And this one isnt way off either!

You Are a Super Flirt

You love to flirt, so much so that it gets you in trouble. In almost any situation, you find yourself flirting - even when it's inappropriate. You tend to embrace all flirting styles too.. from coy to sexy to playful to serious. And if someone flirts back, you'll crank it up even more!

you curious?

Cut off as I am, it is inevitable that I should sometimes feel like a shadow walking in a shadowy world.
When this happens I ask to be taken to New York City.
Always I return home weary but I have the comforting certainty
that mankind is real flesh and I myself
am not a dream.


-- Helen Keller

As much as I hate the noise, the materialism and the thronging crowds...sometimes....sometimes...I need to be right in the middle of it all to feel alive. My life right now is lulling me to benumbing sleep. I need to be woken up- amidst disco lights, wild crowds, bottles of beer, thumping music, dancing feet and long drives. Bangalore, Dashrath...where are you????

I took another online test today! How lame! I guess I'll never tire of all the nonsense the cyber world has to offer afterall!

This onez on What Movie Classic Are You...

An old journal entry dated Feb 14, 2007

It started out as just another day. Just another day with something to celebrate. Sevde turned six today and I went to the school to see her with a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle, colourful stationary and an Enid Blyton story book. She seemed to love them. I got back home just in time to be reminded by my father that we were going to the studio yet again. ‘Go get dressed. Put some powder on', he said as I got ready to sulk. This was an order that threw me into deep resentment, like all those times before. I knew the routine. I'd throw my best dress on, squeeze into my best shoes, flash my fake smile and the pictures would be either put up on matrimony.com or sent to aunts and great aunts who at 67 found new meaning in life through matchmaking. I sometimes wonder if it is their way of making sure that no one escapes the ordeal they went through themselves. I will never know.

Every Indian family with an unmarried, single, 26 year old daughter deems it mandatory to possess and distribute presentable pictures of their ward. You never know when good fortune strikes and a ‘suitable alliance' comes along. And based on what you looked like for those two miserable minutes in front of an indifferent cameraman, this prospective family is going to decide if they want to go ahead with your ‘proposal' or not. God save you if you have puffy eyes from working 18 hours straight on a presentation for the National Economic Forum the following day!!! They wont pick you for not being pretty. Normally, there are two shots- one, a close up and the other a long shot. The more enterprising ones shoot more frames- wards dressed in western apparel, followed by wards dressed in traditional clothing and accessories should a prospect be thus inclined.

This time I decided I'd wear my green dress and my father made me carry the blue Vietnamese Au Dai he got tailored for me. We'd have four shots he said. The only pair of feminine footwear I have are a pair of black boots. I carried them along in a bag, along with the powder box and the pearls. I have ridiculed myself before, but ridiculing myself in two sets of clothes in the same evening for the same camera- that was going to be my first time.

I started losing myself the minute the lady sat me down on a stool and brought out her much used box of colours- face powders, lip colour, eye shadows- things I'd never used before. With every stroke of the brush across my face she took away a bit more of me. She brought out the hair spray and slicked my hair sideways. Now, after my thoughts, I am most possessive about my hair, and I like to wear it short and messy. The least I could do to defend what was left of me was to furiously ruffle my gelled plumes. Without looking into the mirror I walked to where the lights were. Walking never took so much effort and my legs never seemed to weigh me down so much as it did now- not even when I was doing my 200^th split after a good half hour jog at the gym. My heart grew heavy and now lay somewhere around my ankles. I could feel it beating from there- loud, violent, repressed. The voices in my head were growing louder and profane. They were too many to contain within. I wanted to tear my head apart and let all of them out. The lights flashed behind me, above me, in front of me and the photographer pushed and shoved my limbs until he thought I was ready to be shot. I was. With a gun.

