Need a shoulder?

Everyone has played agony aunt. Some people enjoy it, other don’t. As for me (it’s MY blog so obviously I’ll get more footage!), I don’t know about enjoying it but people seek my services as one oftet. Reason being, I believe I come across as a very quiet, wise and understanding person (not that I claim to be it all) but it makes people assume that I would be a good agony aunt.

Playing agony aunt for men can be a satisfying experience because you can give them your suggestions, discuss their problems rationally, point out where they went wrong. In short, most guys won’t mind criticism and look forward to suggestions. But you have to tread carefully around their extremely inflatable male ego. Just a bit too much of the wrong kind of wind and it goes bobbing in your face!

With women, playing agony aunt is an all together different ball game. It is a hundred times more complex. Somehow, nothing you say seems to pacify the. Well, the solution is quite simple if you are patient enough to go through it. The most important thing to remember is that women DO NOT need anyone’s advice. They are only looking for a person (preferably dumb) who’d hear them out and grunt and nod at appropriate intervals. Don’t ever make the mistake of making any suggestions unless you have been explicitly asked for them atleast FIVE times! So hear them out patiently while they vent their heart out to you. But hold on guys, before you make elaborate plans of consoling the next distressed girl you see, listen to the hard part. We girls are rather smart, so, pretentious grunts and nods won’t be enough and we can very well catch the yawn you try to stifle. So basically, you need to assure them that they are right. Whatever they did was completely acceptable and any normal person would have done the same thing under such circumstances. You have to strategically twist around their words and give it back to them. Throw in a couple (actually,  make that a score) of compliments and totally filmy philosophy to convey that the pretty little distressed thing deserves so much more and only good can happen to such a good person. Oh, and don’t forget to add that the frown and tears don’t do justice with such a beautiful face and BINGO! She’d be smiling in no time. The only downside is that the whole session might go on for hours and would come up the next day and the next day and the whole week and might pop up months later as well. And you’d be expected to remember each and every word exchanged during that conversation.

So, is it a lose – lose situation for the consoler? Actually, I believe that it’s quite the opposite. Undeniably, it is a feel good thing for the agony aunt. The comfort seekers make you feel important and trust you enough to share their troubles with you. They also consider you wise and understanding to seek advice. Besides, this pedestal that you are placed on, you are also involved in someone else’s problems, the outcome of which won’t have any effect in your personal life. And essentially, all humans are voyeuristic in nature. Offering your suggestions or shoulder can make you a part of a live and exclusive real life daily soap. It’s another matter whether how much this drama interests or excites you.

A word of caution: If your name becomes synonymous with Agony Aunt/ Uncle, it can wreak your personal life and snatch away your peace of mind.

Though, I’m no veteran, I speak from my personal experience. I rarely share my problems with anyone and I am yet to master the art of solving my troubles satisfactorily. Therefor helping someone else (in whatever small way) with their problems makes me feel stronger and gives me hope that if I can help others, then being the selfish creature that I am, I can help myself better.

Also, being agony aunt can be very satisfying too. The knowledge that you could be some help to others (however trivial it might be), can do you a whole lot of good.

And there goes my phone again. Seems like someone need the agony aunt!

Of Dogs and Flirts

Often I’m reminded how colourful Delhiites are. And no, I’m not just talking about the clothes (though it’s hard to ignore the ishtylish fluorescent green vest with a blinding orange Lord Shiva  emblazoned on the front with fake Swarovski embellishments; and purple baggy pants hanging precariously mid – butt, threatening to fall anytime – actually such colourful characters deserve a blog post of their own!). But this post is dedicated to the rangeelay Dilliwaale. And what better than the Delhi metro to sample some samples?

And no sir, it’s not just the people! A few days ago back, when I was running up metro station’s escalator to catch the waiting metro which could make me reach office on time for once, I was greeted by an unusual sight. So as I was running, hair bellowing, bag clutched in my hand, spectacles slipping off my nose, I skidded inside the metro door just in time to stop myself from bumping into a dog.

A Dog? Well, a puppy actually, but a dog nevertheless. In the metro!

My eyes widened as I saw the little black and white spotted pup sitting on its haunches right at the door. It’s head was cocked to the left and it was looking at me questioningly. After the metro began moving, I straightened my hair and glasses, adjusted my heavy bag (Ma packs a heavy lunch) on my shoulder, I glanced at the lil’ pup again. It was still eying me with a particularly bemused expression. At this point I couldn’t suppress a smile and in turn the puppy stuck it’s tongue out, returning the smile. So I knelt down and scratched it behind the ears. And then it was pandemonium! Apparently the whole train was witnessing this playful exchange between me and the puppy with much interest. Now all the aunties and uncles were clucking their tongues with disapproval and shaking their heads at me.

Umm, yes. So what if the dog was an obvious stray?

