I have been homesick ever since I landed in Canada. But I somehow held strong for 1 year and 3 months (in my dictionary “strong” excludes, weeping 10 times a day on skype). After months and months of emotional tactics, buckets full of tears and countless threats, finally Ashish’s best friend’s wedding did the trick. And now, I am going to India. No matter how many times a day I say this, it still sounds as exciting and new as it did the first time. Or at least, the people in my office are polite enough to respond with same enthusiasm every time :)
I had forgotten what it felt like to be in a shoulder-to-shoulder crowd, deafening noises, and nonstop honking. I had forgotten the sight of cows and dogs napping in the middle of the road, and everyone driving around them. People sleeping in between two avenues, a place that barely fits a body, while cars pass at full speed just besides them. Even if I try hard, my memory cells fail to recall the last time I took a stroll with friends to a tapri (street stall) on streets for chai and pakoras.
I have been spoilt in the clean and fresh environment of Canada so much, that I desperately need to get my lungs polluted again. I need to experience the bumpy rides on the streets in those black and yellow taxis straight from retro movies. I want to be lost amidst the crowd, cops, cows, motorcycles and rickshaws once again.
Here are a few things that I want to experience again in my coming trip:
1. Drive like we Indians do: A few days ago, when a car suddenly slowed down in front of us while moving at 120km/hour, my heart was in my mouth. I almost wanted to roll down the window and swear at the driver. But I couldn’t. Forget giving him a piece of my mind, I couldn’t even blow the horn. That’s when I realized how the practice of blowing horn had become alien to me. It the last 1 year, not once have I used the horn of my car and now I have forgotten what it sounds like. Where, honking was an inevitable part of my driving, it just seems very impolite now.
During this trip, I want to drive on the streets. I don’t want to give signals while changing lanes (do we even have lanes in India?). I don’t want to check my blind spots and I want to HONK.
In theory, we are supposed to drive on the left hand, but in practice, we Indians drive on any side we want to. AND IT WORKS! I want to do the same.
I want to drive a motorcycle, without a helmet and without a license (just like old times :))
2. Jay-Walking: I don’t want to wait for the “walking” sign to turn on (even if there is no vehicle in your sight), rather, I want to run and cross the road (like we Indian’s do), kind of like playing that video game where we made the birds cross a busy road and the intensity of the game increased with traffic getting heavier with every level. Of-course, the birds had 5 lives in the game and plus, that was a GAME ;)
3. Need to be Impolite: I want to sit in a restaurant and talk LOUD, without the fear of people pointing and staring at me.
In India, we don’t greet friends with a “Hello, How is it going?” We start with calling them names, marking them, punching/ hitting them and then maybe follow a hug.
It dazed me how every time my friends at work, I have lunch with, would thank me for having lunch with them.
“Thanks Deepali. It was great having lunch with you”.
“Seriously? EVERY TIME?” is my reply to them EVERY TIME. :)
Back home, we don’t even bother to ask our friends before thoroughly enjoying their lunch, leaving them to starve all day. We don’t wait for them to wrap up their work to join us for lunch, we simply pull them out of their chairs.
It astonishes me how polite people in Canada are. Sugar coated sweet. If you “accidently” bump into a person, the series of apologies that follows is insane. Try doing that in India. There is no such thing as “accidental” bumping in India. It’s all INTENTIONAL.
I am tired of this civilized living. I need to break some rules now. India, here I come ;)
4. Street Food: “We shouldn’t have a Pani-Puri stall in the entrance. Deepali won’t move beyond it”, was the usual reaction of organizers of various events. They weren’t wrong. If you ever had to spot me in a crowded event, simply look around the Pani-Puri stall, I would be found loitering around there.
But things got difficult when we moved to Canada. The absence of Pani-Puri stalls made it very difficult for Ashish to find me in a crowded event. Now he just ties a rope around my neck ;) And trust me, it isn’t fun bouncing around with a rope tied to your neck. ;)
I want to eat a dozen Pani Puri every single day of my stay in India. Period!
