Here Comes The Bride!

So I finally went and did it. I went and got meself one of them husband things.

It’s been a while since I got married and I kept meaning to post about it but wasn’t sure how to write anymore, without hurting feelings and sentiments and opinions. But I felt a little bad not sharing it with you guys because I’ve written a lot about marriage and prospective grooms and stuff on this blog before.

My wedding day wasn't exactly the one that I had been picturing since I was a little girl. Well, thank god it wasn’t. I’m not sure if I’d still have wanted my groom to show up on a pink horse or a flying carpet or burst out of the ceiling…. Okay who am I kidding! That would have been awesome.

But seriously though, my wedding went by quite peacefully. I didn’t trip and fall on my face. I didn’t stick out my wrong hand for the ring. I didn’t start a giggling fit. Most of the day went by in a very hazy mode. You know how it feels when someone wakes you up too early to do something? And you know that once you finish it you can go back to sleep? So you don’t bother to fully wake up. And so you’re not sure if the things you’re doing you’re doing for real or if you’re dreaming. That’s what it felt like most of the time.

I kind of liked the dressing up part. Ok, I loved the dressing up part. Every time I freaked out before the wedding, my friends and sisters would be like “Think of all the shopping you get to do. Think of the wedding day as a free make-over day.” And it was just that. Like someone did a make-over on me. I didn’t look like me so it kind of felt like I was pretending to be someone else who does big grown up things like get married and stuff.

The place where I had to go dress up was crawling with brides. There were about 9 or 10 other girls over there who were getting married the same day. So the feeling that you’re the prettiest girl in the room on your wedding day wasn’t too strong at that point.

But I loved the attention. And one lady said I had nice hips. When I didn’t even think I had a visible one. Once they were done with me, I felt like I had to walk in slow-motion and had a here-comes-the-heroine background music running in my head all the time. I couldn’t move my head left or right or look up or down. But it was still awesome. I loved the ride home where passersby casually look in the car and then do a double-take. I had an urge to smile and do the royal wave at them all.

Once I was home, I hated not being able to run about freely because there were so many things I wanted to do but with the heavy saree and jewellery and fake hair and the flowers, I was literally tied down. Someone had to spoon-feed me some breakfast. After which, the photo session began. Or resumed actually. I’d had almost enough of the pre-wedding photoshoot the night before. It was fun at first, pretending to be a model and stuff. But then you think they’ll say, ok, that enough, that’s it. But they don’t. Two hours later you think, ok, this is gonna be the last click. But its not. And I knew I’d have to do the embarrassing poses. But one photographer wanted me to lie on the floor with my legs all twisted and turn in really bizarre ways. I am not sure what sort of photography he used to do before this. And the lights make you sweat. And the flash makes you blind. I have a whole new respect for models who does this day in and day out.

Before we left home, me and my sisters had a “Oh my god, look at you? Aaaaaaaaaaah!” moment as they squeezed my hands. I guess it was at that moment a tiny bit of tension arose. I pushed it aside. Naah, it’ll be okay. We’re just playing pretend wedding.

I loved how everyone approved of the way I looked that day. Noone complained that my hair was not right or I’m not wearing bangles or how my neck is too bony. They’d all come rushing towards me with a urgent expression – eyebrows knitted with anxiety and searching eyes. And once they saw me, their shoulders relaxed along with their eyebrows and a huge grin form on their face from side to side. Score from annoying aunties! Actually double score- they couldn’t complain about the way I dress or the fact that I still wasn’t married, anymore.

I got a little fidgety in the dressing room in the wedding hall. The groom hadn’t arrived yet. And I always had this huge huge nightmare where my groom doesn’t show up on my wedding day. I know, it’s probably because I watch too many silly movies. And also I look so nice, it would’ve been a shame if he didn’t come and see that.

Anyhow he did turn up soon and it was time to do the walk down the aisle. Two rows of girls with oil-lamps and would walk before me and I’d follow them at the end of the row. Okay, apparently during the walk, one of the girls accidentally set another girl’s hair on fire. And I didn’t even see it! When they told me later, I wanted to kick myself for not having seen. I always miss the fun stuff. I was in that haze thing I told you about earlier.

I’ve often wondered what the brides think about while walking down the aisle. The future that lay ahead? The enormity of the act they were about to perform? Their loved one waiting at the end of the aisle? All that was running through my head was “Please don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, don’t fall, who put these stupid F**%$^g wires on the floor? Oh my god, don’t fall, don’t trip!” I had originally wanted to walk smiling at everyone and waving if possible. But I didn’t feel like smiling at anyone. Until I looked up at one point. And I saw the guy on stage who actually wants to marry me, happily unaware of how crazy his life is going to get. And I broke into a smile. It was a private personal moment. Except it wasn’t. Later when the wedding album came, that secret smile was plastered across a double spread. Oh well.

