PussyCat Dolls, Rajiv Gandhi and good ol' me!

These days, the Pussycat Dolls make a very regular appearance on MTV malaysia, shaking their booties while crooning "When I grow up I wanna be famous I wanna be a star I wanna be in movies..." The song itself is very typically PCD- Bimbotic, stupid and totally catchy. But that's not what this post's about. Hearing the song always gets me thinking about my ambitions as a kid. All the professions I suffixed to the statement “when I grow up, I want to be…” And as expected, none of it was straightforward or even slightly predictable.

In 1st standard, when most of the girls around me wanted to be princesses and the guys wanted to be engine drivers (or something equally childish), I wanted to be the Prime Minister of India. Yes you heard that right! And not in the way that people say ‘someday I want to be a rich man”. I was convinced, that was my calling in life. Of course my conviction was the result of a lot of things. A very charming and dashing Rajiv Gandhi, a whole lot of media swooning about the man, my very impressionable mind and perhaps my first and tiniest ever crush. I remember being very idealistic about it. And then came the bombing. And my political aspirations died with the man. You see I hadn’t realized prime Ministers could die doing their job. I decided it was too dangerous and that I liked living. I liked it much more than I liked the idea of being a PM.

So once the PM idea was shelved, I needed a new ambition. A new answer for when adults asked me “Beta, what do you want to be when you grow up”. And I settled on ‘Scientist’. I did not have any idea what exactly a scientist did or how long it took to become one. I couldn’t be bothered with practicalities like that. All I knew was that it was honorable to be a scientist and that I wouldn’t lose my life being one. Nothing else mattered. Of course soon I started hearing from old aunties and uncles that Scientist’s are mad. And I decided that I had to get a new ambition. I reasoned, what good was ‘honorable’ and ‘alive’ when everyone thought you were loony.

My next ambition was probably indicative of the stage of life I was in. A teenager drawn to prettiness and the pursuit of it, I decided to abandon all notions of honor and give in to my creative and flashy side. I wanted to be a fashion designer. I toyed with the idea for a while. I looked hard for some successful role models to point at and say “I want to be like them”. But I found none. What I found were people who did not treat fashion designing as a serious profession. Whenever I revealed my ambition with pride to anyone, what I heard most often was- “You want to be a tailor?” As you can imagine, that was a dampener.

I flirted with a range of professions after that, but none with enough conviction. I rejected them all for some reason or the other. Business woman- Not honorable and with low success rate (I was only a kid, remember), Hotelier- requires lots of moolah which I didn’t have, Chartered Accountant- appealed to my nerdy side but seemed like a lot of drudgery and hardwork. Amongst a blur of professions, I began to realize that I did not need to categorize my ambition. Or at least not in the typical sense. My ambition did not need to equate to a profession- A doctor or an enginner or an accountant.

And that was when I knew that what I really wanted to be when I grew up, was simply happy! So I gave into life and decided to swim with it.

So now I am all of 23 years and I have a profession. I am a consultant. But that doesn't stop me from wanting to be so much more and so much else. I want to be a chef. I want to be an author. I want to be a traveller. I want to be a restaurateur. I want to be a presenter. I want to be a designer. And now after writing this post, I think I may again want to be the prime minister of India.

Here's to me and my dreams!

PS- So given my rekindled political aspirations, I might just eventually become the prime Minister of India. My acceptance speech would start something like- “First of all I would like to thank the inspiring gyrations and vocal renditions of the Pussy Cat Dolls. I wouldn’t be here without them. *sniff*” That would be some day for India. I would go down as a legend. Even bigger than Laloo. Now how’s that for an ambition!

Currently Reading: Lonely Planet Paris
Currently Listening: If it makes you happy- Sheryl Crow, Rescue me- Aretha Franklin, Ni Nachley- Imran feat. lucky

I am an Indian

Where are you from? I get asked this question a lot, mostly by taxi drivers. And usually I never reply straight away. I play this game where I turn the question on them. Where do you think I am from? I've gotten the most intriguing answers. Mostly it's Malaysian or Indonesian (Has everything to do with me being in Singapore and having chinki-ish eyes). Occasionally, I get called Thai or Nepali. One taxi driver was convinced I was European if not eastern European. I'd like to smoke whatever he was on.

