Coffee flavoured yogurt. More gelato shops per capita than St Andrews’ per capita pubs (assumption based solely on the visual assessment of yours truly!). Blistered, swollen feet. A new pair of Birkenstocks adding to the woes (who would think! But I honestly think it’s all the walking and not the poor slippers…). Dry skin when it is very very warm. No Body Shop. A missing English-to-Italian dictionary. A missing pair of scissors. A Saturday morning spent sweeping, washing, mopping, more washing and watering a garden with more weeds than plants. Damn! A chipped toenail! An afternoon spent lugging four heavy grocery bags. Blasted aching arms and palms! And then a grand weekend shower later bread with salt and olive oil and some iced wine. Ok! Stop wrinkling your nose. It’s quite like chips with salt and vinegar. You have no idea how good it can be till you actually try some. The iced wine is entirely the brilliant touch of yours truly. Ok! You can make a face for this one.
As I write this and finish the last of my wine I am preparing myself to go and have a go at the Vodafone people. I finally get bbm and internet activated on my phone and now the entire instrument is freaking locked! So I cannot even look up a number on my phone and neither can I receive a text or call because there is no network. So much for technology.
I had my day planned and now I am just half done and it is already past 4 pm! Hummm…. I think I will continue this later. After all the girl needs to step out and get her phone sorted, buy a pair of shoes for the Capoeira classes that will start next week and also meet up with the ladies from work. And in between all this I do want to get some reading (And this time it is work related!) done too. Phew! Since when did Saturdays get this busy? Oh well! When were they ever free in the first place. But with me the chances are that I will never be able to get through my weekend personal to-do lists completely. I love those of you who think I put too much into those. But I always think I did not include enough. But then, as I say this, I am staring at the pile of clothes that need ironing and the back of my mind is already made up that those cotton things will have to wait till tomorrow. I think I should make up my entire mind to make those wait till tormorrow. Right? Right. Done. They will wait till tomorrow. I am off and I will be back soon ciao…
PS – imagine the most weirdly funny sight you have ever seen and then tell me if what I have to tell you now, tops that or not.
Now imagine an old man skinny legs standing near the open boot of a car, fiddling with some boxes piled as high as the car’s roof, middle of the night, on an empty street that you happen to be crossing, in a long orange vest. Yeah! Just that. And then try picturing him bend over only to discover that thankfully he is wearing something that can pass off as underwear. Oh dear lord! Why do men think they have the licence to wear just about anything and venture out, no matter how old or young they might be! One of the funniest split seconds of my life!
11.7.11
3.7.11
And it begins....
How hard can taking a shower be! Seriously! Just how hard can it be! In Florence, trust me, if you are not among the lucky few, its an exercise in deftness and managing soaping, shampooing, conditioning, scrubbing etc with your elbows almost stuck to your sides. Bending down to reach your toes (yes! It is humanly possibly to do an almost 180 degree bend for some people, including yours truly) means a definitive bump against one of the walls or the shower door or curtain, depending which side you are facing. Picking up a shampoo / conditioner / body wash bottle off the floor is quite the same thing. If you decide to leave them outside and keep grabbing them as and when needed simply means wet splashes that then need to be mopped once you are done showering. But then, what is the point of showering if right after you end up cleaning and then have to wash your hands all over again! Damn! Am I spoilt? I think not. I think I am used to living ‘properly’ with space for things where it should be.
Well well! I know that the use of the word ‘proper’ is open to debate and many might argue that this is just my view of what proper should be. But then I am not contesting that this IS MY view of what I think should be proper. Also I simply don’t understand how people manage to stay clean, fuzz free and scrubbed head to toe in such small places. Last I checked the average size of human beings here is bigger than the average size of human being back home. Anyway! I am sure I will figure a way to manage this space.
What I am having a wee bit more of an issue with is the fact that drinking a cappuccino or café latte post 10 am (i.e. breakfast time) is a strictly ‘not done’ thing here. Wow! At first that’s what I thought. Followed immediately by ‘shit! You’ve got to be kidding me?’ My sweet colleagues and now friends Maria and Sussana shook their heads with that look on their faces that said “I’m afraid that’s what it is.’ They then went on to narrate a long list of other food “no-no’s” and “must not do’s” and at the end of it I was rather bewildered. But before I could question them any further I was even more bewildered by what the lady at the restaurant we were having lunch at had served me.
THERE WAS FRESH RAW TUNA ON MY PLATE!!!
Yes! Fresh raw tuna. I told my self not to react. Not to make a face. And not to call that lady who refused to speak to me in English (chances are she probably only knew a few sentences of it anyway!) I took a deep breath and bravely rolled a piece of that offensive looking food along with the spaghetti on my plate and shoveled it into my mouth. I DID NOT LIKE THAT RAW TUNA!!! I bravely tried it again. Still my taste buds yelled right back at me saying “NO!!!”
Not wanting to make a scene and in the interest of time, given we were out for lunch during the official lunch break, and unlike what most people think people at the UN do have work and they do not take endlessly long lunch breaks, even on Fridays, I decided to do the next best thing. I pushed all that raw meat aside and just ate the spaghetti telling my self over and over again to never say “Si! Fresco” if anyone ever asked me again if I’d like the tuna fresh. I mean, who on earth would have said no to the word ‘fresh’. I wanted to tell the lady to say “raw’ the next time she asked any customer that. Anyway, I then did what I thought would adequately cheese her off. I asked for a latte at the end of my lunch. So there! I still paid 11 euros for a lunch I hated but what the hell. Now I know what words to watch out for. God forbid if I had ended up saying “Si! Fresco” after having ordered pasta with sun dried tomatoes and ham or chicken in it! Yuck!
