Down On My Knees

Chicken pox kept me away from school for a month. I was only 6 then and I remember hating it. I'd always been a healthy kid. It felt like I was being punished for never having fallen sick and I was making up for the all earlier years in one shot. I hated missing school more than anything else.

Decades later, the chicken pox had relegated to dark corners of my mind. While I sympathized with others who fell sick or got injured, I stayed away from anything remotely requiring medical attention. How I managed it is beyond me but I took it for granted. I had abused my body with junk food, no food, erratic workouts for years and all I needed to fix myself up was 2 days in bed, recharging. It is amazing how self-healing the human body is.

Cut to 2012.

It all started with a back-ache that I ignored for as long as I could. It was just sleeping on the couch. Or maybe the bad posture at work. It was going to be fine. I just needed to stop doing those things. I would. It went on this way until I landed flat on my back, on the carpet one fine Sunday morning, unable to perform normal physical activities like getting up, sitting or standing without my back complaining. With much reluctance and driven by panic, I saw a doctor. "Weak muscles", he rued. He was happy to prescribe medicines but I brushed it off saying I wouldn't do it if I didn't have to. He wrote me a letter to get a core strength assessment by a physio and handed me a sheet detailing some stretches I could do, to strengthen the lower back muscles.

Once I started the stretches and the back was beginning to feel OK, I forgot all about the doctor and his physio recommendation. I ignored the niggly sensation in my knees for weeks and waved off the protests during my Krav Maga kicks. I continued to ignore it even after I started to feel like I was going to buckle whenever I walked. I should have at least hooked up to the internet to see if it needed attention but I didn't. I was in denial. It was going to be ok. That was until I carried a heavy bag and walked for about 3 kilometres one evening, while on holidays. Soon, the happy vacation turned into a series of stretches, ice-packs, ultrasound and I was pretty much under house-arrest.

By now I had been suffering all sorts of aches for 2 months and I was aware of my weak muscles. The least I could offer my body was a little rest. For someone who has mis-treated the body for over 30 years, it was a concept hard to grasp. Two weeks into the treatment, throwing all caution to the wind, I headed back overseas and started work. Over the next 2 weeks, I was brought down by my knees once again. It was back to square one. Ice-packs, taped knees, ultrasound, rest. The works. Serves me right for not doing the "rest" thing the first time around. Lesson learned. Right?

I'm just back from another horribly expensive physio session (that my insurance barely covers) and feeling better. All thanks to the massage, ultra-sound and knee-taping (ugh) by my Kiwi physio, who told me she had her first physio appointment at the age of 8. The restlessness that comes with feeling slightly more mobile is back. I want to be out and about, doing all the things I would normally be doing. The only thing that is stopping me from caving in, is knowing how crippled I have been over the weekend... after I had started to walk a little just the week before.

The chicken pox phase jumps to the forefront, from the dark hollows of my mind. It's like a headless villain stepping out of the shadows, in a long black cape. Yet again, is this life making me pay for the score and something years of good health I have had? It's been over 3 months since the first signs of the weak muscles appeared and started giving me grief. I can't wait to feel "normal" again!

I feel exactly like I did when I was 6 years old. I was forced to stay in the bedroom so I would not spread the germs around, only being allowed to get out if I needed to use the bathroom. Mum brought me food and water but I was kept away from the outside world. This time, I'm older and the room is a house, but the feeling is all the same. I am counting down minutes to get back to the outside world... to run and to dance... to kick some groin in Krav class... and to grab that elusive P3 patch... and do all those crazy things on my list...

Alone At The Movies

A couple of years ago I would never watch a movie by myself. The very idea was appalling. Having to watch a movie alone meant that you had no one to go out with. In other words, it meant that you had no friends. If you've lived for a quarter century and had no friends, there was something seriously wrong with you. If you've lived in the same city during most of those years, and had no friends, you really need to be worried. In other words, if you went to watch a movie alone, it was time to stop and review your life.

One day, when I was alone at home and bored, I did it. The walk to the cinema felt like an adventure. Once there, I felt everyone's eyes on me. The voice in my head responded to each one of them with, "Yeah, I'm here by myself. Do you have a problem with that?" There was excitement coursing through me as I got down the stairs after the film ended, and walked home. I sent a text to my husband and called mum to tell them what I had done. I wrote to my best friend that I had been to the movies by myself. At twenty-something, going to the movies alone should not have been something to get so worked up about but it was. 

Now, if I had had no one to share that with, I would have been miserable. It goes back to the same theory about not having friends. You might as well be the protagonist in one of those romantic films, looking desperately for the right guy/girl to come along and growing miserable while you wait. Friendship is to us what falling in love is to the Western world. 

One fine winter morning, I arrived in Australia to start a new life. One of the biggest things about this new beginning was being alone. I had no friends. I knew no one. I assumed that I would make lots of friends at work. Everywhere I had worked so far, people had loved me. Imagine my horror upon finding that was not to be the case. While people would be friendly, making friends was not as easy as I thought it would be. I joined classes and I spoke with strangers. I remained alone. Everyone was nice but I had no friends.

I realized that I was on my own and I had better make the best of it. Staying home, reading books was one thing but I could not stay locked inside for ever. I had to get out if I wanted to make friends. Initially, I whinged to my best friend about not being able to make any new friends. He said to give it time, "Within a year, you will have lots of friends to go out with". I was horrified! Was I going to be alone for a year? 

I started going out by myself. I found that I enjoyed it. Being alone meant that I got to meet with lots of strangers. I could have conversations with people who shared similar tastes as mine and come away without any obligations. I didn't know the names of most people I spoke and a lot of times I didn't know what they did. It was just two people or a group of people exchanging a few sentences. It was almost always happy conversations. There were no emotions involved, no expectations. This was the a new kind of friendship altogether. The free games by the city council on Thursday nights were my favourites. I could play Chess, Scrabble, Jinga and I could watch others play. I didn't have to know anyone. I had a whole bunch of new friends every week. We played, we laughed, we had so much fun. Being alone and meeting new people was such an amazing endeavour. I began to enjoy it immensely. 

There were days when there were no games and there was not much happening where I could meet new people. I didn't want to go home and be alone. I decided the best thing to do was go to the cinema. That was an activity that didn't need any company. I could go by myself, choose a movie on the spot and watch it. I had the company of all the others at the cinema while, at the same time, I was by myself. It was like having the best of both worlds. Soon, it became the thing I did when I had nothing else to do. 

I bought a membership card at the cinema in town and it became my best friend. When I was sick, I could catch a movie. When I was alone and depressed, I would check out a new film. When there was a good movie playing, I could just hit it. When I felt like doing something and there was nothing else, I would head off to the nearest movie theatre. I am hardly ever disappointed. It's an escape and an entertainment. Now, I average at about a film a week. It has been over a year and I have plenty of friends. That means I don't always go by myself but there are days when I do just that. The time I spend by myself is my friend too. 

The End Of Another Year

The month of December has been rather exciting. There have been too many parties, too much food and far too many bottles. It culminated in two fabulous Christmas parties - one of Christmas Day and the other on Boxing Day. Then, everything went quiet. The silence was almost deafening. Two days of no real partying, no going out. In fact, the two days at work were stunningly quiet too. In reality, it was 3 work days before NYE but the third one did not count because it was an early pack-up and the first half might as well have been clearing out the desk for the long weekend coming up.

