Friday, March 26, 2010

Battling Sandras

Bengaluru has a vast variety of juicy names for its thousands of localities. But for some reason, I take particular delight in the ones ending with "sandra." And there are quite a few! It has now become a little hobby of mine, a collection, if you will. So I have Singsandra, Hongasandra, Bommasandra, the twins Jakkasandra and Lakkasandra, and the winner of the contest- the vaguely fun-sounding Tippasandra. This morning I discovered another one, to my great joy- Veerasandra.

Incidentally, I do not like the name Bengaluru itself. In my infinite wisdom, I pointed out that it will cause confusion to foreigners- BENGALuru? Is this in West Bengal? Where is Uru? My suggestion was that they have it as Bangalore in English and Bengaluru in Kannada. If Paris can be Parree in French, and Munich can be Munchen in German, and so on, Bangalore can jolly well be Bangalore in English, can it not? But no one listens to me.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

All is forgiven

The title of the last post reminded me of something that brings me much joy these days- it's the new shampoo commercial by Aishwarya Rai.

She walks, nay, swaggers, into the frame in a dangerous red dress, brimming with purpose. "I'm here to save the world," she begins, adding somewhat anti-climactically, "from hair damage."

Then some computer-generated jiggery-pokery about hair fall and the FIVE signs of hair damage. Then Ash reappears, making vigorous signs for ONE and TWO with her hand. By this point I've derived enough mirth from this entire little skit, but wait, she isn't done yet. No, she finishes off her mission to save the world by narrowing her eyes and chirping, in an accent somewhere between here and Los Angeles, "grrrrrrrls, you're worrrrrth it!"

I must admit, though, that the shampoo is actually pretty darned good. Yes, I confess, I bought it. How could I not? How could I ignore the FIVE signs of hair damage that I so clearly suffer from? So, at the next outing to the store, I furtively grabbed both the shampoo and the conditioner- and found that the miracle potion actually does its job quite well.

All is forgiven, Ash! Even if the commercial makes me laugh until I collapse to the floor in a fit, I will concede that your mission to save the world is actually working!

Girls, you're worth it!

It's that time again when I feel the urgent need for a vacation. Yesterday J merely said the word "Bahamas" and I jumped up and down many times and banged my fist on the table, shouting, "CAN WE GO NOW? CAN WE? CAN WE?" But, I digress. Since there is no Bahamas in sight, one must content oneself with travel magazines.
And so I did. However, 'content' was not quite the word that sprang to mind while reading this particular one. For one, their suggestions for hotels all began around the USD 700 mark. Per night. Then, their Travel Must Haves for the Savvy Woman included a 'versatile, chic' dress for Rs 15,000, a smart purse for Rs 48,000, and then a pair of cute ballet flats, which were priced at the shudder-inducing "On Request." So, I was thinking, if I were to travel wearing or carrying all of these little items, I would be equivalent to the down payment for a small house.
Sigh. What can one do? Nothing. Except, as a member of the public, express one's opinion. Mine will be in the form of a letter to this posh rag, consisting of just three words: Phooey to you!

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Hv fn!

The parents are late entrants to the world of the Short Messaging Service. In short, they don’t care much for the texted word. At least, they didn’t; and now, as I said, they have entered its wonderful portals. To fully cooperate with the shortage of time in everyone’s lives, my sweet mother sends messages that go something like this: “wht u dng? Me stg hm, lzg ard. Wt fn!” This sweeping elimination of the vowel has led the Father and us to greet each other verbally (in her absence, with much snickering) like this: Gd mrng! Cn I hv sm T?
The Father is not entirely blameless in his sms-ing, either. No, his messages, well-vowelled though they may be, are festooned with every smiley known to man. So, in keeping with his usual weather discussions, he will say: “Very hot here. Temp 40 deg. 84 pc humidity! :-) :-/ :-P :->”
I now feel compelled to send them a message of my own. Today being the day they complete several scores of decades of wedded bliss, I say: Hpy Anvrsry! Hp u hv a fn dy! :-) :P :->

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

Hey, I'm a gypsy too...I want my OWN video!

