R-Rated

So I go to the barbershop last Friday to get my mane to acceptable levels. The barbershop has transformed itself in the past 10 years or so from Raj Hair Cutting Saloon, devoid of any air-conditioners to Raj Gents Salon complete with a split AC. Even the lead barber in the 'salon' (missing an O on purpose) has a certificate from the L'Oreal Institute (at least, it looked genuine). I am going to start calling him The Expert as it is the first time in my life that I have seen (in India or US) that someone has a certificate from the L'Oreal Institute. You probably think I have very low tastes in hair-cutting but I don't think going to a barber once in 3 months requires me to go to someone 'highly qualified'. So I am on the chair awaiting my turn, specs off - I probably have never seen clearly as to what happens once the sheet goes inside the collar, for obvious reasons but for those who don't know me well, I am practically blind without my optic-power

What a weird title, you may think. That's the truth that many of us experience and endure. And that's a combination of both things that I have, Sweet Tooth and Tooth Ache . Unfortunately (or fortunately), I have sweet teeth and teeth aches - if only, the English language would allow such a gross misuse of words and speech, life would have been much easier. For better or for worse. So the idea for this blog came up this morning while I was relishing the opportunity to dive into the box of Mysore Pak that my mother specially prepared for me. For those who are unaware, Mysore Pak is a sweet dish and not some historically significant event that happened between Mysore and Pakistan. One of my favorite sweet dishes (among many many others) that I happened to crave once I returned to India. Although, it helped that just 2 days back I had a generous dose of the same at Usha Mami's place (better get used to the names that I will put up in some of my posts). Coming back to the

That's right. I am going to start referring to myself as The Chameleon Tamilian. You will wonder, what's up with this guy and I am going to explain you just that. See quite recently, I had a conversation with a gentleman from Chennai. This is what transpired. After sharing initial pleasantries, I introduced myself to him as Rajesh Anantharaman. Probably with a hint of pride, after hearing my name, he quickly pounced with "Are you from Chennai?". Not expecting that googly from the guy, I shot back with "No, I am from Mumbai". Thoroughly unsatisfied with my response, he quipped "But your last name is Anantharaman" (and thus, I have  got to be from Chennai). With my final answer to this puzzle which was "Ya, my father was born and brought up in Tamil Nadu and moved to Mumbai in the late 50s and consequently, I was born here".  With that, I very conveniently squashed the expectations of the gentleman with my being a non-Chennai wala. A

In 1973, Rishi Kapoor sang this for Dimple Kapadia... Bahar se koi andar naa aa sake... Andar se koi bahar naa jaa sake... Socho kabhi aisa hoto kya ho.. Socho kabhi aisa hoto kya ho.. Hum tum ek kamare mein band ho.... And there ends the similarity between one of the most romantic melodies of all time and the situation K and I find ourselves in. 4 weeks into the Home Improvement project and we are almost at a point of feeling claustrophobic. With carpentry at the finish line, the painters have started their relay. And we stay confined to the smallest room in the house, with a massive bean bag (unopened), 42" LED (wrapped), a computer table (with all the junk from the remaining rooms), a ward-robe that once opened could allow us to shoot an episode of Hoarders (no really, it is a fact), a diwan that does the duty of computer chair by day/afternoon and sleeping companion (for one) at night and 2 massive suitcases that remain stuffed with K's US returned items. Yours