Thoughts while watching Avatar

Not much to say really, except:

The storyline could easily be mistaken for:
a) A Bollywood movie from the 80s
b) Pocahontas
c) Lion King, even

The visuals were indeed brilliant. And watching it in 2D really wouldn't have had the same impact.

The setting could as easily have been the forests of South America or somewhere similar, rather than a whole new planet.

And finally, something that struck me. What gives humans this unbearable arrogance to assume that they can go wherever they want and make it their own? They've done it through the centuries - the British did it to India and other countries, the Amercians did it to the Native Indians, and in Avatar, they do it to the Na’vi on Pandora. It's really quite stupid, if you ask me.

For another very interesting perspective, you may read this.

I like... (Part 2)

NB: In continuation of this, partly because I've been cribbing way too much on twitter and facebook lately, and partly because I need it.

I like *drumroll*:

Dhaba food. Cases in point: Kake da Hotel (CP), Giani da Dhaba, (Kasauli), and the tea-stall across the street.

The changing weather in my Tree theme on Gmail - especially there's lightning, rain, or snow!

An unexpected compliment.

The startled blush someone gets when I give them an unexpected compliment.

Gol gappas from the neighbourhood market.

Dairy Milk chocolate.

Anything with chocolate, really.

The high of closing a project assignment that was my lead.

The sound of raindrops on the roof and the windows.

Playing Life or Uno with the family or the friends - and winning.

Getting Fevicol all over my hands, and removing it once it dries up.

The first glimpse of the brother at the airport when he comes home for the holidays.

Appreciation from a client.

The satisfaction of a job well done.

Late night conversations.

My dog's reaction when I come back from a trip - a repetition, yes, but it is so heartwarming.

My dog's ability to make the onlooker feel she's never received a decent meal in her life - particularly when there's cake around.

And her tendency to come plonk herself right in front as soon as a camera is pulled out.

Getting a math problem figured out.

The tweets back and forth that make for such fun conversations.

Reunions.

My blanket on a winter night - which is where I'm headed right now.

This was fun! :)

Taking the plunge

This post has been lying in my drafts for the past 5 days because I haven't been sure if I want to post it or not. But I have decided to go for it, because after all, what the hell?

WARNING: long-drawn emotional venting post ahead. You may choose to leave now.

When you first meet me, depending on whether it is a familiar or unfamiliar setting for me, you will either think that I'm a snob who refuses to speak to anyone, or that I'm loud and obnoxious.

Being an introvert, I don't open up easily, and don't talk too much in situations where I'm not feeling very comfortable. Which, I've learned it the past, gets perceived in a certain way. Once I do open up, however, I am loud and unrestrained in my opinions, of which there are many - as I'm sure you know if you've been following this blog and/or my tweets.

Most people who know me or meet me regularly see this second side of me. And added to this the fact that I'm known to lose my cool quite easily, I suppose you can't blame people for thinking I'm aggressive and confrontational.

The problem is, and which a lot of the people closest to me don't realise, is that when it comes to things that really matter, I'm really not confrontational at all. I'm perfectly willing to get into a fight with the rickshaw-wallah for trying to fleece me, but I didn't scream at my best friend for believing I had lied to her till four years after the event. I'll sulk and throw tantrums over the most irrelevant things my family or friends may do, but not really bring up what's troubling me the most. I'd much rather let a relationship slip away than go to the effort of bringing up what's bothering me out in the open and thrashing it out.

There are currently at least three people - two of whom are extremely important to me - in my life with whom I should probably bring up things rather than simply let the resentment grow. But I haven't, and probably won't, because I simply don't seem to have it in me to lay things on the line when it comes to the really important things in life.

The only spot of sunshine in all of this is that none of these people have even realised that there could potentially be something bothering me; or if they have, they are choosing to be close-mouthed about it as me. And while this suits me, because it allows me to be an escapist for a while longer, it also peeves me that they haven't even noticed.

*sigh* Did I ever mention contradiction was my middle name?

