deviousways

When C, my best friend and husband, and I were just another 'couple' people in office gossiped about, we'd walk and walk and walk -- down Cubbon road to that place in Manipal Centre which used to make decent dosas (it isn't there anymore), to M Gs, to sit inside Lakeview where C would grandly offer me a rose from one of the tables (much to the ire of the waiters there!) and down Infantry road, past Chandrika, to my PG. It used to be so much fun. Now, we walk around Ulsoor Lake, with our four and a half month old. One day, we went towards the pier. Did you know it's Ulsoor's unofficial 'kissingate' area? Couples flock there (there's no other word for it), to stand and tongue each other. Walking past two rows of men and women (guys shielding the girls, as usual, with some men even holding helmets in one hand!), all I could think was, "how unromantic". It's dark as hell, the water stinks and besides, is full of garbage, anyway. Plus, the...

Read the other day about an American woman who had twins. Nothing exceptional in that, except that she has a condition called uterus didelphys, a rare congenital phenomenon where the uterus comprises not one, but two cavities or two separate uteruses. Basically, the babies grew in the two uterii. Okay so what, you think. Well, I have two uteruses (or uterii, or whatever), too. And I just had a baby. My baby grew in my right uterus, so the left one was empty. But it kinda made way as the right one expanded over a period of nine months. So did my stomach stick out on one side? Nope. It looked like every other pregnant woman's tummy. It was only different on the inside. This uterus didelphys is a tricky thing. Doctors will tell you that conception is well nigh impossible with this condition. That you need fertility treatment, IVF, pill-popping, all the very best medical science can offer. And of course, if you also have poly cystic ovaries like I do, things look even worse. But gues...

What if God was one of us? Just a slob like one of us Just a stranger on the bus Trying to make his way home... If God was in Chennai over the weekend, he'd never have gotten into the special stadium hired for an ostentatiously grand Srinivasa Kalyana Mahotsavam pooja held on Sunday night. If he hadn't had a VIP pass, he wouldn't have gotten the prized first class tickets -- right next to the pooja pandal. If he hadn't had a tier two, three or four invitation, he wouldn't have gotten into the second, third or fourth class entrances. If, as Joan Osbourne sings, he was "just a slob like one of us", then maybe, he'd have gotten in through the "Public Entrance -- All Are Welcome" gate located approximately three kms away from the main action. Then even if he'd craned his neck and stood on somebody else's shoulders, he wouldn't have been able to see those silk-clad priests chant homas , pour the purest ghee into the sacredest fire and ...

Ever heard of "sandburs"? I haven't either. But people who throng a little samosa-and-chat-and-patties place near Cox Town, don't seem to care. It doesn't even matter to them that on the menu is also something called "North Food". Perhaps the term refers to a greasy parantha-and-pickle combo. Or to oily paneer something tikka. Whatever the secret, there's always a fairly decent crowd at "GoodFooddotcom" -- yep, that's the name of the place. It's got a bizarre location -- bang on the main road. So to even get to the joint, you have to park by the roadside, almost immediately causing a mini traffic jam. But it's no big deal, really. I've seen people do exactly that every evening. But let's be charitable. Maybe, they're intrigued by the "sandburs". Or maybe, it's the "North Food" thing.

Steinbeck said it best. Some days are born ugly. On such mornings, I know there's no coffee decoction in my filter. Because I didn't pour hot water the previous night. Because I fought with the significant other and decided it's his turn to make it, so there! On such days, when I wake up I know the milk will boil over, no matter how often I check on it. I know I'll forget at some point and then hear the ominous whoosh as the white liquid pours forth like a mini geyser, bubbling and frothing, with that horrible burned-out aroma that's difficult to get rid of, never mind how hard you rub and wipe and clean. On such days, I hang around, not wanting to do my morning jump up-and-down routine, not wanting the endorphins to kick in and make me feel better. I want to hold on to my anger, my sense of self-pity. I want to eat all the oily, fried and sweet food I can find. To hell with my healthy living programme. Maybe I want the food guilt to add to my list of grievances. S...