tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-41357636952540730162024-02-20T06:04:41.523-08:00Girl Who Believed In AngelsGirl Who Believed In Angelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02646930411942183377noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4135763695254073016.post-62970107346854694552011-12-22T00:16:00.000-08:002012-01-24T22:46:14.542-08:00Who Will Bell The C-A-T<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I took a long break, didn't I?<br />
Was out on a a WILD-GOOSE Chase<br />
I was following my dream, it did not work out so well. Anyways, show must go on, and it does. <br />
<br />
I'll be out travelling the next 2 weeks. I'll be visiting Niha, a few of my other friends, my relatives and of course my in-laws and my parents. I hope to have some fun! <br />
<br />
All of you have a wonderful X'mas.</div>Girl Who Believed In Angelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02646930411942183377noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4135763695254073016.post-62401139521222733062011-08-28T20:51:00.000-07:002011-08-28T21:01:38.488-07:00My experience with the truth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div closure_uid_jspe5n="210">Jan 2 2011, the day I was officially engaged, from the very moment there was one person who was constantly worried - my mother. She tried her best to instill in me the same fear, every bit of it. She preached to me the need of being more mature, more responsible and more patient - day and night. I think it would be a wise idea to introduce a few characters, before I jump into the scene. My mom (Lead role), My sister (supporting - none of was sure as to who she is supporting), My brother, My dad (silent listener) and me.</div><br />
<br />
Jan 3rd 2011 - 11:00 AM<br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="211"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="212">Mom: Please wake up! It's 11 already.</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="308"><br />
</div>Me: Please Ma, just 15 more mins.<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="213">Mom: It's a shame girl. Is this the time a girl your age should wake up? When are you going to get responsible? You are getting married in 2 weeks. Are you planning to wake up at 11, when you are at your in-law's? <em><span style="color: black;">...<span closure_uid_jspe5n="298" style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">(never ends). she walks out</span></span></em></div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="215"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="306"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">could have been 10 mins after this conversation...</span></div><br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="216">My bro: Could you please wake up? Please! I am trying to watch a show here. Ma, goes on and on and on. She doesn't let me hear it. She might stop if you get up.</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="217"><br />
</div>Me: Get out! Close the door behind your back.<br />
<br />
My bro: Mom is right, you are a peace of work.<br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="297"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="218"><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="144">Me: Which part of the word GET OUT....<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"> </span><em closure_uid_jspe5n="295"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">(I heard the door close)...</span></em>did you not understand <em><span closure_uid_jspe5n="309" style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">(I screamed out at him).</span></em></div></div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="310"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="311"><span style="color: black;">I tried to sleep again, but the drama was too much, it took away my desire to sleep.</span> </div><br />
<div closure_uid_xjf2l8="108">I woke up and sat on the bed for a minute or two and walked into the living room. My dad was sitting there reading newspaper. He smiled. I greeted him "Good Morn". He looked at the clock and then looked at me. Not a word, but I got the message. 25 years together, I wonder why mom couldn't learn the technique from him.can't she see the benefits? </div><br />
I walked into the kitchen. Mom didn't speak, and that was freaking me out!<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="315">Me: Mom!</div><br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="220"><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="139"><em><span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">No response</span></em></div></div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="221"><br />
</div>Me: I am hungry.<br />
<br />
Mom: Have your breakfast quickly, you are cooking lunch today.<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="222"><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="137">Me: What? I can't cook. <em><span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">(I have had nothing to contribute to our kitchen, the only time I remember this part of the house is when I am hungry)</span></em></div></div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="224"><br />
</div>Mom:In that case you get nothing to eat.<br />
<br />
Me: This is so barbaric.<br />
<br />
My sis: She is right. What are you gonna do when you reach his place. What you guys gonna eat? It's gonna be a shame if you say, you can't cook.<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="225">Me: Don't start. </div><br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="226">My sis: What about me, do I get something to eat?<em> she asked mom</em></div><br />
Mom: You help her, and start learning now, don't have to wait till we fix your marriage.<br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="227"><br />
</div>Sis: No no no nooooooo.....<br />
<br />
Mom: Why not? Why are you girls so hesitant about cooking?<br />
<br />
Sis: Mom, don't worry about me, I have decided that I am not getting married.<br />
<br />
