Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The Falcon cannot hear the falconer
Things fall apart, the center cannot hold.... said W B Yeats (a famous footballer :-p). That sort of explains how I feel this moment. Going to London for a day gives me the creeps (Correction London gives me the creeps). But getting my visa sorted made this impromptu trip to London inevitable. Just because I mention it in a lighthearted manner, London doesnt come closer mind you. I have to catch a disgustingly early flight (for which I spent my children's inheritance) from Belfast International to London Gatwick (I think this is definitely cheating, Belfast International being some 2 hours away from Belfast and Gatwick being in a totally different corner of the world), figure out a way to get to Croydon and then find the home office. So here I am in total anticipation of a treasure hunt which I know that I will hate. I think I will edit it when I come back....

Penury

Till date I kept this blog a la Gili... which I would describe as funny, sarcastic, light reading material. I do not want to alter my style, but this piece is an attempt to critically analyse my financial situation. My bank balance this moment is £ 3. I dont get paid till 22nd of December. I am trying to get my visa extended, and silly me, I forgot about the holidays. Honestly, I dont know if I will reach home in January. I thought Penury was a word which shouldnt be used in ordinary conversation (well, there are a list of such words, I call it the Tosh list). But I cant think of any other good words... any suggestions friend?? Let me try and define my biggest problem now. A bill. For £300. No, correction. A shame. Having asked daddy for the money.

That, inspite of wearing my contacts the wrong way (and hence being blind in one eye and having a headache on the other side) , inspite of being hungry the whole day, inspite of having to work tonight till tomorrow morning, is killing me. (What Tosh. This is really not what I wanted to write. And I understand that the style is horrible.) Its just a nagging reminder that I have to find a proper job. They are not very easy to come by, especially if you are a person who dreams about the creative director coming down to kiss you awake some day (And make you his copywriting princess and let you work happily ever after.) I listen around on my way to the bank to get an overdraft. I hear the same story... Hopefully the money will be there on time. So....

If you are a creative director, I will email you my address... kiss me awake some day.
If you are a stranger, I am not a pathetic person, although this blog is pathetic.
And if you are a friend, I am dying to be back, but I dont know when...

Hopefully the money will be there on time.

What Plans?

To my dearest friends who have decided to ask me the question "what are your plans?" when I land in Cochin. DONT! I dont have any plans as yet, owing to the unfortunate experience of having done (my English has gone with the wind Shais!!!) something I actually loved in the inception of my career, ie advertising (As much fun as you can have with your clothes on), I am terminally incapable of setting my posterior in locomotion to search for a suitable career. Current plan includes the return to Belfast and bartending. (I quit the job at the restaurant, now its a bar... talk about career progression). On second thoughts, I like bartending a little better than advertising. I can actually sell stuff by smiling at people unlike the $£%$£% clients who dint buy it (my smile I mean). Besides, I tend to ramble these days and have pickled my brain to a great degree, hence I have abandoned hopes of even getting the job I had once upon a time (plus my senior will break my leg if I go back!!). So if you need to know my plans (PLANS I said, my dad called me a tramp when I told him, you cant get better with comments so here I go).

February - Come back to Belfast, search for an advertising job while bartending. a) I can get a job or b) I cant get a job.

a) Work both jobs and save as much as I possibly can.

b) Keep trying for a year. Two things will happen at the end of a year. a) I get a job or b) I still dont get a job.

a) Stay on for another year, save more money, spend every penny on a euro(trash)trip, go home, get married. (We will not get into a) There will be people to get married to this girl b) There wont be people to get married to this girl.)

b) Go back home and search for employment in the Indian metros, call Europe the goood old days...

Any more questions?

The Spanish Wave

After a long time, a holiday. Not that I am working a serious job, but things were busy at the restaurant and I went on a holiday to the mainland. So the highlight of my existance these days - a spanish class. Thursdays 11:30 to 1:30. Ours is a class of 20 (formerly 30, many dropped out!). The oldest person in the class is 85, the youngest is me. Most of them are marginally older than my granma.

Do you remember the way you learned how to speak the English language? I mean the structural construction of a language? I dont remember the beginnings, but I sure did have a beginning. This Spanish course is on the discovery track. The aim is to discover at what exact point you learn how to speak (communicate) in a language. The method, unfortunately, devised by my dearest Spanish teacher Encarnita is not what I intended to experiment with. The curriculum is tourist - real estate agent friendly and the pace is excruciatingly slow. But then, it is all in good spirit, so why not?

