City of ugly pooches

There's a lot of stuff that we've been noticing about Toronto since we moved here a week ago. The cleanliness, order, common courtesies etc. were all expected. But one peculiar thing I've seen is that the part of the city we're currently in is full of the ugliest pooches I've ever set eyes upon!

We're temporarily in an apartment in the affluent North York region. This area, especially around the Yonge and Finch intersection, is full of upscale condominium apartment blocks. Accommodation is extremely compact. So pets are compact too. Which is fine, even sensible. But I'm sure there are a whole host of nice looking small pooch breeds one could choose from. Instead people here seem to favour the ugly ones. Apart from the predictable pugs, poodles and chihuahuas I've seen a whole host of ugly dog breeds that I don't even know the names of. The one that took the cake had a snout like an anteater's! I spotted it during our visit to High Park on Monday. It was just the most godawfully ugly dog I have ever seen and the sighting left me speechless for a few minutes.

Don't get me wrong. I am an avid dog lover. But these Toronto pooches just don't tug at the heart strings. Having lived in Delhi and Mumbai most of my life, I am accustomed to seeing absolutely beautiful pet dogs. The day we moved out of Mumbai my husband and I spotted an Afghan hound trotting majestically up and down a street in Powai. He was an absolute stunner.

Haven't people in North York heard of apsos, spaniels, beagles and basset hounds? They're all small, but all beautiful. Or perhaps the problem is me. Maybe when it comes to dogs, I am shallow and superficial.

Time to move on........

Just about a week left in Thane/Mumbai. Then a few days in Delhi, my hometown. And then it's off to life in another country for a while. I honestly never thought it would happen to me. Relocating overseas, I mean. It's not that I'm dreading it or am opposed to the move. Just didn't think it would happen, especially since the stages in life when relocation generally occurs - higher education, start of working life - are long past.

One of my ex-colleagues couldn't believe that my husband and I had no objection to uprooting our family and relocating thousands of miles away. Especially since we'd moved into our own home just a year ago and were loving it here. Our children were settled, happy. Surrounded by the familiar, with family just a two-hour plane ride away.

But hubby and I see this move as an adventure. A new kind of life in a very different kind of place. A great opportunity for us and our kids to broaden our horizons even more. Too see more of the world. The great distance from family is the one thing that still troubles us a little. But otherwise, we're all very gung-ho about it.

As the date of departure draws closer, I find myself wondering about the things I will miss most. After a while I'm definitely going to miss the din - the ambient noise that envelops every city-dwelling Indian all the time. And I'll miss the colour. I don't mean in the landscape, but in the people. Joseph would fit right in if he wore his technicolour dreamcoat in India! I'll also miss the food, especially the street food. I don't frequent street food stalls, but I know I'll miss them when they aren't around.

What else? Oh yes, free home delivery of everything from fresh vegetables and fruits to chilled beer and cigarettes. And easy, affordable household help. I'm not afraid of housework, but on an off day when I'm dog tired I know I'll wish there was someone to put the laundry away and make me a cup of tea. Also chauffeur-driven comfort. I hate driving. Chaotic Indian roads terrify me. But I suppose it'll be easier on the other side of the globe.

Soon my whole world will be packed into cardboard boxes, caught in transit. I'm impatient to get on with it and settle into the next phase. That'll take a few months. Will keep you posted.

Crime isn't for everyone

Quite like Jay Leno, I love hearing stories about stupid criminals. And this one is just the tops. We heard it at a friend's last night. This friend's absent-minded brother-in-law left his wallet in the car, which he'd just parked at a shopping mall in Gurgaon. He'd also forgotten to roll the window up. So the family was walking away from the car when the brother-in-law suddenly realised he was missing his wallet. He turned back just in time to see this young man reach into the car and pocket the prize.

The 'robbee' followed the robber into the mall, caught up with him and challenged him. The young scoundrel couldn't deny he'd done the crime. There was much excitement. The brother-in-law decided to take the thief to the cops. The rest of his family returned home. After waiting for a while, our friend decided to go to the police station to give his brother-in-law moral support. There he found the thief, naturally, begging for mercy and the brother-in-law a little confused about what to do. He wanted to press charges, but that would mean doing without his wallet and its contents for a while because they'd be held in evidence.

So there's the thief (who had called his mother in to plead his case) begging to be let off without charges and his victim keen to get his wallet back so his life wouldn't be disrupted. The young robber's melodramatic mother poured her heart out, saying her grown son was a complete no-good who couldn't keep down a job. "He's such an idiot that he can't even pull off a theft!" she wailed.

Finally the friend's brother-in-law decided against pressing charges, took his wallet back and was about drive off when the thief's mother came up to him and politely asked for a ride home! The intended victim agreed and followed her directions to the house. Our friend and his brother-in-law's jaws dropped when they saw the wannabe robber lived in a plush bungalow.

