India is now very similar to any country abroad. Ofcourse I am not comparing roads, electricity and water availability. I mean a similarity in the sense of what one can get. Most international brands have launched themselves in India and at comparable rates to any international currency. I was really in a dilemma as to what gifts I could take home. Everyone seems to have everything. Malls have mushroomed everywhere in Bangalore and Bvlgari or Prada have become household names. If not the original, most people atleast have a Burma bazaar copy.

I was raised in a middle-class background. During my school and college years, Kids Kemp was the biggest name in town and shopping was generally a tri-annual experience. Once during birthdays, then Pongal and finally Diwali at the end of the year. We never went shopping otherwise. Occasionally, if my mother passed by some handicrafts exhibition she would buy a few pieces of costume jewelry and even that was a big treat. Aunts and Uncles who lived abroad would generously bestow gifts and hand-me-downs to their country relatives whenever they came. And at such moments I would feel like I was Alladin rolling in a treasure cave. If we wanted anything out of the budgetted annual shopping, a long drawn request had to be staged. This outside 'want' had to be logically justified and its importance reiterated. A new dress would never be bought for fashion or because someone on TV wore it. If a new dress adorned the wardrobe outside of its time, it only meant that some other dress was lying in tatters to justify the shopping.

A few years back, someone asked me as I was leaving my apartment if I was going to get some 'Retail therapy' done. It took me a few moments to equate this alien phrase to shopping. How big a part of our lives it has become. All the fashion and art in the world now lies within a few kilometers at the nearest mall. During my school days, we would avidly wait for the 10th board exams to finish because that was when we were eligible for our first wrist watch. It was a greater gift to look forward to than graduating from school or the exam results. The gleam of that first Titan watch would linger before our eyes and pull us through torturous moments of exam preparation. Now, things are different. There are computers available for 2-year olds. Books are interactive;they talk, sing and flash colors at the reader making reading a real-time experience. Shoes for 6 month infants have designer heels on them. The whole shopping experience has now become stratified to suit the needs of every economic group. Noone has to wait or save money to buy what they need. Interests-free loans and pirated, fake products help satiate desires as soon as they spring up.

Is that a good thing, this general abundance and the ability to to get what we want, when we want it? Sometimes I think it is but sometimes I feel it robs the charm of waiting for something special to come by. I don't know how many people from my generation will even remember going through that feeling once. I can say for sure that kids these days will never understand it. There is something very delightful in yearning for what we desire and working towards it, and slowly witness it being fulfilled. It makes what we want more cherishable when we get it. Be it a dress, a holiday, money for an outing with friends, there was always an uncertainity if we would get what we want and when we did, it made the effort of trying and recieving immesely pleasurable. Now things have changed and I can't say that I haven't adapted very well to this instant gratification. In fact I have taken it for granted so much so that I feel it is my birth right to get what I want when I demand it.

Life seemed simple and happy even though everyone couldn't get everything their wished for. Now this plentitude, although very comon and convenient in people's lives, has only created a desire to hoard but not necessarily to cherish. Strange!

Harbor bridge by night and day

Lately my blog has been quite dormant and handicapped leaning on youtube videos and assorted pictures for updates. And this isn't because I don't have anything to say. On the contrary, there is plenty to be said and written about but unfortunbately I just can't seem to put even a few decent words together these days. I think the writer in me (if there was one) has died. A slow, anonymous, sad death. I can say this with confidence because the other day I tried to write a bit about the christmas fair that was going on in the park beneath my flat. The narrative turned out worse than a "What I did last summer" essay written by an uninterested, mediocre school kid. So I abandoned it and instead turned to youtube for safe reinforcement.

Some of the things I wanted to write about was my trip to India last month, movie reviews, another heroic attempt at describing the fair, the christmas holidays that I am looking forward to and some general rambling. I suppose this post could be filed away under the last category. Is it normal to feel choked for words? Even the prepositions and articles seem hard to remember and place. I wonder if established writers hit a deadend too? Perhaps that's when they indulge in solitude and restorative spas pondering on life and other such deep philosophical things. Luckily for them they resurface fully resurrected and in exceptional form to dish out a new best-seller. I, on the other hand, would emerge with a huge credit card balance, associated guilt due to over-indulgence and having forgotten the password to my blog. Hope seems distant and blurry but maybe the new year has some flair to bring. I wait....

Achmed the dead terrorist

One of my all time favorite acts.

