Sweden and Denmark

'Blonde and sausages' would be pretty close synonyms for these Scandinavian countries I visited last weekend. Other descriptive words would include: super sophisticated, quiet and vodka.

I land in Malmö and immediatley feel the absence of a city's hustle and bustle, alongside the exposure to language with dots and circles above characters. The airport is spick and span, looks expensive; it smelt of expensive perfume.

People spoke flawless English with a strong American accent (thanks to the undubbed American television rage in the country), and dressed very well.

The bus ride from the airport into the city gave me a good summary of how green the country is. The expanse of land is tremendous and it is all deep, rich, healthy green with perfectly manicured fields - something I gawed at from the plane too.

I was visiting an old friend from Dubai in Sweden - and thanks to him and his silver card, I got to crash with him at the Hilton for free! I had come there for the Midsummer's Day celebrations on Friday, June 22 - which is a national holiday in the country.

Midsummer's Day is the longest day in the year in Sweden and is celebrated with much gusto behind closed doors (ie in people's homes). I suppose that explains why a walk around the city Friday morning felt like walking in a movie set. Beautiful, colourful houses, small quaint streets, churches with pointy oxidised green copper roofs, and not a soul to be seen.

I felt strange even talking loudly, afraid I might wake someone - where was everyone!?

We were lucky to be invited to a Swedish style fiesta for this day - which is when we realised everyone was inside filling glasses of strawberry cider whilst preparing the sausages and flower tiaras.

Soon a small dance in the garden would take place during which a decorated flower cross would be stomped into the soil, promising a rich harvest for the rest of the year. Unfortunately, thanks to the rain - we had to skip this step and begin with the food.

We ate raw herring (which is also a fish by the way), and I don't know how this Sashmi type food entered a sausage and meatball cuisine - but it was the speciality of the evening. During the meal, we stopped every 10 minutes to sing a song in Swedish, after which we had to scull down a shot of Vodka Schnaps. Topped with a huge bowl of strawberries and cream, I felt like a spoilt drunk princess - I wish I had the flower tiarra.

3-shots and two wines later, I was eating raw fish, playing Swedish games and singing Swedish karoke till the wee hours of the morning. After 10 hours of these sacred Swedish Midsummer's day rituals, our contribution to Sweden's good harvest was complete and we set on home.

The next day was bigtime recovering from hangover day. As we head out to get some greasy hangover food - yet again we saw noone on the streets. Where was everyone today? I think the Swedes need to learn to leave their Ikea furniture alone for a while.

The next day we needed to get out of this no-people city so we made a trip to Copenhagen in Denmark. This is where it seemed all the people were.

Similar style to Malmö, yet bigger and busier - Copenhagen had a pleasant and more 'happening' scene. Here you could actually talk at normal volume without fear of waking people, and there were signs of life on the streets.

A long walk with a Danish friend and two hot-dogs later, we were ready to head back to Malmö as we had no Danish money left. I don't understand why they are part of the EU - and don't have Euro yet. Was very inconvenient and the exchange service fee was ridiculous.

All in all, the cities were quite typically Scandinavian -- Hansel and Gretal (yes I know they are German!) is what I was reminded of. As a brown-skinned, black-haired girl I stood out amongst the Swedish barbie dolls, and although I enjoyed experiencing these Nordic countries, I am quite happy to be back in Madrid.

Although totally disorganised, you can check out some photos here.

(Blog photo - shows the dancing around the cross ritual of Midsummers Day in Sweden courtesy: www.sweden.se)

Movie Review: The Namesake ****

Movies like this make me proud of Indian cinema. The life and emotions of an ABCD (American-Born-Confused-Desi), or as a matter of fact, any Indian child brought up abroad, couldn't be captured better.

Parents go abroad to live the 'American Dream' - have children who grow up torn between two radically different cultures - tragedy strikes - realisation dawns - children brought back to their roots - they manage to find a balance between their 'modern' life abroad and the profoundness of their Indian culture.

Although over two hours long, the movie is super fast and cuts straight to the chase, without over-dramatising.

Although I haven't read Jhumpa Lahiri's book, I can't imagine the movie to be a disappointment for those who have.

Phenomenal acting by Tabu, Irfan Khan, and Kal Penn; the music by Nitin Sawney starts and ends the movie with perfect harmony; the colour palette evolves with the story and the shots are asthetically brilliant; there are nudity and kissing shots that seem natural rather than eeky for a change; all-in-all Mira Nair deserves a big round-of-applause.

India has been depicted wonderfully through the colours and craziness of Calcutta alongside the joyful and warm, yet turbulent lives of Indian families. When the film zooms into New York - the radical divergence of lifestyle is bluntly evident, allowing you to not only understand but feel the differences of culture.

I'm not an ABCD, but something quite close. Having moved to England when I was 3, then back to India when I was 10, then Dubai, Australia and now Spain, most of my 'developing years' have been spent outside Mother India.

A 7 year stint in India and regular visits have kept me rather grounded to my roots, yet the frequent confusion in morals and 'sence of belonging' I feel that stems from (perhaps) over-exposure to the western world, is reflected in this film with biting accuracy.

One of the best things in the story of this film was the Indian-dates-American-but-marries-Indian bit.

After being in love with an American blond-hair-blue-eyed girl, a sudden gravitational pull towards his Indian-ness leads him to marry an Indian girl.

This Indian girl has been brought up abroad too and has the perfect mix of western ambition/sex appeal and Indian culture - so all seems hunkydory at first. Then she lands up cheating on her husband with an old French lover, which leads to their separation. A message for all Indian parents who believe that their Indian children MUST marry other Indians: it will not secure a long and happy marriage.

A must watch for all Indians living abroad, and all Indian parents with children living abroad, and anyone else who wants a true peek into the lives of a modern Indian family today.

Una conversación...

...con una niña de 11 años

Ella: Tienes novio?

Yo: Si...

Ella: Como se llama?

Yo: Raúl

Ella: Es guapo?

Yo: Si, guapisimo

Ella: Te gusta mucho?

Yo: Si, claro

Ella: Vas a casar con el?

Yo: No!

Ella: QUE? y si no vas a casarse con el, porque es tu novio?

Yo: Caemos bien, disfrutamos el tiempo juntos, me hace reír...

Ella: Entonces? porque no vais a casar?!

Yo: Somos diferente, no va a funcionar

Ella: Hmmm.

Ella: Has tenido mas novios?

Yo: Si...

Ella: PERO QUE LIGONA ERES!

Yo: Que no! es normal, desafortunadamente no es fácil encontrar alguien que quieres por todo tu vida.

Ella: Mi padre era el primer novio de mi madre, y se enamoran y se casaron.

Yo: Tu madre tiene mucha suerte entonces. Idealmente tiene que ser así.

Ella: Como puedes amar mas que una persona?

Yo: Estos días no salimos solo por amor.

Ella: Que? (con una cara serena y totalmente confundido)

- dejé la conversación aquí.

And there he was...

His salt-&-pepper hair was turning grey, but the cool Richard Gere way. He had the refined look that comes with maturing and understanding more of the world around. His eyes were as blue as ever, he was as fit as ever. He still loved his dessert, and whipped it up like a child. He could still make me laugh.

I have loved two men in my life, and he was one of them. Immature, naive, puppy love perhaps, but stemming from a strong friendship, deep none-the-less. Back in the days, I would have died for him.

Fiercely successful, world-traveller-investment-banker he was today. His arrogance and aggressiveness hated because of envy by most - but an explosive magnet for me - today made him a ruthless yet clean and sharp businessman, with the world at his doorstep.

Working hard. Very hard. But loving every second of it and soaking in all it's rewards. He radiated success.

So did his girlfriend. Perhaps made of the same lust, together they shone.

I could still see the boy I knew 6-years ago though. The clear-cut, go-getter. Crazy yet logical, strong yet vulnerable. Sensible yet spontaneous. Sometimes as cold as ice, but warm as a big blanket when he needed to be.

I never understood why we broke-up. Was part of his painfully practical attitude. Or perhaps I was carried away and mixed-up my feelings with the truth, like I always do. It's a convenient thing to do.

With fond memories that no-one can steal from me - life goes on. And that's just how it is.

Old-times in Paris

Just got back from a super weekend in Paris. Went on a whim to see old friends I went to university with in Australia. Hadn't seen them for 4-years but when we met, it was like we met yesterday. That's the beauty of genuine friendships.

I've been to Paris 3 times before, but going from Madrid to Paris was a whole different ballgame. Made me feel like I went from a humble town (yes, Madrid) to "the" epitome of all clichés a European society stands for.

Flawlessly stylish clothes, families that seem to have walked right out of a catalogue, posh culture, expensive coffee and uhh let uz not forget zi accent.

