MRP

Reading about the FDI in retail in India makes me wonder if actually the advent of the BIG wigs would wipe the small kirana shops in India. There is a 10ft by 5ft kirana shop (with a big curtain as the backdrop) near our house. The owner looks like # 3 in the 6 stage Darwin evolution theory pictures .

In his tiny shop irrespective of what you ask for he has it all and at all times.

(Not that i have ever asked for firearms to verify the completeness of his stock but i still wonder if there is tunnel connected to a supermarket behind that curtain ).

Irrespective of his looks i know running a store can be hard work, as i discovered on my first visit to "Sukriti" boutique, during a trip to Los Angles . It was delivery day and a large van was parked in front of the shop. The driver was unloading goods from the wholesale warehouse and piling them on the pavement. From here, the boxes and crates had to be carried into the store, unpacked, and their contents put on the shelves. While my cousin did the unpacking and shelving, she had hired a couple of college kids to do the heavy work of lugging the boxes into the shop. To help out, i picked up a bag of tissue and carried it in. Assuming that i too had been employed for the chore, the two kids began to pile more and more of the boxes and crates on me: C'mon, don't be so feeble and carry only two of those, take that third

box as well. Under a triple load of silk, cotton , i staggered into the shop under the direction of kids who had promoted themselves from labor to managerial supervisors: Easy now; put it down gently, don't break anything.I was carrying in my fourth — or it might have been fifth load — when Shilpa spotted me from the rear of the shop and came rushing up. She yelled at the kids. She's not the hired help; she's my sister! You're the hired help, said Shilpa. My self-appointed supervisors mumbled apologies, which i brushed aside. Sukriti was a family enterprise, in which all the family pitched in to help. And as a sister , it wasn't just my job but my pleasure to lend a hand. 

Shilpa minded the till and chatted with customers as they came up to pay: How are you today, luv? Got over that nasty cold you had last week, i'm glad to see. And how's your daughter doing at university? Coming down for the holidays, is she then? Good company for you, so nice when the children come home.

This was what Sukriti — and the thousands of such across the country — had to offer which the big supermarket chains didn't: conversation and human contact, no matter how brief. Each customer was a known face, a remembered name. And in an increasingly impersonal society, where anonymity is the norm, this made all the difference.

How do you put a MRP on that. 

=)

A case study:Indian paunch

Objective:To visit the temple.

Achievement:Me and my sister manged to get up early.Like 5 am early.(oooooooo...ahhh...whistles..applause)
Scenario:We are sitting at the back of our car and driving through the parking lot of a temple.
View from our car window:A young couple has come down to get their new car blessed .The priest who was performing the ceremony stood a 5.4’’ ,300 lb whose only clothing was the lungi .He had a lot of body hair (looked like a fur coat) but his head was shaved and was shining bright. In fact for some reason the sun and the surrounding shadows from the trees seemed to make the world map on his head. He had his eye shut and was busy chanting the mantras.
Request made : Our driver honked and requested the priest to move so that he could park next to the new car.(only parking space available after taking multiple rounds looking for one)
Response received:The priest without batting an eyelid (infact with closed eyes) sucked his paunch in and said  "Nikaal lo "(Go ahead)
Reaction:Me and my sister exchanged amused glances (I promise i did not laugh)
Next scene should have been: A growl/comment of exasperation from the driver .
Next scene was: The driver could smoothly steer the car in.
We(Me and my sis) are now fans of :

• Indian paunch.--Our amused expression had turned into awe . The disrespected indian paunch had now taken a whole new dimension.It can serve as a table top and at the same time the owner can take a deep breath and give the illusion of non existence...even to make a car pass without opening one's eyes.
• Indian driving skills-- Countless tales and hymns have been written in appreciation in history..and history has again repeated itself.

 Afterthought:The priest with his paunch sucked in would make a good poster for bikram yoga studio wall. 

Chase

Baseball and football are in the air .Every YouTube video you stream is first accompanied by initial 30 second of Foosball advertisement which you can’t even skip .All the sports bars and grills are overflowing with sports fanatics who duly tip the bar tender for every touchdown .Our team at work decided to go for a diamondback game as well to Chase field. We all got tickets and duly chose to sit next to each other and avoided the "not so close" to the other end .We wooted our plans on facebook and set off.Correction the whole unit set off, I had a call with folks in UK .The poor chap was supporting me at his midnight i did not have the heart to tell him that i preferred  the game to his status updates(don’t read this blog BOB :)) so i stayed back till i completed my virtual meeting .After the meeting i realized that i had given my car for detailing and viola no mode of transport .I called one of my chums and asked where they were, fortunately the bus had just left so all i had to do was catch up . As i grabbed my Gucci and stepped out of the building spotting the sharp nosed driver with a ruddy familiar Indian (south Asian Indian not native Indian ) face was such a relief.
I got in the back seat and asked him to drive till the destination.
We drove for a couple of minutes and we spotted the white bus , i asked the cab driver to follow the bus. I called my pal to stop the bus but apparently the order of traffic lights didn’t quite agree. There was a time when the bus did really slow down and so did my driver. The bus picked up pace and so did the cab.The bus again slowed down and again so did my driver that's when i realized that my driver was actually just following the bus and not driving so that i could get on the bus.
BA-DING!!
Oh man .I clarified and the bus did pause and the driver (i have no clue why) chose to halt the cab right in front of the bus at an angle (rajnikanth style).I was aghast, what if the bus driver had not completely pressed the brakes, i would have been dog luncheon .I looked at the driver ,he  had such keen sense of achievement on his face .I am sure he was convinced that his Transporter fatal stunt had stopped the bus ( Sania i know you stopped the bus but his broad smile was too warm to break) . Anyways still in one piece i climbed in the bus and thankfully had a less eventful ride to the Chase field/venue.
The cheerleaders were the highlight of the game. The big screen boomed with scores and recaps and perky sport-o-holics.Our seats were really good in fact i was afraid that if the players jumped too hard their sweat gland excretions could be our popcorn topping .Ew .Ew. Foursquare updates and tags punched throughout the game. After 2 hours of an exciting game

The diamondbacks won .YAYY!!.

