I wanna Have babies

I wanna have babies. I have been getting these sharp tugs somewhere near my heart every time I see a baby, or a kitten or a puppy. There are several small babies in my building and often while leaving for work or coming back from work I come across one or the other in the elevator. The way they look at you, trying to drink you in wholly, eyes wide and sharp; the way they smile mildly when you smile at them and the way they giggle if you try to play peek-a-boo with them.


At work when colleagues discuss their children and how all their weariness is taken away from them by just one glimpse of their children in the evening, I feel those pangs. I am dying to hold a baby. None of my close friends have had babies though some are planning for one this year. My younger brother is getting married in November this year, but they are still too young to have a baby.


My partner & I have discussed surrogate mothers and other such options available to us same sex partners. But we are waiting to reach a station in our lives. My immigration to Canada, my partner's career stability, my career in Canada - there are so many uncertainties in our lives, its just not the right environment or time for having a baby. But, how do I deal with my heart.

I wanna have babies.

Good Design IX - Vero & Marrakesh

I am quite unable to think of anything to write about. Of course there are so many things I can write about, but when I start thinking about them, it just does not happen.

I am showcasing two marvelous products - both suitable for your bathroom but different from each other. One is a contemporary western European design and the other is a reminiscent of the Middle-Eastern heritage.


Vero wall hung toilet is as straight-lined as a toilet made of vitreous china can get. Designed by the German design masters - Seiger Designs for Duravit, Vero is a modern bathroom range. The toilet comes with a soft closing seat & cover and is priced somewhere around 38000 Rs. An essential for a modern apartment.


Marrakesh is a part of the Kohler Artistic Edition range of products. The picture shows the Marrakesh counter-top, the Marrakesh undercounter basin and the Marrakesh Tap. Priced at 300000 upwards, this exquisite piece of art is meant for only select residences.

Breaking up is never easy, I know

It was a promising relationship. For both of us it was a first experience and yet we knew that it will work out fine. We had our ups and downs; personally I had to go through a lot of adjustments. My parents were dead against this relationship. They thought I am being used. My friends were happy for me.

With each passing year our relationship grew stronger. We became one. Everywhere we went, people used to see us as one.

All this while, there were problems and shortcomings from both the sides and both of us were adjusting enough to accommodate the other. Then somewhere along the road dissatisfaction crept in. It continued eroding my faith. I started considering a break up because it was affecting me adversely. I could see my dreams and plans being washed away by the tidal wave of expectations and disappointments. I felt sad. I had given my sweat and blood to this relationship.

I started seeking help elsewhere. I started looking for someone else. I killed all my guilty pangs ruthlessly and continued looking of that perfect someone.

My search was not hidden from others for long. Our’s is a small world and all of us have met each other at some point or the other - directly or in Orkut’s language - connected indirectly through friends. I was approached by someone I had known for as long as I had been in this relationship. Both of us hesitated for a short while, but the more we met , the more we realized that how well we match each other. I was afraid of the consequences. I knew it very well that this is going to be a very messy break up. Arrangements were made so I could move out without any untoward event.

Finally after three years of togetherness I bid goodbye to my last job and joined the new company on 5^th July. Fortunately my ex-employer took it nicely and I moved to my new assignment without much of a problem.

One Fine Month

It all began with the phone call from Toronto. The owner of our rented accommodation refused to sign a new lease and asked us to find another arrangement as soon as possible. Apparently he found a buyer who was willing to buy his place at the current inflated price. With all the problems we have gone through just because some wealthy investor wanted to make some more money, I hope his place doesn’t fetch him even his cost.

So, we started our search for another place. Just Dial was dialled to and after several runs of “eat-all-you-want-to-eat and then use-our-fat-looser” an irritating fellow came online who was more interested in confirming my e-mail id and telephone number than helping me with my query. We listed the estate agents in our area and began calling them. First thing that we clarified over the phone was that we will not give more than one month’s rent as brokerage.

We were looking for something within our current locality, thanks to all the strings this locality has attached to us - the gym membership, DVD club membership, Broadband internet connection of which another 7 months are left to be consumed, and walking distance to 4 multiplexes and two malls. And after looking at several depressing apartments we found our divine-heavenly-lovely apartment. It is on the fourteenth floor of a tower and the windows open in two directions (South & West). West facing apartment was a condition put in by A. It is always windy and since it is not next to several construction sites like our last apartment, the dust level is also low. We loved it. It just needed several power points and switch boards and some wood-work. We made up our mind and began talking to the owner for a long term lease. We are in India only till mid 2009 and we do not intend to go through another move.

