Life in a fabric softener commercial

The secret life of geeks : Happiness is....

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Mon, 23 May 2011 21:26:00 +0000

A pre-order HTC flyer tablet based on the latest Android Honeycomb OS and as importantly, the fabulous white case it comes in
I got my Flyer about 10 days ago, what a boost to the ego it was to receive it before the plebs got their hands on this piece of kit. The un-boxing experience had a sense of déjà vue since it wasn’t that different from the ipod classic. White minimalism, product image gets center stage on the lid, no reams of paper aka the user guide, but instead, the standard guarantee and quick start guide, power jack and headphones. Finally the piece de resistance, the Flyer White and pristine sans screen protector but with a brushed aluminum digital stylus! We like that!
Inserting the sim card was a bit of a struggle since the back flap isn’t super easy for people with bitten nails to access. No Micro-SD card included. Black mark for HTC there since including a memory card wouldn’t have dented the 500 plus GBP price tag.
On switching the device on you’re met with the usual HTC splash screen. Swipe the ring to unlock the screen, input your Google credentials and you’re ready to go. Unless you have a yahoo mail account then it gets a bit complicated to say the least. A Google search (surprise, surprise) unveils the manual credentials to install your yahoo account. Not too much of a stretch when you’re a geek, but God help the nulls. Next comes the all important transfer bit, you’d imagine in this day and age, devices would be able to talk to each other…Oh no. We’re a bit choosy about the company we keep in this house hold, the Flyer doesn’t talk to his poor cousin the HTC Windows phone which doesn’t really see eye to eye with el Mac who is in a constant sulk with Symbian…Sigh! And I thought I was out of college. Oh well, someday we’ll all kiss and make up, but until that happens, it’s each for itself.
Luckily on the software side, everything’s hunky dory, Facebook is totally ok with sharing all your contacts and every other piece of your life ,whether you like it or not. The result, Google is able to sync everything to well, Gmail. Glad someone’s getting along. Having said that, I was pleasantly surprised to see a pre-loaded bookmark to the Amzon music store in HTC’s music player. Wonder how long its going to be before they get their knuckles rapped by the friendly Android down the street. With 150k plus apps in it’s market place, Android is a pretty reliable first port of call for all your app fantasies. I’m at about 30 as we speak.
I’m still not a 100% convinced as to why I abought a tablet sure I’ll figure it out some day, but until then here’s to the flyer, full marks…so far.

The LBS (little black stiletto)

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Sun, 15 May 2011 14:52:00 +0000

While I have every respect for the cult of Choo, the church of Blahnik and Louboutinism. I’ve never been one to go weak kneed at the sight of a tall, dark, spikey stiletto, I must admit the cracks beneath my practical exterior are beginning to show when I dedicate an hour to writing this blog. I guess denial is sustainable for only this long, one needs to come out of the (shoe) closet at some point.
Just as Coco Chanel revolutionized the world with the LBD, the LBS too has its place in history. I’m not going to wax eloquent about how and why because its still early days for me. What I am going to say is that just like a perfectly fitted suit, a perfectly shaped stiletto can make a women feel like a million dollars. Those extra inches make such a difference for those of us who don’t have legs up to our armpits. Though woe betide you if your day involves walking through cobbled streets and other such urban obstacle courses.
But all is forgiven when you see you’re brilliantly enhanced calf muscles, book-balancing posture and last but not least, the stylized walk which can do wonders for the collective confidence of the Amazon and the vertically challenged alike.
Of course nothing perfect comes cheap but unlike those must have ‘timeless classics’ that grace every sensible women's closet, a good pair of stilettos are an investment for life. No matter how many dress sizes your body decides to rise or fall, your feet remain constant.
The stiletto has been elevated to a universal symbol of sexuality. Imagine Cinderella, when she finally made it to the ball, parading around in trainers, I doubt the evening would have been such a roaring success. It was the glass slipper that done it!
So with that said, I’m off to get my own ‘glass slippers’ a fab pair of Louboutins. Selfridge’s here I come!

A french fairytale

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Sun, 08 May 2011 14:01:00 +0000

My love affair with the most romantic city in the world began back in 1998 after watching a movie called ‘French kiss’ starring Meg Ryan

I watched wide-eyed while she fell in love with Kevin Klyne, totally stereo typed as a typical Gallic stallion sexy accent and all …that kinda explains it I think.

Then came my first brush with the real Paris, through the eyes of Adam Gopnik and Sarah Turnbull. Both ex-pat writers living in Paris, one American and the other Aussie. ‘From Paris to the moon’ and ‘Almost French’ became my survival hand book for the year I lived there. They came to stand for two extremely educational views on this beautiful city and its supremely elegant dwellers.

Even though it was a long time ago, there are some sights, smells and sounds that will be etched in my memory forever. For all you francophile’s out there, here’s a little taste of ‘my’ Paris

In a city where form determines function, imbibing the art of French ‘savoir fare’ took some getting used to. I mean where else will you get a manual in the box when you buy a scarf?

There’s a richness to the French way of doing things. Picnics on the banks on the Siene watching the sun set over the Notre Dame cathedral are complemented with a wonderfully frivolous beaujeaulous noveau, a rarity in this side of the world,

Fabulously simple meals enjoyed in neighborhood bistros take on a new meaning. While on the other hand Michelin starred chef's make combining tastes an art form.

Smelling mouldy sock odours becomes quite a pleasure when it takes the form of French cheeses.

Then there's the Jardin Luxemborg, with the famous carousel immortalized in Gopnik's book which kids would ride while trying to spear a ring. Remember Henri Cartier Bresson and his lovers kissing outside the Bon Marche? Place de la concorde in its ornamental beauty hides its gruesome history.

My gasp of astonishment seeing Paris spread out before me as if illuminated by candle light when the lift doors opened to reveal fairyland on the top floor of the Montparnasse will forever remain in my mind's eye.

Art deco light fixtures, rude waiters and fluffy omelets compete for my attention while I sip a Kir Royale on one of Paris's many bistro terraces...heaven!

I remember hours spent on the Champs-Élysées, the mecca of people watching . The Arc de Triumph lit up at night, pays tribute to all the men and women who gave their lives in the name of Liberté, égalité, fraternité, and while negotiating its eight tributaries...viva Gallic driving!

The list is endless, but let me end with my piece de resistance , the Tour Eiffel at night sparkling with a million fire flies…every 30 minutes.
I guess it suffices to say that this is the stuff that dreams are made of...welcome to Paris my friends. Enjoy the ride!

Glass houses

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Tue, 03 May 2011 14:08:00 +0000

I’m probably shooting myself in the foot by writing this on the even of Ben Laden’s death, especially with all this sentiment floating around the net including a really good fake quote about the barbarism of celebrating someone’s death. Which I shall add here for posterity sake ‎"I mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate: only love can do that." --Martin Luther King, Jr’’ I feel that I need to say this if I’m being true to myself and to this man hurtling to his death. This picture was the one image that brought tears to my eyes all those years ago. And for those of you who remember there were many such heart breaking images all over the media. Why does this image strike such a powerful cord? Well, its because I was imagining the desperation and the feeling of absolute helplessness that he must have felt before he took that final jump knowing there was nowhere to go but to his death. Maybe he was able to say his goodbyes, maybe he didn’t who knows. Then I think about his mum, his sister, his wife, his daughter …And all the other people in his life that loved him having to seen this image and knowing there was absolutely nothing they could do to help him, to break his fall, to come to his aid. Can you even begin to imagine what that must have felt like? I'm sure the people who’ve lost a loved one to a violent death, which they had no way of stopping, probably know the feeling. Would you fault them for celebrating the death of the perpetrator of their sorrow?I believe I am in a position to know what losing a loved one to a violent death feels like. Back in those days I know I would have celebrated if that murderer met his death. But today I’m pretty numb to everything, not because I harbor any humanitarian sentiment towards this animal but because of the futility of remaining angry. Neither celebration nor anger is going to erase 21 years of loss.I mirror these sentiments with regard to Bin Laden’s death. I don’t really care whether people celebrate or mourn the barbarism of this world we live in, the deaths that have led to this etc etc because its not going to wipe away the loss all those families felt. Nor does it do anything to diminish the horror all those victims, burning, jumping, asphyxiating to death, must have felt. What makes it doubly tragic, at least in my eyes, is that were being martyred for a political ideology they may or may not have subscribed to. They had no choice....Anyways, I’m going to stop my rant now with just one message and that's this... we live in glass houses, lets think twice before we start throwing stones. Thank you

Iron lady or fairy-tale princess

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Sat, 30 Apr 2011 11:48:00 +0000

Like the millions world over, I watched the Royal wedding on Friday. Like the millions world over I was ecstatic when Kate Cambridge formerly known as ‘the commoner’ stepped out of the Rolls and into the arms of her prince charming and the future king of England. Nice one Katie! Ok, I admit I did turn a light shade of pistachio but then again, I’m a bit too old for him and I’ve had the wedding of the century. Young Kate you may have a shot at it plus I could never look that fabulous in a cinched waist dress.
Sat through God’s top ten, the signing of the register, kiss number one and two and a million banal interviews with everyone from the gardener to the family dog. Which is when things took a turn for the interesting, Sky TV panned into the going’s on at number 10 where a street party hosted by Mrs Cameron was on in full swing. Tables laid out with cakes and juice, festooned with balloons, clowns, making young and old laugh aloud. Yes, this was the royal wedding street party hosted for charities the Cameron’s sponsor.
That’s what brings me now to the million-dollar question, if given half a chance which side of Green Park would you live on? You could argue that the Buckingham Palace side is more permanent than the number 10 side, but for every Diana there’s a Jackie Kennedy. Even when it comes to the grand dames for every Elizabeth Regina Windsor, there’s an Angela Merkel. Titular head of state or economic mover and shaker…I know which side I’m on, hats off to you Mrs Merkel, you go girl!
Love you Katie, keep looking fabulous, keep the heirs coming and sure you’ll find tons to do in Angelsey. Fashion icon, ass kicker or humanitarian Godess, Samantha C, its your chance to make a mark on history!

