For the First Time...

...I’ve felt bad for people living in Bombay. Okay, maybe I feel bad for them (and myself) each time I’m stuck in a horrendous traffic jam in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday, but today I felt sorry for them. An emotion I’d never thought I would feel.

I say them because I don’t live here anymore. Technically. Yes, I may spend quite a lot of time in this city and Bombay will always be home, but I’ve experienced life outside of potholes and traffic jams and muggy weather that makes you want to kill yourself every other day. And I grudgingly accept that it feels good. Sure, I miss the comforts of having everything at your doorstep, and I definitely miss the food. But I’m beginning to realise these are luxuries one can live without.

But I get ahead of myself here. What inspired such feelings was wanting to assuage the building guilt (of living on mithai for the last 2 weeks) by heading out for a walk. But as soon as I’d decided on resuming my evening ritual, I was faced with the problem of where to go. The beach was too wet and littered with plastic from the sea, the roads near home too full of open manholes, crazy traffic and crateresque (yes, it’s a word) potholes. Not to speak of the million and one construction sites that have left a permanent haze of concrete dust in the air. That left a joggers park with a round walking track of some 200 metres as my only option.

So the grandmom (forcibly taken for some exercise) and I get to the park and I realise that (a) all of the senior citizen population of the area were there and (b) most of the under 40 were there too. Walking the track was like walking on Churchgate station at 5.30 pm, dodging people right left and centre in an attempt to get ahead. Of course, most of the elderly were sitting on chairs provided in the park, content to take in some greenery and fresh air and gossip for an hour or two with friends. Some of them were brave enough to venture out for a walk, making their way around the track slowly and steadily. Then there were those who were obviously there on medical advice. There was also the category of walkers who seemed to have lost their way, standing out in their jeans and fancy kurtis. Which left the serious walkers, children and maids with babies in prams.

And this is when I felt sorry for people living in Bombay. And myself. I missed the luxury of stepping out of my house and having all the space in the world to go for a walk. I missed the fresh air, the absence of traffic, the long winding lanes I could go down without worrying about potholes and open drains. I felt sorry for the people in the park then, who had to search for a patch of green and some place to walk without worrying about getting hit by a speeding car. I felt bad for the children who couldn’t run around carefree and untroubled, restricted by the rules of the park and limited to a pair of swings. And I felt some relief that I wasn’t living in Bombay anymore.

Because I can’t imagine being bound by concrete and traffic anymore.

Panic Mode: On

Tomorrow is our first dinner party since we've come to Pune. Some 20 people are expected (not counting children) and in a fit of craziness, i decided to do all the cooking. Needless to say, panic set in long before i started typing this out. In fact, the only reason i'm even writing this is because i can't cook/prep any more tonight. Why? Because my refrigerator has no space left in it to store anything till tomorrow morning. And so i have a few free moments before i force myself to go to bed. 

Anyway, my hands smell of garlic and my clothes are splattered with yummy italian tomato sauce. There is *so* much more to do that one part of me wants to throw my hands up in the air and run around the house screaming. The other (nuts) part of me wants to continue cooking through the night. But then the Indian part of me emerges and i think that if i do all the chopping and prep work tonight, what will my maid do tomorrow morning. What? Don't judge. I'm a very nice employee. She could have been doing all the cooking you know. And i could have spent that time painting my nails and trying on outfits. Ok, yeah. No. I would have just slept with my head under the AC draft till it was time to make small talk.

So. Here we are. The terrace has been washed and made tidy. The room where the children will be contained  given space to play has been dusted and cleaned up - meaning that everything that had to be moved has been dumped in the spare room, which will simply be locked up before the guests arrive.  The added advantage being that we have one room less to clean. The living and dining rooms (or that part of the house which guests will have access to) will be prettied up and dusted in the evening tomorrow. There is also a page long list of things-to-do-before-party-starts that i have, but i shan't bore you with that. Unless my party is a disaster and i have to vent here about all the things i should've done and didn't do. 

In the mean time, i'm off to bed where i shall try desperately hard to sleep and not lie staring at the ceiling, fighting the impulse to count spoons and plates at 3 am. 

When You Have Time To Think

And once again i find myself with so many things to write about that i'v ended up writing about nothing.

