Pounds, Pappadam and Palm-readers

Been a month since I was down in Malacca for drinks with Preity Posh. Ever since then, she's managed to lose five pounds, gain herself an admiring Pappadam and decided to look into her future. Me, I've probably gained five pounds and five years.

The things you can do in a month.


Come and taste my pappadams...
Far from pining away at home lamenting her lonesome bachelorette nights, our resourceful Preity Posh has actually been out and about securing a hunky Bollywood beau through the irregular ways of letters, text messages, and the internet. Seems like a chance meet with Mr Pappadam months back led to something more, and Posh was pleased as pork pie when Mr Pappadam made a valiant attempt to reconnect.

Pappadam : My sweet Posh, harken to me my love.
Posh : Oh yes, I'll be your palak paneer if you'll be my pappadam.

I bet they are singing Hindi songs around a virtual coconut tree with Posh appropriately dressed in a wet saree while Pappadam serenades her with a hip-hop Bhangra inspired ditty.

Since the fella's miles away, might not have met him yet - but I already like Pappadam. Shows there's a straight guy out there who has the balls enough to date a gal with style, class and sheer fabulousity.


Aaaaaa.....
Okay. I should stop teasing them. But you do get the idea that things seem to be looking up on the dating front.

In fact, it's going so surprisingly well that Posh is starting to get cold feet. After all she's been through her share of man troubles. So in these uncertain times, good pious girls like Posh seek the advice of the divine. But since celestial Hindu deities aren't all that prone to drop by for a personal visit - at least not in these godless bourgeouis days - Posh decided to turn to a mystical wise man fittingly enough ensconsed in a secluded yet hilly rubber estate down south.

Notice why they never ever wanna meet at the local Starbucks over latte?

Armed with only a scanty map with minimal details - and no GPS! - Posh has set out to seek uncertain knowledge of the future. I'm already imagining dark, dank annexes with swirling incense, glowering idols and glowing crystal balls. Maybe even a prescient teenage sybil presiding over gaseous fumes in a woodland oracle.

I'm a skeptic, I'll admit. Though I prescribe to certain fanciful notions such as feng shui and fortune telling, I can only readily believe up to a certain point. For instance, I might move the sofa around the living room if told but I'll certainly not break down an entire wall. Similarly I'd take any prophetic Delphian visions from a dubious mystic and his enslaved parrot with a tiny pinch of salt.

But to each his ( or her ) own.

The important thing is Posh believes. So here's hoping that the vaunted palm-reader manages to give Posh exactly the propitious answer that she needs. And perhaps some secret insight to her Pappadam. Me, I'm hoping to attend a Punjabi wedding ( at least ) by the end of next year. After all, I've been asked to be maid of honour! Time to get my kurta, don't you think?