witchcraft

5 REASONS YOU WILL FAIL

2012-02-05T04:55:00.000-08:00

1. Because you don’t dream in black and white.

Your goals are general ones. For example, a dream of “I want to be wealthy,” or “I want a beautiful house,” is a general goal. Start dreaming specifics. “I will have 10 crores in my bank account by the time I’m 30,” or “I will have a 5-bedroom apartment with a front garden, in the suburbs,” are specific goals. When you think specifics, you are crystallizing on what exactly you want. Once you’ve planted the specific dream in your mind, your subconscious will begin working on the idea, picking up on clues and opportunities that you would otherwise have missed and leading you without even realizing it, to fulfill the dream. So start dreaming in black and white.
2. Because you think Success is that one Big Special Step.
You think, “Someday I will take that step and behold I will be successful.” It’s not and you won’t. You have to begin taking the first tottering steps right away even if they don’t seem to lead anywhere to your goal . These first steps need to be taken to get things to move. That round thing on the ground would have remained a round thing on the ground if someone hadn’t thought of standing it on end and getting it rolling . I have a friend who dreams of owning tall buildings, expensive cars, having his own business, writing a book, selling his paintings. ( Yes, all of those. )

The reality is- he has saved enough money but hasn’t got around to buying a one-bedroom flat yet, he has been dithering about buying a bike for the past year, he refuses to accept extra responsibility at work or take on extra tasks; he won’t start a blog, and doesn’t own a paint brush. He’s waiting for the Big Break!

Taking the first steps means volunteering to accept more responsibility, showing willingness to do some one else’s tasks, buying that 1-room kitchenette which is all you can afford today. They will get the wheel moving. At first it will take a lot of effort but at some point, it will take off! Those additional responsibilities could lead you to your own business; that single room might be the first room in the 5-bedroom house you want. Don’t stop yourself from taking these first steps because you are waiting for something bigger to come along. Start rolling!
3. Because your attitude is wrong.

You have brains (or you wouldn’t be reading this). But just brains are never enough to succeed. You will need help. All successful people reach the top by standing on the shoulders of others. The shoulders of friends, colleagues, neighbors, the security person, the household help. Develop the right attitude.   Be friendly, be considerate, be helpful, be polite. If you have a short temper and find yourself often losing it, pause and try and see the other’s point of view. Especially, at stressful times when you are faced with insult or humiliation or injustice, take the high road- stay calm, don’t use harsh language, do not retaliate, keep your dignity.   There is a saying, if you want to know the language a man speaks, drop a stone on his foot.    It is in times of stress that your real personality shows up. Develop the right attitude and it will be appreciated and remembered!
4.   Because you expect favors to be returned.
People often complain that they help others but never get a word of thanks in return. Do a good deed for the sake of doing it. Never, ever, expect anything in return, not even a thank you. When you get some thing in return, the deal ends right there. But good deeds done without getting anything in return, always boomerang back to you from unexpected quarters and always at a time when you need them most.
5.   Because you are obsessed with your dream.
You worry that you will never realize your dreams, never marry, never get that job, never own that house. Your brain is cluttered with senseless worrying. STOP. Once you have formulated to yourself, what exactly you want, work hard irrespective of the fact that your work may not seem to have anything to do with achieving what your goal. Your sub conscious self will invariably guide your steps sooner or later to fulfilling your heart’s desires.

Servants' Day 2011 (Joy of Giving Week)

2011-10-09T06:55:00.000-07:00

As part of the Joy of Giving Week, I celebrated Servants’ Day on October 2^nd Gandhi Jayanti, this year too; and this year it was almost the same as last year and yet also very different.

his year I decided that the only way to avoid the negative and hurtful comments of last year, ( http://goo.gl/AyfLp ) was not to ask for any donations or contributions. Accordingly I let it be known that this year’s Servants Day was going to be sponsored exclusively by me. However, one kind old gentleman advised me that this wasn’t right. “Get people a chance,” he urged. “Don’t shut them out.” There was something to be said for his point of view also and so I informed friends and neighbors that while I was going to sponsor the event they could contribute if they wished to.

No one did so. Like the previous year, I was again told that treating the “bais” was not a good idea, that they gave their servants food and clothes; that the “bais” anyway kept borrowing money and not returning it; that I had done this event last year and why do it again; that Divali was coming up and they would have to give the servants something then too; and finally that if I wanted to waste my money on such a foolish idea, I was welcome to. Faced with this much hostility, I began to doubt myself. Was I being foolish? But all doubts fled seeing the eager anticipation in the faces of Urmila and Laxmi the women who came in daily to help.

I decided that since most of the help were fasting, it being Navratri- that’s the nine days of fasting preceding Dassehra I decided on sabudana (sago)vadas, coconut burfee, potato chips, rajgira (amaranth flour) laddoos, and lime juice. (Yep, believe it or not, these are permitted foods for a Hindu fast.) Also like the last year I would give every help a gift and have games they could enjoy.

Nevertheless, I was feeling a little downcast working on the whole event all by myself. Then a couple of my friends called. They had just learned that I was doing the whole thing all by myself and they insisted they would not let me shoulder the burden alone. Anju insisted on buying the potato chips and Usha, who loves sweets but cannot eat them because she is a diabetic, said she would buy the coconut burfee. Mamta said she would sponsor the lime juice and all of them promised to come over on Sunday and help. Happiness!!

The next hurdle was requesting permission to use the Club House for the event, from the Building Committee. Last year, they had flatly refused it. This year, I was in for a surprise. When I went to the Committee Office, I found that the Secretary had left a message saying that I should have the club house at a minimum fee and that if I felt I could not pay the amount, he would pay it. Now that was really nice!

And so, this year’s SD was same and yet it was different. We had the entire building’s domestic help, security staff, sweepers, gardeners, all 60 of them, playing passing-the-parcel, winning gifts, eating, and giggling at the lucky dip basket. We had people who were as boorish as last year and we had people who gave generously and thought it was a wonderful idea!

But by far the best part of this year’s Servants’ Day was discovering that I had such wonderful taste in friends!
Rosemary

Bratislava -biting into a juicy red apple and finding a crawly black worm…..

2011-09-11T05:33:00.000-07:00

Bratislava (capital of Slovakia) is tiny and very beautiful. The Old Town with its picturesque buildings, the romantic Danube flowing past, paved streets embossed with little gold crowns to mark the passage of royalty down the street in earlier days, antique drinking fountains bubbling with icy ,sparkling water from the many natural springs there, the weather bright and sunny when I was there a week back....it felt like walking into the pages of an old story book. I was thoroughly charmed.

Until, that is, I got a taste of what lay below the surface of Bratislava. Until I was robbed in the same bright afternoon sunlight of everything-my passport and my daughter's, all our money, Eurail tickets, travel papers....

We were wandering, just the two of us, in the square of the Old Town, which is hardly 2000 feet wide, where young, pretty Slovakian girls have their tiny stalls.

Standing at one of the stalls, preparing to buy the local wooden dolls and hand painted pottery, I discovered that in the split second that I lifted my hand off my bag to take the things the girl was holding out, that my wallet which was deep inside the handbag had been robbed.

What followed thereafter has left me with the distinct impression that at least the girl at the stall knew the thief and had not only seen him but even assisted him in the theft by keeping me engaged and in eye contact the while. When I called the police, one woman at a neighboring stall seeing my distress, admitted she had seen the thieves and even described them to the police. The police too seemed to know who she was talking about. But they were of no help, merely shrugging their shoulders and saying blandly that I would have to wait at Bratislava police station for at least 4 hours if I wanted to make a complaint as they had no English translator. They were very well aware that I had no money, that my hotel was in Vienna and that the catamaran that would take me there would be leaving in an hour and therefore I would not stay around to make a complaint. And they seemed even happy about it. Possibly recording a complaint would have meant more work for them

Despite living in a a city with an area of 15642 kms and a population of 9.5 million and with my capital city (Mumbai) having an area of 600 km and a 20-million population, neither I nor anyone I know, have ever been robbed . I learned later in Vienna, that Slovakia has a very high unemployment rate and consequently a very high crime rate and that the Romany gypsies living there, frequently rob tourists. That the crime rate is indeed high, is a fact I can vouch for. At the time I was appealing to the Slovakian police for help, two young Asian girls ran up crying that they had been robbed at those very stalls. And a couple of days earlier a group of tourists found themselves robbed, all at the same time, right there.

Since it was not possible to lodge a complaint at Slovakia I took the catamaran for Vienna and approached the Vienna police. While there a couple of tourists both US citizens also came into report thefts committed in Vienna. Apparently Vienna also has a high crime rate!

Incidentally do not expect any help or cooperation even from anyone either in Slovakia or Vienna. The Vienna police did take my complaint but were very clear that they could not help in any other way. I asked them to get me the Indian embassy number and was told that being a weekend it was closed. I pointed out that there should be an emergency number and they should look for it, and only then they found it and gave it to me. They let me make one phone call but said the phone was out of order when I had to call again. Also no one, absolutely NO ONE speaks English except at the airport and a little bit at train stations and hotels. Which it makes it all the more difficult if you happen to be in trouble.

I would have been a basket case, if it had not been for Inge , who I met on the trip to Bratislava. A fellow tourist and a school teacher from Germany, she stuck firmly by my side, helping me to the bank to make arrangements for money, and accompanying me to the police station, where with her help in translation, I could make my complaint, and waiting with me until the Indian Embassy took over.

To the Indian Consulate at Vienna, I cannot be grateful enough. Elizabeth Rodrigues who answered my first tearful call, and was very reassuring, telling me confidently that I was not to worry about anything, and even offering to send someone to be with me if I needed; Vijay Kumar who spent a Sunday morning making my papers, and Mr. Haldar the Consular, who not only provided the right papers but who gave me a much-needed confidence boost, by firmly telling me I would not have any problem continuing my travels further.

Mr. Haldar was right. Although I had to spend twice the amount I had intended and had to borrow money from relatives, to continue traveling, I had a good time. Salzburg was wonderful and after the stiff, unsmiling Austrians, the friendly Swiss seemed like old buddies. By the way, Switzerland,(which does not need my endorsement as to its beauty),although horribly expensive, especially to someone who was traveling on borrowed francs (CHF 2 to use the loo even!) is very safe.

Rosemary

Joanna

2011-05-03T11:58:00.000-07:00

Joanna was a little girl whose house I had to pass on my way to school. She used to wait at her gate, in her school dress holding her mother's hand, refusing to leave for school until she saw me. After many days of smiling bashfully, one morning she mustered up enough courage to run up to me and say breathlessly, “I love you like chocolate.”

Being in high school and carrying all the baggage that comes with that age, I don’t think I appreciated her sentiment. I never saw Joanna after that school year.

Some time back I found myself thinking of her and realized that Joanna had paid me a very great compliment. In those days in India, chocolate was a rare treat and to a six-year-old, surely the most precious thing in the world.

I have been and am loved in many ways but no one since has ever told me I am the most precious thing in the world.

I wish I was 14 again and Joanna was waiting at her gate.
Rosemary

Was it love that went?

