tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-101322202024-03-07T22:31:41.593+04:00Nothing in particularDescribes my entire thought processParul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.comBlogger756125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-28401556417177467302020-11-14T20:22:00.004+04:002020-11-14T20:27:31.289+04:00What heart emojis actually mean<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQuova_atiXcnml1jn86oU8CcJA6uTkTsg9ycwgwJHnhy9SITeRUJjdkgR7loIvoftLHTIjFbgDgdFm_Wm9bm20OlsdbWQ5szZ7GeHmG07VVnpBQeJdi23Q1Do3-txQwMf2_1-/s625/Heart+Emoji+Meanings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="625" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQuova_atiXcnml1jn86oU8CcJA6uTkTsg9ycwgwJHnhy9SITeRUJjdkgR7loIvoftLHTIjFbgDgdFm_Wm9bm20OlsdbWQ5szZ7GeHmG07VVnpBQeJdi23Q1Do3-txQwMf2_1-/s320/Heart+Emoji+Meanings.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>1. Regular red heart when you "truly love" someone or are being passive aggressive and want to communicate a gentle yet supremely effective "fuck off". <p></p><p>2. Purple heart when someone acts courageously and makes a foolish choice but since you're a friend you support their idiocy. </p><p>3. Orange when someone supports someone who I shall not name and they're your friend or father and you're basically obliged to love them. </p><p>4. Black when it's a love hate relationship and you're trying to tell them that without actually offending them and hoping for a red heart in return (not the passive aggressive one). </p><p>5. White when you wish someone peace and love but the platonic kind, you know what I mean right. 6. Heart with a dot underneath when you want to communicate that the other person is haemorrhaging all the love you have for them and they better get their act together pronto or else. </p><p>7. Two small separate hearts communicates that you love them but refuse to hug them because COVID baby. </p><p>8. Two hearts kinda doing a jig together when you don't care if you get COVID from hugging, kissing or being outright lewd with them because - "If I'm gonna get the bastard COVID baby it's gotta be your COVID" </p><div><br /></div>Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-34160569120182956052020-10-27T19:33:00.004+04:002020-10-28T00:21:21.288+04:00Sherlock my baby cat<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9uy7qY1egsIcWqfpuKgVleOjQGC3vsz2me7ZFBKsjRb6QRFGsissCmfISAH6VdcAG8aMESoqZJbDAaacKeKjJHWXbjN4Y6WHAANtBzs0nu27hzFgsQQBU6aT-cE4sD91xfgB/s2048/Sherlock+and+mommy.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1428" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9uy7qY1egsIcWqfpuKgVleOjQGC3vsz2me7ZFBKsjRb6QRFGsissCmfISAH6VdcAG8aMESoqZJbDAaacKeKjJHWXbjN4Y6WHAANtBzs0nu27hzFgsQQBU6aT-cE4sD91xfgB/w139-h200/Sherlock+and+mommy.jpg" width="139" /></a></div>First of all here's a collection of videos of <a href="https://youtu.be/nCcwrisPfRI" target="_blank">Sherlock, the kitten </a> in case I forget to add it later! <p></p><p></p><p>This little guy was born on the 2nd of September 2020 in Connie Shabu's house and I shall get into all the annoying little details of how he finally became my youngest. </p><p>So to start with I always thought cats hate me. I was once bit and had to get the necessary shots. A few kittens scratched me wildly in Cyprus. I still liked them because let's face it they're just so cute. </p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIaNeEg7RKivx1Kvr9YpszMZV1PF9RzRCq2xJayfrry2LDgwGZtXjMzSaBOB4oSXOgVuen9rPIQdSaaUtUFBONUj5jSxTgYnwLYPc2EG3tCisnXcEY0gsqeRlhY_nCNPaimGB2/s2048/Mili%252C+Sherlock+and+Papa.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1328" data-original-width="2048" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIaNeEg7RKivx1Kvr9YpszMZV1PF9RzRCq2xJayfrry2LDgwGZtXjMzSaBOB4oSXOgVuen9rPIQdSaaUtUFBONUj5jSxTgYnwLYPc2EG3tCisnXcEY0gsqeRlhY_nCNPaimGB2/w320-h208/Mili%252C+Sherlock+and+Papa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I once came across a ginger kitten barely a few weeks old who kept following me after I got out of my favourite Kebab restaurant. (If you're ever in Dubai, I'll take you there!) I picked him up gingerly knowing full well that I was almost guaranteed to be bit but I have a terribly stupid amount of courage when it comes to things I love. He didn't bite. He didn't jump out of my arms but I couldn't convince Anshuman to take him home. It broke my heart that I couldn't rescue that little fellow.<div><br /></div><div>Fast forward to almost a year later. I kept gnawing at my husband's brain and even though he held on to his conviction that he hates cats for the longest time, in the end I cajoled him into allowing me to try "Trial adoption". I researched all over Facebook rescue pages and after talking to a few people destiny led me to a Godsend angel called Connie. A stray cat had given birth to four identical kittens (3 girls and a boy) in her house and she was trying to find homes for them. I'm terrible with names and of course I forgot hers . I saved her number as B&W Cat Lady. We had a good laugh about it when we connected on the phone. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64zhCGYH8HfHEWsDVO1NU6UKUaTB8rdB19AZ8CIWov2wQUzW2KW4DLI81GTAnGxSgcIMhUin5dKueJzHNTr9Lg2Mtwjl7rbPIB6lv4H2KS8Nrh-BHi28RXuRZ5v9pE91_9qp9/s2048/Mili+and+Sherlock.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi64zhCGYH8HfHEWsDVO1NU6UKUaTB8rdB19AZ8CIWov2wQUzW2KW4DLI81GTAnGxSgcIMhUin5dKueJzHNTr9Lg2Mtwjl7rbPIB6lv4H2KS8Nrh-BHi28RXuRZ5v9pE91_9qp9/s320/Mili+and+Sherlock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I asked her to give me the most laid back kitten she had. She recommended the male as he seemed the most friendly of the lot. She came home and we could barely see each other's faces because of bastard Covid. My boy got out of the crate and seemed comfortable in my arms. He went around all over the house meowing away. I was just amazed at how tiny he was and is. He seemed quite comfortable and explored the living room at leisure. <p></p><p>And then I let the dogs out of the bedroom where they had been locked up and all hell broke loose for a couple of minutes. The poor kitten hid under the bar and refused to come out. He stayed there for almost half a day and I only saw his face when Anshuman came home and gave him some treats. I mean I tried giving him treats but he bit me. I expected that. It really upset me at the time. I love cats and they bite me. My husband does NOT love them and they curl up against him like he's some cat whisperer. I'm tenacious if nothing else so I patiently waited for my turn. Anshuman loves Sherlock. I thought it would take him seven days to fall in love with a kitten. It took him less than seven minutes. Please watch the <a href="https://youtu.be/nCcwrisPfRI" target="_blank">video</a> for proof.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVK4eAvOCkgct2Psg_HiKqWQK_M-_XroEogooCIkwQQZrP-xDivsjX9ys3KU8mVeD9WI6_6TZJVtoVgYf3IJKyup9j_wvvZ4SmJ2-nGsi4b7ONpc0kC0oFL-rXb5LUHF-Dc-jh/s2048/Pablo%252C+Mili+and+Sherlock+2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1409" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVK4eAvOCkgct2Psg_HiKqWQK_M-_XroEogooCIkwQQZrP-xDivsjX9ys3KU8mVeD9WI6_6TZJVtoVgYf3IJKyup9j_wvvZ4SmJ2-nGsi4b7ONpc0kC0oFL-rXb5LUHF-Dc-jh/s320/Pablo%252C+Mili+and+Sherlock+2.jpg" /></a></div>It took about three days for Sherlock (I named him at 3 am one night. All good ideas hit you in that mildly anaesthetised state at 3 am) to come out of hiding and begin to interact with my two dogs. He obviously has no idea how small he is. I suspect he knows how sharp his nails are so he slapped everybody every time anyone came close to him. My poor Pablo had it the worst because he was dying to play with Sherlock and the little midget was not having it. <p></p><p>By the end of his first week Sherlock fell in love with Mili my Jack Russell baby. She didn't try to play with him even once but she patiently tolerated his attentions and now he regularly cuddles up with her and takes long naps. The only time I can actually cuddle him is when he is fast asleep. Kisses are a big no no but I kiss him anyway. Of course he rockets out of my grip in about three seconds of realising that the kisses have begun. I'll teach him. Pablo, my French Bulldog used to hate being kissed as a puppy. I taught him. Now he takes it like a man for about thirty seconds then rockets out of my grip.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKYGtzpzkwiiYPp7TunZw4Z5-oUxHlWxb0VCAUa_UFGjudS9JMmbkSqBo-aCQUMjo0d6cyXdOZKKGViiqimk7Bg6BWJWxhQx1s5od_c2dQxTE2Y0sFXR24HUE75-3ctoc-KLw/s2048/Pablo%252C+Mili+and+Sherlock.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlKYGtzpzkwiiYPp7TunZw4Z5-oUxHlWxb0VCAUa_UFGjudS9JMmbkSqBo-aCQUMjo0d6cyXdOZKKGViiqimk7Bg6BWJWxhQx1s5od_c2dQxTE2Y0sFXR24HUE75-3ctoc-KLw/s320/Pablo%252C+Mili+and+Sherlock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Sherlock is my dream kitten. I saw about a million cat videos and he did one better than all of them put together. He is the funniest, most curious and mildly weird boy. The first few days he constantly 'talked'. I swear I got tired of talking to him because if I stopped responding, he just 'talked' louder. I think he just had a lot to say about everything he saw during that time. He still talks but a lot lesser. Now he talks when he is pooping or eating. Don't ask. I don't know why he's so happy doing those things and needs to express himself. I'm just glad he is eating well and his digestive system is in perfect shape and he is healthy and happy.<p></p><p>Pablo and Sherlock are fairly good friends now and even though love is distant it is possible, I think. I hope. Last but not the least, I realised my dream of being a cat mommy. I now have three adorable people to love and kiss and squish and take good care of. Touchwood, I'm so blessed. If you don't believe any of what I just said, please watch <a href="https://youtu.be/nCcwrisPfRI" target="_blank">this</a>.</p><p><br /></p></div>Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-55912345240121347972020-10-04T17:41:00.000+04:002020-10-04T17:41:52.473+04:00Name and nicknames <div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWsFRMnykFBmy_Zyc62eOHedPiCaM4Fd0JLCVmOFK2SgZrH863i1i5dE-ifkRa4g08upF5j9qme24bGpdcMsO1tiK8vCA6rqdDwg1DBS-UnwHC7Db8M-8nW_EYhjXqWcW7pYDc/s561/Parul+Flower.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="561" data-original-width="517" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWsFRMnykFBmy_Zyc62eOHedPiCaM4Fd0JLCVmOFK2SgZrH863i1i5dE-ifkRa4g08upF5j9qme24bGpdcMsO1tiK8vCA6rqdDwg1DBS-UnwHC7Db8M-8nW_EYhjXqWcW7pYDc/w220-h229/Parul+Flower.png" width="220" /></a></div></div></div><blockquote><div><div>I was born twelve and a half pounds and drank half a kilo of cow's milk, unwatered of course because I wouldn't stop bawling like a famished banshee and my poor mother wasn't able to feed me yet. </div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>Mummy describes my features as - "You were so fat you didn't have any features on your face. Two tiny holes for a nose. One slightly bigger hole for a mouth which constantly howled and ate. And two thin slits for eyes. So all in all it was a sphere with a few holes thrown in. All the Doctors came to see the fattest baby ever born in the Municipal Hospital in <i>Muzaffernagar</i>." Yes, I've always been a bit of a freak show.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>But I digress from the title of this post. I was named Dimple, not because I had an actual dimple but after Dimple Kapadia who made her debut in the film Bobby with Rishi Kapoor. One of my parents must have liked her and found the name cute, but their parental instincts were bang on because dutifully in my teenage a little dimple appeared on my right cheek and stayed there. </div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>So for four years I only had that name but then I had to be put in school and another more 'formal' and 'appropriate' name had to be found. They settled on Parul and I'm a hundred percent certain they had no idea what my name actually meant. I guess it sounded right and appropriate and formal enough. Almost fourteen years later I joined the esteemed National Institute of Design as a "<i>Facchad</i>" or Fresher. One after another senior asked me what my name meant. I faintly remembered someone once saying it meant 'beautiful' so I hesitated and blurted that out many times. Of course it doesn't mean beautiful. It means graceful which is kinda the same thing but not quite. It is in fact the name of a flower in that picture up there. I've seen a lot of yellow flowers exactly like that in Dubai and frankly I like them better. Yesterday I googled Parul and found the below on Wikipedia. </div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div><i>"Parul is a five-petaled flower known for its beauty. The name also appears in the Bengali folk tale Saat Bhai Champa. In the tale, a king has seven sons and one daughter. Towards the end of the story the children turn into flowers. The daughter was the flower "Parul". The story and the flower Parul also feature in Rabindranath Tagore's Rabindra sangeet. The folk tale is called Seven Champa Brothers and One Sister Parul. </i><i>Parul means graceful. In the Sanskrit language "Parul" means 'A cute nature girl' aka Dr. Parul Kakar. </i><i>The linguistic origins of the name are uncertain—some claim it is Sanskrit. More typically it is assumed to be of Bengali origin."