Far from being tall-blond-hair-blue-eye-porcelain-skinned, I felt like I needed a twirly mustache and French hat to fit in. I also must have been the only one on the street in flip-flops without pedicured feet. But I had the 'get lost I'm from Madrid' attitude going on; my saving grace. And I speak Spanish, oo wantz to zpeak French anyway.

With their conventionally yet perfectly correct lives, everyone seems to have their act together in Paris. Another reason that shook me a little bit. Young, beautiful people, viciously successful, living the upper-class good life.

Call me demented but nope, I wasn't envious. Not the least bit.

The slimy snails, caviar and frogs legs don't go well with me either. I much rather devour a crepe (or 4!) on the street.

I missed Madrid, and glad I chose Spain rather than any other country in Europe.

Don't get me wrong, Paris has it's own charm. It's a beautiful city.

But my bias towards Spain has begun. I'm turning into a Madrileña.

Indulgences and Summer

The sun is out, the wind is warm and pleasant, dresses, shorts and bikini's are out of the closet and I'm on an inexplicable high.

Yet at the same time I feel lost and anxious; perpetually preoccupied about fish knows what.

I have been buying crap. Cheap, disposable summer clothes that I know I won't land up wearing, music that I will listen to only on a whim, and am eating lot's of ice-cream. Must start running.

The Matador boys have gone, I hardly know them but it feels weird and kind of sad that they have gone. Was a pleasure to have them over, who knows if I will ever see them again. They came and went in a snap. Man, there are not enough hours in a day, and it's already June.

So what? I don't know.

Crazy month coming up for me. Am off to France on Thursday for the weekend to see some close friends. *Thank goodness I'm getting paid tomorrow*

Then am here for a while and then I go to Sweden to hangout with another friend. And then June is over!

Sheesh kebab.

Matador Travel in my house!

So the boys from Matador Travel are in Madrid and have been crashing at my house (although they have a crazy schedule and I have only seen them once so far :)

Travel-writing was what got us in contact and we have been in touch since the beginning of the year, but met for the first time a few days ago.

For those who aren't familiar with this site, it's a website with some great written content, aiming to bring travelers together and encouraging people not only to travel, but to make a difference when they do. Pretty cool sentiment I think, do check it out when you get a minute.

Ross(L) and Ben(R) - founders of the site, have quit their day-jobs and are working full-time to make Matador happen. They already have over a 1000 users from everywhere, doing all sorts of things, everywhere. The boys are currently traveling around Europe and Asia marketing their website.

It's been a long time since I met some people with similar ambitions, full of energy and life, working fearlessly with passion - for their passion. Working very hard - but playing hard too; yet down-to-earth and chilled-out gentlemen. It's very refreshing to come across and get the opportunity to hang with people like this.

Damned if you do, damned if you don't

Answers to some the eternal questions we have when we are in the beginning of a relationship:

Q. He called yesterday, when should I call back?
If you call back too soon, you are desperate; if you don't you're not interested enough.
Answer: It doesn't really matter, you are screwed both ways.

Q.We had dinner last night, he said he'd call me Monday. It's Tuesday and he hasn't called. What should you do?
If you call him, you are the one who wants him more - ego crap; if you don't and he never lands up calling, you will never know what would have been.
Answer: It doesn't really matter, you are screwed both ways.

Q. He makes plans with me all the time, should I always be available?
If you play hard to get, he might say, screw this; if you are always available to go out, do anything as long as you're hanging out, (irrespective of the fact that you really just like him and are generally not fussed) you get walked over.
Answer: It doesn't really matter, you are screwed both ways.

Q. You slept with him for the first time, and he didn't call the next day. What do you do?
If you call him, you're the desperate one ('it's-the-guy-who-has-to-call-the-next-day-crap'), if he calls you after three days and then you don't answer, you have begun a stupid ego game; if you do answer, it's like you were waiting by the phone.
Answer: It doesn't really matter, you are screwed both ways.

Q. Talking about how you feel. When can you start sharing your feelings without losing too much of your dignity?
If you say what you feel, you put yourself on the line - high chances he will not say what you want him to and you will feel like shit. If you don't, you are accumulating a whole lot of shit inside you that will come out horribly another day.
Answer: It doesn't really matter, you are screwed both ways.

Q.I feel uncomfortable in the relationship because I think he may be seeing other people - how soon is too soon to confront him about this without seeming like an inquisitive nag?
If you ask him in under two months, you are in too deep and need to get a life; if you don't, and he is seeing other people, it will continue and when you find out it will be too late.
Answer: It doesn't really matter, you are screwed both ways.

Q. Be clear about what you want. How much do you adapt to being who the other person wants you to be?
Don't try to change yourself to suit what the other person wants - and you are selfish and stubborn. Change and give-in - you will be the one hurting later.
Answer: It doesn't really matter, you are screwed both ways.

Q. Do you give him the benefit of the doubt?
If you don't give the guy you are dating the benefit of the doubt - what's the point of dating him when you have negative thoughts? If you do, you land-up believing exactly what you want to believe, which is rarely the truth.
Answer: It doesn't really matter, you are screwed both ways.

Q.The relationship was great, but you both want different things, so saying adios is the healthy option. Can you still be friends?
If you choose not to change to 'friend mode', other than the sex you didn't value rest of the relationship - how could you not want him in your life anymore? if you decide you can be friends, you are easy with anything - all those other feelings didn't have much meaning.
Answer: It doesn't really matter, you are screwed both ways.

On a positive note:
Lesson Learnt: You might as well do exactly what you want, because the consequences will probably be rather similar.

*Phew* it's almost relieving to realise that all the nonsense pondering we do over stupid stuff like this is really not worth it.

Frugal Traveler in Dubai!

The NY Time's Frugal Traveler Matt Gross finally made it to Dubai. And wrote a brilliant piece.

Other than it being an enjoyable read, what I really appreciated about this piece is how he managed to see beneath Dubai's glittery shit, and talk more about the few 'normal' things you can do there.

Those familiar with Dubai will understand why I had the biggest smile when I saw the 'what to see' recommendations included:
-Al Mallah
-Saj Express
-Club Africana at the Rush-Inn Hotel :)

(They are probably some of the best places to go, but you will never hear about them in Dubai's publicity)

Some extracts:

"It's probably very normal for people to wake up in Dubai, realize they have money in their pockets, and set out to spend it. But for the Frugal Traveler, it’s a rare and nerve-wracking moment...

What I wanted from Dubai was not preconceived amusements but the accidental by-products of globalization — like Club Africana, or the happy clash of cultures at a house party. Not only were they cheaper, they felt more truly Dubai than the multimillion-dollar attractions, and I counted myself fortunate my low budget had driven me to seek them out."

Galicia Round-Up

Galicia is beautiful. Small and dainty, very green, very traditional.

I ate octupus, Gallegan soup, 'tit cheese' and Gallegan bread; and octupus, Gallegan soup and tit cheese and Gallegan bread :)

Although the sight of octupus (especially it's tenticles) made me want to throw-up because although it's dead on your plate, it's easy to imagine it alive and breathing heavily through it's ugly pores, I really liked it.

Was in A Coruña for two days, Santiago de Compostela for a day, and Finisterre (the end of the world!) for a day.

Incase you were wondering, there is really nothing 'at the end of the world', except a steel boot and a rather ugly lighthouse; but what the hell - it's the end of the world!

Here are some photos. Stories to follow!

A Coruña - El Costa de Muerte



Old part of A Coruña


Ugliest sculpture I have ever seen


Santiago's Cathedral


View from the 'end of the world'!

Wander the streets. Lose yourself.

That's the subject of my latest post on Written Road. It follows a good write up in the IHT by original founder of Wallpaper* and editor-in-chief of Monocle, Tyler Brûlé.

Off to Galicia!

So tomorrow straight after my DELE exam (thank goodness, it will finally be over!), I will drive up to Galicia (North of Spain) for 4 days! The plan is Acoruna, Finnisterre, and Santiago de Compostela - I can't wait!

Half-robbed (?)

I felt someone approaching me as I began to withdraw money from an ATM.

"Give me money," he said.

He was a skinny, teethless, smelly bugger with alcohol roaring out of his breath.

"Ok, I will," I said, really not knowing how else to respond.

I hadn't completed the transaction, and he wouldn't let me touch the screen. I guess he thought I would cancel the action.

"I am not going to hurt you. JUST GIVE ME MONEY," he shouted.

By the way, it was 11:30am on a beautiful sunny morning.

"OK!" I shouted back, but you have to let me complete the transaction.

And he did. I was afraid he'd snatch my bank card, but he didn't - he snatched the Euro 40 I was withdrawing.

He counted the money, looked at me, and gave me 20 back.

HUH?

I walked home, shaken but amused and relieved at the same time.

Prostitution on the dance floor?

He was 75, and he asked me to dance.

