tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7030857926100776682024-03-13T15:37:59.341-07:00My Thought Bubbles!bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-73134239955118913882013-07-31T09:01:00.000-07:002013-07-31T09:01:07.147-07:00I've grown "flexible"!Someone told me once, its good to look at any hitch in a positive way, instead of cribbing. So, when the worker from Chennai Corporation rang the bell and announced that the romp right outside the gate would be dug out for constructing storm water drains, I looked at it this way-finally, when the rain lashes out, I will not have to swim (kids in tow) in the dirty water.But I managed to ask the guy, how long would the work take from start to finish. Pat came the reply,'2-3 days madam', with a smile. <br />
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I should have guessed it when the guy smiled. '2-3 days' in government parlance means each day consists of nearly 100 hours. The guys who swung into action the minute the bell ringing guy disappeared from my doorstep, are nowhere to be found after digging out the slabs outside. The dug out debris has been heaped to form a little mountain right in the middle of the road, so I needn't suffer alone. Afterall, I have the buses, cars, two-wheelers and what not for hard-to-commute-company. The Government has this very generous policy and would never permit any one person to suffer ALONE.<br />
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But coming to the first line of this post....what's my positive outlook, you ask? For this I need to give a small flashback. While at school, during the sports hour, all I have managed is to take charge of the stopwatch, hold the bags and stuff of girls who ran, jumped, flung the shotput etc, assist the teachers by noting down names for inter school competitions and writing names in certificates. Others names, I mean. But now, the athlete in me has woken up with a bang. I do a long jump to cross the narrow lake(!) when out alone, and do a high jump over the wall, (after almost throwing the kid into the hands of my neighbour), and finally after safely landing,I blow a kiss to the toddler in his mother's arms who cheers me from his 3rd floor balcony! His mother even uses this high drama unfolding every other day at around noon time to feed lunch to her usually obstinate son. bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-29533706819314606012012-03-25T18:38:00.002-07:002012-03-25T19:11:06.749-07:00The Wait is over!...or that is what I thought, when the husband who usually starts at half past seven, declared that he would be leaving an hour early, (and cleverly dodging when I asked him if that would mean he'd be back an hour earlier as well!). This meant I finish cooking breakfast & lunch early which actually means I WAKE UP by 5.00 am!After packing the food and sending the husband off, I see the clock. Just 6.30 am and the kids are fast asleep. I could hit the pillow, I think...or use the time qualitatively to browse..Tada!I send out a little thanks to my husband's orgn who decide to prepone working hours thanks to the planned outages in the city. For a person with one little rascal pestering for a missing crayon and another (who could not even stand without support)trying to climb onto the edge of the sofa with his recenly tonsured head exactly the minute I sit to check mails, an hour of no disturbance from kids means time for myself! So I threw the idea of taking a nap out threw the window and went to have a quick shower with masterplans of reading atleast one post from each of the missed blogs (for over a year), posting a school related query in the parenting forum, and sending pics of recent kids to a cousin who has sent death threats for not doing so for a long time. I step out to quickly check the kids only to find the second brat wide awake, mosquito net flung in a corner and crawling quickly to reach his brother with the ulterior motive of waking him.I grit my teeth and stare at him angrily. The little ladoo flourishes one of his lovely smiles in return and hugs my legs tight.I put the baby on my lap and start rocking him, with the 'raa ra venu' song.. Because I don't sing very well, he slept immediately, and with him in my lap I write this blog:D<br />Just one of those joys of motherhood!bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-76157025205455606942010-06-16T05:17:00.000-07:002010-06-16T05:57:20.877-07:00There's something supremely satisfying..<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_Pu8xUQlIL4tN17zezp9EH90hYGp8LQe5iHpYXhdlbdjV9hSQvHd2d-uGt2mmEpKIyctU-Eqf_rD_seP31NFJDLySbjB-5HY-0CdgvLKan3hL8k9ErcSIhNQCz1RfJOQVGYD6iSaOAs/s1600/DSC01150.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_Pu8xUQlIL4tN17zezp9EH90hYGp8LQe5iHpYXhdlbdjV9hSQvHd2d-uGt2mmEpKIyctU-Eqf_rD_seP31NFJDLySbjB-5HY-0CdgvLKan3hL8k9ErcSIhNQCz1RfJOQVGYD6iSaOAs/s320/DSC01150.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483350717618815058" /></a><br />..when you get to bake cocoa flavoured biscuits for the first time, and ahem... they become a super hit. Also I wasn't very happy with the ginger biscuits monopolizing the "men" shape. And since I was bored baking the same old butter biscuits time and again, I hunted the net for a simple choc recipe. Since I was spoilt for choice with the numerous recipes out there, I brought out my own version. I didn't bother with the measurements at all. I had exactly 125 gm of unsalted butter in the fridge. I cut them into tiny pieces, and giving the blender a break, used my fingers to knead the butter with caster sugar, cinnamon powder, baking pwdr and few drops of vanilla extract. Then mixed the little corn flour that I had at home, about 2 tsp of cocoa pwdr and added as much plain flour as the mixture could absorb, to reach the consistency of chapati dough. Popped the dough into the fridge and took it out after couple of hours only to find the dough to have become like one stiff, heavy rock. I regretted a second for my stupidity, and then a tiny light bulb flashed and made me sprinkle some milk onto the mixture. Voila! Out came the rolling pin, the biscuit cutter and the oven trays, and the biscuits got baked at 180 deg c, for 15 minutes. (ofcourse I had to pre-heat the oven). Since cocoa tastes bitter, and I was a bit doubtful if the sugar I've added would be enough to counter it, I sprnkled some sugar when the biscuits were still warm.<br /><br />I guess this is the first time EVER, I've made something without cup measurements. That's an achievement of sorts for a person who doesn't cook a meal without levelling off rice on the measuring cup!bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-5732051501516063452010-06-10T10:28:00.001-07:002010-07-17T08:31:54.526-07:00Tamil Rhymes for childrenHere are some entries for <a href="http://tulikapublishers.blogspot.com/2010/06/blogathon-4-rhymes-chants-and.html#idc-cover">Tulika's Blogathon</a>. The beauty of any song/poem, lies in the rhyming words in the original language, and the same gets bit disrupted in literal translations. There, I've given a lame excuse for my inept translations!<br /><br />This "sanjadamma.." is one of my favourites. There are other versions too, but I've given the one which is popular in our household. When the baby is able to sit without support and tries to swing back and forth, we say: <br /><br /><strong>"sanjadamma sanjadu<br />sayakkiliye sanjadu<br />kuthu vilakkae sanjadu<br />koyil puravae sanjadu<br />kannae maniyae sanjadu<br />bhushanamae nee sanjadu!"</strong><br /><br /><em>Translation:</em><br />sanjadu-sway/rock back and forth.<br />sayakiliye-colourful parrot <br />kuthuvilkae-lamp/light<br />koyila purave-Temple pigeon.<br />kannae maniye-dear, darling<br />bhushanam-precious, valuable thing.