Once I was on stage, I wanted to talk to him and go all “Dude, how freaky is this!” And laugh about it. I barely even managed to look at him without feeling all awkward. I think he told me I look nice. Ha-ha, score for him.

Later the pujari guy made us hold hands and say a lot of chants. Which made me want to laugh a little. Because some of the words sounded so funny, I was pretty sure he was just making them up as he said it. Then he made my dad take my hand and put it in the groom’s hand. Which made me kinda sad. Because of the symbolism. And my dad said stuff which I think means “I give you my daughter..” which made me sad.

Then the major things happen. I was in a haze during most of this too. Except when he tied the knot. And the music started. It usually gives me goosebumps, this point of a wedding. Well, at mine… I broke into tears. I don’t know if anybody noticed. I didn’t like cry out loud or anything. I just had tears streaming down my face. I wasn’t crying because I was unhappy. I was crying because at that moment, that was when realization hit. That I’m not playing a game and pretending to be a grown-up. I actually doing this very huge thing. It’s actually happening. And I felt dead scared. He noticed. And he whispered “Please don’t cry.” Which helped.

By the time it was time for the sindoor, I forgot to feel scared or cry. Because  I’ve seen the sindoor scene sooo many times in movies. And that moment felt so filmy, I wanted it to happen in slow motion. I looked at him with my filmiest eyes. I was also trying not to giggle. That momentary feeling of maturity I’d felt had passed.

The part where we had to hold hands and walk round and round was pretty fun too. I tried to send him a secret message by squeezing his hand according to the alphabets. But he was concentrating too hard on walking.

The rest of the wedding went by in a whir. My mom got to get me to drink milk after many many years. And this time I couldn’t roll up on the floor and kick and scream and throw a tantrum about it. I smiled at and took photographs with so many people, most of them who went “You remember me? Yes? Then say who I am” Aarrrrrg, so annoying, especially because of course I don’t remember them!

When it was time to leave, I cried. So did the rest of my family. But that was expected. It’s kind of a norm in our family. Even if we don’t cry the rest of the 365 days of the year, we can and we will cry at one of our own’s weddings. And this was the last wedding in our family. Which made it all the more sad (Probably not so sad for my dad who’s paid for all three of his girls’ weddings)

And that’s the story of my wedding day. It was exciting and it was exhausting. All those months’ preparation had finally come to an end. But I’m also a little sad that its over. I can’t go shopping crazy and nobody would think it was normal or okay anymore. I can’t have people at the parlour ask “Bride?” to me and then proceed to treat me better than the other non-bride people. I can’t wonder about what my wedding day would be like, like I have been since I was a little girl. I can’t look all nice and get up on stage and be centre of attraction again. Unless I decide to do a dance or sing on stage or something later in life. Which I know I won’t. I can’t randomly boss people around because I’m the bride (Don’t do this for too long, or they might ask you to go to hell.)

But hey, I’m a wife now. And that’s a whole other ball game. I know it won’t be easy. But as long as I have a few filmy moments here and there, I should be fine. My “life as wife” posts will follow shortly. So watch this space. :-) 

Airplane Woes and Wisdom

Two friends of mine who met in an airplane got married the other day. They sat next to each other on their flight home and over one and a half hours of bad turbulence, crappy airplane food and cramped seats, they fell in love…

They found love in an airplane. All I ever find is a dead cockroach inside the inflight magazines. From the moment I sit down in aircraft, I have all my fingers and toes crossed as I silently will the universe to replicate in my life, any cute airplane scene from any cute romcom. Everytime I spot someone who wouldn’t fit the role of my version of Harry Burns (When Harry met Sally) or Luc Tessiyer (French Kiss) or Karan Kapoor (Hum Tum) or Jack Harper (from the book Can You Keep a Secret) walking towards the seat next to mine, I send them telepathic messages.

"Do Not Sit here, Do Not Stop Walking, Do Not Stop, Do Not Slam Your Stupid Luggage Against my Feet. Do Not Sit Down. Do Not....oh screw it!

Here is a list of people who almost always sit next to me in an airplane:

Weird men with terrible breath, weird men who can’t keep their hands to themselves, uncles who treat the flight like an open bar, mommies with super cranky babies, kids who think its funny to spill their stupid drink on my bag, people with ultra tiny bladders who makes me get up for the nth time so that they can go to the bathroom, people who don't make me get up to go to the bathroom so that they can trample on my toes or make me stare at their bum as they squirm past me, terrified first-timers who poke you everytime they need help to take off or put on their seatbelts, and people who thinks I enjoy spending my travel time filling forms, not just theirs but their whole damn family’s. Ahh, the joy!