2011-03-19T03:18:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

A very dear friend never communicates when he’s working. Not a word. Not even when I begin to get really anxious about him. His explanation that when he’s working he doesn’t have the time for anything else upsets me but I accept his “no-time” excuse since that is often mine too.

But last Sunday made me change my mind.

As a child I lived in Queens Garden Pune, a beautiful place, but very far from the city. You had to walk two kilometers to even get to a bus stop, to wait for a dawdling bus which sometimes never turned up at all. But despite the time and difficulty involved in reaching us, my parents constantly had friends visiting. Uncle David was one of those visiting friends, I grew up around.

Soon after I married Papa died. Then Mother had a stroke, became a partial paralytic and came to live with me. Around that time Uncle David’s visits to my home began. Whenever he visited he brought something. Home-grown vegetables, plants in pots, carrot and brinjal pickle, tightly closed jars of “sorpotel”. Once I happened to mention that I wished I could find drumstick flowers, (which cooked lightly and mixed with coconut are a delicacy.) The next visit Uncle David arrived with a bagful. He had seen a drumstick tree in flower somewhere and had scolded, bribed his gardener to fetch some.

A couple of years back Uncle David's heart condition got so bad he was forbidden to move out of his home. He called to tell me of this and that he wouldn’t be able to visit us any more. After that he called often and each time he did, I resolved that next time I would visit or at least make a return call. Somehow that rarely happened.

The last time he called I happened to be busy and I handed the phone to my mother with a brief hello. Mother told me later that he seemed upset that I hadn’t spoken to him at all. And so last Sunday I awoke and decided I wouldn't go to Mass but would visit Uncle David. Without giving myself time to think I drove to his home which is close by.

At the sight of me on their doorstep, at 8 a.m. Uncle David and his wife’s faces so brimmed with surprised joy, that the memory of it still fills me with shame.

I said awkwardly, “I’m sorry Uncle I've just been so busy. Work and-and problems at home and really it’s so difficult to find time..."

Uncle David led me in with a patient smile.

“ We people,” he said, handing me a cup of tea and two sugar free biscuits, “your parents and others like us - came years ago from Portuguese-occupied Goa to this city looking for an easier life. In Goa we had a hard life working in the fields, walking miles in the sizzling sun to sell produce, collecting firewood for cooking. We thought here it would be easier. It wasn’t. I had 7 children to raise. I worked two jobs-from 7 to 4 in the day and again from 7 to 10 at nights. For transport we had only our bicycles which we rode everywhere. My wife used to suffer from depression. There were no treatments then and I had to tend her as best as I could. And it was the same for all of us then. Every one- man and woman worked day and night just to survive. Yet we never failed to make time to visit each other.

“Our lives never got easier but we made sure yours did. And technology helped. Now you don’t have to walk or use a bicycle. You don’t have to do housework. You don’t have to wait to be face to face to see each other or talk.”

Uncle David’s voice got breathless as his heart raced to keep up with his words. He shook his head and said still smiling, “No Rosu, don’t say ‘no-time.’ It’s not time that you don’t have enough of.”

Rosemary

A True Story of Three Friends.

2011-02-28T10:49:00.000-08:00

They all lived in the same village. Mohan and Raja had been friends almost since birth. Bhola was older than both of them, but simple-minded. He used to follow them around the village. They cuffed him, teased them, chased him and in time accepted him.

When they grew older and had to find work, they decided to go to the city and work as carpenters. That was their family profession and Mohan and Raja had received some training at their fathers’ hands. When they left for the city Bhola went with them. Bhola couldn’t do much carpentry but he helped in fetching and carrying and he cooked for them.

In the city they found plenty of work. They prospered. Mohan and Raja’s parents found wives for them. The wives stayed in the village while Mohan and Raja continued to live in the city on job sites with Bhola cooking for them in temporary kitchens he set up wherever they happened to be at the time. No one would marry Bhola but Bhola didn’t mind. When his two friends visited their wives Bhola would visit his mother. Mohan and Raja sent most of their earnings home to their wives. They made sure Bhola sent all his money to his mother.

One day Mohan’s wife fell ill. Mohan had to spend Rs 20000 on her hospital bills. He borrowed the money from his two friends who gave willingly. Mohan’s wife recovered. But the three had no money left and what was worse, were between jobs. Monsoons were a slow time for carpenters.

When they were almost at their wits’ end, they found a job making desks for a small office. The owner had to open his new office in a week. He promised to pay them Rs. 50000 if they finished the job in three days. They agreed even though it would mean working night and day.

The second day Bhola fell ill. He had been out in the rain the previous day buying carpentry material. He returned with a cough and fever. Despite that he continued to work. He fixed two desktops the wrong way around and ruined them. The work would have to be redone. Mohan and Raja begged the owner for another day’s time to finish the job.

That night Bhola’s fever was worse. He could not cook. Mohan and Raja were too tired to fix anything for themselves. They ate onion pakoras and bread from the cart on the street and fell asleep at once.
Sometime later Bhola who had sat hungry and shivering in a corner also fell asleep.

In the middle of the night Mohan and Raja were woken by loud snoring. Bhola never snored. It was probably his cold which made him do so that night. Mohan and Raja tried to get back to sleep but could not because of the loud snores. Mohan pushed at Bhola.
“Wake up, eh? Stop snoring. You’re not letting us sleep.”
Bhola awoke, turned over and there was blessed silence. Mohan and Raja slept again.

In a little while Bhola’s snores began anew. Mohan and Raja kicked at him and Bhola rolled over. He put his head under his pillow and once more there was peace. Mohan and Raja had just dropped off, when Bhola started snoring again. Mohan let out a string of curses. Raja jumped up and aimed kicks and blows at the hapless Bhola.
“Here we are dying with fatigue, working non stop while you sit in a corner uselessly. We have to finish the job tomorrow. We need our rest. Get out of here. Go sleep outside in the street if you can’t be quiet.”
Bhola took his blanket and left the room. But to his dismay it was pouring outside. He crept back into his corner again.

Mohan and Raja had fallen into a deep asleep when Bhola began snoring yet again. Both of them awoke with a start. Their bodies were clamoring for rest. Their brains were fuddled with weariness. Bhola’s snores were like angry hammers pounding their aching heads. Mohan sprang up.
" I will kill this *******.”
He rushed to the corner of the room which they used as a kitchen and picked up the kerosene can. Rushing up to the sleeping Bhola he poured the contents on him. Unaware, Bhola still snored.
“Get the matchbox,” Mohan snarled.
It was Raja who found the matchbox near the primus stove and lit a match throwing it on the sleeping Bhola. Within seconds Bhola’s snores were silenced.

Note: Mohan and Raja were tried and acquitted for lack of evidence.
(All names have been changed.)

Serve Your Servant Day

2010-10-07T04:52:00.001-07:00

Greetings!!

In honor of the JOY OF GIVING WEEK, we, meaning me and the two Ds- Daisy and Devika decided to have a SERVE YOUR SERVANT DAY; host a lunch party for all the domestics in the area where we live- maidservants, drivers, car washer boys, security personnel. We meant it to be a fun couple of hours, with lunch, games, prizes and gifts.

Tentatively we put forth idea to our intended guests. The help, particularly the maids (every one has maids in the apartments where we live) were thrilled. Urmila, my help said, "Is it going to be a party like the parties you and your friends have."

"Exactly like that," I assured her.

Sangita who works as a nanny in the 1st floor apartment exclaimed, " All my life I've taken the babies to parties. This is the first time, I'll be going to one on my own, no crying children. Will I get gifts?'

We hastened to reassure her.

Our plans were still half baked, when Jyoti who's a cook, came up to me one morning while I was on my way to work, took my hand and said with great earnestness,

"It's very kind of all of you to think of giving us a lunch like that. No one has ever done that before."

It shook me. Almost all women, whatever their nationality spend their lives serving others. But a few of us urban literates manage despite overbearing spouses and demanding in-laws to go out and enjoy ourselves once in a while. These poor women had never in their lives gone out together with woman friends, just for the sake of enjoying themselves.

Our enthusiasm received a rude check however, when we began to go around for donations. Almost half of those living in our area- school teachers, army personnel, business people- educated and well off people, not only refused to donate, but formed a group and began a signature campaign to oppose the event. Their grouse was that the help would get above themselves, demand higher salaries, form unions, and that it would set a "bad" precedent.

I could not believe it. These were school teachers, army personnel, all educated and well off people, who appeared so kind and decent who were saying such things. One college lecturer actually said,

"As it is we're having problems getting servants, what with the maids educating their daughters. Pampering them like this will make mattersworse."

One nursery teacher,

"Have you been to their shanties? They have all the luxuries."

Yes, unbelievable!!

I realized then that people no matter how cultured and literate they are, will always fight for their own interests before anyone else's and that if it is a new idea, people are going to oppose it just because it suggests change.

Still we had our sympathizers.
One old woman brought tears to my eyes. On learning that several who had initially donated had later on joined the opposition and were demanding their donations back, offered some more money saying, " My pension has increased since this month."

Anil, the garland seller, who when he found our funds were not sufficient to buy flowers, arrived with a huge bunch saying we could him pay whatever we could afford.

Firozbhai the caterer, who refused to decrease the quantity of gulab jamuns we had originally ordered merely saying, "You don't have to pay me extra."

Despite our well wishers, the opposition almost won.

At 6 a.m. on the morning of the 2nd, I , along with three of my friends cleared out our vehicles from our adjoining parking spaces. That released an area of about 4000 sq. feet. We then hosed the place down, dried it, laid down carpets, and put up our posters, flowers and plants. Before the residents of the society were up, the place was transformed. To the opposers' questions, I simply replied that we had not been refused permission to have the event in our own parking spaces and if they wished to prevent that, they should issue another letter. Since it was too late for them to do that the event went ahead.

And what a time we had!

The maids all came dressed in their best. We welcomed them with garlands, seated them. Then began the phugadis:

Laxmibai did the "ghudgyavarcha pinga" where she spun like a top on elbows and knees:

and the ukhane competitions. An ukhane is a verse in which the woman slyly inserts the name of her husband. Women delight in thinking up ingenious rhymes.

An example:
Ingrajit batatyala mhantat tutu ; ani Rajesh chya khisyat maja photu.

Translated that means:

In English they say potato,

and Rajesh (that's the husband's name),

carries in his pocket, my photo.

Then we had them walking the ramp. They were initially very shy but when Babita, seen in the adjoining picture, got up and strode down smiling broadly, everyone got into the spirit of walking the ramp, enthusiastically. That's Archana below swinging like she's been modeling all her life.

The winners of the phugadi and ukhane competitions got cash prizes. And all of them got take away gifts, after which their employers/organizers personally served them lunch.

So , the Witch had her way after all.

Let this not go to your head.....

2010-09-19T05:26:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

This post is to welcome a new follower.

"I’m glad you think my blog and I are worth following. Gladder still that you took the decision to follow after much thought. I wouldn't want you to read and accept what I write just because I’m your Ma.

I’m happy about other things as well.

I’m happy you’re so beautiful, but happier that you’ve taken to heart the lesson that your looks are inherited and you can’t take the credit for them; but your character is what you make all by yourself. And that you’ve scored on that too.

