As i write this i am on my way back from voting.
Its the end of day and voting is officially closed. The voting booth i
had to go to was in south mumbai and it was nice to see so many old
people from my building turn up.. Although it seemed strangely not so
crowded i was still hopeful. Hopeful that the recent terror attacks
and the subsequent uproar would wake our sleeping nation. So much for
LEad INdia. So much for all the endless debates and campaigns urging
people to go out and vote.
Preliminary reports say the voting in Maharashtra has not crossed even
25 percent while other states notch equally miserable rates. MP i
think had over 50 percent.
This is a dismal state of affairs. Im lookin out for the ink stain on
everyones fingers and can spot it on barely a few fingers in this
compartment of over 75 women right now.
Im so upset at the unchanging mindset the political deadlock we
ordinary citizens are caught in and helpless cause we just blew our
chance.
If youve not voted, you should be ashamed.
The argument of no ones good enough doesnt cut it. This is what we got
and this is what we got to make the most of. Like it or not.
This was our chance to turn up in phenomenal numbers and tell them
were serious. Hard as nails.
So much for that huh.

--
Sent from my mobile device

Another day, another story

(Moo the giraffe, Oink the Donkey, Trapper the dog and a random smiley which is doing what in the second picture I don't know. All stuffed toys I had given V in the course of our courtship)

Life is a bitch. If only these were the first few words in Scott M Peck's book 'The road less travelled'.

As i was going through my archives in my inbox today (me - reminiscing = Not good) I stumbled on some old mails from V. Old mails, old pictures, old memories, old futures we dreamt... For the context of things, V is one of my best friends, and we almost got married last year. Now obviously since the breakup, we pretty much dont talk. It was not only a natural progression, but also one we wanted to put an end to the torturous long distance we were enduring since nearly two years. What was supposed to be a dream wedding for a silly dream-it-all believer in prince charming like me degenerated into a falling out of our relationship, a break down in communication and all in all a struggle to keep afloat, which certainly is not how I had pictured my wedding to be.

We both deserved better. He is a fantastic guy, kind, loving, gentle, sacrificing (to say the least), sensitive, fun all most importantly loved me a love like books and movies struggle to depict through wild fancy moves and music and fireworks. Through all the hard patch just before we finally decided to call it off, I in trademark style retreated into my shell, distanced myself from him and myself, friends and family, hoping against hope I can get myself to strive to make it work. But I couldn't. Love isn't supposed to be so hard. But he didn't let go. He held on with steady belief in making it work, giving more and more of himself until he had none with him, while I stood stoic, emotionless surrounded by compromise upon compromise I wasn't willing to make. For that, I shall respect him always.

A clash of cultures and family values played their role in ensuring we reach a deadlock. Being apart for 2 years, and a short 2 week vacation meant we should've been together as much time as possible during those precious days. But of course. Things are not always that simple and barring the first 2 days, the rest of the trip melted into a catastrophe, days we both think best forgotten.

He was gone before we had time to overcome what had happened, the damage was done. Since he moved back, I was spared the trauma of a bad breakup. I pride myself on being a pretty strong person, but somewhere I ran away from how bad I felt at this crumbling into pieces altogether.

Today it strikes me how ironic it is. I would've been married now, (feb'09) I even have a first wedding date Ill never forget. we had so many plans.... vacations we'd take in 09 then next year, and the year after that... Now i feel as though I'm living an alternate future. Like life is always forked, and I'm in the fork I didn't know existed.

What do you do with memories? Old photos that mean so much. Old friends turned lovers who you want to go back being friends with, cause they know you so well? Old songs that were danced on and now cannot be listened to without a touch of nostalgia? In hindsight, I'm not sure how much we were in love with each other if we let go so easy. But hindsight is not always a fair representation so I wont make much of it.

What about people you've hurt? We're always complaining about the moron who hurt us or the jerk who broke our heart. What about the guy you hurt and took for granted or couldn't love back? What about the friend you loved, but were not in love with?

I'm a girl who has had more than a few of her closest friends fall in love with her. Of course i.e. except for the one person I fell in love with. (who was blissfully oblivious/unaware/not in love with me). Its an irony then that the closest friends, a few of the kindest nicest men Ill ever know will always remember me as the girl who broke their heart, just cause she was dealing with her own shit.

