tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9007847337698876542024-03-13T23:46:56.867+05:30Behind the SmileDon't expect poems, stories or jokes here.
In fact, better not expect anything.
I ramble because I want to, I ramble because I can.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-32841516389621867342011-11-25T13:14:00.005+05:302011-11-25T15:20:53.136+05:30Present TenseFirst it was the Indian festival season, now there is the wedding season and soon it will be the Western festival season. What is common between all of them? Gifts. And of course shopping too, but that makes for another story. <div><br /></div><div>How do you pick a gift? Seriously, how? Of all the social customs, I find this is to be the toughest. It isn't even something which you get better at with age (as if there is anything like that, other than the record for the longest cough). It was so much more easier when we were kids, when our parents would pick the gift. And the choices too, so many! I mean <b>any</b> thing that you don't possess, gifted by someone else classifies as a good gift, when you are small ("oh wow! a shiny ball of yarn!"). </div><div><br /></div><div>But now, there are <b>so</b> many conditions that you have to follow!</div><div><br /></div><div><ul><li>The most important one - put some thought into it. Easier said than done. Whatever happened to just stuffing some cash into an envelope and giving it away? I find that to be very thoughtful, it involves so many thoughts! You <i>thought</i> of going to the ATM, you <i>thought</i> of buying an envelope (or reusing an existing one, I am not judging) and most importantly, you <i>thought</i> of not wasting their space and your money on something which they will anyway gift away to someone else, in case they don't like it! How much more thoughtful can you get!</li><li><br /></li><li>Gender specific - oh boy this is a toughie! As kids, when you were invited to a birthday party, all your parents had to do was rush to the nearest store which sold toys and pick one. As simple as that. Sure there were some stereotypes followed - like girls got the dolls and guys got the balls (pun unintended), but hey, it never hurt anyone, did it? This was before the times of political correctness. But now what do you do? Books are the most gender neutral gifts but then again, how many people read these days? Even if they do, how many appreciate a book as a gift? (Refer to the above point about thoughtfulness of the gift)</li><li><br /></li><li>The budget - something that not only tests your math skills, but also your memory. Jot down these questions in case you are weak in this particular area. "What did I get from them last time?", "What did <i>they</i> gift others in a similar situation?", "How much do I earn?", "How much do <i>they</i> earn?", "Will this be an individual gift or will I be pooling in with other people?" and finally the most important one - "How much do I like them?" Your final budget is the sum of all these figures multiplied by Pi and divided by the number of years of your life left, after going through the mental agony of thinking of these answers. </li><li><br /></li><li>The occasion - broadly classified into birthdays, wedding and miscellaneous. What comes under the miscellaneous category, you ask? A: Anniversaries, Farewells, Promotions, House warming ceremony, naming ceremony - basically the events that you would attend only in case of a gun being pointed to your head or the person in question being a blood relative/someone very close to you. The festivals are easier, at least for us Indians (not into business) - a box of sweets or dry fruits, depending on the occasion. Among the rest, I consider birthdays to be the most important - it comes every year and is a judge of what kinda relationship you have with the gifter-giftee. Thoughtful and expensive - consider marriage; non existent or lame and recycled - consider divorce. </li></ul><div>I am sure I have left out many small details which are a part of the procedure of selecting a gift. For example the protocol for giving flowers - roses/ lilies/ garbera? Or the corporate (read useless) gifts - pen stand/ photo frame / coffee mug? Or the timeless dilemma that boggles all new home owners - "What the hell are we going do with all these clocks?" This gift giving business is hard!<br /><br />P.S.: Now do you see the usefulness of the cash-in-envelope gift? </div></div>Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-53631893495777921772011-11-14T19:11:00.002+05:302011-11-14T19:24:33.099+05:30Up, up and awayI envy Superman. Not because he has superpowers, not for his flashy lifestyle (pun unintended) and definitely not for his dorky glasses and terrible hairstyle. I envy him for the opportunity he had, to break free. To break free of the life he knew, the life he grew accustomed to, the life that bound him to his planet. <div><br /></div><div>There comes a point, sometimes once in a blue moon and at other times all too frequently, that you want that for yourself. It is not necessarily when you are sad, it is not a form of escapism. It is just a new life. To start afresh. To cut all old ties and start all over. </div><div><br /></div><div>To go to a new place, a place where no one knows you, where you can be whoever you want. Because the whole world can tell you to be yourself, but you know within your heart that you would give anything to not be that person, if only for a short while. </div><div><br /></div><div>When I say go to a new place, I don't mean it in the tourist kinda way. That doesn't help. That is just a form of distraction, and helps only to get away from other people. What I mean is when you want to get away from yourself. </div><div><br /></div><div>Where you can be the person who can't take a decision, the fool, the vagrant or even the enlightened, the wise. Doesn't matter. As I said earlier, the person you <b>want</b> to be, not the person you are. Where people don't expect anything from you because they don't know you. Where you don't have to smile at someone because you are expected to. You can choose to be the unsocial recluse or you can choose to be the extrovert. </div><div><br /></div><div>Where you can choose. Where you have a choice. </div>Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-54316777274470381752011-11-11T11:36:00.003+05:302011-11-11T12:55:45.736+05:30Cut, snip, complainI made my regular trip to the salon recently. First of all, let me tell you how difficult it is for me to find a place I like. I know for a fact that I am very choosy and particular about most of the things in life, and a hairdresser is one of them. Initially, during school-college days, it would be the beauty parlour closest to my house. Of course things changed when I started earning. Too much money to waste, you see. <div><br /></div><div>I have somewhat thick, yet light, frizzy, wavy hair, so those of you blessed with beautiful, naturally straight and shining tresses can stop reading this blog and GO AWAY! Based on my hair type, it is very difficult to find and stick to a hairstyle that a. actually looks good b. stays the same way after the setting by the salon is washed away. </div><div><br /></div><div>After much hunting, searching in the last five years, I finally seem to have found a place that meets my criteria - well ventilated, smells nice, is clean, and has people who don't feel obliged to make random small talk (see what I mean by being choosy?). Of course it meets my budget too; for someone who goes for a cut once in 3 months, spending what I spend seems OK (subject to argument). </div><div><br /></div><div>OK if you are thinking that this is a plug/promotion for some salon, then you are wrong. If you are thinking that this is pointless banter over a topic as trivial as my hair, then you are right. This has got nothing to do with any political/social topic of interest. Go now and live free. Back to the topic, then. </div><div><br /></div><div>After all that drama over the right salon you would expect me to be happy, right? Wrong. I now move on to what irks me about these hairdressers. I go in, anticipating the wonderful washing of hair, followed by a hair cut. I do get the wonderful hair wash but what comes next always takes me by surprise, even after all this time. The criticism. This is how it goes:</div><div><br /></div><div>Hairdresser (HD) : *flips the wet hair*</div><div>HD: *runs his fingers through the wet hair*</div><div>HD: *runs a wide toothed comb through the wet hair*</div><div>HD: *sigh* Which shampoo do you use?</div><div>me: *gulp*</div><div><br /></div><div>It does not matter which shampoo you use. You can spend half your earnings on the shampoo/conditioner and your hairdresser will still be unimpressed. There has to be some problem with it. I personally think that they undergo this training, along with learning the various techniques of holding hair between their fingers before cutting it. The various things that I get to hear ranges from "your hair is too dry, change your shampoo", "you have hair fall, change your shampoo", "your hair appears dull, change your shampoo", etc. </div><div><br /></div><div>Has it ever occurred to you, dear hairdresser, that I might not have so many problems if you would just let me stick to one freaking shampoo? And with that, my self esteem shattered, the happy hairdresser proceeds to give me a magnificent cut, which my broken soul laps up eagerly. The End. </div><div><br /></div><div>P.S.: changed the feed option; should now appear in full on reader. </div>Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-73087143325817069632011-07-24T20:20:00.003+05:302011-07-24T21:32:37.526+05:30Bollywood WishlistWatching some awards ceremony on tv took me back to the time when as a kid I would look at the heroines on screen and wish I would own the dress they wore, as flamboyant as it may be.<br /><br />1. Kimi Katkar in Hum:<br /><a href="http://www.starboxoffice.com/publishImages/SboMovie/other_events/80%E2%80%99s_ke_hotties/130709104106_kimi_katkar.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 280px; height: 443px;" src="http://www.starboxoffice.com/publishImages/SboMovie/other_events/80%E2%80%99s_ke_hotties/130709104106_kimi_katkar.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>I don't even remember how old I was when I watched the movie "Hum". I have definitely not watched it in the theater for sure. Maybe it was on cable, back when the cable guy would print out the schedule of pirated movies he would show during the coming week/month. Anyway, back to the dress. Oh how I yearned it! The frills, the colour, the heels, the whole do! If I can remember it so well to this day, it must have had some impact right? I also remember promising myself that one day when I start earning I will buy such a dress for myself. Umm. Yeah. It's a good thing it's not on paper.