So! This is what Rafael Nadal does in his spare time. Make out with …I mean, star in videos for Shakira! I see. Actually, I did watch it as soon as I found out that the video, for a song called La Gitana (The Gypsy) existed. Rafa with Shakira! It almost made me want to say OMG.
I also watched a short clip of Shakira talking about the reasons behind her decision to cast this particular boy in her newest video. She spoke earnestly about moving around so frequently that it makes her feel like a gypsy, and how Rafa also moves around so much, what with being one of the world’s top athletes and all, and how she felt he would represent this facet of her life…and so on.
If I were her, that conversation would have gone something like this:
Self to video-casting-person: That Rafael Nadal- he is cute! I want him in my new video. Bring him to me!

Monday, March 15, 2010

The weathervane

To prove that one never knows which way the wind will blow, I can now eat with chopsticks. This, after expressing anguish at the fact that I can’t eat with chopsticks. I am in no position to explain it, but I am certainly in a position to enjoy it.
The last time we went to a Japanese restaurant, I simply picked up the chopsticks and began eating. Halfway through the meal, I realized the enormity of what was happening. I hadn’t even thought to ask for a fork! I simply carried on as though I were born and raised in a noble family of Tokyo. And last night, at the same restaurant, I positively shouted “No!” when the server asked if we wanted forks. It is now my turn to sneer- “forkkkkkkkk?” Ha. Take that, snobbish waitress at that other Japanese place!

Tuesday, March 09, 2010

All is well

Let me begin by saying that I am much more pleased than I was at this time last year. Why? Let me hasten to elaborate.
Exhibit A: Sandra Bullock. This Marchesa gown looked even more fabulous on TV. It moved like liquid, and at one point the Bullock looked like she was standing in a limpid silver pool. This immediately raises the question: why, then, does she look so uncertain? Should not a girl, draped in such a fetching frock, be flashing a fetching grin? My conclusion was she was not feeling entirely confident about her stylist’s choice of a red lip. But to that, I say, pppht! Buck up, Bullock! You look smashing, your hair is delectably shiny, and your red lips are not too much!


Then there was Pen: Ah, Penelope! You please me immensely because this gorgeous red color flatters your already unbelievable beauty. Your diamonds, as usual, blind me. The only, and this is almost negligible, peeve would be that the top of your bodice looks a bit…well…unbalanced. However, because you are Penelope, and therefore capable of doing no wrong, all is forgiven. Plus, you have leapt ahead of your own self from a year ago by wisely choosing to forego black and white as possible choices for your big night out.





Maggie-what-have-we-here-Gyllenhaal: And now, to prove my theorem that M. Gyllenhaal is out to prove us all wrong about our opinions on her fashion prowess. Here, she stands out from the crowd in this Dries van Noten column. After her spectacular showing at the Golden Globes in that flamingo-pink Roland Mouret gown, she has established herself in my high esteem. She would be forgiven for thinking at the moment this picture was being taken: HA!




The Battle of the Armani Prives: The young thing on the left (Amanda Seyfreid? Who?) certainly got to live out her princess fantasy. Hey, if I were 18 and looked like that, I might probably pick the same dress, if I were to have my choice from Armani Prive. I would definitely not slick my hair back so hard that my otherwise beautiful head looked bald, but, certainly, the dress I would not complain about. And then, on the right, Madame Lopez. This misty lilac looks divine on her. Plus, the dress itself is grand enough for her persona. Although, the more I look at it, the flouncy side thing looks more and more like a fountain of cold black currant slush, but that is just my brain being affected by the heat. In conclusion, both look heavenly. Maybe next year they will delight us all by wearing competing gowns from Versace?
Why so sedate, Kate? Still, by styling her hair like an old-Hollywood goddess, she does breathe more life into her YSL looks-like-two-but-is-actually-one dress. But, Kate, as beauteous as you are, I am compelled to devote more space to the one standing next door to you- the unspeakably cool Helen Mirren. How, pray tell, does she look like this at age god-knows-what? Those sparkles! The sheer sleeves! The color! All elements that I may normally sneer at, but when put together like this, I am speechless. No wonder she looks well-pleased.
And Diaz is back. Was it just last year that she got stuck in that wrinkled pink thing at this very same awards show? Look at her now! She picked the perfect dress from Oscar de la Renta. Something about the sparkles and the red lips- two elements she had in common with the Bullock, but she takes first place. Maybe it is her smile to go with the sassy red lipstick, or the fact that she manages to look not the least bit princessy. Maybe she spent more time on her hair. Whatever. She has firmly swept into the lead, and there she shall remain for posterity.

With this delectable shimmery entry, I now conclude my report. May it be more of the same next year.
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