Any thing I can think of

Run out of steam

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Wed, 20 Aug 2014 21:11:00 +0000

My Dear Readers,

It has been a while since my last post. This has been a conscious decision. During this hiatus from blogging I assessed the plethora of blogs I had started. Trying to keep all of them updated was getting me frazzled, and oft times I produced mediocre posts.

No more. I have decided to concentrate on just three spheres: discovering the joy of coffee, blogging for small business and personal observations. If any of these topics interest you, subscribe to their RSS Feeds:

The Qahwa Room - http://feeds.feedburner.com/TheQahwaRoom

Phantom Blogger - http://phantomblogger.com/blog-feeds

Nilofar - nilofar.wordpress.com/blog-feeds

See ya!

Sally the Engineer?

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Mon, 14 Oct 2013 19:30:00 +0000

Observed as Columbus Day in United States to commemorate the carnage committed by Christopher Columbus for getting mad after he had sailed in the completely opposite direction, there was no joy in surfing through history lessons when I opened the Facebook account today. This was anointed by the fact that it is the holy festival of Bakri Eid, the day Mohammed passed the critical test of willing to sacrifice his son, who was replaced by a goat last second, by divine intervention of course.

I had debated on the benefits of learning a programming language only some minutes before, and the Internet threw me a 'sign' to continue on stretching my learning curve. First was a video advertisement for American Express. Representing 1.2% of the female auto mechanics in the United States, Audra Fordin initiated a workshop series "Women Auto Know" to answer questions on the mechanical workings of motorcars. Managing her family-owned business circa 1933, she is one among the few cracking through the 'men only' autoclub.

Vandana, the Kinetic mechanic I visited in Bombay even before I officially acquired by two-wheeler driving license was the first female I knew in the auto-repair business. She was rough on the edges, as most male mechanics are too. The shop was originally owned/leased by her father who I would meet at the shop if Vandana was out for a test-drive of a repaired bike. He was already old when I was in college; I saw less and less of him in the following years, as Vandana grew more used to handling the workshop by herself. She had atleast two mechanic boys on hand doing the grunt work. Not like she was afraid of getting her hands dirty. Dressed in a beige checkered shirt with her hair oiled and tied into a ponytail, she was all business.

Her round face was open and honest; worn with the grunt work of dealing with men, she smiled beautifully whenever I asked her probing questions about my sea-green Kinetic Marvel 'Can you show me which valve needs replacement?' or 'Does this have to be replaced? Can't it just be repaired?' I would try to bargain.

She was well aware of the stigma attached to women being on both sides, and held her ground firmly to leering middle-aged men who tried to bargain with her. Of a short stature, her arms would automatically rise up to her hips when faced with hostility; a stance which psychologically associated with her appearing bigger. After both of my major accidents, I had dropped my Marvel off at Vandana's workshop, even when the place was shut for business on a Sunday. Knowing it would be taken care of well.

Tucked in a corner under the Kennedy Bridge in Grant Road, I despaired to sell my Marvel when it could no longer withstand waterlogging from the incessant monsoon floods. Last I spotted Vandana was under my house at the spare parts shop where she shopped often. There were a few gray strands shading her tresses.

I wonder if she has a daughter of her own whom she is prepping to pass on the baton.

Feeling, hot hot hot

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Fri, 12 Oct 2012 18:11:00 +0000

Leaves are a blazing red and yellow. Scattered on the pavements. Sloshed with icy water. Tumbling about when the wind whistles between the apartment blocks.

Today is the first rainy day after a long dry spell of summer. I am well-prepared for this.
Feet snuggled into fluffy booties, palms enclosed in fingerless gloves, beanie pulled down to the ears so it meets the high collared sweater just at the nape of my neck.

But the grey weather brings a fogginess to mind which just doesn't shake off. I don't want to get caffeinated every day - tea and coffee - stay in the pantry.

On a bored weekday afternoon, I stumbled into Whole Foods and weaved through to the Asian Foods section. Found an interesting snack - Savory roasted Korean seaweed with Wasabi. It had a warning temperature bar indicating this would be hot. But for 20 sheets of seaweed, I am willing to take the risk.

On a day like today, instead of nibbling on it, I take out the seaweed crisp and place it entirely in the mouth. There is a burst of fiery flavor which pops open the nostrils, shooting Endorphins right up the nasal passage. The inflammation lasts for 5 seconds, leaving me refreshed.

The suggested serving size is 10 sheets; one will do just fine for me.

Am up on my feet, raring to go for the rest of the day.

