tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44515522762567503552024-02-21T07:53:49.235-08:00Videsi Girl in MumbaiSophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.comBlogger140125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-45657967852969141732012-06-11T09:15:00.001-07:002012-06-13T06:55:57.545-07:00You Don't See That Everyday...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdMJMJsQgCN9fKJtHfs0qViGzqR9uRHO6MWQTYqvHNtF3TZKeh6mTBqkrZPAYLIKieKOTnaS1svHkQCYoddv-thavbc9YdVN1vFiJveRva3jJn4eIXgKFu3oHSChdcxUTIs-bwXK06j-o/s1600/538856_10151045256443646_808990878_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdMJMJsQgCN9fKJtHfs0qViGzqR9uRHO6MWQTYqvHNtF3TZKeh6mTBqkrZPAYLIKieKOTnaS1svHkQCYoddv-thavbc9YdVN1vFiJveRva3jJn4eIXgKFu3oHSChdcxUTIs-bwXK06j-o/s320/538856_10151045256443646_808990878_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wish the goat was wearing a helmet, <br />
that would have been even more funny!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Moped, perfect for life in Mumbai; friendly
on the pocket, economical, can whiz easily in and out of heavy traffic and are
perfect for ferrying around men, women, children and... goats. </div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-75917961850035877282012-06-09T21:50:00.001-07:002012-06-09T21:56:25.128-07:00Old Macdonald had an airport?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfgHmBto9wahMolXPDpC5BR1F9uM2fkxb4Ug7BdX66Vl6LDts1TOiWRpKVWsCHQeq8Wx6W3wwhxYhpOR0HEx_NP5GTDo-AsGApibxqldZOl5Y1IEQpaFzpBAfNAEuBmVvfZf_NaTPyrPU/s1600/tac2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfgHmBto9wahMolXPDpC5BR1F9uM2fkxb4Ug7BdX66Vl6LDts1TOiWRpKVWsCHQeq8Wx6W3wwhxYhpOR0HEx_NP5GTDo-AsGApibxqldZOl5Y1IEQpaFzpBAfNAEuBmVvfZf_NaTPyrPU/s320/tac2.jpg" width="320" /></a>If you thought that tractors
were reserved for farms, fields and getting stuck behind on country roads you
are sadly mistaken, for in India they are a very important part of airport
logistics. Tractors have been purchased at all Indian airports to transport
luggage carts from airport to aeroplane. I mean I can see why they must be so helpful, the large wheels
designed to manoeuvre easily over muddy pastures must be so useful on flat,
perfectly even TARMAC! </div>
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</div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-68004043519750411532012-06-08T05:53:00.001-07:002012-06-08T05:54:43.995-07:00Big Fat Indian Wedding<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Your guide to a Big Fat Indian Wedding coming soon...<br />
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<br /></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-45102423186873986212012-06-08T03:13:00.001-07:002012-06-08T05:35:25.714-07:00I’ve Got to Give Them Their Dues…<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EYtik-d3sRL77160w8-tzAWTiMGD79jnB_1qXH-nu-3qGZ70e9SpJpjl7nsoPM7kFwIGrDV2cwupHWBUsKpq4C2ajmHF5NZubpzDo9onJMfLPYnRTCaa95ftSUX4a72gvfSYNlUiVOQ/s1600/IMG00071-20120601-1243.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EYtik-d3sRL77160w8-tzAWTiMGD79jnB_1qXH-nu-3qGZ70e9SpJpjl7nsoPM7kFwIGrDV2cwupHWBUsKpq4C2ajmHF5NZubpzDo9onJMfLPYnRTCaa95ftSUX4a72gvfSYNlUiVOQ/s320/IMG00071-20120601-1243.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In total there are probably around 50 cows gracing<br />
the middle of the road- marvellous</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="EN-US">Mumbai is currently building a new monorail system which, </span><span lang="EN-US">once completed, will be the second longest </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_monorail_systems"><span style="color: #042da4; text-decoration: none;">monorail corridor</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US"> in the whole entire world! Impressive I know. </span></span><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">However in Parel, work on this long awaited monorail has ground to a halt
which has left a derelict structure and a bit of a mess; but not to worry the
clever people of Sewri have put it to good use as a Cattle Shed! Resourceful
little buggers.</span></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-43103254449166332212012-06-07T09:10:00.001-07:002012-06-07T09:24:11.901-07:00Beep, Beep, BEEEEEEEEEP<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwsyG8QV9rrpRL0x8JwiHhHBIs6XK5Unc5wFdC_EJoucvNglqKG9J354kVeh0fgRgtNKKJ0nMZFiaGux2CbDo9nVZNKxOVgu71V5FMnBmGUB5O2L-XiVojeayMcMttRh1ICJusNAJHp8/s1600/598811_10151172274436258_286924742_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjwsyG8QV9rrpRL0x8JwiHhHBIs6XK5Unc5wFdC_EJoucvNglqKG9J354kVeh0fgRgtNKKJ0nMZFiaGux2CbDo9nVZNKxOVgu71V5FMnBmGUB5O2L-XiVojeayMcMttRh1ICJusNAJHp8/s320/598811_10151172274436258_286924742_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;">When I first arrived in India I
would always have a little giggle at the sign which is painted on the back of
most large vehicles, it reads ‘Horn OK Please’. ‘Awwwww, they have got their English all messed up, ‘Horn OK
Please’? it doesn’t mean anything, bless them’ I used to think. But before long
you realize that it isn't 'bless them' at all and that ‘Horn OK Please’ roughly translates to:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">‘Dear
the poor sod that is stuck behind me</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">I
am probably driving like an absolute retard risking not only my life but your
life also, so please feel free to abuse me with the sound of your car horn
until I move out of the middle of the road or stop whatever the retarded thing
is that I am doing. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">Thanks
<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;">The
Driver’</span></i><br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia;"><br /></span></i></div>
</div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-74658249724209585042012-05-30T05:07:00.001-07:002012-05-31T00:23:12.138-07:00Glad to be Back? Well I was........<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD9rojMKh_ZnbO9WrDwAsWfIaRTkMnqN8MqLR4d0hhILaaHJdEi0ZGLiUhgvXQ4R9C18PBKHwwoEpoJhpnaDLFwNsBjseofbnvrffiQovqn4DdYQAZSfo4piDXYfqHSn9HArnQLfDNCY/s1600/301739_10151147121451258_1302030135_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJD9rojMKh_ZnbO9WrDwAsWfIaRTkMnqN8MqLR4d0hhILaaHJdEi0ZGLiUhgvXQ4R9C18PBKHwwoEpoJhpnaDLFwNsBjseofbnvrffiQovqn4DdYQAZSfo4piDXYfqHSn9HArnQLfDNCY/s320/301739_10151147121451258_1302030135_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me boating on the River Severn, UK<br />
