Bajji and the Beach

My favorite fairy tale as a child was Beauty and the Beast.  I had a wristwatch, pajamas...even plates and a mug of Beauty and the Beast. I'd re-read the story over and over again, and watch it on Disney Channel every time they aired it. And even now, I have the Celine Dion cover version of the title track in my ipod. I was that crazy about the story. Somehow, among all the other fairy tales, this 'happily ever after' made me feel the happiest. And in the past few weeks, I got to witness the 'Happily Ever After' come alive before my eyes. Made me reinforce my faith in fairy tales, it did. 

So one of the Glove bit the dust. Our Photu-Behen has now gone to the land far far away, after hosting us for one of the best weddings I've ever been a part of (that's not really saying much, given that I've skipped almost every wedding from 2001 to 2011 with the same reason -Exams. And when you're from an Iyengar family, you're excused instantly with that reason.) 

It began with an overnight train-ride to Kerala. You know, trains are so much more easy to travel in, compared to airplanes. I cannot believe I spent two years of my life gripping the armrest with all my strength as the flight took off...or prayed to every deity as we experienced turbulence...or plea-bargained impeccable behaviour for a safe landing in fog....I'd have rather spent three days viewing the countryside as I reached the same destination. 

But I digress. So yes, Kerala has to be seen from a train. It's simply the best way to see it. After a tranquil train-ride, the rest of the journey went past in a blur of Sangeet, Food, Dancing (haha, yes. I finally managed to unearth the right foot and replace it with my second left foot.), Food, Dressing up, Food, Tears, Food, Hooting and scandalizing relatives, Food, THE wedding, Food, Photographs, Food, Reception, Food, DJ parties with psychedelic lights and dry ice smoke in a sea-facing apartment (how cool was THAT!) and..what was that again? Aah, yes. Food. 

I leave the wedding details to the bride. (She is, after all, sitting in a fancy cabin as I write this, sipping free coffee and wondering what to do with her time. Here you go. Chronicle your wedding. :P) 

...and move on to the other best part of a wedding. The FOOD! Not only did I get to try completely new cuisines, I ended up loving every single thing! And the star of the show, Mutta Bajji (that's egg pakoda for those who don't know.) Have you ever heard of such a marvel? Of course, if the Photu Behen had served the Mutta Bajji in her wedding, I doubt if anyone would have hung around to wish the happy couple, people would be running towards the dining area.

 But then again, I wonder how many people get this excited about egg pakodas. Dude. It's egg and it's pakoda. Two of my favorite food items combined to form a fantastic dish. That doesn't happen all the time, now, does it? Or else we'd see more of French Fries served with Vanilla Ice cream in the market (What? It tastes great together. Don't judge, you curd-rice-with-ketchup eating person.) 

And of course, eating the Bajji after a looooong stint at the Cherai beach where we did everything, from posing for random artsy pictures (that just had to become cover pictures on our timelines) to collecting shells  (I found one that had my initials, VV on it! And yes, I behaved like a three-year-old on a sugar high after that.)...Bajjis taste best on a Beach, where the Chaetta (haha, call me Pseudo-mallu, chechis of the world) reties his mundu, wipes the sweat off his brow and begins to deep fry the boiled eggs soaked in a batter straight from the heavens, picks them up and puts them on a plate, where it swims in the spiciest of chutneys, and convinces you to drink 'Chaaya' with it, because it would feel lonesome without the tea. 

Watching the waves try and reach for you with the increasing tide, tasting salty grains of the sand as you take that delicious bite....and just being in great company, the Bajji on the Beach was a moment I will always cherish. In so many ways, I've conveyed everything I wanted to about the wedding with the Bajji on the Beach, two entities made for each other, looking picture perfect as they blend into the sunset....with the end credits rolling after a Happily Ever After moment.  

Photu-Behen and Butter-in-law, I wish you both a lifetime of Bajji and the Beach moments. :) Ok, now move along, there still 6 more of the Glove waiting in line. 

On a random and completely unrelated note, I just realized that my customary birthday post is due next week. And that I'm getting older and more invites for classmates getting married is coming into my inbox/newsfeed each day. Oh dear. Looks like the I will run away and build a cottage in Florence and live happily ever after plan needs to be put in action. Fast. 

A Glove Story

I love reading the acknowledgement page of every book. It gives me a wonderfully voyeuristic peek into the author’s life, and the people she has been influenced by. In fact, I began my Master’s thesis with the acknowledgement page! It was the one page where my fingers flew flawlessly across the keyboard. So today, I write an acknowledgement post. (Just in case, you know, my book does get published and I have *no* time for writing this because I'd be jet-setting on book tours).

This is an acknowledgement to the gal-pal-gang that has undoubtedly influenced my life in so many ways. Initially, we were seven girls, most of us out-of-towners, a little lost in a huge city. We met each other in class, went on a couple of completely crazy trips (that have all been recorded faithfully here) and became friends for life.

So this post is dedicated to them. I warn you, it is a long, somewhat narcissistic (what isn’t?) and definitely an indulgent post on a group of seven people, fondly (and otherwise) referred to as The Glove.

Why, Glove, you ask? It's simple, really. Initially, we started off as a group of seven *single* girls out to explore the country's most romantic spot, The Taj Mahal, on Valentine's day. We believed in the theory of No Love, Only Glove.

But today, as I write this, I see each of the Glove slowly biting the dust (all in good ways, so no complaints). Honestly, I assumed that when the glove would find love, the whole BFF theory would fizzle out....but it hasn't, and that's what makes us what we are. So here are some quirks about the Glove, and what makes us the wacky group that we are.

I'll start alphabetically (because that way, like how it has been *all my life*, I can ensure I leave the best for the last. Which would, uh, be me. This would be the time when I'm glad I'm isolated in a city faaaar from the rest of you.)

The Fiery Nair, Aishwarya : I've tagged her blog for a reason. A couple of lines is simply not enough to describe her. Currently suffering from a major bout of Birthday Bipolar Disorder where she is showing Manic episodes of 'YEEEAYYYY MERA BUDDAY AANE WAALA HAI' all over facebook...to Depressive episodes where she's re-watching a million photographs and tagging us in emo posts about how we won't be in Delhi for the birthday, she is a total patakha. Aish is someone who can give Diwali an inferiority complex. My encyclopedia of rare and extremely cheapad songs. If a Glove version of Kolaveri Di ever turns viral on Facebook, we'll know who's responsible.

