Tuesday, November 26, 2013
We have moved to a new address...
Friday, September 28, 2012
Gold Plated?
The international biodiversity conference is happening in India this year, in Hyderabad to be precise. All roads in the entire city have been dug up on both sides, so that the roads can be leveled and be re-laid. No more potholes and awkwardly sized bumpers to be found. Four lane roads have suddenly metamorphosed to six and eight lane roads. The dividers have been shattered, only to be rebuilt in a semi wall kind of way; that a pedestrian cannot run across the road, and must walk till the closest zebra crossing to cross the road. They are actually creating a pedestrian walk for some roads, oh my god! The pillars that support the flyovers are being used to depict the Indian culture and scenes from the great epics. Trees, gardens and pretty bushes of flowers have sprouted everywhere overnight. Every single goddamn streetlight is working in this part of the city. The drainage systems have been fixed. There are suddenly signs and directions on the road. The only thing missing is trash cans at regular intervals, on the road side and the civic sense to use them. Probably that is why they aren’t there is the first place. How badly would it reflect on us if we would still litter the roads with trash even if we are sure to find a trash can just 50 meters ahead? Better not provide those, the worse that anyone would say is, “Oh! These people don’t have amenities to dispose trash. That’s why the chocolate wrapper or chips packet is lying around. ”
Does any of this make you feel happy or proud because your city is going to look truly beautiful now?
I am sure each person in the city has something to be happy about with the changes that have been made. Wider roads, less traffic blocks, yay! No pedestrians running right in front of your car, high five! Lovely flowers and shady trees, ooh-la-la! Street lights, thank god my daughter/sister/wife/mother feels safer coming home! Direction signs, whew! I can manage to find my way around.
Happy I am too, with each of these things even if I spent most part of the month cribbing about the bad planning. “Why couldn’t they just do it section by section? Let there be some relief somewhere in the city? Do they have to dig every single main road at the same time so that I can’t drive above 30 anywhere? Do they have to take so long to fix the roads, to construct the dividers? When will this be over? When will they move all this sand and stone from the roads?”; I have been complaining incessantly.
But that’s not all. I have a bigger concern here.
Why didn’t they do any of these things before?
I know you (the state government) need the money and the budget approval and sundry. I am not saying it was possible for you to do it all at once. The government would have never granted a single city a sum as huge as 577.35 whooping crores, in one go. If you say we are a poor city and are not granted funds at all, I wouldn’t believe it. All this development does fetch you something. The taxes we pay are meant to be put to use. They are not for your pockets, you know? I am sure you can petition for the basic infrastructure. Did you ever try? Did it never strike you that the citizens of the city are suffering because of the bad roads, the water logging, dark streets, potholes, traffic, pollution and what not? Or did you just decide to turn a blind eye and a deaf ear? How come it took you just 3-4 weeks to get so many things fixed, while it would generally take you ages to get anything done for the common people?
Must you make a show of all this to all delegates of the United Nations and the people attending the conference. Could you not have taken these simple measures for US, the people of the city? How come you value the words, opinions and the ideas these few hundred people, form of the city or India in general, more than the lakhs of people of this city or the other million Indians? The image they take back is more important than the amenities we get?
Not one of these guests of the city should find it difficult to cross the road, if they need to. But it is okay if we have to battle the traffic when we want to cross? A couple of accidents wouldn’t bother you would they, if it is one of us? But one guest gets injured, and you and we will be shamed by the media for not being a city with a sense of safe driving, and bad traffic management. One dark street, one guest touched by an unfriendly hand and it will bring your government down. So you make sure that all streets are lighted. Could you not have done that for us before? Must we always walk in the fear of lingering shadows and groping hands? I am not saying you should be a hostile host or that you shouldn’t provide them protection. My god, no! But can you not be a better guardian to us too?
When will we learn to put us and ours first and the others later?
The change that you are bringing about is only temporary. Aim for something more permanent. What you are doing is not constructive. It is destructive in the sense of how you make your people feel. Do it for others, and we will be there to partake the short-lived joy. Do it for us, and we will celebrate long.
Monday, September 24, 2012
A shade of grey, a balanced blend
At first I thought it would be easy to write about a tomboy because all my life I have believed myself to be tomboyish, if not necessarily a tomboy. I still do. (Psst… I love being the rebel, the exception, the misfit and the non-conformist) I gave it a sincere thought, putting aside the image I like to portray of myself. Am I a tomboy? Am I an extreme? I realized I wasn’t.
I asked the husband, “Do you think I am a tomboy?”
“Who you? No. I think not.” That reply came in a tone which a husband would have used when a wife would have asked “Am I fat?”
It was like taking a safe zone, unsure of what you reply would ensue. So I prodded him a little more and asked him for his definitions.
“Tomboys are girls who wear guy clothes, sneakers, talk like men do, play sports and fight physically, don’t wear make-up”
“That is still more than 50% if you give me a score, with the sports and physical fights being an exception. Now, my BFF plays cricket, follows almost every sport, and does prefer shoes over sandals, but I still wouldn’t call her a tomboy. I prefer shoes too, dressed like a guy till I started working in a company which MAKES me follow a dress code, have plenty of guys as friends as compared to a handful of girls. In fact, my guy friends always forget there is a girl in the group when they talk about certain things that would be considered rude in female company. And neither do I wear make-up. Does that not make me a tomboy?”
“Nope”
“Hmm…then what in your opinion is a girly girl?” I ask, sneering a little. Strangely my prejudiced mind equates them to bimbos.
“A girl who likes to dress up, wears make up, paints her nails, cares about her hair, prefers skirts/ frocks over pants/shorts, heels over sports shoes, likes gossiping…. I don’t know. Where is this going anyways?”
“Atleast that means I am not girly”, I say, somewhat relieved.
“Well, you can dress up when you want to and play the part of a girl well enough” he said smiling.
“You are a strong headed girl with shades of both tom-boyishness and girlishness. You are willful. You take up the role that the time and situation requires you to. A balanced blend of both.”
“Hmm…”
So, not satisfied, I asked people. A lot of them, their definitions of a tomboy and a girly girl. You see, the definitions are relative and perspective based and keep changing with the era.
Everyone I asked answered on the same lines as my husband, all 3 questions.
Maybe, in the past, as a kid, I would have hated it if somebody would have called me girly. For a girl who still speaks in the masculine gender, it sounds like an accusation. The older and wiser me knows better. Shuffling between roles and holding my ground, that’s my definition.
I am a shade of grey. And I am proud of it.
What shade are you?
Thursday, September 29, 2011
F R I E N D S
People say that girls make the best-est friends, whether it is as sisters, somebody you share your bus seat with, your friend from the breakfast table or your cubicle mate. You will always find a girl around you with whom you can share something with, even if it is the big bore that you keep coming across in the washroom. A small smile and an understanding starts brewing. No wonder there are words like soul-sisters whereas there is nothing like a soul-brother. Each girl is like a package. She is like ‘Bertie’s Every Flavor Beans’. She can be the flavor you want her to be. She will laugh and cry with you. If she is your best friend she will even make fun of you, but unlike the way a guy does it, it will be in private. She will be very careful with what she says lest she hurts your sentiments as she tackles the wild side of you. She will be there to lend you an ear. And she will actually listen. :) Men don’t. They only make sure that you don’t brood over it, but they generally do not have the patience to hear you out. (Hasn’t happened with me, but I know a lot of women who will swear by it) She will conspire with you and she will keep your secrets. Once in a while out of spite she will also be a bitch and do the back stabbing thing. But most girls do come back straight alright once they have had their go for all the mental reasons that only they can think of. She will giggle and guffaw with you over silly things. And she will be the drama queen to have things her way.
I am all smiles now.
I cannot half believe it that I could have ever said this. Bought up like a guy and with guys has always made me think that boys make the most wonderful friends. They will stand by you as brothers, friends, body-guards (remembering how many guys have been beaten and had their shirts torn off), pretense-boyfriends, advisors and what not. Maybe that is why I am so tom-boyish and not the girly-girl. Being brought up with guys, kind of makes you tough. You learn to scrape your knees and elbows and learn nothing of shyness and grace. You learn to keep your tears in check. 1) Because men won’t let you cry. Nobody knows how to make fun of a bout of tears the way a guy does. 2) It becomes a matter of self-respect to cry in front of a guy. You have to be as tough as they are. They will play the fool to make you laugh. And they will teach you obscene language so that you never get ragged. They are the ones who will come back to you even after a fall out. They will apologize if they know that you are the stubborn one. If you are a tom, they will forget that you are a girl. You will be let in to all their secrets and included in all their groups. You will be amazed to find yourself walking arm-in-arm and arm-over-shoulders with them. They are the ones who will go out of the way to do anything for you, the ones that will say “Anything for you Ma’am” and you will be left wondering since when did you start getting addressed with a feminine tag. They will be the first ones to notice whether you got your threading done or not, with the insensitiveness to point out what the lady at the parlour missed. They will be the ones to tell you that the other guys are going to ogle at you in a particular attire. They will not mind when you don’t use eyeliner, but they will be curious enough to know why not. They would like it if you would wear a skirt because it is a reminder of sorts that they are hanging around with a girl, but they will curse and damn the same skirt if it makes you sit unnaturally with your legs on one side on a bike. A different species they are!
I am all smiles now.
I cannot half believe it that I could have ever said this. Bought up like a guy and with guys has always made me think that boys make the most wonderful friends. They will stand by you as brothers, friends, body-guards (remembering how many guys have been beaten and had their shirts torn off), pretense-boyfriends, advisors and what not. Maybe that is why I am so tom-boyish and not the girly-girl. Being brought up with guys, kind of makes you tough. You learn to scrape your knees and elbows and learn nothing of shyness and grace. You learn to keep your tears in check. 1) Because men won’t let you cry. Nobody knows how to make fun of a bout of tears the way a guy does. 2) It becomes a matter of self-respect to cry in front of a guy. You have to be as tough as they are. They will play the fool to make you laugh. And they will teach you obscene language so that you never get ragged. They are the ones who will come back to you even after a fall out. They will apologize if they know that you are the stubborn one. If you are a tom, they will forget that you are a girl. You will be let in to all their secrets and included in all their groups. You will be amazed to find yourself walking arm-in-arm and arm-over-shoulders with them. They are the ones who will go out of the way to do anything for you, the ones that will say “Anything for you Ma’am” and you will be left wondering since when did you start getting addressed with a feminine tag. They will be the first ones to notice whether you got your threading done or not, with the insensitiveness to point out what the lady at the parlour missed. They will be the ones to tell you that the other guys are going to ogle at you in a particular attire. They will not mind when you don’t use eyeliner, but they will be curious enough to know why not. They would like it if you would wear a skirt because it is a reminder of sorts that they are hanging around with a girl, but they will curse and damn the same skirt if it makes you sit unnaturally with your legs on one side on a bike. A different species they are!