And what’s the deal with airhostesses? I mean I have nothing against them, but aren’t they a little overrated? I have only travelled with two different airlines and all the airhostesses on those planes never fails to remind me of every Hindi teacher I’ve had in school. I don’t know if it’s the saree or the bun or the too-bright lipstick. And they never like me! Neither can they ever hear me.  Just like my Hindi teachers!

Once when asked if I prefer vegetarian or non-vegetarian food, my reply was a little too feeble. I have a pretty low voice. And while flying, my ears almost always gets clogged and I speak extra low because I’m not sure if I’m being too loud and I don’t wanna seem like an idiot. And the airhostess lady got all mad at me. “Speak a little louder child, Open your mouth and speak loudly. I can’t hear anything.”

Exaaaactly like my Hindi teachers. And everyone around me looked up and stared. It made my chin quiver a little. :-( 

Another time when I was a little kid, I saw a boy a couple of seats away play with this cool toy. They used to give away tiny free toys back then.(Not sure if they still do) So I went up to the airhostess and asked her for my toy. She smiled and nodded and gave me a blanket.

A blanket.

Which FYI, I didn’t even get to keep.

The thing I like the most about flights is that I can catch up on my reading without any interruptions, unless you’re sitting next to a talker. In which case, you can just plug in your earphones and pretend to sleep. I can’t sleep on a plane. I’ve tried but everytime I get even close to falling asleep, the person behind me needs to get up so they yank my seat back with all the strength they can muster to pull themselves up. Sometimes they manage to pull out a coupla strands of my hair in the process.

People who’s never travelled by air seem to think its always a big deal. I remember one of my little cousins ask me if I’d met God up there on the way to India. When the truth is, some of the flights that I’ve been on has been no better than the public buses here in India. Firstly the turbulence, the shaking and bumping is almost like travelling on a pothole-filled road during monsoon.This one time, it shook so bad, someone's luggage fell on my head. And I did the whole "ha-ha now wasn't that funny, it fell on my head, ha-ha. I don't care really, I'm too cool to care" as i held back my urge to shove the stupid bag and its owner out through the emergency exit.

Secondly, don’t evvvvvver sit next to the bathroom if you can help it, unless you have a blocked nose. Its like the minute the seat-belt sign is off, people queue up outside the bathroom, until its time to sit down again.

Some people just don’t seem to understand the seatbelt on sign. Or the no talking on your cellphone rule. I’m too scared to even switch on my phone long enough to put it on flight mode in case I cause the plane to blow up or something.

And as soon as the plane hits the ground, its absolute chaos! People start talking on their phones in the top of their voices. And people who are nowhere close to the door starts standing up and pulling out their luggage in such a hurry, you’d half expect them to open a secret door somewhere and jump out of the craft. But no, but they take their stuff and hurry out to the front, when the door isn’t even open and give everyone a “ha-ha-I’m-first” look of triumph. Dude… you’re lame.

 Well, thats it about airplanes. I haven't been on one for quite sometime. When I do, I'll let you guys know if its gotten any better. Until there, fly safe!

Movie Mysteries

I read this in a blog recently :

All henchmen in movies attack only one at a time (i.e henchman number 5 waits for henchman number 4 to get his ass kicked and only then will he attack the hero.)?

Its something I've pondered over for the longest time. Seriously, what do those henchmen do when the fellow who went in first is getting beat up? Try to figure out a punching pattern or something? And the hero delivers like one blow and they're all like there on the floor immovable. I mean, one blow? You're a henchman, for God's sake... I bet your employers had given you a bit more credit when they took you in for the job. And why do the women involved always stand around and do nothing? They could flee for their lives but no they just stand there and look squeamish. And in some bizarre scenarios, they clap and cheer. And thus cheer-girls where invented.

Anyway, this made me think of all the queries that often cross my mind while watching movies. Now, I know most of the stuff in this list doesn't happen in movies nowadays.

Wind in your Hair 

I don't question why the wind almost always blows only on the heroine's face, even if she's in the bathroom. But why do they bother with the wind at all? I mean, your hair definitely does not look better when its flying around all over the place especially after stylists spend a lot of hours painstakingly setting it in the exact right position. On the rare occasions that I do get my hair set, I get a crick in my neck trying not to move my head about too much so as to spoil the effect. And what happens if the wind blows in the opposite direction? You'll know this if you've got longish hair. Its the most annoying feeling in the world when hair falls all over your eyes and gets in your mouth.  I'd like to see atleast one heroine try and look all glamorous when that happens.

