MICHAEL SCHUMACHER
Cant wait!!!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
The MadHatter's Year in Review
See, I'm a good girl. I wait till the very last day of the year to review 2009 as it happened to me. Not like the articles you see in newspapers and magazines, which basically ignore whatever happens in the latter half of December, because they cant meet their deadlines otherwise. So here goes...
Plus: Promotion! For what its worth, I am thrilled to have got it. Even though I am flummoxed when people ask me 'So what are your new responsibilities?' or 'So who's reporting to you now?'. Er..
Plus: I have stood on my head. And I can report that the view is infinitely better the other way round.
Plus: The cauldron doth boil and toil. The other Two Witches at work are alive and well. And kicking. Bless them! Simply cannot face work without them.
Plus: La dolce vita in bella Italia! And the Golden Temple. Definitely worth going to Punjab for!
Plus: I love love love 'aqua con gas'. Tastes better than anything else on earth.
Plus: New friends, particularly my Man United loving pal from the UK, who makes it that much easier to get through the day, and who also brings me stuff from...
Plus: ...the wonderful and miraculous eBay UK! Completely engrossing and addictive. Where else can one find old Enid Blytons, discounted perfumes and all manner of completely desirable things.
Plus: Facebook, Gossip Girl, Rapidshare. Tremendous contribution to my life and to the internet bill.
Plus: Lady Gaga, Amy Winehouse and indie music (maybe a little too much indie music).
Plus: I dont seem to have put on any weight. Tra la!
Minus: I dont seem to have lost any weight. Its becoming my holy grail. Unhealthy.
Minus: Cant get no water with gas in India.
Minus: Lady Gaga. She gave me many an ear worm. So bloody hard to shake off.
Minus: I kind of lost one of my best friends. Not in a mortal sense, but in that we're no longer best friends. Just people who once knew each other. Which is definitely sad.
Minus: I didnt get to go on some other trips because I was the only female in the group. Grrr.
Minus: Didnt make it to page 3 even in Thinathanthi. More grrrrr.
A most splendiferous new year to all of my incalculably vast reading public!
Plus: Promotion! For what its worth, I am thrilled to have got it. Even though I am flummoxed when people ask me 'So what are your new responsibilities?' or 'So who's reporting to you now?'. Er..
Plus: I have stood on my head. And I can report that the view is infinitely better the other way round.
Plus: The cauldron doth boil and toil. The other Two Witches at work are alive and well. And kicking. Bless them! Simply cannot face work without them.
Plus: La dolce vita in bella Italia! And the Golden Temple. Definitely worth going to Punjab for!
Plus: I love love love 'aqua con gas'. Tastes better than anything else on earth.
Plus: New friends, particularly my Man United loving pal from the UK, who makes it that much easier to get through the day, and who also brings me stuff from...
Plus: ...the wonderful and miraculous eBay UK! Completely engrossing and addictive. Where else can one find old Enid Blytons, discounted perfumes and all manner of completely desirable things.
Plus: Facebook, Gossip Girl, Rapidshare. Tremendous contribution to my life and to the internet bill.
Plus: Lady Gaga, Amy Winehouse and indie music (maybe a little too much indie music).
Plus: I dont seem to have put on any weight. Tra la!
Minus: I dont seem to have lost any weight. Its becoming my holy grail. Unhealthy.
Minus: Cant get no water with gas in India.
Minus: Lady Gaga. She gave me many an ear worm. So bloody hard to shake off.
Minus: I kind of lost one of my best friends. Not in a mortal sense, but in that we're no longer best friends. Just people who once knew each other. Which is definitely sad.
Minus: I didnt get to go on some other trips because I was the only female in the group. Grrr.
Minus: Didnt make it to page 3 even in Thinathanthi. More grrrrr.
A most splendiferous new year to all of my incalculably vast reading public!
Sunday, November 15, 2009
A book was launched but not my career as a page 3 girl alas!
Last week,I went with a pal to the launch of Nine Lives by William Dalrymple at the Connemara. I really should learn to be laid back and arrive at these dos at half an hour late. Becausing arriving on time (or 15 mins before, which is what I normally do) means you get to soak in a mausoleum-like atmosphere for a good 45 mins. At the end of which you feel distinctly ghoulish. And since my pal managed to confuse Connemara with Coromandel, I had no one to joke for a goodish while. A drink or two at this point would have helped, but the Connemara people (unlike the smart, kind people at Coromandel) chose to withold the life-restoring elixir till the reading was over. Grrr.
At first the 'ballroom' was sparsely populated, only by people strictly over the age of 90. Some of them were in waterproof rain gear, which was quite incongruous in the 'ballroom'. But slowly a few bedraggled looking journo/lit students turned up and I didnt feel like some completely out-of-sync young(ish) person who's gatecrashed some Senior Citizens event.
Anyway, eventually WD showed up, in kurta and pyjamas with a veshti wrapped around him for good measure. The first thing I noticed was that he got a nice tall glass of beer. Sigh! He spoke and read from his book for about an hour. It was entertaining in places but the mind tended to wander in others. He talked about three of the nine lives (though it felt like a lot more at the time). After the usual inane questions at the end of the reading, my pal and I got our copies signed for each other. We also found out that in Scotland, its pronounced 'D'rymple' not 'Dalrymple'. We thanked him for the signatures and he thanked us for coming. All very civilised,if rather dull. Then it was off to the bar! At last!
But before we could get there, several photogs stopped us and asked us to pose for them. We even gave them our names. I think we were the only young(ish) people there, hence the interest. In fact, come to think of it, some of them interupted us mid-drink and got us to pose, claiming to be from 'a popular national paper'. But did that mean our photos were splashed about liberally on the page 3s and party pages? Did we get calls from loved ones enviously asking us about our glamourous lives? Nope. Not a whisker. Nothing. I wonder where the photos went. Into some void where they never see the light of day? Hopefully not to some internet porn site. Its such a tragic waste of posing and needless delay in getting to the drinks. Never will I let this happen again.
But the pal and I, sweetly unaware of the dastardly behaviour of these callous men who trifled with our innocent child-like faith in the universe, spent an hour or so swapping gossip on people we know (and hate). Have torn these people apart, we finished our wine (it would be more accurate to say that I finished our wine) and traipsed back home quite happily.
Is book launch season upon us? Looking forward to more such evenings!
At first the 'ballroom' was sparsely populated, only by people strictly over the age of 90. Some of them were in waterproof rain gear, which was quite incongruous in the 'ballroom'. But slowly a few bedraggled looking journo/lit students turned up and I didnt feel like some completely out-of-sync young(ish) person who's gatecrashed some Senior Citizens event.