*So* much has happened in the last week.

The in-laws left after about five weeks with us. It took me four whole days to get used to being alone at home all day again. Also i was convinced for the first two days that my plants were looking sad and droopy, reacting to the absence of the motherinlaw and her green thumb. Turns out, they needed water. I'm kidding. It seems plants do that towards sunset. But i'm still on red alert, given my tendency to kill any plants i take care of. I have bad karma like that it seems. 

The weekend was spent in a manner that i assume is common for couples working in the corporate sector. All of Saturday the fellow was out, all of Sunday, i was. So basically we met on the weekend only for dinner. What i was doing all Sunday is worthy of a whole new post (like most of everything i talk about) but lets just say it involved escorting 800 plus women to the NDA for an all day outing. Yes. That many. Any we ended the day without any fights breaking out or anyone tearing their saree or dupatta. Quite an achievement i say. Oh, and I also won second prize in the lucky dip.  

The week saw us attending two parties (three including the one we have to go to in ten minutes). The first one was a smaller group of people and the happiest thing to happen was realising that an Air India airhostess can be identified from 10 feet  away, in any situation. Also, they really do look grumpy. Really. Oh, and the next party where there is dancing, i'm carrying ear plugs. I still appreciate the auditory sense that i possess. The second party we attended was labelled as a *Musical Evening*. This basically means that anybody in the entire station who thought they possessed an iota of talent could torture the rest of us realistic-about-our-own-talents people. So tortured we were that the Fellow and i decided to go watch TinTin that had been put on for the children's entertainment. But the tandoori chicken was yummy. Also we managed to leave early and did not have to listen to teenagers butchering ABBA for too long.

Grocery shopping happened. Finally. The mall was all decked up in the tricolour and was playing patriotic songs on full volume (on terrible speakers). Although i don't think it was the speakers as much as it was the fact that the cd must have come out of the cover after August 15th and was probably all scratchy. Same thing on TV. Bi-annual outing for most movies playing. And i think Gandhi should be banned from all tv channels. 

Last night another party had to be attended. And the only reason i went to it because i was tired of being alone at home all day. Yes. It's not as fun as i thought it would be when i was a child. This was one of those formal dos that had everyone yawning and looking at the time every three minutes. And yet it went on till nearly midnight. The only consolation was that i was smart enough to carry something warm to wear and could feel all warm and smug while the other women paid for their vanity and shivered through most of the evening. What? I'm evil like that. Maybe that's why my karma is all messed up and i kill plants. Hmm.

At this point, i've taken a look at all that i've written and i think i need to stop. Enough mindless rambling, dear diary type writing has been done. If you're still reading this, don't worry, the pain is almost at an end. Have a good weekend. 

Of Compression.

One of the hazards of marrying a fauji is the nomadic lifestyle. Everything you buy (that is not clothes)  has to be considered in terms a) how easy is it to pack and transport and (b) whether it will survive a cross-country journey in a rickety truck. This makes it a tad bit difficult when eyeing glass stuff or really gorgeous but delicate things that wont last even one move (like that awesome handcrafted miniature ship, complete with sails and stuff, but that's another post altogether). But glass and the like are not the only things difficult to move. Books are. Especially if you own a couple of trunkfulls of them. Ever tried moving a trunk that had only books in it? It's akin to moving a large boulder (as i learnt the hard way), done only at personal risk and little care for your back. Also, it's near impossible to move. So what do you do? You could distribute the books over all your various trunks. But that has its own problems which i'll talk about some other time. Or you could do what we did - cartons. Bubblewrap inside and out. Except that we ended up with some 9 cartons of books, 8 of which are still waiting to be opened (owing to several factors not entirely in our control). But considering our experience with the one carton of books that was opened (as well almost another carton full that emerged from trunks along with the ones we've bought in the past few months), we can't help be glad the bulk of our books are still packed away. 

Before you gasp and call us boors, hear me out ok. 

