So, I've written about this show 'The Geek and the Beauty' in the past and how I've hated the show and how the geeks are over-geeky. Little did I realize the show was soon to go on in my house with AB and me. Yes, you guessed it right about the geek. It is not me :) Let me get on to it and tell you why.
After reading Nags' tags, I lamented aloud about the state of my own eyebrows. My natural eyebrow growth can beat Krur Singh's any day. Even on his worst days. Okay, stop getting grossed out and show some sympathy. Damn, how I digress no? So, ya, coming back, the Indian parlours here are quite far away from my house, and since my license is still in the works, I'm unable to go to the parlour on my own. The one occasion that I managed to go to the 'good' Indian parlour, I had to wait for 40 women (who from the looks of it did not really need any help from the parlour, while I looked like I should have come, maybe 3 months ago) to get various things done before me. This, after taking an appointment. I kind of gave up, and got back home. Spoke to some other people like my sis-in-law about how they all manage to get it done. All the people I spoke to said tweezers or those tiny eyebrow shavers/shapers from Walmart. I thought, aah, I can do this, and got my eyebrows done once and ever since, I've shaped them myself. I must say I do a good job. Of ruining them. Forever. Sigh. Now, they are thin, and grow the next day. Basically, they are a pain.
So, I was cribbing as usual and AB said something that left me gaping/staring/mouth wide open/unsure of what to say. This is our conversation for all of you, at the risk of throwing our privacy out of the window. Sigh. The things I do to make sure my 'very' few readers have me on theirs :)
Nandu: Look at me, I look horrible. No?
AB: You look the same (Whatte insult, I say!)
Nandu: Grrr...you mean I looked the same even during our marriage? (WTH did I pay for, dammit?)
AB: No, I meant you will always look pretty to me. Eyebrows, shybrows do not make a difference
Nandu (mellowing down): But still, you will say that. But still...
AB (in a practical voice): Okay, let's see.
Nandu (trying to hide excitement voice, purposely putting a whine in voice): Whaaaaaat?
AB: Let's take a picture of you now and...
Nandu stares
AB: we will get your eyebrows done and then...
Nandu stares in confusion
AB: take another picture
Nandu is confused whether to continue to stare or start glaring
AB: Then, we can compare these two pictures and plot the length of the eyebrows and the time it took to grow to that length on a graph, and calculate the rate of growth and prepare for it accordingly.
Nandu (almost faints, but since she has had many male friends/cousins and a father, she remains steady, smiles and says): Do you want to change the channel?
P.S. - Yes, it was just an excerpt of our private conversation (what did you expect?) and a hint for all of you to put my blog on your Readers.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Changes and surprises!
Okay, ya, not a big change. But I thought I needed a change. I like colours. I am not the dull, drab, pale colour liking person. I'm a colourful person too ;) So, ya, getting back to the point, I'm obsessed with colours. I've been known to pick up board games (LIFE) which is horrible btw, because the box was colourful and the colours reminded me of Google. I like colour in food. I refuse to eat sabzi in white or pale colours. Mor Kuzhambu, Avial, Methi Malai (with more Malai), just cucumber salad....you get the drift don't you? All these white looking food. I do not like them. I hate white chocolate, and I love cream with something else - like strawberries or a colourful cake (read brown colour). I love colour. Red peppers, the vegetable section in these super markets with colour screaming out, I hate white pasta (with Alfredo sauce) and love the ones in Marinara sauce thanks to the colour, chai, coffee I love, hate plain milk, hate plain cakes, and want some sort of flavor that lends colour, I love Ikea for its colour and one day, hope to decorate/design my house with Ikea colours - wacky, totally!. Now, that you know what I mean, you will understand this colour change on the blog no? I chose the theme 565 first thinking of its colours, somehow did not quite like it. This seemed to be okay. Did not define borders, yet had a change of colour. So there. But again, I may change it back to being black. Black is such a beautiful, universal colour no? :)