<br /><br />2. Madhuri Dixit in Khalnayak:<br /><a href="http://blog.yah.in/wp-content/uploads/image/bollywood/madhuri.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 249px; height: 400px;" src="http://blog.yah.in/wp-content/uploads/image/bollywood/madhuri.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />OK stop laughing. This has nothing to do with the song. Seriously. Stop. This was lehenga-choli at it's best! I did own a very typical Rajasthani lehenga-choli set but for obvious reasons it was not even close to the one shown above. *<span style="font-weight: bold;">Sulks*. </span>Backless back, shells hanging, mirror embellishments, white bangle thingies upto the biceps as accessories - loved it all! Yes, the stomach baring would have been a bit too much but hey, such wishes aren't meant to be practical, are they?<br /><br />3. The long frocks:<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8JnlStIGP8/TixBW5huzBI/AAAAAAAAHbo/uiA12-Bv1rE/s1600/madhuri.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 144px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Q8JnlStIGP8/TixBW5huzBI/AAAAAAAAHbo/uiA12-Bv1rE/s320/madhuri.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632949095588875282" border="0" /></a><br /><br />They say the 90s was the worst phase of Bollywood. All the good singers were dying or dead, the good actors were getting too old, there were too many horribly done south indian remakes and let's not even go near the so called fashion sense in the movies back then. But hey, I liked it. For all you know the things that we wear today will be the object of ridicule tomorrow. That's how it works. So back then, the puffy sleeves, high waist jeans, the leggings with long T shirts and of course the long frocks were the rage. My favourite happens to be the one Madhuri Dixit wears in HAHK. A close second is Juhi Chawla's in Hum Hain Rahi Pyaar Ke. Atrocious, I know.<br /><br />I am trying to think which movies/trends/dresses interest me now. But I just can't seem to put my finger on it. I guess nostalgia is the best reminder.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-15610753446393122262011-06-27T14:13:00.001+05:302011-06-27T14:14:19.186+05:30PreviewThe problem with taking a break is getting back to the routine after the break. Hi, I am Captain Obvious. The break that I refer to is the break I took from blogging. I didn't even realise that the break became the routine. I have no one to blame, no excuses to give. It took a backseat because I let it.<br /><br />This isn't a grand "Hey kids, look who's back!" blog. This is just me, rambling on as usual. Because you know what, that's what it was to me. Before life caught up and changed my world in a million little ways. But I want to write again. I wrote before blogging became THE THING and now I want to write much after blogging isn't THE THING. It's much more fun this way.<br /><br />You write, people read if they are interested, most of them ignore it, some leave a comment or two, you write again. No one wins, no one loses. There are no comment wars, there is no one upmanship. It isn't something you do to put on your profile, it isn't something you do to get those hits, to go up on Google's search index, to be featured in some lame column of a dying newspaper trying hard to keep up with the drastic changes in technology and lifestyle.<br /><br />This is me, blogging once again. And boy, it feels good! Also, yay! on my 90th post. :)<br /><br />P.S.: Thanks to my current joblessness, I'm pretty sure I can keep up this break-from-the-routine-that-was-meant-to-be-a-break for some time at least. Let's hope so.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-85628994057931677302010-09-23T18:23:00.003+05:302010-09-23T18:45:38.919+05:30Of pensive babies and mickey mouseI have no freaking clue why people here in HK are so freaking OBSESSED with Mickey Mouse. Yes, they don't just like that silly cartoon character, they obsess over it. Mickey Mouse is on bags, tshirts, caps, suitcases, plates, spoons, u name it, and they will have Mickey Mouse over it. WHY? As I said, no freaking clue. Sure, there is a Disney Land here, but the merchandise I am talking about isn't even "official". Even 50+ yr old women wear it on their clothes. Madness I tell you!<br /><br />There are two things very unique here - dogs and babies. I have put these two in the order of my liking.<br /><br />Dogs: It may not apply to all localities but where I live, you can find dogs of all sizes, shapes, colours and softness. They love dogs as much(if not more) as their kids. They carry them around like babies, run with them, clothe them in weird attire and generally fuss over them. How is that different from pet owners around the world? Here, they prefer dogs of smaller stature so that they can carry them around in bags. You see a lady with an open handbag and you know that there is a living thing inside. Sure enough, it pops its head out and looks at you like you are the one in a weird mode of transportation.<br /><br />They also train their dogs to perfection. Sometimes when the dog forgets its "etiquette's" and barks at you, the owner will apologise like it was the greatest sin ever committed. It's a treat to watch these little creatures and their mannerisms. I would absolutely love to own one (not just any one of them, I have my sight and heart set on a particular one - my Takiya). Sigh.<br /><br />Then there are the babies. What is the deal with them here! You see a baby and your first expectation is for it to start bawling in a while. I mean come on, they are babies, that's what they are supposed to do. Hungry-> cry -> full -> poop -> cry -> thirsty ->cry ->full -> pee ->cry. It is a vicious cycle of needs and crying. But not here. First of all the babies here look freakishly pensive. They look like there is a lot on their mind; always in deep thought, as if solving the deep mysteries that have troubled mankind since the dawn of civilization. Then there is the fact that they don't cry. EVER. You see umpteen number of women with strollers. But you never see a woman with a baby that is crying. The baby just sits there. Still. Silent. Not crying. Blinking. Staring. F.R.E.A.K.Y! <br /><br />How do they even do it? Is there a top secret govt. organisation behind it? Are there some special words uttered during childbirth that takes away the baby's..umm.."crying mojo"? I personally think that it's the mom. Who would not be scared of that angry Grudge like look? *Shudder*Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-88017240778999042222010-07-01T21:43:00.003+05:302010-07-01T22:13:14.694+05:30Bangalore to Hong Kong!No prizes for guessing what this post is about. There are so many things I want to share about this place that my head was bursting with observations and comments. So I'll just get down to it directly, no fancy buildups, no hows and whys.<br /><br /><ul><li>What are the chances of meeting two people you know in the international airport, where being your first international trip you have landed way too early and have more than 3 hours to kill? And that too one being related to you! Well not too high, let me tell you that. But that is exactly what happened with me.<br /></li><li>I did embarrass myself at a couple of counters but that's a different story altogether. </li><li>The journey was uneventful, and the air hostesses - rude. I guess they know that it's the only direct flight and hence you don't have much of a choice. </li><li>The flight was late and I just remember drifting in and out of sleep, only to eat and go direct back to sleep. By the way, whoever came up with the idea of playing "What's your Rashee?" as in flight entertainment, thank you! Works better than a warm glass of milk, instant peaceful slumber guaranteed!</li><li>This place defines "bustling"! You see people everywhere, everyone looks important, busy and like they have something really big to do and someplace very urgent to be. It has such a high energy that you wonder if you can keep up. My first weekend was pretty disorienting actually!</li><li>Customer service actually has a meaning here. They look like they want to serve you well.</li><li>Language problem - BIG problem. Most of them struggle with framing simple English sentences and when they actually do, their accents make it even more difficult for me to grasp what they are saying. Lesson learnt - use keywords, speak slower than usual, pay attention.</li><li>Gotta love the public transportation. You can get from anywhere to anywhere by three very convenient and simple means- trams, buses and trains(all A/C, of course). If you don't mentally convert the rates to INR then they work out really cheap too!<br /></li><li>The clothes! How can I not mention that! I kid you not, no two women on the street wear the same clothes. Forget same, they are barely similar. I don't know whether the reason behind this is the abundant choices or just the desire to stand out, but it works! </li><li>The shoes! Yes, this post is getting very girly and what not but I cannot help it. Nowadays when I walk, I don't even look up. Girls/women here wear such pretty and funky footwear that it is difficult to focus elsewhere. Sure, given a choice I probably wouldn't even have the guts to try out these styles but that's also a point I want to make. Anything they wear, they look like they own the look and at total ease with themselves.</li><li>The men aren't too good looking. I prefer our Indian men anyday! It's been six days since I landed here and I could spot just one fairly good looking guy. </li><li>Food is a bit of a problem for a vegetarian like me but since I have "my people" already here since the past couple of years, I know where to look and what to avoid. In short, I am well fed.</li></ul>I have loads to add but not right now. Work beckons.