Rare Sighting!

We were on our way back home, on Sunday evening, after an outing, and we were passing the Royal Melbourne Hospital on our way. Traffic lights made us stop, and I spotted the whirring blades of a helicopter atop the hospital building. I knew at once it was an air ambulance. Being an avid viewer of Grey's Anatomy, Dr.House and others, does have its benefits. It was like film turning into reality. The GP, was game, and so he went across the road and parked for a bit, while we actually saw the air-ambulance take-off from the roof.

Here are some of the pictures, for you to enjoy.

That's when it was up there, flying away.

Been Long

Its been just so so long, that this space is seeming alien to me, as I type today. Just wanted to see, how it feels to type here. Sometimes, I cannot believe just how madly I loved this space, and would feel a day was wasted, if I did not look in here, and somehow, time, thoughts, willingness, nothing seem to bring me here of late. Not nice, I say. Why? Because I have made such such amazing friends from this space, that I would hate to let it go, and not nurture those wonderful relations.

So much that has happened in the past few weeks, and yet, I don't have the words to actually pen them down today. Just reeling from a sleepless night, last night, with the BB having high fever in the middle of the night, causing us to rush to the emergency room, spending the better part of the night there, and returning home, in the wee hours of the morning without a doctor having a look at the hot little boy of mine. Repeat drama from a few months back, if you ask me, just that the GP was around this time, to be part of it. The boy has not yet completely recovered, but the fever is under control, and that is about it.

Otherwise I feel terribly guilty about not brightening up my blog, working on it, with my heart and mind like I used too. I so so so, want to create a new header, a new look altogether maybe. But like so so so many things that I want to write about here, I don't know if and when the makeover actually will happen. Somehow I think my mind has become terribly dull, from the inactivity, or maybe its the gazillion fat cells I have piled on, over this long stretched out winters, packed indoors, the jaws always on overdrive. Its really disappointing being here now, after the immense hardwork I put in last year to get healthier, its downright depressing. Cold places are so so so not for me, I have just lost the ability to deal with low temperatures, and this being the BB's first one ever, he has been ill so so often, that I just huddle indoors with him all the more.

For a comeback, this is not really a cheerful post, but then this is what I have on my mind, and so I am just writing it out, instead of going on without posting. I hope I can get more regular again, because I do enjoy the mental stimulation of actually trying to string together my haphazard thoughts, and putting them down in the form of comprehensible sentences, though possibly semantically horrendous. So here, is a shout out to all my blog-world dosts, saying, 'I am still around!'.

A Couple Of Facebook Things

It is quite difficult to now imagine life, before the advent of blogs and Facebook, atleast for me. I know life was easier, more real, and there was much less strain on the eyes, but somehow the memories of it all have blurred now. Facebook seems such an easy place to connect, share, socialise. Anyone goes for a trip anywhere in the world, and I get to see what it was like, birthday celebrations, even gorgeous food cooked, I can see it all, from oceans and continents away. And yet the medium irks and amazes me all the time.

The feature that suggests friends, is fun, suddenly you see names, that tug at your foggy memory, and sometimes it clears up to show a name from the past. What I find really fun, is sometimes seeing the 'mutual friends' list. For someone who went to the same school or college as me, I would expect a list consisting of people from the same institution as mutual friends, and that is no surprise. Sometimes there are suggestions for people, whom I I have never known, and so I check if there are any mutual friends, since I cannot really trust my memory, whole and sole. And there in that list would be a friend from school, one from work, another I know through blogs, and just makes me wonder, if in fact there really is just six degrees of separation. And how in fact strangers are not really all that unknown to us.

And then there has to be something that really gets my goat ofcourse. I love, and I mean absolutely love seeing the photos of my friends on Facebook. But each time there is a new set of photos up there, and I comment on them, because I really cannot resist, or even 'like' them, my mailbox is them full of a million messages regarding every other comment on those photos that have followed mine. And then the 3 or 4 meaningful messages in my inbox, hidden within 50 from Facebook, often get overlooked or sent to the trash. When I comment on a photo, I don't have any desire to know who else did, unless the person whose pic it is, responds to the comment or someone directs something at me. I try resisting my comments, till a few days after the photos have been posted, but very very rarely succeed, and that means a huge deluge of notification mails will flood my Inbox unnecessarily. And I hate that.

Tell me people, all of those who use Facebook, do you love it, hate it, or like me find somethings nice, and some not so much about it.

Nothing To Write

Too Many Things On My Mind,
Yet, very little to do,
Blogging needs its own time,
The lack of which I rue.

The mind is confused,
My thoughts astray,
So what can I then write?
In my attempts to get inspired,
I end up with a more confused mind.

Its not that I have too much to do,
Nor that I am a busy bee,
But the mind is just not calm enough,
To get a post out of me.

