My Words

I, in an emotionally challenging moment, penned down some words in Punjabi which I have posted on my Punjabi blog- Kaaghaz de Kujh Purzei. In a casual chat with my friend Sumanto, I happened to tell him that I wanted to put it up here too, but that I had not done a good job with the translation of the poem. He, very kindly, has translated it for me-rather as he puts it- he has 'transcreated' it for me. Your input is worth appreciation, Sumanto. Thank you.

++++

kamrey ke maroothal kee

deewaro'n se takraa kar

jab

mere lafz

mehz aawazein ban reh jatey hain,

main maa ban kar

pingley baccho'n ki tarah

unko goad mein utha

darr-darr firti hoon,

duaayein maangti

shayad

kabhi shabdo'n ke kaalib* mein

fir se rooh dhadak hi jaye.

(*kaalib-skeleton)

++++

Words rebound

lose their sound

in the four walls

of the desert of my room.

Tired whispers

die a silent death-

in the desert night.

I do my mother act

Gather the fractured words, my progeny,

Onto my lap-

caressing,

petting,

knitting prayers on my lips.

I roam about

each corner of the desert room

Hoping for an oasis

if only the skeletons could get back

the touch of blood

and

live upto life again.

It Happened One Night

It was around 10 P.M. They both went to that upclass sweet shop. She saw the boy standing near a couple. She thought they were a family and that it was their child. He was dressed in clean clothes. On a second look, she could see that pile of papers tucked under his arm. She even saw him persuading them to buy one of those papers.

They went in, she bought her apple pie, had a fight with the counter guy for heating it up too much. He tasted his favorite sweet, laughed about with the counter boys if only to make up for her bad humored verbal exchange. She wanted ice cream, he said, "I will share it with you. " He should have said, “Don’t eat so many sweets. You are already fat, sweets will undo your workout.” Instead he indulged her. They came out to the car. She placed her pie, their ice cream on the car boot and started to look for the car key that he often tells her to put in her bag.

The boy came near them, they tried to ignore. He said, “Ma’am, Please buy this map from me.” “But I don't need one, Beta,” she said, but told him to show her the maps. “I will take the city map. No, the state map is better. Umm, or maybe, India map is more useful. Uhoon, Let me take this world map.” He told the little boy, “Ow just give me the city map. How much is it for?” “Sir, it is for 25 Rupees,” He began to look at the map. She saw the boy looking at the feast kept on the car bonnet. She looked at the boy, he smiled. She asked him, “Do you study?” He said, “Yes, I am in class 6th.” She thought, “Almost as old as my older one.” Then asked him “Would you like to have an ice cream?” The boy hesitated, then said, “yes”. She blinked her eyes, gave him the little bowl, he paid the boy for the map and told him to keep the change. The boy grinned and thanked her. She decided it was the most beautiful smile she had seen lately . She would never forget the grin. Once the boy went, she thought aloud, “Glad I gave the ice cream away. Saved me from sinning.” Once inside the car, she told him, “We are a crazy couple, aren’t we? !!!” He said, “Why do you think so?” She said, “Aiwen ee.” He said, “You are !! and that’s why I love you.”

Babe's Followers

That day a few months ago, when I opened my blog, it showed a follower.

Follower? In terms of admirer? At this age? As a teenager, it was scary to have boys following us girls. Yes, it was abuse. As a young woman, I had followers-friendly as well as unfriendly followers. Ah abuse, thy manifold manifestations ! But a follower on the blog? I must say I was flattered, happy, scared- all at the same time. After all, what did it mean? I had never seen any followers on blogs. Whatever it meant. Curious, I opened the blogger dashboard and it revealed a follower. Blogger merely said," *** is following your blog." And I began to think, does it mean he/she knows whatever activity goes here? Does it mean he/she knows my password? Is he a stalker? I can tackle a she-stalker. I would have to bring in M to tackle a he-stalker. A few days into this following business, and there were more. One, two, three, four, five-by now I was in a wow mood. It meant I was being read. There were people trying to know what I was writing. I should write better. I should try to post more sensible stuff here.

One night I had a clothed Eureka moment and that woke me up with a start. It dawned on me that having a follower automatically means I can start a cult. Or even a religion. All that a religious leader needs is a few followers and I had, after all, a total of six. Thereafter, networking will do the rest of the job. If those fancy vilaiti companies can offer bonus on networking, I will give everybody some incentives too. Incentives like kadah parshad (flour halwa); or pinni parshad; or perhaps patasa (batasha in hindi and sugar candy in vilaiti English) will do instead of Phoren travel or big time money. Yes, I will resign my job and wear a designer suit and be a religious leader with a difference. A charming babe of a leader with a good hold on Punjabi, a non-accented English and a ‘cornered’ Hindi – and the magic would be complete. I said cornered Hindi, because most of us in Punjab speak out the language making it as abrupt as a turn in a room with corners. (Surjit Bhaji calls our hindi “nukkra’n kadh ke boli hindi’) I would be a babe as the feminine gender of a young baba – there are plenty young babas in our land. The feminine gender of old baba is bebe in Punjabi, bebe being an old (mother) woman. Now there is not much difference between a hi-fi babe and a Punjabi bebe. A mere ‘a’ I dare say. But then we digress. Coming back to the accent, I know my followers would forgive me any accent and actually will make a trend of my style. After all, what are followers for? But the dream soon shattered badly. For I was just one among all the blogspot bloggers who had followers. Whom-so-ever’s blog I visited on blogspot, almost everyone had a follower or two.

Gradually the followers reached a number of 38. Then the university sent me a letter, “lady, you have your dreaded viva voce with an examiner soon. Stop this follower business and get back to your studies” and I went back to my thesis, to my books and all that stuff. As if that was not enough, kids’ schools conspired with the university and they sent their date sheets. Poor babies started to get big time howling and cribbing from me, because my viva fell in the middle of their exams and there was no way either of the two tasks would allow me any respite.I forgot my blog, I forgot my followers. And my followers forgot me. Like the TRP of an Ekta Kapoor serial in which she finally killed Baa (did she, or didn’t she?) after Baa became about two and a half centuries old, the number of my followers fell. It fell from 38 to 36, then plummetted further to 32. I was sad, a little. Then one night, I woke up laughing out loud. I realised that only the true followers remain. They are the ones who have stayed by my side in my lonely and trying days spent compulsively away from blogworld. Mampi, think positive. Wow, I can still start my own religion.