Respecting him as if he was my grandfather, and finding him harmless, I agreed. Ok, I exaggerate - I suppose he was 60, at least.

The dance was tolerable. He had a funny style; I had to bite my lip so as to not burst out laughing. But it was fine.

A few minutes later, he asked me if he could buy me a drink, to which I politely declined.

Then he asked if he could talk to me.

"Where are you from?" he asked me.

"India," I say.

"Wow. I have never met anyone from India. I've always wanted to go there."

"Ok" I say.

He continues: "You dance very well, where did you learn?"

"In India," I say - by now hoping my one word answers would give him the hint that I really have no interest talking to him.

As if he got the hint, he got straight to the point. "I need a dance partner for the rest of the year, and was wondering if you would consider?"

Me: (blank look)

"You would come with me to all my classes and whenever I go out dancing socially," he adds.

"Actually I don't really have time to dance much," I say, "besides I travel alot, so wouldn't be able to commit to anything."

"Well, I'd pay you," he says.

Me: (WHAT?)

"No, I'm sorry I cannot do it," was all I could muster after that, and I walked away with disgust. He even had the nerve to ask me for another dance after that. As if it was perfectly normal for us to have that conversation.

I left that night in thought. Was I just subjected to a polite form of prostitution? Or am I making a mountain of a mole hill?

There are a few things in Spain that make me question my morals. Simply because of the normalcy people treat them with here. I'm not clear on whether it's Spain or Europe, but since I am here - let's just stick to Spain for the moment.

Openly having more than one amante (lover) is another - fidelity isn't too common here. Being with one person is what is questionable, and almost unheard of. Also having a good job where you earn more than 1000 Euros is uncommon, and it really isn't uncommon living all your life washing dishes, or herding sheep. And, remember I'm in Madrid.

Perhaps I'm just in the wrong - or let's say 'different'- circles. Or perhaps I take things too seriously - be it life, making a living or men. See what I mean?

I suppose everything is relative.

Hmmm.

Logic please?

A fleeting thought I have absolutley every time I use the metro (which would be twice a day, atleast) is: why the hell doesn't any metro station in Madrid have a bathroom?!

Running from one side of Madrid to the other all day, it almost makes me mad when I can't run to the bathroom for a wee in between. I have to find a coffee shop - where until recently I felt bad not having a coffee and just using the bathroom - but now I don't give a shit. I was spending too much money on coffee that I didn't even want to drink.

In a capital city with a population of about 4 million people, atleast half of whom take the metro twice a day if not more, why wouldn't you build toilets?

Spaniards Talk!

I don't know if it's just me and the people I attract, but I have not used the ''time-out" hand gesture in my life, as much as I have used it in Spain.

Spaniards talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. And talk. And talk.

So you cannot wait until they stop to change subject so that you can interject because you need to say that 'I have left the keys on the television', because they won't stop, and you will be standing around till the cows come home.

OK, perhaps to be fair, I should extend the borders of the set here to all Spanish speaking people, rather than restrict to to only Spaniards. They all talk. And talk. And talk.

I used to think I was a talkative pain-in-the-ass; but here, I suffer a serious complex.
It has done great to my foreign language listening skills though - so I'm really not complaining.

They talk loud, over each other, and don't stop. At all. Perhaps that's why they have to talk over each other, because there is really no way of getting a word in edgeways otherwise.

Be it 8am while making coffee at home when I haven't even got both my eyes open, or be it 5am in the morning when we are coming home from a long night out where we have really done nothing much but talk, there is still something someone has to elaborate on.

Other than the neverending list of topics such as: life, family, men, beer, annoying people, work, the weather, hair salons, holiday plans for next year, uncles, food, rabbits, fetishes, the tourists, the English language, the Pope, MySpace, yoga, Zapatero, ETA, Greenpeace, tortilla de patatas and David Bisbal; most of the conversations revolve around who-did-what-how-where-when-why, which will be followed by a
what-he-should-have-done-instead-how-where-when and why.

Let's not even start about when they get on the phone. Minimum 15 minutes. Even if it's someone they've just spent the day with.

The good thing is that I have learnt to tune out. I can look like I am listening and taking every word in, but really I am thinking about what I'm going to teach in my next English class or what I am going to wear for my date next week. I'm really proud of this skill I have acquired.

It's a cultural thing, I think. Comes as part of the social-openess and extrovertness of hispanics. I think that's what it is. I am glad I have learnt to tune out though.

Imaginate

*sueño con un mundo diferente
sueño un mundo lleno de color
sueño con un mundo sin fronteras
donde el odio se muera de amor

donde no importe le ideología
donde no importe le religión
que cada una sueñe lo que quiera
y que lo sueñe con ilusión

sueña tu también
el mundo al reves
imaginate
si pudiera ser

sueño las noticias de mentira
sueño que no hay hambre ni dolor
que no hay guerra que en verdad exista
sueña sueños de ciencia ficción

sueño que la planeta esta contento
verdes bosques crecen bajo el sol
sueño que los ríos fluyen limpios
y que sobra yuca, pan y arroz

sueña tu también
el mundo al reves
imaginate
si pudiera ser

lo cierto es que sueño muchas cosas
sueño todas estas, y otras mas
sueño que no hay sueños imposibles
que nunca se pueden alcanzar

sueño con un justa justicia
que ya cada uno pongan en su lugar
sueño que a todos los dictadores
los ataca un virus de bondad

sueña tu también
el mundo al reves
imaginate
si pudiera ser

----
- por grupo - jakaranda
cantante - maida larrain
letras y musica - miguel ruiz de elvira

*es mi canción del año. muy simple, pero muy bonito y profundo en el mismo tiempo. desafortunadamente no existe un link de este canción para que escucháis. me ha impactado mucho. estoy en un tiempo demasiado profunda verdad!?

Marriage

My head hurts as I write this post.

I'm a 27 year old, unmarried, Indian girl, with zero decent relationships under my belt.

For Indian society, I am already above marriageable age, and I better get my act together, or I will stay a 'spinster' (God how I hate that word).

"Darling, who will marry you when you are 30?" I often hear my mum saying to me. "By that age, all the good men are taken, and you will be left with divorcees, widowers or people who everybody else has rejected."

WHAT?

I understand my mum's concerns. She believes that there is a 'time' for everything. A time to get married, a time to enjoy your marriage, a time to have children, etc etc. And when you start missing that 'time', things start falling out of place.

I do have respect for the arranged marriage scene and I have seen it work across most of my family.

A cousin of mine once explained the concept to some Spanish friends in a wonderful way: "Western people first fall in love, get married, and then worry about all the problems they have to worry about (families getting along, finances, future, life plans etc). In India, we do it the other way around. First we clarify all the foreseeable problems, then we get married, then we fall in love."

It has been proven that 'arranged' marriages have a significantly higher success rate than 'love' marriages (as we call them in India) - for the way they get the problems out of the way first.

So even though my parents are amazingly supportive and have always respected my decisions, they keep sprinkling 'suitable bachelor' information into our conversations, and showing my astrology charts to guru's in India.

As for me, irrespective of how many times my heart has been bruised, I still believe in falling in love. If I ever choose to get married, I would like it to be for love, rather than for the sake of getting married so as to not grow old alone (or whatever the reason is for an arranged marriage.)

Having said all of that, marriage is out of the picture for me at the moment.

I'm all over the place, with so many dreams, so many aspirations, so much happening around me - why would I want to get married right now? My life would take a serious hault and then a serious diversion that I am really not prepared for.

But when you marry for love - you are willing to put all those things on the line, because that what love does. (Well, that's what I'm told anyway :)

On the other hand, though I repel the thought of having an arranged marriage, I also realise how I always seem to to attract disastrous men in my life who have done me no good.

At 27, you'd think I'd have atleast one relationship that I could talk about fondly. Nope. Each one has been more messed-up than the other.

So, while all my friends (literally, ALL of them) have found love and are happily married, and putting my relationship-life in context, I sometimes wonder if I will ever have a guy in my life more than a few months (let alone to marry!). And that's all I'd like at the moment, you know?

Out in the open

Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while, will be familiar with the fear I have had of sub-continent men in Spain.

When it comes to men, in general, I haven't been the best with the whole 'live-and-learn' analogy; but in this particular context, I have been queen.

Passing off successfully as a South-American has kept me a good arms distance from my Pakistani, Bangladeshi cyber-café/vegetable-shop buddies in Madrid.

Until yesterday.

"Excuse-me madam, are you from India?" said the Pakistani owner of the Internet café around the corner from my house.

I waited a good 2-minutes before deciding how to answer this question, and incapable of lying, I said yes.

"NO FUCKING WAY" was the reaction I got. (Que coño dices!)

See, you need to keep in context that I have been frequenting this Pakistani-brotherhood-cyber-café for over 3-months now. It's the best one close to me, so I decided not to be anal about the birthplace of it's owners.