Anyway, eventually WD showed up, in kurta and pyjamas with a veshti wrapped around him for good measure. The first thing I noticed was that he got a nice tall glass of beer. Sigh! He spoke and read from his book for about an hour. It was entertaining in places but the mind tended to wander in others. He talked about three of the nine lives (though it felt like a lot more at the time). After the usual inane questions at the end of the reading, my pal and I got our copies signed for each other. We also found out that in Scotland, its pronounced 'D'rymple' not 'Dalrymple'. We thanked him for the signatures and he thanked us for coming. All very civilised,if rather dull. Then it was off to the bar! At last!
But before we could get there, several photogs stopped us and asked us to pose for them. We even gave them our names. I think we were the only young(ish) people there, hence the interest. In fact, come to think of it, some of them interupted us mid-drink and got us to pose, claiming to be from 'a popular national paper'. But did that mean our photos were splashed about liberally on the page 3s and party pages? Did we get calls from loved ones enviously asking us about our glamourous lives? Nope. Not a whisker. Nothing. I wonder where the photos went. Into some void where they never see the light of day? Hopefully not to some internet porn site. Its such a tragic waste of posing and needless delay in getting to the drinks. Never will I let this happen again.
But the pal and I, sweetly unaware of the dastardly behaviour of these callous men who trifled with our innocent child-like faith in the universe, spent an hour or so swapping gossip on people we know (and hate). Have torn these people apart, we finished our wine (it would be more accurate to say that I finished our wine) and traipsed back home quite happily.
Is book launch season upon us? Looking forward to more such evenings!
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Party Whirl
A chronicle of the parties I attended recently.
Party No 1
A professional party. Park Sheraton. Maharaja-Maharani Nite, the invitation said. So at the entrance to the venue was the ‘set’ of a Rajput gateway, flanked by two big-mustachioed ‘guards’, who proclaimed something in hindi (or rajputanese) when you entered. Instead of a garland, they gave us ID cards on a string of pearls. The men were led off to the turban area, to get dressed into rajput gear—shervani, turban and pointy slippers--and then sit on a throne to get their picture taken. The women had to entertain themselves with kili josiyam (didn’t know that was a rajputi habit), stick-on mehendhi tattoos and jiggly, sparkly bangles. Then they brought on the song and dance show, with a break for an ‘AV presentation’ about our kind corporate hosts. My enjoyment increased exponentially with each drink (needless to say). So I went home thinking very kind thoughts about the kind corporate hosts. So mission accomplished for them.
Party No 2
A non-party. Presidency Club. Greeted by deafening round of crackers. Just when you think its all over, they start it up again. Very nice tennis court. Strange battalions of nannies, looking after endless streams of kids. If they have a club only for adults I’m going to do my darndest to get in. Host very late but charming as always. Other guests (apart from self and Dad): 1 NRI, 1 MBA who made the evening memorable by fainting, 1 lawyer (the said charming host), 1 overly anxious mother, 1 silent food-crumbler husband. Quite a rocking party, as you can imagine. Anyway, mustn’t grumble. Drinks helped, as always. Went home musing about the frailty of man (not the general man but the male of the species).
Party No 3
An imaginary party. Its not a complete figment of my imagination. Just that it was in another continent and I couldn’t be there. But knowing the party organizer, I’m sure it was fabulous! Rather eager to hear about it.
Party No 4
A family party. Sanjeevanam. Good food: jeera water, cream of cucumber soup, red rice dosa, etc. Great company – my aunt and uncle. Matters of great import were discussed: the healthcare reforms, upcoming weddings, offensive vs defensive medicine. Intellectual stuff. Amazingly no C2H5OH. Just good clean living, peace on earth and goodwill to men! Went home with no thoughts whatsoever.
Hmm. Maybe the songs are right. Life is a party. So where do you go when the party’s over? Someplace quiet where you can reflect on what has passed I hope.
Party No 1
A professional party. Park Sheraton. Maharaja-Maharani Nite, the invitation said. So at the entrance to the venue was the ‘set’ of a Rajput gateway, flanked by two big-mustachioed ‘guards’, who proclaimed something in hindi (or rajputanese) when you entered. Instead of a garland, they gave us ID cards on a string of pearls. The men were led off to the turban area, to get dressed into rajput gear—shervani, turban and pointy slippers--and then sit on a throne to get their picture taken. The women had to entertain themselves with kili josiyam (didn’t know that was a rajputi habit), stick-on mehendhi tattoos and jiggly, sparkly bangles. Then they brought on the song and dance show, with a break for an ‘AV presentation’ about our kind corporate hosts. My enjoyment increased exponentially with each drink (needless to say). So I went home thinking very kind thoughts about the kind corporate hosts. So mission accomplished for them.
Party No 2
A non-party. Presidency Club. Greeted by deafening round of crackers. Just when you think its all over, they start it up again. Very nice tennis court. Strange battalions of nannies, looking after endless streams of kids. If they have a club only for adults I’m going to do my darndest to get in. Host very late but charming as always. Other guests (apart from self and Dad): 1 NRI, 1 MBA who made the evening memorable by fainting, 1 lawyer (the said charming host), 1 overly anxious mother, 1 silent food-crumbler husband. Quite a rocking party, as you can imagine. Anyway, mustn’t grumble. Drinks helped, as always. Went home musing about the frailty of man (not the general man but the male of the species).
Party No 3
An imaginary party. Its not a complete figment of my imagination. Just that it was in another continent and I couldn’t be there. But knowing the party organizer, I’m sure it was fabulous! Rather eager to hear about it.
Party No 4
A family party. Sanjeevanam. Good food: jeera water, cream of cucumber soup, red rice dosa, etc. Great company – my aunt and uncle. Matters of great import were discussed: the healthcare reforms, upcoming weddings, offensive vs defensive medicine. Intellectual stuff. Amazingly no C2H5OH. Just good clean living, peace on earth and goodwill to men! Went home with no thoughts whatsoever.
Hmm. Maybe the songs are right. Life is a party. So where do you go when the party’s over? Someplace quiet where you can reflect on what has passed I hope.
The Greatest Show on Earth
Sometimes its very easy to create a slave. Someone to fetch and carry for you. Someone who wont go to the loo for fear of annoying you. Someone who’s willing to eat lunch at her desk so she can keep an eye on your purse (because you asked her to look after it while you were away).
Sometimes there’s no holding people back. People marry and move to another town. Then they come back and divorce their husbands because they don’t get along. Then they run away from their parents and leave a note in a diary, saying ‘Don’t look for me; I want to make a life for myself on my own terms’.
Surely the greatest show on earth is what we call Life.
Sometimes there’s no holding people back. People marry and move to another town. Then they come back and divorce their husbands because they don’t get along. Then they run away from their parents and leave a note in a diary, saying ‘Don’t look for me; I want to make a life for myself on my own terms’.
