tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34716732024-03-13T10:52:26.441-07:00A rupee for my thoughts!A collection of random thoughts. Most of which are light. None of which will ever change the world.Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.comBlogger431125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-54729727703584869042017-08-04T14:17:00.001-07:002017-08-04T14:17:27.996-07:00Locker room lores<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
We have a state-of-the-art gym and a Olympic sized pool offered to use as part of the amenities provided by my office building. I have used the gym a grand total of one time. The pool has fared slightly better in terms of the number of visits as my work friends and I are bitten by the swimming bug every summer. For the duration of the swimming fever, we try to visit the pool at least once a week during lunch time.<br />
<br />
Swimming fever season is currently on and we visited the pool today. The swim session went off fine and we headed off to the locker rooms post session. I blithely dialed the code to the locker I had stowed my belongings in and turned the lock to "unlock". It refused to budge. Puzzled, I ensured that the number code was right and tried again to set it to the open positon. No dice. With a sinking sensation I realized that I had probably forgotten to set a code in the first place and now had no clue what the random number I had locked the locker with was!<br />
<br />
As I stood there in my swim clothes, dripping water, I ran through my options: a. wait till someone else showed up and ask if they could go fetch some help. b. see if there was a phone to call for help c. go for help myself. Plans a and b were swiftly discarded as the locker room did not have a single other human soul in it and there were no phones. So, with my towel clutched and thanking God for wearing a swim suit which looked more like a wet suit (to prevent zebra-tanning), I dripped my way out. I saw a security guard immediately outside the locker room and told him of my predicament. He brightly informed me that he did not work for the gym, so he could not help me. !@#$%. Fortunately, there was another security guard who also worked for the same company but who was quicker on the uptake. He offered to go and get help from the gym front desk so that I would not have to drip my way there. Phew.<br />
<br />
He came back with a master key. I took it and went back to the ladies locker room, opened my locker with it and took it back out. It all ended better than I had envisioned but I was still pretty annoyed with myself for being so scatter-brained.<br />
<br />
once I got ready, I went back to meet my waiting colleague. I started telling him about my mishap and he promptly said "So you got the master key". I was surprised that he knew about the existence of such a key. But he finished listening to my story. I concluded it with "I am still a little upset at being so careless". My colleague consoled me saying, "That's okay, many people do that. So, don't worry too much. On the other hand, you know, once, I forgot which <i>locker</i> I had put my stuff in. And then I had to try to open every locker in the room. Now, <i>that </i>was embarrassing."<br />
<br />
I think I laughed for a solid 2 minutes.<br />
<br />
Seriously - nothing in life is so bad that it can't get worse.</div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-63243441707468487002014-04-29T23:03:00.000-07:002014-04-29T23:08:45.612-07:00Easter Egg Hunt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After BA's addition to our family, we are making an extra effort to follow cultural and religious traditions. When we were in India, this meant eating plenty of good food (why, what did you think following religious traditions meant ;-)?) during various festivals. Now, in the US, we continue to mark the Indian festivals. In addition, we try to attend various American cultural events as well. Thus, it was going for the fireworks displayfor 4th of July (a bad idea in retrospect. Infant BA was startled by the loud noise and cried non-stop for the entire 15-minute display), selecting a pumpkin from the pumpkin patch for Halloween, shopping for Christmas, I mean photo with the mall Santa for Christmas and so on.<br />
<br />
This month was the turn of the Easter Egg hunt. I got a notification that our local park had an Easter Egg hunt and we decided to go. We have never been to an egg hunt before and we had no idea what it entailed. Still, taking BA to a place filled with children seemed like something he would enjoy and so, on to the Easter Egg Hunt (EEH) it was.<br />
<br />
The EEH was on a Saturday. It was supposed to start at 10am. S and I made mega plans to leave the house at 8.30a so that we could find parking and then be well on time for the EEH. Nice, solid plan, no?<br />
<br />
Only hitch was, we got up only at 8am and by the time all of us were fed, watered and dressed, it was 9.30am when we left the house. We found parking fairly easily and walked at a fast pace towards the EEH area.<br />
<br />
We could see that the area had been demarcated for kids of various age groups. We made a beeline for the under-2 area. It was 10.03am when we entered that area. We looked around and saw clusters of toddlers and parents sitting around collections of plastic eggs.<br />
<br />
Hmm - where had they got all the eggs from? There were absolutely no eggs to be spotted on the ground other than what the other families were already holding on to. We walked around the area just to make sure. Yup - no eggs, zilch, nada.<br />
<br />
S and I were feeling vaguely disappointed. BA on the other hand kept racing around and stopped by the various families, curiously observing them. One such family saw his empty hands, smiled and handed him a plastic egg. BA after examining it for 30 seconds handed to us and continued racing around. I opened the egg with great curiosity and saw a tiny eraser, the "gift" in it. Oooooh - this is what an egg retrieved during the egg hunt would look like.<br />
<br />
Then another couple with a toddler girl spotted us laughing about the eggless state of the ground and said,"Yeah, the eggs were gone as soon as the whistle went off at 10am. We were just parking our bicycles and by the time we got in 'poof - no eggs'". Finally - we at least knew what had happened. We had been late!<br />
<br />
At 10.15a, the volunteers started packing up the dividers. By 10.20 other than an occasional flapping sign, there was no sign that there had been an egg hunt. We picked our empty-but-for-one-egg bag which we had brought along in lieu of a basket for the hunt (ha ha ha) and made our way to the face painting area. From there it was back to the car. As we walked, I looked at my sport shoes, specially worn for the egg-hunting occasion. Really - what exactly did I think an egg hunt for a toddler would entail that I would need to wear <i>sport</i> <i>shoes</i>?<br />
<br />
Still - it was a fun experience overall. If not anything else, it has taught us to never be late for an egg hunt. Good lesson to learn *before* finding no eggs on a hunt starts mattering to BA!</div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-62188695372473186552014-04-16T21:43:00.002-07:002014-04-16T21:43:31.142-07:00Pool<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Archana trying her hand at any aiming game will wind up <a href="http://archana.blogspot.com/2007/04/bowl-baby-bowl.html">sucking at it</a>. So, a couple of weeks ago, when I discovered the existence of a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pool_(cue_sports)">pool</a> (a.k.a billiards) table at work, I wasn't too excited. However, a few of my co-workers made pool into the go-to choice of work-break upon this discovery. One day last week, one of tried to persuade me to give pool-playing a shot too.<br />
<br />
Given my history of "success" at playing aiming-games, I was not particularly looking forward to trying to play pool at work. Making a fool of myself while playing pool in front of friends and family (both of which I have done spectacularly at various thankfully rare points in time) was one thing. But in front of co-workers? No way!<br />
<br />
But then, it was just *one* other co-worker who is also a good friend. How bad could it be?<br />
<br />
Not that bad. Turned out the co-worker was quite the beginner as well and I actually wound up winning. How cool, maybe pool was the *one* aiming game that I could actually play decently!<br />
<br />
So, the next time round, when two other co-workers were also thrown into the mix, I was very blase and agreed to play. As soon as we started playing, it was quite obvious that the other two co-workers were definitely not at beginner level. Within a couple of shots, it also became quite obvious that the latest entry in the long list of aiming-games I suck at is pool. Quite obviously, my victory in the first game was a classic case of beginner's luck. For, that day, I lost *every* game I played. By the time we were done, my ego was somewhere underground trying to shrivel up into a little ball and die.<br />
<br />
Two days later, the four of us again got a chance to play together. As we partnered up into twos, V and K in one team and B and myself in the other, V said, "Hey, don't underestimate them. B is playing really well today". To which K replied, laughing, "<i>That is okay. I have full faith in Archana's ability to balance things out.</i>" Though I joined in the good-natured laughter that followed, I was mortified. Because - I *knew* that K was right. B and I did win that game. My "contribution" though, consisted of sinking exactly one ball into the hole followed by rolling in the white cue ball as well. Great!<br />
<br />
Still - pool is addictive. So I gamely continue to play. I have come to the conclusion that while I have no innate pool-playing ability whatsoever, I can probably at least become a non-bad player if I practised enough. While it feels great to be good at something, one does not necessarily need to be good at something to enjoy it, no?<br />
<br />
Bring on the aiming-games, I say!</div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-83144735409549106822014-04-11T10:08:00.000-07:002014-04-11T11:29:40.141-07:00Staircase to stamina<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I work in the 7th floor of my office building. Soon after I rejoined work here, I noticed that a few of my co-workers always took the stairs especially while going up. This seemed like a good way of sneaking in a mini-workout. So, whenever I was not carrying anything very heavy, I started using the stairs instead of the elevator to go up. I continue to do so till date.<br />
<br />
Thanks to my persuading (okay, fine, nagging), I usually get anyone who is accompanying me to use the stairs as well. Sure, these being long flights of stairs, we all sound huffy-puffy a few floors in, but with company, the climb does not seem quite so long.<br />
<br />
Last evening, a couple of co-workers and I were heading back to work after some event. As usual, your truly steered them to the stairs and we started climbing. We had just crossed the fourth floor, when one of my panting coworkers said to the other, "<i>Look at Archana, she is not even out of breath.</i>" and then to me, "<i>Do you do this regularly?</i>". That was when I realized that, I was indeed not sounding like a leaky tire. Before I could respond, the co-worker added in an impressed voice, "<i>You are still looking fresh as well - not even broken into a sweat</i>". True, I was not feeling *that* winded out either. I grinned and said that I take the stairs almost everyday and apparently the effort was finally paying off.<br />
