Guilty Pleasures

We all have our little ‘treats’, little ‘something’s’ that we indulge in regularly. We know that it is bad, senseless, does not add to anything, embarrassing and harmless but we can’t let go of them.  What are my guilty pleasures? Here they are, in no particular order of preferences

# Crappy TV Shows/Series — Hart of Dixie (the lamest, new show), Las Vegas, Bones, Castle, Grey’s Anatomy (I love this show and all it’s gorgeous men), Roswell (still love it), Gossip Girl (don’t watch but track it via recaps), Axe your Ex, Love Net and the like, Bigg Boss, Balika Vadhu, F.I.R. and Pratigya.

# Historical Romance Novels —This I’m not explaining/defending/justifying

# Gossip mags/sites

# Crime cases and the media attention

# Urban legends

# Voiceover narrations and their quotes— Meredith Grey on Grey’s Anatomy, Emma Thorne on Revenge, Kristen Bell as Gossip Girl (especially when she signs off xoxo), and Carrie Bradshaw on Sex and the City.

# Reading children's stories — All possible fairy tales, Enid Blyton, Carolyn Keene (Nancy Drew) and Franklin W. Dixon (Hardy Boys) 

Bring me back to music

After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.

Aldous Huxley

Music infuses every aspect of our lives. Whether we are humming tunes whilst we go about our daily chores or tasks or whether we are singing along with the songs playing on the radio or our iPods. Have you ever caught yourself swaying to music no matter where you are and feeling good about yourself? And have you noticed that when you walk on the street, your walking reflects the beats of the song playing aloud somewhere?  There’s no escaping music, any kind of music, even that which hurts your eardrums or brings an incredulous look across your face or that which instantly lifts you up and makes you smile.

They rightly say that there is a song for every occasion.  You may be feeling low or high and everything in between but just switch on the radio and there would be one song that mirrors your state of mind. Growing up, my parents listened to all the popular artists of their age —Beatles, Paul Anka, Tom Jones, Cliff Richards, Jim Reeves (what would Christmas carols be without him), The Everly Brothers, Elvis Presley, the Rat Pack and of course Engelbert Humperdinck. As we grew older we added artists to include all the young girl crushes. The one thing that was banned in my house was Hindi music; my father (and not my mother for a change) felt it would ‘corrupt’ us and make us speak Hindi at home. Little did he know that the radio gifted to my sister was surreptitiously being used to listen to all the latest Hindi songs in the afternoon! Our maid would lock the doors, we would turn down the volume, try and muffle the songs through blankets and pillows and huddle around the little radio and hear the very songs my father hated. Such fun that was!

Over the last few months, I realised that my music world had shrunk. I no longer listened to the radio, I no longer caught up on videos on YouTube or any of the music channels. I didn’t know the names of the artists (in all fairness most of them sound alike) or even who was the best selling artist of the month. Lamenting on the lack of music, I also realised that my music appreciation was restricted to the popular only; I had not expanded my scope of music or even artists at all. That’s when I decided to expand my music repertoire. And you know where I find most of the songs and artists I like? TV series! Laugh all you want; if it introduces me to something nice, I don’t mind the source. These series and some movies have introduced me to some brilliant artists I would never have heard about or beautiful songs that I would never have the privilege to hear.

My must-listen list now includes Yiruma, Vanessa Mae (her I knew about), Rachael Yamagata, Mozella, James Morrison, Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová, The Civil Wars, Regina Spektor and a lot more.

Bookish Behaviour

I would like to think of myself something akin to a book nazi warden (if that was ever possible). I am very particular about keeping my books stain-free, fold-free and dog-ear-free. It distresses me when I find old, ravaged books, scribbled over mercilessly. I’m not a fan about making notes in books, unless these are your college texts and you have to, but even then, I make the effort to make the notations in pencil. C’mon we can show that much respect to books.

Over years, I have lent so many of books to people with a list of restrictions; I feel neither shame nor shyness when I list out my conditions. It may appall and even hurt a few but honestly, I don’t care. These are my books. I’m being magnanimous enough by lending them to you in the first place.  A couple of people have refused to take books from me, just because I have so many ‘rules’.

