At last shrugged

They say he is larger than life.

Well, I'm not a fan so I dunno about that. But he surely is heavier than life.

Yesterday I lugged Amitabh Bachchan across the country. Back and forth.

My dissertation supervisor had lent me this book on Bollywood superstar Amitabh Bachchan titled 'To be or not to be', so I could check if I could use anything from it in my dissertation. The book, compiled by legendary film critic Khalid Mohamed, was written as a gift from Jaya Bachchan to Amitabh Bachchan for his 60th birthday.

Needless to say, Khalid Mohamed received ample help from the entire Bachchan clan in terms of photos and anecdotes from the ye olde days. A little too much help I think. The 424-page book measures 11 x 14 inches, and weighs more than 3 kgs!

So when my supervisor told me on Tuesday that he wanted it back (along with other books he'd lent me) on Wednesday, I had no choice but to carry the load from my house in Clementi through 15 train stations to my office in Paya Lebar and then from Paya Lebar through 19 train stations all the way to NTU in the evening!

SHEESH!

I could barely feel my arms when I finally put the bag of books down on the floor outside his office. And then I saw the shocking sight in front of me. The lights in his room were off -- he was not in. Usually the professors leave around 5:30 to 6 pm, and the general office also closes around that time. He'd told me he'd be in to take the books back from me. But he wasn't.

As Amitabh Bachchan gave me a sarcastic smile from the book cover, I wanted to collapse on the floor screaming "Nahinnnnn yeh nahinnnn ho saktaaaaa!" The mere thought of having to lug it back to Clementi and then to Paya Lebar the next day and then to NTU again was making me go weak in the knees.

I had a class in 15 minutes. I had to get rid of it then itself. Somehow. But how??? I looked around wildly and noticed that one of the rooms in the corridor had lights on. I read the name on the door and it was a professor I did not know. Yet, I gathered courage and knocked. As soon as the owner of that room had opened the door, the words just came tumbling out of my mouth. "Dr Foo, could I please ask you for a favour? My supervisor lent me this book and I was supposed to return it to him today and I think he's forgotten about the meeting and I can't get through to him and I have to go for a class now and the book is really heavy and I can't carry it back and take it to work tomorrow and bring it to NTU again and..." I was breathless.

I think the sheer number of 'ands' in my sentence combined with my pitiable face moved him to the core. He smiled, as all angels do before they grant you your wish and said the words that were honey to my ears, "Sure, you can leave the book here. Just let him know that I have it."

PHEW! PHEW! PHEW!

I felt like a murderer who had just managed to discreetly dispose off the dead body. Laash ko thikaane laga diya muahaha! :D

After thanking him profusely, I scurried off for my class, with only one thought in mind.

Khalid Mohamed, I don't like you. :|

The bored room meeting

Some time ago, a dear friend of mine asked me a la Hrithik in Lakshya, "Sayesha, tum kabhi bore nahin hoti?" ("Sayesha, don't you ever get bored?")

So I coyly looked at my nails (an action that precedes most of my replies to his weird questions) and said, "Mere paas bore hone ke liye waqt nahin hai." ("I have no time to get bored.")

So you can imagine my shock when last weekend, I found myself experiencing what I never ever do - boredom. :O

I mentioned in a recent post that when we say we have no time for something, we're just bullshitting ourselves. If we really wanna do something, we'll always have time for it. I guess that holds for boredom too. If you really wanna get bored, if getting bored is important to you, if you truly value boredom, you will surely find one way or another to achieve it.

Nevertheless, for a person who drafts and follows a timetable for everything, it was quite shocking.

Like many people, my usual weekend description follows the very eloquent expression by Circuit in Munnabhai - "Shuru hote hi khatam ho gaya". ("Ended the moment it started.") In a typical weekend, if I can get some dissertation work done, meet up with a friend or two, go to the gym, squeeze in a movie, and clean my room, I consider it an achievement to be proud of.

Which is why last weekend was really weird. The time just wouldn't pass! I got up, made pancakes for breakfast, worked on my dissertation (Gosh! Writing a 100-page dissertation is not easy, they should just allow me to copy-paste my blog posts and submit it as my dissertation!), caught up with my school gang and some cousins on Orkut, called up my family and spoke to everyone, washed two loads of clothes (okay fine, I did not exactly sit at Dhobyghaut MRT station and danda-peeto my clothes, but it's work all the same), wrote a blog post, updated Hopscotch, separated clothes to give away to the cleaner in my building, packed some of my stuff (I'm moving in two weeks), put my bank statements in order, went to the gym, went to the dentist, watched four hindi movies on Youtube (Sheesh, that's 12 hours - half a day, 25% of a weekend!), stared out of my window.

Stared out of my window.

Stared out of my window.

I could have gone for a walk, but did not feel like stepping out of my room because I think my current flatmates were in the living room, interviewing someone to replace me after I move out.

And I don't like people who try to take my place. :|

So after a while, I turned to look at the clock, expecting it to be 10 pm on a sunday night - bedtime for good girls - so good girls can go to bed to wake up at six to go to work on Monday morning, when I realised to my horror that it was only 6:30 pm.

So I decided to spend some quality time with my pets. I have three of 'em - a dog called Frodo, a fat chick called... err... Fat Chick (one of my most TP posts was on her washing machine experience) and a fish called Nemo. And I haven't been able to pay much attention to them ever since I started my Master's course.

So I invited the three of them to a 'bored' room meeeting in my room, and here are the party... errr I mean meeting... pics.















The invitees are on time! They know Sayesha hates it when people (and animals) are late!
















Conspiracy theory - "Where do you think Sayesha has kept the booze?"
















What? Frodo is already drunk?!
















And so is Fat Chick!
















"Nemo, tu bhi thoda sa pi le" *Pat pat*
















"Lekin main toh abhi bacha hoon..." Nemo decides to observe Frodo...
















... and now Nemo observes Fat Chick...
















Now Nemo is drunk too!
















"Nemo, you're my best friend!"
















"Fat Chick, you're my best friend too!"
















Fat Chick says goodbye. I think she's had a bit too much. Alert - chicks should watch their drinks.

After the party was over, I snuggled into my comforter and started wondering about this extra time in the game called life that I had just encountered. And just like that, a thought struck me. We get an extra day every four years because the earth takes a little more than 365 days to revolve around the sun. Maybe there's a glitch in the matrix somewhere, that causes each week to be slightly longer than what we expect a week to be like, and it all gets added up one fine day to give us that extra time that surprises us.

