Mental Excursions

Signboards: Genius, Goofs, and Giggles Signboards are meant to be looked at and it is presumed, obeyed. Sometimes, they feel like the work of a creative genius and stay in our minds for long; other times, they lodge there for all the hilariously wrong reasons. And somehow, these wrong ones always turn out to be more eye-catching. After a few months of collecting such gems, here is a little gallery for you to enjoy, and occasionally shake your head and wonder where was the designer’s mind. First some great ones: The mind is a quiet parachute: closed, it rests; open, it rides the winds of imagination and discovery. Seen in a school in Vancouver, Canada. Evergreen Lake in Colorado,USA When your water is this clear, you don’t just tell people, you show them. Such a gentle way to say: pause, prepare, then proceed. Just loved this sign!   Order this way, adventure that way —  depends on today’s personality. Designers can be artists or eggheads. Above: Split it, read it, pond...

When Words Go on Strike Last week I skipped writing. No, I was not unwell or travelling or roped into one of Mani’s projects. I just sat in my chair, my mind full of muddled thoughts like ingredients in a witch’s cauldron, simmering, even as it drizzled outside with a sudden drop from a humid 34 degrees C to a wet 18°C degrees. The only issue or problem was, the words had gone on strike. It was as if they got sick of me and said, “Let’s bunk class today and go on chhutti (holiday). Why? Because normally, every Thursday I begin my two-day twelve-hour writing ritual- practically a job (unpaid yet immensely satisfying): research, reading, writing, deleting, rewriting, photo-hunting, editing, formatting, and then convincing Mani that this final draft really is final. (Is it ever?) Then it is released on Saturday, looking perhaps clean and effortless, like those people who claim they ‘just put something together’ when they turn up in a perfectly colour-coordinated outfit. B...

Krishna, Bihar Is Calling! Battle of flags in Patna: BJP and Congress workers fight it out! Photo:India Today Pardon me for repeating myself: but I am addicted to worrying. Please, I am no commonplace worrier losing sleep over ordinary man’s life problems-petrol price, traffic, maids’ unannounced leave, job issues. No, I specialize in getting my stomach in knots about things I have no control over. Currently, the bull’s eye on my anxiety circle is Bihar, specifically the coming elections. There should be no confusion in your minds over this. I am neither contesting, nor fielding a candidate; not even writing a political commentary. But I am an Indian citizen, born and living here, have an Indian passport. So, worrying about matters of national interest should be my birthright, isn’t it? After all, when news channels think politics is India’s only activity and air it 24x7, why shouldn’t I broadcast my worries too? Earlier this month, election dates were announced for Bihar. I ...

Diwali- The Great Indian Purge Photo: incredibleindia.gov.in Just a little over a week left for Diwali, the annual extravaganza of lights, bright colours, shiny displays, feast, and fun.   A strict no-no to inauspicious garbage and dirt during the festival; obviously, these days we are busy cleaning our houses like a nation possessed, because Goddess Lakshmi, who grants the boon of wealth, apparently has very strict housekeeping standards and does not bless homes with even one cobweb or speck of dust. Westerners spring clean for comfort; we do Diwali cleaning for divine inspection, and back pain. What this national cardio entails is whitewashing, painting, scrubbing, cleaning every nook and corner, polishing furniture, washing curtains and bedspreads, and whatever else can stand detergent, water, chemicals, sponges, rags, brooms, and brushes, till the house shines brighter than newly-bought, winking Christmas lights. Old or worn-out utensils are replaced, for fear of offendin...

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...