Monday, April 11, 2011
Pride Personified
He is like a story book character. He would probably be a villain, if the book was mine.
I have never seen a prouder face before. I don’t know him; yet. The only interaction that has happened isexchange, no not exchange, of me wishing him good morning. A squarish face, with a prominent jaw-line. Tanned skin, unkempt wavy hair. Tall, probably 6ft., he holds himself to his full height, without any of the anomalies/glitches that tall people have; like hunching from their shoulders or bending from the waist or looking down and walking. The gravity doesn’t seem to affect his stance.
He looks at things around him with a lazy interest, giving the impression that he may be drowsy. But his mind is keen, absorbing everything that is being discussed. He isn’t a part of the discussion, but he is very much there. Those lips part, to mock at us; his objects of entertainment. He doesn’t smile the semi-circular - lips turned up kind of smile. It’s a crooked, lopsided kind of grin. A mirthful laughter that makes you realize that his features are set in a dour kind of way. Nose; sharp, pointed and dead center, the nostrils a little flared when he laughs.
His aplomb is such, that if he were to sit at his desk with his legs on the table, that would look like the normal decorum. What he wears, or what he does is what would become the trend for the people around him.
His pride is his quintessence. I have never felt it so strongly in anybody else.
I have never seen a prouder face before. I don’t know him; yet. The only interaction that has happened is
He looks at things around him with a lazy interest, giving the impression that he may be drowsy. But his mind is keen, absorbing everything that is being discussed. He isn’t a part of the discussion, but he is very much there. Those lips part, to mock at us; his objects of entertainment. He doesn’t smile the semi-circular - lips turned up kind of smile. It’s a crooked, lopsided kind of grin. A mirthful laughter that makes you realize that his features are set in a dour kind of way. Nose; sharp, pointed and dead center, the nostrils a little flared when he laughs.
His aplomb is such, that if he were to sit at his desk with his legs on the table, that would look like the normal decorum. What he wears, or what he does is what would become the trend for the people around him.
His pride is his quintessence. I have never felt it so strongly in anybody else.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Runs down in the 'Jeans':
Jeans have remained the ‘in’ thing for centuries, ranging from the bell bottomed or flared jeans to the skin/slim fit jeans and cigarette pants that one sees these days. They are like the LBD. They never ever go out of fashion.
Only that, jeans have become more scandalous now than fashionable. Remember Mr. Obama’s ‘Mom Jeans’ that caused a scandal last year. But, thank God, they were ATLEAST in the right place. That seems to be a rarity now, with people letting their jeans run down.
Me (sniggering a little, nodding towards the staircase): “Bye! All the best! Don’t worry too much about your viva, you will do well. And, tell that classmate of yours to pull his pants up; putting his undies on display isn’t going to fetch him any extra marks.”
Sis (in an exasperated tone): “Di! Stop staring at the wrong places.”
Me: “That guy is going up the stairs. He is the only person I can see up ahead of you. And more than anything else I find his fat bottom and drop down jeans obstructing most part of my vision frame. ”
*Sis rolls her eyes and walks away to her exam*
I suppose you have read/heard this before – wearing tight jeans can lead to impotency. And the counter part? Wearing sagging jeans impedes your walking abilities. What is the fun of having to drag your feet along? Or putting your bum out and walking in a very ape like manner, trying to prevent the jeans slipping off and revealing ‘the other half’ of your anyway half covered bottom?
Weird is the way the dressing sense is going. Flashing of inner-wear and cleavages is the in thing. And it is not only the men and their “Jockey” showing through. I find more and more women creeping into this category too. “Flaunt it if you have got it”. Is that the common motto for all cleavages? :S These girls really need to get a grip. But irrespective of sex/age I think that nobody likes to see such sites in offices, malls or even in clubs.
Do you know how G-strings came into existence? They were designed by a granny who was shocked to discover that her grand-daughters had given up wearing underwear because its band would show up while their low waist jeans would go down!
‘Jockey‘ by far has become the most popular inner-wear brand. A brand that people love to show off. *rolls eyes* With the trend that men today follow, I wonder if the sales of RED Jockeys went higher this Valentine season. *Chokes*
Jeans facts also reveal that people, especially women, those of a little plus size, buy jeans which are a size or two smaller and make it a target to fit into them. :O I blame LEE for this. Coming up with their ‘skinny – not for the masses’ jeans. All the mass (pun intended) did try to fit in there. The skinny, the slim, the big, the fat and the obese, everybody wanted to fit into it. I admit, I wanted to get into them too when I had not shed my baby fat. Now I hate them completely.
Also, I am still to understand what is the fun of wearing torn jeans. You may want to call me stuck-up with the old fashion, but I really don’t think that gaping holes at the knees or anywhere else for that matter look very fashionable. Agreed that it is in sync with the workman attire that jeans were originally designed for, but now that denims are part of chic fashion, don’t you think torn jeans are passé?
Jeans did make a lot of other things popular though, like:
- Tattoos just above your lumbar vertebrae. Quoting:
“You are closer than you should be, if you can read this” (in minute writing)
“Dekho magar pyaar se…”
- The jockey brand
- G-strings
- Tummy tops
- Piercing
I swear I have a personal itch to try pulling one of those sagging baggy pants down and see what it results in. I think that there will be a day when I will really try it on somebody. Maybe on a day when I am in one of my devil-may-care-moods. Watch out people!
Only that, jeans have become more scandalous now than fashionable. Remember Mr. Obama’s ‘Mom Jeans’ that caused a scandal last year. But, thank God, they were ATLEAST in the right place. That seems to be a rarity now, with people letting their jeans run down.
Me (sniggering a little, nodding towards the staircase): “Bye! All the best! Don’t worry too much about your viva, you will do well. And, tell that classmate of yours to pull his pants up; putting his undies on display isn’t going to fetch him any extra marks.”
Sis (in an exasperated tone): “Di! Stop staring at the wrong places.”
Me: “That guy is going up the stairs. He is the only person I can see up ahead of you. And more than anything else I find his fat bottom and drop down jeans obstructing most part of my vision frame. ”
*Sis rolls her eyes and walks away to her exam*
I suppose you have read/heard this before – wearing tight jeans can lead to impotency. And the counter part? Wearing sagging jeans impedes your walking abilities. What is the fun of having to drag your feet along? Or putting your bum out and walking in a very ape like manner, trying to prevent the jeans slipping off and revealing ‘the other half’ of your anyway half covered bottom?
Weird is the way the dressing sense is going. Flashing of inner-wear and cleavages is the in thing. And it is not only the men and their “Jockey” showing through. I find more and more women creeping into this category too. “Flaunt it if you have got it”. Is that the common motto for all cleavages? :S These girls really need to get a grip. But irrespective of sex/age I think that nobody likes to see such sites in offices, malls or even in clubs.
Do you know how G-strings came into existence? They were designed by a granny who was shocked to discover that her grand-daughters had given up wearing underwear because its band would show up while their low waist jeans would go down!
‘Jockey‘ by far has become the most popular inner-wear brand. A brand that people love to show off. *rolls eyes* With the trend that men today follow, I wonder if the sales of RED Jockeys went higher this Valentine season. *Chokes*
Jeans facts also reveal that people, especially women, those of a little plus size, buy jeans which are a size or two smaller and make it a target to fit into them. :O I blame LEE for this. Coming up with their ‘skinny – not for the masses’ jeans. All the mass (pun intended) did try to fit in there. The skinny, the slim, the big, the fat and the obese, everybody wanted to fit into it. I admit, I wanted to get into them too when I had not shed my baby fat. Now I hate them completely.
Also, I am still to understand what is the fun of wearing torn jeans. You may want to call me stuck-up with the old fashion, but I really don’t think that gaping holes at the knees or anywhere else for that matter look very fashionable. Agreed that it is in sync with the workman attire that jeans were originally designed for, but now that denims are part of chic fashion, don’t you think torn jeans are passé?
Jeans did make a lot of other things popular though, like:
- Tattoos just above your lumbar vertebrae. Quoting:
“You are closer than you should be, if you can read this” (in minute writing)
“Dekho magar pyaar se…”
- The jockey brand
- G-strings
- Tummy tops
- Piercing
I swear I have a personal itch to try pulling one of those sagging baggy pants down and see what it results in. I think that there will be a day when I will really try it on somebody. Maybe on a day when I am in one of my devil-may-care-moods. Watch out people!
Monday, January 17, 2011
Chomp. Gnaw. Slurp. Scratch. Burp.
Oh yes, I am finicky!
Chomp. Gnaw. Slurp. Scratch. (I mean the spoon scratching the plate here, dirty mind!) Burp.
Aarrrggghhh!! I hate those sounds. I am a sucker for good table manners and I find it disgusting to share the same table when people act like uncivilized cavemen while eating. There are better ways of relishing good food than being pompous about it.
1) The cattle-men:
The first commandment is to keep your mouth closed while chewing. Don’t go through the Open-chomp-close-chomp-open routine. I don’t see much difference between that and the cows chewing on their fodder. Open-gnaw-slap the jaws together-open-gnaw. Do that in my presence and I am sure to recommend you as the next Orbit-star-the-Jersey-cow!!
2) The doggie-ish:
The soup, tea, coffee, the dal, the rasam or any other liquid that you take in, is to be sipped, not slurped. Kindly, leave the lapping sounds for the other long tongued animals.
3) The cannibal types:
Non-vegetarian food is more difficult to handle than vegetarian food, especially when it has bones. Also, not every meat is easy to tear using a fork and a knife. Certain dishes do require the explicit use of hands and teeth. But, (yes the big butt of all matters) when it comes to basic table manners, one must make sure one doesn’t resemble a cannibal tearing into flesh. It may be a trying experience, but do try to take small bites instead of looking like a person who hasn’t been fed from ages. The animal in your hands is dead, and it isn’t going to run away anywhere! Keep up the patience!
And please, I beg, don’t dump the bones back into the food that you are still to consume. Transfer it neatly into another plate. Thank you!
4) Yes we know that you loved the meal and it would be a better idea to let the cook know so, than proving it by trying to eat the last grain of rice on your plate. For goodness sake, eat till the last grain if you must, but don’t make that screeching scratching noise with the fork and spoon. We aren’t starting to play banshees here yet!
5) I am trying hard here, not to type cast anyone. But, this is a habit that I have seen prevalent more in the south than in the north of India.
