First Sight

Jan 31, 2004

The day had finally arrived for her.
She was going to meet him for the first time. She had only heard about him from her parents and common relatives. She had only seen his photograph. But today she would be meeting him face to face.

The day had finally arrived for him. He was going to meet her for the first time. He had only heard about her from his parents and common relatives. He had only seen her photograph. But today he would be meeting her face to face.

She was only slightly nervous. She had earlier decided that she would take the day as it came.
He was nervous. He had earlier decided what he wanted to converse with her.

She was going to meet that person who could be her lifelong soul mate.
He was going to meet that person with whom he could be sharing the rest of his life.

Both of them had their fears. Both of them had their reservations. He was frank about it to himself, deciding with himself that he had to approach this appropriately.
She kept her thoughts away from herself, convincing herself that it would go on smoothly. But she knew she wasn't sure.

He entered the room with his parents. She dared not look at him just then. What if his parents wouldn’t think highly of her if she did? But she did not stop from stealing a glance.
She stood up along with her parents when he entered the room. He wanted to look at her. And he did. ‘Stole a glance’ was more like it.

Her heart missed a beat when she saw him. His heart was beating faster than he ever remembered.

Five minutes later they were ushered into another room so that they could talk to each other 'alone'.

She had heard that he was ‘intelligent, cultured and a very very nice boy’. What if he turned out to be ‘intelligent, cultured, a very very nice boy minus fun and naughtiness’?
He had heard that she cherished her family values. What if she turned out to be homely and cultured minus wit and vibrancy’?

They entered the room. She expected him to start talking in their mother tongue. And to ask questions like how-are-you?-uh-my-name-is-uh- and so on.
He wasn’t really expecting her to start the conversation, which was ok, but didn’t know if he could expect an answer in fluent english.

‘Before we start, there is one thing I’d like to ask, are you under any pressure?’ He asked with ease.
Her heart smiled at his fluency.
'Absolutely not’, She assured him.
His heart smiled at her crisp answer.

And they started off. All nervousness – real and virtual, disappeared. Inhibitions went for a toss. They hit off like they knew each other for ages. The conversation was lively, just the way both of them truly wanted but hardly expected...

...And my hubby and I are living happily. Now and ever after :)

Dho(ni) Daala

INDIA HAS A NEW HERO!

Gilchrist was my favourite player. Not anymore! Dhamakedaar Dhoni has pushed him off that position with his rock n roll.

Not withstanding the fact that Gil is an awesome wicket keeper, he is a stupendous hitter and starts the Aussie innings with - what else – a BLAST!
And here we have Dhoni who is not just an awesome wicket keeper but is also a stupendous hitter who ends the Indian innings with - what else – a BLAST!

Dhoni is the new poster boy !

Spit Spat

You might have blasted a stranger before. I did just that today. Yes, I blasted a stranger.

I was standing near the bus stop on the busy Sampige road waiting for my husband to pick me up. I was looking around at people shopping, walking dogs and was generally passing my time. I also noticed a man sitting by a shop with his head buried in a newspaper. Suddenly the man stood up. He walked towards the road. He spat. A dirty spat. Right on the road. He went back and nonchalantly continued reading the newspaper, like he just drank water and came back.

Of course I was angry. Now, there were two things I could do.
1. I could ignore the whole thing.
2. I could take action.

If I'd opt for the first one, I'd lose the opportunity of blasting someone :). If I'd take action, two things could happen.
1. He'd yell back at me, create a scene and his friends around could join in.
2. He'd comply and I'd feel great about what I did.

I decided to do the latter. The fact that he was thin and possibly couldn't do much harm helped a great deal. Ofcourse, looks can be deceptive, but I decided to take a chance.


I walked towards him. I stood with my arms crossed and looked at him reproachfully. And before I knew it, strings of broken kannada flew out of my mouth in a rage. I almost giggled as i was speaking because I was invariably stammering for the right kannada words. To make matters worse for me the poor man feebly muttered, 'yes sir, sorry sir' Sir??. Still with a straight face (and with the broken language) I went about explaining how people like him spoil the streets by indulging in these kind of dirty actions. Believe me, I was more relieved than him when I spotted my husband a few yards away! I got into the car with the same straight face and the same angry look. Once I shut the door with a bang, I grinned a wide grin. Not because of my broken vernacular. But because I was proud of what i just did!


My sincere request to all you guys and gals. Next time u see a stranger spit, blast the hell outta him. Let's make our country a cleaner place to live in :).

Loony Limericks

Was in the mood to write some limericks. May not make sense, but what the heck :)

There was once a boy named Sam
Who wud always pig out on ham
He’d forget his date
Make her wait
And say I was stuck in a jam

There was a girl in school
Who loved a swim in the pool
Her name was Julie
She was roly poly
And she’d never fit on a stool

There was a love struck dog
Who met his girl at a jog
Her bark was sweet
She surely was a treat
But she’d always sleep like a log

Perfect Rip-off

I watched the 1998 thriller A Perfect Murder a few days ago. The Michael Douglas-Gwyneth Paltrow starrer went about on my TV screen like any other movie which promised a whole load of suspense – A Perfect Murder as it was called. I was looking forward to a nice, exciting Sunday evening at home with the right kind of suspense to make it complete. However as the plot thickened, the movie appeared more and more familiar. Uh-oh, I sighed. Here’s another mama of a bollywood offshoot.
When I watched Humraaz a few weeks after it was released, I thought I was impressed. The plot appeared perfect. The suspense generated was commendable. The actors did justice to both with their stupendous acting and the naach-gaana-khaana-peena made the movie look very Indian. And why not, I wonder now. Abbas-Mustan had chiseled the plot to satiate the Indian psyche. As Perfect Murder flowed smoothly in front of my eyes, Humraaz seemed to treacherously occupy my mind.
Humraaz is an excellent movie, no doubt about it. But it is still a rip off. Picking a hollywood flick and decorating it to serve the target audience does not celebrate the creative genius of our filmmakers. The English original is ofcourse, sans the loud music and expensive attires. It does not celebrate weddings with jewellery laden ladies and sherwani clad dandies. But it is still the original.

I can only hope our filmmakers stop churning out hollywood classics adorned with Indian makeup. So that the next time I watch a movie, I can watch it without flinching.