I was happy when you won the P*****Scholarship but my proudest moment was learning that when asked by the panel of imposing interviewers, “What’s wrong with your little sister?” you didn’t worry about how your answer might affect your chances and replied icily, “There’s nothing wrong with her.”

I’m glad you put your sister above your prospects even though she will never realize it.

I’m happy you got yourself a job you wanted to do; but prouder still that you didn’t hesitate to risk it all and stopped what you were supposed to do, to feed a man with Parkinson’s who was having trouble feeding himself.

You didn’t win any prizes for that but I did.

I didn’t teach you to cook or sew and I’m not sorry about it; but I taught you to read and think and look after yourself and I’m glad you’re doing that so well. It’s right that you should do all to make yourself and your loved ones happy but always remember this:

All living creatures-birds,beasts,insects- are programmed to look after themselves and their loved ones. So it's no big deal.

It’s when we help those whom we don’t like or know, that we rise above being mere “living things” to becoming the image of Him- that we were meant to be. Yeah, big deal.

Not to end on a preaching-mommy note,( I'm a witch after all,) I'm also very glad that you're mature enough to be happy about my penchant for the Bat."

The Witch.

What women talk about...

2010-01-27T03:53:00.000-08:00

Overheard at a beauty parlor:

Very pretty girl getting artificial nails fitted on:

So I bring him his soup and he says. "It’s cold."
So I heat it and bring it back.
He takes a sip and says: It’s still cold."
I take it back, heat it thoroughly and serve it again.
He : “It’s cold.”
I go, heat it, bring it back.
"Its cold.”
That's it. I go back, heat the soup to boiling point, then heat the spoon red-hot and bring it back with my loveliest smile.
The creep takes a sip and is silent for the rest of the flight.

Two very young girls lying with eyes closed and faces hidden under cucumber face masks:

Girl 1: The boy is coming this evening to “see” me.
Girl 2: Remember to look at his hands.
G1: Hands? Why hands?
G2: Don't be an idiot. Don't you know, the size of a man's hands is equal to the size of his…..
The face masks crack up.

Pregnant woman getting a foot massage:

At my Bunty's time I had it really bad.
I used to sit and sit and sit and strain and strain and at the end of it , what do I get?
THIS much. (Finger and thumb held an inch apart)

Much married matrons:
My husband is such a miser. He’s just back after a six-month stint abroad and guess what gifts he’s brought for the boys. The hotel blankets.

The above is absolutely true and just a small sample. Don't think you men are up to hearing the whole of it..

Lots of love and really sorry for keeping away for so long,

2009-11-17T21:38:00.001-08:00

Climbed up the dark hill, (the same one we climbed);

To watch a sleepy city wake to a brilliant sunrise.

Paused in a deserted garden to think, to pray, and yes, do my abs;

Watched by testy parrots breakfasting noisily in the green of the mimosa plants.

The lotus pond was teeming and hidden under my shirt, tender petals cool against my skin;

I brought these three:

They wanted to say good morning.

Love-Rosemary

Drive anyone?

2009-08-16T00:14:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

Darlings, did you know that your driving style can reveal secrets about your sex life? For instance:

Sitting hunched over, hands clenched over the steering, fumbling at the gear stick?

You are nervous, unsure about yourself and tend to be a submissive partner.

Sitting at ease, but with hands clenched on the steering, fisting the gear stick changing gears?

You like it vigorous and violent.

Holding the steering wheel in the traditional 10’o’ clock or 2 o’clock using only your palm or tips of fingers to use the gearstick?

You are confident, know what you like, and are good at it, but definitely a difficult person to get physical with. You really don’t like anyone coming too close.

Are you are a fast driver, holding the top or bottom of the wheel, and really stylish with the gear stick?

Wow, you sure like calisthenics in bed and love flamboyant partners.

Incidentally, in India we have few gearless cars, which makes driving, particularly in our erratic traffic, quite a challenging experience. Skilful Indian drivers, male and female, therefore invariably tend to be intrepid, confident, and daring. (You do know what I'm talking about?)

Now darlings, if you don't believe me watch your partner while he/she drives and tell me if I’m wrong.

And if you want help in making a decision on ' to do or not to do' just go for a long drive.

You have fun.

Looking at the "other woman"

2009-07-17T22:15:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

This post is about a friend I've known for years. She is, ostensibly at least, happily married with two grown-up children. Since 1995 she has been in a relationship with a man who is not her husband. When she first met him, he was married with young children and her younger child had just been born.

Today, even after 14 years, their spouses have not discovered their relationship and are happy in their respective marriages.

What I find most astonishing is not that their

illicit love has lasted, but the fact that both she and her lover could keep their families happy for so many years.

When I had asked her this question some years ago, she had said, "When we fell in love and got into a relationship we decided that we would not break up our homes. So we meet when we can and when we meet it is wonderful, but always, we put our families first. Besides," she added frankly, "because we both feel guilty we put in a lot of extra effort into our marriages, and also perhaps, because we are anxious they don't find us out."

"But how can you make love with your husband when you love someone else? "I asked

her. "Doesn't it involve a lot of lying?" For me, this seems to be the impossible part.

"Yes, " she said simply. " I have to steel myself to sleep with my husband. But I would put up with worse to keep the happiness I have with my love."

I met her yesterday, after a long time and over coffee and pakoras, asked her if she has ever regretted it.

She smiled. "Sometimes, I do feel you know, as if my life has been a lie. I don't think of the man I live with as my husband, and the man whom I think of as my husband is someone else's. But I don't regret even a minute. How can you expect me to regret that I have so much love and that it has lasted so many years?"

"What is it about your love that is so special?" I asked her a little jealously. (Read that "very jealously")

"That we talk. I don't have that with my husband. We spend hours talking about everything and anything. You know, Rose, it's not about sex. It's just that we are so comfortable with each other."

I believe her, but wouldn't she have been happier married to her lover?

"I don't think so," she said thoughtfully. "I think, you know, marriage might have killed the magic. Besides, who knows if our love could have survived the guilt of breaking up two families?"

Now who am I to argue with an expert?

Almost everyone who knows them is aware of the affair, but the relationship has in true Indian tradition been kept from the spouses of both parties. Many of the women in our circle avoid her. She knows it and hardly socialises. She tells me her world for so many years has only been herself and him. She does not care what anyone thinks of her. Walking the tightrope between keeping a happy home and loving her "other man" keeps her more than occupied.

To me, she was and will remain a friend. And yes, definitely a good woman. Loving someone she is not married to, cannot make her otherwise. She works hard, has brought up her children well, has managed to keep a husband happy and is even religious. (She says she agonises when the pastor talks of adultery but even her fear of hell is not enough to keep her from meeting him.)

She has a word of advice though, for us unfortunates. "Don't fall in love with a married man. Even when you know he loves you to bits, there is just too much heartache. And if you do happen to fall in love, try to remain just friends."

That's mean darling! What's sauce for the goose is not sauce for the gander?

2009-06-11T21:52:00.001-07:00

Greetings!

Please welcome guest blogger Mr. Vijay Pathare, Esq. He practises as an attorney in New York City and is here to impart legal training at a city based legal process outsourcing unit. He has very kindly agreed to my request for a guest post and posted this article stating his views on-

BIGAMY.

The Mormons say that their religion permits them to have many wives who can also be minors. This can be termed as their Religious Custom . The Sharia, subject to certain restrictions allows a Muslim man to have four wives at a time, and he is also given a sole right to divorce any of his 'wife'. The Hindus according to their Dharma and religious customs were entitled to have as many wives as they wanted, a religious custom now banned in India by constitutionally approved statutes which prohibit more than one existing legally recognized marriage.

The question that arises is, if the second customary wedding is not a legal marriage, then how can there be a bigamy?

The second wife,outside the scope of a valid marriage, can only be a concubine who may or may not have customary rights. The Courts, at best, can give recognition to such customary rights of the concubines, but how can the Courts, who do not recognize second marriage, call the husband bigamous?

Add to this, the concept and grant of legal divorce by the Courts. The pre-requisite of a divorce is a valid marriage. Only a valid marriage can be dissolved by the Court. In short, marriage requires a marriage certificate of sorts, whether issued under a statute or recognized under law. All Hindus carry their personal law with them when they go outside India. Some overseas courts may recognize this personal law. But such Indians certainly do not carry with them the provisions of restrictive

Indian Statutory law limiting Hindus to only one wife. Thus, in such a situation if he tries to wed in United States according to his old traditional religious Hindu custom, can the Court recognize his right to have a second married wife? Why not? If a Mormon can, so can a Hindu!

The only real issue then is, can the second wife get the legal benefits given to a spouse?

Can she file for divorce? Massachusetts has legally accepted two consenting adults for forming a marriage, even if both have the same gender. If they can get the said benefits of a married spouse, why not a Hindu's second wife, outside of India? To complicate this

further, a Hindu in Boston could have multiple same gender marriages (though his personal law may not recognize this!)?

In any case I suggest that the word 'Bigamy' cannot be recognized and have a legal status under the law. Committing Bigamy can never be a crime!

Thank you, Mr. Pathare.

Living Happily Ever After-More Ways Than One

2009-06-03T07:58:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

This post is a preface to a post on bigamy written by a senior legal colleague, which follows soon.

Out of the 50 or so types of marriages, the most interesting I found was the walking marriage, where the women from the Mosuo community in China welcome their lovers in the evening but let him toodle off to his mom the next morning to work for her in her home or fields. That's the way to do it. Enjoy the beggar and let mama scratch his other itches.

Unfortunately we do not have walking marriages in India. Prevalent even today in India are mainly four forms of marriage- Polygamy, polyandry, monogamy and same- sex marriages.

Polygamy- marriage between one man and several women, like all other marriages, came into being because of the socio-economic conditions prevalent in society at the time. The proportion of women to men being higher, it was necessary for one man to marry several women both to provide protection and also sexual and emotional fulfillment. Polygamous marriages are practised in the Bhil community of Mewar and are valid in India under the Muslim law.

While modern non-muslims in India tend to turn up their noses at polygamy, it is a well known fact that Hindu kings, warriors and gods routinely took more than one wife. Even today it is not uncommon to find many Indians of all faiths marrying a second time and maintaining both homes in relative peace. Remarkably, despite bigamy being a crime under the Indian Penal Code, the instances where anyone has actually been charged with it is very very rare. Many illustrious Indians- men and women have sought partners outside marriage and lived happily, if illicitly, ever after.

Draupadi's marriage with the five Pandav brothers is a telling example of polyandry-marriage between one woman and several men. The proportion of men to women being lesser, one woman had to serve many men in order to maintain order in society. Even today in the remoter rural areas of North India, the scarcity of women necessitates one woman marrying more than one man, usually brothers. Interestingly the tribals in Himachal Pradesh -Kinnaures, still practice polyandry where a bride is often married to several brothers. As the proportion of women to men increased, this form of marriage fell into disuse, but with female foeticide decreasing the proportion of women to men, polyandry is making a comeback in the remoter areas of India.