<br />-----------------<br /><br /><strong>"Vikkal azhagi, vilayada pona<br />Vikkala vittu, vekkalai sumai"</strong><br /><br /><em>Translation:</em><br />"Hiccupping beauty, while going to play<br />sod the hiccups and pick the haystack"<br /><br /><em>Usage:</em><br />This one is for when the baby gets hiccups. A tiny thread is held near the child's face and the rhyme is narrated thrice, while circling the thread around, so the baby gets distracted, and finally the thread is placed on his/her head, so h/she looks up and the baby's back is rubbed so as to wind him.<br />-----------------------<br /><br /><strong>"chinna chinna motor<br />periya periya motor<br />naan virumbum motor<br />Naalu chakra motor"</strong><br /><br /><em>Translation:</em><br />Tiny, Tiny car<br />Big Big car,<br />My favourite cars<br />4-wheeled cars"<br /><br /><em>Usage:</em><br />This rhyme is used for toddlers to help them differentiate small from big cars, or some such things. <br /><br />-------------<br />(Edited after The PrintLover's comment with full verse AND translation. Thanks a lot TPL!)<br /><br /><strong>"amma ingae vaa vaa!<br />aasai mutham thaa thaa!<br />ilaiyil soru pottu,<br />eeyai thoora oattu!"</strong><br /><br /><strong>unnai pondra nallaar<br />ooril yaavar ullaar <br />ennaal unakku thollai<br />ethum inge illai <br /><br />aiyam indri solluven <br /><br />orumaiye balamam <br />oathum seyale nalamam<br />avvai sonna mozhiyaam <br />ahde enakku vazhiyaam </strong><br /><br /><em>Translation:</em><br />"Mummy, do come here!<br />and give me a kiss,<br />serve food on the banana leaf<br />and swat the flies away<br /><br />good folks like you<br />who else are in town<br />trouble due to me<br />will be none<br /><br />I'll tell without a doubt<br />unity is strength<br />Advising is for welfare<br />this was prescibed by avvaiyar (tamil poet))<br />and this will be our way of living<br /><br />------------------<br /><strong>"maambazhamam maambazham<br />malgova maambazham<br />Salethu maambazham<br />thithikkum mambazham<br />azhagana mambazham<br />alwa pondra mambazham<br />ungalukku venduma?<br />ingu odi vaarungal<br />pangu poattu thinnalaam!"</strong><br /><br /><em>Translation:</em><br />"Mango, Mango!<br />Malgova Mango<br />Mango from Salem<br />Very sweet Mango<br />luscious mango<br />Halwa like mango<br />Would you like to have some?<br />Come running here<br />We'll share and eat!"<br /><br /><em>Usage:</em><br />Giving an intro to summer's delightful fruit, while emphasising on the sharing habit!<br /><br />--------------------<br /><br /><strong>"Aanai vanthathu thoppula<br />arupparuthathu maambazham<br />Kuthirai vanthathu thoppula<br />kotti parichathu vilampazham!"</strong><br /><br /><em>Translation:</em><br />"An Elephant came to the field<br />and harvested mangoes<br />A horse came to the (same) field<br />and plucked a wood apple"<br /><br /><em>Usage:</em><br />The mention of Yaanai (elephant) is enough to evoke those never ending giggles from babies!<br /><br />--------------------------<br /><br /><strong>"Meow Meow saar!<br />Milk kudikkum saar!<br />Naalu kaalu saar!<br />Orae vaalu saar!"</strong><br /><br /><em>Translation:-</em><br />"Meow Meow sir<br />Milk's your favourite sir!<br />Four legged sir!<br />But only one tail sir"<br /><br /><em>Usage:</em><br />Used to sing for toddlers running behind cats, trying to befriend them!<br />-------------------------<br /><br /><strong>"Dosai amma dosai<br />neyyila sutta dosai<br />arisi maavum, ulundhu mavum,<br />kalandhu sutta dosai<br />appavukku anju<br />ammavukku naalu<br />annanukku moonu,<br />akkalukku rendu<br />paappavukku onnu<br />thinna thinna aasai<br />innum kettal poosai!"</strong><br /><br /><em>Translation:</em><br />"Dosa dosa<br />Dosa made with ghee<br />rice flour, urid flour,<br />mixed to cook the dosa<br />5 for dad<br />4 for mom<br />3 for brother<br />2 for sister<br />1 for baby<br />if someone asks for more<br />they get a scolding"<br /><br /><em>Usage:</em><br />As is obvious, this one is used to enable baby to count backwards!"<br /><br />I had absolute fun doing this. I do remember few more, albeit some like "thaa kuppi thanthana kuppi" and "amma kuthu dhimma kuthu" have some words which have no meaning, but babies gurgle with delight more for the sheer sound of them!bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-55403475515020855602010-06-02T10:31:00.000-07:002010-06-02T10:45:55.820-07:00Can anyone guess....... which track my train of thought leapt to, when I spotted (and bought) these?<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihomT3LX-iAx25EjXfU1zDB3QHl9j4zurwjoLb-in3fHiEuwHrRw_Stdr3vXZmeu74E6vpVcOzjDwSQ7xXCkRv02xXHqYmC-hQbIIwNGKEeG5l2WpDp3_RqZafte6grJaJ3mPHFpkxtmU/s1600/DSC01149.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihomT3LX-iAx25EjXfU1zDB3QHl9j4zurwjoLb-in3fHiEuwHrRw_Stdr3vXZmeu74E6vpVcOzjDwSQ7xXCkRv02xXHqYmC-hQbIIwNGKEeG5l2WpDp3_RqZafte6grJaJ3mPHFpkxtmU/s320/DSC01149.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5478230811715603586" /></a><br />Its amazing the way our brains could think of n number of things in split seconds. Oh ofcourse! in my case, there's an exception : when I'm hungry, my mind goes numb until my tummy is happy;)bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-71403219566309579172010-05-12T05:20:00.000-07:002010-05-12T06:16:35.133-07:00So my Grandma was right all the way"<em>Girls should NOT speak loudly</em>" rebuked my grandma every time I started a conversation. I accused her of being very partial and unfair. She shook her head wisely and said "<em>Your voice is bound to shoot up by several decibels once you have a baby, so practise speaking softly</em>" she declared emphatically.<br /><br /><strong>Maybe grandma is right</strong> is what I thought when I, along with another friend went to meet H. <br />////Now, permit a little digression, dear reader-<br />H is a friend from college. She is one of those soft natured and gentle girls, whom one could turn to when in need. Only, one needs to have a really sharp ear, when on a phone conversation with her. "<em>The handset wouldn't complain of aches and pains if you be a bit louder</em>" we all used to tell her. But on or off the phone, hardly audible she remained.////<br />So, few years later, when we went to meet her, we had forgotten the block number of her aptmt. There were 4 blocks, all similar. Just as we were about to call her mobile, there came a deafening THUD. Followed by a loud, angry voice asking the child to behave and giving a huge explanation about how expensive things are. Though dumbstruck, we instantly recognised the voice, followed it and knocked at H's door. <br /><br />Cut to present. This morning I stepped into the elevator with my little one gaily smiling at the only other person in the lift, and trying to reach for the elevator buttons from his buggy. I was using the oft-repeated, famous-word-of-late "NO" to him. And we got out on our floor. Few minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. It was none other than the man on the lift, flaunting a little shoe which I've seen not rarely. "<em>Guess he kicked his shoe off</em>!" he said, and much to my displeasure, added "<em>I knew you got down this floor, so I came back down, and heard you the minute I stepped out of the lift and followed your voice</em>."<br /><br />Ofcourse I was not flattered. My flat is the farthest one from the lift. Tips for speaking softly, please!bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-83048860480144337842010-05-06T05:31:00.000-07:002010-05-06T08:35:07.941-07:00Angadi TheruT.Nagar is synonymous with mind numbing traffic/crowd, sweat, shops, pollution, commotion. One factor viciously paving way to the other. This Tamil flick <em><strong>Angadi Theru</strong></em>, (Market Place) is based on the lives of the young & vulnerable salespersons slogging at the multi-storey one stop shops in Ranganathan street. <br /><br />The hero of the movie (remarkable performance for a debutant), forced to shoulder responsibilities after his father's sudden demise, discontinues his education and joins as a salesperson in such a shop. He is accompanied by his friend. [With the dhoti-clad, Lord Murugan worshiping owner of the shop being addressed as <em><strong>annachi</strong></em>, all sales people speaking <em><strong>Nellai Tamil</strong></em> and actress <strong>Sneha</strong> modelling for the adverts, it wouldn't take long for anyone to guess which shop is focussed here actually.]