The Lost Voice

Ever since I’ve moved to Bombay, the definition of ‘Time’ is now categorized as luxury. Known as the city that never sleeps, Bombay even when quite is actually really loud and this shore-sharaaba somewhere, seems to have intimidated my inner voice. With my thoughts stifled, I feel incomplete. At random but rare occasions, I sit staring at blank walls, hoping to see shadows of a voice that once was. But I’m greeted with nothing but a tired silence. Tired, is the voice that once had a right to opinions and an opinion on every right. But today the canvas seems blank.

After months of contemplation & gathering of guts, I’m finally strolling down the long sought road. Excited. But many a times this feeling, engulfed by the fast pace around, seems to recede faster than the price per barrel. A city that is home to over 13 million souls, can hardly be grieved against, for lack of any personal space. The only moments I’m gifted alone, while traveling to and fro from work, I find sadly charred by the exhaust of trucks, drowned by horns that want to run me over, crowded by street urchins & other travelers that hurl stones of distraction, shattering the windows of my thoughts. I’ve even flirted with the option of locking myself up in cupboards, just to be alone, finally, only to realize, that, here even the darkness seems to want to chat!

One day, I too shall become a Mumbaiya. Then I’ll be able to think louder than my distractions, react faster then an oncoming train. When faces will no longer exist, but the crowd will just be a blur. When I’ll hurt, but there wont be time to feel the pain. When I’ll be happy but it’ll have to be a ‘take-away please’. Loosing my religion or not, will be a challenge, but I’m positive I’ll discover that ‘something’ that will make the ride all worth-it.

Mumbai Awakening

Breaking News ‘Big B slept with a .32 revolver last night. He writes about Bombay on his blog’ Your are watching ‘scared & angry residents’ live.
After over 42 hours, since Bombay’s sovereignty & freedom was shamelessly and aggressively assaulted, residents far and wide have awakened to many questions on national security. Is it that easy to enter a country like India and blow our guts out? Why was there an unattended coastal border in the first place, when this is not the first time we've been vulnerable through the sea.The assault was launched at 9:30 on a Wednesday evening but an all party meeting was only called for 16 hours later. Frightening, the speed with which we respond to national crisis.

For the last 28 hours I’ve watched the words ‘final assault’ flash across many news channels. But faster than a breath of ease, each time comes the news of fresh firing and grenade attacks clouding screens again.

Sadly at a time like now when the nation needs to be hand held by it’s leaders, media is used as a loose prostitute to satisfy agenda’s extraneous to national security. Narendra Modi’s address of the attack being one waged on the entire country and not on Bombay alone was nothing short of puky! The crisis changes, but the speeches remain the same. I wish our leaders were half as creative as the terrorists and would come up with better than ‘I’m going to call for a meeting with the army, navy etc’ or the home Minister’s who ‘will suggest to the State Govt to give more funds to tackle terrorism’. ‘The Indian PM will have a phone conversation with Pakistan to say we will not tolerate such cowardly acts – this all sounds very reassuring!

Some media channels remain irresponsible and at loose. After 30 hours of divulging details on the operation like, how many commandos have been para dropped, the angles from which the building is surrounded, the top down operation, the coded signals being made, even the positions being taken by the Mumbai commando’s outside Taj etc I’m confused, should I feel happy knowing that something is being done or scared that our heroes are exposed.

36 hours later, channels justify, that there is no access to live telecast from inside the TAJ and Oberoi. Once again, we play dumb by underestimating a handful of terrorists that have waged this urban warfare and have the nation’s navy, the army, and the commandos all at ransom!

Marcos live- ‘The terrorists knew the inside of Taj very well, but we didn’t and hence movement was slow'. That’s how difficult it is for the govt to keep blue prints of highly influential buildings that some young fucks get into our own house, chase us in our own guly and then escape leaving us trapped.

As we see bodies and people dragged out of Taj, the camera also pans on ground policemen who are no doubt in the line of fire but their lives are not important enough to be sheltered by bullet proof jackets. ‘Every one within the firing range should be protected’ – another issue to be discussed Mr. Home Minister?

‘Mumbai’s spirit is not broken’ the dignitaries very proudly declare. Which Mumbai are you taking about? All those shocked into their shells or those who have no choice but to go about earning their bread. Or are you talking about the Mumbai, sitting 7 seas away constantly making reassuring calls to their loved ones.
I’m sorry but Mumbai’s spirit is shaken and emotionally paralyzed, so stop your patronizing bullshit.

40 hours later there are fresh attacks and firing at new locations. Fresh firing at the Taj, Hostages feared dead at the Oberoi.

A TOI journalist on his way to cover the Leopold Café blast, heard shots at the CST station, made his way to the station, sneaked up the stairs and took pictures of the two assailants. But somehow it was impossible for our special force to swing into action and turn those two into tombs.

MARCO – ‘A very determined lot & remorseless’, the fidayeens almost sound more effecient & heroic.

43 hours later the mournful Wednesday night still hasn’t seen daylight.

Tired, frustrated and in need of an answer,
An Indian.

Dubai The Largest City

That may not be true (yet) but to make up for this grotesque limitation the city hosts one of many firsts, the site of the world's first 7-star hotel with Burj Al Arab, Palm Islands - a set of man-made resort islands shaped to look like a palm tree if seen from a jet, Middle East’s first indoor Ski Dubai resort, Dubailand – an amusement park twice the size of Walt Disney World, earth's tallest man- made skyscraper -Burj Dubai, an Olympic sized ice- rink, world’s largest gold souk, one of the largest fish tanks and viewing panel on the planet.
With dreams as big as its wings, Dubai may not be the worlds biggest but ironically has enough room to accommodate The World– a man-made archipelago of private, residential islands, the biggest development of its kind, to resemble smaller versions of the seven continents.

What next is my humble question?

How about this for a thought- take some of your resources out of building a condo on the moon and plough it into things that really matter. Enforce REAL laws for labor welfare. Rather than invent ways to shorten the distance for a weekend trip to space, spend time improving daily public transport. Stop categorizing car pools as illegal.Instead of passing laws banning pets, punish those, who for a laugh inflict cruelty. Support K9 friends.

Stop banning poor families from sharing accommodation. They aren’t renting your high towers. Enforce a rent cap instead. If people want to change jobs within 6 months, let them. Don’t invite slums. But don’t displace retired expats after 50 years under the pretext of ‘no employment visa’. They’ve given their dreams & blood to your very economy. Let there be freedom of speech. Let there be nature. Real trees, pure nature.

Embrace the different shades of humanity, white is not the only color! Adultery does not demand deportation. It’s as immoral an act as prostitution. If I put all my money in your bank, I expect to be informed, if not, then pacified when you abort my debit card for security reasons. ‘Sorry ma’am can’t help you’ is not the right answer, after I’ve been on hold for 45 mins.

The visionaries may want Dubai to become the Monte Carlo of the Middle East. It may well be, the city has a lot to offer, but you still need lesser mortals to help fill petrol, serve as bartenders, wait in restaurants, run small groceries, clean & cook, run an office. To think. So stop making it difficult and let live!

The Line in Between

When does a lie not remain a lie? Is the act as formidable if committed to save a life?
When does the value of truth increase. Must it be told if it is the beginning of many ends?
Is to cheat your happiness a sacrifice? Would those you love not understand?
Is to accept the forbidden apple a sin, a bigger sin than living incomplete?
Does enduring heartache to save someone tears, bring you closer to god? Will he then make up for the tears you bled?
What if my good, becomes your bad and things turn ugly?
The line in between is far too thin.
Is it possible to always be further this side in than that?
How close do you come before it starts fading away?
How long do you stay before you decide to turn the other way?
While crossing would consequences fill your mind?
Would you still believe the right is what you’re leaving behind?

the Grey that got my Anatomy

A few routines sink under your skin, into parts so deep that still lie undiscovered by any fairness cream commercial. For me it was Grey’s Anatomy. Hours during the day would pass at a speed that could put snails to shame. Evenings were like going home to a loved one, not just family. Evenings would soon turn into late evenings and then nights would turn into early mornings. Felt no different than a budding romance. I held onto DVD boxes, watching episode after episode, season after season, till one evening the thrill was all over! Then, I’d go over old episodes, because the fear of nothing new was a little short of paralyzing. Felt no different than a budding romance.
We were all one big happy family, the interns, the residents, a friend and I. Sometimes my friend and I discussed the other members of the hospital behind their back. You know they could be wrong, but you justify and empathize. We secretly even lusted after Dr. Sheppard, meaning no harm to Meredith of course.