The Great British 'staycation'

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Thu, 28 Apr 2011 10:32:00 +0000

Welcome to the great British sea side, home of the legendary 'staycation'. For those of you not familiar with this turn of phrase, the 'staycation' is a neccessary evil those of us blighted by the recession have to make-do with when those much coveted Bank holiday week ends come about.
Treks to package holiday hell on charter air craft packed with screaming children and drunk groups of 20 somethings is now a thing of the past.
Instead long train rides, pebble beaches, freezing English channel waves, chalk cliffs, wafts of manure tinged air mingle with the clink of tea cups being sipped by old dears in fusty hotels on victorian piers. Those former times of flying to foreign shores are now replaced with trips to the great British sea side! With the rain in Spain, the British pound on life support and the Royal wedding around the corner, 'staycationing' on domestic shores is not such a bad thing after all.
What more could one ask for than lying on the beach listening to cheezy 80's music on "Cornwall's top radio station....pirate radio! ". Clearly I'm not alone in my 'staycation' euphoria if the masses of little people braving the artic water and their adult owners lazing in bargain basement foldable chairs, munching on tuna sarni's, is anything to go by.
Nothing comes close to thrill of knowing there's another three days of lazing in the Sun with no airport nightmares to brave so that we're back in time to watch Will's and Kate tying the knot from the best seat in the house, our living rooms.
With that said, let's raise a toast to the best of British!The Sea side 'staycation'. Cheers!

‘Fondle slabs’ and other pieces of kit

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 13:33:00 +0000

Do I or do I not join the ipad ranks? Do I or do I not succumb to the totally unfounded notion that I need to have the ability to connect on the move, over and above my ‘always on’ smart phone. Will I become a walking talking font of creativity if I have my fondle slab’s in grabbing distance incase that life changing idea strikes me and I need to record it before it flitters away. I think not…
However there are some that would vehemently disagree especially those who queue up for hours outside the Apple store four times in a row to get the ipad 2 and still don’t manage to. Why on earth would anyone waste four evenings of their lives (especially pertinent for us who’re not getting any younger) waiting to get their paws on something that’s going to be out of date in 3 or 4 months anyways? Do you or do you not shell out 500 big one’s to feel cheated in a few months? Yet another of life’s existential questions.
I for one will probably fall prey to the onslaught of the pad. Not because I’m a follower of the cult of Jobs but because technology has a way of molding the environment we live in. You either get on board or get left behind. Imagine a world where Facebook currency is legal tender. Paulo alto replaces DC. Zuckerberg runs for president. Scary thought for some (ok maybe the Zuckerberg bit would be) but for other’s it means a world where we’re a global village, boundaries become redundant, connectivity is a human right and we’re all plugged into making the world a better place. Orwellian night-mare or Utopian dream. I choose the latter…do you?

An Ode to Spring Time

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 15:08:00 +0000

Don’t you love it when the sun shines and you fall in love with the world once again?
The days get longer, the hem-lines shorter, people smiling at each other and saying hello like they mean it.
Mini convertibles with their tops downs being driven by beautiful David and Victoria Beckhams.
Young bucks and giggly girls spilling out of pubs, beer glasses in hand, linen’s and sunglasses galore.
White skin for miles around, it’s going to be a couple of weeks before the tans kick in.
Walking to the park means weaving through lines of twin or triplet buggies and yummy mummies in designer khakis.
Cheering dogs cavorting freely sans freezing owners, wow, what a turn around!
Green shoots, cherry blossoms, magnolia flowers abound.
Pastel colours, flowy fabrics, floral patterns, strappy sandals hit town
Wasted gym memberships, hay fever, flowing noses a few frowns
But what I love best are the amorous pigeons, with their struts, feathers puffed up, cooing sounds. Impressing those pigeonetts is hard but that’s what spring time’s about!

And there's life on Mars

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Sat, 09 Apr 2011 15:06:00 +0000

There’s always a first time and this one’s mine. I’ve always written about the pains us women face when it comes to the opposite sex, especially in the big bad world of dating. Guess, what this post is about the men…and their dating nightmares. For those dating veterans like Ms. Rate a date (www.rateadate.blogpost.com) this might come as a bit of a surprise but it’s not any easier for the boys. I was talking to my favorite (and only) vampire today, he shall not be named as this was a pretty personal conversation and the last thing I want is to lose his super-natural friendship. Anyways, so he was saying that he tried this Internet dating malarkey and is totally put off by it. Who’d have thought that the Vampires would have the same problems eh? His pet crib was that he spent all this time writing the perfect profile, not too long or too short. Enough detail to show what an interesting guy he is.
His photo’s were vetoed by his female friends so no bloopers there either. He even went through the pains of reading the profiles of the ladies he deemed worthy and wrote openers that had to do with their pet fears …like flying…his advice, get flying classes, that should do it….Hmmm, I know I’d definitely respond to an opener like that, would you?
Yes, he followed the rules to the T. But lo behold, no one did him the courtesy of writing back to him. Bloody women eh!
As Vampires go, he is a good looking chap and yes the accent is very charming if you’re into that Meerkat thing.
My advice to him was to pick the ‘right’ type of women. Firstly, make sure she’s well travelled, accomplished, has varied interests, well read is good too the looks are pretty secondary I think (to which he agreed, hence the glowing reference). I think it’s a pretty fool-proof way to filter out the stereo-types. Pretty sound advice I thought, and given how pro-girl power I am. Another male friend say’s that its much like the real world, surprisingly enough. It’s usually the men who approach the women and not the other way round (bloody women eh!). Then there are the girls who go for the wrong types (sour grapes). And finally it’s a numbers game(if you live in the North Pole it is..and Finland I guess). My response to the ‘wrong type’ bit is usually that when we hit 30, we grow a brain so my sound advice to you gentle men is stay away from the little one’s its their time in the sun, let them play the field. Its 30 and beyond where our biological clocks take over . To the numbers game thing…I guess when you’re living in Finland it would be. There’s one woman to every 100 reindeer or some statistic like that. I guess there’s some truth in the adage ‘location, location, location!’
Take England for example we might have rubbish weather, no high speed internet, crumbling plumbing, shoe boxes for homes, rubbish collection disasters but hey, you wont find many places where match.com has a few million subscribers and there’s someone or something for everyone.
God bless Britannia!

Introducing the hassle free way to shop ...for men

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Sun, 27 Mar 2011 19:11:00 +0000

Yes you've heard correctly. Welcome to the world of internet dating! My brush with this most interesting of pass times began about 3 years ago and via a recommendation from a girl friend. Yes, they're
always the culprits. The most challenging bit was writing that all important 'dating head line'. It's not easy articulating your 'unique selling proposition' in a few lines so that it does justice to your innate intelligence, humour, oomph potential, style, fit friends etc etc. Hell, that's what copy writers are for right? Besides the guys are going to make a bee line for your picture anyways given what shallow bastards they are. But hey, in this game you just can't take any chances just in case you meet a deep one, so we crack on with the one liner. After multiple consultations and deliberations with the girl friends we finally settle on just the right amount of detail to put in the profile so we don't lose that air of mystery. Then comes the next part, we choose a respectable selection of photographs which evenly show case the well rounded individual we are. Pay your three month subscription fee because by then if you don't meet a selection of potentials then you need to upgrade from a Tesco to a Waitrose and done, we're ready to go! Now comes the fun part. Dating etiquette for those who don't know where to start, begins with a subtle show of interest, you send a 'wink'. I compare it to scanning an unfamiliar aisle in a super market...say foreign food or something similar. There are all sorts of things there, stuff you can recognise and like and others you'd rather not go near. That's the male line up for you. So you sent or received a 'wink' from a can, oops, I meant man, you like. You then read the ingrediants to make sure it does what it says on the tin. There's his profile and then the pre-requisite ski shot / marathon shot (I'm sporty), holding a baby (I'm a caring metrosexual), having a laugh with friends (I'm fun), in a tuxedo (i could be the next James Bond), sometimes if you're lucky you even have the top less shot (six pack anyone?). Like what you see, send an email, meet up for a drink, its easier to run if he turns out to be ever so slightly 'bruised' (think fruit and vegetables here). If you're satisfied with the goods then head for the check out! If not then, come back next week and do it all over again. Happy shopping girl friend!

I am powerful, I am random, I am me

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 00:42:00 +0000

Its spring time and the sakura trees are in bloom. A strong breeze catches the petals and flings them into the air where they do a dance I call it the zephyr. They float along to the sounds of Sati while I watch from my window. I look across at the house opposite me, I see her standing at the window, a room with a view. She holds her baby up to the pane willing him to look down at his father starting up his motor cycle. He waves at his family and then turns towards the beast. I wonder if the thought crosses her mind that this might be the last time she’ll see him… She looks nervous sometimes and forces him to take the car. The baby makes everything different, its not for me, its for him she thinks…how many times have I heard this thought repeated in the minds of mothers world over. Suddenly life becomes about this little bundle of life that’s come into the world. Nothing else matters except the sacred bond that binds blood to blood. I turn around and get back to my reality. No motorcycles or bonds for me, at least not here and not now because I choose to do it that way. I am powerful you see.
I wonder what I want to be today. The philanthropist? The employee? The disruptor? The accomplice? The jester?
I turn up the volume on my ipod, yes I’m mindful of the people who live below me. I’m the good neighbor, I am benign.
I am powerful. I decide who I want to be . I decide if I want to walk in front of that bus if it takes my fancy. I do a little dance and sing on top of my lungs while I walk in the direction of home or where ever in the world I want to be. It’s springtime, the weather’s balmy. I can stop or start, turn left or right, skip of hop. Its all up to me, I am the master of my body, my mind, of me

I blog, tweet, face book…therefore I am.

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Mon, 28 Feb 2011 12:02:00 +0000

I’ll bet Descartes had no idea how many incarnations that quote of his would take. Even though it's been a while since my blog runnith over, I still continued fancying myself as a blogger. That was before I got talking to my geeky near and dear ones. What an eye opener that was. I am the long tail of the social media universe. I am a....laggard….how I hate that word. That's the down side… for me. But the up side is for all women-kind and makes up for the beating my techgo (tech +ego) has taken.
It was a bit of an 'Alice in wonderland' moment for me when I accidently walked into this wonderful alternative universe filled with so many articulate, intelligent and accomplished women from every walk of life and part of the world, blogging about everything from climbing the corporate ladder with kids in tow to 'bitch slaps' http://www.redheadwriting.com/
What was even more heart warming was reading some of the responses to the blogs. The humor, good naturdeness and empathy shared by us women (and a few men in touch with their female sides) was all pervasive. There's definitely a community out there with the same hopes, fears, ambitions and dreams. And it’s open to everyone, there’s no red carpet or closed door policy.
The story began some years ago with the birth of ‘My space’. It still hadn’t permeated our collective conscience back home in India that there was a slot in cyber-space that could be uniquely yours; We were still digging face-to-face communication, phone calls to ‘foreign’ and snail mail. We were used to sharing our personal space (or lack of) with the billion others that were fighting for it.
The next chapter came around sooner than expected and it was called Facebook we laggards took up the banner pretty rapidly albeit slower than the technological savvy generation of the time aka 'ipod generation' who’ve now graduated to the 'always on' generation (I can still remember generation X and generation Y…. that date’s me dammit!) We’ve started living, breathing, talking Face book. I know my aunt does, and probably for the same reasons we all do, because whether we like it or not we Homo sapiens cannot function without our pack, our community. We love passing judgment, showing support, feeling important in the live’s of those who matter, stalking the lay of the land, keeping tabs, showing off, professing allegiance... we’re nosy bastards, the lot of us!
Then came twitter and that upped the ante, we had to cram the complexity of language (pauses, umms, ahhs and all) into 150 characters including links. I remember claiming that I’d never get on twitter because quite frankly, I had nothing to say.... boy, that came back to bite me in the ass like with most things I claim I’ll never do ( like ‘Googling’). Now I can't get off the dam thing, At first it was to read about the latest and greatest, now its become social currency, it's about collecting 'followers', being in the 'know', being the first to share something news worthy or witty. Re-tweets are the epitome of this, I have to say I’m guilty of checking how many of my tweets have been re-tweeted (not many). Why? Apart from the fact that I’m a navel gazer (there I said it!) unlike face book its more than the 150 real life friends (who give a shit about what you have to say) that’re listening to you. With twitter, re-tweets and all there’s millions…thousands…ok… well, hundreds then, of user names out there who feel you’re interesting enough to want to listen to and sometimes pass on your golden 150 characters! Guess what folks! I'm a celebrity in my own little virtual world! …Right! Maybe it’s time for my 'bitch slap' after all.