<br />
Somehow the co-worker's comments made me feel ridiculously pleased with myself. I try to sneak in extra activity wherever I can and tell myself that every little bit helps me be fitter and build up stamina as well. While I can see that for myself at times, it was still very nice to get unsolicited validation from someone else.<br />
<br />
So continuing with stair-climbing it is. Too bad for anyone who is accompanying me to any place with stairs.</div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-75635826603701888852014-04-06T22:30:00.002-07:002014-04-06T22:30:35.011-07:00Cars, trains and planes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The last time we traveled 20+ hours on a plane with BA was when he was a teeny-tiny baby. He was the model baby on the flight - he mostly ate and then slept in his bassinet. When he wasn't doing either of those activities, he adorably waved his tiny fists and legs and smiled. He cried for about 15 minutes just before we landed in the US. That was it. Therefore, whenever any other baby on that plane fussed, S and I smugly looked at each other, looked at BA and then took full credit for our well-behaved baby (I know).<br />
<br />
<b>On to India</b><br />
This time round, for our trip to India we were under no delusion about getting a repeat performance from BA on the plane. For, BA is now an active toddler and even 10 minutes of passive waiting in a waiting room before a doctor visit gets him antsy. To our pleasant surprise the trip from USto India wasn't half bad. Sure, there was a short stretch when BA gave a very good impression of a wailing toddler but overall, the journey wasn't anywhere as bad as we imagined it would be. So S and I felt some of our earlier smugness returning.<br />
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<b>The plan</b><br />
Due to ignorance being bliss, we had planned our India "vacation" such that it was packed with travel. We were traveling to 4 different cities using three different modes of transportation. We were hoping that BA would cope and were planning to learn travelling-with-baby lessons on the go.<br />
<br />
<b>Car</b><br />
The first trip was to a city a few hours away from Chennai. We had planned to drive. I packed two pieces of luggage for BA. One containing all his clothes and the other containing his food, toys, diapers etc. Hey, we were going in a car! For the 3-day trip, I think I pretty much packed up everything that we had brought for BA from the US for the<i> 3-week</i> India trip. The car journey started off fine - but BA threw up promptly after his regular breakfast. Okay, note added to travel handbook: feed baby lightly during travel.<br />
<br />
Our destination was a resort and it was quite kid-friendly. BA *loved* it. He was like the penguin in Happy Feet. He just couldn't stand still and insisted on walking by himself, never mind that he has a tendency to treat the whole world like one big flat surface and walks accordingly. He examined everything: the grass, the stairs, the planter, the table, the beach. Everything. And he had this huge grin on his face like someone had shown him the doors to heaven. Seeing him so happy made everyone around him happy. That was a great trip.<br />
<br />
<b>Train</b><br />
We traveled to the next destination by train. This time round, I realized that *we* would have to do the lugging around of the luggage and culled BA's packing to one bag instead of two. On the train, as the amma-ji, I got the "honor" of sharing my berth with BA. I had originally planned to sleep on the lower berth with BA and jokingly said that in case everyone else heard a thump in the middle of the night, it was just me falling off. S came up with the suggestion that BA and I should sleep on the upper berth instead because that berth had the vertical metal supports which would prevent me from falling off.<br />
<br />
I am so glad that I took up on that suggestion. Turns out that my toddler who is only a little more than 1/3rds of my height thought he was entitled to 2/3rds of the berth. I kid you not. BA happily spread his tiny frame across most of the berth and fell asleep while I perched on tiny sliver of the berth still available and prayed that the metal support would be able to bear my weight. And then, when I got up to grab some water, BA further spread himself into the teeny-tiny space that I had. Dude!!<br />
<br />
That was, least to say, an *interesting* experience. On the bright side, BA at least slept quite well (the same could definitely not be said of his amma).<br />
<br />
<b>Plane</b><br />
The third destination, we traveled to by plane. This time round, I managed to squeeze BA's stuff in 2/3rd of one bag. Ha, turns out baggage too expands (or contracts) to fill the space available. BA did quite okay on the short flight - our boy after all, was a veteran of super long-haul flights and a short flight was barely a blip on the radar.<br />
<br />
<b>And, the domestic traveling was done</b><br />
After all the travels, BA, predictably, fell sick. We were nevertheless quite proud of him for having been a trooper during all the travelling. He had thoroughly enjoyed the crowds, the change of scenery, the new environment, pretty much everything. As far as he was concerned, he had had a good time.<br />
<br />
<b>Back to the US</b><br />
Remember our earlier smugness during the flight from US to India? Let me tell you one thing which will serve you very well in life: Never be smug. Because, if you are, the smugness will come back and bite you in the behind. Our journey from India to US was the stuff nightmares are made of. BA, maybe due to his still lingering cold or due to being cooped up after open spaces or due to just being a toddler, just couldn't settle down on the plane.<br />
<br />
Remember all those plane journeys you made you were child-less when there used to be this one kid on the plane who just wouldn't stop fussing and whom you felt like tossing off the plane? Well, on our flight back to the US,that kid was BA. BA did not sleep. Neither did S and I. I doubt very much that any of the passengers in a 10ft radius around us slept either. For BA expressed his displeasure frequently and vocally. We were 3 hours from San Francisco when BA finally slept. That was One. Long. Journey.<br />
<br />
<b>Post-vacation glow</b><br />
In all though, the trip to India was totally worth it. I think I have now become a 100% ISO-certified mother. While I had a great time meeting up with family and friends, my greatest source of pleasure during the trip was seeing just how much BA enjoyed himself. I delighted in his every smile and laugh. Seeing him happy made me even happier.<br />
<br />
Back when a baby was just a nebulous idea in my future, one of my friends with kids said that the greatest thing about having kids was experiencing the world all over again through their eyes. I kind of understood her back then. Only now do I realize just how much joy that can bring.</div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-20477388072630369292014-03-28T21:58:00.003-07:002014-03-28T21:58:43.132-07:00You officially feel a million years old ...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
... when you realize that people born in the early 1990s are now more than 20 years old.<br />
<br />
It is just a matter of time before I become an "antique-piece". Sigh.</div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-41633254248390645862014-02-24T23:18:00.001-08:002014-02-24T23:18:10.281-08:00The face that sunk a thousand ships<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Sometime back, S and I wanted to make minor changes to our passports. I was thinking that it would simply involve dropping off the passports and picking them up a few hours later with the changes incorporated.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Turned out it was not so simple. Due to new rules, we would be issue *new* passports with the information. This would involve going through a bunch of steps at the local passport office in Chennai. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
My heart sank: Indian passport offices are hardly hives of efficiency and I could see visions of myself slowly going mad running around in circles around the passport office, unable to meet all the arcane requirements needed to complete the process.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Which was when S happily said that there was a new passport office in Tambaram which apparently was the epitome of efficiency and that getting things done there was a breeze. That was where we would go. Really? Skeptic me was unconvinced but hey, what choice did I have?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, on the day of the appointment (which, wonders of wonders, had been made online), we decided to have an early start so that we could be first in line and get things done faster. I woke up around 4am or so, looking more like a zombie than anything human. BA who, back then, was a teeny-tiny baby, had had an "active" night which translated to minimal sleep for both S and me (note though, in such scenarios, S mostly continues to look like a fresh daisy while I usually look like a tired <a href="http://archana.blogspot.com/2007/02/hello-there-pretty-lady.html">racoon</a> that the cat dragged in from a dump).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I got ready in a daze and pulled on the first set of clothes my hands touched in the closet. Then I swept back my hair into a band, not even bothering to comb through properly. I was ready to go.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
We reached the passport office and there was barely any crowd. I was stunned to note the clean building and the spacious waiting rooms. Upstairs, more wonders awaited us. There were a whole bunch of counters manned by enthusiastic persons. Were we really in a government office?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One of the enthusiastic persons called my token number (each of us got a number). He typed out all my info, verified it with me and then said, "Look straight ahead". And before I knew what was happening - *click*. Yup, he had taken a picture of me, in all my dishevelled glory. At this point, I detected some movement out of the corner of my eye.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I turned around to see S laughing hard. So hard that he was clutching his stomach and beginning to gasp for breath. I was wondering what that was all about when the efficient counter person handed over a folder with all my documents. The topmost one was a doc with the picture of me that had just been clicked.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I think it was. I am no Miss. Universe, but I usually at least look human. The face in the picture could have cracked mirrors. Scared screaming babies into silence. Killed someone due to causing too much laughter. Which was when I realized what exactly had had S gasping for breath. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As I took my documents and sat near him, he said, "Oh my God, the preview of your face looked so funny - I have no idea how they managed to get such a terrible picture of you. And the top is a bit too shabby, you should probably retire it.". Aaaaargh you joker, wouldn't it have been more useful had you warned me to at least tuck in the stray strands of hair hanging around my head? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As it always happens, the person at the counter S went to told him that he was going to take a pic of S and did S want to straighten himself up before that (this - to S who, as I mentioned earlier, was already looking daisy fresh). For good measure, the person then checked with S to make sure that he was indeed happy with the picture taken. All. My.Time.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So yeah, it turned out that that wonderful picture was what was going to go on my new passport as well. I thought, oh well, at least there are only 5 more years to go. But no, the passport office had renewed it for 10 years. Yaay me!</div>
