Of Bangles and Ramblings.

These are chaubandi chudiyan I'm wearing, traditional--auspicious--bangles worn by our family during weddings, etc. I insisted on pics; I adore them.

I adore bangles. Period. But there is something extra special in wearing these glass bangles. Perhaps it is the weight of tradition. Perhaps it is the sense of belonging, that these adorn the hands of every woman of my family. #shrug#

The order is 4 red, 4 yellow, 7 green, and then 4 yellow and 4 red. For an unmarried girl, that is. Married women wear two extra green bangles on the front (make of that what you will).

If you have the patience to count the green bangles on my right hand, you will find eight. Absentminded, scatterbrained creature, I am. That, or I do not know how to count. Meh.

Now don't go counting 'em on my left hand. You'll find six. Which, by the way, is not due to the extra on my right. The story is way too meandering to be accounted for by such simple reasoning. It never is easy with me, you know. I always have to think too much. Always take the circuitous route. Sometimes, even when the straight one  is right in front of my eyes. And no, it is not me being stubborn; I have this propensity to somehow 'not see' the elephants in the room.

There, I shan't bore you any more.

Clumsy Kitchens

Written June 1st, 2009  

No, it is not ma's kitchen that is clumsy, just me when I am in it. It is called, I think, a transferred epithet. I am not too bothered to google it*.

Last summer, I was gathering all I need to make an omlette, as I always do: oil, the egg, spoon, salt, pepper. When I was done, and ready to turn on the stove, I laughed. I had forgotten the frying pan!

Yesterday, now the consequences of my absentmindedness was far more than amusement.You see, I was making maggi, the first time without jiji. And always, it is she who is in charge. Maggi, however is a simple enough affair, even when complicated with making tea for dad.

I decided that the tea deserved my attention first. I poured out the milk and water into the vessel; now, how much water would I need for maggi, single pack? It said 1 and half cup. I had a glass at my disposal. What was it that jiji'd said? something was 3/4th something. 

My mind was quite nicely occupied figuring this out, and I poured a whole glass of water into the vessel, then proceeded to wonder a little more. I finally determined that two glasses would do quite nicely- after all, don't I like my Maggi soft? And I realized then that I had poured my earlier glass of water into the wrong vessel. Oh dear!!!

Okay, damage control, now. What do I do with the excessively dilute milk? Why, drink it, of course, considering that I am rather fond of plain, cold milk. And a very good plan it was too, except there's no other word for its taste than yuck!!! Oh! And the maggi turned out soft- too soft. My calculations had been rather skewed.

    

So, you see, when it comes to cooking, I'm more seriously handicapped than being so totally not-confident with the knife! **

_________________________________________________________

*I did! And I was right. Transferred epithet is the trope or rhetorical device in which a modifier, usually an adjective, is applied to the "wrong" word in the sentence. A happy morning, for example. When I will speak of happy mornings, it is not the morning that is happy, but me in the morning.

_________________________________________________________
29 Jan 2011: 

**Keep in mind, dear readers, that this was 2009. I'd like to think I've improved more than somewhat since then.

Will you not tell me yours?

Your secret from Jean-Sebastien Monzani on Vimeo.

How cute is that!

http://vimeo.com/17794382

Tennis Australia - Rafael Nadal from Chad Twentyman on Vimeo.

Incorrigible, I am

I felt so very proud of myself, every time I wrote a --/1/2011  in my class notes. Part of it is that I remembered to write the date, and more than part of it is that I remembered that it was 2011. (You see, I've this propensity to write --/1/2007 instead of --/1/2008, --/1/2008 instead of --/1/2009, you get the drift. ) And so, when I was done, I underlined it with flourish. And then, on Jan 12th, I felt proud enough to make a note of this in my diary.

And then my eyes fall on the date of the previous entry, and I smiled, a very amused smile, eyes crinkling and all: it read 8/10/2010. Seriously, October?

It was not really surprising, given that I've suddenly landed in Feb 2009 after a month and 24 days in 2010. Now I think about it, sometimes it was 20010.

Oh, and I swear I remember writing 2008, sometime smack in the middle of 2010.

 Yes, I iz incorrigible.

Is Mod Se Jaate Hain

Is Modh Se Jaate Hain

Movie: Aandhi

Singers: Lata Mangeshkar, Kishore Kumar

I remember listening to this song as I meandered about the campus on my walks, or just on the way to my hostel after classes. It seemed particularly apt--I do not need to add a somehow, do I? 

There is a warmth, a sweetness, a hope suffused through the song, and... oh, it is so very beautiful, and I adore it.