But that evening, as the scalpel was passed on the last operation of season 4, a strange feeling of anxiety overpowered. No more OR for a while, at that moment I found myself on Christina’s side of the fence. A tear rolled down my eye as I watched Derek, when Meredith trying hard to overcome insecurities, took her first step towards ‘happily ever after’. But suddenly things came to an abrupt end. It felt like a friend was shot dead in the middle of her sentence.

It was hard initially but, routine, that’s the thing it sinks into you. Life went back to normal. The normal before I discovered Grey’s Anatomy. I secretly wished for havoc in my life. And thy shall be done! They’ve finally started airing season 5. Initially, I avoided it like an ex but then found myself rushing towards an unseen magnetic force. Far too many questions unanswered, matters still unsettled (told you it was like romance!)
Glad to know that Derek and Meredith decided to give ‘happily ever after’ a chance. There’s a thing or two I feel, I need to tell Izzie. I know what Lexi and George don’t see coming. After watching the first and only two new episodes back to back, it feels like coming home. A warm sensation my heart had forgotten for a while, a feeling of ‘yes! even doctors fuck up!’ and ‘oh shit! It could be you on the table one day’, ‘good ol’ romance still lives round the corner’ and ‘you’re bigger if you let go’.

I don’t care if I sound loony to you. It only makes one thing clear, you’re ignorant and deprived if you haven’t watched it yet.
And if I don’t sound loony to you, then please let me know if you hear any more updates from the Seattle Grace Hospital.

p.s. I miss watching the episodes with you, I miss crying with you, I miss telling you how much I love Derek, I miss sneaking behind you and watching new episodes, I miss agreeing or disagreeing. You know who you are Girlfriend!

Lord of the Wings – Trilogy part 1

It was an interesting night, the wine, the company & a long winding road of memories. I met someone who works for an advertising agency and from there on, doors were opened to the flash back fort. Reminiscing the days of being ‘young blood’ I realized, the enthusiasm for life was general, but the time spent ‘learning the ropes’ in any advertising agency in India was unexplainably more grueling then the young Shoe- Fi- Mafee’s here, who drive their Porches’ to work, order from Saj Express and clock out at 6 pm sharp!
But I’m grateful for the shallow company that night, it made me want to immortalize every memory I built working as a management trainee, thinking, today will be the last….

Warning: any resemblance to a person living is purely co-incidental. If you started off in an advertising agency and (after many many many years) still continue to work in one then, you probably should be dead by now!

Like every other 6:30 in the morning today felt no different. Life outside whizzed into the dawn, while I struggled to balance on a feet and a half. My body still ached from the taxi drive home three nights before. Shower and a marathon to the railway station (I could easily prepare for a tempo run, as the mile record gets better each day).
My breath was still catching up with me as I glimpsed at the distorting faces onboard the train, which was fast disappearing into void. Today, yet again the railway punctuality caught me by surprise! Time seemed motionless. Finally, after waiting for eternity the next train arrived a whole 4 more minutes later.

As I braved 40 other women through a 4 feet narrow cabin entrance on a 3 sec stopover, a familiar *rriiippp* momentarily fazed me. A safety pin now secured into my kurta, I found myself slowly, slipping into comfortable slumber, sometimes with only enough room to balance on one leg, a stranger’s umbrella prodding into my stomach, the strong smell of coconut oil from gypsy wayward strands and the familiar stench of fresh fish on its way to the morning market. The chaotic whispers, the group Bhajans, the antakhsri’s, the chuk chuk of the train, in concert they all lullaby me.

As the train pulls into the station, a bright new day & fresh new challenges await, starting with trying to conjure up profound reasons for being a half hour late. As the outlook page unfolds, I excitedly stare into the 14 inch like a mother, anticipating her first born to walk. Just then I’m distracted by sounds of pointed footsteps. Hoping, like the train this morning, it too will whiz pass.

Lord of the Wings – Trilogy part 2

“The client had asked for the logo to be .0874% bigger and its not!” Though initially this may not seem like a concerning issue, however, in the bigger picture as you soon learn in advertising, the decision could be a reason for a dormant volcano to suddenly come alive.
The coffee machine breaking down, the fax machine not working and papers being stuck in tray 2 is not helping either (cross departmental training, very important, if you want to appear lucrative in the corporate world). After shining through challenges the day has pitched up (no battle is too small) I’ve now returned, like a bride on her wedding night, not sure what to expect, from her loaded outlook page.

One rule however, that I was quick to learn - if the morning has gone past a little too unexpectedly, the afternoon expectedly never fails to make up for the lack of excitement. The fifty third option of the layout that was presented is still not what the client had in mind. Reason - that’s why multinational agencies are hired, to decipher words of wisdom like ‘hmm.’ ‘Ummmm’ ‘Kuch…mazaa nahin aaya ’.

*Sigh* Off I go to try a different pantone for blue, or air brush a chicken’s breast and make it worthy enough for an award winning line ‘I’m Juicy Eat Me’(arrived at by the Client, out of deep brand understanding). After the tribulations of turning a short lived chickens life into a super models dream, I suddenly become conscious of the 4 other clients, neglected since. Every day to buy time, I try the same line ‘but I’ve sent you the email already, my server is a little slow’ and everyday my client retorts with a standard ‘but the deadline was an hour ago’. We have an understanding. I slip away from prying eyes and don my wonder woman costume.

I return! Successful. Tired, but not stirred, just in time to be informed by the boss of another earth shuddering event. After a few lekin.. magar mein… suno to… I’m off again, reciting (as loud and in the head mostly), on all the reasons I wanted to relentlessly pursue an unglamorous career in a glamorous industry. Cadbury, Coke, P& G…I begin to smile.

At times like these there can be no greater sin than questioning the sanctity of a cigarette break. In an unrepeated corner on the balcony, finally a spot you can call your own, your shelter from the world behind those doors, your haven, only for you…. and the other 10 account executives who feel like they’ve just prevented a mini tsunami. As I stand gusting into the sunset, everything around me fades away. Familiarity meets conscious as I draw on the last puff. “Tough day huh?” and heads shake in concurrence. In that moment, you’ve suddenly reached out and bonded.

Lord of the Wings – Trilogy part 3

A cold cup of tea (not sure how long it’s been lying there) and 20 unread emails have been keeping each other busy. As I interrupt their tryst with a fleeting look at the crosses on my ‘to do list’ it’s almost like sticking a finger in the face of time. It’s only been 8 hours after all. A sense of achievement. A short one, as there’s still twice as much left to do than the number of hours on the clock for today. But Rome wasn’t built in a day. Do you think the line would work in my defense? Yeah, thought as much.

At one point, I stood in the corridor, lost, feeling invisible. Looking through the blades of paper floating to the floor, I struggled to find my sense of balance. From a participant, I became the spectator. There was occasional eye contact with some seasoned performers (seemed like a couple of hours were taken off their clock as well), a few casual discussions around the poof, about the miscalculated master stroke from the match before, a few made plans for the evening, subconsciously knowing that’s probably as far as they’ll get. Some had given into the ‘brain dead syndrome’ for the day, a few grieved faces were returning from a ‘we’d like to see more options’ kinda meeting. Just then I was rudely awakened with sounds of ‘Benchod! kahan tha’ I exchange a gauche smile and leave the two to discuss ‘aaj client ki le li’.

You know you’ve arrived when taxi drivers haggle over dropping you home (the lucky one earns ‘post midnight fares’) I feel special nonetheless. It’s now 2 am, I silence my phone after receiving an sms from a friend requesting me to stop by his place the morning after and carry a change of clothes, since he’ll be spending yet another night at work.
My last stop, like a devotee to her shrine is dropping off layouts at the Clients reception for first thing tomorrow morning (just incase if it affects India’s economy). The security greets me with ‘madam kal kyun nahin aaye, office band tha kya’ (translates to madam, how come you didn’t drop anything by yesterday, was your office shut?) and you know you’ve definitely arrived. Too bad there was no face book back then, I would have been in the running for ‘the most popular’.