Oh, oh, today is my fake birthday. That means that in Karnataka, when I was a kid (which btw was not so long ago) they took kids into school only if we were 3 years+ My parents being Indian parents fretted that I was too young for this academic year ( 2 years something) and too old for the next one ( 3 years something). So, yes, like many others that I've found out over the years, I was given a false birthday and all that, and my birthday was advanced a year earlier! Sigh. In the beginning, I was quite thrilled that I had two birthdays - one school and the other home! Also, that I had a secret, a family secret involving me. My dad had told me that if anyone else comes to know of this, he'd be put into jail. Appa, sigh. I realized much later that almost all my friends had fake birthdays, and did not mind telling them about mine. Also, there is a separate pleasure when you get all these gifts, wishes on your real birthday :) Or, on both these days, actually :P Like I was saying, its been a long time I celebrated or did anything on this day. Sometimes in office, someone would come up and go: Oh, happy birthday :) though they knew it wasn't really my bday. But this year, something special happened. AB and I baked a cake at his insistence and he surprised me by buying whipped cream. I love whipped cream and am a baker's delight. I love keeping such stuff at home and feel very hostess-like and a super accomplished homemaker EVEN if I do not do anything with it. What was special about it is that AB thinks whipped cream and things like that are fatty and an unnecessary expenditure and a serious cause of concern on the health side. (I roll my eyes here) But still, but still, he went on and bought it for me ( yay!) and when we decided to cut the cake at 12, (he refused to let me touch it until then. It was a horrible experience, I say) he casually mentions that we should have had whipped cream. I just nodded and he said he remembered buying some sometime. Being the homemaker ( who does not know what is there in her fridge, but still) I was confident, nothing could escape my eye and that I'd not seen the cream. He insisted and finally brought it out! I almost screamed :)
Then, being the selfish person that I am, I told him that I wanted to read some blogs and that he could go and sleep. He likes to sleep early and all that. And usually, during my night jaunts like this, he just dozes off. So, with a twinge of guilt, I went to bed 20 minutes later and plopped on the bed, wished good night and closed my eyes only to hear his voice saying: hmm..maybe you should switch on the light and see what you are sleeping on! I did that, and found my gift. Yaaaaaaaaay! :) He gifted me a book that I wanted. I love baking cookies, so he gifted me a cookie cookbook. I know I do not get excited over cooking this easily, but lately I've been enjoying it and I've always loved baking! So there.
P.S. Does this post look like I did not have anything to say when I began and just felt like posting something random?
Oh, oh, today is my fake birthday. That means that in Karnataka, when I was a kid (which btw was not so long ago) they took kids into school only if we were 3 years+ My parents being Indian parents fretted that I was too young for this academic year ( 2 years something) and too old for the next one ( 3 years something). So, yes, like many others that I've found out over the years, I was given a false birthday and all that, and my birthday was advanced a year earlier! Sigh. In the beginning, I was quite thrilled that I had two birthdays - one school and the other home! Also, that I had a secret, a family secret involving me. My dad had told me that if anyone else comes to know of this, he'd be put into jail. Appa, sigh. I realized much later that almost all my friends had fake birthdays, and did not mind telling them about mine. Also, there is a separate pleasure when you get all these gifts, wishes on your real birthday :) Or, on both these days, actually :P Like I was saying, its been a long time I celebrated or did anything on this day. Sometimes in office, someone would come up and go: Oh, happy birthday :) though they knew it wasn't really my bday. But this year, something special happened. AB and I baked a cake at his insistence and he surprised me by buying whipped cream. I love whipped cream and am a baker's delight. I love keeping such stuff at home and feel very hostess-like and a super accomplished homemaker EVEN if I do not do anything with it. What was special about it is that AB thinks whipped cream and things like that are fatty and an unnecessary expenditure and a serious cause of concern on the health side. (I roll my eyes here) But still, but still, he went on and bought it for me ( yay!) and when we decided to cut the cake at 12, (he refused to let me touch it until then. It was a horrible experience, I say) he casually mentions that we should have had whipped cream. I just nodded and he said he remembered buying some sometime. Being the homemaker ( who does not know what is there in her fridge, but still) I was confident, nothing could escape my eye and that I'd not seen the cream. He insisted and finally brought it out! I almost screamed :)
Then, being the selfish person that I am, I told him that I wanted to read some blogs and that he could go and sleep. He likes to sleep early and all that. And usually, during my night jaunts like this, he just dozes off. So, with a twinge of guilt, I went to bed 20 minutes later and plopped on the bed, wished good night and closed my eyes only to hear his voice saying: hmm..maybe you should switch on the light and see what you are sleeping on! I did that, and found my gift. Yaaaaaaaaay! :) He gifted me a book that I wanted. I love baking cookies, so he gifted me a cookie cookbook. I know I do not get excited over cooking this easily, but lately I've been enjoying it and I've always loved baking! So there.