Maybe once in a blue moon, we get a 'leap weekend', but we're just too busy to notice it.

American Idol - of a different kind

So I was shortlisting my US holiday photos to upload on my travelogue when I came across a picture of Mom and me taken at the HAT.

As stylo as it sounds, the HAT is actually the 'Hindu American Temple' tucked away in a very green corner of New Jersey. We'd gone there to do a puja for my niece. Now I'm not very keen on going to temples, but I was curious about the HAT, and wanted to see how a temple in America was like. Besides, Mom had bought for me the most gorgeous pastel purple Lucknow churidaar kameez, and I was dying for an occasion to wear it. (She got a similar one for my sis in pink... it felt like we'd been sent back 20 years in time! :P)

So my bro-in-law drove my Mom and me to this tiny temple in the middle of nowhere. Baby Aish was still on house arrest following the doc's orders, and so my sis stayed at home, while the three of us went to the temple.

The HAT was not very impressive from the outside. In fact, it was not even temple-shaped, it looked like just any other building. There was even a payment counter in front of the actual worship area. It looked like a run-down office building. But what I saw inside was really amazing.

The idols were clearly labelled. As my eyes darted from label to label, I realised it was a temple of all gods, unlike most temples I have seen that are for only one god. The priests, although in traditional priest's attire, spoke perfect English. (I wondered if they just changed into jeans and T-shirts after the puja, sat in their cars and drove off homewards.)

There was a refrigerator in a corner, from which the priest took out bottles of milk (about five of which were poured over the idol of Ganesha) to do the puja. I wondered how baffled the person tasked with the duty of buying milk for the temple must be, given the limitless choices of every commodity in US supermarkets. UHT milk, pasterurised milk, full cream milk, homogenised milk, low-fat milk. How does he choose which one to buy?

There was even a music system on top of the refrigerator! The section with the idols was separated from the devotee-seating area with a large red curtain, which were occasionally drawn and pulled following the puja proceedings.

We gave the fruits and flowers (bought from the supermarket, unlike temples in India where you buy them from little shops outside the temples) to the priest and told him we wanted a puja for the baby. When the priest asked, "What is the baby's gotra?" I looked at him, puzzled. Thankfully, before I could blurt out, "Errr... What is a gotra?" my bro-in-law had answered. (My bro-in-law explained to me during the drive back that 'gotra' is a sanskrit word that indicates lineage in the Hindu community, and that many people choose to use their gotra as their surname. Each of the gotras is named after a great ancient rishi, and belonging to a particular gotra generally implies patrilineal descension from that rishi.)

The puja started, and we were asked to sit on the carpet. Now I'm not used to sitting on the floor cross-legged. (I broke my knee a few years ago, and still can't bend it fully for prolonged periods of time.) When I finally got up, I could not feel one of my legs! That freaked me out for a while. :O

As I sat there and looked at the devotees around me, I wondered what each one was praying for. Were they thanking God for something they achieved? Were they asking Him for stuff they had got after praying? Were they praying for someone else? Were they wishing well for the whole world?

And as I thought of all these, I could not help but analyse my own relationship with God. I am not religious. In fact, I think I am confused about my views on religion. I don't want to be religious because I fear that I'd be praying to God just for the sake of praying. I fear that I'd be asking Him for things all the time. I fear that I'd remember Him only when I was in trouble. And that would really piss Him off, wouldn't it?

Recently, a school friend from 8 years ago sent me an sms out of nowhere - "Can you lend me 30000 rupees?" I was quite appalled. I sent a mental reply - "Dude, you haven't bothered to keep in touch with me for 8 years. You have no idea what the hell I am doing. I have no idea where the hell you are. And you sms me when you want a freakin thirty-thousand-rupee loan? What audacity!"

I strongly fear that maybe that's how God would think of me if I were religious.

Mom prays every morning after bathing and every night before she goes to sleep. I asked her once, "Mom, what is it that you pray for? You have everything. What do you ask God for, every single day? Do you have a wish that we're not aware of?" And she said, "You don't always have to pray for something. You could just pray. Prayers are not always to ask Him for things for yourself. I pray to Him to thank Him for giving me what I have, and to ask him to take care of my loved ones, and to wish well for everyone."

I looked at her in awe - pray every day to wish well for everyone? I think only mothers can be as unselfish as to do something like that. I doubt if I'm capable of praying to wish well for everyone every single day. I'm probably too selfish for that. Even though the existence of God is such a wonderful thought - that of someone with super powers up there looking down at us - His children. But maybe I'm the black sheep of His family. And maybe that's why I do not acknowledge Him in the way everyone around me does.

When Baby Aish was hospitalised at the age of 3 days, my hysterical sister called me up and said, "Pray for her, will you? Your wishes always work." I said, "I will wish for her." I couldn't say I'd pray for her, because I was sure that God would've probably given me the thirty-thousand-rupee reply. But I do believe in the human power of truly making a wish for someone. And so maybe my wishes also contributed a tiny bit into the factors that helped little Aish recover.

My bro-in-law is pretty religious, and my sister has become reasonably so too, after marriage. I sat there in the HAT and wondered if Aish would grow up to become religious. What we grow up and eventually do depends a lot on how our parents brought us up. My parents never forced my sister or me to be religious, but in America, where parents of American-born Indian kids are forever worried about their kids losing their traditions, there are many parents who force religion upon their unwilling kids. I guess it gives the parents a sense of security, a safety net against accusations that they did not ensure their kids were brought up 'Indian' enough. Rather than leaving their kids open to the influence of the so called 'lack of values in the evil foreign culture', they attempt to imbibe some values, some religion, some culture in their kids. Of course, whether the kids will ultimately turn out religious is something only time will tell, but the parents can assure themselves that at least they tried.

I saw many of such parents in the HAT too, with kids in tow. As I watched the restless American Indian kids, I wondered how their parents bribed them into coming to the temple. It was then that I noticed something amazing. While the parents sat on the carpet and chanted the shlokas along with the priests, the kids were asked to report directly to the priest. The priest gave one of the kids the prasad to offer to the devotees, while another - a rather tiny one - went around with the teeka, accompanying the priest who had the aarti. One of the kids even went around with a stack of serviettes to offer to the devotees who were having the prasad. Yet another kid was tasked to ring the huge bell, a task that he seemed to take very seriously.