South Indians love eating anything, everything and food of any consistency with their hands, be it a chutney, a pickle, vegetables, salads, curries, rice, sambhar and rasam. Most people learn to eat that with a little bit of genetically handed down help.
Trust me, eating with hands is fun. It gives you a very homely feeling.
But making balls of rice and tossing them in your mouth or licking the dripping rasam up your elbow (yuck!) or dragging the food all over the plate while mixing it and then putting all your fingers in the mouth with the food, or to lick your palm clean are not sights that are fun watching.
6) Buuurrrrrppppp! An age old method to let the cook know that the food was excellent and the diner’s stomach walls are under strain and are threatening to burst. The burping days are passé now. If you cant really keep that smelly burp bottled up inside you, learn to hold a napkin up to your mouth when you do so. Letting everybody around you know that your stomach is going to be overworking itself during digestion are not the the most charming manners.
If you think that all these sounds must necessarily accompany good food, then please keep them confined to the privacy of your home. Don’t be a public embarrassment, atleast to the people you are sharing the table with.
Chomp. Gnaw. Slurp. Scratch. (I mean the spoon scratching the plate here, dirty mind!) Burp.
Aarrrggghhh!! I hate those sounds. I am a sucker for good table manners and I find it disgusting to share the same table when people act like uncivilized cavemen while eating. There are better ways of relishing good food than being pompous about it.
1) The cattle-men:
The first commandment is to keep your mouth closed while chewing. Don’t go through the Open-chomp-close-chomp-open routine. I don’t see much difference between that and the cows chewing on their fodder. Open-gnaw-slap the jaws together-open-gnaw. Do that in my presence and I am sure to recommend you as the next Orbit-star-the-Jersey-cow!!
2) The doggie-ish:
The soup, tea, coffee, the dal, the rasam or any other liquid that you take in, is to be sipped, not slurped. Kindly, leave the lapping sounds for the other long tongued animals.
3) The cannibal types:
Non-vegetarian food is more difficult to handle than vegetarian food, especially when it has bones. Also, not every meat is easy to tear using a fork and a knife. Certain dishes do require the explicit use of hands and teeth. But, (yes the big butt of all matters) when it comes to basic table manners, one must make sure one doesn’t resemble a cannibal tearing into flesh. It may be a trying experience, but do try to take small bites instead of looking like a person who hasn’t been fed from ages. The animal in your hands is dead, and it isn’t going to run away anywhere! Keep up the patience!
And please, I beg, don’t dump the bones back into the food that you are still to consume. Transfer it neatly into another plate. Thank you!
4) Yes we know that you loved the meal and it would be a better idea to let the cook know so, than proving it by trying to eat the last grain of rice on your plate. For goodness sake, eat till the last grain if you must, but don’t make that screeching scratching noise with the fork and spoon. We aren’t starting to play banshees here yet!
5) I am trying hard here, not to type cast anyone. But, this is a habit that I have seen prevalent more in the south than in the north of India.
South Indians love eating anything, everything and food of any consistency with their hands, be it a chutney, a pickle, vegetables, salads, curries, rice, sambhar and rasam. Most people learn to eat that with a little bit of genetically handed down help.
Trust me, eating with hands is fun. It gives you a very homely feeling.
But making balls of rice and tossing them in your mouth or licking the dripping rasam up your elbow (yuck!) or dragging the food all over the plate while mixing it and then putting all your fingers in the mouth with the food, or to lick your palm clean are not sights that are fun watching.
6) Buuurrrrrppppp! An age old method to let the cook know that the food was excellent and the diner’s stomach walls are under strain and are threatening to burst. The burping days are passé now. If you cant really keep that smelly burp bottled up inside you, learn to hold a napkin up to your mouth when you do so. Letting everybody around you know that your stomach is going to be overworking itself during digestion are not the the most charming manners.
If you think that all these sounds must necessarily accompany good food, then please keep them confined to the privacy of your home. Don’t be a public embarrassment, atleast to the people you are sharing the table with.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Strange start to a new year...
31st December
Hello people! How did the welcoming-the- New Year ceremonies go?
New years’ this year was different. No party hopping. No dancing. No dining out. I am bored of the routine. I wanted to do something different for a change.
So, we whipped up a gourmet Continental dinner and watched a movie. Let me tell you this, watching a movie at my place is a different experience in itself. Lounging on the sofa or sprawling on the carpet, hugging your legs to your chest, a fluffy blanket to huddle into, the movie being projected on the wall from a projector, backed up by a 2500W speakers. Sounds strange for a person who isn’t a movie buff, eh? Don’t start wondering what we were doing watching a movie on the projector. We don’t have a TV at home. And which movie did we see? The exorcist.
I have seen movies of all genres in the past – action, romantic, thrillers, chick-flicks, fantasies, fiction, sci-fi, inspired-by-true-stories and the emotional atyachars. Everything, save the horror movies. Honestly speaking, horror serials used to scare me real bad and I would spend sleepless nights for days in rows. So I quit watching them, and have never watched a horror serial or a movie since then. Remember I said I wanted to do something different this New Year’s eve. So, horror it was this time.
More than the movie, what made an impression on my mind was what the director had to say about it. He said that everybody who has seen this movie has gone back with his beliefs reinforced, be it in the devil or in the god. But, where there is god, there is also a devil.
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1st January
We found a bat in my parent’s room. Yes, I am talking of the ugly, rat-faced, leathery mammal. Flapping its wings around and zooming across the room, over my parent’s heads at 5.30 pm in the evening. It hid itself in the slits of the split-AC, turning itself into a small ball.
An omen of something horrific? Or are horror movies just getting to my head?
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2nd January
Time: 10 pm. My entire family is sitting in the living room, talking. And we get on the subjects of night animals, from jackals, foxes, bats to me. Why me? Well… my granny swears she saw one of us (my sis or me) on the phone at 3.15 am, sitting by my grand-pa’s feet, talking on the phone some 10 days back. She says it was me; she could make that out from the hair.
And if hair was the deciding factor between my sis and me, then nobody can make a mistake of recognizing which of us it was. She has got silken, long, straight tresses that are half way down her back and is generally tied up. And I on the other hand have a wild fluffy mane of curly hair which is generally left loose. There isn’t even a 1 in a 100 chance of being mistaken there. :-/
I suppose my granny was hallucinating. I venturing out of my bed at night sounds impossible. A sleeping Shivani has a striking resemblance of a dead man inside a coffin. I sleep that straight. The unnatural position of lying straight on your back comes the most naturally to me.
I don’t know what to say. I am baffled….
Hello people! How did the welcoming-the- New Year ceremonies go?
New years’ this year was different. No party hopping. No dancing. No dining out. I am bored of the routine. I wanted to do something different for a change.
So, we whipped up a gourmet Continental dinner and watched a movie. Let me tell you this, watching a movie at my place is a different experience in itself. Lounging on the sofa or sprawling on the carpet, hugging your legs to your chest, a fluffy blanket to huddle into, the movie being projected on the wall from a projector, backed up by a 2500W speakers. Sounds strange for a person who isn’t a movie buff, eh? Don’t start wondering what we were doing watching a movie on the projector. We don’t have a TV at home. And which movie did we see? The exorcist.
I have seen movies of all genres in the past – action, romantic, thrillers, chick-flicks, fantasies, fiction, sci-fi, inspired-by-true-stories and the emotional atyachars. Everything, save the horror movies. Honestly speaking, horror serials used to scare me real bad and I would spend sleepless nights for days in rows. So I quit watching them, and have never watched a horror serial or a movie since then. Remember I said I wanted to do something different this New Year’s eve. So, horror it was this time.
More than the movie, what made an impression on my mind was what the director had to say about it. He said that everybody who has seen this movie has gone back with his beliefs reinforced, be it in the devil or in the god. But, where there is god, there is also a devil.
**************************************************************************
1st January
We found a bat in my parent’s room. Yes, I am talking of the ugly, rat-faced, leathery mammal. Flapping its wings around and zooming across the room, over my parent’s heads at 5.30 pm in the evening. It hid itself in the slits of the split-AC, turning itself into a small ball.
An omen of something horrific? Or are horror movies just getting to my head?
**************************************************************************
2nd January
Time: 10 pm. My entire family is sitting in the living room, talking. And we get on the subjects of night animals, from jackals, foxes, bats to me. Why me? Well… my granny swears she saw one of us (my sis or me) on the phone at 3.15 am, sitting by my grand-pa’s feet, talking on the phone some 10 days back. She says it was me; she could make that out from the hair.
And if hair was the deciding factor between my sis and me, then nobody can make a mistake of recognizing which of us it was. She has got silken, long, straight tresses that are half way down her back and is generally tied up. And I on the other hand have a wild fluffy mane of curly hair which is generally left loose. There isn’t even a 1 in a 100 chance of being mistaken there. :-/
I suppose my granny was hallucinating. I venturing out of my bed at night sounds impossible. A sleeping Shivani has a striking resemblance of a dead man inside a coffin. I sleep that straight. The unnatural position of lying straight on your back comes the most naturally to me.
I don’t know what to say. I am baffled….
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Welcome to 'Airport Village'
Papa and I were at the airport yesterday evening, waiting for the Lady of the house to arrive.
Hunger pangs made me get down from the car in search of something to eat. We still had three quarters of an hour to kill and I was quite starved. I was looking for the sign board that would direct me to the food joints there. And this is what I saw:
“Welcome to Airport Village”. That’s what the green and white neon sign board said. I chuckled to myself. I was amused. Whatever gave them the idea to call the place a village? An airport it is, that I can see. But a village? Did I overlook something here?
So, instead of just idling away time lounging by the car, waiting for Mamma, I decide to take my magnifying glass out and observe the tell tale signs that render the airport, I am so fond of, a village.
I love the way the landscaping has been done at the airport. The array of vibrant flowers and trees. The Laqshya – advertisement boards, I just love the way they advertise themselves. “Watch your brand fly!” The long breaths of clean air and the long drive on a wonderfully maintained road and on the longest flyover of the country. It is exhilarating.
The airport in itself is another story. I had fallen in love with the way the airport when I had seen it first, for the way it has been designed. Chic. Utilitarian. The cleanliness maintained. I think it would make Howard Roark weak in the knees if he were to see the simplicity of the design and the convenience of it. A building entirely made of glass. It looks beautiful, especially at night. It gives you the feeling of having come somewhere else, abroad. Doesn’t seem like the place belongs to India, to Hyderabad.
So, if it’s the lush green trees and sprawling lawns and the fresh air that reminds you closely of a village with spawning fields and shady trees and a cool breeze, then call it a village if you wish to.
