Mind Your Language

How roles have changed.

When the children were young, I had to mind my rather colourful language. Obviously I did not succeed because I once found my knee high daughter ( and my knees are not too far from the floor , I might add!) who in all the wisdom of her two and a half years asked her grandfather rather solemnly if he was also waiting for the Bloody lift. Grandfather did a double take and all that I could do was silence the little one with a threatening extra wide eyed look and violently jab the lift call button.

So also, I was astounded one day when our urbanised village bai kept saying "Shit" every time she struck a dud match against the box . Only when the match caught did she heave a sigh of relief, convinced in her mind that she had used the magic mantra.

But nothing prepared me for the shock of this agitated comment from my mother in law who is otherwise a placid old granny busy with her needlework or prayer books. Obviously she was so rattled by the person under discussion that she shook her hands and said " That lady is bitch! "

More finger wagging and hand shaking accompanied the total shocker " She needs kick in ass!"

The children now realise that old people are actually like sponges absorbing all that they see and hear ........................

Do three days make such a difference?

February is only three days shorter than the month before and the month after but the way this month has gone by - it seems shorter than a week!

This was partly due to the fact that there were far too many activities that distracted us from the tedium of our normal routine.

Firstly there was my birthday - Not withstanding the fact that each birthday means one more year, more grey hair and more stubborn pounds ( let's think positive!!), it also means one extra day to indulge and bulge, an extra day to get pampered and spoilt. So unlike most people, I simply love my birthday which is why February is extra special.

I take the chance of discovering a new restaurant on my birthday and most times it becomes the flavour of the year. We had a delightful evening at the Indigo Deli which somehow captures the spirit of Colaba without the tackiness of an Irani joint. We found out that we had made a reservation at its Upper scale cousin a few streets away and the Hostess was actually thinking of turning us away on account of this minor technicality. Luckily we persisted and were shown a table near the door, subliminally underlining the fact that actually she would have preferred that we were two feet on the outside of the door. Thick skinned as we were, we ignored this squashed seating arrangement and were quite ready to eat shoulder to shoulder when my husband actually insisted on another table being added on so that we could breathe easier. The waiters especially the Captain was particularly thick headed and the service was slow. But.............we had a delightful evening right? This was largely due to the fact that the ambience was great as was the food. So inspite of the bad service, I enjoyed myself so Indigo Deli ---------it's time to shape up. With smarter service you will have a great thing going.

Two more restaurants came under my gourmet graze - GOVINDA and SOAM two totally veggie places opposite Babulnath Temple. "Soam " which is located where the totally tacky Fountain Hotel used to be is a direct competitor to SWATI with its newly refurbished new age chic. The food here is Swati-like without the ridiculous prices and I can see it as the flavour of the year for this year's NRI's. Govinda is a strange case of role reversal where the townie followed the suburban legend. While I haven't been to the original, all I can say is that it is a direct competitor to the Dossawalla outside August Kranti Maidan.( Just kidding!!!!!!!) But the dossawalla does serve a Chinese chop suey dossa and a palak paneer dossa ref. my earlier blog} Of course, the dossas tasted better especially with their fancier nomenclature and the peaceful atmosphere unlike the rough and tumble of the road.restaurant was cleaner.

Yes: These three restaurants have my seal of approval and I would recommend them to anyone any time of the day.



Since I am in the mood for reviews, let me also give my own views on RDB ( aka Rang de basanti). I went for this movie with a friend who normally likes to sit quietly and absorb every word and nuance. So I was quite surprised when she suddenly prodded me and said " Gosh, Aamir Khan's eyes look so old!" That was it! Despite the acting, the slickness and the general production, both of us couldn't get over the fact that Aamir was terribly miscast - granted he was not a college student, but how could a guy who had seen life hang out with such morons? We were horrified that kids could speed on two wheelers, drink like maniacs and generally waste their whole college life doing nothing meaningful. And eventually sublimating their lives to those of the freedom fighters they were playing on screen, which led to the bumping off of the Minister did nothing to justify or glorify their existence because what message did the movie carry - If you have a problem just knock it off? There is no parallel between British India and Modern India because BI had foreign rulers and even though Modern India is run by a Bizarre and perhaps even "an alienated from the public Govt." it still does not make them foreign . And above all, how can killing ever be justified? Yes, I know it is just a movie etc etc but we all know how thin the line is between real and reel life. So according to me, RDB does provoke and disturb but I would definitely not call it the defining movie of 2006.



I also had to deal with a picked pocket, hospital visits to convalescent aunt and a dying friend, wedding celebrations and a funeral.

So February draws to a close while we March into another month.........

Only in India

In India Only we have a group of people who by caste are robbers, thieves and murderers. I never believed this delightful tid bit written about every now and then in the local papers, till I experienced this first hand two week's ago.

