A New Beginning...

So, here I am, little more than 2 months and a few kilograms (maybe I should start saying pounds ???) since I first passed through those hallowed halls of immigration at a grungy airport, evaluating my unexpected and sudden arrival in US of A. How did I come about doing a self evaluation on a Friday morning? The usual way, most sane people end in my situation. While checking the industry tagging for RhinoSystems of course, which happens to have come into a lot of wealth due to an unforseen twist of events whereby a venture finance company agreed to fork over the smart guys at RhinoSystems some $1.98 Million. What does this RhinoSystems do, you say to deserve the dough? Why, it helps you keep your nose clean of course! They apparently came up with a device called NaVage, an ingenious twist on the words nasal and lavage. And oh joy, there’s a video of a poor bugger getting her boogers out with this thing. Another gem I came across was a certain company called Xi’an Meipude Biotech, which produces hernia belts. Wonder whether they make those in different colors, you know so that you can color coordinate it with your undies.

The good thing about work from home is that when it’s a day when fate keeps bowling these gems at you, you always have unlimited access to all the glory that internet beholds beyond the office firewalls to escape it. And you never have to use sly methods like going through the cached pages or proxies to really get to the meaty results for google searches like “help, I am bored out of my mind”, “10 ways to make new friends” or “how to get the most out of facebook to make your life happening again”. I was just kidding. The really awesome thing about work from home is that you can actually improve your productivity by taking away those time consuming, meaningless things that office life involves. Like never ever having to run out of tissue paper again or comb your hair. One of my old companies decided that they have to do some cost cutting in the face of declining revenue streams due to recession. And one of the most brilliant ways was to remove tissue papers from the toilets. Apparently, that helped them double their profits in the last quarter. So, determined to never be in a situation where we don’t have any tissues, Mr. Arabica got like a gazillion toilet paper rolls from Costco. The people at Costco believe that why buy regular size in a world where people need a thousand gazillion things of everything everyday. Need a box of olives? How about five, 3 pounds each? Think of how much you would save by getting five straight years’ worth of supply of olives? Brilliant, no?

Anyway, I digress, I was pondering over my life in the new land of opportunities. Well, I suffer from being a creature of habit. So much so that I can’t even take a walk in the park without aggressive planning and googling, creating lists of options for parks (ah, yes, options…we’l have to come to THAT one of these days), drawing up pros and cons lists of each one, and then promptly selecting the most logical one. Of course, the plans change exactly some three minutes after I venture out. So, last weekend I decided that I needed a plan, before I find a best friend in the friendly 85 year old plumber (that social security is a bitch, ain’t it?). As a self confessed laziest person in the whole wide world, I needed something to “trick” myself to get out of the house. With my work schedule requiring 8-9 hours of productive work, I was not going to salsa my way out of the house anytime soon. I wanted a quite, peaceful place, where wi-fi was free. Given my stringent conditions, Mr. Arabica suggested the library. So, I decided to hop on a bus, and go the local library. I mean how difficult can it be right? I made the journey on the bus, alone, with a sense of elation and doing mental “high fives”, making notes of the restaurants on the way for the lunch break. With a broad silly smile pasted on my face, I approached the front door, reaching for the front door handle, imagining it to swing effortlessly under the confident twist of my hand. But, it didn’t budge. After several mighty pulls which would have made even Hercules proud, I saw the incriminating notice. “Library is closed on Veteran’s Day, 11th November 2010”. Being the kind of a person who doesn’t remember dates very well, at first it didn’t register. After few more valiant efforts on the door knob, it suddenly dawned on me that 11th November is today! Another realization hit me soon like a tsunami wave. I had forgotten to note down the route back home! My hand itched for a swanky smartphone which could have told me the route back home in a matter of few thumb swipes. I should get one those things. Alas, I had to resort to the old fashion way. Call someone with access to Google maps of course!

While I was figuring out a way back home, I was suddenly overcome by the strong desire to have coffee. Right here, right now. The city is kind to people like me who have these sudden, inexplicable desires. It has those coffee chains at every nook and cranny of the city. Don’t have drinking water? No worries, have a coffee. Forgot an umbrella? Have a coffee. No, the rain wouldn’t stop after you are done with the coffee. So what if I still have to find that perfect café that makes coffee Arabica style. I still have hope.

