I recently signed up to do some tutoring at the African Community Education Program here. The kids range from Grade I to high school. Some of them have only recently come to America. While they speak English well enough, they cannot read or write very well. They mostly ask you to help out with their homework on a one-on-one basis.
They assigned me to this kid called Vagaba from Liberia. He is 15 years old and has been in the US for 3 years. He had never attended school in Africa. He seemed like a nice kid. Typical teenager. Said he hated school, and was better off in Liberia where he never had to go to school. His goal in life is to play soccer. I asked him whether he wants to go to college. I got a huge guffaw in return. College, yeah right! He just wants to play soccer, he said. And after that, I probed. What when he is too old to play soccer...what then? He said he will just go home and die! I didn't read too much into that answer. I guess he really doesn't know what he wants to do. Heck, I'm 27 and still not sure what I want to do. At 15, I would be amazed if he knew.
I had to help him with his English homework. The child is in the 9th grade. His reading skills are those of a 3rd-4th grader. I'm not sure anyone ever taught him how to read. But he picked up quickly enough. I showed him a couple of times how to break up a word and try to read small parts of it. After the 3rd or 4th time, he was reaching for the pencil and paper automatically, and doing it himself, when he found a word he couldn't pronounce. He got frustrated with himself when he couldn't get the same word right, when it came up a second time in the chapter we were reading. But underneath all the "I hate English", "I'm too dumb for all this" bravado, I think I detected a hunger for knowledge. I believe he does care. He does want to learn. He is only 15. There were girls around him laughing at his halting reading. He seemed to take in good part and joked with them. But I think he was embarassed and he wants to learn. I liked him a lot. I think he is a good kid who could do well, given the right opportunities.
It took us 2 and a 1/2 hours to get through 1 and 1/2 pages of pretty easy reading. At which point he asked me to do his homework for him. I refused point blank, and gave him a piece of gum to chew on instead. Unfortunately we didn't have time to finish the homework, we only got through some part of it. He said he would try to get through the rest himself.
So the reason I'm writing all this in excruciating detail is this. I would like some feedback on how best to try to help this kid, and any others I may end up tutoring. Is there any particular thing I must keep in mind while dealing with him? How do I deal with teenage angst? This I just want to die drama....how do you respond to such a statement? I actually said, I don't think its that easy to die Vagaba. I don't think its a particularly good answer. I was a little taken aback when he said that, so I didn't know how to respond. Most importantly, how do you go about building a rapport with these kids? Do you probe into their lives, or not? Do you wait for them to talk with you, or do you talk with them? I tried telling him what I was studying at school. He seemed most uninterested. I don't blame him. Most people I know respond the same way.
So..let me know what you think. I know atleast 5 people read this stuff(you know who you are), so please...help me!
Saturday, September 29, 2007
A series of howlarious events!
Sometimes I feel like Lucille Ball. I'm not as gorgeous as her, nor do I have a Dezzie. But my life is definitely as happening. Savor the following samples. All of which occured within the last 24 hours.
Exhibit A: Roomie and I decide to get Pizza for dinner. I place the order, and we drive to pick it up 20 minutes later. Man at the counter asks for my name. I tell him my name. He says..we have no order by that name. But we do have an order for a Bharu. Roomie giggles. I fume. Its Charu, I say. Oh, I'm sorry Pharu, he says. I give up. Roomie is rolling on the floor. Since coming to America I have resigned myself to being called Shaaru, or even Sharooo without a shrug. I've even been called Chalu.(yeah, yeah, I know!) But even back home, my name has been a source of grief. I once had a birthday cake that said "Happy B'day Gharu". No kidding. Gharu. No matter. I shall have my revenge. My daughter will go by Akhilandeshwari Kanakasubramanian. Or if its a boy...Trimbayaknath Vidyavachaspati.
Exhibit B: HZ accompanied me to the mouse room yesterday. He wanted to take a closer look at some of them. Make sure they weren't cross-eyed or anything. He took 5 mice out and placed them on top of the cage. I was just about to tell him they were 17 days old, and hence rather frisky. One of the mice decided to show him just how frisky it was. It jumped out of the top of the cage, out of the hood, and onto the floor. Yep. A mouse had escaped. Like a typical woman, I squealed. HZ was running around the room trying to catch it. How to catch a tiny mouse that runs pretty quick? I told him about the large pair of forceps placed in each room expressly to catch escapee mice. He then ran around the room some more, brandishing said forceps. Finally, he came panting up, mouse in tow. The site of my boss trying to catch a mouse is one I shall never forget. I laughed fit to kill. HZ had his revenge for my inappropriate laughter though. He made me double-kill 13 mice. CO2 followed by cervical dislocation. When you CO2 them, they pee. So my gloves were covered with mouse pee. Suddenly, it all seemed distinctly unfunny.
Exhibit C: I decided to make sambar and beans curry this morning. As you know, you have to mix the beans as you cook them. I needed my kitchen tongs, which were in the bathroom (you know why!), to hold the pan steady. So, I fetched them from the bathroom, After I finished cooking, I decided to take a shower. I step into the tub, all ready to bathe. I can't open the tap. 'Cos my kitchen tongs are in the freakin' kitchen. I dress, come back out, and place it in its rightful spot, by the bathtub. I take it back out of the bathroom after I'm done though. Evil glint in eye. Roomie wasn't awake yet. 2 hours later, she stomps to the living room, where I'm leisurely eating the sambar sadam. "Why the Eff is the pakkad in the kitchen?", she asked. "I had to dress and come back out to retrieve it."
"You shouldn't laugh when people get my name wrong then, should ya?", I say.
Exhibit A: Roomie and I decide to get Pizza for dinner. I place the order, and we drive to pick it up 20 minutes later. Man at the counter asks for my name. I tell him my name. He says..we have no order by that name. But we do have an order for a Bharu. Roomie giggles. I fume. Its Charu, I say. Oh, I'm sorry Pharu, he says. I give up. Roomie is rolling on the floor. Since coming to America I have resigned myself to being called Shaaru, or even Sharooo without a shrug. I've even been called Chalu.(yeah, yeah, I know!) But even back home, my name has been a source of grief. I once had a birthday cake that said "Happy B'day Gharu". No kidding. Gharu. No matter. I shall have my revenge. My daughter will go by Akhilandeshwari Kanakasubramanian. Or if its a boy...Trimbayaknath Vidyavachaspati.