Fitting in with ease

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Fri, 27 Jul 2012 00:29:00 +0000

Flag of Portland, Oregon. Designed by Douglas Lynch. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Moving cross-country to Portland seemed like a challenge, 300 days of rain, steep hillocks on every turn. But that was a year back
I've since slowly and ungrudgingly embraced the hippie lifestyle of Little Beirut where cyclists ride leisurely on the road cars following them in no hurry, and pedestrians smile when they glance at you. It all started quite innocently one Spring Sunday morning on the way to the Pancake House, I saw people in a parking area shuffling from booth to booth. On the return journey, I stopped to investigate and discovered my first-ever Farmer's Market. 'Organic' was plastered on everything from beeswax candles to the coffee van.
Ended up buying veggies and digging into Nutella-smothered crepes, all organic of course. The tastes and flavors of organic produce were exciting; an orange smelled and tasted 'real' unlike the Cuties from the big produce store. A different perspective for food.One thing led to another and now I shop at New Season's or Whole Foods filling my basket with gluten-free and vegan food (I had no clue what these were until I landed in the city of roses)
Search results in Google intuitively started throwing search results for DIY projects so my bathroom vanity now stocks home-made toothpaste, face cleanser and shampoo. The cool rain-laden weather nurtures a bountiful herb garden of chives, basil, mint, chillies, scallions harvested every month. Am adding 'shrooms in my next harvest.

10 things my 20-year self didn't know about being 30

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 18:31:00 +0000

I love the Thanksgiving Holiday. It always ensures my birthday celebration protracts over four days. On the eve of my crossing over from being yuppy to smug, I drew a list of thing I didn't know when I was 20. Although these things are obvious, and experienced adults (parents, older sibling, bosses, teachers, stranger on train) told me a decade ago, it took my own adventurous encounters to interpret their words.

Family comes first.
I like working in a set routine, no matter how mundane the tasks may seem.
Writing is my first love, and I will continue to pursue it, although I may not turn out to be that bestselling author dais.
Shedding 5 kgs is not as easy as a week's summer camp in the hills of Coorg anymore.
Pepsi, you can't beat the addiction of Espresso shots.
I do look better with neck-length hair. Like mom would say, the crew cut makes me look like a skinned chicken.
Not getting first-grade does not mean that life is doomed. It simply means I'm no good at rote-learning, which makes me an idea-person, and thus more employable.
I should have read all those books which were in the recommended reading list over hanging out with colleage-mates. They are awesome pieces of writing, as I have found out.
Be yourself, in clothes, words, and actions. Everyone around you is in the same groove of self-doubt.
Patience grows, tolerance disappears

Unfurled my wings

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Mon, 22 Aug 2011 17:04:00 +0000

I finally took the big plunge on Saturday. After weeks of research, I found credibility in Skydive Oregon to hold custody of my life for 15 minutes.

At the time of booking I was warned that it would take close to 4 hours; I assumed it was an elaborate training procedure, much like flight simulation training. While signing my life away and training took less than half an hour, I watched other skydivers shuttle in and out. Just as the shadows began to draw longer, and my empty stomach began to rumble with hunger, my name was called out.

Binding me inside my harness Rocky, my tandem instructor, scooted off for another jump before the last one with me. Out in the air field, I saw the light plane descend snappily into what appeared a forest of conifers. It was enchanting how the plane needed such little time on the runway for the take-off.

I had seen nearly 10 set of divers kiss the sky this afternoon. 5 minutes later, after disappearing into the bright blue of the hottest day in Portland, little specks would begin to descend. Colorful parachutes fluttered open and whooshed in from every direction. Minutes later, excited tandem first-timers emerged from the changing room, mouthing everything from ‘it was great’ to ‘the most awesome high of my life’.

The first words I uttered were ‘This was the most exhilarating experience of my life’. My reaction was only dulled by the large grin I couldn’t wipe off my face many hours after the jump. Ryan, my videographer, took lots of shots and clips of my reactions, right from me getting into the harness, inside the light plane, as we ascended 13000 feet, and last thoughts before the plunge.

The trio had slid all the way to the back of the plane, beside the pilot. I was sandwiched between Rocky behind and Ryan capturing my growing nervousness as the horse ranches and rivulets disappeared under the evening haze. The only thing clear from up there was the shimmering snow on Mt Hood in the East and the sun just above the horizon in the West.

I don’t recollect whether I hauled us out (unlikely) or Rocky propelled us forward. The next 10 seconds my breath was sucked out, my mind was in a tizzy, my face parts were flapping without any motor control. I remembered that Ryan was around filming all of this. So I flailed my arms, tried to give him a thumbs up. The fall naturally curved my lips into a large smile.

After what seemed like about 30 seconds, the parachute jolted us into a serene drift. I began to look all around and soak the svoboda. Rocky handed me the parachute reins and we did swoops in both directions while continuing to head towards the landing strip. A gentle cool breeze made sure the swoops were deep and I tugged hard on the reins to create loops in the sky. When it was time to get feet back on the tarmac, Rocky took back the reins and we landed on the soft grass amidst camera flashes capturing every moment of the descent.