In the last 6 months we've moved 4 houses. And with every move, at least one car trip to and fro from the old to the new house has been entirely dedicated to our books. Do you know how tiring it is climbing up and down stairs with armfulls of books and loading/unloading them? Especially if you love them and are loath to toss them around without a care? The last time we had to do this (yesterday), we finally put all the books in a big drum sized bucket and heaved it up to the new house. This is when the Fellow finally decided upon something we've been unsure about (and i'm still not entirely convinced, no matter how tired i am of balancing book towers as i try to open the car door single handed) - the Kindle. He has now come to the conclusion that Kindles (and other e-book readers) were designed for faujis. After lugging about one-eighth of our books around four houses (along with the unopened cartons, dont you forget), the man has finally had it with hardcopies and is now looking forward to his entire collection weighing in at a few hundred grams. And when i tell you that he even mentioned both of us with our Kindles, you'll know how serious he is. 

But for now, i'm holding onto my paperbacks (vehemently) and figuring out where best to get bookshelves installed in the new house. We'll have this discussion when we  have to move houses again. Till then, lead me to Flipkart someone. 

So Much To Say

You know how too many cooks spoil the broth? Yeah. Too many things to talk about ruin your blog.  I have so much to say and so many things to vent/opine about that i can't decide what to write about and then end up just cussing under my breath and glaring at everyone, whilst playing Bejewelled on my phone. What? It's addictive. And really brainless. 

So let's get chronological. 

Holiday

Week-long holiday happened in Singapore with the Fellow. Stayed with the sister and brotherinlaw and fed them aloo parathas. Yes, i did the whole big sister thing. I'm nice like that. Also, brought in the 28th birthday there, spending the entire day at Universal Studios, screaming my way through roller-coasters (which i was dragged onto by the unfeeling husband and unconcerned sister). But i got some brilliant strawberry pannacotta for lunch, so yay! Apart from that, lots of walking around Singapore happened - allowing me guilt-free hogging at every meal (a good thing considering how awesome the food was). Shopping happened too - bulk of it at Ikea (duh) and we were probably the only people to enter Mustafa and not walk out with a TV. No really. 2 golf sets, yes. But no TV. 

All in all, a good vacation. I would put up photos, but those have been jinxed. Ever since we've come back, the computer has been giving up on me, resulting in a motherboard and a harddisk replacement. Thankfully, in an act of supreme inefficiency, i didn't delete the photos from the camera after transfer and so i'm not too worried about losing them. 

Good News (the really good types)

So, the last few months of my life had been totally preoccupied with the one question that plagues a fauji wife - Where are we moving to next. Yes. Even though we'd been in Pune only a few months, another move was on the horizon. Unfair? Tell me about it. Anyhoo. To cut a long story short, after months of stress, uncertainty and new ulcers, just as we returned home from Singapore, we were informed that we get to stay in Pune. Yipeeeee! The perfect ending to a fantastic holiday the Fellow says. 

Caterpillar 

The Fellow found a fat caterpillar on the ground and i brought it home. Why? Because it was the kind that would become a butterfly some day. I put it in a jar and made holes for air. I also put leaves in it and checked up on it every 15 mins to check whether it was alive. It was. And totally hyperactive. Or it was just looking for an escape route. Why do i say that? Because 2 days later, the Fellow found it in the computer room, a whole house away from where i'd left the jar in the kitchen. Here's what i think happened - the jar was on the window sill and the lid (kept loosely on) blew off in the strong winds that were happening. And the wiley caterpillar ran for it. Sadly, his sad story touched something in the Fellow's heart and he decided to let it go in the wilderness that is our neighbour's garden. Sigh. The End.

Bombay

Since i'm trying to become a *young entrepreneur*, trips to Bombay have to be oft made. Not that i'm complaining. But what was to be a couple of days has become a week and a half. Thankfully, this time round, i got work done. Also suleimani chai happened at Prithvi with two boys and a girl (and a really photogenic old man with a flute). Movie also happened with a friend i've known since we were 12 and i think he called me stubborn and impossible more than once during the evening. We also got wet in the unannounced and torrential rain that happened in Bombay on Wednesday evening. Haan, and the sister arrived on her way to Jaipur for her first karva chauth, but that's another story all together. 

Moving Houses

I'm writing about this primarily because i'm not doing it. Heeheehee. Yes ladies and gentlemen. The Fellow, in an act worthy of Superman, has shifted houses in 3 hours, trunks and potted plants included. All i have to do now is locate my stuff under all the mess that is bound to be the new place (you think he'll take the hint  and clean up? Or too much to ask?) Anyway. Whatever it might be, i was spared the supreme torture of moving and i'll be eternally (read: a couple of days) grateful to him for that. 