That was the beginning of the ordeal. We paid one month’s rent as token money to the owner and he promised that the painting of the apartment will start soon. We relayed this information to our Canadian landlord and asked for an extension on our stay beyond the leave and license period so that we could move in to an already painted house. The extension was granted and was termed as final.

The owner left town and we came to know about this through a sms which told us that the estate agent is arranging for the painting and fumigation and that we should coordinate with him. We tried. We tried hard. We tried harder, but just couldn’t get through to him. Every time we called his pathetic mobile number (totally without any rhyme or reason...just a jumble of numbers, so difficult to remember) we had to endure Himesh Reshamiya droning in our ear. If I had enough money, I’d pay him to shut up and stay at home and if that would not stop him from torturing people, I’d just buy every record company in the town and then see where would he go and do that thing he thinks is singing. So, the estate agent had done a disappearing act on us.

Bewildered beyond our imaginations, we tried contacting the owner to appraise him of our grave situation. He was in Pune, attending his brother’s marriage. He managed to get hold of the agent over the phone and asked him to do the needful. Several more panicky calls and reshamiya induced tortures later the work was finished. I am not going to start on the quality of work done. We Indians do not take any pride in what we do. A painter doesn’t mind if does a sloppy job as long as he gets his wages; a carpenter would rather make sure that the work goes on and on and on so that he could make more money, fuck the convenience and happiness of the job giver. So, the painting was finished, but the fumigation was not. We had large mirrors that had to be put on the walls in the living room. We wanted to finish all this work before moving in, so we arranged with the broker to be at the apartment when we come with the movers. I went out in the sun and arranged for some movers and a carpenter to dismantle the mirrors from our old apartment and to take it to the new apartment. The broker promised to be there with the keys. We brought the 4 mirrors (each 6 feet by 3 feet) and the wood to the new building. But guess what? Yes you guessed it right. Here’s the detailed version. The broker was not there. His phone switched off. The guards at the new building didn’t allow the mirrors and the wqood to be loaded in the passenger lift. We were asked to wait till five in the evening, when the luggage lift was started. It was four in the afternoon and the movers started making faces. We wanted to take the stuff at least to the 14^th floor with the help of the movers and keep it beside the door. Frustrated and totally annoyed with the circumstances, I tried reasoning with the guards. No success. We stood there waiting for the asshole of an agent, but no news. Frantic and angry calls to the owner were of no help. Just when I was almost ready to break down, the movers decided to start their act. They wanted to leave immediately and I kept looking at the clock. Cutting it short, we transported the mirrors to the 14^th floor past five and kept them outside our door. That’s when we decided that the agent needs to be taught a lesson.

Our last day to empty the old apartment arrived and we wanted to move. The signing of the agreement had been carried out and the broker was supposed to do the franking and submitting the leave and license copy to the new building society for ratification. Obviously, all this did not happen. Dear broker asked for the brokerage upfront before he did any of this. Frustrated and annoyed beyond our limits, we told him what we thought of him and his sorry ways. Bad thing! Never take a panga with a broker unless you are confident that the owner is on your side. Ours wasn’t.

We had a tug-of-war between egos and the broker’s won. We had to pay him. The society said we can not move unless all the formalities have been carried out and we have been introduced to the general committee on the coming Sunday. If killing was not illegal/unlawful I would have had a handful of deaths on my hand that day. The Chairman of the society took an instant disliking towards us, probably because we spoke our mind and didn’t accept his dictums without a word. Another worldly wisdom, try and avoid confrontation with the society officials and specially the chairperson. After a lot of arguments and pleadings later we were allowed to move in to our new apartment.

It’s almost a week now. The house is almost set. We are still recovering. The internet has still not been shifted because the building manager is on leave and the approval-to-carry-out work application is lying in his office. No internet, no cable and every time we use our surround sound, the guard is at the door - we are living in Mumbai. Our old bai could not start working for us immediately as she did not have a NOC from the society office.

Have we started missing the bureaucracy so much that we are creating similar things in our backyard?

Fucking 20 Kgs!!!

I have a grudge against all the airlines. If nothing else, they can single handedly end my dress-and-dazzle aspirations.

I am going to Germany. For about 10 days. Colleagues from all over the world will be coming and then there will be tonnes of other visitors from all the 10000 countries across the world. I am supposed to dress in business suits on 5 working days. I am carrying 3 suits, half a dozen shirts and as many neck ties. Additionally I have to pack casual and semi casual clothes for all the social events. These things apart, I have to pack clothes to wear when I am not meeting clients or preening my social skills. Then there are toiletries - deo, perfume, shampoo, conditioner, lense solution, hair remover, after shave lotion, shaving foam, moisturiser and similar stuff. Not to forget undergarments and body warmers; pullovers and jackets - it's fucking cold out there. All was well till I decided to weigh the bag. The free allowance is 20 Kgs and the number on the weighing scale took the life out of me. It was 59. I started cussing and cribbing about the unfair airline regulations. How is one supposed to pack sufficiently for a long trip across the world and at the same time keep it under 20 Kgs?

