tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85748982024-03-13T07:36:21.124+04:00The nonsense memoirs~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-19171331066142562542012-12-07T01:35:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:52.259+04:00Becoming mom<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This post is primarily for people who are on the other side, wondering if they should have a baby and if anyone is going to tell them the truth. So here it is, all out in the open. My experiences of becoming mom.<br />
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Deciding to take the plunge<br />
I was never a baby person. I am one of those who politely smile at new parents and never (even now) offer to hold their babies. I thought there might be a day when little booties and baby babble will tug at my heart strings. Never happened.<br />
We had a perfect life together. We felt complete. There was really nothing missing. The main reason I wanted to have a baby was to know what it felt like. I did not want to miss out on an adventure, even if irreversible. Besides I always wanted to have a daughter.<br />
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Pregnancy<br />
I had a lovely 9-10 months. Vomit free. Largely pain free. Grotesque-weight gain free. The getting up to pee in the night part sucked though. You should know that 3 min pee break clearly trumps feeding, changing and putting a baby to sleep so enjoy it while it lasts.</div>
~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-67002015164225958112012-06-30T03:15:00.001+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.587+04:00Oh Morocco!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I realize I still have to blog about Lima and Buenos Aires but it's been 15 months and my memory is suspect. So here's my account of the lovely Morocco before that goes the same route!<br />
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I should really start with how we decided on Morocco. On our Peru trip last year we stayed in a nice place which had a world map shower curtain hanging in the bathroom. We came back home and promptly purchased one of our own. So one fine day we were talking about how Spain is one country we both haven't been to in Europe and also how we wanted to go to some place in Africa. One look at the curtain and we realized how close Morocco was to Spain. It was perfect- we are self proclaimed foodies and the Moroccan cuisine was the bait<br />
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We soon agreed that we wanted to spend most of our time in Morocco and I'm glad we did. All of one week. We opted to only go to Barcelona in Spain and not over complicate the trip. We needed a lead time of 3 weeks to get our visas but it was fairly smooth.<br />
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Casablanca was our first stop. Even though it has the international airport and is the closest to the capital (Rabat), there's not really a lot to see in Casablanca. So we planned just about 24 hours there. You get to the city by a short 40 min train ride from the airport. <span style="background-color: white;">After checking into our hotel and taking a nap, we stepped out to explore the area. The place reminded us a lot of India, the streets, the buildings, the bargaining with the taxi driver. Our first halt - a bakery. It is here that I lost my heart to the most amazing almond croissant to have ever been made. This would be the first of more from the same shop and few more from around Morocco that never matched up. It was the perfect mix of flaky with the delicious not-too-sweet filling of mild almond paste. Sigh!</span><br />
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We wandered to the Mohammed V square which had a few stately buildings and a park. There was also a large fountain which were surrounded by families on their evening out and street vendors. Everything from henna application, colored baby chicks to shellfish soup and potato chips were on sale. The mister did not think the potato chips would be hygenic enough for me. The Old post office there is a pretty sight with its tile inlays. From there we walked and landed near the medina.<br />
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The medina or old town is a large walled area that houses hundreds of families, shops and mosques. I think it's the most exciting part of any Moroccan city. The Casablanca Medina is not particularly noteworthy but it was our first medina experience. The wares for sale were more touristy than what we would see in Fez and the prices were much higher. We didn't spend too long there and set out to find the recommended place for dinner. The food there was fantastic but I think we got conned. We paid close to $40 for dinner and would be our priciest meal in the country. That's what happens when you order something like the seasonal fish which isn't on the menu! <br />
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Early next morning we stopped for a breakfast of- what else- almond croissant. We checked out a small market and took a taxi to see the one thing Casablanca can boast about- the Hassan II mosque by the sea. Now, this mosque is not historic but it is stunningly beautiful. It is partially built on water to adhere to a line in the Quran that talks about the seat of the God being on water. Tourists of all religions are allowed inside and the only request is that you are respectfully dressed and take your footwear off. You can go in if you are part of a guided tour and trust me, the tour was totally worth it. The pure marble, the intricate artwork and proximity to the sea. It's also a great place for a photo shoot with it's many majestic arches.<span style="background-color: white;">After a quick lunch we checked out and headed to the train station. 4 hours to Fez.</span><br />
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<br /></div>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-18374344596191157722011-09-05T22:34:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:52.184+04:00Peru- the second edition: Machu Picchu and Lake Titicaca<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKK2ECbhlD3whwsFGhZqLHLnfyZqN5JFNzCYo8saijyMGEQ4uIc90lO9XdNrSKqjXb23SKlQ7PklGWH5ayM0BHVyhjJ4Y99wA0zAzXqCoLH4bnQiQf_V3WfgyezHe6U9nSRTqs/s1600/Passportpage3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="347" width="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKK2ECbhlD3whwsFGhZqLHLnfyZqN5JFNzCYo8saijyMGEQ4uIc90lO9XdNrSKqjXb23SKlQ7PklGWH5ayM0BHVyhjJ4Y99wA0zAzXqCoLH4bnQiQf_V3WfgyezHe6U9nSRTqs/s400/Passportpage3.jpg" /></a></div>
Part 1of our story is <a href="http://sandhyakrish.blogspot.com/2011/07/journey-to-peru-first-edition.html">here</a>.
The Ollantataytambo train station and the train surprised us. Clearly, Machu Picchu is the crown jewel of this country and everything related to it is of supreme quality. The Hiram Bingham express that runs this route, alongside River Urubamba is often touted to be one of the most luxurious and beautiful rides in the world. Of course, being on a budget, we opted to take the beauty and leave the luxury out, and took the cheaper version meant for backpackers called Expedition. And here's just how 'unfancy' that was- transparent roofs, neatly packed food kits and gorge-ous view.
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The ride was a mere four hours and most of it was spent looking at the furious Urubamba gushing by the sides of the train. The anticipation of finally getting close to Machu Picchu is at such a peak that everything else preceding it seems like a mere ritual. The food was pretty good, I remember a small salad, a mini chicken quiche and some dessert. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We got off at Aguas Calientes, spanish for hot springs. This is the base town to get to MP and you can either hike up or take a bus to there. Mild panicking happened since there was no one from the hotel to pick us up. But of course, we only had to cross a small bridge to our hotel. Hotels here are not very fancy, and even though this one was not bad, I strongly suspect we were the only guests. It was tough to not see the whole town the same night but we tried. After buying our tickets for the next day, we handpicked a restaurant for dinner. The walls of this cozy place were lined with visiting cards of it's guests over the years. Every inch of wall space. As much as I thought it was a very cool idea, I'm guessing they haven't cleaned their walls or repainted in years. Ugh.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The next day we woke up at bright and early around 5 am, munched on some breakfast and saved some bananas for later. We were a little mad that daylight broke while we were waiting for the bus to get full. The ride up to the top is killer. As a perfectly matched, mountain-sick husband and wife couple, we avoided eye contact and mention of being pukey till we got there perfectly fine. You get into the ruins and realize, there's no point of coming so early, because the fog curtains are yet to reveal the hidden secrets. I'm lying, the fog covered ruins is one of the most mystical sights I have ever seen and the photos do no justice.
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Although stunningly beautiful, Machu Picchu today is not how Hiram Bingham found it 150 years back. A lot of what we see was rebuilt. Some structures are authentic but it's difficult to pick them out. The ruins themselves are divided into different sections, the agricultural area, the temples and the residential areas. I will spare you the details lest the guides have nothing new to tell you when you get there.
Llamas roam around lazily but according to our guide (get one), they are not usually found in these areas and are placed here merely for tourist delight. Of course, we asked him about Rajinikanth's Endhiran shoot which he clearly remembered. Except he thought it was Shah Rukh Khan (!). He pointed out the spots they shot in and we gave him instructions on how to find the video on youtube.
After we did a round of the main sections, our guide told us where to go to get the standard postcard picture of the ruins. He then told us we could climb WaynaPicchu or Huayna Picchu, a steep peak that frames the ruins in the back, in 30 minutes. RIGHT. We huffed and puffed and climbed the steep hill in about twice of that time and later found out that we did pretty well for ourselves. The climb is really steep and scary at times. You have a steel rope to cling on to and gazillion feet of nothingness below. At the top were a group of people patiently waiting to take pictures the second the fog clears. It was 40 min before the fog cleared enough for us to get a decent snap and we gave up on asking people to take one of us in that precious window of a few seconds. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The hike down was only slightly scarier but we made it and after sauntering around and munching on our energy bars and bananas (trash saved in backpacks), took the climb up to the picture spot. I would say this is THE most beautiful view of the ruins but then again, is it because most pictures I've seen are from here? After taking enough pictures we sat down at the edge for an hour, taking in the views and stamping it down in our memory, thankful for our journeys to get there.
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We took the bus back to Aguas Calientes around noon. I got a lovely 10$ massage from a petite smiling lady who made my back crack a few times. Lunch was Aji de Gallina (crumbled hen in a yellow sauce with peppers) at a fairly empty but nice place next door. We took the train back to Cuzco at around 4pm. Due to the rains, we had to complete half our journey by bus but everything was arranged by PeruRail and for a change, our hotel contact was there to pick us up. After some semi -Indian dinner that I was too woozy to eat, heads hit pillows for the night.
Our hostel, <a href="http://www.ninoshotel.com/en/index.html">Los ninos</a> is a charming old place that was built to sustain projects related to children. Though it was slightly more expensive that other places i researched I thought this would be a great way to give back. The building has a courtyard in the centre and 2 floors of rooms all around. The place is sparsely but beautifully decorated with neat and cute bathrooms (don't ask me how bathrooms can be cute, they can). I wish we had more time to spend there but the next morning, we had a taxi ready to take us to our bus.
Our next destination was Puno and Lake Titicaca. There are more expensive luxurious ways of getting there from Cusco but we picked a bus ride. 8 hours, only made possible by mountain sickness tablets in our pockets. Now, the ride itself includes 4 stops and guided tours around attractions on the way. Also included is a buffet lunch, snacks and drinks. Since we were ascending to an altitude of 4000m, the bus was stocked with oxygen cylinders in case we felt altitude sickness. As nervous I was, the trip was pretty good. The motion sickness tablets knocked me out for the first few hours of the ride and I was up for each of the stops. We stopped at an old cathedral, some more ruins near a market, a museum and La Raya, the highest point. At La Raya I even got to pose with a cute little girl in full Peruvian gear, dragging along a tiny llama. She is probably the tiniest most entrepreneurial kid I've seen. She would wander into the picture frames of the tourists and collect money for it.
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Lunch beat all our expectations. The food was good and the company, great. At our table was a restaurant owner from Brazil and other varied travelers. We reached Puno around 5 that evening and our hostel guy was there to pick us up. Puno is filled with unfinished houses because a finished house attracts a tax. So every house leaves something unfinished to claim the exemption. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Next morning, we headed to our boat. Lake Titicaca is the highest navigable lake in the world and is jointly owned by Bolivia and Peru. This lake had a lot of floating islands, made of reeds, that natives lived on. These are the biggest attractions in this area. While they could have moved on to shore since there is no more danger of spanish conquest, they prefer to live on water. Their income comes from tourism, which is somewhat awkward for a tourist. On one hand, you feel bad that they are tolerating you for their livelihood but then on the other, maybe it is better than being exploited and not getting anything out of it. Some packages to the islands even involve staying with the residents for a couple of nights.
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Our guide was Vladimir and he let us know that each island is home to one family. The islands have schools and hospitals and groups of islands takes turns allowing tourists for the day. I guess that way they can actually get some peaceful time without cameras. As our boat drew closer to these magical islands, we saw ladies in colorful garb inviting us to visit them. It was all such a new experience.
