Overheard...

This post reminds of a conversation I once overheard.

A while ago, I listened to two women discussing their love for animals. One of the women claimed that she didn't know a single human she trusted more than dogs. Apparently, "no bloody human can be trusted. I'll trust my dogs over people any day you know." The rant carried on for quite some time. Finally, the other lady asked her, "so what kind of dog do you have?"

"Oh, we have daschunds you know. It's impossible to keep bigger dogs because it's just so hard to manage them and take them for walks when you don't have a servant. At least daschunds are small enough to manage."

Yes, I totally see how much you love and trust dogs.

It's fascinating the kind of conversations you get to overhear while getting a manicure in the salon.

*sigh*

In one of those little ironies that life is so fond of throwing up at you, it may be noted that ever since I put this post, almost every email I have sent out, be it to family, friends, colleagues, or clients, there has either been at least one typo in the mail, or I have forgotten to attach the file I was supposed to attach.

Dear world, my apologies for everything I have ever said to you. For today at least. I shall probably be back to normal shortly.

Il y a deux ans...

It suddenly struck me that this blog turned two last month. Which means I've been a blogger for more than three years. 

But as I read my old posts, both here and in the private blog I had for a year before that, I wonder if there's any growth or, for lack of a better word, maturity that comes across in my writings. Because I don't see it. I still seem to be as opinionated, obnoxious and self-obsessed as I was three years ago. 

And if so, and if I've just stagnated since I began blogging, then that's just a pity.

What do you think?

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On another note, Max New York Life Insurance has come up with a fabulous ad. Even if you don't listen or understand to the background song, you still get the gist of it, so enjoy:

Incidentally, has anyone ever read that short story by Jeffrey Archer, The Grass is Always Greener?!?

A lil' too close to home

Mamma and I went shopping yesterday; usually a very painful experience because she and I have very different opinions on what should or should not be bought. However, there are weddings coming up, so we didn't really have an option.

Our first stop was GK - I. We visited a dozen shops there, and when we were on the verge of giving up, we went into a shop and found what we needed. I had a sore throat and body ache (think viral's about to hit), so I was miserable, and I desperately needed soup. We considered going to Pizza Hut, but since we were in a hurry, we decided to just pick up a couple of burgers from McD's and leave.

Our next stop was South Extension, where we had to visit exactly one shop and miraculously managed to exit from there within half an hour. Both GK and South Ex were crowded to hilt, full of either people shopping for the wedding season coming up, or excited Bengalis shopping for the upcoming Durga Puja festival.

Our last stop was Green Park where we had to visit someone. While we were there, we heard the news: Delhi had been hit by a series of bomb blasts, including GK's M-block market.

We left GK between 5.30 and 5.45 PM yesterday; the bombs went off between 6.30 and 6.45. An hour made all the difference.

Baba was at home; I managed to speak to him minutes after I heard the news. He had just heard the news on the radio, and wanted us to come home immediately. Soon after, all the networks in Delhi got jammed. I couldn't call or sms anyone to find out if people were fine.

When the bomb blasts in Bangalore and Ahmadabad happened last month, I was horrified. What sickened me even further was that they had actually targeted hospitals - those very hospitals where the injured were taken, where people had rushed to donate blood and died in the process.

This time, the horror is accompanied for the first time by a very real fear. As a friend told me last night, GK and CP are our hang-out places. The previous incidents involved fellow Indians, who I was extremely sorry for. This time, it could have any of my friends and family. A very dear friend is usually at the Barakhamba metro station at 6.30 every evening, waiting to get home; yesterday, she happened to be at home. What if she hadn't?

On another note, Operation BAD? Seriously? That's the best acronym/name they could come up with? Seriously?

Kindly note:

I'm a snob. You know it, I know it, we all know it. I want - no, I need - good grammar. I need proper punctuation. If you send me a document for reference, or just reading randomly, I will first spend ten minutes creating my personal version, with corrected grammar and punctuation in it. Only then will I proceed to read it.

I need spaces after full stops and commas, not before. I do not like double spaces. And you get extra points if you justify the document.

Thank you.

A snapshot of my weekend

Friday evening: Watched downloaded version of Batman Begins - awesome, but not as awesome as A Dark Knight.

Saturday: Pretend to clean my room; sleep; say things I shouldn't have to person I don't like; observe emotional telephonic reunions; eat dinner with the parents at close to midnight; surf the net from midnight to 3 A.M.; wonder whether skepticism is rooted in bitterness or cynicism.

Sunday: Clean cupboard; go to salon; vow to put up blog post about conversations overheard; have politely worded fight with school friend via SMS; hear cousin's cancer has probably returned; go to visit her; pick up empty cartons from neighbourhood stationery guy so I can empty out my h in the days to come; watch season finale of Grey's Anatomy and tornado episode of Desparate Housewives.

Tell me, between stationery and stationary... which is about staying still and which for pens, paper, etc.? I can never remember.

A piece of history

A story I read in Chicken Soup for the College Soul has stayed with me over the years, and has been coming to mind fairly often in recent times.

A college professor asks his class how many of them knew/know their grandparents. Almost the entire class raised their hands. On being asked how many know anything about their great-grandparents, about half raised their hands. On being asked how many know anything about their great-great-grandparents, barely one or two raised their hands. The prof's point was about making something of your life; to leave a mark that will make people remember you when you're gone.

When I think of this story, I don't think about making your mark in life or anything like that. I think about my parents, and their parents, and all our ancestors before them. My life, my family, my friends... all the memories I share with them are so precious to me. Do you realise no one will ever know about them a hundred years down the lane?

My father occasionally tells me stories from his childhood; Mamma used to tell me about hers when I was a kid. When I hear them, I always feel like I'm hearing about some stranger I've never met.

One of my biggest regrets is I never got to meet my maternal grandfather; by all accounts, he was a wonderful person. I recently discovered my ancestors on my father's side of the family were village priests somewhere in Bengal, and that a distant branch of the family is still there.

There are so many aspects to our family, so many anecdotes, so many pieces of history that we never hear about, never get to know. What a pity.