The weight of sign-offs

I think when you write someone (a personal note), the way you sign-off says a lot. Just those few words before your name at the end of a note can change the whole tone of a message.

There are some so neutral that I wonder why people bother writing them at all, like "Best", "Cheers" (I hate that one), "Regards".

Then there are those that are friendly but still pretty neutral (however better than the above): "Take care", "See you soon", "Till later", "Stay in touch", in Spain "besos" (kisses), or "abrazo"(hug).

Then there are the common but warm ones that no matter how unoriginal they are, it's just awesome when you read them at the end of a personal note: "Love", "Much love", "Lots of love", "I miss you", "Fondly", "Thinking of you", "Pxx", "Yours" -- one of my bosses when I wrote for Gridskipper used to sign off with "Yours". Coming from a boss (who I'd never met), I first thought it was weird, but then I grew to like it and it opened my relationship with him. In Spain you have ones like "amor" (love) and "con cariño" (with affection). I'm not much of a romantic but I'm a sucker for warm sign offs.

Then there are the creative ones -- which no matter what they mean, or are meant to mean -- are just awesome (well, most of them anyway). My brother signs off his emails to me "Lovelove" (I've stolen that from him and use it often too). There was a time in my life where I used to sign off "squillions of thoughts". Yeah...ugh. I think I also used to put a smiley face next to it. Super ugh, eh? (Oh do you know on my old passport my official signature has a smiley face under it? Omg. So embarrassing when I had to sign documents in the bank, or cheques, or anywhere.) Other ones like "missing you like madness"and "craving you" hit the spot but of course, they're very special sign offs.

I have a co-worker who signs off "Chaufa". Chaufa is chinese fried rice in South America, and since it sounds like "Ciao", a pretty novel way to sign off, I like it and use it often too.

Lately I've been receiving emails from somebody who always signs off differently and like nothing I've received before. "Baisers" (best kisses in French?), "Inspiration 'n colors", "Tenderness 'n flavors". Yeah...oooooooooooooooo. I'm not thinking much of it but I think creative sign-offs are awesome, the more original, the better.

Have any creative sign-offs to share?

Quote for the day

"I love the detachment of cats, their willingness to be loved but not to respond beyond a certain, very clearly defined point; no cat ever gave its entire heart to any human being."-- Bernard Levin in "On Becoming Fearless" by personal idol Arianna Huffington.

I hate cats. They're losers. And evil.

Off to Murcia this weekend. Back on Monday.
Enjoy your weekend. Don't be good ;-)

My Trip To The End Of The World

I wrote this about a trip I took over a year ago. I don't think I ever posted it anywhere, or did anything with the piece -- so thought I'd put it up here.

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There are some trips I do for the sheer ‘that would just be cool’ sake of doing them. My trip to the end of the world was one of them.

Yes, there is a place called the ‘end of the world’ or Finisterre. Located on the western most tip of Spain, it’s part of the Galician province. Apart from pilgrims who land-up there to throw their boots into the sea after doing the ‘Camino de Santiago’, it’s a secret well kept.

As you can imagine, with the name like ‘the end of the world’, the place hypes itself. Identified as the end of the world in medieval times before Columbus came and changed that, it’s hard not to still consider it just that.

So while pilgrims with worn out feet arrived to Finisterre after days of walking, I got off the bus from A Coruña, munching a Snicker.

Arriving at 2:00pm, I disembarked at the port of what seemed like an unexciting, ugly, village. A few houses, a port, lots of construction and tourists, were all I could see. Not allowing that to disappoint me, I immediately began to walk towards the lighthouse at the tip of Finisterre.

The walk is about an hour from the port; it’s along a highway which runs on the ‘Coast of Death’. The walk is pleasant with a spectacular view. You will pass a church, a cemetery where the graves look like wardrobes facing the sea, and a fresh water source where you can stop for a drink. My excitement soared when I saw the lighthouse approaching. This was it; I would be at the historic ‘end of the world’ in less than a few minutes.

And there I was.