I was enjoying the Chocolate covered apple (with sprinkles) stuck in my teeth as I stepped out with my team and guess what, the mascot was giving out freebies to peeps .I took one for BOB (the guy whom i was on call with and missed the bus - before my adventure began).
So friends if your name is BOB as well send me your mailing address and i will pass on the freebies.

And while you are at it could you mail me the 16 digits in front of you CC and just the last 3 digits at the back .What are 19 digits amongst buddies right ? :)

Royal pain--achoo!!

I did not go to the royal wedding .Over the years i've developed an allergy to any form of royalty. Some people are allergic to peanuts, or prawns, or dairy products. If, by mistake, they ingest one of these things their faces swell up, or they break out in spots. In my case, my allergy to royalty causes me to break into a sneezing fit, often at the mere mention of a member of the species.It first manifested itself years ago when i knew a family the head of which had in his youth been an ADC to a Rajasthani maharaja. Every now and then, in the course of general conversation (So hot and sticky the weather is, no?), mention would be made of the maharaja connection whereupon the entire family would apparently be seized by a collective fit of sneezing, all of them going Ziness!, Ziness!, Ziness ! Bless you, i'd say to them. Bless you, bless you.

One day, one of them asked me: Why do you keep saying bless you? Because you keep sneezing all the time, i replied, and demonstrated how they did it: Ziness! We're not sneezing, you idiot, i was informed. We're referring to His Ziness, the Maharaja.It seemed that, in royal circles, the preferred pronunciation of 'Highness' - as in 'His Most Royal and Exalted Highness' - was 'Ziness' with an exclamation mark at the end and an accompanying clicking together of heels. I don't know if it was that particular experience or something else, but i start sneezing when people start talking about royalty. Reason i don't play cards. Can't, what with all those kings and queens mucking about.
Anyway, i'm glad that the nuptials went off without any glitches, or sneezes. Though it all seemed pretty tame stuff, no drama-baji like we have in Indian weddings. No last-minute dowry demands. No bhangra-ing baratis. No helicopters. No shotguns fired into the air, bringing down the stray crow or curious bystander caught in the blast. No wailing pooh-paah cars competing with the wailing of shehnais. No Bollywood starlets doing item numbers.
Still, it was a nice shaadi, and i wish the couple all the best for the future. As and when Mummyji finally steps down, and Charlie-baba ascends to the throne - How will they get him out of the wheelchair and onto it? - Willie will be next in line to be king. Perhaps it's time he began to take a few kingly lessons. True, he'll be king of only a small, wet island largely inhabited by Pakistanis and Bangladeshis who run balti restaurants the waiters of which are rumoured to spit in cheery contempt into the chicken tikka masala that the natives consume with obsessive dedication. But a king's a king for all that, and a little royal tutoring might well be in order. Where should Willie go to get it?
Ever since the French Revolution, royalty keeps a low profile in Europe. As in the case of the midget monarch, Sarkozy I of France, who stands five-foot nothing in his elevator shoes. With the Indian takeover and the booting out of the poor Chogyal, royalty has been banished from Sikkim, as it has from Nepal following popular demand. Bhutan's King Jigme Wangchuk has stepped down for his son (why won't Mummyji take a hint?) and has also announced a rollout plan for democracy. The anti-royal Jasmine Revolution is sweeping West Asia and North Africa. So where can poor Willie go to learn to be a proper monarch? Which is the only country left in the world where dynasty is destiny, and destiny is dynasty?
All right Willie, pop across and we'll try and arrange to get you a darshan of a truly Royal Family. OK, Maharani Soniaji, Yuvraj Rahulji? Ziness! (Damn, there goes the sneezing again.)

Sumac

Thats the name of a Persian spice. I got introduced to sumac on a basketball court.
One of the player's had bought a to-go box for his dinner which ultimately turned into free for all and i guess he did manage to get a morsel. In my defense we had 10 players on court.intrigued by the seasoning i set out looking for middle eastern stores which might have some in stock .i could have ordered stuff from the same shop my friend had got his dinner but the cook apparently was out on a month’s vacation to Iran. After a week of calling stories and walking to front desk with empty hands i resorted to online stores. My experience with online shopping has always been good but i had never entered the territory of online grocery shopping. I ordered a bag from Amazon and marked it 2 day FedEx.I had already already listed down what all i could do with it. My friend who is an atheist was co-erced into observing lent (you leave one thing you love during a 40 day period) by her dear ones and let me tell you she was not happy camper .So on Sunday after her morning service she came to my place with a giant's appetite for chicken. I had baked the chicken sprinkled the sumac (most of it) and set it for cooling while i left to run an errand. lo behold once i came back i had a smiling f(r)iend waiting for me with an empty plate and worse an empty sumac bottle.Arghh ..I have been told that I turned a shade of crimson not existent on a box of 120 box crayon and within 5 min she was ordering another shipment from her android. The shipment for some reason was returned (i blame FedEx) and it was out of stock by the time we got to it again.

The poster on my desk "Everything happens for a reason" did not really cheer me up either.

But last week’s trip to havasui pai falls-a destination you reach after hiking 8 hours downhill in Grand Canyon did lift my spirits. Trust me playing a game of hike on the Xbox kinetic is totally different deal then roughing it outdoors.Our hiking group was let by a native who had Navajo blood in veins and a leathery skin. He had white hair neatly made into a plait tucked in his shirt. His face and hands were marked with wrinkles and sunburns .He might have 3 times the no of candles on his last birthday than mine but his physical health was at its prime. He was a very patient man educating us about the desert blooms and the tricky species during our hike. I am not sure was it the aching limbs that made me forget sumac or the thought that there were no restrooms in the vicinity coz we had taken a wring fork and the nearest one was 1 hour of uphill and 45 min of downhill walk and back.The campfire has always been the best part of any hiking trip for me .The Guide started sharing his years of experience .He pointed at the moonlight cactus which only bloomed at a particular time of the month at night .We sat with our cameras zoomed to capture the rare beauty. While we roasted the chicken we had bought with us he vanished for a while but came back holding dried berries in his hand. He sprinkled some on the cooked poultry.
I took the first bite and my taste buds tingled.