Talk to the Wall

You know those scenes when two people are having a conversation and one person suddenly gets up while talking, turns away to the sea or the road or the wall and continue talking. I mean who does that in real life? If someone got up in the middle of a conversation and walked away still talking, I'd be like "Wha...Where you going? What's over there?". And also I'd go "What?" a billion times because I wouldn't be able to hear properly. 

Do you suppose these are men he went to school with?

Dream Sequence 

I think dream sequences are awesome. Where they go into song and dance in a dream. In all those wild outfits. But its one thing to dream about you and your man shaking booties. But do you also dream up the extras in the background and their ghastly outfits? Is that why their outfits are always way worse than the heroine's? Because you don't get enough time to dream up a proper outfit? And how does one dream up their faces? I used to have these sorta dreams when I was younger and everyone's faces used to be blurred..including the leading man's. And also there'd be no music. If there was music in my dreams, I'd be winning Grammys by now.

No Smoking Please

Why do they show the smoking is injurious message at the beginning of the movie? People aren't gonna remember it by the time the actual scene which shows smoking comes on screen. Impressionable kids aren't exactly gonna think "Omg, I bet I'd look cooler than SRK if I light a ciggy like that, but oh-oh I can't because they told me smoking is injurious at the beginning of the movie." Its just like why they bother putting up the statutory warning in cig boxes. Ciggy-buyers aren't gonna suddenly read that and go "EGAAAAD.... its WHAT to health?? Why'd nobody tell me?!"

umm, ok so maybe there are exceptions!

Runny Mess

When the hero, heroine whoever cries in movies, why is it that only their eyes water? When I cry, water comes out of my eyes and nose and mouth and I also get a huge urge to pee. And you never never neverrr look that good while crying. Trust me, I've looked in the mirror while crying. I've written bout this in another post. Craptacular you'll look. 

Imagine opening the door to the milkman like this!

Dress Up Day

This happens more or less in Hindi tele-serials. Where all the members of the family get up in the morning and put on clothes that normal human beings wear to other people's weddings or even their own weddings. I don't really follow any Hindi serial. So I wonder. What do they wear for actual social events? How much dressier can they get? I'd like to do that sometime though. Get up and wear a glittery saree or a fully-worked lehenga and walk about the house and do normal mundane stuff like watch tv or feed the dog or wash dishes. I can only imagine the look on my mom and dad's faces if I did that. hehe. I think everyone should do that! Just for the sake of it! What you got to lose anyway?

I can't think of more right now. But I'm sure there are many many more. If you think of any, do comment bout it. 

And don't get me wrong. I adore movies. In spite of all the flaws and corny-ness and illogical activity. In fact around 70% of my knowledge I gained from movies. Its these unreasonable things that makes the movies all the more Awesome sometimes, right? I mean who wants to see the reality where the hero cries like a pretty little girl after the first punch someone lays on him. Or the heroine choking on her own hair everytime it flies into her mouth. So flaws or no flaws, keep em movies coming.

So Yesterday

A couple of days ago "What I miss the most" was trending on Twitter. And I went on tweeting-rage that day. Here are a few things that I Miss the Most.

VHS Tapes - The excitement while going to the video rental store. The search for the perfect Thrusday evening movie(I grew up in the Middle East, where the weekend used to be on Friday). The squeal of happiness when you find that the one that you've been waiting for is in today. The restlessness as you pop it into the player and listen to the whir as it rewinds. Winding the tape with a pencil when the player gets stuck. Sticking the magnetic tape with cellotape when it breaks due to overuse (my Alladin tape)

Getting my hair cut in the barber shop - They do a neat job and they do not bug you with unwanted advice. They do not tell you how a clean-up could solve all your problems in life. They do not tell you obvious things about yourself ("hey, you're graying. hey, you have pimples, hey, you have crap hair") And they do that cool thing with an electric razor on the back of your head. Awesome it is.

Dungarees -  I wore dungarees to school on my 14th birthday. I looked like a complete idiot. But dungarees were undeniably cool during those days. Not to mention comfortable.

Highlighter pens - I used this pen a lot, mostly to show people who bothered to look through my books that I've read all this. Though I really wouldn't have. I like how it would brighten up the pages of my boring Chemistry or Physics book.

My bunk bed - I bagged the top bunk before my sister could. I broke the bed in a couple months and had to share bottom bunk with sister. :(

White Ink bubbles - My desk at school used to be filled with white ink bubbles. If you haven't tried making white ink bubbles, you should. There is something very soothing about it.  Not sure if it had anything to do with its smells.

