Whats sets us apart

We might not be a clean and green country with a robust economy but India has one thing that sets us apart from the rest of the globe. We have a unique character. Brits are snobs. Americans are jolly. Australians are shrewd. Africans are...well... black. But Indians- the word which does justice to us is, unpredictable.

Despite years of trying to look suave and cool like the west, India's image is still that of an eccentric, poor and culture rich country. Just like our nation, we all try to fit in somewhere. We try so hard to blend in our new office, neighbourhood, in - laws family, even in a fancy restaurant we are paying to eat at. Sometimes we succeed too. But mostly we just end up feeling uncomfortable and someone we are not. So why try so hard to pretend when the characteristic we are trying most hard to hide is the one which sets us apart.

For those who follow the hit TV series, How I Met Your Mother, it might not be unbelievable that my favourite is Barney Stintson's. His character is a heady mix of a womaniser (understated) and a romantic who'll do anything to keep his beloved happy. Despite being rich, suit clad 24*7 and legen-wait for it-dary, his character is easy to hate with the way he objectifies women but irresistible for his unconditional love for his friends. I could guess the characterisation of the rest of the characters in the first episode but Barney surprised me in each season. That is what set him apart.

No, I'm not paid to do PR for HIMYM. The point I want to make is, different is good. Trying to make ourselves into someone acceptable and likable won't work for long. If we are different, let people categorise us as that. Which would be better than being thought about as a person we are not and have to work hard to be.

Save the disguises for the theatre. Being yourself is in! And that is what will set us apart.

But you are too young to be married!

I'm 23. I'm engaged.

And it seems like the most drastic thing that a 23 years old could be.

When the news got out, before being congratulated on having landed a talented and handsome young man, most of my well wishers asked, so soon? But you are so young! Why the hurry?

Its funny that I was never told you are too young for this when I won the lead actress award for a school theatre in second grade. No one asked what the hurry was when I read my first Shakespeare at age 7. Why was I not asked in surprised tones why I had to choreograph my parents' 25th anniversary programme when I was at a young and impressionable age of 15. I wasn't questioned about being too young to be a leading news channel's youngest anchor at 21 years of age. No one raises an eyebrow at the fact that at 23 years I'm as (if not more) qualified and in a better income bracket than their son of 30 years! So if I wasn't too young to be all the above, why am I too young to be married?

So when relatives, family, friends, colleagues or even random people sound more surprised than happy at the news,(What?! You are getting married! So soon?? Why?! I can't believe you are already engaged at 23! Oh anyway, congratulations) I fail to see the 'big deal' in the entire issue.

And for those, who keep asking me why so soon, the reason, my dears is love. And if that isn't reason enough for you, then to each her own.

P.S. I'll rather have my fun when I'm young and excited about it than waiting for the appropriate age. :P

Unachievables

We have all had that one thing which we wanted with all our heart and soul but certain situations or conditions rendered them unachievable. It is common occurence for the unachievable to be a person. Something or someone we have always fantasised about or wanted to call our own. The pursuit of the unachievable brings out the romantic, the poet and the dreamer in us. We are so engrossed in trying to achieve the unachievable that we never give much attention to how the desired object fits into our life. And when I say object, I mean both the living and the non - living because in our efforts to win the target, fuelled by mindless passion, even though unintentionally, we become a little selfish and end up disregarding the feelings and needs of the prize we have set our eyes on.

In our minds, the race to win becomes an unending process, the end of which we don't give much thought to. When maybe just by coincidence or maybe owing to our incessant efforts or maybe because of a little bit of both, we achieve the unachievable, our joy has no bounds. I'm sure you know where I'm heading. But I'll continue anyway. The rejoice is often short lived because after we are done admiring our achievement, we might be at a loss of words when we ask ourselves 'what next' or when we begin to think 'this doesn't feel right'. This moment maybe delayed but it will come. One day or the other. The romantic in you will never acknowledge it but there will be no getting away from it.

But it shouldn't keep you from wanting, desiring and aiming. Because whether we have realised it or not, we all live for the race. We all need a dream which becomes a purpose towards which all our efforts are aimed. It is just important to remember always the feeling we had when we first made the unachievable our life's goal which will help us keep its importance fresh in our minds. And to find a new unachievable. But it shouldn't conflict with your achieved unachievables.

The world is full of possibilities and impossibilities. Never stop dreaming. Never stop cherishing the dream you turned into reality.

Pain and Pleasure

There are days when I thank my father for sharing his X chromosome with Ma. Days like rakshabandhan, weddings, navaratri pooja, travelling in the ladies coach of the metro and marvelling at how so many men could fit into that space in the general coaches! etc.

And there are days when it absolutely sucks being a girl like during 'Those' days of the month, walking on the street and being undressed by mere eyes of scores of lechers etc.

But there is one place about which I have never been able to make my mind. It makes me feel beautiful. It gives me immense pain. It gets me compliments but it can be expensive. I am sure most girls would have guessed by now that it is our very own (drum roll) Beauty Parlours!


Well, I don't know how the rest of you feel about these places but I absolutely detest spending a good part of the coveted weekend in salons. Just the thought of hot wax and the sound of hair being uprooted makes me want to delay the torture for as long as I can. Only the undeniable want of lounging in a pair of well worn shorts on a hot summer day makes me endure the torture. I remember asking my Ma the reason behind the discrimination: Why do girls have to keep their mane long, and body hair free and eyebrows tweaked? But metro sexuality becoming a rage has satisfied the feminist in me. Now the 'un'fair sex knows that beauty comes at a cost which can't be paid in money alone.

Last weekend, after delaying it for as long as I could, I finally visited a salon. My regular parlour being shut on Sundays, I drove to the nearby market and entered the first decent looking salon. I could guess from the plastic on the chairs and the extra white towels that it is a new facility. A boy wearing a horrendous shade of blue denims, pointy black shoes, an eyebrow ring and bleached spiked hair greeted me. I rattled out the list of 'surgeries' I needed. After denying the need for too long I had decided to go an extra mile today. The boy looked startled and looked around for help as I explained the procedures I wanted performed. Seeing his distress a matronly woman, the arch of her eyebrows touching her hairline, came nodding at me. After a round of explanations, suggestions and discussions, I finally settled for a satisfactory package.