Look at that relaxed face</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I
am back from a 5 week holiday in the UK and was feeling happy, refreshed and
ready to take on the daily pressures of India once again...Well, that was until
I asked Sunita our maid who speaks fluent English, to go out and get us some
toothpaste, you know standard, everyday toothpaste that you use to clean your
teeth and prevent cavities? Nothing complicated about that, or so I
thought.....</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘What
type of Toothpaste would you like Maam?’ Sunita asked<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘Just
standard, everyday toothpaste please, Colgate original mint in the red box is
fine.’ I replied <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">10
minutes later she was back, ‘Here you go Maam’ she said and handed me a red
box.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘Errrrrrrm,
Sunita, sorry, this is herb flavor, I asked for mint?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘
Sorry Maam I could not find, this is ok.’ She replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘Well,
(nervous laugh) actually Sunita this is not ok, I just want original mint, we
don’t like this flavor can you go and change it please.’ I replied.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘Ok
maam’ she replied and left for the slum.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">15
minutes later she was back ‘Here you go Maam’ and handed me another red box.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I
looked at it, ‘Sunita, this is spicy flavor Colgate??’ I replied, shocked that
she had got it wrong again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘Yes
maam, very good for teeth’ she replied confidently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘But
I just told you I only wanted mint flavour, standard, original, mint flavor?
Can you swap this, any brand is ok as long as it is mint.’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘Ok
Maam!’ she replied and left the apartment in a huff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">20
minutes later Sunita returned ‘Maam I have this' and handed me yet another red
box.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘Sunita!!!!
Are you serious???? This is Lemon flavor not mint??????’ I yelled, reaching the
end of my tether.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘Maam’
Sunita replied ‘India is very different to UK, we do not have mint toothpaste’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Taken
a back at the bare faced lie I replied sternly, ‘You and I both know that is a
big, fat lie Sunita, I have lived here for 12 months and have had many a packet
of original mint Colgate!’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">‘Maam!
I do not lie’ Sunita snapped back, clearly very upset that I accused her of
lying and walked away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Flabbergasted
at what at just happened and how upset I was over a tube of toothpaste I sat
down and poured myself a large glass of whisky (</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">and by whisky I mean water) </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">to calm my nerves.</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Sunita
went out, 10 minutes later she returned and put something on the dining room
table and left for the day. As soon as the door closed I got up and went closer…
it was yet another toothpaste box, I picked it up, it was…MINT Toothpaste and
not just any mint toothpaste Colgate Whitening, I was elated and I felt a sense
of victory. 'They don’t sell mint toothpaste in India!' Pah!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span lang="EN-US">No words have been exchanged
between myself and Sunita since and there won't be... until I ask her to go out
and get me a light bulb tomorrow... should be interesting!</span><span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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</div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-39913248486686378202012-05-10T02:40:00.001-07:002012-06-13T07:11:00.310-07:00Saree Doesn't Rhyme With Anything! Fact!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">When it comes to shopping for local merchandise in Mumbai I've come to find that the crappier the shopping centre looks from the outside the more likely you are to find a gem on the inside; which is why for my Saree shopping adventure I chose the almost derelict Maker Arcade which has served me well in the past as it is home to <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.videsigirlinmumbai.blogspot.co.uk/2011/02/paul-is-at-work-all-day.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Mr Patel's Wine Shop</span></a> </span>and <a href="http://www.videsigirlinmumbai.blogspot.co.uk/2011/05/kill-me-kill-me-now.html" style="color: blue;">the chemist that cured my piles</a>. As I approached the arcade, as always the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.videsigirlinmumbai.blogspot.co.uk/2011/02/do-you-want-photo-it-will-last-longer.html">stares</a> </span>were intense especially from the men at the stationary <span style="text-decoration: line-through;">shop, stand </span>shed which always seems to be rammed with people buying HB pencils, who knew stationary would be so popular in Mumbai? <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theo_Paphitis"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Theo Paphitis</span> </a>would make a fortune! But I digress. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I made my way down the isles searching for a shop to purchase my first Indian outfit from and before long I see one. I walked in feeling nervously excited to find 10 men crammed into a area as big as tuk, tuk eating their lunch, 'Errrrrm hello' I said slowly yet clearly, 'Can I take a look at your Sarees please?' 