<br /><br />P.S.: I didn't even know why today i.e. July 1st is a holiday here. Turns out some political thingy. Oh well *shrugs*Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-60447658111550234472010-01-17T12:51:00.002+05:302010-01-23T11:39:41.490+05:30The year of changeRemember when I told you that I don't like change? Well, that itself, has changed. I am looking for a lot of changes this year. Maybe it just the monotony that is life right now, I don't know. It's just that the routine gets really boring after a while. <br /><br />I have started out with the way I look. Now that, has undergone a major change! Bye bye wavy, frizzy hair, hello straight and smooth hair! I had been contemplating this decision for I don't know how many months/years now. The only thing that was stopping me was, well, the fear of change. All that talk about "they treat the hair with chemicals" was just eyewash. I was scared of looking so different. What changed my mind? I can't say. It wasn't a resolution, oh no no, I don't believe in that. I guess I finally found my backbone. I didn't even "warn" people at home. It was more or less a spontaneous decision(barring the fact that I had been thinking about it since forever). How do I feel about it now? <br /><br />My hair actually blows beautifully in the wind now. No, seriously. You see those shampoo ads and you grunt, thinking to yourself "yeah right, nobody can have that kind of hair". Well, you can, after a lot of treatment, of course. Earlier, it used to take dollops of conditioner followed by the hair serum to make my hair remotely resemble a human being's. I used to dread dry and breezy weather. Now, let it blow. See if I care. <br /><br />It's tangle free! No more struggling with the hair brush, going in slow strokes to make sure I don't pull out the wild strands also known as my hair. It's like every strand has a snooty life of its own. Each strand exists as an individual, refusing to get entangled in the messy life of others but willing to co exist peacefully. Just perfect. <br /><br />All those Hindi songs about "sunhari zulfein" and "latein" and what not make sense now. Heck, forget a guy wanting to run his fingers through my hair, I myself can't get enough of it! So many times I have to remind myself that it might seem a little weird for others to see me obsessing over it. But I can't help it, it's so soft! Now I know why girls with naturally beautiful hair keep adjusting their hair by running their fingers through it time and again. It's not "attitude", it's just reflex action, they just want to make sure their prized possession is still safe. And by the way, girls with naturally beautiful and straight hair, the next time you tell me you would rather have curly hair, I will hit you. <br /><br />Of course this drastic change in look got me different opinions and views. Some love it, others tell me I looked better with my natural hair. The best reactions were in the first week, the look of shock on everyone's face. And of course, my melodramatic mother wins the contest with her words - "you don't look like my daughter anymore". Right. <br /><br />But one thing's for sure. Even now when I look in the mirror first time every morning, I don't recognise the person staring back at me. But in more ways than one, I like that. Sure, "permanent" as it may be, my naturally out of control hair will grow back soon, but for the time being, let me be "that chick with straight hair".Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-13513459549437663312010-01-01T15:55:00.002+05:302010-01-01T18:18:47.292+05:30Happy New DecadeYeah I thought I'll give it a snazzy little subject, something different, something unique, but when simple words can convey it, why go for any complicated ones, right? So the new year is upon us and as is the new decade. Bear with me while I go down the memory lane, getting all nostalgic.<br /><br />The decade of the single remote control:<br />Ah, simpler times. One remote control, one purpose, controlling the TV. Do you want to change the channel? Well, grab *the* remote? Volume giving you problems? Where did you put *the* remote? Not anymore. <br /><br />A: "Hey I put the DVD in. How do I switch the player on?"<br />B: "Use that black remote and switch the player on"<br />A: "There are two black ones, which one are you talking about?"<br />B: "Not the thin black one, that's the one for the cable"<br />A: "Oh ok. The fat one. Done, but nothing is coming on the screen."<br />B: "Well that's because you didn't switch the TV on."<br />A: "How do I do that?"<br />B: "Use the third remote control, the grey one."<br />A: "You know what, forget the movie. It probably isn't that good anyway."<br /><br />When the watch wasn't just another accessory:<br /><br />I can see you smile and nod your head. Remember all those exam days? Right from school till college. Other than the pens/pencils(not always as important) and hall ticket, the most important thing to carry used to be the watch. If it were the "normal" ones, you would pull that little lever out and sync it with someone else, to make sure it was showing the right time. If it was the digital watch(and I am sure you were extremely proud of it, you show off) you would create all those beeping noises, initially to figure out how the hell do you shift to the time setting mode and then eventually set the right time. Not anymore. You feel lost without your cell phone. That one device rules your life, but more on that later. Wearing a watch is now only for style statement.<br /><br />Mobile landing:<br /><br />As I said earlier, this one device rules our lives now. Alarm clock - cellphone, remembering events like birthdays and anniversaries - cellphone (mine is cruel, it seems to discriminate against certain people), clock - cellphone, camera - cellphone, music - cellphone, heck even internet surfing - cellphone. I am sure I have forgotten a million other uses, but you catch my drift. But one thing I totally blame the cellphone for is people turning unpunctual. Earlier with just landlines (fixed phone lines) the element of doubt and uncertainty would ensure that if people promised they would be someplace at some time, they would be there either early or on time. But now since you can call up people and lie to them that you are stuck in traffic (*scowl*), you take them for granted and ask them to wait a little more. Seriously people, if you have lived in the same city for more than a year, you know the "traffic", so plan for it accordingly, will you.<br /><br />Dial up, up and away:<br /><br />The great Internet revolution of the two oh oh ohhhhhhs. From just starting out with a Yahoo! email ID and being barely able to move the mouse, to being an internet addict, I myself have come a long way. Ok, this wasn't exactly in the last decade but I will narrate this incident nonetheless. My elder brother's friend had called up home(on the landline, as was the norm then) and I happened to pick the phone up. He gave me his email ID to pass on to my brother. Guess how I noted it down - I actually spelt the "_". Yes, my note read "name underscore name". Naive old me. And who can forget the dial up connection days! Set up the connection and wait. The sounds, the noises, oh the suspense! Then enter the URL and again, wait. Meanwhile go fix a snack or finish some other errand and by the time you are back, the page has loaded! If someone would have told you that in the future you could download movies over the internet, wouldn't that have been the joke of the year(or decade?). Not to mention actually watching someone speak in another country, miles away from you, in real time(video chat, if you didn't quite get that)! Oh the power of technology.<br /><br />The great transition:<br /><br />More than anything I will remember the last decade for being the one where I made the transition from being a student to a working professional. How much I work or how professional I am may be subject to debates but that isn't the point right now. I am sure it holds good for all of you because come on, do you really expect me to believe that people who started working in the 1990s actually read my blogs? What a shift it was, what a change in lifestyle. And not to mention, what a change in shape. Show me one person who looks exactly as they were in their student days (weight and shape wise) and I will eat my tongue. Fatsos(relatively speaking of course), all of you. But financial independence, what a high, no? It doesn't matter how much you earn, the mere fact that you don't have to ask someone for money feels so good. That reminds me. Those of you who went back to school, to pursue higher studies, how in the world do you manage? It's like a lion turning vegetarian. <br /><br />To sum it up, no matter what articles on the net would have you believe, the last decade was not the worst decade in the last century. Sure there have been some tragedies but which decade didn't have their share? I don't know about you but I am pretty excited about the next ten years. Bring it on! <br /><br />PS: Just saw an ad by a leading mobile service provider asking people to donate old mobile phones to old age homes. Whatever happened to the days of the blankets? <br /><br />Wish you all a beautiful year ahead and a <span style="font-style:italic;">fantabulous</span> decade to come!Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-35318257938286052642009-12-07T23:18:00.002+05:302009-12-08T00:11:47.583+05:30Whistle BlowerI love train journeys. I can't say it enough and I can't get enough of them. So what if we still have only holes in the floors of our toilets or still have to rely on metal chains to secure our luggage. Train journeys are fun. And relaxing. And oh so comfortable! Unlike a bus journey, you don't have to worry about when the next pee stop will be and whether you will have to look for a thick bush or a big tree. Unlike a plane journey, you don't have to get to the place at some god forsaken hour and some hundreds of god forsaken hours before the scheduled departure. Nor worry about not looking good for the journey, or worse still wonder which one of your co passengers is carrying that suspicious looking piece of luggage.