If the Shoe Fits...

Remember the time when most of us owned a bare minimum of footwear - school shoes, gym shoes, and party wear, maybe.

The threshold had moved up considerably since then.

That's right - no more a basic essential, your shoes are what define you today. In other words, you are as stylish or happening as your clogs. But interestingly, here is where numbers are as important as quality.

So to all the fond shoppers out there - in this era of plenty, how many pairs, one wonders, are too many?

Or maybe, how many simply not enough.

I for one, took a look at my multilevel shoe racks, which are at groaning point and decided to remain humbly silent on that score. But what brought about this epiphany, you might ask?

An article I recently read about the anatomy of a shoe buyer brought on the aha moment. Anatomy, they say. What's next?  Maybe a psych profile. Anyway, here's some info you probably didn't (even want to) know.

• Online shoe sales alone exceeded 5 billion dollars in 2009 - what, people don't go to stores anymore?

• On an average the max spend on a pair is $90 - Jimmy Choo, please to note!

• People love the color black - yeah, like that's a surprise.

• Most women own at least 11 pairs - sure, there is food and rent to think about...

But,

• The average woman owns 27 pairs - now, you're talking!

Ok, yes, granted. We're shoeing up like crazy, all under the guise of shape, style, color, heel type, season yada yada... but the shoemakers are one up on us. Sure, most of you sisters own Boots and Shooties, but how many are proud owners of Bootines?

Even now as we speak, the new spring catalogues were jamming my mailbox, beckoning like the siren's lure. There's no escaping the onslaught retailers unleash with no mercy and terrifying regularity. Plus there are sales, coupons and what nots.

Finally, said that article, that 40% of women have more than 50 pairs. And only 4% of men can boast the same.

And I say - duh!

For sure, those (4%) men have gotta be single. Ever seen how much closet space a married man gets?

A Passage to India

Like so many expats, India is my home but mostly in an emotional sense now. It's where I go back to see family, friends, familiar places; where memories live, as do a whole host of sentimental tugs.

While a large part of the agenda on my annual visits is eat and meet (not in that order, though - the other way round didn't have quite the ring), with generous doses of shopping thrown in, there are a bunch of things I totally love doing.

Here are a few of my favorites:

Cuisine fusion - to a true-blue desi like me nobody cooks like Indians do. While food has always been a religion with us, the growing international flavors only make me crave the fare with fervor enough to put a jihadi to shame. Not being partial by nature, I tasted Baluchi, Chinese, Pizza, well pretty much everything. And sure, my Dahi Kababs were rich with flavor, I actually had some truly amazing Pasta in Delhi.

Watch the top TV serial/ soap - or last an episode or two at any rate. Oh, what emotions those stir, especially amongst the women. For full effect, sit through a 'frothy' discussion - insightful! And heaven forbid you call anyone between the evening hours of 7 and 8. Of course, there are reruns the next day, but a lot of ladies watch those too.

Check out the bestsellers at Connaught Place - You'll know what's moving the folks these days and find the old staples, even if the prints are not collector quality. I actually discovered Robin Sharma on a dusty pavement years ago. It was hundred rupees well spent.

Hit the malls and popular markets - and not just to shop; Malls are the new social milieu. Plus one does need to keep up with the trends. Because in urban India, fashions don't just change anymore. They explode into existence; and just as easily taper off. Keeping up with the Joneses or Jains, as it happens, is a whole new ask.

Binge on street food - who needs restaurants! Well, that's only a rhetoric. The point here is that the neighborhood eats are as good as ever. A vendor next door makes crisp Vadas, another churns out superb moong-dal pakoris. Hot jalebis are a perennial favorite. And I do a happy jig when the fella tells me that the jal-jeera is made from 'pure Bisleri' water.

Cricket - the one source of excitement you can always count on. I was in Delhi a few years back when India won the T20 World Cup. It took all of 15 seconds after the last ball for the fireworks to start in the neighborhood. For a match, mind you, that went right down to the wire.

Read filmy masala and Page 3s - true, there's stuff online too, but nothing like watching the celeb dramas unfold on desi soil. It might not be the Enquirer yet, but the day is not far in the future.

FM Radio surfing - no way you can miss which songs and issues are top of mind for everyone - they will play only 15-20 times a day. Or tune into one of the late-night dial-in shows that dispense advice on what else, matters of the heart. Paraphrasing here, but really, one man's misery is another's bag of chuckles.