<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_yC3rAxmXy8G1tPFkI3DhyyfvFPokgDu-mf9TtuoQjwhAUqYlH_muXkGd3DGR8mVsGSJrM9l-un2Smzt51dwohMDz2R4v5ZEgmcWkZlqpeCjAuYv8hWBPE2EuW4VXLJSPJTeqjlAvV24/s1600/angadi-theru-anjali-vasanthabalan-1-03-04-10.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_yC3rAxmXy8G1tPFkI3DhyyfvFPokgDu-mf9TtuoQjwhAUqYlH_muXkGd3DGR8mVsGSJrM9l-un2Smzt51dwohMDz2R4v5ZEgmcWkZlqpeCjAuYv8hWBPE2EuW4VXLJSPJTeqjlAvV24/s320/angadi-theru-anjali-vasanthabalan-1-03-04-10.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468180321837812450" /></a><br /><br />The hero and his friend are thrilled to work in the air conditioned premises of the showroom after a brief stint of godown work. Their child like enthusiasm is checked by their greedy supervisor, who sqeezes every bit of energy from all the boys in the form of work, not to mention making passes with the girls in the name of punishment. With young boys and girls around, would Cupid's strike be far off? Another check in the form of seperating the boys from girls, by making them work in different floors. However the hero who by now is in love with the vivacious heroine (co-worker), decides to walk off from the job and decide to work along with the street vendors. How they pull off, and what kind of fate is instored for them forms the remaining part of the story. <br /><br />There are 2 sub plots in the movie. One is how a jobless youth, cleans up the public toilet, collects money from every user (although that may not be legally right, he atleast makes it usable) and makes a living. The other is a lame person marrying a prostitute and sheltering her from trouble makers. Though a bit deviating (with the heroine's sister story etc) and a bit more gloomy than necessary, the movie spells optimism.<br /><br />The movie is surely not one of those family entertainers. But its a revelation. Something on the lines of the inside story of all those big shots, who get away with everything, even after a film is made of it and all the stark realities beneath the flowery exterior are exposed. If not anything, one could learn what NOT to ask in an "annachi" shop. That you could get from pencil to pattu podavai far more cheaper than rest of India, is in itself an indication of how poorly the staff are paid. I really hope some social organisation <strong>(not the ones who cry foul at the venue of a fashion show)</strong> steps in and does the needful. As for the common public, I SO wish everyone could boycott the shop atleast as much as possible. <br /><br />The hungry, tired and sullen faces of the sales staff, the strict vigilance of the supervisors in the real shop )on which this film is based) makes one believe their trials shown in the movie are not exaggerated. <br /><br />Couldn't stop adding : when a Vinnai Thaandi Varuvaya manages to make this much noise, why doesn't a movie showcasing the hardship of a meagre wage earner make a similar mark? Also, I have a problem with the phrase "movies for masses/classes". Though not an assiduous movie-goer, I do understand what that means. But, I think the phrase is a kind of double entendre too. Cool movies appeal to the creamier part, while "uncool" hard to believe yet true movies fail to register the required accolades.bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-19320157785415216312010-04-21T05:42:00.000-07:002010-04-25T03:08:10.701-07:00A dive into the chocolate pool!I don't know if I fall under the category of a chocolate addict. With all the calorie consciousness that I am at times engulfed with, I rarely buy chocolates. But when I give in to temptation and DO buy, I presume it my duty to greedily gulp down the whole bar. Though I must say I enjoyed my shared portion of chocolates during childhood much better. My parents were never the buying little treats every now and then type. (That as grandparents, their views have taken a u-turn is a different story). Buying a big bar of chocolate (which almost always would be <strong>Dairy Milk</strong>) was a rarity. When the precious thing does arrive, it would be shared equally, among siblings and cousins. I wouldn't say I enjoyed sharing. Nor did I dislike it. It was just the way we ate chocolates back then. But the wait for the occasion was in itself a pleasure, equivalent to the taste of the chocolate.<br /><br />Then there was this uncle who used to visit Madras on official purposes. His trips were mostly sudden and short ones. But every visit would fetch a dairy milk for the two of us. So when I open the fridge and find the chocolate and if the date was nowhere close to salary day for my parents, it would mean that Bombay uncle has visited. <br /><br />Because I was the only one in the household who wouldn't drink coffee, <strong>Bournvita </strong> was the supplement. On weekends (before tea swayed me over) it was bournvita ice-cream. Recipe? Pop the mug of bournvita your mom prepares into the freezer. Voila. That's it. I was slowly lured towards Complan, but since my brother refused to say "I'm a complan boy" there was no fun in me being the complan girl for long.<br /><br />Bournvita and Dairy Milk. The twin significant part players from Cadbury's in the past weren't enough reason for me to visit <strong>Bournville</strong>. But since the place was very near to where we had decided to go during the weekend, we went there. It is a quiet and serene countryside though not very far from the hustle bustle of Birmingham City. The signboards, the fence, the gateways, whichever direction you turn, you could see purple. The colour of Cadbury. Normally I dislike theme based colours. I consider them to be loud in emphasising their product. But here it seemed really pleasant. (Though I think it is the "you like someone/somthing so much, you tend to see no fault" thing)<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKkL8i2li2LTq3vBery-YyJ4riT4N5l-aXWiTNPg5Lj5dpONtHO8kPeCvSy2JjfIA8Pdjb3cCAJicI96OT7cYWHolqnO8FiloEkkuW2twttJvHeBLA0FfQcl1bQDACPbPV_R_HLvYJFQ/s1600/DSC01056.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKkL8i2li2LTq3vBery-YyJ4riT4N5l-aXWiTNPg5Lj5dpONtHO8kPeCvSy2JjfIA8Pdjb3cCAJicI96OT7cYWHolqnO8FiloEkkuW2twttJvHeBLA0FfQcl1bQDACPbPV_R_HLvYJFQ/s320/DSC01056.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462594159346909522" /></a><br />The minute I stepped out of the train in Bournville, I told my husband that I could smell chocolates! OK. I do fantasize a bit. A quick stroll and we stepped into <a href="http://www.cadbury.co.uk/home/Pages/home.aspx">Cadbruy World</a>. I plonked the child in the husband's arms and hopped off. One would think listening to the origin of cocoa beans and conceptualising the idea of milk chocs would be boring. It wasn't, as the demos were in such a way that even an impatient feet shuffler would sit back and listen. Heck, even if it had been boring, I just would not have regretted, as being in a place which made me reminisce fond memories was in itself satisfying! <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_CGn1dwwFre2n772eJaDKfTZrG06GZoUkFxSFzzAs4ijvJHxosSZaWRNIC5s8x6PCuwunDqzvLVJtaJeHJbepLOePo5lR8QkcCAXT-zMmkVyaAq7cdTwQlExhThuI9tEvMLUoWXavGYI/s1600/DSC01026.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_CGn1dwwFre2n772eJaDKfTZrG06GZoUkFxSFzzAs4ijvJHxosSZaWRNIC5s8x6PCuwunDqzvLVJtaJeHJbepLOePo5lR8QkcCAXT-zMmkVyaAq7cdTwQlExhThuI9tEvMLUoWXavGYI/s320/DSC01026.