Exhibit B: HZ accompanied me to the mouse room yesterday. He wanted to take a closer look at some of them. Make sure they weren't cross-eyed or anything. He took 5 mice out and placed them on top of the cage. I was just about to tell him they were 17 days old, and hence rather frisky. One of the mice decided to show him just how frisky it was. It jumped out of the top of the cage, out of the hood, and onto the floor. Yep. A mouse had escaped. Like a typical woman, I squealed. HZ was running around the room trying to catch it. How to catch a tiny mouse that runs pretty quick? I told him about the large pair of forceps placed in each room expressly to catch escapee mice. He then ran around the room some more, brandishing said forceps. Finally, he came panting up, mouse in tow. The site of my boss trying to catch a mouse is one I shall never forget. I laughed fit to kill. HZ had his revenge for my inappropriate laughter though. He made me double-kill 13 mice. CO2 followed by cervical dislocation. When you CO2 them, they pee. So my gloves were covered with mouse pee. Suddenly, it all seemed distinctly unfunny.
Exhibit C: I decided to make sambar and beans curry this morning. As you know, you have to mix the beans as you cook them. I needed my kitchen tongs, which were in the bathroom (you know why!), to hold the pan steady. So, I fetched them from the bathroom, After I finished cooking, I decided to take a shower. I step into the tub, all ready to bathe. I can't open the tap. 'Cos my kitchen tongs are in the freakin' kitchen. I dress, come back out, and place it in its rightful spot, by the bathtub. I take it back out of the bathroom after I'm done though. Evil glint in eye. Roomie wasn't awake yet. 2 hours later, she stomps to the living room, where I'm leisurely eating the sambar sadam. "Why the Eff is the pakkad in the kitchen?", she asked. "I had to dress and come back out to retrieve it."
"You shouldn't laugh when people get my name wrong then, should ya?", I say.
Friday, September 28, 2007
On being LS....
Long years ago, when I was a mere teenager, there was this show on Sony anchored by Archana Puran Singh. It was a bollywood gossip kinda show, peppered with the top 10 songs of the week. The last segment of the show was when she talked about the HS(High Society) and LS(Low Society) happenings in Bollywood. You know...pink beaded purse-LS, (This was before Bunty and Babli, when everything beaded, and horrendously bright became hip) Aamir in Mela...verrry LS. Twinkle in anything, movies or otherwise-LS, Kajol in Gupt-HS. Kajol in Hamesha-LS. You get the picture, I think.
I've just had an epiphany. I'm a derelict because I'm LS. Verrrrrry LS, as the magnificent APS would say. Here's why.
1). I'm rude on the phone. Roomie says I sound as though I'm doing everyone a massive favor by taking their calls. In my defense, I will say this. I don't mean to be. I just dislike long phone conversations. There are only 3 people in this world with whom I can talk on the phone for more than 10 minutes, and not feel like I'm having a tooth extracted. And you have to have the phone permanently attached to your ear to be HS. So...LS, definitely LS.
2). On the subject of phones..I neither know nor care what model phone I possess. I have never used its camera. I don't know if it is bluetooth enabled, and I don't give a rats' ass if it is. I have no clue about MMS. I only use my phone to make and receive calls. Not phone savvy....totally LS.
3). I have no social graces whatsoever. I go to a party, and sip my drink quietly. I suck at polite chit-chat. I am no butterfly. More like an owl. In fact, I have been called an owl on occasion.(Long story. I'll save it for a different post!!)
4). I'm a poor liar. I stammer, and blush, and the person knows I'm lying when I say I can't make it to dinner, because I have to go to lab. When in fact, I have nothing to do in lab. I just want to curl up on my sofa, with "Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkins." And everyone knows that you have to be a good liar to be HS.
5). Sometimes, I tune out of conversations. I get this glazed look in my eyes. I'm in a land far, far away. When this happens, Amma says I look preoccupied.(Mothers, you gotta love 'em!) Roomie says I look blank.(Unkind, but true) The truth is, I don't know WTF I'm doing at those moments. In any case, my periodic tuning out cannot contribute positively to my personality. Chalk another one up for LS.
6). I couldn't read past page 30 of Song of Solomon. I thought it was boring and too damn slow. I also once read a compilation of short stories by Nobel Prize winners, and I thought them all very sad. Everyone was unhappy. Felt like the Dementors had written the book. There was one particularly gruesome story about a village in which every single baby was killed brutally, in a planned assault. Thats all the story was. A description of the systematic cold-blooded murder of infants. In gory detail. I enjoy Wodehouse, Austen, Erle Stanley Gardner, or even John Grisham better than that stuff. Not highbrow....LS to the core.
7). I like Govinda. I think Hero No.1 is one of the funniest movies ever. Is there something lower than LS? I think I maybe the SC/ST of LS.
8). I can't air-kiss. I simply can't. The first time my salsa instructor "muah-muahed" me, I just froze. Thereafter, everytime I went to class, I had to prime myself mentally to receive that bristly brush against my cheek. An ability to air-kiss is intrinsic to being HS. I fail miserably....therefore LS.
So, there you go. As LS as they come. Oh well, it is my cross, and I shall bear it as best as I can. On the plus side, I can burp in public and not be embarassed. No one expects better you see.
I've just had an epiphany. I'm a derelict because I'm LS. Verrrrrry LS, as the magnificent APS would say. Here's why.
1). I'm rude on the phone. Roomie says I sound as though I'm doing everyone a massive favor by taking their calls. In my defense, I will say this. I don't mean to be. I just dislike long phone conversations. There are only 3 people in this world with whom I can talk on the phone for more than 10 minutes, and not feel like I'm having a tooth extracted. And you have to have the phone permanently attached to your ear to be HS. So...LS, definitely LS.
2). On the subject of phones..I neither know nor care what model phone I possess. I have never used its camera. I don't know if it is bluetooth enabled, and I don't give a rats' ass if it is. I have no clue about MMS. I only use my phone to make and receive calls. Not phone savvy....totally LS.
3). I have no social graces whatsoever. I go to a party, and sip my drink quietly. I suck at polite chit-chat. I am no butterfly. More like an owl. In fact, I have been called an owl on occasion.(Long story. I'll save it for a different post!!)
4). I'm a poor liar. I stammer, and blush, and the person knows I'm lying when I say I can't make it to dinner, because I have to go to lab. When in fact, I have nothing to do in lab. I just want to curl up on my sofa, with "Pearls, Girls and Monty Bodkins." And everyone knows that you have to be a good liar to be HS.
5). Sometimes, I tune out of conversations. I get this glazed look in my eyes. I'm in a land far, far away. When this happens, Amma says I look preoccupied.(Mothers, you gotta love 'em!) Roomie says I look blank.(Unkind, but true) The truth is, I don't know WTF I'm doing at those moments. In any case, my periodic tuning out cannot contribute positively to my personality. Chalk another one up for LS.