Old is gold. Really?

Flashback

"Oh c'mon mom, you are taking a break again???? We still have halfway to go to reach the top of the hill...." little Arabica wailed on her visit to some remote hill station..."Beta, stop jumping around, let me catch my breath. One day when you get older, you will understand..."

Fast forward to the Present

Alarm rings...Arabica fumbles for the cell phone eyes still closed, managing to push it to the edge of the bed. It teeters there for a moment and crashes with a loud "thump". Opening one eye, just a crack, Arabica reaches down for the phone gingerly, pushes a few buttons, and heaves a sigh of relief. It's working! Just then, Arabica notices the time...This is the order of thoughts running through Arabica's head:
1)"Omigosh, I'm late for office yet again!"
2)"Oh no, I have to go to office yet again"
3)"Oh crap, my eyes are burning, my head is throbbing and my body is aching yet
again"
4)Arabica's mom's words ring through her head..."One day when you get older, you will understand."
5)"Oh man! Am I getting old??? Already???"

With this heavy thoughts weighing on Arabica's brain, Arabica reaches office. She picks up her ritual cup of coffee, and mid way through the cup, a bulb lights somewhere... Arabica looks down at the cup strangely, holds it slightly away...The mind races..."Could it be possible..." Lost in thought, Arabica gets through the drudgery of work, to arrive spent at the current lodging. Staring down at the laptop screen blankly for some time, Arabica furiously jots down this:

Signs that you are growing old:

1) The very thought of coffee at wee hours of the morning(read 7a.m.) makes u weep with joy, break out in a song and dance sequence from a SRK movie, and randomly kiss anybody who suggests a cuppa coffee(Costa coffee if you are nitpicky about your caffeine) OR alternatively you are trying your level best to kick caffeine with pumping your system in the morning with fruits(read Papaya).
2) You complain/rant/make fun of your work with your equally "old" friends, colleagues, strangers you meet on the bus, people sitting next to you in a cinema hall or random people walking down the street.
3) Your Google web history looks something like:
o (Inflation) AND (implications for the common man)
o (Recession) AND (job prospects)
o (How to combat hair loss)
o (High blood pressure) AND (signs) AND (symptoms)
5) You are attending an 8 year old’s birthday party or alternatively the kid’s friends mistake you for an adult, and asks in a piping voice, “Uncle/Aunty, Can I please have more chips?”
6) You would rather spend your weekends sleeping than getting up.
7) Which presents a dilemma, since, your body habituated to early mornings, refuses to let you get some shut eye on a Saturday morning.
8) You have acne. Not the teenage hormones variety, but the stress induced kind.
9) Your monthly bank statement can transport you into a state of delirium faster than anything on the planet.
10) You actually own a bank account.


And you know you are really really getting on in age, when you lose track of finer details… Like point no. 4…..

Zindagi Kaisi Yeh Paheli Hai...

I have been toying with a number of ideas for the blog for a long time…Though I have posted a post here or there, there has been no consistency in thought or purpose of this blog. Though my previous blog was borne more out of curiosity and sense of adventure than anything else, it unsurprisingly became anecdotal for others and a vent for me. Now, don’t ask me vent for what, because I am not very sure myself. I just know it felt good interacting without any pretenses, and for the first time, as a teenager who always felt awkward, I felt as if I belonged. But that was then. I have of course undergone a sea change in personality, evolved or should I say adapted to my environment quite sucessfully. But, why do I still feel as if I have something to vent? I have come back in the past year again and again, trying to be regular, bring back the same zest into it. I have failed. Miserably. Not from the lack of trying though. Maybe I am not the same person anymore. Correction: I am definitely not the same person anymore. So, maybe it cannot be the same kind of blog I used to write, just like I cannot be the same person I was five years ago. New person, new blog. Now that my life is going to be turned upside down completely in a matter of few months, there are times when I am left craving to put all my thoughts down in words… And speaking of craving, my “healthy” interest in food has now become a full blown obsession, thanks to the free run of the kitchen provided(or should I say earned) to me at my current lodging. And no, it is not about eating as much as it is about cooking and feeding. I must say that there is something to be said about the satisfaction derived entire process of toiling in the kitchen for hours, and come up with the perfect amalgam of aromas and tastes, of creating something new from the raw materials. Of course, people falling out of their seats with appreciation is an added bonus! Over past few months, I have been actively tracking few food blogs, and this further fuelled my appetite to document my experiments. Unfortunately, I have no clue how I am going to do that, since I have acquired the very traditional way of cooking. By estimation. I wonder if “dash” is a perfectly acceptable terminology for measure. At the same time, I don’t want to restrict myself to food. So, what else goes with food? I know, how about :

