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.

Chapter 8: Prepare for Arrival

I thought it looked like she was drawing, earlier. I was not sure, peripheral vision and all that. I can see more clearly now and I see a few block diagrams on the page she is currently writing on. With that, I will settle for studying not creative writing.

A funny thing occurred to me just now. The way I am taking pictures on my mobile every now and then, making notes on a sheet of paper, it might appear as if I am doing a recce of the place. I could be up to something illegal, marking out my route, for a later date when I will need to execute my plan. Luckily for me, I am on an aeroplane, flying miles above the earth. In the air, taking pictures and making notes are allowed. Any idea that I may be charting out the route by doing that is too far-fetched to be realistic. There is not much sense I can make, of the route, with the moving clouds and a beautiful sunset, can I?

I have hit the end of this page and I still have to conclude my writing. I am not done yet. What am I going to do? I really should stop writing and pick up the book I have brought with me, to read. It is called A Walk To Remember, by Nicholas Sparks. I have never read anything by this author before but the book has good reviews at the back. It promises to touch my heart too. 

Let me dig in my handbag and see if I have any scraps of paper I can use, to finish off my ramble-on-paper. 

I've found an email that I had printed off earlier in the day. It is the list of things a girlfriend has asked me to do, while I am in Melbourne. This will have to do.

The clouds outside are all grey now, and below us. The horizon is orange, yellow and a shade of blue or green. There are patches of the dark sky blue colour I saw earlier. 

I am on a ship, cruising along the waters, looking out the window of my cabin on the top floor.

I cannot seem to come up with an appropriate ending. Actually, I need to pee. I have been holding myself for a while now. As I said earlier, I could not find the toilets at the airport, then I could not go because the plane was stationery and then the chick came in and started writing right away and then I waited for her to take a break, which she did not... and there is all that coke I have been drinking. That reminds me. My teachers insisted that I should not use too many 'AND's in a single sentence. They said that made the sentence too long and the reader could lose track of all the things that happened from start to end. My sentences tended to be long, even back then, joined by a whole lot of 'AND's. I may have kicked the habit but it crept in there for a little second, didn't it?

Anyway, I had better go soon. They will turn on the seatbelt signs any minute now and then I will have to wait till we land. I don't know that I can hold for that much longer. There will be a queue of people to get out and sometimes people can be so slow. No. I have to go now. 

My hands are hurting like hell. It is not just my fingers any more. My arms and elbows are hurting too. It has been really long since I last wrote. I have been writing for at least 2 hours. 

Okay. I have just been to the toilet and back. The girl, Elle, is quite pleasant. She was nice about having to get up to let me get out. She had her book, sheets, ipod and a few other things on her lap but she did not seem to mind. Her voice sounds very cheerful. She said something to me when I mumbled an apology about making her get up. She also has common sense. She did not buckle up or pull the tray down till I returned. I think I really like this girl. 

The trip to the toilet was an episode, on its own. A woman entered the loo, just before I reached it. She did not come out for a really long time. I was standing at the front of the plane, where every single person on the plane could possibly see me. After a couple of minutes, I started feeling self-conscious. I could not go back, so I just hid behind the metal wall that separates that part of the plane from the rest of the passenger area. The elderly couple in the front seat could still see me. I saw them looking at me once. Our eyes met and we both did not know whether to smile or not. We settled with a half-smile. That made me even more uncomfortable. 

After 5 long minutes, or more (it definitely felt more), my mind started filling with questions. "Did she die in there?" I thought to myself, willing her to come out. What if she had fainted in the toilet? How long should I wait before I raised an alarm? Do any one of the crew members know there is someone in there?

I heard a little girl's voice from inside the loo. Phew! She had a child with her. It made sense that she was taking her time, if she had a child in there. I had not noticed the child when she entered the loo but then, I was behind her on the narrow corridor between the seats. Another few minutes passed by and I began to wonder if she killed the child. Is that why she had taken the kid into the toilet? I could not hear any sounds inside and there were no signs of anyone getting out of the toilet. I nearly looked down to see if there was blood, flowing out from underneath the door. I kicked myself. I watch too many cop shows! Between the desperate need to pee and the various CSI shows I have been watching lately, my mind had lost the capacity to think straight. 

I turned to look at the things around me. There was not much. A little fridge, trash, something behind the curtains and the exit doors on either side of the plane. I peered to read the signs and markings on the doors. There were quite a few symbols marked on each door, indicating the mechanism to release the doors, in the event of an emergency. Mostly, I could not make out much other than turning a lever here and pushing a panel there. I was concentrating so hard I had the urge to try it out, to see if it worked. 

A fleeting thought passed my mind that moment, "What if I opened one of these doors and let a blast of air in, for a brief second?"

As soon as I thought that, I turned back to the toilet door. I really had to pee. I was going crazy here. What was I thinking? I would kill hundreds of people right there, as the aircraft veered out of control and crashed, thanks to one little whim of mine to open an emergency door while we were hundreds of kilometres up in the air. Bizarre things come to mind when the mind is unable to function properly, due to the strong need to expel bodily fluids. That is my defence. Thanks to all those episodes of Air Crash Investigations, at least I know what would happen. That means, I do not have the urge to actually open the door to find out. Hurray!

Does it seem like I watch too much television? 

To cut a long story short, the woman and her child came out of the bathroom, before I did anything that would everyone on the plane. I rushed in and locked myself inside. When the deed was done and I stepped out, someone was waiting at the door. The embarrassment never ends! Why did someone have to be waiting outside? Did I take a long time too?

I am back at my seat now. Elle is back to her writing. I should have been reading but I had to tell the story that I just finished, so here I am, scribbling away some more. I might as well fill up the remaining half of this page before I wind up. 

Elle just spoke to me! She is asking me if I want the lights turned on. I smiled and said no. She said it was nice to see someone other than her writing by hand, she does not see that often. We both agreed that handwriting was a great thing. I really like her. 

That short conversation answers a few questions. She has noticed that I am writing. She did not ask what I was writing about. Either she does not care or she has peeked at my sheets while I was away. No, that can't be. I am sure she is just being polite. It is not as if I asked her what she was writing, even though the question has been eating away at me since I first noticed her writing. 

While I was getting out of the seat, I saw the title of the book she has been referring to. It says something about Melbourne Design and has pictures of what could be the Melbourne CBD. I can't say whether she is from Melbourne or Brisbane or even from other part of the world. She does not have much luggage but I have learned that people check in their bags even on short trips. Maybe her trip is not short. I'll never know.

It is plain grey outside, like a road underneath us. The horizon is orange and gold. I am on a big truck, cruising along the road. Maybe it is a Volvo bus, cool and smooth.

The captain has just asked the cabin crew to "prepare for arrival". I can feel the aircraft lower altitude. My heart is racing. Did I mention how much I love take-off and landing? I am definitely going to stop writing now. I have reached the end of the paper, my arms are hurting, I need to put the tray back on and the flight has nearly ended. All good reasons to stop. 

It has been lovely to write. I enjoyed my flight, thank you very much.

