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.

The stay order

A long long time ago, Ptolemy concluded that the earth was the centre of the solar system and the sun revolved around it.

A long long time ago, Sayesha also concluded something. That India was the centre of the world, and everything else revolved around it.

When I was a kid, the world was a sphere full of places that you read about in a subject called geography. But there was only one place for me and others like me, to live in, and that was India. I lived in the centre of the world, the best place in the world. I had no reason to live elsewhere. The people who lived in the other places were a different kind, and I would never have anything to do with them ever in my life.

And then I heard about about someone I knew moving to this weird place called America. So I adjusted my theory and said, okay, maybe people like me go and stay in difference places in the world, but they always come back to live in their home, no matter how many years it takes them.

According to me, the earth was round in shape instead of stretching on endlessly, so that such people could go around it, see what they had to see, stay where they wanted to see, and come back home - to live in India - the centre of the world.

Two weeks ago, on 18th July 2006, I completed 8 years in Singapore. That's longer than my stay in any city in India. Two more years to go before I complete my bond. And after that, I'll have to decide. I'll have to decide which is home. I have to figure out what home really is.

All this while, my life had been pre-set. I had to live in Singpore till 2008. That was my fate, and not a bad one at that. The country has been good to me. But I could never see myself settling down here. I always thought I'd be going back to India. But now, as I near the magic number of 2008, I have to decide where I want to spend the rest of my life.

Is it Singapore where my job and friends are? Is it India where my family is? Or is it somewhere else?

A friend was discussing this with me and she asked, "Perhaps you should start thinking -- what's the most important factor that will determine which country you want to settle down in?"

"Umm... I dunno... availability of good pani puris?" I said.

(No, I wasn't joking.)

So I decided to make a list. A Singapore vs India list.

If I live in Singapore, I would be close to India.
But if I live in India, I'd be even closer to India.

Singapore has mee goreng and prata.
But India has the awesomest thing in the world - roadside panipuri.

India has my roots.
But Singapore has my job.

In India, you can be mugged and robbed anytime of your belongings.
But in Singapore, they say you've already been robbed of your freedom.

India has many crazy seasons that often go out of control.
Singapore has control over its one crazy season.

In India, I can walk around like I own the place.
But in Singapore, I can walk around without getting eve-teased.

In Singapore, I'm squashed by the stress.
In India, I'd be squashed by the crowds.

In Singapore, they speak four languages.
But in India they speak my language.

Singapore is clean.
But India's real neat too.

So I discussed my dilemma with my sister. She said she had the perfect solution for me.

"Come to the US."

"But why?"

"I'm here, that's why."

She had a good point. But I do not know yet where I will live. Things have changed. The way I feel and think has changed. I do not have that 'Of-course-I'll-go-back-to-India-where-else?' feeling anymore. Suddenly there are too many choices. Too many factors that come to play. Practicality, logic, numbers, ambition, desires, convenience. Emotions.

They say that the difference between 'staying at a place' and 'living in a place' is that while the former refers to a temporary arrangement, the latter indicates permanence.

Perhaps things have changed. Perhaps I don't need to pick a place to live in, anymore. I can stay where I am, and a few years later, I can stay somewhere else. Perhaps we don't live in a world where have to live in a place anymore. We just go around the world and stay at places we like, till we're ready to move on to the next place.

And perhaps that's the real reason why the earth is round. So that you can go around it, see all of it, and one fine day, if you wake up and you feel that you're ready to live in a place, you know exactly where to go.

Two guys and a girl

Update on my Krrish survey - 195 responses so far. I'm so thrilled about my dissertation now. I think that about 150 of the responses came from my blog buddies and their friends. Just wanna thank you guys and gals for helping out someone you've never met. :)

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I am moving again.

And cliched as it may sound, it does feel like yesterday when I moved into this house.

When I started my master's last year, I was going for classes after work. My classes were in the west and I was living in the east. By the time I got home, it was so late that it was almost time to get up to go to work the next day. The lease for my last house had expired. And to avoid the crazy lifestyle I was leading, I had finally decided that it would be better for me to move to the west.

And move I did. But now it's that time of the year again. And I am so glad I am moving back to the east. Yeay! Though I still have one more semester of travelling to the west for classes, I am going back to my beach and everything else that I missed about the east.

And as I think of the million things that I must throw before I move into my new apartment, I wonder if there's anything about the west I will miss. Not much.