Al the Maal: (even though Al is phonetically supposed to rhyme with Fal of Falcon) Maal, she is. The face that has inspired random canteen boys at DU south to fraandship her on facebook, giving us so much fodder for gossip. Alika, or Potate, would cease to function without the internet. In fact, she'd be forced to invent her own browsing device - an ALternet. :P Nonetheless, thanks to you, we have Muttley, the official Glove pet! And yes, your stalking abilities know no bounds. I'm still very grateful for that long 479 bus ride where you answered almost every arbitrary query I had about the origin of life. Go figure!

Indu, the Blue Moon: When she first told me her name meant the moon, I didn't realize how true she lives up to the phrase - a blue moon. Her appearance on cyberspace is really a celestial miracle. But all said and done, she's an extremely witty and hilarious person to be around. From that moonlight excursion at JNU (and yes, I did think there were kidnappers lurking in all those secluded forests inside.) to long long walks in Dortmund, Indu's presence in the Glove is no less than 4 Daler Mehendis in Tunak Tunak Tun (which we will *definitely* rework on.)

Mash, The Subtle Bihari Vajpayee: Mahashweta is what we call, the anticlimax of subtlety. We've been caught like deer in headlights SO many times by her blatant observations, but her winning smile has always gotten us through the embarrassments!

A small example of this would be:

Al: Psst. Don't look now, but that creepy dude in the library is watching us here again.

Mash: Really? *Lights up* Where? Where? *Looks everywhere, making sure even non-creepy dudes look at us now* I can't see him ya!

Mash, we love you for those priceless gems in the canteen! And the maggi cravings. And the salient, but strong stability you bring to us insane ones.

Mizaj, the Photu-Behen: Words can't describe her, because she will hand you 15 GB worth of pictures that can! She has, in her own inimitable style, captured every emotion, every moment and every thread of the fabric that makes the Glove. But behind the lens, lies a very special person. (who *just* cannot pick up the phone, damn it.) Again, my encyclopedia for a *million* odd doubts about everything. Also, the reason for Glove opening its arms to a new member, Butter-in-Law. :) (You *do* know that our presence may somewhat turn the wedding into a bollywood masala movie, right?)

Goswami, the Mommy: Sneha (sometimes, I forget that's what your parents named you!) is the Mommy of the Glove. In fact, she's The Mommy. Period. Be it making us reach college on time, or settling the constant random squabbles, mommy's presence is impossible to miss. Those Janpath raids for earrings and Sarojini raids for Gladiators, I love watching mommy bargain with all the bhaiyas. Of course, her most precious dialogue is only meted out to us: Chappal Marungi tere ko! And of course, we never take her threats seriously. No one can, when it is meted with that electrocuting smile!

Aaaand Me: Haha. So I figured I'd write a long glowing list about my awesomeness, and then realized, this blog does that anyway. :P I shall spare the readers. This. One.Time.

So this makes up the seven rare species that make the Glove. We redefine 'Fraandship'. 'Nuf said.

Twenty past Three

Okay, It's exactly twenty three days before I turn twenty three. And it is time for the customary Birthday Post!! So I've ranted about not wanting to turn old in when I Turned Twenty . At Twenty One , I wished for dreams that actually did come true...at least the practical ones! And then at Twenty Two , I went back to ranting about my age and how I should not be legally allowed to act it.

(Note: The title says Twenty past Three and not Three Past twenty solely because I'm only actually three years old, with twenty years of experience!)

So this year, I'll celebrate my age. So what if I'm turning 23? It's been a pretty fabulous roller-coaster ride so far, I might as well celebrate the age and look forward to growing wiser! So this year, I'll tell you (the two and a half people who manage to find time and read my blog), twenty three fabulous things of being old!

1) My book will be taken more seriously - Yes, I am writing a book (Read: A titled, nicely decorated word document that's been languishing in a secret folder for the past couple of months.) So the older I get, the likelihood of my finding out marvelous secrets about mankind and revealing them to the world increases.

2) I have stilettos. Okay, so I've been shouting out to the whole wide world that I have stilettos. But that *is* a big deal, if you haven't read my turning twenty post already and not figured out that I can never walk in high heels. But now, I can. Without tripping or ripping clothes with the hypodermic needle.

3) I can cuss, drive and swerve to avoid random people who've sent their brains grazing in the middle of Delhi roads. I can also hijack parking spaces, glare at others when it is my fault and use the horn to give a fire alarm an inferiority complex. While it has nothing to do with age, and more with road-rage, I've realized that people actually take me seriously and make way in awe. Or fear (since I still have the "L" board stuck on the car, nice and bright). Hm. Must. Take. Off. "L".

4) I can eat alone in a cafe without feeling awkward. If you've known me from school, I used to be this really clingy person who wouldn't even visit the loo without a friend accompanying me to the two minute walk down the corridor. I just *had* to chat with someone till there and back. But now, I roam free and alone through Delhi, stopping for a bite, without feeling like oh no there's no one to talk to what will I do sitting all alone here for the next five minutes. That's a big deal. (especially since the last time I tried to act all world-savvy and ordered myself a caramel-mocha in a cafe, I had a violent allergic reaction to coffee and had to frantically call my dad to come pick me up. So Cafe, yes. Coffee, no.)

5) I can cook. 'Nuf said. I have graduated from burning water to making Kadi Chawal and really good cheese omelettes. Next mission: Oreo Cookie Cheesecake.

6) I haven't stuffed my head inside pillows out of fear during the last horror movie I watched. But then again, that was Paranormal Activity. And I was almost half asleep, and since all they did in the movie was also sleep, I didn't really understand much of the door-slamming rituals.

7) I have graduated from wanting to marry Harry Potter or Ranbir Kapoor to Ted Mosby, from How I Met Your Mother. (What? Don't snicker. It *is* a big deal, ok? There was a time when I wanted to marry a certain doctor from a Hindi serial. I've really matured with sitcoms.)

8) Bargaining! They always take you seriously if you're old and bargaining. They consider you as the worldly-wise, well traveled arty woman who knows how much she should pay for any article of purchase. It's no wonder I love going to Sarojini Nagar and Dilli Haat these days!

9) I've retired from Facestalking. Yes, I've finally grown tired of Facebook. I haven't facestalked anyone since...well, yesterday, but that was only because my friend asked me to see that one picture and tell........oh well, you get the point. One entire day without facestalking is a HUGE improvement from the churlish compulsive voyeur I used to be.

10) A-Rated Movies! This time around, no one questioned my age when I went to watch No One Killed Jessica. Unlike the last time when I was taken *out* of the line and asked to show my ID over ten times to prove I was over 18. For The Da Vinci Code, of all the movies (which threw A ratings out of the museum and came on national television a year later anyway.)

