Mallratting in KL

V realised that it would be cheaper for us to stay a night in KL at a hotel than to fly to Bombay with a stopover at Singapore and get there on the same day. And we get to see another city.

However, thanks to me being so tired all the time, when we got to our hotel at 3 pm on Saturday all I wanted to do was sleep. Our viewing of KL turned out to be getting intimate with Suria KLC mall, located in the Petronas Towers for the simple reason that it was five minutes away from our hotel. To our credit, we pointedly ate Malay food, but again in the mall. I was almost tempted into getting a makeover by Lancome, until I realised that the one product I would want to buy, I had already ordered from a friend on a staff discount in HK. Also, Malaysia is actually really expensive for shopping becaus the ringgit is stronger than the HK dollar.

The best thing that happened to me in KL was that I discovered a shoeshop where there were shoes an incredible (cheap) prices. It’s one of those awe-inspiring days when you walk into a shop and every single shoe is something that you can buy. I had to purposefully decide that I was not going to look at closed toe pointy shoes and ballet slippers (because it’s summer and I want my toesies on display) before I got anything useful done. Amazingly the shop girls and guys are totally helpful and get you your size in any number of shoes for you to try on. And the first guy even pointed out that I could get an extra 10% discount if I was a tourist. Needless to say I was back the next day.

Sum total: 3 pairs of gorgeous new shoes. (More were not had only for lack of time).

Oh and the Petronas Towers are awesome. They just might be the most beautiful building I have ever seen. That kind of architecture rarely appeals to me but the twin towers are like glittering turrets out of a fairy-tale at night and almost gothic in the day. And they are the tallest building in the world. Bank of China might just to be demoted to second place.

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Of glitter and girls

I hate to say this because of Blood Diamond and all (and I do not mean to trivialise the problem there) but there are days when diamonds really are a girl’s best friend.

When you get out of bed having slept fitfully because you worked till 11 pm again (!) and you are growing an ulcer and you know that even red capri pants won’t do it. Because red capris are happy and you are not. So you have to wear something that will give you that lift – make you feel strong and powerful and ready to kick ass, but not radiating positivity.

Diamonds do just that.

That’s not to say, diamonds can’t be positive. They can. But they can also help you stalk your way through the world.

Which is what I was doing yesterday. And believe me did I need those diamonds. I had people nitpicking through their ass. I had the one reliable guy freaking out paranoid and quaking in fear of boss, god knows why. I had layout guy going into a zone.

The only good thing that happened was that guy who sits behind me and who did not submit his story waltzed into the office and did not throw a tantrum because his story was dropped. In fact, he seemed cheerful. Maybe he was scared I would throw a tantrum. I am beginning to think a whole lot of poeple are scared of me. The other day noticed my boss quaking when I asked him whether he had finished checking something I had asked him to read – yes, it has been pointed out that I should not be giving my boss work, but whatever! We’re short-staffed. And underpaid – except my boss, so it makes sense for him to do the extra bit.

At some point V came over – basically to pick up the crate of wine under my desk (long story! believe me I was tempted many times to open a bottle but the thought of the contents of the box being revealed and random colleagues feeling free to help themselves in times of need prevented me) – and then after waiting for me for half an hour, he left. Today, he has posted a message on my orkut page going “long time no see”.

V is my husband in case anyone is wondering.

PS: Because this post started with diamonds and then degenerated into general whining, I must clarify that mine are tiny ear studs, an an engagement ring. The engagement ring is an angst-ridden tale and for the longest time I refused to wear it. However, finally I conceded – after all, it is a diamond.

Never ending story never ends

Amazingly, or not, we are still not done. I keep saying – we will be done in the morning, somewhat pathetically actually believing that we will be. And then the people who are normally so efficient begin to look like tortoises and the slow methodical ones get frantic and my boss keeps nitpicking from Singapore and I think I want to die.

Only just yesterday I was thinking – while idly taking a pee at 11 pm because I was still in the office at 11 pm – that on this vacation (on which I have unfortunatly pledged to work) I will dream up ways in which to be more creative with the magazine instead of just forcing it out every month like an unwanted foetus (or like a wanted one, from what I hear they both require the same amount of forcing). However, now I am just like – fuck them all.

If it ever gets done – I will let you all know.