5. The sophisticated people of Canada (and Ashish), will never understand the joy we get in watching a Salman Khan movie in a single screen theatre, with cheap crowd, ripping the seats apart during a fight scene, dancing on the seats along with our superstar and wooting insanely at every powerful dialogue. I want to watch at least one such movie and come out refreshed and energized, ready to punch the next person I see. (I wonder why my friends never accompany me to a Salman Khan movie ;)
6. Shop till I drop: Can you imagine how insanely taxing is it for a shopaholic, to shop in a “no bargain” country? No, I am not talking about myself here, but about all those ladies who have been pampered by India’s “street shopping”. Who have experienced the luxury of wearing a new dress every day. Who have been pampered by the lavish yet affordable fashion statement of India.
I want to take empty suitcases and shop till each one of them is full, and then shop more to fill Ashish’s suitcases too ;)
7. Most importantly, meet my lovely family and my friends. I have missed them all so much that I don’t know how I am going to survive the next 5 weeks. Mishti, the love of my life, all throughout my stay in Jammu, I want you beside me. I want to cuddle you, hug you, bathe you, brush you, cuddle you more, walk you, sleep with you (Don’t worry Shanu, I am not going to suffocate her to death ;))
To summarize it all, India is a unique place. Earth can be split into three, East, West and India :) Fun, Energy, enthusiasm, love, festivity, dripping from every corner of the country.
Here I come!
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Monday, February 27, 2012
I am Directly Related to Trouble
I don’t remember when I took my first steps, but I am sure they were heading towards trouble. And since I don’t remember, let’s cook up a story (as always).
I was playing with juno (my big brown teddy bear that protected me against the monster that hid under my bed, every night), when I heard the door bell ring. My mom was in the shower and chances were that she didn’t hear the door bell ring else there would have been some commotion. My mom would have run towards me to tidy me up before she presents me to the guests, and then chase Sandy (our first dog) to tie her up. But since none of this was happening, I got anxious and to discover what was wrong; I got up on my two feet, with the help of the wall.
“Wow! This is what the world looks like from up here”, I thought to myself.
I was happy and clapping my hands. Sandy didn’t notice my achievement. She was busy barking at the door.
I walked into my parent’s room and could hear my mom singing a song while in the shower. “Why is she making that noise?” I wondered.
I somehow pulled myself up to reach the handle of the door, but all that came to my hand was the lock. I turned it around.
In no time, there was continuous ringing of door bell, Sandy was barking endlessly and now my mom had figured it all out and she had started yelling too. I didn’t understand what was going on. I was scared now. It took me a while to realize that I had locked my mom inside the bathroom. How did I do that? I am just a baby.
Now the phone had started ringing too. It was getting noisier. My mom was trying to explain me how unlock the door. But I got confused between “left” and “right”. Somehow, my dad (who was at the door), broke in through the kitchen window and rescued us. That’s when I knew, my dad was my DAY hero (Juno being my NIGHT hero).
Ever since that day, I have been landing into troubles. Sometime involuntary, but mostly voluntarily. Like the time, I decided to get off the connecting flight from Trivandrum to Mumbai, at Manglore, because my dad gave me some emotional talk on how he was craving to see me.
In that half an hour halt, I got approval from my boss for leaves; I got down the aircraft, got my luggage out and signed a consent form. But as fate was to have it, I wasn’t allowed to leave Manglore airport premises until the aircraft reached Mumbai (just so, I had planted a bomb in the flight, I could be easily arrested). It was 9 PM and the flight landed Mumbai at mid-night. I was free to go now (even though I didn’t know how and where to go). Luckily, a group of flight attendants had just finished their shift and were leaving too.
I tagged along. Even though I didn’t know where I was going, I just asked them to drop me at whatever juncture I can get a cab for the nearest bus-stop/ railway station.
They dropped me at an empty cross road, with just one auto rickshaw standing in the dark and not a single soul around (except for maybe some street dogs). As scared as I was, I didn’t let that show on my face. I walked up to the rickshaw, summoned up enough courage to wake the driver up from his sleep and told him that I wanted to go to the nearest Bus stop.
He gave me the same look as the station master gives to Kareena Kapoor in Jab We Met, though Jab We Met was released after this incidence. Before he could say anything, I hopped in and it was an hour ride. It was so dark that I couldn’t read the name of the places we were passing by. I started murmuring some chants and relied on the driver.
He then dropped me at this remote and lonely Bus Stop, where I could only see some shadily dressed men, smoking bidi (cigarettes), and a few ruins of buses.
