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!