But it was dead. The lighthouse was ugly. The view was fine, but nothing I hadn’t seen on the way there. And there was a steel boot. Fixed on a stone overlooking the coast, it represented the pilgrim’s shoe that is thrown over sea so that its owner can be redeemed of his sins.

I sat there for 5-minutes to ponder. Not inspired, all I could think about was the elaborate 6-type recycling system they had put at the ‘end of the world’.

The next bus was in an hour, I decided to catch it back to A Coruña where I would go to the captivating Torres de Hercules for a walk and an ice-cream.

On a concluding note: go to Finisterre only if you want to say that you have been ‘to the end of the world’, otherwise, don’t bother.

-End-

From a salsera to a salsero, with love

Dear Salsero,

We girls love dancing with you guys, but there are some things that we cannot bear which is why we choose to avoid dancing with you again, and you call us salsa snobs. Here are some tips that will change your luck on the dance floor:

• Cut your nails. They HURT when you hold our hands and scratch us while dancing.
  
• We don't care if you sweat, but it's a big problem if you smell. Use deodorant, carry an extra shirt, and PLEASE chew gum.
  
• Listen to the music and enjoy it while you dance with us.
  
• We don't care how many complicated steps you know. Don't experiment dance-Twister with us.
• We are more delicate than you realise. Don't treat us like rusted machinery that needs to be pulled and rammed to function. Be gentle.
  
• Try to realise when you step on our feet, and acknowledge it -- that makes it OK.
  
• Do not throw us up in the air. WE HATE THAT.
• No more than 6 spins please. And after those spins, don't let go of us -- we are slightly dizzy and may fall.
• It is fundamental you protect us from being hit and stomped on by other dancers close by. In other words, if there is limited space don't use us to make space.
  
• The first time you dance with us, keep a wee bit of personal space and don't try to shove your leg between ours. Odds are the second time we dance we will let you do that willfully. However, that does NOT mean we want to go home with you or even talk to you.
• Don't try to feel us up, we are not stupid and we will tell the rest of the girls not to dance with you the creep.
  
• Don't try to give us a lesson while you dance with us. If we want lessons we go to classes.
• Lastly, look at us when you dance.
  

Happy dancing.

Me Time Thoughts

It's been a while since I've had a lot of time to myself. Pure, selfish, alone time. It's almost been liberating in a way. Like I'm allowing myself to be in a perpetual daze as I look for my "quan". (Oh how I love that word).

I'm a very gregarious person. I love to meet new people, I love to go out, I love to be doing a million social things at a time. But these days I'm just so content being with myself. And that doesn't necessarily mean being alone all the time. I've met more people in the last few weeks than I have in ages, and even transcended into new and special levels of friendship with some. But at all times, I've very much been with myself. It's like I've entered this pensive phase that I'm reveling in, and I know that I have to revel in it to get out of it. Dare I say it's been glorious in many ways.

Madrid's calmness in August helps.

I'm also realising that midst the beauty of change, how awesome it is to have a few permanent things. They won't always be permanent, but are for the time. I refer to them as permanent because they are very deeply and strongly rooted, hence not easy to change. There's a very warm and safe feeling about those things, and now I'm taking refuge in them by reconnecting and just being.

I'm talking a completely different language today, eh? Well it's different to me too, and too darn vague for comfort. But I'm not rattled.

Gigolo?

I met him on a train to Valencia about a year and a half ago. I was given the privilege (?) to be seated next to him on the way to AND from the city.

A madrileño, 32-years old, multicoloured piercing in chin, pop-rock singer/guitarist, filmmaker, novelist, and Osho follower, he was visiting his girlfriend in Valencia. He was decent company, and we had lots to talk about. We talked and talked. After about 8 hours of conversation, of course we exchanged numbers. Turns out he also lived down the road from me. What are the odds!