<br /><br />No Sirre Bob. You get to the station either on time or later, because not in the history of Indian Railways has any train come before time. If it is late, you look at your fellow passengers, give that all knowing shake of head and comment about the state of Indian railways. Following which, you buy a book or magazine, plonk yourself on a small piece of ledge or bench, asking the people to skooch over and make a little place, while giving them the half apologetic, half "come-on-lets-be-nice-now" look. You may start reading you material but you still look around, to look out for any interesting specimens, and of course to make sure every five minutes that your luggage, which is at your feet, is still there and very much safe. <br /><br />Since it is a place always bustling with people, your eyes don't linger long enough. Occasionally you catch someone else doing the same. You look away, you don't maintain eye contact for long. You don't want to discover acquaintances, you don't want to strike a conversation. You just want to bide your time till the train comes. Beggars approach you, you pretend to not notice them. They look at you, they stay for a while, they judge you. If you look easy, they don't move away till they see you dig into your purse/wallet for that coin. If you don't, they move to the next person. If the train is really late, you catch the same beggars again and again. The same rounds, the same expression, the same tone, the same perseverance. <br /><br />You see someone interesting. A kid, a family, a lady, a man, a bunch of students, a group of nuns, a gang of what looks like ruffians. You look at them in between flipping pages of your reading material. You don't want to alarm them, make them feel conscious, break their rhythm, draw their attention to you. You wonder if they are locals or tourists. You try to decide based on their clothing and mannerisms. You wonder if they are boarding the same train, if they will be your companions for the next few hours. You wish they are, you wish they aren't. <br /><br />There is a rustle on the platform, a collective movement. Someone heard a whistle, someone saw a train approaching. The announcements are read out over the microphone in the same monotone. You can barely catch it, except if you hear hard enough, the train number and/or the train name. All you rely on are the porters, who are the best source of information. They'll tell you which train is late before even the enquiry section comes to know of it. They'll even tell you why, if you ask them nice enough and if they are bored enough. Then they walk away. They have to be someplace, they have to make a living. <br /><br />The train finally arrives. The whole platform is now alive. You see the mad rush for the doors of the general compartment. You let out a silent shudder, thanking your stars that you don't have to be a part of it. The snob in you wonders why they can't just be civil. The rest of you feels ashamed at that thought. You walk up to your bogie and see that the scene isn't too different here. The only difference is in the attire. People are still crowding around the door, not even letting the ones inside alight. You wait for it to clear. <br /><br />You get inside, not even giving a second look to the station or platform. You are more bothered about finding your seat, securing your luggage and getting comfortable. Your journey has just begun.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-51309431669089854712009-11-20T23:09:00.003+05:302009-11-20T23:55:50.736+05:30Wine and WomenFirst things first. Hello, remember me? <br /><br />Moving on. Old age is hitting me hard people! Barely a few days after my twenty *PEEP*th birthday, the signs are there for all to see. Health wise, it has been a roller coaster ride since the past few months.<br /><br />Poisoned! Five of us, one reputed eat out. One person falls sick, and how. No prizes for guessing who that is. I shall spare you the details by summing it up in one sentence - "what goes in, immediately comes out". Nothing and I mean absolutely nothing was willing to stay inside. Eventually, I was on a diet of ORS (Oral Rehydration Solution) only. Yes, ORS is what kids suffering from diarrhea are given. And non diabetic old people. <br /><br />Broke Back mole hill - Remember the torture mistress from an old post of mine? Yes, the aerobics instructor. Oops, she did it again. Before you get any ideas, let me be clear. After much deliberation I decided to get back to aerobics again because a rolling 5'2" ball isn't a pretty sight for the eyes. But alas, that wasn't to be. Lady Hitler gave us such a heavy workout, which included weightlifting, my poor lazy back gave way. Result? Excruciating pain, which got worse over time and caused a mini black out too. I won't lie to you, the episode was scary. <br /><br />Salt or Pepper? Sigh. Spotted my first gray hair. Well, kinda. It isn't exactly gray. It is really light brownish and has bits of gray towards the end. Like it's still deciding whether to come out or not. Great, a gay strand of gray. Again, hadn't I mentioned somewhere on this blog itself that I would be proud of my gray hair? Well, I am. Just in an...erm..protected manner right now. So lets tuck it under the other healthy bunch of hair for the time being, ok? Ok!<br /><br />Short and sighted - As if the above weren't enough cause for misery, along came a visit to the eye doctor. It was long due. I had noticed the blurriness some time back but had kept procrastinating. She confirmed my worst fears - I needed an extra pair of eyes. I have never found glasses to be flattering and I still don't. Contact lenses? And me? Hell, no! I'll probably poke my own eyes out thanks to my clumsiness and stubby-fingerness. One look at my phone and you'll know why I should be crowned Ms. Butterfingers. That poor device is scratched more than a flea infested mongrel.<br /><br />So there you have it, my sob story. I just hope that 30, far as it may be, is less cruel to me. But just in case, I think I should get a set of dentures made now itself.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-29218158224791856482009-09-19T15:46:00.003+05:302009-09-19T16:39:25.163+05:30Book Review: The Lost SymbolWARNING: THIS BLOGPOST CONTAINS A LOT, IF NOT MOST OF THE KEY SPOILERS FROM THE BOOK. IF YOU HAVEN'T READ IT ALREADY, THE TIME TO CLOSE THIS WINDOW IS NOW!<br /><br />You have been warned.<br /><br />I don't know how to begin. Perhaps a little background would do. I have read 4 out of Dan Brown's 5 published book. So, I think I am in a comfortable position to do this. If you don't know already, the book is based on the one of the most powerful (cults?)societies in USA - the Freemasons. I will not go on to list each and every twist and turn in the plotline in the book, but I will list down the points which did not make this book all that "awesome" for me:<br /><br />1. One of the most important ones: the focus on USA. Yes, Brown is an American author. I understand that. But he went overboard here. He just about stopped short of shouting or rather printing from the rooftops that USA is the greatest nation in the world. Maybe it had something to do with his target readers. But what it does to the rest of us, the non American readers is to make us sigh and groan "This again? don't we have enough Hollywood movies doing that?"<br /><br />2. Too much lecturing. We all know that Robert Langdon is a lecturer, but apparently, so is Dan Brown. The overdose of philosophy (is that the right word?) in the book becomes overbearing after a certain point. Many authors have understated messages in their narration. But it is bearable when it is understated and subtle. In The Lost Symbol, there were moments when I got fed up of it and skipped those paragraphs. It isn't just a few lines, he <i>preaches</i> in paragraphs, one after another. <i>We all know we live in troubled times yada yada now can we get back to the plot please!</i>. If I want to ponder about these things, I will pick up a book along those lines. I expect fiction interspersed with startling facts, mythology from Dan Brown, not a lecture on the greater good, truth, good and evil, etc.<br /><br />3. Too much spirituality/religion. Before you say it, yes I know that was the whole premise of The Da Vinci Code. But that was different. It was crucial to the plot of the book and we discovered some amazing lore/legends and that was combined with the main storyline. The end result was spectacular. The same doesn't happen here. I don't know if Dan Brown is trying to make amends or get back on good terms with the Church but that is what it seems like. He hasn't glorified the church but he has gone to lengths defending the Bible and glorifying it. I can point out quite a few instances when it seems to be a pathetic attempt at pacification. Whatever the reason may be, he has played it really safe this time around.<br /><br />4. The basic premise. Yeah, I know this should have come right on top. I cannot bring myself to believe even a little bit of the basic premise, on which this book carries its story forward. One bit that refuses to get out of my mind is the experiment that Katherine Solomon conducts, which helps her in measuring the <b>weight of the human soul</b>. Oh please! No matter how much I tell myself to have an open mind about it, I refuse to digest this piece. I am going to look up Noetic Science but I doubt if that's going to change my opinion at all. When we read a book, we surrender our minds to the author, allowing him to shape our thoughts in his/her way, making us see things that only he/she would have seen till now. But we have a limit. I know when you are bullshitting me. <br /><br />5. If you have read The Count of Monte Cristo or seen even a few Hindi movies, you know within the few lines where he talks about Zachary Solomon that its Mal'akh. So that eliminates the surprise factor. Fine, that was just a minor glitch. Next up is the "threat to national security" angle that Sato plays and is the reason the CIA is involved in this treasure hunt in the first place. A few individuals captured on camera performing dark rituals? I am sorry, but that's the best you could come up with? Sure, since all of them are prominent <i>American</i> individuals, it will have a big impact, but ahem, you are afraid of a Youtube scandal? I thought CIA had better things to worry about.<br /><br />I could go on and on. Sure it is an entertaining read, but it has failed on too many fronts for me to love it. It is a long read and isn't even the can't-take-your-eyes-off-it, fast paced book. It is not boring and you should definitely read it but do so with an impartial mindset. Maybe the fact that I am a skeptic and a cynical person has something to do with it but I am sorry to say that The Lost Symbol was lost on me. I am a reader who wasn't wowed, and that's the truth. <br /><br />I would rate it 3/5.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-21550101913137688822009-08-21T23:47:00.003+05:302009-08-22T00:46:56.780+05:30Oink flewHow many of you are scared? How many of you have started wearing masks? How many of you have stopped going out to public places?