Saturday, 30 June 2007


SHE: "I'm talking to you."
HE (randomly flipping TV channels): "No, that's more like arguing."
SHE (patiently): "Trying to get my point across here."
HE (displaying a total lack of interest): "Yeah, it's always about you, and your viewpoint."
SHE: "Will you ever listen to me! Just this once?"
HE (looking up): "See? Now you dominate too!"
SHE (exasperated, frustrated): "Can I say something???"
HE (dripping sarcasm): "Don't you always?"

Whatever you say or do, it can never be right.

Wednesday, 20 June 2007


So I met the significant other four years ago today. In another lifetime (read: up until a couple of years ago), I'd've even remembered the date. Today, I had to be reminded. (Of course, I did pretend that I had so remembered, how can you think I'd even forget? Hee hee.) How times change. Or waitaminute, is it people that do?

Flashback to college, when some batch mates would celebrate the anniversary of the first time they smiled (coyly) at their partners, the anniversary of their first date, the anniversary of when they first held hands, the anniversary of when they first kissed… and let's not get any more graphic here at the peril of sounding risqué!

Well, so ultimately is it about an occasion, a reason to remember an event (then so significant and now pale in comparison to others more so), or to simply celebrate being together? I'd like to believe the latter, and justify not having swiped my card at the nearest Hallmark store!

Wednesday, 13 June 2007


Speaking of a time machine back there, there's another era I'd like to stroll through and see for myself - the time when you had Rhett Butler romance Scarlett O'Hara and raise the estrogen levels of all women around and make them wonder, what's she got that I haven't? (Maybe the 17-inch waist had something to do with it. Knew I shouldn't've polished off that last slice of pizza!)

And for me, the forever-in-the-making-
paleontologist, gimme dino(saur) time anytime!


Dinosaurs have fascinated me for as long as I can remember. There was a time back in middle school when I contemplated becoming a paleontologist some day in the future (never mind that I could barely pronounce the word, let alone spell it). Okay, so that didn't happen, but the fascination (and maybe a teeny bit of awe) has still not gone away. This began with my reading 'The Lost World', by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle - yes, the same brain behind the Sherlock Holmes series - and subsequently devouring any- and everything I could read up on the 'saurs.

Encyclopedias were my best friends. So the interest has now resurfaced, upon reading about the finding of a mammoth skeleton. No, not the wooly mammoth (ancestor to our elephants today), but the gigantic skeleton of a man, supposedly human and dating back to some number of years that you and I can't even fathom. Of course, we drag mythology / folklore (I always maintain that there is a fine line between these) into the picture here as well; guess it only adds that extra bit of zing to the tale.

Anyway, the point here is that we now have the remains of what was once a humongous man who walked the Earth, as it were. We're now gonna dissect every bit of him, analyze his DNA, examine his bones, his teeth and figure out who he was (I wonder if people had names back then?), what he did for a living (so hunting is an inborn survival instinct), how he lived (without FM radio, wonder how thrilling it really was), and finally, just how and why he died. I would personally be interested to know whether he had a pet dinosaur a la the Flintstones, or whether he preferred to while away his time making patterns in the sand.

Oh, this is when I'd like a time machine.

Wednesday, 6 June 2007


Lazy. Bummed out. Couldn't care less. Boooorring. Yawn. Try the next millennium, maybe. Don't call us, we'll call you. These, and variations of these (some more wildly imaginative than the others, for example: I have a meeting in the afternoon at work today that I need to stay awake for) are just some of the excuses I come up with for not waking up early mornings. And by early, we accommodate even 7 a.m. As a thumb rule, anytime before that is the middle of the night.

There are times I'll go to bed with this firm resolution of waking up early the next morning, and play around with versions of my soap opera-perfect morning starring my illustrious (and industrious) self in my head. I'd've woken up early, done some stretching exercises and having laced on my favourite pair of trainers, smiled at the wonderful morning it is, and taken off for a jog. On getting home healthier, I'd carry that further by pouring myself a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and munching my way through an equally healthy bowl of muesli, hold the sugar, please. Of course, after all this I'm Super Girl, and the household chores are a mere flick of the wrist (how I wish, a wand!), followed by an upbeat work day (naturally).

Back to reality and here I am, running late, rushing to get done with early morning tasks (I've hit snooze for the nth time on my alarm) and making it to work on time.

Darn, forgot to put the cap back onto the toothpaste tube again.


Got the PC finally. Yippie.
Spending less together time... Ulp.

Will there ever be the perfect balance?


Don't get PC time these days. *grumble grumble*

Wonder how long it'll be before we all see double: two TV sets, two cars, two laptops (or the like)... and I mean ALL, sans an exception.

Viva les DINKs!



It'd rained here early a few mornings ago, around 2 am, and there was a lovely chill in the air... Woke up, settled in at the window watching the rain awhile, and took in some deep breaths of lovely damp earth... Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm... :)

Reminds me of my college days. We, my friends and I, spent five years on this campus that resembled a hill station during the monsoon: lush green grass, vibrant trees, and puddles of rainwater along damp pathways? Many afternoons were spent in the cafeteria, snacking on hot fritters and gazing away dreamily into the distance. (Okay, having the latest crush around helped tremendously sometimes.) Clouds heavy with rain would drift lazily across the sky, making for a picturesque mural, a feast for the eyes.

Messy floors. Puddles of slush showing up in dirty brown streaks across the (until now) pristine marble floor. Clothes reeking of damp. Smells like something that even the cat would refuse to drag in. Plants that suddenly sprout more snails and earthworms than flowers. And so we herald the monsoon...


Middle age is when your broad mind and narrow waist begin to change places.
– E. Joseph Crossman.

Got this on SMS today. What a not-fun place to be!