Back in Madrid, he begins calling me. He calls and calls. And calls and calls. And calls and calls until the only way to stop him calling is to answer (super-pesado as you would say in Spanish). The number of calls turned me off; I would answer one in 10 calls, and I never returned the others. Of course, because I was trying to avoid him, I would often bump into him at the post office, or tobacco shop, or local bar, where I would make a million excuses for not answering his million calls. I really didn't care though.

A year of dodging his calls and bumping into him, a few months ago I ran into him with his girlfriend at the time, in the metro. We exchanged pleasantries and somehow ended up deciding to start playing tennis together.

Getting back into the game has been the best thing I've done in a while. He makes for a great tennis partner; often annoying, but overall tolerable. The tennis works. He often brings friends to watch us play. Weird, but I don't care. They all seem nice and don't interfere. He keeps trying to get me to hang out after tennis, but honestly I have no interest.

But his calls don't stop. He still calls and calls. He calls until I pick up. He speaks at a supersonic speed on the phone and I never understand what he says. I get sick of asking him to repeat himself, and after realising that he doesn't really say anything of consequence, I pretend I understand him and leave it at that. His conversations are normally about a movie he watched, tennis, his upcoming mini-vacation, and something about an "agency".

Yesterday, slightly bored, when he called I decided to listen. He was on a job on behalf of this "agency" in Alicante, in a luxury villa, in a jacuzzi, with 3 girls. I was all ears.

Me: "Who are these girls?"
Him: "Ah, some girls from the agency."
Me: "Urrr...ok."
Him: Yeah, I have to look after them and entertain them. They are really nice girls, so it's fun.
Me: "Right."
Him: "Why don't you come here for the weekend? It's a great place, lots of room. I have lots of time to chill, so yeah, come hang out."
Me: "Urrr...thanks for the invite. I will let you know if I fancy it. But didn't you say you are working?"
Him: "Well, yeah, but it's not really work you know. It's easy. And it pays well. It's helping me pay off my debts."
Me: "Cool. Well I hope the girls are hot atleast."
Him: "Yeah, they're young and pretty. In fact, you should consider being part of this agency."
Me: "Right."
Me: "I gotta go. Call me for tennis when you get back."
Him: "Cool. Have a great week."

I hang up with him and try to understand what he's just told me. And then it registers, but with doubts, of course.
Is he a male prostitute?
Is he a pimp?
Is he looking after female prostitutes, or "luxury escorts", while they're on a job?

He is a nice person. He isn't good-looking, or well-built, and is often on sedatives. He is a bit weird and moody at times but not threatening, or unpleasant. I am no one to judge him. If it works for him, good for him. I'm just happy I have a tennis buddy.

Back. Kinda.

I've been off here for a while, but only because lots has been happening. Between going to Dubai for a month, coming back to Madrid, friends visiting, and still blogging for the other blogs I'm financially committed to, my blog has taken a back step. But I want to fix that, I miss ranting on here!

A lot happened in Dubai. Lots of things shook on a personal as well as professional level. I think I'm still digesting it all, hopefully I'll be done with that stage soon, and it will all come out. (Ok, not the best metaphor but you know what I mean).

Although I'm still a bit homesick, it's great to be back in Madrid. This city just rocks. Now it's hot and everyones happy (yes, and frisky ;) that it's summer.

My next immediate goal is to get my professional life back on track. I see a few legal obstacles, but I'm working around them.

I've started Pilates. OH.MY.GOD. It's the best thing I've done since Salsa. Back to gym and tennis too -- so all this after 5 weeks of being a complete couch potato, my body is currently broken. But all good.

Oh, and I've joined the Twitterati! (aaaaaaaaaahhh SUCKED-IN!). I'm having issues writing sense in lots of 140 characters, but I guess I'll get there.

So that's a quick update on me.

I need to go get my dose of chocolate for the day.

Thoughts on "The Love Guru"

I recently wrote a post on Gadling about Hollywood and its misinterpretations of foreign cultures, with the just released movie "The Love Guru" as the main subject. It's created a bit of a hoo-haa with strong arguments on both sides...check it out here.

Being home: Clarity, bias, confusion...

...is the subject of my latest post at Vagablogging.