I am still very upset about the no can do rules on coffee though. I know I have to live in the country for a long time and I must try and adapt but I am now wonder to what all must I adapt to. Tiny showers. Check. Only Italian displaying ATM machines that don’t make any sense to you. Check. Phone services that don’t have a word of English in their dictionary. Check. All food at the supermarkets labeled in Italian. Check. Not knowing which bottle of milk is full cream and which one is skim. Check. Not knowing what exactly are you picking up from the wine shelf (apart from the colour) till you taste it. Check. Picking up frizzed wine and sparkling water by mistake. Check. Trial by error for everything. Check. At least let me have my coffee in peace.
But then, when its me, it has to be a wee bit awry right. What are the chances that a coffee lover like me, who spent more money every month on coffee than on drinks or eating out every month in Bombay, will end up in the land of coffee and end up being daunted by rules about drinking coffee. Wow! That’s when you say wow! And sometimes say “fuck!” out loud and sometimes just laugh out loud and most other times just shrug your shoulders and smile and ask for a freaking café latte anyway. I think I can get used to the raised eyebrows. Getting used to raised eyebrows when asking for a café latte in the afternoon starting now… Check!
Ciao my lovelies…
More updates from these coordinates of the globe soon.
Well well! I know that the use of the word ‘proper’ is open to debate and many might argue that this is just my view of what proper should be. But then I am not contesting that this IS MY view of what I think should be proper. Also I simply don’t understand how people manage to stay clean, fuzz free and scrubbed head to toe in such small places. Last I checked the average size of human beings here is bigger than the average size of human being back home. Anyway! I am sure I will figure a way to manage this space.
What I am having a wee bit more of an issue with is the fact that drinking a cappuccino or café latte post 10 am (i.e. breakfast time) is a strictly ‘not done’ thing here. Wow! At first that’s what I thought. Followed immediately by ‘shit! You’ve got to be kidding me?’ My sweet colleagues and now friends Maria and Sussana shook their heads with that look on their faces that said “I’m afraid that’s what it is.’ They then went on to narrate a long list of other food “no-no’s” and “must not do’s” and at the end of it I was rather bewildered. But before I could question them any further I was even more bewildered by what the lady at the restaurant we were having lunch at had served me.
THERE WAS FRESH RAW TUNA ON MY PLATE!!!
Yes! Fresh raw tuna. I told my self not to react. Not to make a face. And not to call that lady who refused to speak to me in English (chances are she probably only knew a few sentences of it anyway!) I took a deep breath and bravely rolled a piece of that offensive looking food along with the spaghetti on my plate and shoveled it into my mouth. I DID NOT LIKE THAT RAW TUNA!!! I bravely tried it again. Still my taste buds yelled right back at me saying “NO!!!”
Not wanting to make a scene and in the interest of time, given we were out for lunch during the official lunch break, and unlike what most people think people at the UN do have work and they do not take endlessly long lunch breaks, even on Fridays, I decided to do the next best thing. I pushed all that raw meat aside and just ate the spaghetti telling my self over and over again to never say “Si! Fresco” if anyone ever asked me again if I’d like the tuna fresh. I mean, who on earth would have said no to the word ‘fresh’. I wanted to tell the lady to say “raw’ the next time she asked any customer that. Anyway, I then did what I thought would adequately cheese her off. I asked for a latte at the end of my lunch. So there! I still paid 11 euros for a lunch I hated but what the hell. Now I know what words to watch out for. God forbid if I had ended up saying “Si! Fresco” after having ordered pasta with sun dried tomatoes and ham or chicken in it! Yuck!
I am still very upset about the no can do rules on coffee though. I know I have to live in the country for a long time and I must try and adapt but I am now wonder to what all must I adapt to. Tiny showers. Check. Only Italian displaying ATM machines that don’t make any sense to you. Check. Phone services that don’t have a word of English in their dictionary. Check. All food at the supermarkets labeled in Italian. Check. Not knowing which bottle of milk is full cream and which one is skim. Check. Not knowing what exactly are you picking up from the wine shelf (apart from the colour) till you taste it. Check. Picking up frizzed wine and sparkling water by mistake. Check. Trial by error for everything. Check. At least let me have my coffee in peace.
But then, when its me, it has to be a wee bit awry right. What are the chances that a coffee lover like me, who spent more money every month on coffee than on drinks or eating out every month in Bombay, will end up in the land of coffee and end up being daunted by rules about drinking coffee. Wow! That’s when you say wow! And sometimes say “fuck!” out loud and sometimes just laugh out loud and most other times just shrug your shoulders and smile and ask for a freaking café latte anyway. I think I can get used to the raised eyebrows. Getting used to raised eyebrows when asking for a café latte in the afternoon starting now… Check!
Ciao my lovelies…
More updates from these coordinates of the globe soon.
29.6.11
And I am constantly amused :)
You simply have to love the Italians!
So! What really are the chances that you write to a language school asking them details about their classes so you may learn the language and the response you get is in the very language you need to learn. Not in English. Not even in half English. But in Italian! Seriously! I could not stop laughing when I read the email. I simply couldn’t till my hurting tummy made me stop. Post the laugh my first reaction was “am I over reacting because I am feeling that lost and displaced?” but then my own head told me “No! this really is that funny…”
But like I always say, when it’s me and things around me, the most improbable will most likely happen. Like in this case getting a response in Italian about a query that said, “Hi! I am new to Florence and to Italy and I am very keen on learning Italian. I saw your advertisement in The Florentine and I am now writing to find out when and where are the classes? How many times a week? And when should I come to register? Cheers, Urvashi.” Lost in translation I guess.
And well that brings me to the next thing I noticed today. Now I know a lot of you will say “you dirty mind” when I tell you this but a sign fixed near one of the smaller printers in office made me snort with amusement too. I did not laugh out loud. I swear. And there is a very good reason for that. And I will come around to that and another very amusing this that happened in just a little bit. So I am walking past the printer and suddenly I see something that doesn’t seem to fit. So I read the sign again. It reads in effect like the “small printer” is requesting people not to overuse it and for bigger jobs they should use the bigger printers where they have the “front and back facility available”. Funny! No?