Tales of the Maids - out here in the Americas, few can claim the privilege of domestic help. Turns out that things are not all that different there. If you're among the lucky few, the help is regular, even honest. If not, it's wonderful to see how people compete with relish on whose maid woes are the worst.

All this and so much more. Shallow, I know. There is a lot going on in India that is serious and insightful. But another post for that, methinks.

Hang in there, while I rediscover my version of the new, happening India, one layer at a time.

An Age in Time

Another of my birthdays rolled by. Lines on the face, gray hair that sprout faster than the black ever did, the knee one pretends didn't just groan. And you're supposed to be graceful about stuff like that - yeah, right!

As a young twenty something when I lived in Chennai, one was frequently addressed as Amma (mother). While I did realise that Amma in the south was merely an address of respect, it was hard to feel maternal or even grateful when the person addressing you was sometimes twice your age.

Unfortunately, in my case it wasn't all that simple. My appearance might have had something to do with it. Oftentimes, the cable guys and salesmen at my doorstep refused to deal with me, asking for Amma (lady of the house). I was petite and slender - then - and to their keen eye, probably didn't quite cut it. Insisting that I was indeed the Amma of the household only got me dubious looks and no cooperation. Usually matters were helped by the arrival on the scene of hubby dearest who apart from his tall commanding presence also spoke the local lingo way better than I did. His presence was greeted with much relief. 'No problem, Amma, I will talk to Saar.'

Thus relegated to by-stander status in my own home I had to be content on the sidelines. My heart longed for a time when I could blast the maid or the dhobi for being late and incite fear rather than indulgent smiles.

Same story at work. Convincing clients that I was old enough, and ergo wise enough for them to part with their hard-earned savings and for me to dispense with my investment gyan was yet another cup of filter coffee.

But the years really have flown. I can lay a legit claim to my senior status. The time has come, sooner than I like, to come to terms with the gray hair that dot my landscape. Reminds me of the old ad for  hair dye (as we called it then) wherein a thirty something woman's young neighbor addresses her as 'Aunty'. The ultimate insult it was. The echo of 'Aunty! Aunty! Aunty!' reverberated through the room and the woman's psyche. Next thing, haste was made and Godrej - in solid black - was bought.

Dear woman, I feel your angst. Now.

But, frankly, what happened to me at the pharmacy was way worse.

While picking a specialty item for my sister-in-law who had just given birth, the pharmacist blew me away with her question. On the prescription, she pointed to the patient's name (the new mother, almost my age) and asked me - your daughter?

Of All the Nobel Gestures!

This Friday morning I woke up to the stunning news - Obama had claimed the biggest prize there is, a Nobel for Peace. A joke, many have called it. But I'm not laughing. Call me foolish, but in my book somehow reward follows action. Awarding great intentions and not much else has pretty much taken the shine out of the Nobels for me.

The story in New York Times summed it up best when it said that the decision caught even the White House off guard.

Sure, there are serious problems facing the world that need addressing, by someone with an eye on the big picture. And maybe, given time and the right advisors, Obama might make major strides in forging peace. But equally important, there exist in the world, pockets of massive strife and unrest. Illness and inequality. Hunger and homelessness. Afghanistan is a small country with big problems. Colombia is dealing with a mountain of an issue. The scale of HIV/ AIDS in China is a cause large enough to demand the world's attention, even without the highly recognizable candidatures. And they picked a man with great ideas but little yet to show for them.

But maybe I shouldn't complain. After all, Gandhi and Churchill missed the final cut (for Peace) but Stalin, Hitler and Mussolini were amongst the nominees.

What next? For 2010, I'm thinking Michael Jackson. Peace, maybe Literature - take your pick. After all, the world is Black or White...

My Plea to Facebook

I like Facebook. No two ways about it.

FB has connected me with friends long lost - at least to me. Their photos and vidoes are great. Messaging and status updates are fun. People post amazing, sometimes insightful stuff picked up elsewhere on the web. A fast, happy way of being in touch.

But here's my problem. Facebook has gone application happy. And guess what, just about everyone with the smarts to write code has taken them up on it. Being bombarded with useless info on who took which quiz is not my idea of connecting.

Don't get me wrong. I'm glad that many of my friends are testing positive for all sorts of things; some are destined for fame and fortune. They resemble no less than the most happening dude (or dudette); others whose karmic soul is calm and blessed. There are vocabulary aces and movie trivia kings. Yay for all of you.