Shimla

Next week we leave for Shimla where home and the inlaws (mine) await us. We haven't been there in the longest time and i'm totally looking forward to piping hot tomato soup and fresh french fries on Mall road. What? So i like food. Not like the Fellow isnt waiting to get his teeth into his favourite momos and chocolate pastries there. So, family time awaits us, and like i promised a pint sized genius yesterday, i'm going to try blog more while there, so maybe some productivity shall happen too. 

Phew. That was a long and totally random post. If you're reading this, remind me to send you a thank you note :) 

Of Soot and Awesomeness

So, there was a little accident in the house when the Fellow and I were both away. Our two and a half year old LG refrigerator decided it had had enough of life and spontaneously (or so I imagine) combusted. The result? A charred and bombed out fridge, curtains that cannot be used ever again except perhaps as rags, a kitchen that looked like it had been in Pompei, wardrobes that need dry cleaning, and wall resembling something out of a horror story, complete with blackened spider webs hanging off the ceilings.

I won’t bore you with the details (and there are a *lot*), but let’s just say that it took the Fellow and me nearly 10 days to move all our belongings to a new house and get about 90% soot free (10% being the clothes that were awaiting their turn at the dry cleaners). Of course, even before we were 5% soot free, the broadband internet connection was in place and the DTH service on track. We were home so to say (C’mon, you know home is where the broadband is). And just as soon as something of a routine was in place, however dysfunctional it might be (I mean, no pillows, or pillow covers, no functional kitchen, no fridge, no broom even, and just 4 curtains), I left to attend a friend’s wedding in Bombay and finish some incomplete work. And just in time. The next day we were allotted a bigger house, meaning that the just moved into house would have to be moved out of and into a new house again, making it our 4^th move in as many months. Yes, that is the screaming inside my head that you can hear.

But before you start feeling bad for me, remember the Fellow and how awesome he can be at times like these. Yes. I do have nice things to say about the Fellow you know. Anyhoo, he insists I stay in Bombay, finish my work and not stress about moving house. He would do it all. And being the good Indian wife that I am, how can I not listen to my husband right?

PS: The next post shall be a visual one. Then you may feel bad for me and my soot-filled soul.

PS2: If you follow me on Twitter, maybe the next post will help you forgive me for bombing your timelines with self obsessed talk about soot and my traumatised life.

One of Those Moments When it’s Just Words. No Sentences.

Marriage.

A new life.

A changed life.

A new family.

A new city.

New people.

Different people.

And somewhere amongst them, friends.

And now, another change.

Another city.

Another set of people, differences.

And maybe, just maybe, friends?

Of Lists and Boxes

At most times the neurotic, list-making, slightly obsessed with organisation freak-show in me is very useful. I get things done and get them done well. And it keeps me happy, all those lists. Ask the Fellow.

Unfortunately, for the first time (since I realised I’m happiest making lists), this slight obsession is more of a hindrance than anything else. I mean, one would assume that packing up house and moving could do with some super organisational skills and perfect lists about everything (down to the last clothes-pin) right? Wrong.

It’s been almost 2 weeks and I’m going nuts. You try packing your entire house into trunks and you shall know the feeling. You also try doing it in the most efficient and organised manner known to mankind and you’ll be checking into a mental health facility at the earliest. Believe me. I spent several days coming up with the best way of packing everything, and when I was done, I realised I might need about 45 more trunks and close to 4 months to get it all done perfectly. And even then, I wasn’t sure how I would go about unpacking it all.

And so for the last several days, most of my time has been spent standing in the middle of the house taking deep breaths and hoping that if I stayed still long enough, elves would sneak out from somewhere and get all the work done.

In the meantime, I shall continue making lists till it’s too late to do anything but throw everything in the boxes and be on our way. Sigh.

And We Move

Bring out the boxes and bubblewrap, it’s time to get busy. The Fellow and I move to Pune in a month and amidst my excitement and thrill at moving closer to Bombay (yay!) there is a lot of (and I mean a *lot* of) panic happening. I’ve never had to pack up my entire life in one place and move to another at such short notice. The last time I did it, I was getting married and then the panic was of a different kind (naturally).