I thought I heard him say ‘1, 2, 3...smile...', but I wasn't sure. I didn't know where I was. Was I at the pizza place? Had I asked him for some extra cheese? Or was it happy hours at Java? In that case, can you top up my StoliCrush please and bring me my pack of smokes...why is the sun shining so brightly on my face? Is there going to be an eclipse later today? Why are my eyes watering? Why is dad looking so grim? And why was that guy with the camera asking me to smile. Camera. Dad. Studio. I remember now. The guy was getting impatient. How long had I been standing here? A minute? A decade? I couldn't tell. Ah! My throbbing head! ‘Smile. Get it over with' said a voice. I couldn't tell if it came from within me or from some annoyed soul in the room. Nevertheless I tried. Really hard too. My heart urged my lips to smile but my lips wouldn't comply. I could feel the battle between my lips and my heart and after a while my cheeks began to harden and ache.

And then I heard the first click. The first picture had been taken. What had it captured? My brand new clothes? my make up? my unborn tears? my pimples? my flat nose? my bulging body under that long flowing dress? the smile that never came? the eyes that seethed with anger sadness and resentment towards anybody who would look at me? ‘Okay, time for the blue dress', dad's voice came back trailing through the daze that engulfed me. ‘I am not doing it', I hissed back at him, clenching my teeth. "Now that you are here, you might as well get it over with and peacefully too. Don't look like I am taking you to be slaughtered. There are people watching you". As I slipped into my new mask I knew I couldn't fight the situation. I was now like the wounded dog- tail tucked in between his legs, subdued, submissive, vulnerable, scared, and worst of all, with no pride left. I wanted to scream till my lungs burst and my throat tore and bled. I wanted to scream to drown the voices in my head. I wanted to scream because there was nothing else I could do. And then I realised I couldn't scream either. Two shots and no smiles later I stormed out of the building to seek refuge in the car. I will probably hide there until I find a photographer whose lenses transcend the flesh and capture the mind.

By my freckled skin

Judge me not,

For scars on my cheeks

Tell my story not.

Nor do the bulges around

My widened hips.

My fuzzy limbs and

Cigar stained lips

Bear no testimony to how

My soul does quip.

Look beyond my bespectacled face

What lies beneath will truly amaze.

http://simplyme.shoutpost.com/

May the 24th, Sometime around 10:30 in the night

I am sitting here on the washing stone on the terrace listening to the stories the stars have to tell and the songs the winds love to sing. Stories of distant unscalable mountains and green turtles that swim through rugged ocean tubes. Songs of burly blue waves kissing the gold spangled sands and the little black bird humming his sweet love home. Stories and songs so magnificent, even time stopped in her tracks- mesmerized. And everything froze, even my heart. Amidst this realm of cosmic inertia, the Universe and I consummated. I made sweet passionate love- to the winds, the stars, the skies, the oceans, the moon, the trees and the birds. I made love to each of the seven colours of the rainbow and the four seasons of the sun. I kissed the day in her lips and the night in his eyes. I fondled the snow from the mountains and let its chill run down my spine, while the virgin summer rains stroked my thighs. Impregnated by creation, I lay there in breathless ecstasy as I became the Universe and the Universe became I.  

You Are 16% Phobic

Wow, you're scared of very little. And you're always conquering new fears that come up. Have you considered a career as a stunt double? You should at least go on one of those crazy reality shows where you eat bugs!

How Phobic Are You?

You Are a Boxer Puppy

Energetic, playful and good with kids. You've also got a wild spirit that can't be trained or tamed.

What puppy are you

There's a 28% Chance You've Been Abducted By Aliens

Even though you have a few alien abduction signs, you're almost certainly in the clear. However, if aliens ever do come to your neck of the woods... they'll probably be coming for you!

What are your chances

You Are Midnight

You are more than a little eccentric, and you're apt to keep very unusual habits. Whether you're a nightowl, living in a commune, or taking a vow of silence - you like to experiment with your lifestyle. Expressing your individuality is important to you, and you often lie awake in bed thinking about the world and your place in it. You enjoy staying home, but that doesn't mean you're a hermit. You also appreciate quality time with family and close friends.

What time are you

well...thats all for now...i guess i need to get outta here.... laterz guys!