Nature to propogate humankind has not made man monogamous. It was St. Augustine who insisted on one man one woman marriage and the spread of Christianity over the globe, is the reason why the idea of monogamy as the only valid form of marraige has also likewise spread.

Same sex marriages are illegal in India where sadly, homosexuality still remains a crime. But gay and lesbian marriages do take place . In the metros, gay partnerships and marriages are not only accepted but even celebrated. Unfortunately this is not the case in non metros where lesbian couples are known to have even been killed. However, the next couple of years will definitely see a change.

Interestingly, the Yunan Province in China did not recognize marriage at all.Yunani women had “visitors” and in a lifetime a woman could have as many as 200 sexual partners. Each partner could also have two or three other partners. The society was a matriarchal one and the children of such liaisons were looked after by the mother.

Lastly, there is open marriage. Of recent origin, the term describes a perfecly legal marriage but one where either partner is free to make and maintain sexual relationships with another partner. It is said that up to 6% of marriages are open marriages and a number of well known personalities follow open marriages. Many open marriages lay down “ground rules” to maintain the relationships and deal with jealousy issues.

So take your pick or what the hell, just live in sin because guess what, that's recognized by the Code!

10 Reasons Why You Should Not Have A Baby At 21.

2009-05-17T09:19:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

1.You lose every friend you had at 20, because you are married and pregnant, and none of them have even found decent boyfriends yet.

2. Your brain stagnates. You find things like another prima gravida relating the agonies of constipation riveting. “I sat for hours and hours and then after all that I had a little, such a little, (measuring a nail width) bowel movement." (language edited). Yes, I ACTUALLY listened to that and didn’t have nightmares about it until years later.

3. You are 21 but people take you to be at least ten years older than you really are. And you look it too.

4. All your friends are busy partying, traveling abroad, buying the most delicious clothes, making and dumping boyfriends, while YOU are busy with diapers, immunization schedules, trying not to get pregnant again, wearing your oldest and only clothes, since you haven’t shopped for yourself in ages,because baby isn’t toilet trained and won’t wear diapers, and now that the hormones that raged at 20 have settled down, wondering what you saw in the man you married.

5. Finally the babies you had when you were 21 grow up and you are now free and raring to go, but all your friends are either just getting married or with new babies and no one has time for you.

6. You are taken to be older than your sister who is five years older than you because she has a 2-year-old, while your eldest is 20. (And nobody believes you when you say you’re not.)

7. You want to take up that exciting job you have been longing to do for years, but couldn’t because of the kids, but every employer is looking for 21-year-olds.

8. Your older daughter follows in your footsteps, marries at 20, and you become mother-in-law to a man who is just ten years younger than you, but calls you “Mum”.

9. You live in constant dread of being a grandmother, for god’s sweet sake, at 42!

10.And finally- because you never get to live! Because no matter how cute they look in pictures and what their mothers tell you, babies are the most selfish creatures on earth. They take your life and make it their own. And they never give it back. Not even when they are 21.

You have fun now and listen to-

Bitter Sweet......

2009-04-27T05:30:00.000-07:00

Greetings!

I asked several people, both tweeters and “real life” friends what their best and worst memories of childhood were. I found that while the men’s were invariably of “winning”, the women’s were of “bonding”.

Amongst the men, the most touching was Aditya's.http://blog.aditto.info/2008/06/22/192-the-million-colours-in-my-mind/ ) His best childhood memory was the time he won at an interschool competition and was desolate at finding none of his schoolmates around to cheer for him; until he saw his father- standing in the crowd, clapping heartily for his little boy.

Kamlesh, now CTO for Global Colleague an LPO here in Pune, tells me his worst memory is climbing up a mango tree in his village while on vacation and not being able to get down. He was stuck there the whole night; was discovered the next morning by the villagers and had to be brought down with the help of a rope. I was very concerned about what he did the whole night as regards bodily functions, but he tells me they went straight down the tree. I hope it lived.

Kenney’s ( http://www.kenneyjacob.com/) worst memory is being beaten up by his math teacher. It might interest you to know Kenney that Ratan Tata, our leading industrialist, also had a math teacher who apparently did his best to “get him thrown out of school.” (The great man himself in TOI).

Leo’s(http://www.startonomics.blogspot.com/) worst is almost drowning in a nearby lake while his best memory is getting selected in the national basketball team. Interestingly Leo is now a startup entrepreneur in a very competitive field.

Neeta a friend, says her best memory is of winning a “healthy competition" at age 11. Healthy baby at age 11? But I can understand why that memory should stand out. Neeta is the scrawniest thing that has come out of India in a long while. (She is going to kill me for this.)

That everyone is not blessed with a happy childhood was brought home to me very strongly. So strongly, that I almost did not do this post. A Twitter friend tells me her worst childhood memory was of being sexually abused by her neighbor and stepfather and of having to stay away from home. Fortunately for her, the experience has left her strong and far from embittering her, it has made her able to not only forgive, but also help others. She is a happy and well-adjusted woman today. (I am honored and humbled by your confidence, friend.)

What I found wonderful was that she did not have to think long before coming up with a “good”memory. It was of long swims in the nearby swimming pool with her darling kid brother, even though they had to dodge the “neighbor” while on their way to and back from the pool.

Tweeter @hedgemint from faraway Wales says her best is, “My mother polishing furniture while Doris Day was on the radio. I must have been two and I felt such sunshine. My worst - school. Each flipping day. Ruined mypeace!”

I have no idea what the little butterfly is doing with her life at present but Iam sure it is something very happy and bright.Kay adds further that I must share my memories too.

Well, I was Papa’s girl; and my best memory is of him waking me up at night to eat caramels, because if he left them for morning, they would be eaten by the rest of the kid gang.

My worst is of peeing in a coconut shell and getting my little brother to do so too, (we were on holiday in Goa), and throwing the pee on my younger sister just to tease her. I still can’t believe I could be so horrid.

And despite what they say about sibling rivalry not lasting, this sibling and I still bristle when we come together,although I don’t think I would ever do that again. Or would I?

Thank you all for cooperating. I’m sorry I could not fit in all the responses. I hope you enjoyed this post and if I have offended anybody, I apologize in advance.

Why I'm Not Finding Recession Funny...

2009-04-05T11:00:00.000-07:00

We were at dinner this evening, when the shouts and screams first began. Then there was the sound of things being thrown and blows. More screams. The wife -beater at it again, I thought. But I was determined not to interfere this time. The man frightens me and I have a daughter to think of.

Then there is a scream, “Ms. Amle, please come up. Ms. Amle COME UP.”

Daughter says, “Mama, don’t go.”

The woman continues screaming, “Rosemary, Ruhi, please. PLEASE COME UP.” At that moment my door bell rings. The people in the apartments on my floor and the floor below are at my door. “She’s calling you.”

I lock my daughter in, and we go upstairs.

The wife is standing outside the apartment. She wails, “He’s giving me talaq. He’s beating me.”

The door of their apartment opens and her husband comes out leading his 80-year old father. “Look at him,” he says to me. The old man has a cut on his head. His face and vest are covered with blood. “She struck him.”

After that there is a cacophony of screaming, crying, denials, accusations. The husband threatens to divorce her and keep his son. He pushes her out and shuts the door. We get the wife to calm down. She explains between sobs that husband -an investment consultant, was earning substantially but is now on zero income due to the recession, that there isn’t sufficient food in the house, but he won’t let her take a job, and this is frustrating to her; she cannot bear to see her baby being denied the food he needs. She would like to leave but cannot because husband will keep the child. That she had struck out in frustration and hit the old man, after which husband had beaten her up. “What can I do? I cannot bear it,” she sobs.

Who is the victim and who the guilty? Is this just another wife beater case or are they all victims of the recession? I feel so helpless. I mumble something about the recession passing and things getting better We get husband to open the door and take her in.

It's almost midnight and the crying and wailing is still going on. I cannot sleep. Please god let it stop and please, please, Farah don’t call out to me again. I am as scared as you are.

10 Things Men do That Drive a Woman cRaZzy...

2009-03-25T03:08:00.000-07:00

Crazy as in hopping mad.

1. Dyeing their graying chest hair.

Desist. If its gray, its gray; and we love you anyway.

2. Scratching itches. Particularly at forked junctions.

Why don't you just carry along a broom?

3. Coming out of your room draped in a towel, "by

mistake", when a woman is around.

Believe me, we KNOW it isn't a mistake and unless you're Brad or John Abraham, we DON'T like.

4. Draping long strands of hair over

your bald spots.

Quit. Tricky when it

blows and those locks fly

about.

Pssst.. besides, women love the feel of that smooth, round skull.....

5. Growing ONE fingernail loooooong. Generally the pinky.

Why? To dig?

6. Leaving shirts open to the belly button to display shaved chest/matted carpet.

Go find a tree caveman!

7. Displaying spindly legs in shorts.

Truly some things look better viewed in the dark.

8. Maintaining huge paunches.

Yes, we adore you. But draw the line somewhere, love.

9. Wearing pointy toed/white shoes.

Ooooooohhhh, the darlings!!!

10. Calling a woman "sister" or worse, "auntie".

The unkindest cut of all.

Love you always,

Twitter me down to size..

2009-02-27T03:16:00.000-08:00

Greetings!

You’ve heard of Twitter. But if you think it's a social website, or a great place to market your skills, your products, unbelieve it. It’s not.

Rather it is the new age bible proclaiming in updates rather than verses, the word of a new age, tech- savvy god. Teaching you that whether it is you, or your sins, your sorrows, or your achievements, or your joys, nothing is anything to crow about. That there are thousands out there just like you.
So get real and never forget you are all nothing but dust.

You think you’re special because you’re a great writer, technology expert, biochemist, a spiritual, a tarot reader, a witch, a woman with seven kids, a pauper, a president or a religious leader.

You think you’re different because you hate your boss, you don’t love your kids, you want to kill your husband, you’re living with your wife for her money, and last night you had sex with the dog.

Read your Twitter. There is always someone out there tweeting “I just did that.”

Me, I thought I was unique in the little things. Like owning a pink towel, loving coffee, enjoying tea, drinking out of a mug, burning pans while cooking.

But someone in Massachusetts tweets: “I have a pink towel.”

And a tweeter in Londonia Nagar, UK chirps, “Drinking coffee. With 2 sugars. Out of a mug.”

And sometimes triumphantly, “Drinking tea.”

Not even my sins are unique. I thought I must be the only person who adds chicken cubes to the dishes I cook for my veggie friends.

But one tweet confesses: “I put meat in the veg burgers that I sell.” SIGH!

And if you want the ultimate proof that nothing you do is unique, listen to this update,

“I sit down to pee. And I am a man!”

I told you so.

Of chaddis, Hugs and so on...

2009-02-17T06:53:00.000-08:00

Greetings!

The Week That Was-

There was the “pink chaddi” campaign, there was the free hugs campaign and then there was Dev D.

If the pink panty offerings were all about Indian women asserting their right to pub; the free hug campaign on V-day, was about their right to love.

And what was Dev D about? Frankly, their right to f***.

Men out there are you ready for the new urban Indian woman? One who is not ashamed to flaunt her sexuality? It’s going to take some getting used to.