In broad daylight, in the middle of the afternoon , in an otherwise lean traffic period, I found myself engulfed by some very scruffy looking WOMEN, young girls infact who were herded into the bus by an elderly lady with whom I actually had a conversation!


After they got off the bus a stop after they got on, I heaved a sigh of relief that I could finally breathe easy. How wrong I was when I discovered that they had cleverly managed to make off with my wallet. At that time, I not only felt the pinch to my pocket but also felt lost and incapacitated without all the pieces of plastic that were essential identification for my daily life! Of course, all those who heard my story consoled me with their own stories of how their wallets were stolen and a few days' later were returned to them almost intact ( obviously with the money removed!).

So while I went about cancelling the cards, asking for new ones to be issued and even finally settling down to a new wallet, I kept wondering if my wallet would ever surface from the gang of pickpockets operating in this city.............

Yesterday morning while waiting in the car, I get a phone call from home .........
"Hey mom...your wallet's back!" Of course it was minus the money. Actually it was minus the wallet as well. The contents of my wallet were returned to me (with a few additional visiting cards, telephone cards and a club ID card belonging to another hapless soul..........) in an envelope marked " Dead Letter Office " in a very tatty condition sent by the Indian Post and Telegraph Dept!

So now from having no identity for a week, I now have a dual identity with the new id cards along with my old!


On another note and another topic:

Though I am no fan of Salman Khan, I feel it a darn shame that he should be indicted for the slaughter of a chinkara. Granted hunting is a blood thirsty sport and should be banned, granted also that the poor animal is an endangered species and has no one to take up its cause but considering the blatant thuggery that is going around in our country and the obviously public people who go scot free it seems a total witch hunt to go after this poor guy. If our courts want to make a point by prosecuting and punishing public figures, they should start at the top with our (dis)Honourable Ministers and Men of the Law who not only make and break every law of our land but actually look affronted when confronted with their faults!

A stitch in time

Tailors are another breed. With readymades and Pret being easier to handle a good tailor is getting harder to find


I should know because like hairdressers ( that is another story!!) tailors somehow have the knack of not exactly delivering what you want. Of course the problem begins when the tailors show you these glossy design magazines with perfect people with perfect figures displaying perfect garments.

That is where the problem starts. Despite looking at the mirror every day and perhaps glancing at any other reflective source every other moment, I still find it hard to reconcile myself to the fact that the not so perfect person looking back at me is who I really am and not what I would like to perceive I am.

Then, the fabric that I give for tailoring is vastly different in both design and texture- another fact that I choose to ignore when selecting a pattern for myself.

And lastly, the tailor in question is no graduate of an Ecole d' Haute Couture but an urbanised rustic craftsman who is a tailor only because he happens to be descended from a glorious lineage of tailors.

And of course , I, being me, still insist on giving him my cloth expecting him to make me into a glamorous clothes horse.

Which brings me back to my original refrain - good tailors are hard to find. Especially one who can make everything from sari blouses to trousers to salvar kameezes and jackets.

As with every profession, tailors have their specialities and a sari blouse tailor can only make a good sari blouse and only a fool like me would insist that the sari blouse specialist can deliver a good if not excellent trouser. Well........ at least a salvar kameez??????????

Of course he can't but the ever optimistic me still plods on hoping that one day he will dazzle with a perfect creation.

So I continue going to my good old Navinbhai , the sari blouse specialist with the most annoying trait of following his own unique calender which obviously does not see next Monday as next Monday but can mean any other Monday or any other day for that matter! This obviously makes his delivery schedule completely out of whack! This also leaves me completely confused with the accounts and the tally of garments given/ to be given and received!!!!

But yet...........

I still go to him.

He of the poky shop in the hole in the wall.
He of the unreliable delivery time.
He of the unreliable size and fit ( if four of us in the family give four different garments to be made, he is quite capable of mixing up the sizes and you can land up with a garment either too big or too small).

Why oh why do I persist?

Only because he is an old devil and better than the unknown one. Also there is a certain innocence about him, an old world charm that makes me go back to him in my oversized salvar suit time after time comfortable in the knowledge that he knows me just as I know him.

Goodbye my short sweet Winter

You know it is Winter in Mumbai when the streets get dark by 6.



When the assorted cardigans are taken out of mothballs


When people actually want to stand out in the sun.


But today our Winter is actually over


Yes it is not only getting warmer by the minute but the Tibetans are going back.

The balaclavas are disappearing.

And the A/c's are beginning to hum.

Alas! What a short Winter it was . Too short really to make a difference.

Am I just a piece of plastic?

Yesterday I had the strangest experience of my life - having my hand bag opened in the middle of the day in the middle of a crowded bus and having my wallet stollen.