Never Ending Story

I think I’ve said this before to someone. The magazine I work for is like an orgasm that never comes. You keep thinking – it’s there, it’s there but it isn’t.

And so I am at the end of another month’s issue, and I should have been done yesterday but I’m not. I sort of tentatively made dinner plans today but I was smart enough to know that I couldn’t get so lucky. Even if we were supposed to have been done a week ago. Now I know better. I will be grateful if I can get on a plane to India at the end of the week with that chapter closed.

As I have oft ranted in the past, getting copy out of writers is like pulling teeth. To my extreme glee (and some fear of tantrums to come) guy who sits behind me and who is late on not just his deadline but the final deadline by a week (if we’re lucky – more if we’re not) thereby often singlehandedly delaying the entire edition, actually went off to Singapore WITHOUT turning in his copy at all. So why am I so happy? Because I can do what I have been itching to do for months and teach him a lesson by dropping the story. For someone who is always late, he sure values the stuff he hoards till the last minute and I am quite sure there is going to be a maha-tantrum in the offing when he realizes that we haven’t waited for His Royal Tardiness and that my silence is not actually golden but the colour of bile.

But this time, I am so justified. And my boss gave me the go ahead. And even better – I am escaping to India almost as soon as he comes back (the jerk not my boss… I think… not sure when boss is back… Hmmm).

In fact, the best part of escaping to India is that if there are any screw-ups, I won’t know about them.

Whine

I have to say this so everyone can sympathize with me. Because growing up, I have fever and tonsilitis every 15 days and everyone in my family was nice to me and pandered to my every whim and fancy. In the real world (by which I mean in the married world) people (read men – both husbands and bosses) tend to be kind of blase about these things. “How’re you feeling” is as good as it gets generally, to which you are supposed to respond “Much better” and put on a brave face.

But I want to whine and me patted and got tea and comfort food and the day off. So.

I have sinus – headache, cold, and body ache – and slight fever. Wahh!

The rigours of a good time

I realise I am quite a sad hostess. I cannot cook. I am the led, not the leader. I am the plan-follower not the plan-maker. I have no sense of direction. I cannot make a decision.

Thus, on Friday night, I enthusiastically led V’s cousin (A) and her friend up to (world’s longest) escalator to Soho, only to be unable to pick a restaurant and then, when we did, to be told we would have to wait 40 minutes. We landed up eating pizza and a fried food platter.

Also, people seem to pick the worst possible time to visit me. Always mid-month when I am super-busy and scrambling to put the mag out. And I inevitably feel the need to ineptly entertain them. Or make some attempt to.

V does not help but feigning understanding and then passive-aggressively insisting I come along. Thus, on Saturday, instead of staying home and working as my better judgement and my tired body told me I should, I ended up on junk trip organized by one of V’s friends. Somehow, when I stepped on the boat, my tiredness seeped away. It was white with a shiny board deck. And as we sailed away from the city, and into calm green waters flanked by mountains it was so so beautiful.

We anchored near Clear Water Bay and everyone jumped in for a dip. Even me. Though the water was icy cold. I love to swim – even if it means just holding on to a float. And though I had resolved not to drink, I had some red in a plastic cup. And we ate yummy biryani, which a more considerate soul had brought along, with our fingers and cheesy bread and crisps. And swam some more.

And got home tired but somehow refreshed.

Now, though, I have the flu.

Women bankers

It is so refreshing to finally have a meeting with banker women.

The meeting was last week but I had mixed it up and had got dressed for it two weeks before that. I had chosen my outfit with care – red capris and white shirt – and I looked kind of smashing. “Red pants. Cool” was the comment from the guy who sits behind me and perenially submits his stories a week beyond the deadline, thus contributing to my ulcer problem. Anyway, last week, could not dredge up anything similarly striking in terms of outfit, especially since I was stuck on wearing my grey coat with rabbit trimming for one last time before winter slipped away.

So walked into office with grey half-sleeve linin shirt (because it matched grey coat) and four-year-old trousers (as in that’s how long ago I bought them, or was it longer) and strange hair that at least decided to sit down properly and not stick up Canto moppet style.

