Random Thought #65748291

* Well hells bells! This being the US of A and all, here was lil' ole me thinking I would have a kick ass internet connection and I could do, you know, stuff. But the service providers have cut me off from the manna that is broadband and I am now stuck using a USB modem, at prehistoric speeds. And worst of all, I can't stream episodes of Lost!

* Being on vacation is an acquired taste. The first few days hurt going down. The sense of being afloat with no particular direction to go in, the feeling of having nothing to do and no one to report to: it all feels very demoralizing. But as the days go by it gets easier. One learns to appreciate the silences. No, I'm not just saying that.

* Just because you want something, doesn't mean you will get it. Just because you have wanted it longer, prayed for it harder doesn't mean someone behind you in the queue won't get it first. In the line of life, apparently people can jump the queue and darling, there ain't a damn thing you can do about it!

* Even when you have no regrets in life, you still miss things. Singing safe inside my helmet where no one could hear me, the feel of the sun on my arms as I drove, the feeling that I could do anything, be anyone, the carefree days and the dreamless nights, no weight on my shoulders. Ah! To be young and care free again.

Funny how you can feel happy and sad at the same time. Funny thing, life.....

The Promised Land

As any self respecting TamBram knows, the promised land is America. If you grew up with lots of maamis coming around to your house at festival times, you have heard the phrase "Theriyumo, ava pillai/ponnu/mapillai Chicaco/Caulifornia/some other city or state la irukka (Do you know, their son/daughter/son-in-law is in the States)."

Short of beating it in to you, it was made known that if you had an iota of self respect you would go to the States. If, heaven forbid, you went to some other country the Hindu reading mama next door would discreetly ask your parents "Yen states la onnum kedaikalaya? (Was nothing available in the States?)"

Having grown up with such intense indoctrination, when I arrived here it felt very much like arriving in the promised land where the streets were paved with gold and champagne (or in my non-drinking case, milk) rained from the heavens.

Surprisingly, it has been easy so far. I had been having visions of being tackled to the ground by beefy immigration officials with guns for having the wrong kind of visa. Or of my luggage ending up in Cuba and me having to go to the supermarket to buy everything from a toothbrush upwards. None of these came true and my toothbrush and I have slipped into the country without any ripples.

The apartment is nice (it's HUGE!), the rental car is nice (it's HUGE!) and the supermarkets are pretty much what I am used to in New Zealand (the potatoes are HUGE!). As subtly expressed above, I'm still coming to terms with the size of things. There doesn't seem to be such a thing as small. Even the bloody onions in the store are so huge, I can use one of them for four meals.

So that's the story so far of yet another Tam Bram in Caulifornia. I haven't done much exploring so far (the official excuse is jet lag, unofficially it's sloth), but I plan on taking some pictures. So those will come up at an as yet unknown date.

Till then, I'll be seein' ya'll around.

Of Loos, Welly And The Weekend

Have you ever noticed, there are some people at work that you see only in the loo?

Wander the office and you will never see them. But duck into the loo, and hey presto! There they are.

How come you see them there and only there? There must be some vibrations around the loo that permit the manifestation of these beings.

The weekend is coming up and I am excited. What so great about this weekend, you ask? Nothing much, only that I'm headed to WELLINGTON!

Ok, to be perfectly honest, this is my first time there so it's not like Welly and I have a deep soulful connection or anything. It's just that I have this picture in my head of what I think Welly is like and it kinda looks and feels like Bangalore.

In my head, of course.

And for this reason, I've decided I will like Wellington.

A friend of V's is hosting us for the weekend. We get to crash at his pad and do the rounds of the town. That's a very nice gesture on his part, no?

Funny to think a year ago, I didn't even know Wellington was the capital of New Zealand. I thought it was Auckland.

I've got things lined up I'd like to do. The Weta Workshop, the Beehive, the giant squid at Te Papa, LOTR stuff, surviving the freezing weather. Just your usual list of tourist stuff.

I wonder, am I going to find my Kiwi Bangalore?

Get With The Program

Or programme, if you prefer English English as opposed to American English.

So, right, the program.

When I joined my gym (I’ll have you know I pay 75 dollars a month for the privilege of saying that), they designed a program for me, supposedly customised to my body and tailored to help me meet my goals.

What they actually did was have me and V doing exactly the same set of things, except he gets to do them at heavier weights. And because I’m a girl, I’m let off easy.

In my pre gym days (that’s up until last week), I used to run almost 20 minutes a day for mostly three days a week.

Now that I’m in the program, it’s a whole different story. I’m working out with the pros now, playing ball in the big league.

I’m expected to be at the gym 4 days a week. V and I tried going in the evenings after work, but it got too crowded. Watching a slightly senior man trying his hardest to pump iron, while waiting for the machine to get freed up is not my idea of a fun evening. After resisting as much as I could, I finally had to give in. So now its four days a week from 7 to 8.

That’s earlier than official sunrise time in Auckland.

The session starts with some gentle cardio – an average of 15 minutes on the treadmill. This is to work up a good sweat and get the ole’ ticker racing.

This is followed by the forty minutes from hell. The weights portion of the program. Or programme. Muscle groups whose existence was so far a secret get broken down and built up again. Or in my case, just get broken down.

After this little romp, it’s another 15 minutes on the treadmill. Or the exer-cycle. Or the cross trainer. Take your pick.

Next up – ab crunches. Hurts like hell. Do not plan on attending any comedy shows or catching a cold. Never knew you needed abdominal muscles to laugh and cough, did you now?

Last but not least – gentle stretching. Just to keep flexibility in the equation.

I used leave the gym suffused with the contented glow of someone who had pushed their body, pushed it hard and knew they are the better for it. For 20 minutes of running.

I’m in a whole different class now. I’m qualified to strut my way out of the gym.

Well, I try to anyway. When I’m not limping.

Check Course, Aye Aye

In the old days, when blogging was a new tool, the word of the blogger was equivalent to the word of your next door neighbour. They expressed their opinion on a matter of international/national/local/domestic significance and you either agreed with them or not and put forth arguments to that effect.

Blogging was supposed to be an enabler of neighbourly conversations, even if said neighbour was oceans away.

About two years ago, the media started paying attention. They gave real weight to the words of the neighbour. And now it's gotten to the point where it might be dangerous to say something, because someone might sue you.

Or something.

That said, I've given up commenting on current issues. Nothing to do with being afraid of getting sued, of course.

Which brings me to the perpetually perplexing question of what to write about. I believe I have gotten away with many a post simply expostulating about writer's block.

In all conscience, not a very good ploy on my part.

And besides, one needs to restate one's mission, vision and all that rot once in a while so as to steer true. So I've decided I'll try and make an effort and share my hopefully daily, sometime comic, sometime dark and at all times real, observations of life on the blue marble.

Having done that course check and found that I'm still keeping to the original course for this blog of arrant nonsense and gereal ravings, I pause to say, "I will return" and exit, stage left.