Tonight, my soul does not have the energy to drag itself to a media launch for a fun filled pretentious evening of cautioning the wind! I curl back into my taxi seat, as my magic carpet whisks me into the night with just enough time (what seems plenty on some nights) before I can snooze the alarm at 6:30 again to change the world yet another day…

Kabhi Tum

Kuch tum kaho, kabhi mein sunu
Phir mein kahoon, aur kuch tum suno
Batton hi battoon mein shyaam dhal jayegi,
Nayi subah phir tumhari umeed jagayegi
kushiyon ke timtimate diye aankhon mein bharenge
Dil mein ek ehsaas uthega,
Kahin khwaabon ka basera sajega.
Hotton per sharam phir ayegi dabe paon,
Thama hua yeh pal hoga, aur tumhari sansoon ki chaon

Ek woh alaam tha aur ek aaj,
Ki tham tham kar bhi yeh pal kat ta nahin
Bheegey ansuon ne timtimahat bujha di
Shamshaan hui khwabon ki waadi, ab yahan koi basera nahin

Roz shyam hoti to hai, per andhera dhalta nahin
Dil mein ab bhi ehsaas to hai, per hotton pe koi dua nahin
Mein kuch kahun, per sunnewalla kahan
Jo aahat karde bechain, ab woh lamha kahan
Ab to na umeed rahi, na rahi udaasi
Sirf khali pan ke aaine mein, beetein yadoon ki parchai

The Age of Innocence

In my view purely, it was the era of the dinosaurs. In lands not far away, in a time not long ago, children were synonyms of innocence, they grew up in naïveville. They took their time growing up. Period. Childhood was spent daydreaming, playing house – house, building sand castles and exchanging dolls. Happy hours began at 5 pm when the neighbourhood was invaded by kids, their bat & balls and little cycles.

Today seems to have evolved into a dark and twisted age, where, kids feed on play stations, attend free style dance classes, before they learn their ABC’s know names of their favourite cartoon characters. They even know how to operate the CD player and their dads’ laptops. Nursery rhymes seem to be a thing of the past, I was told by my nephew, clad in a batman costume who then happily showed off his skills to ‘Pappu cant dance saala’. Another kid I know, the first three words he’s learnt are – ‘mom’, ‘give’ and ‘mastaa’. The last word courtesy his fathers love for Metallica’s -Master of Puppets. So cute.

My first visit to a Salon was at the age of 18 and never once was I made to feel like an alien before it. Today there are salons for kids 1-15 years of age offering services like hair straightening, manicures, pedicures, threading, waxing etc. An article quoting mothers read, they felt their kids, if well groomed, were more confident. This makes me question the very foundation that kids are made to believe - outer beauty is the road to inner confidence. Not only are we instating shallowness, but fostering a plastic generation. As a little girl, I believed it was my birth right to try out mom’s new lipstick, as soon as she’d left the room, but to get my nails buffed while she waited for her pedicure, was an unthinkable treat.
Today’s ‘judge a book by its cover’ generation has blurred the thin line between being well groomed and being a narcissist. Finding comfort in one’s own skin has become a privilege of history.

The first time I spoke to a boy fully aware of my sexuality, was when I was 15. I’m thus taken aback when kids in playschool today, will not only list their girlfriends, but can tell you exactly why a boy is different from a girl. The birds and the bees really have no place left in one’s imagination. The ease with which they single out the pretty from the not so pretty ones is heartbreaking. When I was that age, irrespective of size, shape, colour, body hair, everyone was pretty (mom had me believe that - the only way I’d go to school!)

Are kids solely to be blamed when media exposure in today’s cyber age is slowly chewing away at the virgin mind? When Disney role models like Miley Cyrus and Vanessa Hudgens pose for lingerie or part nude, is anyone measuring the repercussions? When TV programmes have participating kids immolating steps that make judges cringe, while proud parents cheer on. Who is to be blamed, in this rush for fame?

Kids today spread their wings faster than the time we took to hatch, maybe it has its benefit, but the death of gibberish innocence that childhood once stood for is pitiful.

The Holy Immersion

With the break of dawn today Mumbaiwasi’s seemed divided, as the one thread that tied all, drifted far into the sea. The first day post the conclusion of a 10-day long celebration, life begs normalcy. Ganapati Utsav, in Maharashtra is celebrated with unmatched glory and dynamism. Visiting, I was fortunate to experience this life-size affair, first hand.
The festivity unfolds with the deity of Ganesha being worshipped to for a said number of days, towards the end of which, the idol is carried for immersion with great vigor. The city is dolled up with hundreds of large ‘pandaals’ or stands, with gargantuan idols. Today, almost every residential complex in Mumbai takes pride in setting up their own pandaal, with the community congregating at the time of aarti. Apart from heavy traffic, the ground constantly vibrates to beats of drums, majira’s, whistles, cheering & a mixture of Bollywood/ trance.

What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger – a phrase that best illustrates Mumbai traffic. The immersion process is done on the third, seventh or the tenth day. Thus through the week, idols are carried (sometimes in trucks) towards their final destination, as soulful believers dance along. Sometimes, the distance of a km is gay fully covered in an hour. Having lived in a city like Dubai, the close proximity of cars, the autos, number of people per square feet all seem a bit overwhelming, yet exciting. From my observation tower- the confinement of my auto, I silently observe.

As I’ve been told, it reliably pours non-stop on the 10th and final day of the Utsav. Scientifically, this is very important as the tide need to be high for the idols to submerge. Ways of the universe! The 10th day & it was our turn. I’m not one to have a religious stance but was happy to accompany the drill purely for my mother’s contentment. The idol that blessed us for ten days was a spot as compared to the commercial ones, which sometimes are as high as 20 feet. Commercial recognition many a times overpowers and defeats belief. Unable to completely immerse, ruins of these idols get washed ashore and are stranded as trash.

Cradled in arms, together we made our way to the National Park. Felt a bit cheated since our army of four did no dance – to my offer, of doing the snake dance, my brother threatened that immersing me along with the idol could be an option he’d be happy to explore.
The wind, the rain they all followed. The 15 mins walk towards the lake inside the Park made me want to label the episode as ‘A walk in the clouds’. Educational signboards with pictures of the rat snake or the tiger, added a hop in stopping to smell the flowers.
People in large groups flocked the reserve chanting ‘ganpati bapa moriya’, which when echoed in chorus, I believe, sends vibrations of oneness, of brotherhood, parity into the universe. Creativity too, finds itself on the other side of spirituality and you cant help give into chants like ‘twinkle twinkle little star, ganapati bapa superstar!’

An aarti is to be performed before the final immersion. Ever tried lighting a match in the rain? After the aarti we moved towards the lake where a team of professionals are deployed to take over. The feeling is indescribable, a ritual grown to be a part of you, is now biding adieu. Shows how humans are quick to form but not break out of habits. We handed our idol over, they swam to the centre of the lake, ceremoniously dipped Ganesha three times before the final immersion. The rain poured down harder, the water hazed my sight. With shaking hands and a shakier heart, I paid my last respect. The ‘dukh harta – vigneshvar’ emerged for the last time before becoming one with the soil again.

Phir bhi dil hai hindustani

There are certain things that only an Indian can do. You don’t need to be gifted, just Indian.
Take for e.g. our inherent ability to do the Bhangra. The ever eager non-Punjabi’s make it look so entertaining and simple. Arms in the air, move your shoulders, add in a few squats here and bbrrruuuaaahhh!!! Who cares, if the music you’re dancing to is Metallica or the Waltz! Another form much loved, termed as the ‘Sumo dance’ is a wedding special, which involves rapid movements of the elbow, usually into the faces of other people. If you belong to the state of Maharashtra, you’ll be familiar with the ‘Ganpati Dhol Mix’. It basically looks like you’re trying to shake ants from your pants while dancing on hot flames. This is the most accommodating form of dance, as I’ve seen this integrated into trance, into garba, into all sorts of other music with three beats and a half.

The other interesting thing is our palette, which is largely divided into pockets assigned as ‘Tomato Ketchup’ and ‘Tabasco sauce’. A table without these is not a table where food’s well enjoyed, then be it with your samosa’s or your pasta. Where else can the components of a ‘burger’ be Aloo Tikki and green chutney?

Being Indian allows you to cut into lanes unapologetically but abuse others who do the same. Where taxi drivers get into fights at signals and continue fighting even after the signal has turned green, then red and then green again! You will litter within your alley, but will be gung-ho about Singapore’s ‘keep this country clean’ drive. You are also capable of thinking any girl who exposes a shoulder/calve or smokes is ‘challu’. One of the few places I know of, where hundreds of cinema halls thrive on B Grade movies. Where programmes like ‘Thunder from Down Under’ take great pride in their size 22 heroines getting ‘jiggy with it’, but the same people in hundreds, take the streets to burn effigies of Richard Gere for an innocent peck on the cheek and politicians label cheerleaders as ‘ashleel’

We give death looks to anyone who dares to knock during our hour long conversations from public booths. Large hoardings scream ‘Apni behen ki maang bhari sitaroon se, aur apni khoon se?’ Kids have pet names. Most sardars are either ‘Titto’ or ‘Rocky’ and all dogs are ‘Tommy’. The Rock culture still rolls, as do hand pulled rickshaws. Auntie’s, dolled in saris’& bindi’s, drink alcohol out of steel glasses to maintain the ambiguousness of their preference. Police mammu’s will even accept ‘chillar chai ka paisa’ especially if your offense cant be listed under an ‘offence’
We swear by road side pani puri, pepped up with a sand storm and huddled together by hands, which will no time soon, be passing the bare requirements of health and safety . Yet we diligently wash our hands after eating.

