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.

And then...

My life has gone through so much change in the last 2 months. For one thing, it changed it's hemisphere. As if that isn't big enough by itself!

I thought I would record every moment of my life and write about it. Funny narratives, happy narratives, exciting narratives etc etc. But life is just whizzing by and I don't know where to start or how much to write or how to best express experiences that would never be contained in words, least of all a blog entry. Then I thought I'd just put up some photos with elaborate captions but even that would make it pointless to anyone who is wasting their time reading this blog and trying to get a drift of my life over these two months.

So I decided...to hell with the stories and the choronological crap. I'll say what I want to say.

1. Woe betide a person whose name starts with an "a" in Australia. It will invariably get spelt with an "e". You can labour over your British "Aaaiiii" for hours but to the Aussies it sounds nothing better than an "Eeeeiiii". Sigh! I am almost relearning my vowels here.

2. If you have lived in a country where the roads and street names are Vittal Mallya road or Sheshadipuram or Eijipura orBypanahalli it feels very strange to suddenly pronounce words such as Tuggeranong or Amaroo or Belconnen! You miss the hard sounds.

3. Kangaroos, kangaroos and more kangaroos. They are delightful animals. I used to think they were more lighter brownish in colour, but someone really smart around me told me that these guys are lighter too but they haven't had a bath in a while and their coats have become dirty. Oh! well, even that's a cute explanation.

4. Grocery shopping feels like going on a picnic. There are endless things to see, endless plus one things to buy. I think it would take anyone on an average over a year to just get over the bonanza of colors in a grocery store.

5. India prides itself on Amul, Krishna's butter stealing stories, rich milk and curds and yet why is that we haven't gotten past the simple badam milk or rose lassi or the good old chaas?! Passion fruit and pecan yogurt??? Did these guys get innovative or what? I believe these guys would make yogurt out of anything even if there is no milk to start with.

6. Sydney I found was nice, commercial and crowded spaning pricey Victoria malls to cheap China town. I didn't spend too much time there but I think I prefer Canberra. It's more beauiful, nascent, laid back, everyone's scaringly nice and the silence just spreads like a soothing balm. I love all the little lakes it has.

7. The sun sleeps late here. 8'o clock feels like 5 in the evening in India. I don't know if I should be cooking dinner or munching on some tea time snacks then. And sunset is quite theaterical everyday with all the show of colors glittering everywhere. I am sure lots can be written about the morning skies too but I am seldom awake to know much about it. The southern skies are simply poetic though.

8. I have been eating so many different kinds of food ever since I got here. Turkish, Italian, Thai, Chinese or just good old fattening food..yum yum yum. Most vegetarian food outside India seems like diet food. Lettuce leaves and Zuccini and carrots and if they cook it, they would only take it as far as steaming. :-) The pita wraps, the Turkish pide's, the elegant pastas, everything feels healthy to eat. I love it here. Oh! I almost forgot. Right down my building in an asian store they sell sugarcane juice that tastes just as good as those road side juices in India. I am keenly on the lookout of a pani puri stall and what do you know, I might find that too here someday.

9. It's a different life, a different world, different people but the same smiles, the same emotions, the same kindness, the almost same dominoes pizza (trust me on that) and therefore a whole new exciting phase.

10. Maybe it's too personal to say so but I think my husband is the best. See, beyond this I am scared to communicate what I feel lest it turns out like some soppy hallmark card. I hope the superlative suffices.

More later....

:-) Right now life feels beautiful,
Every blink of the eye, paradise,
Every moment precious and fulfilling,
Every feeling cherished...

To the reason behind this, cheers!

Running nose and Brave battles

Being bogged down by a cold is inconvenient at any point but now when the weather is so brilliant and one wishes to spend time outside, harboring some low-life viruses doesn't particularly excite me.Especially when they come uninvited!Not that one would ever invite them in the right senses, even so their lack of appropriate timing is very annoying.

You get up one morning and realise you have to play host to god knows how many famlies of these vile viruses.They sneak in past barriers and lodge themselves comfortably in your lungs and before you know it a wild raucous party has begun!!I woke up this morning feeling horrible and weak.A running nose that would embarrass you if you tilted your head even at a mere 15 degree angle.Sweaty, restless and an irritable feeling.I have been in bed sulking while the mountain of tissues threatens to bury me under.I feel hungry yet I can't stand the thought of food, I sweat but I freeze when I switch the fan on.My running nose has herein qualified me as the human niagra and yet I feel sun dried and stretched and uncomfortable.