</i></div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>'A cute nature girl'? No. I think that's just Dr. Parul Kakar assuming she's cute.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div><i> </i>As the Bangla folktale goes a king had three queens and no children. A "Sadhu" (ascetic) gave him three magical mangoes and only the youngest queen had complete faith in the magic. While the two queens remained childless despite eating the mangoes, the youngest gave birth to a whopping seven little boys. The jealous queens buried all of them in the royal garden. The eighth child, a little girl was born a little later and the maid took her away before a certain live burial. The little girl Parul grew up in the forest and eventually avenged her brothers and brought them back to human form from the flowers they had become where they were buried.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>Now, that little tale made me smile. More power to little girls who grow up to be powerful avenging angels! While I was in Ahmedabad I heard my name called out many times and when I looked around, more often than not there was a harried parent running after a little girl wandering around oblivious of the dangers of being a little girl in the big bad world all on her own. Parul is a very popular Gujrati name and I hope all those little Paruls grew up to be powerful women. Some of my Bengali friends know and can sing that song in the folk tale in which my name is mentioned. Even my mum in law can sing that song! </div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>It is traditional in Bengali families to give a child a 'Bhalo naam' or formal name and a 'Daak naam' name or a nickname. People don't do that a lot these days but I think it would be nice if they did. So, I have an actress's name and a Bengali or Gujrati name but I'm none of those things and yet they both somehow make sense.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>Over the years I've been given many nicknames for various reasons and I thought it would be fun to put them all down.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>My mom has called me Dabba(box) and Dabbi(little box) and Rasmalai, Balushahi, Rasgulla (Indian dessert) at different points in time because I think she saw me collecting coins in matchboxes and because she thought I was sweet. Well, thanks mother I'm diabetic now and I still collect things and boxes and things in boxes.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>My father affectionately calls me '<i>Kutteyyy</i>' still. So, basically his way of expressing affection is calling me 'dog'. But it's the way he says it. I mean I call my French Bulldog Pablo 'Pig'. But it's the way I say it. Plus Pablo in fact has a pig's soul.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>My father has three best friends from his college days. I call them Jaggi, Raju and Lambu chacha ( that's not his real name. He is 6ft 3in tall). Jaggi chacha used to call me '<i>Dushtani</i>' (loosely translated - 'naughty girl') just so I'd complain to my mother,"Mummy, Chacha 'Duthani' keh raha hai!!" and everyone would laugh so he said it a lot.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>No one gave me any nicknames in school although I was often called Gahlot because I was in the same class with Parul Sahai. Goes without saying that we always call each other by Surname to this day. We sat together for a whole year in 10th standard and our Mathematics teacher Mr Mudassar, a really really sweet and a really really patient man with a lisp would invariably call out,"PAUUL!!" and we would get interrupted during some inane and yet inexplicably crucial conversation we were having and say in unison"YES, SIR!" He would then specify the Surname which was invariably Gahlot. Sahai was a very diligent student. She was very good at numbers. I, on the other hand threw away my Math textbook with glee at the end of final exams every year. I scored a glorious 52/100 in the 10th Board exams. You cannot even imagine the extent of my joy at that number 52. I seriously couldn't bring myself to genuinely care about X or Y. And I have zero memory of what I scored in all other subjects. That's genuine hate.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>And then came NID and the nicknames pretty much kept flowing all through the years I spent there. I'm just going to number them because there are too many.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>1. Feedback Polly ~ Shaz Ahmed or Kaushik Sarkar or both from my batch came up with that name because I had this habit of going to everyone's table and saying something or the other about whatever they were working on. I think it must have been really annoying for my batch mates who had to put up with unsolicited feedback, hence the nickname. It used to upset me a lot back then but now I think it's so funny. I would love to officially apologise to the batch of '93 but of course I won't.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>2. Parules and regulations, Foot rule, Ruler ~ Tarundeep Girdher my senior called me all of that because he is a really funny guy like almost all Libra men I know. His birthday must be around the corner.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>3. Rul ~ Rajib Ghosh called me that because he was always too busy working to pronounce my whole name. Now he is busy being a big shot at Microsoft and I'm still Rul. The bugger won't even bother writing a capital R so it's just rul. Damn you, Gajib Rosh!</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>4. Prool ~ Most of my batch mates still call me that. I think it's just easier to pronounce and it's fun yelling,"PROOOOL!!!"</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>5. Drac ~ My roommate for two years Shailaja Shah still calls me that. Drac is short for Dracula. I have irregular front teeth reminiscent of the fictional vampire. I have always liked my irregular teeth as they are and the thought of having them corrected never crossed my mind. My mother thought so too and despite many suggestions to the contrary from people over the years fortunately she let me have my original Dracula teeth for life.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>6. Fila ~ Ripul Kumar, my senior and overall terribly nice guy still calls me that because I had two Fila sweatshirts that I absolutely loved and spent most of my winters in. He was in the photography club and enlarged a picture of me in the dark room because I pestered him incessantly. I was not in the club and even though I knew the basics of developing black and white film, I would have definitely messed up even if I could sneak into the dark room which was kept padlocked. So, he did make that print. I still have it. Thank you, Rips!</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>7. Pearl, Desert rose ~ Deborah Zama calls me that. Mostly because Pearl sounds like Parul, not because I'm some fresh water pearl. And desert is where I live now. Rose because Debbie is a sweetheart and I don't ever remember her saying a single mean word about anyone. She's just that nice. And everyone's heard Sting's 'Desert rose'. I should find that on YouTube and listen to it.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>8. Shakkarparul ~ I'm not allowed to reveal anything about this person because he/she is an intensely private person and I don't want to lose a very dear friend. All I can say is it's a South Indian who loves Shakkarparas a North Indian sweet which came up in conversation and now I'm Shakkarparul. This has to be one of my favourite nicknames though.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>9. Pa ~ Amit Rastogi, the man responsible for helping a lot of us NIDians make some easy moolah selling Cellforce cellphones on the streets of Ahmedabad calls me that because unlike my friend Rajib Ghosh he is too lazy to pronounce the rul. </div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>10. P ~ This isn't a nickname but a lot of people do this especially when they are texting. I don't know why but I really wish they wouldn't. I mean take a cue from the busy Rajib or the lazy Amit and just call me Pa or rul. Parul is still the best option though. And P sounds like Pee and no one wants to be called a body fluid. I mean imagine if suddenly one day I started calling you 'sweat' or 'spit' or 'blood' or 'semen'? </div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>That ends the college years. </div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>Now moving on to the Anshuman. He has a lot of nicknames he uses for me including Kaaloo, Daantu, Little Baby Babaghanoush (his favourite), Parulena (my favourite), Bhaloo (Not my favourite). I must share the story of how Anshuman got his name. His parents took him to school and told the teacher his name was Abhishek. "No, it is Anshuman Gaikumar (Anshuman Gaikwad, the famous cricketer)" So, he named himself in true Aries style. </div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>My friend Kuntal Bhogilal used to call me Bulbul. I had forgotten all about it but then my bro in law Mukul recently reminded me and inspired this post. Apparently Kuntal called me that because of my high decible phone voice. I still have a high decible phone voice. How else would anyone know how happy I am to talk to them. I like Bulbuls. There are two that come to the garden everyday and the only ones intelligent enough to know that there's food in the bird feeder. Sparrows are rather daft.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div><div>Anshuman's first cousin and my close long distance friend calls me Turtle for obvious reasons. I'm slow and sometimes I prefer to hide rather than have actual conversations with people.</div></div></blockquote><blockquote><div>And the last is Athene. My ICQ chat name was Athene, my favourite Greek Goddess. She is the Goddess of war, wisdom and skill who aids and inspires Odysseus in battle. She appears in his dreams and sometimes disguises herself at crucial moments when he needs her help. Athene is my role model. Of course I have zero attributes that she does. But hey a woman can dream! And you! Yes, you millennial! ICQ was a chat software in the Nineties! And read Odyssey!</div></blockquote>Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-43043151261451892462020-08-04T23:03:00.000+04:002020-08-04T23:15:09.457+04:00Quietness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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QUIETNESS<br />
<br />
In the smallest crevices of my flesh<br />
Pain has made a comfortable home<br />
It remains with me<br />
It joins my flesh and bones<br />
Flows through my blood<br />
And my heart does to it what a spongy duster does to a blackboard.<br />
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Silence is the name of another family friend<br />
It creates space of an infinite universe<br />
Between the heart and the mind<br />
This silence is like fungus in my mouth<br />
It only grows voluminous and demonic<br />
It reminds me wordlessly of all the noise.<br />
<br />
And how can I forget love<br />
That tiny expanse of five minute morning<br />
That little peace of half an hour darkness<br />
That memory of a smile walking away from me<br />
That promise I can believe in.<br />
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-71025472468836880672020-07-31T16:09:00.001+04:002020-08-01T19:15:15.879+04:00Repeat Offender Syndrome<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://youtu.be/IzAO9A9GjgI" target="_blank">Live to tell ~ Madonna</a><br />
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Some of us have a habit of listening to the same song till we literally get sick if we hear it one more time. I call it the 'Repeat Offender Syndrome'. I've had it for a very long time. I remember torturing my childhood friend Sushmita with <i>Live to Tell by Madonna </i>for more than a hundred times at one go. I was lying on the bed in my parents' room and the cassette player was on the floor and when the song finished I hit 'stop', 'rewind' and 'play' in exact time for the song to begin again. Sushmita still hasn't forgotten that evening. She will never forget that song or me in a hurry.<br />
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<a href="https://youtu.be/aQC91K-IohQ">I'm ready ~ Bryan Adams</a><br />
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I was sitting in the air conditioned Animation studio at NID at some point in the late Nineties and this song played live by Bryan Adams was on repeat by someone who might have been my musical soulmate. I have no recollection of who it was but I'm forever grateful to that person for giving me the opportunity to fall in love with this beautiful song. The next day I jumped into an auto rickshaw and ran into the music shop on CG Road and bought the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unplugged_(Bryan_Adams_album)" target="_blank">Bryan Adams Unplugged</a> album which in fact contains many other gems like <i>"If ya wanna be bad - ya gotta be good" </i>of course you've got to try to be good but if you want to be bad you have Got To Be good. I love that.<br />
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I jumped into an auto again and directly inserted the cassette into my Sony Mono Cassette Player. It was a red little thing with a big sound which never ever cracked no matter how much I cranked up the volume. I had been kicked out of the hostel for not having finished my course in time so I lived in a basement room with a tiny window through which the sun never shone. I had zero issues with that fact because it allowed me to sleep for an inordinate amount of time whenever the heck I wanted. But I digress.<br />