But I digress. So as I was saying, in this funny little game I play, I rarely get called Indian. Most get very surprised when I reveal my nationality (Some in a Russell Peter's type 'Noooo' and other in demented Singlish- Cannot be lah!) And somehow that always gets me thinking about my indian-ness. Not questioning it, just thinking about it.

Growing up in Urban India, I was never confronted with questions about Indian-ness, mine or anyone else's. Everyone around was Indian. It was nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary. Differences emerged in other ways. The mallu who has relatives in 'Gelf' v/s the Gujjubhai who wants Dhokla for 'Snakes' , The Subramaniam who eats curd rice with his hands (and sometime the forearm too) v/s the Khanna who swears by his chole puri. What makes anyone different is the language they speak, the way they eat, what they eat, which state they come from and sometimes (sadly so) even where they pray. And as Indians, we usually revel in our differences, we very often poke fun at them, we sometimes fight over them, but we never let go of them.

And that is why, in India you can never be just an Indian. It is never enough. What use is that? It can't help anyone label you. You have to be a Gujarati or a Punjabi or a South-Indian (yeah that category gets lumped together) or a delhite or some equal denomination. You just have to be from somewhere. Somewhere Different.

But where does that leave me? I am a product of north and south-east indian intimacy. A Mumbaite in attitude and a Delhi-ite at heart. A lover of mooli parathas, paani puri and all things rassam. I speak comfortably in 3 different Indian languages besides Hindi but I think mostly in English. I appreciate the colors and beauty of a Hindu Temple as willingly as I take in the serenity of a church. I am equally likely to be found slurping curd rice from my hand as I am to be found enjoying spoonfuls of Rajma-Chawal. And now, add to all that- eating with chopsticks and speaking in Singlish. So what does that make me?

I say, it makes me an Indian. 100%. Nothing more, nothing less.

Currently Reading- Shalimar the Clown- Salman Rushdie
Currently Listening- Tum Pukar lo- Khamoshi, Little Boxes- Devendra Banhart, Karma Police- Radiohead

Pssst....

I think I have special powers. I can think multiple (and I mean like 100s and 1000s) thoughts all at the same time, in parallel. Yeah I know that's nothing fancy, nothing world-changing, nowhere in the league of the typical-colored-capes-underwear-over-tights-fighting-for-good-type people who have special powers. Infact its usually debilitating and distracting. Imagine my brain as divided into mutiple parts, each with a brain of its own, each thinking a number of thoughts of its own. Mostly it's a cacophony of thoughts. A fish market. Very distracting.

So what do you do when you are blessed/cursed with something like this? You say 'Thank God' for blogging and bulletpoints and take a mental dump. So here it comes. Brace yourself.

******

About a month back, on a bored tired evening on our way back from office, ML and I decided to go get our hair cut. Now that wouldn't have been anything to talk about except that we were in Bangkok, we did not know Thai, and we did not have any recommended place to go to. So strolling around in Central, we got into the first saloon we came across. A nice swanky, very chic looking plac where we first had our Hair washed and bundled up nicely in a towel. It was only when the hair dresser approached me did I miss having a English-to-thai dictionary. Still, ever the optimist, I placed my faith firmly in the power of sign language and gestured to her slowly - "Long hair good, short hair no good". I got a big smile and a nod in return and I sat back, happy that I had managed to get through to her.

So now my hair looks like Joe Dirt, only curlier. Am I traumatised? Hell yeah! Do I need therapy? Most certainly. Will I ever get a haircut again in a foreign land where I don't speak the language? *Grin* Probably. (I don't learn a lesson easily you see. I was never good at that.)

PS1: As for ML's haircut, she has had peculiar reactions. Everytime a camera is around she covers up her face. She says its because she wants absolutely no reminder whatsover of this cut hence no photos. I think it's much deeper than that.)

******

I had a Eureka moment a few weeks back. I figured out why india, the land of plenty and variety, has little to speak of when it comes to oil reserves. Its quite logical, really. Where does oil come from? Well million and millions of years ago organic lifeforms died and got buried in the layers of earth and decomposed. Through some mumbo-jumbo (involving pressure, time and the sediment around) this somehow resulted in the formation of pockets of oil and gas. We've all heard the Blah (8th grade? Science class?) But, (here's the clincher) Indians cremate their dead. They always have. Countries like Saudi Arabia on the other hand, have always buried their dead. And check out how much oil they have. Simple. Brilliant. Why hasnt anyone ever figured this out before?