And I have money power too. I am reminded through a widget on my blog that it has been valued at $ 23,710.68 even in these days of hopeless recession. Now that is some consolation. How they evaluate blogs is beyond my humble understanding. But I am happy, and for now that’s all that matters. With elections approaching fast , maybe I can, with muscle power (I have ample on my person) use some money power too and in the true blue Indian political style, combine my babe-dom with politics. But then this would be too ambitious for a single blogpost.

Meantime, everyone’s welcome to join the fold.

Delhi 6 - From Chandni Chowk to Nowhere

For the first half, you don’t know what the movie is talking about. Then, as the story develops, it starts to tie a few threads and make a few new ones to leave them untied. The jump from thought to thought is abrupt. But then, I like the old world charm, be it Montreal’s cobbled streets or Old Delhi’s crowded, heavily wired rooftops. I guess that is why I went to watch Delhi 6. Somehow I was disappointed. I don’t get disappointed easily, I go on looking for some saving graces in the work till I find them or till I abandon the work. I found some in this movie too-but they were so far removed from each other that I ended up waving my hand and telling Mahesh, “no its not worth all this time I am spending here. " But then most of the movies I watch, I watch to be with Mahesh, to laugh with him, to get scared, to just have those 3 hours all to ourselves. So it is okay, I went on watching Delhi 6.

Abhishek is cute, I like him, he could have done a good job in the movie if there were any job for him to do. He disappoints but then the director hardly appointed him. Sonam Kapoor tries to do that girl next door act, but she fails miserably-she ends up behaving and getting filmed in a clichéd way. I normally get impressed very easily by people, but she couldnt even use that ease to impress me. Mahesh even had a suggestion for her (obviously she failed to impress him too) that she should find a good boy and get married asap before it is too late. Waheeda Rehman is one of the redeeming factors in the movie; the others being Vijay Raaz in the role of Inspector RanVijay who has avenged all the slaps he has had to suffer in other movies and Divya Dutta in the brief role of an untoucable sweeper. Atul Kulkarni impresses in his own way.

I expected more from Rakesh Omprakash Mehra after Rang De Basanti . This movie also tries to say things through symbolism. RDB had its legend of Bhagat Singh and his comerades; here it is Ram Lila transmitting the message of communal and religious harmony. But this movie is not even close to the charm of RDB that refuses to fade even today. Rang De Basanti had all the new comers except Aamir and they ended up governing the entire psyche of the youth of the nation for quite a while. This movie has a cast of accomplished, senior, mature actors; unfortunately the director has been unable to handle their talent-he got to get them to do nothing. The message could have been given in a stronger, far stronger way (and it is the need of the times too) but the director somehow lost interest somewhere in the middle-it shows. It ends up as a sweet and a clean kind of movie, but then you cannot go on having Mamdu’s jalebis for three hours.

However, symbols like masakali (the pigeon) , the tulsi, the temple and the mosque, the black monkey, and the song with the combination sequence i.e. Dil Gira Dafatan are the few things that I will remember the movie by.

Moral-I could have watched it on the DVD if there were not the danger of having to see Mahesh fall asleep during the movie.

The Desired One

My little girl won a second prize in Flower Arrangement Contest in her school. She is very excited. So am I. I didn't know she had this talent in her. This is her prize winning flower arrangement. She has named it STEPS TO SUCCESS with input from her Nani.

She is submitting a very very short story to her school tomorrow. The theme is Girl Child. And this is her entry for the competition.

The idea, plot, characters are all hers. She made a handwritten draft and sat with me while I typed it out. I suggested a few minor changes and a few grammatical alterations. She graciously accepted them.

My Desired One never fails to amaze me.

Dev D - What an Emosanal Torture !!

I had been waiting for DevD to release. Yes, I am your quintessential moronish Bollywood fan. However, this movie is anything but the regular masala material. I am not sure if this movie is ahead of its time, or the people are way behind its times. I say this because 30 minutes into its start, three families moved out of the cinema hall bag and baggage. Why they came to watch the movie with their stupid baggage is beyond my comprehension. It is an A by certification and an adult comedy by classification. The start was cute, then progressed to being hilarious. The moment the characters came to their crude rustic language, the urbane mentalities of a few posh people around us got a big shock and their modesties seemed outraged. The hall was already empty for the last 11 pm show but for about 30 odd people including Mahesh and me. Once one ugly character started to talk in a sexually explicit way about Paro, a couple found it too much perhaps. They walked out. Then another family got up from this side of the hall, then another. from the other (I suspect it was more due to the need to conform to each other’s standards of morality than out of an outrage to their own). Mahesh said perhaps the men in these groups found it uncool to hear this language with their women around them. At the end of those first 30 minutes, we were only 20 people left in the hall.

I was shocked at their going. And then I laughed out loud as they were moving down the stairs of the audi. I actually laughed at them. No doubt, the comedy was slapstick, at times outrageous, but hell, it was an A-you gotta be prepared to handle it. Blah ! kiddos!! I am glad I have matured.

Yes, there is a lot of sex-talk in the movie, but then that is about it. All they do is talk about it, unless you count unsuccessful attempts at trying to make out in a cattle shed, or in a bathroom, or in a poultry farm with hens cooped up and cackling all around the kissing and groping couple. Later, there are prostitutes, there are sleazy hotels, there are narrow alleys, there are ‘doing drugs’ scenes-and there is explicit language at some places.

Even then, it is not your regular bollywood stuff at all. There is no hunkish character in the movie, there is no hot female in the movie, no item song-all characters totally down to earth, all actors almost average looking. Abhay without a shirt is no semblance to his cousins. Mahesh even labeled his ‘a weak body’ but at the same time, he was totally in awe of this actor’s looks and acting. Paro is a new Chandigarh girl Mahie Gill-good looking, mature in acting but very much your girl next door. Chandramukhi is Kalki Koechlin, not stunning by Indian standards but cute and innocent. The movie ends on a positive note. However, Mahesh seemed kind of frustrated. He said, “At least Paro’s husband should have died by the end of the movie.” And I laughed out loud at his remark. It is so unlike him to want someone’s death – even if it is an imaginary character. I asked him, Mahesh did you really want Paro to come to Dev? They are such similar people. They would have made their own life totally hell if they had been together. But I liked the guts of Paro.

The movie leaves a lot for the viewer to interpret. Each scene, each dialogue is sensibly done. The progress of the self-destructive path that Dev travels to-is absolutely a smooth sequence. His deterioration is complete, but as he is supposed to be, he is lovable. The presence of the three dancers in the same spirit as MacBeth’s three witches was goose-bumpish. They didn’t utter a single dialogue, they didn’t do anything in the movie, except two fabulous dance sequences. They were present all through his destructive phase. The Punjabi numbers are awesome. Emosional Attyachar is a total cruelty-God knows where Anurag Kashyap found these two characters singing the song. I mean I loved the sequence. The stream of consciousness movement at many places in the movie simply leaves you wanting to give a standing ovation to the director, even if in an empty hall.