Incidentally, the only ones who gained anything from the entire fiasco were the cops. They managed to get a cut from the thief for letting him off and from the victim for the return of his wallet!

This reminded me of another story I'd heard long ago about someone's house being robbed. The burglar broke in in the dead of night, carrying a sack to cart off the booty. The homeowner was a wealthy man so there were lots of valuables for the robber to choose from. He went around the lower floor of the house, transferring the best stuff into his sack. Then suddenly he stood before the best-stocked bar he had ever seen. So he picked up a few bottles and put them in his sack. Then he decided to help himself to one for the road. I suppose one drink led to another. After all, he was sampling some of the world's finest Scotch and single malts. The thief should have known greed would be his undoing. The homeowner's family found him passed out near the bar in the morning!

Crime, clearly, isn't for everyone. It certainly doesn't pay if you're an idiot!

(Please share any stories you may have heard about stupid criminals)

Keep that unwanted guest out

Mr. Calamity turned up yet again like the proverbial bad penny. Kolkata was the unwilling host to the ultimate unwanted guest this week. The unwelcome caller turned the top floors of a heritage building in the city's heart into Dante's vision of a flaming hell, leaving death and devastation in his wake.

We all know that clever Mr. Calamity is a master of disguise. He could visit us as a fire, a building collapse or an epidemic. But even though this hated visitor makes such alarmingly regular calls, we haven't learnt to bar our doors to him.

We live amid wires exposed to the elements, dangling dangerously close to one another. We permit commerical and residential buildings to come up without even basic fire-safety measures. We let water pipes leak, moisten walls and electrical circuits. We look the other way when there are elaborate remodelling projects in homes and offices occupying lower floors even though we know in the backs of our minds that this is bound to compromise a building's sturdiness. We let garbage pile up high along the streets and in vacant lots of land, nurturing rodents that spread disease. We allow our ageing sewers to leak and overflow, contaminating groundwater and pitting roads with their toxins. We indiscriminately spray venomous pesticides on our crops, never thinking of the mass slow poisoning that their harvest unleashes.

I speak here only of Mr. Calamity's visitations borne out of negligence, callousness and sheer carelessness. These we have the power to prevent. We are almost entirely powerless against him darkening our door due to nature's fury. But if small precautions can make Mr. Calamity's visits less regular, we're insane not to be taking them. Each time he comes, we despair. And after he leaves we point fingers at everyone but ourselves. But the sad truth is we're all culpable. If we insist on basic safety and hygiene, this unwanted guest would be making much fewer calls.

I'm no good without..........

I thought it would be fun to list the things my day is incomplete without. So here goes. I'm no good without......

1) ...the three main men in my life around me. I know I complain sometimes and wish I could escape it all for a while now and then, but I'm no good without my family.

2) ...my morning and evening cups of Darjeeling.

3) ...my morning newspapers. Has to be more than one. Two at the very least.

4) ...my daily newspaper Sudoku, word jumble and a few other puzzles. I get restless and a little irritable if I haven't completed this ritual.

5) ...an ongoing creative project. It could be a painting, a blog/article, a sweater I'm knitting, a candle I'm making. There has to be something. Otherwise I feel like I'm coming unhinged.

6) ...a periodic intake of nictone. It's terrible, I know. Have resolved to reform soon. But it hasn't happened yet. It will though. Thankfully I'm under tremendous pressure from my children to quit.

7) ...a few minutes at the computer, catching up with friends around the world.

8) ...my morning yoga. There are days when it doesn't happen, but those days see my patience wearing thin and guilt clawing at my insides. Like this Saturday morning. Maybe in the evening. But it is so bloody hot! Let's see.

9) ...music.

10) ...my evening dose of comedy on television. No day is complete without a good laugh towards the end.

11) ...at least one bear hug from my kids.

12) ...thanking a higher power for the life I have. I'm not ritualistic, but not an atheist either. I do believe we should give thanks to a higher being for the series of coincidences or twists of fate that have shaped the lives we lead, the choices we made along the way. I seem to have made the right ones, and for that I am grateful.

I think that completes my list. Tell me what you can't do without.

Mirror, mirror on the wall

How vain are we getting as a people? The obsession with physical appearance is becoming positively frightening. If you're not convinced, just switch the telly on. Every second commercial is for a hair, skin or grooming product. And more than 60 percent are for skin whitening creams.

I personally believe the genuine Indian complexion is absolutely beautiful. Dusky Indian skin is so much more attractive than pasty, patchy white. I can understand people wishing to improve the quality of their skin by reversing the damage that pollution and heat cause, but I can't for the life of me figure out this white fetish. Don't people realise the result of prolonged use of such harsh chemicals is an unhealthy bleached-out look and premature ageing?

