Let's avoid a Deluge this year, please

Bombay is a great city; but unlike the other "great" cities of the world that experience the different seasons, Mumbai experiences just two: Hot & Wet.

So be it  New York,Sydney, London, Paris or even Delhi and Bangalore; all these cities have different temperatures festivals, wardrobes and lifestyles for every changing season. Mumbai unfortunately enjoys varying degrees of heat and mugginess through the year. Beginning mid-June are the Monsoons that go on all the way till the end of September and now with the global weather crises, Mumbaites might enjoy a sprinkle or two of November Rain as well. Although, I have been seeing a lot of Monsoon Fashion trying to get popularised, I don't see the fun of it at all. Staying water-proof is top-priority and there arent many stylish ways of doing it! Besides, until the drainage and sewage is contained, nobody would think of wearing any thing nice and walk about...
 The rest of the year, the mercury hovers around the mid-30's. Last year however, we had a cool and crisp "winter", dare I use that word to describe the 3 blissful weeks of shawl and cardigan time! People here were so delighted that they used this opportunity to bring out their woolies and have winter-themed parties, serving raclette and fondue as though we were all suddenly in the Swiss Alps!

I digress....

What I began to say was that it is fun to have different seasons because that means we get to dress up differently, eat seasonal food items and basically, the city offers a whole series of new things to do, that simply cant be done at other times of the year! Summer is all about eating outdoors, playing in the parks/maidans and  lots of different outdoor cultural and music festivals. Its all about enjoying ice-creams and golas and trips to the beach. Autumn is a season of surprises as one moves from the hot to the cold. It is unpredictable weather. In India, it is the most culturally and religiously stimulated period. Every part of the country is reveling in something. It could be the New Year, the visits of Ganpati, Laxmi or Durgamata, Dandiya Raas, Diwali...I could go on and on! People are usually dolled up in new clothes and new jewellery and brimming with positivity. Then comes Winter. In India, winter season is better known as Wedding season so it is usually a very hectic time for all those getting married as well as those attending the marriages! This season continues where the festivities of the previous season ended, and finally moves in to the ultimate party week of Christmas and New Years.January, February and March are usually the most difficult time of the year with the burden of the "winter hardships" on every one. Finally, March and April is a time of hope and happiness, light and longevity. The ice is thawing and the green is sneaking in.........and there we go, that's the 4 seasons for you!

As much as I love Mumbai and the predicatibility of the day, it would be lovely to have the seasons (although I am perfectly happy with a brief spell of the real winter - brrr!). We rarely get to exploit any outdoor city life. If its not a necessity, we don't walk around the city, nor do we keep the windows of our cars down, we rarely hang out at terraces or enjoy a chai on the street.
It is a city with very vibrant people and I am certain, we would have devised great activities to match the weather. Think about it: Ice Skating at the Oval Maidan, walking through the (non-existent) gardens of Mumbai exploring the summer blossoms, bonfires on the beach- toasting marshmallows over the fire crackle, boating, cycling....the possibilities are endless!

I am sure every one has their own wishlist for an Ideal Mumbai life....feel like sharing a few of yours?

Pretty in Platinum!

A. JAFFE wins for innovation at the JCK 2011! Click on the link for details...

http://fashionfad.in/fashion/catalogue/jewellery/content/jewellery.aspx?slno=88

Post-Weekend Riddle

For the motley group that came together late Saturday night, I ask:
                                                                     Who is The Gazdar?


The first one to answer correctly gets a Misty Monsoon date with The Gazdar!

This one is just tooooo easy ;)

Trespassers

A strange thing happened to a bunch of us on Friday night....

We had all met up at a friend's home and since many of us were working the following day (grrr), it was an easy night in filled with lots of gupshup and even more yogurt bay!
The mood was very relaxed with Andy Murray in the background, some were following the match, another was trying to set a new record playing Angry Birds on the iPad, whilst another was driving the dog (and all of us) berserk with a never-ending game of "fetch".
Briefly put, it was a sombre and fairly sober affair. No gaana-shaana, or dance-wance!

Calling it a night at about 1am, the crew was awaiting the elevator. When the doors opened, out strolled 2 police officers who were ready to march right into the apartment. A few moments of sheer confusion later, we were informed that "some one" had called complaining about the noise coming from the apartment and they were checking on that.

