Postcards From J

On a day I'm suffering from a terribly upset stomach (what the hell did I eat?), this Eve Ensler quote cheered me up: "Cherish your solitude. Take trains by yourself to places you have never been. Sleep out alone under the stars. Learn how to drive a stick shift. Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back. Say no when you don't want to do something. Say yes if your instincts are strong, even if everyone around you disagrees. Decide whether you want to be liked or admired. Decide if fitting in is more important than finding out what you're doing here. Believe in kissing."  ... "Go so far away that you stop being afraid of not coming back." Ah! Signs.

The last weekend was super exciting. For one, I signed up for the first ever Bohri Mohalla Food Walk on Saturday, 1st December 2012 organised by prolific food blogger Kalyan Karmakar, a.k.a. @finelychopped on Twitter. Kalyan's blog is a veritable resource of food, glorious food. So, go look it up till I put together my thoughts on the walk itself. The other reason for my joy was a package that arrived from moo.com  - a cool printing service that prints business cards, minicards, postcards and more. I ordered a set of 60 postcards from them which had 60 photographs from my travels printed on them. Cool, na? Here are some pictures of the package and its contents: This is what the package looked like inside the bubble-wrap envelope. "Moo Postcards - helping keep mail alive" - Love the tagline! Slide off the outer cover and there's a plain white box with slits to add your business card. Moo gives you this option in case you're re-selling the car...

Oh, look what arrived in my mailbox yesterday. From one of my favourite-st gals , all the way from Abu Dhabi... (after I pestered her to send me a postcard of course). Thanks, Lo! I hope to see you this December despite our crazy schedules. Ta!

"Kalina?", I yelled as he screeched to a halt.  He nodded while three women and four tiny children kept popping out of his rickshaw. I was too tired to notice the expression on his face. Soon, I was seated inside with my bags - groceries and handbag and laptop bag and lunch bag and office Diwali gift. Phew. "Aap <mumble mumble mumble>?" "Kya kahaa?" ("What did you say?") "Kya aap Hindu ho?" ("Are you a Hindu?") I was a bit zapped at the question. Thinking I had said 'yes', he continued... "Dimaag kharab kar diya. Yeh sab Islam waale... itne saare rickshaa mein baett gaye..." ("They've given me a headache. These Muslims... so many of them occupied my rickshaw...") I cut him short. "Aapka kya matlab hai? Iss mein dharm kahaa se aa gaya?" ("What do you mean? Where did religion creep into this?") Sensing that I was not particularly thrilled...

My family is g ear ing up for my brother's wedding in early December. So you can imagine the chaos that accompanies the phenomenon called the Big Fat Indian Wedding. Invitations, what to wear, arrangements for the reception, caterers, decorators, travel bookings, shopping for a zillion things, and the list goes on and on and on. (Sometimes I wonder who really enjoys these weddings - the people getting married or the ones making a fortune out of it? The latter, I'm sure.) While all this was going on, my parents (who are doing the 'inviting') happened to drop in at a very close relative's home only to find it locked. Even the windows were covered completely and the neighbours didn't know anything. They dropped the invite at the door and left. Soon after, they called the relative to check if they had received the card. No response. The cellular phone company's recorded message said 'switched off' or 'unavailable'. Strange. Then the parent...

Guess what just went on my lust list? THIS : Buy the Polaroid Z2300 at the Photojojo Store!   This Polaroid Z2300 is  "a digital camera that makes sticky backed instant prints at the push of a button." Now if anyone is feeling generous, please buy this for me! Along with extra sets of the paper for printing, of course. :) Hope your Monday was not too manic.  Ciao, ~j~

A little rickshaw gyan for the weekend on the sticker in front: "Tameez se bologe toh Izzat muft milegi." Click to view full size image Rough translation: "If you speak with courtesy then you will receive respect for free." PS: A Google search for the exact meanings revealed that "tameez" is the word for "etiquette or manners" and "izzat" is for "pride".

Looking for inspiration? Or maybe just something energetic to listen to? Here you go. Affirmation by Savage Garden. My ear-worm for today. I chose this video because of the lyrics on display. Sing along. And nod your head to the beat.  I've pasted the lyrics below... and marked in bold the lines I really like. Enjoy! I believe the sun should never set upon an argument I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands I believe that junk food tastes so good because it's bad for you I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do I believe that beauty magazines promote low self esteem I believe I'm loved when I'm completely by myself alone I believe in Karma what you give is what you get returned I believe you can't appreciate real love until you've been burned I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye ...