Better

Considering how I felt yesterday, today I´m much better. I had a wonderful evening and a warm night´s sleep, and today I´m smiling and even slightly excited now!

Thank you to all who read and commented on my last pathetic post, you guys really gave me a boost. I guess I just needed to let things out before I leave.

I have a pretty full agenda in Dubai, lots to do, and I reckon I´ll be back in Madrid before I know it! I will be blogging, so stay tuned.

Besos and abrazos!

Emotional Fog

I'm going home tomorrow for 3-weeks after 18 months of living in Madrid. I should be on an emotional high but for the last 3-4 days, I've been an emotional wreck. I don't understand why and that's just adding to feeling low.

I've been crying over nothing. Snapping at people for no reason. Getting upset at people for no reason. I've been quiet and kept to myself. I've had a perpetual headache and no appetite.

I've always considered myself a strong person, but today I'm ashamed of feeling so weak and fragile without being able to think why. The feeling seems invalid because I can't find the root. I just want to crawl into a warm shell. I'm not okay. I feel this ridiculous need of wanting to be taken care of. But nothing has happened! My life is the same!

Perhaps all my trapped emotions over the last year are now flowing out at once. Perhaps I'm subconsciously stressed about going home, about talking about my life, about talking about my future, about confronting how I feel about Dubai when I get there, about confronting how I feel about Madrid from outside it. About all the uncertainties in my life, about all the instabilities in my life.

But how can a short trip home after a long period of time trigger such a strange and strong feeling of being overwhelmed? I really don't get it.

I hope to find that warm shell on my parent's couch.

Status Report

Blogging has been scanty the last few weeks. Not only on here, but on other websites too.

Alot of distractions have not allowed me to focus much: last week of classes before summer, brother arrived from Texas yesterday, another cousin arrives tomorrow, we hang in Spain for a week and then we go to Dubai on June 4 for 3 weeks. My first time back ever since I moved to Madrid.

It kinda feels like the end of an era -- but it's not the end of anything really. I will be back in Madrid in 3-weeks and my life will resume as normal, with a fresh mind, new thoughts, new projects, new aspirations...well, that's what I hope, anyway.

So I'm a stew pot of emotions on many levels right now. I'd like to blog about them but I feel that since the emotions involve many other people and plans, and are rather profound, they are too private to share publicly. I'm more worried about the people involved reading about it than anything else, and I'm not good at writing sparsely or discreetly, so I rather not. I don't want to deal with other people reactions to my emotions -- so it's better this way.

If you've been reading this blog for a while, in the beginning I used to be more carefree about splurting out how I feel, and often found solace imagining that I'm being listened to -- even if it's by random strangers. I think it's what made my blog a joy to write, now I'm more guarded about opening up publicly -- not sure why. Perhaps that will change. Perhaps not.

I will be posting, but not as frequently. I hope you stay tuned!

Am I about to experience "reverse culture shock?"

Going home in a few weeks and I have a scrambled feelings about it...this is the subject of my latest post on Vagablogging -- check it out here.

From Argentina to India to me

Docu-Madrid (a 2-week documentary film festival) has just started and yesterday Boyfriend and I watched 5 films -- yes we totally doc-ed out! :)

My favourite was one called Fotografías, which is the autobiographical story of an Argentinean man who has an Indian mother. His mother ran away from her traditional, suppressed household to be free and see the world; she landed up marrying an Argentinean man and moving there.

Her life in India prohibited her as a women from doing anything, it represented her imprisoned life and she wanted to be as far away from it as possible, both physically and mentally -- so unfortunately while his mother was alive, he was never really exposed to India.

The movie is his quest to discover his mother's life in India, understand her legacy, and explore his Indian bloodline. His story begins in Argentina as he looks through childhood photos, speaks to an Indian guru living in Buenos Aires, and studies the life of an Hispanic author who was the first Argentinean man to go to India in 1911. He speaks to everyone who knew his mother, and befriends an Argentinean who spends most of his time in India as a tour guide.