'Eating later, later' One of the men said whilst spitting chapatti into my hair. To be honest I half expected them to see my white face and Louis Vuitton handbag, jump to their feet, discard their food and start wrapping me up with an array of different sarees if I liked it all not, but that wasn't the case so I carried on. After being distracted by the stall that sold used flip flops I found another Saree shop and entered. It was quite lovely; floor to ceiling shelves full of sarees and a long desk for, well i'm not sure what it was for actually but it looked nice. As normal the shop was far too small for its 1000 staff but I didn't mind, in fact it was amusing to watch them shuffle every time I walked too close. </span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After looking at, at least half of the million ready made Sarees on offer I decided that actually, from having spent 5 minutes in the shop I now knew enough about clothes design and Indian fashion to design my own piece! I'm still to this day not sure if the store actually allowed this activity but no one stopped me when I started riffling through the mounds of scrap material looking for the perfect colour for my top so I'm presuming it was OK. In the end I went for a gold sequinned material which was quite itchy but looked great and you know what they say 'pain is beauty'. Now it was the mission to find the material for the actual saree, the designer had a preference to a bright orange colour and kept on telling me how trendy this bright orange was at the moment, when I went in with the old 'I don't want to look as if I had been Tangoed' joke I was greeted with a lot of blank faces, maybe it was because I'm not funny or maybe because they don't have Tango in India, I'd like to believe it was the latter . The next colour the designer liked was a bright purple which reminded me of a rather large bruise I acquired when jumping off the sofas at a nightclub in Singapore, after learning from the failed Tango joke I decided to keep this story to myself and eventually settled on a beautiful deep red colour which the designer said matched the colour of my eyes....my eyes are blue??? The next challenge was to get measured. The shop owner hollered to someone to come and take my measurements, who to my surprise descended from a hole in the ceiling, it was like something out of Mission Impossible. A small, nervous man who looked remarkably like Ramesh started to take my measurements being extremely careful not to touch me in the wrong the place. 10 minutes later he was done and I was told to come back in 2 days, 2 days as expected in India, turned into 1 week but I was happy with the outcome. And the cost of this custom made Saree? Well it's not as cheap as you might think, it was around £150.00 but was a lovely experience and made me feel like CoCo Chanel for the day!</span></div>
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</div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-12823033709347658062012-04-09T06:50:00.005-07:002012-04-09T22:21:52.830-07:00Brown Girl In The Ring Tralalalala<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLUG297LoM3rCwzmWA2fJdoCja4Jk4D7o6CO0h8ZT9IA8TANndRBs2bTVm2mNJTzSSvJIj3O3fs0Kk_v8WDGP4TP7eY0u5xzPBQqdj9STZ8bKZRoG-S7et0wnTKyRFnpzXDFOVB4cHBtc/s1600/533809_10150912780991258_762651598_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLUG297LoM3rCwzmWA2fJdoCja4Jk4D7o6CO0h8ZT9IA8TANndRBs2bTVm2mNJTzSSvJIj3O3fs0Kk_v8WDGP4TP7eY0u5xzPBQqdj9STZ8bKZRoG-S7et0wnTKyRFnpzXDFOVB4cHBtc/s320/533809_10150912780991258_762651598_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't look particularly tanned on this picture<br />
but I think my husband looks fit.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The look on the shop assistants face when I asked for something to make my skin look darker will haunt me for the rest of my life! The word ‘fake-tan’ was getting me no where, so I used the words ‘brown’ and ‘darker’ whilst rubbing my arm to imitate the rubbing in of fake-tan lotion but still nothing. Eventually I said ‘I have white skin, I want darker skin’ and pointed at her skin. ‘You want your skin browner?’ She questioned as if Id just asked for 10 kg’s of crack. Bingo! But I knew I was asking in vain. The fact is my must have item and the majority of girls in the UK’s must have item is not avaliable in Asia as they are obsessed with being fairer. Despite the endless <s>warnings</s> adverts featuring Priyanka Chopra and Katrina Kaif on the subject, when I first arrived in India I bought myself a ‘light moisturiser’ thinking it was a ‘light weight‘ moisturizer, perfect for the humidity I thought. I used it for a whole month so when I found out that this crème was actually lightening my skin I cried! I live in a hot country, it is my duty to my friends back at home to be tanned and this had put me back a whole month in the tanning process! You see in England the Sun doesn’t come out very often and when it does happen to peep out behind a big fat raincloud that’s it, the flip flops are on, the T shirts are off and the bbq is fired up, in India however everyones favorite time of year is the monsoon and I haven’t seen one other person sunbathing at our pool, it just doesn't seem fair. But don't worry fellow Britons, I appreciate the weather I have here in India and am working hard to achieve a natural tan for my forthcoming trip to the UK. I will make you proud!</span></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-13725834474222580692012-04-05T05:31:00.002-07:002012-04-05T05:37:09.157-07:00Your Job Is Safe Banksy!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMlSpb2AXMXO7h0JbxHHNV_8Yui_s_1NSSZcylTs3E-BsgE-ouYPAkarFLbkIlmCile6kjLT-GEKSYmm7sX875wWpeEtLtmJ_TEZ5u2JI1diD9nrGN6E6Ol0SFjT288PnjODzQaBSB4OA/s1600/539036_10150910461476258_650666257_12823788_596688315_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMlSpb2AXMXO7h0JbxHHNV_8Yui_s_1NSSZcylTs3E-BsgE-ouYPAkarFLbkIlmCile6kjLT-GEKSYmm7sX875wWpeEtLtmJ_TEZ5u2JI1diD9nrGN6E6Ol0SFjT288PnjODzQaBSB4OA/s320/539036_10150910461476258_650666257_12823788_596688315_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know its for a good reason<br />