I was led to a booth with a wooden table like bench in the centre, flanked by tables and drawers full of bowls, pastes, creams, lotions, tools and other surgical looking equipment. Despite many many visits to salons, I could never get quite used to getting undressed in strange places, be it changing rooms or parlours. So I blushed when a sweet looking girl with long curly hair asked me to take off my weekend attire, Papa's old T - shirt and a dhoti, and offered me a big fluffy white towel in exchange. As she powdered my arms and heated the wax she began the preliminary questioning: Is it my first time here? Have I tried Italian wax?
As she applied the hot wax on my bare skin and I winced, she blew lightly on the wax and asked me gently several times if it was too hot. And the questions became bolder and more personal: What college do I study in? Oh! Working? But you look so young! The girl herself didn't look much older than me. As she checked the temperature of the wax, I asked if she was training here and since when has she been working. So as she deftly dealt with my arms using a spatula, hot wax and strips of special paper, we exchanged life stories.

By the time she led me to the black swivel chair to tweak my brows, we were comfortable as old friends (and she had convinced me to take my first pedicure). She talked about her parents and how she decided to become a beautician as the sharp thread plucked at my eyebrows. She let me relax quietly as she massaged, scrubbed, washed, buffed and polished my face with a large number of products, many of which I can't even pronounce. As I talked about my job, bitched about travelling, told her about my friends and family, shared my woes, she listened patiently while scrubbing away at my feet asking me a question or two to keep me going.

At the end of the 3. 5 hour session and some 6 intense treatments later, I felt pretty and so much lighter (my wallet felt pretty light too). As I stepped out of the salon wearing the same old T - shirt and dhoti, I felt more confident and happier. Thanks to that girl who worked hard on me to make me pretty and also to help me release my mental pressures. As I drove back home, I realised I didn't even know her name and I never told her mine. These directionless conversations which go beyond the formalities of exchanging names sometimes mean so much more than so many conversations we have with different people everyday.
Hundreds of girls get the pain and pleasure treatment everyday in parlours across the world. And these parlours aren't just a place for beauty treatments but also a place to exchange stories and smiles :)

Drifting Away...

 Friends are the family we choose for ourselves. College was the golden era of my life. And my definition of this era isn't limited to endless gossiping, our 'chit' chats in lectures, the night stays, Momo's point, mindless discussions on everything under the sun sitting on the metro station platforms, bitching and more bitching, and uncountable such things. Though these things make my three years from 2007 to 2010 most memorable, what makes this time of my life is how life changed after it. Sitting on the worn out blue linoleum floor of the freezing studio, lounging on the blue frayed velvet couch, feasting on subsidised snacks in the canteen, along with making opinions about some important and many not - so - important things in life, I made friends who taught me the real meaning of the term friendship.

In those three years, life revolved around these handful of people. Sharing joy and sorrow, we forged a bond which was to last a lifetime. It wasn't during the final examinations or the farewell party. It was in the spring of 2010, on the last day of college, forgetting and forgiving all trivial differences and grudges, when we hugged and cried and wished each other well in life, that it finally began to sink in. Sitting opposite the building where we had sat till late in the night discussing movie scripts, assignments, politics, fashion, boys and the like, that the realisation dawned that this is where our journey together ends and we take separate ways. The following few days I chided myself for being unnecessarily dramatic. Technology has advanced ample to keep us in touch and still avoid the hefty bills! But silly me, the remaining balance in my cell phone should have been the last of my worries.

Two years after graduating, time and distance have begun to prove my smartphone useless for staying in touch. There is an option to text, chat and email apart from calling, but it is just that we have begun to run out of things to talk about. 'Real life' has changed the idealistic opinions I once sweared by and changed are the friends with whom I debated endlessly defending my stand on multiple issues. It was never intentional, this growing apart. But somehow, catching up with friends, laughing on old silly jokes, talking about us kept going down the priority list. Some people with whom I shared my deepest secrets and worries have just become a name on my BBM friend list. Friends who used to know what's going in my head just by looking at me have gone so far that when we talk on the phone after weeks, all we get to do is exchange formalities. No one is to blame. Time is always too less and distances too much. Work keeps us busy and there are things to keep us preoccupied in the free time. I hold no grudges against the friends with whom I shared Rs. 2 per piece samosa, class notes and my life story. I hope they don't either. I am glad we met and bonded.  I wish things had been different and efforts had been made to stay in touch. But then friendships which require efforts never go a long way. People meet and move apart. This gradual drifting away becomes prominent on days like today, when I sit with newer friends and hear them reminiscence about their friends and their golden era.
All friendships aren't bonds. Most are just beautiful pictures which bring a smile to our faces when we think about the memories they gave us. Those friendships which survive the growing distances and shrinking times are like a film shoot which never ends. Keep adding newer scenes to your film story and visit the memory albums often. They might have drifted away, but the memories we have with them are ours to keep.

:)

High Point

Whenever I am reading celebrity interviews (although I strongly believe that more than half of the people flashing their best smiles or other assets on cover page of glossies don't deserve to be called that, but to indulge them and move on quickly to the point I'm trying to raise, let's call them celebs), I begin to imagine how I would have answered those witty, straight, sharp or philosophical questions and I often end up paying more attention to the questions than to the highly diplomatic or dramatised answers of the 'stars'. But one question always leaves me at a loss of words or thoughts.


Q: What is the high point in your life?


By this terminology, I believe they mean the time when a person has felt best. Now, at 22, I used to think I had seen life and its ups and downs. That I had seen, if not experienced, all varieties of joy and pain. And after careful analysis of my past diaries and racking my mind for a suitable memory or incident which could fit the bill, when I still came up with a blank expression, or at best a shrug, to that question I surmised that it isn't really necessary to have a high point. Maybe soft slopes are all I will have in my life and never a 'high point'.