We were more girls than guys and it was more than apparent that there wasn't even a small party going on as the apartment was shrouded in darkness and we were at the elevator making our exit. Luckily, this strange incident didn't last over 10 minutes with the sheepish officers beating a hasty retreat when they saw the lack of a "valid opportunity". But it highlighted some gaps in our security systems. There are basic freedoms of residence and it is prohibited to enter an apartment without the necessary warrant or documentation. We all were left with a murky feeling that it was nothing more than a room to make a quick buck on a Friday night. The sleepy, tambakoo chewing, over0weight security guards that are responsible at the gate and lobbies of private residential buildings, are completely inept at their jobs. They come from various parts of India to the city of dreams and quickly get hired by these security agencies. Completely fresh from the village and without the necessary training, they often serve as hazards then as help. That being said, we as citizens ought to take more of an interest in sorting this situation out and setting standards with our housing societies regarding the employment of these guards.

Other than that bizarre twist to the evening, it was super not just meeting up with the crew, but the best part was meeting the adorable Polo....A Spaniel-Poo (Cocker Spaniel mixed with a Poodle), who had a fresh haircut and was groomed to break hearts!!!

Yellow Fever

Sunny days are here again with Veuve Cliquot champagne it seems! The best way to beat the monsoon blues is to enjoy a flute of bubbly from the bottle with the iconic yellow label...now launched in Mumbai.


Going by the press pictures and news reports, the theme was a spot of yellow and all those attended seemed to stick to the dress code. This summer, the windows of all the big wine stores in Paris (like Nicolas, and the food departments of Galleries Lafayette and Le Bon Marché) had a mosaic of the yellow and pink VC fridges. I have a fuzzy picture from my phone.


I thought it was a fabulous packing idea!

Let's clink and drink one down!

Blabber much?

This is a quick post to apologise for my never-ending post yesterday. But once I got started, the words started gushing in and before I knew it, I had hit "publish post"!
Oh well....
I will keep myself in check the next time!

I am sure you must have read/seen/heard about Sachin's cheap sale of his Ferrari. I am appalled by the news. The man is not just a living legend and God to so many millions of people, but he is one of the most wealthy people in India (perhaps, even in Asia) and to sell off a car that he paid not a single naya paisa for, is just the pits.
The man who can easily buy two or 3 of the latest Ferraris/Lamborghinis and the like; had refused to pay the custom duty for the import of this car when he received it from Fiat in 2003. Creating quite a stir at the time, Sachin managed to hot-wheels his way out of the whole prize vs. gift controversey without paying a dime. The controversy remained in the media for a fair amount of time and eventually got forgotten about. Cut to 2011, when a certain Mr. Desai from Surat is enjoying joy rides around town in his very own Sachin Ferrari!
News sources claim that the Ferrari did a mere 14,000 km and Sachin was keen to let it go because the new home he is soon to shift in to doesn't have a parking spot to accommodate this car!
OK, I will buy that. Perhaps he genuinely didn't have a strong emotional bond with the car and didnt care for it enough to want to retain it..... Couldn't he have put it up for charity then? Auctioning it off seems like a more noble and correct thing to do in his case and standing. Meanwhile, he remains unavailable for comment (smart move!) and Mr. Desai continues to remain in the spot light, enjoying what is most certainly "the ride of his lifetime!"

News links related to this story:

A chapter from the Travel Hazard series

The clinical term used for the fear of flying is known as aerophobia, aviatophobia, aviophobia o rpteromechanophobia.According to the experts, the fear of flying may be a distinct phobia in itself, or it may be an indirect combination of one or more other phobias related to flying, such as claustrophobia (a fear of enclosed spaces) or acrophobia (a fear of heights)Commercial air travel continues to cause a significant proportion of the public and some members of the aircrew to feel anxiety. When this anxiety reaches a level that significantly interferes with a person's ability to travel by air, it becomes a fear of flying.A fear of flying may prevent a person from going on vacations or visiting family and friends, and it can cripple the career of a businessperson by preventing them from traveling on work-related business.

I know people who suffer from all of the above. They genuinely cant look out of the window from the balcony of even a 5th floor apartment, nor do they feel normal in a confined elevator and in most cases they get dizzy when at an altitude or in motion. 

But have you heard of travelophobia? It isva newly-discovered fear of airports, trains, buses. Well for those who haven't heard about it yet, it is a grave disorder and I happen to suffer from it. 


 In the past 4 years, I can perhaps recall just one single incident where nothing "bad" happened to me whilst travelling by air. For some one who is a travel junkie; it is ironic how almost every single travel has been struck by some bizarre misfortune! I must say, I have developed travelophobia only since 2007, when I set sail for what I imagined would be one of the most magical adventures of my life - Paris.