P.S. Does this post look like I did not have anything to say when I began and just felt like posting something random?
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
I...
...want to be where there is noise, and chaos and confusion
...want to be where there are more people than a street can manage
...want to hear the honks of vehicles behind me, breathe in the smoke, peer through the dust to forge ahead
...want to sit at Deli 9/Coffee Day/Barista, hold a mug of insanely expensive coffee and bitch forever
...want to do some girl talk
...want to go on the crowded roads all over again in great abandon
... want to eat pani puri and figure out if the bandiwaala at Bangalore is dirtier, therefore, tastier than the one at Hyderabad
...want to ride in those cabs and experience the monotony of office
....want to dance in all those jam sessions again
....want to stare at women who wear clothes considered inappropriate and glare at men who stare at them
...want to see Hyderabad Central
...want to shop at Lifestyle
...want to eat bhutta
...want to pretend to run for cover during monsoons
...want to watch fruit vendors swatting flies on their gaadi
...want to see autos
...want to fight with auto drivers
...want to watch movies all night with girl friends
...want to meet V and V for an elaborate girls day out
...want to meet C and S for coffee
... want to meet D over coffee at the coffee machine
...want S to make more fun of me
... want to see A by paying Rs 5000 for a flight and without adding another 0 to it
...want to SMS
...want to catch late night movies with the girls
...want to talk to Amma
...want to fight with sisters
...want to make faces at Pati
...want to ride the Kinetic Honda
...want to weave through traffic and fear for my life from the nearest drunk biker
...want to travel on dirty trains
...want to get a cheap haircut
...want to feel like I want to relax
...want to read/listen to politics, crime news, scandals, scams and real news and not the so-called news about Bush's misspelling/mispronunciation (Our speechwriters will never let it happen even if our politicians will.)
...want to see a sea of humanity doing various things, breaking rules, living by them, surviving
...want to see friends. Dammit, some people, any people. People I can talk about, imagine things about, talk to, bitch about, bitch to, laugh about, laugh with...
...want to go to India
...want to be where there are more people than a street can manage
...want to hear the honks of vehicles behind me, breathe in the smoke, peer through the dust to forge ahead
...want to sit at Deli 9/Coffee Day/Barista, hold a mug of insanely expensive coffee and bitch forever
...want to do some girl talk
...want to go on the crowded roads all over again in great abandon
... want to eat pani puri and figure out if the bandiwaala at Bangalore is dirtier, therefore, tastier than the one at Hyderabad
...want to ride in those cabs and experience the monotony of office
....want to dance in all those jam sessions again
....want to stare at women who wear clothes considered inappropriate and glare at men who stare at them
...want to see Hyderabad Central
...want to shop at Lifestyle
...want to eat bhutta
...want to pretend to run for cover during monsoons
...want to watch fruit vendors swatting flies on their gaadi
...want to see autos
...want to fight with auto drivers
...want to watch movies all night with girl friends
...want to meet V and V for an elaborate girls day out
...want to meet C and S for coffee
... want to meet D over coffee at the coffee machine
...want S to make more fun of me
... want to see A by paying Rs 5000 for a flight and without adding another 0 to it
...want to SMS
...want to catch late night movies with the girls
...want to talk to Amma
...want to fight with sisters
...want to make faces at Pati
...want to ride the Kinetic Honda
...want to weave through traffic and fear for my life from the nearest drunk biker
...want to travel on dirty trains
...want to get a cheap haircut
...want to feel like I want to relax
...want to read/listen to politics, crime news, scandals, scams and real news and not the so-called news about Bush's misspelling/mispronunciation (Our speechwriters will never let it happen even if our politicians will.)