I've spent the last two months working around one sole issue currently looming large over my life- my marriage. Starting from meeting the guy and his family in late March to getting engaged last week. I am through with this now. The very thought of the upcoming event makes me want to throw up. In fact I did throw up an hour ago. There is only so much a girl can take! I have been running around the whole damn place working on everything, from the smallest details to the biggest of them all that would go on to make the event. The engagement last week had me dead by the time it was over and the guests all gone. My parents are aging and so is my doggy. They push their limits every single day too. I just hope they dont cave in. I just hope I dont fall dead mid way. Booking hotels, finding economically viable venues for the reception, looking for caterers, hunting for wedding cards, looking up the printing guy, cars for the guests, hotel rooms for the guests, my clothes, my mom's medicines, my dad's post operative care, my doggy's unclipped nails... I even had to drive my fiancee around to buy him his ring when he was here last week!

And today he calls up to ask me if we can push the wedding reception hosted by his family up the calendar. In fact, he wants us to rush to his home town a good 4 hours away  right after the wedding. Thats the most insane request I've ever had! Gimme a break man! Whoz gonna pay off the people whose services we'd be utilising that day- guests need to be checked out of their hotels, they need to be seen off, they need to be attended to for crying out loud- you just dont walk out on them like that! N then therez the wedding hall guy who'd be waiting for his share of the money.Then the transport guys, the caterers...gosh! the list is endless! and he thinks he can just frisk me away?

We'd decided to have the reception on the 17th. Itz been agreed upon...and its not fair on his part to ask us to reschedule the whole thing just coz a few friends of his cant make it to the event coz its a weekday! The wedding is on a weekend- if they truly cared, they'd make it to the wedding.

I am telling you guys, I've really had it up to the top of my head with this whole wedding shit. I am actually beginning to detest the whole idea now. I am gonna just go blow my brains out!

''This just isn't fair!'' I wanted to scream at my father but honestly it didn't quite occur to me. I was barely nine and rebellion apparently wasn't discovered then. Besides we'd done this before and it hadn't exactly killed me. It wasn't like I was being forced to choose Prince Adam over He-Man. Oh no, it was much simpler. Dad had just told us we'd be moving. Soon. Again.

That was dad. He never asked us if we wanted to move- he simply informed us two weeks in advance that we had to. I caught my mother throwing a few concerned glances at me. I had just finished telling her how after almost 10 months into my third school I was finally feeling comfortable enough to settle down. ‘'Hey munchkin, its gonna be alright. You'll soon make new friends and besides Suzanne and Shirley would love summers down south with you''. Yeah. You got that right. We were moving down south from Mumbai, then Bombay. And Suzie Shirley and I happened to appeal to each other so much so that the previous night we had pricked our fingers and swore to be blood sisters forever. I had no clue how long forever was but I certainly didn't think it would be over in two weeks flat.

Did anybody even think of me? It was just over a year ago that I was hauled from Coimbatore down south to Bombay in the west coast. Inhabitants of the adult world felt the transition wouldn't affect a seven year old in the least. If only they knew as much as they thought they knew. For one, an average North Indian considered anything below the Vindhyas ‘Madraas'. I was one of those right from day one. A year in Bombay- a whopping 14.5% of my total spent life then, precision beyond brilliance while spewing out fluent Hindi and Marathi- and I was still the god awful madraasi.

Life at seven and a half isn't all about pan cakes and honey. It's a tough ride out there when you are learning some of life's gravest lessons- the most important one being that not ALL kids pee squatting. And if you do then you are also required to wear pretty pink  frocks, clutch a frilly rag of a doll and skip around town singing, ‘Georgie podgie pudding and pie...'. Then there is this peer pressure to hate anything that walks on two legs, climbs trees and fences, has a toy car and responds to ‘Jeethu', ‘Aaron', ‘Suhail' and other equally ridiculous names.