With this background and many a told stories, he heads Madras in India, to see his mother's birthplace and reconnect with that side of his family.

The film documents the story of this Argentinean man, who because of his mixed-blood and estranged family in India, is lost about the other half of his identity. Realizing his ignorance and wanting to find a part of his identity he knows nothing about, triggers his endeavors to fill the gaps by finding his mother's side of the family, therefore finding himself in some way.

His story is beautifully told, full of emotions ranging from feelings of emptiness and confusion that lead to deep curiousity, resulting in him finding a life of his he never knew existed. He unravels his story, layer by layer, and takes you on this mysterious journey that begins in Argentina, dips deep into traditional India, and ends up back in Argentina. His discoveries give him a new family, a new understanding of his mother, and of his Indian bloodline.

Although my life story is not remotely mysterious, nor confusing, as and Indian who has lived in 5-countries over 28 years, I could relate to his identity-crisis. Not knowing enough about where you come from or where you belong, can often leave you perpetually drifting, and sometimes even hollow. You don't know what to be patriotic about, you can't relate clearly to your home-place: you know you belong there, but you are not sure what you'd do if you had to move back there...things like that.

The film made me want to go back to India and travel. I have traveled a lot of the world, but not enough of my own country, that's quite sad. It's funny how I don't feel like I belong in India, nor am I patriotic -- yet I am proud of my country, I feel Indian, and I take it for granted, yet I don't really know enough about my country, not physically, not historically. Everything in my mind is confused about my "Motherland". My only solid connection is my family there and my memories from high-school in Aurangabad -- a small town near Pune.

Anyway, I'm delving into a subject that doesn't really have a conclusion, nor does it need one. Exploring my country should be the next priority on my list of things to do -- that should take care of many things, no?

Does blogging kill?

Well, I certainly hope not.

If there is any job description you can give me, it's that of a blogger. That's what I am, that's really all I do. I've just started blogging for another site called Planet Eye, that will make it a total of 6 sites I blog for regularly (including mine).

Across all, I churn out at least 50 posts a month -- at the end of which many times I just want to scream, or pick up my laptop and throw it out the window. The latter I can't afford to do at the moment :)

But anyway, a friend sent me a link today with the subject "be careful". The link pointed to a story in the NY Times that reports a feature on the death of two prolific bloggers, and the unhealthy lifestyles of other well-known bloggers.

Of course, blogging cannot be called the cause of death but the lifestyle it warrants is unhealthy enough to cause serious mental and physical problems.

Blogging can often get the better of you. I have spent days locked in my room blogging and felt the depressing side-effects of it. It is a lonely, isolating, tedious, and often frustrating profession.

The only way to stay sane as a blogger is to not compromise on social activities, but when you get paid per post, it's hard not to just stay in and write instead -- after all you do need to pay bills.

I'm happy to say that although I do fall into that trap sometimes, I'm good at dragging myself to go out, even if it's on my own. You'll find that being away from your computer and socializing will give you small bursts of very productive time blogging. I'm out with people at least 3-4 times a week, and at least once on the weekend. I hate teaching English, but it gets me out and makes me speak to people, a good paid break from the computer screen. I play sport, run and salsa to keep me physically healthy.

So, I'm not worried about "dying as a blogger". It's probably because I'm not as addicted or obsessed with it like many others. Also, although I thoroughly enjoy blogging (probably because I do it in large but controlled doses), over this year I have realized that I cannot be a full-time blogger. I don't love my computer enough and am far too much of a social being. This article, nonetheless was an interesting read, one that every blogger will be able to relate to.

Fellow bloggers: be careful!

My story of trying to be a travel-writer...

...in case any of you are interested, I have posted my katha here.

Bacon-Chocolate Cake

Is there something wrong with me if I find this extremely appetizing?

[Via American Madness]

A blog bit of melodrama

Today I woke up nice and early, ready to work, ready to seize the day. I opened my computer and started looking at my RSS feeds and burst out crying. I'm not PMS-ing, nothing cry-worthy has happened.

