Delightful Da(y)ze!

Hear baby crying.

Pat him so that he goes back to sleep.

Baby won't sleep.

Check the time. Two hours since his last feed.

Get up groggily. Feed him.

Get him to burp.

Settle him back in his cozy blanket.

Lie down and snooze.

Baby whimpers. Cuddle him.

Check if he's warm enough.

Put another sheet over him.

Baby keeps waving his legs and arms.

Check if he's cold. Remove the sheet. It's quite warm today.

Whisper softly in his ears so that he calms down and sleeps.

Go back to sleep myself.

Hear baby crying. Check the time. Feed him.

Burp him.

Realise it is time to change his diaper.

Scramble to the cupboard. Trip over slipper. Mutter an obscenity. Get a diaper and change him.

Crawl back into the blanket and pray for uninterrupted sleep.

Wide awake now.

Stare at ceiling.

Check cell phone for Whatsapp messages.

No messages.

Check Whatsapp status and profile pictures of contacts.

Wonder if baby needs to feed.

Keep phone away and try to sleep.

Blanket too heavy. Push foot out for some air. Too cold, pull foot back in.

Consider switching on the fan. Decide against it.

Try to sleep.

Pick up cell phone again. Check Facebook. Nothing interesting. Put phone back.

Look at baby sleeping blissfully. Give him a flying kiss.

Shut eyes.

Lapse into a dream.

Baby bawls.

Spring up and gather him in the arms. Rock him till he sleeps. Faint next to him.

Wake up. Baby has to nurse.

Say good morning and watch his adorable smile.

Thank God for the little bundle of joy. Feed him.

Burp him.

Baby won't burp.

Sit him up and rock him.

Baby burps.

Fall back asleep.

Get up to mum's call and swallow a glass of milk.

Sleep.

Get up again and nurse baby.

Finally decide to wake up since it's almost noon already.

Chat with mom.

See baby playing on the bed.

Shake a rattle.

Have a face making contest with baby and accept defeat.

Forget that you've had a bad night. Hold baby close.

Hear mum cribbing about not having meals on time affecting baby's health.

Rush to the bathroom.

Get ready. Have lunch.

Baby cries midway. Get up to nurse.

Mum says food will go cold. Quickly gobble the last few bites.

Rush to baby. Feed him. Burp him. Kiss him when he does.

Baby passes stinky air. Screw nose and laugh out loud with mom.

Watch baby dozing. Admire his frowns and smiles.

Wonder how many joys and sorrows he will give once he grows up.

Imagine how he grew inside you for 9 months.

Touch his soft, shiny cheek in awe.

Feel motherhood well up inside.

Blink back tears.

Change nappy. 

Talk to mom about random stuff.

Crave for a mug of beer.

Check FB and Whatsapp.

Reply to text messages and return missed calls.

Look at beautiful sleeping baby and feel proud to have him in your life.

Have a cup of tea. Fantasize about a glass of wine.

Think about what your friends and husband must be doing.

Feel a little angry that your life has paused and changed while others are living their routines and dreams.

Curse husband for not calling or caring about you or baby.

Husband calls. Feel a surge of love.

Miss husband.

Listen to baby cooing and gurgling in the other room.

Go to him and play for a while.

See if he is hungry. He is.

Take him to the other room to nurse.

Baby is not hungry anymore. 

Follow his enthralled gaze.

Watch him chatter with the curtain.

Pick up a book lying unread on the shelf for 3 months. Read a page. Forget the context, turn a few pages to recall the story. 

Glance at baby. 

See him looking back at you with big brown eyes.

Keep book away. 

Feed him. Get him to burp.

Realize nappy needs a change.

Debate with self whether baby will need to nurse again.

Consider going for a walk. Need to lose weight and get back in shape.

Get dressed.

Wonder if you should really leave baby and go.

Decide to go at mum's insistence.

Return feeling guilty in 45 minutes.

Hug baby like you haven't seen him all week.

Freshen up. Feed baby. Burp him.

Play with him.

Change wet nappy.