All this is sensory overload enough without wanting to think of ways to tell your blood sisters that 336 hours after the elaborate commune swearing in you'd really have to get up, dust your candid little bottom and leave for good. Now that's exactly not what you could call commitment. Mind you this is the age when mind doctors as well as all survivors of the innate eccentricities of life say, a young mind ought to be fed on a moral and ethical diet.

Too many minds in the previous paragraph and basic nutrition apart, all this doesn't really matter to an adult I guess. Ethical connotations lose their context when pitted against adult inconvenience. Thus evolved the concept of what is rather in a pretentiously philosophical manner termed, ‘situational ethics'. Light years ago a twisted priest Joseph Fletcher decided that ‘absolute standards could be considered less important (read ignored) than the requirements of a particular situation.' This meant that yardsticks used may vary from one situation to another and may even contradict one another. Phew! Now that was a rather unexpected spell of adult brilliance there, but I don't think I can ever use that to justify things some people do.

Three days down and still counting. That's how long I've been engaged now. For some reason it feels like eternity. I wasn't particularly excited about the day as most brides-to-be are. That was because Jay wasn't going to make it to the ceremony. So the plan was just to have a simple ‘nishchayam' between the two families at our home in Bangalore on the 13^th of May. I wasn't even planning on looking good on the day if you know what I mean. A pair of presentable jeans and a longish Kurta from FabIndia was what was on my mind for me. But my folks suggested I wear a traditional saree, at least during the ceremony, and not be such a jerk about it. I couldn't care less about what I did or wore on the day so I agreed. ‘The green and red mysore silk looks good on you and falls well too. Maybe you should wear that', said Ammamma. ‘Whatever', said I. I was too busy running around looking for accommodation for the family, tending to my nearly bed-ridden with arthritis mother and a father who had just had his cataract removed and whenever time and inclination permitted, gathering my scattered senses to bother about my tanned swollen face, hairy limbs, slowly expanding waistline and summer rashes. Looking pretty, hence wasn't on the agenda. In fact with me it had never even been an option. Even when I wanted to.

Jay's visa came through around the 8^th of May. He expected to leave for Malaysia soon. During our extended conversation one evening, with a good one hour behind us, Jay incidentally happened to mention that he had decided to tweak his already inconsistent dates and come over to Bangalore for the weekend instead. ‘Oh cool', I said. ‘That means I am gonna be there for the engagement' he clarified further.  Fish! That didn't occur to me. Suddenly it felt like I'd been struck by lightning. He was coming over for the engagement! Of course I was thrilled! But god damn him! What about the two zits I'd spotted on my face that evening? my hideously hairy legs? my clothes for the day? my clothes for ANY day? I didn't even have a blouse for that lousy green saree! or an underskirt even!! N in the name of the lord what about his stay? would I be able to squeeze an extra night at the serviced apartments for him? Holy crap! that reminds me, my own room needs a bit of straightening up, ah the wardrobe! The place looked like it had been hit by an earthquake...n Lassie...wow! some good news finally, I'd just bathed her a couple of days ago and she was still smelling good. I'd use some more of her deodorant. And then there was this book I'd promised to gift him when we'd meet next! Sweet mother of God! I almost forgot this next one- I'd have to take him out! But where to? I couldn't possibly take him to corner house for some ice-cream, or to coffee day for, well you guessed it right, some coffee! Wouldn't that be lame? Was that even a question? He'd think I am sans any zing or spunk or any of the other concepts that define one's chillness factor! I certainly didn't want to be uncool. I am not superficial and all that, but I don't want to be thought of as being uncool. I am sure nobody wants to.  I wanted to gang up with my brethren of good friends and cousins, take him to the club, have a few drinks, tinkle down the bowling alley, wait for the DJ to spice it up and dance till we dropped dead- and all this by 11:15 pm thanks to the moral curfew the city police have enforced on its unwilling youth populace. But wait! I am currently on a self-imposed exile- very unemployed and living on a negative income...how the hell am I gonna fund the outing? Hez the guy, what if he offers to pay? Would he have ego issues if I whacked my card out? Would he have issues whacking his card out? aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh.......there's too much rambling going on in my head. Head? Did I say head? That reminds me, I need a haircut...hey, world, dont I need a hair cut? Isn't my hair sticking out in places?!!!!!!!!!!!!! I was mentally preparing my To Do list already and there was a lot on it. I had to get cracking on it before it cracked me up.  ‘So, what time does your flight get here day after tomorrow?' I managed to ask finally.

