Mission Istanbul

All these talks of bombs and such, I must mention – Mission Istanbul. The movie was the little brother’s idea of family bonding. So a reluctant me, mom and dad accompanied him for the movie last night.

The movie which features three or four ugly men, is apparently a commentary on terrorism and such like. Clever plot, eh? The movie is SO bad, it is hard to imagine that someone wasted so much money on it. The only half interesting thing in the movie was the man-man love that unfolds in every frame. Unfortuntely, that is only the side plot.

I should have stuck to watching the Queen Rania feature on BBC, and how she tried to break stereotypes related the Arab World.

Bombs

I hope there are enough number of anti bomb squad personnel in our country.

Isn’t it strange that terrorists plant more bombs in an hour,  than the number of runs that Sachin, Dravid and Ganguly score over four days?

End result in both the cases: bloody.

Phew

I am glad that the Trust Vote is over. I can get back the TV from the clutches of my dad, who thinks that watching Jayanathi Natarajan across every channel is much more fun than watching Prison Break.

As if that is not enough, people at work were discussing if Lalu Yadav made a better speech than Omar Abdullah? How annoying. I don’t care about these various leaders and the speeches they made. Incidentally, dealer is an anagram for leader.

Though, I must say, Manmohan Singh is turning out to be a moronmagnet. Kindred soul.

My point is: we need a second TV in our house.

PhD

It has been a series of PhD Viva Voce days lately. At the Institute, this is the source of much mirth.

One notices that, there are far greater number of women who are doctoral students, as opposed to men. Which makes me wonder, why is that? Every year, in the month of May, we see the newspapers proclaim that, the girls have once again outdone the boys in the Board Exams. It is so common-place to see a group of happy looking girls giving each other high-fives that a photographer captures for the newspaper, that one ignores it.

After this, god only knows what happens to all these women? Most of the people who cross the 7 Point CGPA in college are boys. Most of the folks who get into MBA colleges are also men. The women seem to fade into obscurity for a while.

Many years later, somewhere in her mid 30s, the PhD option becomes viable and that Board Exam topper appears again. It perhaps appeals to the over-achiever hidden inside her somewhere. A bad marriage, ill-mannered children and the demands of an IT Job that requires her to go on-site leaving behind all the people she anyway ought to hate, begins to take the toll.

And that explains why forty year olds en masse are doing their PhDs these days. At the Viva Voce, the Interviewers are stern, deliberately difficult and highly sexist. They take that as part of the job definition. Understandably, this leads to frail nerves. When Lakshmi is inside, getting grilled and butchered by the Interviewer, her now in Engineering college daughter, her Board Exam writing son, her diabetic mother-in-law in a Chettinad Sari and her alcoholic husband wait. It is hilarious to see the role reversal and see the children panic. The ordeal ends and everyone congratulates Dr Lakshmi. D O C T O R, they all say over and over again. When the cretin (aka Interviewer) walks out, they dig deep into their selves and offer him a smile even. He ignores and you run after him (as he is your boss) and let the family be.

Distasteful & Unscientific

This, is meant to be news? I would rather read about Aishwarya Rai’s Karwa Chauth.

How to deal with a Kleptomaniac?

There is a kleptomaniac at work. She doesn’t seem like someone who will need to rummage thorough another person’s bag, just so that she can get a lip-stick or an mp3 player. But, on a number of occasions, I have spotted her rummaging through bags with a desperation that suggests a compulsive disorder.

She is twenty seven and is married. Her husband is rich. She comes from an upper middle class home and has manicured nails. She probably steals for fun.

I don’t have it in my heart to confront her on this. She is the only half interesting person at work anyway. And she is not a good enough friend, for me to have her best interests in my heart. So, I continue being blind about it. Though, these days, I carry cheap lip-sticks to office. You know, the ones that my NRI cousins picked up from discount stores, and which are probably made in Indonesia using some highly toxic substances.

Nam Myo Ho

Oh, dear!

TEN years ago, Michael Roach and Christie McNally, Buddhist teachers with a growing following in the United States and abroad, took vows never to separate, night or day.

By “never part,” they did not mean only their hearts or spirits. They meant their bodies as well. And they gave themselves a range of about 15 feet.

If they cannot be seated near each other on a plane, they do not get on. When she uses an airport restroom, he stands outside the door. And when they are here at home in their yurt in the Arizona desert, which has neither running water nor electricity, and he is inspired by an idea in the middle of the night, she rises from their bed and follows him to their office 100 yards down the road, so he can work.

The Dalai Lama doesn’t approve of this, thank god.

May be

No.

No?

Yes.

Thanks.

