Desi Witch

New Beginnings

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Mon, 11 Jun 2007 21:24:00 +0000

It's time to move. In order to be a little more private and to make a fresh start this blog will now move elsewhere. Those who want the new address, please email me at:
desiwitchblog AT gmail DOT com
I promise not to spam you with newsletters containing latest offers, products and competitions from carefully selected third party companies or their marketing programmes.

I know it's a royal pain to have to email me and I hope you understand that as far as possible I'd like to make the connection between this blog and my new one as vague as possible.

Thank you SO SO SO very much for the incredible support you have given me through my angst and turmoil. I am not exaggerating when I say that you girls have kept me sane and helped me heal faster that I normally would have.

A miffed reader

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Fri, 08 Jun 2007 15:01:00 +0000

Email from IBF:

omg omg! just read your blog! gosh, im so touched at how accepting ur blog readers are :))
altho im a bit miffed they thought it was the bff and not the ibf! wtf!

Happy Mothers Day

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Mon, 14 May 2007 17:08:00 +0000

To my mother.

Who put up with labour pains.
Who cleaned my pee & my poo.
Who gave up her favourite foods,
so I could eat more of them - because they were my favourites too.
Who sang me lullabies.
Who fed me a teaspoon of yogurt,
before every exam I took - for good luck.
Who picked out the onions and tomatoes
from my plate because I used to be a fussy eater.
Who cries when I am in pain.
Who beat me up when I was naughty.
Who combed my hair and tied my laces.
Who taught me the joys of reading.
Who showed me the worth of money
And education.
Who gave me my OCDs of not touching things in public places.
Who shoves almonds and raisins in my mouth, even now,
because "they are good for you".
Who set the bar so high, I don't think I can ever reach it.

Happy Mothers Day, Dearest Mama.

Makadi ka aadmi aur reth ka dushman

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Tue, 08 May 2007 23:45:00 +0000

Ok, all you snooty Hollywood aficionados have lost the right to make fun of Bollywood movies. I just got back from watching Spiderman 3 and have developed a serious case of arachnophobia. Why, Spidey, why? My favourite superhero has been ruined by this third episode in the spidery superhero saga.
It was replete with cheesy scenes and oh-so-so-predictable twists and turns. Dripping with forced sentimentality and sickly sweet moral preaching, this was a huge disappointment. By the end of the first 50 minutes or so I was like "Just die, already Spidey".

Sad Sad Sad.

Avoid.

Is this sexist or is it just me?

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Tue, 01 May 2007 14:30:00 +0000

"Is the Gujarat police so impotent that it had to kill a woman in cold blood?"
This dialogue on the Times of India - apparently started by the editor - confuses me.
Are they implying that men who are impotent are likely to kill women? Or that men who are potent are not killers? Or that the police force only comprises of men?
Why do men associate everything with the size, shape, and/or functional efficacy of their Penis?

When India made an early exit from the World Cup, I watched an irate fan say on some desi channel " Unko chudiyaan pehenke wapas aana chahiye". [They should wear bangles when they return.]
Meaning what? That women are losers? "Real" men can't lose?

Sorry for the rant. I just got another "Life for single women is so tough and filled with sharks" talk from my folks yesterday. And it made me mad that rather than having faith in my ability to look after myself, my parents want me to rush into another marriage or atleast "think about it". So I'm highly sensitive to the "women are weak" type of remarks right now.

And what's with the sharks? I mean, where did that analogy come from?
Argh.

The Art of Losing

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Sun, 29 Apr 2007 11:44:00 +0000

I read a poem today by Elizabeth Bishop called One Art. It touched a chord within me and so I leave it here for all those anonymous women who see a little bit of me in them. Read this and feel strong:

One Art

The art of losing isn't hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster,

Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
of lost door keys, the hour badly spent.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

Then practice losing farther, losing faster:
places, and names, and where it was you meant
to travel. None of these will bring disaster.