Well, that was till 15 days back. On the night of June 1, 2012, my high point came in the world batting her eyes at me like a little white alien. Meow had arrived.

Nothing has given me such indescribable joy than seeing this tiny life which shifted the axis of life for atleast 8 people. Although I can't claim any biological right on her but if you ask me now whom I adore the most in this whole wide universe, I won't take a second to take her name. My sister, this angel's mother, might never have meant so much to me (and that is something to say because I love her like I love my right hand!) like this new comer does withing seconds of her arrival. I still spend nights flipping through her pictures, laughing out loud at some of her expressions or shedding a tear or two of joy looking at her cherubic face, the peace emanating from this serene being and the tiny fragile looking fingers which hold your finger tightly with unconditional trust.


With Meow, my life feels complete and as she blossoms, my joy would multiply. Like a friend of mine beautifully said, my world revolves around this baby girl who had been a stranger 20 days back. I'll change my priorities for this little bundle of joy who wouldn't even talk to me for almost a year!


Meow is the beginning of many high points in my life.

The Complication called Love...

Read earlier posts of my blog  and the number of entries on 'love' will have you wondering how old I really am. But then, love always brings out the teenager in people. And teenage being the most interesting phase of life, gives a lot of spice to talk about!

It is sort of voyeuristic to scrutinise someone else's love life, but people tend to over play or under play their emotions when in love, both of which are bound to raise curiosity to know the reality.

Although its needless to repeat the cliché dialogue of Bollywood movies, but so that we are on the same page, here goes: Love doesn't know the boundaries of religion, age, status and now a days even gender! No one intentionally complicates their life by falling for someone out of their league. When you see a young girl and a (comparatively) old man walking together hand in hand, or spot a handsome guy enjoying a cosy rendevouz with a not - so pretty girl, you might scoff at them and question why, how and what. But does the word 'love' not suffice as an answer to all your doubts? See, love is not the most intelligent of emotions around. In fact, like most strong emotions like anger, jealousy, lust, even joy, it clouds over your reasoning ability. You think odd matched couples don't know that their future together might be bleak, their romance short lived or that they are inviting the ire of their friends, family and society? Oh, they know! They have analysed their situation from a million angles hoping to see a rosy picture from at least one of them. In spite of their success or failure in procuring a reasonable explanation for their situation, the irresistible attraction rules their mind.

New love is the most dangerous sort of love among other kinds. Because a new crush is hardly distinguishable from a new love, I have experienced the surging emotions, vulnerability and the irrational desire of being around ' him' several times now. And each time I have a new crush, which is very often, it hits afresh!

So considering the difficult time each love bound heart faces, I have tried to make it easier for them. I know it is easier said than done, but here goes:

1. Find a confidant: Oh how I wish I had someone like me to share my feelings which were creating a havoc inside me, when I was struggling with a new love.  Unlike most of us like to believe, our love story isn't one of a kind. People fall in and out of love all the time. So, never hold back thinking that no one will understand what you are going through. In fact, someone might even give you a much needed fresh perspective. You may or may not take their advice, but just being able to talk about your situation can be such a relief!

Note of caution: Find a trustworthy confidant. Gossip is fun only when you are doing it. And not when its about you.

2. Be true to yourself: Accept your feelings. Running away from them is not going to help. Talk to yourself. Or write if it helps (it works for me!). Once you organise your emotions and know how hard you have fallen, your corresponding actions would have more expected and desirable results. Well excuse me for sounding like an office clerk but sometimes love needs to be seen objectively to act reasonably. I know I'm doing it again. Anyway, basically be true to yourself. Don't keep trying to convince yourself otherwise.
Maybe it should have been point #1 but sometimes a third person makes you realise your true feelings.

3. Analyse: A guy (rather cute one at that) once told me that whenever he fell for someone, he imagined that girl sitting on his bike holding on to him with henna coloured hands. (He also mentioned, holding a baby or two, but I'm skipping that part because it did not fit with the image of myself on his bike which I was imagining with rich visual details in my head. Needless to say, I had a strong crush on him!). I'd like to believe that affairs/ relationships in this part of the world are still associated with a some what long term commitment. Even if you might get into a relationship thinking of it as a casual affair, a time might come when either you or your partner end up falling real hard in love! So, to avoid spending sleepless nights thinking, what to do now?, a little bit of analysing in the early stages can be a lifesaver. It might sound silly to many but I have always been a planner. And I wouldn't want to screw up my future because I'm happy watching movies or enjoying romantic meals with someone. There is much more to life than that. My mom often reminds me 'Pyar se pet nahi bharta'. So, analyse components like compatibility and maturity levels. Of course you might make mistakes because it is hard to reason with a love tinted mind. But visualising the future and analysing it a bit reduces scope of pain. Or at least prepares you for it. And that is how we come to point # 4.

4. Accept the consequences: If by now you have disregarded the above 3 points as being unrealistic, ruthless and heartless then I'm sure I can proceed to the last point so that you can complete my image in your head as a foolish young girl who knows nothing about the world but loves to preach anyway. And if by any chance, you have seen and understood even 10% of the logic I have tried hard to put behind the above three points, you might find point #4 bearable too. So after knowing your feelings, taking a trustworthy third party's opinion and analysing the situation you plan to take the plunge or decide to go in deeper than you already are, be ready to face the consequences too. Sorry if that came out creepy. Let me put it this way. All the good, happy, nice, joyful, sweet things that happen to you will be because of you. But then, don't blame anyone else for the bad ones too. If you have really analysed this relationship, then you might have a fair idea of complications that might arise and you are still going ahead with it because you believe you can handle it, you'll cross the bridge when you reach it or you have painted a much too hopeful picture. Whatever it might be, accept it with grace.

I am not a love guru. I don't have much personal experience of relationships. I'm just a keen observer. I know the above points aren't infallible. People change, time is a b*tch or we might be plain unlucky. Take it all with a pinch of salt.  Because what would love be if not complicated?