"Wow", he continues, still in state of utter bewilderment. "Do you speak Hindi?"

"Yes, of course I do," I replied sheepishly.

"So you have been eavesdropping on our conversations for three months!?" he says, thankfully with a smile.

I smiled back.

"So come to my house one day, I live just down the road," he continued, to which I almost replied "why the fuck would I want to do that?", before he said "meet my family, have tea with my wife, she gets lonely".

*phew*

"I have been here for 14-years; we hardly meet people from our muluk. We would be delighted to have you around."

That was nice ay. Very straightforward and warm without the slightest tinge of threat.

So when I walked in today, of course instead of the Pakistani Uncle with kids, were his two young single Pakistani nephews. As if they knew I would be passing by!

"Namasteji! you are from India," one of them says in Urdu.

"Yes," I say, as neutrally as I could without sounding rude but being clear I don't have time for a chat.

Of course, that vibe wasn't picked up on, and the next thing I know is that he has pulled up a chair and is sitting next to me. Great.

Anyway, 5-minutes into the chat I think he got the hint. But he wasn't being a pain. He was just curious.

Overall I got a good vibe. Maybe one day I will take them up on the offer of passing by their house, perhaps not for tea, but definitely for the home made biryani!

Profundizando en español

Hace mucho que no escribo en español. Voy a intentarlo hoy - me apetece. Y disculpame por todos mis errores!

El ultimo año cuando estuvé trabajando en Dubai, repentamente tenía un sentimiento muy fuerte, o podemos decir (?), me dí cuenta como un golpe, que un día voy a morir.Y sabiendo eso piensé: quiero vivir como estoy viviendo ahora?

El próximo día, dejé mi trabajo. Dentro de un mes estaba en Valencia, y ahora estoy en Madrid. Viviendo. Por primera vez en mi vida estoy viviendo de verdad. Disfrutando. Por primera vez, mi vida tiene nada que ver con mañana, con dinero, con estabilidad, con futuro. Todo es para hoy. Bueno, mas o menos.

Esté pensamiento me toca siempre cuando veo una viejecita en el supermercado buscando su cambio para pagar por su manzanas. Y pienso, debo vivir exactamente como quiero ahora - porque cuando estoy así - no podrá.

Creo que hoy en día, vivo bastante bien: hago lo que quiero, como quiero, cuando quiero. Un lujo que no permite a todos.

Leí un articulo muy bonito hoy en El País Semana: El Sentido De Morir .

(si que puedo ser profunda aveces!)

Empieza diciendo "Todo el mundo sabe que un día morirá, pero casi nadie se lo cree..." y tuvé que seguir leyendo.

Me ha gustado mucho porque siempre había tenido una manera de ser deprimido por el sentido de morir.

Claro, no queremos morir, tampoco queremos ser viejos - porque significa que el momento de morir esta cerca.

Pero, esté articulo reverte esté sentimiento diciendo - morir es que da sentido a nuestra vida.

Como sería horroroso una vida sin final, porque nadie puede escapar a la insoportable levedad del ser. A decir, si no tuvieramos que morir, no intentaríamos a vivir.

También dicen cosas como:
'Vivimos esta vida com si llevásemos otra en la maleta' (Hemingway)..

'El vida no es un ensayo, así que no la desperdician'.

Y mas cosas que nos ponemos a poner nuestra vida en perspectivo.

Bueno...es obvio que no tengo nada especial a decir, ni que puedo bien en español, pero quería escribir algo de esté asunto - EN ESPAÑOL - y me importa un pimiento si esté post es tonto y no tiene sentido. A lo mejor estoy en un animo de reflejar, y pensar. Esta bien porque es raro :)

Y os dejo aqui..

Vipassana in Madrid

His voice gave me goosebumps. Goosebumps that quickly turned into shivers. I felt momentarily dizzy a few times too. Perhaps these are my reactions from meditating after 3-years. Reactions that I suppose are way to raw to be called sensations.

Found a Vipassana group here - they meditate together in an herbolaria every Sunday morning for two hours. I couldn't handle two hours, but enjoyed the first hour. Felt a few random sensations, but most of the time I was trying to calm my agitated mind. Managed not to look at my watch more than twice - which is quite an achievement.

It was interesting to see the sort of people who turned up. All much older. All Spanish. All swept away by what they are experiencing with this meditation. All happy. Some searching for themselves, but generally happy. Vipassana does that. Gives you a refuge which promises to protect you, come what may. Seems like the programme is a rage in Spain - with spots in Barcelona totally booked out.

As I walked home, felt very light-headed. Also felt home. Big smile on my face. Must continue going. Must continue practising.

Thought for the day

"Angels fly because they take themselves lightly" - Arianna Huffington

Blatant Self-Promotion

For those who aren't tuning into the most productive writing I am doing at the moment - check out my latest at Gridskipper.

Garbage Treasures

Life as an English teacher doesn't leave you much spending money after you've paid your bills. So when you spot something you like, abandoned in the trash, you take it.

Yesterday we picked up this sofa chair from the trash round the corner.

4am walking back from a great night out with a friend visiting from Valencia, we spotted it and thanks to numerous cañas in my system, I didn't think twice about whether to take it or not.

So here we were, in the middle of the night, two half-drunk chicas carrying a sofa chair home. I say that with full pride as I officially join the club of garbage scavengers. Yes, that sounds cheap and pathetic, but as long as I'm not scavenging for food, I think my dignity is intact.

And just for the record, it's the most comfortable thing I have in my room after my bed, and it doesn't smell.

If you pay a bit of attention to the chair, you will see some bird-drawings laid out. These are pieces of art we found hanging on various trees in the barrio of Lavapies. And they're pretty damn neat.

I'm yet to put up the bird paintings, but all-in-all, I'm quite kicked about my new possessions. They have added new dimension to my room.

Los Vagos Vagabundos

So these Vagos Vagabundos (lazy beggars) always make me smile when I pass them on my way to work. There are normally 3 of them, who sit on the road and ask for money for beer, wine, a hangover, pot, cocaine, travel and the Internet.

They say, 'we're honest and we make you smile - isn't that reason enough to give us a buck?'

They travel around Spain, and have actually generated a decent amount of press, thanks to their novel approach.

Turns out they are engineers, who just think this is a more enjoyable way of earning money. And they have a full-fledged website! check them out at www.lazybeggers.com.

Marvellous Martinez

Oh My God. Can this guy move or can he move. Frankie Martinez, king of salsa and afro-cuban rythems, was in Madrid yesterday for a performance.

He has control over muscles in our body we do not know exist. He could probably isolate all of them if he wanted to. He hears beats in a rhythem that will remain ultra-sonic to us, and his interpretation of the music with the command he has over his body is just mind-boggling.

I have been dancing, in some form, since I was 5. I have watched a lot of great dance shows in my adult life, have been to 4 salsa congresses, scrutinised every video of Michael Jackson, but have not seen anyone move the way he does.

In fact his whole troupe was pretty fantastic.

The screw-up with watching such fantastic dancing, is that it makes you want to quit. *sigh*

Moods and the Madrid Salsa Congress

So I went last week to pick up a complete pass for the congress, and guess what!? SOLD OUT!

Since when did salsa congresses start getting sold-out? that too the advance dancers category!? Anyway, thank goodness the organisers chose a big enough place for the fiestas and tickets have been available at the door.

Went last night, danced my toes off till 7am. No skin left on the top of them, and the rest of my feet are blistered. Anyway, was a super night. Met a whole bunch of people from Valencia - all the guys I danced with for the 6 months that I was there. For the first time ever we hugged like we were long lost friends, and finally figured out each others names.

I woke-up today at 3pm (with disgust), but all psyched about going dancing again tonight. Studied, ate, showered, blow-dried my hair, wrote a bit, withdrew money, came home to get changed and ...poof... I don't feel like going any more.

What sort of a and random mood kick is that!?

Today is going to be an overpacked night - perhaps that's what it is. Or maybe it's because I'm Aquarian, fuck knows. Oh well, there's always tomorrow, which I don't want to miss because Frankie Martinez is going to perform!

My flatmate has rented out Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind, which sounds like a good plan for the night. So the popcorn comes out and my pyjamas get back on.

Pangs of nostalgia

One of my students is an Account Executive. Yes. She belongs to the world I was part of less than a year ago.

When I walk into the Advertising Agency she works for, it gives me pangs of nostalgia. I feel a rush of excitement and sickness, both at the same time.

The Creative Department, the 'Brainstorm Room', the Conference Room, the kitchen brewing coffee and fridge stacked with Coca Cola. The smell of 'suits' and their expensive perfume, the offices displaying their best ad campaigns, the creative team dressed in ripped jeans and blue hair chilling out, smoking. Everything brings back a fast train of memories beautiful as well as brutal.