The first class - I am confident that I will manage it well. I arrive 20 minutes early in the beginners enthu (My dad used to call this characteristic feature of mine 'Aarambha Shooratham'). I walk in into a class of 12 people and am greeted with reverence. Puzzled, yet not shaken, I take a seat near the board (ever the diligent student... ahem... owing to the fact that I am partially blind) and wait for classes to begin. After 10 minutes, somebody walks in in search of the teacher and 24 eyes turn towards me. Hahha big mistake - I cant speak Spanish, I am Indian (Pattiche!!!). We are asked to move as the class is in some other room. After 3 moves, we reach the right class at 12 45. We begin lessons. First lesson - como se llama? Me llamo Gitanjali. Second lesson - como se deletrea su nombre? (Who named me Gitanjali?) ge-e-te-aa-enne-hota-aa-elle-e. (People are staring at me at this point).

After a month, we have learned to spell our address, tell our date of birth, marital status (Estoy solo), say cheers (Salud!), introduce another person, ask for a drink (cerveja, vino, gintonic) and ask for the bill (la cuenta por favor). I love the way its progressing.

Excuse me Guys, PMS again!!!

Legal Disclaimer: Anybody who knows me will also know that I have hundreds of male friends and I love them to bits. If these blogs irritate you, excuse me, I am just being a bad girl. And well, I can always blame it on PMS!!! Take it with a pinch of salt and oodles of good humor!

Ten different types of Men: (Mixed Caricatures of different men I have known)

1) The Poet-Rascal-Clown: The kind of person I would call a good friend. Generally quiet, with excellent literary skills and a taste for poetry. Quick witted, extremely intelligent in the quirkiest way. Funny in the weirdest possible way. Loves to travel - even if that means taking a boat to a random place. From time to time, makes you wonder if its just friendship (Like a time when you both happened to be in a quiet place with a door and there was electricity in the air)...and yet, you dont want to spoil it because you know that you may loose a good friend (from personal experience). Generally sports wacky looks - shaved head/long hair, wisps of facial hair, bandana/ assortment of body ornaments, piercings.

2) The David Hasselhoff: Tall, Blonde and Extremely gorgeous with a weakness for Olive skin and beach body. Generally has a bad case of Foot-in-the-mouth disease. Tends to give you serious doubts - like the time he hugs his best mate, reads the Glamour Magazine and wears a pink T-shirt to the house party AND looks ahem, Good in it!!!!! Spells 'Relationship' 'p-h-o-b-i-a'. Known among his friends for his propensity to court 16 year olds.

3) The Geek: The one who is the a) Doctor b) Chartered Accountant or c) Civil Engineer. Talks about his a) adventures in the labour room (GULP!) b) inability to understand the need for music in life or c) dream house which he intends to share with you-know-who (Jeeey-sus!!). Will generally tell you that he 'always had the first rank' and 'doesn't like being second'. Generally has the worst dress sense in the world. Is usually rich, the only reason to go out with him twice. And obviously, the fact that he wouldn't notice much if you keep nodding from time to time while dreaming about no 2.

4) The boy next door: The first 'man' you fell in 'love' with. You still keep in touch with him, but situations have become awkward. He grew up to be a decent guy who would love you to bits if only you would give him a chance. And you grew up to be the b*tch who wants 'adventure'. The person you call after a bad domestic/ severe bout of PMS/ too much alcohol. The one you think about whenever you are lonely and pathetic. And do you learn not to hurt the kind? Nien, nyet, nada!!

5) The Rapunzel: The laziest bum in the world who sports long hair because the barber is down the road and wouldn't come to him on a white horse. Is generally intelligent, but you tend to wonder if there are cobwebs in his attic. You have offered to wash his hair because he wouldn't do it. Generally survives with the help of an idiotic, blonde, female slave ( mother /sister /girlfriend) who sends money, food and advice free of cost.

6) The firang: The guy who doesn't speak any of the languages you speak and yet fancies you. Is choooo chweet, generally works in the coffee shop/sandwich bar and makes it his responsibility to feed you well. Cracks you up when he stares intently into your eyes and asks 'cucumber?' with a strong Eastern European/ Italian accent. You make his day by thanking him in his own language (Polish: (Excuse the extra stuff under the 'e')Dziekuje, Italain: Grazie) and adding his name (refer lapel for the badge and the name).

7) The best friend: The one you did not complicate things with (kudos to you girl!!). Sends you birthday cards and friendship day cards and deliberately forgets the stamp on them!!! The one you grew up with. He calls you for the shopping trip in search of the perfect jewellery for his girlfriend and makes you pay for your own milkshake. Comes to you to cry after the girl has left, you tell him that all girls including you are b*tches but he says you are different! And you love him to bits and cry because you miss him when you write this blog.

8) The Boss: Is generally twice your age, brags that he would have had a child your age if he planted the right 'seeds' at the right 'place' (Too subtle!!!). Fancies you, and you fancy him too... for all the wrong reasons (Help!! I am Bridget Jones). You generally end up realising that you were his midlife crisis... and yet, you 'miss' him, and call him to say hai. And ya, he generally is the one who introduced Alcohol/Cigarettes/Weed in your life.

