Living and breathing the hookah culture

This appeared in The SA Times on Saturday.

I've lost (not lost lost) a few colleagues and friends to it so was about time I 'investigated' what the big deal about it was. It bugs me that I slept through the transition when 'smoking' Hookahs was becoming such a big part of our culture. Actually think I've slept through every major transition that hit our culture in the past. Let’s see... I slept through the hippie culture that hit us in the 70s.... actually wasn't even born then so doesn't count. I slept through the MTV culture but blame that on dad. No matter when I found that one spare moment in a day when I was home and around TV while growing up, dad would just magically appear out of nowhere much like characters in Indian epics and make it go away. Then the beauty contest/queen culture hit but I think I played dumb charades all through it. Then globalization hit and permeated through in many forms and I have no clue what I did but I barely noticed. Size zero, living in, mwaah mwaahs, divorces and polygamy (behaviorally) were amongst the latest few but I'd already moved out. And as was evident in my last trip back home, the latest one to have hit us seems to be the Hookah effect.

You couldn't go to a Metro in India a few years back and not visit one of the Mocha Cafes. It's prolly a thing of the past now. And you can't go to a house party in LA and not spot the Hookah equipment. It amazes me how easily we adapted to it. But then we're good like that. Ever so accepting of new fads, harmless or otherwise. Me, I couldn't care less about it but just because you don't swim, it's not like you can't get into the pool party.

If you worked out in my gym which like any other has several TV screens but unlike no other has one screen with trivia questions on auto play (makes me feel so dumb coz I score close to 0 each time unless I see repeat questions), you'd know that hookahs are also known as nargilehs or argeelas in Arabic. Flavored tobacco has been used for centuries throughout the Middle East for filling smoking pipes but in Western and now East Asian countries, to make it more socially acceptable in urban areas, fruity non-tobacco flavors are widely available. Of course in Middle East, it was considered tradition and luxury and everywhere else, just a trend.

I remember one chilly night at an authentic Lebanese restaurant in Glendale where our server who identified himself as a Nargileh specialist (wonder if his occupation read that on his visa form), sat down with us and shared a few insights while a very graceful belly dancer was doing everything in her power to ensure no one would converse amongst themselves. His first insight in his exotic accent was interesting. "Smoking hookah is more than just smoking." The surrounding environment, the music, the conversations and the smoking are just as important as smoking hookah itself apparently. But what was intriguing were the unspoken rules. The Hookah etiquette as he called it. Given my constant battle with my memory, I'm amazed that I could recall so many after months. Or has it been years? Check ‘em out… they’d surprise you. I paraphrase below.

• When you pass the hose, you must point the tip of it towards yourself. (Umm sure)


• When you receive the hose from someone else, you must slight tap their hand as a sign of “thank you” and “respect”. (Blah unless you're in Morocco or sthng)


• If you are smoking a multi hose hookah and you are not smoking from your hose, hold the tip with you finger so the rest can smoke easier. (Ok. Whatever.)


• Never blow smoke in someone else’s face. (Only Client Eastwood is allowed to do that, no?)
  Pass the hose to next person before they ask for it. (Mommy taught us all to be considerate.)


• If you and others are not smoking, wrap the hose around the shaft. (Smoking hookah sounds like so much work.)


• Respect the hookah owner/host/server. (Lol isn't that going overboard?)


• Do not give advice on how to better make the hookah or pack the bowl. (He must be kidding. It's in our blood.)


• If you damage the owner’s hookah or property fix it or pay for it. (Haha another good one.)


• Never smoke cigarettes around a hookah. (Aah sacred rule 1 about avoiding conflicts.


• Never light a cigarette from the coal on the hookah. (Sacred rule 2)


• Never ash a cigarette on the hookah’s tray. (Sacred rule 3)

Whoa look at that list! On second thoughts, I should have not given out the story about the Lebanese restaurant. That’d have perhaps established me as a ‘Nargileh specialist’. Oh well. One day I will learn.

Spare The Plate, Please

With an eminent bounce in my energy, I get up, get dressed and head out. The duo welcome me at the entrance. She looks sharp in her crisp white shirt, and he carelessly alert. Graciously, they find me a seemingly comfortable spot, away from the rest of the crowd. It doesn't take them much convincing for me to get dreamy eyed. The spread, the colors, the tang, the varieties, all too consuming. That mix fills the air in my brain and engages every cell. Almost instantly, I begin to calculate the permutations and combinations to accomplish the enormous task that lies ahead. There's a finite quota to fill with little room to expand. Should one of each be considered or should I leave the less appealing ones for the next round? And if I end up loving one or more from the first round, how will I accommodate it with the untried ones in the second round? Choices choices.

