Meet Jeevan Kaur's new friend......hmmnnn.....what should we call her, eh Prabhu Ji?!
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
race for life - breast cancer
My friends and I are doing the race for life (http://www.raceforlife.org) to raise money for breast cancer on Sunday 21st May 2006.Please be kind and sponsor a couple of quid for this good cause.
All you do is click on the links below – and sponsor online.
Your gift is very much appreciated.
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/amer (only 11 years old!)
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/gupi (only 9 years old!)
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/sanjyot
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/bhupinder (Pindy)
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/mahon
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/preet (me)
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/sushil
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/taran
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/pam_bhamra
http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/ras
Thanks and God bless.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Hyde Park last sunday - chasing after an elephant!
I kept waiting for a big bumble bee to show up - that would have been perfect!
I love my phone, most of my photos are taken using the phone.
Best thing is...its always handy!
If you ever do anything embarassing, someone is sure to capture it on their phone.
I love my phone, most of my photos are taken using the phone.
Best thing is...its always handy!
If you ever do anything embarassing, someone is sure to capture it on their phone.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
post # 100
This is post number 100 and it is dedicated to Pindiiiiiii!!!!!
Cos she is the madest funnest craziest matey of mine!
Love you lots n lots n lots - shame im already married though! ;o)
Oh and she is very very available - 25, gori chiti, extremely good lookin, makes round rotis, religious! ;o)
bubbly personality and good fun! ;o)
hehe! Please email me if interested, you wont be dissappointed! (if i set you two up, im sure there is a suit in it for me! and maybe some gold earings?!) ;o)
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Well done Davinder!!!
You actually made it! :o)
Hmmmnnn....London Marathon, why have I not done it yet?
Its such a Preet thing to do?!
hmmmm.....
Nagar Kirtan 2006
So, why do I take part in the Nagar Kirtan? To listen to the large number of dhol players!? Because I have nothing better to do on a Sunday? Maybe those alluring chollaybhaturaysamosayjalebis?! It might be a chance to meet up with my friends that I hardly get to see? I guess it’s good to get out and go for a nice long walk?
Gurcharan and I found ourselves asking this question this year – why is it that we go to the Nagar Kirtan? I must admit, I have never really questioned it before now – I have just gone.
A few people I know have actually made it a point NOT to take part in the Nagar Kirtan. I find myself on the verge of doing the same.
It is a shame – there was a time I really looked forward to the Nagar Kirtan – more importantly, I actually gained something from it. Now, im not too sure.
(photo courtesy of www.solarider.org/blog)
Although, I do believe it is what you make of it, as with anything.
If I focus on the ‘dodgy’ bits, then I have already lost the plot. I guess with everything comes the ‘dark side!’. The trick is to simply ignore the dodgy-ness and enjoy what the Nagar Kirtan has to offer.
A few of the usual amusing things remain: the aunties with the empty Tesco bags that are spilling over by the end of the Nagar Kirtan, the trendy group of clean shaven boys with funky hairstyles and the smooth look shouting slogans to the likes of “raj karega…Khalsa” “Deg Tegh Fateh” and the rest. Oh and a new one this year at the Southall Nagar Kirtan, bhangra dancers – the uncle ji’s trying their best to copy the latest moves. Oh, what fun! For a minute I thought it was a mela! ;o)
All in all, it was nice. Got to do darshan of the Punj right at the beginning – which I have never got to do before. Poor lil mummy was half jogging half sprinting to keep up with Gurch and I. Must say it used to be much more fun with dad – my partner in crime!
He had a cheeky mind – just like me! Not fun at all by myself! :o(
Monday, April 24, 2006
Himmat's Sister
That’s me.
That is my official title.
If you didn’t know who I am, im sure you do now.
You see, Himmat is The Yellow Pages. He knows EVERYONE! Whereas the up and coming Jatinder, Himmat’s apprentice, is the Thompson Directory. Hence, landing me the new title of Jat’s Bhabi!
(photo courtesy of www.solarider.org/blog)
There must have been a million people (slight exaggeration) at the Nagar Kirtan yesterday; Himmat hardly took 2 steps without bumping into someone he knew. And of course, I was introduced as……Himmat’s Sister!
I remember the days when lil Himmi was a painfully shy little boy. I was always the one doing all the talking, meeting new people, actually being addressed by the name on my birth certificate.
Now, I am simply known as…Himmat’s Sister.
That is my official title.
If you didn’t know who I am, im sure you do now.
You see, Himmat is The Yellow Pages. He knows EVERYONE! Whereas the up and coming Jatinder, Himmat’s apprentice, is the Thompson Directory. Hence, landing me the new title of Jat’s Bhabi!
(photo courtesy of www.solarider.org/blog)
There must have been a million people (slight exaggeration) at the Nagar Kirtan yesterday; Himmat hardly took 2 steps without bumping into someone he knew. And of course, I was introduced as……Himmat’s Sister!
I remember the days when lil Himmi was a painfully shy little boy. I was always the one doing all the talking, meeting new people, actually being addressed by the name on my birth certificate.
Now, I am simply known as…Himmat’s Sister.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
You think maybe these two are related?!
Baby Jeeya and mama Kaira - why that expression.....i dont really know.....
Dad's car
Gone! :o(
I got some 'nice' memories of dad making every excuse in the book - 'oh no no no, you can't drive it!'
He was one of those daddies that looks after his car; getting out on the drive on a sunday morning with his shorts on to wash the car - No daddy of mine should have to spend £5 to get it washed! ;o)
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Wednesday, March 29, 2006
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)
Thursday, March 23, 2006
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
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...
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...
Tuesday, March 14, 2006
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)
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)
Thursday, March 09, 2006
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
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?!
Magic couldron. Hocus pocus toil and bubble! heeheehee! ;o)
New York! ;o)
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)
Friday, March 03, 2006
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) 
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
Thursday, March 02, 2006
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)
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)
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