Blue Bedouin

The guy locked himself up in his secluded recording studio for 2 years. He had experimentation as a DJ (6 years) and then as a radio broadcaster (several more) to arm himself to achieve his dream.

What he created is now offically called the Khaliji Chillout subgenre. He is now officially called the first musician to introduce it to the world. If any of you get your hands on Blue Bedouin, chances are you were either expanding your collection on a whim, completely into foresight, or just plain darn lucky. Most online music store stand officially empty of their coffers of this baby, and well i've heard a couple of his tracks, and they ARE GOOD!

Me gonna get me one of theees Blue Bedouin babeee! [aka Madea - anyone who hasn't clued into this series (film and NY play) either, are missing out on something gig time!

His name is Hussain Al Bagali and he's two Blue Bedouins old. The third installment of this creative genius of an album will be out soon, which is all set to incorporate dance beats. This will be a trilogy sort of move, before he moves on to make dance beat records.

This from a Dj and music lover, who doesn't listen to music in his car and prefers to listen to the sound of the engine himself.

Somethings just can't be said in Mallu

This here ditty, i found in an issue of a magazine, tucked away in a corner shying away from the acidic remarks it would coax easily from a Mallu. I say Mallu, cause I KNOW that they all agree with the first 3 lines of each paragraph, but never in all their intelligent converstion be able to make the 4th line a thankful or kind sentence. It will always if not everytime end up as a sacarstic, anecdotal joke told in the mallu comic hall of fame as a slap-on-the-back take on life and how in our malluness we keep up 'wit it'!

I am thankful for the husband
who is on the sofa
being a couch potato,
because he's home with me
and not out in the bars

for the wife
who say's it's hot dogs (chor and sambar) tonight,
becasue she is home with me,
and not out with someone else (hot diggety!)

for the teenager
who is complaining about doing dishes
because it means she is at home
not on the streets (most mothers would also end with, "eddi, nanni vennam! Nanni!")

for the taxes i pay
becasue it means i'm employed (NRI's not included!)

for the mess to clean after a party
becasue it means i have
been surounded by friends (i don't even wanna go here!)

for the clothes that fit a little too snug
because it means i have enough to eat.

for my shadow that watches me work
becasue it means i am out in the sunshine

for a lawn that needs mowing
windows that need cleaning
and gutters that need fixing
because it means i have a home.

for all the complaining
i hear about the government
because it means we have freedom of speech..

for the parking spot
i find at the far end of the parking lot
because it means i am capable of walking
and i have been blessed with transportation.

for the lady behind me in church
who sings off key because it means
i can hear (and how!)

and finally, because it means i have
friends who are thinking of me.

Author unknown

Somethings just can't be said in Mallu

This here ditty, i found in an issue of a magazine, tucked away in a corner shying away from the acidic remarks it would coax easily from a Mallu. I say Mallu, cause I KNOW that they all agree with the first 3 lines of each paragraph, but never in all their intelligent converstion be able to make the 4th line a thankful or kind sentence. It will always if not everytime end up as a sacarstic, anecdotal joke told in the mallu comic hall of fame as a slap-on-the-back take on life and how in our malluness we keep up 'wit it'!

I am thankful for the husband
who is on the sofa
being a couch potato,
because he's home with me
and not out in the bars

for the wife
who say's it's hot dogs (chor and sambar) tonight,
becasue she is home with me,
and not out with someone else (hot diggety!)

for the teenager
who is complaining about doing dishes
because it means she is at home
not on the streets (most mothers would also end with, "eddi, nanni vennam! Nanni!")

for the taxes i pay
becasue it means i'm employed (NRI's not included!)

for the mess to clean after a party
becasue it means i have
been surounded by friends (i don't even wanna go here!)

for the clothes that fit a little too snug
because it means i have enough to eat.

for my shadow that watches me work
becasue it means i am out in the sunshine

for a lawn that needs mowing
windows that need cleaning
and gutters that need fixing
because it means i have a home.

for all the complaining
i hear about the government
because it means we have freedom of speech..

for the parking spot
i find at the far end of the parking lot
because it means i am capable of walking
and i have been blessed with transportation.

for the lady behind me in church
who sings off key because it means
i can hear (and how!)

and finally, because it means i have
friends who are thinking of me.

Author unknown

The sky is the thinest film of yoghurt

I looked up from a research paper and stood open mouthed pen hanging from my lips - the sky was the thinnest film of yoghurt. Spread nice and thin, lace like.

To most it seemed like an ominous reflection of the weather, but i was so taken up with it, my toes curled with delight. I sat down on the floor and continued to the amusement of everyone to stare up into the sky, for as far as the window and the sky would allow me to see, i couldn't see a fresh patch of blue, just a transluscent hint of it under the canopy of curd. IT was a yummy feeling.

i imagined reaching out to scoop some unto my finger and swallow the fluffy mix, i tried to think about why i was doing this. Y'see for the past week or so, i've been getting this weird hunch that the sky's been painting me a picture everytime i look at it. I've never seen the sky this way, ever. Trust me.

And then by dusk, the artwork dissipates into nothing, like it was never there. But it would have lingered for my benefit, a good 4 - 5 hours sustaining me for the worst part of the day.

Yesterday it had patterns, symmettrical in rows, different patterns, nothing the same, and what are the chances of seeing that for 4 hours? Impossible? Believe it.

On the weekend, i put my feet up on the big glass window at home, and suddenly waves of cloud filled my window, with curls, troughs and blinding flashes/sparks of light. It was beautiful.

Ideally, i'd like to believe it has something to do with my name. I recently read that a jewish belief is that your name is a powerful expression of who you are. It communicates a lot more than just a tag to be identified by. They believe strongly, as do i that the name finds you, and not the other way around.

My name was found on stormy skies, there was a raging flood, and the clouds loomed really close, my mother said. Megha - means rain clouds. Dark clouds.

I've known it to rain incessently when i'm extremely upset. Poof, summer turns to drenchville! Just like that. And so the clouds reach out once again, this time - it's different. Can't tell what, but will keep ya posted.

At the Eapens - The Adventure of Christmas Dinner

A full blown achayathi moment happened last night. Twas the Christmas dinner and uncle eapens house. Nuff said!

I was trying my best to be entertained, i was managing to get my bits of fun, when Ninan uncle and Sunil (from Papua New Guinea) struck up a conversation on export goods with trade tenders. More family of the Eapens began to flow in and so did the liqour. Everyone was rosy cheeked and merry. Cept me and a girl who we'll call the Eapen's DIL (Daughter in Law), cause i kinda like her.

Yeah so DIL is a new mom, she had a pre-term baby, who's called Ethan, Ethan Eapen. Woo Hoo. He's a colicky one, this precious little guy. He's small and tiny and he's coming to terms with this here world and being thrust into the mallu world. It's a tough initiation, i can tell ya.

So, here i am trying to have a conversation with the aunties. I'm doing quite well, asking them about the napkins and their other Christmas dinners which (is always the case) was grander, more fun and a success. They always had the Indian ambassador's PA and other 'well known' celebs and it was always 'the talk of the town'. Yeah.

I managed to not shoot Bacardi Beezer up my nose, and after the 4th and extremely detailed description of Kochumol Aunty's party, i dove straight into the Christmas deco in the tree. It was beautiful, i have to admit. They spared no cost, no bling, no nothing to have that tree fixed. It was pretty.So i played with the flaxen haired angels, poked at the ribbons, pulled at the baubles, spun the cany canes, and i marveled at the colours. It was a good 15 minutes, when the door bell rang and more poured in.

