Birthdays and the Best Part- Presents!!!!

I remember when I was a kid; I would have a birthday party each year. In fact to me, that was the only good thing about growing a year older- a party which meant I was likely to get many good presents. The present a friend got me was enough to make or break a friendship! I remember telling one of my class-mates who got me a set of 6 cocktail glasses ( hardly a gift that a 10 year old can play with) on my birthday that we weren't friends anymore because of the sort of gift she gave me. Then there was this other classmate who I didn't like but who scored huge brownie points in my book because she got me not one but TWO presents neatly wrapped together. A person who gives such nice gifts must be a very good friend to have, so the classmate who I rarely spoke to got upgraded to a new 'friend' status. Very mature I know.

Anyways, as luck would have it; by the time we came back to India my parents decided that I was all grown up now and there was no need for parties. Of course, I tried to argue with them saying that nobody is ever too old for a party, but I think they had mentally given up on planning such a stressful event. My sister seems to have done a lot better in that department. Skillful mediator and planner that she is, she still manages to get not just one but two presents from each parent every year. Sometimes I think she teaches better lessons in negotiation and self-marketing than 2 years of MBA did!!

So, this year as I was fiddling around with my list and wondering what to get myself; I decided that I would be my own fairy and make a childhood wish come true. Instead of having to choose one gift like an adult, why not gift myself a few things I love a lot? So, I gifted myself 3 bags, 10 books which were a mix of fiction and non-fiction as well as a whole goodie bag of beauty products from Body Shop.  So, birthday treat to self is a huge success and birthday girl is thrilled!!

Every year, there's one other person who dreads my birthday specifically for selfish reasons of accelerated ageing, just like me. That's my mom. Before she can wish me on my birthday; my mom will crib about how ME growing a year older means that SHE is getting older and ME getting closer to 30 means that SHE is getting closer to now owning a head full of white hair! This year however, I reminded her that she was now a grand mother and that meant she was already old. I know; very pathetic of me but then again I'm battling my own hallucinations about turning 30, all by myself. I mean I have a number of hasn'ts, doesn'ts and did-nots in my list such as ' still doesn't have Julia Robert's figure' or ' hasn't travelled the world yet' or even ' Did not get back to working at a day job'. So, I think it's wiser that mom faces up to the fact that a head full of white hair is just around the corner, while I try cajoling my mind into believing that 30 a'int all that bad. I mean, after that, 40, 50, 60 and maybe 70 await????

On Getting Inked

What a relief to be back in a familiar place that I know and love. If you must know, it’s only 4:30 am on a Saturday morning and I have broken my own rule of not getting up till its 9:00 am. The very thought of putting ideas and meanderings to words made my muse very excited. And, so I thought to myself, ‘What the heck’ll? If you are itching to write, then it’s time to wake up sleepy Dell too.’ [In case you’re wondering what the word ‘ Heck’ll’ means and you are very keen on looking it up in the dictionary, seriously don’t bother because this word is nothing more than a mere production of my ever hyper imagination. J And my sister made a teeny weeny contribution too. We couldn’t decide if we liked the phrase What the hell or What the heck, better. Spoilt brats that we are, we then decided to get the best of both worlds by simply combining both!]

Anyways..Where was I? Right- about to begin on the subject of tattoos. So, recently two pals of mine got individual tattoos done on their arms- one got the king of hearts and the other got a very serene outline of the Buddha; which led to another event-

No 1- That set me thinking on what I would like my tattoo to look like. And yes, although, the mere sight of the tattoo instruments are enough to make me want to cry; if I could survive a caesarean operation (although I must be fair to my doc and truthfully say that I was given anaesthesia. Point to note here is that, once you give birth; any other episode involving pain mostly always fades away in comparison.) So, the only other option is to do what a certain Angelina Jolie did. She merely walked into a tattoo parlour blissfully sloshed, dropped her pants and woke up the next day with a tattoo of a funny dragon on her hip. ‘Funny’ she calls her dragon in her own words because apparently it has a blue tongue. Fear not, we can always ask Brad to confirm.