I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or
next-to-last, of three beloved houses went.
The art of losing isn't hard to master.

I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,
some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.
I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.

-- Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture
I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident
the art of losing's not too hard to master
though it may look like (Write it!) a disaster.

Elizabeth Bishop

Gere Kaanooni

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Sat, 28 Apr 2007 23:46:00 +0000

Ok, I'll admit it - I am only writing this post because I thought the title was so witty and clever. Because otherwise this is such a super-duper-stupid-lame case of waste-of-fucking-time-money-and-other-precious-resources that embarrasses me at work because people ask me "Are Indians really burning effigies of Richard Gere? For a peck on the cheek? Really? And the judge thought that was sexually erotic?".

That bloody judge obviously isn't getting any.

Can the self-appointed moral police and the government-appointed judges, please burn effigies of rapists and convict them with the same speed that they did in poor Richard's case?

And isn't burning all those effigies bad for the environment?

Kya Bakwaas Movie Hai

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Wed, 25 Apr 2007 18:05:00 +0000

Do NOT watch "Kya Love Story Hai".

'Nuf said.

Something I haven't already read, please?

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Tue, 24 Apr 2007 19:11:00 +0000

Was it me or was it you? Considering that most of you misunderstood the previous post - it's probably me! That list of books was there to tell you what kind of books I have read and loved. I didn't mean to ask you to pick 3 out of that list - in fact please exclude all the books on that list. I own them all, have read them all, love them all.

So let me make this request again - Please list 3 (or more) books that you love and think I'd love (that are not already on the list in the previous post).

From your suggestions I was able to get "Poisonwood Bible" and have added the others to my wish list and will get them as soon as they get back into stock.

And Terri, no, sadly I don't work for a publishing firm.

What would you read?

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Mon, 23 Apr 2007 20:34:00 +0000

So, because I have earned some awesome karma, it has emerged that I can get 9 books for free. How? Long story that will endanger my anonymity, so don't ask for details. But I want some suggestions from you. I know that asking someone to pick their one favourite book is like asking a mother to pick her favourite child. So please list the top 3 books that you'd recommend.
And to give you some help, some of my favourite books are:

God of Small Things
Kite Runner
Fine Balance
Time Travellers Wife
Twentieth Wife
The Handmaid's Tale
Atlas Shrugged

Line dancing

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Mon, 23 Apr 2007 19:22:00 +0000

I went line dancing today. It was the first time I'd ever done it and I'm pretty sure it's not going to be the last.
I went along with 2 of my colleagues during lunch hour, to give it a shot. In a room full of senior women, we looked like kids - another reason to go again. Nothing makes you feel as young as surrounding yourself with a group of 30 women in their early seventies! The other reason I loved it was that the dance moves are really basic and even I could learn and remember them. I am normally shit at any kind of choreographed movement and so line dancing is perfect for me. The ammachis were so sweet , encouraging me with their "You're doing really well luv". And so I spent an hour kicking my feet around and clapping to classics like "Achy Breaky Heart" and other country hits!
The highlight of the event, however, was when the instructor called out "Who here has heard of Christina Aguilera?" and not one of them except me and my colleagues nodded our heads!

Akkare is fine

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Fri, 20 Apr 2007 14:37:00 +0000

I have kidnapped her & am waiting for the ransom from Orwell. That's all.

Seriously though, she has said to tell you guys - and I quote - "I had a stalker-like bad experience with my blog and am laying off for a bit".

I promise she wasn't referring to me with the "stalker" bit.

Dauda Dauda Dauda Ghoda...

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Thu, 19 Apr 2007 19:33:00 +0000

Akkare sent me an email this morning with the lyrics from a song from Masoom, which made me want to listen to all those sweet warm beautiful songs from my childhood. They brought a smile to my face, especially this one:

It's Rocking!