6). I couldn't read past page 30 of Song of Solomon. I thought it was boring and too damn slow. I also once read a compilation of short stories by Nobel Prize winners, and I thought them all very sad. Everyone was unhappy. Felt like the Dementors had written the book. There was one particularly gruesome story about a village in which every single baby was killed brutally, in a planned assault. Thats all the story was. A description of the systematic cold-blooded murder of infants. In gory detail. I enjoy Wodehouse, Austen, Erle Stanley Gardner, or even John Grisham better than that stuff. Not highbrow....LS to the core.
7). I like Govinda. I think Hero No.1 is one of the funniest movies ever. Is there something lower than LS? I think I maybe the SC/ST of LS.
8). I can't air-kiss. I simply can't. The first time my salsa instructor "muah-muahed" me, I just froze. Thereafter, everytime I went to class, I had to prime myself mentally to receive that bristly brush against my cheek. An ability to air-kiss is intrinsic to being HS. I fail miserably....therefore LS.
So, there you go. As LS as they come. Oh well, it is my cross, and I shall bear it as best as I can. On the plus side, I can burp in public and not be embarassed. No one expects better you see.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Why I will NEVER win the Nobel Prize...
HZ (The Bossman) took us out to lunch on Tuesday. We went to a decent Mexican Restaurant unimaginatively named "Tortilla Sam's. But the roots of the name are original. Its named after the owner's pet iguana. In fact, iguana paintings are a large part of Tortilla Sam's decor. But I digress. Iguanas have nothing to do with my never winning the Nobel Prize.
Over lunch, HZ, as he sometimes does, regaled us with tales of famous scientists and the crazy lives they led.
Case number 1: HZ's own post-doc advisor. Stanley Cohen. Inventor of recombinant DNA technology. Winner of the Laskar, and other sundry awards whose names I don't remember. Dude is 72 years old. Has had knee replacement and bypass surgery. Allegedly returned to the lab in the afternoon after undergoing bypass surgery in the morning. Works weekends and holidays. Even Christmas. Thinks vacations are a waste of time. Does take a week off with long-suffering wife once a year. But he takes manuscripts with him for light reading whilst water-skiing. Oh, and he only eats a yogurt for lunch. The guy is a millionaire several times over. The recombinant DNA patent alone fetches him 100s of mills. What motivates this man, I asked HZ. Why does he push himself when he has clearly achieved so much.
Answer: He really loves science. 'Nuff said.
Case number 2: HZ's wife's thesis advisor. This guy did his post-doc at Caltech. Apparently, for the 3 year duration of his post-doc, he didn't have an apartment. He lived in the lab. No kidding. He slept in the lab. Took a shower in the gym every morning.
Interesting aside: When I mentioned this to roomie, she said he must have been stingy. It never occured to me that he could be stingy. I can't fathom anyone who was apparently a genius, being that stingy. They would be too smart to be miserly. It has to be passion. Or does my idealism clog my better judgement?
Case number 3: HZ's wife's post-doc advisor.(HZ's wife is surprisingly normal for having intimately worked with these nut-jobs.) She was the youngest woman ever to be elected to the National Academy of Sciences.(She wasn't even 40 when it happened). Has a lab of over 40 people. Has more money than she knows what to do with. Publishes in great journals. HZ says she never sleeps. Never. She apparently catches a few winks in her office, but never sleeps for 6 hours at a stretch like normal people.
And none of these people, though they are all fabulously successful, have won the Nobel. So, what I got from this entire conversation was, that to be successful, you have to:
a). Starve
b). Live in the lab
c). Never sleep
d). Never take vacations
Thats why I'm never going to win the Nobel Prize. Apart from being too dumb of course.
Ah well, all these awards are fixed anyways.
NB: Now I know why HZ works like a dog. Its the sheer pressure of having seen up-close what it takes to succeed. I shall no longer wonder why he burns the midnight oil in his office, when he should be home dreaming sweet dreams.
Over lunch, HZ, as he sometimes does, regaled us with tales of famous scientists and the crazy lives they led.
Case number 1: HZ's own post-doc advisor. Stanley Cohen. Inventor of recombinant DNA technology. Winner of the Laskar, and other sundry awards whose names I don't remember. Dude is 72 years old. Has had knee replacement and bypass surgery. Allegedly returned to the lab in the afternoon after undergoing bypass surgery in the morning. Works weekends and holidays. Even Christmas. Thinks vacations are a waste of time. Does take a week off with long-suffering wife once a year. But he takes manuscripts with him for light reading whilst water-skiing. Oh, and he only eats a yogurt for lunch. The guy is a millionaire several times over. The recombinant DNA patent alone fetches him 100s of mills. What motivates this man, I asked HZ. Why does he push himself when he has clearly achieved so much.
Answer: He really loves science. 'Nuff said.
Case number 2: HZ's wife's thesis advisor. This guy did his post-doc at Caltech. Apparently, for the 3 year duration of his post-doc, he didn't have an apartment. He lived in the lab. No kidding. He slept in the lab. Took a shower in the gym every morning.
Interesting aside: When I mentioned this to roomie, she said he must have been stingy. It never occured to me that he could be stingy. I can't fathom anyone who was apparently a genius, being that stingy. They would be too smart to be miserly. It has to be passion. Or does my idealism clog my better judgement?
Case number 3: HZ's wife's post-doc advisor.(HZ's wife is surprisingly normal for having intimately worked with these nut-jobs.) She was the youngest woman ever to be elected to the National Academy of Sciences.(She wasn't even 40 when it happened). Has a lab of over 40 people. Has more money than she knows what to do with. Publishes in great journals. HZ says she never sleeps. Never. She apparently catches a few winks in her office, but never sleeps for 6 hours at a stretch like normal people.
And none of these people, though they are all fabulously successful, have won the Nobel. So, what I got from this entire conversation was, that to be successful, you have to:
a). Starve
b). Live in the lab
c). Never sleep
d). Never take vacations
Thats why I'm never going to win the Nobel Prize. Apart from being too dumb of course.
Ah well, all these awards are fixed anyways.
NB: Now I know why HZ works like a dog. Its the sheer pressure of having seen up-close what it takes to succeed. I shall no longer wonder why he burns the midnight oil in his office, when he should be home dreaming sweet dreams.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
"Anne of Green Gables" and "The Terrorist"
Two movies I watched last week had an impact on me. One made me blubber like a baby, and the other was simply beautiful.
I don't what made me pick Anne of Green Gables from Netflix. It must have been nostalgia. I was a huge Anne fan as a child. I'd read all the Anne books by L.M.Montogomery. I thought she was charming and engaging and everything I wasn't. Witty, smart, pretty(even though she had red hair. I thought red hair was way better than unevenly sized eyes. Still do). I could lose myself in one of her books for hours. I still remember the day I bought my first Anne book. It was at Higgin Bothams (which btw, is the most exquisite name for a bookstore ever) in Chennai. I was 10 years old. Visiting Chennai during the summer vacation. I bought this book there, and finished it on the train journey back to Pune. I must have re-read that book a thousand times in the next 5-6 years. I was in love. With Anne, and Diana, and Gilbert and the whole lot of them really.