The adrenaline rush had me chomping my dinner as if I’d arrived from Somalia. The thumping inside my chest didn’t settle till after midnight.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. With the element of surprise annihilated, I believe the next experience will me that much more fun.

Feeling Lucky

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Thu, 07 Jul 2011 23:38:00 +0000

A woman's bag is like a living breathing oragnism, which contains everything she is. And losing the wallet feels like a piece of you has been torn out of your being. The post #206 When someone returns your wallet | 1000 Awesome Things brings fresh memory of losing my purse.

Every year during the monsoon season, around this same time, just before Ganpati starts, shops lined at Marine Lines - Roop Kala, Kala Niketan, Queens Emporium, Roop Milan - have a huge sale on saris and dress materials, before they restock their shops with the new collection for the wedding season in November.

While studying for my post-graduate degree, I had a bunch of cousin's getting married. My mom and I were looking for outfits for the various ceremonies in that crazy-crowd clawing for the finest pieces. In the frenzy, my bag was picked, and my wallet stolen.

As a student on a shoe-budget, losing your first metro-pass is more devastating than the tattered wallet with 50 rupees. With it went my ATM card, driving license, visiting cards, good luck charm, contact numbers of friends (pre-cellphone commonly). More than angry, I was shaken by the invasion of privacy as the thief peered into my things.

A couple of days later I received a call. A lady had found my wallet under the seat in a train. She'd found my number in the phone book, and wanted to return it. We agreed to meet at Bandra station, where she changed trains, on her way home from work.

Except the money, everything in the wallet was intact. Of course the ATM card had been already blocked. She was a shy young lady; after handing over the wallet she simply began to walk away, not even waiting for me to say 'thank you'. I did thank her profusely. She shrugged and said, "There are so many things we carry in our wallet. I thought it was important for you to have them back." She climbed into the train, and we went our separate ways.

That is life in the metro, Bombay.

All by My Self

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Tue, 21 Jun 2011 05:21:00 +0000

Last weekend, after my event in Dallas was complete, I found myself free for remainder of the evening. No more disillusioned that I will make friends or find a partner for company to enjoy the same pastimes as me, I resolved that I should not deprive myself of the entertainment and distractions I deserved after an ardorous week.

Being late in the evening, after 6pm, I ventured solo to dip my toes to test the water. Just 10 mins from home, I knew I could always take a cab back home if things go south. I took the Trimet to the cinema hall which I'd seen quite often passing by. Slightly shy, even a teeny bit embarrassed, Ii bought a single ticket and Q-ed up with rest of the crowd for refreshments. I was the first person to walk into the cinema hall, and just before the jelly-stomached panda Po launched himself on the screen, I had tots filling rows around me. We all laughed together, squealed with delight, and were joyous at Po's victory against the evil peacock. Journey home started just after sundown, which is 9.30 pm here, but I made home in good time for an unaccompanied supper at the cafe in the valley and playtime with Todd Turtle before he retired into his alcove for the night.

Since last two weekends the plan to visit the Oregon Zoo was being postponed on some whim, mood or inclination. So I took matters into my hand once again. After a heavy oat-meal breakfast, with snacks, water and a sturdy jacket (rain clouds were lurking), I set off to meet the delightful wildlife which had made Portland home over the last century. After 2 hours of bus, metro rail and shuttle rides, I reached the zoo gates slightly breathless (its not that far, but I lost way and ended up walking for 45 mins needlessly). Here again were hoards of squealing rug-rats, saying hello to the wilderness they'd most likely only witness in such captivity.

Here are some pics i shot with my phone, since carrying the camera was an additional burden.

They even had an Indian elephant family, just as the shuttle driver had mentioned during our chat. And an interesting indoor building connecting the history of Indian elephants with Gods (Ganesha), Maharajas (the battles they fought) and Mahawats.

The volunteer at the petting zoo, where I touched the wild turtle's shell, informed me that turtles have their vertebrae right under the shell, which is why they are squeamish on touch. Nothing to do with being ticklish, as I'd been led to believe. That 13-year kid knew more about turtles! *embarrassment*

On return journey, the same shuttle driver picked me, so we chatted for long as it was just both of us for most of the circuit. Being an Indian, its so easy to get into conversation with anyone; not because we talk English, but there is so much of diversity in India - sights, people, languages, weather. And each American I speak to knows a different piece about the country. Like this guy was surprised to learn that besides horses, I'd ridden a camel and elephant. Kept in large enclosures with moat all around, so let alone ride, you won't even come close enough to see a fly on his flapping ears. Makes me appreciate the fine piece of patchwork our frailly strong democracy is.

I am so refreshed by this outing, am set to make plans for next weekend with myself. I love the summer, and more so the connectivity in this city. Keep watching this space for my next adventure.