Go ahead, watch it-but watch it with an open mind.
Ram Sena is already doing enough damage with its closed mindedness.

Dalhousie III

A lonely Sardar Ajit Singh

Wish I could trek on this route, but then there is always a next time.

Tere hath'on mein Pehna ke choodiya'n... Remember?? It was here that it had happened

These drops started off as snow and....

Yeh kahan kho gaye hum....

Snow Ji Snow

Immor(t)al Love??

Aiming high? or Earning bucks?? A stall behind the Ajit Singh Memorial

Our last few hours in the Dalhousie town on the third day were primarily spent in collecting water from Panj Pula, and then driving down the hills. I opened my car window and let the air cool the car for as long as it could and wondered aloud why couldn't my hair now be called 'blow dried' instead of the 'wind blown' mess they were soon going to become.
Hope you enjoyed the pictures.
Dalhousie episode endeth here, Thanks for your patience.

Dalhousie-II

25.01.09

The day before had been eventful and I expected this day to be even more wonderful.

I had set the alarm at 7 : 30 am. Yes I know it is not early enough. Not by my standards, not by my mother’s standards, not by my mother-in-law’s standards. But hell, neither mom or mom-law were there. I tried to wake up at 8, couldn’t. How can you, when you have good hug material close to you? It took great will power to finally shake myself up 15 minutes later. Pinku-Parry had ordered morning tea for me too. Sheepishly, I went there (cos I was late), took tea in their room, didn’t want to wake Mahesh who had told me that he wanted to sleep even more. I and P and P decided we wanted to go for a late morning walk. We ventured downhill from close to the hotel. It was a steep downhill walk. All the while I kept thinking that if I have to walk uphill from here, it would an arduous task.

I kept boring P and P with the old songs that I have loaded in my cell-phone. We reached the bus-stand and P and P went to buy muffins from a good looking confectionary shop (wallah who was not worth the money Pinku spent) and found that the shop wallah had, in the process of re-heating, burnt the core of the overpriced muffin. I am absolutely at a loss how someone can burn a muffin from inside while it is still okay to look from the outside. Enough about the muffin, except that Parry burnt his tongue and cursed the good looking muffin walah. We came upto Subhash Chowk where Pinku scared a child in the car with her ‘hello’. With great difficulty we dragged her hurt ego away from the crying child and went to see Netaji’s statue, it is nicely done as compared to Gandhi’s in the Gandhi chowk. I don’t know why I felt very guilty being in front of Bose’s statue in track pants and sweater. It was a beautiful cloudy morning. It was 10: 00 a.m. by now. We then came back to the Geetanjali, showered, changed and took our breakfast at around 11:15 a.m. Pinku drooled at the very mention of Paranthas. She even forgot the 20 bucks worth muffin walah in the process. She and Mahesh had a parantha & butter competition. Mahesh was wicked enough to wipe off all butter and she was left courteously saying, “it’s okay Mahesh”. They asked for more butter from Pirthi Bhaiya (the cook) and he said , we have ample food but sorry we don’t have any more butter for the hungry hoarde. Disappointed, Mahesh and Pinku polished off another parantha each. I exaggerate, I am equally a culprit in over-eating too. By 1, the parantha fight was over. Contented, we thought of what to do next. Khajjiar was out of question, I told you everyone had discouraged us the previous day. We thought , lets go to Lakkar Mandi, about 8 kilometers away and then decide whether to go ahead to khajjiar or not.

Once there, the toll booth walah gave us the green signal, “Arey no problem, go ahead all the way to Khajjiar.” I jumped on the seat, the car shook a little and we were on the way. Snow? In Dalhousie. Yes, there was some, on the sides of the roads, but nothing to get excited about. Hell, the little snow we saw was dirty. Why was Pinku so het up about this bowlful of snow? But then I was being mean. I had seen heavy snow, white snow, rather snow storms in Canada and this baby-snow was rather a wretched cousin of the real snow fall. By Dalhousie standards it was good, and the important thing was that it was SNOW- something Pinku had been singing for about a month. “I want snow fall, I want snow fall, I want snow fall.” In my heart of hearts I had kept laughing. Girl, where would you find snow in Dalhousie? But I also had been assuring her that I was also praying with folded hands for snow. But snow? In Dalhousie? We kept stopping on the way where there was abundance on the hilly slopes. We kept getting drenched by drunk drivers driving cars through potholes in the roads. But I didn’t mind it, not at all. It was fun, it was a cloudy day, no sun, and was cold, really cold, but it was fun. We were with friends; and friends wanted snow.

Bless Mahesh for driving all the way to Khajjiar. We reached there and Mahesh said, “Is this what is Khajjiar?” in the same tone as I had thought, "Snow? In Dalhousie?" I knew he would not be sharing my enthusiasm about the saucer shaped valley. After all what would you expect from a Passionate but essentially practical guy? I said yes, this is it, come lets run about. It was windy and cold. Mahesh would not let go of any pretext to remove his jacket once anyone aimed the camera at him. He would freeze, his teeth would be on the verge of chattering, but he needed to remove his jacket. He even tried to tempt me into removing the jacket. Thank god I didn’t give in. (Wish I had, because I have caught sinusitis anyway.) Then it drizzled and we walked in the rain around the vast meadows. I have been to Khajjiar many times, for camping, for trekking. I even located that hut that we used to use as a dorm and which has now been re-named ‘the Khajji’ as rhyming with Bhajji. But nothing to beat this peripheral walk around Khajjiar. The forest has been cordoned off with a barbed wire. I think it is a wise move that would lead to protection of wildlife. Human beings are more a danger to wild animals than the other way round. Rain forced us to get back to the car and we headed back. A narrow road, super heights, slippery path, but no fear. I had faith in the Man and his Machine. On the way, we were tempted to stop at another snow heap. That was when Pinku finally had her cottony snow in her hands. Boy, was she excited ! Everyone around could make out that her prayers had just been answered. And that is when I learnt about her Skiddaa.

