Carolime Time

God, I miss writing for the love of it. I never make the time these days, not even to write to myself. And when I do write to myself, they’re mangled indulgences text messaged to myself, often observations, regularly my internal conflicts. I am not emotionally nor mentally numbed, no, but I channel it… Read the rest of this entry »

read comments (0)

Oh those 905ers. You’ve heard of them, you might know a few, you might have actually been one at some point…and they’re talked about far more than you notice. The term 905er has planted itself firmly in Toronto’s slang and in-the-cool jargon, especially in the  downtown core. But what exactly is a 905er and why is the term not exactly an acceptable one, and therefore not one to be associated with?

Read the rest of this entry »

read comments (3)

Those of us who wait for the first glimpse of sun are quick to shed the boots and coats and head to our favourite Toronto patios for sangria and calamari. Don’t pretend you don’t do it. I know when we saw the the light a few weeks ago, my friends and I started our lengthy wait in a line up at Black Bull, near Queen and Soho, for 20mins. It was OK for the first little bit, ordering water indoors as others manned the lineup..but we got restless and left the Queen West hood for Little Italy. Our crowd of 4 quickly turned into 6 and then 8. Larger groups are harder to manage but more fun at the end of the night:) Read the rest of this entry »

read comments (4)

my struggle to live beyond the 4 walls of an office begin here. stifled and uninspired, i awaited my departure from the environment, anticipating the day i would get laid off or come across my dream spot (or gold-bearing partner, whichever came first that would emancipate me from the 9 to 5 shackles).

it’s not that i wanted to stop working, but that i wanted to be the sole decider of how my time would be spent.

freelance options

i think it’s quite difficult to live a freelance life. one must be wholly dedicated, hardworking, proactive, and disciplined.  one friend suggested i use facebook as my source of networking and take articles and work from those on my friends list. truthfully, that site has been absolutely useless to me, no matter how much i tried to use it as a networking tool. i had 700 friends, and i got no jobs, just a lot of welcome, warm responses to my writing and a lot of ‘friends’.

i also considered jumping from contract to contract. that would be awesome, actually. spend 3mos writing articles on the investment and financial worlds, another 6mos working as a communications assistant at the film festival, all while freelance writing along the way and working as a performer, as i please..this would be a good life for me. there’s also Nasco, a staffing company for events and entertainment, and Creative Niche, a staffing company for arts and creative careers.

i look at jobs regularly and some are fantastic…

–note–i didn’t finish this post until recently. before i could really dive into the freelance life, i came upon another 9 to 5 opportunity that struck my fancy. luckily, it’s a contract internship with a leading digital force.

learning on the side

on that note, i think it’s always important to build on our abilities when the chance arises. be it a course, workshop, or internship, it all adds up. of course, we have to make money along the way..i saved up a chunk from my past work, and am now draining that. my spending has also decreased a lot…not so much a fine diner these days! and those fruity drinks at Toronto’s Blowfish Restaurant aren’t meeting my lips..sigh..

i’ll keep you updated on the rest..

read comments (0)

My friends and I are trying to figure out the best place to go camping in Ontario.

We’re not against the idea of crossing into Quebec, since half our friends are coming from Montreal.

But really, we need to make it something halfway between Toronto and Montreal.

Anyway, last year we went to a camping ground near Lancaster, in Ontario.

This year, our options are:

Charleston Lake
Bon Echo
Sandbanks
Sharbot Lake
Petroglyphs

I’ve driven through the Sharbot Lake area, I find it very quaint and secluded as a town..And their forests seem thick enough..then again, how does one gauge an idea of ‘a good camping site’? what makes a good camping site? i’d say clean air, not too many people, and a nearness to water…a personal favoured aspect of CAMPING is WATERFALLS!!!!! I would love to sleep near the waterfalls:)

Anyway, I am embarrassed to tell you how few times I’ve actually gone camping, but I can tell you that I’m an avid cabin/cottager and the requirements are similar..ideally, you want to be as far away from the city as possible..I’ve been to a lot of cottages in Ontario, though. My family used to be really into the fishing thing. My big dream, at one point, was buying a nice cottage.