My ' Rick-rolled ' series is back. And do watch out for at least two more of those later in the week. It's in Marathi, so I'll try translating it (though the flavour and tone may be completely washed out.). It's a graphic image of Shivaji, the Maratha warrior after whom everything in Mumbai seems to be (re)named.  The vertical text reads: " Jaanta Raja " meaning "People's King". The text below, " Baghtos Kaay Mujra Kar ", is actually tricky to translate. Crudely, it reads: "What are you looking at? Dance!" I thought this line was really funny. Hope you enjoyed this Saturday postcard. Off to attend a story-telling session at MCubed Library and then to lunch with old friends.  Cheers, ~j~

The city has been pounded by relentless rain since Monday bringing life to a pathetic crawl. Imagine Goregaon to Andheri by car on the Western Express Highway taking three hours! Yes, three hours. And we were supposedly in the non-traffic direction. But when there's water-logging, it just doesn't matter which direction you're in. It's the famous Bombay monsoon. Hard. Cruel. Unforgiving. Not romantic, these rains at all. (#note2self: sue the movies for making us believe it's so wonderful to get soaked). And it continues to rain as I tap at my keyboard now. Monday was also THE day for an important decision that had to be made. More on that in time to come. Ironically, I had tweeted late Sunday night about wanting to give up something and that I was open to suggestions. Replies ranged from Twitter (hahaha, not yet!) to rickshaws (one day, someday...), from maida to sugar (totally doable, but needs motivation) and from swearing (which I don't do anyway but tha...

Hi there! This evening, I'm off to Mohammad Ali Road and its environs for the annual food extravaganza during Ramadhan. Here are a couple of old posts I had done on the experience in the past: My first trip ever:  Fasting, Feasting .  Last year's iftaar tweet-up: Eat Street . And Fast Food - a favourite photo of mine (not from a technical perspective, but for how it eventually turned out with its limitations). Today, I'm accompanying a new group - most of them known via Twitter - to the southern corner of the city. It's Friday night, and I'm expecting it to be a bit crazy with the crowds. So, let's see how it goes. Will try and update this post on Monday or so. Not tonight or the weekend because I'm off to Kolad for an  overnight   'adventure' trip tomorrow. I was supposed to take it easy this week, but the social engagements have just been piling up one after the other since Monday. I really need to learn the art of saying NO...

It has been a very busy few weeks at work thanks to a mega sporting event in London that concluded on Sunday (in the wee hours of Monday for us actually!). And I was feeling awful about missing all the monsoon sales that so many retail stores were offering. So, I took an off on the first occasion that I could and spent a good six (!) hours at the spanking new Phoenix Market City in Kurla. Yes, Kurla - that drab and totally unsexy suburb in central Mumbai. More about that later.  I wanted to pick a few things for myself and also make the most of the discounts by picking up future gifts at a steal * . And after those six hours, I returned home happy and sad. Happy because I found some great bargains and sad because the wallet was considerably lighter.  Le sigh.  My tweet captures it all: Charles & Keith, Body Shop, Accessorize, AND, Pantaloons and Debenhams are all a little richer today because of me. # RetailTherapy — vodkaholic (@vodkaholic) August 13,...

I've been meaning to write something this month, but so much has happened since June. The brother got engaged (wedding's just 4 months away!) and work is a little too hectic at the moment. So, instead of doing a random post, here's something I wrote as part of a future assignment for DD's Travel Writing Bus. It's based on a theme we were given and it's supposed to be longer (got stuck and haven't been able to rewrite since). I'll aim to write from scratch if I can't add to it. As always, feedback is welcome. ----- We drove in silence. The darkness outside was strangely comfortable. He placed his hand on my knee. "It will be ok. Don't worry." "Hmm..." I drifted off again. "What's on your mind now?" "Nothing." I noticed he had taken a detour. 'Great! Now he wants to talk.' But silence again. Suddenly, he pulled over to the side of the path. Where are we? I turned to...

... Dilip D'Souza ! I'm thrilled to let you know that Dilip , our writing mentor and friend, has won the Newsweek & The Daily Beast-Open Hands Prize for Commentary in South Asia . Long name for an award, no? But hey, it's going to a very deserving person. For a report on the event in NYC last week, click here . And below is a video chat with Dilip himself: In case the video doesn't play, click here to watch it. Congratulations, DD! We are so proud of you.

Of late, I've been disturbed with how Bombay/Mumbai is turning out to be. I love the city to death (appropriate, no?) but increasingly I'm running out of reasons to defend my love for it. They say it's the city where dreams come true. But whose dreams? The rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer.  And those in between? Well, we are basically fucked.  The common man - or woman - is helpless. Everything seems to run in this vicious circle. People give bribes, people take bribes. People want a corruption-free system but are forgetting we are the system. If we don't stand up for what is right, if we don't speak out against injustice, then who will? The politicians? Judiciary? Police? But who put them in those positions in the first place? Think about it. Maximum City, can you magically revive yourself? Any more of this disillusionment and I will give up. Sincerely, ~j~

... and feel so helpless after reading this: http://blogs.timesofindia.indiatimes.com/extraordinaryissue/entry/why-i-love-mumbai And to think I posted this photo on Instagram just yesterday... When did my city go to hell? Or rather become hell. RIP, Bombay. RIP, Mumbai.

