Sex, Sting and Tehelka

I am sorry for this rather prolonged absence, but I had my reasons.

Now I am back and I HAVE MY REASONS.

Some of you may still find my seemingly lalala absence inexcusable. I am sorry. How about I self impose some sort of a lameass punishment on me. Will that suffice? Whaaaat? Last I checked people were doing it - A six months of paid vacation for ‘sexual assault’. Isn’t that right? Based on this, my absence should cost me what? A week long holiday in Phuket?

Tarun Tejpal! Have you read his novels? I was a fan. ‘WAS’ being the word worth notice. I was about 20 when I read ‘Alchemy of Desire’ and I was like boy! he can describe sex without straying the boundaries of sleaze even once. Wow! There’s a writer I’d like to read more often, I thought. However, by the time I read his second novel I realized something else. Hell, he could be smack-dab-in-the-middle sleazy and yet you may not for once notice it.

What I barely registered back then, seems like a shrewd observation now. Of Course I did not pay much heed to it at that time. If only I knew what was coming I would have probably noted it down in my journal.

Anyway Tarun did what Tarun did .. But what are we doing? Spreading awareness on internet is one thing but sharing unverifiable content just for the heck of it is simply something else. What may be information for us may simply be arousing stories for someone else. Believe it or not, many just read it for the kick or worse, share it for a like or two.
Think about a hundred times before you click ‘share’. Do you really want to share something, which in all certainty, was a very private correspondence between two individuals. Besides, sharing such details about the victim is not just immoral it is plain illegal. I hope you know that?

And by simply not taking her name but discussing everything else under the sky related to her, you are doing her no favor either. So learn the spirit not the letter of the law and this specifically applies to fellow bloggers.

Show support, no one is stopping you. But don’t let your support be a hindrance in the way of victim herself. A suo motu FIR says it all, if she would have wanted to bring things in the public domain, she could have done it in a split second. But she chose not to, so show some restraint please.
This happened back when Nirbhaya was the victim. I don’t know what sort of a sick mentality do you have to possess to actually share a rape victim’s sorry picture in order to garner some sympathy/publicity whatever.  Which, whether was her picture or not, jury is still out.

If anything, expose TARUN not his victim.

Secondly, PLEASE WAIT. I know, I am biting the bullet here but still please wait before you pass the judgment. I mean, yes he has taken responsibility to an extent and yes, that means that there is some guilt. But to brand him a rapist may be a little too early. Tehelka has done a lot to piss major political powers off and well this is their time to pay back. Don’t get swayed as a result of some political revenge and please don’t politicize this issue so much that the real ends are left hanging somewhere in the middle.

Lastly, it is not just about a single individual. It is not about Tarun Tejpal. It is about you and it is about me. It is about every single woman, working or otherwise. It is about every single man, employer or otherwise.  It is about gender equality in spirit and not just in letter. You can’t legislate for reform, reform comes from within, I read somewhere. We can go on passing bills after bills and  we can go on making guidelines after guidelines but till the time we do not have it in us to actually bring ourselves to implement those guidelines – there won’t be any reform little or large.

Dark and Lovely

There was a girl, darker than ebony.

Unpopular- Unnoticed and Unhappy , she went on with her life.

Whether she was ambitious, we know not.
Whether she was a go getter, we care not.
She dressed to kill, it mattered not.
Was she smack dab in the middle awesome, we suppose not.

For what we know is that one fine morning, she got up applied OLAY NATURAL WHITE – or some such crap and la-la-la her life was set.

Guys wooed her. Mom and dad were finally happy for now to find a nice Indian boy won’t be a trouble at all. She was suddenly so popular – she had 521 likes on her picture – for crying out loud. And her life was set.
She made merry and lived happily ever after in the LA-LA land without a care. For, two of the most unattainable goals that a girl could set for herself – well yeah, she had reached them both.

No, no, she did not find an alternative source of fuel or stepped on Pluto.

Instead, She turned white, not to forget naturally so.
And, she was popular, Told you about the 521 likes, didn’t I?

Ram Ram Ram, can we sink  any lower than this on the commercial barrell? I mean, not that we were floating on top earlier. I have seen n number of advertisements that make me want to screech my eyes right out. But this brings us to a new low.