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<br /></div>
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So, for the next 10 years, I can have the pleasure of showing that beautiful mug of mine to complete strangers whenever I travel out of the country. All. My. Time.</div>
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My mom of course had a good life lesson for me to take away from this experience (how do moms manage to do that?): That's why you should always look presentable whenever you go out. Gee, thanks mom!</div>
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Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-1610552043204861872014-01-29T23:11:00.000-08:002014-01-29T23:18:03.240-08:00Reading<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Like most parents of today, S and I are all for reading books out loud to BA. That I <a href="http://archana.blogspot.com/2006/03/of-books-reading-and-libraries.html">love reading</a> makes it even more of a reason to try to foist the same habit upon my son. I can hardly wait for the day BA can start reading and enjoying books on his own. <br />
<br />
The public library in our city has a nice collection of children's books and we usually pick up a few books for BA during every visit. They are all kiddie board books. Even then, the books are usually very colorful and have an interesting enough "storyline" that I genuinely enjoy reading them out to BA. <br />
<br />
Then yesterday, with BA sitting attentively on my lap, I started reading out a book called "<i>Hello Doctor</i>". It was book about a bunch of animals waiting in a doctor's clinic to get checked out by the human doctor. The book started off well with the animals complaining about various ailments and the doctor making silly diagnoses for them. <br />
<br />
Then, I noticed that the animals in the waiting room seemed to be disappearing one by one in the pictures without being diagnosed and assumed that maybe they had fled the clinic after overhearing his silly diagnoses. I continued reading.<br />
<br />
A wolf went into the doctor's office. As the doc checked out the wolf's mouth, the wolf sucked the doctor right in and swallowed him whole. Whaaatt....<br />
<br />
Then the wolf came out of the doc's office and with an evil grin, asked the next patient, a lamb, to come in. At this point, I was looking like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRjBgwvMjM0QVDzL4ykiOr1rtHv0MOh67Lap3CpemMMZi8DV0YpgxkvKG89bXmTrAEiGm39Sl8mdmqIsRIexeL1C001hl4Z6qtFJquFQWq2vELVtW7_qlyY7XiUG8UK3nwpZwhQ/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirRjBgwvMjM0QVDzL4ykiOr1rtHv0MOh67Lap3CpemMMZi8DV0YpgxkvKG89bXmTrAEiGm39Sl8mdmqIsRIexeL1C001hl4Z6qtFJquFQWq2vELVtW7_qlyY7XiUG8UK3nwpZwhQ/s1600/images.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Then realization dawned that the other missing animals had not left the clinic but had apparently found new residences in the wolf's tummy :-O!<br />
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As I hastily shut the book, I was heartily happy that BA still cannot read or understand most of what is being read to him! Seriously, this was a book for <i>toddlers</i>? Which young kid will ever agree to go to a doctor again after reading this book? *I* had to make an effort to stop myself from getting creeped out!<br />
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Valuable lesson for the day: read every book before letting BA get his hands on it!<br />
<br />
-------<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Cat pic from http://www.kulfoto.com/cat-pictures/14743/shocked-cat . When did I become a cat-pic posting person!?!</span></div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-41293975681460820912014-01-18T23:58:00.000-08:002014-01-18T23:58:12.066-08:002014<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Happy New Year to the one person who is still following my blog (Hi, Mum!). 2013 flew by in a flash. I would have had a tough time believing that an entire year has gone by if I did not have BA's baby pics to look back to. I keep wondering how the tiny baby has grown into a toddler so soon. Who would have thought that nostalgia and reminiscing would start this early!<br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~ <br />
<br />
A few random thoughts:<br />
<br />
1. I only recently noticed that while song lyrics in Tamil usually refer to rain in a positive way and to the sun in a negative way, English song lyrics are the exact opposite. I guess this is understandable considering the climate of the places these songs are usually written it. I am just surprised that it has taken me this long to notice this!<br />
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2. From childhood it is drummed into our heads that it is what it is inside that counts, not exterior beauty. The other day I was thinking about how a person's personality is also decided by his/her genes to some extent just as his/her exterior appearance. So why is having a good personality touted as a super great virtue when inherited genes probably played a part in that as well?<br />
<br />
3. In a situation which requires an apology, the apology works best if it is offered without an added supposed-to-be-mitigating excuse. Usually, a no-strings-attached apology quickly defuses the situation and then the hurt party becomes more willing to listen and to forgive. Yes, it is tough for the apologizer to admit culpability but it usually works out great for everyone eventually.<br />
<br />
4. Life is too short to read crappy books. I have finally given up on my "Have to finish reading any book I start reading" rule.<br />
<br />
5. I really like ice-cream cakes or rather, cake with ice cream. <br />
<br />
~~~~~~~~~ <br />
<br />
I hope to write more in 2014 - let's see how that goes!</div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-3242552706607821772013-05-28T16:12:00.000-07:002013-05-28T16:12:56.796-07:00Quick silver<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My mom has very few grey hairs on her head. I was very sure (make that 100% hopeful) that I would follow right in her footsteps. <br /><br />For years, in an otherwise lush sea of black on my head, only one stubborn silver (yeah, no hair of mine will ever be grey) colored hair stood out. Hiding it was a non issue and I had absolutely nothing to challenge my idea that the curly mass of black hair would continue encompassing my head well into old age.<br /><br />A couple of months ago I was combing my hair and was surprised to find a silver hair peeking out from near my ear. Wow - stubborn silver hair had migrated from the middle of my head to the side of my head. Who knew hairs could migrate like that! Amazing, huh?<br /><br />I continued brushing my hair complacently when I spotted a silver hair in the middle of my head. Wait a minute - now the stubborn silver hair was migrating in real time? Which was when I noticed that I had a stubborn silver hair by the side of my ear AND a stubborn silver hair in the middle of my head. What the ..?<br /><br />It did not take me too long to discover 2 more rogue silver hairs. Oh no, no, no I had aged overnight. Oh no, no, no, no! I obsessively hunted through the rest of my hair but found no more silver hairs.<br /><br />But - I know they are there, just waiting to come out. Before I know it, I will be the silver haired old lady with knitting needles in a rocking chair. Sob. <br /><br />I tell you - I inherit the wavy, frizzy and dry hair from my mom. But not the delayed silvering. Genetics - hmph!!<br /><br />But never fear - when I do become all silver, I going attribute it all to stress and not to my getting older. Aging gracefully and all, you know.<br /><br />Still, just in case, any recommendation for good hair-coloring products? </div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-34302326543477229432013-04-24T22:37:00.000-07:002013-04-24T22:37:26.266-07:00Wait till you have kids..<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
You know how parents always tell you when you are child-free "<i>Wait till you have kids, then you will understand</i>". I used to find such people extremely annoying and used to mentally promise myself that I would never turn into one of <i>them</i>.<br />
<br />Well, now I have become a parent myself. While I will never ever unleash the "<i>wait till you have kids</i>" line on hapless souls, I can now understand where those parents were coming from at least in some scenarios.<br /><br /><b>Punctuality</b><br />I used to be anal about being punctual. I used to the be the first arrival at any gathering. I used to wonder just how the tardy people could be so disrepectful of other people's time. Short of being hit with a truck or something on the way to an appointment, there was no excuse for being unpunctual in my world. Then arrived Baby A. In short order I realized that A (i.e. me ) proposes, BA disposes. In a baby's world there is no concept of time. BA eats when he wants to, sleeps when he wants to, poops when he wants to. If it interferes with your plan of getting somewhere at some particular time, too bad. In the intial days we thought we were doing pretty good if we managed to get to at least doctor appointments within an hour past the scheduled time. Nowadays, we have become more efficient and start the getting out the door process about an hour before the actual time. However, getting anywhere on time is no longer a given.<br /><br /><b>Talking about baby</b><br />I never thought I could have so much to say about a tiny little being who communicates mainly by crying, who cannot get anywhere without help and who spends the majority of his time eating and sleeping. But I do. I marvel at the way he curls his little fingers, at the way his ears are perfectly formed, at the tiny toes at the end of adorably chubby feet and can talk about them for ages. However, I realized I still generally find other parents gushing about their respective offspring quite boring. So I limit my gushing to the BA's grandparents and immediate family who are more then happy to listen and infact encourage me to gush. I am also pleased to report that I refrain talking about baby to the other folk till they bring up the topic themselves. So, formerly being at the receiving end of baby-gushing still has some effect!