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The islands are very spongy, it feels somewhat like walking on a raft over water, slightly steadier. Vladimir had warned us about stepping on the reeds at the edges since they could give away. A group of residents proceeded to show us how they built the islands, their homes and their boats, all with the reeds. They could even eat the insides of them. they had props and miniature models of the items, clearly this was a very well rehearsed deal. After that, we walked around the island, it had four small homes, a cooking area and a nursery for small kids (!). The homes were tiny, with reed beds and little TVs. We got to see a lot of guinea pigs but lest you go awww, these are delicacies and was probably going to be dinner for them. One of the ladies offered to put some Peruvian clothes on me and I was shutter-delighted. In return for their kindness I bought some jewelry and handicraft from their mini shop. Vladimir had told us that we could also give back by taking the reed boats for a ride for 10 Soles and we all opted for it. These reed boats are simply stunning. The fronts are designed to look like dragons and it felt like being in a movie set. The ladies sang us songs as they bid us goodbye, including, from what I was told, a very popular Peruvian movie song.
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From there we went on the reed boat to another floating island where we received a similar welcome and were led directly to the arts stalls. The lake itself is stunning and the experience of the floating islands is one for the travel books. After a great lunch with some excellent fish, we said goodbye to Puno. Next stop was Lima. More food, more adventures and ceviche. Enough for a Part III.
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<i>(Even though I'm past the deadline I would like to bring your attention to the Responsible Travel movement here at <a href="http://thealternative.in/untravel">Un(T)ravel</a>)</i>
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~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-23944277650666525482011-07-03T18:03:00.022+04:002023-11-14T16:52:52.483+04:00Journey to Peru - First editionI guess blogs are so last decade But then so are DSLRs and posting food recipes and I'm not yet beyond them.<br /><br />In Feb this year, as we battled the crazy winter, we decided to pursue our dream of going to South America. Within a couple of weeks, tickets were booked, the planning excel sheet made and captions thought of for the Machu Picchu Wall photos on Facebook.<br /><br />We flew into Lima, the capital city of Peru. Contrary to popular belief, we were not welcomed by a garland of Lima beans. In fact, we were welcomed by an absent hostel pick-up and we had to reach him by walking up to another hostel representative and asking in my excellent Spanish if he knew Diego. Luckily he did. But I wouldn't try that again.<br /><br />Lima reminded me of an Indian metropolis. Bustling with activity even at midnight while smiling hopeful election candidates grinned at you from every angle. There were a few casinos with gaudy lights. Most homes resembled an Osama hideout (or a US consulate depending on where you live) with high walls, tall metal grills and the unmistakable web of an electric fence. Every single house. We spent the night in a small but clean hostel with an attached bathroom. <br /><br />Our flight to Cuzco next morning was short but delightful. Considering we usually get little more than water on our domestic jaunts here, a short flight with a packed snack box was enough to make me giddy with excitement. Of course, having been warned that Cuzco was synonymous with altitude sickness, the husband thought he was truly giddy when we disembarked. Had to break it to him that it was all in his pretty head because nothing sets in for at least 12 hours.<br /><br />Our master plan was to get out of Cuzco before that happened. So we got our driver to do a quick tour of the city. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVEUm3hC3Uya4yh5RnlPwejEGYeIOr_sNy4Ixx-bL720URgiDJMNH2pJRZ5drILRYNT2XvhW5p95qzlwCD_vvh7kI9vnMSnoOrDow-cYBKDo1pDBDQ9ZmntIh0F5xDMo_QoJ_B/s1600/Peru+004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVEUm3hC3Uya4yh5RnlPwejEGYeIOr_sNy4Ixx-bL720URgiDJMNH2pJRZ5drILRYNT2XvhW5p95qzlwCD_vvh7kI9vnMSnoOrDow-cYBKDo1pDBDQ9ZmntIh0F5xDMo_QoJ_B/s320/Peru+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625593599657816210" /></a> Cuzco is an ancient city that flourished under the Incan ruler Pachacutec. We stopped for the beautiful Qorikancha which is an Inca temple that was rebuilt on by the Spanish.They conquered the Incan empire and made Cuzco their capital in the 16th century. That is why it is almost commonplace to see Incan ruins transposed with Spanish Baroque architecture. Makes you hate the Spanish a wee bit. The main square or the Plaza de Armas (it's called the same in most Latin American cities) is also beautiful and I wished we had a little more time to spend time and money at the little shops there. Really.<br /><br />It was a Saturday and the day of the Cuzco Market. You should know that anything that ends with 'market' is a must-do on my list. This one reminded me of the farmers markets in India. We were treated to indoor stalls of nuts, meat, breads, wounded vegetables, handicrafts and other interesting things. The market place ended in a bunch of food stalls. Even though we didn't want to possibly sabotage the rest of our trip by eating there, we were very tempted. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqp78tv1XA7OUGoPnEwERmZJMKpvBxNnbqFvQnoBerzgUZGPbXJYyiICQTmFjHt9iPcoCthaLNOEPogqCHmFzY2XyQrN_E0gsB-a2QCGpobEyDR4IXjmOw6r6zpvwaitpGatr6/s1600/Peru+038.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqp78tv1XA7OUGoPnEwERmZJMKpvBxNnbqFvQnoBerzgUZGPbXJYyiICQTmFjHt9iPcoCthaLNOEPogqCHmFzY2XyQrN_E0gsB-a2QCGpobEyDR4IXjmOw6r6zpvwaitpGatr6/s320/Peru+038.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625594535261558994" /></a> After all, this part of the market was featured in Anthony Bourdain's Peru edition 'No Reservations' which we religiously saw and took notes on before we left. Yeah, we are very sophisticated foodies that way.<br /><br />Next stop was Barrio de San Blas. It is a neighbourhood of extremely small roads (even by Indian standards) that culminate in a small plaza. That day there was a little market there (happy dance) and native women weaving. I'm not naive enough to think this was all genuine and so not for tourist consumption. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhFmiwYnqFH6r85rnsNApTrNA7EsEZTdqG8dniSqnWL1xwDFDl6s4GPovk4TIzVKGMKCZY9JuADLUm0C4WsGpT0hHRU_iAR-m1yyhePNbRXYiOZkYkbK9eJz-Pj7bBLU1ZfEa/s1600/Peru+025.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidhFmiwYnqFH6r85rnsNApTrNA7EsEZTdqG8dniSqnWL1xwDFDl6s4GPovk4TIzVKGMKCZY9JuADLUm0C4WsGpT0hHRU_iAR-m1yyhePNbRXYiOZkYkbK9eJz-Pj7bBLU1ZfEa/s200/Peru+025.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625595875566874866" /></a> Still, it was a pretty sight. They also had a small stage with four dummies sitting on a stage as if waiting for a modest felicitation function to start. My extensive Spanish did not allow me to inquire about this strange sight.<br /><br />By now our driver was a bit restless and we agreed to be taken away to Ollantaytambo, our next stop. This ride, I must say, was one of the most scenic ones in my entire life. Maybe because it was so unexpected. Rolling virgin green meadows, shiny lakes and the absence of humans. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFy2LvFIYQr-V-KeWou1eCE78iW8iVQL4XQX3e1Epee3d57e6Vzs7fwMqylSpOiXq2jGjOZ8cLmK7TsWi7caUeyCUizR74FobXEViFMtj2YdAKoyB3fBktW5xrqIz2nPk52N5/s1600/Peru+048.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuFy2LvFIYQr-V-KeWou1eCE78iW8iVQL4XQX3e1Epee3d57e6Vzs7fwMqylSpOiXq2jGjOZ8cLmK7TsWi7caUeyCUizR74FobXEViFMtj2YdAKoyB3fBktW5xrqIz2nPk52N5/s320/Peru+048.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625596884564139714" /></a> Of course that didn't stop us from dozing off (all future episodes of unintentional sleep will be attributed to jet lag or too much food). <br />We were woken up by our polite driver at a restaurant mid-way. Even though we expected as much quality as other guide-endorsed eateries, this place blew our minds. The bread was the best on the trip and the other two dishes were pretty good too. Though I must say my husband's tres leche would trump theirs any day (I was secretly disappointed that not one tres leche we had on the trip was better than his).<br /><br />Ollanta is at a lower altitude and the center of the Sacred valley - so named because of the high fertility levels. You would take about 10 min to walk from one end of the town to other. It was probably the same size when the Incans used it as their capital centuries earlier. People come here to look at Ollanta's own ruins and to start the Inca trail. We, of course, were far too lazy to do the trail. I mean, why do the trail when you have a perfectly fine and scenic train route? <br /><br />Our hostel here was fantastic. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4dyVV7ODmOvGgqFqbT548q0QTyjmoXw3bSwjw5BwajQWW9VDtNEeoi7Syb7_D_yG2b3l9goESsImMFcxhi1Tg-lvmBaYFe1I8_NYpiADfuJ_WP1T2ATZzqyxKXbjmLgJsHy3y/s1600/Peru+051.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4dyVV7ODmOvGgqFqbT548q0QTyjmoXw3bSwjw5BwajQWW9VDtNEeoi7Syb7_D_yG2b3l9goESsImMFcxhi1Tg-lvmBaYFe1I8_NYpiADfuJ_WP1T2ATZzqyxKXbjmLgJsHy3y/s200/Peru+051.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625598307566841458" /></a><br />They upgraded us to a room with three beds (I like options). This is also where we saw and fell in love with a world map shower curtain. You can now find the same one in our bathroom (no, we didn't steal it). <br /><br />Food was excellent everywhere we went. The trout is the area is delicious and easy to spot on most menus. I am always such a happy camper in countries with good gastronomic value.<br /><br />Our guide Percy was on the clock to pick us up the next morning. Now, we are usually the kind of people who stay a safe distance from paid guides but Percy was one of the most useful people on our trip. The narrations make the ruins so much more enigmatic than they seem and you can appear more knowledgeable on your return.<br /><br />We started our day at the Ollantaytambo ruins where the terraced fortress is almost as pretty as Machu Picchu. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMYWOsgos5-Ov-pLM-6ZxZ3rQ0I_UO39KKQAX4dJbH4OipXxILSaisDdLbSnM-368tcn4E1qrXwbdqdfwuT7ZvN-mQdFcjQfWAJFPHYKPoT_xJ9Q7sZR6GHUfwvPIJ4f-9cPoH/s1600/Peru+078.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMYWOsgos5-Ov-pLM-6ZxZ3rQ0I_UO39KKQAX4dJbH4OipXxILSaisDdLbSnM-368tcn4E1qrXwbdqdfwuT7ZvN-mQdFcjQfWAJFPHYKPoT_xJ9Q7sZR6GHUfwvPIJ4f-9cPoH/s320/Peru+078.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625599376230740258" /></a> Besides being a good starter hike, there were several fountains and chambers which, according to Percy could have been anything from the Princess chambers and bathrooms to temples. So much for the guide. Also popular is the cliff that is said to resemble an Inca chief's face. It does. I'm sure if you look hard enough it will also resemble Tiger Woods.<br /><br />From there we drove to the Pisac Sunday Market. I actually engineered our trip so that we land here on a Sunday. The market was pretty good, lot of pretty jewelry, stoles, handicrafts and masks. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJo00PRJGWRnXL90LCYgUfUQPLyEEpXvFachMiL8X5msONmBkmr7wd3sjLxVyN8ksI5RDztFJmXyIuQ38Sg8oSC_EQyh0V0ucYHsTObNd5RSPvVByD0xb1RFltw3z7ATP6Dv6W/s1600/Peru+086.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJo00PRJGWRnXL90LCYgUfUQPLyEEpXvFachMiL8X5msONmBkmr7wd3sjLxVyN8ksI5RDztFJmXyIuQ38Sg8oSC_EQyh0V0ucYHsTObNd5RSPvVByD0xb1RFltw3z7ATP6Dv6W/s200/Peru+086.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625600595692373762" /></a> The Mr was mildly cold and treated himself to a sweater of baby sheep wool (or Maybe sheep wool, like Percy says). I bought some earrings and a mask after indulging myself in some Spanish bargaining (Muy caro!). The main square in Pisac has a carnival going on. Native women dancing with their heavy skirts was a highlight. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFoSoLlWZG-crXiUu51Wzmq5rnixVBQOgze-N2Vp2aI6t5q36oBtVjlmHTCpZaBj6ZSIsXm4bBiCLjJw_cOw2gVQmUNXcA7_dwXxk8cfFBCFq_74nQV9sEhX1SgvKs1Ru4O9q9/s1600/Peru+096.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFoSoLlWZG-crXiUu51Wzmq5rnixVBQOgze-N2Vp2aI6t5q36oBtVjlmHTCpZaBj6ZSIsXm4bBiCLjJw_cOw2gVQmUNXcA7_dwXxk8cfFBCFq_74nQV9sEhX1SgvKs1Ru4O9q9/s200/Peru+096.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625601400922120290" /></a> We stopped for lunch at Percy's favorite lunch place. Delicious quinoa soup and trout were had along with mazamorra morada (purple corn jelly). YummO!<br /><br />We then took the road to see the terraces at Pisac. While the ride here almost made us wish we had eaten our Dramamines, we survived and the view was more than worth it. It was almost like being in front of a panoramic Chinese painting. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigiTc3-Jpb2d06F5fbv4d4yy2QLi_2yvSvbFnt1TrfT1y8FRpDAnXGjwEXZgCY-sUHkQLzkiN_fsTFTxISsz1ReOV_l3YnenVQSSNpvbHGFf8pob4COYBBDV6LphpmvQoLVwY9/s1600/Peru+103.