How Accurate Is History?

When we started making a list of things we wanted to do on our London holiday, we put down 'Museums'. As I dug deeper into the details of the itinerary, I realized that there were scores of those in London city alone. We picked out half a dozen, assuming we could cover those off in a couple of days, three at most. Little did we realize that we'd need a couple of days per museum if we had to do them any justice. Anyway, we ended up doing about 4 museums in all and with a lot left to see, in as many days. We also drove a couple of hours out of London each day, for 3 days, covering places of importance in history. In addition, I spent a couple of days listening to stories of the past at the Tower of London, Windsor Castle, St. Paul's Cathedral, etc. England has so much history and many stories to tell.

The place is abundant in prehistoric monuments, the history ranging from royalty, gory battles to the mysteries of the stones of the Neolithic ancestors. The mummies preserved at the British Museum and the other art and artifacts of times gone by are fascinating, as you listen to the stories that go with each. I couldn't help but wonder how much of that was accurate. No doubt most of us believe, without question, that it is all true for we know not any better. It is like believing that the earth goes around the sun and moon around the earth, without actually seeing it for ourselves. Sure, there are some that have 'proven' it but I haven't and I believe it anyway. With conviction too. 

So, why do I wonder about history? It's because I live in a world of social networking, where something like Facebook is full of "facts" that are highly fabricated. The explanations recorded against these historical monuments or artifacts are assumptions or derivation based on something noted somewhere or probable cause of the current state of the artifact. Imagine if 500 years from now someone where to write history based on things they find from today's world. Would you be able to write an accurate account of my life based on the information on my Facebook account? Would you be able to judge me accurately based on my online friends? Are my friends on Facebook or Twitter or LinkedIn really my friends? How do you separate the acquaintances from the real friends? Surely not based on the frequency of contact we make online?

In fact, today's life has so much to do with appearances that if you raided my house and tried to write a description of my personality or lifestyle based on the items you find, you would struggle. You would be confused by the range of articles I own and hoard. There's the real me, there is a version of me that lasted for 10 days, there's the me I thought I was (based on something I thought I appreciated), there's the me I hope to be and so on. If you look in my bathroom shelf, you'll find products that will keep my hair in nice round curls and you'll find products that will straighten my hair and keep them that way for longer. So, do I like curly hair or straight? Which do I use more of? Truth is, some of those products have been sitting on the counter for over a year and one of these days I will trash them because I have forgotten what made me buy them. The truth is, I neither have the patience nor the time to make any effort towards my hair other than washing it once every couple of days. Yet, I own a shelf full of hair styling products.

Despite the cynicism, I do find myself thinking that there is a fair bit of truth in what historians claim. How they arrive at it, I do not have the knowledge of but I feel certain that they have their means to make accurate conjectures. They must see things and interpret signs that are not obvious to the normal eye. Like Sherlock Holmes, who can conclude that a man with minute strands of animal hair on the knees of his otherwise immaculate trousers has a dog (maybe he can name the pedigree too), left home in a disturbed state of mind (and not just in a hurry) and intends to engage Holmes in a story made of lies. He is accurate in his deductions and his trained eyes see things in a perspective some of us can only wish to have. In a way, I suppose historians are like detectives with a natural sense for understanding the way things could have been, by merely observing a dusty old object and trailing it's life cycle, based on the marks on it's body. 

What do historians have, to rely on, if they were to write about today in the future? Will they be able to successfully separate the real from the unreal? Will it be too hard or more interesting to work through the overload of information and make out fact from fiction? I used to go on holidays with a 36-photo reel of Kodak film and the studio would print me the 'best' of the lot. I was limited by the number of photos I could take, so I would be careful about recording what struck me as most important. Last I counted, I had over 3000 pictures from my London holiday. There is everything from the coloured skies to green plants, different angles of the mountains, cows and dozens of facial expressions my toddler makes everyday. Trying to produce a photo album for memories is a mountainous task for me. I don't envy the job of historians of the future. 

  

Maybe the scientists of the future will make devices to automatically cut through the hoard of data. Computers with AI that can choose what is required and trash what isn't, through elaborate data mining algorithms. Or better still, merge hundreds of similar pictures to create one clear view of reality. For all the insights science and history can provide us with, no one knows what the future holds for us. Who can predict what the possibilities are? 

Choosing Baby Over NZ

"I love Spring! Can you see how happy I am? Don't I look happier than I have all Winter? It's the Spring, I tell you", I squealed. That was two years ago.