Anyway, I’m not up for going to Sandbanks..just because it has so many camping sites and I don’t know if I want to be in an area where there are 500 other camping sites set up:)

That being said, Bon Echo camping area seems really cool. There are petroglyphs, paddling, hikes, cliffs, etc!

Let’s see which we choose…can’t wait!

Oh, and LongSault park is looking good too.. all of these are pretty much in  eastern Ontario.

read comments (1)

I was sitting at the corner of Queen and Yonge today waiting for Mutton to meet me for dinner..it was rush hour, everyone was leaving work and I was reading the paper on a bench. Truthfully, I couldn’t concentrate, as there were too many fashionable clacking heels passing amidst the streetcars and out-of-place bicycles. I need to take notes on what’s in! Not to mention I was wearing sunglasses and I’ve not grown accustomed to the accessory, let alone a dark shadow on my print.

For those who aren’t familiar with this hood, it’s a bit of a crossroads. Walk a little north, and you hit Toronto’s attempt at Times Square–Dundas Square, where flashing lights and fountains run the show. This is also where the main downtown mall is situated, the Eaton Centre.
Take a stroll a bit south, and you’ll hit the financial district, where Blackberrys and speed-walking mark the territory. You’ll also cross paths with some young lawyers and old ones that will swallow you with their eyes.
East and west are a little trendier, but haven’t formed enough of a consistent identity for me to comment on, or rather, are in such transition these days that labels such as ‘vintage’, ‘boho’, and ‘yuppy’ would not suffice.

I noticed these two women stop beside me. One was in her mid 50s and the other was in her 20s probably. They didn’t look at me, even though I was yakking away on my phone about all the hot suits that work in my building. Not that my conversations are so important they should eavesdrop, but I was sitting right beside them. They didn’t really talk to each other, and I figured they were taking a rest from shopping, or working. I went on with my mundane chatter, and a friend I hadn’t seen in about 3years happened to recognize me, even incognito in sunglasses and prep wear.

The friend and I reunited, chatting for a short bit about what we’d been up to and how our lives are progressing. We were distracted, with him noticeably pacing at the thought of his departing train and myself, wondering where the hell Mutton was and when I’d be eating.

As D turned to leave, I glanced to my right and saw that these two women were sitting cross-legged at the core of the city, with eyes closed and fingers poised, pressed together in the direction of the sky. I was stunned. I hadn’t even noticed them. Their expressions were blank, but full. They were withdrawn, but present. I am convinced they were in a space so quiet that no one could wake them until the time was right. Theirs was a peace I don’t envy, but would rather achieve, master, and recreate.

Mind you, theirs wasn’t the attention-grabbing religious activist sort of prayer. It was private, not shy but natural.

If two people can sit with traffic blaring,
honking,
lights,
cell phones,
smog,
talking,
screeching,
laughing,
the brush of bodies on the street,
the groan of trucks and transit system
under their feet…

Then there is little we can denounce in faith of the purest kind, and sincerity of the most congested mind.

I was stilled. Quiet, so quiet I wouldn’t dare speak in their presence. I had to walk away to exhale, and I had to lower my voice to a hush as I told my boyfriend what I’d just witnessed and not been able to take part in. In fact, I couldn’t even tell him the details as I was afraid of breaking the spell. I didn’t watch them, I only saw them.

read comments (0)

i am treading through ‘the secret’..my godfather’s wife has raved about it, and she’s one of the most optimistic people i know…not to mention some businesspeople i know who seem to love it..

it was one of the leading books in india…every bookstore i went into (and i went into A LOT) (hence the 14kg overweight;)) had “The Secret” at #1…
Whenever kids would come up to my rickshaws selling books, the main three were…The Secret, Kite Runner, and A Thousand Splendid Suns..

