Sharing is Joy Indeed

The late afternoon sky was an angry orange colour and the rain poured down relentlessly. I couldn’t see anything from the metro’s window except for faint outlines of buildings. Then like a young child’s mood, the weather changed without any premonition. Suddenly the sun gave a cameo from behind a big gray cloud. Sun rays filtered down leaving beautiful patterns in the violet sky. The view was breathtaking! White fluffy clouds were fast replacing the sullen gray ones. The sun was playing hide and seek with the clouds leaving behind very unsubtle and mesmerizing hints. There was just a vague hint of a rainbow in some far corner of the canvas splattered liberally with beautiful shades of blue, yellow, white and gray. Rain fresh trees bordered the horizon looking extraordinarily green against the unusual background.

I stood inside the metro moved by the beauty with my mouth agaoe and eyes unblinking. I felt a sudden urge to share this moment with someone. I nudged the girl standing next to me, nodded towards the sky and asked, “Isn’t it beautiful?”. She made a face, shrugged, increased the volume of her earphones and turned her back to me. I sighed quietly and wished for someone with whom I could appreciate the scenery. Then a young guy caught eye. He smiled warmly, nodded once towards the window and his smile grew larger. I smiled my big smile and thanked him silently for sharing the moment with me. Suddenly the beauty appealed me even more. As if it reveled in the knowledge that it had many more admirers.

Romance...!

Wikipedia: Romance is the pleasurable feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love.

In the context of romantic love relationships, romance usually implies an expression of one's love, or one's deep emotional desires to connect with another person.

Of late I have been thinking a lot about romance. So when a friend asked where I last went for a romantic date, it got me thinking. I asked a few people what a ‘romantic date’ means to them. The answers were fairly predictable, though not very honest. Most girls had ready answers: Spending quality time with your boyfriend, getting to know each other better, enjoying each other’s company. Paints a pretty picture, doesn’t it? But it just sounded extremely cheesy to me. One girl answered – Shopping and I admire her for her honesty.

Guys on the other hand are more honest with their admissions. For most, going on dates means spending money while fervently hoping to ‘get lucky’. One even admitted candidly that a kiss in a dark movie theatre is totally worthy of the money spent.

For our generation, dating means eating out, watching a movie, hanging out at a mall etc. one common thing that I noticed was that all the above mentioned places are conveniently air conditioned but do not guarantee any privacy, a fact which most guys grudge (single track minds!). The concept of ‘spending a quality time with each other’ has become inter changeable with ‘spending a good quantity of money’. And ‘romance’ is just about getting physically intimate.

So, coming back to that conversation with my friend. When she asked me where I last went for a romantic date, I told her it was CP’s inner circle. She further enquired which restaurant we went to or was it a ‘shopping date’ (whatever on Earth that means!). I replied that we had not gone to any restaurant. We were just walking around having roadside bhelpuri. Her expression got me feeling like I was not wearing something important like shoes or pants! She finally blurted, “In this terrible heat?”, and I found myself defending myself by clarifying that we had Ice Lollies as well. I guess she pitied me and tried suggesting a number of restaurants and malls and other places for ‘hanging out’. I listened politely and nodded at the appropriate places and thanked her for the suggestions.

Later I thought that I should have told her how liberating it was to just walk wherever we wanted instead of sitting in a crammed theatre or restaurant. How sweet it was to share Ice Lollies instead of eating with proper etiquette in an expensive restaurant. How genuine and uninhibited was the laughter when his ice- cream melted in the sun and fell. How satisfying it was to talk about almost anything under the sun rather than making hushed conversations about the food and the current movie playing in the theatre. I should have told her, but something told me she would not have been interested. Besides, I could not have explained to her that my definition of spending a quality time is very different. Of course even I like a nice meal at a restaurant and watching a fun movie (no, I don’t like hanging out at malls!) but I won’t call these outings at dates. My idea of romance is not limited to fancy eateries and malls and movies only:

So what really is romance? For me, romance can be felt in the following:

     1)      An old man waiting in a ladies’ salon while his wife gets her hair cut and the smile they share when they catch each other’s eye in the mirror.