Sumac it was .

Nirvana.

A particular gentlemen confused sumac to be paprika and layered (no he did not sprinkle..just layered) on his meal. Our guide was distracted as he was busy  making sleeping arrangements .So an hour later when we were about to retire to our sleeping bags the man complained of dizziness and his palpation was up. He shivered and was given a blanket. Before we knew 911 was punched on a keypad and a helicopter had swooped down in the valley to give the guy immediate medical attention.He was flown to the nearest ranger station.
Sumac my friends if consumed in large quantities causes dehydration.
I am back at my desk today and I see sumac has been restocked online too .No i do not want to order one now ,I had enough for a lifetime.

Kite calling

This makarsakranti –The Indian festival for flying kites I found myself at the other end of a thin quad lateral / an isosceles trapezoid shaped paper and a will to make it soar in the sky.

Sushmaa holding the flyer and still panting from all the stair climbing but knowing my weakness for jalebi pushed the piece of paper in my face and smiled.Remember the Dhara jalebi add- “jalebi “ that’s how big my eyes grow and light up and saliva glands become active when I think of the delicacy so the invitation to the kite flying festival with jalebi around seemed like the perfect destination for a sunday afternoon.

The event was taking place in a different city –an hour and half drive but "jalebi to khani thi" so in the next 10 min we were in the car and GPS was set to its destination .Green fields flanked the road on either side and snow covered peaks adorned  in the distance – (peaks like Tiramisu with whipped cream on top --ohh yumm) .As we arrived closer to the destination we saw that the sky was full of colorful dots of different shapes and sizes .The venue was a large green field with pebbled pathways .The whole city seemed to be basking in the sun and were busy flying kites and cheering each other.
Me and sushmaa felt a little outnumbered but then we were really not there for a hand to hand combat- infact we were not even competing ..we just wanted to figure how to fly to a kite(and eat jalebi of course).

We took our kite out of the boot and located a spot to start our venture. It was time to implement all the “how to” videos we had seen while driving and make the kite leave the ground .A few futile attempts later, Sushmaa examined the weather conditions with astuteness akin to that of a seasoned gray-locked sailor(its ok sushmaa just watching podcasts does not really make one a pro).I was discouraged a little but then I thought of Benjamin Franklin - he developed all those theories about lightning and electricity while he was flying a kite ,god knows what lies ahead .(Yeh right.. i could discover the solution to WORLD PEACE)
We decided to take a break and were sitting on the footpath (thank fully no red ants around ) mulling our next course of action when one guy was kind enough to come over and help us get started .

Did you guys know one has to loosen the thread when its pointing downwards and pull it when it is in the upward direction. Our faces were glowing when we managed the feat .
Ten minutes of kissing the winds and the villains of kite flying came into the  picture and before we knew our kite was a victim of “Survival of fittest” AHHH
but we didn’t feel all that bad about loosing  because when we went to get our kite back from the ground we actually got a few others as well(no body wanted to pick them and they looked like helpless kittens at a shelter).. so we lost 1 but got 3 more. Am not complaining. :)
We walked proudly back to our car with kites/Trophies  held tightly in our hands.
The jalebi was finished but guess what ..I have a BOX FULL of jalebis (my aunt on hearing our experience shipped one right away from chiacgo ) and am gonna have it tonight ..yehh JALEBiii
:)

Post-mortem

** Fiction as always**

There are only some 1,440 tigers left in India, presumably including the CWG mascot, Shera. Clearly the Indian tiger is an endangered species, and we must do all we can to save it. But while we are trying to save the tiger, let's spare a thought for a species that is not just endangered but extinct: the postman.

Remember the postman? He was the guy - though it may well have been a gal, the erstwhile postal department having been an equal-opportunity institution - who left mail for you in your letter box. Postmen - postpeople, if you prefer - were like Santa Claus, or the Tooth Fairy: you never saw them but you found evidence that they'd been there by what they left behind - letters, bills, junk mail, what have you. No, it's not quite true that you never saw postpeople. You did see your postperson, once a year. On the dot of Diwali your postperson would turn up on your doorstep for the annual Diwali mubarak baksheesh that all postpeople were entitled to by tradition, if not by their official terms of employment.

Over the years, i'd got to know my postperson quite well, thanks to our once-a-year meetings on Diwali. Then this Diwali, my postperson didn't turn up. Had my postperson forgotten? Unlikely. Postpeople had to have powerful memories, capable of remembering all those addresses and where exactly each one was on their beats. A good memory was a professional requirement if you were a postperson. So why had my postperson not kept our Diwali rendezvous?
Then I begun to come across people, friends and neighbours, whose postpeople had also not turned up for their Diwali baksheesh. Why this sudden paucity of postpeople? That's when the ominous thought struck me: were postpeople becoming - or had already become - an extinct species, along with the dodo, the typewriter and telephones which had dials instead of pushbuttons?
And the chilling answer seemed to be 'yes'. Along with the dodo, the typewriter and phones with dials, evolution had bypassed the postperson. With the advent of internet and e-mail people not only stopped using 'snail mail' to correspond with each other, but they also stopped writing letters at all to each other. Instead, they tweeted each other, or sent each other SMSs: Hw r u?
OK, so people stopped writing letters. But what about bills, junk mail, pizza delivery offers (If It's Not Hot/Our Bandha Can Be Shot), and all that other stuff? If there were no more postpeople - because people had stopped writing letters - who was going to deliver all the other mail? The answer, of course, was couriers, a vast army of which appeared overnight.
Unlike postpeople whom you never saw, save on Diwali, you see couriers every day, several of them every day. When the doorbell rings you always know it's the courier come calling. How do you know this? Because experience has taught you that couriers, all couriers, have an uncanny psychic ability by which they know exactly when to ring the doorbell while you are in the middle of performing an intimate function which requires your total concentration, like using the loo, or trimming your toenails, or dealing with the blackhead that's suddenly appeared on the tip of your nose. You're just about to squeeze the damn thing out when ... Ring! It's the courier. With an invitation to an ikebana exhibition organised by the Indo-Japanese Friendship League, or the exciting book launch of the Telephone Directory.
Yesterday the doorbell rang. I wasn't in the loo, or the shower. So it couldn't be the courier. Could it be my postperson, come back to life? It wasn't. It was the courier. Demanding Diwali baksheesh. I gave it too.