A dash of anecdotes
Sprinkling of humour
One teaspoon of trivia
A dollop of travel, fun and adventure
Smattering of romance

And

Three slivers of philosophy…..

Hmmmmm….Sounds like it has the makings of a spicy recipe. Now, what shall we call it? I vote for Subz Zindagi Bahar.

Been a long time coming home...

Ok...So, the hunger pangs are back. I feel ravenous after two months, and I can't hold myself any longer. After several half hearted attempts at home, after desperately trying to steal time during the weekday at office(that too a light week with mid week off), here I am, desperate for a release. Anything would do. Even gibberish will do. It is mine after all, I can do whatever I want. This craving for writing reminds me of my earlier blogging days, where I couldn't wait to get in front of a computer and pour all my thoughts as they formed liberating my frenetic brain at the end of it. There have been times since, the burden of liberation is borne by one poor soul who doesn't have the faintest idea what hits him each time.

Have been seeing lots of movies of late(what can a girl alone in this horrid city do?), and pretty decent movies I might add. Its been a refreshing change after a series of crappy movies(both hollywood and bollywood)that got released recently. It seems the money makers have come up with a new mantra to make money- Spend a tidy amount of money to publicize it, and earn as much as they can BEFORE the movie gets released. i.e. before anybody realizes that there were last minute budget cuts, and the screenwriter was fired half through the story.

But I digress, coming back to the half decent movies I saw: Slumdog Millionaire(needs no introductions, I guess), Khuda Ke Liye(a Pakistani movie surprisingly well made) and Luck By Chance. I will refrain from giving my "expert comments" on Slumdog Millionaire, I think everybody in the blogdom have done a pretty good job thrashing it apart. I just want to say one thing: 'There is no place on earth like Mumbai'. I know it is dirty, it is downright filthy, there is no end to the red tape, there is no infrastructure whatsoever, BUT I will always love the spirit that keeps it alive. You can have the best infrastructure in the world, but if you don't have the spirit, you don't have much to keep it alive. Danny Boyle has done a marvellous job of bringing out that unapologetic 'Can do, Will survive' attitude Mumbai has.

Khuda Ke Liye was the only movie among the three that had it all. It is a masterpiece of direction, has an indisputably strong storyline, remarkable actors and mindblowing music. Kudos to Pakistani cinema.

I think Zoya Akhtar din't want to leave her luck to chance in Luck By Chance and so she got so many actors to play in it by a lucky chance. It was the same old tired line about how shallow Bollywood really is. We have seen it before. Om Shanti Om anyone?? Ok, so it was a bad example, but Zoya shows how you can STILL make a masala movie, with the latkas and the jhatkas, sans the hamming. Yes, she DOES have SRK, but she does the smart thing by keeping his onscreen presence to a bare minimum. She does have a gazillion celebrities, but none of them overpower you all at once. And she keeps it realistic. The odds of a dusky lady getting a lead role in a major production over a fair damsel will be 0.0001 out of 10 even in the 21st century, the 'stud' who becomes a 'star' overnight will leave the average looking intelligent girl for a saccharine pastry. Such is life dearies...

Sexing it Up!

Funny how your past sneaks up on you when you least expected it. I happened to me recently when I literally ran into two of my exes(and no, I didn't meet both of them together, that would have been some contest of whom I loved better!)!!! Now that is not something that happens everyday now, does it?

