Time beats everything but Memories!

She taught us English. Joined us when we were in 9th grade. The opportunity to be her students, for us, was only for two years.

Strict, disciplined, impeccable in the language she taught, precise, practical, logical. 
Her persona had a command over others.

Our class was one bunch of troublemakers the school had never experienced before, and she was assigned to be our class teacher.

We knew we were getting a new class-teacher, but, what we did not know was that she would tame the shrew.

The moment she entered the classroom she made it clear she meant business. I liked her. I liked her for the respect she demanded, from us, for the school and for herself, with a few lines that she spoke. The entire class of the unpopular students had already begun to cave in.

No one had ever been able to do that.

The chapters became more interesting, more knowledgeable. Everyday I looked forward to learn from her. English was my favourite, and the love for it had notched up with her teaching.

I even liked getting yelled at by her. Yes, I did.
It felt like she genuinely cared for the students ...she wanted us to become good humans. The scoldings were not just to follow the discipline of the school.

Our school had all sorts of activities going on round the year and her involvement was not restricted to studies.
She made sure the talents of every student was polished and put forth. She was active in the cultural activities and sports. Singing, dancing, plays, debates, essay writing to name a few. She was multi talented.

I was one of the fortunate ones to have been trained under her guidance in some of these activities.

Our school made it to the finals of a dance competition. Every school showcased their dance representing a theme in the inaugural ceremony of the interschool sports competition. Our theme was Goa. She had choreographed and conceptualized along with another teacher. I was part of it and was so proud. Then there was choir singing for the Christmas day celebration. Various activities during annual day.

Two years were over in jiffy. We left school to get into 11th and 12th grade. How I wish our school wasn't limited to 10th grade...we would have the privilege to learn more from her.

Years went by...I got busy experiencing life and growing up. She, however, never left my thoughts. I would proudly tell her stories to friends and family whenever I had the chance to.

Then social media happened. Orkut... Facebook.
A few years ago, I found her on the latter platform along with our math teacher. I send her friend request. It was never accepted. 
I found out she wasn't much active there so, I thought, perhaps she never saw it. 
I even wondered if she at all remembered me. She knew me very well, so, her not being able to place me was unlikely...but, then again... it was years ago. I still wonder.

I, however, did not resend her the request. I thought, I'll instead meet her someday...surprise her and if she had indeed forgotten me, I would help her recollect and tell her everything that I wrote above here.

Tell her what she means to me...tell her how wonderful teacher she is...show her my blog, my other writings, my stories, haikus...make her proud and learn more when she would point out the mistakes...all this...I would do, SOMEDAY.

Here I was waiting for that 'someday', and the TIME bested me.

On 18th of this month, I received a WhatsApp message. The obituary clip mourned the loss of my favorite teacher.

Now, I'll never get to tell her all this. I was stupid to wait for that someday. I took time for granted. I missed all the opportunities that came by or the ones that I could have created myself.

I type this with a heavy heart and crying eyes...
Susan ma'am, wherever you are I hope my feelings reach you. You are being missed by so many lives you have touched. We love you.
I love you!

For you, the reader:
If you want to tell someone what they mean to you, seize this very moment to do so. You might never get the opportunity again. 
There's never a right time or a wrong time.
Time is just...TIME. Bold and in caps... Authoritative...Untamed.

I'm Misleading Them...

After creating this blog it took me a few years to begin writing posts here. I simply didn't know what to write. I couldn't be an open book and pour out my heart on everything that had happened to me or was happening to me. I'm a private person on certain levels...have always been one.

I'm not a fashionista…and blogging about fashion would have meant a raid by the fashion police at my door every hour. My love for cooking too didn't mean that I would keep cooking and share recipes or food stories, too lazy for that.

Blogging about gadgets and gizmos would have meant inventing new definitions of the craft which might have given the fandom of Apple and Samsung and others severe attacks of acidity, and their wrath upon me.

The blog wasn't going to be my personal journal that was for sure…so what else I could log in here I had mused.

Books...movies…random stuff…and occasional food or fashion related tidbits?...Yes!
But how or where do I begin was a big question and the BIGGER question was- what would I call it?
Following too much of contemplation and deep meditation for like thousand years, "CoffeeBeans" was coined. 