Winding About

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Sat, 29 Jan 2011 05:05:00 +0000

I blame it all on Al Gore. Having nothing better to do since he lost in the run for Presidential Election in 2000, he invented a way of staying in the news. His book and movie, both named An Inconvenient Truth, evidently shook the earth beneath people' feet. It brought to light the apparent harm we were causing, and tagged it as Global Warming. Ever since, the term is tossed about every time someone wants to posit their importance - government officials, 'corporate social responsibility' team of companies, even possible political leaders.
Reams of papers, server space and magnetic tapes have since been consumed to cry foul on how we are ruining the planet, accelerating its age after 4.54 billion years. I agree that we must not excessively waste resources, but if we think that a few billion 5 feet something beings ravaging about can affect the being of Creation.
With Global Warming's toll bells ringing, nothing we do seems right. (apparently) snow caps are melting, oceans are rising, islands are disappearing, ozone layer is depleting. From eating beef which causes increased methane emissions, to making mortar and brick houses, and everything in between, propagandists have beaten into everyone's head that we are screwing things up here like have never been done before.

Today, I read on CNN of physicist Michio Kaku's article stating that the snowstorms paralyzing northeastern US are also a result of global warming. I mean seriously people, you have me torn between Laughing Out Loud and Tearing Hair Out.
Let me explain with an example: New York, the only city which really fascinates me after living in Bombay, has been hit the snowstorm referred above. But if you take a peek at Weather.com, you will notice something piquing. Temparatures in NYC have a record of dipping all the way down to -18°C (presently -4°C), and shooting upto 22°C (presently 1°C). You can clearly see, we are actually living in very temperate times. Just because Father Frost and his Ice Queen had gone off for a holiday for a couple of winters, does not mean they won't be coming back!
Quoting Wikipedia

Predicted changes in orbital forcing suggest that the next glacial period would begin at least 50,000 years from now, even in absence of human-made global warming.

We are definitely not undergoing another Ice Age, caused by 'Global Warming'.
If that were true, I guess the dinosaurs got wiped out by them expelling copious amounts of intestinal gases after their meals.

Turmoils

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Fri, 01 Oct 2010 20:47:00 +0000

Season's festivities, birthdays, baby showers, sex determination of pets and many such developments. They happen to distract me, and make me wonder if the peace of mind and stress-free life I enjoy here are worth it.
As a city dweller, the longhorn of trailers and whirling tyres of bikes in the dead of the night is the only thing which retains my composure. When the sea gulls warble and sparrows chirp, I lose my head, and long for a police siren to break the genial atmosphere.

Cheating Robinhood

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 14:04:00 +0000

Last night I watched Dabangg, which means fearless. But not in the theatre near me...it was a high-quality pirated copy of the movie, straight off the reel. Boohoo to me.
I couldn't help myself though. Firstly, I love Salman Khan for the macho-man that he is. He is all beef and no show of brains, which is all I demand from an masala flick.
After watching the promos of the movie in India, I was further convinced that this was just the kind of entertainment my numbed mind was craving. Unfortunately, no city within a 100 miles of my home was playing the movie. So finally the evil deed was committed; the movie was downloaded over the weekend, and I insisted on watching everything - right from the promo trailer of Golmaal 3, which is due for a Diwali release upto the complete credits had run out, which is where I discovered that the old man in Munni Badnaam Hui is called Honey Chhaya.
Although I can make no pledge of never watching a pirated copy of super-hit movies like this, on this occassion I will donate the ticket, popcorn and Icee money to Salman's Be Human foundation.

Reached Safely...

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Sat, 14 Aug 2010 05:06:00 +0000