I started going through the items to see what could be left out, but the difference was so fucking large, it left me almost numb. Just then I realized that the fucking scale is in pounds. Long breathe of relief!

As it turned out I was not all that heavily packed; it was just 26 Kgs. I managed to close the bag at 23 Kgs. Since I am not taking much in my cabin luggage, I will ask the clerk at the check-in counter to let it go. And thanks to this false alarm I got to know that You are supposed to cough up fucking 30 Euros for every additional kilo of excess baggage. Thank god that this is mostly at the discretion of the check-in clerk. I hope there's a pretty girl at the check-in counter and she falls for my smile.

Fat Loss - Not Weight Loss

I was going to name this post 'Date with the Nutritionist' but then I remembered the phrase she kept jabbing at me and couldn't think of a better title for the post.

This Sunday while others were still lazing in their beds, I was up and ready to go and see my nutritionist. Before I begin talking about the date, a little something on my physical state. I have been putting on weight and lately everyone I meet has been telling me so. It's most infuriating when colleagues and clients ask if work load has gone down (when the work load has gone wild, it's fucking me from all sides). I am a natural lazy and gyms just don't help cause my determination is ever faltering. Motivation comes in gulps and spurts when I meet some hot client or any fit random stranger. But my laziness overcomes such paltry hurdles easily. Being in a relationship with a person who adores you and loves you no matter how you look can be detrimental for health - specially individuals who suffer from low self discipline and lack of determination.

So, I joined this new gym...third time in three years and this time I paid for just the first month. The nutritionist called me on Sunday to design my food and to set me on the right path. The first thing that she corrected me about is the fact that we need to loose fat and not weight. Our body weight comprises of -
1) Bones
2) Muscles
3) Muscle organs
4) Blood
5) Water
6) Fat

So, smaller numbers on the weighing scale should result from reduction in fat. A normal/fit human male should have 8 to 12% fat in his body. An athlete usually has 5 to 7% fat. My fat percentage is a staggering 21.5%. Under normal circumstances a news like that would have send me in depression. Anyhow, I gathered my wits and started listening to her with undivided attention.

She made me realize how stupid and moronic I have been so far -

* I have been guzzling cartons of Juice under the impression of replenishing my bodily nutrient requirements.
* I have been gorging on Salamis every morning thinking "it's as good as steamed meat, how fattening can it be?"
* Just because I am eating multi-grain or brown bread, it is okay to eat more than 4 at a time.
* Eating deliciously cooked pulses is enough for my daily protein requirement and it won't harm if I help myself to it more than twice at a time.
* Honey is a safe and healthy option for sugar.

Post Sunday I have evolved as a much aware person. So what if I am still finding more and better reasons for not going to the gym. Now I am eating proper.

No simple carbs like sugar, honey, jaggery & fruit juices. Our body gets more than enough sugar from other sources. We need not take more of it.

Moderate use of complex carbs like grains, fruits, potatoes etc.

Saturated fats not good at all, no matter how good they taste. Butter, ghee, coconut oil and palm oil are the easily identified and freely consumed saturated fats (frozen at room temperature). We consume enough hidden saturated fats through our consumption of sausages, bacon, salami, cakes, cookies, pastries, chocolates and cheese.

Unsaturated fats to be used for cooking. best oils are Olive, Sesame & Mustard.

Our body's daily protein requirement is double the weight of our body in grams. For example if A is 75 Kgs, he requires 150 gms of protein daily. Specially if one is working out.

Eat 5-6 small meals spread throughout the day instead of 2-3 large meals and never miss the breakfast, ideally taken at around 8 in the morning.

I am not as regular with the timings of the meals , but am certainly watching what I am eating. Thus I begin my journey on the long road to slimdom.

Bridge to Terabithia

We decided to wake up early on the sunday morning instead of sleeping in so that we could watch the morning show of Bridge to Terabithia without being ripped off. Ninety rupees a ticket is a cool deal. So, there we were ready to immerse ourselves into a fantasy land, full of mysterious creatures and magical beings, Terabithia.