Strangely enough, with the weighty wallet out of my bag, I felt bereft, lost and without an identity. Of course I mourned the loss of some cash that was in it, but more than anything else, I missed the pieces of plastic that verified my identity.

Driving around this morning without a licence, entering the places I needed to enter to get new ID cards, made me feel strangely vulnerable, naked almost. I kept feeling that with my loss of wallet , I had lost my identity. All these places to which I had access suddenly seemed inaccessible and walking inside them I felt like an intruder, an imposter and even a trespasser.

So am I really that piece of plastic that proclaims me for who I am? Is my identity only defined by that ? What about my name and address, my clothes, my person ?

I once saw on an Oprah show that by handing over your identifying documents, you experience a loss of identity. Today for the first time I realised what that person was trying to say.

Is it that easy to become a non-person ?

Am I really just somebody because a piece of plastic says so?

Picked Pocket

I got up this morning feeling that everything was not going to be quite right. By the end of the day this premonition came true.

I had to make a slight detour on the way to the station and while waiting, I realised that there was a lot of money lying loose in my fanny bag which might just fall out when I took out my wallet to pay the bhajiwallas.

So, unlike my normal self, I carefully put all the money in proper order inside the wallet. My next stop was the bhaji gulli and when I put my hand in the fanny bag to pay the batata walla, I realised that my wallet was missing. So I ran back to the car and found it waiting inside.

Somehow, I felt this was not the last of the "where is my wallet " routine .

In the middle of the afternoon when most people are having their afternoon siesta, I decided to visit my aunt in the hospital. Feeling bored of driving, I thought I'd enjoy the bus ride . I got into the first bus and realised that it wouldn't go far. So I got off at the next stop and got onto another bus. Two busses actually went by and I had half a mind of taking a cab, but seeing the dirty condition of the taxis, persisted in going by bus. That was my first mistake.

Once inside the bus, I found myself being surrounded by a gaggle of dirty women with infants cradling at their hips , making a general nuisance of themselves trying to push their way to the front. They even picked up an argument with the bus conductor for their unruly behaviour which was offensive to all the passengers. In the meanwhile I bought my ticket, put the wallet inside and continued clutching on to my bag.

Luckily the women got off and I even remarked to one of them why they bothered to get on just for one stop.

Little did I realise then that they had targeted me for their con job. After telling me that her legs were paining, the lady in question rounded up her troops and got off. Simulataneously almost, someone recognised me and offered me a seat. So I sat down and put my bag on my lap when I realised that my bag was lighter, the zip pulled open and my wallet gone!

That was the modus operandi of this gang of thieves. They purposely waited till I was the last to get on and then jumped on with a big hullaballoo. In the big squash and squeeze, they managed to pull out just my wallet and make a smart get away.

Of course I made a song and dance but realised that I would have to abandon my trip to the hospital. I got down hoping to catch the women at the earlier stop but realised the futility of it all. I just went ahead to my husband's office which happened to be close by and told him all about it.

I was shaken to say the least because this is the first time such a thing has happened to me. I cannot believe why it should happen at all. Three in the afternoon is not the best time to travel and most times busses are empty. And the dirty band of women who got on the bus are not the regular profile of passengers getting on at this stop. So I should have known that something was amiss.

But as usual, one never thinks of oneself becoming a victim.

Today I realised how it must feel to be robbed in broad daylight, in a crowded bus, in a decent locality.

And I realised the helplessness of it all.

I only hope the wallet comes back. People assure me that it always does. Of course minus all the cash.

But ......I wonder if mine will be returned.

Today I admit defeat

A friend of mine once told me that life is a mirror and the way we look at it is the way it looks back at us.

Obviously my mirror is not a true reflector .

Or perhaps I do not look hard enough.

Whatever it is I admit defeat.

From now on I will cease to impose my Ideas of Interior Design.

You will be welcomed by a large array of well lined footwear when the front door is opened.

You will be welcomed by a gust of wind that is supposed to go through the house with the front door permanently ajar irrespective of the weather conditions outside at all times of the day or night.

You will sit on a diwan/sofa with no cushions since they do not allow you to keep your feet up and thereby assume a comfortable posture.

You will always find the dining table decorated with one glass, two steel boxes, three cork coasters, one table mat and a set of cutlery.

I should learn to accept these style statements as the Word of God.

Since I cannot change the world I should change myself.

So be it.

Ionesco was right

It's true. You can spend your entire life waiting for Godot.

Of course, you may argue why should you wait for Godot? Why not go ahead and meet Godot?

But you do try. Calling, writing, visiting, but still no Godot.

Which is why you wait and keep on waiting for Godot.

Everytime I come upon this blank wall, I tell myself to abandon the wait and abandon Godot.

But this is hard to do.

So

Back I am

Waiting for Godot!