So what it all the passengers were confused as to how it got on the train in the first place?

And I got quite a few appreciative glances from some young boys and, awed expressions from kids and disgusted expressions from their parents. Ignoring the attention, I went further inside the train. The little pup followed me. Now began the squealing! Girls were giggling, aunties were shrieking whenever the little pup got too close to their feet. Kids were getting giddy with excitement. Trying to hold back a smile, I settled into a seat (it was one of those lucky days when I managed to find one!). The pup, now scared and jumpy from all the screaming and shrieking, hid itself behind by legs and curled itself around my heels. I shook my heels playfully and prodded it a bit and it playfully responded by playing with the hem of my jeans. Finally, the puppy settled down for a nap around my heels. Soon, the pup’s entertainment value reduced as people shifted attention back to their morning papers or earphones. It was my best metro ride till date! But all the time I was wondering why no one had done anything about the estranged free rider? So, before de- boarding, I fondled the puppy’s head playfully, bid a quick goodbye to it (lest people start thinking me crazy!), pushed the emergency button and informed the driver about the ‘guest’ riding with us.

So, this was about the dog. Now the flirts! So the colourful characters of the city also include the very uniquely talented flirts. I am certain that all women above 14 would be well initiated to the indecent advances and lewd comments of the lecherous crowd. But their novel ways never fail to take me by surprise. I am very good with my poker face but at times even I can’t help not reacting! So this incident, like many recent ones, occurred in the metro as well. On my way back home from work, I was standing in the metro, holding the metro pillar for support. I was reading a book. My bookmark slipped from the pages and landed on the floor. But before I could even bend to retrieve it, a boy had already picked it. I thanked him politely and went on with my reading. But I soon became intensely aware of four people looking at me. They were young boys. Maybe college students. The boy who had helped me was also amongst them, wearing a candy red fitted t – shirt. The other three boys were decently dressed too. The weird thing was that all four were looking at me intently. But when I caught them looking, three of them averted their eyes but Mr. Sandy red gave me a little smile. I acknowledged him with a nod and turned my attention back to my book. Soon I could hear whispers. The four boys were talking about me. I was sure because I could still sense them looking at me. Finally, at one station, they made to get out. I was relieved because their stares and whispered conversations were making me uneasy. Mr. Candy red though, did not alight with his friends who called him again and again. Mr. Candy red did not budge from his place and told his friends that he had to try. I got off at the next station. Mr. Candy red followed me. I quickly exited the station but I knew he was still behind me. Just as I was about the go down the stairs, Mr. Candy red shouted excuse me and out of habit, I turned. The short conversation that followed was something like this:

Mr. Candy red: Hi.

Me: Yes?

Mr. Candy red: Umm, I just wanted to tell you that you are very beautiful.

Me: (Raised one eyebrow)

Mr. Candy red: And I think I have fallen in love with you.

Me: (Trying hard not to laugh) Excuse me?

Mr. Candy red: I am in love with you. Would you like to join me for a coffe?

Me: No. Sorry. I am not interested.

Mr. Candy red: Can I have your number please?

Me: Look, I am really not interested. I have to go.

I fled down the stairs thinking about all the intelligent retorts I could have given him.

Mr. Candy red (shouting from behind): Do you want me to follow you around till you get convinced?

I let myself smile a bit but made sure that he did not see it.

I was a bit flattered but mostly, surprised out of my wits! This was a first for me. Hence, I conclude that Delhi’s colourful crowd would never cease to surprise me. Be it dogs or flirts. 

Wishlist!

It's definitely not a things - to - do - before - I - die list. It's a comprehensive list of things I need before or immediately after a special occasion. This day comes once in every fortunate individual's life. It marks the beginning of a new chapter and brings you to the threshold of newer responsibilities and never - before - experienced powers. It is an awakening of sorts. If you still haven't been able to decipher the reason behind this sudden surge of enthusiasm, then fret not. Because the reason behind my delightful chirrups would be much celebrated by one and all! It is, hold your breath ladies and gentlemen...

My 21st Birthday!!

Umm.. I’ll ignore that I did not hear any drum rolls or crackers. Some people just love to kill others’ buzz. Oh and dare anyone blame me or an anti – climax!

Moving on…

NOTE: I’m only addressing people who shared my joy. Those who regret their indifference and nasty reactions may proceed after texting or emailing their apologies.

Because the day is so special (no arguments would be entertained on this subject), I have decided that it calls for extra effort on the part of my beloveds. So unlike previous years, when I maintained “I just want your wishes” stand, I would go a step further and ask (leaving all self respect behind) all my dear and nwar ones to contribute for my wishlist which goes like this:

1)   1)   Kitten: I adore dogs but I am a cat person. After Mao and Lucky, I feel utterly bereft. To fill this black hole, I absolutely NEED a cute little kitten (or two) on this birthday. Colour, breed, sex, no bar. This would be my best birthday present ever!