But I can’t say that my first impression has been an everlasting one. Its changing bit by bit with time. I have driven to the airport at all kinds of times. Driven down at midnight, at early hours of the dawn, at 12 in the noon, in the rush hours of the day and the dusk both. So technically, I have seen the airport in all its grandeur, at all times. Having gone to see my friends off, on journeys abroad, I have been at the airport at some unearthly hours of the day, or rather the night.
I have found myself surprised to see beggars and laborers occupying the benches there, sitting and admiring the magnificent structure. There have been times when I have seen these men spend the night out on the pavements, spreading their sheets and making their beds under the starry sky. But all that was long back, back when the airport was still under construction. And I thought that the poor people find it difficult to commute there and have that’s why probably set up their lodgings just there, till the construction is complete.
Now, a little more than 2 years since, I still see beggars begging for alms near the arrival and departure drop/pick-up points. Auto-stands, bus-stops, railway stations. It is common for beggars to throng these places. But AIRPORTS? What in the world are beggars doing at a place situated a good 25-30 kms off from the city? Or is it that they still spend their nights sleeping on the benches there? Makes up for a decent home, if you ask me! :X
The escalators are another thing that caught my attention. They moved at the pace of a bullock cart. It would not have taken me more than half a minute to go down by the stairs, whereas it took me twice the time to go by the elevator. People walking up and down the escalator rather than riding it is a pet peeve to me. And yesterday, I found myself just in the perfect situation to do it.
A village it is really turning to, in the sense that it is becoming more rural than urban! Let us just bring in a few cattle and let them graze the lawns there, use a ‘phatak’ instead of the toll booths and a proper village it will be! :-|
P.S: My spirits are high because Mamma is back. But, I really can’t see my beloved airport turning out to be village. It’s the one place in the city that I like to brag about. :D
Hunger pangs made me get down from the car in search of something to eat. We still had three quarters of an hour to kill and I was quite starved. I was looking for the sign board that would direct me to the food joints there. And this is what I saw:
“Welcome to Airport Village”. That’s what the green and white neon sign board said. I chuckled to myself. I was amused. Whatever gave them the idea to call the place a village? An airport it is, that I can see. But a village? Did I overlook something here?
So, instead of just idling away time lounging by the car, waiting for Mamma, I decide to take my magnifying glass out and observe the tell tale signs that render the airport, I am so fond of, a village.
I love the way the landscaping has been done at the airport. The array of vibrant flowers and trees. The Laqshya – advertisement boards, I just love the way they advertise themselves. “Watch your brand fly!” The long breaths of clean air and the long drive on a wonderfully maintained road and on the longest flyover of the country. It is exhilarating.
The airport in itself is another story. I had fallen in love with the way the airport when I had seen it first, for the way it has been designed. Chic. Utilitarian. The cleanliness maintained. I think it would make Howard Roark weak in the knees if he were to see the simplicity of the design and the convenience of it. A building entirely made of glass. It looks beautiful, especially at night. It gives you the feeling of having come somewhere else, abroad. Doesn’t seem like the place belongs to India, to Hyderabad.
So, if it’s the lush green trees and sprawling lawns and the fresh air that reminds you closely of a village with spawning fields and shady trees and a cool breeze, then call it a village if you wish to.
But I can’t say that my first impression has been an everlasting one. Its changing bit by bit with time. I have driven to the airport at all kinds of times. Driven down at midnight, at early hours of the dawn, at 12 in the noon, in the rush hours of the day and the dusk both. So technically, I have seen the airport in all its grandeur, at all times. Having gone to see my friends off, on journeys abroad, I have been at the airport at some unearthly hours of the day, or rather the night.
I have found myself surprised to see beggars and laborers occupying the benches there, sitting and admiring the magnificent structure. There have been times when I have seen these men spend the night out on the pavements, spreading their sheets and making their beds under the starry sky. But all that was long back, back when the airport was still under construction. And I thought that the poor people find it difficult to commute there and have that’s why probably set up their lodgings just there, till the construction is complete.
Now, a little more than 2 years since, I still see beggars begging for alms near the arrival and departure drop/pick-up points. Auto-stands, bus-stops, railway stations. It is common for beggars to throng these places. But AIRPORTS? What in the world are beggars doing at a place situated a good 25-30 kms off from the city? Or is it that they still spend their nights sleeping on the benches there? Makes up for a decent home, if you ask me! :X
The escalators are another thing that caught my attention. They moved at the pace of a bullock cart. It would not have taken me more than half a minute to go down by the stairs, whereas it took me twice the time to go by the elevator. People walking up and down the escalator rather than riding it is a pet peeve to me. And yesterday, I found myself just in the perfect situation to do it.
A village it is really turning to, in the sense that it is becoming more rural than urban! Let us just bring in a few cattle and let them graze the lawns there, use a ‘phatak’ instead of the toll booths and a proper village it will be! :-|
P.S: My spirits are high because Mamma is back. But, I really can’t see my beloved airport turning out to be village. It’s the one place in the city that I like to brag about. :D
ODC Rants
Two weeks in the ODC has taught me this much:
1) You are a pain in everybody’s neck till your ID is active. You have to keep pestering somebody or the other to door-keep for you!
2) It is best not to stray outside the ODC till your card is active, because you will have to keep filling in plenty of columns in a log register every time you either come in or go out. Stay put till your card is active.
3) The ODC is in the oldest building of the campus. And the lift sounds like a lift from some jail. It is all rickety. You will find the stair-way a better option.
4) The washroom here is way too small as compared to the new buildings. And the number of people in the ODC are much more than in the other building. Thus, never hold on till the last minute. Go and relieve yourself when you first start feeling the pressure. Going at a time when you are literally jumping like a kangaroo, ahem, because of the urgency of the call, you will find all the stalls occupied, and with people who have gone for long visits in there. Minimum waiting time = 5 mins.
5) Drink very little water, ensuring that you have to visit the loo less frequently.
6) Using the pantry sink is a better option than using the washroom’s basin. There is only one basin in there and too many people hovering around it, it being the ladies room.
7) Do all the net surfing that you want to, but with your window minimized to that extent that only you can see it. Remember, you are new in here. And you are supposed to work. Or at least pretend to.
8) The ODC is a place for fun and enjoyment. So if you want to work really seriously, and not be disturbed by people around you, plug in the headphones to cut out the noise.
9) The ODC is not a safe place to leave your coffee-mugs around. My Roadies-jumbo-coffee-mug has been snitched! :(
10) The first week in there can be really boring because you wont find the communicator or the blogs there, the two things that you get addicted to when on bench. :)
1) You are a pain in everybody’s neck till your ID is active. You have to keep pestering somebody or the other to door-keep for you!
2) It is best not to stray outside the ODC till your card is active, because you will have to keep filling in plenty of columns in a log register every time you either come in or go out. Stay put till your card is active.
3) The ODC is in the oldest building of the campus. And the lift sounds like a lift from some jail. It is all rickety. You will find the stair-way a better option.
4) The washroom here is way too small as compared to the new buildings. And the number of people in the ODC are much more than in the other building. Thus, never hold on till the last minute. Go and relieve yourself when you first start feeling the pressure. Going at a time when you are literally jumping like a kangaroo, ahem, because of the urgency of the call, you will find all the stalls occupied, and with people who have gone for long visits in there. Minimum waiting time = 5 mins.
5) Drink very little water, ensuring that you have to visit the loo less frequently.
6) Using the pantry sink is a better option than using the washroom’s basin. There is only one basin in there and too many people hovering around it, it being the ladies room.
7) Do all the net surfing that you want to, but with your window minimized to that extent that only you can see it. Remember, you are new in here. And you are supposed to work. Or at least pretend to.
8) The ODC is a place for fun and enjoyment. So if you want to work really seriously, and not be disturbed by people around you, plug in the headphones to cut out the noise.
9) The ODC is not a safe place to leave your coffee-mugs around. My Roadies-jumbo-coffee-mug has been snitched! :(
10) The first week in there can be really boring because you wont find the communicator or the blogs there, the two things that you get addicted to when on bench. :)
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
What should I buy?
“Why did you buy this? How much did you buy this for? Oh! You spent much more than you should have.”
“I don’t have anything of this colour. What will I wear this with?”
“You know what? My sister’s friend gifted her the same type of pendant on her birthday. Couldn’t you come up with something original? Copy-cat!”
“I already have this.”
Guys really have a tough time keeping track of the countless accessories that girls own. Same goes for clothes. Poor guys! They might have never seen her in a particular dress because she still hasn’t come to that stack of clothes in her cupboard. She is still to finish the other stack. Mind you, she hasn’t repeated anything from there yet. And there is always the option of wearing something from her mom’s or sister’s cupboard. :-|
“You should have got me something of your choice. What was the point of buying me something that I like.”
*Shouldn’t you be happy I gave you something that you like? No. That’s not how things work. Buy something of your choice that I may like.*
“XYZ (her friend) already has this. I cannot own the same thing as she does.”
No girl likes to own the same stuff that other girls do. Yes, it is a rule.
You actually undergo the trouble to exchange it for something else, hoping that this is something that her friend doesn’t own. And…
“Hmm.. This is nice, but I liked the previous one better. This isn’t as good as that.” *a forced, tight smile*
The list of these kind of (agonizing) dialogues is quite endless says my (guy) friend. According to him, it is very difficult to buy a gift for a girl. It is too much of a hassle. This is how the process goes:
1. Shortlist a couple of things that you can gift her.
2. Fix a budget.
3. Do a thorough survey of the shortlisted items.
4. Re-think the budget. Anything that you fix your mind on, will turn out to be more expensive than you had bargained for.
5. One gift never suffices. There has to be something more than a single gift. Backup options. If not this, that. You hope that she will like at least one of the things that you bought, without complaining.
6. Ask your mom, sis or girl pal to accompany you along. You need somebody to try on the stuff that you are planning to buy.
7. Call up as many friends of the girl and find out whether she will like the gift or not.
8. Cross your fingers and hope that she will like the gift. Or be prepared to repeat from step 1 to 8. ;D
Some guys are just smart. They simply take the girl out shopping and let her choose what she wants for herself, and pay for it. Mind you, it can turn out to be an expensive affair, because most girls are shopaholics and guys wanting to stay in their good books would never ever let it out that the budget is fixed or that the number of items she is allowed to pick is limited. There goes your money worth 3 months of partying, boozing and biking. Abstinence, here he comes!
Well, what are guy pals for! You can always borrow. Try telling them that you donated the money or spent it on a medical emergency and you will return empty handed after hearing lame excuses. But, if you tell them the truth, that you overspent it on a gift (or rather gifts) for a girl, they would sympathize with you and believe your story without much ado. :P
The other side of the story…. Selecting a gift for a guy.
