House hunting is a bitch.

My friend dvd is new in town and is house hunting – and as many of you may already know, I did a lot of house hunting myself last year – so when dvd asked for help I was more than happy to pass on my wisdom –aka The Butt theory – to him.
That no matter what every house on the list will have a but now the only thing we have to see is which of these butts you can put up with.

“What?” he asked confused.

“You’ll know,” I smiled, condescendingly – and here’s how we spent our day one of house hunting -

·        House no.1 - 

      Three bedrooms – fully furnished – AC- Double bed- Fridge- Microwave- Cooking Gas- wifi –“Promise me you won’t get a girl in this house – abhi ke abhi promise karo mujhko.”
Now it’s not that dvd is Hugh Hefner – and would have playmates over all the time -but yes, let’s give him some credit – he can manage to bring a friend or two home for a party or general merriment type things. Poor dvd – looked at me for help – by now uncle ji had placed both his hands in his hands and was fully pressuring him to succumb to the sanctity of the oath and only thing missing from this bollywood court room drama scene was the Bhagwat Geeta.
We ran for life.

Sometimes It's okay to be the last one standing

So your friends kidnap you from your workplace on the pretext of some sort of luncheon emergency and the next thing you know you are lighting a bonfire in a rustic British Cottage near Kasauli.

The Holy Fuck!

O holy brother have mercy on me– for I live in the land of the demented. 

 “She should have taken God’s name and held the hand of one of the men (rapists) and said, ‘I consider you as my brother and said to the other two, ‘Brother I am helpless you are my brother, my religious brother.’”

And while we are at it brother (wink wink)– How about you also sign up for the daily dose of “shit gyan” straight from Shri Asaram himself – it’s for free - Muft! Muft! Muft! You can also like us on facebook by the way!

Oh! But Rachel is in the loo.

So I am in my room – and I am watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S – for a zillionth time.

Which episode?

Doesn’t really matter – I have seen em all a zillion times

So in this particular episode ..........

Will You Let Your Child Access facebook?

I won’t.

I know what must you be thinking? Just two days ago she was whining about not wanting to get married and here she is worried sick about her future children. But don’t blame me. After all I am a Piscean, that too a woman and the ground reality, my friend, is that “WE THINK” and more often than not we can’t keep shut either.

To Aunt, with love.

So, I am in the kitchen - my sleeves rolled up - kneading the dough – which by the way is my least favourite activity of the day. 

It’s 4 degrees outside – I am super cold and my unruly hair strands are coming in the way but I am afraid not to tuck them back lest I get some flour stuck in my hair. So I am continuing the kneading just like that – even though I am really uncomfortable and pretty irritated – and this is when my mom decides to give me a call. Since both my hands are super occupied I let it ring and decide to call her back as and when I am done with the atta. 

But Mom is not able to comprehend my helpless situation and decides to call me yet again- for the second time.

 Now I know such is the sorry state of things in our dear country that if I let two of her calls go unanswered in a row – SHE WOULD FREAK.

“Hi amma,” I reply in a state of complete surrender, helplessly fumbling with my phone in order to set the speaker mode on.

“What hi,” snaps mom, “say Namaste."

“Oho! Mumma,” I reply irritated, “I really don’t have time for this yaar.”

“What is this yaar? Look at the way you speak...."

“acha, I am sorry, what is it?”, I try cutting our heart to heart short – so that we get to business.

“When do you think you will get married?” surprisingly enough she cuts it really really short
(my mother, ladies and gentlemen.)

“What?”

“Roma aunty was here today.”

Oh-no! Not again – I let out a cry – This can mean only one thing – mom must have had a fresh dose of “societal attyachar” and now it is her turn to pass on the burden on to me – the rightful owner.

Now a thing or two about Roma aunty before I proceed any further – she is the self proclaimed bharat matrimony.com  of our clan and even at the risk of knowing that this post is not going to go down too well with a certain people/cousins whatever I am not going to refrain from saying that she derives some kind of sadistic pleasure watching my parents get uneasy. 