I like the name…I like the sound of it...and the reminder of the aroma of coffee energizes my thought process. But…there is always a 'but', isn't there? But…I sometimes wonder if some other name might have been right for my blog. A jazzy or a funky name that's savvy enough to grab everyone's attention...or an elegant, lady-like name that smells of etiquette from far away...or perhaps a geeky bong name that stirs the intellectual cells of the brains. 

However, whatever name I might have chosen would definitely not have generated the kind of emails that I receive asking me if I would like to discuss or join their coffee grinding skills, or which coffee beans are of superior quality and some such.

Apparently these people strongly believe my blog to be a small scale industry dealing with coffee grinding, and that I'm some coffee maker trying to make it big in the big bad world of beverages. their R&D sucks My blog name confused them…I misled them. This post too will surely mislead them I know and their emails will keep gracing my inbox.

Meanwhile CoffeeBeans remains as it is; the name, the content…And the inbox stays open for all as usual.

If I'm a Coffee-Bean plant owner to you better think I'm the best, the one and the only, the ultimate, the unparalleled, the queen bee of the coffee industry. I won't accept anything lesser. Period.

Signing off for now as my coffee (made from ek rupaye wala Bru sachet) is getting cold.

Namastey!

A couple of weeks back, I entered CoffeeBeans. What happened next was unexpected and I forgot why I was here and what I wanted to write.

I was greeted by a soggy smell that drifted through the screen. It was a familiar soggy smell; the smell that swallows up a house that's been locked for months. I trotted further in and the sight was tragic. Layers of dust sat on the posts, many words were buried underneath it. Thick cob-webs weaved by a certain black-widow were suspended from the corners of the walls. 

I advanced a little more. It was dark, it was gloomy, and it was cold. Bats hanging upside down were ready to attack their way out through the java scripts. The pictures that I used for the posts had a haunted appearance about them; I swear some of them were even moving, giving me spiteful looks. The murkiness of the place made me wonder if I was standing in the hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place. Dreadful! However, the absence of Kreacher and the Black family tree assured me that I wasn't. I was inside CoffeeBeans, my beloved blog.

The place just needed some serious breathing in there.Every corner, every crevice was wailing for attention. It needed warmth and light of words. It needed me. I began with the repair work. I needed to sharpen up my writing teeth too. The bluntness was nauseating...so got myself half a dozen of canons to read. 

Two weeks now, and here we are-my blog and I. You can see the walls (body of the blog) are whiter now, and the header is new too…of which, btw, I had advertised on my Facebook page (those doodles are my creation, thank you for the applause).

Of course you won't know of the changes if you are new here or if you weren't paying attention earlier because my words were so enchanting that your mind was focused solely on what I wrote and not the décor. {*bows* if that's the case}

Anyhow, that's done - the renovation, which, was quite a qamar-tod job; doodling online isn't easy, I'm getting back my sketch-pad and pencil for sure, the old school ways are always relaxing, and...and my writing is now filed too. So, see you around ;)

Namastey!  _/\_

The Misfit!

I padded my way through the foreign corridors in an institute situated in South Bombay. The beauty enthusiast that I've become today was sleeping back in those days and I had let the sun tan me badly. My hair not spared either. Dry and frizzy, I had tied it in a ponytail with the baby hairs flying allover by my forehead. A tote bag which could have be easily dismissed as a "whatever" accessory, hanged from my right shoulder. I was cladded in jeans and loose fitting Tee shirt. Loose, because I was conscious of my developed body, a result of many labels I was christened with during school and college. My thick glasses, 5'3'' demure too was always the target of ridicule in school and then later during my college days. "Geek", "Shorty", "Chashmish" can only look good in government run offices or be a teacher, corporate world (which I was interested in), isn't for her- was often told to me. Although I could never wrap my head around the connection between these. Now I was in an institute to learn the corporate ways and hone my management skills. It was my first day in campus. I reached the classroom I was directed to and upon reaching I found myself amongst people who looked like models straight out of Cosmopolitan Magazine. All eyes darted towards me. As I walked towards an empty chair to claim it as mine for the day or perhaps for the whole year, I could feel the eyes on me. Studying me, judging me, stereotyping me. I couldn't dare to look at them fearing I would cry. Yet, some unknown strength encouraged me to look up. I did. There was a girl with porcelain skin, that looked like never been kissed by the mighty sun, in trendy clothes, staring at me. Telling me I was a misfit. I didn't belong in their world. She had disgust for me in her eyes.My fears were taking their shape. All these while, somewhere in my mind a little part of me was assuring me, that I and not these people were judging myself and in fact these nice people would embrace me. However, the girl crushed that little part inside me with her obvious expression. "I'm not letting any label bind me down"- I said to myself. A deep breath, all the inspiring people I had known who tore away the stereotypes, and images of my parents were all it took. I gaczed around and found a few friendly faces; I smiled and contagiously the smiles flew across the room. The lecture began in a few minutes, and so did the new chapter of my life. I found the courage, I found the voice, to announce my capabilities. I consciously became an active and attentive student in the class, the shyness gone out of the door. My homework on the basic management, marketing and advertising helped me answer many questions on the first day itself, gaining respect from many of my classmates and most importantly gaining confidence within me. From there it was no looking back. That girl eventually warmed up to me and though we weren't friends but we did become cordial to each other. the stereotyped labels were no longer there to haunt me. By the end of the term I managed to change my appearance, to take care of my physical side, not to please others but for myself. People seemed not to notice much as I was the same girl they had known the whole year. I was a misfit for others, and years of this perception had made me believe it and live it. It had damaged my confidence, thankfully my supportive parents and friends didn't let it be a mortal one. But, why these stereotypes, why these labels? Not every woman can get out of it...the damage can be dangerous.