Pray, Love, Eat (in that order)

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Wed, 09 Feb 2011 23:38:00 +0000

Eat, pray, love….God knows I’m trying! The latter bit I mean…I watched the celluloid incarnation of the book last night. I’ve been meaning to watch it for a while and finally went and bought the DVD yesterday because it was one of those really rubbish days where I needed a couple of hours of wallowing in self pity. There used to be a time when wallowing in self-pity meant working my ass off in the gym…but these days…oh no! Its all about eating a fun size bag of crisps. Throw in a diet coke or two and I’m in heart attack heaven!
While Julia Roberts looks fantastic, I thought it was a far cry from the book. The transformation from neurosis to calm takes an entire box set; a two-hour movie just doesn’t cut it. In spite of everything it did the trick. Here I am, writing my blog after what seems an eternity, clearly I’m still a bit rusty since the self pity isn’t flowing like it used to. Guess that’s what happens when you’re really low on angst, not the work kind but the personal kind. My job is still the Bain of my existence but life’s pretty good…when I take a break from navel gazing that is. Oh yes I bought the sound track for the movie too in addition to the book and the DVD. The only thing left to buy is the T-shirt and a one way ticket to Bali
So what was it I could relate to? Apart from the wanderlust, it’s the depiction of her need for closure that got me. Does closure equate selfishness? Is it Ok to relegate someone to the back of your mind because you’re unable to give him or her a front row seat? Its not because you don’t care its because you don’t want to care or you’ll never be able to move on or even stay stationary and give it your best. The older you get the harder you become. Survival of the fittest takes on a completely new meaning.
Which brings me to my next point. The art of tolerating…some say you get what you give but sometimes you take what you get. Is it worth it? I honestly don’t know. It’s more like (in marketing speak), what your objectives are. There are some who are focused on having the kids – so anyone with a decent gene pool and sperm count will do; then there’s the liberals looking for sex on tap; there’s many a puppy (younger man) more than happy to oblige. Finally the third and most common, those of us who’re looking for an illusion aka soul mate. Doesn’t exist ladies! Wake up and smell the coffee! Except perhaps if you’re Julia Roberts playing Elizabeth Gilbert. Maybe she also settles for the what she gets, not much choice I’d imagine if you’re stuck on a remote island in the middle of bum fuck.
Let me know what you think of the sequel to Eat, Pray, love. Its called ‘’committed’’ or as I fondly call it (and this is an Indianism) “Admitted”*

*Sectioned

No sex please! We’re…umm…. Indian

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 23:35:00 +0000

I was watching TV yesterday when this program came on, on BBC 2 called Sex and the family. Perfectly respectable channel so perhaps it’s something quite educational, she says to herself, being a secret documentary addict. It did turn out to be quite interesting compared to the standard fare of ‘sex’ oriented programming which usually focus on size of genetalia and the myths associated with it. So, sex and the family was about the changing attitudes to sex in the Britain of the 70’s and its implication on the family. There were interviews with so called ‘rebels’ of the time. Women who decided to shun the ideal i.e. cookie cutter stepford wives. I love how glamorous they looked all the time. The big bee hives, kohl eyes, mini skirts and tiny waists…maybe I should have been a man in the 70’s. Anyways, so there were some women who decided to pursue a career, look crap sometimes and shock shock, horror, horror…have sex before marriage! To the extent that birth control pills were not dispensed to unmarried women by GP’s instead they had to go to ‘family planning’ clinics. But when they got there, were told that the clinic was just that ‘family planning’ and would not be giving away pills to women with no family…WTF? Then there was the one story about a young woman who was asked to come on ‘engaged couple’s night’ to speak to the doctor and maybe then she might get a prescription. The result..lots and lots of teenage pregnancies and lots and lots of abortions. In towns like Swindon and Chichester where everyone knew each other, getting pregnant invariably meant getting married…whether you were 16 or 60…with loads of scandal thrown in of course! Don’t expect to be invited to any more church bake sales or christenings…Drive a couple of miles down the M1 and things were very different! Welcome to Carnaby street, Soho and Camden town! This is the big smoke baby! It’s all about the Beatles, bell bottoms; sex, drugs and rock n roll…..just don’t let your parents ever find out! Move a couple of miles to South hall, today, and it’s still the same…

While the program was an eye opener to most people, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vue…what’s changed I wonder. As far as I’m concerned this is India of the 90’s…and 2000 I think… Sex is something one does to procreate, we don’t talk about it and certainly don’t enjoy it…and if we did, we didn’t admit to it! How brazen would that be? We sure as hell never spoke to our parents about it, but we did keep the number for Mary Stopes handy and 5000 rupees…I mean who knew right? Conversations with girl friends usually touched upon topics like how to fake being a virgin on your wedding night…I remember a story where someone hid a razor blade in her bed so that she could make a quick cut on her thigh to draw some blood..the lengths some people go to! My excuse was that I did a lot of sport so oops…no hymen sorry! Another common joke, look at his penis and say ‘oh is that what it looks like, now what do we do with it?’ yeah right! It’s really funny now in hind sight thinking about it, but in those days thinking of the consequences was a scary thought. The ‘what if’s’ were many. Sexually transmitted diseases were a dark hole…who knew what that was? It was bad enough figuring out what sex involved…Plus buying a condom? No way! We’d rather kill ourselves then go to a drug store and ask for condoms….Or we send brave friends to do it for us…always easier to look self righteous when its not for you…at least at that moment…

Then came the inevitable, the day you ‘did it’…what a bloody anti-climax…all that build up for this? No one ever tells you the first time is rubbish. Certainly doesn’t justify the paranoia that begins soon after…do I look different? Can they smell it? Ami I going to be run down by a bus the next time I cross the road…forgive me God for I have sinned!! Oh period where art thou! Then halleluiah!! Oh those cramps …love em!...fast forward ten years…period, bloody hell, why God why??

It was an innocent time..a time when teenage pregnancies were far and few, it was bad enough having sex, getting pregnant …well that was like putting a gun in your mouth and pulling the trigger.. Sex and the family were very tightly linked…have sex and suffer the inevitable if you ever got ‘caught’! …simple as. ..Never in Gods earth did you imagine your parents knew exactly what you were up to…I think there’s a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell policy’ that’s universally valid .I found out the hard way…no birds and bees for me, cut to my wedding day when mum’s and daughters have the ‘talk’. Poker face on, mum let’s begin….mum turns to daughter and says ‘you probably know more than me’…end of conversation…daughter shell shocked … you can run but you can’t hide, they’re watching…

This is Banaras baby!

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Sun, 10 Jan 2010 22:59:00 +0000

The land that time forgot..
Welcome to Varanasi aka Banaras aka Kashi aka Shiva city. What makes this city so special? Many things actually…firstly it’s the oldest Hindu pilgrimage center in the world…quite a feat considering the religion is ...about 10,000 years old. Plus Sarnath, the place where Buddha gave his first sermon, is a hop, skip and jump away (in India, that’s about 10 kms). I guess that explains why the place is over run with Japanese, surprisingly hard to find Hello kitty accessories and Louis Vuitton's …but surprisingly easy finding places that serve ramen and Okinimiyaki …my favourite restaurant, Ganga Fuji!…

Spirituality made easy…
I find Hinduism fascinating, not just because of the simple philosophy the religion is based on, but also because unlike the pagan religions, there is no worship of the elements, ancestors or divine beings of any sort. Yes there is a pantheon of God’s, 3000 plus at the last count…these God’s were made to represent the ethos and pathos of broader spirituality and society of the time and the geography. Yes the God’s fought battles and amongst each other, they doled out punishments and rewards, fell in and out of love with humans, in fact procreated with them too, to create ‘super humans’, so on and so forth…like the ancient Greek and Roman Gods. My crack at explaining this is because unlike a Jewish, Christian or Muslim God, the God head’s of Hinduism were a representation of ‘real’ society of the time. I way to make people understand and relate to the norms of civilized society, through religion…I call it a form of spiritual hegemony.

