Friday, April 25, 2008

When yellow begins to hurt…

Muchos gracias to my friends in the fashion world, my coterie’s devotion to haute couture, fierce episodes of “Project Runway”, and of course, my own interest in “what’s the latest”, I am aware that “yellow” is the color of this season. I am ecstatic about yellow being dernier cri (in vogue) as it happens to be my favorite color. I mean, what’s not to like. It’s a color that exudes the warmth of age and exuberance of youth. Sure enough, I have indulged in “yellowing” my wardrobe this spring and am cognizant of my new found love, “Michael Kors.” I don’t intend to take this blog to another level with my adulations for Michael Kors’s work, but I have to confess—I can’t get over how “yellow” has taken over the world. 70 percent of mannequins these days are adorned in yellow garb. My husband and I were in the Theater District the other day watching “Curtains”, and I can’t even begin to tell you the number of women in the audience who had yellowed themselves—yellow jacket or a yellow clutch or yellow footwear or yellow T-shirt or just a hint of yellow. I saw this man the other day, picking up after his dog, in a neon yellow bag—seriously, what happened to traditional white plastic bags?

The ultimate contribution to the world of yellowization: For those of you who live in and around NYC and partake in morning walks/runs, you’ll understand how heartfelt and “shoe felt” the next few lines are. Come spring, people finally start becoming cognizant of the “holiday weight gain” (read as “they become aware of the effect of those extra doughnuts or delectable slice of cake on their rear end”). The guilt combined with the aspiration to fit into a bathing suit by summer (oh please, we have all fantasized about getting those “Heidi Klum” legs), gets a substantial number of people motivated. Sure enough, my friend and I have been going regularly for our morning walks—talking about food but walking away those pounds, or so we think.

Anyhow, I have realized that at dawn the city streets are embellished with sheer yellowness—not with flowers or the sun’s radiance but with the contribution made by man’s best friend. Who knew the spring trend would permeate into the canine world as well? That was sarcasm directed towards all of those dog owners who think their canines’ excreta titivates the city. It never has; it never will. Most of us love dogs or the idea of them, but do not for even a moment think that your pet’s poop is accentuates the city streets. Watching potholes and crevices on the road is enervating enough; now you are leaving behind physical evidence of your phlegmaticness. I hope you read this blog and mutter to yourself, touché. So, next time when you are out soaking in the morning sun with your pet, consider the nuisance you cause. Yellow is a welcoming color, but it becomes an eyesore when it’s presented in the form of your apathetic behavior.

More until next time.

Copyright © 04.25.2008

“I think that God in creating Man somewhat overestimated his ability” — Oscar Wilde

Friday, April 18, 2008

Mom and dad, I want to be an “item girl”

Before you ingenious souls start speculating if this blog is about my dark, abominable, secret ambition, shun out the amazing thought. The following lines aren’t about me, but about Bollywood’s newest tawdry “item girl,”—Rakhi Saawant, who has become a sensation in our nation. I know; you are seeking answers to her inexplicable success as well. If the words “how” and “why” accompany the words Rakhi Saawant and success in the same breath, then read on.

Not to stereotype, but Asian Indian parents are very focused on getting their children educated; choosing the right career for them (read as law, medicine, engineering, or at least an MBA etc.). So, how do people like Rakhi Saawant happen? Did she just wake up one morning and decide she was going to align herself with Kangana Renaut and pretend that the brain was a vestigial organ? Was she actually a man and the sex change operation yielded a below average unisex face, so she turned to Bollywood? Is she even human or a hybrid of various sorts? I wonder if she is a part of an esoteric cult that believes in “trashy is hip” or if she went to a school whose motto is “we help you attain your dreams of being sleazy.”

Whatever be the case, this ignoramus has managed to defy all logic and is quite a sought after item girl in Bollywood. I can’t believe I actually blogged about a celebrity I am not sure is for real. The one question that goes unanswered is: How did Rakhi Saawant tell her parents about her ambitions? “Mom/dad, I am an altruistic person; I want to save you money. I have decided to never outgrow my wardrobe. I will continue to wear the clothes you bought me when I was a baby, even as an adult. Not just that but also I’ll save you all the money you had put away for my education. I’ll look hideous and sound asinine and get paid to be that way.”

Check out this link that helps me reiterate my postulations.

More until next time.

Copyright © 04.18.2008

“Woman are meant to be loved, not to be understood”— Oscar Wilde

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Oh the Things You See on the New York Subway

Time: after 9:30p.m.

Location: Lower East Side – it was a crispy clear night with that hint of drizzle that felt like ambrosia.

Event: Creative writing Workshop

The class was near finishing, and I remember the instructor sharing her few last minute avante-garde tips. One of them was, “always take notes when you are on the move. It helps you compose the final piece.” So I stepped out of class; all inspired, with a notebook in my hand. I boarded the "F" train, homeward bound and pondered what my next blog was going to be about. There were enthralling ideas we discussed in class that could have been the answer. I was still in a bedlam, when suddenly the Goddess of words smiled at me and at 34th Street my subjects boarded the train.

By now, it was past 10p.m. The subway car was relatively empty and thankfully deprived of human cacophony. The echo of my own thoughts sounded like ethereal melody. Anyway, this couple (my subjects) sat right across from me. They were clearly middle-aged, married (they both had worn wedding bands) Indian couple--man with his distinct round glasses and thick, black mustache while the lady with hair shorter than the man. I have to say, what struck me as odd, was their mannerism—the amorous glances they shared were blinding and nauseating.

