I have often said (in my blogs and otherwise) and believed that I am a good person. But good people can make mistakes too even though unintentionally. The past couple of months have made me realise that I am a little mean. And I will be honest in admitting that I can be very very mean if I am not careful. Although its all in humour which makes most people laugh but this humour is often at the cost of someone's dignity. A sly comment on someone's dressing sense on their face or behind their back, a straight up insult hidden in humour about their accent, or simply a joke at the expense of their appearance. I have often made many people laugh with my quick and witty comments about strangers we pass, acquaintences or even friends. But when I put myself in the other person's shoes, my spontaneity and quick wit just seem rude and mean. So I have taken a decision of not being judgemental.
"I vow to try and not judge people negatively based on anything because no one has given me the special power to pass judgement and comments on anyone."
I know it will be difficult but it is indeed worth a try. Its been almost a week since I gave this small assignment to myself. So I try and change the negative thoughts into positive. The little insults into appreciation for any other trait. Although the edge to my quick wit has become a little blunt but in exchange I feel at peace with myself. Controlling the tongue and more importantly, controlling the thoughts is more tough. Besides, my opinion, whether made in good humour or with malice, might influence others opinion towards something/ someone. Even if it doesn't, now it will certainly make my heart heavy.
No, I won't preach my philosophy or urge other people to follow suit because that again, is a personal choice. But if it continues to make me feel good about myself, I shall try and keep up with it.
I was 13 when I realised that the ends of my hair curled up. That was when I had taken a shot at growing my hair. Till then I had a cute mushroom/ boy/ bob cut with the hair at the end of my neck cropped close with an electric razor. When estrogen finally kicked in, I took the life changing decision of letting my hair grow. Till I was in school, the responsibility of doing my hair was still my mother's. In the first year of the experiment, the wily tresses were tamed with tic - tacs and bob pins. As they grew longer, she tugged, pulled and combed my hair with a fine toothed comb till they were always firmly tied at the middle of the back of my head in a ponytail. The ponytail was so tightly bound with 4 folds of a scrunchie that I still blame my mother's genes and her combing my hair for my broad forehead. In college, my mom left me to fend for my hair myself. The freedom did not suit me well. It was like my head had a life of its own! They smirked at rubber bands, scorned clutchers, became a maze for tic - tacs and hated being combed. My arms got tired trying to comb them. And hence began my love - hate relationship with my curly head.
Many women have aww-ed and aah-ed at my hair exaggerating that they'll trade their silky straight shiny hair with my wild curls any day. I could never believe them. Almost all the hairdressers have tch - tch-ed at the state of my head reprimanding me for the discriminating manner I treated my hair. I have warned people for not being overtly curious and trying to pass their hands through the curls. I do not take any guarantee of untangling their hands from my hair later. Bees and flies, rubber bands and pins, tinfoil balls and little toys of children have all been lost here somewhere in my head to be never seen again. It's not like my hair act mean to others only. The don't like me much either. Sometimes overnight oiling followed by a vigourous shampooing and almost an hour of conditioning followed by half a bottle of expensive serum, all done for a special occasion, would result in a perfect little messy nest for the birds of the world. They are very moody my hair. When I am least expecting it, they'll emulate Preity Zinta's springy curls of Dil Chahta Hai. But that's very rare.
But overtime, me and my hair, we have agreed on a cordial relationship. Because they don't like being combed, I don't bother any more. But they deal nicely with the insistent probing of my combing efforts when I do wash them twice or thrice a week. I have also succeeded in 60% success rate with them while going out. All I have to do is wash them and tie them up wet in a bun. And when I open them, voila! I have a party - goer look ready.
But I'd rather not talk about the disastrous outcomes of the remaining 40%. (You can have a look below)
Well, there are certainly some drawbacks like I can't ever, ever, experiment with haircuts. No short hair, no bangs. I have a pretty regular hair style that I can't do much to change unless I decide to splurge on salons every alternate day. But that's OK. The occasional compliments, especially those from total strangers in my society, in the mall or in the metro balance things out. I'd be candid and admit that I do love the fact that my hair are different, independent and wild! They sort of define me. I don't think my personality would have been the same if I had the same boring straight hair. Hence, I refuse to get them chemically treated and straightened or smoothened or whatever term is In in the market these days. Living with curls is a bitter - sweet experiment that I have come to love!