But these are all flavours that make my country the spiciest on the continent!

Is Will Be Was

What is, is. But was too, was once is. Will be, will soon be is. So why didn’t was remain is? And why cant is be will be? Uncertainty is the one thing man will never be able to tame.

Some of us live our lives planning for the future. But as the future arrives you realise you’re not quite the ant who saved up for a rainy day. There are quite a few leaks in the roof of life that you didn’t foresee. So now you’re left to plan again. But does it ever become rain proof?

A lot many others believe ‘living in the moment’. They take pride in not planning, living untamed. But they too are victims. They believe in uncertainty. Because they are unsure what tomorrow’s sunrise will bring, they dance tonight.

Is and was has always traumatized me. Much of my time has been spent perfecting is but it soon became was. But not the was that blossomed into is. A different kind of is altogether, which caught me unprepared. Now I’m worried about spending time on is again, will it blossom into will be or new flow charts will have to be drawn.

I’m tired, confused and just want to be.

Bachna Ae Hasseno

Does the United States government keep alien spaceships at Area 51? There might not be enough evidence to validate that. But there is enough evidence to validate that Yash Raj banner should take a break from associating themselves with any more movies. After a series of flamboyant catastrophes like Neil & Nikki, Tashan, Todha Pyaar Thoada magic, it’s Bachna Ae Haseeno.

However, watching Ranbir Kapoor was like being under the influence of anesthesia. The pain was numbed to large degrees. The movie is shot in breathtaking locals of Zurich, Italy & Australia. At times I felt the dazzling outdoor was so mesmerizing, that the actors easily disappeared into the background.

The long and short of it - Don Juan Kapoor (Ranbir) meets Mahi (Minissha) on the U rail. Mahi, like most of us, is suffering from ‘Simran-ness’ an incurable phenomenon that defies explanation – DDLJ and is constantly on the lookout for the perfect love story. Her story progresses as she meets Raj, they miss the train to Zurich, sing a song and she falls in love. However, when she accidentally overhears him spinning tales (to his friends) of his imaginary manhood and the time they spent together, she realizes his pyaar was jhoota and that’s how Mahi ka dil toota.

Couple of years down the line, enter Radhika (Bipasha), an upcoming model/heroine who is romanced by Raj but is left stranded & soaking in a shaadi ka joda and mehndi on the steps of the marriage registrar’s office. Radhika ne manga sindoor but Raj bhag chukka tha bahut duur.

By now my anesthesia is wearing off and I can start to feel the pain.

Australia, taxis and Gayatri is what Raj meets next. She’s (Deepika) independent, educated, drives a taxi by night and works at a super mart by day to support her masters. She doesn’t believe in love or marriage but wears beautiful outfits and sings songs at the 12 Apostles. When Raj finally falls in love which up till now was just a game, Gayatri wants none of it and walks away, oh what a shame!

Hurting, he realizes, jab dil toot ta hai to hota hai dard, phir woh koi aurat ho ya mard!
Up until now, his character must have thrown up a few names in your head, but none of them ever come back to apologize for breaking your heart. That’s when he begins to differ from all those guys you met while growing up. He tracks down Mahi but before her we meet her husband Joginder (Kunal Kapoor). Yaara menu Papajis badde sone lagne lagge hai.

Apologizing will not be as easy as ringing a door bell. But Raj has to bring back Mahi’s faith in love, in romance, in goodness, in her marriage, everything she believed in before that fatal day. It’s a movie and he succeeds.

Next, Radhika. How do you ask for forgiveness from someone you stranded at the altar? You don’t. You can only be forgiven if the person decides to become a bigger human being. It’s rare. But it’s also a movie, and he returns successful back to Australia.

By now Gayatri has written hundreds of letters, which he finds in his apartment, confessing a change in her opinion on marriage and love. Thank god, because by now I’m ready to scream! Predictable? Just like the ending.

The music helped though, Vishal and Shekhar have done a good job with recreating the title track ‘Bachna Ae Hasseeno’. Other songs like ‘Ahista Ahista’ and ‘Khuda Jaane’ gave me a reason to forgive.

Kumar is Kinng

I'm tempted to believe the ‘k’ factor does prove lucky. Akshay Kumar over & over, yet again has proved that he’s one of the finest, most underrated actors the industry is blessed with today. Singh is Kinng is out and out an Akshay Kumar fest. The way he’s shaping up, with each passing movie, it wouldn’t be surprising if they hike up ticket prices to watch his movies.

There are Heroes…there are Superheroes.. and then there are Sardars. Anees Bazmees’ portrayal of this theory resulted in a hilarious 2 hour 15 min production. Just perfect. Not only did the lead pair Katrina & Akshay do justice but all the supporting sardars, they rocked! An ace of a stylist, Shabina Khan has changed my perception that a sardar is a sardar is a sradar. If we can have more of Akhshay, Sonu Sood and Himanshu Pandey look alikes, then bring it on I say!
It’s a shame that the supporting cast of successful films usually don’t get enough credit.

The story is based on the glorification of Punjabis, a community that knows how to live it big. Shot in parts of Australia, Egypt & tiny pieces of Punjab, the movie has been subjected to the wrath of staunch believers who've attacked the trimmed beards sported in the movie as an offense to pious ideologies. I’d like to request all those who consider this movie sacrilege, to look at the bigger picture. See the beauty in the way the big heartedness of Punjabis is celebrated, soak up the innocence.

The cinematography of the movie along with the dialogues, choreography, songs is all well directed. Katrina Kaif has done well in placing a well deserved slap on the faces of all those who thought all her movies were only courtesy her beau. With a series of hits, she’s been successful in convincing her fit in a Punjabi setting. Even with her anglicized Hindi, British accent, Punjab has accepted this kudi with its kheth wide open. Directors are now letting her dub in her own voice, which is another step towards victory.

Pritam has done a good job with the music and before I figure out sources of his inspiration I must admit my favorite is ‘Tenu Ghodi kinne chadaya Bhutani ke, tenu Dulha Kinne banaya Bhutani ke’

Khasab

Adventurous, living the moment, being spontaneous, is everything I’m not. Especially if it involves waking up at 6:am in the middle of the night, on a weekend!
But there was no better time than the onset of a long weekend to change things so we decided to go all out. And all out we did. We drove to Khasab - located in Musandam directorate, the northern part of Oman, separated from the rest of Oman by the north of the United Arab Emirates. It is about a 160 Kms from Dubai(directions).

Khasab is known for fishing and smuggling in small, fast boats, to and from Iran. They are destined for the Emirates and Saudi Arabia. A variety of goods are taken back to Iran for sale. Cigarettes are the main export though scrap metal and white goods form a significant part. Due to its geographical position and mountainous terrain it was isolated from the rest of Oman and the region developed at its own pace. Only in 1980 was the first track made to reach from the border.

The scenic view from Khasab says a lot more than its economy. We finally left Dubai at 7:am, and the trip towards the Ras-Al-Khaima border was an hour.

UAE Border

I was quite surprised at not being greeted by long queues at both the UAE & Oman borders. The exit fees from the UAE border cost AED 30/per person and entry into Oman AED 20/person.

Oman Border

Leaving the border was the beginning of a picturesque weekend. Khasab lay two hours ahead. Long winding roads embraced the calm gulf waters. As the sun shone above, the stars twinkled below. Even if it took longer, the journey was nothing short of breathtaking.

The 40 degrees outside did not stop us from driving with our windows down occasionally to breathe in what our eyes behold.

I wasnt kidding!

We pulled into the Golden Tulip Hotel at about 11:15 am, and were rearing to go on the dolphin sighting trip. Chances of seeing Dolphins in the afternoon, is reduced by 50%, and that’s something to keep in mind for the next time. But before that – lunch, their buffet was not too exciting but you have the option of either doing the full course or only the salad, soup & desert option

In mid summer the one hour boat trip to a reef which included dolphin sighting and snorkeling was surprisingly pleasant for 1:45 pm. The Musandam Peninsula has an abundance of sheltered fjords, miles of sparkling blue water, rocky mountains, birds and yes, two dolphins added to the breeze. I felt a bit cheated out of my experience because the guy maneuvering our boat did not make any attempts to attract the dolphins closer, so all aboard had to be satisfied by watching the dolphins’ spring to the claps, cheers and whistles of the boat opposite at a distance. We tried doing the same but apparently they respond to a particular kind noise made by whistling. No experience there. It seemed like an experience too surreal. I’ve seen so many pictures set in similar scenarios, that by now I’m not convinced if it wasn’t just my imagination.