<br /><b><br />Taking pictures of baby</b><br />My phone has hundreds (literally) pictures of BA and several videos as well. I love looking at them. I sometimes take 10 or 15 shots in a row, each of which differ from the other only in the slightly different angle of the baby's hand or the way his foot is placed. Yet I save all those 10 or 15 shots AND love looking at all of them too. Babies look adorable in every snap! Only saving grace is I do not upload them all onto Picasa and send the link out to all my contacts.<br /><br /><b>Being paranoid</b><br />Till BA arrived on the scene, I barely noticed when anyone coughed or sneezed. Now, I am keenly attuned to any sign of illness around me. I obsessively use sanitizer and wash my hands and give a wide berth to coughers and sneezers. The other day, someone at work was coughing quite a lot and I found myself getting really angry - why could they not stay home instead of spreading germs around? I was quite surprised at just how badly I wanted to march up to that person and ask them to please go home since I could not afford to pick up their germs and then pass it onto my baby - thus acting like one of those totally crazy, obsessive and paranoid parents. I blame it on BA being an ex-preemie and how it is very important for him to not catch infections during the early years. But I suspect I would have been the same regardless of BA's preemie status.<br /><br /><b>Sleep</b><br />I always knew that the parenting gig was not a walk in the park. But it has taken actually living through it for me to realize that you are on-call ALL THE TIME. And that means, you cannot simply take a day off because you are too tired or too sleepy or just because you needed a break. This was especially hard the first few months since both S and I were constantly short on sleep and I very badly wanted to be able to sleep in at least one day. Now we are more used to it and of course, BA sleeps for longer as well (touch wood) and it is easier.<br /><br /><b>Love</b><br />Forget about you unconditionally loving your baby - your baby unconditionally loves you and you are the center of his world. This is an indescribably warm and great feeling. But it also comes with a huge sense of responsibility. Yesterday I managed to do a small screw up which left the baby uncomfortable for a few minutes. I was miserable and picked up the baby to comfort him. I turned his face towards me to say sorry. He took one look at my face and smiled broadly at me through his discomfort. He was simply so happy to see my face! I thought my heart would burst with happiness and guilt at the same time. I love that little boy and would do anything to protect him.<br /><br />
There are a lot more little things - will save them for another day. </div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-67504490429661954722013-04-24T21:38:00.000-07:002013-04-26T10:57:04.501-07:00ROP - Retinopathy of Prematurity<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Till I had a preemie myself, I had never even heard of the term ROP (Retinopathy of Prematurity), let alone know what it was. In the preemie world though, being affected with ROP is pretty much par for the course, especially in case of extremely early as well as extremely low weight preemies - two categories into which Baby A (BA) very squarely fell.<br />
<br />
We got an amazing ophthalmologist to treat BA. When we gratefully thanked her at the end of it all, she simply said "<i>You can best show your gratitude by spreading the word about ROP. Too many innocent preemie babies go blind due to lack of awareness about ROP.</i>" I am doing my part here.<br />
<br />
If you or someone you know has a preemie, please make sure that the preemie baby is looked at by a ROP speciality ophthamologist as soon as possible. Typically, the monitoring starts at about 4 weeks after birth for the very early preemies. Later preemies get looked at pretty much as soon as soon they get into the NICU. Thereafter, make sure to diligently follow the advise of the ophthamologist and keep up all the follow-up appointments without fail.<br />
<br />
Here is a primer about <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Retinopathy_of_prematurity">ROP</a> as culled from Wikipedia and personal experience:<br />
<br />
<b>What is ROP?</b><br />
ROP statnds for Retinopathy of Prematurity. It usually affects the eyes of premature infants and is thought to be caused by the disorganized growth of retinal blood vessels.<br />
<br />
<b>Who is at risk of ROP?</b><br />
All premature infants are at risk of being affected with ROP. Very low birth-weight infants (infants weighing less than 1.25kg at birth) and/or at very low gestational age (less than 31 weeks) at birth are especially at very high risk.<br />
<br />
<b>How is ROP detected?</b><br />
The ophthamologist uses tools to look at the eyes and the retina. This procedure is not painful but very uncomfortable for the baby. So, typically, babies cry a lot during the test which usually lasts for less than 1-2 minutes. It is a good idea to not feed the baby upto an hour before the test since the excessive crying might lead to the baby aspirating (getting food into the lungs) the feed.<br />
<br />
<b>What is the treatment?</b><br />
Once ROP is detected, depending on the stage ROP is in, the severity is determined. Lower severity ROP might resolve on its own without treatment. In that case, the ophthamologist simply monitors the baby periodically to make sure everything is still alright. In case of ROP of higher severity, the treatment could be laser ablation (to remove the abnormal blood vessels) or injection into the affected eye with Avastin.This treatment needs to be started as soon as possible after detection since severe ROP progresses rapidly. <br />
<br />
<b>What is the prognosis?</b><br />
Provided ROP has been detected early enough and the treatment started promptly, success rate is pretty good in most of the cases.<br />
<br />
<b>What is the risk of not treating ROP?</b><br />
If the preemie has a severe version of ROP that is left untreated, it eventually leads to retinal detachment and blindess.<br />
<br />
So, please, if you know of someone who had a preemie recently, make sure that they are aware of ROP and they get their baby looked at by a ROP specialist. This is especially true in countries like India where not all hospitals make it standard protocol to get preemies checked out for ROP. You could be saving an innocent baby from a lifetime of blindness.<br />
<br />
<b>Resource</b><br />
<a href="http://www.sankaranethralaya.org/">Sankara Nethralaya Eye Hospital</a>, Chennai, India has excellent ophthalmologists who evaluate, diagnose and treat ROP in dozens of preemies from all over India and from other countries every day. BA was treated at Sankara Nethralaya. <br />
<br />In general, the neonatologist attending to your preemie should be able to direct you to the appropriate specialist for evaluating ROP. </div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-45555264036271881472013-04-23T11:53:00.000-07:002013-04-23T12:06:44.570-07:00Catching up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I know I have dropped off the radar for almost a year. A few things happened in the interim:<br />
<br />
1. S and I had a baby boy.<br />
2. S, baby boy A and I relocated. Again.<br />
<br />
S and me being ultra special and all, number 1 was not the usual 9-months culminating in a squirming baby arriving wailing into the world with smiling faces all around. Not at all. <br />
<br />
Baby A arrived early. Really early at 26 weeks. He spent a few months from birth in the NICU at the children's hospital before he was well enough and later, weighed enough to be able to come home. A's entire NICU stay was the most intensely stressful experience of our lives so far. I would not have believed it if anyone had told me that I would have the strength to face the first one month especially. But we did. Baby A is a fighter and his fighting spirit and courage humbled and inspired us. He is our big miracle and is doing well now :-).<br />
<br />
We relocated back to the US recently. I guess it is in our destiny to keep moving back and forth between India and US. Let's see how long we stay this time around! Relocating with a baby, a very young one, and a former preemie to boot, was no joke. But the support from family and friends made it as painless as was possible under the circumstance. Baby A was a trooper and behaved beautifully during the long flight journey as well through the setting up process in a new country. Now we are almost all settled in.<br />
<br />
So here we are, back in the US, with new baby in tow. That's what was happening with me. What were you folks upto :-)?</div>
Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-20319430915479968402012-07-21T03:33:00.001-07:002012-07-21T03:33:26.016-07:00Oh God!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Karnataka is reeling under a drought and the government has received plenty of flack for not taking sufficient action. This morning, I read in the newspaper that the government was spending 17 crores as a part of its drought relief effort.<br /><br />'Oh goodie,' I thought, 'They are doing something. Wonder if they are providing aid to farmers or constructing some water delivery mechanism.' and read on. The answer was: neither.<br /><br />The 17 crores is going to be spent for offering poojas to appease the rain Gods in not one, not two but in 34000 temples. Absolutely the most logical and sensible solution, eh?<br /><br />Oh well, at least, Karnataka will have some happy priests soon.</div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-52331311432971175052012-05-16T03:30:00.000-07:002012-05-16T04:00:20.553-07:00It's your move, Wordfreak - A book review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZLm3NQ3zWJn3F-O0kz4bYoYjkRLzG0Ts4PDipAvB4u054cyweavMEcwCbojbaYfbClgIZg1O9_1i6iQlb_0uZmXSY663frhlSOHXRqH3KfUiMjMQmjP7Gzkewp7k4g4hz97ZdiQ/s1600/wordfreak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZLm3NQ3zWJn3F-O0kz4bYoYjkRLzG0Ts4PDipAvB4u054cyweavMEcwCbojbaYfbClgIZg1O9_1i6iQlb_0uZmXSY663frhlSOHXRqH3KfUiMjMQmjP7Gzkewp7k4g4hz97ZdiQ/s320/wordfreak.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<b>It's your move, Wordfreak</b> by <b><i>Falguni Kothari</i></b>.<br />
<br />
The premise of the book is interesting. Wordfreak (supposedly male) and Worddiva (supposedly female) meet on an online Scrabble playing website. After several months of playing and flirting, they finally decide to meet in person. In the real world, Wordfreak and Worddiva would have in all probability found out that they are actually two much-married, balding, middle-aged men.<br />
<br />
However, in the book, Worddiva is 28-year old lawyer Alisha Menon and Wordfreak is 25-year old architect Aryan Chawla, both living in Mumbai. They meet each other and fall for each other like a ton of bricks upon sight. Why ever not - Alisha is a tall (yet waif-like and petite), dark and slim beauty. Aryan Chawla is a tall (and hunkily muscled), fair and handsome stud. And both are single and rich to boot as well - yaay! <br />
<br />
So, the first half of the book moves in total Mills & Boon land where pages and pages are devoted to just how wonderful Aryan thinks Alisha is and just how adorable Alisha thinks Aryan is. This being modern-day India and all, a few pages are devoted to describing the couple having sex in loving detail as well.<br />