And she does it in a very innocent way too.

“flane di kudi got married,” she’d start sharing her saucy anecdotes even before she steps foot in the house. Knowing fully well, how it is going to affect my parents, especially my mom!

And, my poor mom, falls prey to this every time she visits – which in turn means the oh-so-famous “there-is-a-proper-time-and-age –to-get-married” lecture for me three times a day and 21 times a week.

Dear Roma Aunty,

Please let me be – oh no, let me rephrase- please let my poor parents be! I can take you with both hands tied but they are harmless people who don’t deserve this torture from you. Now, I know you are thinking that you only want my well being and wish eternal bliss for me.
But let’s take care of just my career first and shall I get married I will hold on to your card. But until then go spread joy some place else – not my home.

Your loving niece,

Mwah xoxoxoxo

Just for you E

Back in 2007...

It was one of those days when you decide not to dress up for class (the very famous I –dont-have-to-impress-anyone- so-i-am-going-to-look-like-a-patato mode) and then you end up bumping into the cutest guy in college. (Who, by the way- never, I repeat, never shows up for the classes otherwise.)

You are wearing an old pair of denims – so old that they are literally pleading for retirement and your white top- well to say the least- it’s not white anymore- it's creamish yellow and its best days are behind it. 

However, icing on top of this three tired cake of a situation is that ----- because you were in such a hurry that morning----- all you could manage from the huge pile of clothes that once was your closet was a pair of mismatching socks. So you can’t even run and hide as soon as you spot Mr.Cute-pants lest your secret is revealed. You know- the secret of one pink and one green sock.

So all you can anyway do is walk gracefully – well, whatever grace that you can muster at such short notice- and keep walking until you are a teeny tiny dot to him.

Anyway so you get the picture, right? It was an awful day.

I couldn’t feel any less sexy about myself and to make matters worse my best friend was looking like a total pataka – ­which means bombshell by the way. (My apologies for the terminology but what to do I can’t find a better suiting word.) 

So anyway with my face hung low I was sitting at the Library – yeah, because there was no better hideout- not because I am such a scholar.

That is where I met E - this guy who appeared from nowhere - with some pamphlet about Montreal Protocol in his hand.

‘What?’ I made a face, last thing I wanted was to increase my protocol gyan by some geeky chump. The college hunk had literally passed through me – he had not even acknowledged me and here I was stuck with some chashmish – I wanted to die.

‘Read it whenever you feel like,’ he smiled, and left me alone.

I didn’t even bother to look at the pamphlet for a good one hour – it was only when I was about to get up that I realised there was something hand written on the back of the pamphlet. It was a poem and a beautiful one at that. Not because it was a literary genius – but because it was written for me. Somebody had taken out time for me. I welled up right that second.

                                                    Cool Handwriting, no?

After that I tried spotting E in the library but could not locate him there ... rushed out of the library but couldn’t see him there too.. ...and I have been looking since that day... to no avail...

If ever you read this - Thank you E for making me feel sooooooo special and also I am so Sorry that I couldn’t return the gesture.

That awkward moment

You never really know how to react when you type your name in Google search and this is what shows up..

         Stutee means to worship and Nag stands for King Cobra.

                       In a way it all adds up.

P.S. Yes, typing my own name in google search, I need to get a life. :-(

Because Great Minds Think Alike

I love reading The Times of India – so much so that my day isn't complete until I give the paper a thorough reading and it has been like this for almost ten years now. 

So you can only imagine my joy on discovering that their pledge – in today’s paper –is pretty similar to mine. The one I posted yesterday .

A screenshot of My post from yesterday.

A screen shot of ToI' s post

Similar isn't it?

After all great minds think alike ;-)

People say, “Main Anna hun” – Kanoon says, “Main andha hun.”