A quick scan of the place told me that it’s not going to be a safe ride home. I went up to the ticket counter, and woke up the person behind the counter (Wonder why was everybody asleep at 1 AM). He told me the next bus will leave only at 4 AM. I could not risk my life till 4 AM, so I decided to walk up to the railway station and get the next available train.
But God had already decided not to give it easy to me. As it turned out, the train I should have caught was leaving in front of my eyes. Alas, I wasn’t a bollywood actor who could jump in a running train. So I went back to the bus stop and decided to wait until 4 AM.
Mind you, back then, India did not have smart phones (or maybe I didn’t have one), so no GPS, nothing to get online information, and nothing to entertain you. Somehow I survived till 4 AM. Now they had started boarding passengers, into the same bus which looked like ruins of a bus. Passengers included two old men, a group of middle aged men (I didn't know what they looked like, as they had their faces covered with stoles) and a driver. I got the end corner seat for myself (if we could call it a seat at all).
It was a rough ride and I didn't think we will reach Coimbatore in single piece, but we made it in about 3 hours. Now, it was getting brighter, I could see some people on the streets and I was relieved. My phone had turned off too, so I couldn’t get in touch with my parents to tell them where I was. I thought they must be worried sick, so without wasting a single moment in searching for a telephone booth, getting something to eat and freshening up, I got the next available bus to Ooty.
That seemed like a never ending journey, but finally I made it home. I slept like a log after that and woke up after 24 hours with sore muscles. And my dad swore that he would never give me emotional talks (which didn’t last long) :)
Many more of my adventure stories coming up soon!
I was playing with juno (my big brown teddy bear that protected me against the monster that hid under my bed, every night), when I heard the door bell ring. My mom was in the shower and chances were that she didn’t hear the door bell ring else there would have been some commotion. My mom would have run towards me to tidy me up before she presents me to the guests, and then chase Sandy (our first dog) to tie her up. But since none of this was happening, I got anxious and to discover what was wrong; I got up on my two feet, with the help of the wall.
“Wow! This is what the world looks like from up here”, I thought to myself.
I was happy and clapping my hands. Sandy didn’t notice my achievement. She was busy barking at the door.
I walked into my parent’s room and could hear my mom singing a song while in the shower. “Why is she making that noise?” I wondered.
I somehow pulled myself up to reach the handle of the door, but all that came to my hand was the lock. I turned it around.
In no time, there was continuous ringing of door bell, Sandy was barking endlessly and now my mom had figured it all out and she had started yelling too. I didn’t understand what was going on. I was scared now. It took me a while to realize that I had locked my mom inside the bathroom. How did I do that? I am just a baby.
Now the phone had started ringing too. It was getting noisier. My mom was trying to explain me how unlock the door. But I got confused between “left” and “right”. Somehow, my dad (who was at the door), broke in through the kitchen window and rescued us. That’s when I knew, my dad was my DAY hero (Juno being my NIGHT hero).
Ever since that day, I have been landing into troubles. Sometime involuntary, but mostly voluntarily. Like the time, I decided to get off the connecting flight from Trivandrum to Mumbai, at Manglore, because my dad gave me some emotional talk on how he was craving to see me.
In that half an hour halt, I got approval from my boss for leaves; I got down the aircraft, got my luggage out and signed a consent form. But as fate was to have it, I wasn’t allowed to leave Manglore airport premises until the aircraft reached Mumbai (just so, I had planted a bomb in the flight, I could be easily arrested). It was 9 PM and the flight landed Mumbai at mid-night. I was free to go now (even though I didn’t know how and where to go). Luckily, a group of flight attendants had just finished their shift and were leaving too.
I tagged along. Even though I didn’t know where I was going, I just asked them to drop me at whatever juncture I can get a cab for the nearest bus-stop/ railway station.
They dropped me at an empty cross road, with just one auto rickshaw standing in the dark and not a single soul around (except for maybe some street dogs). As scared as I was, I didn’t let that show on my face. I walked up to the rickshaw, summoned up enough courage to wake the driver up from his sleep and told him that I wanted to go to the nearest Bus stop.
He gave me the same look as the station master gives to Kareena Kapoor in Jab We Met, though Jab We Met was released after this incidence. Before he could say anything, I hopped in and it was an hour ride. It was so dark that I couldn’t read the name of the places we were passing by. I started murmuring some chants and relied on the driver.