This obsession with white skin-  has got to stop and as if it was not enough that you throw in facebook too.

The fairer you are is directly proportional to the number of likes on your facebook and that in turn is proportional to how happy you are in life.

Can a commercial be anymore absurd and misleading?

Trust me, I am not making this up, see the commercial for yourself.
To tell you the truth I was always under the impression that it was the teenagers of the 90’s who had this obsession with light skin, because quite frankly it was only in 90’s when I was a kid that I heard some elder girls say things like, ‘is she fairer than me?’ or It’s just tanning I am a lot more fairer than this.
But along came the 21^st century and obsession with color seemed like a thing of past. May be it was because my horizon expanded as I grew up or whatever but never once did I hear a single girl crib over her complexion and I thought to myself what mindless duds were those girls back then.
In fact I saw girls celebrate brown skin with such gusto as never before—but off late it seems as though underneath all this impression that was being created the ugly truth still loomed large and that is that our love for anything white is very much there, I just did not notice it.

Back in school once, we did not let Fair & Lovely, sponsor our event because we found it hard to buy the concept that fair and lovely comes up with every now and then. Trust, Fair and Lovely to believe that to be anything from a commentator to an air hostess – you have to be fair- else you should hide yourself in some ‘dark’ corner of your house. Besides, the name itself is so unnerving… Why, Dark isn’t lovely?

The darkest of the female actors in the industry (men or women) are airbrushed to look as if they have just stepped out of a tub full of plaster of Paris. And the worst part is that they themselves don’t mind selling it. Anyhow this post is just a way of venting out that frustration and anger which finds no outlet. Are, we as a race, so dumb that we can’t find more creative ways to sell our product that we don’t mind selling a color that is not even essentially our color?

Have we lost it to this an extent that as a nation we not only tolerate but also direct, feature in and come up with such absurd and meaningless ideas?
Or, is it that even after 6 decades of independence our colonial hangover isn’t still over and we still feel that – The Fairer The Better. For if it is so then where do we place ourselves as a nation?

This is a call to ban all such commercials or features that celebrate fairness in any other thing but attitude.

 

 

 

 

SHOE BITES

So I had to be somewhere today... like somewhere really important. I mean on an importance scale of 1 to 10 I’d rate it a perfect ten. One being alright-since-I-have-nothing-better-to-do-and-these-tickets-were-gifted-by-the-local-radio-station and ten being hey-bhagwaan-mai-ne-aaj-tak-tujhse-kuch-nai-manga-but-aaj-mangti-hun...aaj time pe pohncha de har Tuesday mtha tekne aaungi. I am hoping you are getting the picture so far.

Now since it was an important day – I decided planning ahead of time – something that I am accused of not doing by all and sundry.

Not only did I decide beforehand as to what I was supposed to wear but I also ironed and hung my formals the night before (huh! In your face haters!)

Next, I dug out from a never-ending pile of footwear (Yes, I am a proud owner of one hundred and twenty thousand pair of shoes) a very formal pair of ballerinas to go with my ensemble (as opposed to the pink and yellow butterfly print peep toe that I usually end up wearing.) Even though they did not really require I still polished them with as much care and attention as people polish their teeth with. In the end I even applied Vaseline to them like those make-belief mothers do to their toddlers in some baby oil commercials. They looked happy, my shoes.

Then I sorted my documents in order-placed them in a file and rechecked them once again. (Wow! I could picture my mother shedding a khushi ka aansu back home– her daughter so responsible- so grown up)

At one point even the whacky thought of getting up at five and doing everything before time crossed my mind but afraid of stretching it too far I decided against it and put an alarm for seven.

So I had to reach by 1 but I called the cab (yes, a cab and not an auto) at 11 only so as to not appear as I had just landed from the secret land of Narnia  and this place was practically an hour’s drive from my place – WHICH THANKS TO OUR BLOODSUCKING PETROL PRICES MEANT A MONTH LONG BAN ON THE BASIC NEEDS OF LIFE. But I was unperturbed. I could survive on water but I needed to be there at 1.