2)    2) Tattoo: This bug of getting inked had bit me a year ago. I have decided the place and the design already after days of research. All I need now are the funds (and permission from my folks!). I can imagine it and it looks fantastic!

3)    3) Mobile: This object would always star in every single one of my wishlist because I get bored so soon. But my maintenance, to my misfortune, is very good. To prove the point, I still use my three and a half years old Sony Ericsson K550i. now I need a fancier phone!

4)   4)  One TB external harddisk (full of movies): Classics, world movies, old cinema, latest releases of any genre are invited.

P.S. Lifetime free membership of a multiplex would be much appreciated.

5)    5) Books: I am surprised why it is on number 5! Anyhow, fictions by celebrated or lesser known authors make perfect birthday presents for me. I can devour books anytime and anywhere.

P.S. Consult me before buying any, incase it’s already in my little collection.

6)    6)  A Guitar pendant/  Charm bracelet: I’m not a jewellery person. But I have my heart set on a cute little guitar pendant I saw at a Disney store. The invisible sign above it screamed “Sukriti’s perfect B’day present” with neon lights and all. Also, I so want a delicate charm bracelet which has charms symbolizing events or things or people which have influenced and shaped my life over the years. For instance, a musical note, a book, a cat, initials of loved ones etc.

7)    7) A popcorn vending machine: I love the smell of fresh hot salted popcorn. It’s irresistible! I have dreamed of having my own personal popcorn making machine like the elaborate and colourful one’s we find in hill stations and multiplexes, in my bedroom. I think it would make watching movies (the ones on my 1 TB Hard-disk) a million times better!

8)    8) An amusement park in my backyard: I realize that my wishes are getting very unrealistic and crazier as I procced but then if I won’t say it out loud, my chances of getting them fulfilled are reduced even further. And I am not taking chances! Well, my explanation for this one is that I’m a thrill junkie! I can spend hours in any amusement park taking the same rides again and again. The more dangerous, the better. And the feel of the park, happy people, bright lights, magicians, clowns, music, laughter, kids, lovely aromas and everything else is so beautiful! If fitting a customized park in my backyard is a problem, I can make do with a lifetime membership of a good amusement park.

9)    9) A Trip: This one is more reasonable and genuine. In my 21 years, I have never ever had an airplane ride. It is actually an embarrassing confession. I do have my passport, but it’s still unmarked. A little trip to a beautiful and remote island would be a wonderful present!

10)  Surprise Me!: Yes! Throw me a surprise party with all my loved one’s invited. Lots of dance and music and karaoke and lots of fun. Give me something which I never expected yet secretly desired. I have often maintained that flowers are a waste of money but then which girl does not like being pampered with flowers and chocolates and stuffed toys! I like creative gifts. Hand made ones always make me emotional. I love self drawn birthday cards. I wish someone would write me letters on my birthday. I hope to find my mailbox full of letters and cards and parcels when I wake up in the morning. I just want to feel special and loved on my special day.

It’s not really crazy. A bit silly though, but mostly simple. It’s a well thought out list of my most desired wishes. And I guarantee that the return gifts would be even better!

So, make me happy!!

 P.S. Get working on it! Soon! :D

The Bridesmaid’s Day Out!

I have a self – diagnosed shopping phobia. It is a very rare phenomenon in the fair sex. The symptoms aren’t too severe but guarantee many raised eyebrows and expressions of disbelief in whomsoever you confide your disorder. I’ll simplify my convoluted ranting for you. I am a lazy bum. I prefer spending my weekends sleeping or reading. Either way, don’t expect a happy expression if you try and make me leave my bed on a holiday. So of course, it was with ill – disguised irritation that I finally agreed to go shopping. I would have made another excuse but my Ma’s murderous glare made my decision for me. Besides, the shopping trip would have been slightly difficult without me. It was, after all, my dress that we were supposed to buy. The dress I would be wearing on my sister’s wedding. It wasn’t some posh mall or chick market that my mother had zeroed in on. It was Delhi’s biggest sari bazaar. It was, to my horror, Chandi Chowk. Foreign tourists and book writers like William Dalrymple have glorified Old Delhi as an aesthetic place and the real Delhi. But it is purgatory for luxury lovers like me. Its treacherous little gullies demand full attention lest you stumble and fall on cow shit. The stench from the public urinal (for men of course) follows you around till you are forced into breathing from your mouth. The traffic on the main road is forced into a crawl because there are too many people treating the main road as their own private garden. And even when you are inside the maze like streets of the main bazaar, you’ll never be alone because you would always be flanked by at least two stray dogs, more if you have some eatables in your hand bag. The streets wouldn’t have been so narrow originally. But there are roadside stalls on every available inch of the sidewalk and vendors display their wares on both edges of the road. There must be thousands of eateries in the narrow gullies of Chandni Chowk. Each thronged by scores of people relishing the un - hygienically delicious kachori, chana kulcha, chaat, chhole bhature and pakore. And there is the occasional daring rider on a scooter or a motorbike who would rush past you showing off his riding skills by tousling your hair, pinching your bottom or simply honking tirelessly as he rides away to glory. You can’t see the sun because the view is blocked by the old canted havelis and the tangle of electrical wires.