but I'm glad I don't live next door!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">To the untrained, not lived in India before eye this photo may look like a terribly graffitied apartment in style of a council estate in the UK, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The owner of this home actually drew<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"> <a href="http://videsigirlinmumbai.blogspot.in/2011/04/controversial-yet-educational.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">red swatiskas</span> </a></span>all over the top quality marble that adorns the front of his house of his own accord. Now that I am more accustomed to Indian culture I know that my new neighbours are not <a href="http://videsigirlinmumbai.blogspot.in/2011/04/controversial-yet-educational.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;">Neo- Nazis </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">and that the swastikas</span></a> were placed as part of a traditional Hindu house blessing which is conducted by a priest before the owners move in. The ceremonies vary from place to place but <span lang="EN-US">apparently in some parts of the country the blessing comprises of chanting and the escorting of a cow through all of the rooms, although, I don’t think that happened here as a cow would never fit in the lift and if it did happen I’m gutted I missed it!!</span></span></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-27593500007448740362012-04-04T05:54:00.003-07:002012-04-04T06:01:24.592-07:00A Wednesday Afternoon Game For You....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Who's feet are who's?????</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfd1T7IoTaUKNxt8mN5E9WBlN_RjS6oL_523CytkCGgGBSgiH_0nGjxQ6q7G9qisEjIAshFLCYpjFwHtyNY6ulm0fplPL5pJnhbHJYYuu4D4lyx5jj9eOGnIrdY3YOF0kkmpRRk0eaCJI/s1600/421960_10150775259403646_517523645_11417104_493855544_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfd1T7IoTaUKNxt8mN5E9WBlN_RjS6oL_523CytkCGgGBSgiH_0nGjxQ6q7G9qisEjIAshFLCYpjFwHtyNY6ulm0fplPL5pJnhbHJYYuu4D4lyx5jj9eOGnIrdY3YOF0kkmpRRk0eaCJI/s400/421960_10150775259403646_517523645_11417104_493855544_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The more you look, the more it freaks you out!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-33705167528698202572012-04-03T05:27:00.006-07:002012-04-03T06:01:55.528-07:00Woe Is Me!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXQLFr7M3joTSNr4y0LeWDQ6S_b9IgofOgEyBsruSBb_2KxsBjFDBlw0b0NftnnjQHisJv8Y9diCv9xNCz8z0cMEyVYTw-MEUOfvslGgSpdvw8Svg303viN1hbM6_K2qhH_A3SpuQeets/s1600/P1080177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXQLFr7M3joTSNr4y0LeWDQ6S_b9IgofOgEyBsruSBb_2KxsBjFDBlw0b0NftnnjQHisJv8Y9diCv9xNCz8z0cMEyVYTw-MEUOfvslGgSpdvw8Svg303viN1hbM6_K2qhH_A3SpuQeets/s400/P1080177.jpg" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who am I gona pout and wear short skirts with??<br />
I'll miss you babe x</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">No girl likes their ‘time of the month’ but having your ‘time of the month’ in India really takes the biscuit! First of all getting hold of tampons is as difficult as getting hold of magic beans and everything that kind of pissed you off last week really pisses you off this week; such as the leaking tile (yes tile) in the bathroom, the beggar near Good Earth in Colaba who insists on rubbing his arm stump up and down the window leaving greasy stump marks, the randy pigeons at the pool, (maybe I’m just jealous because they can enjoy the refreshing water and I can't because I can't get hold of any magic beans!), the slum parties that start at 10.00pm sharp just in time for bedtime, Ramesh’s peach shirt, the list is endless. But just to put the icing on the big fat cake (that I just ate because i'm bingeing) my best friend in India, Celine has just left to go back to Singapore!! Waahhhhhh, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I need a cuddle.</span></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-47923802169179238162012-03-27T23:16:00.005-07:002012-03-29T01:43:48.855-07:00I’m So Over This Crap (with a bit extra added since yesterday)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZeCB6jNZnTJ2ACm34V3R5Cnso6RQriNUUf1pfemsXHA3OCkGH7sGNGeLGzVGwHyY_BWcU8T00FP_PjfNdDA7BPKQMrsBAHd0UTAyxhMaZiJVDJYCv3VHNuxfcW4iqn1VUZRQEaLWwgQ/s1600/389368_10150509553691258_650666257_11340686_1749944740_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbZeCB6jNZnTJ2ACm34V3R5Cnso6RQriNUUf1pfemsXHA3OCkGH7sGNGeLGzVGwHyY_BWcU8T00FP_PjfNdDA7BPKQMrsBAHd0UTAyxhMaZiJVDJYCv3VHNuxfcW4iqn1VUZRQEaLWwgQ/s320/389368_10150509553691258_650666257_11340686_1749944740_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have no photos of the party, so heres me drinking <br />
champagne in Singapore</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So it was the evening of our long awaited roof top, house warming party. The booze had been delivered, the music had been set up and the guests were starting to arrive. Within minus one second of pressing the play button security arrived saying we could not have a party (surprise, sur-bloody-prise) but we’re professionals at this game now, so 500 rupees and two bottles of Kingfisher later, problem averted and we started to party the night away. Feeling extremely smug that we had conquered this India malarkey Paul and I gave each other a secret high five, cranked up the base and started the shots (shots, shots, shots). It was the party of all parties; amazing view, great music and more alcohol than you could shake a stick at, things were going perfectly until 12.30pm….</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><a name='more'></a><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">At 12.30pm a man burst in to the party shouting and screaming at the top of his voice in Hindi. He was the most angriest person in the land (as in Hitler type angry) he was so crazy I thought we was going to start hitting people! Paul went over to him and offered him some cash – b'jesus that set him off more. One of our Indian friends then went over and said some thing along the lines of ‘Who the hell are you and what right do you have to say we can't have a party when we have permission’? BIG MISTAKE – the man went on to declare that he lived downstairs, was Chief of Police for Sewri and Lower Parel and if we didn’t shut down the party now he would call up the officers. Quicker than lighting we all sobered up and took the party into the house. The thing is I wouldn’t mind, I know its horrible when a party is loud when you are trying to get to sleep, but the difference here is that we live in the middle of a