Lapses of lingy…

Today seems like an abysmally dull day in th office. However, yesterday had some humorous moments.

Emami, the beauty brand has launched a new fairness cream for men — and guess what it is called? You’ll never guess…and once you hear of it, you’ll roll of your chair.

‘Fair and handsome’!!!!

This product has been launched in Andhra Pradesh. Now you macho types will wonder why er…do men need a cream to lighten their colour when women are supposed to be the ‘fairer sex’?

Market research indicates that a fixed percentage of the sales of the women’s contemporary ‘Fair and Lovely’, have been generated by sneaky, Indian men!

It’s nothing to rejoice about, because the term ‘fairer sex’, is derogatory to dark, dusky women, period. I am dusky and I love my colour. I do not aim to be fairer or envy ‘fair’ women, despite having been brought up in a society where fair is equated with beautiful. Besides, the constant barrage of advertising and social pressures can make a dark, dusky person feel ugly.

When I was growing up, instead of clambering for a pack of Fair and Lovely, I stopped to wonder, how come Naomi Campbell or Smita Patil could look so gorgeous.

In fact, a friend of mine who happens to be dusky, is beautiful. But at the ripe old age of 28 she is still insecure about her colour — this inspite of being well-educated, funny, independent, creative and equipped with a dozen other qualities that add spunk to any new age woman.She always carries an umbrella when she heads out in the sun, to point of obssessing about it.

O how my blood boils when people make statements like, ” She is looks good, fair and all.”, or “Apply some sun-screen or you shall become dark”, in this day and age. Educated people in my own my family have made statements like these and I have given them a piece of my mind.

But, will that make any difference? Will it make them change their concept of beauty, as the beholders? I can make them shut-up, but can I make them see differently?

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I have this recovering dream that a Tsunami hits me and all people in the vicinity.

Sometimes, I am with my mother. Sometime, with friends.

But everytime we survive.

What is the significance of this dream? Danielle, could you shed some light?

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Food update

My new policy is to experiment with one restaurant (or maybe more) every week. The other policy is to skip dinner.

A heavy breakfast, a medium-size lunch and a snack at about 7:30-8 pm , should keep me alive and kicking. You should try it too.

Restaurant 1: Mahjong

On Sunday, my foodie friend Sana and me decided to have a ‘light’ lunch at the friendly neighbourhood restaurant, China Joe located just round the corner from where we live.

When we reach the venue, all we found was a pile of rubble — the place was getting renovated. We shook our heads and felt a tinge of melancholy.

But we had to eat.

The contingency plan was to try out a new Chinese outfit called Mahjong, which is actually the name of a Chinese board game (or aleast that’s what the Metro and the promoters say).

This place is located right next to Irish Cafe. The interiors are very tastefully done. Lots of wood, warm tones and soft lighting — the perfect mix for a quiet lunch or dinner.

I also noticed with immense pleasure the comfortable seating arrangement in the waiting space outside. If it’s 10 o’clock on a Saturday and I’m in ravenous company, I know where to head. The idea of having to stand outside your favourite restaurant, while the aromas flirt with your  nostrils, is criminal.

When we scored the menu all good intentions of a ‘light lunch’ melted away. We felt gluttonous. We began our indulgences with a bowl of soup, which was spicy and delicious (Kill me, I can’t recall the name).

Next, the main course. We ordered a gravy dish which had lots of mushroom, babycorn and bamboo shoot, my favourite veggies. Again, it is delicious but not unforgettable.

The killer dish of the day was the clay pot rice. The rice is cooked in a clay pot along with condiments and meat/fish. It has very little oil (smiles), but just melts in your mouth.

We ordered the prawn variant (Rs 150), and if you decide to have it, you could order it as a standalone dish. The servings are pretty good and two people can comfortably share a serving.

Not too much variety in the desserts. We ordered the banana fritters with sesame seeds with ice cream. It was too die for, we polished off the plate in a jiffy.

Today, we visited this seafood place called Jini’s. But I am currently too stuffed and still recovering from a monster-size meal, to write about that.

Foodie update 2 shall follow tomorrow. Watch this space!

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Last night saw me belting out my fav songs once again, but be warned…these diva acts are accompanied by some awkward moments. But then again, if you take them with a pinch of salt, they could provide fodder for amusing anecdotes.

Take the instance of the pot-bellied, uncouth, gluttonous, mustached man who frequents the bar every Sunday night. This chap must be in his late 50’s, wobbles his belly quite enthusiastically (like a belly-dancer) when he hears Jennifer Lopez’ Waiting For Tonight and perennially has this lecherous expression written all over his face. He also has a wife and two kids.

So, last Sunday I’m sitting at the coffee shop during the break, sipping tea while listening to the strains of the piano (I call it the ghost piano because it plays pre-programmed music). And who should come and plonk himself next to me, but Mr Pot-belly?