A particularly lovely interpretation, here: http://murky-reflections.blogspot.com/2006/08/is-mod-se-jate-hain.html

Lyrics:


Is Mod Se Jaate Hain 
Kuch Sust Kadam Raste Kuchh Tez Qadam Raahen 
Patthar Ki Haveli Ko Shishe Ke Gharaundon Men 
Tinakon Ke Nasheman Tak Is Mod Se Jaate Hain 

Aandhi Ki Tarahu Dakar Ik Raah Guzarati Hai 
Sharamaati Hui Koi Qadamon Se Utarati Hai 
In Reshami Raahon Men Ik Raah To Vo Hogi 
Tum Tak Jo Pahunchati Hai Is Mod Se Jaati Hai 
Is Mod Se Jaate Hain 

Ik Dur Se Aati Hai Paas Aake Palatati Hai 
Ik Raah Akeli Si Rukati Hai Na Chalati Hai 
Ye Sochake Baithi Hun Ik Raah To Vo Hogi 
Tum Tak Jo Pahunchati Hai Is Mod Se Jaate Hain 

Is Mod Se Jaate Hain 
Kuchh Sust Qadam Raste Kuchh Tez Qadam Raahen 
Patthar Ki Haveli Ko Shiishe Ke Gharondon Men 
Tinakon Ke Nasheman Tak Is Mod Se Jaate Hain 
Is Mod Se Jaate Hain

Of bikimax, colour cards, and a warm fire

Once upon a time, long, long ago, when Earth was young, many moons ago (well, you get the drift, or more likely, you're out of patience with me) the bakery near my house sold bikimax: vanilla ice cream sand-witched between chocolate biscuit. I was nicely dismissive about it the first time I tried it, (tolerable, but not yummy enough to tempt me*) but soon, I began to be conscious that I actually liked it, that it was warm and cold at the same time--(okay, now I'm exaggerating, but as you read on, you'll get where I got the whole metaphor from) like standing in front of a bonfire on a cold January night.

On Sunday afternoons, we'd go to the neighbourhood shops to buy something nice after lunch, my sister would go for a bar-one, kit-kat, or something like that, ma's choice was almost always a dairy milk, and me? all I'd want is a bikimax. Oh, it felt good!

And then Kwality Walls stopped making it. hmph.

Well, today my friends found something like it in our campus bakery, and I am all excited.

Speaking of excited, we all went a lil' crazy about these little somethings called colour cards which come free with Center fruit chewing gum. We went to Monginis for the express purpose of buying 'em, and ended up with two center fruits, two yo-yos (which are s'posed to be free with alpenlibe) and after pestering the shopkeeper who couldn't find the color cards, four of 'em. #grin#

And now the warm fire. Our campus is celebrating Lohri today, and I found myself in the football ground, a little away from the crowd that was dancing around the fire, enjoying the beat of the drums and smiling at the fervor and energy of them all. Before you ask, no, I did not dance.

Later, I stood by the fire with my friends as the rest danced to the DJ. Life's good, sometimes.


___________

* Borrowed from Jana Austen's Pride and Prejudice. It always amuses me to steal Darcy's line.

Gmail is keka

It asked me, very politely,

'Did you mean to attach files? 

You wrote "I am attaching" in your message, but there are no files attached. Send anyway?'

Yes I did, so I went back, attached the file and then sent it. Will you think me very silly if I tilt my head just this little, and say, "thank you Gmail!"

When I go crazy

This was the last day of my compres. I'd had 3 continuous exams, and I was inordinately sleep deprived- crossed the threshold of merely sleepy, and entered hyper.  

xlnc: you, madam, are what i like to call a dear nitwit.

12:20 AM me: that i am.

  ......

 xlnc: later, dear nitwit.

 me: later what?

12:27 AM xlnc: later i will talk to you.

 me: how later?

  i zleepses now

 xlnc: you're going to sleep?

  ohkay.

 me: shall crash into bed

  n then shall invade ze zleepland

12:28 AM with all the power of a single nitwit army

  n zen shall dare ze nightmares to trouble me

12:29 AM when they will not, i shall poke my tongue out at them. n zleeeeeeeep.

 xlnc: sleep, now.

  you're rambling your nitwit ramble.

 me: if they do, i shall -- well i do not know what i shall do

  ze nitwit luvs to ramble

12:30 AM when she haz an audience

 xlnc: ...

  sleepie.

  me: but zen, nobody likies to ramble when zere's no audience

 xlnc: and now you shall go sleepy pie.

 me: good nite

 xlnc: nightie.

  today is the day of the -ie.

12:32 AM me: n of the ze an' of 'es' as in i goes n sleepses

12:33 AM skips off into nitwit-land