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigiTc3-Jpb2d06F5fbv4d4yy2QLi_2yvSvbFnt1TrfT1y8FRpDAnXGjwEXZgCY-sUHkQLzkiN_fsTFTxISsz1ReOV_l3YnenVQSSNpvbHGFf8pob4COYBBDV6LphpmvQoLVwY9/s320/Peru+103.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625603082971244370" /></a> Percy showed us the little holes in the mountains where mummies were thought to be buried with treasures. Of course, the Spanish plundered them only to be deeply disappointed at finding nothing more than good bones for their chihuahuas (or whatever fashionable canines they had back then). <br /><br />We rushed back to Ollanta to catch our train to Aguas Calientes. As we passed by little boys throwing water on cars and pedestrians, we were a little disappointed at not being able to walk into the specially marked homes for some chicha. This was probably a good thing. As we learnt, some chicha is fermented by human saliva. Yeah, you read right. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWC75DQj7Ny2Oe_FNvTpqOEDaE3TDbfiXq_fjnTOUUogb1QGREm2WKTZEvvvS608Amw6vy2SO0ZqEMD0lHJZKM8u_P_WnoYzkVX6oKFSJ37Ms1VHxYE_xbCGyM6s4gnlyO2Y2/s1600/Peru+099.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWC75DQj7Ny2Oe_FNvTpqOEDaE3TDbfiXq_fjnTOUUogb1QGREm2WKTZEvvvS608Amw6vy2SO0ZqEMD0lHJZKM8u_P_WnoYzkVX6oKFSJ37Ms1VHxYE_xbCGyM6s4gnlyO2Y2/s400/Peru+099.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625603972635082434" /></a><br /><br />On that lovely note, we shall end this edition. Coming up next- Machu Picchu, Puno and more Lima~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-76355126572512516882010-01-19T20:36:00.018+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.888+04:00A chico and chica in Costa RicaWe wrapped our 2009 with a vacation to this beautiful tropical paradise and got drunk on adventure, good food and pretty sights. There could've been no better end to a roller-coaster year. <br /><br />I was attracted to Costa Rica since the moment I saw that my Yoga haunt was having a teacher training there. Well, I didn't end up trained but it seemed like a perfect spot for a winter getaway - reasonably priced, tons of activities and close enough to not lose half our week in travel.<br /><br />Two weeks before we left I hit the library and cleaned out the Central America travel shelves. Clearly, I ended up with too much information to process but Lonely Planet's budget travel books were handy. Since the country has a ton of beautiful destinations, I used the internet and the books to narrow it down to a handful. We were going just 2 weeks before Christmas so I didn't want to be stranded without a bed and a roof over my head. I charted out a rough itinerary and booked a few hostels and inns. From our previous experiences, hostels have mostly turned out great. We stick to private rooms with attached bathrooms so we usually get hotel amenities and a great atmosphere for much less. The last bit of preparation was to brush up on my basic spanish. There is an online educational soap-opera called Destinos which was fun and quite useful.<br /><br />The airport we flew into is about 18 km north east of the capital city - San Jose. While most people use SJ as a hub to move around, it did not have any big attractions so we decided to skip it and get right on with the rest of our trip. Our first stop was to be Arenal, home to an active volcano and numerous hot-springs. Due to a flight cancellation, we missed the last bus to Arenal and were left with no choice but to take a taxi. Taxis are quite expensive for long trips, but one such ride across a trip could be slipped in. And guess what, I bargained at the taxi office, in my broken Spanish, and shaved off 30 USD from my bill. <br /><br />We reached Arenal late that evening and headed straight to a hot springs called Eco Termales. For about 30$ a person, we could lounge in 5 different hot water pools of varying temperatures. The place was clean, barely crowded and extremely relaxing. My only gripe was that the showers in the changing rooms had no hot water. Yeah, irony.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Yf4SX0zXUdpAmBzmOFe0GjYVdXz2L59MaaTgrIbm7ind7HK364t_i1D7givS4W5SZ0FGupyjo-f0iz1L90VCJftvvIUKAwokKWBdtSmTLWzC9FLOt24ruiEP_JVDXj3_utf9/s1600-h/IMG_2856.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Yf4SX0zXUdpAmBzmOFe0GjYVdXz2L59MaaTgrIbm7ind7HK364t_i1D7givS4W5SZ0FGupyjo-f0iz1L90VCJftvvIUKAwokKWBdtSmTLWzC9FLOt24ruiEP_JVDXj3_utf9/s200/IMG_2856.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434064410482741138" /></a> We took a taxi to El Castillo from there and checked into our volcano view cabin - Cabinas El Castillo. This place is supposed to have the best views of the lava flows at night. Sadly, very sadly, the volcano fell dormant 2 weeks before we got there (probably) as an after effect of a mild quake. Nevertheless, the cabins were charming and the food excellent. The Tilapia at their restaurant is highly recommended. <br /><br />Early next day we found that the top of the volcano was still hidden by heavy fog and got a ride from two friendly Canadians to the Parque Nacional Volcán Arenal (exactly what it sounds like). We took a trek/ hike into the forests to a lovely viewpoint from where we could see the fog much more clearly. Well, the other couple had been here 4 days and still not seen the volcano so we shut up. The hike was beautiful though, we saw caotis, birds, grass-cutter ants, mint blue beetles and some fascinating flowering plants.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpVidiqcA-BWhdtPMri_t22q3ufXmW4Pbe4Hy9d1CXG4WDg7LgKn9H3odRu9uDIM-g-b0ToAO3tQkMG6bK0IgNsByn1irx6oZIwrdYVVHxsCA7BBMbtsBk6cx7swjN8i5HC4p/s1600-h/IMG_2891.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdpVidiqcA-BWhdtPMri_t22q3ufXmW4Pbe4Hy9d1CXG4WDg7LgKn9H3odRu9uDIM-g-b0ToAO3tQkMG6bK0IgNsByn1irx6oZIwrdYVVHxsCA7BBMbtsBk6cx7swjN8i5HC4p/s200/IMG_2891.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434119760289617730" /></a> We bid our goodbyes to El Castillo and it's still hidden, freshly dormant volcano. Maybe next time. Our next stop was Santa Elena. To get here, the easiest way is a taxi-boat-taxi ride. The whole things costs around 20$ per person and was arranged by our hostel in Santa Elena. Considering we had not paid for it nor had any receipts to show, everything went smoothly. The boat ride across Lake Arenal is fabulous. The lush greenscapes, the view of the volcano and the rolling hills made us happy we chose this mode of travel. At the other side of the shore, we had a taxi waiting for us. This part of the ride was extremely windy and scary. The roads are bad, the lanes narrow and the terrain scary. Motion sickness tablets are surely a godsend. We passed through several small villages and little towns before we reached the rather touristy destination of Santa Elena. You know it's a tourist spot when the place has only 3 small streets but more than 10 hostels, 6 restaurants and 2 huge and hip souvenir stores. <br /><br />We stayed in Pension Santa Elena which is a charming little hostel. Even though our room was only slightly larger than our bed, the folks there are extremely helpful and <br />gave us all the information we needed on the adventures, trips and tours, not to mention the good discounts on them. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4pQy5saDTQBWah06vUpqSajnQ4cQgOSVKTY_xcevE7n6Tnd-ltSo03vev_xR802fQwo1qap40Gv-hw6WhITkZtOpzLO3jg4EbhPyBBXzxYCZ1m21qC4EARIff_UyF-7bI47Ci/s1600-h/IMG_2897.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4pQy5saDTQBWah06vUpqSajnQ4cQgOSVKTY_xcevE7n6Tnd-ltSo03vev_xR802fQwo1qap40Gv-hw6WhITkZtOpzLO3jg4EbhPyBBXzxYCZ1m21qC4EARIff_UyF-7bI47Ci/s200/IMG_2897.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434082226025987218" /></a> On the first night there we went to a quaint little restaurant called Morphos and followed it up with a quick visit to the TreeHouse restaurant. Nestled under the canopy of a tree, this place is lighted beautifully, has great cocktails and peppy Tico Music. <br /><br />Early the next morning we headed out to the Monteverde National Park. Monteverde is one of the world's most beautiful cloud forests. By definition, the altitude and location of a forest ensures a lot of rain clouds and a permanent light dewy , misty look. Walking through this place is nothing short of dreamy and early mornings are a great time. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKwhZvhzbQ1K6Xv_a5t2uqC6kzkkpfa2lJrOmobjss9ukFZ3mDFWQ89KsNhN99oUzF1CQe9Fd8gFJPDNvVY0JTZVQ76xpWCTCeaojJLk1rfl7pLJjlTNwI99v7k-xtg4_OcTml/s1600-h/IMG_2909.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKwhZvhzbQ1K6Xv_a5t2uqC6kzkkpfa2lJrOmobjss9ukFZ3mDFWQ89KsNhN99oUzF1CQe9Fd8gFJPDNvVY0JTZVQ76xpWCTCeaojJLk1rfl7pLJjlTNwI99v7k-xtg4_OcTml/s200/IMG_2909.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434120681261344706" /></a> We took a guide so that we could spot some of the birds and the animals. The guides are extremely knowledgeable ornithologists and nature lovers and they come equipped with binoculars and great spotting power. Through our hike, we spotted a ton of colorful birds and some white faced monkeys. After a point, our guide and fellow hikers proved to be too much of bird enthusiasts for our standards so we broke away and headed out on our own. We trekked up to a point called the inter continental divide. On a clear day, it is rumored that you can see both the Pacific and the Carribean seas from this point. We saw fog. The hike itself took about 3 hours but the entrance ticket is valid for the whole day. There are buses at several times to take you back to Santa Elena.<br /><br />After the morning hike we geared up for the big adventure of the trip- canopy zip lining. I had read about this and seen it on TV a few times, I knew it absolutely had to figure on our list. We asked Diego at Pension Santa Elena for the biggest and the scariest and he suggested Extremo Canopy. It is said that canopy ziplining in this area is one of the best in the world, simply because you zip line between mountains and the scenery is just to die for. For 40 dollars per person you get to slide on 14 cables, each of varying lengths and at different heights. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_rRNvm9YILujdLe7Bxqqpz6FfXyyMjfE9Xx7TrwOY3zACsNnT505o4gzsvMzdj5m0ROtJ8pYHy-oBDt7dlKZM_gbVXUaZecnzzWyqOQ1cgzRWyAKAlV4OAImivB6nqK_6US7/s1600-h/S5002683.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd_rRNvm9YILujdLe7Bxqqpz6FfXyyMjfE9Xx7TrwOY3zACsNnT505o4gzsvMzdj5m0ROtJ8pYHy-oBDt7dlKZM_gbVXUaZecnzzWyqOQ1cgzRWyAKAlV4OAImivB6nqK_6US7/s200/S5002683.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434087932822145010" /></a> It is pretty scary but the sights definitely trump the fear factor. We even got to see two full rainbows in the valley below us as we were zipping across. The last one called the Superman is a 1 km long zipline between two cliffs at almost 600m height at the lowest point below. I do not have any words to describe that ride. Since the day was clear, we could also see the Pacific coast from that height even though it was almost 200 km away. There are some awesome videos on youtube if you search for it.<br /><br />We had planned on visiting Jaco for it's beaches but were advised to skip it and head directly to Manuel Antonio and Quepos. So the next morning we took a shuttle ride at about $30 per person for the 4 hour ride. We got off at Manuel Antonio Backpackers hostel for our next stop. The guy here thought I was a Latina for all of 2 minutes and that has remained a bragging point for my Spanish skills since then. Manuel Antonio is marked by its lovely Pacific beaches and the adjoining national park is home to many species of animals. Quepos, a bustling town about 20 minutes away is the nearest hub to this destination. After checking out the hostel we headed to the beach.<br /><br />The public beach is outside the national park and fairly crowded. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrqnnEl0M6nJwsSj5rFkgBygbkNYqCh8LGNYjeayg9GIYVpzXYfsGkzVbwuX4kCvkp-dWOPQnHQvp0xK5bSz40sqXD_MGa_tNYFKfI7jzQh8spigRivWjsHDIgp5piriCtJmk/s1600-h/IMG_2975.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLrqnnEl0M6nJwsSj5rFkgBygbkNYqCh8LGNYjeayg9GIYVpzXYfsGkzVbwuX4kCvkp-dWOPQnHQvp0xK5bSz40sqXD_MGa_tNYFKfI7jzQh8spigRivWjsHDIgp5piriCtJmk/s200/IMG_2975.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434110121087214066" /></a> Folks there will try to fleece you for bringing you drinks and for renting the lounge chairs but otherwise it is a pretty beach. While there, we even managed to snag a good deal for a sea kayaking /snorkeling package the next day for about 45 per head including lunch. Sunset was spectacular and we walked up the hill to our hostel - a 3 mile hike. We did stop for dinner at El Avion. This place has an old unwanted Airplane inside which they have a bar. The food is pretty good and you have a view of the ocean as well, almost like the perfect date.