Getting Things Done

Working on a schedule can be both a good thing and bad. I am currently reading a book called Getting Things Done by Allen David. I started reading it with reluctance but as I flipped through the pages, I found that he actually makes sense. It helped that some of his ideas were already part of my daily routine. When a popular book says the best way to do something is the way you do it, you do not put the book down because you already know the best methods but you keep on reading. We all love to be flattered. Who does not like compliments?

From reading 5 pages on the train to another 15 during lunch, I have intensified my reading. As I read on, I found areas where my methods had gone slack from my younger days. Things that used to work really well back then would work now too, but I had taken a lazy route on some of those. The book is helping me get back on track. So far, I have not hit a spot where he has said something which indicates I am doing something wrong. He goes on to tell me to keep going down the path I am on but to focus. I suppose it is easier to follow something when you are already on to it.

Reading the book has not only been insightful but confidence building, for me. It has been a pleasure knowing my methods are not only great but there are thousands of people out there who are reading about it and it is helping them. The first day I took it to work, a senior manager at work saw the book on my desk and told me how much he loved it. He said he had read it twice and thought it was fabulous. That was another important lesson I learnt, thanks to the book, but outside of the book. If only I had stuck to being myself and not tried to fit into mediocrity, I would have continued to be great. I tried too hard, I nearly failed and then I settled uncomfortably into mediocrity. 

That needs to be changed. The book is helping me do that. Of all self-help books I have read, this is one of the two most inspirational ones. The other one was just the opposite. It told me I was doing everything wrong. It taught me how to get it right. In their own way, both books have been a great influence on me. The other book is called Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart by Gordon Livingston. While GTD is a book my husband forced me to read, TSOTLS was a Christmas gift from my best friend that I forced myself to read because he gave it to me. Two of the greatest books I have ever read. I do not usually go back to books that I have read once... not for reference at least but I keep going back to these.

From scraping the crudeness that has crept into my methods and working a finesse into it, I have also been adopting the techniques in my life outside work. I did it once to combat a difficult emotional situation. I am doing it again now to cope with stress. Luckily for me, the husband has been with me on it. He, initially, humoured me because it was in the book he suggested I read. He had not quite implemented the methods in his life but I was making him do it. Now, he does it willing. He sees how it is working. He is pleased at how much less stress I am under, these days.

For someone who has the type of personality that thinks it is okay to take the trash out any time before the garbage truck comes and does not have to be done first thing in the morning, sticking to a time-boxed schedule is not quite easy. It is easy enough when I have to do that at work but so hard in the outside world. There are so many distractions and numerous things that need to get done. Hard is not impossible. Right?

This morning, I am working to a schedule that will get me to work at least an hour earlier than normal. This is to be my new practice. I am a bit concerned about staying within my time boundaries. a part of the mind was worried about the alarm going off. Yeah, right. I thought setting an alarm would take my mind off having to worry whether it was time yet but I was anxious of the dreaded bell ringing. I only hope it gets better with time. I am sure it will. I have done it before. I can do it again.

I Heart Music But...

I recently found out that music grows on you, when I borrowed someone's 5 favourite songs to listen to, while I worked. I did not quite get it the first time I heard the songs. As I listened to them again and again, I found that I liked them. Especially one of the songs. 

They say that the kind of person you are can be determined by the music you listen to. I tried to figure what kind of a person that made him but drew a blank. I have never really had one kind of music I have listened to. Right from listening to the same music that someone else in the family used to listen to (and enjoying them) to following my friends during my growing years, I have never really had a type of music preference. Of course, I have songs that I like and some that I do not but that is about it. That is why the radio works perfectly well for me. Somebody else (the radio jockey) picks a playlist he wants to play from. If it is a call-in program, there are heaps of people making up the playlist for me. If I do not like what they are playing, I can simply switch channels and listen to something else.

My moods also define the kind of music I like. Apparently, being moody and the moods defining music preferences is not a good enough excuse, to tell people that there isn't really one type of music you like. Too bad. They will just have to go without an excuse. I do not have a preference. Period. So, I was quite lost when I received an iPod Nano for my birthday last year. I mean, I loved it! It was my favourite colour and it has a screen too. It looks pretty and it is quite handy. My problem was that I did not quite know what songs to put on it. After a few stressful attempts at trying to pick one playlist or the other and having frustrating moments of not finding the sort of music I wanted to listen to, in my various moods, I decided that I would load the ipod with all sorts of music so that I could pick the songs based on what I felt like listening to. To me, it sounded like a great idea, at the time. Only later did I realize that it is how everyone else does it and I should have done that in the first place.

I have seen people looking at their phones/ipods while listening to music, in trains and buses and wondered why they kept changing their minds and not listen to one playlist. Turns out there is no such thing as one playlist. You fill up the player with thousands of songs that you like. You can fill it up with random songs or ones from other people or just something you have heard somewhere, it does not matter. My theory, that you only need to load it with songs that you really like, was flung out the window, the moment I realized this. Once you have done that, you pick songs that you like as you listen to them, one after another. Now, this is something I find really hard to get. Imagine having to keep choosing songs after each one is over! I like to make a quick list and then just let them play one after another. Having to make a choice again and again would kill me. It would stress me out immensely and take the joy out of listening to music, for me. In fact, I would probably spend more than half my journey on the train trying to pick the song that best suited my mood at the time! How awful would that be?

