Monthly Archives: February 2006


Sheesh….I got tagged again (meaning I pretended I was looking elsewhere the first time round!). Sensorcaine, being preggie does not warrant being a pest!

The Rules of the game are:
1. The tagged victim has to come up with 8 different points of their perfect lover.
2. You need to mention the sex of the target.
3. Tag 8 victims to join this game and leave a comment on their comments saying they’ve been tagged.
4. If tagged the 2nd time, there’s no need to post again.

So here goes nuffink’…

Yayeet paaints of my purrrfect lurver..

Numero uno: A good talker. Opposites do not attract in this case. I am a talker and the first man my radar zeroes in on, is the big talker in the group. Talk ideas, talk strong opinions, loud opinions, logical opinions, fiery opinions, dispassionate opinions, passionate opinions (aha!), talk nasty humour, talk sarcastic witticisms…but talk for God’s sake! I don’t mean empty hare-brained talk (though I have got taken in by a few of those for a bit)….I mean talk that shows some thought behind it. The guy doesn’t have to agree with my views. Indeed, I enjoy a good verbal battle. But he has to definitely have an opinion of his own. And the nerve to voice it.

Two: SOH. Da funnee guy…yes, I am aware men have not been put on this planet for my amusement (mostly not) . But a sense of humour, in my opinion, shows an intelligent mind, an ability to not take oneself too seriously…and what the heck, someone who is good company! Laughter is the best medicine and all that…then again, I can’t stand those lifetime jokers who can’t be serious even for a minute. Oh, well, a sense of humour I said, not a brain full of nonsense.

Three: Patience. A man would need that to stay sane around me. I am not endowed with this quality myself and I have the utmost respect for people who are. There is a reason all my good friends are infinitely patient people.

Four: Ambition. There is no other way to put it. I can’t stand people who aren’t going somewhere, wanting something and doing something about it. In my book, drive equals passion and dreams equal vision.

Five: A good cook. Okay, this is a biggie. I am a lousy cook myself. And being slotted into the kitchen role on account of my gender is something I’ve been fighting for a long, long time….its driven me too far away for me to ever see the pots and pans with anything else but curious awe. Once again, if he can do something I can’t….bravo! Besides, someone has to do the cooking.

Six: Good with kids. This is probably as long-reaching as it gets. My earlier post talks about this. You certainly can tell a lot about a person from the way he/she is with kids. So a guy who is at ease with children, has in my mind, hit a new level of being the contemporary man. I think I look forward to being a mother much more than being a wife. And I would very much appreciate the father of my kids being in tandem with me on this.

Seven: Not a mama’s boy. Now this irks me to no end.Hell, I can’t get used to this at all. I cannot, repeat cannot respect a man who’s tied to his mama’s apron strings. Once again, I have nothing against a man who loves his mother (that’s good, very good) but I want a man not a puppet.

Eight: Love. I don’t mean a good lover (though that is important). I mean a man who loves me AND whom I love. This is the last and perhaps, the most important of all.

So that’s that! And since I have to continue the pest-wave, here are my victims:

1. Valhala (muhahaha!)

2. Srini (because he alone won’t hate me for it!)

3. Sen (this I’d really like to know)

4. Manuscryts (just being vile)

5. Brad (I bet he won’t pick it up)

6. Mahima (you ain’t allowed to re-direct us to Apoo blog for this!)

7. Apoorva (and you can’t link back to posts about bananas!)

8. Coolcat (don’t know her too well but this isn’t the greatest way to start a conversation, is it?)

Oh and…I didn’t mention the gender of the person but I’ve been saying ‘he’ all along. I’m not going to add “…obviously” to that. Read that as you may.

Proud to be a papa

Has anybody noticed that fatherhood is suddenly in fashion? The advertising guys surely have. So, corollary to the Metrosexual Man is the Proud Papa syndrome. If I’m not much mistaken Nivea started it with the black-and-white shots of a shirtless hunk with an equally (but for different reasons) luscious baby. Since then there have been a slew of ads featuring fathers with their children…notably Raymonds. But this isn’t a post about advertisements. This is about fathers, new fathers…or maybe I should say the new-age fathers.

Men certainly are being better fathers than their earlier counterparts. I see a lot more men with babies, wheeling prams, clutching frantically to over-exuberant toddlers. I see them in shops, on the roads, in buses and cars. I see them taking their kids to school, the movies, shopping, the playground and home.