     Photograph by: Manish Swaroop

Let’s please not pull a Ghajni this time!

Our ride from Cwg to 2G via Adarsh society (that recently crossed the Coalgate) has been a super bumpy one and now we are at our next station of shame – the Rape station!

But I am sure let another week pass (or let another incident happen which will stoop us a lot lower than we already are on the moral-o-meter) and we will forget all about Nirbhaya/ Damini/ or that brave girl who fought till the end for survival.

Our memory is so short-lived that it won’t take us more than a shower to hop on to something new – anything from a political blunder – to a natural calamity – to even an Indo-Pak cricket match is enough to divert India’s attention.  (And I bet the Government is praying on it already!)

Gone will be Nirbhaya – who made us all unite, stand and fight  - and  she will join the other ghosts from our past.

Please-please-please-please do not let this emotion fade away. 

And while the government says it’s doing the best it can – or, maybe it’s not– I don’t know and quite frankly I have reached the point where I don’t even care for its shallow make belief reforms and steps. The point is that we really cannot sit with one hand on top of the other.

 I am not asking for a revolution here but just go with me.

On the 29^th day of December, 2012 – let us all take an oath...

·  I will raise my son with such diligence and care that no other girl will ever be dragged down that road again.

·  I don’t know about the whole country but here on onwards I will take responsibility for myself – I will be the change that I want in the society.

·  I will never mock another person (a girl or a boy) – no matter how inviting I may think it seemed.

·  I will not sit back if I witness a girl being subjected to misbehaviour of any kind.

·  I will never be that passerby who leaves a victim to die by the roadside.

·  I will not vote only and only and only on merit------ not because my fufadh ji is a member of a certain party.

·  I will respect all women – not just my own mother.

·  I will actually respect the law and not just say it.

·  I will not pull a Ghajni this time.

·  I will not let Damini die.

Here’s to the “dented and painted” women of India

Because you don’t rear cattle and you don’t have cracked heels,

How can you know real India?  Is what a leader feels.

You join a protest and light a candle,

Slow down babe- it’s too much to handle.

U juggle work-kids n home- and if somehow U yet manage to look pretty,

Mr. Minister declares you not witty.

So what - you get a manicure? French tips may be!

You still go home and take care of your baby.

But since we are used to mothers like Nirupa Roy

How dare you call yourself a mamma? oh boy!

N if (horrors of horror) ur dented – painted self is not yet married

Consider yourself as good as buried.

Go get married and have a kid,

Must you have an opinion? God Forbid!

Lo kar lo gheo nu Phanda: Another Gang Rape

Roughly translated that should mean .....

A dog has got to do – what a dog has got to do.

Another woman faces the wrath of the pervert parade of India. (Read the story)

Let’s put two-two black dots now – may be that will help. 

In law, they say thousand guilty may walk scot free but not one innocent person should be wrongly charged. 

However, I think if we make one exception in case of rape charges and stone the bastards to death in public - not because the charges have been proved- but simply because they have been accused.

 That will make such a strong statement that these pervs will think a hundred times before giving themselves a treat even through porn.

I say – no trial- no delay – faisla on the spot.

Is kettle calling the dot black?

Okay honestly - how many of you are signing in on facebook these days - seeing this black dot on someone's profile - and saying to yourself,

"O teri! I cant believe it - is insaan ne bhi black dot of protest lga rakha  hai BUT isi se to protection chahiye thi.

(In other words - Look who is dotting!)

Here's how you get in touch with me!

Email  me at  -  stutee_nag@hotmail.com

• Yes, I have a paypal account.

• NO, I CAN NOT GET YOU INTO SPLITSVILLA :-|

So, here's the deal..

I started this blog in November 2008 - one cold winter night I sat down and said to myself, "dude, I am going to be the world's best writer - ever." 
I will observe things-
I will dive deep into the sea of thoughts 
(and, most importantly,) I will make a difference.
The world is my oyster after all!