The kids were really involved and obviously enjoying the 'responsibilities' they had been entrusted with. I was quite taken in by this amazing phenomenon.

And suddenly a thought struck me. Perhaps temples in America have become like medical or engineering institutions. Parents pay money and send their kids there to learn things that the parents can't teach them, things that the parents hope will be of much help to the kids in their lives. These parents at the HAT were doing the same. Instead of forcing their restless kids to be religious, they were just paying the temple, and taking the kids there. The rest was handled by the temple. Just as they trusted schoolteachers to be able to engage their children and teach them something, they had placed their trust in the priests. It became the priests' duty to arouse interest about religion in the kids. Of course there is no guarantee but the attempt must be applauded. Many of these kids would probably grow up not only pretty religious themselves, but will probably use the same strategy on their kids.

Catch 'em when they're young. Get them in, give them something fun to do, and get 'em hooked on for life. Pretty cool strategy methinks.

Now that's what I call a HAT-trick.

A moti-vational post

Note: The 'perky' parts of this post have been inspired by this utterly hilarious video of Carlos Mencias. Some people need to get the perk out of this post.

All right, before I get on with my post I need to do some reader-filtering.

Divide your weight in kilograms by the square of your height in metres. If you get anything less than 18, please make a quiet exit from the rear door of the bar, this post is not for your kind. (Some day I will write a post on your kind.)

And if by any chance your BMI is less than 18 AND you consider yourself fat, you get the perk out of my bar! NOW. :-/

They say, "Inside every fat person is a thin person."

I would like to add on to the theory.

Sash says, "Inside every thin person is a fat person bursting to get out."

Ever wondered what the hell happened to that thin friend of yours after he got married? Or that thin friend of yours after she had a baby? Ever wondered what the hell happened to you in the few weeks/months/years of living away from India? Ever wondered when your paunch started entering the room before you did? Wonder not - it's the fat person that happened.

They (the damn 'they' again!) say Indians tend to get fat easily. It's genetic and we can't do anything about it. Whole load of bull crap I say. What is really genetic in us Indians is sheer sloth. Unless the reason is medical (big bones included), a person has no reason to become, stay and die fat.

So beware. You could be at risk of one of the diseases that no one has ever mentioned in any medical study so far. In medical terms it would be known as TPOBF.

The Possibility Of Becoming Fat.

TPOBF disease is spreading like wildfire. We're all at risk. Especially people like you and me who are fine NOW, but a little negligence and they are sent hurling into the fatty puddles of obesity with a one-way ticket.

I read somewhere that the BMI table has been modified for Asians. While a BMI of more than 25 is considered bad for Caucasians, it's 23 for Asians. Because apparently Asians tend to have more body fat compared to Caucasians. Fortunately, mine hasn't touched 20 yet and even if it does, I have no intention of making it exceed 20. 19-22 is considered healthy.

Those who have not even read my full post but have already made up their minds to pollute my precious comment space preaching about inner beauty and all that bah, I have one thing to say -- get the perk out of my bar, you too. :-/

As long as you're not obsessing over it a la Mariah Carey (she said about starving kids "I mean I'd love to be skinny like that, but not with all those flies and death and stuff."), being thin is good. Thin is in. Because it lets you grab that piece of cheesecake without guilt. In fact, being slightly thinner is better than being 'just right'. That way, you have some leeway. The kind you need to account for pampering India visits, extended stays in the US, marriage, pregnancy and stuff.

(By the way, Mariah Carey, if you're reading this, get the perk out of my blog! NOW!)

Now let's get a few facts right. Firstly, standards of 'fat-ness' are different for different people, and I am sure by the petite Singaporean standards, even I would fall in the fat category. Thankfully I don't follow them and have my own standards. Secondly, what works for some may not work for others. Some people (read guys) can just have pizza as their staple diet and still be lanky as hell, whereas a girl can put on weight in a week just because she had a muffin on Thursday. (If you're the kind of girl who can eat whatever she wants and never gain a gram, you get the perk out of my bar NOW!) Thirdly, you can be fat in parts - meaning that you could have a perfect butt but fat arms, or perfect legs but a paunch.

This post is for people like me. People who would like to maintain their present weight. And perhaps lose a few kilos or so. For the longest time I have wanted to make a list of things that I want to do to make sure I stay as I am, and maybe lose about 2 more kgs or so. So I decided to put it up on my blog so it's out there, and I can revisit it to see if I followed it or not. After my PPDW (People, please drink water!) post (The fact that I now drink twice the amount of water I used to drink before I wrote that post speaks of the phenomenal success of using posts to motivate not just others but yourself), I believe that this post will do me good. I also believe that a friend of mine has been eagerly waiting for this post of mine.

So I decided to make my own list of things that have worked for me and for people I know. Some of them may be very obvious, but it's the very obvious ones that we often fail to follow. Hopefully it will serve as moti-vation for me and maybe for a few of you out there:

1. First things first. Buy a weighing scale. You need to monitor closely and you need an honest non-living thing to tell you the ugly truth. People who see you every day will not be able to tell if you put on weight. Clothes? Bah, they expand and shrink like nobody's business. The only way to keep track is to use a weighing scale.

2. Once upon a time, I used to say "Eat like a pig and run like a horse, and you'll never get fat." I'd like to revisit that saying of mine. Maybe it works if you're just trying to maintain your weight. But if you're trying to lose weight, you simply have to watch what you eat. You can't afford to eat like a pig even if you're running like a horse.

3. Be traditional. I noticed that in India, Mom used to boil rice in water and drain the starchy water before serving the rice. In Singapore, they use rice cookers (or microwave ovens) to make the rice. Only as much water is added to the rice as will be absorbed by it. We could totally do without all that extra starch! So I have resolved that when I get my own place, I will make rice the traditional way. Jaise Mummy banati thi. :)

4. NRIs, when you go back to India, 'control' is the keyword. Beware of adoring aunties who will pull your cheeks and say, "Arre Singapore mein khana nahin milta kya?" and jealous Bhabhis who will pinch your waist and say, "Aap kitni dubli ho?! Ab dekho hamari khaatirdari."