Now, I am not quite sure whether it is fair to blame my travel follies on to my heightened levels of enthusiasm or not. Enthusiasm is a good quality right? Well, not when it gets you so giddy-headed and excitable that you over look very basic travel norms and end up in the tiny office of the Police Officer at Passport Control, every now and then...Yes, been there done that.  A couple of times actually.

As a student living in Paris for the past 3 years, I wanted to exploit my time in Europe and use every spare weekend (not to mention, spare euro), to travel within the continent. I would plan every single trip with utmost care, trying to snag the best available deal. Every thing would be meticulously planned  - with print outs of the documents, list of things to do, local guide book, appropriate packing, the whole works. Additionally, all these papers would be "systematically" arranged in various kits; so as as to be easily accessed at the time of check in.


Perhaps the first four or five times that I had messed up; I blamed it on my lack of experience, language barriers, transportation strikes and so on...but after the initial goof-ups, it dawned on me one day, that this situation was definitely not normal and there was most definitely a pattern to it. Ever since then, I have become a patient of travelophobia.


The following tale has 3 principal character: the (in)Efficient One, the Sane One and Moi. 
Exactly a month ago, I was living the good life - I was in St. Tropez with two of my oldest and closest friends for a sunny girls weekend. Logistics were a bit complicated but were taken care off. I was meeting the both of them at 9am at Nice airport and we were then hiring a car (that had been pre-booked by the (in)Efficient One from the 3 musketeers) and then embarking on a journey to St. Tropez. 
Bleary-eyed, and trying to keep the massive, suitcase in place, my bus journey from Cannes to Nice, was spent praying for a smooth and trouble-free weekend. Our reunion at the airport was hearty and warm and we did a group hug asking God to be kind to us. We made our way to the car rental agency and much to our surprise, the (in)Efficient One had felt it necessary to book us a big four-wheeler! I was the alleged driver and I had never driven outside of Mumbai so this was definitely a risky idea. However, the (in)Efficient One, insisted that she has been driving abroad for the past 4 years in the US and is perfectly comfortable with the left-hand drive, ought to begin the journey. OK, we complied - let's get this party started. The following twenty minutes was spent jerking back and forth in the parking spot, unable to get the car to start and then driving in circles, unable to find the exit! A telling sign for the things to come.......?


Fast-forward: Sunday evening, a lot of drama has transpired in the past 48 hours. Even if I could, it would be wise never to share those tales over the internet. We are really bushed and are in the midst of a adrenaline-charged, race against time to Nice airport to catch our flight.
At this point,it is important to note technical and mundane details as they are critical to the story. The original plan had been that the 3 of us were booked on the same flight to go to London together with a departure time of 9.30pm. We have left our apartment in St. Tropez at a perfectly reasonable 1pm and have decided to stop off at Cannes for lunch. 


Rewind:Much to our horror, we woke up on Sunday morning and whilst the kits described in paragraph one were being put together, we realised that the (in)Efficient One had booked the 2 of them on a flight for the wrong date.  Like I said, it was a Sunday and it was the last day of the Cannes Film Festival, all the airports and airline companies in the region were over-booked. We were in a vulnerable position since we didnt have the option to stay on another day (Schengen visa expiring that very day and a connecting flight to Mumbai that could not be missed!), nor did the airline we were booked on have any available seats.Currently, I was the only one who didnt have any of the above travel obligations and I was the only one with a ticket. Wow! It felt strange and all the usual symptoms of aeroport-phobia began to kick in - palpitations, quivering hands, headaches, nausea...

I am trying to hold it all together whilst driving our massive car on the highway. Mean while, the Sane One desperately calls her husband in Mumbai to help salvage the situation. 2 hours later, all is well again. Fresh tickets have been bought for them for a 8.30pm flight to London. The new plan is: We enjoy lunch, have a red carpet moment at the Grande Theatre Lumiere in Cannes, grab a gelato and head to the airport. It is 2 pm.
And what was the situation at 6.30pm? 3 hysterical girls in a car stuck on the highway, one is driving, one is trying to tele check-in, and the third is attempting god-knows-what on the blackberry. Chaos! After every thing, it seems that they are close to missing this second flight too.....the next 30 minutes is pure confusion and we don't make a pretty sight. In utter frustration, we are fighting with another, things are bring thrown about, tears are being shed and the cars on our side stare at us in disdain. As we pull into the terminal, the Sane One literally flies out of the car and does a mad-dash toward the check-in counter, meanwhile me and the (in)Efficient One, stop the car to get the luggage out. The only catch is you are allowed to stop the car for a mere 5 minutes, following which you get a ticket. It was then that the deed was done. In my mind, I thought it wise to give the girls my suitcase to check in since they were flying a regular airline and me, a cheapie one with severe luggage restrictions. How ever, at that moment of time, it was impossible for the (in)Efficient One to lug my hulk plus their suitcases all the way in to the airport. Obviously, there was not a trolley in site and the seconds were ticking. It was 7.20pm and normally, the check-in counters shut an hour prior to departure. So what happened instead? Without  a second thought, I gave her my second piece of luggage (Yes, I had more luggage!), to take with her and zipped away leaving her with a heap of bags. 
After returning the car to the agency, I took a deep breath and reflected on the past 2 hours and breathed a sigh of relief. I had some time to kill before my departure, it felt good to arrive early for a flight. I should do it more often, I thought. I stand in the short line rather smugly, passport and printouts in hand...very nice indeed. The lady at the check-in looks at me and opens her mouth to say something. I know what it is going to be - the excess baggage, so I start digging in to my bag for the dough. She stops me and says she cant find my UK visa. Alarm bells start ringing. PANIC! Oh dear god, this is no happening. Not now. Not after every thing we have had to endure already. This is too much for one person to bear.......................