Right now, my biggest worry is getting everything packed. Seriously. Have you seen the amount of stuff we have? It’s astonishing just the sheer number of glasses we own. And I’m not even getting started on all the linen we’ve bought in the last two years. Of course, it might help if I actually started packing things up, instead of spending my time drawing up lists upon lists. But then if I did, there would be nothing to write about no? And so I give in to the neurotic in me and get giddy with happiness as I list out (very prettily, complete with doodles, if I might add) all the work I have to do in the next 4 weeks.

4 weeks. To pack up and move.

Of Bosses, Chicken and Bonfires

It was 7.30 pm and there we were, the Fellow and I (keeping to our resolution of a healthier lifestyle), getting ready to enjoy a quiet dinner of home-made pav-bhaji, apple juice and an episode of The Waking Dead or Bones (depending on who sulked more) when the phone rang. It was the Fellow’s deputy boss giving him a heads up – the boss and he (and wives and kids) were coming over.

Now under ordinary circumstances, this would have meant we groaned and whined about the evening being ruined and how we’d probably have to be up late into the night listening to the ramblings of a chap who really enjoys his drink. But not today.

Today we didn’t have the time to complain – we were too busy cleaning up. Thankfully the maid happened to come by at that exact same time and so we had 3 pairs of hands stuffing things into the spare room and dragging furniture back in place. So in went stacks of cds, a huge stuffed dog, a large bag of coins, a roll of toilet paper, a lounge chair, a couple of helmets, piles of papers and files, one suitcase with the Fellow’s clothes and two handbags full of books. There was also a moment of brilliance when I reminded the Fellow he’d wanted to enjoy a bonfire for quite some days now, and today was as good an opportunity as any for it. And so the maid was dispatched to get some wood for the bonfire, dust off the garden chairs and put my newly potted plants to one side to avoid breakage.

15 minutes later the house (what part the guests would see) was presentable, the alcohol had been reviewed, ice-cube trays emptied and refilled, hair combed, a couple of disprins had (by the Fellow), and onions and tomatoes chopped for a quick snack.

20 minutes later we were fake-smiling, laughing and offering drinks. 24 minutes later the Fellow realised he needed to get some more soda and vanished (for the next 30 minutes), returning triumphant with lots of chicken tikka.

And the rest of the evening was spent around a bonfire, discussing how good the chicken is.

Of Anticipation

The Fellow has been away for three weeks now. Originally I was to join him a couple of days later and spend most of the 3 weeks seeing a new place and meeting some old acquaintances. But as such things go, a lack of acceptable accommodation led to a cancellation (twice) and I had to resign myself to the fact that I was stuck at home alone.

Which was not such a bad thing except that I don’t think I’ve eaten a full (or remotely healthy) meal here (and have had to attend some tea parties). The only time I got fed properly in all this time was when I crashed at my aunt’s house for a couple of days. And even then I missed my broadband connection and television too much to continue there despite the lure of the food!

And so I waited. For the Fellow to return and for me to have some semblance of a routine once again (a pleasant prospect even with cooking I would have to do). He was to come back home yesterday morning – an arrival much planned for and definitely looked forward to. The wives of the other chaps who had also been away decided we should go armed with a cake to the workplace and welcome the husbands back with pomp. I decided (at a personal level) to get the house cleaned and the refrigerator stocked once again. There were several other plans made, including some movies, drives and weekend getaways.

Unfortunately, the universe has a way of sensing anticipation. And it sneaks in with a sharp, near invisible needle to burst the happy, shining balloon. At first it had been not enough rooms to accommodate everyone. Yesterday morning the needle was in the form of a thunderstorm that lasted several hours and felled at least a hundred trees. And so the Fellow couldn’t come back.

Today, I’m still waiting. But not an ounce of anticipation. Not this time.

Someone Get Me the Mad Hatter

I’m in my own personal hell. The Fellow has been away for nearly three weeks, the maid was first on holiday and then promptly contracted conjunctivitis a day after she came back (late mind you), the car seems to be missing the Fellow even more than me and so has decided to trouble me (the power locking stopped working, and now the driver’s door wont unlock with the key even). And to top it all, the other wives here (instead of spending quality time with their children and homes) insist on subjecting me to the biggest waste of time ever devised in the modern world – tea parties.

