Sari for the inconvenience

So it was a friend's wedding dinner last weekend and I decided to wear a sari. It was the first time after the wedding (and the subsequent celebrations) that I was wearing a sari.

My tryst with the sari started on a serious level a few days before my wedding, when I did a few practice rounds to ensure I wouldn't stumble and fall at the mandap. Once I got the hang of it, I decided to put myself through the ultimate test - to go shopping in a sari! Success!

By the wedding day, I was a pro at wearing a sari in five minutes flat and keeping it on in the exact state for a couple of hours. But my worst sari ordeal was the one I faced right after the wedding. And when I say right after the wedding, I really mean right after the wedding, like an hour! We had to go to the marriage registration office and get registered because we were leaving the next day and there were a few procedures to be completed before we could get the certificate, such as going to the studio and getting the wedding photo to submit for the registration. So here I was, 35 kg excess - in my sari, red & gold dupatta and gold jewellery, running across the crazy streets of Cuttack from one office to another with Viv, his dad, my cousin and my extremely adventurous Singaporean friend Starbreez who - high on Indian food - had clearly gone out of her mind and decided to accompany us to the many government offices that we had to run to.

On the roads, I got stared at like anything, cos the sight we presented was clearly a case of one of the following:

1. Girl running away from her own wedding
2. Guy and girl running away to get married
3. Shooting of some stupid TV serial

Now and then I'd pause to check that all my jewellery had not fallen off. I realised that I should have left some of it behind (I'd still look like a bride in the studio photo without six of the seven gold necklaces, wouldn't I?) but it was too late to be thinking about it. Luckily, all the practice I'd had held me well as I dashed across the roads weaving in and out of the traffic like a sari-wearing superhero. In fact, if there was a sari marathon, I think I'd be a strong contender! Provided of course, all moms and aunts are ineligible to enter.

After going back and forth between the same offices (government offices in India... sigh...) we were finally done. My worst sari ordeal was over and we were back in the car and heading home, armed with the marriage certificate. The jewellery was driving me nuts by then, and I took off some and passed them to Starbreez, who cleverly hid them in a secret pocket in her - guess what? - hat, of all things! So we went home, me in a sari and Starbreez with a load of gold perched on her head. If I wasn't a new bride, I'd have laughed my lungs out.

I jumped into the shower as soon as I reached my room, so I could get ready for part 2 of the wedding - the reception. My reception sari was even heavier with all the gold embroidery, but luckily all I had to do was stand there and join my hands to greet the hundreds of people I'd never seen in my life before. What a contrast to the daytime drama. Sari-superheroine by day, demure bride by night. Those who watch 'Goodness Gracious Me' would know why I'm ROFLing at the thought.

And I paused to think about the sari and all the troubles and inconveniences associated with it. There is so much thinking and logistics that go into what you thought was a mere 5.5-metre piece of cloth! First, it needs two other pieces of clothing of the exact same colour in order to be worn. Oh oh, almost forgot the sari 'fall' that needs to be stitched on to the sari before you can wear it. Not to mention that bangles and bindi must also be readily available otherwise it's no good. It is expensive, heavy and difficult to fold. Then there are the pleats, which can't be done perfectly without having another person around. Then there's the anchal, and you just don't know what to do with it. If you pin it all up on your shoulder a la Indian Airlines airhostess, you're safe. But if you don't have fab abs, you may want to avoid that, and rest one edge of the anchal on your left arm, in which case your anchal can't be its usual length, because you would just trip and fall. Worse, if it your sari is not chiffon or other such clingy material, you also have to watch out for unintentional poofing up of certain parts of the sari, giving you a very pregnant look, which somehow gets magnified in photographs! Going to the toilet can be a problem, even if you tell yourself that it's just a long skirt. The after toilet-look of the sari can be quite Victorian. Then there are the safety-pins which are absolutely essential if you want to preserve your dignity. I personally use at least four pins to secure my sari. Then there's all the thinking you need to do if you decide to wear it to parties and other fancy occasions after your wedding. Now that I am married, will everyone think I'm the gharelu type if I turn up in a sari?

Fortunately for me, I do not have any such doubts.