I miss...

...my parents
...CUPA
...long gossip sessions with my mother after a relaxed lunch.
...my bike
...the dogs down my road who knew it was me no matter where they were hidden and when I passed by on my bike would all run towards me with such glee!
...eating pani puri at Victoria Chaat House.
...Bangalore traffic (surprisingly)
...my friends back home.
...shopping on Commercial street and getting the best bargains.
...the crowd
...watching a Bollywood movie in a theatre filled with the mawalis of the city sitting in Gandhi class whistling and passing rediculously funny comments on every scene.
...autorickshaws and the fights I used to have with the drivers over the rigged meter and the 2 bucks it charged more.
...Eloor library and the numerous book stores.
...hot idlis and vada at Shanti Sagar.
...national market and its galore of pirated cd's.
...the cafe coffee day outside bombay store.
...malleswaram 8th cross on the eve of a festival.
...the little ganesha temple within our apartment complex.
...home and Bangalore deeply.

Hehehe...

P.S.I love You

This is an extremely touching movie although slightly cheesy around the edges, but not enough to claw on you. It's the universal truth behind those emotions that deeply touch you. The movie opens with a young couple obviously in love fighting over some triviality and like all couples in love, they kiss and make up. Life goes on as normal and theirs is full of ambitions and dreams just like anyone elses. But fate plays a cruel game and Gerry (Gerald Butler) unexpectedly dies of brain tumor and the young widow Holly (Hilary swanks) is plunged into a void. The whole movie is about Gerry's sweet plan to ease Holly's pain and help her move on in life without him.

Every now and then she gets letters written by him before he died. Each letter predicts her state of sorrow and each letter pushes her slowly out of the vaccum. He plans holidays for her. He plans her birthday party. Whatever anyone might say, this movie is more than your regular "chick-flick". There is so much truth in that pain and that emptiness. She carries the urn with his ashes back home after the funeral ceremony and when she eats her breakfast places a bowl of cereal in front of it. She calls his phone again and again just to hear his voice in the answering machine. Sometimes, the silence and that void she feels seeps into you and you feel so helpless for her.

After a year of living alone, one day she realises no matter how much life and living there is to do, she is alone in this. Noone or nothing could replace her Gerry, not her mother or her cheery friends or the classes she frantically enrols in. One day rushing into her mother's store, Holly cries and tell her mother that sometimes the lonliness chokes her so much that she just can't breathe. The thing is she couldn't have put it better. Losing someone we love is such a hopeless, helpless situation. Life freezes with that moment for that person and yet it seems to go on as if nothing happened.

To love someone so much that you would think of them and care and provide them emotional support even after you are gone is such a heartwrenching thought. Aww! I don't care if it just got too cheesy to make some fondue, I loved this movie. Look watch it for Gerald butler if nothing else. He is one hot man worth drooling over.

Houdini, the dog!

Recently I saw this news about a 112 year old war vet who wrote an autobiography. A wrinkled old man, he sits on his wheelchair smartly dressed, looking a little frail yet very respectful. A hundred and twelve years old!!! It boggles the mind. He was born in another century, witnessed two world wars, fought in them and is now slowly passing through an era of cloning and cyber revolution. He has been asked on numerous occasions to reveal the secret of his health and long life. Fed up of the questions, he jests that its due to cigarettes and whiskey! Is time even a dimension for him? I often wonder what it feels like to be that old and live in a world you weren't born in. My grandmother is running strongly in her nineties. She belongs to a India that was pre independance, without electricity and men were men and women had a restricted niche in society. Unlike this war vet who has had an adventurous life brimming with anecdotes and incidents, my grandmother lived a pretty benign life except for a single tragedy that rocked her world. I have never really sat with her and spoken of times that belonged to the same century I was born in and yet doesn't feel a part of my world. I don't know why I haven't. Her life's archeology would be a revelation even if is no telling tale.

Floriade is a tulip festival that blooms every spring in Canberra. People all over the country come to see it. A small public garden gets converted into a sea of multicolored tulips. One saturday afternoon my husband and I went to see it and boy did it feel like something out of a book! The sun was shining bright in the sky, the fountain was shooting happy jets of water in a distance, the air was warm and lulling. There were several tiny tents outside the garden selling everything from seeds, clothes and summer hats, food to garden artifacts and equipments. A narrow pathway opened sudenly into the ocean of flowers. Row upon row of colorful tulips bobbed in that gentle breeze. I have had several occasion in the last one year to say the line "If this isn't nature at its best, then what is?" but nothing seemed more apt than to say it at Floriade! Amidst all the flowers is a small pond glistening in the afternoon sun which adds a wonderful respite to the splash of colors. This is truly a nature lover's paradise.