Maybe the two blokes I live with. Just a little bit.

When you're fresh out of university, everyone someone manages to find someone or the other of the same gender, to be flatmates with. It's easy. But a few years down the lane? Not so easy anymore.

Okay, what do you do when all the girls you know are either getting married or leaving Singapore for an MBA?

It was official - I'd run out of single girls to live with.

Days of frustration and desperation led to the only solution I had. Answer an online ad. I found the ad and the flatmates. Everything was fine. Except for one little thing.

The flatmates were both guys.

So I called up my parents and asked them if they'd be okay with me living with two random guys. (Actually, they were not that random, they were my juniors from uni. And although I'd never really spoken to them, I'd seen them in uni a couple of times.)

Dad freaked out a bit at first.

"Live with guys?? Why?? What happened to the girls??"

"I'm out of them, Dad!"

"Out of them?"

"Yeah, most are going abroad for their MBAs and a few are getting married."

(Truth was - most were getting married, and a few were going abroad for their MBAs. But I could not tell him that otherwise I'd put myself in a "If your batchmates are getting married, why aren't you??" situation. And other than "Errr... uhhh... ummm...." I had no answer to that question.)

"Achha... hmmm... guess you have no choice then... you will be careful, yes?" He asked.

"Don't worry Dad, I'll keep three knives in my room and a water pistol under my pillow." I tried to joke my way out of it.

(Come to think of it - I do have three knives in my room - one for sharpening my writing pencils, one for sharpening my eyebrow pencil, and one for cutting fruits and stuff -- general bhaigiri-practice.)

Anyway, my parents agreed and I went ahead and signed up for the flat. Contrary to my hopes, neither of them turned out to be gay. It's now been almost a year since I have lived with these guys, and I must say it has been a strangely interesting experience.

I believe that after having seen both sides, now I am in a position to collate the differences between living with gals and living with guys.

Living with guys - the cons

• You can't just wear whatever you want when at home.
• To avoid embarrassing them, you gotta dry your clothes in two lots - the mentionables in the main drying area and the unmentionables inside your room.
  
• There is always a pile of clothes in the washing machine that someone forgot to pick up.
• The couches always have a pile of clothes taken off the drying rack by someone who wanted to dry his own clothes.
• When your flatmate wants to ask you something, he will not knock on your door for fear of disturbing you. He will sms you or worse, call your mobile from the house phone.
• You can't decorate the house for fear of making it too girly. I have not had my favourite pink gerberas in my house for almost a year now. :'(
• "But we must have one hindi channel yaar!" is not a good enough reason to get Zee/Sony tv connection, especially since you have no time to watch TV. (In the last year, I have watched TV only thrice. I don't even know my way around the remote control.)
• You feel like a worthless failure when a yummy smell creeps out of the kitchen as your male flatmate whips up a fancy meal.
• You can't walk around with a multani mitti mask on your face - you may cause a heart-attack in the house.
• You can't play Shania Twain too loud.
• You can't have an inhouse pedicure/manicure session.
• You can't experiment with your flatmates' hair.
  
• You can't get opinions from your flatmates on silly things such as whether your ankles look fat in those shoes, before you go out partying.
  

Living with guys - the pros

• They will agree to let you have the big room with the attached bathroom without any rona-dhona and nautanki. (Of course, I pay 75 dollars extra per month for it, but it was still nice of them.)
• You will never have a situation where all the inhabitants of the flat are PMS-ing at the same time.
• It's no big deal if you see your housemates only in the weekend. (When I leave for office, it's dark and they're still asleep. When I come back from class, it's dark and they're asleep.)
• Your room can be as messy as you like - no one's gonna drop by at a weird time to talk about boyfriend problems.
• You work out for longer durations, especially if you bump into your flatmates at the gym.
• You can all be sitting in the same living room, and you don't necessarily have to talk.
  
• The kitchen belongs to only one person, without interference from the others. (In my case, it happens to belong to my housemate, since I stopped cooking a year ago.)
• Your flatmates will never borrow your precious hair straightener.
• Of the two shoeracks in the apartment, you can have one and a half to yourself. Sometimes more.

But my top favourite one is this.

• You enjoy hearing the shock in the voice of the person on the phone to whom you just coolly said, "I'm sorry, ____ is not at home. I'm his flatmate, can I take a message?"

:D