Tuesday, January 30, 2007


I was told that we were to attend a book reading that evening. Usually I asked questions ….sometimes just for the heck of it. But this time I didn’t not even ask the customary “What book reading?’ Just nodded my head , I suspect that my mind was elsewhere. So that was how I was at the Taj. First we barged into a book reading like two school children really late for class. Three seconds later, we realize every body else was really old, like almost everybody was sporting silvery hair. It was a reading and a small enactment of RK Narayanan. So we were in the wrong room. We rush again impenitently. I forget that at one point in my life, I read RK Narayanan avidly . In college I had won a masquerade playing a obscure character called Shanthi from Narayanan novel. How soon one forgets things.

We enter the ballroom and though we were technically late, it looked like we didn’t interrupt anything. I stared brazenly at people because this was the first time that I was seeing so many people with garish make up under one roof. Stark white patchy faces and brown throats. Atrocious antique like accessories with big , bigger and biggest stones in all hues. Clinking glasses and inane intellectual conversations. A far cry from the RK Narayanan crowd. Amidst all this was Kiran Desai obscured by photographers of all sizes. She had an easy smile and nice hair, the kind that looked natural and never had a bad hair day. Someone introduced her ….booker prize…..quote …..compliments ….ended in a flourish with a “over to Kiran”.

There stood the woman who wrote a book that won the Booker Prize. A woman who is a successful writer, a celebrity, someone who made a good photo op. Then Kiran Desai squeaked and squeaked and squeaked. She had a squeaky schoolgirl voice. I liked her instantly though I have not as yet read any of her writings. I mentally decide to pick up her “Inheritance of Loss’. An excerpt from her book later, people started asking her questions. And I think of something smart to ask. I curse myself for not reading any of her works.

She answers to someone’s question that her favourite character is Biju from her “Inheritance of Loss”. My husband’s name is Biju too. The name I openly hated as it was the name of my childhood bully too. For once in my life, it felt nice being associated with the name Biju. I also try not to look at the gravity defying cleavage of a woman sitting one seat away from me. I succeed to some extent. ( I assure you that I am straight).

I stand in the long queue waiting to get her autograph with my newly bought IOL, I tell a photographer from my office to click us. I tell her that one day I want to write a book and I hope I am half as good as her. She asks me what I was writing on. I say stupidly “nothing”.
She writes
To Namita…My warmest wishes and good luck in your writing.

And I feel good. So does a drunk socialite who makes a spectacle of herself. But I was sober.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Once upon a time or rather in the modern times, there lived a beautiful princess Kamia in the kingdom of Kannur with her grandparents. Princess Kamia’s parents loved her dearly, in fact more than their lives but they were greedy. They wanted the princess to have the best in the world, so they donned their running shoes to participate in the rat race in a polluted place called Chennai where women smoked and men displayed their beer bellies like trophies. This meant that the Princess saw less of her parents and more of her doting grand parents who took care of all her needs. They also kept a nanny to look after Kamia. But alas the nanny was a bad fairy, the one who gave nightmares to naughty children. She cast a sleeping spell on princess Kamia who became Sleeping Beauty .
Read on to find how Sleeping Beauty’s mother transformed her to princess Kamia again…..

And what happened to the nanny????
The nanny was sent to a rehabilitation center to cast sleeping spells on the likes of Lindsay Lohan Britney Spears and Paris Hilton so that they sleep through the night and not party and in turn make paparazzi wives happier in life.

Sleeping beauty .....




still sleeping and more of zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz and a tiny snore like a marigold's giggle

I am the proud mamma

of sleeping beauty.....

May be she will wake up with the warmth of my love or with my really scary snore...

I snored and snored in vain.....

Wake up sleeping beauty for your mamma.....

....see the love in my eyes....

she is clasping my fingers...but still asleep

May be I should kiss her to break the spell...
....finally the kiss that woke up sleepin beauty...
....and they lived happily ever after....

Thursday, January 18, 2007

My Mother’s & Mine

My feet is in tandem
With the moving train
Only it’s moving to another destination
And I am rushing to see her
I break into a run
A blur of faces
And there she is

I try to catch her eye
But she is busy
I smile at her
But she is blank
Like an untold lie
Her skin feels against mine
Soft like a feather
Pink against Brown

Her hair a mass of curls
Mine a straightened sheen
I notice the dimple in her chin
A millionth time
I waltz with her
And make a funny face

Mmma, mma , she gurges
And I am forgiven
For not holding her bottle
For missing her diaper changes
For not hugging her to sleep
For wanting to make money
For partying on Saturdays

We belong, My daughter and I

And then I see my mother ….
Mother to me
And mother to my lil one
Beaming at us.

Took a sabbatical , went home to Kamia...gawd am missin her...

Saturday, January 06, 2007


Yesterday I tried on the Avon foundation n an red lipstickwell past it’s expiry date ….n I sure looked like a man eater….Wat say?

PS: Wanna be my friend?

on a real bad make-up day....
finger chips.....
i am a vampire that likes disney bedsheets...
Guess what I had for dinner?

Monday, January 01, 2007


On New Year I would like to pay tribute to the two places that have helped me from getting a heart attack, even worse complexion n bloated stomach plus all the gross details.
So this is to the OFFICE LOO and MY HOME LOO for taking all the shit n more (literally).

It is the ideal place apart from the obvious to sneak to if you want some privacy while talking on the phone or bitching about a whole lot of people. You do female bonding . The loo also hones your skills in knowing the behavioural patterns of colleagues. For example you learn that the neat looking prim girl is not so neat after all n it’s a pleasure to use the loo after the extra fat girl. Looks sure are deceptive you learn. You learn the cheap joys of sobbing into the loo tissue, or taking refuge in the loo from a cranky senior.
You learn to be critical about yourself in the mirror. So the next time somebody tells you that you look like shit, you smile n mentally say late news, the mirror told me some time back. And when things get very hectic n you think you might just break a blood vessel, the loo beckons with open arms and gives you ten minutes (or more) of sanity. Sometimes, she even encourages your vanity with a little extra shaft of sunlight through the window n suddenly you are clicking pictures of yourself and you discover angles that can put an ftv photographer to shame. And you even end up looking kind of skinny. Love you darling loo even if people make you not exactly sweet smelling.

She sees my cranky face n a not very appealing ahem ahem every day of her life not to mention my PMS moody days n vain moments. Thank you and wishing you more patience in the coming year. (yes, I can guess you will need it).

Picture courtesy: Le Officio Loo
Le Home Loo

Model : one nut case

Occasion : New Year.

Happy New year to all and don’t take that loo for granted.

Say no to fur n yes yes yessssssssssssssss to snow white loo paper...
the latest fashion accessory ...snow white loo tissue...
preen...smile ...preen (yes even i am getting nauseated seeing the butterfly)


check out the grey beauty...

can u see the butterfly (of course) ? notice what u missed (left half of the pic....).

my head always aches on a monday morning...


Hands up...dont you dare mess with me
I am a pop singer....or rather bathroom singer