CA

Staying in a hotel room is affecting me more than i imagined. Woke up last night convinced there is a fire in the room. Bungled about, hit my knee on the side table like in a classic slapstic movie and waited for the firefighters to break in. My sleep drugged brain somehow didnt figure out the green that occassionally flashes on the smoke alarm didnt mean anything bad. Then this morning, mulling over something, I walked straight into an intersection much to the horror and very vocal protests of a driver. The F-word very loudly jarred into my ears and startled me out of the reverie. Glad I am checking out today and am heading home. This short California stay was amusing mostly. Many friends interviewed me about my life in India now. I obliged them ofcourse. It was an interesting study to guess what they wanted to hear and their reaction to what they actually did. "O what fools these mortals be"

Saddam

Tired Saddam stroking his beard, US rhetoric screaming on the channels - "final resolution", " caught like a rat in a hole" - has shaken me out of my apathy to write something about it. Why didn't he kill himself? The US soldiers would have given him plenty of opportunity to do so? Has he decided he would die only in his terms, after revealing the hypocrisy of the west and exposing their sham of self-righteousness? Or is this one of those wag the dog setup right in time for christmas, new year and the reelection?

That said, from the human rights perspective, I think it is good news indeed.

Form

So I am filling up an application form and I come across the question I always see - Father's name. Not mother's name - it is always the father's name. I sigh and try to continue. The next - Husband's name. Not spouse's name, mind you. I pass on to the next question thinking of the injustice - a man who is filling up this form doesn't have to answer question three. I hand it off to the guy and he asks me "are you married?". I wonder momentarily if I should snap at him "Why are you going to propose?". I tell him mildly instead "Why do you want to know?". He gives me a sheepish smile and says, "you have put Ms, that's why". I tell him the option was there so I put it. "But madam", he insists " are you Miss or Mrs.?" I tiredly pull the form back from him, change it and give it to him, not having the enrgy to give a lecture.

Cafe

Had a nice leisurely lunch this past saturday. eggplant moussaka and veggie cannelloni. The cafe at the top floor of Max Muller bhavan has great food. Carrots and beetroots and fresh salad on the side was mouth watering. We sat sipping our iced tea and tasting the hot, delicious lunch. Gentle breeze lulled and a slight drizzle tattooed. Sitting under the very Indian coconut leaves roof - pundal - I thought I was closer to heaven. Until some more folks joined us, pulled out cigarettes and decided to have a puff, that is. Why can't they make restaurants non-smoking zones. Why, oh why do they have to puff and ruin my afternoon, my health.

Sacrifice

My car driver is a very religious man. He insisted on a prayer ceremony this past dusshera for our car. Not wanting to let anything disturb him while driving on our construction-sites ridden bangalore roads, I nodded my head absentmindedly, gave him some money and thought that would be the end of it. I wasn't prepared for the crowd of people in front of our car when he invited me to witness the puja.
Two plantains were tied to either side. A huge garland adorned the front window. All the other windows had bright hindu religious symbols drawn on them. Fellow drivers, other folks working in various capacities in the apartment complex were milling about. Sweets and sundry paraphernalia sat waiting and I stayed in the back, terribly embarrassed about associating myself with the racket. I needn't have been embarrassed. All other cars in the apartment had similar things on them. I wondered uncharitably if it was the opportunity of showmanship that drove my driver and not the gods.
He went around he car with incense, went around with a lighted lamp and then with much gusto broke a coconut to pieces. A pumpkin followed. A lemon was crushed under the wheels. The red water from the vermilion splattered on the ground. I gazed at the broken pieces and the red liquid, sighed at what it symbolized and with a heavy heart declined the professed sweat.