Snorkeling was disappointing because the anchor point wasn’t really a reef. Snoppy Island in Fujairah hosts a much larger smorgasbord of marine life, they even have 4 resident black reef sharks! But having said that, this was a different experience, never before have I gotten into the sea without a proper life jacket, broken zippers, strings barely there, snorkeling gear a size too small and all this included in the price you pay for the boat trip. So all those heading there, either carry your own gear, or ensure you rush to get yours first after boarding.

The boat ride back seemed like an empty pistol, no longer loaded but yet a pistol.
On the way out of the city we tried to look for small baklavas but found none that served tea or coffee. Pathetic, what the Bebsi (Pepsi) generation has amounted to!
At the end of the trip as I soaked my fingers into butter chicken and garlic naans, reminiscing, I was only too happy to have tapped into the half adventurous & spontaneous side of my spine.

No, I havent taken this but next time I will!

Flexible v/s Fake

The real you can have many faces. Adapting your personality to suit different roles is a flexible response to modern life. BUT where does ‘flexible’ end and ‘fake’ begin?

Happy Gay Lucky

The latest phenomenon, to hit London’s social scene is a Gubby aka the gay husband. A Gubby, as I understand is not to be confused with two married men or a closet husband. They are an imminent breed fast replacing the ‘I’m the captain of the universe and thus too busy to notice my wife’ kind of husbands. In short a Gubby is your replacement husband, with whom a fictional affair is not only gratifying, but exceedingly safe- without the guilt of sexual anxiety. He’s safer than the safest sex, you get to keep your marriage and your clothes on!

Amidst London’s ‘inhaling hair dye fumes’ society a Gubby maybe Gay, but he’s one to match your every step. His chronicles with the high'n'mighty make him every bit the ‘charming’ you can’t have rather than the average blonde arm candy.

This new genus fascinated me so much that after further research I learnt, Gubbies can actually be your girlies in disguise.
Or can they?
They’re capable of displaying random streak of jealousy when they feel their time is being short changed. They are beneficiaries of lavish hosts and are usually fought over as prized claims by the commonly emerging ‘I have so much money but it doesn’t buy me love’ Set -A house wives. Only, because of their inherent ability to comment on a new dress, notice your hair colour or take interest in the tulips you buy as dinner decoration.

All this makes me wonder what the fuss is about? The attention that you’re receiving is from the opposite sex alright, but not someone whose about to change your definition of ‘relight my fire'.

Can he really replace your girlfriends? Do they take you out, flatter you with attention to finer details, as you stroll provide a strong arm for you to lean on, buy you flowers, send you little cheer up notes? Do your girlfriends provide the satisfaction of being fussed over by a good looking package? I guess momentarily it would be good to fantasize that your Gubby is secretly not a man eater and one of these days you’ll find yourself in a nerve wrecking situation where ‘politely declining’ may not be an option.

But wait doesn’t he then fall into the same category as ‘the man you knew of, before you were married’

Profound statement# 22

Life is what happens to you when you're busy planning other things.

Raat - The Night

Liza and I returned from her nail clipping appointment and I settled myself in for some dinner. Just about then, she started acting really strange. The hair on the nape of her neck was standing, there was something that her senses didn’t agree with. I ignored it at first and continued heating food. They say dogs can see spirits and where I live, sometimes, I have quite a few friendly visitors. I usually let open the door and pretend to ignore them and her barking into thin air. Whatever it is settle it out, I don’t need to get involved and after a bit, it’s all calm. But not tonight, she paced, uncomfortable on not being able to see what she’s sensing. I decided to distract her with food, it usually works for both of us. But this time it didn’t. She wouldn’t come to me & hid under a sofa, growling at the sofa opposite the room. I ignored it until the growls got really aggressive, the barking had now begun, the hair on her neck was reaching for the ceiling. That’s when I froze. What if there IS someone hiding behind the sofa? While we were away, someone broke into the house and was startled by our unexpected early return? So it hid behind the sofa. Lame, but when you’re looking for cover, you’re not thinking.

Now we’ve established that there’s something there that does not belong in this house, but with a cold the best I can do was a squeak. I live in an old villa with no neighbors. It would be morning before my body is found! But…how can someone fit behind the sofa? A spirit? But why would Liza keep sniffing the floor. Surely spirits don’t leave scents and besides the only dead spirit in the house at this point in time is me!

Realizing that I cant handle this on my own, I rang the maid, who didn’t pick up. This is getting really suspicious, why isn’t the maid picking up? It’s only 9:30, she can’t possibly be asleep and it takes precisely 25 secs from her room to the house. So, WHERE IS SHE? Under the sofa? Dead? Oh my gosh! I’ve watched too many Hindi movies to know anything is possible. To add to the drama, I was suddenly suffering from an uncontrollable bout of hiccups. On Grey’s Anatomy, I’ve seen a women die because of hiccups (ok so I watch too much TV, but can we worry about that later?)

I can’t do this alone. Can’t pull a body out and Liza’s behavior is unnerving me. What do I do? What do I do? Just then, Mary, with obviously better timing than my hiccups rushed in through the door as an answer to my questions. A relief. So its not her dead or hiding behind the sofa (I didn’t think she’d hide behind the sofa, but still) what the fuck is it then?!!!

We’re trying to hold Liza back so that whatever it is, doesn’t get her first. I can see headlines already – ‘Two Asian ladies -SS & MD found dead in Jumeirah villa. Motive unknown. Dog rescued. Traumatized, is not speaking and will be put up for adoption’

As Mary pulls parts of the sofa away, Liza is getting uncontrollable & trying hard to wiggle away. Animals can also sense danger. So is this her trying to run for cover? We decided to open the main door first, if need be we can run or scream or whatever. As soon as the second sofa is moved, she pauses. I see it too. A brown tail first and then the whole brown and black stripped body emerges. The tiger leaps for the door and vanishes into darkness. Ok it wasn’t a tiger, but it still belonged to the cat family. The fuss, and all I have is a bleeding scratch from Liza’s freshly manicured claws.

That would have been the last paragraph of this entry if Liza hadn’t started barking before I finished with this post. The whole routine is all too familiar. We just went through this an hour back. The cat couldn’t have come back again unless….
It was a different room this time and she’s barking around my bed. MAAAAARRRRYYYYY!!!!
Another cat, a pregnant one and this time after chasing her out we looked for other aunts, uncles, mistress’, kittens left behind. I mean we’ve just witnessed a family picnic today. How do you choose a dog’s house as a safe haven for delivering your kittens? I changed my mind. Cats were meant to be smart. Too tired…need to sleep. But she won’t. Her rights as a dog have just been violated. Two cats, under her very nose, in her kingdom and I let them get away…. the sniffing continues…

Kismet Konnection

If you’re Kismet is really good it will stop you from Konnecting with any theatre that is playing this movie.

Expectations can be harsh and difficult to live up to (not that I would know). My heart goes out for Shahid ‘Jab We Met’ Kapoor.A lot of us went in with the hangover waiting for the same magic to be recreated again. But we forgot it’s a different movie, different director, co-star etc. Even if, they were all the same, we would have come away complaining ‘typecast ho gaya hai. Kuch naya nahin kiya’ Hard to please some customers I tell ya!

Ok the story in a nutshell – Raj Malhotra the architect was a promising business student. But once college got over, so did his good luck. He now had to find a lucky charm; whose presence would make all wrongs right, all misfits a perfect fit. Enter Priya and Raj’s world suddenly starts looking round again. Is she the one? Will lady luck finally seduce?

Shot in Canneda, the locals chosen weren’t very picturesque which left very little room for good camera work.
It’s a shame to see Vidya Balan wasted. She is best suited for scripts which demand high levels of intimacy from the actor. An actor’s script.
It’s true that a Parineeta, Bhool Bhulaiya or Guru doesn’t come along every day. But for the sake of art, is the audience willing to endure anything?
Shahid had us believing that he’s come a long way after Jab We Met, then why the need to over act, constantly smile like a buffoon, force the dimples in his cheeks so much so that he resembled Jaadoo. I have immense respect for Juhi Chawla as an actor but very little respect for Haseena Bano Jaan. Her lines as a fortune teller were quirky but it was a pity to see screen time wasted.