It was a Friday. I was excited
about the coming weekend. Thanks to a meeting, I was dressed in a smart Indian
outfit, had gotten a couple of compliments and was feeling good. It was just
11.30 AM, but it felt like it was going to be a good day. It wasn’t. I was
brushing up a presentation when Bobby called. He asked if I had brought the car
with me. I hadn’t. He couldn’t find it at our usual parking spot. The society
guards had no clue. Our car had gotten stolen! There went my good day and mood. Till the very end I thought,
rather hoped, that Bobby was playing a silly prank on me. Even when he called
me to the nearby police station, I fervently hoped it was to throw me an
elaborately planned surprise party, even though my birthday is 3 months later
and it is very unlike Bobby. But as I digested the unpalatable information of
our beloved Katrina, Bobby’s first car being stolen, I felt my heart sink. I
tried hard to maintain a calm exterior. A stolen car was enough of a worry
already, Bobby didn’t need a panicking wife to make it worse for him. As Bobby
filed an FIR, I made calls at the insurance company. With each passing minute,
the feeling of dread worsened. My throat was dry, tears were stinging my eyes
every time I looked at Bobby who was running around completing the formalities
to report his stolen Alto and understand insurance claim procedures for his
Katrina, which he had bought on his own, with his hard earned money. All the
good memories, the fear of being vehicle less were making rapid entry and exits
in my mind. When there was nothing more we
could do, we returned to work. Relatives and friends were informed on Whatsapp,
messages and calls. And this is where the feel good factor begins. There were
many who scolded us for being lazy and not parking more safely. There were I –
Told – You – So’s. But there were also sympathies. Consolations. What touched
me the most were the genuine offers from friends and relatives. My dear old
Papa insisted that I take his car for as long as we need it. A young brother –
in – law offered us his bike till we made arrangements for a new car. Relatives
who spent hours on the internet researching and on the phone with us discussing
pros and cons of different cars like they were researching for buying a car for
themselves. Discreet, genuine and insistent offers of lending money (big sums!)
for the new car in case we were tight. Calls from distant relatives whose words
offered so much comfort and hope. Friends, who actually made us believe that we
were lucky to have our car stolen as its insurance value was much more than it’s
resale value and then they asked for double parties – for getting a higher sum
from insurance and for the new car! Friends who made me laugh and smile when I
could have been depressed. A close friend, who lent me his car whenever I
needed it and never made me feel like it is not mine. While we did lose a car,
precious for its position as the first big investment by Bobby, invaluable for
the memories associated with it and loved for the joyful moments it made
possible, we also found out how dear we are to our loved ones. We have
certainly done something right to have such wonderful people in our life who
made us excited about the new car, rather than let us wallow in the misery of
losing our beloved Katrina. Heartfelt thanks and love to everyone who made this
tough time so much easier. We wish no such misery every befall you, but if god
forbid it does, we shall always be there to. Thank you :) P.S. Our new car would be a Hyundai Xcent!
How many people have you come across whom you have labelled as attention seekers? I know quite a few and have even had the privilege of being close friends with them which gave me an opportunity to understand how their mind works. And my experience has also made me realise that you cannot help them get over this affliction, and while they may seem to be caring and cordial, but that is just a momentary distraction from keeping the spotlight trained on themselves.
My suggestion: Stay away from them as soon as you identify them. If identification is a problem, I will try to help:
1. Face 2:These are a unique variety of ASS (Attention SeekerS). They will be just like you and me in certain set ups which will make you feel that their wavelength totally matches yours! And then, when you least expect it, without warning, some trigger will put them in their true element and you would be clueless about what to do! For example, a close friend of mine became a different person near the opposite sex (using the past tense because she is no more a friend: the reasons will follow)! Her eyes would wander, her hair would always be flicking, her mind wouldn't be in the conversation, she will treat you like minions and she will forget about you. Her antics would range from unintentionally funny to downright appalling! Interestingly, she would easily revert back to her old self once the object/s of her attention would pass. It was all bearable in a girls only college with fests and events being difficult times to be with her. But post college, it was impossible to be in touch with her and when I did meet her, I always ended up kicking myself for ruining my day.