What I need right now is some hot peppery potent kashayam that amma makes that would burn my tongue, sooth my throat, give my nose a rest and issue copius amount of smoke from my ears.I also wouldn't mind some occasional pampering and some extra care :)

I admire by body's defences though.I haven't taken a pill so far and my body has been on the job since morning fighting a territorial battle.It has it's message clear.
Territory:Lungs
Occupants:Either Oxygen or Carbon dioxide
Tresspassers:Anything besides the O2 and CO2.
Action:Complete distruction and a word or two of warning before that (I assume so, as I always consider all of me as very civil)

I hate going through a cold.Fevers are much better.They make you drowsy and you can atleast sleep them off.But colds make you restless and fidgety, dry and irritable and the whole day seems wasted sulking and sweating.And there is nothing one can do about it.It takes 7 days to win the battle and 7 days it will be with or without medicines.So for all practical purposes I have my week chartered out for me.

I rode my dear old bike to office today.In fact every morning for the past couple of weeks my bike has been parked in my garage and every morning it gives me great joy to find it there.Why should this seemingly regular situation give me so much happiness? Because when it comes to my bike..nothing is obvious and regular.

It's been almost 9 years since I bought my bike and in all those years,the number of days it has actually spent parked in my garage can be counted to about one third of an annual calendar.You see, traffic rules change and amazingly they change only on the days I take my bike out.They change erratically and almost vengefully tagerting my bike.When I bought my bike, little did I know I would have so much adventure with it.In fact I am now thinking of attaching a GPS to some curvy corner of my bike.That would definitely make my life easier.Let me tell you how it all started.

One fine day I went to watch a movie with a friend of mine.We decided that I park my bike at some mid point and then ride hers.So I parked it where all the other bikes were parked in a neat row and left. When I returned from the movie, there was no row, no neat parking and certainly no bikes.But what was there was a newly painted, proud, glowing no parking sign.Apparently at twelve that afternoon rules changed and a huge convenient parking slot had been murdered.And with that went my bike.As this was my first experience being seperated from my bike, I didn't know where to go looking for it.I walked into the nearest police station and that's an experience that deserves another blog entry.I walked up to a sub inspector who was busy filing papers.Without looking up he told me that I had walked into the wrong station,that this place was for criminals, murderers and other such interesting characters.As if by cue, a constable walked in with a man handcuffed who was holding a knife and throwing thrifty glances at me...caught apparently..err..red handed.I was out of there in a flash, almost a blur.

So I spent the day running from one station to another, being mislead by the usual bangalorean "straight hoogi madam" directions, figuring out which one had my poor bike.Finally, I spotted the right station paid the fine and rode her back home.That day set the pattern in my life.The next time my bike disappeared from outside my library.I had barely even stepped into the library when I turned around to find the road sans my bike.This other time I had parked it in front of my friend's house like I had been doing for almost 5 years but then...we know the ending...it was gone.Apparently those few feet of tarmac had been made into a main road, I assume because only my bike among a sea of bikes was removed.It doesn't matter where I park my bike, they prey on it take it away with a focussed sadistic plan.

It pains me to see my poor bike clapped in chains, looking very forlorn and hunted everytime I go to rescue her.In fact I feel she has lost her pretty blue sheen due to this repeated abduction.These days she looks quite bereaved, faded and ill at ease on the roads...a little jittery if I may say so.And so considering all that she has gone through, it gives me great joy to find her parked in my garage for the past couple of weeks.I see a definite improvement in her and what with the servicing that I gave her recently, I think she will soon rally around and be as good as new.

My tattoo.

The hiatus ends…(Claps and cheers)…Thank you thank you. (Clapping and cheering continues) “If all of you could please settle down, I would like to say a few words”.

Writing is difficult when the mind is cluttered and occupied with irrelevant thoughts. Simply, I needed time to purge them. And now, with that done and fresh perspectives gained, I start again.

Sometime back I got a permanent tattoo done. Yes, it was painful, Yes, it was very brave of me and No, I am not a junkie. The whole experience was wonderful and in fact worth recounting.

I saw a friend at the gym sporting a beautiful sea horse near her ankle and the desire to get one done for myself gripped me then. Although I was interested, for a few weeks I bobbed around the house wondering if I should actually do it. I asked many people. All their responses (and what a torrent it was!) frankly amused me. It ranged from blatant shock and disapproval to avid appreciation, from disinterest to mild fascination, from wonder to disgust and so on. Some of them even said that if I was depressed I should just safely stick to eating chocolates or if I wanted a change then why don’t I try painting my toes fluorescent green (at least they would be hidden in my shoes).