...want to see a sea of humanity doing various things, breaking rules, living by them, surviving
...want to see friends. Dammit, some people, any people. People I can talk about, imagine things about, talk to, bitch about, bitch to, laugh about, laugh with...
...want to go to India
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Thanks, Appa :)
Dear Appa,
I know, I know. I know what you think. That I'm falling into the whole sentimental trap of all these American celebrations like Father's Day and what not. I have never celebrated any of these days. Not because I say that everyday is a Father's Day and a Mother's Day. God and a lot of other people know that my relationship with Amma and you is far from perfect :) We've fought, screamed at each other, not spoken to each other, walked away from each other (Okay, am exaggerating Amma) and vowed never to see each other and even disowned each other. Most of this drama happened with you. I've always called you Appa. Not Dad/Daddy/Pa, nothing. Funny how much I miss you more than anyone else when I'm in trouble (actually, I miss you most after marriage. Does that say something? :P)
My earliest memory of you and me having good vibes about each other was in Class 5. Earlier than that, I'm sure there were instances of baap-beti bond, but I'm too vain, flippant and daughter-like to remember any of them. I remember this particular incident in Class 5 because of what you told me that day holds good for me to date. I had my Kannada exams the next day, and if I remember rightly, my Kannada wasn't great those days. I could not write anything on my own. I had to study. And it wasn't going great at 8 PM for me. And I burst out crying and got onto a round of self pity. You took me out of the house and we sat near the gate talking. Just talking of how much you loved me irrespective of Kannada exams (I might as well add Maths exams too!) and how getting the first rank in class never mattered to you. I know this is very regular advice given by most parents (or not?) but something struck a chord much later (I was bored that night listening to you). I still hear you telling me that being a nice person is all that matters. Not a good human being, not a generous, sacrificial human being, but being a nice person. There were nights when you came home way after we slept, or worse, just when we woke up the next morning. It did not make a difference to any of us. It was not like we spent any quality time. We never saw you much, but we always come back to you :)
This reminds me of a funny instance. I dunno if you remember it. Way back when I was in Class 2, your Chittappa (Father's bro) died. And you came to pick me up from school late morning. It was a convent school run by disciplined nuns who did not quite care for your swagger or your idea of a family emergency. So, you walked into class, asked Poornima Ma'am to let me go and she does not recognize who you are! She refused to let a 7 year old girl with a stranger. Of course, I recognized you and all that, even then! It was hilarious when Amma broke the news gently to you that they probably did not know you considering you never remembered which class I was in :P Strangely, I did not feel bad you did not know anything about what I did. It was just a way of life for us.
Another memory which comes flooding through and will probably hold good all my life is your reaction to my falling and getting hurt ( or getting hurt in any other way) (Note to my very-few readers: I fall every 5 minutes. I can fall when I stand. Its just a God-given gift. I'm extremely clumsy and I do not really care. Earlier, it used to be about those bruises. I read Enid Blyton and waited to see my bruises go purple like Fatty's did in the Five-Findouter series!) Every time I fell and hollered in pain, you'd clean the wound, bandage it and all that. You loved doing it. Dunno why. You'd talk while cleaning the wound to distract me. You'd talk about how my wound was so small compared to the numerous problems people face and still do not cry. I'd stop crying immediately. I did not want to be known a coward! That talk (or those talks) still happen. When I was stabbed recently in a robbery attempt at home, you were there telling me how proud you were of me (when everyone else freaked out since I was a bride- to be the next week), but that this stab was nothing compared to a lot of other people's problems out there.
You taught me to make light of everything, and take things as they come. Lately, I've started crying breaking your rules. You never wanted anyone to cry, and we never cried as kids because you'd get irritated. Now, I do not want to cry because I want to be brave for you. Thanks. Thanks for being the father who always confused my name with my sisters, for teaching me how to be generous, for making me strong. Oh, thanks for talking to me after 3 years of fights after I won the Best Outgoing Girl in college, or thanks for the passion you put into my wedding. I do not care about the money, or the glitz. I saw your passion and we fought because of that, and we are going to fight forever because our passions clash. But, do I like that or what?