The news is all abuzz about the crash in the US economy. Debates and discussions are filling up prime time. Many people have unfortunately lost a lot of money from their retirement funds here in Australia. Personally, I find it so hard to understand all this finance, economics and stock market jazz. My husband tried now and then to enlighten me but after a couple of minutes noting the dull glaze over my eyes, he gives up!

To end on a cheery note, I have learnt to make a near perfect risotto and I am proud of it. Gordan Ramsay...I am catching up.

Aled Jones

Aled Jones will be performing in the Canberra theatre soon. The first time I heard of this singer and his soothing voice was on the TV advert. Curious to know more, I started listening to a lot of his songs on youtube. A true talent if I have seen one. He has been singing since the age of 10 or 11. Was famous as a Boy Soprano and a Soloist in a choir. Went on to release countless albums most of which have reached gold or platinum status. His welsh backgroud somehow adds to the mystical quality of his voice. His songs are of the christian devotional/ inspirational genre.

Three of his songs which have become my favorite are Raise me up, Walking in the air and Always there. The first two songs have been sung countless times by different singers and groups. Anyone who barely qualifies to hum a tune has made a cover version of these songs. But Aled Jones versions are magical and captivating. I have heard Nightwish's version of Walking in the air long ago and I thought it was haunting and beautiful. Aled Jones doesn't disappoint either.

This is the link to Raise me up.
The lyrics: When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary;
When troubles come and my heart burdened be;
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence,
Until you come and sit awhile with me.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up: To more than I can be.

There is no life - no life without its hunger;
Each restless heart beats so imperfectly;
But when you come and I am filled with wonder,
Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains;
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas;
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders;
You raise me up: To more than I can be.

The special part of this song is the chorus. The way Aled sings it, I feel I am on top of the world, strong and grateful, inspired and yet humbled. I would recommend Aled Jones to anyone who wants to listen to some peaceful, flowing, feel good music

And then...

Starbucks closed 61 of its 85 stores all over Australia and those bereaved tapeworms, drat them!!!, closed the one below our house first. Apparently they are running into loses. How do coffee houses run into loses??? What kind of country doesn't let a coffee house flourish?!! Not that I am very fond of coffee....me and that bean haven't had too many err...'stimulating' moments together. No, it's the hot chocolate and rasberry and white chocolate muffins that I am going to sorely miss. I was loyal to them, adding to their profits (or so I assumed) and adding huge calories to my diet (this I know for sure, just ask my waist line!). To cap it, they didn't even announce when they would close, I could have stocked up on those muffins and hot chocolate. Somewhere in the middle of the night, they just bolted and vanished. I am still recovering from the shock.


A huge Olympics fever is rippling through this country. News coverage is massive and thorough. Some channels have even started teaching Chinese. Channel Prime will have exclusive rights to cover the games. Their mascot music is Amy Pearson's 'Ready to fly'. Quite a lovely, upbeat song. Apparently there has been some scams regarding hotel reservations and tickets to China. Some of us were just discussing that had the Olympics been in India, the scams would be the least of the problems. The country would be running a parallel olympics and manufacturing their own gold medals. Seeing sports from different people's point of view and in a different light has been an inspiring experience. What I have learnt is for a lot of people sports isn't just about the game, or winning a medal. It is a lot about strength, courage, humility, staying focussed and determined and continuing to do so even after their goal is achieved. It is a passion and becomes a way of life.


I am desperate! I have started researching ancient civilizations and their cultures to try and understand sun worship. I have been spotted collecting stones hither and tither in the hope of building a sun circle to invite and trap the rays within. I am on the verge of doing Aztec sun dances to please the sun god. Oh! please..when will this winter end?! I have shivered so much this winter that the vibrations have reached interstellar space creating new planets there. (Or maybe I am just shaking so much, that all the stars look double!) I have been following the weather forecasts to its last degree, any rise in temperature has been embraced and cherished. I am like a yeast. I bubble and become more of myself in hot climate. I thrive. Winters sadly shrivel me up.