When I said those words, I had no clue that my life was about to change. Scratch that. The clues were all there, heaps of them buzzing in front of my eyes every day. My life was about to take an overhaul but I had failed to recognize the signs. I complained about ageing and took a little pleasure in the weight loss. If someone had said to me that I may be having a baby, I would have laughed (maybe they did and maybe I did).

The only change I foresaw in my life was a career change. I could totally see THAT happening. New job. Excitement. More money. I had a list of places on my place-to-visit board that I could see being ticked off. My biggest question was whether I could afford that big Europe trip, especially as I was travelling to New Zealand the following February. Maybe I could swing it because DH would find a job by then. Surely, with his high IQ and superior skill-sets, he wasn't going to be without a job for long!

Five days after I said those words, I was sitting at the GP's office. I won't go into the details of that argument but it could be roughly summarized like this:

You're pregnant.

No, I'm not!

A blood test should confirm it.

A week later, he was writing me a referral to see an obstetrician. 

Ross was a funny guy. One of the first things he told me was that he offered no refunds or returns. He also informed me that RSPCA would not help me either. Then he warned me not to get overweight or I'd be hard-pressed to lose the extra weight. Truer words have never been spoken.

Fast-forward to the following February. New Zealand was the last thing on my mind, as I lay there telling the annoying mid-wife to go away. No, I did not want to sit on a ball in the shower. I just needed some sleep. Yeah, like that was happening!

Five days later, we bundled the wee little thing into the car seat, buckled her up and drove home. I kept wondering how they could trust that life in my hands. Hospitals should not be allowed to do that! There had to be some rules against it, in the interest of the baby. When we got home and realized that the car seat buckle hadn't been done up properly, I knew I was right!

In spite of the crazy year that at times dragged on and other times flew past, the New Zealand dream was still there. If I managed to keep her alive till then, we would celebrate her 1st birthday in NZ. Just us surrounded by beautiful scenery and unfamiliar faces. 

Let's just say the stars refuse to align for New Zealand to happen as yet. Maybe I should plan Europe. In the meanwhile, I continue to grapple with the changes this new lifestyle has brought for me. 

Rentals Anyone?

Is it better to rent a house or own one? It seems like a pretty straightforward question. Own one, of course! Why would anyone want to rent a house when they can own one? Well, maybe if you are like Jack Reacher from Lee Child's Reacher series, then you would rather rent a house. Reacher liked to be on the move and did not want the feeling of having roots at any one place. It sort of makes sense, come to think of it. 

So, it really comes down to what kind of a person you are and how you like to live your life. Most people like the stability of having roots while some enjoy the high of being a few feet above the ground. Usually the younger you are, the less concerned you are about having roots. As you get older, you start thinking about where you want to retire. You want a place where you can spend days doing nothing more than laying back and enjoying the quiet. Strangely, in my case, it has been the opposite. It's not that I'm terribly old but slightly older than what I need to be allowed to call myself young. 

I grew up dreaming of owning a house. I nurtured the fantasy until I bought an apartment a few years ago. It was not exactly the stuff of my dreams but I loved it. When I banked the last of my mortgage payments, I retired the dream, leaving an empty space where bricks, mortar and splotches of colour had been metamorphosing during my entire childhood. I, however, did not feel the sheer joy that accompanies dreams coming true. The burst of glitter and the background music did not quite happen. It was not that I was not happy but I did not feel the rush I expected to. Is it because I do not spend too much time there anymore? 

When my job took me overseas, I experienced a whole new world. From a developing country to a developed country, the leap was huge. It was not so much the glamour that money held but the scent of freedom that grabbed me. I travelled to as many places as I could during my first year. By the end of that year, I was smitten. This is what I wanted to do. Travel, travel and more travel. When people asked me if I was going to buy a house here, I did not quite get it. Why would I buy one when I could keep moving? I could move states or I could move countries, as my fancy took me. If I wanted to, I could just move houses because I wanted one with a better view from the balcony or had a bigger swimming pool. I could change my mind about what suburb I wanted to live in. There was so much freedom in renting a unit than there was in owning a house. The owner would worry about the registration and taxes, the renovations and insurance. All I needed was my suitcase and identity points to bunk where I wanted to. The smell of freedom had engulfed me to that extent. Jack Reacher, I feel you! 

