The Art of Giving
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Valentine Day's just around the corner and I remember how it used to be when I was in college. There was this huge outlet of Archie' s Gallery opposite my college in Chennai (Chinna ponnunga padippadhu Ethiraja...) and soon after the Christmas-New Year dhamaka finished, the store will get out its Val's Day stuff. There'll be red hearts hanging from the ceiling, syrupy love songs blaring out from the speakers and everywhere there used to be this profusion of stuffed toys, cards, cards and more cards.
It was very tough being single and unattached.
The past six years though, the season of 'giving' is the biggest date in the Christian calendar - Christmas. It took me a long time to figure out why the folks around me got into a tizz at the mention of th C-word; turkey, presents, trees, decoration, anything related to it used to drive them into a frenzy. My driving instructor told me proudly that he was so well prepared for the holiday season, he finished his presents-buying lark by Halloween. I was amazed at that. The whole concept of making a list of presents, the must-have toys for kids and the expensive thingummyjigs for spouses in favour all seemed a bit too excessive to me. There should be some actual joy in giving, surely?
The actual day, when it dawned, must seem really anti-climatic after all the hullabaloo but swapping presents must surely make up for it, I thought naively. But this year, one of my colleagues got a 'present' that made everything else pale in comparison. Her brother had got her a goat for Christmas - well, she didn't really get it, it was given to some poor and deserving folk in a far-off land in her name. I was about to say 'oh jolly good thought' but catching sight of her expression, I swallowed the words. I realised then that there is more to this present giving than I had paid any attention to.
From what I can see, the guidelines generally are as follows:
1.If you are buying for a girl, the price tag is the last thing you must check out. The more flattering, the more eye-catching, the better. This especially holds true if you are the boyfriend or a newly married spouse. If, on the other hand, you've made your bones in your marriage, then you might get away with a lesser 'wowie' gift.
2.Paying attention is a good thing - and women generally drop an inordinate number of hints when a present giving occasion (Val's day, anniversary of the first time you clapped your eyes on each other, birthdays, Saturday nights) comes near. 'Ooh isn't that bauble nice?' and 'does this suit me?' are the statements that should stick out like beacons as they are generally good indicators.
3.If you have failed at step 2, then window shopping is a good option. Keep that plastic handy.
4. Every women loves a surprise - as long as it is of the good variety.
5.For guys, if you generally get stalled after getting stuff such as leather wallets, after shave, cologne (esp if BO is a big factor!), grooming kits (for the scruffier types), then activity gifts are a brilliant idea. Most men love that adrenaline rush and provided he isn't scared of heights, a bunjee jumping voucher would be a fab idea. I got hubby a 30 min flying lesson voucher couple of years back - he still hasn't managed to top that!
6. Most of all, always, always make sure the wife's present is at least twice as expensive as the mother's and three times as that of the sister's. If you want to live, that is.
7. Lastly, though charity is a good thing, showing your philanthropist nature a la colleague's big brother is not the way to win the game. Get a decent gift and give this rather nice gesture as an extra addition, if you want to save your skin and still be a persona grata.
Happy shopping!
Posted by DesiGirl 11:35 am 2 comments
Labels: christmas, gifting, gifts, presents, shopping, valentine's day
The Changing Face of Indian Marketplace
Saturday, January 27, 2007
I was reading this article about Reliance Fresh shops and the quality they offer. When I read about their rates, the first thing that came to my mind was what would happen to the regular kaikarikaran / sabziwala? They won’t be able to compete with such a venture, surely?
But on second thoughts, I realised that the door-to-door vendor’s market is safe as no one offers what he does. He turns up like clockwork, builds up a good rapport with his customers, chats them up and cajoles them to buy more than they intended and if you have a special do in your house, he could be relied on to bring you some extra special veg, at a special rate, of course! As no Reliance Fresh or any of their ilk could offer this, the vendor’s market is safe.
The one that is getting affected by this new chain to hit the market in Chennai is Pazhamudircholai. For the non-Chennaivasis, Pazhamudircholai is the name of an exceptional fruit and veg store that held sway near Kasi Arcade in T Nagar for many years before spreading across the city. This store had the freshest of fruits and vegetables available all year and though they were on a slightly expensive side, they were a very welcome addition to the market place.
Once you set your eyes on their fat, juicy, glistening wares, you cannot walk away without getting your hands on at least a few tempting fruit or that rare veg. They do not employ any ‘buy one get one free’ gimmicks and rely purely on the quality of the items they sell. At the front of each store there is also a man selling fresh juices and he is normally surrounded by hundreds of maamis and aunties, vying with one another to get their hands on the day’s special. The fact that they do takeaways made this hugely popular and highly successful.
This chain of stores quickly built a name for themselves and if one outlet opened in your area, it generally meant that you can now shop for good quality fruit and veg in relative ease. No Food World or Nilgiris could do much to stand in the way of this store’s success – after all, no one went to Food World or Nilgiris to buy their fruit and veg now, did they?
But this new kid on the block, this Reliance Fresh, with its real cheap rates and marketing gimmicks, seems to be changing the status quo. The Reliance Fresh outlet in Ashok Nagar, for example, is right opposite the Pazhamudircholai one and has already stolen most of the latter’s client base. I, for one, am much saddened by this, as I really liked that store and am against the big name brand stores changing the face of the arena anyway. Though this turf war could mean that the public may be well be getting some really good deals (Tesco, Sainsbury’s and Asda vie with one another here in the UK to inundate us with coupons and other enticing offers) the sort of aggressiveness they display is a big turn off.
Other big disadvantage of having these big name stores coming everywhere is that pretty soon, the local colour will get wiped out. Every market place or mall will have the same group of stores - Reliance, Music World, Landmark, LifeStyle, etc and slowly, the variety and the abundance that exists now will slowly get replaced with this sort of corporate uniformity. In Britain, for example, every High Street boasts of a Body Shop, Marks & Spencer's, Monsoon, Regis, Pizza Hut, Clarks and at least one Tesco or Sainsbury's or Asda store. The smaller shops are slowly going out of business and high streets across the country are all beginning to look eerily the same. It is surreal how familiar a Brentwood High Street looks to a small town high street in Yorkshire.
With every facet of Indian life undergoing radical changes, it won't be too long before we end up with a similar set of circumstances. Though with our population, the Nadar kadais will still have its patrons, I hope that the average Joe has a fighting chance against the big bad corporations. I sure hope so.
Posted by DesiGirl 10:26 am 2 comments
Labels: ambani, asda, business, chennai, chennaivasi, food, india, indian, life, madras, market, population, reliance, sainsbury, stores, supermarkets, tata, tesco
My battle with the bulge
Friday, January 26, 2007
I just did something mad - I started a new blog to help me succeed with my weight loss attempts. Not only that, I decided to put pressure on me, thereby making sure I'd stick to the plan, by signing up for Just Giving. So for every pound I lose, my chosen charity should get a few pounds in donations. Provided I can interest the kind hearted denizens across the blogosphere to support me.