11) Ordering weird sounding food in fancy restaurants! The servers actually think you've tasted it before and give you a look of respect. As a kid, they'd always give me a wary look thinking I'd ordered it just because I could spell it right. So, Penne Bolongaise, anyone?

12) I haven't torn one single pair of chappals since 2010 January. That is a HUGE deal, dude. Of course, I've pretty much lived in sneakers and converse shoes since then...but you know, sometimes I stare and they tear.

13) I don't care about the number thirteen being unlucky anymore! (Which is probably why I'm not writing down anything here for the fear it will get reversed or come perversely true or whatever.)

14) I'm addicted to Green Tea! I've graduated from the bournvita-fetish to better brewed, healthier and savvier options like Green Tea. (Uh, also because I'm allergic to coffee so I didn't have much choice.)

15) I can *finally* cut a lemon/orange/tomato the right way. (If you're wondering why that should be recorded here, why don't you go try cutting them and figure out which side you're supposed to cut so the maximum juice can be retained. Hah. Mortals.)

16) I can create scenes! Recently, this little girl tried to pickpocket me in the bus...not only did I catch her hand inside my bag, I even yelled at her mother loud enough to send them both scampering out of the bus. (and then felt guilty for days after because I had stopped the 'livelihood' of a young child by preventing her from stealing all my money and cards. Oh dear.)

17) What number are we on? How many more do I have to go? Is my memory already dwindling? Oh...next time I'll remember to forget incident 16.

18) Parents trust me with their babies! Okay, this has been happening since last summer, because I work with little kids anyway. But not only do parents *not* mind me carrying and playing with their kids, the older ones actually call me "doctor"... (well, that was after I put my foot down and refused to be addressed as 'nurse', 'sister' and 'behenji'.) :D

19) Alcohol doesn't affect me as much as it does other people! BIG deal about being old, I tell you. (Although, if I had tried it earlier, I would've still found this out.) But still, being tolerant to vodka gives me a strange power to watch others dwindling like silly-tunns around me and watching them wisely.

20) Yes, I've tried Alcohol. (If you're still gasping at 19 and wondering where that little kid who irritatingly resembled that other little kid from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai went.) And while it is something that I'm not exactly enamoured with (because it has, like *no* effect on me, dude.), I will still stick to my endless supply of Aerated water to keep me high. (I think my makers up in heaven got a lil bit confused and cross-wired my addiction connections.) Oh, and yes. My parents know. No room for blackmail.

21) I can, in fact, live by myself and not starve, burn the house, flood it, break things or, you know sell it accidentally. It's not like I've done these things before, but now the grown-ups trust me not to do it.

22) I can message fast! Almost as fast as I can type (which is fast dude, so much so that I ditched the idea of writing all this in my diary and put it up here instead, because I'd save time.) That's a big improvement, coming from someone who doesn't know, or really care, where her phone is half the time.

and finally....

23) It's good to be old because I'm ok with growing old! After attaining the wise age of 23, I will have post graduated. So move over, Beeyay Vaishnavi, Hello Yemmay, Vaishnavi! (ok. I'll keep this one in the sidelines until after I'm done with my dissertation, you know. Just in case.)

So here are twenty three reasons why I think it's cool I'm twenty three! *Finally* an attitude change about my age!

The Parade Escapade

For almost twenty years, every 26th January, even before the sun would rise, I would wake up with a zeal that would miraculously disappear on other mornings. I would run downstairs and switch on the television to watch the Republic Day Parade. My favorite bit would be when the cameras were idly capturing the filling enclosures....as patriotic songs would be played in the background. This would begin at least an hour before the parade, and I'd love watching that aerial view of Rajpath, India Gate and little little people in colourful clothing walking around.

This year, I got to be one of the little little people with colourful clothing. To say that it was just an 'experience' would do tremendous injustice to our nation's might. What unfolded before me in three hours encapsulated ten years' of patriotic movies like Rang Day Basanti, Lagaan and Swades. Watching one brigade march past after another made me miss sports day (almost). As each tableau rolled out it's culture carpet in front of the crowds, my enthusiasm would soar higher like a kite on harvest winds.

Ok. Enough with the similes. Everyone must watch the parade live at least once in their lives. (Well, not everyone, because the crowds got so chaotic this year that half the Glove got separated from us.) But there's just something else about watching a Parade. Waving at the helicopters and aircrafts zooming above, waving at the bravery award winning kids, clapping extra hard for the Karnataka Tableau (which was beautiful, by the way), trying to catch a glimpse of the country's leaders (which wasn't too hard actually, considering our Prime Minister wore a bright blue turban.).

But the best bit was the National Anthem. I know we've all squirmed and fidgeted when we sang it in the school assembly. But when some of the best bands play it in front of you, accompanied with the 21 gun salute, it transports you to a different world. You begin to understand the fervour of freedom fighters. You begin to see your nation's might in a different light. As each gun salute goes off, the ground beneath your feet vibrates, saluting the nation by itself.

Okay, so maybe I overdosed on Rang De Basanti before going to watch the parade. But it really was a brilliant experience. There were many non-patriotic highlights of the day as well.

1) Leaving your cell phone behind can be oddly liberating. For almost eight hours, it was like leaving a chain behind and exploring the world uninhibited. And this is coming from me, someone who isn't all that addicted to the phone and carelessly leaves it all over the house, always missing calls and messages.

2) Getting separated from a friends' group. The Glove ended up getting split due to different autos, different routes to India Gate interspersed with half of Delhi's population. So three of us made it to the VIP enclosure and bagged enviable seats, while the other three got left behind. :( It sort of makes you realize how important a big group is. But the one unifying factor with both halves was that we experienced two different sides of Delhi. I know I speak for the entire Glove when I say that Delhi is absolutely enchanting in solitude. Quiet, empty roads sprinkled with little flowers and wide, shady footpaths uninhabited by vendors is like walking into the 1900s all over again.

There are so many many more things that I'd love to record, but they keep fleeting in and out of the memory. Long story short, the parade was a fabulous experience, and the self discovery of a patriotic streak that I thought only manifested when I watched movies.

Hm. Other news. I attended a national Deaf-Blindness conference last week as well. Have you seen The Silent National Anthem ? It sums up the spirit of all the people in the conference. Of course, a good tip for the future is to carry tissues and surreptitiously wipe away tears brought out by a moving performance. When the organizers thanked me for covering the conference, the entire audience turned to find a teary eyed girl muffling sobs and waving feebly. (In my defense, the children who had just performed were beautiful, and I had no idea they would introduce me to the entire audience as their media representative.)