Things were quiet in terms of actual partying but there was a mad frenzy of planning going on for the next year. There were heaps of travel and events being lined up. Soon, there were one too many things in motion and I needed two month-a-page calendars to make the plans - one calendar listing the things we wanted to do, the other for plans that were locked in. As is wont to be when there are so many things happening at one place, there were overlaps of groups and dates. My mind was a madhouse to say the least. Adrenaline was running high. Very high. I could almost feel my feet just a bit above the ground.

In the melee that was on, I thought everyone had forgotten about NYE and it was going to be pretty much sitting at home, watching the Sydney fireworks, drinking by myself. Of course, there were some talks about the fireworks at South Bank but I have seen them last year and did not think I cared to do the same again.

Suddenly, on the third day, things picked up. Everything sprung to life! I woke up in the morning, assuming I would quietly chase away the old year and welcome the new one with nothing more than hugs & kisses from my family and close friends. By noon, I had found out that I was going to watching footy plus there were pre- and post-drinks on NYE. I had been "booked in". While they were at it, I had also been booked in for plans for the theatre event after NY. Whoa!! Hold it right there! One moment I was all over the place trying to work out plans and the next dates were blocked on my calendar. In a flash, I saw $$$ fly out of my bank account.

As I watched, I could see the first 5 months of my next year unfolding slowly. The mid-year plans were forming in the background.

If the world does not end, as some seem to think might do, it will be a great year to look forward to. Somewhere in the midst of the changing seasons and overbooked events, there will be time to read and write. There will be interesting work and kick-ass Krav Maga sessions. With luck, the year will turn out to be even better than the current one!

As I wind up, I feel the year slipping away. There is still a day and half to go but I am packing up at work. What I do now will be the last thing I do in the office. I am not sure what that last thing should be. I almost feel a sense of loss as the year wraps up. It has come sooner than I expected. I struggle to shut down my computer. It is that moment when the year is ending and the heart wants to hold on to that which has been, that which the heart already knows. For, who knows what the next year will bring? For, all that is certain is the hope for wonderful things. The promise to oneself, of great things to come and beautiful memories to build, before the coming year ends.

Cricket At The Stadium

The excitement of watching cricket in the stadium is just fantastic. The adrenalin rush in a stadium far surpasses the feeling when you are watching a match on the television. The Brisbane Heat Vs Melbourne Stars match last night was no less.

Apparently, one of the highlights of the match was the presence of Shane Warne. He played for Victoria, which meant that the chances of them winning the match was higher. He is an international player and a class one at that! The other player who got mentioned, though not as much as Warnie, was Matthew Hayden. He played for the Brisbane Heat. So, I guess we were sort of even. There were some some others, atleast a few names in the Melbourne team - David Hussey, Cameron White, etc - that I recognized but Warnie, as he is fondly called, was the most popular. I did not know at the time but based on the publicity and the crowd going gaga, I figured that Hayden and Warnie were probably was back after some time. A quick peek at the Brisbane Times bulletin on the internet confirms that: "On the plus side, the return to the Gabba of Shane Warne and Matthew Hayden drew a record crowd of 29,241"

Victoria batted first and set a neat target of 178 for the locals. They played well. Towards the end, Brissie seemed to have had a rush of adrenalin and picked up a few wickets in the last handful of overs. The streak continued on as they struck a few fabulous shots across the boundary in the first few overs of their game. Hayden, unfortunately, left the pitch rather early. Soon afterwards, the temperature in the Brisbane team seemed to have gone down. No matter how much the announcer and the crowd tried to 'Fire It Up' for them, the Brisbane Heat could not score enough. Then they picked up again. Towards the end, it seemed to be more of a drive to win that they decided to pull up their socks. Which they did too. That and a few lucky breaks did it, for the team. Imagine a dropped catch, rolling off across the boundary faster than the fielder! It was amazing! The crowd could not stop cheering. The streaks of fire that went out every time the home team shot across the boundary or took a wicket (in the earlier half) went berserk at this point.

As Shane Warne came on board to bowl his first over, the crowd went crazy. The cheers for the Brisbane team switched to cries of "Warnie! Warnie!". In fact, after a while, it was more of a "Waaaarneeeeee, Waaaarneeeee", which sounded more creepy than anything. It was almost as if the appearance of Warnie caused people to forget their own teams for a bit! The cameras panning through the crowds found a man with "Sup Liz" at the back of his shirt. Yet another time, when the Kiss Cam was on, the last one turned out to be a rather big surprise. Liz Hurley kissing her neighbour (an older man she obviously knew). The crowd rang out when that happened.

The biggest distraction, of course, was the guy in a teal coloured costume. With his head in some sort of a strange flame-shape, the man must have been feeling hot as. That did not stop him one bit, as he somersaulted, did side and back flips continuously and walked around, mingling with the audience. Not for a moment did he stop, throughout the 3 hours of the match. Considering how much I struggle with my forward rolls (from crouch position, to boot), I cannot but be amazed at his ability to back flip in costume and with that giant-sized head!

Occasionally, the soft balls that people kept passing around and the Mexican wave (that is absolutely mandatory in any big gathering of that sort, in any country or culture), caused people to look away from the cricket match and participate in the event.

The biggest difference between the match I watched last night and the one I last watched was the crowd reaction. There were polite claps when the other team scored, polite claps when our team scored. Okay, there were a few screams and some general reaction when we scored but even the announcer on the radio, with all his excitement, was subdued in the recent event compared to my earlier experience. That one had people screaming, dancing, pumping fists in the air, yelling and just going whacko! Another huge difference was, of course, how open the ground felt. It took me a while to realize why. The big barriers that separate the stadium audience from the grounds were missing! Even a child could just jump across and land on the ground. No one did. Ah! The classic catches played by a couple of local cricket clubs for a cash prize was another new thing to me. It seemed like a rather fantastic idea!

In all, a great experience. The joy of being in a stadium, watching the match. Ah, it had been so long! The new and old experiences mixed in a lovely blend that resulted in an evening well-spent. Must do it again...

Moving Houses

Moving houses can be a daunting task. When you’re in a different country, away from family and friends, even the modern technologies of developed countries do not make the task any more fun.

Two of my friends were in various stages of the moving process. One family has been looking for a house in various suburbs, without any luck. I cannot help but wonder why someone would be rejected for tenancy but they have been unlucky enough to experience that. The other family found their dream home within weeks of starting their search. Last Sunday was going to be their big move day. The husband decided that, between him and the wife, they would be able to manage just fine. They booked a trailer and a tri-wheel climbing hand trolley with wheels for the day. A couple of us friends decided to help them, in spite of protests that they would be able to manage by themselves.

I was picked up from my unit at 10 in the morning and we headed to Kennards to pick up the rentals. The first hurdle was getting the agency to accept a non-Aussie driving license as id and providing acceptable identification documents to supplement it. We had to drive home to bring some of the required documents. One of the guys at the store helped join the trailer to the car. Driving the trailer was supposed to be fairly simple, as long as you took long turns at the corners. Yeah sure, until you started to reverse! The trailer moved in the exact opposite direction of the car, swinging by the hinge. Considering how tricky parking a car in the reverse can get (for some of us, it is!), attempting that with a trailer was a near-impossible task. Eventually, we decided to leave the car + trailer parked across the street so we did not have to reverse park.