You stand, you say hi, you bow, you blow kisses in the air. Sigh. Dinner wasn't going to be served until 11:00, i knew it instantaneously. I was hungry.

The men folk were getting to be interesting cases in personal anthropological study. Two drinks down and that's when they beging to wax eloquent. They have opinions about 'everything' and all of them are right. No one can be wrong. It started with unions at the Hyaat and Meridian. Mr. Abbey was a new recruit into the social scene. A recent green stick from Cochin, he was new to town, was an apt business conquest, and was mallu! It couldn't have been more propah.

So here he was all mild mannered. Oh, he reminded me of my professor in Manipal (Prof. Mathew!) and a good mix of a quiet man waiting to burst forth with drink. He began in his very prosaic manner to explain how to go about negotiating with demanding unions and how he managed to call off a strike! Then he said the impossible, in a capitalist, consumerist room full of mallus - he said he was socialist. The fangs were beared, everyone was rushing to the bar for a stiff drink as the plotted their solo speeches. Whew, the sense of foreboding was so tangible, man!

Anyway, this is where i decided to exit, i needed some fresh air. With DIL offered to show me to the peaceful part of the apartment. We entered this room, it was all quiet with lamplight. And Ethan Eapen was asleep, well, half askeep. She pulled out this mammoth gold tissue photo album of the wedding and i sank peacefully into the pages - the wedding had one ceremony, two receptions and a lot of free loaders to the first. Geez!

The entire city was there, some of them DIL didn't even know, remember, recall. When i turned page 72, Ethan decided to cry out for me, and she rushed to his side, saying it's okay, and baby boo. I kinda felt weird. I began to wonder how it would be to be a mom.I felt all pudgy and soft, and i actually wanted to hold the little guy. Aww. It lasted for all of 2 minutes.

Then we started to talk, and compare notes on life and life after the Hitch and life in general. And it turns out i knew quite a few people from her workplace. So it was nice, cause it veered to comfortable conversation. Then we started talking about this and that and then suddenly dinner was served - i could smell it and plus the aunties called.

So, when i entered the room, the assault was on full blast, Mr Abbey was completely submerged from all sides with everyone telling him exactly what they thought about the communists, in between you'd hear patient but persistent correctiosn from the man himself, that he wasn't communist, but socialist. Ninan uncle was slapping his right hand over this left in a dismissive gesture (all mallus know this move) telling him just what he thought abou the ice cream parour case and how we needd to learn about the balance of the freedom struggle. Not only did we lose some, but we gained a lot, he said. And in a way, his arguments were compelling. Abbey on the other hand was tryin to quote page 122 of the Socialists Bible. Hmmm...

Dad. Dad was laughing and watching with Sunil in the corner. Both of them had withdrawn to silent spectatorship and were enjoying the show. Ninan uncle is born entertainer. So was Eapen uncle, who quickly ran to the kitchen to sound the alarm for dinner. Dinner brought the respite, and the energy break. Everyone simmered over the points. Some smarting from personal comments. But all in all, by mallu standards it was a concert, people!

What i couldn't get about Mr. Abbey though:

1) Socialist - why would you be working for the next pay cheque to make up for currency exchange

2) Socialist - why would you still kneel when the aramana residents walked down the park path to kiss the ring, if you totally believed in equality and unions

3) what is it with you, that you can't accept therealities of every individual's experiences and that you'd try to ram certain theories down everyone's throat when you're not convinced of them yourself.

I felt sorry for him. Cause one thing was clear, he was a simple man, with very fair values and a sense of deep justice for the world. In Dubai, you've got to learn to balance that with some real stuff like - life.

Theories i learnt the hard way are man made. So is religion. I was glad that i was safely out the race, way before this dinner happened. Whew. Thank you God.

Three different puddings and platter full of fruit later, i sat down to attempt one last half hearted conversation with Abbey's wife, who made it apparent that she hated the Gulf, hated her new life and kept for no apparent reason looking away half way through her conversations with everyone. It was her way of making sure Kochumol aunty wouldn't invite her back. Mission accomplished.


It was time to say good bye (already?!) and we all walked to the door, had a couple of more coversations (tis tradition even when it's not Christmas!) and then finally patted backs and shook hands. Kisses in air were in order, thankfully there weren't too many women who were at the door. So that over, we finally made our way down the hall way to the elevators.

Dad, Abbey, wife, kids and i - Abbey uncle stumbled, dad was walking carefully in his 'i'm-not-drunk-you-are'walk. Wife was disgusted, some more. And the kids were sleepy. Some shifts and uncomfortable grunts/silence (and Abbey uncle getting off on the 3rd floor and insisting it was the ground floor) in the elevator later, we were down and we said bye cordially.

Walked to our car, dad and i burst out laughing together when i said. "Ninan uncle was..." and we drove home.

Merry Christmas y'all.

It ain't over son

I wrote a letter to my brother, not too long ago and i realised that i took my dark moments for granted like no one's business. I shot out some very deep stuff about family and God to him. The irony lies in how easily i was all to push all of that to the background when it came to some very important parts of my life.

It's all there somehow, hanging like a big binch of grapes. Plump with the knowledge and wisdom that is mine for the taking, if only i'd reach out and pluck.

Maternal instincts can be a bitch when you're a sister. Your torn between the two personalities. The one my brother and i like and the one that's hard wired into me (and keeps popping up without a warning!). Try as i might, balancing the two has landed me on my bum a lot of times. And despite the sore episodes, i still continue to worry for him.

Tis quite natural, most tell me. And then they quizzically look at me and ask - where i'm going with this.

My answer to that would be no where to prove a point, if that's what you're aking; but to be able to just voice my thought process and see where it can take yours.

I admire the fact that i'm able to acknowledge that i get all frumped up about my kid brother (he's no kid nemore). Most would constantly either hide behind the glorified title and others would just justify the bloody deal with just a shrug and a walk-off.

Here's the thing, Aj and i shared a friendship as well. Y'see that's where it gets messed up. Siblings can be friends, but when you take that and try to make it into something that's only convinient to your pompous self, then the issue begins to germinate into a full scale 'BLAH'.

I do take responsibility only to the point that i tried to use my position as an elder sister to get some points straight across and it back fired. Badly. I was too wrapped up with my life, to be able to sit down and dissect the issues like we used to. The surface was scratched.

Another thing is the combination of him being my brother, a man and a friend. He was hurt, only this time, we couldn't make peace by visiting each other's rooms and slipping notes under the door, or barging anyway and settling the issue once and for all. He was miffed in his tetosternony way and i was well, already getting enough that! Geez!

He was miles away, i was miles away. All we had is a telephone. The miscommunication on one these contraptions is so collosal....i don't even want to go there.

anyway, so A, B, C - we're here now. Miles apart physically, and the bond languishingi in limbo. Cause the calls are expensive and the rest of family/friends (yeah, tell me about it!) needs to lend in their two bits of advice, before we can even start to have a conversation.

And so, until i meet him, i just don't see this here wound closing. We talk, we still joke, but we both know that we have some things to say to each other, and so what else we share is just = small talk.

Interestingly, i'm looking forward to it. Even if it has it's fair share of spark and fire. It will. It should.