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I had a talent for being able to hit 'stop', 'rewind' and 'play' in exact time and I used it in abundance and numerous times found myself slow dancing to this tune all by my lonely self with an imaginary man. This unique talent of course became redundant along with my many other talents as technology changed with time. But there must be something to that famous <i>fanda </i>"When you really wish for something with your whole heart the universe conspires to bestow it upon you" because soon after I met my future husband. And yes, we did dance to this song many times and still do.<br />
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I was listening to it in the car yesterday and I thought to myself why I got so addicted to the song and never ever got sick of it. I think it's the low whistle by Davy Spillane who collaborated with Adams on the album and the live orchestra consisting of students from Julliard. I mean the words are ordinary but Adams sings them with such passion and of course Spillane's instrumental brilliance kills me. Every single time.</div>
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-88736634958056898322020-07-13T20:53:00.001+04:002020-07-13T22:53:07.128+04:00Birthday ballad and Lockdown love song<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Does that look like the face of a forty six year old? I don't
know, but what I do know is that I look like I spent every second of every
minute of my life in grave pain when I wake up in the morning every fucking
day. (Don't worry I've had a pretty interesting and mostly happy life) But the
thing is my dogs and my husband are for some reason convinced that I'm the most
beautiful woman in the world and I'm more than happy to encourage their love soaked
delusions on a daily basis.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">To be completely honest I haven't looked at my face for more
than a few seconds a day ever since the bloody virus showed up and most of the
world had to go under house arrest. But I'm one of those people who loved the
opportunity to be at home and live with a set routine day in and day out</span><span style="color: #535865; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">, </span><span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">never ever
leaving the divine comfort of my home. So</span><span style="color: #535865; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">, </span><span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">I completely stopped caring about what I looked
like. The thing is you only get worried about how you look when you step out in
public and actually want to resemble a human being and a woman. Lockdown to me
meant the ultimate freedom of never having to wear a bra. It might be shocking
to some of you but most of us women hate those things. I'd love it if men had
to wear a corset every </span><span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">single day of their life. Then we'll talk.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">But then, June 23rd, 2020 began approaching and I began to get
anxious at the thought of looking at the mirror more than a few seconds so I
decided to get all dolled up but I'll be damned if I'm going to go to the salon
to get "unwanted" hair removed from my body. And as you can see, the
universe presented me with two beautiful zits on my face for my birthday and no
amount of concealer or foundation could hide them. It's been four days and they
are still present and correct but whenever I get a pesky zit, I always remember
my dear friend Cybill (He</span><span style="color: #535865; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">'</span><span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">s a boy) who suffered from acne and often said with a wonderful
smile,"I love my pimples." He's all grown up and a father of two gorgeous
girls and just as handsome as he was in college minus the acne.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">So you know, the lockdown has been wonderful because I care so
little about how </span><span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I'm perceived by the world. And my hope is that, that will
continue to be the case when I do come out of voluntary hibernation.</span><br />
<span style="color: #49484a; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The day began with a flurry of messages on various apps but </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Facebook </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">decided to
behave badly and even though I tried my best to respond to all the wishes I
missed </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">some </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">because they just would not appear and that little frustrating
circle kept rotating like a useless broken wheel. My mother in law beat my
mother and phoned me at exactly I0:30pm </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">which </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">is exactly 12:00 midnight in India. This has
never happened before and when I asked my mother how could she possibly get
half an hour late in wishing me, she replied with an embarrassed </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">giggle,"
</span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Main Crime </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Patrol dekhte dekhte late ho </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">gai!" (I got </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">late because I </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">got engrossed </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">watching Crime Patrol) My mother's favourite TV </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">shows </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">include the aforementioned and Savdhaan India, both fictionalised </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">versions </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">of true crime </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">stories. </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">She binge </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">watches </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">them. I’m </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">convinced </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">that my morbid curiosity about serial kil</span><span style="color: #3d2f26; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">l</span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">ers is probably the </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">fault </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">of my </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">genes </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">inherited from her.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The doorbell rang and I received a little bag with bath salts, bath bombs, </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">soap </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">and two
pieces of my favourite Pave chocolate cake from Shakespeare </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">cafe (Just </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">in case </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">you </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">ever want to buy me </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">cake). </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">There was a note with it and that's my </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">favourite </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">part </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">of </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">the </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">gifts </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Natasha </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">sent </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">me. I miss </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">handwritten </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">notes and letters </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">so </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">terribly. It is one of my deepest wishes to receive a letter in the
mail. People my age will understand </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">what </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">it means to read a </span><span style="color: #3d2f26; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">l</span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">ovingly written letter by someone who cared enough to </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">spend </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">the time and make the effort. I once started writing a letter to my </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">father </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">when I was distressed about something while studying at NID. </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">I </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">never sent it because I knew how worried he would be but the act of </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">writing </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">it consoled me to such an extent that there was really no need to mail
it to him.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyCt0b-SnjaMZolUP1yZDUNy-FrGpLfehpdL_YpGrthXf3gbHJ_IywWPe50CWmLIt0kLzBJA-P3Wza1Cyl5oUkA_yAQySUOHU3tFo5KdTLC1rYw-sG8R47eYOrQTwOVzfNne6/s1600/20200624_192614.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1409" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXyCt0b-SnjaMZolUP1yZDUNy-FrGpLfehpdL_YpGrthXf3gbHJ_IywWPe50CWmLIt0kLzBJA-P3Wza1Cyl5oUkA_yAQySUOHU3tFo5KdTLC1rYw-sG8R47eYOrQTwOVzfNne6/s320/20200624_192614.jpg" width="281" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The doorbell rang again after a while and these flowers arrived </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">with </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">a note that simply said</span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">, "NIKKIPON!"</span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"> This word has a </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">very </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">interesting
history. When my husband and brother </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">in </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">law were kids one of them </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">stuck </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">his hand in a
shoe and </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">gently </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">caressed the other's arm with the sole and kept
saying,"Nikkipon! Nikkipon! Nikkipon!" Kids do the darndest things </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">so </span><span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">it's
pointless trying to make sense of it all the time. There's no logic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #3c414d; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Anshuman continued this time tested method of irritating a
person silly with me. And believe me it is sooo irritating and yet somehow so
incredibly funny to the </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">person who's doing the irritating. I opened up the p</span><span style="color: #686a7a; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">l</span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">astic
wrapping and a litre of water poured out onto the dining table and the floor. I
mopped and cleaned. I had </span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">to cut the stems of the flowers for which I used a scissor and
ended up cutting my finger which bled all </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbfySZ5z5Y5v-W2YBuPfjQNOqO8WUHujzFbfUtuYiBffKFhDG0ab1cQLA8AjkcW2QE_9UsKeojgJH1j6k5jijR3wbjaW_BamXwYC3sSSoTBHKPaSUs6dlhx40fauYLMFygBpQq/s1600/IMG-20200623-WA0048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbfySZ5z5Y5v-W2YBuPfjQNOqO8WUHujzFbfUtuYiBffKFhDG0ab1cQLA8AjkcW2QE_9UsKeojgJH1j6k5jijR3wbjaW_BamXwYC3sSSoTBHKPaSUs6dlhx40fauYLMFygBpQq/s320/IMG-20200623-WA0048.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">over the </span><span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">kitchen
counter. I praised myself for having organised the medicine cabinet recently
making it easy to find a</span><span style="color: #4b5161; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">band aid. Prior to the said organisation, I knew I had about a
Hundred and Twenty Seven bandaids, I just </span><span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">didn't have a way of locating one before bleeding out and
possibly dying. And no that's not the infamous "flipping the finger".