A skiddaa is a skid in Punjabi. Her funda is that you add an ‘a’ or ‘aa’ and the word becomes Punjabi. And she says that you add an ‘o’ and it becomes a Bangla word. Now a big hug is a huggaa to her, and of course a parantha is a paranthaa to her. Pinku, I am just being mean, I know you are reading and I know you are drooling. She took a skiddaa once we reached enough height. That was certainly not enough. She climbed up again as we stood on the road, and took another big skiddaa. All the time, there was this song playing at the back of my mind “tere hatho’n mein pehna ke choodiyan, mauj banjara le gaya’. Ask me why? There was this fat-drunk Punjabi guy who stood watching her taking her skiddaas. All the time, our dear Pinku knew nothing of his existence. She was totally into her skiddaas. He was what we call in Punjabi “Tharki” (voyeur). He kept talking to his fat son, “oye mera alloo da parantha, oye mera burger, oye meri maggi” (all he could think was junk food) and was keeping an eye on Pinku skidding. When she was finally done with her big skiddaas, he looked at Pinku and said, “Maza aya na bhabiji?” Hehee, I wanted to go and ask him, “Oye keehdi bhabi oye?” (Which in simple English means, I dont know you but I am your brother-in-law) and what the hell did you do to add to the fun?" However, I didnt ask him anything, considering he was drunk. I just hummed the song out loud. Got the relevance?

Came back to Dalhousie, all gaga – me over the Khajjiar trip and Pinku-Parry over the snow. I blessed Mahesh, his wife, and his kids for taking me all the way there. And also for asking him to click weird pics on the way ; and that too at a notice of 2 seconds when he couldn’t even find the parking space on the side of a slipping hill.

We again did that parking walah trick with the nearby hotel parking space. Mahesh had not been very comfortable about parking the car stealthily there. What a Gandhi-wadi of a husband. After dinner, we both went to this hotel and talked to the manager. He refused point blank to entertain us or our car. “Kar lo aur honesty,” I wanted to yell out to Mahesh. But he talked the manager into letting us park our car there, and I was relieved. What would I do without this guy in my life? At least I won't be able to park the car anywhere nice.

Ok, I skipped the detail about dinner. We, in the limited choice that we had in our dinner, chose a nice hotel and begged them to give us food because we were sick of dhabaas. They had some corporate party (this is what they chose to call it) which was hardly a corporate party. It was a motley group of diners from the same hotel. The hotel stewards preferred to call it a corporate party, so be it as long as we had a DJ to make the entire din and so long as P and P got a chance to shake a leg there. It was a great fun to watch them have fun. And let me mention that Pinku found the same kid who cried at her very sight and pataoed him to smiles this time. The dinner was really really good.

We came ‘home’. And surprisingly, I was not tired at all. But sleep we did. Incidentally that day there was this big spat between Sajid Khan and Ashutosh Gowarikar as a repeat on TV. I still do not know what all happened there. I never watched that spat. I refuse to patronize anything that is bad publicity. Not that my not watching makes a difference…

Pics in the next post. Promise.

Dalhousie-I

24.1.09

5:20 AM. A clear day ahead. Still dark. I sat in the car while Mahesh went to receive ParryAnka from the Ludhiana Railway Station. Our plan was to head straight to Dalhousie after picking them up. The train was late by about an hour. It was expected at 4:30 AM and it arrived at 5:40 AM. Just when I started to get bored waiting on the front passenger seat, and prepared to take a nap before they tapped on the window, I saw them coming. Hugs and hand shakes and Paulo Coelho’s Eleven Minutes later, we set for our journey. Mahesh on the driving seat-Parry with him, Pinku exactly behind Parry and I sitting behind Mahesh. Typical Pativrata women, you would say. But my idea of sitting behind Mahesh is that I want him to check on me every few minutes through the rear view mirror. Attention freak !!!

We started on an enthusiastic note but then I started to feel sleepy, having slept only minus 3 hours the night before. Roop can vouch for it. I was chatting with her till 1 A.M and I was up at 3: 30 AM the next morning. When I woke up many bumps later, we were in Pathankot, it was a beautiful dawn and Mahesh was on phone with someone arranging for our stopover at the town. I actually thought the Municipal Commissioner would come to welcome us and to express his/her gratefulness for having set foot in his/her city. But no one came. We had a sumptuous breakfast in a luxurious room in a beautiful hotel Venice , freshened ourselves up and set for the onward journey of about 80 kilometers to Dalhousie. Like a seasoned driver, Mahesh wound the car on the snake-like roads. And I kept getting excited about how it was 16-17 years back when I had come as a Youth Camper from my university. As soon as hills of a reasonable size started , we got down from the car and started to click pictures. My Sony Cyber-shot DSC-S700, which I was feeling ungrateful enough to change in favour of a high end one, came to my rescue. As if to prove its worth, it gave out brilliant pictures. Pinku had a genuine problem posing for pictures. I don’t know how, but she can manage to twist her face in such a way that the picture has to be reclicked. She was always in animation. My camera failed before her, but never gave up, and as a result we ended up having some really funny pictures of hers. But let me add that as it happens, she has gone home a reformed person. She now can tolerate being clicked rather gracefully.

As we started to get closer to Dalhousie, I started to get ecstatic. I have childhood memories associated with the town. Parents used to bring us here for our annual vacation. I can distinctly remember walking hand-in-hand with my sister and parents walking leisurely behind us.

We let the fresh-hilly air run through the car. We did not meet much traffic on the way. Early birds perhaps. We reached Dalhousie by 12:30 P.M. Reasonably enough, considering that it is about 2100 Mts above the sea level. And then nostalgia stuck! That same old bus stand, that same old Subhash chowk, and Gandhi chowk. We managed to find our hotel Geetanjali that Pinku had booked for all of us. Among the shiny new hotels, it looked like a poor cousin. But once we went in, it offered us that old world charm of high ceilings, really big rooms-you could actually play football if you wanted to, and a room sized drawing room in the front. Before checking out, Mahesh went and tried to ask the hotel people where did those mysterious doors from the room open? They told him that one opened from the room to a kitchen, and one from the washroom to the outer corridor. Purrfect exit doors for Sahib log. For it was an Officers Mess before it became Indian government’s money earning hotel/resort. Pinku later found out that it is 140 years old. That is quite impressive, considering that Dalhousie itself is a 150 year old settlement. Col. Napier found this place really great and converted it into a cantonment. I find Dalhousie a quiet retreat. Coming back to the hotel Geetanjali, it is an HPTDC venture. What venture? Its just perhaps a dying building. The government is actually planning to tear it down and erect a brand new hotel here. Phew ! God save the building and god save the guests.