It was 10:00 PM on the 11^th of May and I still hadn't found parking at what is by now officially the world's most abysmal little airport. It was a long wait before I finally found a spot. The 10 o'clock flight from Trivandrum was a few minutes late and thanks to the sole conveyer belt at Bangalore airport chugging everyone's luggage, Jay was still inside. Dad and I almost thought he'd walked past us and we'd failed to recognize him. After all I'd seen him in all- twice.Well, that normally is enough for you to place people, especially if you are getting married to them. But I guess I was too blown to recollect his face and match it with those of the dozens swarming out of the arrival lounge.

And then I saw him striding out fresh as a daffodil in spring, a backpack slung across his shoulder and a smile sweeping his face. Ah, the carousing in my soul could beat, hands down, the wildest of the mardi gras the world could ever conjure up in its lifetime. I waved out from the smelly evening crowd hoping to be seen. Would he have forgotten my face by now? He stopped in his tracks and smiled back at me. He hadn't. I turned around and elbowed my way through the multitude of humanity to meet him, the bearer of my future. I wanted to run up to him, throw my arms around his neck, enclose him in the tightest hug there ever was and tell him how glad I was to see him. Instead I stopped a good three feet away from him, stuck my hand out to shake his and asked him if he had had a nice flight. Good things must wait, I reasoned to myself while I led the two men in my life into the parking lot. I also couldn't disagree more with my late evening reasoning. The short drive home was spent exchanging pleasantries, mostly between him and dad. They still needed to warm up to each other, but it shouldn't be too long before that happened, I predicted.

My thoughts were, however, with Ammamma, who had been vicariously led to believe that Jay was currently on assignment in Malaysia and that it was in fact dear uncle Ravi that dad and I were going to pick up at the airport. Imagine her surprise when she found a 5 foot 10 inch pack of the sweetest candy grinning down on her outside her bedroom door.  The first ever time she had laid eyes on her to be grand son-in-law. Oh, let me correct that- her grand son. She had waited a million years for this moment when she would finally give me away to someone who truly deserved me, her precious babe.

We stood there, scattered, like random dots waiting to be connected. Was anyone wondering what the final picture would look like? Not I. Clarity, be gone. I'd rather spend all my time looking at him, studying his face so I can kiss him in my mind, appreciating the way he constantly strokes Lassie who is now sitting at his feet, memorizing his smile so I can go to sleep thinking about it, gaze at the way he waves his arms around and his face animates whenever he talks, and basking in his voice- reassuring and warm, like the early morning sun in winter thawing my soul.

The family, powered by tea, pure joy and its latest entrant, talked until past 2 am about a lot of things. Dad had less than three hours to catch up on his sleep before he showed up at the station to pick up Jay's folks and J.P. mama. Translated, it meant it was time to take Jay to his hotel room. With me at the wheels, him beside me, mom and dad together at the back- it seemed weird, unaccustomed to at first, and then as the wheels gyrated beneath us and the chilly twilight winds blew away the fading inhibitions, it began to feel real, and just right. I tried stealing a look here and a glance there from the corner of my eye and missed slowing down at a speed breaker. Jolted. Yelled at. And sheepishly falling in languid love. My man had finally found me. And I had found him right back. (more to come...)

