There is this small Kebab Shop round the corner of the street where I live. It’s very popular. Every evening to late at night, they sell kebabs like hot cakes (cakes are not much in demand here, however). On days when I don’t feel like cooking this kebab shop is our sanctuary.
So, whenever we go there, after Arijit has placed the order, we stand outside the shop and wait to get our take away.Through the glass door of the shop I see the huge spread and neat sitting arrangements inside. I watch men eating and talking amongst themselves.
All men. Only men.
Women here do not enter inside such B grade restaurants. I often wonder what will happen if I just get in there one fine day, take a seat and ask for the menu card. Continue reading “Not Eighteen Anymore”→
Unlike in most part of the world, weekends in Doha consists of Friday, the prayer day, and Saturday; Sunday being the first day of the week. So, ignoring the long-standing habit of my brain and body to laze around on a Sunday, I have to get up at 5 in morning, and prepare breakfast for Arijit, for he leaves for office at 6. Then I thank God for not having any other kid, yet.
On a Friday like this, my eyes automatically opens in the same time, when I know fully well that I could have slept a little bit more. But then there’s nothing much to do today morning. The very tired poor darling is still sleeping next to me, and I don’t want to wake him up. No, not today. A me time beside my roof top swimming pool, writing, is what I love doing most, these days. The 8 o’ clock Doha Sun has become a darling. In fact, the weather has become really pleasant for throughout the day. The little bit of greenery that we have here are not looking as artificial as they used to, two months back; the blazing heat and heat waves have vanished too.
Yesterday I had ventured out of my house at 3 pm, alone and not by car, for the first time, after I have come to Doha. I took a walk around my locality, then went for some shopping. Shopping, yes – has always been one of the best ways to spend the day off, anytime, anywhere. Only the things I buy now have changed from shoes and clothes to bed linen and crockeries. Well, mostly. Continue reading “Lazy hour, Happy hour !”→
‘Life is too short to _____’. Now, write a post telling us how you’ve come to that conclusion.
Yesterday’s writing prompt inspired me on many levels. But Life is lazy, and even though life has nothing much to do these days, when depression kicks in, life can’t seem to gather her wits and focus on writing a post in time.
Depression, why ? Because Life is too short not to take a walk around the park at dawn, or to ride a bike in evening. Some me time alone with latte and novel in the roadside cafe, or the all out shopping escapade without the husband ! Ah, how I miss my days in India ! Life feels too long and dragging, to live without freedom. Continue reading “The Irony of Life !”→
An old calendar used to hang behind her parent’s bedroom door, in Bengal. It was very common in those days in many households. Apartment culture had not creeped into their lifestyle yet. The big household used to shelter many old useless nicknacks, which the house lady tried hard but failed to detach herself from. One such common thing was the dated wall calendar, to which a young girl of six or seven was found talking to.
“Aunt Rina has brought this for us, you know, she has made the cake all by herself. And it’s so soft and yummy looking. She wants Mom to taste it and tell her how good a chef she is ! But Mom has gone for bath. Let’s have a bite meanwhile, what say ?”
To this, the picture in the calendar smiled and perhaps gave his consent. The girl took a spoonful of the two slices of soft vanilla cake from the dish.
“Yum !”, she exclaimed and then offered a spoonful to the picture in the calendar. Changing her elbow angle she gulped the second helping too, herself, happily.
Then asked, “Did you like this Krishna ! You know, Dorothy brings cake for lunch everyday in school, but Mom never makes one for me. Why don’t you ask her to, Krishna !”
“You should try the strawberry cheesecake from that shop near your school. I have heard they are delicious”, the picture advised her. Eating and talking, she lost the track of time, and everything else.
Look what I have just found ! I was supposed to be packing now though, as my flight is in few hours, and I will. But before jumping into packing, one must also look for some android apps that helps to pack quickly ! So I looked, looked hard for sometime, and only after that I could find these awesome tiny apps ‘Packpoint’ and ‘Packit’. Then I got into comparing which one is better, and to do that I had to explore both the apps carefully. Whew ! Such work !
I also needed to take bath, prepare something to eat before leaving, get decked up and all that. But should I then forget all my new friends in WordPress so selfishly ! Should I get all consumed in packing and in the vacation flavour ? No, not me. I absolutely need to write a review on this apps to let you all know how to use your time effectively. Most effectively, I say. So here I am. Not because what you are thinking, that I am a packing-lazy girl. (I do hate packing as much as I love travelling, but that’s another thing.) Continue reading “How to Pack Easy for Travel and Manage Time Effectively”→
Recently I came across the word ‘aircondition culture’ in one of my neighbourhood blog, and that kept me thinking…
A tall arched door opens to a silky vanilla coloured pavement, with shops on both sides. All big international brands and chains, but we didn’t have time for all that then. White trident street lights were lining up the lane for as far as the eye could see. A few more steps ahead, there is this tiny little river flowing across the town. Two boatmen ferrying those incredibly romantic gondola-boats, stopping at the bank, offloading passengers and taking the new pack of travellers for another fresh trip at a nominal fare of 10 riyal per person. A small traverse crisscrossing the waterway, and a cool pleasant bridge. Me and Arijit were sitting in the road side Starbuck outlet, sipping our creamy cup of Cappuccino and absorbing the ambience. I was a little chilled, cause the climate was really cool. Like a dream it was ! How I wished this to be the whole of Doha like !
At the foot of the small cross over, there was a person selling balloons. Balloons not like the one I find in parties at home. Here, these were of rich glossy plastic make, of various Disney faces, filled with some gas that enables them to fly up to the sky. The sky was clear blue, and perhaps it was dusk, and the sun had just set, so a little purplish too. I loved holding the string of a balloon that Arijit bought for me. A little childish though, I know, a lot childish actually. But isn’t it fun to be a child every once in a while !
So there we were, sipping our evening cuppa at 2 pm in Doha summer. From the Starbucks courtyard we were admiring the vanilla buildings across the street, with multi coloured glass panes and glittery shops in the ground level. Careless that I was, as always, the balloon from my hand slipped and flew up above the sky. Then it got stuck at a little purple patch, in between two cottony clouds, right above the vanilla rooftop. Continue reading “Like an Oasis”→
You’ve come into possession of one vial of truth serum. Who would you give it to (with the person’s consent, of course) — and what questions would you ask?
Why yes, certainly I should be the one to get the possession of such a serum, for since my teenage years, I have hated being lied to. I simply can not stand dishonesty. Myself, I’m a very candid and straightforward person. And a little gullible too. Perhaps that is the reason why I hate liers so much, because I mostly fall for the lies I’m being told.
But to get a small ampule of truth serum, I know not whom to give it to, and whom to spare. Here in Doha, I am yet to know people closely enough to judge whether they need a spray of truth serum. However, because I’m still keeping a tab of what’s happening in India, and in my Kolkata, this truth serum can be sent to a lot of political honchos their, the ministers who keep getting caught in some or the other scams and then smoothly glide their way out back again. Or should I send it to their lawyers instead ! Oh and of course, as a student of journalism, I will have a lot to ask them.
But then you telling me to get their consent first. Err ! This clause in this writing prompt makes me realise, no matter how I dislike people lying around and being so corrupt and dishonest, I actually will never get any body’s consent in making them drink the truth serum. This just dawns upon me that I don’t have control over any one in the world. Any one except my husband, that is ! Continue reading “Truth Serum”→