Steve Job-RIP

I am not a technology aficionado, a computer geek or breathe and live music but still the sudden death of maverick entrepreneur Steve Jobs leaves me rattled and forces me to think the unthinkable. For me, a totally ordinary girl, who is way cut off from the world of technological advancements, the death of a visionary still means much. That was the charisma of Mr Jobs who inspired millions of us to listen to a voice most forgotten--our gut instinct.I read somewhere that coincidences are your creator's way to remain anonymous and Mr Jobs story just resonates the whole idea.

Mr Jobs who certainly did not have a easy childhood, who naively dropped out of college and was publicly thrown out from a company he himself started. Yet unlike many of us he did not lose faith--in himself, continued to learn and evolve and trust his instincts.

Reading his life story and message. I have finally realized that it is indeed foolhardy to stay hungry.

Stay Hungry, Stay foolish and remember to join the dots.

Bucket List

Just finished watching The Bucket List, an awesome movie by two power house of actors Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. The movie made me cry, a rare feat and here I am penning down my own bucket list. Mine is:

Live a month in the Himalayas, Greece and South Africa.

Travel around the world and not miss out Scotland, Ireland, Jordon, Turkey and Antarctica.

Live and learn an entire new culture.

Witness God.

See a genuine miracle.

Perform on stage in front of a big crowd.

Help a total stranger without wanting anything in return.

Explore the Pyramids of Egypt.

Write a song.

Explore the Amazon Rainforests.

Go scuba diving.

Sky dive.

Write a book like Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice.

Be in a movie.

Adopt a girl child.

Re-reading it and I can only say one thing:

This girl dreams big.

Anyway, what makes your list???

Cooking experiments

So joblessness and free time has compelled me to look into an area most women so easily adapt to--kitchen and cooking. Now, I have no ambition of becoming the next Julia or her Indian equivalent. And cooking is strictly not an area which I find therapeutic or engaging. But then I was suddenly hit by a craving to eat Torai, a green vegetable which till now used to bring out my latent running skills out in the open--maybe it was a feeling of homesickness or I might be just simply missing my mum or maybe it must be that time of the month...when my hormones go haywire with my mood, my hubby's soothing comments only enrage it a bit more...and the only pacifier is certain kinds of food. So I went to the supermarket to buy some courgettes, the angrez version of Torai.

The courgettes were lying on the shelf inside the supermarket like a withered flower; a feeling of "unwantedness" enveloping it. Everybody wanted the better looking bright colored peppers or the savior of many a unskilled cooks--the potatoes. I empathized, its the same feeling I have been getting thanks to this state of joblessness. I reached home and with rolled up sleeves I entered the battlefield, kitchen to all you people.

I diced the courgettes, took out the tomatoes from the fridge, they whispered "thank you for not letting us decay," and took out the humungous onion. Chopped the tomatoes, and half of the onion, sliced some zesty Indian chillies (got them from an Indian shop, the angez or the Mexican version is simply not spicy enough. Little did I know at this juncture that cooking courgettes will be the ultimate test of my already tested patience.

So I heated a teaspoon of olive oil and put some cumin seeds. And as it started making, "plutt, plutt, plutt" sound I put in the chopped onions,a teaspoon of Paprika, some turmeric and half a teaspoon of red chilli powder. And mixed it to make a nice masala; as the air wafted of my masala I put in the tomatoes and the chillies. When the tomatoes were half done I put in the courgettes; honestly I was just getting impatient. I put in some water and gave the pan a good stir. Then I waited.....waited.....waited....waited.

And waited some more as the courgettes with the utmost determination tested my patience. Meanwhile, the better half and I finished speaking to the folks back home and even had one argument about who will clean the dishes; which I won needless to say. And just when I was about to take it out. I realized I forgot the salt. So in went some salt and a pinch of garam masala. After two minutes we took it out from the stove and were happily devouring it.

I realized not for the first time...I can be a great cook ;). Satiated and happy I realized that the life is at the end of the day a good business.