As a bribe. Not to make sure the courier kept coming to deliver my mail. But to make sure the courier stopped coming to deliver my mail.

Mountain L.I.O.N

We were driving through the beautiful national park of Yosemite at night when the entire sierra Nevada range (white granite) was bathing in beautiful moonlight .White moonflowers which bloom only at night smiled in the meadows as we passed through them .My gaze was locked in the sky where I could see stars twinkling through the moon roof in the car. People around me were tired and were trying to either check the camera batteries or missing their loved ones.
Suddenly the car jerked to a sudden stop when the car beam fell on the sign board which had text in neon ink :
WARNING: Beware of mountain lion.
Hearing lion stories in the comfort of your warm bed from your grandparents is a totally different experience than to confront a sign board that warns you of its existence.
The brake lights at the back of our car glowed, we all sat silently for a moment deciding our next steps when we heard rumbling in the nearby area, it seemed so awfully close, one of us assured that it was just a wild deer for that matter and we were all making much ado about nothing. Though I must mention the voice of the speaker was hesitant to its very pitch, some assurance is better than none.
A look alike of Bambi jumped and off it went. Phew!!
We all giggled but suddenly there was a strange low shriekey sound ,it sounded as if someone or something was in pain , we all shushed up to hear better but the clarity in pain didn't help much as we just felt worse.
The big question was did we want to risk stepping out.
A ranger vehicle stopped as we had our emergency light's on .
He approached our car and saw 4 pair of doe eyes peering at him .We shared our concern , he looked unperturbed and said maybe it was a Bear. After all there must be reasons for calling California the bear country. He checked with us if we had any food in our car ?
The strong smell of garlic from my co-occupant‘s breath reminded of the pizza boxes in the boot of the car. He reminded of us the 1000$ littering fine and the fact that animals get attracted to food.
Even though words were not exchanged we knew we had to get rid of the food .We couldn’t find a bin so stopped at a campsite hoping to find a bin.
We all got out of the car looking for a bin. Unity in times of adversity helps .Trust me. But little did we realize that were walking with the bait .Probably smelled “ bait” for a carnivorous out there.
before we knew we had a :

A petit cat jumped in front of us and snarl.

A pal of mine who apparently had a source of light in her hand (a pencil cell powered laser) -our only source of light in the pitch dark forest…the camp lights had been extinguished and the clouds over the moon didn’t help either ,thumped loudly on the ground .
The cat was unperturbed .It looked at us. I threw the food in my hand in its direction .
“Please don’t feed animals “ was a sign we had read perhaps at every second turn in the national park and the monetary penalty stated with it but alas.
And then a volunteer wearing a hat with light fitted on it like the miners used to wear emerged from the corner and said :

“That’s the mountain lion folks, walk away it will do nothing.”
We didn’t know what stumped us more the volunteer appearing from nowhere, or the fact the “meow” creature in front was the much hyped mountain lion “Junglii billi “ my friends is called the Mountain lion in California.We all burst out laughing .

And I had to blog about it.
:)

Zzap

Everybody around me had a vocation yesterday from coding to ironing clothes . I was too restless to warm the couch so I took a cab to the nearest Farmers market (that’s the American version of Indian haat ). It's a place where farmers come and sell their products .The smell of churros (hot cinnamon sticks ) filled my nostrils and pansies’ in the corner looked all bright n pretty.The place had everything from fresh live stock to creamiest dairy.There were several kiosks as well with games promising 5 ft stuff toys as prizes (hard to resist. Right ??)

I played dart, hand wrestled plastic arms, mis-spelled Mississippi ,squirted waterguns and before i realized i was standing among lots of people.They were all looking at a raised section of floor which worked as a make do stage. A man in a tux (completely different then the usual rugged torn jeans worn by one and all ) had a microphone in one hand and a stick in other .He was inviting volunteers .I looked around and found a small board in the corner of the stage,which read

“James kellog jr Hypnotist show “

Hmm interesting. I have always been curious about the subject and what better way to experience it then volunteering for it .So before I knew I was sitting with a group of 9 other excited homo sapiens who wanted to experience or prove Mr Kellog all wrong.Which sect I belonged to is a difficult statement to make. I did smile and waved to the crowd on being told to do so.I distinctly remember that the host started the segment with welcome notes and disclaimers.We did what we were told.

Relaxed our bodies.Shook hands.Stood up.Sat down.

Zzap.Blank.(maybe not blank) .

Barked like dogs. Got scared with so called rain.Jumped make belief whoops.

Zzap.Blank.(maybe not blank) .

and waived back thanked our host and walked down.

That was fun.

Curious Georges out there to answer whether “ did I actually get hypnotized “ and do things is a thing to find out after I watch the video my kellogs company mailed me after reducing numbers in my account.

So lemme wait and watch

and maybe…maybe..just maybe I might share

:)

Guid(e)-(d)ance

Meheeko!! We are in meheeko cooed Sanjana. Last month me and a pal of mine drove to Mexico .Bright sunshine kissed our car roof and we were tempted to take the hood of out Mustang but taking pix with entangled hair which trust me takes an hour to detangle is no fun. So we just rolled down the panes and enjoyed the wind on our faces.
We were going on a small hiking trip and were pretty excited about.
At the end of the 7 hour drive our faces lit up when we saw the signboard 'Sierra de la Laguna forests - 4 miles'.
We booked a room ,had cactus for dinner (which mind you tastes like capsicum ) and retired early .
We took a guide. Octivio read the wooden badge on his jute jacket .
He led the way into the woods .We started before the sunsrise around 6 am .
Our guide was an enthusiastic fellow who wanted to share his knowledge about the Navajo culture, right from thie symbolic Kokopelli to the prehispanic influence in the country.
He described it as the melting pot of all races. We were thoroughly enjoying ourselves, walking in natures lap and sipping in fresh air .
Then started our crash course on the ways of the wild.
He pointed at pugmarks of a wild cat.To me it just looked some mud grubbed together, next I see as if a large individual in stiletto heels had done a quick one-two bhangra step. But no. Wild boar, rooting with its snout for grubs and maggots, explained our guide.