Anyway, I think there’s a trend in India surrounding motivational thought and literature. Even as I read magazines and statements from celebrities, all their quotes and ideals are based on these laws of attraction, in a way…And I’ve noticed people are really into passing along inspirational quotes and sayings…either via text message or through email…It’s one rupee a text message, so technically the Indian text message costs more than the Canadian…yet, no one sends me inspirational text messages?! You know, it really did mean something to me..to wake up and re-read it..added a little light to my day..HINT HINT..SEND ME POSITIVE MESSAGES!!!…

okay so i gotta tell you something…i have three days left to write…after that, i cannot blurt out anything more under the pretense of ‘traveling’..for i will be back in toronto..
the question is, do i write my ass off, or have i written enough..
is it quantity, or quality, in this case?
i’ve done some facebook lurking, and people have come home with a lot of wonderful pictures, photos from their winter extravaganzas and adventures….
i did not use my camera once on this trip.
The camera. my archnemesis. my possessive ex lover, confidante, my wanderlust and vanity, all in a little hand held contraption that has never quite made sense to me.
broadcast journalism classes consisted of me, fiddling, often calling an old friend just to make sure i had the FPS (eh??) and white balance right..auto focus or manual? am i overacting? should i wear makeup? what’s that trick you mentioned that would make me look skinnier? ahh, yes…that one..

i am thoroughly anti-camera. i’ve reluctantly embraced this phase for the past couple of months, almost veiled myself in it. every passing urge to capture a moment with a lens has been followed by a pebble in my throat..why do i want to use my camera, i ask…so i can have a zillion shots of the same thing from different angles? because digital is cheap? so i can look at it immediately afterwards?..this is what the camera has come to mean to me..it’s sad, because i know there’s more to it than that…am i really much of a photographer, though? i want to know, how many people develop photos these days? why does blacks’ photography have so many frames on display these days?

i don’t carry my camera anywhere anymore. when another pulls it out, i am first arrested by how the camera might spoil this moment–my own defensiveness– and then reminded that i don’t have a pen to write this moment down and they have their camera, to write it down for themselves.

some people do it really well, as i’ve seen. and the colours, the vibrance, there really is the possibility of quality with a camera. i just can’t do it.
i have been at war with the camera for some time. I think it’s because I’m still transitioning, 1.5yrs later, into acting for film. If only I could tell you how I feel about this comfortable, emotionally abusive lover of mine, these days..i’m so attached it hurts..

There are some things i am dying to take a picture of. i wanted the red paan spray on the streets, like graffiti on a wall..though people apparently spit it on special property, like a scar..not so sure about uninvited scars. My cousin said it can get really bothersome to the point of…VANDALISM? but i think paan juice could be useful in self-expression…kinda like that vomit on canvas art fad..but vomiting on someone else’s art, not so cool..

so there, did i just take a picture? does that count? is writing way more revealing than photos?

here’s the thing. my friend once told me she didn’t take pics with any of the people she met on her trip to israel. me, i have decided not to take pics of any of the things i’ve seen. so far, i’ve gotten a lot on paper/screen. and people take pics of me with groups of others, or on my own.

i’ve had a lot of thoughts, asked a lot of my silly questions, and done a lot of things. i consider my writing my photo album. i wouldn’t have felt comfortable taking out a camera to take a picture of vadaes, and it’s difficult to aim a camera at the steam rising off the top of a cup of tea, i don’t think my camera’s good enough to catch the stain on the side of a glass or the fingernails and dry skin of that woman’s day, nor could i quote, with a camera, the things i’ve heard around me, that make me wonder and think twice..and since i’m on a mission to ‘focus’, i decided to use one medium and not the two..

i am feeling a lot better..

read comments (0)

left bombay, i’m in sharjah now..
spent 3hrs in a cab this morning going home..the streets are flooded..roads to sharjah are closed off, it’s been pouring here..yeah it rains in the desert:P our van was up to its neck in water!!! i went to sleep, though..poor driver..i felt sorta bad making him drive me through, but where was i supposed to go with three suitcases???

didn’t sleep all night..
got woken up here to run an errand…
uh..found myself jumping out of the car into the flood..one of the nastiest things i’ve ever had to do..and i do a lot of nasty things…i yelped with every hop to the sidewalk..i was calf deep in filthy water..just imagining what that water has cleaned off the ground..my god..i like lakes, i’ll jump in puddles. but man….that water was grey and there was stuff floating around in it..and then there was me, in it…putting my slimy feet into my shoes and sloshing into those offices was not a pleasant feeling..that’s my high maintenance comment for the day..