And then yet, here I am, heart in keeping with A, living each day as it comes, looking back on days like today wondering where I couldve been, where I am going, and where Ill end up, with a touch of happiness, excitement, anxiety, regret and most of all hope.

Serendipity's guide to 'You know your turning really old when...'

• People who you would ordinarily call 'Uncle' or 'Aunty' are now comfortable on a first name basis with you.
• If you dare call them 'Uncle' or 'Aunty' THEY get embarrassed.
• Little kids don't call you 'Didi' anymore. (even after imploring them to)
• People you meet in the lift or in the building mistake you as the Young Parent of cute kid in building who your playing with. (Which when your unmarried is sacrilege in my opinion)
• Everyone assumes your married.
• You exit the 18-24 and enter the 24-48 age band in the Barista feedback forms :/
• People your age somewhere in the world have kids.
• When in conversation you say 'When I graduated 2 years ago, ...." and someone interrupts you and reminds you its been well over 5 years since graduation, and more than 10 since school.
• You stop going to your favorite nightclub because its filled with teeny boppers who look like they aren't old enough to drive yet.
• Teeny boppers check you out when you enter wondering what your doing there :/
• You cannot take certain Post graduate exams cause of Government age cut offs.
• You cant follow latest fashions in attire anymore cause its too 'high school' for your taste since yours has 'Matured' :p

Disclaimer - No offence meant to any of the older readers. Its just that Im entering a quarter life crisis :) and I'm not ready to grow up yet. They're just forcing me unnecessarily.

The Whole Thing is that

So, here's the deal. I wrote this Yesterday. Before the Kolkata Knight Riders vs. Rajasthan Royals match.

Unlike the last time, Im not getting caught up in the fervour of the IPL. Maybe since I missed the opening matches this weekend cause of the move, or since It isnt being played in Mumbai like it was last year. It was a completely different atmosphere altogether. The city was gripped in the throes of IPL fever, with hoardings, advertisements staring you in the face wherever you went. Road blocks, traffic diversions owing to the matches were graciously overlooked as we all adopted teams of states other than ours, with players from around the world and 'owners' who have little or nothing to do with the game altogether.

The boys in office are playing 'Fantasy Cricket' - a weekly collection and winner takes all after strategically piecing together a team. Football enthusiasts would be familiar with this term cause of the widely popular 'Fantasy Football league' which takes involvement in football to new levels!
I of course, get to be part of all the action, my cubicle being right in the midst of all action. Today there was great furore over the rules of the fantasy football and totalling of points. 10 boys all raking up the decibel levels in office intensly deliberating the pros and cons and best way forward.

I wonder if the Royals will be able to work their magic again. They were my team last year. Right now Im torn between my team last year and the Mumbai Indians or even the Chennai Super Kings.

Cut to today. After having watched the Kolkata Knight Riders vs. Rajasthan Royals match.
Screw that! Im SO into it now! Last nights match REALLY turned things around!! Insanely EXCITING, CUT THROAT and undecided till the last minute!
Thats why I LOVE the Rajasthan Royals, they were the underdogs last time, with no impressive lineups or expensive players like the other teams. Heck this year, they're even worse off, with Shaun Watson (Playing for Australia), Akmal and Tanveer (No Pakistani players in IPL this time) who were star performers not playing for reasons illustrated in brackets.

But YET. against the heavy duty team of KKR, they went in Guns Blazing, knowing they had set a lesser than modest score, which seemed like chickenfeed for the likes of Gayle, Ganguli etc. BUT they didnt lose hope and with a mentor like Shane warne with his patient paternal guidance and his faith in his team, coupled with his strategic and daring field positions gave the KKR a run for their money.
The fielding was tight (barring one drop), positions judiciously selected, which paid off with some wickets falling just when they were required. KKR was held to Ransom, and made to toil for each run. Until the last over when it was 2 runs from 2 balls and I tucked into bed, thinking we've lost when a loud Groan from my brother signalled otherwise.
Mr. Ganguli had fallen when there were only 2 more runs to make! However, one run was made off the last ball and the superover was called in. Another innovation from IPL!