In the letter, i list a few things i didn't want him to forget in life. Some of the things we had in focus, but we both lost sight of, after awhile. I can say safely, that i'm making my way back to grace, with those things again. Aj, well he's got some stuff blocking his view. And i know there's ample blood throbbing in the male bastions while i say this (yes, he knows what he's in and can deal with it) BUT...he isn't willing to acknowledge that it's a deep well he's free falling into.

I tried, i failed. I let my maternal back-up take over. Why? Don't f*&^ing ask me, why! I wish i knew. I don't.

This isn't over bro. You know it isn't.

Overwhelmed with a propah noun

It's not everyday you get to stand back and take a birds eye view at your life. I got a strange but very raw taste of it when I was signing Christmas cards at the office. Ironically, I'm close to 2 weeks old here (overwhelming, cause I still think it's just yesterday I was walking in and being introduced to everyone) and I'm signing Christmas cards cause tis what you do when you're part of a team. This is contact building, an unofficial way of introducing yourself.

You'll have everyone at the receiving end of those cards looking at your name funny, and thinking - hey, new girl! Alright! OR hey, new person, hmmmm....wonder if I can get more freebies...alright!

Anyway.

So I'm signing these cards, yeah? And half way through the Lifestyle pile, I'm saying my name as I sign 'em, kind of trying to keep myself occupied. When the moment hits me. Bird's eye view. Megha. Meg.ha. Megha. - I keep saying this over and over and realize that it's not everyday when you look at your name and repeat it slowly for around 50 odd times and suddenly you're looking at yourself, your name suddenly takes on such a new dimension of importance.

you begin to think what people think, when they read your name, you begin to think of the possible images they could have of you in their head, their expectation when they're gonna meet you for the first time, the preconceived hair type, skin and clothes. The reaction when they see you.

So if you're Megha, it sounds northish, it sounds like she's this jhola bag type, the writer, the extra sophisticate PR person, the friendly girl next door (can a Megha be a girl next door?) Hmmmm....nope!

And then you don't know the name anymore, by now you've said it more than a 100 times, and you're wondering who you really are. Whether you embodied the name well enough. Did you do justice to it. It's suddenly a new found responsibility. Many people really don't see much into their names. I know I didn't for the longest time. I mean I had versions of it being flung around everywhere. So many times the syllables would be lost in familiarity. Meg, Meghe, Mig, Maggie (I hate this one!), Migha (trust the phirangs to do this!), Maigha, Moigha, hey, listen, yo, hello, moale (mallu for beti), mol (shortform of the previous, yes we have them too!), kutta (sweety in mallu), eliammo, pay attention, listen up....see?

Yuo're not you anymore, your just part of the landscape. Another being in the wheel, another person. You're not you. and the worst part is, you get used to blending into the bland, and then you sort of come to expect it. Now, I'm not saying your name is supposed to give you an epiphany here. Nope, sorry. But what I am trying to say is that somehow, your name means a lot more to you than anyone else. It kind of stands for something, not just what it means, yeah? It's what it brings to you.

Forgetting it, is the first lesson we learn. Atleast I did. Until I signed those cards. To each his own share of personally enlightening experiences. But I do believe, my name took on a larger than life importance after that.

I have this great story of how I came to be named Megha.

Tomorrow. Is another day.

Brain Storms

Picture this, 8 people sitting in a room, having brainstorms. Everyone's got this motley group of dark clouds over their heads, they're hunched over, heads wet from the rain, some dry for lack of creativity. Their eyes knotted in a stitch over the possibility of implementing something crazy. Everyone's staring out the window or looking at a patch on the wall. Lightening strikes the bald thinkers, shiny pates have the tendency to attract them bolts in this office and then it bounces off other people's foreheads.

The rain is slipping down people shirts and skirts, forming pools at the feet of the ergonomic chairs, girl with a curl starting drawing water circles with her feet, distracted, not completely here, but wet with ideas of her own.

It's a beautiful and yellow outside, everything is marvelous, people have things to do for the weekend. Ours doesn't start until tomorrow. Sometimes, things like this tend to happen. Now i have the Sunday blues. Monday is closer to the weekend ironically.

Boistrous bitch twirls her favourite candy wrapper into a twisty butterfly, completely pissed off with the ideas, which = hers are always better. In her own head the storm is turning volcanic. The top of her head is giving off a bit of steam. And i can detect the palest tinge of red - orange. It's only a matter of a few minutes, we're gonna have to run for cover.

earthy/sexy 'paki' girl, is having her storm of calm. She has a small smile and a picture of 'her little lady'in her lap. When you've got something that cute staring up at ya, it's hard not to have a smile on your face. She's got a pleasant drizzle happening. Some of her ideas are very flower power like. But they work, these are the ideas that sustain you to the next big bang. Money talks for her, cause most of them are her clients.

The white chicks are animated as usual. Constantly blowing things into the air, making bubbles from the soap that's forthing with the rain. They never run out soap. Bleached bone ideas, but they make sure the weekend frees up for their regular trots and discovery. It's all about the weekends and a probable raise.

I'm completely soaked. Got my ideas running rivulets through the office. By nwo i would have had a standing ovation for the launch, and somehow, a sense of peace really calms me to the point where i know that jumping the gun isn't the way into this league. There is a even a good possibility that i don't want in. I like the coversations i'm able to have with these guys, the coffee the lunch and the work i'm responsible for. I like what i'm being able to achieve, at my pace. I mean what is the rush for? Somehow, getting stuff done in relation to be being able to reach out is suddenly so important. Hmmmm.

So i do the right thing like stone cold sleepy mama and come in during the pregnant pauses, something like the thunder. It kind of makes everyone sit up and nod, and agree and then they add that to the list and then it's cacaphony for the next 15 minutes. Some more of boisterous bitch, some mroe stone cold sleepy mama, some more of lightening pates (they could have a basketball team!) and we're all good to go.

Until psyched out decides to speak up - in her silky, near whisper voice. She's got that look in her eye again. Saudi beckons to the South african. She's dry.

Post lunch sessions can be really warped.

The feeling of a sense of lack

the silence is killing me. In my head i can't seem to notch up the points. The sense of lack is back.

Everyone seems to have a verbose way of putting things on thier space, it feels warm and fuzzy, like you can feel the clack of the keys, feel what they're feeling. They speak like they're sitting across from you, they feel so close, so personal.

they're trips, they're words, they're emotions. It's all there, spilled. My visits to different pages of personal, make me think so much about mine.

Tis the sense of lack again. Knocking.

Most the time, the sense of lack is masked inside, in a boorish statement, in a negated part of my psyche. Y'know?

I haven't heard from my Big brotha in a while. Don't know if he's out travelling, or in a different part of the world with no access to cyberspace. Tis is the sense of lack again. I wonder if he's miffed, last i checked, he was there. I miss him.

My lil brothas are missing too. Don't where they are - i guess all of this is a collective pile up. of the sense of lack i mean. There's no communication. None of it. Where are you sista? You missing too....

Sigh.

It's been a week. Officially, new job and all. Tis good. I like it. So far.
But my sense of lack now permeates into a different part of me. I'm allowing it to access a very protected place, and i know that i will need to do something drastic to snap out of it. Where are the friends i was promised, the glittering social life, the people to meet, the time to spend doing sweet nothings? WHERE?!

Suggestions for drastic, please.