When I walk into the agency, I almost miss it for a second and think, bills were easy to pay when I was working in the communications industry. But the thought really only lasts for a second.

I do wonder though if I will ever be drawn back into the corporate closet. I truly hope not.

Oh and...

This is what else I have been reading today: Julia Allison

Busy being unproductive

How many times have you woken up, nice and early on a Sunday morning, made your 'list of things to do' and sat down on your computer with full zest to start doing them.

Come 10pm, you realise you have done nothing.

Other than reading blogs, celebrity gossip and watching YouTube, of course. Not to mention hogging the junk food stored in the cupboard that you promised yourself not to touch. Actually, I did step out to buy the 5 Euro Independent on Sunday newspaper, but I haven't read it yet.

Goodness, how evil is the spirit of the World Wide Web to be able to steal so much of your time. I hate days like this, so I thought I'd blog - just so I can add it to my list of things to do, and cross it off.

Lately, I have also been getting a bit wired-up about the fact that I have way too many things to do, the long-term outcomes of which are incomprehensible at the moment, but they are just cool to get done (Madrid in a nutshell!). So, I'm back in the vicious circle of planning to do loads of things, and not doing any of them properly or completely. Yaay.

It's ok. All is not lost. Perhaps it's got something to do with today being April Fool's Day.

Anyhoo. Life is too short and tomorrow is a new day.

It's all happening

So I have just about to start feeling settled...almost Madrileña, dare I say.

I live in the centre of the city, in a huge 4 bedroom apartment. I have a double bed, and a terrace all to myself. I can't wait for Spring to have breakfast out there.

My flatmates are the coolest, craziest, warmest people I have met for a long time - they are like elder sisters I never had. All from creative backgrounds (actors, meditators, dancers), it is not uncommon to find them dressed as elves, or doing a Red-Indian ritual dance when I walk in. Believe me, it's not weird, infact the contrary.

They all light candles 24/7 around the house, which makes the house smell wonderful, feel spiritual and look great, but I'm quite paranoid that it might catch fire some day. I'm forbidden to blow them out, because that will ruin the purifying process that they aid. But that's hardly anything to complain about.

I've met an awesome guy. And that's all I will say about that, for fear of jinxing everything.

I have wonderful students. Teaching them English is a breeze and very satisfying, (except for the 2 little brats I have who only want to play game-boy, talk about Pokemon in an unspecified language, and karaoke to High School Musical).

I wake up every morning more than content. Fresh, alive and ready to seize the day. Something I haven't felt in a while.

Although my great 'plan' is to stay here for a year and then move to NY, the thought of leaving Madrid at the moment is incomprehensible. Who knows?

It's good to be blogging again.

Connected!

So finally the wifi is up and rocking in my house! It's unbelievable how handicapped and disconnected I have felt without the Internet.

Lack of connectivity over the last month has resulted in nervous attacks, withdrawal symptoms, epileptic fits, eating disorders, random laughter, too much alcohol, and other things I cannot talk about here because my parents read this blog. Another thing to add to my list of things to do: sign-up at Internet Addicts Anonymous.

A million things to write, where to begin?

To all those who still bother to read my nonsense, stay tuned!

People. Strange. Strange People.

We had a Mexican dude come stay with us last week.

This is what he left us as a thank you gift for letting him crash at ours.

I don´t think I need to go into details.

Wifi on strike

Posting hasn´t been easy over the last 10 days or so, thanks to my wireless that will not function until the 27th of March. (Yes, I even have a date!)

Lots to say, stay tuned.

Loss

I have been one of those fortunate children to have grown up with the love of not two, but three grandmothers.

I lost one of them over the weekend to lung cancer.

The irony of it all – she never smoked a cigarette in her life.

A gynecologist, she delivered me at our home hospital in Bombay. I was the first granddaughter in the house.

She spoilt me rotten with bhindi until I was three.

I was the only child ever allowed to sit in the corner of the operation room when she was doing surgery.

She put my photos growing up around the house. Some that are still seen today, 24 years later.

She would listen to anything I said, however I said it, even if I would fight. A privilege very few had.

She believed in the saving the environment and looking after street children.

Losing someone shouldn´t be part of life, don´t you think?

Big Black Blotches

So FYI until today, my English as a Second Language classes with children have been awful. No matter how much I prepared (upto 5-hours for a 2-hour class with 8-year olds) - everything would fall through.

But not today. Today my classes with an 8-year old and an 11-year old were fantastic.

We had fun. We talked. We played games. We sang. We did magic tricks. And I actually think they might have learnt something from me.

Anyway...the clock strikes and my class is over. Not once did I have to look at my watch. I couldn't wipe a grin off my face. What satisfaction I felt from a job well done. Until I saw big black blotches of ink. Everywhere.

On the rich silk cloth of the dining table. On the rich silk cover of the dining table chair. On the expensive Kashmiri carpet.

The grandmother walks in to thank me for the lesson. She sees the ink.

'Where did this come from? was this like this from before?' she asks the kids.

'We don't know, we didn't do anything,' they say.

I spot the same black blotches on my bag. Holy crap! they were from my bag in which my black pen had leaked.

I turn a deaf ear.

'No worries, I will put it in the wash,' she says.

Wait till she sees the chair and the carpet, I think.

I pack my bag furiously and hide it under my winter jacket as I leave, so that she doesn't see the big black blotch on my bag. I scurry out as if I had robbed something.

I think I am going to get a phone call tomorrow asking me if I was the culprit.

Should I own up? do you think they will sack me? or make me come over and clean it? or pay for the dry-cleaning?

But it wasn't my fault. It's not like I did it on purpose. Besides, I couldn't even find the black pen responsible for this mini-disaster.

Shyt.

A TEFL course full of surprises

The TEFL (Teaching English as Foreign Language) course that I have just finished was one full of surprises. It also made me do things I would otherwise NEVER do in my life:

- I learnt how to join 9 dots (in lines of 3) with 4 lines.

Once learnt, everyone did it again but differently. His point was to demonstrate the differences in perceptions when speaking the same language. Imagine what would happen when you don't speak the language of your students!

- In the beginning of the course, he asked us to do a 20 minute presentation on any topic of our choice. All presentations were excellent.

He walked in the next day with a sheet of paper that had chunks of our presentations written, that were full of slang. They weren't even full sentences. He wanted to stress how much slang we use in daily life, and that a foreign language student would never understand us if we spoke the way we do normally.

- On day one - he asked us to write down answers to 20 questions. Including name, birthday, favourite movie, hobbies, favourite teachers in our lives etc.

The next day he came in remembering all our names (x9 students), birthdays and favourite movies. Stressing the importance of making your students feel important in class by knowing and remembering things about them.

At the end of the course he made us read out the names of our favourite teachers and why we loved them - those points were added to our 'how to be a good teacher' lists.

- In one of the classes, the professor taught the class standing on his table. He dramatically lit and smoked a cigar half way through as a break. It was a 'keeping our attention' activity. We couldn't take our eyes off him.

-To explain to us the importance of props in class he came in one day with a Russian hat on, made us breakfast (toast, oranges and orange juice) that ended in a shot of whisky. (at 10am!)

- For extra credit, we had to go watch a movie in Korean and write a review.

- Just like he asked us 20 questions, we had the right to ask him one question each.

Some idiot asked him 'what is the meaning of life'?
He landed up doing a whole class on that, as an example of how absolutely anything can be used to teach in a foreign language class.

He told us what he thought was the meaning of life, made us listen to some great music, and then made us meditate!

-And lastly, our final class included a lesson in Bulgarian.

Yes. It was to make us understand how you feel when you have a teacher in the class who doesn't speak your language.

The course was 120 hours, so I cannot go into everything. Definitely a class and teacher I will never forget.

A girl's best friend(s)...

My ex-flatmates from when I lived in Valencia came to Madrid this weekend to see me, and hit the gay party scene. Of course I was going to be part of it, there was no question.
NB: We are talking about gay men. Lesbians are not in the picture.

I go to pick them up at Zara. Of course they are already shopping.

One of them was wearing a black suade coat, suade trousers, pointy leather shoes and a scarf around his neck. The other was in his ripped Armani jeans, silver shoes and cool denim jacket. They would classify as pretty 'happening' should I have been a man on the pull!

'Oh darling there you are! how are you gorgeous girl?' they say, and run to give me the biggest bear hugs. They clutch me from either side and we begin striding down Gran Via.

'So how are things? how is Madrid? how many boys have you taken home so far? Look at the clothes we just bought!'

I so felt like Carrie Bradshaw walking down 5th Avenue gigling with Stanford (in my case Stanford x 2).

I love having conversations with these friends of mine. They are the most open minded people to speak to. You can talk about the silliest, strangest or dirtiest thing to them like you were talking about the weather. It's awesome.

