Tuesday, 27 September 2011


Not with the significant other, but some super exotic ones out of the fancy packaging above. (Apologies for the very well taken photo, but that's just lazy me who can't bring herself to haul out the DSLR and will make do with sub-standard images from the cell phone camera, you see.)

So what is the brouhaha about, anyway? Well, for one, the dates were simply divine. Of monstrous size, embedded in each was an elegant blanched almond, balancing the sweet taste of the date with the uhh... non-taste of the almond. Heavenly. Second, there's Van Gogh as well.

P.S.: The Van Gogh book you see there was just to place the package on, but I now like how two of my favourite (albeit unrelated) things have been captured in the same frame.


Hah! *evil leer* Defied the Traffic Monsters this morning: reached work in half the time it normally takes, which is no mean feat, I tell you. Anyone who lives the horror that is Mumbai traffic will vouch for this. I dunno why and how, but I sure ain't complaining!

Sunday, 25 September 2011


in the form of the movies.

I'll refrain from naming said horror film, but all I can is that, for a change, I'm speechless. Speechless at how a perfectly good storyline can be ruined simply by long-winded narration that travels across continents, traverses time, space and eventually defies any and all logic.

I want my money back. Better still, my money back with compensation for mental harassment and physical torture (it was a three-hour film).

On the positive (?) side, there were two three (yes! three!) good things about the film:
  • My tub of caramel popcorn
  • My coffee
  • The interval

Saturday, 24 September 2011


First, the cake.
(Pineapple and cream, yum!)

 And then, the present.
(A hamper, with Mum's favourite products from The Body Shop, some chocolate, foam-and-chenille-stem flowers, gauzy silver net and silver and gold ribbon to pretty up the basket. Think I succeeded. Or at least, Mum assures me I did. That's mums for you!)

Monday, 19 September 2011


These are what the sky was (over) populated with, earlier this evening.


is green.

Now if only my thumb, more so.


Taking a shower just got more fun!


He would stand patiently on the corner of the pavement, under the shade of a tall old Ashoka tree, the wisdom of his years showing on his weather beaten face, browned with the sun, a slight smile playing about his lips. Calm, always unruffled, his arm stretched out, laden with fragrant garlands of delicate brown blooms, those of the bakul flower. Dressed in a white shirt, always clean and pressed, but one that had obviously seen better days, together with a pair of brown trousers, carefully preserved and crisply ironed on the crease. His feet ensconced in brown Kolhapuri chappals, and a Gandhi topi on his near-bald head.

This is how I remember him.

Every summer and winter break (and some weekends in between),  Mum would whisk my sister and me off to Pune, to her parental home, where our grandparents lived. Having to keep us entertained (and thereby alleviate boredom and crankiness), she would take us out for a walk every evening. It was on one of many such strolls that I first saw him, standing facing Kaka Halwai, a sweetmeat store, under the Ashoka. Mum did too, and exclaiming at the exquisite beauty of the bakul flowers, purchased a garland for her hair. This was only the beginning of our association with him. Every day, every holiday - I had got accustomed to walking down that busy, bustling street - and seeing him stand, alone, almost unmoving, hand stretched out to display his fragrant wares better. A slight smile, a confirmation of the price, and subtly shifting a garland from one hand to the other, to be placed in a waiting soft, velvet-like green leaf, deftly folded over and tied loosely with string - all then handed over to Mum, the smile in place. The pattern of years.

Today, whenever I pass by that street, I still slow down that corner, almost expecting to see him standing there, flower garlands on his arm, never once calling out to passers-by, in a bid to sell his wares. The tiny, delicate beige-brown blossoms, those that would continue to give out their exotic fragrance even when dried. Those tiny flowers that helped him eke out his living, for so many years. The dignity they offered him, his humility and gentle nature shining forth. Simple and unobtrusive, similar to the blooms he held.

Of course, he no longer is there... physically.

The fragrance, however, continues to linger.

Sunday, 11 September 2011


Harry Potter on the telly again! Hurrah! Off to watch The Goblet of Fire for the nth time.


That's what I want. I love feeling special. I love the cake. I love them presents (heh heh!).

Oooh, I love birthdays! Can I have one already?


...of our living room.

That lovely glowy bit there?

Courtesy this:

When lit up:


Because I love lists (never mind the fact that more often than not, I happily drive down to the supermarket leaving said cherished list at home), here goes:
1. Cleaning agents - a mop and a broom, please!
2. AA cells (or batteries)
3. Tomato ketchup
4. Veggies
5. Fruits
6. Yoghurt (or curd, or dahi)
7. Happiness Oreos

*drum roll, please*

8. Bliss heaven manna NUTELLA

Am off shopping - if nothing else, to replenish my fast-diminishing supply (gasp! choke!) of item # 8 on the list.


Back in the 80s, when I was in the single-digit age group, life was a lot less complicated. The early 90s, even. Did you know that being 'proper' was not a mandatory requirement? Nobody sang from the rooftops about how things were politically incorrect, nobody went all twisty to shout slogans about violent cartoons, nobody insisted that one of the - rather, THE - celebrated childrens' author of all time was racist, or even sexist. No comic books delightfully detailing the exploits of news reporter-heroes were quickly taken off the bookshelves.
...And then we got 'proper'. Bah.