He then dropped me at this remote and lonely Bus Stop, where I could only see some shadily dressed men, smoking bidi (cigarettes), and a few ruins of buses.
A quick scan of the place told me that it’s not going to be a safe ride home. I went up to the ticket counter, and woke up the person behind the counter (Wonder why was everybody asleep at 1 AM). He told me the next bus will leave only at 4 AM. I could not risk my life till 4 AM, so I decided to walk up to the railway station and get the next available train.
But God had already decided not to give it easy to me. As it turned out, the train I should have caught was leaving in front of my eyes. Alas, I wasn’t a bollywood actor who could jump in a running train. So I went back to the bus stop and decided to wait until 4 AM.
Mind you, back then, India did not have smart phones (or maybe I didn’t have one), so no GPS, nothing to get online information, and nothing to entertain you. Somehow I survived till 4 AM. Now they had started boarding passengers, into the same bus which looked like ruins of a bus. Passengers included two old men, a group of middle aged men (I didn't know what they looked like, as they had their faces covered with stoles) and a driver. I got the end corner seat for myself (if we could call it a seat at all).
It was a rough ride and I didn't think we will reach Coimbatore in single piece, but we made it in about 3 hours. Now, it was getting brighter, I could see some people on the streets and I was relieved. My phone had turned off too, so I couldn’t get in touch with my parents to tell them where I was. I thought they must be worried sick, so without wasting a single moment in searching for a telephone booth, getting something to eat and freshening up, I got the next available bus to Ooty.
That seemed like a never ending journey, but finally I made it home. I slept like a log after that and woke up after 24 hours with sore muscles. And my dad swore that he would never give me emotional talks (which didn’t last long) :)
Many more of my adventure stories coming up soon!
Chocolate Power
Chocolates have been giving me power since 26 years now. Let’s not get carried away by the number here, let’s focus on the topic “Power Chocolate”. Remember the “Milky Bar, Give me the Power” ad? Being the naive kid I was, I sincerely thought that a Milky Bar could make us all fly in space. Since that day till today I’ve been eating chocolates everyday hoping to be able to spin like Shaktiman (Indian Superhero). Too bad, “amul milk” ads did not leave that kind of impact on me. Though I can still sing along with that jingle.
My day begins with a chocolate and ends with one. If I wasn’t under close supervision of my mother (before marriage) and now my husband (after marriage), I would probably sleep with a chocolate in my mouth. Now I sleep with the taste of Himalaya’s Neem toothpaste.
If you know me or have been a regular follower of my blog (kudos to you), you would also know that I am a hyper active person. My body seems to lack a “stop” button. I am as energetic at the end of the day as I am at the beginning.
We Jamwals are known for our boundless energy, liveliness and the oomph as we are always high on sugar.
At work, when I run out of my daily dose of chocolate by noon, I set out for a hunt, sniffing and tracing sweets. Just so I don’t bother my colleagues in the middle of something important, they have started keeping aside something sweet for me, in a bowl outside their offices. I almost feel like one of those corrupt police officers from old bollywood movies, who would torture poor villagers to pay him weekly protection money. The failure to do so would have consequences. In my case, they will have to listen to my whining.
Only the other day, when our office was celebrating 2 birthdays with 3 different cakes at once, everybody was being asked which cake would they want to try, and when it came to me, I was asked “which one would you like to START with Deepali?” (With emphasis on “Start”)
“How can you be so sure I will try all 3 of them?” I spoke in my defense
“Oh! I am sorry, which one would you want then?”
“I’ll Start with a small piece of all 3” ;)
There I go. I can’t even resist my urge to prove a point in my defense.
Well, I am little to be blamed here. I have this in my blood. My grandmother tells us that my father would carry plain sugar in his pant pockets to school, just in case he didn’t get anything else sweet to eat.
So it runs in my family. All of us are sweetoholics. Except for that one day, when I made this sweet dish, (Bread halwa) which was mind numbingly sweet, and none of my family members could eat more than a bite of it. In-fact, my sister even swore, she would never eat anything sweet I ever make in my life. And I ate the whole dish single handedly. That day I officially qualified to be the sweet teeth (not just tooth) of the family. What an honor that was J
But I do realize the negative impact of being a sweetoholic. Spending half my life on a dentist’s chair has costed me a fortune apart from half my life J . So I decided to challenge myself to go off sweets for as long as I can. Day 1 was difficult. I couldn’t concentrate at work. And once I couldn’t work, I kept thinking of chocolate. As we all know, an idle mind is a chocolate factory. That day, all my colleagues’ chocolate bowls were intact. They started to worry, but I assured it was a voluntary act and I am not under any influence.