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Fri, 13 Apr 2007 16:51:00 +0000

It takes a lot to cheer me up when I'm feeling down these days - so all credit must go to Kareena Kapoor, Alisha Chinoy and Bollywood for the "It's Rocking" video. It's so peppy and so typically Bollywoody that it just makes me happy everytime I hear it.
Before you accuse me of being a Kareena fan, let me clarify - I'm most definitely not one.

Easter Break

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Sun, 08 Apr 2007 21:57:00 +0000

What a glorious weekend we've had! I drove down to the East Coast with a friend of mine and spent the weekend there. Much food was eaten, much wine was drunk, much local jaunting was done and much fun was had.

Am back home now and tomorrow it's time to do some gardening on what is supposed to be yet another glorious summer day!

Bring on global warming!

Those damned condescending google ads

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Thu, 05 Apr 2007 23:31:00 +0000

So I set up google ads on this blog because I'm cheap like that. Hey I could buy web hosting for an hour with the money I've made so far, via google ads, ok?
But I noticed that all the damned ads from google were about how I could get relationship advice by clicking on a certain link or how I could entrap my spouse to stay in the marriage even if he didn't want to and of course the classic - "Asian Woman for love".

WTF?

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Sat, 24 Mar 2007 02:14:00 +0000

Can team India PLEASE bloody refund the £25 I spent this afternoon getting an upgrade on my Sky subscription - against my better judgment - to watch the freakin' World Cup?

Now I have to listen to Bangladeshi colleague at work, gloat. Thank Heavens I'm changing jobs.

And all you Sachin lovers out there - he sucks. He is a HAS BEEN. And don't wave some stupid statistics at my face. Because - he's only great on paper. As a super hero cartoon.

ME - I feel your pain.

The spontaneous Sunflower

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 18:45:00 +0000

BFF has had a tattoo for a long time & knew I've always wanted one, so when I went visiting this time she said I should go for it.
When I asked her if it hurts she lied with a straight face & pretended like getting a tattoo was like being kissed by an angel and feeling the first gentle drops of rain on your face.
I totally bought into her BS & naively booked an appointment. After BFF double checked that the needles were sterile etc I sat down on the chair - totally delusional about how it was going to be just "mildly irritating".
When the tattooist began his work I looked at BFF in sheer terror & said "You LIED!". She grinned back at me and said, "You'd have never done it if I hadn't." And then mumbled something about how after having been through child-birth, tattoos didn't really hurt. Blah!

After what seemed like an eternity of pain and torture my little pretty sunflower was ready to take home.
To be honest, even though it was painful - the end result was so good that I readily forgave BFF for being such a trickster.

Taking in a deep breath

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Wed, 21 Mar 2007 13:21:00 +0000

Akkare, one of my favorite bloggers, wrote a post inspired by me and ME. (that's confusing!) And ME wrote a follow-up post that made me feel like I needed to realize that my life was mine to live. My mistakes, mine to correct. My joys, mine to savor. My sorrows, mine to rue.
Yes I love my parents. And that will never change. But it's like we're from different planets sometimes. Separated by more than just a continent. A fundamental divide in our way of thinking.

So... I am going to say something on this blog, about me, that they don't know yet. Some of you left comments saying that I should get it off my chest and tell them sooner rather than later. But, I'm going to tell you first, my dear fellow-bloggers. Not in this post. Because I need a LOT of deep breaths and calming down, before I share this with you. (besides it keeps the suspense alive!)

Call it a "testing-the-waters" exercise.

All of you that left me encouraging comments on my "Square One" post - thank you. It means so much more than you'll ever know.

Happiness is...