One gentleman I know rushes through his day at top speed, juggling an entrepreneurial venture with friends. In between he stops to answer his cellphone and listens with rapt attention to his three-year old announce to him that she is going to feed her best friend with grass tomorrow. “Grass?” he asks incredulously. “Arre, woh mitti mein ugta hain na, woh! (the stuff that grows in mud!)” He gravely discusses the pros and cons of this desicion and hangs up after they’ve reached an agreement.

There is the head of my company who has photographs of a grinning pre-schooler lining his table. The little imp is an exact replica of his father in miniature and only stops darting in and out of mischief to cling to daddy dearest’s leg and order him to give him a ride.

So much has been written about the mother-child relationships. In my not-so-fiery-feminist side of the mind, I visualize a man as the manifestation of strength, the hard, tough kind. A baby or a child on the other hand represents innocence, fragility. A father and his child are truly a picture of tenderness without weakness and strength without harshness.

A child after all is a creation of both sexes, a union of two complements. For the father to be taking pride and joy in the creation in which he has an equal role to play is right and fitting. I actually think men may probably make better parents than women now. At some level while most modern men still conflict with the idea of modern women….this friction isn’t going away anytime soon…..I guess the latent sensitivity and deep emotion that are coming up find a better outlet to their offspring than to their partners.

Such a far cry from fathers who didn’t know what class their kids studied in or didn’t know a diaper from a cloth nappy. Today’s daddy is mixture of Gandalf the Gray (funny and wise), Einstein (always knows the answers!) and The Mask (can turn into anything anytime). Papas who can heal a skinned knee just as quickly as a broken heart, smart dads who know when to intervene and when to let alone, daddies who pepper all their sermons and lessons alike in jokes. No, these are not just those few and random examples of ‘sensitive’ men. I think men really are taking fatherhood a lot more seriously than before. Which is a wonderful thing. I’m so very glad my children and their generation will have two loving parents even if they can’t stand each other. Hopefully we won’t compete over who loves the child more.

Manual for Ex-boyfriends


Ex-boyfriend (Photo credit: xeeliz)

There used to be an ad for a shampoo on TV that went “Dandruff is like ex-boyfriends…keeps coming back!”

Of course I’m repeating myself. Yes, this is going to be a raving post. I don’t give a damn. So here’s presenting the must-read manual for ex-boyfriends. (How I wish I could enforce that!)

1. I am not your property. I was never your property. This rule was one reason we broke up. It can be a reason for you to visit a shrink. And it is a damned good reason for you to stop hounding me.

2. I decided not to marry you and have 2.5 kids. I decided not to date you. I even decided not to be nice to you any more. And I decided this around the time you decided that I was stubborn. What makes you think I’ll change my mind now? Also, if you dumped me, I’m definitely not taking you back. Remember stubborn…it’s a good word.

3. My love life/sex life or lack of it thereof is NOYB. That translates to None Of Your Business.

4. Your love life/sex life or lack of it thereof is of no interest to me. ‘Sympathetic ex-girlfriend’ is not a myth. It is not even a phrase in the English dictionary.

5. If you’re getting married, don’t be so juvenile as to send me photographs. And definitely don’t be stupid enough to send me an invitation. There’s no telling what I’ll do next.

6. My friends are attractive, intelligent women. They are also my friends. Hit on them all you want. It gives us plenty of fodder for jokes about you.

7. Oh yes, I’m aware that you’ve got friends too. Don’t send them to hound me please; they are the first suspects after a nasty break-up.

8. If you are nice to me, I may be nice to you. I can’t guarantee this. If you are nasty to me, I will be nasty to you. This you can have in writing. The best thing for you to do will be to get out of my line of sight and stay hidden.

9.Yes, there definitely is a reason I seem so much nicer after the break-up. Maybe it is because we’ve broken up.

10. A break-up spells THE END. You don’t have the rights you once used to. Deal with it, or I’ll have to spell it out. And that could get embarrassing. For you, that is.

Does anyone know why normal, reasonable intelligent men turn into either bullies or despos or slimeballs once they get the tag ‘ex-‘?

Gift shopping

I spent a good three hours last Sunday on a wedding gift. Why, oh, why do people get married? It is such a task getting them wedding gifts. I mean, it is difficult enough trying to buy one person a gift. Now double that number, make it two sets of dislikes, idiosyncrasies, wishes et al. Garnish that with the whole cosy-giggly-apprehensive-“getting hitched & settling down balanced with kissing freedom goodbye/kissing one person for the rest of my life” feeling and what are you left with? A whole list of no-nos when it comes to gifts and practically zilch ideas.

