|
|
| More.. |
|
| More.. |
|
| Other things |
| |
| Other things |
| |
|
| Friday, December 8, 2006 |
| Where the tree has no leaves! |
Today, I decided to bring in my christmas tree (or what passes for it!) into the house. My tree is not much to look at: it's around 6 feet tall, lanky, slightly dishevelled, and has a slight tilt to the right. I bought it in Bombay because I just did not want a fake tree in the house. I knew that it was impossible to find a bough of a fir or pine tree in Bombay so I bought one that had the general shape of a christmas tree. I trimmed it and tried to fix its right tilt, but no, it refused to stand straight. I have given up trying to fix its tilt: I rather like its unkempt, crooked look.
When I moved to Delhi, the kinder, unselfish, responsible thing to do would have been to plant my tree in the garden below our house. But, no, I had to cart the poor tree all the way to Delhi. The movers and packers delivered it slightly worse for the wear. Its top branch was slightly singed maybe because it was exposed to the hot Delhi sun but otherwise it was still my dear, teda tree.
It had grown a bit, so I transplanted it in a new, bigger pot. But the Delhi winter doesn't seem to be doing it any good. It seems to be shedding leaves at quite a scorching pace. So my lanky, dishevelled, teda tree is also getting a little bare. And very soon, I suspect, I shall not have much of a christmas tree left. But, I still don't feel like getting a fake one or another real one. So, I am going to gussy this one up as well as I can and maybe start a tradition of teda trees in my family! Will post pictures of the crooked one soon. |
| posted by Jivitha @ 2:42 AM |
|
|
|
| Wednesday, December 6, 2006 |
| My St. Nicholas |
Christmas is drawing near and I can't help but think of Nicholas uncle, or Aan (father), as we called him in Konkani. He was old enough to be my grandfather: a sprightly man, with fantastically high cheekbones, and a booming, baritone voice. Ever since he had retired, he moonlighted as a bartender in Delhi's Hotel Diplomat because he loved being with people, listening to their stories, telling a few of his own.
He would visit our family often and impromtu parties would happen whenever he walked in. Bring out the cake, let's have a drink, sing me a song, let's have fun, he seemed to say with every breath.
I was six and he must have been 65 or so, the year my father died. I stopped talking that year...I remember dreading 6 PM every day, because that was the time my father would come home. Sick of watching me walk around listlessly, Aan decided to take matters into his own hands. He would pop in every other day with interesting stuff that kids love and very few adults are smart enough to know: old glittery christmas cards, bus tickets, funny gags. He was never kind in the unctuous way grown-ups usually are. Mostly, he would order me gruffly to stop moping and get on with it.
But the best memory of Aan I have is that of a magicky christmas night that year. He took me to the Goan club where a dance party was on. Handsome men and lovely women dancing with grace. There was Rego, such a brilliant dancer, dancing with Nica (Veronica) pretty as a picture. I have this clear memory of craning my neck to look at all these beautiful people with awe.
I must have been the only child there or if there were others I don't remember. I had never been to a club and I was absorbing everything like a sponge. Then, Aan took my hand and led me to the dance floor. Everyone cleared the dance floor and clapped in time to the music as the old man and the little girl twirled around the dance floor.
Then, it was getting late so we left for home, that is Aan was going to drop me home in a cab where my mother would be waiting hopping mad, no doubt. :) Aan was pleasantly high and insisted on singing christmas carols at the top of his voice all the way back home. He was weaving across the road (still bellowing!) so I held his hand and took him home, feeling so grown up.
Aan died a few years later. I am sure he touched many lives and gave them joy in that effortless way of his. And I can bet he is having a big party right now, wherever he may be.Labels: childhood |
| posted by Jivitha @ 11:58 PM |
|
|
|
|
| Eclipse afternoons |
Anybody who has lived in delhi some twenty years ago would remember how DD would show funny movies in the afternoon, every time there was a solar eclipse. For me, solar eclipses are inextricably linked with Hrishikesh Mukherjee's Chupke Chupke for that reason alone. DD would show entertaining movies so that people would stay inside their houses during an eclipse. One cannot imagine pulling off something like this in today's day and age. With so many channels how could any one channel have any power over viewers?