Someone....anyone?

Flash! I'm having a vision.

It's not everyday i can concoct these stories so plush with detail, that i can't help but tell it. the deatails are all in my head and i can't really recollect them in verbose. Some of the embellishments are a personal touch! It lasted the entire 'gurkha shift' of the radio. So let's call it a story, let's call this a situation. Let's call this anything you want to call it really.

It happened over a few mind numbing realities, and a couple of stiff points pointed out. It happened when i was numb and zoned out in my car. i was being driven home and then the radio switched on to smooth jazz. It was 10 'o clock. The search was heavily on for a car wash. That's when it happened. a technicoloured dream unfolded across the windscreen, and i slumped into it thankful and very aware that i was letting go.

I mean times were when long drags could do the trick, i was getting this for free. So i wasn't going to be the one to complain. heheh. Ride on.

It's a noisy jazz bar, instruments are being tuned and there's a heavy kind of smoke in the air. It's a jazz bar. My favourite people walk in (you know who you are!). I'm a vision - half latin diva / half indian princess. i'e got long hair and i've got a scarf half done in a turban, long dress, feet bare, and sitting on one of the most comfortable stools. you only get them at jazz bars. the old school kind.

The moment i see them, i break into song, it's a slow and practiced way of setting the tempo for the evening. No matter how many times i take the stage, i just can't seem to get that thrill out of my head, when i know a song will hit home with the people i know will get it.

So i belt out the sweet notes of "I want a sunday loving". It's a road-trip of a different kind. After my session with the keys, i join my favourite people, share a couple of drinks, and sit in the corner with a cordless microphone, accompanying talented others on the seconds and the mixture of alto and sop.

And as Louie plays his famed frenzy on the keys signaling end of act one, i blow kisses, plant one on the bald bouncer, and we're out the door to the many musicial dens of old. Until after each person's satiated being smile in unison that we're done for the night. Or is it day?

I'm in the middle of a carwash now, and i sit up in a stupor of not knowing when i got there. It's not automated, it's too darn late to find one now. And as the automated gun spashes jets of water on the windscreen, i can't help but smile.

Tis a trip i liked. I thank ye sista for being awake with me over the month, for sleepless nights spent in conversation, and a stolen swig of wine. I thank ye for the insight, i thank you for the shared happiness in finding that the trips can be much better. Wot say?

I conclude, verily that from lack of sleep, and a concerted effort to foray into the unknown is an enlightening journey. and boy did i dig it!

Slump.

One Nimit, please.

I always thought that it was highly improbable that more than one person would say this to me. It wasn't until the launderer's assistant said it to me on the phone, that i knew i had something.

One nimit, please.


Get it yet?


Yeah :), i know!

Having linguistics as a subject (not too long ago!) got me thinking on how the English language has evolved into a fix-me-upper syntax that fits right in to our figure of speech.


Choose thy language. Fight!

Nimit if deconstructed, draws it's strains from Nimishum (which is 'moment' in Sanskrit) and the word Minute. Which when fitted together forms Nimit! So it could take a moment, or a minute. So we've got it covered. In India, you always have to have room to speculate. Nimit takes the cake! :)

But do we really? So what did we call a minute in our languages, before the British invaded? Hmmm...

My mother can't imagine what the word would be in Malayalam (we're talking to a lady who finished school in a Malayalam medium before moving on to writing answer scripts in English at College!). What is a minute in Gugurati? Hindi? Tamil? Bhojpuri, perhaps?

No? Can't think of it?

Personally, i'd love to know. If i were to give it a nimit, minute isn't exactly the only word we'd be replacing in our regular everyday speech. We have so many other words, which everyone from the store keeper to our electrician uses.

Here's a few:


- Alaarum (mallu) in place of Alarm in English.

- Radio, TV, doctor, operation, file, computer, disc, news, newspaper, car (vandi in mallu), perfume (scent!), mobile, pager,photograph, driver, bomb, cable, hotel, road, market, police, cable, colony, railway, quarters, medical college, names of the month, fan, air-conditioner, switch, squad, shopping centre, mall, watch, vote, depression, counselling, hotline, telephone, pre-paid, vouchers, cheque, circle inspector, brush, shirt, shoes, express, bus, railway, service, bag, taxi, driver, set up (mallus unite!), animation, cartoon, cinema, film, simple, technical, machine, mixie, marks, results, ticket, clock (which brings me to the time, will you look at that!) - WHEW!

If you have any else that comes to mind, do post!

So take a nimit, smell the flowers. Life is your guru (Awwwrrk!). Guru? Say, is there an English word for that?

Ciao y'all...

Despite the Despite.

Domestic violence. Tis without a doubt something one mulls about alone. It has been a recurring nightmare, it has been a scary thought. It is dreaded, and yet, it is silently endured by millions of women. Working women. Homemakers. Daughters. Mothers. Wives.

As i step into a new phase in my life, i consider partners and somehow my mental anguish drives me to check on family first. Odd. I'm marrying the man aren't i? But what maketh the man?

As we glide down the aisle to gasps and rustling silk, the euphoria is mixed with the spice of dread, with the yellow of fear, with the rush of adrenaline and inky black which is unknown. Looking up at him, you're thinking, "for better or worse...Who am i kidding here?"

Does is warrant a woman to bear the brunt of unfair petulance if the male's concept of food is not found on the table. Is it warranted if she doesn't go down on him enough? When she speaks her mind? When he thinks it's needed to keep things in check (also read as 'there was no other way, i tried everything else')? Is it warranted? Period.

Today, with the kind of media coverage and exposure to the world and it's events, things aren't a secret anymore. One of the pioneers of feminism took 5 years or more to get out of her violent marriage, while her views and blood rousing theory permeated into the society and spawned many others to begin a movement. Today we can be proud and say we definitely have it better. It's out there, the knowledge, the self help groups, the shelters. The unsure future. Not enough of it. But it's there. So is that a good sign?

So is it a time for us to heave sigh of relief or continue to be worried? Despite the despite, we're all still potential victims. I read an article on Krav Maga (Hebrew for contact combat) and i began to make mental notes to myself. I have to sign up. You can never tell what could happen.

You never know. In your quest for the 40 years together, something could snap. Or am i taking this too seriously? Can this be my way of preparing against, what i witnessed? What i have seen, heard and shared? Is it possible that in my formative years a steady but heavy dose of anger and a keen eye to take someone's innards out, make me more prepared. Am i prepared?

I sometimes lapse into a deep state of dark. I think of the worst that could happen to me. I think of being beaten, i think of being bruised, battered even. And i slump against the cupboard, heaving. I taste the salt in my blood, and i imagine the whole injustice of the arrangement. And all i can do is sob, a heavy, desperate and lonely sob.

I sometimes imagine kicking mid-violence, and hitting soft gut, of kicking the air out of the perp's lungs, and then a mad, blunt and determined punch to the throat. I imagine standing over and finally seeing what dead really is. And i spit in contempt.

I hope i never have to resort to any of the two. Cause i know it will be a twist of both. Latter. Definitely. One cannot imagine the drive i have. I can't fathom the whole feeling myself. It's that deep. It's that ingrained. To fend for myself.

"If i don't love you. God help you. If i do. Then there's hope."