Apart from the acting, the dialogues were nothing short of forgettable. ‘C’mmon Priya tum janti ho mein tumse kitna pyaar karta hun, will you marry me?’ (said in a very exasperated, say 'yes' or 'no' and lets get on with it kind of tone) as the elderly residents of the Community Hall cheer on and Priya ‘I conststantly seem to be loosing my stylist’ says ‘Ok! Ok! I’ll marry you’ she might have added ‘.. Nathuraam when you come home in the evening please get quarter Kg cabbage..where is the laundry man…what’s for lunch today…ok time for my shower.’

My favourite line in the movie is from a song which goes like this - ‘Sade naal Karle partee…Kudi tu lagdi hai naughtee..!’

Pappu can’t dance saala, hoye hoye hoye hoye

Saying that line always brings a smile to my face I dunno why? Watched ‘Jaane Tu Ya Janne Na’ last week. I’m sure by now, so has everybody else and we’ll all be in harmony when I say the director has hit the nail with his craft full act of storytelling.

I’m not sure if I’d like to jump on the gushing boat of ‘oh my gosh! Imran is sooo hot!’. But I would like to say, after a very long time here's a love story that makes you laugh, that makes you cry just a little but at the end leaves you feeling good. I'm a fan of Karan Johars love tales but often find myself suicidal at the end of his movies because the drama, the passion, the tears, are all way too intense. I can't remember the last time I felt a balance. I'm always tipping over the edge, but nevertheless keep going back for more!

But this one, Jane Tu.. is my story, it's your story, I'm sure and for many others. The simplicity with which we all got drawn into Jai & Aditi's entourage is actually a reflection of moments that we've ever shared. The places might not have all been familiar but the bonding sure was. The jokes might not have been ours but the feelings sure were.

We've all known a Rotlu. We've befriended a Jignes, first for entertainment and then grown protective. I missed my brother and cried (not because Jignes reminds me of him, I've moved on..keep up!) He was never as vocal as Amit about his opinions or my friends, but was definitely strong headed. We were never best friends but I value his presence. There's been a bombs and a cool red haired chick (I forget the names!) in almost every other group. I've been out with a few Pappu's myself who thought caveman hunting steps were in and remixed this with the Egyptian dance for a 'kewl' effect.

But what amazed me the most was the way each relationship was woven into the other. How one coin had very many sides. The story was not just about finding love, or a group of friends in college. It was not just about an attention seeking boy yearning for his best friend - that was once his sister. It was also not about a mother trying to protect her son from finding out the inevitable. It was not just about two best friends whose world revolved around each other. When together, no other existence was as important, and even then didn’t realise that this could be love. Who even without physically being together were always together. This emotion was beautifully captured in a heart tickling line when Aditi reminisces 'College ke panch saal kahan nikal gaye?' to Jai's mother and the mother replies 'phone pe beta'. The whole essence, as I gather, was about Pappu learning to dance!

There were so many instances in this movie when my heart gave a standing ovation, that to mention just a few would be the biggest 'na-in-saafi melord' of Indian Cinema.


So cheers to all the lucky Jai's and Aditi's who realised before it was too late. To the Pappu's who finally learnt to dance. To the Bombs and Rotlu's who accidentally found each other. And for all the others who missed the boat, go watch the movie again...losers!

Puurrrr to meet you

The other day, while waiting at the Vet, the lady sitting next to me was making rude noises. Only after they got really loud, she signaled to a little pink polka dotted rimmed cage and her belled creature purred inside. ‘She’s not been feeling too well’ she sympathetically cooed towards the mammal.

I’m not a cat person, but a soul in distress deserves a minute. Turning right at me, the lady then said ‘Say hello to Madame Bouvier Roffiania’ almost demanding that I pay my respect to her majesty.

I said hello and then introduced her to Rig Vinay Pratap Sigh, my squirrel.

It aint surprising when they say ‘Dogs have owners but Cats….they have staff’

Sex And The City

The movie begins with an arrogant and straitlaced statement. A generalization of women in New York, or maybe just women – ‘Women move to New York in the search of two L’s – Labels and Love’. That’s pretty much the summary of this movie, much to the delight of the hard cores. I’ve always been the outsider. At one time TV viewers could be classified into two-those whose lives came to a stand still for a half hour when HBO aired Sex And The City and the others who stayed a bit longer sometimes between surfing channels - the Outsiders, minority, but they existed.

The hit series in small half hour dozes, was fun to believe in, but to have it blown into a two and a half hour event is a disaster. The half hour episodes fortunately never lasted long enough to convert us into perks who believed life was only about pink drinks, high heels, great sex & designer handbags. But it did tempt many to practice the licence of being cosmetic, acquisitive and superficial.

I don’t mean to sound like Samantha on sex deprivation. Sure, any girl would dream to be with a man who says ‘I’ll take care of it’ with surreal ease while deciding to rent a Fifth Avenue pent house apartment which, was clearly out of the couples discussed budget and correctly defined as ‘real estate heaven.’

After four years of the season finale and the women now being over 40, I was expecting some sort of reality to have kicked in by now, but all I got treated to was a farcical flipping rampage of a designer catalogue where intimacy and relationship issues seemed much smaller than names like Louis Vuitton , Carolina Herrera & Dior.

The movie as I see it, seemed to defy everything the series ever stood for. The episodes had you believing you don’t really need a marriage to complete a relationship, a childless marriage is still a happy one, sexual freedom is only a form of expressing individuality. In the movie however, we experience Charlotte’s happiness of feeling complete upon finding out she’s pregnant, Carrie’s disappointment on the wedding being called off, Samantha practising monogamy (unthinkable) and walking away after being solicited by her very hunky & naked neighbour. Miranda forgiving Steve after, he confessed sleeping with another woman. All of this made them appear to be very much of the ordinary woman living extraordinary lives.

Carrie’s dream of getting married to Big, did not appear big enough in comparison to her Vivienne Westwood wedding dress and the 201 invitees. If you’ve taken pride in being the woman who does not fall for clichéd ‘getting down on one knee proposals’ than why does writing vows hold so much importance? The swing in personalities is a bit confusing.

But maybe that’s what the movie is meant to do. It’s meant to magnify everything which would be normal otherwise. Branded lifestyles, exotic weddings in National Libraries, Mexican getaways to drown the sorrows of being the dumped bride, Fifth Avenue Apartments, karma to die for…

Overall the movie was a tiring attempt of product placement and dragged for a half hour too long.

The future's not ours, to see. Que Sera, Sera.

My trajectory in life, to what I want to be has changed many times, between growing eye brows and growing weight. For the longest part of my growing years, I wanted to be a doctor – surgeon to be precise, even before I could spell it. It all changed one fine day. The day, I marched into the lab for my first dissection. As we entered the OR, the scene was tense, chloroformed rats lay in a jar, and we picked one individually to our operation table. The crowded room of spectators added to the tension. They were girls, who’d not signed up for bloodshed by opting for Computers instead. Watching us perform was the closest they’d ever get.

I placed the drugged rat on my mat and there was a moment. My first surgery. I froze. I didn’t know its name, didn’t know if it had a family, didn’t know if it had plans for the evening before ending up here. Not that knowing would make me comfortable. I was just plain uncomfortable and I thought this was wrong. Yes, I wanted to learn to save a life but not by starting to kill one. It’s been 10 years and I’m still dramatic about it!

After watching me cry for 45 mins, the teacher felt it was time to take things into her own hands. No, not dissect it for me, but threatened to flunk me if I didn’t unfreeze and now! Every sound was magnified, just like my breathing. It felt like a hangover. Between the two of us, I was glad to be the one breathing.

Loud clapping broke my trance. ‘You’ve got the hands of a surgeon’ she said. ‘Not a drop of blood!’ I wasn’t sure where I was or what she was talking about till I looked down. There lay my rat, naked & exposed. Along with its organs, I saw something else. I saw 8 little fetus all packaged in embryos, tiny pods in a pea, inside. That was my last memory before I collapsed.

It didn’t matter how clean my hands were. The precision and finesse I carried out my first dissection with, none of that mattered. To me, I was the murderer. That day I felt my dreams dissolve into the rats body fluids. That day, I also realized another phobia. The sight of blood, it made my insides churn.

Realization that the one thing you always thought you’d be is not what you want to be anymore, does not work wonders for self esteem. I was done. Then, somewhere between Biology and Physics I discovered Chemistry. It was good while it lasted, puppy love :)

I then moved on wanting to pursue a career as a fashion photographer or as cabin crew. Getting paid and touring the world fascinated me. It still does. But intervention changed the course. My parents didn’t think being cabin crew was a career. And photography - too expensive and unheard of. Post an MBA, having spent a number of years doing what I think I’m good at; I’m staring into familiarity again. A familiar feeling, just like the one in the Bio Lab. I’m done. It’s now time. But what is my calling, where am I headed, why isn’t life intervening now?