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462595595139683522" /></a><br /><br />And surely you would love a photograph of yourself fully made of chocolates? Then there was the world's biggest Cadbury shop. I'd have expected the shop to be really huge, but it wasn't! It is one of those places which really would stay close to my heart. Purple rules and reigns, I say!bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-27454417426858697012010-04-07T06:43:00.000-07:002010-04-08T01:04:01.742-07:00When will there be good news?-Kate AtkinsonHow hard could it get to put the bitter part of your past behind you? Hard enough, when your shadowy past threatens to strike again.<br /><br />Six year old Joanna Mason witnesses what a child her age couldn't stomach. The murder of her sister, baby brother and mother, by a complete stranger called Andrew Decker amidst the fields of rural Devon. It couldn't be said that the little girl lost her idyllic happy family, as the happiness was snatched already by her novelist dad who left them all for another woman. Not a self starter by nature, she's prompted by her mum <em>"run Joanna, run!"</em> and she flees before the psycho killer could take her life as well. And is later found safely sleeping behind grass.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Z2LyTTkqA8_v9s_i6p-OVPh8NwpRUtkHwurMNWt24_6i-MzCtiKFgGB1ADAkaPpADm2EhaujNoUwhZcESHJWr8OPUsYfGktGxFuMEVnIlxyz28VrYUq8GrHBQTaol-Ixj-4a2xP4M1I/s1600/when-will-there-be-good-news%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 97px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Z2LyTTkqA8_v9s_i6p-OVPh8NwpRUtkHwurMNWt24_6i-MzCtiKFgGB1ADAkaPpADm2EhaujNoUwhZcESHJWr8OPUsYfGktGxFuMEVnIlxyz28VrYUq8GrHBQTaol-Ixj-4a2xP4M1I/s320/when-will-there-be-good-news%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457673056993508610" /></a><br />Thirty years later, the little girl is Dr.Joannna Hunter (Jo for short) (married to Neil Hunter) and a mother of a young baby. Reggie, 16 (with looks of a child but with an ancient soul) is the mother's help. Chief Inspector Louise, knocks at their door one morning to inform (and warn) about the release of Andrew Decker and the unwelcome media attention that the doctor may be subjected to. Jo reckons it would help to "escape" for a bit. <br /><br />So one morning when Reggie drops into the Hunters' house, she's sent back by Neil saying Jo has gone to help an ailing aunt for few days. To Reggie it appears that the doctor has "disappeared". Leaving behind her mobile and purse was so unlike the very organised doctor. She voices her suspicions to Louise, who only asks her to stop fantasizing. Only, the mystery surrounding Neil's business and his weird behaviour makes Louise think in the same "disappeared" angle. It turns out that the whole aunt episode is a farce. So has Joanna heard her ancestral voices prompting <em>"run Joanna run" yet again</em>, and fled with the baby to escape from Decker? What would explain Neil's mysterious business which invites legal intervention? Is the intuitive Reggie merely misleading the police force by making a mountain out of a molehill?<br /><br />The author parallely brings in Jackson Brodie, ex soldier and ex policeman, who ventures out in search of an identity which he never claims till the end. The train he travels crashes and he is saved by Reggie resuscitating him. The cause of the accident is an old Ms MacDonald who is Reggie's tutor. As a return favour, Reggie seeks Jackson's detective knowledge to find Jo. Interestingly, Jackson was the policeman who found 6 year old Jo sleeping in the field where her kin were slaughtered. Would Jackson find Jo <em>again</em>? <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1pvcER7LjiI-_BHf8AKwuTtRif0R8cok51v5EtW8mU_fkN391Is-U-yoJXZauGkj7yY_ABxuDdL0lu_uFaObV0ha-iz-XqdPaFNyyHGLoUxQwa79k0FvZBwRQ2Bhf8eEw5Q_bM3tynQ/s1600/kate_atkinson_small%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 108px; height: 158px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1pvcER7LjiI-_BHf8AKwuTtRif0R8cok51v5EtW8mU_fkN391Is-U-yoJXZauGkj7yY_ABxuDdL0lu_uFaObV0ha-iz-XqdPaFNyyHGLoUxQwa79k0FvZBwRQ2Bhf8eEw5Q_bM3tynQ/s320/kate_atkinson_small%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457673651077147058" /></a><br />The pace of the narration doesn't slacken even once. There are no loose ends. If there are any at all, the reader is not left with any time to ponder on those. The appetite for what happens next, grows with the turn of every page. And the author assures absolute pleasure to the reader with her dry humour and gripping narration. My only problem with the book was Jackson Brodie, the ex cop, portrayed as a person being cheated time and again in his marriages. But hey, successful professionals, at times do end up as personal disasters. On a quick recap of the story once I was done with the book, I did feel that it was the flow and eloquence of the author's prose which superseded the <em>not so unique</em> story.<br /><br />I understand that this book, though not a sequel, does bear characters from Atkinson's other novels. Some may categorize this as mystery/crime fiction, others may tag this as a family saga. In any case, the book promises a delightful read. Isn't that enough good news ?<br /><br />Rating:4/5bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-45563430200651415062010-04-01T06:46:00.000-07:002010-04-04T05:04:53.703-07:00The Gift - Cecelia AhernI haven't read Cecelia Ahern's more popular PS I love you. Occasionally, reading the gist of some books seem sufficient to me. Also, sometimes for no particular reason, I don't read books/authors which I <em>always</em> see on the shelves. Both the reasons hold good for me not going in for her books. 4th March was World Book Day and the whole month was full of book sale, film nights with movies based on books etc in the library. "The Gift" occupied one of the coveted space for "great reads" in the past month, and I took the chance to read the author for the first time. (This would most likely be the last time as well).<br /><br />The book starts off with a teenager, in a fit of anger throwing a turkey on the window of his dad's "other woman's" house on Christmas Day. He is detained for this act, and the police chief Raphie, in an effort to put some sense into the boy's head, tells him the story of Lou.<br /><br />The character "Lou" is no strange one in today's world. He is an ambitious guy, with a high flying career, is married and has 2 kids. He has no time for his family because "Job could fire you, but family will not". He has given his family everything except him, his time and his fidelity. (Bored already?)<br /><br />Here comes the (supposedly) interesting twist in the tale. One morning on his way to work,he offers his coffee to a man called Gabe, shivering in the cold Irish winter, begging. He's impressed by the young guy and eventually offers him a job in his office. Soon Gabe gets into the good books of everyone in the office. Lou, who always has 2 things to do at the same time, two places to be at the same time,<br />finds the efficiency and agility of Gabe intimidating. Its almost like Gabe is omnipresent. <br /><br />Till this point the book seemed promising.<br /><br />Gabe seeks to help Lou double up (literally) by offering him some pills so he could satisfy his family, while being there at office as well. Lou becomes a star at personal and the professional front. Now, things happen in such a way that make you wonder just WHO this Gabe is. Is he God Himself or a product of Lou's hallucination or a man with powerful knowledge in science and research? You tend to sift through the pages again but will not get any answer. Although I do like it when the reader is left to guess, I dislike it when the reader is left confused, or do I say even betrayed. However, that the ending is a sad one, is a clever move by the author. If not for that, one would definitely tend to dismiss the book as a boring preachy and philisophical sermon. The book does pick up pace here and there but one would prefer a <em>subtle approach</em> to what we all have heard over and over again in our Moral Science classes (value of time etc), than saying <em>time is precious</em>, in so many words. We have never liked advices, have we?