All this, along with the long tiresome walk to the very interior of the bazaar was a huge put off and I realized I had been frowning since I got off at the metro station. The first showroom was a complete waste of time and effort. There was a 15 minute waiting outside the shop. I had never had to wait to enter a shop before! The sales boys were rude, lecherous (which man isn’t in Delhi?) and arrogant. The clothes were too jazzy for my taste and the men too difficult to tolerate. The next shop was a riot of colours and noises. When we found a corner to sit (after waiting outside for 5 minutes), we waited (yet again) for some sales boy to notice our frantic waves and yells. Finally, someone obliged. Now starts the fun part! My Ma, sister and aunt had graciously accompanied me and were now ordering the salesman to show this sari or that lehenga. For most part of the evening, I was a passive observer. The variety was confusing. I couldn’t even find faults with the pieces the other three women unanimously shirked away after just one glance. After we (actually they) had finally zeroed in on 5 pieced, I was asked to try them on. So I stood to my full 5 feet 2 and a ½ inches height on a wooden plank while two salesmen busied themselves draping the shiny fabric on me. I have to admit, I looked good in every single one of them. I noticed various mothers nudging their soon to be married daughters and jealously pointing at me. Though I knew very well that the sales man’s praises were hollow flattery used lavishly on every customer to sell their wares, I was blushing as I twirled in the pink and green and yellow lehengas. When I thought we had finally chosen one, my aunt made a face and told the salesman that we weren’t satisfied and would like to look around before we finalized on something. I stared at my aunt with my mouth agape and longing in my eyes. I was tired (and I really liked the yellow lehenga). But my aunt was firm and led the way out of the crowded shop.

 It was beginning to get dark now. We had spent about an hour and a half in the second shop and now were heading toward the third one. I was about to complain about the stuffy place when I realized that the other three ladies were going through this ordeal for me. So I zipped my lips and trudged on behind them. The third shop was located near the famous paranthe wali gully. The delicious fragrance of the frying paranthas and pakoras and chaat made my mouth water and I suddenly realized how hungry I was. 

But the ladies were on a mission to find me a dress that very day. So in the next shop my expressions were obviously disgruntled. I did not even bother to take off my shoes (like I had in the previous two shops) to sit down as I was certain that my entourage would not be satisfied so easily. So I stood next to the door as the other three settled down to have a dekko of a hundred more dresses. But then I got enchanted by the pretty fabrics and designs. It might have been the salesman also who was very charming and had a penchant for selling. Then catching our pulse, he showed us a piece which immediately caught our attention and my fancy. It was beautiful and just perfect. No, it was not the colour I had in mind. Instead, it was of the combination I had sworn against. But when I wore it, I knew this was the one. The salesman was a clever fellow. The piece was way above the price range we had indicated. So after heavy bargaining which went on for ½ an hour, we submitted the advance. After a hurried dinner of dahi bhalla and tikki, we were on our way back.

(Note: My aunt was still unsatisfied. In her opinion, we should have been to more shops before settling on something!)

It was a tiresome day. But I would be lying if I said I did not like my image in the mirror, draped in the soft fabric studded with stones and beautified with threadwork. I felt beautiful and very feminine. Shopping for oneself isn’t so bad I guess. Next weekend, I would be shopping for the dress I would be wearing on my sister’s engagement! :P 

Preface

Ah, first love. Falling in love for the first time is quite like the first rains of the season. Pleasant, but still unsatisfying. It is such a unique feeling, this first love. Recently a friend of mine, whom I considered rather unromantic, admitted to being smitten. While we were conversing I felt a slight ache in my cheeks and realized I had been smiling since the beginning and for some weird reason, just couldn’t stop! Maybe because I was elated for my dear friend or maybe because it brought back fond memories or a bit of both.

My friend, let’s call him Mr. A, is not in love, so he claims. But I rather strongly believe that he is falling in that beautiful, treacherous thing called love. Listening to him struggling for the right words is such a treat. First comes the admission. Mr. A is a very smart and wise guy, though reserved and shy of nature. I can only imagine how hard it would have been for him to admit his feelings. It was by an accident that I caught him and then the persistent woman I am, I wiggled the story. And I am so glad I did. I could feel the internal conflict in his mind: to tell, or not to tell. But then, these things are hard to hide. Because there is a constant need to share your confusion, your feelings with someone. Yet, trusting someone with your feelings is a hard decision to make. Some corner of your mind is always busy thinking about that special person while another part builds up a denial, though a weak one. There is an unexplainable desire to talk about that person which wins over all defenses.