Take a look at some of the startling figures that the Nihar Naturals #IAmCapable survey conducted by Nielsen India reveals:

a. 69% of men agree that their judgement of women is based on their looks.

b. 64% of women agree that the judgments passed on them have affected their ability to reach their true potential.

c. 70%of women agree that majority of judgments on women are from family members or friends rather than strangers.

d. 72% of women agree that working women face more judgments on their looks or their clothes than housewives.

Scary, isn't it? So lets pledge to end this and let women be the way they want to be.

 “I’m breaking stereotypes based on appearance by sharing my experience for the #IAmCapable activity at BlogAdda in association with Nihar Naturals.”

The Dark Beauty!!

Dark her skin was, darker than the moon-less night beautiful she was, beautiful than the moonlit night.

Let me tell you her story, a story I revere everyday Her name so pretty, but I mustn't say What to call her, if you must so care, Let's name her 'K', and be fair.

Her skin hue defined her, for everyone 'Darky' she was called, her beauty seen by no one.

Thick long hair K oiled and braided, Clothes she wrapped around her were dreaded.

Smart and savvy; but no one to care for these, Her bonnie face sans makeup, was not enough to please.

Debates she won, the 'A's she earned, Ignored were all her awards, more labels for her were churned.

Fearless K trotted, corridors she glided, her confidence shone,

But tears stained her cheeks whenever she was alone.

Full with worldly wisdom, and universal knowledge, along with intelligence, drove her ambitious sledge.

Loser she would never be, K was determined of

Blinders she placed on ears and soared she off.

Physics, Math became her peers, she dived and swam in the books, the stars bowed to her and screamed 'cheers'

The labels, the judgements couldn't stop her, Her determination took her to zenith helped her. Four seasons it took for her mates to know of her beauty, her worth, her glow.

She still oils and braids her thick mane, fashions in a way that for some is pain.

She still shines in her dark skin, her makeup skills are still lean.

Rock music doesn't appeal her like classical yet for sure, Modern she is from thoughts not the external that we ensure.

A phd in physics hands proudly on her wall, Is she still being labelled, judged, stereotyped? No Sir, not at all.

This was the story of 'K' (name withheld on request), a woman I've had the privilege to know since my kindergarten days. Of course, being a year or two older than me, she too was a little girl back then.

However, to be her friend was kind of taboo in the school. She was dark, though a beautiful dark. I was in awe of her flawless complexion; often jealous of her perfect skin and of the thick long luscious hair.

My friends and other classmates wondered why I didn't think their way. Why was I revering someone who was dark, therefore ugly, hence, with no talent.

Throughout her school days, time and again, she proved her debating skills, intelligent mind and sincerity towards her studies, and yet failed to get rid of all the labels that people threw upon her.

This wrath continued even in one of the most prestigious colleges of the city where she went to pursue her academics, however, couldn't last more than a year. She was determined not to let the school days repeat themselves in college. She had to break free but in any dramatic way.

'K' took all the opportunities that came by, where she could prove herself, and prove she did.

