Tuesday, 28 June 2011


Meet Kiara.

She's the building dog. Now what's a 'building dog'? Simple - when you live in an apartment complex in Mumbai where space is a luxury and hence can't have a pet (other than goldfish or hamsters or such maybe) at home, you have what is called a building dog. What this means is that a random stray walks in; the NGOs come in and volunteer, vaccinate, spay, feed - not necessarily in that order - the said stray (and subsequent puppies, if the spaying was a little too late) which is collectively adopted by the kids in the apartment complex and becomes the building dog. Of course, said four-legged furry friend gets a name, gets food (it's now upped to Pedigree) and above all gets loads of love, cuddles and play dates with the same kids. Works well for all.

Kiara entered our lives roughly around seven-odd years ago, and has been the darling of all since. Of course, she's now getting along in doggy years (fifty plus, eh) and sadly, as with humans, age does tell on her. (She isn't acquainted with Botox, you see.) However, the pup she was seven years ago is more or less how she is even today: playful, frisky, loving, sweet... and always, always makes you feel special. It's amazing how she can chase away your tiredness as you park the car at the end of a long work day and crawl home with a wag of her tail, one tiny whimper and a soft nose gently nudged against the back of your palm. The only treat she looks out for is a head rub, a few words cooed to her and a pat or two. Rinse, repeat.

Monday, 27 June 2011


How many of you out there also need their daily fix (many, many) scoops of Nutella?

(No image while I take my own and upload it; dunno about all those scary copyrighted pictures floating around cyberspace.) Finally! Done!

Serving suggestion I:
1 slice of bread
1 banana
LOADS of Nutella
Spread Nutella on to the slice of bread, this nice thick layer that ensures zero bread visibility. (No, no - I don't hate bread at all; just that Nutella should be seen - and eaten - and not heard.)
Chop up the banana and top the Nutella, uhhh, bread with these l'il circles.
EAT! Hee hee.

Serving suggestion II:
Know crepes? Yes? Great, how about a Nutella crepe then? Trust me, it just doesn't get better than that!

Serving suggestion III:
Have you tried Nutella with pancakes? Yeah, hot buttery 'cakes over which Nutella is drizzled? Do!

Serving suggestion IV:
1 JAR of Nutella
1 spoon (or fingers, if said cutlery is unavailable)
Unscrew Jar of Heaven.
Dig in with the spoon (or finger).
Need I say more?

How do *you* eat your Nutella?

P.S.: In a saner world, I see you folks slowly shaking your heads in disbelief, and thinking about un-reading this blog, or hey... maybe there's more of us out there? Please say I'm not the only one who needs a daily fix? Please? Pleaseeeee....

P.P.S.: Did you know there's a World Nutella Day? *dances a happy dance*

Saturday, 25 June 2011



So what're we doing this weekend?
Here's the complete list of ingredients:
The significant other - 1 nos.
Self - 1 nos.
The in-laws - 2 nos.
The significant other's nephew - 1 nos.
Car - 1 nos.
Packed overnight bags - 2 nos.
Sunscreen - 1 nos.
Beach gear - LOADS!

Watch this space for pictures of our weekend trip to the beach!

And... what does your weekend look like?

Monday, 20 June 2011


Secret *snort* recipe:
One pancake mix (Betty Crocker is what I use)
Honey to drizzle

Follow instructions on box *snicker snicker*
Chop up bananas and artistically (ha ha) toss up on waffles
Drizzle over with honey
... EAT! :D


As per this archaic new law we have, an Indian citizen can vote, is grown up enough (chronologically, if nothing else) to marry and generally has the right to say and do more or less as s/he pleases, as an adult well before the age of 25. ...All, that is, but consume alcohol. Yup, that's right - you need to be a grand old 25 before that booze bottle can touch your lips, 25 before you can blame everything on the alcohol.

What I'm seriously wondering is this: how will this new legal limit curb alcoholism, or the fallouts of loving the bottle more than one should? Will it really result in less road accidents, marital violence, substance abuse? For those vigorously nodding in the affirmative, all I can ask is how?! It's not going to happen 'for real', because the tipple's going to be available anyway: at home, at parties and other places I leave to your collective imaginations. Just because one needs to flash a 25-and-over ID while actually, physically buying booze, there's nothing that ensures it's not consumed before that age bar. Worse, this could result in kids hiding the fact that they drink from their folks, which has its own possibly grievous consequences. It simply means that what was legal up until now and generally done in the open, will now become a closeted activity, with repercussions all around.

So go on, vote, get married... but hey, you can't toast with champagne, remember!

Wednesday, 15 June 2011


Remember the time Dad played chauffeur? All those play dates, rides to school, dance class, art class, Math lessons... Or days when it'd pour the proverbial cats and dogs, and Dad would drive you out in near zero visibility conditions just to have a hot corn-on-the-cob by the sea? How you'd feel its tangy lemony flavour hit your tastebuds even as you watched the rain safely ensconsed in the car, Dad by your side? How Dad could be counted upon to drive you anywhere, anytime, all you had to do was ask? Or sometimes, not even that - he'd just know, and you'd see him waiting patiently by the car, keys in hand.

Cut to the present, a rainy day in June 2011. Dad needs to get to work, and his car is at the service station. Solution? It's now *my* turn to drive in the pouring rain, drop Dad to work and then head on to office myself.

For Dad - for all those times he's been there, unconditionally.

