You are currently browsing the monthly archive for November, 2007.
Shopping is usually the middle name of any woman – it is her passion, her identity, her nemesis and her hobby. Shopping can be as mundane as vegetable shopping, as thrilling as picking a diamond, as laden with treasures as buying bales of silk or even as wondrous as picking a perfect book. It is the essence of femininity – something that all women love to indulge in.
I hate shopping. One of the major reasons why I have always connected with all my male-friends is that we share a common loathing for buying new things. I have a love for my old things – their worn surfaces and familiar feel afford a sense of security to me. Often I have encountered the horrified looks of many a woman – when I have declared my irritation for shopping expeditions.
Buying clothes was a sure shot way to torment me in my wonder years. Not only was I hopelessly unaware of colours, patterns and designs, I was also a plump and a painfully conscious child. There was none of the usual delight in trying on new things; instead my heart would plummet with that sinking feeling every time I encountered the claustrophobic changing rooms in any departmental store.
Hence, Mum always did my shopping for me – still does in fact. Every compliment or bric-a-brac that i gather for my attire, accessories and even shoes – I owe to mum. The only kind of shopping that I truly delighted in – was for books. I was often lost in bookshops – only to be reclaimed by my harried parents, eons later!
Things have not really changed much ever since I came to Brisbane. While all my friends have had at least one occasion of weakness – where they thrilled in shopping for new clothes at the malls – I have steadfastly stayed away. Not only do I keep converting prices back into Indian rupees – and finding everything frightfully expensive, I also seem to find no time or inclination.
But with the advent of summer, the inadequacy of my wardrobe has been dawning on me gradually. While everyone seems to appear like cool cucumbers in their chic summer dresses, I must keep hoisting up my hopelessly baggy jeans, and looking like something the cat brought in! Finally, I gave in and realised that I must put myself through the ordeal of buying a new pair of jeans.
My aunt and I decided to embark on an expedition to the Direct Factory outlets – every Indian loves a good bargain – I cannot help it – must be a national obsession! The entire drive there – I kept declaring to her that I would buy my jeans and then go and sit in the food court while she finished her shopping.
It was a wonderful shopping mall – filled with lovely summer dresses, delicate blouses and trendy cottons. As we browsed through the mall – I lost track of the exact point where I got separated from my aunt. There were just too many attractive wares for my parched soul to take in at once. And the prices were rock bottom cheap – perfect for the miser in me!
An hour later, I lugged my multiple bags through the crowds, as I scanned the shops for my aunt. I found her sitting in the food court, waiting patiently for me to show up. She was decent enough to conceal her amusement, as she helped me tow several of the bags to the car. What can I say – I guess I have some womanly genes in me, after all!!
I guess everyone runs through rough patches in their lives – and most people say that a difficult phase is kind of like a grinding stone at which a soul is polished to a diamond-like clarity. But what often consumes me, is how different people handle difficult phases in their life.I come from a family of strong people – as the going gets tougher – they bunch up together – and laugh and joke at their predicaments. To the objective third party, they can often appear to be like a group of lunatics – celebrating their disastrous circumstances!
At work, one often saw very temperamental people – who turned almost nasty when the road got bumpy. Others who were weepers – bursting into tears and bawling their hearts out to unsuspecting (and often pitiful) strangers!! And I shall never forget one of my closest friends – who’d take on this annoyingly deathly calm, dead pan outlook to life – managing single handedly to annoy almost everyone!
I guess this is the point in time, dear reader, when you start wondering, what sort of a soul am I under duress?? Oh dear, well since I have chosen such a topic to blog on, I must plod on and reveal the awful truth! I’d love to say that I am the calm, mature soul that most people make me out to be – but nothing could be further from the truth! The truth of the situation actually is – that I have never had ONE mantra for dealing with tragedy.
Sometimes, I’d find myself extremely placid and accepting of situations (when I had forgotten where I’d left my plate of food, and then proceeded to sit on it!), at other times I’d be cracking jokes at my own expense. (When I tripped at the feet of my college professor, and he assumed – accurately I might add – that I was inebriated!!) Then there were those moments (especially when I discovered that I would never marry Pierce Brosnan) that I glared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Scrunching my eyes up, I tried to feel sorry for myself and weep – though quite frankly, the tears never came!