Many gentlemen came out in support of all of the above. Sanjukta Basu from Bangalore a fellow blogger and tweeter told of one gentleman who stood on M.G. Road with a placard saying he promised his daughter, that she should have the freedom to choose her way of life. But there are also many 'gentlemen' who think protesting by sending panties and offering free hugs to men, is in poor taste and something ‘not done’ by good Indian women.

And there are those who think Dev D is obscene. (After all would any Indian woman take her mattress out to the fields and invite her lover to sleep with her? And would any Indian man show the finger to his woman? All this is not in our culture, no?)

I have a friend, Arun. He’s gone through a number of girlfriends. When asked why he didn’t settle down and marry one of them, he replied that it wasn’t he who didn’t want to marry; it was the women who didn’t want to get married.

“All they want,” he wails, “is to have fun.” Just when I’m beginning to feel sorry for him, he goes on to ask me out and when I refuse, he, (what else?), questions my sexual preferences.

You go for the jugular, girls!

How to Catch a Chick Without Moving Your Butt.

2009-01-22T00:48:00.000-08:00

Greetings!

All boys, and grown men who should know better, try to catch chicks. They get all hot and breathless, running hither and thither, while the chick flaps and flutters, runs between their legs, and between their sweaty hands, above their heads and all over, always out of reach.

Of course, Man being the Chosen One and chick being the Chosen Sucker, the chick always gets caught in the end with no happily ever after. But by the time, the chase is over, Man/Boy is angry, he is flustered, he is yelling, and he is desperately needing a drink. Again.

Here for the first time is disclosed a sure-fire method of how to catch a chick without moving your butt, and without sweating it.

What you will need:
An easy chair: The idea is to be sitting comfortably, so while just any chair will do, you will have to look comfortable or else the chicks sense a problem- and stay away.

A glass of anything drinkable. Beer works best. Chicks like guys who guzzle beer. Beer drinkers have big beer bellies, which make it difficult for them to run and so the chicks feel safe.

A long piece of string. String. Not rope. You don’t use rope to catch chicks. You use thin, fine, strong, silken strands. But if you are the farmhand type and don’t know about silk, use ordinary string.

Peanuts. The peanuts are for the chicks. You may pop one or two into your mouth just to enhance the ‘comfort’ aura, but save some for the chicks.

A small table: To keep all the above, what else? Do I have to explain everything?

A place to keep the chicks: This is important. Success is guaranteed. You are going to get the chick. But if you don’t have a place to keep the chick, the chick may run away and then you have to do it all over again.

Procedure:
You sit at ease in the chair, pretending that life is good, you have a healthy bank balance, your weight is fine. The chicks are all around you but at a distance.

After a sip of the beer and a peanut or two, you take the needle and thread it with the string. The chicks sense your disinterest. The guy is sewing!? They think it’s okay to come closer.

Next you pierce a peanut with the needle and secure the peanut on the thread. Get that? The peanut has to be securely threaded. Then hold the other end of the string firmly in your hand and throw the peanut on the ground.

The chicks who have been nonchalantly wandering around you, see the peanut. They are excited. The Strong Silent Man has shown interest. Run. Run. Take it up! The smartest, fastest chick gets to the peanut first. She gulps it. She is happy. She has won.

Gently, very gently, you pull in the string. Don’t try to be hasty, or use force, or you will lose the chick. The peanut is stuck inside the chick. She cannot get it out. The string is in your hands. No rush. You pull. Chick moves. Pull. Move. Pull. Move. Gently does it.

The chick comes meekly towards you not knowing what it is that is drawing him/her there. It’s just a nut she/he has swallowed, but chick thinks it is some mystic ‘inner’ thing driving him/her. Chick comes close enough to be picked up.

Result: Pick up the chick. Chick is yours.

Note:
This works on male and female chicks.

You may catch as man chicks as you want at a time.
You may keep them even if they are not yours because the chicks can’t make a sound while you are doing this and so the owner never, ever discovers you have them unless you tell him.
This method is tried, tested, guaranteed, and patented. Send me your dollars.

Do like the Goans.

2009-01-19T23:33:00.000-08:00

Greetings!!
I was thinking about Goa. Yes, it is beautiful, but that apart, what makes it so completely different from the rest of India? Everything about it is different. It has a small population, most of which are either Hindus or Roman Catholics. Disputes between the two religious denominations are very rare. There are no beggars. The roads are clean. The houses and the surroundings are clean. The public transport is clean. No one spits on the roads and no one, but no one, urinates in the trees dotting the roadsides. The people smell nice. The people talk nice. They greet each other; they smile, even if they don’t know you. This just does not happen anywhere else in India. Despite liquor being a way of life in Goa, you don’t see drunks making asses of themselves in public. You rarely witness fist fights or any sort of fights. The crime rate is low, which is why the occasional beach rape or murder gets international notice.

Everyone, cabbies, shopkeepers, beach shack owners are educated, property owning, responsible people. Time and time again, I have forgotten my things and got them back intact after days. Visiting Coco beach, which is a remote beach accessible only by private boat, I had absolutely no doubt that the boatman dropping me there would as he had promised return to fetch me that evening. I call a cabbie I had traveled with on my last visit two years ago, and I know he’ll be there when I arrive. I call Auntie, who runs the beach hotel and she agrees to hold the rooms I want and no questions asked.

The only other state in India, that comes up to Goa is Kerala. True, Kerala is not as cheerful and smiling as Goa is but the people are invariably polite and as trustworthy. I was a little discomfited by the mustachioed men who stare at you unsmiling, but when I mentioned this to one of my Keralite friends, he was quick to reassure me that ‘Kerala men all love moustaches; and they only look, they don’t do anything.’ (Should I be glad or sad?!)

Like Goa, Kerala too has 100% literacy. So is it this that makes these states different from the rest of India. No. I think it is public awareness. Goa has an age old reputation of being “susegad”, which would mean something like laid back, cool. Yes, it is. But when their kids were threatened by the drug trade that once proliferated Goan beaches, and again when they felt their kids’ morals were being corrupted by the nudism on the beaches, every Goan was up in arms, fighting it together.

In Goa as in Kerala, everyone plays a very positive role in keeping their state clean and seeing that everyone else does too. In fact Kerala leads India in total implementation of all social policies and projects and the credit goes to its public who are not only aware of the policies, but make sure that they are implemented properly.

So why are we not like that? We need not strive to be like the US. Suffice it, if we just follow the examples of Goa and Kerala.

The Vietnamese Connection

2008-12-30T02:42:00.000-08:00

Greetings!

My cousin, an American citizen, brought a Vietnamese girl he met on holiday in Vietnam, ( Yep, he's the type who holidays in odd places. Always was weird.) home for Christmas, and introduced her as his wife-to-be. PANDEMONIUM!!!

Outrage from his conservative mom. (She still lives in the dark ages. Eating out is a mortal sin. Anyone who cannot cook and sew is not a woman; and if you have men friends, you are a whore! ) Inappropriate comments about her appearance. Assorted relatives speculating whether the girl is a bar dancer, or a tart. Did he meet her at a disco, some sleazy hotel? Then for sure she's a you-know-what! Every Xmas do, had huddles of cousins whispering, you know, she probably wants to marry him to get to the US and once there, she'll dump him; and really have you seen him these days, he's so ugly ,who'd ever fall in love with him? She's definitely after the dollars. And so on, and so forth. To make matters worse, the girl holds no academic degrees, and has no apparent job or career, which in a middle class Indian home sets the seal on pariahdom.

The Vietnamese on her part, is less than enthusiastic about the conservative mom or about India for that matter. Post-Xmas Cousin declared that he will not marry without mom's consent. (The silly idiot!) And further declared that he will marry only his Vietnamese, or not at all. Ah-ha! The Vietnamese has meanwhile, very wisely, high-tailed it back to Vietnam. The cousin is flying back to NY . Prospective mom-in-law is in a quandary. And the family is awaiting future events with gleeful anticipation!

I am definitely cheering for the Vietnamese. Bar dancer, tart whatever! At least my dear cousin, chaste and virginal for some 34 years, (With a mother like that, what do you expect?) will have some excitement in his life. Rah Rah Vietnam !! Go for it Chi Chau! Smack some wet fish in mom- in-law 's face.

Waiting for a happy-ever-after ending,

Bachelors and Brides..

2008-12-15T23:38:00.000-08:00

GREETINGS!!
Someone has definitely jinxed the Witch. It’s been a bad week so far, and no signs yet of it getting better. But you don’t come here to watch the witch weep. So promise, no tears.
My bachelor friends are all on a “look-for-a-bride” spree. That reminds me of a story.

Once upon a time there was this guy who thought he was good looking. Unfortunately, he was a techie and as everyone knows techies are weirdos. So he had no girlfriends and of course no wife. He got so fed up of everyone teasing him about this that he decided to ask the first woman he met that day, to marry him.

The first woman he met was the auntie next door who came out to pick up the newspaper. Even though he was weird, the techie was honest, and since he had taken a decision, he felt he had to ask her although she had a husband and grown up children. So he said, “Auntie, will you marry me?” Auntie knew how sick he was and besides she already had a jealous boyfriend, so she ignored him.

The techie next met a pretty girl. He asked her, “Will you marry me?” The girl took her thumb out of her mouth, hit him with her water bottle and lisped, “Give me a chocolate, Uncle?” The techie took this to be a refusal. He was quite relieved. The girl would need years to develop the essential physical components that he needed in a bride and besides, she seemed greedy. Techies are tightfisted weirdos!

He next saw jogging towards him a very pretty young girl. The tight shirt and slacks she wore, reassured him that all her assets were worth acquiring. He could not see her face but he didn’t mind that, since all faces are the same in the dark. He got all excited. As she came closer, he imagined himself asking the fateful question, her shy nod, then- their wedding. It would be at a church, he liked that idea. The priest was just saying to him, ‘you may kiss the bride,’ when the girl turned in at the gate ahead and disappeared. So the techie failed again.

The next woman was also young and pretty. She was also his elder sister but he had made a vow to ask the first woman he met, so he had to ask her. Don’t forget he was a weirdo. So he said, “Didi, will you marry me?” Didi gave him a blow which dislodged his dental fillings. But she did not say anything because she knew he was a weirdo and because there are some things you have to put up with from family.

Techie did not give up. He walked on until he saw another woman. Once again, he asked his question and this time the woman said immediately, “I will.” You see, she was another techie and one weirdo recognized the other. So this is how the techie finally got married.
Did they live happily every after? Don’t be silly! Techies don't live, they exist.

THE LAST WORD:
The jinx has however, lifted from dear friend Matthias . He’s getting married on the 29th of December. If he hasn’t invited you to the reception, go ahead and gatecrash at Shreyas on 2nd January 2009, at 7.30 p.m.

And those of you, who know of any impediment to this marriage, please join the queue at the City Church, Pune.
Love you,

I Learn the Facts of Life.

2008-12-08T23:13:00.000-08:00

Greetings!