<br /><br />The next day was our date with the ocean. After a nice breakfast at Alejandro's down the street we took our free shuttle to the kayaking area. This place is a small cove in the ocean and the water is unbelievably minty icy blue. We had another couple and the guide in their own kayaks. I have only been kayaking once before and that was in a lake that was just a glorified swimming pool. Compared to that, the ocean is a bit difficult. We stopped our kayaks a little into the sea and dove in to check out the fishes. The reefs are pretty dead and nothing compared to Seychelles or South France but the fishes made up for it. There were quite a few varieties in bright beautiful tropical shades that teased you by almost touching your fingers. The rest of our kayaking trip involved an unexpected underwater moment and the loss of a favorite top that I shall not dwell into. As is customary by now, I also ended up with a few scratches on my feet and a dark tan. But, the color of the water was totally worth it. Too bad we couldn't take the camera along. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaxf1iNFpsmu8K3Nz5l0IuyiZ84jQjyQcYCG9Ba2qzn3mzlbwni8wxlss8XAyZqfohl2mGpNcAV6MfSm4Lk-PDJN5gL9T8o3olxfGrmEtlAn_1LP97H4ImzbQ8YGdNraxJ0fBn/s1600-h/IMG_3128.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaxf1iNFpsmu8K3Nz5l0IuyiZ84jQjyQcYCG9Ba2qzn3mzlbwni8wxlss8XAyZqfohl2mGpNcAV6MfSm4Lk-PDJN5gL9T8o3olxfGrmEtlAn_1LP97H4ImzbQ8YGdNraxJ0fBn/s200/IMG_3128.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434123683230280402" /></a> The lunch that came with the package was at the local Best Western- really good food, especially the juices and the Arroz con Pollo. We later checked back into this same hotel and decided we needed some luxury on our last day- namely an ocean view, a tiny TV and free towels. <br /><br />That night we went to a spa, my first such experience ever. The fact that it was pouring heavily and we couldn't be doing anything else made me feel a tad better. Plus of course, the massage was right out of a catalogue, complete with doors open to a drizzly green tropical paradise with a light aroma of incense and several calm Buddhas staring at you. After days of heavy adventure and a lot of activity, this was pure indulgence. And Heaven. The dinner that night was at a local version of KFC. Also heaven :D<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5FXbXQL0zaWpj96HTbY9rfBz4rqscEcEz-IFtLql-aOdO0bIICMXqx22KbPGELuDe2dTPjynQRQfsoJ1igi_e_Z7M3iZ-5Usl99PSPBjZQkpUhxqhUVQqFTz1LYZcpCshvVX3/s1600-h/IMG_3121.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5FXbXQL0zaWpj96HTbY9rfBz4rqscEcEz-IFtLql-aOdO0bIICMXqx22KbPGELuDe2dTPjynQRQfsoJ1igi_e_Z7M3iZ-5Usl99PSPBjZQkpUhxqhUVQqFTz1LYZcpCshvVX3/s200/IMG_3121.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434124345010221330" /></a> The next day was our last day. We headed out to the Manuel Antonio National Park. This hike was memorable because of the sheer number of animals we got to see and at the end of the hike we landed on some of the prettiest beaches I have laid eyes on.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuetAiD4pHd6OVx1rsXQu4Fb8bh-KXv3n7pjIzeLeDdkxHL3JzhvvKkdHHIUfoqpQrsLGyfYp8fa2b0Becds9nd7VsDMZDceQGSNj3pM-Nu2rY6He9Dy6vCCXsq-N-9-1xBAmS/s1600-h/IMG_3067.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 134px; height: 200px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuetAiD4pHd6OVx1rsXQu4Fb8bh-KXv3n7pjIzeLeDdkxHL3JzhvvKkdHHIUfoqpQrsLGyfYp8fa2b0Becds9nd7VsDMZDceQGSNj3pM-Nu2rY6He9Dy6vCCXsq-N-9-1xBAmS/s200/IMG_3067.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434118590417411458" /></a> White sands, coconut trees, green green trees, very few people and the infinite turquoise sea. The white faced monkeys we struggled to spot in Monteverde were literally posing for us here. Not to mention raccoons, iguanas and all the unnamed animals by the mangroves at the edge of the park. Beautiful, beautiful Manuel Antonio. <br /><br />As we took our bus from Quepos to the San Jose airport later that day we knew we had missed some of the incredible beaches on the Caribbean and on the Nicoya Peninsula. Yet, I think this was one of our best vacations ever. Things to do, things to eat and things to remember. Just how we like it.~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-45800396281209611062009-11-05T19:57:00.006+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.363+04:00Another thingNot a day goes by when I don't compare the country I left and the one I live in. Besides the obvious differences like discipline, jobs, cleanliness, medical care, food choices and family, there are many others you just can't put a finger on.<br /><br />Today I thought of one such thing.<br /><br />Besides family, friends and colleagues, I don't have a relationship with anyone here.<br /><br />At home in Coimbatore there was the medical store guy who would even send something home if he didn't have it on hand. Then there was the bakery guy who was witness to one of my bicycle crossing debacles on the main road when I was 13. The watch repair shop guy who always had a smile and a 'how are you' that does not equate to 'hello'. The temple priest, the clothing store lady, the library owner. I'm not even venturing into the number of people who provided goods and services at the doorstep.<br /><br />In Bombay it was the taxi guys who knew where I needed to go. The cleaning guy at my office who got us chocolate every evening. The watchman at my friend's apartment. When I was studying at different cities, there were the cafeteria workers, the tailors, the beauty parlour ladies and the children of my professors.<br /><br />Here, every time I go to a grocery store there's a different person. To the librarian I am just one of the brown girls, all of whom look the same ( quite what I thought of every other race when I was younger). I have no tailors and there is no one who knows who I am or what I want. The only person who remotely recognizes me is the lady at the Indian restaurant, ironically.<br /><br />Maybe I need to make an effort.<br /><br /><font style="font-style:italic;">Caveat : Individual experiences may vary.</font>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-28522109508770494742009-10-09T20:00:00.006+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.139+04:00The Great American Job HuntEver since I got laid off, I've been seeing the pressing questions in every one's eyes. The ones that never get asked. After all, it would be considered impolite to ask the juicy details of how it all transpired.<br /><br />I, for one, have no reservations. After all, nothing like a little drama before I talk about the mechanics of the great American job search.<br /><br />For many cold and dreary days, it had been sure that we would not be warming our seats for long. The sure sign of this is when general emails to random colleagues bounce back, leaving you in grey realization of yet another sudden exit. It was my first day off and I was at a friend's wedding when I got an event invitation on my PDA - 'Meeting with the Partner' it said. Now, I had been with the company for barely a few months but I was smart enough to know that this didn't include candlelight and dinner by the waterfront. The actual meeting was smooth and painless. I was better prepared than I was for my interview and even found time to say 'This must be tough on you as well' to the bewildered Partner who had just meticulously delivered her much rehearsed lines. <br /><br />That was how it all started.<br /><br />Most HR people write such lovely articles on the steps to get the job you want. Since that is yet to happen, this is the story behind the scenes that doesn't get talked about. What happens in the months (maybe years) before you get to proudly change the work info on your Facebook profile.<br /><br />Phase 1: 'Big Deal'<br /><br />Right after the excitement of the ouster ceases, usually on the same day, you prep up a resume and hit the job boards. You are going to seize this by it's neck, you think, before you send out resumes and hastily written cover letters to a few hundred job openings. Every single one that you would remotely qualify for. Of course, you are also convinced that you must have at least a 10% hit rate and should be at your new job in another 10 days. Before people even realize you got laid off.<br /><br />You do get 1-2 interviews. Except that you have not clearly understood the American job advertising tactics, in spite of an MBA in HR. Which is why a posting for 'Assistant Director -Admissions' tests your cold calling and telephone answering skills and an interview for 'Marketing Consultant' ends with an offer for a door-to-door selling job.<br /><br />Phase 2: 'Focus Pocus'<br /><br />In the previous phase, you have been so busy sending out resumes that you haven't had time to notice that you hardly received any responses. This is when that realization sinks in. You suddenly wonder if your gmail account works and grow to accept the existence of the great big application black hole. This is also around when you hear that you need to have a focused strategy. Like the ones you recommend to clients oh-so-often. <br /><br />So you now have 4 different resumes, one each for each thing you claim to be 'specialized in'. After all, this is legitimately encouraged my campuses and career websites alike. You actually begin reading the job descriptions of the various postings you apply to. Which in turn has a serious side effect. I read a posting calling for ideas for a cooking show and for a whole day I dreamt of my future show that showcases street food from around the world. Oh yes, on those lines I have also, in my imaginary world, redesigned Heinz' entire line of products, changed the face of the Pittsburgh Pirates and done important tweaks to Bayer's organization structure.<br /><br />Phase 3: 'Everything happens for the best'<br /><br />By now, it has been 3-4 months since your last working day. You have slowly begun to accept the fact that the job market really IS bad. You have also attended some job workshops, including those which have truck driver jobs on offer. By now your resume has undergone 2-3 drastic makeovers, all with the same results.<br /><br />You put your chin up and decide this is when you will do what you always wanted to do in life, learn yoga, direct a play or fly a kite. People appear to be impressed and they convince you that once you achieve this and put that on your resume, you will be fighting off hiring managers. <br /><br />At this stage, you feel mildly superior to those in regular jobs because, they can only be an engineer or a manager or whatever they are. But you can be whatever you want and not answer to anyone. The fact that you will not get paid for it does cross your mind at times but is quickly driven away by other narcissistic thoughts like seeing your name on a poster.<br /><br /><br />Phase 4: 'Enlightenment'<br /><br />You finish your earth-shattering mission and are back to the job hunt. You tell everyone how you are back to the market though you know you never really left. The resume is new, the cover letter is better but the goal is still the same. A job that would pay better than your unemployment compensation.<br /><br />Your sense of self worth has taken an occasional beating by now. You might have graduated from the top school in India and outdone more than 50000 people to your coveted MBA. You might have also nixed three offers in a single day just 3 years back in a different country. None of it matters. All that only makes you the Persian cat in the dog fair. <br /><br />By this time you have written enough cover letters and resumes to reach the moon. Yet the overlap between what you can do and what you want to do doesn't really coincide with who wants you to do it. The target is no longer the job, it is the elusive interview. In this stage you also begin believing in God, forced networking and fortune-cookie lines like 'Patience is a virtue'. <br /><br />It is my opinion that this stage is long lasting, further research being on to prove it.<br /><br />All I ask for is for my Mondays to stay loved. If you still like yours', let me know if your company is hiring.~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-80707539515113050632009-10-07T19:03:00.003+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.967+04:00Another stageThe worst thing about growing up is not that you will one day mourn your grand parent. It is that you will accept it as just another stage in life.<br /><br />My first vivid memory of my grandfather is when I was about 6 or 7. I would play downstairs with the kids in my apartment for an extended period of time, all the while keeping an eye on the road to see if the sandalwood coloured FIAT would show up. The joy of seeing the car drive up and actually seeing my grandparents was so unimaginable that I can't seem to remember it.<br /><br />While most summers were about mangoes, cousins and unending pampering, mine was also a little bit about being known as my grandfather's granddaughter. Almost everyone in the area knew him and stopped to speak. Often made me think I was the queen of the world or, at least, the princess. Pens, he would give me pens as gifts. Some randomly chosen off his pen stand, some preciously saved from a souvenir hamper. And I would treasure them all. In my world of beautiful pretense, their home was the castle and my pens, the gold. <br /><br />When my grandmother passed on, my world shook but it didn't crumble. I was barely 10 and the world was still a very big confusing phenomenon. Life would stay the same, everyone assured.