We watched Kuselan last weekend. The first time I caught a Rajinikanth film on the day of its release. Those expecting something akin to Sivaji will be dissapointed. You will perhaps have to wait till Robot for that. Kuselan is subtle, emotional and low key. It is a remake of a malayalam movie. Rajini shares the film with another actor Pasupathy, who according to me has done a fabulous job. The film oozes simplicity and normality. There are no extraordinary sets or digital enhancements. The film runs solely on the buttress of a simple yet elegantly told story.


And finally I end this update with a mail my husband sent me. We laughed for hours over this.

Wanted

This species called James McAvoy comes across as a hybrid of Keanu Reeves and Toby Macguire. In fact the whole movie is a big jumble of Matrix, Da vinci code, X- men, Terminator etc. Wesley Gibson is an inconsequential Accounts manager who suffers from a huge complex. He has no life, no money, his girlfriend cheats on him by sleeping with his best friend, his obese boss breathes down on him constantly and he suffers from severe stress. His life slowly ebbs away day after day into the same hollow.

But suddenly, one fine morning he finds himself being rescued by the sexy Angelina Jolie (Fox) in a drug store from a man who is trying to kill him. What follows is a series of pistol packed action and car chases that would have the director of Ronan smugly saying "Yeah, been there done that!". Wesley gets rescued from a totally dull life into a thoroughly deadly one. He is introduced to an ancient brotherhood called the Fraternity who were weavers by profession but a secret society of assassins in reality. The 'Loom of Fate' apparently determined who would live and who deserved to die and these assassins were picked to do the gruesome job. At this point of the movie, you would wish you had left your morals and ethics on a shelf outside the theatre because it is rebelling to tear the screen apart and slap Timus Beckmambetov for dishing out such nonsense. Morgan Freeman (Sloan) welcomes Wesley into the fraternity much like Morpheus welcomed Neo.

Neo...err...sorry Wesley goes through some tortured training and awakens the dormant powers in him. He acquires lightening quick reflexes and agility and prepares himself to avenge the death of his estranged father and save the fraternity. But, slowly Wesley realises there is something dangerous and wrong with this society. While he is being pushed to kill a man who murdered his father, he eventually unravels a nasty truth about these moral slackers. So who does Wesley finally avenge? To reach the end, you would have to sit through some time tested, old copies of bloody action lifted off several of the afore mentioned movies.

One is not to forget the original and main effect and concept of this movie though. These assassins can BEND bullets. Yes, thats correct. One can shoot from any corner of the planet and the bullets would pass through doughnut holes, pierce people's soda cans, wind around train compartments, meander past buildings, breeze through offices on it's last leg of the journey before finally hitting its target. Another interesting point to note is Angelina's large appetite in this movie. Err...excuse me, wasn't that supposed to be Brad Pitt's selling point, eating all the time? Morgan Freeman is his silent, dignified, strong self in this movie, Angelina needs to seriously get out of the Lara Croft, Amazon warrior kind of roles and needs to don on a fresh look for a change. It is getting quite poutful!

Even if you can get by on some adrenalin pumped action, the moral deficiency in the movie gets very obvious and uncomfortable. Remeber the axiom in Spiderman "With great power comes great responsibilities"? Well, this movie trashes the second part of that axiom. You are left wondering why someone coudn't have 'fabricated' a better story! I would rate this movie with 2 stars.

New Zealand - 1

Quite a lot of people (by which I still mean a single digit) who read my blog have noted the glaring absence of a new post for sometime now and have voiced their grievance about this. So I have decided to pen down a few words. Maybe I should finally open the New Zealand book and read out a few chapters from it.

Imagine travelling to a country in the hope of spending a restful and rejuvenating week amidst snow-clad mountains and green pastures dotted with woolly sheep. And while you are busy picturing this, what if I told you that to get to those mountains you have to drive along the Tasman sea and wage through dense, luscious rainforests? Would that be panoramic enough for you? New Zealand is a surprise at every bend geographically. One moment you hear the whoosh of waves crashing, seagulls crying and pebbles tumbling over each other racing towards the shore and in the next instant you are transported into thick jungles. A large green canopy looms overhead, the air is rent with symphonies of frogs and crickets that echo throughout, the smell of pine trees fill your lungs. Just when you start to think you are in the wrong country having the wrong holiday, the capony opens out all at once to reveal huge glacier covered mountains sparkling richly in the sun. And thus began my holiday.

