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Wednesday, 30 January 2013
Hair O' saga
My days went by working in the publishing house where I had acquired quite an interesting post and an even more interesting work profile. "Interesting" purely in terms of having a manager who would make sure that you have a strict and restricted environment. Talking to colleagues for more than a prescribed amount of time was not allowed (time limit was 1 minute... not more)! Well the numbers were never given in writing but the method of making one understand the importance of time and space made one realise the grave mistake committed by way of spending time asking a colleague about her birthday party.
Anyway, the magazine I worked for invested, generated and promoted wedding related news, views, features, vendors, suppliers and what-not of the wedding scenario. We are not talking about the Big Fat Indian weddings of which I'm the biggest fan alive; but the modern, sophisticated and small gathering weddings where the rings are exchanged amidst a few people making it easier to get divorced without answering 1000+ guests who attended the wedding (or in this case, did not attend the wedding)!
The launch party of the magazine was due and before the big bang entry into the world of white gowns and suited men my Manager decided to have a team photoshot done professionally.
"We have to look our best!", she said. She can definitely say that! For someone to whom a weekend is a gift from heaven and all that's done during these two days is follow Lord's words- eat, drink and be merry, it can be very difficult to drag oneself out of bed and get "pretty" dressed for the shoot!
Not to mention the fact that on a lazy weekend afternoon, I not only had to gather myself to get dressed but also had to carry another pair of clothing in case I was considered too ugly to be photographed! This thought is not due to the sadist thinking that I'm an ugly duckling (matter-of-fact, am a pretty good looking chick, "in my own way"...lolzzz this complicates everything!) My dear Manager wanted the best! One has to oblidge such demands. No one would like to get fired because they dress ill... Would you?
I wore my cream trousers, red blouse and white glimmering jacket and showed up for the shoot. Two photographers, one videographer, my Manager, another colleague were already present. I was the last one to arrive and also the only one to be laser scanned by the Lady! So the look was the same kind an old, ancient grandmother would give a firangi (white-skinned foreigner- pardon my racist explanation but a literal translation was of prime importance!) dressed in skimpy clothes and about to enter the holy Ganga for a bath. I was stripped nacked by her mere look and all she said once I was in hearing distance was, "Go change!"
So pensively I shook my head and immediately reverted, " That's what I was about to do!" I turned around and gave a huge sign. Alas! All my prayers were in vain and here I was marching like a half-dead tigress towards the bathroom.
Once I entered the bathroom and admired myself in what I had worn and cursed her, I settled down on the top of a toilet closet to change into my beautiful skirt. That's when I saw it. The jungle. Growing on my legs. Blamed it own work, life, laziness and I wished I had opted for hair removal.
Embarrassed to the core, I wore the skirt, the matching shirt and accessories. Retouched the make-up and took a last look at my face which had already started to dull thinking of the impending comments from my lovely colleagues and manager.
I went into the room where the shoot was scheduled. Everyone was seated on the sofa and chairs spread across the room and as I approached the room I quickly scanned for a place which could positively hide my wolverine look. To my surprise the best place was beside my Manager and that's where I marched to. Photographer zoomed in can noticed my beautifully covered legs from afar- Embaressment one. Colleague was giggling beneath her breath- Embaressment two. Manager saw my legs as I was sitting down beside her and she shouted out loud for everyone to hear loud and clear- "Ah! Babes what's this??? Don't show-off your virgin legs!!!!"
All the world came crashing down. I was nose deep in shame and humiliation and unlike the stories grandmom read to me, the heroine neither woke up from her sleep to realise it was a nightmare nor did a knight in silver armour save the damsel in distress. I, the herione of this episode sat there, looking all disgusted, throughout the entire time people looked, giggled, murmured and went on about their work.
Now, at my office I have a beautiful pet name- "Virgin legs". My policy is- If you can't wipe out something, live it with complete pride! That's what I do... But literally speaking, I wipe out all the unwanted, bloody hair with a wretched cream the moment I see a new demon rising.