Surely the greatest show on earth is what we call Life.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
The polar bear song
I want to go there
To the snow and the ice
I want to be a polar bear
Its no great sacrifice
Inspired by these pictures
To the snow and the ice
I want to be a polar bear
Its no great sacrifice
Inspired by these pictures
Monday, September 7, 2009
Quick Gun but Poor Shot
Sigh. I had such hopes for this one. The movie version of Quick Gun Murugan. Five minutes into the movie and it all became clear: what was a funny and rather wacky two-minute Channel V sketch character had been put on some medieval rack and stretched to nearly two hours, with the result that poor Quick Gun was a thin as paper.
To give him credit Rajendra Prasad is quite good, but everyone else hams it up in a way thats painfully unfunny. Nassar stomps around chewing the scenery and playing a caricature villain. My classmate Anu Menon does what she can, but being trapped inside a locket does pose some limitations. Rambha plays the usual bad-girl-with-heart-of-gold-redeemed-by-love. Prabhu Deva's brother is another one for shouting at the top of his voice and generally overdoing everything.
I think the main problem was the plot, which starts off sounding very promising: cow protecting cowboy tries to save vegetarian tamil villages from being forced into becoming meat-eaters; but then there's death and rebirth and all manner of rambling and the plot loses any vestige of sense it ever possessed: cowboy takes revenge on evil meat-only dish purveyor who wants total world domination through dosas (arent dosas veggie food? its quite confusing). So the first half is set mostly in the south, with english subtitles for the tamil dialogue and the second, fully in bombay, with no english subtitles for the hindi dialogue. How's that for North-South prejudice?
The period and genre details were pretty good. Some of the dialogue was rather funny. And Rajendra Prasad says 'My name is Murugan. Quick Gun Murugan. Mind it' with surpiring verve and style. But I'm really struggling to find something positive to say about this movie. I suppose the problem is that it was meant to be a spoof of the 'curry westerns' of the 70s but one of the prerequisites of spoofs is that they be funny. And this movie was only fitfully so. Thats why it was about as appetising as warmed up leftovers. Or in this case, yesterday's dosa and sambhar. Now that is surely something I do mind!
To give him credit Rajendra Prasad is quite good, but everyone else hams it up in a way thats painfully unfunny. Nassar stomps around chewing the scenery and playing a caricature villain. My classmate Anu Menon does what she can, but being trapped inside a locket does pose some limitations. Rambha plays the usual bad-girl-with-heart-of-gold-redeemed-by-love. Prabhu Deva's brother is another one for shouting at the top of his voice and generally overdoing everything.
I think the main problem was the plot, which starts off sounding very promising: cow protecting cowboy tries to save vegetarian tamil villages from being forced into becoming meat-eaters; but then there's death and rebirth and all manner of rambling and the plot loses any vestige of sense it ever possessed: cowboy takes revenge on evil meat-only dish purveyor who wants total world domination through dosas (arent dosas veggie food? its quite confusing). So the first half is set mostly in the south, with english subtitles for the tamil dialogue and the second, fully in bombay, with no english subtitles for the hindi dialogue. How's that for North-South prejudice?
The period and genre details were pretty good. Some of the dialogue was rather funny. And Rajendra Prasad says 'My name is Murugan. Quick Gun Murugan. Mind it' with surpiring verve and style. But I'm really struggling to find something positive to say about this movie. I suppose the problem is that it was meant to be a spoof of the 'curry westerns' of the 70s but one of the prerequisites of spoofs is that they be funny. And this movie was only fitfully so. Thats why it was about as appetising as warmed up leftovers. Or in this case, yesterday's dosa and sambhar. Now that is surely something I do mind!
Monday, August 10, 2009
Weekend thoughts
On browsing through back issues of Architectural Digest
The only way I am ever going to live in these kind of houses is if I get a job there as a maid! Still, its nice to know that its possible to ive in an all-white house or to build a home perched above a waterfall. Or that there are 30 different shades of beige. Gives one hope somehow.On meeting a whole bunch of my friends, all from previous IT jobs, but with whom I am very close
Why are so many of my friends Brahmins? They form less than 5% of the population but sometimes it feels like I know the whole 5%. My Brahmin side of the family hasnt prepared me well in handling overt displays of Brahmin-ness either. They either talk in English or a sort of urban Tamil. And they arent seriously into major rituals etc. With the end result that when I do get together with tradional Brahmins, I feel completely smothered!On meeting two of my oldest friends (they arent old in themselves - they are the same age as me - just that I've known them since the third standard)
I love that they are still honest and honourable and decent and cheerful and utterly full of life. And that we all still understand each other. Maybe which school you go to really or limb.On meeting two of my oldest friends
I cant believe it! Finally someone who spends more than me!Yay! I'm not Satan's little helper after all!On watching the movie Milk, which is about the gay rights activist Harvey Milk
At first it's weird watching men kiss but over time (in this case two hours) it doesnt look so strange after all. Wonder what Madras would be like if we had men kissing on the streets! Even more radical: straight people necking in the streets!On attending a friend's engagement
I cannot believe that it takes two hours to get two people engaged! Or how absolutely tacky and tedious the whole procedure is. As long as I move around in a world of my making everything is alright. Once I come up against the real world, real India, its like I've suddenly been pitchforked into some new alien country, where everyone looks like me but they all think and speak and behave in a completely baffling way. Total disconnect.Why didnt I get out earlier? Do I even have a chance now?On wondering if I was going to get caught by the police for buying wine and vodka in Pondicherry
How does this work? Even when I come from abroad I can bring in two litres of alcohol so why should I be scared to buy something in my own country?On getting back home, hot, tired, with a crick in my neck, to see my dog jump up to greet me
There really trully is no place like home.
Friday, July 10, 2009
N and M
A few days back I wrote to a friend of mine with whom I used the share the long bus rides to from the jungles of OMR, who has accompanied me to movies as varied as High School Musical 3 and Australia, who has enlightened me about what really goes on in Triplicane, and who is now happily married to a very sweet girl.
Here’s what I said:
N! Was thinking about you yesterday. You know except during the days of our Big Fights, there was never a time when you didnt make me feel very loved and safe. Thats a wonderful thing and I want to thank you for that. I know I dont have to thank you for such things but I am grateful and not taking anything for granted.
And this is what N said:
:) :)
thanks for that email - all I read was "wake up! there are friends, life outside of routine and work" you know what I mean....and for that - I dedicate the mustafa song to you! :)
Awww, I heart N
Here’s what I said:
N! Was thinking about you yesterday. You know except during the days of our Big Fights, there was never a time when you didnt make me feel very loved and safe. Thats a wonderful thing and I want to thank you for that. I know I dont have to thank you for such things but I am grateful and not taking anything for granted.
