I hate it when I find hair in my food. The only thing even more disgusting than that is finding a cockroach in your food.
And that's exactly what happened yesterday. I found a hair in my Malaysian Chilli Noodles. Anyway, to start at the beginning, I went out for lunch to the FiveSpice restaraunt in Colaba with a bunch of people, none of whom I know too well.. It's one of my favourite restaraunts in Mumbai. Not too expensive. Generous portions and delectable desserts.
But I doubt I'll be going back to the branch in Colaba after the way they behaved when I pointed out the hair on the food.
First off, he tells me, "There's nothing I can, you guys are almost done." Thereby insinuating that I'd done it just to get the damn thing for free. At which point I said, "I don't care whether I'm almost done. There's a hair in my food, for crying out loud."
To which, and I don't know how the hell this guy got to be manager, responds with "Wha…
I am now totally football obsessed. I watch football day and night these days.
Take yesterday for instance, I watched Liverpool play Hull City, Chelsea play West Ham, Manchester United play Tottenham and Valencia play Barcelona in the La Liga, which meant I went to sleep at 4 in the morning.
Now that's a lot, even by my normal sports fanatic standards.
The bad part though, only Liverpool went exactly the way I wanted it to. Chelsea beat West Ham, ManU came back to beat Tottenham from two down to win 5-2.
All thanks to an absolutely horrible penalty given by the referee.
Barcelona leveled with Valencia too, courtesy of a terrible mistake by the keeper. Poor David Villa.
P.S: I'm a Liverpool girl. They're where it's at. Also, while I'm fairly neutral to Manchester and Arsenal. I canNOT stand Chelsea.
I've been supremely busy of late, with absolutely no energy to do anything other than what has been absolutely required of me, or I have not been forced into doing with a gun held to my head. To know why, refer to this post below this one.
And I've been feeling very badly about the fact that I was given not one, but two awards by Homecooked, which I was feeling too lazy to acknowledge and pass on to the rest of you.
But I'm feeling nice now, and in a mood, where I can barely keep my eyes open and do some actual work that I get paid for. So I'm going to just accept the awards while my boss thinks I'm being oh so diligent and doing major work, while I'm actually blogging. (*Raise your hand if you've done this before*). The tag I'll deal with later when I'm at home and Youtube isn't blocked.
So anyway, the first one is the very lovely Friends one.
And now out of the kindness of my heart I'm going to pass it on to
I take it back. It's so bad, I even contemplated deleting the damn post.
I'm going over to the dark side again. The Moo side of things. It's a much better funner side and it doesn't involve wanting to bang heads together at 15 minute intervals.
What can I say, five days of looking after 40 screaming, loud kids from the ages of six to thirteen at a YMCA day camp is a pain in the you-know-what, not to mention exhausting, from 9 to 5 will do that to you.
Ensuring they're all fed, watered, occupied, enjoying themselves, taking part in everything and not pushing and pulling each other, makes you by the end of the day, want you to pull your hair out and either kill them or kill yourself.
I'm NEVER having kids. Never, never never...........
Vikram Seth has always been one of my favourite writers. I loved A Suitable Boy and From Heaven's Tale has filled me with a longing to experience Tibet.
Mappings especially was beautiful, with the classical learning, wit and lyrical charm of Vikram Seth. Who couldn't love The Tale of Melon City and From Mount Tamalpais or The Walkers and Moonless Night.
Take Sit from All you who sleep tonight for example
Sit, drink your coffee here; your work can wait awhile. You're twenty-six, and still have some life ahead. No need for wit; just talk vacuities, and I'll Reciprocate in kind, or laugh at you instead.
The world is too opaque, distressing and profound. This twenty minutes' rendezvous will make my day: To sit here in the sun, with grackles all around, Staring with beady eyes, and you two feet away.
But that's not what this post is about.
This post is about that little hit meter on the right hand side of my page, that registers above 10,000 hits and yes I know it's absolut…
I've been very down on myself, thinking I'm not good enough and maybe that's why nothing right ever happens with me.
In short, being my typical melodramatic self.
So anyway, I was terribly low yesterday and I was just talking to a friend while I got ready to go to work. Complaining and pretty much whining non-stop all throughout until I had to leave.
So I picked up my bag, put on my shoes, did a final check to make sure the electricity and gas were switched off and left, only to find my friend waiting at my building gate with his precious Ipod in hand, insisting that I take it to work as I needed to listen to some music to feel at peace saying something about music soothing the wild beast and all that.
And me being me, I took the Ipod with really bad grace, grumbled about how my bag was already heavy enough and got into the cab, only to switch on the Ipod and hear Joey McIntyre singing 'Stay the Same'.
I don't know if you've been following the IPL religiously. I haven't. I'd much rather watch some football.
What I am following regularly now is a blog that's allegedly by a Kolkata Knight Riders insider.