But some 3 posts down the line............

I, was shocked to see that the sea of thoughts had evaporated faster than petrol. 

I sucked at observing.
and the only difference I made was in the font size of my blog.

To cut a long story short, even before I could take off I had run out of fuel a.k.a the words. It was then that I heard about that thing called the writer's block - and suddenly it occurred to me that I had hit one.

Wow! I thought to myself, ‘barely 943 words into the bargain and my very own writer’s block.’

'Yes! Yes! Yes!'

"I AM A WORLD-BEST WRITER ALREADY."

Anyhow that block continued from December 2008 to September 2012 – and now I am back hoping that the next one doesn't come along anytime soon.
So by day I am a lawyer but I moonlight as a writer.

and last but not the least, I love it when you visit and I love it even more when you leave a comment.

Urghhhh ...

What are people thinking posting such sorry pictures of a rape victim on their fb accounts? 

Showing support? 
Support - my foot!

For lord's sake it's not sympathetic -
It's simply pathetic.

Bow bow –woof woof!

On a chilly winter night (or, you can say a December night) when sometimes the weather turns so unbearably cold that it seems impossible to survive – at that time all the helpless countryside dogs get together in unison and bark into the night. 

Poor fellows are cold –sorry-hungry-tired-weary-angry and weak but they can’t do much about it – have no other option but to bark. So they bark together in deep melancholy- until the bigwigs of the society get disturbed and send for the Chowkidaar . One blow after the other from the chowkidaar with his unforgiving laathi and the dogs disperse- letting the snooty rich people to continue their prized sleep in peace.

Sounds familiar?

Do you know who are the snooty rich people in this story?

Do you know who is the Chowkidaar?

And if I dare ask, who do you think are the dogs?

Things that the Gen-next will never know!

Okay now that the 20-12-2012 has passed and we are pretty much alive – I guess it is safe to assume that the world will move on – that there will be a generation next.  And while that is good news – here is a list of things that keeps popping in my mind that the next generation will never experience-

Ø  Like, for example, will they ever know that there once existed a world without facebook -(and people still formed friendships.)

Ø  Or, will they ever get that heady rush from the magical swirl of – fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck Shaktiman.

Ø  Or, will the present Hollywood watching- fata-fat English speaking generation ever understand what a thrill it used to be as an eight year old to watch Jurassic park in hindi?

Ø  When the whole family would sacrifice their privacy to sleep in the AC wala room--- Present day kids can’t imagine such a time.

Ø  Will this Digital camera holding generation ever realise the value every single photograph had on a roll of 36 photographs in total?

Ø  Will they ever be able to wrap their heads around the fact that there was a time when Mc Donald’s used to be such a big deal that when relatives from big cities came visiting, they used to bring Mc Donald’s burgers as souvenirs of love.

Ø  Will they ever know what girls look like without re-bonding?

Ø  Will they ever be able to say that they have had Maggie at 4 bucks a packet?

Ø  Will they ever realise what a thrill it used to be the first one to pick up the ringing landline- that leap of joy from across the room to be the first one to answer the call- no, the present android generation will never know!

Ø  That there was a time when not everyone from an 8 year old to a dhobi could afford a cellphone and yet somehow everyone stayed connected.

Ø  That we had to rent movies- downloading wasn’t an option.

Ø  They won’t know what it was like to step into a new century.,, the whole Y2K mania.

Ø  Will they ever know that brazil lalalalalala used to be the national song at every second wedding. Vengaboys wouldn't have been this popular in Brazil, i bet.

Ø  Again- I doubt- if they’d know what a relief it was to step from the local talkies (where I have actually seen people bringing their own chairs) to multiplexes.

Ø  Lastly- will they ever know that from a good internet connection to someone’s affection- we took nothing for granted- we valued stuff and from our room to our popcorn - we didn't mind sharing.

Hey I am a man – oooh I HAVE A PENIS – in short – a license to rape.