And this is what N said:
:) :)
thanks for that email - all I read was "wake up! there are friends, life outside of routine and work" you know what I mean....and for that - I dedicate the mustafa song to you! :)
Awww, I heart N
Matchmaker Matchmaker, make me a diabetologist
My brother in law, who is a diabetologist in the small town to beat all small towns, not only has a roaring practice, but also gets amazing freebies. Gone are the days when pens were the standard gifts from pharma companies. The budget has shot up by a factor of 10. Sometimes I can see why people go to extreme lengths to get their kids into medical college. Here’s a list of the incentives/tokens of appreciation, etc. that he’s received in the last two years:
An Eee PC
A plasma TV
Rice!
Countless chauffeur-driven cars to ferry him around when he travels to other cities
All-expenses-paid trips to Thailand, Egypt, Kodaikanal and Hyderabad.
And now a choice of holidays: Las Vegas or Paris or Capetown.
Sigh! I never knew my sister was such a smartie.
An Eee PC
A plasma TV
Rice!
Countless chauffeur-driven cars to ferry him around when he travels to other cities
All-expenses-paid trips to Thailand, Egypt, Kodaikanal and Hyderabad.
And now a choice of holidays: Las Vegas or Paris or Capetown.
Sigh! I never knew my sister was such a smartie.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
One office, two worlds
In my office, Upstairs and Downstairs function as two independent kingdoms. Or rather queendoms, since it is two women who rule the office furniture with an iron hand (velvet glove optional).
Downstairs, you have to laugh uproariously at the Queen’s jokes, or you’re in danger of being told that you’re getting too stressed and will be burned out soon.
Upstairs, you have to read the books the Queen recommends, or….there is no choice here; the Queen likes the book, therefore you have to like it too.
Downstairs, here be males!! Ye Gods, seven of them, when everyone is present and functioning.
Upstairs, here be the gents loo and an almost complete lack of testosterone.
Downstairs, every afternoon, all the ladies have to spring up and do exercise, in the manner of the drill we used to do on Sports Day at school (alas, dumbbells and hoops aren’t included; maybe the Queen doesn’t know about them?).
Upstairs, we walk. To the loo. Since we are constantly encouraged by the Queen to drink more water.
In the ladies loo Downstairs, cute notices with smiley faces ask you to turn off the lights and replace the mug on the tap, etc.
In the ladies loo Upstairs, you may find a stray pair of panties (I kid you not) and random invitations to readings of obscure books from the Madras Book Club.
Downstairs makes the big money and so they get invited to all the office parties and launches.
Upstairs doesn’t make that much dough, so we only get invited to about 1 in 10 of the parties; with the invitation being extended a couple of hours before the party.
Downstairs is a world rife with politics, back-biting, snide remarks and rank bitchiness.
Upstairs is… oh! Some things are the same!
Downstairs, you have to laugh uproariously at the Queen’s jokes, or you’re in danger of being told that you’re getting too stressed and will be burned out soon.
Upstairs, you have to read the books the Queen recommends, or….there is no choice here; the Queen likes the book, therefore you have to like it too.
Downstairs, here be males!! Ye Gods, seven of them, when everyone is present and functioning.
Upstairs, here be the gents loo and an almost complete lack of testosterone.
Downstairs, every afternoon, all the ladies have to spring up and do exercise, in the manner of the drill we used to do on Sports Day at school (alas, dumbbells and hoops aren’t included; maybe the Queen doesn’t know about them?).
Upstairs, we walk. To the loo. Since we are constantly encouraged by the Queen to drink more water.
In the ladies loo Downstairs, cute notices with smiley faces ask you to turn off the lights and replace the mug on the tap, etc.
In the ladies loo Upstairs, you may find a stray pair of panties (I kid you not) and random invitations to readings of obscure books from the Madras Book Club.
Downstairs makes the big money and so they get invited to all the office parties and launches.
Upstairs doesn’t make that much dough, so we only get invited to about 1 in 10 of the parties; with the invitation being extended a couple of hours before the party.
Downstairs is a world rife with politics, back-biting, snide remarks and rank bitchiness.
Upstairs is… oh! Some things are the same!
Virtual lifeline
These are the people who get me through the working day, from afar. Who always make time for me and from whom I get nothing but love, love and more love:
Fatty
Man United Preux Chevalier
Dot com CEO
A big Cuba Gooding Junior-style I love you to all of you!
Monday, July 6, 2009
Today
1 bar of zingy, fresh-smelling verbena soap
1 rock crystal of violet amethyst
1 song downloaded in office time and on office internet
2 hugs
4 shops visited
20 mins time spent discussing my photos
30 mins jogging
50+ pages of error-spotting
Not a bad day!
1 rock crystal of violet amethyst
1 song downloaded in office time and on office internet
2 hugs
4 shops visited
20 mins time spent discussing my photos
30 mins jogging
50+ pages of error-spotting
Not a bad day!
Stars behind the till
Read this very interesting report in the Guardian:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2009/jul/06/book-festival-stars-oxfam-shops
Wonder how this would work here. Would we get Trisha and Prabhu Deva doling out advice on what to read? That might be rather hilarious.
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2009/jul/06/book-festival-stars-oxfam-shops
Wonder how this would work here. Would we get Trisha and Prabhu Deva doling out advice on what to read? That might be rather hilarious.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Bella Italia!
Not the most original of titles I know but I couldn’t think of a truer one. Such a gorgeous, mouth-wateringly beautiful, perpetually sunny (in outlook even if not in actual weather), incurably romantic, warm, friendly country. The only bad thing I can think of to say about it is that for some inexplicable reason they have installed Indian style toilets in some of their railway stations. Like I said, inexplicable.
It would take too much time, not to mention effort, to write about every single thing my Dad and I saw and did there, so here’s a smallish, in-a-nutshell type write-up of our experiences.
Milan
Milan is the most obviously modern of the cities we visited. Touristy? Not a chance! The Lombards don’t seem to have been very interested in preserving all those red-tiled, sloping roofed, yellow and terracotta painted houses that are standard in so many other cities and villages in Italy. Or maybe they never existed in this area. But they still have enough history and art to keep one well-occupied. The highlights of our stay there were of course The Last Supper (L’Ultimo Cena); the Poldi Pezzoli Museum, which is actually the jewel-like house of a rich collector, filled with amazing pieces of art and furniture; the Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele II, easily one of the most beautiful shopping areas in the world; two Indian restaurants (this one is strictly for my Dad); and the very friendly people – the super helpful staff of the small student-heavy café in the Brera Art School, who sang us out of the café, and an adorable minder/security person in Poldi Pezzoli, who tried to explain to me that the locket-like rings on display used to contain poison to finish off people.
Lake Como
It’s so beautiful, even with the tourist hordes milling around, you suddenly realize why its so fabulous to be wealthy – you could afford endless holidays here. The lake is Y shaped with mountains all around and small villages like Como, Bellagio, Menaggio dotted along the shore. We took the ferry from Como and had lunch in Bellagio. I kept a sharp eye out for George Clooney – among the sailboats, the sunbathers, the restaurants, shops, but the man was elusive (he was filming in the US; what a loser). So clearly I need to go back there again.