My Secret Diary

I was flipping through my journal last night for want of better things to do. Since, my life is not as eventful as it used to be when I was still in school or college, I update my journal on rare occasions. Or maybe the excitement and curiosity has dimmed with age. (I sound like a depressed middle aged spinster! Ageing sucks!). Back to my journal, I am glad I hide it in a super secret place and my sister is married and hence her snooping around has ceased. Basically, I'm glad no one really is interested in reading my diary entries anymore, because had they bothered, they might have had me admitted to some institution for cuckoos! I sound morbid to myself!

Well, my diary is way to personal to share examples with you but I'll give you the gist. Most entries show me upset and angry over a fight with my mother or friends. An argument I had with my sister. In entries from six months back I sound frustrated with my job. Even earlier, I was disturbed seeing my best friends moving out of town. Before that, when I was more regular, I am cribbing about some minor (actually, it was rather major at that that) argument in college. Oh, the one where I am just venting my anger and frustration are still fine, almost normal, almost. 

What really shook me were the frequency of entries full of self doubt. As much as I might advocate self introspection, it doesn't suit me. I sound guilty for someone else's mistakes. It feels like I'm holding myself responsible for someone else's misery. I have trashed my confidence by questioning my talent and potential and blamed myself for everything wrong happening in the world. Thank goodness, I did not hold myself responsible for global warming and terrorism else I would have committed suicide to relieve myself from all the grief after reading my own diary! But don't worry world, you still have your dear blogger for a long long time. *rejoice!*

Although I was taken aback after reading the morbid part, I soon realised that instead of sharing these macabre subjects with the few good people I have in my life, and hence, screwing up their mood as well, it is probably better to vent it all out of my system without letting my negativity to rub off on others. Not like my issues are major. In fact I have a blessed life *touchwood* and re - reading my diary just reinforced it. It is human to get worked up about things which scare or upset us, like sneaking out dad's car and crashing the tail lights beyond repair, feeling jealous when your best friend chose to be in someone else's work group rather than yours in college, feeling remorseful and a bit alone after your sister's wedding and... err... I guess I'm giving away too much now! 

But each of my morbid post taught me a lesson. No really! I'm not trying to be preachy here, just telling the truth. Now if I reflect on the bad parts, they have taught me a lesson and made me the strong person I am. Besides, what I really liked about all the negative entries was that they all end with a positive sentence, a hope that things would be okay. Even though a few times they look forced, but at least I was trying to make myself feel better (I must admit I'm impressed with myself!)

And there are those occasional feel good write ups about a nice date, a thoughtful chat with a friend, a family outing, a heart - to - heart with my mother or anything which upped the good quotient in the day! And I had written them in my diary because either they were too private to share or it was too late to call someone up and share and because I was so full of happiness that I could burst, I blurted it all in my little secret diary. But if the reason for the very limited number of happy posts is that I shared it with other people, then that makes the good moments more worthwhile.

So, how does your diary read?

The Sting

I wish I was a good storyteller. Sometimes I believe people should converse only through written material, there is host of options to choose from: texts, emails, letters and what not. But this blog post does not discuss better means of communication in the modern world (so you can breathe easy now). It just opens with me lamenting about how I don’t have any cool stories that I can share with grandkids and even if I had, I would just end up stuttering them, getting them all wrong and killing the fun element anyway. Now that I have gotten over with the lament, I won’t deprive you from a story. It’s a thriller and had you heard it from the horse’s mouth, you would have been listening with your mouth agape and eyes wide, just like I had been. I can’t give due credit to the person I am borrowing this experience from because it is a thriller with action sequences and guns. Anonymity isn’t a choice, but a necessity. To it make it spicier, I have taken the liberty of modifying it a bit and writing it in first person. Without further ado:

Journalism was not my first career option. I wanted to be a cricketer. I was a decent right handed batsman and a nasty spinner. But media happened to me. And so did this assignment. Ever since Tehelka, sting operations had become a rage. I had done plenty of stings till now. Catching petty police officers, clerks red handed on tape. I felt like James Bond. But then I realized that nothing really comes out of the effort. After a couple of stings, the excitement wore off. But this was different. This was big.

It is good to have connections with the media. Especially if your connection is a media baron with a whole range of channels and their crews at his disposal. Let me clarify, I’m not the one with the connections; I’m the disposable crew. So what happens when a hot – shot takes his media baron friend’s help in taking revenge from a rival? You are about to find out.

Our brief was simple. An admission racket was ruining the business of our big boss’s friend. We were to carry out a sting operation to catch hold of the agents involved who would give indications about their big daddy’s involvement. And in today’s world, indications and rumours are enough to build and destroy reputations. Money was not a problem. The entire operation was funded by the vengeance hungry big boss’s friend. He had given us strict instructions to ask him directly for any requirement. He did not trust anyone enough to be a middle man.

The first leg of the sting was carried out successfully in Bangalore. An agent had been traced. A person from our crew had won his trust and convinced him that he could act as a middle man between the agent and a rich party who was desperate to get his brother admitted in a top notch engineering college. The second phase was to be shot in Delhi. And this is where my role starts.

I was the rich party, a businessman from Hyderabad with a dumb brother and a lot of money. Vastu, my colleague and friend, had done brilliantly in the first phase of the sting. He was playing the part of the middle man. We had booked two adjacent rooms in a south Indian hotel. The first room was where the drama was to unfold. Five cameras had been hidden strategically in the 12’ by 12’ ft room. One was hidden in an old dialer telephone, one strategically placed behind two vase, two cameras were placed on diagonal ends of the ceiling disguised with curtain holders. And one camera was hidden in a bag. There were microphones all over. The wires were hidden beneath the carpets and taped to the corners behind the curtains. The second room was where the entire set up was. All the big machines, audio faders, monitors, controllers. The technical set up was all complete. And now I was told that the agent always carried a gun with him, but there was nothing to worry about. A team of five was right in the adjacent room. Suddenly I was paranoid. There were too many cameras. It was too easy to get caught. The bag with the camera had a lot of wires in it. Though the rest of the team had ensured me that the agent won’t bother looking inside the bag, I had insisted on being safe. Thus we had asked the big business man getting the sting done to give us 2 lacs in cash to cover the camera in the bag. Vengeance is sweet. And expensive. I still hadn’t gotten over the filmy style in which he got the money delivered to us. But then, this entire operation wasn’t anything normal. Even from the media perspective.