With slightly wobbly hands, I hold a thick white plate and put my decision making skills into high gear. Being a vegetarian, half the options attractively laid out on the Indian Buffet stand are of no use to me thereby making it easier on the conclusion. A small serving of saag paneer rapidly spreads itself out on the plate like lava and takes over a significant area. I squeeze in chole, pakora kadhi, dal makhani and aloo bhindi with no aesthetic arrangement whatsoever. I look at the plate through the corner of my eye and it looks ready to induce a heart attack. I ignore that threat and the very creamy matar paneer and walk towards the Salad stand to pick a few slices of red onion. The greens on that stand make a mockery of me but I ignore that as well. Firm pink sliced strawberries catch my attention and happily I reach out to them. Identifying the color of my plate has become quite a challenge at this point and all I can do is switch off my brain much like the process of watching a signature David Dhawan film. I begin to walk towards my chair which I honestly wish had dark curtains hung from the ceiling on all four sides so I could hide whilst I indulge but an unknown overpowering feeling makes me take a u-turn. I watch in helplessness as my right hand pours some matar paneer on those innocent little strawberries for lack of any available spots on my plate and instead of chocolate covered ones, I now have gravy covered ones. I walk in shame and take my seat not looking up even once.

Before I could even settle down on my table, the skinny girl who looks like she could be surviving just on those tiny peas from matar paneer appears out of nowhere with my drink and a plate full of steaming crisp garlic sprinkled naans and puts them on my table. I half smile instead of verbally thanking her and avoid eye contact but I know I've been exposed. She's seen my plate and already judged me in one fleeting second. I've probably been categorized as "one of those" in her minds. One of those who take the expression and their offer of "all you can eat" at face value. One of those who probably skip dinner the previous night and wear loose pants so they could shove all that rich food down their throats like there's no tomorrow. One of those greedy souls who eat until they explode putting aside one dirty plate after another. One of those who act all urban and polished at work but let their uncivilized sides out when tons of food is in sight. Honestly I think she's got a wrong sense of judgment because I don't belong to either category. I'm usually on some crappy no-grain, no-oil, no-sugar diet and couldn't care less about the food she has to offer but like any other social being, dine in heaven once in a while with family and friends around on special occasions. I feel like getting up and giving her an explanation but she's already walked off to munch on some more peas or make more people fat.

For lack of viable options, I do what everyone else in that distastefully decorated 30x40 feet room with colorful chunris, taj mahal paintings and tiny LED lights adorning the walls is doing. Keeping their heads down and eating. I finish what I can and get up to treat myself with some desert. What's another 1000 calories when you've already had 4000 in the past 30 minutes? I feel gross at the end of it all and vow never to eat another buffet until I've celebrated the year end. But we'll see. Bon appétit.

Umm, what was that name again?

If you haven't come across funky names of newborns in the recent past, you probably haven't been social or have been avoiding gossip channels and newspapers altogether because all I see is them! There are those who differentiate names with an additional 'a' or 'e' or by taking away a 'y' and the likes. Then there are those who use foreign names and shockingly enough, there’s also a new category that does not shy away from using proper nouns as names. The fad is all pervasive across states and stratas, across industries (hello bollywood!) and individuals and across literacy levels.

We've come a long way from the days when Sanskrit names were the norm. Plebeians like us probably got inspired by celebrities or just by traveling around the world. Lately, Russian and Spanish names aren’t uncommon even in the interiors of India. Here in the US, celebrities have taken 'unique' to the next names. Check out some interesting, odd and downright crazy celebrity baby names: Arthur Ashe's daughter is called Camera, Christie Brinkley's girl is called Sailor Lee, Cher's daughter is called Chastity (!!!), Barbara Hershey's son is called Free, Penn Jillette's daughter is called Moxie CrimeFighter, Shannyn Sossamon's son is called Audio Science and Frank Zappa's daughter is called Moon Unit.

I’ve had no luck figuring out potential thought processes of other people behind such life altering decisions. How many kids’s share of teasing, for instance, would Chastity or Free or Audio Science go through during their school years? Kids are brutal. It’s public knowledge. Why then in their sane minds would parents venture into these things? The poor kid might hold a grudge forever.

It isn’t just people names. Video games are known for some of the craziest names ever: Zeitgeist, Um Jammer Lammy and PenPen TriIcelon just to name a few. Oh and Sony Ericson just launched two new phones in India: Xperia and Vivaz.