<br />
If you are into this sort of romantic fluff, those chapters might have been entertaining. However, I am not and was impatiently wondering if the story was going to go *anywhere* as I skipped pages. I was getting a tad too tired of reading about two beautiful people mooning over each other while being helped along by other beautiful people. Seriously, not a single character in this book is ugly or even average looking - they are all beautiful and elegant.<br />
<br />
Towards the middle of the book, somethings starts happening. Aryan has hidden his past beneath his gorgeous smile and an unfortunate run-in Alisha has with one of her clients results in all his insecurities coming to the fore.From that point onwards, the story starts to focus on Aryan and his relationships and how Alisha acts as a catalyst in helping him resolve his crises. This part made an engaging read as the story wound towards the happily-ever-after end.<br />
<br />
The book is well-written and flows well. The secondary characters are quite engaging. I found Alisha's friend Diya very lively and a hoot, though her habit of calling Alisha, Lee-sha (yes, the dash is included) was a little grating. For that matter, Aryan's nickname of "Sunshine" for Alisha made me want to poke my eye too. And in some places, some rather weird observations popped up. Sample this:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"Even though tanned, he was still several shades lighter than her. The quintessential difference between them - he was a North Indian Aryan, and she was a South Indian Dravidian"</i></blockquote>
Say what!?!!<br />
<br />
Still, the book makes for an overall pleasant read and at 282 pages, is a fast read too. Perfect for a holiday.<br />
--<br />
<span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898138"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898137"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898136"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898135"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898134"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898133"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898132" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898130" style="background-color: white;">This review <span style="color: #222222;">is</span> a part of <span style="color: #222222;"><span style="color: #222222;">the</span></span> <a href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews">Book Reviews Program</a> at <a href="http://www.blogadda.com/">BlogAdda.com</a>. Participate now to get free books!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> </div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-67536293838562311352012-03-16T04:38:00.000-07:002012-03-16T05:09:39.963-07:00Smile please!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Not so very long ago, when one needed to take and view a picture, a lot of planning had to go into it. First, obviously, one needed to have a camera. Then, a film roll. Then, have the subject framed so that one could take the best possible shot in one try - hey, film-rolls don't grow on trees. Then, click the shot and hope one had done a good job of it. Once the entire roll had been used, it was dropped off for processing. After the processing-center defined processing time, it could be picked up. Finally, the result of one's efforts could be viewed. Phew! It WAS a long process and made all the more exciting for it.<br />
<br />
Nowadays, you just need to whip out your digital camera or cell-phone and keep clicking pictures till the cows come home. Charging your device and downloading pictures is so very easy too. Maybe some of the magic of the previous process is lost; still, I love my digital camera and love taking pictures with it. <br />
<br />
However, there's the dark side. Everyone knows at least one person who *will* send a link to some 800 pictures every time they take a trip in the mistaken belief that you will view them all. That is a minor annoyance though. After all, hitting reply with a generic "Nice pictures! Looks like you had a great time." takes probably a minute from your life. <br />
<br />
What gets my goat is: when watching live shows like concerts, plays and dances not featuring one's kith and kin, what is it that possesses people to constantly take pictures (yeah, some times with flash turned on too) or worse, make a video-recording of the proceeding? Among annoying live-theatre behavior, I think this ranks near the top, right among formidable contenders like crying babies and non-stop commenters. <br />
<br />
There you are, happily enjoying the dance or play or musical performance going on the stage when suddenly, the person two rows ahead of you lifts their digital or cell-phone camera and starts filming the scene thus giving you the *special effect* of having a small, bright rectangle of light in your line of sight in the best case or actual blocking your view if you are unlucky.<br />
<br />
Seriously, who watches these video recordings once they are made? Perhaps the person doing the filming? After all, they have missed the live show due to focusing on their camera instead. But otherwise? Their family? Their friends? Heck, I have watched my own wedding video, a show where I was the heroine and the center of attention, only once. I thought a live show is special because it is *live*.<br />
<br />
Recently, I went to a Thai cabaret show. The lady next to me started filming as soon as she sat down. All fine and dandy except that the show had not yet begun and she was filming the closed curtains! I immediately knew I was next to an obsessive filmer and sure enough, for about 50% of the show, her video camera continued to hover towards my left (after that, I guess her hands became tired). It would have been distracting but for the fact that the gentleman two rows ahead and the lady one row to the right, among plenty of other folks, were filming as well - thus, my eyes just got used to these splotches of light and ignored them.<br />
<br />
A couple of years back, we were visiting the Niagara Falls. We went to a theatre close to the falls which showed a movie about the Niagara Falls. Obviously, there were plenty of shots of Niagara Falls being shown on screen. Guess what some fellow audience members started doing? Yup, they whipped out their cameras and started taking pictures of the screen when these shots popped up, flashes galore. For heaven's sake, the REAL falls were barely 20 feet away! Just because one has a digital camera, one is not obliged to use it all the time.<br />
<br />
So yeah, I love digital cameras and mobile cameras for the wonderful ease of use and the opportunity it gives me to chronicle even everyday stuff. But,at times, when I see the blatant misuse of these devices, I really wish I could grab them from the offenders and make a huge bonfire out of them. Perhaps even do a war-dance around the bonfire for good measure. <br />
<br />
One can always dream I suppose.</div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-47032490764484100832012-03-06T03:05:00.005-08:002012-03-06T03:06:10.038-08:00Bleep<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The other day, I was watching this song Chikni Chameli on TV. Call me a prude but I really don't think that song belongs on day-time television. It is very disconcerting to see a woman, a top-tier heroine at that, dancing so suggestively and yeah, I will say it, vulgarly. The post is not about that though.<br />
<br />
So the song was going on and I was lifting up my jaw which had hit the ground after seeing Katrina's on screen antics. Then I realized that there were blurs on sections of the TV screen periodically and started wondering what that was about. Then I realized that these blurs were actually cigarettes/beedis in the mouths of the extra dancers in the song.<br />
<br />
Apparently, our censor board thought that watching these cigarattes will corrupt me majorly and make me take up smoking pronto while watching Katrina's heaving bosom right next to it is will not at all give me the idea that objectifying women so blatantly is normal. Because, you know, while we never, ever see people smoking on the streets, women dance provocatively in itty-bitty costumes on the corner of practically every single Indian road. The ways of the censor board are mysterious - I have never quite managed to figure out what constitutes 'censorable'.<br />
<br />
I then watched some more songs on TV and realized quite a few Indian movie songs do have such suggestive moves and no one has any qualms about playing them at all times on TV on channels meant for audiences of all age-groups.<br />
<br />
I think I am going to stick to watching Star World and Zee Cafe from now on. At least I know what I can expect on which show and besides, the channels very *<i>helpfully*</i> bleep out all kinds of 'explicit' words both on the audio as well as visually on the subtitles.<br />
<br />
Come on, when you know you are watching a sitcom which also talks about relationships, is hearing the word 'sex' going to make you keel over in shock and have you reaching out for the smelling salts? It is sometimes hard to understand sitcoms like Scrubs when
dialogs have four or more words bleeped out in a sentence (they once bleeped out the word 'broad' when it was not even being used in the derogatory sense - really) - good thing I have watched each episode about 3 times or so :-D.</div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-88042614151375149632012-02-21T09:50:00.001-08:002012-02-21T22:34:28.296-08:00Big Top<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
One fine day, S said, "<i>Let's go to the circus</i>"!<br />
<br />
I don't like circuses for two reasons: 1. Long long time ago, I had read news about a circus tent burning down (seriously, I think I heard too many such "drama-in-real-life" stories when I was younger. Either that or I am paranoid) and since then have harbored a fear of going to circuses in tents. 2. I <a href="http://archana.blogspot.in/2005/12/i-am-it.html">don't like watching</a> animals perform.<br />
<br />
Still, S looked like a kid talking about a trip to the candy shop whenever he spoke about the circus and I gamely decided to accompany him. We reserved our tickets over the phone and headed out last weekend.<br />
<br />
We entered a dusty ground and parked the car. S said we should take the water bottle along as it would be hot inside. I said, "<i>Come on, the show is only 2 hours long. How can you feel thirsty sitting in an air conditioned hall?</i>"<br />
<br />
S burst out laughing. "<i>You think the tent is air conditioned? Hahahaha! You <b>really</b> think the tent is air conditioned? Hahahah!</i>"<br />
<br />
Looking hurt, I said I had visited a circus only once before in my life. I had seen it when I was 8 years old: the Russian circus performed in a large concrete auditorium in Calcutta (evidently my parents shared my paranoia of circus tents burning down). And yes, the auditorium had been air-conditioned. S grinned and simply said, "<i>You have lead a life of luxury till now, Archu. Wait and watch!</i>"<br />
<br />
So, we strolled up to the ticket counter and picked up our tickets. Then we entered the gates. And guess what, I saw a big tent ahead - an actual circus tent! Just like I had read about in Enid Blyton stories. I was so thrilled that I even ignored the animal-y smells and instead looked at the four elephants, three camels and seven admittedly anorexic-looking horses parked near the entrance with delight.<br />