Here's the photograph ultimately used- hiding all my flaws and problem areas!! Yey!!!
This post is a part of the <a href="http://www.satincare.com/" title="Gillette Satin Satin Care" target="_blank">Gillette Satin Care</a> contest in association with <a href="http://www.blogadda.com" title="BlogAdda.com" target="_blank">BlogAdda.com </a>
Anyway, the magazine I worked for invested, generated and promoted wedding related news, views, features, vendors, suppliers and what-not of the wedding scenario. We are not talking about the Big Fat Indian weddings of which I'm the biggest fan alive; but the modern, sophisticated and small gathering weddings where the rings are exchanged amidst a few people making it easier to get divorced without answering 1000+ guests who attended the wedding (or in this case, did not attend the wedding)!
The launch party of the magazine was due and before the big bang entry into the world of white gowns and suited men my Manager decided to have a team photoshot done professionally.
"We have to look our best!", she said. She can definitely say that! For someone to whom a weekend is a gift from heaven and all that's done during these two days is follow Lord's words- eat, drink and be merry, it can be very difficult to drag oneself out of bed and get "pretty" dressed for the shoot!
Not to mention the fact that on a lazy weekend afternoon, I not only had to gather myself to get dressed but also had to carry another pair of clothing in case I was considered too ugly to be photographed! This thought is not due to the sadist thinking that I'm an ugly duckling (matter-of-fact, am a pretty good looking chick, "in my own way"...lolzzz this complicates everything!) My dear Manager wanted the best! One has to oblidge such demands. No one would like to get fired because they dress ill... Would you?
I wore my cream trousers, red blouse and white glimmering jacket and showed up for the shoot. Two photographers, one videographer, my Manager, another colleague were already present. I was the last one to arrive and also the only one to be laser scanned by the Lady! So the look was the same kind an old, ancient grandmother would give a firangi (white-skinned foreigner- pardon my racist explanation but a literal translation was of prime importance!) dressed in skimpy clothes and about to enter the holy Ganga for a bath. I was stripped nacked by her mere look and all she said once I was in hearing distance was, "Go change!"
So pensively I shook my head and immediately reverted, " That's what I was about to do!" I turned around and gave a huge sign. Alas! All my prayers were in vain and here I was marching like a half-dead tigress towards the bathroom.
Once I entered the bathroom and admired myself in what I had worn and cursed her, I settled down on the top of a toilet closet to change into my beautiful skirt. That's when I saw it. The jungle. Growing on my legs. Blamed it own work, life, laziness and I wished I had opted for hair removal.
Embarrassed to the core, I wore the skirt, the matching shirt and accessories. Retouched the make-up and took a last look at my face which had already started to dull thinking of the impending comments from my lovely colleagues and manager.
I went into the room where the shoot was scheduled. Everyone was seated on the sofa and chairs spread across the room and as I approached the room I quickly scanned for a place which could positively hide my wolverine look. To my surprise the best place was beside my Manager and that's where I marched to. Photographer zoomed in can noticed my beautifully covered legs from afar- Embaressment one. Colleague was giggling beneath her breath- Embaressment two. Manager saw my legs as I was sitting down beside her and she shouted out loud for everyone to hear loud and clear- "Ah! Babes what's this??? Don't show-off your virgin legs!!!!"
All the world came crashing down. I was nose deep in shame and humiliation and unlike the stories grandmom read to me, the heroine neither woke up from her sleep to realise it was a nightmare nor did a knight in silver armour save the damsel in distress. I, the herione of this episode sat there, looking all disgusted, throughout the entire time people looked, giggled, murmured and went on about their work.
Now, at my office I have a beautiful pet name- "Virgin legs". My policy is- If you can't wipe out something, live it with complete pride! That's what I do... But literally speaking, I wipe out all the unwanted, bloody hair with a wretched cream the moment I see a new demon rising.
