Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Lost and found

Chance, accident, mishap, luck – are these for real or merely a sign of our ignorance? Does the cosmic power have everything planned out to the minutest of detail? It appears that starting from place of our birth, the path we choose and the entire course of our life is a maze of events and we move in a pre determined path. The obstacles, opportunities and one’s experiences – sweet and bitter alike are pre-planned to turn one into an individual who s/he is destined to be.

The school we go to, the jobs that we bag, the cities we move and people we meet and connect at various levels are merely events that had to be. Also life is not a program of “if…. then…else”; there is just one path for each of us and what appears as options is merely a mirage. Could this argument be extended to say that, we do nothing about our lives? The answer is yes and no. Individual drive, passion, commitment, attitude and the likes are packed within a person in an appropriate proportion to achieve the goal that one is destined to. To put things in perspective, the configuration of a young CEO material is consciously created differently from that of a person who is happily serving as a clerical staff in the same corporation for decades together and they are programmed to work at different levels of efficiency.

Also, I have read somewhere and could relate to it, that relationships come to us as assignments. They last us for varying length of time but necessarily teach us lessons and impact us to varying degrees. I would like to believe that people we meet are agents who help us keep to our (pre-determined) path and get us close to our destiny at each stage of life. Destiny is a moving target.

Do I completely buy this theory? Honestly, I am not sure. But there is a reason for the philosophical bent of this post. I met a friend, who was long lost to me – 17 years. Once a while you come across people who influence you adequately and help you make critical decision. They encourage you to dare to dream and chase them. As we move from one phase to another, we sadly lose touch; especially in an era when connectivity was an expensive commodity.

I have had a simpler than simple childhood and humble beginnings. Hailing from a conservative family and not-so encouraging neighborhood, the credit goes completely to this friend that I dared to dream big and ended up in a b-school. Though we were surveying schools together as destiny would have it, we went to different b-schools. In those days (as ancient as it may sound) phone was for a different class and internet was unheard of. To add to it, I moved house closer to my school, completely immersed myself in studies and job (to fend for my school fee), graduated, found my life partner, moved cities, settled comfortably and accepted the fact that losing friends is a (sad) part of growing up.

After so many years and a few change of jobs, the recent one being a month old, I discovered that, we - the contemporaries are colleagues now. I am so excited that I tend to believe that good things do happen with zero effort from you. The super power hasn’t left anything to chance or human effort? Serendipity? Don’t know and it doesn’t matter. Life is beautiful!!

Welcome back!!

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Cheeni kum; spice zyada

That it was raining heavily yesterday and threatening to do a 26/7 in Mumbai is no news; that our house went under during the 26/7 deluge is not something that many of you might know. The deadly combo of high tide and more-than-normal rainfall is bad news for mumbaikars (or anyone for that matter) though this is something that we are getting used to. Yesterday, our family spent most of our day perched up on the sofa by the side of drawing room window and watching helplessly at the rising water levels outside. It was like playing a computer game of increasing levels of complexity; only here, we didn’t want it to move up to the next level. Anyway, to cut the long story (and day) short, we were spared this time by rain God. Oh well! Monsoon has just begun.

Weather settled a bit in the evening and power resumed. Our mood got better. Husband settled with his Jack Daniels and we decided to spend a quiet evening at home until I came up with the crazy idea to go to PVR Juhu to watch Cheeni Kum (11 PM show) . When I mentioned this, hubby darling didn’t take me seriously, actually neither did I. I must tell you that we are no movie buffs.

Fortunately for me (or my desire to watch the movie) my daughter decided to crash early; but so did my husband. However, my assertive side got the better of me and I nudged him out his sleep. This demand not being a regular feature (and of course he knows I blog such incidences) he sleepily agreed to take me.

After negotiating Saturday night traffic and fighting for parking space (all with half eyes closed) my husband settled into theatre seat comfortably and as for me I never felt more focused in life. I must mention that I had to wake him from deep sleep to stand up for national anthem.

About Cheeni Kum now. What a brilliant movie! A 34-year old falling in love with a 64-year old (I would at any age, if the 64-year old in question is Amitabh) and trying to convince a 58-year old Tabu’s father to agree to their marriage and all wrapped in sensible comedy. This certainly was worth my effort. The title song and Sooni Sooni are brilliant adaptation of “Mandram vandha thendralukku manjam vara nenjam illiyo” from Mauna Raagam. If there is one thing that I most certainly disliked about the movie, it is Tabu’s wardrobe, particularly her satin salwar suits (wonder who designed her clothes). Other than this eyesore (which is trivial anyway), the movie was top class. It’s a must watch, if you have not done so already.

When the movie ended and I helped my husband to his feet, I chuckled. What the heck if he didn’t watch the movie, it was really sweet of him to drag himself to the movie, despite the fact he sleep walked / drove and snored away the 2 ½ hours. It appears, in my life Cheeni is not kum after all.