Tinkered the Tailor

Once upon a time there was Tinker, a tailor, a soldier and a severe looking, ironically named Smiley Spy. And they made up an exciting, meaty story. The husband and I caught up with Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy--the much talked about film which was released this weekend. All great movies come from greater novels and this is certainly no different. But just because it is an "adaptation" it is doesn't leave anything to chance in the intelligence department. Honestly speaking, the cerebral story would need a view or two from yours truly to really grip its many eyebrow raising moments. But nevertheless the film kept my attention span intact; long enough for me to write about it.

Watching the film is very much akin to getting lost in a dark, challenging labyrinth. And the compulsion to be glued to every little scene imploding on the screen starts from the very first scene; its a spy movie alright but not in the league to Ian Flemming's James Bond but the spy here is very real who makes for a chilling investigator demanding every bit of your attention and cerebral function.Tomas Alfredson's spy Smiley played wonderfully by Gary Oldman is a strict looking, barely smiling and ice-cold guy on the throes of retiring from the British intelligence services, MI 6 or the Circus. But just when he is about to hang his boots he is summoned to sort out a mole who was busy siphoning off secrets to the Russians while serving the Queen. And as the camera takes us through the smoke filled, power corridors of the circus, we see Smiley and his lieutenant Peter Guliam, doing what they do best--secretly spying on the circus itself. And as five likely candidates are narrowed down Smiley has to weed out sly confessions,analyze closely these suspects who are his own former colleagues.

The biggest hero of the movie is the nail biting story itself but even then the actors will be remembered for their roles. There is a wonderfully eager if slightly nervous Benedict Cumberbatch, a suave and arrogant Colin Firth, a bullish Tom Hardy and the grand daddy of them all Gary Oldman who steals the show. He is extremely reserved and layered, tactful and like a patient bird hunter who unsuspectingly and unexpectedly tortures his prey. I have seen this wonderful actor only in Harry Potter series as Harry's lovable godfather, a very limited role for his wonderful talent. And in this movie he completely blows your mind off.

And as the movie goes on you are also visually teased by showing the 70s London. Its more grey than anything else. But don't let that slouch you down because its one heck of an intelligent cinema which will only make sense if you use your grey cells.
As for me I am just heading for the library to get a copy of the book and to know more about the spy who made me think.

Verbal diarrhea of a non-working journalist

This blog, this post starts with a warning. If you are a happy-go-lucky, positive person looking for a politically correct and stimulating writing, you need to go somewhere else. This is largely a diary of a non-working journalist jostling her way to find a job in the big bad media world of United Kingdom and the very fact she is here is because the search is not going anywhere--yours truly. And yes you can keep your pity and sympathy with yourself. What I need is a platform to vent and actually get some mental not to mention creative excitement out of it.

The thing is I don't blog despite being a writer/ reporter. These fibs will certainly look attractive on my CV but the fact is I just don't. Call me lazy, call me anything. I am actually beyond caring. But I am doing this now because this is the only place I can assure myself that I don't forget the interesting art called writing. And yes I am just in a perpetual aggrandize state of mind.

Finding a journalism job in a city nay a country where you have absolutely nil contacts can certainly take the wind out of you. And sometimes you are so tempted to direct that wind on the person who is rejecting you. I mean what do you do, how do you start in a place where you don't anything much, when your brains stubbornly refuse to observe, gauge and turn things into story ideas. How do you stimulate yourself when you are facing the dragon called stupid assumptions. On a potential interview call the other day, the person who runs a popular charity was surprised that I could speak English, and that I can make meaningful sentences and not just answer in monosyllables. This despite the fact that my CV clearly states that I have worked in an English daily and magazine. Really which part of the sentence was difficult to understand?

And I don't know whether I should jump with joy when someone says, "Wow. Your language is good." It simply means I know English certainly not that I am in the league of Jane Austen or Steinbeck. Yeah I have read them both. And no not all Indians come from some obscure dark land where they teach you to be an esoteric guru. And just because we love eating with our hands does not mean we don't know how to use cutlery. Assumptions of any kind are the biggest screw up. And it is a more serious offense if you are a journalist and just assume things about people living in the other side of the world. But then I guess how to get prejudices is still not a subject taught in many schools and colleges.

So long. For now.