Two hours later we came out of the theatre with a definite grudge against Walt Disney. The promotions were totally misleading. Its clear that I have not read the book nor did I have any inkling about it's plot. I liked the movie, but I was not expecting it to be the way it was. It was like watching Big Fish or Finding Neverland as opposed to Harry Potter or Narnia.

The movie's been made nicely and the young actors have done a superb job. Specially, Bailee Madison as the adorable younger sister May Belle. There's a sad twist towards the end and it leaves you feeling even more betrayed. I guess I would have liked it more if the trailers were made to sell the movie as a genre that it turned out to be as opposed to belonging to the genre of fantasy movies.

Do see the movie, but do not expect a magical kingdom and fairy creatures.

Flashback 1 - Year 1998

1998 - A very significant year in my otherwise non-existent gay life. That is the year when I moved away from my parents and stayed in a hostel. That's the year I had my first brush with internet. That's the year I realized that it is okay to be gay. That's the year I bloomed. A late bloomer but a quick learner and I was already looking for people to meet.

The starry eyed small town guy that I was, I had a very rosy and romantic picture of my gay life in my head. Strangely, till a few months ago I used to spent hours and hours mourning about 'my cursed life'. Internet definitely played a very important role in my life. So, I was talking about the 'romantic' me. After the first few weeks of browsing through various websites, I got down to the business of finding real people. Internet at that time used to cost around 120 Rs per hour in an air conditioned cafe and any where between 60 to 90 Rs in a normal cafe. I used to save up all my pocket money for those pilgrimages. I stopped buying books or music. I stopped watching movies. Those couple of hours spent in cyber cafes were like bliss...like investments towards a happily married life.

After searching for like ages I found e mail IDs of three guys based in my town. I remember the walk back from the cyber cafe after this little discovery. I was happy at finding some real people in my own town and at the same time I was quite agitated and distressed because I was not able to write to them right away due to lack of time. I was back at work the next day and wrote three lovely and long mails to these three wonderful guys.

Guy one had a very long profile where in he had mentioned that he is 29, a dancer, romantic, and blah and blah and more blah. He sounded like a well placed and settled in life kinda guy.

Guy two was a college goer who was looking for like minded people to hang out with.

Guy three had no information on his profile except for his email id, to which one was supposed to write for responses that would change their life.

The first one to reply was the romantic dancer. His response to my mail was dripping with honey. I was a 19 year old guy who had received a response from another guy, possibly boy-friend material, and the guy seemed to be pretty interesting; more importantly he seemed interested in me. I was like, wow! is this how it is going to begin?

We fixed to meet on the coming Saturday at his home. I was a bit scared about going to his place but my excitement at finally getting to meet another gay human being suppressed whatever inhibitions I had. The left side of my brain submitted meekly to the pressures from my entire body. I convinced myself that a proper conversation can take place only in the comfort and privacy of a house. I kept imagining various situations and how I'd react to his romantic advances. I was already half way in love with him. My prince charming was very tall, about 6,2; broad shouldered and toned, not too buffed up; a wide grin that traveled up to his eyes and lit every thing up; floppish hair that kept falling on his eyes and he would brush them away from time to time; he'd open door and electrify me with his smile and then he'd lift me up in his arms and take me in to his room...where we would sit all day long, sipping coffee and talking about our lives; our child hood, our aspirations, dreams and our expectations from life. I had it all pictured in my head.

The big day came and I spent hours in selecting the clothes to put on. I wanted to dress up and at the same time did not want to give away the fact that I had spent any time on it. I finally managed to put on some clothes and left for his place. It was only after I reached his lane that I started sweating profusely. I couldn't muster enough courage to go up to his gate and press the call bell. Almost 15-20 minutes of fidgeting around and indecision later I managed to press the door bell. My heart of beating so loud I had difficulty listening to anything else. I kept wiping my hands on my trousers. My fluttering heart kept expecting its prince charming to open the door and lift me in his arms ....any moment now. And then the door opened....and I fell from his arms ...on to the floor.

I had not prepared myself for what I saw in front of me. I saw a middle aged guy, probably 35-40, short, almost bald, a pot belly the size of Gujarat, a smile that showed his paan stained uneven teeth and dressed in a beige silk kurta and white chudeedaar pajamas. I couldn't manage to keep the smile on my face, and if I could picture myself at that point of time, I'd look heavily constipated. But he refused to be fazed by the look on my face. He took my hands and lead me inside. I was dizzy and too confused to react. I let him take me to where ever he wanted. By the time I gained some composure I realized we were entering his bedroom and he was babbling about AC not working and blah-di-blah. Then all of the sudden we were sitting side by side on his bed; one of his hands on my thigh and the other massaging my shoulder. I found myself incapable of even making small talk and he definitely didn't want much talking.