Oh, and Delhi had an earthquake last week as well. Not exactly an earthquake, since the epicentre was south-western Pakistan...but the tremours were felt. And it was a moment of further self discovery for me.

I am pathetic during Catastrophes. Absolutely Pathetic.

So the tremors began and woke everybody up. The buildings from across even began evacuating. I didn't feel diddly squat. Then I was woken up with a very rushed "Vaishnavi!! You have to get up! There's an Earthquake."

To which I respond, "So?"

Anyway, the earthquake didn't do any major damage, and I went back to my not-so-warm covers only to realize the magnitude of what could have happened. I didn't get sleep forever after that, starting at every little annoying pigeon noises. (at one point, I even thought the walls were cracking.)

I think after graduation, I will write scripts for melodramas.

Facebooked, line and sinker.

I'm falling hook, line and sinker into the depths of social networking sites. A bit late, you'd say? Since the train to social evolution started a couple of years ago and I seem to be boarding it on Indian Standard Time.

But what can I say? I just log in, snoop around my own homepage, log out and find other things to do. However, the past couple of months has made me intensely facebook savvy. And what have I learned from all of it?

FaceHOOK -- I've been taking those silly 10-questions-that-have-nothing-to-do-with-the-result-I'll-give-you quizzes and I'm hooked to the new aspects to my personality. (What my birthday means, Which Harry Potter Character I am, When I will meet my Prince Charming - incidentally, this Prince Charming application never even opened. *oops we cannot open this application* was the only message he sent me. Hmph.)

FaceBOND -- New aspects to other peoples' personalities. (Did you know my classmate from school was actually a seahorse in his previous life? Oh, and my friend's Italian name ought to have been Bona - which have meanings good -- and I'm using the exact grammar and spelling that was published.)

FaceSTALK -- Ok. So I have a problem with stalking/stalkers/stalkees/basically anything to do with a stalk. (including banana and lotus stalk...they make curry out of it and it tastes vile, I tell you. Absolutely vile.) And if you know me well, you know why I have a problem with stalking. But FB gives you a free license to stalk all you like anonymously. I'll admit I've used this license faaaar to many times to stalk that third cousin living it up in his 'abroad' university, or that friend of a friend of a friend who's friend was in my language class. Do I care about these people? Not really. But their completely lame privacy settings allows me a voyeuristic peek into their colourful lives. Of course, I know people might be doing the same to my profile (haha. Because I'm so fun on Facebook. I don't even know where I need to enter the 'Tell us something about yourself'). But if my profile was interesting, why would I be snooping around others' anyway?

(Oh, and a couple of months ago, this application was circulated that could tell you who exactly visited your profile and how many times. It scared me totally. I mean, I practically realized my friends list would be halved after they added the application. But it apparently was only a faux attempt at scaring fellow snoopers. Right? RIGHT?)

FaceLOOK! Pictures! It's all about the pictures. Who wore what and went where with whom is answered in all these pictures. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. For me, certain people's albums (again, bad privacy settings) is worth a couple of books - horror, comedy, drama - you name it. I can alphabetically stalk...ooops, I mean stock...them in a library for further entertainment.

FaceCROOK -- A major reason of my being an avid facebooker (dude, that makes me feel all shady and illegal like fixing profiles and betting on MafiaWars games or something...like Emran Haashmi will whip out his cellphone and fix...uh...cast me for that Bookie movie-part II) So yes, back to the topic.....why Crook? Because all kinds of people exist in the big bad web. Phony people are the BEST. I mean, recently, a RAP artist became popular because he-DA-Man. Everyone added him/linked him/messaged others about him etc. While he was fantastic (and I don't mean his looks or sense of humor here), I realized, that it is an ideal platform to create a fake world, a fake identity and fool everyone into believing how awesome you could be. But then again, are you honest in your OWN profile?

FaceFEED -- While I'd love to associate this word with gooey chocolate cake, sadly, it reminds me of the millions of notifications that pop up on my homepage everytime I log in. So a long-lost classmate has updated his relationship status as single. Am I supposed to whoop or offer my condolences on the comments part? Another old friend has become friends with 25 more people. Am I supposed to be insecure, now that she has 25 more people to keep in touch with apart from me? I mean, I know I've added you as my friend. But if I really care about your life, Don't worry. I WILL STALK YOU. Can FB stop telling me what you're upto everysinglesecondminuteandhour of your life? (It's not your fault you have such a happening life. I just wish it was happening offline)

and finally, the crux of the matter FaceSTATUS -- The one-liner that inspired a whole new social networking forum. The one-liner that tells us all what you're upto, what you're thinking/eating/wearing/doing/laughing about/crying over/seeing/drawing....oh well...you get the status.

For those who write really fun status updates...great! But my goldfish memory lets me down and I'm NEVER able to re-quote it. And for those who write all cryptic messages...no, I will not comment/like or try to decode it. I met you some 10 years back. I don't know what you even look like now (Ohwait, I do. refer FaceLOOK) so I'm not likely to understand what you mean anyway.

And yes. I tried and tried to write funny/experiential/catchy/tear-jerky/hilarious/intelligent/witty status messages...but they got interpreted all wrong. So I've just given up trying to tell the world about myself. If you care so much, just FaceSTALK (only if you're my friend. Muahaha...the one thing I DO know about Facebook is privacy settings)

So a bit late in realization (don't blame me. I was on two earlier Social sites and got off both with a bitter taste in the mouth for no fault of mine....so I've been wary this time around, ok?) but Facebook sure is addictive. But for fellow facebookers (haha...jump into the Haashmi-movie wagon), here's a FaceTIP -

DO NOT experiment with 'Relationship status'. If you were bored and you clicked on 'It's Complicated'. Facebook announces it to the WHOLEWIDEWEB that

'Vaishnavi is in a relationship and it's complicated.'(broken heart)

And then you realize what a social gaffe that could cause (since your mother and all her best friends are on your list), you frantically undo the damage and go back to having no relationship status. The result?

Vaishnavi is no longer in a complicated relationship (heart)

Sigh.

Aunty, if you're reading this and are a Facebook friend of mine, I'm single. Really.

A Holiday in the Heart

I mean the Heart of the country, a clarification I need to make before your imagination swings into overdrive and you imagine romantic possibilities. Once again, the adventure bug bit the Glovelies and we set off to the heart of the country, Madhya Pradesh. Of course, the number was almost halved this time, thanks to Dengue and Dance Classes, but four of us set off to explore an underrated but breathtakingly serene city - Jabalpur.