So when I read about that incident; I mentally switched places with Ms Jolie and wondered what would happen if I had done the same. Imagine me walking into a tattoo parlour completely drunk, dropping my pants and then telling a biceped tattoo artist- ‘Eye vud laik eeyu tu lhet eyourr emaijeenashun go viiiiild (I would like you to let your imagination go wild).’ Dear readers, since I’m not Ms Jolie and I have anything but a wild reputation preceding me; I can imagine waking up next day having spent the night on the pavement outside and most likely finding the words- ‘ Don’t come back again’ or ‘ Warning- can cause blindness’ tattooed on my hip instead!!

But seriously! When I was in college, I actually used to talk about getting a full length dragon tattooed on my leg. Thank goodness, I was too chicken to actually go ahead with it. A few caesarean stitches are painful enough, do I really want to wake up to a dragon breathing fire, every single day? A tattoo is something that ought to be personal and attractive at the same time. Why does Ms Jolie have mantras tattooed on her skin? I have always wondered if she reads aloud from them during meditation, perhaps? (writer scratches head)

I would love to get a tattoo of my muse. Only problem being that I still haven’t figured what she looks like. I mean, I know she is a figment of my imagination and all, but I am still in the editing mode with regard to her final features. I definitely want her to be a fairy, with nice big wings, maybe holding a long feather in her hand and writing in a book? Should she be sitting, kneeling or sitting on a crescent the way the Dreamworks Animation kid does? Then again, maybe I better make her a half-angel. BUT, I would really like another tattoo of a little cherub, a pierced heart and maybe even a small orangutan. See, that’s just the problem. I like so many images and if tattooing wasn’t such a painful procedure, I might have even gotten small tattoos done of my contact lenses and my darling Dell laptop, too!! After all, I can’t get through a day without them.. So many things that are dear to me.

I have actually stopped being judgemental about people who walk around with tattoo covered bodies. Seriously, how do you decide what you like best and settle on just one tattoo to live with for life? It’s like somebody said- ‘My body is a temple of art.’  Sure, WHATEVER. So, who knows, someday I may actually show some guts and stubbornness and actually get a tattoo done (probably after driving the artist insane with my inability to decide what I want) . But then what if the tattoo actually makes my body a ruin of art??

On a Concert Night

So, yesterday was an important day, because of three things-

- It was my parent's 29th anniversary. To be honest, I hate the fact that their anniversary comes a month before my birthday. So every year, I'm reminded of my age one month earlier and moan about the fact that I'm one year closer to 30. Once I hit 30, I'll then start panicking about 40 and so on..            

- It was India's Independence Day. And am sorry to say that I forgot to think about my favourite freedom fighters and instead as I was scrubbing my kitchen and moping the floors; thinking about how much 'freedom' I could have if a full time maid gave me some 'independence' from house-work!!                

- Shreya Ghoshal ( yes that fab voice behind Zoobie Doobie and Devdas) was in town and I had one ticket for the concert. And no, I love being by myself, and don't miss not having company.

So, house work complete and a bath later, I was all set to go for the grand concert. Of course hubby cribbed about me not being around and all that jazz, but I firmly said goodbye. After all, its only when he's not around that I get to strut around in my heels. ( yeah yeah, this 5 feet 10 inches me has HEELS!) so what, even models own hundreds!!

When I landed at the venue, the first instinct I had was to run away from there. People were decked up in such fine stylish wear and yours truly had gone in her trademark kurta and jeans. I mean, people had seriously put thought into what they were going to be seen in and all I did was pick up whatever was already ironed. So, all my enthu about hearing Shreya vanished. I firmly decided that I was going to pick up some expensive designer wear next trip to Cochin and I'll be damned if I don't have any people looking enviously at me. The next thing I noticed was that I was in a sea of Indians. I mean INDIANS!!!! Of course you see Indians all the time when you're in Singapore, but how often do you get to see just Indians minus any other nationality??? When you're abroad like me, believe me, even the sight of one Indian does strange things to you. And here were plenty of them speaking in a number of languages, all come to have a good time.