So, the woman in high heel boots strut her stuff and with a sigh, graced the subway seat; meanwhile, the man with five huge, stuffed-to-the-brim Macy's bags followed her inside. Mind you, the high maintenance lady's hands were empty while the husband pleased her with his porter skills. The chemistry gets more intriguing: the man gave the woman a hand massage like he was cautiously cleaning a recherché stone (I remember thinking--massage for carrying the weight of air on her hands? If anything, shouldn't she be massaging his hands? After all, hadn't he just lugged the shopping bags full of goodies?) Wait, my eyebrows went up further. The guy took out two burgers from a Burger King packet. He gave the first unwrapped piece to his master, sorry wife; he passed on the napkins to her and only then did he dare to dig a bite into his lard and sodium laden junk food. It wasn't the sight of half-masticated beef pieces in their mouth that intrigued me; there was something strange about the duo. The man stroked the lady's hair and romantically stared into her eyes. I was quite enjoying my train ride with this woman and her she-man or somewhat man or prince charming or a character right out of Mills & Boon.

The bubble bursts: As I was taking notes hoping that’s my word dabble wasn’t conspicuous, I overheard the guy ask the lady about her job and how she never talked to him about it. I remember thinking, “hmmm. That’s bizarre. Women normally can't shut up and this guy is complaining about his wife not talking about things.” My eyebrows arched further when I heard the lady say, "My husband said...." Oh My God! What?

It all finally made sense. These two were a couple; just not married to each other. Even before I could get over my epiphany, I saw the lady get off a stop before the guy and alluringly bid him goodnight.

I guess, call it stereotyping, but I wasn’t expecting to see two 50-year old Indians cheating on their spouse so nonchalantly. That too on the New York subway! Come to think of it, the man’s effusive, extraordinary, romantic behavior were all signs…Oh the things onlookers witness on NYC subways.

More until next time.

Copyright © 04.10.2008

“How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being” — Oscar Wilde

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

Announcing the reincarnation of Pandora’s two cents!

Thanks to those of you who fervently called or sent me emails about how you missed reading my word dabble. Well, I am back to share my endless stream of opinions. You know, what finally snapped me out of my torpor (read as “get off my lazy butt”) was a phone call from a crony this past weekend. She said, “The only thing I look forward to when I get to work is to read your blog. How can you not write them?”

So, I decided to bid adieu to my languor and here I am, at the behest of my friends and family, presenting you Pandora’s two cents. So, gear up for the ride—even those, who in the past, have chosen my blog space to start a mutiny with their sincere viciousness. Je dois dire que (I must say), I am flattered you think of my blog as the “shrink space,” where you can sedulously vent your personal frustrations and petulance, but sorry, I can’t help you; you need to see an “agony aunt” instead.

A snapshot of where I have been all these months: Well, I graduated from Columbia University in December 2007. I need a standing ovation for the aforementioned sentence -- I survived the fourth quarter of 2007 (the time while I was working on my thesis). Oh, those grueling days! I shudder as I reminisce and indite. You can call me a born-again Indian!

Come to think of it, 2007 wasn’t all dreadful. It was a fun year in the company of alphabet “F”—family, friends, and food. Not to forget, I had the opportunity to travel to some exhilarating places—India, Dubai, England, Singapore, Hong Kong, Macau, and Thailand.

You know, even after the year is over and 2007 is a closed chapter, I am still left with these unanswered questions:

  • Why does it cost 20p to pee in London’s public restrooms? Was it a marketer’s idea to come up with this glitzy concept? “20p to pee!”
  • If the boat carrying Rakhi Sawant was to capsize, would she drown or would buoyancy keep her afloat?
  • Why cops are called "bobbies" in Queen Elizabeth’s land? C'mon, how can you take them seriously after that bloody nickname?
  • Why Kangana Renaut won’t see a speech therapist? She won another award for her so called “acting skills” in 2007. Were the cows and goats of Himachal allowed to vote?
  • Why media channels feel the need to broadcast the perils of wearing stilettos when a snowstorm is a-comin’? I believe, women who need to be reminded about wearing utilitarian footwear, deserve to fall every now and then.
  • Why 150 baht (Thai currency) is the magic "bargain number" in Bangkok? It can get you a cab ride, a delectable meal, or a souvenir?
  • How come both Shahid Kapur and Kareena Kapoor look “sizzling hot” post their breakup? Not sending a good message there, folks.
  • How do Demi Moore and Madonna look so pulchritudinous even at their age?
  • Why the fine dining Chinese restaurants in Hong Kong don’t serve dumplings after 5:30p.m.? Seriously? I know New Yorkers plan evenings around dumpling gormandizing.
  • How come most people with average salaries in Hong Kong indulge in luxury brands while the majority of Americans swear by Wal-Mart?
  • Why some people don't get it that it' not okay to address "acquaintances" or “coworkers” as babe. Never was; never will be.
  • Why maids in Hong Kong get a lavish Sunday off -- the government closes certain bridges and roadways so that the hard working women can throw a picnic anywhere while New Yorkers bring salad to their desk on a work day?
  • Why even few astute women are threatened by a female coworker or subordinate?
  • How Candace Bushnell could write an intriguing book like “Sex and the City” and follow it up with insipid work--“Lipstick Jungle?”
  • Does the word “karma” truly hold a meaning or is it one of those make-believe concepts we allude to for getting through life?

Well, something to ponder about until next time.

“I am not young enough to know everything”- Oscar Wilde