When I say breathtakingly serene, those of you who have been to Jabalpur will probably not find it descriptive (but I'm guessing most of you haven't, so just take my word for it.)...but where we stayed was the epitome of serenity.....even the sparrow would think twice before chirping and breaking the hauntingly beautiful silence lurking around.

The glovelies are very patriotic. Thanks to the Psycho-mommy (who shall henceforth be referred to as Chotu....a rather endearing nickname we learnt during the course of our trip), we always end up getting the Army red carpet treatment wherever we go. And this time was no less. From black ambassadors with sirens to a beautiful bungalow and even more fantastic perks (which I'm not entirely sure can be revealed on the internet, so let's just call it the Border-Movie-styled-tour), our trip was nothing short of a royal journey through the heart of the country.

The Royal Journey began on wheels, as we elegantly stepped into the AC compartments of Jabalpur Express well within time (Generally, we follow the GMT - Glovely Mean Time, which runs 45 minutes behind schedule) and scouted for junk food in station stalls. Maybe the train guys had seen the amount of junk food we had piled on the seats....or maybe they just assumed we were on a 'diet', they conveniently forgot to ask us if we needed to order dinner. After high pitched squeals from four insanely hungry girls, the attendants ran helter skelter and produced dinner from nowhere. Before we knew it, we were chugging along the Chambal Ravines, thus dismissing my two most arbitrary but dangerous presumptions:

1) Phoolan Devi's cousins or other daakoos do not enter random compartments while in the Chambal Valley with lanterns and loot you.

2) Your luggage can be kept below the seat without the possibility of it getting stolen at some station followed by a high speed (uh...my running speed, that is) chase sequence across tracks.

Our destination was reached in no time (partly due to the deep slumber we all fell into after having overdosed on Matthew McCaughney movies.) and two shiny black ambassadors with gleaming red sirens awaited us at the station! Clamping upon the urge to burst into an impromptu salute at the driver bhaiyas, we made our way in a somewhat civilized manner to the house. The first day was spent in admiring the house, the gardens, the flowers, the vegetable patches, the swing, the front porch - all while slowly devouring the months' rations in Chotu's house. (Really, there's something about going home and being hungry all the time!)

The evening was heralded with our splendid idea of having an impromptu girls night out. This constituted LBDs, lots of prancing around (I'd like to call it walking elegantly, but we did look like deer on beer) and a gazillion pictures of us, the world and us with the world. After a rather exciting day that stretched about as far as 1km from the house, we fell back into the deep slumber in anticipation of a long picnic the next day.

Sure enough, the next day was let's explore Jabalpur! day. We set off early, with a nice desi Enid Blyton style picnic hamper to Barghi Dam and Bhedaghat. Barghi Dam is surrounded by the Narmada River catchment. Of course, from no angle does it look like a river. To me, it was like an endless sea.....separated here and there by little isles. A ride on the river confirmed that it did have another bank...some 45 minutes away. Slightly off-colour but very deep and tranquil, the Narmada river is something else altogether. I could just settle on one of those isles forever and write a book or something (someone please keep sending food, though.).

An awestruck boatride later, we tucked into our childish Enid Blyton picnic hamper fantasies and ate in a field surrounded by tall ferns and grassy lawns......with a cow here and there. I'm not kidding...I almost felt like going 'Gosh! Isn't this the most spiffy place ever!' in typical Julian-George-Dick-Anne style. A nice meal later, we set off to Bhedaghat.

Now ordinarily, Bhedaghat is like a marble mini-replica of the Grand Canyon (it really is, just undiscovered and clandestine), but this year, thanks to the surplus rainfalls, it looked as if the Grand Canyon was overflowing a little bit, and hence boating around the area was strictly banned. While that meant we wouldn't be able to have a personal rendezvous with the river, we nonetheless climbed over the barricade a few feet away from the torrential waterfall and became all tra la la with our ankles in the gushing Narmada. Clearly, not the wisest thing to have done (as I see the pictures and realize how close we were to danger), but oh well, we're Glovelies. We never do the wisest thing anyway - it's simply not our style!

Another highlight of Bhedaghat was the Gondola Ride! Now, like you, I expected a cruise along a quiet rivulet with a boatsman singing melodiously and a Venice-like experience. However, it turns out that a Gondola in India (and perhaps elsewhere too) is a cable car. So cruise we did, about 100 feet above the angry river, sliding dangerously at junctions and providing a panoramic view of the entire waterfalls. Through the ride, I alternated between oh-my-god-the-cables-will-snap-and-we'll-go-hug-Narmada and Oh-my-god-I-should-stop-thinking-and-just-enjoy-the-spellbinding-view.

I chose the latter option and did take in the spectacular view. Words or Pictures can never do justice to the real thing. The waterfall splashed angrily across delicately carved marble rocks as thousands of little droplets replicated the similar fury and splashed across our awestruck faces. Multiple rainbows sprung like welcoming arches, stretching across the marble banks.

The drive back was rather subdued, as the tired lot trooped in, ate dinner and just fell on the beds like logs of wood. The next day consisted entirely of our Border-Styled-Tour (Classified information!) Let me just say that I had the opportunity to do something uber-cool and macho. (If we've met in the past couple of weeks, you'll know what!) After a dash back home to pack up the mess we'd created in Chotu's room, we rushed off to the station and bid adieu to the heart of the country, a silent haven of beauty, serenity and an old-world charm.

Few things that will always act as cues to open a cupboard full of memories ---> Aunty's yummy homemade frothy cappuccino, ALL the khaana (a special call out to the Kadi Chawal - you rock!), our train ride back - The going forward-going backward-going forward-going backward journey of the Gondwana express (seriously, if I knew it was going to have so many engine changes, I'd have chosen to just sit on a rocking chair.), the fun cycle ride across the Cantt area, the late night stroll in the pet snake's territory, the girls' night out!, Maiyya's brilliant photography, I-M's husband-wife banter (Chotu, if you're reading this ----you know what we're thinking!!) and the reluctance in letting go of the journey as the train chugged into Hazrat Nizammudin one early morning.

All in all, another Glovely Adventure that has been printed on this blog and will be earmarked for years to come. Oh! What did we bring back from Jabalpur? Lots and lots of sunshine! It hasn't rained in Delhi since!

Bhel Puri.

This post resembles one. A mix of tangy, sweet and sour days that constituted these past couple of weeks.