While the north island is the usual gateway to NZ, we chose to fly straight to the south island as we had had our fair share of beaches and bays in Australia. Christchurch boasts of being the 'Garden city' of NZ. The Avon river winds its path through the city leisurely framed by overhanging boughs and beautiful gardens. This scenary alone justifies the title for the city.

We spent only a day in Christchurch exploring its cathedral and city sqaure. Old trams which served right at the beginning of this century still chug along mostly as a tourist attraction. What started as a wet, windy morning soon turned opaque and festive due to a snow fall. This turned out to be a bonus for us because the next morning saw everything covered with a fresh layer of snow.We travelled on the Trans alpine train from the east coast to the west journeying through fields of the Cantebury plains, over spectacular gorges and river valleys, descending into deep, dark tunnels and emerging into lush green forests at Greymouth. Throughout the journey, our train driver kept up an interesting commentary of the local culture, people, places etc. Among the many facts that he revealed, one made a huge impact on my memory. Apparently, possums are an introduced species in NZ and they have become quite notorious for ruining the local flora and fauna. This the what the driver said.." We are not very welcoming when it comes to possums, so if you see one on the road, please feel free to squash it. We strongly support you driving over as many as you can". Rude and cruel as that might sound, his tone made it very funny and animated. Here are some views from the train.

Franz Josef: a small town at the foot of the glacier by the same name. When I mean small, I mean 2 roads, 5 hotels, 5 restaurants and approximately 270 people. The glacier is said to be one of its kind in that it is still growing and unaffected by global warming. The story behind this glacier is romantic albeit sad. The Māori name for the glacier is Ka Roimata o Hinehukatere ('The tears of Hinehukatere'), arising from a local legend: Hinehukatere loved climbing in the mountains and persuaded her lover, Tawe, to climb with her. Tawe was a less experienced climber than Hinehukatere but loved to accompany her until an avalanche swept Tawe from the peaks to his death. Hinehukatere was broken hearted and her many, many tears flowed down the mountain and froze to form the glacier. Here is the view of the glacier from the helicopter ride than we enjoyed.

Of all the places you could eat Gajar halwa and pista kulfi, would you have even imagined Franz Josef to be one of them? It makes me proud to find Indian restaurants in places where people wouldn't even know where to spot our country on an atlas. And it is quite popular, mind you! The navratan kurma was slightly offbeat but then again if you lived in Franz josef all your life, the true taste of Indian curries becomes hazy after sometime.

More to follow....

New blog

Out of a sudden fancy, I registered in wordpress and started a new blog. The URL is http://anushya.wordpress.com

I will ofcouse continue to write in 'in totidem verbis' for I am closely attached to this blog. But every now and then, I wouldn't mind rambling a bit elsewhere in wordpress.

My non existant readers can keep a keen watch on both the blogs for any updates henceforth.

BTW, I love these pictures.

News

1. I watched Indiana Jones and at 66, Harrison Ford doesn't dissapoint at being Indi once again. The movie is quite comparable to the previous ones. Cryptic letters written in dead languages, close escapes that unravel the beginning of another adventure, levers that open secret passages and doors, hidden pathways full of scorpians, villians with strange personalities and chases with them, the ultimate find of the treasure, the narrow escape from it as the whole cave collapses on them and finally everything gets destroyed and buried under water.


2. The swan lake ballet by the renowned Kiev school was my introduction to theatre in Canberra. An evening of theatre here is a very swanky and upbeat event. People dress their best and what better time to dress up than winter when there are so many classy layers to display.Coats, jackets, sweaters, knit-tops, skirts, boots.. the list is endless. Right before the show started, the audience assembled in the lobby and all one could hear was hushed whispers and the clinking of champagne glasses. The room was bathed in a dim light which refracted over glasses and diamonds that sparkled here and there. The ballet was a big feast to the eye albeit a bit long. The costumes were perfect, the sets detailed and the dancing professional.


3. I think Koko black is the epitome of dark indulgence in chocolates. It is sinful and irresistable. I have classified its chocolate and strawberry ice cream the best there is. The pictures tell you the rest. Notice the dark mahogany panelled interiors that add to the decadence.