Whenever I am too worried, nervous or running late – I tend to lose stuff- so I decided against carrying my handbag lest I lose it and just picked up a wallet- my perfectly organised file  and some extra chiller (These cab wallahs, I thought, are always mooching money off us in the name of ‘sorry-mam-no-change’) Usually if the meter says say 270 they are always in a hurry to round it to 300 but today there was no way that – that was going to happen.  In anticipation, I kept plenty of ten and twenty rs bills with me.

I wanted to be the most prepared candidate there ever was, after all.

As was the plan I reached the office – well in time. The sense of victory and perfection refused to leave me alone. And what was even better was the fact that meter said seven hundred and thirty bucks. Proud of my anticipatory planning- I took out one thousand and thirty ruppes.

‘Here you go,’ I said rather smugly, handing him the money and dying to see the look of disappointment on his face.

‘Madam khulla nai hai,’ he replied point blank.

‘Arrey khula dia to,’ I laughed, at the obvious mistake that the poor fellow had made.

‘Arrey madam hazar ka khula nai hai,’ he replied keeping the thirty bucks and returning me the thousand rupee note.

Oh Boy Charlie! I did not see this coming. Surely he did not expect me to tip him an extra three hundred bucks.

I looked at him.

He looked back at me.

I looked helplessly at him.

He looked even more helplessly at me.

Surely, he was not going to do anything about it. Angered at this unforeseen turn of events – I snatched the thousand rupee not from him and got out in the humid-humid weather in search of a kind stranger who could give me hazar ka chutta. All I could see within a range of 500 meters were parked cars and some more parked cars. Right then My baby ballerinas which had not been worn in last two years started to bite. This weather and a shoe bite on each foot – so much for the perfect horoscope that I read aloud to myself in the morning, I rolled my eyes.

Little did I know that It was going to get so much better.

After about twenty minutes of looking around I finally managed to find a kind old security guard (of the same building where I was supposed to sit for an interview) who reading my panic stricken face decided to help. He did not have the change but gave me the money like that only saying that I could return it once my interview was done. I thanked him with all my heart and returned to where my cab was parked- which-not exaggerating- was almost half a km away.

I threw the money on his face and he was all set to leave when all of a sudden something struck my mind.

‘Wait a minute,’ I shouted rather angrily, not being the one who could be taken for a ride, 'my file is in there,'I opened the cab and took out my file.

‘Loser,’ I murmured, as I turned, our angry gaze meeting each other’s.

And off he went.

It was almost half an hour to one and I still had some walking to do- besides all this running to and fro in such humidity- was making me sweat like a overflowing water tank.

I must have been mid way towards the office when I heard something going chap-chap-chap –chap from under my shoe. Yes, the sole had given way and was getting dragged alongside the strap like an uninterested ‘too cool for school’ teenager.

Quick think something – You can get out of this – May be if I stick a chewing gum in between the sole and the base-  That ought to do the trick. The Mentos girl in me had finally woken up. (Remember the commercial where she oh-so-convinently takes both the heels off on one being broken)

But, as someone strictly against plagiarism, I wanted to be original – hence the chewing gum idea! Tada!

Luckily, for me I had a pack of gum sticks in my wallet- see for a girl so troubled- not too shabby after all – so i saw no harm in saving myself a pat for later.

But hey, wait a minute, where the fuck was my wallet?

Shit! In the cab – I turned towards the cab stand right that second- that being a “guarded” area no unauthorised vehicles were allowed to enter. There was no sign of the cabbie. So much for my not-forgetting-the-file, I fucking forgot my wallet.

Immediately I called him on his phone.

No answer.

I Called Again.

No Answer again.

Precious time was being lost. A little relieved that there was not a lot of money in it anyway I decided to walk back to the interview place. Dragging my half broken shoe, I must have taken not more than ten steps when both my blunder of a pair of shoes broke into so many pieces that within three seconds I was standing shoe less in impeccable formals in middle of nowhere.

Holy Moly was I in a pickle now?

(It was seeming so un-fucking-believable. I mean breaking of the sole is one thing but both the shoes going tak-tak-tak into several pieces together at one point of time is quite another.)