It is said that the Veda’s (the Hindu sacred texts) written on papyrus, are in Germany…The Rig Veda, the most ancient and scared of all the texts written by the sage Valmiki had in it the recipe for the creation of gun powder, some 10,000 years before the Chinese did and also secrets on how the universe will end…amongst other things. I would like to learn Sanskrit just to get my hands on the text…dream on, she says. In fact the oldest Hindu university in the world is in Varanasi….more later on that. Now moving back to the Hindu pantheon…

Hinduism for beginners

My feeble attempt at explaining a 10,000 year old philosophy

Adhi shakti (the force that creates, the origin) creates three Gods
Brahma (the creator all things tangible) ------ > Lakshmi (his consort and the Goddess of wealth)
Shiva (the destroyer of all things) ------> Durga (his consort and the Goddess of death, war)------> Snake and Nandi the bull (good and bad particular)
Vishnu (the sustainer) ------> Parvati (his consort and goddess of living)-------> Lion (Parvati’s particular) ..no idea why Vishnu doesn’t have one, maybe he doesn’t like animals …

Now here comes the interesting part
Amongst all the three primary God’s Brahma is least venerated, with just the one temple in Pushkar dedicated to him. I was quite intrigued because you would imagine that the creator would be the most important of all. I asked my guide Hari about this while we were in our row boat on the Ganges at dawn, watching the faithful take their cleansing dips in the Ganges in the freezing cold. Hari had no idea why and promised to find out from his Guru who he promised to introduce me to that evening so that I could get some of my questions answered…’straight from the ‘cow’s’ mouth’ says Hari. This is Varanasi after all, out goes the horse , in comes the cow ha,ha,ha…

The inquisitive ‘hybrid’
Cut to the afternoon, I find myself in a Banarsi silk shop surrounded with the most exquisite saris and silks Varanasi is renowned for. The colours a blend of the rainbow and gold dust…dull golds mixed with blue, red with green…yellow with brown…shimmering and shining below the white light from the fluorescent bulb above me. Hari’s wife was one the weavers working on the saris laid out before me…apparently the skills are passed on from family…each sari takes about two weeks to weave, depending on the intricacy of the design and the purity of the silk. I pick out a saree in red, interwoven with blue and gold skeins in a floral pattern. I know I’ll never wear it…or perhaps for Omer’s wedding, if I don’t put on weight…I look at the price tag and faint…the end!
In comes the Guru, an old man from Bihar followed by the owner of the shop and his brother. Very curious to see who this ‘hybrid’ was…while I looked Indian, I certainly don’t behave it, I’m told. I ask what exactly that was supposed to mean, the explanation I got was that I walk around with a camera taking pictures of cows…well,ok..can’t argue with that one…
So back to the story, it seems that Brahma has been demoted because he attacked his daughter Sandhya after being shot by the Hindu cupid’s love arrow. How is that Brahma’s fault I asked…for one, he created the Hindu Cupid, I’m told…But how was he supposed to know that the Hindu cupid would turn out to be such a ‘namak haram’ I ask? (namak haram – back stabbing bastard) …The answer I get is that, one needs to be responsible for our own actions, no matter what the circumstances. I guess there is some logic in that…Right, so going back to Sandhya, I have to say that I’m really impressed that an entire nation turned against a God for attacking his daughter. But then why is it that women are not given a higher status in society and daughters are considered a liability? If the Hindu rhetoric is about extending the spirituality inherent in the philosophy, into everyday life , ritual and routine…then why are women not considered equal to men then in society. If the Goddess were specifically created were made to embody ethos and pathos then why this servitude?

After an hour of argumentation, examples from my life and quoting my mother as an example, victory was mine!! My reward, a massive discount on some pashminas! Worth it …Though I do admit some of the explanations put forth by the ‘men folk’ were quite interesting…namely that women need to be protected…which is why they will never be ‘alpha anything’ because we’re physically vulnerable…hmmm, but from who? The men…but I do concur. Then the next explanation was quite interesting too regarding the Goddesses, while the God’s where the sentiment, the Goddesses were the enablers or the facilitators ….so for the sustainer…the tool was Lakshmi …nice one!

Opium for the masses
There are more than a million temples in Varanasi, one for every house hold…so 1 temple for three people..There’s a pretty large Muslim population too, so I’d say one for every couple…There are a fair number of mosques too, the oldest, built about thousand years ago…Look hard enough and you can see a couple of crucifixes in the horizon. India, the largest secular democracy in the world is truly embodied in this small patch of land. This the most sacred of Hindu sites is home to about a million Muslims…Not a hint of fundamentalism or communal violence…even when the mohram procession was passing through the streets close to Varanasi’s most popular temple. Gosh! I’m proud to call myself an Indian ‘hybrid’. May be there’s a co-relation between fundamentalism and education. Varanasi is the seat of learning when it comes to Sanskrit, music, arts and culture, cuisine and paan… maybe it’s the opium and hashish… this is Shiva country folks! What ever the reason I’m glad people have other things to do rather than kill each other…

Don’t fear the reaper
Varanasi is one of the largest and oldest of cremation grounds in India. The pyres burn night and day, I’m told there are about 300 funerals every day…gold shrouds for the old, bright red shrouds for young married women and white for everyone else…I see a boat pull away with a little white bundle supported on the stern. I turn to little man Sunil, my self proclaimed body guard, and ask him what that was, he tells me that little children, pregnant women, sadhu’s (holy men) and animals are not burnt but tied to a stone and immersed into the Ganges…Burn or drown …it amounts to the same thing I guess. The sacred fire that lights the pyre is 3500 years old, the pyres can never be lit with a match or anything artificial. I’m very keen to see it but being a women I was skeptical about being allowed into the inner sanctum, but oh no! I had my little man with me…the leader of the shamshan gang...He leads me into the temple and there it is , just a pile of wood smoldering away…no bells and whistles here. Typical Indian nonchalance …I tend to believe it’s a good thing…families (men only), spectators, foreigners, everywhere watching loved ones burn to a cinder and no one flinches….In fact I see a couple of family members take pictures of a burning grandfather or grandmother to show the women back home who aren’t allowed to come to these grounds. The reason being that the crying wont be let the spirit leave in peace…but cracking the skull after the flesh is burnt does…morbid, maybe ….but like with all Indian religions there is some sound logic to it. The skull doesn’t burn easily unlike the other parts of the body, cracking it helps it to burn easily…After about 2 hours, the ashes are scattered into the Ganges and everyone goes home…ashes to ashes …dust to water….

Mama mia!
‘Can I talk to you, but I don’t want any money’ says Sunil, wow that’s a first I think to myself … Sure enough 8 hours later, not a penny exchanges hands, just phone numbers, a new name ‘mamma’, promises to keep in touch, a wonderful tour around the city to places off the tourist map, a running commentary on every pebble and finally, an invitation to a new years party in a house boat with no electricity but with chicken! .
My little shamshan boy Sunil’s all of 21 but such a little gentleman…still in college but so sure of himself…’I want to pierce my lip’ he says, ‘why on earth?’ I ask while looking at his coloured hair, earring and fake leather jacket…social currency in Varansi I imagine…’to be cool’ he says, I guess some things never change no matter where you are. I remember the same conversation with my mum, but a long time ago…After about 10 minutes, and a meal to Ganga Fuji which my little man insists on paying for and would probably never be able to afford, my little man sees the light and I get a new name ‘mamma’. Being the youngest in a family of 5, little Sunil was the man of the house, having lost his father to cancer, as I was to learn that evening while sharing a very modest meal with his family…but by far the best I’ve had in Varanasi. In addition to some ‘kitchri’ and ‘kheer’ I also received an invitation to his sister’s wedding in March..her fiancé, someone she’s never met and will see for the first time on her wedding day…She seems really excited, so who am I to comment. I ask her if she is in agreement with this, I can’t help myself…she answers saying that she trusts her family’s choice..Sunil chips in saying that it’s the same with his future …while he’s studying Physics, its ultimately the family who’ll decide what career he pursues…most likely owning a boat he says…Fatalism is still so rampantly alive in Indian society…I don’t know anymore if it’s a good or bad thing…who am I to comment…I have never seen happier people than the one’s I’ve met on my travels. Pilgrims from various parts of the country, sleeping in the rough or in ashrams where they have access to the bare minimum…but happy. I could trade places with them any day for the lightness of spirit I see here…With Sunil, his family, the men and women paying respects to the Ganges, the little children playing cricket on the Ghats or flying kites….life is simple if you let it..

Lunar eclipses and high heels
Its 31st night…time to bring in the new year! I couldn’t imagine my luck when I found out that it was the lunar eclipse of the ‘Chandra grahan’, a very holy time in the Hindu calendar when thousands of pilgrims alight on the Ganges to wash away their sins! The universe was singing loud and clear!

But before I head to the Ghats, its time for a cigarette! Sitting on the steps outside the restaurant in my hotel watching the live band belt out various versions of ‘Hotel California’, I meet Larissa, my crazy Ukrainian friend. 20 minutes later, I’m waiting for her in the taxi…until she arrives in…a ball gown! WTF! ‘There’s no way you’re coming like that’ I say, apart from freezing and getting attacked, I can think of a number of other things that could possibly happen..this is Shiva country lady! Luckily she has some ‘normal clothes’ in her back pack but no shoes, just the 4 inch high stilettos…Ok, this should be interesting, I think…

Tripping along the Ghats
The banks of the Ganges in Varanasi are lined by ‘Ghats’ or steps on one side. The holy come to these Ghats to take a dip in the water, while sadhu’s meditate by the side of the river…The first ghat known as the ‘Varan ghat is a good 5 kilometers from’Asi’ ghat…hence the name Varanasi…no idea where Banaras came from. Maybe the mughal rulers had something to do that..Every ghat has its own palace built by rulers of principalities of yester years…walk 5 minutes from Manikrama ghat and you’ll see a Nepalese palace with its regulation temple, another 5 minutes then comes the Karnatak's ghat with a palace built by the Wadayars (the ruling family of Mysore) and so on….the best of Indian architecture in a 5 kilometer radius!
Unfortunately Larissa wants to see them all…by night! Tripping along the ghats in the middle of the night with a tall blonde and very loud woman is not my idea of fun…especially when there aren’t too many people around since the ‘holy time’ starts at 12:15 and ends at 3…’Oh well, lets see how this goes' I think to myself. After walking about a half a kilometer or so and seeing rings of sadhu’s covered in ash…common sense prevails and we head back to the main ghat to wait for the masses to arrive…

Half an hour later and the magic begins! Men and women, young and old, able bodied and ailing…from all over the country re-enforced their faith and devotion by taking a dip in the freezing water dressed in the bare minimum. What a sight! The beauty of it all, they had no problems with me taking photographs and filming them…This is India. privacy? What’s that? I guess in a land of 1.8 billion its normal being a voyeur…then the fairies arrived…thousands of oil lamps floating in the Ganges…what a sight to behold…

You can run but you can’t hide
Three hours later two frozen women head back to the taxi…a little girl walks up to me with her begging bowl…and then I made the cardinal mistake of opening my bag…They came in their hundreds! The swarm descended…every size, shape and colour..begging bowls in hand! Larissa’s laughing so hard she has tears in her eyes…’this is supposed to happen to you, not me!’ I scream while trying to escape the hands …’I’m not the moron’ she says…have to agree with that. Fighting through the swarm, bag held over my head we finally manage to get out with about 50 still clinging on…Larissa uses her tall body to shield me but to no avail. I could think of just one way out…fight them with kindness…I make my way to a tea shop by the side of the road, pull out a 50 rupee note in the safety of the other standing by the tea shop…tap into my colonial psyche and arrange the kids into a queue, hand over the 50 rupee note to the seller and runnnnnnnn!!!!