5. Very oily food has a natural property of putting you off it. Heed it. A colleague of mine treated our team to fried chicken last week. I gorged on it and later felt sick like hell. I am off fried chicken for a while now. Same thing happened with me with fish & chips. I haven't had fish & chips in almost a year now.

6. Avoid carbonated drinks. Remember - each can of coke has 10 teaspoons of sugar in it. 10! TEN!! :O If you're the kind who uses carbonated drinks as a substitute for water (I have a few cousins who do), wean off it slowly. Use alternatives. If you hate Coke Lite, try Pepsi Max. Believe me, it actually tastes better than Pepsi original. But artificial sweeteners can be carcinogenic so you getta get off the shit for good.

7. There are other invisible sources of sugar, such as tea and coffee. If you're addicted to these drinks, start cutting down the sugar in them. I have stopped drinking milk tea (because they make it with condensed milk here). Now I drink only mint tea when extremely sleepy at work with half the amount of sugar that I used to put into my milk tea earlier.

8. When you have your meals, don't eat till your stomach is completely full. Leave some space in your stomach. Fill it only upto 75%. This also helps proper digestion.

9. Boycott lifts. Climb up stairs. If you live on the 25th floor, climb up 6 floors and then take the lift. I often climb up to the canteen on the 6th floor in my office building and climb down without buying anything.

10. Run. There's nothing quite like running to lose those extra kilos. I ran 6 rounds of the 400-m track in university every night for six months, and lost many many kgs. (I also broke my knee because of the running but I'll save that story for another day.) Actually, I kinda hate running. So I was very happy when the doctor told me that running is not good for my 'bad knee'. Yeay! (Ahem, I make up for it by walking a lot.)

11. If you don't like to get sweaty and smelly by exercising, you could pick up swimming. Swimming is a great way to tone the entire body without getting all hot and sweaty. Though I swim like a dog - I never put my head under water - but who wants to enter the Olympics anyway?

12. If you're the kind who hates to exercise, find a friend and pick up a game and play regularly. That way, you stay fit without the so called "exercising" part. The moment I move to the east, I am picking up badminton again.

13. The gym is a great place to work on individual body parts. If you don't have access to a gym, you could always do exercises at home. Crunches are a great way to trim the tummy.

14. If you're wondering why you're not losing weight even though you don't drink any carbonated drinks or have fried foods, the culprit is carbs. Reduce your carbs intake. I know a guy who tucked in his tummy fully just by halving the amount of rice he ate. Rice, white bread, potatoes are all high in carbs. Ask for less rice when you eat out. If you notice, when you order rice at a food court, they do not look at your body size or gender before serving you the portion. It's the same for everyone. There has to be something wrong with this system, isn't it?

15. Opt for wholemeal options. Brown bread over white bread. Atta over maida. Fibre fills you up so you eat less of other (fattening) food, and it also keeps your digestive system in good order.

16. Drink loads of water. I don't know the mechanics but apparently it keeps the body in shape.

17. Take time to chew your food. Gobbling it down will not satisfy your appetite properly, and will also lead to poor digestion. Enjoy each bite and you will find yourself full and satisfied with less.

18. Contrary to popular belief (in Singapore, the only Indian food the locals are familiar with are biryani, prata and naan!), Indian food can be extremely healthy. Take the humble chapati for example. High fibre, zero oil, and it can serve as a wrap for incredibly delicious and healthy fillings.

19. Beware of something called 'mental hunger' - which makes you finish off a whole packet of potato wafers by yourself on an already full stomach. 'Mental hunger' is a disorder mostly caused by either heartbreak and boredom. If you suffer from the former, remember that the one who broke your heart should be the one turning into a slab of butter, not you. As for the latter, there are SO many things to do in the world that it is virtually impossible for us to get bored.

Good luck to those who intend to follow this. If any of this works for you, do drop me a note. And if you have other tips, please feel free to use the comments space.

The best part of doing all this is that once in a while, you can guiltlessly INDULGE! Dhaakki tiki! :D

Hit and miss

Hi,

So you're back.

Where had you been, you dhakkan? I missed you. A little bit.

Hope your trip was good. Thanks a lot for not being in touch while you were away. No, I am not being sarcastic. Sometimes I really need phases when I pretend that you don't exist. Perhaps this is what they call a love-hate relationship. Hit and miss.

You're back at a good time. My new semester started this week. A lot has happened in your absence. My days are getting full again.

Monday night: Language class
Tuesday night: Dissertation meeting/dissertation writing
Wednesday night: Campaign Design class
Thursday night: Public Communication Strategies class

All this with a fulltime job on the side. A friend said I am being too harsh on myself. Another said I may have signed up for more than I can handle. They're partly right, but you know me. I don't want to allow myself to slacken because of my strong belief that the human body and mind take no time to turn into instant slobs of fat and laziness respectively if you don't run a tight ship. We're just bull-shitting ourselves when we think we're too busy with stuff. There's always time for everything. If we really want to do something, that is.

So yes, I run a tight ship of discipline in my life.

But the truth is - without you I probably won't be able to do as much as I am doing now. Without your encouragement and support, things won't look as effortless to the world as they do. I am amazed at the fact that you're still around me. In spite of me. Sometimes I feel I'm being selfish. I slam you about how much you annoy me, and make fun of you on my blog every now and then. In spite of all that, I want you to know that I do appreciate your presence in my life.

And the fact that you respect my need for your absence at times.

Thank you for leaving me alone.
Thank you for coming back to me.

I guess we have a really strange relationship. But I do know that I probably wouldn't be me if you were not you.

You complement me. And so I decided that for a change, I should compliment you.

Just a couple of talents

I watched Vishal Bhardwaj's Omkara on Sunday. And no, I am not going to review it here. (Damn, I read too many reviews before going for the movie, and now everything's all messed up in my head, making me unable to arrive at my own review of the movie.)

Instead, I am going to talk about something that caught my ear while watching the movie.

Laakad jalke koyla hoye jaaye
Koyla hoye jaaye khaak
Jiya jaley toh kuchh na hoye re
Na dhuan na raakh

("Wood burns to form coal
Coal burns to form ashes
A burning heart forms nothing
Neither smoke nor ashes.")