And Appa, I know there are a million stories to tell about you and me, and us, all the Cubbon Park trips, all the books that you bought for me, all the junk food of the Darshinis, all the fights, all the effort you put into making small conversation with me when I call over the weekend. The "hi, how are you?" that you yourself answer with: "hope you are fine, here's Amma wanting to talk to you."
Like you always tell me whenever I'm in pain, that if you could take my pain away, you'd take it all away from me and suffer yourself. I'd too, Appa.
Love,
Nandu
I know, I know. I know what you think. That I'm falling into the whole sentimental trap of all these American celebrations like Father's Day and what not. I have never celebrated any of these days. Not because I say that everyday is a Father's Day and a Mother's Day. God and a lot of other people know that my relationship with Amma and you is far from perfect :) We've fought, screamed at each other, not spoken to each other, walked away from each other (Okay, am exaggerating Amma) and vowed never to see each other and even disowned each other. Most of this drama happened with you. I've always called you Appa. Not Dad/Daddy/Pa, nothing. Funny how much I miss you more than anyone else when I'm in trouble (actually, I miss you most after marriage. Does that say something? :P)
My earliest memory of you and me having good vibes about each other was in Class 5. Earlier than that, I'm sure there were instances of baap-beti bond, but I'm too vain, flippant and daughter-like to remember any of them. I remember this particular incident in Class 5 because of what you told me that day holds good for me to date. I had my Kannada exams the next day, and if I remember rightly, my Kannada wasn't great those days. I could not write anything on my own. I had to study. And it wasn't going great at 8 PM for me. And I burst out crying and got onto a round of self pity. You took me out of the house and we sat near the gate talking. Just talking of how much you loved me irrespective of Kannada exams (I might as well add Maths exams too!) and how getting the first rank in class never mattered to you. I know this is very regular advice given by most parents (or not?) but something struck a chord much later (I was bored that night listening to you). I still hear you telling me that being a nice person is all that matters. Not a good human being, not a generous, sacrificial human being, but being a nice person. There were nights when you came home way after we slept, or worse, just when we woke up the next morning. It did not make a difference to any of us. It was not like we spent any quality time. We never saw you much, but we always come back to you :)
This reminds me of a funny instance. I dunno if you remember it. Way back when I was in Class 2, your Chittappa (Father's bro) died. And you came to pick me up from school late morning. It was a convent school run by disciplined nuns who did not quite care for your swagger or your idea of a family emergency. So, you walked into class, asked Poornima Ma'am to let me go and she does not recognize who you are! She refused to let a 7 year old girl with a stranger. Of course, I recognized you and all that, even then! It was hilarious when Amma broke the news gently to you that they probably did not know you considering you never remembered which class I was in :P Strangely, I did not feel bad you did not know anything about what I did. It was just a way of life for us.
Another memory which comes flooding through and will probably hold good all my life is your reaction to my falling and getting hurt ( or getting hurt in any other way) (Note to my very-few readers: I fall every 5 minutes. I can fall when I stand. Its just a God-given gift. I'm extremely clumsy and I do not really care. Earlier, it used to be about those bruises. I read Enid Blyton and waited to see my bruises go purple like Fatty's did in the Five-Findouter series!) Every time I fell and hollered in pain, you'd clean the wound, bandage it and all that. You loved doing it. Dunno why. You'd talk while cleaning the wound to distract me. You'd talk about how my wound was so small compared to the numerous problems people face and still do not cry. I'd stop crying immediately. I did not want to be known a coward! That talk (or those talks) still happen. When I was stabbed recently in a robbery attempt at home, you were there telling me how proud you were of me (when everyone else freaked out since I was a bride- to be the next week), but that this stab was nothing compared to a lot of other people's problems out there.