Grab a fruit.

Pacify crying baby.

Finish half eaten apple.

Feed baby. Burp him.

Baby does not burp. Try again.

Baby still does not burp.

Check Facebook and Whatsapp groups to see what other moms are going through.

Baby burps on his own.

Bless him. Give him a peck.

Time for dinner.

Baby starts crying. 

See if nappy needs to be changed again. No, pick him up. Baby quietens. 

Put him on the bes, starts weeping again.

Repeat. Get bugged. Wonder when you will have some free time all to yourself.

Call out to mom to handle baby's drama.

Realise you have barely drunk water all day. Down half a bottle.

Switch on tv.

Find nothing worth watching.

Switch off tv.

Talk gibberish with baby.

Wonder if he naps and feeds as much as he ought to.

Have some dinner.

Start watching favorite show on TV.

Get up midway to feed hungry baby.

Burp him.

Change his nappy and clothes.

Get him ready for bed.

Baby starts crying. Sing him a song.

Baby still cranky. Sing him a rhyme.

Baby refuses to calm down. Sing gayatri mantra, Hanuman Chalisa and Ram Raksha in quick succession.

Baby calms down.

Get angry with husband for not being more involved in our life.

Rock baby till he falls asleep.

Lie down next to him.

Touch his little fingers and fondle his pretty head.

Be happy to have him.

Promise him the world.

Talk to mom till she falls asleep.

Prepare to go to bed.

See a missed call from the husband. Call him back.

Brush teeth and go to bed.

Baby wakes up hungry.

Feed and burp him.

Lie down praying for a peaceful night.

Unable to sleep. Wonder what to do with free time.

Repeat.

*********************

A day in my life.

*********************

Cheerio!
A 2.5 month old mother
Aka Princess
:-) 

It is NOT your business

Hello readers!

So my darling husband (upon my repeated insistence) very generously read my last post lovingly written for him and his (only) reaction was that I have lost my writing spark and I am out of practice.

He obviously did not pay heed to the fact that I wrote the post more on an emotional and nostalgic plane than as a literary artefact.

But never mind that. He never was the romantic and mushy types anyway. As much as I would love to read something that he has written for me, his reading what I have penned is enough. After all, he does take care of me and pamper me in most ways feasible. He’s not a bad chap... Just different.  

Well, he’s become a dad and I’ve become a mom and while I can’t say it’s perfect yet (we’re still in the phase where we’re dealing with changing nappies and feeding and dealing with the cranky infant 24x7), it sure is a memorable time. Memories good and not so good. The good ones involve the baby obviously. The not so good ones are about nosy people and their gross insensitivity.

I have never really been fond of guests and relatives for the simple reason that most people I am related or acquainted with are selfish, greedy buggers. They couldn’t care less about me or my family and are only to be seen when they need or stand to acquire something. Obviously now that I have had a baby, it is common courtesy that they come to see me. The incentive is what is known as “badhaai” which literally means congratulations, but is synonymous with a gift (cash or any costly object) that the grandparents give as a token of happiness to people who visit.

Anyway, I shall choose to ignore that tiny (nauseating) detail, and focus on the more annoying bit - their stupid, intrusive questions.

First of all, I fail to grasp why people are interested in the mode of delivery. A normal, healthy baby has arrived in this world; rejoice! Why do you want to know how he came? Whether he was delivered normally or through a C section is none of anybody’s business. And even if your inquisitiveness cannot be reined in, at least do not react or comment when you receive the information! You really have nothing to lose or gain either way.

An increasing number of deliveries across the world are cesarean, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. All of us need to understand that it is either the mother’s choice (or the lack thereof) that decides this aspect. Most women I think would opt and try their best for a normal delivery but circumstances may require a change in plans. Like it happened in my case, and with a few of my colleagues and friends. And then there are those that voluntarily go for a c section given the number of complications that accompany a normal delivery: a displaced uterus (or other organs), episiotomy, excessive bleeding, etc.