Chocolate addiction is worse than Cocaine addiction (not that I have experienced latter). At least they have rehabs and support groups for cocaine addiction. On the other hand, people just point and laugh at you when you tell them you have a chocolate addiction. It’s not considered as horrifying as cocaine for some reason.
The day I decided to go off sweets, we had a birthday in office, followed by valentine’s day, followed by another B’day. Everybody knew what that meant, “Deepali will give in”.
BUT I DIDN’T
I didn’t even go close to the cakes, even though I could smell them from miles apart, or maybe I had a small slice when no one was watching, but that doesn’t count since no one was watching.
I lasted for 3 days and I am very proud of myself, but I never plan to go off sweets again.
I will brush 5 times a day, work out twice as much, but will not give in my source of power. SWEETS!
My day begins with a chocolate and ends with one. If I wasn’t under close supervision of my mother (before marriage) and now my husband (after marriage), I would probably sleep with a chocolate in my mouth. Now I sleep with the taste of Himalaya’s Neem toothpaste.
If you know me or have been a regular follower of my blog (kudos to you), you would also know that I am a hyper active person. My body seems to lack a “stop” button. I am as energetic at the end of the day as I am at the beginning.
We Jamwals are known for our boundless energy, liveliness and the oomph as we are always high on sugar.
At work, when I run out of my daily dose of chocolate by noon, I set out for a hunt, sniffing and tracing sweets. Just so I don’t bother my colleagues in the middle of something important, they have started keeping aside something sweet for me, in a bowl outside their offices. I almost feel like one of those corrupt police officers from old bollywood movies, who would torture poor villagers to pay him weekly protection money. The failure to do so would have consequences. In my case, they will have to listen to my whining.
Only the other day, when our office was celebrating 2 birthdays with 3 different cakes at once, everybody was being asked which cake would they want to try, and when it came to me, I was asked “which one would you like to START with Deepali?” (With emphasis on “Start”)
“How can you be so sure I will try all 3 of them?” I spoke in my defense
“Oh! I am sorry, which one would you want then?”
“I’ll Start with a small piece of all 3” ;)
There I go. I can’t even resist my urge to prove a point in my defense.
Well, I am little to be blamed here. I have this in my blood. My grandmother tells us that my father would carry plain sugar in his pant pockets to school, just in case he didn’t get anything else sweet to eat.
So it runs in my family. All of us are sweetoholics. Except for that one day, when I made this sweet dish, (Bread halwa) which was mind numbingly sweet, and none of my family members could eat more than a bite of it. In-fact, my sister even swore, she would never eat anything sweet I ever make in my life. And I ate the whole dish single handedly. That day I officially qualified to be the sweet teeth (not just tooth) of the family. What an honor that was J
But I do realize the negative impact of being a sweetoholic. Spending half my life on a dentist’s chair has costed me a fortune apart from half my life J . So I decided to challenge myself to go off sweets for as long as I can. Day 1 was difficult. I couldn’t concentrate at work. And once I couldn’t work, I kept thinking of chocolate. As we all know, an idle mind is a chocolate factory. That day, all my colleagues’ chocolate bowls were intact. They started to worry, but I assured it was a voluntary act and I am not under any influence.
Chocolate addiction is worse than Cocaine addiction (not that I have experienced latter). At least they have rehabs and support groups for cocaine addiction. On the other hand, people just point and laugh at you when you tell them you have a chocolate addiction. It’s not considered as horrifying as cocaine for some reason.
The day I decided to go off sweets, we had a birthday in office, followed by valentine’s day, followed by another B’day. Everybody knew what that meant, “Deepali will give in”.
BUT I DIDN’T
I didn’t even go close to the cakes, even though I could smell them from miles apart, or maybe I had a small slice when no one was watching, but that doesn’t count since no one was watching.
I lasted for 3 days and I am very proud of myself, but I never plan to go off sweets again.
I will brush 5 times a day, work out twice as much, but will not give in my source of power. SWEETS!
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