That is not to say that I do not like the idea of roots. I am happy to be tied loosely to my roots, as long as I can keep flying high for as long as I want to. Tomorrow, I may decide to cut the chord and fly away or turn off the hot air and glide down. I will cross that bridge when I come to it. Yes, it makes sense to me now. Why would people rather rent than own? It is because it gives life the flavour that the consistency of everyday broth lacks. Did I mention it is cheaper to pay rents than make mortgage payments? It may not be so, in the long run but, not knowing what tomorrow holds, it might just be worthwhile. 

24 Hours in KL

With the advent of Facebook, the line between the real and virtual world appears to be thinning real fast. Some complain about how fake it can get, with people lying about their statuses & locations, not to mention their details. Cut to the real world. Does every person you speak to tell you the truth? You get the point. With experience we learn to differentiate between the truth and the lies. Or maybe we don't but we probably don't care. Atleast FB allows us to make choices on what 'friends' we want to listen to. 

I've friends who have visited Kuala Lampur, I've seen pictures that they have posted on their FB pages and somehow I believed that KL was a tourist destination worth a visit. When I booked my flights to India a few months ago, I was flying via KL and saw it as my chance to take a peek. It surprised but didn't worry me that none of my friends I was talking to, in the real world (for argument sake we'll call it the real word and FB world), had been to KL or ever wanted to. I was flying there anyway, so I would check it out.

A fellow-worker who had made a trip to India along the same route as mine gave me tips on what I need to know. It made my life a hell of a lot easier once I got there, I must admit. What seemed like a long while after I landed, I finally arrived at my hotel. It thrilled me to no end to see that KL had a nightlife. At 9PM, I walked around the city. The teeming streets, the numerous pubs and the KLCC shopping centre that was open till late tickled my senses. Where I come from, everybody shuts shop at 5PM. 

The Petronas Twin Towers that the Malaysians tout as their tourist hotspot looked fabulous with the night-lights. I was raring to check it out in the morning. If you are big on malls, you will love the Suria KLCC mall. I am not. It was okay. What struck me most while I was at the mall was how the elevator worked. It took forever for the lift to come down 4 floors. Yet, people would rather wait than take the stairs. I was to find out, by and by, that it is the way the Malaysians function. Everything takes it's time. A lot of. People fritter away time like they have lots of it.

Don't let the picture of the Twin Towers fool you. While it makes a magical picture from the outside, it really is a couple of office buildings. People work there. It was built by the Petronas oil company and has become an iconic sight due to it's unique construction. The public can go to the balconies connecting the two buildings on the 42nd and 86th floors, for a price. The price is not so high in terms of the cost of the ticket but it is in terms of time. If you must visit, you probably could try their online ticketing system. Since KL is a city without much of a view, I found the effort fruitless. You might try their KL Tower instead, for it's cheaper.

You will see signs everywhere asking you to keep an eye on your things, so it is easy to believe that thievery is common there. I escaped that but found the Malaysians mostly hospitable instead (not counting the vagabonds on some streets). Their language sounds rather rough for someone who understands not a word and doesn't sound easy to pick up. It might have been a good idea to have learnt a few words beforehand, I figured. I took a chance with their local cuisine at my hotel and found it delicious. If you shack up at the Concorde, try their House Noodles with prawns.

My short stopover didn't allow for much other than that part of the city but I did read about the Cultural hub in KL which might have been good for someone who loves to experience different cultures. All said and done, I must admit that KL is not a tourist spot. It might be enjoyable for a short stay, though. They seem to have an  nightlife that you must try, a fair bit of culture and some other attractions that could keep you occupied in your daily life (viz Petrosains Science Centre, Batu Caves, etc). As for me, I will catch up on the rich culture if work took me there but otherwise, Malaysia has been crossed off my list and marked as done. 

I wish I'd seen this before I took off: http://www.travelintelligence.com/travel-writing/24-hours-kuala-lumpur

IPL 2011 Selections

I'm missing the IPL drama back home. The news, discussions, slapping each other back and forth, the spicy bhel puri that is dished out every time the term IPL pops up. Unable to bear the ignorance anymore, I googled for an update on the teams, as one after another friends and family vented on Twitter and FB. 

Cricket, glamour and money have always been the main ingredients of IPL, not necessarily in that order. Possibly in the reverse order, money being the most (in)famous player of all. The mindboggling figures splashed across the internet, therefore, failed to bother me. Of course!

What I miss most is the accusations hurled and explanations provided, the juicy arguments across the teams, by team owners, cricket afficionados, the fans, policiticians and anyone who cared to venture an opinion. Somewhere in the midst of all this, there is always a few true facts hidden. Some probably untrue but put out there in a seemingly reasonable package to appease the legality component. 