Bicycles - I don't understand why people don't ride cycles too much after they've grown up. I mean you don't need a license to drive it. And its way better exercise than sitting on a scooty or a bike. And how can you ever feel sad when you're riding a cycle?

The way Barbie smells - Go to a shop. Pick up a Barbie. Smell her. She smells heavenly. Try not to get thrown out of the shop in case people think you're a pervert.

The Titanic Craze - All the boys were sporting the Jack Dawson hairstyle. The girls all had fake 10 Dhs version of the Blue Diamond. And everyone around the corner was going "I'm the king of the world" and doing the classic Titanic pose. I had a Titanic phonebook, a Titanic t-shirt, a Titanic notebook and a box of clipping of anything related to Leonardo DiCaprio. It was nice to be manically obsessed with something.

Enid Bylton books - This I miss the most. I had this huuuuuge collection of Enid Bylton books which I used to read over and over again. Fairy tales, mysteries, school stories...had them all. I remember going to book fairs and coming home with tonnes of books. And just gobbling up the words all night long. I'd finish reading all the books by morning. How I longed to grow up and write books just like she did. My dad sold all my books when I was away at college. So now I don't have even a single book to mark my childhood. Someday I hope to buy them all again. If not for my child, then for myself. Those books, they were the most magical things of my childhood days.


Photo albums - No, not the ones on Facebook or Picasa. The real actual ones. The ones that you pile around when your friends come to visit. And the ones from which some guy who has a crush on you flicks a pic or two when you're not looking. The plastic ones that the studio gives with the developed photos and the negatives. They almost always have a real corny pic on the cover. I miss the feel of an album. I miss putting pics in frames and on pin boards.

Pen-pals - I never had one. But my sister did. And it was so cool. Getting an actual letter from a person living in a weird exotic country far away (okay, so maybe her pen-pal lived in the street next to ours or something, but still) I did have quite a few online-pals. Back before Facebook and Twitter was around to spoil all the mystery one could evoke about themselves. Long, long emails. I think my first email friend was a 14 year old Australian girl called Amber. Sure, "Amber" could also have been a 44 year old Indian uncle with a hairy chest and a vest with holes in it. Still, the not-knowing was splendid enough. At one phase of my life, I had more online friends than real-life friends. Now I have more imaginary friends than real-life friends.

Ink pens - The whole process of filling ink into the pen the night before school, after you're done "keeping your timetable" (that's arranging your books according to the periods the next day. Cos a bunch of jumbled out of order books would mean absolute chaos.) I couldn't figure out how to do it for the longest time. My sister had to show me. But that feeling of accomplishment when I finally nailed it! Awesome. I also miss ink cartridges, the ones with a tiny silver ball in it. Me and whole bunch of girls in school had a collection of those tiny silver balls. I also had a broken pencil points collection. Now I collect tweets. :-/

Old phones - The one with the holes that you have to stick a finger in and twirl. I used to love twirling all the numbers starting from 0 upto 9, for no apparent reason. I love the tiny ringy sound it makes. I miss the heaviness of the receiver. *sigh*

I can hear a lot of my younger readers going, wow, you are like super ultra old aren't you? (You know who you are, don't you) Yes, yes I'm old and ancient and whatever. But hey, I'm still here aren't I? So in a sense I get the best of both worlds. And also, while you write a post 15 years from now about the good ol' days of Facebook and Ipads, my great grandkids will come and tell you that you're old. So there. :P
I could go on and on and on. Don't get me wrong. I'm not like stuck in the past or anything. I'm cool with all the new things too. But just sometimes, I wish I could sneak back into the past, just for a day or two, and wallow in the simplicity of things and come back and update my Facebook status about it. :)

Tell me, what are the things that you miss the most?

Tree of Wisdom

So it was one of those ordinary days when I hadn't done anything out-of-the-ordinary. Just sitting on my behind, whiling away time, wondering if tomorrow will be any different. Since it was an exceptionally breezy day, I took a walk in the yard around my house. My niece joins me and soon we were this happy duo sitting on a stone, singing nursery rhymes and pointing out funny looking clouds. My mom and sister were trying to pick ripe guavas from the guava tree nearby.
Now since the day my hormones acted up, I knew that my being the tallest in the family is going to bring me absolutely no good in future. It didn't. It brought me a slouch. It brought me the embarrassment of being the only head sticking out above the others in family portraits. It gave me the rare privilege of being called up in case a "thotti"(a stick used to pick fruits and stuff from trees) was unavailable. So I had to put an end to my perfect evening setting and prance around the guava tree trying to reach the ones on the higher branches. Then, I don't know if it was my sister or my mom, whoever it is who has been secretly plotting a revenge scheme for the past few days (probably for finishing all the chocolate biscuits in the house. In my defense, that extra few inches of height always makes me a little extra bit hungry always), figured that if I could climb up a little, I'd have better reach to the riper guavas. Okay first of all, the last time I climbed a tree was some 20 million years ago. And secondly, I was wearing a skirt, which is definitely not tree-climbing friendly. And thirdly, the tree was infested with huge red ants. In any case, mom and sister persuaded me. And also because my niece was looking on in awe. So in an attempt to impress a 3 year old, I mount up the first branch.
It wasn't too bad. I soon had both my legs off the ground.
Good start.