Anyway, we checked in, rested a while and then moved out. Mahesh was tired after that tense driving. Leaving him sleeping, I got ready and came out with Pinku Parry to have a wonderful view of snow clad mountains in the distance. We stood munching peanuts and giggling and enjoying the clean-cold-chillingly cold air. Meantime, Mahesh came. Had our lunch at ‘a’ Lovely Dhaba. It was flanked by a ManMahesh Dhaba also. This was a surprise to me because I have often come across the name ‘ManiMahesh’, because of its obvious association with the Kailash yatra, but ManMahesh…?? I thought I had invented the name, obviously I was wrong. Or wait, perhaps they read this blog and thought of making use of the name. Yes, that is a happier interpretation. Anyway, Mahesh aka Shiv ji Zindabad. However, we didn’t patronize it because , because because....

I made enquiries about the existing tourist places. Yes, Panj Pula ( 5 Bridges) still stood about 2.5 kms away from the Gandhi chowk with a desolate Gandhi Statue. A narrow road, four excited people, and we reached Panj Pula. This place has a monument in the memory of Sardar Ajit Singh of the Pagri Sambhal Jatta movement. He was Sardar Bhagat Singh’s chacha and the force behind the mental make-up of Sardar Bhagat Singh. He died on the 15th of August 1947 in Dalhousie and his memorial / Samadhi has been erected here at Panj Pula. I kept running from one end to another trying to find this place where my parents had bathed us in the cold water to ensure we had shiny and healthy skins and then were cruel enough to click pictures of a freezing 6 year old Mampi and her younger sister. Can I ever forgive them? Yes I think I can, for that pool is now stagnant with a few paddle boats out to make some money. No children are bathed there anymore. The Samadhi is littered with torn balloons that come from a recreational stall behind it. We Indians don’t miss any opportunity to make any money, do we? Mahesh is seldom sarcastic but he happened to quote, “Shaheedo’n ki chitaao’n par lagenge har baras mele, watan pey mitney walo’n ka yahi baki nishaan hoga…” (The martyrs will be remembered through these memorials and people will congregate here every year to mark their anniversaries) Being the cynic that I am, I added a question mark at the end of the quote. He was joking that this is how the melas will take place, and that too, everyday instead of the yearly melas as the quote promises.

I was more interested in going right upto the origin of Sapt-dhara (seven streams). My mom had told me that it had water that contained medicinal values. Lord Dalhousie got this water in big quantities for his wife who had some sort of a skin ailment. While Parry and Pinku chose to stay behind, I and Mahesh ventured ahead to reach the visible falling stream. The water was pure, sparkling and untouched by civilization because thankfully, civilization needs to huff and puff to reach there. And civilization has gotten used to using what it gets right at its door-step. Civilisation loves to litter the waters-with plastic bags, disposable glasses, empty liquor bottles, empty chips bags and what not what. We stayed for a few minutes at the Sapt-Dhara and then came back. Hardly a trek you would say, but I loved it. There was a board displayed there that promised a 2 and a half hour trek to Chanmari dam. I wanted to do that one day. But the next day we had planned to go to Khajjiar. Now Khajjiar was higher up from Dalhousie and we had been advised by local shopkeepers, our hotel servants, and others against going there. There had been recent snow fall and rain. Both separate are perhaps not a danger, but can prove to be a deadly combo. We were wavering between going and not going. Over a cup of tea at the Panj-Pula, we finally decided against going there.

At Panj-Pula, we saw a group of guys who were busy drinking and smoking. If Mahesh had not been with me, I would surely have asked them what right did they have to pollute the sacred nature with smoke. Well, Mahesh doesn’t like me getting into the virago mode. His first preference is to keep peace, not to get into a tussle and certainly never to argue. It spoils one’s own peace of mind, he says. So, I had to ignore those stupid guys. We came back to Dalhousie and roamed about in the very very small market. Bought a shawl for mom. I usually refrain from shopping in these markets. They buy stuff from plains and sell it in hills and we, the stupid plain-wallahs buy it again and bring it back to plains. Well, if we didn’t do that, the economies wouldn’t mobilize. So, in buying that shawl, I helped mobilize the economy, yaay yaaye.

We sat in a small time fast food-general store kind of a joint and had some soup and gossiped. When we came out, Pinku located this shop that had a machine that told you of your love quotient. Obviously we had to experiment with it. First Pinku, dropped a 5 rupee coin in it and put her hand on the given space and it showed that she was ‘sensual’. SENSUAL !!! You rock girl ! We giggled and laughed. Then came Parry’s turn. Pinku insisted that it would show ‘dead fish’. No, it didn’t. It showed PASSIONATE (I think so, I have short term memory loss). Then came my turn, and lo, it showed the indicator to ‘hot stuff’, HOT STUFF !!! Finally someone knows my worth, hehehe !!! I shrieked, “Mahesh look at this, it thinks I am HOT STUFF!!!” We couldn’t stop laughing. When Mahesh put his hand on the machine, it said PASSIONATE. No comments!!! Could it have something to do with the hand temperatures? But the machine didn’t seem that intelligent.

It was raining by the time we were done, and it was windy. The eternal question of ‘where to have dinner’ remained. Not that it was hard to decide. Because we hardly had a choice. There were practically no eating joints open. The locals told us that the joints open only in March. For now, we would have to make do with the available eating places. Because we wouldn’t be able to wait till March. Geetanjali did offer dinner and breakfast. But we didn’t want to go back to have dinner to only to come back again for our mutter-gashti. So, in the icy rain, we went inside the only decent eating place that chowk had, and it was the same old Lovely restaurant.

The funny thing about this joint was that it offered elaborate meal – but only on menu sheets. Parry wanted a dosa, they didn’t have it. I wanted a pizza (I knew it would be a tadka-pizza), they didn’t have it. I offered to change my order to a sandwich (yes, I was crazy to want it at dinner time) with a chai. You guessed it right, they didn’t have it. I am not taking chicken etc these days, so I had to order different than these three paapi’s I was travelling with. But it was a big disappointment. The guy serving us was a sweet fellow though. Despite a crazy rush for dinner (because all the famished people of the entire town had come here) he gave us a priority and a service with a wide smile.

Post dinner, we braved the rain again and reached our hotel. Now came the next big issue of parking on the hills. There was an open parking, but I didn’t trust it. We would be parking at an insecure space on a curve of the hill. My paranoid mind was imagining a drunk driver coming fast at 1 A.M. and going tangentially at the curve, and hitting our car. So, all four of us decided to park our car at a nearby hotel parking which was at least in an enclosure. It was tricky. Mahesh did not agree with it, but he gave up 3 to 1. Of course, if we had told them that we were not putting up at their hotel, they would never have agreed to keep our car there. So we just risked it and kept it there for the night. And came back to our hotel. We were cold and we were tired. The old fashioned heaters were a great help though. But I wished the defunct fireplaces were working too. The rooms were big and it took a great while to warm them. But we finally fell asleep.

More Later...