How far it's true? I don't really know, but it's fun and rather sarcastic and a good read for when you have nothing better to do, with the latest being him referring to Bublee and Babli, which allegedly refers to Brett Lee and Preity Zinta apparently as having an affair.
I've been burning with rage all day long. Why? I think this pretty much says it all.
We've, all at least most of the people I know, experienced corporal punishment in school. Even if it was just a rap on the knuckles with a ruler or a slightly stinging slap. Meant to hurt your pride more.
But this is a whole other matter. What kind of a teacher bangs a 11-year-old child's head on the table, makes her stand out in the sun all day long, with BRICKS on her shoulders, for crying out loud, until she vomits and is unconscious. What kind of heartless, unfeeling sadistic type of person do you have to be? Was not knowing her alphabets that much of a sin that she had to die for it?
And why did no one else step in, not any other teacher, not the principal, not the peons or ayahs in the school. Why was it that it was only the girl's sister who noticed her unconscious.
To top it all, the school's argument is that she was weak. By which basis, you would think that they've pun…
I've been looking for forever, from well, forever. I've hunted high and low, here and there. Everywhere. I've picked up every rock, shaken every tree.
I've behaved abominably when I haven't found it and deluded myself into thinking that I have found it at times. Only to realise that whatever it was, it wasn't forever. It was bits and pieces. Fragments. And my heart ached a little bit every time.
But now I know better. I'm going to wait for forever and at the same time not wait.
Forever will come to me when I least expect it. When I'm ready for it. And not a minute too soon. When I'm able to love, as much for its flaws as for its beauty. For its talents as for its failings.
It will come not reeking of perfection, but of warmth and comfort and knowing we fit together.
It will blossom under long walks in the rain, sparkle over strawberry iced teas and blueberry cheesecakes. Grin lopsidedly over Kiwi Martinis and Scotch on the rocks. Be positive through hard…
I'm in office right now. Waiting for the pages to come in so that I can upload them on to the website. And then I can leave. It's quiet today here, with the TVs switched off, half the people gone and the office strangely quiet for what is actually dead line time.
My mind on the other hand is far away. In Kashmir and Ladakh.
I remember Yusmarg valley and the drive to get there. How I wanted to get off the bus and walk there among the grassy meadows, dotted with sheep and little log cabins, ringed by dense pine forests with awe-inspiring snow capped mountains towering behind.
I remember the way my heart sang when we walked into Yusmarg and witnessed the river gurgling by, singing a merry little song. Of panting up one crest in the meadow with wild ponies cantering around and running crazily down the other side only to be ankle deep in a pool of mud.
Of sitting by the river in a little alcove formed by rocks, scribbling in my little notebook and then lying back and quietly humming A…
I came across this in a Danielle Steele book. Who said you can't get anything good out of those books? One of my favourite poems and one I read virtually every time I get the urge to travel.
Wander, wander, wandering meandering, the urge to roam, to dance, to fly, to be, the search for free, the need to see to go to find to search to do, my thirsts so easily quenched so close to home and yours so grand, so elegant, so marvelous, climbing mountaintops and elephants and tiger hunts and dancing bears and far off stars and trips to mars and all of it so wild, so vast, so free, as you go wander, wander, wandering, and then the best part of all when, satisfied, complete, and happy now, you wander slowly home to me.
I've been so excited to put up as many posts as I can on my new template that I'm doing this tag right now instead of procrastinating on it like I'm usually prone to do. Also, this is the first time she's tagged me and I really didn't want to scare her away.
Anyway, Just call me A tagged me for this one. It seems fun and I love the way the person who tagged her did it, but I unfortunately am not that creative. So I'm going to just do it my normal, staid way. And A, I entirely empathize with how hard it was to think of something to go with each number.
1 is a number I find it impossible to stop at while eating chocolate.
2 in the afternoon is when I'm at my most sleepy at work
3 is for the years I spent in Wilsons. The most enriching, beautiful, hard years of my life.
4 is the day and the month in which I was born. (Sorry, I had to steal this)
5 in the evening is when I look out of the window and wish I had a boring 9 to 5 job so I could either be on my way home o…
I don't know if you've noticed, but I have a new blog template and I for one, am chuffed about it.
I keep coming back to check it out and marvel at how cool and professional my blog seems now. As opposed to my DIY template, that looked like a five year old had something to do it with.
Hopefully, it shall inspire me to post more too.
On the other hand though, I lost a lot of wonderful widgets. The clustermaps showing me where people were visiting from. My stat counter. And most importantly of all, those little numbers that showed me how many people had visited my blog in a year and a half of its existence. And to think I was almost up to 10,000. Out of which around 9,999 would have been obsessively checking.
Anyhoo, I shall be up and running full steam again soon.
As far as the speaker in the header goes, I seem to find myself doing a lot less whispering these days and a lot more yelling, shouting, screaming and generally being the loudest person wherever I go.