I had calmed myself down and gotten into character when the agent entered the room. After Vastu made the introductions, the agent began small talk. Vastu had the bag with the camera tucked under his right hand. Was I getting too paranoid or was the agent methodically scanning the entire room? And just when I had mentally reprimanded myself and reined in the horses of my imagination, the agent gestured towards the telephone and said, “They still have this make of telephones? Saar, this piece has taken my fancy. I’ll take it home with me saar. I’ll pay the hotel whatever compensation it needs”. My hands started sweating. I was struggling to keep the expression neutral on my face. The telephone had a camera fixed in it. If the agent went too close to the phone, our game would have been up in seconds. But I regained control and told him that trivial matters could wait as we had something more important to discuss. That silenced the agent but his expression seemed doubtful to me. Meanwhile, I and Vastu were getting rapid instructions on our discreet earpieces from the adjoining room. The angle of the camera hidden in the bag had to be adjusted to get a better shot and in attempt to do so, Vastu was fidgeting a bit too much for comfort. Suddenly the agent stood up, pointed at the bag and shouted, “What do you have in the bag? Why are you keeping it so close to you? Is there a camera hidden in the bag?”. I paled. Vastu paled. Suddenly I realized that it would take two seconds for the agent to pull out his gun and shoot us both. The entire crew in the next room won’t be much help. I could be dead in the next minute. I was frozen in my chair. I was only aware of the project incharge’s voice coming from the earpiece asking us to remain calm. He said the agent won’t shoot. I looked towards Vastu. He seemed to have recovered himself. He zipped open the bag and without moving the contents showed the layer of stacks of currency notes covering the camera. Vastu got up and shouted louder than the agent, “Are you mad, you jerk! This seems like a damned camera to you? We look like the media to you? Do you think any channel would pay a person enough to go to such lengths to catch hold of you? This was supposed to be advance money for you. And excuse me if I want to keep the money safe, close to me!”. I got the drift and shouted at Vastu in turn, “Who the hell have you brought to me? I can’t do business with these low minded cowards! I could have spent my money on any big college and you brought this dumb guy to me?”. I turned towards the agent. His face did not look very confident now. I pointed to the door and asked him to leave. Our cover could have blown off any moment. Our project incharge asked us to drop the operation here for now and continue tomorrow. We needed to win the agent’s trust. Hurrying through it would have been dangerous. A lot of money had been spent already and there was no scope for mistake. “Listen you jerk!” I shouted at the agent “If you don’t want to do business, don’t waste my time. You have ruined my entire day”. An authoritative tone was enough to make the agent wet his pants. It was obvious that he did not want to let a good party leave. In seconds his tone changed and he gave excuses for his behavior. Sting operations were too common these days and he had narrowly escaped a couple of them. Sadly, a journalist hadn’t. Thus, the revolver. I carried on my charade, “Look, I’m in no mood to work with you today. I would have to down extra pegs of whiskey to wash down your stupidity! Now get away from my sight. I’ll think about it tomorrow. And if you continue this moronic behavior of yours, rest assured that I won’t have the patience to give you another chance. Now scoot off”. Mumbling apologies and grateful words, the agent left. I could breathe normally again.

The next day. This time we were extra cautious. We were changing the setting of the cameras and the microphones again. The entire crew was in the first room, setting up. There were wires strewn everywhere. I was getting dressed. Vastu was the anchor for the entire programme and was recording a link right outside the room. Just then, the agent entered the corridor. It took him a minute to realize that the man standing with a gun mic in his hand wasn’t a middle man at all. That no deals were going to get finalized today. That it was a trap. It took us a minute to realize that our cover was blown. That the entire exercise, the money spent was wasted. That the agent could track us down and get us killed to keep his and his boss’s identity a secret.

The agent ran. We ran after him. This was no scene from a bollywood action movie. It was real. And it sucked! We drove after the agent as he dodged the traffic like a maniac. We finally overtook the agent’s Santro and skidded to a halt in front of him, blocking his way and forcing him to brake, right in the middle of the Teen Murti marg. Before the agent had the time to react and pull out his gun, we had pulled him out of the car and shoved him in our SUV’s backseat. He sat sandwiched between me and Vastu. I was panicking. What could we do now? We couldn’t have started afresh. His boss would have gotten careful. We could not have just let him go. He could have had us all killed. And had we come back without the sting, we might as well have said goodbye to our job. We were messed up. We parked the vehicle close to a police chowki at India Gate. It was very hot and I was sweating.

I called Pranay, another colleague. He was nearby and reached us in a little time. Pranay sat in the front passenger seat. Looked back and snarled at the agent, “Act smart if you don’t like to have two hands and legs.”. Now Pranay is a big guy, with bloodshot eyes. If he wanted, he could come across as a gangster. Seems like he wanted to. I felt the agent’s hands go cold in as Pranay coolly discussed what all we could do with him which broadly involved a lot of broken bones. The agent was shaking with fear. Pranay now directly threatened the agent, “I don’t have the patience for all this. Either you give us an on-camera confession of this admission racket with all the big names or I shoot you right here.” The funny thing was that amongst the five people in the car, the only person with a gun on him was the agent and he was the one being threatened. But the agent suddenly relaxed under my grip. He looked at Pranay with resolve and said, “Saar, shoot me please. If you won’t, he will do much worse than that. I am sorry. I can’t give you any byte or interview or confession. Please shoot me right now.”. He was sobbing uncontrollably. I shook him and said, “Look, we are not the bad guys here. We could hand you over to the police right now but I know your boss would fish you out and do much worse than what we or the police can do. So, co-operate with us. Just look into the camera, say whatever I ask you to and we can make sure you are safe. Surrender to the police and we’ll bail you out. We’ll send you to a new city, open up a new business for you, give you a new identity. No one would touch you. Your boss would probably be in jail after we broadcast your interview! You just have to cooperate.”. It took a lot of convincing and a few tight slaps from Pranay, but eventually the agent gave in. Not like he had a choice. He held the mic in his hand and delivered the lines we gave him perfectly. We drove him back to his car, which was still standing at Teen Murti marg, went back to work, edited the sting and put it on air. Well, the rest of the story can be rather controversial, even under the comforting blanket of anonymity.