<br /><br />I'm not sure of Cecelia's other books, but this is not the best book to try start reading her works. Because I've read this first, Its going to be difficult if not impossible for me to try her other works.<br /><br />rating : 2.5/5bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-17159357879930606882010-03-23T07:14:00.000-07:002010-03-24T06:50:57.362-07:00Its all in the mind, reallyA friend invited me to her son's second B'day. I dropped in early to help her decorate the house. After sellotaping the balloons and ribbons I started arranging the letters of the boy's name to pop them up. She pulled me aside and said not to be angry, but she's changed the kid's name, based on the numerologist's advice. I was gobsmacked. Because, she had already changed the way her name is spelt sometime back. And her initials. And her wedding anniversary date. I was worried for her. But she felt (and still feels) these changes have indeed solved some of the problems which were posing as potential threats to her peace of mind. I am convinced that its her positive thinking combined with stubborn determination which bounces her back from any depths of worries and NOT any magical rearrangement of alphabets or numbers. But I know better than to advice her on this. I would never dissaude her from believing in her theories. If those things make her happy so be it. <br /><br />But I draw a fine line when it comes to astrology/numerology. I'm not the kind who'd call them absolute humbug. But I would not run, horoscope in hand, at the first instance of trouble striking.<br /><br />I'm not a very religious person either. I follow traditions only to the extent that I can. And I do them for my own/immediate family circle's satisfaction or just of out of habit. My father says one should either follow the system to the T, or be bold enough to say NO to such practices. but I'm content to balance (not hang) somewhere in between.<br /><br />I don't make a face or ruffle my nose when someone eats non-veg, and consider people who do make faces to be really rude. And I do not like comments such as "She claims to be a vegeterian, but try tempting her with this pastry, you'll know!". Yes I've tried eating eggs, but disliked them. But I do eat <em>some</em> cakes made of eggs, as hey, they are tasty, so. If asked whether I'm a veg or a non-veg, I say I'm veg. If someome says I'm not being true to myself they're wrong. And I will not try and argue with people to prove my point.<br /><br />I keep a bindhi even when I wear jeans/skirts or the most elegant frock coat. Well, the size of the bindhi may be small (Resembles a mosquito bite, is what my mother would say). But I don't panic when my bindhi falls off even when I'm in a saree and I couldn't find the bindhi packet in my handbag;<br /><br />But I'm a temple person. It is not that I need to visit temples on a regular basis, but when at close proximity, I make it a habit. So when this friend of mine said there's a Vinayakar Temple 5 mins from where I live, I set out. I usually google any place before I visit, but since my friend said its about 10 steps from the shop I frequent, I went without doing the usual homework. The Temple was a small one but I was happy that there's a place of worship to visit. After returning home, I surfed for some info like how long the temple has been there etc. and came to know that the place where the temple now stands was apparently a leisure centre. Also, the tone of the article in which I read this was meant to give an idea of how people have gone to the extent of huddling many Gods together in for convenience sake. I was jolted a bit but not utterly shocked. So what if the place where a Peter was probably swimming or running on the treadmill has now become the place where a Palani comes to seek blessings from God? One could pray with solemnity at any place (be it a temple or not) is my humble opinion. <br /><br />Mind and our numerous beliefs could really get complex. Not very frequently, I have found myself contradicting what I <em>used</em> to believe/follow. But why not, I ask? Its ok to change as the circumstances so warrant.bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-70664132622320325712010-03-20T06:44:00.000-07:002010-03-20T15:18:21.317-07:00Facelift<em>I lack the virtue of Patience in the most frivolous circumstances. I can patiently wait for hours/days months together, but could lose my cool when it comes to short waits. This unfailingly happens whenever I've got to choose an id.</em> So when I was recommended by a friend about a review site, I was hooked on to it within seconds and wanted to participate within minutes. Whenever I'm excited I'm at my creative worst. (Safely, let's not talk about the scenario when I'm not excited here). Interesting things happened much later, and following the trail of people for whose sake I would have clung to the site, I walked out of the site. As though the site was waiting for my exit, there came an option where one could change their IDs. <br /><br />In the meantime, Smita decides to blog. I decide to frantically participate. To know what happened next, pls read words in italics in para one again. (if you have patience, that is). ALthough, this time round, I really loved my id. Only, I was not happy in not having a proper blog name. Now, that's taken care of.bouncingbubblehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13693197918528987889noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-68607426428947078962010-01-20T04:07:00.000-08:002010-01-20T04:54:09.765-08:00Enna Kodumai Saravanan idhuTime:10.00am <br />I realise that there's less than a pint of milk in the fridge.<br />I wrap myself with the hooded coat, scarf, gloves, boots what not. Plus wrap the child with all mentioned, and force him onto the pushchair.<br /><br />Time:10.20am<br />All set to go.<br /><br />Time:10.30am.<br />Back from the shop with the milk can. Found panju sleeping, so quickly gave it a thought. Because I'd like to spend more time out, than getting ready to go out whenever possible, I decided to shop for a ball for the child, something I wanted to do, ever since he started walking. How simple does that sound? So I first went into the local supermarket. They turned me down and suggested toysrus (exclusive toy shop). At toys r us, they only had basket ball or football, which even I found it hard to lift. I showed my child and told them I'm buying for him. With a big grin she said "I know what you're looking for" and went in and brought a huge packet full of blue and green, pink and orange balls. "I'll have the orange one please", I said. "No darling, they come in packs of 100.. we don't sell them in singles!". I don't need 100s of them cluttering my house. Thankuverymuch. So I went straight into this corner Chinese shop, and bought this one monster of a ball. Hope its not too small for a 15 month old;)<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUOrOVPlb3hksTW-mFQWwal-m7qWgQuk6lRpCGRFnnCEaCO4vSfgon0JgyXujNSInC1Wu4v52J3RqwXIaFz5si6SRRczaLD7utn9xnFzrgRrjN8neH7brVSfmzwA2dAJKYkk6Vw5lXvP9/s1600-h/DSC00798+(Medium).JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnUOrOVPlb3hksTW-mFQWwal-m7qWgQuk6lRpCGRFnnCEaCO4vSfgon0JgyXujNSInC1Wu4v52J3RqwXIaFz5si6SRRczaLD7utn9xnFzrgRrjN8neH7brVSfmzwA2dAJKYkk6Vw5lXvP9/s320/DSC00798+(Medium).JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428800261081999282" /></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-25343109990480127852010-01-11T02:14:00.000-08:002010-01-12T05:43:27.106-08:00Belatedly watched and readMaybe because it has been snowing unusually for about two weeks dissuading me from venturing out, I was able to catch up with 3 idiots, Paa and London Dreams in the DVD. Enjoyed 3 idiots. Though it was heart breaking to see Maddy get less droolable these days. I even wondered why aging stars had to do the roles. Anyway I've got to read FPS to understand the controvery surrounding the movie better. About the much talked about delivery scene, I felt the scene was a bit forced (though it was certainly not as bad as the infamous Salaam Namaste scene).