Chapter 5: Fast and Furious

The scenery outside has changed now. The floaty, wonderland look has disappeared. I don't see any clouds around me any more. Oh, there they are! We have flown way above the clouds now. Down below me, the clouds form a desert-like appearance. It looks like an expanse of white sand with bluish-grey (or greyish blue) shadows of the little dunes everywhere. It is picturesque in a way that only deserts can be. The sky is a clear blue. It is a dark shade of blue. It looks hot. It is the sun that I can see from the periphery of my window and the flash of blinding white in the horizon that must be giving it that appearance. The air around me looks pretty hot too. The kind of air that one might find in the desert. Is it really hot out there? Isn't it supposed to be cooler as we go higher? I am a little confused by all the science and literature mixing in my head now.

I have always thought sky blue was a pastel colour. I am not sure why I thought that. I guess I just liked that colour better than the other shades when I looked up in the sky. As a kid, I used to want a dress of the pale blue shade of the sky, with white lace. I don't think I ever got one because I wanted the perfect shade or not at all. Even I was never sure what the perfect shade was. I was a strange kid alright. I even used to create my own words and attach meanings to them. I have always visualized words in pictures and colours. Sky blue was a pastel blue with pale edges. It almost sounds like Autism, doesn't it? I am not smart enough, so that can be ruled out.

Ellie, beside me, is scribbling away non-stop. It might appear that I am just looking out the window and thinking strange things but that is not true. I am writing real fast too. I am trying hard to keep up with the speed of my thoughts. She looks as if she has an epic novel in her head and wants to pen it down before she forgets something. I can see her referring to her big book every now and then. If I had not seen earlier that it was a book on Architecture, I would swear that it is a dictionary or a map. She is not quite reading long before she gets back to her writing. A quick peek and she is back to her script. The way she is making those elaborate notes, I am leaning towards project work. She is clearly not writing off the big book. Her body language is screaming to me that the words are dropping off her head on to paper. 

With one seat between us, there is not much I can see. I am looking at her through my peripheral vision, too, as I write. That is not helping either. It is the only way I can do this, though. If I stopped to turn and look, I would not only draw her attention but my thoughts would run away before I can put them down. It is hard enough catching up with the writing as I think. It would be near impossible to think, then form the sentences again on to paper. I already feel as if I am missing a few sentences here and there. 

I wonder if she has noticed that I am writing too. If she has, does she have similar questions running through her head as I do? She seems to be concentrating on her work but girls have a way of noticing things, without letting on. I am fairly confident that she is aware that I am writing. It is not clear to me how aware she is. Has she realized that I only started writing a little after she started? Probably not. She might just brush it off as me settling in, before I started to write. Not everyone walks in with a paper and pen in hand and gets down to scribing as soon as their bum hits the seat. Let me see. She knows that I am writing. She does not know that I am writing because of her. She surely does not realize that I am writing about her. 

Now, that would be funny. Imagine if she found that out. She might want to rip my sheets. If she is sufficiently freaked out, she might make some noise and get one of the crew to throw me out. Out of the seat, I mean, not the plane. That would be ridiculous! They would not kill someone for writing that the girl sitting next to me is writing about something. She does not seem to care anyway. I have nothing to worry about, for the moment at least. This is just me playing out weird scenes in my head. I don't think I have anything to worry about at all.

The air-hostesses are wheeling the food and drinks trolley down the aisle now. I used to travel in flights where they serve that stuff for free but, with the cheap flights these days, I have to buy food. Sometimes I do but today I am determined not to. I have eaten at the airport and I have a bottle of Coke Zero with me. 

"Mmmm, the coffee smells great!" 

I had better take a sip of my coke and get some caffeine into my body. The ladies are just one seat away from me now. I'm beginning to feel a little bit of stress. I have not decided whether I will polite refuse to buy anything or ignore them and pretend to be concentrating on my work. I am not good at acting and I really cannot ignore people. What am I going to do?

"No, thank you", I smiled at her. Not much thinking involved there. I did what I would do, inevitably. 

Elle is not buying anything either. She has a bottle of water she has been sipping from. Apparently, she has better dietary habits than I. I bet she did not buy chicken from Red Rooster at the airport either. 

All this movement inside the plane has increased the contents flying through my head. I am writing furiously now. My fingers are beginning to feel the pressure. More and more sentences are flying past, that I can't seem to pick up. It does not appear to be affecting my narrative, so I will let it be. There is no sense in going back to collect those thoughts now. I need fresh paper, quick. There it is!

Chapter 4: Alice In Wonderland

We are flying above the clouds now. Actually, we are flying through the clouds. It is a sort of white all around and a little grey. Every now and then we pass through the clouds. It gets misty and whitish. Of course, we do not feel a thing because we are in a plane but each time we pass through a cloud, I mentally prepare myself to feel cold and wet. My imagination must be working overtime. In reality, I might as well be in a car, driving through mist. It does not feel any different from that. There are no speed-bumps in the sky, if that counts for anything. If there were air pockets, or whatever it is they call those things that rock the plane, they would have made up for the bumps on the road. 

Sometimes it looks as if we will fall off the end of the road - cloud, in this case - if we kept going. Yes, it feels like we are riding on the cloud. I can see clouds splayed below me. We are most likely just flying in air but all of this is getting a bit hard to comprehend. I wonder how fantasy writers write their books. It must suck quite a bit out of them, imaging things and creating scenes in their mind that people must also relate to, even though they do not exist. I can now see why some of the stuff is written so close to reality. It is extremely difficult to completely move away from reality and create something that the readers can relate to. We understand Quidditch because it sounds like cricket and has similar rules. Imagine if Rowling had made up something totally random. Say, she called it Bingaloo and made up new rules to go. Even if the readers did understand it, it might be a little hard to retain as they cut through the book. I feel quite drained myself, when I finish a fantasy novel. Writing it cannot be easy.

I took off on my own train of thoughts there, didn't I? A picture of me sitting inside a train, in a fast moving car, just passed through my head. 

The end that I am worried about falling off of, is quite far. Well, there is no such end really, but it does look like all these clouds end somewhere out there and we will run out of ground to drive on. I can see gaping holes among the clouds now. There are quite a few on my right. Since I do not feel any bumps, I am assuming that there are no potholes where we are driving. The potholes (shall I call them cloudholes?) are quite fascinating themselves. We just passed by one of them quite closely. It looks like there are curtains on both sides of us. I am reminded of Hover Car Racer. Matthew Reilly describes it so well. I am going to steal his imagination here and say, where he had brown and grey hard rocks on either side of the path, we have fluffy white and grey clouds. Our plane is zooming past them, just like his cars. They were racing. We are not.

I might as well be in one of the adventures of The Journey To The Centre Of The Earth series. Yeah, it sure feels like it. It is like the real earth but with a touch of unreality. Does that make sense? I cannot think of a better way to describe it. It is exhilarating! I would do nothing else at this moment than be flying in the sky, in an airbus, experiencing the magic of floating through the clouds!

It is kind of funny but I have flown from the same airport at least 3 times, in the past, but I have never managed to find the toilets. It happened again today and I was forced to wait till I got on the flight. I still have not been, mind you. I saw this girl, Elle, writing and got bitten by the bug myself. The fact that she is on the aisle seat, writing so intently, has further deterred me from going. I have to excuse myself, break her line of thoughts and interrupt her. It just does not feel worthwhile. I would rather let her write. I need to go but I am going to wait for her to take a break from writing, before I do. Either that or I am desperate enough that I cannot not be bothered to be nice. I hope it does not come to the latter, though, because if I made a dash for it and found myself having to wait in line at the bathroom, I will just about burst.