I swear I just wanted my friends to know I hurt myself on my birthday so they
would go,"Awww!" They're the only ones with enough patience to read
my blog and understand my deep seated need for being mollycoddled.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The flowers withered eventually and I think after telling me to
collect the dried flowers, Anshuman put them in a blender and hit frappe. They
ended up in a pretty ceramic bowl smelling like lavender because he poured essential
oil into the mix so essentially I now have pot pourri masala which smells like
Lavender. I like </span><span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">Lavender and last I heard Anshuman burnt the masala in my stone oil
diffuser. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBjPwvb9Ec0K4M8zKGEPBp0c1xdFwA_-8vRLwo6lkmPV6P2jhggOq11357jCWT3LJqqnHKrFhBAngAvXdp9OvIhexsPGVupLULqyHKZuTJPmf4EduT1OSE5ovE_cM4i3dqHBUd/s1600/IMG_20200623_204103_258.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="700" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBjPwvb9Ec0K4M8zKGEPBp0c1xdFwA_-8vRLwo6lkmPV6P2jhggOq11357jCWT3LJqqnHKrFhBAngAvXdp9OvIhexsPGVupLULqyHKZuTJPmf4EduT1OSE5ovE_cM4i3dqHBUd/s200/IMG_20200623_204103_258.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">It smelled nice and I'm used to my husband</span><span style="color: #58596f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">'</span><span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12pt;">s penchant
for pyrotechnics. Moral of the story is that I loved the flowers he sent. I loved the purple roses and the purple gerberas and the white roses and the lone red rose bud which got stuck in there accidentally by the florist. Most of all I loved all the effort he put into thinking about how he could make them last as long as possible. I mean he grinded them into a fine powder but I could appreciate the thought.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgce3Zu-tfaCI4znXES_Qe1nUqqWtPbKUBEZAmCYsXGfdwbVGe1gB5si4io1edOo74MjxvxsYlJ5VcdPljJMHFSHB1NOQVeMrTh6aSy1Jg6kxeDLhpHZl5qcXvAtwE2eqptT_3r/s1600/IMG-20200623-WA0015+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgce3Zu-tfaCI4znXES_Qe1nUqqWtPbKUBEZAmCYsXGfdwbVGe1gB5si4io1edOo74MjxvxsYlJ5VcdPljJMHFSHB1NOQVeMrTh6aSy1Jg6kxeDLhpHZl5qcXvAtwE2eqptT_3r/s320/IMG-20200623-WA0015+%25281%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Natasha sent me two pieces of cake. I ate one before Anshuman
got home from work. I cut the other one and blew out the candle and made a wish
and sang the birthday song for myself along with the husband. I always sing for
myself on my birthday and am often the loudest. I mean, why wouldn't you sing
for yourself? You must. I fed Anshuman a tiny piece of cake and ate the rest of
it. I'm not good at sharing things. I can give away my things very easily but I
don't do well at all with sharing. It still kills me when I have to share food because
I'm an adult. I have declared more than once at a restaurant that I will not
share my Creme Brulee. I'd rather get six separate desserts than share mine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">And the last thing that happened that night was that I smelled
something burning very faintly. I went downstairs to the kitchen and realised
that I was craving a late night Maggi and had left it simmering on low flame. There
was smoke everywhere and I had to open all the windows. The pot was charred so
I threw it out. I decided to stay downstairs in the heat and humidity without
air conditioning on one of the hottest nights of the year. I sat on the couch
sweating for almost three hours and eventually closed the windows thinking
Anshuman will never find out but when I did a sniff check the distinct
fragrance of burnt noodles hung in the air like a little kid who always tattles
on his naughty classmates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12.0pt;">It</span><span style="color: #58596f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12.0pt;">'</span><span style="color: #4c4b4f; font-family: "calibri"; font-size: 12.0pt;">s really quite useless trying to hide things from someone who knows me
like the back of his hand so I wrote him a WhatsApp message at 4:00am on 24th
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-84872566425565408252020-07-07T23:17:00.002+04:002020-07-11T20:19:13.644+04:00For the love of cricket <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I used to despise cricket for a very long time. At first I was just disinterested but I think the intense hatred specifically began one evening in Simla on our honeymoon in the month of October, in the year 2000 when we were supposed to be going out and my newly minted husband was so engrossed in a cricket match on TV that he paid zero attention to the fact that it was getting late and that words were falling out of my mouth. So, naturally I blew up at him, following which I began to comb my hair and he took a picture of me. I know that the sequence of events sounds bizarre but that's how things happen in real life as opposed to Korean Romance Dramas. When I saw that picture after it was developed I hated it and complained so much about why he would shake the camera and take a picture of me so out of focus. Then Mukul, my cinematographer brother in law from the esteemed FTII saw it and instantly loved it. I had to look at it again due to Mukul's stamp of approval which I always take very seriously especially about image making. Here's that picture. I fell in love with it. Eventually. I stuck it in an album that I made myself painstakingly, and lovingly captioned it 'Caught looking in the mirror at the Peter Hoff Hotel in Simla'. Clearly I didn't need the memory of his cricket watching and my consequent eruption in my brain but as you now know, it fucking stayed.<br>
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In the following years Anshuman continued to watch cricket and I continued to sulk/blow up at him. Then one day I glanced at this big, blonde and cute dork called Andrew Flintoff on the screen and was instantly smitten. I found it really adorable the way his tongue was always hanging out of his mouth. Actually, I later read that he thinks he is ugly and it's possible that most people would agree. But I think I liked him just the way I would like a big furry blonde Golden Retriever pup with his tongue hanging out looking utterly adorable. My husband, who happens to be extremely shrewd took this opportunity to watch any match where a 'white' team was playing by repeatedly reassuring me that,"Andrew Flintoff will definitely bowl the next over, baby! Just wait!" And that's how I began watching cricket in all earnestness waiting for my sweet Freddie to show up on the screen with his tongue duly hanging out. Anshuman owes this man an immense debt and acknowledges it. Freddie actually has a house in Dubai and spends a great deal of time here but I've never had the pleasure of seeing him in person. One day.<br>
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Over the years I began to understand the very basics of cricket. I mean I still don't know what on side or off side is and I can't tell when someone gets dismissed LBW. I know they show it in the graphics and all that technical jazz but I'm always very impressed when Anshuman almost always gets the LBW decision right. Of course he played cricket all through school and was Captain of the college team so he has a lot of experience. I still remember him playing an inter office indoor cricket match. He hit a six and I was so thrilled that I was jumping all over yelling his name like a groupie before I noticed that everyone including his colleagues were watching and that I was no longer a teenager suited to such behaviour and that I was an embarrassment to my husband. I'm still so happy thinking about that day and have never regretted my actions. Not once.<br>
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I think cricket commentary might be the most soothing sound second only to the waves in the sea. Sunil Gavaskar is my favourite commentator. He has an extensive vocabulary and a voice that has the ability to lull me to sleep on the sofa. As someone once observed Test cricket commentary can have an even more soporific effect. Thank you so much for having been my companion on many sunny days.<br>
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Sri Lanka is one of my all time favourite places. If I could, I would retire amidst the lush green beauty of Nuwaraeliya or at least see it again. My favourite Sri Lankan player is Sanath Jaisurya. I have zero memory of ever having seen him play but what I do remember and love is his billion watt smile. The man could light up a continent with that grin. And who doesn't like Kumara Sangakkara, such a gentleman and so well spoken. Anshuman once gazed at my face for a while and said with a smile," You look like Sangakkara." My response was a baffled,"What??!" My husband still grinning said,"What? He's a very pretty man!" Well, I'd have to agree with that. Sanga IS quite pretty. And so is his country. Please visit when it's safe to do so. And everything is super cheap so shopping there is like heaven. I'll stop now.<br>
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I noticed Faf du Plessis when he started playing for Chennai Super Kings. I loved the fact that he looks neither nervous nor calm and the only way to describe him is professional. You know that when he walks in he's going to do his best and he rarely fails. I've always enjoyed his game. Plus he's ripped. No wonder they paid him to do an underwear ad. Beckham should bend the knee to this man.<br>
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And then there's the other South African who is truly a red blooded and insanely passionate little guy called Dale Steyn. I love the fact that when he runs in to bowl I feel like he might actually butcher the batsman and go right back to bowling the next ball with that same crimson face as all the blood rushes to his head. Commentators often refer to him as a tiny stick of dynamite and I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if one day he actually explodes and destroys all ten of the opposing team's batsmen.<br>
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Yes yes I was going to get to him. Kohli, the best batsman in the world and all that. I've heard all sorts of superlatives and praises being sung for the Captain but I love him the most when he's getting mad like the typical Delhi guy that he is and spewing the choicest of abuses in Hindi. He often gets into 'arguments' on the field and has been, and will be criticised for it but if you take the <i>Dilli</i> out of a <i>Dilli</i> boy's <i>dil </i>(heart) he wouldn't be what he is. Of course he's a brat and someone should occasionally slap him on the back of his crew cut head and tell him to wait just.one.second before he bursts into a song of abuses on the field. But that still remains to be one of my favourite parts of watching him on the screen. I enjoy trying to lip read what he yelled/muttered under his breath in Hindi. The TV crew helps these days by slowing down the visual which makes it so much easier and so much fun. Ben Stokes has repeatedly claimed in the media that Kohli is not really spitting the Brit batsman's name at the opposing team's players and often the India boys themselves.<br>
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And last but not the least the man responsible for inspiring today's post ~ M S Dhoni. Recently I wrote a post on Facebook stating the fact that people born under the sun sign of Cancer are truly wonderful. My mum in law joked saying I was blowing my own trumpet. Well, I was but that's not all that I was doing. There really are some amazing people born in late June and July months including Faf, Jayasuriya, Steyn, Gavaskar, Ganguly and MSD. It's his birthday today and it made sense to write about cricket and my all time favourite cricketer. He's a typical Cancer who doesn't want to draw attention to himself but clearly enjoys it when it's showered upon him. When asked repeatedly why he doesn't show emotions on the field he simply said,"If you do that they'll write about it tomorrow." He remains unfazed in the face of immense success and I love the fact that his power only becomes obvious when he's hitting the ball. Like an axe murderer I might add. I don't see him caring too much about appearing elegant. I think the only thing he cares or thinks about is winning. And that's what any game is all about, isn't it.<br>
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MSD came to Dubai to play a couple of IPL matches and of course I wanted to go see him. Anshuman assured me that he would get free passes. I was neither convinced nor content with what he said and nagged him repeatedly about the passes. As the days went by I missed seeing a couple of matches that he was in and then finally when it became obvious that passes were not going to materialise my darling husband bought two tickets for a Chennai and Delhi match at a price that would have made my mother shake her head at me and proceed to tell me how utterly spoilt and irresponsible I am with money. And she would be right. (P.S. Mummy, I've improved so much since the world shut down) But in the event that Anshuman had failed to procure those tickets I might have stabbed him in his sleep.<br>