At least I get to read the blogs,
Of those who have things to say.
And I feel thankful to the Lord,
That not every mind is rotting my way.

Snippets

Had been out for some groceries yesterday, and the Indian Store was the first place I went in. Below, is an ad placed on the outer wall of the store.

Accommodation Available
[details]
Only For Gujarati people.

I actually feel like calling up the provided contact number, and ask such people what is wrong with them, why did they step out of their village well at all?? We are half a world away from our country, and this person cannot do with just any Indian, but needs someone from a specific area. I have not put this up with any animosity towards gujaratis, because in the above ad, the 'gujarati' could well have been any other location/caste/religion preference. It just makes me feel sad and infuriated.

Just want to quote a comment by Soin, on one of my earlier posts here, and all I can say is I cannot agree more .

"its good to know our indians have not given up the indianess in them.even after going to a different continent they still hold up our traditions of sectism,castism and all those.soon shiv sena will have a wing there and claim sydney should allow only marathi inidians coz the first indian immigrant there was a marathi.i love my country."

So true, and so sad is our reality.

=====

On a happy note though, while we stood for billing on the counter at our regular supermarket, the woman just ahead of us handed us a 10% discount coupon for the same store. She said, that she had two of them and could use only one, so she gave the other one to us. It is like one of those out of the blue lucky things that happen isn't it? I am still smiling about it, while the GP laments not having larger figures on the bill. God bless the woman.

Something From The Past, In The Present

In her recent post, Piper talks about being naughty, doing the forbidden. I believe the definition of naughty or for that matter the forbidden is quite relative. While it would be forbidden for one woman to even mention she ever had a boyfriend, to the man she marries, others would rattle on and on about all their previous relationships, some would consider it sin to even think of another man/woman post being in a commitment, others would gladly go out and flirt/date/have an affair on the sly, without any guilt. Eventually its our own mind which tells us whats acceptable or not. And we feel guilty only when we do something that our own conscience says is wrong. But here I completely digress from what I set out to write about.

When I was a teenager, in high school, it was quite the in-thing to get hold of the phone numbers of people you had a crush on, and call them up with fake personalities. Crank calls, is what they were called, and they worked because it was the era before cell phones, or even caller-id. One of my friends even managed to get together with the guy she had been having the most massive crush on for ages. We never got it, because she actually looked like a doll, and the guy was a loser in every sense of the word, looks, personality, potential. And yet again I am off on a tangent, teen- age years give us so much to reminisce about.... However getting back to the point. There was this school hunk a couple of years my senior, who was one of the hottest guys in school, lets call him, CG. I think the hallways filled up with drool, each time he passed by.

As you may have guessed by now, this guy was my huge massive crush too, and obviously he was not aware of my existence. For the record, mine was one of the most populated high schools of the country. As always happens in those years, I managed to get his phone number, and high on the rush of hormones, did call him up one day. Not too surprisingly, the Mooney eyed me, kept calling, even after and a period of over two years we became friends. I think CG knew, that I very obviously had a crush on him. He was the kind of guy, who had girls drooling all over him, and he had the attitude to boot. We used to have these marathon conversations over the phone, talking about pretty much everything under the sun. Over a period of time, he began confiding in me, a bit here, a bit there, and the friendship blossomed. It was no longer just me calling him, but he called up too, we would talk a lot. And I pretended in my mind that we were not just two people talking on the phone, without having ever come face to face. Then I went away to college, the calls became few and far between, we stayed in touch on and off. I would give him a call when I came home for my holidays, we would chat up the few days I was there. Long distance calls never really happened, and then over a period of time, it all waned off, and we got out of touch.

During the period of time we were actively friends, and even later after that, I had an image of a matured, sensible and sensitive guy of CG. I was definitely blinded, because we all knew he changed girlfriends at the drop of a hat, and that did not really define sensitive. The crush obviously waned off, as I grew up , and realised we are mentally worlds apart. And life went on. He became a friend, I had never met, and gotten out of touch with. About a year back, I went back and checked the inbox of one of my older mail-ids, and what do I see, a mail from CG. Surprised, I open it to find an advertising mail, which I could not make head or tail of. I mailed him back asking him what this was about, and generally enquiring about his well being. A few mails were exchanged in the process. And what followed, made me realise, why we would never have remained friends, even we had not fallen out of touch.