In any case, that particular love affair terminated with my entry into adulthood. I was too grown-up to read childrens' books. So Anne, and Rebecca, and Katy were relegated into the depths of my bookshelf. And then I ordered this Netflix movie. It was like an LSD trip into my childhood fantasy world. It all came rushing back in this one giant wave of long-lost memories. I realise now that Anne is rather a silly child, who has a flair for the dramatic and talks too much. And that imagination of hers. It can only be fictional. But how could I not enjoy watching The "Lake of Shining Waters", and Anne dyeing her hair green, and floating away in a boat, and nearly drowning whilst trying to enact a tragedy? I could not help laughing at this chilhood world where there were only raspberry cordials and lemon pies, no responsibilities, no leaky faucets(!), and no work. And when Matthew died, I couldn't help crying, thanking my stars that Roomie wasn't around to laugh at my silliness.
The second movie was one I'd been wanting to watch for a long time. Santosh Sivan's "The Terrorist" is a visual extravaganza. Tamil Nadu has never looked more ethereal. The forests, the rain, the river. A village house. The temple pool. All captured beautifully. The occasional chants of MS in the background. And really, its a tale of horror, told amidst these verdant surroundings. Malli(Ayesha Dharkar) is a suicide bomber on a mission. It is the story of her journey and the people she meets in the last few days before she is scheduled to blow herself and a prominent politician up. Its like a coming of age movie. Except the prom is a suicide mission. How Malli's thinking is influenced by the discovery of her pregnancy, and the kindness she receives from an innocent man who's home she rents is the meat of the story. Dharkar is powerful, combining innocence with brutality superbly. The child who plays Lotus/Surya is haunting. SS's camera work will stay with me for a long time. Go watch it if you haven't already. Its at the top of my favorite list now.
I don't what made me pick Anne of Green Gables from Netflix. It must have been nostalgia. I was a huge Anne fan as a child. I'd read all the Anne books by L.M.Montogomery. I thought she was charming and engaging and everything I wasn't. Witty, smart, pretty(even though she had red hair. I thought red hair was way better than unevenly sized eyes. Still do). I could lose myself in one of her books for hours. I still remember the day I bought my first Anne book. It was at Higgin Bothams (which btw, is the most exquisite name for a bookstore ever) in Chennai. I was 10 years old. Visiting Chennai during the summer vacation. I bought this book there, and finished it on the train journey back to Pune. I must have re-read that book a thousand times in the next 5-6 years. I was in love. With Anne, and Diana, and Gilbert and the whole lot of them really.
In any case, that particular love affair terminated with my entry into adulthood. I was too grown-up to read childrens' books. So Anne, and Rebecca, and Katy were relegated into the depths of my bookshelf. And then I ordered this Netflix movie. It was like an LSD trip into my childhood fantasy world. It all came rushing back in this one giant wave of long-lost memories. I realise now that Anne is rather a silly child, who has a flair for the dramatic and talks too much. And that imagination of hers. It can only be fictional. But how could I not enjoy watching The "Lake of Shining Waters", and Anne dyeing her hair green, and floating away in a boat, and nearly drowning whilst trying to enact a tragedy? I could not help laughing at this chilhood world where there were only raspberry cordials and lemon pies, no responsibilities, no leaky faucets(!), and no work. And when Matthew died, I couldn't help crying, thanking my stars that Roomie wasn't around to laugh at my silliness.
The second movie was one I'd been wanting to watch for a long time. Santosh Sivan's "The Terrorist" is a visual extravaganza. Tamil Nadu has never looked more ethereal. The forests, the rain, the river. A village house. The temple pool. All captured beautifully. The occasional chants of MS in the background. And really, its a tale of horror, told amidst these verdant surroundings. Malli(Ayesha Dharkar) is a suicide bomber on a mission. It is the story of her journey and the people she meets in the last few days before she is scheduled to blow herself and a prominent politician up. Its like a coming of age movie. Except the prom is a suicide mission. How Malli's thinking is influenced by the discovery of her pregnancy, and the kindness she receives from an innocent man who's home she rents is the meat of the story. Dharkar is powerful, combining innocence with brutality superbly. The child who plays Lotus/Surya is haunting. SS's camera work will stay with me for a long time. Go watch it if you haven't already. Its at the top of my favorite list now.
Monday, September 24, 2007
More plumbing woes...
I'm deliriously happy today. Totally, ecstatically, completely happy. India has won the finals of the Twenty 20 World Cup. I have my mutant mice. I don't need to cook dinner tonight.(I still have leftovers from last night) Its all perfect...EXCEPT for one thing. No make that two.
1). The dishwasher still doesn't work..despite all the pain described earlier. It just squirts large amounts of water into your unsuspecting face when you try to switch it on and hook it up to the faucet in the sink.
2). I now need a pair of kitchen tongs to pull the shower faucet out, so I can take a shower. This means that a "pakkad" has now taken up permanent residence in my bathroom. Embarassing as hell when visitors come over. How to explain why you have a pair of kitchen tongs in your bathroom?
What to do? I need help. Any suggestions? Any one know a good plumber who works for free? Large tip is in the offing for a cute plumber who knows his way around faucets.
1). The dishwasher still doesn't work..despite all the pain described earlier. It just squirts large amounts of water into your unsuspecting face when you try to switch it on and hook it up to the faucet in the sink.
2). I now need a pair of kitchen tongs to pull the shower faucet out, so I can take a shower. This means that a "pakkad" has now taken up permanent residence in my bathroom. Embarassing as hell when visitors come over. How to explain why you have a pair of kitchen tongs in your bathroom?
What to do? I need help. Any suggestions? Any one know a good plumber who works for free? Large tip is in the offing for a cute plumber who knows his way around faucets.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
The Dishwasher Chronicles
3rd August 2007: Roomie, S and I huff and puff up the stairs, as we struggle to transport our newly bought portable Kenmore Dishwasher into our house. Portable in name only, it seems. Its distinctly unportable and unbelievably heavy. My back hurts for 2 days after this exercise.
4th August 2007: We try to plug it into our faucet. No go. It doesn't fit. I call S for help. As usual, he knows the answer. We need an adapter it seems, to connect the dishwasher hose to our faucet.
15th August 2007: I am tired of washing dishes, while we have a perfectly good dishwasher staring us in the face. I swear I hear it smirking as I cuss my way through a sinkful of dirty dishes. Roomie and I decide that we have to go to Home Depot soon.