1. Select something that you like. Anything.
2. Check if the colour will suit your friend.
3. Check for size.
4. Gift it. Get a hug back with a big smile and a thank you.
5. Also, get a party free, free, free! :D :P
All of the above is, as told to me by a guy, from a guy’s perspective. I haven’t put in my two cents because I, as a girl, find the task of buying a gift for a guy equally challenging.
“I don’t have anything of this colour. What will I wear this with?”
“You know what? My sister’s friend gifted her the same type of pendant on her birthday. Couldn’t you come up with something original? Copy-cat!”
“I already have this.”
Guys really have a tough time keeping track of the countless accessories that girls own. Same goes for clothes. Poor guys! They might have never seen her in a particular dress because she still hasn’t come to that stack of clothes in her cupboard. She is still to finish the other stack. Mind you, she hasn’t repeated anything from there yet. And there is always the option of wearing something from her mom’s or sister’s cupboard. :-|
“You should have got me something of your choice. What was the point of buying me something that I like.”
*Shouldn’t you be happy I gave you something that you like? No. That’s not how things work. Buy something of your choice that I may like.*
“XYZ (her friend) already has this. I cannot own the same thing as she does.”
No girl likes to own the same stuff that other girls do. Yes, it is a rule.
You actually undergo the trouble to exchange it for something else, hoping that this is something that her friend doesn’t own. And…
“Hmm.. This is nice, but I liked the previous one better. This isn’t as good as that.” *a forced, tight smile*
The list of these kind of (agonizing) dialogues is quite endless says my (guy) friend. According to him, it is very difficult to buy a gift for a girl. It is too much of a hassle. This is how the process goes:
1. Shortlist a couple of things that you can gift her.
2. Fix a budget.
3. Do a thorough survey of the shortlisted items.
4. Re-think the budget. Anything that you fix your mind on, will turn out to be more expensive than you had bargained for.
5. One gift never suffices. There has to be something more than a single gift. Backup options. If not this, that. You hope that she will like at least one of the things that you bought, without complaining.
6. Ask your mom, sis or girl pal to accompany you along. You need somebody to try on the stuff that you are planning to buy.
7. Call up as many friends of the girl and find out whether she will like the gift or not.
8. Cross your fingers and hope that she will like the gift. Or be prepared to repeat from step 1 to 8. ;D
Some guys are just smart. They simply take the girl out shopping and let her choose what she wants for herself, and pay for it. Mind you, it can turn out to be an expensive affair, because most girls are shopaholics and guys wanting to stay in their good books would never ever let it out that the budget is fixed or that the number of items she is allowed to pick is limited. There goes your money worth 3 months of partying, boozing and biking. Abstinence, here he comes!
Well, what are guy pals for! You can always borrow. Try telling them that you donated the money or spent it on a medical emergency and you will return empty handed after hearing lame excuses. But, if you tell them the truth, that you overspent it on a gift (or rather gifts) for a girl, they would sympathize with you and believe your story without much ado. :P
The other side of the story…. Selecting a gift for a guy.
1. Select something that you like. Anything.
2. Check if the colour will suit your friend.
3. Check for size.
4. Gift it. Get a hug back with a big smile and a thank you.
5. Also, get a party free, free, free! :D :P
All of the above is, as told to me by a guy, from a guy’s perspective. I haven’t put in my two cents because I, as a girl, find the task of buying a gift for a guy equally challenging.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
The Blues of ‘Pinks’ !!
Tears roll down my eyes, even as she tells me to hold on tight. She patiently positions my hands in place and tells me to firm my grip as she does her job.
I tell the lady its my first time. I plead, to myself, to her, to anybody who would listen, I don’t want to do it. She pushes me down on that chair. They are going to need chains/belts to hold me down there, like in an electrocuting chair. She laughs at my plight, at my innocence, my immaturity.
I can feel the thread sawing at my skin. Out comes one hair at a time, plucked from its follicle as she moves that white thread to and fro. I clutch my sandals hard with my toes to prevent myself from kicking out. I try to immitate a body stuck with rigor mortis, not wanting to look like a person undergoing torture. The girls waiting for their turn in the queue think i am being a sissy and making a fuss out of nothing at all.
Why did I ever sign up for this? My brow is red and swollen. I come out from the execution room and walk back quickly, retracing my steps to the desk. I make it a point to look at the ground instead of looking ahead, pulling down the hood of my jacket and hoping not to bump into anybody i know. I decide i wont respond even if somebody calls out to me. I will pretend to have not heard. I dont want people looking at my face just yet, trying to figure out whats gone wrong there.
I swear I am not moving out of my cubicle for a couple of days, till it grows back. No going around, greeting people early in the morning. I may chance a trip out of my cube sometime close to noon when people are glued to their screens and wouldnt look up from it to acknowledge your presence.
I had once sworn that I would never get my eyebrows plucked until and unless a special occasion calls for it. I dont know how this qualifies as a special occasion, but I was coaxed into it…. So much for a Fashion Show. Sigh!
P.S: A round of applause to all those ladies out there who get it done once in a fortnight without batting an eyelid. They say its cake-walk.
P.P.S: 'Pinks and Blues' is the name of the beauty salon in my office!
I tell the lady its my first time. I plead, to myself, to her, to anybody who would listen, I don’t want to do it. She pushes me down on that chair. They are going to need chains/belts to hold me down there, like in an electrocuting chair. She laughs at my plight, at my innocence, my immaturity.
I can feel the thread sawing at my skin. Out comes one hair at a time, plucked from its follicle as she moves that white thread to and fro. I clutch my sandals hard with my toes to prevent myself from kicking out. I try to immitate a body stuck with rigor mortis, not wanting to look like a person undergoing torture. The girls waiting for their turn in the queue think i am being a sissy and making a fuss out of nothing at all.
Why did I ever sign up for this? My brow is red and swollen. I come out from the execution room and walk back quickly, retracing my steps to the desk. I make it a point to look at the ground instead of looking ahead, pulling down the hood of my jacket and hoping not to bump into anybody i know. I decide i wont respond even if somebody calls out to me. I will pretend to have not heard. I dont want people looking at my face just yet, trying to figure out whats gone wrong there.
I swear I am not moving out of my cubicle for a couple of days, till it grows back. No going around, greeting people early in the morning. I may chance a trip out of my cube sometime close to noon when people are glued to their screens and wouldnt look up from it to acknowledge your presence.
I had once sworn that I would never get my eyebrows plucked until and unless a special occasion calls for it. I dont know how this qualifies as a special occasion, but I was coaxed into it…. So much for a Fashion Show. Sigh!
P.S: A round of applause to all those ladies out there who get it done once in a fortnight without batting an eyelid. They say its cake-walk.
P.P.S: 'Pinks and Blues' is the name of the beauty salon in my office!
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Photo-licious
Once upon a time, in the same land as now, being camera conscious was different from being image conscious. The camera conscious people were those who found it difficult to stand in front of the lens and get their picture taken. The image conscious people were those who were careful about the impression they made on people around them, by the way they spoke, behaved and dressed.
These days, the difference is reducing . People make their images and impressions by how they present themselves on social-networking sites. All the pictures that they put up, add up to the image they are trying to create. The whole purpose of clicking pictures is to put them up for others to see and comment upon, not for memories.
You wouldn’t be even back home yet from a social do, but your photos would have preceded you. The whole wide world would know where you went, what you did, what you wore, whom you met and blah blah blah!
It’s a trend amongst the teenagers to change their profile picture at least once a week. A display image that sticks on your wall for more than a week implies that you are not the ‘in’ thing. Hence the madness to carry the camera everywhere you go.
For what reasons would you carry a camera to a movie theatre? You aren’t going to shoot the film in it. But, nah! The camera has to go to the mall with you. You must pose in front of the life-size posters and banners in the malls. Maybe even pretend to kiss or hold your favorite actor’s poster… the photograph is proof that you have been there and done that.
Sometimes, by chance, you bump into somebody you knew long back. Voila! The camera or the phone is out, even before you can manage a decent hello and find out their whereabouts. The spark from the relationship would have died down and you might just be formal acquaintances now. But, still a pic is taken with a fake smile that stretches across your face, to show people how you close you are to your oldest friends. Up it goes with a fashioned status message…
It is funny how people are paranoid, that others will forget them until and unless they are constantly reminded of how they look!
1) I got a new dress – yay! Get the cam out. Let my friends see how pretty I look.
2) I washed my hair today – it looks nice, silky and shiny. See how it falls perfectly in place. Get the cam, I will pose.
3) Look I tried this brand of makeup today – Click. Click. Click.
4) Oh! I ate a burger today. The last time I ate it, was on the roadside stall yesterday and I didn’t have my cam. Today I am at McD. - Ronald and me in the frame please!
5) I am carrying my shades today. See how cool they look. - It doesn’t matter that its 6 pm and the sun has set. Zoom. Click.
6) This is the craziest thing I ever did till date. Ate a pizza with my hands and the ketchup is all over my face. - Somebody capture this moment. This day will never come again!
Duh!
There are people who keep taking re-shots till they think they look perfect in the pic. All thanks to the era of digital cameras!
Also there are people who have defined smiles for all kinds of moods and occasions. They practice for hours in front of the mirror to see which kind of a smile looks the best. The smile must be perfect. Everything from how wide should you stretch your lips, how many teeth to be displayed, whether the mouth should be open or closed, whether your eyes hold the correct expression or not, or whether your cheeks look too full like you have ‘rasgullas’ stuffed inside… it is all manipulated.
I wonder if there is anything like a natural smile or a natural photo anymore!
These days, the difference is reducing . People make their images and impressions by how they present themselves on social-networking sites. All the pictures that they put up, add up to the image they are trying to create. The whole purpose of clicking pictures is to put them up for others to see and comment upon, not for memories.
You wouldn’t be even back home yet from a social do, but your photos would have preceded you. The whole wide world would know where you went, what you did, what you wore, whom you met and blah blah blah!
It’s a trend amongst the teenagers to change their profile picture at least once a week. A display image that sticks on your wall for more than a week implies that you are not the ‘in’ thing. Hence the madness to carry the camera everywhere you go.
For what reasons would you carry a camera to a movie theatre? You aren’t going to shoot the film in it. But, nah! The camera has to go to the mall with you. You must pose in front of the life-size posters and banners in the malls. Maybe even pretend to kiss or hold your favorite actor’s poster… the photograph is proof that you have been there and done that.
