Things That Bang

Thanksgiving will have a bloody tinge in India and perhaps the world.

In perhaps the most shocking attacks in Indian history, a series of bomb blasts and terrorists have laid siege to Mumbai at night. The operation is still going on, with terrorists holed up in the Oberoi Hotel, who appear to be trying to apprehend some American and British tourists.

The ATS Chief Hemant Karkare has been killed and Mumbai's top encounter cop Vijay Saleskar has been shot dead.

At least 80 people are reported dead, and major Mumbai landmarks have been targeted.

Earlier there were at least 8 simultaneous incidents of blasts and firing, including AK-47 bearing terrorists who attacked the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminal of the Railway Statiion, a taxi blast in Vile Parle, and at the Taj Mahal and Trident Hotels. Trains on the central line have been stopped. Other sites of the attacks include Mazgaon, Leopold's Pub, Metro Junction, Crawford Market and at Colaba. A BP petrol bunk has experienced an explosion in Colaba.

There is reportedly now firing at the Marriott Hotel. There are currently at least two terrorists holed up in the Oberoi hotel. The terrorists are reportedly in their 20s and may have about 15 people in their custody. Another encounter is underway at the Taj hotel. Terrorists are reported to be hijacking cars and driving around the city, shooting at random. A boat has been found at the Gateway of India, reportedly laden with explosives.

A live bomb appears to have been defused outside the Taj Hotel, while another blast was reported in the hotel inside the dome, which is on fire and may be collapsing.

There are also reports that terrorists have escaped from the Taj Hotel in a police vehicle towards the government offices, Mantralaya, and in a black Skoda from another location. Two terrorists have been shot after this incident near Girgaum-Chowpatty, driving a black Skoda.

The ATS is in presence, and paramilitary forces. Naval Commandos have begun operations. Government sources confirm that the Army will be brought onto the streets, perhaps as a flag march.

This post will be updated as this night of darkness proceeds.

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Suketu Mehta, Mumbai expert and author (calling from NYC), along with some SAJAers and SAJA friends in Mumbai joining the call with updates.

You can listen live at
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/saja/2008/11/26/Terrorist-attacks-in-Mumbai
or via phone: +1-347-324-5991
3-4 pm NY time
That's 1:30-2:30 am in Mumbai

SAJA is hosting a live discussion with journalists and experts in Mumbai and the U.S. about the terrorist attacks on hotels and elsewhere in Mumbai at http://www.sajaforum.org/2008/11/breaking-news-terrorists-attack-mumbai-hotels.html

By Aaman Lamba

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Concerning homosexuality, God says, "their women did change the natural use into that which is against nature: And likewise also the men, leaving the natural use of the woman, burned in their lust one toward another; men with men working that which is unseemly, and receiving in themselves that recompence of their error which was meet" (Romans 1:26-27).

Hehhehehehe....Am I the only one who found that hot? Roman holidays, roman baths, Roman hedonism, Caligula. Yeah, shud up dee- you're going to hell as it is along with those homos; you filthy Buddhist!!

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 02:06 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Life is all about making mistakes and learning from them but sometimes those mistakes prove to be very expensive. I'm trying to get myself to agree with the notion of live and learn , excuse my ignorance and my naivety but there is no going around the fact that the waterproofing done by a few months ago was done by a complete jackass who knew jackshit and had used his connection with my dead father in law as an excuse to make his entry into our home.

And I like a dumbass let him in and paint my house. It rained and spots appeared under the freshly coated paint. I got piss mad. He made excuses.

Behanji, I will re-touch it again.
the a-hole whined.
I let him re-touch the spot.

It rained again and another stain showed through. The stain became a blotch and I became raving mad.

He came the next day and we went to the roof. I found myself pulling the sheets off.

The sticky stuff that held it together is gone madam. If we cement it down it will stay.

Thirty grand down the tubes!! I was furious.

I held myself back and told him, it needed the sticky stuff first.

No it didnt. He argued.
We will cement it to bind it.

Why didn't you cement it in the first place?

I told you we needed to he lied bare faced and all

When? You told me it was done and wanted to start painting downstairs.

Call with Aaman happened. He told Aaman the same thing- cement would hold it down.

I continued ripping the sheets that came off easily. Sheet after sheet. Money burned and the jackass tried to make a bigger jackass of me. Craft lesson 101- layering means everything gets to stick -the ground to the sheet, the sheet to the cement. Even a five year old knows that

Aaman busy with work replied get the cement. I explained the nature of the ruined roof. He saw reason and then I saw a bigger reason and called a friend who knew about this stuff.

Put him on with the jackass via the phone and I was then informed by my friend that the jackass knew nothing. He hadn't even used the waterproofing chemicals amongst other things.

The jackass looked at me and I looked back.

What kind of sucker did he think I was?

My friend informed me the whole thing had to be re-done. Waterproofing, cementing, waterproofing again, cementing, waterproofing and then that sticky stuff and last sheets.

My head began to reel and I wanted to wring the painter's neck for costing us money and for trying to con me yet again.

The call finished I told the jackass come tomorrow.