Mom: Huh!<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="228">Me: Why are you so worried about us cooking? Cooking ain't rocket science. We'll learn. It will just happen. Besides, we have google, google is the new bible. I can browse all recipes.</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="229"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="230">Mom: Well, I like to see that happen today.... If you please.<em> <span style="color: black;">(sarcasm)</span></em></div><br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="316">Sis: Mom, she shouldn't be worried about cooking now<span closure_uid_jspe5n="317" style="color: black;">... (I told you! she supports everyone)</span></div><br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="236">Me: Yeah, I should be worried about my makeup, my gown, my hair do, jewelry.......oh!</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="318"><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="131"><em closure_uid_jspe5n="238"><span closure_uid_xjf2l8="132" style="color: black;"><span closure_uid_xjf2l8="136" style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">We went on and on and on...it came to a point where we couldn't figure out who is talking to whom, and who is taking whose side. We became little too noisy I guess.</span> </span></em></div></div><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="135"><br />
</div>Bro: Who said nothing is impossible?<br />
<br />
Sis: Hitler.<br />
<br />
Bro: I wasn't expecting an answer! Anyways, ask him to try watching TV while there are 3 uncivilized women in the house. <br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="319"><br />
</div>Mom: You worried about watching TV? I am worried about her future.<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="239"><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="125"><em closure_uid_jspe5n="240"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">she said pointing at me. what? what does she mean? cooking is my future?</span></em></div></div><br />
Bro: What 'bout my future? I am trying to listen to cricket commendatory. That's my future. I want to be a cricket commentator.<br />
<br />
Me: Since when? Is that a future? (to be honest I did not care a darn about what his ambitions are- at least at that point, My idea was to channelize her fear, worry and the rest onto him). Ma, did you hear that?<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="241">Mom: Are you serious? I want you to be an engineer. Is this the reason why you are scoring so low for your exams? <em><span closure_uid_xjf2l8="122" style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Mom, turned to talk to my brother</span></em></div><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="120"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="242"><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="121"><em closure_uid_jspe5n="243"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I looked at my sister and smiled victoriously, I signalled her to scoot.</span> </em></div></div><br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="244">Sis: Mom, Can't you see this? Dhi is trying to divert your attention.</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="245"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="246"><em closure_uid_jspe5n="248"><span closure_uid_xjf2l8="109" style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Did you just hear that? This is what happens when you have twins at home. They stand united, Always, AAAAlways. To add to that, my sis is the greatest flip flopper the world has ever seen.</span></em></div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="247"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span></div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="247"><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="110"><em closure_uid_jspe5n="323"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">My dad came in to the scene. He follows the Japanese 'Just in Time' principle.</span> </em></div></div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="322"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="251">Dad: Girls, get back to your room. </div><br />
Dhi, call your friends and let me know how many rooms need to be booked. He told me.<br />
<br />
Go watch TV he told my brother.<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="252">Why do you want them to cook, we have enough left from the engagement function. She'll learn. She knows everything. She is just trying to enjoy the last few days at home. Let her. Let her worry about the gown, make up, hair and all....</div><br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="253"><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="145"><em><span closure_uid_jspe5n="324" style="color: black; font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I heard him from my room. Didn't hear any response from my mom. From my experience I can say, she is not all that happy.</span></em></div></div><br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="255"><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="146">Later at night I went through the refrigerator to see what raw materials I have at my disposal, came back and googled for recipes. I woke up early (relatively) the next day, Mom wasn't home, she had gone to the church. I started cooking. I had the recipe from google, all ingredients from the refrigerator and moral support from my sister. I managed to do it before mom was back. As soon as she reached I dragged her into the kitchen and made her taste my dish. I saw tears rolling up in her eyes.</div></div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="265"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="254">Me: Oh! don't be a bollywood Ma. I know you are happy, now, don't cry. </div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="136"><br />
</div>Mom: Can't help it.<br />
<div closure_uid_xjf2l8="147"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_jspe5n="120">Me: Ma.</div><br />
<div closure_uid_jspe5n="203"><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="148">Mom: Those are not tears of happiness. Your dish is to spicy that it made my eyes watery.</div><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="148"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_xjf2l8="148"><span style="color: black; font-size: large;">DUH!</span></div></div></div>Girl Who Believed In Angelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02646930411942183377noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4135763695254073016.post-66714416876330683292011-08-24T03:37:00.000-07:002011-08-24T03:37:01.737-07:00My Conversation With A Seven Year Old<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Part 2<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_w9a1xi="142">Niha, my friend's seven year old daughter. She was the sweetest little thing I have ever seen. Her hair neatly tied into a pony tail, she wore a denim shorts and a white T. I asked her few questions about her school, teachers, friends and a lot more. She answered all my questions, all along I was wondering <em>'How on the hell could she be a pain in the a**'? </em>like her mother hinted.</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="142"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="143">Me: Are you hungry? Let's have lunch?</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="176">7 year old: Alright, what have you got?</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="172">Me: You'll see. (I smiled)</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="124"><span closure_uid_w9a1xi="173" style="color: #38761d;"><strong>7 year old: I better like what I see.</strong> <span style="color: black;">(S</span></span><span style="color: black;">he frowned)</span></div>-----------------------------------------<br />
