I have been reading a lot recently: tons of good books, different genres, but that is for another post. Right now I am reading Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. It came out a while back and he won the Pulitzer Prize for it. The book is from the point of view of an intersex person, Cal, who spends his first fourteen years being brought up as a girl called Calliope. The story also weaves in his Greek heritage and family history. The book is engaging, well written and interesting. About a quarter- way through it.
Sometimes, I keep repeatedly saying a word or name out loud and I suddenly realise it sounds completely different from the first time I said it.
Does that make sense?
I have the ultimate love/hate relationship with my period. I panic till I get it, and when it finally comes I remember what a bloody pain (I apologise for that terrible pun) it is. One of the best things about being pregnant would be not having a period for nine whole months, not to mention having a little baby of one’s own. Though, the thought of the pain, the weight I will put on and the being responsible for another living thing does have me second guessing wanting to ever get pregnant. Though, that is for another post.
Getting back to the topic of my period, the days leading up to it has me cranky, weepy and crampy ( Sorry, but I am that stereotypical pmsing woman). Add to that my skin breaking out and mouth ulcers, trust me , it is not a pretty picture. I think my period is due now, I feel a bit cranky and have no inclination of getting up from the comfortable spot on the sofa much less working out. I even teared up watching an advertisement on television. The wait begins, for the dreaded period. I remember watching an advertisement (another ad, not the one that had me tearing up) where these girls wished each other a ‘happy period’, It was a sanitary napkin ad. I wonder does anyone ever have a happy one? Gosh, this is a random post. Ramblings of a pmsing woman. Anyway here is wishing you and me a happy period!
p.s. I hate, hate and despise it when people call their period ‘chums’, I am sorry but it isn’t your fun, friend paying you a visit!
I have not been following the 30 day shred as I should have. I have been doing level one for the past month or so. Level one is supposed to be done only for ten days, continuously. I have taken a couple of days off in between and mixed in some yoga. But, at least I am exercising nearly everyday. Which is a great start.
I am feeling more fit and strong. I feel muscles in my arms, that’s a first! I saw the video for level two of the 30 day shred, and it scared me! The moves seem extremely hard and complicated. I need to woman up and give it a go. Will start level 2 from next Monday, I promise.
(You can read Part 1 here)
In recent years while browsing for chick-lits, I have come across ones written by Indian authors. I have read a few, but I mostly stay clear of them. The writing is terrible, the characters weak, and I come away from reading one feeling a bit sad and depressed. Everything seems forced from the plot to the dialogues. And why does the independent, progressive female protagonist have to swear too much, smoke a gazillion cigarettes and drink obscene amounts of alcohol. Or at the other end of the spectrum, live a sheltered life with her parents, with no idea what is going on in the world and whose only ambition is to marry a nice, kind man. There seems to be no balance and I just cannot identify with them.
But, there is an exception. I picked up a copy of ‘The Zoya Factor’ by Anuja Chauhan a few years ago. I loved it! Spunky and funny female protagonist, who likes to party and enjoys chilling with her dad; dashing, proud, drool-worthy, captain of the Indian Cricket team male protagonist; not to mention an interesting and enjoyable story line. Zoya who works in advertising, becomes the Indian Cricket Team’s lucky charm, when they realise that she was born at the exact moment that India won the 1983 world cup. Of course, team captain, Nikhil doesn’t believe in a silly thing like luck. I read somewhere that the book might be made into a Bollywood movie, eeks! Not looking forward to that.
I just finished reading, Anuja’s third book, ‘Those Pricey Thakur Girls’, this was even better than her first novel. Pride and Prejudice inspired– it is about five alphabetically named daughters growing up in the late 80s in Delhi. Debjani Thakur, daughter number four, is a newsreader at Doordarshan and her love-interest Dylan Singh Shekawat (Punjabi- Mangalorean mix) is an intrepid, investigative print journalist. The two leads combined with mad family and relatives, and with the addition of political masala gives rise to a humorous, intelligent and endearing story.
What I love about Anuja’s books, is that there is a some relatability and balance when it comes to her characters. I see shades of her characters in people I know and interact with. And that makes her books all the more enjoyable. The personality of each character is allowed to shine and the Thakur family certainly seems to have no dearth of them. And this is just the first in a series on the Thakur family, cannot wait for the next one.
Hopefully, I will come across more Indian chick-lits which are as balanced, funny and romantic as Anuja Chauhan’s. Any suggestions?
Did you guys miss me? I would like to think there are a whole bunch of readers out there who frantically log on everyday to see what I have been up to. I am the queen of wishful thinking. Anyway, I have been away on a most fabulous holiday. Spent five glorious days in Singapore with C. We stayed with C’s sister and her fiance in their most fabulous apartment. C’s younger sister made a trip out to Singapore as well, so it was a full-blown family affair.
A lot of beer and wine was drunk, a lot of delicious food was eaten, and a little bit of shopping was done as well. We did the regular touristy things — visit to Clark Quay, Arab Street, the malls, the bars etc. I also spent a day at the museums while C went off to Universal Studios and the Aquarium. We both did go to the zoo together, which C enjoyed, while I sniffled and shuffled along behind him as I had caught a nasty cold.
This was my first trip to Singapore and what a city! Clean, organised and safe (more so than many cities in Europe) — my kind of place. While high-rises and malls abound, there were also wonderful spots of greenery, I could have gotten used to living there.
I know the state is autocratic and there is control over the media and the country has its share of problems. But, visiting from a country where harassment and crimes against women are on the rise, a country where poverty abounds, where traffic is disorganised, and an erratic electricity situation is the norm; I would pick Singapore any day, any time just for the feeling of safety and dependability.
Though any hopes of moving there is a far of dream. Everything is so expensive whether rent or food. And you can forget about owning a car there what with the insane taxes, though with the excellent public transport system, having your own car isn’t something you would miss too much. Maybe, one day, when we make a lot of money, we could move to Singapore, live in a fancy penthouse overlooking the city and feel safe. That’s the plan! I told you, I am the queen of wishful thinking.
The smell of rain in the air
Mugs of tea
You and I lazing
Music playing low
At this moment
I am content
I am happy