So after our chat and gossip about everything in-around-and-about Valencia and Madrid, we go to Chueca for a few copas.

Chueca, as you may have guessed, is THE gay barrio in the centre of Madrid. And it was rocking. Heaving with men from all walks of life, from all over the world, wearing all sorts of things, in the street with litres of alcohol. Talking, smoking, kissing, pinching asses, or merely checking out asses they would like to pinch.

And then there was me.

A 27 year-old Indian girl checking out unavailable guys with her gay friends. There was something very surreal and liberating about it.

We hit a club. Not a gay club, but it could have been. There must have been about 400 people in there - 5 of whom were women. There was a even line outside the men's bathroom! I have never seen that in a club.

We rocked to the tunes of George Michael and Boy George - there were some super dancers.

It wasn't long before I got noticed and got hit on in the nicest and weirdest ways ever.

"Oh look! When I see such gorgeous girls, I get confused about my sexuality."

"You dance really well. Can we dance? don't worry I'm gay. And smell my dreads, they don't stink!"

"Darling are you lost? come let daddy show you the way." [huh?]

"Get off the phone! If he is a guy, and he is not here - forget about him". [ I didn't quite get that one either].

Anyway...super night. Great music. Great dancing. Great conversation (love, sex, lovers, prostitutes, balls and underwear). Lot's of alcohol. And a piggy back home.

Globorati

A new friend of mine, who actually found me through Gridskipper, and moved to Valencia, and just happens to being living in what used to me my room (!!!) has got together with some amigos and recently launched this kick-ass blog called Globorati.

It focusses on giving you the latest luxury travel news, offers, openings, from across the globe, with a different spin. There are a million travel blogs/information providers out there - so it's hard to stand out. This one does. Do check it out when you can.

PS: Yes, the world is a tissue.

English Grammar

Not only is the TEFL course I am doing widening my horizons, but it is also revealing a world of English Grammar I did not know existed.

- Appositives
- Interjections
- Nominative Objects
- Modal Verbs
- Modal Auxillary Verbs
- Transitive Verbs
- Modifiers
- Contractions
- Quantifiers

HUH?

And those are just some that I can remember.

The thing is, we use all this shit when we speak, we just don't know what it is. I have some serious grammar reading to do. *sigh*

Hannibal

So today in my TEFL class, we were asked to rename our classmates. An exercise which will be used later to teach us how to remember names of our students. Anyway, we all had to come up with names and then there would be a deciding vote.

Now, one of my classmates gave me the nick name Hannibal. HANNIBAL.

What I am a serial-killer-human-flesh-eater now? When I (jovially) confronted him for an explanation, he said - noooo not Hannibal Lecter, the A-Team ball-crusher Hannibal. WHAT?

What sort of vibes have I been radiating in my class!? Although, sure - I hope - it was in good humour, but I have to say I was offended. I have never had a decent conversation with anyone in my group, let alone a brawl or anything fatal. Why in the world did HANNIBAL come up!? and why did the rest find that funny!?

If they hated me that much, they could have given me a mean woman name, like Cat Woman or something stupid like Olive Oyl from Popeye. But HANNIBAL!?

Thank goodness that name didn't get the majority vote. I would have cried.

The sweet agony of travel journalism

It is not my story to tell, but it is Frank J Peter's - editor-in-chief of travel portal Concierge.com (Condé Nast Traveler Online). It is rare to find stories that cut out the crap and give you a real peak into something that is otherwise over-glorified - in this case travel journalism - so when you do, it's a must read.

My latest post at Written Road highlights this recently appeared article, check it out here.

To many things, too little time

Between 6 hours of TEFL everyday, TEFL homework, looking for an apartment, trying to keep up writing for the websites I write for, and falling sick, my two favourite things: blogging and dancing have taken a back seat. Forget about other things like reading, Spanish, watching movies, checking out the city and eating tapas. Just can't keep up with the million things I need to do, or get done. Bad excuses, right? yeah I think so too. Need to get some serious time-management into gear.

Little eccentricities of the day

- It's my birthday today, and the first Happy Birthday sms I receive is from Bancaja - my bank in Spain.

- The American founder and owner of the TEFL school I am going to speaks 5 languages fluently and is writing a book on Sai Baba.

- I heard this horrible story of a Japanese student being killed abroad because of language miscommunication. The 16 year old boy dressed for Halloween turned up at the wrong house and was shot by the owner for not understanding what was meant by 'freeze'. After this incident, Harvard made all their international students do a course in American slang - one of the teachers of this course is in my class.

- I met a 91-year old grandmother on the tube who told me all about her husband who had many lovers. She thinks (hopes rather) it is what killed him 20 years ago.

- I had a tuna, walnut and wine sandwich for lunch. Ugh.

- I went to the ham museum (more on that later).

Living abroad is great.

Magic Monday in Madrid

I think it's a mistake to come to a new place on a Friday night. You have no one to go out with over the weekend (sitting in bar on your own your first day can be depressing), and nor can you get anything done since everything is closed. So you land up in your room wailing and whining to yourself about how you miss home and asking yourself why do you keep uprooting your life? What was the point of coming here anyway? (only when you are missionless like me, of course :)

All that takes a 180 degree flip come Monday morning. The city is hustling and bustling. All of a sudden you have a million things to do. Went to the school where I will be doing my TEFL, got my schedule, met some nice people, opened a bank account, booked some appointments to see apartments, visited the police station for details on my residency, and checked out some cool barrios. It's like this Monday morning gave me purpose, kept me busy and made me realise that I live here now - so I have half a smile on my face, just the reassurance I needed. Yes, I know I am a bit dramatic at times. Yes dad you were right. You always are.

In Madrid

Arrived last night after a sleepless 16 hours of traveling and my heart in my mouth. For the first time I have landed in a foreign land, and it hasn´t felt right. I find that weird since I was so ready to get on that plane. It´s like I´m in Spain so I should be in Valencia, but I am not. I am lost and alone in a big city with no solid purpose other than to live abroad, be fluent in Spanish and write. But that was an informed choice. Didn´t quite feel this way last time though.

I opened my suitcase this morning and smelt home. All my clothes washed with Persil and my mum´s favourite Baby Softner. Perhaps all of a sudden I am overcome with the need to belong somewhere. Something that is not going to happen for the next few years. Guess all will be fine once I start going to school and find an apartment. It´s just the initial drama that comes with moving.

Read this on one of my reader´s blogs this morning and it couldn´t describe how I feel better:
´I have become a strange mixture of East and West. Out of place everywhere, at home nowhere.´-Jawaharlal Nehru.

Adios Dubai: Part 2

Am off to Madrid tomorrow morning. This time it's Madrid, not Valencia because it's a bigger city with more opportunities, and it is international yet thoroughly Spanish. The plan is to get certified in Spanish (DELE), travel and write; and well, some income would be a good idea so will teach English...after learning how to teach English (TEFL) of course.

Since I am changing city, I will be starting off from zero again. Although I have a huge knot in my stomach, that is what I find exciting, so it's all cool.

'Abha you have been to Spain once, you had a blast for 6 months, what are you going back for?' is the question that I have been asked a million times over the last month. Honestly, I have no solid answer. I am still as lost as ever, scavenging for direction.

I read this line the other day (cannot remember where) and it brought to me the biggest smile:
If you don't know where you are going, you can never get lost :)

All I know is that I am doing this because I enjoy it and can afford to do it. And yes, I secretly hope it will help me figure out what I want to do with myself. But who knows.

The only thing that hurts when I move is goodbye hugs to family - always dramatic in my house, so tears are guaranteed. Sometimes I think we are too close for our own good. But then again, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Close friends I don't say goodbye to. I stick to 'see you later aligator', and it's way easier. And I truly believe that those people who want to stay in your life, will, no matter where you are. Thanks to the Internet, there is really no excuse.

I will arrive late tomorrow night and my cousin brother has some friends in the capital who have been kind enough to let me bunk with them until I find my own place.

I need to sort out my paper work once I get there, but assuming that all goes well, the plan is to be there for a year.

How will this year help me later? Don't know, don't care.

Whatever happens, if nothing else I will have some good stories to blog about :)

Am flying Qatar Airways. This will be my first time on a Gulf airline. No, 10 years in Dubai and I have never traveled Emirates.

Hasta pronto chicos, do stay tuned.

Movie Review: Salaam-e-Shit

We couldn't even bear to stay past the intermission of Salaam-e-Ishq.

All the 12 star-cast in this Love Actually rip-off film are annoying. Not much was expected from the likes of Ayesha Takia, Sohail Khan or Anjana Sukhani (who is she anyway?), but even Salman Khan, Akshaye Khanna and Priyanka Chopra are disgracefully annoying in the film.