      2)      My father spooning my mother while sleeping, even after 30 years of marriage.

      3)      Boating at India Gate late at night.

      4)      A blank message from a loved one which means that they have nothing special to say, just that you came in their thoughts.

      5)      A young couple in a rickshaw. The boy’s arms draped around the girl’s shoulders.

      6)      A boy walking a girl home, carrying her book bag.

      7)      Giving your last roadside Dimsum to your loved one even though you are still hungry.

      8)      Just sitting together at home, watching a cricket match while really just looking at each other.

      9)      Seeing a bunch of suspicious looking characters, walking in front of your girl or exchanging sides with her.      

     10)   Writing a love letter. Not SMS, not Email. A hand written love letter.

     11)   Telling your friends, “Oi, tameez sem teri bhabhi hai!”, when they call her ‘maal’ :P

And of course,

     12)   Having bhelpuri and Ice Lolly at India Gate.

J

So, what is your idea of romance?

I do? I Do NOT!

Are you single and of marriagable age (read aged between 19 to 26)? Do your parents love to show off your talents in public? Are you Baniya or Jain or God forbid, both?

If your answer to the above questions is yes, then you have my sympathies with you. Of late, marriage seems like the hot topic. People around me are either newly weds, engaged, meeting a boy/ girl (ofcourse for wedding related purposes), cribbing about their marriage, looking for prospective bride/ grooms or enquiring about the same. Wedding, especially for us members of the fair sex, is expected to be  the ultimate purpose of life. I will explain with my own example. I pride myself in being the offspring of modern minded folks. Maybe the right phrase here would be – used to. My bubble burst when my elder sister tied the knot. Now my parents don’t seem much different than Anandi’s folks. (In case your mom isn’t addicted to this particular soap opera like my Ma, then let me enlighten you that Anandi is the famous child bride of the television drama Balika Vadhu which caused Colours channel's TRPs to shoot up). Suddenly the word 'marriage' began popping up in all the discussions around me! Of course I am not being bombarded with pictures and bio – data of strange men. Not yet. But being 21 has started feeling like a sin. No opportunity is left to remind me that I am the next in line. Going to social do’s (especially weddings!) has become a fearful task that I have come to loathe. There is always an Aunty or two at such a gathering who would be judging me with her X – Ray vision and creating a detailed report on how I would fare as her or some far – off relative’s daughter- in – law. Some women have made matchmaking the purpose of their dull lives and don’t leave any chance to suggest a boy, with detailed description of his looks, his father’s business and mother’s social standing, as a prospective son – in – law.

I don't blame parents for wanting to see their daughters happy and settled in their lives, but it is just sad when marrying off their daughters becomes a duty, accomplishing which will let them retire in peace. And hence, parents are ready to sacrifice their daughters careers, ambitions and aspirations if a proposal comes from a wealthy family. 

It's a hard world, and not just for women. Men, I believe face a different sort of pressure. If you belong to a service class family, the pressure is to find a respectable job, earn well enough to attract attention of a good family who will approve of the boy's gross income and hand over their daughter's hand to him. (Please pay extra attention to the adjectives: respectable job and earn well)

And if you are from a business family, then you are in more trouble brother. Have your share of fun and fulfill your fancies before diving headfirst in your beloved Daddy's business. Because you cannot escape the bees after smoking beneath their hive. Fulfilling your responsibility of being the business scion of the family is the green signal for wedding bells. The general notion is that once you are handling business full time, no matter what your age might be, you are eligible to be married. This is especially true for Baniya families. 

Somehow, parents seem to have the idea that marriage is equal to happiness. Of course I am a firm believer (and hopeful) of happy marriages but somehow being a wife or a husband isn't all that there is to life for me. Marriage isn't happiness. Marriages are to be made happy and that is only possible if both the parties involved are satisfied with their personal lives and each other. 

Sadly, most parents fail to understand the point and unlike some last entries, I do not have any solution to offer. And now I have to go hide in the bathroom. The neighbourhood matchmaker has come to pay a visit. Not a good time to be in viewing distance.