I have never done any sort of fund raising before so I probably suck at this big time. Nonetheless, I hope you can dig deep and help me with my efforts. Here's the plug - please click on this link to donate money to my chosen charity, Take Heart, India. You can keep track of my weight loss efforts via my new blog My Battle With Bulge.
Please encourage/support me.
Posted by DesiGirl 9:12 pm 2 comments
Labels: charity, fund raising, take heart, weight loss
India’s Economic Progress: Much Background Work Needs To Be Done
Thursday, January 25, 2007
For a long while, India was famous for its brain drain - we used to read about the myriad 'India Born's' who went on to become leading lights in their chosen field in their adopted countries. With the new IT boom, India is becoming the chosen destination of the First World countries to house their call centres and, in increasing number of cases, their development teams.
Now that the Western world is slowly getting convinced of the fact that we don't travel to our workplaces on our elephants, have pet snakes, do the rope trick every night before dinner and sleep on nailed beds, a lot of them want to sample the country's natural beauty. This is good news for us in terms of the revenue tourism would bring.
But the increase in our international profile also means that things that had so long remained in the dark now will be put under the global microscope. Lack of basic facilities in public areas, sloppy customer service, non-existence of emergency services and civic sense are things that every Indian knows and shrugs off - but these are the same things that are causing the well shaped Western brow to lift in alarm and/or derison.
Real estate in India is booming - land value has sky rocketed and there are malls and IT parks coming up everywhere. The picture that is being painted of the country is that of a prosperous nation on the brink of global leadership.News reports claim that the Indian economy would be much better than that of UK's by 2015 and by 2030, China and India would be among the world's greatest economic super powers, just behind USA. While this sounds fantastic, the reality might be a completely different thing. Political sociologist Amandeep Sandhu argues that "although it is often asserted that India's democracy allows it to manage diversity, a greater threat to India's growth can come from within. In the recent past, India has experienced or is experiencing conflict in Kashmir, Punjab, North East India, and it experiences regular urban communal riots between Hindus and Muslims."
One of our biggest problems is that India's accelerated growth is neither multi-dimentional nor is it well thought out. IT and manufacturing sectors are reaping the rewards of this boom whilst others such as farmers, artisans and the other regular folks are languishing in the wayside. Whilst throwing open our doors to international trades, we haven't safeguarded our own homegrown industries that are now bearing the brunt of the government's short-sightedness.
Our own police force has come under fire following the murders of Welsh charity worker Mike Blakey and Englishman Stephen Bennet within the span of two weeks. Their sloppy detective work, lack of professionalism and conduct has created waves here in the UK and are putting the country in a very bad light.
If our country is to really prosper, then a multi-dimentional overhaul is necessary. Our basic infrastructure needs to be vastly improved. Frequent power cuts, roads riddled with potholes, lack of emergency service facilities are not features of a successful economy, much less an emerging world superpower. Other industries such as the small scale industries, agriculture, tourism and other non-IT fields also need to be encouraged and their grown furthered. Ultimately, we need to slather a layer of professionalism over our good selves if we were to compete in the global market and emerge victorious.
All of this and more, needs to be done and needs to be done now. Otherwise, this boom will be more the bang with which our glorious future came crashing down.
Posted by DesiGirl 12:32 pm 2 comments
Labels: economy, india, IT, progress, super power, UK, US
Judgement Day?
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
I am tired of Jade. Tired of seeing her carefully school face showing remorse peering at me from every street corner. Tired of hearing her well rehearsed apologies 'I am not a racist but I can understand why you would think so'. Her well oiled PR machine is working overtime to clean up her tarnished image and I, for one, am tired of being played like a banjo.
Jade is using the 'tu queque' argument someone accused me of, to excuse away her actions. She keeps saying what she did was wrong but is repeatedly pinning the blame for it on her upbringing, her social class, her parents and anything else she could think of.
Couple of other 'interesting' repercussions of the BB row are Danielle losing a £100,000 modelling contract and worse, being dumped by West Ham footballer Teddy Sheringham, the same man she slept with to win the Miss Great Britain crown last year. Of course, Danielle doesn't know that she ins't a WAG anymore. Jo, on the other hand, didn't have much of a career to speak of since her S Club 7 days so doesn't have much to lose and is carrying on as before.
Whilst I have had my fill of the Jade Baddy Saga, I feel Danielle and Jo, who have said more racist comments and have egged Jade on, deserve to take on the blame as well. It was Danielle who said 'I thought you were going to punch her' after Jade's pronouncement 'you are stuck up so far up your a**e that you can smell your own s**t' and even said 'your mother would be so proud of you' and even called Shilpa a dog. Jo has generally been nasty and while I cannot remember what pearls of wisdom she dropped, she has been coming across as the type of person I would cross the road to avoid, purely for my own personal safety.
I was watching The Wright Stuff earlier on Channel 5 (young P's down with chicken pox - hence am cooped up at home!) and today's panellist Yasmin Alibhai-Brown said something that seemed real sensible to me. Jade was the 'expert' on the show today and after 30 minutes of 'yes I can see how it will be construed as wrong, but I wasn't the only one' and many rueful shakes of her head, Yasmin adviced Jade to use the next three years to get a proper degree and.... well, we never heard what as Jade butted in, prattling about the same old stuff and made Yasmin gave up what she was trying to say. But I can see where she's coming from: one of Jade's biggest reasons for being such a bully is that she learnt those at her mother's knee. Well, she's in her mid-twenties now and cannot blame Mum for teaching her every wrong thing under the sun. It is time she learnt few good things on her own, especially with two young children to raise. Yasmin's advice strikes me as an exceptionally sound one, as well as her view of it will take a long time for someone to change their views (the racist or the bullying sort) and will not take place in the span of three short days, as we are seeing in Jade's case.
Education is the only way to open people's minds to the world out there. Respecting others' differences and not feeling threatened by them will only come with time. Britain today is as multi cultural as it gets, a fact that threatens many, many people. One of them decided to show their distaste by spitting in front of me as I was out for a walking with my little one and shouting 'Go back home!' Another one did his level best to push my husband on to the rail tracks by catching hold of his shirt fronts and yelling 'You bl***y Paki!' As more and more Asians come to the UK as skilled workers and as more and more jobs are being sent to the subcontinent, the ire of the locals who perceive us to have cheated them out of their jobs is on the rise.