Anyway! So the reason I held myself back is because most likely I would have been lost in translation if I had tried to explain what was so funny for me. To give you an example: the guy I have spoken to twice about the air conditioning in my room not being cool enough. The first time he came to check he simply said, “You door. Its open. No cooling if door open.” Well agreed. But all attempts to tell him that the door is open because the room was oppressively hot failed. So I sat at work, sweating on my second day wondering how to approach the problem. Today, unable to take it any more, I spoke to him again and this time he came and said “lower temperature” and pushed the knob to 15 degrees! Wow! When I tired telling him optimum cooling is between 20-23 degree and I had pushed the knob from 17 to 20 to see if that would make a difference given that his last setting (17 degrees) had had no effect, I got lost in translation again. He simply told me, “more cool then push this down. Up is no cool”, shrugged his shoulders and left. He must think I am very very stupid. I am sure he does. I’ll figure it out. I will just go shrug my shoulders tomorrow and say, “still no cool.” I think that will work.
Its amazing how hot Florence can be. I am still amazed and I have been told that July and August are worse and also humid! Yikes!! And most home don’t have air conditioning. Oh! Or even fans! I still have not seen a single ceiling fan here. Only table fans or those taller ones on wheels. Thank god they are the silent ones. We should have some of those back home too. I have never seen such silent table / mobile fans. But guess what a mini cooler is called? Penguini! So cute! I found this out when I asked the agent showing me apartments if the flat she was hard selling to me had air conditioning, given it was on the top floor and it is only getting hotter, and she said “no no, but I can get you a penguini. You know penguini? That little thing with cool air.”
I love this place. Constantly amusing. And by the way, so is Italian tv. The adverts are so bad! If I though the British ad industry could learn from their Indian counterpart, the Italian ad industry definitely should. Jeez! At least the visuals should have been a saviour even if I do not understand a word (barring some very generic ones!). But so far I am still waiting to be surprised on that front. What has been more predictable but awesome regardless has been the food. This by no means is to say that you cannot get bad food here. You can. But more on that later. Chances are by then I will discover a few more food related facts and it will simply be more fun to write about then. And frankly now its time to get to bed. Yes! The Urvster is going to bed early these days. Lets see how long this lasts…
Ciao my lovelies…
So! What really are the chances that you write to a language school asking them details about their classes so you may learn the language and the response you get is in the very language you need to learn. Not in English. Not even in half English. But in Italian! Seriously! I could not stop laughing when I read the email. I simply couldn’t till my hurting tummy made me stop. Post the laugh my first reaction was “am I over reacting because I am feeling that lost and displaced?” but then my own head told me “No! this really is that funny…”
But like I always say, when it’s me and things around me, the most improbable will most likely happen. Like in this case getting a response in Italian about a query that said, “Hi! I am new to Florence and to Italy and I am very keen on learning Italian. I saw your advertisement in The Florentine and I am now writing to find out when and where are the classes? How many times a week? And when should I come to register? Cheers, Urvashi.” Lost in translation I guess.
And well that brings me to the next thing I noticed today. Now I know a lot of you will say “you dirty mind” when I tell you this but a sign fixed near one of the smaller printers in office made me snort with amusement too. I did not laugh out loud. I swear. And there is a very good reason for that. And I will come around to that and another very amusing this that happened in just a little bit. So I am walking past the printer and suddenly I see something that doesn’t seem to fit. So I read the sign again. It reads in effect like the “small printer” is requesting people not to overuse it and for bigger jobs they should use the bigger printers where they have the “front and back facility available”. Funny! No?
Anyway! So the reason I held myself back is because most likely I would have been lost in translation if I had tried to explain what was so funny for me. To give you an example: the guy I have spoken to twice about the air conditioning in my room not being cool enough. The first time he came to check he simply said, “You door. Its open. No cooling if door open.” Well agreed. But all attempts to tell him that the door is open because the room was oppressively hot failed. So I sat at work, sweating on my second day wondering how to approach the problem. Today, unable to take it any more, I spoke to him again and this time he came and said “lower temperature” and pushed the knob to 15 degrees! Wow! When I tired telling him optimum cooling is between 20-23 degree and I had pushed the knob from 17 to 20 to see if that would make a difference given that his last setting (17 degrees) had had no effect, I got lost in translation again. He simply told me, “more cool then push this down. Up is no cool”, shrugged his shoulders and left. He must think I am very very stupid. I am sure he does. I’ll figure it out. I will just go shrug my shoulders tomorrow and say, “still no cool.” I think that will work.
Its amazing how hot Florence can be. I am still amazed and I have been told that July and August are worse and also humid! Yikes!! And most home don’t have air conditioning. Oh! Or even fans! I still have not seen a single ceiling fan here. Only table fans or those taller ones on wheels. Thank god they are the silent ones. We should have some of those back home too. I have never seen such silent table / mobile fans. But guess what a mini cooler is called? Penguini! So cute! I found this out when I asked the agent showing me apartments if the flat she was hard selling to me had air conditioning, given it was on the top floor and it is only getting hotter, and she said “no no, but I can get you a penguini. You know penguini? That little thing with cool air.”