Florence
Its all just too much – too beautiful, too romantic, too many churches, too much art and history. These guys are just too blessed. I especially loved the daily walk past Santa Croce, the surprisingly fast-flowing Arno river and the picturesqueness of peeling plaster and gently fading curtains. Florence also has heaps of fascinating shops selling gloves, hats, tapestry, rugs, bags, silks, stationery, carved wooden dolls. A lovely lovely walking city.
Pisa
In the Field of Miracles, the first thing you see is the Baptistry, which is round and solid. Then you notice the graceful cathedral. Only then do you see the friendly tower, leaning out to say hello to you. It is more cute than impressive. There’s a path beside selling all manner of tourist knickknacks, which is rather fun (since most of the glasses, bottles, chinaware, figurines etc. lean).
Siena
Florentines seem to love this place I could see why. Its beautiful, friendly, decent sized and most important of all not that big on the tourist map, so it feels more like a normal city where people have normal jobs, rather than a city which lives only because of tourism (which unfortunately Florence does feel like from time to time). Wonderful shell-shaped square on which the Palio is run, stunning views from the bell tower, gorgeous wall paintings in the Civic Museum, black-and-white churches with beyond belief floor art and absolutely delicious gelato (to be fair, this is true of all of Italy), I loved to visit Siena again any time.
Venice
Everyone knows what Venice is like. Its sometimes hard to believe such a place even exists. It’s a fairytale. Like Bruges. By the end of our visit, even a non-swimmer like me thought that maybe the water wasn’t something to be feared. How much art and history is crammed into this tiny group of islands! Its endlessly inspiring; even aqua alta is somehow magical and fun (as opposed to worrisome and hideously expensive when the same thing happens in one’s basement). Churches, galleries, bridges, gondolas, glass, lace, masks……there’s so much to see and do. And even when you’re wandering around (lost), there’s always something round the corner the makes all the walking completely worthwhile. Sigh.
Padua
What a nice cheerful little university town this is, with students whizzing by on their bikes. Makes one almost want to be a student here. My Dad was especially thrilled because we got to see the Anatomy Theatre, which is this beautiful gothic hall filled with concentric gallery-type seats, even though we’d arrived too late for the last tour. So we sweet-talked to girl in charge into letting us take a quick peek. Well worth it. What was even more worth the trip was the Scrovegni Chapel, whose walls and ceiling Giotto had painted. Made me almost want to be a Christian
Vicenza
I love love love the name. So musical and romantic. The town has so much laid-back charm. Its all those Palladian buildings and villas. Somehow you don’t want to rush to do anything. The Teatro Olympico was spectacular. If I saw a play there I think I’d die happy.
Verona
OK there’s absolutely nothing wrong with Verona. Its got broad streets, lots of public spaces, handsome buildings and a Roman arena to boot. Its also got Juliet’s house (apparently). I’m enough of a cynic to not think much of that. But my Dad enjoyed it – the silly messages on the walls, the endless tat sold in shops, all the heart-shaped this and true love-related that. Made me want to reach for the Madonna and Child!
Right. So that’s the end of this very long post. So, who wants to plan a trip to Italy sometime? Count me in!
It would take too much time, not to mention effort, to write about every single thing my Dad and I saw and did there, so here’s a smallish, in-a-nutshell type write-up of our experiences.
Milan
Milan is the most obviously modern of the cities we visited. Touristy? Not a chance! The Lombards don’t seem to have been very interested in preserving all those red-tiled, sloping roofed, yellow and terracotta painted houses that are standard in so many other cities and villages in Italy. Or maybe they never existed in this area. But they still have enough history and art to keep one well-occupied. The highlights of our stay there were of course The Last Supper (L’Ultimo Cena); the Poldi Pezzoli Museum, which is actually the jewel-like house of a rich collector, filled with amazing pieces of art and furniture; the Galleria Vittorio Emmanuele II, easily one of the most beautiful shopping areas in the world; two Indian restaurants (this one is strictly for my Dad); and the very friendly people – the super helpful staff of the small student-heavy café in the Brera Art School, who sang us out of the café, and an adorable minder/security person in Poldi Pezzoli, who tried to explain to me that the locket-like rings on display used to contain poison to finish off people.
Lake Como
It’s so beautiful, even with the tourist hordes milling around, you suddenly realize why its so fabulous to be wealthy – you could afford endless holidays here. The lake is Y shaped with mountains all around and small villages like Como, Bellagio, Menaggio dotted along the shore. We took the ferry from Como and had lunch in Bellagio. I kept a sharp eye out for George Clooney – among the sailboats, the sunbathers, the restaurants, shops, but the man was elusive (he was filming in the US; what a loser). So clearly I need to go back there again.
Florence
Its all just too much – too beautiful, too romantic, too many churches, too much art and history. These guys are just too blessed. I especially loved the daily walk past Santa Croce, the surprisingly fast-flowing Arno river and the picturesqueness of peeling plaster and gently fading curtains. Florence also has heaps of fascinating shops selling gloves, hats, tapestry, rugs, bags, silks, stationery, carved wooden dolls. A lovely lovely walking city.
Pisa
In the Field of Miracles, the first thing you see is the Baptistry, which is round and solid. Then you notice the graceful cathedral. Only then do you see the friendly tower, leaning out to say hello to you. It is more cute than impressive. There’s a path beside selling all manner of tourist knickknacks, which is rather fun (since most of the glasses, bottles, chinaware, figurines etc. lean).
Siena
Florentines seem to love this place I could see why. Its beautiful, friendly, decent sized and most important of all not that big on the tourist map, so it feels more like a normal city where people have normal jobs, rather than a city which lives only because of tourism (which unfortunately Florence does feel like from time to time). Wonderful shell-shaped square on which the Palio is run, stunning views from the bell tower, gorgeous wall paintings in the Civic Museum, black-and-white churches with beyond belief floor art and absolutely delicious gelato (to be fair, this is true of all of Italy), I loved to visit Siena again any time.
Venice
Everyone knows what Venice is like. Its sometimes hard to believe such a place even exists. It’s a fairytale. Like Bruges. By the end of our visit, even a non-swimmer like me thought that maybe the water wasn’t something to be feared. How much art and history is crammed into this tiny group of islands! Its endlessly inspiring; even aqua alta is somehow magical and fun (as opposed to worrisome and hideously expensive when the same thing happens in one’s basement). Churches, galleries, bridges, gondolas, glass, lace, masks……there’s so much to see and do. And even when you’re wandering around (lost), there’s always something round the corner the makes all the walking completely worthwhile. Sigh.