I guess my biggest problem is that I cannot just listen to music. I can listen to music in the background, while I am doing other things but to just stand or sit and listen to music is something I simply cannot do. I have attempted that in the past and ended up losing myself in a train of thoughts, completely blocking out the music in the bargain. The music player would have long stopped playing and I would have not noticed it at all. So, having to pick a song every 3 minutes or so would never work for me.

So, I stuck with my concept of an auto-scrolling playlist and finally made one, to play in my ipod nano. After having listened to the one fixed playlist for a little while, I got bored. I had to make another one. It was too much hard work and I did not have the time. Thus, the ipod nano was relegated to the background and stayed there for a long while. One day, I decided to get a few songs from a friend who liked 'country music'. I was going to make another attempt at the 'normal' way of listening to music on the ipod. As expected, it did not work for me. The ipod went back to the drawer and has not come out since then.

Yesterday, I got my best friend to list his 5 favourite songs. I have been listening to them since then, along with 5 of my own favourite songs. I would love to have put them in my ipod, to listen to, over the weekend. The only problem with that is that I cannot be bothered with the effort of connecting to a computer, make a list (because inevitably I will try to make a fresh list or organize the music in some way or the other) and refresh the ipod with the new songs. The ipod stayed in it's safe place. In the drawer. For now, online streaming music on my iPad will have to do. Then there is the radio on the iPad.

I'll be a hurricane, ripping up trees... 

Too Much Of A Good Thing

As I kid, I remember coming home from a day of play and telling my mum about it. I used to tell her about the friends I made and the fun I had with the friends I already have. That still happens. It seemed like the most natural thing to me, until now. I go out, make my friends, come home and tell my parents about them. What is unusual about that? Right? 

I have been hanging about with a few friends with kids, lately. Incidentally, all of them have 1 boy each, aged between 4 to 8 years old. It has been interesting to see how each one raises their kid. Differently. Some of them are admirable, some make you wonder if you ought to give them a piece of advice. I don't anyway. I do not have kids, I do not even know how to handle little boys. I am the last person that should be advising someone on how to raise their offspring. I am pretty sure they would feel the same way, if I made an attempt to supply them with my words of wisdom. So, I keep quiet and observe in the background. Sometimes I grit my teeth, suck in a deep breath and turn my head away to stop myself from being a know-it-all. There was a little voice that had been nagging me for a while. I just did not know what it was about, until this morning. One of the said friends put up a Facebook status about being proud of her son for getting ready by himself in anticipation of meeting his friend. 

Off late, a number of my friends on Facebook seem to have had babies and my wall is inundated with screaming mums proud of anything their little ones do - from burping to pooping to proud mums who can change nappies. It's been driving me nuts. So much so that I've considered un-friending the whole bunch at some point or the other. Who knows if I might turn into one of them at some point? I'm not that now and I'm mildly annoyed that I have to put up with those updates constantly! Coming back to the friend whose son was getting ready to meet his friend. I realized that these parents seem to plan their weekends around their kids. I mean, I knew that before and I have found it overbearing at times, even though I could understand that they had to do things their children would enjoy too. What hit me today was the knowledge that they were, in effect, planning how their young ones should spend their time. They would make plans and expect the little fellas to get excited about it. Of course they know what the kids want and they know what is good for the kids, so it is not wrong. Only, sometimes it can stretch too far. 

When I went out to play, the most my mum did was to make sure I was wearing shoes and she knew where I was headed. I would play with my friends, in the playground, in the park, side-alleys... I could play whatever I wanted. I would come home muddied, scratched and dirtied, mum would help me wash up. I made my own friends, I played whatever game we chose. I was free to live out my childhood discovering things and doing fun stuff. These kids have their parents chart out their day. The parents decide how much fun they can have. Their friends are the ones their parents will go out with. That is, their parents' friends' children. "If mum decides to take me to Seaworld today, that is my fun day". No doubt it is fun. Only, they have never stopped to think if that is what they want to do today. Mum and dad don't ask either. Even if they did, the young fella probably wouldn't say no because he probably doesn't know his options or that he has any. 

Somehow, this whole thing feels so sad. The kids have never gone out to play without either the parents or their teachers chaperoning them. They probably won't until they grow into teenagers, when suddenly their new-found freedom is going to emerge from the inside in a burst. I may be wrong about that. Still, I liked the idea of just going out to play with my friends, without my parents watching over me and making sure I play right.  

I went to a friend's son's school the other day, to watch his performance. Before his son went on stage, a group of tiny-tots performed a little song and dance routine. When we did that in school, we would practice for days on end and then perform on stage. Sometimes we remembered all the moves and did the right thing. Sometimes we forgot. Some of us were born stars, some of us were nervous. Whatever it was, we did what we did. On this occasion, I saw a teacher kneeling in front of the stage and doing the moves that the children were copying. All eyes on the stage, were on her. I'm sure they have practised before. It looked good that all the children seemed to be able to do the moves, some well, some not so well. It saddened me, however, that they were all watching the teacher and copying her. There is too much emphasis on the end product looking good, rather than letting the children free to do what they have practised, on stage, as well as they can remember it. There is not enough emphasis on the children actually knowing what they were doing. No tests, just keep reading your books. No exams till the age of 10. Maybe I got the age wrong but that is not the point. How sad is that they refuse to tell children about failure?