16th August 2007, 9pm: Home depot has 2 adapters that look promising. We buy both, sure that one will fit.
16th August 2007, 9.30pm: %*&#! Its a cruel joke. One of the adapters fits the faucet. The other snaps into our dishwasher. Neither fits both. Roomie and I cry buckets.
20th August 2007, 7.30pm, Lowe's: They have the exact same junk that Home Depot has. Plus the sales rep is about 275 years old, crusty, and distinctly unhelpful. One nicer dude there suggest we make our way to Sears, because Kenmore is a Sears brand and they probably have it.
Thoroughly disgusted, we let the matter lapse for about 3 weeks. Then it got cold. To do the dishes in summer is one thing. To wash 'em in winter, is entirely a different matter. Roused out of our state of inertia, we grumble our way to the Sears outlet store in Shrewsbury. Very helpful Sales Rep, sadly informs us that they don't have it, but the Sears Store at Auburn Mall is sure to carry it.
16th September, 4.30pm, Auburn Mall: Appliance department guy hears us out patiently, then says that he doesn't do dishwashers, he's the TV guy. We need the dishwasher dude, he says, while pointing us in his direction. I tell myself to breather deeply. In. Out. In. Out. You are from the land of Yoga. You can control your mind. Do NOT lunge for his throat. He's just a guy trying to do his job. Breathe. We make our way to dishwasher dude.
Dishwasher dude says...Oops..we don't carry that, but our parts' store is right 'round the corner. I know you will find it there. We walk to the parts store. Its closed. They are only open until 4pm on Sundays, says the sign. By this time, righteous indignation has given way to uncontrollable mirth. We laugh at our plight, while wishing a pox upon the guy who sold us the dishwasher, and forgot to mention the all-important adapter.
22nd September 10am: I knock on a distinctly grumpy roomie's door. Time to rise and shine. We are headed to the parts' store, I remind her. About 30 minutes and 1 liter of coffee later, we are on our way to Auburn Mall again. Parts' store is thankfully open. Lady with scary eye make-up answers our queries, and shows the one adapter they do have.(Whirlpool, not Kenmore) Roomie takes one look at it, and says it won't fit. She should know. She can practically write a PhD thesis on the intricacies of dishwasher adapters, with an emphasis on faucet thread size. Scary eye make-up lady, says Scalamos' is right down the road, and a good hardware store. Try there, she says.
Scalamos, turns out to be spelt Sclamos', and is a good hardware store. Nice furniture too. Very nice guy at the counter. Rather good looking as well. Except, they DIDN'T sell dishwasher adapters. But, he suggested we try Barrons' Hardware Store. We are certain this is a another wild-goose chase, but decide to give it a try. Its either getting an adapter, or investing large sums of money in hand lotions.
Barrons turns out to be a really nice store. Lots of good stuff. Best hardware store in the world actually. The sales rep was old, but knowledgeable and VERY helpful. A prince among men, in fact. Because he had the right adapter. One look at it, and roomie said, YES, this is the one. We clutched it gleefully as we made our way back home. That brown paper package held the most precious gift purchase we had ever made. It cost $3.29 and about $20 in terms of Gas. But its value....priceless!
Back home, we nervously snapped it into our dishwasher. It fit. Then screwed it onto out faucet. Perfect. I wept tears of joy.
No more dishes! Yay!
This is turning out to be a great day actually. Not only did was the DW issue resolved, but India just beat Australia and are in the finals...against Pakistan. Double Yay!
There's no silver lining today. Just a big, fat silver cloud.
UPDATE: I came home to find roomie laughing her head off. Apparently, the faucet in the shower just came off! Fact. I kid you not. So, we can wash the dishes now. But there'll be a wait to bathe!
4th August 2007: We try to plug it into our faucet. No go. It doesn't fit. I call S for help. As usual, he knows the answer. We need an adapter it seems, to connect the dishwasher hose to our faucet.
15th August 2007: I am tired of washing dishes, while we have a perfectly good dishwasher staring us in the face. I swear I hear it smirking as I cuss my way through a sinkful of dirty dishes. Roomie and I decide that we have to go to Home Depot soon.
16th August 2007, 9pm: Home depot has 2 adapters that look promising. We buy both, sure that one will fit.
16th August 2007, 9.30pm: %*&#! Its a cruel joke. One of the adapters fits the faucet. The other snaps into our dishwasher. Neither fits both. Roomie and I cry buckets.
20th August 2007, 7.30pm, Lowe's: They have the exact same junk that Home Depot has. Plus the sales rep is about 275 years old, crusty, and distinctly unhelpful. One nicer dude there suggest we make our way to Sears, because Kenmore is a Sears brand and they probably have it.
Thoroughly disgusted, we let the matter lapse for about 3 weeks. Then it got cold. To do the dishes in summer is one thing. To wash 'em in winter, is entirely a different matter. Roused out of our state of inertia, we grumble our way to the Sears outlet store in Shrewsbury. Very helpful Sales Rep, sadly informs us that they don't have it, but the Sears Store at Auburn Mall is sure to carry it.
16th September, 4.30pm, Auburn Mall: Appliance department guy hears us out patiently, then says that he doesn't do dishwashers, he's the TV guy. We need the dishwasher dude, he says, while pointing us in his direction. I tell myself to breather deeply. In. Out. In. Out. You are from the land of Yoga. You can control your mind. Do NOT lunge for his throat. He's just a guy trying to do his job. Breathe. We make our way to dishwasher dude.
Dishwasher dude says...Oops..we don't carry that, but our parts' store is right 'round the corner. I know you will find it there. We walk to the parts store. Its closed. They are only open until 4pm on Sundays, says the sign. By this time, righteous indignation has given way to uncontrollable mirth. We laugh at our plight, while wishing a pox upon the guy who sold us the dishwasher, and forgot to mention the all-important adapter.
22nd September 10am: I knock on a distinctly grumpy roomie's door. Time to rise and shine. We are headed to the parts' store, I remind her. About 30 minutes and 1 liter of coffee later, we are on our way to Auburn Mall again. Parts' store is thankfully open. Lady with scary eye make-up answers our queries, and shows the one adapter they do have.(Whirlpool, not Kenmore) Roomie takes one look at it, and says it won't fit. She should know. She can practically write a PhD thesis on the intricacies of dishwasher adapters, with an emphasis on faucet thread size. Scary eye make-up lady, says Scalamos' is right down the road, and a good hardware store. Try there, she says.
Scalamos, turns out to be spelt Sclamos', and is a good hardware store. Nice furniture too. Very nice guy at the counter. Rather good looking as well. Except, they DIDN'T sell dishwasher adapters. But, he suggested we try Barrons' Hardware Store. We are certain this is a another wild-goose chase, but decide to give it a try. Its either getting an adapter, or investing large sums of money in hand lotions.