<br /><br />My brother and I grew older and, at one point, attached to what cable TV could offer. Thus the summer destination without it was, clearly, a bore. By the time my prudent grandfather caved in, we said we didn't have any friends around and slowly, the long summers became brief weekends.<br /><br />When I wanted to go away to college at a remote desert, I was blind to everyone's reactions, including my grandfather's. But he wrote to me, and I to him, with unfailing regularity. The letters probably didn't say anything new or different each time, yet I knew they mattered. When I would browse his pen stand years later, I would see carefully arranged under his transparent table cloth, neatly titled and dated pictures that I had sent to him.<br /><br />Then the letters stopped. Phone calls were now cheaper and that was the way to go. I called from everywhere I went, even to say that I had reached my parents' home. He wanted to hear and it made me glad that somebody did. <br /><br />When the time came for me to be married, I don't remember much of the conversation with my parents, yet, every single detail of how I told my grand father is so clearly etched. I didn't care what style the wedding would be. I wanted my grandfather to officiate and I wouldn't have it any other way. <br /><br />Six months ago, his health started deteriorating. I hadn't seen him for more than a year then. One day I woke up with a strong desire to see him and a little more than a week later I landed there. I was the princess and I could set things right, I thought. True enough, for the first time in months, he had solid food at the dining table with us that day. He spoke, joked and often called out my name across the room.<br /><br />After a few days he was brought to my parents' home, without being told. He knew we thought he was getting worse but he wanted nothing to do with a hospital, or doctors. We told him little lies to keep him from going back and to make him stay with us. A few times he would let down his guard and tell me old stories. About his first crush, a girl who was his teacher's daughter. She would lend him her slate and it would have his name neatly written on it. That was love then, he said. <br /><br />After three days, he insisted on going back. As I helped him into the car, I somehow knew. This was going to be the last time. I hugged him and he planted a kiss on my cheek. He nodded. I think he knew too.<br /><br />I only spoke to him once after that, to say I had reached back here. It was barely two weeks after I left when I got the news. Pain and anger. A lot of it. Pain for not being there and anger at everything and everyone around me. The doctors for not saving him, my mom for not letting me speak to him the previous day lest he gets emotional, my husband for being the reason I'm so far away, myself for obliging and God for making the world so huge to travel across. It took awhile for the irrationality to melt away.<br /><br />It's weird. You spend a lifetime learning about life and death and how to deal with them. Yet, when someone close dies, the best way to console yourself is to say that they are in a better place. Like you would tell a 6 year old.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I will always regret not being there with you as you set off on your last journey. But know that I think of you and mourn you a little every single day.</span>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-69582378356860083002009-02-04T22:23:00.006+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.662+04:00The Highest CourtLady in Red: Hi. New around here? <br /><br />Lady in Blue: Yeah, it's only been 2 months.<br /><br />Lady in Red: Oh, are you working?<br /><br />Lady in Blue: No.<br /><br />Lady in Red: Oh, ok.< <span style="font-style:italic;"> Oh man. Must be one of those poor dependant types. Did an engineering degree. Waited for a US groom. The minute one was in sight, handed over the resignation papers and got ready for blissful matrimony. No interest in her own career or independence. I'm sure she's all set to pop out babies as well. One after the other. She has the time, nothing else to do and can save on day care. Her husband must be happy at snagging a perfect housewife and she must be happier providing for all his demands.<br />Really, how pathetic.</span>> <br /><br />Lady in Blue: What about you?<br /><br />Lady in Red: Yeah, I work downtown.<br /><br />Lady in Blue: Oh nice. < <span style="font-style:italic;"> Oh. She must be one of those aggressive career woman types. Junk food. Late night. And bosses to suck up to. I'm sure she spent years away from her husband just so that she can still have her career and come here with a work visa. Which quite obviously means she had or maybe still has a sad marriage. Doesn't feel the need to be with her husband every night. And yeah, DINK - the double income- no kids thing. Or maybe she has kids. They must've gone straight from the hospital crib to day care. What's the point of being married and living a life if you don't take the time to enjoy it. <br />Really, how pathetic.</span>><br /><br />Lady in Red: I got to rush. Nice meeting you.<br /><br />Lady in Blue: Sure, Bye.~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-13806442293182329712008-10-28T04:24:00.012+04:002023-11-14T16:52:52.109+04:00Uploading . . 20%<div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;">So today was the first Diwali after my wedding. It was also the first time I didn't wake up to the sound of firecrackers. Or the acrid smell from burnt gun powder. That day I dreaded is finally here - it's now my turn to do the American Diwali. Where making sweets, lighting lamps, wearing new clothes is only half the celebration. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />As a social junkie, I'm a pretty frequent user of Facebook and Orkut. It didn't take me long to figure out IQ and desperation levels of the different profiles there. Or why I showed up right on top of somebody's fan list. Yet, for years, one thing I didn't understand was the picture- posting pattern of Indians in the US. I didn't have a damn clue till I took that painful 18 hour flight.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The first categoy of DAPONS ( Desi Album Posting On Networking Sites) is usually occupied by newly married ( 0-3 years) individuals. Couples who usually appear in public at least one restaurant table apart are often seen in a difficult and unnatural embrace. The wife's hand is usally placed in such a way that hubby's expanding tummy is covered. Husband's hand is, well, usually holding the camera cover. Also included in this category are couples who painstakingly dress up and take timed-self portraits on anniversaries and birthdays. They are, most often, celebrating the event by themselves. Single people who dress up in traditional attire and take matrimonial pictures, this is your stop.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />The second category talks about locations but really, calling them all 'Patel pictures' would be so 1960. Maybe 'Sriram Pictures' or 'Ganesh Pictures'. Or even 'PavanPictures'. Besides usual suspects like the Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Times Square, Golden Gate and the White House, the scope of this category has expanded vastly. Accepted backgrounds for an entry here would include a Toyota Camry, someone else's sports car, trees in fall colours and the first batch of snow. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Pictures of the last category are unique in their composition. Most of these pictures do not include a living subject. The pictures are usually of Indian dishes made with Mom's recipe narrated over a Reliance call. The others usually include shots of the kitchen, a bare living room, the view from the balcony and the bathroom tub. Pictures of the diwali decoration and the navrathri golu also belong here. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />I can think of many reasons why we post the way we do. The simplest one is probably to convey ' We are having fun. Really.' </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />Anyway, that's what I'm moving towards. From festivals and events where I had too much fun to remember to take pictures to a world which funnels itself through an uploaded image. Category 3, here I come.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:Verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span></em></div><div align="justify"><em><span style="font-family:verdana;"><br />P.S All my issues from my earlier post have been solved and settled. A ton of thanks for all your comments and emails. If any of you are stuck in similar situations as listed there, please leave me your email id. I will try to help you out and keep the karma in circulation.</span></em><br /></div><span style="font-family:Times New Roman;"></span>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-41857596706135344492008-08-01T21:16:00.004+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.288+04:00Living the American 'Dream'<div style="text-align: justify;">I've often asked people who moved to the US why they like it so much. Some people confessed that they actually didn't. But most told me that life is 'convenient'. For someone who has always had groceries delivered to the door, people around to help with every difficult thing and impromptu trips home every month, I was intrigued.<br /><br />I was never a stranger to this country. I was familiar with most American terms and the general life here so I definitely knew what I was in for. However, trying to move your entire life here is quite painful. To say the least.<br /><br />My travails started when I landed with a dependent visa. As per the rules here spouses of some legally employed aliens (SOSLEA) are not allowed to work. Or study. Luckily for us, we were in a special situation which would get us work authorization documents in 90 days. So I set out getting my life back in order.<br /><br />I applied for jobs the day after I landed, my head still groggy from jet lag. After very carefully timed interviews, i got a fantastic job on day 91. Today is day 106. No documents yet. I have the job but can't work.<br /><br />To do anything here, you need to drive. So the license. To get a license you have to get a learning permit. To get the learning permit you need a Social Security Number. The hitch? Social Security Number is not given to SOSLEA. Hmm. There is an escape route- we can go to the Social Security Office and tell them we are not eligible and ask them for a reject letter which is also accepted in lieu of the number itself.<br /><br />So I went, armed with everything from wedding invitations, certificates and pictures. The sweet lady at the SSN office, considering my special situation, actually decided to give me an SSN. Yeah, that means she actually rejected my request for a reject letter. (How unlucky can you get?) Getting the SSN approved wasn't a great thing since it had in big bold letters, 'Not Valid for Employment' plus I had to wait for two whole weeks for it to arrive. Which means reading that Driver's manual again till I had Stop signs for eyes.<br /><br />The path to the learning permit wasn't rosy yet. I had to get a medical test done. So depending on your medical history you have a few million tests like reflex, temperature, Blood Pressure, Urine, Breathing rate, etc. Then one fine day my sun shone bright and I got the learner's permit.<br /><br />I used my Social Security number and got a bank account opened. Hurrah! I was jumping around in little circles. But hold on, no credit card as yet. Apparently you need a good credit history here to get a credit card. And that credit history is built up by, no kidding, paying credit card bills. In the hope that paying electric bills on time would help, I called up the electric company today to start an account in our new place. No prizes of guessing. I apparently can't start one that easily as I don't have the credit history. Awesome. So that's the current scene. I have no bills to pay on time because i can't get a credit card or an electricity account. And I can't get those because I have no bills paid on time.<br /><br />Do me a favour please. If any of you come across the 100 odd people who called me everyday in Mumbai offering free credit cards let them know how much I miss them.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Disclaimer: I do like the country and it's people, the opportunities, the places and Food network. Sometimes I just wish they would be easier on us, the ones who came off the boat a little later.</span><br /></div>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-9162686938832825652008-05-02T02:34:00.005+04:002023-11-14T16:52:51.960+04:00How's married life?<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I've had so many people ask me this in the recent past that I've thought of throwing the enquirer from the balcony, over and over again, much like in Jodhaa Akbar. Honestly, it's not about the question itself - I have myself unflinchingly used this as a conversation starter with newly weds several times. What annoys me is that -you are only allowed two answers - 'great' and 'good'. No one wants to stop and hear even a syllable more than that. That's probably because my audience is either the much-married-well-meaning-aunt- who-doesn't-really-care or the Don't-talk-to-me-about-marriage-I'm-too-cool-for-it-friend.