The Other Side of Life

I laughed when I saw the horror movie Scream 2. And it seems, I now have a good reason why. Back when television content was not available at a click of a button, at your whims and fancies, when there was no Google to answer all your questions, the biggest change in our lives was the introduction of cable television. And t he cable TV guide, of course. Every month, when the cable guy came for the cheque, he would drop a cable guide, with reams of pages full of lists of television programs, sorted by time, in a really small print. It required skill to get through that. And I thought I had it. One fine afternoon in March, right after school exams got over and we got the only vacation in the year, when there was no homework, tests or things to do, I decided to watch a movie. I poured over the TV Guide for an hour, trying to decide what to watch.  I pushed my pudgy finger along rows of data, trying to find just the right thing to watch. After much mental debate, I lan...

So in a population of more than a Billion people, Airtel has found me my alter-ego. That's right.  It started out quite innocently. Around an year back, when I moved to Bangalore and got a new number, I received a call from an unknown number. Caller: Hello, is this Monjori? Me: Sorry, wrong number. Who pays attention to such a call! Or calls. 1 per day. 2 per day. 5 per day? Then you start thinking. Especially when what followed, happens. Around the time when weather gets fabulous in Bangalore and schools reopen after winter break, one morning at 7 am, when I had barely even acknowledged  my alarm, the phone rang.  Me (sleepy and confused): Hello? Caller: Madam, bus jaa raha hai. Bachcho ko bhejo nai toh 1st day school miss ho jayega Me (awake and alarmed and immediately slapping Sherlock awake, "What the hell? We have kids?): Bhaiya, mere koi bachche nai hai. Caller: Arrey Madam. First day, why joke? Please send children. Bus leaving. Me (hanging ...

I don't think we stress enough on change. Everything around us changes at breakneck speeds and we refuse to go along. Hang on by the skin of our teeth. Take for instance, how we entertain our kids. Story-telling. No harm, really. But the same old stories? I mean, everything that sets up contexts for these stories has changed. Then why expect kids to relate to the "Once Upon a Time" stories. Fear not. Yours Truly is on the case, as always.  I tried to modernize some of the classic moral stories, for our future generations. For your perusal wonly, this: 1. The Classic Story About Unity Original Story:  Once upon a time, there was an old man, who had three sons. All three would always quarrel amongst themselves. When the old man fell sick, he was very worried that his sons would continue fighting after he died. So, he called them to his bed and gave each of them a stick. He told them to try and break the stick. Pooh. Very simple. In one attempt, ...

Kids, Gather around, for I have a tale to tell. A tale of bygone days when phones were dumb, not smart. When only one family member had an email address, and that too on, *shudder*, Hotmail. This tale is of the days of yore; before I had won $250,000,000.00 from my dear African friend who mailed me to inform me about this exciting development. This tale is of the days before I was lucky enough to win the BBC Lottery of $1,000,000,000.00, every single day for 1 whole month. This was even before my Sheikh friend had approached me with "an interesting business proposal", which made me "richer by $799,000,000." In those days, the atmosphere was fired up with news about the new millennium dawning upon us. It was the December of 1999. 30th December, to be precise. Winter vacations were upon us and the sole purpose of life was the warmth that came from snuggling into the razai and munching peanuts. The air was rife with excitement about Y2K. For us kids, it didn't...

I was always a geek in school. Teacher's pet. My favorite teacher could have told me that the earth was flat and that Microsoft does no evil, I would have fought against the world to uphold her statements. My Dad often teased me that my answers for most questions began with, "My teacher said..." And I would close my ears and run away before anyone could counter what Ma'am said. But I loved my teachers. I really did. Except when I was in Kindergarten. KG-D. I remember distinctly. I had passed Nursery with flying colors (and alphabets and fruits and whatever it is I was asked to name) and found myself in KG-D. The new class-teacher entered and I started crying. She looked scary to me, just because she was fat! I would cry every morning while taking the bus, "I don't want fat mam!". But relief came when the Nursery teacher would come, sit with me, make sure I was engrossed in coloring and then leave silently. I would have never passed KG had it not be...

Statement 1: I love good food. Statement 2: I love watching food shows on TV. Statement 3: I love eating. Statement 4: I love Nigella and her gorgeous bites. Pray, which of these above statements points to the conclusion that I love cooking? None, in my opinion. Which explains why God decided to play a cruel joke on me, by putting me in charge of the kitchen for two whole months. Two whole months. I have, or rather my family has, come to terms with this twist of fate and has left me to my whims and fancies. While all that is cool, I learn, as usual, the hard way, that cooking is no easy task. No. It is not easy, especially when you have an audience to please, and particularly when the audience is your doting Dad.  Anyone who gives me the "You are 23, will get married soon and manage the whole household" dialogue gets a Parantha made by me. (You have no idea what you just asked for. Believe me.)  I know. This happens the first time you handle the kitchen. So its okay. But...

The low hanging trees were always in demand. As Raji rushed for the nearest one, with her little brother in her tow, she cast a quick glance at the tree to survey the bounty. It was laden with fresh guavas, alright! Pumped, she put her foot on the lowest branch and pulled herself up. Raji had barely put her foot on the next branch, when she felt a tug on her skirt. Feeling a nudge of irritation, she peered down at her four year old brother. "What is it, Appu?" "Where's my guava?" he demanded. "Will you at least wait while I climb up?" She resumed her climb up carefully, so as not to tear her skirt. The trick was to choose the right branches.She had barely moved up one level, when she felt a tug again. She looked around for the nearest ripe guava and hurled it before Appu could speak.She heard his chuckles of delight as he dug into large juicy bites. That settled, she ensconced in a comfortable branch, and began her feast of the large, ripe guavas. S...