Friday, May 13, 2011

Project 10 Pan commences!

So I have WAY TOO MANY beauty products, and am going to seriously begin Project 10 Pan today, 14 May 2011. The concept basically is that you're not allowed to buy any more cosmetic products till you finish/hit pan on 10 products you already own. God knows, I need this :P I am absolutely running out of space to keep even one more chapstick! :P

Lets see how long this lasts, and regular updates will be posted here :)


Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Its been a while since I’ve felt creative. I think it has something to do with “inner peace” or “true happiness” that so many gurus have made so much money advertising. It’s when your mind is stress and worry free that you really experience yourself. What is one’s personality? The thoughts we think, the things we do? But then, most of the time, aren’t our thoughts and actions really governed by external forces? As in... If I’m stressing over an assignment, a class test, my mind is not really free to produce original thoughts, so how does anybody recognize who I really am? There is a spontaneity that goes amiss when stress sets in. And then when the stress slowly dissipates… your true self comes forward, not only to others, but to yourself. Dissipation of stress has never been a conscious process with me... I am NEVER able to get rid of it, no matter what I do. After a long long time, my mind has been plagued with questions that amuse me, and remind me of what I really am. I wish somebody really knew.

Like writer’s BLOCK. Why is it called writer’s block? Maybe it signifies a block of some kind interrupting a writer’s thoughts. Like a wooden block placed in a mouse maze. Or a granite block. Noo… a cool semi precious stone block. Ya, that’s what I get :D
But what about when I forget... it’s not a block, I know what I want to say, I’ve just forgotten it. I’ve been thinking about something for days, but then suddenly – zero recollection. Now that’s not a block, is it? More like... an eraser. Its frustrating, when you know you have an important point to make, but just cannot remember what it was.

Which brings me to Madame Tussauds. I really wonder who decides whose wax statue is to be made, and where it is to be placed. When the various branches of Madame Tussauds were opening up around the world, I wonder what they were thinking... “Dude, we gotta have Gandhi!” Imagine if they DIDN’T have a statue of Gandhi, if they (hypothetically) forget. International relations crisis? Who thinks of all this? That person must have to be quite qualified, and have a deep understanding of history, politics, international relations… I guess it’s a very responsible job. What would be the job description? I wonder what’s on their business cards. “Mr. XYZ, Decider of Personalities and Placement”? Hmm, not bad. Sounds impressive. J J

And orange in Hindi is “Narang” which literally means “without colour”. How in the world does that make sense? Cool thing though – “Narang” in Hindi, and “Anaranjado” in Spanish. Almost similar. Yay. J

Monday, August 10, 2009

The God Of Loss. The God Of Small Things.

I just finished reading the book “The God Of Small Things” by Arundhati Roy. I had obviously heard about it, Booker Prize Winner 1997 and all… But since I wasn’t all that impressed with Kiran Desai’s “The Inheritance of Loss”, I never bothered to read this one either, believing all Booker Prize Winners to be sad, long, metaphorical novels which always have at least one reference to human refuse. My mother has had a copy of TGOST for a long time now, but it wasn’t until Ninu Nani (Neerja, my sister) bought it that I was actually tempted to start reading it. So I just picked it up one night from her bag, and started.

Quite frankly, the first chapter is just painful. Its an eclectic introduction of too many places, too many people, too many connections, and her style of writing seems bizarre. There seems to be no introduction to any plot as such, and it seems to be just a random collection of sentences with no references to anything in particular. The first chapter gave me a headache, and took me an unusually long time to read through. The only reason I actually bothered to read through was the curiously continuous encouragement from Nani and Ma. “Just get through the first chapter”, they would say, “the rest is much easier to read through, and you’ll get a hang of it eventually.” Eventually. I kept reading. And waited.

By the time I got to the fourth or fifth chapter, I was totally into the story. I was even enjoying Ms. Roy’s bizarre writing style. The fraternal twin children, Rahel and Estha, have been so beautifully portrayed, and their feelings, experiences and reactions to circumstance are so genuine and realistic, it touched my heart and reminded me of the sweet gullibility of childhood. At various points in the story, I actually felt so frustrated at the way the adults in the story treat Rahel and Estha, and so helpless… Ms. Roy has managed to capture their innocence and worldview with just the right sensitivity. Its not often that adults actually remember what childhood was like. The events of their childhood scar the twins for life, and the way their thoughts have been described, I could empathize with them so easily and my heart ached as they bore the burdens of other people’s lackings on their gentle shoulders.

Ammu, their mother, is a strong character, and I found myself really liking her independent spirit and clarity of thought. Liking, until the point when she pushes Rahel and Estha away. She loves them, more than anything, but there is a strong undercurrent of her misfortunes that’s foremost on everyone’s mind, and also the onset of madness, which creates a barrier between Ammu and her children.