Let's face it guys. Our generation counts on auto spell check even for one liner emails. And we have the attention span of a gnat. So good luck to us trying to use these names or hearing them out and remembering them. But we live in a world that’s constantly evolving and making progress. So next time you hear someone’s kid named as Go-Kart Massacre or Kosher Raccoon or Silly Sudoku, don’t fret. We’ll just have to embrace them and move on.

As someone once said, life was much simpler when blackberry and apple were just fruits!

Shut Up And Fasten Your Seat Belt

This appeared in The SA Times on Saturday.

At the ticket counter:
"Hi, here is my e-ticket and I need to check in 2 bags."
"That'll be $40 extra, $20 per bag. It's our new charge in case you haven’t heard. And yours is the middle seat in the last row. Happy bouncing."

At the security check-in:
"Miss, can you take the hood off your baby's head and shake it? Can you take her socks off and shake them as well? We need all your baby food to pass our vapor test so please step aside. And don't look at me like I'm crazy."

At the gate:
"Any chance I can get an upgrade? I am a platinum member."
"No, miss, the flight is full. Next."
"Liar."

On board a 6-hour flight, 10 minutes into the flight:
“Miss, can you please fasten your seat belt?”
“I have. Honestly. It’s hidden under my jacket so you can’t see it.”
“Miss, please I need you to fasten your seat belt.”
“Jeez, do you have x-ray vision?”

On board a 6-hour flight, 30 minutes into the flight:
"Do you offer a meal service?"
"Yes, our options for the day are a cold turkey sandwich for $5 and a crab salad also for $5."
"Anything vegetarian?"
"We had a bag of chips for $3 and a chocolate-chip cookie for $2.50."
"Anything free?"
"Water, orange juice and tomato juice. Oh and there is no charge to use the lavatory."

On board a 6-hour flight, 3 hours into the flight, while going for a stroll to kick off the numbness in your legs:
"Miss, can you return to your seat please? The captain has just switched on the 'fasten seatbelt' sign."
“But I…”
“Thank you.”

These were just routine scenarios if you were a masochist and preferred flying to walking/ driving /swimming. But lately some airlines seem to be getting more of a pain.

On board a 6-hour flight, 20 minutes into the flight:
"Hi, I don't see any magazines in the holder here. Can you please get me some?"
"Sorry, we don't keep magazines on board anymore."

On board a 6-hour flight, 45 minutes into the flight:
"Can I please get cutlery for my $5 cold turkey sandwich? I need to slice the bread off the turkey so I can turn it into a vegetarian meal."
"Sorry, your meal does not require spoons, forks or knives so they didn't come with it. We don't have any extra."
"Does not require? DOES NOT REQUIRE? But I need it."

On board a 6-hour flight, 50 minutes into the flight, watching the guy in the next seat, eating a crab salad and conversing with the air-hostess:
"My fork and knife seem to be really small for the crab pieces. Do you have anything bigger?"
"Sorry, we just reduced the sizes of cutlery to save on fuel cost."
"Are you on crack?"

Don’t give me credit for being funny or sarcastic for these are mere facts. Airlines are getting creative as they look for ways to save fuel and other costs during what is beginning to feel like a here-to-stay-forever economic downturn. Some like Japan's JAL have been shaving spoon sizes and dumping in-flight magazines in an effort to make planes less heavier and save fuel. These airlines think it's going to make a huge difference. I'm sure they've run some numbers to back this decision.

Call me naive, but wouldn't it make more sense if the weight limit for carry-on luggage were to be reduced a bit? Wouldn't that account for a lot more difference than reducing spoon sizes? Perhaps they can impose personal weight limits on passengers. For men, maximum body weight should not exceed 190 pounds and for women, 130. Wait, I see the point... they don't want to trouble the already distressed passenger any more by imposing further limits.

Aaaaah. Never mind. You can always carry your own magazines and your own vegetarian food. Maybe you can carry your own forks and knives too now. Lemme know what happens ;)

Fly high.

Fashion Dissection – Oscar’s Best and Worst Dressed

This appeared in The SA Times on Saturday.

Last weekend was that time of the year again... that time for which the biggest fashion houses in the world burn the candle at both ends for months just so a beautiful body can flash their outfit to hundreds of lenses, that time for which the most popular personal trainers do everything short of making their celeb clients faint on the Pilates mat, that time that makes or breaks personal stylists and image consultants, that time when lipo/ botox/ lip-enhancement/ dermatology/ cosmetology clinics are in full bloom, that time where celebrities undergo maximum public scrutiny and despite what they'd like to believe sometimes go wrong and that time where anyone and everyone with even a semi-decent taste in fashion feels compelled to opine about those unapproachable dresses, just like me. Oh and it was that time of the year when the best talent in Hollywood gets felicitated for their work but that's a minor detail.