I met one of them on a lazy Sunday morning; here I am having breakfast with my hubbie, imagine my surprise, when out of nowhere I spot my ex. And to make matters worse, both the gentleman introduced themselves to each other as I stood there and stared at them in horror. Before I know it, my dear hubbie had invited "him" to the breakfast and offered him a chair to sit right between us! Anyway, as I got re-acquainted with him through the morning(yes, my hubbie took quite a fancy to him), I was filled with a sense of nostalgia, I could clearly see what had made me addicted to him in my school days when i was still green in these matters of the heart. It was my very first affair with a person his kind. It had all the sweetness of first love and the madness of a teenager. His genial character, his deceptively simple exterior was enough for me to drown hook,line and sinker. But such is life, it ended quickly as I got older; we drifted apart with me going on to bigger, better things in life, and he somehow left behind. Now, as I looked upon him, I could see that it was not his simplicity that had drawn us to each other but the tricky, complex interior that had made us last as long as it did. It was good to know he's doing well these days, he made some fortune with the web 2.0 craze hitting the internet these days.

The "other" ex was a different story altogether. I met him during my college days, when I was open to experimentation and used to love or hate everything with equal passion. His fiendish sense of humor, his clever one- liners, his air of ridiculous, his mocking nature was something that I found absolutely irresistible. We couldn't keep our hands off each other, there were times when we got into trouble for just being together. I bumped into him on a crazy weekday, when I was rushing to meet my deadlines. There he was, in front of me, just like that. I hesitantly moved forward to greet him, and then as they say rest was history. In the past, he was always surrounded by this aura of mystery; there were times I could not grasp some nuances of his personality. But now that aura had disappeared, as if somebody held a candle light and illuminated the darkness. We understood each other perfectly as we spent a pleasant 1 hour getting to know each other again.

It's strange that both of my exes have now arisen to exceptional fame thanks to the internet age. People just can't keep their hands off especially the first one, thanks to his notorious fame on Facebook! As for the second one, he has his avid followers...He is one hell of a devil, and as legend has it, bad boys never ever run out of lovers. *Sigh* To be young again and fall so passionately in love...

Oh no, I got so lost in my reminiscence, I absolutely forgot to mention their names! They are...................................................................................... Scrabble and Crossword!!!!

Ok, ok, I admit, once a nerd always a nerd, but I quote:
"...what they lack in physical strength they make up in brain power. Who writes all the best selling books? Nerds. Who directs the top grossing Hollywood movies? Nerds. Who creates the highly advanced technology that only they can understand(and charge outrageous amounts to decode them)? ...Nerds. And who are the people who run for the high office of the Presidency? No one but nerds. They are everywhere, man!" - Freakazoid.

My Cauldron of Thoughts

This used to be easy. It was merely a matter of picking up few things churning in my brewing pot, string it together to make logical sense, start typing, edit, and voila you have a blog post. Now I have a bunch of things put neatly at one side and I don't know what to do with 'em. In the past, things used to happen when the fingers used to hit the keyboard on their own. But that was then. Funny how things of the past seem to be cast by an illusionist with striking clarity and stunning simplicity. The present is always murky, as if somebody stirred up a mud-hole.

Oh well, we can't always be dwelling on the past. Like the fact that Pierce Brosnan cannot become Bond once again no matter how hard one prays. Though the critics trashed Casino Royale too, I had kind of liked it. It had the erstwhile touch of Bond where Bond relied more on his intellect(Dr NO anyone?) rather than fancy gizmos. But the latest offering "Quantum of Solace" deserves no excuses. The gizmos are back, but out goes the plot, the sex, the signature title track. Bond, the secret service agent is a debonair, ruthless man evoking a feeling of pathos with his reckless adventures and his gal pals; the moment you start to consider him a gentleman, you are rightly corrected. But the director seems to be hell bent on making Daniel Craig's Bond almost likeable with him pining away for his dead love. But Daniel Craig needn't worry, everybody likes the Bond of their times, my dad could never get over Sean Connery, my uncle over Roger Moore, and now me over Brosnan. It was only yesterday I spotted some doe-eyed celebrity oohing and aahing over Daniel Craig and declaring "he's the best Bond of all times" to the world. Of course she's watched all the 2 Bond movies released so far.

