When paracetamols fail...
And smoky cappuccino does not bring the cheer…
When the day seems too long…
And the night does not bring much sleep…
When life feels like puke, and friends don’t call…
There is one thing that still works…
Sunny Deol in Damini…
When he says ‘Yeh dhai kilo ka haath jab uthta hai na…aadmi uthta nahin…uth jata hai’
OR
‘Chaddha, is case mein tujhe bijli ka aisa jhatka lagega, ke tu jhatakna bhool jayega’ (and makes the head movement to imitate Chadhdha)
OR
Wipes the blood on his hands on a villain’s shirt (while Sunny is still slightly disoriented with alcohol)
OR
Says ‘Kanoon ki dalali se izzat ki nilami pe utar aya hai, Chaddha? Is peshey ko bhadwagiri kehtey hai.’
OR
Simply aims a puff of cigarette smoke on Chaddha’s face…
The world seems to be in good hands again…
And there is that sudden filmy sense of security…that travels straight from the TV screen to a feverish mind.
(I have never been a crazy fan of Sunny Deol…or masala flicks…or action…or thundering dialogues…or heroes with terrific stunts...or machine guns and melodramatic courtroom scenes. But watched Damini again today, after years...while sofa-ridden with mild fever. And must admit, I am thrilled…all over again.)
Monday, May 18, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Being a Mother...
It’s true I’ve never changed diapers
But I have wiped the tears off my child’s face…
It’s true that I’ve never fed her with my own hands
But I have shopped for her supplies and cooked an occasional meal…
It’s true that I’ve never had to sing a lullaby
But I stayed awake by her side all night when she couldn’t sleep…
It’s true that I’ve never helped her with her homework
But I have done the additions, subtractions and accounting that she found difficult to manage…
It’s true I’ve never punished her for not following instructions
But I have scolded her often for not eating her meal…
It’s true I’ve never made a doll’s house for her
But I have kept the house tidy when she couldn't care less…
It’s true that I’ve been selfish and not spent enough time with her…
But she has never complained, cried or thrown a tantrum…
It’s true I’ve never played with her or taught her rhymes
But I played her favorite songs when she was low…
It’s true that she never really said that she needed me
But I knew she did…and I needed her more…
It’s true that I’ve not been able to teach her anything
But I have learned everything from being with her…
It’s true that I’ve never been pregnant
But I became a mother when I bore the news of Baba’s death to Ma…
(For my mother…who let me be her child…and her mother.)
But I have wiped the tears off my child’s face…
It’s true that I’ve never fed her with my own hands
But I have shopped for her supplies and cooked an occasional meal…
It’s true that I’ve never had to sing a lullaby
But I stayed awake by her side all night when she couldn’t sleep…
It’s true that I’ve never helped her with her homework
But I have done the additions, subtractions and accounting that she found difficult to manage…
It’s true I’ve never punished her for not following instructions
But I have scolded her often for not eating her meal…
It’s true I’ve never made a doll’s house for her
But I have kept the house tidy when she couldn't care less…
It’s true that I’ve been selfish and not spent enough time with her…
But she has never complained, cried or thrown a tantrum…
It’s true I’ve never played with her or taught her rhymes
But I played her favorite songs when she was low…
It’s true that she never really said that she needed me
But I knew she did…and I needed her more…
It’s true that I’ve not been able to teach her anything
But I have learned everything from being with her…
It’s true that I’ve never been pregnant
But I became a mother when I bore the news of Baba’s death to Ma…
(For my mother…who let me be her child…and her mother.)
Friday, May 8, 2009
A Sphinx of a Time!
What happens when four fat frustrated females (wow that's like an alliterative hat-trick plus one) get together at lunch?
They belly dance.
Yes that’s what my colleagues and I did…to give our bellies (and ourselves) a change.
We’ve had our share of running, jogging, walking, cycling, ‘bringing-a-plate’, or simply eating in silence and boredom. We have had enough (I mean literally...what else explains our size and weight?). So we decided to do it the Egyptian way.
If you have given your belly a serious thought…there is no reason why you should smirk, laugh, scorn, or get shocked at belly dancing. It's real good exercise.
True, we were at least a Libyan Desert away from being sexy, seductive enchantresses…conjuring up romantic images of the Nile, the Sahara, the Sphinx, the Valley of Kings, oriental hookahs decked with precious stones, grand velvet-wrapped halls with riches, and intoxication being poured from a jeweled long-necked pot.