What the heck,city slicker though i am, i too could try my hand at my own kind of guiding, involving the stuff of urban legends. There! See that. Yes, that piece of tinfoil. That is no ordinary tinfoil. It is the sign of that abundant species which ought to be the subject of a National Geographic programme: the Great homo sapiens litter. And look here! That wet round patch there? That is the mark left behind by the Common Male Urinator.

We moved further with a 'not so happy 'Octivio as he thought that we were mocking him with our ideas so back I went to my fly on the wall mode and gave him my full attention. He showed us how to figure out the age of the tree by the rings in its trunk. That was interesting.

Finally he led us to the end of the trail and pointed at the famous whispering gallery in the building. You stay here, he told Sanjana. You go there, he told me. Now put your mouths close to the wall and whisper softly. What magic, no? You can hear each other clearly, though so far apart. You know how it's done? All those ages ago when the gallery was built, they had a secret powder which they put into the walls. This is the same powder which they are now putting into tape recorders and other sound equipment. What a most wonderful wonder, isn't it?
Yeah, yeah. I know about acoustics and all that. But i'll still buy the secret powder which can power/enchant our help shanta's snuff box to turn into a radio.
We reached back home the next day and wondered looking at the Bose Lifestyle V20 if it had the powder!!
I am planning to write a mail to octivio and see if he would like to take us on an expedition(i had somehitng Man vs Wild in my mind ) looking for that secret stuff .
Any takers ??

Oh shit!

This one spl as this one’s about my sister who has been patient enough and has bared with me all these years.I can’t pose as a morning person but waking up early for a justified cause is not a Herculean task either for me.
But for my sis where waking at 7 am is a “necessary evil” as she has to commute to her destination which takes a while and she detests the very thought of setting the morning alarm.
I am pretty sure if she reads this blog my rating on her popularity charts is going to hit rock bottom not that it was ever at the pinnacle but somehow managed to be a single digit.
This one was way back in 2006 at Nepal where people wake up at 4 to enjoy the sunrises .
Our hotel had a stunning view of the snow covered peaks and my sister was convinced that looking at them at 9 am made up for not waking up at the unearthly hour of 3:30 to catch the sunrise at 4.
She even proposed to use Photoshop to get my pic with sunrise in the background but alas
what are family vacation for if you can’t bully your siblings into doing something … finally my sister consented to sit in the car at 3:30 (waking up was not part of the deal ).
My parents were somehow delayed with something at the reception.
So it was just me and my sis in the car.
I am wide awake, excited and ready to move.(She still hates me for this)
And since my sister refused to open her eyelid I had to step out of the car to enjoy the view.
In the horizon i saw a nepali coming with a mule carrying a backpack and a Australian walking beside him.
It sounded like the nepali was acting like a tourist guide for the Australian(His distinct nasal accent gave him away).
He pointed at peaks and shrubbery and gave extra sound effects with his description which were intermittently paused by mule hee’s and han’s.
My sister oblivious to the orchestra was in the car.
They were walking in our direction .The Australian was praising the beauty and was describing his own country to the nepali. The patriot in me couldn't resist and jumped right in the conversation about how beautiful India is and how diverse and beautiful is our natural flora and fauna.
The Australian was intrigued and turned his attention to me .The guide was patient and took the time to feed his mule.

My sister woke up due to the din. Looked bewildered. Paused .Looked at the Australian
“You might want to move or else you might be covered in poop”.

We turn back and notice that the mule’s tail was strategically in air and the Australian ‘s foot would break the poop’s fall to the ground.
He immediately moved away and was full of gratitude .
My sister smiled at him. Glared at me and politely slept off.

And as my sister says the Indian students would have been harassed 3 years back had she not foiled my plan to cover Australians in “Deep Shit “.
And she is pretty convinced this time too I have something to do with it.

Love you sis :)

Clickty Click

Click click

Went the digicam as I had its sound on.I had already changed 4 sets of batterys last weekend when I was visiting the Big Apple.

I had gone with my gang and we reached Holiady Inn at 11 in night.I was too tired to change and staying awake late at night is definitely not on my resume.

So here I was all hungry,sleepy and too lazy to change so I announce that fine I would dine in my night suit .I mean whats the big deal as I had already planned to crash on my hotel bed the moment I returned …damn the bed was too inviting to let go.But as history repeats itself and in the war of gastronomic pleasures and dreams about gastronomic pleasures the former as always wins.

We had a good Turkish meal and I was all ready to hit the sack when one of my pal announces that we have to go to Times square which was apparently just 1 block away.

(I prefer reading menu cards to maps so i had to take his word for the direction and distance).

But wait,of all the things in the world last thing I wanted to do was to have to visit times square in my pyjamas.

But whats life without any twists.

Self assured that it would make some good memories ,we started for our destination.

The place was abuzz with people.

It was 1 o'clock at night.I was standing in the middle of Times square ,i took a 360 degree turn and i saw 36 different nationalities.Phew.What a cosmopolitan sight!!

Now back to preserving moments to memories business..

We saw a man 6.5ft all well built (6 or more packs am not sure was too busy ogling at mask).

He was dressed as Batman.

And we all thought that posing with Batman at Times Square made a good photo op.

We took our digicams out.Placed them in position.Decided the order in which we would go and take pix with him.Took the money out for tips.All preps done.Smiles on our faces .We are just about to step forward to ask him when another maiden 5.9 hot bombshell steps in and asks her hubby to click while she posed with him.

We wait.

Thats ok.

We were in no rush.

Next this is what we see :

Step 1:Mr Batman holds the girl in a tight hug.

Step 2:Mr Batman had lifts the girl in her arms.

Step 3:Mr Batman places the girl on his shoulder.