Adios.

This is ME

A fortnight back I thought of jotting down a few characteristics or peculiar quirks of mine which define ME. After 2 weeks, following is the list I compiled in no particular order. It helped me to know myself better.

*I feel very conscious when people talk to me looking at my lips and not my eyes.
* If I am looking at my phone again and again while talking to you, then it is a signal that you are making me uncomfortable.
* If my smile doesn't show my gums, then its my practised polite smile. Not genuine.
* I totally dig toilet humour.
* If you do something for me, even if trivial by your standards, it would take a lot of convincing to make me believe that you are a bad guy for others.
* I sit on the toilet seat reading books for as long as an hour or till someone bangs the door.
* I take my most beloved people for granted although I expect a lot from them.
* I sing aloud in the metro.
* It really matters to me what people think about me, even if those people are complete strangers.
* I can count my "friends" on my fingers.

* I bite my lip when I am concentrating, worrying or blushing.
* Many people will realise that they have shared their life's secrets with me while I haven't been so open.
* I like being alone, hate being lonely.
* I cry while reading most of the books.
* I am a brilliant bathroom singer. Somehow the same songs don't sound too good in any other setting.
* I am a little over confident about my gadget related skills. When in real, I know I am the one eyed one amongst the blind.
* I suck with money management.
* I am not comfortable meeting acquaintances unexpectedly. Generally, I end up avoiding them and don't acknowledge them if I spot them in a public place. But if the other person spots me and strikes a conversation, in most cases I feel grateful for the company.
* I am not a people person. (People at my workplace won't be very happy with this considering I am supposed to be a guest relations executive).
* I feel guilty for mistakes committed by others.
* I am jealous of girls with straight silky hair.
* My hair look good in my bathroom mirror, awry in my bedroom mirror and pathetic in every other mirror.
* If you haven't seen me angry, you don't know me.
* I am a better writer than conversationalist.
* I may come across as a wise girl to some, but I am not famous for following my own advice.
* I miss my sister, but I would kill myself before admitting it to her face.
* I don't have any favourite colour, song, actor or food.
* I have terrible choice when it comes to clothes.
* I can't window shop. I can't shop. Period.
* I am always more excited about the car/ train/ bus journey than the trip itself.
* Although I might brag about knowing lots about and liking international cinema, I almost always end up watching/ re-watching a Hollywood rom - com when in the mood for a movie.
* My memory isn't half as good as a 21 year old's should be.
* I don't like making or taking calls unless I am extremely close to you. I am more of a text and email person.
* I think I manage to look decently good if I take pains. But I detest taking pains.
* Until 2010, I did not know how to apply kohl.

* I am funny.
* I have had close to 200 crushes in all my 21 years.

* I find it hard to believe that someone might have the hots for me.
* I can be a b*tch if I am your friend. You are perfectly safe if you are just an acquaintance.
* I get restless when I have to wander aimlessly. I prefer to plan things in advance.
* I usually skip through a much loved song or forward it when I am listening to it on my music player. But I wish to listen again and again when I come across it accidentally on the FM.
* I like dogs more than I like little babies.

* I name my gadgets, popular ones being Bobby (my BlackBerry) and Pintu (my netbook).

* I maintain a diary.

* My ego is more inflated than an average guy's.

* If I happen to hold a grudge against someone, it takes a while before I forgive, if I ever do.

I might have missed many. If you think you know me, please add to the list.

What's the story?

If you happen to have a brain cell or two similar to mine, you’ll be suffering from my problem as well. Although in a more formal company, if I ever had to mention it, I would probably boast about it as being my highly developed creative streak. But in real, it is just an exercise which acts as a huge distraction and does not solve any purpose. And what exactly am I ranting about here? It would be easier to explain with the help of an example:







As usual I don’t have a place to rest my derriere in the fantastically crowded metro. I still wonder from where did so many women come in city? Anyway, I am drifting again. So, in the metro my shins are rubbing with a girl’s knee who is sitting right in front of me. I am engrossed in my book and am trying to push back a fat auntie’s even fatter handbag when I hear a loud sniff. I lower down my book. I am greeted with a very moving sight of the girl with her nose tomato red, cheeks streaked with smudged kohl and hands wringing a very creased towel napkin. It is very obvious that she is distressed and her anxiety is so great that she is forced to display her grief in public. Out of habit I ask her if she is fine and immediately I regret bothering. The girl throws a killer look at me which clearly says: Mind your own business, B*tch! So, I shrug nonchalantly and get back to my book, only to find out that I just can’t concentrate anymore. My mind is busy making up theories behind the girl’s state. Maybe she has had a terrible fight with her boyfriend (C’mon, I can be more original than THAT, dear brain!). Maybe she has been kicked out from her job. Maybe she has had an argument with friends or parents. Maybe her boyfriend dumped her or she walked in his room only to find him cheating on her (Cliché, let’s please move on and think beyond boyfriend related issues, brain!). Maybe someone died. Maybe she found out that she is suffering from an incurable disease. Maybe she was listening to a sad song which reminded her of something sad. Maybe she lied to her parents to meet her boyfriend; her parents found out and ordered her to come right back and now she is scared of the consequences. But then she wouldn’t cry before she faces the consequences, would she? (Ok, I admit, most of the girls cry like babies because of boyfriend related issues only. Happy dear brain? You win!).


Even after the girl had somewhat pacified herself and was fixing her make – up, I was bubbling with curiosity. What could have made the girl cry buckets in the metro?






So now you understand what problem I was referring to? Ofcourse it can act as a brilliant means of time pass but what usually happens is, that this ‘curiosity’ generally pops up when you are supposed to concentrate elsewhere. Like this other day, I had finally decided to start studying for my M.A. exams. With a heavy heart, I had replaced my half read novel with study notes in my office bag. While waiting for my metro on the platform, going through my notes, I saw a distinctly middle aged woman. She was donning a kurta with fitted leggings which emphasized all the wrong curves. Her face had laugh lines and dark spots and her eyebrows were artlessly darkened. I could see gray hair near her ears and on her hairline. There was no doubt she would be either 40 years of age (if I give her too much leverage) or older. I kept staring at her with a raised eyebrow wondering what exactly is weird about this woman. When I saw that the woman had noticed me gawking at her I turned my gaze. But then in a few seconds I was looking at her again trying to find out what was different. And then I noticed the red and white sparkly wedding bangles that were adorning her wrists. For those who don’t know, first of all you should be ashamed of not knowing, and secondly, red and white bangles are worn by newly married women for about a year till after their wedding. Don’t ask me why, I have no clue, but they are quite the rage! Anyway, just when the bulb in my mind lit, the metro came and we boarded it. Now, as I tried to focus on my notes my mind kept wandering to the woman again and again. Infact I found myself combing the coach with my eyes searching for that woman. And when I did find her, I found it hard to look away. I am sure she noticed my shameless gawking as well and kept giving me sly looks as well. So while I forcefully made myself read my notes, I couldn’t help not wondering about this woman’s story. Why is she wearing those wedding bangles? (Stupid question Brain!) How come she got married so late? Maybe this was her second marriage. But why would she want to advertise her second marriage by wearing that red and white chooda that young and newly wedded girls love to flaunt? Maybe she just got married late. Does she not feel weird wearing them at this age? What would she have been thinking when she would have made up her mind to wear the bangles? Is she used to people staring at her wrists? Why did she get married so late? Was it a love marriage? And so on…






I know it is shallow of me to think like that for someone I don’t know. But, as the saying goes, Curiosity got the cat. Everyone has a story. You might find your story utterly boring or sad but you can’t imagine how much it can tease and torture someone like me! I see a young boy with a band-aid on his elbow and this sets my neurons off! I spend a good 15 – 20 minutes cooking up a story behind that band – aid. Agreed that it is a distraction, but, it definitely is a lot of fun as well. You might find endings to some stories, but for most, you would just have to be more creative.






So, what’s your story?