slum, we go to sleep to the sounds of dogs barking, car horns honking, drums banging, bells ringing, and men chanting, the sound of a bit of funky house I thought would be a welcome distraction. </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Never the less we took the party downstairs and that was going great until our Belgian friend Gerrit decided to treat us all to the ‘Worm’ dance move which resulted in him smacking his face off the marble floor and gashing his chin open; blood was everywhere and a hospital trip and a number of stitches were required. Incidentally this isn’t the first time I’ve experienced the ‘Worm’ move go wrong, four years ago my cousin Marianne lost her two front teeth doing that very move in a bid to win the dance off in our old local, 'The Fountain'. Despite this additional set back once the blood had been cleaned up (by yours truely) we continued to party until the early hours and received rave reviews on Facebook the following morning.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN-US"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The next day we had 60 missed calls from our landlord saying we had to attend a meeting at 10.00 am with the Chief of Police (aka the party pooper) and the Director of Lodha Buildings (one of the biggest property developers in Mumbai) to explain our actions. I was too <s>hungover </s>busy tidying up to attend so Paul went alone. Paul made sure he told the Chief of Police that his behavior the previous night was unacceptable and that he gave a very unfavorable impression of India to many of the visiting expats that were at the party, we had also since found out that Police Officers had surrounded our place all evening waiting for a resident to complain so they could come up and take a bribe. For this the man apologized and I can imagine was starting to regret calling the most unnecessary meeting in the world as he was coming off worse. In the end the meeting turned out well for us, the Chief of Police offered us his help on anything in the future and gave Paul his personal phone number and the Lodha guy will be making the necessary repairs to the general areas and putting up spikes to prevent the pigeons pooing in the pool! Result!</span></span></div></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-87742123577058756432012-03-26T07:03:00.003-07:002012-03-26T07:06:29.488-07:00Read Into This Advertisement What You Will #2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJJD_pfeqY5IF07TARDwVzCyG9HlaXQtDkAkNkKoor5j04_PcaKE2eu4rMxFQFniUaKni4MXOyoGdIvPk5AkJ7wE2rjrXuhbPxdhLfplqRimK-zb1iX2ozierLHGSbAVCV8i-OCcNkG0/s1600/cro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBJJD_pfeqY5IF07TARDwVzCyG9HlaXQtDkAkNkKoor5j04_PcaKE2eu4rMxFQFniUaKni4MXOyoGdIvPk5AkJ7wE2rjrXuhbPxdhLfplqRimK-zb1iX2ozierLHGSbAVCV8i-OCcNkG0/s400/cro.jpg" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her face says it all (luckily we can't see his pants!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div>Because the original wasn't suggestive enough: <span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue; font-family: Times;"><a href="http://videsigirlinmumbai.blogspot.in/2012/03/read-into-this-post-what-you-will.html"><span style="color: blue;">Read Into This Advertisement What You Will #1</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue; font-family: Times;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: blue;"><o:p></o:p></span></div></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-59630537181922132352012-03-22T22:15:00.007-07:002012-03-22T22:20:09.893-07:00And The Award For The Most Appropriately Named Road In India Goes To....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgoepe9NXSnvHsyvUGcJ0WwXDf6GWMM-oDYdBbZROeu7tUF9ZaNIzjxKBmydItzdhijcF0kSSltMf4BU2Q4VJHSp23NpDX-53vjulehfGrGloJgaCKekLkxfqWhSWUxp6rVV-SXXV4csM/s1600/P1080209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgoepe9NXSnvHsyvUGcJ0WwXDf6GWMM-oDYdBbZROeu7tUF9ZaNIzjxKBmydItzdhijcF0kSSltMf4BU2Q4VJHSp23NpDX-53vjulehfGrGloJgaCKekLkxfqWhSWUxp6rVV-SXXV4csM/s400/P1080209.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">And just whilst we are on the subject, did you know if you ask for a Poppadom in India they do not have a scooby do what you are on about? Its true.</div></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-78674090923908596662012-03-22T02:29:00.009-07:002012-03-22T09:06:58.522-07:00A Bit Morbid For A Thursday Afternoon, Granted<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgch4hRsoS7pQxmmkm54PFGvK4oEt7CjNFjZZEZsLoPE5ALLbquyRWHX3i7LFu1eUivQGjeC12ViEXRAjpsRZCoFlx6bNWB0QIiGoAhQiTUTZ-mwUp3A-qm8Oy-PlOVFOLjU-FiLFVbpWE/s1600/P1080210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgch4hRsoS7pQxmmkm54PFGvK4oEt7CjNFjZZEZsLoPE5ALLbquyRWHX3i7LFu1eUivQGjeC12ViEXRAjpsRZCoFlx6bNWB0QIiGoAhQiTUTZ-mwUp3A-qm8Oy-PlOVFOLjU-FiLFVbpWE/s320/P1080210.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you are not more careful you are going to be<br />
a statistic!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Either Ramesh is conceited or there are a lot of deaths on the roads in India because every time I get into the car he is dying (no pun intended) to tell me about the latest car accident he’s seen and how many people died in it. Sometimes if I am lucky (or not lucky as the case may seem) he will drive me past the scene of the crime and tell me the whole story, including all the gory details, all over again! To be honest it is really disturbing, but the way the locals dawdle when they are crossing the road I can’t say I’m surprised, its like they have a death wish! According to The Times Of India, there are approximately 13 road deaths per hour in India which I think is appalling so I am taking this moment to send a message to the people of Mumbai:<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><a name='more'></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOjOAzCWwtb3P9CHrLIRwS0FjIYaVjEllyorIFEzSyEkPZ4gpOVjZvIwCC3nYEnaMQYOzx-ijC_ZvMxkoKCqvGYBevsh19w0T5dwB_dlf_k0xkh_1lHRdURGXYuOS-8-CvibFMFWXirUQ/s1600/P1080213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOjOAzCWwtb3P9CHrLIRwS0FjIYaVjEllyorIFEzSyEkPZ4gpOVjZvIwCC3nYEnaMQYOzx-ijC_ZvMxkoKCqvGYBevsh19w0T5dwB_dlf_k0xkh_1lHRdURGXYuOS-8-CvibFMFWXirUQ/s320/P1080213.