I hate it when I get emotional for no good reason. It makes me more upset than the actual reason for which I may be crying. My persistent efforts to remind myself how lucky I am and how strong I am (or should be) help me not complain about anything and reinforce that I have no reason to be upset. Over the last year or so, I have been a sponge, absorbing many strenuous conversations of friends with "real" issues; issues in light of which my "issues" are so stupid.

So if I feel low I don't really let anyone know; putting things in perspective makes me feel ludicrous about my emotions. I lift myself up by realizing that compared to other people's mountain size problems, my so called problems are not even the size of an ant. So I shut them down and distract myself by taking a walk or going dancing.

I think that mindset, although most of the time holds, occasionally cracks to reveal a weak and vulnerable me, a me that I feel has no right or reason to surface, a me that I'm embarrassed to show to friends, a me that only my family will understand.

To add to that, what I think is only now rising from deep inside my subconscious is: nothing I am doing in my life really matters. Not to me, not to the people in my life, not to the world. All my time and energy is being spent unwisely; my ability to contribute, my immense capability to give, is being wasted.

It's a strange feeling of being deep and hollow at the same time. I don't like it. I don't want to talk about it. As is stands, it's frivolous and until I can add more context to it or come up with a solution, it's a pointless conversation.

All these ridiculous and uncalled for emotions have resulted in me being selfish with the strangers or acquaintances I have been meeting these days. Just like I'm selfish when I write on this blog.

It's easier to let your guard down with random people because you really don't care how they feel (you hardly know them), and they -- for some reason -- want to know how you feel. It is them whose time you are willing to take without worrying about the time you give them. How messed up is that.

I suppose, as I've written about before, sometimes you just need a cry.

Anyway, I feel better after writing this. To anyone who has bothered to read through -- thank you. Now I will get back to work.

Frivolous Cravings

The plan for 2008 was to notch-up the content of my blog. I have a few readers who I bombard with my mindless rants, so I thought it's high time I write on topics of more consequence.

The more I think of that, the more frivolous posts come to my mind, many of which I have been avoiding. With the million things I need to get my mind into, a blog with regular earth-shattering content does not seem likely -- so in the mean time I will continue with the meaningless points I regularly bring to this blog.

I'm embarrassed to say that the two things that I have not been able to get my mind off these days is Cherry Ripe and Bisto Gravy. Not hunger in Africa nor the state of street children India, but a chocolate and meat gravy have been occupying my thoughts.

For those of you who don't know what Cherry Ripe is: it's the world's best dark, cherry, coconut, and rum filled chocolate. Actually, it doesn't have rum, but the cherries are so fermented and their mixture with dark chocolate give it a strong taste of alcohol. Rumour has it that if you eat a bar and take a breath test, it will come positive for alcohol. Seriously! It used to be my staple breakfast when I lived in Australia; it is, sadly, not sold outside the country. I had an Ozzie friend in Dubai who would annually bring me back a dozen extra-large bars of Cherry Ripe. Pure, cheap, joy. Sigh.

Another craving that began in winter is for Bisto gravy. Yes, instant, chemical-filled, brown powder that when mixed with hot water turns into thick, delicious gravy. In the UK and in Dubai, our cabinet always had Bisto gravy. Other than with steak, vegetables and mash potatoes, I would eat it with the chicken from my mum's Vindaloo, rice, bread, and noodles. I LOVE Bisto gravy and am shocked that it is not available in Madrid.

When I go to Dubai this time, I will bring back Bisto gravy. Cherry Ripe *deep sigh* I'm just gonna have to live without. Life is tough, eh?

Varying Perspectives

Sarina: Hey, Abha! How was your birthday? What did you do?

Me: You know me, not a birthday person. Was quiet and nice, Chinese food with boyfriend, nothing special. How was your birthday? What did you do?

Sarina: Ah nothing much either. Quiet and nice, I went to the Maldives with boyfriend, nothing special.

Me: Right.

Oh universal energy that surrounds me, don't ever let me be so inappreciatively blah about things.