Don’t feel sympathetic for the agent. Feel happy for me. I made it alive, and I still had my job. Of course I did not get promoted for it. But in this industry a “good job!” is as good as a medal. Maybe being a cricketer was a better option after all.

It's Different!

There are a few people in my Facebook friend list who never fail to amuse me. When my entire wall is buzzing with cricket fever, echoing the country's sentiment (Ind vs Pak match, to be more specific), they'll tweet about a hockey match between a couple of insignificant countries. When most status messages are applauding Sachin Tendulkar's 100th ton, they'll find something negative to say. If there is no current rage to denounce, they'll just get very critical about something or the other. The point is, they'd just be against the grain. They’d just be different.

But somehow, this ‘different’ is often a comment which is either negative or critical. Don't get me wrong, it is certainly not a bad thing. In fact, criticizing and cribbing is my forte. I used to get extremely pissed off with love birds littering my Facebook wall with hearts, 'aww's, 'love you', 'miss you' and 'mwah's. Public Display of Affection on a virtual social platform seems more perverse than PDA in real. As a knee jerk reaction I might have posted a sarcastic or rude message or two in a fit of irritation. But it always felt wrong, even though that realization hit later. One thing I admire about these social networking web portals is the 'options' they provide. Mr. Zuckerberg is a smart man and he understands that people can be unwittingly irritating at times. Hence, he gave us the option to hide notifications of such personalities while fulfilling social obligations as well (Refer to the earlier post: New 'Social' obligations http://slangguru.blogspot.in/2012/02/new-social-obligations.html). Such options have given me the freedom to choose the people I want to know about and how much access I grant them in my personal virtual life. Hence, it is now easy to avoid getting irked up at every other thing.

Being different or having a different opinion from the general trend is perfectly acceptable to me. In fact I respect and admire it. But I also strongly believe that to avoid the ire of most people one needs to know the art of presenting your distinct opinion in a diplomatic and polite manner, so as not to hurt someone else’s sentiments. I’m not the master of articulation and etiquette, but I get by fine just by knowing when to put a lid on my mouth. No one likes being boo-ed for having something different to say. I certainly don’t. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be a sheephead and follow the herd. Thankfully, there is a middle path: Shut up! Just because I like to think I am smarter than most people going ga – ga over Farmville, I won’t advertise it cheaply (excuse my language) by saying nasty stuff about people who play it. It definitely is the era of free speech, what with blogging and facebook-ing and twittering and what not becoming all the rage. But free comments are much like free advice. It is almost always worthless and invites flak.

Also, I’m sure having something different to say ensures lot of comments on your Facebook update but you don’t have to be something you are not, just to be popular online. Fake orgasms might sound like fun, make your partner feel macho, get the neighbors jealous but in actual it would just be extra effort on your part and not much fun.

So the next time you get irritated by a flock of girls giggling over Virat Kohli because he almost hit a double century or teenage boys updating status messages praising Tendulkar longer than their English exam answer sheets or a new couple getting mushy all over your wall control that urge to tick them off and update a status which would demean a lot of people. Because unless you are a pretty and single girl, you’d just be boo-ed down. And if you are a pretty and single girl, then ignore the entire blog. Do as you please. :P

Being different is a gift. Share it with people who will appreciate it. And don’t fake it. It might increase the number of hits of your virtual profile, but it will definitely hit your self respect as well. 

Rain forest in my eyes

From the serrated edge
Of words rude and curt,
The pieces are sharp
Rough edges hurt
Of the broken dreams
In my closed eyes,
Shut to the sun
And the clear skies.
Broken dreams are shed
And in turn
Room is made
For new ones


For now, my eyes are a rain forest...

New 'SOCIAL' obligations

No, not my family, not my partner, hardly a friend, then how does it matter what she/ he thinks of my actions? His opinion doesn't matter to me, and as far as I know, my stance hardly waiver her decisions, then why do I worry about their reaction before putting up a status on Facebook or BBM? I have never been very social. In fact, I often get reprimanded for not wanting to attend social events like weddings and other such parties with a lot of known people where I am supposed to smile and pay my respects to everyone. Now everyone I know is connected with me on FB. It is a like a big party where everyone is scrutinizing everyone else's actions.

It is great to connect again with old friends whom I had lost touch with. But things get weird when people I haven't ever shared a word with in person send me requests on Facebook which I am obliged to accept because we went to the same school (batches apart! Some had kids in diaper by the time I passed out or some were still learning the alphabet when I graduated to college.) Accepted because I  do not want to come across as a rude person. I get pinged on chat by people I don't remember and I end up asking them the same question every time they send a Hi! on my G-talk:

Hey, so what are you doing now? Really? You had answered this question 3 months ago when you first pinged me? (And still you expected me to remember it when I can't even recall where I know you from! Bleh!)

Things are different when strangers claim your attention with 'wanna make fraaandship with meh' proposals. Then it is easy to give them a piece of your mind in polite, funny or heavily sarcastic manner (depending on my mood, stranger's grammar and looks :P). But how do you say no to a person who can seemingly write a biography on you:

"Oh hey, how are you? Remember me? I am your friend ABC's cousin's friend. We met at ABC's birthday party 5 years back. How have you been? Do you still have boy- cut hair? And how is your mom? Still teaching in that school? And what is up with your sister? She was enrolled in that beauty - culture course, right? And your dad? Does he still walk to his school everyday? And how about you? I heard you are working with Zee News! And are you still seeing XYZ?"