Up until 12 years of age, I was a complete nerd. I had a head totally buried in books and that coupled with being in a very strict convent school made me a very goody-good girl. The type who when I see some now, make me want to pull their pigtails and pinch their fat cheeks black and blue. Believe me, until age 12, the poor nuns actually had me labeled as a candidate for a future nun. (Dear God, look what you missed! )

Being a bookworm, bright spark, and all that, the girls believed me implicitly when I declared in class that babies came out of the navel. How they got in there I hadn’t stopped to think, and no one thought to ask. The older ones scoffed, “of course they don’t,” but I was so convincing, (and had so often been proved right,) that they eventually began doubting their sources.

It was my mom’s red hen who finally taught me the facts of life. A real hen. The feathers and cackles type. (Google Rosemary Amle you’ll find an article in Indian Express, describing how I came to live with that same hen. Not too well written so don’t judge me by that one.)

The red hen was in the habit of coming into the verandah of the house and getting under the couch there. This couch was my hangout where I sprawled all hours, reading. Cleaning up under the couch which was a mess of school shoes and satchels, one day my mother discovered a clutch of eggs. So that was what the hen was doing there. The next time the red hen came cackling in to the verandah, I was ready for her. There was a convenient gap in the slats of the bottom of the couch from where I could look down without the hen seeing me; and lying there absolutely still, peering through the gap, I had a wonderful view of the red hen as she did her job.

Has anyone seen a hen laying an egg? Fascinating! In hindsight, it was just like having a baby except there was no blood and gore. And yes, I think it hurts the hen too. She was straining so much I could have wept for her if I had not been so engrossed in what was happening. The eggshell is soft as it comes out of the hen's butt and hardens when exposed to air. So that makes it somewhat easier, I think. (and hope.) The long and the short of the matter is that, I made the connection. (If eggs come out of a hen’s bottom, then babies….oh god, NO!)

The scales fell from my eyes. Watching the cocks chasing the hens I finally woke up to what was happening. Mom was wrong. The cocks weren't fighting the hens. Did Mom know that? Surely not. My friends said she did of course, how else were you born? Maybe immaculate conception, thought this devout Catholic girl. But the mind boggled at visualizing my mother as the Immaculate Virgin, so I concluded that perhaps Mom did know all about it. Then of course, finding the condom in Papa's jacket pocket when I was hunting for odd change, clinched the matter. Actually, I didn't know what it was. It looked like a chewing gum packet. Sonya, a classmate who never read a book if she could help it, explained that in detail and with diagrams, and also how it was to be used. (Like that? Oh, gross!!) So that's how I came to the end of innocence. A fat red hen started it and Mario Puzo's Godfather did the rest.

THE LAST WORD:

Don't forget the 25th of November. Professionals, do join the Professional Party of India and let's try to do something for the country. It is a party comprising of professionals only who want to work for the country. You can join online or write in at ppipune@gmail.com. If anyone knows of any organization set up to control terrorism or manage our politicians, do post.

The Wicked

Do Not Forgive And Never Forget.

2008-11-30T21:23:00.001-08:00

The Week That Was.

It is over and we have buried our dead. Last week’s attacks were aimed at Mumbai as the financial hub of India and were meant to deter India from becoming an economic power, or as a destination for foreigners, either for business or pleasure. India has taken up the challenge with teeth bared.

Ratan Tata has sworn to make the Taj better than before. And he will do it. The media and the public are baying for blood. Cabinet reshufflings and stringent intelligence and security measures will soon be in place. There is no doubt that Mumbai will once more be aflutter with pigeons, tourists, and the bustle of business. Every reminder of the week will be wiped clean.

But you and I, as ordinary citizens have also to do our bit. For a start let us take a vow not to forgive and never to forget.

Let us never forget Jordon, Jasmine, and all those nameless young hotel employees who in the face of AK 47s and grenades refused to obey the terrorists’ orders to set fire to their hotel or to show them around, and were shot dead. Let us never forget Kaizad, and other employees like him, who did not flee but true to training, stayed to help hotel guests, even at the cost of their own lives and the lives of their families. No bugles wail or guns salute for these who died, but let us who live, never forget the example they set of putting duty before self.

Let us never forget that no one asked the commandos who flew in to rescue Mumbai, whether they were Maharashtrians or non Maharashtrians, Hindus, Muslims or Christians; Indians or non Indians. Let us swear never to be taken in by any political rhetoric that seeks to divides us into compartments on the basis of region, religion, or nation.

Let us not forget that the seeds of terrorism are planted in madrasas, in gurudwaras, in temples and Sunday schools, where our children are taught the first tenets of their religion. It is here that fundamentalist religious beliefs can be sown in impressionable minds, and unless they are uprooted right there, there will be no stopping terrorism.
Let us swear to teach our children only to love, or at least, to tolerate another’s beliefs, and never ever, to hate any religion.

THE LAST WORD
Indians are known to run towards the site of an accident or a blast, rather than away from it. The Mumbai attacks killed many foreigners and if some of our foreign friends feel unsafe and wish to flee India, we cannot blame them. We have failed to protect those who were here with us as our guests, and no amount of rhetoric will ever express sufficiently our sorrow and regret.

But to those, particularly Paul Easton, who expressed support and a desire to run towards us, my heartfelt thanks. We promise to build a safer India for those of you, who do come back.

With love,
Rosemary

This Thing Called Mother...

2008-11-23T03:10:00.000-08:00

GREETINGS!!
Somebody told my mother about the things I write in this blog. She knows very little English having studied Portuguese, courtesy of Portuguese occupied Goa, and firmly believes computers are contraptions of satan. She had questions for me.

"Why do you sign yourself as a witch? Does everyone hate you? "
"I don’t know if they hate me mom, but anyway it was my choice. "
"You want to make yourself out as worse than you are. Why is that? "
"Hey, you’re echoing Daniel Defoe, Mom. "
"Don’t act clever with me Rozu, and stop calling yourself a witch. "
I’d rather be called a witch than ‘Rozu’ mom. Yuck, yuck, and YUCK.

"Why did you write all those wicked things about men? Giving people ideas, you’re a single woman. Do you know the bad things that can happen? "
"Yeah mom, and I can’t wait for them to start happening. "
"Stop that nonsense right now! "
(NO WAY MOM!!)

"About that witch's brew you wrote? Are you a secret drinker?"
"No mummy I’m not. Just a sip or two sometimes…"
"That’s how it starts. First a sip, next thing you know, you’re an alcoholic. You stop that now." "Okay Mom."

"You wrote about the MNS. What if Raj Thackeray comes after you?"
"Mom why would he bother with me? He has the elections to worry about."
"That’s why. With the sort of name you’re making for yourself, you’ll be good publicity for him."
OUCH!!

Finally, she asks suspiciously, “Who was that verse written to?”
Me, very casually: “Oh mom, just a computer geek.”
“What? A computer geek? My poor child, all computer geeks are emotionally disabled men. Keep away from them.”

(Out of the mouths of demented old women!!! )

The Witch’s Dilemma: I cannot upload photographs on my blog because my comp is so ancient it doesn’t have the thingamajig for doing that and also has several unspeakable other things wrong with it.
So should I, in these times of trial, buy a new PC or just pull along with the old one is the 40,000 rupee question.
My male friends despise me for even thinking I have a choice. The women, bless them, tell me to pull along, it’s not worth it. I go with the women. So, for now, no photographs.

The Last Word:
I met god again, this time watching Dostana (the movie about gays); and drooling into his popcorn, over John Abraham. (Guys, that frame where a bare-chested John comes out of the room, tugging up his short, short briefs is- yummmeeee!! Don’t miss it.)

“Hey god, where’s your ponytail?” I asked him.
“Hey yourself. Move with the times woman, ponytails are out, crew cut is back.”
He seemed affable, so I ventured, “Dear god, why do you let bad things happen to good people?
“Because good people are boring and I hate boring people. Now get lost,” he snapped. I got.

See guys, I was right. Be bad, be exciting, fly with the wicked witch, and prosper, thou beloved spawn of the devil.

Irreverently yours,

What Men Think About.

2008-11-15T06:07:00.000-08:00

Greetings!!

What are little boys made of?
Toads and snails, and puppy-dogs' tails,
That's what little boys are made of.

Unfortunately, little boys grow up into men;

And this post is about the monsters they become then.

My friend Doris comes up one day, and says agitatedly, "You know Rose, I went to offer condolences to Ajit M. on the death of his mother, trying my best to look sorrowful, which was tough, because after all the woman was 90 and how much grief can you display, you should be rejoicing really at her finally managing it, which at one time had seemed impossible. Anyway, I am saying sadly:
“I'm so sorry Ajit bhaiyya I heard about your mother's death, such a good woman, how did it happen, how you must miss her, etc. etc.”
And-and you know what? That bloody effing Ajit, he's standing there in front of me unhearing, eyes fixed unmoving on my boobs. Totally mesmerized."

By now every woman in the building knows of boob-gazer Ajit’s peculiarity, and one and all hunch their shoulders trying to shrink their assets, whenever he approaches. But the 2nd floor dimwit Sheila, as usual, has not caught on. Come Divali she goes up to him, opens her arms wide, and with a loud "Happy Divali Ajit bhaiyya" gives him a tight hug. Ajit looks like he has achieved nirvana. Of course, he has a happy Divali. Probably still getting off on Sheila's warm, warm wishes.

I happened to relate this incident to my good friend JD, whom I have known for 17 years and he says calmly, "Hey, all men do that. It's just that some of the idiots haven't learned how to do it without being caught.”
(WHAT?)
“Not only that, Nuts,” he adds, “99% of men when they meet a woman check out her vital stats and imagine how she would fare in bed."
(THEY DO?)
“Look at me," he says and demonstrates a look. “When they look at you like this, that’s when they are thinking on those lines."
I say, "Hey I've seen that look. I always thought the guy was doing some serious thinking when he looked like that."
"Of course he is. He's doing some serious thinking about just what I told you."
(Oh-My-God.)
Well, JD says he is willing to demonstrate the look to anyone interested, with the intention of educating and empowering women kind.
(Now, WAIT a minute, there's a catch in there somewhere.)

Hold on, there is a third type of male who when you reject his advances, invariably whines, “Oh, you must be a lesbian.” (I know that’s hitting below the belt JD and you deserve it.)

Not done yet. Called up someone from my old office, who tells me he is at Big Bazaar. That sounds innocent, until he tells me he is , “looking for babes”. So girls put your belts on. A man shopping is not a man shopping. He is a man out for a kill. However, since this techie is something of a friend, I have some advice for him. You want class, you avoid Big Bazaar. Too, too down-market. Pyramids, Central Park, Westside, that’s where the serious eye candy is!

MAKING A FIST HAS MOVED to http://www.rosemary-outsourcing.blogspot.com./ This will remain a fun blog.

THE LAST WORD:
I can just hear the men reading this post thinking: She’s not a witch, she’s a bitch. Right. So this post does seem a little man-bashing. But I do love you, men. Else, why would I be wasting my time writing about you? So you just go right ahead and play with your toys.
And women, YOU take care.

Not my city, not my state; but my India.

2008-11-10T01:51:00.000-08:00

Greetings!!