Here's the photograph ultimately used- hiding all my flaws and problem areas!! Yey!!!
This post is a part of the <a href="http://www.satincare.com/" title="Gillette Satin Satin Care" target="_blank">Gillette Satin Care</a> contest in association with <a href="http://www.blogadda.com" title="BlogAdda.com" target="_blank">BlogAdda.com </a>
Saturday, 24 November 2012
My WOW Diwali
I got married! Yes, I did! Well from my previously writing you all must have understood that I had issues finding the 'right' guy but as destiny dictates, it happened!
Now that I am married, the most wonderful memory I have is of my last Diwali. Being a South Indian and raised as an NRI, my husband shows no understanding of the Diwali festival. Though he understands the historical significance of the mighty festival of light, yet the deep rooted love for the grand festival which is wide awake in Indians who have lived a short or a long while in India escapes him. Down south of the country, the festival is celebrated in an entirely different way and method hence to speak the grandeur is not clear to many as it is to the Northies or Central Indians. This factor is one of the greatest additions of living in a country like India where it is popularly said that language and water changes after every seven miles.
Coming back to my experience and memory attached to a picture, which is the topic for writing this WOW, I would like to say that this Diwali was one of the best indeed, even without the crackers or without the huge light hanging over the balcony!
As I stood in my dark, gloomy balcony (was comparing it with the neighbourhood which was exceptionally lit up and was shedding more than an ounce of the fairy light pleasure as witnessed back in my childhood days) I was pretending to talk to myself with the internal motif to make my husband hear how desolate and depressed I felt about the dull Diwali we were having.
I even went to the extent of mimicking him when he mentioned that next Diwali will be different (poor thing was trying really hard to calm my newly wed spirit). Then like raging fire, as if like a hero who's sister has been raped and he is buring with revenge and marches towards the vicious villian's den, he got up and came close to me. I was so sure that this Diwali will surely have some crackers falling here and there, but he came and stood close for me to see him clear and polite face. He took my hands in his and gently said, "Let's go out!" Though it was not enticing to go out at the moment, I oblidged (still afraid of the raging fire which was not to be seen- thought it was the calm before the thunderbolt and lightening!). He locked the door, and signalled me to walk. I pensively waited for the lift to reach my 2nd floor apartment and quitely went down still holding his hand.
We reached the car park, he opened the door and asked me to sit. He got in as well and started driving. We reached a mall and he quickly parked the car and again we took the lift to a floor I had never been to before. What I saw there made me instantaneously all smiles... It might sound a bit odd and funny and inappropriate for this Diwali write-up, but the floor was filled with wigs- yes, you heard me right! Hair-wigs. Well, it's not the case that I have no hair but I always had a facination for different kinds of hair-wigs. Kill me if you think am being an idiot but I always wanted to change my hairdo everyday to work or even when I was in college.
I had the most fun during the hour that we spent there, in the wig section. He clicked my pics in all kinds of wigs secretly avoiding the vigil eyes of the customer service representatives and it almost felt like reliving your childhood where you do some mischief after so much planning and preparation only to be caught by parents at the end!
Loved this Diwali, laughed out loud for the rest of the evening and really got to know my guy even more.... in a very different way though!
This post is a part of <a title="WOW" href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2012/09/28/write-over-the-weekend-wow-indian-blogs">Write Over the Weekend</a>, an initiative for <a title="Indian Bloggers" href="http://www.blogadda.com">Indian Bloggers</a> by BlogAdda
Now that I am married, the most wonderful memory I have is of my last Diwali. Being a South Indian and raised as an NRI, my husband shows no understanding of the Diwali festival. Though he understands the historical significance of the mighty festival of light, yet the deep rooted love for the grand festival which is wide awake in Indians who have lived a short or a long while in India escapes him. Down south of the country, the festival is celebrated in an entirely different way and method hence to speak the grandeur is not clear to many as it is to the Northies or Central Indians. This factor is one of the greatest additions of living in a country like India where it is popularly said that language and water changes after every seven miles.