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">My message to the pedestrians of Mumbai-</b> <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">‘Walk quicker across the road! You are not bullet/ car proof and if the car/ truck hits you at even 40mph you will probably die. Oh and don’t think sticking your hand out will save you, its not a force-field it is just a hand.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">My message to the drivers of Mumbai (including my husband who thinks driving in Mumbai is like a game of Grand Turismo)</b> <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">‘Drive more carefully!! The pedestrians of Mumbai will never learn and will always walk across the road ridiculously slowly so the chances are if you keep up your speed hoping they will hurry up they probably won’t, so you will hit them and kill them. Do you want that on your conscious? Do you??<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m more than sure that this public announcement won’t impact on the figures what so ever, but I like to think that I’ve put in my pennies worth and done my bit.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Any way after this gloomy post please find a link to the <span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: blue;"><a href="http://videsigirlinmumbai.blogspot.in/2012/03/forget-sheila-ki-jawani-theres-new.html">Dikshit post</a> </span>to cheer you up a bit as I’m still laughing at it a week later!<o:p></o:p></div></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-33019473178781182972012-03-20T20:48:00.001-07:002012-03-20T20:49:39.508-07:00For Simon Purohit<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivjBzr39BK79uhasUlcue7GIz8cvOuh1HouFXAgZK5g5AZTWiPhImoMZvN6k9CbLm3oe8K0jCd76e9YQ_wWKSEKqnGagp20nmSFwmm8Ok3GDTcslJblQh8q5dNnRGCLrvM18sJddDZouY/s1600/http-inlinethumb59.webshots.com-28282-2699854240105960926S600x600Q85.preview.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivjBzr39BK79uhasUlcue7GIz8cvOuh1HouFXAgZK5g5AZTWiPhImoMZvN6k9CbLm3oe8K0jCd76e9YQ_wWKSEKqnGagp20nmSFwmm8Ok3GDTcslJblQh8q5dNnRGCLrvM18sJddDZouY/s320/http-inlinethumb59.webshots.com-28282-2699854240105960926S600x600Q85.preview.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I didn't take this photo, but could have if I had one of <br />
those posh Nikon cameras, instead of a camera you<br />
can drop as many times as you like and it doesnt break.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">From the balcony of our new apartment, as well as one of the largest slums in India you can also see roads, taxis, the odd man pissing in the street, the sea and Flamingos!! You know, the pink birds that stand on one leg, that you have probably only ever seen in a Zoo? David Attenborough once told me (and the rest of the world as it was on Wildlife on One) that every year at around this time a flock of Flamingos stop at Sewri Bay Mud Planes, Mumbai whilst migrating South and those mud planes are clearly visible from Sophie’s new place (he didn’t really say the last bit, but it would have been brilliant if he had!!) It also turns out that this area is actually a bird watchers wet dream as it attracts a variety of migrating birds throughout the year. I don’t know about you but I’m off to buy myself some binoculars and a Barbour jacket!</span></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-27307026168979996582012-03-19T21:40:00.001-07:002012-03-19T21:40:32.524-07:00Bang Bang!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjC0n0MtvxUPCnnhp-EKzExlo3EN75dG7oyVk75WT08lIhdSaYtzzFR8w2HiYPpZ68IUH_ys_1FDNh_jpk_7IZElMOo2hdvcLF620KJcshRsAlYwb_ULOv13p6mEC2_dWU4TL7SeiFJ0/s1600/319758_10150869204326258_650666257_12674649_711649466_n-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHjC0n0MtvxUPCnnhp-EKzExlo3EN75dG7oyVk75WT08lIhdSaYtzzFR8w2HiYPpZ68IUH_ys_1FDNh_jpk_7IZElMOo2hdvcLF620KJcshRsAlYwb_ULOv13p6mEC2_dWU4TL7SeiFJ0/s320/319758_10150869204326258_650666257_12674649_711649466_n-1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">As our building is brand new a few of the apartments still have work going on which can be quite annoying when you are trying to get to sleep. Last night the banging was so loud from up stairs that Paul went up to see what the commotion was (I know, risky strategy) the door was open so he walked in (again risky) and found five men busy nailing…things together (phew!). After spending 8 minutes explaining that it wasn’t appropriate for them to be putting a kitchen in at 1.00am in the morning, the man in charge replied ‘Sir after 12.00am you will have no banging from us’ ‘It is already 1.00am’ Paul replied ‘Sir, you will hear no banging from us after 12.00am tomorrow evening’ he replied.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ah.</span><o:p></o:p></div></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-26356755536034159192012-03-18T22:12:00.002-07:002012-03-18T22:13:46.749-07:00Lar De Dar<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDbiXIYacpw10XPhZ6THq5GCQZE-2q6FZKrphD9Q9sruYTn3XZSvTEu1Jwy5dNC-O17TEjd9TL9QMTGJYiJgeyKE-OiJiuBhEi6VcLY030cmPJOngyxocdc6TgtMhEQL4IhnOraufFT2w/s1600/4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDbiXIYacpw10XPhZ6THq5GCQZE-2q6FZKrphD9Q9sruYTn3XZSvTEu1Jwy5dNC-O17TEjd9TL9QMTGJYiJgeyKE-OiJiuBhEi6VcLY030cmPJOngyxocdc6TgtMhEQL4IhnOraufFT2w/s320/4.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Art Gallery or my living room???</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Every February Mumbai plays host to the Kala-Ghoda Festival where various artists perform or display their works; it also attracts a lot of people selling art. On this particular weekend Paul and I were feeling extremely grown up so decided we would go art shopping <s>because we thought it would be hilarious </s> for investment purposes. Armed with our berets and a pocket full of cash we took on the crowds and actually bought three original prints from a local artist and a painting from a guy who was from Bangalore. After having them put onto canvas they have just been delivered and I must admit they look top banana (that’s a technical term) and the best thing is, as we currently only have a few things in our apartment they actually make our living room look like an art gallery, so that’s fun. </span><br />