As we got on to catching up over the mails, he could not stop talking about himself. He had joined his family business as soon as he was out of school, and that is what he was still doing, he was in the city he had been from the day he was born, and doing what he had been doing from day one. In the mails, he told me he was now married, and had a baby girl. Obviously I congratulated him, and asked him their names etc etc. What surprised me about his reply, was that he just continued talking about himself, telling me how much he loved his daughter, and how from the casanova that he used to be, he was not converted into a protective father.... ya da yada yada, and it was all nice, and friendly, but what i observed was, that not even as common courtesy did he enquire about me or my life. Parents usually always ask about each other's kids. I am yet to meet a person with a child who would enquire about mine, if they knew I had one. So this really surprised me, that he did not even ask me how old the BB is or even as much as his name. I told him I lived in Sharjah, and he said, he had a friends who were living there, but had moved to Dubai, because they found xyz problem with Sharjah. And so it went. Losing any common ground to discuss, I made small talk, by saying, he was lucky to be rooted in one place, while I was all over everywhere since I left school. He sent me pity in reply, saying I should not mind as long as I am making money. It just kept getting worse with each mail. While it is OK if someone brags, or loves talking about himself, and I need to maintain contact for work, but I cannot really be friends with such a person. And there is no other reason I would be in touch with him. I then also found out, that he had been regularly dropping in and checking out one of my social-networking site profiles. But he never left a message. And it just got stupid. Maybe he expected me to be a stupid teenager gaping at him. Vain! I think the last mail I sent him was quite a tiny curt one, and communication froze at that.

But what really caught my attention in all of this, was how as a teenager, I had been so awed by him, that I had possibly not observed any of these qualities about him. Or maybe had changed over the years (find that unlikely though!). Whatever it was, I didn't like the kind of person he appeared to be at the present time, and left it that. But I really believe I have not really interacted at a personal, human level with anyone who is so completely vain,arrogant and self-absorbed. To think I once had this huge crush on me, really makes me wonder what was wrong with me. I will just blame it on the raging hormones, and thank God, I had my sensible, thinking wits around me, when I met the GP, hormone rush or not.

What Matters, Or What Counts!

I have low retentivity of things. This is something I have realised of late. Had the realisation been allowed to hit me earlier, my career choices and path might have been completely and totally different. Its not that I don't remember anything, or nothing stays with me, but its just that, for the life of me, I cannot retain what is in text books, or things I need to study or things that I don't take a liking to. Photographic memory is a long long shot away, but its the simple remembering things that I have read once, that I terribly lack. I do remember my Harry Potter stories well, or for that matter my Sidney Sheldons, but talk about chemical reactions, or the syntax of Java, and you will draw a pure blank out of me.

I know, its quite natural for us to retain what interests us, what matter to us, but the inability to absorb and retain the TCP/IP protocols, in one read just meant extra work for me during college, when the exams neared. And no matter how much I hate to admit it, mugging is what I had to eventually resort to in most cases. For even though I could understand things, I did not really remember them well, because it did not really matter to me. Fortunately mathematics, was not something that completely went out of my brain when I shut the book, else I would have been sitting and going the rote way on that too, like so many other friends, who literally mugged up their sums.

The reason, I write about this today, is because I was thinking about a teacher of mine from school, one who taught us social sciences, civics and economics to be precise. Pretty much everyone in school adored her, she was not a super friendly teacher, but she had a charm and panache about her. I so so wanted to be like her, in the years she taught me. In class 8, she taught us Civics. It was a fun subject, because it used our sensibilities, and she had interactive sessions in her classes. The subject was about society, and life in it. It spoke of educating women, children, reservations, need for population control and things like that. Most of it did not need text book teaching, and she taught us in a way which made us think. In those times, we had tests each Monday, which basically meant a non-existent weekend, and two days spent preparing for the most hated event of the school week. My education, school, scores, were pretty much the central character of existence in my family.There was little else I did, and little else, I was supposed to even think about. So these tests and their evaluations were more than mere face value at my place. Hence a hawk eye was maintained on me over the weekends to ensure I was studying hard enough. Strangely, this one Sunday we went to my aunt's place in the middle of the afternoon, and were there till late night. Mostly that meant I barely studied for the test on Monday. Fortunately it was a Civics test, that Monday, and not too surprisingly, I aced it, I was the top scorer of my class, which had supremely brilliant students, who have proven their academic worth much much better than me in life. And yet, I say, non-surprisingly here, because I simply enjoyed learning what the subject entailed. I did not need rote in this case. I could write a 25 point answer on 'Why Women In India Need To Be Educated?', without needing to memorise anything at all. Because I felt for the cause, and because it was something that touched my heart. So that basically meant, I could function my brain, but only when I enjoyed doing so.

However, the point remains, that my retentivity, for facts, figures, rules, equations and all things like that is abysmal, to put it lightly. I see that everyday. I read my camera manual, and forgot most functions, had to refer back to it quite a few times, to get how it worked, since the GP came up with pure hostility when requested to help.(His logic, learn it yourself.) If I read a book, that is not a story or a novel, its unlikely I will have even a bit of it registering my mind, once I put it down. The same goes with news articles, the once in a rare while I do go through them. And yet, somehow I have a head for figures, no not figures about the area of a country or population of a state, but about money spent, or the tax calculations, or other things related to money. Quite the money hungry sucker am I, isn't it?But why feign nonchalance, money definitely does matter to me.