After every international journey, things nicely wrap up to a clipped message which reads 'Reached Safely'.
What had to be encountered to accomplish this torpid state of jet-lag is a whole different matter altogether. Just over a week ago, I had my entire house and possessions securely packed into 6 bags amounting to just over 100kgs. Despite warning cries of being over-cautious for leaving a full 5 hours before the flight was due, I stuck to the plan. With past experience, especially during my international travel, I believe in the maxim 'Be prepared for the worst'.
After bidding good-bye to my zealous cousin's who'd accompanied us to the airport, we made headway to the airline counter. The long-winded itinerary was planned enroute Bombay -> Paris -> Amsterdam -> Detroit -> Erie.
After a few tries on the online checking counter, the assisting officer demanded our passports. He pointed out that we did not have a Schengen visa to make the Paris -> Amsterdam transit.
While my dad already feared the worst, I held my cool, because I could not imagine myself trudging up 4 flights of 18 stairs each lugging the aforementioned 100 kgs. I asked him if we could get an emergency visa. From past experience I know there is always a work around. We were asked to step aside and wait for the supervisor. Five minutes later a ruggedly handsome man in crisp white and black uniform walked upto us. He asked me to accompany me to the counter to see if something could be worked out. In less than 15 minutes we had a new set of boarding passes, where we'd bypassed Paris, and its dreadful Air France flight (I got two accounts of absolutely horrendous service), and we heading directly to Amsterdam.
Except for the long transit halt, I quite liked the Amsterdam airport. The immigration at Detroit was a breeze, and we were delighted to be onboard a 36-seater airplane on the way to Erie. We mused that one-fifth of my family could not fit in this flight. The stewardess (1 no.), took a piece of paper and made a headcount before the flight took off. We giggled some more as we discussed how our bags must be the heaviest luggage onboard this toy plane.
Unfortunately, we were wrong!
After waiting for nearly an hour at the only conveyor belt, which refused to budge, a kind airport assistant mentioned that we should check with the airline, since about 7 people were waiting for their bags.
The bags had not made it in time. And were likely to arrive in the only other flight due for the day at 10.30 pm. The airline offered to drop the bags home if they did come, or else check back in the morning.
This spelled DISASTER since the amicable officer at Bombay had told us that our hand baggage could also go in with the check-in luggage without incurring extra costs.
Except mints and eye covers, neither of us had any clothes, for that matter not even our toothbrushes. But since nothing more could be done or said at that point, we hung our heads low, and headed home. After a mournful dinner, we called the airline customer helpline, which ended in a brick wall.
Desperate, we drove back to the airport. And were relieved to find all 6 bags sitting quietly on the conveyor belt. I am happy to report that except a bag of dried gooseberries, nothing popped open or leaked.
So yes, we reached safely.

Thaal tales

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Mon, 07 Jun 2010 05:43:00 +0000

Buffet nor à la carte. Catering in my community is unlike any other.
At a meal time, it throws together 8-9 people. This is mostly a random mix, so you may be seated with a motley of individuals. Convention is to greet every person in this this circle which has received you with a smile and a customary handshake.
Old, child-bearing, child-rearing, teenager, newly-wed, every person is welcomed with the same warmth as we prepare ourselves to share the next 30-40 minutes in each other's company sharing our food, serving and setting up the dishes, sharing soup spoons, breaking chappatis into pieces, pouring out the cold drinks and sipping water from the same glass.Everyone's opinion is taken at the commencement of a dish, asking if they want more. The shy ones are urged to eat, teasingly asked if they are on a diet.
The host and hostess have their extended family helping them serve the food in an undisturbed rhythm to several of these bands, so that at no point until the salt has touched every guests lips again should they be idling. This would be considered an irrevocable insult. And if the food has even slightly cooled down, plates of steaming hot rice, and bowls bubbling soup replace them in a flash.
Undoubtedly, conversation centers around how often we do these gala events, and its affect on our health. Often there is an NRI in the blend who has raving stories about how manage these collosal dos.
Me, for most part, tend to distance myself on the role of the silent bystander, giving hollow smiles whenever eyes meet with someone else, quietly refusing to be served any more than a small morsel of the richly-laden food.
Yes, I know, I am a total bummer.

If...

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Sun, 30 May 2010 09:59:00 +0000

If I were a month, I’d be - October. I love the Fall season in US.
If I were a day of the week, I’d be - Saturday. It brings back so many memories of secret dates.
If I were a time of day, I’d be - sunset. Scandal point; most innocent evenings.
If I were a season, I’d be - Monsoon.
If I were a planet, I’d be - Mercury
If I were a sea animal, I’d be - Sea Horse/ Turtle
If I were a direction, I’d be - East
If I were a piece of furniture, I’d be - Bean Bag
If I were a liquid, I’d be - Absinthe
If I were a tree, I’d be - Sequoia
If I were a tool, I’d be – Plier
If I were an element, I’d be – Nitrogen
If I were a gemstone, I’d be – Blue Sapphire
If I were a musical instrument, I’d be - Harmonica
If I were a color, I’d be - Pink
If I were an emotion, I’d be - Melancholy
If I were a fruit, I’d be – Mango
If I were a sound, I’d be – Buzz
If I were a car, I’d be – Jeep
If I were food, I’d be – Blueberry Cheescake
If I were a taste, I’d be – Tangy
If I were a scent, I’d be - Lavendar
If I were a pair of shoes, I’d be – Rugged Boots
And if I were a bird, I’d be – Sparrow

Guilty or Innocent?

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Sat, 15 May 2010 09:58:00 +0000

Rules Go Like This ---
RULE 1- You can only say Guilty or Innocent.
RULE 2- You are not allowed to explain anything unless someone messages you and asks!
RULE 3- Copy and paste this into your notes, delete my answers, type in your answers and tag to your friends to answer this.

