We had a good laugh this morning seeing so many black suited men lined up to knock on our doors. The situation is very dramatical like the Indian neighbourhood aunty who comes knocking for sugar, but still manages to start her conversation complimenting the new bedspread. Mr. Cameron did quite well in his speech at Bangalore, taking a stand on the Indian job market and the mutual give and take prospects. I wonder what Mr. President has to say about it?
The truth being all black suited visitors, have failed every time, they tried making HIBI or so called immigration laws stricter to save the job for the local duds. So, may be Mr. Obama will talk about Kashmir. No, that won’t land him on the right mat after the recent financial aid to Pakistan. He can’t talk about jobs too after his infamous comments on Indians, so maybe he can talk about China, tch tch tch.. Bhopal? Patents (hope all know that apart from basmati and pashmina they took some 139 patents on yoga too)? Hadley? Wiki leak! oops! I think we will have to wait and watch. Mr. Sarkozy is also waiting outside. He will definitely have something to chat about. French are known for their vanity and charm. He can just get Carla along; Men will drool over her and the women can easily be distracted with Mr. Sarkozy’s designer suits while he delivers his speech, anyways we are not very good at French.
Apart from these, we also have the long list of CWG (common wealth games) guests. So what? If the queen isn’t coming, we will still welcome the rest. We can send our Mallyas later to reclaim our Kohinoor. The problem with us is, we are too sentimental about, ‘Athithi Devo Bhav’. We made swanky T3 just for them! Just see, this time we might even spare our medals for our guests. Jai Ho!
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Thursday, July 15, 2010
No More a Child's Play
We all adore comics, even the lesser owls (of course, the ‘wise’ British owl, I didn’t mean the Indian connotation) whose childhood was spent on streets and tree tops will also agree (pun was not intended). I was particularly very fond of the girl who left behind spots on anything she touched. It used to be an insert in the very up market Richie rich. Was it Archie’s or Richie rich? I used to be big fan of Archies and secretly of her. It was amusing for me. Everywhere she went she left spots and more spots. Polka dots. Circles and more circles, if you look too deep, you slide down, into the wonderland where Alice had her English tea party. Tea reminds me of the delicious description of snacks by Enid Blyton. Jam and scones, chocolate marshmallows, even if I hadn’t tasted a single thing till my graduation, it was mouthwatering!
Its cynical how these fun targeted tiny characters play with our emotions. Vanity fair, was a series of dramatized fairytales on DD; I was pretty awestruck with the laces and flounces and the fair handsome princes, but I found my solace in literature icons (much more fun to read and add your own fantasies to them) like Tom sawyer, Black Beauty, Moby Dick and Huckleberry Finn to serve my boyish side… I know I was pretending. I still remember my snapshot, hair falling on my eyes, a scrumpy bob cut flattering flared trousers and blue check shirt. It was the best shield when I stood nowhere near the ‘oh so petite’ pretty dames who lived in the world of Hello Kitty and Barbie dolls. Devoid of today’s Hannah Montana (HM), it was Betty and Veronica who introduced me to a teenager’s world.
There would be so many more that I grew up with; trying to find my own identity in those characters. Such is the sweetness of those fantasies that reality is difficult to digest. Those tiny characters were moulded after much thought. May be the 19th century characters were moulded to suit the prevalent customs, language and reader’s profile but the contemporary gold diggers corrupted it further for personal gains. The immediate realization of a new target buyer came across. Soon they guided to new consumerism and were index to the social stature. Brands took away the romance and it became more important to know which brand of cereal does Popeye eat? Or which lip gloss does Miley (from HM fame) uses? Brand is the superhero now.
Its cynical how these fun targeted tiny characters play with our emotions. Vanity fair, was a series of dramatized fairytales on DD; I was pretty awestruck with the laces and flounces and the fair handsome princes, but I found my solace in literature icons (much more fun to read and add your own fantasies to them) like Tom sawyer, Black Beauty, Moby Dick and Huckleberry Finn to serve my boyish side… I know I was pretending. I still remember my snapshot, hair falling on my eyes, a scrumpy bob cut flattering flared trousers and blue check shirt. It was the best shield when I stood nowhere near the ‘oh so petite’ pretty dames who lived in the world of Hello Kitty and Barbie dolls. Devoid of today’s Hannah Montana (HM), it was Betty and Veronica who introduced me to a teenager’s world.
