EARLY MORNING PATRIOTISM PILL

I take it every morning, six days a week. Dropping whatever I was doing at the moment. Standing to attention. No talking or fidgeting allowed.

I may fudge my taxable income figures, or curse the government, buy goods from sellers avoiding customs duty, or apply for a Green Card at the first opportunity. But I must never fail to stand up whenever the national anthem plays. Because in our topsy-turvy, show-and-yell society, I must always flaunt my patriotism.

In our college, "Jana Gana Mana" plays every morning, Mon-Sat, before lectures start. We stop in our tracks and stand immobile, while the Nightingale of India melodiously - and rather lengthily - sings the well-known words.

Words written by a favourite poet sitting down at his favourite desk in his long gown, a faraway look in his eyes, white hair and long beard and serene smile creating an almost-divine image of creation. Words springing from a creative mind, overflowing in doodles and squiggles on the pages where he scribbled. The creative mind that penned, not one but two national anthems for two bordering nations - India and Bangladesh.

You see, posture has got nothing to do with patriotism at all.

It is the thrill you feel in your veins when the tempo in the song increases at "Jana gana MANGALADAYAK jai he" and the trumpets and drums unite in harmony to accelerate the blood in your veins. It is the little goosbumps on your skin and the prickle of sudden tears in your eyes at a nameless pride that swells up during the song.

Patriotism can be felt sitting down also.

If we can pray sitting down, why cannot we love our country sitting down?

NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS - OLD HAT, ANYWAY!

Now that the euphoria has died down (and well-buried under the debris of deadlines and approaching exams, inspections), let me make a few resolutions that I make every year anyway:

SLIMMER WAISTLINE

FATTER WALLET

(how? how? is a hope and a prayer enough?)

LESS SHOPPING

MORE READING

(Not just Sale notices in the papers that make me rush out frenetically to the shops)

(Not just detective fiction and chick lit. Get down to the classics!)

FREQUENTER POSTS

INFREQUENTER VISITS TO FASHION BLOGS

(Not even HighHeelConfidential and GoFugYourself?)

SAY NO TO SNICKERS BARS!

SAY YES TO LOW-CAL, FIBRE RICH NUTRI BARS!

(Do I have to eat them, too? Can't I just stash them in my bag, feel virtuous and then throw them after the expiry date passes?)

DO THE RESEARCH PROJECT ON BLOGGERS IN INDIA THAT HAS BEEN PENDING SINCE LAST YEAR!

For this last one, I need your help.

Do send me your e-mail IDs and I will forward you a questionnaire about your blog that I desperately need for data collection.

My e-mail ID is sarkarsucharita@gmail.com

NIP AND TUCK

Yesss! There is very definitely a NIP in the air.

Mumbai - sultry, humid, sweltering-round-the-year Mumbai - is actually having the onset of what-appears-to-be a Winter.

That's the only thing that Delhi had (apart from better roads and worse manners) that Mumbai didn't.

So The Times of India puns "KYA KOOL HAI MUM!".

So my friend writes on FaceBook, "I told you, Mumbai has always been a cool place!"

So the fans are having a rest, while the geysers work overtime.

So the kids have dug out all their woollens and are insisting on going down to play dressed for a Himalayan trek.

And me? I just want to TUCK my feet inside a warm duvet and sleep all morning.

KOLKATA LINGERS...

The annual visit to Kolkata ended a week back.

Work/school has begun and we are back in the swing of things.

The lazy mornings watching the world go by from our balcony, and the hectic evenings of catching up with friends and family have already retreated to the silent shots in the camera.

But Kolkata lingers...

In the 'panchphoron' and 'radhuni' - spices peculiar to the Bengali cuisine - that my in-laws have packed for me.

In the Cookme 'mustard paste' that is adding tartness and the sharp tang of memory to fish curries cooked in Borivili.

In the Bori (dried balls of ground lentils) that is adding crunch and the bite of nostalgia to Maharashtra-bred vegetables.

In the Jaljeera (a sweet-salty-tangy powder) from Tasty, which is being dissolved in water (and a bit of tears) to make glass after glass of cooling drink in manic Mumbai.

In the sarees from Dakshinapan and the books from College Street. When we open and use, we breathe in deeply and remember.

DURGA'S JOURNEY

Today is Ashtami, and I assume that Maa Durga has already started to feel a little sad hollow in the pit of her stomach, because the end - of her longed-for visit to her baaper bari (maiden home) - is slowly drawing to a close.

I always feel a similar hollow in my (somewhat more rotund) tummy when I am in the midst of a holiday, because THE MIDDLE IS THE BEGINNING OF THE END, if you know what I mean.

And the really fun part of any holiday is the first part, just as the most maddening part is the packing before the journey.

Because our annual Diwali sojourn to Kolkata is drawing near, it was really quite easy to visualize this.

PLACE: Shiva's mountain-top villa/palace/cave in Kailash.

CAST OF CHARACTERS:

• A flurried ten-handed goddess-wife-mother
• A spaced-out, always-high husband
• Four squabbling children
• Sundry hapless assistants

Durga is packing suitcases. Ten hands help, but then, she has top carry a lot of weapons and other paraphernalia that'll be hanging on these arms for the stage-show. Plus, there is a hell of lot of pet-food to carry.