I repeat, either way, it is none of anybody’s business. Except the mother, her caretaker and the doctor. What is destined will happen, what is best for the mother and baby needs to be done. That’s all that matters – the mother and baby. Nobody else.

So really, behaving like somebody’s died or something very unfortunate has occurred is not warranted. Not in public, and especially not in front of the mother and family. It is highly derogatory and irritating.

Second, people inspect the baby as if they are authorized personnel trained for this task, and then make snide comments about things like their features, body parts, hair and weight. Gawd! Don’t you friggin understand that the baby is the most beautiful creature on earth for the family, and nothing will change their perception irrespective of what anyone says?! Try and be appreciative of the baby and mother, and if that is not possible, forever hold your silence! Again, whether the baby has more hair on his head or less, and whether his nose is crooked or not is NOT YOUR BUSINESS.

Unless you are sponsoring his cosmetic surgeries.

Third, and this is the most irksome bit: people asking questions like “how come your stomach is still showing?” and “are you getting enough milk?”

WHAT???

How can you ask these questions???

No really…. HOW???

What are you going to do with both these answers?

I would really be grateful if people only said “take care” and f*cked off. My tummy (big or small) is my concern, and the adequacy of my milk is my baby’s problem. Both of which I shall capably and successfully solve, thank you very much. We will not blame you, and we will not come asking for your milk, rest assured. Your interference and officiousness is truly NOT necessary.  

All of these issues are highly personal, and can only be shared between people who are intimate. As a visitor, one needs to only meet and congratulate, wish well and leave. A baby is a miracle, and a new mother is fragile and exhausted. Cut both of them some slack and watch what you say or do. Why enquire and hurt someone when it is really not your business?

And trust me, it is NOT your business at all.

As I end this post, I request you to not behave this way if you have in the past. Anytime you feel the itchiness to ask these questions or make random comments, please chant this mantra…

It is NOT my business.

It is NOT my business.

It is NOT my business.

Thrice repeated slowly and honestly should be enough to calm your meddlesome mind.   

Janhit mein jaari.

(=Issued in public interest)

Best,
First-time Mommy aka Princess 

The Pain of Gifting

Whoever called it the “JOY” of gifting skipped a step.

Prior to the joy (if at all), comes pain, immense discomfort and a lot of inconvenience, effort and thought. The next step could range from ecstasy and gratefulness to annoyance and indifference.

Which is why most people give the act of gifting a miss and either request no gifts on the receiving end or give cash rather than an object as a guest. Saves all the people concerned from a lot of heartache and embarrassment.

I understand, I entirely do. It is a much better option than running around from pillar to post and finally presenting or ending up with some trashy items being shifted around from hand to hand over the ages.

I am writing about this for a cause.

The cause of loving people who have done everything possible under the sun for their loved ones and who do not know what else to do for the sake of affection and originality. 

So basically, people like me. Lovers of revelries for reasons small or major, and adorers of their moms and spouses and uncles and aunts.

Let me brief you first on some important aspects.

One, my mother and my husband are, fortunately or weirdly, pretty alike. I mean of course they’re both pretty but it does not end there. They care for me beyond themselves and I love them both to bits. Their mannerisms and habits are also similar in more than a few ways. Plus, both of them don’t like presents in general and are very balanced (read predictable) when it comes to celebrations and gifts. 

Which means that I’ve been dealing with this agony for over two decades now, though I have been only married two years.  

My husband celebrates two birthdays in a year (as if one was not enough) and one of them, the fake one, falls close to the day of love – Valentine’s. Now imagine my plight, I need to think thrice about the things that he has and does not have, should have or wants or needs. Not counting, obviously, the monthly and yearly anniversaries of our wedding and courtship.   

A Herculean task, indeed!

A cake and flowers no longer count as something sensational; it’s too formal and extremely unimaginative. My husband has no patience or aptitude for cards, poetry and the like (contrary to my mom, she used to dig that stuff). This rules out one of my unique and greatest gifting ideas.