She is writing non-stop. I wonder what it is about. I wonder if she has noticed that I am writing too. Does she think it is a coincidence or does she realize that I am copying her? I wonder if I will ever find answers to these questions. It would be funny if I nudged her and asked her. What would be funnier is if I told her that I was copying what she was writing, or if I actually did that. I don't think that is possible, from this distance. The thought tickles me, though.

Chapter 3: Of Clouds and An Architect

It is imperative that I forget at least one thing when I pack. That is why I make a list. The trouble with a list is that if it is not on the list, it will not go into the bag and consequently, what was forgotten at the time of making the list are items that missed the bag.

Once I, Miss Villager, got on the plane, I reached the point in time where, not only could I not retrieve what I had forgotten to pack but I could not buy them at the airport stores either. Obviously, that is the moment when the things forgotten are finally remembered. I strapped myself into my seat and it hit me all at once. No ear-plugs, no belt for my jeans or my dress and no dongle. All of which were on my mind while making the list but slipped off before they could hit the paper. Fortunately, none of them were so important as to hamper the weekend.

Soon enough, the crew made the usual announcements, asking passengers to turn off their mobile devices, strap on their seatbelts and explained the emergency procedure. I half-listened to what was being said, as I am sure most of us who fly often do, until the speaker said something about it being minutes before the "blast off". That made me sit upright! It was the first time I had heard that term being used for take-off. When I fly international, I see warnings on walls that terms like bomb, blast, etc, are to be avoided in conversations, at an airport. So, hearing the air-hostess (do they still call them that?) say blast-off set off warning bells in my head. Nobody around me appeared to be reacting to it and, of course, it was nothing to get worked up about. I spent the next few seconds running it in my head and wondering if that was a term they used internally, to describe the jet fuel being blasted off and what other terminology was used in their training that was different from what the rest of the world gets to hear. I made a mental note to watch more episodes of Air Crash Investigation in the future, to familiarize myself with the aircraft terminology and inside stories.

As the plane blasted off, I looked out the window. My favourite part of a flight is take-off and landing. I love looking out of the window and watching the changing scenery. The bird's eye view of the earth below is always so lovely. Brissie looked quite good from up above too. The picture of the vast expanse of light and dark shades of green, the dark grey roads, little brown hills, winding river at the bottom and cumulus clouds hovering above them, was marvellous!

As we kept ascending, more and more clouds came into view, blocking the view of the earth below. There seemed to be more clouds in the sky than I had noticed when I was on the ground. The clouds below me were pristine white and appeared to be stationary, while the grey ones above me were moving really fast. It felt strange. Obviously we were moving at the speed of the white clouds and the grey ones were moving at a different speed, so the eye sensed them different. If I put the science asshole aside, the scene that played outside the window was fascinating. As we moved through the clouds, I felt like I was in Wonderland. There were so many fluffy things around me. Every now and then, when we flew right through one, it was like walking through walls, in the Harry Potter stories. The initial excitement over, I decided that I needed to fly more often. Clearly, it had been too long if I felt like this during the first few minutes of a flight that I had taken at least twice in the past.

The view inside the plane was less scenic than outside but definitely not less enjoyable. The best part of my seat was not just being at a window seat but having no one next to me. It was a 3-seater and there was a thin girl, dressed in tight jeans, tee-shirt and a loose jacket sitting in the aisle seat. Between us, there was one empty seat. It left me enough room to watch her, without being too obvious about it. I could see her scribbling away in a little notebook. After a short while, she opened the bigger book on her lap and skimmed through the contents before writing in her little book again. While at first, I has assumed she must be writing some sort of literature, off the top of her head, I now knew that she was making notes. So, she was a student. Well, she could have been a teacher too but somehow, she did not strike me as being a teacher. Her body language was more of someone learning something or creating something. If she was not a student, she could be a worker. It was a book on Architecture, so she could have been an architect. She was definitely preparing for something. Maybe an exam, or a class next day or a project. Maybe she was just being studious.

I could not see much else. There may have been a couple of people sitting together in the 3-seater to our left but I do not recall much about them. There were a few people walking around but I did not notice them much at the time, either. For a reason I cannot explain, I was more excited by the girl in the aisle seat (let us call her Ellie), than the view I had just witnessed outside the window. Everything else around me was background. She inspired me to put pencil to paper myself. I took out a couple of sheets from my handbag and started writing.

Chapter 2: Happy Kittens

Once I got off the bus and entered the airport, I headed to the screen which announced flight times and status. I scanned the display for my flight, without really knowing my flight number. I assumed I would be able to figure it out from the airlines and the destination. I was forced to pull out my ticket and get the number, when I could not see my flight on the list. That was a little silly because I should have been able to find out with the logo of the airlines and destination, if only I had been patient enough to wait for all the pages to flash by on the screen. I could not find my flight anyway.

I was not really sure that my cheap, no-frills, flight would fly out of the same airport terminals as the rest. Some cities seem to have a terminal for these carriers, a little distance away from where the 'regular' flights fly. So, I went off to check at the information centre, where a cheerful young woman pointed me to the check-in counters. I was going to tell her that I did not really want to go to the check-in counter but a little voice in my head stopped me. I trawled in the direction she had pointed. On the way, I stopped at the display screen again and this time, found my flight. How funny is that! It was at that point it hit me that I did need to go to the check-in counter, after all. There had been no web check-in for this flight.

I stood in line and got my boarding pass fairly quickly. The girl behind the counter was one happy chick. She had "seen Daniel" that morning, which had made her day, as I heard her say to her friend in the adjacent counter. I have not the faintest clue who Daniel is but obviously he was a guy both girls were drooling over. Good for them. A happy check-in girl makes a happy customer. I got a lovely window seat out front. I could not have asked for a better one myself.

Once the check-in process was complete, the familiarity of the airport started clicking into place, in my head. Most importantly, I remembered that there were more coffee and food shops after the security checks than there were outside. I finished my pre-flight activities first and arrived at the lounge. That was easy enough. Soon, I was standing in the queue at Red Rooster for my chicken and chips, both of which were not too great. I called up a friend I was going to catch up with, during the weekend, and when that was done, settled down to play a game of Monopoly on my iPad. It was going to be at least an hour's wait, if the flight would not be delayed.

Thanks to the people around me and my iPad, I had no trouble killing time at all. The wait was absolutely delightful. That is a good start to a trip, I should say. It made me rethink my decision never to fly out of that airport again. It was definitely worth saving the $30 and the time was well-spent.

I could not finish my game before they called us to board the flight. I hit the PAUSE button on it and moved to line up for boarding. As I stood there, tucking my iPad into my backpack, it dawned on me that I now had 2 mobile devices to turn off now.

"Technology!", I spat and turned both my iPad and mobile phone off, before I chucked both in the bags.

