Nine, Ten; Big Fat Hen

A fellow member on a writer's forum, that I am part of, suggested we list out 10 of our favourite literary characters. I thought it would be a good thing to dive into memory, ponder upon all the lovely characters I have known since childhood and just have some fun.

You know it is tough to restrict to 10 so I am just going to have to axe some of the fairies and pixies I knew as a child and focus on some more recent ones (not fairies and pixies I met as an adult).


Severus Snape: From the Harry Potter series by J.K.Rowling. Yes, I love Harry and his two bum chums but I like Snape more. A complex character very well written. In the final book he comes out a hero and my heart just went out to him.


Nancy Drew: From the Nancy Drew mystery series (but of course!) I wanted to be like when growing up. She was the ultimate girl; pretty, suave, intelligent and a teenager who had her head firmly screwed on to her shoulders. And yes, she had an equally charming boyfriend too. I wanted to be just like her.


Fatty a.k.a Frederick Algernon Trotteville: From the Five Find Outers and Dog series by Enid Blyton. I wanted to be like him too. He always had lots of pocket money, he always got to do exciting suff, he always solved mysteries and I think at that time he was only 12.


Viviane Walker: From the Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood by Rebecca Wells. I only read this book recently but the character of Viviane Walker being so spunky and strong has creeped into my favourite list. She loves her kids but hates them too (you know it happens, not that you really hate them), she would die or kill for any of her other three friends who are part of the sisterhood. This character is just so real.


Sherlock Holmes: When reading the series I was so enamoured by his personality I thought I'd fall in love with him. Wit, wisdom, intelligence he had it all. Actually I should've been in love with Arthur Conan Doyle for creating such an exceptional character.


Florentyna Kane: From The Prodigal Daughter, Shall we tell the President (later editions) and also Kane & Abel by Jeffrey Archer. When I was in college Florentyna was "the" woman. I liked her so much I went ahead and created an email id for myself by that name.


Don Vito Corleone: Need I say more?

Zoya: Zoya by Danielle Steele. Oh yes, I did read a lot of Danielle Steele in high school and though I cannot stand to read them now, this character Zoya, I cannot forget. She weathered war, poverty and loss and also managed to rise above all that. I don't think I'd want to read this book again, possibly my respect for Zoya might change. But more than being my favourite she's an unforgettable character that I have come across.

Robert Kincaid: Bridges of Madison County by Robert James Waller. If a man could be any more of a man and a gentleman, it would be Robert Kincaid.

Frank Gilbreth: Cheaper by the Dozen by Frank Gilbreth,Jr and Ernestine Gilbreth Carey. The main character of this book, also he's not fictional but definitely my favourite. For the Father he is, for the slightly eccentric but fun human being he is. Well, I don't want to give out more for people who haven't read this book. But I loved this character.

So there's my ten, though it was hard making the choices.

First Day at School

I remember my first day at St.Mary's so vividly, I just love telling this tale.

I joined St.Mary's Girls School in the sixth standard, and I was all new and shiny like a pair of freshly polished boots. I think Mama scrubbed me really hard to get that effect.

This was my first school in India (yes, till I was in the fifth standard we were in Muscat, Oman)and I was not looking forward to it. I remember that Mama bought me a new pencil box that looked like a Cadbury's bar, the chocoholic I am I probably wanted to eat it then. In the box were Nataraj pencils(you know the black and red ones) all pointy, a new eraser and a pencil sharpener.
I kind of missed my previous fancy pencil box which had a magnifying glass, magnets to both the doors (yes, a two-doored pencil box), in-built pencil sharpener and little slot for the eraser to go in; I can't remember the other useless attachments it had but it was pretty and pink and smelled of strawberry. Oh yeah, poor little "my-earlier-pencil-box-smelled-like-strawberry girl".

I went to school in an auto-rickshaw which worked on a pool system. There were kids everywhere, some spilling out of the rickshaw, some inside who were jammed, some sitting and some standing in that two feet of space.

The great pearly gates, oh alright I'll stop exaggerating; I stood in front of the huge iron gates of St.Mary's Girls High School very sceptical of stepping in. I spotted a statue of Mother Mary at a distance and the good Catholic girl that I was immediately went there and asked for blessings on my first day of school.

I asked around and finally found my classroom which was on the first floor of the building. The teacher asked me to sit next to a girl; someone who I don't remember now.

Everyone was quite excited or so it seemed then, to have a new girl in the class. The girls already had their own groups and best friends and I wondered if I was ever going to fit in. My neighbour asked me, "Are you a foreigner?" Yeah, I used to get that a lot in India. I just can't believe it now, terribly brown skinned that I am (and I am proud of it)

"No, I am from Mangalore."
People thinking I was and calling me a foreigner annoyed me, always. I am proud to be an Indian.

"I am Indian. I was born in Mangalore." I had to convince some of the girls who had gathered around me.

During the break the girls took me out of class, to get some fresh air. And there was a swarm of blue and white (our school uniform, white shirt and blue pleated skirt) in a matter of seconds.