Being different always makes us fair game and this is true none more so than in our own country, which is as widely diverse as it can get. State, language, religion, social / economic strata - we have innumerable things seperating us from another. Try to imagine the case of a Madrasi amongst a group of Hindi speaking Bombay or Delhi folk. Attire and accent are just two of the things that are causes for mirth. My telugu neighbour still speaks to me like I were from a planet many light years away rather than from a nearby state when she speaks of the 'customs and traditions of Nellore' (my husband is Telugu while I am Tamil). Couple of my tam-bram friends changed their minds about me in a hurry once they heard of my own mixed parentage.
While I do not rue the loss of their so-called friendship, I rue our own penchant to divide ourself so neatly. Even after paying with our own freedom for celebrating our differences hasn't stopped us from going back to doing the same. What is needed for us to look at one another as just people, instead of 'Jain, rich, gujju' or 'Hindu, Tamil, padayachi'? When will we stop judging one another? Isn't it high time we changed our outlook for the better?
Posted by DesiGirl 10:51 am 2 comments
Labels: big brother, british, channel 4, colour, goody, india, jade, racism, racist
What price humanity?
Thursday, January 18, 2007
What price humanity?
On Bhogi, an aunt of mine lost her life in a road accident. The car in which she was travelling lost control and she was thrown out. As she lay wounded and bleeding, my uncle begging passing vehicles to stop and help them. For forty-five long minutes, he did so, with folded palms but none did. Finally, one kind-hearted gentlemen did but by then it was too late.
A life that could have been saved, has gone. All of those people who travelled on that stretch of road in Thirupathur on the Bhogi morning have blood on their hands. Maybe that comes across as really harsh, I don't know. But how else could I term it? How could one justify not stopping to help a desperately wounded family? What sort of reasons does one give to assuage their conscience so that things like this don't stick?
Isn't this what being human is all about - lending a hand to someone in need? The mere fact that so many people have just shrugged it off and carried on with their lives galls me. I have seen scenes like this in movies, when car after car drives past a broken, bleeding man and have just shrugged it off as over-sentimentalism by the director. I always firmly believed that, when push came to shove, one cannot ignore such an event and turn a blind eye.
Was I mistaken in that surmise or what?
I know what most people think: why would I want to get involved in such a thing, as it will only mean unnecessary hassle from the police? True enough. Who needs it anyway? On the other hand, if you had the power to save a life, would you throw that power away? Had it been your loved one lying there, would you not do anything in your power to make sure they were saved? Or would you shrug it away as needless hassle?
As I think of what is going to happen to that fractured family, of my young cousins devoid of their mother at such an age, I am filled with so much rage. Impotent rage as sitting many miles away, safe in my home, I had carried on with my day as normal whilst my aunt was breathing her last. Chatting away on the phone whilst strangers were driving past her with no concern whatsoever. If it had been me in the car driving past a family needing desperate help, would I have stopped and done so?
If I had said 'yes' to that glibly before, I can now say with absolute conviction that never will I ever be able to see things like that in a detached sort of way like those uncaring strangers did. Because I now know, the price you pay for not heeding someone's plea for help.
And I know that never will I be able to look at Bhogi in the same light again. For it will always be etched in my mind as the day humanity died a violent death.
Posted by DesiGirl 7:10 am 8 comments
Labels: accident, family, grief, humanity, road, south india, tamil nadu, thirupathoor
Celebrity Big Brother: Kya Scene Hai!
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
A bunch of has-beens trying to give their sorry careers a kick up its backside so they can give it a much needed boost if they were to be rescued from oblivion - this is the state of the inmates (so they seem to me!) that take part in reality shows like 'I'm a Celebrity, Get Me Out Here!' and its evil twin 'Celebrity Big Brother'. Most times, you never recognise any of the so-called celebs, save for the presenters and ratings generally plummet after the opening night. [Aside: Channel 4 must have paid the people bucketloads of money to stand outside the BB house and scream their guts out - I really cannot imagine any other way by which so many honest folks could be persuaded to stand in the cold in Herefordshire day and night and exhibit their lung capacity.]
This year is no exception - two former so-called singers from two bands best forgotten, an ageing filmmaker no one knows, a cheat beauty who slept with one of the judges to win the Miss Great Britain crown and couple of Americans were all part of the lineup - joining them soon enough was 'Big Brother's First Family' (as host Davina McCall pronounced them!) - former regular show inmate, loudmouth Jade Goody, her mouthy boyfriend and lesbian mum. In order to spice things up, they threw in our Shilpa Shetty in. In the beginning, it was said that she would be urged to flirt with the male inmates and be involved in a romantic situation. When fewer and fewer people turned in, they decided to ditch the softy-softy approach and pull in the ratings by pitting the catty Danielle, intelligently-challenged Jade and looking-for-an-excuse-to-release-a-single Jo O'Mara against la Shetty. Shetty was coming across as this beautiful, composed character and what more could incense a trio of thickos than that?
So they have been goading her, calling her names, Danielle showing her knowledge of geography by commenting something about China and India and ‘I am so dumb I can’t even spell my own name’ Jade carrying on in her trademark style. Their biggest advantage is that to a non-English person, they are virtually ununderstandable - they could be prattling in Yiddish, for all Shilpa knows, so strong is their accent. Maybe that's why la Shetty has taken to simply bawling her eyes out, waving the white flag at every opportunity and sobbing on Cleo's shoulders. But she showed everyone that underneath it all, she has some sharp claws when she shut Jade up with a well-aimed 'Your only claim to fame is this show. What does that say?'
This issue is seriously getting out of hand, with House of Commons entering the picture for some strange reason. Even Gordon Brown, gallivanting about in India, has commented on this ,Third world debt, greenhouse effect, inter-country relations, Iraq etc, aside. The only sane voice in the middle of all the brouhaha seems to be Shilpa’s mum, who's reported to have said, "I hope that she will be able to handle the situation. It is a game and there is a life beyond that. I understand her emotions but I really hope that she is not going to get too affected by this treatment that is being meted out to her." Well said, mum!
The only ones to come out of this laughing is Channel 4. From the brink of disaster, by means of some canny tactics, they've made their show the talk of the town - sponsors threatening to pull out, Ofcom's investigation, hue & cry about racism all translates into ratings; ratings that are slowly going through the roof. Welcome to the new era of 'anything goes' - where ratings is the only thing that matters and target ratings would be achieved by hook or by crook.
Posted by DesiGirl 7:49 pm 0 comments
Labels: BB, big, Bollywood, brother, celebrity, goody, jade, sheringham, shetty, Shilpa, teddy, WAG
Shilpa Shetty? What the hell is she doing in the BB House?
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
It is an institution in Britain (well, the housemates are more like inmates, anyway!) – every summer, it is customary to eavesdrop on twelve of the most moronic people you can find in the country, cooped up inside a swanky house, who have nothing more interesting to say other than “fuck” and “shite” and other assorted easy enough words. Then, a few years back, Channel 4 decided to make more money out of such a wonderful concept and came up with the Celebrity Big Brother.