I do not own a TV. So the only way I get to know about the outer world is through newspapers or a little bit through the internet.  Today I was late for work, so I did not reach out for the paper until half an hour ago.  So, if you ask me I had a nice day- u know posted some pictures- got a hundred likes- Liked two hundred others myself. Felt really good seeing that I am still popular.

 So far so good.

But what I did not know was that right at the time when I was busy posing for my “natural shots”  
(yes, i am talkin about the pictures that look really as though I had no idea that they were getting clicked but the truth remains that I take atleast 100 such pictures before I settle on one and I am not even ashamed to admit it anymore) 
exactly at that time, there was a girl right in middle of our capital city living the worst nightmare of any girl’s life ever. 

And you know why am I not shy to admit my double standards anymore? 

Because after a certain incident you reach that point when you are so full of self loathing for being so full of yourself- for not being able to make a difference and most importantly for simply reclining on your easy chair, for shrugging, for being able to move on so easily and for not really giving a fuck- that no matter how much someone else hates you, you yourself are already a step ahead on the hate-o-meter and their hatred/judgement refuses to matter.

In that one moment you realize that that you are nothing but a fake pretentious nut who is described by her facebook account- that nothing else really matters to you- as long as you get your 100likes/day. 

That nothing- no matter how grotesque- can ever shake you up from your fucking state of oblivion. 

I don’t know if I’d be able to get through to any of you but the only thing that is coming back to me since the time I read today’s newspaper is.......

There I was getting clicked -la-la-la- when a girl my age was getting stripped.

Some Cards- Some Chai- Some Gupshup!

It was one of those days- when you get up and the first thing you say is, “Lord what the fuck!”

ü  You know cause you missed the doodh-wallah for you were too lazy to get your bum out of your cosy bed and now there is no coffee for you.

ü  The kudah-wallah has taken an off for the third consecutive day and the garbage in the kitchen is overflowing.

ü  The sabzi wallah is constantly repeating the items on his menu along with their respective Max retail price right in front of your house on top of his voice.

ü  There is no balance on your phone.

ü  Yes, it is also one of those days when there is no water in the house.

ü  AND THE MOTHER OF ALL MISERIES – You have a hang over!

 So in the words of great Chandler Bing, “Could you be more screwed?”

But thankfully, against all odds, my day still picked up and here’s how?

I packed up some knick knacks – you know my travelling kit – although it’s not so much a kit as it is a camera and a deck of cards (actually two decks of cards)- and I showed up at my friend’s house. 

It took us literally ten minutes to decide where to go and there we were on our way to Nalagarh fort even before my hangover could bid me goodbye.

And unlike the RDB fort fiasco this one was a total blast.

Ø  The drive was awesome-

Ø  it wasn’t all that far away-

Ø  no eve teasing-

Ø  well kept-

Ø  beautiful-

Ø  and the food they serve there- pretty nice.

Rating:

Well my rating of the place is three and a half stars. (And all this when I was totally sober- so you be rest assured that there are no drunk exaggerated memories in my head- it’s the absolute sober truth.)

Do visit if you haven’t been already but make sure it’s a bright sunny day and also make sure that you schedule a little picnic near the SISWAN Dam. 

The Dam

The dam is on the way to Nalagrah fort only and it is very pretty. So you make a day out of it. 
And Like I said the fort is barely one-one and a half hour from Chandigarh -so you can be back on time. But if you want to stay at the fort they have that option too. 

                                                                          The Fort

And that is how I ended my day.. with a big fat smile.

The Monk who sold his Ferrari should have met the Old Monk - All problems solved!

Disclaimer : For You to actually get this post you need to be acquainted with at least one of these two monks
- the Monk who sold his Ferrari or the Old Monk.

Okay my romance with the Old Monk is way too recent for me to go about flaunting it around town (we have been introduced this winter only and for all I know he may ditch me soon) but it is new- it is exciting- and I can barely keep my mouth shut. 