Ergo, a certain feline and rodent duo were banned from homes, channels on the TV hurriedly flipped, with people delicately shuddering at the effect they apparently had on their children. No, never mind domestic violence, or even dramatisation on other more mature content on the telly that kids are constantly exposed to. That, of course, paled in comparison to the antics of the four-legged characters. How can we even compare the two? Gasp!

Consequently, beloved characters from books took on new 'correct' names, none that had sexual/ political/ racist/ any other seemingly offensive overtones. Worse still, you found that a toy or two had been erased from the bright, colourful pages of your childhood. Characters no longer looked the same, or spoke the same - if they were there at all!

So comic books were banned, panels from them (skillfully?) edited, and 'proper' versions were put up for sale.

Don't get me wrong, y'all - nowhere, and in no way, do I support biases, be it gender/ race/ lifestyle preferences/ any other. I'm as much for equality (or is balance a better word?) as you are. However, I honestly believe that some things that are sacred, and best left alone.

Somewhere, isn't it all a matter of perspective?

Saturday, 10 September 2011


Sunflower seeds!

For those of you who have read Enid Blyton (or grew up on them like I did), you must be familiar with The Adventure Series (http://www.enidblyton.net/adventure-series/meet-the-characters.html). None of the said adventures would have been complete without Kiki the parrot golden crested cockatoo, a multi-talented winged (and supremely able) partner in crime to the four human children. Among her (Kiki's, i.e.) favourite foods are sunflower seeds, which she picks up in her little claws and daintily nibbles at.

Dunno about dainty and/ or claws, but as the picture above suggests, a fair amount of them seeds are now ingested by yours truly. Yum yum.

Anyone with fun recipes for these seeds? Apart from bread/ similar baked goods?


...Isn't it?
This, ladies and gentlemen, is a view of sheer awesomeness at the foothills of the Himalayas.

Thank you, Nimilita (a wonderful, wonderful friend - and not just because she lets me use her personal photographs out here in blogland), for a glimpse into what undoubtedly is Heaven - or as close as you can get to it, if nothing else.
This, I believe, is as good a reason as any to happily ditch the material world and turn holy/ spiritual/ whatever-suits-you, isn't it?

Friday, 9 September 2011



Through my parents' camera lens.


This came in complete with a video about the Chinese Year of the Rabbit too! Loved it! One of my more fun purchases in recent times, methinks.


... Involves:
- Music over the speakers
- Colleagues visiting from another branch office to celebrate with us
- Snack box lunch for everyone (and that too one involving apple pie and croissants, yum yum)
- Festive atmosphere (flower garlands et al!)

So I had one of those yesterday. :)

(Ignore the bad photography - the lighting was poor too lazy to click better.)


While watching Part II of the Deathly Hallows, that's what came to mind. Heh heh! How is that possible? Well, imagine HP in Bollywood, or on Indian telly land. There, anything is possible! And by that, I do mean anything.

Sample these:
  • Husband/ son of the family declared dead. Widow/ parents of said son in mourning. Post funeral, that is. So just when the widow about to be remarried, the dead - yes, dead - husband shows up.
  • The Ms Goody-Ten-Thousand-Shoes daughter-in-law (DIL) missing/ presumed dead/ similar tragedy. Evil DIL (or equivalent scheming female relative) has taken over the simpering household and reigns Queen. In a twist of fate, the original DIL (believed to be dead, remember?) returns - with a shiny new face, courtesy the friendly neighbourhood Plastics Guy. Cosmetic surgery at its best!
  • Child marriage long over, the matriarch of the family does not like the single-digit aged grand-DIL, and hatches an Evil Plot to have her (also underage) grandson remarried - to another minor. Many twists and turns and years (and finally hitting maturity) later, said grandson moves to the Big City and falls in love, forsaking the sweet little wife from childhood - with Wife Part II, i.e. the minor from his nightmares! Tough keeping up, eh?
So I figure, if any of that can happen, why not the Son of Snape? Or maybe sequels involving business rivalry (now that Lord Voldemort is no more - or is he? Heh heh! *eyebrow raised*) between the Potter/ Weasley kids and the Malfoys? Or wait - maybe even a marriage between them! Gasp! Of course, this would only be a plot to take over the Potter millions. Ahhh! See - endless possibilities!

What's your version?

Friday, 2 September 2011


That adorable elephant-headed God is here again!

Hello, Ganpati. Or Ganesha, if you prefer that. Or maybe just hello, Gamps.


...after some zillion and one days of rain. Hurrah for the bright blue skies and shiny green leaves!
Let's make a list (oooh!) of sun-filled likes:
1. No damp
2. The dog stays dry (not that I have one, unfortunately)
3. So do the rugs and carpets (these I do)
4. No fungus/ suspicious ugly growths on walls (this itself makes it worthwhile)
5. Dry footwear (bring on the strappy sandals, do!)
6. No ruined pedicures (and ergo pretty feet)
7. No stupid umbrellas that overturn at the slightest hint of a breeze (and get you wet in the rain, bah)
8. No frizzy hair (close to the non-appearance of fungus, close)
9. No excuse to not go on my evening walks (wait, wrong list...)

Unrelated, but stay tuned for a festival update!


Just as I (finally) get used to changes on Blogger, I see some more! Arrrghhhhh.... gotta go figure 'em out now. *grumble*