Tag Archives: blah

The halfway mark

  • Visited all the main people who invited me.  Sang in a few houses.  Navrathri seems low-key, but the past few years, it has always caught up in the final two days.  Lets see
  • Managed to make goodies every day so far, some days, twice a day.  Thanks to Trump.  The DoE deadline that usually falls during Navrathri, making me run around like a head cut chicken, has been postponed this year, probably because renewable energy is not really a high priority to some people who believe that global warming is a Chinese hoax.  So, soaking in the most of Navrathri, for the first time in the past 17 years.
  • Have been wearing sarees on all days so far, all day.  In the past years, I would wear a saree only in the evening, or when visiting people, but this year, again, thanks to Trump, I have been celebrating all day.
  • A few people visited me today, but I expect the bulk tomorrow.
  • Feeling a little tired, but that is probably because of the festive busy-ness.
  • This year I did not buy gifts for visitors.  No reason….just the inertia in shopping.
  • Diwali is less than a month away. I don’t enjoy Diwali. But I need to buy clothes for the family. Ugh, shopping.



Face off

My guest of the past month is dresser-supreme.  She would have made a fantastic model, had she chosen to be one. She dresses for herself, and not (as much) for others.  She wakes up picture perfect – not a hair out of place, and as soon as she brushes her teeth, she brushes her long, silky, streaked hair until it shines with blinding brilliance and applies nice smelling stuff on her face so that she emerges from the bathroom like a cat walker. She accessorises her nightwear, and when she has to step out of the house to throw out the trash, she looks like she is meeting the American president for state dinner.  I once saw her apply makeup and wondered how she remembered what goes after what and in which part of her face.

The line between passion and obsession depends on the perceiver’s judgemental opinion.  Lest you judge her as being shallow, she has a high flying job, is a dedicated parent to two boys, keeps her home spotless, volunteers for a bunch of things, is a social diva, a perfectionist in everything she touches, a terrific cook and would be a successful dancer if she chose to resume her practice.

But the point of this post is not her, at least not entirely.

When I awoke this morning – you must know that I awaken like I have just survived an earthquake, and remain that way until a few gallons of coffee have been assimilated – and looked into the mirror (mirror mirror on the wall, and the mirror cracked), my face looked like it was dug out of a cemetery. Finding a bottle of calamine lotion that my neighbour loaned me to treat the wasp sting of last weekend, I figured that while I can’t look like my ex-guest if I had a gun pointed to my head, I could attempt to at least look presentable and fresh with a potentially harmless emulsion of zinc oxide and ferric oxide, which even grandmother used in decades past.

Thus, I transferred a drop of the pink goo into my palm, and as I applied it over my face, it miraculously expanded to fill the large surface area of the contoured surface.  The mirror was not very cooperative and instead of a bright, glowing face that I expected to see, I saw a dead-as-before, but oily-to-boot-now, face staring back. And then the party began.  In a surge of an internally generated thermal wave that put my monthly infernal heat flashes to shame, perspiration poured from the recently anointed face, and by the time I mopped the flooding, the skin burned like a stake during inquisition, and I dumped my face into a bucket of cold water to stop it from melting off my bones.

There is truth in the saying “Just be yourself”.  Don’t know why I forget it now and then.  Must be PMS. Everything is PMS.


A couple of bloggers I follow have been mentioning the loss of comments to their posts, and the accidental spam-foldering of legit comments.  I checked my spam folder to see if I was losing comments to it, and found the following:

Someone whose handle is “single” says the following in response to my post reproducing Rabindranath Tagore’s poetry on Independence day.

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A certain la2enjoy finds my post on a Hindu festival without power so:

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A post describing an embarrassing conversation about uterus with a friend garnered the following support from SpencerTup

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Say what?

My refurbished living room impressed acupuntura curitiba batel thusly

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Google translates the above to

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A1 positive.  Will that help?

Fitness, food and fancy fluff

The “fancy fluff” was just for the F.  I doubt if there would be anything fancy or fluffy in this post.

I resumed gymming after a two-week break.  I hope I don’t get any further breaks in the near future, partly for the sake of my fitness, but mostly because I don’t want the gym membership to expire unused.   My body hurts, but I don’t think that is because of the gym.  My joints have been hurting for a while now, especially when rising from a sedentary position, and I refuse to google and get hypochondriacal about it.  The body will fix it itself if I just let it be.

But, before I can gloat with a holier-than-thee chin up, I more than negated the gym session with home-made cinnamony apple cobbler with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. I refuse to get sucked into the vortex of guilt because it is the left-out eighth deadly sin to feel bad about home-made cinnamony apple cobbler with a small scoop of vanilla ice cream on top.  For all my hatred of cooking, I can sometimes excel.  The watchword there is “sometimes”.

Our family (and I am its leader) is big into food, which, is unfortunate, because I am the main food provider and I am usually a bad cook.  All three of us in the house need something to eat every two hours or we are rabid.  We eat small portions at every sitting, but eat often.  For instance, it is nearly 5 pm, and our meal plan today has been this (the husband is at home today and the kid has study leave for her quarterly exams).