What happens when you put a shop-o-phobic into such a situation? Plenty of wasted time, furious muttering and one insipid post..that’s what happens. I don’t conform to the typical female obsession for shopping. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against new things. I love everything bright and shiny and new. I just wish I could pick them out of thin air and not do the routine of trudging through stores, window-shopping, bargain-hunting, price comparing, trying and the works. Personally I prefer shopping alone. That way no one can talk me out of my penchant for loud colours and weird curios. And by the time someone gets to pass judgement it is too late. My life is my own and all that jazz.

But what to do when shopping for someone else? Make that some-people else. I discarded books, perfumes, music and such things as being too ‘one-person-personal’. Little statuettes of gods and godesses seem to be the order of the day but I can’t bear to propagate religion any more than required. Ah….the ghost of idealism stands in my way, yet again. Should I settle for the bane of every intelligent, creative-thinking person’s existance and gift them shiny stainless steel vessels wrapped in pink paper? Yeaaaarrrrrrghhhh…..I’m not that far gone (but I probably will be soon, at the rate at which people are jumping into matrimony)

Wandering through the lifestyle markets that have become so hip I was struck by the amount of trash that get turned out. I mean, who on earth would use a ‘matted-silver-finish’ dustbin? Or a gilded box with ugly enamel to hold tissues in a car? Probably nobody. But plenty of people still buy them.

While on gift-buying, ever notice how difficult it is to buy birthday/Christmas/Diwali/any occasion gifts? I follow a regular cycle now. I think, I frown, I ‘idea-te’, then I discard all ideas and drop into the nearest bookstore. When it comes down to it, nothing beats a good book for a gift. Yes, I know that not everyone likes reading. But I believe that there is a book for every person, every moment, every mood. All I need to do is find it. Easier said than done. But a tangible, manageable task that….did I mention extremely satisfactory as well?

I once got a bouquet of purple orchids for my birthday. They looked amazing and I got plenty ragged by my friends that night over ‘my new admirer’. Some time later, I dated the same guy and mentioned this to him. He gaped at me and said…”Uh…so?” I said “Well, purple orchids are supposed to mean ‘I await your favors'” To which he coughed and said “I didn’t know that. I barely knew you then and I didn’t know what else to get so I thought of flowers and these were the best looking” *Crash* (the sound of shattered illusions) Oh well, didn’t someone say it is the thought that counts? Ah well, at least someone thought of me, even if the thoughts were different from what I thought.

One of my best gift ideas if I say so myself (yes, I do say so!) was to a friend on her 18th birthday. I didn’t have a big budget and she didn’t have a wide circle of friends who remembered her birthday. So….how to make the lady feel special…was the question. Here’s what she got: A birthday rhyme every hour on the hour, extolling her virtues (and several flaws phrased in mean, witty verses). And after she tolerated my hollering, she got to dip into a guadily wrapped box (plastic covered with tinsel paper) and pull out one thing. Through the day she retreived chocolates, junk jewellery, a cassette, popcorn, a comic book, a stuffed toy and all other kinds of rubbish….she loved it. So yes, I conform to the rules of womanhood (refer to Dr.Gray who says that women go ape over multiple small-value gifts rather than one expensive one)

Ah well…..such moments remind me of what a pleasure it is to give to the people you care for. Of course it is a bit of a pain if the people you care for are male and have no hobbies. Hand me another belt or wallet, please. Yawwwwn…

It is lovely to surprise people though. Sometimes the only thing my gifts get out of people are a laugh. Which is good. What better gift can you give someone than a smile? Lots of things I suppose but I’m not playing Santa Claus.

Don’t even ask what I finally ended up buying for the soon-to-be-weds. Suffice to say, I didn’t give up hunting till I found what I wanted. But this may be the very last time I landed the ‘right gift’. I’m running out of ideas!!!!Stainless steel utensil market, here I come!

A conversation between the two sexes

I read this ages ago in the Reader’s Digest and it landed in my inbox a couple of days back. Still rings true I think…

Let’s say a guy named Roger is attracted to a woman named Elaine. He asks her out to a movie; she accepts; they have a pretty good time. A few nights later he asks her out to dinner, and again they enjoy themselves. They continue to see each other regularly, and after a while neither one of them is seeing anybody else.

And then, one evening when they’re driving home, a thought occurs to Elaine, and, without really thinking, she says it aloud: “Do you realize that, as of tonight, we’ve been seeing each other for exactly six months?”

And then there is silence in the car. To Elaine, it seems like a very loud silence. She thinks to herself: Gee, I wonder if it bothers him that I said that. Maybe he’s been feeling confined by our relationship; maybe he thinks I’m trying to push him into some kind of obligation that he doesn’t want, or isn’t sure of.