With Love, for Dad

It's only when you see other's respecting your parents that your respect for them grows even more and you begin to see them in a different light. I believe medicine and teaching are the most rewarding professions in terms of genuine respect. And as my folks happen to be teachers (a fact I am extremely proud of), I get to witness displays of respect and love quite often. Here I share such an incident:

Yesterday evening I settled on the couch in the drawing room with my laptop. I had to finish a new blog entry (which turned out to be rather boring, if I may say so myself). Papa was sitting on the other sofa correcting some sheets and flipping through the channels on the TV. So, I was sprawled on the sofa when a young (fat) girl of 16 came bustling in announcing that she has come to introduce Papa's new student. I remembered this girl. She is from our colony. I had seen her around often. She came to take classes from Papa. But if I was remembering correctly, she had just given her 10th board exams. (Here I must mention that my memory is troubling me a lot since quite some time now, I am open to sensible advice) (oh, and I should also mention that my Papa is a science teacher for 9th and 10th standard by qualification but also teaches mathematics because he loves the subject.) Ok, so when the girl (whose name I can't recall. Remember, memory issues!) announced that she has brought along a new student, I glanced at the hallway. But she was only trailed by her very modern looking mother. So I straightened up and tried to smooth the creases from my oversized gray nightshirt (all in vain, I still looked silly) and smiled hospitably at the mother daughter duo. They made themselves comfortable and I was still waiting for the new student, when the girl said that she has opted for medical science as stream for her higher studies. Although she has enrolled herself in a correspondence study course from a hi - fi institute (with a high success rate, so it claims), she wanted dad to teach her. Ok, so dad is a brilliant teacher, the best I have ever had, but for more than 30 years now, he has taught standards 9th and 10th. Higher classes is a completely different game. No game actually. As my dad tried to patiently explain his student that she had taken a good step by enrolling in that institute and she should take help from more specialised teachers, she just shook her head, all the while saying that she would only study from him. So dad turned to her mother hoping for some sensibility. And sensible she was, judging from the arguments she had! She told dad that in 11th, the institute would only provide detailed notes and dad could brush up his knowledge a bit with their help and then teach it to her daughter. Biology is dad's forte (and my favourite) so he promised to help her with Bio. But the girl also wanted him to teach Physics, Chemistry and Maths. Now, PCBM in 11th is no small feat. And expecting dad to study all these subjects himself first and then teaching it to the girl was rather idealistic. Besides, dad doesn't have the time. (And I am sure he won't want to forego his time on the computer playing solitaire and hearts :P). So Papa gave the girl contact details of his former colleague and good friend who was a master of Maths and Physics. But the girl just wouldn't budge! Even the mother pitched in saying that her daughter had taken up medical because Papa restored her interest in science and the way he taught chemistry was amazing because in all these years, she had understood the mole concept properly herself for the first time! And I just couldn't help not smiling. The daughter and mother coming up with genius arguments (and they really were good with their persuasion skills!) And Papa feeling like he had lost the battle already and worrying slightly at the prospect of studying the tedious course of 11th and 12th again. So I pitched in the discussion and advised that the girl try out the teacher that dad had suggested and if she had any trouble with him, she can contact dad again. Meanwhile, Dad can work on 11th's Biology. This seemed to pacify the mother a bit.

After they had left, I told dad that it was a good idea to go through the course of higher classes once. It is not like he hasn't studied and taught it before. And it would mean more income because the target group would increase. Dad just smiled his crinkly eyed smile at me and said money isn't everything (cliche bt touche) and he was content with what he has. And he went back to watching a dubbed south Indian film. Actually I think he loves his computer cards games a bit too much to spend his tome studying instead :P

Anyhow, seeing how genuinely Papa's students loved him and respected him and the comfortable relation they shared with him, joking and laughing loudly and imposing on him, I felt slightly jealous and mighty proud! They'l saunter into the kitchen anytime for a drink of water or some snack and Ma would willingly oblige. They'l sprawl on the floor, on the couch, in the hallway and any available space while giving their tests and the family would have to skip over their legs and backs to move from one place to another. it's a wonderful feeling, knowing that your parents are loved and respected so much. It gives you another reason to love your parents even more.