Nevertheless, I feel rather emotional when I look back on the innocence of those times. I was in school then and I remember those summer eclipse afternoons when houses would be completely shaded. We would sit and watch the movie and drink thanda nimboo pani. During the samachaar break, some friends and I would try to make telescopes and spectacles that would allow us to look at the sun indirectly without going blind. I remember trying to use old x-ray paper. I have no idea if that was safe or not but since my eyes seem to have survived those adventures, I am inclined to think it wasn't such a bad idea!Labels: culture, solar eclipse |
| posted by Jivitha @ 10:13 PM |
|
|
|
| Thursday, November 30, 2006 |
| Of runaway sisters |
Was walking around the gallies in Karol Bagh after a satisfying bout of shopping, when a young woman in a cycle rickshaw stopped us. She had a little boy tucked in her lap and was looking rather distraught. "Can I use your phone," she asked me? I hesitated a bit so she added that her sister had run away from home that morning and was essentially incommunicado since then. So, I asked her for her sister's name and number and called her. I said, "Is that Kaushalya? Apni didi se baat kijiye," and gave the phone to the elder sis. "Kahan ho tum? Aisa koi karta hai? Ma ne neend ki goliyan kha li hai, jaldi ghar..." Kaushalya, obviously irritated by the blatant emotional blackmail, hung up on her big sister, mid-tirade.
Usually I have no sympathies for big sisters, being the youngest by far in my own family. But am older and wiser now (wolfish smile), and big sister looked very upset so I said, "Pehli baar ghar se bhaagi hai, ya vaise bahut bhaagti hai?" Weak laugh. "Kaafi bhagti hai," she said with a smile. "Wapas to aa jaati hai na?" I asked, also with a smile. "Haan, aa to jaati hai. Uski shaadi hone wali hai agle mahine." "Usko shaadi nahin karni hai, kya?" I asked. "Aisi baat nahi hai. Ladka uska manpasand ka hai, lekin jab bhi tu tu main main hoti hai, bhaag jaati hai."
"Aisa hai to wapas aa jayegi, aap fikr mat karo," I said and tried calling the runaway again. She disconnected the call. So, I told the big sis, I would try calling from another number later and try to send her home. She smiled and said Thanks and left looking a little reassured.
I reached home thinking I would call the kid in a while. I kept postponing calling her. Eventually, I never got around to calling her. I felt this awkwardness intruding in a personal situation, which I didn't feel standing next to her sister in a galli in Karol Bagh. For a brief moment there, we were not strangers but two people connected by an instinctive understanding of human foibles and a sharp sense of empathy. She left reassured, maybe because I was able to make her see that the little act of rebellion was normal. Maybe she accepted that from me because she guessed that I have been a runaway younger sister too in my day. Who knows?Labels: people |
| posted by Jivitha @ 10:40 AM |
|
|
|
| Wednesday, November 29, 2006 |
| Doodhwala |
My doodhwala--lone-ranger-waging-a-losing-battle-against-milk-stealing-red-cat--is driving me crazy. Till last week, he would pop in every alternate day to persuade me to pick up the milk in time. He suggested I lower a basket in which he would place the packet and I should then pull it up. I said brilliant idea, but the reiterated the problem that I am so gone in lala land in the mornings that I do not hear doorbells. Therefore, he should deduce that if I do not hear the bell I cannot possibly lower any basket.
His efforts since then have become even more fervid. This week, he upped the attack by giving my landlady a blow-by-blow account of how the red cat managed to swipe the milk despite his best efforts and messed up her letter box. Now he has taken to maniacally ringing the bell in the morning. He then dashes outside the gate, stands under my balcony and shouts, "Doodh rakh liya hai, uthalo! Mein yahan khada hoon taki billi andar na ja sake. Uthalo, uthalo, UTHALO, UTHAAAAAAAAALO" without pausing for breath. Of course, this method is working like a charm. Believe me, those cries cannot be ignored. I dash out of the bed, run straight to the balcony and yell "aa rahi hoon, aa rahi hoon, ek minute." (I am sure one of these days I am going to run straight over the balcony banisters and join him on the road.) Then, I execute an about turn and dash down the stairs and pick up the milk. The doodhwala gives me a satisfied smile and toddles away. I think I am going to switch to black tea.Labels: people |
| posted by Jivitha @ 11:24 PM |
|
|
|
| Friday, November 24, 2006 |
| Human dramas on Big Boss |
 I am totally hooked on Big Boss. I've yet to figure out why. It's a show designed to bring out the worst in people, who are not exactly angels to start with. Yet I watch it mesmerised. Maybe because it's very real. It strips people of all their masks. It's a lot like a realistic version of one of those wierd serials on TV and I am tempted to think these guys are peforming to a pre-written script but I doubt anyone could write a script that weaves in insecurities and motivations so well.