Romance

Once, a mouse fell in love with a Lioness. It was obviously not easy wooing the lady. Look at what all he did.

One day, he met her on the way in the Indian ishtyle. And as becomes a hero of Indian films, he eve-teased her to proclaim his love. Said, “ I love you Sh-Sh-Sh-Sherni.”
She said, “Abey, Apna size toe dekh. Jaan Pyari hai ke nahi?”
The mouse said, “Tujh mein rab dikhta hai, Yaara main kya karoon.”

…and ran away.
But he could not forget her. One day he deliberately landed in her path and said, "I love you, Sh-Sh-Sherni.”
Sherni was angry, “ Abey, apni aukaat bhool gaya kya?”
The mouse smiled and said, “ Aree pagli, aukaat pey mat jaa, confidence dekh confidence.”

… and ran away.

…and has been running since.

The Lioness wants to catch him.
Nah, she is not offended. She has never had such an expressive lover ever.
But the mouse doesn’t know that.
He has been running for his life ever since.

Disclaimer: All characters are imaginary. Any resemblance to anyone real, wild or tamed , is purely co-incidental. In case you find a character similar to yours, you presume that at your own risk. It is NOT a parable, nor a fable. Kindly do not try to find meanings or relevance here. If at all you do, you again do it at your own risk.

SMS, My God

I love to receive and I love to send text messages. It is such a magical feeling to know you are in touch with buddies, isn’t it? But I received a couple of text messages recently that put me in a fix. I reproduce their text here.

· 27-4-2009 is Sai Baba Ji’s birthday. Don’t delete this message or you will be unlucky for 12 years. Send this message to 15 people except me. You will get a good news tonight.

· SAI BABA: SABKA MALIK EK. Send this message to 9 people. Please don’t say no. you will get a good news till Thursday. It is a real experience.

· This message has come from Kailash Mountain. Do not delete it. Otherwise you will face bad luck for 20 years. Send this to 20 people and you will receive good news within a week.

· This message was created at the Vaishno Mata Shrine. Do not break the chain otherwise you will have a lifelong bad luck.

I initially thought some god-goddess was sending this message. I, in fact, thought of namscaaring my cell-phone. After all, we in India love to find gods-goddesses in objects inanimate. And nothing bad in asking people to comply with some things like sending text messages. It gives the cell-phone companies some business too. I find nothing wrong in mild threats too. Because, I too, usually send threatening messages to friends when I start to miss their text messages. My favorite is a message that shows a picture of a headless person with a warning at the bottom of the message saying, “Acha bhala tha, message nahi karta tha, tapka dala. You are wise enough. Soch lo !!!” and promptly I start to get that spate of messages from friends far and wide.

I am no God, I think I can afford to threaten like this. But what kind of a God is it that believes in SMS forwarding business? What kind of a God is this that tries to coerce you into smsing? I am confused, perplexed, upset, scared…

I cannot help it. I am scared for the life of my family members and am concerned about the ' bad news' that awaits me if I delete the message or if I do not forward it. Oh please, I have to forward it or something like it.
So, with shaking hands, I duly forward the following message.

Om Namah Shivay
Om Sai Ram
Waheguru
Jai Shri Krishna
Allah hoo Akbar

Dar mat,
Kisi ko forward nahi karna hai….
Khud hi jap ley..... PAAPI !!!!

Friends are For Ever

She came, she stayed, she conquered. And she messed up all my plans of the vacations to be used for some technical reading, some exam-paper marking, some stay-at-home new year bash (if ever there is one) and some time for myself. She toppled my apple cart and I was left counting my apples on the floor. The night Roop and Pavan came, we sat till 3 a.m. I was not sure how Mahesh would like my blogger-pals, but he was so friendly with Pavan that all my doubts about my decision of asking Roop over vanished in a second. We had a late dinner. Mom was around. I tucked the kids into bed by 11 pm - way too late than their 9 pm curfew. The reason was that my daughter was absolutely crazy about her school mate who she has a weird similarity to in many things. They have the same school house, same tastes, same teachers, and even the same poem that they prepared. Once the initial niceties were exchanged, me and Roop became our nasty selves that we are on chat. Oh I forgot to add, we have christened ourselves as the two Mrs Chat-ter-jees (she junior, I senior) with due apologies to all my Bangla pals. Many friends think we are cousins, or long lost friends. We believe we are some strangely connected pair of buddies born about 8 years apart. Mahesh and Pavan said we resemble closely too. Told you, it is weird.

Me and Roop did a flash fight with our cameras, her pro Canon and my ghareeb Sony Cybershot, I even listened to Pavan talk about why he thinks there is no God. Mahesh was totally impressed at the way P was making up his case of no God. I and Mahesh are Phools who believe in God, if you remember, so it was kinda different for us. To cut it short, that night, till 3 am, we kept sitting in the biting cold in the dining room exchanging rare gyan about religion, society, curd, villages etc. Only the next day, unfortunately, the newspapers didn’t carry this news.

Next day, a late start, not much shopping. Again a 3 am good night, but that day she slept till 2 pm while Pavan went to some area near by, just for a cold stroll. I kept pestering him with a grandmotherly advice, “Give me a buzz once you feel you cant find your way back home.” Kept the phone handy in my pocket and kept cleaning up the house while Her Majesty slept. I went, pulled up the razai and told her, "Oye, You are not here to sleep." She said, "Mampi, please please, please." "Oww baby," and then I just tucked the razai neatly and moved out quietly. Why am I taken in so easily?

Then she wanted to go shopping again. Hell, what's with her dollars! And she wanted to go meet her relatives (29th December) and they came back on the 31st. A foggy day, and we were going 60 km away for the new year celebration. Kids, mom, Roopavan, Manmahesh, all had great fun. Crazy new year eve. And I and Mahesh are the kinds who would rather sit at home and have fun rather than go out and suffer the falling fog. But we went, danced while the Haveli people said they don’t want anyone to dance. How stupid can they get? But I guess that is the only way they can control the booze-crazy Punjabis on the night when they see beautiful dancers on stage and get drunk anyway without the booze. However, the people just lost patience once they saw Roop dancing at the end of the standing crowd and falling in the process. Ogling her, many others tried to match her zeal and fell too, and we laughed. Kassam sey, I saw people falling . The best part was Pavan's Jatt Punjabi act. Wished each other happy new year with unusual glee. We went there as domestic animals, we came back as party animals. The party got over by oo:30 hrs and we were seen off rudely by the Haveli people. Okay, not as rudely as the lurkers behind might have been. But we came when the others were still around. Mahesh loves to say, "Mela bharya chaddi’da hai." ( Leave the gathering when it is full) Drove back in blinding fog, all the while chattering away to glory at the back seat while Pavan’s words from the front seat got lost somewhere in his worry about the fog.