We call them mothers and many times we take so much of their lives for granted. And when you hit womanhood, the can of worms begin to spill. They're everywhere. And then after it's all out in the open. They smile, sigh and shake their heads trouncing off to make lunch. Leaving you in a perpetuated vortex of horrible. You shake from outrage, you sit there stumped for expression. And then it seeps into you - cold, tar-like fear. What if? What would i do?

I don't fear the consequences of walking out. I don't fear what the world would say about me. I do not think that there is reason enough (not even in religion) to put up with that. I do not believe that a woman needs to stay in it for the kids. I don't believe the kids would want that either.

Even if it says that a woman comes from man, or even it says we're to consider ourselves below the male. Or even if we did hand you the Apple. There isn't enough anywhere to make up for it. No reason on earth or the third dimension. No matter what it is. I'm sure there's a lot more to it than just Chapter X. Vs x - y. There's more to it.

For those of you who sit at the table. At the head. If you believe that it is your right. Then believe this. That there will be a backlash. To everything that is taken for granted. There is a full circle.

And may you be at the recieving end of it.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Post-trance like state - I do believe in the good of humanity, and i do believe that i will find someone who isn't the kind to 'let-the-belt-do-the-talking'. I do know that there are families who have had a more realistic approach to things in life, and that guys know better. Think and feel. That they have a more open and loving attitude.

I used to have a vague idea of what i would want my partner to be. It's not that anymore. It's changed. Now, i know what i want. No ideas, no borrowed or sugar coated possibilities.

I know. But i had to write this. So...yeah.

Later.

The Emperor of Ice-cream

Call the roller of big cigars
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
as they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last months newspapers.
Let it be the finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Wallace Stephens
'Emperor of Ice-cream'

_______________________

The latest on my indulgence list is LUSH. Sweet mother of heaven, this is definitely something that is setting my senses on fire, and i'm just reading the descriptions and i'm going nuts! Yaaah! Will definitely indulge when the moolah is raked. Yummm. Every day. Sigh! Whenever i can. (Okay you get the picture!)

Over and out.
_______________________

The Universe - cont'd

______________________

My mind and me: Like Pizpot Gargravarr explains in length.

"I think we were probably not very well suited," said Gargravarr again at length; "we never seemed to be happy doing the same things. We always had the greatest arguments over sex and fishing. Eventually we tried to combine the two, but that only led to disaster, as you can probably imagine. And now my body refuses to let me in. It won't even see me..."

He paused again tragically.

" It says i only inhibit it. I pointed out that in fact i was meant to inhabit it, and it said that that was exactly the sort of smart alec remark that got right up a body's left nostril, and so we left it. It will probably get custody of my forename."

"Oh...?" said Zaphod faintly. "And what's that?"

"Pizpot," said the voice. "My name is Pizpot Gargarvarr. Says it all really, doesn't it?"

"Errr...." said Zaphod sympathetically.

______________________

At that moment another dismal scream rent the air and Zaphod shuddered.

"What can do that to a guy? he breathed.

"The Universe," said Gargravarr simply, "the whole infinite Universe. The infinte suns, the infinite distances between them and yourself an invisible dot, infinitely small."
______________________

The Universe

Pieces from a Book i trip on - The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy

The Universe, as has been observed before, is an unsettlingly big place, a fact which for the sake of a quiet life most people tend to ignore.

Many would happily mov to somewhere rather smaller of their own devising, and this is what most beings in fact do.

Exotic though this behaviour may seem, there is no life form in the Galaxy which is not in some way guilty of the same thing, which is they Total Perspective Vortex is as horrific as it is. For when you are put into the Vortex, you are given just one momentary glimpse of the entire unimaginable infinity of creation, and somewhere in it a tiny marker, a microscopic dot on a microscope dot, which says "You are here."

______________________

The Total Perspective Vortex derives its picture of the whole Universe on the principle of extrapolated matter analyses. To explain - since every piece of matter in the Universe, it is in theory possible to extrapolate the whole of creation -- every sun, every planet, their orbits, their composition and their economic and social history from, say one piece of fairy cake.

The man who invented the TPV did so basically in order to annoy his wife.

"... if life is going to exist in a Universe of this size, then the one thing it cannot afford to have is a sense of proportion."

The Song that best describes me

Well, we've all got a song. Here's mine.

Squint your eyes a little bit closer. I'm not between you and your ambition.
I'm a postergirl with no poster. I'm 32 flavours and then some.

And i'm beyond your peripheral vision.
So you might want to turn your head.
Someday i'm gonna get hungry and eat up all of the words that you just said.

I am. What i am.
I am 32 flavours and then some.

God help you if you are ugly, girl. Or stupid is also your tone.
Cause everyone harbours a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room.

God help you if you a phoenix and if you dare to rise up from the ash.
A 1000 eyes will smoulder with jealousy while you are just flying. Away.

I am. What I am.
I am 32 flavours and then some...
Taking my chances as they come.

I am 32 flavours and then some...
I am no one but i am somone one.

I never try to give my life meaning by demeaning you.
And i'd like to state for the record i did everything that i could do.

I am beyond your peripheral vision.
So you might want to turn your head.
Someday you're gonna be starving and eating up all the words that you just said.

That you said...

I am. What i am.
I am 32 flavours and then some.
Taking my chances as they come.

I am 32 flavours and then some.
Seeking the truth but there is none.

I am 32 flavours and then some.
Never forget where i come from.

I am 32 flavours and then some.
I an no one, but i am someone.

The Sajan Kurikose Story

Over the past few months, cases of death, killing and suicide have abounded in the papers, giving the once 'safe haven' and justice driven city into a shaky foundation, with absolutely no resolution, or assurance of the truth.
__________________________________________________________________________

It's the typical case of whodunit? Man found in the boot of his car at Al Nasr Cinema four days ago. No one knows how he died, but there are some fishy loops being explored.

Sajan Kuriakose, was found dead in the boot of his own car, on the 14th of October. After a rushed phone call to his wife Suni,telling her that he would pick her up on his way home. He never arrived, and a search hunt resulted in Kuriakose's body being discovered in one of the most busiest and popular spots in Dubai city.

His body now lies in a shroud of mystery as police, hospital officials and a distrught family try to understand this tragedy. Sections of the press has had a field day with the speculation as claims of suicide, false forensic reports, and a tall order of mental instability do the rounds. It's impossible really. The truth still avoids distraught widow Suni, who spoke to the press officially only today (18th Oct,2005), defending her husband and denying the false reports that have branded her husband a mentally instable suicide victim. His wife and family angered over the speculation decided to come forward to clear Sajan's name of the false allegations.

The 33 year old Indian computer programmer's last call to his wife, was a hurried one. Suni said he sounded scared. The family was allowed access to the body only yesterday and was only allowed to see his face. The rest of his body was covered with a shroud, and they were not allowed to touch him. It has been confirmed that no post mortem was carried out on the body. And yet...forensic reports confirm his suicide. Problem no.1.

Futher investigation and official statements from Suni reveal that her husband, that two of his colleagues (Javed and Susan) were being questioned on possible embezzlement charges. Sajan also claimed that someone had hacked into his computer files, and he wasn't aware of what exactly ws going on, but that he was safe. Was he really? Problem no.2.

Threads being explored: Rumours of a gang that kills on hire are doing the rounds, with the MO being slitting throats. Sajan's body was covered, no one knows how he was killed/how he died. Was he murdered by a hired gang?