Firstly, I've graduated!!!! Yay! (Okay, so I missed my convocation, and haven't seen my degree certificate but the fact that I have a degree certificate lying somewhere with my name on it is good enough, thankyouverymuch.) It's taken a year for us to get it though. The enthusiasm doesn't seem to be as high as it was on our 'graduation' day, but still. It feels good to hold a Beeyay degree! (For further reference on how much this Beeyay degree matters to me, kindly read up the Beeyay trilogy - one for each year of my Beeyay - Beeyay I , Beeyay II and Beeyay III)

I'm working on a Yemmay (MA) post soon too. Just haven't found enough people to make me indignant enough for it, which may be a good thing - I guess education does earn you respect.

And then there was Friendship Day. Remember how we'd all make friendship bands in school? And then tie them to 'only our close friends' and compare it with others to see who had the maximum on their hands. Somehow, I never really believed in the 'Friendship's Day' idea. Not because I think I everyday is a friendship day or any of that jazz. But more because it forced me to tie bands on only certain people. I mean, how long would those bands last anyway? (I've saved some and used them to tie on my baggage for easy identification) Do you still have the bands people gave you in school? Or even better, do you remember which band was given by whom?

So Friendship is more than just a band (unless you're in the cast of Kuch Kuch Hota Hai). My friends today are scattered far and wide, and we may not really message one another on this day, but are still close enough to be able to message any day, at any time, without giving it a second thought. That's what truly matters, I guess.

Friendship is when you feel so low that you just send a sad smiley to your friend sitting cities apart and she immediately sends one back and calls.

It is when you're struggling to reverse your car, and your friends are standing behind you, glaring at anyone who dares honks at you (including noting their license number...and bothering to remember it hours later!).

It is when you really want to eat an ice-cream at this parlour and you're so sure it was designed for romantic couples, but your friends insist on you trying it out anyway, and grab spoons along with you and attack it with a gusto that would've put soldiers of the World Wars to shame.

It is when you know that if you go online, there's always a friend waiting to share their day with you, to hear out yours, and discuss everything under the sun and beyond.

So cheers to the new age friendships - that don't need bands or vows to reaffirm the connection.

Okay, after all the mush, let's turn to slush. Last week, I waded through the slush to land up at Karol Bagh. Brilliant place it is! Like the Punjabi T.Nagar-land! The beautiful beautiful clothes there brought out a sigh from even a tomboyish cynic like me! (I only have one 'beautiful clothes', FYI...to prove the tomboyish cynic jibe.)

And it has been raining all day all week. It started off by being very romantic (and I mean this in the connotation of relating with nature, not love), and now it has turned plain boring. I mean, everyday? Enough, ok? Delhi, please dry up your tears and bring forth sunshine. You washed away your summer grime very well.

Oh, and have you all been reading about the Commonwealth Games? We're all proof to how much the progress really is. I shudder to think how it'll all be completed. It's like a ghastly assignment that's due in a week's time and you've no idea how to go about it. Let's just hope they do know how to go about it, and will do it. Each day seems like a stab on their report card, and makes even people like me follow the reports anxiously, wondering how our country will be able to pull it off. It's turning me into a Jingoist, and how.

So these past couple of days was truly a Bhel Puri. Since I cannot eat it (do you know how lethal it is to eat anything raw from outside, especially in Typhoid-Jaundice ridden Monsoon in Delhi?) I figured I'd metaphorically use it to convert yet another self-obsessed bunch of thoughts into a blog post. :-)

Of Whims and Pansies.

I've never reviewed a movie on my blog. And for good reason, because I like every movie I watch. So technically, I should be given commission by the distributors for reviewing their movies because I will invariably write a glowing review. Not a very good, objective journalist, no. But it works for me, because every movie becomes a delightful experience.

The best kind of movies are those that you end up watching on a whim. (Okay, so I had planned on watching this one since forever...but something kept turning up to thwart the plan...and I had almost given up for good when a sudden let-off from work inspired a bunch of us to run to the next available show.)

And yes, I was trying to 'up my cool quotient' (courtesy Sneha) by not mentioning the name of the movie...but I guess it would be out eventually. I was clamouring so vehemently to go watch I Hate Luv Storys. Which I really don't. Hate Love stories, I mean. However, I do hate intentionally erred grammar, but that was forgiven when I saw Imran Khan's beatific smile on those huge posters everywhere.

So yes, it began with that let off (my story, not the movie.) One moment we were trying our best to calculate IQs and DQs and SQs and the next moment we were sent off politely to enjoy the rest of the day. After frantic phone-calls to those who live near newspapers, we found one theatre showing the movie within 20 minutes. Without wasting any time, we hopped on to an auto (actually, we did waste time trying to find an A/C bus....but in vain. One day I will personally vandalize 724 and change every damn bus to numbers of MY choice. I only see the A/C versions of that one bus.) and ran to Connaught Place.

Have I mentioned Connaught Place before? The place I used to love to visit, because of the many 'hurring' opportunities, because of the brightly hued clothes, baubles and shoes lining streets, because of the radials that seem to merge into each other, every step being a new one even after you've walked around for hours. So yes, fun experience.....WAS.

Today, it lies choking amidst the dust emanating from the non-existent footpaths. The pillars are on crutches and roads cease to exist between the radials. Which would explain why our seemingly congenial auto-bhaiya stopped in front of Janpath resolutely and refused to budge. We started our mini-trek amidst the debris to reach PVR Plaza. After crossing many radials, and almost getting steamrollered by a bulldozer (no really, because we kept trudging along the muddy-slushy path without bothering to look up and see that 15 foot monster glaring at us.)

We reached the first building that resembled a multiplex and demanded tickets for the 2.50 show. No can do, we were told, since a 2.50 show didn't exist at Plaza. We cursed wrongly printed time-tables in newspapers until it struck us, to um....I don't know, maybe read the name of the multiplex we were standing in. (really, we HAVE to look up once in a while....bulldozers, wrong multiplexes...everything evades us.) It took us about a millisecond to realize that a 2.50 show does exist in the Plaza, except we weren't there. And it was 2.45. So we began another dash through the radials to search for Plaza.

A couple of very frustrating, sweaty, muddy and hunger-filled moments later, we found ourselves in plush seats, surrounded by popcorn and air conditioning. The movie finally began.

So how was it? Well, I *loved* it. The songs, clothes (including a particular shirtless protagonist ;-) ), the acting, the jokes, everything. It makes for good entertainment. And since I'm a sucker for love stories (and my room is pink), this is one movie people have made with credulous pansies like me in mind.