Mohammad Pande ( MP) is an educated, cultured Indian. He would have been born a bastard if his Hindu Dalit mother had not married his father in the nick of time. His father had been married before and had a son from that first marriage. When MP was a toddler, his mom divorced his father, married a Christian man and bore him three children. MP now has a Muslim father, a Dalit mother, a Christian stepfather, three Christian step-siblings and a Muslim half-brother . Obama with a similar history, (according to media reports) , will soon be President of America. So can the fictitious Mohammad Pande aspire to be the future leader of a country? Not of India at any rate. Not while political parties like the MNS and Bajrang Dal flourish. And not while the educated, intelligent Indian remains a slave to the system, prefers to bury his hand in the sand and keeps silent in the face of injustice.

Obama did not make history. His country did. By choosing to believe in him. By making the choice that nothing mattered more than the quality of the man. Not his color, not his birth, not his family tree. Not the place he came from but where he would, one day, lead.

People, India belongs to all and every one of us. Choose not to have just one small corner of it belong to you. Choose to make it ALL yours. Make a deliberate decision not to let a small-time political party decide where you are going to live, where you are going to work, and which religion you should follow. Stand up for that friend, that neighbor, that stranger on the street, who is thrown out of his home, his job, by a wannabe politician because he comes from a different state or is of a different religion. He is truly brave who would fight another's battle!

It is the common people of America who raised their country over and above every nation on the earth. It is people like you and me who could make the JANA GANA MANA the anthem of the world. Speak up. Silence is golden no more.

Rosemary.

Witch is a 4-letter word

2008-11-02T23:07:00.000-08:00

Greetings!!
My last post was so sugary sweet ( make someone happy this Divali), that you probably had to wash your mouth with salt and vinegar to get rid of the taste. This post is an attempt to show you the witch as she really is. Read on...

THE WEEK THAT WAS:
Frankly, my attempts at social work are limited to the occasional visit to a home for the aged. And by visit, I mean just that. Offer some money, some food, and smile a lot. That’s it. I am paranoid about any sort of dirt or unpleasant smells, so when I go there I do my best to avoid physical contact with anybody. I know that’s bad and there are hundreds of people out there who do it without a thought, but I cannot. The caretakers try to keep the old people clean but it’s a difficult task with the lot of them peeing and doing worse things all around. Well, this time when I went around, Asha Patil the Matron was having none of my airs.

As I walk in, she immediately asks, “Can you help in serving the food?”
Well that’s easy. I breeze through planting thalis in front of the old people. She then goes up to an old man, lying on a pallet on the floor. This man, Choudhary has a body only up to the knees and no fingers to speak of. He has to be literally propped against the wall like a broken doll. Moreover, despite the odd looking bottle by his bedside, Choudhary wets his bed so the odors are somewhat strong.

Asha Patil stands by him, looks me in the eye and says, “He has to be fed. Will you do it?”
I think “Oh shit!”
Apparently the thought shows on my face because both she and the old man speak simultaneously.
Harridan Patil with a curled lip. ”Oh, that’s okay if you can’t manage it.”
And the old chap stammering, “No need-no-I can do it.”
So of course, I have to say,” Of course I’ll feed him.”
I sit on the floor very gingerly. The smell makes me want to puke. How do the caretakers bear it?

Unfortunately roti and potato sabji cannot be fed with a spoon. I break off a piece of roti, take some vegetable, and without looking at the poor chap, drop it in his maw, trying not to touch the lips. Unsuccessfully. The sensation of feeling a smelly, old man’s drooling lips closing on your fingers is pretty bad. The only people I have fed in my life are my girls and this is definitely a far cry from your kids’ tiny mouths licking at your fingertips. I feed the next few morsels quickly, trying not to look or hear the toothless mouth chomping and leaking food. Choudhary chokes on the speed of the feed and I panic. The Harridan is going to skin me if the guy dies. I desperately pat his back, dripping water in to his mouth from a soiled glass. To take my mind off that drooling mouth I talk.

Choudhary tells me between bites, that he had a responsible job as a Section Officer in the State Government Press, that he had a wife, a son. They lived quite happily in Akola. Even after he began suffering from diabetes and the gangrene took off his legs, he remained very active, traveling all over India to participate in discus and javelin throwing competitions, accompanied either by his son or his wife. “I have a whole box of medals”, he tells me proudly.
“How did you get around?” I ask.
“Oh I have my vehicle,” he says with the air of a man talking of his Ferrari. (The vehicle is a board fitted with wheels on which he mounts and wheels himself about.)
Then some years ago, his only son either jumped or fell into the canal and drowned. Six months later, his wife died of grief. His relatives refused to take him in. With no one to care for him, he now lives at the Home.
As we chat the meal is done , and some how in that time, his legless, handless body, his smells, his stained clothes, and soiled mattress fall away and he changes from the "creature" I had seen him as, into a person; someone who dreamed and loved, who laughed and wept, and who can tell his story, without tears, without asking for sympathy, and even sometimes with a smile. I wipe his mouth without a qualm. Harridan Patil would be proud of me. I am never going to get used to the smells, ( and why should I be ashamed of that?) but I do think I could manage the feeding bit again.

Lesson learned: What are the makings of a witch? Just flesh and bones in fancy clothes, posing on an old broomstick.

The Witch Endorses: The Senior Citizens Home- Shivganga Vriddhashram. Telephone # 02026822326.

One of my students who is not a law graduate and is studying project management wants to know whether she can get into legal project management if she also acquires a diploma in company law. Now this is a poser for me. Is a one-year diploma in company law sufficient for someone who will probably be taking a call on which documents are privileged, which document is a patent and which could lead to potential litigation or a good defence strategy? I think not. On the other hand, quite a few LPOs are happy to employ 2nd and 3rd year law students to do the routine, boring, indexing work. How much of legal knowledge is involved here is anyone's guess. So again, why shouldn't a post-graduate management degree holder with more than a basic knowledge of law not handle such projects? And experience should surely make for proficiency in the more complex legal work. (Although not of course, legal research or legal documents. That can be done by me, only me, and none but me.)

Anyway if people other than legal professionals start entering the legal outsourcing field, the competition is going to get tougher, you guys. So, spend the slack hours acquiring some specialisations. I hear you getting offers which may not be to your taste and that I can well understand . We were on some really interesting projects weren't we, when we parted ways? However, do follow up on whatever you have until something better comes along, which the witch forecasts, it will. If nothing else, you will at least have toted up experience points.

THE LAST WORD:

Thank you all , lawyers, students and fellow professors, staff, and readers for your Divali wishes . They did much to remedy a week that started out bad, with me out of sorts with people I care for. And a special thank you to the Geek who actually took the trouble to wish me a bright Divali and a "glowing spirit"- I like. Don't let my ungraciousness put you off further attempts.

See you soon,

A Holiday from LPOs

2008-10-23T23:04:00.000-07:00

Greetings!!
I was in two minds about sending this post. It’s Narak Chaturdasi the second day of Deepavali and who wants to listen to a witch? Narkasur was a demon king who supposedly stole a queen’s earrings; (I don’t believe it. Why would a king do that?), kidnapped several thousand women, and imprisoned them in his harem. (The handsome devil!). He was killed by Krishna (but of course), and Narak Chaturdasi celebrates symbolically the triumph of good over greed and evil.

One Narak Chaturdasi I was holidaying in Goa. The Goans celebrate this day quite differently. Huge effigies of Narkasur, some up to 20 to 30 feet tall are constructed by the locals and put up in the fields. The sight of these demonic creatures dotting the green and peaceful Goan landscape is arresting to say the least. On the night of Narak Chaturdasi, the effigies are brought to the marketplace in a procession, on trucks, and set alight. Since the effigies have been packed with firecrackers there’s lots of sound and light. What was unusual was the absolute lack of any rowdiness or unnecessary noise, or any women baiting. But then Goa does have a very cultured and educated population. (Go see for yourself.)

Another thing unusual was that while the rest of India gorges on rich sweets and fried stuff at Deepavali, Goan Hindus prepare, eat, and share with friends and neighbors, a concoction of puffed rice (poha) and coconut jaggery. My ancestry being Goan, I have had that very simple dish often, as a child. I was quite surprised therefore, when I saw it being proudly presented at Deepavali. I think that is because since it was Krishna who killed Narkasur and Krishna supposedly liked puffed rice, the Goans are keeping the tradition. I like.

THE WEEK THAT WAS:
Life generally sucks. But one morning, last week I awoke feeling more alive than usual, and so when the phone rang at 7.30 a.m. jumped to get it, determined to be a ray of sunshine and floor the unknown caller with my charm and cheer.
"Hell-ooo-oo, a very good morning" I trilled huskily, in my best RJ imitation.
A short silence.
Then, a low voice, says diffidently, "Madam, main macchiwalla".
Damn!
(Macchiwalla- fishmonger. My fish seller is an old ragbag who sells fish from a basket slung on his bicycle and rings me from the gate.)

Lesson learned (for the umpteemth time) : Life sucks.

Well at least Naresh of Jet Airways got what he wanted. Fuel concessions and extended fuel credit. In business, everything’s fair that brings in the moolah. You know that.

The Witch Endorses: All of us are in a super financial soup, but let’s forget our miseries for a while. Light a few lamps, put fancy rangoli designs in the doorway, (even though like me, your artistic development may have stopped at age 3½), damn all diets and gorge on karanjis and chaklis. While you do that also look to help someone underprivileged. There are plenty of people living on the edge of poverty who do not like to ask for help. Take some sweets, clothes or books. The idea is not to do it so that you earn some brownie points in your life. Do it to make somebody happy. Period.

THE WITCH'S BREW: This week's brew is a little different and meant especially for those of you, who have backaches and body aches and cricks, from sitting too long at the computer or from sleeping in odd places and positions. (Ha. You wish!!)

Make small 4x4 inch squares of cotton cloth, put two teaspoons of salt in each square and tie up with string to make small bundles. Dip the upper tip of each bundle in a little oil. Lie on your stomach and get someone to place those bundles all over your back about 4 inches apart. Then light each bundle. It will light easily since the tips have been dipped in oil. As soon as one is lit, place a glass, (upturned of course, you twit) , on each bundle. The flame will burn until it has eaten up the oxygen trapped in the glass and the glass will stick fast pulling up within itself, flesh and muscle. Light all the bundles and cover them with the glasses one by one. Leave on for a while. (It is a fascinating sight. A back covered in upturned glasses!! And no, your back will not catch fire.). After some time, the glasses loosen and come off easily. Feel the difference.
With all that biking, hiking and swimming haven’t felt the need for it yet. My mother and aunts however, swear by it. I think it is a sort of heat therapy. My grandmother claimed to have learned it from her ancestors, but I read somewhere that the Chinese are claiming to have discovered it. Does that mean that my ancestors played around with the Chinese?

MAKE A FIST: This week takes a break from profession related writing. Besides, the witch needs help with this really serious problem. I just feel compelled to keep busy 24x7. I am told this implies an escapist attitude and that I am escaping into work in order to avoid facing some problem in my life. Not going to admit anything. (But couldn’t it be that I just have a very agile mind that always needs to be occupied? That sounds so much better.)