You taught me to make light of everything, and take things as they come. Lately, I've started crying breaking your rules. You never wanted anyone to cry, and we never cried as kids because you'd get irritated. Now, I do not want to cry because I want to be brave for you. Thanks. Thanks for being the father who always confused my name with my sisters, for teaching me how to be generous, for making me strong. Oh, thanks for talking to me after 3 years of fights after I won the Best Outgoing Girl in college, or thanks for the passion you put into my wedding. I do not care about the money, or the glitz. I saw your passion and we fought because of that, and we are going to fight forever because our passions clash. But, do I like that or what?
And Appa, I know there are a million stories to tell about you and me, and us, all the Cubbon Park trips, all the books that you bought for me, all the junk food of the Darshinis, all the fights, all the effort you put into making small conversation with me when I call over the weekend. The "hi, how are you?" that you yourself answer with: "hope you are fine, here's Amma wanting to talk to you."
Like you always tell me whenever I'm in pain, that if you could take my pain away, you'd take it all away from me and suffer yourself. I'd too, Appa.
Love,
Nandu
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Time to fight back
I love the whole idea of fighting against establishment. I've done that once in a while and totally got a kick out of it. Bravery surges from somewhere, and you get all passionate and you want to shake things up. Many of you know its happened in the past with me, be it fighting for my passport, or those robbers or for my Driver's License. I like it. I enjoy it. If I'd been a little less lazier than what I am, I'd have been a social activist or a consumer activist. So, when I do not get to do that actively, I like to read about it, learn about what others are doing. In the process, I learned about Inji Pennu and her fight. Please do read it even if you do not read anything after this on my post.
I was blog hopping and figuring out some cooking ingredients when I chanced upon Mahanandi who spoke about Inji Pennu and her blog. I blog hopped to Inji Pennu's blog only to read about how she is fighting plagiarism. Now, sometime back, I wrote a post on food blogs and spoke of their fight against plagiarism from these food blogs on Yahoo!'s language portals. This one seems worse, and seems like Inji Pennu is going through quite a lot of abuse - physical and mental. This stirred the old passions in me, now a mere housewife in a country where I do not have a right to vote ( You dunno how much that hurts) leave alone do anything else. But, as I read on, I realized I could probably put this up on my blog for the non-food blogosphere readers to know about this issue. Yes, all the 7 or 8 of you could respond ;) On a more serious note, it'd be great if you comment on Inji Pennu's blog supporting her, and generally stand in support of her fight against Kerals. com (If you read her post, you'd understand what I mean). Well, for me, the passion is back, reason to do something and just not sit around, is back. You are going to see me research more on this, comment more, read more, figure out what I can do to fight or just stand here ready to support her with my blog (I know I do not have too many readers and that I'm not one of those really good bloggers/writers, but since a few of you humour me... :P)
Inji Pennu, I stand in support of your campaign against plagiarism on the Internet.
I was blog hopping and figuring out some cooking ingredients when I chanced upon Mahanandi who spoke about Inji Pennu and her blog. I blog hopped to Inji Pennu's blog only to read about how she is fighting plagiarism. Now, sometime back, I wrote a post on food blogs and spoke of their fight against plagiarism from these food blogs on Yahoo!'s language portals. This one seems worse, and seems like Inji Pennu is going through quite a lot of abuse - physical and mental. This stirred the old passions in me, now a mere housewife in a country where I do not have a right to vote ( You dunno how much that hurts) leave alone do anything else. But, as I read on, I realized I could probably put this up on my blog for the non-food blogosphere readers to know about this issue. Yes, all the 7 or 8 of you could respond ;) On a more serious note, it'd be great if you comment on Inji Pennu's blog supporting her, and generally stand in support of her fight against Kerals. com (If you read her post, you'd understand what I mean). Well, for me, the passion is back, reason to do something and just not sit around, is back. You are going to see me research more on this, comment more, read more, figure out what I can do to fight or just stand here ready to support her with my blog (I know I do not have too many readers and that I'm not one of those really good bloggers/writers, but since a few of you humour me... :P)
Inji Pennu, I stand in support of your campaign against plagiarism on the Internet.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Talaq! Talaq! Talaq!