There were dull, gloomy moments of endless days of sulking (case in point – when I realized that I could NOT sing like a nightingale), as also times when my mouth would run away with itself – and I would say the most unthinkably nasty things! (er…Yep, I have done that too – when my boss and I did not see eye to eye!) People often opined that I was a curious mix of a hot temper and a scheming brain, mixed with two parts of humor, some moisture and a propensity to brood. I have tried very hard to learn to think things through and receive the fate meted out to me by destiny with maturity – but I guess, I still have a long way to go!
Must go now…. one of my flat mates accidentally left the water dripping in the shower (I mean… does she not realize that there is a drought in Brisbane?!) and I need to write a nasty note for her. I think I’ll sign it off with my child hood pet name – “Sulky Sundari” (Sulky beauty) - my aunt named me so – wonder why?!
Today I shall introduce you to D. you have already met P – my boss. D is one of the other psychologists who consult at my place of work – one with whom I have never really had much interaction. But since examinations finished up, we have reworked our shifts, and I find myself working increasingly with D and his clients.
D is a pleasant soul, in the early forties with a curly brown mop of hair and a cherubic, smiling, plump face. His body, like his hand writing, is neat, slightly squarish and yet rounded at the same time. Not too tall to be over bearing – should D cross you in the street, you would probably overlook him as your average “guy next door”. Sometimes he sports the shadow of a beard, then often he turns up clean shaven, revealing a charming dimple every time he smiles.
The first thing that strikes you about D when you work with him, is his unbelievable level of organization. He is efficient, without coming across as a control freak. His filing is perfect, his notes are impeccable and he never needs a single reminder. On many an occasion I have found him able to gently correct us admin girls on client billings, appointments and communication.
D walks into the office early, settles his things, then comes around to have a little chat. His favorite topic being his work – he counsels with the Hepatitus group of the Queensland Health Department and often talks about his latest projects and endeavours. Once he confided in me that he prefers fourteen hour work days, thrice a week, just because it allows him to have four days off. Initially I remained unconvinced – but the next week I found myself opting for a straight twelve hour shift, so I could take an extra day off!
When it gets busy, with multiple calls, clients, invoices and practitioners – all flapping around your head and creating havoc together – D will be very happy to pick up phones, make appointments and even fetch the latest customer a cup of coffee. All garnished with his trademark easy going air and dimpled smile!
D has the memory of an elephant – he never forgets anything!! I once asked him the secret behind his methodical approach and he admitted to me that he had a hidden suspicion for all technology. So while I used electronic schedulers and billing systems – he swore by his little diary! Often we’d spar over the subject – I was of the opinion that he was frozen in time, whilst he was certain that I would eventually see his point!
On a night that we get late – D insists on driving me home – regaling me with snippets from his college and home. He once revealed to me that he was quite content to squander away the hours watching ants crawl by, or the leaves blowing in the wind. Unlike P’s nervous energy, D has a restfulness about him that is inordinately soothing. He reflects the solidarity and maturity of a being that has done its thinking, rebelling and adventures. And while you are harbour such respectful thoughts about him, he smiles boyishly and his impish dimple chases away the staid image in your mind!
D really had his day today though – the server crashed (Did Murphy’s famous laws EVER tell you about how computers can find innovative ways to confound you??!) and we were unable to track any appointments from last week. As I wrung my hands and muttered some unfit-for-repetition type of expletives at the monitor, D came to the rescue, brandishing his “little black book.” He even had the decency to hide the “I told you so” look while we hapless technology-addicted souls gleaned the information we needed. It was easy to source the required information – D’s notes were made both alphabetically and chronologically. Unbelievable! I cant even make a shopping list correctly!