The friend of the happy kitten, from the check-in counter, was at the door, scanning our boarding passes. I should have realized it before but I did not until I saw the girl there - the same staff did both the tasks - handing out the passes and scanning them in later. Well, that  explained why the airlines insisted on closing the check-in counters 45 minutes before boarding time. It was the most obvious thing and yet I missed it.

"Hmm... I need to be more alert!", I thought to myself.

At my turn, the girl, reading out the name of every passenger as she scanned their tickets, said to me, "Thank you, Miss Villager!"

I have known people to mis-pronounce my name and surname before. It happens so often that I expect it now. Yet, she managed to have me in splits. How could she possibly read "villager" out of that? As they say, it takes all kinds to make the world!

Chapter 1: Commute & Conversations

It was a really long journey to the airport, taking over an hour by train, followed by 45 minutes by bus. Thankfully, the bus would drop me right at the airport. All I had to do was step through the door and get in line to pick up my boarding pass. Sometimes I wonder if it is worth going through this, in order to save a few bucks. In exchange for $20 - $30, I was using up 2 hours of my life, to get to the airport. In this instance, flying interstate would take me about the same time as the trip from the city to the airport.

I have always argued that I could read a book while I am on the train and bus, thus it was not a waste of time. I would get some R&R during my journey. Also, reading tends to make the journey seem short. All I had to do was sit there, with my nose in my book, and a little while later, I would arrive at the airport.

The flaw in my theory was that on this particular day, I could not read. I was very anxious. The airlines had stopped allowing online check-ins and insisted on closing the check-in counter 45 minutes prior to boarding time. This meant that I had to be at the airport, latest within an hour of boarding time. Making an allowance for delays and based on the train time tables, the entire journey from city to city (train, bus, flight plus all the wait times) was going to take me 6 hours! That was a really long time, even if I were reading a book. All for $30!

It was too late to change anything and I had to do what I had set out to do. Sitting in the train, unable to read, worried about a zillion things, including whether I would make it in time for check-in, whether the queue would be long, etc, I stared out of the window. I was not really looking at anything outside and there were a number of tunnels along the way, so I occasionally looked around me, inside the train.

At one station, as I watched people board the train, I saw a casually dressed girl, with a pleasant face, walk in. Her attire almost made her a non-entity but yet I had noticed her. I had picked her out of all those people who boarded the train and followed her trip from the door to her seat, with my eyes. In the next few seconds, I had forgotten about her and gone back to stressing about my trip and staring out the window. That was true, until I heard conversation in the carriage that was quiet until then. It was a rather loud male voice followed by a soft female voice.

A guy, seated opposite a girl at the front, was making conversation with her. She seemed to have been listening to music on her iPad and reading or playing but she looked up when he spoke. It was the same girl I had watched earlier. Apparently, the guy had received an iPad as a Christmas present and was excited about it. Soon, the conversation moved on from iPad to iPad games, to Christmas parties and various other events that happened across different states they had both visited over the last year.

It is amazing how a simple comment like, "I have an iPad too!" can turn into a long, incessant conversation. That is just what happened. Without realizing, I had been sucked into the scene that played before my eyes.

I must admit I love eavesdropping on other people's conversations in trains and buses. It keeps my mind occupied and I find it entertaining. Most of the time. So, here I was, listening to a conversation between a girl with a very pleasant face, and an equally pleasant demeanor, and a guy whose mind had not quite caught up with the rest of the body, age-wise. The conversation was rather interesting too. They probably knew I was listening, or were at least aware that one or more people in the train were, but they did not seem particularly bothered by it. A good thing too, that. From them, I heard about different kinds of music, the Big Day Out at the coast that I had read and wondered about, similar events in other parts of the world. I found out where the guy lived and the girl, who they lived with, where they were headed and why. All information that would mean nothing to me once I get off the train and head on my journey but made the journey pleasant, as conversations tend to do.

I did not miss my book for one minute of the journey. I did not even realize how long the train journey had been. As they both got off one station after another, the latter reaching his destination one stop before mine, the carriage got quieter. It hit me then that I still had another 45 minutes of a bus ride, to reach the airport. I figured I might have to read my book after all. Only, I was not particularly enthusiastic about it that afternoon and I did not. I chose to look out the window and get a feel of the route that I had taken so often in the past but never bothered to check out. It was not too bad. Maybe it was worth the trip, after all. I saved 30 bucks and had a new travel experience to write home about.

The Girl On The Train

She was already there when I entered the train, occupying the entire square of 4 seats to the left of the door. Dressed in a pair of dark blue skinny jeans, a chocolate brown singlet (that I later found was open at the back, save for 4 buttons that held it up), a coffee brown scarf and dark brown boots, she was reading. Her handbag and shopping were strewn on the aisle seat while she sat at the window seat, her legs crossed at the ankle across the space over the aisle seat in front of her. Occasionally, she operated a little square gadget that might have been a calculator, mobile or a music device. She held a pen in her hand and noticing that the book was fairly bulky, I decided that she might be studying rather than reading.

She looked so much at ease that I could not resist trying the act myself. I did not have as many bags as her. Definitely no suitcase to place on the floor, occupying the only free space between the two double-seats that she had got comfortable in. I merely placed my backpack on the seat next to me (aisle, it was), placed my feet on the window seat in front of me (in case somebody would like to occupy the other aisle seat) and started reading my own little book. Soon, I got engrossed in Paulo Coelho's pilgrimage to find a sword. 

As is evident, I did not have the same cool attitude as Shelly (we'll just call her that, for the sake of the blog). Now and then, I looked up from my book. I could not help stealing a glance at her, I tried to imagine her story. She sat as if she was unaware of her surroundings but I was pretty sure that she was alert. This was confirmed by the slightest hint of a smile that appeared at the corner of her lips when the driver announced the wrong station and quickly corrected himself. My smile stopped half-way as my mind worked overtime, trying to capture everything about this girl who fascinated me simply by her demeanour. 

We had to get off at the next station, to transfer to a bus that would take us to the city. She surprised me with a restlessness that was obvious without being overtly so. She walked towards her bus, asked a few questions and got in. While she was loading her luggage, I got into the bus and found myself a seat not too far from the door but not right next to it. She moved into the first seat and this time, I was not surprised because I had learnt by now that she was one of those people who were constantly in a hurry for no particular reason.

I went back to my book and got off at my stop. I forgot about her as I made my next plans for the evening. The weather was perfect for a day out. I was not ready to go home. That was more pressing than a girl on the train. I never found out her story but the spell was broken the moment the veil of the classy confidence shifted to bare one of slight arrogance.

What You Don't Know Can't Hurt You

It's been a while. I've had atleast 3 blog ideas and content to write but never made the time. Some of us have to earn a living, no matter how much we detest the means to the goal. Then there's all the extra things one needs to do to fit into that horribly expensive dress one bought or the pair of shorts that one is hoping to buy. Many and such excuses later, here I am. Back to my beloved writing. Sneak-peeking at the time and wondering if I really want to do this. 