There would be so many more that I grew up with; trying to find my own identity in those characters. Such is the sweetness of those fantasies that reality is difficult to digest. Those tiny characters were moulded after much thought. May be the 19th century characters were moulded to suit the prevalent customs, language and reader’s profile but the contemporary gold diggers corrupted it further for personal gains. The immediate realization of a new target buyer came across. Soon they guided to new consumerism and were index to the social stature. Brands took away the romance and it became more important to know which brand of cereal does Popeye eat? Or which lip gloss does Miley (from HM fame) uses? Brand is the superhero now.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Playing Soccer @Home
This is little rested piece from my file which I forgot to post as football, vacation and household chores took a front seat in my life. Trying to keep up the pace, I post it now.
Date: Ghana vs Uruguay.(thats all I recall)
All I can think of is football these days. The world cup fever caught me unaware this time. I and sports are like two poles of this round earth but if it still managed to goal me down, then I salute this spirit. An apathetic audience like me watches only the India Pakistan cricket match to support my country; ‘This time for Africa’, Shakira jiggles at the backdrop.
All through, I backed Ghana for being a resident here and felt myself proud as my country became the only African team to survive till the quarter final. Glued to the TV since morning, I found myself enjoying even Spain vs Netherlands match. Accra was of course going mad. The Sunday mass was ended with a special request from the priest to do fasting for Ghana’s victory. The green and yellow flag was flying outside our compound and usually perturbing vuvuzela was a welcome sound today. I think I would have forgiven someone if he blew it right through my ears. But I never understood my own feelings till it all came to an end.
My maid requested for a half day off, to which I smiled and agreed, after all Ghana is playing today! It started raining, all laundry had to be shifted inside, doesn’t matter, Ghana is playing today. Husband came home early, kid got up early. Only one thought, Ghana is playing today. Snacks to be made, pet to be fed. One love again. As soon as the match started, I noticed that my movement leads to Ghana’s loss. So I stuck to my sofa without a second thought to my aching bottom or to the chilly chicken on the stove. I somehow breathed in the half time, trying not to spill the ‘Ghana jar’ which sat right on my head. In the break time I was working against the clock, setting table, washing dishes, being the superwoman. Wish I was Goddess Lakshmi with four hands at my disposal. Half time, penalty time, rest was history. Neither Gyan nor I have been so fateful towards any goal earlier. Hint is at the undercooked Chilly chicken which lacked chilly in it.
Date: Ghana vs Uruguay.(thats all I recall)
All I can think of is football these days. The world cup fever caught me unaware this time. I and sports are like two poles of this round earth but if it still managed to goal me down, then I salute this spirit. An apathetic audience like me watches only the India Pakistan cricket match to support my country; ‘This time for Africa’, Shakira jiggles at the backdrop.
All through, I backed Ghana for being a resident here and felt myself proud as my country became the only African team to survive till the quarter final. Glued to the TV since morning, I found myself enjoying even Spain vs Netherlands match. Accra was of course going mad. The Sunday mass was ended with a special request from the priest to do fasting for Ghana’s victory. The green and yellow flag was flying outside our compound and usually perturbing vuvuzela was a welcome sound today. I think I would have forgiven someone if he blew it right through my ears. But I never understood my own feelings till it all came to an end.
My maid requested for a half day off, to which I smiled and agreed, after all Ghana is playing today! It started raining, all laundry had to be shifted inside, doesn’t matter, Ghana is playing today. Husband came home early, kid got up early. Only one thought, Ghana is playing today. Snacks to be made, pet to be fed. One love again. As soon as the match started, I noticed that my movement leads to Ghana’s loss. So I stuck to my sofa without a second thought to my aching bottom or to the chilly chicken on the stove. I somehow breathed in the half time, trying not to spill the ‘Ghana jar’ which sat right on my head. In the break time I was working against the clock, setting table, washing dishes, being the superwoman. Wish I was Goddess Lakshmi with four hands at my disposal. Half time, penalty time, rest was history. Neither Gyan nor I have been so fateful towards any goal earlier. Hint is at the undercooked Chilly chicken which lacked chilly in it.
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