Now, Celebrity Big Brother is like the last chance saloon for the so-called celebs before they hit Obscureville. Winners usually end up with a recording contract, millions of pounds and a couple of apes, ivories and peacocks thrown in for good measure.
Why am I prattling utter nonsense about Big Brother, here, in DC world? Well, ‘cos ladies and gentlemen, one of the celebs in this years show is none other than our very own Shilpa Shetty! When she sashayed down the red carpet, clad in a pink and green saree, looking every inch a glam Bollywood star, I almost fell off the sofa! What the hell was she doing here?
In her intro bit, she wondered how she was going to carry on minus her entourage; my question is: girl, have you got any idea what you have let yourself in for? The only thing worse than a BB house is the I’m a Celeb jungle, where ‘having grub’ takes on a new meaning. Every day, for the remaining three weeks, la Shetty would be watched, her actions judged and any gaffs splashed all over the media. Living with a geriatric movie maker, a wannabe punk rock star with Attitude, a disgraced model, a catty newspaper journalist, couple of former pop stars and a startled looking Jackson – no, not Michael, his brother Jermaine.
Now this bloke, Jermaine, he sure looks like he’s going to provide us with hour after hour of fun. Being the first one to enter the house, he had the unique opportunity to size up every one as they came in and you could see, as more and more nervous folks joined him, more and more bewildered he got. Being American, he didn’t have a clue who any of them was but looked so sure that they all knew him and was so surprised when one celeb went ‘And who are you?’ The looks on his and Ken Russell’s faces as Shilpa Shetty sashayed into the room were absolutely priceless!
And the glazed look on her face, as she was sat on a couch, watching all these people was like she was asking herself what the hell she has let herself in for. Well, the only thing she hopes for, apparently, is to keep her self-respect and dignity.
Good luck, girl – you’re gonna need it!
Posted by DesiGirl 11:13 pm 2 comments
Labels: BBC, big, Bollywood, brother, celebrity, shetty, Shilpa
Life in Britain: 'Tis The Season To Be Jolly
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
When I woke up today morning and peeked out of my window, the world was covered in a milky white haze. I could not even make out the block of buildings that were adjacent to ours. This was a pea-souper alright, with none of the ickiness attached to it.
Winter's finally arrived in the South of England.
As I started on my trek to work, I couldn't help noticing the spider's cobwebs. Instead of the regulation saliva based transparent thread, the spiders had somehow got hold of white woollen thread to knit their webs for the winter season. Closer inspection made it clear that it was merely the frost attaching itself firmly to the spider's threads!
For a long time, I had been moaning at the lack of winter with the rest of the Brits. 'Where's that first breath of frost that arrives to kill the bugs?', I queried no one in particular. But this week, winter arrived with a vengeance. There's a sharp nip in the air, you can see the puffs of white forming in the air from your breath and no matter how well wrapped you are, if you stood still for more than a minute, you can feel the cold seeping into your bones.
I love this! I love autumn and I love winter - with its cold, cold mornings and a mere handful of hours of daylight. I love wearing the thick jackets, woolly hats, colourful scarves and gloves. I love drinking hot, hot coffee or chocolate and stomping my feet to keep me warm. Of course, winter means its Christmas time - the town centre bedecked in colourful lights, Christmas trees covered in tinsel, baubles and pretty figurines, big malls decorated to death with Christmas stuff, complete with a 'grotto', which has a scrawny 'Santa' too knackered to even say 'ho' to a toddler, carols emanating from the street corners and the radio and of course, the mad scurry for presents for loved ones.
This year, I've been caught up in the festivities a bit more than usual, what with my son, who studies in a Catholic school wanting us to have a Christmas tree and all that goes with it. Thus, I've found myself collecting Christmas recipes, buying mince pies and Christmas puddings, mulled wine and gingerbread and that ultimate of Christmas mainstays, Christmas crackers! I am having so much fun that I am rather looking forward to wrapping up the presents we've got for little P and hiding them under the tree for him to find on Christmas morning. Of course, we had to surmount the problem of finding a route for Santa to enter our house, as we don't have a chimney - we solved it by working out he could chuck them in via the letter box!
Lugging the (fake!) tree home, along with a highly excited and a chatterbox of a almost 5 year old in a cold, dark evening is no easy feat but it was well worth it to see his face the next morning when we finished setting it up and switched on the lights. Though I agree with people who say Christmas has become more of a greed fest than one of cheer and goodwill, I still cannot help feeling great joy at the sight of the festivities and a positive glow, as we stand on the brink of a brand new year.
So, whatever lies in store for us around the corner, enjoy the present for now and have a very, merry Christmas!
Posted by DesiGirl 4:17 pm 1 comments
Labels: brentwood, britain, carols, cheer, christmas, england, goodwill, london, south, winter
The School Nativity Play
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
“Do not cry – wave at him but do not cry!”, advised my colleagues as I left work early to go to my son’s school Nativity Play.
“Cry? Now why would I do that? I will be beaming from ear to ear, clapping away like mad – but cry? Bah!” retorted I and started making my way schoolward.
Two weeks back, my son came home one day from his infant school, told me that he’s to practice his “lines” and I am to help him memorise it. I was puzzled. “Lines? What lines?” I wondered. Gentle probing brought out the whole story – little P has been chosen as one of the narrators for the Reception class’s rendition of the story of the very first Christmas. Needless to say, I was really pleased. Hell, I felt on top of the world!
My little baby, a narrator, in his very first school play! Aww! We practised his lines diligently, that day and the next and the next and soon enough, P was word perfect. He could say without a moment’s hesitation “Inside the stable the wise men gave Jesus their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.” Even when I felt a pleasant glow at hearing him saying it so perfectly, I couldn’t help wondering how he would do when faced with hundreds of eager parents on D-Day.
After couple of weeks of practise, the Reception class’ Nativity performance was scheduled for the Tuesday. Taking the time off from work, hubby and I reached the school early only to find a mile long queue of identically eager parents patiently waiting to be let inside. At the appointed time and not a moment too soon, the doors opened and we filed inside. On surveying the Hall, every parent could be seen trying to look for the vantage point from where they could see the apple of their eye clearly. For the first time in school history, the front row seats were gone within a trice.
S and I took the middle seats of Row 2 and counted the minutes to 2 pm, when the show would start. Soon enough, the Head Teacher took centre stage and announced the children in. My heart swelled with pride to see my little man come marching in quietly, along with the rest of his friends. Dressed in his narrator outfit, he looked just the same as the other children but of course, we spotted him straightaway, long enough before his searching eyes located us in the audience and lighted up.