Karma cola
"American mass-marketing had penetrated so fast to the Indian interior that its experts were invited by our government to popularize contraceptives with the same panache. While population control and pop culture raced hand in hand through the Indian countryside, we of the cities and the universities were getting restless, too. But just when the accelerator seemed within our reach, the unthinkable happened.
The kings of rock and roll abdicated.
To Ravi Shankar and the Maharishi.
As the sitar wiped out the split-reed sax, and mantras began fouling the crystal clarity of rock and roll lyrics, millions of wild-eyed Americans turned their backs on all that amazing equipment and pointed at us screaming,
"You guys! You've got it!"
Well, talk about shabby tricks. We had been such patient wallflowers and suddenly the dance was over. Nobody wanted to shimmy. They all wanted to do the rope trick.
The lines were kept open in spite of the political static.
"Excuse me, operator, what did they say? What have we got?"
"Hello, India, my party is saying you have the Big Zero."
Mao had lost out to Maya. The revolution was dead.
So we tagged along with the Americans one more time. Not because of right thought, right speech, right action. But because of the rhythm section. Never before had the Void been pursued with such optimism and such razzle dazzle. Everyone suspected that whatever America wanted, America got.
Why not Nirvana?"

Can’t agree with you more Ms Mehta ….Now let’s see what this malarkey is about…when in Rome do as the Romans and all that…but I’m a local, I can see through the BS in a flash…famous last words!

Enter Atriya Baba God man, astrologer, numerologist and the face that can sink a thousand ships
Enter dumb ass hybrid with a big identity crisis, lots of money but no common sense and a desperate need to find happiness….no matter where, how or with who…

Two hours later and many thousands of rupees lighter…the wedding march tune playing in my head, with the words changed to ‘here comes the fool’. I leave Atriya baba’s ‘practice. Passing some other unsuspecting people waiting to experience their brush the ‘karma’…

While I don’t know how much of my past, present and future revealed by Atriya Baba is true or not…the thing that resonated with me the most is that there are so many of us that will go to any length to find happiness…no matter where and at what price…Is this the price we pay for ‘living the dream’…whatever that is. The irony of it all is that I looked far and wide for just that…and I find it in my own back yard, the smiling faces, the laughter and the Sunil’s of this world give me hope, faith and most important of all, re-enforce my belief in humanity and ….myself

Eat-done
Pray - done
Love - what's that?

The Labrador school of thought

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 15:11:00 +0000

How to spot a Labrador
Watch out for the sparkly eyes, neurotic explosions of excitement... high pitched hellos and wagging tails, lots of kisses…and the obsessive need to do things for people even if they don’t want you to…incredibly large capacities to care…a bleeding heart…integrity, generosity ... a self destructive streak ...drawn to needy and selfish people of the opposite sex ...cant spot the use and abuse types from a mile …and finally, a shiny coat and teeth …. Gotta love those Labradors. Though there some dire down sides…like the kamakazie / Joan of arc streaks, gold fish memories, way too much optimism and the occassional 'thick' moments...we just don’t ‘get it’ when we’re being treated badly…kick us and we’ll forget in a day or two, so you can do it again…it wont seem so bad by then,…The up sides of this…we tend to stay pretty trim because we shed the weight when we’re upset and that happens most of the time and we look like Dalmatians every now and again because of the bad skin that’s usually a result of a kicking…

The 5 step process to growing a brain…

Step 1 - Realize that your pretty darn great no matter what people say, stop believing them for a start, very few people know you from Adam and the one’s who do would know how fabulous you are! Appreciate yourself a bit more…give yourself a pat on the back for all the times you’ve made someone happy…you’ll be amazed at how much you’re appreciated…get that nose out of the pavement and look around you!!

Step 2 – R-E-S-P-E-C-T
The lady knew what she was talking about! Respect Girl friend! You deserve it and you need to make sure you have tons of it! What exactly do you get from the relationship you’re in? Does he give you what you want to make you happy? Does he realize how lucky he is to have you? Because if he does then he’ll treat you the way you deserve to be. I know playing hard to get makes no sense what so ever and seems like a pointless waste of time, but the unfortunate truth is that treating them mean keeps them keen…circular logic ..But it works! Don’t go crawling back when you get the kick in the butt, you don’t deserve, if you do deserve it, then take it like a (she) man!

Step 3- Love yourself…because if you don’t start loving yourself, there’s no way in hell you’ll be able to love or help anyone else…that’s a fate worse than death, I know! Spa heaven is the first step!!

Step 4 - Focus on you…you’ll be amazed at how much talent you have and at stuff you’d never imagine…try new things, it’ll kill the silly thoughts, fill the pauses and the downers that sometimes creep up unnoticed..You just won’t have the time for self pity or obsessive compulsive behavior, rebounds, moping, hermit tendencies, sleeping sicknesses, anorexia, chocolate / shopping / Ben and Jerry’s therapy and other total wastes of time

Step 5 - Stay away from trouble, learn to say ‘no…its ok …no one’s gonna die …really. Run a mile when you see…Italians (lol!), anorexic twiglets, lecherous married men, manic depressants, negativity, full fat and …..dog catchers

PS - I love you

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 11:37:00 +0000

I read a really interesting article the other day about mother / daughter relationships …the woman you love to hate… or something like that. Can’t remember the exact title but I’m sure you can get the gist of it. We love our mom’s in our mid-20’s onwards and hate them with equal intensity in our teens. Natural order of things…and not one of my many idiosyncrasies…

New beginnings….
I want to write about my mom, aka, affectionately called manna (from heaven) by friends and family. She’s just about to embark on a journey, a journey that’s taken a lot of courage, fortitude and kamikaze instincts to persue. No, she’s not having a baby girl; my mum is going back to college! The clocks ticking, she’s starting her masters in Women’s studies at Rice University in the US of A on the 4th of January 2010. One small step for mom and a giant leap for mother kind in their mid-50’s. Life’s not over mommies, its just beginning! You can be who you want to be, when you want and where you want to be..Take a leaf out of my mum’s book.

Its been a hard decision for her to make, imagine up-rooting yourself, moving to a new country, learning how to use Windows 7, making friends all over again, leaving your comfort zone behind and all this , alone… I’m so proud of you mom!

Mum’s who stare at goats…
Forget about telepathic viewing and the new earth army...Enter the mom squad...Mum’s with daughters are probably the best equipped to face anything, maybe there should be a training course for the special forces run by mum’s on how to attack and torture without killing, drawing confessions with a single killer look… titled how to survive raging psycho’s..

A well deserved bollocking…
Creeping back home at all hours of the night and seeing the living room lights on…Oh! Oh!...you know what that meant..Make sure clothes are in place, mints in the mouth, traces of anything incriminating (and boy in those days everything was) are removed…defiance in place…ok, lets face the music… God, how I hated the calls demanding when I was going to get home…cut to 2006, Arshia stressing because Guillaume hasn’t called to tell her he’s ok.
I tend to forget sometimes that I don’t know best…and I’m so glad my mum keeps reminding me that my 30 something years of ‘living’ is nothing compared to 50 plus years of ‘experiencing’ ..
I guess we’ve finally reached an age where we listen and not hear them out, and it amazes me how she knows everything I’ve been up to, even though I thought I was being oh so subtle and smart …ha,ha,ha…another lesson learned. Mum’s are all knowing and all seeing…The pieces of mind (advice) I got the other night are probably worth months of therapy and strips of Prozac.Thanks mom for saving the UK Govt a fortune in health care! You deserve a purple cross for that.

John of arc
Courage, fortitude, integrity and humour….Few of the many things I’ve learnt from my mommy…after raising two girls and a boy plus umpteen moody dogs. Add masochism to the list and you’ve just described my brother…who I’m so proud to say is one of the most solid and dependable people on earth, no surprises after growing up in a family of girls and having to survive the tears, screaming matches and PMS. Then he goes and buys himself a female puppy after all that …martyr…hmmm…perhaps.

Deportation…
My cousin Farah and I were not easy girls to raise...my brother, well he's always been pretty low maintenance and I like to think he benefited from being ignored. If you’ve read my blog, I guess you can imagine that I’m not the most simple of people. Add rebellion, individualism and self-destructive instincts to that…welcome to my life! Which is probably why I got expelled from college and then subsequently deported to the UK by my mum. That must have been the hardest decision to make, because it could have gone either way…imagine sending a rather de-ranged teen away to a country where’s she’s totally unsupervised, where everything is allowed and that to, to persue an education…Did I mention my mum’s a gambler too? That’s probably what saved my life….and thank you mum for that and all the times you bailed me out financially…

Awards and rewards..
Cut to 1996…my mum’s been nominated business woman of the year! There we are, my brother and I, at the awards ceremony in New Delhi, watching my mum receiving her award from the chief minister of the state. What a proud moment…and there have been so many of those mom. You are an inspiration and my bench mark in everything I do…Cut to 2006, Arshia receives an award for a campaign, and all she can think of is, I hope I’ve made my mom proud!

Escapism 1.1
My mom loves doing cross words…maybe all mom’s love doing cross words. Perhaps its got something to do with having that one hour to yourself, when its ok to be dead to the world, including complaining kids…Escapism 1.1

Phone bills from hell…
Note to self…install skype on every computer in the house, when you have brats of your own. Remember hours of clinging on to the phone whispering sweet nothings to boy friends or gossiping with girl friend who you’ve met an hour ago and spent the whole day with? Guess who foot the bill? and spent hours trying to get through becasue there was just one phone line in the house...Remember phone calls from every part of the world asking mom to call back so you can have a long rant, melt down or spend hours silent just becasue you don't 'feel' like talking? God shoot the person who invented ‘collect calls’ and yes I do believe in karma. It is going to come back to bite me in the ass, I can almost feel the teeth marks...

Learning to like ‘alone’
I can think back to my mum watching TV eating dinner by herself when the prodigal child returns from a night out in the town, even though she’s just back for a couple of weeks of vacation…I guess its not hard when you’ve been alone for so long, because the most important thing in your life are making sure your children are ok and that’s all that’s ever mattered over and above all else. Thank you mum for teaching me generosity…and you have so much of that…

I can go on forever, the list if endless, so many memories and so much more to look forward to. All I want to say to my mum and mum’s everywhere is that we love you and respect you for everything you are…, there are times that you’ve felt like you could have done things differently, but look around you, your children are a tribute to you, all we aspire to is to be like you…

Good luck mummy! Make me proud yet again!

I sparkle…you shine…

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 11:34:00 +0000

‘Picture yourself in a boat on a river,
With tangerine trees and marmalade skies.
Somebody calls you, you answer quite slowly,
A girl with kaleidoscope eyes’

Floating on a surf board in the middle of the ocean, communing with the sky… I feel insignificant…like a speck in the universe. The enormity of creation and the part I play in it is both humbling and awe inspiring says… Is this heaven?....

Sitting on the top of a hill watching fields of plowed earth extending into the horizon, the tilled mud undulating like the waves in the ocean….eddiing and flowing….Colours so bright they nearly blind me…Nature talks to me, I feel your energy coursing through my veins, the viberations swallow me…Sight becomes sound and sound becomes sight…I am, what I’ve become…I am stripped bare, the walls are gone, my reality vs. ‘the’ reality becomes rubble at my feet. I take a journey down through my subconscious… I find honesty. I challenge my demons, I vanquish them or be vaniquished and you know what? It’s ok to be swallowed up by me…I am aware, I am a God….