He flew the next day to Chennai and she went off and on to see her relatives, keeping me on toes. Mampi I am going, Mampi I am coming, Mampi my boutique wali will give my suit that day, Mampi this, Mampi that. Then I tempted her to come attend a wedding. I will spare you the torture of other details. But will love to mention that she straigtened my hair out for a more hep look and I put kajal in my eyes and Mahesh commented, "Tu fer la leya kala kala?" ( did u put that black stuff in your eyes again?) I frowned and scowled and then went to wedding.While I went to the jago with my friend whose brother was getting married, Roop and Avneet (Mahesh’s cousin who is crazy about dancing) made themselves comfortable by starting the dance and already setting the dance floor on fire by the time we came back after yelling and dancing in the streets as a huge spoilt group. And I too danced like there was no Rakhi Sawant. Even found a boyfriend there (so what if he is 5 yr old, he actually loved to see me dance). Again slept at 3 am. I really wonder why the night was day when this crazy girl was around. Talked about some serious stuff, some funny stuff, some teasing, some parenting etc etc etc. And then she went away on 5th noon. That’s why Mampi couldn’t blog saala.

I wanted to write about meeting NM in Delhi. Came to delhi on the 20th December and absolutely didn’t know how to reach her house. Was on phone for a considerable time to seek her blessings, errrrr guidance and reached easily. She was ready with her betu who is an amazing chap. I asked him, "How do you open that door outside, it is so tight. " He said “aise” and gave it a rough shove with his bum. Now I could surely do better than him and he was visibly pleased at this student who was a fast learner with better endowed push stuff. I cannot help but mention that NM is an amazing cook. She loves to feed you and that too in no time. she had her stuff ready and fed us a typical rajasthani lunch, which I absolutely adored. How Do We Know ( I know this doesn’t sound like a person; but I wont want to reveal her name in case she doesn’t want to) drove all the way from Gurgaon in the bad weather to meet me, and brought her little one with her who is such a cute hunk that he kept checking me out now and then, but then lost interest (guess he saw Mahesh with me) and gave up pursuit. Then his mommy and NM allotted him and Anirudh another room and he lost me, poor chap. HDWK, her son Ishaan, and Anirudh stood together, posing with a bicycle. And all looked age-mates. She is such a cute presence. I must mention the zeal with which she came. She doesn’t normally travel with her son in Delhi smog but she threw all caution to wind and came to see me. I am flattered, honored and really grateful that she could do that. Both the bloggers have given great accounts of our meeting. I am late, but blame that on Roop please.

Jasdeep came to visit me at my home while Roopavan were still here. So it was kind of a bonus for us all. He writes beautiful poems and also introduces us to new and old poetry in Punjabi. A simple soul he is. He told me that he had expected a fashionista welcoming him and here I was, a complete desi. But he was kind to mention he was not disappointed. Still I had my revenge at his modest comments. Wicked wicked me, I kept him hungry for 2 hours before I served the breakfast at 11 which was to be served at 9. Why? Simply because the host and the rest of the guests were not ready to face, umm, meet him yet. On that cold morning, the paranthas and chai never went cold, because there was this heated discussion on I don’t know what. Seriously, Pavan and Jasdeep got into argument on something communistic. I tried to quieten them by buttering them and by persuading them to take a lot of dahi. That proves that I am the quintessential granny?

2008 has been a great year in terms of blog–mates coming together. I met Pinku, Parry in Summer, rather met them twice, and look forward to meeting them again soon. Then there is Sumanto who is really a reluctant blogger, but blogger he sure is now. It’s different that I know him for 13 years more as a buddy than as a blogger. Mithe is very much around all the time, meeting me in the corridors of my college, but I acknowledge her talent as blogger first and foremost. I met Amarjit Uncle who writes brilliant Haikus in Punjabi. Then the year wound up with meeting Jasdeep, the great Roop Rai swayam and with pati. With so much of inspiration flowing around, I suspect Mahesh will soon come up with a blog of his own.

Coming back to where I had started from, I just about finished my deadlines of lecture preparation, marking exam papers (why are the kids made to sit for exams at all, I fail to understand; and then why does the cruel University want those papers marked at all??) clearing the backlog of reading of blogs, and catching up with sleep.

Phew, the junior Mrs Chatterjee flies out tomorrow.

(I loved being missed while I was away. Every single message left a grin on my face. Hell, I was more popular on Roop's blog than on my own. Thanks Roop, see this is why I wuv you.)

My Char-M

To delhi and back.

beautiful weather,
dusty delhi.
metro dreams a few metres above our heads,
early morning mist,
flyovers daring us,
milkmen guiding us,
a u-turn
Back home.


Well, yes, I and Mahesh drove to Delhi to meet Char-Paanch Bloggers. NM, HDWK, Pinku, PinknBlu, and Sukumbho (More about that later) and I come back home and Ritu Charges me with a Char ka Tag. Totally charmed, here I go, spreading about my charms.

4 places I go to over and over again

1. Internet (Lifeline has to go on blinking in the modem, or I am dead)
2. My life size mirror (not that it has a lot to offer, I want it to feel good when it looks at me)
3. My Work Place ( Have to, chotey chotey bachey hain mere)
4. Tennis Courts (in capacity of the White Tiger)

4 people who mail me regularly

1. Sumanta (sigh, he has finally accepted that he has to give me up to the blogworld)
2. Bikramjit Sekhon (He is actually pissed off at my not doing the GNDU Newsletter till now)
3. Kiran Grewal (Remember the baby devil?)
4. My Mom ( till she was abroad)

4 of my favorite places to eat ( apart from home)

1. The Maya, Jalandhar (Though once they brought the bill without our asking and I was thirsting for the manager's blood)
2. Haveli, Jalandhar (The other cronies around cities like Karnal and Ludhiana are nowhere close to the original)
3. Brijwasi Chaat Bhandar, Bhandari Bridge, Amritsar. (I loved their jaggery-tamarind sauce in chaat. Oh Paapi memory…kithey cheta aa gaya, yummm)
4. Sanjha Chulha in Johal Market, Jalandhar (Till I was a chickiterian, I loved their Chicken Irani)

4 places I’d rather be now

1. Chandigarh
2. Watching Dil Kabaddi
3. In Udaipur, leisurely enjoying the rich city
4. Walking on unwalked trails in Kasauli

4 favorite TV shows

1. Tom and Jerry
2. Shamsher Sikander Chuddi-Buddy (Yeah, there is a monkey in it that is totally in awe of his bum)
3. Discovery travel shows ( I don’t know the names honestly)
4. Lizzie McGuire or Shararat (On Disney; I dont know why both cannot be aired)

4 Movies I could watch again and again

1. Sholay (But of course)
2. Albert Pinto Ko Gussa Kyon Aaata hai ( hehe, sorry it was a white lie)
3. Chupke-Chupke (starring Dharminder, Jaya Bhaduri, Amitabh Bacchan, Sharmila Tagore)
4. Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro

4 people I would like to tag:

1. Afaque
2. Iya
3. Manasa
4. Zirelda


Edited to add:

Gandhigiri in tags results in Philip agreeing to do the tag. Will wait to hear from you LP.