Seriously. Tea parties belong to the 19^th century when there was no internet or television or anything remotely more interesting than hooped skirts and needlepoint to keep the female population occupied. I definitely don’t need them here right now. I mean, the two odd hours I spend making forced small talk and smiling like I care could be spent so much more productively in front of my computer or even catching up on sleep.

Instead, I have to sit listening to the same bunch of women discussing the same things they discuss at every party, reacting the same way they do about the things they discuss (fake laughter, smile not reaching eyes, self-satisfied smug looks etc) and annoying me in pretty much the exact same way. Oh and the lack of intelligent conversation is beyond unbelievable, making me shudder non-stop in an ice-cube dropped down my shirt kind of way.

And instead of getting up and giving my emotions a very vocal expression, all I can do is imagine a rabbit hole appearing next to my chair. At least the tea parties there will be more fun right?

Smoke

I don’t have anything against smokers. It’s the smoke I don’t like. Especially the kind that I’m forced to breathe in. Of course the solution to that is to a) be polite and tell the smoker next to me to stuff it or b) make an obvious and pointed exit. And at times when the room resembles a gas chamber more than anything else, walking in and walking out is the only way to go.

And this is exactly what I found myself doing last night. Apparently there was an impromptu song and shayari session in the bar and those of us who weren’t already audience to it headed there. I had taken maybe 2 steps into the bar when I realised I’d probably die of smoke inhalation in the next 5 minutes, and since I hadn’t written my will or called everyone I know to let them know what I thought of them, I decided to step out. Here I was joined by the Fellow (also a non-smoker who likes the full use of his lungs) and another officer (whom I keep supplied with chocolates and who thus felt chocolate-bound to keep me company). While we discussed the habits of smokers and then moved onto talking about drugs, their use and of course, availability, another officer walked out of the bar. On being asked where he was headed to, he indicated with that typical hand gesture that he was off for a smoke.

“Uhh….why don’t you stay in the bar and just take deep breaths? That would save you a cigarette at least.”

“I would, but the smoke is not the right brand.”

That’s the fauj for you.

Of Food, Cleaning Up and Panic

So the Fellow and I had our first dinner party last night. Needless to say, I was the one hyperventilating all through the day, cooking, tasting, cleaning, supervising (the maid), re-tasting, organising and trying to get the Fellow away from this computer long enough to help out some. The Fellow, on the other hand, dusted off the bottles of alcohol, made sure the beer was refrigerated and checked if there was enough ice to last through the night. Yes, he did help when asked (like grating a whole tin of cheese and getting the crockery out) but like he said, at one point I was creating work for him, just to keep him involved! Eventually I let him be, and just demanded he shave and change into something presentable for the evening.

Why was I so worked up about a simple dinner? Well, to begin with, we’ve never had a party at home, so that was a little scary. It’s surprising how much stuff gets spread around the house and how much I sounded like my mom when I was putting things away. As I ran around the house, organising and tidying up, the Fellow had only one thing to say (which he yelled from his den while taking a break from Mass Effect 2): lock all the rooms so people don’t go in there, and this way you won’t have to clean anything up. Keep them contained within the living room, dining room and garden he said. And he ended his monologue with “my house, my rules”.

Once I got past the Fellow and his gyan (by simply not listening anymore), I started worrying about the food. I’ve never cooked for anyone besides my immediate family (who unfortunately had to live through my experimenting-with-cooking-stage of life) and the Fellow. And since, for the past year, I’ve been cooking for only two, I had next to no idea how to cook for more people. This obviously meant second guessing myself and wondering if what I made would be enough for everyone.

Well, as it turned out, I could have invited another 8 people over for dinner, and still have food left over [Note: The Fellow, who hadn’t taken a look at how much I’d cooked till after the party was over and we were cleaning up, still hasn’t stopped laughing].

And so, even with all the pre-party nervousness, behaviour resembling the Energiser bunny, last minute checks on everything (including the Fellow), a 10 minute window of panic (when no one arrived at the designated time), and a refrigerator full of food at the end of it all (not to talk of aching feet), my first dinner party was a huge success.

I’m now a fully functional fauji wife!