Barrons turns out to be a really nice store. Lots of good stuff. Best hardware store in the world actually. The sales rep was old, but knowledgeable and VERY helpful. A prince among men, in fact. Because he had the right adapter. One look at it, and roomie said, YES, this is the one. We clutched it gleefully as we made our way back home. That brown paper package held the most precious gift purchase we had ever made. It cost $3.29 and about $20 in terms of Gas. But its value....priceless!
Back home, we nervously snapped it into our dishwasher. It fit. Then screwed it onto out faucet. Perfect. I wept tears of joy.
No more dishes! Yay!
This is turning out to be a great day actually. Not only did was the DW issue resolved, but India just beat Australia and are in the finals...against Pakistan. Double Yay!
There's no silver lining today. Just a big, fat silver cloud.
UPDATE: I came home to find roomie laughing her head off. Apparently, the faucet in the shower just came off! Fact. I kid you not. So, we can wash the dishes now. But there'll be a wait to bathe!
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
A Tale of Mice-Moondram Pirai
I think it was the visit to the temple on Ganesh Chaturthi. Yes. Thats what did it. I went to the Sri Lakshmi temple on Ganesh Chaturthi, just in time for aarti, I might add. And I prayed mighty hard. It looks like my prayers were answered. What did I ask for, that that bountiful lover of kozhaikottais(After Siddhi and Buddhi of course! No man loves food more than women!) bestowed upon me with such readiness?
NOT a 28 year old Software Engineer with a six-figure salary, whose horoscope matches mine perfectly, and looks like a Greek God to boot. Nope.
NOT Shilpa Shetty's body(yeah right!) or Bipasha Basu's boobs. We are not that into our physical appearance. Nor are we deluded about ourselves!
Not even did that Remover of Obstacles magically "obliviate" those cars that hog the good spots and make me walk 10 minutes to my lab, from the parking lot. Cussing under my breath on cold days! Like this morning which was a chilly 50F.
No, I asked for something vastly more important than all that. I prayed for brown mice. You see, if a mouse has a brown coat, it has 50% chance of being mutant. (My chimeric male mice are agouti- a fashionable word for Brown. I've mated them with Black females. Further details on request. Do you care?) Black coat---boring wildtype. I'd set up several matings which had borne fruitition.(I've been dying to use that phrase. Its been in my head since last night when it came up repeatedly in the subtitles of Yai..Nee Romba Azhaga Irrukai. Borne fruitition..so deliciously old-fashioned. Sounds way better than knocked up!) And voila...the mice, every single one of 'em, was brown!
He made it happen. Besides, he has a known preference for mice. He IS referred to as "Mooshikavahana", his royal vehicle being a tiny rodent, Moonjoor. Thank you Ganpati bappa!
NB: Contrary to how this post may sound, my life is not ALL about mice. No. I work with cells too.
NOT a 28 year old Software Engineer with a six-figure salary, whose horoscope matches mine perfectly, and looks like a Greek God to boot. Nope.
NOT Shilpa Shetty's body(yeah right!) or Bipasha Basu's boobs. We are not that into our physical appearance. Nor are we deluded about ourselves!
Not even did that Remover of Obstacles magically "obliviate" those cars that hog the good spots and make me walk 10 minutes to my lab, from the parking lot. Cussing under my breath on cold days! Like this morning which was a chilly 50F.
No, I asked for something vastly more important than all that. I prayed for brown mice. You see, if a mouse has a brown coat, it has 50% chance of being mutant. (My chimeric male mice are agouti- a fashionable word for Brown. I've mated them with Black females. Further details on request. Do you care?) Black coat---boring wildtype. I'd set up several matings which had borne fruitition.(I've been dying to use that phrase. Its been in my head since last night when it came up repeatedly in the subtitles of Yai..Nee Romba Azhaga Irrukai. Borne fruitition..so deliciously old-fashioned. Sounds way better than knocked up!) And voila...the mice, every single one of 'em, was brown!
He made it happen. Besides, he has a known preference for mice. He IS referred to as "Mooshikavahana", his royal vehicle being a tiny rodent, Moonjoor. Thank you Ganpati bappa!
NB: Contrary to how this post may sound, my life is not ALL about mice. No. I work with cells too.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
A "Tail" of mice-Part Deux
Well, I have paid the price for my sins. None of the mice whose tails I clipped were mutant. Nope. Not one. Zip. Nada. Shunya. All wild-type. Apparently you may need to breed them to F4 or F5 to get the right mutant genotype out. I'm just at F1. I'm never going to graduate! I mean, you mate them. They take 3 weeks to produce litters. You wait 1 week before you can genotype. Then.....you go back to the drawing board. 1 month's work down the drain.
Mouse work sucks.
Giving this matter some serious thought, I guess that the natural selection pressure is pretty high and will always select against mutant, versus wild-type. Nature has its own way of protecting genomes. And its great. It really is. But, if only she would let go for my mice and let me have my mutants, life would be so much easier.
Sigh...back to mating them once again. Its going to be a long wait. Well...atleast the mice are happy, what with all the whoop-de-doo they're getting.
Mouse work sucks.
Giving this matter some serious thought, I guess that the natural selection pressure is pretty high and will always select against mutant, versus wild-type. Nature has its own way of protecting genomes. And its great. It really is. But, if only she would let go for my mice and let me have my mutants, life would be so much easier.
Sigh...back to mating them once again. Its going to be a long wait. Well...atleast the mice are happy, what with all the whoop-de-doo they're getting.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
A "Tail" about mice
If hell exists, I'm headed straight to it after I die. I'm going to boil in a huge vat of oil for my sins. Blind pink demons who are naked, and have snouty noses and bleeding tails will look upon me with glee, whilst flaming the heat slowly. Yes, such is the torture I shall receive. What have I done to merit such punishment you ask?
I couldn't stop giggling while I was snipping the tails off 2 day old baby mice. Thats why. Why was I giggling? Because this nursery rhyme just wouldn't stop playing in my head. You know the one I mean. Its about 3 blind mice.
Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run, see how they run,
They all ran after the farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a thing in your life,
As three blind mice?
I hated this poem as a child. It was more morbid than the other nursery rhymes I knew. And I knew several. (Humpty Dumpty- he fell off a wall. Jack and Jill-Jack broke his crown. Little Miss Muffett- was scared away by a spider. Simple Simon-couldn't eat pie as he didn't have a penny..you get my drift) The very idea of someone cutting the tails of mice was disturbing. Apart from the concept of helpless blind mice which was terrifying in its own way. Fast forward to adulthood, and no such qualms exist, apparently. I have sold my soul to science it seems.
