MAMMA MIA!

Mothers! They can be so infuriating. Ugh! They are like some cryptic unsolvable puzzle. It’s hard to comprehend the workings of their convoluted minds. 

So, what brought this ranting on? An old classmate’s article got published in some unread supplement of a daily newspaper. And because that supplement does not get many advertisements and hence, has a lot of free space, they also published a 10’ X 6’ picture of her. Trust me. Having worked with newspapers, I know how these things work. Besides, her face looks bloated! Ma did not even happen to come across this article while her daily newspaper scanning. My classmate’s mother, who happens to be a close friend of my mother, called Ma up to share (or rather brag!) this good news. The minute the line went dead, Ma screamed for me making me run down, two stairs at a time, wondering what I have done wrong now! There she stood. One hand on the hip, one hand shoving a crumpled newspaper under my nose. As I tried to bring my heart rate back to normal she went on to read that article in rather alleviated tones, her pitch a few octaves above normal. I could only catch the words – topper, brilliant, creative because of the unnecessary emphasis on them. The rest of the words were incomprehensible, what with her reading at inhuman speed! When I could finally make her calm down and take a few deep breaths, she looked at me with accusing eyes as if I had printed the stupid article with that even stupider picture! Of course she was jealous. I had bereft her of the chance to show her daughter off at work by not appearing on that hardly – ever – read – inconsequential supplement of the newspaper. I was incensed enough to throw her a smoldering look and stomp back right up the stairs. To aggravate the effect, I slammed the door to my room as well.

She loves me. She is proud of me. I was there those umpteenth times when she exaggerated my handful achievements. I have seen that glint in her eyes when she raises her chin and haughtily tells her relatives, friends, colleagues and whosoever will listen about the wonderful talents that her daughter possesses. I have heard her laugh her musical laughs reserved for special occasions when her relatives, friends or colleagues praise her daughter.

But I have also noticed the underlying provocative tone when she narrates, with redundant details, achievement of other kids, as if challenging me to retaliate by performing some more praise worthy tricks which she can boast about. I have also heard that edge in her voice when she compares me with others. It is an unfathomable mix of emotions. She is jealous, encouraging, angry and determined. And that is a fatal combination.

Isn’t it weird? Every little achievement of ours is hyperbolized and presented in awe – inducing ways before others. But every unachieved milestone is made into a mountain.

Sigh. Mothers. You love them. But you can’t understand them. 

Open Party!

Are you nine months pregnant? Are you one year old or younger? Are you a cynical I – Only – Drink – Mineral Water – foreigner? Do you have pneumonia? Are you hydrophobic?

If the answer to all the above questions is no, then you can celebrate. Because monsoon has graced Delhi and how! And no, celebrating does not only mean devouring hot pakoras (though it is a huge part), staring at the clouds and the tress from your window, updating your Facebook status to ‘’Yayiee, it’s raining”.

Let me elaborate.

Celebrating the rain means being IN the rain.

Feeling the cold water saturate your hair slowly; shivering slightly as the first few drops slither down your neck; watching your clothes go perceptibly darker with the water, tasting the slightly saline rain drops on your lips.

That’s not all.

Call up your friends, splash around in puddles, put on some music and perform your cobra and snake charmer dance out in the street!

Become a little crazy!

Shout when the thunder rolls, shriek when lightning flashes.

Or just close your eyes and face heavenwards and enjoy the pitter patter of rain as it wipes off all the exhaustion from your body.

Breathe in the smell of the wet earth.

And if you don’t have friends around you, then just walk in the rain. Watch the women rush home hitching up their saris and trying futilely to stop their umbrella from blowing away. See the little kids dancing in the rain as their parents keep a watch on them from the balconies. Maybe sing a little to yourself, think about the person you want to share the moment with. You won’t even realize when a smile will lighten up your face.

And when you walk back home, listen to the quiet dripping of water from your clothes leaving a trail behind you. Hear the persistent squeak of your rubber chappals. Feel the water from your hair slither down the back of your t – shirt. Wring the end of your shirt when you feel the uncomfortable weight of your wet clothes brushing against your semi – dry skin.

You know the best part? This party is open to everyone. Age, sex, race, religion, condition no bar. Even if you end up with a slight cold, you’ll know that you made someone smile; someone who was watching from the window soaking up the joy of rain just by watching you.  

