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.