Among one of these, I wish to find answers to RCB's decision to hack Ross Taylor and Kevin Pieterson from their team. Weren't they two of the best players in RCB last year? I remember being at the stadium at one of the RCB matches, screaming myself hoarse - Taylor Taylor Taylor - as Ross Taylor played a brilliant innings. Twitter and FB splattered my undying love for the man, throughout the duration of the match. In the next match that I followed, my love had passed on to Pieterson, who smashed the ball with his bat like an unstoppable. Once again, the Twitterati and FB world found me spewing cheers to Kevin Pieterson, my man of the hour. It was these and only these that, at the time, drew the light of my devotion over the Royal Challengers Bangalore.

What was Mallya thinking? My sibling says "They realise they need better reasons for losing, hence the tactic". Rings true, I admit. I didn't find their names on any of the teams. Surely, they deserved their minutes of fame while it lasted. I bet there are others who faced similar fate. There are other decisions by IPL team owners, captains, etc that are being torn apart by the media and public, not to mention peers. All that I miss. This is my penny's worth of contribution to the debate that I do not get to witness. 

Oh, the joys of being away from home...

PS. The teams, from a page belonging to the Herald Sun.

India From Outside

As one of thousands of people who leave their homes and travel to other countries to gain experience, knowledge and an improved lifestyle, I crossed the seas and arrived at this island. As is human nature to adapt to current surroundings, so did I. I went a step ahead and ensured I remain busy so I don't remember what I'm missing from where I arrived. I had so much fun being "a Roman in Rome" that it became my life. Occasionally, a moment like this came up.

suholla suholla 

10 mins into watching Karthik Calling Karthik. Hadn't realized I missed all this so much. I wanna go home! #fb

A friend responded to me on FB and said she felt the same way every time she watched a Bollywood movie. Last night, I stayed up till 1.30 watching a movie that I'd not only watched but knew was not all that great. 

It reminded me of another friend from US who is a big fan of Govinda, now a has-been celebrity in India. I had scoffed at her taste back in the earlier days saying that is what happened when you were away from home. 

Today, I can relate to it. I still won't chase Govinda but I can sit through a crappy Hindi movie and get nostalgic. 

It makes me wonder if this is why Karan Johar's movies are such big blockbusters abroad. Not all of them are good but he touches a nerve that non-residents can feel. Something they can relate to. It's like buying readymade "Nan bread" at Woolworths or Coles. Like thinking it is the closest thing I can get to eating naan at home, so I'll buy it and if it takes alright, I'll like it. Reality is that it is nothing like a real naan made in India. A mock-up of the original, if you will. 

Same applies to the localities of that place. KJo's movies have a sprinkling of India and culture but the locations are those outsiders can identify with. Then the drama and the "tradition" that might not really be India but what is believed outside of India. A smattering of all that and you have a hit Bollywood movie that might not work in India but will bring in moolah from outside. 

India from within India is so different from India from outside. A lot of people ask me about Indian culture and if this is how we do something. I try to explain to them that Indian culture is not one culture but many. South Indians are so different from North Indians. We speak over 25 languages and have almost as many cultures. If you dig deeper, there is the caste system and sub-caste system, where tradition varies within one culture. 

I have not met one expat who told me (s)he loved ragi mudde or rasam. Or even heard of it. India, for them, is "nan bread", "dahl", tandoori chicken, butter chicken, biryani, etc. All tailored to suit their exotic palates too. I wonder if we could tailor a mudde or rasam that way. Maybe not. Maybe that is why we can get that stuff only in India. 

Most of what is seen outside is the North Indian culture. More so Punjab, Mumbai and Delhi than any other. It's Indian culture alright but it's not the mirror to all of India. Just a peep through the window. Try explaining that to somehow who is baffled that every Indian can speak atleast 2 - 3 different languages. 

B&W - Playing It Safe?

When I walk to work every morning, all I can see around me is men and women in black. An occasional white or grey or maybe even navy blue but black black black everywhere it is. A rare sight of red or blue is a treat to the eye. I wonder if I ought to feel overdressed in a dash of colour but I refuse to be.

We go out in the evenings and there more black, grey, white, dark-as-the-night blue with a little more colours around but hell, what's with the black madness? Maybe, people just get out from work and walk around. Like me. Yeah?

