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!

Floods of Fools

Pick up the remote and watch any hindi news channel PRONTO! If you happen to read this within 2 weeks of my having written it, then you may be one of the lucky viewers to get a glimpse of sensational journalism at its extreme sense!! (I'm guessing 2 weeks is as fas as they'll take the news...but it may take longer, you never know)

The Yamuna is flooding Delhi, and all low lying areas are being evacuated. While this is grim news for the villages and the little shanky-towns lying by the underbelly of Delhi, the rest of the city is being shown this piece of news as a farce. How? Well, a Hindi news channel showed a reporter (IN THE STUDIO) drowning in 3 feet deep water (IN THE STUDIO) as she was broadcasting the news (IN THE STUDIO).

Why do I keep emphasizing IN THE STUDIO? Because this entire Cartoon Network meets Titanic coverage of the floods was done with special effects as bright blue water kept flowing over the reporter who seemed high and dry. I cannot even begin to think about the IQ of people who concocted this evil plan to thwart decent and dignified reporting. James Cameron did a better job with the water and a ship, if you ask me. At least they could've got the colour of the Yamuna right (and this isn't a slur against its dirt...which it ought to be sometime...but all rivers are murky brown). Bright blue Yamuna? Is it just one big mirror reflecting the sky's colour? (Not that the sky is blue these days, either)

So catch it if you can, and you will be, like me, one of the many millions who fell for the gimmick and increased their TRPs. Increased TRPs would mean more ludicrous productions of news. To quote two very wise radio jockeys (who are my companions on my morning drives) "If the News people would like to see the floods recede and the traffic subside, then they would do well to uhm... remove their gigantic vans and equipment from the bridge they stand on. They end up blocking effective movement of daily life and hoping against hope that the water rises by 0.01 mts so they can IMMEDIATELY BROADCAST IT LIVE FROM THE FLOODING VENUE."

Think about the people who once lived there. Of the houses that now need to be re-built because of the floods, of the Marks cards that have been washed away, the clothes that have begun to decay and the food that can now never be eaten. The homes that will now bear a coat of the Yamuna, once she resides. Think about them now, before you switch on that news channel. Chances are that once you switch the channel on, you'll lose the capacity to think.

The First Step..

Picture this. A small, chubby eleven year old girl in a mismatched uniform in the office of a gigantic school. Children walk past her, chattering away happily, as she sits awkwardly on a chair, fiddling with her new school bag and feeling more lost than someone with Dissociative Amnesia. She waits for someone, anyone to tell her where she's supposed to belong in this sea of students in a completely unfamiliar city in the middle of a school term. A group of teachers walk past her, assuming her to be a wallflower. But one lady notices her. The girl feels a tap on her shoulder and turns around, the kind lady smiles at her. The lady asks the girl her name and age. She then asks the girl to follow her and enter 6-B, the class she teaches. She introduces the girl to the class, gives her a smile and begins work for the day. For the teacher, it is a small gesture of attention. For the girl, it is the first step.

Thank you, Revati ma'am. For giving me the confidence to enter my first step into a new city, a new life. I may not remember much about the continents of Africa and the Americas, but I will never forget my first day in Bangalore, and how easy you made it for me. (You'll probably not be reading this, but I had given myself 10 minutes more that day. If no one had realized that I was a new student and was waiting for any teacher to acknowledge me, I would have run away from school and somehow found a way to go back to Delhi and continue with my old life there.)

Teachers are the first handrail one grabs before climbing the stairs. They stay with you till the end of the stairs, and expect you to make the journey on the next floor by yourself. Until you reach the next flight of stairs. I have probably not considered all my teachers 'special', but the person I am is largely due to the teachers I had. So today, this is a humble thank you, to all the unspoken heroines (mostly) of my life.

Thank you, Mrs.Jain, Mrs. Bannerjee, Mrs. Roy and Mrs. Anand for making my first years in Delhi so special. And instilling the ability to lead (haha, I was the Head Girl of the junior school - a post I exploited quite well, thanks.), the ability to express myself and to question anything that doesn't feel right.