<br /><br />It's not the easiest thing in the world to explain how marriage makes you feel. But there definitely is a difference. Something that can still be felt even if you strip off the years you have known the person, the languages you speak, the Gods you believe in (or don’t), the food you eat or the person you are. Companionship.<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">When your teachers asked you to pick a partner for lab, when your professor told you to pick a team mate for project work, has there ever been a slightest doubt of fear in your head?<br />I have had it. All the time. Oh, God. Will she work with me? I hope he's not already taken. God, please please, don't let me end up with that girl. That guy is lazier than me, please, not him. Sometimes, if you are lucky you end up working with a person you like, good vibes, good chemistry, good results. You then team up for a couple of projects and there is a certain security - when the next project is announced you only look back at the person and smile, amidst the noisy deal making. The small joy of knowing you have a great team-mate without having to clamor for it, without having to worry about being there before someone else does. <span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><span style=""> </span><br /><br />Marriage is like that. It's like finding that perfect activity partner for life. There's someone to split those calorie heavy molten lava chocolate cakes. Someone to bring you home safely when you are many a happy drink down. There's no sitting alone on the roller coaster cars anymore. There's someone to yell at the driver to stop when you are busy retching on a highway. Heck, now there's even an excuse to order that ultra heavy Death by Chocolate. And yes, all of the above works both ways.<span style=""> </span><br /><br />It's a pretty cool thing if you think about it. This one's there for good and can't complain about how s/he hates to work with you. (Even if s/he does, it doesn't really matter, they are under contract for life). So there, that's how it feels. Really. I would recommend it. For even if you have to sit through Iron Man, you know you won't miss 'Sex and the City'!</p>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-74263657702229181362008-05-01T20:21:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.813+04:00How's married life?<br />~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-84832502141662302432008-02-15T15:39:00.003+04:002023-11-14T16:52:54.046+04:00Maid of Honour<p align="justify">Leaning on our refrigerator in my newspaper column-sized kitchen, I stared intently at my maid. There was a continuous jet of water from one of the taps and she was swiftly passing soaped vessels under them. Once the assortment of steel, melamine and ceramic had had their express showers, from where she stood, she expertly threw each of them into their designated storing places. </p>Wait a minute. Isn’t she supposed to wipe them dry before you do that? Not like I remember what mom used to do. A quick memory access does not yield too many image results. Now accessing science section. I’m pretty sure the water remains helps in breeding of dangerous microorganisms. I look around for a dish cloth. 1 found. Only I, a classified female with a colour vocabulary of 435686543779, can’t figure what shade it originally is.<br /><p align="justify">I dash inside my slightly bigger Happy-Birthday-Sonia-ad size room while mentally constructing signs to explain the phenomenon to the aforementioned only-Telugu-speaking help. My head deeply buried between some aging clothes, I’m searching for that elusive piece of unwanted cloth.</p>‘Mein jaa rahi hoon, madam’. *Bang*. <em>I’m leaving for the day.</em><br /><p align="justify">‘Whaat? Wait! Hey!!!’</p>Great.<br /><p align="justify">Lakshmi walked into our lives quite by chance. Our ex-maid Latha had barely been working for a month when she wanted to go back to her village for a short vacation. So she entrusted Lakshmi with the 10–day job and lied to her (Ref: Our cook) about how much we were paying so that she could pocket a neat margin. As luck would have it Latha didn't turn up for several weeks. By then we had given Lakshmi all the specific household instructions and had also begun a crash course in Telugu basics to communicate her. </p>Then one day Latha landed at my door. (Of course the whole conversation was in Hindi, or what I thought was Hindi)<br /><p align="justify">‘I’m coming from the 1st’</p>‘No, I think it’s better Lakshmi comes. She’s knows everything now, she does her job well and we don't have the time to train you again’.<br /><p align="justify">‘But I only told her to come for 10 days while I was away’</p>‘You didn't come back in 10 days. You didn’t even come back in a month. ‘<br /><p align="justify">‘She wont come’</p>‘She will. We’ve spoken to her’<br /><p align="justify">‘She doesn’t know Hindi.’</p>‘Neither do I’ (Didn't you get that with my smart gender assigning throughout this conversation?)<br /><p align="justify">Her pupils became one tiny spot in the horizon and i could see her nerves throbbing. She stepped back. Her whole body was shaking now. I grabbed the pillow next to me and was ran some defensive moves in my head. Will she hit me? Will she spit at me? </p>She turned in a huff and ran down the stairs. That was the last I saw of her.<br /><p align="justify">From what I hear (again thanks to my cook), Latha went and confronted Lakshmi the next day. She told Lakshmi that she is not to work with us anymore and that we have asked Latha to resume her services right away. Luckily for us, Lakshmi had the sense to pay no heed and turn up to work the next day. I’m still trying to figure out in what language they communicated.</p>Actually,it’s not their fault. Because all we do is compare all our help to our ex Man Friday.<br /><p align="justify">Shankar was almost part of the house we moved into. He would sweep, mop, wash clothes and dishes. He would dust all the furniture and make our beds. He would pay all our bills, buy all our groceries and even fix fused bulbs. He would supervise the carpenter or plumber who came in and would even whip us an occasional omelette if we were too lazy. We couldn’t imagine life without him, he was truly heaven sent. Till the day he vanished into thin air. With my room mate’s phone. And the charger.</p>Well, I’m glad I don't have to bother about such issues a few weeks from now. For I’m moving to the *promised* land. Where I have to do all above mentioned things myself. Including the work of the carpenter and the plumber.~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-73573050422637164352008-01-30T14:45:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.739+04:00Guilt trips and stolen thunderI saw an amazing movie last weekend. An engaging movie is always a rare occurrence, yet Reservation Road was truly different. For it actually made me think - beyond the Intermission food choices, the post-movie options and other 'loo'ming decisions.<br /><br />This is the story in short. Dwight is a single dad with visitation rights to his son Lucas. One fateful night, driving back from a game with his son, Dwight runs over 10-year old Josh, killing him instantly. Dwight hesitates for a mere second, before leaving a bereaved Ethan weeping over his son's body. What follows is an amazing portrayal of suffering, of guilt and pain, with some unwavering and true-to-life performances from the cast. <br /><br />It led me to think - how much guilt can a person handle?<br /><br />Frankly, if I were in Dwight's position I would have definitely considered, at least for a whole hour, the option of hiding the whole thing away. Of acting like it never happened and then beginning to believe in it. After all, it is the option of free life over no life. If you can ignore the guilt. If only.<br /><br />How much hidden guilt can a person live with? When does it start hurting? How big should a sin be to actually matter? What counts?<br />Lying to your parents? Stealing a good -looking pen? How about reading your best friend's diary? <br />Fine. Let's go by the global rule that no one should be harmed in the process or as a result of it. Then, does stealing office stationary count? How about poisoning (God forbid) your neighbour's pet. Or ruining someone's chances at an interview? Really, where does one draw the line. And then, when you decide to stash those memories away, does one ever feel like letting it go? To someone, to anyone?<br /><br /><br />While this was merely a mind stirring thought, the wonderful piece of cinema had more in store. Ethan is slowly eaten away at the lack of response from the Police. With just one clue, they hang on, make a few inquiries and are ready to throw the towel in without, according to Ethan and most of us, any substantial effort.<br /><br />For heaven's sake, that's America. One thing they've managed to get right is the Policing. Or so we thought. They would be glad to know they have good company in their fellow compatriots here.<br /><br />A couple of months ago, at my wedding, an uninvited guest took off with my mom's handbag. It contained gifts of gold and cash worth a fair bit. For hours the whole wedding party were immersed in all kinds of basic investigation, rummaging through wedding gifts, asking people, calling the misplaced phone, drawing out suspects, going through videos, etc. Wasn't much use. A complaint was duly filed at the nearest police station. <span style="font-style:italic;">"Forget about it" - public voice.</span><br /><br />The next day we scanned the hundreds of pictures that were collectively taken and watched the video for the millionth time, drawing out at least 23 different suspects among the eleven of us family members (aged 8 to 80). I must admit that it was quite some fun, turning into prime investigators, coming up with hypotheses to why the lift operator could have teamed up with the priest in the master plot to steal the bride's gold. There were some hilarious moments too, like when the whole family was lined up in front of the video, ready to take a picture of the stolen handbag to give as evidence. Hardly a few minutes later, the stolen bag was found under a coconut tree in the porch. Without the valuables, of course. The perpetrator had been just a few metres away from us, inside our premises, dropping off the bag, all while I was busy clicking pictures of a TV screen.<br /><br />Anyway, like the tech-savvy new age family we are, we scanned the hall's CCTV videos and got a long shot of the culprit. (Of course, he was not part of the elite 23 suspects circle). So we took the bag and the video clips to the police with a brief description of what the guy looked like. Well, I must say they weren't too happy with our efforts. They told us they would like a clearer, close up shot, preferably in white background with his eyes no less than 12 mm away from the top of the picture. <br /><br />While the rest of moved away from the scene of crime after the holidays ran out, my <a href="http://sandhyakrish.blogspot.com/2005/03/for-her.html">supermom </a>was still on the trail. No one messes with her. She unearthed more videos and actually worked with some visual graphic professionals to get this shot of the culprit. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_X45LW-ZpGhY/R6Bm74LNfPI/AAAAAAAAAMY/T34kZjvgVyE/s1600-h/culprit.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_X45LW-ZpGhY/R6Bm74LNfPI/AAAAAAAAAMY/T34kZjvgVyE/s320/culprit.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5161238351844310258" /></a><br />Now that we got the police got the matrimonial picture they wanted, they still aren't ready to move their well-fed behinds. We are now working on getting his current and permanent addresses, PAN card number, family tree, current salary and job description, bank account details, besides a well written accurate horoscope. <br /><br />If you do see him anywhere, please buy him a ticket for Reservation Road. I will reimburse you and even buy you a free ticket. He should know my pepper spray is still unused and so are my karate skills. <br /><br />For the larger sin, mister, was stealing my wedding thunder.~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-27447052080703275812008-01-29T21:09:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.040+04:00Guilt trips and stolen thunderI saw an amazing movie last weekend. While that itself is quite a rare occurence, Reservation Road was truly something different. It actually made me think (beyond the Intermission food choices, post-movie options and other 'loo'ming decisions).