My advice: Steer clear. It will take such people a minute to forget you. Don't expect anything, and you will still be annoyed!
2. Fits!: This category of ASS is hard to identify. If you are not a keen observer, then the change in their behaviour will be unfathomable! So how do they operate? It's a little tricky. You are good friends. Everything is hunky dory. You are discussing your lives and having heart - to - hearts. All of a sudden, a switch will flick and the light in the eye of the person will just die. They won't look people in the eye. Act like everything is normal but their behaviour will scream: I - Want - Attention! People will enquire, genuinely worried, if everything was okay. And the answer that one can expect is, complete with a fake smile which doesn't reach their eyes: Nothing. Everything is fine.What I usually do at these times is deny them just what they are asking for: attention. And when you give up on them, they'll jump back into action, perkier than ever! It will just leave you confused and yes, again, annoyed.
My advice: Don't stress over what might have brought on this sudden mood swing. If they are good friends, they'll be back to normal soon and will save to heartache and bursting a brain nerve.
3. Me! Me! Me!: They are only concerned with one thing. Themselves. Every conversation should revolve around them. Their issue should become everyone's point of concern. All their happiness and sorrow is yours too. And in return, you give away no emotions of your own unless they are not associated with their's and that too preferably, in tune with theirs. They might not even know your full name! They want all the attention in the world and you end up being the spotlight trainer by giving them what they want, fuelling their stupid ego.
My advice: Why are you with such a person? To look cool? To be a part of the popular gang? Cut off and make your own space now! You might seem like a nerd but then that's still better than being a pet dog.
So basically, if anyone's attention seeking antics are giving you tension, just think again. Are they worth it? If yes. Fine. Deal with it. But then always think are you getting your due attention in return? It's OK to be selfish at times you know. It's better than being tread upon. So, let go of 'ATTENTION'. Be 'At ease'. :)
Children. The future of our country. They have so much responsibility on their frail little shoulders (I am excluding the obese kids from here obviously. I don't think they'd be able to do much good later with this fat body and Type 2 diabetes that they are sure to get). But despite the high expectations their parents, grandparents, society, city, country and the entire world has from them (after all, battling global warming will fall on them), they do manage to make us envious by having fun and doing things we wish we could do again. We ohh - aah at their innocence, smile at their carefree laughter and have a laugh at the expense of their naughty but oh - so - cute antics.
Well, yeah, that's what used to happen till about 10 years back maybe. This new batch of kids is engineered way differently. They grow older at an astonishing pace which bewilders the on - lookers. You may be thinking that growth is good then why am I sounding negative? Well, growth isn't always good, in this case I strongly disagree. The kids these days (yes, I said it. You can call me a 100 years old now officially), they are growing into becoming men and women when they are still in their nickers! I can't help but gape open mouthedly at my 6 year old niece who rattles off the latest developments in all saas - bahu soaps and looks at me like I am a cave woman who isn't educated enough about daily soaps! I feel sorry for the boys in my street and in my family who can talk in technical jargon about the latest PlayStations and combat games but don't know what vish - amrit, oonch neech ka paala, maaram - pitti, pitthu or kho - kho is. And when you suggest to play hide and seek or catch, they'll give you the look which will make you feel like you are dressed in your pyjamas at an all formal party.
And their parents! Oh my! They gush about how their kid learnt to download the latest cricket game on their personal iPad which they were gifted on their 3rd birthday or are way too much particular about how they look or show off their 4 year old kid's Facebook profile which the kid manages on his own. These are not things to be proud of! What happened to being street smart? Coming home dirty after an evening of playing in the ground? Or being plain sweet and innocent and unaware of what Benetton or Playstation is?
Maybe I am too old fashioned. They kids are more intelligent than how I used to be when I was that old (again at the risk of sounding way too old). Maybe television, Playstations, iPads are the new way to learn. But then is this justified?