<br />
7 year old: Carrots? Yuck!<br />
<div closure_uid_w9a1xi="136">Me: You don't like them? They are good.</div>7 year old: phew!<br />
<div closure_uid_w9a1xi="133">Me: You'll have beautiful eyes if you eat carrots. Havn't you seen the rabbit's?</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="133">(My attempt to make her eat)</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="137"><span style="color: #38761d;">7 year old: That's so funny. Do I look like a stupid?</span></div>Me: Kids like carrots, Kids like their food colorful.<br />
<div closure_uid_w9a1xi="134"><b><span style="color: #38761d;">7 year old: I am the kid here, you think you know better?</span></b></div>----------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Me: Do you like Maggi?<br />
7 year old: Nope.<br />
Me: Can I make a peanut butter sandwich for you?<br />
7 year old: Nope.<br />
Me: What do you want?<br />
7 year old: Watch TV! <i>(her eyes still glued to the TV)</i><br />
<div closure_uid_w9a1xi="140">Me: To eat?</div>7 year old: Nothing.<br />
I raised my voice hoping she would eat.<br />
<div closure_uid_w9a1xi="139"><b><span style="color: #38761d;">7 year old: Why do all women think that screaming would solve all their problems?</span></b></div>Me: Who told you that? Your dad? (fortunately or unfortunately, he is my friend too)<br />
7 year old: I can see it for myself, mom does it, Grandma does it, now Dhi, you do it as well.<br />
<div closure_uid_w9a1xi="157">(she is smart if she observed that, isn't she?)</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="157"><br />
</div>I didn't know what to say.<br />
<div closure_uid_w9a1xi="171">Me: Come lets go out and eat.</div>7 year old: Do I get to decide, where?<br />
Me: Nope<br />
7 year old: When do I get to decide things?<br />
Me: Wait another 10 years.<br />
7 year old: That's too long<br />
Me: Tell me about it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div closure_uid_w9a1xi="159">I took her to EFC knowing she would like it there, I was right, she ate without complaining and a smile on her face. On our way back I took her shopping for her birthay gift that I owed her. She bought 2 puzzle books. We had fun and gradually the tension between us seemed to be fading. </div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="159"><br />
</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="159">Later over the phone.</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="159">My friend: How was it? Was she any trouble.</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="159">Me: Not very.</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="159">My friend: No tell me, very frankly.</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="159">Me: What, You didn't leave her with me for character analysis. Did you?</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="159">She wasn't very satisfied with my answer.</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="159">Me: I am guessing that, she is gonna grow into a very smart, intelligent and pretty woman, but with a lot of attitude issues.</div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="168">My Friend: I know, I get scared sometimes. I guess, I am a bad mother. How am I gonna fix her? </div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="168">Me: Don't worry about fixing her, she is not faulty. She just need some guidance, Mom is gonna come and stay with you guys right? She will get what she needs, she'll be fine. </div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="168"> </div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="168">I happened to talk to Niha few days back over the phone, I can already see (hear) the difference. </div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="168">Grandparents ROCK! </div><div closure_uid_w9a1xi="159"><br />
</div></div>Girl Who Believed In Angelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02646930411942183377noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4135763695254073016.post-30832002168436517492011-08-19T20:20:00.000-07:002011-08-19T20:20:14.590-07:00My Conversation With A Seven Year Old<b>Part 1<br />
</b><br />
</br>It was a perfect tuesday, my husband had left for work and there I was peacefully reading the days newspaper. I got a call on my phone (quite unusual for this time of the day). To my surprise it was my long time friend. We kinda share a symbiotic relationship.<br />
Me: hello<br />
My Friend: Kya haal hai?<br />
Me: Huh?<br />
My Friend: Forget it! I need a small favour.<br />
Me: Sure U do!<br />
My Friend: Mom is at the hospital, Davis (her husband) is not around. I need to get to the hospital. I don't want to take Niha (her daughter) with me. U know she can really be a pain in the A** at times. Can you baby-sit her?<br />
Me: What? Is she around you? U can't use words like that in front of a six year old.<br />
My Friend: Seven<br />
Me: Huh?<br />
My Friend: She is seven, not six. She turned six last week. Niha was upset that u did not wish her.<br />
Me: Oh! I totally forgot.<br />
(Isn't my friend smart, not only did she divert my question and to be followed advisory notes on how to bring up a child, she managed to make me feel guilty about not wishing her kid. I do have to baby-sit Niha now)<br />
<br />
To be continued...Girl Who Believed In Angelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02646930411942183377noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4135763695254073016.post-78124479947591452002011-08-19T02:13:00.000-07:002011-08-19T02:35:02.012-07:00Back AgainBack again... this time for good (I hope).
<br />When I logged in,the very first glance, I knew my page needs some clean up. And I wanted it fast. So, I deleted all the old posts :). Things have changed a lot, new place, new people, new ways ...
<br />
<br />1. I resigned (yup, unemployed!)
<br />
<br />2. I am back in India, staying happily and merrily with my husband (Isn't that just lovely?)
<br />
<br />3. Decided to go back to college and get an MBA degree (I still have doubts about the whole endeavour, But this time I have nothing to loose :)).Girl Who Believed In Angelshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02646930411942183377noreply@blogger.com2