Thus, in some time Mr. A did oblige me by sharing some of his thoughts. In the process, he exposed his vulnerable and soft side which secretly hopes that the object of his admiration has feelings for him too. His every detail (extracted after a lot of effort from my side) was followed by a quick denial. Time for an example:

Me: So, do I know the girl?

Mr.A: No. But I don’t know her myself. It’s nothing like that. Don’t overwork your brain.

Me: Ok, so is she from (name of a place)?

Mr. A: Hmmm.. Maybe. But there is no one! Believe me!

Me: Yes yes. I totally believe you *wink wink*

Mr. A: I haven’t spoken to her ever

(This, my friends, is the admission to some feelings)

Me: So, is it love at first sight?

Mr. A: I don’t know (very typical of him!). But I do know that she had a crush on me but then, the stupid guy I was, I never paid attention.

(And the regret seals the matter. And again, the denial follows…)

Mr. A: But it really is nothing like that… Just… I have a faint liking for her…
Me: This is how it starts!
Mr. A: But it's nothing. There is no one!

And the conversation continues in the same vein. Soon, I come to know details like her name, and how Mr. A is acquainted with her and how much this love story has progressed. The details flow easily because the desire to just talk about her, to have your mind filled with that person’s image takes over the rational sense of being secretive. But to cover this word spill, soon follows the lame line that nothing would come out of it, which the speaker himself doesn't want to happen.

The entire conversation was so sweet and full of longing and emotion and fears and hopes. I, being the third party, thoroughly relished the sweet play of confused emotions which flowed uninterruptedly.

Here’s hoping that Mr. A’s love story would find a beautiful beginning because the preface is definitely heartwarming.

Cheers Mr. A!

There's more to it

It was a really tiring day. I went to work. The metro was crowded. The work was really exhausting. It was a long shift. The pressure was too much. The metro back home was crowded too. I have an early morning shift tomorrow so I should probably sleep early. But I have this assignment to finish…

Stop right there! If your diary or mind is full of such thoughts at the end of the day, then you are in some serious trouble here mate. The only difference between you and a pre – programmed robot would be fuel composition. More than 70% people in the world are doing a monotonous job. (CAUTION: The facts are based on nothing at all but my personal opinion which again, can’t be held in high regard. Regardless, if you have been following my blog, you should have become smart enough to understand the point and ignore the fictional data. Moving on…). If all these people have their minds full of work and work and more work, then our planet earth would be invaded by robot like humans! I can imagine zombie like people walking the earth in a mechanical fashion with glazed eyes and wires sprouting from their brains. Aaaarrgh! Mere thought of it is scary!

So coming straight to point. Why does our life have to revolve around work? Many of my critics would argue (as that’s the only thing they are good at) that we spend around two – thirds of our day, if not more, at our work place or travelling to and from work. One third of the day is spent sleeping which I strongly assert is so not enough!  Which leaves us with around 6 hours for our own selves. So logically, our life has to revolve around our jobs. But my dear buggers, the way to work can be rather interesting if you pay a little attention. And now follows one of my famous examples:

I travel around 3 hours everyday to and from work. Most of the journey is via Metro. The view isn’t really breathtaking, but it is rather interesting. My shift is early morning so I see the sky changing colour. I count the buildings. I test by memory by trying to predict which building would be next. My favourite stretch is between Indraprastha and Yamuna Bank . There is a railway bridge over Yamuna and the banks are so green and the birds fly over it and twice I saw two trains crossing on the bridge. It is just awe inducing. I involuntarily smile whenever the metro crosses this beautiful sight and people stare at me thinking I’ve gone mental!

And when I am underground, I pay extra attention to people. They can be so unintentionally funny at times! Especially the aunties. They’ll fit their ample derrière in a space where none exists forcing the others to sit on half their bum or get off the seat. Or the uncles who’ll talk so loudly on their flashy Chinese handsets. Or the Bihari young man who’ll play cheap Hindi songs or old English tracks or loud Punjabi numbers on their cheap cellulars to impress the ladies! Or the college crowd which tries to look cool with their earplugs while trying to look indifferent as they check out potential girlfriend and boyfriends. It is such an interesting mix of cultures.

And then there is so much to observe at your work place (to a level which doesn’t interfere your work of course!). So it doesn’t have to be all about your job. You don’t have to be mechanical. The world around you is so full of amazing things which deserve your attention!

So join the observational drive today and save the earth from robotic invasion!