It was a bold move sending in 18 year old Kamran Khan to bowl to Gayle, who towered over him physically like a thumb does an index finger. Whether the sixes and wide proved expensive or not was a question Yusuf put to rest with his clean sweep of the 16 runs required to win.

And they're back. How badly they've played so far and where they lie on the scoreboard is inconsequential, since for me, The RR's fighting spirit and never say die attitude makes them my favorite team. GO RAJASTHAN ROYALS!

Also, A won the pot luck of the Fantasy Cricket for the week!! (De Villers century and Yusuf's man of the match accelerated him to the top). Im totally joining the pool next weekend.
Help me selecting the 16 players? Ill give you a percentage :D

It was me :S

If anyone saw a woman in the front seat of a Lorry filled to the brim with the entire contents of her home with 5 men on the roof, whilst herself occupying passenger seat in the lorry, gesticulating wildly to prevent aforementioned lorry being driven into people and other vehicles, at the hands of seemingly amateur driver, It was me.

How did I land up in this predicament? We were shifting everything from our (old) house to our (new) home on Saturday, everything except ourselves i.e. Since Grihapravesh Puja Muhurat denied us our official entry until Sunday. This being a new building, there tend to be teething issues such as discovery of certain chipped tiles, a small scratch on the fresh paint(which to my oh-so-particular Dad is nothing short of a crime), water supply yet to be turned on etc hence My dad went ahead to the new house in the morning to supervise, which left me in Charge of operations at the old house (where all the action was unfolding).

Mom and Brother both were feeling sick, presumably due to all the action of the past few days. Which meant I had two additional responsibilities to take charge of. Anyway, I was supposed to accompany the movers and packers (me: cab, they:truck) when everything was loaded to the new house. Once things were done, packed and loaded, my old house bare as bare, I wrote down my new address to the head packer (?) who had NO idea where what. Now, My address is pretty simple. It has a 5 star hotel as a Landmark, the signal is well known, for a movie theatre exists there since the last 50 years I should think. All in all, anyone travelling in Mumbai will have SOME idea of the near abouts of the landmarks at least! This man had none. to which I decided it will be a safer bet to explain the directions to the driver himself, thereby eliminating the middle man and also averting possible delay due to losing the way. Driver = clueless. Packer 2= clueless. so on to packers number 3, 4, 5. All new definition to NOT knowing.

Since the last thing I really wanted was my stuff, 6 men and a Lorry getting lost (and by the looks of it, they would've) I decided Id just get into the front seat of the lorry and save myself the exasperation of sitting in a cab driving at 5-7 kmph to keep up with the truck (max speed = 12kmph).

That's NOT all. Going by the events of this journey, its safe to surmise that the driver mustve been driving for the first time since he got his license. We had to cross one flyover which he decided his truck would manage at the 4th gear. (HOW??) Much groaning and grunting of frayed truck later, (and a lot of mental 'calm down Serendipity' later) I asked him to downshift to second. Wonder of wonders, the truck picked up. (Sheesh)

Next. Heavy vehicles must (NOT) occupy right hand side of lane. Or should they? Many Many fantic 'Bhaiyaa aap left se chalaiye' 's later, I took to ferociously waving my left hand out of the window signaling our descent towards the appropriate lane, reaching which for some reason, he would move to the R.H.S. again. {Serendipity was praying HARD at this point for some patience, and asking help to shun the 'I should drive this vehicle thoughts' from her head)

It struck me at this time, How boyish I still am. I was wearing old oversized jeans (which I'm filling up fast owing to the piling on of some) and my dads oversized Blue 'How to Speak Australian' By Fosters (Australian fo Beeyah) :D t-shirt and sneakers. Waist long hair and a recent affinity towards pinks and reds and compliments inclined towards good looks (as opposed to buddy/one of the guys and the likes) has not overpowered the gate climbing, oversized jeans and shirt wearing boycut girl of yonder. Although I did cringe at EXTREMELY cute guy parked in my lobby, whose cuteness I was unaware of and walked upto his car clad in above mentioned clothes and a pony as high up on my head as can be imagined, to ask if my lorry was a bother and to tell him ill only take a few more minutes, since I had taken to hoisting chairs and furniture myself as well. He gave me a 'Don't worry, take your time' smile and a thumbs up. Id rather have sunk through the floor or even better, rushed home, showered, perfumed and reappeared in the flash of a second. {sigh} (Also, Boy Am I glad A doesn't read this blog :P else my arse would've been grass by now. And coming to the point, he should no? Are'nt all boyfriends supposed to? hmmpff. lol)

