Mental Excursions

I Was Not Born for Couture Hamsa-Damayanti   (Swan-Damayanti), painting by Raja Ravi Varma (1899); Indian women have worn saris for centuries  I think it is time I publicly confessed that designer stuff is not for me. I don’t recognise it, I don’t appreciate it, and I certainly don’t have the refined sense required to gasp at its pedigree. Hand me a ‘signature piece’ and I’ll stare blankly, wondering if the designer’s name explains why it costs as much as a week-long holiday. On me, even luxury looks ordinary, as if I’ve downgraded it. Allow me to explain this embarrassing truth. This happened with a close friend, in fact she is like an older sister to me and I call her didi , (Didi is the respectful way to address an older/wiser woman). Mani and I had gone to visit them. Didi handed me a gift. Like a child on Christmas morning, I pulled a parcel from a large white bag with its brand name stamped in dull gold letters, one I’d never even heard of. One layer of fancy wrapp...

No Question Is Really Stupid! Finally, the calendar has shown that it understands my problem. Tomorrow, the 28 th of September is Ask a Stupid Question Day!   Being a Punjabi, I was fed on a healthy diet of ਪੁੱਛਣ ਵਿੱਚ ਕੀ ਹਰਜ਼ ? (Puchchhan vich kee Harz? What is the harm in asking?) I happily ask a local for directions, while Mani argues with Google map, mumbling, cursing. The more frustrated he gets, the less likely he is to ask a stranger for help. (Apparently, it is a male thing). I, on the other hand, can shamelessly ask a passerby willing to stop and guide me. Why ask questions? I ask when I don’t know, do not understand, have not seen, or am simply curious about something. I ask about knitting patterns, recipes, language, places, phone features, even life’s puzzles and hundreds other things. I ask to seek solutions, and venting is reserved exclusively for my close friends.   No doubt, I have asked a fair share of stupid questions, some of which have embarra...

Talent vs Skill: I Shrug, They Shine The baraat that shut down Wall Street, making headlines and history.   Photo: India Today “Such a talented woman!” Haven’t you heard that remark at a pooja (prayer) programme, a wedding sangeet (musical programme), or a get-together where you are a part of the miniscule audience? As a railway wife, I had an overdose of this comment during music and dance programmes for Teej, Garba, Diwali, New Year eve, welcome and farewell of boss’s wife, or sometimes a sangeet, a brave hostess dared invite me to. One after the other, came on stage a ‘lady’ or a group of them, dressed in their latest shiny best lehengas or saris, adjusting their dupattas and pallus . The compere would promise a ‘mesmerizing’, ‘scintillating’ dance or soulful singing. The music range for dance was wide – from a folk or classical music-based film song to bawdy, vulgar item numbers. Struggling to synchronize, their waists thickened after the sacrifice of childbearing, ...

English & its Clever Cheat Salt & pepper, fish & chips, bed & breakfast, hugs & kisses, R& D, H&M, Johnson & Johnson, all make sense, don’t they? And if you are reading it in the evening, Black & White can be the choice. But what is this between you & me? Got it? No? That little curly, arty squiggle!   The stylish sign has a big name most of us are familiar with- the ampersand ! And if English language is large-hearted enough to have a full day in its name, why can’t I use some words to sing its praises? I am not fibbing. September 8 is officially the World Ampersand Day, if you please. I used to think that perhaps a calligrapher sitting in his happy place, humming a little romantic song, invented this pretty fellow that reminded him of the musical notes. But no, I have so much to learn in this world. Once again, it is the Romans who are said to have invented it. There are no records how it came into being, but either a stone-car...

Confessions of a Hopeless Wanderer The picture of Dolbadarn Castle at Llanberis Pass, Wales, on the computer screen stopped me in my track. Forgetting what I was going to do, I stared at it as if mesmerized, almost giddy with that all too familiar strong feeling of wanting to travel. This is no small, ignorable feeling. I fear a psychiatrist could diagnose it as dromomania , or vagabond neurosis . We know what Greeks mean by mania , and dromos , I read, is running; together it means the ‘uncontrollable longing to travel’. A kinder person will merely call it ‘wanderlust’ or ‘itchy feet’, and leave it at that. I am forever ready to travel, within or outside the country. Whoever said, “Whenever I return from a trip, my dromomania has me planning the next,” was surely talking about me. For me, travelling is the purpose. The moment the words chalo chalein (Let us go) appear on the family Whastapp chat, my whole being goes into hyper mode producing perhaps all-dopamine, serotonin,...