:P

The Half - Truth: Merit List

The Half - Truth: Merit List

Merit List

In my extremely uneventful 20 years and 10 months, I have met thousands of people. Of them I remember a few hundred and rest I forget without a glimmer of regret. Of the ones I remember, I like about a hundred (most I like and some I like very much), I dislike around thirty and I don’t spare many emotions for the rest. Of the hundred I do like, I can count the people I love on my fingertips. Of these handful loved ones, there are only about ten people with whom I can be myself and I can trust them with my secrets, thoughts,  joy, sorrows and my life.

This part is easy. The tough part is answering the following questions. How many people find me worth remembering? In how many ‘I LIKE’ lists do I feature and how many people have added my name in their HATE lists? For how many am I like cellophane: Invisible and disposable from their lives. Who are the people who love me? For how many am I indispensable and trustworthy?

Of the above questions, the important task is to know the answer to the last two questions. If most of the people on your ‘I LOVE’ list find you lovable too, then you should know that you are an extremely lucky person. All you have to do is ensure that it remains this way always. And in case, you are special for a person who might have just made it to your ‘I LIKE’ or worse, ‘INVISIBLE’ list, then you just have to make some extra effort to understand them more and if not love, respect them and be grateful for their generosity towards you.

After all, these are the people who make your life worth living.

P.S. If I could name all the people who have made my life special with their lead role, supporting role and cameos, I would have. But then, written lists bring a smile to a face but remembering and cherishing someone in your heart brings joy to lives.

Liar Liar

Someone random: Hey, how are you?

Me: Hello. I am fine. Thank you. How have you been?

Don’t read too much into the conversation. There are no innuendos here, no double meanings. This is a conversation you might have had million or more times. And more than 80% of the time you would have been lying. (The statistics are purely fictitious, highly exaggerated and based on my personal experiences, which in most people’s book won’t count as anything. Moving on.). There are, of course, no prizes for guessing what the lie is. (For the dim witted, it is the three words written post the colon in bold type: I am fine).

You can of course argue that you actually felt fine or good or great or mast (or whatever one word adjective you might have graced the interviewer with). That would be touché. I only speak for myself. If I try and recall (with no guarantees of exact recollections because of my erratic memory), I have never ever been just fine. Go ahead, call me a filthy liar. But trust me, it saves a lot of energy and exercise of mental faculties on my part, saves the listener from bouts of extreme confusion or boredom and in general, saves a lot of time. And believe you me, you wouldn’t have wanted me to go on one of my incomprehensible ranting sprees anyway!

Don’t worry your pretty little head wondering why am I never fine. I’ll answer with another question; how can anyone be just fine? The term ‘fine’ seems like an imposter camouflaging as a positive word. In fact I believe it has a very negative connotation. Ok, time for another of my famous examples.

I have just had a huge fight with my sister (which is not a rarity actually). I am fuming mad; willing to have my only sibling’s blood on my hand. My hands are itching to throw something. The nerve on my forehead is threatening to burst unable to take the suddenly escalated blood pressure. And then:

Someone random (Let’s call the poor chap ABC): Hi. How are you?

Me: I am mad enough to kill someone right now!

ABC: Oh. What happened?

Me: I had a  huge fight with my sister.

ABC: You have a sister?

Me: Apparantly

ABC: Younger or elder?

Me: Anukriti is 2 years elder to me. Her birth date is 25^th September. She is a Libran. Her favourite colour is pink. She is recently engaged. She has two moles on her back and one on her hand. Anything else?! (Heavy sarcasm! I love it!)

ABC: Oh. Why did you have a fight with her?

Me: Because she wore something that I wanted to wear.

ABC: You share clothes?

Me: No idiot. We were just fighting for the heck of it!

And I would have ended up killing this someone random, so lovingly named ABC, eventually. To avoid risking arrest, I would obviously take the easy way out and politely offer: I am fine. How about you?

And anger and depression and all the other negative emotions aren’t the only things which are hard to express and explain. Even happiness can’t be explained to certain ‘someone random’s. I have often tried to share my joy with people by offering: I am ecstatic, I am on top of the world, I am so happy I could die, in place of plain old boring fine or good. But then the questions which followed are enough to kill your joy and change it into irritation. Of course, I speak for myself because I am one of those low – lives who get irritated at even a little show of stupidity. I can’t help it if I have high expectations of being perfectly normal from people! That’s silly of me. But that’s how it is with me.

And hence, I prefer to keep the interviewer in dark by offering a little lie which does a world of good to both the parties. And this is one lie I am willing to buy too!

Superglue

When I feel so lost

So tired and bereft.

To heal my broken heart

I gather all that’s left.

I think of all that’s hurt me,

He and she and you.

While I seal the broken pieces,

Together with superglue.

With your jazzy boots,

You crushed all of my dreams.

And then to crush my spirit,

You made those wicked schemes.