Durga: "Laxmi, you don't need so many gold biscuits and silver coins, just take the credit card. Saraswati, can't you swap those heavy tomes for an e-book reader? Ganesh, go on a diet, at least for the sake of your mouse! And Kartik, it is all right to be vain and metrosexual, but do you have to take so many boxes of pancake? Or your nasal hair trimmer? It is only five days, you know! Can we get things moving here? Nandi (Shiva's assistant, who is known to puff on his boss's chillum on the sly) have you booked our boat/elephant/horse/Meru Cab yet? Why does nothing here happen on time?

Shiva: "That's because we live out of time...in eternity... (seeing Durga's frown)...At least look at me, I am such a light packer, taking only my tiger-skin toga."

The be-spectacled Saraswati (she wears contact lenses during the five days) looks up from her copy of Lonely Planet:

"Yeah, and PETA is after you for that. Can't you wear something more eco-friendly?"

Shiva: "What, like those Naga sanyasis. You'd prefer me to be a nude-dude, then?"

Laxmi: "Baba!! Don't shock Ma's suburban sensibilities."

Durga, distracted from her packing:

"Hah! I was always a metro miss till your father married me and dragged me to the jungles and hills. What a place! No network signal on my mobile, and no work from any of you!! Just look at me, I've been packing since days, and there's still so much left."

Ganesh, chewing the edge of his trunk (which means he's hungry):

"Don't forget to pack enough food for me. You never bother to cook food during holidays, and I get jolly tired to pecking on fruits and sweets given to us. These humans are too clever by half, they polish off the really tasty bhog pretty darn fast!"

Laxmi: "You've taken my jewelry box, haven't you? And don't try to filch my bangles. Please wear your own...having ten arms is no excuse for taking my bangles and bracelets."

Saraswati: "Have you taken my I-pod? That loud dhaaker music makes my head ache!"

Kartik: "Can we stay near a salon this year? Five days of smoke and fumes from the dhunuchi and my skin cries out for a facial. And I think I'd like to have my navel pierced, it'd look cool with my dhoti and angvastram."

Shiva: "Yeah, let's swap our mandap for a mall this year. Some of them have really good booze shops..."

Durga (frustrated, exhausted, exasperated) challenges:

"Fine. Just take care of the reservations. It's so not fair having to take you along every single time. What about some ME-TIME for poor old me? Any more back chat from you and I'm flying solo. It's MY HOLIDAY and I'm going to chill."

WATCHING SERIALS, SERIOUSLY

Serial watching is serious business.

Just ask my Ma.

It needs

multi-tasking (switching between channels and also doing other work at the same time),

time-management (between the same),

dexterity (with the remote),

hand-eye co-ordination (knitting and watching TV simultaneously),

an understanding of melodrama and human psychology (rightly guessing who will do what next, and also guessing what had happened in case she misses one/more episodes),

and, of course, an elephantine memory.

My Ma manages efficiently to keep abreast of all the prime-time serials in all the channels. And her 'Prime-time' extends from 7 p.m to midnight. And she manages to simultaneously cook uo delicious fish-curries for us.

When I asked her what was the secret behind her being such a SUPER SUCCESSFUL SERIAL-WATCHER, she placidly said:

"Ad breaks help a lot. When ads come on Star Plus, just switch to Zee. Then to Imagine. Then to Colors...

And, if you miss out for some reason, watch the rerun very late at night or next afternoon."

WOW!!! At least, serial-watching has a well-planned technique. Unfortunately, the never-ending serials themselves do not seem to have any such science or strategy.

CAN YOU FLIRT?

There I go, that's absolutely the wrong question to ask.

Flirting is a delicate art. Like the art of making the fluffiest and lightest pastry or cupcake or gelatto, flirting requires a light hand. Make that a light heart. And a glad eye. And a lightly raised eyebrow. And the lightest, most coquettish fluttering of eyelashes. Accomplished flirts can flit - like butterflies - from here to there, bestowing a smile, a wink, a flattering comparison, a risque compliment, even a suggestive proposition. All this without getting enmeshed or entangled in anything heavy or sordid like a relationship. Flirting is like those 100% fat-free gelattos, they are frothy, dainty, gossamer, and 100% commitment-free.

Flirting is the art of the indirect.

Unfortunately, I am a rather direct sort of person. A bumblebee who blunders straight into trees, rather than a butterfly.

If somebody pays me a compliment, I always wonder, "Really?" and often say aloud, "Why?". I raise my eyebrows rather than flutter my eyelashes.

Maybe because of my contact lenses, it is easier to raise eyebrows than it is to flutter eyelashes. Whatever, I am really really heavy-handed and get all hot and bothered by any kind of flirtatious contact.

Which is a pity, because flirting can make your life really easy. You can jump queues, get small favours done, get the best products on offer, get extra discounts, get better service, get away with late-coming/bunking/shirking-work/not-meeting-deadlines/making-1001-mistakes/murder. Anything, actually.

Flirts can pirouette and escape the consequences of their inaction. Whereas blunderbusses like me have to prove myself with every action.

So, let me be direct, and ask you, "Can you flirt?"

Because, to my ever-lasting regret, I CAN NOT.