<br /><br />This is the story in short. Ethan and Emma are doting parents to Grace and Josh. Dwight is a single dad with visitation rights to his son Lucas. One fateful night, driving back from a game with his son, Dwight runs over Josh, killing him instantly. Dwight hesitates for a mere second, before leaving the bereaved father weeping over his son's body. What follows is a completely natural unfolding of events, with some unwavering and true-to-life portrayals from each cast member. <br /><br />Dwight suffers in guilt and Ethan in silence, as the Police drag on the case with almost no leads and barely any clues. The lack of response eats into Ethan who grows away from his family and hires a lawyer to follow up on the case. The lawyer is, of course, Dwight. I'm not going to reveal what happens because I wouldn't want to take away from you this brilliant piece of performance.<br /><br />Frankly, if I were in Dwight's position I would surely have considered, at least for a whole hour, the option of hiding the whole thing away. Of acting like it never happened and then beginning to believe in it. After all, it is the option of free life over no life. If only you can ignore the guilt. If only.<br /><br />Of course, here we all empathise for poor Dwight. After all, even a slight blot on his record could snatch away any access to his son. But if he was single would things be any different? What about the rest of us? How much guilt can we all handle? How small should a sin be to not require you to own up to it?~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-22871142228863478812007-09-03T20:06:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:52.408+04:00Moving onI still remember the first time. Everything was so impulsive. And for a brief moment, guilt-ridden. Since then I've asked myself so many times why I did it. Maybe because it felt so right. And incredibly magical. For when I felt you against my skin and looked into your eyes I just let go. Of my reservations, inhibitions and my senses.<br /> <br />Looking back, I'm happy some of my life's best memories were with you. Carefree days, beautiful sights, unspoken nights. Braving chilly winds as I clutched at your sleeve. Walking unfathomable distances knowing you were with me. At times, shielding you with my little hands, for whatever it was worth. You were my obsession, a completely inexplicable one. Would I struggle so much to understand anyone else? I wonder.<br /><br />It always annoyed me - the way you would show up my flaws. Yet, there wasn't a single time I didn't forgive you. Not a single time. Not even the days you gave up on me. Or the days I couldn't see you in the eye. You were precious to me. And you always made me smile. In return, I reserved some of my best smiles for you. To cherish, to hold and to freeze forever in memory. It was all you. For when people saw me with you, I glowed. <br /><br />You changed my life. The times I felt at peace just feeling your presence on me. The way you caressed my nose. How there was nothing more beautiful than burying my face in your back and just holding you. The way I searched for the nooks in you body to fill with me. And the certain joy of looking at life through your eyes. Something no one will ever understand. <br /><br />You should know it's impossible to forget you. And to think you were never a part of my life. I can never stop wishing I had spent more time with you. Or at least done justice to the times we were together. Deep in my heart, I'll also keep hoping for that miracle reunion. <br /><br />I'll miss you. Really. I'll miss holding you and making memories with you. I'll always regret never having told you how much you meant to me. But I guess it's time to move on.<br /><br />There's just one nagging fear in my heart. And I can't stop thinking about it. I hope the lenses that came free with you will fit on to my new Canon.~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-49049391122961664572007-06-16T10:13:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.512+04:00Kissed by an angel<div align="justify"><span style="font-size:180%;">T<span style="font-size:100%;">hursday</span> </span>was a different day. One that I spent doing things I had been craving to for so many days. Things which gave me a lot of time to reflect on my life. Like a long soak in a warm bath. And a much needed conversation that left me in tears. I looked up at the dark clouds hovering threateningly from my grand window, wondering if this would be the day the city was waiting for. Brushing drenched images aside I added a slide to my presentation - with lots of boxes and arrows. Things which my work life was now surrounded by. I stepped out into the dark a full two hours later, carrying a small backpack and a heavy package that I'd received from home.<br /><br />Bandstand is usually a lovely place. Most of the days I step out of office to the beautiful shades of sunset over the sea, trying to hold my own against the strong wind. It's crowded with huddling couples, eager rickshaws and an occasional movie unit. Well, today was not exactly the same. I squinted to spot a run down Premier Padmini amidst the drizzle, crossing the road twice to try my luck on both sides. No one wanted to make the trip.<br /><br />Finally I flagged down a rickshaw and hurried into it, cardboard box and all, asking him to take me to the farthest point into the city that he was allowed to. We passed by the seaface, the radio blaring 'Barso re megha megha'. I hummed along, the sea breeze blowing the shorter strands of my hair all over my face. My super dramatic alter ego was busy, fancying myself as the pretty heroine under the gorgeous waterfall, splashing around and getting drenched without a second thought. ' Nanna re nanna re nannare na na re'. I put my hand outside the auto to catch the raindrops - what every second self respecting actress would do. And then suddenly the movie stopped, like a power cut in a village talkie.<br /><br />'Yahan se taxi le lena madam'. <span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Take a taxi from here.</em></span><br /><br />A different final point for the autos. I took my own time paying him, hoping a cab would stop by us. No such luck. Getting down gingerly, I focussed on the road, hoping to see the yellow headed cabs flowing my way. Nothing. I surveyed the surroundings. Dark and empty, the drizzle was slowly morphing into a full flown downpour. Several empty autos. One stationary cab filled with four men. A lonely lady with wares of potato wafers and two Bisleri bottles under a small umbrella. This is Bombay, I thought, it's always safe. Finally a taxi. Damn. People in it. Several minutes passed on the empty road. No luck. The rain was falling heavily by now and I could feel the droplets running down my neck.<br /><br />'Goa ja rahe ho?' <span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Going to Goa?</em><br /></span><br />I turned around sharply to see the Bisleri woman standing next to me with her little umbrella.<br /><br />'Mahim', I said, managing a wry smile.<br /><br />'Taxi chahiye?' <em><span style="font-size:85%;">Want a taxi?<want><br /></span></em><br />I nodded my head, trying to decipher any hidden messages in her words. Things I usually suck at picking up.<br /><br />She came closer to me and held the umbrella over my head and yelled out a name. Four kids came running out of nowhere like pixies from an Enid Blyton. They rushed off in different directions on receiving orders from the woman. One older boy stayed behind.<br /><br />'Soch raha tha kiske liye chhaata pakadke khadi ho', he told her. <em><span style="font-size:85%;">I was wondering who you were holding the umbrella for.<br /></span></em><br />She replied ,' Bacchi akeli khadi thi na.' <em><span style="font-size:85%;">The girl was standing alone, you know.</span></em><br /><br />'Meri bhi do bacchi hai, tum jaisi', she smiled. <em><span style="font-size:85%;">I have two daughters just like you.</span></em><br /><br />I smiled at her wondering what I should say. Was this a trap? Why would she do this?<br /><br />'Mein pakad lun?', I asked, my hands already full with my things. <em><span style="font-size:85%;">Shall I hold the umbrella?</span></em> Frankly, amidst the hundred thoughts that were running through my mind, none of them involved holding her umbrella. Yet I heard myself saying it. <br /><br />I never heard her reply. It was muffled by shouts of 'Aunty' and 'Didi' that suddenly rung the air. The little kids ran towards us, followed by a taxi which truly seemed to have appeared out of thin air. Before I could react they shuffled me in, their grimy wet faces smiling at me from the different windows. From the one I sat at, I could now see her wares, cold and unprotected in the rain.<br /><br />Stunned, I mumbled a 'thank you' under my breath and waved at the six excited children and the Bisleri woman. They waved till I went out of sight.<br /><br />I reached home safely that night. Drenched, but safe. </div><div align="justify"><br /><br />Funny how sometimes it takes a total stranger to make you smile. Out of nowhere. With so little. </div>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-21287627156383729012007-06-14T20:40:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:52.333+04:00Kissed by an angel<div>For days I've been meaning to write about this city. I've endlessly sniggered at all my Mumbaikar friends for thinkign that their city is a different world, a place much better and much different than what the rest of us lesser mortals have set foot on</div>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-46159576126880952382007-05-13T20:11:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.437+04:00Pieces in a Kaleidoscope - IIIShe passed the waiting taxis and stood on the road, looking to flag a running one. From her two months here she knew only the ones on the road agreed to go anyplace she wished to. She climbed into an old Fiat and surveyed the insides. Recently done up in gaudy colours, the huge speakers were~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-11188034791966385092007-03-29T08:18:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:52.035+04:00Fangs of separation<div style="text-align: justify;">I stretched lazily and walked up to my window. A sweeper raking specks of leaves from the pale green grass swathed in the morning sunlight. A stray mongrel waited by, confused. I squinted to see who else was lounging around after breakfast. Just one more morning, I thought. At this window.<br /><br />People deal with farewell and separation in many different ways. They try different ways till the one time they find that they have truly cut themselves successfully away, without much damage. They develop networking and social skills and try hard to keep in touch, in hope that one day they'll never have to say the dreaded word. I hate saying goodbye - to places, to things. Especially to people.<br /><br />Some people deal with it by slowly taking it in. By savoring and enjoying every last second. With the things they always wanted to do. By taking pictures, by graciously accepting that this is going to be the last time. They wish they would cry and get over with the sorrow but then the tears disappoint. Because they have already grieved enough.<br /><br />Sometimes, you want to say goodbye by spending all your time with that person or in that place. Doing things you have always enjoyed doing, living the life you have always led. Perhaps with a implicit reassurance that nothing will change and nothing should. This is when you want to believe that this going away is just a small deviation in the master plan of life.<br /><br />Some people deal with it by keeping away. They immerse themselves in packing, running errands, in things which would take them away from dealing with the pain, and in the process those precious last few moments. They simply don't want any memories of saying goodbye. That would ruin the lovely picture they have in their minds.<br /><br />Some people just walk away, out of your lives, in a precious second. Some people cry. If it needs some alcohol, so be it. Some people say nice words. Some others hug and kiss.<br /><br />I blog.<br /></div>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-5101305160347572182007-03-24T21:38:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:51.886+04:00Leap of faith<div style="text-align: justify;">I always admire the picture that shows on my fone when I get a call from home. Mom's chilling out in the sofa with my cat Puchoos happily snuggled on her lap, lifting her head and enjoying the caresses. One such time,right in the midst of the picture-gazing, my mother's excited voice from the other end made my ears perk up. Quite cat-like.<br /><br />My parents had, with a new found business contact, visited an astrologer, a specialist in the field of <em>'nadi jolshiyam'</em> or 'astrology that is sought'. Apparently, centuries ago, the period when every village happening was later made into a legend, a Goddess wanted to know about the people who would be born on earth. Her following of saints took up the task and wrote down the life histories of every human being who would ever be born on this earth, each inscribed into a leaf. Wars and natural calamities destroyed a lot of these but about a few hundred years ago, the remaining inscriptions were recovered and translated into a more recent comprehendable Tamil. These were then auctioned off by the British and bought by rich Tamil families who maintained it for years before handing them over to different astrologers. These little biographies are said to be matched to a person by his/her thumb print and not the date of birth unlike other forms of astrology. This because they believe that a human is born when it is conceived and not, like the rest of us swear by, time of delivery. So even though the saints might have written the futures of thousands of people, each astrologer only has the leaves of those 'destined' to go to him. I patiently listened, waiting for the twist in the story, the critical point where my semi-sceptical mom would have fallen hook, sinker and line for this too-good to-believe faith. I didn't have to wait long.