I came across this poster while shopping with my mum. The expression on the girl's face, her pose, her dress appalled me! No, I get it. Children are way too exposed to be left out of the advertising world. People demand it. But what happened to the milky tooth smile and twinkle in the eye and the cute poses! I mean, wake up parents. Is this what you wanted? Dwarf adults in your house?
There is a video circulating these days on Whatsapp. I don't understand the purpose of it. It is not funny and it gives no message. It is just sad and maybe the near future as well.
I strongly think it is inspired by the present. And it won't be long when you hear kids talking in this tone. Have you imagined what might happen if your 8 year old watches this video on his personal smartphone and tries this tome on you?
Am I the only one thinking there is something wrong? Or if there really is something wrong, who is to blame? Parents, friend circle, television, internet? I have come across parents who are really worried and have no clue where their kid learns this stuff from. Maybe it is embedded in the gene code of this new generation. If this is how this generation is, how will the coming ones be? *Shudder* Makes me seriously want to adopt a puppy than plan a baby.
2nd April 2014 was a tragic day. The wind was strong, blowing up a sand storm. I stepped out of my car, braving the dust and strong winds, which made opening eyes a task. I had washed my hair that morning and was worried about having to wash them again to get the dust out. I had to pick up a couple of outfits from the boutique and needed some cash. I was coming straight from work. Although not quite trustworthy of the Andhra Bank ATM at the Amprapali complex close to my home, I went there anyway for want of better and closer options. Thankfully the transaction went smooth. It did not gobble up my card and refused to give it back like it had earlier. But it did pay up the sum of Rs. 1000 in 100 rupee notes. I exited the stuffy, dimly lit ATM cubicle trying to stuff the currency notes in my wallet, while trying to keep a grip on my keys and phone. I wish I had a pocket in my green cotton kurta to keep my phone and keys in. Because if I had kept it someplace safe, my phone would not have slipped out of my hands and fell down two black marble steps. My phone. My beautiful phone with its (now dirty) neon green cover. My lovely, loyal and trustworthy Samsung Galaxy Note 2. It slipped, fell and cracked. The screen cracked into a hundred pieces. The back cover and battery came off. I stood on top of the stairs with my mouth agape, not believing what had just happened. I picked up the pieces, rushed to my car, put the phone together and kept it in the passenger seat. Refusing to look at it. Denying the fact that it had broken. I backed the car carefully and drove to the boutique to collect my outfits. I left the phone in the car's dashboard.
After parking outside my society and clutching my handbag, where I had put all my stuff safely, I ran for the lift. It was when I got inside when I pulled out my Note 2, ran my fingers over the broken screen and entered the pass code pattern. I quietly assessed the damage, fighting back the urge to cry. The touch worked fine, I could still see the display clearly despite the large number of big and small gorge like cracks. The touch and display was fine. Well, that was a relief. I entered home, vented out to my brother - in - law and we went out to check repair options. I thanked my lucky stars that the screen could be replaced. Although the price they quoted could have bought me another fancy smartphone. But the damage wasn't permanent. My husband promised to get my phone looked at in Gaffar market, popular for electronics. I put on a brave show of feeling assured and cooked a nice feel - good dinner of kadhi chawal. But I never looked at my broken phone again as it brought tears to my eyes.
The next day I only had an old LG office phone. No internet access, no applications, camera just for formality, no instant email access, no touch. I was sympathised with and teased at office. I was to be smartphone less the entire day. No, the blog will not end with how the day went by so peacefully and I felt relaxed and blah blah. Because I missed my Note 2. A lot! I missed the constant bird chirps which notified me of my emails, texts, whatssapps, FB and Twitter updates. I missed quickly glancing through my gallery and looking at pictures when I thought of someone close. I longed to play Jetpack Joyrider, Table Tennis and the new game (Daddy is a thief) I had just downloaded. I missed the political, sardar, PJs and adult jokes on the various whatsapp groups that kept my mood light. I felt frustrated when I couldn't look up for some old emails or information instantly. I just missed the feel of the glossy back cover on my palm and the attentively responsive touch on my fingers. I hated going to the stinky washroom post lunch to check if I had something stuck in my teeth instead of just checking it with my phone's front camera. I absolutely missed the wallpaper of Bobby and me on the phone and smiling back at our smiley selfie. I felt awkward looking at my wrist watch instead of turning on my phone every 30 minutes to check the time. I missed feeling cared for when my phone tells me that I was 17 mins from home if I took this or that route every time I left office. I just missed my Note 2 a lot.