A colleague with 3 boys between the ages of 5 to 15 once said to me that the system was ridiculous. No matter how badly they performed, they were told that they were good, so as to not hurt them. Even bad news was sugar-coated. He said it was pathetic that they had to soften the blow and hide the children from the concept of failure. This is not real life, he insisted. I could not help but agree with him.

In my growing years, I have met parents who have swung the other way and put too much pressure on their children to do well, emphasised far too much on failure. That is another extreme. Even so, I think I would rather know that I could do better when I haven't done well than watch a teacher perform and copy her steps, step off the stage to be told I was amazing and live the lie.

Smile An Everlasting Smile

I heard the happiness in your laugh and your excitement. You sounded like a child. The word that came to mind was 'glee'. The term 'pure joy' made sense. I smiled. It came naturally. 

Mary J. Waldrip said, "A laugh is a smile that bursts". When you laughed, a speck from the burst hit me. 

I know what I said then. I heard it myself. I insisted you go easy. Maybe I was trying to sound worried. Maybe I was, a little bit. Despite all that, I was smiling. Almost laughing but preferring to hear you laugh instead. I remember it now and it makes me smile. 

There is a sound that warms me like a hug...

It was a beautiful morning, one that forced me to forget everything and just smile. No questions allowed, no reasons given, just smile. A deep moment of emptiness filling with cheer, as the lips curved lightly. 

I stepped outside. While I enjoyed the hamburger and coffee, I thought of you. I remembered the first time. You were here then. The memory felt real and made me smile. I walked down streets, all of which I had walked with you before. Then I reached some that we had not but I knew you would have loved it. My lips were not smiling but I felt a smile inside me as I strolled about. 

Yes, it is those memories and knowing they will realize once again that keeps my smile intact. 

The air was thick with anticipation. Emotions were at an 'almost happy' phase. Ready to erupt but holding back the smiles and laughter till we could be sure. The colour of tension was a multitude of shades flickering with an 'almost certain' sentiment. 

It was an awesome display of patience and grit, in my experience. The calm surrounding it was infectious. 

With the final swing of the ball in the air, you had us holding our breaths in a strange concoction of pleasure and disbelief! A befitting last ball sixer in response to theirs, something even the most hopeful could not have thought of asking. You gave a billion people a reason to smile in that instant. 

The applause will continue till the overwhelming sense of relief settles. You swept us off our feet and we are still reeling at the sensation. For now, we are unified by that smile you put in our days.

Aye Aye Captain, we are grateful... for spilling the lava of smiles over the country.

The perfect sleep is a long and deep one. When I awoke, I found a smile on my face. Just like that. Slowly, as I wound my way along the minutes, pleasant hours that had passed by pushed to the front of my mind. I sat down with a cuppa to enjoy them again. 

When I was finally stood up to move on, you sent me a text, "Please call". Unsure of what to read into it and unable to shake off the good climate inside me, I called you. The sound of two delighted voices tripping over each other had me gripped as you took off on a merry ride in the phone call. 

I confess, I love tumbling along from one reason to smile to another. 

"Smile, an everlasting smile / A smile can bring you near, to me..."

Xmas to New Year

I've been slack on the blogging front. I think up stuff to write, I have the material and then I get lazy. After a blissfully beautiful Christmas, which I insist on calling "the traditional Aussie Christmas" even though people tell me there's nothing traditional about an Aussie Christmas, I made up my mind to blog about it. The draft page remained open on my Chrome for a week before I shut it when I had to restart my PC for updates. That was the end of it.

It has been a crazy week. Busy and free. Full and quiet. Odd and lovely at so many levels.

Christmas Eve involved attending a family mass at the Holy Cross Church at Windsor. It was my first time. I've wanted to do that for many years now. A lovely experience. It felt nice to be at a place of worship after a long time. I had not realized until then that I missed going to a temple or church. It was touching to see that many people with an unfailing faith in God. There were bits when the priest was speaking that seemed to come straight out of the movies. That could be because movies take things out of life in an attempt to make it seem real. It felt out of place but that was just me, of course. I was allowed to take pictures but alas my mobile camera is not the world's greatest. In the end, we all held hands and prayed, then when everyone whispered "Peace be with you" to each other, in reverence, it took me a while to go from 'psst psst psst' and 'Merry Christmas??' to what it really was. Managed to return some myself, eventually.

Christmas was perfect. There is no other way to describe it. Ever since the festive season started, I had begun to feel more than ever that I wanted to see what the inside of a Christmas was really like. I wanted to spend it with an Aussie family and see what they do. Everyone I spoke with merely said "lunch with family", "exchange presents", "that's about it". I wanted to be part of it anyway but no such thing was going to happen. So, I got a stack of books from the library and told myself that I could atleast lose myself in the magical world of stories. That is when I received an invite to attend a 10-day camping trip to Melbourne, Sydney and Canberra. Excited as I was, it was too short a notice to obtain time off at work and to prepare myself. I hated having to let it pass. Then an angel sent me EM, girlfriend of RVR, from my Krav classes, at our pre-Christmas BBQ. 