What's in a phrase?

As a rule, I'm not someone who uses foul language. Well yes, I use bloody and hell and damn and several satisfying swear words, and all too frequently at that. But there are certain forms of profanity, which I have simply chosen not to include in my vocabulary, because I've never really felt I need them. I mean, it is so much more fun to call someone a schmuck and watch them become all puzzled while they try to figure out what that means.

At times of extreme irritation with any individual, I tend to tack on a "-and-a-half" to whatever I'm calling them - something I picked up from my friend while i was idle back in school. And at times of sheer out-and-out frustration, I label them a "dash-and-a-half" - and leave it to the listener to fill in the blanks. Juvenile? Perhaps. But it works for me.

In recent months, however, I have started finding comfort in the phrase "Je m'en fous". Loosely translated, for those not familiar with française, it means "I don't give a damn." Literally, however, it translates into a line I wouldn't use in my everyday language.

I've always known it's one of those phrases you should be careful about using - our French professor warned us that the very first time she told us about it. But there's something so succinctly expressive about it, that honestly, my dear, je me'n fous.

Bhopal Gas Tragedy: I am a Bhopali

Peter Griffin asks us all to declare ourselves Bhopali, to help bring attention to the gas leak tragedy that happened 25 years ago, on the blog he has started about this.

I have no hesitation calling myself a Bhopali, especially since my paternal grandparents were settled in Bhopal - well, Bairagarh - and my uncle still lives there.

As I wrote on his post:

I am indeed a Bhopali.

My mother was 6 months pregnant with me, and my father, based in Lagos, had sent her home to Bhopal to stay with my paternal grandparents till my birth. She refused to stay without him, and in the face of opposition from everyone in the family, went back to Lagos a couple of weeks before the gas leak happened.

I always say I get my stubbornness from my mother, and she always bemoans that fact. But her stubbornness gave me life, and you can't take that away.

Doesn't your heart go out for the scores who weren't that lucky?

(Link via India Uncut)

Boundaries

This morning, I got into office to see a mail from a colleague, marked to almost everyone in the office, informing us that she had deleted us from her Facebook account. Her reason was straightforward and simple: she wants to delink her personal and professional lives.

With the onslaught of social media/social networking/whatever you choose to call it, these lines have got increasingly blurred in the past few years. Everyone's blogging, tweeting, uploading photos on Facebook, adding connections on LinkedIn, to the point where virtual friends have begun taking precedence over real-life friends, and there really is no boundary between the personal and professional spaces.

I so far haven't really gone one way or the other. I have colleagues on my Facebook list, but there are those who get to see stuff and those who are on Limited profile. My blogs are listed on LinkedIn, but twitter isn't linked, and I'm contemplating removing the blogs too. In fact, my other blog, which was started essentially to crib about my job, never really took off, because paranoia about clients coming across the damn thing stopped me from putting almost anything I wanted to.

Even when I started this blog, or joined twitter for that matter, the original intention was to keep my real name completely out of it. Since almost all my readers in the initial stages (and even now, for that matter) were people who knew me in the real world, however, their addressing me by my name in the comments pretty much gave it away.

I know people who are very comfortable with having no distinction between their personal and professional lives, and in fact use one to further the other. Which I have no issues with; it's just I would never be completely comfortable doing that.

And my respect for my colleague has gone up tremendously for having it in her to tell us outright how she feels about it and that she intends to remove us from her list.

Here vs. there

Some months back, I visited an incredibly beautiful place, which happens to house the Santa Maria de Montserrat cathedral. Mass was just ending, and a priest was handing out what seemed to be their equivalent of prasaad, so my colleague and I went up to him. He asked in Spanish if we were Christian, and when we said no, shook his head and turned away.

Yesterday, on Guru Purab, I visited a gurdwara after a long, long time. As I was leaving, the priest sitting near the door stopped me and sent me back inside, because I hadn't noticed that prasaad was being handed out inside.