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Mon, 19 Mar 2007 14:24:00 +0000

- Seeing your friends after months and knowing that nothing has changed.
- Drinking Oyster Bay and making fun of Rakhi in Basera, with BFF.
- Having beautiful warm sunshiny days in the peak of winter.
- Having BFF curl your hair and dressing up all posh-like to go to the mall.
- Getting an unplanned but always desired tattoo
- Buying more handbags than I'll ever need.
- Seeing that BFF has dropped a few dress sizes and realizing that you're not jealous but thrilled!
- Going to Borders and Barnes & Noble and soaking in the joy of being around so many books.
- Watching R.D. Burman songs from Saagar, Yeh Waada Raha and singing along.
- Recording songs with MBF [male-best-friend]
- Drinking Dunkin Donuts Coffee Coolatta.
- Being woken up by BFF's 6 year old with a hug every morning. Yes, every jet-lagged morning.
- BFF, IBF [instant Best Friend, yeah A - that's you.] and me giggling like little children even though we're in a very grown up Irish bar.
- CBF [childhood best friend] making a long trek from Virginia just so she can spend a day with me.
- Making peace with close friend that you thought you'd lost.
- Looking across a table loaded with pancakes, waffles and other heart-attack inducing goodies and seeing the faces of people that must have been related to me in a past life and knowing that they all love me. And that I'm blessed to have them in my life.

Frisky Guards

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Sat, 10 Mar 2007 11:27:00 +0000

This is a quick jet-lagged post. I was searched at every damn security check point at Gatwick. I was felt up by so many security guards that I was wondering if I looked particularly attractive yesterday.
At one point I was really pissed off, but I don't know whether it was just me being overly sensitive or something else.

Oh well! I'm with friends & I'm happy - so I don't care.

PS. I HATE FLYING.

Uss thappad ki goonj...

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Thu, 08 Mar 2007 16:55:00 +0000

Today, on International Womens Day, the Blank Noise Project has an interesting task for us:

"Being a 'HERO' is relative . We are interested in knowing how you challenged yourself or didint feel victimised?
This is an attempt to understand how different women ( across age groups/ cultures/ communities) have dealt with street sexual harassment in their everyday lives. Male bloggers are encouraged to share stories of women in their lives and how they have dealt with street sexual harassment."

So here's my story. My tale of the one day that I look back on with more glee than I should. It happened when I was about 21. I was at Water Kingdom in Bombay, with a group of other friends - all women. Even though I was soaking wet - this was a water park duh - I was no Mandakini from "Ram Teri Ganga Maili". Unlike her I was clad in a very decent swimming costume that covered my thighs. (And other necessary body parts too, you pervs!) Not that if I had worn something skimpier it justified being ogled at or groped.
There was a dude who kept following me and my friends all around the water park and I wasn't really bothered because I wasn't alone and it was broad daylight.
Some of us decided to go on the huge pipe-like ride called the Giant Snake or something silly like that. Basically, it was this huge long and twisted pipe which had water flowing through it. You enter the pipe and slide down and fall into a pool. Being the adrenaline junkie that I am I had to get on it. The rule was that you went one at a time and waited about 20 seconds after the person ahead of you went in. Shady dude who had followed us around somehow managed to get right behind me in the queue. I don't know whether he bribed the staff who worked there, but he somehow managed to by-pass the mandatory 20 second waiting period and got in about 5 seconds after I did.
When the thrilling ride was over I slid into a small pool and barely had time to mentally collect myself when I sensed someone coming out of the slide right behind me. Before I could get up and move out of their way I felt a pair of hands around me - grabbing my breasts from the back. The next 2 seconds are a blur because all I remember is this fury engulfing me and I turned around and slapped him so hard that he was also stunned. He muttered with very feeble protesting "What happened? Why did you slap me?" Because, dude, I don't get a thrill out of you squeezing my tits. That's why.
Rest assured he didn't follow me or my friends around any more.
When I think back about that incident, I feel nothing but glee that I literally hit back. I don't feel victimized or sad or violated. Because I struck back. And I'd do it again.
As a 5 year old, I was molested by our neighbors servant. And I have a vague memory of me as a 3 or 4 year old being cajoled along with a couple of other little kids into performing oral sex on some slightly older boys. I have no idea whether this is an imagined memory or a memory of something that really happened.
When I started to type put this post I was not sure whether I should mention the bit about the oral sex. And when I did I felt relief - that I finally am telling the world what I've told only one person so far. I doubt that it was an imagined memory. Which 3 year old imagines oral sex?!
What matters is that I never ever EVER feel any guilt about it. Why should I? I was abused. I didn't ask for it. Why should I suffer for what some asshole did to me? I am only a victim if I don't move on and brood about it and curse my fate.
I am a hero for the simple act of leading my normal life.

