Red wine or White?!

Non - alchoholic......but of course! ;o)

This is for Satvinder Penji! (cos she been tellin me off for bein a lazy blogger!) :-p

Only fruits for you missy......well, atleast until the aunties finish makin the jalebis! ;o)

The pics are of some of the table displays I did for my wedding. Perfect for the drinks table. Anybody out there gettin married? I got tons of funky ideas that im dying to try out - can only justify doin them if its for weddings or occasions.

So, ANYONE WANA HIRE ME?! ;o)

When I grow up...

...i want to be like my daddy!

Lost luggage Part II

...cont...

Went out to baggage section. Watched a belt moving round and round for two hours. My GOD, these Indians don’t carry all THAT kind of stuff all around the world, do they? Yes, they do. At last – CLUNK. The belt stopped. My bag hadn’t appeared. NOT AGAIN! My soul shrieked – not another time in Mumbai without a change of underwear. “My bag has not arrived!” I shouted to the attendant in Hindi (in an African-east London accent). “If you want to complain,” he replied in the correct Mumbai accent, “Go to counter number 43”. By now I was thinking of Arab Airlines and their incestuous relationships with their mothers and sisters. “Name!” asked the babu at counter 43 before I vented my wrath. “Ah, Mr. Singh, your bag arrived hours earlier – by SWISSAIR!” he added, beaming. He was really impressed. My bag had had a much cleaner journey than I had. “Just give me the bag,” I said wearily. “Certainly!” still beaming. “Please to fill in this form” He gave me a form called “Personal Baggage Irregularity Report” – PBIR for short. I had great fun filling in that form. It had lengthy notes (in English and Hindi) on how to fill in the details – and about three dots for the information. The Kaya Chiktsa Exam was easier than that form. At last I was finished and handed him the form. He didn’t even glance at it. He checked my passport, my ticket, my urine, blood pressure, temperature, attitude – made me sign twenty ledgers, declarations, disclaimers, praises and god knows what else. By this time things were starting to look slightly surreal. “All done!” he beamed, - and took me to Customs, where we did the whole thing again – in detail this time. “All done” – the beam again, “Let’s go”. The bag was at another Terminal. I should have known – Swissair would never share a Terminal with Syrianair. We did a half marathon to the next Terminal, then another quarter marathon through progressively dingier corridors until we came to a dead end – and turned OFF it into ANOTHER DEAD END – and came to a closed and locked door that said “NO SPITTING”. You guessed it – it was covered in red spit. “Please to wait here”. Beam.
“I will go and fetch the officer”. He disappeared. Abandoned at the end of the mother of all dead ends. O well, I thought while sniffing delicately at the twenty years old spit reeking of betel nut, katha and tobacco, this is one smell that wasn’t found on the plane. I filed the delicate smell carefully in my olfactory files for future appreciation in times of leisure.

Well, all good things come to an end. My friend eventually returned with a carbon copy (carbon being the operative word). “Here we are!” he shouted. They both beamed. We went through the whole procedure again. This time I had to sign 37 times, but he handed over my bag reluctantly – and beamed. “Customs now” said Babu no 1. “Different Terminal” he explained when he saw the look on my face. This time they examined me AND my bag – false bottom? Quality of stitch, past and present history, diagnosis, prognosis, differential diagnosis etc etc. I had stopped counting the number of signatures, stamps, testimonials, character references, number of people I knew in India and their addresses (in the present AND the past two incarnations). Eventually satisfied, they flung out their arms in outlandish gestures and shouted, “Welcome to Mumbai!” It was pelting down with rain something fierce outside – it is called the Monsoon I am told. The babus beamed incandescently.

I cringed furtively towards the exit gate, reciting the name of the Almighty twenty times per step as freedom came progressively closer. At twenty steps to the exit, a wild hope began to flutter in my breast. Dare I hope? At nine steps to Rama a hand fell on my shoulder. I turned. A babu in white. He beamed. “Anything to declare?” he asked politely. Too politely. I let out a wild cry (in an African-east London accent), put my head down and CHARGED out through the exit, into the pouring monsoon, stumbled and fell into a huge puddle of delightfully ‘clear’ water, thrashed about and giggled hysterically. A small crowd gathered to watch my antics. “PHORINER” (foreigner) one of them said loudly. They all nodded wisely. “ He is enjoying his visit to India”. They all nodded, even more wisely.

Too right, mate! And this is only my first six hours in India. What is going to happen in the next 2494 hours? Only time will tell. Or will it. The crowd looked on at my antics. They beamed.

Lost luggage

I stumbled upon another brilliant gem!
This is a much much better report than my flimsy attempt at writing like dad! http://satisembi.blogspot.com/2006/01/luggagewhat-luggage.html