Her hard-work and patience teamed with her excellent communication skills, spoke on behalf of her, told the world what she is capable of. Who she really is. Those who laughed at her, labelled her, now respected her.

This day as I write about her she rocks the world of science as one of the research scientists in USA.

Physics and Math are still her best friends, although she has also found some genuine friends in humans...and they are many in number.

K did it, but how many can do so? I know women who let these stereotyped labels run their lives and ruin everything they could have done, they could have been.

These startling figures that the Nihar Naturals #IAmCapable survey conducted by Nielsen India reveals:

a. 69% of men agree that their judgement of women is based on their looks.

b. 64% of women agree that the judgments passed on them have affected their ability to reach their true potential.

c. 70%of women agree that majority of judgments on women are from family members or friends rather than strangers.

d. 72% of women agree that working women face more judgments on their looks or their clothes than housewives.

Isn't it shame that our perception can damage a person forever. We can do better than this. Let us perceive women as they are and not as we see them.

“I’m breaking stereotypes based on appearance by sharing my experience for the #IAmCapable activity at BlogAdda in association with Nihar Naturals.”

The Golden Streams and I

The sun pandiculates from the east horizon, wakes up the sky, wakes up the earth. He commands his still feeble rays in Alpha baritone, to break in through the windows, to pierce in through blinds.

No exception to him, I'm sweetly attacked. The brassy/ brazen but gentle rays, obeying their General's orders, seep in through my open window, making their way in through the thin white waving curtains.

Dotingly they hit my eyes, unwillingly my eyes flutter. They open and they squint.

I'm met with now stronger golden beams that are spread across my room, just like yesterday, just like every other day.

Forgotten is the dream that was playing in my mind, forgotten is the slumber that was reviving my tired self.

I look out of the window, there welcomes me a world consumed by the gold of the Sun; a sight that promises new possibilities, a new day, a new beginning.

The fresh serene morning breeze that tagged along with the honey streams, entice me the crispness of the morning awakens me; mind, body and soul.

The morning tells me, oh so fondly/ lovingly to breathe in its essence, and breathe in I do.

Life enters me, "Resurrected am I?" I wonder. Unbeknownst to me, I'm smiling. I hear their voices, reaching me together, "Good morning sweetheart". "Gold morning, Mom" "Gold morning, Dad" I reply.

Nature knows best when it comes to create magic or pull a miracle out of nothing. Surely, turning a good morning into a gold one is no exception for her. Ergo, the Golden sun-rays, fresh morning surroundings, and of course the irreplaceable dash of morning greetings from my parents make my mornings gold.

Wake up ...smell the morning...listen to the chirping birds...feel the golden hue of the sun on your skin, hug your loved ones and say your zealous good mornings and you'll create the magic of turning good into gold in a jiffy. And this Colgate gold morning Toothbrush I got hold of is another ingredient to the list of things that turn my good mornings into...yes, you got it...Gold Mornings.

The genius gold on it snowballs the effect of the gold of the sun & you're awarded with golden start right from your mouth to your day.

So, how're your mornings? Good or #Colgate360GoldMornings?

The Nonpareil of Kindness and Selflessness!!

“Whatever the cost of our libraries, the price is cheap compared to that of an ignorant nation.” ― Walter Cronkite

“No one has ever become poor by giving.” ― Anne Frank, diary of Anne Frank

Vasai, Maharashtra.

When Sapna, a tailor who earns a living by stitching blouses, and falls to the sarees, visited our local Sai Baba Temple, the poojari noticed her moist eyes framed by a tensed face.

The woman was a regular visitor at the temple. Always armed with a broad smile that spoke of its genuineness, and unadulterated greetings, she came to the temple with humble offerings; wild pink daisies, handful of chanaa wrapped in a small piece of newspaper, and a rupee or two. Touching the feet of the poojari for his blessings before leaving was mandatory to her. This routine was accompanied by a exuberance that mirrored a happy and a content soul.

That day the smile, the contentment were taken over by sadness, anxiety and a fear of something terrible. The lackadaisical change in her otherwise perky nature alarmed him.

He wanted to ask her....he had to ask her. He was certain something was gravely wrong with her or her family. Once she was done with her pooja she came to him, took his blessings, and turned to leave, he stopped her to ask, she looked at him. He could see in her eyes that she knew why he stopped her. Words weren't needed, yet he asked, hoping...praying, she would tell him and not hide from him whatever it was. 

