Walk like a Skigyptian

Having come back from a day of ‘Skiing acclimatization trip’, i truly feel like a skigyptian … that is to say an egyptian mummy being thrown onto a ski slope and being asked to do the walk made famous by ‘The Bangles’ song (I wonder if this new word is worthy of an entry in the Modern Cambridge English dictionary)

My feet still feel like they are bound by the huge ski boots that easily weigh the best part of a 100 kg each. I must make a very funny figure clad in infinite layers of wind/snow/water proof clothing (all in black – topped by a white beanie cap making my face looking like the famous Mr Potato head), trying to guide myself down a prior-to-beginner-level-and-fit-for-only-4yr-olds slope of a gigantic length 10 m. Those some german made ‘liquidmetal’ engineering marvels fitted under my shoes (normally referred as skis)  have a mind of their own, as at any given moment they are pointing at an angle of 45 degrees to the general direction where i want to go. Judging by the numerous times i ended up in positions on the snow that could have made any Yoga instructor proud, i am convinced they are designed by der Teufel (the devil) himself. Now whoever said skiing was fun?

But i have only got myself to blame. Having been here 5 years and procastrinating as a typical Indian proudly does, i haven’t bothered to acquaint myself with the mythical art of gracefully gliding down the pristine alpine slopes. The feeling isn’t helped by a snow-sledging accident resulting in a broken collar bone earlier this year and the fact that my lovely wife and kids waft down the slopes looking every bit like born skiers.

Hmm … things better change. So starting tomorrow, i have enrolled myself for a full week of skiing lessons and practice. If I live to tell the tale, I’ll be back with more updates and hopefully triumphant news of your’s truly having conquered the pistes (german for ski slopes) in a few days time.

Till that time wish me luck …..

Help! Lego has taken over our house

It is indeed strange to be sending over this plea for help into the giant black hole of the WWW (World Wide Web) … but i guess it is worth a shot. This reminds of how in the late 70’s, NASA on one of their many missions to explore the GWU (Great Wide Universe), sent a gold record (LP, vinyl, schalplatter… whatever you want to call it) with music and messages from the people of the earth. The paradox is quite staggering – a civilisation advanced enough to send a mission to outer space but still backward enough to use LPs as a sound storage medium. I am sure that ship was captured by two alien kids 200 light-years away out on their morning stroll, and they used that LP to scrape off space bugs splattered on the windscreen of their infinite-synergetic-drive space scooter.

Anyway, my immediate concern is not the alien kids or the gold LP, but Lego®, yes Lego, those wonderful blocks/connectable shapes that those kindered souls in Denmark create for the kids world over, which is multiplying at this moment in my house using the same infinte-synergetic-drive-multiplication principle.

Let’s start with this …

This flying Lego car is always waiting next to the main door, springing unannounced upon hapless family members (read mum & dad) as they dare to set foot in its kingdom. Once you get past it unhurt, you have to dodge past this desert storm racer/chaser whose only aim in life is turn a corner at a 100 miles an hour and shoot round pellets at you.

At any given point in time there are at least two races going on in different rooms, which have such a huge following that Bernie Ecclestone (the F1 supremo) will gladly give his leftover hair for even a fraction of that fan base. Then there are indescribable contraptions that only a 7 yr old (my son) can understand.

Heck, Lego men have even descended from the sky and are hiding in our christmas tree!

Santa has surely received his hundred page gift catalog by now and is on his way from the north pole with another truckload of their brethren. So if there is anyone out there who has lived through this or knows what these Lego men are upto, drop me a line. And don’t tell my son that I complained about this – for even a greater storm of Lego will be unleashed and your’s truly will be well and truly buried.