Follow her down to a bridge by a fountain,
Where rocking horse people eat marshmallow pies.
Everyone smiles as you drift past the flowers,
That grow so incredibly high.

The sun’s rising…I whisper to Ra…the angels singing…I hear them as clearly as I feel the breath in my body…exhale... I’m sitting on the top of a hill, the universe before me …I am one, I am all…I see you, I see through you…I feel you …I feel your goodness, your gratitude,..you are a miracle of creation….surround me, with your love…understand me, I need you now… you appear before me naked …my reality is our reality…We connect…we flow in unison…I don’t have to be who I need to be…You’re spirit touches mine, our energy is one…Is this what it means to find yourself? Does it mean finding you?

‘Picture yourself on a train in a station,
With plasticine porters with looking glass ties.
Suddenly someone is there at the turnstile,
The girl with kaleidoscope eyes’

I make love through you …I’m alone, I’m with you…Its warm here, its dark and I’m not afraid. I’ve known you all my life…you are my beautiful freak, my lover, my angel, my friend…I open to you, I surrender…without pride…I’m willing…I’m yours. You embrace me…I feel safe, we’re equals …you’re my master..you supplicate to me…I consume you….Take me…I am you, you are me…

Lucy in the sky with diamonds,
Lucy in the sky with diamonds,
Lucy in the sky with diamonds,
Ah... Ah...

The music ends…you walk away…I miss you…I’m glad to see you go….I’m with you, you’re in me…a last encore and then you’re gone…

{CHORUS REPEATED AND FADED}

I’m Indian and I’m …(still trying to figure it out)..

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 20:57:00 +0000

Don’t feed the lift man...
On my list of the most mind numbing, soul destroying careers in the world, the first place goes to the most boring profession in the world…the lift man. Imagine if all you ever did all day was sit or stand in a lift and press buttons for people all day? That’s what the lift man does…did I say ALL DAY? You have these poor souls in every building in ever Indian city. Except the British high commission in New Delhi according to a trusted source, who shall not be named, who's informed me that there's a notice in the lift saying that if you ever feel ‘panicly’ when stuck in the lift, to call the lift man...hmmm.... And yes this is in the British high commission, was the English language invented in 'the' England? Suspect?

We are like this only…
No ya, yes da, why ra, how yaar, yes no, like that only, go man….that how it is I say. Welcome to Indian English or Indish as its commonly known. Want to emphasize a point? Then don’t forget to stress on the verb thrice …I ate,ate,ate i.e I ate a lot. Not all communication needs to be verbal ... we don’t very handy when you dont like saying No to anything, even though you have no intention of ever doing it.The solution, An ear to shoulder movement of the head, on both sides which could mean yes, no or maybe. Its up to you to figure our what or just give it some time and you’ll find out for yourself…

Ever heard of IST? Indian standard time…which basically means GMT +1 …in lay men’s terms, the time you agreed to meet plus one hour…because that’s how long it will take for us to get there..Punctuality? whats that yaar? the new pub down the street?

We love talking especially in deafening decibel levels even though in a country of 1.8 billion you're bound to be heard by some one or something. Yelling on the phone is normal too, its only because it’s a long distance call...the louder the voice the further the distance… It’s a big country for God’s sake…

Vite, vite, vite (fast, fast,fast)
Urban angst…something we all suffer from when we live in big cities. We’re all hamsters running like crazy in our little wheels…getting on with the business of living…and yes, there is such a thing as instant gratification. We want things to happen fast! After all who knows whether we’re going to be around tomorrow…fatalism 1.1. We tend to extend this mind set to everything we do, including relationships,the basis of our existence...Welcome to the ‘arranged marriage’ a timeless Indian institution and the crux of every self respecting Bollywood script. It all starts off with identifying the puppy you want from the litter, then comes the photograph...pass the shallow test then its step two, the first meeting...usually with the whole family around...does what it says on the pack... Congratulations, you've made it to level 3... e-mailing and talking for about a month or so. It goes pretty quickly from there, so lets collapse 4 and 5 into one...getting engaged in the third month and married in month 6. After all, why waste time? The couple have their whole lives to get to know each other so why bother with the niceisities? After all the price is right. Pedigree paper checks... done. purity..in place,horoscope...checked and matched. family income situation and bank balance... investigated. Family connections, ratified…, reputation ...savory ..what more do you need anyways. All engines are go!

Now extend that to relationships. You meet someone today, fall in love tomorrow, you’re ‘going around’ in a week and playing happy families soon after… why bother playing the cat and mouse game when everything s going to be cloak and dagger anyways? Its not like you’ll be ever allowed to be seen together in public, live together, go on holidays, stay over etc etc…Its going to be pretty rare having time together in the same post code and you can forget about taking the car for a test drive …you’ll need to take your chances with that one …time is of the essence my friends, in everything we do…except that...S.E.X! Relationships are all important especially with friends and family…the mantra thats drilled into all of us...love me, love my baggage. Which is probably why all hell breaks lose if you're 'caught' i.e. the parents find out... you’re going to be walking up the aisle before you can say ‘Oh yes!’…If all else fails pull a Romeo and Juliet, lose the family honor and you’re chances of being accepted in society until the next scandal comes along and then kiss and make up once the first child is born

This probably explains why even after 7.65 years I’m still getting my head around the Western construct of relationships and courtship. The need to take things ‘slowly’ when in all likelihood you’re going be subjected to the crash test probably after the first couple of dates anyways… I’m guessing the ‘getting to know each other better’ refers to the neck upwards then? Perhaps it’s all in the thrill of the chase because there’s less baggage to worry about…who cares if the parents hate you? You’re probably going to meet them when it’s too late…society, whats that?
So when do you let the barriers drop and whats wrong with being warm and open? Surely that’s a good thing and not a ‘clingy’ thing? When do you get to go to bed without make up on? When is it ok to be around him when you’re sick as a dog? When is it ok to land up at his place unannounced? When does it become ok to use his razor to shave your legs or not shave your legs at all, as the case may be? When is it ok to coo at babies and not have him panic and run a mile? When is it ok to automatically click the ‘2 adults’ button when booking a holiday which is 6 months away and not have to take a gamble or make a note to self to work extra hard to get that bonus because you’re going to need it to make up for the money you might lose?...So much to learn at the tender age of 30 something…You know what they say… Lucky in love, unlucky in cards…that’s probably why I make a fortune at cards…Vegas here I come!

An Indian awakening…

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Fri, 25 Dec 2009 16:34:00 +0000

‘We’ve had enough, there’s only so much we can tolerate’ says my mum when I ask her about the ex- home minister getting grilled on national TV about his role… connivance… in the death of a model 19 years ago. Murdered by some top honcho who was never convicted…. I can’t help but applaud the Indian public for finally deciding to start fighting back. The mass media is choco-bloc with adds depicting anti-corruption story lines. I believe the trend went truly mass when movies like Raang de Basanti made it to the big screen…Bollywood, manna to the masses depicted a bunch of young men and women who decided to take matters into their own hands and fight corruption and all that is wrong with the Indian political system today…What an eye opener and acceptable by the common man? Well now that’s change baby!

Politicians are being publicly humiliated on national TV for miscarriages of justice and other nocturnal activities like cavorting with prostitutes while Rome burns. … Posters with public service messages regarding global warming, safety, drunk driving are more conspicuous then ever before…now all we need is for the change to percolate downwards through every strata of society, not just the burgeoning middle class, though it does have to start somewhere and never the sooner…Is this what the awakening of a collective conscience is all about? Bravo!
Dinner table conversations are around politics where young and old alike are openly critical of the rampant problems inherent in the system, religious violence, creation or non-creation of independent states, the failure of 'task forces' chaired by prominent business personalities who have failed in their...well tasks.. the need for change is palatable...we're informed and proud! Next step, action!
Its heartening to see that fatalism is no longer the answer to everything….when ‘it is written’ is not the standard explanation to everything. I wonder whats prompted this…is it the increasing affluence and spending power? Access to information and education? The opening up of the economy therefore greater awareness? What ever may be the case, lets not lose the momentum.
Being away for 8 years makes me feel like I’m stuck in a time warp because there are still so many things that amaze me, like the Chanel and Shishedo counters in departmental stores…how does the common man afford to pay 5000 rupees plus for a hand cream…40,000 rupees for a pair of shoes? Though when you do convert it to pounds, I wouldn’t blink an eye. Then there’s the social change..its no longer a taboo to date. Male and female relationships don’t have to be under the auspices of marriage. The silver screen is filled with images of scantily clad men and women gyrating to bass heavy tunes…is this the India that protested because of the swim suit round in the Miss World competition…hmmm, I don’t get it.Some things never change... like the institution of marriage...arranged marriages (the modern day equivalent is the ubiquitous dating site 'shaadi.com', which your parents are active on and not you) are a reality and divorce, while still an option is frowned upon...the upside, people work harder to make the relationship work, the down side, its very hard to meet someone once your on your own, if your a woman of course...not good for all those single ladies out there...
Walk into a book store, and there are a good number mushrooming everywhere, selling everything from books to beauty products, I'm struck by the number of business and self help books there are. The 'staff choice' section is stocked with books ranging from Eastern mystics, swami xyz's philosophy on life to management books on taking over the world. Then of course there's no escaping Indian authors..ranging from the classic cliches...red indian earth, starving farmers walking cattle home to the newest fad...page 3. Look hard and long and you might just find Adrian Mole tucked away on a shelf somewhere. Is it that we've forgotten how to laugh? Why is humor relegated to the bottom shelves? My theory, books are expensive if you decide to buy the bona fide copy from a book store and not a rip off, off the side streets then it better be something thats going to pay dividends...surely you'd be mad imaging that could possibly be a smile and a feeling of light heartedness...we're Indian we push harder, faster stronger than most...surely

Growing up in the India of the 80’s was a very different experience to the India of today. Was it better? Perhaps to an extent…worse…I wouldn’t really know considering I’m not in a position of experience. But what I do know that is the common man has opportunities today that he didn’t in the past. Society has become a lot more accepting…maybe because priorities have changed. Families are smaller and nuclear …labor if a lot more mobile, its ok for a single woman to move away from home to pursue a career. Foreign travel is common place, I love the fact that Indians are now welcomed with open arms in the Louis Vuitton and Feragammo show rooms world over…we no longer get the cold shoulder while shop assistants pander to our neighbors from the far East. In fact we can now travel with more than 100 USD which was the limit to the foreign exchange one could take outside the country…visas are still a night mare to get but perhaps not as a humiliating experience as they were in the past.
We’ve developed our own vocabulary…like pazta (pasta made with atta) nice one! Then you have the vegetarian hot dog…plus the standard fare of every south Indian restaranut the pitza. Indian Chinese…love it! Ever heard of a vegetarian ham burger? Well you have now! Cottage cheese kebabs? Lovely!
Dsylexy what ya? is a thing of the past...mental illnesses like OCD, ADD and depression are recognized as being what they are and not a sign of stupidity or laziness. We still don't have wheel chair access or disabled amenities but I'm sure we'll get there some day..step 1 build pavements so that people with all their facilities are able to navigate easily...then lets get to those who cant..

