Take a girl out of a sweaty, sand filled place with a couple of nice beaches thrown in and put her in a place where the biggest water body around happens to be called Ulsoor LAKE.
Now mix in a hundred even days dry as tinder, a fifty or so emptying the heavens and an odd eleven with temperatures of fifteen on an average.
The resultant is me shivering in my bathroom after dunking myself with water at sub zero temperature. It is a vicious cycle with a deep dark conspiracy thrown in. The thought process goes something like this, depending on the outside temperature...
Hmmmm, a nip in the wind... should I switch on the geyser? Hmmmm... yeah that should be about right...let me try anyway...(a mug of hitherto unknown, but very soon to be discovered cold water is on its way to my toes, which are about the only parts I can feel after the water flows down)...holy %^$@....the geyser is a good thing after all! (opens the hot water faucet)... ah! all that steam makes me feel that much better! Wait a minute now we would not want the water getting too hot ha ha I am not going to fall for that and scald myself let me see how hot.....aaaaaaaarrgh! !@#!^% &^%$%^!(*, bloody hell!
Lesson learnt: One can be scalded in one way too many, for example, by the water on its way into the bucket from the faucet which coincidentally might also result in a long long burn on your forearm.
If it only all ended there! But no, finally after one manages to collect enough water to take a bath, the first mug is warm enough not to scald you but cold enough to continue giving you goosebumps from the cold. Then the wiser-after-getting-burnt you decides to use all that calculus and begins to add hot water in delta amounts. And you wait, and you wait and you wait some more, while you freeze some more and the water, miraculously is nowhere close to that Utopian temperature. So you decide to defy all logic and add a heuristically appropriate amount of hot water now and get ready to soak in bliss when again, you cannot feel anything but your toes, this time for the rest of you is busy being burnt.
It is approximately around here that lesser mortals would just give it all up, drench yourself in freezing water and stumble out, grateful to have your skin still on.
As for me, I head to work and bully them into parceling me to warmer climes called Bombay
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Long loops and noodle sticks
I generally love my hair and on most normal days it loves me back. So logically, Sunday must have been anything but normal. For one, it ended up in a lot of my hair lying on the floor without me attached at the right end.
It is not like I have a bad hair-cut history though. Hair cuts from age 4 (that is as far back as I can remember)to age 15 involved one-stool-with-white-sheet affairs. No fancy parlors with big shiny mirrors for me. No sir! Daddy used to lug me and sister to the local mustache trimmer and ask him to chop it all off as closely as possible (yes, you are absolutely right, there were lots of times when we were mistaken for a pair of particularly cute looking boys, specially given my mom's penchant for dressing us in corduroys).
But all this stopped when I decided to boycott hair cuts all together at the ripe age of 16. So it grew on and on till age 20 when once again I decided to shear it. Off went my knee length hair, to the background of my mother's tears and my glee and separated me from the oily plait for ever.
It was all bouncy curls, long loops, etc etc until last Sunday when I decided to see what noodle sticks would look like. After much youtubeing and googling for technique, there I was with a new pink Philips hair dryer in my right and a just-off-the-rack round brush in the left, newly acquired full length mirror in front and hope in my heart.
The first few seconds were fine. Round brush through wet hair, pink dryer on medium heat. Except, the brush decided it liked my hair a bit too much for my own good and curled up snug against my ear. One gentle tug, a couple more stronger ones and countless panicky pulls, twists and groans later, I recognized the inevitable - it was more tangled in my hair than a kitten gone berserk.
I hemmed an I hawed and finally had to lop it off with a pair of scissors. I finally did have my noodle sticks, except they where confined to a thankfully small portion behind my ear and horribly short compared to the rest of my hair. Horrible to the extend of almost 12 inches!
So if you now think I look like a wet puppy in profile it might be unwise to wonder what happened and possibly even fatal to ask me next becuase, pssssst... they are still looking for the last one who did exactly that.
It is not like I have a bad hair-cut history though. Hair cuts from age 4 (that is as far back as I can remember)to age 15 involved one-stool-with-white-sheet affairs. No fancy parlors with big shiny mirrors for me. No sir! Daddy used to lug me and sister to the local mustache trimmer and ask him to chop it all off as closely as possible (yes, you are absolutely right, there were lots of times when we were mistaken for a pair of particularly cute looking boys, specially given my mom's penchant for dressing us in corduroys).
But all this stopped when I decided to boycott hair cuts all together at the ripe age of 16. So it grew on and on till age 20 when once again I decided to shear it. Off went my knee length hair, to the background of my mother's tears and my glee and separated me from the oily plait for ever.
It was all bouncy curls, long loops, etc etc until last Sunday when I decided to see what noodle sticks would look like. After much youtubeing and googling for technique, there I was with a new pink Philips hair dryer in my right and a just-off-the-rack round brush in the left, newly acquired full length mirror in front and hope in my heart.
The first few seconds were fine. Round brush through wet hair, pink dryer on medium heat. Except, the brush decided it liked my hair a bit too much for my own good and curled up snug against my ear. One gentle tug, a couple more stronger ones and countless panicky pulls, twists and groans later, I recognized the inevitable - it was more tangled in my hair than a kitten gone berserk.
I hemmed an I hawed and finally had to lop it off with a pair of scissors. I finally did have my noodle sticks, except they where confined to a thankfully small portion behind my ear and horribly short compared to the rest of my hair. Horrible to the extend of almost 12 inches!
So if you now think I look like a wet puppy in profile it might be unwise to wonder what happened and possibly even fatal to ask me next becuase, pssssst... they are still looking for the last one who did exactly that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