I pick up the little pieces,

They were shimmering green and blue.

Then I sat down to mend

My dreams with superglue.

He tries, she tries, you try.

They try a little more.

To kill my will and hopes

And bury them under the floor.

I just try harder

to keep my goal in view.

And that’s the secret strength

Of my super Superglue!

Stupid Wise Man

The wise man, who said that patience is rewarded, obviously had no experience of job hunting in the 21^st century. 

• He (I believe he was the male of the species because his female counterpart would have been more perceptive about the job scene in the future. Before I stray to feminism, let’s go back to current issue), he never opened accounts on a score or more websites, which promised fastest job offers suiting his profile, just to have his inbox flooded with spam mail.
• He never had to call a dozen companies a week just to hear a polite ‘Mail your CV. Will get back to you’, or a curt ‘No vacancy’.
• He might not have ransacked the city for a decent job, travelling in stinky DTC buses with his nose stuck in a hairy uncle’s smelly armpit.
• He doesn’t seem to have waited anxiously for a reply from some organization which promised to ‘get back to him soon’ for days.
• He might never had to swallow his dignity and pester his hardly – related relative for a reference in a company where the relative’s wife’s brother’s brother – in – law’s mother – in – law once worked.
•  He would never have become suddenly obsessed with technology, checking email every 15 minutes and impulsively glancing at his mobile every 43 seconds to check if his phone has full connectivity in case someone calls with a job confirmation.
• He definitely wouldn’t have tried to remain out of public eye in case someone conversationally asks: “So what are you doing these days?”.
• Lucky fellow, he wouldn’t have become paranoid wondering whether his parents resented him sitting at home doing nothing.

As you might have guessed already, being so smart and all, I am taking out my frustration at still being jobless despite my talent and skills and even looks! Not that life isn’t throwing lemons at me. I’ll explain my condition with an analogy:

My plate is full of seafood, butter chicken, lamb chops but alas, I am a vegetarian. I just don’t get what I want. Super frustrating! My patience is withering as it still hasn’t yielded me any useful results. Stupid wise man! Or maybe my patience just ran out the door followed by my sanity, good humour and good mood.

*grumble grumble*

सफ़र

नीन्द की गोद से,
उठा इक जोश से,
आज इक नया सफ़र होगा।


पुरानी बातो का,
और इन हालातो का,
क्या अब कोइ असर होगा?


इक अजनबी अनजान सा,
चेहरा दिखता है आइने मे।


इस अन्जाने को,
फ़िर घर लाने मे,
ज़िन्दगानी का बसर होगा।

MAMMA MIA!

Mothers! They can be so infuriating. Ugh! They are like some cryptic unsolvable puzzle. It’s hard to comprehend the workings of their convoluted minds. 

So, what brought this ranting on? An old classmate’s article got published in some unread supplement of a daily newspaper. And because that supplement does not get many advertisements and hence, has a lot of free space, they also published a 10’ X 6’ picture of her. Trust me. Having worked with newspapers, I know how these things work. Besides, her face looks bloated! Ma did not even happen to come across this article while her daily newspaper scanning. My classmate’s mother, who happens to be a close friend of my mother, called Ma up to share (or rather brag!) this good news. The minute the line went dead, Ma screamed for me making me run down, two stairs at a time, wondering what I have done wrong now! There she stood. One hand on the hip, one hand shoving a crumpled newspaper under my nose. As I tried to bring my heart rate back to normal she went on to read that article in rather alleviated tones, her pitch a few octaves above normal. I could only catch the words – topper, brilliant, creative because of the unnecessary emphasis on them. The rest of the words were incomprehensible, what with her reading at inhuman speed! When I could finally make her calm down and take a few deep breaths, she looked at me with accusing eyes as if I had printed the stupid article with that even stupider picture! Of course she was jealous. I had bereft her of the chance to show her daughter off at work by not appearing on that hardly – ever – read – inconsequential supplement of the newspaper. I was incensed enough to throw her a smoldering look and stomp back right up the stairs. To aggravate the effect, I slammed the door to my room as well.

She loves me. She is proud of me. I was there those umpteenth times when she exaggerated my handful achievements. I have seen that glint in her eyes when she raises her chin and haughtily tells her relatives, friends, colleagues and whosoever will listen about the wonderful talents that her daughter possesses. I have heard her laugh her musical laughs reserved for special occasions when her relatives, friends or colleagues praise her daughter.

But I have also noticed the underlying provocative tone when she narrates, with redundant details, achievement of other kids, as if challenging me to retaliate by performing some more praise worthy tricks which she can boast about. I have also heard that edge in her voice when she compares me with others. It is an unfathomable mix of emotions. She is jealous, encouraging, angry and determined. And that is a fatal combination.