To me, a sari is the most gorgeous outfit in the world, and in spite of everything, it's totally worth it. :)

The human mockingbird

Holy cow the man is a genius! :D


Video courtesy Azgar Khan

Kiwi-pedia

Dear bewdas,

Kia Ora! (Multi-functional greeting in Maori language that I picked up in new Zealand)

The bar is taking a break - lock, stock and barrel (quite literally! :P) - so I can devote some time to finish the mammoth task of writing my travelogue about my 2-week NZ road trip.

Cheers!
The bartender

Dude, you're screwed!

Viv often used to show me the various injuries his hands had sustained while playing cricket. It was true. His fingers did resemble the arms of a starfish - they looked like they were each headed in a different direction. Except for the little finger on his left hand, which was the only one that kinda looked normal.

So during last saturday's cricket practice, he decided to do something about it.

After practice, when he reported to me with the swollen hand, we rushed to the hospital. The x-ray confirmed that it was a fracture, but they did not put a cast on it. We were asked to go back on Monday to see the orthopaedic surgeon, in case surgery was required.

We were back in the hospital on Monday and saw Dr. Y, a sports injuries specialist, who confirmed that surgery would be required, and that he would need to put in some titanium screws and metal plates to hold the bones. He gave us a slot for the same day.

We went home to rest, and also to call the parents. It's strange how all moms of the world react in the same manner to news like this.

His mom - "Stop playing cricket!"
My mom - "Stop playing cricket!"

My mom (to me) - "Ask him to stop playing cricket! Yeh koi umar hai cricket khelne ki?"

Sheesh.

So I decided to go into my drama queen mode.

"Mom, what are you saying?? Viv plays for Singapore! Would you ask Tendulkar to stop playing because he got injured??"

Of course, Mom did not dare compare her son with her son-in-law. Yes, just like millions of other moms in India, my Mom too truly believes that Sachin Tendulkar is her son. And you thought three wannabe-dads vying for Anna Nicole Smith's baby was too much.

Anyway, we went back to the hospital in the afternoon, and they wheeled him away for the surgery at about 5 pm. I waited in the ward itself. At first, I paced the floor like an expectant father, then realised it was not only futile (the surgeon had told me that the procedure would take about one and a half hours, add to that the pre-surgery procedures and I had a solid 3-4 hours' wait ahead of me), it was also tiring. Plus, there was nothing to really worry about, Dr. Y was very experienced, and knew Viv's cricket buddies, and I was confident he would do a good job.

So I decided to look out of the window at the man who was sweeping the carpark. After watching him for half an hour, I realised it was not fun anymore. I looked around for other things to do. Not much was happening in the ward and the other patients were also kinda quiet. I actually started wishing I had Robin William's red clown-nose. Sheesh.

Fortunately, Viv's bed had a TV with about ten channels or so. Unfortunately, the speaker was attached to the bed. I could not have increased the volume without disturbing the other patients. The only way was to get into the bed and watch TV there. Of course, the bed was for the patient, but hey, I was the patient one here! Anyway, I decided not to do it, and watch it on mute instead. After a while, Ellen Degeneres and Tyra Banks mouthing blank words made no sense whatsoever, and I actually got irritated at the laughing audience cos I was left out of the jokes. Hmmph! :/

So I decided to switch it to a Malay channel because it had English subtitles. Some cookery show was going on, and this chick was trying to learn how to make minced meat from an old lady. After the minced meat was labouriously cooked, the chick said she wanted to make something too. Fish and chips. The old lady looked impressed. After she'd made the fish, the chick took out a pack of frozen chips and put them in to fry. Looking totally taken aback, the old lady paused and then politely asked, "You bought the frozen chips?" I'm sure she wanted to stress the 'bought' but she stressed the 'you' instead. Oh only I know how I controlled my laughter. The chick said, "Yes, I bought them. Actually I wanted to make the chips from scratch, but it is actually very difficult." This time I could not suppress my laughter, and the patient in front of me gave me a queer look.

This too, soon got incredibly boring. So I pulled out one of the pillows from the bed, put it on the chair, and sat down. It had been about two hours. What can I do now, I asked myself. I was feeling worried, but told myself that if my worrying could solve problems, I'd worry all night. But it couldn't. So I decided to while away time coming up with really bad jokes about his surgery to cheer him up.