Because there I was. In the mouse room at 8:15 pm. The lights had been automatically switched off at 7pm, and I couldn't find a light switch in the room. So I was working by the light of the laminar flow hood. I was snipping the tails of these pink, naked mice that were literally blind. (Their hadn't opened their eyes yet) And this stupid nursery rhyme wouldn't stop playing in my head. Over and over again. Now that I think about it...if someone else had stepped into that room, they would not be faulted for thinking it was a scene out of horror movie. I mean, think about it. Its a semi-dark room filled with cages of mice, who are pretty active(hence rather noisy) at night. There is one woman working there, by a rather dim light. She's doing nasty things to helpless little baby mice. And laughing like a maniac to boot. The Blair Bit*h Project anyone?
I couldn't stop giggling while I was snipping the tails off 2 day old baby mice. Thats why. Why was I giggling? Because this nursery rhyme just wouldn't stop playing in my head. You know the one I mean. Its about 3 blind mice.
Three blind mice, three blind mice,
See how they run, see how they run,
They all ran after the farmer's wife,
Who cut off their tails with a carving knife,
Did you ever see such a thing in your life,
As three blind mice?
I hated this poem as a child. It was more morbid than the other nursery rhymes I knew. And I knew several. (Humpty Dumpty- he fell off a wall. Jack and Jill-Jack broke his crown. Little Miss Muffett- was scared away by a spider. Simple Simon-couldn't eat pie as he didn't have a penny..you get my drift) The very idea of someone cutting the tails of mice was disturbing. Apart from the concept of helpless blind mice which was terrifying in its own way. Fast forward to adulthood, and no such qualms exist, apparently. I have sold my soul to science it seems.
Because there I was. In the mouse room at 8:15 pm. The lights had been automatically switched off at 7pm, and I couldn't find a light switch in the room. So I was working by the light of the laminar flow hood. I was snipping the tails of these pink, naked mice that were literally blind. (Their hadn't opened their eyes yet) And this stupid nursery rhyme wouldn't stop playing in my head. Over and over again. Now that I think about it...if someone else had stepped into that room, they would not be faulted for thinking it was a scene out of horror movie. I mean, think about it. Its a semi-dark room filled with cages of mice, who are pretty active(hence rather noisy) at night. There is one woman working there, by a rather dim light. She's doing nasty things to helpless little baby mice. And laughing like a maniac to boot. The Blair Bit*h Project anyone?
Saturday, September 8, 2007
Ram Gopal Varma ki SH(a)AG!
I suppose I deserve a KOTA for watching this movie. My roommate and I thought we'd get a kick out of watching a bad movie. Duh! We started out watching with our laptops at arms' length, in case we got bored. 10 minutes into the movie the laptops were out. In another 10 minutes, phone calls were being made. 1 hour later, I was fast asleep on the couch. I guess the saving grace was that we didn't actually sit through the whole shebang.
I am perplexed, nay, astounded by RGV's remake(sic) of Sholay. It was worse than his other bad movies...which considering that he made a "Mast" is saying something indeed. I beg an answer to the following questions from RGV. Indeed he has a lot to answer to, for butchering Sholay. In fact he didn't just butcher it, he chopped into millions of miniscule pieces, so its hard for us to even recognise that its a remake. Which in a roundabout way, is, I suppose, a good thing. Anyways, here are my questions dear sir. I know you don't read my blog, but thats OK. It just makes me feel better to get this out of my system. Then I can go back to cellular senescence and TCF-4 without this really bad SH(a)AG buzzing around in my head.
1). Why does the camera have to zoom around like a drunken arthropod? It made me dizzy.
2). Why does Nisha Kothari's ass get more footage than her face?
3). Who is this Prashant dude who looks marginally cute, but spoils it all by talking?
4). Why does Ajay Devgan keep saying "Yes"?
5). What was Mohanlal thinking when he accepted this role? He can't speak Hindi to save his life. Hema Malini in the original, speaks poor hindi too...but hey..she's Hema Malini, magnificently, flamingly, beautiful. On the other hand, no amount of fungal outgrowth on ML's face will prevent people from remarking on his Hindi.
6). Why does Sushmita Sen try so hard and fail so miserably at capturing Radha's heartache and grief? Radha was haunting in her tightly wrapped sorrow. Sen is merely unremarkable. On the good side..she doesn't suck, unlike most of the others.
7). WTF is Rajpal Yadav doing? God knows I am his biggest fan and think "Main, Meri patni aur Woh" is an awesome movie..but seriously, what is he doing? Why does he keep referring to all and sundry as "darrrling?"
8). Why does Babban have a family? Why does he actually love someone? Gabbar was pure unadulterated evil. He had no family for chrissakes!
9). Dear RGV, you are a good filmmaker. You made "Satya" for heavens' sake. Now that your flirtation with remaking epics is over and done with, could you please go back to making movies' that you know how to make? Dark movies' about underworld dons and corrupt cops. Not Sholay. Please. Not Sholay.
Oh...one last question....
10). Why is growling into a woman's face, snarling at her like an animal with a toothache, considered sexy?
I am perplexed, nay, astounded by RGV's remake(sic) of Sholay. It was worse than his other bad movies...which considering that he made a "Mast" is saying something indeed. I beg an answer to the following questions from RGV. Indeed he has a lot to answer to, for butchering Sholay. In fact he didn't just butcher it, he chopped into millions of miniscule pieces, so its hard for us to even recognise that its a remake. Which in a roundabout way, is, I suppose, a good thing. Anyways, here are my questions dear sir. I know you don't read my blog, but thats OK. It just makes me feel better to get this out of my system. Then I can go back to cellular senescence and TCF-4 without this really bad SH(a)AG buzzing around in my head.
1). Why does the camera have to zoom around like a drunken arthropod? It made me dizzy.
2). Why does Nisha Kothari's ass get more footage than her face?
3). Who is this Prashant dude who looks marginally cute, but spoils it all by talking?
4). Why does Ajay Devgan keep saying "Yes"?
5). What was Mohanlal thinking when he accepted this role? He can't speak Hindi to save his life. Hema Malini in the original, speaks poor hindi too...but hey..she's Hema Malini, magnificently, flamingly, beautiful. On the other hand, no amount of fungal outgrowth on ML's face will prevent people from remarking on his Hindi.
6). Why does Sushmita Sen try so hard and fail so miserably at capturing Radha's heartache and grief? Radha was haunting in her tightly wrapped sorrow. Sen is merely unremarkable. On the good side..she doesn't suck, unlike most of the others.
7). WTF is Rajpal Yadav doing? God knows I am his biggest fan and think "Main, Meri patni aur Woh" is an awesome movie..but seriously, what is he doing? Why does he keep referring to all and sundry as "darrrling?"