Thank you, all my teachers at Kumarans. If I were to start writing all your names here, I'd probably need the school magazine and a couple of spare hours! Thank you English teachers, for critiquing and moulding my writing, thank you Maths teachers (I love the subject, and I'm sure a large part of the credit goes to you guys), thank you Science teachers (for actually making sure I understood 'application based problems'....sigh) , thank you Social Studies teachers (I DID love the subject. Honest. But mostly after I had finished my 10th bored exams!) and a special thank you to Sanskrit Sir - your classes were the *best* (and I learnt a fair amount of Sanskrit in the process as well!)

As a child, I always secretly wanted to be a teacher. More precisely, a librarian. Not the mean sort, who give you pincer stares and grab the book you're holding, enter the code and shove it back into your hands....but more the sort who would read out stories, encourage children to pick interesting books and spend all her free time re-reading Blyton, Dahl and Montgomery books. (of course, this ambition of mine was always hidden beneath the cloak of 'I want to be a neurosurgeon-forensic psychologist-mystery writer-television journalist-radio jockey-hostess of a travel/cookery show'.

And if school planted the seed of wanting to teach, then college just nurtured it further. MCC exposed me to a spectrum of teachers who have the scary and forbearing task of shaping the future of girls. And some who played a special part in shaping my future need to be thanked. So thank you Mrs.V (you were Miss.V when you started teaching us!), Mrs. P and Mr.R - for being the coolest Journalism teachers and showing us the gloss and grime of media. A HUGE thank you to all the psychology teachers - simply because I'm pursuing the same subject, and I wouldn't have had the confidence to do so, had I not been taught well enough to pique my interest in it. Thanks, Mrs.Matthew, for incorporating Greek Mythology so flawlessly into otherwise mundane Literature classes.

Someday, I'll make my ambition of being a teacher come true. While there's a part of me that believes that almost everyone is a teacher in some way or the other, the aura that the lady with an attendance register, a couple of haphazard notes and a firm glare that can instantly melt into a smile exudes is a class apart (pun intended). The first step determines a new journey and unknown adventures. And what better profession than to be a mentor for taking that step?

Thank you. :-)

A Platinum Post

So my blog has reached 75 posts! No ordinary feat, I tell you. Since it takes me immense will power to get out of a book/TV and log into this thing. Odd, as I generally jump at the opportunity of talking about myself.

And what does one write in their 75th post? Well, I can think of many many topics.....and of course all pertaining to me.....but I figured I should try and think about others for a change. A healthy break from narcissism is essential, don't you think? So with this 75th post, let me try and figure out other things....which probably will all come back in a murukku (a twisty turny south indian snack. Go see the Haldiram version, if you're still confused) fashion to my life somehow. But oh well, the word narcissism can take a break, I won't.

When Facebook asks you 'What's on your mind?' everytime you log in, do you ever stop to think about it? I suddenly have. I obviously don't update every single 'What's on your mind?' as a status message, but it makes me wonder nonetheless. And off late, a LOT has been on my mind. Here are just a few:

Our friend, Aedes has decided to settle down in the dark and dingy corners of the city and meet and greet us every morning. But stop blaming the MCD and clear out that water residing in your old tyre in the balcony. The mosquitoes at the CWG sites will not travel miles to come bite you at your residence. But new ones will certainly thrive in the water park you have created for them at your house. So clean out your neighbourhood first, and then protect yourself while venturing out.

Another person earning almost as much ridicule as Aedes is A R Rahman. For the CWG anthem. It is nice, ok? So it needs a patient listening, maybe a couple of times to let the song grow on you. But the claims about it being the most uncreative song and uninspired with lousy lyrics is rather uncalled for. Take one glance at the mess created in Delhi, and then please tell me WHO can get inspired to produce a grammy-winning song? But that said, the stadiums do look pretty fabulous and people like the construction workers and traffic policemen are really working hard to try and salvage the games. I tip my waterproof, mosquito repelling hat to them and hope with a jingoistic fervor that the games become a success....they deserve it.