Sambhar

Sambhar

I was one of the unfortunate one’s who endured Dharma production’s latest attempt at producing a blockbuster for themselves. I Hate Luv Storys. Throughout the torture, the upmost thought on my mind was ‘When would this be over?!’ followed by ‘How could they make this sh*t’. But when I could finally bring myself to even think about this movie in retrospect, the only thought on my mind was not love stories, or how cute Imran looked or how dumb Sonam really is, or how I can make better films and how I am a better actor than Ms. Kapoor or how would New Zealand be as a honeymoon destination but… what was I saying again? Oh yes, sorry :P. The predominant issue was perfection. Oh no I am still sane. The movie was a far cry from being perfect but we are now above and over it. Perfection in us mere mortals.

I am sure everyone harbours different expectations from their partners which are never satisfied. So this means no one has a Mr./ Ms. Perfect. I believe people are like sambhar. Yes, yes, the sambhar from  idli – sambhar. A perfect sambhar should be an accurate mixture of spices. It should be a bit sweet and a bit sour and a bit spicy. But the only trouble is that there can’t be a fixed recipe which would go down well with everyone. You see, everyone has different tastes and preferences. And taste is not the only parameter. Temperament is also an important consideration sir. Some like their sambhar extremely spicy while others prefer it slightly sweet. Some want it steaming hot while some need it to be luke warm. But howsoever it is, it is never perfect. Take my example. I am vegetarian and what makes matters complicated is that I don’t relish half the green stuff that grows on Mother Earth. Hence, I like my sambhar minus the veggies. But I don’t like it plain as well. So apart from being the right amount of spicy and the exact temperature that I can enjoy without burning my tongue it should also have only the green stuff which I can tolerate. Complex much? Well, it is nothing! The specifications for some people never end. Remember what the original concept was?

Sambhar = People

I am sure the smart ones would have understood by now. But here follows the explanation for the tube lights. Your sambhar can never ever be perfect. We all succeed in pin pointing some spice which wasn’t added. And if we can’t find anything to criticize, it would just be the salt. Either a pinch more or less. But never satisfactory. Just like that, the people you are with are never right. Some missing ingredient always spoils the fun. The solution is not to carry with you a sack full of spices or a microwave to spice/ heat up your sambhar to your preferred temperature. The key is to enjoy and appreciate what you have rather than spoiling your mood over what you don’t. Adjust. I’ll share a secret with you today. My dad says, if you have your meals with a smile on your face and appreciation in your heart, no matter what you are eating, you would always find it yummy. And if you still don’t, it would prove that there is something majorly wrong with you. But in that case just remember your science and list down all those vitamins and minerals and other healthy stuff that meal would give you. Be thankful for what you have. And you’ll find that your sambhar is just right!  

 It's Home 

The heat is intolerable. Men are lecherous. Traffic gets on your nerves. Everyone from auto – rickshaw driver to top level bureaucrats is corrupt. Delhi might be the worst city to live in. But then, we Dilliwaala’s swear by it and absolutely love it! Here are the reasons why:

1)      India’s dil: Raj Thakre might have a problem with all the Biharis and UP bhaiyya’s who flock his Maharashtra but Delhi can accommodate everyone. Delhi celebrates a unique cultural festival everyday! You get south Indian chana bhatura and Punjabi style Dosa here. You get the best Banarasi sari and the yummy Manipuri dim – sums. Everyone is welcome. I have had a conversation in Punjabi with a South Indian police – officer. I have gotten tips about the best Rajasthani restaurants from my East Indian friends. Delhi is home to about 14 million people and not 4 million of them can claim Delhi to be their home town. But it’s home.

2)      Chief chef: Mumbai is famous for vada – pao. Chennai for dosa. Kolkata for fish and Punjab for chana – bhatura. Big deal! Delhi might not have a regional specialty but then it is master of all! Delhi can pamper your palate with every imaginable variety. You crave it? Just name it! And it suits everyone’s pocket. You can spend 400 bucks on an iced tea or have a complete meal in just Rs. 20. Roadside pani – puri, small cosy Italian joints, stuffy Punjabi dhabas, simple south Indian restaurants, flashy north – Indian family restaurants, dingy Chinese outlets. You get everything you want and the way you want it!

3)      Rail – gaadi: Mumbai’s local and Kolkata’s trams can’t even dream to compare with our Metro! It’s our pride. It’s sophisticated and cool and fast and chick and.. it’s THE Delhi Metro! It is a gift to Delhi-ites. A new way to travel which has not only reduced distances, but also taught some manners to us all. It is Delhi’s jugular! It’s just incomparable.