Should the disillusionment be worrying? I vaguely remember the words of Baz Luhrmann’s ‘Sunscreen’

'Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t.'

Thoda Pyaar Thoda Magic

I’m truly filmi, but I do exercise a reasonable amount of choice in the films I pay to watch. Unless offered complimentary tickets, cause then there’s no exercising.

However, the above decision will change rapidly if Yash Chopra continues to produce the kind of movies that’s sailing his boat off late. Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, Tahsan and now TPTM (I’m a quick learner)

The movie has its good parts and bad parts. The concept was nice. A rich Casanova with all the money in the world that can’t buy him love gets handed over four children who he has to look after till the youngest one turns 18. What did he do to deserve this? He ran over their parents in a car crash and killed them. What did they do to deserve any of this? It’s a movie, do you want to listen or not?

And now for the bad parts. So they move in with him and a single agenda - revenge. All they have to do is, make him seem unsuitable as a guardian and he’ll be behind bars for 20 yrs, no bail. If he even as much as lifts a finger, leaves them unsupervised, makes them unhappy, or feel neglected, they can tell on him when the judge comes to check in a month.

Enter Geeta – the Pari, (an angel) who comes down to earth, to make hearts meet. To bridge the gap between Ranbeer Talwar – Saif Ali Khan and the four kids, whose names he never remembers. But of course before coming down to earth she is told that she cannot stay a minute longer than she’s supposed to, they all sing and dance where we find out that she’s god’s favourite brat and they’re all one big happy family. By ‘they’ I mean, Rani Mukherjee - the angel, God- Rishi Kapoor and 4 other sidy angels.

So after doing a dance routine in the cloud, our little angel cycles down on a rainbow and changes from being a Pari into dressing the part of a nanny -right outside the Talwar residence. This is two mins after promising she will never divulge her angle powers!

From being the nanny that they want out, she ends up making them believe that she’s on their side. Simultaneously, she’s also trying to get Ranbeer come to terms with his emotional demons of letting himself be emotional about anything in life.

Of course this cant be that easy, so in between all of this there are museum trips where she makes dinosaurs dance, turns beetles into ninja turtles, skates on water , turns a spider into a butterfly. We also have Amisha Patel dancing in a bikini looking really hot, yeah that had nothing to do with angel powers. She has lost sickening amounts of weight thanks to the size zero fad started by a certain Ms. Kapoor.

Anyway what’s alarming is the family’s indifference to question the Pari’s hygiene factor as she wears the same dress throughout days and months. C’mmon you’re a Pari, you have the power to change your clothes, so why not just put on something different every now and then which would trick people into thinking you shower!

What’s also alarming is that in today’s day and age when cinema is moving forward Kunal Kohli feels the need to force fit a baby Sardar into the script just so that there can be a scene where someone gets to sing ‘mein nikla gadi leke…’ I thought we were over the whole cute sardar kid after Kuch Kuch Hota hai, but I guess not.

To add to all this madness there is fortness - Forceful cuteness (I made that up). A golden retriever who cries when all the other kids cry, a hamster who disappears toward the end of the movie, might have eaten something and died. Well, it’s good he died earlier cause then he didn’t have to hear Saif explain to Rani, as to what makes people cry (brace yourself) he says touching her heart ‘jab yahan dard hota hai, tab yahan se aason aate hai (pointing to her eyes) aur tab yahan dard hota hai (this time touching his heart. Seriously can that be classified as a pick up line? He should have just told her watch this movie after it’s made you’ll cry al right!)

Oh wait towards the end after god grants her the wish of giving up superpowers for humandom, she cries and then there’s a dialogue between her and Saif which goes like ‘mein row rahin hoon aur aap humsein flirt kar rahein hai’ with Saif retorting ‘Am I flirting with you?’ this is him being sexy. Seriously Kareena?
Maybe after watching this movie she would have wished she was the hamster.

I know these were complimentary tickets but I still feel like demanding my money back for watching. For all it’s worth they could’ve added Thoda thought, Thoda better dialogues in the making.

Rhythmic convulsion

I believe music is the language of the soul. Music with words mostly, songs.
If you ponder a minute longer, you'll actually realise there's a song for every situation. A song for when you think its love, a song for when you know it's love and a song for when you want to confess your love. Now, those who are not remotely familiar with bollywood may find the above three scenarios almost the same. That’s only for those who aren’t familiar.
I’d go even a step further and say there's a different song for when you’re confessing you're love, but the sparrow you're singing to, is actually talking about building a nest with someone else, and reality only hits you towards the end of the song.

Then the situation changes, cause now you're in a different territory altogether. Different not unfamiliar, because the songs are now of heart break, of betrayal, songs of ‘..it cuts both ways, you're love is like a knife and it cuts both ways..’ When you get your head around the situation, you realise it’s all about the happiness of the person you love so then you sing again. Songs of ‘mere yaar ki shaadi hai’, ‘it must have been love, but it’s over now’. Songs of love, but your love being handed over to someone else.

It’s amazing how many songs can actually fit into 3 hours of cinema.
Ok so you’ve accepted fate and taken a bow, but wait! while you're nurturing your broken heart, you meet somebody else, whose feathers look more ruffled than yours. So what do you do? You extend the branch of friendship, because like they say ‘dard se bada rishata aur koi nahin hota’ (you don’t watch hindi movies? Then you should’ve left reading this post on para one!)

You can’t just extend the branch out right, cause you don’t want to look desperate. So you sing, songs of friendship, songs of sharing pain, songs of I’ll be there for you. Being a stupid wren is better than desperate.

So you’re friends now. Just friends? While trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together, you bump into your first love, the one who made you feel like you keep bleeding in love… and you're world comes crashing down. There’s a sadness in her eye, the sparkle that you once knew, is missing, you want to sing a song to her..but not just yet.

Amidst all this your recent friend has finally realized that you’re the missing piece that completes her puzzle. She comes looking for you, only to find you standing at cross roads. Now this is getting fun, have we covered a threesome situation before? And you sing…

I believe it’s all about finding your heart song. You sing till you find it.

Adulthood, just charming.

Did you always want to be grown up while you were young? To be taken seriously, to not be answerable, to not have to ask for that extra cookie, or get someone else to buy you something you’ve always wanted?

Yup we all did. But, I’m wondering is it normal for those of us who were in such grave hurry to hang our diapers, wanting to take to the pacifier again? Have somebody else make the decisions for us. Especially the hard ones. Why didn’t anybody tell me growing up was not about being able to eat pizza when its not the weekend, lying in bed for those extra minutes in the morning. It was not about going to the movies on a working night, or about being able to step out of the house without telling someone, even if it was a trip to the grocer. It was not about late night phone conversations or the sleep overs. Growing up was simply not the bed of roses it looked like and I’d appreciate if somebody had told me that.

No one said you’d be accountable for your actions. Those that you make. And even those that you don’t. You’d be responsible for not only yours but one day, somebody else’s actions too.
I’ve had a fortunate & sheltered life, thus not much to complain about. But one of the trivial things that did bother me was curfews, not being able to stay out longer, or talk to boys, or wax. Like my other normal friends. Never imagining that there would actually come a day when the choice to stay home, in front of the TV for hours watching episode after episode of my favorite escapism, in solitary confinement, would be a choice I made.

I for one was in a big hurry to grow up and not be accountable to anybody. And as I grew up, others stopped questioning me. But with that, a new search started within, empty answers with no questions. And this was all with me, which made it even more difficult.

It does feel good to be able to do everything that makes you happy. But you’re also the one responsible for bringing the tears. I’m not sure if I would be so uncomfortable pinning someone else as a reason for my miseries. Not that it’s a very grown up and mature thing to do, but making choices for yourself can be hard and the excess baggage cant be paid for.

I believe you don’t make choices out of experience but experience comes from the choices you make. But here’s the hard part, sometimes even experience can’t stop you from making the same mistakes again.

You’re responsible for the friends you make, for the people you fall in love with, for the hearts you break. Even those that break yours, you choose them!
I hated it when my dad would just say ‘no’ and the conversation was dismissed. Somehow being resentful made things easier. But ever since things changed to ‘it’s your choice and you have to make that decision’, it sucks, because suddenly I’ve become responsible for the outcome. The good and the bad. Some you learn to live with, some you learn to let go. But you mostly try and learn as you go along.

However, there is this one thing that hasn’t changed with growing up. I still like surprises, especially if they have to do with a birthday party. There’s no shallowness in equating the number of people on the guest list to the number of presents I’ll get. That’s a choice I’m happy to make.