I love this place. Constantly amusing. And by the way, so is Italian tv. The adverts are so bad! If I though the British ad industry could learn from their Indian counterpart, the Italian ad industry definitely should. Jeez! At least the visuals should have been a saviour even if I do not understand a word (barring some very generic ones!). But so far I am still waiting to be surprised on that front. What has been more predictable but awesome regardless has been the food. This by no means is to say that you cannot get bad food here. You can. But more on that later. Chances are by then I will discover a few more food related facts and it will simply be more fun to write about then. And frankly now its time to get to bed. Yes! The Urvster is going to bed early these days. Lets see how long this lasts…
Ciao my lovelies…
26.6.11
The difficulty of keeping up with my own virtual life... Toscana should change that, hopefully :)
So much for all my well meaning intentions. This blog has been inactive for far too long and I have to admit that I have contemplated the possibility of erasing it off the virtual world forever more than just a few times. I salute those who manage to consistently stay consistent online and run blogs that not only are engaging but updated. Saying that I have been caught up will be an understatement and also an affront to those who always make time for a life online; so at the risk of both I now would like to say that I have been caught up. I really have. What are the chances that I would get this busy in a city where I arrived thinking that it was just a stop gap for a few months. Six months tops! Wow! I lived in Mumbai for over 18 months. Moved houses. Made friends I miss terribly and crave the walk to Coffee Bean every afternoon to get a gigantic portion of Americanised, very very sweet, flavoured coffee… If I say out loud that I love that version of coffee I might just give the coffee snobs that surround me now a chance to band against me!
Yes! I did leave the Mumbai chapter behind. It’s been five days and frankly Florence feels like home. Almost! I don’t feel like an alien despite the language and I don’t feel like I am lost. I know I will figure it out and I know I will manage.
So now you know. I relocated to Florence. Maybe the months of intense work was a buildup to this. Maybe the months of “no time to die” were a sign that I need to finish up projects and do things that I will not be doing for a long long time. I am here now and I have promised myself I will write every weekend. Like clockwork. I have to. Not for anything else but for myself. My sanity. My stretched connections with what I have left over 7000 kilometers behind and also for sharing. Sharing everything. Good. Bad. Nothing much. Simply sharing.
I am living a dream. And I want to share.
I know living a dream is not a dream. Its not easy and its not going to be without moments and hours where all I want to do is punch a wall or scream out loud. But I wanted this and I am willing to embrace it all. It is like starting all over again, yet again. But isn’t that what life is? Experiencing all you can. When you can. And in the best possible manner you can.
I have been surprising myself these past few days. I am proud of myself. Sometimes I wonder if I would reach that moment like I did three years ago when I simply called dad and cried on the phone for over half and hour. No reason. I just needed a good cry. I was overwhelmed. Rootless. Tired. Stretched. And, hug deprived. I needed to cry and I did. And it was a very expensive cry! Ask me! GBP before the recession was a nightmare. Quite like the Euro is now. I’m amazed at my capacity of finding myself in the most expensive corners of already expensive countries. First St Andrews in Scotland. And now Florence in Italy. Trust me I am laughing out loud as I write this, with Italian TV (which I clearly don’t understand!) playing in the background. Noisy Americans exchange students and tourists being noisy on the street below (just one of the pleasures of living in the historical centre of Florence! At least for now! I now do not intend to find a ‘charming little studio’ in the ‘Florentine heart’ anymore. I am thinking like a local and I don’t want to be surrounded by tourist all the time.) and wondering why the hell is it not getting dark. It is past 8:30 pm already afterall. I can’t wait to shower and dress up to hit the streets for the Nottarno. That time when the entire city is out on the streets celebrating. Live music in every piazza and everything open. Shops. Restaurants. Everything. Till the wee hours of the morning. This follows the day where the city steps out after 9 pm to gather around the river and other vantage points close by to see the fireworks to commemorate the day of the patron saint of the city.
Needless to say my first four days here have not been boring. I don’t even know if I am jet lagged. I think I might be slightly given I have consistently been waking up by 6 am or 6:30 am which is my IST wake up time if I didn’t have drag myself out of bed for work. And I know Vik always said I was always late but I tired. 5 minutes here or there is acceptable right?! No? Yes? Well, in Italy it seems it is ok. Or so it seemed on my second day here. But then it was also a holiday for the whole city and ours was one of the few offices that were open. So I shall reserve judgment till Monday. Thank god the corporate jackets and ties and heels are out of the picture here. I was crap at maintaining that exterior in Bombay (anyone who has seen me at a conference will tell you about the state of my hair and the fact that I would invariably change from hot heels to basic black flats within 4 hours. Façade over. Reality of achey feet kicks in!)
I am wondering what eat tonight. Everything is so good and so so so yummy. I am wondering if I should even bother with getting blackberry services activated on my phone. They aren’t cheap. I am wondering when will that damn language school respond to my email about learning Italian. I am wondering when will I find a house. I am wondering what to wear tonight. I am wondering when to hop across and check out the Capoeira school here. I am wondering if eating cheese the way the locals do will take me back to my super plump Scottish days. I am wondering if it is ok to say thank you in the Spanish way rather than the Italian way. It just comes more naturally for now. Maybe because of the Capoeira influence. I am wondering if I should bother with seeing the doctor for a strange bite I seem to have received on my eyelid from a random insect in the park yesterday. I am wondering if it’s ok to silently swear, in a happy way of course, when I see all this eye candy around me. I am wondering how can I be missing my family and friends and craving to talk to them and not be sad. I am wondering what made me go from being paranoid about things to saying “it’ll figure” and simply go with the flow. I am wondering when will that day come when I cry. I am wondering when will I drive to the Tuscan hills. I am wondering if I will ever be able to do everything I should be doing. Everything I want to be doing. This is a good follow through to the start I made in 2007. To the risk I took and that jump based on sheer faith in myself and in the fact that “it will figure out” and all I had to do was try my very best. Well here I am. Trying to do my best. And loving it. Living a dream is not easy. But then if it was it would stop being something I want. It will be boring. And I am not boring. I don’t want to be even close to that word. Shakira is singing “come closer.. come pull me closer” and I cant help thinking that that is exactly what I do with life. Pull it closer. Hummm… now what are the chances that I will find myself my own dishy Italian hottie who I could pull closer… hahahaha…
Oh well! Or as they ay here… Ellora! (I don’t even know if I spelt it right!).. what are the chances that my spellings will always suck? Really really high if you ask me… So much for claiming to be a writer… even if on the side!
More of my Florentine adventure soon.
Ciao my lovelies...