Clothes, electronics, wallets and travel – we have done all of that as well. I was so confused last year about what to give him on our wedding anniversary that I went around polling people and got some fairly random ideas like Bluetooth headset and biker helmet. I finally bought him the second, but it does not feel like a gift really, if you know what I mean. More like a security accessory, a must rather than a casual feel-good present. But since my husband is not the romantic, rose-tinted types, I guess it worked fine in his case. Had it been someone rosy-hearted and hare-brained, this would be a concern.

Worse still, if you ask these folks what they would like as a gift, they either say “anything” or “nothing”. Both these answers are annoying. Why wouldn’t you simply say what is it that you are lacking at the moment and ease matters for the poor enquiring soul? Not to mention, it should suit his/her budget. I  know of certain leeches, who when asked about their choices, state incredibly ridiculous demands that make you want to slap them and ask them to get lost. Why, why, why do I have to deal with such horribly unreasonable people?!!

Seeking help from online sources is useless as well, coz there is absolutely no logic in the list of items displayed on the web, and their preposterous prices may as well convince you to forget the entire idea of a celebration.

And, before I conclude, let me also place on record the awe I feel about some of the gifts given to me, ranging from the utterly silly to the amazingly generous. Give me a decent book, a holiday voucher, good clothes or accessories and I would be pleased as punch. Give me ugly, used or non-usable stuff and I shall refuse pleasantly. 

So, there stands my agony, confessed and out in the open. If you find a solution, do let me know.

If not, carry on with whatever it is that works for you! Some pains just never end, though you want the good times to carry on forever…

Cheerio!
Princess

Mera Ghar, Mera Aangan

What’s in a name, said Kalidas.

LOL.

All right, all right. Before you hit the panic button and call to inform me about this typo, let me accept that Shakespeare said it.

But hey, what’s in a name?!!!

Everything.

And I’m not just talking about adding an extra “K” or dropping the “E” from your name. The numerology business, albeit beyond me, still does not compel one to abandon an age old name and accept a new one, hopefully with a new and desired identity.  

I’m speaking about the entire name. Your tag. Your personality maestro.

Care to disagree?

Why else would Kareena Kapoor flip on hearing the name “Ranchhoddas Chanchad” in the super-duper-blockbuster Three Idiots?

It’s funny how certain opinions accompany certain names.

Would Rajeshwardas in the 21^st century ever want to be called respectfully with his full first name?? (Quite a mouthful anyway.) I’m 200% sure he’d jump and stick and hold on tight to the pet name Raj (naam toh suna hoga….!!)

Talk about places for that matter. Deccan is hep, but Sambhaji Nagar….??

Yeah yeah, that’s what the Marathi manoos of Pune renamed Deccan as!

(The name didn’t catch on though, obviously and fortunately…

Imagine – I am going to sambhaji Nagar to catch a movie, dude!! Ewwwww…)

Thoughts and ideas flow into my mind as I revel in an amusing predicament.

The excellent house I’ve moved in and made a home, is in a fantastic society in a great area very close to my workplace and super convenient in terms of facilities and proximity to all important, upcoming locations in Pune. The view is gorgeous, the ambience is delightful, and the vastu is perfect. It's paradise on earth.

Just don’t ask me the name of the locality.

Okay then… it’s Tingare Nagar.

Happy?!!!

:-(

It’s a disgrace. Makes me feel like I’m living in a chawl with huts and hovels around me.

My husband is bothered no less by this fact. In fact, my father suggested we address our address as Adarsh Colony and not TINGARE NAGAR.

So, the other day, when asked about my whereabouts and residential details…

“Where do you stay now?”

“Near the airport.”

The chap wont give up. Typical.

“Where exactly?”

“Adarsh Colony”

“And where’s that?”

Grrr…

“Near Vishrantwadi”

“Ohhhhhh… Tingare Nagar????!!!!”

“(If you must.)”

The last sentence (as you might have guessed) was expressed mutely, but definitely not in good humor.

I’m used to it now, though. Time is the best healer, and the marvellous abode certainly makes up for such small nuisances.