And so having made up my mind, battling through advices that a tattoo it would be, I had to think of a suitable design. The old clichés such as dolphins and dragons hold no appeal for me; neither do scary sculls and tantric symbols. What design would be worth marring my skin? What design would hold great meaning permanently? What is so close to my heart that I would etch it on myself? A dog I hear you scream. And you are right! I love dogs, I don’t think I could love anything more than dogs. So, it made phenomenal sense to me to get a tattoo of a dog done. If the responses for the idea of getting a tattoo done were huge, then the opinions for the design chosen were overwhelming.

“Oh! my god, why a dog?” “Can’t you come up with something more feminine, like butterflies and pretty angels perhaps?” “Hey, it’s a great idea but are you getting a cartoon of a dog done?” “No comments!” “It will look awesome” and blah blah blah…

My tattooist (Deep) was a young guy who eyed the portrait of the dog I showed him very guardedly. He twitched a bit, twiddled a little more, chewed his lips, walked a few paces away from the picture and viewed it as if it were a master piece at an arts gallery and finally beamed saying he could do an exact replica of the picture. The next day having gathered all my courage, I entered the parlor for a bit of engraving! Everything looked scary from that point on. The needle packet had a warning that said, “This needle WAS sterile in ethylene oxide”. The past tense was definitely unnerving. The manufacturer meant to convey that it was sterilized in ethylene oxide and messed up his verbs with his nouns.

Deep brought out needles and a huge tattoo machine. A tattoo needle is actually a group of several small needles called sharps attached to a needle bar. They are called group, single, liner, round, flat, magnum, shader etc. Needles can be made in groups of 3, 5, 7 or more, depending on what the artist is comfortable with and what the design calls for. The sharps are soldered to a needle bar, and the bar is placed in the tattoo machine through a tube. The machine looks like a drill, reminds you of your dental problems and makes hell of a noise. As he loaded the needle with ink, Deep tried reassuring me by comparing the sensation to a mild bee sting or a pinprick or an ant bite. The truth is there is no such thing as a mild bee sting. When you are stung or bitten…IT HURTS!

And so it began, a 4-hour session of pain and curses, loud drilling noise and numbness. At first Deep moved the needle slowly making small dots to test my pain threshold but soon it became obvious that a dot or a large line would bring forth the same pitch of blood curdling screams and so he began drawing with a uniform speed. I clenched on to a stress ball all that time and almost tore it into two, while Deep carved on diligently and expertly. Every now and then he would look up, dip the needle in more ink, review his progress, give me an encouraging smile and work on. Every now and then, I tried to pull my leg away, scream a bit more, clench my fingers harder and pray hard it would get over the very next instance.

In the end, it was all worth it. Every moment of that apprehension and pain. As I looked at my tattoo when it was finally done, I felt so ecstatic for having decided to get a tattoo. The shading and the fine lines, the depth of emotions in the eyes of the dog, the soft sweep of the fur, the beautiful gray tones…all of it was artful and perfect. I keep gazing at it again and again while post tattoo care was given. To know I will carry this piece of art on me all my life is a wonderful feeling. Tattoos are addictive for a various reasons. People keep getting them done either because they want newer designs or they love to cover their whole body with it or believe it or not they might even get it done to experience the pain over and over again.

Take a look at it yourself.

large animal camp-2

Om goshala houses 65 animals rescued from the slaughter houses.They have cows, bulls,buffaloes and calves. It has a huge enclosure where the animals roam free.Most of them are the non descriptive local breed,old and malnourished.In India only 2 states permit slaughtering and that is Kerala and Bengal.The rest is done illegally.



Most people ask me why I make such a big deal about animal slaughter.Once you have decided to kill the animal for food,how does it matter how you do it?I feel only humans are cruel in their killings.Across species we see animals prey on other animals for food.That is ecology.They hunt for what they want,the killing is skilled and swift.But we follow no system,no rules.

Humans are omnivores.There is ample evidence to that in our dental structure.We have incisors to bite, molars to chew and canines to rip and tear.So I have never believed that every human should be a vegetarian.Once we were following some method to obtain our food.There were sects who ate meat and those who survived only on plants.Even amongst those who ate meat,the killings were regular and need based.In different parts of the world different kinds of meat was consumed.For example,in the middle east camel meat is very popular,those who live closer to the poles consume seals,people living along the coast eat different kinds of fish etc.There was a time when people reared their own meat.If a cow or pig was butchered,the meat would last the family for many months.It would be eaten fresh or cured and preserved for the winters.Many factors maintained that balance be it religion, geography,tastes,beliefs etc.