One by one, the narrators said their lines, whilst the actors went about enacting one of the best-known religious stories. There were loads of sniffles audible throughout, as mums dabbed their eyes when their babies lisped their lines. One little boy stole the show by singing about 10 decibels louder than the rest of the children and never mind the cue!
Finally, it was Pratik’s turn. He stood up, said his bit, waiting every time for the wise men to give the corresponding gift and then carried on with the rest of his line. He did not even falter when the second wise men chucked the jug containing frankincense with a huge clatter and the audience split its sides. He just carried on with “… and myrrh” and sat down.
Three other children went on to say their piece and sing ‘Away in the manger’. I did not hear a word – I was too busy crying with happiness and drying my tears!
Posted by DesiGirl 4:49 pm 1 comments
Labels: catholic, christmas, jesus, nativity, play, school
Pratikism
Sunday, December 10, 2006
I've decided to start a blog for my son - http://pratikisms.blogspot.com -- visit and enjoy!
Posted by DesiGirl 2:10 pm 0 comments
Labels: pratik
The Absense of Good Desi Chick Lit
Friday, December 08, 2006
We have a mini-library of sorts in my team, at work. Well, mini-library seems a rather grand way of describing what it is, a collection of books, but we take it very seriously - we even have a librarian to monitor the traffic! Most of the books in this collection are light, even frivolous read - none of the blood chilling or brain workout-y type of books I'd like to get my teeth into, so I generally
stay away from it.
But one day, a random thought struck me and I actually went through these books. Most of them were written by women and covered subjects such as shopping, clothes, dating, partying, drinking, sex... 'chick lit', as I describe it. Not that I have anything against such things, I even borrowed one such book when the library was shut. As I was reading all about three enterprising women and their ideas to nab themselves a dishy guy, I couldn't help wondering how come we have no such books in the desi market.
How come us desis girls don't muck about such light material? Lord knows we could tell the world a thing or two. How tough it is to walk past a crowd of roadside romeos without batting an eyelid; how to cross the road opposite Ethiraj College (in Chennai) without getting run over by blokes driving outsized bikes; how to go on a date without grandparents and assorted relatives spotting you around the countryside. There's also the intriguing life of upstairs-wali Mallika and her shenanigans, the old boy next-door and what he gets upto when maami goes to the market, Flat Association President mama who makes sheep eyes at Lily aunty's cleavage at the committee meetings... well, you get my drift?
Why is it that the desi literature scene so heavy? Is it because us desis cannot read chick lit or anything half so flimsy? Do we need meaty subjects all the time? Why? Why can't we kick back with the tale of Meena and Seema as they try to plot their way around their workplace, trying to get past the letch Mohan or Ammu, as she tries to solve the mystery of who-put-the-salt-in-the-soup-and-ruined-her-dinner-party?
I say the desi lit world needs some input from the likes of us Desi Chicks. The Jhumpa Lahiris, Arundhathi Roys and Kiran Desais can have their hard core, heavy works but we need some fresh, new blood from some regular Janes too.
What say my gal pals?
Posted by DesiGirl 11:51 am 4 comments
Labels: books, chick, desi, desigirl, fiction, india, indian, lit, literature, women, writing
Driving Miz Desi
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
You know what I find really cool, really sexy? A bloke at the wheel of this powerful car. I know, I know, how much more cliched can one get. But seriously, put a bloke at the wheels of a regular 4X4 and I go weak at the knees.
It was a short distance to travel, from that to deciding I would like to be behind the wheel of a car myself. Be cool and all that. Tried my hand at it at 20 - my brother kindly pointed out that not possessing nerves of steel, I might be a bit of a dud at this driving thing. That put me off for about five years.
Last year, I decided to take another stab at it. I thought, 'hmm, the folks of this country seem quite civilised, they have rules and all, maybe it will be good to learn here'. And so it began, on one dark, wintry day. I had a vision of this demi-god with a driver's licence arriving in a cool set of wheels to teach me and was brought down to earth double quick by this old gent peering at me from the driving seat of a Corsa. Oh well!
That was how I came to be at the helm of this car one cold wintry afternoon. Slowly, I was initiated in the art of holding the steering wheel (at ten-to-two or quarter-to-three position), driving in a straight line (which wasn't exactly easy-peasy), bowling down narrow country lanes without mowing down innocent bystanders and driving in that death trap called dual carriageway.
Then there were the manoeuvres. Clutch control, slow car, fast as lightning movements resulted in the three-point turn, reverse around the corner and parallel parking. In the middle of all this, came the emergency stop. My grandpa-instructor turned devil that day and made me do such a stop on an icy road. Result? A skid, ladies and gentlemen, which I was told to steer into! Steer into a skid?! Why? When I want to move away from it?! My whole life flashed in front of my eyes for about 2 seconds, before the blessed car righted itself and ground to a grudging halt. Oh did I say this was on an uphill slope?!
Anyway, I survived that and eventually booked my driving test. Driving tests in UK are not like the ones back home, wherein you just 'do a figure of 11'(remember the movie 'Indian'?) - the dreaded test here lasts a colossal 45 mins, and short of jumping through hoops, one is made to do everything else. A week before my test, Grandpa decided I wasn't up to scratch and postponed it. A month later, he postponed it again. And again. After the fourth time, I got more than a little antsy and sacked him.
Ditching old males in favour of oldish females, I went with a diminutive bird this time. Oh, she was evil! When I told her, on the 1st of October, that I've to take my test by end-Nov, she laughed so much that I thought she would have a coronary. Well, that was the end of her!
These two geriatrics put me off driving and I went back to ogling at the hotties from the wayside. Six months later though, spurred by comments from aforementioned sibling, I decided I shall master this art or else! That was how, instructor #3 entered the picture. This one was middle-aged, typical British bloke and everything seemed to go off swimmingly.
As I had taken a sabbatical from driving for the better part of a year, my new instructor put me through my paces and I found my rthymn pretty quickly. But not before I scared about 10 years off him, another leaner driver in a Fiesta and her instructor by suddenly speeding off like the hounds of hell were after me and missing that poor L board and going off on the grass verge.
After this memorable first lesson, I behaved myself and drove rather docilely around Pilgrim's Hatch without giving its OAPs a heart failure and re-mastered reverse parking, turn in the road, reverse around the corner and other such tricks till I began to feel much like a performing flea in a circus. My banker soon started making noises as I clocked up hour after hour of lessons till one fine day I gave in and booked myself on a test.
I made lesson plans, hourly drives, test routes - you name it, I made a note of it. But implementation was where the whole thing fell apart. Furthermore, I managed to psych myself thoroughly by the eve of the test that jellies could have been taken to be rock solid compared to me that night. My helpful gran, as always, decided to petition umachi (baby talk for God) and burst a few coconuts as a bribe.