The UK visa was in a passport, which was in a kit, which was in the strolley, which was given to my friends, which was now checked in.


No way.


What kind of person does that? Who doesn't keep their passports together?


The kind of person who has too many kits. The kind of person that is always late and often doesn't even know it. And that kind of person is me. 


I called my friends up who had just about been allowed to board their flight. By the time this tragedy had struck, we were all so numb and severely exhausted. They valiantly fought till the bitter end, trying to get my luggage off loaded, but a few seconds later, the plane started to taxi and all connections were lost.


So what happened to me and my big suitcase then? Well, I spent lots of time with the officers at the passport control office, then with  some random lady who spoke only Spanish but offered to hold my hand as I cried silently and finally with an endearing bus driver who took me back to Cannes. A kind friend who I contacted whilst this transpired, took charge and offered me his home for the night. His loving aunt came to get me from the bus station and settled me in. One warm shower, 2 restils, 9 hours and 2 strong coffees later, I was booked on the next train back to Paris. Getting my passport with the valid visa just seemed like a complicated nightmare and I decided to cut my losses short, enjoy a few more croissants and save my Pimm's cravings for a while longer...!


MORAL OF THIS STORY: Too many kits, spoil the plan                       AND
                                       Travel light - physically and mentally        


Other chapters from this series include: Zip the Bag, 
                                                          Don't drink and take your camera with you,
                                                          Check the Line you are waiting in
                                                          Remember to leave the ATM WITH your Card
                                                          Check the Terminal
                                                         
                                       
I don't know if the above story highlighted how grave a case of travelophobia I have. But let me say, that it isn't easy to cure. I am sure there are more people who suffer from it too. We should definitely swap stories!


Theme Song: Rolling in the Deep - Adele

Dance like a Man

  

I spent Saturday evening at an impromptu performance of sorts. Luckily, this show didn't require my waiting in line or buying tickets. On the contrary, I had a flute of champagne in my hand and the best seats in the house! Perfect!

In the past two years, I have noticed the new Inhibitions-Free Indian man take to the dance floor with not just great gusto and enthusiasm; but with a streak of confidence. He grooves, he moves and he tears it down. At all the various sangeets and wedding parties I have attended in recent times, it has been the male factor who have contributed to the grand performances and who have burnt up the dance floors. It has not been the women, who have been more preoccupied with their hair, their cumbersome outfits or trying to sneak away for a quick ciggy some where. Mean while, the men, a good number of drinks down, are sweating it out and dancing with one another to the latest Bollywood track. As the night progresses, and the shots are consumed, the level of competition between them goes up. I have enjoyed watching Dance-a-thons and dance duals amongst the guys. Age and/or size no barrier, these boys mean business when they are at it. What is commendable is that they have are very competent dancers and far from awkward! Do we owe a big thank you to Hrithik and friends?