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On the day of the match I wanted to make a big placard and carry it to the stadium saying," MSD! MSD! MSD YOU'RE MY LSD!" My husband almost always suspects that he might be embarrassed in public thanks to the woman he chose to marry so he forbid the placard. He reasoned with me by saying that in a country where illegal drugs can get you into huge trouble, carrying a placard like that might actually get me thrown in jail and he would not bail me out or pay for a lawyer. I pouted a bit and let it go. I saw MSD play. He hit two fours and a six. Chennai won. I was happy as a kite.<br>
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Last night at exactly 10.30 PM my husband said to me ever so sweetly,<br>
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"It's your boyfriend's birthday today, baby"<br>
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"He's not my boyfriend!! And I really like his wife!! And his birthday is in one and a half hours."<br>
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"But in India it already is!"<br>
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So, here's to you MS! Even though in India it's already over, here in Dubai I can still wish you a very happy birthday! Live long and prosper!</div>
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-64189859511626679952020-07-05T22:56:00.002+04:002020-07-05T23:23:19.071+04:00My brother<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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A couple of days ago Mukul, my brother in law sent me this picture taken by Som his friend. Som took this picture and although I have no memory of this being taken, I do remember Som very clearly. He was very sweet, rather shy and studying Chemistry when I met him. Now, he's a splendid chef judging by his Instagram account but that might just be a hobby of his and he might be a genius scientist somewhere. I haven't talked to him in ages, so if you're reading this Som, please accept my deepest gratitude for having kept this picture with you all these years. You were, and I'm sure still are a sweetheart.<br>
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Now let me get back to this image which was definitely not shot in1994 because I met Anshuman and his family in 1999. But yes, it's one of the few pictures of me and Mukul before I married his brother. I'm almost 99 percent sure it was shot somewhere in Borivali and I'm very curious as to what that yellow thing on my right is. I think it's a dustbin. But then why would someone stick a dustbin on a pole at that height. I know it's strange but I'm a little perplexed by it.<br>
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The next thing I noticed is that I'm holding on to a plastic bag and it made me wonder what was so precious inside that bag. So naturally I zoomed in and detected the beginnings of the Disney logo. I must have been about 25 years old in this picture and was carrying something from Disney like my life depended on it. My best guess is that it was that illustrated book of the Cindrella animated film. It happens to be my favourite fairy tale. I unashamedly love it despite the fact that I am now 46 years old and ideally should at least have moved on to the "updated" versions they keep spewing out to make the female character appear stronger. Don't get me wrong, I watch all of them but the Disney version still remains to be my favourite.<br>
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When I met Mukul he was possibly the most polite person on earth. And then I got to know him better. And then on the way to becoming family he truly cared for me and drove me crazy with his constant teasing. It's a big brotherly thing to do and I just wasn't used to it and once yelled,"Fuck!" at the dining table in the middle of lunch with Mukul and my future father in law. It's the only time I've ever uttered that word in his presence. Why? Because Mukul continued to tease me about something despite several warnings from me delivered to him under my breath. He simply enjoyed riling me up too much and never having had an older brother I was just not used to it and sometimes blew my fuse.<br>
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As we grew up together we began to understand each other better and I had the pleasure of having a deeply caring, amazingly talented and loving brother for life. I am always so touched and moved by the way he takes care of the people around him and gives so much more than he can even afford out of sheer love. I have so much love and respect for him and I wish when I'm born again I will be his older sister and bully him to his wits end. That's the dream. </div>
Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-34449753850611190202018-10-07T20:37:00.000+04:002018-10-07T20:37:32.812+04:00Checking in<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's been a while since I came here. What can I say, life took over like always but now things are in a good place and I felt like saying something. Something about my new puppy Pablo. He's eight months old and I got him about six months ago when he was tiny little nugget. It was love at first sight. I fell for his big soulful eyes as I picked him up and he looked straight at me.<br />
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It hasn't been easy because he's the naughtiest little pup ever. He has already chewed up several pairs of shoes and slippers, multiple chargers, my ashtray, a book and anything that fits in his mouth. We were told that dogs calm down after they are spayed/ neutered but this guy just never slows down.<br />
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Despite the fact that he drives me nuts with his shenanigans I love him to bits. I love that he wakes me up everyday with wet sloppy kisses and things he has destroyed that morning. I love squishing him and cuddling him. He's a good boy most of the time as long as I keep an eye on him. The moment I leave him alone in the house he finds ways to keep himself "busy".<br />
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Mili loves him and licks his face everyday in a show of affection. Once in a while he licks her back. Though I must mention how much he hates it when I kiss his face. He tries his best to get out of my grip and get away but I kiss him to my heart's content anyway.<br />
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So that's all about Pablo. I promise to try and be regular here. Bye for now!</div>
Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-33782153714800958232018-01-25T01:28:00.001+04:002018-01-25T02:56:23.732+04:00Jordan the rest of it<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Different coloured lights lit up AL Khazaneh (The treasury) There was a sculpture, sort of an image of a bedouin there and Apu take a picture of it. Here it is lit up by the lamps.<br />
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the sun shines down on Hercules' temple...<br />
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We walked through the passage to al Khazaneh the next day and got drenched in the rain. As you can see the water is flowing freely on the ground. Our pants got wet. Our shoes got wet. We got wet. But we kept on walking.<br />
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There we are again, freezing in the cold and rain!<br />
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Our driver lent me this umbrella which was a saviour. I eventually lost it.<br />
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Just like one of the mosaics I'm standing in front of the Al Khazaneh in front of a camel. I don't know how else to say it<br />
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My jeans got totally wet and they were coming under my shoes so I had to roll them up. I was freezing and the one sip of chai I had was heaven. I had only one sip because my horse carriage came before I could finish my drink.<br />
The horse carriage guy totally fleeced me but I had no choice as it was raining and all I wanted to do was get to the hotel and have a snooze.<br />
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We went to the ST. George cathedral and found this beautiful map made in mosaic.<br />
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here's a closer look at the beautiful mosaic.<br />
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This is how they make the mosaics. One stone at a time.<br />
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A little bit of Picasso in mosaic.<br />
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I loved these parrots but they were way beyond my reach financially.<br />
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There she is with the amazing minerals doing their work on her skin. I chose to go to the spa in the hotel where they slather you with dead sea mud and then cover you with a plastic sheet. I also got a massage and it was really good. The masseuse used her forearms to massage my muscles and when I cried out in pain she said," Your muscles like stone!" I let her do as she pleased.<br />
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No one drowns in the dead sea! Apu floats with a magazine in her hands.<br />
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The temple of Hercules in Amman. Large hands were found here which could only belong to the demigod hercules,<br />
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In front of some more ruins...<br />
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Doorway...<br />
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Lamps from a century ago...<br />
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The flag of Jordan<br />
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The Roman amphitheatre in Amman<br />
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Me at Hercules temple... the end.<br />
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-54714553718019276882018-01-16T02:55:00.000+04:002018-01-25T01:32:30.207+04:00The Jordan journey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's been such a long time since I wrote anything here, but my trip to Jordan rejuvenated me and I want to share it with you all! The Emirates ride was good aside from the fact that I had to wake up early to catch the flight. I watched 'The Big Bang Theory" all through the journey to Amman's Queen Alia airport.<br />
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We were met by an effusive Jordanian gentleman called Yousef who got us through immigration in record time. So far so good Phew! He introduced us to our driver also called Yousef. Our itinerary was pre-decided so we drove on to Wadi Rum which is about a four hour long drive from Amman at the other end of the country.<br />
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There was a beautiful sunset that accompanied us on the way. We made a stop at a souvenir shop and I came across these beautiful mosaic tables that I absolutely fell in love with. The tree of life is a recurring motif which occurs in mosaics all across Jordan. Below are some more of these beauties.<br />
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This is a mosaic in larger size of stones reflecting the Al Khazaneh (The Treasury) with a camel to finish the lovely scene.<br />
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Click on the picture to see the wonderful details depicted on these gorgeous tables.<br />
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And the journey continued with a single lane road going both sides. Sometimes I was really scared when there were no street lights and I could see the blinding light coming in from the vehicles that seemed to be coming straight for us but fortunately we had an experienced driver and he drove very well with care.<br />
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Just look at the fabulous detail on this mirror. I really enjoyed photobombing Apu in this one!<br />
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Our driver told us it was a full moon night and what better way to spend the night than in "The Valley of The Moon" Wadi Rum. We took a walk in the expanse in the night and it was so soothingly bright somehow. I know the two words sound like an oxymoron but that's the only way to describe it.<br />
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We checked into Captain's camp which is nestled into the lap of Wadi Rum. It's basically a lot of tents with walls made of stone adjacent to each other as you can see a little bit in the picture. The weather was freezing cold and the tent was pretty basic from inside. All we really cared about was that we had three blankets, enough to keep us warm. They had also provided mosquito nets but in the cold I don't think any of them could survive.<br />