That fateful Thursday he left for work. The last time Suni heard from him was when he told her he would pick her up on his way home.

The Kurikose's family and parish have been a pillar of support during this time, and Suni has been a picture of deep anguish and determined calm through the entire ordeal. The staff from Sajan's workplace (AST Trading) haverefused to comment so far on the matter.

The mystery continues...the watch remains.

It now boils down the point of whether expatriates can seek justice in a world they once sought for financial stability and a better future. With dubious reports, and no comments, and a possible quick wrap up of events (which is the most expected...), will Suni ever know how her husband of nine years died?

With funeral preparations, relocation and financial procedures to be taken care of, will the UAE justice and police department leave this case to die it's natural death?

Followup (Pending):

The Kiwi juice case, where another expatriate Indian couple, died of mysterious poisoning is yet to see any development, as the Indian cousulate tries in vain to move any paperwork or push for possible answers in the deluge that is the current justice and investigation system. Is this a new turn of events and responsibility for the city's crime fighting teams? Only time will tell.

Spot my favs

You've gotta love, maska pav. It's succulent, small bite sized sanwiches that give the right fix when your stomach does the churn! Oh, and there's more actually, there's bakes, melt in your mouth garlic bread and i will not under any circumstances leave out the dates banana and cream. Mmmm Mmmm!

I hit upon this place, when iftar hours were offically in session. It's called the Midnight Cafe (and every mallu would understand this, like no other) and owned by a friend's wife's brother in law (like i said, only a mallu would understand the connection!). It's the smallest cafe and like it's punchline - with a lot! It's exactly one room small, houses a kitchen (fully equipped) with 3 staff, and two tables with four chairs on the pavement. What makes it's special is for one, the menu. And second, the kind of simple, yummy options and the fact that it's always open till midnight - no matter the occassion, the reason or the weather. I love that in a place.

So what have we got? western fast food menu with an indian twist. And so...we've got sandwichs, clubs, subs, hot dogs, meal deals (which consist of bakes and 4 different types of fried chicken), 2 soups on the menu, seven garlic bread options (chili cheese and salami - a must mention), salads, pizzas, burgers, beverage, dessert and a partridge in pear tree!

Now if you take a good look at that, you'd probably think that every single small shop has this on offer - and i'd say i'd beg to differ. Let me explain, and for those who get it, you're the only ones who deserve to enjoy the fruits of intellect. Take a walk down MG road, and past the blinking lights and the fast cars into the side roads that offer the real treasure of a quick bite, as you pass the savoury carts with roasting corn and spiced peanuts in paper cups, the waft of a small jazz cafe draws you unto the well loved and roamed Church street, and it is here, the many chilled out zones splays itself out unto the pavements with Brother Rozario's sax playing in the background, you get to pick on a menu that by far offers you a fare, that not only gets your palate bursting, but your senses waiting for a very familiar home-like ease, which no Johnny Carino, or India Palace can offer you. Trust me...this menu? is da bomb. Tis the real thing, yo.
And so, as you bite into the soft bread/the wheat wrap/the slush of beautiful juice that wraps around some of the most amazing concoctions you can think of; One gets that sense of jazz by the asphault, and man...it's good to be home.

Visit www.midnightcafe.ae
And oh, brotha/sista found Gafoorka's mess last night ;) - now this is da nuclear bomb, wot say?

I'm smiling like a cat that got more than it's fair share of creaaaammmm....;J

Other places we should do a round of:
Simran's Appam Kadai - those appams are to drool for and please (oh!please) try the mango prawn curry...tralaalalala!

Muah y'all...

i'm all misty...sniff...

No, i'm not here to diss this whole concept. Apart from the fact that it's so outdated, it's also currently a fad to give it a thought. When loves runs out on you, what else do you do, but to take up your yoke and try out the method that you abhorr. Sure, it's embarrassing. It has to be, bad enough you have to swallow your pride. Ahem...

And so, the marriage markets open it's doors to your very sore being, as your trudge past the caskets of resumes and profiles, your parents (picture this in slow mo) are running amok in the crowds, dizzy from excitement, shaking hands with the vendors, clicking on free kiosks, uploading your details and smiling (widely) at everyone, nodding their heads toward you with pride, and probably hugging you more than they used to, kissing you, telling you what a good child you are.

Snap!

Urgh, well that isn't exactly the scenario really. Marriage is and always will be a step in the life of an individual. You run out of juice with the folks, you come of your own and the next natural biological, psychological step would be to look for a mate. Some find it on their own, other let the parents do it, and some others now use the technology we call the wide web. Some others, very different from the rest, mesh all the three to find love, acceptance, blessing and life together.

Hmmm...

Which one am i? Honestly, i'm a gazpacho of everything. i'm a wounded soldier, battle scarred and limping into a hospice where laid down to rest among the other brave, i battle it out with my mind wondering what the bloddy hell, just went wrong here? No answers so far. Ah well...
Well i wouldn't really relegate this little mishap to an Ah well status, but what can one honestly do, eh? I'm laid bare, inards scattered for all to see. I'v detested the whole arranged marriage concept really. Cause what i've seen of it, has been pretty pathetic, so i just assumed - it isn't for me.

Over time, it has changed, y'know. Things are a lot more open and discussed, and the good thing is your choice counts this time. And that's heartening. So, officially, i'm on the market. My profile is doing the rounds, and yet....i can't let some tuggy feeling out my mind. Maybe it's my fantasy person again, coming up from all the murky experiences, and sending out telepathic messages - hehehe.

I never did really let got of my fairy tale meeting. I can picture it.

I'm walking down this Hyde Park lookalike place (well maybe it is Hyde park, i'm not sure!).

It's lonely, the streets are packed with people strolling by with not a care for who's around them, i'm a nobody here, i've something in my hands, it could be an umbrella or maybe it's bag, and as i walk on the side streets, looking at the trees, and the occassional loner with a book, pet or lover - i suddenly stop look to the right and turn. No apparent reason. I start working (right turn taken) my way through the leaves, the dog poo and the occassional frisbee and then i see a tree, it's large, oaky (i'm not good with types of trees, flora and fauna scientifics!) and i stop.

There's a bench - and there's someone on it. It's a he of course!!!! (Geez). And then i don't know, it mists up again. Now i'm not sure, given NLP, and hypnotherapy being quite popular, whether it's from another lifetime, or whether it's the future. I can't really see his face, i can sense it, i kind of have a very hard boom booming of the heart, i feel like i've found something very significant (it's never happened before so i obviously know that it's a big deal). There's a smile, and i do sit down, it's like it was meant to happen. I haven't a clue after that. I just hope it's not after i'm married with kids, and a husband! I trust God wouldn't be that cruel to me. I know he wouldn't do that.

So if you're out there, i'll see you at Hyde Park, yeah?

Ah well! Camels to Cadillacs - wot can you expect?

Yeah, it's the age old sigh. We let loose those two words of pathetic every single time, life lets up on us. Ah well!

Did life let up on me? You betcha, it always does, doesn't it? I mean think about. Did something piss me off today? Of course it did, i mean why would i be in such prosaic mood, if something unfair didn't take place.

You know i'm sitting in a city veiled (don't mind me or the pun!), with a deep disrespect for core human values and people (south asian, and anyone else with a slower, weaker currency - freakonomics! The science of applying economics to everything makes total sense!). Sure, they've got it all right on the paper, and my apologies to the one's who practice what they preach, but truly,the rest of clan, here, isn't doing something right.