We were hippos…turned into kangaroos…by a magic wand.
When our trainer (our common friend actually… who is a database manager by profession and a belly dancer by passion) agreed to join us one day at lunch and show us some belly dancing moves, we jumped like a baby kangaroo excited by the sight of young green shoots.
And when she did turn up, and opened her bag full of dazzling costumes and headgears, crowns, swords, veils, masks, and other such exotic props….we jumped like an adult kangaroo excited by the sight of an eligible mate at mating season.
Shocked at the enthusiasm of her new students, she said ‘There is no jumping in belly dancing. Do you all get that?’
‘Yes, maam’, we chorused like school girls.
And what followed was a lunch hour never better spent.
Suppressing our giggles and breathing in to pull our bellies inwards… we must have been a Pharaoh’s nightmare. But we couldn’t care less.
We walked down the conference room as gracefully as if we were on a ramp…or a bride on her wedding aisle (it’s a different story that we pushed one another, sat down on the way, made hooting calls to those who continued walking seriously)…
We took a step, paused, crossed our leg to the other side, and took a side step (it’s a different story that we stamped one another, fell down, rolled with laughter, and laughed till we cried)…
We balanced heavy ornamental swords on our heads and walked again (it’s a different story that the swords fell off in 2 micro seconds)…
We did ‘snake-arms’ to melodious Egyptian tune (it’s a different story that our wobbly arms looked like overfed snakes from a comic strip)…
We made circles and drew the number 8 in the air with our hips (it’s a different story that ours must have been ‘8’ in an unknown language)…
We let our chiffon veils fly in the air, as we raised our eyebrows suggestively (it’s a different story that beneath those veils we wore sports shoes and sweatshirts)…
As one of our work laptops played traditional Egyptian tunes that could make the soul leap and yearn… the four fat frustrated females had a Sphinx of a time.
They belly dance.
Yes that’s what my colleagues and I did…to give our bellies (and ourselves) a change.
We’ve had our share of running, jogging, walking, cycling, ‘bringing-a-plate’, or simply eating in silence and boredom. We have had enough (I mean literally...what else explains our size and weight?). So we decided to do it the Egyptian way.
If you have given your belly a serious thought…there is no reason why you should smirk, laugh, scorn, or get shocked at belly dancing. It's real good exercise.
True, we were at least a Libyan Desert away from being sexy, seductive enchantresses…conjuring up romantic images of the Nile, the Sahara, the Sphinx, the Valley of Kings, oriental hookahs decked with precious stones, grand velvet-wrapped halls with riches, and intoxication being poured from a jeweled long-necked pot.
We were hippos…turned into kangaroos…by a magic wand.
When our trainer (our common friend actually… who is a database manager by profession and a belly dancer by passion) agreed to join us one day at lunch and show us some belly dancing moves, we jumped like a baby kangaroo excited by the sight of young green shoots.
And when she did turn up, and opened her bag full of dazzling costumes and headgears, crowns, swords, veils, masks, and other such exotic props….we jumped like an adult kangaroo excited by the sight of an eligible mate at mating season.
Shocked at the enthusiasm of her new students, she said ‘There is no jumping in belly dancing. Do you all get that?’
‘Yes, maam’, we chorused like school girls.
And what followed was a lunch hour never better spent.
Suppressing our giggles and breathing in to pull our bellies inwards… we must have been a Pharaoh’s nightmare. But we couldn’t care less.
We walked down the conference room as gracefully as if we were on a ramp…or a bride on her wedding aisle (it’s a different story that we pushed one another, sat down on the way, made hooting calls to those who continued walking seriously)…
We took a step, paused, crossed our leg to the other side, and took a side step (it’s a different story that we stamped one another, fell down, rolled with laughter, and laughed till we cried)…
We balanced heavy ornamental swords on our heads and walked again (it’s a different story that the swords fell off in 2 micro seconds)…
We did ‘snake-arms’ to melodious Egyptian tune (it’s a different story that our wobbly arms looked like overfed snakes from a comic strip)…
We made circles and drew the number 8 in the air with our hips (it’s a different story that ours must have been ‘8’ in an unknown language)…
We let our chiffon veils fly in the air, as we raised our eyebrows suggestively (it’s a different story that beneath those veils we wore sports shoes and sweatshirts)…
As one of our work laptops played traditional Egyptian tunes that could make the soul leap and yearn… the four fat frustrated females had a Sphinx of a time.
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