message in a bottle (02.2003 - 09.2008)

I stared at my wristwatch that struck quarter to ten as I stepped off the train. "I am going to be late," I thought miserably. As I made my way to the taxi stand, I noticed a long queue of passengers and a non-existent one of cabs. I sighed and counted that I was tenth in the row. The rain continued to pour down with all earnestness and all eyes were on the passing cabs. Time crawled. I waited. After a good fifteen minutes wait, I found myself at the front of the still very long queue. Finally, irritated at this unhappy beginning of my day, I ducked to get into my cab and muttered my destination without looking up.

As I adjusted my seatbelt, I heard “Achha.”
My head jerked up and lips curled in a surprised smile. In the rear view mirror, I could see a middle-aged happy Chinese face. “Namaste,” it said.
“Namaste!” I responded smiling wider this time.
“Kahana jaoo ge?” he was grinning this time because he already knew my destination.
“Where did you learn such good Hindi?” I asked extremely impressed by his pronunciation.
“From my ex girlfriend who was from India.” He quipped happily. “But my Tamilian girlfriend does not teach me any Tamil.” With this, he launched into a full-fledged conversation about how the young kids speak Singlish, which he does not approve of and insists on speaking proper English.

He then questioned me about India and had me flabbergasted. Unlike most other people, his knowledge was not limited to Delhi, Mumbai, and Chennai. He told me how he wants to go to Goa, Assam, Sikkim, Hyderabad, and Jodhpur. However, he would not even think of driving in Mumbai, especially during lunch hours. “What is special about the lunch hour?” I ask “The dabba-walas!” he tells me, probably chiding me for my ignorance in his head but aloud he continued to tell me about how the travel agents only want him to see Delhi and Taj Mehal, not good enough for him.

The eight-minute drive to work was too short but it did a wonderful job of lifting my spirits and as I paid him the fare and got out, “Thank you,” I said. “It was great talking to you.”

“Thanks. Can you see why I have many girlfriends?” he smiled, his wrinkled eyes twinkling.

I wish I could be like him and spread joy so effortlessly.

Note to Self: Flag down cab number SH 7551M wherever you see it.

Eating lunch has become an adventure ever since I moved countries. Happily, it is usually an exciting adventure unless it is a Tuesday. On Tuesdays, I eat vegetarian food. Now, going by the variety of veggies I see in the grocery stores, getting some vegetarian grub should not be a trouble at all. So why is that I have to struggle every Tuesday and discover places like the cafeteria of S.P. Jain Institute of Management Studies to have lunch?

Because it is the definition of vegetarian food which is amiss. When a Singaporean says vegetarian food, it means food with lots of veggies, along with the meat. So, the Vegetarian Rice counter in my local food court specializes in fish head curry, with loads of veggies on the side. It is very amusing, really. I have colleagues who often want to know what all is included in vegetarian food – “Is fish vegetarian?”  “And eggs?” “What about cheese?” Many believe that if it is not beef or pork, it is vegetarian. Now, they are not wrong. Well, they are wrong but it is not their fault. I remember that during my visit to Phuket, the guide had explained that hey had two kinds of food for us – regular and vegetarian.

Despite these varied definitions, I notice that 80% of Indians in Singapore are vegetarians, which is a big mystery to me. Back home, I am usually the only person lining up for vegetarian food, with at most two to give me company in a group of ten. In the same fashion, I notice that 80% of Indian women dress up in traditional clothes here, while the figure drops hugely back home. I am wondering aloud, in case you have any idea.

Yesterday was a good Sunday, which was superbly welcome after the terrible Saturday (we clean on Saturday.) A couple of friends, who are also a couple, surprised the husband by dropping in. From India. Awesome. Merriment ensued.

Now that I finally have a girl to walk around with in this shopping heaven, I must get down to doing all things girlie. We shall begin with a manicure; while I get tiny stars painted on my nails, she is opting for fish.

In other news, I tried octopus yesterday. Cannot say I am a fan or even close but well, it is now on records that it has been done.

Now I meet another friend, who is red and has newly arrived in the seafood land, for lunch. What’s more, she is here to stay. Happiness.

Before I opened my eyes in the morning, I took a moment to decide whether it will be a happy morning or otherwise. I could hear the cool breeze and the rhythmic flutter of the curtain against the open window. It was surely going to rain but I need not worry, I do not have to go to office today. Happiness index rises.

I do not have to be at work because I am down with chicken pox. Happiness index dips rapidly by three points. But I can sleep in. Index rises one point. I turn over and sleep some more.