Velutha is a dream come true on paper. Fantastic body, dignified bearing, and a “sudden, quick” sparkling smile. Talented and great with kids. What else can a woman want? Unfortunately, he’s also an Untouchable, and there are many many many layers of history, casteism and beliefs separating him from the other protagonists.

They are all woefully human, even the multiple other characters – Baby Kochhama, Chacko, Mammachi… The theme of the story is basically about chance circumstances, and how things can change in a few hours, or a day. For a complete gist of the story and characters, please refer to :)

Ms. Roy reveals every aspect of the story bit by bit, like showing an awesome gift and snatching it away every time one gets close. The present is interspersed with the past, with history’s thread weaving everything together. The plot keeps shuttling back and forth between what is happening, and what has happened. It gets a little tiring sometimes, and I had to keep my impatience in check. But by the time I was down to the last 50 odd pages, I couldn’t keep the book down. The love angle is poetically put forth, and seems like the purest part of the entire story. It is not a regular love story, or politically charged family novel, but a wonderful combination of various aspects of life, circumstances and human behavior. Thankfully, the end is quite neutral-positive, so it didn’t leave me feeling depressed at the world at large.

I feel like celebrating my success in getting through the book. Read it. You won’t regret it.

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Short Story

The inspiration behind this was Neerja's story, her blog, and essentially the experience of my first week at college and hostel. 

Please comment :)

She had never been lonely before. 

She had been in the spotlight. Ever since she could remember. Always. Centre of attention. Every guy's fantasy. Every girl's envy. Everybody's best friend. Nobody disliked her. She radiated warmth. Comfort. She glowed. People vied for a chance to be with her, talk to her, stand next to her, hoping that maybe, some of that constant happiness would rub off on them. Headstrong. Independent. Eversmiling. Free spirited. She was the sun. She never cast a shadow. 

It all changed.

It wasnt abrupt. It was subtle. Slow. Initially, nobody noticed. As the days, weeks, months slipped by, she seemed to be gradually withdrawing. An aura of mysteriousness surrounded her. A knowing look entered her eyes. She seemed to weave an invisible cloak around herself, reserved and dignified. As if a strange, dark secret had revealed itself, and she was the only one who knew.

It was the voices. It was him.

He quietly entered her dreams. He whispered secrets into her ear. He told her wonderful tales of young love, of knights in shining armour rescuing beautiful young maidens. Maidens like her, he said. Rescuing them from what, she asked. From the world, he answered. From everything that held her back. From everything that she could not do. That the world stopped her from doing. From darkness, from evil, from jealousy, greed, hate. And take them where, she asked. To an enchanting land, he answered. A world of endless joys. A world of laughter, care, dreams and possibilites.

She believed him.

She had never experienced such emotion. She had never known what it was like to love, to be loved, to care for someone so much that love seemed too puny a word for it. She laughed with him, cried with him, shared her life with him so completely that she couldnt feel where her own senses ended and his began. Life was a magical dream. They were together. They were one.

He was within her. He was in her heart, a part of her soul. Unknown to herself, she had built a wall around herself. No one could enter the secret region where they were one, where she safely locked the memories of their conversations, his smile, his scent, his touch. It was just her, and him. In her heart. On her mind. Always.

She was the loneliest person in the world.

Friday, December 26, 2008

Recipe for Disaster

Here's my recipe for the most disastrous christmas cake ever, but I managed to turn it into a spectacular success at the end... read on :)

Honey Spice Cake

Flour 3 cups
Margarine <1>
Sugar 0.50 cup
Honey 0.75 cup
Eggs 2
Milk 4 tbsp, or as needed
Salt 1 pinch
Ground cinnamon 0.50 tsp
Baking soda 1 tsp
Grated lemon rind / Chopped apricots / whatever u want

Grease and line the cake tin. Sieve the flour, salt, cinnamon powder and soda together. Cream the fat, sugar, honey and beat in the eggs. Fold in flour, alternating with milk. Adjust milk quantity as required to make a batter. Bake at 170 C.

So... where's the disaster? Well, I forgot to put in the baking soda, because the original recipe calls for "self-raising flour" and I used ordinary flour, and of course, IT DIDNT RISE!! :( so after baking what i got was a dense, moist, rubbery mass... which by the way, tasted good :) just didnt look that great...

So what i did was... cut it into little square pieces, arrange it in an attractive pan, whip up some custard and pour it on top. It turned out LOVELY, and really made the cut for our christmas dessert :)

Merry Christmas to all!!

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

Wednesday, December 17, 2008


None of what I write is meant to hurt any particular person's feelings or attack their dignity or social standing. These are just my own personal thoughts and experiences, which I am putting forth. Feel free to agree or disagree. And leave me a comment, especially is you disagree :)