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBauh-gya1XniEEHT76DnrI6LENJiddzx8f2a5LIjk4Lohit0X4kzSGG7U-U4g6pqm96js-LarAqW6D5JMpd-sj8HCUp71PT4wyBKszwI9lfjJ24FKYbd-uf1UIZv8bbJ_LIwNpS1A4k0/s1600/P1080205.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBauh-gya1XniEEHT76DnrI6LENJiddzx8f2a5LIjk4Lohit0X4kzSGG7U-U4g6pqm96js-LarAqW6D5JMpd-sj8HCUp71PT4wyBKszwI9lfjJ24FKYbd-uf1UIZv8bbJ_LIwNpS1A4k0/s320/P1080205.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Apparently its supposed <br />
the represent the innocence of Children playing!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp9_AzhDQXITmMZos3svLaIZyD2a1b4o_5EymUqFpV9_QRqfw9WcfOmYegF90dEEjawkiqDpOmaTtEIr977btbgp9rFuFh7zTpV0GY5Nj0W8aqGsvx3cw6byVoj8kraUh27gnx9AiJA74/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="254" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp9_AzhDQXITmMZos3svLaIZyD2a1b4o_5EymUqFpV9_QRqfw9WcfOmYegF90dEEjawkiqDpOmaTtEIr977btbgp9rFuFh7zTpV0GY5Nj0W8aqGsvx3cw6byVoj8kraUh27gnx9AiJA74/s320/3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look how much the art captured my attention!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><br />
<br />
</div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-29086359188005480152012-03-16T01:39:00.007-07:002012-03-16T01:54:32.407-07:00Read Into This Advertisement What You Will...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVxyOPLjzHxxbJ7N-_fDQ9FeCnjqVjv-s91UGy6qkOb5NZNymOKVMAYGFvFTXLJbzckwnyvcH32jPGeh9e_YczyBGsOKIdC169i1LYLm9ApcddjmCyMt4187tZdUSvFSJenKgUi0TQYks/s1600/P10801791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVxyOPLjzHxxbJ7N-_fDQ9FeCnjqVjv-s91UGy6qkOb5NZNymOKVMAYGFvFTXLJbzckwnyvcH32jPGeh9e_YczyBGsOKIdC169i1LYLm9ApcddjmCyMt4187tZdUSvFSJenKgUi0TQYks/s400/P10801791.jpg" width="302" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guys! Stop looking at her lips!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-43955455243917378452012-03-16T01:33:00.001-07:002012-03-16T01:33:33.214-07:00Simple Q&A<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGItEDAGFL0qwgausQB5qJg-ffv1fdXfFUY5pUOfq4Ayzp7kEzNFLWEsec4fCsUDdiklkbBJ0-3rJ5H-tde2UmuTreQzKhOqct1OaFvsHIIuMeAD9bITf8hygNZr7d19lSjWj5vPXRmo0/s1600/426071_10150859358016258_650666257_12630161_897058936_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGItEDAGFL0qwgausQB5qJg-ffv1fdXfFUY5pUOfq4Ayzp7kEzNFLWEsec4fCsUDdiklkbBJ0-3rJ5H-tde2UmuTreQzKhOqct1OaFvsHIIuMeAD9bITf8hygNZr7d19lSjWj5vPXRmo0/s320/426071_10150859358016258_650666257_12630161_897058936_n.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bronze</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Question:</b> Is it inappropriate to ask the Indian male pool attendant to put suntan lotion on your back?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Answer:</b> Yes.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Question:</b> Did I do it anyway?<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Answer:</b> Yes.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Well no one likes sunburn!<o:p></o:p></div></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-89160623601098227542012-03-15T03:12:00.003-07:002012-03-15T03:14:16.239-07:00Forget Sheila Ki Jawani. There’s a New Sheila In Town!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGlqZk3Td0P_VmLT0nQlXBsN3queSTcY1y6VqS-ezm34YHgCqgnIEq_Yedhvq53WBEcJ-T4Q5GUePlz8kC237Wzz7BdYLFH8g9sHLwGk618RhpYtaVAg-mURkv1KYIYwoKLzLXltOdjE/s1600/429196_10150840222441258_650666257_12562677_876719113_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTGlqZk3Td0P_VmLT0nQlXBsN3queSTcY1y6VqS-ezm34YHgCqgnIEq_Yedhvq53WBEcJ-T4Q5GUePlz8kC237Wzz7BdYLFH8g9sHLwGk618RhpYtaVAg-mURkv1KYIYwoKLzLXltOdjE/s320/429196_10150840222441258_650666257_12562677_876719113_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sure she's a lovely person</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lets be childish for a sec… I don’t know about you but when I was at school (and to be fair, still now) I would find it hilarious when someones name sounded rude, so you can imagine the howls of laughter that exited my mouth when I noticed the article to the left about Sheila Dikshit, just to confirm- DIKSHIT, pronounced DICK-SHIT. He he he, so immature.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-34466543964694507842012-03-14T02:44:00.001-07:002012-03-14T02:45:26.910-07:00Out With The Old In With The New!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXpDB5_52wvcZhciIUyXQgGpu_xFN7d5YcYVDsyA5DT8cAsLvx4tyior43UwLkwGKFbpfs1SF4FYKvoQSHF8issiUQy4EKyKWa5YxG7RAW_MeXp6XqObKNPsFrqOC0K05N8pjv_-hnoQ/s1600/422492_10150854716361258_650666257_12617221_1655711449_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaXpDB5_52wvcZhciIUyXQgGpu_xFN7d5YcYVDsyA5DT8cAsLvx4tyior43UwLkwGKFbpfs1SF4FYKvoQSHF8issiUQy4EKyKWa5YxG7RAW_MeXp6XqObKNPsFrqOC0K05N8pjv_-hnoQ/s320/422492_10150854716361258_650666257_12617221_1655711449_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A little bit of heaven</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So the rabbit hutch is gone and we now live in a four bathroom, three bedroom, massive living room with balcony, maids quarters, roof top pool and gym, and 360 degree views of slum (you can’t have everything) apartment in Sewri.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 2.0pt;">Sewri – which is pronounced nothing at all like it’s spelt - is situated in what I like to call ‘real India’, (you may wish to call it ‘a shit hole’ but that will be your own interpretation) but I actually already prefer living here more than Marine Drive and Colaba as its more, errrm, it has more, errrm character. Yes character! Sewri has so much character I think every time I step foot outside on my own home I’ll have a blog post to share… So bring it on!!<o:p></o:p></div></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-90849689682002837802012-03-14T02:39:00.001-07:002012-03-14T02:48:53.411-07:00Getting the Internet installed in India is worse than having a root canal!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0xlj-04cAvUtWjXdnv81MQ576FbWr4RddmxS3TPkIHjEwy7fIOnBHn-UmQKoiW-yAp5MLCRVDuDs7eOdnj0rU2ZJ5ii87fZrPcxRYjzovpcFKFE08VGXZkWfrESsk_UX5h2nGAnm55g/s1600/426919_10150854722041258_650666257_12617249_108262083_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0xlj-04cAvUtWjXdnv81MQ576FbWr4RddmxS3TPkIHjEwy7fIOnBHn-UmQKoiW-yAp5MLCRVDuDs7eOdnj0rU2ZJ5ii87fZrPcxRYjzovpcFKFE08VGXZkWfrESsk_UX5h2nGAnm55g/s320/426919_10150854722041258_650666257_12617249_108262083_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Actually I'm not ready to talk about this right now but what I will say is that I am now back on line and no body was murdered in the process (although there were moments!!!).