The boxes and some of the reasonably heavy stuff were easy to manage. The tri-wheel hand trolley was a marvel, in so far as bringing the washing machine, drier and some furniture were concerned. The refrigerator gave the guys a hard time but we eventually managed it all. Three trips and the move was complete, save for the little bits and pieces that they were going to move the next day. In some ways, it was fun. We reminisced about the times we have all had to move in the past. The new house was, obviously, a much nicer place than the old. We walked around, exploring the complex and sharing excitement over the various facilities it accorded.

The best part of day activities like this one, apart from the beer and pizza, are the aches and stains that remain at the end of the day, to speak of the hard work that has been put in. One of our friends, who was baby-sitting the couple’s kid, invited us over for dinner that night. Thank God for that! We exploded a few party poppers, listened to the stories of the kids’ days and chattered incessantly over a delicious South Indian dinner of peas fried rice, chicken curry and beer. Every one of us slept soundly that night. Either tired from the day’s hard work, from handling two hyperactive five-year old boys or, in the case of the boys, from playing all day long, we all had our reasons. 

Of course, the act of physically moving stuff we friends helped with, was only half the job done. The arduous task of packing and unpacking still remained to be done. The excitement of moving and the thrill of starting over should take care of any pain points in that area. I bet having a 5-year old helper makes a difference too!

I cannot wait to see their house once it has been set up. They have the loveliest balcony, huge and perfectly suited for a barbecue or a dinner-and-drinks party. Which, I bet, they will have. I need to make sure I have a free night on my calendar when that happens.

Manly Halloween Festival

As a compulsive list person, it is apparent that one of the first things I do in any new environment, is make a list. I arrived in Australia last year and settled myself in. Then I made a list. A list of things that would go on my pseudo-bucket list. Let me call it the wish tree. I don't really have a name for it. Maybe I'll think up one soon. 

One of the things on the list was to do a Halloween thing. I suppose it broadly meant getting out and about, dressed in costume. I did not have a real plan. Maybe I wanted to go pub crawling. Maybe I wanted to go trick-and-treat-ing. I don't know. Nothing happened last year, except it remained on the list. This year, a friend suggested checking out the Manly Halloween Festival. I was pretty sure it was kids stuff and not sure I was that desperate. In the end, I did go. Not in costume, of course. Just loose trousers and a tee. The curiosity of the what might be in the parade enabled the trip. It turned out be much more fun that I had expected. 

We arrived there early enough to see the cars being prepared for the Street Parade in the evening. Up and close enough to examine some of them. A number of makeshit stalls, in the form of little tents, lined the main street. They had everything from bits for costumes to toys and candies. The best thing about parades, of course, is that the roads are closed to traffic. Well, maybe not the best but I like walking on the street without having to look left and right for speeding cars. People dressed in garbs of red, black and other bizzare colours strolled along the road, trying to look as creepy as possible. The abuse of colours was apparent, as is wont in any Halloween event. While the adults stuck to their dark sides, the kids dressed up in costumes ranging from vampires to superheroes. There was also the odd angel, princess or warrior, among some kids. Mushy parents, I suppose. 

We picked one side of the road and cruised through the stalls, as you do at such events, knowing fully well that we had no intention of buying anything. The sellers watched, quietly assessing whether you were just a passerby or a potential buyer. They seem to ignore you while you're looking but suddenly spring to life the moment you pick up one of their wares and show the slightest consideration of loosening your purse strings. We easily moved on from shops that sold generic stuff not related to Halloween. We stopped longer at the ones that had wigs, capes and other things that would be useless after that day. There were expensive stuff ($25 wigs! Really?) and there were the Chinese stuff ($5 wig anyone?). 

When we started off, little K was wearing a little mask and a tiger cap with antenna sticking out of his head. As we waited for the parade later that evening, my mate wore a B&W tribal wig with blood dripping off her vampire mouth. In my bright red wig, horns and vampire face paint, the Halloween item on my list was ready to be crossed off. K had the full face of a vampire, complete with the freaky expressions he was putting on. My mate's husband was our personal photographer, as husbands seem to end up most of the time.

The games spread over the festival campus were amazing. I wanted to be a kid myself, so I could try some of that stuff. The stage at one end of the road invited enthusiasts to take a free fencing lesson. You could walk around all afternoon and find something amusing at every turn. In true Aussie style, one family of witches, wizards and weirdos had a barbie set up near the beach (Aussie slang. barbie => barbecue). Beach, food, music and all things crazy. Halloween festival alright. 

The parade started in the evening. When you've spent an afternoon in a crowd filled with the creepiest and whackiest costumes, a street parade fails to ignite your senses much unless there was something different. Scores and scores of creeps walked the streets, failing to impress. Then the cars drove by. Ah! Creativity unleashed and gone berserk. It was freak-a-bulous! There may be some who think all that blood and violence freely roaming the parade would have a negative influence on the children. Get a life! This was fun. 

Maybe next year, I'll get a full costume and go pub crawling. Or trick-and-treating. In any case, Halloween is marked as done on my wish tree. 

When The Queen Was Here

Queen Elizabeth II was in Brisbane on what was being touted as possibly her last tour to Australia. Nobody said why they thought it was her last tour. I cannot help but wonder if anyone realized it sounded like she was going to die. Somehow even thinking that seems blasphemous. 

From the news stand, I gleaned information that she is the only reigning monarch from The Royal Family to visit Australia and in her 16 visits to this continent, she has visited all the states. She was coming to Brisbane to pay her respects to the flood-ravaged areas and affected people. 

Thousands of Brisbanites assembled at various points on both sides of the Brisbane River, starting from Brett's Wharf to South Bank, to get a glimpse of the Queen (and more, if possible). When I arrived at SouthBank Parklands, the place was jam-packed. I do not remember seeing this many people in Brisbane even at the famous Riverfire or the glorious Ekka! Jostling crowds? What's that? Do we have that many people in Brissie? Nyah! Turns out we do. It was easy to see what the newsreaders mean when they talk about the pull the Queen has.

What I should have expected, but had not, was the number of old people present on the day. Some of them could barely walk but they were there, waiting for Her Majesty, in the blistering heat of the Sunshine State's summer sun. They were in such awe of the Royal family! A number of kids in fancy dresses, with flowers, cards and gifts for the Queen, waited patiently for her with their parents. The excitement in the air was almost tangible. I heard one parent saying they had been waiting in the same spot for 4 hours! That's one thing that never fails to fascinate me about the people here. They wait for hours, camping with their families, for a 15 - 20 minute event. Don't they have to be elsewhere, doing other things? 

Each time a boat came close to the pontoon, the crowd held their breath. A happy old man to my left was giving a running commentary to the ladies around him. Every time he said the Royal Boat had arrived and he was wrong, the grannies chided him for the slip-up. It was like watching a movie shot at a different time period. A young man with a bevy of ladies on his arm, while he regaled them with his army stories. 

When the police boats arrived, we knew she was going to be here any moment. Click, flash, hands flew up  all around me. The ones at the back of the crowd were hoping to capture something on their cameras to take back home, even if a direct visual was hard to get. The announcer from the news channel that was running a continuous update on her trip said the Queen had been up on her feet waving at people throughout the boat-ride. At her age, it was an amazing thing. The crowd went crazy. 

Finally, the ferry carrying the Royal entourage arrived at the South Bank Cultural Centre pontoon and stopped. More hands in the air, more flashes.

"There she is, in red!". "No, that's Anna Bligh". "Oh look, Anna is wearing a hat!" "The Queen is in green, next to Anna". "I can see the Prince". "Where, where? I don't see anything" "They're on the top deck. Anna is wearing a red hat, the Queen is in green". This last was from our old friend, the commentator.