I sat up. That voice was immensely beautiful, and it added that x-factor to the song that made it mind-blowingly soulful. So after the movie ended, I went to check up who'd sung it, and it turns out the singer is someone called Rekha Bhardwaj. At once, I googled to find out the connection between Vishal Bhardwaj and Rekha Bhardwaj, and turns out my suspicion was right - they are indeed husband and wife.

Having had a not-so-good impression of music directors who try to give their spouses' failing careers a lift by giving them a break in their albums (Anyone remember the 'Jab nahin aaye they tum' song in the album 'Dev' directed by Aadesh Shrivastava? It was sung by his wife Vijeta Pundit -- the actress with a very innocent looking Kumar Gaurav in 'Love story' -- and sank without a trace), I was very much taken in by how extremely talented Rekha Bhardwaj is. The last I remember being this impressed by the magic of someone's voice was when I'd heard Shreya Ghoshal in Jism.

There's no doubt Vishal is extremely talented. I've been a big fan since his Machis days. I even felt that swayam Lata Mangeshkar did not do justice to his 'Pani pani re'. Not only is he a remarkable music director, he's shown his skills in movie-making too. And then I heard another stunner of a song 'O sathi re' from Omkara and found out that he was the male lead in it. I nearly fell on the floor in shock because he gives such perfect company to Shreya Ghoshal in the song, you'd think it's a seasoned singer. In fact, I'm having a tough time trying to decide whether I like his voice more or Rekha's.

Gosh, so much talent in one household, it almost makes me faint with admiration.

This also reminds me of another mind-blowingly talented couple. Javed Akhtar and Shabana Azmi. Two years ago, when I was young(er) and (more) foolish, I camped outside the Grand Hyatt to catch a glimpse of the Bollywood stars who were in Singapore for the IIFA awards. I was there for a few days, at really unearthly hours, and I caught most of them on camera, albeit a bit shaky because of other young and foolish fans who kept shoving and pushing each other. Security was tight, and we were not allowed to go close to the stars.

Suddenly I spotted Javed Akhtar near the hotel entrance. Surprisingly, no one was making a big fuss over him. I suspect no one really recognised him. Shabana was standing a few steps behind him. I yelled out his name. He looked at me and gave me a smile for my camera. But I wanted the 'perfect shot' of the 'perfect couple'. I gathered courage and motioned to him to call Shabana too. What cheek! He could have easily done the 'Photo lena hai toh le, warna chal chal hawa aane de' but he actually motioned me to wait, and turned back to call her. She came forward, he put his arm around her shoulder and posed again. When the crowd saw Shabana, they started screaming and she started to wave everywhere. But Javed waved only to me. I was so floored by his gesture I almost dropped my camera.















The shot came out really shaky because of the moron behind me, who had precariously balanced himself on the artificial rocks near the Grand Hyatt's fountain, and in an attempt not to fall into the fountain, decided to use my shoulders as an anchor. Bhai ko hila dala kambakht ne. :|

I did not come back with my 'perfect shot', but I was floored by Javed's humility. No wonder his lyrics are so earthy -- the man is earthy himself. In spite of being Javed Akhtar.

And for the first time, the very idealistic muhavra we'd learnt in school made sense.

"Ped par jitne zyada phal hote hain, woh utna hi zyada jhukta hai."

The more fruits a tree has, the lower it bows.

Sayesha's theory of (r)evolution

This post may come across as random and weird, but it's the amalgamation of many things that I have been pondering over for the last few days. This blog post is a post about my blog.

I was watching the SATC episode where Charlotte defines 'great love' as 'a love that shakes your core, and changes you forever'. Carrie professes in the end of that episode that if it was true that each person only got one great love in a lifetime, New York would be hers. I do not believe in only one great love, or only one soulmate. We connect with different people on different levels, and we should have the freedom to not let ourselves be restricted by the boundaries of the so called 'one great love'.

When I first started blogging, I didn't have the slightest idea about the kind of impact it was about to have on me, and the way it would change me forever, in terms of how I see other people and myself. So going by Charlotte's definition, I guess blogging would be one of my great loves.

And just like a first date, my initial blogging experience was rather awkward, punctuated by spasms of silence. I did not know what to blog about, how to blog. Hell, I did not even know why I was blogging! I did not know how to handle my anonymity. I did not know whether to keep my blog life completely independent of my real life. Though 90% of my blog readers do not know me in my real life, there are some who do. They have respected my anonymity and I respect them for that.

In my early blogging days, I thought I would make a list of blog rules. I thought I would keep my blog away from my parents so that they never see the un-pretty side of my life and get all worked up. I would never blog from office. I would never put up my pictures. I would never blog about certain things and certain people. I would blog only for myself and never indulge in any tag-blogging. I would never interact with bloggers outside my blog. But somewhere along the way, these rules got blurred. The more I blogged, the more vague the rules became. I reached a point where I realised that there was no point to having any cast-in-stone blog rules.

This blog has evolved. From being a place where I wrote down thoughts and incidents, to a place where I hang out with my blog friends. Blog friends - now that's a strange term. I used to think that you cannot make friends on your blog. And even if you do, they can never be as close to you as your real life friends are. I used to think that your closest friends are those whom you meet on a regular basis, those who live in the same place as you. But I have found friends through my blog whom I'm very close to, sometimes closer than the friends I meet on a regular basis. Of course, it has not always been pleasant, and even though I have made many many blog friends, along the way I have lost a few too. But one thing I am glad about is that I have not lost faith in blog friendships altogether.

When you have a thought, and you put it out there under readers' and commentators' scrutiny, there's a lot that could happen. You could see a totally different viewpoint, something so convincing that it changes your views forever. You could have a lively and intelligent debate. You could see a loophole in your argument. You could get validation for your theory. And you could get judged.

Truth is - we love to judge others. It makes us feel better about ourselves, and in spite of knowing that we don't like being judged, we still go ahead and judge everyone and everything around us. But lately I've started cultivating this teeny-weeny belief in my heart, that prolonged exposure to blogging makes us less judgemental. I strongly believe that my blog has made me a better person than I was because today I can stand up and admit that in the past I'd judged certain (the keyword being 'certain', please do not flood me with queries on whether I judged you any time and how) bloggers, just as they'd judged me. And that I don't do it anymore, at least not to the extent that I did before. It's difficult for us to completely stop judging others, but I am making a conscious effort not to, and here are some of my success stories.

