A new beginning – a new blog!

Errmmm….Ahem…Hi!

This is an apology for not being around for so long. Well, I have been busy….really really busy. “With what?”, you may ask. Well, I got married in November last year. I know…that’s HUGE! And I spent 4 months preparing for it – you know, shopping, losing weight, and the like.

I got married to a Bengali (might I remind you that I am a Maharashtrian, born and brought up in Kolkata). And no, it is not a love marriage. You read it right. Given my abysmal record with my boyfriends, I learnt that I could never convince a guy to marry me (no, nothing’s wrong with me…just that no one wanted to dare to tame a fiercely independent spirit). Well, my mum found the guy. Turns out, I had rejected him 2 years ago!

Aaah…poetic justice!

Anyway, long story short, he did seem the kind of guy who would not even TRY to tame me, but accept me for who I am and let me be – and I am not disappointed.

I had to relocate to Hyderabad, which means, I had to quit my previous job, and right now, I am absolutely jobless. Not a state I fancy. I am discovering new things and have found that I do have a knack for cooking. So, I decided to start a food blog.

I know, I know – there’s nothing new about a food blog. But my blog will not be a recipe blog. No no no no. Recipe blogs are a dime a dozen. My blog will be about my experiences and experiments with cooking. As a beginner, my perceptions about cooking and my mistakes and my learning – and I hope it will be fun to read!

Well, my blog’s called thefoodosaur…look it up!

P.S: I am not closing this blog down. Just focusing elsewhere. I might post here sometimes. Again, I might not!

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2008

I had written this poem in an attempt to encapsulate the way I feel about my parents and my gratitude towards them at their 25th wedding anniversary, 4 years back.

As a child safe withing the warmness of your embrace,

Protected from the cold, careless world outside,

Through all the trials and tribulations I would face,

I knew that under your wings I could run and hide.

You have shown understanding and compassion throughout the years,

That ultimately would make me the person I should be,

After all the smiles and through all the tears,

I was then blind, now I finally see.

I have two angels who have fallen from the sky,

Who would lift me up when I was down,

To fix my wings when I couldn’t fly,

And to replace the smile that once was a frown.

You’ve wiped my tears with your gentle hand,

Reassuring me that everything was going to be okay,

I knew that no one else could ever understand,

I could read your expression, you didn’t have to say.

I wish to be that child once more,

But life goes on and I will stand tall,

So, when you need an angel, just knock on the door,

And I will be your feet if ever you should fall.

 

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Weird Sundays

I work on Sundays. My weekly offs are on Mondays. And, no. This was not due to sheer luck. I wanted Mondays off. I pestered my boss till he gave in. Reasons? Sundays in office are extremely chilled out. No traffic, and I end up working for only 5-6 hours. And an extra day without the boss!

 I don’t think the Almighty wanted me to work on Sundays. This is the sole explanation for the weird incidents I encounter on this particular day of the week. Journalists come across so many strange things everyday, that strangeness ceases to surprise us. So, when I say that I have strange encounters on Sundays, it translates to something that ‘regular’ people (yes, journalists are irregular people) would consider super-strange.

One Sunday, I had to go and cover this event at Patrakar Bhavan about International Women’s Day. Well, I caught an early morning movie, and then scooted off to the event. As I stopped at a red light, this woman popped her head out of her car and practically screamed, saying, “Are you INSANE? STOP following me!” I was shocked. Flabbergasted. No, wait. I was befuddled. Yes. That’s the word. Befuddled. I did not know the woman from Adam. I had to turn left. I turned, as I did not want to miss the green light. This woman also turned left. I stopped at the side and let her pass. I don’t take pangaas with women. They scare me. Pangas with men are good. Not women. Women are crazy. Once she passed, I waited for 3 to 4 minutes, and left. I reached the venue. The function was beautiful. Once the function was done, I was waiting to talk to the Chairperson of the organising committee. And guess whom did I see? The same car lady. One look, and she hurried towards me. I was scared. Shit. She came, and said, “What is your problem? Why did you follow me till here?” That was it. I retorted, “Yeah. That is what you really want, don’t you? Your own personal Stalker. Idiot.” She called for the Chairperson, who resolved the issue, and then I was informed that she has psychological problems, and is undergoing treatment!