And that's when I realised- 90% of them were Bengalis. It made me smile to hear Bengali being spoken again.  It's been years since I heard that sweet language anywhere close to me. I so wanted to butt in and tell the number of groups I saw yapping together- ' Hey Nomoshkar! Ami Sanjana. ' ( is that even how to introduce myself?? I have completely forgotten) and that made me miss my Bengali friends from MBA so much, my then room mate Mamta who is happily settled somewhere in Canada and  all the love and craziness and deep conversations you can only have with Bengalis. Of course am also very partial to the fact that they have such fantastic writers, produce such good music, are coastal people like us Mallus and can't do without coconut and fish; again like us Mallus.  So while I was thinking of them and wondering what they may be doing this very minute; I spotted a  Sardar complete with turban and all. And of course that set me on a memory trip back in time, where I first met Punjabis while doing my MBA. My best friend is a Punjabi and am thinking of the way they dance ( I swear it, nobody can dance like a Punjabi can, they just have it running in their feet) and the way they LIVE up life. And then I hear somebody speak Hindi and that makes me grin, because now its Mumbai with all its life, squalor and everything else that comes to mind. And of course, am missing the city so much I want to get magically transported there..

That's when it hit me-  not even one South Indian was present. I didn't spot even ONE. And then something else hit me harder- I was the only one who came all by myself. Everybody else came with their families and friends. So, my determination to have a great time is slowly waning away. And then to add more salt to my already sore wounds, I spot another 20 women wearing the same aqua green color as me. Seriously, if I was shorter I might have been crawling on the floor, but thanks to the fact that I tower over half of society in my full 5 feet 10 inches glory, PLUS 2 inch heels; darling do you really think I can escape getting noticed like it or not? And the woman at the restaurant counter took so freakin' long to serve me, that by the time I sat down to gulp through my snack; half the crowd began taking their seats inside the auditorium. And yes, if you must know; everybody was staring. AGAIN.

This time I was beyond caring. Let them stare I thought. Only I know the full potential of my tummy to strike up music at its own whim and will. And everybody has paid to hear Shreya, NOT me. I refuse to give my gastric juices ANY opportunity whatsoever to embarrass me. Silently, am trying to emotionally blackmail my tummy into behaving- as it is, my attire has let me down and so has my poor knowledge of Bengali. my heels and the lack of a familiar face. So, after licking my fingers (yes the chicken burrito was delish), I stumbled in the dark to find my seat.

 And by then, something else that would unravel me in full public view took place. They were showing Incredible India ads. First I thought 'what the hell are they showing these ads for? We're all Indians, and we all have family back there and we're all likely to visit India sometime soon. We don't need an ad to tell us how great our country is.'

And then, as I watched clip after clip of yummy food, a kathakali dancer, an ayurvedic massage, holi and a number of other heart wrenching shots; I completely broke down. Like I said, when you're abroad, anything Indian touches you in a way like no other. You're likely to take a ladoo for granted in India, but if you're offered one when you're living out of the country; you'll most likely kiss it and thank God for it and then sample it. And then also start talking about how you miss laddoos in India, even though that may not even be your favourite sweet. That's just how it is when you're living abroad. Sound weird, but it's a fact. We NRI's even talk about the dirty roads, the slums and all things Indian that we crib about at home with so much LOVE, that it will take your breath away and most likely knock you out. So as my eyes filled with tears at the thought of home and everything homely; I forgot to be self-conscious about where I was. Big Deal. You can add tears to my long list of tonight's other embarrassments. And I realised that you can take an Indian out of India, but never the India out of an Indian.

This post was supposed to be about Shreya and her talent. Well, she is so talented and the whole world knows that. I enjoyed the show, cooed, hooted and clapped harder than anybody else ( inherited Indianness traits!). But it felt wonderful and so patriotic for me that I could get  emotional about my country when I'm living in a supposedly ' more advanced'  place. So, this concert turned out to an eye opener in so many ways because it felt like my soul had been touched.. Incredible India ads, Bollywood music, Indian languages and Indians themselves.. what could have been a better way to celebrate Independence Day? Jai Hind!!

Eat, Pray, Love- Why it Inspires me

I stay away from self help books, and books that have are written to make you feel good. I hate books that are preachy, that promise to help me see life differently, which swear they have the secret formula to success and especially books on God. Personally speaking, I believe that the formula for success differs from one person to the other and also that we all need to know and find God in our own way. No book can do that for you. Atleast not in my mind. I'm sure I was the only student in my MBA course who wasn't in the least bit interested in reading Stephen Covey or applying tried and tested success theories in my life.