"What's wrong?" In a very meek voice, barely audible, she told him about her plight. Her husband was jobless since three months. Initially she was sure things would fall into place eventually, but, now she had no hope. She was the sole earner of the household of six members now and her income was no longer enough. Their little savings had petered out as well. What she earned would not cover their, food, her sick mother-in-law's treatment and children's education together all at a time any longer. One of these needed to be sacrificed till her husband got employed again...and children's education seemed as the obvious choice for the family. Her children went to a private English medium school, a dream, a wish she once had for herself. "They would have to shift to municipality school", she sobbed with every word. Her body was shaking as tears rolled down her cheeks. Wiping away those tears she said a rather composed 'namastey' and left. The poojari couldn't wait for the other shoe to drop and made a few calls to the temple trustees and other people involved in the temple administration. That evening when they met, the agenda was crystal clear; Sapna's children's education must not suffer. In the next thirty minutes the solution to the problem was in front of them. They would raise a fund to cover the cost of the books, stationery, school uniforms, fees and at all for the entire year. It was March and they had three months before the next academic year starts. Driven by determination of achieving their goal one of them grabbed the black board which is used for notifying pooja timings, announcement of yagnas or other functions at the temple. Written in bold letters and large neat fonts with white chalk, the message was crisp and clear- 'Three children need money for continuing their education...Even a rupee from you would make a difference...Help educate them!!' The board was placed on the foot of the steps of the temple, where it grabbed attention of even those who had no intention of stopping by. In addition to that, from that day, every morning and evening the aarti was followed by an announcement on mike addressing people squarely on the fund raising topic. In just three weeks they lucked out; a good amount of money was raised for the siblings's education. Looking at the amount that kept pouring in it was decided they would continue and widen the fund raising to extricate other children who were in need.

May 2015, was when I saw the board for the first time. I did my bit and with June last week the board had some bhandara announcement written on it. The fund raising was closed, and would reopen again in April 2016, I was told. Though people were welcome to donate anytime if they wish to, my informer added. This bunch of people put a smile and contentment in the lives of Sapna and her children and many others like them by willingness. Willingness to serve humanity in ways they could afford to. These people for me are among the nonpareil of kindness and selflessness. Largely inspired and motivated by them many people have come together this year to make the fund raising more successful to help change lives of many more children. They taught me, empathy, willingness and an initiative, however small or big, can change the world.

With lots of inspiration and hope to see positive changes around me I've begun my new year with a smile full of life which one can again see on Sapna's happy and content face.

This post is inspired by http://www.youthkiawaaz.com/ for #SpreadTheVibe at Indiblogger.

The Force Awakened Little Siths!!

Every year in the first Saturday of January, all the children (they are many...all capable of taking over an entire planet single-handedly) of my housing society, with the help of a few grown-up(not old) members, i.e. the sweet souls like me, organize costume party. Mostly themed. Just kids in costumes walking on ramp, posing their characters and mouthing lines to convince the elder people who are cheering as audience and the panel of judges. A Halloween of our own!

This Christmas eve, while we were enjoying the season's plum cake and other goodies that come along with the happy-holidays, we the grown-ups(not old) sat down with the kids to discuss the 2016 costume party. This most important discussion of our lives was going on between the concrete floor of our society terrace and the dark starry sky of the Universe.

As the discussion began to ferment into a sour debate over the themes that were flying around us like UFOs, a star winked at me.Yes winked not twinkled. The mischievous little ones up there were conspiring on a stupendous idea for the party, which, once was zeroed in on, was telepathi-ed to me with a wink.

...and on here on Planet earth we had our theme. Star Wars. The iconic phenomena which from generations have dazzled us was going to rule our costume party.

P.C. Storehp.com

The theme was instantly received with utmost gusto by everyone. Now our intelligent brains were weaving together ideas on the execution. Stuck again- I thought. The last thing I wanted was a regular costume drama going around when we had the nonpareil idea. We had to make it exceptional, had to make it a Star Wars escapade for everyone that night.

Something Galactic then awakened the forces inside me. This time by an ad which was aired that morning. A dark metallic rectangular notebook flashed before my eyes. The new Hp 6th generation Intel Core i5 processor; Star Wars Special Edition Notebook. Oh yes!!! The one that's been making news all over. The special star wars edition would make our regular costume party an Galactic Empire Inspired one. While my brother got busy making arrangements to shop for one, I sat down with others to list the maximum use of the fully armed and operational Notebook we could make.