So here goes...

The first thing I asked my friend who introduced me to the Old monk was, “Well, exactly how old is this Old Monk?”  

To which he replied, “Baby he is old enough to understand you.”

Anyway as I was saying since I am only in the morning period of my relationship with the Old Monk, I can’t be too certain about how it shapes up in future but what I can tell you with all certainty is - that the sun has set on my relationship with the Monk who sold his Ferrari.

So even though it was totally bitch-like of me to ditch my ex-flame –the monk who sold his Ferrari- for this new hot flame- the Old Monk- I still did it K

Whatttttttt? Don’t judge me okay. I had to pick my battles after all.

Two years the monk who sold his Ferrari had been by my bedside yet couldn’t do much for me (no eternal bliss- no everlasting contentment) and on the other side was this wise-cracking old monk- who did so well- in keeping all my worries at bay the very second we shook hands.

Why else would a place that is within twenty five kilometers of Chandigarh- seem like a whole other world?

And the best part is that I have always believed that I am into elder guys- So, I guess Old Monk has it all- after all.

xoxo

I don’t fancy a big fat Indian wedding – Is that so bad?.

DISCLAIMER: It's a little longer than I usually care to post but bear with me... there was a lot to say!

Ever since I was fourteen I have had a dream- a dream to see the world. 

Nothing fancy (no 5 stars- no business class travel- no plastic smiles). Just a dream to experience the world in it all its rawness. You know, travelling in public transport (or, may be in a hundred years old truck from world war 1)- Cracking up about something with a fellow passenger- Forming friendships with the natives- Being that mysterious traveller from a far off land etc etc...

You know I sometimes imagine myself with a backpack – strutting down the streets of Istanbul in the warm winter sun- I am in a white top and a snug pair of blue jeans that fit like a dream  - I am wearing dark brown sunglasses with big frame.. My boots are rugged-I have a jacket wrapped around my waist- My hair is loose- I have a scarf around my neck- I am holding a camera (SLR’s, they are called right ?)- Local kids are waving at me and giving me toothless grins- women are shy but hospitable- the wise old man of the clan invites me for an early supper with them, which I happily accept- I drink tea with them and I have a notepad where I take down every little detail that I think is worth savouring... and as I sit there learning their folklore.. Suddenly I hear someone call me from my name.... “Tanu”

Surprised, as to how on earth someone in Istanbul knows my nick name (let alone my name), I turn to locate the owner of the voice.

It’s my mum.

“Get up beta, it’s ten in the morning. What do you keep doing on your laptop all night? And look at your room-so messy.”

Suddenly I realise the grand old man has vanished- toothless kids are nowhere to be seen - there are no shy women serving me food- Just our ever smiling domestic help kunti scurrying through my room with her prized broom- and it takes me about five more seconds to realise that I am 24 yrs old - ten years have passed since I had first had this dream and I have done nothing about it. 

Accomplished nothing- gotten nowhere.

‘Oho mumma, shut the drapes,’ I reply, grumpily, on being dragged out of Istanbul so ruthlessly.

“No, no, nothing doing,’ replies my mum as she forcibly snatches away my quilt, ‘get ready we have to go to Sharma aunty’s house also. Neha is getting married, you remember na!’

‘Remember, huh? I roll my eyes. Of course I remember. That is all you have been talking about for the past 6 months,’ I want to say but keep shut instead. So that I am saved the what-are-you-doing-with-your-life sermon. Of late everything has been about marriage in the Nag household Marriage is all mom talks about and marriage is all she thinks about.

Until recently I was more than sure that my life was headed in the right direction. I had it all mapped out and slowly but steadily I was getting there. But now suddenly everyone I know (be it from school or from college) is either getting married or having babies and everything is changing.

And even though I couldn’t be any less happy for them I can’t help but ask – Is having a different kind of dream (a.k.a to backpack across Europe on your own) not okay? 