RVR picked me up from home at 10 on the morning of Christmas Day. The afternoon was spent volunteering at a church, helping with the community lunch for the lonely/homeless/poor. It was interesting to meet so many people, listen to some of the older ones talk about life in their younger days, the even older ones discuss their times, really young ones argue about the fascination of their generation. EM's mum KM chattered away and introduced me to everyone. Such a social and amiable person, she is. Reminded me of my mum. Went back home to EM's parents where EM and I made dessert - chocolate biscotti tart with caramel filling. Yumm. Watching the family exchange gifts in private, is a memory to lock away and cherish. Showered, changed and got lost catching up with the rest of the extended family that came in for a fabulous Christmas dinner. Meeting all those people, the chatter, the excitement, the exchange of information was so overwhelming. The Christmas dinner was a gala affair, starting with PM "saying grace", the Christmas crackers, reading the cheeky jokes aloud, the 3-course meal, the conversations... can't say enough about it. Later, the exchange of presents, reading newsletters, sharing news, more talking, the excitement in the air was simply marvellous. At the end of an enjoyable evening came the goodbyes. 

I was the first to arrive when the day had just begun and the last to leave. A quiet drive back home with RVR, talking about stuff. Bedtime. A perfect Christmas.

Boxing Day was, of course, all about sales and shopping. Even though I had a late start to my day, thanks to the fun and frolic of Jesus' birthday, I shopped till the stores closed. The next day, it was more shopping again. My day started earlier but the spending spree was on till the shops closed. Buying gifts for others can be so much fun, especially when the salary's just been credited into your account. When you toss in a few things for yourself in there, it only gets better.

Back to work after the tightly packed 4-day weekend, which also included cleaning up the mess I call home. I loved it nevertheless, needed to exercise my brains. The 3 quiet days at work went by like a fantasy. Less people, no noise, lots achieved. 

New Years Eve was somewhat like Christmas Eve. Spent the evening with BT and NT. Only, this time it was watching fireworks instead of mass at the church. Walked back to the station, noticing how crowded the city gets on such days (where do all those people come from?) and eyeing the drunks warily, enjoying the colours and how Brissie comes alive on occasions like this. Twenty minutes before the switch to 2011 I knocked off for a good night's sleep.

New Year Day has started on a warm summer morning, just cool enough to enjoy a hot cuppa. Quiet, except for the odd bird. Shooting off to a day trip with friends. Looking forward to a fun day to reign in 2011.

A Glass-ful of Juice

Like a dutiful wife tending to her invalid husband (pun intended), I opened the fridge to get a glass of juice that my mother had made for him this morning. The juice was in a tall jug with a lid that you only need to lift up, to open. Easy peasy. I got a tall glass from the kitchen, took out the jug and tried to prise the lid open. It would not open. Try as I might but it refused to open.

I put the glass on the top of the fridge (yes, I'm taller than my fridge; by many inches). Now I try to prise the lid open with one hand as I hold the jug in the other hand. I cannot hold it too tight, you realize, for the lid might open and spill the contents. I am very careful that way. Struggle as I might, the stubborn red contraption that holds the juice in the long transparent jar will not budge. 

A few minutes later, plenty of variations of the f-word run through my head, as I look for ways to get the liquid out without spilling it contents or mutilating the jug. I can not say those aloud for fear of ticking off the husband who, by the way, is still waiting for his glass of juice. Patiently, I dare say. 

Finally, I manage it. Don't ask me how, I cannot remember now. I was almost delirious with joy when I got it open. The liquid was not so much liquid after all. It was thick. Like gravy. 'Carrot juice, hmmph', I muttered and proceeded to pour the juice into the glass. 

Now, let me explain that I am a really careful person. I would hate to spill things on the floor, so if I even had the slightest idea that what I'm pouring out of a container could spill, I would be standing over the sink making the transfer. I do that with tea in the mornings. On the rare occasions that I pour tea from the tea-pot to the cup, I mean.

The juice was like thick gravy, so I stood there with the jug and poured it into the glass, over the fridge. The next thing I know, a hug blob of almost-solid 'juice' dropped into the glass, liquid juice came rushing out, filled the glass, overflowed onto the top of the fridge, flowed down into the pockets of the fridge cover, rushed down the front of the door of the fridge, over my hundreds of fridge magnets, on to the floor. Splash! I'm standing there stunned, a glass full of juice in one hand and a jug with barely any juice in the other and plenty of juice all over the dining room. 

My husband cannot stop laughing. Yeah, you think it is funny to? Grrrr. As I glare at him, all he can say is, "You should be happy I am not angry and yelling at you right now". Beat that!

I am not even sure where to start cleaning. I went over to the wash-basin to wet a piece of cloth. There's juice in my hair too. How did that happen? Oh well! I hate carrot juice, I hate carrot juice! How is it the fault of the carrot juice, you're thinking. Well, if it had not created the appearance of being semi-solid in the first place, I would not have tried to pour it into the glass in the dining room. Makes sense? 

Mum walked in, calling out to me, as I was cleaning up. She demands to know what happened. I told her I had spilled carrot juice and explained how it happened. She gives me an incredulous look and says, "It is not carrot, it is melon". Thank you, that explains everything. 

FML

After a week (or more?) of fun and frolic, today was a slightly harrowing day. If it wasn't for all the work that kept me busy, I might have spent that time stressing.