Coming back to my experience and memory attached to a picture, which is the topic for writing this WOW, I would like to say that this Diwali was one of the best indeed, even without the crackers or without the huge light hanging over the balcony!
As I stood in my dark, gloomy balcony (was comparing it with the neighbourhood which was exceptionally lit up and was shedding more than an ounce of the fairy light pleasure as witnessed back in my childhood days) I was pretending to talk to myself with the internal motif to make my husband hear how desolate and depressed I felt about the dull Diwali we were having.
I even went to the extent of mimicking him when he mentioned that next Diwali will be different (poor thing was trying really hard to calm my newly wed spirit). Then like raging fire, as if like a hero who's sister has been raped and he is buring with revenge and marches towards the vicious villian's den, he got up and came close to me. I was so sure that this Diwali will surely have some crackers falling here and there, but he came and stood close for me to see him clear and polite face. He took my hands in his and gently said, "Let's go out!" Though it was not enticing to go out at the moment, I oblidged (still afraid of the raging fire which was not to be seen- thought it was the calm before the thunderbolt and lightening!). He locked the door, and signalled me to walk. I pensively waited for the lift to reach my 2nd floor apartment and quitely went down still holding his hand.
We reached the car park, he opened the door and asked me to sit. He got in as well and started driving. We reached a mall and he quickly parked the car and again we took the lift to a floor I had never been to before. What I saw there made me instantaneously all smiles... It might sound a bit odd and funny and inappropriate for this Diwali write-up, but the floor was filled with wigs- yes, you heard me right! Hair-wigs. Well, it's not the case that I have no hair but I always had a facination for different kinds of hair-wigs. Kill me if you think am being an idiot but I always wanted to change my hairdo everyday to work or even when I was in college.
I had the most fun during the hour that we spent there, in the wig section. He clicked my pics in all kinds of wigs secretly avoiding the vigil eyes of the customer service representatives and it almost felt like reliving your childhood where you do some mischief after so much planning and preparation only to be caught by parents at the end!
Loved this Diwali, laughed out loud for the rest of the evening and really got to know my guy even more.... in a very different way though!
Tuesday, 30 October 2012
Review of Ashwin Sanghi's 'The Krishna Key'
Hello Everyone...
Apologies that the review on Aswin Sanghi's 'The Krishna Key' took longer than calculated. It just been a busy bee month for me and I can't wait to sit down, relax and rewind with a glass of chilled wine.
Hoping (fingers crossed) that, that day would come soon. I ♥ my work and there fore transform into the world's most pathetics workoholic kinds once I have something work-related on my mind.
So, without further delay, here it is...
The review on Ashwin Sanghi's 'The Krishna Key'
Ashwin Sanghi's Krishna Key is a gripping who-dunnit crime-story, perhaps modelled on Dan Brown's best-seller 'The Da Vinci Code'. Ashwin Sanghi's tale fantabulously captures the mystery surrounding the legends of Krishna's birth and death. In this volume of 108 episodes, Sanghi very confidently links the mythology and the modern to hypnotise his readers to start believeing his narration. Though claimed as a work of fiction based upon sound research, the narrative details of places and times are so convincingly analysed and portrayed that the reader is persuaded to apply a 'willing-suspension-of-disbelief' and accept the narrators construct. Sanghi succeeds in relating the various influences on the Indus Valley Civilization to the Mughal Period to the present times.
But as the incredible narration assisted with symbols, signs and slokas comes to an end, the reader is able to distinguish between thruth and illusion, reality and fantasy. He realises that Taarak Vakil is only a serial killer- a victim in the hands of Evil represented by Priya, Garg and their ilk. Krishna and Taarak can have no comparisons. Krishna could see through the evil games of Kamsa and the Kauravas, Taarak is an easy prey to a sinister conspiracy.