I kept telling myself that I should get up and leave. That was not what we were supposed to do. We were supposed to TALK! Where was the fuckin coffeeeeee? And does he not brush his teeth? His breath stinks! and that's when I realized that he was slobbering up and down my cheek and at the same time trying to pull my face towards him.

I finally managed to untangle myself from the 'dancer'. The look on his face was priceless. He looked at me as if I have suddenly grown some horns on my head. I bolted towards the door and was out of it before he could spell "What?"

I had many thoughts, many lessons to file away in my head...

More to follow...

Good Design VIII - Gherkin by Norman Foster

This building in London, designed by Lord Norman Foster is considered a modern architectural marvel. The design is eye-catching, unusual but what amazes me more is the execution of the design.

OMG!

Something reminded me of my first brush with homosexual content on the internet. I was 19, living in a big small town of Uttar Pradesh. Internet was a rare commodity at that time and there were dinky little cyber cafes that charged as much as 120 Rs. per hour. Thankfully, they also came with wooden cubicles - so once inside the cubicle, you were isolated from the world and there was nothing between you and your computer screen. I was a super confused kid. I did not have access to any literature pertaining to homosexuality.

So, one fine day, when I had managed to muster up enough courage, I entered a cyber cafe and claimed one of the cubicles. With sweaty hands I typed the word 'gay' in the search engine. That alone made my heart beat faster. The search result showed first ten of over hundred thousand pages and I was like "what?? So many pages?" My heart had started panting with anticipation. I clicked on the very first site - 'gay.com' and waited for the page to load. Nothing had prepared my heart for what I saw next. It was beating so hard that I couldn't hear anything else except it's thunderous beats. It wanted to leap out and that was not the only problem. I had an instant erection. The old gay.com banner had pictures of some young white guys in various stages of undress - that was the first time I had set my eyes upon such delicious men who looked like they were open to the idea of a quick romp in the sack. I sat there staring at the page.

A little later I wisened up and started searching for specific things. The second round of surprise came when I bumped into the GB classifieds and saw several thousand guys registered there.

Those were the days of innocence and I still smile at my naivette.

Indian Architects & Interior Designers

I have run out of things to write about. Actually, upon pondering about it for some time, I come to the conclusion that I have run out of the desire to write. If you want to write, you can write about anything. You don't need a burning issue to write about; not a excellent movie to review; no satires; no rejoinders. Of course these are the things good and successful blogs are made of, but when we talk about writing - it could be about a bad experience on the road while driving back home or about driving back home (without any thing extraordinary or remarkable to write home about). You can just ramble about something, like I am.

I tried writing about various things, but the gas ran out within the first few paragraphs. I have several saved drafts, waiting for their turn to be completed. I doubt it will happen any time soon if at all. I tried writing about personal life, but shelved the idea when I saw I was divulging more than I should. After all the fact that this blog is supposed to be shrouded in anonymity shouldn't be rendered useless by a post that talks too much and too openly about me and my life. I tried writing about non-topics, but failed miserably over there as well. Then I cam up with this idea.

I work closely with architects and interior designers. I have made several friends over the past few years that I have been in this industry. This is a profession that gives immense power to these individuals, almost Godly, as far as some companies are concerned. For most people they mean nothing. Most of us live our lives without ever coming in touch with an architect or an interior designer (professionally). Working so closely with them and seeing their power in play, I have come to understand their strength and I intend to bring forth the nature of their power in this post.

Architecture is one of the oldest professions in the world. All around us, the buildings, the townships, the bridges, the towers, the monuments - are the handywork of some architect. The Colosseum in Rome, Taj Mahal in Agra, The palace of Versailles in France, The Pyramids in Egypt, The Ajanta, Ellora & Elephanta Caves, Qutub Minar in Delhi, The Pantheon in Rome, The Temples of Olympian Gods in Greece, The Khajuraho temples and The Grand Moselum in Istanbul - all of these and more.

These are of course works of some very talented human beings who are no more between us. Today, the world has architects by the truck load. Every city has some or the other architectural institute. In Mumbai alone we have JJ, Raheja, Rizvi, Rachana Sansad and a few more, which keep spewing forth more and more architectural aspirants. The products of these schools go on to slave under some reknowned name for a couple of years and then break out and start their own practice. This is an aspect about which I intend to speak later, so will move on to other things.

There are very few names on international level which have transcended their national boundaries and have made their place in the annals of Architectural History.