<br />
Then we entered the tent. And I understood why S had laughed. Calling it a "hall" was generous. It was simply a dusty ground with a concrete ring in the middle. Plastic chairs were arranged all around the ring for the audience excepting the walkways which lead to the front and the back. A few big pedestal fans valiantly tried to blow air throughout the hall without much success. The whole setup was covered with a big circular tent. So this was what a *real* circus looked like!<br />
<br />
We looked around and picked seats right next to the ring - perfect ring-view seats! Pity there were no fans near any of the ring-view seats (I guess the excellent view of the entertainment was supposed to preclude the need for any physical comfort) but thankfully, it is still not peak summer in Chennai and hence manageable.<br />
<br />
By this time, the prospect of seeing a real, honest-to-goodness circus had completely excited me and I was completely in the circus-mood, all set to enjoy myself. With only a 10 minute delay from the original starting time, the show started.<br />
<br />
It featured all the usual elements - trapeze artists, fire-eaters, jugglers, clowns, daredevil motorbikers, a cricket-playing elephant ( and I must say it performed much better than how the Indian cricket team is performing currently) and so on.<br />
<br />
After seeing the clinical precision and perfection of the like of <a href="http://www.cirquedusoleil.com/en/welcome.aspx">Cirque du Soleil</a> artistes, in a weird kind of way, it was nice to see down-to-earth, "human" performances. As in, the artistes performed well but did make the occasional mistake and then carried on beyond the hiccup. They perhaps would not have qualified for the Circus Olympics, but did a decent job and seemed to be having a good time at that.<br />
<br />
Besides, it was interesting to see just how quickly the various helpers set-up and took down props for the various acts. And heartening to note that all the artistes had a strict policy of wearing safety harnesses for every single act that took place more than a few feet above the ground. To my surprise, the troupe featured all stripes of Indian besides Chinese, Russian and African artistes. But the background commentary was completely in Tamil (and amusing, *very*<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Purple_prose"> purple commentary</a> too).<br />
<br />
With child-like delight, we both enjoyed the show. It only helped that groups of kids from three different schools had come for the show and were enthusiastically applauding the various acts (it was nice to know that TV and the internet has not completely jaded the younger generation yet).<br />
<br />
All in all, it was two hours of entertainment bathed in generous doses of feel-good and the nostalgic appeal of simpler times.<br />
<br />
If you are in Chennai, check it out: http://www.greatbombaycircus.in/ . It is on till March 11, 2012.<br />
<br /></div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-68763158182195697062012-01-31T07:45:00.000-08:002012-01-31T07:45:47.053-08:00Long winded tale of a train journey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
About three weeks ago S and I got the brilliant idea of going to Wayanad in Kerala over the Republic Day almost long weekend (an almost long weekend is one which becomes a long weekend when you take one day off. Republic Day was on Thursday this year).<br />
<br />
The trouble is, if you want to travel by Indian Railways, such brilliant ideas should hit you at least a month before your date of journey. If your date of journey, like ours was, is during a public holiday, any brilliant idea would do well to hit you at least 2-3 months before the proposed journey. Because, Indian Railway trains fill up notoriously fast and if you want a sporting chance of securing a ticket on them, you better adhere to booking your tickets by those timelines.<br />
<br />
Well, we hadn't. "<i>Fear not</i>," said S, "<i>I know someone who works for the railways who can get us a ticket</i>". So, our tickets were booked; and though our waitlist position was at some insane number, we continued to plan. As D-day approached, our suitcases, dinner, books and snacks were packed. I was running a comb through my hair preparatory to leaving for the station in 15 minutes when S's phone rang.<br />
<br />
I heard S answer the phone, listen for a bit and going, "<i>What!?! No tickets? We can't go?</i>" and ran to find out what was happening. Apparently, we had reached spots 1 and 2 on the waitlist and any further movement into getting confirmed tickets was unlikely. Ouch.<br />
<br />
Now, I am usually one of those people who obsessively plan their trips. Thus, long weekend plans are hatched well in advance and the necessary arrangements are made eons prior to the actual trip. When the date of departure arrives, all that is left to do is packing, locking the house and heading off to the airport/train station. Thus, any uncertainty in travel plans usually throws me for a loop and I tend to become a nagging nervous mess of, "<i>Oh my God, oh my God, what will we do, what will we do?</i>"<br />
<br />
However, that day, I could have been the poster child for the Zen philosophy. Even as S frantically called other people who could help out, I told myself that we would go to Wayanad. Worst case, we will go to some other place. But, we are going somewhere. So, unperturbed, I helpfully hovered around S doing nothing ( in retrospect that time would probably have been better spent ticking off the items on our check-before-we-leave-the-house list but hey, moral support is important, right?).<br />
<br />
A few calls later, S said that he was told that we should go to the train station anyway and see if someone there could help us but we should leave immediately to maximize our chances of getting tickets.<br />
<br />
<i>Now</i> we both ran like two chickens with heads cut off. Good thing we had packed and done all winding up activities earlier. So we were out of the house in five minutes and in an auto. When you want to get somewhere in a rush, it is a given that all kinds of traffic not seen on normal days will show up. And thus, we found ourselves stranded amidst the Republic Day arrangements near the beach. But our enterprising auto driver found an alternate route and deposited us in the train station 30 minutes later. Yaay.<br />
<br />
Once inside, I continued my helpful moral-support giving act by sitting on a bench and keeping an eye on our luggage while S did the honors of running around to find out what to do about the tickets. The thing about S is, if something can be accomplished by talking to people, he almost always accomplishes it. In other words, he is the type of person who can not only take the horse to the water but also make it drink (and happily at that). So, I was still in my Zen like state and assumed that we would be going on the train we were waitlisted on. The neat part was, I only had to assume while S had to actually do something about making that assumption come true (can you see a pattern here?).<br />
<br />Twenty minutes before the train left the station, S came running towards me and said that the train's ticket conductor had asked us to take seats on the train and he will work something out for us. Yaay. Of course, it was not the airconditioned coach we had originally wanted, but hey, at least we will be going on the train.<br />
<br />
So, S and I boarded a coach which looked like it belonged to the first batch of coaches which were made when the railways were first introduced to India. Oh well. We had another couple already seated in the coupe. Ah, good! Only four of us were there and there were 6 seats. So maybe we will get our seats without much fuss after all. Yaay.<br />
<br />
Which was when a group of 6 guys looking to be aged between 20-25 entered the coupe, looked at the seat numbers and declared, "<i>Hey cool, looks like all of us are in the same coupe!</i>" To their credit, they did not remark upon the 4 characters already seated in the coupe. To our credit, the male half of each of the two extra couples got up to make space.<br />
<br />
And thus the situation was when the train set off with a long-drawn horn. S was standing in the passage way, I was seated next to the window. Both of us looked at each other and giggled like truant-kids. The train was off and at any rate, we were at least going out of Chennai. Yaay.<br />
<br />
S found another seat. I stuck like a clam to my seat by the window. It had been ages since I last went on the train. I love, love, love looking out of the train during day-time while listening to the chugging (which is why I prefer non-AC cars since the chugging is louder there).<br />
<br />
So, I sat there, the wind blowing my hair about my face and a blissful smile on my lips while my mind wondered at the blase attitude of the rightful occupants of the coupe with regards to the 2 non-authorized folks occupying their seats (God bless them for that attitude. In the past, prim Ms. Perfect me has often displayed unlady-like frowns and muttered uncharitable remarks about people lacking the common-sense to plan beforehand when I have found myself dealing with passengers having no pre-allocated seats. Like they say, never ever declare that *you* would *never* do something like <i>blah, blah, blah</i>). In any case, my newfound Zen attitude, however temporary, was still sticking around. Thus, instead of cringing in shame, I thoroughly enjoyed the view from the window <br />
<br />
S called me over the phone and said that the ticket conductor had said that he would allocate seats to us in an hour and asked me to stay put till then - as though I was going to navigate seven pairs of feet which getting up would entail any more than necessary!<br />
<br />
After an hour, the blase attitude of the rightful coupe occupants had diminished considerably, which probably had something to do with progressively sorer backs. I thought I heard someone whisper about why extra folks were sitting in the coupe. However I blithely (though a little guiltily) ignored it. How the mighty had fallen!<br />
<br />
Finally, the guy sitting next to me politely asked me what my seat number was. Which was when I announced that my seat was yet to be allocated. To my surprise, none of the guys gave me death glares but nodded understandingly. But that was when my Zen attitude began to take leave. Assuming that all was well in your own little bubble was one thing. But *knowing* that all was not well with others made me feel very uncomfortable and I started praying that we would get seats allocated soon.<br />
<br />
Thankfully, within 10 minutes, S called me and said that the ticket conductor had found other seats for us. After apologizing to the paragons of patience, the rightful occupants, about hogging their space, we lugged our luggage and went to a different compartment.<br />
<br />
Only to find 5 people already seated there. God Lord - was anyone *not* traveling over the long weekend? However, it turned out that 2 of them were getting off at the next station. However, we got 3 other people as replacements once the original 2 got off. O boy, were we going to be playing a version of musical chairs the whole night?<br />