The plot provides Ashwin Sanghi, the writer to introduce Ravi Mohan Saini, a knowledged historian to take his readers through the various stories of Indian mythology, history and science. But surprisingly enough the all-knowing Prof. Saini is unable to read the machinations of Priya who poses as a research student. The plot also provides a thrilling romance of Mohan and Radha.
All in all, 'The Krishna Key' is an exciting book, a wonderful blend of suspence and thrill, but the end of the story is very weak- the total surrender of the three criminals is not a worthy ending to this labrynthian narration.
Rating: 3.5/5
This book review is part of the Book Review program initiated by Blogadda.com
Apologies that the review on Aswin Sanghi's 'The Krishna Key' took longer than calculated. It just been a busy bee month for me and I can't wait to sit down, relax and rewind with a glass of chilled wine.
Hoping (fingers crossed) that, that day would come soon. I ♥ my work and there fore transform into the world's most pathetics workoholic kinds once I have something work-related on my mind.
So, without further delay, here it is...
The review on Ashwin Sanghi's 'The Krishna Key'
Ashwin Sanghi's Krishna Key is a gripping who-dunnit crime-story, perhaps modelled on Dan Brown's best-seller 'The Da Vinci Code'. Ashwin Sanghi's tale fantabulously captures the mystery surrounding the legends of Krishna's birth and death. In this volume of 108 episodes, Sanghi very confidently links the mythology and the modern to hypnotise his readers to start believeing his narration. Though claimed as a work of fiction based upon sound research, the narrative details of places and times are so convincingly analysed and portrayed that the reader is persuaded to apply a 'willing-suspension-of-disbelief' and accept the narrators construct. Sanghi succeeds in relating the various influences on the Indus Valley Civilization to the Mughal Period to the present times.
But as the incredible narration assisted with symbols, signs and slokas comes to an end, the reader is able to distinguish between thruth and illusion, reality and fantasy. He realises that Taarak Vakil is only a serial killer- a victim in the hands of Evil represented by Priya, Garg and their ilk. Krishna and Taarak can have no comparisons. Krishna could see through the evil games of Kamsa and the Kauravas, Taarak is an easy prey to a sinister conspiracy.
The plot provides Ashwin Sanghi, the writer to introduce Ravi Mohan Saini, a knowledged historian to take his readers through the various stories of Indian mythology, history and science. But surprisingly enough the all-knowing Prof. Saini is unable to read the machinations of Priya who poses as a research student. The plot also provides a thrilling romance of Mohan and Radha.
All in all, 'The Krishna Key' is an exciting book, a wonderful blend of suspence and thrill, but the end of the story is very weak- the total surrender of the three criminals is not a worthy ending to this labrynthian narration.
Rating: 3.5/5
This book review is part of the Book Review program initiated by Blogadda.com
Sunday, 14 October 2012
Breast Cancer awareness
As part of breast cancer awareness, I have decided to write a feature on it!! Join my thought and spread the word.
Saturday, 13 October 2012
Keeping fingers crossed!!!!!!
Each day I
woke up, in a messy bed, surrounded by my foot cream, book I was reading late
night, my comb, the earrings which I wore the previous day and Tharun. Each
morning I prayed to all the gods and gave special respects and homage to Jesus,
only to be left alone the whole day without any “good news”. Many a times I
made cynical promises to the divine being on quitting my habit of getting
annoyed at imperfections and ultimately creating a gloomy atmosphere around me,
only if the job came around! I was a very demanding worshipper for sure. I kept
my fingers crossed each time the phone rang. I thought that the HR might have
experienced the mail bouncing back and decided to give me a call. But Alas! It
was only the laundry guy.
Whenever
Tharun gave me his golden words of advice and tried to inculcate in me the
thought that it’s “alright”, I would only pounce back like a hungry tigress. He
would learn the lesson of patience and retrieve in to his den like a small puppy
but that wouldn’t satisfy me and I would chase him down to tell him ‘exactly
how I feel’.