Step 4:Mr Batman holdes her above his head as if she was a pair of dumbells.

Step 5,6,7,8,9,10:

We look at each other.Close the cams.Keep the tips inside.Take a 180 degree turn .Walk really fast out of there.

Thank our lucky stars that the girl came before us.

:)

Did you have a bad day ??

Picked it up from a blog which picked it up from a forum!

Hi Sue,

Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother. Last week I had a bad day at the office.I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all.

Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job. As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wetsuit. This time of year the water is quite cool. So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel-powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea, heats it to a delightful temperature, then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose which is taped to the air hose.

Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints. What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wetsuit. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi. Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my bum started to itch.So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse. Within a few seconds my bum started to burn!I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the crack of my bum was not as fortunate. When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my bum.

I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically. Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totalling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression. When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet. As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my bum as soon as I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poo for two days because my bum was swollen shut.

So, next time you're having a bad day at work, think about how much worse it would be if you had a jellyfish shoved up your arse. Now repeat to yourself, I love my job, I love my job, I love my job. Remember whenever you have a bad day, ask yourself, is this a jellyfish bad day?

May you NEVER have a jellyfish bad day!!!!!

Arabian (K)Nights

Little has been said about my cooking for reason known and unknown.But am a big foodie is no national secret.
Me and three of my friends were eagerly looking forward to a nice evening this friday the 4th of july ...thats america's independance day .We decided to experiment with persian cuisine and before we knew we were sitting in a eatery that resembled a harem. Nice flowy curtains ..girls belly dancing...and small lamps that effused flames on each of our tables.
All was good when suddenly a guest's pet a Bearded Collie took fancy to the dancers dress and decided that it looked more sumptous then his dinner platter.Before anyone could notice the pet was rightly placed back in the owners lap.
Sheesh.The fun ended before it could start.
I looked around the place sipping in the ambience (Looking for trouble... now that i think about it).
I noticed another Cocker Spaniel looking at me (damn their pet friendly policy).
I was bitten by a dog when i was 5 and from that day me and dogs have really not gelled well.. getting injections in your tush in return for a friendly paw ful hanshake was too much of a price to pay and definately not a ice breaker.
But over the years i have agreed to live with it.I look at the dog and smile .
The pet takes his tongue out ( I take this as a positive sign..atleast he did not growl..phew) .
The owner of the Spaniel was an old lady who seemed to have woken on the wrong side of bed noticed the exchange and scowled.
Aghh.
I mean what was that?? Was i about to dog nap th Spaniel??
Dream on..
I already have a hard time managing my pet taruntula.We finish our dinner and were waiting for the cheque when the lady walks up to me and tapped on my shoulder . And this is what i bielieve i heard.
'You acted before '
wohhhh that was the last thing i expected.
My expression seem to perfectly spell my bafflement.
She said "I am into advertising " pause ."We are looking for models for a pet commercial." ahan ..ahan..so...
"Tutu is a star.. and we are looking . hmmm..here's my card.We are audtioning tommorow at 9."
So the Cocker Spaniel sitting on the floor was my knight who would lead me to stardom?? BOWWWWWWWWW...WOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
And she left.
And so did my knight trodding on the rich red carpet of the isle.
Sniff.
Thats it. This was the nearest i got around to smelling hollywood .
(God knows why it seemed like dog poop)
I never ended at the audtion but imagine that a canine could have been my ticket for standing next to Brad pitt for all you know.
:)

Rapunzel or Persis Khambatta

Arizona’s heat is inspiring me to make omelets on the way to office on the car bonnet.

A four minute ride's enough to cook the egg and it saves me time too. Any takers ??

Last Saturday we went hiking, we scaled camelback and I was mostly inspired by an

Arnold Schwarzenegger clone who carried his Chihuahua in a rucksack with him while he hiked and growled (the Chihuahua not the man ) at me, every time I paused .

We were famished from our hike and raided Denny’s (that’s an eatery where ppl go more for the hospitality than the food).We ate a mouthful and realized that we had ordered much more than we could eat, so I offered to get boxes to pack .The moment the boxes arrived ,nobody wanted to take anything so we decided that we were better off taking the ketchup, salt and pepper shaker and the plastic forks. Somebody wanted to pack the waitress as well but realized the box was too small.

Lesson learnt : Go to a place which has bigger ‘to go’ boxes, and good service as well.

So with all this heat and sweat I decided to take a plunge into the pool in the evening .

The lights were dim and the ambience, relaxing. Tempting probably, is the word.

All was quiet when a big troop of teenagers decided that they needed to spend the evening near the pool too .A quiet group of nice folks who were not too raucous.

My muscles ached and Russell Peters' series was on my mind so i stepped out.

I removed my swim cap. And I heard,

"I thought she was bald"

"Yeh." Hmm...voices in agreement.

Oops! The last thing I thought I would I ever hear. Guess the dim lights did the trick.

I am busy tying my sarong. I loosen my hair off the sarong and I hear

‘wooooooooo’.

So within an instant, I went from bald to a "wooo" object.

(And all you mean souls out there the ‘woo’ was for my hair and not for anybody else..so don’t you write nasty comments and take the fun out)

If this post had hints of narcissism in it I can’t help it. :D

Itchy Mitchy

Obama visited phoenix yesterday,I missed the rendevous with ‘the man’ as I was busy getting shots to control my allergies that time.I have been a victim of the famous Arizona spring allergy bloom.People warned me and I scoffed saying that u Americans are sissy..and aha now I am the one who has enough material for thesis on allergies here.

Right now my hand could be mistaken for a gods sudoku grid where he has filled all of it with red numbers and now you wonder that since there are just 3 spots where there is no rash which one would he fill next.Red maybe the color of passion but all this red on my skin is making the bull in a spinard matador side of me more out in the open then the passionate one.

But the week has not been all that bad I have been itchy mitchy but a friend of mine drew my caricature. Another got me a bowl of delicious chicken soup..and an old pal wrote a mail about her moving with her husband finally ..Two others called saying that their sixth sense told them that things were not right (this is not good news for the telecom sector) and called a few mintues back.