#Blogger 1, I judged you because you added google ads on your blog. I was appalled at your attempt to make money out of blogging. But I am more mature and less judgemental now, and I have learnt that there is no predefined use of a blog. How I view blogging is not how you view it. One can use a blog for anything, and earning money is just one of them. So even though I refuse to put google ads on my blog, I am glad that today I do not judge those that do.

#Blogger 2, I judged you, because I thought you were materialistic and superficial and whiney. But after interacting with you, I realised that try as you may to put on a bitchy front on your blog, underneath all that is a heart of gold which holds no malice for anyone. And I am glad that I don't think you're putting on a front anymore, because the person who talks to me, and the person who writes the posts, is still you. I tried to fit you into a bracket, and I shouldn't have.

#Blogger 3, I judged you because I thought you were a fake blogger who was writing for others. But now I think that I was just jealous that you were getting 200 comments per post, and I wasn't. And I am glad that I have reached the phase where yes, I feel happy that people read my blog, but I do not keep count of comments. And frankly speaking, I don't think I can handle that kinda volume because I still want to be able to reply to each one of them.

#Blogger 4, I judged you because you did not stand by me at a moment when I thought I would find a friend. But then I realised that by not standing by me, you were standing by someone else. Perhaps you were doing what you thought was right, and so was I. When I was judging you for not being a friend, maybe that's exactly what you were doing - being a friend. To someone else, but it does not matter. I am glad that though my expectations from you went down, my friendship and respect for you is still the same. And it made me a lot wiser about expectations in general.

#Blogger 5, I judged you because the person I knew you as, was so different from the blogger you were. In real life, you came across as cynical and negative, but in your blog, you talked of things like friendship and love and happiness, which I'd never heard you utter in all my days of interacting with you. But then I realised that whatever it may be, it was still you. Maybe it was my ill fortune that I had not seen this happy and emotional side of you. It was just a part of you I had never seen before, and now I accept and respect it without reservations.

#Blogger 6, I judged you because you never had a good thing to say about anyone or anything on your blog. You were so full of negativity that reading your blog made me feel negative. And then I figured that maybe it was your way to vent frustration. Maybe releasing all the negativity on your blog made you more positive in real life. Blogs are supposed to be therapeutic, isn't it? Maybe your blog was bringing you positivity, albeit in a non-conventional way. And I'm glad I was able to look at it that way.

And finally, my MACs. I have had my share of anonymous comments - some that complimented me and then immediately tried to sell me ceiling fans and university degrees. Some that did not compliment me before showering me with mean hateful comments. Some from people I don't know. Some from people I know. Some from people who think I don't know it was them. At first I did not know how to deal with such comments. I got flustered, angry that someone who didn't even know me was judging me. Then someone told me that I should take it as a compliment that someone cared enough for my blog and me, to hate the two of us. That someone bothered about my blog enough to come back and check my reply to his/her comment, and then again to read my next post. I was also told that maybe I was taking the comments - both the bouquets and the brickbats - too seriously. I agree, I think I did. But I am glad that while I have stopped taking the malicious comments seriously, I have not reached the stage where I dismiss the bouquets too. When someone actually takes time to tell you something nice about you or your blog, you don't say "Bah!". You acknowledge it and feel grateful for it because in our world, appreciation is hard to come by. As for malice, there's plenty out there in the world, and so yes, we should not make a big deal out of it. And I'm glad that in those times of frustration, I did not stoop to the level of leaving malicious anonymous comments on anyone's blog. Because such comments seriously don't deserve any attention.

Some time ago, I renamed my blog from 'Sayesha's world' to 'Sayesha's bar'. Just for fun, for a change. I changed it back within a day. Because Sahil asked me to. Sahil, my blog friend who knows this blog like no one else does. Is mehfil ka purana diljala I call him. He said it didn't sound right, and I knew he was right. My blog is not a bar by itself, it's a bar because of the bewdas here. Without them, it would just be me standing along in this place hurling bottles and glasses in the air, and not quite catching them. This place is still 'Sayesha's world'. It becomes a bar only when the bewdas make their way in. And then something changes in the air, everything becomes happy. Lively. So maybe my blog has changed then. It has evolved from something that was only mine, into something I am happy to share.

Just like people, blogs do not stay the same forever. Other blogs change them, people change them. From being 'random ramblings' and 'mundane musings' and 'soul searches', they can become much more. They can be defined, and redefined along the way, in whichever way the blogger wants. That really is the beauty of blogging, isn't it?

So maybe that's what it is. Maybe I don't need to rack my brain and try to figure out so much about how and why I blog, or bother about judgements, or make so many rules. The important thing is to remember all the happiness, friendships, love and positive vibes that the blog brings into my life - and continue to blog for that.

I used to think that my life revolves around my blog.

I was wrong.

The truth is - my life evolves around my blog.

Laugh-ology mein first, baki sab mein fail

In the last few days, I had been observing how people express amusement over something through words. I even observed my own replies to commentators when they write something funny. I realised that I don't use the same words to denote laughter every time. I guess we laugh in different ways, depending on the context and the person. So I made the following list - my laughing 'stock' - in a state of blissful joblessness. It does not include descriptions of laughter such as 'LOL' and 'ROFL', but the actual laughter itself.

Hahaha!
This is the regular one, used by almost everyone, including me.

Muahahahaha!
This is possibly the best portrayal of evil laughter. I believe I saw it first in an email that my friend Arch had sent me, and I kinda imagine Ramanand Sagar's Ravan laughing like that with his head thrown back, and his hands on his hips. However, Vikram and World Gal have been fighting over ownership rights for some time now. We will let you know once a consensus is reached.

Khi khi khi
Of course, the one and only Virdi came up with this rather silly laughter, which has now become something that apparently guys are not ashamed to use anymore. And oh, ROS and Jane quickly caught on and have been using this quite regularly.

Bwahahahaha!
Saw this in an email sent by my friend Surreal Reality years and years ago. It struck me as weird and strange and very very appealing. But I still claim rights to the other form of it.

Hooo haaa!
My dear friend Hitler's Soul used it first when he got gold on my Kindies post. Very unique laughter methinks. I have never seen it since.

Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha
My friend Mavj is famous for her neverending 'Hahahas' in her emails. The longer they go on for, the longer they make me laugh, even if what she'd been laughing at wasn't so funny.