I stood tip-toe on my 2 inch heels and strained my eyes. It was hard to spot them. The man in front of me, with 2 little girls, had got an eyeful and bend down to let the others behind him get a view. I saw two figures - one in red and one in pale green - standing side by side on the top deck! There seemed to be some men in suits but it was hard to tell who they were. Well, I got my glimpse! By then I had clicked a few randoms on my camera and was hoping that I'd managed to get them in at least one of my frames. Here is what I got.

Ha ha ha! No, that's a picture from one of the newspapers online. Here's what I really got from my camera. If you peer hard enough, you might see 2 little spots in green & red. That's them alright. 

I am not even sure why I went there. In India we do not go ga-ga over The Royal Family, like they do here in the Australia. It was a sort of a historic moment and I suppose I wanted to be a part of it. Even if it meant being one of a hundred thousand specks in the dust. It was not like most of us had a hope in hell of actually getting to see her. In the end, all I got was a glimpse of someone or something in a spearmint green coat and hat that was apparently the Queen. The Queensland Premier Anna Bligh was more easily spotted in her scarlet suit & matching hat. There were a couple of men dressed up in guardsmen outfit, who might have been the Queen's men or fancy dressed men in the crowd. It was hard to tell. It would be a shame not to mention the Duke of Edinburgh but he did not exactly make the headlines or do anything unusual to note. Not even one of his famous gaffes that day. There was a loud roar from the crowd as they got off the ferry and walked down the aisle at SouthBank Parklands. As she walked down the pathway, the noise moved with her and hands flew up, holding cameras, iPhones and SLRs. When she passed a certain spot, the crowd disintegrated in a trice. 

It had been an hour in the sun and I had seen all I could. As I made my way back, I saw a woman sitting on her husband's shoulders trying to get a better view. Cameramen from news channels trying to capture the excitement for their audience were thrusting mikes at her for a commentary on what she was seeing. When they left, I asked her if she saw the Queen and she said she didn't. Well, she got her 15 seconds of fame while the poor husband was straining under her weight. Someone yelled that the Royal entourage was in the QPAC building and everyone turned in that direction. Sure enough, we could see unmistakable green and red figures surrounded by black suits, through the glass windows. 

By now, I was hot and hungry. It would have been impossible to try to catch my friend who was somewhere among the thousands. I messaged her that I was heading back, quickly waved at the construction workers peeking through the different levels of their building (lucky bastards got a good view without leaving their workplace) and took off.

As I weaved through the crowd, conversations floated into my ears. A group of teenagers were excited that they had seen a red hat, green had and squealed when one girl announced that she had seen Prince Charles. Of course, she meant Phillip but who cares, she saw him! An middle-aged woman was telling her friend that some people had fainted from the heat. An old man holding his wife's hand was making his way through prams and people, yelling "woman with a baby, woman with a baby". His wife might have been a "baby" to him but he didn't look like a woman to anyone. The Victoria Bridge was filled with barely moving people. The 3-minute walk across it took me 15 but I finally made it. Not before I heard one last comment from 2 young women - "Next time, we should get here at 7 in the morning, with blankets and deck chairs, so we can get a good view". I almost felt ashamed for wondering if it was worth coming this time. 

Obama Says Osama Is No More

Osama Bin Laden is dead. This was not how I heard the news. I turned on the television, hoping to find something to watch that would help kill my time. The news was on. The news reader was stating, quite nonchalantly, that there were concerns of retaliation due to the killing of Osama Bin Laden in a fire fight with the US forces. I frowned and checked myself from switching channels.

He was dead? Wow! That is good news, I suppose.

She finished the bit she was on and a good 15 minutes later, she said, "For those of you who just joined us...", Osama Bin Laden was killed by the US military. The US President Barack Obama's announcement was rather lengthy but quite powerful. There was no emotion in his voice or on his face. Like a good orator, he hit all the right notes, said all the right things to touch the the diverse assortment of people he was addressing. He took full responsibility for the operation, inserting the word "I" in appropriate places. Some day in the future, during election campaigns and other publicity drives, snippets of this speech and video will be used, no doubt.

All the world dignitaries who were asked to comment agreed that it was a victory against terrorism and, at the same time, insisted that the war was not over yet. Obama also asserted that this was not an anti-Muslim crusade. He categorically stated that while Bin Laden had made this a war sound like it was for the Muslims, not all Muslims were terrorists or in support of his cause. It was a very positive and a much-needed statement at a time as this.

One of the voices I heard on the news hit the nail on the head when he said that even some of the Muslims who were in favour of Bin Laden's cries against the dictatorship of the West, merely supported his expression against the oppression by the West but not necessarily Bin Laden or his methods. 

This is one of those times when everyone seems to stand in agreement. The joy is for the death of the man who engineered the 9/11 World Twin Tower attacks. The war against terrorism is still one that needs to be fought. There are a lot of questions raised about the attacks, about Pakistan's involvement (or the lack of it) in the intelligence, the US helicopter that conveniently developed a snag & exploded after the attack etc. For the moment, the questions are still second to the triumphant sentiments over the killing of Osama and his sons. Ground Zero is milling with people celebrating the historical moment.

Osama Bin Laden was a name unheard of until the September 11 attacks in the United States. Once it was made public, he became the name and face of terrorism. That might be part of the reason the forces that killed him are rushing to clarify that the death of this one man is not the death of terrorism. Suspecting retaliation from the Al-Qaeda, security has been beefed up in the US. The Australian government has, on their travel advice, upped the risk factor and asked travellers to be more cautious than ever.

When the US told us Osama was a terrorist, we hated him. Now they say they have killed him, we rejoice. They have given us another name - the 2nd in command of the Al Qaeda - Ayman Al Zawahari. It is easier to hate an enemy who has a name and delight when he has gone down. They know that. The name Osama was known to them months before the 9/11 attacks and before they told us. So was Zawahari. 

The social media is, as is the norm today, inundated with this news. So is the blog world. The print and electronic media, of course. Following close on the heels of the news of Gaddafi's son being killed in an airstrike in Libya, this is the second good-prevails-evil news over the same weekend. Just before that, the media was all agog over the wedding of Prince William with Catherine (Kate) Middleton, now the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. Is this all for real or are we in a fairy tale right now? The hero, of course, is the United States. For it is success and dark news that imprint on the mind deeper than a happy story in an expensive white gown.

Krav Maga Practioner Level 1

There was everything about the environment that an exam should have. The students in uniforms waiting outside the institute, some chatting and some reading from sheets of paper, some too nervous to say anything. Checking your name on the list, signing-in. 

Finally the doors opened and we streamed inside. Again, the instructions - go straight to the hall blah blah - were all business and exam-like. 

Instructors - external & internal - getting ready to start the test, in all seriousness. Even the warm-up was different today. Tim Alexander, lead instructor and director of KMTA - one of the world's best Krav Maga institutes - introduced us to the test with Kida (the bow). Piero Borgna (Pete), newly qualified instructor and Kurt Colpan, director of iKMF Australia were to be our examiners. 

The Q&A bit lasted less than a minute, was smooth sailing and nowhere close to what I'd feared. Tim started calling out techniques and within seconds we were all absorbed into the Kravving mood. Stances, techniques, punches, power, defenses, attacks and it went on for 2 hours. It hardly mattered who was watching, it was all about giving our best. It wasn't a class anymore but as close to reality as we could get - like performing on a dance stage after months of practice. 