And, no I'm not a Sikh either.

What a difference.

And yet, there are complete asses in this world who will say such things about their own country.

Yes, I know the two things probably aren't comparable. But still.

Thoughts of the Day

a) I am clearly following the wrong people on twitter.

b) I get the maximum tweetable/bloggable thoughts when I'm travelling and have absolutely no access to the Internet.

c) At least the Jet and IA in-flight magazines have things worth reading. Kingfisher, on the other hand, persists in distributing that God-awful Hi! magazine. WHY would I want to stare at picture of people who seem to have nothing better to do than pose for photos in clothes and accessories that a, I can't afford, and b, look downright weird and uncomfortable half the time?

d) Why do things seem to happen when I go to Bangalore?!? Last time I was there, the CM of Andhra Pradesh disappeared. Today, a train with more than a 1000 passengers got hijacked and was held hostage for 5 hours. And yet, all the twitterati of India seems to be talking about is iPhones and some Fashion Week that seems to be on.

My rant against twitter really is due, innit?

Also, an open letter à la India Uncut:

Dear man in the hotel room in the Radisson,

When your room is directly in front of a flyover, it would be truly appreciated if you didn't stand in front of your television in your underwear with your curtains wide open. It wasn't a particularly pleasant sight in my half-asleep state.

Thank you.

And it begins...

I've been expecting this ever since my cousin announced her engagement earlier this year. I am, after all, the next in line.

However, naive person that I am, I expected it to start with subtle hints. You know, my age being mentioned a few times, my plans being asked about, and so on and so forth.

What I did not expect was being taken aside by aunts and uncles and being told outright that "it is time". I could deal with the teasing from cousins, no sweat, and laugh off their offers to find me someone, but how on earth do you stand and continue to smile politely in front of the elder generation?

The highlight of last night, however, came when my aunt, someone I am very fond of, in her attempts to convince me that I should lose no time getting married, decided to tell me about someone she knows. Apparently, this lady put off getting married till a late age (probably late-20s - that's ancient, innit?), and some 3-year-old chit of a girl saw the bride and exclaimed, "But she doesn't look like a bride, she looks like a budhi!"

I would like to announce at this stage that there will be no children allowed at my wedding.

The other highlight of last night, of course, came from the fact that everyone who had seen me last month at another family gathering, exactly a week before this, exclaimed on how I've lost so much weight. Of course, they also commented on the stark contrast between the drained me who had come straight from a client site in a fairly ghati outfit last time, and the me who came all dressed up yesterday, but we shall not go there.

However, I would rather gain back those lost kilos than deal with completely non-subtle Bengalis again. Thank you.

Weekend rants

I know I've said this before, and I'll probably say it countless times in the future as well, but I hate shopping.

What with Pujo round the corner, as well as sundry occasions coming up in the extended family as well as friend circle, shopping has been something of a priority for the past few weeks. And with barely a week to go for Pujo, I am as usual scrambling to get things ready in time.

If I have to go shopping, however, I like it to be focused - I go knowing exactly what I need to buy, find it, and exit. Unfortunately, this doesn't always work, especially since my idea of a good buy is never in keeping with what is in "fashion". Tell me, are fashions made with complete and utter discomfort kept in mind?

Getting my hair cut is always a fairly traumatic experience. As readers of this blog will know, my hair is the one thing about myself that I am actually vain about. And every time I see those inches of hair falling to the ground, I swear, a little piece of me dies. However, sheer boredom with my current style finally demanded that I agree to shortening my hair by at least three inches, and so, the deed was done yesterday. I also decided to get it nicely set in curls for the family function last evening; alas, my hair is so freakin' gorgeously straight that the curls open up within an hour.

On another note, why does everyone in a hair salon have such weird hairstyles? With the spikes and the strange colours? Is it compulsory to take advantage of the services their workplace offer, or are they trying to advertise their services. Because I gotta tell you, if it's the latter, it's not working. In any salon I've ever been to.