Spiderman ishtyle - "Titanium man Titanium man, friendly neighbourhood Titanium man!"

Sunil Shetty ishtyle - "Yeh haath faulaad ke baney hain, faulaad ke!"

"Log kehte hain meri ungliyon mein jaadu hai, tumhari ungliyon mein kya hai? Titanium screws! Muahahaha!"

Bimbo ishtyle - "Darlin', I bought you titanium for your finger. Wouldn't you buy me platinum for mine? With some diamonds thrown in too?" *eyelash flutter flutter*

And finally, my favourite: "Dude, you're screwed!"

After the endless waiting, Dr. Y came to see me. He told me that the operation had gone off well, that he had to put in "a lot of screws" and that Viv was still under the effect of the anaesthesia. It's a bit scary when a surgeon uses imprecise words like "a lot of screws" but I had faith in Dr. Y so I did not panic too much.

Disclaimer: Posting the before and after pics of the x-ray images was Viv's idea, not mine. :/

Half an hour later, they finally brought Viv out of the operation theatre. His hand was bandaged all the way till his elbow, he was on IV and he looked incredibly drowsy. The nurse told him, "Try to sleep, okay? No talking." Hey, why did she look at me when she said that? It was not like I was gonna blabber. :/

"Nurse, if he sleeps now, what about his dinner? He hasn't had food or water since 11.30 am." Okay fine, I did blabber.

She gave me one of those looks that nurses give you when you say something that implies they're not doing their jobs well. "He will wake up for dinner, trust me he will." She said.

Fine. Just asking! Hmmmph! :/

Then she looked at him and said, "If you don't sleep now, you can't go home tomorrow!" Kinda reminded me of my kindergarten teacher, "Sayesha, if you don't stop shooting pencils around the class, you can't go home today!" So I decided not to tell him my treasure of bad jokes in case I got scolded by the nurse.

But it looked like he had something to say, even in that drugged state. Even though I tried to 'shhh' him with sheepish glances at the nurse, he still managed to smile and say the three magic words that made me smile too.

"Blog about this?"

Yehi hai right choice, baby!

Unsuspecting Aish is watching John Abraham on TV when her evil Masi creeps up on her with a hidden agenda.















Sash - Hi Aish!
Aish - Hi Masi, what's up?






















Sash - I have decided that I shall not be the only one in the family who's crazy about ghazals. So I'm gonna induct you into the club, okay? Even though I don't want to influence your likes, dislikes and choices, I want you to be exposed to ghazals and see for yourself how wonderful they are.

Aish - Sheesh. Considering that you have tied me up in the stroller, do I have a choice??

















Sash - Okay, I'll need to change the channel. Give me the remote control. We will start with watching Jagjit Singh. He's a really great artist. Of course, there's Ghulam Ali too, but we'll get there in time.

Aish - This is Jagjit Singh? Looks kinda old eh? Hmmm... I think I prefer John... Masi, does John sing ghazals?





















Sash - Shhh... listen to the lyrics... amazing eh?
Aish - Hmmm.... this is kinda... uhhh... slow and... errr... boring, what say?

















Aish - Masi said something like "guzzle"... I wonder when the guzzling part will happen...






















Aish - Maybe time will pass by faster if I count on my fingers... one... two... three...

















Aish - Sigh... Masi, what's the time? How much longer do we have to watch this?
Sash - Aish, stop counting! You'll offend him.





















Aish - Ooops! Sorry, Jaggu ji! Darn... I should be more discreet with my counting...
















Aish - eight... nine... and ten! All right, I'm outta fingers to count!
















Aish - That's it, I can't take it anymore! Enough is enough! Somebody snatch the remote control from that crazy woman and give it to me!!

It's sprayback time!

Once upon a time, someone sent me a forward with the picture of a baby whose entire face was covered with baby food. It was cute, but unlikely to happen, I thought. How on earth a small baby could get all that food all over her face was beyond me.

Till the day I watched my sister try to shove some gooey mushy stuff into Aish's mouth.

Aish is just getting started on semi-solids, and she makes no qualms about expressing how much she hates it. Her mealtimes have become family affairs, often spanning a few hours, and involving not just her immediate family, but second and third cousins of ours and the domestic helpers too. Everyone tries their hand to get her to eat, but she has all sorts of strategies to counter the situation.