One of my excuses for not learning martial arts even as a kid was that if the rest of the world can survive without it, so could I. That was the excuses behind which hid the real excuses - I was scared of getting hurt. Then my husband brought me to this guy who teaches an Israeli form of martial arts called Krav Maga. Tim is an excellent instructor and before I knew it, I was hooked. Yes, I came home bruised and battered quite often. On Wednesday nights, I barely managed to take the train back home, half-blinded by weariness, sticky and beaten after nearly 3 hours of punching, kicking, choking and hammers. When we did the Zombie exercise in the end, I didn't even have to pretend to be a zombie on some days!

In short, I love Krav Maga. I love my classes, my instructor and all that's in it. When KMTA organized a workshop at the Gold Coast one weekend, I didn't need Tim's excellent salesmen skills to tell me I wanted to do it. The announcement said it was only for graded and grading students. I wasn't graded and wasn't doing so this term but I registered, paid and went for it anyway. It was simply superb. We practised KM in the park, in the bus, on rough ground, in the sand, in the water and on sand mounds, just about everywhere. At the end of the "beach workshop", when we returned to the bus to change (he's an excellent driver too, by the way), there was a crate of chilled beer waiting for us. Did I mention I have the best training instructor ever?

One of the things that stuck in my head from the training was Tim explaining to us the strategic location to be seated while flying or in public transport that would help us in getting the best defend-and-escape position. He said he always took the aisle seat in a flight. When he was done explaining, it was obvious that if we all took a flight out some place, the window seats would be empty in the plane and everyone would be fighting for aisle seats. I'm one of those people that loves a window seat in an air-plane. I love the view while taking off and landing. It's my favourite part of the entire flight. The very part that used to scare me when I first started flying. Due to this, I refused to be influenced to take an aisle seat. It is not like I'm really going to be attacked or anything, I said to myself. 

However, it did make me realize what I'd once thought of, as an excuse for not learning self-defence. One of the things you have to learn in a self-defence class is the various kinds of attacks possible. The knowledge is supposed to prepare you for any surprises and help you get away with least damage. It works. Your mind is sure to be alert once you know what to expect. The flip side is that you end up being on an always alert mode. In some ways it is good. Sometimes, it's plain strenuous to have to keep the brain on alert all the time. It's almost like running on adrenalin/battery power all day long (ask me, I know all about how that feels). 

Also, it restricts your freedom to do as you please. Imagine never being able to take a window seat in a flight or bus or train. Imagine being worried about people walking down the aisle while you're in a window seat, with a stranger in the aisle seat next to you. Imagine walking down the street, clutching your bag, prepared for any kind of attack, all the time. What are the chances that you will actually get attacked? That said, can you just relax and go lax, given that the chances are probably slim. I suppose not. What is the point of learning to be alert and defending yourself if you won't apply it. It only takes that once to cause irrevocable damage.

Yet, I can't help feeling that sometimes I am better off being ignorant. I'm better off not knowing about the bad things that could happen, so I can enjoy the good things in peace. Or maybe I should just learn to strike a balance. I'm glad I'm not a police officer or a doctor. Imagine living in an I-must-save-and-protect mode all the time! It's a bit much. I love my sleep, I wouldn't sacrifice it to save the world from a war. Maybe not. Who knows? We'll cross the bridge when we come to it. Time to head off to earn my living. Wish I didn't know that. I'm getting that feeling again. I'm better off not knowing. As they say, what you don't know...

Connecting The Dots

When I was much younger and not so bright (actually, I think I was way brighter then than I am now but let me not go into hard facts right now), I used to love those connect-the-dots activities. You start at one point, feeling very confident, get confused every now and then until a brainwave hits you and you just know the next correct dot to take your line to... half a day later you emerge from the sheets, feeling proud of yourself at drawing an elephant or a rabbit or a tree. 

It doesn't occur to you that you might have churned out a better piece of art, had you not followed someone else's dots. It is one of the simplest forms of puzzles, shall I say, before you progress to simple word crosswords and cryptic ones. Some of us slower people never get to that stage because by the time we've mastered the simple puzzles, we hit one called Life and there starts a real adventure. 

My first few weeks in this new country started off with looking for a suitable accommodation. Other than actually scouring the real estate sites for descriptions, making appointments with agents, one of the most important activities it involved was finding the location. I never used to be a great map reader (thank God for husbands) but I learnt to make out enough not to go too far out in the wrong direction. The Translink website is a guiding angel telling you exactly where to get on and get off, whether to take a bus, ferry or train.

Somehow, with all these aids and a good dose of the husband's instincts for direction, we managed to arrive at every one of those apartments, on time, and evaluated it as best as we could. Each time we liked or thought a place was not too bad, we would look around for convenience stores, super-markets, transportation and anything else I might need, in the vicinity. In addition, I looked at houses (drooling at the ones I could not afford) and landmarks to go on my mental map of the suburb.

Now that I have settled in, the husband and I have been trying to walk around and familiarize ourselves with the area. The husband seems not to be awed by what we find, partly because he already knew it and partly because he suspected it. I am thrilled. Whenever we head out and walk around, I connect a handful of dots, squealing in excitement per dot I connect and when I get home, I feel equipped with new knowledge. 

I have concentrated mostly on a handful of suburbs, so it should not be a wonder that the streets around us are mostly recognizable. I never realized it back then, because we did one or two apartments per day and each time took a different route (the best, per Translink) to get to a place. Yesterday, we walked from the station to the Rosalie Village and as I read out street names and found stores and restaurants we had passed through earlier, I went through a range of mixed feelings. Excitement at being able to connect the dots and map my suburb. Ah, the feeling of knowing! Surprise that I was surprised to find so close, places that I had never known were so close to where I stay. I was surprised because I did not know but it is a surprise that I did not know because they are right there!

Confusing? Well, no, should not be. The tangles are slowly un-knotting themselves. To be familiar with a strange place, finally, puts you in a happy place. 

I had never missed home food before but to find three restaurants of home cuisine within walking distances makes you miss home, home food and want to go. Two down, one more left. Ice-cream parlours, cinema, late night grocers, wine stores, varied cuisines, pubs, parks... all of them and more than one... within walking distance... How cool is that? Eh?

Like a friend said to me the other day when he came visiting, "This is a really nice place, it was worth waiting this long to find the right place. It was a good decision". It was, wasn't it? 

The right place. Yes. This feels like home. The old couch with one improvised seat-back, the bright patio furniture, the walk-in robe, the pretty cushions, the warm polar fleece throws, the inviting bed, the open kitchen, the study, just about everything seems right. Just as I like it. 

To start from here, match the dots and return, armed with the complete picture, is a lovely puzzle to solve. That is the beauty of the dots, they guide you till the end with a promise of treasure where the rainbow ends... A promise that is sure to be kept. 

Just Amazing!

I met the most amazing auto driver today! 

He had forgotten to turn on the meter. I reminded him when I noticed it, about a kilometer later and he turned it on. He did not say a word about me having to pay for the distance covered without the meter on. I was so surprised. I couldn't help wondering if he'll pull something later, when we stop. I'd decided to pay him the extra 10 bucks anyway. When he stopped where I had to get off, still nothing. He did not even mention the missed kilometer. I paid him 10 bucks more than the meter and told him so. I almost expected him to protest and ask for more. Still nothing. Wow!

Also, I had not much trouble getting an auto when I went out this afternoon. Both ways. Both drivers did not know the way to my destination. Is that why they agreed to go? Probably.