He often strikes me as a curious contradiction – his work takes him into the basest of human existence, yet his demeanour and philosophy lend him the look of an untouched soul. His gentle, friendly existence successfully hides his unbelievably high level of organisation
Suddenly the reason for D’s placidity was revealed to me – he is a mere visitor in this wired world – he comes from a place where leaves rustle, dogs fetch, jazz music is played to be appreciated, and the inhabitants have found way to keep the mania of the “real” world at bay!
I come from a family obsessed with cleaning and organising. Surfaces at home gleam in reflected light and shelves sparkle in pristine order. As a child I was always berated for leaving a book awry or a pair of shoes astray in the corridor. My father could at times, be particularly trying. Take out a pair of clothes to wear, return from running hot water and you shall find your clothes missing – Father dear has efficiently returned them to their correct place in your wardrobe. Go vegetable shopping with him, and you will trail after dad as he makes trips back to the car to re-arrange his latest purchase in symmetrical order. My aunt has elevated cleanliness to the level of a fetish. She admits being unaware of her actions, as she wipes and folds and irons and shines. Clothes are crisp and folded with perfect creases, cupboards are neatly lined and labelled and the bins are scrubbed clean.
My parents and aunts have always been subject to many a joke and laugh by my sister and me. We have always revelled in being blissfully normal, sloppy children – characteristic of most of my generation. When I started working and living away from home – Mum would come over and inspect our home and kitchen and sigh hopelessly. She claimed that there was dust in the corners and miniscule cobwebs on the ceiling. Typically, her observations fell on deaf ears – we were too busy to do more than the bare minimum housekeeping – I was not intent on expending energy on what was obviously a non value added activity.
In Brisbane, I live with two girls who are obsessed with cleaning – we are convinced that Saee was probably born clutching a vacuum cleaner in one hand and Rijuka would be happiest washing a sink full of dishes. (We sometimes joke that for her birthday we shall collect the neighbours dirties as a gift!) They too make the same claims – cleaning helps disconnect their minds from their hands – leaving them free to contemplate deeper matters.
Awakening from my day-dreaming, I look down at the kitchen counter I have been pottering around – it looks miraculously clean. Hmmm….Someone seems to have scrubbed it down while I was dreaming. Strange – I could’ve sworn that it was a tad bit greasy when I came into the kitchen – was I so lost, that I did not notice someone come in and clean up?!!
Whenever people get to know me well, or are in the process of getting acquainted with me, inevitably I am asked to divulge my zodiac sign. Admitting that I am a Cancerian, brings on whoops of “I knew!”, or “Oh you are a typical Cancerian” or even….”Gee…So that astrology stuff IS true!!”
Usually, I am the typical sceptic – unbelieving and wry when it comes to making leaps of faith on topics of palmistry, tarot and astrology. But having received one comment too many – I decided to investigate the matter with a scientific approach. So i Googled “Cancerian nature” and picked a respectable source. What follows, are extracts of the passage describing Cancerians… and my arguments and thoughts about them:
Cancer THE CRAB is the sign of the protector, the parent
(err…ok…hmmm… I’m VERY protective of my dog – does that count?) Well, sounds nice that I’m the caring, motherly figure! (I think!!) Although what does it mean? I decide to ask my best friend, if I have been a shielding, parent – like character in his life – I get hoots, shouts and moments of delirious laughter…evidently he does not know me well enough!
Emotions are a very important part in the life of a Cancerian. Although naturally defensive and very afraid of being hurt, they put their hearts and soul in to relationships and are faithful, loving and loyal partners.
(Hey! I like the sound of this one…So I’m this sensitive, gentle soul with a propensity to get hurt??!! hmmm…!) Now whom shall I reconfirm this trait with? No current boyfriend….The past boyfriends were SUCH bores, that I can’t possibly contact them and ask for their opinion again, can I?! Besides I distinctly recall one of them telling me that I positively re-invigorated the relationship, every time I admitted to him how his intellect reminded me of the Planet of Apes!! Yep, that’s the sensitive side of me confirmed!!
The bright side
At best Cancerians are sensitive, kind and sympathetic, with an absolute urge to nurture and protect people around them. This is most apparent with home and family.