Nada Nada

I am absolutely in love with Avial. Not that hideous dish.

I always thought my parents hated me…

.. till I met Short Boy.

Imagine being named after a raagam with a unique gandhara swara. Bleh.

What prompts evil parents to name their off-spring as Charukesi, Kokilapriya or Amritavarshini? Does god punish such parents by ensuring that most of these children named after lovely raagams are not just tone deaf but also bestowed with a less than pleasant voice?

At my work-place, most of my colleagues are named after several raagams. Yet, when they open their mouths, one hardly finds any semblance of music.

Only we women need to endure this. The boys are far luckier that way. Their names are merely idiotic, not exotic.

Today I met Short Boy, who is called – Yazh. Really. My heart went out to him. Firstly, nobody will probably get that name. And if they do get it, they are probably thinking of Kovalan and Madhavi. Music and Sangam literature, can it get any worse?

Why are women so critical of each other?

Between this and this, my hate for the world is explained.

I frequently see women react with thinly veiled jealousy when they see other women stepping up and claiming a level of entitlement they can only dream of.

Heh.

Thin children and fat mothers

Why do all young mothers complain about how their children don’t seem to be eating enough?

Yesterday, at the Citi Centre Mall, I saw a family of three – a mother, a father and a four or five year old hyper-active and noisy boy. The boy wanted a thick milk-shake with ice-cream. The father got a cappuccino and the mother didn’t have anything. The mother and father pair didn’t have much to say to the other. The son was busy shrieking and trying his super-hero stunts. In the meantime, the mother drank up most of the milk-shake.

There was a time when women needed to eat the left over food of the husband. And now women have to eat the high on calories leftovers junk that their children don’t eat.

Dear Neighbour Uncle

You must have been an important person in the 1990s, but today you are not. So, stop behaving like one. And I don’t want to be lectured on the environment and fuel related woes of the world. I am young and irresponsible.

Self-Deprecation 2

The only thing worse than having a conversation with a self deprecatory man, is talking to a Seinfeld quoting man. It is so Bleh. It is such a 90s thing anyway. And not to mention, entirely too unimaginative.

Bunnycide

Everyone at work-place personalise their work area with several photographs, trinkets, arty looking stuff and such like. It is meant to show off how well-travelled and how pretty their babies and/or significant other person are.

I don’t want to put up pictures of my mom and dad. Because a big part of why I come to work, is to get away from the family for a while. And I certainly don’t want to put a picture of The Boy. I mean, with every passing day I am convinced that the chances of our relationship surviving is very slim. Putting up a photograph is like making a commitment.

Instead, I put up pictures of Bunny Suicides. I *heart* – The Book of Bunny Suicides. My favourite suicide tool is the boomerang. I bought this book to give as a gift for the kid brother on his birthday. Mom thought that, I was putting ideas into his head. Given that kids who write the Board Exams are anyway feeling suicidal, she has hidden the book. Bother.

Reason No. 1: Why should I never meet my family?

A cousin of mine had a baby recently and I have been too caught up with stuff to actually go and meet her. I usually don’t feel very social, but since she is one of the few people in my family who is nicer, I decided to pay her a visit.

The cousin looked pleased to see me. She asked me to hold the baby, since it (he) was so tiny and actually alive, I declined. That seemed to upset her. She then asked me if she was looking fat. I told her that, she was fat and therefore she would look that.

Saroja Saman Nikalo

The Boy refused to meet me today. And yesterday. And the day before. Apparently he HAS to watch those idiotic cricket matches between teams that were named by someone who had very poor imagination. It is annoying. At times like this, I am very happy that, as a country we suck at most sports and don’t waste time playing them. We make decent sports movies though, we should stick to that. Also, movie halls are conducive to making out. Watching a cricket match that will get over in twenty overs, is not.

Honor Your Hunger

Found this, via her.

I love the bit that says, challenge the food police.

Addicted

I am absolutely in love with Criminal Minds. There are days, when I have to thank American Television.

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It seems that Bloggers en masse are talking about periods and how it doesn’t ruin pickles. Some post (I have lost track of the links) talked about how it must be terrible being a Tamil Brahmin woman during periods. Further, the woman/ man commenting also says that, it is good to be a North Indian after all.

Most of the posts were rambling and I lost interest after reading a bit. She makes her point most nicely.

Thankfully (or not), my family is no upholder of archaic traditions. So, I grew up with no special treatment whatsoever. Of course, I hated periods. I still do. When I was a teenager, I had to wear Salwar Kameezes during those times, for my other clothes fitted too snuggly. I hated that. Now, I don’t even notice my periods, I am uniformly fat all through the year.