Padua
What a nice cheerful little university town this is, with students whizzing by on their bikes. Makes one almost want to be a student here. My Dad was especially thrilled because we got to see the Anatomy Theatre, which is this beautiful gothic hall filled with concentric gallery-type seats, even though we’d arrived too late for the last tour. So we sweet-talked to girl in charge into letting us take a quick peek. Well worth it. What was even more worth the trip was the Scrovegni Chapel, whose walls and ceiling Giotto had painted. Made me almost want to be a Christian
Vicenza
I love love love the name. So musical and romantic. The town has so much laid-back charm. Its all those Palladian buildings and villas. Somehow you don’t want to rush to do anything. The Teatro Olympico was spectacular. If I saw a play there I think I’d die happy.
Verona
OK there’s absolutely nothing wrong with Verona. Its got broad streets, lots of public spaces, handsome buildings and a Roman arena to boot. Its also got Juliet’s house (apparently). I’m enough of a cynic to not think much of that. But my Dad enjoyed it – the silly messages on the walls, the endless tat sold in shops, all the heart-shaped this and true love-related that. Made me want to reach for the Madonna and Child!
Right. So that’s the end of this very long post. So, who wants to plan a trip to Italy sometime? Count me in!
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Quiz Show
A couple of weeks back a colleague from the office and I decided to go as a team to a quiz contest organised by the British Council as part of its World Book Day celebrations. Needless to say we both thought we would 'do very well'. Did you base this on any good reason or was it just plain arrogance, I hear you ask. Well the theme of the quiz was British Books and Movies. So now you understand that if I dont do well in this, well I'm never going to succeed in anything in life.
The quiz was fun though a bit nerve-wracking at times. I liked the college studenty-silly-geeky section of the participants -- because we clearly knew a lot more about the subject than them. Its these professional quiz goers who kind of ruined it for us. I felt like those Brits in Chariots of Fire. They were really just college students, lords and vicars who ran part-time; as a hobby. And when they got to the Olympics, they came face to face with these grim Americans who were professional athletes, all focused on training and diet and whatnot. They sort of destroyed the whole spirit of the thing by taking it all far too seriously. And it was the same with us, dear reader. These guys just learn facts. They dont really know the answer (like the guy in Slumdog Millionaire says), they just learn trivia. Thats the only way you could get Richard and David Attenburgh mixed up.
Anyway, all things considered, third place wasnt bad. Second was realistic actually but we were undone by a bit a bad luck with the questions in the last round. Still, cant complain. Got a Landmark voucher for our pains and some more experience under our belt.
The quiz was fun though a bit nerve-wracking at times. I liked the college studenty-silly-geeky section of the participants -- because we clearly knew a lot more about the subject than them. Its these professional quiz goers who kind of ruined it for us. I felt like those Brits in Chariots of Fire. They were really just college students, lords and vicars who ran part-time; as a hobby. And when they got to the Olympics, they came face to face with these grim Americans who were professional athletes, all focused on training and diet and whatnot. They sort of destroyed the whole spirit of the thing by taking it all far too seriously. And it was the same with us, dear reader. These guys just learn facts. They dont really know the answer (like the guy in Slumdog Millionaire says), they just learn trivia. Thats the only way you could get Richard and David Attenburgh mixed up.
Anyway, all things considered, third place wasnt bad. Second was realistic actually but we were undone by a bit a bad luck with the questions in the last round. Still, cant complain. Got a Landmark voucher for our pains and some more experience under our belt.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Easter in the hills
Easter is supposed to be a time of hope. Of resurrection and a new lease on life. So in this blog about my long Easter weekend in Ooty, you’re going to hear only positive things. (This is going to be a short blog, obviously.)
Gorgeous misty blue mountains…timeless, mysterious, eucalyptus
Lovely quaint English names (everyone knows I’m an Anglophile so that shouldn’t come as a surprise)
Jacaranda! Graceful branches, purple flowers against a blue and white sky….bliss!
Drive down via Kothagiri, how could I have not known just how spectacular tea estates could be?
The cool, keen mountain air that clears the head keeps everyone moving
Drinks and lunch at the Taj Savoy, lush lawn, white-painted wooden panes, antique furniture, ballroom…I’m definitely staying there next time!
Mostly good-natured nephew, with a vocabulary that expands right in front of your eyes
Home-made chocolates, I now think of them as being too sweet but that’s all part of their charm
Coming back home to my bathroom…that’s the best part of going away
Gorgeous misty blue mountains…timeless, mysterious, eucalyptus
Lovely quaint English names (everyone knows I’m an Anglophile so that shouldn’t come as a surprise)
Jacaranda! Graceful branches, purple flowers against a blue and white sky….bliss!
Drive down via Kothagiri, how could I have not known just how spectacular tea estates could be?
The cool, keen mountain air that clears the head keeps everyone moving
Drinks and lunch at the Taj Savoy, lush lawn, white-painted wooden panes, antique furniture, ballroom…I’m definitely staying there next time!
Mostly good-natured nephew, with a vocabulary that expands right in front of your eyes
Home-made chocolates, I now think of them as being too sweet but that’s all part of their charm
Coming back home to my bathroom…that’s the best part of going away
Sunday, March 29, 2009
In the land of Balle Balle
Punjab. What began life as a trip to Delhi to promote mouldy medical books became a road trip across Punjab to promote said books (some things in life dont change). So three loud, boistrous Delhi sales guys and one bemused non-hindi/punjabi speaking editor visited one town and five different cities in as many days --
Ambala (Definitely a town, this one; cant really say much about it since I only saw it late at night when I was too sleepy and tired to look around much. Oh yes, we had cheese toast and north indian coffee for breakfast. Rather yumm.)
Amritsar (Unbelievable. This is the city that has the Golden Temple???? How can the people here display such artistry, sensitivity and CLEANLINESS inside a temple and then live in an utter dump outside?? How??? Have they got a collective split personality?? And they still have cycle rickshaws, that feel like they are going to topple anytime!!!! OK, I'll calm down. Also went to the Pakisthan border to witness a completely juvenile show of might/patriotism/whatever. Poor Pakisthanis. We keep playing boring hindi songs at the border. No wonder they hate us. Anything else..... ah yes, had completely divine, melt-in-your-mouth paneer. Sigh!)
Jalandhar (Something approaching modern civilisation. Felt a bit queasy though. And oh yes, visited a college called Lovely Professional University - I kid you not!)
Ludhiana (I'd been told that this was the Mercedes capital of India, which was quite strange because I saw only one Merc. Maybe I was just in the wrong part of town? No butter chicken here. Maggie noodles rules! And now I understand why people use cycle rickshaws - when an auto hits a bump in the road it feels like its entire hind quarters is going to fall off. Also understand why north indians are so loud - the autos are deafening.)
Patiala (Finally a city with traffic lights. And parks. Fancy that! No Patiala peg for me though. Stayed at a non-smoking, non-drinking, non-meat, non-clean, nonsense hotel. Couldnt wait to leave.)
Chandigarh (I really really like this place. Its well laid out, green, full of blossoming flowers and is altogether so cosmopolitan you can forget you're in Punjab. Would go back there anytime!)