He starts chatting me up and at the end of the conversation, asks poor unsuspecting me for my digits. I am caught unawares and so yield most unwillingly. Kick yourself, you supposedly street-smart, savvy woman, I tick myself off, for not having the presence of mind to handle the situation.  

Anyways, we get back to the singing. Within the few days, I get a call from Wobbles. I can’t hear a thing he is saying, though I suspect it him. I tell him I will call him later.

On Saturday evening I get a call again from him. He suggests we meet.

Ha! What a laugh. He must be delirious to think that someone like me would even consider entertaining such preposterous proposals. I have plans, but thank you, I say at my politest best.

Inside, I am laughing. No, falling of my chair.

The man is there this Sunday too at his regular spot, looking all needy as usual.

During the coffee break he once again steals his way into a conversation with my partner. We politely inquire about him and then turn back to our conversation. In about minutes he figures that he was expelled from any further communication. So, he excuses himself and heads back to the bar, where he once again wobbles his belly, as I belted out JLo’s hit song.

Anyways, I think he took the hit as he slithered away much-before the Cinderella hour.

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Every evening you’ll find Mumbaikars strolling down the Bandra promenades.

It seems like a cleansing ritual of sorts.

The toxins accumulated during the week or the day by each metropolitan, are flushed out and your body and mind regains some semblance of purity.

The promenades are a favourite haunt of mine too, and I enjoy them especially in the rains.

Yesterday my Tanvi and myself went for a stroll down Carter Road.We both sat on the edge of the promenade. I listened to the waves and she binged on ice-lolly and three corncobs, post devouring a mountain of pasta.

As she strolled off to buy an ice-lolly, I heard a clink of glass in the earth below me. The couple sitting just a stones thow away, had flung a glass bottle into the dirt. The bile rose within me and I wanted to give them a piece of my mind.

Tanvi got back, and we heard another clink. Yet, another glass bottle adding to the debri of waste, discarded by mindless humans.  

We were both angered by such oblivious, insensitive behaviour. Next, the man discarded an empty cigarette packet, not to far away from us.

THAT WAS THE LAST STRAW!

Was confronting them the right way to do it?

Do we pick a fight?

Do we preach?

We arrived at an effective alternative (so we realise later).

Tanvi, walked up very boldly to the couple and said, ” Hi! I am Tanvi. I was going to throw my corncobs into that bin over there. If you have anymore stuff to throw away, why don’t you give it to me and I will put it in the bin for you.”

The man turned a shade of purple. The woman spat venom and said,” No thank you. Hmmmm!”

We decide to make an exit. But the man jumped to his feet, came to us and apologised for his behaviour. His companion on the other hand felt extremely insulted. She started accusing us of butting into their business and insisted that it was her right to do as she pleased etc.

The man continued to apologise profusely on her behalf and said he would never do it again.

I said, ” But this is your country. How can you not keep it clean?” But the women was too hot-headed to see reason. Tanvi told the man,” You got the drift right? That’s GREAT. “

He nodded smiled, and they were off on their way and we, on ours.

If I have to butt into someone’s business to ensure that my country is kept clean, then SO BE IT. PERIOD.

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Some people practice religion, some Yoga. Some embrace the Art Of Living. Some do Rythmic Breathing. Some vociferously chant, ” Namho Renge Kyo”.

What do I practice? Nothing. So, am I missing out on something?

Right now my life is all hunky-dory. But what if tomorrow, there’s a famine, or The Great Depression revisits? Will I have the strenght to cope with problems then or will I turn chicken and start praying to God, something I haven’t done in a while? Then, I would feel like a fraud.

These issues sometimes trouble me and I wonder how easy it will be for the thread of contentment to snap.

I would prefer to tap my inner strenght to solve problems, to cope the pressures and if possible, to feel peace within. Is that possible or this defiance a worthless quest? 

My roommate pretty much does nothing in terms of consciously cultivating spirituality or religion, except dropping into the temple once in an eon.

She plays table-tennis, goes for a swim, walks in the rain, parties on the weekend, settles the disputes between the landlady and us, spews venom when the need arises, faces life’s compexities head-on.

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The weekend was eventful and the adrenaline is pumping in my veins once again!

There was clubbing, movies, friends, singing, food, coffee, conversations and about ten minutes of shopping for eyeliner.

The icing on the cake was the bit where I got behind a microphone and crooned to an audience of effusive music-lovers.

Yup, after a hiatus of about two years, I sang at a cocktail bar where I would regularly croon every saturday and sunday night for about a year.

I was a wee bit nervous about how I would sound especially with all the work and partying fatigue.

But once I got behind that mike, the apprehension just melted away.

I was Madonna, Shakira, Abba, Boney M, The Carpenters, Shania Twain, Gloria Gaynor rolled into one.

Everything else blurred into oblivion. Wow!

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