• This morning, the auto I rode to work had a meter that showed almost 8 bucks extra and then I paid him another 7 bucks extra because I did not have "3 rupees change"
• I sat across a table narrating to somebody who knew the story
• This afternoon, I paid an extra 5 bucks to the guy at Subway because he did not have "5 rupees change"
• The sub was smaller than usual and I was still hungry after I ate it. So, I bought a banana milkshake which was excessively sweet and I ended up full but unsatisfied
• After a 4-day wait, I finally procured the data I needed for my testing but I was not allowed to test because someone else's work was "more urgent"
• I missed catching up with someone I badly want to see because the afore-mentioned testing kept me at work till late
• This evening, I went to the cafe on my floor but they had no snacks. Then I went down to the 2nd floor where I bought 3 kinds of chips, all of which was greasy and junk. I was hungry, I ended up feeling pukish
• After I finished testing, I packed up, eager to get home. I was stopped by a colleague who, upon finding that I was moving to Australia, kept me for the next half hour telling me how extremely difficult it was to get a job in Australia and New Zealand and that I had achieved something to be proud of. I knew that already.
• The auto I rode home charged me double the normal fare and dropped me off on the main-road, in the rain. After driving me for 6kms without a meter and charging an exhoribitant, illegal fare, he had the nerve to accuse me of cheating because I asked him to ride till my house. Which he did not. I hope he has an accident that'll cost him 10 times what I paid. 
• I called my friend who was watching a movie I sent him some time ago. He slept through the movie, most likely missed the part I wanted him to watch and when I asked him what the movie was about, he said "a boy and a girl". All Indian movies are about "a boy and a girl"
• I was desperately thirsty, so I kept a bottle of coke outside the fridge, intending to warm it a bit. My husband came home and hid the bottle. I was desperately thirsty. Now, I'm thirsty and annoyed too.

 Oh well, I guess it was not all bad. Let's see if I can come up with a few bright moments in my day. Umm...

• I pinged someone to say she was free to gossip about me now that the secret of my new job was out. I think I might have made her day
• My former boss buzzed me to apologize and wish me well with my new job, said he was not ignoring me, just busy and hence the delayed responses to my messages. I told him I knew that he would never ignore me. We both smiled.
• I spent an hour giving gyan to a colleague of mine. It was my opportunity to impart all that I've learnt in my career of 7 years and share all the gyan that I have received from my gurus. 
• I finally finished testing what I have been stuck with for the last 1 week, as I had to wait on the other boys in my team
• Mumbai Indians are at 77-4 after 9.3 overs. There is a ray of hope that we a.k.a RCB a.k.a Royal Challengers Bangalore may win after all. As I said, we may not be on home-ground but we thought we would be and we were mentally prepared to win. Do not forget, we have KP.

That took a lot, and I really mean a lot, of thinking. Time for my dinner. 

My mum has mixed my rice & curry, served it in a bowl (which she told me was the bowl in which we mix Lucky's food) and added sides of spinach and cabbage in a small plate. She rarely ever does this for me. Now I'm stressing over her actions. I need to know why she did it today, when I did not even ask to be served. In fact, why did she insist on it? 

Oh damn, can't the day get over already?

Vishu: Happy New Year

Even as kids, my brother and I loved this festival. The astrological new year for Malayalis/Keralites. It did not matter that we had to be up by 4AM (nowadays it's 5AM) and were not allowed to go back to sleep. We loved the Vishukanni arrangement that dad painstakingly set up the previous night. We loved the money even more. 

As part of tradition, we wake up early in the morning and walk to the pooja room with our eyes closed (dad brings each one of us to the pooja room). We open our eyes to see the Vishukanni first thing in the morning. Then we wait patiently while dad lights the lamp, does a little pooja and then distributes coconut, jaggery and some money placed on a couple of betel leaves with a couple of betel nuts (kaineetam). Mum says when she was young, her parents used to give her anything between 25 paise to a rupee. We started off with Rs. 20 as children and now dad gives us Rs. 500 each. Mum gives us a 100 bucks because she is "not earning". Bro gets an additional 500 from me because I'm elder to him. Anyone who visits us today get something (usually a tenner).

Here are some pictures of our Vishu this year. Oh yea, I made 610 bucks (10 from granny).

Vishukkanni

Dad lights the lamp & gets the kaineetam sorted

Dad gets kaineetam from his mother

For accurate details on the significance of this festival, go to wikipedia or click here.

This Weekend

It's been one hell of a weekend! 

No riding and that feels awful. In fact, no exercise all of last week and I feel like I've missed a major exam! When did that happen to me?

After a very long while, I spent an entire afternoon in the balcony reading and finishing a book in one shot. It hasn't happened in so long that I don't remember the last time that happened. Then, I finished another book! 

The weather in Bengaluru seems to have improved. It's still very hot at nights but there's a slight wind in the air, always and that makes the heat bearable in the balconies.

Cleaned the book-shelf and loved spending so much time with my books. Found a handful that I either hate or just know that I'll never read again (unfortunately the Starbucks book is one of them... loved it but won't read again). Earlier when I used to go on a books cleaning spree, I'd always find money hidden in my books (can't remember why I did that but I always did, as a child). At times, I've found upto a couple of thousand bucks. Today, I emptied all my bags, piggy banks and cleaned everything out... found a whopping eleven grand in 1000, 500, 100, 50, 20, 10 and 5 rupee notes! My husband couldn't believe what he was seeing... obviously, it's the first time he's done this with me... mum wasn't surprised!