On weekends, we go further out and walk around. More black. Blue jeans, black tees, black jackets, black boots, black, black, black. Black and black, white and white. I cannot imagine having a cupboard full of black and white clothes. How do you decide what to wear when you are going out? Maybe that is the thing. You do not need to decide. Just pick anything, it is all black or white anyway... and you will 'fit in'. Is that right?

No wonder when Aussies visited, back home, they always noticed a lot of colour. What do they have against wearing colour, I wonder. It is only with clothes. There are coloured lights, colour in stores, multi-coloured ice-creams, lots of beautiful colours but they just won't wear them. Maybe they are just playing it safe, so they won't go wrong with what they wear, so they will fit in.

Half A Day At South Bank

After 3 weeks of saying I would do it, I finally made it to South Bank yesterday. (Dean, are you listening?). We walked to QPAC and were about to head towards the man-made beach and the markets, when the husband pointed to me a building with a large butterfly on it. The Insectarium level of the Queensland Museum at South Bank. Off we went to check it out.

The Mutt, thanks to wikipedia

We started off on level 2, for that's where we were, with the usual museum-ish stuff like old coins, museum store, a large skeleton of the Muttaburrasaurus Langdoni. The name of this dinosaur comes from the place where it was first found 'Muttaburra' and the man who first found the partial skeleton Doug Langdon. I looked and it and though, "Boy, is it huge", for when I stood  near it, I barely reached up to his belly. Girl behind me is arguing with her boyfriend, "I don't think this is real, it can't be this small". Small? Alright, time to move on.

We walked further down into the world of absolutely beautiful, natural colours and combinations like we had never seen before! The Insectarium with the butterfly, moth and beetle collections of the Butterfly Man of Kuranda, Fredrick Parkhurst Dodd (popularly known as F P Dodd) and his son Alan P Dodd. The exhibition displays 28 beautifully arranged showcases of butterflies, moths and beetles, collection over a period of time from 1917 through to the 1960s. The butterflies are mounted with such perfection and in such a lovely arrangement that one must marvel not only at the patience with which Dodd and his children collected the species but the creativity and patience involved in preparing the showcases. It is no wonder that banker Dodd quit to focus fully on his love for these collections. Until I saw this exhibition (which, I later found out, was a temporary one and not always on display... lucky me), I had never known butterflies existed in so many varieties and most definitely not moths!! Moths in my head, until yesterday, conjured pictures of ugly brown butterfly-like insects. Not any more. The beetles! Jewels. That's what they looked like. There is even an exhibit with 4 beetles in a case, labelled after each of the musicians. 

One of the cases of the beetle collection, courtesy the museum's website

Then, there was the miscellaneous collection of items ranging from fire engines from various decades, bikinis, ceramics, air-planes and just about anything the Queenslanders feel proud of. Another floor up, an amazing number of animals, birds and sea creatures. I never even knew there were so many kinds of those. In Queensland alone? No joking! Then, the exhibits of artefacts created/used by the aboriginals. 

A good couple of hours later, our grumbling stomachs forced us to leave the museum and we left, having covered just level 2 and one of two wings on level 3. There is still levels 1, half of 3 and 4 to cover. Another day. Looking forward to it. 

We walked past QPAC, the Wheel and arrived at the weekend Lifestyle Market of South Bank. The walk-way is pleasant, made especially to protect us from the summer sun, it appears. Called The Arbour, it's touted as one of the attractions of South Bank. The streets were lined with stores, restaurants and fancy places - again, to visit another day. Today, we walked on the side with the food-court, watched the ibises by the flowing water. As we arrived at the man-made beach (Yes Dean, you're right, it is a joke), we hit a crowd of people waiting for a street-performer to being his show. 

The Arbour, courtesy the South Bank website

Steve from Adelaide, was one heck of a street-performer. Have not seen others, so I cannot tell whether his performance was out of the world but it was definitely engaging. He was a great speaker, simply fantastic at getting himself a reasonable sized crowd and making everyone laugh. We went there for a peek and ended up staying till the end. For once, my husband did not want to leave (his usual refrain at such events is, "I'm bored, let's get out of here"). He juggled 3 fire torches, then 4 and finally 5. My favourite was when he balanced on top of a tall ladder, without support, juggled a fire torch, a large knife and an apple, as he took bites out of the apple and talked to the crowd encouraging them to cheer. As if his cheeky comments and sarcastic sense of humour was not enough, he met his match in a little 6 yr old Tess who almost stole his show. "Shut up, it's my show", he said. 