The Metro connects us to Gurgaon!! Is it weird that I was as excited as a three year old on a Cotton Candy eating spree when I saw the Metro rolling into a swanky new station? One of the many things about Delhi that gives me goosebumps..... (Chandni Chowk, Old monuments and endless tree lined walkways are some other)

I miss Bangalore. Does that make any sense after having talked so much about Delhi? Well, it does to me. Last night, I had a dream about eating cake fudge in Corner House Basavangudi. Odd, since I've never been to that Corner House before. Cake Fudge, Benne Masala Dosas, Lalbagh walks, Sugarcane Juice, My trusty old 27D, lots of elneerus and just great times. I sometimes feel like rewinding these two years and going back to my college days, just to re-do everything and then come back to the present. Oh well, maybe I'll fall in love with a new city this time next year.

Harry Potter. I've rediscovered Harry Potter. And fallen back in love with him. I just completed the seventh book all over again and found another new piece of information that solves the already solved mystery. Harry Potter is best read the fiftieth time. I have always read the books the first time with such a childish curiosity to know the end that I've missed the vital parts altogether. Re-reading it ages later brings back everything and ties it up like a neatly wrapped birthday present. If you're feeling low or bored, picking up the nearest Harry Potter can absorb you and keep you in a parallel world for at least a couple of days. Perfect escapist route, if you ask me.

School. I realized that I've almost never mentioned my school on this blog before. It's always been a never ending commentary on everything but school. I met up with an old friend online and as we reminisced about things long gone, it made me realize how much I liked school. Running to catch the last seat in the school bus....entering late to assembly (because our L van lived up to its alphabet - being Late and Lazy).... checking shoes and nails of poor unsuspecting little kids..... trying (and failing miserably) to play volleyball in Games Period...eating hot plates of BisiBeleBath from the beautiful canteen....the fervor that Nestle Chocostick created when it was introduced...sitting on the grand steps and chatting away nineteen to a dozen...bunking class to go do SEEK work...waiting eagerly for events like Teacher's Day and then realizing that you have no ethnic wear in your jeans-infested wardrobe so rushing out on 4th evening to buy one....and finally, the friends I made. Almost everyone is now out of the city, if not the country....but I think my school deserves some posterity on this page...and hence it figures in my platinum post.

Oh well...there are so many other things I want to write about. How bad parenting is ruining the lives of the children I meet everyday, How the media is sensationalizing something as trivial as Tharoor's pilgrimage, How Gmail's new priority inbox has grouped random people under my priority list for no apparent reason and How I have a stack of British Council books waiting to be read but I've chosen to blog instead. Since the last option is the only one I can work on, I'll get right to it.

75 posts to mark my *dhai* years of journey on the cyberspace. I've blogged from four cities, and here's hoping that by the next 75 posts, I can go a little more global about my outlook on bizarre things in life or is that bizarre outlook about things in life?

A Relationship with Rain

We now resemble the Leaky Cauldron. More like standing beneath a Leaky Cauldron. The skies are suffering from a spell of Major Depressive Disorder. They have been crying for over 2 weeks with no respite....and I have a weird feeling I'm turning into an amphibian.

But I've recently discovered that I'm in a relationship with the rain. And it's complicated. (and I swear I am not repeating Himesh Reshammiya's dialogue from some movie. But it does sound eerily familiar.) So this Rain dude and I, we got along brilliantly the first couple of days. Eating spicy chaats, cold ice-cream, drives in the drizzle, staring at him through the window et al. But now he's getting to my nerves. Like quite literally, since I've been getting soaked everyday. So after tolerating him for over a fortnight, I've decided not to care anymore. And have fun DESPITE the endless tears he pours forth from the skies.

By doing what, you may ask?

Well, the first thing one ought to do in Delhi Rains is to get into a Bus. Not the bluelines, but one of those swanky low floored green buses. Not A/C either (because that's like sitting in an ice box). Just a fun looking empty green bus. Get into any one. And then solemnly ask the conductor where the bus goes to. If you're lucky (like I was), your bus will go all the way to Noida.

So find yourself a nice seat and begin the Dilli Darshan in the Drizzle. It's perfect, since the rain doesn't really enter but you still get a spray every now and then. And then you begin the most important activity. Observation.

