Sweetest Kid

The strangest thing happened today. I have never encountered it before, after all, it's not something that occurs daily. Here I was, minding my own business, perched on a rickety seat of a rickshaw; casting a perfunctory, bored glance around myself, as is the custom when one is by oneself in a lonely rickshaw (if you count the driver out). Having successfully negotiated the countless potholes/khaddaas/jaywalkers/cyclists/motorists & various other hurdles on the nightmare that is called the Andheri-Kurla road, the rickshaw finally comes to a halt at a traffic signal (the one at the Andheri flyover). Suddenly, a host of little kids appear from nowhere, sprinting purposefully to each vehicle, glaring into rolled-up glasses, grinning from ear-to-ear, waving their myriad wares in front of the vehicle's occupant/s. Most dismiss them by not even responding with a 'no', others quickly delve into respective purses and make a hasty purchase. I wasn't spared the routine and up comes to me this sweet-looking girl (with several teeth missing) selling that something that every girl wishes her guy would shower her with. Roses. Lots of them. Bright red. Sprinkled with several water drops, the delicate petals thus glinting in the evening sun. A simple affair.... yet, so riveting, so inviting. Alas, I was but a solitary girl. With no guy sitting beside, so that I could cast a longing eye at the said bunch, thus indirectly signalling to the poor guy that I would like one, thank you very much. So here I was thinking it would be very silly indeed to buy a rose for myself. So I nodded vigorously at the kid, saying no, I don't want them. She looks a trifle disappointed. But then, suddenly, her face transforms. A wide smile lightens up her smudgy face. Her hand dives right into the bunch, picks a reddish bud and thrusts it right into my hand. Just like that. And then she's off. Doesn't wait for her dues. Simply vanished before I could even mouthe 'Wha...!' For a minute I simply sat there, looking dumbly at the rose in my hand. Why did she give ME a rose? What was I to her? Why didn't she take any money? Why did she run away? Why, why, why????

Having found no answers to the questions accumulating in my head... I come out of my stupid daze. It strikes me I must give the kid something. Anything. Even a candy would do. But the lights turn green, the rickshaw speeds away and away and away from the adorable kid.... snatching away my chance to say atleast a heartfelt 'thank you'. Tell her how she made my day by her innocent, totally uncalled-for, yet terribly sweet gesture. Tell her that I must reward her, perhaps click a picture of her and post it to the 'City of Angels' column in TOI. Cause she was truly an angel in disguise, fluttering around, bringing smiles to peoples' faces.

I hope I meet her again. So that I can thank her, smile back at her, gift her atleast a candy or a chocolate bar. I want to make her day a happy one. Just as she did for me.

The rose

Hogmaster

That's moi performing a blitzkrieg-of-sorts on the third strawberry-cream helping (maybe that's what caught the photographer's eye.... yeh chalti-phirti bamboo itni khaati kaisi hai? Completely caught me off-guard though!). And that generous helping came after 1 plate pasta, 1 plate lasagna, 1 bowl ragdaa patice and 6 yummy pani-puris (I think my dietitian would faint). One could arrest me for gluttony ;)

The weighing machine dutifully says I've gained 3 kgs. Well, I should, considering the rate at which I'm going. Could do with more!

Road Rage

The guy who picked us up from the station today and was entrusted with the simple, straightforward and you-can’t-possibly-go-horribly-wrong-with-this responsibility of dropping us at the office premises was such a colossal dunce. Downright annoying and oh-please-let-it-be-legal-to-strangle-him kinda bloke. This chap drove the car as if he was possessed. No, not in a Michael Schumacher kinda fashion. It was as if the spectre of a particularly lazy species of the tortoise family had entered his corpus instead. Add the dual disabilities of extreme deafness and hopeless numb-headedness to the said tortoise and you have the man sketched up just right.

This frightful character who was deemed fit to navigate the foul roads of Mumbai by some lamebrain of a transport supervisor, got me considerably worked up in the wee hours of a bright, sunny morning, a morning that should've progressed mirthfully, had it not been for this dimwit. Rows and rows of vehicles (yes, even the laggardly rickshaws & tempo types) overtake our car, quite justifiably, as the road ahead is uncluttered, unpopulated, free for the uninhibited soul to tread upon. But no, our chap here is in no particular hurry. Ah, we're gonna reach anyway aren't we? I mean, even if I don't want to, I will be coerced to by a plethora of honking motorists behind me. Allow me to indulge, meanwhile, in simple pleasures like toying with the FM stereo, even though the vehicle bang ahead has traveled atleast a kilometer away from me. Oh, I find the seatbelt amusing too. So much so that I may just attach and detach it several times, just to check if its length can support my wide girth. When that bores me, I think I will stare at the bloke sitting next to me (who is probably fuming, turning a bright shade of pink by now) or even better, pick at my stained teeth. Meanwhile, a barrage of motorists who pass by, give me a glance that surprisingly seems nasty, which I do not appreciate at all, considering what a nice, little chap I am. Oh, chuck it all. I think I will just ignore them and trundle along at my own sweet pace.