Herez something I found in my journal dated Feb 12, 2007. I do not hold myself responsible for my thoughts and their consequences therof. I'd rather blame it on my schizophrenic tendencies of which I am in no control of :) 

The United States navy returned to Cambodia for the first time in over 30 years on Friday, the 9th of February, with the arrival of the guided missile frigate USS Gary at the Port of Sihanoukville. The last US navy ship to dock in Cambodia was the USS Mayaguez in 1975, resulting in the bombing of a fuel depot in Sihanoukville, then called Kampong Som. The United States alleges that Mayaguez was stormed by the Khmer Rouge. I have never analysed the relationship between the KR and the US in great detail but following is a gist of what I have read and known. Prince Sihanouk was yet another leader who did not fancy being an American client. After many years of hostility toward his regime, including assassination plots and the infamous Nixon/Kissinger secret "carpet bombings" of 1969-70, Washington finally overthrew Sihanouk in a coup in 1970. This was all that was needed to impel Pol Pot and his Khmer Rouge forces to enter the fray. Five years later, they took power. But the years of American bombing had caused Cambodia's traditional economy to vanish. The old Cambodia had been destroyed forever. Incredibly, the Khmer Rouge were to inflict even greater misery upon this unhappy land. And to multiply the irony, the United States supported Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge after their subsequent defeat by the Vietnamese. Would the Khmer Rouge bite the hand that feeds it? If it did, was it because of a deal gone bad?

In any case the navy is not the only new entrant. A week before the marines arrived, on the second of February, 30 US Peace Corps volunteers arrived in Phnom Penh. It marked the first time that the 45-year old organization has operated a program in Cambodia. The volunteers will fan out into the provinces and focus on teaching English and engage in community development projects. "The Peace Corps is seeking new horizons for the 21st century. Cambodia, with its growing economy and nascent democracy, is an ideal partner as the Peace Corps looks to expand into new countries where volunteers have never had the opportunity to serve before," said Peace Corps Director Gaddi Vasquez.  

The US left this miserable nation once they evaluated its chances of profitable recovery and found none. There aren't any US establishments doing business here- not even a stray Mac Donalds outlet. Nor are there beyond three or four US-based NGOs providing welfare and aid in all of Cambodia, and for obvious reasons, I have included the UN in the category. Their scale of business and social activity however does not correspond with the size of their embassy in Phnom Penh. By far one of the biggest office buildings in Phnom Penh embedded with high-tech and intense security with huge unpenetratable iron gates, with 24-hour vigilance from top storeys of surrounding high level buildings. Is US just being its normal paranoid self or does it have a hidden, more dubious presence here in Cambodia?  Why this sudden interest after years of ignoring?

I believe it has a little to do with Sihanoukville striking vast reserves of oil. Cambodia, despite the moneyed government officials, cannot plan, construct and run an efficient oil exploration and production unit by herself. She needs external help. In other words, she is open for investment. Statistically, the top three investors in Cambodia in recent years have been Japan, China and Korea. These three nations have been expanding their interests steadily in the Southeast Asian region, and in the case of China, even beyond. Japan and Korea have been consistently investing primarily in roads and infrastructure in South Asia, and also in community development and welfare of poorer south Asian countries. On a recent trip to the Central Highlands of Viet Nam, I learnt Japan had wrapped up a huge real estate deal and would soon commence construction of a huge resort in Da Lat. Most buildings in Singapore are commissioned by Korean construction firms. China has been aggressively investing in Africa, having built railways, water treatment plants, telecommunication systems, highways and port facilities. Closer to home, in Cambodia, two Chinese firms have been awarded government contracts to expand the country's energy infrastructure. The project includes a $400 million dam and a 120-megawatt hydropower plant.

Asian economies taking over what was once mostly western markets must have the US really worried. North Korea and the US have had a long feuding history, the latest bones of contention being the US crackdown on firms it suspects of aiding Pyongyang in illicit activities, such as counterfeiting, and the Bush-party line that labels North Korea as a sponsor of terrorism. But, the hermit nation recently defied the expectations of half the word and suspended its atomic reactor at Yongbyon in return for huge amounts in aid and on the US going easy on sanctions. Was there more to the deal than meets the eye? Does Pyongyang see it too? Only time and future investments can tell. Until then...I am just going to go back to the sleep mode.