Made a raisin-and-nut ice-cream dessert for my husband, to appreciate his help with all the cleaning. He was happy but didn't binge on the ice-cream. I have a cold, I didn't eat any ice-cream. This is a miracle. Normally, we're both quarreling for the tub like six-year-olds! 

Somewhere in the midst of all this, I heard a rumour about myself. I found it so funny that I almost felt like fanning the fire myself. Did not. Atleast, I think I did not.

A number of unusual but normal events, sort of happy surprises this weekend. It's been one hell of a weekend!

The French Quarter Bistro

The French Quarter Bistro is located on the 100 feet road, after the signal at the junction with CMH Road, next door to Cake Walk. I'd seen reviews for bistro in the papers and on websites like Burrp, so it was on my list of places to try out some day. The reviews seemed to indicate that it was a good place for breakfast. Given as there aren't too many breakfast places in Bangalore (that I know of), it sounded exciting. 

On the morning of my birthday, my husband decided to take me to TFB for breakfast. We reached there at 10AM, only to find the place closed and fret that we were too late! The watchman told us that the place only opens at noon. I am still confused as to how I thought it was a breakfast place, from the reviews.

The place looks open and airy, thanks to the high ceiling and glass walls on two sides. There is nothing fancy about the decor but the arrangement of tables looks neat. A couple of paintings and a big black board with the day's special adorn the wall. The glass entrance had paintings of fishes in colours. While it was not in bad taste, it made me curious as to the idea behind it. 

It was our first go at French cuisine and we were was pretty clueless as to what to pick. We were discussing the options on the wine menu and uttered "white wine", at which point, the friendly waiter, who was filling our glasses with water, gently intervened in the conversation. He pointed to the black display board and said he would recommend the excellent white wine with cheese platter, on offer, at Rs. 399. Given that a bottle of wine was not only expensive but the husband had to ride a mo-bike back home and I am not a regular wine-drinker, it sounded like a good option to us. We ordered an extra glass of the same wine for the husband at Rs. 300. The small complimentary basket of bread was not the best part of dinner. The crust was too hard and we struggled to break it off (I had to use both my hands).

The cheese platter had a few slices of 2 kinds of cheese, some crackers, some pieces of fruit and greens. It worked out just fine, between the two of us, for the husband and I took a liking to different kinds of cheese while hating the other kind. As for the rest, I enjoyed the fruit, he preferred the leaves.

For the main course, I ordered a rice and fish dish, which was yummy! It's as tasty as it looks in the picture. And more! In fact, I was forced to share it with the husband because he fell in love with the dish too. I wish I could remember the name but it has been over a week now and that is too long for me to remember what I ate!

The husband ordered a dish of tuna and potatoes. It came with a few cubes of cheese and more greenery. He did not enjoy the fish so much, so I had most of it. It was good. Not as out-of-this-world as my rice and fish dish above, but pretty good. I love fish and this one did not disappoint me. The potatoes were small and round, fried with the skin. The inside was soft and tasty but my palate did not agree with the feel of the hard, dry skin of the potatoes. I refused to eat it and he was happy to have the entire lot to himself.

The French Quarter Bistro is definitely worth visiting. Ambience. Alright. Music. Too soft. Food. Very good. In our case, the husband and I liked different portions of the dishes, which served us very well for we enjoyed the food without having to pull our plates away from each other. Price. Slightly expensive. It cost us a couple of thousands for our dinner, with no repeats on the wine. 

Next on my list of restaurant to visit is Medici - French & Italian cuisine. I've tried both by now but I'm keen to try the same at another place.

Black and White

He walks into the class, wearing a new shirt. He beams at everyone. He is happy. He thinks of all the attention he will get this day - friends will wish him "Happy Birthday", maybe the entire class will sing for him. He is even prepared for the infamous 'birthday bumps'. 

The days is nearing the end, almost time to go home. Nothing so far. He sits on the stairs of the college entrance and tells his group of friends, "Today is my happy birthday, wish me!" An embarrassed crowd of fellow-students grab his hands, shake it vigorously and wish him. It didn't feel like he thought it would! 

"Poor Sod! He doesn't have any friends who care enough. To remember. To do something special for him".

She tells him what cake she would like and reminds him a couple of days in advance. There is no good time to cut it, for everyone is busy. Finally, she brings it out in the evening and calls everyone. She arranges the candles around the cake and brings out the camera. She takes a few pictures, lights the candles and waits. She is torn between singing 'Happy Birthday To Me' or asking them to sing for her. She decides to let both pass. Candle blown, cake cut. She feeds him a piece of cake and he walks away with his share. 

"Poor bitch! Her family are playing along and no sign of friends. Nobody to make her feel special".

On the other hand...

He wakes up, excited about wearing new clothes and growing a year older. He walks into class to the welcome sound of classmates cheering and greeting him. He feels like a king. A birthday song, a few bumps later, he takes them out for a 'treat' - consisting of a dosa or naan or samosa. By the end of the day, his cheeks hurt from all the grinning and laughing.

"I am so lucky, I love my friends, I love college, I love life!"