Tingare Nagar, it is :-)

Home is where the heart is…. !!!

Call it what you may. To me, it’s my love nest.

Cheerio!
Anuja

The Wednesday Soul - Book Review

Here I am, this is me, and there’s truly nowhere else I’d rather be…

To quote Bryan Adams… (more or less)

(Hats off to the magnificent singers and lyricists who come up with a song that fits every circumstance. Come any incident in life, and I have a pertinent and melodic song on my lips. Glorious and heartening, innit?!!)

But well, that’s not what this post is about – a song for every situation. This writeup comes to tell you about my recent read “The Wednesday Soul” by Sorabh Pant (and how can I forget the very important tagline, an obligation now for every title) – “the afterlife with sunglasses”. Sent to me by Blogadda (3^rd book so far), thanks a lot BA team! It sure is a pleasure, this time, every time…

Why The Wednesday Soul (TWS) is named thus, I honestly have no idea.

To spill the already-spilt beans, I can tell you that the book is about afterlife and one of the important characters is a Wednesday Soul (assuming all souls up there are named after days of the week, based on their way of death and varied responsibilities). The sunglasses that command a dominating position in the tagline (a significant place, in my opinion, not bestowed upon other lesser phrases) figure in not more than 2-3 lines somewhere in the book. However, I shall pardon Mr. Pant for that. I completely believe in a free world phenomenon and freedom of thought of choice.

On that note… (Belated) Happy Republic Day!

(Sheesh, how could I forget?!! Blame it on the fortunate fact that I no longer need to wake up at the crack of dawn in the brain-numbing cold to go to school for the flag hoisting. And drag along my poor dad as well to pick and drop me. In the reverse order.)

Back to the review, pardon my nostalgic tirade.
A foreword though, before I proclaim my verdict.

Writing a book (or directing/producing a movie, for that matter) is no piece of cake. Anyone can become a critic, ain’t no big deal to censure what someone else does or says. Actually creating something, now that takes effort and dedication. So, to inventors and designers across the globe, RESPECT… Good job, ladies and gentlemen.

You, too, Sorabh Pant. For coming up with an idea that is rare and innovative. I’m tired of those silly chic-flicks and love stories. Though yours has one as well, it thankfully does not dominate the entire story or become a predictable melodramatic sequence of events, oh so Bollywoodesque.

“Hankypanty” (as a friend informed me) is quite a rage on Twitter.

(No, I am not on Twitter, just in case you were wondering. I have got better things to do than keep updating my status every nanosecond.)

The story (finally coming to it) is about a re-belle who meets an untimely death, and goes up in the sky (amidst extremely complicated procedures and tiresome, technical imagery). Characters from hither-thither make her after-life difficult and easy, and various revelations occur as the pages turn. Drab and stretched at times, absorbing and amusing at other times, this 209 page paperback is good for a quick read as you travel someplace or light, hobby-like reading for folks who are renewing their reading habits. For the more seasoned reader, well, it’s a maybe. It’s got fiction, mythology, general knowledge and science all rolled into one – and it may work for some and fall flat for the rest.

They say “never judge a book by its cover” but the glossy coat does make the book appear very sophisticated. While the summary on the back cover seems intriguing and creative, the recommendations by Mayank Shekhar and Vir Das can be taken with tablespoonfuls of salt. I did not “die laughing” (as you can see, I’m well and alive, a little under the weather if you may, but nothing time cannot cure, thank you for the concern), nor did I “laugh my ass off” (no comments on that one. This is a family blog.)

Purab Kohli, now him I’ll agree with. TWS is interesting, it has loads of imagination and vivid visualization (ekdum Avatar style). Jokes abound in the novel, some that shamed even me (which is saying a lot going by the “PJ Queen” tag that I command at my workplace) and some that bounced right off my pea-size brain.