Now this is something my family would definitely agree to! I can hardly recall any incidents when I have smuggled cosmetics out of my mother’s wardrobe, or shoes out of my sister’s. Besides, I have always shielded my parents from heavy shopping expenses, refusing almost all shopping treats – till I yielded and purchased that one, ultimately expensive item!! There comes that nurturing bit again… Well, I always massaged Mum’s head when she had a headache… must be my amazing technique, for she started claiming that the pain disappeared within seconds of contact with my hands!
So lies the soft side of Cancer, but there is a hard side too, they can be very enterprising, shrewd, and self-assured.
Absolutely correct! I am no babe in the woods! Have you ever seen my bargaining skills in the flea markets of Delhi? The traders were delighted to meet such an astute shopper, and all would hail me vocally to inspect their wares! (Usually they hail an unsuspecting naive shopper – but that was definitely NOT the situation with me!)
When all is in tune Cancerians are intuitive, imaginative and resourceful, knowing instinctively when to reach others and when to withdraw into their protective shell.
Brilliant! I recall when I was a restaurant manager, having this intense intuition that one of our guests was visiting the restaurant for a celebration. Cake and candles in hand I approached the table with a festive spirit – the entire restaurant staff in tow – I am sure that the lady never had her “un”birthday celebrated with so much gusto ever!!
And I definitely have perfect timing when it comes to others! I absolutely NEVER volunteer my opinions on topics that are a hot source of conflict between my couple friends, NEVER unknowingly have foot-in-the-mouth syndromes and ALWAYS eventually figure out when to cease talking!
Kind, sensitive, sympathetic, imaginative, maternal/paternal, solicitous, protective, cautious, patriotic, tenacious, shrewd, thrifty, resourceful, a good home maker.
Ooh…! Too many wonderful adjectives to contend with here. Several appropriate incidents flash through my head – sort of like the way life flashes past the eyes of a dying man – will not bore you, dear reader with the details. Suffice it to say that I am definitely modelled after this description.
The dark side
(eh..? So there is a dark side? hmm…not too sure about this part!)
Cancer has a deep inferiority complex, any hurt (both real and imagined), is brooded upon at length. Cancerians tend to look back at, and hold on to things from the past, they can be very possessive.
Well, I must be honest, I did have a severe moment of personal crisis when my flatmate opted to watch television over listening to my opinions on world peace, I have never forgiven my cousin for flinging my shoes out of the window when we were five….AND I am VERY possessive about my pillow…(have had it since I was born…Mum seems to think it is fit to be consigned to the garbage, but I just don’t agree!)
over emotional, hypersensitive, moody, devious, changeable, self-pitying, unforgiving, unstable, gullible, untidy.
Yes, people occasionally mention that life with me is a roller coaster ride – you never know when its heading up or down – until you feel the swoop of joy, or pit of fear!!
Such truth – just waiting to be discovered and its all written in the stars! Thankfully, I chose to investigate the matter in detail – else I would have spent my life pooh – poohing the “believers”! And to think that I once thought that people can never be simply compartmentalized into twelve boxes!! Who ever said that man is a complex being, definitely did NOT examine his zodiac sign!
Understand the language of my silence
Don’t let me go now
Call me back from the abyss of the free world
Show me that fairy tales are real
As i soar high in the skies
Secure in the knowledge of my bearings
Keep me wrapped around your finger
Never free to wander too far.
Did they not tell you the dangers of letting go?
The eventualities certain if we are asunder
For all the tugs of freedom i may give
we were never meant to stay apart.
If these are but dreams and rantings of my mind
Then I am happy to be their owner
For they afford me company in my solitude
And mine experiences are not to be stolen.
Yet I float away, turning to look back again
to seek your familiar appearance in vain
Anchor me to you once more
I was meant to stay wrapped around your finger…
Diwali or the festival of lights, marks a period or tremendous festivity and togetherness for Indians in India. It is a time of togetherness, of new clothes, sweets, jewellery, incense, prayers, money and fire crackers. Irrespective of your origins, religion and social status, you will get swept up in the fun and frolic of the season.