9) The Stranger: The daredevil who asked for your phone number at an interview/ complimented you on your intelligence rather than your looks/shared a bottle of champagne with you simply because he wanted 'someone to share it with'. On those weepy days, He is the reason which stops you from slitting your wrists (sigh!! there are men who find me attractive, let me not kill myself). The memories of enigma, the cheer factor which keeps you going 24-7.

10) The One: HAHAHA!!!! Not yet, ladies and gentlemen!!!

Coming to Belfast

I guess my previous post was a wee bit hard on the male population. Being an avid critic of the lack of humor sense, it wouldnt be fair if I did not laugh about myself. Here is an attempt to tell you what I was like precisely 9 months back and what I am right now...

September 20th, 2005

Gitanjali Menon, a tough looking, proud idiot reached Cochin International airport en familie. Dint shed a tear even as mommy weeped and daddy fought back tears. 45 minutes and voila, Srilanka. Spent the night with strangers, good fun, went for a swim in my pants and t-shirt (was too shy to take anything off!!). Had fine wine, courtesy, a couple who were celebrating the end of their honeymoon. In a way, I celebrated my independence too... toasted my first glass of wine, gripping it like a coffee mug.

September 22nd, 2005 (I dont remember the 21st, Jet lagged, loooooong flight from Colombo to Heathrow)

Early morning, woke up drenched in tears. I have never been away from home in my entire life!! Realised that the bed tea requires you to go down and put the kettle on. Also realised that every single person in the world did not speak English. Started a conversation with Francesca, the Italian doll... she stopped with 'hello, how are you? scusi, non talk english'.

Fast Forward...June 29th, 2006....
Honest list of things I learned and will never learn
1) Gitanjali is probably one of the longest and most difficult first names for a European... Hence call yourself Gili (with different versions for different countries, including the Japanese Geri) or Alice (to call the taxi service).
2) Tea with milk is a big no no anywhere else in EU other than UK... drink it like that and you get strange looks and comments (Alex, French) "Gilee (one of my various names) drinks shit-culoured (the french way to say coloured) tea (vomits)"
3) People with whom you cannot talk in the beginning may end up being your best friends.
4) Do not call Jelly that in front of an American; he will correct you and make you call it Jell-O, even if you start talking about branding and its influence.
5) Use cutlery as much as possible, the moment you dig in with your hands, get ready to explain the customs and mores in your country (Can somebody explain how to eat Naan (Naan bread as I call it now) with a fork and knife? I will never learn!!).
6) Whenever you wear a bindi, you will have to explain why you are doing it (Decoration was boring, so I am more creative these days. One of my explanations included the ancient practice of practising archery on your wife!).
7) Hairdressing is one of the best professions in the world (Wish I did a course back home!!).
8) The most polite person I have met in my life is a Pakistani!!!
9) Alcohol has to be enjoyed responsibly. Smoking has to be avoided at all costs, especially since its mad expensive here.
10) Treat every day as a learning experience - you do screw up at times (Recently, I poured mint chutney over a customer's leather jacket) and make a total jughead out of yourself at other times... (My boss asked me a couple of questions about a file which I had supposedly gone through, bullshitted my way through them, but ultimately he found me searching for the very file in his PA's office!! Such is life...) Live and learn....

Well, Blogging. Why dint I think of this before? I know, dint have much to write. I think I have something to write about now, and hence this post.

I was going through a friend's profile on Orkut, came across a link. There was a video of this amazing American dude doing a spoof on Bollywood. He was dancing to the tune of Pyar kiya to nibhana... Brilliant maaan. And there were some 100 indo-pakis bad mouthing him and his cheek to dare such a thing. I was pissed, come on, who wouldnt be if people act as if they dont have any humor sense?

I then visited paagalguy.com and read this article on what NOT to do for an interview. It was hilarious and well written. Full credit to the person who wrote it. Again, there were blokes asking whether it 'benefitted' anyone!!!

Whats wrong with Indian men (and women)? Have you killed your sense of humor with CAT? Or have you sold your brains to Sharukh?

If you cant laugh at yourself, its not worth living people. Its a short life. My friend published this blog on why Indian men are desperate to get a decent girl. My answer is 'You have nooooo humor sense, work on it please'. Go ahead, lets start with Malayala Manorama weekly. I hope they still have a PJ page which Srinivasan (a great Malayalam screenplay writer, rather poor actor) utilises in 'Thalayanamanthram' (or was it 'vadakkunokkiyanthram'?). Reader's Digest certainly has humor pages. Go online. Do something serious.

Now, if you intend to copy-paste this blog and correct my grammar/spelling/syntax/whatever, I tell you, you are hopeless. Contact Chucky (refer my Orkut profile) for IMMEDIATE surgery.