Analyzing extravagant dresses is no child's play and one need not attempt it alone for fear of momentary lapse of judgment. So I and a dear friend Manavi were at it from start to finish giving it all we had. Without further ado, here's our collective opinion of the Oscars 2010 fashion.

Of the best dressed list, coming in at #6 for us is the very beautiful Vera Farmiga, the actress of ‘Up In The Air’. I loved the movie, loved the book more than the movie, loved George Clooney more than the book and I couldn’t help loving her. So call me biased but if there’s anyone who can rock an outfit that looks like a giant present or a fan or an origami project with a gazillion ruffles, it is her. The other cutie from ‘Up In The Air’, new kid on the block, Anna Kendrick, wore a ruched champagne colored gown. It was elegant and just right for her. That’s our #5 pick. #4 was Sandra Bullock who wore a sparkling silver fluid gown by Marchesa. Her silky hair paired with red lips was just the accessories she needed. Coming in at #3 is Amanda Seyfried who wore a fabulous Armani strapless gown. Rarely does one get to see such an incredible dress on someone so young. #2 was Rachel McAdams in a pink, blue and green water color dress that crisscrosses at the waist from Elie Saab haute couture. Very feminine and romantic number that she pulled off effortlessly. But Jennifer Lopez stole the show with her Armani Prive iridescent pale pink silk organza evening gown with a side train accented by Swarovski crystals. Where do I start about that side train? It was just ooh la la. If our Bebo doesn’t end up in something similar in the next 6 months, I’d be surprised.

I must start the Worst Dressed List with the absolute worst dressed. Zoe Saldano of ‘Avatar’ wore a silvery sequin bodice and a three tiered skirt with lilac, purple and black. It was wrong on so many levels. Love the blue girl but she needs a new stylist pronto. The 2nd worst dressed for me was Charlize Theron. It was a good color on her but the train on that dress made it look like a different outfit altogether. The actual worst part was that the train that matched pink rosettes on each breast. Unfortunately, the eyes went straight to those rosettes. And to think that she has a face to die for. Mo'Nique came in at #3. She wore a ruched electric-blue sheath, something, pardon me Mo'Nique, is something I think I've seen week after week at Macys and Nordstrom and every other dress shop in the mall. Utterly butterly ordinary. But the biggest disappointment of the night came from Sex and the City gal Sarah Jessica Parker. One to experiment a lot with her looks, this time I think she got it wrong. She wore a metallic-embellished Chanel couture gown but the fit was wrong, the hair looked like a giant bagel and she looked bland. Don’t blame her coz it was quite a challenging dress. Our #5 pick was Actress Diane Kruger with a black ruffly collar on a halter top dress with a swath of ruffles from waist to shin. Ugh. I’m going to hell for saying this because it stains my loyalty but I have to say it. Coming in at #6 is writer/actress Tina Fey who wore a Michael Kors black sequin-covered, one-shoulder gown with a sexy slit. It was a good gown alright, but didn’t do her justice.

Oh and in case you care, guys kept it simple, varying between single and double breasted tuxedos and navy/grey/black colors on the tux.

On that note, it’s a wrap from me. See you next week.

Polish your wit with Twitter

This appeared in The SA Times today.

I stumbled upon a few amusing facts this week. First, I came across an article in Wall Street Journal about fashion label Gucci’s legacy and learnt Mr. Gucci’s first name; Guccio. The man was named Guccio Gucci! Interesting is all I could mumble. Then I caught an episode of ex-politician Rahul Mahajan’s bride hunt show. What an amazing set of girls to choose from; none of whose IQ seems to be more than 79 (borderline deficiency). One actually thought Obama’s full name was Obama Bin Laden. To think that someone needs to go on national TV to find that. Brilliant. Then I saw Karan Johar winning a ‘Social Icon of the Year’ award at the NDTV Indian of the Year award show simply for using Twitter extensively. It gives the rest of us hope when we’re hooked onto seemingly useless addictions.

Which brings me to my most interesting experience of the week. Out of a desperate measure to do something entertaining on one dull evening, I logged onto Twitter after a good 6 months and got blown away this time around.

Being an ardent Facebook user, I believed I was doing a decent job of being virtually in touch with all my friends and family. It even bordered on obsessive-compulsive disorder on some days. Left me with little time and inclination to get into yet another relationship with yet another social networking site. I’m nothing if not loyal or so I thought until Twitter crushed that notion. I watched myself get entangled into a Twitterverse of tweets from a variety of names and faces, some I identified as popular from the world of politics/ literature/ movies/ fashion/ media and some others I didn’t recognize because they were ordinary virtual people, or Tweeple, just like me, but were interesting nevertheless. It’s been three days since then and I haven’t rested.