As months
went back and time elapsed, I realized that keeping the fingers crossed is not
doing much! It’s only causing pain to my fingers and they ached every time I
turned them in any direction now. So that was the end of that!
Ultimately
after about three months of waiting, the HR called, right when I was in the
middle of haggling for something at the local market. Mind you, the HR didn’t represent the company
I had put my resume with and attended interview for… it was another job
altogether! Let’s say that the crossing of the fingers didn’t work for
something it was crossed for but ultimately the result was what I was looking
out for!
Moral of
the story- Cross the fingers or not, life takes you towards the direction you
desperately want to go!
This is my contribution towards "write over the weekend" initiative by blogadda.. and M loving it!
This post is a part of <a title="WOW" href="http://blog.blogadda.com/2012/09/28/write-over-the-weekend-wow-indian-blogs">Write Over the Weekend</a>, an initiative for <a title="Indian Bloggers" href="http://www.blogadda.com">Indian Bloggers</a> by BlogAdda
Friday, 5 October 2012
SOS to Parents!!!!!!
So here’s the deal! I got a new car. That’s no big
news these day because everyone’s buying one and buses honk the road filled and clogged with mini, arrogant, haunt cars! But my issue is that
people let loose their children and they go on to become tiny, rodent-like
nuisance. Many might consider my language and the way of speech completely
politically and geographically (I should live on MARS) incorrect. But have you
considered the fact that my dialogues and furry could be a direct result of the
pain cause due to an indirect assault no my heart?
I ♥ kids. They are cute at birth, funny as toddler but hooligans as school-goers! As I re-read this article I realize that I am pouring out vengeance and on the brink of complete volcanic eruption.
So I wrote a letter complaining to the landlord about
the issue!
Al Qusais,
Dubai, U.A.E.
Date: 2/10/2012
Subject: Damage
to vehicles in the covered parking area
It has been
frequently noted that children living in this building play in the covered
parking area. This has caused damage to our cars and generated angry towards
the irresponsibility of the parents.
The watchman was
informed about this situation and he tried to talk to the parents as well. But the parents did not take any
heed of what he told them and replied by saying that their children have no
other place to play other than the parking area.
These parents
might not have their cars parked in the covered parking and feel no
responsibility towards other cars. None of this is our concern.
Kindly issue notice
and take strict action on this regard.
Hope that this
problem will be looked into at the earliest.
Please take note that parents are supposed to teach children the right way to life and as youngsters/young parents we need to know what’s right and what’s not! Please… new-generation parents teach your children manners! That will be the best education you give them!
I ♥ kids. They are cute at birth, funny as toddler but hooligans as school-goers! As I re-read this article I realize that I am pouring out vengeance and on the brink of complete volcanic eruption.
Parents in this generation are less considerate, more
selfish and the least gracious people. Children are a reflection of their
personality. Coming back to the story of my car, I simply love it. Everyone
does! But the scenario of love-hate becomes very evident when some tiny dweek
tries to sabotage it. So children play in the parking area and jump on my car.
I see footprints all over the newly waxed, shiny, sparkling black coloured
vehicle of my dreams (not exactly my dreams… that’s would be an exaggeration!)
It looks like dweeks have nothing to do but to play in
that area and to their enjoyment and my extreme disappointment they were
sliding all over the car. The watchman was questioned who very honestly and in
complete modesty replied that when he tried to talk to the parents, they merely
ignored him with a non-lucid statement, “Where will our children play, if not
here?” 
So I wrote a letter complaining to the landlord about
the issue!
Flat 203
Al Asmawi Bldg,Al Qusais,
Dubai, U.A.E.
Dear Sir/ Madam,
Thank you,
Reshma GeorgePlease take note that parents are supposed to teach children the right way to life and as youngsters/young parents we need to know what’s right and what’s not! Please… new-generation parents teach your children manners! That will be the best education you give them!
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