I wonder if he/she maintained a diary dedicated to me to be able recall my boring life's details with such precision. Although answers of most of the questions are a negative but I still don't want to hurt that person's feeling with a response which sounds like: "My hair has grown much longer. Thank god for that! And I don't work with Zee anymore (Thank god for that as well :P). And I have no clue who you are and why you are disturbing my mailbox's peace!"

Instead I frame an acceptably polite response which doesn't sound like 'me' at all and spend a good part of the day enquiring about the person from every possible source. You see I hate being curious.

Till this time it is very manageable. Let's go back to that stranger's last question: Are you still seeing XYZ? Usually I ignore these questions but the internet has made people virtually courageous. Much more than they can be in the real life. Hence, I give in to their shameless persistence. Regardless of the answer, the men I have encountered often end up declaring that they had a crush on me (too *rolling eyes*) and still harbour a fondness for me. This never ceases to marvel me because I always considered myself plain looking, bordering on cute. And none of them had had enough interactions for me to thaw and show my 'real' self (which is witty and funny and smart :P Stop smirking! Its an honest self estimation!). After all this time on networking portals I can guess a guy's next message almost verbatim. Its the women who stump me! My answers to their seemingly innocent enquiries about my love life become the gossip of the month which keeps coming back to me in all sorts of unwelcome forms from unexpected sides.

These, along with losing interest, were the major reasons why my frequency on Facebook spiralled downwards. And now,  my status on Facebook and Blackberry Messenger sound dull and uninteresting which again bothers me because I get worried about my social image being labelled as boring. Social networking complicates life. You hate it. But you can't live without it. Its a party you won't miss but will attend grudgingly. Sucks!

V- Day? Big Deal...

What really is the big deal about Valentine’s Day anyway? Oh, don’t pitch me into the anti – V-Day lobby, yet. I do welcome it. After all it is the only day when the metro smells like a bouquet of fresh (and exorbitantly expensive) roses. This is one of the few days when I see people smiling a lot for no evident reason. But that is about it. Now follows a list of things about the day which irk me up! (And no, I am not even going to talk about how none of the people neck deep in Valentine’s Day celebrations know the origin, meaning or importance of Valentine’s Day or the Christian martyrs Valentines)

• ·         Red Alert! I like red. It’s a bright and energetic colour. But like everything else in life, it should be moderate. And I have a throbbing headache since I boarded the metro today evening. The combination of yellow light and all shades of red is very disturbing after a long day at work. Red shoes, red clothes (I counted 7 girls wearing red pants!), red scarves, red accessories, red phones and (worst of all) red make-up. To top it up, bouquets and stuffed teddies and big cards (Archies gallery definitely made a huge profit this year!). Red! Ugh!! (Oh, and I haven’t even mentioned pink, hot pink, baby pink, fuschia etc. here!)
• ·         Gush Giggle Gush! I couldn’t help overhearing some conversations on my way to work today. While a couple of girls were showing off their boyfriends’ romantic feats to their friends, some were cooing yucky sweet nothings over the phone. Oh, there was one girl who was planning to give her boyfriend the most coveted gift, her virginity. Need I explain more? It was a bad day to leave my earphones home. Ugh!
• 
  
• ·         So what’s your plan? Even I asked a lot of people the same question today. 4 out of 5 times, it was either in a funny or sarcastic manner. In return, I was asked this question close to 20 times today. I lost count after that. It wouldn’t have bothered me to reply “Oh, nothing special, just a regular Tuesday”. But what irked me was that the question putter was least bothered about my response! It was just a clever way to brag about their own plans when I asked about their plans in return. And the polite kid that I am, I fell for it every time. After a while it just got boring listening about lunches, dinners, coffees, walks, movies, drives and shopping trips. Ugh!
• ·         Message memory full! I had planned to count the total number of BBMs, texts, whatsaaps, emails, facebook tags, notifications, promotional emails and messages today. But sometime during the day I just gave up. Poor Bobby just wouldn’t stop buzzing! (Bobby being my BlackBerry, in case you still don’t know!). It is weird how people you haven’t spoken to in ages send you romantic messages (which would have been no doubt forwarded to their entire list!). I wish I got the same response on my birthdays too *rolling eyes*.
• ·         Show me the love, or maybe not! Both subtle and inconspicuous declarations and re-iterations of love could be seen on all social networking portals. Names, hints to names, love quotes, hearts and hugs and kisses… I won’t be surprised if I get diabetes soon. But I’m certainly impressed that this year my count of “I have/ had a crush on you” went down to just two! Or maybe I am getting old now! Ugh!

I am sure had you gone through this ordeal, you would have been irked up as well. I mean, it is just insensitive pushing your how-so-ever much blooming love life in some-one else’s face and… hold on! It’s the door-bell.

.

.

.

Whoa! Would you believe it?! Someone couriered me a huge poster of my pictures and chocolates! Oh these are all my favourite pictures and Toblerone and 5 Stars and Twix! And oh my goodness! This certificate here says someone named a star after me! Wow! Isn’t it great?! And there is this huge bouquet of beautiful roses along with it! And…oops!... errr… maybe Valentine’s isn’t so bad after all.

 :P

(Did anyone else have a case of sour grapes?)

    

Why all boys MUST have girlfriends

The scientist who pitched men and women under the same species homosapiens certainly had a lot more to learn. Even biology wouldn't have imagined how messed up this world was going to be when it decided to grant the different sexes with different hormones. And hence, different feelings and different thought processes. Feelings and thought processes is what this particular blog post is all about.

From keen observations I can derive a theory which all girls are most likely to agree with and most boys, silly as they are, would scoff at.

Theory# Girlfriends are the catalysts that help boys graduate to being men.

All those who are smirking/ laughing/ giggling and wondering if I have lost my mind need to stop thinking dirty to be able to understand the profound nature of this theory.