The existence of a dualism is not a truism, dichotomy is ever increasing..the rich are becoming richer and the poor, well, poorer. Wants are on the increase because there is so much more to want. I feel happy that there were no brands when I was growing up..status and social currency did not depend on the car you drove or the phone you carried. Those were the happy days to an extent. Satellite TV was still very new, we were probably one of the last homes in the neighborhood to get it..still don’t know why. Not everyone wanted to be a pop star or a model, we didn’t really have stars in our eyes at the time. Life was about friends, family and fun…Sony PSP? What the hell is that? A happier time…I don’t know…a more innocent time..hell yeah!

From Paris to the moon

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 18:38:00 +0000

My love affair with the most romantic city in the world began back in 1998, after listening to Kevin Klyne’s accent in ze movieee French kiss. I loved Meg Ryan’s hair…the sun glasses with the blue lenses, the whole girl next door look and the charming gallic man with the very sexy accent and a vini-yard in Bordeux…mon dieu! C’est tres romatique sigh! Then came Mr Adam Gopnik with his book from Paris to the Moon…boy did that change everything. Here was a true insight into life in Paris…an American living my dream. Boy I wanted it so bad I could almost smell it! Jardin Luxemborg with the merry go round which kids would ride while trying to spear a ring. Henri Cartier Bresson and his lovers kissing outside the Bon Marche…Place de la concorde and its gruesome history… Marianne in all her beauty…dinner at Zazou…Nutella ice cream at Amarinos...Le George the V with its exquisite flower decorations … Mont Marte with its bohemian memories … Aux Champs-Élysées, Au soleil, sous la pluie. À midi ou à minuit, Il y a tout ce que vous voulez, Aux Champs-Élysées…and of course the piece de resistance , the Tour Eiffel at night sparkling with a million fire flies…The stuff dreams are mad off. That’s gay Paris!

Yes white men can jump and moon walk too!
Cut to 2002, Bangalore….Girl out for a drink with girl friends. Totally oblivious to the world, especially the little man with the fancy moves standing at the bar. What ever! Back from the toilet and what do you see? The little man and his friend sitting at our table…why? Oh well, its one of those nights I guess. Didn’t quite get his name..think it sounds like a Guillermo…or did he say Gillano …not that it makes a difference to be honest. Buonne Notte to you Gilliano and hope to see you sometime in the future (yeah right).
What do you know it’s the Bob Dylan revival night..and who do we see there, its Gilliano and friend. Quelle surprise, Gilliano is actually Guillaume…a real life French man! I can hear Gary Moore singing in my head…Anyways, he’s leaving for Paris in 10 days, might as well enjoy him while I can…and yes French kissing was invented in France, non?
Day 15 and Guillaume is still here…nice one! Lets see where this goes.

January 2003…and the French adventure begins
Madame est Monseiur varlet, cordially invite you to the marriage of their son Guillaume Varlet to Arshia Basith, daughter of Iqbal and Irshad Basith at Speed Zone on January the 5th 2003. Trust me you don’t want to miss the party of the century

Life in the cocchinel - 14e
Bien venue Chez nous…Soixante sept Rue Didot …walk through the building, ring the bell and the door opens on to a courtyard. And what a pretty court yard it is! Look upwards at the little green door and who do you see there? Mme Varlet waiting to welcome you to her home. Bien venue a la maison…thank you for joining me in my dream. I love Paris in the spring time, I love Paris in the fall, I love Paris oh why do I love Paris…c’est normale non, dose'nt everyone?

The Spanish connection
Hola Andrea and Antonio, thank you for being my friends. I’m glad we met at the Alliance Francaise Andrea, I’m glad you were the studious one…always helps when one of us is. You made Paris that much more special for me. Yes we’ve all gone our own ways but I do remember all those fun week ends drinking beers in st Germain de Pres , picnics along the Seine and candle light dinners on the Champs de Mars. Yes, I do remember our nuit blanche party opposite Notre Dame…those were the days my friends. Thank you for introducing me to the taste of iberico sausage on bread with olive oil and tomato. Thank you for teaching me the one and only phrase one needs in France …es que vous avez blah blah …You gave me so much love and affection when I needed it most, and for being there in the gloomy days. You made Paris special ..merci beaucoup pour tous

Along came Uben
My little Britanny Spaniel aka Boo Boo, my little French man, mon petite. All the way from the South of France straight to life in the big city, a big ask for a little dog. U-ben? What a strange name one might wonder..this is France mon amie, nothings straight forward … dogs are named after the letter that’s representative of the year the dog is born in so the age of the dog is easily calculated, my boo boo was born in the year of the U, so UBen. His best friend, Sabine’s Jack Russel…Union Jack. Boo Boo the first and the last, as he was known in some circles, was a true French man…loved his cheese, his steak tartare and his whining…

Its my party and I’ll spy if I want to
There's a voyeur in us all...none more so when it comes to l the lives of others..Guillaume stands upright and sticks his head out of the sky light in our mezzanine bed room, its easy when you don’t have the space to stand up. ‘Not bloody again! Its Sunday and there he goes again’ its our Opera singer neighbor practicing his bars for the 100th time. Me? I don’t really mind…I quite like Puccini so no worries there…guess that’s what happens when you live cheek and jowl with 10 other people. This is Paris for you…lie on your bed and look straight into the bed room of Marcel and Anges…its nice they still make love…even though I wish it was more frequent. I think their relationship needs it. Perhaps they say the same of Arshia and Guillaume..who knows…Marta and Antoine love Norah Jones…me too…love her new album. If I ever meet you I’m happy to lend you a copy. Madam Martin in her Chanel suit immaculately dressed at all times…that’s my epitome of a French woman , after Coco Chanel and Marie Claude Varlet of course..

Une baguette, un baguette…?
C’est tres confusing pour moi…I don’t know if it’s a male or female baguette can you tell by the end’s perhaps? The sharp ones are male like the baguette Monge down the street at the Boulongerie Fertillet. Maybe the blunt edged ones are the females like the super market fare …no idea. But lets go with une baguette. I’m the dumb foreigner with the anglicized accent who cant pronounce vrai and grenouille so all is forgiven

Down on your hands and knees
Flash light in hand, crawling on all fours…Laurent and Anne Marie in tow…its gone. Metro Varenne here’s my gift to you…my diamond pendant treasured above all else at the time. I cant think of a better offering to a city that’s as precious to me as any bauble…Here I am worshiping at your altar…though unabettingly

Learning to roller blade at les invalides …how appropriate …
And still pretty unsuccessful…though the memories of landing on your ass still sting. Ha,ha,ha..thank God for knee and elbow pads…Guillaume did try…but as they say, some things are better learnt when you don’t care about scars to the body or the mind…and the ego

The BD, a French institution equal to none
From BD’s (Bande dessinée) to Mangas, the Fnac has it all…floors and floors of goodies to make any French man’s heart soar and boy did it take flight for Guillaume. My first encounter with the famous BD, was quite memorable. The comic book or BD in the English speaking world is the realm of the idiot, the one who cant hold his concentration long enough to read a novel..for those who are vocabulary challenged, so much so that they need the pictures to help them make sense. Turn this around on its head and that’s what you get in France. The BD is an institution by itself, a tribute to the French notion of aesthetics and art. The BD is a hard bound A4 sizes book, which for all thoughts and purposes looks like a Time Life series book.Those educational tomes we all had to read as kids to learn about the universe, the animal kingdom and such topics that would help us do pub quizzes I guess. But no my friends, it’s a comic book in every sense, revered for the exquisiteness of the illustration and the very strong story line. There are scores of titles, each one a collectible in its own right..so much so that one of them has even been made into a movie…little did I know that the 100’s of ‘time life’ like books on Guillaume’s shelf were comic books! Shock shock horror! Thought I’d married an intellectual…lets fast forward three months down and guess what, even though I don’t read the stuff, I think the illustrations are exquisite…its all about art …naturellemnt…

Form over function
Its all in the aesthetics…be it a simple table lamp to the flower buckets at Monceau Fleurs…the French have mastered the art of making even a bin bag look, well exquisite. How do they do it? Why is it that certain nationalities (I wouldn’t dare say races..that too’s been beaten out of me) are so aesthetically sensitive compared to others. Where does the need for ‘presentation’ come from? Be it the Haussmanian buildings or even the art deco entrances to the metro stations, the French have it down to a T….Viva la France, Bravo!

Les Francaise
Did you know there are 50 ways to tie a scarf … and when you’re a French woman, all 50 are coded in your DNA…Les Francaise, she lives by a code…elegance, style and poise..all three intrinsic in everything she does…A land where no means yes and yes means no…iconic red lip stick, talons, exquisitely cut suits, le pashmina wrapped around finely accessorized necks, just so. A flick of the wrist with the Ebel watch, a slight whiff of her Chanel No 5, a gentle pursing of the lips and she has you on your knees…

Autum in the Jardin de tuilerries
A time of magic..when the leaves are turning. The parisiennes in their stylish coats, collars turned up against the wind..orange Hermes gloves. Hat brims pulled over eyes…citizens braving the cold, sitting on the chairs by the pond watching the world go by while time stands still. Hot chocolate at Angeline and then a walk down place Vendome to the Opera Garnier. Lets rush into the Gallery Lafayette to de-frost then perhaps a walk down the bags section at the Print temps. The world is my oyster and I’m living every moment of it…

Some say that if it wasn’t for General von Choltitz Paris would have been reduced to a pile of rubble when the Nazi’s surrendered to the allied forces…He was tasked with raising the city to the ground rather than surrender. But that was never to be …Paris is magic …Paris was magic …so many wonderful memories of a time when life was wonderful, when relationships, fresh…when life was about discovery…When all else is lost, there’s still Paris...