Anyway, I finished with lectures just last Saturday and am already hyperventilating at the thought of being at a loose end for the next two months. Going to make a fist by pampering the witch, indulging her, forcing her to relax. Plan to either learn roller skating or gliding. Wish me luck. And of course I will be writing away like crazy.

THE LAST WORD:

You know my forecasts come true, don’t you? So believe you me, when I foretell for you a very happy and fruitful time in the coming Hindu New Year. Happy Deepavali, people! Keep the faith.

This is for someone who has just begun on a new voyage; whose interests are very dear to the witch’s heart; and to whom the witch had once asked to choose one of two boons. (That one came true, did it not?) The witch grants you the other boon too, with only a small change.

I wish you-
Bright sunny days full of restful sleep
Long, long nights with your laptop keys,
Projects that never seem to end
And coffers ringing with dollars, (not cents.)
I wish you-
Servers that never break down.
And tough hard drives that go on and on.
Eager people obeying your every wish
And of course,
I wish upon you-

Is "contract attorneys" a really good idea?

2008-10-19T16:00:00.000-07:00

GREETINGS!!

Last week was Karvachauth. That’s when North Indian women fast day-long for the prosperity and long life of their husbands, ending the fast by gazing first at the moon through a veil, and then on the faces of their husbands. Of all my women friends, only two observed this ritual. (Their husbands of course, do not fast. 'If I am happy; you should be’, seems to be their mindset.) One of the above husbands is frail as a reed, round-shouldered, stands 5 feet nothing in elevated shoes, and wilts if you even glance at him. The other husband has a head as hairless, smooth, brown, and knobbly, as a witch’s knee. Good men maybe. But gazing all misty-eyed at the moon and then at THEM through a veil, especially when the wife is well-versed with the issues he has with intestinal gas, or with his habit of always sniffing his socks after taking them off, is stretching the romantic charade a little too far!

Tina and her husband however, are a different story. They call each other Jaan, observe the fast together, and lovingly feed each other at the end of the day of fasting. Green is the color of the witch, my friend!

THE WEEK THAT WAS:
The peek-a-boo game played out at Jet Airways blistered the front pages this week. Jet has built up a reputation for total professionalism and customer service, second to none, much of which is due to Naresh Goyal and his team’s unswerving dedication to perfection. Last week shattered all my preconceptions of the man. In the span of 48 hours, he terminated 1000 employees and overnight re-employed them, blandly stating that he was moved by their youth and their tears. (Keep a straight face, witch! You shall not suspect any motivated manipulative maneuver .) But hey, whither the businessman I admired, with iron in his soul and steel in his sinews. Next I suppose, is Goyal and his crew togged in Santa costumes, distributing free goodies on their flights. Ho, Ho, Ho!

Lesson learned: The way to a man’s heart is through the glands. Not his babe- your lachrymal glands.

The Witch Endorses: I was brought up in a convent, the British way- stiff upper lip, no tears, no cuss words, and definitely no kicking. The result- in a bad situation, I am totally weaponless. But you read above what tears did. Even to a man like Goyal. So women, forget all you may have been taught to the contrary. Learn to weep; be not afraid to swear; and despite what momma told you, it is better to learn to kick than to cross those legs! (Absolutely no immorality intended.)

The Witch’s Brew:
Add one egg, a pinch of nutmeg, a spoonful of sugar, a pinch of kesar, (if you don’t have that, use turmeric powder, you beggar), and one tablespoon brandy to a cup of hot milk, and spin in a blender. That’s eggnog. Very healthy.
Witch lovers may substitute the egg, nutmeg, sugar, milk, kesar, with the remaining ingredient, and spin. Even healthier.

MAKE A FIST:
More on contract attorneys: Not a day passes, but one hears of someone looking at opening an LPO here in Pune. While starting an LPO may not be a big deal, what is really challenging is getting in enough legal work to keep it functioning without hiccups. For a fledgling organization there could be a gap between projects. At this time, those with full-time employees would be paying out hefty salaries with no inputs. This is why the idea of employing contract attorneys is attractive. It saves a lot of money. That’s bad news for legal professionals in outsourcing. However, it may not be very good news for employers either.
That's because client confidentiality is, and will always remain a major issue with legal outsourcing. The problem is exacerbated when a company employs contract staffers working for disparate LPOs, which might be handling processes for opposing parties. In such a situation, a contract employee learning of a defense tactic employed by the defendant in a particular litigation, might well be tempted to disclose the same to the opposite party in the same litigation or in a subsequent suit, if he happens to be working subsequently in an LPO that is handling litigation for that opposite party. This conflict of loyalties might be resolved by the outsourcing firms by not employing a contract attorney who has worked in a project for the opposite party. And while this might initially limit a contract attorney’s prospects further, what I figure out is that, in the long run it could end in law firms abroad not outsourcing work to LPOs employing contract attorneys and preferring to send out work to those that use full time regular attorneys whose loyalties are secured. What do you think?

THE LAST WORD:
Visited a friend. He has this huge house surrounded by trees, rooms filled with priceless, antique furniture AND a mother who cooks mouth watering Goan dishes. (Lunch was mutton cutlets, fried chicken and pulao.) During the visit, he promised to gift me one antique piece, “when you marry.” I was like, “Wow, someone thinks I still have a chance.” Having had time to think, I’m not so sure. Did he perhaps promise the gift, sure in the knowledge that he would never have to present it? Answer me, you twerp!

Oh, please note the signature-picture below, people. Unlike other witches, this witch does not sport a cat. She prefers bats hovering around, rodents though they are at heart!!

See you soon,

2008-10-12T00:24:00.001-07:00

GREETINGS!!

Welcome to the witch's castle, Amit from South India. I like meeting people who have read my articles. Felt good too, to hear from Priya and Rahul, and Bhavesh's trademark caustic comments. I have to confess I am in a horrible muddle. Just can 't seem to get any pictures to upload here. The instructions are very clear, but in my hands they become mumble-jumble-mumbo-jumbo. I need help. I shall surely learn how to do it, but until then no pictures for you. So sad!!

The Week That Was:
The monsoons are thundering their way out of Pune. In order to better enjoy their final glory, decided yesterday to run on the State Police grounds nearby, rather than bike, as I usually do.
Lesson learned: Jogging in wet tees in testosterone loaded areas is- A Bad Idea.

The Witch Endorses: A visit to the Albert Edward Institute (that's a library established in the early 19th century and it has some wonderful early editions) was far more pleasant. Discovered new author- Marie Phillips' first-born, "Gods Behaving Badly". A sexual satire based on Greek mythology, it treads the tightrope between vulgarity and intelligent wit with cool insouciance, emerging wildly hilarious. Haven't laughed aloud like that for a long time. I am going to add it to my private library. A must-read, but prunes-and-prisms and vestal virgins, read with caution.

The Witch's Brew: I am not a connoisseur of wines. But I can come up with strange concoctions. This brew could make a terrific nightcap or a wicked dessert.
In a small wine glass, add one inch of cappuccino ice cream, top it with an inch of cream liqueur, (if you don’t have that then substitute with a whisked teaspoon each of brandy or whisky, honey, and cream), stir lightly without melting the ice cream. Sip-slurp-sip. Del-hic-licious!!.

MAKING A FIST: I knew the word “contract” in terms of contract killers only. These days however, it is being used in terms of attorneys as well. “Contract attorneys” is the new bye word amongst legal process outsourcers. (LPOs) Most LPOs seem to be offering employment to legal professionals on contract only basis. While the object of a contract killer is obviously illegal, I find a number of similarities between the two. Both come in, do their job, pick up the cash and stride out into the sunset. Both build up a reputation by doing the job cleanly, quickly, quietly, and with no backlash to the employer. Both also need not expect any further perks from their job. Unmake that wry face, my legal brothers and sisters. Like it or not, this is the new face of the practice of law.

Moreover, with supply being greater than demand, and tough competition from young lawyers who graduate with greater and better specializations each year, the pay package offered in Pune at least, may not, right now, be very attractive either. That position will change. But not right away.

If you are going to be a contract attorney, then at this point in time, to achieve success in the face of cutthroat competition you will have to prove yourself better than the teeming multitudes. For that you will need to hone the skills you have, acquire skills that you do not have, highlight those skills unique to you, and learn to project yourself. Perhaps you are technologically sound, or exceptional with figures, or maybe an expert at handling people. Let your light shine! There are hundreds of legal professionals graduating each year, with those same qualities and you are bound to get lost in the crowd unless you make yourself distinctive.

So just what exactly is needed? Law degrees? Computer knowledge? Management skills? Or is there more to it than that? It would be good if legal professionals whether already into outsourcing or not, teachers, and management professionals, write back relating what are YOUR special qualities. What do you think was the reason you landed your job? Or lost it? What do you think is the reason you find yourself leading in the profession? Or lagging? Your inputs could be helping someone find his or feet and maybe you would get feedback on something you need to know too. Make a fist guys and let’s see how it goes!

THE LAST WORD: Some of what is written here might set mouths agape of those who thought I was full of goodness and light. Guys, I am like this only. Long ago, (or what seems like long ago), I was told to stay out of trouble, walk in the squares, and not to step on the lines. I obeyed to the letter. Unfortunately, it's trouble that's been troubling me; my preacher has stopped caring; and I am tired of being good. Besides what's a witch without some wickedness, right? So even if being bad might not make things better, at least the bad will make the trouble not seem so bitter. Get what I mean? Never mind. YOU come back next week to make a fist, and to hear of some of the evil deeds of-

The Witch

This is my first time

2008-09-30T01:36:00.000-07:00

Hey, this is my first blogging experience. I'm definitely not tech savvy, so I'm really feeling proud of myself for getting this far. I'm actually a Professor teaching Business Law. I hate admitting that- it sounds so stuffy and I'm really not the ideal professor. I owe my success in the profession to my wonderful management students who love my attitude, my unconventional ways, and my really weird jokes. I have been published on the editorial page of Times of India. Google for Ruhee or Ruhi Amle and you'll find me.

This blog is dedicated to all my friends at the company I worked for part time, until a month ago, as their legal editor and edited the company newsletter. The firm downed shutters and the employees, all legal professionals, while parting ways, begged me to continue sending them newsletters. So guys,here's the witch- back to doing what she likes best- entertaining you.

That was casually said -"the firm downed shutters". Actually the whole experience was so bad, none of us have gotten over it yet. Of course everyone wept buckets on the final day. What I found most heart-rending was that for days after that, some of the ex-employees used to drive over and visit the building where the firm was housed, just to take a look at it. Apart from the emotional ripping apart, there was financial disaster for most, some of whom are still jobless.

Working for an international firm sounds cool but in retrospect I found it too, too mercenary. We Indians take visitors into our hearts and homes. We did that with our employers as well and when they left us without a word, we were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. The directors sent a brief e-mail- sorry, this is it, and there we were , all in a heap -doing what we could to hold each other up.

I have to get back to marking answer sheets. So, I'll end this here. But not on that note. Remember guys, all bad things come to an end just like good things and things will look up. That's a witch's promise. Looking forward, to your comments.

Love you all,

The Witch