So, its no surprise then that I stayed away from ' Eat. Pray, Love' and even switched channels when the author was being interviewed on Oprah. I just did not need or want another book which claimed to be an eye- opener ( am yet to discover how one reads with both eyes shut), or which would touch my life in more ways than one. The more the friends who suggested the book, the more I decided stubbornly that this one particular book was never going to disgrace my esteemed bookshelf. However, on one of my trips to Cochin, I walked into my favourite book shop and happened to see a sequel by the same author. In my mind I was chiding all the other readers who had brought millions to the writer; so successful had she become that she had even published a sequel, which resembled the first book in its cover. Anyways, I know how expensive' the flavor or must read of the month' can be and I was so sure that the book would be over 500 bucks. Imagine my surprise when the price tag on the book proudly stated Rs 350 only. I hesitated for just a second and bought the book, all the while thinking that it was probably going to end up as a gift to a friend.

I recently opened the book, not knowing what to expect. I found it interesting that the writer had jotted down details of her trip to India, but as expected from foreigners who have been enticed by India's spiritual side for ages; I must say it put me off. I much prefer a Shantaram, which does complete justice to the complex nature of the country which can put a smile on your face and irritate you all at the same time. I hate admitting I'm wrong when it comes to books, but Eat, Pray, Love was going to revive something in me. What I love about the book is the way the writer with no hint of shame at all, says that she went to Italy just to study Italian and to enjoy their food. And she has zero regret about the 11 pounds she gained either. The book make me realise something. Half  of our lifetime goes in living life according to others expectations and demands. When you get married, you make certain sacrifices ( I mean would you really get out of bed and take a morning flight to anywhere, without telling your spouse?) and when the kids come, its easy to lose yourself in the daily nitty gritties of life. I loved the way the writer goes to Italy, just because she wants to learn the language properly, converse with the real people in it until she can roll the words and say just about anything she wants. I love the freedom associated with the whole situation- I mean she could have studied Italian sitting in the States, or done an online course but she took the adventure even further. I fell in  love with the idea of doing something just for the heck of it, just because you wanted to and NOT because you were asked to, made to or because it was the logical thing to do.

The last time I did something for the heck of it and I didn't care if it was on the other side of the world, was when I wanted to attend a library book fair ( and that was BEFORE reading the book). In short, library books for bring sold for 2 dollars each and although I couldn't stay for long ( what with a toddler trying to break his pram seat belt); it still felt great. I wasn't done giving myself an extra dose of happiness, and so off I went to Ikea and proceeded to treat myself to not one but TWO chocolate mousses. Simply because chocolate mousse is my favouritest dessert in the world, and I couldn't have cared less if I had put on 3 kg just enjoying my treat. Of course, being a woman with an additional helping of feel guilty hormones ensured that by the end of the day I was wondering what demon had possessed me to eat two mousses at the same time. But when I looked into the mirror, I giggled. Because it had been ages since I had done something crazy, unwanted and absolutely logic defying especially when you note that I'm the same ass who slogs away in the gym every single day. But the moment felt great. Simply out of this world. And made me feel like a young kid again. So, I thought of a few things I really want to do in life someday. Am sure that somebody will remind me that there's no logic to it and there are better options but i want to do it all the same-

- Backpack across Europe. Avoid all the fancy hotels, stay in lodges and walk till my feet bleed. But I want to experience Europe and capture it all in a book of delicious memories.

- Spend time visiting and studying the works of Leonardo da Vinci, Michaelangelo, Raphael and other great Italian masters. I have been reading books on them since I was a kid and I deserve to see their works in person and not just admire the replicas. In fact, so strong is my desire to see their works that I never lose a chance to watch a documentary on their work or life and I have even wept in my sleep at the thought of touching Roman soil.

- Walking into the Sistine Chapel and the St Peter's Basilica, and just being moved to tears by the sheer mastery and art around me. I just want to sit in silence and stare at the ceiling and frescoes, so that anytime I wish I can transport myself back to that place like a trip back in time.