Asked someone to marry you? Guilty
Ever kissed someone of the same sex? Guilty
Danced on a table in a bar? Innocent
Ever told a lie? Guilty
Had feelings for someone whom you can’t have? Guilty
Kissed a picture? Guilty
Slept in until 5 PM? Innocent
Fallen asleep at work/school? Innocent
Held a snake? Innocent
Been suspended from school? Innocent
Worked at a fast food restaurant? Innocent
Stolen from a store? Innocent
Been fired from a job? Innocent
Done something you regret? Guilty
Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? Guilty
Caught a snowflake on your tongue? Guilty
Kissed in the rain? Guilty
Sat on a roof top? Guilty
Kissed someone you shouldn’t? Guilty
Sang in the shower? Guilty
Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? Innocent
Shaved your head? Guilty
Had a boxing membership? Innocent
Made a girlfriend cry? Innocent
Been in a band? Innocent
Shot a gun? Guilty
Donated Blood? Guilty
Eaten alligator meat? Innocent
Eaten cheesecake? Guilty
Still love someone you shouldn’t? Guilty
Have/had a tattoo? Guilty
Liked someone, but will never tell who? Guilty
Been too honest? Guilty
Ruined a surprise? Guilty
Ate in a restaurant and got so bloated that you couldn’t walk afterward? Guilty
Erased someone from your friends list? Guilty
Dressed in a woman’s clothes (if you’re a guy) or man’s clothes (if you’re a girl)? Guilty
Joined a pageant? Innocent
Been told that you’re handsome or beautiful by someone who totally meant what they said? Guilty
Had communication with your ex? Guilty
Got totally drunk on the night before exam? Innocent
Got totally angry that you cried so hard? Guilty

Tagged Reality Bites

A dangerous sport

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Wed, 07 Apr 2010 11:35:00 +0000

I recently learned that when sports men/women are invited for a public function during their play-season, they do not eat nor drink anything for fear of being tested positive on drugs.

Locked Out or In

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Thu, 05 Nov 2009 19:24:00 +0000

In a way, both actually. You will see my dilema soon enough.
I had a humble test of endurance yesterday morning. The little and outlandish locale I reside now maintains regular refrigertion temperatures ie. between 1 & 5 degrees Celcius. So, it is very unlikely for me to venture outside the warm confines of the centrally heated apartment.
However, the MET does a good job at predicting weather out here, and the forecast of a partly sunny day shone through the venitian blinds. I warmed up my cup of sweetened milk, put on my flannel pullover (just in case a wayward breeze blew my way), and got out into the gallery in my pyjamas and brown Tigger feet warmers.
I soaked in the bright sun which had filled the living room with brilliance without the shield of the transperant shield. While sipping on my chocolate brew, I looked at the smooth asphalt parking ground and wondered what it had be like if I had to ever jump down in case of an emergency like a fire. These thoughts sure had never occured to me while I spent nearly three decades 40 feet above ground-level (maybe because jumping down was not an option there).
Anyways, so from there, thoughts lingered to other deadening themes. At some point I heard a dull click at the balcony door, but thought nothing of it. It had been long since I got so much of warmth wadded out to me.
Once I had slurped up the last drop from the mug, I turned to get back into the living room. But the door wouldn't budge. Oh O! In a flash I remebered some wiseness I had been imparting to my partner over the weekend about keeping doors locked when we left the apartment to go out. He had jested, "The thief will be ashamed of stealing from us. All we got is two ancient deceasing laptops." I had however gone ahead and turned that little knob for auto-lock.
And now, I was locked outside! In a fraction of milli-second (if that were possible) I had a series of scenes playing in the head. Firstly, I had to try and grab some attention. If you saw the view from the balcony, you'd realise that this was futile. This neighborhood is unruffled at most hours of the day, as well as night. There are four independent houses, whose garage's face the apartment complex.
Then, I thought about the weather, and how long I could bear it. I knew that I had absolutely no options in this matter. It is officially winter (even the clocks have been turned an hour ahead), and I will just have to grit it out. When I looked upon the sky, it was a clear blue. The sun seamlessly streaming upon everything. This made me glad. I would be able to bask, atleast until mid-day. Then, I tried to establish the time. The sunrays were still slanted, so it could not be any later that 8.45-9 am. To keep the mind engaged, I mapped out where the shadows would draw at approximately every hour. I must bluster, I have a knack for telling the approximation of time. With this established, I moved on to absorb the head to another direction. Since I'd just had a breakfast (milk equates breakfast for me), I decided to take a stroll. Everytime I got to the corner where the sunrays failed to touch, there was a little chill. I began to realize that the warmth must be kept at all times, since there was no telling when I'd be 'rescued' from here.
I began to do some warm-ups and stretches. It had occured to me that whenever I finally did get into the warm enclosure of the house, I'd be stiffened with the cold. So might as well keeptak the blood flowing. That done, I then sought my next activity of engagement.
I toyed with the idea that the bedroom door might just be unlocked. I forced it, but it wouldn't budge. I surely wasn't strong enough, nor did I have anything close at hand that could break the glass, except lots of cardboard boxes. I fancied myself with the idea of constructing a shelter, like HoBo's they show in the rough areas of London.
That done, I tried to peer into the house to ascertain the time. While I had been busy day-dreaming, fluffs of cotton had spread across the sky, and a grey cloud had hidden away my sunshine. But I was not too perplexed since I had checked the weather only the day before, and it had said 'sunny day' with highs of 10 & lows of 1. So bright sun = 10 degrees, shade = 5 degrees? (I sure hoped so!)
I picked up two pieces of cardboard and sat myself against the wood railing, contemplating a jump. It was cold, so I knew I wouldn't be able to bear the pain of a twisted ankle. My best bet would be to tie the sleeve of my pullover to the railing, hang on and drop myself to a softer fall. But then what? I wouldn't even have a jacket. And would be quite a site in my paper-thin pyjama suit & Tigger chappals. May just get stoned. Then again, there was no one around to stone me!
The shadows grew longer, time passed slowly. I assumed 10 am, then 10.15 am had passed. Would anyone ever pass on this road? The glimmer of hope was growing fainter.
A slight breeze had picked up. That brought the chill back in the air. Now I was standing at the far-end of the balcony for maximum sun-exposure. The shadows told me it would be 11.30 am now. I had shut off most of the insane thoughts out (like freezing to death), and calm now reigned over my mind. I would be very sick by the time my partner got home in the evening, about 6-7 hours later, but that was the worst-case scenario. More likely-hood was that I would find someone walking by and tell them my plight, and get them to call him.
This is when my lucky-star shone upon me. My partner came home! He had emailed me, and also tried calling. Receiving no response, he decided to hop back home to check up on me. And as suspected, had found me sitting pat in the middle of a (cold) soup.
So what's your judgement here - did I get locked in or locked out?