The suspense could have been better and the war could have been shorter. Monotony takes over as the powerful characters lose their lustre. Better editing to grip the reader’s mind and shocks that actually stun the reader – now those are things I missed. The typos and flawed formatting leave much to desire if you consider at this book as a potential bestseller, but then I’m sure not too many other readers would notice – I tend to be more critical and systematic in my presentation and expectations. Call me superficial, if you wish. I could go back to my free world philosophy and harangue you…

All in all, not a bad read at all. But certainly needs to give way to something better.

Well well, then I gotta get going… Ayn Rand’s Fountainhead is still waiting on my shelf to be read and completed. Though, leme confess, I’m stealing sly glances at the thinner and expectedly more comical “Karl, Aaj aur Kal” by Cyrus Broacha that I bought today on a random visit to Crossword…

Hasta la Vista, mi chicos!! Son las doce y media. Pues, Buenas Noches :-)

Abrazos y Besos,
Princess

This review is a part of the http://blog.blogadda.com/2011/05/04/indian-bloggers-book-reviews" target="_blank">Book Reviews Program at http://www.blogadda.com">BlogAdda.com. Participate now to get free books!

The (In)eligible Bachelors

First of all, thanks Harish and the BlogAdda team for sending me this book to review as part of their varied initiatives. It's a fab idea, methinks. Spread the hobby and cheer, and get reviews in return. What wouldn't I do to get a full-time job of enjoying the finer things in life - eating out at swanky joints, traveling to exotic locales, reading millions of books, AND being paid for my opinion!! Swooooon...

Ahem. Pardon my flight of fantasy.

The (In)eligible Bachelors by Ruchita Misra (RM, for the sake of brevity) is (fortunately and may I add, surprisingly) fairly good book. It's not outstanding, it's certainly not a drag, and possibly the best way to describe it would be genuine and interesting. No pretensions, and absolutely no claims to being revolutionary - the book is a quick and engaging read.

The author profile caught my interest, quite a ticking brain this pretty damsel's got; she’s an MBA and triple gold medallist from IIFT Delhi. Neat, eh? The thank you note, too, was very endearing. RM’s got an flair for writing, and thankfully better than average English. I’ve made no bones about how I immensely resent any and every IIT/IIM student giving vent to their non-existent writing skills. This book, for a change, has a range of vocabulary and few typos that can be pardoned. Whether this compliments the writer or the editors, is their call. To me, it's a pleasant observation.

What's the novel about? As the title suggests, the story revolves around a Kasturi Shukla (revolting name, if you ask me; no reason why I should think so apart from freedom of thought and expression) and various situations that come her way when she takes up a job while her mum is hell bent on getting her hitched.

If you think this spells meeting innumerable potential grooms in typical Bollywood style, falling in love with the proverbial jerk, goof-ups at work and outside, living through perpetual stress and distress - you're not mistaken. This is exactly what the plot is all about.

What particularly stood out were the honest emotions, genuine thoughts and real people. You can relate to exactly what the folks are thinking and feeling as various situations arise and ebb. I laughed out loud quite a few times, and I can’t recall having done that in ages. So, good going there!

Parts of the novel reminded me of Bridget Jones’ Diary, especially where the protagonist Kasturi writes about her fears of being found dead at home with a dog. The structure, too, is similar – it’s a diary that spans various days over 8 months in 2009 (often even hours and minutes, especially those that are highly amusing and relate-able).

RM takes us through the conventional settings with ease and humor, and presents an action-packed masaledar concoction that is replete with accidents, goof-ups, and relationships that predictably break and blossom.

Some scenes that stayed with me much after I’d turned the last page…

(Skip this if you don’t appreciate spoilers!)

- A typical girl’s dilemma over wanting what she doesn’t want, and feeling undervalued even in circumstances where she’s better off being misjudged…

- “Women don’t admit their age. Men don’t act theirs.”

- How Kasturi ridicules the name and behaviour of the suitors that she is forced by her mum to meet “for marriage purposes”… Her choice of terms is fantastically insane!

I still don’t understand why recent books and movies have to have the proverbial gays – is it like a lucky charm or something or are we just ensuring that we grab every opportunity to appear forward and accepting? Yet, I shall pardon that, as RM hasn’t dwelt much on that aspect.