<br /><br />And what was the idea behind Paa? If it was to showcase ABs acting prowess, I didn't appreciate much of it. To me it was a story, done to death. It would have touched a chord, if a child suffering from progeria was roped in.<br /><br />I liked London Dreams the most (save the ending). I have always liked Salman and Ajay. Only, I disliked Asin and her wasted role in the movie. <br /><br />Now finally, Palace of Illusions. (I really feel like the only person on Planet Earth to have read this book so late). I liked the book. And I was expecting to be awestruck but I was really not. I was transported to a different world with the way the book started, up until the stage when Bheeshma comes to take Panchaali and the Pandavas after their marriage. After that, to me, it was just the story which was told, and not much from Draupadi's pov. Maybe I was just greedy for more of a woman's perceptions. But the magic in the writing just seem to wear off.(atleast till the Great War started). <br /><br />I am now very curious to know if the episode on Karna and Draupadi's love for each other is just a figment of the author's imagination or was it real. I found the mysterious love very fascinating. <br /><br />I am now hooked onto Anita Desai's books. (Though something tells me its going to be a year before I finish the books. Having a toddler at home, helps you in citing him/her as the reason, for you slowing down. That you may have born with lazy bones all over would be conveniently pushed to the background ;)).Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-23113437521113669512010-01-04T00:36:00.000-08:002010-01-04T05:36:51.352-08:00What crossed my mindJust like every other peron, on the last day of 2009, I was contemplating on the happenings in my life, when few childhood reminiscences brought a smile on my face.. <br />...I used to dread the thought of someone asking me what my New Year resolution was. (Why was it was an unwritten rule that everyone ought to have a resolution?)<br /><br />...I thought saying "same to you" was unfriendly when someone wishes you "Happy New Yr". Wish you the same was slightly better, but I was happier with "Happ New Yr". And being the wicked guy that my brother was, he used to chase me throughout the day with "same to you".<br /><br />...Dec 31st is a close friend's B'day. So few of us, friends, used to gang up in the terrace of her house, and have a blast. (If nothing, we just used to talk the whole evening. Girls can never run out of topics to chat).<br /><br />...I used to join granny in giving long lectures about how people throng temples on Jan 1st, while there's only less than half the crowd during Pongal/Varuda pirappu.<br /><br />...On New Year's eve, I used to strictly tell dad not to rebuke me even if I forget to switch off the motor when the tank overflows, and to mom not to take it out on me if she missed the ladies spl bus, and had to board the already packed to capacity bus. This, as I felt if I bear the brunt of someone's anger, on the 1st day of the year, I would face with similar situations every other day. The senti idiot that I was!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-28047740743476636072009-12-10T03:51:00.000-08:002009-12-10T04:38:17.817-08:00Why the husbd. will think twice before coming home lateGood news : We've zeroed in on a house, so will be shifting soon.<br />Bad news : Husbd is busy.<br />(btw, husbd is being busy, everytime there's something significant going on-got to check if this is sheer escapism he he)<br /><br />There was loads to pack. Loads to dispose. I didn't know where to start. Can't wait for the husbd till weekend to do the honours, as we've got to shift Saturday morning. There were lots to do, I just couldn't figure where to start. So, I decided to take it easy. (take it easy=putting my feet up and relaxing on the sofa and let the mind do a bit of impertinent and unnecessary wandering like how Tamil actress Nadhiya could never age etc.,). <br /><br />After what seemed like a nanosecond, I found myself staring at my husbd. I coudln't immediately gauge his expression. As an involuntary reaction, I looked at the clock.<br />So what I thought was a nanosecond was a good one hour. I had slept like a log of wood. Husbd had knocked the door (maybe he should have banged it instead). No answer. He's rang my mobile. No answer. He's gone down the lift to buzz the security phone. No answer. I usually lock the door from the inside, so he's never tried opening the door with the same key that we use to lock from outside. A neighbour suggested using the same key, and it has worked.<br /><br />I had put the mobile in silence mode, while patting the baby to sleep, but I had no explanations for missing the phone beeps and door knocks. Maybe I had plugged into the ipod?<br /><br />God, please save me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-35411329742877363892009-11-27T02:52:00.000-08:002009-11-27T03:55:09.991-08:00Confusional Consequences!So its house hunting time, yet again. And this time, Husbd has carefully said, "its your choice"! Well, I didn't feel flattered, as that was just a tactful way of saying that he's too busy to take the strain of house hunting. <br /><br />I got my details and requirements registered with every other letting agency that I came across. This way, I wouldn't be missing out on any suitable property, I thought. I didn't spare the few websites where you get email alerts on rental properties as well. So I was happy that I've taken the first step in a very organised fashion. O N L Y , I didn't make a list of whom I've contacted. That wouldn't have mattered much.. B U T, I realised that the requirements which I've given to some have been inconsistent and contradictory.. that also would have been sorted out, U N T I L, this guy called up my husbd's mobile and asked him if we'd like to view a one bed apmt for £900.. husbd has said that's beyond our budget for a one bed apmt, and the guy has said your wife said its fine as long as its near the shops and tube station. Would I have said that? Well, I may have! <br /><br />What was more interesting was this conversation over the phone:<br />Me: Hi there! I have an appointment to view properties this Saturday at 10 in the morning. D'ya think I could come in today instead?<br />Agt:I'm sorry, but we haven't booked any appmts on Saturday. Whom did you speak to earlier?<br />Me:I didn't get her name. <br />Agt: Was it Dan? <br />Me:Sorry, I didn't get her name at all.<br />Agt:Wait. You said its a she?<br />Me:yeah, it was a lady that I spoke to. <br />Agt:Guess you've called the wrong company. We've never hired women at all in this company. <br />I could only be thankful that I didn't indeed go in person. Spared the strain of picking my jaw from the floor.<br />I racked my brains. I already had to keep the 12 noon appmt on Saturday with another company as well. Although I had not taken her name, I remember jotting down the address. So I sought dear mr. google's help yet again. A N D, I stared at what I saw on the screen for a sec and laughed out loud. As it appeared it was the same company which I was to make it at noon time. I had double booked! I'm just over worked you see ;)<br />BTW, this is what happens when you T H I N K you're clicking, whereas all the while you've been video-ing :D<br /><OBJECT class=BLOG_video_class id=BLOG_video-43f10c82d53ab5a7 height=266 width=320 contentId="43f10c82d53ab5a7"></OBJECT>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-64756602182449782062009-11-19T06:56:00.000-08:002009-11-19T07:35:36.086-08:00Just about this and thatHow exciting would it be to get back in touch with an old friend?