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I think all of you who really know me know that I love tea but my romance with tea in Jordan took on epic proportions. I actually walked out to the reception and asked for a kettle of hot water, which we did get. Apu carried teabags, milk sachets and sugar. We sat in our little tent and had the most satisfying cup of tea in the world.<br />
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I got into the three blankets but I had to cover my head with a shawl before I could drop into a dreamless, sweet sleep.<br />
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The next morning after breakfast we set off for a Jeep Ride with our driver whose name I can't remember. All I remember about him was if we asked him something he always answered," That will be ten dollars hehehehehe!"<br />
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Apu and I taking a picture by the magnificent rocky terrain. My little Chiyo, isn't she adorable!<br />
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I've nicknamed her Chiyo because she is fluent in Japanese and cute like her nickname.<br />
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Little Chiyo sitting in the Jeep. The wind was really blowing hard that day and it was so cold with the sun shining down upon us. I loved it.<br />
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Next we stopped at a bedouin's tent and he offered me tea as our driver and him chatted in Arabic. I took the cup of sweet tea and when I was finished he offered me another with sheesha(Arabic version of the hookah) but I declined the latter and accepted the former.<br />
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At one point while all of us were talking I picked up the driver's tea and drank from it. It had sugar. He asked me," How's the sugar?" I said," I told you no sugar!" He couldn't stop laughing as he told me I was drinking his tea!<br />
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I bought some vaseline laced with perfume from the bedouin and two cakes of different fragrances as well. Apu could smell the vaseline fragrance from feet away! I love the smell and even now when I apply it liberally on my hands I'm transported to that bedouin tent.<br />
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These magnificent rocks were abundant and the blue sky the perfect counter point.<br />
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Apu's profile at the bedouin's tent with the blue sky peeking shyly.<br />
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Naturally formed table. Our driver insisted on taking a picture.<br />
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The customary picture with the camels.<br />
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I look just as scared as I am petting these rather large creatures not necessarily menacing but a bit daunting nonetheless. Actually I was just scared that the camel would spit on me as I petted it!<br />
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Our driver stopped here and asked us,"What does it look like?" And we both said in unison,"A face!"<br />
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A face with a face. Our driver took this picture. I love it!<br />
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Another tent, with another bedouin selling the same stuff I'd already bought. I don't know who the man in the uniform is. I photobombed Apu again!<br />
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All of nature's elements come together. Beautiful blue skies checkered with clouds. Rocks eroded by nature. Icy winds making everything come alive!<br />
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Here's a picture of our driver and the magnificent rocks sprinkled around Wadi Rum.<br />
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A lone windmill in the middle of nowhere set off by the grey ominous clouds. By this time we were on our way to Little Petra.<br />
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Right this moment, this little girl is freezing because she's forgotten to wear a coat as she got out of the warm car! Love it!<br />
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We had lunch at a place called Mother's recipe. I ordered grilled fish and it was taking an inordinately long time so Apu asked the server,"Why is it taking so long to come?" the server replied,"Do you want it raw?" But to be honest it's the best grilled fish I've ever had. So totally worth the wait and the server's audacity.<br />
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This mountain goat climbed all the stairs there were! I stayed on the ground and took pictures.<br />
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The first glimpse of things to come at Little Petra. Look at the beautiful hall carved into stone and the mysterious caves.<br />
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At a man made huge gate to a hall at the enrance of Little Petra.<br />
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A shop selling arabic patterned scarves and jewellery. Be careful what you buy because a lot of the stuff is not silver but they'll try to pawn it off as real.<br />
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This reminded me of that British series "Upstairs Downstairs". The owners live upstairs in posh surroundings while the servants reside in caves.<br />
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Here's a truly interesting character. I asked him," Where do you live?" He replied," I have a house in the village and I have a cave I live in." I asked surprised," You live in a cave?" He said," Yes, it is more peaceful. There are no beable (people) there." The arabs generally pronounce 'p' as 'b'.<br />
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Apu thought he was the long lost brother of Jack Sparrow! I tend to agree. I was looking through his shop and found nothing interesting.<br />
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The rocks were something else... eroded by nature and yet magnificent.<br />
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The visitor's centre which is the entrance to Petra has a small museum and I saw this beautiful bust there. This is Dushara, the equivalent of Zeus for the Nabateans who created the lost city of Petra. Zeus in Greek mythology is the King of God, the ruler of Mount Olympus where all the Greek gods reside.<br />
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Petra by night is another experience altogether. The path to Al Khazaneh (The treasury) is lit with lamps. As I was walking the two kilometers of passage that leads to one of the new seven wonders of the world a thought occured to me. It's absolutely dark aside from the lamps on the floor, what if there's a murder? It would make the perfect setting for an Agatha Christie novel.<br />
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As all of us sat in front of Al Khazaneh we were told to keep the flash of our cameras off but some people didn't listen and it annoyed me to no end. As I took a picture the elbow of the woman in front of me would come into the frame and that annoyed me even more.<br />
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And then the performance started. A bedouin played the flute and we were transported into history. It was absolutely beautiful. I stopped taking pictures and silently wished everyone else would too but they didn't. I took very few pictures on this trip. I stopped because I wanted to be in the moment and not remember it through my phone. I wanted to BE there. All of me. The woman in front of me couldn't stop fiddling with her phone as a bedouin sang a mesmerising song accompanied by the Rabab (Arabic instrument, father of the violin). And yet it was beautiful and then as we walked back filled with memories, the day ended.<br />
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-25619289894238541972016-11-25T18:15:00.002+04:002016-11-25T20:03:34.139+04:00Story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So I've been going to a creative writing class just to get my writing kickstarted in a serious way. As part of that class we were given a writing exercise which I'm sharing here. We were divided into groups of two and we had to tell each other a real life incident around which the other person would weave a story.<br />
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So here's mine titled 'Fear' based on an incident in our instructor Dina's life.<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I held on to her hand as tight as I could and her nails dug
into mine as we watched our seventeen year old surfing the waves. I could hear
her breath catch in her throat as he jumped over a high wall of water and
landed skillfully on the board again. Each time he was obscured by a new rising
wave, her hand covered her heart and her eyes searched for him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why won’t you stop him,John?” She said, turning to me in
anger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I smiled at her reassuringly and replied,” He’s really good,
Sara! He’s going to be fine.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
She walked away. She couldn’t watch him any longer. We
walked in silence to our quaint little cottage by the ocean. She settled down
with a book on the lounge chair. I knew she wasn’t reading. She was looking at
the endless and amazing ocean. I wished she were happy, that she smiled more.
She continued looking into the infinite horizon glimmering in this tropical
paradise. I continued to wonder how long a piece of her will remain missing.
There was a place within her so utterly empty, like a thousand year old ship
buried and lost to the world of the living, a home to the dead past.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Night fell and we sat at the restaurant in the resort.
Dinner was a tense affair as Sara was sullen and Max couldn’t stop talking
about going to Hawaii for the International Surfing Competition. He went on to
describe just how high and dangerous the waves were. His excitement was
palpable and so was Sara’s fear. Suddenly, she put her fork down, looked at our
grown sun and said in a determined voice,” You can’t go.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m going Mom and you can’t stop me.” He replied in an
equally resolute tone. I knew, this was the last straw. Sara picked up her
uneaten food and threw the plate on the floor. Max was in a state of shock. The
entire restaurant was quiet at seeing my usually demure and quiet wife behave
so completely out of character. I know, I should have said something. I should
have done something but how could I change her past? Even, God couldn’t do
that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
As she sat crying by the swan made of towels on our bed, I
was reminded of that day. The day that changed her life, and mine. We were both
young and so full of that naïve belief that life could be nothing short of
fantastic. She was riding her motorcycle as I sat behind her feeling mighty
proud of my beautiful, strong and wild spirited girlfriend. She had driven with
her fellow motorcycle enthusiasts from California to New York and back which
was no mean feat. We parked in the garage of the house in which I lived with
two roommates. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Mark was a quiet soul but James was far from shy and a
creature of habit. Along with Sara we would never stop making fun of James’
finicky little detailed rituals. Sara was tired from the ride and threw her
helmet and jacket of James’ writing desk just as he walked into the living room
and began yelling hysterically at Sara. “Keep your stuff off my table!” he
screamed. Sara was taken aback and then started laughing, making no move to
pick up the objects in question. Soon, the seemingly small issue escalated as
James got angrier at Sara’s mirth. He held her shoulders and shook her frame.
She pushed him back and he fell. She picked up her helmet and jacket, put them
on, got on her bike and all I could hear was the roar of 350ccs.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In a couple of hours, the phone rang. I rushed to the
hospital and paced outside the Operation Theatre hoping the surgeons would be
able to save my Sara. When I finally saw her, she whispered through her wired
jaw, broken bones and shattered spirit,”I’ll never ride again.” Tears escaped
through both our eyes. In the moment that truck had collided with her bike
everything had changed. She never got on a bike again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Max’s voice broke my reverie,” I’m leaving.” He announced.