Wednesday, June 26, 2002 Dear People, IT HAPPENED AGAIN! I ARRIVED IN MUMBAI WITHOUT A SPARE PAIR OF UNDERPANTS. At first I wasn’t sure we had come to the right destination. I travelled by Syrian Airlines. They were cheap – I will grant them that! That was what attracted me in the first place – I am a cheap bastard. But that is where the attractions stopped. A worst case of “Matatu Airlines” I have not encountered. They are worse than Kenya Airways, and that is saying something. Their planes last had a clean up in 1978 – which was the last time the Russians paid for the service. Each part of the plane was an olfactory wonderland – one corner smelt of vomit, another of sewage, a third of twenty-year old tobacco smoke, a fourth of camel dung. The toilets are works of art – painted in layer upon layer of dried piss and other less attractive excreta. You do your business wishing that you could open a window. We were taken to Damascus and abandoned. There were arrows pointing in various directions, all saying “TRANSIT”. I suppose you were supposed to decide which way you wanted to go. The Arab ladies at these counters all spoke incomprehenselish with a FRENCH accent – they thought it made them sound sophisticated. “Baggage!” one barked at me. I pointed at my carry bag. She looked relieved and even gave me half a smile. “I also checked in a suitcase in London”. “Then why didn’t you say so?” she demanded. I gave her my baggage tag. She muttered praises of me in Arabic while she struggled to introduce this earth-shaking information into her computer. “Next!” she shouted after ten minutes. I wandered around the terminal, following arrows pointing in various directions saying TRANSIT. Any question to an official elicited a bout of heavy breathing, which meant that the person was exercising superhuman restraint in not assaulting me physically. I wandered into a departure gate where more brown faces seemed to be in evidence. No one paid the slightest bit of attention. The plane ended up in Abu Dhabi, where they wouldn’t let me off the plane. No one would answer any question – not even in an Arab French accent. The plane took off and landed again (a medley of people being sick all over the plane), and the crew cocked a thumb at the door. I was desperate to get off the plane by now, and wandered off through empty corridors (4 o’clock in the morning). I came across a strange apparition – a FAN on a stand, whirring away at full blast. This looked familiar. I came across a desperado looking like he’d just escaped from a Mexican prison – in a brown uniform. It was a policeman. I was in Mumbai, I decided, hugely relieved.

to be cont...

Kirtan @ Karamsar Gurdwara - pics

My efficient brother Jatinder Singh has uploaded the pics from the kirtan prog.
Please check them out on:

http://jatlee.blogspot.com/2006/03/kirtan-karamsar-pics.html

(photos taken by the talented Gurcharan Singh Ji Ilford Wale)

Pehle payt puja, phir kam duja! Scene II Act V

choc cake with choc sandwich filling covered in choc icing decorated with choc chips and choc sprinkles and choc buttons.
CHOCTASTIC!! ;O)











My giant cake, all mine! MUUAAHHAHAHA!

Pehle payt puja, phir kam duja! The saga continues!

I ordered cheeeeese cake, not friggin Picasso! ;o)

Pehle payt puja, phir kam duja! ;o)

Dunno why I have so many food pics on my phone?!

Do I use the peach jam, the strawberry jam or the raspberry jam. hhmmm......sticky situation!

Magic couldron. Hocus pocus toil and bubble! heeheehee! ;o)






















New York! ;o)

Happy Birthday Jatlee!!

18 today! YIPPPPEEEEE!!!
Jatinder aka Jatlee aka bro-in-law aka mother-in-law aka cute cat aka mini sant ji

What can I say, I feel privileged to have you as a brother!! :O)
For those of you who have met him, you will know exactly what im talking about! ;o)

Jat is sooo small (erm….def not in the physical sense of the word!) yet he has so much gian – just like a sant in the making! Humble, kind, respectful, everything you would expect out of a sant! Although, he never lets me do any chuglia(n)! poo! :o)

He is the only one at our class that practises his raag! That’s why is the only one who can play his dilruba with professional clarity and ease! He spends hours on end practising, practising and practising some more – his dedication to raag kirtan is inspirational. You can hear Jat do kirtan on 11th March at Karamsar Gurdwara, Ilford. http://satisembi.blogspot.com/2006/02/kirtan-karamsar-gurdwara-ilford.html

Jat is a very veryyy talented artist - this is one he did earlier! ;o)

Ehem.......not that he has ever offered to do acheesy painting one of Gurch and I!! (i would like that very much thank you! :-p

I have learnt a lot from this seemingly innocent squirrel boy:
Never turn your back on your Rocky’s burger if he’s in the vicinity! You will never see it again! ;o)
If you ever need to bribe Jat, just promise him a trip to Rocky’s! He is somewhat obsessed with their curly fries and veggie burgers!

I first met him at Sikhi camp, when he was a round little ladoo (still is!). He (and his notorious accomplice!) introduced me to his older (and rather charming) brother with ulterior motives in mind - Lo and behold his brother is now my hubby! ;o)

Jat has this incredible talent to make people laugh! His sharp wit and charisma are key in his sense of humour! He can make a joke out of anything!

When dad (in-law) was in hospital, he would have to be sent out cos he would make him laugh so hard! Even in most sombre situations he can make you feel better.

Have a lobely jubly day cute cat! x

Today's weather forecast

snow sun snow sun snow sun snow........

This has got to be one of the cleverest things ive come across in a while. Someone out there either has too much spare time or is deadly at Scrabble.(Wait till you see the last one)!

DORMITORY: When you rearrange the letters:DIRTY ROOM
PRESBYTERIAN: When you rearrange the letters: BEST IN PRAYER
ASTRONOMER: When you rearrange the letters: MOON STARER
DESPERATION: When you rearrange the letters: A ROPE ENDS IT
THE EYES: When you rearrange the letters:THEY SEE
GEORGE BUSH:When you rearrange the letters: HE BUGS GORE
THE MORSE CODE:When you rearrange the letters: HERE COME DOTS
SLOT MACHINES: When you rearrange the letters: CASH LOST IN ME
ANIMOSITY: When you rearrange the letters:IS NO AMITY
ELECTION RESULTS: When you rearrange the letters:LIES - LET'S RECOUNT
SNOOZE ALARMS:When you rearrange the letters: ALAS! NO MORE Z 'S
A DECIMAL POINT:When you rearrange the letters: IM A DOT IN PLACE
THE EARTHQUAKES: When you rearrange the letters: THAT QUEER SHAKE
ELEVEN PLUS TWO: When you rearrange the letters:TWELVE PLUS ONE

AND FOR THE GRAND FINALE: MOTHER-IN-LAW: When you rearrange the letters: WOMAN HITLERYep! Someone with waaaaaaaaaaay too much time on their hands! (Probably a son-in-law)