And Roger is thinking: Gosh. Six months.

And Elaine is thinking: But, hey, I’m not so sure I want this kind of relationship, either. Sometimes I wish I had a little more space, so I’d have time to think about whether I really want us to keep going the way we are, moving steadily toward . . . I mean, where are we going? Are we just going to keep seeing each other at this level of intimacy? Are we heading toward marriage? Toward children? Toward a lifetime together? Am I ready for that level of commitment? Do I really even know this person?

And Roger is thinking: . . . so that means it was . . .let’s see …February when we started going out, which was right after I had the car at the dealer’s, which means . . . lemme check the odometer . . . Whoa! I am way overdue for an oil change here.

And Elaine is thinking: He’s upset. I can see it on his face. Maybe I’m reading this completely wrong. Maybe he wants more from our relationship, more intimacy, more commitment; maybe he has sensed — even before I sensed it — that I was feeling some reservations. Yes, I bet that’s it. That’s why he’s so reluctant to say anything about his own feelings. He’s afraid of being rejected.

And Roger is thinking: And I’m gonna have them look at the transmission again. I don’t care what those morons say, it’s still not shifting right. And they better not try to blame it on the cold weather this time. What cold weather? It’s 87 degrees out, and this thing is shifting like a stinking garbage truck, and I paid those incompetent thieves $600.

And Elaine is thinking: He’s angry. And I don’t blame him. I’d be angry, too. God, I feel so guilty, putting him through this, but I can’t help the way I feel. I’m just not sure.

And Roger is thinking: They’ll probably say it’s only a 90- day warranty. That’s exactly what they’re gonna say, the scum balls.

And Elaine is thinking: maybe I’m just too idealistic, waiting for a knight to come riding up on his white horse, when I’m sitting right next to a perfectly good person, a person I enjoy being with, a person I truly do care about, a person who seems to truly care about me. A person who is in pain because of my self-centered, schoolgirl romantic fantasy.

And Roger is thinking: Warranty? They want a warranty? I’ll give them a worthless warranty. I’ll take their warranty and stick it right up their …. .

“Roger,” Elaine says aloud.

“What?” says Roger, startled.

“Please don’t torture yourself like this,” she says, her eyes beginning to brim with tears. “Maybe I should never have . . Oh God, I feel so… . . .”
(She breaks down, sobbing.)

“What?” says Roger.

“I’m such a fool,” Elaine sobs. “I mean, I know there’s no knight. I really know that. It’s silly. There’s no knight, and there’s no horse.”

“There’s no horse?” says Roger.

“You think I’m a fool, don’t you?” Elaine says.

“No!” says Roger, glad to finally know the correct answer.

“It’s just that . . . It’s that I . . . I need some time,” Elaine says.
(There is a 15-second pause while Roger, thinking as fast as he can, tries to come up with a safe response. Finally he comes up with one that he thinks might work.)

“Yes,” he says.

(Elaine, deeply moved, touches his hand.)
“Oh, Roger, do you really feel that way?” she says.

“What way?” says Roger.

“That way about time,” says Elaine.

“Oh,” says Roger. “Yes.”

(Elaine turns to face him and gazes deeply into his eyes, causing him to become very nervous about what she might say next, especially if it involves a horse. At last she speaks.)

“Thank you, Roger,” she says.

“Thank you,” says Roger.

Then he takes her home, and she lies on her bed, a conflicted, tortured soul, and weeps until dawn, whereas when Roger gets back to his place, he opens a bag of Doritos, turns on the TV, and immediately becomes deeply involved in a rerun of a tennis match between two Czechoslovakians he never heard of. A tiny voice in the far recesses of his mind tells him that something major was going on back there in the car, but he is pretty sure there is no way he would ever understand what, and so he figures it’s better if he doesn’t think about it. (This is also Roger’s policy regarding world hunger.)

The next day Elaine will call her closest friend, or perhaps two of them, and they will talk about this situation for six straight hours. In painstaking detail, they will analyze everything she said and everything he said, going over it time and time again, exploring every word, _expression, and gesture for nuances of meaning, considering every possible ramification. They will continue to discuss this subject, off and on, for weeks, maybe months, never reaching any definite conclusions, but never getting bored with it, either.

Meanwhile, Roger, while playing racquetball one day with a mutual friend of his and Elaine’s, will pause just before serving, frown, and say:

“Norm, did Elaine ever own a horse?”


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