About ten minutes later, while I was scurrying around trying to get some work in before meeting (which I had decided was going to be useless already – but of course, boss insists that I sit in on it) we hear cheery “Hiiis” and a flock of women – well four – whoosh in. Really, it was like a breath of fresh air.

They were incredibly well dressed. One was in a Channel black and white checked shrug (yes! i have voluntarily uttered ‘shrug’). She was the sweet on – Joyce. The big boss Cynthia was in an excellently cut jacket with some kind of modern art print in grey, black and silver inside. The attractive thing about her – apart from being smart, fun and able to make a marketing pitch while not making you want to vomit – was her hair. I have never seen such an incredibly good cut. Short but enough there to play with – just the kind I have often tried to explain to hairdressers I would like to have but which I have never achieved until growing out. Operating the laptop was Evelyn. Have saved her for last because she was stunning and new it. Was in a grey dress with red trimming, had the tiniest waist I have ever seen and long red nails and matching tall-making pumps and patent leather tote. She also had waist length lustrous hair and that she kept flicking it to the intended awe of my boss and guy who sits behind me (whom I was sitting in between for good measure).

I wish I had saved the red capris.

The last woman was Malaysian and was the least attractive of the four. To give her some rope, she had a cold. And her hair was sticking this way and that – not bad but showed up in comparison to her peers. I remember idly thinking – I hope I come across as turned out better.

Anyway, apart from the clothes – which were so fun to look at when my mind was wandering – was that the meeting was good chat, as my friend E would say. We were laughing every few minutes – it was like a party. And they managed to convey enough information to give me at least two story ideas. Even though they were the marketing side.

Moral of the sotry: more bankers should be women.

What I loved about Beijing

(I have decided to abadon chronicling every detail of the Beijing trip because for some reason I seem unable to. Instead, am just going to list out my favourite memories for the record.)

1) How the people are so friendly and how they attempt to communicate with you although they can’t speak English. This is not to suggest that communicating in English is a virtue but that there is something to be said for attempting to communicate with people who don’t speak your language. Instead of running away Honky-style. Or dare I say it – gabbling on in your own tongue regardless of the poor in-law who cannot speak your language Mallu-style.

2) How the streets are so wide and the building so big that you feeling a sense of grandeur and awe. I appreciate the attempt of each new (and there are so many) construction to differentiate itself somehow. While in HK the buildings have to do as much as they can while reaching for the sky, because of lack of space, in Beijing they squat and sprawl like sumo-wrestlers ready to swallow you whole.

3) How the food is so good and so cheap. Notable examples were the dinner at Hou Hai (a lake encircled by glittering bars and pubs… More on that later) and the Pakistani meal at Sanlitun. I used to wonder how different Pakistani cuisine could be from North Indian food but it’s actually better. The lamb kebab was the best I have tasted IN MY LIFE. Ditto for the beef at Hou Hai. I have never been a fan of beef but they do something to here that makes it just melt.

4) The Foreign Language Bookshop at Wang Fu Jiang. (referred to in earlier post) The books are so sensibly arranged, it’s all so down-to-earth like Strand and maybe because its Commie, the prices are decent. They even had a three-in-one package.

5) How the Chinese people have fun when they go out drinking. And how there is not much separation between where the locals drink and where the gweilos do. I was told that Hou Hai was where the foreigners liked to drink but it was full of Chinese people. Most of the bars had live music and it was so much fun! Even though in our bar the amplyfier broke down and we were subjected to the drummer only (who was great!) for 40 minutes. The Chinese seem to love drinking games which means they are largely smashed. Case in point was woman who wer first assumed was a prostitute but later turned out to be just extremely drunk – while dancing with one man they both fell down. Hilarious to watch. Band was playing English songs with great gusto even though they didn’t know half the words.

6) The Great Wall. Actually if I have to be quite honest, the moon bears near the Great Wall. It’s probably quite demeaning to keep them imprisoned there begging for the apples that you buy and then throw at them but it’s better than having their bile forcibly extracted I guess (which is what happens to a great number of moon bears in China). Also, the stalls near the Great Wall are really cheap – you think they’d be expensive because they’re in a tourist area but they’re quite desperate. They have some naughty toys such as ‘pee pee boy’ (three guesses what that is).

7) The Jade Factory. I am now obsessed with touching alleged jade to determine if it is really jade (it has to be clear, cold and able to scratch glass without getting scratched itself). Needless to say I want to buy something in jade.