Mom, Dad.. I am extremely proud of you. I love you.

Little Somethings

Last night after a long relaxing bath I made my way to my bedroom with the resolution to catch up on my sleep by getting in bed early. So I went up to my bookshelf to choose a book from my limited library for some night-time reading. I took out an old volume of Sherlock Holmes mysteries. Just as I was about to settle in my bed, I saw two smooth pebbles crammed in the empty space from where I had just taken out the dog - eared book. One was gray - green and smooth to touch, the other one red and rough textured, but both were beautifully oval. I had picked these pebbles from a river bed when in Simla with friends, on a vacation, as souvenirs of the good times. In no time I realised I was smiling while looking in space like a lunatic, remembering that trip and all the fun we had. I blew the dust off the pebbles and replaced them on a more respectable place on my already crammed shelf. 

Forgetting all about my book and my good intentions of sleeping early, I found myself a duster and set about cleaning my shelf. On the top shelf, there’s a collection of little statuettes of the laughing Buddha gifted to me as good luck gestures. Along with the content Buddhas, there is a pretty little idol of Lord Krishna which glows in the dark; a beautiful finger sized Lord Ganesha with a missing arm; a heavy one eyed statue of the Laddoo Gopal; a mini crystal shiv linga and a blackened plate of navakar mantra. The surprising thing is that I am not a religious person! I feel proud in being 'almost - an - atheist'. I wonder why so many deities adorn my bookshelf in that case! But I just did not have the heart to put them away or hand them over to Ma where they would be in safe hands. But the stories and people and memories related to them made it difficult for me to part with them. And I am good at avoiding difficult things.

After rubbing the tummies of all the Buddhas (for luck) and dusting the other deities, I moved on to the trophies. When I was 15, I had about 120 trophies and cups to my name. They gathered dust on the curtain pelmet, almirah tops, table tops, next to the TV, behind the TV, perched precariously on the wall clock.. I guess you get the idea. Every available free space had a trophy on it. No, I don't intend to show off here, (OK, maybe just a bit, there's nothing wrong with being an extra-ordinarily talented child, now is there?). These tokens of appreciation and recognition caused me a lot of embarrassment and usually acted as conversation starters. People used to enter our little drawing room and be taken aback by all that junk! And my parents would pounce at the opportunity of regaling the poor guest with stories behind the trophies and moving on to how talented their daughter is. Anyway, I am drifting here. So, when I grew up and got enough authority in the house, I gave away some trophies and cups to the neighborhood children, most of the lot went to the 'raddi' waalah (My mother was heartbroken. She had planned to give away these trophies as a part of my dowry! :O), some I saved and now they gather dust on my bookshelf. If I had known how nostalgic I would get about my school years, I would have never ever given away all those cups.

(MENTAL NOTE TO SELF: Hunt down the kids I had distributed my awards to. Get them back)

I came across an old diary of mine and when I flipped through it, out fell torn and faded A R Rehman concert passes. It had names on it and smileys and I just couldn't help smiling back at the slightly off balance smiley. I fingered a lone rose pressed between the pages of the diary. I remember selecting the rose from my birthday bouquet. The bouquet was an unexpected gift from a dear friend studying abroad.

There was a lotto ticket with just one remaining number. Our entire family, some 60 people, had gathered on New Year’s Eve to celebrate together. We had chatted and played Lotto. I had waited for ages and ages for that one number to be announced but it never was. I pinned that ticket to my purple board. There were college fest tickets to Jal’s concert and lots of letters and notes, received and written, movie tickets, restaurant bills.

A lot of stuff in my room is totally useless for me. There is a sea - shell, ornamental candles (which don't burn, obviously), a crystal ball with a German cathedral and fake snowflakes and a score of other this and thats. Each one of no obvious use to me, but each a reminder of some incident or someone. It was after seeing all these little nothings that I realized what an emotional idiot I am. I never thought of myself as a keeper of memories, but then my diary records, my writings, my collection of cards and souvenirs prove otherwise. Well, another new revelation about myself. Thought I’d share it with everyone. Maybe I have saved something which reminds me of you as well. J