<br /><br />I see the situation in Pune/Mumbai, and I think it is a little scary. I see the situation in Bangalore and I find it extremely funny. Masks have become a style statement here. Or at least that's what they want it to be. To me, (to quote Red Forman), its a dumbass statement. The masks that people wear are no thicker than two tissues or maybe even toilet paper quality tissues held together. I'll come to them later, first here are a few observations that make my days:<br /><br />1. People will not give up on malls. It's one thing if you are working there. You should, in that case take all precautions. But it's another, that you go there, out of your own will and reason and then pretend that you are scared for your life. Some may argue that it is to keep the spirits high, how long can you stay at home? Well, why can't you stay at home? Malls don't provide <i>basic</i> facilities. You can get your provisions at the local store, barely a stone's throw away from your house and which is frequented by a fewer number of people. The only thing basic about malls is the clothing that they display on the mannequins.<br /><br />2. People think they can control this virus by sheer will power. How else do you explain a lady, standing in the queue to buy movie tickets, totally unprotected. 5 min later, same lady, one row up ahead, taking out the aforementioned tissue thin, useless, streetside, sold for 10 Rs. mask and wearing it. You see, she couldn't catch the virus standing next to scores of people where her face was exposed to all and sundry! No Sirree Bob! It is only in the dark confines of the theater, once she is settled in, and is sure that no one can spot her with the hideous thing on her mouth, that the virus will think to themselves "hey, she is well equipped now, so let us attack the others!".<br /><br />3. Mobile - check, wallet - check, sunglasses - check, silly mask - check. This other incident is directed at those of you who have made a mockery of this whole thing. You buy these surgical kind masks, not even knowing that the only thing they can protect you from is probably dust, or if the material is too cheap, just dirt and then wear it all over the town, apparently very proud of your <i>responsible</i> behaviour. You get on Brigade/MG road (places in Bangalore where people get dressed up to walk, randomly, for no reason) and you see this girl, stylishly attired, wearing a tank top, snug pair of jeans, hair let loose, sunglasses on even though it's past 7 p.m. and of course, a mask. She has the air of a princess who is walking amongst the commons. She has a green cloth over her mouth, surely no virus can harm her now!<br /><br />4. The smelly cats. Have you received the forwards about how some drops of oil on your handkerchief will magically keep you safe? These are the people who overdo it. They bathe in these oils, probably after brushing their teeth with it, spraying it on their whole body, massaging it into their hair and using it in their car as fresheners and sometimes maybe even washing their clothes in it. Nilgiri/Eucalyptus oil is the new Dettol. Thanks to them, a closed space smells like a dirty, shady high-on-dope-and-suggest-this-oil-for-all-treatments-sadhu's abode.<br /><br />5. The conspiracy theorists. My favourite people! Don't they make every problem so much fun to deal with! I mean who cares if it is a medical condition which may get out of hand if not dealt with properly, all these people want to do is point fingers at the government/s and demand answers. <br />"Last year we had Avian Flu and this year it is Swine Flu. If birds and pigs cannot be trusted, what is the government doing about it?". <br />"Michael Jackson, who is 'so called dead', mated his chimpanzee, who has AIDS with Tiger Prabhakar's pet pig, who if sources are to be believed, is half Tamilian and half Sinhalese(the pig, not Tiger) to produce this virus so that people are so distracted that his "death" is not looked into. This project is partly funded by Tupac and Osama Bin Laden."<br /><br />Before I end this piece, let me make it clear. I am not ridiculing the disease, it is a very serious business and people have unnecessarily lost lives to it. I am ridiculing dumb people. If you want to be safe, do what I do - stay AWAY from those disease carrying germs on kids and preggies!<br /><br />P.S.: Almost forgot, my pic came in Deccan Chronicles. Yay! Before you start assuming, <b>not</b> because of this blog or any book offer. Hell no!Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-57849989901963513062009-08-09T11:30:00.004+05:302009-08-09T11:43:40.828+05:30Ugh..People!I am in a very strange mood right now. I am so tired of people, in general. I am tired of greeting people, I am tired of looking at people, I am tired of talking to people and I am most definitely tired of making conversation with people!<br /><br />This isn't about what people think. No, that has got nothing to do with it. It is just that right now, it just seems to be that there are too many people around me. There are times that I just want to walk into a place and not be spoken to. Just do away with the formalities, go on, ignore me. But more than that, what I really want is to be able to walk into a conversation and walk out when I want to. No special reason. Not because the person disgusts me or the topic is getting out of hand. Just that I just don't want to be a part of it. Just like that.<br /><br />I am not a loner. Far from it, actually. I don't like being alone. But there are times I feel strangely suffocated, suffocated by people around me. You need to know what everyone is doing, everyone needs to know what you are doing, you ask them, they ask you, you make them acquainted with more people, they make you acquainted with more people. People, people, people. It's a circle that keeps expanding and some believe that bigger the circle is, more "popular" you are. <br /><br />But don't believe what they say. Bigger your circle, more people there are to keep tabs on, to keep getting mixed with, to keep talking about. It never ends. There comes a point that you hit saturation and just want to forget all these people! Make them go away from your memories, make them strange faces you look at, once again. Make them strangers, people you didn't know, people you didn't want to know. Just random faces, people who know very few of your people. <br /><br />Before you get me wrong, this isn't about friends. I have few friends. I am not one of those people who label acquaintances as friends. So we are good, this isn't about friends. Did I just say that again? <br /><br />This is about people - so many of them! And ironically, I have posted this on my blog, where more people will read it. Great, just great.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-89891194789982203252009-07-19T20:31:00.002+05:302009-07-19T21:00:35.779+05:30sPilloverI wouldn't have believed you if you would have told me a few years earlier that my threshold of pain would go down, slowly. You see, I am the kind of person who doesn't believe in pills. I mean, it's not like I refuse to believe that medicine works, that small quantities of certain chemicals will in turn take care of certain chemicals in my body and magically, things will be better. Phew. No, that's not what I mean.<br /><br />What I do mean is..wait, let me illustrate it with the help of a story. A very long time ago, there used to be a little girl. A delicate little girl, who used to fall ill at the drop of a hat. Her parents wouldn't let her take allopathy treatment as they were scared of the side effects. So throughout her life she was used to taking these small balls of sugar. And they worked, placebo effect or not. <br /><br />Then one fine day, the girl happened to watch a movie. A very average, if not below, Hindi movie. It starred Salman Khan and umm..Revathi? Well, to cut a long story short, which unfortunately they didnt, the climax of the scene involved the girl getting into a macabre accident i.e. glass piercing through her abdomen. No medicines would work on her as since childhood she used to pop those evil tablets and capsules, for no reason, even if she was hale and hearty. So <i>scientifically</i> they explained in the movie, that it lead to a lower immunity and no medicines would work on her.<br /><br />This was during the times I did not even know the spelling of the word paranoia. But set in, it did. Since that time, I had vowed to never be so stupid, I mean what if glass or any other sharp object for that matter went through <b>my</b> abdomen or any other part of the body for that matter! So I avoided pills whenever I could. Incredible pain, terrible flu, high fever, any kind of ailment and my treatment would be to sleep it off. For milder cases, it worked. When it got <b>really severe</b>, to the point that maybe my survival depended on it, I would resort to pills. <br /><br />But as Murphy, my best friend, was watching all of this, I think somewhere he gave a sinister laugh. He also gave me acne problem. And it was the kind of problem that doesn't go away with clean and clear. There were pills, capsules, tablets, colourful, stinky, long, small, you imagine it, I have taken it. But one good thing came out of it - I outgrew my paranoia, to a certain extent. Pills weren't so bad. Pills are good, if taken in normal quantities.<br /><br />Alas! With these positive changes, came the negative. My will power, strengthened by my paranoia in the bygone years, has gone down considerably. Ok, maybe you are wondering what kind of a psycho would willingly want to suffer, when in pain. Good point. But it's not easy to explain. Let me put it this way - nowadays, if I am in pain, the first thought I get is where the painkiller is. If it's a cold, I want to reach out for the tablet that in the advertisements sends a golden light through your oesophagus and magically cures it. <br /><br />Fear, in the right amount and at the right time, can serve us well. I need to be afraid. Someone please show me a news link of a woman/man who developed 15 butts as a side effect from taking medicines for common ailments. Maybe that will help me snap out of this.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-4870996447741399562009-06-22T22:06:00.003+05:302009-06-22T22:48:35.985+05:30This and ThatSince it takes quite an effort and patience to actually come out with something that makes sense, here's a compilation of random thoughts that I would like to put down here for posterity:<br /><br />The easiest way to know if he/she is serious - See if you are introduced to the friends. Forget family, they come much later. If you are introduced to the "gang", its on. Why did I suddenly think of it? Well, I promised you random, didn't I? Word of caution: if you have been at the other end of sweet nothings but still don't what the best friend looks like, move on.<br /><br />All good things to eat are short words. Really, think about it. The three words that come to my mind are pizza, cake and coffee. Fine, you got me there. You don't eat coffee. But you get my point, don't you. Half the fun goes away if you spend fifteen minutes trying to pronounce it. Try ordering "croissant, on the go". That's why all of us love "puff" so much. And eggs. And Maggi. "Oh, there's nothing to eat, do you wanna have the instant-noodles-that-can-be-prepared-in-2-minutes?" I don't think so.