Tomorrow? He looked shattered. The cash cow had locked her udders.

Tomorrow I replied but my cold face said - Don't fucking show your dumbass face ever in my corner of the world.

So now I am left with a leaky roof and a half painted house.

Live and learn- ya right!!

Posted by Deepti Lamba at 01:35 PM Stumble It! digg this del.icio.us Fark It | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

An acquaintance of the family died at the age of 70 a few years back and my uncle said over the phone - So sad. He went young.

Young?!

I blinked and bit my tongue.

My uncle was three years shy of turning 70 himself. For him the death was early but for me the departed was closer to Santa Claus's age group.

On my recent post two commentators also talked about their grandparents leading active lives well into their eighties but I cannot comprehend vying with a Banyan tree. Good for them but I want to pop it when I am in my mid sixties. 

Come to think of it my ma just turned sixty this year and she is a very active lady. And the only one in the family who still drives on her own to work while all others have drivers. I don't want my ma to go nor my uncle to leave us but if I was given a choice I'd like to depart at 70.

There, I increased my lifespan by another five years. After all, if I get to be a rich lady with my health and teeth intact a saggy butt and few wrinkles wouldn't hold me back.

Yet the idea of being a dotty old person doesn't particularly fill me with joy either. Frankly, those who turn that old also aren't quite happy about their bodies wearing out. 

They are still young people trapped in old bodies. While reading Jane Juska's book - A Round Heeled Woman where she shared old aged dating scene (or in less polite terms- her sex escapades amongst other things )  I realized that even till one's dying breath one can remain young.

Jane Juska, in my mind, became an epitome of old age. She broke away from the norms set for old people by society. She decided she wasn't going to die a lonely old woman. Obviously, she went through heartbreak (when it comes to love who doesn't?) but she forged ahead through the senior years with optimism, she saw different parts of America, fell in love with New York and most of all found strength within herself to stand by her conviction.

Self-evolution for Juska didn't come with age but through the experiences she went through. She bumbled, lost her dignity and then found herself again.

Jane Juska despite her advanced age became young in my mind. Someone I could identify with.

Frankly putting old people on pedestal is an old Indian tradition that should be done away with. Many of my friends are way older than me and it isn't as if we have to search for subjects to talk about.

Conversation flows naturally. Its the meeting of the hearts that is important and that's exactly what Jane and her young lover realized.

But sadly in India we venerate the old and sometimes this veneration leads to isolation and loneliness. They become gods with clay feet, breathing in some corner of the house, absentmindedly revered and conveniently forgotten.

Some grow to be wise, generous old souls with gentle hearts and some merely sugar coat their meanness with great expertise.

We continue to be ourselves despite the advancing years. Its like the maturing of the wine. Only the good grapes make great wine centuries past. So why venerate the passing years that not all individuals use to become wise hermits the young could turn to?

I wouldn't mind living on well into my seventies if I get to have the iron will of Jane Juska; to have that inquisitive, courageous heart and continue to believe that love can still be found no matter how old or young.

Maybe this is why my uncle seemed shocked on hearing of the acquaintance's death. Maybe he felt that old gentleman could still have achieved much more in his life. Maybe my uncle still feels there are new experiences awaiting him.

I can only speculate like I did when I was ten and wondered what I would be like when I get to be in my thirties. Now I speculate what I will be in my twilight years.

But one thing is for sure if health betrays me during my advancing years I would happily want to kick the bucket. 

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"Two minutes, please? I cannot take it anymore!"

Six days a week I sound like a petulant child when I visit the gym. The trainer gives a patient smile and replies "Ma'am, two more minutes."

My two minutes are about taking a breather from the rigorous machine and his two minutes are to egg me on. I sweat, cuss, swelter and look my worst. The mirrors show me people of all sizes - some like me, some bigger than me and some so fit that I want to make cardboard cuts of them and peg them to my bedroom door to remind myself that this is what I want to be like.

But would I have the same body structure like them? Probably not. Most of the bodies I admire belong to men. The admiration isn't lecherous (rolling my eyes) but its about the seemingly unending stamina, the perfect abs and most of all the discipline that gives a perfect body.

There is a gentleman about 74 year old who comes to the gym regularly. He runs on the treadmill, works on the elliptical machine and does heavy weights. He calls me 'Ma'am' and I call him 'Sir'. We smile at each other but conversation between us tends to be abrupt since my instructor keeps me more or less breathless and shaking the muscles that ache and demand less workouts.

Initially I used to work out in the evening but past two days I moved to the morning shift. The music at the gym during the mornings is better and the place more crowded.

The addiction is setting in. I am quite possessive about my workout and my diet. No chocolates, no pizzas, no sugar and definitely no potatoes.

Most people at the gym watch their diet. Talking to them makes my resolution firmer and easier to carry forward. Exercising may soon become a way of life for me. Clothes fit better, inches and weight are falling off, my skin has become better and most of all I am in a much better mood.

It took me a while to realize that taking care of myself didn't merely mean having time to feed my brain but also ensure I took care of my body the right way.