At the end of the day, I believe I retain what interests me, or what matters to me. Very typically feminine, I never forgets events of incidents that I can use against the GP, in future wars. I remember most stories I have read till date. And yet I so envy the people who have a brain for the technical and the factual stuff. People who never forget the syntax of a programming language once they have learnt it, or chemical equations, or facts and figures they may have casually read somewhere, and can rattle it off anytime, anywhere. For the life of me, I can never remember these things. Thank dear God, my academic days are behind me, and I no longer need to retain what is completely mundane to me. Why is it not worthy enough, to remember stories or events or the grocery bill figure. Why can I not use them as a professional skill? And for all those of you, who can get it all in one read, here is me, expressing my unabashed admiration. And if you have a trick up your sleeve, please do share!

Somethings On My Mind

1. Time is flying have to get the breakfast ready, and wake up the BB.

2. Its getting really cold here, how will I manage when the real winters hit? Its nearly 9 and the temperature is just 11 degress. Brrrrrr...

3. I want to go shopping, with someone else's credit card.

4. Why am I not finding the sideboard I want ??

5.Have a lot of cooking to do today.

6. The BB starts off with his art factory sessions today. Should be fun.

7. I have to do three more posts, if I want to go without a break this month. Give me ideas please!

Moving and Baking Don't Mix

OK, so this is final. I am never shifting without every little thing of my house coming right with me. Why, you ask? Simply because it means I cannot bake decent cakes for like an eternity after a shift. When I was in India, I could just go to the local grocer and tell him to pack me the ingredients in exactly the amount I needed. So it was pau kilo maida, pau kilo cheeni and so on.(*pau kilo - 250 gms). At home I never had to bother with the measuring or weighing, the ingredients were always in right proportions and life was good. Nearing Christmas, the local supermarkets even stocked up baking ingredients in smaller portions.

Then we shifted. In Sharjah, I could find nothing in packs of less than 1 kg. I never bought a kitchen weighing scale, because I just find it too pretentious. I tried to get the proportions right and messed up each time.I did not bake for a year. In fact just before the Christmas of 2008, I desperately tried, every option, the microwave, the pressure cooker, the oven I had brought from India, the gas oven in my kitchen there, and even bought a new electric oven to do it. Everything fell absolutely flat on its face. I got textures ranging from custard to halwa to rock hard, and everything else you can imagine. Then it took an epiphany, and a baker friend's recipe to guide me to try a measuring cup to get proper quantities, and what do you know, it worked like magic. Once again, I had a measuring cup at home, the one with came with my rice cooker. Don't think I would have bought one, because I just find it too 'fancy'. And I was back to baking well.

And then I shifted again. No measuring cup, no local grocer to weigh my stuff for me, and one gross cake is what I make. I hate it, absolutely hate it. This is simply unfair. Each time I move, my baking suffers, and just because I no longer have with me the things that make it work for me. And so I declared to the GP yesterday, that I am not moving anymore. However may I just add, the big ego boosting factor was that the BB did enjoy the cake, and asked for some more. But I for the life of me, don't know why.

And add to that the woes of new, unknown varieties of onions, potatoes and some more. The onions just don't make for the kinds I am used to in my salads, or sides. I like the Indian onions. Maybe they are not of great quality or breed, but that is what I am used to, and I miss them, I miss them so so bad. Atleast in Sharjah, they were available. Why do there have to be so so many types of onions for God's sake? And I miss veggies, you know the kinds that can be prepared as sabzi(curry). Bored with the same set of 4-5 veggies that can be prepared like curries being available, and I am in no plan to completely change to eating veggies only as salads, I like mine cooked, complete desi style, spicy tadka et all.

So well that is what it is out here with my food related woes. Otherwise, the place is treating me well, I am liking it quite a bit. All I need now, is to learn to drive, and if the GP pushes me hard enough, I may just go ahead and do it.

PS - Did I mention how I am managing without any parlour visits so far. The threading ritual every fortnight is not happening, so its all about my own efforts to keep myself presentable. Not a great success, but tagging along somehow.

New Place, Same Goofy Me!

The city of Melbourne and its suburbs are said to have a great network of public transport, consisting of buses, trams and the metro. You simply go to a website, put in your address, the place where you want to reach, and it chalks out an entire travel plan for you. Is that not cool, I thought to myself. What did I know then, that I was just challenging fate, trying out things too soon, to do it right, being my clumsy, goofy self.