Expect nothing, be ready for everything.

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Mon, 26 Oct 2009 13:08:00 +0000

The title which I have borrowed from a recent article aptly describes my present state of mind. Its been just over 10 days since I stepped foot onto the fertile land of US of A. This short period has been crunched in with experiences I had never even imagined, let alone possible.

Flawed Postulate

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Fri, 11 Sep 2009 16:09:00 +0000

The penny dropped today as I experienced my first whiff of Bombay gook since I stopped going to work 13 days ago. The phosphoric snuff jolted my mind from glee-world to the verity that I was going to the 'land of plenty'.

Coupled with the XXL size of everything from food portions to Sequoia trees, my packing list of mini-sized items and potion bottles is fundamentally unsound. I am bewildered how these thoughts never floated into my mind stream while I was busy stuffing over-sized bags with my worldly possessions. Airlines flying into Yankee-ground allows me to carry double the cargo than other judicious countries. Not only have I strapped in my perennial overclothes, but also managed to accommodate avertible items like 2 coffee pots, fancy ensembles and accessories.

This most favorably works for the dozen or so books I have made up my mind to treasure, and over time, rebuild my assorted library.

Addicted

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Mon, 24 Aug 2009 06:56:00 +0000

During this last week of my notice period, my office has made an overhauling attempt of holding me back. No extra money, no higher post; they have upgraded the creaking hotpot machine for a swanky coffee machine which dispenses cappuccino, espresso and mocha, along with a frother 17 steps away from my seat.
Yes, very very tempting; since I got to office 3 hours ago, I have already downed 2 ½ cups of coffee, and am raring to go. The aircon has dispensed a strong aroma of beans which hits you as soon as the door is swiped open.
Why now? Couldn’t the have waited just a week longer…The long emotional, tear-wrenching speeches from the seniors, colleagues and co-workers couldn’t revoke my plans to exit from this place. But this coffee-machine, I am now considering stay-back as a strong option.

My White Elephants

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Thu, 13 Aug 2009 10:24:00 +0000

Inspired by Cup of Ice, I began to think about white elephants in my life. Now, as I begin wrapping up operations from my parental house, I have started drawing out the white elephants I have been collecting and pushing into my attic room.

For starters, there is cupboard filled choc-o-block with books. These figure in my white elephant list since there are several ones which are gems of literature which I have not opened to read even once. Over years, some of them have disintegratedl the remainder my mom plans to give away.

Electronic gadgets occupy the biggest chunk of 'wasted money'. Since an early age, I have been saving up pocket money (back in college) and a couple of salaries to lay my hands on the shiny objects of desire. In most cases, looks have been deceptive, with little VFM (value-for-money). These gadgets, even past their life, continue to reside in my drawer as reminders to the money I wasted on them.

