Sandal fallacy

An incident over the weekend got me thinking! And to imagine it is a pair of footwear that is intriguing me is not the least ridiculous.

Or is it?

Friday evening as I dressed up my daughter for her music festival at school, I was mentally shortlisting my own attire for the evening for I also had a dinner invite. Zeored in on an off-white and lemon-yellow set.

Had a couple of hours on hand to join our child at school, so caught up with the weekend mails.

However, while I was maneuvering through the inbox, a thought passed by me - What if my sandals were to fall apart? I ignored and continued with the more fruitful activity.

An hour later as I was doing my hair, the same thought surfaced again. Instinctively, I left my grooming and headed to the shoe rack. Picked up an off-white one and, as if the husband's approval will keep at bay anything untoward, I asked him rather indirectly, "Will this go with my dress".

He being the victim (had to pick me up from my knees several times in public) of my walks on heels only checked to ensure they were flats.

Just as we locked the door, I had a second thought because the first one surfaced yet again. Stood looking at my feet for a good two minutes and decided to re-enter to choose a non-matching pair. What if an ill-matching colour wards off impending bad luck? Ludicrous idea, but I went ahead.

Unlocked the door and picked up another pair when I heard a voice from under the breath: "This is what happens when women have too many..."

Whoever said men don't mutter!

Anyways, the drive to school held no surprises. The traffic led us up until the parking lot, which was followed by a musical search that helped us prolong our patience equally longer.

Just as I walked towards the school gate, my right foot felt heavy and dragged behind. I looked down to see the sole gaping open-mouthed at me.

All through the programme I sat decently with my left leg crossed over to conceal the temporarily handicapped right. I didn't dare walk, yet got threatened by my little lady. "Don't go in front of my Ma'am."

As we drove for dinner, she fired another: "I am ashamed. We are not going to a restaurant. It's a hotel. You walk behind me ok?"

However, I should admit that I managed well as I didn't receive any odd stares. As I stood speaking to my friend, lo! came apart the strap of the left sandal.

With the sole of one and the strap of the other apart, I wondered if it was my thought that was powerful enough to disable me…As you think so shall you reap!

Or was it the other way around... It had to be so, therefore I was warned. Premonition!

Or was it lack of housekeeping…old pairs need to be replaced with new ones!

I ran the analysis past my family and in unison came the reply…Old pairs out. FULL STOP

My morning date with a cabbie

October 31, 2010: It was just another morning.

4.15am: The alarm woke the husband up. He in turn shook me awake. My march for the day began thus. Like any other weekday.

4.25am: Off to kitchen from the washroom, I packed three takeaways.

4.55am: I settled to relish the morning cuppa. And I was assured of a relaxed day ahead.

Am a wee bit superstitious when it comes to having the morning tea. If I rush through and gulp it down standing, I'll have a hectic and not-so-pleasant day. So even at the cost of not having a proper scrub, I ensure to have a ceremonious tea session.

Whoever said it's all in the mind!

5.30am: Kissed goodbye to my sleepy child and wished the husband a good day and stepped out.

As on most days, I hail a cab to work...

5.40am: A taxi pulled over in less than a few minutes after I reached the main road.

The back door was locked.

Promptly the passenger side front window rolled down. I told my destination and waited for the driver to unlock the door behind.

"Jam madaam. Aagey come," said the driver.

Hopped into the front seat of the Toyota Camry and strapped myself closely beside the driver.

"You Indian?" he asked.

"Yes", I replied as I enjoyed the dawn breaking over Dubai through the open window.

"You working?"

"Umm."

My years of taxi experience has taught me several tricks to keep a nosy cabbie at bay in a not-so-rude manner. I continued looking out, when came the next query with a comment.

"Gerrils going earrly. What bork".

I ignored him.

"Married?"

I continued looking out.

"You underrstand Enggalis I know." 

A few seconds later, oops! he breaks the car with a jerk.

"What's wrong with you?" I blurted out.

A roaring laugh and the car stinks of tobacco. Annoyed I looked at him, when he triumphantly announced, "I say you know Enggalis. Speak, time pass."

As the car picked up speed I turned to the window, when he began banging on the dashboard.