<br /><br />This Saturday,I received a call around noon time. It was the excited voice of my mother : "do you remember that friend of yours? Her dad..." and then I lost the connection. Sitting thousands of miles away from home, only triggered all negative thoughts on what my mother was about to say. She called again within few seconds and thankfully put a fullstop to my wild speculations. Apparently my friend's dad had visited my house to get my contact info, as I had lost touch with the girl. This girl was a close buddy from school days, got married quite early, shifted places a dozen times eventually losing contacts with me. She had very sweetly sent her dad to my place to know how I've been. Numbers were exchanged, calls were made and we sank into sweet memories. I felt cared for, and happy.<br /><br />x----------x----------x<br /><br />How exasperating this could be?<br /><br />Couple of hours later, I signed into the few social networking sites that I am a silent member of. While browsing through the ever interesting friend suggestions, I happened to see couple of names that I had already added months ago. Some have ceased being friends with me probably, as I've been deleted from <em>their </em>lists, and the poor software, innoccently prompts them as suggestions! Seriously, things couldn't get more kiddish. I felt bad; for maybe around 5.5 seconds.. (Thank you Almighty for the busy life that you've given me). Not responding or acknowledging is EVEN more kiddish. I'd rather someone add another as a friend, only if they want to know and want to continue to know them. But hey, that's just my 2 cents.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-44066628520684245592009-06-18T08:50:00.000-07:002009-06-22T13:56:05.929-07:00A cute knackI recently switched over to a new mobile service provider with better features. The old provider had sent a cute card with very cute hand written messages.. Some of which are <br />"Don't forget us. It's been great, and if you ever fancy coming back, our arms are open."<br />"It won't be the same without you, but we wish you the best of luck if its really time to move on.. If you're not sure, ring us on ****** and we'll talk it thru. No pressure!"<br />"Was it something we said?If we went wrong somewhere and disappointed you, tell us what happened and we'll do our best to make it up to you."<br />If its a money thing, we can work something out. We could add a juicy credit to your bill or switch to a lower tariff. The lowest tariff is only ** per month."<br />:)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-35921130580788483332009-06-13T01:38:00.000-07:002009-06-13T14:31:28.847-07:00Her DoubtsOnce upon a time there was a little girl who wouldn't venture out of the protective atmosphere of home unless it was SO essential.. She couldn't understand, nor appreciate what was so rosy out there beyond the seas, far from homeland.. And what made people who did go out, stick there and not come back.. But abroad she did go... and the place just grew on her... Time came when she had to return.. but she wasn't exactly pleased.. Has she grown intolerant? Has she ceased to think like the little girl that she was? Has she got SO used to BEING AWAY FROM HER OWN PEOPLE, that she's now confused about returning? Does she find it easier living away?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-53938324061280125302009-06-11T01:46:00.000-07:002009-06-11T02:19:50.382-07:00Of phone callsBEFORE<br />Me : Amma, how are you?<br />Amma : You tell me first.. How are u doing? Are u eating well? <br />Don't have oats or cornflakes for breakfast.. don't be lazy to make idlis..Don't forget to check if the door is locked properly... Don't read too much and strain your eyes.. or sit in front of the laptop for a long time.. ETC.<br /><br />AFTER<br />Me : Amma, how are you?<br />Amma : let that be.. You tell me first.. How is panju doing? Are you sterilizing his feeding bowls & spoons properly? Don't bring the porridge anywhere near him when its too hot.. Don't be busy reading while he's playing, or he'll put something in his mouth... btw what's he doing now? sleeping?? then why did u call now?u can take rest only when he's sleeping...<br /><br />Ok. I am still being cared about.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-45501478279997258272009-06-02T02:22:00.000-07:002009-06-03T15:17:27.167-07:00Family Matters-Rohinton Mistry<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAe6krDs3gQ2pSspjFQ9qHeNyXzZcADG56fcLexhgm_90orRVlh0p-AAcPmR9iWuzhIIPBtqyavwgE5iqH4zjiCV2LIxke8aCPBDY3_HEWU060NUDb9DdtzQ3hQVDk-Eb1gF5pmK_syjt/s1600-h/familymatters.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 176px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFAe6krDs3gQ2pSspjFQ9qHeNyXzZcADG56fcLexhgm_90orRVlh0p-AAcPmR9iWuzhIIPBtqyavwgE5iqH4zjiCV2LIxke8aCPBDY3_HEWU060NUDb9DdtzQ3hQVDk-Eb1gF5pmK_syjt/s320/familymatters.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343223038306495522" /></a><br />If I ditch a book mid-way it could only mean it is one hopeless book. But if I toy with the idea of giving up reading a book albeit a brilliant one, it means that the book is forcing me to ruminate on issues that I choose not to think about i.e., if the book <em><strong>disturbs</strong></em> me. I found myself picking and dumping <strong>"Family Matters"</strong> off and on. Pun intended. Mistry has sure chosen the best possible title for the book, which is in itself a double entendre.<br /><br />Nariman Vakeel, a retired English professor and an aged widower, lives with his middle-aged step children (Coomy & Jal). He is haunted with memories of his deceased lover (Lucy), whom he never got to marry. Memories of love haunt his mind, Parkinson's disease enfeeble his body. To make matters worse, he fractures his ankle during one of his perfunctory walks, making him bed ridden...He's considered an unwanted burden and is forcibly dumped in his biological daughter's (Roxana's) place. Roxana's husband who is not very pleased about the whole thing finds himself helpless in the hands of fate. Amidst Roxana's laborious yet affectionate care, Yezad's inability to alter the hapless situation, Coomy's cunning plots to distance her step father, <em><strong>is the dignity of an old man at stake. </strong></em><br /><br />Ofcourse, as with most of Mistry's other novels, its a Parsi family that the story revolves around.<br /><br />Its both funny and sad, to think of the ways parents do so much for children, and children grow up and have second thoughts in taking care of elders at their twilight years. Isn't oldage called second childishness?<br /><br />Not only is the author's narration strikingly honest and down to earth in portraying the lives of the various characters involved, the sarcasm with which he gets across the message is incomparable. Few highlights-<br /><br />-Nariman inadvertently dirties the bed with his feces and the stink gets Coomy confused. <em><strong>"Nariman decided:he would open his eyes and come clean. He smiled the next instant, amused by the thought-clean was a state much to be desired in his present condition."</strong></em>. His thoughts are hopelessly sad, yet conveyed in a lighter vein.<br /><br />-Roxana leads a happily married life with Yezad and their two sons in "Pleasant Villa". The name of the house only becomes an irony after the sick Nariman's entry into their family. What's more incongruous is "Chateu Felicity" which is what the house which Nariman shared with his step children is called. Though the house seems palatial what with seven rooms, the hearts of the stepchildren aren't accomodative enough. <br /><br />-When questioned if Coomy isn't feeling even the least bit guilty, she answers <em><strong>"Conscience is easier to look after than Pappa".