You probably know the real difference between the two already. Facebook is Facebook where as Twitter is largely used by people to speak their minds in 140 words mostly about current on goings. The best part, you can follow anyone and vice-versa without any egos, social standing or stardom coming in the way. I’ve even got the 44th President of United States following me. That’s right, Barack Obama follows me on Twitter even when I don’t follow him. And it’s a verified account of his so don’t you laugh it out. But it’s no biggie because he follows some 700k people. See what I mean? It’s a dangerous place though because it’s so easy to lose your way if you have a tendency of getting swayed.

You’ve most likely heard the rest but here’s what’s got me hooked. Wit. I just see a lot more wit on Twitter than all the other sites I am on, combined. Attribute it to the restriction on the tweet length or the exemplar set by some on the site but it’s hard to deny. One of my favs on it is Rahul Khanna. Here’s one from him. “Today I discovered there really is no dignified way to react when painters suddenly appear on scaffolding outside your bathroom window.”

It’s also been entertaining to discover how a sub-section of the Indian media, Indian politicians and Indian celebrities have started a mutual admiration society on Twitter. Barkha Dutt praises Karan Johar, Karan Johar praises Abhishek Bachchan, Abhishek Bachchan praises Shah Rukh Khan, Shah Rukh praises Shashi Tharoor, Shashi Tharoor praises Barkha Dutt and to be different, Shobhaa De trashes them all. I wonder if PR agents will be extinct in the near future since everyone talks to everyone on such platforms completely eliminating the need for a middle man.

For more wit, hit me up on Twitter (randomwalkers) and follow who I follow or give me a few suggestions. See ya?

A Splash Of Color

This appeared in The South Asian Times today.

Whether you have any new tricks up your sleeve this Holi festival or not, many do. The women prisoners of Tihar jail have made edible handmade colors that you can play Holi with. Edible - now that's revolutionary. You won't have to devour that someone who carelessly thrusts a bout of color in your mouth. Parachute hair oil is running ads with a special hair oil that won't damage your hair despite gulal. Our gals would be so relieved. The number one cause of depression amongst the fair sex post Holi day always seems to be damaged hair. And the Mayor of Mumbai has promised the residents extra water supply on the d-day. How we all need those endless showers and incessant scrubbing to wash it all off. Very thoughtful gift.

The colors of Holi, by its very definition, seems like an oxymoron to me. White, the purest and most colorless of all colors, being the unspoken dress code, is predominant on this day. I always wondered why people would want to ruin their whites. But what other color can take a multitude of color so well? What other color can make the other colors sparkle so much?

There is a variety of elements to Holi. Something for everyone. No wonder it's one of the most popular festivals. The elderly enjoy going in circles around the sacred fire and narrating its significance and stories to the young lot, the young ones love getting drenched in colored water and returning the favor to their counterparts, the youngest ones enjoy silly games like water balloons fights and related pranks and the festival even tends to bring out the worst from the violent and evil souls who get away with casually dragging unsuspecting strangers into it. But it’s all good. After all, what is Holi without a few street fights?

I have so many memories of Holi… some I think of fondly and some others, not so much. I still remember slapping a little gutsy boy who'd taken the liberty of drowning me in a tank filled with some yucky foul smelling color that stained my skin for days. How cool would it be if he still remembered? And we all know a neighbor’s kid who would invariably return bruised from all those water balloons that he would easily become a target of by random people. Of course seeing the uncles lose their sanity along with sips of bhang was entertaining to say the least and I’m being mighty polite. But my most favorite one was in the land of colors, Rajasthan. The glorious Krishna temple of Nathdwara was lit up beautifully, the bright neons that delightfully draped all the Rajasthani women and adorned the heads of local men added a lovely touch and heaps of colors brought out on silver trays were soon in the air making every face in the crowd indistinguishable. Folk music in the background was chocolate slivers on the cake.

Holi is a festival that unites like no other. Once the color is on, all bets are off unless you can tell one person’s smile from another. Whether you’re celebrating Holi at a temple or at a beach on foreign soil or on a crowded street in India, I hope it brings you immense bliss and joy. I’ve been letting the Holi Garba flyers just lay on the floor – but that’s an option. Perhaps I’ll just dab an extra dose of the blue shimmery eye shadow that I’m so in love with and give the colors a pass this year.