alice's peephole

I think it’s really hard writing about something that brings up a wide spectrum of emotions. It’s like trying to describe your first love. But I'm gonna try anyway. I discovered my first love in Grade 3. Like every day, I was walking across my school ground, when I noticed something that had gone unnoticed for the past 5 years. Hockey practise was in session, and in that moment I was sure I wanted to join. I rushed home that day to talk my parents into letting me play this sport. I don’t remember their response, but I’m sure it was less than lukewarm. My brother had already put my parents through the rigmarole of buying shoes, a stick and ball and dropping him to practise, only to discover a week later, that he was, as suspected, a lazy lump, and hockey could not be played while lying curled up in bed. Anyway, I managed to convince my parents into letting me join. The coach had been my mom’s student, and an Olympian. She recognized that I was quite energetic and fast, so she m

A few people have read my blog and asked me why I don’t become a writer. When I told them I can’t write unless I’m inspired, they have shrugged it off as an unsatisfactory answer. Well here is proof that I can churn out absolute bull, which will put even Christopher Paolini and Yann Martel to shame. I entered a CREATIVE writing contest in Fergusson once, for want of better things to do on a Wednesday afternoon. The topic was “ A digital mouse meets a real mouse”. So I decided to go all out on the creativity. I really thought I deserved extra points for that. If you dare, and have nothing better to do in the next 10 – 20 minutes, depending on your speed of reading, then scroll down. Since I am shameless enough to post this and torture you with the read, I beg you to go ahead and criticize and comment to your heart’s content, and basically exact revenge on me. A Digital Mouse meets a Real Mouse It is brown, hairy and scouts around in damp corners. I will not call it smelly, but I

I once saw a beautiful girl- of about 11. Light eyes in total contrast to her dark sun-burned skin. She had bleached golden brown unkempt hair and a petite figure. She was high up on a tight rope, balancing 3 pots on her head. A safety harness was conspicuous only by its absence. She looked afraid- not of falling, but of making a mistake. She would pay dearly for that. Recently, I took a tour to a few of the smaller cities of Maharashtra- to conduct a hunt for a cricket commentator. The first stop was Nasik. As we sat in the audition hall the night before the event, I was afraid that the next day would see the 200 seating capacity hall only half full. And we did. But none of us went back disappointed that day. Our victory wasn’t in numbers; it was in the talent and passion we encountered. There were more than a few girls who auditioned. They were either brave enough to venture into such a male dominated profession because they knew no fear or they were taken up by Mandira. I don’t

I read a grandma’s blog today- that’s right- a grandma’s BLOG! It all started with a project at work- I needed some information, and google only gave me a 1 line definition. Then I came across this blog by “Ugich Konitari”. Even through an impersonal portal like a blog- a Grandma’s serenity came through. Her wealth of knowledge wasn’t sitting locked up at home. It was a lovely post, with pictures and all. She had 179 followers! That’s 35 times that follow my blog!! But after reading it, I started envying the grandkid that, in my head, helped her create it. In retrospect, it’s possible that she that even made it herself. Either way, it made me miss my Grandma. She passed away a couple of years ago. When I was 10, she was diagnosed with cancer. She was already 80 then, and the doctors gave her about 2 years more. I think I was lucky to have overheard this shocking news. Then on, I was so afraid of losing her, that I cherished every moment I had with her. Every year my family spent

At this time last year, I was waiting eagerly for what I was sure would be the best experience of my life. Surprisingly, I never stopped to think about what would come after it was over. I was riding a wave of optimism and naiveté. The ugliness I had seen did nothing to reduce my enthusiasm. I started applying for jobs; sure I would get picked up soon. The following months were the most difficult of my life, so far. The thing about a job is, when you don’t have it, it defines you. You are- in a word- unemployed. It’s like your CV is your price tag, and you are sitting on a supermarket shelf, while everyone just keeps passing you by. Most of us can’t enjoy the break at all. We fret and worry and obsess, and fall into a pit of self-doubt. I know I did. We have all the time to do the things we love, but they don’t seem so enticing anymore. I was very lucky though. My mom forced me to enrol in a Master’s course, and insisted I follow it through. Even when I had 2 dream job offers i

I have 4 stories to tell. Vodafone I landed in Delhi, and I got right down to it, the first thing that anyone worries about when they move. As I didn't know where any of the stores were, I called JustDial and they connected me to Vodafone. A recorded voice took me through all the motions, and all of 15 minutes of sub-human interaction later I had made all the arrangements for a new SIM to be delivered home. I was impressed by the speed and efficiency of the 'personalized customer care', so I even made a few calls (on roaming) to my friends back home to gloat and boast about it. I started work soon after, but I became confused as to whether I was working for CWG or as secretary to Hon.Mr.Raj Chhadha. I found myself answering call after call for him on my new number. It was only after a few weeks that I managed to get down to a shop, by this time having given up trying to actually TALK to these godlike customer care executives. I say godlike because just like God, you've

Have you ever seen a watchdog that is so rapt in guarding the neighbour’s property, that a burglar has a free hand over its own? If your answer is “no” then now is your chance! These new-age watchdogs roam the streets freely, barking at passers-by and chasing cars. They have taken upon themselves the heavy burden of preserving this countries great heritage and culture. Unfortunately, they weren’t at their grandmothers’ side when she told stories of chivalry and kindness, friendliness and hard work! They also missed the “global village” lecture from their contemporaries. Can’t blame them really, who has the time for such naive fairytales when there are so many disco-going women and valentines-day celebrating youngsters to attack? I had the opportunity to speak to one of these political biggies, about the “Marathi-manoos” agenda. This is what he patiently explained- they come to our state because their government provides zero infrastructure. They have planned to take over Mumbai! They l

So much has already been written and said about 2nd April 2011, I am sure I will have nothing new to say. But what if Shakespeare had said the same thing about love, and had chosen to write sci-fi instead? So let me just get it out there. 2nd April, 3pm, I didn't dare to hope. By 6 pm, it seemed like the wisest decision I had ever made. It felt like hoping for a miracle. But what actually happened was pure magic! It was the stuff of fairy tales, Indian ones at least. The power of 1.2 billion people's fervent praying, teary pleading and making deals with God and the devil, was no match for 11 very talented islanders. Most of us are not even cricket-watchers, we are mere observers. We watch Ind vs Pak, well, because, its Ind vs Pak. But come world cup finals, and all other alternative occupations are wiped clean from national memory for 7 - 10 hours (depending on the result.) All roads are deserted, rickshaw drivers are sitting huddled in front of TV sets, and the nation waits w

"Have you heard 'Sadi Gali'? I really like it." (Blank look) "Its from Tanu weds Manu" (Stunned silence) After a few inexplicably long moments, I was asked where I had heard this song. My explanation that I had watched the movie did not seem to answer my friends' questions. I cant say I blame them, over the last 15 years, they have been able to drag me to a grand total of 3.6 Bollywood movies. They accused me of being an imposter. But what can I say? Spending half a year in the capital really increases the tolerance level of the mindless torture of most Bollys. Sometimes you even begin to miss it. All my life I have been branded and put away into the 'Anglicised' category of the shelf. I can guess what earned me this laurel, its not easy to escape it being from a convent, and then a emigrant to the State and finally having a mother who is an English teacher. It probably didnt help my case when I chose to learn the drums (not the harmonium li