Oh it was a MAD ride. At the end of which I was very graciously told 'Madamji, aap gaadi chalati acche se chalati hongi. isliye appko sab kuch aata hai'
Needless, driver was forgotten for the monstrosity that was the ride that instant.

And He has the Audacity to SMILE?

Kasab that is. The Man and The situation Ive been avoiding talking about before I Spent the three most horrendous and testing days of my life. But right now, as i read article after article of the man sitting contemptuously in Indian Jail, with no signs of remorse, whatsoever I just cannot leave this emotion behind. Even as I write, the words are flowing in hard, harsh strokes of the keyboard, each vying with the other to be typed next.

This man, who along with his colleagues ran amok and devastated lives of thousands of Indians on the ill-fated day of 26/11 sits with a snide smile on his face, with the cheek to make demands such as asking for a newspaper? (With money recovered on his person that day, no less). What right does he have to even have a trial. Emotional and unfair (??) this might sound to a few, but there isn't a single bone in my body that believes he deserves to be living till this day. He certainly is happy he's alive, and trying to ensure further extension of the same by trying to get a Pakistani lawyer to defend him.

His mother's going to come for the trial it seems. I hope he sees the despondent look in her eyes and feels miserable, like a stinking pile of the worst kind of rotten flesh possible. To top it off, a survivor, Andreina Varagona FORGIVES him. I'm sure shes entitled to her opinion and I congratulate her on her large heart and ability to overcome the trauma she endured. But I will not bother pretending I can. I'm a petty little person who cant find it in her heart to forgive this man who raped my city, took our families hostage and showed us what living hell was about.
I cannot. I'm sorry. I believe what happened was was beyond the periphery of even cruel human behaviour, and does not warrant forgiveness.

Families are broken, women have lost their sole bread earners, they're still living the aftereffects of 26/11. I spoke with Karuna Waghela last night, widowed by 26/11, with 3 kids to support and shes become very close to my heart now. She broke down on the phone while I was speaking with her last night, telling me she was missing her husband, that he was a kind man, and she feels alone now.. it took everything inside me to hang on, reassure her I'm there and she can call me whenever and not break into a sob myself.

It was right after this phone call that I saw this bit of news with Mr. Kasab. Even the mention of his name fills me with retch, let alone his sardonic, smug face. If I ever meet him, rest assured, I will murder him with my bare hands. restrain me.

Shabira Khan still in hospital, nearly 6 months after the attacks - Wadala Port Trust. Injured in the Wadi Bunder taxi blast as the terrorists wanted to wipe clean their imprints of their entry and exit. I visited her 3 months ago, and she was one of the few left behind in the hospitals. Today, she is the only one. Then, she had shrapnel embedded in her leg, and back but seemed to be on the way to recovery. today it is hampered by the onslaught of Jaundice, and other diseases. 3 Months ago, she seemed desperate to go back to the mundane inconsistencies she battled in her everyday life. Selfish and weak it may sound, but not only did i not have the courage to go alone (i took A) but I was also feeling so hurt, I just wanted to leave as soon as I could. The thought of her languishing in the hospital, 3 months on, is just deeply sad.
For all of the above I blame Kasab, and his other accomplices who I Wish were alive, Being shot down dead is far too lenient and easy death for them, their mentors in our neighbouring country, who continue to feign ignorance of their nationals participation. How could they. HOW. WHY.