When my partner & I teamed up, we did not even ask each other's name. He said, "I'd have preferred to work with someone I was familiar with". I couldn't agree more. I was pretty much looking for my usual partner Vanessa before I ended up with him. At the end of the grading - many strikes, hard knocks,  punches and kicks later - we were both thoroughly bruised and sufficiently beaten up. We had not only fared well individually, we had been excellent partners. Good job, mate!

I can now honestly say that I know what it feels like to be punched square in the jaw, kicked in the face with a shoe-shodden foot, choked into a coughing fit, repeatedly beaten on both hands till they leave coloured patches, kicked in the groin, etc. <sheepish insert: giving someone a black eye too>

When Tim said, "Your marking is done, now you've to earn your grading", I couldn't help but smile. Internally, a little voice whined, "Noooo!". I know what that means. When Tim says you have to earn something, he makes sure you work hard and you work a good sweat. So he did.

Finally, it was time for Kida, the final bow before the results. We had all passed. Pete said he was impressed. Kurt was pleased too. Got my feedback, exchanged congratulations with friends and headed home with Vanessa. We couldn't stop raving about it. Various parts of my body were talking too, in a sweet painful way. 

Returned home to FB pages full of today's grading. So much happiness everywhere. Yes, it was worth it. I'm glad I did it. I had some of the best instructors in Tim, Pete and Iman, how could I not?

Now for a beer, pav bhaji, the couch, telly and a book. A well-deserved rest.

Not My Cup Of Tee

There are times in life when you suddenly decide you need a change. I have times like that all the time. So, last week I decided that I needed to pick up a sport. This was in addition to plans to learn a new language, join Zumba classes, cover all the Theme Parks in the next few free weekends (do not see one in sight for another few but I'm sure there will be one), preparing for my Martial Arts grading, etc. 

It must be easy enough to pick a sport, right? You like something, you find a play area and go for it. Yeah, right! Not in my life! After much thought, golf won the day. Next thing was to find out where I could get a few lessons. There is a little voice in my head that is screaming, "Do you know how expensive golf is? And lessons? Are you out of your mind? Did you win a lottery or something?". I tried hard to ignore it and almost succeeded. But you know how life is a bitch and all that? We had a day out at work and guess where we went? Victoria Golf Club. I decided it was Fate. I was meant to play golf. "Yeah sure, why not"

We headed to the driving range first. Suffice to say that at the end of an hour and half, I had managed to touch the 100 mark a couple of times, the 75 mark a few times and try as I might, I could not make the smiley at 150. It stood there, a large smiley face, eluding me like the times in school when everyone gets a smiley for their homework and you grow old waiting. Two buckets of balls later, it was time for Putt Putt Golf. 

You might think (if you are a non-golfer like me, you would) that the driving range was a practice session for the real golf (er... Putt Putt Golf). I arrived at the location, brimming with confidence. I knew how to hold the driver and I could swing now. Well, better than the start of the day, right?

Surprise!!! These clubs looked nothing like the ones I had just practised with! Apparently, those were drivers, these are putters. Well, they were shorter than the earlier ones and hence might be easier to handle. That is what I thought, anyway. First things first. How do I hold this one? Fortunately for me, a friend was kind enough to show me the stance and the action. 

I wonder if the Oz army has 'hot' as a criteria for selecting personnel. Or maybe just the ones with a certain name starting with T?

Hmmm. Where was I? Yes, Putt Putt Golf. ND and I started teeing off, took a couple of shots and decided we had no clue what we were up to. He wanted to go home. Poor baby, I know the feeling. 

Instead, we went over to where some of the others were playing. PF asked me if I was done playing and I told him I did not know how to play the game. "You can have my game", GJ came running to me. Tell me again why I think he is a nice guy? AL looked up from his mobile phone, put it in his pocket and said, "Go for it, it's simple" and started following us. I gulped. I could not play for the life of me and here was my boss' boss and his boss watching me. A mental thanks to TS for showing me how to hold the driver. Another one to JM for explaining what I need to do. 

My first shot and off into the hole. Yay! LM wanted to know the score. Score? What score? There was no shortage of surprises in this day, was there? We were playing for scores? How do you score? Someone explained it to me. Supposedly, I had played well. One shot. Good. Suddenly, my confidence was soaring. 

It was not long before I realized that golf was not my cup of tea. Beginners' luck and things like that started making sense. It was fun, so I will not mention the skin that peeled off and had to be hidden under a band-aid, the calluses on my palms that were black beyond recognition and other little bruises. No pain, no gain. Right? 

I am not sure I understand why someone would go through so much pain, spend an entire day (or half, maybe) doing this weekend after weekend. I cannot see myself doing that. I can see learning golf slyly being pushed behind some other sport on my list. I'm not ready to give up yet, so that little voice can stuff it!

I'm not sure what the other sport is but I'm sure it will be less dangerous than this one. In my defence, getting injured while playing makes golf a dangerous sport! 

Ah, you heard that little voice too, did you? Annoying, right? I know!

Is This For Real?

Some kids grow up believing Santa Claus exists. At some point in their lives they wake up to the horror that he doesn't. What about the other way around? Some of us grow up "knowing" Santa doesn't exist. What if we find out one day that he does? Ouch!

Those of us who don't believe in Santa also don't believe in some other things. Vampires. Unidentified Flying Objects. Pirates. Etcetera. At different variations, there's the athiests, the fanatics and so on. No matter what we may believe in or not, we all enjoy fairy tales and all sorts of fictitious stories. 

After spending about 30 years of not believing in the make-believe fantastical creatures that supposedly roam this world and firm in the knowledge that aliens are figments of imagination of science fiction writers, you begin to nod in agreement when you come across arguments that the people who claim such things exist are merely hallucinating. Or lying, of course! For such people, talk of UFO sightings and vampire attacks are rubbish.

When I first heard about pirates attacking ships in the waters at Somali, I was not sure whether I should believe it. Pirates? Really? I looked at my room-mate and said, "So, is it real? Pirates are for real?" Fortunately for me, she is a non-believer too and was equally surprised. Atleast, I didn't feel like I was asking a dumb question. Ever hear of the story of the sane king who had to drink water that drove people mad because all his subjects were and they thought he was off the rocker? I absolutely love Jack Sparrow and the Pirates Of The Caribbean, like many others. But... but... pirates? They're real? I thought they were a thing of the past - so long ago that it could almost be mythical. Like mythology. I wonder if a bunch of lazy buggers got inspired by JS and decided to start a new career. Anyway, there's a lot of noise in the news, the US army are killing them by the  dozen, people are dying (so says the media), so we might as well believe it. 

Move over terrorists, the pirates are here!

I couldn't help wonder if it will be vampires next. Somebody in the US saying they now have vampires. I mean, you do hear about tribes eating human beings - yummy too, supposedly. How long before somebody runs out screaming they've seen a vampire or been bitten by one or some such? 

I was still digesting the pirates stories and being sarcastic about vampires when the next one hits me. UFO sightings and alien kidnappings! No kidding! Seriously? Supposedly they're being sighted pretty often in US, Australia and some parts of Europe these days. The last I heard, they were being sighted for a while now (yeah yeah, I read a rather cynical/comical write-up about something along those lines, when in school) but it's happening often enough to alarm people now. What the beep? It's incredulous to hear news reports of pilots and air traffic control executives talk passionately about UFOs they saw and so-called kidnappings. A couple of nights ago, one of the news channels showed pictures where you could clearly (it wasn't clear to me, duh) see the kidnappings. Whoa! Stop right there! Who was kidnapped, do we know? They aren't even sure it's a human that was "kidnapped by an alien" or whether it was even a kidnapping. 