            

Coruscant

The Decor: The entire terrace had to be transformed in a way that it would transpire the feel of the Force and its Galactic Empire into every soul present there. The set designs that feature in the Notebook would come so much handy here. We picked Coruscant as the principal planet.

Death Star

My favorite egg shaped Death Star would also make its presence felt.
   

At-Rt walkers

The Vehicles, like the At-Rt walkers would land up in the corners. A special corner for R2-D2 on the stage was fixed. It seemed we could bring in his sound from the Notebook.  

The characters: Darth Vader, the ultimate Sith was mostly chosen by all, but it was decided not more than three children can opt for it else the event would end up looking like the Sith's party and not Star Wars'. Surely it had awakened the Siths in the kids!Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, Qui-Gon Jin, Chief Jawa, Han Solo, The Emperor were picked next.

  

Darth Vader with Lightsaber

The Costumes: The Notebook offers designs on the costumes and hence, I knew it would be pretty easy to ensemble the entire cast if I had to.

The weapons: The lightsaber, the Ion blasters for the Jawa, Blaster pistol for Han Solo could be easily created. All we needed were the designs from the Notebook. 


  

Aurebesh

The invitations, the banners, would be typed and printed in the Aurebesh, the Galactic Based Standard Language, font which is loaded in the font library, with English subtitle underneath it.The Title theme track of the Star Wars and other tracks for every character and episode that would be showcased by the kids would be played from the Notebook ( yes! pre-loaded in it) all the time.

Woo-Hoo!!Star Wars Galactic Empire party it is. Now just awaiting my Hp 6th generation Intel Core i5 processor; Star Wars Special Edition Notebook.

         Meanwhile... I asked a DJ friend to help me arrange an assemble of StarWars title track and a few other tracks; the Darth Vader...The Imperial Attack...Cantina Band...and some such. From waiting for the Virar local, to boarding it, to securing a seat, till alighting at the destination has been giving me the experience of the galactic wars. Listening to the music would just temper the whole experience.

Ah! Here he comes, let me get to work with him on the music while you get your own Hp 6th generation Intel Core i5 processor; Star Wars Special Edition Notebook and #AwakenYourForce.

All the pics used in this post have been taken from wikipedia except the Hp Star Wars special Edition Notebook, which has been borrowed from storehp.com. 

The month of May!

Hello Hello Hello!

What a May I had! A day more for the scorching month to end. 
From meeting old friends to finishing up three short stories to catching flu after 7.5 years to missing my blog's anniversary and what not. Phew!! So much to tell.
okay, so where do I begin?

Guess, shouting and jumping and jigging should be in order. CoffeeBeans got featured on baggout's top 15 short story blogs of India. Eeeeeeehawww!! Lala laa lala  lalla lalalala....and my Fb blog page has more than 500 likes; 583 as wek speak.
 Ahhh!! And all this on it's 3rd bday month...awww...my baby is three now. They grow up so fast, don't they. *teary eyes*

I know I've been disappointing many by not being active much here...no excuses...no promises...but I just want to thank everyone who honestly appreciate whatever little writing skills I have. Tons of gratitude on your way!

Now for some more attention seeking news. I and mom were down with flu for a week. Poor dad had to put up with two demanding bong women at the same time without questioning. He cooked, kept tab on our medicines, kept us hydrated, smiled while we threw tantrums. Did I tell you I've a great dad who sometimes turn into Bhaskar's character from Piku minus the constipation hardship. 

This month is full of anniversaries. My parents celebrated their 38 years of togetherness. Two of my friends celebrated their silk anniversaries. Yeah I've learned some of the names of anniversaries. Paper, silk, iron, pottery, ivory. Before they reach the silver mark, they go through these. 

Anyhow, I'll now wrap up this post with a bow and a big thank you to Baggout for appreciating my blog. Do check the site. Yes I'm happy.

P.S. I badly need a hair cut. With it touching the small of my back, I feel like Rapunzel and the Bombay heat denies the pleasure of being the Disney princess. Was in the mourning period so, couldn't chop them. The period ends today.

P.P.S. I found a tiny little crawling white creature in a litchy. It looked cozy sitting inside the depression of the fruit. I discarded the fruit.

Ads More Twists To Life!