Heh!
This was something a Singaporean friend of mine in uni days used to write. At first I thought he was being sarcastic. Or as if the person started laughing and choked midway. I only found out years later, when my colleague Bananapen started using it in her emails, that it's also a way of expressing amusement.

Kekeke!
I first saw this in an email from a colleague. I emailed her back to ask if she'd just abused me in mandarin. I have still not figured out how one can laugh like that.

Har har har!
This is also something I encountered only in Singapore. I still can't seem to fit it into a category, or figure out how it is different from 'Hahaha'. The only 'har har' I knew was in 'Har har Mahadev'.

Hehehehehe!
I used to associate this with lecherous villains in Bollywood movies of the late 70s, because this particular laughter used to emanate whenever they had cornered the hapless heroine. Also something millionaires in the same movies used to say to their guests while accepting presents at a party. "Hehehe, iski kya zaroorat thi, Guptaji?" But lately, it's been associated with any kinda slightly embarrassed laughter.

Ha ha ha!
A friend of mine told me he will settle for nothing less than Angelina Jolie and I said, "To be close to her, you either have to be a Cambodian orphan or Brad Pitt. Which one are you?" His reply was "Ha ha ha!" Now I'd never seen this kind of spaced-out laughter before. I could almost see his tears filling up the spaces between the 'Ha's. Something like what Aamir did in Andaaz Apna Apna in the restaurant when he found out the truth about the Raveena/Kareena mystery.

Ahahahahahahaha!
I first saw this when I was talking to my cousin Sid on yahoo. I figured he was laughing so hard that he pressed 'A' before pressing 'H'. I encounter it now and then when Chapaat comment on my blog. Every time I see it, it reminds me of someone singing some shashtriya sangeet, and the guru saying "Ahahaha, kya sur hai, kya aawaaz hai."

Hiak hiak!
An editor in my team writes this in her emails. And it's funnier because I can actually imagine her laughing like that! A variation would be 'hyuk hyuk' which I have seen around too.

So tell me, what's your laughter like?

Ride and prejudice

When I was three, Dad did not have a car. He used to transport us - Mom, sis and me - around on a giant black motorcycle. I don't even know which brand it was. Whatever was "the family motorcycle" in the early eighties I suppose. You can't even call those things 'motorbikes'. Nothing less than 'motorcycle' would do.

My Mom and sis would sit on the back seat, and I would be perched in front (was that the petrol tank?) Dad was the only one with the helmet, the rest of us would be bindaas helmet-less. And I loved it. I would wish for days when Mom and Sis did not accompany us. I would get to sit on the back seat and be ferried all over town, going 'WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE'. :D

For someone who was freaked out by rollercoasters, this was my personal (and very safe, if I may add) roller-coaster ride in the gentle and trusted hands of none but Dad.

After Dad got his car, the motorcycle rides became history. Once in a while I'd remember them and get all nostalgic. I would watch the Bollywood hunks on their sexy black bikes and ooh-aah about them for days. Anyone remember Sunny Deol in shades cruising along on that black bike in Jeet? Of course he spoilt it all later by doing the 'Yara-o-yara-I-can't-start-my-scooter' dance with Karishma Kapoor in clown pants. But as far as I was concerned, men on bikes were still hot.

Then I came to Singapore and heard/read about the perils of motorbike riding. My own classmate in university and his pillion rider were seriously injured when his bike skidded on a rainy night. He was hospitalised and missed an exam. One of my juniors had a bike accident on the highway. As time passed, I became more and more prejudiced against bikes.

Recently, my temp flatmate mentioned that he wanted to get a bike. He changed his mind later. The fact that I'd said, "Bikes are dangerous dangerous things! If you buy one, I will not let you into the house." had nothing to do with it.

It's true. In Singapore, motorbikes are probably the most dangerous vehicles to be on. Like a friend of mine and I joked, "Riding a bike in Singapore is dangerous. The roads are too smooth. At least in India, the dirt on the roads provides the friction."

I'd resolved to myself - I'm never getting on one of those things again! Bikes are dangerous! Dangerous!

So coupla weeks ago, I faced quite a dilemma when I met a friend for dinner and he offered to drop me home on his bike. Now as a rule, I refuse to sit in vehicles that do not balance by themselves. But to be out on a fast bike on the Singapore highway at night sounded like a thrilling and fabulous offer.

"Really??" I asked him when he said "I'll drop you home?"
I think I had the exact same expression that I had when my Marketing Manager told me he wants to send me to Pakistan. Utter fear mixed with utter excitement.

I'd even forgotten how to sit on a bike, and I had to ask him where I was supposed to place my feet. I held on to him for dear life as his bike zoomed on the highway. In my head I was going 'WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE' all over again!!!! :D

We reached my place, I got off and removed my helmet. If this were a movie, I'd have done a post-helmet-removal-hair-shake-routine a la Rani Mukherjee in Ghulam. He asked me if I was okay. I told him I was. In fact, I was more than okay. I was very thrilled. My feet were still vibrating to the tune of the bike's engine, and they continued to do so for the next half an hour.

So a few days ago, I was excitedly relating my bike adventure to a friend.

She - "You were on a bike??" *shocked expression*

Me - "Yeah!" *proud expression*

She - "On the highway??" *shocked expression*

Me - "Yeah!" *proud expression*

She - "Do you know how dangerous that is?? Do you know that pillion riders are the first to die??"

It was at this point in time that we traded expressions.

Now this particular friend of mine is my 'Sayesha's guide to Singapore'. (Yes yes, in spite of my 8 years here, anything she says about Singapore is my paththar ki lakeer.) She was right. No matter how careful a motorist you are, one small mistake by another person can cost you your life.

Errrmm... I'm so glad I didn't die that night.

Okay, that's it. I'm never getting on one of those things again! Bikes are dangerous! Dangerous!

Except maybe when they're on the highway at night?

Then they are just... WHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! :D

We had chemistry

When you're the MC of your company's book launch, you pretty much have to sit through the full proceedings, even if it includes what promises to be an incredibly boring chemistry lecture by the author of the book being launched.

And then you're suddenly suprised at the fact that you not only sat up and listened, but you actually enjoyed the talk.

So as I stood there in the Grand Hyatt ballroom and read out that the author had been a chemistry teacher for 30 years, my eyes nearly popped out. I have the greatest respect for teachers and housewifes... errr... homemakers if I may. I think they undergo the greatest sacrifices ever. I can never do what they do. My mom gave up a university lecturer's job so that she could stay home and bring up the susheel and sanskari tapori that I, ahem, turned out to be.