<br /><br />After giving their thumb prints, the man brought sets of leaves that matched them, she said. He started off not knowing anything about them, even their names. He would ask 3-4 basic questions to find out which leaf was yours and once all the answers matched, he would declare your leaf found and write down the matter into a notebook and then explain it to you. Hmm. Mom was stunned out of her seat, she said, when he found her leaf and told her my grand mother's rather uncommon name. He also mentioned some unusual details of our family which he could never have guessed otherwise. Details of her siblings and children followed, complete with marital status and location and even the age at which she would seek out this form of astrology. My dad had a similiar leaf found and read out to him. Both were even told, much to their amusement, what they were and where they lived in their previous lives.<br /><br />I got back home in a few days and the more I heard about it, the more curious I got. I don't really believe in astrology but this one seemed too entertaining to miss. And maybe disprove. I thought of all the ways they could have found out the details, like how much the business contact knew and how much my parents would have absently relayed. There was no other way to find out than to book myself an appointment.<br /><br />I went to the small house, tagging behind my mother. There were pictures of Hindu Gods and Goddesses all around. After awhile we were called in to where the astrologer was seated. I pressed my right thumb into an old Camel stamp pad and made two impressions. There was a young boy, an apprentice who stood by. I keenly observed the astrologer, trying to keep my eyes on him and my prints to see how he was going to match them. He wrote down numbers beside them and gestured to the boy who went in, without as much as taking a look at the notepad. He returned in a few seconds with a bundle of long rectangular palm leaves bound together with white rope.<br /><br />Sometimes you genuinely try to look at these things with an open mind. Something about it could be genuine, how else would they unearth so much of personal information. A faint glimmer of hope that this man and his bunch of leaves could perhaps get me hooked to this and actually believe in it. I waited with bated breath.<br /><br />Are you above 20? Yes. Above 22? Yes? Born in 85? No. 84? No. 83? No. 82? Yes.<br /><br />Ok. Not much rocket science in there, I thought. My eyes focussed in and out of the dull picture of an unknown deity behind him.<br /><br />How many letters in Tamil does your name have? Five. The first letter of your name begins with R? No. V? No. P? No. L? No. S? Yes, I said.<br /><br />My left eyebrow was now slightly above the normal level. What next, I wondered.<br /><br />Is you name Shyamala? No. Sangeetha? No. Savitha? No. The last letter of your name, Na? No. Tha? No. Thi? No. Ra? No. Pa? No. What is it? 'Ya'. Is your name Sathya? No!<br /><br />How did I even think this would be genuine. I crossed my legs, folded my arms and sat back. I glanced at my mom. Was this how he guessed Grandma's name?, I asked with my eyes. She returned a disappointed look that told me even she thought this was unusual.<br /><br />Now the second last letter, he said. Concentrating hard and trying to figure out, I guessed, what normal Indian names could fit the given pattern. A baby name book would help, I mused, rather than ancient palm leaves. The session went on for awhile. He 'told me' my mother's name and my name after a letter-by-letter guessing game. He knew my dad's name so we were spared of the ordeal of going through his rather long name. He then proceeded to again' tell me' what line I was in. Since no astrologer can ever guess HR, I took my ex profession, software, as a valid answer. After all with more than 80% of the educated youth there, it was a safe guess for him. Then on seeing my mom's doubtful face, he made some quick calculations with my age and said that I have now studied further and could possible be either in the same line or in an administrative, managerial line. Wow. Smart.<br /><br />It was a smart business model. Yet, my parents insist that for them he didn't do much guessing. He apparently took their parent's names out of thin air. With no prodding. Some of my mom's friends testify to this too. One of them even had their future husband's name accurately given at a time when they hadn't even met. How could so many people stick by this unexplained foresight?<br /><br />Either my astrologer didn't get my leaf and just pretended to or the whole thing is a big sham. The former, in my humble opinion, would anyway mean the latter. I later looked up 'nadi astrology' on the net. Several interesting pages appeared with many good-looking testimonials and pictorial proof that there is some sort of truth associated with this. After many discussions with others who have had this experience, mine seemed the most bogus of them all. Without even an ounce of stun power. Yet, there's something about this mysterious way of foretelling that still keeps my questioning. Maybe some day when I have the time and patience, maybe I would try another astrologer and get some answers. Till then I can recount the way he guessed my date of birth and smile.<br /><br />Jan-Feb? No. Nov-Dec? No. April- May? No. . . . . . . June? Yay!!!<br /><br />Before 15th or after 15th?</div>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-34106323669893125952006-12-20T12:25:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:53.213+04:00The last leg<div style="text-align: justify;">After lunch yesterday I walked up to a little office in the administration building of the business school I go to. I gave them my student roll number and collected the green registration card with my picture on it. Picking up a pen I looked at my own handwriting.My name neatly scrawled in different ink on five different dates. I paused for a moment before I gingerly put my signature for the last time and turned away. The last leg of my academic life.<br /><br />I have pictures of my first day at kindergarten in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia. Four years old, neatly dressed, a blue cotton bag on one shoulder, a red penguin water bottle on the other, giving an impish smile at my dad. After close to a year of a lot of fun there, they gave me a 'Diploma of kindergarten'. Needless to say, I was on a high for a whole week, my first recorded high. Ever since, school has always been joyful for me. I was one of those eager kids who hated missing school and would go almost forty minutes earlier than the first bell. The wonderful life of friends, books, grades. And a few teachers I hold close to heart.<br /></div>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-1165601475232410572006-12-08T21:31:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:51.811+04:00What women want<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;font-family:courier new;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">A brief attempt at unravelling the great mystery. In honour of my friend Rishi who gave me the idea. Dedicated to all the confused men around. Just say sorry :)<br /><br /><br /></span></span>She: ' Just say yes or no. No ifs or buts'<br />He: ' Ok... No.'<br />She: 'No????'<br /><pause>(pause)<br /> Fine!'<br />He: Ok. Bye<br />She: Fine! Gbye and Gnite!<br /><br />She stares at her fone secretly wishing she could bang it down. 'Men!'.<br /><br />She wakes up, by habit trying to remember what she dreamt of. Then she remembers the argument. What a loser, she thinks. Wonder if I'll see him at the parking lot. She does. Walks away, avoiding eye contact.<br /><br />'I wonder if he ever realises what he did. Hurting me like that. I bet he's regretting it right now'. She turns on her laptop trying to immerse herself in the jargon and matrices.<br /><br />It's around the time he has lunch, she thinks, picking her keys and staring out the window. No sign of him. A second helping? Maybe he'd be here by then. No sign. Some fruit juice? No sign.<br />'What an absolute moron. Maybe he just doesn't like to say sorry.'<br /><br />3 pm. No email. 4pm. No offline messages. 5 pm. Nope- no phone calls and no smses either. And then suddenly footsteps outside her door. She holds her usually heavy breath, trying to concentrate and recognize the steady sounds coming closer. A knock. On the neighbour's door. She heaves a disgruntled sigh and goes back to her wired world.<br /><br />9 pm. 'Maybe I should call. Maybe that will open him up. Give him an opportunity to realize what a fool he's been. Or maybe I should just pay him a visit.' She gathers her books, her keys and her phone and then stops. She puts them all back and waving her hands, walks up two flights of stairs. She steadies her breathing, goes to the door and puts her hand on the knob and turns it.<br /><br />He turns to look at her, an expression of relief crossing his face. She walks in, trying to suppress her smile and look angry. She sits down at his table waiting for him to speak.<br />' Ok. Here goes. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just worried about what the others would ..'<br />' It's okay. But I was upset too. I'm not totally devoid of emotions, you know!' she smiles. ' I just had to come and see you. I was thinking about it all day and I knew things would become alright if I came.'<br />' Thank you. You make me feel much lighter. Dinner tommorow?'<br /><br />How nice that would be, she thought, brushing her dreams away. She turned the knob, it only went half the way. She paused, then turned it the other way. No luck. She rushed back to her room, picked her stuff and walked to her car. ' Well, he's getting more time. He better come around by tommorrow.'<br /><br />Next morning she meets him at the parking lot.<br /><br />She: 'Left early yesterday?'<br />He: ' Yes, Around 8'<br />She: ' I came to your office. Around 9'<br />He: ' Oh. What for?'<br />She ' What do you think?'<br />He: ' It's ok. Your apologies are accepted.'<br /><br />She: 'Whaaaattttt?????'<br /><br /><br /></pause></div>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8574898.post-1159209637944046182006-09-25T22:40:00.000+04:002023-11-14T16:52:51.738+04:00Pieces in a Kaleidoscope - II<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:lucida grande;" >This post and the one before is my attempt at trying a new style of writing fiction. Pieces of vivid descriptions to be stitched together by the reader's imagination. A thousand patterns can be formed depending on what you perceive, much like a kaleidoscope. Do let me know what you see. </span><br /><br />***********************************<br /><br />She waited on the wooden bench, quietly checking the people walking across. She strained her eyes to see the end of the platform. It was empty except for a naked boy of about 2 crawling to his sleeping mother. Maybe it was a joke, she thought and looked straight ahead. And then she saw him. A sigh of relief, a joyous smile.<br /><br />***********************************<br /><br />They sped down the road, under the shadows of the tall neem trees, her childish laughter resounding for miles. She giggled loudly as the first drops of rain hit her face, her brown eyes gleaming with excitement. A pothole unsteadied her. She caught on to his shirt, screaming in delight. They stopped at a closed shop, waiting for the rain to stop. He looked at her shivering in the cold and kissed her cheek, affectionately.<br /><br />***********************************<br />She stared at the screen. Her nimble fingers flew across the old keyboard and she typed furiously, trying in vain to put all her thoughts into words. Then she found the backspace key.<br />She froze for a moment, thinking if she would regret this later. She fiddled with the keys, her hesitant fingers matching up with her wavering mind.<br />She hit 'send' and gathered her belongings. She slowly walked out of the room, making up tales in her head to convince herself that everything was alright. Nothing was wrong. No one was drifting away.<br /><br />***********************************<br /><br />The light was dim. The music was soft, almost non existent. There was nothing to stop her - it only took a question to bring it on. From a million miles away she opened up to him, and he to her. Nothing mattered anymore and neither remembered the backspace key. Excuses, misgivings, battered feelings. Assumptions, reasons and explanations.<br /><br />It had all been over 7 years ago. Yet, this was closure.<br /><br />***********************************<br /><br />When was innocence lost?<br /><br /><br /><br /></div>~S~http://www.blogger.com/profile/08631917314520830898noreply@blogger.com13