Boys by nature don't have to act cool because they mostly are. I used to find the effortless cool and nonchalance of men charming before I bore witness to the foolishness which camouflaged itself as the chilled out behaviour. I used to believe that all boys are programmed to act at least a bit chivalrous when they are out with girls. Forget chivalry, that's too strong a word. You can say they act superior by nature when they become all protective of the fairer sex in their company by leading the way, walking on the side facing the traffic, bossing around the waiter, insisting to pay, waiting outside the powder room and so many other cliché gestures. The reasons for this behaviour can be ego - boost, show-off, 'setting an impression' (I love this phrase! :P) or genuine chivalry (the chances of which are minimum as this quality became endangered, if not extinct with the princes of the past). I have had the pleasure of being treated like a princess many times and though it can get slightly irritating at times (when I'm in a feminist mood), it is mostly charming. 

Therefore it was a rude shock for me when I recently discovered in an appalling manner that this sudden burst of superiority (or whatever you might want to call it) is peculiar to boys who have had the presence of females in their lives as more than mother or sisters. Boys, who for whatever reason stuck to singledom missed out on some basic manners to be practiced around girls. Like giving more attention to them than to food and by attention I mean talking to them, and not their..err.. other body parts. Remembering that humour is good only till it doesn't convert into snide, rude and embarrassing comments. And similar things.

This epiphany struck me when I went to a temple with a group of friends. The girls and boys got separated during the security check and while the girls were going berserk looking for the boys (mobile phone were not allowed in the premises. How stupid!), the boys were busy filling their tummies in the food court. What is more, as the evening was winding down, the girls wanted to reach home in time (parents, I tell you! Well, they deserve another blog post), the boys wanted to go bowling (after a very late and heavy lunch, imagine!). So we girls who were still offended by the ruthless behaviour shown by the boys decided to play the non - chalant card, acted as if we could manage to go back home alone, wished the boys fun for the rest of the evening and stalked off, not sparing them a backward glance. Well, of course we were sure that they would come running behind us offering to drop us home as it was late and dark and none of us were very sure of the way back home and the city is no longer a safe place for young girls to venture alone in (Excuse the dramatics, at that moment, it did pose a BIG problem, I mean the newspapers are full of gory stories, but that again is worth another blog post). But it did not happen! The boys surprised us again. Hence, 7 girls fit themselves into one car and drove around speculating about the correct way back home, cursing the boys for their insensitivity. That is when it hit home. That had we even a single couple amongst us, the day would have had a happy ending. Granted that the boys apologized later (much later!) and girls, as is in their nature, did not make much of an effort to understand the boys' side of the story. But what's use of hitting the iron when it has cooled down already?

Infact, it is rather easy to tell which guy has had a girlfriend at some point of his life. Girls bring out the best in men which stays with them even if the girl doesn't. Hence, to help boys grow into men (I hope NOW you understand the deeper meaning behind this statement, dirty minds!), and not hesitant, insensitive, crude jokers, a girlfriend is a necessity. So girls, be smug; guys, think about it and give some credit to the fairer sex and forever single guys, do yourself a favour. Find a girlfriend.  

A Hard - Bound world

(Or paperback if you prefer it that way)

 I am not easily influenced as a general rule. I maybe silent, but that doesn't mean that you have managed to convince me. But there is something to whose influence I involuntarily succumb. It has the power to alter my mood. I don't even realize when it starts working its magic and its astonishing power creeps up on me and has a blanket effect which is hard to fight. That something is books. 

My last book (Room by Emma Donaghue) was a simulating read. I was forcing myself to read it slowly to savour it for a long time as I did not have any other book to devour after I was through with it. But when I realised that it was clouding my head with depressing thoughts I quickly finished it (partially also because the plot caught up with me. It was hard to put it down after that). That is why I prefer to alternate genres after each book I read. But because I am facing a dearth of good books these days (I miss days when people suggested books by authors other than Chetan Bhagat), I am re-reading my little collection for the umpteenth time. But I often end up avoiding my favourite one, Khaled Hosseini's A Thousand Splendid Suns. It is a beautiful composition because for me it flows like a perfect melody making the reader feel a rainbow of emotions. But people complain that it brings out the feminist in me. But apart from that I get too sentimental and the vulnerability bothers me. 

So I generally find myself re- reading the Twilight series. It brings a smile to my face, a spring to my step and I can smell the romance in the air. It is not because of the author's expertise. Far from it. It is just because I have a crush on a character (which girl won't actually. Edward is every woman's prince charming despite him being a vampire). I rarely get into a bad mood when I'm reading that series and I guess that's the reason why I have read twilight over 20 times and conveniently skip the second book in the series where Edward is absent for the most part. 

But let me clarify that romance is not my genre. Thank goodness my mother brought me Enid Blyton books to read rather than Nancy Drew. I have a theory about those. Girls who read Nancy Drew advance to Mills & Boons later. From Enid Blyton’s kiddy novels I progressed to Famous Five mysteries. But somehow, I never read too many thrillers (enough, but not too many) or mysteries and even now I'll choose a nice emotional story over a pacy thriller. I suppose my Ma is the reason behind this sub conscience preference. I was very young and an avid reader. Being a teacher, my Ma got me books from the school library so I read books of her choice. That is why most of the books I have read are emotional and have a complex story line which is hard to describe in one line.

 

Many books have had me sobbing uncontrollably (like Cecilia Ahern's P.S. I Love You, an exceptional romance in my favourite books list),  made me live in a world of fantasy (like J. K. Rowling's brainchild), altered my attitude towards the world around me (Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird, Gregory David Robert's Shantaram), made me more sensitive to others (Sorayya Khan's Noor, Arthur Golden's Memoirs of a Geisha) and had me in splits (Jerome K. Jerome's Three men in a boat). Books have changed the way I see the world. 

They have given me sweet dreams and nightmare. They have made me the person I am today. I might have read hundreds of thousands of books. Thanks to my rather poor memory, I forget stories and then re – read and re – re – read books again and again! For those who might raise an eyebrow at my choosing books over partying, or are bored of the monotony in their life, try losing yourself in someone else’s world…