4)      Dilli – Darshan: India gate – Red Fort – Humayun’s tomb – Zoo – Purana Quila – Qutub Minar - Lotus temple - Jantar Mantar - Akshatdham and a hundred or so places to visit! Even if you choose one place per weekend, it would take years to see all of Delhi’s marvels! And ofcourse, the nights are made fun with all the clubs and discos and pubs. Delhi is a quieter city than many others. Long drives at late hours can be fun with friends and romantic with that someone – special. Boating at the lake in India Gate can be as much fun as shopping in a mall. Playing gully – cricket can be as entertaining as watching a live match in Feroz Shah Kotla. Multiplexes and malls might have gained popularity, but the street market at Sarojini and Janpath is still the best for some shopping with free doses of masti. Delhi offers something to everyone.

5)       Dilwaale Dilliwaale: Most of all, it is the people that make Delhi special. You will find every variety here. Cute guys, pretty girls, hot dudes, traditional aunties, grumpy uncles, modern women with elbow length chooda and bright red sindoor, vegetable vendors with better mobiles than yours. They just never cease to surprise you. We Delhi – ites are a curious lot. We are always interested in other people’s business. If you ask us the way to a place, we’ll give you unimaginable details ranging from the placement of the public urinal to the description of the tree from which you might have to take that turn. We love a free show and hence every little accident of the road guarantees a huge crowd! We are appreciative. If a young girl is out for a walk in a mini skirt and figure hugging t-shirt, we are sure to sing a cheap song when she passes or whistle or pass a lewd comment or if nothing at all, we just like to stare to show our appreciation. We are very kind. We would come running to your help even if you don’t call us because it just might turn out to be an entertaining scene! We are warm people!

There are a hundred things which make Delhi better than any city in the whole world. It’s perfect for everyone. It might not be the cleanest or greenest or politest or richest or something else-sest.

But. It’s home.

Too early. Too soon.

Dedicated to my sister

I have been singing it since the day it got finalized. The wedding is on the twenty third of the eleventh month of the tenth year of the 21^st century. 23.11.2010. It is still months away! Then why do the preparations have to begin half a year before? I have been on innumerable shopping trips in this sweltering Delhi summer. I have suffered dehydration, near fainting spells, uncouth crowd of Karol Bagh and near accidents (thanks to Dad’s rash driving skills!) for this still – so – far – away wedding. And oh, it is not even MY wedding. I know she is my only sibling, my elder sister (though I still believe she might be adopted, explanations in some other post :P). I am very glad for her, but then why torture me for her perfect wedding? Honestly, I have not put in much effort to conceal, fabricate or exaggerate my less – than – acceptable enthusiasm towards the wed- talk (as I like to call it) at the dinner table. I don’t even bother to try to look interested while my Ma and sister launch into long discussions on new designs rampant in the ever blooming textile industries. I have even stopped nodding during a serious conversation between Ma and Dad over what to gift to which relative – in – law. I can almost feel the false smile slide off my face after exact 6 strenuous seconds of congratulatory phone calls from far off relatives who have a million or two suggestions to offer. My point being, it is too early for all this.

Take today for instance. The would – be bride wanted to learn how to tie a sari. And the teacher that my mother is, she couldn’t let this opportunity to teach the art of tying this 9 yard cloth, pass. So we all gathered in Ma’s bedroom while she chose the tester sari. I watched as Ma wrapped the soft fabric around my sister’s tiny little waist and the enthusiastic student moved her hands and eyes animatedly to learn as much as she could. She was listening in rapt attention, I could tell by the little frown between her eyebrows, as Ma passed on her knowledge to her daughter. Taking my sister’s hand, Ma taught her how to make perfect folds for a graceful sari. My sister was nodding, asking questions and nodding again as Ma expertly tied the 9 yards of fabric into an elegant sari. I saw the bride smile and twirl happily as the scarlet cloth swirled around her dainty frame. Yes, I did say bride because that is how I was imagining her. In my mind’s eye I saw the 23 year old girl evolve from a girl into a woman. I saw her face as she concentrated on the task at hand. I observed her hands as she tried her hand at tying the sari. I watched as she smiled after doing it on her own. I saw her pride and joy. I could feel the happiness she was feeling but restraining because she didn’t me to tease her. This was the most beautiful moment of my day today. And then I realized it is not about the wedding preparations alone. It is about being happy together. It is all about sharing my sister’s joy and happiness and pleasure as she prepares to write a new chapter in her life. It is about being family. It is about showing our love. It is about wanting the best for her. And now I want it too; a perfect wedding for my sister. Because too soon she would be gone.