My dad walked home 4 days later emotionally battered, and physically worn. It will suffice to say that I went through NOTHING compared to Karuna, Moumina, and the other victims (NOT EVEN CLOSE). But when I speak with Karuna, I cry inside too. I feel her pain and her loss, and when she cries back I have NO WORDS to say to her. My usual elaborate self is stifled with things to say or even do. Last night she called me her sister. And that's a relationship I have to give my best to. Luckily at Indiahelps, we're one big family. Karuna actually has more than 10 sisters and a few brothers too, she just doesn't know it.

Its all coming flooding back. And it hurts. And no, its not OK. Fathers, mothers, wives, kids who died then are never coming back, and they were invaluable to each family they belonged to.
Today I cant go shopping, eating, to a movie, club, train without being frisked. Everyones a terrorist until proven innocent. Gun men, sand barracks, armed police, police nakas are a way of our life, accept it or not.

And while all this happens, our dear Netas, our guiders, policy makers, protectors and guardians
sort out other important issues of gudiya-budhiya and who-called-whom-what and who-got-upset-at-being-called that. F*CK off all of you. Does NO ONE see the bigger picture here? How many lessons do we need to learn?
For the Harsh Point of view, and harsher words, Im NOT sorry.

Oops I did it again!

I have a habit of being absent minded/forgetful when it comes to my toothbrush. Be it slumber parties, or out of town trips, the one thing you can count on me for having left behind is the toothbrush.

While this can be accredited to the fact that I always brush them pearly whites (?) before any journey, and hence its the LAST thing that's supposed to be packed. (But isn't), its a strange affliction, which leaves me with owning multiple brushes... since I return with one from wherever I go.

Having appropriately set the context, It was a matter of extreme pride (to me, in my mind) therefore, when having brushed in my parents room the morning, I remembered at night to go over to their bathroom, and fish out (my?) green toothbrush and begin the procedure with a pleased smile on my face.

Mom: (on seeing me in her bathroom) "What're you doing?"
Me :(superior smile on my face, brush in mouth) "Brushing. "
Mom: "I Hope you took your own brush THIS time."
Me :(was waiting for this moment of my cleverness) "OF COURSE. I had brushed here in the morning, hence I came her and took my OWN Brush"
Mom: (slaps hand on forehead) "I had kept your brush back in your bathroom in the evening"
I had brushed with my dads toothbrush. (P.S - its identical to mine) :/

By now my mom and I were in splits, laughing hysterically. Enter Dad.
Me : "Daddy, I'm sorry i used your toothbrush, By mistake"
Dad "which one, green?"
Me: "Yep, sorry"
Dad: "I Don't use it"
Me: (breathing a sigh of relief) "You don't, that's awesome!"
Dad: "Yeah, its my tongue cleaner"

:\ OMG.

Peas Don Eat me?

Ccoco teddies with a chocolate center. Im wondering if those are ears or hands :/

Im just a hunka-hunka-burningggg-luvh.

(Breadtalk, Inorbit Mall, Malad)

Allow me ....

To say YAYYYYYY!!!!
To find out why, click here, and look under "General, Everything Else".

Too close for Comfort.

The day of moving houses i.e. And while its a conclusion we were always aware of (Living in a Company Flat) there's something about living in a house for over 10 years, that makes you both one. At the risk of sounding silly, my home was my friend. My room, although shared with my brother, felt cosy and comfortable since it was liberally sprinkled with my favorite things - Books, DVD's, Photo Frames, A Large Window overlooking the sea and bright fluorescent stars on the ceiling.

The Familiar walls, winds wafting in through a familiar sequence of strategically opened windows and doors to best allow the cross ventilation through, the shade of the paint on the walls, the small Black and white of my Parents when they were 25... irreplaceable, invaluable and unforgettable.
We're better off than most Mumbaikars grappling with the insane property rates, since We're shifting not so far from where we lived before (Into our own house this time), and I can still qualify to be a Sobo (South Mumbai)'ite if I stretch the Boundaries a bit =) so I've got little to complain.

Yet, As i walked in home from work yesterday, the disappearance of all the antiques in the living room, the lamps on various corners and a few paintings left me startled. I'm not used to seeing my house naked like this. Walls bare. A few remaining paintings, presumably too large to fit into boxes dad was using then, hang in solitude, trying to infuse some cheer into a fast emptying home.
An antique Rose wood cupboard, redolent of liquors, spirits and daddy's collection of Decanters and glasses for every drink, stands bereft of its contents, with scotch tape and other wrapping/packing material strewn about carelessly. This Cupboard is not used to disordered contents. Each Decanter, Glass and Bottle were arranged with paternal care.