23 days into the fifth month of the year, and I'm wondering where did the days go. And I also realise that I haven't blogged at all this May. Largely, I've been busy with domestic duties and a few social engagements. You'd be surprised to see how much housework can take out of you! May - when flowers explode with colour! In other news, we had a really wonderful writing class at MCubed Library a few weeks ago. And you know what? I discovered that I could write a bit of fiction (meaning something that didn't get inspired by my own life experiences). And that really thrilled me no end. I'm feeling horrible, though, for not doing a round-up of that and the previous meet-up of DD's Travel Writing Bus. Maybe I should combine the two in one post? Maybe. Fingers crossed. And then, earlier this week, a few of us dropped in at I-Bar at Bandra Reclamation (never knew it was packed with so many F&B outlets) for Music at The Big Mic - a platform fo...

Dreamt that I went back to Class 10 in school to study all over again with the same classmates in our present avatars. — vodkaholic (@vodkaholic) April 29, 2012 I rarely recall my dreams. Encouraged by @krist0ph3r who asked me to blog about the one I tweeted about (see above), here are the details:  We are seated in one of the 10th Standard classrooms of my school. No uniforms. My best friend in school, P, is also there. Strangely, I can't recall any other 'faces' or 'names' but it felt like everyone was attending. We were definitely there to study. Definitely not a reunion. P says that now with her child (a son), she's not sure how regular she'll be at class. While I, the single one, am quite enthusiastic about studying again. Suddenly, I notice my bag/books are actually missing. Even my mobile phone is not there. Thinking that I left it somewhere on the school premises, I leave the classroom. First, I go and meet Ravi - the school watchman....

My mother is an avid reader. Has always been for as long as I can remember. Her funny sitting position perched atop a chair or the sofa or even on the floor with any reading material is an enduring image in my mind. That love for the written word has probably been passed down to me genetically and I remember how we'd devour all the newspapers and magazines that were borrowed from our old Goan neighbour, Cajetan Menezes (God bless his soul!).  Uncle Cajee used to work with The Times Of India and had a free-flowing supply of not just the daily broadsheet, but also magazines like Femina and Filmfare and those amazing Indrajal Comics. As a child, I never really had access to a lot of children's books. They were far too expensive to keep buying and the only ones we "invested" in were the massive 22-volume hardbound World Book Encyclopedia series (still have the full set!) and a few books that some travelling nuns sold to us at our doorstep. Some books came by way of ...

Here's yet another one of my spur-of-the-moment projects: bookmarks !  You may recall my posts on the lovely writer's group that I've been part of recently. For that first meet in Thane, while I was burning the midnight oil over my assignment, I thought why not make something with a personal touch for everyone as a little token of my appreciation. And what could be better than bookmarks, no? Now, it was really late that night. So I didn't have much time to ponder over the look and feel of the bookmarks. I decided to make them of plain - but slightly textured - paper along with polka-dotted red ribbon to go into the punched holes. While going through my notes from the Kala Ghoda Travel Writing workshop, it made sense to jot down learnings from it on the bookmarks. They'd serve as reminders of the insight we gained and the fun we shared. See some pictures below of those bookmarks (click on them for a larger view): 1. Folded the paper sheet sharply a...

A picture postcard from the Rajasthan Royals vs Mumbai Indians match I went to last night at the Wankhede Cricket Stadium, Mumbai...   Kevon Cooper fielding close to the boundary line near our pavilion Detailed post with some more photos to follow. Watch this space. ~j~ PS: Since no cameras are allowed into the stadium, photos were clicked on the phone. Hence, low on quality.

"Here we go 'round the mulberry bush,  The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush.   Here we go 'round the mulberry bush,   So early in the morning..." And then I learned that mulberries don't grow on a bush. Ok. My first memory - and the only one till recently - of the mulberry tree is from childhood. Probably as far back as 20-25 years at least. That tree was in a neighbouring compound but its branches hung over the wall that separated its owners and one of the buildings in our colony. Behind Building No. 2 actually. Where the water tank was. Still is. We'd sit on the tank surface to play make-believe games like Teacher-Teacher and House-House (was the word repetition for effect?). And during the hot summers, we'd happily fight for the red mulberries that were within our tiny grasps. Red because we were impatient. Red because we didn't trust birds or insects or friends enough to let them survive to be purpley-black-sweet. Along with the ti...