Does marriage mean everything? 
Apparently it does. 
At least that is what the society (and by society I mean my mum) will have me believe. Good lord I don’t want to get married as yet- am not saying never- but not yet and while we are at it- let me say this also- I don’t want to have a big fat Indian wedding either. I think it’s a waste and that money can be put to a much better use. Is that so bad?

I have awesome friends- I love my job and I couldn’t be in a more secure place in my life- I think for now I am content celebrating just that. But every time I sign in on facebook and see three hundred and fifty likes on a friend’s wedding album – i feel a knot building in my stomach. Not because I am not happy for her but just because she has finally realised her dream (a dream of being a lovely bride) but I AM NOT EVEN KINDA CLOSE to my toothless kids in Istanbul and that makes me sad.

Then I call up my still single friends and burden them with all this nonsense and luckily for me they steer me out of my depression. After a long discussion - I get back on track- and start working on my dream to travel- to learn- to write and to live. And someday I am sure –just like my friend- I will realise my dream too but till then I just have one request to make:

Dear God, my friends tell me that you have something amazing in store for me and I couldn’t be any less thankful for that but KINDLY OPEN THE STORE SOON.

Rang De Basanti Fort - eh!

(pictures at the end of the post)
8:30 am - Left from Chandigarh. (You know, In the Dharti sunheri- ambar neela- har mosam rangeela- aisa des hai mera- mode)

10:00 am - Reached the fort (5 Kms from Khanna).

10: 10 am - Had a Budweiser.

10: 30 am- Actually played Rang de Basanti music on my i-pod to get d feel. (Yes, I rate myself the highest in the order of wanna be's. I am actually surprised that I didn't end up going there in an open jeep.)

10: 45 am - Clicked some pictures.

10:50 am - Some other people (locals probably) walked in - felt good-  to see that the fort was doing so well.

10:55 am - Witnessed something close to hooliganism or what can only be called the Sleaze-fest 2012 
Official partner- Testosterone Charged losers pvt. ltd.
Media partner - Ogling eyes pvt. ltd. 
(men and their ways to attract attention-pffff).

11:00 am - Collected our stuff and Got the hell out of there.
 (In the famous - tch tch is desh ka kya hoga? - mode.)

Review: 
Nice place.
Try going with a group.
There is not much aside from the fort- so good company is a must.
Rest I understood what Aamir Khan has been saying all this while.
We Indians do really know how to make the others uncomfortable.
(Atithi -not- devo bhav)
I was appalled to see that Not just the foreigners- we don't even spare our own when it comes to showing our inhospitable road side mannerisms- like eve teasing/littering/spitting etc etc.. plus it was really dirty too (liquor bottes- wafer packs- and spit stains) . 
Place requires a little security and a lot of maintenance.  
All this was actually a spoiler and made me deduct 2 and a half stars straightaway from my rating of this place.

Rating:
** and 1/2* (In case u didn't get it- that was two and a half stars)


Here are some pics I think you may like.

    Behind me is the field where Aamir Khan and the boys took off their shirts!

Pe gya High Court da chaska - Private job hun kareya janda nai

At first I thought I’d put the title of this post as my facebook status – get a hundred and fifty likes – feel good about myself – and move on!

 But the fact remains that I am getting more and more partial towards my blog by the second, which I should be allowed to given that I think that my blog is my baby (like facebook is Mark Zuckerberg’s baby). So I ditched facebook and decided to write about it here - in my very own little space (even though I know that it’s not going to get me even five likes – people are surprisingly lazy to explore something new- but it’s not about the likes anymore, I guess). J

Very recently I told you about the worst feeling on my list of various feelings; it was the feeling of drowning (and also the feeling of dealing with a Govt. clerk). 
However, this post is not about that. 
It is about that heady-oh-my-god-i-cant-believe-it-took-me-24-years-to-experience-something-like-this-feeling and I figure, if you have been patient enough to hear me bitch about the stupid clerks, you have every right to share my happy-feeling too.