<br /><br />Google has spoiled all of us. I remember the time when the Encyclopaedia used to be the last word on everything. When you needed to look a word up, you got up, you went to fetch either the pocket dictionary or if you wanted to know some examples along with the pronunciation, you went to fetch the big daddy of dictionaries. It weighs at least 2 kilos. So once you had it on your tiny lap, you thought "oh what the hell, might as well look up some more words". Now, you just find an obscure link and prove to everyone that the way you say it is right. Stupid internet.<br /><br />If you want to get a "hostelite"(people who don't live with their families) to get all emotional, play either of these songs - Purani Jeans/Yaaron Dosti/ Pal/Yaadein. Serious faces, tight body language, uncomfortable silence guaranteed. If there is alcohol in the vicinity, expect water works too. Disclaimer: listener must be fluent in Hindi.<br /><br />I am back to the world of books and loving it. Sure, it's not like each and every book I get my hand on turns out to be the best published work in the world, but it's good to feel the workings of the funny device inside my cranium. Once in a while it does take a little bit of re reading to grasp something, given the distractions at hand. The speed has definitely taken a beating too. But hey, not all is lost. It's a wonderful world, the world of books. <br /><br />If you have a cold, passive smoking will destroy you. If you can't avoid it, at least make sure you don't wash your hair in cold water. Forget nose block, sneezing or throat pain, it is the loss of the sense of taste that's the most painful. We take our sense of smell and taste for granted. Imagine eating five different things, but being able to judge only the difference in texture. It's as bad as being colour blind, if not worse. Stay healthy people.<br /><br />Which reminds me, I find it quite difficult to believe that man has traveled to the moon (and back, if you were to listen to Savage Garden) but is still unable to find a remedy, or at least ease the symptoms of the common cold. I am not asking you to cure cancer, spread world peace or walk on water. I just want you to tell me that this can be done. Forget anti matter, give me anti splatter.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-59649093842577817842009-05-23T19:05:00.003+05:302009-05-23T20:10:50.645+05:30Of stripesDid you guys see? He is dead. Yes, the big tiger that had been scaring the wits out of a particular government in the land of the Ravana. Honestly, I never knew what the big deal was about. I do take some interest in current affairs but this issue was always, I don't know how to put it, well, boring. If a squabble(usage of this word might offend few of you out there, bite me) goes on for so many years, the onlookers do get tired of it, don't they?<br /><br />But this blog hasn't been composed to discuss the politics or the current situation in our neighbouring country. What I do intend to discuss is how I felt when I first saw the news on tv. Other than shock. Why shocked? Did I not expect him to ever get caught? Of course I did, after a certain point every place in the hide and seek game gets exposed. So it was inevitable. The shock was at the swollen face with the bullet in his head. You see a pic of a stout man wearing funky military camouflage uniform, posing like it's his 10th birthday, in the morning. By evening, that very man lies dead, with the news channels making sure that every 3.798 seconds the particular visual is flashed. <br /><br />The next reaction was obviously sadness. Death isn't a pleasant thought, no matter who suffers it. It was followed by regret. Yes. Regret. For the simple reason that another "icon"(again, readers, easy with the flaming torches) of our generation is no more. Confused? It's simple. Throughout our lives, we have certain constants. These constants are outside of our family and friends, of course. Constants like Veerappan, Yaseer Arafat, the Pope (old one, I still expect the hunchbacked form to appear instead of Benedict) and the greedy Bangalore auto driver. <br /><br />You have grown up with these people. Even if they weren't there, physically, they were part of the process. A smuggler was synonymous with Veerappan, anyone with a weird moustache was compared to him. When you spoke about godmen, Chandraswamy's personality came to mind. Fraud makes you think about Harshad Mehta. No one says "tomboy" better than Kiran Bedi. Geek stands for Bill Gates(I mean even if he ends up owning the universe, he won't give up those glasses!). "Break dance"(to us Indians) cannot be performed better than Michael Jackson. Quizzing is Derek O Brien. I think you get the drift. Constants, all of them. One by one, fading away. <br /><br />You can't help it, isn't this how life works? So you move on. You look for new icons, reluctantly. Look around. Foot in mouth has a new ambassador, George Bush. Cricket commentary makes one think of the charming, smiling, Harsha Bhogle. Attention deprivation has the face of Navjot Singh Sidhu. A ladyboy is Bobby Darling and a ladyboy lookalike to woman like is Rakhi Sawant(cosmetic surgery-jai ho!). And so, the constants change(hunh..oxymoron).<br /><br />Change - heavy, noisy and always in demand.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-17154494642926725902009-04-26T09:12:00.004+05:302009-04-26T10:02:07.548+05:30RecedeTough times are upon us people. I will be honest with you, since that is the equation that has been set between us since the birth of this blog. Due to trouble in Uncle Sam's homeland, we are slowly seeing trouble come to our shores. In fact, times are so bad that I have started working hard. Yes, you can panic now. That is precisely the reason why this wonderful corner of my mind has been left to fend for its own. I haven't forgotten about it, not yet. <br /><ul><li>Every time I get a call from an unknown number, I get a mild panic attack. I wonder if it is the HRD asking me to "step out of the cubicle" for a quick rendezvous. That's how it happened with the others.<br><br /><li>I feel like changing my Orkut, Gtalk, Facebook, Twitter and what have you not statuses to "Still Employed". At least people won't have to gingerly start a conversation with "how are you? how's work?". I know what you want to ask.<br><br /><li>The level of paranoia is so high right now that my mailbox, at any given time, has barely one or two unread mails, that too related to work! I mean, where are the scores of forwards that used to flood my inbox daily? It has come to such a point that I wouldn't mind the really irritating "Gooooood Morrninggggg" mails, replete with sparkles, butterflies and (*ugh*) animated babies.<br><br /><li>Is it just me or has the crowd started thinning down at work? That's not a good sign. Nowadays, I get a full seat to myself in the company bus! No wait, maybe those are the days I forget to spray on my deodorant. Oh yeah..<br><br /><li>Every morning at work, at the Coffee Day outlet, there used to be this bunch of managers and senior managers, chatting away to glory and probably making fun of us blue collar job holders. Nowadays, it is so deserted that you can hear the theme of some western movie playing in the background with a ball of hay rolling about.<br><br /><li>My relatives, whose favourite topic used to be the shame brought upon the family due the marriage of some distant cousin to some fellow from another caste, are discussing economics! Just recently an aunt of mine remarked how she isn't going to buy any more jewelry, taking into consideration the "prevalent market conditions".<br><br /><li>The only people left unaffected by it all are the auto drivers. They don't care if people are cutting back on expenses and that translates to lesser earnings for them. They still stand by their principles - despite times of trouble, keep demanding double. I wonder if they have something similar to Hippocrates oath, when they take this profession up. The Hypocrite's oath? Never mind, bad one.</ul><br /><br />Before I go, here's a word of advice - practice safe employment. Use discretion, it works 99% of the time.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-91175558539038768962009-03-27T22:39:00.003+05:302009-03-27T23:25:03.381+05:30FaithlessThis one is addressed to all the people like my noble friend <a href="http://theconfusedbangalorean.blogspot.com"> here</a>. This is to bring to your notice that atheists are not crazy people. This topic came up when I casually mentioned that my mom plays the Vishnu sahasranam and the Suprabhatam on the computer every morning. It was met with a strong "and you tolerate it?" question.<br /><br />Yes, I do. I am an atheist, not a crazy person:<br /><br />1. I don't unpray every night. I don't go to bed thinking thoughts like "God, you don't exist and here's me unpraying to you".<br /><br />2. Just because you have an answer for everything as God, doesn't mean I need to have one too. I have not figured out how this universe works.<br /><br />3. Don't expect me to talk about aliens building the pyramids or whales ruling the world.<br /><br />4. I don't go upto priests in temples and tell them that they should stop misleading the poor people.<br /><br />5. I don't throw away <i>prasad</i> offered to me, out of spite. I don't even refuse it. The difference lies in the fact that you revere it, I don't.<br /><br />6. I know a lot about the Bhagwad Gita, Ramayan, Mahabharat. I know the Hanuman Chalisa by rote. I find Indian mythology one of the most fascinating that I have ever come across. "Mythology" - notice that?<br /><br />7. I don't want to prove anyone wrong or myself right. I am very comfortable with your beliefs, just let me be with lack of mine.<br /><br />8. There was no drastic event that made me think or not believe in this manner. My dog didn't die in front of my eyes, my grandparents weren't wronged by a Bishop and neither did I meet with an accident that changed my life. I have led a pretty much nondescript life.<br /><br />9. When forced to go to a temple or attend a religious cenremony, I swallow my ego and pretend. I don't create a scene shouting "But what about Darwin's theory, hunh?". My peace of mind and of those around me holds high priority to me.