Those of you who don’t believe me try buying a pair of shoe from ‘shoetree’. (Yes, I am not afraid to name the brand.) And then try hiding them for two years and then wear them on your fucking interview – You might just be where I was.

Shoeless and stranded in a parking lot – because without shoes- let’s face it you are pretty much stranded- anywhere.

I had to do something, I knew. But what? I had no clue. The mere thought of appearing in my interview shoeless was enough to make me feel drowsy.

‘Good afternoon Sir, may I come in and no sir, I do not believe in the institution of shoes.’

Urghhh..

My friend T – she worked just nearby – May be I should call her and ask if she could lend me a pair of shoes – although the sheer absurdity of the question was making me cringe. 25 missed calls later, I finally gave up. No, she is not picking.

Panicking I called up my mom- woke her up from her mid afternoon nap- and narrated the entire story to her.

‘Haan beta mai ne bhi suna that kisi ke saath aisa hua tha,’ mom parted her wisdom, ‘She was my old friend, now she has shifted to Siligudi with her family......’

Sorry mom I hung up on you that time but you didn’t quite understand the gravity of the situation. To make matters worse it had started to drizzle and it was so so windy. One by one the parts of the heap I once called my shoes was all lost in the wind.

Next, what do I do? What do I do? People had started staring, you know.

After another five minutes of mulling over the situation – I did the unthinkable. I called my ex’s elder brother – someone, to say the least, I had not been in touch with for last three years I guess. And guess what, when nothing else worked or no one else could help. Like a real brother he rescued me in the nick of time- he came as soon as he could manage. We went to a nearby market and I walked into a shoe shop- shoeless. The salesman mocked me. I bought the next available pair of shoe at an exorbitant price – because usually sellers are accused of taking advantage of a customer’s necessity but here the customer had walked right into the trap and that too shoeless.

Quickly we returned to the scene of crime and I was relieved to make way into the hall after paying the kind security guard his due – right on time. So much for my “planning ahead” urghhhh – With Hair strewn apart and kohl all smudged and feet dirtier than ISBT Delhi- I barged in.

‘Hello, I have an interview at 1 with Mr. So and so...’ I blurted.

‘Sorry mam, the interview has been postponed for the 29^th of July,’ pat replied the receptionist.

‘What?’ I exclaimed.

‘Yes, did you not know?’

‘No. no. of course I knew. I just like a little adventure you see.’ I wanted to say but chose not to.

Cursing myself I turned and walked out of the office.

(ONE THING I LEARNT TODAY – YOU CAN PLAN ALL THAT YOU WANT- THAT TOO WAY AHEAD IN TIME – BUT ITS HIM WHO MAKES THE FINAL PLANS) Him as in God - not the cab wala.

So sometimes its okay to prepare right that second and go with the flow (for if I had ended up wearing my same regular ballerinas none of this would have happened I am sure.)

Oh and on a lighter side the cab driver called me about an hour later and returned me my wallet safe and sound. And if I really really have to see a silver line – it was knowing that some people- no matter what- will be there for you!

:-)

Toned - Tanned and Hawt!

Oh no, don't get me wrong, I am not talking about myself here. As a matter of fact, I am about 700 treadmill kilometers away from the pretty picture I just painted before your eyes.
The lady in question is one of my super hawt seniors from school, who if at all possible, has turned even more gorgeous in the last couple of years.
'Oh hi, how were you,' she exclaimed, as soon as she spotted me outside a resturant.

SIKHS WANT JUSTICE – Does it mean that others don’t?

First things first, I am not getting into the merits or demerits of the case. You all know what has happened and I am sure you possess a fair sense of judgement yourself.  So, Let me just cut to the chase - The judgement reads Sajjan Kumar v. CBI – it does not read Sikhs v. The whole of India.  When justice isn’t delivered everybody gets equally disappointed- Hindu Muslims Sikhs alike. We are all angry.

Such Hypcrites We Are!

Wake up and smell the smoke people!

Before it blows up your own ass.

Ex And The facebook Politics

Why do I do this to myself?