So when the sales guys asked me what I thought of the North, the kindest thing I could think of to say was that I was very glad I lived where I lived. And I really meant it. I am used to thinking of Madras as a fairly ugly, dirty, dusty, noisy place but now I realise that its squeaky clean and gentle and even sophisticated compared to what I saw in Punjab. Not to deride North Indians, I mean, clearly they like living the way they do, otherwise why put up with it. But give me the South anytime!
Ambala (Definitely a town, this one; cant really say much about it since I only saw it late at night when I was too sleepy and tired to look around much. Oh yes, we had cheese toast and north indian coffee for breakfast. Rather yumm.)
Amritsar (Unbelievable. This is the city that has the Golden Temple???? How can the people here display such artistry, sensitivity and CLEANLINESS inside a temple and then live in an utter dump outside?? How??? Have they got a collective split personality?? And they still have cycle rickshaws, that feel like they are going to topple anytime!!!! OK, I'll calm down. Also went to the Pakisthan border to witness a completely juvenile show of might/patriotism/whatever. Poor Pakisthanis. We keep playing boring hindi songs at the border. No wonder they hate us. Anything else..... ah yes, had completely divine, melt-in-your-mouth paneer. Sigh!)
Jalandhar (Something approaching modern civilisation. Felt a bit queasy though. And oh yes, visited a college called Lovely Professional University - I kid you not!)
Ludhiana (I'd been told that this was the Mercedes capital of India, which was quite strange because I saw only one Merc. Maybe I was just in the wrong part of town? No butter chicken here. Maggie noodles rules! And now I understand why people use cycle rickshaws - when an auto hits a bump in the road it feels like its entire hind quarters is going to fall off. Also understand why north indians are so loud - the autos are deafening.)
Patiala (Finally a city with traffic lights. And parks. Fancy that! No Patiala peg for me though. Stayed at a non-smoking, non-drinking, non-meat, non-clean, nonsense hotel. Couldnt wait to leave.)
Chandigarh (I really really like this place. Its well laid out, green, full of blossoming flowers and is altogether so cosmopolitan you can forget you're in Punjab. Would go back there anytime!)
So when the sales guys asked me what I thought of the North, the kindest thing I could think of to say was that I was very glad I lived where I lived. And I really meant it. I am used to thinking of Madras as a fairly ugly, dirty, dusty, noisy place but now I realise that its squeaky clean and gentle and even sophisticated compared to what I saw in Punjab. Not to deride North Indians, I mean, clearly they like living the way they do, otherwise why put up with it. But give me the South anytime!
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Smoke and Mirrors
I have racked my brains and reached into its farthest recesses and I still cant pinpoint what caused this great desire to acquire ‘smokey eyes’. I seem to have developed into one of those people who, once they take an idea into their heads, must instantly rush about till they have achieved their objective, only to discard the whole thing a month later. Thus it was with eBay, thus it probably will be with scores of other things.
So first step, I googled the subject and ended up watching a YouTube video on how it was done (9 minutes of company time, while keeping an eye out for the Prowler – I must say knowing that he can pop up suddenly does add a certain frisson to my non-office related activities). Next step, a visit to my local Health & Glow, which yielded only a kohl pencil and a mascara that cost me an arm and a leg. At the first trial of my newly acquired weapons the result was somewhat disappointing: far from appearing sexy and mysterious, I looked like a drag queen. Not so said others who had more experience in these matters. So I decided to up the stakes and go to Lifestyle. The cosmetics salespeople there are amazing. Just wont take no for an answer. I think my boss should hire them to sell books. Thirty minutes with them and I couldn’t recognize myself. My sister said I looked like a Goth. I think she was being polite. ‘Fright’ would be a more accurate word. With the eyeliner, mascara, silver eyeshadow, black eyeshadow, foundation and lip gloss I’d morphed into someone else – a sort of cross between a bat and vampire. But with time, I began to get used to the look (adaptation is after all the key to the survival of the human race) and loaded down with more products than I will ever use in my life, I put my sunglasses on and went home.
This morning I woke up at 8:15 and even though I rushed through my usual activities I didn’t have time to do more than just apply some eyeliner. And I don’t see my time situation getting any better. So much for my new smokey eyes. When I first told my friends about this new obsession all of them gave me various bits of advice but the one that I never heeded was probably the best of all, saving as it did both time and money. I should have just got Orange Belt to give me a black eye instead.
So first step, I googled the subject and ended up watching a YouTube video on how it was done (9 minutes of company time, while keeping an eye out for the Prowler – I must say knowing that he can pop up suddenly does add a certain frisson to my non-office related activities). Next step, a visit to my local Health & Glow, which yielded only a kohl pencil and a mascara that cost me an arm and a leg. At the first trial of my newly acquired weapons the result was somewhat disappointing: far from appearing sexy and mysterious, I looked like a drag queen. Not so said others who had more experience in these matters. So I decided to up the stakes and go to Lifestyle. The cosmetics salespeople there are amazing. Just wont take no for an answer. I think my boss should hire them to sell books. Thirty minutes with them and I couldn’t recognize myself. My sister said I looked like a Goth. I think she was being polite. ‘Fright’ would be a more accurate word. With the eyeliner, mascara, silver eyeshadow, black eyeshadow, foundation and lip gloss I’d morphed into someone else – a sort of cross between a bat and vampire. But with time, I began to get used to the look (adaptation is after all the key to the survival of the human race) and loaded down with more products than I will ever use in my life, I put my sunglasses on and went home.
This morning I woke up at 8:15 and even though I rushed through my usual activities I didn’t have time to do more than just apply some eyeliner. And I don’t see my time situation getting any better. So much for my new smokey eyes. When I first told my friends about this new obsession all of them gave me various bits of advice but the one that I never heeded was probably the best of all, saving as it did both time and money. I should have just got Orange Belt to give me a black eye instead.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
The Prowler and the Flowergirl
The Prowler, as has been documented on this page before, is so called because of his inclination to prowl about his cage, leaving no nook uninspected or cranny unvisited. He likes to creep up on unsuspecting inmates and take a good long look at their monitors, all in the name of ‘just doing his job’ and ensuring that the troops have their noses to the grindstone every second of the company’s time. I often think he must wear rubber-soled shoes since I am never able to hear him when he comes for his daily look-see at my monitor. To date he has caught me reading newspapers, chatting with friends, posting comments on fb, viewing a slideshow of the sexiest man in the world and doubtless blogging as well. And I usually get a frown and a stern disapproving look for my pains. But yesterday, by means of the simple act of agreeing to present flowers to a guest at a company function, I have been ejected from his hit list and am now sufficiently well entrenched in his good books that I even get a goofy smile in passing. Strange indeed are the ways of men.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Just another day at the office
serious correspondence
silly fwds
prowling bosses
mindnumbing microbes
execrable coffee
chatty collegues
office intrigues
fantastic food
match-making darlings
outrageous ideas
impossible deadlines
the home bell
silly fwds
prowling bosses
mindnumbing microbes
execrable coffee
chatty collegues
office intrigues
fantastic food
match-making darlings
outrageous ideas
impossible deadlines
the home bell
Monday, February 9, 2009
Looking forward to...