And now I have to go. Time for another shopping trip. We have to hurry up with the preparations. Six months, after all, is not enough time and so many things are yet to be done and said.

Jiji, I love you.

Blissful love – or maybe not!

LOVE! The stars in your head. The spring in your step. Those butterflies playing hopscotch in your tummy. Those day dreams. That twinkle in your eye. Your heart skipping a beat.

Sorry to break the bubble sirs and madams. It is all a big load of BULL!

Love is not a Karan Johar blockbuster. It does not guarantee happy endings. It is not a pretty little feeling which can be enough for your entire lifetime. I am sorry to play Tsunami to that sand castle of yours, but love is not the antidote to your colourless life.

A month of being in love and the little devil lifts its ugly head, flicks the carpet from right under your feet and you fall on your bum with the dust swirling all around you. Wake up time dreamers!

Love makes you INSECURE: You think you give ample space to your partner? And are you absolutely sure that he/ she is loyal to you and completely trustworthy? Could your guy not be harbouring secret feelings for that leggy chick? Are you certain that your girl is not encouraging that dude’s advances? NO. You can never be certain. Soon Mr. Doubt would come knocking on your door and he’d keep knocking until you lose your night’s sleep. Love and insecurity are an unavoidable package deal.

Love makes you lose CONFIDENCE: “Holy crow! A pimple! Rahul/Puja would be disgusted!“

“Oh lord! I am so fat. Why does XYZ have to be better looking than me?”

“Would he/she notice that I am wearing the same dress I wore last week?”

Ladies and Gentlemen, say hello to paranoia and under – confidence. You always knew that you are not perfect. Love will thrust this knowledge right in your face flashing in neon lights. Now all you will be worried about is: “Why am I not perfect?”

Love HURTS: Does he love me more than I love him? In that case my love won’t be enough and he’ll leave me.

Does she love me less than I love her? Then she’d think I am imposing myself too much.

He didn’t remember our “First – Chocolate – We – Shared – Together” anniversary. He doesn’t love me the same now.

She doesn’t text me 40 times a day now. She has changed.

Love is the best magnifier in the whole love! In the beginning, every little gesture would seem special. But a few weeks in the relationship, every minor slip would look like a HUGE tragedy. Your heart will ache for every text which wasn’t replied to under 3 minutes. You will shed bucket loads of salty water for every 30 minutes he/ she did not call. Nothing would remain petty. Welcome to the world of extreme exaggeration.

Love makes you a BITCH/ DOG: Oh, I know you are very understanding and forgiving and sweet. 6 months and you would be like every other person in a relationship. Demanding and stubborn. Your interrogation will never end and the answers would never be satisfactory. You’ll raise your eyebrows at every drop of the hat and never let an opportunity of being suspicious slip. Where were you? What were you wearing? Why did you not call? Why did you text? What are you hiding? Why did you wear perfume? Blah blah blah! Or rather Bow Wow Bow!

Oh please, don’t get me wrong. It is not my intention to make you anti – love. I just want to show you the reality. This is the reason for most break – ups which are always ugly. So, the best way is to accept love as it is. It is a shade card with extremes of hot pinks and grays. Accept love as it is. Don’t be disappointed if it doesn’t turn out like that fairy tale. The happy moments might not be many, but they certainly would seem as many if you untangle the messed up bits with patience and care.

What's underneath?

Magic wands and spells won’t work,

Neither will vampire teeth;

Don’t get me wrong, I love fantasy,

But in real life I prefer what’s underneath.

Underneath all those jazzy clothes,

Loose jeans and Ed Hardy shirt,

Inside that tattooed skin,

What are you, angel or pervert?

Don’t flaunt those flashy rings,

Jewellery is a big no – no,

Neither would that attitude work,

I have a soft corner for sports cars though! (:P)

No gelled hair, no leather boots,

No cigarettes and definitely no booze.

The list of no’s is a bit too long,

Good stock is limited, it’s hard to choose.

Then you came along with an attitude to flaunt,

In your branded shirt and shoes and earring!

You were all the things that I did NOT want,

Then why the hell did I find you endearing?!

I don’t like any razz - matazz,

Or any of the things that you might be.

Oh of course now I know what it is,

It is all that you have underneath..