Next in line are the largest space-hoarders - clothes. Oh yes. I have loads of them, most of them reminiscent of my college days when I was a size 1 and my mom would get me a new piece of clothing once every week, if not more. Ended up, I could go without repeating the same top for upto 3 months! In hope that I will shed my weight of several gained kilos and squeeze into these clothes again, they continue to occupy 2 cupboards-full, one of which was poached upon once my brother left to study.

Of these, several pieces are now up for donation to cousins, less-privileged in the villages etc. But this activity comes to pass in my absence under the scrutiny of my mother. I cannot yet bear the pain to see those lovely scrumptious clothes taken away. Even if I can't wear them now, or won't probably ever manage again, its a satisfying experience to touch them, transfer them from one packet of clothing to another, iron out the creases with my palm, and relive the memories attached to them.

Now, as I prepare to ink a fresh chapter in my life, it is best to tear off some of these redundant pages.

On a jet plane

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 17:21:00 +0000

Not a Jet Airlines plane...but I am pretty much set for my forthcoming trip to the US of A. Years of hoarding bits and pieces of interesting news and articles are being finally shown the bin, much to mom's relief.

Double-Fast

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Wed, 05 Aug 2009 07:57:00 +0000

Subsequent to my visa interview where I passed, things have been stirred up by a whirlwind. A long list of things-to-do, disposal of stuff I won’t be taking and what needs to be bought are being drawn. Simultaneously, my mom’s recipe book-writing has picked up new fervor. Besides filling the pages with reams of her yummy recipes, she also cooks them so that I can savor them one last time before I am gone. No cause for complaints…

Examination

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Fri, 17 Jul 2009 10:59:00 +0000

After much perseverance and a lot of deliberation, I have moved a notch up in my quest to visit the country of Lincoln. Since I paid up the fees for the visa, the past 3 weeks I have been yawningly filling the application form over and over and over again. Because each time, after a period of 7 days, the application lapses, and I need to do it all over again. Which is quite painful, to say the least, since I was unable to even copy-paste the information.
Lazy - yes, that's what I am!
Anyways, deadening myself at the workplace today, I decided to cast another glance at the date availability. To my horror, I had chosen to attend the visa interview on July 22 in the New Delhi embassy. Must have been daydreaming when I hit the OK button. Thankfully, VFS allows brain-deadned people like me to retract, and cancel the appointment. Gleefully, I cancelled, and went back to filling the form (once again!) for a full-hour.
And managed to book myself a slot for the interview, next Friday! Too close for all paperwork I need to gather, since it has to be submitted at the embassy as well, but I think I can manage.
So people, wish me luck. And non-paranoid advise is welcome.
And wait with bated breath to know of the outcome.

Last Meal

noreply@blogger.com (Ah.Maze.Ing) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 16:55:00 +0000

Since it would be my last meal, for a change I would not have to care about my body refusing the heaps I am piling into it. I'd prefer to have a feast of traditional food with my cousins and other other relatives. As is traditional in my community, we will sit about a large plate, and gobble a sweet dish alternating with a savoury dish. Start with a tiny dish of sweetened rice, some chicken rolls, peach souffle, full chicken tandoor which will come wrapped in aluminium foil so that its smoky hot when we open it.
There will be a wishbone found by one of us; since its my last meal, I will have no other wish to make. So two other cousins will have a small wrestle with the wishbone. That put aside, we will now dig into the side-dish of bhel, salad and other munchies.
Meanwhile, the other relatives come about enquiring if we are enjoying the food, want another helping of the chicken dish, which we greedily agree. The cold drinks are already popped open, so conversations are heating up.
The next dish is a coconut and lychee shorbet. Although I am no fan of lychee, I enjoy the sweetness of the item overall. Now comes the leg of goat, what is also commonly known as raan in Hindi. The mutton is soft and tender so that it tears into shreds as we try to break it into smaller morsels and share. It melts in the mouth, and leaves a lingering mint flavour which stays in the mouth long after the entire meal is over.
Now comes the climaxing sweet dish, a plate of kaju katli, pedhas, motichur laddoos, besan laddoos, bondi laddoos and coconut barfi. We all eat these to our hearts content, but some still is left in the dish. We place it below the thaal, for getting back to it later. As the drums begin to roll, now comes the main dish - rice with two curries. One is a green thai curry, the other is manchurian red curry. Both have crispies and little chunks of meat. We devour 3 plates of these, pushing them down the gullet with soda to create space for the more food to follow.
By now the thaal is quite a mess; so the caterer has it picked away, and brings us a fresh thaal. Meanwhile, we have washed our hands and are lazing about nibbling on the fresh fruits and rich dry fruits. This gastronomic delight lasts for just under an hour. We are then given magai paans on toothpicks. I put the paan in my mouth, and then begin to get up. My cousin brother comes by my side, and helps me on my feet. I walk 3 steps and collapse, with a smile playing upon my red-stained lips.