The day of the test finally dawned. By then, I was shaking like the proverbial leaf and walked into the test centre with huge 'R' and 'L' emblazoned onto the backs of my hands. After the third trip to the loo in under five minutes, my examiner finally emerged. He seemed so nice that I thought to myself, ‘there’s no way this kind-hearted gentleman is ever going to fail me’. He went ‘Hello I’m Joe, want to go for a drive?’ Well, not really but as I didn’t have much of a choice, I smiled weakly, made a croaking noise in my throat and went to my car.
First came the ‘Show Me, Tell Me’ questions normally this would make me dissolve into helpless guffaws but luckily that day, nerves made sure I didn’t crack any silly jokes and showed and told him, properly! And then I was off! Joe slowly started sprouting horns when he made me do an uphill start on a near-vertical hill. Praying to umachi that I wouldn’t stall the car, I did it whoopee! Then he made me do it again, again and yes, one more time, for luck! Then it was general driving for a bit. Umachi conveniently forgot the coconut bribe and I ended up going on the dreaded Brooke Street Roundabout.
It rapidly went downhill from there, whilst I drove around Brentwood rather like a headless chicken. At one point, I am sure the poor examiner’s life flashed in front of his eyes when I got my left and right mixed up and tried to go the wrong way! All in all, I wasn’t too surprised when he gently broke it to me that I had failed it. Oh well!
Next time, I better give a heftier bribe to couple of umachis - with 15 minor faults and 5 serious, I need all the divine assistance I can garner!
Posted by DesiGirl 6:06 pm 3 comments
Labels: brentwood, BSM, car, desigirl, driving, lessons, RAC, test
Tumble-down-skin
Monday, December 04, 2006
Last Saturday, on my way to watching that crapola fest called Dhoom:2, I tripped and fell down the stairs. A combination of new tights, wrong shoes and well, me, meant as I was halfway down the steps, I took a short cut and rolled down the rest of the way. Banged my knee, cracked my shin, pulled a muscle in my arms as I battled with gravity - a whole plethora of woes, in fact. Of course, sod's law being what it is, I had to bump into this couple we rarely ever see and there were embarrassing looks all around. Not me - I was busy trying not to scream.
Having said that, this ain't new for me. This time, I came down rather like Ben Stiller in one of his flicks. On one previous memorable occasion, I did a Obi-wan Kenobi type of 'plop' and came down in a heap. That was on one of my very first dates with my new boyf and I was sure going out of my way to make sure he remembered me!
I guess you could call me a connoisseur of falls - a straight-forward trip, a more complicated twist, dodgem car-type maneuver, you name it, I've done it. I should stop doing it one of these days, I know. Till then, I should probably sell tickets and make some money while I was at it. Might as well make some money out of my 'chilrai varufying', if you get what I mean! ;)
Posted by DesiGirl 7:12 pm 0 comments
Labels: brentwood, daily, desigirl, fall, lavanya, life
Madras, namma Madras!
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
In the past few weeks, quite a few people have written something about my hometown be it their brush with the humidity and the pollution or how diametrically opposite it is to the North Indian cities, such as Delhi. Reading about these have made me quite home sick for my lovely city and I thought I shall put pen to paper and write about what makes me love it so.
Chennai, or Madras as it was known then and familiar to me today, has always been the perfect amalgamation of the old and the new. It is a city, where the kancheevaram sarees and old maamis live hand-in-hand with the Mocha coffee swigging, tank topped teeny-bopper. It is a city where the December Music Season is the highlight of the year’s cultural calender. But it is also the city where multi-stored malls and ginormous technology parks are coming up at an alarming pace. Kapaleeshwarar Temple still holds sway while Dublin continues to rock the party, come Saturday night.
The old and the new have meshed together so well that one barely leaves a dent on another. The Geetha cafes and Saravana Bhavan clientele still continue going about their daily toils, the latest opening of Baristas notwithstanding. Pizza Hut still has a mile long seating queue outside its premises most evenings and the latest branch of Madurai Idli Kadai just a little over a mile away doesn’t put any pro-Italianos off their stride.
It is also a city of crazy traffic and diabolical drivers. Having a countdown at the traffic lights seems to have made these speed demons crazier than before, what with all the revving that happens even when the timer has a good 20 seconds to go! Latest model Honda Civics aside, the potholes the latest bout of rains have gifted to the repaved roads will give your bones a workout no Shiatsu massage ever will.
It is also the city where the humidity hits you like a wet blanket the minute you set foot in. The sweat running in rivulets, combining with the dust and grime will make you look rather like an Indian brave by the end of the day. If you are not used to it, it may well make you weep!
Though Tamil is the language of the state and the DMK fervour had made sure that there is a bit of ziddi in speaking the language, the people are not averse to learning a new language. Proof of this would be the hugely popular language programmes run by the Alliance Francaise and Max Muller Bhavan, which teach French and German, respectively. But this trait is not to be found solely amongst the younger generation. My old vegetable vendor used to speak in highly fractured but extremely serviceable Hindi to one of my neighbours, who had moved to Chennai from Bombay a few years back. Though the lady had been a resident of the city for about 3 years then, she hadn’t picked up a word of the local language while the wizened vendor knew enough to sell her bhindi and baingan on demand!
Chennai, the city, is split into many zones, depending on its population. Accordlingly, in Sowkarpet, you will find Sindhis and Marwaris whilst in Parrys Corner,you will find lot more Telugus than Tamils. (Aside: Though the Sindhis and Marwaris have settled in the city and generations of their families have been calling Chennai home, none of them could speak a word of Tamil amongst them. This was a highly irritating factor during my college days. )
Eastern Madras is full of the brahmins whilst the South has folks connected to tinsel-town.
Though the city is now expanding in all directions at break neck speed and once shunned areas such as Velachery and Virugambakkam are now extremely sought after, the old demarkations still exist. The new perimeters haven’t erased the old they have simply, in typical Chennai fashion, become a part of the fabric.
It is also the city where education is supreme. Every year, during admission time, you will find anxious mums and dads queuing outside the city’s top schools, just to get an application form. The streets will be bereft of children come evening, as they will all be busy at the abacus classes, trying to master that ancient art, before taking off to the Bharatnatyam or singing classes. It is the same city where John Britto and Swingers dance schools flourish, helping wannabe Prabhu Devas turn their dreams into reality.
This is also the city where NIFT sits comfortably next to Co-Optex showroom. The city where the latest fashion trend is a saree with a pocket for one’s cell phone. The city where heels come with butti patterns to match the pallus. The city where hipsters jeans are worn with a zari top. This is the city where the paati’s Annamacharya keertans jostle for space with grand daughter’s James Blunt.