Around 9:30 am, I decide to have a bath. Bathing is not easy when you have the pox. You have to be careful not to touch those boils at the wrong place, but you still have to gently scrub the lotion from last night away. It takes long to take a bath.

Eat a lot of delicious food and make it healthy too are the instructions from the mothers. Who wants to cook delicious food for oneself? Not I. I usually eat three square meals. Dinner is the healthiest because husband is around to monitor it.

I work from home. Sit on the drawing room couch, my laptop placed on my lap, looking out at the greens of woodlands from my window every now and then. The rain comes often. It plitter-platters for a few minutes and then the sun shines again.

I sometimes read my book or take a short nap. And I wait. I wait for the pox to disappear. I wait for the husband to come home. I wait for the rain to come again.

It was an abnormally hot and sultry afternoon and I had been walking around for approximately four hours in a crowded convention hall. When I finally got out and ascended into a mall, (where else!) my throat was, as English would say, parched. So I stopped at the nearest snack stall and checked the menu. Feeling extremely hot and not very adventurous, I opted for good old lemon iced tea. I sat down on a high-stool and was waiting for my drink when I saw it being prepared. In this fashion.

The man took some condensed milk and mixed it in brewed red tea, which was piping hot. He then poured it from a glass held high into another glass a few times, and finally into a glass full of ice. He capped the glass, stuck a straw in it, and served it to me.

Some online research shows that this drink is called Teh Tarik, which is all very good but where is my iced tea? Even McDonalds serves this milky thing in the name of iced tea.

that we Indians talk a lot at workplace. After a few days of cribbing about silent colleagues who shut others out, I realize that it is not they who speak less, it is us who chat a lot at work. Or maybe it was specific to my last job that I had for close to four years.

While I am no Carrie Bradshaw, I am still a girl; and like all normal girls, I too love my shoes. However, being a big supporter of comfortable wear, I usually limit my heels to special occasions when there is limited walking.

Singaporean chicks, however, do not agree with me. They wear their heels everywhere, from grocery stores to shopping malls, from food courts to fancy cafés, from metro to street shopping, from work to stroll by the riverbank. Fascinated I watched, wondering how their dainty feet endured so much of high-heel walking. Then I noticed!

It is a perfect example of “where there is a will…” Besides using that comfortable gel padding available at all general stores to stuff beside your toes or under your heel, there is also an easier and inexpensive way out. You buy shoes one size bigger! Yes. So, the back of your foot never touches the edge of the shoe, which when worn with heels is the biggest trouble maker, and you never get shoe bites! Weird but marvelous.

I have a tendency to crib about small things without paying any special attention to my words. I cannot remember clearly but I am sure this is what must have happened a month or so ago.

I returned from my workplace in Hyderabad, which is very conveniently located only 2.5 km from my extremely comfortable house. I picked up some veggies to go with the pasta I planned to cook for dinner. An hour later the husband walks in and we sit down with a tall glass of juice each and discuss which movie we want to watch tonight. Somewhere in between the movie, the pasta, and the time for bed, I go "my life is so mundane. I wake up, go to work, come home, play a game, and sleep. Then I start all over again."

The husband must not have paid attention to this meaningless crib but someone else did. He who knows it all decided to give me a taste of a non-mundane life. Yes, this is what must have happened to my extremely comfortable and predictable life until last month.

In less than fifteen days, I wrapped up my life from Hyderabad, said my b-byes and flew to Delhi. In Delhi, I packed some more, said hurried b-byes to some more friends, discussed life and priorities with family and my boss and then flew to Singapore. Once here, it took exactly five hours for my Singapore-is-a-fun-city bubble to burst. The city is still what it was eight months back when I first visited it but my perspective has changed. Then, I was a happy tourist willing to spend my dollars on awesome toys, comics, books, and oh-so-hot dresses. Now, I am a lost soul searching for a house and a job in a foreign land. Yes, this is what you get for speaking without paying attention to your words.

Life is not bad right now. In fact, at the moment, it is pretty good. We have been put up in a very fancy service apartment, which is bang in the middle of the most happening section of the city. I begin my mornings with a swim in the wonderful pool surrounded by palm trees and yellow umbrellas. I sit in Starbucks and make posts on LJ during the day. I walk around soaking in a very different culture. I marvel the joys (and disappointments?) of this materialistic world of shopping malls. But in between these activities, I contact a thousand agents to fix up viewings for a house to be rented, research the job market of Singapore, and worry. A lot.

But this time, I know better than to crib. :)