19.7.10
An attic in the circus and guess who is the clown!?
So what happens when people decide to go for a night of improv and standup comedy. They go, laugh, have a beer or two, eat, laugh more and come back home, happy and go to bed.
Right!
But when its me, how can it not get twisted, eh!?
Well, so I am late to start with. terribly late. I miss the whole show.
Ho-hum... what a bum...
But, wait! its not all that bad. I end up at a house party with the friend who I was going to go watch in the first place and his friends. So what if i didn't know more than three people... I got out of the house to go have some fun and some fun I will have, thank you very much!
When it comes to a fun evening, my scheme of things usually involves beer. It's been a laugh so far. I'm playing games I never have at parties and laughing more than I have in the past few months. My stomach hurts. My eyes water. And, that's when I decide to get a second beer.
Now that my dear, is what makes me wonder... just how dangerous can a visit to a fridge get?
Under normal circumstances you might get an electric shock or something like that. Under my circumstances you end up opening a bottle of beer and the next second playing an acting game in front of a room full of actors! And guess who has a harder time than the novice with a chilled bottle in her hand. Poor Adam who has the task of making that idiot get what he's enacting, and poor poor Kamal who then has to figure whatever little she and her beer bottle understood and more importantly could remember.
Haah! So much for having a second beer.
But guess what? I did figure something... apparently the connections between my grey cells believe that a circus can have an attic!!! Seriously! I have a room full of actors to vouch for that.
Now, really what are the chances that a circus would have an attic? And what are really are the chances that someone will think of an attic and a circus in the same nanosecond and put the two together? To think of it, this does prove that I have an active... eerr... overactive imagination! That's way better than no imagination...
Oh well! A lot can happen over a bottle of beer...
And, guess what... I am going to bed happy and still laughing.
PS - the last bit by now is purely mental!
Right!
But when its me, how can it not get twisted, eh!?
Well, so I am late to start with. terribly late. I miss the whole show.
Ho-hum... what a bum...
But, wait! its not all that bad. I end up at a house party with the friend who I was going to go watch in the first place and his friends. So what if i didn't know more than three people... I got out of the house to go have some fun and some fun I will have, thank you very much!
When it comes to a fun evening, my scheme of things usually involves beer. It's been a laugh so far. I'm playing games I never have at parties and laughing more than I have in the past few months. My stomach hurts. My eyes water. And, that's when I decide to get a second beer.
Now that my dear, is what makes me wonder... just how dangerous can a visit to a fridge get?
Under normal circumstances you might get an electric shock or something like that. Under my circumstances you end up opening a bottle of beer and the next second playing an acting game in front of a room full of actors! And guess who has a harder time than the novice with a chilled bottle in her hand. Poor Adam who has the task of making that idiot get what he's enacting, and poor poor Kamal who then has to figure whatever little she and her beer bottle understood and more importantly could remember.
Haah! So much for having a second beer.
But guess what? I did figure something... apparently the connections between my grey cells believe that a circus can have an attic!!! Seriously! I have a room full of actors to vouch for that.
Now, really what are the chances that a circus would have an attic? And what are really are the chances that someone will think of an attic and a circus in the same nanosecond and put the two together? To think of it, this does prove that I have an active... eerr... overactive imagination! That's way better than no imagination...
Oh well! A lot can happen over a bottle of beer...
And, guess what... I am going to bed happy and still laughing.
PS - the last bit by now is purely mental!
6.6.10
free falling... free loving...
I have a funny sort of a new calendar in my head.
It's no longer weekdays and weekends. It's Cap class days and no-Cap class days. I can't wait for Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday to come and when they do I itch for it to be anywhere close to 6ish and I am already skipping happily at the thought that soon i'd be climbing the four flights of stairs to Cap class. I am usually in class before it starts and on more than one occasion within the last two weeks I have stuck around longer than my class time, practicing a move that confused me. I even entered the roda on Carter road and danced at the end of the class. Me. Roda. Carter Road. Dance. Wow!
My body has stopped hurting like it got hit by a bus only in the last two days after Baba did two kick ass stretching sessions. So am not groaning and moaning everytime I have to get up or sit down. This is definitely a plus but not the reason why I'm gushing.
I am falling in love with Capoeira. I haven't missed a single class so far and don't intend to willingly. I know i'll be late for class coming Saturday thanks to our women's conference and am already hating that thought. I have stayed away from all evening social commitments on my Cap days. I have gone out for a Saturday night party only once in the last month and that too after class. I was the last guest to reach. 12:30 am arrival time in Chembur. Am usually the one who is on time for parties!
Everything I have been doing in the past month has been a bit of a departure from my usual way. I have finally managed to say "No! I'm busy" when something comes up that interferes with my Cap class. I, at a level, can not believe that I have been doing this. Am a sucker for going with things as they come and not being able to say no. But not anymore. Not in this case.
I even went and got myself a tambourine and I give playing it a shot everyday. It's called Khadak Singh. I am quite un-musical so to speak at plaing him. But, that doesn't surprise me. I have no musical bones or tissues in my body.
I still suck at Capoeira. I fumble when singing. I Fall. Make an ass of myself. Forget everything in the roda and keep jumping out of the way of the person playing with me for the lack of anything else to do. But, I love it.
Everytime I fall, i'm the only person laughing at me. Everytime I try something and get myself in a knot and then give up on it to restart, I'm the only one judging me. Everytime I come close to saying I can't do this, there are always more than a two voices that say "come on! try again!" Everytime I tell someone "why don't you practise with someone else? I don't know this" I only hear "No. Lets try. Give it a shot atleast!" Never have I felt so at home and comfortable doing things that make me want to evaporate. I won't say I have won over my image and identity issues. They have been my companions for as long as I can rememebr. But I'm slowly getting one up on them.
For the first time I am being myself. When baba had asked me to introduce myself to everyone, all I had to tell them was my name. That's it. Not where I am from. Not what I do. Not what I like. None of that. Nothing. My identity was simply my name. And trust me that's great.