Today. May 13. I came to office. A girlfriend called. Let’s call her A.

A: Babe, I am majorly pissed.

Me: Why?

A: I met this guy last night. I had specifically told him that I am looking for coitus.

Me: That is very brave of you. Then?

A: I went to his house. Had 3 pegs of whiskey. One Tequila shot. And I was good to go.

Me: Mmmhmmm

A: We had dinner. And when we hit the bed, I told him I wanted to kiss him.

Me: You actually did? Sweet!

A: What sweet? He told me that he is very tired and hence, not now. Tomorrow morning.

I was torn between laughing my intestines out and being sympathetic.

A: I swear to God, I felt like I was married to this dude.

WEIRD SUNDAYS. Really.

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Humph….

Aisa kya hai tum mein ki ruk sakta nahin main?

Zindagi ki raftar ko sambhal sakta nahi main,

Chala chalta hoon kisi sunsaan sadak par,

Kyun yeh pyaas bujha sakta nahin main?

 

Dil ki daraaron par marham lagata hoon main,

Kyun baar-baar peechhey mudkar dekhta hoon main?

Kyun hai yeh khwahish ki koi rokey,

Kyun ek awaaz ko yun tarasta hoon main?

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What does a MAN want?

Ok, seriously. What is the need for every man to try to understand women? We are complicated. Deal with it. I have read umpteen pieces on how confused women are, and how hypocritical and strange they are. Ever looked at it from our side? I don’t want to sound feminist here. No. That is one thing I am not. What I mean is, has anyone ever realised how difficult it is for women to understand men? And no, a man’s state of mind does not alternate only between being hungry, horny and sleepy. Sex is important. Very. And they make a show of how starved they are. But try and talk to a man about things that do not revolve around his prowess in bed, sports, business, and politics, and you will realise that they are more confused than women.

I have always been led to believe that a man always hankers for copulation. But, a deeper look unveiled a very different side. I am 27 and single. In India, it means that either something’s wrong with me, or, on a more ‘scandalous’ note, I am a lesbian. Honestly, neither of them is true. I mean, the second one is DEFINITELY not, and I would like to believe that I do not have any major drawbacks…I am just quirky. Well, my parents are worried. My relatives are worried. The uncle who lives with his wife and three demented children on the third floor in the B wing of my building is worried. The sole question – when will this woman get married?

Well, I wish the answer to this question was easy. In fact, after having gone through my share of relationships, I am still at a loss about what is it that a man looks for in a woman. Being the journalist that I am, I decided to ask some of my male friends, married and unmarried.

A man wants his woman to be independent, but if she does not ask him to check whether she has filled out a cheque properly, she thinks too much of herself.

A man wants a woman who is serious about her career, and if she is, she loves her work more than she loves him.

A man wants a woman who is erudite, but if she holds open discussions with other men, then she is promiscuous.

A man wants a woman who can make her own decisions, but every decision must be taken after consulting him.

A man wants a woman who is great in bed, and if she is, he accuses her (in his mind) of being easily available to other men.

A man wants a woman who can socialise, have a drink, and enjoy a party, but if he sees a woman drinking, she is not suitable for him.

A man wants a woman who has clarity of thought, but if she makes her thoughts clear, she is imposing.

A man wants a woman who has a life of her own, but he wants her entire world to revolve around him.

A man wants a woman who is good looking, even if he is bald and has a pot belly.

And they talk about women being confused!

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Feminism is ove…

Feminism is over rated, just as all the other -isms are…communism, communalism, regionalism, fascism. It won’t be long before we hear or read about the birth of a new school of thought – masculinism. But that is a completely different topic. Anyway, as I was saying, isms are over rated. Why does a woman need groups to tell her that she ought to stand up for herself? It’s like people telling you that you ought to pee when your bladder’s full, ’cause that’ll relieve you of your suffering.