Isn’t it weird? Every little achievement of ours is hyperbolized and presented in awe – inducing ways before others. But every unachieved milestone is made into a mountain.

Sigh. Mothers. You love them. But you can’t understand them. 

Open Party!

Are you nine months pregnant? Are you one year old or younger? Are you a cynical I – Only – Drink – Mineral Water – foreigner? Do you have pneumonia? Are you hydrophobic?

If the answer to all the above questions is no, then you can celebrate. Because monsoon has graced Delhi and how! And no, celebrating does not only mean devouring hot pakoras (though it is a huge part), staring at the clouds and the tress from your window, updating your Facebook status to ‘’Yayiee, it’s raining”.

Let me elaborate.

Celebrating the rain means being IN the rain.

Feeling the cold water saturate your hair slowly; shivering slightly as the first few drops slither down your neck; watching your clothes go perceptibly darker with the water, tasting the slightly saline rain drops on your lips.

That’s not all.

Call up your friends, splash around in puddles, put on some music and perform your cobra and snake charmer dance out in the street!

Become a little crazy!

Shout when the thunder rolls, shriek when lightning flashes.

Or just close your eyes and face heavenwards and enjoy the pitter patter of rain as it wipes off all the exhaustion from your body.

Breathe in the smell of the wet earth.

And if you don’t have friends around you, then just walk in the rain. Watch the women rush home hitching up their saris and trying futilely to stop their umbrella from blowing away. See the little kids dancing in the rain as their parents keep a watch on them from the balconies. Maybe sing a little to yourself, think about the person you want to share the moment with. You won’t even realize when a smile will lighten up your face.

And when you walk back home, listen to the quiet dripping of water from your clothes leaving a trail behind you. Hear the persistent squeak of your rubber chappals. Feel the water from your hair slither down the back of your t – shirt. Wring the end of your shirt when you feel the uncomfortable weight of your wet clothes brushing against your semi – dry skin.

You know the best part? This party is open to everyone. Age, sex, race, religion, condition no bar. Even if you end up with a slight cold, you’ll know that you made someone smile; someone who was watching from the window soaking up the joy of rain just by watching you.  

Sambhar

Sambhar

I was one of the unfortunate one’s who endured Dharma production’s latest attempt at producing a blockbuster for themselves. I Hate Luv Storys. Throughout the torture, the upmost thought on my mind was ‘When would this be over?!’ followed by ‘How could they make this sh*t’. But when I could finally bring myself to even think about this movie in retrospect, the only thought on my mind was not love stories, or how cute Imran looked or how dumb Sonam really is, or how I can make better films and how I am a better actor than Ms. Kapoor or how would New Zealand be as a honeymoon destination but… what was I saying again? Oh yes, sorry :P. The predominant issue was perfection. Oh no I am still sane. The movie was a far cry from being perfect but we are now above and over it. Perfection in us mere mortals.

I am sure everyone harbours different expectations from their partners which are never satisfied. So this means no one has a Mr./ Ms. Perfect. I believe people are like sambhar. Yes, yes, the sambhar from  idli – sambhar. A perfect sambhar should be an accurate mixture of spices. It should be a bit sweet and a bit sour and a bit spicy. But the only trouble is that there can’t be a fixed recipe which would go down well with everyone. You see, everyone has different tastes and preferences. And taste is not the only parameter. Temperament is also an important consideration sir. Some like their sambhar extremely spicy while others prefer it slightly sweet. Some want it steaming hot while some need it to be luke warm. But howsoever it is, it is never perfect. Take my example. I am vegetarian and what makes matters complicated is that I don’t relish half the green stuff that grows on Mother Earth. Hence, I like my sambhar minus the veggies. But I don’t like it plain as well. So apart from being the right amount of spicy and the exact temperature that I can enjoy without burning my tongue it should also have only the green stuff which I can tolerate. Complex much? Well, it is nothing! The specifications for some people never end. Remember what the original concept was?

Sambhar = People

I am sure the smart ones would have understood by now. But here follows the explanation for the tube lights. Your sambhar can never ever be perfect. We all succeed in pin pointing some spice which wasn’t added. And if we can’t find anything to criticize, it would just be the salt. Either a pinch more or less. But never satisfactory. Just like that, the people you are with are never right. Some missing ingredient always spoils the fun. The solution is not to carry with you a sack full of spices or a microwave to spice/ heat up your sambhar to your preferred temperature. The key is to enjoy and appreciate what you have rather than spoiling your mood over what you don’t. Adjust. I’ll share a secret with you today. My dad says, if you have your meals with a smile on your face and appreciation in your heart, no matter what you are eating, you would always find it yummy. And if you still don’t, it would prove that there is something majorly wrong with you. But in that case just remember your science and list down all those vitamins and minerals and other healthy stuff that meal would give you. Be thankful for what you have. And you’ll find that your sambhar is just right!