Five dollars poorer after the show, we took a peek at the "man-made beach", and shot off to The Crepe Cafe for some beer and snacks. A beef & mushroom crepe and tomato-mushroom omelette later, we walked back home along the river. The lights reminded us of Clarke Quay in Singapore, only we liked this better. It was 11 degrees and awesome for a walk. Back to Queen Street Mall, the familiar crowd, past the painter beginning to set up his show, down the usual stores unusually open late on weekends, a pit stop at a couple of troopers... we arrived at home. A book, sandwich and cop show later, blissful sleep.

What's on for tomorrow?

Change Is Good

I was told "Even if you hate it there, you will be better for the experience."

That refrain has been the basis of my decision. I am a sucker for experience. Everything else, 'get in line'.

It is like stepping into a giant wheel (roller coaster ride, they call it?). I can live without it, I don't really need to do it, eh? A slight push. Are you sure? Are you scared? Maybe. Maybe not. Dunno. I don't want to admit anything. I wonder. Why am I not doing it? There doesn't seem to be a good reason. Might as well give it a shot. So, go...

The preparations, the wait and the leap. So exciting! Thank God for that push! Thank God for those seemingly meaningless questions with no answers! 20 seconds of stress and then whoa, what a rush. So much fun. Such a high!

Slowly, as the I settle in, the momentum seems to slow down. Eventually, the dust will settle and all the fascinating things will become BAU. That every time I head back to my old life, there will be a spike of emotions, only makes the journey more enjoyable. Having the best of both worlds. Learning from the worst of both.

I must agree, even if I hate it enough to go back to where I came from, I will be better for the experience. I don’t see the hatred coming, I'm loving it. Plus, I already feel great about everything new that is enriching my life. I’m grateful for the opportunity that Life has given me, everything that has come with it and more that awaits…

Toilet Signs

We've all seen graffiti on the walls and back of doors of public toilets. Off late, it appears to be common practice to put up notices - posters, print-outs - appealing to people to keep it clean, flush the toilets, etc. I even saw those in Singapore which is, by far, the cleanest city I've been to. That's understandable... public toilets are used by so many people, some of them think it's "unclean" to touch the flush buttons/handles, etc. Yuck but hell, it's true!

I have found it rather disgusting that this has been a necessity at many offices. It's shocking! Educated professionals, why do you need to be told? 

So, when I did not find such a note up in the 'ladies room' at my new workplace, I was pleased. Enough to notice it. There was another note, though. Rather strange. 

New airlock flushes. Please press button hard.

I nearly laughed. Until I tried to press the button and realized what they meant. Yeah, if it was not for the note, the place might stink. I mean, seriously, you need mammoth strength to get this thing working. Whoa!

I don't know if I had missed it earlier or it was only put up recently but I noticed another instruction yesterday. A printout on the door. It started with a cheery 'hello ladies' and continued to say that this was a reminder for us to keep the place clean... yada yada yada. Then, the real message. I don't have the exact words here but it is pretty much this

Please flush after using the toilets and check to ensure that it has worked

I struggled to control my laughter. Imagine a woman laughing by herself in the restroom,  my colleagues would think I'm mad and it is far too early for them to know that! Every time I walk into the restroom, I have to rush in because it is hard not to laugh and that makes me want to pee. LOL!

Welcome To Sunny Brisbane

After holidaying in Singapore for 4 days, it was time to head to the new place I was going to call home. Having been through the 'new country experience', this should have been easy. 

Plus, I was being pampered. I arrive at the airport to a warm hug & a cup of coffee, a friend I hadn't seen in ages, a bag of grocery, a sleep-in at a friend's place till I could check-in, maps and directions, not to forget dollars for my expenses from another dear friend. What more could I ask for? The weather in Brisbane is simply superb. Of course, the clean place and traffic don't surprise me anymore. Mmm, I could get used to this!

Been to the Queen Street Mall a few times now. Liked it each time. Free-for-all salsa/meringue/cha cha, German sausage, awesome awesome.

A fantastic drive in a convertible with friends, checking out furniture, watching the river, it just keeps getting better! I'm even enjoying cooking. It's different, using an electric stove with hot-plates, different kind of ingredients and oh boy, it took me all evening to cook rice & cabbage curry with scrambled eggs but hell, it felt good. 

Except that I miss driving in Bangalore, the familiarity at times, homesickness hasn't quite set in yet. I can't wait to move into a rental and start furnishing it! Starting work tomorrow and looking forward to it. More new experiences, new people, exploring the city...