4. Volunteering at the RSPCA shelter has been a very different and new experience for me. Although I am not new to the world of animal shelters, RSPCA's have standards that define thoughfulness and quality of lives. Outside every row of kennels is a speaker from which soothing symphonies issue to relax the animals. The kennels themselves are very well planned. They have a front area for the dog to relax during the day and see the outside world and a back area padded with fuzzy blankets to keep them warm during the night. The granite slabs beneath these blankets are electrically heated to ensure enough warmth for the dogs. Every animal has a detailed and endearing testimonial written about it and hung on the kennel doors for everyone to read. I am learning how to train animals and socialise with them in the right way so that this may enhance their chances of getting adopted. Definitely a very fulfilling time for me.

5. and finally....New Zealand, here I come!!! This is one vacation I am really looking forward to. I am going to Middle Earth in the peak of winter. Who knows...for I might just spot a hobbit as we drive through the mountains and forests. And I can't help but keep repeating........."All that shines is not gold
and all who wander are not lost."

Alas! winter has arrived. A steady silent chill creeps into our house and if we aren't careful, grips our toes, fingers, tips of our nose and ears before proceeding to thoroughly freeze the bones. I miss the sun, more because there it shines in the clear sky every day throwing ray after ray of light but absolutely no warmth. Cold winds pass by in hearty drafts. People are hidden under their winter wear and assorted overcoats and Canberra looks like a sea of black and grey wooly sheep herding along towards some source of warmth.

Summer ended quite splendidly though. Autumn is the most beautiful finale a full,eventful summer could have. Fall colors are magical. Shades of violent red, orange, yellow, rust and few odd greens mingle to create such an explosive effect against the cerulean blue skies. Leaves fall throughout the year but autumn leaves fall with grace. With a poise that denotes a silent farewell until next summer. Although fall was only a few weeks, it was dramatic. The streets were carpetted red and the trees lay barren with nothing but dry, empty branches.

This is my first real winter experience and boy am I armed for it! I already feel like a trifle cake what with all the layers I have donned.What I was not prepared for was the complete sedation. It is impossible to wake up at any hour of the morning and an even harder task to stay awake throughout the day. I find myself snuggling under throws and blankets that I have strewn conveniently all over house and having frequent long snoozes. The second I get out of my cocoon, the cold paralyses me and before I know I have dived back into my warm nest for another snooze to recover from this rude shock. Thank god, I am not working.

What I like about winter is the mist in the morning (I caught a glimpse the first few days before I went into hibernation) that looks like a big sheep that nicely settled down between two hills. I love winter fashion. Not everyone wears black. There are those who parade boldly in bright red or greens as if to infuse some cheer in the otherwise dreary day. I love hot soups and hot chocolate even more than I did in summers for they keep the food pipe warm while all else in the body shivers. I love mufflers and boots. I love looking at distant mountains wondering when they would turn white. And I have never enjoyed sleeping so much as I do now.

There is nothing better than a sharp, cutting winter to invoke a deep longing for another season of summer. Visions of summer hats and parasols swin before my eyes. Ah! the taste of granadas and iced lattes on a hot summer afternoon. The surf and sand....the thought of water now rattles my bones. I wish I didn't have to bathe everyday and could just vacuum myself. Well, winter woes aside, the crisp air and the clean white blanket of snow boasts its own charm. If nothing else, winters brings a common need in everyone to seek warmth.

....because this blog needs some images and colors.

Squack shows!

Lately the trends in talk shows have been thoroughly irking me. If you have had a good afternoon to waste watching shows like Dr. Phil or Oprah or Ellen degenerate...oops! degenerous, you'll follow what I mean. It is one thing to talk to a bunch of people about sensitive issues, publicise the pain and anguish and in the process maybe shed a few genuine uncontrolled tears...but I say...to have audiences by the rows weeping over someone having their house cleaned of mold and unwanted clothing is a classified waste of lacrimal fluid.

Most of these talk shows make a big ado about nothing! I don't deny that they provide a platform for an exposure or expression of different ideas but it seems that no show however light hearted or humourous can pass without the brimming eye, the sniffing nose or the light flick of a threatening tear from the corners of the eye. I am sure the audience have no idea what will air on that day's show but it seems certain that they all march in with the sole intention of dehydrating themselves crying the moment the camera man says 'action'...(or whatever it is these cameramen say to talk show hosts!).