Now This Calls for a Treat

When we lay our hearts bare before our readers, either as anonymous writers or with our names declared on our blogs, we do or do not crave appreciation. We yearn for sharing our joys and sorrows; we yearn to use the writing as a catharsis. To some, this becomes a compulsive activity, to others it is merely an extension of their personality. Through our blogs, we meet those who live a whole world afar and are yet just a step away from us. Through our blogs, we become the reason for many strangers to meet and talk on a common forum. If nothing else, I feel this is one valid reason for us all to come together through the words expressed on our respective pages.

When these same friends remember you on their own blogs for a reason as good as an award, it is not flattery, it is not mere reciprocation. It is merely a way to remember each other on the blogs and to introduce new blogs through the various links that these awards ask you to put up. It is a validation of what you stand for in your blog-and a validation offered by your blog-mates who are the true judges of your words. Nor are the awards givers any celebrities in the regular sense of the term. They are celebrities in their own right. Some of them make us laugh, some make us empathize with them, some jolt us up to the realities of our day and some just share their day-to-day life with us. We know their babies, spouses, parents, friends, friends-of-friends, colleagues, neighbors from their writings. After all we are all just Six Degrees removed from each other.
Over the past couple of months, I have been blessed with so many awards that I feel humbled. Here they go.

Indian Home Maker thinks that I am an honest blogger for my approval of posts that do not result in anger, arguments and strife!

However, I feel that
Philip-for venting out his anger honestly on the current scenario
Balvinder-For bringing out the voice of the Indians in his suggestions post after Mumbai Siege
TheArmyGuy-For taking us with him as far as he could in his paratrooping
Trailblazer-For saying unmincingly what he believes in (though at times I tend to disagree with him)
Imp's Mom-For uncovering the insecurity that we all are feeling for our children
MySpace-For the honesty with which her stories touch the bottom of the heart
Oreen-For the pashbalish humor he likes to spread through his honest posts; for leaking out the well kept secrets of the Bengali people to us lesser mortals
deserve this Honest Blogger award.




Lately, a cute butterfly has been spreading glee in the blogosphere. And it came to see me four times. Mithe, Iya, DeeplyDip, and Mandira sent it my way. IT is supposed to be for a cool blog. I don’t know what makes my blog cool, but it gave a shine to my eyes everytime I looked at it. The shine must spread. I think
Dipali has a cool blog because she writes about everything, from little dogs, to her trips, to her supposed dinosority-and all through, her words are always coated with courtesy, warmth, and above all humor.
Himalayan Adventurer, Dr Khandelwal deserves this cute award for bringing to us the cold of Antarctica first hand. I am simply a fan of his blog. His simple language and informative style is very attractive.
Jagjit is the guy with the red blog. Yeah, I know now he is not using the red colour anymore, yet I associate his blog with Red. So he deserves this cool award for all his wild ‘orgasmic’ humor.
Monika's blog has such a beautiful cool look now as compared to before ( am I mean in mentioning it?) that it is what you call a cool blog.
Parry has been singing such beautiful songs and poems that he deserves this mention and award. Lagey raho.
Parul is my recent discovery but the look and the content of her blog is way above cool. This one is for you girl.



Mama-Mia has been very kind to remember me while awarding her blog mates with the Proximidade award. The award is such a cute beige and pink that I would have snatched it from Abha if she had not awarded me with it. And the bonus is that as I am typing out this post, Monika beckons me to her blog. There she is, with another Proximidade award.
The citation of the award reads that this award is given to a blog that invests and believes in PROXIMITY - nearness in space, time and relationships! See I told you…
I would like to remember these friends for the award.
Manish-For sharing with us the warm memories and experiences.
Zirelda- for making us a part of her everyday life, for taking us to walks with Rach.
Jasdeep-For helping us fly with the best Punjabi poetry of our days.
Pinku-For investing her time and energy in cultivating friends par-blogs.
Roop-For sharing with us, her experiences with her charming sari.
Ritu-For being there whenever I need to share a ‘hey’ moment on Gtalk, besides being an excellent author of wonderful stories.
Oceanic Mirages-For her new experimentation with English Ghazal.
Devaki-For being, through her such apt words, a charming presence around us.






A long while ago, Mama-Mia ( I know she has also forgotten it) and Life Begins, and Monika had given me an award that is given only to Million Dollar Friends. Here is it. Thank you girls. To me, apart from these three, and Pinku and Roop and Ritu and NM and all my friends who come to my blog to read my humble mumbles are a million dollar worth.
But especially
Indian Home Maker, because I can reach her even if she is in her kitchen.
Sumanto, because he is my best critic and a great buddy (and because he tolerates me a lot)
Gazal, because we share our Midnight-Cat-Eating-Experiences too. (did I hear eiiww?)
Guri, because of the collaborative meaningless poetry we sometimes scribble for the old times sake.
Mandira, for really sweet "applogolies" (oh my god, I wont let this be forgotten) she sent my way after her Punjab Trip.
How Do We Know-For speaking such cute Punjabi with me.
Sri-For counting his angels, I mean blessings, and counting me among them.




And I had received the Brillante Weblog award and also had done a post on it when I had gotten it. But later, I got it yet again from Monika, and again from MySpace and yet again from Life Begins. So I had to share it with you.
I think the Quirky Indian, Mithe, and DewDrops deserve to be called brilliant. The first because it talks of us Indians and what we are , the second because it shares the fresh talent of a bright new blogger and the third because of the way it shares with us a hope that HIV vaccine is on the way. Here, I would also like to make a mention of PinknBlu and would like him to accept this award. It is for the vehemence with which he had been posting. And it is for that same enthusiasm to be revived. Who knows, the award might do it. Iya deserves this award because of the sweet and the unassuming stuff she writes on her blog.

Trust me, this post had been bothering me for two days. I was feeling a pressure of not having acknowledged the awards, of not having displayed them well in time. Job done, Mampi is happy now.