So here I was on a bright afternoon, out with the BB to meet a friend and her daughter, in the heart of the city. The route was simple enough. Straight down my street, I had to reach the tram station, get in, and it would take me exactly to where I needed to go. The GP told me to carry a lot of coins, because I would require them to purchase my ticket, and to take a full day ticket, which is like a whole days pass to travel by the trams.Good enough. I start walking, miss a couple of stops, and end up walking a lot of extra distance getting to the 3rd closest one to me. Wait for the tram, it comes, I get in, and then I don't know how to get the ticket. To me, a bus has a conductor selling tickets, and he asks you what stop, tells you the fare, you pay him, he gives you the ticket. And that's it. But in a country that is far too technologically advanced for the half-witted me, and where manual labour pays more than blue collar jobs, there was no conductor. There were some validation machines, but I had nothing to be validated. Feeling like a complete fool, i went to the driver and asked him for a ticket. he told me to go to the big machine at the back and get it. I go back, and still don't spot it easily. All this time I am holding onto the BB's hand, balancing his stroller, and hoping for dear life that I don't fall in the moving tram and look like a complete fool. So I manage to find the machine, enter the numerous details it needs, some based on pure guess work, and it asks me to put in the required amount in the slot machine.I did not have enough change, so ended up paying a few cents extra. Got my ticket and went and sat down. Called up the GP to boast about my great triumph at managing all of this too. And thank the lord who looks after children, that BB managed to be too happy/overwhelmed/ashamed of being with an inept woman for a mother, to not get upset or want something, or do anything crazy. I had to get off at the last stop, so that definitely did not need much of a genius I figured, and relaxed into my seat. The BB happily looking out of the window, I picked out something to read.

What I did not know then, was that this was just the start of my adventure. A few stops along the way, climbed in too men. I did not see them, because I was too deep into my reading, I just realised that someone came and sat in front of me, and adjusted the stroller, to make better space. Look up to see a man, who wore nothing on the upper half, was sweating like a pig and was constantly hitting himself. Before I could register it all, his friend pulled him up, he touched my head and walked off. Wow! I did not even realise what happened. I don't think anyone else on the tram cared, and as long as he went away, I kept quiet. But this man was mad, he got upto all kinds of antics post this, and pretty much all other passengers were upset. And then suddenly an announcement, saying the next stop would be the last stop, and the tram would not go further. It did not seem like a final stop or the end of tracks, and I was confused, but got off the tram with everyone else. And realised it was somewhere in the middle, there had been an accident ahead, and the trams could not go any further. So what do you think I do? I had no idea where I was. Fun is it not, first day out on my own, and I don't know where I am. I asked around, and a sweet guy, forthcomingly came forward and told me that I just needed to walk straight ahead for about a kilometre and I would get to where I needed to be. And that is how, walking down the road, I reached my destination

The return was a lot better, because the journey itself was uneventful, except that I got off a few stops too early. Waited at the same stop, for the next tram, hopped on and got off where I need to, and then walked back home from there.

And then the very next day, there is some more travel fun. I visit a friend's place for lunch. She is about two kilometres from my place, and so I walk down, have some lunch, chat up and leave. I strap the BB onto his pram, plug in some soul rendering music from Wake Up Sid, into my ears and start to get back home. And what do you know after about twenty minutes of walking I realise I have no idea about where I am. Pancic. Panic some more. Look around. A board with the street name. Uh-oh! I did not take the first turn I had to, and continued unabated on the street on which my friend lives. Can I please blame this one on Shankar Ehsaan Loy, because their music just left me day dreaming, humming along? Coming back to my predicament, I realise that I just did not want to walk all the way back now, because that would mean first covering back these twenty minutes and then another thirty minutes or so to home. I spot a bus-stop nearby, call my friend, get the details, and wait for the bus. It comes, I get in, again problem with the ticket. There is no ticket vending machine in the bus. Here, I have to buy it from the driver. I ask him for one, he is rude, and tells me to carry change next time. I tell him, I had no plans of taking a bus today. I tell him what stop I need to get off at, and go and sit. When we start nearing my stop, I stand up, only to see a big 'No Standing' written on the floor. All confused, I sit back down, thinking he would stop it at the stop, esp since I have told him where I need to get off. Well what do you know? He does not stop it, I go running to him and say, "I had to get off there", and pat comes the reply, "Well, you missed your stop." and he just goes on. Normally it would have been ok, but missing my stop, which is the last one on my street means, I go across the highway/freeway to the next stop. That means I cannot walk back, and have to again take a bus to get back to my stop. So I get off at the next stop, and so does an older man with me. I look across the street, and there is no bus stop there. So? How do I get back. I ask the man, and he tells me, buses going either way, come on the same side at this stop, and he told me which one to get on. Then he nicely looked up the time table, and his watch and said the next one might take a while, basically 15-16 minutes. He knew what happened back in the bus, because he was sitting upfront, and I guess he is a regular traveller of that bus, because he told me, that particular driver was a bit rough and rude. I thanked him profusely and he went his way.