Dr.Phil talks like he is god. I grade him nothing less than a pseudo psychologist armed with all the truisms and wise words that would improve or help nothing but the TV ratings. Last week, I managed to sit through one of his shows where he was counseling a couple and advicing the husband that if his wife wanted pots and pans for gifts then he should give it to her and just cause he is a jew doesn't mean he needn't respect christmas, jesus and the deal and let his wife enjoy the festivities harmoniously (for she is christian). Someone save this world or closer still save television-mediated messages! There are more serious issues to discuss and people in deeper trouble psychologically. What on earth is this moustached menace playing at?! He iced the show by gifting the woman a box of pots and pans leaving the husband feeling thoroughly deficient and pointless. I suppose Dr.Phil-'anthropic' had a personal point to prove more urgently than genuinely solving the couple's problem.

Now switching channels a bit here and there and finally coming to Opera and Ellen....what is with these women trying to outdo each other in gifting the audiences?? Opera gifts people cars and houses. Ellen does a jig with a human gift box before she opens scores of gifts to the surprised spectators. Every second show is about pampering the crowd with presents and assorted goodies. It seems like a mad competition between Opera and Ellen as to who will throw away more money faster and better to have their studios burgeoning with weeping and sniffling women, bawling at their every syllable. It feels like the only emotion that draws any attention is sorrow, pain and sob stories. Doesn't hope, faith, humor, count for anything? People cry on Opera when they are discussing topics like 'choosing the right-sized bra'. I rest my case here.

I used to love talk shows once. They were genuine, each show had some unique topic of discussion and people weren't so put-on. There were things to learn about the people of this world. Even now, I wouldn't discard these talk shows as pointless but I wish they would make them less pompous and hollow and allow everybody to react naturally to different situations instead of the mass of walking talking niagra falls that they have created. As for Dr.Phil, he should just be banned. There is no vindication for him.

Summers in Australia.

Hello my non existent readers!It is time I told you about the Australian heat. No doubt I could finish it all in one word"unbearable" but that would hardly do justice would it? Afterall it's such a heated topic these days and I am totally fired up to tell you about it.

Heat in the tropics would mean sweat, high humidity and generally lots of coconut water or rooafza. Here the sun steals on you, pierces you and refuses to set before 9 in the night. All the colorful parasols outside cafe's and all the grenada's and iced coffee they offer give you no respite. The leaves are still and even the flies get too hot and lazy to buzz and irritate sometimes. As much as my plants love it and sway toward the sun beam lovingly, I am forced to stand right below the AC all day long lest I should melt.

There is a hole in the ozone they say and the tear is right above us. Why on earth couldn't it shift a little to the right and rest above the ocean? What difference would it make to the water creatures? They live in such deep waters that the sun and ozone are irrelevant entities to them anyways!! As there is noone to check the rays, Mr. Sun here is having a great party throwing himself about. I can almost here my skin sizzle everytime I go outdoors. I look like a sultana after a mere 10 minutes rendezvous with the sun. For those of you who are wondering why I am complaining when I look like some bejewelled, beautiful princess.... a 'sultana' means raisin... and not some arabic beauty who married Alladin. Just by the way (and I don't know why), it took me ages to remember that sultana meant raisin. After calling it Shah Jahan, safira and all other names and linking it to precious stones, lamps with genies etc etc.. the meaning finally sank in.

Sorry for digressing but not wanting to look like a raisin, I usually apply copious amounts of sun tan. To those of you who like sun tan lotion...a big boo!! I hate it. It's sticky and generally leaves me feeling darker even before I have stepped out. Buying the right sun tan lotion and applying it the right way is almost very precise and scientific here. The appropriate SPF range for any particular activity and the upward stroke of application on selected areas of the body have nearly become major degree courses. I don't care, I slosh it on myself till a point when even my aura is soaked in it. I can only hope that it protects me from the mischievious rays of the sun sans ozone and all.

I don't mean to disgrace the heat or the summer in anyway. Afterall, I shall probably miss this heat in another couple of months and perhaps be writing eulogies when I am shivering in the cold. But for now the AC toils to spew some cool air. And I sit under it dreaming of cool coconut water and cocum sherbat....

My little 'town'

I have developed a certain fondness for Canberra, I feel very much at home even though it's been only a couple of months since I got here. Perhaps because it was the first place I saw outside of India. Or perhaps it has a subtle beauty that is really refreshing and fulfilling. Or just perhaps home is where the heart is. But whatever be the reason, I feel I've lived here for ages. Everything seems warm and welcoming and yet very familiar and reassuring.