The trick is to find the right branches to grab on to so as to pull yourself higher. A little shaky but progressing well. I put my feet up on a higher branch and slipped slight. That's when I yelled at the top of my voice "Oh my god, I'm going to die!"
My audience who up until then were shouting up directions burst into laughter. Not very encouraging when I'm engaging in a life-or-death activity here. Anyhow, I proceed higher and with an occasional ant in my mouth and branch poking my ear, I picked my first guava. I waited for an applause. I got none. 
Instead my mom hoisted up a stick and told me to pick one on the edgier branches. Seriously, did she think I was training to be a trapezes artist? More shakiness. I managed to pull down a few more guavas. After a couple of minutes of them shouting up simply un-do-able instructions and me shrieking that I was Definitely going to die now, we decided it was enough. Mom told me to slide down a branch like Tarzan does in that cartoon. I looked at it and well, it certainly did look pretty slide-y. Nope, no way, I'm not out of my mind. I'm not a 2D character. I tried to move slowly but steadily.

Suddenly I have no idea what happen. It was a blur of green and WHAM! I was on the ground floor sitting pillions on the lowest branch. My leg hurt like it was broken into a billion pieces. I bet it was. I let out a yelp. I was helped out of the branch. I am so never climbing bloody trees again in my life. I wanted to keep a straight face in front of my niece. I wasn't very successful. I howled and cried and made faces and cringed and soon lay in bed like an invalid. Okay so maybe the leg wasn't broken. Wasn't sprained even. I mean, I took such a great fall, it could have atleast sprained a little. All I had was a few measly scratches on my left ankle and a tiny cut on my foot. Blah.
But being the drama queen that I am, I moaned and groaned and cringed whenever someone even looked at it. The last time I got to put up such a moan-fest was in college when I hurt my finger with a razor while searching for a razor in my bag. It was a bit bloodier then. Cried buckets. My roommates came up with the biggest cloth band-aid possible. Called my folks at home and cried and exaggerated and all. And just like they did  today, they laughed at me then too. I live with a bunch of hyenas. And I remember holding it up and waving it at every random person who walked by me. A few were quite offended I think because it was my middle finger that I had hurt.

Anyhow, back to now. As I sat there looking at my injured foot, I kept thinking how on earth do little kids do it? Get hurt like this on a regular basis. Because it really did sting. How on earth did I  do it when I was younger? Maybe your pain hormones or whatever grows as your grow older. Oh well, it isn't every day you fall from a tree and hurt your foot. Not when your 26 atleast. So I hobbled all the way over to the computer balancing on my niece's shoulder (who was, by the way the only one who is treating me like the injured soul that I am) and blogged about it.  Even as I was falling the second thought (the first was of course that I'm going to die now.) was that this would make a great tweet/status message/blog post. That doesn't make me pathetic, does it? Well, a little I guess. My last words before death would probably be Somebody..please...take...a..picture...and...post it...on...FB..... :-/
My mom told me that this fall was probably God's way of telling me I'm too old for this shit now. He's probably sitting up there with His head in His hands going "How many times do we have to go through this?"
Um.. whoops?

The City of Brands, Buses and Blocked Noses

The other day, I was walking down a crowded street and I saw this beggar woman. Or alteast I think it was a beggar woman. Her clothes looked murky and old but then that could've been just some sorta fashion statement. She had a wrap around her that looked really tattered and worn out from the hundreds of nights she had to spend wrapped around in it during the chilling weather of this city. Or maybe its the hundreds of bucks she spend at a brand outlet to get a tattered looking wrap. I forgot to look if she was wearing shoes. That would've given me some sorta benefit to my doubt. She was just standing there leaning on a railing looking like she belonged there. I couldn't see her face so I couldn't tell if she had make-up on but her hairstyle was the one they give you in mental institutions (well atleast in movies). The horrible buzz cut that makes you hair stick up like porcupine spikes. Again, this could've been a fashion statement thing. She was eating something like it was the only meal she's had in days or the only meal she's had since she got out of office. I couldn't stand at stare at this woman too long to figure her out because I was in the middle of Brigade Road in Bangalore. The crowd just sorta takes you along with you. Or maybe I just haven't learned how to work against the crowd.