You'd think it's an easy task. Just take some of the gooey mushy stuff in the carefully manufactured plastic spoon with rounded edges and gently place it in the little one's mouth, and she'll just gobble it up, right?

Wrong.

Then I decided to take matters (and the spoon) in my own hands, proclaiming, "Give me that, tum logon ko kuchh nahin aata hai!" What I did not expect were the miniature Karate moves that Aish had somehow mastered. A left hook to the spoon and a right uppercut to my elbow, and suddenly all the food that was once in the spoon had neatly landed on her forehead. Five spoonfuls later, she has food everywhere on her face except her mouth, closely resembling the baby in the forward I had received. This is actually a very funny sight, and everyone except my sister is amused.

After pleading and cajoling yielded no results, my sister came up with smarter tactics. She looked at Aish very very sternly and suddenly yelled in capital letters, "EAT OR I'LL GET VERY ANGRY!" I think she scared me more than she scared baby Aish.

"What's wrong with you?? Why are you yelling at the baby???" I yelled.

"Shhh... if I yell, it will scare her. If I scare her, she will cry. The moment she opens her mouth to cry, I will put the food in her mouth." She whispered, still maintaining the stern look.

Ah, clever.

"Arre wah! Tum toh uski hi nahin, hum sabki maa ho!" I proclaimed.

Meanwhile, Aish was looking a bit surprised, trying to figure out what the hell had happened to make her usually quiet mother scream like that.

"I'M REALLY VERY ANGRY, AISH!" My sister yelled again.

Bingo.

"Waaaaaaaaaa" went a visibly shaken Aish, and in went the spoon with the gooey mushy stuff.

For a second, Aish looked extremely surprised. Then in what was to become one of her trademark moves, "phooooooooooooooshh!" she sprayed all the food back at my sister, sending me into fits of laughter. Aish leaned back in her stroller with a smug look. And now her mother was the one resembling the baby in the forward.

My exasperated sister looked at me helplessly and asked (this time in lowercase letters), "Sayesha, why doesn't she eat???"

Erm... it was of course a rhetorical question, wasn't it? Surely she didn't expect me to know why baby Aish refused to eat, right?

But I looked at my sister guiltily. Cos deep in my heart, I knew. That I was kinda responsible for Aish's disagreement with food in general.

Damn I should never have pointed out babe Aish's hot bod in Dhoom 2 to baby Aish.

The sum of all fears

"So are you gonna bungy jump??" Many people asked us when they found out we were going on a holiday to New Zealand.

My reply to them would be one of my many views on bungy jumping.

"What?? Bungy jump?? Are you crazy??"

"Oh I can't jump because of a medical condition. It's called 'I dun wanna bungy jump!'"

"Why would anyone in their right minds carry out such a suicidal act?? Why why why??"

"Why on earth would I want to plummet headfirst 30-40 metres down a canyon suspended only by a rubber cord??"

"I don't think people consciously take the bungy plunge. It's more like -- when they stand up there and look down, they faint at the sight, slip and fall down, and are brought back to consciousness when their heads get dunked in the water."

"Only people who are completely out of their minds would do something as crazy as bungy jumping."

Hmmm... I guess that last sentence just about explains us in the picture below.

Camera-dearie

Bhai's whereabouts: Bhai's left Mumbai after chomping on gazillions of pani puris and is now on a road trip somewhere in New Zealand.

I've been wanting to upgrade my digital camera for quite some time. And finally I did it. Errrmm... not in the way I intended to, but I did it nevertheless.

Ladies and gentlemen, presenting Smart Sayesha's 7-step camera upgrade plan:

Step 1: Plan trip to Puri beach with family and friends.
Step 2: Place digital camera in purse.
Step 3: Smartly place bottle of sunscreen too into aforementioned purse.
Step 4: In car on the way back, ensure sunscreen bottle magically opens/cracks and sunscreen spills out such that every nook and corner of digital camera, including battery compartment and USB port, is filled with a gooey white liquid. If necessary, sit on purse to carry this out effectively.
Step 5: Examine camera to check that it is indeed permanently damaged. Express shock. Attempt to hold back tears.
Step 6: Between tears, show camera to Viv and let him examine it. When he shakes his head and hands the camera back, yell "What kind of an engineer are you??? You can't even repair a digicam???" Remember to conveniently forget that you are an engineer too. Electronics at that. Wince as he takes revenge by gleefully relating to her friends the story of "How Sayesha ruined her digicam".
Step 7: Bid tearful goodbye to old cam and buy new cam for NZ trip.