Why do I end up clicking on your name?
Instead I should block you and never look you up again.
Actually, who am I kidding? I keep you blocked all the time.
But come my period and I dig you up from the mine.
Sulkily I unblock you and boy! do I regret it?
Coz there you are with your same usual shit!
Your creepy-colgate-smile with friends you just made?
AND I spend hours playing - Is he or is he not getting laid

Here's Why the need for a facebook censor may be in the offing?

Do not get me wrong. I am all for freedom of expression and all that but its when that expression gives me a depression that I crave for a censor or some sort of a mechanism that could filter idiots right out of the picture (or, in this case, my homepage.)

No, seriously! I mean, don't you at times think that wisdom on facebook sometimes becomes too much to take.

A Morning at Sukhna Lake

Tch.. tch.. Did you see Mona Singh’s MMS?

Aww.. look at us, the official torchbearers of everything that is good and pure, ready to dissect the details on this one. Don’t we all look great? Sitting and passing judgements on someone else – as if we just came freshly manufactured from the holy factory of custom made virtues.

I am a Loony Bear

So you know I am sitting on facebook and suddenly I see this party album of a friend who I was pretty tight with up until last year. Actually the word ‘friend’ might be a bit of an overstretch- because our ‘friendship’ began and ended in the last year itself. I am only calling him a friend for the lack of a better word – in reality he was more than an acquaintance but less than a friend.

Now we have sort of drifted apart. It didn’t happen overnight – it happened gradually.  

You know from authoritatively asking me to co-host his birthday bash to silently going on to sending me a facebook invite --- these things don’t happen over night. (because over the last one year, I am assuming he grew tired of  endlessly inviting me to a never-ending list of get togethers which I never showed up for.)

Ab to jail mein jana padega

Posham pa bhai Posham pa

Sanju baba ne kya kia?

I don't have eyebrows anymore!

I  don’t have eyebrows any more.

I have a unibrow... one thick UNIBROW. I have not had a manicure or a pedicure in 6 months and I can’t remember the last time I went out in a cut sleeve for I have not waxed my arms in a rather long time. You think I’d be disgusted with myself? But on the contrary, I am happy and much at peace.

You know that feeling- right before you are about to step on a weighing machine- the feeling of anticipation that scares the crap out of you!

Magic of a Birthday Wish

Happy Women's Day

I miss blogging

 

Palampur calling!

Someone invited me to a party a couple of days ago.
'Don't worry, there'll be people your age there,' she said, on observing my reluctance to come.

Sitting on the shit pot – waiting for something magical to happen!

Tell me something honestly, how many of you can actually picture an American kid going up to his pals and saying, ‘Yo dude! Have you seen the fifth season of kyunki saas bhi kabhi bahu thi ?It’s fucking bitching man!”

I don’t like her and yet, I want to be like her

Have you ever met someone so confident and comfortable in their skin that it makes you hate the very semblance of traits that God chose to bestow upon you in the name of personality?

If no, I don’t think you should even be here coz I doubt if this blog will ever interest you. (For this post is from a rather ordinary person- who is feeling exceptionally over the top ordinary today.)

If yes, then please do read on and tell me if I am justified to feel this way?

A post at the cost of my right eye!

‘Beta, your eyesight is just fine as of now but if you want it to be this way, I forbid you from even touching your laptop for at least a week,’ said my eye doctor, this afternoon.

And I looked at him as if he had asked me to jump off an airplane minus a parachute.

Dear Anonymous

Yesterday, my new friend Anonymoys left a comment on my first blog-post on Stu(Art)

Now.. Now.. Anonymous -  Why would you do this to me?

Confused?
Let me explain...

India - My Beloved Country

India, my beloved country, where you are adored for speaking toota foota Hindi awwww... but stammer for just as much as a split second while speaking English and you’d be stoned to death.

Two faces of India!

The Holy Picture 

And .............The Dirty Picture!

Aye Mate! Are You a Dawg sorta fella?

Back in my house hunting days...

‘Uncle, can I keep a dog here?’ I inquired, after rent, security and everything else was settled. 

The landlord looked at me as if I had asked him to transfer all his movable and immovable properties in my name.

Stealing Focus

(BY FAR THE LONGEST POST ON MY BLOG AND I STILL FEEL AS THOUGH I HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO DELIVER All THAT I WANTED TO!)

Special Thanks to Karun Jamwal and Jay Shah.