I spent lat night chatting with a dear friend who has sweet enough to put up with me in my non airconditioned abode, going on and on about Capoeira and what its like for me and what I do there and the one thing i clearly remember her saying was "that doesn't sound like you" apart from the various other digs she took at me.
Yup! none of what I have been doing sounds like me, to me. I know why. I'm there for myself. Not for anyone else. I'm proving a point to myself. Not anyone else. I dont give a damn anymore what people think of me and if I can please everyone. The latter has been the bane of my existence since forever! I do it because it makes me happy. I do it becasue I am begining to see sides of me I hadn't before. I do it becasue I love it.
And, now since is pouring, and its time to do the happy chicken dance, I'm going to go get Khadak Singh and play with him for a bit.
What are the cances that I'll get any good at beating his goat skin?! I'd say, if it keeps raining, the chances are quite good... :)
It's no longer weekdays and weekends. It's Cap class days and no-Cap class days. I can't wait for Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday to come and when they do I itch for it to be anywhere close to 6ish and I am already skipping happily at the thought that soon i'd be climbing the four flights of stairs to Cap class. I am usually in class before it starts and on more than one occasion within the last two weeks I have stuck around longer than my class time, practicing a move that confused me. I even entered the roda on Carter road and danced at the end of the class. Me. Roda. Carter Road. Dance. Wow!
My body has stopped hurting like it got hit by a bus only in the last two days after Baba did two kick ass stretching sessions. So am not groaning and moaning everytime I have to get up or sit down. This is definitely a plus but not the reason why I'm gushing.
I am falling in love with Capoeira. I haven't missed a single class so far and don't intend to willingly. I know i'll be late for class coming Saturday thanks to our women's conference and am already hating that thought. I have stayed away from all evening social commitments on my Cap days. I have gone out for a Saturday night party only once in the last month and that too after class. I was the last guest to reach. 12:30 am arrival time in Chembur. Am usually the one who is on time for parties!
Everything I have been doing in the past month has been a bit of a departure from my usual way. I have finally managed to say "No! I'm busy" when something comes up that interferes with my Cap class. I, at a level, can not believe that I have been doing this. Am a sucker for going with things as they come and not being able to say no. But not anymore. Not in this case.
I even went and got myself a tambourine and I give playing it a shot everyday. It's called Khadak Singh. I am quite un-musical so to speak at plaing him. But, that doesn't surprise me. I have no musical bones or tissues in my body.
I still suck at Capoeira. I fumble when singing. I Fall. Make an ass of myself. Forget everything in the roda and keep jumping out of the way of the person playing with me for the lack of anything else to do. But, I love it.
Everytime I fall, i'm the only person laughing at me. Everytime I try something and get myself in a knot and then give up on it to restart, I'm the only one judging me. Everytime I come close to saying I can't do this, there are always more than a two voices that say "come on! try again!" Everytime I tell someone "why don't you practise with someone else? I don't know this" I only hear "No. Lets try. Give it a shot atleast!" Never have I felt so at home and comfortable doing things that make me want to evaporate. I won't say I have won over my image and identity issues. They have been my companions for as long as I can rememebr. But I'm slowly getting one up on them.
For the first time I am being myself. When baba had asked me to introduce myself to everyone, all I had to tell them was my name. That's it. Not where I am from. Not what I do. Not what I like. None of that. Nothing. My identity was simply my name. And trust me that's great.
I spent lat night chatting with a dear friend who has sweet enough to put up with me in my non airconditioned abode, going on and on about Capoeira and what its like for me and what I do there and the one thing i clearly remember her saying was "that doesn't sound like you" apart from the various other digs she took at me.
Yup! none of what I have been doing sounds like me, to me. I know why. I'm there for myself. Not for anyone else. I'm proving a point to myself. Not anyone else. I dont give a damn anymore what people think of me and if I can please everyone. The latter has been the bane of my existence since forever! I do it because it makes me happy. I do it becasue I am begining to see sides of me I hadn't before. I do it becasue I love it.
And, now since is pouring, and its time to do the happy chicken dance, I'm going to go get Khadak Singh and play with him for a bit.
What are the cances that I'll get any good at beating his goat skin?! I'd say, if it keeps raining, the chances are quite good... :)
24.5.10
cap cap cap cap cap.... tsk tsk tsk tsk tsk tsk
I'm never too far from trouble.
In fact if trouble and I don't meet for a few days than I go find it. Afterall, I do belong to that breed of stupid human beings who love to tell the bull not just to come and take a swipe at them, but if the bull is ignoring then, then walk right up to it and say "Helllooo! I'm here... why aren't you trying to hit me, trample me...?" And then the few among this breed of people are people like me who go ahead an wear red too while they are at it!
A voice at the back of my head is screaming "TYPICAL" right now. I'm used to hearing this annoying drone more often than not. Especially at times when I would simply not want it to be around. But that's not what is really making me feel just a tiny bit unsettled right now. Alright! not tiny bit.. a huge bit unsettled.
Now, indulge my ranting for a bit... what's the best way to find amusement in a new city? You make friends, get out, meet new people, join a club that brings people who have the same hobbies that you do under one roof and may that would help you get new friends... etc etc etc...
But, when I said I am never too far from trouble, I really meant it. And given that it's me, just what are the chances that I would go right ahead and one day, suddenly, plunge my head into what seems like a bucket of cold water that does not give you a brain freeze but makes the whole of you clam up?!
I did just that.
Not that I don't know people here. I do know a few. I go and hang out with them once in a while. I go running most evenings. Oh well... alright... it's a feeble attempt at best but at least I have kept it up for six months now. That's commendable in my dictionary and a first for me; to stick to anything as embarrassing as running for that long that is. Yes! I find running uncomfortably embarrassing. And this is the first time I have been going running. * pats self *
But let's not digress.