Shabash Sayesha, kya dimaag dikhaya! Sheesh! :/

On the brighter side, with 2 GBs of memory in the new camera, Hopscotch's gonna be hopping real high when I return to Singapore in end Feb! :)

Khare pani re

Note: I've been getting a lot of emails and comments asking me when my wedding is. Errr... well... the wedding's kinda over. If you're shocked, it's great news, cos it just proves Bhai hasn't changed. Muahahaha! :D
(Errrm... perhaps I should wait a few more days before going muahaha. Bhai's gotta maintain the bridal demure behaviour for a few days at least. Ahem.)

So my parents and mamaji were discussing the menu for the wedding reception dinner when they called me.

"Sayesha, would you like to add anything to the menu?" They asked me.

"Err... can we have pani puri?" I asked. Two of my friends were coming from Singapore to attend my wedding, and I really really wanted them to try pani puri. The problem was that unlike Indians who have lived amidst pollution and germs, foreigners' stomachs don't quite take to roadside pani puri the way ours' do. So my plan was - mineral water pani puri at the wedding! Muahahaha! :D Oops.

"You want pani puri?? Really??" They looked serious.

"Errr... yeah, is it possible?" I asked hesitatingly, not quite sure if the bride-to-be could provide input for the reception dinner.

They burst out laughing.

"Of course we're including a pani puri stall. It's your wedding, after all!"

Phew.

So at the reception, as I tried my best to look demure in the 35-kg sari and an equal mass of gold jewellery on me, smiling and greeting hundreds of people I'd never seen in my life, I got kinda hungry. Hungry for pani puri actually. But the guests kept arriving and I could not move beyond a 2-feet radius from the royal throne-like things on the stage on which Viv and I were supposed to sit. As the crowd started thinning, I started to look more and more radiant at the thought of the pani puris that were waiting for me. I'd been hearing rave reviews about how spicy and yummy they were.

Suddenly, Dad and Mom walked towards the stage. They looked kinda distraught.

"Sayesha..."

"What? What? What happened?"

"The pani puris..."

"What? What? What happened to the pani puris??"

"They kinda got over..."

"Got over????? The pani puris got over???"

I'm fortunate that the cameraman was not around to capture my expression.

"Yeah, apparently they were very popular..."

"There are no pani puris for me????" I was aghast.

And now I know why Indian brides cry at their weddings.

A domestic fright

Bhai's whereabouts: Bhai's moved out of Cuttack and is now enjoying South Indian culture in Chennai. She is headed to Bombay tomorrow and is looking forward to staple meals of pani puri.

Update: Bhai was elated to meet bloggers Jane, Kini and Iday at the second wedding reception last night. Bhai has issued supari for Virdi and family for not turning up.

Bhai apologises to all readers for not having replied to their comments on the previous posts for fear of her bratty cousins discovering her blog. She promises to reply to all of them when she gets back to Singapore.

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I hadn't taken a domestic flight in so long that when I took the flight from Kolkata to go to Cuttack along with my sister and my niece baby Aish, it felt like a new experience. Even the feel of the airport was different. Also, I'd never travelled with a baby before, but this time I was armed with baby Aish.

Usually, whenever I'm with my sister, she's the one who gets the admiring looks from lafungas while I give them my bhai-type 'Don't you dare stare at my sis' glares. However, this time around, it was baby Aish who was getting all the admiring glances. Even the lafungas forgot their lafunga-giri and went 'Coochie coochie cutie cutie' around her stroller. It was hilarious.

After we boarded the plane, a thought struck me.

"Do you think they will give us food on such a short flight?" I asked my sister.

She grinned and pointed at the back of the seat in front of me. The first few letters of the 'FASTEN SEAT BELT WHILE SEATED' sign had worn out and what was left gave me the perfect answer to my question.

EAT BELT WHILE SEATED.