So the best way to watch a movie is on a whim. Plan everything in advance, and you'll end up expecting too much. Just take the next available means of transport to a theatre and watch the first movie playing, and you'll walk back home in the drizzle with a smile. Or at least, I did.

I've Heard That Song Before...

'I've heard that Song before' ..did you know that's the title of a rather creepy Mary Higgins Clark book? But it is also a phrase that's been going over and over my mind lately. (and is in ABSOLUTELY no way related to Higgins Clark...who by the way, is the author of some pretty fantastic psychological thrillers.)

So anyway, like every other post, I digress from the topic, getting carried away by an allegorical title. Hm. So when was the last time you happened to channel surf on the radio and catch an English Song from way long ago?

Today I heard 'November Rain' by Guns N' Roses. Blame it on the weather (it was actually raining today...and I don't mean the paltry tears of pity.....but more like how my house gets flooded when I read books like 'A Walk to Remember'.

Took me back to school memories. (And no, I'm not that old. Just some memories with the song.) And it got me thinking.....how I've loved one genre of music at various stages of my not very old life.

Remember Aqua? Those neon-fuschia haired people who looked like they were perpetually inebriated on psychedelic colours and weird lyrics? They sang that noxious Barbie Girl song. (now I call it noxious...back then I knew the entire song by heart and would go HAW when the undress me everywhere part would come) They were the Coolest! (Back then.)

And then came, of course BoyBands. Yes yes. I've also drooled over Nick Carter at some point in my life. And bought the BackStreet Boys cassette just to have a record of his photograph. Songs like 'I want it that Way' and 'Show me the meaning of being lonely' were, like, soulful. Or whatever. I've never somehow felt that miserable in life to sing Backstreet boys songs to myself. Then and now. Thank god.

I even tried experimenting with Rock and Metal and all those non-breakable types of music. St.Anger, was it? Where prisoners beat food plates and sing in some frenzy? And that Linkin Park song? Where the whole song happens underwater, and you come to know right at the end when a fish goes gurgling by? Very interesting videos. Songs were catchy too. I remember narrating the video of Guns N' Roses 'November Rain' to a friend of mine. She burst out laughing at the whole wedding-funeral lachrymose. But when I told her the name of the song....she had this awed look. So I eventually realized. The more ludicrous the video, the more popular the song. How else can one explain Thriller?

Oh, and then there was that Avril Lavigne stage. Oh Dear. I don't like thinking about it. I'd sing 'Complicated' at the drop of a hat. It was so bad that if I were to assess the Passing through the Avril Stage version of myself, I'd diagnose Cyclothymia. (milder version of Bipolar Disorder). And then came Evanescence with the pseudo-head banging routine (which has nothing to do with the song's video....but more to do with look I can appreciate clanging music and follow its rhythm.)

Who can forget School/College fests with Summer of '69 and Zombie? They've been played at every fest I've attended. Every. Like an anthem of sorts. Even now when I hear those songs, my mind goes into reverse gear and takes me back to then.

So isn't it funny how every song can remind you of something or the other? I've cast my iPod (which I gave my dad actually, who, in a fit of enthusiasm, filled all the memory with songs from Sinatra, Simon and Garfunkle, Beatles, Eagles, Abba etc etc. Ancestral but brilliant music-makers.) away for my dysfunctional Mp3 player just because it plays the radio. So I can listen to English songs that spurt out spontaneously, and not from a rehearsed shuffle pattern. So I can dream on with every song I've heard before.

Snippets of Summer

You know it's Summer, when:

1) You wake up in the morning, look out of the window, shriek loudly when it looks as bright as noon. And then you look at the clock. It says 5 AM. You shrug indifferently at the window, find the darkest blanket and cover your head to go back to sleep...this time, to really wake up at noon.

2) You open the cold water tap. Hot water runs. You open the Hot water tap. Hot water runs. You march up to the fridge, fill up a bowl with ice cubes, and use that to wake your teeth.

3) The fridge has suddenly become your best friend. In winters, it just stored jam and ketchup. Now it stores the essence of your existence. Everything edible. You look up and bless the person who invented it with every chilled sip of water you drink.

4) It is past 7 PM. You're waiting for some respite from the day. The clock ticks at 7.15, it is still day. Tick Tock. 7.30. Still day. You give up, draw all the blinds and watch Discovery Channel to see the stars instead.

5) Everywhere you walk, people smile at you. They give wide grins, but walk past you. Just as that warmth (like we needed any more of that) starts creeping inside your heart, you realize that they're just making that face to escape the sun's glare. Oh well. So much for the weather being 'pleasant'.

6) You step inside your car wearing mitts. The buckle of the seat belt singes your fingers, the steering wheel burns your palms and the pedals down below manage to irritate that part of your foot you didn't know was even capable of sensation (or don't wear flimsy chappals and try to drive like I did. You'll end up driving barefoot and burning them.) You then turn on the AC at full blast, to first get a steam-sauna, and after a couple of heart-rending belches, cool air.

7) Food? What's that? All I need is a coconut grove outside my house, preferably in a freezer. The idea of eating hot, cooked food makes me break into a sweat (pun intended.) Really, can't I just live on water and its by-products? Even Aloo Chat looks unappetizing.

8) The Loo. Ever heard of it? (I don't mean that restroom at the end of the corridor.) Those hot winds that blow and make whistle-y sounds (some even better than flautists in my old school band). Really, if the weather wasn't so balmy, this would've actually scared me. Boo.

9) Air-Conditioners. (Too much time in an air-conditioned environment make my eyes turn red, I start sneezing continuously like a stuck record....of all the things I am allergic to, it had to include this, right?) I like them at a distance, and not glaring on top of me like a big brother as I try and do my work. Some day, I will find the Central Unit of the Air Conditioning and turn the entire building's temperature to a pleasantly bangalored 24 degrees. Someday.

10) At night, when the work is finally done, you step outside for a moment. You see the stars peeping out reluctantly, but finally. The moon shines almost as brightly as the sun, but with that nice cold glow. You see the Mother Dairy shining merrily at a distance (uhm. This is an Ice-cream cart, not a cow.) You buy an ice-cream and slurp it down childishly before the entire thing melts on you. Just as you're done, the loo changes its mind and decides to act cold with you. A gush of breeze sweeps you away from the humidity and you smile.