<br />
Now that we were sitting on fairly official (i.e. not fully confirmed) seats, my Zen attitude had returned full force and I found everything amusing. Finally, 4.5 hours after we had first got onto the train, we got our tickets in our hands. Yaay. Finally, we were all set!<br />
<br />I clambered onto the upper berth with my book, read for a while and then slowly fell asleep to the rocking of the train, looking forward to seeing Wayanad the next day. However, before Wayanad happened, 1. Moron turning on the bright coupe lights in the middle of the night, 2. Moron with a cellphone alarm which rang every single hour, waking me up, 3. Moron hawking coffee to train passengers by yelling "Cofffffffffeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" at 1a.m. in the morning happened. <br />
<br />
Still, it was, to put it mildly, it was an <i>interesting</i> experience. And no, I am not looking forward to repeating it anytime soon.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">p.s. Wayanad was awesome and worth every minute of the effort we put into getting there.</span></div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-37712358514982219632012-01-23T05:05:00.000-08:002012-01-23T05:13:14.529-08:00The Wednesday Soul - a book review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The Wednesday Soul by Sorabh Pant is the second book I received from Blog Adda as a part of their book review program. I did not read the book description through fully - just the first few sentences. It had sounded like an interesting enough premise. With the few sentences I had read, I had assumed that the book was some kind of chick flick. <br />
<br />
When I got the book and finished reading through the first couple of chapters, I realized that a chick-flick this book wasn't. Nyra Dubey, a self-annointed vigilante finds herself dead after being run over by a bus. She goes to the after-world and finds out (along with the readers) that it is absolutely nothing like popular imagination of after-life. What follows is a humorous tale of adventure, drama and war as Nyra finds herself in the middle of a conspiracy to wipe out after-life.<br />
<br />
Sorabh Pant creates a whole new universe filled with "new" characters and new concepts. The twist here is that most of these "new" characters are people we have heard of in this world. Only difference is, they play roles that, while related to their roles on earth, are not quite exactly the same. Thus, Agatha is a Karmic detective. Pythagoras is a mathemagician who reincarnates from time to time as other famous scientists and mathematicians.<br />
<br />
To guide us along, there's Radha. N. Recliws, a thought-caster (a thoughtcast is something like a podcast, difference being you don't need an ipod, your mind is enough) who gives titbits of information about the after-world at the beginning of every chapter.<br />
<br />
There is a whole lot of information about the after-world. While this was interesting to read, beyond a point it became tough to keep track of what was what and recollect what a concept meant when it made a reappearance. Skimming through the book is not an option unless you want to be left scratching your head wondering whether you can grasp the English language anymore as there are plenty of terms which will not make sense unless you have read about them earlier in the book.<br />
<br />
The book reminded me of Terry Pratchett novels in the way it creates a new world with its own rules. The footnotes in the first few chapters added to that feeling (these footnotes mysteriously disappeared in the later chapters though). However, it was a little more difficult to navigate this world and I found myself re-reading pages at times. It did not help that in some places the editing job was a bit shoddy. Spaces separating events happening in two different worlds were missing and I had to do double-takes.<br />
<br />
Overall though, I found the book an interesting read. The various characters featured in the book are very likeable. The writing style is irreverent and amusing without looking like it is trying too hard to be funny. Though it takes some amount of concentration to read the book, it is time well-spent. The book ends after laying the foundation for a sequel. I wouldn't mind reading the sequel too!<br />
<br />
---- <br />
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898138"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898137"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898136"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898135"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898134"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898133"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898132" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898130" style="background-color: white;">This review <span style="color: #222222;">is</span> a part of <span style="color: #222222;"><span style="color: #222222;">the</span></span> <a href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews">Book Reviews Program</a> at <a href="http://www.blogadda.com/">BlogAdda.com</a>. Participate now to get free books!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<br /></div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-22643564118961205212012-01-09T03:03:00.000-08:002012-01-09T03:06:46.249-08:00Happy New Year!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Chai in a earthenware tumbler that I bought at a handicraft fair over the weekend:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaRXx4SC7hPBPD0hDpaioRnDGM24f-8kwK_LDkWyCINU4kc7hcqMn0sFuTf14246i_ExOtf6i4i3rmNJo7TsLoAcH9QIv4MnIcd_U1giSGouBoeXIIPDVd3KErHkBe4hz648myjA/s1600/photo%25289%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaRXx4SC7hPBPD0hDpaioRnDGM24f-8kwK_LDkWyCINU4kc7hcqMn0sFuTf14246i_ExOtf6i4i3rmNJo7TsLoAcH9QIv4MnIcd_U1giSGouBoeXIIPDVd3KErHkBe4hz648myjA/s320/photo%25289%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wah - chai!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So cute - I know!<br />
<br />
How are New Year wishes connected to tea you ask. Well, drinking tea makes me happy and comforts me too. My wish for you for this new year is: May you not face any trouble this year that cannot be eased by drinking a steaming cup of strong chai (<i>or insert your favorite drink with appropriate adjectives</i>).<br />
<br />
Happy New Year folks and here's to your hopes and dreams coming true in 2012! *clink*</div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-68343861334966283632011-12-16T22:38:00.000-08:002011-12-16T22:47:00.129-08:00Two Fates - a book review<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I read about Blog Adda's book reviewing program on Binary's <a href="http://binaryfootprints.wordpress.com/">blog</a>. Immediately, lots of bulbs went off in my head. Wheeeeeeeeeee - I can get free books to read! Signing up was the work of a moment. Within a week, I had received my first book: <i>Two Fates</i> by <b>Judy Balan</b>. Keeping my end of the deal, here is the review:<br />
<br />
<i>Two Fates</i> follows the lives of Deepika Sundar, a Tamilian, and Rishab Khanna, a Punjabi, who, after a long courtship and two years marriage are now fed up with each other and want to get a divorce. However, their respective families, who were at hammer and tongs before their wedding have now become one happy family and Deepika and Rishab dread telling them about their separation plans. How they try to do it is what <i>Two Fates</i> is about.<br />
<br />
In the first few chapters of the book, Deepika and Rishab are portrayed as two annoying individuals with few likeable qualities. Thus, it seemed like it made sense that they annoyed each other as well and wanted to divorce. But a few chapters on, I was not sure (like most of the other characters in the book), as to why exactly these two people wanted to get a divorce. They had been courting for five years prior to marriage and all of their current divorce-contributing factors would have been present back then too, in which case they probably would not have even agreed to get married in the first place. Or perhaps familiarity breeded contempt and all. Anyway, I decided the story needed some premise and this was it and I should leave it at that.<br />
<br />
The story is generously populated with caricatures of Punjabi (and to some extent, Tamil) families. I have Punjabi friends and they do have other aspects to their characters than being a ultra-happy bunch of boisterous and loud people fond of eating. I guess this was for comedic relief but beyond a point, it got repetitive and I skipped a few pages with descriptions of how these Punjabis on Prozac manage to irritate Deepika and Rishab.<br />
<br />
About a third of the way in, I began to think that perhaps this reviewing for free books was not such a great deal after all if I was going to be forced to complete reading books I rather would not have. However, the book picked up from then on. The characters had grown on me a bit Though I could see the end from chapter 1 itself, I had become mildly interested in knowing how it got there.<br />
<br />
In spite of the flimsy story line, the writing is pretty decent. Though I thought the prose was a little too wordy in the beginning, it sorted itself out in subsequent chapters. The language flowed smoothly making it an easy and quick (the book is only 200 pages long) read.<br />
<br />
When I finally closed the book, it was with the feeling of contentment that comes from having done decent timepass. That would be my verdict for the book as well: decent timepass when you do not have anything better on hand to read.<br />
---- <br />
<div style="font-family: inherit;">
<span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898138"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898137"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898136"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898135"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898134"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898133"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898132" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1324103749898130" style="background-color: white;">This review <span style="color: #222222;">is</span> a part of <span style="color: #222222;"><span style="color: #222222;">the</span></span> <a href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews">Book Reviews Program</a> at <a href="http://www.blogadda.com/">BlogAdda.com</a>. Participate now to get free books!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<br /></div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-18653762527721706372011-12-07T00:04:00.001-08:002011-12-07T00:43:23.161-08:00Going under<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When I was told that I would need to undergo a minor medical procedure under the influence of general anesthesia, I almost started hyperventilating. As much as I hate doctor/hospital visits, I usually follow the resultant treatments without much fuss. But, this time round, I started panicking with a capital P.<br />
<br />