My Musical Chair

I have never known any person who writes(writing in all its glorious forms)when they are truly happy. And it's not a recent fad created by Generation-W(hine). It has been there for ages. You just have to look back to understand what I mean. If you went to school or college, where your classmates daintily raised their hands (guys and girls both) whenever the teacher asked if anyone wrote poems, you would know that there are no happy poets even at that age. And if you don't connect with this, consider: all the classic authors thrived upon tales of their own or inspired miseries. Even Shakespeare was more known for his dramas rather than his comedies. I doubt Dickens would have gained popularity if he had written about happy orphans instead of the memorable dirty little Twist. Or, where would Little Sisters have been had Lizzie not died of Scarlett fever? I remember in my college days, somebody had passed on an educational dark piece on Solitary Reaper; the real meaning behind it. But, nevertheless I had always thought Wordsworth had created a sad little poem about loneliness when he wrote about the solitary reaper. So, why exactly is it that whenever over the centuries people have felt miserable, they are compelled to seize the pen(or the keyboard in modern times) and jot down a prose or a drama or a whine(blog post)???

But who am I to question or even defy these ancient rituals? So here I am writing... nah whining yet again. But my most pressing misery is I don't know which misery to pen..errr...type about. Will it be yet another rendition of 'Tale of Two cities'(read Delhi and Mumbai)? Or should it be about fading relationships? Maybe how the rich gets richer, while the middle class man gets more bewildered...Perhaps a philosophical one, where I can explore the need of human beings to be miserable in the first place. Hmmmmm...

I think this post should be about musical chairs. Surprised? Let me explain. I have been playing musical chairs at my workplace these days. The same game we used to play at birthday parties when we were young. Only here, there is no tangible gift. Just the highest 'gift' you can ever get at your workplace. Any guesses? No it's not the big fat bonus, or the promotion. It is job satisfaction. It seems not everyone can get it. You have to play musical chairs and try your luck. Well, my luck seems to be fresh out. I admit I am a bad sport, I have played and I have lost. Several times. And I have a big frown on my face. And I refuse to shake hands with the winner. And I don't know whether to give it another try or walk away. Maybe try my hand at some other game. But maybe the problem is not the game, but has to do with my being a bad sport. Is there any way to know?

Maybe what I need is a perspective. Can it be that I am just suffering from a case of his-grass-is-greener-than-mine? Perhaps, its just the destiny of some people to bear their share of crosses and drag their iron balls around till they finally get what they wanted. Whatever the case be, is it worthwhile to flee the ground in middle of the battle? And in hopes of what? Ephemeral dreams which may culminate into reality or evaporate like dew in the morning?

Hmmmm....well, if I remember correctly, musical chairs did used to be one of my favourite party games!!! Let the music play...

When the sandman makes your balance sheet...

No matter how old or young we are, we always try to idealize our life; the perfect partner, the perfect house, the perfect job, perfect car, even the perfect pet. And why not? It's our life, everybody should be allowed a perfect dream. But the problem is that it is exactly what it pretends to be; a dream. Now I am not saying that all of us don't end up having the perfect lives. We do. Like any long project, we are adept at breaking down these dreams into goals, goals translate into timelines, and timelines lead to deadlines! As we grow up, we realize its not just about setting goals, but also about prioritizing, letting go of some of your ephemeral desires in interests of the larger scheme of things.

I recently met up with a dear friend of mine, we have known each other since our school days(FIITJEE days to be precise). I will always remember her as this petite young woman, with wild curly hair tied firmly in a rubber band, roaming around the coaching school halls in her shorts revealing those envious chicken legs (mine used to resemble more like ham!). Little has changed by way of her looks, for which I am very thankful. Shoot me for being a coward, for wanting some comforting constants in my life! It makes life that much simpler, to locate her in unknown meeting places, in overcrowded restaurants and railway stations once every year. By some strange twist of fate, we have always been able to meet up once in a year ever since I moved out of Delhi 6 years ago. I would give an arm and a leg for keeping this babe in my life for as long as I live, would hop on a plane in a hurry to fly half way across the world just for an afternoon siesta somewhere in the lanes of Paris if need ever arose.

