Tuesday, December 25, 2007

Trials and tribulations...

Some years back, we bought this set of four stools, to be used when we wanted to eat our meals at the kitchen counter. Whenever possible (that is, when one or more members are absent), I like to take two stools to sit on. It's more convenient that way.

My height has been a source of dissatisfaction for me for as long as I can remember. Not just because I can't reach the top shelf anywhere in the world. No, no, that is the least of my concerns. I have people to do that for me. My problem is with my height itself. 5 feet and half an inch. Yep, half an inch. Not 5 feet nothing, not 5 feet one. No, it had to go and get stuck at just half an inch past five feet.

One of my dearest-yet-annoying-est friends is a giant. I stopped tracking her height years ago, but I can safely say she is well over 7 feet. And thin, to boot. Fairness and equity were clearly not a priority for the Creator when He/She was doling out attributes.

And then there is the fact that while I got stuck at this height in my early teens, the guys my age suddenly decided to all shoot up when we hit our late teens. One day I'm talking to someone very comfortably, the next day I'm getting a freakin' crick in my neck.

I have recently discovered the joys of wearing heels. I resisted them for a long time, because I can never quite walk comfortably in them, but I have now figured out what kind of heels suit me and I am therefore happy. I bought a pair of shoes with the heels about one inch high and realised that would have been a very acceptable height for me. You would've never heard any complaints from me with that height. Well, maybe one or two, but not many, believe me. The two-inch heels I bought, on the other hand, are just a tad too much. I need to bend while standing and writing, or while washing my hands. And let's face it, that's an advantage you tall creatures will never have. Hah.

Monday, December 24, 2007

A thought. Or two.

So Narendra Modi and the BJP won in Gujarat. While not that surprised, I was, well, not happy.

I am, however, rather startled by the kind of jubilant reactions I'm seeing even in the Indian blogosphere in reponse to this victory. Modi as the Prime Minister of India? Seriously? Good God. [I'd like to add at this point that I disagree with most of the list in that post. Thank you.]

It almost comes as a relief to read one or two blogs actually expressing discontent at Modi's victory.

Yes, we live in a democracy. I started 2007 by having strong doubts about the Indian population's sanity when Aap ka Suroor became a hit (no, I haven't seen the movie, and no I have no intention of ever seeing it, thank you for asking). I'm ending the year convinced that there's something seriously wrong with our nation and the way we think and behave.

I really need to figure out how to highlight links in my posts.

Friday, December 14, 2007

Gunfire in Gurgaon

Columbine High School. Virginia Tech. You hear about the shootings at these schools and think, Oh my God, that's horrifying. And then you think, oh but this is the US we're talking about. Which in some ways is as scary as the fact that the incident itself.

Now this. In your country. In your city. Granted, you don't know these people or anyone who goes to this school. But you live in the same city as them. And it's as horrifying as any other massacre or shooting that may happen on the other side of the world.

And you've got to wonder, what's happening to the world? Where two 13-year-olds take their father's gun and shoot another boy their age in cold blood?

Wednesday, December 05, 2007

A thank you note

Occasionally, just occasionally, I get reminded that there are nice people out there in the world.

I'm not particularly known for taking care of my things. It's not really my fault; my belongings have a knack of disappearing into thin air, never to be seen or heard from ever again.

Anyway, so as anyone who knows me would tell you, I don't know the meaning of travelling light. My purses and/or bags are never exactly of the small variety, and despite their size, I usually have my hands full of a whole bunch of things. Most of which I never end up using during the day, but that's besides the point. I might need them, and then what would I do?

So anyway, Friday morning I left home with my purse full of random things, and a plastic bag which had my A4 notepad, class notes dating back to two months or more, sundry xeroxes and print outs (I prefer letting things accumulate instead of sorting out my papers as and when I get them, in case you were wondering). I reached campus, had a cup of tea, and then started wondering why my hands were feeling so empty. The answer? I'd left the packet in the autorickshaw. Running to the gate didn't help matters any; the guy was obviously long gone. So I spent the day giggling hysterically (Freud would give you several excellent reasons for such a reaction - all I can say is I did the same thing when my passport went missing two hours before my flight was due to take me for my dream vacation) and generally wondering what I was going to do.

Saturday morning, my phone and I happened to find each other in the same room at the same time (a miracle, I know; I can't figure out how we managed it) and I saw there were some missed calls from an unknown number. Not particularly bothered, I was on the verge of departing from the room when the phone rang, with the same number flashing. So I pick up, and turns out it's a guy calling from a shop in Shankar Market in good ol' CP whose brother's auto I had left my packet in.

To cut a long story short, the earliest I could get to CP was Monday, and after taking the packet (with everything intact, thank you, although obviously thoroughly searched) I asked the guy how on earth he managed to get my number. Turns out he went through all my papers and managed to find the visiting card of the dermatologist I went to some months back (did I ever tell you how I never sort out my papers but let them all accumulate?). He called her cell, and she gave him the number of the clinic who had my name on their records, who then gave him my number and address.

Who goes to that much of effort in this day and age? All I can say is, I was extremely fortunate that my belongings went into the hands of such a person. I realise this will never ever be read by the person it is intended for, but Alam, wherever you are, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.


Heh. This is brilliant. A tad long maybe, but brilliant.

[Link courtesy India Uncut, as almost always. What can I say? I find sarcasm and I'm a fan for life.]