Summer's here, and it's actually growing on me. :)

A-Glovely-RAmble

Read between the letters, and you'll know what this post is all about. I'm finally back with my usual dose of corny titles, loooooong posts and technicolour descriptions of my oh-so-enchanting life. This time, it's about a trip to Agra with my Glovelies.

So who are the Glovelies, you ask? Well, they're a not-so-secret gang of girls, that has a motto (yes, the motto rhymes, and no I will not divulge it, or else I might lose my last ditch attempt at being perceived as humanly sane.) They...ahem...we decided that it was finally time to put a memory or two down in our scrapbooks of life, and decided to go on the vacation of the millennium.

Basically, when everything can go wrong, it does. And more. That probably best describes the beginning of our trip. But after everything has gone wrong, it somehow manages to untangle itself and become one huge right. That's what the trip actually became. :-)

So this is the story of eight girls who had been planning on this trip for a long time. I still cannot fathom as to why, after all the weeks of advance planning, we decided to buy tickets a few hours before departure. What touching belief we have in the Indian Railways, really. Considering the fact that it was Valentine's Weekend, and practically everyone with something that resembles a heart wishes to visit the epitome of love (The Taj Mahal), on this day.

I began writing the entire trip in prose, but realized it would take me days to finish....so here are little snippets that conglomerate into one heck of a trip!

Our hair-raising auto-ride (jaldi chalao bhaiya...train choot jayega!), which resulted us in landing up ridiculously early. So we fooled around with those jing-bang-colour-colour weighing machines..(I'm intellectual, romantic and a perfectionist....and also Yukta Mookhey, apparently).

Bribing the TC to convert our unreserved tickets into a sleeper berth by giving him full puppy eyes which read Akeli ladki uss ghor jungle jaisi compartment mein kaise baith sakti hai?

Potate's true Jab We Met fashion of catching the train.....our high pitched squealing at spotting her make her way into our compartment. And then Ash's Jab We Could Not Meet fashion of missing the train.

The weird compartment dude, who was acting all pseudo-politician.....I climbed all the way to the top compartment to give him an * cough* accidental kick on the head with my sneaker.....sigh....I think I missed by a few millimeters.

Agra Cantt station, Farid Chacha's Ambassador that fit all of us in...and the marvelous guest house, thanks to the PsychoMommy! :-D (Although, we were not exactly on our best behaviour...I wonder if they'll welcome us back!)

Our long rambles on Sadar's MG Road...the auto ride to pick up Ash (who finally caught the next train in a not so Jab We Met fashion.). Why a simple auto ride, you ask? Well, one auto, seven girls and the poor hassled driver! :-D And since we had made such a spectacle of ourselves, we decided to spare the other auto drivers and walk back home instead! We did, however, hassle a baraat ka ghoda, some random lost tourists and just the general public. I think there have been cautionary posters put up in Agra now, which forbid us from entering the city, and others from abetting our entrance as well!

Greeting Ash in true Ekta-Kapoor Serial style, re-doing it a couple of times to capture a good video. Retiring to the beautiful rooms, watching that gawd-awful Akshay Kumar movie, even more gawd-awful songs and that funny reality show where everyone cheats on everyone and gets caught on camera.

Dinner time! The Valentine themed decoration in the Mess, and our messing around with them! Ice cream at MG Road late at night....and then gol guppas!

Sameer....sigh.....what a man. It's not very often that you come across a gaudy-flashy-white-car filled with men who increase the tempo of their music just as your gang walks past them, only to throw some confetti at you. (I was actually going to yell at them about littering the beautiful road, only to realize later that what they'd thrown was their number and the name of the brave man Sameer, who decided to represent the fountainhead of fools.) On a particularly spiteful day, we intend making good use of that number! ;-)

The late night banters....ridiculous overdramatizations of everything! And the million pictures that were taken to capture those into memory.

Waking up before the sun, so we could catch the Taj in it's dewy splendor. Reaching the Taj, waiting in the line with all the Oh-my-god-we'll-finally-see-the-Taj foreigners (By the way, did you know they are charged at least 50 times more than us for tickets? Poor things. I'd rather be Indian than ripped off. But oh well. It's all contributing to our economy anyway.)

Potate's Hot Foreign Men. (ok ok. I did ogle at them a little later, and yes, I concede they were quite dishy.)

The TAAAAAAJ MAHAL! (and the seedy background music sonorously provided by the gang from a movie with the same name.) Of course, either the Taj is just very shy, or was really scared of harmless us, because he was cowering behind the thickest blanket of fog. Hmph. So much for wanting to raise hand and pretend to hold the minar pose. We didnt give up though. We did pose at the exact spot. Spotting the Taj, however, is left to the beholder's imagination.

Oooh...the kachoris and that yummy matar ki sabji that came with it outside the Taj Mahal. And those paranthas that never stopped coming from the depths of that little kitchen in one of the small dhabas in the by lanes of Taj.

Agra Fort!! Now, this is one place I could totally live in. Seriously. It's so green, serene and clean. This is Reason #2 why I want to relive Jodha Akbar in reality. (Reason #1 being, obviously, Hritik Roshan as Akbar...duh!) It is the most mesmerizing fort I've ever seen (and believe me, I've seen quite a few.) We just couldn't get ourselves out in time. Even pictures fail to capture the feeling of wonder, although we've tried our hardest.

Honestly dude. I think I'll retire from MA and go find a time machine that will transport me back to the times of Akbar....Shah Jehan even.

Hmm...did we eat lunch? I cant seem to remember......we did eat a lot of chips, some Agra Petha and more chips. And then raced towards Fatehpur Sikri.

Fatehpur Sikri is equally breathtaking (partly also because you have to climb a hefty flight of stairs to reach the top, and partly because the guide was making us hurry...so that we don't miss our train to go back....for which we still didn't have tickets...really, people worry about us too much, I tell you.)

The ride back to the station after having visited everything......the driver seemed to be in a hurry to drop us back too....hmm....I seem to notice a pattern here.....

Finally, the station, where we found tickets, had to use the bribe technique again, found ourselves in a compartment with two cute little brats (aged 3 and 6) who decided we were trampolines, so they would occasionally launch themselves at us without warning and expect us to laugh and clap about it (which we did...the first couple hundred times at least)

Then back to Delhi....sigh...why? :-( As our bus was taking us back home, I wished we could've rewinded and paused on the weekend. It really did deserve to be frozen in time. So the Taj was fogged out, and I was the one who had insisted that we go see the Taj for the longest time. But strangely, I never felt any regret in having missed its view in sunshine. I enjoyed the fogged out Taj way more, thanks to the gloveliest gang of girls I went with! :-)