Mom - YOU WIN!

Growing up– if I ever needed some extra money - say a thousand bucks – I had a one point program. I’d simply walk up to my dad, with a make belief excuse (you know like a science project/ notes photocopying/ guitar classes/ web designing course etc etc) and ask him for an irritating figure of 773 bucks. 

This was my golden card. I knew Dad would never bother to come up with the exact amount and would end up rounding it to a neat 1000. Plus, I don’t know why, but I was totally convinced that coming up with a random odd figure such as 743 or 635 – made me sound very genuine. You know, like this is the exact amount I need but if you end up rounding up because you are too lazy to come up with an even  (or, should I say odd) 773 – it’s not my fault!

I was a smartass, I tell you. 

But my theorem used to take a serious hike- if I were to take money from mom.

One Republic to go (NO BANANA PLEASE)

So when Tal, a fellow blogger and one of my most favorite people on the blogging circles asked me to do a guest-post for her (no, she wasn't drunk okay) - I was more than happy to say yes and lap it up.

When (Reality Shows)

One of the after effects of being on a reality show is that you are not a commoner anymore but the truth is that you are not a celebrity either.

To the ones I lost and to the ones who lost me

Albert – He was my classmate. I was all of five and his accented hindi and pretty blue eyes were more than enough for me to share my lunch with him and rescue him from the big bullies in the class. But long before I realised a year flew by and Albert flew back to England. 

Status – I lost him.

P.S. I don’t remember his full name but I do sincerely hope that someday he becomes famous and I look him up the wikepedia and they say that his early childhood was spent in India.  That’d be my first cue!

Nancy – My imaginary best friend in class 4. And Surprise! Surprise! She was a British National too. She was very pretty, popular and spoke with an accent. But soon before I knew my colonial hangover subsided and she had to leave (as imaginary friends can be that way sometimes.) 

Status – I lost her

.

Mrs Gauri– My 5^th grade English teacher- now I was never the brightest of the bulbs in my class- neither did I fit in too well- it was a new school for me. And I am sure you know how dreadful new schools can be? But she was the first teacher who made me realise what it was like to be liked by a teacher. Unlike other classes – for example Maths (which I dreaded more than a chipkali) – I always looked forward to her class. She left such an impact on me – that till date even though I don’t remember much else from 5^th grade. I do remember her – and I miss her. Her husband served in the Indian Army and a year later she left too.
Status- I lost her.

Bijli – My actual best friend –I call her bijli because when we were together we were like a thunderstrike – only she was the light and I was the sound (always late and not that welcome) – she bedazzled everyone and I went by unnoticed. In short she was the pretty one and I was the one who people made friends with to get to the pretty girl. Well, that never really affected our friendship as such for I had made peace with it subconsciously even before I was mature enough to even realise it for myself. The first setback to our friendship was when a teeny tiny sliver of attention paved its way past the phenomenon called bijli- and came to me. Things were never the same again - only because I had managed to steal her thunder.

Status- she lost me.

Abc -Another best friend - A pretty Bong babe who hailed from Kolkata -she was dusky and had mysterious eyes - She must have been a year or two older than me. I met her on a swing set in the local doctor’s compound.I was there because mom had to collect some medicines for my nani and she was there because somebody in her family was suffering from depression.
And I remember this part distinctly because I didn’t know what depression was and she had to explain it to me over and over again and it still hadn’t made much sense to me. Anyway what did we kids know about depression? And we ended up being friends – or so I believed- what I didn’t know back then was that besides giving me the verbal definition of depression abc was going to give me my the first practical on it too. And a decade and more down the line I made the mistake of introducing her to a guy I really really liked and rest they say is history (you are welcome to read between the lines by the way).

Status – she lost me.

MTL (My true love)- Corny right? Relax and be thankful I am not calling him my soulmate ;-) I have not been incredibly lucky love wise either. But this one person changed my whole world- nothing else mattered to me- as long as I knew that he was by my side- like everyone else we too had grand plans for future and stuff- I read his horoscope before mine but what did I know that God was still holding his magnifying glass and I was still his favourite ant. Despite the true love and all – it ended.