Sara turned to look at him. Tears flowed freely and she whimpered,”What if
something happened to you? You’re my only child, Max.” Max dropped his packed
bag and rushed to take his mother into his arms. ”Nothing will happen to me
Mom!” He tried to soothe her. “You could die. I almost died.” She whispered
through terrified tears. He held her shoulders and shook her,”You’re still
alive! You’re alive!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next day, we rented a bike. Sara put on a helmet and sat
behind her fearless son and left some of her fear behind on the road to
courage.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-83208214040023492142016-11-09T18:10:00.001+04:002016-11-09T18:10:49.497+04:00The Royal Bath<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span id="goog_513584511"></span><span id="goog_513584512"></span>Today was kept aside for chilling utterly and not walking too much. Honestly, I'm thinking I'll sleep for two days once I get home. Not really.<br />
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We went to this place called the Royal Bath. You sit in a tiny pool of hot water which smells like Sulpher but feels very soft on the skin. After an hour of luxuriating in it my fingers were turning into prunes. After the bath, I lay on a marble platform and a woman scrubbed me with a loofah and did a soap massage. If you're expecting a shiatsu type of massage this is not the place for you. The woman alternately massaged/aggressively slapped and threw really hot water on me. As you can see, I was red as a monkey's bum afterwards. Oh, and you pay extra if you want a towel.<br />
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Afterwards we went to the Eastpoint mall. We are from Dubai, we must check out the mall. It's a small place but nice. Lunch was McDonald's. the weather was perfect with the sun beaming and a chill in the air.<br />
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Sweet little fountain in the centre of the mall.<br />
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This restaurant is close to our hotel where I regularly eat Kidney beans, Corn bread and rice for dinner.<br />
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-84964936587503270592016-11-08T21:00:00.001+04:002016-11-08T21:34:03.388+04:00Old Tbilisi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today we went wandering around the Dry Bridge, Flea market. A lot of local artists sell their paintings there along with souvenirs, pottery, coins, jewellery and other knick knacks. It was a bit of a challenge to find the place as Georgian people are very helpful but the language barrier makes it very difficult to understand what they are trying to communicate and vice versa.<br />
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Finally we found someone who knew dry bridge. We stopped at a restaurant and asked about the bridge and the waitress said,"It is old bridge, not dry bridge." Finally we made it and found some lovely art. Most of it was very brightly coloured and depicted everything from landscapes to humans to cats in all sorts of varied styles.<br />
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I quite liked these brightly coloured, musical ladies.<br />
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I have to say the Georgian clay workers create lovely pieces. I bought a few things from this little collection which was very reasonably priced even before I drove a hard bargain.<br />
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This shop carried all sorts of music on LPs. I bought one as a gift for my darling brother Mukul, who collects vinyls.<br />
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Next on the agenda was the botanical garden located almost in the centre of the city. We hung around the cafe inside it, in the company of these happy flowers sipping our coffees. Natasha with her Americano and me with my latte.<br />
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At the end of the bridge was a tree, and on top of the tree was a kitten meowing woefully at people passing by. Natasha was so worried about the poor thing that we went and told the security that he must do something to bring it down. After a lot of misunderstandings he understood what we were trying to say. He got his friend and the friend got up on a low wall with a broom in his hand and the kitten got even more petrified and climbed higher. Reluctantly our rescue operation had to be abandoned.<br />
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All those who wander are not lost. Tolkien was on to something.<br />
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I'm not a fan of red colour but look how beautifully it occurs in nature!<br />
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After the Botanical Garden we went and did a spot of shopping. I saw another interesting doll hanging in the store window. They are so expensive that I feel like winning the lottery or something.<br />
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Look at these two dolls. They reminded me of the bond that only a woman can share with another, a friendship filled with trust, understanding and joy.<br />
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And yes, we're very happy and do not feel like going back.<br />
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-58503247320329875782016-11-07T19:30:00.002+04:002016-11-14T19:10:28.218+04:00The birthday girl<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's Natasha's happy birthday and I gave her a gift two days ago because I can never wait for the right time. Always in too much of a hurry to see the person't expression when they unwrap their gift.<br />
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Today we went to a nunnery. It had a little church in the middle and was surrounded by the wealth of beautiful mountains and little farms. The nun who started the nunnery is buried right next to the icons of the Gods and we prayed there and made wishes. We lit candles and I felt a connection with nature and the universe. It was a wonderful, peaceful and spiritual experience.<br />
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This is the beautiful view from the nunnery. As perfect as perfection can get. Please click on the picture to be able to see it better.<br />
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Next we went to Kakheti the wine making region of Georgia. We went to the oldest winery of the country run by this old man. His ancestors started this homemade wine business five hundred years ago. He was amazed that I did not drink and said ruefully,"My doctor told me I cannot drink and smoke anymore and for a Kakheti man that's like being half dead!"<br />
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The wine is fermented in underground, huge clay pots. The old man with many gold teeth took some out in a jug and Natasha had a taste. She loved it!<br />
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These are the farms where the nuns grow fruits and vegetables. I'm so sorry but I'm not going in sequence today because the internet is flaky and I'm a little annoyed with the hotel staff.<br />
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Here's a beautiful picturesque Georgian village whose name I cannot recall. I think I'm getting old, I keep forgetting names.<br />
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The nuns maintain the grounds themselves and they do a fabulous job of it. They keep themselves busy all day making jewellery, doing embroidery and gardening as well as farming. Their love shows in every inch of the place.<br />
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Next we went to the 'City of love' called Sighnagi. It is so called because it is a very popular amongst people as the perfect locale for weddings. This mural is surrounded by the names of the soldiers who died in the Second World War.<br />
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This is part of the same mural but I think this one depicts Georgia as a wine making country.<br />
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We had lunch in a cafe in Sighnagi where they were making the traditional Georgian Christmas sweet called Churchkhela. These walnuts are strung together and then dipped in honey. Delicious!<br />
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Salome and Rezi, our guide and driver respectively got a little chocolate cupcake covered in coconut flakes and lit two matches on it as Natasha's birthday cake. She blew out the matches and we sang Happy Birthday! I have a video of it which for some reason I am unable to upload here. But you get the picture! The happiness on her face was beautiful to see.<br />
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Happy birthday my sweetheart! May your life be filled with peace, love and happiness always and forever! I love you to the moon and back!<br />
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-28871579449714719182016-11-06T18:34:00.000+04:002016-11-08T21:50:11.117+04:00Chasing the snow<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The internet at the hotel is slow and I'm sitting under the quilt and writing this post while Natasha is sitting, getting irritated with the hotel people. Now she's lying on the bed with her face to the door hoping to catch the elusive connectivity. She's waving the phone around saying,"Like this? Like this?"<br />
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Today we drove along with our tour guide as well as the driver to a place called Ananuria water reservoir. Our guide Salome loves talking about her country and she told us about the difficult past of this beautiful country which has been invaded by Mongols, Turks and Russians to name a few. So many of their churches and cathedrals suffered during these times when the invaders painted over their frescoes and even turned them into mosques or during Russian times even into warehouses.<br />
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And yet the people are easy going. They love music, wine and food. They are not a very rich country but they seem to be a happy one. The most commendable thing I found was the fact that the government has taken concrete steps to repair whole areas consisting of very old houses in the old town to preserve the heritage of the capital.<br />
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We drove through beautiful mountains and the conifers appeared in large numbers as we gained height. The people drive both left and right handed cars here even though the traffic is right handed. Day before yesterday our driver was so rash that he would get inches away from the car in front at high speed and my heart would be up in my throat. I thanked my lucky stars when I got back safe and sound to my hotel.<br />
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The driver today was much better but the problem is that the other drivers are still just as rash and you have to be very very careful while driving. I would not want to drive in this country for sure. I mean, I don't even want to cross the road without holding on to Natasha's hand she in turn holding mine just as tight.<br />
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The idea was to chase the snow today. I wore leggings, another pair of leggings, a pair of jeans, full sleeved top, warm coat, pashmina shawl and gloves phew! And trust me you need all of that when you get near to the top of the snow covered mountains. They are truly magnificent and beautiful.<br />
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We reached where the snow was and got out to see this beautiful mural in the middle of nowhere.<br />
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This is part of the mural which is in the shape of a semi circle. All you can see beyond is pure white snow glimmering up to the skies. I took off my gloves to take pictures and my hands nearly froze. I was reminded of those cold mornings in Delhi when it was so cold I couldn't even write my exam paper.<br />
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I saw this beautiful fellow at Ananuria waiting for someone to feed him. I often see people feeding bread to the street dogs here.<br />
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This is the water reservoir and it was a really beautiful sight. The water was an emerald green and so serene. I loved it.<br />
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Obviously I'm very very happy.<br />
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The young woman with the big grin is our tour guide Solome and our driver is Rezi. It was a wonderful day and tomorrow promises to be the same. I just love this place!<br />
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-78489607468152659302016-11-05T18:46:00.001+04:002016-11-08T21:52:28.354+04:00Day 3<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today we were accompanied by a guide for a walking tour through the picturesque, old town of Tbilisi. On the left is the Metekhi Church placed so wonderfully as the calm waters of the river flow by.<br />
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This is the King of Georgia who is responsible for building the church. Our guide told us that Mtskheta was the original capital but once when the King came to Tbilisi for a hunt, his pet falcon got lost chasing a pheasant. The King sent out search parties who found both the pheasant and the falcon in a boiling pool of water. The King was so thrilled to find these hot water pools that he decided to move the capital to Tbilisi, which means warm. He built a fort in which he lived and the church that he prayed in. His wife lived in another fort. Our guide was of the opinion that they probably didn't live together because she nagged him too much!<br />
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Amazing shafts of light spilled in through the windows and illuminated the cross and Jesus' image.<br />
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We walked by a little waterfall right in the middle of the city.<br />
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Taken just before we started the tour.<br />
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A leisurely walk by the river.<br />
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Georgia is known for its decious wine and fried dumplings. They have a name but I'm not good with names as you would have figured out by now. Khinkali, they're called! I just remembered!<br />
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A gypsy woman's mannequin I think. I thought she was rather weird. Weird and yet unique in its expression and clothing.<br />
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These two dolls were hanging in a store window. Unrealistic body image I would say. Caricatures of women I think.<br />
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When people get married they put a lock on this bridge and I'm guessing they throw away the key to remain locked together forever.<br />
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These faceless dolls were interesting and I love the splash of red.<br />
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Madonna left her bra from the 80s behind.<br />
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This is the toastmaster. He is holding a horn in his hand and he has to drink all the wine it can hold in one go. He also has the power to tell people to behave when they get drunk. Apparently he is a very important guy in Georgia where every cafe serves alcohol!<br />
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A bell tower made by the Russians when they ruled Georgia.<br />
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A local artist at work wearing the Number 23 jersey. Lucky for me I'm born on the 23rd!<br />
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I fell in love with this brooch but I'm on a tight budget so I resisted the temptation.<br />
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There was wine tasting during which Natasha tasted the wine whilst I merely smelled it. It smelled so good, that for about a second I regretted giving up alcohol. But only for a second.<br />