PS. This was written a day before I started work, only posted now but I'm leaving it unchanged. Been at work 2 days now and by God, my favourite part of the entire Brisbane experience (ok, second favourite, cos my favourite's the riverside)

Days of Unemployment: The Beginning

Planning a trip, moving to a new place... so exciting! I thought I would have loads to fill my blog pages. On the other hand, there is so much to be done but hardly anything worth writing about. The list of tasks to complete keeps growing every day. As I score 2 items off my list, 4 more spring up. How can there be so much to be done? Sigh!

I cannot help wishing I had more people, helping me raze through the mad pile of tasks ahead of me. If travellers could be classified as the enjoy-the-package kind and the stress-while-planning-stress-while-travelling-stress-till-you're-back kinds, I would most definitely fit in the latter group. So, it is no wonder that I walk around with a pen, paper and headache every waking moment of my days. I dare not not get started on my mood swings. 

As I am typing this, a lady from Vodafone called to inform me that I have not paid my bill for this month yet. A whopping 3 grand (well, almost). Damn her! Got that out of the way. As I turned poorer by a few thousands, it was exciting to hear the 'ding' of a new message on my mobile phone. That means the payment is complete. There is another 'ding'. And another one, in quick succession. Now that's strange. I check my mobile and guess what? More bills! Insurance premium is due. Damn damn damn!!

As if it was not enough that I have a list that grows longer every minute, the expenses seem to going higher and availability of funds retreating as if scared of being spent! I feel like Rebecca Bloomwood of the Shopaholic series now. The more bills I clear, the more that seem to materialize out of thin air. 

I have 15 things on my list today. Writing a blog was not one of them. That's 16, shit! 1 down though, the blog is done. Woohoo! Better get going... 15 more to score off. And some of unlisted tasks. Like feeding the dog. The fishes. Oh dear, I really better go!

A Dream Job

When I first joined the IT world, I told myself, I'd work for a few years (initially it was 5, then it became 10) and retire. I was not sure what I wanted to do if I retired but I wanted to do something else. This was even before I started doing something!

As years of code-development, software-design and testing grew on me, I decided that there was no way I could quit. I would go crazy if I had to spend a day not doing what I was doing. I can't say I have always had the world's best work environment but I have always loved my work. Almost always. I would joke on my days of frustration and tension that I "wanted to quit my job and become a housewife" as if that was a terrible punishment for me.

Then came the phase when I wanted to take a career break. I wanted to break from doing what I loved doing and do something else I loved doing. In a better environment, hopefully. When people around me heard this, some just shook their head in hopelessness, some were alarmed, some agreed it sounded good (deep inside, I bet they were praying I'll change my mind). In short, it was not something that excited anyone as much as it excited me. Slowly, it appeared that  would change my mind too and decide to keep my job, my money and the financial independence that came with it. That's when I met an old friend of mine who tells me she has done exactly that! Quit the Corporate World. Not her job, but the industry itself. A pang of envy struck me. I started getting excited about the concept of career break again...

Then came this incredible job offer. Advice, threats, push, shove, yell, explain and numerous discussions later, I decided that I would take it. When we were in college, everyone had a "dream job" in mind. I never did. I was so under-confident that my dream job was really sitting behind the reception counter of some organization and reading a book everyday, while attending to customers. It wasn't a dream I enjoyed but I told myself that some job was better than no job. Once I got a job in IT, I told myself that my dream job was probably something at Infosys but a couple of failed, intimidating interviews, long, hungry waits and days wasted in stress later, I now remember Infy as a place I do not want to interview with anymore.

As a kid in school, I used to have a distant dream of travelling to various parts of the world. Australia topped the list, then came Europe, New York and so on. Rome was another one of my favourites. Of course, after the first 3 or 4, the rest were just names I'd heard from various people or read in books.

So, there came this incredible job offer. If I knew what I wanted to do in my career and I had a dream job, some of it might have been like this. Of course, a real dream offer would have been to be able to work with the people I love working with so much. Ah, how much I regret not being able to join them! Worse, when I hear from my friends who have the opportunity to try are wavering. Of course, they have a different set of priorities. 

Back to my new job. I am usually one of those people who do not care to keep such things a secret. Too many burnt fingers, too many stab-wounds in my back and this time, I am finding it hard to share. As someone said me yesterday, eventually I will and then it won't matter. In the meanwhile, while the wait is on for some, some others are celebrating with me...