Monday, May 7, 2007

happy birthday

Hawaiian Shack on the eve, midnight party by Niyo with handmade cards, musical cards (really lovely) and a swarovski Bull for a gift (yeah, yeah, I get the message), loads of wishes over calls, SMSs, mails and gifts including Tissot from hubby (my last post worked!) and a sumptuous dinner at Penne, my latest favourite for Italian cuisine, couldn’t have asked for more! Had a wonderful birthday yesterday. Thanks a bunch to all of you!!!

I have read somewhere “growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional”… it’s so true!!

Monday, April 30, 2007

re-creating magic and aftermath

The other day, I was looking out of my drawing room window and on the other side of our compound wall I saw a couple, presumably unmarried. The tête-à-tête seemed to be the parting event for the day, before the girl is dropped off and after a pleasant date. I wasn’t in the least embarrassed to stare at them; after all, I was on this side of compound wall.

I turned around and said to my husband who was in a state of oneness with our couch enjoying a cricket match “did you hear that?” Without looking away from the TV, he asked, “hear what?” I told him “a void filling within me”. This must have really been too much for him to relate to, he moved his eyes away from the TV only for as long as his eyes could retain the last frame viewed and looked at me questioningly. I said “we must re-create the magic in our marriage” he gave a non perplexed look and increased the TV volume.

Not to be outdone by his reaction (if the above could be classified as one), I decided to use one of the tried and tested (not sure if it ever worked) strategies best explained by this old adage “the way to a man’s heart is through is stomach”. Two things came to my mind: (1) I think it is pretty long winding to get to the stomach first to find something which is exactly half way from the starting point (2) Every once in a while when I start this exercise, I seem to spend considerably long hours in the kitchen to satiate his palate and end up wondering if it’s a real maze between his stomach and heart as I never seem to get to the destination!

Above thoughts didn’t dampen my spirit and I paraded to the super market with my grocery list. Saturday lunch was four course Chinese meal and Sunday brunch an elaborate Mexican and Italian fare. I could sense I was still lost somewhere between the stomach and heart! To bring an element of variety I booked a table for two for Saturday evening for a romantic dinner. I must confess that the food was so authentic that I hardly shifted my focus from the menu card and my plate.

Two more weekends of toiling in the kitchen trying my hand at south Indian (thanks to Yoga for the recipe), Punjabi, an all chaat dinner, high-cal sweet dishes, fine wine, surprise gifts and movie tickets (bought by me) and dealing with daughter’s occasional insecurity pranks (bribing her appropriately) I still seemed to be nowhere close to “his heart”*.

If you are looking for a magical, romantic end to this story, I suggest you stop reading this piece right away. Reality is as follows:

Yet again, I was forced to give up my earnest attempt which resulted in everything else other than the desired outcome. First, my cook threatened to quit her job thinking that I was using my culinary skills to challenge her. Secondly, with a bloated body and battered ego, I decided to use the weighing scale in the gym and realized that much of the food I cooked seemed to have found way to my stomach (hello, wrong address!) and cursed myself for the 4 Kilos added in these three weeks would take much longer to shed. The one that threw me off my mission was my credit card bill - it smacked me back into reality.

* Hubby darling feels that during my treasure hunt, I seemed to have missed the heart and went straight up to his throat and my extra efforts and sweetness was throttling him. He is as relieved, if not more, that I am off his neck.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Gymology

I must confess that I am in love with my body; obsession is more like it. I have always been a fitness freak. I keep switching between brisk walks, jogging, aerobics, dance lessons, rope jumping or gymming. In the last two years, I have been more of gym goer (gymmer?) and I strongly suspect my quest for fitness is becoming more of a mania.

Gymmers are peculiar creatures. They smile at their sweat and let it be, instead of wiping it off. They look at themselves in the large mirrors (oblivious to those around); irrespective of size, shape or age, they make faces and roll up their arms and show off (in most cases, non-existent) muscles. They sneak a peek to figure out your speed on the tread mill, the number on your dumbbells and keep a count of your ab crunch reps and sheepishly turn the other way when you meet their eyes.

There is this other variety, more of a harassed lot - victims of domestic violence (few rare male species I am talking about). These guys just seem to wait for it to dawn to take refugee in the warmth of gymnasium. You will see them there all of morning. (I haven’t tried checking out in the evenings) When you see them you can tell, they just hang out aimlessly. Not always though, you will see them spring into action just when you think you need to use one of the machines (be it the least used T-bar). By some magical power, they read your mind, aim, reach to it faster than your thinking speed, look up from the machine and smile at you triumphantly. At times like these, I wish I could quietly drop the heaviest plate on their weak foot when they aren’t looking.

Didn’t I start off with my state of obsession? Ok, I digressed.

We all succumb to weak moments from time-to-time and end up paying a price for it. Look at Aby Baby, his price is a lifetime of torture with a lifeless beauty. In a deranged state of mind (caused by obsession), I fell for the luxury of a “personal trainer”. The one I chose is the best (read toughest / cruelest / most expensive) or the “star trainer” of the gym. True to his name, there is immense joy on his face at my utmost agonized moments of weight training. If you thought working out your abs meant a few simple crunches then you are desperately behind time in his world of fitness. His back strengthening exercise breaks my back. I perpetually appear crippled as at any given time atleast one of my body parts are sore (with me I am sure, for putting ‘it’ through the ordeal).My trainer’s (reps) count and my count never match and the consistency with which he trails behind every single time freaks me completely.