Vidya Balan, the best actress in the film, could have given it some hope but is linked to John Abraham, the worst actor in the film, and is put into a coma right in the beginning.

Not to mention that they all look their worst in this movie. Vidya Balan looks fat, and John Abraham's ultra-poker straight hair is all you see. You can see Ayesha Takia's blackheads and a scar on her upperlip that is in more focus than anything else. Priyanka Chopra is not the glam girl I thought she would be on screen, Soheil Khan is just ugly and Salman Khan you just want to slap.

Ishaa Koppikar is the hottest but hardly has a role, and Juhi and Anil Kapoor actually look ok for their age.

The only exception was Govinda. He is awesome. He stays true to his reputation of really knowing how to make the dummest thing look genuinely funny. He is complemented by his onscreen American girlfriend Shannon Isra - who is a gori (white-chick) in a Hindi blockbuster who, for a change, can actually act. Or maybe our actors surrounding her in the film were so crap, that she was tolerable.

The script is awful, the scenes tried too hard to be funny. I laughed a lot, but at the film and at the people laughing with the film rather than at the film. More amusing than anything were the English subtitles. The movie name is translated to 'love's sweet salute,' need I say more?

The music is the only saving grace. Great songs and the full-of-energy dance sequences are actually fun to watch.

As much as I was interested to see how all the 6 couples get 'connected through fate and love', I decided that reading the ending would be less excruciating than sitting through another two hours of absolute crap.

Revelation

Deep in conversation with a close cousin of mine last night, I think he hit the bullseye on one of the [many] million dollar questions in my life: 'why haven't I been able to keep a boyfriend for more than 3 months?'

He said: "You are the guy's best friend, confidant, and lover. You are a laugh, do not nag, do not expect flowers, and you prefer to maintain most aspects of your independent life. You like few people, and when you do, you do everything to keep them in your life, selflessly, with minimum drama.'

For me, the above is effortless. To me it is how I want my partner to be. You get what you give, right?

Apparently not. You need to be slightly possessive, you need to express your feelings - no matter how stupid they are. You need to be less accommodating and less available. You need to stop giving them the benefit of the doubt. You need to let them know that if you aren't treated right, you will not be around.

You have to make it about YOU, because if you don't, it never will be and you will remain everybody's taken for granted sidekick.

Ouch.

Recommended solution: I need to inject some ego into my system and take a high intravenous dose of self-pride.

Real blogging from WEF: straight from the horse's mouth!

So the point of my post below is now redundant after I received an email today from Jeff Jarvis of the Buzz Machine - one of the official bloggers for the '07 WEF.

He wrote:

'No, the WEF is doing nothing to our posts; they go up automatically after we post them on our own blogs. I don't know what happened in the past but note that your link to Ethan is from last year...'

Excellent to know from someone on the inside.

NB: do read his bio - he has phenomenal credentials.

Closed Doors in Davos Open to Bloggers? But Are They Really?

Logging on to the Huffington Post this morning, I was pleasantly surprised and intrigued to see Arianna Huffington's post from Davos's 'Blogger Nightcap' that was held last night.

In the 36-years of WEF, this is the first time 'official' bloggers have been invited to cover what used to be a private, closed-door forum of 2000 odd world leaders and key media titles. The Davos Conversation Page has been created to service dialogue with the masses, through these bloggers. This is 'historic' according to Klaus Schwab, the guy who created the WEF.

Not surprising with 100 million blogs out there, YouTube and the recent surge of companies using the Web 2.0 platform. The need to be in the blogosphere and allow that interactivity on world issues in real time, has become fundamental.

Despite the solid reputation of the blogs/bloggers who have been invited to blog from within the close doors (Huffington Post, Guardian, DayLife, Buzzmachine, BBC), it seems that all blog posts are first edited by WEF's 4 blog editors before they go live. Correct me if I am wrong.

Hmm. Doesn't that go against the whole purpose of blogging? How is blogging here different from traditional media reporting?Infact, if I am not wrong, traditional media (eg Reuters, AP, NYTimes) don't get their stories approved by WEF monitors, so perhaps here they are more honest and less untainted sources of information at the WEF.

Sure, what is being discussed at WEF is sensitive, sure there is probably a political, social and economical agenda behind almost every official news source out there; but the fact that blogging is (was?) free from all these restrictions and agendas is what makes it powerful, effective and involving of the masses.

I am not a cynical person, and I think the fact that WEF has opened doors to bloggers, demonstrates the significance that the opinion of the masses holds today in this incredibly shrinking world.

In a short video posted here from the 'Nightcap' I loved it when Arianna Huffington said the fact that Davos has opened a conversation page for bloggers, means the end of blogging!

Perhaps in the beginning there will not be explosive or 'true-to-the-spirit-of-blogging' blogging from this internationally volatile platfrom, but as Huffington says as well, it's definitely a beginning.

Perhaps 'YOU' being Time's person of the year needs to get more credit than it has been given.

Black eye and bleeding nose

After over four years of salsa dancing, I was just thanking my stars the other day, when I saw a fellow dancer pull his back on the dancefloor, that, although I have been stepped on and hit a million times, I have never suffered more than a bleeding toe-nail.

Looks like I jinxed myself with that thought. Yesterday, just when I was having a particularly good time on the dance floor, I got elbowed under my left eye, and then elbowed on my nose. The next thing I see is blood all over my hands, and I run to the bathroom.

Stayed in the bathroom a good 10-minutes waiting for my nose to stop bleeding. It had not yet hit me that I had just been badly hit.

Anyway, to be honest, I don't care that I got hit. These things happen on the dance floor - no big deal. What bothered me the most was that, although I ran across the dance-floor mid song with blood all over my hands, nobody came to check on me! Even the guy I was dancing with didn't care to follow me, or ask me if I was OK. And I have been dancing with these people for years! How horrible is that? what sort of people am I dancing with!? Perhaps nobody saw me, or realised what had happened, that's what I am hoping anyway. That's me - giving the benefit of the doubt. Pretty dumb huh.

One girl came in a bit later to see if I was OK; it felt horrible to be so alone in the corner of a club bathroom with blood everywhere, especially when you know over half the people at the club. That's what put me into tears more than the blood.

When I came out, the dude (asshole) was still dancing. He could have atleast called me today to say sorry. Atleast!

Pathetic.

New writing gig - Written Road

I have just started to write for one of my favourite travel-writing blogs - Written Road.
Originally Jen Leo's weblog and part of the Bootsnall Network, I feel encouraged and lucky to be in contact with Jen and Sean Keener, director of Bootsnall and current editor of Written Road.
Will be posting atleast twice a week, so stay tuned! And incase you stumble upon any cool information for travel writers, feel free to send me an email.

Movie Review: The Prestige ****/*****

'That was crazy!' was my response at the end of this movie. Yes, it is a good movie, but very far fetched. And that is what ruins it for the film.

The movie has an interesting and original plot that revolves around the lives of two magicians, whose rivalries escalate into an obsession to outdo the other, resulting in one disaster after the other.

Lies, secrecy, betrayal and dirty tricks are weaved into most of the movie, that ends with an unpredictable twist - which I guess lead me to the 'that was crazy' reaction.

A magician's life (even in the Victorian era) is fascinating, so unless you find magic boring, it will keep you entertained from beginning to end. But, as much as the film will grip you throughout, there is enough time for conversation during scenes.

Directed by Christopher Nolan, the sets, art direction and cinematography is very well done with tremendous attention to detail; and although the acting overall is excellent, the English accents of Michael Caine and Christian Bale in the film are raw and annoying. Scarlett Johansson is at her sexiest, Rebecca Hall is a fine actress, and Hugh Jackman is gorgeous.

Worth it, as long as you are watching closely.

Dubai: The Las Vegas of the Middle East?

An excellent article on Slate by Seth Stevenson on Dubai that talks about skiing and Cyclone. For an outsider writing about Dubai, he couldn't be more accurate.

Some excerpts:

With not much indigenous culture to promote, it would take some modern sort of attraction to bring in foreign visitors. But how on earth do you lure rich tourists to a desert in the middle of nowhere? It seems like an impossible problem … until you remember that someone's already solved it. Viva Las Vegas!...

...This is the brand identity Dubai is cribbing from. The announcement of each new fantastical project (man-made islands in the shapes of continents; the tallest tower in the world; a theme park where the theme is to aggregate theme parks) keeps Dubai in the news. And it all sounds so very strange that we simply must see it for ourselves. Hey, that's what brought me here.

Read the whole article here.

Bollywoodized. Fully.

Ever since I have come back from India all that has been exciting me is Bollywood. I am watching Star Gold, Channel V India and Zee Movies. My computer is playing soundtracks from Guru, Salaam-e-Ishq and Kabul Express; I was pretending to be Aishwarya Rai's choreographer for Tere Bina in my room; I watched Kabhi Al Vida Na Kehna yesterday and all I want to do now, is watch Guru.