Some of the most famous names include -

Le Corbusier (1887 - 1965) - More famous in India as Architect of modern Chandigarh.
Edwin Lutyen (1869 - 1944) - Most of the Govt. Buildings in Delhi, including the Rashtrapati Bhawan
Louis Kahn (1901 - 1974) - IIM Ahmedabad & The Bangladesh Parliament.
Norman Foster (1935) - Most celebrated living British Architect. Works wonders with his architecture. Some of the major landmarks in London can be credited to him.
Zaha Hadid (1950) - This Iraqi-British architect is a personal favorite. Her buildings are literally out of this world.
Phillippe Starck (1949) - This French Architect has made his name in product design as well. He is another personal favorite.

Now, lets talk about the power of an architect. As things stand today, an architect plans and designs a structure and decides the why, how, when and what of any project - be it the interiors of a small apartment or the construction of a 80 storey tower. I don't envy their position, because it is a very painfully long and detailed process. Imagine specifications involved in the interiors of a small apartment. We will list some of the items that need to be finalised -

1) Paint - Finish, colour etc. There are several multi-billion dollar corporations vying for their attention (Asian Paints, ITC, Berger, Nicholas Piramal etc).
2) Cement - ACC, Birla, JP etc.
3) Marble, Tiles (Floor, wall, textured tiles, plain tiles, imported (from China or Europe), or wooden flooring (real wood panels, or laminated panels) - Endless list of names - Tau, Graffitti, Roca, Grescasa, Refin, Bisazza, Pergo, Quick Step etc.
4) Wires and cables, lighting fixtures, switches etc - again several MNCs are fighting every day for their attention. We will not even mention the local players, cause putting them in the picture means the numbers go wild. Schneider, Clipsal, LeGrand, Anchor, Roma etc.
5) Door handles, hinges, door stoppers, door closers, locks etc - D Line, Dorma, Hafele, Hettich, Yale, Assa Abloy etc.
6) Sanitary ware, bathtubs, shower trays, shower cubicles, Taps & Faucets, Shower panels etc - Duravit, Hans Grohe, Grohe, Dorn & Bracht, Villeroy & Boch, American Standard, Kohler, Toto, Roca, Vitra, Hansa, Keramag etc.
7) Furniture - readymade or made to order, different veneers, laminated veneers or real wood veneers.
8) Kitchen Cabinets and automation systems - Poggen Pohl etc.
9) Fabrics for furnishings.
10) Air-conditioning.

Likewise there are N number of decisions to be made and N cube numbers of options available. The permutations & combinations are mind boggling and I have just listed a few basic items.

The second point which I tried to make here is that these architects hold the key to untold riches for these corporations. Imagine this - Sahara declares it's ambitious Sahara City project which involves making large townships in the B & C class cities across the country. Single such township will have close to 20,000 apartments. That's developement of almost 15 million squarefeet of built up area and to this add the shopping complexes, malls, hospitals, schools, and similar buildings. An architect just needs to specify the name of the product/brand in the project master plan. Most companies go to great lengths to secure those specifications.

For Mumbaites, Hiranandani Gardens is a very good example. Architect Hafeez Contractor and Hiranandani Builders together have built a superb township and turned a forsaken land into prime real estate. Hafeez Contractor is probably the most famous architect in India today. The Hiranandani Gardens, The ITC Grand Central at Parel, The Atria Mall at Worli, ITC Grand Maratha Sheraton, Hyatt Regency at Sahar Rd, IL & FS and Citibank buildings in BKC, Gateway Tower in Gurgaon, All DLF Projects, Nirmal Lifestyle in Mulund, All Infosys projects - just to name a few. I have not been able to make up my mind about him. I think all his buildings are very 'grand' and striking.

I am sure many of us have read Ayn Rand's epic Fountainhead. The Fountainhead examines the life of an idealistic young architect, Howard Roark, who prefers to struggle in obscurity rather than compromise his artistic and personal vision by pandering to the prevailing taste in building design.

Most architects today do interior-designing and are fully capable of doing so. But all interior-designers may or may not be architects. Today there are many institutions which are offering interior-designing courses ranging from summer courses to 2 year long diplomas. Interior designing for these individuals is limited to re-furbishing an apartment or so. I have seen the difference in works of an architect and hobby driven interior designer. The architect can work wonders even with limited spaces and resources; I can't say this safely for interior-designers (exclusive interior-designer). One blazing example is Mrs. Twinkle Khanna-Bhatia, who also owns a life-style & interiors showroom called the White Window. They will help you chose your sofas and beds, your curtains and sheets, your paintings and other artefacts; they might suggest this light fixture from this company and that wash basin from that company. They might show you the picture of a pretty living room from the Home & Garden's latest issue and then they might copy that ditto for you in your suburban apartment. The truth of the matter is, I myself hope to do the same thing some day.