Now, that's going a bit far, don't you think? I'm not ready to believe this one yet. Alien attacks? Are you nuts? What do you think they're after? Seriously, those things really exist? 

Moving on. I was watching Bones on the telly last night. If you didn't know, it's one of those cop shows where Bones (specialist in bones, bravo) & her partner Booth solve murder cases. Shit like that. In this one, they were investigating the murder of a wedding planner and are talking to the bride who had visited the planner on the day of the murder. When they tell her that they found her DNA at the site, she squeals, "Really? These things exist? DNA and stuff?"

It sounded stupid, believe me. I bet the script was written for it to look like that. Stupid, pretty girl getting married. Bones & Booth are shocked she can be that dumb. It made me wonder about all the is-this-for-real-does-this-really-exist questions I've been asking of late. I am a non-believer and am not embarrassed that I do not believe in some of the ethereal stuff. I wonder if I would sound as stupid as the chick on the show, if I kept saying that everyday. The stuff in the media isn't helping, you know.

This made me think. We think it's dumb because we believe in the DNA. When I say 'believe', I mean we know it exists. Why is that? Have we seen it or felt it? We simply believe it because some scientist(s) claim to have seen it, gave us the diagrams we see in our text books, our teachers told us first and then we read about it, and reasons like that. The truth is that most of us know DNA as well as we know vampires. Not less not more. Yet we believe in the former and laugh off the latter. What decides what we want to believe? Clearly not experiencing it ourselves. We are willing to believe some stuff, yet we laugh at others who believe what we think are unreal.  

Do we disbelieve in things when somebody or the other raises the first question? As if, we are scared to doubt it until we know that someone else will back us up too. 

Say what you will... the world may be divided by country borders, races, religion, etc but one thing won't change. Irrespective of whether we like it or not, we are all homo sapiens. We are all alike on some level. We come from the same prototype. So much for wars and attacks, eh?

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.

The Story Of A Highway, Rain, Car Crash and A Happy Child

Watching your car hurtling down the road, straight into the back of a stopped car, is a nightmare. For a few seconds, it is like being on a giant Ferris wheel, as the your cage plunges downward. You're plummeting towards the capsule in front of you and there's the adrenalin rush but in some brave corner of your mind, you know you won't hit it. Only, in the case of a real car on a real highway, when you're speeding at 90kph, you actually hit the car in front of you, causing serious damage. You watch yourself rushing into the target and the crash itself takes only a split second. You can barely remember the instant of contact. Then you watch the back of the car in front dent and crack, in the moments following the impact. 

Seconds later you realise that your car has stopped too. It suddenly registers that, with the hit, you haven't really displaced the other car. It probably wasn't that bad, eh? 

What is the first thing that comes to your mind? Impossible to remember. Thoughts have flitted past and fluttered about like shards off a grenade, in those couple of minutes. Some come back, a lot do not. Your first reaction is to get out of the car. Then, you look over to see those getting out of the other car. Was the only damage you did, to the car, when you rear-ended them? It had not occured to you until then that it might have been otherwise. Why? You did not see anything. Nor hear anything. The car had not moved. The mind rests knowing it was not worse. Until you see the driver of the hit car open the rear door and get his baby out. A baby! In the back seat! This cannot be happening!

You rush forward to check if he is okay. The little one is crying. There are no visible injuries, he might be shaken. There's no saying that nothing is wrong yet. What about whiplash? Or something else? He did cry, didn't he? He did feel the impact, didn't he? It is of no consequence that, after crying for about 15 minutes, little Michael seems alright. He is excited by the big red fire-truck of Emergency Services, with lights flashing. He is thrilled to bits when the guys in their fireman uniforms give him a stack of stickers and goodies. When the first ambulance arrives minutes later, with more lights flashing, he jumps in his father's arms in glee. While the paramedics try to talk to him and find out how he felt, he keeps pointing towards the second ambulance that is pulling in. As far as he is concerned see it, it is a grand party. He is enjoying every second of it... the flashing lights, the big trucks, the men all dressed up in uniforms, the attention he is getting. You cannot help but smile at his sweet innocence. He is going to be alright. He is one hell of a kid, isn't he?

The minutes spent waiting for the towing trucks, the emergency services, the ambulance and the numerous questions, calling the car hire agency... it seems endless. It is a real slow hour after all is over that the cops finally arrive. A good couple of hours and half since the accident. Then, another hour of gruelling questions targeted at the driver who rear-ended the car. It does not matter that the car stopped bang in the middle lane of a speeding highway. The car behind should maintain enough distance to stop without hitting, is the argument. Fair enough, you think. 

Fifty kilometres away from the destination, over an hour's drive away from the starting point, standing in the rain, on a highway. Quite a scene. All you have is a few smokes, the towing guys for conversation, stressed parents, grand-mom and little Michael for company. Once the trucks started leaving, it is the rain and slush which excites the kiddo. He jumps on the wet grass, splashing the muddy water and grime over himself, laughing and clapping with joy. In the harrowing minutes that pass, playing with Michael is a little joy, of those hours, to be cherished later. 

You give him little stones to throw in the dirty water and you are his best friend now. It keeps him from jumping into the water for a while. He manages to mess up his clothes, anyway. When his mum tries to distract him with a book and pen, he runs to his new playmate who gave him a choccie some time ago. It is enough for him to trust the stranger, who draws a cat in his book, which he watches with wide eyes. He is overjoyed and asks for it again and again. He takes the pen from his new friend and tries to draw circles in the book. Then he gives up, not disappointed but happy for you to draw some more cats for him. Such a little thing seems to give him so much happiness. He settles down on the road and refuses to go home when his parents call him. He wants to watch his buddy draw pathetic little figures in his tiny notebook. The blessing that innocence is cannot be described!

His dad carries him back to the car, crying and screaming, because he wants to play, not go home. He doesn't want to leave his friends. He likes the rain, the mud, the stones and everything that is here, not back home.

A longer wait follows as the policeman, with the strong accent, goes about his interrogation of the errant driver. The friendly towing guys readily agree to drop everyone off at the Caboolture train station. It is not too far from here (Morayfield, the site of the events), they say. Soon, the first truck takes off with 2 people, while the other one would take the remaining two. It's a good hour before the latter arrive in the towing truck, with the rental car that was also battered in the front. 

Hours from when it all first started, numerous questions, notes, recording, signatures and a ticket later it is finally over! 

It is too late to continue the onward journey, heading home is the only option. The long train journey, filled with conversations of cricket, footy, tennis, badminton and other accidents, ends in a curry lunch at the only Indian restaurant that is open at 5PM on a weekend. 

There is no place like home, no person like a spouse and no activity like a warm shower to get over the events of the day. And a good 12 hours of sleep.

The Ballet

What are your first thoughts when you hear the word 'ballet'?

In my mind's eye, I see a horde of little girls in white tutus, prancing around, on their toes, in the most graceful and light-footed moves in an elegant form of dance. If I drew the curtains a bit further back, I might include a lithe dame or two, again in the pretty white and translucent ballet dresses, gliding across the floor... hands raised in the air, one high up, the other on the way, feet raised to the tip of the big toe. No matter what else may change, the picture in my head consistently has the signature 'on-the-toes' pose, light, graceful moves, short white skirts with a well-fitted bodice.