8). Why does Babban have a family? Why does he actually love someone? Gabbar was pure unadulterated evil. He had no family for chrissakes!
9). Dear RGV, you are a good filmmaker. You made "Satya" for heavens' sake. Now that your flirtation with remaking epics is over and done with, could you please go back to making movies' that you know how to make? Dark movies' about underworld dons and corrupt cops. Not Sholay. Please. Not Sholay.
Oh...one last question....
10). Why is growling into a woman's face, snarling at her like an animal with a toothache, considered sexy?
Friday, September 7, 2007
Mere yaar ki shaadi hai!
Its official..DK and KK are finally getting hitched. After dating for 8 years!! 8 frickin' years!! Just hearing their wonderful news brought back a flood of memories.
I remember the day I first met DK. We met on a picnic in Class XI. It was supposed to be an ice-breaker, for we had all just passed our 10th Board Exams and had chosen to study at "Apte Prashala". I often wonder why I chose that miserable excuse for a college...it didn't even have a rest room for women...you read right...no Ladies' Loo! I don't even want to get started on the teaching( ha ha joke!), lab facilites (non-existent) etc. But I digress. This is about DK.
We met on the picnic to some village whose name started with "K" and ended with "gaon". I had a copy of "Emma" with me...yep I thought I would read since I knew I wouldn't understand a word of the gabbing in Marathi. And she had already read it. I was ecstatic. Here was a girl who had read "Emma"(not just P&P, but Emma!), loved Wodehouse as much as I did, and spoke perfect English.(In those days a requirement, since I was still a Marathi virgin and the Hindi that most Maharashtrians speak is comical to say the least!) We hit it off instantly. We remained friends through the 2 years we spent at Apte. We giggled over Magre sir's pathetic attempts to discipline the class. Stuffed our faces with the samosa (Rs.2 for 1 samosa and it was HUGE) at Indori Farsan. Railed incessantly against the ugly copper sulphate blue salwar suit that we were condemned to wear to college. Dreamed of going to Medical College together. Those dreams were quickly snuffed out. I didn't do well enough to get into GMC, which is where she headed for her MBBS.
But we stayed in touch. We chatted over the phone and we always met when she came home to Pune on a break. Serene and lovely Sunrise Cafe morphed into the brash and metallic Dosa Diner and then back into Sunrise cafe again (minus the charm this time around). Thats where we always met. Outside Sunrise Cafe. She would usually show up 40 minutes late. I would be on time every single time inspite of knowing she would be late. Then we would march down JM Road, debating the merits of Kamat versus China Garden and eventually end up at Shiv Sagar. Every single time. She would have Pav Bhaji and I would eat Cheese Onion Utthapa. Then we would gorge on the delicious Idli Chilly fry together. This was an unvarying routine. Oh, I might substitute an Idli Vada sambar for the utthappa, but that was as adventurous as it got. And we talked and talked. We never ever finished talking. I remember she would always jump into her Indiranagar bus in the middle of an unfinished conversation.
She and KK started dating in their 2nd year at GMC. I met him when he came down to Pune for a visit during a break. The dude was blessed with more than his share of good lucks. And he was sweet and funny and intelligent. She had snared the last nice guy on Earth! Those were fun times. There were occasional trips to Mumbai. I remember her sneaking me into the Ladies Hostel at GMC inspite of me being female!(Apparently the mama was very khadoos!)
I've known her for 11 years now. We've been the best of friends for all 11 of those years. I can't remember a single cross word spoken between us. She has been a supremely wonderful friend. If there is anyone who deserves this happiness, it is her.
11th January is the big day, and I will be there. To see 2 of the best people I know begin a new life together.
Here's wishing DK and KK a blissfully happy married life! I hope to be aunt to their 6 children. I shall spoil them all rotten!
I remember the day I first met DK. We met on a picnic in Class XI. It was supposed to be an ice-breaker, for we had all just passed our 10th Board Exams and had chosen to study at "Apte Prashala". I often wonder why I chose that miserable excuse for a college...it didn't even have a rest room for women...you read right...no Ladies' Loo! I don't even want to get started on the teaching( ha ha joke!), lab facilites (non-existent) etc. But I digress. This is about DK.
We met on the picnic to some village whose name started with "K" and ended with "gaon". I had a copy of "Emma" with me...yep I thought I would read since I knew I wouldn't understand a word of the gabbing in Marathi. And she had already read it. I was ecstatic. Here was a girl who had read "Emma"(not just P&P, but Emma!), loved Wodehouse as much as I did, and spoke perfect English.(In those days a requirement, since I was still a Marathi virgin and the Hindi that most Maharashtrians speak is comical to say the least!) We hit it off instantly. We remained friends through the 2 years we spent at Apte. We giggled over Magre sir's pathetic attempts to discipline the class. Stuffed our faces with the samosa (Rs.2 for 1 samosa and it was HUGE) at Indori Farsan. Railed incessantly against the ugly copper sulphate blue salwar suit that we were condemned to wear to college. Dreamed of going to Medical College together. Those dreams were quickly snuffed out. I didn't do well enough to get into GMC, which is where she headed for her MBBS.
But we stayed in touch. We chatted over the phone and we always met when she came home to Pune on a break. Serene and lovely Sunrise Cafe morphed into the brash and metallic Dosa Diner and then back into Sunrise cafe again (minus the charm this time around). Thats where we always met. Outside Sunrise Cafe. She would usually show up 40 minutes late. I would be on time every single time inspite of knowing she would be late. Then we would march down JM Road, debating the merits of Kamat versus China Garden and eventually end up at Shiv Sagar. Every single time. She would have Pav Bhaji and I would eat Cheese Onion Utthapa. Then we would gorge on the delicious Idli Chilly fry together. This was an unvarying routine. Oh, I might substitute an Idli Vada sambar for the utthappa, but that was as adventurous as it got. And we talked and talked. We never ever finished talking. I remember she would always jump into her Indiranagar bus in the middle of an unfinished conversation.
She and KK started dating in their 2nd year at GMC. I met him when he came down to Pune for a visit during a break. The dude was blessed with more than his share of good lucks. And he was sweet and funny and intelligent. She had snared the last nice guy on Earth! Those were fun times. There were occasional trips to Mumbai. I remember her sneaking me into the Ladies Hostel at GMC inspite of me being female!(Apparently the mama was very khadoos!)
I've known her for 11 years now. We've been the best of friends for all 11 of those years. I can't remember a single cross word spoken between us. She has been a supremely wonderful friend. If there is anyone who deserves this happiness, it is her.
11th January is the big day, and I will be there. To see 2 of the best people I know begin a new life together.
Here's wishing DK and KK a blissfully happy married life! I hope to be aunt to their 6 children. I shall spoil them all rotten!
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