And you would think it was just one stop now, and I was home right? No! I took the right bus, but gave wrong stop-name. Know why? Because the names of the stop on one side of the road do not match those across, basically because they are the names of the streets which lead inside. And how was I to know that? The driver this time round, however was a pleasant man, and he stopped at the next stop for me, which meant a little more for me to walk, but I reached home all the same,just a little worse for wear. So that was how my first two attempts at going places in my own have turned out. Am I daunted? Hell no! Because I have learnt, some, and I am sure I can do a lot better next time, and only if I keep doing it, will I get the hang of it isn't it? Surprisingly though I have never got lost, or gone the wrong place ever before, not even when I was new to Bombay and had just started traveling on my own, local trains and all.

A few things that I really liked, during these two trips, was that people around the place are very forthcomingly helpful when they see you with a child. Getting onto public transport with a stroller, and a child, would invariably mean people would help without even asking or expecting a word of thanks,. It almost seemed like a norm. Coming from Bombay locals, where heavily pregnant women stand through long journeys in crowded trains, and young students or women who have been there themselves, just sit in their seats, not giving relief to the women for a second, this was really amazing to me. A man even offered me his seat in the tram, when I was returning, since it was quite crowded and I was with the BB. When we were dropped off mid-way, because the trams could not go further, I was all bewildered, and even without me asking, people came and asked me where I wanted to go, and offered me directions. The guy who really guided me in detail, was an Indian, I believe a student out with his friends, and he did so his own, without my asking. I mentions Indian here, because I would never expect teh same courtesy back in India, atleast not proactively done. And that was indeed nice.

Just wanted to share my crazy adventures on the blog, and hence this overly long post!

What Did You Think?

Any ideas now on what it is?

Look around the 'picture' and you have hints abound.

Got it?

It is in fact a chalk drawing/sketching by man you can see on the left hand side. The purple bowl is kept there, for people to drop in money. I don't know if and what famous painting has been replicated, but the man was just sitting by the busy roadside, and drawing them with chalk. I have seen people do pencil sketches/ portraits of people for money, outside the Jehangir Art Gallery in Bombay, or a few malls in Sharjah/Dubai. But this man just seemed to be doing it because he was enjoying it, and the little tips he was getting (or not), did not seem to concern him one bit.

It just caught my eye, the moment I saw it on the busy roadside of the main business district in Melbourne. I just stood there, and adored the work for a while, then took permission from the sketch artist and clicked a few photos. I just wanted to show it to everyone of you, but did not wish to do it straight up, and after a lot of thought, asked you to guess, what it is. I am neither a great artist, nor do I know much about art, but this man, his sketching nonchalantly , by the side of the busy street, and the breathtaking beauties of his work, there was no way I could pass it by without registering it in my mind. Gorgeous wouldn't you say?

Do you see the artist at work on another piece? Just rotated the previous photo, to give you a better view.

The man deep into work on another sketch.

MRC, yes yes yes, you got it right. But how? How did you guess? Are you an artist yourself? I was so so surprised when I read your comment, how on earth did you know? I don't have any prize to give, but if you would like, I can make a header for your blog, as in photoshop something for you, to the best of my ability, let me know if you would like it. And now everyone please applaud MRC for her correct answer, and I am really waiting to know how she got it!

PS - Trishna, thanks for not telling. She was the one I was out with.

Guess!

This is something I came across today. Can anyone tell me what it is, or any other details, like where I saw it? Better still, if you see this, just tell me whatever comes to your mind about it. If it is a famous painting, which it most likely is, I have no idea about it, so if you know, do enlighten me. I would really love it if everyone who sees this, takes a guess, and see if any and then how many of you guess correctly.

The details will be up in my next post.

Hint - It is something exceptional, and that is why I clicked it.

PS - Based on the two comments I have so far, I don't think I put my question out clearly enough. What I would like you to guess is, where could I have seen this thing, like do you think its a poster or something? I hope I am clearer in expressing myself now.

The Three Connect

How do you decipher this?

The BB turned 3 on the 3rd of this month.
We are a family of 3.
We use the mobile services of 3.
We invited 3 families for the BB's birthday party.
There were 3 kids in the party.
This is the 3rd country we are living in.
The organisation GP works for is the 3rd one he has joined.
This year is numerologically a 3. (2+0+1+0 = 3)

So what do you make of this? It as a fun discussion with friends, when I said, how the BB is turning 3 on the 3rd, and then suddenly there was an avalanche of threes. And we realised that we have a lot of '3' in our lives right now, wonder what that means though. Any numerologists out there reading this???