- Standing in a corner of the street at Times Square and watching all the activity around me. The last time I visited Time Square, I swear it, it was a living paradise for a writer like me. There was a group of kids having a rap song contest on one side, Eminem was recording in the MTV studio, a crowd of fans were holding up banners for him, a squad of police were evacuating a building and I saw real guns for the first time ever. And in spite of all that, people walked around and cars went by like it was just another ordinary day. For me, it was anything but.

- A White Christmas in New York. With Santas around me, and plenty of Xmas songs playing, as well as cakes being baked, snow in the air and loads of Christmas cheer.

- I want to do a course in art with a specialization in Da Vinci and Michaelangelo. And a course in Shakespeare as well. I have no clue how it will help me, but its been on my mind forever.

- I want to attend a proper arts and painting course as well as a course in poetry and short stories. I have always felt a certain degree of lacking since I'm utterly useless at painting- personally I feel learning to paint could help me express better.

- Attend the Edinburgh Festival and also be part of a class thats taken by one of my favourite authors. Can you believe it? I was in Scotland at the time the Festival was held, and I missed the biggest gathering of writers, poets and books held anywhere in the world. And all because I wasn't confident enough of travelling alone or having fun by myself. I haven;t stopped kicking myself ever since. :-(

- Learn Spanish, Italian and revise my French. If there was one wish I could be granted, I would ask for the gift of languages. To be able to speak with anybody in any part of the world. And I also want to learn how to prepare these cuisines too.

- To stay in the most expensive hotel in the world. I just want to see what the big fuss is all about.

- Cook with Nigella Lawson. I love this dame. She's plump, makes cooking look so easy and enjoys eating. Finally an expert in food, who likes what she cooks. For that matter, a class with Jamie Oliver would do just as fine too.

- Go on an archaeological expedition somewhere in the world. Dig up dinosaur bones. Or discover something new about the Aztecs.

I have loads of other thoughts in my head and I realise that if I went ahead and did all that; my day would be very different from what it is now.. If you had the chance to do anything you wanted for yourself, what would it be?

Numbers and Convenient Amnesia

I've had a phobia of numbers for as long as I can remember. When my mom would give me sums to do at home,  I would literally go into a trance when I saw the figures on a white page. While I may have looked like some lost fool, what you didn't know was that the numbers were royally messing around with my eensy weensy brain! So, unlike other brave people who realise they have a phobia and do something about it; I recognized the overpowering effect of numbers and chose to leave it at that. And of course I kept getting disgraceful marks in all my maths exams too.

The only year that I managed to get over my mental fear of maths was when my favorite school teacher Arundhati De, taught us Maths. The way she approached the subject, I realized that I could beat the stupid numbers at their own game. And of course I loved the smiley faces she drew on my book every time I scored 9 on 10 for a test. But even though I had won the battle, eventually numbers won the war!

These days, my phobia of numbers has crept into everyday life as well. Just last night I realized that I'm turning 28 in September, and I'm just two years away from a dreaded 30!!!!! I don't know why I feel that natural dislike at the thought of turning 30- its almost as if I can hear a million clocks ticking and an expiration sticker being printed for me somewhere. My wonderfully sensitive hubby assured me that turning 30 was nothing- ages 40, 50, 60 and 70 are all waiting in line to get me....

To cap it all, I regret to say that I also forget all the important dates that I ought to remember. In fact I have proudly stated that my kid was born on May 25, when actually he was born on May 23( I have even been corrected by a nurse in the hospital once and yes that makes me a lousy mother). I royally forgot my dad's birthday last year( so did he for that matter!) , and got a earful from my sister for remembering her birthday at 11pm in the night. Getting blasted by a 12 year old on an international call and having nothing to say, is not a memory I want to hang on to.  The only three dates I'm proud to say I never forget are Aug 15 ( Independence Day and my parent's anniversary),  Sep 12 ( my birthday) and Dec 25( Xmas).

This year I decided to make use of technology so that I would not embarrass myself again. I kept reminders in my phone and even reminders in my mail. But old habits die hard. However, I pat myself on the back for sending my sister a teddy bear and pink roses for her 13th birthday, more as a make up gesture for my blooper last year.

While I know I have my bearings with most other things, its awful that numbers and I haven't become friends as yet. Who knows, life is full of surprises and someday I may be able to calculate 5 digit sums in my head or work on maths to pass the time. For now anyways, its numbers that wear the horns!