God you could make me allergic to a million(just a phrase…don't go by the word )things But keep me close to my pals..:)

PS::If the curious mind of yours is asking what am I allergic to..well it still remains a mystery to me too.

No sign of the tooth nor the wisdom

This weekend I missed a sumptuous lunch coz my tooth promised to appear and show signs of maturity (I like this word better then growing old).I spent the evening with a ice bag near my jaw ( I am getting my wisdom tooth and its giving me a hard time ) and reading the current edition of New York times which described the gory attacks in Iran. With all these bomb blast going around it’s really sad.
I was expected at the office for a meeting so had to run along. I walk in my room and when nature pokes and says get up. I reach the ladies room, I was all alone at that odd hour (Not that we normally have picnics there) and there I heard the dreadful
TickTick tickick tickTcht
I froze.
Did they manage the security breach and plant a bomb in here,Which could be detonated if some one flushed? (oh my GOD…we have to flush can’t imagine…GROSSSSS)My brain was playing Tag with weird conclusions. Did they plan to attack American Express now eeks. And they preferred not to announce his intentions by the usual “kutte kamine mein tera khoon peejaunga” rather used discreet ways to “tumhe mar ke champaigne pe jaunga”Woo this has to be a nightmare.I gathered courage(It did take some effort), opened my eyes and looked around.I could see nothing unusual (anyways what did I expect arrows marked to where the bomb is placed).I take a step forward and look at the mirror which showed a scared but wanting to be brave me .I peep into the garbage bin. (That’s the easiest way to smuggle something from outside..sheesh what am I doing here I got to join the feds)
Nothing in there. The tick tick continued.
I decided there and then that I needed to walk(more like scramble) to the security office .I extended my hand for the door knob when I see a small littleroom deodorizer with inbuilt clock that went“tick tick”.I grinned. Felt stupid. and relived that I did not call the guards. Boy that could have been some story for the guards to share to their grandkids among the more heroic ones .
I don’t think I am not going to get the tooth this time as wellAnother false alarm coz the wisdom seems far far far on the horizon.(For all those curious minds I did finish the task I had set out for…so Flush in peace amen)

Victoria’s secret no longer a secret

For all of those i have not been in touch..let me begin by saying i completed my first 45 days in phoenix today !! So here goes my first entry for 2009 from Phoenix,Arizona.

I have been strongly advised not to venture alone...but alas the nomad in me wins as always..
I stepped out last week ..just ambling around when for all i know i bumped into Rashi my bachpan ka chudi buddi pal who i did not loose in the all time favorite kumbh ka mela but something more monotonous her family moved out of Mumbai..
so we went shopping n took many plunges in the memory pool..some good!!
some better forgotten !!(That’s another story..will elaborate some other day)
She told me she was shopping for a friend who was getting married,so i joined in
We moved around the shopping complex and landed in Victoria secrets..

we got the stuf..et all..now this friend (whom we were shopping for) comes along
named "Hari"..and rashi says heres something for Ishita(his to be wife) the guy blushes pink!!!!(mera wala pink..courtesy..asian paints) eyes pop in and out and he blurts
"nahi"
suppresing a grin we look at him and he says
"chee"
we both smile( I bet he preferred the Alcatraz than his current position )
and we go
"arrey have a look"
he was mortified by the thought that we were going to divulge out
the contents of the packet in public and he will be on the receiving end
the blush turning deep scarlet, out comes a vehement .."no" and turns his face...
boy the pink packet with the label in silver was bad enough for him to see
next we threatened to open it we both smiled(though we wanted to burst out)
Rashi cajoled him,"dekh na"
Rashi takes out the tissue wrapped contents ,slowly unwraps it and out comes a

" a bottle of body lotion"

YEHHHH..
Victoria does sell cosmetics as well and that’s all that was there in that packet...

the guy having his face turned the other side….just not wanting to look but looking
saw it and out came a subtle (heavy on coffee breathe)
"OH"
Followed by a sheepish smile..
Now this was our stage, both me and Rashi were rolling off our chairs..laughing and
the starbucks crew..seemed bewildered but they smiled as if sharing the joke..boy hope they read this blog and can demystify those giggles…

Last night...The guy has tied the knot in india and we hope his better half liked
what we gave her!!!!!!!

:)

Wit -n(l)ess.

We landed at a social do where we could have skirted our way out in 15 minutes if we wanted to but the urge to try something new on a Saturday afternoon (In the dual between "Need for something new" vs "Grey cells" the winner was "Need for something new" ).
We were at a Book launch and the cocktails and snacks were inevitable.For the record Alcohol to me in any form is not acceptable (not even in the form of cough syrup).No body in my family touches it .
We have no bad history and I guess I just want to continue the good tradition so cocktails were not for me but a glass of mock tail is what I held in my hand.
So there I was standing trying to figure why the salmon was deep fried and not stir fried (Thoughts about the book were not possible. I did not know the name), I happened to bump into a bald guy who apparently returned from the U S of A ,last fortnight (at the end of next fifteen minutes I was 80% convinced he works in a BPO and that was all the reason for his “Angrezi accent”.)
He wanted to share his experience as how he had presided(that’s the word he used) over many book launches and how his knowledge of books was superior to others present in his vicinity. How the taste of the common man was distasteful. That he shared warm relationships with Page 3 writers and how he shunned limelight as he was a reserved person by nature(Somebody please notify the the editors of Oxford dictionary the word reserved now refers to Don Juan) I stood there trying to think of line no 5 of page no 1 of the book”101 ways to get away from annoying acquaintances” well he was not really an acquaintance but that’s the last book I read.
So now this ”dude”(dadoo more like it) turns to me to start another round of conversation.I saw my life savior Sandhya walking towards me I waved frantically to her as though my life depended on it(ahh.. I overreacted , anybody subjected to such treatment disguised as harmless conversations  definately needs to reach out for help)
Now this gentleman beside me greets sandhya as
“ wazzap”
She smiles, pauses and bringing her bag an inch closer to her size "zero" bebo inspired waist turns toward him and says I don’t know .
A pregnant pause.( oh this did REAL damage to his size 15 ego).
Sandhya continued "I have been asked this several times and I really don’t understand the meaning of the word you just spoke. How should one ideally respond to this ?".
Aha “ABCD” squirmed.
NO guys I did not giggle (I was busy counting calories I had devoured in last half an hour).
He replied (His face changing colors from crimson to mud ).
“Well ah you see ideally I am fine would do.Excuse me .I see my friend is standing there alone .Nice meeting you.”
Yipeee.
Sandhya you have no idea what you have done.
Thank you!!!!!!!!
But the ignorant (Ignorance is bliss) and baffled Sandhya looked at me and asked:
“Did I do anything wrong ??”
No girl, you couldn’t have been better.
I smiled.
So there I stood with my version of Hancock (he is the “in” superhero) standing beside me. My appetite all satiated.
And finally the author in question my uncle emerged at last smiled, graced, spoke, read a para, people applauded, we smiled ,He signed a few books .
Time to go.
The world is safe again.