I could wax eloquent, but then why bother?; as this remains a rant, a cry into a ravine so deep, that ravine is not a word anymore, it's state of being. I'm falling in a city, where the colour rush is deeper than just a word or an attitude, it's practice(and my, with what open pride i might add)!

Your expertise and contribution could just be limited to the fact that you're baubled to the right degree, have a thick (ridiculous!) accent of exotica arablish, and enough jewellry to bling any fellow homosapien into kingdom come. One such creature got my job, the one i'm supposed to be working on and making a success (teeth in a clench - everytime i think about it!). I'm being blung (with the bling, remember?), right now, into the wide open spaces that i'd like to call 'Of No Recovery'. From what? How's inequality for starters? From deep set culture misconceptions and a blatant disregard for south asians. Heheeh...no, i'm not cleaning the slate...this is a mind war.

One waged with single minded determination and a very hard running approach to the way life unfolds itself in the deserts of the United Arab. You know, it's helpful. It's gotta be. The Oil, the camel to cadillac progression, the sheer disregard for the the ones with the dawdling foreign exchange (Hail white trash, dollars, euro and single minded focus to use the abused till they retaliate!).

Nice going on the unpaid wages for 6 months, by the way, i mean where else in the world do you get away with such injustice, or should i say, complacency? It took 1000s of starving ematiated workers to walk down the middle of Shiekh Zayed Road to drive the point home, eh? And gee, would you look at that - they're all south asians and pakistanis and your handful of other scorched in the inhumane conditions!

You're right, as long as you have control over the $ per barrel, why wouldn't you sit with your dresses pulled high, legs and feet a mesh of comfortable on your car dashboards while you let the air conditioning do what it needs to do. I have to tell ya, the seed bags really need some cooling, and the airconditioning isn't really cutting it for ya. No, really!

There is a cause and effect cycle though. The one i call sweet retribution, and it isn't far off. so go ahead choose the ditzy over the determined, choose the easy way while you can, obviously you're all on one big f*&^ing holiday ever since the bedouins divided and ruled, and lo behold a sky scraper! Hmmm...if it were only so easy.

I feel sorry for the multi nationals that operate in such slip shod conditions where the real jobs are veiled and underpaid, while the embellishments, walk in and out of their dreams, like it's one big stupid party. Some day....some sweet day, reality will bite, and i hope it bites down HARD.

Reaching out

It's not every day, really. I mean think about it, here we are, most of the time existing in our own bubble wondering if we'll ever really, reach out and touch something meaningful in our lives, and sometimes life gets in the eay, yeah? So here we are in a state of limbo, my online radio stations refuse to cough up the music in one straight unadulterated speed, and between the bursts of music, i wax eloqunt, and continue with my white ear phones, stuck in my ears, with no music, but the 'ding' and 'blimp' of error messages, and other prescheduled tasks interupting me, on and off.

Recently, after the 2 and half months of sadness, and regret of coming to Dubai, i turned to a spirutual soloce that ironically one only finds when you're in the lowest low, and highest breach of sanity. I won't say that i was extremely jobless, i wasn't. employment, isn't the only way of keeping yourself occupied, and interestingly, i had lots to do, i could have wailed, bemoaned my fate, made life difficult for the people around me, but i chose to slump into solitude, and find a peice of myself i hardly knew. Now, before you think this is my testimony, i'd like to object and say that truthfully, it's not. I'm not about to go start a revolutionary, done to death DIY of how to find nirvana.

In essence i haven't found that, but i have found peace and a working knowledge of what exactly we should sweat it out for. And what matters. I haven't seen my brother in such a long time. And there are so many reasons why he broke off ties to start osmething on his own. He snapped. Nothing wrong about it, but why it happened, is serious. Reaching out is my way of telling him i care, telling him that i'm sorry that i've been so pushy and that i won't treat him like a child ever again. There are somethings people have the guts to do, that everyone was born to achieve and staying away from it is the only wrong you could do to yourself. Now, i am not in anyway, promoting one of those lose your control policies. But the journey you take, is a lonely one. You meet, greet, compete and co-exist with people along the way, and then you move on. But the ones that last are the ones you keep reaching out to.

My brother is the one who lasts, for me. He's a reason why i believe in miracles, in self sufficiency, in turning around the bad for the good. And so launched a blog. for him. In hope that sometime when he's surfing the web looking for posts, jobs or mails, he will go to this page, to see the things that have and are happening in his family, to make sure he comes back with the knowledge that he didn't miss out on anything, but is a part of it, even if he was far away. I know he'll be back with us, very soon. And that he'll want to come back and that we'll want to go to him as well. And so the love endures and that my friends is the true essence, no matter how swank, hip, or heartless you term yourself to be.

Cheers.

And so the story goes...

It's been quite awhile since my last diatribe. Yeah. And now here i am, stuck 3 and half hours in another time zone, surrounded by sand, heat (47 degrees on an avg!) and my parents. All shacked up in a small one bedroom studio. You may ask why i'm doing this to myself, and then a small voice out from an obscure hemisphere cries out, cause i had to...not exciting, i know.

But then think about it.

And so in my own conculsional way, i decided to give it up. It's my decision, and my blog, so i will gnaw away at my sorrow anyway. I'm okay (thanks for asking!) and somewhere deep down i have lost a chunky piece of me. I mean which one of you in your right mind wouldn't. I am wiser though (despite the wisdom, it does bite. Hard.) and i guess that should make up for it (?). I guess i'll never know.

I'm 26, quite full ideas and searching for a job in the Manhattan of the East. Where the whites and the extra European still enoy their fair share of new age colonialism. The whiter you are the better your chances. Money, lesser work hours and healthy work life balance are all yours in the Manhattan of the East.

If you're wheatish - well, bite down on your tongue. You don't qualify. Sure you could be limbing up a scaffold (masters degree, tucked safely under your sweaty armpit - don't forget the 47 degrees!), shoving cement into the needed crevice. I guess this is the only space you get the voice the pain really. We're in a global village now, so we have to say nice things about each other, or a war could break out and $60 per barrel wouldn't really matter as much as this. Trust me. We all have to smile through the bulls%*^. Cause Shit will Happen.

And so with that multimillion dollar phrase, we sit back and enjoy the blinking ride, because there's no else, who wants to be Gandhi, a Martin Luther or anyone else from that calibre, cause we're all One Big F*&^ing family, aren't we?

Don't get me wrong, it's not a hate mail. It's just what i feel, and i'll go back to respeccting mankind,and the cruel sum of all math that it humanity. Cause it's circle and there will (DEFINITELY) be a time in their scheme of things when it will all turn around, and when it does...oh sweet happy day...judgement day.

Until then, we fly and soar, not giving up, never giving up hope.

And so the story goes....

M'ing among other things

This was a letter i wrote to a yahoo group owner who started something to revolutionize the way women got together to speak about the one thing we all do - masturbation. I joined it when a friend on mine recommended it to me, only to find the entire place thronging with voyeurs looking to get a wet dream for free! Well, i was really upset about it and i write a few posts expressing my disbelief and one of them i write to the owner, who after a couple of mails to me, withdrew the group and closed it down. As far as i'm concerned, that's an achievement.
___________________________________________________________

Hi Ohri,

Well point taken and I must say it makes me feel quite comfortable to know that you were of the same opinion.
I guess the reason why Asian or Indian Asian girls would find it difficult to stay with the group is because some of the postings are quite comfortable with m'ing. While they're joining to find someone who isn't as comfortable as they are. And initially the posts on your group will serve as voyeuristic experience, which they might come back to a couple of times, but I really don't think it's going to help them come out of their shells. I'm hoping that more girls do make it from India, that way we can get some real conversations going. I do understand that in their cultures going pantyless or doing it in the office is very exciting.