 I don't live in Bangalore. I just come here on random days. And it never ceases to intrigue me. A few years ago, before I had ever set foot on Bangalore, it was this mystical place that I had only read about. I'd heard about its shops and the people and the awesome coolness of it all. And I was just dying to get there. When finally I did land up here on a one-month stint, well, it wasn't quite what I expected. I'm not saying it was bad. Maybe I built it up too much in my head. Anyway, here are a few findings of mine about this city. Do not take it personally. Its just my opinion.

Bangalore weather hates my nose. The moment I cross over from Hosur to Bangalore, my nose gets a mind of its own and has its own little sneeze fest. Then apart from frequent sneeze attacks, it remains blocked during  the rest of my stay. I miss breathing when I'm in Bangalore.

Everyone is sooooo busy. Sure, they're all working and I'm just playing tourist but c'mon!Everyone acts like they work in the ER. Its all frantic and stress and panic attack. Geez, its not the end of the world! I have never worked in Bangalore or in a big important MNC sorta office, so I wouldn't know what the fuss is all about. Do your bosses cut your fingers off if you miss a deadline? I don't know why people put up with this sorta stressful likfe? (for the big fat paycheck, you dope! Oh...right...I've never had one of those either.. ahem.. so I wouldn't know. :-( )

Everyone is so clean! I don't if its just because of the way they all dress so well. But they look like they wash themselves every couple of hours. There is no greasiness or frizziness. And poor or rich, everyone looks like they stepped out of some sorta ad. (I'm just talking about the proper city city part not the outskirts.)

No matter how many times I've been here, I turn into a country bumpkin. I can't help gawking at girls in short dresses or people with tattoos or stifle a giggle when I see a person shopping in what looks like their underwear. I squeal when those laser activated water facet things work. I save up tissues from every restaurant to use later. I spend a few minutes staring in awe at gleaming toilets. I swoon over 100 bucks slippers and carry back as many as I can. I steal glances around at everyone else in the room and then proceed to try and appear all relaxed and laidback like them except my insides are in knots.

Everyone has a Bangalore accent. I didn't know there was one. But there is. Its just not widely popular like the other accents.

The traffic. I generally like traffic jams because it gives me time to study the surroundings and the people around me. But in Bangalore, when I end up staring at the delivery van guy for some 30 minutes and I begin bordering at creepy.

The climate again. I could never work in a place with a climate like this. Not just because of my allergies. But this is the kinda climate that makes me want to snuggle under a quilt and hibernate till its summer again.

I hate how everything is so far away. Back in college, I could find everything I needed at each places that the bus stops. Thats like 5 minutes. Here travelling the distance between two friends I want to visit could cost me an entire day in the bus or an entire fortune in an auto.

I love the buses. They are the most ultra coolest things they have here. They don't make them like that back where I live. There its a box with four wheels. And the box leaks more often that not, when it rains. In Bangalore, its like a whole new technology. With the automatic doors and everything. Whoosh. Open. Its like magic...Umm.. okay, that was the country bumkiness I was talking about.

Everyone seems rich here. I want to meet a poor person here. I'll have a lotta people coming up now saying that they're poor cos they spend all their salary before the end of the month and because they live in a studio apartment and eat out only every fortnight. I sympathize with you, I do. I'm just talking about dirt-poor. Who lives pretty much like most of the people back in my hometown.

This city changes people. It turns the relaxed into uptight and harried and turns the stick-up-their-ass types into chill-maadi types. I had many a slow-moving, song-humming, non-branded clothes friends once. But Bangalore has transformed them. A few for the better too. And I've had friends who were ready to burn people who drink and smoke at stakes. Now its all "Meh" to them. Its a crazy world, this city. I've read a lotta books about people based in this city. I know if I stay here long enough, I 'd get swirled into the big cup of surprises this city brings. I'd get street-smart and sassy. I wouldn't go home and cry about the amount of money I was "tricked" into paying. I'd look clean all the time too!

But for now, its back to slo-mo living at my good ol' home town in my non-cool clothes and de-congested lungs. I'm not saying my hometown is the best thing ever. It's got its billion flaws too.. But its just like.. you're a piece of cloth that has been floating about in a bucket of water all life long and suddenly someone takes you and puts you in a big techy washing machine and you're tossing and turning and beating against the sides. I'm still in my bucket of water. In fact I'm like the frog in the bucket of water. Whoa wait thats a whole other metaphor. I'm getting my metaphors mixed up. Maybe I should stop for now. Until next time, you guys chill maadi! :-P

I Like, I Don't

Its time for another pointless post bout things that I like and don’t like. In points. Because I'm to lazy to type out a whole post. :-) Yenjay!