Although Canberra is the country's capital, it is very unassuming and quaint. It looks more like a town than a city. It isn't crowded or polluted and there are huge expanses of open fields, green pastures, untouched hillocks and a generous sprinkle of lakes and water bodies. Most places in Canberra look like picnic spots. Kangaroos roam wild and free, sheeps and cows graze languorously, people go about their lives peacefully and unhurriedly.

The first thing I noticed here was the lack of traffic. Hailing from Bangalore where vehicles move because it's being bumped by the vehicle behind it, this was a relieving and interesting change. Noone's in a hurry to get anywhere. People wait for other vehicles to pass by while they perhaps entertain themselves looking at a twittering bird on a nearby tree. Pedestrian crossings were made here to make a man feel like a king. Vehicles wait reverently while pedestrians cross the road taking their own sweet time. I remember the number of fights I have seen in India over people surrepticiously parking in someone else's place. Here things seem to work like clockwork. One car switches on the indicator to park while the others just glide by continuing their search.

I love the lakes and ponds here. Most are artificial water bodies but they have been planned so well. Ducks, black swans and pelicans float by in the limpid waters. I feed them often and I never knew that ducks had so much personality. Wooden benches border the lakes. Any one of these lakes and the avenue of trees leading to it could feature in a hallmark card. It looks so enriching and green with boughs laden with colorful flowers overhanging the ponds and lakes.

I started writing about Canberra because this morning I was thinking of the new year's eve I spent here. I suppose for most people Sydney would be a better choice as it boasts of it's world famous bonanza of fireworks. We didn't make it to Sydney this time because it was too hot to drive there. We settled for the fireworks in our little 'town'. I haven't seen anything more personal and cute. It took place in the small town square, sombre and for a very short while. There were cozy tents pitched selling burgers, hot dogs and coffee. There was a stage on which a rock band was singing throughout the night testing everything from Beegees to Ricky Martin.
Families had gathered, dressed casually like they were just walking in their own gardens. Almost all the children had fluorescent jewelry to keep them from getting lost. There was a light buzz in the air from all the banter around, a warm breeze drifted about. Then all of a sudden someday shouted the countdown and then there was a spectacle of fireworks. Probably nothing to wrote an article about but it was the total ambience, the enid blyton-ish atmosphere that made it so special. People clapped and whistled and shouted new year greetings to anyone around them. The band then continued playing, the warm breeze drifted some more, most people dispersed but some remained sitting on the soft grass with their families listening to the music welcoming the new year.

To me it was perfect. I don't like crowd and noise. I feel lost in them. Maybe Sydney was a million times better in it's show but we would have had to wait and be shoved in the crowd. We would have had to struggle to get the right vantage point to see the best of the fireworks. Canberra was comfort. We strolled back to our car holding hands, wishing random strangers. Somewhere at a distance music flowed....

Last weekend I spent lazing about like a sloth. I refused to get out of bed and had breakfast and dinner served to me, finger bowl included. They say that most great chefs are men. Sexist remark or not, my husband cooks like a dream.

This was the feast I had for dinner. All this took him less that 2 hours to cook. I didn't get a photo of the breakfast he gave me but it was quite like a work of a french artist. It was extremely ornate and I stared at the food for so long that I almost forgot to eat.

I am just getting beyond the point of charring my food and into maintaining the original shape and color of the food. I cook while my husband 'chefs', if I may be allowed to make a verb of it. Needless to say, it's another blessing added to my life and it makes me extremely proud of him.

Food in Australia is a delight. While the whole world shivers and eats winter fruits like apples and pears, I spend my days eating ripe juicy mangoes and lychees. Infact, I haven't eaten such good lychees even in India. Some of the other interesting goodies that I have tried here are: soft, warm, melting, sugary, custard-filled doughnuts; yogurt of all kinds of flavors; chocolates the like of which even Roald dalh missed out; pizzas made by true Ialians with eggplants and pumpkin in them; nachos with beans, cheese and sour cream which are crunchy as well as chewy because of the cheese and warm and soft because of the cooked beans on it; mango kulfi (Australia loves Indian food and I am surprised at the authenticity and the richness of the food.); turkish pide and the variety of dips; sticky balaclavas; delicious, warm, blueberry muffins etc etc etc.

Calories be dammed, atkins diet be cursed and gyms and measuring tapes be forgotten....these are the days when my taste buds are on a roll (literally and otherwise). Food has a newer and greater meaning now, much beyond the precincts of pani puris and masala dosa. I am always ravenous to try different tastes and different cuisines. Seems like I have landed in the right place.