Whoever said “no pain no gain”, I would like to meet that gentleman (it ought to be one; women don’t sought to such high-handed fundas). I would like to ask him if at some point in the equation will pain equal gain. So far I have seen more of the first.

But hey, I am hopeful that one day my trainer and I will count in unison, there will be no soreness in my body and when I mimic some anorexic model in my little black number* (which I picked up three years back, three sizes smaller for me then. Talk about ambitions!) with a washboard stomach (and a trimmer wallet), I know I am going to feel good.

*After having broken the zip twice and seams coming of a few times, it is to be noted that I finally fit into my black dress (with no casualty). However alternating between breathing and sucking in my tummy is not one of my favourite challenges in life.

*Scroll down to my previous post for my response to your comments

Wednesday, April 4, 2007

Men are non-living things

Kids are amazingly curious. I think we are all curious, but kids live upto their reputation as they spell out their thoughts / questions without any inhibition unlike us grown-ups.

Yoga’s son, a 7-year old who races cars (well, virtually) as if he is Schumacher in the making asks more question than the number of times he breaths and floors his otherwise talkative mom. One afternoon he was back from school and was busy preparing a chart of living and non-living things using parameters (breathe, move etc.) specified by his teacher. He looked up from his work and said matter-of- factly “Amma, I am placing men under non-living things” seeing the confused look on his mother’s face, he was quick to add “men don’t reproduce, right?”

She had a hearty laugh and made a quick call to share this with me and added her muse, “I wish we could be as candid as our kids”.

*scroll down to my previous post (comments) to see my responses to your comments

Thursday, March 29, 2007

Now and then

Last Sunday, after dropping off my dad at the airport (he was going back home*), in a somber mood I was telling my daughter how hard life was when we were kids and how easy things are for them these days. She has heard this a few times before, so looked at me squarely and asked me “didn’t you have fun when you were a kid?”

That set me thinking and here goes -

Then, I wanted to be all grown up, working and independent.
Now, I want to go back in time, back to school and blissfully dependent.

Then, I thought parents could often be a source of embarrassment.
Now, I realize that feelings are mutual.

Then, complicated things looked simple.
Now, everything seems complicated.

Then, shopping was to survive.
Now, I seem to survive to shop.

Then, I longed to add a few Pounds.
Now, I starve to keep them off.

Then, ‘going away’ was fun.
Now, ‘going home*’ is excitement.

Then, ‘change’ was the way of life.
Now, even changing clothes is an effort.

Then, I needed more money...
Some things never change!

*going home for me is by default going to Chennai

Sunday, March 25, 2007

Frinitis

Friday, end of the day at work - well, almost. My mobile was ringing incessantly. I got to it, looked at the blinking name with a smile and went…

"hiii !"
“Hi, chaltein kya aaj?”
“Who all?”
“Just the two of us. It’s been a long time since we caught up, no?”
“You bet. 10.30?”
“Perfect. Will pick you.”

My husband was working late (watching match?) that evening and hers out of town. No reason for guilt :-)

There was no discussion on the venue. It’s the same when we decide to meet; it’s like a second home. The guy in charge of the place (more like a friendly bouncer ) knows us well and made sure we were seated with the least amount of waiting. Other regulars, mostly men, had curious look on their faces – not generally, but that night was an exception. One of the important matches and there was more cricket in the smoke filled air than music. But there was music like always, music - that doesn’t thump into your head, you can relate to and you can sing along.

We hang out here with our husbands in tow and other friends from time to time. But mostly it’s just Neha and me. The female bonding is an extravaganza to an otherwise set pattern of life - work, home, work, home…party (where predictable discussions happen) and the cycle continues.

While here, we alternate between screaming our lungs out to make ourselves audible and remaining still for several minutes enjoying the music and the drink (she drinks hot water, neat). We talk just about anything – complacent husbands, new fad of our young daughters, their prospective boy friends, “oh-didn’t-you-check-out-the-new-designer-label” sorts and our strategies when we meet them next, issues like skewing male: female ratio and still the dearth of good looking guys and the likes. Things that affect us and things that don’t.

We gossip, giggle, listen, criticize, console, discuss & debate. We emote and that without pretense. We crawl back to what seems like a distant past of carefree individuals that we were. We giggle and scream some more and time to go home. We don’t argue and negotiate for another drink when we get up and leave with a light head and a lighter heart.

This bi-monthly or so (average periodicity for you) of overhauling and we are back again with renewed vigor to care for and serve those who we are wholly or partly responsible for.

If this is Frinitis, then this virus is welcome more often.

*For the uninitiated, Google for “Frinitis” (if you haven’t already).

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

will be here soon...

can't wait to connect...
don't know what to say though...
thinking! thinking!!
will be here soon!