Case in Point:
Last winter, my dearest friend got married in great style. The dance practice sessions had begun a month in advance and every one was involved, whether they liked it or not! I was part of the bride's entourage and our lot was expected to deliver the best, most, racy and most dhinchaak performance at the sangeet. On popular request and on the behest of the bride's entire family, the 6 of us were doing the finale on "Munni Badnaam Hui".. The idea was to tantalize and shake up the otherwise traditional Madu and Gujju uncles and aunties to ultimately join us on the dance floor and make it a night all would never forget. Admittedly, we were no munis and we all feared the badnaami we would face for not delivering a paisa-vasool show...To say we lacked the very spirit of the song would be to say the least. Self-consciously, we girls would shake our shoulders and just about  do an acceptable thumka. Definitely not the hot and happening girls the audience was expecting. So at the evening before the sangeet, when we were going through a final run-through, we were surprised to see the brides brother (the official Master of Ceremonies for the wedding!) and his band of boys show up at our time slot. Something was definitely up...the boys had been incredibly secretive and covert all this while, all their practices were post 10pm and no one had an inkling of what they were up to so their unusual presence at the time indicated some thing fishy. Meanwhile, the dis-approving dance teacher gave us no choice and told us to carry on with our sequence and we nervously complied. At the end of our 90 second jig, the boys started laughing and a round of high-fives went about. Flushed and embarrassed, we quickly rushed out...the damage had been done.

As we stood on the sides of the stage, hot under the lights despite a crispy cool evening in Udaipur, we girls exchanged one final look. Well it was now or never...here goes nothing..! So we shimmyed and shook as much as we could and did our bit. And yes there was some clapping and maybe one person hooting, but nothing special from the audience. As we were making our "exit"; we saw the boys preparing for their "entry". That was trange, we had just completed what we thought had been the finale for the night. "Munni badnaam" started all over again. Woh, is that our cue? Had we some how gotten an encore from the audience?! We looked to the stage and saw the boys in perfect synchronisation - waists jiggling left-to-right and hands pointing with precise accuracy. Not to mention, perfect facial expressions - just the right amount of adaa and arrogance! The audience was going wild and every one was now on their feet! The male Munni scored way higher in terms of everything. We had not just been upstaged, but we had been completely outperformed and outshone. They had done an amazing job of the hottest item number much better than we had.Most importantly, they had delivered.


Which takes me back to my Saturday evening. This time, I didn't even try to compete or pretend that I could do it like they could. I did the smart thing, I got a super spot and  watched as the birthday boy and his buddies took to the table tops and bar tops, belting it out whole-and-soul to Dabanng and more. all the while thinking, "chaar baj gaye lekin party abhi baaki hai"

Blank Sheet

What does this boy know that we don't?? He seems to have an expression of smugness and complacency, don't you think?
Well, I picked this image because it some what illustrates my current state of mind: Blank
My colleague says, blank is not bad. Is she right? I think of it with a negative connotation. It is as if the insides of my brain, the so called, temple of my wisdom and intelligence, is completely dull. OH MY GOD! Definitely a bad thing, Niyati! Blank is Bad!

Hmmm, I suppose it has given me some time to reflect over the time that has just passed by. And also, wonder about the time that is soon to come. Maybe it is a much-needed respite for the nerve cells? I certainly hope so!

The weekend is here! And although I am working tomorrow (boo hoo, retail life); I am trying to pretend it is going to be a long and glorious Sunday! Which reminds me to remind you, its Fathers' Day this Sunday! Yes I admit, I am a complete Hallmarks junkie and I follow a lot of their sly, marketing ploys. But for those like me, I say, do a little something special for your Daddy any way. He deserves it!

Before I end this rather brief and terse entry, I want to ask you: How do you pass your blank moments? And:
Blank = Boring                   OR               Blank = Balm

Musically Inclined

La Tarde Se Ha Puesto Triste
Don't let the monsoon drizzle or dampen your peppy spirits. It's all in the mind they say...Close your eyes, wear a pair of sunglasses, iPod in, and let yourself get instantly tele-ported to the beaches of St. Tropez or Ibiza a midst lots of beautiful, tanned people, rhythmically swinging to the beats of Dr. Kucho!

This song has powered me up today and worked wonders to nurse my Glorious Summer hangover. Having spent the past 4 weeks on holiday, getting back to this wet city and the humdrum of normal life was taking a toll on my mood. Given that my summer was spent soaking in the sun in the French Riviera, it is a tad difficult to make do with this keechad filled season.

Luckily, I got a playlist of tunes to keep me in a Mediterranean Frame of Mind!

In addition to the link, I am going to share my top 5 songs for the moment:
1. Alexandra Stan - Mr. Saxobeat
2. Bob Sinclair - Love You no More
3. Phoenix - Love Like a Sunset
4. Martin Solveig - Cabo Parano
5. Benny Bennasi - Beautiful People

Sway Away....

Whopeeee!

This is strange. I am not quite sure if I want to read my own words. Seems rather self-indulgent when I am writing them with no actual "purpose". But I suppose I should do this to remain in practice with the "pen".
I hope to be regular and disciplined about this....here's looking forward to many a blissful blogging hour....