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-15724772856271388572016-11-04T22:09:00.000+04:002016-11-08T21:54:37.181+04:00Day 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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We decided to do the tourist thing and hired a cab to drive us around to places close to Tblisi. We went to a monastery in Mtskheta. There were these bells looking rather forlorn as if no one had rung them in many many years.<br />
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This is the beautiful view from the monastery. A man was asleep at the candle counter. I bought four candles from him and lit them in front of Christ's shrine. I stood and prayed for a while. It was a warm, peaceful feeling as people spoke in low whispers and crossed themselves.<br />
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This furball followed me around but stopped before we walked up the stairs to the inner sanctum of the monastery.<br />
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We stopped at a small town. I forget the name. There was a cobbled street slowly rising and lined with all sorts of shops. I bought some lovely ceramic bowls. They call Vodka Chacha. As most of you would know, in Hindi Chacha means father's younger brother!<br />
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I came across some brightly colored paintings made by the shopkeeper herself! She also had some done by her brother who likes cats.<br />
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Finally we reached the highest point of the street and I saw this lovely looking building. I wish I could tell you what kind of architecture it is, but unfortunately my knowledge of architecture is less than limited. May be one of you could help me out here!<br />
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Next was this absolutely gorgeous cathedral. The ceilings were high and painted with amazing frescoes.<br />
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There were reflections everywhere. The sheer play of light delighted the senses. There was a sombre peace within the high ceilings of the cathedral. I lit candles and prayed for all my friends and family. I asked for peace of mind, most of all. Isn't that what one ultimately wants from life?<br />
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I saw this aircraft which seemed to be coming through the roof of the cathedral. I saw another one just like it yesterday which seemed to be coming through the sun!<br />
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Natasha stands in a small room with paintings of saints and angels. As you can see she's all packed for the winter chill.<br />
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Natasha's lunch time companion came around for neck scratches and french fries.<br />
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I found this little furball outside the cathedral and stopped to show him some love. He responded by licking my fingers. Dogs all over the world are the best!<br />
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We went to a museum and again I can't remember its name. It was a very very cold, very very large and very very creepy building. I liked this huge piece though.<br />
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As you can see, the ladies in Georgia are very stylish.<br />
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A woman suddenly got our attention in broken English and pushed us into a very cold room. She explained it was the first office of Stalin. Those are his clothes and our reflections.<br />
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The view on our drive to the next destination. Georgia is a truly beautiful country blessed by nature. I've only been here a couple of days and I'm falling in love with it.<br />
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The leaves of fall are dry and beautiful. Natasha is holding a perfect little sample in her palm.<br />
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This place, this moment, the winter sun melting into the river, the sound of the water slowly gurgling, the soft fur of the bushes glinting in the rays were all perfect. Just perfect.<br />
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I wish you all as much happiness and love as the universe has so kindly bestowed upon me.<br />
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-74035245122169321022016-11-03T18:54:00.002+04:002016-11-08T21:55:12.384+04:00Vagabonding<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Here I sit in a sweet little room in Georgia's capital Tbilisi. Natasha and I flew down here today and the adventure started from the moment we reached the airport. The check in lady made us run to the Travel Insurance counter. When we finally reached the gate I was already tired having woken up at 6 which is like midnight for me.<br />
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We got into the bus to go to the aircraft and I realised that I had left my bag behind at the Bombay Chowpatty restaurant where I got an Aloo Paratha packed for lunch. The glass partition between the passengers and the driver is so effective that he couldn't hear the entire bus shouting 'STOP!'. He finally saw me waving frantically and stopped.<br />
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The security was called and I was not allowed to go inside. I described my bag and told the guy exactly where I'd left it. He said they will find it and send it to me in the aircraft. As the bus began to move I prayed I hadn't lost my Macbook along with a twenty year old sweater that my mother gave me which holds immense sentimental value for me.<br />
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When I got off the bus I caught hold of one of the guys with a walkie talkie. He talked to his colleague and assured me that the bag had been found. I took a sigh of relief. We sat down on our seats and waited. The pilot announced that the flight will be delayed because a passenger's bag was being cleared through security. I immediately looked at Natasha and said,"Such irresponsible people na! Now the flight is going to get late."<br />
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Finally the stewardess approached me and asked," Can you describe what's in the bag?" I did. Then she took me to a Security Officer who as standing at the gate with the notorious bag. He asked me to describe what was in the bag. I did. And finally I got my bag back and we took off.</div>
Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-25094634926399919592016-06-21T15:12:00.001+04:002016-06-21T15:12:17.976+04:00Give me that pout!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Yesterday was another amazing and fun Toastmasters Meeting with our rockstar Toastmaster of the day Sandeep taking us through three hours organised so perfectly, my critical eye couldn't find a single glitch! The theme of the day was selfies, a subject close to my heart because I'm so in love with taking selfies! This selfie within a selfie won the best selfie award. I love this picture! Thank you to our new President Abdel Rehman for this gem!<br />
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Some interesting facts about selfies were revealed for example the first selfie ever taken was in 1920! The men's loo was not functional so out Seargent at arms said the gents could go to the park outside which left us all in splits!<br />
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That's Sohayla, she's from Syria and she delievered her third speech today. She spoke wonderfully about the holy month of Ramadan. Doesn't she look absolutely radiant!<br />
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See what I'm talking about! For a moment I thought to myself,"When was the last time I saw so many people laughing and smiling at the same time??" This has to be one of the most recorded moments in Dubai Toastmasters history! And I was so thrilled to be a part of it.<br />
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That's Smita and she was the secret lady with whom the selfie had to be taken. A wonderful thing about being in a club like this is that you meet wonderful people with a killer sense of humour to boot! When I said,"You have such lovely curly hair!" She replied,"Ya but no one takes me seriously! I look like I'm ready to go to a party all the time." I was in stitches!<br />
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I love the of energy of Toastmasters meeting. There is always something inspiring to take away from it. Yesterday Emmanuel talked about working towards your dreams. Write them down he said. If you want a car, decide which one, model, colour and cost. Then work towards making it happen. Create goals for yourself. You will be a winner!</div>
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That's yours truly pouting for the camera. I loved the meeting yesterday and let's raise our glasses to many many more of them!<br />
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Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-47280343061385322792016-06-07T19:03:00.003+04:002016-06-07T19:04:52.469+04:00The bog<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
After several days of relative quiet or rather quiet mornings, today I had to rush off for a meeting. I had a picture of the board where I was supposed to park. I kept half an hour to get lost and yet I was late because the board had changed to something else. I got there fifteen minutes later than the appointed time and apologised for my tardiness which was thankfully just waved off.<br />
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Everything went well and I was my usual vibrant and brilliant self. Then I took a bathroom break and got locked inside the toilet. Literally. I looked up but it wasn't the stall type of loo so I couldn't have climbed into the next stall. I desperately tried to open the door, twisting and turning and cursed myself for not bringing my phone to the toilet but who the heck brings their phone to the toilet? Next time I will, I promised myself. Finally I started banging on the door and called out,"Hello! Hello! Anyone there?" And then after a few minutes of anxiety viola! Someone opened the door from outside. I thanked the lady profusely and rushed back to the conference room. I was so grateful that no one asked why I took such a long time in the bog.<br />
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I watched the next episode of Game of thrones. Is it just me or is it getting a bit boring these days?</div>
Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-87409857575298980852016-06-06T23:35:00.000+04:002016-06-06T23:43:16.565+04:00Toastmasters<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Every other week on a Monday evening I attend Toastmasters meeting. It's a social club and the members present speeches. The objectives of the speeches rise with each level. There's a snack break during which we all have fifteen minutes to gobble up amazing samosas and parathas with white chickpeas curry. We joke around about it all the time saying that we just come for the snacks.<br />
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But seriously, I cannot describe how much value this club has added to my life. The speeches are always filled with human stories. Stories of courage and positivity and great dollops of humour. Some of the senior members are amazing speakers and sometimes the new members can surprise you with a stellar speech like Graziella did today.<br />
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I got there early today and took lots of pictures of flowers around the venue. These are my favourites. Such happy flowers.<br />
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It's late in the night and I have to prepare for a meeting so I'll be up a while longer even though I'd like nothing better than to lay my head on the pillow and walk into my dreams. Goodnight people!</div>
Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-80957856791242689862016-06-05T20:49:00.000+04:002016-06-05T20:49:19.337+04:00Playing catch up<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I made some lovely friends at this office where I was working on a project. That bald beauty is Hassaan and the lovely girl is Shakila fondly called Shake. The two of them together are a laugh riot. I was supposed to do a tarot reading for them but I forgot to take my cards.<br />
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I was supposed to meet them weeks ago but I get so lost in my life that I didn't get around to it. Hassaan, the resident drama queen sent messages brimming with emotional blackmail, which he is really quite good at, to make me crawl out of my home into the sun.<br />
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Both of them are from Pakistan and I really enjoy their company. I don't understand why our countries fight? They're such nice people.</div>
Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-52702403903242384412016-06-04T20:03:00.002+04:002016-06-04T20:03:36.207+04:00Nice guys<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I saw the trailer of 'Nice guys' recently and it was so funny that Natasha and I went to watch it today. Ryan Gosling has some serious comedy chops. I was pleasantly surprised. Russell Crowe was alright. The movie is nice comic fluff. Worth one watch.<br />
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The whole mall seems to be under renovation. They're planning to make it much bigger. I don't know if I'm thrilled about that. It's one mall I've become so accustomed to. I like that it has just one floor and is basically in a straight line. Well, as long as Shakespeare Cafe remains to be where it is I'll live with all the renovations.<br />
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Natasha used to work for me for a short period of time. At that point there wasn't enough time to really get to know her but I always liked her. She came across as a sweet and shy girl. We connected on Facebook and at some point decided we should meet up and I'm so glad that we did because now we're as thick as thieves. She looks a lot like my sister and I'm always reminded of her when I meet Natasha. You know, when you're an expat your friends become your family. She's family.<br />
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I have a small circle of friends I meet one on one mostly because they don't know each other. But I'm so blessed and so loved. I thank God each day for giving me such wonderful friends. May you all know such deep and lasting friendships in your life!</div>
Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10132220.post-24389519616747563952016-06-03T21:42:00.000+04:002016-06-03T21:44:31.650+04:00Almost<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I almost forgot to post today. The day was so quiet and peaceful and I was generally so relaxed that I almost retired with my book. Now I'm writing this post on my phone, sitting happily in bed, all warm and comfortable. I like this technology thing. It allows you so much freedom.<br />
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I went for a long drive with Anshuman and we drove and drove and ended up at a deserted petrol station with an equally deserted McDonald's. I got myself a fish fillet burger and an icecream. The staff looked so bored. Poor things, stuck at McDonald's on a Friday night. I could feel their boredom emanating like a waft of smoke.<br />
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We got a little lost on the way back and Anshuman said," I don't know where the hell we are." I said,"I really don't care." It made us laugh and eventually we found our way home. Now everyone has been fed. Mili is sitting next to me and staring at my face. I should let her lick my face and cuddle her or else she will keep staring at me until I do.<br />
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I hope for many more such lovely days. And I wish you all a lovely evening! I'll come back tomorrow!</div>
Parul Gahlothttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03874507480186234320noreply@blogger.com0