There were girls pulling my cheeks. "She's like a doll, so chubby and so pink."
Some were poking my hands. "She's so fair man. So nice no."
I really didn't know what the big deal was. It was just weird. And I won't deny it, in a way it felt good to get all the attention and not sit in a corner and worry about not making friends.
No one ever swarmed me in my previous school. I wasn't the cool girl or the pretty girl. Suddenly I was in a moment I had probably sub-conciously craved for and now that it was here I didn't know how to handle it.
So, I just smiled, extremely embarrassed, and told people that I was Indian and that my parents and whole family right from the start of the family tree, was Indian.

I had confused some who thought I was lying about being a foreigner and they thought I was at least Anglo-Indian, there surely had to be some English blood in me.

So my first day was a hit and I went back home, again in the bursting auto-rickshaw, waiting to tell Mama about my new school and confused new friends.

Still Married

After reading my previous blog, Turning 29, many were surprised about the "without my husband" line and also the jest mention of the word "divorce". There might have been a snicker or two, "I knew that marriage wouldn't last" or some with the ready tongue click and simultaneous head nod, "It shouldn't have happened to them", like we died or something.

Well, hear ye, I am still married and that too happily, may be the "happily" is attributed a little bit to the distance, since we cannot get on each other's nerves anymore. And we are separated, geographically and in the non-legal sense.

I am in London on work and he is in Bangalore. Well, he claims that I am the one who left him this time, but work calls.

On my 29th birthday I was surprised with a personalised box of Belgian Truffles, the best. It came with my name on it and also a lovely card with a message from him. That was really so sweet of him, excuse the pun.

I think I can stay a day without talking to him, but then I am on the phone the instant I get home from work. And yes, I am tired of kissing that ugly phone that sits on my dining table. That would be the most love that damn phone has gotten ever.

So save all your tears, prayers, nodding heads and clucking tongues, I am still married.

- Kavisha Pinto

Turning 29

You know what's worse before turning 30? Turning 29. Yes, I am so depressed that I am giving out my age in public, not that I have been able to hide it anyways. I never get that, "So which college do you study in?" question any more.

At 29 here I am, without my husband, (no we're not divorced yet, just living in different countries) feeling old and wrinkled.

Yes, I am a grouchy, 29 year old woman. Finally, I call myself a woman. Oh, how I loved being called a girl. Girl!

The morning of the 30th of May (yes D-day, my birthday, belated presents are most welcome), I look into the mirror and I'm sure I see extra lines around my eyes. My feet feel scaly and my hands a little wrinkly, and I definitely spotted a bald patch on my head.

With my husband not with me, I had no one to whine about the appearance of mysterious fine lines and the bright ripe pimple that popped up overnight. Those lines were probably there when I turned 28 but of course I didn't notice then. At 28 you still feel young, it's like you're not there yet, there's plenty of time until 30.

So now was the time for some damage control and to get some smooth glowing skin. Hmm, yes, smooth glowing skin doesn't happen to wait around the corner and jump at you. So I went to The Body Shop, no not to get a new body, which would've been a lot easier actually.

At The Body Shop, I looked around a bit and my head was swirling with the kind of products they had. Anti-ageing, bust firming, body scrubs made of exotic fruits, repairing creams, sensual massage oils, foot softening packs, all with the promise of making you more beautiful; notice how they always say "more beautiful", makes you believe that you are already beautiful and just need that little extra to make you look smashing hot gorgeous.

So I ask the shopping assistant what would suit me best, she started with my face.
"You can probably use the Tea tree cleanser followed with the toner. Do you use a moisturiser?"
At this point I am wondering whether I should tell her the truth at the risk of coming out, "Why the hell do you need a moisturiser" or just lie and say "Yes".
"Yes"
"Are you happy with it?"
"Yes"
"Then you can use the cleanser and toner followed by your moisturiser. I'd recommend the night cream as well for you. It will take care of the redness and blemish problem."
"Err, you think a night cream is good for my skin."
"Definitely. I sometimes don't bother with my Day Cream but I make sure I put on my Night Cream before bed."

At this point I was probably hyper-ventilating, wondering if my skin was ever going to get that smooth texture and cherubic glow. You know, they should teach you that in school; "When you turn 15 make sure you use a day cream and night cream. This will guarantee you wrinkle free exquisite skin when you turn 29."

Oh well, I had to start somewhere and soon. If I at least started at 29 some parts of my skin would hopefully be glowing when I turned 50.

So this is what I put into my basket:
A body lotion: for smooth and silky skin.
A foot scrub and a lotion: to keep my feet refreshed and revived and apparently deodorised.
A shampoo and a conditioner: which moisturises and conditions the hair, giving it shine.
A cleanser and a toner: which soothes blemished skin and reduces puffiness.
A day cream and a night cream: which also does the above but works some other magic during their respective times of application.
A face mask: which also soothes the skin in addition to cleansing it and removing impurities.

Convinced that I was on the way to younger looking skin I stepped out, leaving a very happy shopping assistant behind.

The products have now been lined neatly in my bathroom, creating a mini body shop exhibit and I just don't know where to start. I should have brought the shopping assistant home with me (in a purely non-sexual way), she definitely seemed to know a lot.

Oh what the hell, let me just take the plunge into making myself "more beautiful". Lovely skin, here I come in 3, 2, 1.