  1. Half a tumbler of coffee at 7 am for the adults
  2. Half a tumbler of coffee + 1 Marie biscuit each at 8 am for the adults. One tumbler of Bournvita for the just-awoken kid.
  3. Half a cup of rice each with buttermilk kozambu and beans paruppusuli at 9 am. We have switched to eating rice for breakfast because it seems a pain to cook three meals a day.  And no, we are not cereal/oats/toast people.
  4. A three-course rice meal for lunch comprising one cup of rice each (I often replace rice with cream of wheat – samba godhumai ravai, for myself), with buttermilk kozambu, beans paruppusuli, pepper rasam, and curd at 12.30 pm.
  5. Coffee for dad and daughter and tea for me at 2.30 pm
  6. A small piece (by small, I mean, three table spoons) of apple cobbler each, topped with a small (one table spoon) scoop of icecream at 4.30 pm.  This is not a regular feature.  It could be a sandwich each, one dosa, each, chaat, fruit salad etc.
  7. Plan: Bean burrito (with home-made whole wheat tortillas) for supper. One each for the adults and two for the kid.  Probably with mixed vegetable soup and store-bought nachos.
  8. Plan: Either juice or milk and a small piece of chocolate each.

The intricate details may vary, but these eight meals are fairly regular.  There was a brief time when I decided that I was eating too much.  So, I switched to the three-solid meals plan, and none of us was very happy with it because it gave us migraines and an obsession with food.  I notice that people around me do not eat as many meals.  I have also noticed that they eat large portion sizes at the limited number of meals they eat.  We, on the other hand, never feel “full” after any sitting.

I often wonder which is better – eating small meals throughout the day (I agree it is a pain to decide the various meals and make them), or eating two or three large meals.  I then lie down and the feeling goes away.

I attempted meditation today, but ended up either dozing off or thinking about “Name of the Rose” that we had watched last night.  But that’s ok, one can’t force-meditate.  What matters is that I sat in one place for 15 minutes with the intention to meditate.

I just yawned.  Ideally no one should post a piece that makes the writer yawn but I suspect I will.  If I just made you yawn as well, you’re welcome. I just made you take in more oxygen into your lungs than you have been in the past two minutes.

So long.


My emotions have been swinging like crazy today.

Morning:  Had to run around to get my tax papers in order and spent frustrating hours at the bank.

= anger.

Afternoon:  thought the kid was coming down with a fever.

= worry/fear

(she thankfully didn’t).

Evening: heard that a cousin – a childhood playmate of mine, and one year younger than me, died of cardiac arrest.

= shock, followed by misery.

Late evening:  Forced myself to attend the Zumba session just to get out of the misery of my cousin’s death.  Ended up enjoying it despite dancing like a duck on steroids.

= joy.

Weird day.

One of those days…

It is hot.  I have said it before, and I say it again.  It is hot.

I have a lot of backlog work and am bored.  I need a break from editing.  I have a week’s editing work left.  Need to get on to original writing.  Writing withdrawal.

I wanted to rest my back on the cool red-oxide cement floor of my living room for a few minutes post lunch, and fell asleep.  Not a good idea when there is a lot of backlog work and I have plans to go to the gym.

I skipped the gym today because of the previous point.  I am not happy with myself about it.

I had a rather large glass of amazing rose-milkshake this morning.  This brand of rose milkshake has been sold every summer for the past thirty five years (that I remember) by a milk shop near my childhood home.  I had to visit dad today for some chores, and couldn’t resist it.

I am marginally lactose intolerant.  That completes the previous point.

The rose milk also has a ton of sugar in it.  This negates the point three steps up.

My sil who visited me brought me a large box of Honey Nut Cheerios.  As a grad student in US, I had honey nut cheerios for breakfast, lunch, dinner, midnight snacks and all in between.  I avoid going to the kitchen because every time I go there, I pop a fistful of it into my mouth.  This negates the point four steps up as well.

I am craving for honey nut cheerios as I type this out.

It is hot.  I wish it would rain.  I wish I wish.




Tired Tuesday

Yeah, it’s becoming a bad habit, isn’t it?

A lot of running around thanks to a hypochondriac relative deciding that he needed hospitalization for something or the other, and the associated emotional blackmails – oh, I’ll feel so much better if you are around …family is such a dog, sometimes.  I wish I were more confrontationistic by nature – I could just ask these people to cut the crap out and behave like adults rather than children who got boo-boos playing on the seesaw.  Gah.  The drama isn’t over yet, by the way.  Double Gah.

By afternoon I was fairly disgusted that I hit the gym and worked out more than usual, just to get the irritation out of my system.  I felt better after that, but my muscles ache.

Talking of working out, I have had no luck with losing any of the lbs I have apparently packed in the past six months.  Of course it has only been two weeks of working out and calorie counting, but you know it would be nice if  the scales showed me some encouragement.

I haven’t been in the mood to work today.  And yesterday.  It is piling on.  Hmm.