Friday, February 25, 2011

good morning!

Few things can be as annoying as a misplaced sense of righteousness. Combined with the bullheadedness that refuses to see another opinion.

And they say Im stubborn.

The only thing that is worse than that, is starting the day off facing the 2. In an argument over the use of paper.

Oh, and while Im at it, Happy Anniversary to you too.


Thursday, February 24, 2011

home is where the heart is?

What do I make of the city I once called home? The city that has me feeling utterly torn. The city that in some way will always be home, and yet it’s the same city that I feel I have moved so far away from. The city that groomed me to be the person I am. The city I once thought I would never leave. Who ever thought going back home could leave one feeling torn? I didn’t, until my recent trip back home.

At its core, Bengalooroo will remain “home”, in the truest sense of the word. A place with familiarity. Comfort. Warmth. Where Im always welcome. Where I can go unannounced and still be welcomed. But as I recently discovered, it’s not where my heart is.

I just don’t know what to make of it city anymore. On one hand it is home. Because when I walk into my home, the apartment my parents live in, there’s a calmness I just cant fight. That old familiarity returns. The happy vibes and warmth envelop me. The smiling faces of people waiting for me – nothing compares. But that’s just the confines of the nest I once lived in. But outside of that? Nothing feels the same.

After my recent trip back home, Ive realized that its not the city that I miss. It’s the people, the associations and memories that I tug at my heart more than anything else. So yes, I miss my old home, I miss my parents, I miss the handful of friends I have. Heck, sometimes I even miss my ex-workplace and my friends there. But do I miss the city?

Not one bit. With every trip I make back, I realize how my tolerance for the chaos and hustle-bustle of that city has diminished. That’s when I realise that maybe home really is just where the heart is. The truth is, that place has become Goa. And that’s precisely why I feel torn. It’s a feeling of having to choose between the city that holds all my memories, and the city I now love as much as my own.

Monday, February 21, 2011

stuck on repeat again

Must watch. This week. Before Im off for the weekend again.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011


For the husband, whos been spinning through a far crazier few days than I have. Crazy days that have left him sapped of all enthusiasm for anything in life. Its a strange time when words cant make things better. All he needs is some space to think things straight and figure out a way to come out of it in his own time. It doesnt help when I ask over and over and over..Whats wrong? How was work? Why so stressed? Why so many smokes? Why so much whiskey?

Sometimes a song says it better than anything else. And even though he doesnt care for music/lyrics/melodies like I do, and this might not mean the same to him as it does to me, Im dedicating this to VC. The tired and exhausted VC. In the hope that the real energetic sunshiney VC comes back REAL soon.

Monday, February 14, 2011

ironies of life

Its Valentine's Day.
Im excited to leave work.
A big fat dinner is waiting to be cooked.
Experiments with close-to-authentic caeser salad (bacon bits, crutons and all!).
And caramel custard for dinner (flavoured with nutmeg!).

The irony is Im going home with Anand -- fellow partner in crime.
Together we will meticulously undo the bad bad joke that Murphy played on us, leaving our culinary dreams unfulfilled.

And the husband? You know where he is going to be?
With his boss. In his boss's home. Working on a presentation.

I love Valentine's Day!

ants in my pants

An old uncle friend I recently met after aeons, asked me how I was doing, how life in Goa was treating me, and if I liked my new job. And while my answers were positive (genuinely!) on all accounts, pat came his retort: Oh but you wont stick around! You've got ants in your pants!

And its been stuck in my head since. While I know that his saying it doesnt make it true, I just cant seem to shake off the feeling of being judged by someone, based on a particular phase in my life. Sure, there was a time when I did have "ants-in-my-pants" so to speak. Mostly in the professional sense, which had repercussions that petered into the rest of my life I guess. I have always observed that when a certain aspect of my life is unsettled, it does affect the rest of my life in more ways that I realise. So maybe it was true for that phase in my life. I know what he is referring to. He's talking about a time in my life, not so long ago, when I was happily jumping in and out of jobs. Moving from unsatisfying to more satisfying opportunities. I couldnt help it! I was unhappy in the world of advertising, and it took me 4-5 jobs (within the span of 12 months) to realise why I was unhappy.

While I was mildly embarrassed to be referred to as the girl with ants-in-her-pants, I was reminded of that time in my life. And I found myself looking back and feeling SO glad that I didnt just settle, or find reasons to keep every one of those jobs. It is because I had ants in my pants, that I discovered my strengths in a particular area of writing, and I found the job that I loved. A job I was dedicated to for well over a year. A job I would happily have continued in for many years to come, if I didnt have to move cities. So, much as I wanted to snap back and say "Oh that phase is over!", I just chose to let him have his moment of judgement, and chuckled to myself.