I found myself pacing the balcony at 11:30 at night, not waiting for my husband to return home this time, but to see my phone again, which he had so thoughtfully gotten fixed in just a day. I had made pasta to celebrate my phone's second innings. I ran to the lift when I saw him entering the building and greeted him there. And the feeling of holding my Note 2 in my hand again was exquisite!
The one day without my phone shook me and made me realise how much I love this not - so - little piece of technology. I might be addicted or it might be responsible for the frequent pain in my neck and shoulder, but I cannot do without my smartphone. To apologise to my handful of a gadget, I am treating it with a new screen cover and phone cover very soon!
P.S.: Note 2 is an amazing phone. It deserves all the love and care you can lavish on it.
Rantings of an annoyed girl who just doesn't understand!
How many times have you been subjected to these words? I guess it became quite the trend after Rahul told Anjali, "Tum nahi samjhogi Anjali, kuch kuch hota hai". Well, I don't know about you, but I find myself rather annoyed when I am told off with a 'you won't understand'. If I have brought it on myself by butting in uninvited where I shouldn't, I control the urge to roll my eyes and keep a smile plastered to my face and do the world famous Indian head bobble. But, if I was invited into a conversation and then told that I won't understand, it really pisses me off. Why does it piss me off? Read on:
1. So I was wondering why people say it anyway, despite dragging someone into a conversation. I mean, why even start this subject with them if you don't think them mentally able enough to 'understand'? And why would anyone like it if it is implied in a rather unsubtle tone that they are incapable of the emotional, cultural, physical, mental, supernatural or whatever understanding! So don't blame me if you don't understand why I rolled my eyes and took off while you were still blabbering with a smirk on my face.
2. I get it. Your situation is so unique that no one in the Milky Way galaxy has been through what you are facing right now! Which might be what, job issues? Boyfriend trouble? Weight problem? Career choices? Arranged marriage? Love marriage? UFO sighting? I mean, c'mon! Either don't tell me stuff if you think that it's not my cup of tea or give me some credit for bearing your rantings and 'ooh'ing and 'aah'ing at the right places, even if I have never burnt my face while taking steam for a blocked nose or never faced the dilemma of choosing the right cream for your complicated skin type.
3. Of course it is my fault when I begin really sympathising and start giving you suggestions to help your 'situation'. And just when I am trying to sort it out with you, you hit me with the classic: You won't understand. *Grrr*! Why? Because it was not suggestions what you were looking for? Because all you needed was a shoulder to cry on a shirt to wipe your nose on? And because I actually felt sorry for you and tried to help, you told me off with a 'you won't understand'? Of course it is my bad. Should I apologise for not being able to 'understand' and trying to help instead? *Sarcasm*
4. You are not my teacher or parent. I have not sought your help to teach me how the world works. So, please don't try to patronise me and that too, after boring me with your oh - so - different sob story. Because not only might I not understand, but guess what, I might neither give a damn.
The bottom line is, nobody likes to hear that they won't understand. It is rather demeaning if you ask me, spoken in whichever tone. And never ever ever say it if you expect that person to listen you out, help you or in the long term - take you seriously.
Actually, why am I giving you so much gyaan. You have never been in my situation. You won't understand.
All that gyaan on feminism, All that strong woman talk,
Went down the drain the day we met,
When our eyes locked.
Electric current in my veins,
Jelly legs and weak knees,
It was the point of no return,
I felt my heart beat cease.
That twinkle in your eye,
The music in your laugh,
Mesmerised me to the bones,
My brains blew to half.
When you opened your pretty mouth,
And bowled me over with your wit,
Coupled with those pearly teeth,
'Twas enough to get my torch lit.
The stupidly funny names you gave me,
When we debated on politics and films,
All the stories you made me laugh with,
Or the ones that gave me the chills.
The way you stick your tongue out,
Involuntarily, when you concentrate,
And all the censored things that I can't mention,
But which worked for me like a tempting bait.
You tricked me, trapped me, bound me.