She wakes up to a warm hug and the card her husband left for her to find on the pillow. The bell rings and the rest of the family pours in with hugs and squeals. Just when she begins to feel special, the doorbell rings. Flowers from her friend. She is on cloud 9. The rest of the day passes by in a flurry of opening gifts, laughter, making a sweet and cooking lunch, phone calls from the special people in her life. Her favourite cake is brought home in the evening, everyone gathers to sing 'Happy Birthday', cameras click and a fancy dinner later, she is ready to retire. As she hugs herself to sleep, there is a smile on her face.

"I am so blessed. I have the best family and friends. I love my life!"

Why are other people so important, for us to be happy? Why do we look to approval from our beloved ones to be able to enjoy what life offers us? Why do we reach out to someone, when we think we need a good moment to brighten our dull day?

Claytopia Bistro

For the last week or so, I've been wanting to try out French cuisine. For an even longer time, I've been wanting to visit The French Bistro for breakfast. At 10.30AM on the morning of one weekend, we landed at their door, only to find it closed. They open only at 12.30PM. So much for French breakfast!

I googled for 'Breakfast places in Bangalore' and we decided upon Claytopia Bistro as that was the closest. A friend of mine had mentioned it last week and said it was a good place. She had explained that it was a combination of Claytopia (who sell artefacts made of clay) and Bistro (the restaurant/coffee-shop). We reached there a little past 11 and it was still open for breakfast. 

The weather was mildly pleasant and it helped that the cafe was open-air. We sat down and ordered a rather heavy breakfast of Pancakes with Maple/Honey Syrup and Bistro Omelette (chicken, bacon, tomato and cheese omellete) for me, French Toast and Masala Omelette for the husband. 

The French Toast was not bad but the husband insisted that he liked the ones I make better. Ahoy! 

The Masala Omelette was succulent and the Bistro Omelette is a must eat, if you are ever there. 

The Pancakes were yummy even without the maple syrup but add the syrup and you will be licking the plate in the end (no, I did not do that). 

I also ordered a cold Hazelnut Frappe (Espresso with cream and chocolate). 

The husband went for a hot Cafe Latte.

The ambience was neither too fancy nor too tacky. There were displays from Claytopia on the walls, posters on a notice board at the entrance and neatly arranged wooden tables with chairs. Everything seemed to blend quietly in the background while we enjoyed the outdoors. 

The table we chose had a white concrete bench against the wall and the table was large enough that we could both sit next to each other on the marble bench. This way, we could share food (one of the pleasant changes I have noticed in the husband off late, he shares his food) and enjoy reading Lucky's guest post together, on my mobile. 

The order arrived in good time and the food was of the right temperature. The waiter was very efficient and cordial, without being obnoxious. When I got up to peep indoors at their display of clay pots, he showed me where the entrance was and informed me that we could eat there if we wished. We chose to eat outside and check the indoors later.

While I took a call from a friend, the husband polished the French Toast and Omelette off his plate and proceeded to hog my Pancakes too. If I hadn't hung up when I did, I may have just made it in time to watch the last pieces of my yummy breakfast and my cold coffee disappear. I wish I could eat like him and never put on weight. Sigh!

Once done, we paid the bill (Rs. 450, including tips), thanked the friendly waiter and went in. The amicable lady at the reception asked if it was our first time there and explained the concept of the place to us. She pointed to an array of white clay pots (I say pots but it includes mugs, bowls, plates, trays, magnets, face-masks, etc made of clay) and said we could pick any of those for the price quoted on the shelves and paint them. 

They would provide us paint, water, brushes and stencils. She explained to us how to obtain dark and light shades of the colours. I couldn't help noticing that the mug holding the brushes and the water bowls were all clay-pots painted and glazed by them. Advertising and cost-cutting in a happy marriage?

We had to paint our article of choice right there and return it to them for heating and glazing. We could pick it up 10 days later. The ingredients used to make the items, including paint and heating instruments were all non-toxic, so we could use them in our daily lives (e.g mugs could be used to drink and were not just show pieces). We decided to give it a shot and picked up a tray for our house. The husband did some quick research on his mobile and proceeded to draw lines as he would like to paint them on the front of the tray. Soon after, he picked up the brush.

When he finished, it was a beautiful looking tray, simply done in pastel shades with a red star on the left bottom corner. Each pointed end of the star had one letter of my name, in blue, with a heart in the centre. I got a better deal in this marriage, I admit. We went crazy with the bottom of the tray where, thanks to yours truly's moment of madness and brilliance, we decided to have a splash and partied with all the colours in a wild frenzy. 

We both haven't painted in years and thoroughly enjoyed the hour we spent unleashing our creativity. Of course, when we later looked at the design book, our products felt like children's work. No kidding! It doesn't matter. I am glad we didn't find the picture book earlier. It was more fun going bonkers with the colours on the white canvas. Everytime I use the tray to serve someone, I'll remember and cherish the afternoon hour we spent together. The end result looked like this (pre-heating and glazing).

The clay articles are highly over-priced, no doubt, but we felt that the time we spent painting like kids was priceless. We paid Rs. 500 for the tray. The price included the glazing too but it was still very expensive. Totally worth it, though. We would never be able to spare an hour to do something like that, at home. 

They also have parties for kids, the cheapest package being Rs. 350 per kid. The place is fairly small and can accomodate about 9 to a maximum of 15 kids (and that is when you push the limit). The package includes painting an article of choice (small ones like the tortoise/fish magnets), the glazing & all that it involves, a burger and probably a drink too. There are more expensive packages with tweaks to suit your needs. The place seemed quite popular, with quite a few young parents painting for and with their little girls. I did not notice any little boys there, so I'm guessing that if I have a son later, I cannot take him there. Wouldn't interest him, would it? 

