the blame game, saying that ATM was not in his control that I must contact ‘Brink Arya India Pvt. Ltd’, a cash handling and secure logistics company and they are the ones who load all the cash in all ATM machine in Mumbai. He told me to search the details about this company online, and then post the complain note with photocopy of receipt of transaction and the fake note.

“Sorry I can do nothing about it” he said seeing my disappointed look. “Now-a-days, who can distinguish the real one from fake one?” he said “Tell me one thing, what makes you say that this note is fake?”

Now it was my turn to educate him. Whether he knew the difference or not, he did listen to me while I explained to him the difference. He expressed his helplessness at not having any control on this aspect, “There are so many notes out there in circulation, how can one have time to separate each one?” He asked.


I am left thinking what can one do about it? Nothing? I can afford to fold this one-thousand-rupee-note into eight folds, tuck it away and move on but what about those who find it difficult to earn a decent living? One thousand rupees is a lot of money to them, can they let it go?

Duplicate currency is manufactured in Pakistan and Bangladesh. The fake notes are brought into India through Nepal by Pakistan's ISI and other terrorist groups. The amount of fake Indian currency in existence today is huge. According to one national daily, in UP alone over Rs40 crores is estimated to be in circulation. This might be the tip of the iceberg. The fake notes generate easy money for terrorists which use it for antisocial activities.
How will this racket stop? How will they separate fake from authentic? Is there really nothing that we can do about it???

I am not very sure that I live in a secured world! As long as terrorists and criminals will keep on manufacturing such notes very intelligently, there is no hope! Nor any help!! Sigh!!

Wednesday, 7 July 2010

Grocery store at street corner

A grocery store in India

I grew up in Sion, a suburb of Mumbai. My granny used to send me for small errands down stairs to a grocery store. During those days, there were no supermarkets or malls in Mumbai and we could do all the stopping from small stores down the streets. There was a small grocery store at the corner of the lane. I often went there to buy sweets that were kept in a large jar. There would be several jars containing sweets of different shapes, colors and sizes. I would pop few sweets into my mouth before giving the shop assistant the list of items that my granny wrote on a piece of paper. This store would be quite messy and was always cluttered with various items, some of them strewn on the floor. There would be sacks containing pulses, rice, dried red chilies, wheat, etc, filled to the brim, some of them overflowing. There would be no path to walk into the store. The shelves, lined on all three sides of the store, would be full of other packed or bottled food that would reach up to ceiling.

The shop owner would sit at the cashier giving directions to his helpers. The assistant would read the list, bring out the things and weigh it in front of me. He would then pack it in a paper bag and tie it with a twine and keep it on the counter. There were no plastic bags in those days and I always carried a cloth bag with me whenever I went to buy the grocery. The shop owner, an old man dressed in loose white kurta-pajama and a Gandhi cap, would then write out the price of each item on a piece of paper, do a mental addition and charge for the same. Calculators had not yet made their invention and everybody knew their proper mental mathematics, right from addition, subtraction, multiplication and division. Everybody knew their sums. I knew it too. That was years ago.

Today, after many years, I went back to that store. Yes! The grocery store is still there at that same corner, but the shop looks bigger. The shop owner sitting at the cashier was a young guy with a long hair tied into a pony-tail, maybe his grandson. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt making a statement. The shop was neater with things categorically placed. I went around picking up the things that I wanted and placed the stuff at his counter. He used calculator for addition/subtraction, did not waste time honing his mental mathematical skills. He asked me if I would be interesting in buying new products that were available at his store. I asked me to explain what he had and he introduced me to new health products that were available, the power snacks that had little oil, the dips made at home, the drinks that were organic and before I knew, I had bought many more things than what I had intended to.

For packing my stuff he had no plastic bag but he suggested I buy a cloth bag from him for Rs4 which he would refund if I gave the bag back to him. I bought the bag too, but it is so impressive that I may not return the bag and get the refund. Maybe that guy knew it too.

Now that is called business tactics!!

Saturday, 3 July 2010

‘My Sins against Gender-Stereotypes’

I saw this tag ‘Sin against Gender Stereotypes’ on the pages of several bloggers and secretly learnt about likes/dislikes of many blogger- friends, but waited patiently for a formal invitation, I am not a gate-crasher and therefore never make any entry till I am invited….and when Pallavi tagged me, I, most happily, cleared my throat…..cough, cough…to speak….so here I go….

I used to be a girlie-gurl once upon a time, a shy, reserved, timid, invisible till I grew up to discover that I am a human too and not a show-piece and am allowed to have a mind of my own. I realized that if one likes something, one does not think of gender, but is led by the instinct of doing what one feels is right with clear conscious and doing it in the best way that one can…..and so the freedom of expression was born in me and I learnt to live.

 NOW if I… feel like doing something..I will do it.. I need no permission, nor any public approval nor any gender margins to do what I please:

  1.  I like male-talks better than girlish-chat..I hate talking abt maids, children, kitty parties, prefer to talk biz, money, investments or lifestyle trends..
  2.  I like humor and also PJs, ragging, sharing anecdotes and will stay up late nights to chill with friends
  3. TV..nah…no more… .once upon a time I was a couch potato, knew all the TV personalities by their first name, their problems, their relationships on screen, could discuss the soap/serial characters as if they were family members.. until the computers and web 2.0 took over my life, now I am glued to the virtual world. Can't detox because my virtual friends live there and I love to meet them everyday.
  4. Cannot cope up with high class designers labels nor able to afford the extravagant life-styles of my Sindhi community, so have got over the fetishism over fancy, loud clothes and diamonds and have reverted to simple clothing and unreal jewelry.
  5. Would prefer walks by the sea-shores rather than imprison myself over three hour of torture inside a cinema hall munching over unhygienic samosas and stale popcorns. Nevertheless, I do go for a film if others want me to go with them.
  6.  Prefer home cooked food over the restaurant food. Have difficulty in swallowing white moldy parathas that contains sticky oils and the over-cooked veggies that contain too much of random spice powders.
  7. Sleeping late, waking up late makes me miss some important dates.
  8. Can repair everything, radios, clocks, lights, iron, electronic gadgets, plumbing, zips and even broken umbrellas and shoes and bags.
  9.  Can read and understand the manuals, never use anything without reading the manual, will not sign anything till I have read all the fine print, will not believe anything unless I have heard, seen and witnessed it.
  10.  Find it difficult to say ‘NO’ to anybody seeking favor, love kids and old people and will always try to make things easier for the weak.
And now to tag……umph… friends…whom I truly want to know their sins….

My friend has threatened me with a curse to wear blue pants (since I am a woman) and it was pink shirts if I were to tag a man – for next twelve years if I did not compile this list and now, after having done my bit, I pass on this curse to you UNLESS you list at least ten things you have ever wanted or done which your gender is not supposed to.

The tag is called ‘My Sins against Gender-Stereotypes’. And you must tag twelve blogging friends or else you will be ….. er…what was that you said, Pallavi??? So get going gals....
Hiyaa Israni
Vimmi Jaggi
Mayuri Sharrma
Suniti Joshi
Ratna Rajaiah
Sangeeta Patni
Natasha Sinha
Baisali Chatterji
Soma ghosh

And like I whispered to you earlier, I now repeat 'khule aam'
"Sweets things r easy to buy but sweet ppl difficult to find, life ends when u stop caring, friendship ends when u stop sharing….."

so taking few liberties, I tagged u in my note hoping that you accept my tag and tell me things that I wish to know…..because I am confident that u r my friend….hugz 

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