When I came in as a visitor,
And all I could so was sigh and smile,
And readily become your prisoner.
The vows, the pheras, the legalities,
We took the leap, as they say.
Some congratulated, some warned,
That marriage is not all fun and play.
We laugh, we fight, we hug and kiss,
You love me and I still wonder why!
I feel blessed that you had said 'I do',
And I had replied with a 'So do I'.
It's been a year since we got official,
And it has been a fairytale life,
I found myself the perfect husband,
And you got yourself a lovely wife.
It's chapter one of our novel,
There are many more to come,
With sugar, spice and everything nice,
And lots of love, happiness and then some.
For years to come you'll tell me stories,
And I'll make for you your favourite curry.
But today, I'll just hug you tight,
And say, 'My love, Happy 1st Anniversary'.
Does it happen to you too that when you hear some song for the first time, you disregard it, don't pay much attention. But overtime, when you hear this song some more times, you begin to like it. Then you find yourself humming it in the shower. The next thing you know, you have downloaded it on your phone and are listening to it, on loop, for days together. Does that happen to you? It happens to me a lot! The song grows on me.
Well, I believe people are quite similar to music. There are so many genres of people. You prefer different companies in different moods. There are a couple of people who are your all time favourites. And some who you try and try and try to like to just fit in or because they are considered cool, liked by everyone else or are popular. But can never comprehend them. Like Hard Rock for me.
Similarly, there are people whom you don't like the first time you meet them. But overtime, they grow on you. You might have disregarded them at first or you might have found them easy to ignore or jarring for the first couple of instances, but when you interact with them more, you begin to find layers in them which are interesting, intellectual and beautifully woven.
It happens a lot to me at work. It is that dormant animal instinct which gets alert when you feel there is danger in your territory. Any new colleague, new team member, new senior is looked at with distaste and negative opinions are formed without much solid base. Just like a previously unsuccessful music director's new music. You already have formed a not so good opinion about it. And might make forced jokes about the lyrics or weird choice of music instruments. I know I do. And that is denial.
But it should be considered natural, I guess. And it is ok. If you eventually realise the real nature of the music. Or the person. Give them the appreciation they deserve. Let them grow on you. So I make it a point to never dismiss any song or person in the first instant. I might form opinions. But I try and not to engrave them on a stone tablet or anything. I leave scope to alter it. And I am often pleasantly surprised.
All we need to do is listen carefully. To both music and people. And we'll be surprised by our acquired eclectic and amazing collection of music and friends.
It is white outside. Unnaturally bright. It had snowed heavily last night, conveniently covering the yellow in the trees, the peeling paint of the window ledge, dents on the old Maruti 800 parked in the driveway. All the flaws hidden behind a curtain of fresh white snow. It is not a sight I am used to. But there have been a lot of things happening that I am not used to of late. Like the man lying beside me in the bed, sleeping peacefully, with an arm over his eyes, blocking the brightness streaming through the window. I am not used to his mustard yellow pyjamas. I am not used to his loud laugh. I am not used to his too cheerfulness. How can anyone be this cheerful all the time? Isn't it exhausting? What was I thinking when I agreed to marry him? He is not him. I know I and him couldn't be together. And I had gotten very used to him. Him with the frown lines dotting his forehead when he concentrated, his wardrobe full of grays and blacks, his waking me up before sunrise. Yes, I had gotten very used to him. But now I am on my honeymoon with a man who is a stranger to me in every sense. I hurriedly wipe the tears as he stirs, rubs his eyes and yawns loudly. And now he is looking at me, smiling his smile, the smile that I am not used to. I get busy pretending to look for something in my suitcase as he gets up and stretches. I am not used to the presence of another man in my room. I don't know what to do and run to the bathroom, in search of refuge. But I can't hide in here forever. After some time, which I hope isn't too long, I step in the room again. He smiles brightly as he sees me. He has made me tea. He reminds me that it's my parents' anniversary as he dials their number. I smile involuntarily. I am not used to all this. But maybe, I can be. As I look outside the window again, I see the deep green of the pine tree, the cheerful red of the old Maruti and the old world charm of the window ledge, peeking from under the sheet of snow.