Ps. Thank you for the memories (Guillaume)

The beginners guide to self preservation

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Thu, 24 Dec 2009 06:41:00 +0000

Eat, Pray, Love (come, reza, ama) and all that jazz..
Getting back in the saddle sounds like fun but really isn’t, both metaphorically and physically, unless you’re a yoga goddess or Hugh Hefners pick of the day. Unfortunately I’m neither…. And boy did I find out the hard way…
Being in a steady, safe and stifling institution called marriage for 6.75 years, does not prepare you for the horrors of the ‘singles habitat’. The world of singledom, that magic kingdom that seems so sparkley and lovely when your on the sofa sitting next to your better (or worse, fat or thin, ugly or pretty, hairy or balding, etc etc) half, both staring in opposite directions. All those single people out there, living the dream…in retrospect one needs to ask..What dream exactly? And who’s dream for that matter? At the time it seemed like mine…and still does when the goings good. Elizabeth Gilbert had her nervous break down and then met the man of her dreams, so there’s hope for all of us I guess. But in the interim she lost tons of weight in her yoga / meditation / find your self jaunt in India. Met some Italian stallions and learnt the language of love in Italy then went bloody waltzing off to bum fuck in Indonesia and met the man of her dreams …WTF?? Whereas Arshia, on the other hand, in her life changing tome ’Who fucked off with my bloody cheese’ , left the sweetest most loving man in the world, still hasn’t ‘got’ the dating game, met a couple of psychos…one of which managed to mess up her head nice and proper and is now licking her wounds in the bosom of the Indian family.Nice one! Me, bitter? Hell no! Wait for the sequel folks!

Embracing the learning curve …Rolling with the punches
Like with all things, the learning curve’s been pretty steep and will probably continue to be for quite a while…I think its for the good. Imagine how boring it would be if there was nothing left to learn?
Change is good…you can either roll with punches or curl up in a corner and shrivel up like a prune. The beauty of it all is that you can choose to do either, it doesn't affect anyone nor is it anyone’s else’s business. The best thing that’s come out of this experience is that I’ve learnt that women are truly your best friends…all this ‘stuff’ about bitchiness, competition etc..it goes down the toilet after a certain age. The 30’s are the democratizer…we’re all the same, warts and all…after hitting the magic 3 ‘O’. My life changed the transformation was over night and magical. I like to believe its for the better…I don’t cringe at the sight of children anymore…but no I’m not ready for one just as yet. Lets give my figure a chance, especially since I’ve lost tons of weight because of the anxiety and stress attacks… Then there’s the whole ‘man’ thing of course…but there’s always the trusted turkey baster in the draw next to the best friend..so all’s good. Then there’s the self-confidence. Where the hell had that been hiding all these years? I stopped giving a shit about the trivial things, did you? And miraculously girl friend, you start looking fabulous! The Goddess within you awakens after a 30 year slumber…no prince required or included in the pack.... let the games begin! …and yes, you start snoring…thought I’d drop that in.

My guide to fabulosity…yes there is such a word!
I never thought I’d feel this, but I’m pretty amazing! In fact we’re all pretty amazing…we fall down, get up, dust ourselves off and get on with it. There are some of us out there with children and who still find the strength to get out of a comfort zone and for better or worse, it’s not easy. Saying good bye to extended relationships with families, in-laws and ‘his friends’ is hard. Facing the fact that there might be an empty chasm for quite a while and the men you’ll meet are on the look out for sex or ‘the one’ even though they probably don’t know what that means. Been there, done that and bought the t-shirt mate…it doesn't exist. You find ‘the one’ when you’re ready to make compromises…then ‘the one’ in your line of sight becomes it.
Competition out there is fierce when you’re competing with 20 year old stick insects who don’t know the meaning of the word ‘age defense’. It’s the wild west out there, but what we have ladies is maturity, experience, compassion and empathy on our sides plus a fantastic career and bank balance that’s all ours to do what we wish with. Want to splurge on crème de la mer, go right ahead! I make a bee line for the Chanel counter these days (even in Boots)…and it feels good! Plus as they say, this is our vintage year, we’re never going to look as good or feel as great...or even earn enough to truly live it up as we do now. Welcome to the shower gel stakes– you know you’ve arrived when – Back in your 20’s, a sign of success was buying shower gel (the ultimate indulgence) from the Body Shop, 30’s – Molton Brown, 40’s – Jo Malone, 50’s and over …well, I’ll deal with that when I get there, thank God its still a while away! The bottom line…you’ve come a long way baby give yourself a pat on the back and put your best foot forward!

Spiritual mumbo jumbo and other cool stuff

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Wed, 23 Dec 2009 18:21:00 +0000

Hunting the ‘what if’ monster
The ‘what if’ monster is one of nature’s darkest and fiercest creations and is commonly found in the recesses of the mind known as the fuck ups container. The ‘what if’ monster devours everything in sight, though it’s know to favor sanity and peace of mind above all else. While it lies dormant through child hood, the monster starts showing signs of life at various times in one’s life, the most common causes are known to be relationships or, the lack of, in some cases. Those prone to looking at life through rose tinted glasses tend to escape its clutches for longer than those who prefer to see half empty glasses. Its easy to recognize one who’s been afflicted with ‘what if’itis’, all one needs to look for is a flicker of self doubt, remorse or regret.. flit across a persons face followed by slumped shoulders, a sigh and a look of absolute defeat…

The feel good factor
Spiritualists all over the world are constantly battling long and hard to find the cure to the human condition or 'what ifitis', the good news there is one! The inherent negativity eats away at us like a disease. Fighting the monster is hard and tedious but not impossible. All it needs is tapping into that positive energy flow that’s in one and all of us. There’s sun shine in there folks and its all yours now reach out and grab it!
May sound like mumbo jumbo but boy does it work! Tried and tested, it does what it says on the can!
Think positive, be thankful for all the fantastic things you have in your life, sometimes its hard when life deals you a hard blow ....but no one said life was fair, it doesn't need to be, once we accept that and try to make the most of all we have, things don’t seem so bad. There’s always someone better off or worse off than us so why bother sweating the small stuff, we cant do shit about it anyways.

'Give me something to believe in' (Poison , best of ballads & blues , 2003)
I was talking to a friend of mine today who told me about the Jain spiritual ethos …we all come from nothing and go into nothing…the soul doesn't evolve from anywhere its totally transitional. Externalities don’t affect our soul, the ‘what if’ part of our existence is just that something that happens on the outside and has no bearing on you or your soul. Its done, over…you cant change it, might as well move on and make the most of what is

Doing what families do best...

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Mon, 21 Dec 2009 17:02:00 +0000

Doing what families do best…

You cant live with them, you cant live without them…so true of all relationships, families included. Get off the plane and into an argument, a bit unnerving when you’re in self-obsessed mode even though the argument is about not having called home enough…arrive home and get into another argument…this time about not eating enough…Its funny that the people who care about you the most are also the people who are the most intrusive. Is this culturally motivated? ‘Actions speak louder than words’ they say…what if it’s a mixture of the two? Loud actions and even louder words? The underlying factor though is always love and concern…how can one resent that?

Family meals, another classic battle ground…all the cousins, nephews and nieces arrive. Wonder where the ‘mute’ button is? Everyone wants to know what everyone is up to. But no one wants to listen. Yes we all love the sounds of our own voices. Dishes passed around,, compliments to the cook, seconds and sometimes thirds while talking about diets. Plates cleared, appetites satiated, faith in relationships restored …

Goldfish or elephants…never the twain shall meet
I think it’s a phenomenon that afflicts those with kids and those without. The one’s with, are the goldfish and for all the right reasons. There’s way too much to occupy them than petty arguments that happened over things that one cant recall anymore. Then there’s the one’s without, who, for some reason never forget .. or forgive as the case may be. Maybe there is some virtue in having children after all…

Weddings or the lack of
Weddings …a time of celebration and more importantly, reunions. They crawl out of the wood work, relatives you haven’t seen for years. Close family come loaded with gifts and good cheer. Then theres the occasional scandal or two. Where are the bride and groom? Who cares! Indian weddings are an event that’s more for the family then for the people getting married…as long as they show up, that’s what counts. If they decide to pull a runner then its even better because the wedding will go down in the history books. The battle for bathrooms, bed rooms and cars is never ending…its all about seniority and intimidation…the older or scarier you are…the better the chances…

Bone collectors
Muslim weddings are famed for Biryani and bad manners. The concept of eating in a plate and not around it is still alien. Enter the bone collectors…you know they’ve come and gone because of the huge collection of bones piled next to the plate. Then theres the gate crashers…there is something called a free meal in India. Its quite easy to become a part of a 1000 strong audience as long as you look like a Christmas tree

Smile like you mean it
The bride and groom are strategically placed on a stage while a constant stream of guests climb up to the podium, stand next to the couple and get their photographs taken. Finger up means yes take the photograph, finger down means, don’t bother, they’re not worth the paper its going to be printed on. The gifts pile up…lava lamps to china you’ll never use. Its all in the giving and the receiving ...smile like you mean it. So that’s smile x1000 people = lock jaw. 99% of who you don't know or probably wont care about in ..give and take ..5 minutes. Guess thats what happens in a country of 1.8 billion, 1000's just a ...drop in the ocean ...

For better of worse, you choose your friends and not your family...I'm sure there's some method to the madness. I love mine with all my heart ... Here today, gone tomorrow...lets live, love and laugh with all we've got...that my friends is called gaining perspective ..finally!

Subterranean life

noreply@blogger.com (Arshia) — Sun, 20 Dec 2009 03:28:00 +0000

Social theatre - The London underground and I’m guessing most subtrerranean transport systems are probably the most democratising of social theatres. All manner of humanity packed into a social space for a length of time…acts keep changing though the scene remains relatively unchanged. . The script? Its called routine… theatre of the ‘everyday’ …the score? The rhythm of the universe. Actors enter and exit on cue, there’s the occasional pause…that unique space when the rhythm breaks…

I think, therefor I am - Some spaces are built for musing, from the very banal….I was riding the under ground the other day, a part of the faceless commuter mass when I noticed that the lady sitting on the seat in front of me had these very elaborate plastic lenses on her glasses. The man facing her did too…no surprise they were together. Is that what happens when people spend too much together…you become a part of a cookie cutter product?
To the very elaborate …A hidden kingdom …Magic in the corridors…buskers with their ever present smiles, posters of musicals, movies or the occasional witty advertisement…lovers kissing on the escalator going towards the surface…noisy foreign students enjoying being well, foreign …

Fruit bubbles - Apple loaded, headphones on… Finger on the roller ball …now dive into your Blackberry…the air tight chamber shuts, the air lock comes on …1,2,3 …sigh!

Angels on the underground – I’ve never been to London city airport before, I’m so excited! I’m on my way to Rome! Pan here I come…Oh, Oh that’s my stop…shit!!! Run…phew, made it ….hiss, the door shuts behind me…but whats that? My E71 comes sailing out of the door…and he smiles…My angel walks back to his seat while the train pulls away and I stand there phone in hand, faith in humanity restored…