My room misses a bed. It got shipped away. Strange how I wouldn't trade the familiar juxtaposition of furniture for the extra walking space I apparently always craved. Suddenly all those things Ive wanted to change seem insignificant, ridiculous even to be considered a shortcoming. The view was the best though. I'm lucky in that respect, Ive lived by the sea for 20 of my 25 years. And when I say By the sea, I mean it literally. Until now. Luxury could afford us a house in this side of town, but asking for a sea view would be stretching it.

Its going to be SO hard. Today as I go home, I shudder to think of what else will be missing, which other parts of my home will lie in a box, and how we're one day closer.

Coupled with the sadness of leaving this house, comes the excitement of the other house - bigger, nicer, and finally OUR OWN. Last evening I went and bought a Northwest Fan Regulator 400 W, the example of which I quote to signify the detail in which we are involved in the making of this house. Kudos Dad.

Carry on, Doctor

I have a corn in my foot. Its a small, insidious little in growth, which, deceived by its small size, is actually quite painful. Trust me to have one right near my little toe, where it rubs against any footwear. So finally, after a week of wobbling about, I finally visited the Doctor and it wasn't all bad.
A little acid, a little scraping, badabingbadaboom. pain = lesser. Although Now starts the scraping at home everyday and applying acid by myself business which clearly will not be a routine process, unless it begins hurting again.

Point being. There are these categories of people. When it comes to falling sick/visiting a doctor that I've noticed in and around my life. Here they are -

• The wait until last moment to go to the Doctor kinds - E.g. Yours truly. Doctors are not visited for colds/coughs/random aches - make do with Crocins/Combiflams/Voveron/Mox or other such commonly used medications. Doctors are visited ONLY when situations get completely out of hand, and said ailment shows no sign of weaning off. This habit often leads to injury/illness to get worse than it was to start off with and signs of repentance prevail after imperative Doctors visit.
• The go to a Doctor at the drop of a hat kinds - Every small ailment is mistaken for something viral, scary or disease like. Stomach aches could be appendix (OMG) or fever could spell the onslaught of TB or Jaundice or what not. Doctors are visited for small cuts and bruises, sniffles or the most miniscule increment in temperatures. Unnecessary Blood and Urine tests are conducted by wily Doctors who identify a good opportunity. Often, when told that nothing, is in fact wrong, doctors qualifications and results of the tests are questioned for Authenticity. Much Sympathy is evoked from those who will dish it out, inspite of being fit and fine.
• The go to a Doctor when appropriate only kinds - These people know exactly when a doctors visit is imminent, and required. That says it all.

While I joke about it, Hypochondria is, in fact a very serious condition, that mars the maintenance of a normal life. Hypochondria affects about 3% of the population, and for those who experience the condition, it is nothing short of a nightmare.

Hypochondriasis is also often accompanied by other psychological disorders, Depression, OCD, Phobias are the most common of the lot. If you think you could be suffering from it, the first and best thing you can do for yourself, is acknowledge the problem, speak about it openly with family/friends, and let them guide you through a more peaceful existence.

(Dare I ask which category you fall into?!)

The GLORIOUS month of April!

....which has three LONG weekends (Read - holidays on 3 Fridays out of 4) with the coming Friday and Tuesday off. What did I do? Went on a weekend trip of course! (Don't cha know me by now?!)

Destination of choice: Manori. Quaint little island just 5 minutes off Malad, best accessed by Ferry. You can also drive down if you wish, via Bhayander which would leave you twiddling your thumbs in a car ride well over 2 hours with the knowledge that you could've ferried it across in 4 minutes FLAT.