But to tell you the truth Indian and other Asian women beat them by a mile when it comes to trying new things - I wouldn't be surprised if someone who isn't comfortable talking about it has already done and experienced what these ladies do already and don't talk about it. When it's their little secret it makes it all the more exciting.

But truth be told, the other consequences of living
In close-knit families, joint family households and also relinquishing luxuries of having your own space in a house has been a very limiting experience for women to explore their sexuality. I've always believed that masturbation has allowed women to understand their bodies and in most cases satisfy themselves like no man / woman can. You know your body like no one does.
Your mind and your body once in sync can take you to places that no one else has or can. That experience remains your special something - and every time you think about it, it's exciting; it's personal and a breathless experience. No words just sleep afterwards!

Another myth I don't buy into is being horny 24x7 - either you're on medication that helps. But there are people who vouch that they can keep going – I personally don't buy into that. For me personally, it's a very spiritual experience to touch myself. Yes I am aroused, but the sensations are amazing and now that I’m working, independent and also aware of who I’m, I know for sure that masturbation keeps a lot of things in check for me, I’m satisfied, I know when I want to because the feelings are undeniable. It's something personal and in my own time and sometimes afterwards, when I’m happy soaking in the bath, or taking shower and sitting with a book afterwards can be such a heavenly experience. I for one really savour such moments and don't use it as jerk off.... (By the way Ohri, I kinda like calling you that, I’m planning to put the last few paragraphs in as a post to see what kind of responses I get, it's time a few people write something other than - 'in the shower' -'without me knickers' - 'office and my little finger’ and so on!)

In fact I really hope you start posting as well soon....

Take care

Megha

Saw it on a fax and thought....

'The philosphers have interpreted the world in various ways; the point is to change it.'

Hear! Hear!

And so the work pours in....

The last couple of weeks has been really busy. You see the truth is that although i work for one of the country offices of a big American conglomerate, the India operations border on pathetic. The systems aren't in place, the people are never here for the work (what's that you ask? For the money? Would it be any other way?).

Speaking about the money - every one of them hire a consultant that conviniently disappear off the rolls and when you do so do the benefits and raises, the rest gets pumped back into the adjustable incomes of the seniors who for the past 4-5 years on an average, earn collasal (obscene) amounts of money for slave driving other intelligent species of humans!

It's funny how convinced you are of your superiority to these freaks, who never really end up doing anything profitable and then when the annual results are announced rest thier sorry behinds on your laurels now squashed beyond recognition. And we give in, seething inside, plotting some devious plan of elimination somewhere in the upper recesses of the phantasmal mind. The sad part is that it remains phantasmal. It always does.

if by chance anyone of you happen to trip on this blog, pick it up in disdainful curiousity - hear this - that this is the only virtual space i get to scream in bytes and bits - and feel okay for it. The world is cruel i know. But hey, you should see me, despite all of this cathartic trip - i still stand back and take a look at what i've been able to acheive, defintely going places, the money negotiating is what i need to master.

MacWorld SF just announced the poor man's Mac and iPod and it's been driving the IT media into a steady but very uppity freinzy! Ev eryone's waiting for shipping, everyone's waiting for the presentation. Everyone's waiting for the launch this side of the globe! The planning has been quite effective this time, only i'm not sure how an inspid presentation is going to get the press all excited! One cann't complain really - considering the dismal budgets a country with prospective consumer base of a two continentst put together can acheive.

Anyway, the press launch is due on Feb 1st. Anyone of you in town, do drop by and take a look - this one's sure to rock your world.

Feb 1 2005
Le Meredian - Delhi
Raisina Hall

Smeeeeerp!!

How tough is it to do something by yourself?

Is there a difference by getting things done and doing them yourself? The fine line that draws itself so irritatingly thin - amazes me beyond explnation.

I was faced with a predicament today - there are some things i have been able to achieve all on my own. The more obvious things...

Like Education, if it weren't for me ii don't think i would have passed. Sure if you're to argue for the sake of it, there tonnes out there who do it 'differently'. But i did study and i did pass. I got myself a couple of degrees. My first job however was a lesson in self inflicted torture - i allowed my mother to make a recommendation. One can only imagine the rest of the joke.

The rest of the journey was not very smooth sailing but i have managed to get somewhere and i'm quite proud of it. However, down this journey called life, i happened to chance upon a few instances where, moreoften than not, i end up having someone with me when i'm trying to accomplish the routine or the out of the way task.

At the end of it all, i do ask myself...why in the world do i do it? Why i do let myself be emotionally dependent on people when i'm out trying to get my liscence fixed/updated, or why i must have moral support when trying to get my car serviced?

I'm still waiting for a divine answer - none has been received.

Coming back to the predicament - My father entrusted me with taking care of the affairs of the home, with land, lawyers, notary publics and other such divniely responsible stuff! Allright!!!
So, with dad and mom out in the deserts of the UAE, i was stuck with the responsibility and frankly i was glad something serious had cropped up. the reason? Well, to put it quite simply, there was a time (a many) that everyone would find it a bit too difficult to let me handle a job.

Here i was in a sense vindicated from that embarrassing fact with something as important as land deal documents and money. I knew my time had arrived. And so with all the pride i could muster (aplently at this point) i announced that i needed someone to accompany me on this quest. Stupid? I think so.

Sure we all need friends and someone to be with you when you're going through an unsure patch. But for god's sake to get a few papers signed?! Anyway, i called boyfriend, who answered in true gallant style. And off we went. And through it all this niggling question of why i couldn't just do this myself kept pricking me - until i snapped this morning and said to myself that today would be the day that Ms. Abraham grew up and did this alone.

And so when boyfriend (sick to the bone, but too in love to admit it) told me he was a little busy with work and that i'd have to wait, i just snapped up the opportunity, thanked him him for the wake up call (sacarsm knows no bounds!) and rode out on my trusty little automatic scooter to face the world of notary publics alone. i visited 2 and was crushed to find that they were either not available or just too dran expensive.

I filled petrol, withdrew some money from the bank and marched back to office and gave the papers to our logistics consultant - who kindly did the job for me in 45 minutes and came back to hand the papers over - safe and sound. Was i feeling elated, well there was a mixed reaction, really.

I felt great that it was done, and i had spent the minimal amount of money. But i felt lousy that i couldn't do it myself. That i couldn't walk up the sea of Notary publics and get 25 sheets notarised drove me nuts. The people in the higher echolons of the food chain might just say, "when there are people do these kind of things for you, you just let em go on and do it,". Logic says yes. Pride says "are you kidding me?!"

Then there are the do it your selfers - who look down at you and say, "tsk tsk...should have known you were the one to crumble..." I could draw myself up and graft myself into the so called 'get it done' clan. But then sometimes, you do steal an admiring look at the 'do it yourselfers'

Ah well, the good thing is that it's done and from the many miles of UAE it will always be that i got the job done.

Cheers to that.