Ps: About the Book
Tittle:”Hidden Monsters”
Author:******
Chapter 1: Strangers at parties.(Damn!!!!)
Publisher:*******
Date: July 2008.

And anybody pointing mistakes in this blog would find place in my uncles sequel coming out next month.
Oh I gotta go now. Osama called up. He can’t seem to take any decision without me. Chow.

Me, My Dad, Newspaper and Budding artists.

My Dad’s love for reading the newspaper is something that we have come to live with over the years, we fought all we could in the beginning but gave up.
The world comes to a standstill the moment the doorbell rings at 6:30am and the paper enters the Handa’s household.
We for the record get 3 newspapers which luckily does not include the local daily.

He is basically a quiz junkie(and his quest for knowledge is fuelled by the newspaper).
It has its advantages. :-)
Trophies adorn the mantle ,And he recently even won a titan collection as the first prize at some corporate quiz(Yo !! Am his nalayak beti who doesn’t even remember the last quiz he won and FYI:I have got the ladies watch from the pair on my wrist now.)
but we don’t have his attention for those 2 hours when the black and white sheets now even colored 2 feet long sheets are in his hands.
I think it flows in the blood as my Dadaji still reads the paper religiously every morning and thinks that the Mr Vermas 10 yr kid would understand his comments on how things are going not so right in the nation (Dadajiiiiiiii he is just 10 years old.)

Now that I have clearly stated a few(it is impossible to state all) instances of what good the newspaper has done to/for my family ,Lets come to the part where it proved as a boon for a barber(he is not worth calling a hair stylist) and spelled trauma for me.
My school batch then read my age as 9 years.
We were all excited as my cousin was getting married, we were aping Madhuri to get the steps right and then the dreadful moment came (these are the times when you wish you had a portable time machine in your pocket) when my mother felt I needed a haircut.

I sported a short pony, but my mom felt a trim would make me look better.
My mom was busy packing so my dad was told to take me for a haircut. He really didn’t feel the need. He seldom does when it can have implications like leaving his newspaper and going for errands but then he finally agreed as it occurred to him that he could still read the paper there.
So off we went and he decided to take me to a men’s saloon.
For him “A haircut is a haircut. What’s so complicated??”Anyone with scissors in his hand qualifies (I thank my stars till date, he could have even settled for the Gardner)
So with Kumar Sanu crooning in the background I entered the battlefield. (This is not exaggeration but is a preamble of what follows!)
It seemed funny initially when the man was trying to impress my dad and start a conversation and all my dad wanted to do was to get back to his paper quickly responded to his namaste with a quick nod and came with not so elaborate instructions of
”baal kat do bache ke”.
Period.

No explanations of length, style what so ever .Just one line.
So there I was left at mercy of a man who made the kitchen Gardner look smarter. And whatever seemed funny a few minutes back suddenly started taking shape as a nightmare.
He started with his job.
I was sitting stiff in the chair with a white sheet tied around my neck.
Hair all wet and making faces or to reword it …trying to find angles at which I should pose at the wedding.
The snip snap of the scissors started and I started getting not so good feelings about how things were turning ,I told papa ”kuch theek nahi hai”…and my dad all busy in agreeing with the editor responded as “hmm”…now my sixth sense again warned me and I again cried .. ”PAPA”…..and I got a reply from behind the paper “hmm good girl”…
So after multiple repeated cries and my dad’s hmm..and umms the haircut got over.
The barber(read barbarian) highly pleased with himself showcased his piece of creation to my dad.
And my dad was satisfied too(He had finished reading the paper).
Looked pleased and said “chalo”.
I was near tears and said “yeh ache nahi kate”.
My dad told the fellow..”Han, yeh ache nahi kate”.
The guy replied…”sir..yeh sanjay dutt style hai”(Remember “saajan” movie..with thick hair on top and thin streaks at the end )
My dad tells me “…”Beta..yeh sanjay dutt style hai”
I sniff and say “mujhe sanjay Dutt nahi banana”
My dad goes “Han yeh theek nahi hai…par ab kya kar sakta hain .Chalo”
All the way back I was a quite kid. No crying .No howling. Not even a small sniff.
But the moment I saw Ma at the door nothing in the world could stop me from telling everyone how My dad preferred the newspaper to my cries which my dad till date states where not explicit enough(yeh right!!!!)
No the trauma does not end here.
I had to face my cousins at the marriage.
So it turned out I was dressed like “Madhuri Dixit” and my hair resembled “Sanjay Dutt”.
Not a pretty picture I assure you.
My cousin bro commented “Tere baal to murgi ki puch hai”
And I proudly replied back nahi “Yeh to Sanjay Dutt style hai…tumhe nahi pata”
What else could I do. But all my attempts to convince my cousins that I adore my hairstyle went down the drain and till date the album has pictures of me sulking at all times.
Most of the time I resemble (or was) a harassed, irritated kid.

I have had short hair till 2 yr engg and now I can boast of strands crossing my waist.
The longest one being three feet.
Don’t ask for secrets…there is just one explanation for them.
I have never asked my dad to accompany me to the salon with his newspaper after that day ever again.

:)

Love you papa.