Honestly, the rules are not too many — they’re just about cleanliness, hygiene and good manners. To all the people who find these ‘rules’ finicky, I just tell them to think of something they are fond of or proud of and the feelings they encounter when they don’t get it back in the shape they’ve lent it out.

Rule #1

No leaving your food stains on my books. I don’t want to know what you’ve eaten over the time it’s taken you to read, really. My book is not a coaster as well. From experience I’ve added, neither is it a fly or any other insect swatter. Finding a squashed bug between the pages is not something I or anyone else would appreciate.

Rule #2

No dog-earring my book. You need to mark where you’ve left off, take a piece of paper and place it there. Don’t fold the page, ever! Use train or bus tickets, newspaper shredding, a flyer about someone’s garage sale, a feather even (provided it has no blood stains on it) anything (thin and flat) actually will do. Besides, if you love to read, wouldn’t you have a bookmark? No book lover I know, doesn’t possess at least one bookmark.

Rule #3

No scribbling.  You need to find out the meaning of a word, don’t underline the thing! Make a note somewhere else.  My book is not your scrap book that you feel comfortable taking down phone numbers, messages and sometimes even recipes.

Rule # 4

No folding my books when you read. Some people have the habit of folding the cover and pages read as they go along, which is okay as long as you do it to your own books. I don’t like seeing my books resembling a palm tree!

And lastly, this is not a rule per se, but if you’ve taken my book, please return it. I don’t set time limits on how soon they should be returned but that doesn’t mean that you can keep them forever.  

Read this interesting article I came across a few weeks ago:

Winter is coming!

It looked like somehow hung a white sheet outside my window today morning. The fog just covered everything making it impossible to see much.

Yesterday was also a foggy morning, with a friend clicking this pic from her home.

Hook, Line and Sinker

This weekend I went fishing with a couple of friends. I'm not a fishing enthusiast, I don't possess any skills even remotely, and I was of the opinion that fishing would be boring and not fun at all. 

A couple of months ago, I was persuaded to join a group of friends for a 'night of fishing' as they put it. It was my initiation into all things fishing and boy how much these guys love to fish! Four hours later, with quite a decent catch, considering the tides, the wind, and equipment issues, they were still enthusiastic. I tried my hand at fishing (on an aside, what would you call it a sport, a game, a hobby, and art?) and after being warned by the guys not to get the hooks into people when casting the line (apparently it has happened before), I gave up. 

This time, we chose another venue and it was a much better fishing site. Beautiful, calm waters, a few rowing enthusiasts going through the paces, jet skis far off and the setting sun. I just cast the line once and then sat down to whoop and clap everytime they caught something decent and jeer when they didn't.

Why does it happen …

… that when you are waiting for transport on Lane A, there are plenty on lane B but when you switch sides, they all seem to do so to.

… that when you wear a particular shade and style of clothing, you spot several hundred other people wearing the same.

… that when you leave your umbrella home after several sunny days, it rains

… that a slow, tedious morning at work is followed by a flurry of stuff just an hour before end of day

… that when you make plans, work interrupts and when you anticipate work and make no plans, you’re left twiddling your thumbs

… that when you think you are about to win at a word game, your friend finds an awesome word and you lose, again! J

Somebody's mother

I remembered this poem I used to say in the third and fourth standard whenever I participated in poetry competitions. I loved it then and love it all the more now for its profoundness, its simplicity and for the honest emotions it evokes. I always choke at the end, and today too, my eyes were moist.

Somebody's mother

Mary Dow Brine (1816-1913)

The woman was old and ragged and grey
And bent with the chill of the Winter's day.
The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng
Of human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eyes.
Down the street, with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of 'school let out,'
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and grey
Hastened the children on their way.
Nor offered a helping hand to her -
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.
At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest lad of all the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you cross, if you wish to go."
Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged and poor and slow,
And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
If ever she's poor and old and grey,
And her own dear boy is far away."
'Somebody's mother' bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was "God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody's son, and pride and joy!"