PS2: I just realised, in cremating all that population, we not only missed out on all that oil, we also possibly have a big hand to play in the whole global warming thing. Shite!

PS3: Yes, I am usually more brilliant than this. Yes, I know this line of reasoning has huge gaping holes. No, I dont want to know about them.

******

Shoes. New Shoes. New heeled shoes. New heeled shoes that go clackity clack. They are quite addictive really. And they are having some positive psychological effects too. I almost feel like a power-woman when I am wearing them. My walk is springier, my day is brighter, my attitude is more up beat and the net result is that I get more work done, faster and better.

Hmmm. I suddenly feel like the baby who got to wear new squeak-squeak shoes only to end up doing more of what he didn't want to do in the first place (i.e.walk).

******

These days, I spend my days in the Petronas Towers in Kl (Doing things that are completely useless in the larger scheme of life, but that's another story). Now, they have a PA (Public announcement) system that they use every 3-4 days. Mostly they just test the system. So everytime the PA system comes alive, the lady always begins with 'Tuan Tuan dan Puan Puan' (I'd like to hear ur interpretations on that) and then goes on for 10 mins with equally gibberish words (malay apparantly). All this, while I am looking around feeling stupid and wondering if I should bolt to save my life or keep sitting on my chair staring dumbly at my screen. I sit on the 44th floor and in case I have to try and get all the way down, I sure would appreciate a head-start. I mean I have nothing against malayu or nationalistic sentiments but the last thing I want is to reach heaven thinking "If only I had understood malay..." People, English, pls!

******

So I have a 'hypothesis' on blogging. The more frequently a person blogs, the more detailed their posts are, that is not to say all the detail is useful, or interesting or consequential (Case in example: This post). Refer to graph below-

Yes. I am a nerd. And I revel in it. Usually.

******

So there, you've been dumped (on). How does it feel?

Currently Reading: Lonely Planet France
Currently Listening: Sick cycle carousel- Lifehouse, Ahista Ahista- Bachna Ae Haseeno

Woman like a man...

So blog crawling over at Indiacut today, I came across this nifty widget that assess whether you are male or female- All based on your browsing history. My score?

Likelihood of you being FEMALE is 53%
Likelihood of you being MALE is 47%

So as if everything-else-fucking-up wasn't enough, I now have a random program telling me that I am gender confused too? Damn right, I am!

Currently Reading: Boring Reports and powerpoints at work
Currently Listening: Infinity 2008- Guru Josh Project, Mai Talli Ho Gayi- Hard kaur, In my time of need- Ryan Adams

*Blank*

It's not often that I find myself mellow and sad. It's not often that I feel a certain kind of moistness on the edge of my eyelids. Today doesn't come very often. And for good reason too. I don't want it. I don't like it. I'm searching for my smile, my ability to laugh everything off, my stupid stupid optimism.

And I can't find it.

All I can find is disappointment, sadness, the feeling that I've been let down. And the realisation that what she means to me is perhaps not what I mean to her. That's the only way I can explain it all. She tells me otherwise. I want to believe. But the nagging voice in my head goes on. Someone make it stop. Make it shut up.

There's a song playing in the background. I stop to listen to it. "...Open up my eager eyes...‘Cause I’m Mr Brightside..." Very apt.

I smile ruefully to myself. Cause, you see, I'm Mr. Brightside.

Currently Reading: Nothing really.
Currently Listening: Mr Brightside- The Killers, Have you ever seen the rain- CCR

Vaat is Mobaile Numbarr?

Two weeks back, I went and bought myself a new handphone. Now anyone who knows me even remotely, has heard of my history with handphones. I've been through 8 phones in the last 5 years, and not because I was upgrading to new models. I lost 3, spoilt 3, and simply moved on from the rest 2. I've been through 5 different brands of phones and there was a point of time I had chargers for all 5 brands but only one phone.

The analogy I usually like to draw is that for me phones have been like boyfriends. I adored the first one I had. (The Phone, not boyfriend, silly!) It was a Nokia. A big bulky thing but with very nifty features. Top of the line then and it could possibly even compete with some of the models in the market today. I carried it around faithfully for a whole 1.5 yrs before I left it carelessly in the back of a taxi. I remember the feeling then. I missed my phone but did not mind moving onto a new one. You see, I had not had any experience with other phones, I thought I could get a better one, I had not been sure of what features I had wanted and 1.5 years is a long time.