Mostly, I spend my weekends resolutely working towards getting published, over large cups of vanilla latte at the Coffee Bean (my new second home!) and my weekdays flash by in a blur, so much so that even my folks back home have given up on having a conversation longer than 2 minutes at a stretch with me on most days. I kill all my spare time reading and writing. My natural option should have been to be an active Caferati memebr. Or a more than regular visitor at Prithvi. Or some such thing... Given what I have gotten myself into, I think even reading stories to frisky, annoying, crying, screaming, snotty children would have been better.
So what is it that I did? Well, I finally decided to go see what on earth Capoeira is all about! Vik is a very convincing guy and I for one have been falling in his well laid out bogey traps for a while now. First he makes me move to Bombay, then he makes me, a journalist by chance with no other claim to fame, learn more than a thing or two about the corporate world. So much so that I agreed to take on everything he threw my way. Yet, when the first of the many D-days of my new life as a conference producer hit me in the face, I was shaking with nervousness and hoping I'd evaporate as I stepped onto a stage to deliver the welcome note for my first conference last month. I forgot the names of my advisory panel!
Now for someone who has been an on camera face, this shouldn't be difficult. But then, it is. You are staring at faces. Not a lens. And neither is the crowd made of people you can simply brush off or yell at (Yup, journalists do that when crowds get annoying!)
So, I wonder why curiosity got the better of me (hummm... maybe I was subconsciously bored... maybe it had been too long since I kicked my own butt... hummm) and I, randomly, like I always do, decided to go see what the hell is this Capoeira thing, that he goes for twice a week, all about. So I went. And I stood there in the room, for an hour. And I kept telling myself, "this is weird" and "you don't want to do this" but when Baba walked towards me, I told him "can I come from next week?"
Just like that. And he said yes. And the deed was done!
While I talked myself into it for the next few days I kept telling myself that it couldn't be bad. Afterall, I have tried my hand and my legs at Kickboxing (2 months!), Salsa (4 months!) and Tai Chi (6 months!). But this is none of that, let me tell you. And that brings me to my point.
I SUCK at Capoeira. I didn't expect any better. I always tried my hand at sports but I am one of those who gave outstanding performances i.e. stood outside the court in basketball or only ever ended up passing the ball around if I did manage to get the chance to step in, or played tennis with a wall. Really did. I knew this was not going to be easy.
But, when I decided to try Capoeira I DID NOT expect to try and hide when in class. I did not expect that I would be so acutely self-conscious. I did not expect that I would be tongue tied. I have never felt this uncomfortable. Every time I climb up the four flights of stairs in the school right across the road from my house, I cringe. I wish I could miraculously self-combust or develop magical superpowers so I can be bloody good at whatever is happening in class. But, clearly, neither happens. I go. I try. I fall on my butt. I bruise. I ache. I pull a muscle or two. I am constantly nervous. I try and hide (Not that Baba hasn't noticed... I am just hoping he doesn't say it out loud.. I don't have an answer... I don't know why... but I do know that I'm fighting back tears of god-knows-what every time I realise someone is looking and I have to do moves I just can't get...) and I keep to myself.
Ask anyone who has known me for years and chances are they would simply not identify with what I have just said. I will not be surprised. I am having trouble identifying with it. Maybe I am staring this in the face for the first time, that's why... Maybe all these years I simply did not notice the knots in the pit of my stomach....
And this, I know for sure has been slowly coming my way for the last few years now. I took over two months to make any friends in Scotland where I did my masters degree. I took weeks to get back in touch with friends after I got back. I spent my entire time at the Jaipur Lit Fest sitting in the cafe, corner table, sipping beer, instead of networking. I've been here six months and I avoid going to a place where I am bound to meet more than two new people. I freeze. I have resolutely avoided being social in my Delhi style since I moved here. But moving around is in my veins. The Army gives you wheels under your feet the second you are born to a man who wears the Olives for a living. Yet....
Now, for someone who has always been in a job that had to do with public dealing and for someone who was an avid orator and actor all through school and college, this sudden self realisation that people and crowds actually make me nervous is brand new and not a very happy one. And that has left me very very unsettled.
Was I able to do all that because school and college were comfort zones or was it just that it didn't matter then? And if it didn't then then why does it matter now? Why did it not matter when I barged into random places that most people would call scary and dangerous with a pen and mic, and got on with it? Is it because the city is new and the people are new too? Would it have been better if one of them was something I had been around for a while? Am I suddenly becoming someone I don't know yet? But how can that be? Is this some new rare disorder?
I don't know...
The only thing I know for sure right now is that I don't know.
But now that I think of it, my first work day in Bombay, Vik had taken me to Carter Road with his wife Sav and his son Adi. He had said something about this thing he had just joined and the group performing there. It was the eve of the first anniversary of the 2008 Mumbai attacks. I could see nothing of the performance. I could hear the music. I remember I had liked the music.
I will go for class tomorrow. I'm not giving up. I'm a sucker for kicking my own butt like I said. But then what are the chances that six months after a tune gets stuck in your head, you end up kicking you butt to it. In my case, I still haven't failed to surprise myself... And I am still wishing I had the ability to self-combust at will...
In fact if trouble and I don't meet for a few days than I go find it. Afterall, I do belong to that breed of stupid human beings who love to tell the bull not just to come and take a swipe at them, but if the bull is ignoring then, then walk right up to it and say "Helllooo! I'm here... why aren't you trying to hit me, trample me...?" And then the few among this breed of people are people like me who go ahead an wear red too while they are at it!
A voice at the back of my head is screaming "TYPICAL" right now. I'm used to hearing this annoying drone more often than not. Especially at times when I would simply not want it to be around. But that's not what is really making me feel just a tiny bit unsettled right now. Alright! not tiny bit.. a huge bit unsettled.