I guess I have rambled more than enough and feel much better about my blog now. Will end this post here. All the best!

How to hire an Escort

A friend of mine forwarded this to me in a mail. It is a nice read. I have edited out some really graphic parts of the article and have made changes to some other areas. Read on, it is nice.

THE CLIENT CHRONICLES – How to hire an escort?

Hiring an escort is similar to choosing a boyfriend, purchasing a new
car, and interviewing a job applicant all at the same time. It is a
complex and somewhat stressful matter and one of the best reasons to

develop and carefully maintain a stable of regulars. While novelty
can be exciting, unless you're prepared to settle for on a s&m
experience, the chances are you're going to be disappointed. Oh, s&m
means stand and model, not sadomasochism. Kind of like the crowd at
many Bombay bars & malls.

So I've decided to call upon my vast font of experience to provide you
with my own personal set of hiring rules, the rules I mostly follow
when in pursuit of novelty. But be warned, even I make mistakes and
miscalculations. However, over the years my failure rate has
significantly dropped. Years ago, only one in ten guys who "showed
up" would be keepers. Today, thanks to the application of precise
scientific principles, consumer savvy and finely honed instincts, my
success rate is up to, well, it's still one in ten. Don't
misunderstand, my success rate could be nine in ten, but when you're
enslaved to hormones and fantasy, you deceive yourself into thinking
that even though "this one" is typical of the kind of guy you should
NOT hire, you're going to get lucky and he's going to be hot. I am
weak and frequently break my own rules.

Nonetheless, if you're smarter than me, you will follow these rules
and, as a result, you will definitely increase your chances of success
and satisfaction. So, CONSUMER REPORTS, step aside, here's how to shop
wisely for an escort.

1) First and foremost, its almost a certainty that if he is
breathtakingly beautiful, he's going to bad in bed. For those of you
looking for living porn photos, this rule can be ignored. For
those of you looking for some good sex, this rule is critical.
Trouble (or lack of it) is even more likely to be the case if he asks
for a fee that is way above standard simply because he is so much more
beautiful than average. Also be wary if he's charging by the pound,
the more muscle the higher the fee. He's full of himself and assumes
that he can just stand there and admire him. The likelihood of seeing
an erection (his, not yours) is slim to none. So look for hot but
flawed. Some of you may enjoy unresponsive and cold; my advice is to
watch porn rather than waste your money on a muscle bound, Men's
Fitness cover ice queen.

2) He says he's straight. Jesus, guys, when will you learn?
However, if you're into fucking "straight" guys and he's willing to
put his ass up in the air and spread it open for you, then fine. But
if you still think you're fucking a straight man....well. ...your gift
for self-deception is even more fine-tuned than my own; and mine is
really good. But if he's really straight and you hire him, keep in
mind that he's likely to have some rules of his own: you can touch me
but don't expect me to touch you, keep your hands off my nipples,
don't come near my face and please keep your tongue in your mouth. Oh,
and my all time favourite: it's extra if you want me to remove my
underwear.

3) If he won't show a photo of his face, move on. Too many escorts
lie about their pictures and headless bodies likely tell you nothing.
And by the time you discover that he's not the body in the photo,
you're both naked and it's hard to stop. Popular excuses for this act
of deception include: I hurt my back two years ago and haven't been
able to get back to the gym...I haven't had a chance to take a new
photo since I moved to Bombay about 10 years ago and that's my
roommate's body...I can't use mine because I have a career. If he
won't show you a photo because he needs to be "discrete", "discrete"
usually means chubby, emaciated, bad skin, 39 rather than 29, or just
downright ugly. The reality is unless you're some kind of hideous
troll yourself, you shouldn't be paying for someone who should be
paying you. (Amendment: if he refuses to send a photo but very
courteously offers to leave immediately at no charge should you be
disappointed at the door, this is a good sign...but no guarantee.)
Like all of these rules, there are exceptions to this and good reasons
for not providing a photo, but it is a gamble and a gamble that will
significantly diminish your chances of success.

4) All he sends is a photo of his dick. Move on, unless you're a
serious size queen and it's huge and that's all you care about.

5) If he asks you if you're "a picture collector" hang up or block his
IMs. Let's face it, if you have access to the Internet, you have
access to more photos of hot guys than you'll ever live long enough to
view. (I know. I've been trying but the clock is ticking faster than
I can follow links.) The last thing you need is to waste your time
engaging some asshole in conversation just to score his stupid
photograph. You want to see his photograph and his face and eyes to
see if he's your type; and also for security reasons. And, once you
see the photo, if he's not your type and he flips out over your
hesitation, you've made the right decision in rejecting him. Decent
men understand.