Sometimes, by chance, you bump into somebody you knew long back. Voila! The camera or the phone is out, even before you can manage a decent hello and find out their whereabouts. The spark from the relationship would have died down and you might just be formal acquaintances now. But, still a pic is taken with a fake smile that stretches across your face, to show people how you close you are to your oldest friends. Up it goes with a fashioned status message…
It is funny how people are paranoid, that others will forget them until and unless they are constantly reminded of how they look!
1) I got a new dress – yay! Get the cam out. Let my friends see how pretty I look.
2) I washed my hair today – it looks nice, silky and shiny. See how it falls perfectly in place. Get the cam, I will pose.
3) Look I tried this brand of makeup today – Click. Click. Click.
4) Oh! I ate a burger today. The last time I ate it, was on the roadside stall yesterday and I didn’t have my cam. Today I am at McD. - Ronald and me in the frame please!
5) I am carrying my shades today. See how cool they look. - It doesn’t matter that its 6 pm and the sun has set. Zoom. Click.
6) This is the craziest thing I ever did till date. Ate a pizza with my hands and the ketchup is all over my face. - Somebody capture this moment. This day will never come again!
Duh!
There are people who keep taking re-shots till they think they look perfect in the pic. All thanks to the era of digital cameras!
Also there are people who have defined smiles for all kinds of moods and occasions. They practice for hours in front of the mirror to see which kind of a smile looks the best. The smile must be perfect. Everything from how wide should you stretch your lips, how many teeth to be displayed, whether the mouth should be open or closed, whether your eyes hold the correct expression or not, or whether your cheeks look too full like you have ‘rasgullas’ stuffed inside… it is all manipulated.
I wonder if there is anything like a natural smile or a natural photo anymore!
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Phone(y) Conversations
I don’t eavesdrop as a habit, but sometimes you just can’t help overhearing conversations.
It is funny how people (especially the ones in a relationship) can be classified into different categories based on the way they talk on the phone.
The loudspeakers:
There are some people who converse like it is a necessity for the whole wide world to know about what is happening in their life. You can hear these people’s conversations at the other end of the corridor. And every single word out of their mouth is at the mercy of your judgment. It is free publicity of their affairs!!
5000 watts Loudspeaker: “Tumne mujhe kabhi kuch diya hai? Mere liye kabhi koi gift bheji?”
Everybody around that girl knew that she was on the verge of breaking up with her boyfriend. Also any guys trying to get into a relationship with her were warned of her high-maintenance attitude!
The secretaries:
*Hush…hush…hush…whisper…whisper….whisper*
There are few people who have inbuilt mechanisms that would make them good secretaries. They literally get into the phones and talk. They lower their volume to such decibels that you cannot hear a single word even if you are sitting right next to them. Wonder how the person at the other end of the line catches what they are saying!
The teenage-girl types:
The people in this category love to show off what their conversation is probably like. You get to see very animated expressions even though you may or may not be able to hear what they are saying. And that more or less conveys to you, whom are they talking with and what they are talking about.
Very-girly-girl : *turns a soft shade of red*
“I thought you would like it if I wore that”
*giggles*
“You are very naughty…”
*turns crimson red*
Umm… the rest is left to your imagination!!
The screechy house-elves:
This category is applicable only to women. Women who turn hysterical on the phone, screech, scream and abuse on the phone, and more-often-than-not break into tears while talking can be fit into this category. The phone call that might have started at a normal pitch, threatens to do permanent damage to your tympanic membrane.
The switch-gears types:
This is the category of those people who change the language of communication, as soon as they find other people within earshot.
I know a friend, who suddenly makes a switch from Hindi (her mother tongue) to English while talking to her boy-friend, if any of us are within hearing distance. Her trick may work at her home, going by the fact that her mom doesn’t understand English. But, with us, it is just plain stupidity! Most people, like me, can understand both Hindi and English. (And if she tried talking to her boyfriend in his mother-tongue, I would still understand.) So, either which ways, I can always follow the entire conversation. Try how much ever I may, I can never block out her voice, given to the high pitch, and end up knowing all the stuff that she is trying so hard to block away!
It is funny how people (especially the ones in a relationship) can be classified into different categories based on the way they talk on the phone.
The loudspeakers:
There are some people who converse like it is a necessity for the whole wide world to know about what is happening in their life. You can hear these people’s conversations at the other end of the corridor. And every single word out of their mouth is at the mercy of your judgment. It is free publicity of their affairs!!
5000 watts Loudspeaker: “Tumne mujhe kabhi kuch diya hai? Mere liye kabhi koi gift bheji?”
Everybody around that girl knew that she was on the verge of breaking up with her boyfriend. Also any guys trying to get into a relationship with her were warned of her high-maintenance attitude!
The secretaries:
*Hush…hush…hush…whisper…whisper….whisper*
There are few people who have inbuilt mechanisms that would make them good secretaries. They literally get into the phones and talk. They lower their volume to such decibels that you cannot hear a single word even if you are sitting right next to them. Wonder how the person at the other end of the line catches what they are saying!
The teenage-girl types:
The people in this category love to show off what their conversation is probably like. You get to see very animated expressions even though you may or may not be able to hear what they are saying. And that more or less conveys to you, whom are they talking with and what they are talking about.
Very-girly-girl : *turns a soft shade of red*
“I thought you would like it if I wore that”
*giggles*
“You are very naughty…”
*turns crimson red*
Umm… the rest is left to your imagination!!
The screechy house-elves:
This category is applicable only to women. Women who turn hysterical on the phone, screech, scream and abuse on the phone, and more-often-than-not break into tears while talking can be fit into this category. The phone call that might have started at a normal pitch, threatens to do permanent damage to your tympanic membrane.
The switch-gears types:
This is the category of those people who change the language of communication, as soon as they find other people within earshot.
I know a friend, who suddenly makes a switch from Hindi (her mother tongue) to English while talking to her boy-friend, if any of us are within hearing distance. Her trick may work at her home, going by the fact that her mom doesn’t understand English. But, with us, it is just plain stupidity! Most people, like me, can understand both Hindi and English. (And if she tried talking to her boyfriend in his mother-tongue, I would still understand.) So, either which ways, I can always follow the entire conversation. Try how much ever I may, I can never block out her voice, given to the high pitch, and end up knowing all the stuff that she is trying so hard to block away!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Typically Shivani(sh)
I think I can sleep in/on anything that has wheels and is moving. The number of wheels the vehicle has, doesn’t seem to bother me. I have fallen asleep within minutes on a bike, in a car, in auto-rickshaws and buses all the same. I think I could fall asleep even on a bicycle, if I ever tried taking the pillion seat on one.
Why am I writing all this?
November 10, 2010. I fell asleep in the bus I had taken to get back home from office. It wasn’t my regular bus (which I obviously did not know when I got in) and this is what happened:
I was asleep even before the bus reached the Gachibowli flyover, which is at a distance of just 5-7 mins from the office. I could blame it all on my cold (it is supposed to make you feel dull and drowsy), but I won’t, because my track record would prove otherwise.
Not sure of how much time I spent sleeping, but when I woke up I realized that I was in some other part of the city, in a direction that I have never travelled before. I had taken the wrong bus home and I didn’t know where I was going.
“Excuse me.. Excuse me”. It was four times before the girl sitting next to me realized I was trying to talk to her. My voice, which wasn’t any louder than a hoarse whisper, fell on deaf ears till I literally waved my hands in front of her.
“Err… where exactly are we? And where is this bus going?”
“We are approaching Krishna-Nagar”, she said giving me a ‘are-you-drunk’ look.
*little voice in my head, panic mode* “Where in the world is that? How am I going to get home here?”
I was lost. Unsure of what to do and where to go, I asked another girl who helped me recognize an area where I could get down and go home from. God bless her!
Another time, another place:
On my way back from the township swimming pool, I got into the wrong bus. This time I had read the bus number, only the number, not the letter following it. Wrong bus, wrong route = a tour of the entire city. The bus conductor and driver were having a gala time, laughing at my expense. I had proudly proclaimed that I will get down where I want to, after paying the fare for the entire journey to and fro because I didn’t know where I wanted to get down, when the bus had started a return journey!
Yet another incident, this time in the car:
Mamma had gone to get a couple of things from the store. I was sitting in the car and waiting for her. I drowsed off with all the windows open and the keys in the ignition, even after I had been asked to take care. I woke up only when mamma got back. Thank God for my sharp senses that I opened my eyes quickly and was able to fib that I was only resting my eyes. Otherwise I would have got a good dose of her scolding that day, (what with her purse and everything lying inside the car.)
Maybe Khumbhkaran was an ancestor of mine...
P.S: Next time I intend to get lost only when I have a map with me. :P
Why am I writing all this?
November 10, 2010. I fell asleep in the bus I had taken to get back home from office. It wasn’t my regular bus (which I obviously did not know when I got in) and this is what happened:
I was asleep even before the bus reached the Gachibowli flyover, which is at a distance of just 5-7 mins from the office. I could blame it all on my cold (it is supposed to make you feel dull and drowsy), but I won’t, because my track record would prove otherwise.
Not sure of how much time I spent sleeping, but when I woke up I realized that I was in some other part of the city, in a direction that I have never travelled before. I had taken the wrong bus home and I didn’t know where I was going.
“Excuse me.. Excuse me”. It was four times before the girl sitting next to me realized I was trying to talk to her. My voice, which wasn’t any louder than a hoarse whisper, fell on deaf ears till I literally waved my hands in front of her.
“Err… where exactly are we? And where is this bus going?”
“We are approaching Krishna-Nagar”, she said giving me a ‘are-you-drunk’ look.
*little voice in my head, panic mode* “Where in the world is that? How am I going to get home here?”
I was lost. Unsure of what to do and where to go, I asked another girl who helped me recognize an area where I could get down and go home from. God bless her!
Another time, another place:
On my way back from the township swimming pool, I got into the wrong bus. This time I had read the bus number, only the number, not the letter following it. Wrong bus, wrong route = a tour of the entire city. The bus conductor and driver were having a gala time, laughing at my expense. I had proudly proclaimed that I will get down where I want to, after paying the fare for the entire journey to and fro because I didn’t know where I wanted to get down, when the bus had started a return journey!
Yet another incident, this time in the car:
Mamma had gone to get a couple of things from the store. I was sitting in the car and waiting for her. I drowsed off with all the windows open and the keys in the ignition, even after I had been asked to take care. I woke up only when mamma got back. Thank God for my sharp senses that I opened my eyes quickly and was able to fib that I was only resting my eyes. Otherwise I would have got a good dose of her scolding that day, (what with her purse and everything lying inside the car.)
Maybe Khumbhkaran was an ancestor of mine...