Friday, 10 June 2011


Apparently, the 30s are the new 20s. Is this merely something to make somebody in their 30s feel less fuddy-duddy? Ignore that annoying strand of grey that refuses to cow down under threat? Refer politely to the crows feet around the eyes as laugh lines?

Hah. A spade is a spade is a spade. Liked it better when I could still fill in 20-something on application forms/ questionnaries. Liked it better when the L'Oreal lady didn't try selling me something "for mature skin, ma'am". Arrrrrgggghhhh.

Just a ruse, really, just a ruse.


Remember when you learnt to drive a car at 18 (or 16, depending on the legal age where you are)? Your first encounter with another vehicle (a cab, in my case) which swore you off driving for a bit? Feeble attempts made over subsequent years, more off than on? If yes... read on!

Finally, at the insistance of the significant other, I did get back down to driving. Initially, it seemed like he was inventing ways to torture poor not-so-little me, but given that for this project his will power was stronger than mine, I did get behind the wheel after all. No negotiation. The total sweetheart that he is, he went all out to buy me an automatic (yay!), making my journey (literally!) easier than it would've been, given Mumbai's horrific driving conditions at the best of times. Really, changing gears on a manual is NOT the best way to spend your time in this city. Estimate this: for a six kilometre (or about 3.72 miles) stretch from home to work, it takes me *only* 40 minutes - one way. Sigh.

This is what the newbie looks like:


Always, always bring your camera (even a point-and-shoot will do) with you wherever you go. That way, you won't miss any photo op that comes your way.

Picture this (pun intended):
Mommy Cat strolling by with Teeny L'il Kitten caught securely between her jaws, being transported to someplace safe and cozy, away from the rain. Mommy Cat tires, puts down itty bitty kitty, licks it, comforts it, and then picks it gently back up. Rinse repeat, until safe harbour is reached. Awwwwwwww.

Well, guess who missed capturing this on cam? Yup, yours truly, because the point-and-shoot was HOME! Arrrrggghhhhhhhh! Will now need to furtively hunt for Ms Mommy & Family for some pics...


Dunno if it's just me, or is there zero quality to the movie reviews I read in the papers/ on the Net/ wherever else? This is what they normally read like:
Discuss the plot. In excruciating detail.
My take: I mean, c'mon! Had I wanted to read a synopsis, wouldn't I just go watch the damn film?! Why, why must the plot be disclosed virtually in entirety?

Next, the music score. This is either dissed or raved about. A song or two may be picked to the bone, especially if it's a typical Bollywood item number.
My take: Why, pray tell? Whatever happened to a fine discussion on the musical genre, the genius (if applicable) of the composer/ playback singers/ the acoustics at large?

Then, it's the turn of the cinematography. Direction. Production values. Background score. Technical aspects. Or wait... is it really?
My take: Where are these, for cryin' out loud? Why are these almost always forgotten?

For all those reviews out there, no, I don't wanna know the movie plot, I don't wanna know what actress X is wearing in item song Y, I don't wanna know how the story ends for goodness sake! What I would like to read about - seemingly impossible, I know - is an analysis more in depth, one that focuses more on the film making process, how it's translated on screen in that particular movie, and more information on the look and feel of the movie. Capiche?

Thursday, 9 June 2011


Oh you empty calories - I do love you so! The better the food tastes, the nastier are the calories.

From bitter experience *sigh*, I've come to believe that it's an undisputable law. There are times when I'm convinced that my denims have shrunk, and I know it's the calories to blame for the darn shrinkage. I mean, what else could it be, right? There's no way that the jeans could've become tight...is there? *hushed silence*

Wednesday, 8 June 2011


Normally, I stay away from this topic. Several happy ways to do this:
Ignore the newspapers that come in every morning.
Switch telly channels the minute you come across a newsy one.
Slink away from conversations that are remotely related to said subject. (Honestly, talking to cactii would be more productive, am sure.)
Nod intellectually with a very knowledgeable look (practice, baby, practice) should you be unable to avoid such conversation, and then quickly change the conversation to say, knitting, or film gossip.

But the news these days, I tell you! There's a circus going on, in the guise of politics, and how. Everyone and his cousin wants in on the political pie, and has been doing their very best to jump in. It's official: the caravan's overstuffed now. It's soooo In.Your.Face, you'd have to be totally lame (and some) to miss it. Time to stop paying for DTH, eh! :D


Really, nothing like a cheerful kitchen, given that the said place is not exactly my favourite hangout. I'd rather be reading a book.

Saturday, 4 June 2011


The teeth have been acting up for the past few days now. By acting up, they've been sensitive and putting all these scary thoughts *whimper* about cavities in my head. Really, those little green bugs with fangs that dance in toothpaste commercials are so not cute when it comes to real life and real teeth. That's when I stop chortling and saying "oh, how sweet". Hrumph.

Call in the dentist!

There I am, reluctantly dragging my size 8 feet dentist-wards, hearing the drill go ZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzz in my head, having mental images of green bugs wrecking havoc on my already-sensitive teeth. An agonizing wait later, I'm all togged up in a bright blue (what a cruel contrast; nothing can be that cheerful at the dentist's office really) cape, harsh overhead light shining into my eyes, and lying vulnerable on the chair... torture. (breathe in, breathe out) Doesn't help overmuch when the masked and gowned dentist peers in to my open mouth, brandishing the dreaded drill...

Turns out though, that I'd been overcautious to the point of paranoia, as there are no cavities *cheers* or other scary germs prowling around in Teeth Land. *whew*

The teeth are now clean and happy!