Who woulld have thought having ants in my pants could ever turn out so well?

Sunday, February 13, 2011

weekend glory

Having recently gone back to work after a nice long hiatus during which I worked from home, I have come to the conclusion that the very nature of a full time job is one that kills time. and with it, the will and space to do things other than work. I see it all around me. I dont know too many people who spare time for things that make life meaningful, to do things they love. Sure people read, people cook, people drive out, people party.. but Im talking about doing things that enrich the soul, that you can indulge in without limits, without a time frame, and feel the joy that little else can make you feel.

I have a love-hate relation ship with work. I started working again because I needed a steady flow of work to keep me going, both from a monetary as well as a sense-of-accomplishment point of view. I was never the kind to be a full time housewife. Which is why the freelancing thing worked so well for me, when the going was good. But the minute the projects dwindled, and I felt the strain of being cut off, networking sitting out of a tiny village on the West coast of India, I knew it was time to go back. I love what I do, to some extent. I havent found the right fit, here in my current job, but I am grateful for the opportunity, and I am grateful for the flexibility in terms of the kind of work there is to do. But I hate that I have started living my life from one weekend to the next. What features in between is a blur. And every Friday evening I hate having that feeling like another week has just passed me by and I have nothing worthy to remember it by.

At first I thought it had something to do with having company to do things. But then I realised that I had spent the first 10 months of being here almost completely alone, and that has taught me enough about enjoying my solitude, to quickly realise that its pointless waiting for people to ask you to include you in their plans, or for them to join you when you ask them to. Its strange, the people I hang out with at work are a nice enough bunch of people, but I dont get how adults go the clique way! Its something I left behind in school. Especially in a situation where so many of us have left our homes, our friends and networks behind to come to Goa, I dont understand how they dont naturally feel like involving others. I find myself always going out of my way to ask someone or the other to join us on the weekends. But I guess I cant expect everyone to be the same way. To each their own, I suppose.

Also, like I said, when you have yourself for company, you dont end up waiting forever and ever till someone joins you. Its not about the company, its not about having enough time, its about having the spirit to do something bad enough. And you pick up and get going. So, the husband and I have decided to make our weekends count, if nothing else. Sure, it doesnt give us the freewheeling unending free time that I used to have when I was working from home, but I have realised that I should make the most of my current situation rather than pine for something I cant have at the moment.

See what we've been up to. Visit my Moving-To-Goa blog for more :)

Tuesday, February 01, 2011

mistake became wrong, i say

Have you ever been responsible for a mistake that has some pretty harsh outcomes? I have.

On Saturday, the husband decided he wanted to have a haircut. In preparation for the summer that is most definitely setting in, he wanted a close crop. But it is when he told me he wanted to do it himself, that I sat up and felt uncomfortable. Haircuts are not your everyday DIY thing, I tried to tell him. Theres a reason we pay good money and go to professionals – its because they know how its done. But of course he wouldn’t have any of that. He wanted to do it himself. And do it himself, he did.

So after neatly newspapering the area (at least some of my neat tendencies seem to be rubbing off on him. Score!), he was set. Razoring away, at the agreed upon “Number 5” calibration on his Philips shaver. Until he realized he couldn’t reach the back of his head. Of course, when you live alone with nobody else but your wife, you have just one person to call for help. So I was summoned. And in the most meticulous way possible, I managed to help him. At one point, I stopped to clean out the shaver. I dismantled the razor in an attempt to de-hair it. While I was absorbed in getting every last hair out, the easily-excitable-dimwit that is the husband, grabbed the shaver and decided to continue shaving. Without. The. Attachment. The attachment that ensures that you get an even Number 5 Shave all across.

But it was too late. And the husband had a bald strip running right down the middle of his head. And a neat Number 5 Shave all around it. It was rather pretty by itself. And I marvelled at how gadgets can do such things for a while, before both of us realized the crisis on hand.

After all the why-did-you-not-stop-mes and the are-you-trying-to-trick-mes and the O-M-Gs and the uncontrollable laughter had died down, I had the pleasure of saying I-told-you-so, and proudly declaring that shaving what was left of his “close crop” was the only way to salvage the situation. So here’s what we ended up with:

The baldie-fetish I once had, and that has gone dormant in recent times has suddenly awoken. After all, if a mistake can look this good, how can you not love it!