Nevertheless, pre-written script or not, it's a fascinating show. You take a bunch of wannable celebrities with mammoth egos and tons of complexes and throw them together without any other distractions. And then you see how their insecurities drive them to plot and plan, to form allegiances and realign them.
Look at the cast. There is the compulsive lover, Aryan Vaid. He desperately needs to be in love or to chase or whatever it is that he does. So he flirts with Ragini, with an eye on Anupama, and when he declares his love for Anupama, he proceeds to use Ragini to keep Anupama slightly unsure. You with me?
The guy is not smart, he is just so manipulative he gives me the creeps. He is like the male version of the malevolent Kashmira Shah, who can effortlessly spin out one deceitful maneouvre after another.
There is Rakhi, who in the middle of all of these devious souls comes across as a deer caught in the headlights. She is terribly insecure about her background and her reputation. And so she reacts. She is quite a drama queen but I don't think she is false. I believe she is largely a good kid whom nobody is willing to give a chance. There are too many references to her being "uneducated" as though being "educated" has automatically transferred sterling character to this bunch.
And, of course, since she is an item girl, the implied assumption is that she is ready to drop her pants for anyone. The usual good girl - bad girl syndrome. "Gandi sanskriti" or some such term was used by Ravi Kissen if I remember correctly. I mean the man is apparently a philanderer and a fool on top of that---which idiot would say on national media that he has a beautiful relationship with another woman and his wife understands completely; little wonder wifey came out with statements refuting all this and saying she would throw him out of the house the very next day. But he is wonderfully entertaining.
Rakhi is the only one among all of these characters who has an interesting personality, her complexes are not manufactured. Her problems are not of the "maine zindagi mein kabhi khana nahin banaya, dekho mera angootha jal gaya" variety.
I rather like her Abhishek who came on the sets of Big Boss today. He looks like a chawl boy, the boy-next-door a la Rangeela. And boy, does Rakhi's mother not like him. She seems like an awful woman--a lot like the star mummies on the make who work their daughters to the bone.
Then there is Roopali--could easily pass off as one of the passive-aggressive victim prototypes of the saas-bahu serials. Cries at the drop of a hat and makes big googo-googo eyes. No personality beyond the bambi front.
Carol-- smarter than many give her credit for. Sticks to the boys and gives all the female drama a miss.
Anupama on the other hand is very shrewd too. Politically correct. And very often, political correctness is read as decent/neutral/impartial behavior. But she's so boring. And just because she spouts all the right things doesnt mean she's not nasty or vindictive. We just don't know yet.
Deepak Tijori enjoys making people uncomfortable. Likes to throw their foibles in the air and gets away with it. For instance, he cracked that bit about Big Brother, the American original, showing participants doing naughty naughty things, when talking to Aryan and Anupama. Which, of course, riled Aryan no end. And he launched a concerted campaign to prove how pure his intentions are.
*******************************************************************************************
Brinda Karat seems to have run out of issues to take up and women to save. She is now championing the cause of Saurav Ganguly! Karat, said on CNN-IBN, that Ganguly should be given another chance to be part of the Indian cricket team. I mean, ok so you are a Bong but what's that got to do with anything, babe? Let's not mix politics and cricket, for God's sake.
***************************************************************************************************
Blooper of the day: CNN IBN anchor says, "CNN has been celibate"...what she was attempting to say was, "CNN has been celebrating"....har, har! |
| posted by Jivitha @ 10:15 AM |
|
|
|
| Thursday, November 23, 2006 |
| Rubberband culture |
 What is it with Delhi and rubber bands? Three months in Delhi and my house is overflowing with rubberbands, mostly black, some red and even fluorescent green! Seriously, I am not kidding thee...We take three newspapers so that's three rubberbands per day. In Bombay, the paperwallah never rolled up the papers; the papers would just be slapped outside the doors. But I guess that makes sense because in Bombay you have mostly flats so paperwallahs can't very well show off their javelin throw skills outside 7 storey plus buildings.
Anyway, back to the rubberband count. Three from the daily newspapers, two from the bread--in Bombay the loaf of bread was usually secured with cellotape--that's five per day. So at the minimum, the rubberband count in my house must be 450 at the moment. Is that wierd or what? This is apart from the predilection Delhi shopkeepers have for whipping out rubber bands at the slightest excuse. Have product, will rubberband.
P.S: The image above is an actual picture of my rubberband collection. Please to note the fluorescent green and orange!Labels: culture |
| posted by Jivitha @ 11:55 PM |
|
|
|
|
|
