hopscotch

Having moved recently into one of the 'elite' areas of the city, I fell in love with most of the houses. ( I simply love houses/homes/buildings. Don't mistake, I am no authority on architecture) My brisk morning walk is often interrupted when I slow down to just gaze at the bungalows – some are compact ones, some are two-storeyed/three-storeyed. I love those – which are old and have a bit of history attached to them. I spend time reading the ugly looking blue-coloured PMC's heritage site nameplates. Bits of information like – Doyen of Indian classical music, Vasantrao Deshpande spent the last few years of his life here (Building's name is Basant) gives me goosebumps. I have often wondered about people living in the houses I have liked. What's their day like? Does it mean anything to them – a vocalist of repute had once stayed in their apartment or a reputed Marathi historian stayed in the house they are now living in? Or is it just a name for them? I really

There have been few times that I felt really troubled by other people's attitude towards me. This latest incident however takes the cake. The two fat suckers just stood up and yelled and yelled - I wonder how they managed to pitch their voice on that 'even' tempo. The performance lasted for some 10 minutes. I just didn't look at them. But, I know that they spouted lava of venom and all the malice they could rake up. Not against me. I mean, they didn't take my name. But made sure that I heard every word that was being yelled/hurled like a missile at me. The first time they put up the act, I had a tough time stopping myself from giggling. I wish I had. That would have taken the wind out of their sails. The second act deserved a punch. Perhaps that would have taken the air out of those puffed up balloons. But I didn't. Not for the lack of courage. I just couldn't stoop so low like standing in my cubicles and yelling names. No, not names. They didn't tak

I am bored...I am bored..I am bored...I am bored...I am bored...I am bored...I am bored... Writing it over and over again doesn't make me feel less bored. So, what should I do to feel better? to feel happy? to feel good and nice and float on cloud nine? Should I rant or rave? Should I laugh like insane? Or should I stretch those lip muscles in a grimace? Hmmmm...tried and tested I am not feeling better. Why not write down those things that make me feel better? What will make me feel better? 1) Sizzling brownie with hot chocolate sauce 2) Garma-garam pohe with ketchup 3) A good book 4) A good movie 5) A bed to sleep and no one to disturb 6) Gulmohar tree 7) A jog around the park 8) A bench where I can sit and watch the world go by 9) No work to be done and no pressing deadlines to be met 10) The fragrance of ratrani and mogra at night 11) The slight nip in the air 12) The first rain and the smell/aroma/fragrance of the mud 13) The deep blue sea 14) Drive down t

This article has also been published. I think it still needs to be worked upon. Well... --- It was heartening to read that the first copy of Batman, published in 1939, fetched more than $1 million at an auction recently. The zeros added to 1did not make me happy, but the fact that 'Old is STILL Gold'. I remember being a voracious reader of Batman and Superman and desi comics like Chacha Chaudhary, Billoo and Channi Chachi. The other childhood favourites were Chandamama, Champak and Tinkle. I don't know if any of the above-mentioned comics will be auctioned for millions of dollars, but they certainly could do with a new lease of life. The comics, as I remember them, were of poor print quality. The language wasn't grammatically correct either. Yet, we were hooked to the comics. I remember waiting for the vendor to get us new copies and once they came immediately settle down to leaf through the pages gaily illustrated characters and the speech bubbles. Looking bac

Some pointers for me...hinted by my well-wishers 1)Brushing my hair at least twice or thrice in a day 2)Avoid wearing wrinkled clothes and mis-matched payjamas (Ooops, Salwars or chudidars and something called legging is 'in'. Payjamas is so downmarket, snigger the polite ladies) 3)How about trying to sit with knees pressed together for 10 minutes in a day instead of split wide open? (Am trying. No luck, so far) 4)How about....ahem ahem...manicure and pedicure? (What's that supposed to mean?) 5)A touch of lipstick... (Eeeeeeeew... run for my dear life) 6)Waxing hands and... (It's too hot, I yell. And cold wax is too....icky) 7)Avoid walking with a heavy tread (Is the construction so shaky that it will collapse at my …....kg weight) 8)Greeting others politely ( I thought backslapping established instant camaraderie) 9)Talking in a low, soft tone. (I CAN'T HEAR YOU) 10)No picking nose. Why not carry a daintily embroidered hanky to blow your nose into?(Got

Dear Lucy, Where would I be without you? You are a real friend...ensuring that I munch less on chips and run around and also exercise my vocal chords once in a while. I do find it irritating when every time you see something edible in my hands, you make a rush at me, pawing and clawing. No amount of squealing, shouting or thumping works. You are really very determined. On most occasions I have to give up bakarwadi (something which I really like) or chocolates and see you falling upon it greedily. You give it one final lick, and look up at me again hoping that I will oblige with some more. That doesn't really happen. Sometimes when you are out in the garden, barking your head off, I manage to sneak in few bakarwadis and chocolates. I feel so happy! Guilt pleasure! And, the fact that I outwitted you also adds to my happiness. Sometimes I feel sad at having snacked behind your back, so I offer you some biscuits and watch you gobble them up. When I'm in a really generous mood,

The day after German Bakery blast, I got calls from friends in Delhi to check if I was safe. I was 'safe' and 'insulated' from the happening too. "Yeah...yeah I am okay. It's not near my place." There was and still is the disconnect with the blast. Maybe I have got too cynical and fatalist. "If I have to die, then I will die." Sounds cruel perhaps. But life has not been any different for a decade or so. The first time I really shuddered at the dastardly act, and killing of innocents was the 1993 serial blasts which rocked Bombay/Mumbai. I was 11 or 12 and I can recall and even feel the tensed atmosphere and people watching their backs. After that, I think one sorta gets used to such killings - as long as its not me. Perhaps the terrorists have succeeded. They have succeeded in benumbing the humane feelings and also the cry for justice. Past reports have shown that none of the terrorists or the brain behind the plan or the mastermind, as they