One particular brand is now plugging a body-whitening cream. Its argument is that you should try to lighten your body to match your white face. I find that absurd. Generally it's the face that is darker, more tanned than the body because it is exposed to the sun the most. Especially in India, where not that many women wear slinky clothes. Isn't it sort of dangerous encouraging women to use these products all over their bodies? Ah well, these people are looking to shore up their bottomlines. So to hell with the lines that might soon pit the skins of their gullible target demographic.

I guess all this is also because Indians are the largest group of closet racists on earth. We might hate to admit it, but we make snap decisions about people based on the colour of their skin. Why else does every prospective groom openly scout for a "fair-complexioned" wife? Why do we find ourselves being more polite to those with lighter skin?

And when it comes to first impressions (and this is more pronounced in north India than any other region in this country), Mark Twain was sadly very right. Clothes do make the man (or woman). You're only as good as your solitaire diamonds, glitzy footwear and all that covers you in between. People might not take the time to get to know you if you don't look trendy enough. That's the truth. I've been fortunate to have spent the last seven years in Mumbai and Thane where I haven't come across this annoying trait as much. People here are much more relaxed, casual and willing to appreciate you for who you are and not who you're wearing. But every time I go back to Delhi it hits me in the face and is a rude shock on each occasion.

There's more. Open the classified pages in your daily rag and you'll find endless advertisements for surgical and non-surgical body sculpting. I have to say I am most tempted to explore these every time I hit a weight plateau - that frustrating period when my exercise regimen shows results very, very, very slowly or not at all. Fortunately it is just a momentary lapse.

I can understand the morbidly obese with grievous health problems going in for drastic measures like bariatric surgery. But those who are just overweight can easily make themselves healthier with exercise and smarter choices in food. It is a long, uphill battle, especially for women who've had babies (Men are blessed with much more efficient metabolisms. It drives me insane when my husband - who is extremely erratic when it comes to exercise - looks trimmer after just two or three days of walking/jogging while it takes me months to get the same results!). But it can be done. This I can personally vouch for. I am still overweight, but I've come a long way from my nearly 85 kilo days! And I intend to shed more. Slowly.

The point of this post is that we're sadly beginning to get confused when it comes to physical appearance. The emphasis should be on being healthy. Instead it's on looking good, at whatever cost. Many in my generation of nearly middle-aged people are falling victim. But what's more alarming is that younger generations are succumbing more spectacularly. Instant gratification today could lead to prolonged regret tomorrow. Can we prevent the mirror of vanity from cracking under the strain? I suspect not.

Old maid habit for new age woman

Do you ever go through these phases when the mind just won't be still and calm? Simply can't concentrate on anything no matter how hard you try? The mind is restless, the body oscillating between listlessness and hyperactivity? Well I'd been going through one of these of late. And when all else failed (even an unfinished canvas) I turned to the old faithful - yards of yarn and knitting needles!

Before you raise your eyebrows, roll your eyes and dismiss me as a victim of an early-onset geriatric condition let me tell you knitting can be fabulously relaxing. That is if you're blessed with the basic dexterity required, of course. Once you get the rhythm going the regular clickety-clack of the needles is extremely comforting. There is a pattern, order and structure to knitting. It's not a mindless pastime. You have to concentrate, unless of course you don't mind creating a shapeless woolly thinggy full of holes.

Anyway, if you're working your way towards a definite end product, following the pattern helps you regain focus. And once you reach the intermediate level in knitting, sight and touch immediately alert you to any mistakes. I graduated long ago from the beginner level when you panic every time you drop a stitch or mess up the pattern. I can now work a few rows down without unravelling the yarn and correct mistakes.

My first major knitting project was when I was in my teens. I ambitiously set out to knit a sleeveless vest for my high school boyfriend. My grandmother and her friend very sweetly helped out, shaping and salvaging as much as they could of what I'd made. Another friend simultaneously tried her hand at knitting a scarf for her boyfriend. I'm proud to report that mine was MUCH better, with fewer holes and sags per quare inch of knitted garment! But I also have to give the boyfriends credit for the fact that they actually wore those hopeless creations of ours. Aaah, puppy love.

That was then. I've thankfully improved considerably since and over the last eight or so years have knitted for my kids, nieces and nephews as well as my friends' children. In the past three weeks I've knitted two sweaters for a friend's baby and am now making warm, chunky scraves with fringes for my boys. One sweater is all done - finished and sewed up - and just needs a few buttons. The other (in my favourite a cable pattern) is currently in four pieces, awaiting the finishing touches. Seeing them fills me with a great sense of accomplishment.

But even better is the fact that I've got my mental mojo back. My mind is well on its way to returning to its general calm, collected state. Might take a few more days. And I owe it all to something that's wrongly stereotyped as an old-maid pastime. Knitting can work wonders for new age women too. Just give it a try.