<br /><br />10. I don't go about telling people that I am an atheist. This is the only place where I have talked so much about it. Most of my friends happen to discover it. Some of them still don't know. Talking about it makes me uncomfortable, only because I know I'll be cornered with "oh so you think you know everything?" and descriptions of "miracles".<br /><br />Before I wrap this up, let me just leave behind a few words that came to my mind when I was walking back home today, thanks to the roadblock caused by a temple near the area where I live-"I understand faith, I just don't understand religion".Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-30511531462439041622009-03-07T20:27:00.003+05:302009-03-07T22:19:51.053+05:30The fine printMy dear friends, I have some shocking news. No, I have not been offered a reality show about underpaid-yet-grinning-like-they-have- it-all-confused-IT person (catchy title eh?). What I do have, is the contract that reality show producers offer their <i>contractees</i> or rather the participants of the show in question. For the benefit of all, I shall list them down here:<br /><br />1. The participant shall, at no point during the show, be nice or say nice things to a fellow participant.<br /><br />2. The participant should know at least five words of obscenity, preferably in the language that the show is in. If a participant is found lacking in this regard, he/she should hire a tutor prior to the shooting and get trained in swear/curse words as soon as possible.<br /><br />3. The participant has to use the F word, irrespective of the fact that they may not mean what it means, at least once in five sentences. While mouthing it, the participant must make sure that they are facing the camera and the lips movement is vivid enough to be explanatory about the swear word's nature.<br /><br />4. The participant must be capable of crying at the drop of a hat (or any other more suitable piece of clothing). If required, the show producers have to be informed in advance to help the participant in this regard, who will duly run the clips of puppies drowning, babies overdosing or any other helpful clip, on the teleprompter.<br /><br />5. The participant must be fluent in fake accents. A knowledge of English is not necessary, but that of an English accent is. The show producers reserve the right to expel any participant who gives away a normal accent, accompanied by the customary terrible grammar.<br /><br />6. The participant must have at least one poor/dying/disabled/terminally ill/ugly family member who will sign another contract allowing the cameramen to shoot them at tilted angles in sepia/black and white/negative mode.<br /><br />7. The participant will not at any point during the show hide their ethnicity or balk at asking only certain sections of the country to vote for them. A sense of nationality is highly frowned upon and is most definitely not encouraged.<br /><br />8. The participant will not refuse intervention by the make up artists to magically lighten the participant's skin colour.<br /><br />9. The participant will wear anything and everything that is dug out by the stylists of the show, even if it includes carrying off silk/satin offshoulder/strapless gowns in the middle of summer.<br /><br />10. The participant will submit, along with a few other documents mentioned in a separate letter, their dignity to the producers of this show.<br /><br />There are many such clauses in the contract. Due to some special reasons, which include possible boredom on the part of the reader, I have reproduced here, only the ten important. Point to be noted: the contract may vary from one show to another but this format is largely followed by most shows that have young 18 to twenty somethings as the participants.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-13215856137475379782009-02-12T22:11:00.002+05:302009-02-14T14:02:19.332+05:30Valentine's Day specialValentine's Day is just around the corner. Personally, I don't believe in the whole concept and know it very well for what it is-one of the most clever and well thought of marketing strategies. Yet, I also believe in personal freedom. Don't worry, this isn't one of the countless tirades against the cowardly man(?) and his burden on this earth goons. What this is, is a prediction of the things to come:<br /><br />Children's Day: Even though this day is celebrated as a tribute to the first Prime Minister of India, it is just a matter of time before <i>they</i> come up with a theory that since he was born in the times of the British, his birthday is a western concept. So any kids found roaming on the streets that day will be forced to join the closest school. It does not matter if the kids already attend one, and in any case if they are from a particular school, what were they doing outside, anyway? On second thoughts, this isn't a bad idea, if such a situation arises, tons of underprivileged kids might finally have that shot at education.<br /><br />Mother's Day, Father's Day, Parents' Day: "Why do we need special days to appreciate our parents? This is against Indian culture!" Yes, who decides which day is to celebrated as parents' day? I mean, if you are so keen, go look up which day <a href="http://hinduism.iskcon.com/concepts/205.htm">Shravana Kumar</a> was born and we shall all celebrate it by carrying our parents on weighing balances! So any adults or kids found with a woman or man who is older than them will have to be forcefully adopted by the same. There is no other way to tackle this menace. If you are cheap enough to respect elders other than your parents, you deserve to be punished through adoption!<br /><br />Teacher's Day: Again, as of now this day is celebrated in India as a remembrance to the first Vice President of India. But if you missed the logic in Children's Day, let me remind you, he was born during the British rule! To add to it, he (to quote Wiki) "he introduced Western idealism into Indian philosophy". Oh my God, people! Do you see what they are upto? They did this to us and we did not even realise it! Down with the Western idealism(whatever that is supposed to mean)! Any student found giving flowers, cards will have to pay for their actions by taking an impromptu test and any function felicitating teachers shall be broken entry into!<br /><br />New Year's Day: January 1st is celebrated the world over as New Year's day. It is the first day of the Gregorian calendar. Who is this fellow Gregory? We don't know any Gregory! Why should he be the one who dictates when the new year begins? Unless it is some Giridhari who has taken on this Western name, we will not adhere to it! Despite the fact that every state in India has its own beliefs, rituals and its own version of the new year, we will not bow down to Western pressures and participate in harmless revelry! Mobs will be mobilised to crack down on all new year celebrations on Jan 1 and everyone will be made to change the dates on their mobiles phones, computers and any other device which bears the new year in their systems.<br /><br />Happy Valentine's Day India.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-31674210539900459152009-02-10T21:44:00.003+05:302009-02-10T22:14:45.572+05:30PsychobabbleHave you seen Kaho Na Pyaar Hai? The scene where the heroine has a conversation with the dead hero's lookalike which reminds her of him. Or the scene where the duplicate interacts with the dead hero's kid brother and the kid is reminded of the real deal. Well, freakishly, these things are happening to me. OK, maybe not exactly. I don't "see dead people". It's just that some strangers inadverdently remind me of certain other people I know.<br /><br />The most unnerving experience of them all had to be the one during my bus journey home. The bus is about to leave the depot and is at the gate when the <i>moderator</i>(?) asks the driver to stop and a girl gets in. No, violins don't play in the background, she isn't wearing a chiffon saree, the <i>pallu</i> of which blows in the wind and there is most definitely no perfect breeze blowing her hair. She's probably a regular looking girl. I say probably because that was the last thing on my mind, to check out a girl. As my luck would have it, she lands up in the seat next to me, much to my chagrin(I like to occupy a two seater by myself. Who doesn't?).<br /><br />The bus starts moving again and she takes out her phone. The next few words of hers makes me freeze in my seat. Not only does she sound exactly like a friend but she uses the exact same words of greeting on the phone. Before you jump the gun, it isn't a plain "Hi" or "Hello". I have a mental argument with myself, contemplating if it's possible that it is indeed my friend sitting next to me. I steal glances of her face and of course, it is not her. Unaware of the battle that my logic is waging with my mind, she continues to speak on the phone. I swear I would have been so relieved had it been a prank played by a common friend or even by some lame television channel. But it wasn't to be.<br /><br />This wasn't a one off case. There have been others. My team mate in my new team reminds me of a friend - but his isn't a case of exact replication. Just the mannerisms, maybe the way of talking. Just the overall vibes. Needless to say, I am most comfortable around him and started acting and talking freely to him when I was barely introduced to him!<br /><br />Then there's the duplicate mom in aerobics class. This lady just warms my heart. Everytime I see her, I remember my mother. For the record, they don't resemble each other at all. And this isn't an old woman I am talking about. She may be 4 years older than me, at max. Yet, everytime I see her, I end up smiling out of a sense of familiarity. Maybe it's something in her eyes. She smiles back too, by the way, and seems to be a really nice woman.<br /><br />Now for some self psychoanalysis: I think I have started to generalize and categorize people. I judge them, that is a fact which is known to all. But now, my brain has started putting all the people I know in separate little mind containers, with each having its set of characteristics and mannerisms, broadly. So the first time I meet someone, to put me at ease, I sub consciously put that person in one of the existing containers. It saves me the trouble of creating new ones, saves me the anxiety of reacting to "new" people and most definitely saves me the time to familiarise with them. In the process though, it is messing with my mind. I don't like it.