Overall, a commendable effort, for a first book. I expect a lot more from this lady and will be watching out for her next, which I'm sure will be infinitely better. The magic number this time round - I'd say 7 on 10.

Time to hit the shelf... Mistress by Anita Nair's next !!!

Cheerio!
Princess

Cope-Cab-Aana

This could be one very enthralling post for those of you that are familiar with the BPO world.

For those who aren’t, here’s some good to know info :-)

One of the perks of being in a call centre / BPO is the transport facility.

Note: I’m not saying it’s one of the “best” parts. If I did, I’d probably make front page headlines coz people would rant and rave and criticise me for spreading misconceptions leading to media abuse and social irresponsibility… Can’t risk it…

Anyhow… The point is, taking company transport daily to and from work makes for some very intriguing experiences.

The good part is definitely where you get to meet new people (if you’re the types that likes to meet new people, else it can be a tedious compulsion). Some become your friends, and others become topics of dialogue – the way they behave, the things they talk, their manner of dressing, etc.

Another obvious reason for taking the cab is that it saves you the trouble of driving on the crazy Pune roads amidst the crazier Pune traffic.

The bad parts, well these are more numerous.

One, you gotta walk to or from the nodal point, depending on company policies. This junction could well be a few minutes to a few miles away from your home, and walking before or after work is surely not on my must-do list. It’s tiring to say the least, and then to wait for the cab to arrive is another nuisance. Besides, you need to get ready quite earlier as compared to the time you’d take to get to work on your own.

(This would be based upon the total number of pick-ups and your serial number in that list. I’m not going to dispute this part of the routine coz I’m generally the first drop and last pick. Ward off evil eyes and jealous jerks!!)

But those are just some simple details… What’s remarkable are the co-passengers, the driver and the incidents that happen on the way…

I can’t possibly overlook the importance of the driver in this regard. He is, and mark my words, a VERY crucial element in this entire episode.

There are times when you will wonder if the cabs are a convenience provided for you to commute or for you to be left hanging. I seriously suspect that the drivers have standing instructions to NOT pick people up. If someone’s even a minute late, leave him. If someone’s phone is not reachable, leave her. If the cab reaches before time and the employee requests to wait, leave him nevertheless. Time, tide and cabs wait for no man (or woman; unless you’re the kinds that bawl and bellow if you’re wronged! Say hello to me, and contact me for tips if needed… Free of cost. My good deed for the day.)

And if you DO manage to board the cab, then you have to put up with the driver’s choice of music. I’d say you’re blessed if the driver plays the radio, preferably a youthful FM that plays Sheila ki Jawani and nice hummable tracks. On the other hand (and the more often hand, if I might be precise), drivers love turning the frequency to Vividh Bharti or some equally ancient USB drive.

Now don’t get me wrong here, I love all kinds of music, and I am not biased about singers youthful or old. The point is, I don’t know if the drivers themselves enjoy listening to those songs, or they turn up the volume to show the passengers who’s boss. What else can I say when I’ve spent 20 minutes with “Tum toh thehre pardesi saath kya nibhaoge” and “Mhara hiwda mein naache mor” blaring in my ears?!! Those are times when I miss cabs with no music systems…

And it doesn’t end there. If, thankfully for you, the cab driver plays some sane music at a sensible volume, you have the co-passengers singing along. If they were half as melodious as they thought they were, I wouldn’t complain…

There are also the types that are glued to their cell-phones yakking away to glory, some whispering out of concern for privacy (their own as well as the others’) and others screaming at the top of their lungs to make up for the poor network. (Get Idea… ahem!) And the icing on the cake is when they request other people to be silent or roll up the windows because they have trouble chatting up. The cheek!!

If there are known people on the route, it is a pain or a pleasure, depending on your mood. If you feel garrulous, then good. Yet there are times when you really wana think over something or just shut your eyes and enjoy the drive, and their screeching down your ears doesn’t help; you have to respond out of decency. (Unless you are the types that coolly care to hurt others.) There have been innumerable times when I’ve had to formally and forcefully laugh and chatter against my wishes just because some person in the cab was the undisputed leader of the glib gang. Poor, kind, martyr me!!