</strong></em>. Bloody brilliantly blunt, I'd say.<br /><br />If Yezad's woebegone family scenario isn't a trouble enough, his employer adds to his exasperation by announcing his desire to run the elections at one time saying that his "beloved Bombay is being raped" and playing Santa to all others, not considering that his own employee would do with few extra bucks. But Yezad is sketched as having an amicable relationship with his boss. Wonder what stops him from openly asking for a hike/promotion instead of ploying unnecessary tactics. The lengthy description of the Parsi death ceremony was another uncalled for detail. Another area which I found faltering was the solution which Jal finds to all problems, financial and otherwise. It was disturbingly sudden.<br />.<br />But what stands out the most is the transformation of Yezad from a moody person to an elightened one. Helping a dying person to die peacefully, sure is the best way for one to assuage all other misdeeds. The conversations between Yezad and his father in law are witty and seem real. <br /><br />The book is definitely worth a read. Though heart wrenching at places, its not a gloomy book in its entirety. <em><strong>To live with parents, or to leave them by themselves is a tricky conundrum. Be it as it may.... ultimately Family, matters... </strong></em><br /><br />rating:4/5Unknownnoreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-53476698360076852232009-05-22T13:00:00.000-07:002009-05-22T13:07:52.352-07:00Remember Me? by Sophie Kinsella<em><strong>Feeling blue? Chocolates and Soft Music aren't the only ways to up your spirits. Books that could make you grin ear to ear promise even more fun!</strong></em><br /><br />Lexi (the protagonist) wakes up in a hospital bed after an accident, only to find out that she's forgotten the last 3 years of her past. And in those 3 years, she's become a high-nose boss from a merrily gossiping girl, an absolute fitness freak from an indulging glutton and a well-groomed perfectionist from a snaggletooth, unorganised giggling just another girl.<br /> <br />Needless to say she's confused. And she's hardly able to obtain any help from her sister (who's a scheming extortionist) and her mother (who feels her dogs require more attention than a recovering daughter). To add to the chaos, out of the blue comes Jon who claims to be Lexi's lover. Now, why would she have had an extra marital affair when she's married to the love of her life! Lexi's also clueless about why her old buddies seem to desert her. How has she got herself transformed into a person whom some people hate to even recognise, while others are proud to be associated with? And is this Jon guy telling the truth? How funny would it be if Lexi happens to recover her lost memory ? <br /> <br /><em><strong>Sophie Kinsella</strong></em> has a contagiously cheerful way of writing. One is sure to be entertained. There's something to laugh out loud in every page. This feel good factor is one reason I make sure to grab every book of hers. While reading her book "The Undomestic Goddess", I was being all critical about the flaws here and there. But there are times when you should NOT put on your thinking cap... instead just sit, have a good laugh and move on. Especially works when one is stressed out or weary of reading/watching all tear jerkers and serious heavy subjects. I would liken this book to giving way to temptations for a day, when on a strict diet. <br /><br />The author also has a knack of making the main character unfailingly adorable. If you fell in love with the innocence and gaiety of Becky in the Shopaholic series, you're sure to associate with the snap decision-maker and emotionally vulnerable Lexi. There's a certain degree of suspense in WHY the protagonist becomes hell bent on her career overnight. Ofcourse any vigilant reader could easily guess half-way through the book, but the author does manage to maintain the tempo for most part. And didn't I say earlier not to prod on this and that?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-34744777230970570462009-05-20T12:52:00.000-07:002009-05-20T13:20:21.871-07:00I'm overwhelmedTwo posts, same day? That's not like me, is it? And I'm not any less busy for goodness sake! <br /><br />Here I prepare dinner, (which is rasam, rice and potato fry for records sake heheh), come here and pour out the trivial taxi talk in the form of blog, and then get back to have dinner. I ask if all others are done with dinner, my father-in-law says "I'll eat after ur done". Yet again. And even without peeping into the kitchen, I could foretell that he would leave few potatoes just in case someone is tempted to have some more. Yet again. <br /><br />As I was attacking the potato curry (unmindful of the baby bulge which I'm still fighting to get rid of), he asks me to come and join him to watch the Chelsea Flower Show on the telly. All because I once remarked very casually that I like gardens. Honestly, this might be a tiny gesture, but I'm touched. So though the show was more on some boring seeds, fertilisers and manure, and less on the blooms, I watched the show. <br /><br />ps:Other than b/f lunch and dinner, I snack on ...err, fruits! My fil has just lunch and dinner and NO BREAKFAST!! people who could give their meal a miss, please please share how ur able to cope! as for me, I explode like a volcano out of anger<br /><br />pps:I'm back to my pre-preg weight, which is... ok, let's just say not too bad! Guys, treat yourself to low-fat icecreams on my behalf!!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-703085792610077668.post-5416690781173844792009-05-20T12:03:00.000-07:002009-05-20T12:38:45.187-07:00Lan-guage-sSo the snail is back again. Yeah, me... Just when I was thinking of one post per day (!!), I slacken.<br /><br />Today's conversation with the taxi driver triggered this post.. Taxi drivers are either too grumpy or too chatty.. How I react depends highly on my state of mind, how good my lunch was etc. Today I boarded the taxi with the baby, and this driver was a cute wrinkled 50 something. ( Wrinkles DO look cute on some!). He had this cheery air around him, as he asked me if I speak to the baby often. To my reply in the affirmative, he asked with huge curiosity if I baby talk in English or my own language. I found this funny. I mean, isn't there something called mother tongue? I told him any baby could only understand his/her mother tongue for the start.. and other languages need to be taught! The driver was relentless.. He emphatically said, the language that you guys speak at home is easily grasped, and its not that the baby's got some innate knowledge of the same. (This got me thinking and I made a mental note that I need to google this out. Any idea people?)<br /><br />I told him you Britishers are lucky in that you'll have the same language at home and school. And I was reminded of how some Telugu girl struggled with Tamil being her second language at school. But, hey she got to learn and excel an additional language. As the taxi arrived at my destination, I paid and told the guy with finality "maybe u guys aren't that lucky! you seldom get the necessity to learn an extra language and that sounds boring!!". He chose not to respond..rather I chose to get out of the car before he got a chance to respond. I had barely stepped out, while someone announced the clinic is closed due to a suspected gas leak! I had to make a detour in the same taxi. I kept my big mouth shut. So did the cute old man.<br /><br />As for the lump in the neck, something which could wait for 5 months, could wait a month longer, no? India, here I come!!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6