A romp with Leo
My evening cup of coffee
A good chat with my soon-to-be-married friend
Three lovely new books just waiting to be read
My evening cup of coffee
A good chat with my soon-to-be-married friend
Three lovely new books just waiting to be read
Ah bliss!
The four-day weekend
I spent the last four days in airports, cars and in Kanyakumari. Bless my Dad for his conferences. That seems to be the only way I get to go anywhere nice (work-related travel is always to some god forsaken medical college). So we flew to Trivandrum and drove down to Kanyakumari from there. It takes a full 3.5 hours of bouncing along dirt tracks passing themselves off as national highways, dodging cycles and lorries (often at the same time), being shaken up till your fillings fall off in deeply rutted roads, and being utterly charmed by the landscape to reach KK. Honestly they should just make the whole of Kerala and its border with TN a national park and tear down all the buildings (every single one of them an eyesore) and just let things be.
In KK we stayed at the Tamilnadu Hotel, which is right next to the beach. It had been recently spruced up because the CM was supposed to make a visit there but in the end he cancelled. So the rooms were neat and clean, plasma tv on the walls and belgian mirrors everywhere. But somehow this sprucing up didnt extend to proper running water in the bathroom. My Dad had a daily struggle with the man at Reception/Housekeeping trying to get them to turn the motor on; somehow I dont think he quite succeeded in convincing him (the Reception man) that things like having a bath everyday was a part of most people's daily routine.
Despite my Dad's conference we managed to see Padmanabapuram Palace (lovely place; surprisingly well maintained), Vivekananda Rock and Thiruvalluvar's Statue (overrated), Vattakottai (sweet little fort but surely forts were not so completely devoid of internal structures?), the Church of Our Lady of Ransom (white - by Berger Paints - Gothic church right on the beach, rather like icing on a cake), Kamaraj Memorial (nice photos but no dates), Gandhi Memorial (nothing new unfortunately), some waterfall - cant remember its name (very inviting looking, to stand under I mean, not to jump off) . I also managed to wake up early enough to walk up to the View Tower and see the sun rise (nice but couldnt see the 'plop' as my Dad calls it when the sun emerges from the sea).
As always when I am outside Madras, I was struck by how different culturally the rest of TN is. People seem more 'Tamil" here; for one thing, their language is purer and more musical that the variety spoken in Madras. They are also more gentle and brutal at the same time. Hard to explain really but its rural good manners, honesty and helpfulness mixed with an extraordinary close-mindedness and tolerance of and capacity for violence. Maybe Sherlock Holmes is right: villages are more scary places than cities.
In KK we stayed at the Tamilnadu Hotel, which is right next to the beach. It had been recently spruced up because the CM was supposed to make a visit there but in the end he cancelled. So the rooms were neat and clean, plasma tv on the walls and belgian mirrors everywhere. But somehow this sprucing up didnt extend to proper running water in the bathroom. My Dad had a daily struggle with the man at Reception/Housekeeping trying to get them to turn the motor on; somehow I dont think he quite succeeded in convincing him (the Reception man) that things like having a bath everyday was a part of most people's daily routine.
Despite my Dad's conference we managed to see Padmanabapuram Palace (lovely place; surprisingly well maintained), Vivekananda Rock and Thiruvalluvar's Statue (overrated), Vattakottai (sweet little fort but surely forts were not so completely devoid of internal structures?), the Church of Our Lady of Ransom (white - by Berger Paints - Gothic church right on the beach, rather like icing on a cake), Kamaraj Memorial (nice photos but no dates), Gandhi Memorial (nothing new unfortunately), some waterfall - cant remember its name (very inviting looking, to stand under I mean, not to jump off) . I also managed to wake up early enough to walk up to the View Tower and see the sun rise (nice but couldnt see the 'plop' as my Dad calls it when the sun emerges from the sea).
As always when I am outside Madras, I was struck by how different culturally the rest of TN is. People seem more 'Tamil" here; for one thing, their language is purer and more musical that the variety spoken in Madras. They are also more gentle and brutal at the same time. Hard to explain really but its rural good manners, honesty and helpfulness mixed with an extraordinary close-mindedness and tolerance of and capacity for violence. Maybe Sherlock Holmes is right: villages are more scary places than cities.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Letting Go
Last week I fought with two of my closest friends. Both fights needless to say were deeply upsetting. Sometimes I have to wonder if its worth the pain honestly. Why not just put up with their flaws and thoughtless behaviour (as I see it)? When it comes right down to it, I love them both dearly and couldn't imagine life without them. But it appears that in the second case there is a real chance of our relationship just fading away. Awful awful thought.
Anyway, the first fight helped clear the air a bit and also I think made the two of us closer. The second fight was rather different. I dont usually fight with this friend because we think alike on so many things and in some ways I think this fight hurts more because of that. It was all about her making time for me and she didn't feel that there was any lapse in that department. To be fair to her, she has a boyfriend now, who I suppose is higher on her list of priorities, but I didn't ever imagine that she would be the kind of person to forget her friends for that reason. After all I've known her for close to 20 years. But one lives and learns. After a lot of thought I realised that no true relationship can be created or maintained by force. So I am letting go. If my friend ever needs me I am there but otherwise I am maintaining a low profile. Policy decision.
I dont know why I am sharing this really since even writing about it is upsetting. But maybe one day I can read this again and be better able to understand myself and the nature of relationships. I hope!
Anyway, the first fight helped clear the air a bit and also I think made the two of us closer. The second fight was rather different. I dont usually fight with this friend because we think alike on so many things and in some ways I think this fight hurts more because of that. It was all about her making time for me and she didn't feel that there was any lapse in that department. To be fair to her, she has a boyfriend now, who I suppose is higher on her list of priorities, but I didn't ever imagine that she would be the kind of person to forget her friends for that reason. After all I've known her for close to 20 years. But one lives and learns. After a lot of thought I realised that no true relationship can be created or maintained by force. So I am letting go. If my friend ever needs me I am there but otherwise I am maintaining a low profile. Policy decision.
I dont know why I am sharing this really since even writing about it is upsetting. But maybe one day I can read this again and be better able to understand myself and the nature of relationships. I hope!
New Beginnings
I cant believe that I haven't blogged since September! Well, actually I can but what I mean is why didn't I? Its not like nothing happened in my life or that I decided not to share my thoughts. Just that one's mood is such a capricious thing.
Anyway, to New Beginnings!
Anyway, to New Beginnings!
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