I'm such a naive soul. Tend to take things frighteningly seriously.
As a kid from the 80's I've had my horrors during showers. I with starry wide eyes looked for anyone watching. That's what happened in that badaa saabun ad. And though every soap ad had had a voyeur this one had a voice too. Ok, that was it, I didn't wait for the other shoe to drop, I had it clear at home, stomped my feet in the process and was ready with gallons of tears within me to shed, we weren't getting badaa sabun ever ever ever.
My perplexed parents assured me I was safe. I preferred the lemony fresh soap and hypocritically enough it's laalaalala- jingle never seemed a threat to me. On the contrary, I wished someone sang it, while I scrubbed myself with the soap, on my stead. Wishes! Sigh!
The horrors haven't ceased to haunt me even now when I've grown up. Each time I sprinkle namak or squeeze a nimboo I fear a certain Bollywood actress might drop from nowhere, literally, and lecture me on my wasting the ingredients on food which are so vital for our toothpaste.
A shiver runs down my spine for my future kids, they might have to do away with garam masala too and settle for bland food in the practice.

My future kids worry me, yes, and I'm not even married yet. Still looking...searching for the right guy you see. But how would I know he is the one?- I often asked my bedroom ceiling.
Then one fine day:
Voice over: Are you looking for prince charming?
I: Haan.
VO: Are you looking for happily ever after?
I: Haan.
VO: Are you looking for a fairytale?
I: Haan bhai haan!

The VO told me to look for a guy who would not compromise on the Kitchenware brand and I'll know for sure that he pyaars me when he won't inqaar from my beloved prestigious brand. And that will be my eureka moment, the moment to scream; Yehi hai right choice baby Ahaa!
He would be my neighbor's envy and my pride.

I bowed to the VO and gave it two thumbs up thus cheering on the advice it gave.
I was suddenly tad too thirsty. Thirsty for the thumbs reminded me of the ever so tempting thunder. But the chill climate killed my mood to taste anything toofani and I settled with water.
A tinie-minie dark particle was lazily floating in the water which I poured from my filter. Damn! I cursed myself with words that were banned in my house for not listening to the  advice on shudh paani. I made it a mission to get the purifier ASAP...before I'm made to drink tanks of water while getting sermonized on pure water.

So much of energy draining activity and the single digit temperature almost famished me.
Whenever hunger attacks me in this fashion my right hand automatically reaches for the 2 minutes noodles, which takes 9 minutes to cook and that was no exception that day either.
After gulping down the healthy, iron and vitamins se bharpoor noodles, my bong tongue threw tantrums for some meetha. Huh...the bahanes my tongue make to have some meetha. Iss mein doodh hi doodh hai, pyaar ka rang hai, achhe kaam ki shuruwat meethe se, and whatnot. Anyhow, I got some chocolates from the fridge and satisfied my bong tongue.

My phone buzzed. A reminder of a ppt I was to finish. Did I tell you I have a fabulous job. Well I do! I landed this job for my skills, confidence, talent, and my complexion, which is wheatish, shade number 6. I know if it were a lighter shade I would have been in my boss's chair or maybe even in the CEO''s if I were the fairest of them all...oh mirror on the wall!! What a tragedy I say!!

As I type these words and sip on my green tea, my ancestors thank the tea makers for unlike my can-be-never-changed complexion, at least by body is on the thinner side, to which my genetically high metabolism rate and a bit of disciplined lifestyle has almost nothing to do. Saves me so much gym ka kharcha. Oh that reminds me, my bestie is getting married next month. Awww!! Got much to do. To start with I've to bath in those milky, rosy soaps...buss zara sa rose...the bachpan ka laalalaa soap forgotten. Then buy a sexy trousseau and eat two bowls of corn cereals everyday to look sexier in that sexy chiffon. Clearly Green tea won't suffice.
Ahh! It would be so much fun. Mehendi, sangeet, shaadi, reception...chaar functions!! Ohh how can I forget ...haldi, the 5th one. My bestie-banno will be smeared with the turmeric infused ayurvedic, not cosmetic, cream. She'll look priceless. *teary eyes*

Uff!! So much to do and I'm wasting time here. You guys have fun with IPL I'll have with mine and might just know how to not get patronized by these creative ads. 

“I am joining in on all the Pepsi IPL action in my own style with the #CrashThePepsiIPL activity at BlogAdda.”