That is the magic of my city a city where the roads are full of potholes, the traffic snarls legendary, the water problem one of epic proportions, where sabhas are as important as the multiplexes but one in which a person can go for a spot of masala dosa and milkshake at mdnight, on the way back from a disco or a pizza and fresh juice for high tea, before joining the pattu saree maamis at Music Academy for a K J Yesudas kutcheri. A city where aalaapana and Air Nikes exist comfortably.
This is Madras, nalla Madras. We are like this only, saar!
Posted by DesiGirl 7:40 am 12 comments
Labels: chennai, decca, delhi, hometown, india, madras, south, tamil
BBC Children In Need: Charity Begins At Home
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Members of the public take up the actual fundraising. High Streets might be littered with people with the collecting pails. Teens wearing wacky outfits and standing in the cold with a bucket in hand are a sight that will be seen all over the country on that day. If your town is really lucky, Pudsey might even put in an appearance!
The actual scale of this has to be seen to be believed. I am not talking about a few kids here and there trying to collect a few pennies. Huge organisations donate large sums of money. There are events held locally, proceeds of which go towards Children in Need. Most offices have a 'come dressed in your regular clothes' day, whereby employees pay £1 for the privilege.
Schools tend to take it a step further, try and make a fun event of it, so it is enjoyable for the children as well. Little P’s school wanted me to send in a teddy bear or a stuffed toy with him to school today. Which is why, the good folks of Brentwood saw me lugging a life-size teddy bear up the cardiac hill that is Queen Street. I tried telling him that taking the teeniest bear will give him an edge over the other kids when he takes part in the ‘My teddy bear and me’ race. Would he listen? Nah!
He could also go to school, dressed in his jeans and tee, paying a pound first, of course. The Ursuline down the road had given the choice to the girls – they could just dress up in pink and have a fun time, letting their imagination run wild. As I was huffing and puffing my way past, I was swiftly overtaken by this huge pink bunny and a spangly outfitted fairy. Looking at her skimpy outfit made me break out in goose pimples!
Cast members of Coronation Street, Holby City and Hollyoacks also donned the greasepaint and tights to perform live on stage as well as the cast of West End production, Sound of Music.
Terry Wogan was at the helm this year too, ably aided by Natasha Kaplinski and Fearne Cotton. Together they urged the viewing public to dig deep and donate. Throughout the show, hundreds of people were in the studio, manning the special Children In Need telephone lines and those willing to part with their cash could ring the line and pledge the money. The amount of money they manage to raise every year is staggering. Last year, it was around £18 million pounds.
What makes the people of Britian part with so much money year after year and take part in this event so enthusiastically? I have thought long and hard about it and all I can say is, the tag line ‘every penny goes to a needy child in the UK’ is the key. After the Oxfams and other assorted charity outfits that collect money for far-flung places, a homegrown one, for their own suffereing children, strikes a powerful chord in the people'’ hearts, making them give and give, year after year after year. And give they did, to the tune of £18,300,392 on the fundraising night last Friday.
Well, charity sure began – and ended – at home!
Posted by DesiGirl 6:44 am 0 comments
Labels: appeal, BBC, bunton, charity, childre in need, CIN, downtown, keating, ronan, UK
Beachkku jaana, beachukku jaana!
Monday, November 13, 2006
One of the best things about growing up in Chennai, IMHO, is the accessibility to one of the best hangouts in the world, Elliot's Beach. All through my school and college life, this beach was the ultimate cool hangout. There was a hierarchy to the place and one picked up on it pretty soon.
The layout of the beach is such that, there was a low-lying parapet wall, running alongside the bike park area and sat on this would be the sight-seers of various age, shape and size. Where you sit depends on the degree of cooldom of your clique - the closer you are to the Cozee circle, the cooler you become. To be actually sat right at the Circle is the ultimate in cooldom - that normally signals that there are no heights left to scale.
The actual beach, with the sand and the sea, is generally of no importance whatsoever. Unless you happen to be a 'love bird', doing a spot of billing and cooing from behind the catamarans and assorted boats, that is. To the regular folks, Elliot's is the parapet wall and Cozee corner. There is no greater entertainment than watching the odd built bloke and the multitude of wannabe-Salman Khans strut their stuff, atop the latest motorbike.
That was then. 
My snort was snuffed out when a shiny key was dangled in front of my eyes. Turned out, a female colleague had generously lent us her beach hut for the day. When I quizzed my work mates about Frinton and its beach huts, the resounding 'wah-wah's that came my way made me rethink my viewpoint of a Brit beach. In my mind’s eye, I envisioned a medium-sized cottage, something along the lines of those in Fisherman’s Cove and in jubilation we set a date.
On a fine summer's day, we set off to Frinton, armed with all the usual paraphernalia. The whole caboodle seemed overkill to me, who had gone to the beach for the sole purpose of viewing some eye candy. As that isn't the tack a responsible mum of a 4 year old is supposed to take, I gamely went along to buy the requisite sun block, Noddy kite, buckets, spade and other assorted gear. With the GPS in situ, we set off on a rare early note.
The miles sped by, as we bowled down the A12, aided by the disembodied voice of the Sat-Nav. After a hour long drive, we finally could see the coast in the distance and I felt an odd feeling of glee. As we neared Clacton, we could see a bit more of the sea and its bluish hue raised my spirits. Buoyed by the vista and A R Rahman, we finally entered the town of Frinton-on-Sea.
The salty air, the brisk breeze and the masses of sand (it was low tide) made me long for Elliot’s and those bygone days. Shaking off the despondent mood even as we drove around the town, I started looking out for cottage #776. To say I was disappointed was putting it mildly. I was expecting designer cottages but what awaited me were itty-bitty plank shanties on stilts!
Grinding my teeth, I looked at the instigator of this plot, who blithely went ‘M promised me there would be deck chairs and things inside so we can drag them out and relax’. Determined to enjoy myself, I started to get our things from the boot, even as hubby proceeded to the ‘beach hut’ to check out our home for the day. 
Even as I revved myself to come up with a few well-chosen epithets, he turned a curious shade of green. Swallowing the curses, I went with a milder ‘What gives?’
‘Er, Houston, we have a problem,’ he quipped. He finished with a sheepish grin.
‘It seems like I have forgotten to get the keys to the beach hut’.
Posted by DesiGirl 6:23 pm 4 comments
A touch of nostalgia, on All Hallow's Eve
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Maami, Maami, Golu vecha sundal,
Illatti kindal!
I remember getting dressed in my pattu pavadai (silk skirts) and walking up and down our streets with my group of friends during Navrathri. Our job was to go to every house that had kept a golu, stand outside their gates and recite the above-mentioned chant. It normally resulted in the lady of the house coming out with a grin and inviting us in for that Navrathri staple. If the oldies of the house were present, then we were urged to earn the sundal by singing a song dedicated to Goddess Lakshmi, usually to their own peril.