Oh, and in case you weren’t aware, the cabs could be any vehicle among an Indica, Sumo, Winger, Tempo Traveller or bus. And at least the ones I’ve seen are forbidden to switch on the air conditioner even if you’re melting in the heat. Melting’s not really that bad; what sucks is the touching shoulders and sweaty smells. But the lesser said, the better. Lack of hygiene is one of my pet peeves, and I don’t want to digress right now…

I know talking about the ugly stuff makes for some very interesting discussions. Yet, I must admit, it’s not all that bad. At least for me, things have been smooth and pleasant. Really depends on your attitude, if you ask me. I’ve befriended most of the transport desk at work, and I treat the drivers with dignity and cordiality. Even if I don’t often speak to unknown co-employees, I am genial if they need help. I crack jokes and I snap, based on my mood and the going-ons in the cab. But, I’m well-behaved on the route and disciplined about my roster.

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder, they say.

Enjoying your rides to work? ;-)

Cheerio!

- Princess

Washroom chronicles

Hey there!!

I wrote about Wardrobe Chronicles 2 years ago…

And this time, here’s a sneak peek into the woman’s private zone…

Are you excited yet?

Well, if you think what’s so great about a woman’s lavatory, think again.

(In fact, if you DO think that there’s nothing special about a woman’s restroom, it’s all the more reason for you to read this post. Brush up on your GK, dude!! Dobara mat poochna!!)

For women, a washroom is not merely a place to freshen up, but an essential part of living… If walls had ears, the restroom walls would have been a part of the Guinness World Records for holding the most secrets…

Women crying.

Women gossiping.

Women sniggering.

Women discussing latest fashion.

Women reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

Women experimenting with new looks and make up.

I haven’t mentioned half the list yet…

Now do you see?

Now, again you would think why I’m sharing all this with you non-members of this private and beautiful zone. Am I not a woman who loves this space? I do, which is why I’m showing you just how important and exciting this place is…

Why else would a woman excuse herself to go to the washroom the minute she steps into a home, restaurant, office or club?

Men don’t do that, do they? At least not the (comparatively) macho ones that I know…

So, women obviously sit on the pot as they chat with their friends and boyfriends, either bitching or whispering sweet nothings.

Or they could be wailing coz their boss shouted on them for something that was frivolous (according to them). Maybe a boyfriend giving them grief. Or coz they were feeling unwell and some supervisor acted rude and insensitive. No dearth of reasons to cry – we’re women after all!

The powder room, as it is also called at times, is a must visit for any woman who enters a pub or workplace. (Or anywhere for that matter, if one lives in Mumbai – the sweat and muck, yuck!!)

Staring at themselves for hours in the mirror. Curling their already curled (or straightened) hair. Lining their eyes with mascara for the tenth time in 10 minutes. Painting their already shining lips. Peering at marks (both visible and invisible, real and imaginary) on the face and elsewhere. Adjusting accessories or the dupatta or the t-shirt… And once all of this done, staring at themselves from top to bottom again – a quick check to see if everything’s in order.

Being a woman isn’t an easy job, fellas! It’s a lot of hard work…

And I bet you don’t mind when you see the great outcome that steps outta the washroom. Worth the wait, right?

The venue is also a breakout zone for a gang of giggly girls who want to catch up on lost time and updates. Like who’s dating whom, who fought with whom, what’s the masala in the work world and movie world.

I know this is taking it too far, but once I even saw a girl sipping coffee as she chatted up her pals in the washroom! Takes the cake, eh? LOL.

Well, well… Women who are taking offence, pardon me. But I honestly don’t understand the concept of wasting time in the loo. The loo is meant for a particular purpose, one that I often finish in less than a minute. And when I see chics spending a good 15 minute break at work in the loo… It kinda surprises and amuses me.

And we laugh on…

Cheerio!
Princess