It's just that I don't really need to know all of that. And on any given day when I look up my FB Home page to find out what's going on with my friends, could Facebook please spare me the outcomes of inane tests. Thanks but no thanks. There might be folks who just take a quiz for fun, and don't necessarily want to broadcast the fact to a hundred friends that their lover-like potential was rated way short of Don Juan's. For that matter, a Lazy Mind test I took elsewhere indicated that I use only 8% of my brain, but do you really think I want to advertise that little tit-bit.

Luckily for me, once I discovered the 'Hide' option on FB, things are much improved.

Still, one wonders that with the time and imagination some people have, what might be the next test they could come up with.

Guesses, anyone?

Hello Again!

It's been a long time away. And I have a ready list of excuses too. The muse - such as it is - dried up on me. Or life got in the way. Been too busy.

Happy to say that all of the above were true. Plus, haven't had a whole lot to say, but when has that, you might ask, ever stopped me.

So I guess I'm back. Like they say - for better or worse.

Time will tell.

I Wish, You Wish...

Don't we all want to be in perfect shape, preferably with zilch effort.

No, this is not an idle question.

Ok, I admit it. The sins of the past - or at least the last few weeks, months actually, but who's counting - seem to have caught up with me.

It's like this. The holiday season rolled by like the icing on my cake, and with it came some serious partying. Every manner of indulgence - picture the 30 something family types and their idea of fun. For us that usually means stirring as little as possible; we entertain, but sample all offerings generously beforehand, then there's eating out, take outs, yada, yada. And of course, when other people cook, one eats. Can't disappoint the host now, can you.

Food, drink, snacks, desserts, late nights, no nights, movie marathons, you name it, we did it. Basically, calorie central for the couch cucumbers.

If there's food, can the pounds be far behind? A few weeks of fun and what a price one pays. Eventually, the pinpricks of conscience managed to sting the ever so thickening hide.

Shedding the inertia, and armed with firm resolve, I hit the gym, finally. But the reality check came rather swiftly, and very rudely at that. Thirty elliptical minutes later I was gasping like a beached whale, hoping to be carried, if not to my car then at least the nearest water fountain. The lady at our local Y told me that apparently enrolments and attendance at the fitness center go up hugely every January. Aha! At least I'm not the only guilt-bitten one. Except, in my case, the laziness pre-dates a lot longer.

But never mind that. So thrilled was I by my foray onto the treadmill, I came home and decided not to let the leftover mango pudding go to waste. It tasted great, even if I say so myself.

One measly week into the New Year and I'm feeling philosophical already - frankly, it's no use sweating the small stuff.

Like they say - whatever (flab) will be, will be.

Body & Soul

It's a rare something that will meld both - literally.

I'm talking about the Cirque du Soleil. Suffice to say, it's not another circus. Just like Everest isn't just another bump on the face of the Earth.

I'd tried, unsuccessfully, to see a Cirque performance for many years. The pleasure, when I got my chance, was only made sweeter when K surprised me with great seats to Wintuk, the only show running in the New York area.

Wintuk tells a story. It is the celebration of winter; in a town, with a season incomplete without snow. About a boy and his buddies who set out north to bring it home. But first, they must overcome their inner fears. In its own funny and gravity defying way, this is a tale of personal quests, of magic and marvel. Where the acrobats fly, (human) canines flop with perfect doggy grace, with acts of contortion that often seem unreal. Hoops that hula, jugglers who mesmerize and flirty light poles that come to life at the oddest moments. The stage throbs to the beats of live music and seamless acts of sheer artistry.

There's laughter, there's wonder and every so often gasps of disbelief from the mere mortals. With our eyes darting rapidly from one end of the stage to another - there was so much going on - all we could ask was - did that really just happen?

(Spoiler alert here:)
Yes, the story has a happy ending. With the light, come the tears of the sun - snow to Jamie's town. But it's not just the characters who get their heart's desire.  In the finale, as the drama soars to a crescendo, the entire auditorium is showered with snowflakes. Winter, it seems, is here after all. And with it is self discovery, freedom, and that tiny thing called joy.

We left the show smiling, enthralled with the effortless mastery, clutching our own wisps of snow. The promise of an afternoon's worth of thrills had turned out to be so, so much more.

What more can I say? You had to be there.

To Choose a Star

India seems to have made its pick - Taare Zameen Par (TZP) is its official entry for the Oscars.