I was not worried too much about the actual procedure. Instead, the alarm bells in my head had started clanging loudly the moment the words "general anesthesia" were mentioned. Years and years ago, I had heard a story of a neighbor who was administered general anasthesia for a very minor and common place operation and wound up never coming out of it. Since then, the words general anesthesia have always conjured horrific images in my head.<br />
<br />
Yeah, so, I was less than enthused to hear I had to go under general anesthesia (GA). I tried wangling out of it by suggesting other options but finally had to recoincile myself to GA. On the bright side, if anything happened to me I would be too gone to be aware of it. On the other hand, I felt profoundly sorry for my family if anything did happen to me (I can be morbid like that).<br />
<br />
Two nights before the procedure saw me wide awake. For some reason I kept envisioning a scenario where I would be unable to move my body or open my eyes on the operating table but where I could hear all the people around me and had to fight the panic that image brought in. That lack of control over myself had me scared out of my wits.<br />
<br />
It did not help that S casually mentioned that he was one of those people who did not take easily to GA. In fact, once he had counted all the way up to 35 before the anesthetist decided that the dosage was probably too less for him and decided to increase it (usually anesthetists ask you to start counting while they wait for the drug to take effect and people are usually out before they reach 10). What if something similar happened to me?<br />
<br />
Anyhow, the day of the surgery arrived. After prep and waiting, I was wheeled into the operation theatre (OT). Darn, the OT was frigging cold! I wished I had several more layers of blankets on me. But before I could mentally start whining about that, the moment of anesthesia arrived.<br />
<br />
I guess I had a frightened deer caught in the OT lights look on my face for the anesthetist kindly look at me through her mask and asked "<i>Is this your first time with anesthesia?</i>" When I dumbly nodded, she said, "<i>Don't worry ma. You will simply start sleeping in a bit.</i>" Then, some drug was injected and she asked, "<i>Are your teeth loose?</i>". What a weird question, I thought, mentally bookmarking that I should later google the relationship between general anesthesia and teeth (my inner geek shalt never be quelled).<br />
<br />
Then she again said, "<i>You will sleep in a bit</i>". I lay staring at the bright overhead lights. I did not appear to be any closer to sleeping at all. Did they really inject anything into me? Oh, wait a minute, I feel lightly dizzy, maybe I would feel a bit more dizzy in a bit. But wait, I can still see the lights.<br />
<br />
Someone was prodding me, "T<i>he procedure is over, are you fine?</i>" I had been in the middle of some pleasant dream (I have no clue about what) and was mildly annoyed at being so unceremoniously woken up. But then, realization dawned: Wait a minute, I had gone under and come out of GA successfully. With absolutely no recollection of what had happened in between.Yaay!<br />
<br />
Then I looked around and thought I was still in the OT. It took me several minutes before I processed that the overhead lights were missing and a bunch of cupboards had sprung up next to me, thus making it highly unlikely that I was still in the OT. Oh, I was probably in the recovery room then.<br />
<br />
I was quite lucid post-GA and was even able to walk around on my own in a short while. Contrary to expectations of nausea,a common GA side-effect, I was ravenously hungry in a couple of hours and was demanding food (ha, who can separate Archana and her food!), having been foodless for close to 14 hours.<br />
<br />
The next 24 hours saw my head spin lightly whenever I changed positions between sitting/standing and lying down. But otherwise, I was not very much worse for the wear and was completely back to normal the next day.<br />
<br />
So yeah, as a in case of emergency nugget of info, I now know that I do not have adverse effects to GA. Yaay.</div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-84899340823645495902011-11-10T04:31:00.000-08:002011-11-10T04:31:07.124-08:00Our national pasttime<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Officially, it might be said that cricket-watching is our national past time. But I think that our true national past-time is people watching.<br />
<br />
Of course, everyone does people watching. Being curious is simply human nature. However, desis take people watching to the level of an art. Where people from other nations* may look embarrassed and turn away if caught in the act by the object of their watching, a true desi would hardly acknowledge that s/he has been spotted. Instead, s/he would watch with greater confidence now that there is no need for even the token pretence that they are not watching the object.<br />
<br />
Which is how, many a time I have caught starers in the act of watching, turned away and turned back after some time only to realize that I was *still* being watched by the same starer. It is as though once you are in public, you become a part of the landscape and hence can be gawked at.<br />
<br />
This could also be the reason that whenever it looks like more than one person is watching something, those persons are immediately joined by more people. No one wants to miss out on any fun. Often times, it turns out that an entire crowd of people are watching *nothing* (I am desi too, so, if circumstances permit, I will go and check out what's happening too - that's how I know) but why miss out in case it is some thing genuinely interesting?<br />
<br />
Once we were driving around Ooty with some other relatives. A non-designated tourist spot, consisting of rows of pretty trees, looked interesting. So, we made a turn into the mud pathway leading to that mini-forest. Our relatives' jeep followed us. We had hardly gotten off our Jeeps when we realized that about six other random vehicles had followed us into the mini-forest. Evidently, the people in those vehicles thought that if this spot was of interest to *two* vehicles, there must be something to it and had decided to check it out for themselves!<br />
<br />
Recently, I had a surreal conversation with my mom. We both were enjoying a cup of tea at my parents' place. We were sitting in a room which opened out into a balcony which faced a tree. Mom remarked on how much the tree had grown since the time they had moved in.<br />
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She added, "<i>The other day, the lady from the flat across the street said that she was feeling kind of bad that she could no longer look into our house. The tree has become too tall and shields our house from her eyes</i>."<br />
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My jaw dropped. I looked at mom and gaped, "<i>Really? So not only was she she spying on us, but she also admitted it to you without any embarrassment?</i>"<br />
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Mom shrugged and said, "<i>Yes. Apparently she used to watch us all from her flat. In fact, I think she must have been happy when I invited her over for last year's Golu so that she could finally place the rest of the rooms in the house as well instead of having to imagine where we go when we move from this room!</i>" Both of us burst out laughing. To think that her flat was a little too far away from ours to even give a proper view. True blue desi that neighbor lady was! <br />
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I love watching other folks at the airport, train-station and bus-station. I notice what they are doing and what they are wearing. And these places usually provide such a high turnover of people that there is never a shortage of entertainment. However, I have never done it blatantly (unless of course, I am wearing sun-glasses and cannot be spotted :-P) - I probably couldn't stand the attention that being caught in the act would bestow! And I also draw the line at deliberately looking into other people's homes - that just seems a tad indecent to me.<br />
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But yeah, I love people watching too.<br />
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* I do know that people from other countries (Asian, mostly) do unabashed people watching too. Maybe it has something to do with a country's culture. </div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3471673.post-84284331924412671842011-11-04T04:31:00.000-07:002011-11-10T04:38:31.611-08:00Ponniyin Selvan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As I had said in the post, my interest to read the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ponniyin_Selvan">Ponniyin Selvan</a> series was kindled after my<a href="http://archana.blogspot.com/2011/03/great-living-chola-temples.html"> trip to Swamimalai</a> which included visiting the great Chola temples, Gangai Konda Cholapuram and Darasuram. I had said then that I will try to read the series in Tamil. Well, if my wishes were horses, the galloping sounds they would have made would have caused world-wide noise pollution. Given that, my wish largely remained a wish (my abominable Tamil reading skills ensured that) and I eventually wound up reading the entire series in English.<br />
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The verdict? Definitely worth reading. There are five volumes with the fifth part being split into two books. The story is fact woven with fiction. All the principal characters are real flesh and blood people who lived in the 9th century AD. If you are familiar with the towns and cities in the Kumbakonam-Thanjavur region, you will surely get goosebumps when you read some of the place-names in the book - those towns have been in existence for more than a thousand years now!<br />
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The series has several passages which describe the beauty of the Chola country. You can see the lush green fields, the beautiful river Cauvery and its tributaries, the abundant stone mandapams and grand Siva temples with ardent devotees come to life before your eyes. Those were the places where I sorely missed reading the book in Tamil. The passages have been translated decently enough in English but quite understandably, they lack the beauty that Tamil would have given them.<br />
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The story by itself is quite gripping. Book five especially has a significant event happening in almost every chapter. It was when reading part 5 that I was pretty much deaf to the world and could be spotted carrying my book everywhere. I can imagine how readers would have waited with bated breath for every edition of Kalki magazine back in the 1950s when the story was first published in it as a series! No wonder the circulation of the magazine shot up then.<br />
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My favorite character in the entire series is the boat-girl Poonguzhali. What a fiesty and spirited character! She manages to outshine even the "heroes" when featured along side them. What a woman!<br />
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Now I have re-embarked on my "read Ponniyin Selvan in Tamil" project. I really think reading the series in Tamil would be totally worth it. Let's see how that plan goes!<br />
<br /></div>Archanahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13309876478638378883noreply@blogger.com10