oh and i also don’t know how i feel about first class/business class/economy divisions on airplanes..i hate the dynamics..this comes back to my struggles with flying/trains/buses when traveling domestic..
each time i go to an airport, though, i die a little bit more..
i have learned to charm the airline people..i was 14kg overweight..and they helped me out a bit..the key is not to be a bitch..and be sure to talk to the ladies working at the airline..women actually have all the pull in this world;) flirting will not get you anywhere in this case..though, feel free to be pretty or sweet…allow for a little bit of the damsel in distress..
i am back in toronto january 21st..i don’t think i will travel again for a long time. only because i have so much on my mind right now! and we found an apartment! YAY..

read comments (0)

ok ok i’ve been meaning to tell you about this..
from my cousins’ house, in the centre of bandra “the queen of the suburbs”, i hear a ZiLlIoN sounds..i smell a zillion more other things, but maaaan..
so i’m going to come back here everytime i smell or hear something new..

just now, i heard a man scrape the back of his throat..i CRINGE when i hear this sound. really, i can’t even hear someone doing it if they’re in the privacy of their own bathroom. it’s just one of those things, i think. it’s basically when someone presses the back of their tongue to the roof of their mouth, in an effort to SCOUR the mouth of..phlegm? saliva? ahh i’m so bad with bodily functions, i can’t even say more at this point. this is a personal habit i can never grow accustomed to, much licking ones fingers is unacceptable. needless to say, a second date does not follow;)

last night, i jumped out of bed in the throes of my insomnia..and i watched a cat limp across the courtyard, moaning. i had just played ear-witness to a cat scramble. it lasted a good ten minutes, with all sorts of foreign gurgles and shrieks…entertaining, at that hour.

in the morning, i can wake up and hear all the ‘wallas’ on the street…people walking around selling…whatever it is they sell..flowers, paan, little christmas toys..if u can find something to sell, sell it..
sitting on the terrace at my cousins’ , i’ll hear kitchens clinking with metal serving dishes, and i’ll smell the preparation for tonight’s meal..spices and the frying of masalas wafting through the air..perhaps it’s the closeness of the buildings, or the bustle of every room that makes everything feel so in reach..i think new york and mumbai must have late night trysts in some starry galaxy, cause apparently neither of them sleep….

the streets here are abuzz with the hum of construction…these songs of drills and clattering steel are almost a testament to mumbai’s growth..slowly, but surely, is how i see it so far. it’s not like dubai, too big for its britches, where cranes make up the skyline..or maybe mumbai’s just bigger and it looks more subtle for that reason..i obviously do prefer mumbai to dubai–though i do like sharjah and it would be a close competition..

as for smells, yesterday i got lost. i figure, the only way to find my way is by getting lost. i did have a problem though, as i kept coming upon the people who don’t speak english. i wasn’t desperate, but i found myself walking into dark streets with few people in them..haha..it was about 7pm..i figure my cousin has planned way too much for me to show up a bruised and black-eyed bridesmaid, so i shouldn’t get into any trouble yet..anyhow, there was this one point on the street where i walked past about 5 smells..roasting nuts on one cart, burning incense in a stall lit by a single candle, glistening and sizzling onions in the next, rotting fruit in the space in between, only to be followed up by a fresh fruit stand..where i asked, ‘waterfield rd?’ and received the response, ‘eh?’ ‘ennnh?’..
ahhhhh

btw, i don’t know what’s wrong with me, but it seems that the more money i make, the more i hate shopping..i hate it..i do love bargaining, though;) and i’ve posted a note on that thread in my other journal..

i’ve been writing some scraps on my comp, but it’s all very scattered..i’m pasting it in my LJ if anyone wants to read it (as some people have said they wanna know the gossip on my travels)-/\(:)

read comments (1)

alright, so i’m in sharjah, u.a.e…
just got back from 2.5hrs at the salon..tiring..can you believe i walked barefoot on the street because i forgot to wear sandals for my pedicure? mind you, it was only a few steps and then i hopped into a car, but..i would never dare tell my mom, and definitely not my brother!!! so i’ll just tell facebook..yesterday, my bro wouldn’t even let me lean against a wall because he was sure i’d get dirty…(i did it anyway, and i did get dirty)..dirty dirty rubbish she she.