The promos of the Queensland National Ballet's Hunchback of Notre Dame at The Old Museum and the internationally acclaimed Ballet Nacional de Cuba's Don Quixote at QPAC have pictures of the female protagonist flying in the air, arms and legs raised in difficult straight lines, both clad in red frilly skirts that look incredibly inviting to watch the performance. All the pictures of both ballet have various difficult poses and lifts of the ladies (some also include men) in their red garb. The scene in my mind opened out further to include red dresses and tall, slim beautiful women. 

You can imagine my surprise when I went to watch QNB's Hunchback of Notre Dame last week and the scene started off with a man in loose black clothing, curly hair falling all over his face. It was as if the scenes being played in my head had been hit by an earthquake. He was one of the characters. Why was I so upset? I can't explain. With the entry of another man, a priest and their miming acts, it started off seeming more like a play and less of what I had imagined a ballet to be. Soon, the ladies came on the stage. Tall, slender beautiful women, no doubt. I was already crying in my mind after the appearance of the black villainous creature instead of sweet children in white. Watching the women in long, frilly frocks, nothing like that in the pictures did not help! Worse? They did not do the toes act. Their feet thumped on the floor at their lifts. As they moved about with less grace than a ballet requires and more like the other forms of dances, my heart began to sinking. Fast and furious.

Eventually, the lead lady in red came into the picture. She had her ballet shoes on (the others had been in bare feet so far) was in her red frilly dress. She flew across the stage gently, stood on her toes and performed the signature light-footed steps of the ballet. In the light of my muddled feelings of the moment, I failed to appreciate her performance and wrinkled my nose at the grey dust under her ballet shoes. "These shoes have been used long enough, they fail to seem to blend with the feet", I found myself thinking. I did not quite like the shade of red that her dress was, either.

Eventually, as the turmoil in my heart settled and there was more of Talia Fowler with her ballet performance, I began to enjoy the show. I began to understand the genearl story of the Hunchback of Notre Dame, if not the intricate details. Every now and then, students of different levels appeared on screen and performed their bits. It was clearly a performance by students, coming through like one of those shows we watch when in college or school. Like one of the shows my dance school had put up in the earlier days.

Even though it did not quite live up to my expectations, it was not unenjoyable. Talia Fowler, as Esmeralda the gypsy girl, was good and so was the guy who played the hunchback Quasimodo. While I was not unhappy about the $35 I spent on the tickets, I could not bear to part with another $25 to drive a cab back home. It was much too much to spend on a night as such. I took the public transport back home. A good night but not memorable enough. My first experience of a ballet felt like expecting Nando's fiery chicken and ending up with bland pasta. Not quite the anticipated flavour, so hard to tell how good or bad it really was.

I might have loved to watch the Cuban show too but their tickets are priced way higher than I can afford. Plus, I've decided that if I'm watching a ballet again, I'd rather it be pretty little girls in white. To satisfy my inner self. That picture is worth a thousand times more than any lady in red.

Tattoo Shopping

When my dad decides to buy something, he walks into a store and looks. For a very long time. He walks out without buying. He goes back later - maybe the same store, maybe a different one. He looks some more. He does this until he's satisfied, before he finally buys something. For some reason I always found that annoying (tch tch). So, it is rather amusing that I've been to the tattoo parlour thrice in the last week and half - actually, two of them - and met different guys each time, stared at each one of their drawings on the walls every time.

The first time I walked in, I was clueless and obviously lost. I flipped through their books and picked a couple of tattoos, which Ivan said would cost me $200 at a minimum. I was convinced that he was ripping me off. My budget was about 50 - 80 bucks. I left saying I would do some research and come back with my own drawing. I went to the other place on Elizabeth Street, where a group of burly guys in black, tattooed all over their body, worked. The place had no name, just ads indicating tattoos and body piercing. I looked at some more drawings and spoke with a Rob (I think) who was ready to give me one for $160. I did not need to book in and I could do it that weekend. He definitely seemed less like he was trying to cheat me. 

I went into City Body Art the second time and met Ivan again, to show him my drawings. He took me to an artist who said that two of my drawings would cost me $300 and one of them was $400. I was flabbergasted! There was no way I could buy that. And here was I, thinking I was going to get all 3 tattoos. After haggling for a bit (not sure if that was the Indian in me or the girl in me), he agreed to do 2 of them for 400 bucks if I did them in one sitting or $250 each. The 3rd one, he insisted, was no less than $400. With a sigh, I booked in for the 2 in one sitting deal. 

I spent the weekend, mentally preparing myself for the pain. I visualized them poking needles into me and then me walking out with gauze bandages, looking like I had just been out of a car wreck. I imagined the pain I had to go through, in the first few days while it healed, and winced. I could almost feel the pain, even though I was not sure where. By the morning of the D-day, I began to question why I wanted a tattoo. Was it worth spending $400 to get myself pricked? Could I not spend it in a better way? Maybe I could do the more expensive one of The Bridge Climbs in Sydney. Maybe I should stick with streaking my hair.

I did not run to work, took the train instead and tried to keep myself occupied with Shane Schofield, my new best friend from Matthew Reilly's Scarecrow series. By the time I reached office that morning, I had freaked myself out completely. I stood in the elevator, fidgeting and waiting to run out when it opened. Incidentally, I did not have to swipe myself in, for somebody else was heading to the same office. So, when I got out on my floor, a colleague I did not know stopped me and insisted on checking my id. Even after she stared at it for 2 full minutes, she did not seem overly convinced that I was not a thief or terrorist. I ignored her and went in anyway. Only much later, when I was at the desk of a fellow-colleague discussing work, did I realize what a nutter she was. She seemed to have convinced herself that I was plotting to steal secrets from her office and got herself all worked up. Anyway, I digress...

So, I spent the morning like a bomb on timer, ticking down to 12 'o' clock, when the action would begin. 

As I sat at the parlour, waiting for my tattoo artist to show up, I began to feel dizzy. I tried to look at the art on the walls but my eyes were hazy. I could still turn and go back. I did not have to do this. I have not paid for it. I do not really need a tattoo. I do not have the dough to pay for this. Suddenly, there were two of me... one refusing to chicken out but quivering in the seat, the other who could not believe I intended to go through with this! What the fuck was I thinking? I stood up. Guess which one of me won the argument that day!

QBE RiverFire

Finally, the much-hyped RiverFire is over. The show was spectacular, as one would expect one of fireworks to be. From Kangaroo Point, we had a view of the fireworks from five different spots - in front of us and either side. It was a beauty to watch the fireworks in sync across all five points, and with the music on station 104.5

The first dump-and-burn was the longest and most spectacular! To watch a black jet shoot past spitting fire from it's tail... fire that grows bigger and bigger until the tail is larger than the F111 itself.... it was amazing to watch it zoom past us. When the second one was about to start, the fireworks stopped and there was silence for a while, as the music slowly changed. Everyone looked up and voila, there it was! The third one was unexpected and streaked across with a dazzling purple fire-tail that burned a bright orange as it got bigger. It was totally worth changing my mind in the last minute and head to Kangaroo Point, for the dump-and-burn was definitely the highlight of the event for me.