P.S: Next time I intend to get lost only when I have a map with me. :P
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Auto-cracy ( Aristrocracy of auto-wallahs)
Time and again people keep cribbing about how the auto-wallahs cheat them and how they swindle them.
Every single time we are ready to get cheated because we have to reach somewhere in time, or there are no other travel options. Whatever the case be, the auto-wallahs generally get the better of us. Once in a while I find the occasion and the time to set these auto-wallahs right. A little bit of crankiness is all it requires.
This Diwali, trying to get an auto back home from a friend’s place.
Auto-wallah 1 : Kahan jaana hai madam?
Me: XYZ
Auto-wallah 1: Rs. 120
Me: Theek hai bhaiya. Bas raste mein jo police station aata hai, vahan se hote hue chaliyega.
Auto-wallah 1: Police station? Kaunsa wala madam? (he still hadn’t got the point yet)
Me: Jo aapko pasand ho. Aapki hi report likhvane jaana hai.
Auto-wallah 1: @#@$$$%$. Kya samajhte ho apne aap ko. Raste mein khade ho kar auto-wale ko darate ho.
Me: Aap kya samajhte ho apne aap ko. Diwali k din logon ko thug-te ho.
Auto-wallah 2: Kidhar jaana hai?
Me: XYZ
Auto-wallah 2: Rs.150
Me: Kitna? 150? Aage jao bhaiya.
Auto-wallah 2: Kitna denge madam aap?
Me: Rs.40. Utna hi hota hai meter se.
Auto-wallah 2: Par madam aaj Diwali hai.
Me: To kya hua? Kaunsa aap havai-jahaz mein bitha kar le jaa rahein hain?
Auto-wallah 2: Arey madam, jo hai ussi mein bitha kar le jaunga na. Kitne log hain? (there were 5 of us there)
R (my friend) : Kyun bhaiya? 1 ho ya 4 ho, kya farak padta hai? Sabki alag alag Diwali lenge kya aap?
S (another friend) : Bhaiya phir to Diwali offer bhi lagao. Sabko kam-se-kam 15% discount bhi dena.
Everybody inclusive of the auto-wallah burst out laughing.
He settled down on an additional baksheesh of Rs.10 to the meter.
There are a few auto-wallahs who would answer back in the same cranky rhythm that you set.
Auto-wallah 3: Itna hoga madam
Me: kyun bhaiya? Aaj aapka janamdin hai?
Auto-wallah 3: Janam-din samajh k hi de diji-ega
This was one time I was stumped. Could not think of a proper reply to throw back at his gloating face!
Every single time we are ready to get cheated because we have to reach somewhere in time, or there are no other travel options. Whatever the case be, the auto-wallahs generally get the better of us. Once in a while I find the occasion and the time to set these auto-wallahs right. A little bit of crankiness is all it requires.
This Diwali, trying to get an auto back home from a friend’s place.
Auto-wallah 1 : Kahan jaana hai madam?
Me: XYZ
Auto-wallah 1: Rs. 120
Me: Theek hai bhaiya. Bas raste mein jo police station aata hai, vahan se hote hue chaliyega.
Auto-wallah 1: Police station? Kaunsa wala madam? (he still hadn’t got the point yet)
Me: Jo aapko pasand ho. Aapki hi report likhvane jaana hai.
Auto-wallah 1: @#@$$$%$. Kya samajhte ho apne aap ko. Raste mein khade ho kar auto-wale ko darate ho.
Me: Aap kya samajhte ho apne aap ko. Diwali k din logon ko thug-te ho.
Auto-wallah 2: Kidhar jaana hai?
Me: XYZ
Auto-wallah 2: Rs.150
Me: Kitna? 150? Aage jao bhaiya.
Auto-wallah 2: Kitna denge madam aap?
Me: Rs.40. Utna hi hota hai meter se.
Auto-wallah 2: Par madam aaj Diwali hai.
Me: To kya hua? Kaunsa aap havai-jahaz mein bitha kar le jaa rahein hain?
Auto-wallah 2: Arey madam, jo hai ussi mein bitha kar le jaunga na. Kitne log hain? (there were 5 of us there)
R (my friend) : Kyun bhaiya? 1 ho ya 4 ho, kya farak padta hai? Sabki alag alag Diwali lenge kya aap?
S (another friend) : Bhaiya phir to Diwali offer bhi lagao. Sabko kam-se-kam 15% discount bhi dena.
Everybody inclusive of the auto-wallah burst out laughing.
He settled down on an additional baksheesh of Rs.10 to the meter.
There are a few auto-wallahs who would answer back in the same cranky rhythm that you set.
Auto-wallah 3: Itna hoga madam
Me: kyun bhaiya? Aaj aapka janamdin hai?
Auto-wallah 3: Janam-din samajh k hi de diji-ega
This was one time I was stumped. Could not think of a proper reply to throw back at his gloating face!
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Of Sizes and Shapes
120 pounds, 65 inches, size 6… In this new era of washboard abs and size zero - incense stick figures, I sound like a heavy-weight champion :O Maybe I should compete for the world’s fattest woman. That’s how I feel even with only 4 sizes smaller and 17 bigger sizes categorized in the size chart.
All throughout my years of adolescence I kept worrying about the baby fat I had. Looking back at pics of that time, I classify myself as a baby-elephant, at least going by my current stats.
Another 1-2 kgs shed, and my insides will be sticking to each other, there will be no space for the food through pass through. I will disappear into nothing-ness. I am beginning to remind myself of those cartoons, where a vehicle tramples you and you go flat, waiting to be inflated with air to get back into shape.
I am soon going to get myself a personal - no not trainer, a personal tailor to stop making my dresses look like gunny bags. I am not going to be able to shop for branded clothes anymore. They sell only size 8 and above in India for adults :-/ And I don’t fit into clothes meant for the kiddos and teeny-weenies. I feel like I am grotesquely deformed.
I kind of miss the fat I had. At least it was easier to sit. My bones didn’t hurt me back then. Long back I used to look in envy at women with curves at the right places. I still envy them. Wrong or right, I had curves back then. Now I just fit into the category of “column” amongst the 12 body types that exist? Straight parallel lines, no curves.
Did I say ‘Shapes’ in the title? Sorry. Erase that. Straight lines aren’t considered as shapes.
Where has the era of shapely women gone? Where have all my lipids dissolved? Why has the day dawned where I am cribbing about my stats and my shape (as usual) and still wondering if it is worth losing another few pounds…
P.S: I haven’t given up eating on anything yummy like chocolates, ice-creams or doughnuts!!
P.P.S: There was a time when a small bell would ring in my head if I indulged too much. I can’t hear the bell anymore
P.P.P.S: Hoping to return all round and cherubic after Diwali.
The last P.S : Initially this blog was supposed to be a blog telling people to ditch the size zero idea. It’s come to this because I don’t find myself eligible for it anymore.
All throughout my years of adolescence I kept worrying about the baby fat I had. Looking back at pics of that time, I classify myself as a baby-elephant, at least going by my current stats.
Another 1-2 kgs shed, and my insides will be sticking to each other, there will be no space for the food through pass through. I will disappear into nothing-ness. I am beginning to remind myself of those cartoons, where a vehicle tramples you and you go flat, waiting to be inflated with air to get back into shape.
I am soon going to get myself a personal - no not trainer, a personal tailor to stop making my dresses look like gunny bags. I am not going to be able to shop for branded clothes anymore. They sell only size 8 and above in India for adults :-/ And I don’t fit into clothes meant for the kiddos and teeny-weenies. I feel like I am grotesquely deformed.
I kind of miss the fat I had. At least it was easier to sit. My bones didn’t hurt me back then. Long back I used to look in envy at women with curves at the right places. I still envy them. Wrong or right, I had curves back then. Now I just fit into the category of “column” amongst the 12 body types that exist? Straight parallel lines, no curves.
Did I say ‘Shapes’ in the title? Sorry. Erase that. Straight lines aren’t considered as shapes.
Where has the era of shapely women gone? Where have all my lipids dissolved? Why has the day dawned where I am cribbing about my stats and my shape (as usual) and still wondering if it is worth losing another few pounds…
P.S: I haven’t given up eating on anything yummy like chocolates, ice-creams or doughnuts!!
P.P.S: There was a time when a small bell would ring in my head if I indulged too much. I can’t hear the bell anymore
P.P.P.S: Hoping to return all round and cherubic after Diwali.
The last P.S : Initially this blog was supposed to be a blog telling people to ditch the size zero idea. It’s come to this because I don’t find myself eligible for it anymore.
The Greedy Algorithm
Willy was leaving for the US. It was her last day in the city, and I had gone to help her with her packing. Her grandmother is a renowned astrologer, and though I don’t believe in palmistry, I like to get my palm read by her. It’s fun. No two people who have read my palm have ever predicted the same future for me. In fact, even Willy's grandmother’s prediction has had variations with the years that have gone by. Anyway..
That day she told me that I was destined for a love-marriage. She went further and wished me good luck for finding the man of my dreams and also said that she could trust my choice. It gave me a warm feeling to know that a lady who is close to 80 had enough faith to trust the choice of a 20 something girl. People at that kind of age generally go, err, a little off the track and they don’t trust you to anything.
Willy : Paatti, you trust Shivani with her choice, but if the matter of a love-marriage came to me, you would have so many issues about it.
Granny: No, my dear. We wouldn’t mind…
Willy : (cutting Granny off, mid-sentence) Oh, ya? Then why this long list of the things-i-shouldn’t-do?
Granny: (finishing off her sentence) we wouldn’t mind as long as the guy is a Thanjavur Vadamaaal Iyengar. That’s the only condition we have.
THE ONLY CONDITION as explained to me turned out to be this:
Thanjavur is the place where their family comes from.
Iyengar is the caste
And Vadamaal is the sub-caste.
My question here is what makes parents closed to the idea of their kids falling in love? Why is it OK as far as it isn’t your child?
Observation says that the parent’s idea of a perfect bride/groom for their progeny is a person who is from the same caste, culture. A guy whose family is probably related to you in some way (read - a family your family can keep a tab on, a family whose private matters are public to you).
They say, “It will be very difficult for you to fit into their culture. It’s different from ours.” Were we all brought up following a rulebook of what our culture is or what is permissible in it? Were we brought up with such rigidity that we cannot adapt to a few additions to the rites and rituals that we learnt?
Does it really matter if you don’t know what happened to the Paternal Aunt's Son-in-Law's Sister's Grandfather's younger Brother's Wife's Paternal Uncle's Sister-in-Law's Grandson of the guy you are to get married to?