I must pause here to bow to all homemakers and teachers before I proceed with my post.

So this author was relating hilarious incidents from his chemistry lab (he teaches in Malaysia) that involved titillating tales of titration and what not. And I was suddenly flung back in time to my chemistry lab in my school days. My tapori gang days.

We had a very fierce chemistry teacher at first, Mr. B., who left the school shortly after I joined. (I swear I had nothing to do with it.) He was the kind who would not allow you into the lab if you forgot your lab coat. And guys of my class would love to "forget" their lab coats, so that they'd be kicked out of the lab and could go play football in the school field, and find me later to copy my notes. We girls, on the other hand, loved the lab coats. We pretended to be dainty doctors busy in a hospital. Mental hospital. Of course.

Mr. B. would be ultra-hyper during salt analysis. "Be careful with that sulphuric acid! Warna... na kapda bachega na chamda!" He'd snarl and we'd secretly laugh into our conical flasks.

However, on rainy days, the guys would "remember" to bring their lab coats and join us in the practical classes. There was this one guy who heated conc. sulphuric acid till it splattered on to my friend's lab coat. We watched in wonder as the small hole on her lab coat became bigger and bigger. Mr. B. screamed, "Kya hua?" and one of the guys answered back, "Sir, kapda toh gaya, chamda bach gaya."

The guys would write names in alcohol on the wooden benches and light up one end. "Dekh, Sayesha, you have a deewana!" They'd say. Once, someone's lab coat actually caught fire. As usual, Sir asked, "Now what happened??" Someone yelled out again, "Dahej hatya, sir! Bride burning!" The toughest part of chemistry practicals was to control the urge to laugh.

Soon, Mr. B left and Chemu joined us. (I'd mentioned Chemu again in one of my favourite posts.) Chemu was very fun, more easy-going and ready to laugh with us at our stupid jokes. But he knew that the guys were up to no good. Before the practical exams, he called my friend R and me to his lab. We delightedly rushed up thinking that he was going to give exam tips to his two favourite students.

"Girls, I need your help."

"With what, sir?"

"I was setting the practical exam questions, and when I tried out the analysis, nothing worked. Do you know why?"

"Why, sir?"

"Because of the morons in your class, that's why! The buggers have replaced many of the chemicals with water, and mixed up others and diluted others, and switched labels, and I am going crazy. When solutions don't turn pink or red when they're supposed to, the morons come to me and say, "Sir, this doesn't work!" And when I say "What nonsense, of course it works!" and try it out myself, it doesn't! I am very frustrated!"

We were speechless with shock and disgust. Mainly because the guys had not included us in the prank.

"So I have decided to throw away all the solutions, and make them again. Obviously, I cannot do it by myself and you two are the only students I trust." (Yes yes, besides being the Bhai, I was 'that girl'.)

So we spent that afternoon replacing all the solutions and relabelling the bottles. During the exams, when all the tests worked fine, the guys looked puzzled while Chemu walked around with a permanent grin on his face. R and I pretended to know nothing.

To take revenge on the guys, we girls started keeping secrets from them too. I remember sometimes when we would be trying to test whether a chemical was acetone or not, we'd smell it first (not advisable!) and then see if we could remove nail polish with it (not advisable!). If we could, we'd conclude that it was acetone and not do any of the actual tests for it. But we could BS like pros and so our reports looked fabulous. The acetone secret was eventually leaked out to the boys (damn teenage romances!). So they'd come to us with random chemicals and say, "Yeh haath mujhe de de thakur, nail polish nikalna hai!" and we'd be like "Nonsense! What if it's conc. sulphuric acid instead of acetone?" They'd say, "Phir kapda rahega lekin chamda nahin. Ha ha ha!" and laugh like hyenas at their own joke. We'd glare at them in disgust and refuse to help.

Does anyone remember this gas called H2S? A real stinker it was! During salt analysis, if we told Chemu that we wanted to test the salt by passing H2S through its solution, he'd get up to set up (hey that rhymed!) the apparatus for producing H2S himself. He hated the smell. We all hated it. But the guys just loved to see the look of disgust on Chemu's face when he'd be collecting the gas. And it would stink up the school so bad, the classes next to the lab would start closing their doors and windows.

During exams, if there was a salt analysis question, and we'd tell Chemu that we wanted to test with H2S, he'd mutter under his breath "H2S?? Offfo! H2S kyun chahiye?" Each time he said that, we took it as a hint that the salt did not need the H2S test, and we would eventually figure out what salt it was.

Chemu's reactions actually helped us skip a few reactions.

I was overjoyed when some time ago, when I found these morons from my chemistry lab on the net. Internet ki jai ho! And we had one mega yahoo conference. After 8 long years. It was so strange and yet funny, the way they were trying to test me. My school school gang members saying "We wanna see ki tu Singapore jaakar badal gayi kya."

So they shot a million questions at me.

"Wahan Singapur mein Bhaigiri karti hai kya?"
"Bhai, long time no see... tumhaare bina idhar apun log ke gang ka kya waat lagela hai maloom hai?"
"Bhai...ye kya haal bana liya hai apna?? pehchaan hi mein nahi aa rahi ho yaar..bhaigiri chhod k behngiri chalu ho gaya kya??? Tera photo dekhkar mann dol raha hai."
"Tu waapas India aayegi?"
"Tu shaadi kab karegi?"
"Tum aisa kahan underground hua baitha hai?"
"Koi naya gang toh nahin form kar liya wahan?"

I read their questions, and I laughed and cried at the same time as I answered them. It was only when I mentioned 'The quarry' that they said "Humne socha tha tu badal gayi hogi, lekin tujhe sab kuchh yaad hai." The quarry was a secret place that we'd all gone to, right after the board exams, just before we were all headed in different directions in life. It was a quiet place with huge rocks to climb and sit on. And we all just sat there, no one saying a word. No tapori language, no bhaigiri, no jokes, no leg-pulling. We just sat there in silence. The air was heavy with the fact that I was leaving forever, and you know how bad guys are with goodbyes. I could sense that they were all getting quite emotional, but I did not want to be the first to break down.

I was still the Bhai after all. And Bhais don't cry.