8) The bohemian shops in the Hou Hai area. It’s weird how there are all these boho shops and pubs in the hutongs – kind of like SoHo. The hutongs are old lanes where the houses are kind of like wadis in Bombay. We saw Mao’s old house and caused much bewilderment by not getting out and taking photo (we had forgotten our camera).

9) Having a haircut in a really cheapie shop, where they shampooed my hair at the mirror itself by just putting a few towels around me. And then the shampoo guy insisted that the haircutter give me exactly the cut I had picked out from the book although that required that I perm my hair and I didn’t want to. So ultimately, he just curled my hair with the hair straightener. Go figure! It was all hapenning in Mandarin so even though I tried to tell them that it was ok and to just cut half an inch I have landed up with a bundle of layers and a Beejee look (says V). I have decided I am going to have a haircut in every new city I visit.

10) Pan Yuen Jian market. Or rather, the painting section and more to the point – the goodnatured way they bargain and don’t get pissed off even if you ask for a ridiculous price. I bought four paintings and have ended up paying three times as much on the frames in HK. (I have to admit that I am not entirely happy about the way they look in my house but I love the paintings nevertheless).

11) The Forbidden City. Though the Mysore palace is better, I like the tales of the concubines. V’s comment was: “I’m trying to figure out how we can reinstitute this concubine scene” to which I responded “You seem to have done quite well for yourself regardless”.

12) The second massage place. Because they put V and me in the same room so I could be sure that the massage girl was not trying to screw my husband. It happens more often than one would like to think.

13) The acrobatic show. Though I grew an ulcer out of stress that they were going to fall down and break their bones or be beaten up by their teacher/troupe owner later. Seriously I have a problem with anyone failing at anything.

What I didn’t like in Beijing
1) The Ming Tombs. As in they were kind of blah.
2) The first massage place where I still have marks on my back
3) The cupping massage at the second place. My back looks like a warzone.
4) Drinking wine – it’s overpriced and not great
5) The dumplings. I think we have been spoiled by the quality of even the street dumplings in HK. Beijing dumplings are crap.

Beijing Day 1

Having never been to the Taj Mahal, I found myself at another wonder over Easter. V and I used to long holiday to nip over the border to China. Or rather, to fly four and a half hours to Beijing.

In order to take this break, I had to work like a dog for the two weeks leading up to it and practically right up to the last minute that we left for the flight. In the rush, I forgot my book and against my better judgement didn’t buy one at the airport so had withdrawal syndrome on the flight. It’s strange how excrutiatingly four hours seems when you don’t have a book with you.

We landed in Beijing to a chill – other than that all airports are beginning to look alike. Except airports in India which persist in being ugly, disorganized and dirty. V and I had decided to be adventurous/thrifty and take the airport shuttle to town instead of the taxi. Kind of amazing how easy and organized it is. We just had to follow the signs, buy the tickets, load our stuff in and take our seats.

Beijing traffic is insufferable. We were stuck on the expressway for nearly 40 minutes which kind of took the novelty our of the sights. These included trees shivering in the cold, and the construction of a railway line and lines of cars of indigenous make peppered with Volkswagens.
When we finally hit the city I was struck by two impressions – Chicago and Paris. The buildings are on average 10 storeys tall with the kind of glazed brick facades typical of Chicago and sometimes NY while the roads had the broad grandeur of Paris – basically, a city built for armies to march through.

When we alighted, we were ambushed by touts, which was to be the fixture everywhere we went. But the touts speak English and are so friendly, you actually feel kind of bad to shrug them off. It’s kind of novel to say you’re from India and for people to still look friendly. We seem to have chosen our hotel well because it was really three minutes from Beijing station and was choc-a-bloc with white tourists which is generally a good sign. The room was basic but had everything we needed. We didn’t end up spending much time in there anyway.