I like it when a sunny day turns cloudy and you actually see it happen. As in you notice the dark shadow cast over all the sunniness, inch by inch. It makes me feel like I sneaked a peek of one of those things Nature does before we notice. Like plants growing or sweat popping outta skin. :-)

I don't like being talked to during a movie. Please refrain from talking to me just for those 3 hours.

I like to listen to that sudden short intake of breath that singers do in between lines of a song. It makes them seem human just like the rest of us.

I don't like it when a pill does not go down your throat but sorta swirls around in your mouth and you end up with the horrible taste of a melted tablet in your mouth.

I like the smell of new things. Like a new book or a new school bag or shoes or a new eraser. Oooh and new clothes. I would purchase the thing that they use to induce that smell. Oh and also the musty smell that’s there as soon as you turn on an air conditioner. Heavenly.

I don't like it when I find ants in my eyebrows.

I like it when I get to do the "What to expect when your expecting Puberty" talk to pre-pubescent girls. I’ve done this only once and I think I scared the wits out of that kid but it was still nice to be older and world-wise

I like laughing out loud at a corny joke on tv or bawling at a sad scene when there is noone around to judge you.

I like masala movies where the hero walks in slow motion and kills all the bad guys with a flick of a finger. I get goosebumps during these scenes no matter how bad the movie is.

I like the first 15 minutes spend with a toddler right after he wakes up from a nap. They’re all dazed and lazy and oh-so-not-hyper. Its a nice relax-y time. And I love their bleary eyes.

I don't like it when people call you up and talk and talk and talk without breathing, without even giving me a tiny little 2 second break so that I can say “right, ok, so I gotta go now.” If you've ever wondered how the line had  magically gone dead when you were explaining to me how exactly your great aunts ended their real estate disputes, well, I don’t know either. :-|

I like it when married couples who probably haven’t held hands since 1985, huddle close together under an umbrella when it rains. With an arm around waist or shoulder, heads together, it somehow reminds you that that they had been young and very much in love once upon a time.

I don't like it when people send you something on chat and then go “oops, wrong box”. I used to do that a lot when I wanted to inform someone of something without actually having to say it to him/her. Or I’d just be trying to make it seem like “I’m talking to a whole lotta other people and I wasn’t sitting here staring at your name on my chat list willing you to send me a message for the past one hour.” Hate that.

I like daisies. I like Meg Ryan because in You’ve Got Mail she says that she likes daisies. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

Kathleen Kelly: I love daisies. 
Joe Fox: You told me. 
Kathleen Kelly: They're so friendly. Don't you think daisies are the friendliest flower?

Trivia – Meg Ryan’s daughter’s name is Daisy.

I like the way Meg Ryan walks.

I like it when babies touch your face.

I don't like it when they later try to yank open your eye sockets and pull out your eyeballs.

I like all movies that I’ve watched from beginning to end. No matter how bad it is. There is always some portion of it that I can relate to even in the bizzarest way. Or I just feel that I’ve learned something that I would’ve never known until I watched that movie. Be it a funny dialogue, or a thought or a costume or an exotic name or an idea or a psychological disorder or just basic trivia.

I don't like it when you make someone read a book or watch a movie that you absolutely love, but they don’t pay attention to it like their lives depend on it. I mean they’re texting in between the most crucial scenes or skipping the most important chapters. Sure, they probably don’t like it either when I’m yanking their head up so that they're facing the screen or breathing down their neck asking them what line they’re reading now. But still, no respect for the arts.

I like aprons.

I don't like it when you just have to “give in” when you’re winning an argument because the other person is just a “child”. It’s just not bloody fair. 

I like old keys. I love the feel of them. 

I don't like smiling when wearing white because it makes your teeth look so-very-not-white.

I like how everyone is financially equal in Facebook. No matter what pictures you’re posting – of your 3 different cars or scenes from the bus you ride to work everyday.. or from where you send your comments – your shiny new Blackberry or a shady old internet café down the street, you’re all on Facebook. Its literally like you all hang out at the same place. Without having to constantly check how much is left in your wallet. Which is cool.  

I don't like it when someone near me coughs or sneezes. I hold my breath for as long as I can or until I feel that the viruses and bacteria has stopped floating around in the air and has settled. Or I flap the air around me towards them as subtly as I can.

I like the way people’s eyes sparkle in movie theaters.

I like it when someone touches my hair. Or my ears.

I like blood red nail polish.

I like old scars and telling the story about how it got there. I always figured that "If a scar does not last too long on your body then it probably doesn’t have a story that is worth talking about." My very own quote.

I like making up my very own quotes.