"I like Indian gerrils, I like...," he sang.

"Stop the car," I said.

"You afraid," he roared and clapped. Both his hands off the steering. He looked, indeed, scary. Open-mouthed laughter exposed his stained set of broken teeth between overgrown orange-coloured beard. That was the first time in about 10 minutes that I looked at him. His scalp was shining and had a few strands of hair coloured matching weird orange. His brows were furrowed and a set of bushy eyebrows that almost touched down his deep set murky eyes.

He rolled the window down to spit out before answering me.

"No stop", he angrily said. His eyes were reddish, too, I noticed. "You call I stop," he added before accelerating the car and maniacally began changing lanes.

I took the mobile announcing, "I'm calling the police", even as I slammed myself for not heeding to advices. (The husband always reminds me to note the cab's number before getting in).

'Police kalliwali (kalliwali means 'I don't care' in Arabic), he said and sat staring at me as if challenging me.

I put a hand out and waved at the vehicle passing by, thinking my action would force him to either stop the car or behave well and drive me to work.  Instead, he rolled the window up from his side laughing loud and playing the music even louder.

Luckily, I hadn't said which lane and building I had to be dropped at. No sooner than we entered the area (my workplace being about 200 metres away), I demanded to get off.

"This building?"

"Yes", I said opening the wallet.

Heaved a sigh of relief and crossed the road. Taking in the morning breeze to cool my nerves I walked leisurely. As I was at the gate a car screeched to a halt closely besides me.

The maniac driver, flaying his wrinkled hands (even in the shock I did notice coloured stones set in heavy silver on three of his fingers).

"You lying. I catch..."

I walked in and didn't hear the rest.

The Bachchan gameplan of marketing off-work Ash

I can't wait for the Bachchan bahu to give birth to her baby. Sick and tired of the hullabaloo since Big B tweeted to break the news during the IIFA weekend. Ash's off-work marketing gameplan started there...An announcement when Bollywood was under global spotlight. What a beginning!

The media is rueing and ranting. And the Bachchan clan pretentiously seems to be doing the same, only to add fuel to the imaginations of nothing-better-to-report journos and bask in the inferno of news space generated. Celebrities will go any length to remain in news. Especially, when off work.

But doesn't media have any ethics? Celeb news is fine. But this is insane! And sad that a section has fallen to such low levels in the name of survival.

The pregnancy tweet took the reels of 'Heroine' to the cans dragging along the relationship with the mom-to-be, announced Bhandarkar unit, only to publicly praise Ash's professionalism when she returned the cheque later.

The former half of the story was 'Breaking News', while the entertainment sections of the media fed on the rest for months on end.

The Bollywood beauty (oops! international beauty - I'll be stoned by her crazy fan) had the enlightened calling to return the amount only after a few weeks of making news. Why?

Then came a small-time starlet claiming she saw Ash in some fertility clinic in Bangkok, kicking up the boy over girl issue. Some jerks in the media tagged the the twins story to her allegations and kept the news running for weeks. Father-in-law who takes to twitter of late to clarify and post family updates has been silent. Why?

That was followed by the hospital news. A Mumbai tabloid claimed to know what time Ash walks in for her appointments early morning and how many rooms have been booked in which hospital. This led to the C-section or natural delivery debate, even as Mamma Bachchan unveiled a grand baby shower for daughter-in-law. While the list of celebrities who attended the 'Godh bharai' was promptly 'leaked', the actor's spokesperson came out to say a line - all delivery related news is wrong. But where's the tech-savvy Bachchan brigade.

That followed the 11.11.11 speculation...and still a suffocating silence is all that comes from the family in question. Why?

At last the Broadcast Editors’ Association in India reportedly acted...came up with guidelines on media reporting the birth. So much for media ethics! But what guarantee it's not drafted by the Bachchans. Even before one could give the first family of Bollywood the benefit of doubt, lo! comes Big B's barrage of tweets...the last one reads, "Every other day some ridiculous, malicious and completely false allegations are thrown at me! Smiley!"

Typically Amitabh Bachchan!

(Read related blog on http://nishasanjeev.blogspot.com/2011/09/sr-bachchan-and-his-junior-bahu-can.html)