The happiest moment that I experience these days is WHEN I APPEAR IN A COURTROOM.

God, the thrill- don’t think of me as immodest- is orgasmic.

No matter how nervous you are before as soon as you are there at the dice everyone else changes into blurry images. It’s you at the centre stage and even though it may last for only five seconds but that sudden rush of knowing that it’s on you that the entire case rests is mind blowing. 
For that brief moment you are one of the most important persons in the court room - even though all you have to do is to seek a Passover or make a request for adjournment (fellow lawyers will know) – or may be even stand silently as the court goes about doing its business. And once you are done- the slightest look of appreciation in your-honour’s eye is more than enough to make you go- vroom.

Walking down the alleys of the High Court in your prized black robe – even if you are the one with the most simplest of the job in the entire building- makes you feel every bit worth it.

Yep! this is where I work and I couldn't be more proud of the fact.

Five years ago the word “corporate law” was so big in my dictionary that nothing else mattered. All I knew was that as and when I’d be done with law I’d move to some big city and make big bucks; That one day I would join the Honourable High Court of Punjab and Haryana to practise law – the very thought never even crossed my mind. What did I know back then that not only will I practise law but it’d be something that I’d myself choose to do? They say you are at the right kind of job if you are looking forward to the Mondays.

Well, so far so good.

Not that the High Court will stop functioning if I don’t show up but just the fact that I did something meaningfully enjoyable is more than enough to get me straight through the week.

I had heard many people say that Practising law is like ecstasy and once you are hooked to it, you are hooked for life. It is too early to say but as of now I will sign off with the following words – 

I am aware that it’d be long before the “big bucks” come in but till then I am satisfied knowing that every day at the High Court brings with it a new challenge - a new concept- a new Drama.

And here’s to a new beginning- Cheers!

Or should I say Order-Order!

Blogger dwara Jan-hit mein jaari

Okay! I know that you boys think that you can tell right away when a girl is bad news but here’s some fresh news, YOU DON’T ALWAYS KNOW. So, consider my post a word of caution. As and when you spot any of the following signs in a girl that you have just started seeing, RUN FORREST RUN:

ü  If at any point, during the beginning of your general dating-type thing, you hear her saying, “arrey aunty mere hotey huye aap kaam karengi...” (Aunty going in her head “beta pichley 25 saal se kahan thi?)

ü  Or, if you are at a dhaba, enjoying a sumptuous rustic meal and you hear her say the following words, “Chotu tum School jaatey ho na?” (Chotu going in his head, “Oh! no, not again. When will these rich bastards grow up? I have work to do after all.”)

ü  If she can easily pronounce CHANEL, LOUIS VUTTON and GUCCI but can’t say Chyawanprash.

ü If she posts a picture of a big-mansion like pent-house on her FB (making sure it’s taken at the right angle, so that the whole house fits in- in one picture) and the picture reads, “MY SWEET LITTLE HOME.”
ü If she is more than twenty years old and calls masar ki daal –Yellow waali daal.

ü  If her favorite football player is Rooney (I mean Mitt Romney). I have seen it happen. Trust me, you can't make this stuff up.

ü  If she doesn’t know what is 78 in hindi. (It is ath-athar)

ü  If her answer to everything is “aww”. (Boy: I think I have AIDS. Girl: Aww.) That’s the stuff I am talking about.

ü  If she is pouting her lips in a picture that is taken at her convocation.

ü  If at every party that she is at her official party line remains, “God, how can girls wear clothes like that?” Or, “I don’t booze.”  Okay there is nothing wrong with the fact that you don’t booze but everything is wrong if you are self-advertising it.

Okay now remember that this list is not an exhaustive list. There is a lotttttttttttt to add but I don’t want a long post so that it puts you to sleep. So, I stopped right  here but if u have a point to add. DO NOT FEEL SHY.