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When kittens get affectionate with their human surrogate mother, it's time to give them away. Zoey's kittens are nearly two months old. They emerged from under my cupboard a week ago and decided the entire house was their playground and I was their second mama.

They followed Zoey's example to become self sufficient. They litter trained themselves, took to food on their own and decided I was a safe mate as well.

I tried my best not to fall in love with them. I knew a day will come when we will bid them adieu and get back to having two cats. But those fluff balls began to hunt me down systematically.

They continue to greet me by pouncing on my feet, meow plaintively or snuggle up against me while I watch television in the living room and recently they have taken up to sleeping on me at night if I doze off in the living room.

Zoey watches their antics with gentle benevolence. Kensei shows fatherly affection and keeps them in line. Its a perfect family that reflects innocence and forwards unconditional love.

The problem is, I make an unwilling member in that feline circle of affection. I am the Judas who will bring turbulence in their tiny lives, push them out of their secure haven and into a world that may not treat them kindly.

Part of me feels apprehensive even for those kittens I know for sure will go to loving homes. Its a motherly anxiety that I am trying to dampen.

One of our friends will be coming over to take one of the kittens. He is quite excited about adopting a fluff ball but i still feel twinges of unfounded concern. I want to make the transition as comfortable as possible for the little one. Give advice and worse of all I want to visit his home once the kitten has settled in to see how the kitten is doing.

Obviously, I will apply restrain over my irrational fears, turn my heart into a stone when Zoey calls out to her given away kittens and put away the home made kitten toys.

I will miss those pesky little brats.

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National Geographic

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Whether this is a turning point in American History is a matter of perspective. For African Americans and for the Democrats, the election of a Black President is momentous but for the gay community of America it is still a long drawn battle.

Apart from voting for the election of President of America, voting on Proposition 8 in California also took place on Tuesday.

Early poll results Tuesday night showed California voters leaning toward overturning same-sex marriage in the state in a decision that could impact how the issue plays out elsewhere in the nation.

The current results on Proposition 8 indicate a 52.5% to 47.5% in favor of the ban with close to 50% of votes having been tallied.

With the majority of Californians leaning towards banning of gay marriages, it again brings to mind age old questions whether it is right to let the masses decide about the laws of the land.

There was a time when a majority of white Americans did not believe in racial equality.

There was a time when Blacks were lynched in their own country and no one cared, there was a time when Blacks were considered to be lower than dirt.

That time passed, they fought long and hard to see their dream fulfilled on the day when the gay community of California watched their dream crumble.

If there is anything to be learned by Obama's victory is that one should never stop dreaming of equality for all. From slavery to representing the nation the Blacks fulfilled a dream that would have been unfathomable just decades ago.

Today I congratulate my black friends and ask my gay friends not to give up hope. The battle may be lost but the war is far from over.

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We live in interesting times. America's first African American President elected. Whether his legacy will be significant remains to be seen. Congratulations America.

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A week ago I packed my bags. I wondered whether I had put adequate t-shirts, jeans, socks, woolens, handkerchiefs, medicines and what else? And Whisper! Ah! yes, sanitary napkins. The only thing is, one feels neither sanitary nor happy..

Sure, I am happy to be a woman. I am also happy when my periods arrive since an unwanted pregnancy is any woman's nightmare but I cannot be ecstatic when I am out of commission for five whole days.

I packed my bags and stuffed in the newly packaged 'Have a Happy Period' Whisper packs. They looked the same as the other ones except for the image of sanitary napkins in the shape of petals on the cover.

Petals? Yeah sure, twisted, stinky, nauseating petals came to mind. Me sitting in a Safari Jeep going up and down the bumpy terrain trying to scout a leopard, a sloth bear, a sambhar deer came to mind along with a scary thought - how the hell would I plug the leak if my ship leaked right in the middle of the forest? What if I left a mark of my fertility on the Jeep seat?

Happy period! my blooming ass! I packed myself well. I had myself cushioned to ensure no matter what, my condition would be concealed all the way to B.R Hills. I bled and fidgeted on the car seat. Was I happy? No!

Was I happy when we reached Jungle Lodges and saw the attached loo with our tent without a Geyser? Absolutely not!!

It got cold - cold like 5 Degrees C and most guests didn't bathe. But I did. I had to. I had no choice or else the Jungle Cats would have been ripping the tent just to get to bloody old me!!

I cussed and bathed four times for the two days that we stayed at the Lodge. I didn't care whether my kids listened in to their Ma scream - Fucking Shit! Sweet Mother Of Jesus! Fucking Shit!

I wasn't happy about my condition. I couldn't go Bird Watching, couldn't go on morning safari nor for the Trek. The thought of bathing at five in the morning and then landing up with a diaper rash dampened my nature-loving instinct.

I did go for evening Safaris but I was a nasty bitch and not a happy fellow traveler. I felt like a cat wanting to scratch everyone's eyes out, I wanted to go on a rampage and bring the entire Lodge down.

I wanted to kick the damn boar that kept grunting close to the fire pit, I wanted to nurse my cup of tea in absolute silence. I wanted snarl and throw my not so happy sanitary pad at the marketing goonk who came up with the term - Happy Period.

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