This Pepsi IPL, it's not just about cricket. It's time to crash with your own created ad! Make your own Pepsi ad & if it's chosen, it could play on TV during Pepsi IPL! And hey, it doesn't end here… Even if you're chosen as a finalist, you stand a chance of winning a prize amount of Rs.1 lakh! So what are you waiting for guys?

Ceremony of Happiness!

Entire two storey house was decorated with lights, colorful satin and zari drapes and marigold-ribbons. My cousin's wedding was going to be a splendid one. Perfection in every department was in demand by the bride and her father, my uncle, made sure the demand was met come what may.
Pre wedding rituals, her trousseau for each of those rituals, jewelry to match every outfit, hospitality towards the relatives who had come few days prior to the wedding, food, music, every little detail was being taken care of.

Three domestic helps of the family were asked to work overtime, to wait upon the guests. This was in addition to extra household chores that they were already doing. For which they were to earn additional money. However, the way the three were attending to every job assigned to them and often to what wasn't assigned, money seemed secondary to them. Having been serving the family for years they had by then become a part of the household and they were happily serving the extra hours. They took it upon themselves their individual responsibilities as if the bride was their own daughter.

One evening, two days prior to the wedding, everyone gathered in the living room. A gifting tradition was in order. In this tradition every close relative and friends are gifted clothing-sarees, salwar suits, kurtas; a gesture to thank them for being a part of the wedding ceremony.
The gifting was on and so was the artificial hackneyed line "Oh why me?" "There was no need." "Why the formality?"

While all this was happening, to everyone's surprise, my cousin called the three helps and each were given boxes that were beautifully wrapped in glossy papers just like the other wrapped gifts.
Ecstatic Shikha and Fatima found tussar sarees in their packets, while Mahesh was delighted to find silk kurta in his. The surprises didn't come to an end there. My aunt had gifts for their families too.

I saw a few expressions in the room which unabashedly screamed of disapprovals on such gesture, but those minuscule negative energies couldn't compete with the grand happiness that oozed out of Shikha, Fatima and Mahesh. They felt special, a feeling which was so rare for them, I thought. A smile was fixed on my face, it just felt so right.

My respect and love multiplied for my cousin's family and not to mention there were tons and tons of joy around us.That day I knew that all it takes is sprinkling of some fairy dust in someone's life and happiness in abundance showers around us.

  

Courtesy: india.com

“I am participating in the #DilKiDealOnSnapdeal activity at BlogAdda in association with SnapDeal.”

The Blissful Feast and Mithayis!!

The morning was a usual one, a leisurely Sunday 9.00 am with breakfast and newspaper and some family time. While I was digging into my protein induced meal, my parents were discussing the world and their inhabitants around our family. Not interested in the lead characters of the discussion I chose to concentrate on the headlines of the daily.

Moments later I realized the discussion had come to a halt. I looked up and found two pairs of questioning eyes darting towards me. Mom repeated the question which apparently didn't reach me on its first attempt for I was engrossed in those worldly headlines.

I was asked if I remembered that I had to sponsor bhog at our community club's temple with my first salary. A promise, mother had made to God when I was at interviews. A promise, I was aware of, something that all the ladies of the club made for their children without fail; a tradition had shaped up out of its own.

It never had fancied me though and ergo, the promise or its reminder did nothing to fan my enthusiasm for it. I had nodded my consent earlier but now my heart played a different harp.
The bhog, the blessed meal, would be served to people who are already well fed. People who fasted not because their pantry was empty but because they wanted to lose some kilos. People who never hesitated to throw away excess food they had on their plate out of miscalculation of the quantity. What was the point in feeding such stomachs when there were people famished for days? Such hunger does not occur out of choice. It’s a product that mushrooms out of poverty and its vicious circle.

I knew I had to follow my heart. I discussed my plan with my parents. They thought feeding unfortunate was a noble thing but one cannot back away from a promise either, especially one that made to God. Hence, it was decided I would share a feast with a local orphanage and would also sponsor the bhog.

The day of feast was magical. The warmth, the smiles, the happiness, all so contagious, filled my heart with joy and love. I did not attend the bhog though, which was organized the next day much to the chagrin of my family. I visited the orphanage in its stead, this time with mithayis. This to only witness and experience the smiles that played on their angelic faces. Was totally worth!!

 

Courtesy: India.com

“I am participating in the #DilKiDealOnSnapdeal activity at BlogAdda in association with SnapDeal.”