The fireworks themselves were spectacular. My favourite was the one where you saw a purple fire blazing on the boat and watched as it slowly grew into orange sparks and turned into huge green stars that exploded into a gigantic red ball, before crumbling to a massive ball of golden dust and finally disappearing into the dark skies. The city was a pretty view with lights, coloured smoke, sparkles and starry colours. 

The jam-packed crowds were not the kind of 'jam-pack' that one would find in India, a lot more relaxed. That reminded me that I need to take things with a pinch of salt when it comes to talking about crowds out here. I grabbed a sausage and onion roll while I was there, wish they were selling beer too. It was hard to watch families munch on steaks and take a swig of beer, while all I had was the roll and water. 

Inspite of a prediction of rain and dark clouds in the sky, no such thing happened. The weather remained lovely and perfect for the night. It was a pity that I missed the sights at the Story Bridge. From what I've heard, the best fireworks happen there. It's hard to pick the perfect vantage point, for you can only see so much from each point. Either the 5 fireworks in sync and multitude of colours or the Story Bridge or you miss the dump-and-burn. There's always a catch. Maybe next year, I'll catch to the Story Bridge sights. After all, the F111 jets were the highlight of this year, their last year before they fly off to the Americas for maintenance. 

It was a lovely night. A wonderful way to kick off the Brisbane Festival, starting tomorrow. I bet the free RiverFire event surpassed the paid Opening Night event of the festival, at King George Square. 

9K Endurance Test & QBE RiverFire

9K Endurance Test #1: Managed a non-stop 10k run in approx 75 minutes. 

The plan was to just see if I can last an hour. I was hoping the weather would help. Slathered on sufficient sunscreen for good measure, anyway, laced up and headed out around noon. The weather was rather pleasant. I stuck to the riverside, just to be sure. The sun peeped in occasionally but was rather well-behaved. 

Got a first-hand view of the preps for tonight's RiverFire. The Goodwill Bridge was closed and the entrance caged  up, with large boards redirecting walkers. People had started setting up spots by the riverfront, picnic blankets, chairs & tables, baskets and all. Some had settled on benches, under the trees. Everyone was with families and friends at the Botanic Gardens. Also noticed, thanks to kids playing, that the Botanic Gardens have a children's playground. 

On the way back, I got a good view of crowds forming at the Southbank. People have started picking spots and settling in, at their fave vantage points, 8 - 9hrs before the event. Triple MMM, docked in at Rockstar Lounge at Southbank have started their countdown, amidst playing variety music that kept me company all through the run. Next endurance test might be in slightly hotter weather.

Back home now and all set to get ready for the RiverFire. With 16000 kilos of fireworks, fabulous Blackhawk performances and the famous F111 dump-and-burn lined up, it's no wonder that most of Brisbane and surrounding suburbs will be there. I missed the Blackhawk and F111 rehearsal in the city yesterday but can't wait to watch. Thanks to Nathan and the real estate guys, I've got one of the best vantage points for fireworks - level 28 of one of the city's taller buildings! If I was worried about missing the jostling crowd and madness of the outdoor vantage points, the latest plan includes a spot on the Victoria Bridge to watch the dump-and-burn. I've heard so much about it, I can't wait!

Wondering if I ought to make my way to the RiverFire to watch PowderFinger play live or head towards the late night DJ stands in the city centre. The options are too many, not enough hours in my day. 

Triple MMM is hyping up the RiverFire official song so much, I've stuck myself on that station for the day now. Their countdown says 4.5 hours to go. I have about 2.5 before I walk over and secure myself a good vantage point. So much preparations to do and so little time! The excitements kicking in, can't sit down any more. 

After 3 days of warm weather, the bureau says there might be rain in the offing tonight. Hoping it won't rain down the show. After all, I'm about to strike off another item on Queenslands 150-must do things.

Bridge To Brisbane - My Best Run

Unlike back home where the papers are all abuzz with celebrities running (Deepika Padukone and Rahul Bose for the Sunfeast World 10K run, Gul Panag and others at the Mumbai Marathon) where that's all one gets to see - i.e. pics of celebs encouraging one to run and after the run, pics of them having taken off - this was different. When the flyers in my goody-bag said Adam Gilchrist was the Community Ambassador for our bank, I did not expect to actually see him there. Surprise, surprise! He was there, standing behind the sunscreen stands, chatting to people. Walk up to him and ask for a picture, he obliges like he's there just for you! Of course, it helped that nobody was mobbing him at the stands.

Even though I started off by talking about 'Gilly', that was not quite the highlight of today's run. Well, the highlight of Bridge2Brisbane was charity for Autism, among others. For me, the brightest moment was the dash across the finishing line. To simply realize that I had run the entire 5km without stopping, on an empty stomach, was exhilarating! I was not sure I could do it. I was unprepared, insofar as my gear and bag were not in order, I woke up a good half hour late this morning, the coffee spilled in the microwave and I was late. So late that I made it to the Square, just as the rest of them had paid for their coffee and were about to head off as soon as I arrived. However, that was to be the end of my bad moments. 

Arrived well in time for the run, had enough time to slap on some sunscreen at the Sunwise station, a quick piccie with the Aussie cricketer and plenty of time for warm-up or relaxation, whatever one chose to do. I chose to take pictures and gawk at the multitude of colours and people around me, of course. 

The original plan involved running the 5k in 30 minutes. Considering that I had had beer and champagne yesterday, no breakkie this morning and no bananas in my bag, I changed my plans. Plan B was to run the 5k in 40 minutes. Plan C was to run the usual 3.5k and walk a while before taking off again. The first 1k was the hardest. I overheard someone at the finish saying, "I saw the 1k sign and thought "Fuck, that's all?"". That was exactly how I felt. The sun did not help. Hunger definitely did not help. I gulped some water and kept pushing myself. I could do it, I could do atleast 3k. The orange pacer balloons for 30 minutes was ahead of me. Way ahead but I could see it from the far end, the while 40 minutes balloons were behind me. I meant to keep it that way, till the end.

At the 3k mark, I nearly gave up. The weather had lifted up a bit and gotten better soon after the start. Around the 3k mark, the road got steeper and the sun came up over our heads again. The cap was not helping. Water was not helping. The only solace was the electrolyte at the 2.5k mark. "Don't stop, keep going", I repeated to myself. In my head, I could hear my husband saying, "Run slow if you must but don't stop". That was it... a slow run... almost 200 metres of walk...

The people running past me was too much motivation to not run. I broke into a jog and picked up speed again. The large red sign that screamed, "Congratulations! Only 1k to go!" was a thrill to sight. There was going to be no slowing down anymore. Just before the last 300 metres, there was a volunteer holding a large placard that said 'Reduce Speed'. I almost did. I knew it was the right thing to do, one has to reduce speed. Nobody cared. We had neared the ending, we have to make it to the finish line, that was all was in everyone's minds. People started to pick up speed. 

That was it, I could hold it no longer. My legs found life of their own and I dashed. Ran like my life was at stake. In just under 35 minutes, I had made it. Not too bad, not too bad. I could not stop right away, of course, after that mad rush of adrenalin. It was totally worth pushing myself. My best run so far. 

The water stations, the spray tents, fruits and breakkie at the finish were a blessing. We picked up another tee that said that we had finished the B2B, returned our timing chips and grabbed the free copy of Sunday Mail. At the train station, everyone seemed to have run the B2B. So much excitement among the kids. I was beat, I wish I had their energy. I could not wait to get home and jump into the shower. Warm water. Paradise found.