That the movie was chosen wasn't really a surprise. And then again it was. The latter first - it's simply that the committee's picks usually look like no-brainers to most. A no-brainer for elimination, that is. Now, maybe not all Bollywood movies are international fare, but come on, every so often the desi directors get it right. So maybe a little less lobbying (by the big banners) and a lot more thought (on the part of the Indian jury) might do the trick.

In all fairness, it's not that good movies haven't made their way to the Foreign Film category. It's the other, rather odd choices that makes one question basic things like the sanity of the selectors. Don't take my word for it - see for yourself.

Right there with superior movies like Manthan and Earth, we have nominated opuses like Paheli and Henna; and can you even believe this - Saagar. Could someone please tell me what part of Dimple's chiffon clad beach number was Oscar worthy? Or how about Kamal Haasan's bout of self-indulgence - Hey Ram. Ack, what a waste. The rules allow just one entry per country, pretty unfair to prolific movie making countries like India and China; France and Italy. I mean, doesn't this put India in the same filmi bracket as Iceland. Or maybe that's why we pick what we do - to keep the others competitive.

TZP seems like a sensible choice in a year with some good options like Black and White and A Wednesday. A simple and solid story with middle-class appeal that addresses a universal issue - our denial of disability. An unusual protagonist. Few we-gotta-fit-these-in songs. Emotions that tug rather than wrench. I loved the fact that Aamir Khan accorded his audience the courtesy of intelligence - we don't really need to be talked down to.

A lot of people liked many different things about the movie, but what especially stayed with me was a dialogue between the Art teacher and the dyslexic boy's father. The teacher - Aamir - mentions that in the Solomon Islands when the tribal folk want to get rid of a tree, instead of cutting it down, they just hurl abuses at it day after day. Within a few weeks, he said, the tree just wilts and dies. The analogy, extended to a child's tender psyche is not hard to grasp. So little said, and yet so much.

And the Oscar goes to..... we won't know for a while. But at least this time around India won't be laughed out of the screening room.

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

It was a University of Georgia study that got me thinking. The story claims that Facebook profiles of people can be used to detect narcissism.

The researchers found that the number of Facebook friends and wallposts that individuals have on their profile pages correlates with narcissism. Buffardi said this is consistent with how narcissists behave in the real-world, with numerous yet shallow relationships. Narcissists are also more likely to choose glamorous, self-promoting pictures for their main profile photos, she said, while others are more likely to use snapshots.

More on the study here.

Makes you think, doesn't it. Or cause guilt, outrage, denial, and for some, pride at being above such weakness.

It maybe the truth, but is it the whole truth?

Personal appearances can be important, or they can be an obsession. No wonder cosmetics is a huge industry. Friends in print advertising say that one of the big creative challenges is touching up to perfection, the photographs of supermodels, which were shot by pros to start with.

Well thanks, that's comforting to hear - really, do the rest of the mere mortals even have a chance? Or with standards so impossible is it any wonder that so many of us are killing ourselves to get somewhere in the striking range.

While living in Canada where health-care is state sponsored - a can of worms I shall not touch any more than this veriest mention - we once received the annual health ministry update which indicated that, as a part of cutbacks, Cosmetic Surgery was no longer going to be included in basic benefits.

My first reaction was - whoa, what a blow. Gee, I was so looking forward to going under the knife, till the health department rained on my party. But then I paused to reflect - maybe enough people had felt the need to take advantage of this benefit. And why not - if it works for you, great - revisiting youth or gaining a slimmer self is at least a possibility now.

The question then is - how much is this desire for perfection narcissism and how much is it about self-image.

One might not aspire to beauty crowns, but what's wrong in the wanting to preserve memories of our more beautiful selves. Especially on social network sites like Facebook or Myspace where one might meet friends you haven't seen for a while - is it really a crime to post your best photos?  For most, high school or college reunions are as much about showing off how good they look as it is about how rich or successful they are. And again, why not.

Ok - so narcissim is a dirty word, right there with greed and sloth. Call it what you will, I think some amount of  personal pride is healthy, even inevitable. Which is why portrait studios flourish. Why so many people buy fitness equipment they may not even use much. Why it is a minor tragedy if you're sitting at home on a Saturday night instead of with being out with a dozen friends.

If narcissism exists, it's because we are programmed to think in those terms.

Isn't it natural to foster self-image in a society that tends to evaluate success through social standing, or studies galore that have concluded that better looks will get you hired faster, get you a date more easily, ensure better service, win you more friends.

That said, how far we carry this desire for beauty is up to us entirely.

There's no fairy tale ending here. Whoever has the answers, I'm guessing it's not your mirror.