The first evening we went to Wang Fu Jiang. It was a 15 minute walk from our hotel and to get there we had to walk through Oriental Plaza, a massive mall that is like a HK mall – full of premier brands – only five times larger. A friend of mine from the office (who reprimanded me for not telling me I was going to Beijing earlier and who then proceeded to write down the names of all the places I should see in Chinese so I could ask for directions easily) had told me this area was like Mong Kok (only people who have been to Mong Kok will get what I mean). I don’t really see the resemblance, though it is like a lower market shopping area but because the roads are so wide, you don’t really see the kind of throngs that Mong Kong attracts. The shops tend to be quite local – there was a hat store and a fur shop. My favourite find was the Foreign Language Book Store which is the best bookstore I have seen this side of Asia. Or maybe it was just my withdrawal symptoms talking. I went fairly crazy in there with V shadowing me and trying to get me to buy the first thing I saw.

We had to ask for directions to find the restaurant my friend had recommended. We were struck my the diference between Honkys and the Chinese. The guy spoke better English than I have ever heard from a local in HK and was twice as friendly. He even said, “I wish you find the place you are looking for”. (V pointed out the difference between India and China where in India, direction givers are likely to say something like: “Boss, you can’t miss it… you’ll definitely find it” but anway, it’s better than a Honky’s uncomprehending/unfriendly stare).

The restaurant turned out to be Muslim Lamb Hot Pot. It seemed to be very popular with the locals and we pretty much proved that we didn’t know what we were doing. It’s pretty standard hot pot but with thin slices of lamb. To be honest, not my kind of thing but an experience anyway. I think the problem was that we didn’t know how to ask for chilli sauce. We also ordered Chinese wine which is the most potent stuff – impossible to drink more than one tiny glass.

After dinner we walked around the area, ending up in a massive toy store. I ended up buying a panda puppet for my new niece before heading home.

Seven minutes

The Sevens are a huge event in Hong Kong. Come New Year and people start asking you if you have tickets. I rather ignorantly kept saying “I think my company has a box” and got a number of impressed/incredulous looks. Of course, did not realize what a big deal having a box at the Sevens meant.

In the end, we barely scraped together enough tickets for the whole team. And I had misunderstood and thought everyone was going together, or I wouldn’t have asked to go at all, considering V was showing little interest in getting himself a ticket. Anyway one of the girls in office said I could go with her so I decided to play it by ear.

On Friday, I realised I had no idea what to wear. Credit Suisee, the sponsor, had invited us to their box for a cocktail party. Just one of the perks of being a journo. God knows why they do but we’re not complaining if it’s free booze and tickets to one of the most exciting events in HK. I finally decide to play it safe and wear a black dress. When I walk into office boss gives me a look and later tells me that the Sevens is usually very casual even if it is a cocktail party.

Thankfully, I headed home in my lunch hour and changed into a less formal skirt because when I got there all the bankers were unrecognizable in tees and the place was crawling with journos living it up. In the end, the box proved rather boring but I developed a taste for the rugby after a guy with big frizzy hair explained the basics to me. And I discovered a taste for Pimms, which is like iced tea with a bit of fizz and booze.

Anyway, after unsuccesfully trying to break into a couple of conversations, friend and I decided to give it up and I went down to the stands where some girlfriends of hers were sitting. God the atmosphere is great and they were right down there where everyone was screaming and you had a great view of the guys arses while they practiced. I’ve never been a fan of the big guys but some of the ruggers were really hot.

The next day I had a ticket but wasn’t sure I wanted to go. But I had a ticket and boss would have killed me if I didn’t go. So donned by shortest denim skirt and new white T and headed down sufficiently late with Korean girl J. It turned out that the people we were supposed to sit wiht hadn’t saved us a seat and we were compelled to hang out with an ex-boyfriend of J’s who was with some unattractive investment banker friends. The upside was that we got free Pimms. Sometimes its so inexpensive being a girl. They were all standing around drinking and I found myself a spot to watch the game and chatted with some girls who gave me pointers about who the hottest (in terms of eye candy) teams were. Our spot was opposite the racuous south stands and in the perfect spot to check out ass.

After a bit J got bored of being flirted with by her ex and she called some French guy to get us into a box on the executive floor. I really don’t recommend the box atmosphere but you do get free Pimms. And they had girls going around taking polaroids. And I chatted up a couple of cuties. And actually watched the game even though I was inside the box.

And I realized that I actually like rugby so much I watched the finals on Sunday on telly. Anyway, how much of an attention span do you need to watch seven mintues a half of sweaty rugged men banging into each other?