Apart from the young families, there was one other couple like us. The girl was extremely loud and kept complaining that her boyfriend was too loud. During the little time she painted a bowl and he watched, she grumbled about another girl (possibly the boy's ex) who was playing games and messing with their "relationship", knowing fully well that there was "a connection" between them. Don't judge me, she was begging to be heard, we simply couldn't tune her out.

I'd love to go there again but considering that it's a little high on the budget, maybe I'll wait for another special occasion. Price forgotten, definitely a place to visit. It's easy to find, bang on the main road, with the huge boards. It's to the right side when coming from Indiranagar towards Thippasandra on the 6th Main Road (where the Renaissance Church is, on the left). 

Still A Twenty Something: Good Morning

Quiet, peaceful, a mug of coffee in one hand and the newspaper in the other. That is my kind of a morning. Noise causes short-circuits in my wiring.

Loud voices of Mother and Brother in my room woke me up this morning. On any other day, this would make me edgy. Today, I welcomed the noise in a heavily groggy state. Struggling to open my eyes, I sensed a couple of handshakes before somebody thrust something into my hands. By the time my senses were awakened and I realized what was happening, all I could see was a pair of gluteus maxima heading out the door. I went back to sleep, clutching the envelope.

Minutes later, I woke up and opened it.

"It wasn't originally meant for you but you can get your headphones with it. Tell me if it doesn't cover the cost", Brother had said.

The words registered only then. It was a Landmark gift voucher for a couple of thousand rupees. I was beside myself with joy. I could finally get those Bluetooth headphones! If not, I still love bookstore vouchers. Lov-e-ly!

When I subsequently woke up, Husband and Dog came to hug me, with a mug of warm tea. Mother and Sister-In-Law came looking for me. Sister-In-Law handed me a beautiful red box, with a lovely greenish candle tied with an olive green ribbon. Candles and ribbons are a weakness, I could not wait to open the box. All the womenfolk moved towards the living room, where I carefully tore off the delicate wrapper, ripping the sello-tape with the concentration of a chemist in a lab. The box had the most beautiful lantern I have ever owned. Rustic-looking, made of glass with a super-thin latch, it stole my heart from the word go! I need to find a place to hang it in my living room or bedroom.

I responded to a couple of texts. I like messages on mornings like these. Phone calls eat into my time and space. I am grateful for that. I wondered about the other Sister-In-Law, who was yet to call.

Husband wants to do a lot of things, he just does not know what they are. I wanted a long ride, so did he. The late morning forced me to skip mine, in order to make way for more pressing matters. He went ahead. I have got some 'me' time, I really need it. I can’t say why, just know that I am grateful for the hour by myself. I did some reading and writing. I also mucked about the social networking sites for a bit. Habits are hard to break. Like Mark Twain says, they need to be coaxed down the stairs, one step at a time. There is also a lot of correspondence to catch up on but that's for later.

The morning has turned out well so far. Eventful, in a quiet manner. Just the way I like it. Husband has promised to take me to The French Bistro for breakfast. I can’t wait, I hope the place won't disappoint me. I need to hit the temple on the way to breakfast. Ayyappa Swamy temple, one of my favourites! 

Lucky hasn't said anything to me as yet. She does not know. She will, once we bring the cake out. She loves cake. It speaks a language to her that none of us can. Chocolate cake sends her drooling like an overflowing reservoir. Husband has bought me the Royal Velvet, from Bliss. I don't remember the ingredients but when I'd read it on the menu at Bliss, the last time we were there, I had liked the sound of it. It's a tiny cake, expensive but I think it will be yummy. Small helps me stick to my diet too. Brilliant!

The cake ceremony has been moved to the evening, when Brother and Sister-In-Law are all home. I would like to bring home the in-laws but I do not see any hope for that. I might try asking, anyway, what have I to lose in inviting them? There is a 10% chance they might come and that gives me enough reason to make the call.

Expecting a phone call around noon. As per current plan, I should be free to take the call. A few more delightful moments in the charming day this promises to be. 

Mother has bought me a long kurta last evening. She always wants me to wear simple, traditional girl stuff. Now that I've turned into a rotund structure of excessive lipids, I oblige her. She is happy. So I am. We also bought a couple of embroidered dress materials and left it at the tailor's with measurements. I should get it before my nakshatra (star) day. She is pleased. So I am.

'Me' time is over now. I have to shower and be ready before my man gets home. He only needs 10 minutes to get ready. It will make my mom happy if we work to that plan. She wanted the same too. I seem to want all the same things that everyone else wants. Barring Lucky, maybe. She wants to play. Actually, I want to play with her too. Maybe I will drive her to a playground, with the husband later today. After breakfast, I have promised to help mum with the cooking. I will cut fruits for the fruit salad and custard that she has planned. She will make me vegetable pulao. I love fish and meat but today I am happy with vegetable pulao.

By the time, the plan is acted upon, the morning will slip into afternoon. Lunch is the only plan right now. Late afternoon might involve us visiting parents of a friend of Husband. He has a gift to pick up, long overdue. I intend to do a ride later in the day. That is about the plans, as I know right now. Will see how the day goes.

9.13AM

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.