</div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-90375206855031277302012-03-11T04:19:00.003-07:002012-03-11T04:22:40.381-07:00Happy Holi Bitches!!!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiculsglQojHelu3d5P0ZfTMUDefOuL6iwLPgJsndAoaVJXfQxZfSoJaN8qhjNT8SVDlDuO9e_xQRKV7eIRnauuX-GLM3Iys8_aYJNj-iORrxT4VyrIJpL9lAYz3HysecoB1Wb-WZIfUQA/s1600/holi+close.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiculsglQojHelu3d5P0ZfTMUDefOuL6iwLPgJsndAoaVJXfQxZfSoJaN8qhjNT8SVDlDuO9e_xQRKV7eIRnauuX-GLM3Iys8_aYJNj-iORrxT4VyrIJpL9lAYz3HysecoB1Wb-WZIfUQA/s320/holi+close.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>I wasn't in India for Holi this year so I thought I would recycle last years post... ENJOY! <a href="http://videsigirlinmumbai.blogspot.in/2011/03/hula-hoops-and-holi.html">http://videsigirlinmumbai.blogspot.in/2011/03/hula-hoops-and-holi.html</a><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
</div></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451552276256750355.post-84378986853225024362012-03-07T17:08:00.000-08:002012-03-07T17:08:55.556-08:00Just a General Tip – Don’t Move House With a Hangover. It Sucks.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves>false</w:TrackMoves> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridHorizontalSpacing> <w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing>18 pt</w:DrawingGridVerticalSpacing> <w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayHorizontalDrawingGridEvery> <w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery>0</w:DisplayVerticalDrawingGridEvery> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:DontAutofitConstrainedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> </w:Compatibility> </w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" LatentStyleCount="276"> </w:LatentStyles> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 10]> <style>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTubFlji9Gz60QQrL4mAvQJ3iv4ncu9H1V0lK2F2nKRxx9-gk8jYxQJ7C7otikZ8Gjs2FCd1AFml6sx2PULjuU4SYN5VsU0qo8xazbt0H4P6NzcE-5mOs31pDXfA1WZTcUpB2VF1kJcUg/s1600/IMG00814-20120303-1417.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTubFlji9Gz60QQrL4mAvQJ3iv4ncu9H1V0lK2F2nKRxx9-gk8jYxQJ7C7otikZ8Gjs2FCd1AFml6sx2PULjuU4SYN5VsU0qo8xazbt0H4P6NzcE-5mOs31pDXfA1WZTcUpB2VF1kJcUg/s320/IMG00814-20120303-1417.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our 'Apartment'</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Moving house is never a straight- forward task where ever you are in the world so I held out little hope that in India it would be any different; so in preparation for the weekend’s operation I cleared my mind of any expectations, standards and desires and conditioned my mind to believe that the move would be a complete and utter disaster, and India you did not disappoint.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">The good point first, for the equivalent of thirty pounds we hired a van and an army of men to do the manual labour, which freed us up to nurse our hangovers and randomly shout directions from the comfort of the sofa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one stage I tried to count how many people we had hired but I kept on losing track, a bit like when you were little and you used to try and count the number of tad poles you had in your jar once they had hatched, but its impossible because they are swimming around so fast. In the end I reckon there was about one thousand (helpers not tad poles).</span></div><a name='more'></a> <o:p></o:p><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4Hw0t5AJQ-zx5cRTpQcMb4Rrj17FUid50-xy3v5Ypih0y7V7SKBHYYkMmqBp3ofHA2V88oy8ieVx3vfyz-mHHpwqF-Qse7-sWG1krLKdWCh4BZlvaJRFsUL3dpVDOZrjw3VNdmDqXCg/s1600/IMG00813-20120303-1416.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj4Hw0t5AJQ-zx5cRTpQcMb4Rrj17FUid50-xy3v5Ypih0y7V7SKBHYYkMmqBp3ofHA2V88oy8ieVx3vfyz-mHHpwqF-Qse7-sWG1krLKdWCh4BZlvaJRFsUL3dpVDOZrjw3VNdmDqXCg/s320/IMG00813-20120303-1416.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ramesh moving our stuff out of our 'apartment' in to our<br />
actual apartment</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">Once we arrived at the new apartment (after being stopped by the Police on the way because one of the helpers had fell out the back of the truck) we left Ramesh in charge of unloading all of our possessions into our new home whilst we took a well deserved break (from doing basically nothing) and went to get some food. When we returned the apartment was still empty; concerned that we had been robbed we telephoned Ramesh, ‘Ramesh, where is our stuff? The apartment is empty?’ ‘It is all in your apartment maam’ he replied ‘No, no Ramesh, we are in the apartment now and there is no stuff’ I replied slightly cacking myself ‘Maaam I am in your apartment now’ (Paul at this stage grabs the phone off me because he doesn’t believe that anyone outside of Birmingham understands my accent) and shouted ‘Ramesh, where are you???’ ‘’Sir I am on 12 floor at your apartment, by lift’ <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>he replied probably thinking we were both insane! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;">We walked outside the apartment, there was the lift but no Ramesh and certainly no furniture, so we carried on through a set of double doors, which led to the service lift and maids entrance area… low and behold what did we find???? The army of men, a proud looking Ramesh and all of our belongings! ‘Very nice apartment Maaam’ Ramesh said with a large smile on his face. ‘Ramesh?? This is a corridor??? ! I blurted, struggling to control my laughter ‘Not apartment Maam?‘ he replied, obviously confused at my reaction ‘No Ramesh, this is our apartment’, Paul chuckled whilst walking Ramesh into our actual apartment where his little eyes nearly popped out of his little head. ‘So sorry Sir’ Ramesh replied before shouting to the men to get back to work. It was a long day. <o:p></o:p></span></div><!--EndFragment--></div>Sophiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12991469080521336102noreply@blogger.com1