When you are an Indian far away from home in Brisbane city, you suddenly realise that this is just another mundane day for the world – a dull gray day with snarling traffic, long work hours and time spent dreaming about the advent of Christmas. As your inbox fills up with Diwali gretings from unsuspecting relatives and friends, your heart fills up with longing to bridge the gap that separates you from that delightful time.
My house-mate Riju has been straggling around the house for the past few days with this mournful, hang dog expression on her face. Typically a cheerful, bubbly girl, her day is now ridden with sighs as she recalls the typical sequence of Diwali events at home – rituals, the swatches of silk, the home made sweets and the blessings of her grand mother! Our pretended air of nonchalance would shrivel up against her memories, and soon enough, we were a set three VERY blue girls!
Unsurprisingly, we jumped at an opportunity to spend Diwali with my aunt and uncle. Adding modestly ethnic touches to our otherwise homogeneous dressing sense of jeans and tees, clutching on to a bouquet of flowers and some self made “halwa” (kind of like a wheat fudge) we landed up at their door step.
As dusk gathered around us, we watched my cousin light little scented floating candles, with a cheery gleam in his eye (he later confessed to being a closet pyromaniac, but at the time, his fascination seemed decidedly charming!) We laid out silver platters with heaps of sweets, nuts and dried fruits and my aunt rustled up a spread fit for kings!
Later that evening, all of chimed in, in our tinny, not so tuneful voices, singing an aarti (devotional prayer song) – sometimes we would forget the next line….and there would be a mad scramble for the correct page on the book, to refer the words, in the pause that ensued! As we finished, hugging and wishing each other a splendid year ahead, my uncle stood brandishing a bottle of his favourite red wine – he had been waiting eagerly for the spiritual part of the evening to finish, so he could herald the start of the fun!
The evening melted away into laughter, food, wine and lovely conversation. We even got gifts from everyone – to add that extra sparkle to the evening! Diwali is a festival of lights – and this Diwali was no different for me….For it ended up rekindling that little glow in me as well!!
I must apologise for having disappeared for such a long time – but the double whammy of upcoming examinations and a busy period at work have consistently eaten into my time for active blogging…. A very unfortunate occurrence I must add! However today I have revolted, pushing away my law books (I have added that subject in just to give my readers the impression that I am swotting long and hard at my serious study…but nevertheless!) and reached for my sleek little notebook with obvious delight. (The fact that the upcoming examination time is a period when I suddenly find cleaning the house, organising my things, even exercising and cooking much more appealing, may have something to do with it!)
Yesterday I volunteered to go weekly shopping for the house – a chore that is routinely looked into by my flatmate. Stepping into the departmental store, I could not help but wander into the lanes and shelves and lose myself in the wonderful wares. I saw plump, crisp celery waiting to be chopped into a refreshing salad, cherubic cherry tomatoes and the most wonderful snow peas. My mind was in overdrive as I planned the evening meal, picking up fresh ingredients as I went along.
For those of you who know me from India, you will know that I am obsessed with the perfect bunch of basil, (that I found purple basil yesterday delighted me beyond reason!), gleaming baby carrots, pok choy and the like. Unfortunately, locating such vegetables in India was scarce and the few wilted species that one would find, rarely lent anything more than a scant comfort to the soul.
Finally I settled on tossing a crunchy salad with various leaves, shredded carrots and orange segments, with some basil-speckled penne for dinner. Eager to get started on my culinary journey, I rushed home to start cooking. When I got home, I discovered that the girls too had been out shopping – but to the Indian store. They had located spinach (Paalak), fenugreek leaves (Methi) and okra (Bhendi) – all of which are the basic Indian vegetables – very rarely seen in Brisbane.
That evening as I smacked my lips….having enjoyed dinner thoroughly, I contemplated my meal of spicy okra with caramelised onions (masala bhendi) and rich velvety pulses (daal makhani) scooped up with wheat flour bread (chapattis). Rare commodities are always precious – and the definition of rare changes with time. There truly is nothing better than the comfort of home cooked Indian food!
Recent Comments