My Lucky is the most amazing dog ever!

She's been angry with my brother for 4 days now. Initially, we thought it was because he had scared her back then. After 4 days, we were convinced it had to be something else. No one knew what it was but she refused to even acknowledge him. He would be talking to her and she would walk right past him. Now, she responds to him every morning and night. Right after he gives her chicken. Finally, bro figures it out! It was because he has been forgetting to share his chicken with her every night! Bravo Lucky! Bro kept asking, in the last few days, why she was annoyed with him after he's been sharing his chicken diet with her. If she could think aloud, we might have heard her say, "Yeah, right!"

I had the most amazing lunch in a long time!

It had been a really long time since I had a meal like that. We used to do that in our college days. We used to go to a darshini near our college. It was less than half a kilometer away but we were too lazy to even walk that distance. We called it UK - a silly pun to mean it was so far away and an acronym for Upahara Kendra (the name of the place). We started going there once somebody tried their awesome roti-curry for 10 bucks! Some boys would even have 2 plates of those and show off. I walked into an Adigas darshini today, intending to order a Rava-Idly. I did not find it on the board behind the counter and almost ordered the Rava Idly. I just turned to look around as I waited for the guy before me to finish, when I noticed the menu board on the wall. I quickly scanned it, hoping to be able to try something 'different' from normal and my eyes fell upon naan-curry. I ordered that. Of course, it did not cost 10 bucks like the days of yore. A good 25 rupees but total value for money. It instantly transported me back to the good old days. I enjoyed every bite of my naan-curry. I nearly ordered another plate, even though I was almost full. The only thing that stopped me was remembering that I am trying to fit into a single seat on my flight to Australia! I must go back there. So many more things on the menu to try out!

I made an amazing discovery today!

No matter how old men get, no matter which part of the world or culture they come from, no matter how wonderful they may be or what genius may reside in their brains, no matter what else, there is one thing that is common to ALL men. They are the world's best excuse-masters! You nag them and you nag them and you nag them. They will give you one excuse after another after another. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Must be because of all those silly women wanting equality with men and shit. Why couldn't we just be the queens and reign over the world?

PS. I hate exclamations in titles. Yuck!

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?

5 Fascinating Minutes

I had a scary ride back home from work, nearly hit a few times (as is normal if you're riding or driving in Namma Bengaluru) and bullied off to a wrong turn on the flyover, bothered by sadistic guys with nothing worthwhile to do with their lives... In short, I spent most part of my ride mentally cursing the traffic around me, people on the streets and anything but enjoying the ride. By the time I reached the gate to our building, I was still fuming and decided to vent on my blog tonight. 

I stopped at the gate, saw the neighbour's kid playing cricket in front of my garage again and felt like kicking his dad for teaching the son such unhealthy habits. He constantly hits my car and one of these days, he'll go home with a broken bat. So, that was my state of mind at 7PM tonight.

And then the sweetest thing happened to me. In the next 5 minutes, the weariness of my entire day and the ride had just slipped off me! I met the cutest kids ever. 

The first one came running to me (call him A, for I'm such a douf that I did not ask their names). Pointing to his head he says, "Aunty, what is this?". "My helmet. Do you want to wear it?", I asked. He is quick to refuse "No!". 

I just start to ask him why when the next kid comes running to me (say, B). "Aunty, what is this?", he's pointing to the back of his palm. I smiled at him and said, "Those are gloves" but did not ask him if he wanted to wear it. Maybe he did not. I did not wish to remove them either.

Kid C comes running and says, "Aunty, I want chocolate!". The smile on my face is plastered. Such adorable kids. "Hmm, you want chocolate, let me check if I have any", I said as I mentally prayed fervently that it was one of those days that I did have a chocolate in my backpack. I remember throwing a bar of Cadbury's Fruit and Nut in my bag a couple of days ago but I was not sure if this was the bag. 

I release my backpack from my shoulders and slide them down, almost to the ground. I'm trying to desperately find the bar of chocolate from underneath the bags in my backpack, containing my work clothes, shoes and papers. Kid B yells, "Aunty, you have a dark blue bag, so nice!". I asked him if his favourite colour was dark blue and he shakes his head, "No, I like light blue". I can't help laughing. 

It was an awfully cute moment. The kids were so enraptured by everything I carried. I fish out the chocolate bar and Kid B screams again, "Aunty, you have chocolate!". His eyes widen and he has excitement written all over his face. It was the most beautiful moment of my day. My week, maybe. Or even this year! Kid C, who had momentarily moved to watch the elder kid play cricket, came running. All the three of them huddled close, eagerly watching as I unwrapped the bar and started breaking chunks off the chocolate.

I gave them each one piece and ate one myself. Not one of them said, "Thank you". When I was a kid, manners were hammered into our heads. I remember my dad dragging me down the stairs to say "Sorry" to the neighbour in the flat below us when I was apparently rude with her. Back then I'd thought I was funny and I had a big ego that would not let me apologize but the fear of dad's hands making contact with my teeny ass compelled me to apologize. 

Coming back to this evening, nobody thanked me. I almost said it aloud and made them thank me. In an impulsive moment, I stopped myself. I did not want to hear them say it. I could see it in their excitement. They did not throw tantrums or ask for more. When I broke off the fourth piece saying, "I also want to eat chocolate", they just watched without a word. I faintly wondered if they thought it was such a waste of good chocolate for an "aunty" to be eating but hey, they were sweet, did not say a word. 

It was such a pleasure to see that one small chunk of chocolate could make each child so happy. They hopped off, after they ate, for I had stuffed the rest of the bar back in my bag. I wondered if I should give them more but I was not sure if their parents would appreciate it. I'm lying. It's just that Fruit & Nut is my favourite, I do not ever want to share it. The kids made me feel like a million bucks, I could not have not shared with them. 

I parked my bike, locked it and came home to a warm welcome to another cutie-pie. My baby Lucky. Wagging her tail and rubbing herself against me. Twenty seconds later, she was sniffing at my bag. Mmm, chocolate! So easy to give it to her and watch the happiness wash over her face but I could not, it is poison to her, no matter how much she might love it. Surprisingly, she was as well behaved as the kids downstairs. She did not persist or beg further. 

I met the most delightful kids today! Oh, how I adore them... even when they say the darnest things!

The Case Of The Stolen Wallet

It takes a lot to convince my husband to take me to a movie. Especially a Hindi movie. He hates sitting in the theatre for 3 hours. After 3 weeks of trying, I finally managed to get him to agree to watch 3 IDIOTS with me. Even better? Mum also agreed to come with us for a 7PM show. She never says yes to anything that's past the streetlights hour. I was in an awfully good mood that day.

Having lots my wallet numerous times during my college days - the routine of paying for a bus ticket, leaving it on my lap and walking away - I've grown to be excessively careful. I pulled out a note of 100 Rupees when I went for a snack in the afternoon, inserted the notes in the side pocket of my bag, taking care not to get the wallet out lest I lose it.

Come evening, the husband and mum left home in bro's car (how that happened is a story for another day - our car alarm going off, the punctured tyre, newbie girl driver, etc, etc). I was to meet them in Indiranagar, which is half the way for both of us. Considering that it was traffic hour, I decided that I could easily take a bus and still catch them in time. Faster than walking, slower than an auto (10 times cheaper too).