Sometimes I shouted, sometimes I cried,

onetime he cheated, onetime I lied,

We both once made tall claims

But in the end - our love died.

Status- we lost each other.

I did not mean to bitch – I did not mean to hurt anyone – I just meant to let it out as I have never once spoken about it before.

(for despite whatever happened- these were the most powerful impacts in my life and I don’t think I’d ever forget any one of these people come what may- I know I highlighted the bad stuff first in some cases – but THAT STILL DOES NOT CHANGE THE FACT THAT THESE PEOPLE HAVE GIVEN ME SOME OF THE BEST MEMORIES OF MY LIFE- and if not for them my life could have been pretty- very – dull. I loved them truly and I know at times they did too – it just did not last L but things happen and we move on.. So it was not my intention to take any one of them on a guilt-trip. These are all wonderful people and I know that sometimes they miss me too!)

SO...

Sex and the Tri-City

This post is strictly and only about the commoners.

Ever since Nirbhaya, the gang rape victim, left us for a better world I have been on the lookout for some sort of a shift in the societal paradigm regarding women and the general attitude towards them. And it may be too soon to speak but I am sensing a change. I can’t speak for rest of the country but I feel somewhat elated to tell you that Chandigarh and the tri-city area sure seem to have learnt a lesson or two.

House hunting is a bitch.

My friend dvd is new in town and is house hunting – and as many of you may already know, I did a lot of house hunting myself last year – so when dvd asked for help I was more than happy to pass on my wisdom –aka The Butt theory – to him.
That no matter what every house on the list will have a but now the only thing we have to see is which of these butts you can put up with.

“What?” he asked confused.

“You’ll know,” I smiled, condescendingly – and here’s how we spent our day one of house hunting -

·        House no.1 - 

      Three bedrooms – fully furnished – AC- Double bed- Fridge- Microwave- Cooking Gas- wifi –“Promise me you won’t get a girl in this house – abhi ke abhi promise karo mujhko.”
Now it’s not that dvd is Hugh Hefner – and would have playmates over all the time -but yes, let’s give him some credit – he can manage to bring a friend or two home for a party or general merriment type things. Poor dvd – looked at me for help – by now uncle ji had placed both his hands in his hands and was fully pressuring him to succumb to the sanctity of the oath and only thing missing from this bollywood court room drama scene was the Bhagwat Geeta.
We ran for life.

Sometimes It's okay to be the last one standing

So your friends kidnap you from your workplace on the pretext of some sort of luncheon emergency and the next thing you know you are lighting a bonfire in a rustic British Cottage near Kasauli.

The Holy Fuck!

O holy brother have mercy on me– for I live in the land of the demented. 

 “She should have taken God’s name and held the hand of one of the men (rapists) and said, ‘I consider you as my brother and said to the other two, ‘Brother I am helpless you are my brother, my religious brother.’”

And while we are at it brother (wink wink)– How about you also sign up for the daily dose of “shit gyan” straight from Shri Asaram himself – it’s for free - Muft! Muft! Muft! You can also like us on facebook by the way!

Oh! But Rachel is in the loo.

So I am in my room – and I am watching F.R.I.E.N.D.S – for a zillionth time.

Which episode?

Doesn’t really matter – I have seen em all a zillion times

So in this particular episode ..........

Will You Let Your Child Access facebook?

I won’t.

I know what must you be thinking? Just two days ago she was whining about not wanting to get married and here she is worried sick about her future children. But don’t blame me. After all I am a Piscean, that too a woman and the ground reality, my friend, is that “WE THINK” and more often than not we can’t keep shut either.

To Aunt, with love.

So, I am in the kitchen - my sleeves rolled up - kneading the dough – which by the way is my least favourite activity of the day. 

It’s 4 degrees outside – I am super cold and my unruly hair strands are coming in the way but I am afraid not to tuck them back lest I get some flour stuck in my hair. So I am continuing the kneading just like that – even though I am really uncomfortable and pretty irritated – and this is when my mom decides to give me a call. Since both my hands are super occupied I let it ring and decide to call her back as and when I am done with the atta. 

But Mom is not able to comprehend my helpless situation and decides to call me yet again- for the second time.