ps the title for this post is borrowed from that classic scene in Karma where Anupam Kher - Dr. Dang - is slapped by Dilip Kumar.

Des Rangila

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Thu, 01 Mar 2007 13:01:00 +0000

I'm at work, listening to music on shuffle and "Piano Man" ended only to be followed by the annoying "Des Rangila" song from Fanaa, sung by Kavita Krishnamurthy in true shrill form. As she goes on about how our des is so wonderful & colourful and blah blah blah... I roll my eyes and crib internally about how the lyrics completely gloss over all the umpteen problems that India faces. I continue with my work only vaguely aware of the song going on in the background.
Then, towards the end of the song there is an instrumental segue into the "Jaya He" part of the Indian national anthem and out of nowhere my heart wells up and I feel all nostalgic and terribly home sick and want to rush back home on the first available flight. To that beautiful multi-hued, blue skied land with lush green fields and deep red shades of love. That orange sunshiny colorful country that I will always call "home".

I'm in love...

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Sun, 25 Feb 2007 00:57:00 +0000

I met a woman today. I didn't think I could fall in love again - but I have. I want to sit at her feet and worship her. I want to kiss her genius hands. See, I had a lady come home to cook for me today. She's a middle aged Gujarati woman who cooks like my mother does. In 3 hours, she had made 4 different and complex vegetable dishes and more than 2 dozen chapattis. And then she had the dishwasher loaded and the kitchen spotlessly clean. YES! In 3 hours! Just making the chapattis would have taken me about 6 hours. And they would not have been the perfectly round, moon-shaped, gorgeous , delicious pieces of bread that she made. And the vegetables! I never thought turnips could taste that marvelous. And oh the aloo-methi, the gobi and the doodhi! I want to write poems singing her praises. Something like:
Dear Dear Cook,
You're # 1
In my book.
I'm the fish
You're the hook.
The chapattis you made
My whole world shook.
Hiring you was
the best Project
I undertook.
Dear Dear Cook...

[Note to self: Consider alternate career in poetry writing.]

All day I have been marveling at how lucky I am to have found her. I've also had mild panic attacks and pangs of fear stab my heart. What if she gets so many clients that she will refuse to come to my home every week? What if there's another terrorist attack on the tube and she's travelling on it? What if she wins the lottery and doesn't want to do this anymore?
I know I'm being irrational, but that's what happens when you fall truly madly deeply in love. Also I cannot imagine going back to cooking again.

Because witches make potions, not parathaas.

The Witch is dead...

noreply@blogger.com (desi witch) — Fri, 23 Feb 2007 11:46:00 +0000

... long live the witch.

Ah! The joys of anonymity. The utter relief of not having to worry about what your boss or your evil sister-in-law will think of you.
I used to write a different blog. A blog where everyone knew who I was, except me. It's not like I lied on that blog. But does omission count as lying? I aim to keep this one as anonymous as I can.

It's a strange tormenting emotion: one where you want credit for all the writing and ranting & the other where you want to say more but know you'll get into trouble. It's a tough choice, for I've already built up a set of regular visitors to my other blog, but I can't always say what I mean or mean what I say.

So here's to Blog2.0. A brand new blogging experience, where the truth - the joyous bitter truth - can be told without fear. Ah! the joys of anonymity.