Not the post I had in mind to start the year, but this was the best I could do to break the blogger's block. Wish you all a very very very Happy New Year.

A Little Hello

This is not a post, atleast not a decent one. This is just a little note, to say hi to all the usual readers and friends, wishing them a very very good New Year, and hoping they had a nice Christmas too. I am finally in my new home, its lovely, but I have a long long way to go in settling in, it takes a while to feel at home in a new home isn't it? I have loads to share, about the last few days in India, the journey( which was not so nice, since the BB did not take all the long hours of flying too well.) and then ofcourse the experience it has been since I got here, where all shops close at 5pm and the sun sets way past 8pm, the temperature is 40+ one day and down to 17 the very next. Taking it all in and trying to feel at home, is what I am doing right now. I don't really know when, right now, so will not make any false promises here, but I will be back to blogging.

PS - Replying to comments is pending, and I will do that too, just not right now. Thanks everyone, who had lovely things to say on the last post and for everyone who wished the BB to get well.

Did I Miss The Memo?

..... which said slips have gone out of style? Just wondering, because I see way too many women with way too transparent clothes, without any decent innerwear these days. From the sheerest of of gorgettes, to the leanest of linen is what I see used as tops with just the bra underneath. Transparency somehow just looks sluttish, atleast to me, an open cleavage, or a high hemline is much preferred for a sexy look. I am no fashion guru, but to me, see-through is just trashy, not stylish. Or maybe I am too old-fashioned and out of touch with modern civilisation, but I still think I have missed a link somewhere, because not too long ago, I think women wore a lot more inner wear than they do now.

What An Amazing Sight!

We were driving around, in Dubai in the afternoon today with a friend, , and this sight quite took our breath away. Its the dream turning into reality, for people who own a place in Burj Dubai, the tallest building in the world, living in the clouds. The clouds stand somewhere in the middle of the building, surrounding a few floors. It was just such an amazing sight. A gorgeous, goodbye view from the city I believe!

Looks amazing isn't it?

That is the entire building, and you can see exactly where the clouds touch the building along its length.

Could not resist sharing this one.

When The Words Just Don't Flow

I want to write something, but cannot. I have a few post ideas in mind, but they are just not translating into posts. I am either too sleepy, or too diverted to post anything coherent and sensible these days. Hope its just a phase, that passes away very very soon. Till then this space is likely to remain as is. And honestly I am not enjoying this at all.


Today is a special day, because its the birthday of a very very dear friend, Roop, she has practically stopped blogging, but remains a great friend none the less. Cheers to you Roop, on this special day, and wish you a grand a wonderful year ahead. Go on and flood her almost dead blog with your lovely wishes. :)

Huh?

Oh! How this would crush all the Indian wants of the chubbiest baby possible. A four month old baby in the US was denied Health Insurance because he was deemed too fat. It would be worth a good grand laugh, if it were not so completely absurd. And the only reason it possibly worked was because it was in the US. In India, imagine that happening?

Ever since the BB was born, I have constantly been bearing the brunt about his weight and eating habits. The initial months as a new mother was extremely tough for me, as I would doubt myself. A certain relative, always wanted me to feed him till he puked, and was constantly grumbling about how I eat good(read spicy) food and feed the BB, (a mere six months at that time,) bland things. The hilarity of it all puts a smile on my face now, when I can picture feeding some spicy mutton roast to my six month old, just-on-solids baby, but back then it used to just get on my nerves.

(Pic Courtesy: blogs.babble.com)

Getting back to the news, it might have been just an excuse for the Insurance Company to make some money, but the excuse does not get any more strange. Little Alex seems like quite an average four month old from the photo, so I indeed wonder if the Company wants super-model like size sero figures right from birth. It would change the entire concept of pregnancy, a woman would need to starve instead of eat through it. Alex's father, Bernie's statement was just perfect for the situation.

“I could understand if we could control what he’s eating. But he’s 4 months old. We can’t put him on the Atkins diet or on a treadmill,” Bernie joked. “There is just something absurd about denying an infant.”

In a world that is actually going crazy, and where little seems to be done for any purpose besides making money, when there is little sense or logic to actions, this piece of news really makes me wonder, how absurd can absurd get?

Intellectualism, Just Not My Cup Of Tea

Or simply put, I am as shallow as a chopping board. Yes that is me. Anything remotely intellectual does not interest me, I love all things that are classically described as pursuits of the stupider kinds. I hate newspapers and news. I have barely any clue of what is going on in and around the world, and have absolutely no views on the world economic crisis, except the one that any average mind would have.