Yes, that is what is going on in my mind. No, I do not plan to do anything like that with my marriage as yet. But again, I read some stuff in a Desi newspaper, NRI Pulse, which was of course available free of cost at the temple we go to. So, I *had* to read it. How can I not know what is happening to my fellow countrymen and women no? And I read in that paper, that couples in urban (read moral-less new, modern, westernized India, tch tch) are heading for divorce for what the paper calls 'silly reasons.' I read on quite interested, to see, if any of my reasons so far will hold good in a court of law. I was not disappointed. My reasons were quite in tune with some reasons written about in that article. For instance, my reason to probably call it off is because I missed the first 5 minutes of a chick-flick because Kobe Bryant chose that moment to create his moment of glory. Bah!
To get back to the reasons given in the article. One man wants a divorce from his wife because she does not dress stylishly, another wants to leave his wife because she does not have table manners, no, no, because he THINKS she does not have table manners.
Of course, AB nodded wisely when I remarked on how stupid these people were. As I spewed my passionate narrative on him who is the only person who listens to me nowadays about how people are taking trivial issues to a new level and trust pseudo IT couples to do this....and we went on talking about 'others.'
Sigh, little did I know that while we cooked a hearty (cheesy, I mean) pizza and were discussing the toppings excitedly, and I expressed dislike towards mushrooms and olives (sorry, readers of my blog who if you like mushrooms or olives, do NOT write to me saying: OMG, you do not like your pizza with Olives or mushrooms? The answer is clear, I think!) that AB'd say this....
I will divorce you if you do not eat mushrooms or olives.
What has the world come to, I say? What will happen of my mother who thinks her son-in-law is the next best thing to happen to her muchly-loved family or my dad who was happy to see me finally get married and be away from him, or my sis who is a compulsive shopper and who longs to come to the US of A to shop and hopes her brother-in-law will drive her around or my other sis who discusses basketball with him? (I hope I covered everyone. I'd feel guilty otherwise)
To get back to the reasons given in the article. One man wants a divorce from his wife because she does not dress stylishly, another wants to leave his wife because she does not have table manners, no, no, because he THINKS she does not have table manners.
Of course, AB nodded wisely when I remarked on how stupid these people were. As I spewed my passionate narrative on him who is the only person who listens to me nowadays about how people are taking trivial issues to a new level and trust pseudo IT couples to do this....and we went on talking about 'others.'
Sigh, little did I know that while we cooked a hearty (cheesy, I mean) pizza and were discussing the toppings excitedly, and I expressed dislike towards mushrooms and olives (sorry, readers of my blog who if you like mushrooms or olives, do NOT write to me saying: OMG, you do not like your pizza with Olives or mushrooms? The answer is clear, I think!) that AB'd say this....
I will divorce you if you do not eat mushrooms or olives.
What has the world come to, I say? What will happen of my mother who thinks her son-in-law is the next best thing to happen to her muchly-loved family or my dad who was happy to see me finally get married and be away from him, or my sis who is a compulsive shopper and who longs to come to the US of A to shop and hopes her brother-in-law will drive her around or my other sis who discusses basketball with him? (I hope I covered everyone. I'd feel guilty otherwise)
P.S. - We went to the temple again. But there was hardly anyone this time around. But still, even then, we tried our best, you know. We weren't hungry. But still, we bought horribly sweet Mango lassi (I hate mango in any other form apart from its fruit form) and shared it (how romantic no?) sitting at a table and smiling at ALL the kids ( I never liked kids that much. I still do not as much as it looks like, the way I smile at them) and politely making way for all the maamis and maamas...sigh. No, it did not work. And the elderly aunty we met last time and promised to call hasn't called as yet :(
Oh, my mom, ever resourceful that she is, gave me a new idea. She knows the priest of a particular temple in Bangalore (and she does not even frequent this temple!) whose brother or brother-in-law works as a priest in the Atlanta Hindu Temple. So, she said: Go, talk to him in Kannada and make friends with him. Then, things will be okay. Err....
Monday, June 2, 2008
Today...
... sheer tiredness(!), a sinus headache that does not seem to go with Tylenol or hot chai, feeling hot and icky after a cold water bath...
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