But, again, it would not be fair to discount the contributions of the lovely male chauvinists of our country – those who make rules, who interpret them in a way that’ll suit them and those who implement them. And these are not mutually exclusive and independent sets.

The other day, I was standing outside my office, chatting up a colleague-cum-friend, and I noticed this man, about 65-66 years old, staring at me. The stubborn ass that I am, I stared back. Even after about two to three minutes of indulging in a war of stares, he showed no signs of backing off. In fact, he stepped onto the pavement and stood next to me, winking at me and giving me a lecherous smile. That was it. The threshold of my patience burst and anger seeped through every cell in my body – living and dead. I turned to face him (he chose to stand slightly away from my line of vision after accomplishing the brave tasks).

Me: Life mein problem kya hai?

He: Urrrmmm…

SSLLAAAPPP!!!

That was the sound my right hand made on coming in contact with his left cheek.

Me: Ab bol, life mein problem kya hai?

He: Urrrmmmm…nahi woh…do ladkiyan…

SSSLLLAAPP!!!

A bigger sound from the contact of the aforementioned elements.

He scrambled. Jai Ho Feminism Ki!

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May 5, 2012 · 18:15

April 28

I have now joined Sakaal Times (I have a strong feeling that they took me in just because they thought it would be fun to have someone handful in the office, and my writing skills, or the lack of it, did not have much to do with it). It has been two months, and I have been at my sweetest best – which means no bitching about the boss (not that he has given me any reason to), no socialising with colleagues, and utmost loyalty to my paper.

Friday afternoon, the features editor came up to me. We’ll call her V.

V: Prachi, are you going to cover the Harley Davidson event tomorrow?

Me: (almost falling off my chair) No, Ma’am.

(Let me iterate here that I absolutely LOVE…WORSHIP…and ADORE bikes)

V: Well, we got a mail from the Resident Editor (RE) that only you should be sent to that event.

I was shocked…flabbergasted! I hurriedly checked the invitation, which proudly proclaimed that 30 Harley Davidsons would be coming to Marriott!

Friday evening, I went and met the RE. To get briefed about what he wants in the story, the angle, and the regular jazz.

Saturday morning, after spending three quarters of the previous night tossing and turning in bed in anticipation, I reached the venue at 9:30 am. Yes, that is how much I love bikes….nothing else would make me leave my bed at 7 am. Absolutely nothing.

I waited…and waited…and waited. At 11:15, I heard their thunderous sound. At 11:16, they vroomed into view. That was the first time I have ever gone weak in my knees. No guy has had that effect on me, yet. With huge efforts, I walked into Marriott with a straight face. Everyone was taking their helmets off, shaking their heads in accomplishment, and a few whipped out their ciggies for a delicious puff.

Where was I? Huddled behind my brother.

I saw this fellow, handsome, if I may add, rolling up his sleeves and showing off a brilliant tattoo. And the tattoo freak that I am, I went to him, and ended up flirting with the guy next to him. Let’s call the flirt guy S.

S: I have a tattoo of a man (read Shiva) riding a bike, sadly, alone. Why don’t you get a pillion?

Me: That’s not my job. It’s your job to woo me into getting on pillion.

I would, under other circumstances, not say this, but the guy was 6′ 2″, had a well-maintained beard, and was once the state level wrestling champion of Maharashtra. And good looking!

Then followed the usual interview with one of the founders of the group and the only woman biker there. I wanted to interview an 20-odd-year-old chap and an older chap for the human interest angle of my story. And I was introduced to S!

S: Why do you want to interview older men?

Me: We need old wines for the kick in our story.

S: (smiles cheekily) Have you met my son?

His son was a 20-year-old, 6-foot-3  youngster.

Me: No.

S: Why don’t you interview him?

Me: He’s just been crushed. Let him steep. Let the tannins mature. We need the right high.

My brother was smiling cheekily, one of my colleagues, who hails from the features section and was doing a woman-centric story on the sole woman biker in their group, looked shocked, and S guffawed. I blushed.

And I got an invitation to their after party!

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