But, my nice little 'constant' world received a kick in the shins this time when I met her. Yeah, she looked the same, maybe filled out a little(thank the dear lord and cheesecakes I suspect), but yet something was amiss. Half way through the first hour, the errant bulb flicked on. My most adorable firebrand, the girl with a million revolutionary ideas for changing the world, the restless lass who couldn't stick to one thought for too long, had at last discovered the world she was born in wasn't half that bad. And this transformation could only be credited to a blossoming relationship she had decided finally worth getting into. I found myself recognizing the same patterns that I had fallen prey to 2 years back and it was then when I started realizing the full impact of "letting go" of dreams for the sake of the larger scheme. Its often not the dreams of perfect house or the perfect car one lets go to attain the nirvana of happiness we seek...It's the crazy dreams, dreams of going out there and doing something, dreams anticipation of which made us the angst ridden,opinionated, rock loving, head banging rebels of our youth. We mellow down, we kill the wanderlust that seemed to be so inherent in our souls once upon a time, we pit our dreams against each other, we rationalize. It's often said the rebels, the poets, the artists, the revolutionaries have to live with the pain and the genius of their art, the choices they make. Perhaps, its only the destiny of the few to endure the pain while the rest of us compromise and lead an ordinary, happier life.

And when the dreams which aren't fully dead yet try to tantalize you time and again, you shut yourself in a room, and create a completely pointless post at 1am in the night to get over it.

Raindrops Keep Fallin' On My Head

It’s funny how some things just hit you out of nowhere. Things which you would bet on your life you are well off without, things that made you shudder at mere memory, things you were so happy to leave behind, because something much better lay ahead. And then they just ram into you one fine day as you are sitting at your workstation minding your own business. This “thing” I’m talking about is a city actually. Pune to be precise. I’ve moved around so much in 22 years of my life, I thought I’d seen it all, done it all. I thought I was experienced enough to know I need something when I look at it. Pune was definitely not one of them. Sure the city put me in circumstances that forced me into isolation, which in turn resulted in me meeting my life partner. Sure the city gave me a post graduate degree, which enables me to sit right here in my office, have my own workstation, anticipate my very first big fat salary. And of course I made some friends on whom I can depend on and who can depend on me anytime of the day. But so what? I also had pretty difficult, stressful times there. On the risk of sounding clichéd I’ve to say that time has a way of healing a person. It’s amazing how time can act as a sieve so that all the bad memories just pass through leaving behind only the good ones to cherish. Perhaps this is one of the mechanisms by which the universe tries to keep up us optimistic, build up hope. Imagine what kind of people we might become if all of us have that pent up rage from all that has gone wrong in our lives. Now, this might seem like too dramatic, but I firmly believe that there’s a greater scheme of things which plays a great role in our daily lives. If it’s not true then how’s it that today of all days when I am wishing I was back in Pune the weather plays to my mood’s tune, with the skies weeping drenching me as I come to work. Yesterday when I was missing everybody so much, the lady from my team who was supposed to work along with me decides to take a leave so that she doesn’t have to get bored with me. That one line “Tomorrow Arabica will be leading the CHC team” (Read tomorrow Arabica will be sitting in the office all alone) hit me in the gut. I was nicely arm-twisted into coming on a Saturday with nobody around. If today’s not the perfect day to miss the long conversations over endless coffees, dinners, lunches, those funny anecdotes we used to share, the bad movies we used to watch just because we had nothing better to do on a Sunday morning, the early-bird movie shows we used to catch at ungodly hours of 8am just because we were so damn broke, I don’t know what is. So here I am I sit typing this post on a lonely lonely Saturday morning, the weather reminiscent of Pune’s lovely rainy season, reliving those fond memories I thought I had left behind in Pune once again…

Of Honey Coated Voices...

Ok, so I've been reading quite a lot on Amy Winehouse, and today curiousity killed my cat. I was expecting some more hippity hoppity stuff from a newcomer. Being a person who doesn't find anything to hip or hop about hiphop, not that there's no talent involved. It just doesn't get me grooving. And this time, boy was I in for a shock. I went to my current favourite music site ijigg. The moment I hit the play button, I was transported to a different place. The room around me just dissolved as her voice lulled me into a gentle stupor. Her voice is like the blast from past where voices conjured images of smoky clubs, belles in clingy black dress with plunging necklines, an old man in a tux hunched over a piano belting out sweet melodies and powerful whisky and honey-coated voices tantalising your senses as you unwind. The lyrics are playful, naughty and above all hummable. But don't take my word for it. Check her out. It's a pleasure to the senses.

Here's one of my favourite songs:

My Music - You Know I'm No Good

Here's more on Amy Winehouse