The guy in question has to be well settled. He should own a house and a car before he is married. Why? Am I marrying the guy or his possessions? Am I not earning enough to support myself, and even him if the need arises? Did our parents have everything before they were married? Did they not build up their own homes? Then why this notion of a person well-settled? Or is our generation not capable enough?
Oh! I almost forgot. The horoscopes. Why is it so important that all your 36 virtues have to match? Wouldn’t you be able to spend your life with a person who probably has only 24 planetary positions matching with yours?
And to think of it, all this has really not got anything to do with the person in question. Why do all these extra requisites become important than the person or his/her character or the kind of understanding that you share?
You may be in love with a person. But if all these conditions aren’t fulfilled, then you are doomed for life. You are going to be strung around somebody else’s neck. You may try and explain as much as you want about why the person you love is perfect for you but it won’t work. Parents are greedy when it comes to their kids. Everything has to be prefect for them. Nothing short of the best will do. Only that the kids don’t think of it as the best for them.
Your parents may not be asking for dowry, but if these become the major criteria for a marriage, then it sure fits the definition of what I call as the Greedy-Algorithm-of-Matchmaking.
That day she told me that I was destined for a love-marriage. She went further and wished me good luck for finding the man of my dreams and also said that she could trust my choice. It gave me a warm feeling to know that a lady who is close to 80 had enough faith to trust the choice of a 20 something girl. People at that kind of age generally go, err, a little off the track and they don’t trust you to anything.
Willy : Paatti, you trust Shivani with her choice, but if the matter of a love-marriage came to me, you would have so many issues about it.
Granny: No, my dear. We wouldn’t mind…
Willy : (cutting Granny off, mid-sentence) Oh, ya? Then why this long list of the things-i-shouldn’t-do?
Granny: (finishing off her sentence) we wouldn’t mind as long as the guy is a Thanjavur Vadamaaal Iyengar. That’s the only condition we have.
THE ONLY CONDITION as explained to me turned out to be this:
Thanjavur is the place where their family comes from.
Iyengar is the caste
And Vadamaal is the sub-caste.
My question here is what makes parents closed to the idea of their kids falling in love? Why is it OK as far as it isn’t your child?
Observation says that the parent’s idea of a perfect bride/groom for their progeny is a person who is from the same caste, culture. A guy whose family is probably related to you in some way (read - a family your family can keep a tab on, a family whose private matters are public to you).
They say, “It will be very difficult for you to fit into their culture. It’s different from ours.” Were we all brought up following a rulebook of what our culture is or what is permissible in it? Were we brought up with such rigidity that we cannot adapt to a few additions to the rites and rituals that we learnt?
Does it really matter if you don’t know what happened to the Paternal Aunt's Son-in-Law's Sister's Grandfather's younger Brother's Wife's Paternal Uncle's Sister-in-Law's Grandson of the guy you are to get married to?
The guy in question has to be well settled. He should own a house and a car before he is married. Why? Am I marrying the guy or his possessions? Am I not earning enough to support myself, and even him if the need arises? Did our parents have everything before they were married? Did they not build up their own homes? Then why this notion of a person well-settled? Or is our generation not capable enough?
Oh! I almost forgot. The horoscopes. Why is it so important that all your 36 virtues have to match? Wouldn’t you be able to spend your life with a person who probably has only 24 planetary positions matching with yours?
And to think of it, all this has really not got anything to do with the person in question. Why do all these extra requisites become important than the person or his/her character or the kind of understanding that you share?
You may be in love with a person. But if all these conditions aren’t fulfilled, then you are doomed for life. You are going to be strung around somebody else’s neck. You may try and explain as much as you want about why the person you love is perfect for you but it won’t work. Parents are greedy when it comes to their kids. Everything has to be prefect for them. Nothing short of the best will do. Only that the kids don’t think of it as the best for them.
Your parents may not be asking for dowry, but if these become the major criteria for a marriage, then it sure fits the definition of what I call as the Greedy-Algorithm-of-Matchmaking.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Back to where i belong...
Thanks to a friend, who helped me put my ideas into the right words in the form of a poem...
Here I am now wondering why
Typing away memories and days gone by
Talking about myself to someone unseen
And about life as it had been
He asks if I have made many friends who matter
And I tell him we gel as well as oil and water
It took a very long time to make them see
The difference between what I am and what they thought me to be
Breaking the stereotype of a delicate darling
Forever dependent on men for their caring
For support and solace I look to myself
I have made them aware what it is to help oneself
Great pleasure it gave me to beat them at their game
Or to talk in a crisp tongue all the same
To break the myth that in their world they were rulers
Or that I could race when they were thumb-twiddling losers
It hurt them to know that I was better with my mind
And could code and think very much like a guy
Not literally, don’t mistake me; I am a girl with focus
What you see is what you get, There is no hocus-pocus
Here I am now wondering why
Typing away memories and days gone by
Talking about myself to someone unseen
And about life as it had been
About the life that changed from the closed, narrow minded one before
When I wasn’t this shrewd or this ruthless or competitive to the core
About the time when I wasn’t a hypocrite, and mindful of my thoughts
I was innocent and naïve, never caring what I got.
There was a time when I could walk about in attires I desired
I was happy being the small-town girl, a mind neither muddled nor mired.
I hugged my nears and dears the way I wanted to all day
Without any airs and fancies or thoughts of what people would say
There was a time, a place where my friends wouldn’t judge me
Neither care about what I wore or how I talked about the life that I see
They were simply happy that I did well and started to rise higher
They wouldn’t hold me back or stifle my desires.
Now that I have left all that behind
Adapting to a new culture, a new facet of the mind.
This Barodian is now singing a Hyderabadi song,
Hoping that someday life takes me, back to where I truly belong.
Here I am now wondering why
Typing away memories and days gone by
Talking about myself to someone unseen
And about life as it had been
He asks if I have made many friends who matter
And I tell him we gel as well as oil and water
It took a very long time to make them see
The difference between what I am and what they thought me to be
Breaking the stereotype of a delicate darling
Forever dependent on men for their caring
For support and solace I look to myself
I have made them aware what it is to help oneself
Great pleasure it gave me to beat them at their game
Or to talk in a crisp tongue all the same
To break the myth that in their world they were rulers
Or that I could race when they were thumb-twiddling losers
It hurt them to know that I was better with my mind
And could code and think very much like a guy
Not literally, don’t mistake me; I am a girl with focus
What you see is what you get, There is no hocus-pocus
Here I am now wondering why
Typing away memories and days gone by
Talking about myself to someone unseen
And about life as it had been
About the life that changed from the closed, narrow minded one before
When I wasn’t this shrewd or this ruthless or competitive to the core
About the time when I wasn’t a hypocrite, and mindful of my thoughts
I was innocent and naïve, never caring what I got.
There was a time when I could walk about in attires I desired
I was happy being the small-town girl, a mind neither muddled nor mired.
I hugged my nears and dears the way I wanted to all day
Without any airs and fancies or thoughts of what people would say
There was a time, a place where my friends wouldn’t judge me
Neither care about what I wore or how I talked about the life that I see
They were simply happy that I did well and started to rise higher
They wouldn’t hold me back or stifle my desires.
Now that I have left all that behind
Adapting to a new culture, a new facet of the mind.
This Barodian is now singing a Hyderabadi song,
Hoping that someday life takes me, back to where I truly belong.
Friday, October 15, 2010
PDA
Going late to office, travelling in 7-seaters and buses is a different kind of an experience altogether. I had one such experience yesterday, and it wasn’t a very comfortable one. No, I am not talking about the discomfort that such kind of a travel can cause where four people are trying to fit their fat bottoms on the same seat and you try shrinking yours to half the size to fit in the place or maybe just rest a single bum on the seat. That’s a different story. Here, I am talking of the kind of discomfort you feel when someone is making a show of their personal life right in front of you. PDA – Public Display of Affection.
There was a young couple sitting on the seat opposite mine. They were only holding hands when they got in, which was pretty OK by me because they were a couple. But soon after they got in, the guy started giving a shoulder massage to the girl. What was this, a mobile-spa? That was followed by the poking – tickling – finger-walking on her hands routine. Here the girl was blushing and egging the guy on. And it was me who was feeling embarrassed looking at them.I didn’t have anywhere else to look (bad positioning). I kept giving them disgusted looks, hoping they would get the hint. Alas! They couldn’t have and it took me a long time to figure out why, tube-light that I am. I had my scarf over my face, bandit style…
I recollect another time when I accidentally walked into somebody’s “love-scene”. I love walking, that’s the form of exercise that i enjoy the most and I usually go to parks for that. Its awkward when people get their bedroom stories out in the open. And its not like Hyderabad is as crowded as Mumbai where people cannot find privacy even within the four walls of their bedroom. The couple would have been beaten to death had some specific moral policing activists caught them. Under the tree, buttons of the shirt askew, the girls hand quite close to the belt buckle, maybe a little lower… cant say much about the girl though. She and the guy’s hands were in the burkha and her face wasn’t visible either because they were in a lip-lock. The moment I passed by the girl pulled her burkha down. Perfect protection against recognition, I say! I could have sworn.
Why cant people keep their hands to themselves in public places. Your hands don’t have to be all over somebody else. Why not take your love and passion inside the bedroom? Why embarrass yourself and others? Why?
There was a young couple sitting on the seat opposite mine. They were only holding hands when they got in, which was pretty OK by me because they were a couple. But soon after they got in, the guy started giving a shoulder massage to the girl. What was this, a mobile-spa? That was followed by the poking – tickling – finger-walking on her hands routine. Here the girl was blushing and egging the guy on. And it was me who was feeling embarrassed looking at them.I didn’t have anywhere else to look (bad positioning). I kept giving them disgusted looks, hoping they would get the hint. Alas! They couldn’t have and it took me a long time to figure out why, tube-light that I am. I had my scarf over my face, bandit style…
I recollect another time when I accidentally walked into somebody’s “love-scene”. I love walking, that’s the form of exercise that i enjoy the most and I usually go to parks for that. Its awkward when people get their bedroom stories out in the open. And its not like Hyderabad is as crowded as Mumbai where people cannot find privacy even within the four walls of their bedroom. The couple would have been beaten to death had some specific moral policing activists caught them. Under the tree, buttons of the shirt askew, the girls hand quite close to the belt buckle, maybe a little lower… cant say much about the girl though. She and the guy’s hands were in the burkha and her face wasn’t visible either because they were in a lip-lock. The moment I passed by the girl pulled her burkha down. Perfect protection against recognition, I say! I could have sworn.
Why cant people keep their hands to themselves in public places. Your hands don’t have to be all over somebody else. Why not take your love and passion inside the bedroom? Why embarrass yourself and others? Why?
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