I prefer Sidney Sheldon and Jeffrey Archer to Milton and Shakespeare. I absolutely love Hindi Filmy music, and have gone into the recesses where I am not even aware of the recent English releases. I don't listen to Classical music. I have no knowledge of art, beyond knowing about 'Madonna' and 'The Last Supper'. The words, Rembrandt or Monet might actually be brands of chocolate according to me. I neither know, nor understand them. I do not pursue any art form, nor do I grasp astro-physics well. My only claim to fame is I can add up numbers decently enough to not need a calculator while doing my bhaaji shopping(buying vegetables). Once upon a time I was a great sports enthusiast. As a teenager, I waited each edition of Sports World with bated breath. Savoured every article and delicately preserved the poster of each edition under my mattress. My favourite stars went up on the walls of course. Over a period of time, I have lost that passion too. I cannot think of a single bit of me that would classify me as an intellectual. I even enjoy cheap Hindi comedy flicks. I do enjoy some serious movies too, but even there I hated the much applauded 'Black'.

So what do you make of me. I enjoy shopping, like dressing up, and enjoy nothing serious. Makes me a really shallow and non-intellectual being does it not? But somehow I am happy being this way. I cannot hold great discussions on world politics, but I can always lend my shoulder to a friend who needs to rest it, I love being there for people who just need to talk, or even just sitting in a crowded place and observe people. I love people, seeing them, observing them, reading them, and most of all, help in a very humane way, anyone I can. I am not observant or smart about anything else in life but people. So what does that say about me, I don't really really know yet.

I do feel like an idiot when I read the smart informed blogs, or hear people talking about things that are universally defined as intellectual. All my childhood, I have been living under the shadow of intellectualism, and a deep desire in my parents that I develop the trait. I never did. I hated it then, and I don't like it now either. I hated it because it never appealed to me, but there was constant pressure to adapt to it. I never could do it. I was never interested in picking up the newspaper, inspite of much coaxing by my parents. I did it for a few months during the preparations for my MBA entrances, and dropped it as soon as I could. I preferred a Reader's Digest or a piece of fiction over the news any day. I still admire people who have genuine interest in the news, state of affairs, astro-physics, art, classical music, serious cinema and all else. I admire them, because I just cannot develop the skill to interest myself in these things, and honestly I don't grasp it well either. That is what it is about interests isn't it, what we enjoy is what we pursue. And I am happy pursuing, my small shallow pursuits.

So does that make me a person without any views or opinions, a moron and someone not worth her salt. I would hope not, because what I think, I do with passion. My thoughts and interests have more to do humanely than objectively. To me art is anything that pleases my eye. Music is what makes me move to its beats, with lyrics I understand and appreciate. I love colours, and happiness, brightness and joy. I seek it instinctively, I have to train myself to watch, read or see things that have a feeling of moroseness attached to them. I am passionate, but not about the stock market details or geo-politics. I am passionate about kindness to animals, loving children, loving fellow human beings. And happy being what I am. I don't shy away from saying I don't know something when I don't. I never pretend to be knowledgeable about things I am not, and it would suffice to say I am comfortable in my own shoes.

If you need an ear to hear you out, or shoulder to lean on, I am always there, but if you are seeking intellectual stimulation, or a deep appreciation of art, mine will be the wrong door to knock on.

And in furthering the small joys in life which keep me happy, I am sharing a photo of the motorbike, with the BB standing alongside. The flowers were part of the Dussehra celebrations. The gorgeous thing turned eleven this year, and is yet up, running and rearing to go. (No jokes about it would be tolerated. This particular piece of machinery has a special place in my heart!)

And When I Had Forgotten About Power-Cuts

Yesterday, we had two and half hours of power cut. The first time in the last one and half years I have been here. The entire city got phases of power cuts, and the reason was either maintenance or setting up of the light decor for Ramadan. Whatever the reason, it was quite a surprise when off when the power late afternoon, and I realised how ill-prepared I am, to actually face a power cut. I don't have anything but a couple of birthday candles, not even a torch, an emergency light is just too much to expect. How easy it is to get used to comforts. It has not even been two years since I left the land, where we were doomed to over six hours of daily power cuts and were forever prepared. Almost ever home had an inverter and there were powerful torches on the ready if we needed to step out post dark during the power cuts. And here, I have nothing, literally nothing to even combat the darkness if needed.

Also missed out on my post lunch quota of peaceful net surfing, and with no TV either, I realised how much I take these things for granted now. Spent the time lulling around. Tried to sleep for a bit, but the BB was in no mood for the same. Called up or messaged almost everyone I could, to tell them we were having a power cut. People expressed concern, and it felt strange, because I was just excited about having a power cut, where I have never faced any. Also reminded me of the times when we used to have power cuts, without inverters or emergency lamps, but just the candles, family and friends to pass the hours, till the power was restored. How have power cuts now become a norm instead of an exception in India now? Is that progressing or regressing?