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-60186204972618528022009-01-26T13:47:00.003+05:302009-01-26T16:37:16.535+05:30Bucket ListEveryone seems to be making one. What is a bucket list? Well, it's a list of things that you want to do before you <i>kick the bucket</i>. My bucket list here is different. Here's a list of impossible things that I want to achieve before the grim reaper claims this grin reaper:<br /><br />1. Develop a thick, genuine British accent: How is it impossible? You seem to have missed out the word "genuine". Sure, you can easily develop a thick accent if you practice hard enough and maybe even hire a tutor for it. But it will only make you sound like Shoaib Akhtar. He cannot tell the difference between "balls to" and "balls of" but his accent will be thicker than a gentleman from Yorkshire. That is not what I desire. If an English accent isn't possible, give me a Scottish one. Maybe Sean Connery and I can hit if off then. Along with Mike Myers, of course.<br /><br />2. Be a hot, Latino chiquita: My general knowledge isn't <i>legendary</i> per se but even I know that just like we don't have elephants, maharajas, snake charmers and the Taj Mahal at every nook and corner of India, each Latino woman is not inherently hot. But I would like to be. I would like to have that pout, with full lips and that brilliant sway which would weaken the stomach of many a strong man. Yes, I would like to be the stereotype. Not to forget, the layered full length dress which would obviously, make me an excellent dancer too. <i>One two cha cha cha</i><br /><br />3. Have a <b>successful</b> solo singing performance: I usually tell people that my passion is dancing. It's true to an extent but it is also so because I know I don't suck at it. That guarantees me against snide remarks like "for someone who seems to love dancing so much, you aren't so good at it". Secretly, I worship singers. They come second only to the music composers. I just don't get it, how the hell does one compose a tune, forget a full length song! Back to the point, the third wish in my bucket list is to one day be a part of a concert, where people <b>buy</b> exorbitantly priced tickets to listen to me sing and actually clap at the end of it. I wouldn't mind an "encore" or standing ovation too.<br /><br />4. Be a geek: This might confuse you and I wouldn't blame you. Who, in their right mind, would want to be a geek? Me. By a geek, I don't mean someone who doesn't have a life and is stuck to their system 24x7. That is the most common yet most stereotyped definition of geeks, with respect to software engineers or people related to this industry. My definition of geek is slightly different. A geek to me is one who knows the technicalities of whatever he/she dabbles in, in and out. You ask one single question, and she comes up with various possible explanations. I can never be like that. I get bored very fast and any process that goes on for too long in my life, bores me to death. So I find it remarkable that people can actually stick to a field and become renowned experts in it. Someday, I would like people to hold me in similar awe.<br /><br />5. Be a child prodigy: While I am totally against the exploitation of children by parents, I am ready to make an exception, if it were to be me. Right from Michael Jackson to even our now bald, now dancing Britney Spears to the very talented-who-now-sings-only-irritating-songs Sunidhi Chauhan, child prodigies are way too cool. Of course, nowadays you cannot tell an authentic one to a fabricated one, thanks to the plethora of reality shows now on air. A little digression from the topic for a special note to the makers of these shows-shoving a script down a child's throat for cheap entertainment is so not done. Back to the point, I wouldn't mind if someone were to go back in time, perform a miracle and turn me into one. Sure, I wouldn't have too many friends and would probably not finish my studies properly, but hey, I would have some talent!<br /><br />Summing up my short but impossible list, I would like to be a Latino child with thick British accent who sings exceptionally well. If it's OK with everyone, can I slip in "the first woman to go out into space" too?Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-35475245747573110592009-01-18T11:50:00.002+05:302009-01-18T12:14:05.907+05:30Dye me blackFor starters, I still haven't spotted my first gray hair as yet. It's a little surprising, given the fact that almost every one I know has had at least one, for sometime now. I am not referring to people above thirty, I am talking about people my age. The reasons might be plenty - pollution, bad diet, genes, and most importantly, stress. So I think that's where I score over the others.<br /><br />How does it feel when you spot you first gray hair? Do you go ballistic, crying out in agony "Why me God, why meeeeeeeeeeeeee"? Or do you just perform a quick mental calculation, taking into account the cost of hair dye into your monthly expenditure?<br /><br />Hair dye. Of all the funny inventions that man can be accused of coming up with, this one sits right up there on top. Who thought of it? What was the thought process that was going on? "Hmm..if I just paint my hair, no one will notice how old I am!"? Personally, I feel hair dying is justified when you look your age, or rather, when you can carry it off. So that would be your 30's and perhaps even 40's, if you are watching what you eat and are blessed with a youthful look.<br /><br />But let's face it, once you hit the 50's and your kids are through college and possibly working, what is that bottle of <b>black</b> hair dye still doing in your bathroom closet? You expect people to look at you and go "oh poor thing, he/she has black hair but terribly wrinkled skin. Must be an affliction which affects the terribly young"?<br /><br />Before you ask me, let me tell you myself, my parents also belong to this category. Much to my chagrin, they <i>paint</i> their hair religiously every time the grays make an appearance. I have tried my best to convince my mother to try the Indira Gandhi look, if not the Nafisa Ali look and my father to go for the Richard Gere look, if not the S M Krishna one. I am not a kid anymore and I don't expect my parents to look like a kid's parents, either. But of course, they don't listen to me so I have given up. The only thing I can do is to resolve that when it's my turn, I'll go natural.Karunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-900784733769887654.post-70419875251267164612009-01-10T12:15:00.002+05:302009-01-10T12:53:58.886+05:30Aerobics!Here is the much anticipated, much awaited blog on my current pastime-passion-obsession(?). Aerobics!<br /><br />Let me address the myths and the actual truths behind them:<br /><br />Myth: Aerobics instructors are lean, mean, fighting machines, not to mention - hot!<br />Truth: Let me tell you about my instructor. A lady(first disappointment) of around *beep* years, where *beep* is most definitely not less than 28. Lean? No. Mean? Oh yes, more on that later. Fighting machine? Hmm..depends on your definition but I wouldn't like to be involved in a fight with her, for sure. She isn't fat per se, but when she wears those tight track pants, you wish she would do something about her tyres first, or at least go for the more flattering, loose pairs.<br /><br />Myth: The class consists of good looking people, wearing tight, shiny spandex costumes.<br />Truth: You've got to be stupid if you believe this. Why would people join such a torturesome form of exercise if they were happy with the way they look? And coming to the <i>costumes</i>, well, they sometimes are just that. This message is to all those women who wear short tops that stopped fitting them five years ago - looking at your bulge spilling out unceremoniously makes me sick. Please think about the others in your class, the ones who are <b>not</b> in love with you, as opposed to you. More often than not, it's the I-know-I-am-hot crowd who cannot get used to the fact that age is taking it's toll, slowly but surely. Gravity sucks, get used to it. Nothing about the handful of men who are there because they dress appropriately. They realise it's a form of exercise and not a fashion show.<br /><br />Myth: Adrenaline makes you feel happier or at least gives you a good rush<br />Truth: OK, I am not going to refute this established fact. Though, one look/meeting with my instructor and you wonder if adrenaline is an evil hormone, which makes you, well, evil! Her method of correcting anyone who commits the horrendous mistake of having the wrong posture/stance while exercising - a tight whack. No, I am not kidding and neither do I attend a course for toddlers. I am talking about a class of grown ups, minimum age 21 and a small-ish woman who is stricter than Hitler's mother(I have no clue how strict she was, but with a son like that, she must have been?). Thank heavens for small mercies that she never uses <i>props</i> like dumbells/exercise balls or the water canister to "mend our ways". Her hand is good enough. A whack, on that part which is in the wrong position - foot, arm, leg, hand, back, shoulder, anything. So in addition to concentrating on not falling, we have to keep an eye out for the bolt from blue.<br /><br />Myth: Aerobics is easy-schmeasy.<br />Truth: Come to my class. You do it, while I stand back and laugh. One wrong step and you can bid goodbye to walking for the next few days at least. There are plenty of opportunities to screw up, very limited to get it right. Since it's a group activity, your success also depends on your neighbour's. You go too fast, you collide into them, with a result that varies from a slight bump to a broken nose. You go too slow, well, they collide with you, with similar results ! So what's the middle path? You try to surround yourself with the <i>veterans</i>. Otherwise, you have four noobs around you(front, back, left, right), with each apparently conspiring to send you to the closest hospital. Oh and never go near the burly men. No offence to them, or you, if you are one of them, but those guys sweat buckets! Since no one has the time to stop and wipe it off, it falls on the smooth floor and guess what, it's you who steps on it and slips all the time.<br /><br />Well then, this is it. There are more details to it like the common corridor between the men's and women's changing room, which has only the non good looking men in only towels walking around and the weirdo who attends the class, who does not leave any opportunity to "help" the other men while stretching. But if I go on about them, this post will never end. So I end it by answering a question which I am pretty sure is on your mind - If I hate it so much, why do I go? Ans: Who said I hate it? I love each moment of it! :DKarunahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16987753823152485226noreply@blogger.com6