We were 18 of us all geared up with our camera's, cards, alcohol and chakna supplies! For me, this qualifies of another weekend of firsts. Away from the aegis of my all-too-protective mother, I partook of the delights of my first ever Gola. Kala Khatta flavored. There is photographic evidence too, with a strategically placed police van in the background. I also bought Keri (Raw Mango) off a guy with a rickety handcart, who cut and sliced the delightful fruit with a knife that looked like it had never felt the coolth of water, and masala which imbibed in it the combination of salt, red chilli powder and some unidentifiable other powder, which I suspect, is sand.

Needless to say, my mother expressed her disdain at aforesaid activities. HAH. So much for that. =) Next stop, roadside Pani Puri. If I muster up the courage i.e. Not eating off the streets and hygienic surroundings have marred my childhood i tell'ya. I discovered many other unfamiliar terms and apparently extremely commonly devoured items like Tadi - Coconut resembling fruit (?) of which alcoholic derivatives can be extracted. My ignorance of such names was appropriately by ALL 18 of the gang.

Assuming I spend the next 5 lines going into various narratives about how hot it was and how Im a shad darker (again), ill pretend that you know, get my drift et all, and move on with my weekend. Another first was the spending the night in a Dormitory. Its anyone's guess how many good nights were exchanged and how long it took before everyone agreed on how many ac's should be left on, and finally hushed up.

The poor DJ, hired for the night on account of the presence of 3 other large groups of people occupying the resort, began his revelry a good hour and a half before anyone joined in. We all indulged in the coolth of the ac and stepped out only when some breeze was bestowed upon us.
Dance was danced, alcohol was had, dinner was very nearly forgotten, and much making merry happened.

The best part of the entire trip was indisputably the midnight walk on the beach. Secluded, dimly lit with only the outlines of ourselves discernible... we all sat, silently for some time. Being one with the winds and the moonlight, hearing ourselves breathe the pleasure of which the undercurrents of fast pace and vehicular buzz doesn't allow us. A was there. We sat, in a circle I made with my finger in an imaginary impermeable world, where for that moment, there existed just two people. 'I can just fall asleep here' He said, when he just scooted over and placed his head on my lap. I obviously, replied to that oh-so-cute moment by running my sand filled hand through his hair. Someday we will be, Together you and me...

Apparently it was TOO COLD :D Thanks Gautam and AB for being such sports on seeing this picture the next day!

Also, the picture of the sea above clicked by Dhwani.

What Happens when...

My Maid brings her 13 year old niece to our house for her to learn to do housework cause she flunked out of the 5th standard 3 times and cant afford to keep trying anymore?

My heart breaks.

Serendipitys guide "To find your cellphone 17 times a day"

But, First. A quick-fix guide on 'How to NOT lose your cellphone 17 times a day'

• Do not buy Large Mucho Fashionable Tote/Shoulder Bag. (For practical purposes, Henceforth referred to as the LMFTS Bag.)
• After blatant and unabashed ignorance of above point, Do not stuff Large Mucho Fashionable Bag with unnecessary equipment, accesories, cosmetics, osculation enhancers and food items.
• Do NOT confuse LMFTS Bag with bag required for backpacking trip across Europe, unless you could take off any minute and want to be prepared nonetheless.
• Must buy LMFTS Bags only with pseudo mobile holding appartus-like pocket.
• Place mobile phone in the appropriate pseudo mobile holding pocket each time after use.
• Bookmark in imaginary post-it in your head that mobile has been deposited in required pocket.
• Prior to exit of office/recreational place/vehicle, check the presence of aforementioned device in ear-marked territory.

Now. The Quick-fix Guide to finding your cellphone.

• Upon exit of most (Read: ALL) places/vehicles (specially public transport) without checking for darn phone in place, scramble about bag hurriedly whilst still on shoulder, break into sweat as the possibility of having lost the phone dawns upon you, switch suitably between looks of slight anxiousness to medium apprehension to outright agony over alleged loss of device.
• Proceed to haphazardly empty contents of LMFST Bag, balancing contents in teeth, under arm, etc, whilst still heroically proceeding with the search.
• Plea with then exasperated friend to give you a missed call.
• The LMFST Bag vibrates to life, and your heartbeat slowly, but surely regains its steady pace.
• Thank life-saving, phone finding, missed-call giving friend profusely.

Repeat Process 17 times a day.

And dont ask me how the above process was invented.

:/