Now, indulge my ranting for a bit... what's the best way to find amusement in a new city? You make friends, get out, meet new people, join a club that brings people who have the same hobbies that you do under one roof and may that would help you get new friends... etc etc etc...
But, when I said I am never too far from trouble, I really meant it. And given that it's me, just what are the chances that I would go right ahead and one day, suddenly, plunge my head into what seems like a bucket of cold water that does not give you a brain freeze but makes the whole of you clam up?!
I did just that.
Not that I don't know people here. I do know a few. I go and hang out with them once in a while. I go running most evenings. Oh well... alright... it's a feeble attempt at best but at least I have kept it up for six months now. That's commendable in my dictionary and a first for me; to stick to anything as embarrassing as running for that long that is. Yes! I find running uncomfortably embarrassing. And this is the first time I have been going running. * pats self *
But let's not digress.
Mostly, I spend my weekends resolutely working towards getting published, over large cups of vanilla latte at the Coffee Bean (my new second home!) and my weekdays flash by in a blur, so much so that even my folks back home have given up on having a conversation longer than 2 minutes at a stretch with me on most days. I kill all my spare time reading and writing. My natural option should have been to be an active Caferati memebr. Or a more than regular visitor at Prithvi. Or some such thing... Given what I have gotten myself into, I think even reading stories to frisky, annoying, crying, screaming, snotty children would have been better.
So what is it that I did? Well, I finally decided to go see what on earth Capoeira is all about! Vik is a very convincing guy and I for one have been falling in his well laid out bogey traps for a while now. First he makes me move to Bombay, then he makes me, a journalist by chance with no other claim to fame, learn more than a thing or two about the corporate world. So much so that I agreed to take on everything he threw my way. Yet, when the first of the many D-days of my new life as a conference producer hit me in the face, I was shaking with nervousness and hoping I'd evaporate as I stepped onto a stage to deliver the welcome note for my first conference last month. I forgot the names of my advisory panel!
Now for someone who has been an on camera face, this shouldn't be difficult. But then, it is. You are staring at faces. Not a lens. And neither is the crowd made of people you can simply brush off or yell at (Yup, journalists do that when crowds get annoying!)
So, I wonder why curiosity got the better of me (hummm... maybe I was subconsciously bored... maybe it had been too long since I kicked my own butt... hummm) and I, randomly, like I always do, decided to go see what the hell is this Capoeira thing, that he goes for twice a week, all about. So I went. And I stood there in the room, for an hour. And I kept telling myself, "this is weird" and "you don't want to do this" but when Baba walked towards me, I told him "can I come from next week?"
Just like that. And he said yes. And the deed was done!
While I talked myself into it for the next few days I kept telling myself that it couldn't be bad. Afterall, I have tried my hand and my legs at Kickboxing (2 months!), Salsa (4 months!) and Tai Chi (6 months!). But this is none of that, let me tell you. And that brings me to my point.
I SUCK at Capoeira. I didn't expect any better. I always tried my hand at sports but I am one of those who gave outstanding performances i.e. stood outside the court in basketball or only ever ended up passing the ball around if I did manage to get the chance to step in, or played tennis with a wall. Really did. I knew this was not going to be easy.
But, when I decided to try Capoeira I DID NOT expect to try and hide when in class. I did not expect that I would be so acutely self-conscious. I did not expect that I would be tongue tied. I have never felt this uncomfortable. Every time I climb up the four flights of stairs in the school right across the road from my house, I cringe. I wish I could miraculously self-combust or develop magical superpowers so I can be bloody good at whatever is happening in class. But, clearly, neither happens. I go. I try. I fall on my butt. I bruise. I ache. I pull a muscle or two. I am constantly nervous. I try and hide (Not that Baba hasn't noticed... I am just hoping he doesn't say it out loud.. I don't have an answer... I don't know why... but I do know that I'm fighting back tears of god-knows-what every time I realise someone is looking and I have to do moves I just can't get...) and I keep to myself.
Ask anyone who has known me for years and chances are they would simply not identify with what I have just said. I will not be surprised. I am having trouble identifying with it. Maybe I am staring this in the face for the first time, that's why... Maybe all these years I simply did not notice the knots in the pit of my stomach....
And this, I know for sure has been slowly coming my way for the last few years now. I took over two months to make any friends in Scotland where I did my masters degree. I took weeks to get back in touch with friends after I got back. I spent my entire time at the Jaipur Lit Fest sitting in the cafe, corner table, sipping beer, instead of networking. I've been here six months and I avoid going to a place where I am bound to meet more than two new people. I freeze. I have resolutely avoided being social in my Delhi style since I moved here. But moving around is in my veins. The Army gives you wheels under your feet the second you are born to a man who wears the Olives for a living. Yet....
Now, for someone who has always been in a job that had to do with public dealing and for someone who was an avid orator and actor all through school and college, this sudden self realisation that people and crowds actually make me nervous is brand new and not a very happy one. And that has left me very very unsettled.
Was I able to do all that because school and college were comfort zones or was it just that it didn't matter then? And if it didn't then then why does it matter now? Why did it not matter when I barged into random places that most people would call scary and dangerous with a pen and mic, and got on with it? Is it because the city is new and the people are new too? Would it have been better if one of them was something I had been around for a while? Am I suddenly becoming someone I don't know yet? But how can that be? Is this some new rare disorder?
I don't know...
The only thing I know for sure right now is that I don't know.
But now that I think of it, my first work day in Bombay, Vik had taken me to Carter Road with his wife Sav and his son Adi. He had said something about this thing he had just joined and the group performing there. It was the eve of the first anniversary of the 2008 Mumbai attacks. I could see nothing of the performance. I could hear the music. I remember I had liked the music.
I will go for class tomorrow. I'm not giving up. I'm a sucker for kicking my own butt like I said. But then what are the chances that six months after a tune gets stuck in your head, you end up kicking you butt to it. In my case, I still haven't failed to surprise myself... And I am still wishing I had the ability to self-combust at will...
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