I wasn't wrong. I got off the bus and met them just as they reached the designated place. Brilliant! The bus ride seemed without much fuss. I got a seat pretty soon. I was holding it in front of me (beware of pick-pockets in crowded buses). I placed it on my lap and proceeded to check my email on my mobile. After frustrated attempts to connect to the internet, I gave up and began to enjoy the view outside. About 5 minutes before it my stop, I headed towards the front door. A minute later, a lady got on to the bus with a baby and I was forced to move the bag behind me. That's all it took! Five minutes for the pick-pocket and three weeks later, I am still under enormous stress!

We reached Lido (where the movie was playing) in the hellish traffic, where mum and I got off while the husband went ahead to park the car. I opened my bag to get out my credit card. No sign of my wallet! Oh hell! My new wallet, my favourite, my expensive Xmas gift. A beautiful brown wallet with the perfect number of compartments, well-placed, an awesome antique-metal coloured ring in the centre. My debit and credit cards, my Crossword card (paid 220 bucks and still not got my replacement), my Driving License (still haven't been able to get a replacement... expected cost - 1100 bucks) and about twelve hundred rupees. I never carry so much money... took money from the ATM the previous day for the car service, the thief got lucky!

I still haven't been able to lodge a police complaint. The cops at the Jeevan Bhima Nagar police station refused to register a complaint because it was not within their jurisdiction, asked me to go to the Indiranagar police station. The cops at the Indiranagar police station insisted I get a letter from the bank that I had indeed had a card in my name that had been blocked. The bank would give me a letter for the debit card but nothing for the credit card. They asked me to call the customer care. I called the customer care and they want me to go to the branch. Finally, after numerous calls and providing one of the 5 or 6 agents I spoke with, my entire "personal details" and yelling at her, I managed to have a request placed for my debit card replacement. A week later, the PIN has arrived, still no sign of card. The credit card, on the other hand, I can do nothing about. They have delinked it from my account, blocked it, won't let me cancel it or get a replacement - all because I cannot remember the incorrect PIN number they have registered against my address. Hell! However, they have no problems sending me a bill for a thousand bucks today. Hell again!

As luck would have it, I also had my office meal card in the wallet (never do that but that fateful day...). After about 5 emails, 2 phone calls and a week and half, I finally have my meal card.

I am yet to lodge a police complaint (wonder how much it will "cost me" to get an FIR), yet to get a duplicate driving license, yet to do something about the credit card and above all, yet to get over the loss of my wallet with all it's belongings. All because of one inconsiderate woman who took less than 5 minutes to grow rich, probably trash all the stuff I'm trying so hard to get together!

12K A Day

I've been riding to work for 3 weeks now. I'm not as regular as I would like to be but it's better than what I've done in the last year. It helps to have a goal. TFN 2010. What would I do without the husband's support? What would I do without the constant encouragement from my friend? Never thought I'd say this but I love my pinks. There's something about the riding-gear that gets me excited!

An early morning ride is the most enjoyable but not always possible. It's not too bad if I leave before or at 8.30AM. Afterwards, it does not matter whether I am on a cycle, motor-bike, auto or a car. I might as well walk most part of the way. Why does all of Bangalore head towards EGL, on the same route every morning, between 9AM and 10AM? Today was an 8.30AM ride. In other words, the cycling itself felt good but unable to enjoy the weather, thanks to all the dust and smoke.

The ride back is disagreeable on most days. Cars and bikes refuse to let me cross the road. Lots of noise and smoke. Auto drivers constantly veering me off the road. Perverts making me want to throw my cycle at them and drag them down the road with the chain around their necks. The list goes on. As my dailymile update says,  today was better than most days. I crossed the main road in 5 minutes, as opposed to 15 - 25 that it takes me on most days. No speeding cars or bikes scaring me, no buses threatening to run me over. They all seemed to be well-behaved, as if finally accepting me as part of the traffic. Auto-drivers continued to be the pests they were. No surprise there. The world may turn course but the auto-rickshaw drivers in Bangalore will continue to shun road ethics like nobody's business.

The exercise is implicit, the savings on fuel and not having to stress over cheating auto-drivers or pick-pockets in buses are all remarkable benefits of biking to work. Another major advantage is having to leave office before it turns dark. A blinking red light at the back and two whites in the front will not save my life, in the glare of the high-beam traffic that speed by. It is as if everybody got late at work, realized they had to rush home to their 'personal lives' and had to get there even if it meant running over the guy in front. So, I leave early. So, I get home and spend time with my mother. So, I have time to play with Lucky. So, I have time to read a book and do my daily email. So, I have a life!

The downside is that I cannot have pit-stops. The advantage that walking or even a bus ride would provide me. I cannot stop to jump into the nearest supermarket for groceries or stop at the stationer's for the DVD I've been meaning to buy. I cannot pay a quick visit to the beauty parlour or pig out on chaats at the street vendor. It also means, no impromptu movie plans, dinner plans or shopping.

As the McDonald's ad goes, "Mmm, I'm loving it". It's not helping to be sitting on the laptop, if I rode home early and didn't feed the dog. She will hate me for it. The husband will hate me. Mother will hate me. Oops, where is the life I was talking about? Better go...

Googly

Four years ago, when my then-boyfriend-now-husband and I decided to buy a car, I took driving lessons costing a whooping four thousand bucks. Everywhere else it cost half the price but this included "theory classes" and a couple of "simulations" before the actual on-road driving. I felt like I needed these extra lessons, for I've never been part of the traffic except as a cyclist, which doesn't really count for much.

I was doing ok in the first couple of classes, albeit a bit nervous, acutely conscious of the fact that my instructors probably looked at me and thought to themselves, "There goes another lady driver on the streets!". On the third or fourth day, it was a class on uphill driving. I struggled and I struggled and I struggled. The instructor was quite vocal about his disgust and said that women like me should not be allowed on the streets. A few classes later, I had to take a break to get married. I finally managed to finish my 10 classes in about 3 months time!

Then it was time to take the test. As expected, I did badly in the orals. Come on, it's hard to remember all that stuff inside the bonnet and their functions!! What am I, in school? Duh! Then the actual driving. Guess who was the invigilator for my driving test? The guy from my uphill driving class. Fuck! I was sure I would fail. So, we got started and he was very keen on making me show him my (lack of) skills in uphill driving. Needless to say, he was not thrilled to bits. He didn't say anything, just made notes in his book as he made me reverse, turn left and right, shift gears, etc.

Half an hour of driving later, we got stuck in bad traffic. I was pretty sure I'd failed and I was getting late to office. I started to get tense. A narrow two-way lane and there was choc-a-block traffic in one direction, barely enough space for a two-wheeler or, at worst, an auto-rickshaw to pass the other way. At the moment, I was too tense to consider asking my instructor for help. I forgot that he was in the car with me. After pondering for a moment, I took the plunge. I decided that I did not have time to wait for the traffic to clear. It was those days when I used to believe in 'facing my fears' and shit like that. A good 20-minute ride, during which I manouevered the car over footpaths, around trees, bikes, other cars, autos and buses, narrow lanes, we finally reached the driving school.