Mind you, I am NOT exaggerating at all. These are the exact sequence of events that took place, the exact lethargic indifference that the driver displayed and the exact feeling of increasing frustration that I was containing in myself (a mere 20 min ride took an agonizing 45 mins); what with myself already running an hour late. I say, to the bottom of the heap to all such inept species-on-the-roads and please-oh-please God, I hope I don't ever meet the idiot again.

Coz I don't know what I'd do to him.

Shake it like Beyonce ;)

Beyonce can dance, and how! Fantastic flexibility! The gorgeous lady proves you don't need to have a size-zero body to dance and yet, not look crude. Wish I could shake a leg (or both) like her... All attempts in front of the mirror reveal a pathetic + clumsy effort ;)

Awesomeness!

Escapist Bent

I've been thinking. And one knows the outcome of such exercises of the cerebral muscles. The mood, which was until a few minutes ago jauntily bopping about, suddenly deflates and rids itself of all frolicking gaiety. And when self can take it no more (read, needs to dispose off whatever the bothersome thing is out of the distressed confines of the cranium); self resorts to this page. This little nook, tucked away in an undistinguished and unknown hide-out of the world wide web, privy to only a select few.

Now that you've been greeted with the most grim of prefaces, I'll arrive at the crux of this post. And the reason for several brainworks and contemplations that I seem to be undergoing these days. It all began with that saucy, yet hard-hitting comment from that insolent-bundle-of-a-pest who also happens to be my sister. "Don't you have a brain of your own?" she snaps at me, "why do you always listen to everything Mom says?" And you know what? For a second there, that always-ready-with-a-smartarse-retort Avanti was stumped. She had no fitting reply with which she could send the audacious interrogator packing, dismissing her as a mere mosquito, meanwhile tut-tutting about how kids these days have no tact or respect for their elders. I let it go, didn't shower much attention on it. And then, just as I was retreating back into good ol' blissful complacency, it happened again. Another pal quips at me - "You're so comfy with your job & the subordination that comes with it. Why aren't you your boss's replacement by now?" Again, I was left speechless. Left to execute some serious thinking-about. And the result goes thus - I don't want to do this ALL my life. Certainly not a 9-6 job. And most definitely, I don't wanna be what others want me to be. My folks want to see me 'settle down', with a 'nice, educated boy' of their choice from a 'respected family' (how the HELL are they gonna accomplish that astonishing feat beats me), have babies that will call them grandpa/grandma, raise the kids, marry them off and then pop off to meet my Maker. They want me to live the exact same dull, monotonous life they've been living all along.

I think I'd positively go mental if I had to follow this roadmap in the future. Is that the purpose of my life? To marry some stranger and manufacture babies? Or say, if I had to follow the advice of my well-meaning friend, should I be a ultra successful biz-baroness? I'd just be another casualty in this infinite rat-race that we seem to be increasingly associating ourselves with. Okay, so you climb the corporate ladder real swift, you're the toast of the business world, you own palatial mansions, a dozen flashy cars and hop across continents in your private jet. Then what? If I had to choose between taking all the money I've earned or the myriad experiences I've had on this lovely planet with me to my grave, I'd choose the latter without doubt. I want to be a rich, plentiful person - the abundance not measured by my bank balance, but what's swimming up there in my head. Memories of the people I've been with and loved to bits, memories of the various things I've learnt - be it playing a guitar or speaking 5 languages, memories of the numerous places I've traveled to & memories of the sights and sounds I've been subject to, good or bad.

So, to all who expect many dazzling things of me (however noble your intentions are), let me tell you this - I just want to be me. Not what you want me to be.

Dreams on Wheels

Suave.

Stylish.

Sexy.

Simply splendid!

No, I'm not talking 'bout Daniel Craig in Casino Royale. That's my sleek 'n swanky (atleast for my current income levels) new car! :) After nearly over a month of cumbersome paperwork, numerous shellouts, a hundred calls and a nail-biting wait, it finally arrived. Always wanted to own a neat lil' set of wheels of my own, what with myself being a speed freak. Rest of them worldly possessions can wait. Though at the end of 3 years, I'm gonna be a half a million rupees poorer (I make that sound dramatic).... still, its gonna be worth every diligently-toiled-for-rupee for me. Not to mention the proud faces of Mom and Dad. Now that's priceless!

Got a lot more to do to jazz up the car a bit. Equip it with remote lock systems, window films, audio system (of utmost importance!), anti-theft mechanism, seat covers, throw in a few pillows to add the homely effect and some additional decor.

Gee, can hardly wait to get started! The i10's my paramour of the hour. Atleast, until the novelty wears off.

Although I don't think it ever will ;)