6) Drugs and Drink. You've seen the photo, you've exchanged emails,
you've even done some instant messaging. Talk on the phone. Get a
sense of how he presents himself. If you're paying attention, you can
easily determine that he's wasted, hung over, wired, strung
out...whatever you want to call it...and unless that's what you're
into, move on quickly.

7) Talk on the phone. Explore the person a little bit before you
hire him; it's stupid, even though it seems hot, to hire someone who
is rude and indifferent. I know, I know. That can be very hot, but in
an escort it can be very dangerous and very disappointing. If you ask
a guy for rudeness and indifference and he's willing and able to do that,
great, but if he's rude and indifferent before you've clued him into
your fetishes and desires, that's not great.

8) During the phone conversation, show respect. You're talking to a
human being, not a piece of meat. Show some interest in his limits,
his desires. Try a little humour. Take the lead in this and see how he
responds. If he remains very businesslike and unresponsive to you as
a person, proceed with great caution, if at all.

9) Tell him what you want, but politely and with some initial
discretion. Do not engage in phone sex, unless he takes you there.
But you do want to be as clear as possible about what you want and
need. You can very much increase your chances of a successful and
satisfying encounter if you find yourself dealing with an escort who
shows interest in your specific desires. You can tell if he's engaged
in what you're saying. Is he asking questions? Is he "listening"? Or
are you getting a curt series of "yes", "sure", "uh-huh" and the
ultimate "whatever"?

10) If he asks for the money upfront, he's likely to be out of there
in under 15 minutes, assuming he stays at all. Demanding money
upfront usually means he's either very bitter, very angry, straight
and almost certainly a hustler and not an escort. Aha! Some of you
are wondering what the difference is between a hustler and an escort
but that's a different tale. For now, suffice it to say that you're
very unlikely to have a good time with a hustler unless you're into
mental abuse and really lousy sex, if sex happens at all. (A small
amendment to this rule: if you're seeing an escort for the first
time, it is, in my view, the decent and gentlemanly thing to leave his
money out and in a place where he can immediately see it. If he
doesn't take it until you offer it to him, that's a very good sign
that you've got a keeper on your hands.)

11) Don't hire "no shows". Being stood up by friends is barely
tolerable; in a business arrangement it is completely unacceptable.
If you hire an escort who has stood you up or arrived more than 15
minutes late, don't be surprised when he does it again, especially if
he hasn't called to say he's running late. If an escort has a
legitimate reason for standing you up, chances are he will offer to
compensate you in some way, either in terms of time or money.

12) And the most important rule of all: think with your brain, not
with your hormones. Your brain will take care of you, your hormones
will take care of themselves.

There are always going to be exceptions to every one of these rules,
and it is because of that that I keep making bad decision, thinking
that according to the law of averages, "this" one will the exception.
The truth is, according to the law of averages, "this" one will be
another disaster. So the most important rule of all is no. 12, if you
can remember. Unfortunately, amnesia is hormonal.

And a final word, The world is full of great guys who are escorting
for badly needed extra cash or because it really turns them on. But
the world is also full of hustlers, drug addicts, thieves and
assholes. These rules will hopefully help you weed them out so that
you can spend your time and your money on the good guys.

Sand In My Shoes

I have been away from the blog scene for some time. Close Talk's message about my new post gave me some inspiration. So, here I am, trying to cook up something random and interesting at the same time.

I have just returned from Goa. I had to go there for some work and since AP was at home, he accompanied me. We stayed close to Benaulim Beach which is one of the cleaner and less crowded beaches south of Colva.

Back in Mumbai, amongst the city life, this song pretty much sums up how I am feeling right now.

Two weeks away feels like the whole world should have changed,
But I'm home now, and things still look the same.
I think I'll leave it 'til tomorrow to unpack,
Try to forget for one night that I'm back in my flat.
On the road where the cars never stop going through the night,
To a life where I can't watch the sun set.
I don't have time.
I don't have time.

I've still got sand in my shoes,
And I can't shake the thought of you.
I should get on, forget you.
But why would I want to?
I know we said goodbye,
Anything else would have been confused.
But I want to see you again.

Tomorrow's back to work and down to sanity,
Should run a bath and then clear up the mess i made before i left here.
Try to remind myself that i was happy here,
Before I knew that I could get on a plane and fly away,
From the road where the cars never stop going through the night,
To a life where I can watch the sun set,
And take my time.
Take all my time.

C`est La Vie!