Facebook

“Rooooosh...”

“Haaaa...” takes super-human effort to get out of the incredibly comfortable spot on the sofa while watching the nth re-run of FRIENDS. “Ya Maa, what is it?”

“I’ve got a Facebook friend request. What do I do? Teach me na...”

Visions of my mad online world came crashing down. If The Parents ever see the rubbish I post or am tagged in, oh baap re!

Images of The Mother’s ‘likes’ or ‘comments’ under my pictures and statuses freaked me out!

So how do I neatly get out of this one?

“Ya Maa, I’ll teach you. We’ll make an account and all that. Just watching something on TV; will do it in the next hour.”

“Ok...”

 As I run back to FRIENDS, Mum tinkers around the net for a little more time and then signs off. I log in. Change my account settings and make sure other than ‘Friends’ no can see anything of my profile.

Then I help Mum create an account, find friends, help her around people’s walls and all that.

“Ok nice. Now let me see your profile.”

Yikes!

“Arre why do you want to see all that... let it be na. Am hungry, make something yummy na, please.”

While having lunch one day, dad asked, “Who is this boy on your profile picture? And why is he holding you like that?”

Ohmygod!

I looked up from my plate. “Who? What?” *lame way of buying time*

“I saw on your Facebook profile picture.”

“How...”

“Yes, I made an account on Facebook.” And he grins in my face like he had climbed Everest.

“Ah, that... we all were just doing some masti.”

So mum and dad are on Facebook — but not my ‘friends’ yet. There is little peace in knowing that they can see only a limited profile. Not that my FB life is crazy, just that I wouldn’t like them watching over my online antics.

There are a few of my friends who also have their parents on Facebook AND on their Friend list. I see them commenting on their children’s statuses and photos and everyone living in peace.

Makes me think of adding my parents as ‘friends’. Still hesitant.

To do or not to do?

Gajalee

The best way to keep a Parsi quiet is by putting a plate of food in front of him.

Pin-drop silence, quite literally.

Though in my case if the plate is full of crabs you won't even hear the occasional 'hmmm...'

My relatives from the land of Apro Charles and Apri Diana were here.  And it’s customary to have one meal, at least, at our favourite crab joint — Gajalee. We were talking nineteen to a dozen about this, that the other and Paris politics. But the minute we had the golden yellow batter fried Bombay ducks in our plates our cacophony just came to a halt. That hot crumbly crust, the oh-so-soft fillet and the cold chutney, make for a lovely texture in my mouth.

I have lost count of how many of these I can eat at one go. Dad once counted to 12, I think he's fibbing.

We spoke next only to place the order for the crabs. We ordered the butter garlic gravy and the tandoori ones.

Even after going to Gajalee a number of times over the past decade, I still haven't been able to figure which one I like more. Every time we go, I feel that I will finally make my decision this time. Much to my dismay, I can never choose! I just devour both and feel fab!

I never miss eating their Pomfret curry with onion kulchas. Wow!

Don’t know how they get it right EVERY time.

Ah! I leave Gajalee only wishing I could come back for my next meal there.

PS: Non-stop chatter in the car on our way back. :P

Brrr...

Bombay winters — yes, we've almost never used these words together.

But here we are in the midst of the coldest days ever...

The dash from your cosy bed to the bathroom takes super human will power.

Don't remember the last time you broke into a sweat.

New Year resolutions be damned. The mornings are spent under quilts not on walks.

Lesser motorcycles on the road.

If you do see someone riding, you wonder if they are part of India's Got Talent or something.

New found love for rickshaw rides.

You pray that you don't get a window seat while travelling in a bus or a train.

You glare at the person who switches on the fan in the train. Sacrilege.

You contemplate investing in winter wear. Seriously.

Cold cream is too cold to apply.

You use lip balm not for the gloss.

Nange paau! No way! Same for thandu paani.

Precious warm water baths.

You switch on the geyser to randomly wash your hands.

AC in the car!! AC!! Thappad.

Socks.
Screw fashion. Walk around with a pair over your hands.

Can't figure if clothes on the clothesline are wet or cold.

You chill with the building watchmen. They have a tiny angeethi.

Sun! You lovely thing!

You know you are hopelessly jobless when...

Your first meal of the day is a late (very) lunch.

The previous evening's saans-bahu reruns are the only thing on TV.

There is a sunk-in shape in the sofa where u were sitting for 7 hours straight. Even jelly sets in 2!

The maid is shocked to see you at home. Again. Today also.

Evening chai is accompanied by biscuits, farsan, bhel and another cup of chai.

You know the precise time the milkman, dhobi, and eggwalla will ring the doorbell.

When mum gets irritated and asks you to do some house work. You just dust the area around a 2ft distance of you.

Plans to start meeting friends begin at 7 p.m.

You are out of the house at 7:30 p.m.

Your watchman makes eyes at you for leaving home at this time.

You start collecting and watching any American series - Lost, HIMYM, Lie to me, Bones...

Friends who have these series are kept on a pedestal.

You try out different places for dinner - rekdi chinis, roadside tandoori, the sigdiwalla, aanda pulao, pau bhajji, dosawalla and sandwichwalla.

You start a blog called Bawi Batasha.