 Now I know such is the sorry state of things in our dear country that if I let two of her calls go unanswered in a row – SHE WOULD FREAK.

“Hi amma,” I reply in a state of complete surrender, helplessly fumbling with my phone in order to set the speaker mode on.

“What hi,” snaps mom, “say Namaste."

“Oho! Mumma,” I reply irritated, “I really don’t have time for this yaar.”

“What is this yaar? Look at the way you speak...."

“acha, I am sorry, what is it?”, I try cutting our heart to heart short – so that we get to business.

“When do you think you will get married?” surprisingly enough she cuts it really really short
(my mother, ladies and gentlemen.)

“What?”

“Roma aunty was here today.”

Oh-no! Not again – I let out a cry – This can mean only one thing – mom must have had a fresh dose of “societal attyachar” and now it is her turn to pass on the burden on to me – the rightful owner.

Now a thing or two about Roma aunty before I proceed any further – she is the self proclaimed bharat matrimony.com  of our clan and even at the risk of knowing that this post is not going to go down too well with a certain people/cousins whatever I am not going to refrain from saying that she derives some kind of sadistic pleasure watching my parents get uneasy. 

And she does it in a very innocent way too.

“flane di kudi got married,” she’d start sharing her saucy anecdotes even before she steps foot in the house. Knowing fully well, how it is going to affect my parents, especially my mom!

And, my poor mom, falls prey to this every time she visits – which in turn means the oh-so-famous “there-is-a-proper-time-and-age –to-get-married” lecture for me three times a day and 21 times a week.

Dear Roma Aunty,

Please let me be – oh no, let me rephrase- please let my poor parents be! I can take you with both hands tied but they are harmless people who don’t deserve this torture from you. Now, I know you are thinking that you only want my well being and wish eternal bliss for me.
But let’s take care of just my career first and shall I get married I will hold on to your card. But until then go spread joy some place else – not my home.

Your loving niece,

Mwah xoxoxoxo

Just for you E

Back in 2007...

It was one of those days when you decide not to dress up for class (the very famous I –dont-have-to-impress-anyone- so-i-am-going-to-look-like-a-patato mode) and then you end up bumping into the cutest guy in college. (Who, by the way- never, I repeat, never shows up for the classes otherwise.)

You are wearing an old pair of denims – so old that they are literally pleading for retirement and your white top- well to say the least- it’s not white anymore- it's creamish yellow and its best days are behind it. 

However, icing on top of this three tired cake of a situation is that ----- because you were in such a hurry that morning----- all you could manage from the huge pile of clothes that once was your closet was a pair of mismatching socks. So you can’t even run and hide as soon as you spot Mr.Cute-pants lest your secret is revealed. You know- the secret of one pink and one green sock.

So all you can anyway do is walk gracefully – well, whatever grace that you can muster at such short notice- and keep walking until you are a teeny tiny dot to him.

Anyway so you get the picture, right? It was an awful day.

I couldn’t feel any less sexy about myself and to make matters worse my best friend was looking like a total pataka – ­which means bombshell by the way. (My apologies for the terminology but what to do I can’t find a better suiting word.) 

So anyway with my face hung low I was sitting at the Library – yeah, because there was no better hideout- not because I am such a scholar.

That is where I met E - this guy who appeared from nowhere - with some pamphlet about Montreal Protocol in his hand.

‘What?’ I made a face, last thing I wanted was to increase my protocol gyan by some geeky chump. The college hunk had literally passed through me – he had not even acknowledged me and here I was stuck with some chashmish – I wanted to die.

‘Read it whenever you feel like,’ he smiled, and left me alone.

I didn’t even bother to look at the pamphlet for a good one hour – it was only when I was about to get up that I realised there was something hand written on the back of the pamphlet. It was a poem and a beautiful one at that. Not because it was a literary genius – but because it was written for me. Somebody had taken out time for me. I welled up right that second.

                                                    Cool Handwriting, no?

After that I tried spotting E in the library but could not locate him there ... rushed out of the library but couldn’t see him there too.. ...and I have been looking since that day... to no avail...

If ever you read this - Thank you E for making me feel sooooooo special and also I am so Sorry that I couldn’t return the gesture.