Eager to move on and explore what was out there, I switched brands and bought a Slim Samsung fliptop phone. It was nothing like my previous phone. Big Mistake. All show, no substance, the phone was difficult to use, too retarded and did not have so many of the features I had gotten used to with my big-bulky-and-dependable-Nokia. (Notice the pattern) But given that I already had sunk costs, I stuck on with it. Until one day, 10 months later, I got onto a bus with a laptop in one hand, bus pass in the other and the phone to my ear. A minute into the ride the bus driver braked and I faced the dilemma of saving myself or saving my Samsung. I chose me (obviously) and eventually got off the bus with a broken Samsung phone. I had no regrets. Good riddance to bad rubbish I said. The only thing I thought about wistfully was all the money I had spent on the Samsung and all the money I would have to spend on the next one.

I don't quite remember how and why I picked my next phone. A Sony Erricson. What I do remember was falling in love with it within a day. It was everything my dear Nokia had been and not been. Features were awesome, easy to handle, sleek and it looked good enough too. Most of all, my closest friends approved of the choice. I paraded it around proudly for a whole month before tragedy stuck again. Someone stole my phone. I tried very hard to get it back. Filed a police report, fought with security guards, looked at surveillance cameras. Nothing helped. I was left broken-hearted. It had been only a month, not even enough time to get even slightly bored. For a whole 2 weeks I refused to get another phone and I gave the dirtiest looks to anyone who suggested I do. I had decided I did not need any more phones in my life, since eventually I ended up losing all of them. Of course, eventually I came back to my senses and bought a phone for the sake of practicality.

My next phone was the rebound phone. I bought the simplest and cheapest Nokia phone available at the Starhub outlet.(I pretty much told that to the guy at the counter in those many words). It was nothing spectacular. It served the purpose. It was practical. You see, I did not care about phones anymore. So after a year of step-motherly treatment, I uncaringly passed it on to a friend (who eventually left it in a taxi) when the time came to renew my contract (coz you get a new phone with a renewed contract).

I bought a slightly more fancy phone this time. Only slightly. I guess I was starting to recover. A Siemens phone that could play MP3s. I don't have much memories of that phone, fond or otherwise. The only reason I remember it was because of the way it was stolen- As part of a full on burglary in which my laptop was also stolen. I did not feel much grief at losing the siemens simply because I was too busy grieving for the lost laptop.

Around that time my dad (who was visiting Singapore) generously offered to buy me a replacement. I decided to go back in time and buy the same Sony erricson phone I had lost. I was overjoyed initially- Now that I had my Sony erricson phone, I could go back to thinking the stolen-phone episode was all a bad nightmare.It would be like old times. But it wasn't to be. Somehow it just felt different. The excitement was tired, the joy short lived. Something was different and it was different with me, in me. I felt disappointed. I guess the phone (in its infinte virtual wisdom) also guessed it. In 6 months, one by one functions of the phone started failing. First some buttons stopped responding, then the screen lost it's light. 'Liquid Damage' the service center said. I did not spare even a moment before moving onto the next phone. I guess I was beyond the point of grief and emotional attachment. 2 other phones followed after that- A motorola and a really snazzy Nokia. One still used as a spare phone, the other sort of spoiled. Both hand-me-downs. And both not cared for as much.

So why do I compare phones to boyfriends? (if you haven't already figured it) Simply because you could replace 'phone' with 'boyfriend', 'money' with 'time-and-effort' in this post and it would make as much sense (or nonsense). I started with liking this vague idea of having a phone (any phone really) and moved onto knowing exactly what I wanted from a phone and why I wanted it. Quite like the idea of Boyfriends...innit?

So, now I am onto my latest one. It's a Nokia. And I have a feeling it might be the one (Finally!). Red Snazzy panels, awesome speakers and an amazing capacity for mp3s. Everything I want in a phone. I think.

Oh, I can feel the butterflies in my stomach waking up and starting to feebly flutter...it's been a long sleep!

Currently Reading: Traveller Tales- India
Currently Listening: Life is beautiful- SixxA.M., Dance with me- Nouvelle Vague, I remember- Damien Rice

PS- So the new phone has a new Dhinchak ringtone too as of today. And I keep waiting for people to call so I can hear it ring. (There is some wierd uncanny pleasure in hearing 'Mein Talli...' as a ringtone that I don't get while just playing it as a song. Something about the unexpectedness of it.) But no one has called yet and I'm still waiting....