Observe the young man sitting across the aisle. He is wearing earphones and listening to a song. He starts singing. Loudly and out of tune, but very gustily, I must add. He's closed his eyes and his giving his Emmy-worthy performance for an otherwise dull and gloomy crowd. A smile creeps up on one face at one corner and starts spreading soon like an infectious disease. Soon, the full bus is smiling. Reason? He's belting out 'Bheegi see...Bhaagi see...mere tuuunaaaoon mein samaye' (if you've heard the original song, you'll know that the tuuunaaaoon doesn't exist. This is what our Budding Burman makes up because he couldn't catch the actual word.)

Look out of the window now. You're at a higher altitude, and this doubles the powers of observation. Look at the cars slushing by you and trying to avoid the slush created by the adjacent car. (A warning: Don't look TOO inquisitively. The driver often gets mistakes your completely harmless interest for a potentially lethal one.) You may see the happy family riding in the happy car. The husband is looking at the graffiti on the flyover (Jaaaniya I love you....plzzz forgive me) as if it is the latest iPhone. The wife is looking at the wife of the next car and wondering why she's wearing a circus tent. The child is sleeping with a Pooh bear pillow. The mother-in-law is grimacing about the Delhi of today and trying very hard to enter a subconscious world of Delhi in the yesteryears. These expressions don't change for the next 7 kms.

You (or rather the bus) moves on. Finally, it begins the dream ride on the DND flyway. (for non Delhi-ites, this road connects Delhi to Noida and is beautiful...since it's across fields and the Yamuna bank with the river flowing somewhere inconspicuously.) You look at a large water body and realize that it's the Yamuna. She's fattened up and how! You wonder if people would mind if you stick your head out and soak in the rivery smell. You then see the window bars and realize that your bighead might not make it back inside. So you settle for a delicate whiff.

Finally, you reach Noida. You randomly get off on some stop because you can see a mall. With brilliant culinary opportunities. You rush to the place after crossing two main roads, and enter air-conditioned retail heaven. You eat your fill and then some. You then get out and try to find a way back home. You're told to ask bus drivers if the bus goes to Delhi. Suddenly, you feel like a foreigner. You nevertheless find yourself on a nice bus and zoom back home in twenty minutes. As you walk back from the stop, you feel yourself grinning from ear to ear.

Maybe being in a relationship with rain isn't so bad after all!

(And I PROMISE this will be the last of my weather related posts. I mean, I've written so many about the Summer/Winter already, that this is now resembling a weather forecast, rather than literary catharsis. No more, I swear.)

The Alphabet Avalanche

Have you read the story of the Alphabet Soup? It is about a little boy who loved food more than study (hm..I wonder why). So his mother cooked up (pun intended) this brilliant idea of serving him alphabet soup, that could help him learn while eating.

I want Alphabet Soup. Something that would help me learn while eating (since Eating is a rather over-regular habit of mine) But more than that, my brain currently feels like an Alphabet Soup - overloaded with letters, words, phrases, sentences, whole paragraphs and texts. I suppose it's what happens if you get branded as a geek (Hey, I'm happy to be one ok?) But it is finally turning against me.

Too many alphabets in the mind, and too little time to sort it all out. Each alphabet has become an abbreviation for a much larger topic and they're all swirling and tumbling out like an avalanche. The best way to get it all out is to write it somewhere. And since I have finally reached a stage where I type almost ten times faster than I write, I figured this place would be the best to let the dam burst and bring forth all the alphabets.

So, just for my own purely narcissistic incomprehensible catharsis, here goes:

JHEDKGHFJIRUTHYOPINLGKFHDJSNIWHGYTEIFHSLSKAHFEFNVMCNXZASKWOQPEORUFHGNDMSLAPWRIDN.

It isn't a code. It isn't cryptic in any way. It's just a way of getting my frustration out on my keyboard and onto the screen. Suddenly, my mind feels less jumbled, less complicated. Try it, it may not make your hair shinier or skin fairer, but it will definitely make you feel lighter.

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. :-)