The instructor who was quiet all along, told me that the test was over. It wasn't even an hour yet, so I was pretty convinced that I had failed. I didn't care, I just wanted to get to work. If I had to come back another day for my test, the sooner I got out of there, the better. He looked at me and informed me that I had passed. Sorry, what!?! "I am not very happy with the results of your oral test and you need to work on your uphill driving. However, I will pass you in the test because of the amazing last bit of driving you did. Some of my instructors could not have done that", he said. Coming from him, it was high praise. The happiest moment of all my driving experiences!!

Over time, thanks to the husband's constant back-seat driving (husbands!!!), I lost my love for driving. We have a black Hyundai Santro that spends more time in the garage than on the roads. This year, I decided to start driving again, no matter what. I drove to work yesterday and left the car at the Trident Service Station across the main road, for a long overdue service. It cost me a good five grand! Looking at the split-up costs per item, I noticed one item called 'consumables'. Being a great food lover that I am and never having serviced the car before, I promptly assumed that 'consumables' were goodies. I looked in the car, expecting to see choccies that the service station might have sweetly left on the back seat of my car, in the name of building customer relationships. I was even willing to forgive them for charging me a good 150 bucks, for mere chocolates. I looked everywhere but there was no sign of any chocolates. No consumables in my car!!

This morning, I spoke with a friend of mine and asked what 'consumables' meant in car terms. Oil, filters, brake pads, light bulbs, spark plug, etc. Shit! Consumables! Not goodies, not chocolates. I'm glad I checked before I called the service centre to ask them not to provide me any 'consumables' and bill it to my service anymore. Phew!

Biking Again!

I have a single speed Hercules bike that I bought a couple of years ago. I rode it for a few days. I commuted to work on the bike and caused a few ripples in office. My neighbours were mostly amused or amazed. The family accepted. The husband loved it. I loved it.

Then one day, I just stopped. Sigh. Over time, the husband developed an interest in cycling. He bought himself a Firefox RoadPro costing 25 grand! Today he is preparing for the Tour Of Nilgiris, rides close to 100km per day and does an average speed of 30kph. He rides a Surly named Shirley (yeah, very creative)

He has subscribed me to the TFN emails and it's fantastic to see the enthusiasm of so many bikers all across the country and outside, waiting to do the 7-day tour! It's spiking my excitement levels to an all-time high. I cannot understand why I am not part of it already but hoping I can do it next year.

I've been meaning to start biking again and never got around to doing it. Finally, with a bit of pressure from the darling husband and my dearest friend, I started biking to work last week. I'm loving every minute of it.

The day I decided to start commuting to work on my bike, the husband was even more excited than I. He cleaned & greased the bike for me, fixed the lights on my bag, filled air in the tyres and just about everything that was necessary to get me going.

Day 1, I did not take the bike out. The husband was disappointed. The friend said something on the lines of 'ha ha'.

Day 2, I biked to work. Husband called to tell me how thrilled he was to find the cycle gone, when he got home from one of his long biking expeditions. He asked me if I really rode or if it was stolen. Yeah right, very funny! The friend said something on the lines of 'oh really?' Yeah ok, funny again!

The ride to work felt great with no traffic during the early hours. The weather in the mornings is perfect for the cycling. I rode back and forth twice during the week. I also rode when I went to school, to meet the teachers. Scored a brownie point when Ash mentioned it to Mrs. Vasumathi. All good, all good.

Today, the husband changed the wheels on my bike with the slimmer ones on his single speed BSA SLR. He says his bike looks funny now and mine is lighter. Can't wait to get on it and start riding. We're planning to ride around for today's shopping. Looking forward to it.

An Extra Rupee

My husband dropped me off at the main road this morning, from where I could take an auto to work. As usual, the driver asked me for "10 rupees extra" and I agreed. It's nearly impossible to find an auto who will bring me to work, without extra cash. We had barely started moving when another customer asked him if he could get a ride to Ganesha Temple in Thippasandra. Our generous driver agreed.

As the man was about to get into the seat next to me, the auto driver asked him to share the driver seat with him. I can't help thinking... hmm.. he has no qualms about cheating me, a lady, out of 10 bucks but he is concerned about how I might feel having a stranger (man) sit next to me. Values change to suit people's needs He doesn't want to hurt my woman-sentiments but he doesn't mind hurting my wallet. Well, well, well! For some reason, most auto-drivers think that it is completely fair to charge us poor customers extra fare because we look richer than them and we can just afford it whereas they need it. It is as if they have a right to do that.

The stranger got off at the Ganesha temple and paid the driver 10 bucks. The minimum on an auto ride is Rs. 14 but the driver didn't complain. He was making 10 bucks to just drop someone off to a place which was enroute where I was headed. It was extra cash for his pocket, not to pay the owner of the autorickshaw as it does not show up on the meter.

It cost me Rs.35 on the meter. As per our agreement, I had to pay him Rs. 45. Now, if I told him that I didn't have change and gave him a 50-buck note, chances are that he'd round the 45 rupees off to 50. Instead, I didn't bother to look for change but just paid him Rs. 40 and he didn't complain. He'd made his extra cash anyway, from the other guy. In fact, he made Rs. 15 out of my ride. Everybody's happy!

Wait! Why am I happy? I just paid an extra 5 bucks on my ride! Well, that's not too bad; it's better than extra 10. I guess I can afford to pay the poor man a few extra rupees without making a dent in my pocket. He didn't even have a rigged meter, so must be an honest man with most others who he might judge as not-so-rich.

Auto Raja

I met an auto-driver today who not only did NOT ask me for extra bucks but had a non-tampered meter and brought me home using the shortest route... wow! It was drizzling too, yet he didn't act like an A-hole & charge more or refuse to come. Amazing!

Walk-buddy

This one is dedicated to my new walking companion, the Radio.

After I last mentioned it, Air Rainbow hasn't played anything to my liking. Shabbeer never turned up either... maybe the time I walk doesn't match the time he talks! I'm listening to Radio One in office these days and loving it. It took me a while to understand Shilpa's "Oh Anyone?" was actually o-n-e 1. She says "Type 'Oh Anyone?' and your answer" to the fatafat clues!

One interesting guy on this station is Chamarajpet Charles, who pops in as fillers every now and then. He's got an accent and tone that makes him sound funny. Reminds me of MJ from school, without the thick accent. My favourite among all his anecdotes is when he's wondering what the fuss on Twitter is all about. Among numerous tweets, he finds one from a Brenda who says "I'm pregnant with Charles' baby!". So much for her excitement, our man hastens to create an account to 'tweet' that "Chamarajpet Charles' has never met Brenda". LOL!

Radio One, Commute Easy and the Bangalore Traffic Police have come together with an initiative for car-pooling which apparently, has caught on big time in Bangalore and even led to reducing the number of cars on the road. Logon to http://www.commuteeasy.com/ to register. I checked out this site and whereas it looks like a good initiative, initial glance tells me that the claims in the ad may be slightly embellished.

I switched to one of the Kannada stations later today. Except for a handful of good songs, there doesn't seem to be any. So, all stations either play the same evening after evening or slip in some songs that leaves one with no choice but to switch channels.