Now there is no balance.As human population increased,so did the killings.Not only that,every country exports meat all over the world.So,now we humans eat everything and many more have converted into meat eaters.We hoard,we waste.Killings are mechanised and not always accurate.Not only for food,meat and other animal product is used in several industries.And this is where the problem comes in.When 1000's of animals have to be killed per day,humane and relatively painless methods of killing take a back seat.

How many of you knew this?
1.In a lorry that should ideally load only 4-5 cows,40 of them are loaded.Animals are dumped one over the other so much so that those right below die of suffocation,fracture or are simply crushed to death before they reach the slaughter houses.
2.Many are tied together and made to walk for miles on end to their own deaths in scorching heat without food or water.When one animal collapses in the chain,the others have to drag the dead along with it.
3.Male calves of all foreign breeds introduced in India for dairy purpose have no use and are immediately sent for slaughter before they can even get their first drop of milk.



4.Calf meat being very minimal is sold by a special name called 'veel' or like in our country mixed with mutton as one can seldom tell the difference.



5.Once loaded into the lorry, to prevent the animals from moving, their eyes are smeared with chilli podwer or tobacco till they go blind and freeze with fear.Their tails are chopped and their flesh gored.



6.Before butchering piping hot water is thrown on them so that they can be deskinned easily.Many a times they are skinned alive.
7.Even the machines that butcher don't always do a perfect job.The animals head isn't severed completely and it is alive as it's sent to the next machine to be deskinned.
8.The moment a bull becomes weak to pull a cart,it becomes useless for the owner and is sent to the slaughter house.




It is said that we are what we eat.I don't know how far that is true or scientifically proven.But logically thinking this argument would hold.We consume meat for the high nutritional contents.But when animals die in such traumatic and fearful conditions definitely there bodies would secrete different kinds of hormones and enzymes all of which infuse into the meat that is consumed.How safe is it then?How would those chemicals react in our bodies?Maybe they are responsible for so many of our medical problems and behavioral changes about which we still don't know.

I am not fanatical to advocate veganism or vegetarianism.I want people to question the quality of their own food.Those who eat meat are the ones who should raise their voices against such cruelty.They have a right to consume safe food what with most of the table animals being grown on artificial feed and excessive hormone injections to fatten them.This perpetration of unnecessary violence has to stop.

Ganganagar bus stop gets converted into a temporary market on festive occasions.Last evening I had been there with my mom to buy flowers and fruits.It was a grey evening with looming dark clouds,the wind was blowing strong and cold.There was a slight drizzle and people were bustling all over to finish their shopping before the downpour.I stopped my bike near a cart selling huge garlands of yellow flowers while my mother went about her purchases.

The man behind the cart was young and happy.He kept looking up at the skies and then at his cart full of flowers.The drizzle only made the flowers look fresher and today was the day he hoped to sell all his flowers.He looked expectantly at the people passing by.I asked him for how long he had been standing there and he said since the afternoon.In the morning he had been to city market bought all those flowers and then set up his shop in the afternoon.

As I was waiting,I saw a man approach the cart.He looked at the young man,patted him twice on the shoulder and said in a very proud voice..."I am an inspector in XYZ police station".I was quite amused by this and was wondering why anyone had to state their profession just to buy flowers.They would look and cost the same to everyone.But that's where I was wrong.The next thing he does is selects couple of garlands for himself,asks the young man to pack it and then looks at him defiantly and repeats again "I am an inspector in XYZ police station".The young man mumbles something,looks very beaten and resigns to a sad smile.To cap this,the inspector's parting words before he walks away without paying for those flowers were "olle vyabara madi".

I just couldn't believe this happened right in front of me and I did nothing about it.It was daylight robbery in every true sense.I asked the young man why he wouldn't pay and he said "Inspectors never pay madam,if we don't give them what they want,they chase us from here and then where would we go?"Ofcourse this man should belong in XYZ police station,only he should be on the other side of those bars!!What kind of unscrupulous and dishonest people we have occupying seats of authority?!He cheats that young man and then ironically crowns it with "olle vyabara madi"!!I was fuming.

My mother came back and and I had to leave.It started to pour heavily and suddenly there was a flurry of activities with vendors covering their goods from the rain and people running for shelter.I looked at the young man again as he placed a blue plastic sheet over those beautiful garlands and walked away towards some shelter looking very dejected.As I left,I sincerely hoped he would have better sales atleast after the rain without being bullied and cheated.