Guest Post #3: PS. You Asked For It

The husband played a cat-and-mouse game or two before he sent me a copy of his blog to post. When the write-up finally arrived, it is a topic close to his heart (read: cynicism).

I am struggling to write an introduction for this one. Here is my one chance to get back at him for all the gibes I've endured since the fateful day of my marriage. A one golden opportunity to kick some serious ass. Yet, I have been typing and deleting words for the last half hour.

Yikes, he's just performed the most heinous act! There's a head in my sink! Oh wait, it's only hair, a head-ful of it! I'd better run. You go on and read his (hic hic) post...

Before I go on and insult a good few million people, let me tell you that when an Indian is going 'abroad' it usually means the USA, UK or if the stars are not so well aligned, somewhere in Europe. Preferably not the eastern parts.

The story starts as soon as the said person hears that he has to fly and starts the visa application process. Status among peers immediately goes up. 'Lucky bastard', becomes a common nickname. Furtive glances are cast and the thought that LB will make a lot of money jumps from one greedy mind to another. LB does a lot of shopping, usually for copious amounts of warm clothes,  clean underwear and socks (one hopes). On the fateful day LB is to fly, the whole extended family turns up at the airport. Even uncles long thought to be dead and buried show up. It does not really matter if LB will be back before Kyuki Saas Bi Kabhi Bahu Thi airs the next week. Tearful hugs, blessings and lots of unnecessary advice later, LB enters the airport. LB usually has no problems with baggage rules. Every bag is carefully weighed at home, and every bag is invariably filled with pickles and packets of precious Maggi.

Nothing interesting ever happens on planes and airports everywhere are designed to suck the soul out of people who stray within a 10-mile radius. Except for cabbies. I'm willing to bet that the Flying Spaghetti Monster is more real than the Mile-High club. Imagine a few speeding frames in your head and LB is out of the airport and 'abroad'.

Remember the image of the quintessential Japanese tourist taking pictures of every damn thing in sight? LB and his ilk put Mr. Yamaguchi to shame. LB is crossing a street. Click. LB drinking out of a fountain. Click. Hot dog stand! Click. 

Indian food suddenly becomes more important than air. (I've been dragged around on trams on a snowy weekend in a city where the collective population spoke 7 words of English in totality. Of course, we sought an Indian restaurant. Any Indian restaurant). If LB turns out to be vegetarian, then god help him. Any of the billion Indian gods would do. Oh, and the local cuisine be damned.

LB does have a list of touristy places to visit and this is generally accomplished with the equivalent of 2 dollars, 17 cents and a suspicious looking piece of dried potato. A thousand photos and some carefully chosen souvenirs later, there is a list of places to be crossed off LB's list.

Thanks to Levis, Lee, Nike, Adidas and others peddling their wares in India, LB doesn't buy any shoes or jeans for people back home. However, there are still shopping lists thrust at LB by relatives, friends, neighbors and colleagues. Ka-ching. Loads of chocolates are bought too, usually in duty-free stores at the airport.

Many boring days (or weeks or months) later LB heads home to a hero's reception. For years all of LB's stories will include amusing anecdotes of his fascinating stay abroad.

How can I caricature LB so well? Well, I'm Indian and I've been 'abroad' a couple of times and have had the pleasure of LB's company each time. Oh, and LB comes in all shapes, sizes, both genders and from any of the gazillion states in India.

I assure you I was not sitting on top of the moral tree when I was writing this. I may have been leaning on it and smoking a cigarette, looking awesome, but that's another story.

Looking forward to some comments on this one, definitely. Help me where I have failed. 

Real Estate in OZ?

Re-producing the article here for those who don't want to chase the link (click on title).

Google has added a real estate search feature to its Google Maps service in Australia, letting potential home buyers view available properties across all real estate companies in a particular area.

Google has worked with numerous property companies to provide hundreds of thousands of homes for sale and rent, which are displayed the map by small red circles.

A property search can be refined by price, type of property, number of bedrooms, number of bathrooms, and parking availability.

Clicking on a small red circle will display information about the listing and the contact details of the agent will be displayed.

Google spokesperson Andrew Foster says that even though Australian home buyers already use Google Maps for research, the new feature now puts everything in one place.

"Given the importance of location to a home search, we've made it easy for home buyers and renters to see listings that match their criteria on Google Maps even as they pan and zoom the map to different areas," Foster said.

Other tools on Google Maps include driving directions, Street View and public transport information.

Courtesy <>

Official Google Australia Blog: An Ode to Google

Official Google Australia Blog: An Ode to Google