Dobai my phoren land

There was a time when Dubai as a destination was inspirational. Many movies, travel blogs, Picasa web albums, had pages dedicated to this destination of wonders.
Holidaying here was like traveling to the exotic bend of the earth. The sun kissed beaches, the shopping ecstasy, the night life, the architecture, the camels…all of it!

Indian movies largely glorified this, god’s favorite city. Whether it was a tight tuxedo clad mafia don directing his steal or people looking for a job, leaving their home, mother’s feet, a thali with tikka/diya behind, they all had one destination – Dobai (spelt for effect).

This was of course before Yash Raj and Karan Johar showed us otherwise. Where smoldering dream sequences in à la mode chiffon saris amidst sand storms seemed unattractive as compared to snogging amidst the Swiss Alps. When watching your favorite actress jogging along the Thames made the script more credible than jogging along the creek. New York and Switzerland soon became the new Dobai. You could no longer, with your peers, sit proudly through movies identifying landmarks that you lived or worked ‘just around’.

There also existed a time when you waited for 9 pm or Fridays to talk for a few minutes longer on an ISD because the mercy of discounted rates dictated terms (I.S.D : International Subscriber Dialling is the term used to describe an international telephone call dialled by the caller rather than going via an operator.)

But today, thanks to Skype, Etisalat and DU one can enjoy special packages to ‘a favorite country’ where you can talk for 1.27 Dhs per minute and other such nonsense!
Don’t mean to sound ungrateful but Fridays are no longer eagerly awaited for (still in the context of an ISD). Now, just pick up the phone…dial a pizza, or make an international call to hear agonizing stories about your mother’s neighbours, their neighbours relatives or the street dog ‘Tommy’.

Along with India’s booming economy, international calls from India (to Dubai) have also become cheaper. Along with it cheapened the ability of my friends, to relish my anticipated weekend calls. I enjoyed being able to make someone feel special with my occasional long international chats. But those times are long gone. Now THEY call randomly, at even more random hours, talk for hours, and what’s worse - they don’t hesitate even once before putting me on hold ‘Tch, wait ya..I’m getting another call…let me just tell them I’m with you na’. Left there waiting, listening to ‘The hutch mobile customer you’ve called has put you on hold’ I can’t help but think to myself, what happened to the novelty of an international call?

I’m still stuck in the phase, where you’d drop everything else because you’re getting ‘a call’. When you could make out the importance of a call, just by its distinct ring tone (there actually was a time when the ring of an international call on your landline was very different!). When the pitch of ‘Halloooo’ had to be really loud as you waited patiently for the time lagged response. When all this excitement and bad network only sent your pulse and pitch racing higher.

I have to hide my disappointment sometimes when I call friends only to hear ‘the Vodafone customer you’re trying to reach is currently on another call. Please hold or call back later’. I have to stop myself from following this with a sms saying ‘Pick up! this is an ISD - ‘It’s Special you Dumbfuck!’

They’ll call back I know. Unapologetically. They always do. One day I’ll learn that an international call is no longer a big deal. That day I’ll also learn to ‘Chill ya!’

Have you ever…..

Have you ever laughed so much that it made you cry
Run so fast
When you wanted to fly
Lived a moment as if it were the last
Been so happy, that you thought you’d die.

Loved so much that it actually hurt,
Even with no answers you found comfort
Saw the straight line but you swayed.
Have you ever met someone that washed it all away?

Smiled and hid the tears behind
Counted every blessing a million times.
Had so much left to say,
Could do nothing but let him walk away?

Lost yourself, but found it in his eyes
That one moment when you believed the lies
When the world stopped rotating and all you had is forever

When your eyes listen and your fingers do the talking
When your heart feels but your senses stop walking
When you try so hard for your thoughts to align
To set yourself free, but only deeper you entwine

Have you ever stared at the sun with closed eyes
Felt the moon and the winds rise
Walked by the shore, hearing waves rush in
Watched as your footprints made impressions behind
Stared into blankness together unsigned

Have you ever found the courage to open that door
To hold onto what you want for ever and more?

Lingua Franca of the high faluting

The other day an atypical article stopped my rampant flipping. Actually it was the word ‘Smirting’ that caught my fancy. Smirting- ‘flirting while smoking’ Sounds almost posh and very true, even if at a subliminal level at elaborate shindigs.

Health & safety regulations at most bars and clubs have led to the transpiring of parallel parties. Groups now form on the outside, pleasantries are exchanged as easily as the light of a match. If you’re the Alice in wonderland with an unlit cigarette or just the casual bummer the scenario almost never fails an excuse for a conversation. Could be a casual comment on the DJ’s mixing or ‘do you come her often?’
Sharing a smoke has always been an ice breaker.

As I read on further, the article mentioned something rather amusing, since the ban, clubbers have noticed that there’s no smoke any longer to mask the odors of bad breath, BO and farts between air-conditioned walls. Where as the smokers all step out into the open, amongst fresh air & gently perfumed Gautier’s.

Damn the intensifying breast cancer & health awareness roll which interferes with myths like a women looked sexy with a fag in her hand. Haute couture models pictured with never ending legs, never starting skirts, pencil heals, that’s not what made them look sexy - it’s how they held it all together between their figures and faces labelled with ‘you’ve mistaken me for someone who cares’ is what turned the heat on.

Intercourse Smirting (a fag between courses) could also be a cause for ruining your party, I read on. Well, it’s true because at any given time there will always be 4 people missing. When one stub leads to a joke, the joke leads to a third, the third results in more non smokers joining into the conversation and the fourth leads to the sixth. Before you know it the party has moved to the lawn.
Somehow I’ve noticed, a group of smokers, laughing out loud on common views and jokes appear to be having more fun, than you, watching from the other side of the glass door, especially if you don’t mind the heat

A friend once said she meets a lot of interesting people while smoking, she steps out alone but has a new acquaintance every time back in. When she feels the party is getting too smoggy for her likeness, she steps out for a quite moment, fresh air and a different smoke. It is here, she often meets randoms who maybe there for the quite moment but don’t mind exchanging a glance with a face they haven’t seen or a topic they haven’t repeatedly discussed over the last few hours.
If she chances and can bear to share moments with the same people over different breaks through the night, then by now surfing, snorkelling or snogging plans are underway.

‘Come outside and have a cigarette with me’ does sound tempting.

Covers women would fall for (and some hidden disclaimers)

1. ‘A bikini bod in 10 days’ or ‘From flab to ABS’
Disclaimer: If you are currently a baby elephant, we’re talking 10 years instead.

2. ‘How to enhance your inner beauty for a sexy new you – goddess hair and glowing skin all summer long’
Disclaimer: or let Bobbi Brown help you instead

4. ‘Dazzle, Sparkle, Shine – 750 pages of Fall fashions- all out glamour’
Disclaimer: You’d think something’s bound to fit. But you’ll realize they’re far too hard on the wallet and your Satwa ‘can make polyester look good’ tailor can’t copy it either.

5. ‘Will they or wont they paradise’
Disclaimer: We’d like you to believe there’s trouble, but close friends have confirmed that ‘it’s all ok’ and wait! we’ve just got news that the family is enjoying a secret getaway.. so, not really a scoop there but thanks for buying the magazine!

6. ‘You’re next mini vacation – 12 perfect escapes’
Disclaimer: The woman on the cover lying bare back with a flower in her hair & a smile of fulfilment, with black basalt stones aligning her chakras actually complained that the sun was too hot, the sand made her itch and she got bitten by jelly fish when she stepped into water.

7. ‘67 sizzling moves –these tips will blow his mind’
Disclaimer: This is not a one size fits all! When exhibited by certain sizes these will amuse him ever more than when he watched Horton dance to ‘Who!’
Should not be tried at home and without parental supervision (imagine!)

8. ‘The Shape Issue - fashion for every figure’
Disclaimer: Every figure between sizes 0-2. If you don’t fit the mould just leave the magazine alone.

10. ‘10 subliminal tricks that make people adore you’ or ‘10 ways to feel confident naked’ Disclaimer- The two don’t have to go hand in hand

11. ‘Denim styles to fit your shape’
I’m a believer - no disclaimer here

12. ‘Get him eating out of your hands’
Disclaimer: These recipes only look easy. They won’t taste like his favourite Thayir sadaam & Kootu, so chances are he’ll still not be impressed.

Finally try staying clear from covers featuring Posh Spice or Katie ‘cant fucking stop smiling since I married Tom cruise’ Holmes. Nothing these magazines cover will ever make you feel good about yourself.

But then, there are some magazines the covers of which you don’t read but only lust. You pick them up hoping the next 100 pages are only about him – Hrithik who Roshans my eyes