After the resultant cacophony, we were given the thamboolam, with some steaming sundal wrapped in old newspaper. Objective accomplished, we used to rush out with the booty, devour it on the way, discuss the merits of that sundal with respect to the previous house’s efforts and then go to the next house. By the time we finished the street, it was usually dinnertime and we would all be feeling slightly sick. But that never stopped us repeating it the next day and the next, till Vijayadasami.
Why am I prattling about Navrathri and sundal now? Well, last night, when I was walking home from work, I came across many a wicked witch and evil magician walking the streets, armed with broomsticks and wands. The Jack O' Lanterns gleamed evilly on some doorsteps and the dark creatures were on the prowl. It was Halloween after all, and pretty soon, the ubiquitous 'trick or treat' filled the air.
'Treats' in the form of teeth rotters like gooey marshmallows, toffee apples and other assorted sticky sweeties that children so love were dispersed at every house. Most of these 'monsters' were too little to figure out what the 'trick' part of the threat entailed. One tubby skeleton was really confused when I asked him what trick he had in store for me and looked ready to burst in tears as he thought he wasn't going to get a fistful of chocolates for his trouble.
But the older ones preferred the tricks to the treats. More than a month beforehand, the Council had put up notices in shops, tersely warning the shopkeepers not to sell flour and eggs to 'suspicious looking teenagers'. To me, all teenagers look shifty-eyed at the best of times; how does one weed the 'regular' ones from those buying Halloween gunk? Seemed like the local teens agreed with me as some unfortunate souls got their windscreens covered in eggs, despite of the warnings.
Despite the hype and the hungama surrounding the whole Halloween thing, to me, it lacked the magic of our old Navrathri days. We dressed up in our finery and got yummy (healthy!) sundal from most houses. Belting out Carnatic music songs that bore no resemblance to the original in various sruthis was pure enjoyment. Though pain flit across several of our audiences faces, I am sure they enjoyed it too.
But the tiny terrors banging on the doors, creating a din outside definitely seemed to be having the time of their lives. Though they had the parents' nightmare, sugar rush, to contend with at the end of the day, the accompanying adults seemed to be enjoying themselves as well. Jack O' Lanterns flickered away and the loo rolls wafted madly in the autumn gust.
Maybe it is just I, getting jaded and old before my time. Trick or treat, anyone?
Posted by DesiGirl 8:38 pm 0 comments
Rose Valley
Friday, October 27, 2006
Yesterday afternoon, while I was on my lunch break, I decided to climb Cardiac Hill (our name for the rather steep Primrose Hill) and wander around the High Street shops, as you would. As I was standing at the junction of Primrose Hill and Crown Street, a car stopped next to me and this senior-ish desi man asked me if I knew which way Rose Valley was. For once, I did and I was only too happy to show him the way. It was, after all, just down the road and tiddly road that went off the roundabout.
But translating this into motorese proved to be tougher than I bargained for. I have a problem differenciating between my left and right. When I normally say 'take the left', folks go 'oh you mean the right - okay, got you'. Of course, this innocent stranger didn't know that. So, when I said, 'go down this road and at the roundabout, take the left and then turn into the first road on your left', he took my words to be gospel and proceeded to do so.
Even as I watched indulgently, he indicated left at the rounabout and proceeded up Queen's Road. That was when it hit me - I had told him left, instead of right! Typically, I saw the bloke come bowling towards me as I walked up Coptfold Road. I flagged him down, apologised profusely and said 'I meant right when I said left'. He gave me a 'I forgive you, lady' smile and asked me 'okay now which way?' So I started again 'you go down this road and then you take the...' I was waving my left arm like mad when he went 'right, right' and I said 'yeah take the right, and then take the right at the roundabout'.
He waved me a cheerful bye, took the right and proceeded towards the direction of the High Street. That was when realisation dawned on me - I had meant left and when the bloke prompted 'right, right', I had got confused and sent him the wrong way - again!
So, all you good folks of Brentwood, if you see a poor, harassed man, with wilted flowers in his passenger seat, asking you the way to Rose Valley, please point him in the right direction. And do not, I beg you, do not tell him where I live!
Map of Brentwood - with Primrose Hill and Rose Valley
Posted by DesiGirl 7:29 am 6 comments
What a merry life we lead!
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Popstars on an adopting spree, veiled Teaching Assistant and the Macca v Mucca battle - Britain was never such a fun place to be in that the last week. It was like being in the thick of not one but a myriad of newsstorms and we didn't know which way to turn! Whilst the celebs seemed to be hell-bent on making sure our attention was concentrated on them, the Muslim TA added more drama to our lives by making her views known far and wide. All I had to do was rub my hands in glee and sit back - this was pure entertainment!
Macca is a British icon and one of my colleague's reaction on reading the headline that proclaimed Macca to be a wife beater was succint: "Rubbish! That woman is off her rocker!" Even if the allegations were true, it will take more than Heather Mills's words to pull the former Beatle from his pedestal. More likely, the mud will stick on her and once again, her past as a former glamour model and 'escort', who became famous championing anti-landmines causes after she lost her leg in a motorcycle accident, will come under scrutiny.
Middle of the week saw the furore kicked up by the Case of the Veiled Teacher as she accused her employers, a Church of England school no less, of discrimination as they refused to let her wear the veil in class. Aishah Azmi took on Kirklees Council when she was asked to remove her veil at school, sparking a nation-wide religious debate - yet again. To veil or not to veil became the question. Islamic women's rights were being downtrodden, claimed some supporters while Jack Straw's comments of the women wearing the veil separating themselves from society was aired once again and thrashed about the place.
Icing on this particular cake was, when Ms. Azmi was awarded £1100 as a compensation for her "hurt feelings". Well, I like that! 
One-year-old David Banda, who lost his mum soon after his birth was the Chosen One and after 'careful vetting', Mr and Mrs Ritchie were given permission by the impoverished nation of Malawi to adopt one of its children. But the meticulously planned operation hit two snags: 1. public outcry over what they considered flouting of Malawi's adoption rule that the parents should be residents of the country for 18 months 2. David Banda's father backpedalling and crying foul just days of hitting at the media to leave Madonna alone. Now, Madonna is reported to be bewildered at the lashing she's receiving from the media for her latest action. She's even going to go on Oprah next week to put forward her point.
Well, after the action of the past week, this week's fare seems quite dull - Prince Charles' tax probe, R. Amazon's direction changing feat, David Cameron's efforts to show himself as being 'hip' and 'with it', nothing has a zing to it. Come on, Posh & Becks - do something! Spice up our lives!
Posted by DesiGirl 11:43 pm 1 comments