I have a revived appreciation for food today, triggered by my lunch feast..i just had the YUMMIEST fish curry…i think there’s a reason the food here has been tasting so good, besides the fact that i’ve left behind a dark existence in toronto..
see, i can get away with eating with my hands here. i can’t, so much, back in toronto. my parents just won’t have it. i mean, sometimes i can ask permission at home and do it, or if they’re not around, i’ll sneak a few bites with my hand and think myself clever. but really, i’m just a coward.

i remember in our first year of university, in the first couple of months, tania and i sat down and ate with our hands. it was such a glorious thing. she mastered it, and soon we were making chicken curry and salty vegetable medleys..

i think eating with your hands is a skill you can really show off. i know, it may sound gross, but that’s only if you don’t wash your hands!! it’s a matter of grasping a mouthsize morsel with just the right pressure, and gathering just enough so that it doesn’t slip out of your fingers. this method of eating also taught me to choose wisely for each bite. it’s necessary to include the perfect amount of rice, vegetable, and, if available, papadam..for those who aren’t familiar with papad, it’s this crispy sorta fried chip. oh, and if you’re non-veg, you must of course include a smaller chunk of meat. but that’s just my approach..everyone has a different way of eating. my mom, for instance, hates to mix her food up..
speaking of my mom..nothing tastes better than skin and food. especially your mom’s skin. and i’m not trying to a make a ‘your momma’ joke. seriously, you love your mom (i love your mom), and she really knows how to feed you. when i was young, i used to leave my plate behind and just eat out of my mom’s, simply because i knew she’d feed me with her hand. to this day, if i can finagle a hand feed from her, i will take it!!! it’s been awhile, though..i am running out of excuses..

i must say, i’ve always been a little unsure of the class and social implications of eating with my hands. i can’t tell if it is the Catholic Indians who think they’re too good to eat with their hands, or the Westernized Indians in general, or what..i mean, can i go to a party and eat with my hands? I don’t know if I would..it’s a long walk to the bathroom when there’s dahl dripping down my arm and onto my dress..

see, when i was in india two years ago, we had a bit of a fiasco..perhaps a culture clash..the Indians from the West could not fathom eating with their hands, and demanded utensils.. the locals were unaware that we had such needs..but why would they be? we were from their country originally, no? i mean, the “Indians from the West”, fully knew how to eat with their hands from their childhood..so why didn’t they? It’s because, in public, they just can’t do it. It can’t be done, it’s unheard of! I’m sure the Goans and Anglo Indians know what I’m talking about..anyhow, we got spoons and forks i think..

This past October, I was hanging out with a South Indian (Tamil) film crew in Scarborough…this was a team of about a dozen people visiting from India..They were here a month, and I had a role in this film..I’ll post publicity stills later..it’s called Arasangam..anyhow, each day, they’d have the lunches and meals catered by local South Asian restaurants. On location outside a hotel, they pulled out trays of food…an array of tandoori chicken, white rice, samba, and chicken curry was spread out on a table..In search of a spoon, I noticed there was none. Okay, I thought, cool, and I scooped rice from the tray with a broken piece of styrofoam plate. I used the same foam to lift chicken curry into my plate, and poured the samba on top of this whole plate. Yea, I like to mix.
Next I searched for a spoon and fork…none..the only non-Indian person on the team, who was hired in Toronto, glanced at me sympathetically…he’d ordered a sandwich from the hotel, he just couldn’t take the South Indian spice, he admitted:P..anyway, there were a lot of non-Indians around who were staying at the hotel…and I guess I could’ve gone upstairs and grabbed a fork and spoon..but…I didn’t….I sat down, and i dug in. oh yea, and it was gooood. I called my mom immediately after, with my hands still sticky from samba..”guess what i just did, mom…oh yea, in public…” ….I remember pulling the phone away from my ear and finding an oily film on it where my hand had been.

The fact of the matter is, we don’t need forks and spoons. We always have our hands. Same with lovers..we don’t need them..for the same reason. Tee hee…

Who wants to borrow my phone now?

{post disclaimer: i am working on getting a life beyond writing, hopefully once i get it i’ll be too cool to write about it}

read comments (0)