What's happening to me? I used to be allergic to Bollywood. I used to consider it a waste of time and brain activity; only rarely enjoying offbeat Indian cinema. Now I'm loving all the jhatkas and matkas, dancing around the bushes and the cheesy dialogues AND I can sit through an entire 3-hour movie!

Actually, come to think of it - this always happens to me when I get back from India. Perhaps it is patriotism sprouting from my subconscience all of a sudden after being locked away for so long.

I mean, all of a sudden I am checking out sari blouse designs of Susmita Sen because I want similar ones. I think I even told my parents the other night not to worry as I will probably land up spending my life with an Indian man. Not that I know any one that I fancy...but just an expression of this thought is playing shehnai in my mum's ears and my dad cannot wipe a grin off his face.

Scary huh.

It does happen!

A little bit of perseverance and scouting out good yet approachable sources when you are a beginner, can get you published! Managed to get an article featured on UK's TravelMag website - take a look here!

Formentera in Mediterranean Spain and Abha Malpani has a cunning plan. Cut costs by dossing where she can. Hardly a formula for a quiet weekend away but a succession of strange men with homes of their own provide a vivid insight into island life.

So encouraging!

Losers and jerks only?

There is a guy I know from the dance floor. He is one of those who are only tolerable in very small doses. He stands roughly at 4 foot 9, so when he dances in close hold with me, my chin is on his head. He is bald with a pot belly. He spells minutes - manuites - and although he dances well, likes to be spanked while dancing (please do not ask me to elaborate). I have nothing against him, but a conversation of any sense is practically impossible with him and he seems perpetually desperate.

So he calls me last night, completely out of the blue and this is how the conversation goes:

Guy: Hi sweety! how are you babe? where have you been? why don't I see you these days, I miss you!

Me: Hey! yeah I've been busy with guests in town.

Guy: Ok, so when am I going to see you?

Me: Guess I'll see you Thursday on the dance floor, right?

Guy: Well, I was hoping you would see me not only on the dance floor.

Me: (silent)

Guy: How about a candlelight dinner, some drinks, followed by a conversation of sweet nothings, dancing and then my place.

Me: (silent)

Guy: (silent)

Me: And what do you have planned for your place?

Guy: DVD's ofcourse!

Me: Ofcourse.

Guy: Come on Abha, you are single, I am single - why can't we get to know each other better?

I was truly hoping he was taking the piss, but turns out he wasn't. Now when you are not at all interested, and somebody so bluntly has this conversation with you - what do you say?

I landed up laughing it off and saying that I will put him on the list of people who 'want to get to know me more', and when his turn comes I will call him. Yeah, conceited and stupid - but do you have a smartypant yet polite way to answer that?

My spontaneous thought to this was - freak, get off my back, it's never going to happen, you are a loser. However, my post conversation thought was: sure he was trying his luck, why shouldn't he, and at least he has the guts to be so upfront and direct about it. When was the last time that happened to me? I don't think it ever has.

Now, the fact that whatever happens to me (like the above), happens with guys I want nothing to do with, ever, is more of a burst in confidence than boost and is a different story all together. It always leaves me wondering: why are the losers the ones who always try to get with me?

Sometimes I feel like I have a sign stuck to my forehead that says: losers and jerks only. *sigh*

Book Review: Bird by Bird - Instructions on Writing and Life

220 odd pages later, I sit here and write rather rejuvenated about the whole process of being a writer, any sort of writer. Bird by Bird - written by Anne Lamott is a pure, soulful, deep yet incredibly funny and informative book on the art of writing and living a full life.

As self-helpy and therapeutic as that sounds, that is not how it reads. She doesn't give you lectures or tells you what to do and how. You don't feel like you are a loser reading this book because you are lost and desperately need direction. She just tells you everything she knows about being a writer in the most raw and crude, yet inspiring manner.

She makes you want to reach deep down inside of you and write; turning yourself inside out in the process. She touches on every emotion you feel at every stage of writing - from writer's block, to writing shit, to feeling fucked six ways (her words) to the elation of completing a piece and getting published.

The whole book is also filled with moving anecdotes from her life and other peoples lives. If I could throw a penny for each time I read a line and felt overwhelmed, I'd be bankrupt.

One of the many thoughts in this book:

'Writing and life are like driving in the dark. You may know where you are going, but you can't see past the headlights.'

A must read for anyone who writes, or wants to write.

New Guardian Travel Site

Some new features, a blog, podcasts and tonnes of travel stories and resources for us vagabonds, the Guardian's new Travel Site is revamped and lookin' good!

Under your skin

Every once in a few years I meet someone who has the ability to get under my skin. Someone who's effect on me is so profound that it leaves me with a knot in my stomach, perpetually confused - not understood.

Always a man, something as little as two words can do everything from giving me a pounding headache to making me feel like the most beautiful woman on the planet.

I can get nervous when he calls and I will stutter when I speak. An sms from him can give me goosebumps and a hug feels warm and tingly. His authority over me and huge ego makes me hate him most the time. An abrupt conversation can leave me lost in thoughts for days.

I want to doubt him and his motives so I can keep distant but it doesn't work. He knows how to play with my mind, I can just hope it is unintentional.

I have deep respect for him, perhaps that and his raw charisma is why I surrender to his controls. There is relief when he is gone, but a desperate desire to hear from him when he is around. He is unpredictable, dangerous, incredibly intelligent, narcissistic and unavailable.

This isn't a love story, far from that infact. Beyond it - almost transcendental. The line of friendship (if that's what it can been called) hasn't been crossed and never will as the result will be my own self-destruction - or mutilation rather.

I hate to admit that I enjoy being under this convoluted spell. Besides, I don't know how to repel it. Perhaps I don't want to.

THE wedding

You know when you see a wedding in a Bollywood movie, you think - wow that looks awesome. And then you think, ofcourse - it's a movie and that's what weddings look like in movies. Well, the wedding I recently attended in Mumbai would give Bollywood movies a run for their money.

There were about 30 mehndi (henna) putting ladies, clothes made of fresh flowers, gold studded dresses, 1-carat diamond jewellery, 95 performers for the sangeet (the dance night before the wedding), and over 3000 people including a bunch of filmstars and politians.

Hospitality is a big deal in Indian weddings, almost a competitive ground for being talked about.
From the minute I checked into the club I was staying at, to the moment I left, every need of mine was taken care of. I could have ordered male strippers with marshmellows and I would have got them.

A tray of Indian food, fruit and gifts was in my room when I arrived, with a personal welcome letter from the family. It informed me of the programme, a car and driver I had at my service for the three days, and gave me a list of contact numbers should I need anything - from wanting to shop, to visiting the zoo or to sorting out my departure flight details.

The wedding was of the sister of my best friend in India - someone I have known since I was 10. Since we had grown up together, alot of friends were common so the wedding served as a 10 year reunion aswell. I met a whole bunch of classmates and lagori buddies I hadn't seen since I left school - all with their second halves (wive's/husbands) and some with little ones. Was like everyone had moved on with their lives and I was stuck in a time-warp.

The nerds had blossomed, the once-upon-a-time dunce hat guys had become happening DJ's, the hot ones looked hotter and the juniors had become adults who worked in investment banks and participated in Gladrags competitions. But the best thing was, the old bond remained. We were all so delighted to see each other, it was as if we had been in touch all along. Also met a friend I knew from Dubai, who I hadn't met since he left the emirates 3 years ago; he happened to be a close friend of the groom. Never would I have imagined bumping into him at this wedding. A jaw-dropping though great blast from the past.

Met a whole bunch of new people at the wedding aswell. A lot of warm crazy people who knew how to have fun. One of the guys did catch my eye, but I don't think I caught his. Story of my life!

We all departed from the wedding with vows to keep in touch and open invitations to each others houses. Hopefully it will not be after another 10 years.

Resolutions and Wishes 2K7

Resolutions

Read more: A book every two months, atleast. (Knowledge is power bla bla)

Finish the books I begin to read: Last year I started to read 9 books, didn't finish any

Write. And write. Anything.

Get one piece of travel writing published.

Quit chocolate: I think it is the cause of my regular bursts of acne.

Stop doubting myself: Need to have more belief in myself and what I can do. Need to stop depending on others for that boost.

Get a job I actually like: Hmmm.

Finish the journalism correspondence course from the London School of Journalism that I started over 7-months ago.

Be certified in Spanish.

Stop wondering too much about what when how why and where.

Run at least 3-times a week.

Meditate.

Wishes:

Do the Inca Trail in Peru.

Go to the Dominican Republic.

Audition to be a VJ on Channel V.

Fall in love.

Not have random wishes so that I can concentrate on my resolutions.

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Wish you a wonderful 2007.